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sparksinger · 29 days ago

Text

Everything I'm Not

Summary: When a Decepticon attack rocks the base and Cordelia's self-worth, Optimus reminds her that family is a choice. One that he makes every day.

Rating: Teen and up (canon typical violence)

Relationships: Optimus Prime & Cordelia (OC), father-daughter dynamic, not romantic

Content/Trigger warnings: canon-typical violence, no major character death, robot gore, Decepticon attack, depiction of battle

Word Count: 10.1k

(complete fic below cut)

“If I ever were to lose you,

I’d surely lose myself.”

‘Future Days’ – Pearl Jam

The sun was beating down unrelentingly on the Autobot base, situated on Diego Garcia deep within the Indian Ocean. Cordelia’s chestnut-auburn hair was stuck to her face as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other, her sneakered feet pounding the running track that seemed to stretch on endlessly before her.

Coach Ros Hogan stood at the finish line, the whistle poised between her pursed lips, her dark brown irises tracing her class’s progress as they continued with their gruelling five kilometre run around the track.

Cordelia’s calves burned more and more with each additional step as sweat trickled from the nape of her neck, down her t-shirt and onto the small of her back. She cursed Coach Hogan inwardly, risking a quick glance over her shoulder as she tried to keep up with the rest of her classmates. She was in the last third of people in the thirty-or-so of them that were running. Sport, or indeed, any manner of physical activity had never been her forte.

Unless she counted running from Decepticons. That she could say she was really good at.

The forty-degree heat did not help matters. It felt like she had swallowed half the sand on the base, and she yearned for the cool, fresh water she knew was waiting for her after the last two laps that she had yet to run. She had a sharp stitch making itself known in her left side and the pain behind her skull seemed to beat in time with her feet, each one worse than the last.

Hannah Reid, a girl of British-Jamaican descent slowed her pace slightly in front of her, adjusting her stride so that she fell into pace easily beside Cordelia. The bright sunlight cast a rich hue over her light-brown skin, accentuated by her dark brown hair. Her hazel eyes found Cordelia’s and a raised brow posed her silent question.

Cordelia had gotten to know Hannah a little better over the last year or so, once she had restarted at the school that was situated on the base at Diego Garcia. Children of both the military and civilian personnel attended the facility, and Hannah was the only one that Cordelia had felt a genuine connection with.

Hannah’s father was a Logistics Officer, and her mother was a medic. Hannah herself was an easy-going, kind-hearted girl who had seemed to be the only one who hadn’t been intimidated by Cordelia’s bond with Optimus. She had treated her like she treated everyone else, and after a year of being whispered about by the other kids, she found the treatment quite refreshing.

“Coach must be in a bad mood, huh? Making us run around in this damned heat. I wonder who pissed in her Cheerios this morning.” Hannah made speaking seem effortless as she loped gracefully along beside Cordelia, her 5’7�� frame covering twice as much distance as Cordelia’s own petite five-foot-one inch did.

Cordelia exhaled heavily before she answered Hannah, trying to increase the seemingly limited capacity of her tired lungs.

“This should be…illegal.” Her words were punctuated by deep inhalations and exhalations through clenched teeth. “My calves feel like they’ve been submerged in a vat of acid.”

Hannah snorted and tried to cover it with a strategically timed cough. “Well, to be fair, it’s worse for you.”

Cordelia raised a brow in a silent question, unable to summon any more words while her lungs felt like they were in a concrete vice.

Hannah chortled, placing a hand on Cordelia’s shoulder. “Well, to be fair, it is worse for you. You’ve technically run twice as much as the rest of us; or at the very least, you’ve done twice as many steps.”

Cordelia regarded her friend with what she hoped was an unimpressed stare, blinking to try and stop the sweat from dripping into her eyes. She chose not to reply, but to spend the remainder of her quickly depleting energy on finishing the assigned distance before she collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

The beating of her feet on the floor became her monotone as the track disappeared beneath her, eaten up by each heavy fall of her trainers. It felt like she was having one of those anxiety dreams where no matter how hard and how fast she kept running, the finish line was always just out of her reach.

At long last, she crossed the painted white line and collapsed into a breathless heap onto the tarmac. Her lungs were working overtime, drawing huge volumes of air in before expelling it quickly, completing her respiratory cycle in record time. She scrunched her eyes shut against the harsh glow of the sun, bright as it was at three o’clock in the afternoon.

Cordelia heard Coach Hogan’s whistle blow, sounding like the hallelujah chorus. Hannah approached her then, holding out a bottle of still water to her. Cordelia took her outstretched hand and was pulled to her feet, slightly dizzy with being right-side-up again. She uncrewed the cap and took a long swig, the cool liquid a nirvana against the dry scratchiness of her throat after the run in the searing heat.

“Feelin’ alright Prime?” Hannah asked, taking a drink from her own bottle before replacing the cap. “You doing okay? I don’t wanna have to get the big guy over here to scrape you off the floor.” Cordelia rolled her eyes good-naturedly at her friend’s gentle teasing and nudged her in the side with an elbow.

“I’m fine. It seems my cross-country talents only kick in when there is a life-threatening situation happening, i.e. getting chased by a bunch of blood-thirsty Decepticons.”

Hannah shook her head in mock disappointment. “And here I was thinking that Coach Hogan’s whistle would get you running like Usain Bolt. Tut tut Miss Prime. And technically, wouldn’t it be Energon-thirsty Decepticons? Unless they’ve become afflicted with vampirism, in which case we’d better tell your dad straight away.”

“Oh my god. I think you are actually insane!” Cordelia laughed, pulling Hannah’s arm to link through her own. They started to amble slowly back towards the changing rooms, their heartrates now back down to a healthier rhythm.

Coach Hogan came up behind them, her ever present whistle swinging around her neck. “Come on ladies, get moving! I don’t particularly want to stand here and watch you two run another five laps of the track because you couldn’t be bothered to get back to the changing rooms before the end of the day.”

Cordelia bit back the retort that rose from the base of her throat, knowing it would be futile to argue with Coach on a Friday afternoon. Everyone was hot, tired and all wanted to go home.

Hannah apparently, did not share this viewpoint.

“With all due respect Coach, you set the times. If you had us running an hour ago instead of a half hour ago, we would have extra time to get changed and you could go and get that Martini that clearly has your name on it in the mess hall.”

For a second or two, Coach seemed to be too incensed with rage to reply. Cordelia watched the figurative tumbleweed roll across Hannah’s face, and she knew that Hannah knew she had messed up. Hannah’s grip tightened on her arm imperceptibly, denoting her friend’s instant regret at her smart remark to the temperamental coach.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you Reid. Another five laps!”

Hannah sighed and took her arm out from Cordelia’s, looking at her with an expression of irritated defeat on her pretty face. Coach Hogan didn’t appreciate the delay and took a step towards them both, her whistle grasped tightly between a thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t make me repeat myself Reid. Your father will hear of this insubordination.”

It took everything Cordelia had not to burst out laughing right there and then as she watched Hannah run back to the track and start to run at a steady pace around it in a clockwise direction. She stood there for a few minutes, her vibrant green eyes tracking Hannah’s long, lithe shadow, graceful and fluid as she ran.

I bet I don’t look like that when I run. More like a foal that hasn’t figured out how to stand up yet.

She felt her lips twitch at her inner monologue and worked hard to keep a neutral facial expression. Coach Hogan did not appreciate humour even when she was in a good mood, and though Cordelia had pity for her friend at having to run an additional five laps around the track, she did not particularly want to join her.

“Are you waiting for Christmas, Miss Prime? Unless you want to join Reid, I would suggest you go to the changing rooms and get changed.”

Cordelia did not need to be told twice. She mumbled a quiet ‘yes ma’am’ and scuttled off to the changing rooms at a brisk walk, throwing one last glance over her shoulder at Hannah who cut a lonely figure as she jogged on the tarmac.

The changing room was deserted when she got in there. She decided against having a shower in the school changing rooms. At their very cleanest they were about as enticing as eating her dinner off the floor in the mess hall. She grabbed her bag from the hook she’d left it on as she made her way past, grateful for the fact that there were toilet cubicles available now that everyone else had left.

Once she was dressed in her old band t-shirt and black cycling shorts, complete with her battered Converse shoes, Cordelia made her way out of the changing rooms and around to the front of the school compound where she had left her bike chained at the beginning of the day.

The Autobot base was huge, easily seventeen square miles, and the quarters that she shared with Optimus were just over a quarter of a mile away. She biked to school most days, it was an easy and efficient way to get there whilst at the same time meaning she didn’t have to rely on Optimus for lifts.

She was grateful for the base’s flat, smoothly surfaced cycle paths as she made her way leisurely back to the quarters she called home. Her backpack was light against her back, filled with only her history assignment and the clothes she had worn for Coach’s impromptu run around the track this afternoon.

A quick glance at her watch told her it was just after four in the afternoon. She knew that Optimus wouldn’t be home until at least seven at the very earliest. His average day consisted of back-to-back meetings with various human officials, appointments with government liaisons, overseeing the day-to-day running of the base and making sure that any and all potential Decepticon threats were closely monitored.

Their shared quarters were in quiet darkness when she got there, punching the access code in that would grant her access. She dismounted from her bike and walked it in through the ‘human’ sized door that hissed slowly open. Everything was just as she had left it this morning, snippets of her own presence dotted about the place.

Their shared space was practical yet homely. Directly opposite the entrance sat Optimus’ enormous desk, built to match the scale of the behemoth twenty-eight-foot tall Autobot leader. It was constructed from various different metals, some of which had been brought by the second wave of Autobots in the Xantium and built using Cybertronian construction methods. The chair that went with it was made from old storage containers that had been reinforced with industrial-strength concrete. It was a sight that always made Cordelia laugh, but she was always grateful when they could work in a companiable silence together.

Her own desk sat atop his, amongst the data pads and other detritus that littered Optimus’ desk. His was a tidy desk, but the last data pad he used was always sat near the front of his desk, away from the others that he had neatly piled up in the corner.

A catwalk platform hugged the far right-hand wall. It housed a small bathroom, kitchenette and an enclosed area where her wardrobe and bed were. It was small but immensely cosy, and it was more of a home than she had ever known before. On the left side of the room was Optimus’ berth, where he recharged once every ten days or so.

Cordelia tucked her bike against the wall and then made her way over to the small kitchenette to grab a can of soda to keep her company while she attempted to make a start on her history assignment. She grabbed a punnet of grapes and then hurried down the stairs of the catwalk before ascending the ladder that was attached to Optimus’ desk so that she could sit at her own and begin her work.

The task that she had to tackle for her history assignment was to analyse the social and economical impact of the advancement of technology during the Industrial Revolution. Cordelia was a well-rounded student and usually enjoyed history, but having to sit through the teacher’s last few lessons on this particular subject had been a difficult undertaking.

Sighing, she settled herself at her desk and began making notes, trying to work out some kind of a structure on which to construct her essay.

The time ticked by slowly, the background noises of the base fading into white noise that kept her company as she worked.

Two soda cans later, she was halfway through a tedious chapter on the invention on the steam engine, and although it proved fruitless in the entertainment department, it had proven itself ripe with little snippets for her essay. She was just in the middle of paraphrasing a particularly useful paragraph when she heard the familiar hiss of the door opening.

She looked up in time to see Optimus walk through the door, his twenty-eight foot high frame just getting enough clearance between his ear finials and the top of the door-frame.

She abandoned her work, springing up from the desk chair and ran over to the edge of the desk, their eyes finding each other at the same time. A wide grin split her face in two, as it always did when she saw him.

She got that same feeling of warmth blooming up within her from the very centre of her chest. It seemed to spread throughout her entire body, causing the fine, baby-like hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck to stand up in accompaniment with the goosepimples that kissed the surface of her ivory skin.

No one else on the planet, not even Leo, made her feel as safe and as loved as this gentle mech did. It was a feeling that she cherished, and she had promised herself that she would never take it for granted, not for one single second.

Optimus’ optics tilted upwards at their inner corners with his own small, signature smile that he seemed to bear only around her. His footfalls sounded heavy and even on the floor, growing louder as he neared the desk.

“Good evening my little one, how was your day today?” he asked, lowering his great bulk until he was sat comfortably before her. He leaned his forearms on the desk, encircling her in a semi-circle of steel.

Cordelia sat down, allowing her legs to dangle freely over the edge of the desk so that she could swing them gently to and fro. Optimus’ optics traced her movements, bathing her in a pool of gentle blue light as his gaze settled upon her.

“It was okay. I managed to get some good notes done for my history assignment, although I might die of boredom before I actually manage to finish it.”

Optimus raised an incredulous brow at her diatribe. “Oh, that is something that I simply cannot allow to happen. I would hate for you to perish due to lack of mental stimulation, and I know Mr Edwards for one would be absolutely devastated to be deprived of your contribution to…” he paused here, leaning forward slightly to read the mess of papers that lay upon her desk. “…the social and economical impacts of the growing advancement of technology during the Industrial Revolution.”

Cordelia eyed him will ill-disguised astonishment. “Why, Optimus, it sounds like you’re being a little…sarcastic. Don’t you know that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit?” her lips twitched as she spoke, betraying her inner mirth at their exchange of gentle banter.

Optimus canted his head to one side, feigning innocence. “Sarcasm? I would not dream of sinking to such a…deplorable level. I merely speak the truth.” His expression was a perfect poker face, giving nothing away. Not even the covers of his ear finials were spinning.

Cordelia could hold it in no more and burst out laughing, shaking her head in gentle disbelief at her giant guardian. “Do you know something big guy?” she asked, wiping a stray tear from her eye once she had recovered enough from laughing to speak.

“I am sure you will make me aware, little one,” he rumbled, his own lip plates twitching infinitesimally. He nudged her playfully in her ribs with an index finger as he spoke, causing her to yelp out in surprise.

She playfully swatted him away and made a fist at him, waving it backward and forwards in front of his field of vision before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“You are the biggest dork on the planet. Literally!” She was rewarded with his low, gentle and rumbling chuckle. It reverberated deep within her ribcage, making her feel like rippling water.

He placed a hand palm up on the desk then, waiting for her to step on. She did so without hesitation, her feet knowing where to step without her having to look where she was going. She assumed her favourite position on his palm; sat down with one leg tucked beneath her and her left arm hooked around the base of his index finger.

“I will accept that, but only from you my little one. Only from you.” His optics softened as he spoke, looking at her with the pure unfiltered and unconditional love that existed in such unlimited bounds between them. “How was the rest of your day, aside from the deep trauma of nearly being bored to death by your history assignment?”

Cordelia leaned back easily into the gentle curve of his fingers, drawing absent-minded circles into the metal of his palm with her nails.

“Oh, it was okay. Nothing major. Coach tried to kill us, and Hannah got five extra laps for being a smart-ass.” She immediately regretted her choice of words when she saw the thin set of Optimus’ mouth and the way his optics had narrowed dangerously, the dull flare of anger glowing behind his cerulean irises.

“Coach tried to kill you?” his voice was quieter than usual, and it sounded like he was working hard to keep control of his tone.

Cordelia sighed and buried her face in her hands. “Ugh, obviously she didn’t actually try to kill us. She just made us run around the track in this heat, and I thought it was a little unfair.” She heard the whirring and hissing of hydraulics as Optimus moved, but she didn’t raise her face from her hands. She felt the cool touch of his index finger, prying her face away from her hands with the incredible gentleness that only he seemed to be capable of.

“How far did she make you run?” his tone brokered no room for argument, and she knew that sidestepping the question or trying to distract him would only make him more determined than ever for a straight answer.

“It wasn’t even that far, and---”

“Cordelia.” Her name, uttered in that no nonsense baritone of his was enough to stop her in her tracks. Stupidly, she felt the biting sting of tears behind her eyes and blinked them away furiously, refusing to show Optimus that she was upset.

As usual, he saw right through her façade and tenderly moved his finger until it was underneath her chin, carefully tilting her face upwards until their eyes met. “Oh Lia, please don’t be upset, I am not angry with you. In fact, I am not angry…merely…displeased at the thought of you needlessly expending physical energy in this heat. I simply wish to know if Coach Hogan put you and your peers at risk; for if she has, this is an oversight that must be rectified immediately.”

His finger moved to stroke her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes against his gentle affection. She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had suddenly taken up residence in her trapezius and deltoid muscles. Optimus watched her with that eternal patience that he seemed to possess in such abundance, waiting for her response as if he had simply asked her what her favourite colour was.

She dropped her eyes from his and placed a hand on his fingertip, patting it in a way that she hoped would show him she was not upset. Or that upset, anyway.

“She made us run five kilometres. It wasn’t that far; I’m just being dramatic.” She felt rather than saw the gentle ex-vent of cool air from his nose, having been cycled through the ventilation systems situated underneath his helm, the ones that helped to keep his CPU at its core temperature.

Optimus’ own shoulders relaxed by a fraction of a degree, evidenced by the quiet hissing of his hydraulics. He was silent for a short time, although the covers of his ear finials did a quarter of a turn counterclockwise, denoting his mild annoyance.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, shutting his optics for a few seconds before responding to her. “Thank you, my little one. While I wholly support the continual development of your physical health and education, I do not condone the needless pursuit of exercise when there is a high chance it will be detrimental due to the high temperatures that we have experienced today.”

Cordelia smiled at him weakly and chewed on the inside of her cheek to buy herself some time. She noticed that his pupils had grown smaller and that his brows were beginning to tilt down in his characteristic frown, forming a loose facsimile of the letter ‘V’.

“Hey, relax big guy. You worry way too much. We had water and she wasn’t y’know…being a total drill sergeant about it. I’m fine, we’re all fine.”

Optimus simulated a sigh and fixed her with that penetrating gaze of his, the one that she felt could see right through to the very depths of her soul, to the very foundations of all that made her, her.

“I trust your judgement, Cordelia. However, it still does not sit well with me. Are Hannah’s parents aware that she endured further physical exercise in the form of punishment?”

Cordelia shrugged. “I guess so. I mean, Coach said that she would make Hannah’s father aware of her ‘insubordination’ as she called it, so yeah, I would imagine they know.�� If Coach didn’t tell them yet, I know Hannah would have by now. She’s even more dramatic than me you know.”

That caused Optimus’ facial features to loosen, and a small smile moved his lip plates upwards at the corners, giving his face an overall more gentle and softer appearance.

“Is that so?” he asked, clearly meaning it as a rhetorical question.

Cordelia stuck her tongue out at him in response and he ruffled her hair playfully with his index finger.

His face grew serious again. “Would you allow me to speak with Coach Hogan? I merely wish to understand her motivations for assigning the class such a task in this weather.”

Cordelia shut her eyes, puffing out a mouthful of air from puffed up cheeks. “Op…I’d prefer it if you didn’t. She is…unique in her teaching methods, I’ll give you that. But you speaking with her…it will only cause more aggravation.”

Optimus ex-vented air from his nose again, the slightest hint of steam uncurling from his nostrils and into the open air. “I will not apply needless blame, nor make it difficult for you and your classmates in future lessons, but” he paused, lifting a finger to stroke her cheek. “But your safety is one of my most important priorities, Cordelia. The thought of any harm coming to you, even harm that you may perceive as merely…minor, it pains my Spark in a way that I cannot comprehend or put into words.”

“Oh Op, come here.” Cordelia shuffled forwards on his palm, her arms outstretched. He wordlessly closed the gap between them, nuzzling her face carefully with his nose. She smiled against him and rubbed circles into his facial plating with her nails. “I tell you what, would you be open to a compromise?”

Optimus pulled back slightly so that he could look at her properly. “A compromise? I will listen with an open mind little one.”

“How about this time, you let it go, but I promise you that if Coach does anything again that I feel is…untoward or not…safe, I will tell you straight away and then you can speak with her. Is that fair enough?”

He regarded her with a look that could only be described as pure pride, his previously small pupils growing exponentially. “Indeed…that sounds like a fair trade. If you wish that to be the end of the matter, then it shall be.”

Cordelia swallowed, suddenly overcome with a wave of emotion. “Thank you, Optimus…for listening to me. I can’t say how much it means to me that you do.”

“Of course I listen to you Cordelia. I always want you to be able to speak your mind with me. Your viewpoint is incredibly important to me, and I will always listen to you and make sure your voice is heard. Always.”

Cordelia was about to reply when her stomach decided that that would be the appropriate time to emit a thunderous rumble. She placed a hand on her abdomen, embarrassment flushing her cheeks with scarlet colour.

Optimus raised an optic ridge at the sound, a wide smile making its way onto his face. “I think it would be prudent to find a solution to your evident hunger, my little one. Shall we see what you have in the cupboards?”

A dull, rumbling vibration roused Cordelia from the dregs of sleep. She opened her eyes to the dark, murky shapes of her and Optimus’ shared quarters, her vision struggling to adjust for the first few seconds of consciousness.

She pushed herself into a sitting position, the duvet falling from her shoulders and pooling at her waist. Another low concussion rocked the foundations of the base, and she could have sworn she saw the bottle of water on her bedside table ripple slightly.

The noise of the doors hissing open claimed her attention. Optimus hurried through, the faint blue glow of his optics the only source of light in the otherwise dark room. He had something clutched in his left hand and dropped it in front of her on the bed before wordlessly turning and retrieving a few bottles of water, tucking them into the subspace pocked on his forearm.

The item he had dropped on her bed was a large jacket, army issue and one that looked miles too big for her. She was about to ask him why he had given her a random jacket when the alarm began to sound.

It was low and deafening, filling her ears with its low, monotonous drone. She didn’t need to be told twice to get dressed and hurried herself into a pair of leggings that she’d slung over the foot of her bed a day or so previously. Next, she donned the jacket, tucking her arms into the long sleeves and having to roll them back two or three times so that her hands could actually be free. The hem of the jacket easily fell halfway down her thighs, but that didn’t matter now.

The next thing she was aware of was being scooped up into Optimus’ immense palm, his fingers holding her securely. He held her close to his chest, his free hand hovering just above her. He was in full Prime mode, his optics tight and trained on something in the near distance. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, and just as another low explosion rocked the immediate vicinity, his battle mask slid into place across his mouth and nose.

“Optimus, what’s happened? What’s going on?” her voice sounded quiet and vulnerable amidst the muted booms and explosions, and Optimus armed himself with his Energon sword, clearly not wanting to take any chances.

“The base is under attack. I am taking you to the emergency assembly point. It is one of the most fortified shelters on base. You will be safe in there with the other civilians. I am going to appoint Bumblebee to stand guard outside so that no one unauthorised can gain access.”

He broke into a loose jog, his hold on Cordelia growing a little tighter with the increased movement. She held onto his index fingers tightly, her own knuckles blanched white with the effort. The base flowed along effortlessly beneath her, eaten up quickly by Optimus’ long strides. NEST soldiers darted around like ants, gathering weapons and co-ordinating themselves into defence and attack groups.

In what felt like no time at all, Optimus reached the entrance of the emergency shelter and dropped to his knees, a little more heavily than he usually would have done. A tall, thick-set soldier was stationed at the door, taking a register of all who had gone inside so far. Optimus lowered her to the ground and tipped his hand gently, allowing her to slide off his palm and onto her own two feet.

She turned around before he had fully released her, desperate to speak with him before he went off to join the battle. He shifted so that he was only down on one knee, leaning his weight on his forearm, resting on the other knee.

“Go on my little one. I will find you after this situation has been dealt with. You’ll be safe here, I promise.” He tenderly ran the tip of his index finger down her face as he spoke, drawing a path from her temple down to the fine line of her jaw.

“Stay safe, promise me you’ll be safe.” Cordelia looked up at him earnestly, not one ounce of worry for herself present in her mind. All she could think of was that he would soon be running into a barrage of Decepticon fire. Decepticons who did not care and who would stop at nothing until their end goal was achieved. Whatever that end goal was.

His battle mask retracted, and a look of gentle affection transformed his entire face. “I promise you Cordelia, I will come back to you. You have my word. Now, on you go. That’s my girl.”

He nudged her gently towards the entrance of the shelter, anxious to get her inside. The tall soldier reached out for her, taking her left hand in his and marking it with a messy ‘26’ in black sharpie.

“I know who you are kid, but just in case. Always good to have an ID system going in times like this.” He turned to look at Optimus, standing to attention. “Don’t worry sir, she’s in good hands here. We’ll make sure she’s well looked after for you.”

Optimus nodded gratefully and reached into the subspace pocket on his forearm, pinching two two-litre bottles of still water between a thumb and forefinger. He handed them to Cordelia, his mask sliding back into place across his face.

He rose to his full height then and sprinted off to join the fight, his heavy footfalls sending vibrations throughout her whole body. She had no time to lament his absence as the large soldier ushered her inside, a hand on the small of her back as he guided her into the enclosed space.

“I’m Sergeant Grayson ma’am, nothing to worry about. Prime and the Autobots will have this sorted in no time.”

She didn’t reply but smiled at him weakly, watching him as he tipped his beret to her before going to resume his post at the entrance to the bunker. She set the two water bottles down; evidently Optimus had not been the only one to be well prepared. There were at least two dozen water bottles scattered throughout the small and sparsely furnished room.

Well, at least we’re not going to go thirsty, she thought wryly, turning in a slow circle to take stock of her new surroundings. The room itself was basic and clinical in every sense of the word. Grey was the colour of choice for everything in the room, the only variation being different shades of the same colour.

Her eyes scanned the room for Hannah. Hannah’s barracks were in Zone D, the same zone in which she and Optimus’ shared quarters were located. Hannah’s parents would not be in the shelter, her father would be co-ordinating with the other NEST personnel and her mother would be on standby in case of any unexpected casualties.

Cordelia recognised some girls from her class at school and smiled at them with that surface level smile saved for casual acquaintances, but did not go over to speak to them. She was too preoccupied with trying to find Hannah.

The bunker was filling up fast, and though Cordelia recognised a lot of the faces that were pouring in, none of them were Hannah’s. She decided to go and check the single toilet in case Hannah was in there, a growing sense of unease gnawing in the pit of her stomach over the whereabouts of her friend.

Panic grew within her, slowly at first as the minutes ticked by without any sign of Hannah. As time passed, her heart began to hammer more forcefully in her chest, beating a jumpy staccato against her ribcage. Saliva pooled in her mouth as nausea claimed ownership over her stomach, threatening to eject her evening meal. She focused on taking deep breaths in through her nose, and letting them slowly out through her mouth, attempting to replicate the gentle thrumming of Optimus’ Spark in her head.

Dull explosions continued in the distance, muffled by the bunker’s thick, reinforced concrete walls. Cordelia weaved her way through the bodies that were pressed together once more, making sure she hadn’t missed Hannah in all the chaos. After another two laps around the room, Cordelia was certain that Hannah was not anywhere within the compact throng of people.

She positioned herself close to the entrance, waiting for the opportune moment to sneak out. Sergeant Grayson was preoccupied with checking another few people into the building, marking the back of their hands in black sharpie as he had done with her. Bumblebee was standing with his back to her, concentrating on a data pad he had clutched in one hand.

Keeping herself tucked close against the wall, she allowed herself to be moved along with the constant current of flowing bodies, seamlessly blending in with everyone else. The late-night air was mild, yet significantly cooler than the day’s blistering forty-degree heat. Cordelia could smell hints of hibiscus and coconut palm on the sea breeze, a stark contrast to the muted booms that were coming from the south.

Cordelia wasted no time, breaking into a brisk jog, heading straight for the barracks that Hannah shared with her parents. It took her only minutes to get there, the non-descript building looking as it always had done, sitting innocently amongst the other barracks.

The ground vibrated subtly beneath her with yet another explosion as she approached the front door and gave two loud raps with her knuckles. She was met with nothing but eery silence.

A few tense seconds ticked by as Cordelia felt her mouth grow drier as more and more time passed by. She had just raised her hand to knock once more when the door was thrown open, causing her to take an involuntary step backwards.

Hannah half fell out of the door, her dark wavy hair dishevelled and pointing in all directions. She looked up then, her eyes meeting Cordelia’s.

“Hey! What are you doing here? Come on, we need to get going! My dad’s just rung me and told me that the ‘cons have attacked the main emergency shelter! He told me to go straight to the command centre!”

She gave Cordelia no chance to reply but grabbed her by the right wrist and started pulling her along in the direction of the command centre. The command centre sat in the very centre of the base itself, the main hub of activity and communication for all who lived and worked on Diego Garcia. Optimus spent most of his time there and when Cordelia had caught up on her schoolwork, she often spent the evenings there keeping him company while he finished up the fiddlier parts of his day.

Cordelia struggled to keep up with Hannah’s longer stride, pumping her legs to make up for the lack of distance that she covered compared to her friend. Hannah’s grip on her wrist was hard, and despite the relative mildness of the late night, her skin was cold to the touch.

A low, whistling sound distracted Cordelia from her second sprint in less than twenty-four hours and she lifted her head to find the source of the sound. A projectile was heading straight for them. Whether it was a bullet or a missile, Cordelia could not tell. All she was aware of was the sound growing louder and louder, reminiscent of a low growl as it got closer and closer to the two girls.

Cordelia tried to pull Hannah out of the way of the incoming danger, but it was like trying to pull a brick wall down with her bare hands. Hannah did not yield to her by one single inch. Time seemed to slow as the projectile dropped in altitude, looking to make landfall right in their path.

Then, just at the very last minute, a huge slab of concrete was thrown over their heads and into the trajectory of the ballistic. The force of the following explosion knocked both Cordelia and Hannah off their feet, the world temporarily turning upside down as they flew through the air before falling back to earth with a sickening crunch.

In the back of her mind, where rational thought still resided, Cordelia was mildly impressed that Hannah had managed to keep a hold of her wrist, fingers biting into her skin in a manner that bordered on painful.

As she landed, her left arm bent underneath her at an unnatural angle and she felt a tangible crack before a jolt of severe pain shot down through her entire arm. She barely had time to register what had happened before an enormous black, metallic foot slammed down mere inches from where she and Hannah were laying.

Her eyes traced up the leg to which the foot was attached, and she felt her heart leap into her mouth as her eyes locked onto the scarlet optics of Barricade. His mouth turned upwards in a cruel smirk as he bent down, a hand outstretched.

Again, Cordelia tried to roll out of the way and pull Hannah with her, but Hannah didn’t budge. She appeared to be completely immobile, seemingly rendered into shock by what was going on around them. She pulled once more, wincing through clenched teeth as another jolt of pain shot up through her arm.

Barricade’s outstretched hand was drawing ever nearer, and Cordelia scrunched her eyes tightly shut, sending a fervent prayer of love to Optimus, hoping that on some visceral level, he would be aware of it before her life was snuffed out by the encroaching Decepticon.

At the last possible minute, another hulking black mass, this time flecked through with bits of gunmetal grey, hurtled through the air and straight into Barricade.

The two titans’ bodies met in an explosion of sparks and metal screeching against metal, the sound almost painful. Ironhide rolled to absorb the impact of his leap and before Barricade could get to his feet, swung his right arm and delivered a swift uppercut to the Decepticon’s jaw that sent him flying once more. In a move so fast she couldn’t follow it with her eyes, Ironhide armed himself and unleashed a storm of bullets down on Barricade, pinning him to the ground.

Chunks of concrete littered the air, falling like rain. Hannah suddenly found herself again and pulled Cordelia easily to her feet and once more in the direction of the command centre. Barricade was starting to retaliate against Ironhide’s relentless attack, but not before the Weapons Specialist turned his head in the girls’ direction.

“What the frag are you doing out here?! Get to the shelter – NOW!”

In any other situation, Cordelia would have found Ironhide’s tone of voice terrifying, however, it was not his tone of voice that terrified her, rather than the fact that he himself sounded terrified.

Hannah forced her legs into motion once more, pulling her along with a renewed sense of urgency and strength. Cordelia had no choice but to be towed along by the stronger girl, her own feet pounding on the floor twice as much as Hannah’s to make up for the difference in their strides.

Cordelia could smell the acrid scent of gunfire and scorched metal in the air, the night sky lighting up intermittently with explosions that rocked the world all around her. She tried to concentrate on nothing except her own footfalls, trying to count along to a beat in her head.

Behind them, Ironhide was still going toe-to-toe with Barricade, the vibrations from the force of their clash travelling through the ground and up into her body. Her eyes widened when she saw Optimus directly in front of them, locked in a fierce brawl with no other than Soundwave.

Fear clenched around Cordelia’s heart, her vision tunnelling until Optimus and Soundwave were the only things that she was aware of. Her eyes tracked every iota of Optimus’ movements. The way he lifted his left arm to block a blow from Soundwave and the way that he countered with a swift kick to the Decepticon’s chest before unleashing a powerful blast from his Ion Blaster, sending Soundwave flying through the air.

Before Soundwave could get up, Optimus transformed into his vehicle mode and covered ground faster than Cordelia had ever seen him move before, crashing into Soundwave with a force that she felt in her bones. Optimus executed a swift handbrake turn, halting Soundwave’s progress in getting back to his feet with his back fender, putting the Decepticon on his back once more.

Metal screeched against the floor with a ferocity that set Cordelia’s teeth on edge, her legs momentarily slowing to follow the progress of the battle. Optimus transformed back to his bipedal mode, his foot slamming down onto Soundwave’s chest.

Even from this distance, Cordelia could hear the groaning of Soundwave’s frame under Optimus’ immense weight as the larger and heavier Autobot leader bore down on the smaller Decepticon. Soundwave lifted his head from the floor then, his crimson optics locked on the two girls running straight for them.

Cordelia snapped back into reality then, digging her heels into the ground in an effort to slow Hannah down, pulling back at the same time. This time, Hannah responded to the resistance and turned to look at Cordelia, a confused frown creasing her face.

“We’re going the wrong way!” Cordelia shouted, pulling Hannah in the direction of the command centre. Once again, Hannah was unyielding, seemingly totally unaffected by Cordelia’s attempts to get her to change direction.

“No, you’re wrong! Massster says I must bring you this way.” Hannah’s voice was toneless and devoid of any discernible emotion.

Ice shot through Cordelia’s veins, paralysing her to the spot. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, in perfect time with the beat of blood in her eardrums that momentarily deafened her.

“What-what do you mean? The command centre is this way!” Cordelia could hardly hear her own voice over the cacophony of gunfire and metallic scraping.

A horrific grin split Hannah’s face, metamorphosing it into someone that Cordelia did not recognise. Bile rose up into her throat as she watched Hannah’s skin bubble and recede to reveal a purplish metallic surface, its plates shifting and rearranging until all traces of Hannah had been erased. In her place stood a Decepticon at a height of around six feet, eerily similar to the Decepticon Frenzy.

His face still bore that sinister grin, an evil laugh bubbling up from somewhere within him. Now completely rid of his human disguise, he coiled his spindly limbs around her, ignoring her shouts of pain when he pinned her broken arm to her side with ease.

He lifted her as if she was nothing more than a bag of shopping, slinging her roughly over his shoulder in a loose approximation of a fireman’s carry. He sprinted toward Optimus and Soundwave, intent on delivering her to the superior Decepticon Commander.

Optimus’ head snapped up then, his optics dilating with pure, undiluted fear as his gaze locked onto Cordelia. Time seemed to slow between them as he launched himself off Soundwave, simultaneously transforming into his vehicle mode as he did so.

He landed roughly on the ground, his suspension taking the brunt of the impact. There was about 150 metres between them and his 425-horsepower engine ate up the distance as if it were nothing at all. In less time than it took for her to draw another panicked breath into her lungs, Optimus was upon them, transforming back to his robot mode with a graceful flourish.

He skidded forward on one knee, his left hand outstretched. His fingers wrapped around the pair of them, lifting them from the ground with ease. The fingers of his right-hand sought purchase on Rumble’s body, easily prising him away from Cordelia. Rumble thrashed furiously in Optimus’ grasp, but it was futile. Cordelia watched wide-eyed as Optimus’ fingers closed around the mini-con, effortlessly crushing him until he was nothing but a twisted mass of bent metal and sparking circuits.

Optimus dropped him and cradled Cordelia protectively to his chest, lifting his head just in time to see Soundwave and Barricade hobble through the dying light of a groundbridge, disappearing into a swirling vortex of blue-green light.

His optics fixed her in his steady gaze, still at their widest aperture despite the Decepticons’ retreat. She felt the light tickle of a scan before his fingers palpated her body with the utmost gentleness, doubtless checking her for injuries. He stopped abruptly when he got to her left arm, feeling the injury that she had sustained there.

“You’re hurt,” he muttered, rising to his full height and moving toward the med bay decisively. “I’m taking you to Ratchet.”

Cordelia suddenly found her words as she was carried over the remnants of the brief but intense battle, NEST personnel outing out stray fires here and there that dotted the immediate vicinity.

“Optimus, wait, wait! We need to find Hannah, she’s in trouble!”

That pulled him up short. A confused look crossed his features, moving the mosaic of his facial plating into a serious frown. “Cordelia, Hannah is safe with her mother in the triage centre. She’s helping with first aid.”

Multiple feelings of simultaneous relief and disbelief flooded Cordelia’s psyche at the same time. Immense gratitude for the knowledge that her friend was safe and away from danger, closely followed by the embarrassment realising she had fallen for the guise of a Decepticon Pretender.

“Shh, it’s alright. Come on, let’s get you patched up.” No further words were exchanged between them as Optimus ducked to go through the doors of the med-bay.

Ratchet treated her arm quickly and efficiently, informing her and Optimus that it was a clean break and that she’d need to be in a cast for the next six weeks. Other than that, he said, it should heal without complications and function as it had before, albeit with an added weakness.

He’d shaken his head good naturedly at her as his nimble fingers wrapping the plaster of Paris around her arm with ease, saying “always the left arm with you!”

She’d sat silently on the berth in the med-bay, Optimus sitting wordlessly beside her as Ratchet worked. Once he was finished, Ratchet had gone to assist the other Autobots with repairs, setting up his own triage system in the neighbouring hangar.

After Ratchet left, the silence was unbearable. Neither Optimus nor Cordelia said anything, both too shell-shocked by what had just happened to form any coherent sentences. Cordelia wasn’t aware of how many minutes ticked by, but she could not find it within herself to look at Optimus. She did not want to see the weight of the disappointment in his gaze or feel the sense of shame anymore than she already was.

She fiddled with the edge of her cast, tapping her nails on the fresh plaster. Her blood beat furiously in her ears, audible evidence of time’s unwelcome passage. She was aware of Optimus sitting next to her on the berth, her gaze fixed pointedly on his feet. There was a good ten feet between the berth and the floor below, and Cordelia debated how likely it was that she would sustain another injury if she attempted to jump off the berth. She was sitting on the edge, her legs dangling over from the knee.

She shifted forward a few inches, mentally psyching herself up to make the jump. It wasn’t that high, not really. She’d fallen from higher places and not had injuries that had been too serious.

However, before she could move forward another centimetre, she felt a gentle pressure around her waist and looked down to see Optimus’ digits there, wrapping around her middle and lifting her carefully into the air, mindful to avoid her broken arm.

Her hands instinctively held onto his index finger as she was raised higher into the air. Still, she did not look him in the eye as he transferred her onto the palm of his left hand and dominant hand of choice, raising her up to his eye level.

The atmosphere between them was thick with unexpressed tension, weighing down heavily on the pair of them. Cordelia could hear the increased volume of air being taken in through the vents on the back of Optimus’ head, cycling through his intakes quicker than usual and being ex-vented as a lukewarm steam that she could feel on her face and the nape of her neck.

Her chin dropped to her chest, her heart beating a furious tattoo behind her ribs. Her hands shook slightly, and she clenched them into tight fists in an effort to stop it, her nails biting into her palm painfully. Too late, she realised that was the wrong thing to do as a fierce pain travelled up her left arm, reminding her of the break Ratchet had just treated.

“Shit!”

She shot up into a standing position on Optimus’ palm, cradling her injured arm against her chest. Optimus did not reprimand her for swearing, or indeed say anything at all, but she could feel the weight of his gaze on her. She could hear the quiet click of his optics as he blinked and the whir of their housings as he tracked her frenzied movement across his palm.

She peeked over the edge of his hand to see how high she was, her heart sinking when she realised, she would not simply be able to slide off. A louder intake of air finally made her look up, the sight that met her eyes making her wish immediately that she hadn’t.

Optimus’ face was a mask of inscrutable emotion, save for the set of his optic ridges. They were tilted upwards by a fraction of an inch, denoting only a hint of the feeling swirling within him. He regarded her for a long time, his blue optics unblinking. She could not hold his gaze and dropped her eyes back down, tears threatening.

“By the AllSpark Cordelia…what could have possibly been going through your head to make you think that running into the middle of a battle was a good idea?” his voice rose slightly at the end, betraying the effort he was going to to keep his emotions in check.

Cordelia could find no words to answer him at first, the confirmation of his disappointment in her too heavy to bear. Her bottom lip quivered as treacherous tears fell, dropping soundlessly onto Optimus’ metallic palm. She worked hard to control her breathing, not wanting it to run away from her.

God, at least let me keep control over one damned thing!

“Cordelia?” he pressed her gently, evidently not taking the silent treatment for an answer.

She took a deep breath, trying to arrange her thoughts into something legible so that she could understand them, not at least to convey them to Optimus.

“I…I thought Hannah was in trouble, so I went looking for her. I snuck out of the shelter, and I went to her barracks. She was there and she said that the emergency shelter had been attacked and that her dad had said to go to the command centre. I didn’t see any reason as to why it wouldn’t be true…there was nothing.” More tears fell, punctuating her answer with the sad burden of Optimus’ evident frustration.

“Cordelia, the base is filled with experienced and trained personnel who would have located Hannah if she was in any sort of trouble. It is not your job to go looking for people who might be in danger! Do you realise what could have happened today?”

A sudden flame of anger ignited within her, burning through any shame she had previously felt.

“Of course I realise what could have happened!” she hissed, taken aback by the venom in her own voice, but it was not enough to stop her. “Don’t you think I know what could happen every single, solitary day?! A Decepticon could drop a rocket on my head, a new liaison could order me away or put me into federal custody at any moment because of my connection to all of this!” she threw her hands up into the air, her anger snowballing.

“I have to watch you throw yourself into danger nearly every other day, not knowing if you’re going to come back! So yeah, even if I am on a base with ‘experienced and trained personnel’, I will get involved if I think it is going to make a difference to a friend of mine!”

Optimus showed no outward signs of responding to her outburst, his face infuriatingly calm.

“Cordelia, when I adopted you three years ago, I took on a responsibility for your safety and well-being.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air between them. She felt the solemnity of his words in the deep cadence of his sonorous baritone.

She said nothing in response, motioning with a small nod of her head for him to continue.

“You are not yet eighteen, and as such, I have a legal, moral and ethical responsibility to you. That includes but is not limited to your physical, mental and emotional health. That was an oath I made to you and an oath I intend to keep until you send me away or I am no longer physically capable of doing so.

“You are a choice that I make every single day, Cordelia. I make this choice partly out of a sense of duty, but above all, because I love you, so so much. And by law, you are my responsibility.”

Despite the outpouring of love she felt coming from him, her temper flared again, pushed over the edge by his leaning on legalities to enforce his protectiveness. Blood filled her cheeks as her heart rate soared, fuelling the fire that had already been stoked deep within her belly.

“For god’s sake Optimus!!” she shouted, her voice full of indignant anger. “I am not one of your soldiers!”

He held her in his steady gaze, nothing but pure love emanating from his optics. He was silent for a short time, the only sound between them her panting breaths as she tried to regain some sense of control over her wayward emotions.

“Exactly.” He said softly, a quiet reverence present in his gentle tone. “You are my daughter, and infinitely more precious than a mere soldier.”

His words pulled her up short, her anger extinguished as suddenly as it had been ignited. She struggled to process his words, understanding the meaning behind them but not fully taking them in. She had spent so much of her life hiding from pain and terror that accepting love, even though she had been with Optimus for three years now, still did not come naturally to her.

“You are my daughter, Cordelia,” he repeated, bringing her closer to his face. “And because of that, I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

Those words broke through the last of Cordelia’s feeble defences, and she crumbled into a heap on his palm, quiet sobs erupting out of her, as raw and unstoppable as a broken dam.

“Optimus, what can I give you in return? You are everything I’m not! You are selfless, loyal, brave and the kindest soul I have ever met! I can’t hold a candle to you. I don’t know why you chose me, because you chose wrong. You should have just let me fall and saved yourself all of this regret!”

Her head dropped to her chest again, heavy with the weight of shame that had abruptly resurfaced.

She felt the cool metal of his fingertip underneath her chin, tilting her face upwards to meet his gaze.

“I must respectfully disagree with you, my little one. I chose you because I love you. I protect you because I love you. More than you can possibly comprehend. And as for what you give me in return; you give it to me every day. You give it to me with the beat of your heart, with your infectious smile. With the faith and trust you choose to place in me, day after day.”

He dipped his head forward so that they were leaning forehead to forehead, despite their size difference. She could feel the subtle vibrations of his inner workings and the deliciously cool sensation of his metal skin against her own flushed face helped her to ground herself.

“And most of all, you have awarded me with the intimate trust of someone who I can simply be ‘Optimus’ with, as opposed to ‘Optimus Prime.’ You have shown me a part of myself I had long thought dead; the Optimus who remembers without regret. The Optimus who leads without shame. The Optimus who hopes for the future that we can build together. Cordelia – there is no greater gift to be given among Sparks than that of hope – for hope can light even the darkest hour. And where there is life, there is always, always hope. I do not, for one, single astro-second regret saving you, and I never will.”

He pulled back from her slightly, only to press his metallic lip plates tenderly to her forehead and press a paternal kiss there, one that spoke of the reverence and love which he held in such abundance for her.

She looked up at him tearfully, wiping her eyes with the back of her right hand. “I’m sorry Optimus, I didn’t mean to get angry with you. Thank you…for always being there for me. It means more to me than I know how to say.”

He held her close, bringing his free hand up to support the one he held her in. “Oh my little one. You never need thank me. Losing you is simply not an option. It is something that I absolutely cannot allow to happen. Not now or at any point in the future.”

She allowed herself to be wrapped in the safety of his love, content just to enjoy the moment in the here and now with him, her heart happy in the knowledge that she was perfectly safe with the Autobot leader who had given her everything she had long thought lost to her.

#transformers #optimus x reader #optimus prime x reader #transformers bayverse #transformers fanfiction #optimus prime fanfiction #my fanfiction #cordelia #blu's fanfiction #found family #hurt/comfort

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rogloptimist · 3 months ago

Text

when i first saw you, the end was soon

Primoz has been here before. He knows these hours like the back of his hand, he can trace the minutes like a signature, every second he has lived so thoroughly that simply moving through time is like walking home— until now. Until this. Amber tufts of hair. Gray eyes sharper than a scalpel. It’s as if he’s lived from birth knowing daylight, but for the first time in his life, has been shown a sunrise. Brightness is redefined.

He understands Icarus now. It was neither hubris nor stupidity that sent him barreling towards the ocean’s unforgiving waves, but the thrill of discovering a marvel you thought you already understood. If they put wings on his back and told him to fly, he doesn’t think he could resist the urge to touch a miracle either, whether or not it burned.

heeey guys i needed to perform an exorcism as assassin!rog + time loop!pogrog has been haunting my mind like i disturbed a grave so here it is?? non-summary fic is below the cut, you can read it here on ao3

Primoz comes to as his hand shakes off the dripping plaid umbrella in his grasp. His vision lags for a moment, the droplets seeming to scatter in slow motion before his senses snap into place like a rubber band pulled taut and released, and the world comes into abrupt focus. He’s standing in the middle of a concrete staircase, the gentle sunlight streaming through the rain-slick glass dome above him hitting like a punch as the warmth registers all at once. The sound of hurried phone calls, pattering rain, and intercom announcements rush into real time like a slow clock hand catching up with the second. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking off the dazed feeling collecting in his temples. Three uniformed schoolboys bolt past him, cackling and grabbing at each other’s collars to pull themselves up the concrete stairs— he sidesteps as to not get trampled. On his wrist, his watchface reads 5:14:37 pm. About 15 seconds for his mind to connect stimulus to his body. Not a personal best, but it’ll do.

His black loafers click rhythmically against the ground as he begins to walk down the remaining steps. The air is sticky with humidity, making his white dress shirt cling to him like wet paper. He appears to be decked out head to toe in corporate attire- a nondescript black suit utterly unsuited to the weather, mahogany tie tied slightly too loose, still-wet umbrella in one hand, and leather briefcase in the other. He hopes there’s a firearm inside-- or a knife, at the very least. With his luck, though, it’s likely manila folders full of legal jargon. He stops at the base of the steps and cracks the latch open to confirm his suspicions- nothing but stacks of papers in what looks to be a language he can’t even understand.

That’s fine. He can improvise. He clicks the case closed and continues forward.

A quick turn around a bricked wall reveals a few things he doesn’t like. First, more people. There are masses of people flowing up and down the stairway and through the small shops littered throughout the station. From the looks of it, it seems to be the beginning of an evening rush hour. He doesn’t like killing in a crowd- too many eyes, not enough space, and it becomes a pain to reach the target in the first place. The effort typically isn’t worth his odds-- even less so without a decently subtle weapon.

Second, he’s inside of a subway station. Moving vehicles, particularly ones that he isn’t driving, add infinitely more variables to trailing a target. Not to mention it appears all the signs are in the script written all over the documents he’s lugging around- Korean, he thinks. Upon closer inspection, there are English translations underneath, but he’s still not pleased-- being unarmed on the job during a foreign country’s rush hour is likely a grand total of no one’s forte. He fights the urge to curse himself for taking work nearly exclusively in Europe for the last few years of his career. Panic makes him sloppy, and he can’t cover his own bet on an unsteady hand. As he approaches the turnstiles blocking off the remainder of the station, he swallows the beginnings of alarm creeping up his throat. He checks his pockets for a ticket, transit pass, a wallet- anything to get him onto a train legally, for the most part. Shockingly, he finds a crisp, one way ticket from Myeongdong to Apgujeong in his breast pocket. He lays the slip on the scanner, allowing himself a small sigh of relief, and silently crosses breaking and entering off his list of chores. Once through the turnstiles, he checks his watch. 5:18:57-- he has about 22 minutes. Time to pick up the pace.

As he follows the signs directing towards Track 3, he melts into the crowd around him. This is where he’s most at ease: floating in his environments like shadow through liquid. Back at the agency, there was ongoing confusion and debate as to whether he was a control freak, or simply didn’t care. The answer? Both. Primoz craves a gamble-- but unlike most junkies, his obsession lies in carefully reconstructing the odds around his bet. The thrill comes from engineering the chain reaction, not the explosion itself. He likes to test himself. Controlled risk. An intercom announces that the train will arrive in 10 minutes as he rides the wave of people towards the glass-gated tracks, barely even corporeal. For his own schedule, he’s down to 19 minutes. He settles against a pillar and does what he is best at-- he waits.

* * *

The train is utterly packed. Every time he thinks it’s about to empty as passengers flood out, just as many people (or inexplicably more) board the train for the next stop. He’s been wedged in between a little old lady holding a massive icebox and a college student who looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks for the last eight minutes- the latter of whom keeps nodding off and falling into Primoz’s back. As best as he can without pummeling anyone in his immediate vicinity, he checks the time again. One minute. He begins to scan the train car for signs of anything unusual. He’s curious as to how things are going to play out this time around- practically nobody has the space to move, and the train isn’t due to stop for an additional few minutes.

Or not. Suddenly, his body is jerked forward as the train grinds to a violent halt. The intercom buzzes to life over the rising wave of confused chatter- first in Korean, then Japanese, and finally English. “Due to technical difficulties with the vehicle, we are currently unable to depart from our current location. We apologize for the inconvenience and ask for your patience as we address the issue.”

Well. There’s his sign. Like clockwork (which, upon second consideration, it quite literally is), he spots a bright green and navy blue jacket slipping through the yellow car door in front of him. Primoz snaps into action. He begins pushing through the sea of bodies, apologizing as he squeezes through the mess of limbs and heads. Through the glass, he can see the back of his mark doing the same. Good, he thinks. Better if we’re both slowed down. He reaches the door and bursts through, just as the figure pops out the other end of the horde. Apologies forgotten, he bulldozes his way through the crowd and pulls the next car door open.

This one lacks a window of any sort, and it takes him aback when he opens it to see the car is nearly empty. Green jacket is nowhere to be seen, and there’s about 6 people scattered around all looking curiously on guard. Seeing as to how they all draw blades or battering rams of sorts the moment he stumbles into the car, he can guess as to why. Stupidly, his first instinct is to check his watch and think, six minutes earlier than usual, giving an excellent opening for the nearest man to lunge. It’s only muscle memory that makes his right leg kick out towards his attacker. Luckily for both parties, however, at that exact moment, the train jolts into motion. “We apologize for the delay, and hope you have an excellent remainder of your trip!” the intercom chirps as both men tumble to the ground. Their eyes meet in brief and mutual mortification before the entire car jumps back into action. Various deadly objects begin flying at Primoz, and he barely has time to block a knife whizzing towards his face with the briefcase (if he had one, he would take a moment to thank his past self for not abandoning it in the station) and jump to his feet before the assaults redouble. He stands, slightly crouched, and six bodies descend upon him in a frenzy.

As is commonly understood, the human body’s near universal response to immediate threat is to fight, flight, or freeze. However, it’s been in Primoz’s job description for nearly the last quarter of his life to reject all three. He is paid to turn the tables, to swallow his pounding heart, ignore the blood rushing through his ears, and instead become the threat. He has painstakingly trained himself to remain perfectly level despite an onslaught, transforming from a man tasked with murder into a perfectly oiled machine. He responds to each strike with surgical precision. Every punch is meant to crush a windpipe, every knife he disarms from an assailant he puts to good use against throats and arteries. There’s not a swing that misses, not a single movement that goes to waste. The briefcase also continues to be remarkably useful- he takes two of his assailants to the floor with a crushing bash to the head, and hears ribs crack when he swings it at another’s torso. The umbrella, not so much. The thing breaks in half upon impact, but the broken metal pole makes for an excellent stake to the eye. In the back of his mind, he savors the violence. This is as close as it gets to being home.

And as quickly as it began, all the movement in the car ceases with a finishing knife to the back. Primoz scans his work. Certainly not his best, judging by the amount of blood on the floor. He much prefers to be the instigator of a conflict; being caught off guard makes him messy. He purses his lips at the caved in skull near his foot. He’ll have to do better next time.

Scratch that-- if he does well enough now, there won’t be a next time.

After shedding his blood-stained jacket, he escapes to the next car over. Thankfully, no one seems to have taken heed to whatever they were hearing next door. Or the train has excellent soundproofing. Either way, he goes unnoticed as he does his best to compose himself while pressed against a wall. And as luck would have it, the train rolls to a stop at Apgujeong. He follows the flood of bodies out the doors as a cheery voice thanks him for his passage over the speaker. He looks around, and doesn’t see much that’s new-- more concrete tunnels and tiled walls.

Okay, he thinks. What now?

By instinct, he looks at his watch. After no longer being able to rely upon basic truths of his environment, he has learned to live solely by time. He’s dissected the constant reiterations of the various worlds he is thrown into by the second-- although he may be in the middle of an abandoned amusement park one day, and a salt marsh the next, he has the patterns of events carved into the back of his eyes. If he doesn’t know how disaster will strike, he sure as hell knows when.

Which is why it is deeply disconcerting when he looks down and the analog face reads 6:02:19. Again, ahead of schedule. By about 11 minutes, in fact. The initial onslaught after the first moment of crisis ends at exactly 6:13:29- no earlier, no later. Never. He looks around, feeling as if he’s forgotten a limb on the train. He scans the space for anything suspicious, but sees absolutely nothing. Are there things embedded in the walls? Drones? Once, the loop put him in some sort of space station where an army of microbots swarming through the vents and cracks between metal plating bore through his skin and crawled through his lungs. He particularly hated that one. He finds an empty plastic seat nailed to the wall and pretends to go through his briefcase as he eyes the woman who he momentarily thought was staring right at him, before she began walking in the opposite direction. He shuts the lid much harder than necessary. He’s been thrown off his rhythm-- he feels like he's been blindfolded and told to steer a bike off muscle memory, he-- he sees something. In the corner of his eye, a flash of green and blue darts up the stairs. Recognition blares like an alarm bell as he begins sprinting in pursuit, subtlety utterly forgotten.

The figure weaves through the crowd, deft as a pianist’s hands. Primoz silently thanks whoever it is he’s chasing for choosing to don the most crass of greens on their shoulders that morning. The oversaturated windbreaker sticks out like a sore thumb, his eyes locking onto it instantly. The two are nearing the stairs heading up to the busy street above when the target suddenly takes a sharp right turn away from the exit, and Primoz briefly loses sight of them. In a panic, he follows in the general direction. Fortunately, the individual quickly returns into his line of sight. Unfortunately, they’re now inexplicably on the other side of a set of turnstiles. Primoz pats himself down for any more tickets, or perhaps a slip of cash that he missed earlier, but no such luck. Not that he’d have the time to buy a new pass anyway, though. He looks at the green and blue-clad torso getting smaller in the distance, then at the attendant assisting a young tourist at the ticket station next to the turnstiles. He mutters a quick apology and leaps over the metal bars, hardly hearing the shout of surprise and ensuing multilingual demands for his return as he runs forward and disappears into another crush of people.

The pair snake their way through the station at a distance as if connected by bungee cord. Every time Primoz tries to get closer, someone stops directly in front of him and blocks his way, every time he’s on the verge of losing the trail, a path miraculously opens. They make their way through the concrete halls like this, bouncing around equilibrium, until they arrive at Track 5.

He skids to a stop just as a few stragglers board the closing train. The glass doors separating the station from the tracks are nearly shut, and Primoz thinks he finally has his moment, when the figure sharply dives toward the leftmost door, just barely making it inside. Primoz on the other hand, isn’t quite fast enough to bridge the gap from the turn in the tunnels to the departing vehicle. Astonished, he watches as the train begins to inch forward. The figure turns around and meets his gaze through the glass. A young man-- barely in his early twenties, with a shock of spiky honey colored hair and slate gray eyes. He cocks his head at him, slightly, then the train snaps into its full speed. Primoz almost thinks he sees him smile as he disappears into a blur of color down the dark tunnel. The last thing he notices about the train itself is a large ‘131’ printed into a white circle on the doors of his mystery mark’s car.

That was the door? It’s hardly six!

Flabbergasted, he checks his watch. For a moment, he sees nothing but black screen, until the white digits begin to flash erratically. He watches the pixels jump across the small, rectangular face before they come to a stop, reading ‘83:29:41’. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he feels like he remembers the six digits from somewhere, but he can’t quite place it. He stares at the empty tracks, dumbfounded, heart pounding from the chase.

“What the fuck?!”

He has just enough time to hear his voice echo on the tiled walls before, hours ahead of schedule, everything goes black.

#it’s getting serious genuinely this au is making me crazy #i promise things will make more sense as it continues i just hate explaining time mechanics because i suck at worldbuilding #or at least i’ll try. pinky swear #primoz roglic #tadej pogacar #pogrog #cycling rpf #cycling #my writing

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keruimi · 6 months ago

Text

Her Breaking Point

Pairing: Semi Eita

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. Slight mention of self-harm

Note: It feels like he is very out of character but I think it really suits him the best. Not proofread. Hope you all enjoy it!

_____________________________

I am known for being the girlfriend of the popular student of the Academy.

Semi Eita.

A talented musician with flawless volleyball skills that makes anyone love him.

Including me...

Ever since we became a thing, I was the happiest among the two of us.

An average student that have no talent nor knowledge. I just simply did my best just to be accepted in the academy.

But I have no forte.

I treated him right. Treated him better than I did with myself.

I loved him more than who I am.

The never-ending judgement whenever I walk through the hallways. The doubting snickers from what I can really give to my boyfriend.

Everyone questioned our relationship.

The whispers were so cruel that even I questioned his feelings.

He have nothing to love on me.

I have a bad personality, I'm not good at anything.

I simply have no worth to be with him.

Yet I tried my best to not be possessive on every action he did. I wanted to trust him.

I don't want to suffocate him with my worries that it would make me look paranoid.

That I allowed him to talk to any woman who approached him. Never prevent him from receiving the gifts that were meant for him.

Until the new manager of the volleyball team arrived in his life.

A woman who simply at his worst times when his mind started to break down.

A woman who soothes his worries with the words he needed to hear.

Comforting words that should be stated by me.

His volleyball training became a stumbling block for us to have our alone time together.

Meaning more time with her.

Those thoughts never left my mind when I started to walk back home.

If it weren't for the strict coach. I could have at least be persistent.

Always remind him that I still exist. That our relationship still exists.

Yet a feeling that I am sharing my boyfriend so easily started to occupy my mind. That I don't care who he was with.

But it really hurt me.

When after those moments with her, he started to really become distant on me. When it feels like the relationship label was the one left for me to assure myself.

The more I watch from the sidelines, the more I notice how their relationship improves. While ours started to deteriorate.

Until it started to feel like there were no 'us' in their world.

He treated her better. While I watch in the sidelines because I couldn't force myself in.

It was not my place to be jealous or ask for something when she was there more than I did.

It made me feel so damn inferior.

Until the last straw truly threw every faith I held for our relationship.

When one day, waiting in the park as cloud started to gather in the sky. When minutes turned to hours.

Until I finally accepted the thought...

Of him forgetting our second anniversary.

I can hear my footsteps on the wet concrete floor as the rain poured hard on the place.

It was cold. Very cold.

I thought I should let it slide like usual. I let it slide because they focus on winning the spring interhigh preliminaries.

I gave him space for him to focus on.

But I realized that I was never his distraction.

When with the slight gap between the gym doors clearly displayed the bond between my boyfriend and their new manager.

They were laughing at the bench during their break time as they had talk with the team.

It made me realize, I was never part of it.

I was never part of his passion nor his life.

It was just a temporary feeling that he seemed to have forgotten long ago.

That I realize there's no use in our relationship anymore.

When he looked at her the same way he did to me when we both fell in love with each other.

I unknowingly let go of the umbrella I was holding as my biggest fear finally drowned me.

I made no effort to keep our relationship stable. I simply let him slip away from me because I don't want to be a possessive partner.

I don't want to let jealousy take over that would make him think I never trusted a man like him.

And I knew I shouldn't give him my entire faith.

I felt my feet step back little by little before I decided to turn my back on the gym.

With trembling hands and anger blooming in my chest. I throw my phone to the ground as I stomp on it many times to ease the uncomfortable feeling in my chest.

The jealousy, the hatred, the pain, and the heartbreak.

I don't know how to remove them from my chest.

I'm so jealous.

I thought if I had nothing to give, I could at least be understanding of him. I can make him feel free without restraining him from anything he wishes to put his mind to.

But it was damn difficult.

The rain, the heavy breaths, and clouded mind was the only thing I remember until I see red in my vision.

That brought me the present where a hand held the scissors that cut through the skin of my wrist.

Yet it didn't ease the pain I'm feeling.

It was simply impossible to forget the pain.

Forget everything in the world around me.

I heard knocking on the door of my dormitory as I heard his muffle voice which fueled the anger within me.

It hurts. Why did I make myself for granted.

"Y/n, answer me please"

The time when I finally started to hate him.

I felt the blood on my wrist trickled down on my hand as I slowly sat down on the floor of the living room.

I don't want him to enter my heart anymore.

Avoiding the man became easier, when I got sick the next day and that turned into a week until I'm finally suitable to attend classes again.

"Y/n? Are you really fine to attend class today?"

I heard my dormmate ask me as I pulled the sleeves of my uniform to hide the marks I gave to myself as I felt a tear escape from my eyes.

It's really tiring to hide everything.

"I'm fine"

I wipe the tear that manages to escape and find the courage to face the outside world again.

I conserve myself by finally starting to respect my space instead of tiring myself to make anyone like me.

When it is only temporary.

"Y/n, someone's looking for you" my classmate uttered when the last class was finally finished.

I looked on the window when I heard her words as the reflection of the mirror showed his silhouette approaching the table as I didn't bother looking back at him who settled my things on the side before he sat on my table, waiting for all of the students to leave before he started to talk to me.

"Y/n.."

"Let's break up" I decided to bring up the thing that prevented me from being who I was.

A relationship that should only be considered a label and title, not a sign of rights.

Yet amidst the anger, it felt like my heart ached when I uttered those words.

"Can we please not go there?" I heard him muttered yet I never bothered to focus my gaze on him.

"Why not? Its the best decision I can choose"

I felt his breath hitched from my words as I stood up from my seat to start packing my belongings so I can escape towards the comfort of my own bedroom.

"Y/n please, I didn't mean to forget about it. I was so busy and tired that it slipped from my mind but my presents and plans for our anniversary are already prepared at that time"

"So?" I snap at him as I finally turn to look at him.

"How does that change anything when your presence is not there? You wasted my time Semi" I watch how his eyes glossed from my words as I looked back on my bag to close its zipper before I felt his arms surrounded my body making me stay still in my position.

"I'm sorry please. It won't happen again. I'll do anything, just stay. I can't bear losing you" he cried out but only one word appeared on my mind.

"Liar..." I felt that word slip from my mouth as a whisper as I heard a sob leave his own lips.

"Y/n"

"Get off me" I removed his arms from before I took the straps of my bag when he kneeled in front of me that made me halt from my steps.

"Please, give me a chance. I'll do better. Just..." He bit his bottom lip as I felt my chest started to feel heavy that made my hand turn into a fist.

"You don't know how much I suffer when I choose to stay." I started off as I looked out to the window where the sun hid behind the clouds that block the light I need to calm my mind down.

"You don't know how worthless I felt when I chose to stay. Why don't you just ask your manager out?" I glanced at him down who looked up at me as he took a hold of my hand.

"I don't like her that way, Y/n. I promise"

"Promise and promises. But was never fulfilled." I look at him with glossy eyes.

"I never felt like I was yours to begin with. I never feel like I am your partner. Other than the first few months of our relationship before that time started to fade, what else did you give?" I snatched my hand away from his grip as I took deep breaths to calm myself down.

"You never tried giving me the time I needed because of practices. You never give boundaries to other women just because I stayed silent. Don't you know she became my biggest insecurity?" I stuttered out.

"Semi Eita, out of everyone. You are the person who made me feel like I'm not deserving of any love."

"Let those words sink in"

And I left the room in tears as I found my way back to my dorm.

I want him to leave. Leave and never look back like what he always did.

But it became difficult when he started to give his time to pursue me again.

Yet where will this end up again. That painful cycle will just repeat once again.

"Y/n, I brought you lunch since your dorm mate told me that you have been skipping lunch for weeks." His voice was so soft that I thought it was not the Semi Eita I once knew.

The hot headed, and competitive person I knew.

I slightly pushed away the bento before I continued working on the script for a grouping as I heard a sigh before he rested his head on the table.

"Y/n, it hurts"

It felt like those words made me want to stop from continuing my work as I felt the urge to just let out everything.

The pain I heard from his voice. The exhaustion was so evident that it feels possible that the moment he will stand up, he would lose consciousness.

"I badly miss you" his voice tremble followed by a weak sob that made me stop from typing on the keyboard.

We both feel like strangers to each other.

It felt like we couldn't see the person we once loved so much before.

"Stop it Semi. You're losing yourself"

I heard a low laugh before his hands reached my own ones.

"I really love you Y/n. I really do that why it hurts so badly" he stuttered out as I felt him tighten his grip on my hands.

"Is there really no other way to make things right?" He whispered as his grip loosened before he drew circles on my hands that began to remind me how much these small moments meant everything to me before.

But right now, it was something I never seek for anymore.

I got so tired that I'm not sure if that love I held from him is still here.

I don't know if it still existed.

Yet a part of me doesn't really want to lose him. A part of me questioned whether I acted too quickly.

Times when my mind became my own enemy just because of him.

Moments when I chose him over me.

"Semi-"

"I love you" he whispered that cut me off as I stared at his features that focused on the hand he was caressing.

Is it worth giving him another chance?

Just for the love that bloomed between the two of us before?

Those were the words that I thought to myself before. When that heartbreak and anger took over my heart until the love and happy memories I created with him saved the relationship I chose to leave.

I sighed in relief as I felt his thumb slowly apply the cream on my wrist as I leaned back my body on him who supported me from behind as my thoughts started to drift to the past.

I don't want to make him feel the feeling I felt before. The feeling of losing yourself because of love.

Because at that time, he was really so different from the man I loved.

The time where he would kneel in front of the dorm just to let him into my life once again.

The time he started to give me flowers, gifts that he usually never gave me. And even taking one flower from it so he knows when to buy me a new one.

The time when he never left my side no matter how much I wanted him to leave. The time he completely chooses me over the things he needs to finish.

It was those small things that made me want to give our love a second chance. A chance where we could be the better person for the other.

Where I can start to learn to speak for myself, say anything I wanted to say so the other would be aware of what could hurt me and what couldn't.

I was not that persistent that it became a miscommunication of feelings. Those miscommunications became a reason for small mistakes to be completely noticed.

It was a tiring memory but the warmth he radiates from his body as he soothes the wounds in my wrist.

He brought it up to his lips and left a small peck on it before giving a peck on my neck then to the corner of my lips making me smile and turn to look at him to give a quick kiss on his lips.

That break up became the reason for him to look after me better. Make the first move about everything if I started to hesitate on my words.

He finally made me content and secured.

A relationship that once hurt me. It became something we started to really cherish.

A bond that confirmed that...

He is mine and I am his

#haikyuu anime #haikyuu #angst with a happy ending #hq anime #hq #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyū!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu semi #hq semi #semi eita #semi eita x reader #eita semi #Spotify

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birdadjacent · 4 months ago

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Kimbell Art Museum / Louis I. Kahn / 1972 / Fort Worth, Texas, USA

The Kimbell Art Museum is largely regarded as one of the crowning achievements of modern architecture. It is constructed almost entirely from white oak, travertine, and concrete. Kahn is known for his monolithic, monumental designs inspired by ancient ruins.

To protect delicate art, daylight has to be carefully managed in museums. Many museums opt for 100% electric lighting, but for the design of the Kimbell, Louis Kahn worked with lighting consultant Richard Kelly on the aluminum reflectors which provide indirect daylighting to the interior of the museum without direct sun to harm the artworks. Here is a simple diagram I made showing how it works:

On a personal note, I visited the Kimbell Art Museum last year during a 10 hour layover at DFW on the way home from my grandmother's funeral, and while it looks simple in terms of its materiality and design, the lighting is phenomenal. When the sun was out, the ceiling would glow, and the whole space had gentle, warm light. When a cloud moved overhead, you could see the lighting becoming softer and bluer in real time. Photos really don't capture the effect, so if you're in the area, I can't recommend visiting enough. Admission is always free.

Photos and additional information: 1, 2, 3, 4

#modern architecture #architecture #louis kahn #kimbell art museum #rowan's architecture corner #photos 2 and 3 are mine!#kahn was really ahead of his time with how he used daylighting in his buildings #so i wanted to do a bit of a more in-depth post to show HOW good architecture works #beyond a sort of purely aesthetic post #i remember my professors first talking about this building and thinking 'that's cool but it's not as good as they're talking it up to be'#but experiencing it is really different. it lived up to the hype. no. surpassed it.#the art collection is quite good too if the architecture isn't convincing

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craftsmanconcretefloors · 11 months ago

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g2web · 1 year ago

Link

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aclowntiny · 2 years ago

Text

It's Not Easy Being Green- Jongho x Female!Writer!Reader

woohoo this title is a pun because green like new but also drink haha get it??? MORE COFFEE SHOP MORE >:) but we get to mix it up, no barista!reader this time hehe. Also, Jongho with glasses???? I simp

Word Count: 3089 | Coffee Shop, Fluff, Faint Angst | Warnings: I mention Fifty Shades of Grey just by title lmao

The sun remained faint beneath the cover of clouds and morning. A cool breeze blew, blessing what bits of Jongho's skin it could reach. He sighed to himself at the release, having just left a morning gym session and still feeling a tad bit sweaty despite wiping off.

As he shook out his hair, Jongho spotted a café two doors down from his position, deciding to stop in on the way back and get an iced coffee. Anything to cool off and regain some much-needed energy.

He was second in line despite it being so early. The girl in front of him probably had work, he considered. She did have a laptop case in hand, after all, though it didn’t appear she was dressed up. Huh.

When she was done ordering, he stepped up to the counter, ordering a caramel iced coffee from the kind shop owner, a lady about ten or fifteen years older than Jongho himself, before making his way to a seat. The girl that had been in front of him in line was now sitting at the table adjacent to his; she had pulled out her laptop, typing away as she waited. Wow, hard worker.

A few scrolls on his phone later, Jongho glanced up to watch the woman shuffle happily over to his table neighbor, placing a cup down with a smile and a “Here you go, (y/n). What are you working on today?”

The girl, (y/n) apparently, smiled back. She had a kind smile. “The same one as usual,” she sighed, “but you know I love it.”

“I do. You know I’ll read it when you finish, right?”

“If I finish it.”

“You will. I know you will. You're so close.”

“Thanks, Dahye-eonni.”

Jongho couldn’t help but smile to himself at the warm interaction. Clearly the lady was friendly to regulars, doing more than just serving them coffee. He couldn’t help but feel curious about what the girl was working on, though. Glancing over, he met her eyes, prompting her to smile, so he took his chance.

“I heard you’re here to work- what is it you’re making?”

“Well, I write, which you probably guessed by the reading comment,” you answer with a chuckle.

“Like essays or a book?”

“Novels, yeah.”

“What are they about?” Jongho found himself asking before he could stop and think.

She got shy suddenly, her eyes dropping from his. “Well, I won’t go on and on, but I can tell you a bit about what it’s about.”

“Sure.”

The café owner, Dahye as (y/n) called her, slid in and dropped Jongho’s drink off as he listened to (y/n), making a joke about her bringing more regulars in.

“She’s here every other morning for a matcha latte and a quiet place to write,” the woman explained with a smile as she looked back and forth, “doesn’t she have an amazing imagination?”

She sure did have some big ideas for her story, things Jongho would have never even considered. He had some artistic skills, sure, but crafting characters and stories like that wasn’t what he’d call his forte. And the fact that (y/n) did it almost as second nature?

“Yes, she does.”

The way she beamed alone was worth the comment.

It wouldn’t hurt to stop by that café again. Dahye was nice, the coffee was good, it was a nice place.

The image of (y/n) flashed in Jongho’s head. The coffee was good, he repeated to himself simply.

She was there. Jongho saw her seated already by the time he’d entered, laptop out. He found his eyes scanning the stickers on its (y/f/c) surface, taking in the things she liked before they flicked over her face. She looked focused, determined, eyes not even leaving the screen when she took a drink, reaching blindly but straight for her matcha and bringing it to her lips as she typed with one hand.

Chuckling, he crossed the stained concrete to the simple white cash register, venturing a protein latte since he wasn't looking forward to what Wooyoung was making for breakfast that morning.

The chairs were faintly bowl-shaped, Jongho falling a bit into their embrace as he took a seat at the same table as last time. The one facing (y/n).

For the first time, she looked up from her screen, LED light reflected in her eyes as she gave Jongho a smile, one he immediately returned.

"You come from the gym, don't you?"

He nodded.

"Look at you being all healthy and stuff," you teased, one corner of your lips quirking up a bit more.

He shrugged, amusement playing on his own expression. "I just enjoy staying active."

"I wish I had that," (y/n) replied, glancing down a bit, cheekily sheepish.

"If you did, though, we wouldn't have your great stories, right? I also wish I could do what you do, but you know what? You can train, get stronger and stronger, but the spark of telling a story is either there or it isn't. It's hard to make yourself good at understanding characters, you know?"

Nodding, (y/n) peered into Jongho's eyes with wide ones, the color of which really was quite nice. "I guess I never thought about that before. That sounds like something out of a book, though!" You both giggled at that.

"Well, work it in then," Jongho teased.

"If it ever fits in, I will. Guess I need to write a writer."

"Well, you'd know how to do that."

"Are you kidding? Half my job is just staring at a word doc. It's like this meme. Hold on," you told him as you reached into your pocket for your phone.

He'd gotten up a little earlier and worked a little harder. Thoughts of his plan both sped him up and spurred him on, suddenly making his gym trip seem secondary- a stepping stone along the way, albeit a sweaty, barbell-laden one.

Jongho had decided to buy (y/n) her latte for her this morning. Dahye greeted him with a wave and used his name, cementing his unwitting regular status as he leaned on the counter. The woman gave a smile that rose straight to her eyes when he ordered both a caramel iced coffee and a matcha latte.

"Oh?" She inquired, gaze boring into Jongho's.

"I decided to surprise (y/n) with it. Would you mind making it for her when she comes in?"

"Not at all," the kind woman answered, clicking the pen she held in her hand out, in, out, in, "Are you going to stay and watch?"

"Of course," it was Jongho's turn for a scheming look, "but not from my regular spot, I'm going to hide around the corner."

The café seating area was L-shaped, stretched around the kitchen and treated to a minor visual separation in the form of a small decorative trellis. Jongho positioned himself behind ivy to wait for both his coffee and (y/n).

The bell tinkled. He'd timed it well, then, (y/n) arriving right before his own drink was done. She stood, laptop bag slung over her shoulder, and waited a few moments while Dahye puttered around the kitchen, pouring this and measuring that. Enough pours and measures and a frown of confusion furrowed (y/n)'s brow, though she remained in place, hand fiddling with the strap of her rectangular computer bag.

"Sit, sit," Dahye finally urged, popping from behind the counter to wave her hand forward and back at (y/n) as if shooing a bug, not a woman, "I'll be right there."

Jongho had to suppress a laugh at (y/n)'s confused face, brow furrowing even harder and eyes squinting slightly. This was turning into far more than he thought it would.

(y/n) slid into her usual seat and pulled out her laptop with a shrug. Just as she was opening up the program she wrote on, though, Dahye appeared at her side with a mug of steaming green.

"You didn't take my order," she told the older woman.

"I didn't need to," Dahye shot back, "it's been covered already."

"Wha-"

Jongho chose this moment to pop out from behind the ivy with a wave and a small "surprise!"

(y/n)'s eyes looked like she'd been handed a winning lottery ticket, not her go-to drink order. "Really?"

"Absolutely. You've been working really hard, it sounds like, so I just wanted to take a bit of burden off of you, maybe make you smile?"

"You did," (y/n) replied, beaming, "my manuscript is almost done and it has been really stressful. I feel like a disgusting little hermit, but I want to be submission ready more than anything."

"You don't look like a disgusting little hermit," both Jongho and Dahye chimed in at the same time, followed by a shared glance and smirk from the latter, which caused the former to suddenly break contact uneasily.

"You guys are too sweet," (y/n) giggled, taking a sip of her free drink with a little shoulder dance of joy at its taste.

"We're your fan club," Dahye remarked, "though I think Jongho here is taking over as president."

He started. What did she mean by that? "I'm sure I'll be an even bigger fan when I read the whole novel. Good luck, (y/n)." And with that, he took up the iced coffee he'd purchased and strode out, giving the writer one last smile and wave.

"Ok, this is it!"

Two more café visits later, (y/n) had hermited her way into having a submission-worthy format on her novel. Her words, not Jongho's, though he'd been there for some of it about four days past, hours of staring and clicking with some breaks to talk about her characters or worries that no one would want to read what she was writing.

"I'm sure they will. I mean, look, Fifty Shades of Grey sold and all people do is make fun of how badly written and uncomfortable it is. Your sentences actually sound intelligent and contribute something good to people's brains."

She giggled at that. Jongho's straightforwardness was refreshing to her, she'd told him. No need to question his motives or anything like that. "You probably give the best criticism, too."

He hadn't thought about that before, but a sudden wave of motivation to give her the best criticism if she asked it of him had hit when she'd commented that.

She wrung a napkin in one hand as the other hovered over the track pad of her laptop in preparation to submit. Before clicking, she paused, a few heartbeats passing as she glanced between her now-empty matcha mug and Jongho. "Wait."

"What?"

"Should I change the tagline on the cover here? It looks corny now, I feel like I could put out better. But what quote would I use?"

"I like that one you posted on the graphic on your instagram the other day," Jongho suggested with an approving nod.

(y/n)'s eyes lit up, their lovely color shining as bright as ever as sunbeams cut through the latticed windows of the shop, stopping in their tracks upon reaching her irises. "You followed my writing page?"

"Of course," Jongho responded with a soft smile, "I'm in your fan club, remember?"

She smiled. Backspaced. Typed. Submitted. "I feel confident now. That was all I needed," she told him, reaching over to lay her hand over his as it rested on the table.

Confident was how she should feel, Jongho's brain managed to override his somersaulting heart, how she should view herself all the time. Capable. Skilled. Wonderful at what she does. Pleasant. No, a joy. He wanted to be what she needed again. And maybe again and again.

"No, you're the president, remember?" Dahye strode by with another customer's dishes in hand, chiding Jongho with a wink.

Ignoring that, he pulled out his phone to show you a writing meme he thought you would like, grinning widely when you showed him you saved a gym one to show him.

Something was wrong, Jongho could see that the moment he detected the absence of (y/n)'s laptop or its bag at her table. He still ordered her drink, maintaining the custom he'd begun a handful of trips back, but he asked Dahye if she knew anything.

"Stop her from spouting that nonsense," the woman told him, "you're the only one that can."

"What does that mean? Why are you always saying things like that?"

The café owner just looked at him, dark eyes daring his. "I think you know why, free matcha boy. Now get over there. She's more blue than green today, at least for now. You're the one to add that sunshine yellow."

Jongho squinted into her nonsense. "I think you've been hanging out with the literary types too much."

"Just get in there and cheer my other regular up. I'll bring you two donuts."

"Just one, I'm not a big donut person."

"No, you have all the sweetness you need, don't you?"

There was no defending himself from the remark, not when his eyes involuntarily slid (y/n)'s way at the mention of sweetness. Sighing at the way her head fell into her bent arms, he strode over to her table, taking the seat next to her instead of the one across from her like usual. Heart beating a little faster, he tentatively raised a hand, hovering it over her back before thinking better of it.

"(y/n), are you alright?"

She shook her head, glancing up at him with tear-filled eyes. "I got rejected."

Jongho's heart was really hammering then; any moment it might burst out of his ribcage. "What kind of fool would reject you?"

"I told you people wouldn't be interested in the type of story I told. Not enough drama. Not that they said that, of course they had to be vague and just say it wasn't what they were looking for so I don't even know how to improve! I don't even know what I have to change, and with that I can't grow into an actually good writer-"

"Whoa," Jongho interrupted, leaning a bit closer to her with a jolt of pleasure at the feeling of their arms brushing against each other, "I'm going to have to stop you right there. You are a good writer. Remember how frustrated you were with your classmates in college barely having elementary sentence skills? That's because they aren't good like you are. Have you heard Dahye talk lately? She's become more and more colorful thanks to you. The way you put the world out there, even if it isn't this one, has changed the way she sees everything."

"It has?" She sniffled, sitting up a bit.

"It has," Jongho repeated, "and your story doesn't need to become something it's not over one rejection. Harry Potter got rejected, like, five or eight times. Would you say Harry Potter was not successful?"

"No," (y/n) muttered, shaking her head.

"And this is only your first try. Sometimes we crash, but that doesn't mean we're destroyed."

"I feel destroyed," she replied quietly, "I don't want to write anymore."

"You don't have to right now, but don't stop doing something you love because one person doesn't like it. You have plenty of followers, you have Dahye and me, and we all like it just how it is. I never want you to feel destroyed. I like you too much."

A single tear slid from her widening eye, cutting a glistening path down the lovely curve of her cheek. "You like me?"

Jongho gasped, not really having planned on confessing like that, but he was nothing if not straightforward. No going back now. "I do. I only kept coming to this café to see you," he answered.

"I knew it!" Dahye called from the kitchen. That got a shaky chuckle even from (y/n), who ventured a bigger smile when Jongho's face lit up at her returned mirth.

Once again, he felt spurred on, like that runner's high that hits or the determination to finish a set, though expressing one's feelings was a far different exercise than pull-ups or a good jog were.

"I kept coming to see you and I really wanted to make your burdens lighter. That's why I kept buying your drinks. I just wanted to take care of you a little, especially if you weren't doing it yourself. I like the idea of being there to take care of you. To hear every bit of your stories from your own mouth. That's the effect you have on me, and I'm sure you could have it on countless other people if you put yourself out there and let them know you."

(y/n) just stared at him, eyes still wide, smile faltering and rising again tentatively.

"You, er," Jongho rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling awkward over the whole monologue, "don't have to worry about all the me stuff or answer that, but please keep writing, alright? You felt so confident the other day- don't lose that over one opinion, ok?"

"You're right," she breathed, nodding shakily, "it was like this in writing workshop, too. People tore one of my stories apart because one of the characters was too one-dimensional and one of my professors only craved extreme drama. I can't let that get into my head. Everyone is different. It's just...hard when you pour hours in and they don't like it. But it's like you said, I love to write. I do it subconsciously every day, imagining how I would describe things in words. I physically can't stop," she chuckled, the playful lilt returning a bit, "and I really won't if that's what got you to like me back."

"Back?" Jongho's face lit up again, awkwardness melting away like butter.

"That's right. I was getting a little worried my love interest character was going to shift gears and become a strong, athletic sweetheart if I didn't keep the reins on it."

"Well, I like your character's love interest as he is, just like the rest of your amazing story that you need to submit to more, better publishers that actually have taste, but could I try out being your love interest?"

"Wow, you just dropped feedback, a corny line, a diss, and flirted with me in one incredibly long sentence," (y/n) commented, dabbing tears off her face with a napkin, "how could I say no? I'd love to go out with you."

"Good. I already know what I want to do."

You gave one final sniff. "What's that?"

"I want to hear you read to me."

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #jongho #jongho x reader #jongho x female reader #female reader #coffee shop au

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