#like I have too much input coming in from my own parents or need to take their opinions into account too much bc they help out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wonwoonlight · 1 year ago

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my way to you:

of dreams and moonlight / jeon wonwoo

➝ Wonwoo x fem!Reader

➝ rich!AU // heir & heiress!AU // est relationship // best friends to lovers <3 // fluff // slice of life // theyre too fucking in love its sickening // wedding talks

➝ warning: curses, so much fluff it's disgusting, kissing, they love each other so much im just projecting bc i want this!!!! D:

➝ word count: 8k~

A/N: happy new year! a little something from me to any of you who might remember this couple <3 i miss them and i love them sm. tell me if you enjoy this?

my way to you masterlist

[✾✾✾]

You and Wonwoo don't want a big wedding.

Yes, you do want the extravagant, over the top wedding because you've always liked celebrations and you're not gonna miss out on the celebration between you and Wonwoo. But you don't want it to be a big one with a bazillion people you don’t even recognize: just an intimate one with your close friends and family.

Naturally, you can't always get what you want.

You also understand why both of your parents insist on having a big one. In a world where your prestige matters more than anything, a wedding between the youngest son of the Jeons and the only heir of the Yoons simply can’t be anything but more than perfect. The biggest, most perfect celebration of the century, if possible. It needs to be something that the word ‘grandeur’ can’t even comprehend because it’s out of its league.

So you settle for a middle ground.

“Okay.” You say as your mother and Mrs. Jeon brief you on the wedding concepts they have come up with. You don’t even listen to half the things they said, because you know they would do better than you anyway. They wouldn’t pick anything not to your standard, and while some details you might not agree with, you believe the whole wedding would be perfect even without your input.

“Dear…” Your mom starts, hesitates a little because she doesn’t want you to think they’re pushing you into this. “We… We would like your opinion on this, you know? You’re a planner yourself, we'd understand if you have other thoughts regarding this.”

“Mom…” You bite back a sigh, not wanting her to think you're tired of her. The relationship between you and your parents are getting better ever since, and even though it's been almost two years since that incident, all three of you are still trying.

It's a long time coming, and while the relationship is better, it's still not what you'd call harmonious nor ideal.

It's okay though. You have your faults and they have theirs. It's not going to be easy to change the dynamics of your family, but you're glad all of you have recognized that some things need to be changed and the three of you have been putting in efforts albeit the sweet time you're all taking.

Understandable. It's never easy to change a habit and the way you treat people--even your own family.

“I simply think you and auntie will do a better job than I am.” You say in what you wish to be a gentle tone. You don't want to come off like you're complaining, but you can't be faulted for not being too enthusiastic because you know from the beginning that your wedding wouldn't be your dream wedding.

It's okay, though. You're not complaining–it's just a thought you keep to your own self and you really are grateful that your mom and Mrs. Jeon seem to be very excited about the whole thing. After all, you're an only child and Mrs. Jeon doesn't have another child's wedding she's going to be a part of.

When you and Wonwoo announced that you're engaged, the two women cried so much that your father, the man who barely blinked even during a car accident he found himself in, panicked.

It was quite funny, if you're being completely honest. But since then, you could tell that they both are more excited about the wedding ceremony than you are.

And while there's a small voice inside you that's still disappointed because you're not going to have your dream wedding, you're genuinely happy that the two women who will mostly be in charge of it are, well, very happy about it.

You can give them this.

“It's your celebration, too.” You give them a small, genuine smile. And even though they wince a bit at what you might be implying, you don't mean anything bad, so you correct yourself before they get the wrong idea. “I understand, Mom. We kind of have no choice but to make it big, and it's okay. I told you I've accepted it. We didn't tell you about our wish to make it small to guilt trip you and Auntie. It's just something me and Wonwoo have talked about but it's okay. It's really okay. Just consider it silly musings on our part?”

Your mom, ever since the whole missing accident, has gotten very soft, too.

Well, either that or you simply haven't spent enough time with her before to be aware of her emotional tendency.

“Oh my–why… why are you crying?!” You panic, looking at Mrs. Jeon who seems to know exactly why your mom is crying.

“It’s just…” She clears her throat and composes herself, softly apologizes for the sudden emotional burst. “When… did you grow this mature?”

Feeling awkward, you're not sure how to answer that. You're not the most talkative in front of your parents, and sentimental talks like this are the worst thing ever because, as much as you appreciate it, you never know how to respond to them.

Not that you ever had to until now.

She didn't become like this right after that incident, but once the wedding planning begins, you find yourself spending a lot of time with her (and Mrs. Jeon, of course, but you've always been more comfortable with her than your mom) and that's when she becomes more open with you.

“Uhh…” You turn to Mrs. Jeon in desperation, asking for her help with your eyes. She simply smiles though and mouths you not to worry.

The wedding discussion continues for a little after that, but after you convince them that you're really giving them full control and they can proceed with anything while you'll simply join the discussion from time to time and for the final decisions, they know that there's no use trying to change your mind.

At least you're not completely abandoning the discussion, simply prefer to not be included in it intensely.

You go home (read: Wonwoo's penthouse) after that, and it's thirty minutes later that Wonwoo also returns, finding you unmoving on the couch, seemingly deep in your thoughts.

“Hey, princess.” He greets you, which you return with both of your arms extending towards him. He chuckles and happily pulls you into a hug, maneuvers the both of you so you're sitting on his lap and you just melt into his chest. “Long day?”

“Met Mom and Auntie for the wedding prep discussion.”

Wonwoo actually laughs, and you pout at him and pretend to get away only for him to tighten his arms around you.

“Did they give you a hard time?”

“Just… I don't know.”

He hums as he takes in your face; you don't look like you're annoyed, just a little tired and somewhat disoriented. You're probably still deep in your head and need more time before you're able to tell him.

“I'll wash up, then dinner, and we can talk about it later?”

You look up and stare at him for a few seconds, gathering your thoughts before you nod and peck his lips.

“You know me too well.” You kiss his cheek after that. “I'll order some Thai food?”

“Anything you want, my princess.” He teases you and avoids your punch just in time because he knows you and your violence tendency when it comes to that particular pet name paired with a certain tone of his.

An hour and a dinner later, you found yourself cuddled up on Wonwoo's bed–at this point your bed because you rarely go back to your place anyway and you've basically moved in with him the moment you got together–his fingers playing with your hair as you try to look for something on YouTube as a background noise to play on his TV.

You take your time, which Wonwoo doesn't complain about. He never does. He knows you too much to complain about anything that you do at this point, not that he has much to complain about to begin with. God, he’s too whipped it doesn’t make sense.

“I told Mom that I don't want to get too involved in the wedding prep.”

“Yeah?” He nudges you to continue, already aware of how you feel about the wedding preparation talks. “And what did she say about that?”

“She's not too happy, I reckon. But not in an angry way; I guess she and Auntie want me to be fully involved. But…”

“You're not enthusiastic because it's not gonna be your dream wedding anyway?”

“Yeah.” You sigh, in which Wonwoo can easily detect the guilt. “But Iike… I'm really grateful for them, Won. I really am. They seem happier and much more excited than I am planning the wedding, so I thought: why not just let them plan the whole thing? Plus it's not going to be easy to pretend to be invested in it all the time. I know I'm going to sound so spoiled and ungrateful but… I just want to get married to you surrounded by people who matter, you know?”

Wonwoo holds back a grin, still finding the idea of the two of you actually getting married to be surreal. He literally proposed to you again even if you've already proposed under the privacy of your hotel room because you deserve it. Obviously, you say yes. And yet, when anyone mentions your wedding and marriage, Wonwoo still can't believe it and he's very giddy inside.

“I know, love.” He caresses your hair and rests his cheek on top of your head. He presses his lip together as the gears in his mind turn, thinking if there's anything he could do to help. “You're right about them being excited, though. Dad says it's the only thing Mom talks about now.”

“Right?” Your smile is genuine, that much he can obviously tell. “That's why I thought I'd just let them do the whole thing. It's going to be their last chance to do it, anyway. After me and you, they probably won't be able to do this anymore.”

Wonwoo hums, but you're seemingly not done yet.

“Unless we divorce and you decide to remarry, I guess.”

“What the fuck?” He curses out of shock, not expecting those words to come out of you, and you laugh heartily at how scandalized he looks. “Why would you say something like that?”

You can't stop giggling, because Wonwoo rarely curses and when he does it's usually out of frustration that's been piling up. It sounds so childish to laugh over something like this, but you just can't seem to stop laughing despite the mock offense on his face.

Wonwoo pushes your cheeks together with his palms, making your lips purse like a duck, as he narrows his eyes at you.

“You do not speak like that, okay?” He reminds you seriously. “Don’t even joke about breaking up with me. You’re stuck with me, marriage or not.”

You scrunch your nose, and after struggling for a while, Wonwoo finally releases you and you grin at him as your arms wrap around his neck.

“You talk like it’s a bad thing.” You whisper shyly with a kiss to his cheek. “It would be my pleasure to be stuck with you.”

“Good.” He states shamelessly and it’s his turn to drop a kiss on top of your head. He’s getting brazen like that when it’s the two of you, which is a good thing because he’s now much more open to expressing himself instead of holding in whatever he’s feeling–good or bad.

Being with Wonwoo romantically for almost two years now, you find that there is still stuff that you don’t know about each other; that you still have a lot to learn and you’re happy to learn every single thing about him. You bicker quite often, because you’re the type to bring things to the surface as soon as possible while Wonwoo tends to bury them first and only uncover them later when it becomes a problem.

You’ve both learned how to take a middle ground for each other.

“Tell me about your dream wedding, then.” He says as you lay together, ready for bed. “I don’t think I’ve heard you talk about it after Jinyoung’s wedding.”

“You really want to listen to me talk about this?” Skepticism fills your voice and you look up only to see him shrug.

“Amuse me. I want to know what kind of wedding you actually want.”

You ponder for a bit, not actually having a detailed image of how you want it to be. During Jinyoung’s wedding preparation, you have a lot of opinions on what to do and what not to do based on his ceremony, but, funnily enough, you’ve never really thought about what your wedding would look like.

Having been the project manager for Yoon Holdings’ functions for years and now arranging Daisy Studio’s events and projects, you’re used to listening to what the other party wants and bringing them to life.

But to have what you want brought to life…?

“Do you not actually know?”

“It’s not that.” You whine and sit straight. “I just don’t know exactly the details of what I want.”

Wonwoo laughs at this, and he hugs you back into his arms before he lets you go to follow your posture. “It doesn’t have to be detailed, love. Just tell me what you have in mind right now?”

It’s then that you realize you’ve never talked about this with Wonwoo. Yes, you’ve mentioned some of your preferences during Jinyoung’s wedding preparation, but to actually talk about your dream wedding…? On top of you not having a real idea about what you want it to be, it just doesn’t occur to you to talk about it to him.

“Well, I want it to be an intimate one. Just our… main family? Maybe close cousins. And then Chaeyoung, of course. Soonyoung, obviously. Jennie will probably come, I don’t mind her being invited.”

“And that’s it?”

“Don’t tease me.” You glare at him. “I know I don’t have a lot of friends. You’re one of them.”

“Wow. Getting friendzoned, aren’t I?”

You look at him in warning once again, and he knows to drop it and he ushers you to return to his arms with a laugh. And when you settle on his shoulder, he tells you to continue which you find a hard time answering.

“I want the theme to be… celestial. I don’t know. I’ve always liked the stars and the moons, you know that, right? I definitely don’t want it to be an outdoor wedding. Hmmm…”

“Tell you what,” he cuts your musing. “Tell me everytime it comes up in your head?”

“Everytime?”

“Everytime.”

You grin at him playfully, settling inside the blanket to ready yourself for bed now that you don’t have to talk about your dream wedding anymore. You were actually excited to talk about it with Wonwoo of all people, and you were a little afraid if you don’t talk about it now, the topic wouldn’t come up again and you’d miss an opportunity to talk about it with him.

“Don’t complain once I do that everytime, mister.” You playfully wiggle your finger at him.

“I will never.” He smiles, and your heart melts once again and you didn’t even know it was still possible for you to fall for his smile when you see it everyday. “Now go to bed and have a good night, okay?”

“Alright. Night, Won.”

You dream of a wedding beneath the moonlight with no one but you and him.

[✾✾✾]

[sent a picture]

Soooo pretty right? But it- still a little outdoory for me

Won🤍: How is it not gonna be outdoor-y if it's a glass house, princess?

Shut up

You told me to tell you everytime!!!

I didnt do this so u would get smart w me😠

Won🤍: Alright, alright. Sorry.

Won🤍: So which part of it did you like?

All the flowers and the glass ceiling 🥹

Just look at them ugh

[✾✾✾]

“Hey. Sorry, I was in a meeting.” Wonwoo calls you back immediately after he got back to his office, noticing a miss call from you and a text with a single picture attached with no other message. “Anything happened?”

“Ooh, the one with SVT Inc.?” You recall him telling you last night. “How did it go?”

“It went better than I expected. I'll tell you at home. What's up?”

You hum from the other side of the call before answering. “Umm. I was trying this new fine dining with Chaeyoung and their table decorations are to die for. Like. For real.”

“Yeah?” Wonwoo smiles, already knowing where this is going. “Tell me about it.”

The both of you know Wonwoo is bad when it comes to design; that you could be explaining things in the easiest way possible for people to imagine and Wonwoo would still not get it unless you show him a picture, which you did. Still, he doesn't actually have the eyes for them and he couldn't really tell what matches with what and what do you exactly mean by “the colors seamlessly blending with each other”.

But you like talking to Wonwoo and Wonwoo likes listening to you, so the conversation goes.

“Anyway, I just wanna say how pretty it was.” You conclude almost sheepishly. “But you told me to tell you everytime!!”

“I did.” He laughs through the phone, his posture relaxes more and more the longer he talks to you. It's almost like the tension from the day all dissipating into thin air just through your presence. “And I'm not complaining, am I?”

“Alright. See you at home?”

“See you at home.”

[✾✾✾]

“Oh my… look at that.” You sit up, a little in awe at the scene in front of you. You and Wonwoo are watching a movie together, some random movie on Netflix that you don't even remember the title of. But a wedding scene is playing out and you can't help but gasp at the beauty of it all. It's not entirely possible for an actual event to look like that, it's not practical and it's really just pretty.

Wonwoo hums and proceeds to do the same thing he always does, asks about which part you prefer from this wedding scene and listens to you talk about the technicality of it all and the details that you loved on the scene in front of you.

He never cuts you off as you talk about everything at once, and only comments once you pause or when you ask for his opinion. You don't mind this, because you know his silence doesn't mean he's not paying attention.

“Huh.” You suddenly stop mid sentence and turn to Wonwoo with furrowed brows, and he tilts his head in confusion. “What's your dream wedding?”

Wonwoo blinks, never expecting this question. He ponders for a few seconds as you wait patiently, now leaning on the sofa and never taking your eyes off him.

Your eyes are full of anticipation as he finally looks up and smiles at you, his arm moves from his lap to your shoulder and pulls you close to plant a quick kiss on your lips.

“With you as the bride.”

You’ve never cried faster in your life before.

[✾✾✾]

The wedding is in three months and, decoration wise, everything is almost settled.

“What do you think about this?”

“Hmmh. I like them. But would you mind changing the shade of the tablecloths to a slightly darker one? It would fit better with the overall ambiance of the hall decorations.”

“Of course!” Your mom happily agrees, her assistant taking notes of everything next to her. Mrs. Jeon agrees too, and you think they are just content with the fact that you have an opinion you don't mind sharing. It's always like this everytime you open your mouth and ask if it's okay to change some things, they would just agree without much fight and proceed with your opinions.

You think it's probably their way of compensating, still feeling bad for not being able to give you your dream wedding even though they've toned down on the apologetic look, which you greatly appreciate. On the contrary, they look more energetic these days, which you might guess has to do with the fact that the wedding is so close by at this point.

“What are you doing after this?” You ask once the discussion ends, your mom's assistant already back to her office.

“We want to try this new tea shop in Gangnam, actually. Want to join us?”

“Oh, the one Mrs. Song has just opened?”

“Yeah. She's been asking me to go but I didn't have the time. So I thought I'd just go with Mrs. Jeon here.”

“I see. Do you have time for dinner with me and Wonwoo after that?”

“Of course!” Your mom says a little too quickly, in which you share a look with Mrs. Jeon and laugh at her embarrassed expression. It's then that you realize you've never really invited her to meals and have only shared meals together when it's a formal occasion or when you're over at the family house.

It's sad, if you really think about it. But you've decided not to dwell on your past relationship with your parents anymore. It won't do you any good, and now that you know what to do, that's more than enough.

“Give me or Wonwoo a call when you're done?”

“Sure thing, dear. We'll see you at dinner?”

“Do invite Father & Uncle if they're available, we don't mind.”

Your mom looks like she's about to cry at this point, another thing you still have no idea how to react to. Though you awkwardly smile at Mrs. Jeon and quietly ask for help with your eyes yet again. And as always, she comes to the rescue, taking your mom by the arm and tells you goodbye before she actually cries.

It's hours later that you see her and Mrs. Jeon again in a Japanese restaurant, a craving you've been having since last week. You and Wonwoo arrive first, your mothers not long after.

“Feels like I haven't seen you in so long, son.” His mom greets him as she sits down on the seat opposite of her son. “Drop by the house soon?”

“It’s been busy, sorry. But I’ll make sure to drop by, Mom.” He nods to your mom in greeting, then asks them about what they were doing prior and if they had fun.

“Yeah, how was the tea shop?” You join in, dropping the menu on the table now that you've decided what to order.

“It was better than I expected.” Your mom starts. “You should go some time and try their scones. You like them, don't you?”

You actually do. And you think that's the first time your mom ever says something like this to you and gets it right. A lot of firsts today, but you're accepting them with open arms and refuse to think about them too much.

“I will, mom.” You smile. “Father and Mr. Jeon couldn't make it?”

Your mom nods with a sorry smile, and you shrug before you tell them not to worry about it. After you order, the wedding talk starts once again, this time about the cake and menu, as you wait for the food to come.

As usual, Wonwoo listens and doesn't talk much, because he's gotten a lot of updates from you already and has pretty much told you about his preferences if any.

“You'll both be present for the cake tasting next week, right?”

“Yes, Mom, don't worry. I'll actually be there for once.” He grins cheekily. “We actually invited you for dinner because of that: to thank you for taking care of our wedding. It must’ve taken a lot of your time and energy.”

“Yes, I’m sorry we couldn’t really participate more and if you feel like we’re making you do everything, but we’re really thankful you’re doing all of this.” You add.

“Nonsense. We’re happy to do it for you guys. Don’t be sorry, alright? We’re the ones who are sorry we couldn’t make it your dream wedding but–”

You whine, something that your mom hasn’t really seen a lot of, and she smiles to herself at that, a reminder of how you used to be as a kid and the times she missed as you grow up.

“Stop it, Mom. I told you it’s okay. I’m already beyond grateful that you’re doing all the wedding prep, asking for my dream wedding is just too much. Please, stop feeling guilty. I'm not that spoiled, I promise you.”

Knowing you’d rather change the topic, Mrs. Jeon turns to her son. “You should've stopped by every now and then, too. Why would you make your fiancée do everything?”

“She knows what I like, Mom.” He nudges you softly, to which both mom laughs. “She knows what I want for our wedding.”

With you as the bride.

The words ring once again in your head, and you bite your lip to contain the stupid smile threatening to bloom. How can he still make your heart flutter like never before after all this time? You look down to your phone to hide your smile, pretending to answer messages you don’t really care about.

“By the way, about what you asked for yesterday…”

Wonwoo looks at both women wide-eyed and shakes his head just enough time for you not to notice.

“Huh? You asked Auntie for something?” You try to rejoin the conversation, putting your phone back into your purse.

“Yeah. Remember that meat pie Mom used to make when we were in university? I was just craving for them.” He makes up something on the spot, which his mom nods at, adding that she's making sure if it's okay to make them next week.

“Ooooh! Yeah I remember them! Gosh, now that you say it, it's been long since we had them, huh? Why didn't you tell me you asked Auntie for some?”

“Must've passed my mind.” He smiles sheepishly, glancing at the women across him sharing a quiet laugh. Just in time, the beverage you order comes in and the topic stops there and moves to another thing.

Blissfully unaware, you miss the knowing glances shared between the three parties of the table, too busy raving on the pretty cocktails they're serving you.

[✾✾✾]

“Do you want to come to my wedding dress fitting?” You ask one night in the middle of your skin care routine, Wonwoo scrolling on his phone on his bed.

“Isn't that a thing? Not to let the groom see their bride on the wedding dress?”

A sudden silence blankets the room, and you two stare at each other like some kind of realization hits at the same time. That you’re really getting married to each other.

That you’re his bride and he’s your groom.

Wonwoo jumps in panic when he sees you tear up, but you cover your face in embarrassment and tell him to go away instead. Wonwoo laughs as he relaxes, though he engulfs you in a hug despite your whine. Your arms hug him back though, and you tighten your arms like he’d let go.

“We’re really getting married, huh?” He whispers against your head, to which you nod and sniffle at, still trying to calm yourself down. “I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah. We’re really getting married, aren’t we?”

“Getting cold feet?” He asks jokingly, but your answer is short and firm, making his heart beats louder than he thinks possible.

“Never.”

You stay like that for a bit, until it occurs to you that Wonwoo hasn’t replied to your question so you ask him again.

“I’ll pass.” He decides, wanting to spare himself the heart attack he would get seeing you in a wedding dress. There’s a chance he would faint anyway, but he’d rather not have several fainting episodes before the wedding. “You can send me pictures if you want? Or I don’t mind being surprised too, whatever you feel like at the time, okay?”

“Hmmmkay. I’ll see when it happens then.”

“You’re going to do a fitting for the cocktail dress too, right? Did you say Jennie helped with the designs for that?”

“Yeah. Mr. Jang and Jennie collaborated for the cocktail dress, I think they made two or three even though I told them one would be enough. But, well, I can always use the cocktail dress for other functions so it’s okay.”

“You’re most excited about this, aren’t you?”

You nod happily, finally getting out of his hold to grin at him. Your eyes are twinkling like a child in a toyshop. “You know I love my dresses. Jennie showed me some of the final sketches before, and apparently they’re almost done, just need to make sure that my size hasn’t changed. But she wouldn’t let me see the dresses because she wants me to just see it with my own eyes.”

His phone pings, which cues him to let go of you to let you finish your skin care routine then checks his notifications, pressing his lips together to hide his smile.

Park Chaeyoung : One is enough right???

Park Chaeyoung : How can I convince her though?

Just discuss with Jennie and Mr. Jang. They probably knew which one would look best on her, too.

Also, you’re her closest friend. You would know, I’m sure.

Park Chaeyoung : I hate you😭😭😭

Park Chaeyoung : This is too much of a responsibility!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You know it’s for her, though.

Park Chaeyoung : I still hate you

Park Chaeyoung : Be thankful I know how much she loves you!!

Thanks.

By the way, the YSL bag that you said was out of stock in every store in the country is being delivered to your place. Mr. Lee is delivering it to you himself, so let him up.

Park Chaeyoung : Perhaps I like you a little

[✾✾✾]

Yoon Jeonghan : were all ready on my side

Joshua Hong : im abt 95% done!!!

Joshua Hong : so all shud be ok and finish on time

Thanks guys.

You've worked hard.

Would it be okay for me to go and check a day before?

Joshua Hong : sure!!!!

Yoon Jeonghan : just say when you go

Yoon Jeonghan : ill drag her smwhere so she wont get suspicious

[✾✾✾]

Kwon Soonyoung sent a picture

Kwon Soonyoung : this ok?

Great.

Send your sister my greetings.

[✾✾✾]

Kim Jennie : Oh. You're so going to die ;)

???????????????

[✾✾✾]

“Everyone's so busy these days…” You complain over lunch, eating take outs in Wonwoo's office after his meeting because you're craving for some katsu place nearby. “You're busy. Chaeng’s busy. Jeonghan's busy. Shua's busy. Even Soonyoung is busy. What are you all even up to?”

He tenses a little, then apologizes and says perhaps it's just that time of the year. The year is about to end, and even though it's still the middle of October, things are already picking up. Plus, with Young Master Jeon and Young Miss Yoon getting married by the end of November, Wonwoo’s company and Shua's studio are trying their best to wrap as many things as possible before you and Wonwoo leave for honeymoon.

“You know what this reminds me of?”

“What?” He indulges you.

“That time when everyone's busy and only Soonyoung was possible.” That feels like a long time ago now, something that you both can look back and laugh at even though it hurt before. “You were babysitting Jennie.”

“And you fainted because I took my eyes away from you for like three seconds.”

“Stop exaggerating.”

“And now you're all buddy buddy with her.”

“Shut up.”

He laughs and you join soon after, the rest of your meal flows in the blink of an eye. Time works in a funny way when you're with him, and you wonder if it'll change once you get officially married despite all the time you already spend with him.

“The wedding is already next month, isn't it?”

“I know, right? Felt like it was just yesterday I proposed to you.”

Wonwoo pauses, and you look at him in question as he stares at you in silence.

“Did you know I cried that night?”

“...what?”

“Yeah.” He smiles to himself, putting down his chopsticks and replays that night once again in his head. He doesn't think he'd ever forget the way you look and the way you ask him that question. He's pretty sure sometimes he still dreams of you asking that, over and over again like a broken player that he doesn't want to get fixed. “After you fell asleep. I cried for a bit in the bathroom just in case you woke up.”

It's weird what goes over you upon the confession. Wonwoo doesn't cry easily, and even though you've seen him cry three or four times before, you've never thought he'd ever cry because of you. Knowing that he has… You can't even think of teasing him for it, your heart filling with love beyond its size upon realizing someone out there really loves you to the point of crying because you ask them to spend forever with you.

“Thank you for telling me.” You say, surprising him. “You already know I cried when you proposed even though I knew it was happening.”

“I heard you cried when you're trying out your wedding dress?”

“Who betrayed me?”

Wonwoo laughs at this, but tells you he's not naming anyone and he's definitely not teasing you about it.

“I will probably be crying too when I finally see you in the wedding dress.” He says easily, making your heart skip yet another beat at how effortlessly he spews those words.

Fuck Jeon Wonwoo.

[✾✾✾]

There's a party you're attending tonight. Jennie said it's some kind of party that she's hosting to celebrate her last line of designs before her expected return to Ruby Corp.

She has told you to wear one of the cocktail dresses you tried the other day: the white one that stops right above your knees. You love every detail of it: from the subtle way silver stars and moons decorate the seam of the dress, to the lace that is just enough without making it look tacky.

It accentuates your body in all the right ways, but if you look at it long enough, it looks somewhat like a mini wedding dress, which is why you decided against wearing it to the after party because you don't want both your dresses to be white. You’re not sure if it’s really okay to wear it before your wedding considering how much it resembles one, but Chaeyoung’s insistence and Jennie’s confirmation convinces you because you actually love it the most out of the other dresses, which is why you're kind of excited when Jennie told you it’s really okay to wear that one.

She has told you to get your makeup done at the salon, too, because she's invited a lot of media and she tells you it's okay to do a more glamorous makeup than what you're used to. You still want a natural one, but Chaeyoung once again convinces you to do more and you give in because she looks way too excited for some reason.

Currently at the salon with her, you've decided to try one of the hairstyles you want for your wedding. It's something you still haven't decided, but your wedding is in two weeks, and you suppose it wouldn't hurt to try out some of the simple hairstyles you're considering.

Your hair is styled to beautiful curls, half of your hair is up in a bun that's sprinkled with star accessories, making it look like there are stars scattered on your bun. Chaeyoung takes a picture of it and shows you, to which you squeal at because it's simply too cute.

Despite how much you like how you look, you feel a little over the top. But Chaeyoung reminds you it's a fashion party so there would probably be people who dress way more excessively and you're completely fine.

“Wonwoo's not answering my texts at all. Wonder if he's okay…” you frown at your phone, your text from this morning left unread and unanswered.

Chaeyoung hums, not seemingly bothered by your concern.

“Maybe he's just busy. Your wedding is in two weeks and you're leaving for honeymoon almost immediately. He's probably making sure he won't be bothered during then.” Her answer is a little too perfect to the point where you might consider it scripted, but you're a little too concerned about Wonwoo to think about it and you quietly agree with her despite how you feel.

“I haven't been able to reach Han and Shua either…”

“Looking for me?” A familiar voice greets you and you wave at Joshua who's already dressed for the party. “Sorry, got classes all day.”

“‘Skay. Where's Han?”

“I think he's in a meeting with your father. Something about a merger?”

“Huh…” You frown, trying to remember if there's any talk about a merger that you've heard before. But, then again, you haven't been involved in the company for about two years now, you're not always updated and it might even be about some sub company that you don't know existed. “Makes sense. Why are you here?”

“Jeonghan will be late to the party so I thought I'll drive with you.” He grins. “I don't want to arrive there alone.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“Seungcheol.”

“Of course.” You should've known, really. Seungcheol never fails to report to Wonwoo, Jeonghan, or Shua everytime they ask your whereabouts. “Why are you dressed like that? It's a fashion party, dude.”

“Heh.” He shrugs, not minding the way you frown at his suit, definitely too formal for Jennie's party. “I got too busy and didn't have time to look for a fashionable outfit.”

“You still have time to change.” You try to convince him, not wanting him to embarrass himself there. “We'll probably be done in thirty minutes.”

It's then that Joshua takes a good look at you, looking at you from head to toe as his eyes water a little, which he blinks away quickly before you even notice.

“You're beautiful.” He says, startling you at the sudden honesty.

He's looking at you so softly that you're a little unsure how to respond to that, so you take the easy way and joke it away.

“Thanks. Wait until you see me at my wedding.”

This seems to make him smile even wider, and he carefully pats your head before telling you he'd wait around and he's too bothered to change so you don't have to worry.

Exactly thirty minutes later, you're on your way to the venue with Chaeyoung and Joshua. You're still trying to reach Wonwoo, but your call wouldn't go through and your text is still unanswered. You tried texting Chan, but he simply tells you his boss is busy and hasn't been able to check his phone, that he'll remind him to text you once he's able to.

That's enough to tame down your worry a little, and remembering you have a party to go to, you decide to let go of it and try to get in the mood. Good thing you have Chaeyoung and Joshua with you.

The three of you arrive in front of the building about forty minutes later, and you wonder why it's a little too quiet remembering how much of a fuss Jennie made it to be. But perhaps it's because you're still in the lobby; the party is on the top floor, after all.

Once you get to the very top level and you get off the elevator, it's still very much quiet, which makes you a little suspicious. But there's no reason for you to be suspicious of Jennie, so you ask instead if you're at the right place.

Just as they're about to answer, the lights go off and you jump at the pitch dark you suddenly find yourself in. You call for your companies and try to reach for them, but they're nowhere and you start to panic when something soft drapes over your eyes.

It's a blindfold, you register. A silk one by the feel of it, but that's not important because why are you blindfolded and you're trying to fight whoever's behind you.

“Trust me, okay?” Joshua’s comforting voice echoes against the empty corridor, and you relax a little as thousand different scenarios enter your mind. If there’s anyone you can trust, it’s Joshua, so when you feel his hand clasping yours and he leads you forward with Chaeyoung following close behind, you walk despite the way your heart is beating a million beats per second.

But when you hear the door open and close again, dark still engulfing you even after Joshua says you're allowed to take it off, what you find in front of your eyes once the light goes back on is beyond your imagination.

You see Wonwoo on the other side of the aisle, presumably smiling at you even though you can't really tell due to your vision getting blurry.

You take your time to look around the room, a glass ceiling displaying the night sky with the moon right above you, there are roughly only six tables in the beautiful room, decorated by your favorite flowers, your favorite color scheme, and every single thing you've mentioned to Wonwoo all that time. Somehow, even the stars are more visible than they have ever been.

“Princess?” You register your father's voice, his arm slightly open for you to take, and you don’t remember the last time his eyes stared at you with such gentleness. “Let's go. Wonwoo is waiting.”

You nod despite your unshed tears and your confusion, and as you walk down the short aisle and get to the end of it, you spare a few seconds to look at who's present. And upon realizing that they're all the people that are dear to you and Wonwoo, your eyes tear up once again at the realization of what's really happening.

“I told you I would do everything for you, right?” He whispers as you meet his eyes, trying his best to keep it together because, fuck, you look so beautiful it doesn't make sense. “I hope this is how you imagined your dream wedding to be.”

Before you can answer, the officiant, Yoon Jeonghan, cuts you off and proceeds to start the wedding ceremony. You can't even concentrate on anything, only focusing on Wonwoo and everything he's done for you.

Your brain is starting to put pieces together: the dress Jennie made you, the way your mothers seem less guilty, everyone being busy–how did he convince everyone to do this for you when they're all busy as hell?

Wonwoo starts his wedding vow, and you realize you'd have to do it too but you don't have anything prepared because you literally didn't know it was happening. You considered using the vow you're planning to use on your… well… wedding day, but you think that might not be fitting for this special day.

Your day.

“First of all. Thank you to all of you here who have scammed me and betrayed me by helping Wonwoo.” You pretend to glare at them, to which they all laugh to because despite your words, you look the happiest they've ever seen you be. You’re glowing, despite the tears that are threatening to fall and the way you’re trying your best to hold back a sob. “I… I'll save the lengthy vow for the wedding in two weeks and I'll make this quick. I've gathered that a lot of you probably helped Wonwoo in this, and I want to thank you for all the time and effort you've put into this–and even somehow hiding it from me to the point where it didn't even occur to me to be suspicious of any of you. I've always wanted my wedding to be a small one shared by the people who matter, like all of you here, and to know that everyone of you are involved somehow… thanks for making anyone who might surprise me in the future fall short to this. And to Wonwoo…”

You finally look at him in the eye, both your eyes tearing up as you share a moment between you two. You try to calm yourself down, and you grip his hands harder before you sob right then and there.

“Thank you for making my dream come true. You should know that as long as it's with you, it's my dream wedding already.”

Jeonghan takes the cue to announce you as husband and wife, and as your lips meet under the night sky, you could've sworn the moon has never looked so bright before tonight.

[✾✾✾]

✾BONUS✾

“You look so beautiful, dear.” Mrs. Jeon softly dabs her eyes with tissue to stop her tears from falling down.

“Thank you so much Aun–uh…” You pause mid sentence only now realizing she's no longer just Auntie for you. “Mom…?”

She cries when you call her that, and Mr. Jeon laughs at how dramatic his wife is being, though he officially welcomes you to the family as he tries to calm her down.

“Wonwoo made you both work overtime, huh?” You joke, but your mom shakes her head and mentions they volunteered for it when he brought up the idea. Your fingers, clasped around Wonwoo's, tighten, and his thumb caresses your knuckle as if reminding you to calm down. “Thank you so… so much. Wonwoo couldn't have done it without you guys.”

“I know. My son sucks at making events.” Mrs. Jeon adds, already calmed down. “But at least he has the head to think about this.”

“Alright, Mom. Thanks for your compliment.” He rolls his eyes in a joking manner, though he drops a kiss on her cheek and sincerely thanks your mom too for making the ceremony possible. “And thank you… uhh…”

You giggle at the same predicament Wonwoo finds himself in, but surprisingly it's your father who speaks up.

“You're our son, now. Call us Mom and Dad, Mother and Father, whichever you prefer.” He offers a small smile, which startles you because you did not expect this at all. You know he's happy you're getting married to the Jeons, but there's another kind of happiness in his eyes that you haven't seen in a really long time. “You've always taken care of our daughter, even when we're not able to. Continue to do it, alright? I'm glad she has you in her life.”

Wonwoo hides his smile and excuses the both of you to greet the other tables, and when you come to Shua, Jeonghan, Jinyoung, Jisoo, Jennie, Chaeyoung, and Soonyoung's table, you finally burst into tears even though you meant to pretend to be angry at them for deceiving you.

You blink repeatedly in hope your tears would vanish behind your eyes, but it's hard to do that when it's your father saying this. It's a confession you did not expect happening, but a part of you is relieved it did, and when your father pats your cheek and tells you not to cry, you nod despite the tears pooling in your eyes.

"Yes, Father. I'm glad I have her in my life, too."

Jinyoung and Jeonghan laugh, but the rest of the table panics and even the other tables are amused at your sudden emotional episode, nothing but adoration filling their eyes.

“How–how could you guys do this to me?!” You say between sobs, Wonwoo grinning sheepishly to anyone whose eyes he meets on apology even though he knows no one actually minds.

“How dare you guys not say a thing!”

“We made sure you look your best, though.” Chaeyoung squeaks, to which you glare at before you break away from Wonwoo and engulf her in a hug. Then Chaeyoung starts crying too, and soon so are Jennie and Jisoo, and even Lisa and a few members of the studio who you've gotten very close with start crying on their table.

“I love you so much.” She whispers as she hugs you tighter. “I'm happy you found each other even though you've known each other since forever.”

“I love you too.” You kiss her cheek, careful not to ruin her makeup and yours. “Thank you for making sure I look my best on my wedding that I wasn't aware was happening.”

You look up to the rest of the table, take turns to hug each and everyone of them because all of them are apparently in on it; Chaeyoung and Jisoo with the overall preparation, Jennie with the dress, Soonyoung with the catering, Jeonghan with the venue, and Joshua with the flowers.

“You don't deserve a hug because you didn't help but I will hug you because of Jisoo.” You narrow your eyes at Jinyoung.

“Hey! Who do you think helped your little husband here and convince him it's okay to do all this?” He teases you both and drops a quick kiss on your head.

Husband.

You look at Wonwoo, who seems to be stuck in the same word as you do. You share a look, and then smile at the same time and Wonwoo squeezes your hand until Jeonghan puts a stop to the serene moment and breaks it up.

“”Kay. That's enough. You both are too sappy. Let's move on to the first dance.” He shoos you both to the dance floor, and you laugh through your tears as Wonwoo takes your hand and leads you to the dance floor, right in the middle of the room beneath the night sky.

You look up once again, the moon exactly above you and him as you move together with the music. Your eyes are glassy the moment you find Wonwoo's which are also glassy, you don't try to hide your smile though, and you share that moment between you two, uncaring about the rest of the guests staring at you two.

Wonwoo leans down to kiss you square on the lips, and you press your lips back to his, the both of you smiling into the kiss.

“Hey, husband.” You whisper with a giggle, still shy with the title.

“Hey, wife.” He bumps his forehead into yours. “The moon is very beautiful tonight, isn't it?”

“Yeah.” You agree, your thumb caresses the apple of his cheek. “The moon is indeed very beautiful tonight."

[✾✾✾]

A/N: happy new year! idk if i'll be writing a lot this year but we'll see ig? i didnt think this would reach more than 5k lol. do talk to me if you enjoy this <3

#wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo fluff #khione.fics #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen au #seventeen fic #seventeen scenario #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #wonwoo au #wonwoo imagines

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victoria-daydreams · 7 months ago

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The Winner Takes It All || Challengers

Part I: Sugar & Spice

AN: Oh my god, taking a 6 week summer course 0/10 don't recommend. Seriously, y'all I'm sorry this took so long, I've had assignments due every week and I still have 2 more weeks to go so it will be awhile before another update, but oh my gosh guys, thank you so goddamn much to everyone who liked, reblogged, and commented! This chapter is hella long so hopefully this will make up to you! I've never written a character that's messy nor have I written a toxic friendship so I'm praying that it's somewhat accurate.

Trigger warnings: It gets real hot and heavy by the end of the chapter so MDNI!

Word Count: 6.3k

Taglist: @seriousaliysa @hopeless-y @malscorner @miximora @urfavesim @mmmunson @jackierose902109 @youngestxhearts @blkdivinefeminine @kailkailz @lottiematthewsceo @lonnie2390147 @begoniaespresso @everdayimagineer @pnkstalli @softimgyu @amethystwonders11 @hazbinh0e @ysuftmikey @summerssoverover @hummusxx @callumturnerwife23 @whitewashedghanian @brunettegirl

I tried to tag everyone who commented, but tumblr is being weird so I don’t know if you’ll get the notification.

Part Two: Maneaters

THREE MONTHS EARLIER - MAY, 2006

For the past ten minutes, Gianna had done nothing but blankly stare up at the ceiling of her sun filled bedroom. Splayed out on the soft, gray carpet, she laid in the middle of the floor as "Girl" by Destiny's Child played quietly in the background. A slow release of air escaped her lips, a weak effort to calm her overwhelmed mind that was currently battling a maelstrom of emotions. Gianna lifted her head up from the carpet and looked to her right.

"Maybe I was too hasty with breaking up with Drew," she remarked, a note of doubt creeping into her voice and tainting her usual confidence.

A small, thoughtful frown creasing her features before letting her head drop back on the floor with a soft thud.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Gia?"

Gianna wasn’t alone in her bedroom. Glancing sideways, her gaze landed on waves of brunette hair, warm golden skin, and nude plump lips. Tashi’s and Gianna’s heads laid beside one another, their bodies sprawled in the opposite direction.

"He was not worthy of any of your attention," Tashi stated, a sneer curling her lips. "Drew failed to realize who was the prize in your relationship," she added

For Gianna and Tashi, this was not an uncommon occurrence, lying side-by-side on the floor of Gianna's bedroom discussing tennis or boys. But, it was this aspect of their friendship that raised more than a few people's eyebrows, including both of their parents. Tashi exerted an unhealthy amount of influence over Gianna's love life. Gianna could probably count on one hand the amount of boyfriends she dumped based solely on Tashi’s input. There was always some type of flaw, big or small, which Tashi would zero in on to determine whether or not if a boy was right for Gianna. And was that oh so terrible?

Tashi was only looking out for her friend, weeding out the bad apples until Gianna meets the perfect guy. However, deep down they both know there was never going to be a boy that would meet Tashi's ever changing standards. There was no point, not when Tashi Duncan was the standard by which all boys would be judged and there was no one comparable to her, she was the cream of the crop.

"Drew's a little forgetful, but there could be worst qualities in a boyfriend," Gianna said airily.

"He's a future CTE candidate, Gia," Tashi said flatly. "How many matches did Drew 'forget' to come to?"

"He has his own football games and practices he has to attend," Gianna excused.

Tashi scoffed, "Doing what, riding the bench?" she retorted. "You need a boy who’s utterly devoted to you, worships the ground you step on," Tashi reasoned.

Gianna let out a dry, breathy laugh which sounded more like an exhale of air. Turning her head, she looked back up at the ceiling with her hands resting on her stomach.

"That's the difference between you me and Tash," Gianna began, looking back over to her. "I don’t want to be deified by a boy," she revealed, shaking her head.

"Why? Is it because my devotion is enough for you?" Tashi questioned, a smirk on her lips.

"Yeah, something like that," Gianna answered, her own lips quirking upwards.

"Hey," Tashi called, raising her pinky finger. "Pinky promise boys won"t come between us,"

"Easiest promise to keep," Gianna said, lifting up her pinky finger. "I promise boys will not come between us," she swore, hooking her finger with Tashi's.

Tilting her head forward, Tashi pressed a kiss to Gianna's forehead.

"We don't need them anyway, not when we have each other,"

~~~x~~~

There was nothing but Gianna's breathing and her music blasting as she tuned out the world. Her feet barely touched the ground as her arms pumped quickly back and forth at her side. It was a beautiful day for a morning run, the sky cerulean blue, littered with a few wispy clouds. Gianna's skin was hot and flushed, and sweat beaded at her hairline; the hot, humid summer air biting at her lungs. Luckily, a faint breeze kept off the worst of the heat.

As the notes of "If" by Janet Jackson came to end, Gianna had finished her run. Her pace slowed to a jog, then to a walking pace with her eyes closed, catching her breath.

"On your left,"

Gianna's eyes popped open to see a familiar, strawberry blond haired boy next to her, his tennis gear resting on his shoulder. A breathy chuckle left Gianna as the beat of "I Wanna Be Down" floated into her ears. Pausing the iPod tucked away in her arm band, she removed her earbud on her left side.

"Hey you!" Gianna greeted, smiling at Art and coming to a stop.

"Hey Gianna," he greeted back, with a shy smile of his own. "I didn't expect to see you out here until later on at the match," he commented.

"Oh, why is that?"

"I figured you'd be resting from your match yesterday," Art replied. "It's well earned after all,"

Gianna gave a small, amused huff, "It couldn't be any clearer that you have not met father yet," she joked, shaking her head. "This is punishment for losing to Irina in the semifinals," she explained, shrugging her shoulders.

Art frowned slightly, "That's not really fair," he remarked, adjusting his grip on his bag. "A line call decided your match," he pointed out.

"Yeah, well, if I played smarter and better, then it wouldn't have," Gianna countered easily. "My dad believes the same," she added, crossing her arms together.

"Your dad takes your tennis career pretty seriously, it's admirable," Art commented. "Most parents would just treat it as expensive hobby,"

"I hope he would he would take it serious, he is my coach after all," Gianna revealed, watching Art's eyes slightly widen in surprise.

"Guess that explains why you didn't want Patrick and I to walk you back last night," Art noted. "You were already past your curfew, but then to show up with two boys by your side…" he trailed off, sucking his teeth . "I'm sure that would��ve made for a fun conversation," he joked.

"Trust me, my dad would've gotten creative with his workout plan had the three of us shown up together," she assured. "You headed to the stadium?" she asked, nodding her head at his gear.

"Yeah, gotta start preparing for the big match today," he answered.

"Mind if I walk with you there? It would be a great cool down for me,"

"As if I would say no to Gianna Langdon," Art responded, grinning at her.

Walking alongside each other, the two of them found themselves consumed in idle chit chat. Art was an only child, Gianna was the youngest of four siblings. He started playing tennis because his parents took him to a match, she began playing because her father withdrew her from ballet after he saw her play one match of rec tennis. Art was born and raised in Upstate New York, Gianna was raised on a ranch in New Orleans most of her life until moving to California.

"I've always wanted to meet a real life cowgirl," he teased.

They drifted into a brief, companionable silence for a moment before a thought occurred to Gianna. She turned her head in Art's direction, smiling a little.

"So, a little birdie told me, this is a high stakes match today," Gianna mentioned, a knowing smirk on her lips.

"You could say that," he agreed sheepishly, his face instantly flushing.

"I also heard that some fun was had last night," Gianna hinted, mischief dancing in her eyes.

Art's face reddened deeper, "We did..."

"A shame I had to miss it, but you know what they say," Gianna began, interlocking her fingers behind her back. "Three's a party, four is a crowd," she quoted, with a small shrug.

"Not with you it wouldn't have been," Art disagreed quickly, looking over at her.

His intense eyes stared at her, through her. With it being daylight, Gianna could now fully appreciate how striking his eyes were. One was blue, while the other was partially brown and blue. Gianna let a bashful laugh, looking ahead to escape Art's gaze while pointedly ignoring the warmth blossoming within her. In the distance, the Arthur Ashe Stadium was peeking over the horizon.

"Hey Gianna," Art called, as the two stopped at the gates of the Billie Jean King Tennis Center.

"Yeah?"

"I’ve got a question for you that I’ve been dying ask you," Art said, both turning to face each other.

"Ask away," she answered, with a chuckle.

Art glanced down at the Gianna, completely towering over her.

"Why didn't you and Tashi compete in the girls duo this year?" Art questioned. "You two would've mopped the floor with your competition as you usually do," he remarked, a small, exhaling laugh leaving him.

"Well, I couldn’t do the girls singles, the mixed doubles, and girls doubles all at the same time. It would’ve been a scheduling nightmare, not to mention downright exhausting, so a decision had to be made," she explained, mindlessly twirling her earbud around in small circles.

"And Tashi decided—"

Her earbud twirling ceased, "Tashi, didn't decide anything. I did," Gianna corrected sharply, feeling a vein pulse at her temple.

Irritation threatened to surface on her face, but Gianna managed to keep her composure. It was that, the implication that she was not capable of making her own decisions as a player without Tashi being her invisible, guiding hand. Momentarily, neither of them said anything. Art's eyes flicked over her face, as if studying her expression.

"What is he looking for?"

"Oh my god, I've offended you, haven't I?" Art realized, breaking the silence. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

"Apology accepted, though I shouldn't have been short with you either," Gianna replied, folding her arms together. "But, you see how you just automatically assumed it was Tashi, when it was me who didn’t want to do it?" she pointed out, sighing tiredly. "It's for that exact reason why I wanted to pursue mixed doubles this year," she went on. "I love Tashi to pieces, but as a tennis player, I needed space from her this tournament," she explained, unfolding her arms to gesture with her hands by pulling them away from one another.

"I really didn’t mean to be the cause of a sore subject," Art promised, sincerity ringing in every word.

A half smile appeared on her face, "Art, I just met you 24 hours ago, you didn't cause this,” Gianna reassured, with a dismissive wave. "No, this year I had a point to prove to silence both my haters and critics," she informed, nodding to herself.

"And what point was that?"

"That I couldn't win without Tashi Duncan by my side," Gianna answered, her eyes unconsciously narrowing in the corners.

"Well, I think you shut them up pretty definitively this tournament," Art said, laughing gently. "You won the mixed doubles championship while essentially playing two on one the entire time," he quipped.

She chuckled, "Maybe," Gianna agreed. "However, I didn't get the chance to face Tashi in singles, winning against her and being crowned the girls singles US Open Champion would've been the ultimate 'fuck you' to those who doubt me," she finished, lightly laughing.

"Had you won against Irina, you think you could've beat Tashi?"”" Art asked.

Gianna contemplated his question, briefly casting her eyes downward while toeing the ground with her sneaker. Her mind flash backed to when she was 15 years old, the bellowing war cry that pierced the air from her when she beat Tashi in the Southern California Junior Sectional Championship. A career-defining moment for Gianna, putting her name on the map once and for all and also signaling that Tashi Duncan was not untouchable as most people wanted to believe.

Gianna's eyes focused back on Art, "I do think I could’ve actually," she said, her mouth quirking up just a tiny bit. "Tashi has beaten me several times, but I also have won against her a handful of times too," she continued, rocking a little back and forth on her feet.

"And what does that feel like, beating Tashi Duncan?" Art questioned, slightly leaning closer to her like they were sharing a secret, but his voice was still loud enough for any passerby to hear.

Gianna let a few seconds pass in silence, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. To win against Tashi was akin to eating caviar, it was a rarity and must be savored. It was Gianna's own kind of adrenaline rush, that feeling of euphoric confidence which she swore got more intense after each victory. This brought a full blown smirk, not of arrogance, but pride on Gianna's features.

"Like David slaying Goalith," she responded, triumphantly. "Although, every time I win against Tashi, I don't know things get….weird between us. Sometimes it's only for a few hours, other times it’s the entire day," she remarked, shaking her head. "This never happens when I lose to her, I mean losing is apart of the game. But with her, it's like she can't believe she lost…" Gianna trailed off.

"To me,"

This mere thought bothered her. It was only a hunch, but it was not for the first time this lurking suspicion wormed itself into the back of her mind. Her own mother implied it, that perhaps, their friendship dynamic was not built upon the sturdiest of foundations. Gianna's parents didn't get it though, Tashi was her only friend that really understood her, pushed her to be her best. Her dominant motivation in playing tennis. Tashi was the one where she could always rely on, no matter what. So, until she had any concrete proof, Gianna would continue to deny that notion.

"Gianna?"

Her eyes snapped back to Art, a light summer breeze blew sending a few strands of his curls across his face. The effortless charm he possessed, Gianna could almost guarantee he was unaware he was using it.

Gianna shook her head a little, "I'm sorry, went into a trance there," she apologized, with an embarrassed chuckle. "Must be the run catching up to me," she claimed. "I've wasted enough of your time, you have a match to prepare for," she reminded.

"Hey, there's no such thing as time wasted when talking with you, Gianna," Art corrected. "Who are you betting on today, me or Patrick?" he asked.

"I'm not a betting woman," Gianna quipped. "May the best player win today," she wished. "And for all I know, I may be staring right at them," she commented.

"Maybe," Art echoed.

~~~x~~~

Jogging up the bleachers to the tennis court, Gianna's Vans clanged against the metallic steps with each step, her skort swishing around her legs and her braids dancing across her shoulders. All around her, spectators cheered loudly in the stands as they all awaited for the the boys singles championship match to begin. Gianna strolled towards the center row, greeted by a cheerful Tashi who stood up from her seat once she saw her friend approach from a distance.

"You left me," Gianna greeted, with a fake pout.

"You were taking too long," Tashi retorted playfully, guiding Gianna to sit next to her.

"Yeah, because I was forced to go on a run this morning," Gianna reminded, laughing while pulling her braids back into a half up half down style.

"I got up early too Gia, to go hit around on the court. The only difference between you and I, is that you got sidetracked," she pointed out.

Gianna turned in her seat, "Sidetracked?" she repeated dryly.

"Yes, sidetracked," Tashi affirmed, shifting to face her. "I saw you and Art this morning on my way back from the courts," she said. "You two, however, were to engrossed in your conversation to notice me," she teased, but there was an edge to her voice.

Cocking her head to the side, Gianna chuckled and reached to lightly grasp Tashi's chin in between her forefinger and thumb.

Gianna leaned forward, their noses almost brushing, "Aww, is someone jealous there's another being blessed with my attention?" she teased back, squeezing Tashi's cheeks lightly.

Tashi shook herself free of Gianna's hand with a smirk of her own.

"Babe, come on, I'm just trying to protect your heart," Tashi informed, rolling her eyes in faux exasperation. "You just got out of a relationship, I don't want you to potentially dive head first into another is all," she explained, shrugging her shoulders.

She nodded her head, "Oh, is that right?" Gianna questioned, a bright smile on her face, but a challenging glint in her eyes.

Suddenly, a man over the speakers announced the names of the two contenders in the championship match. Both Tashi and Gianna turned to the court, watching Patrick and Art walk out before drop their gear down on their respective benches.

"Oh my God! Sugar and Spice! Can I please take a picture with you two?"

Gianna's eyes flitted from the court and to the right of her where an adoring fan stood.

"Why, of course!" Gianna exclaimed, waving the girl over. "Tashi, you take the picture, you have the longest arm out of all of us," she stated.

After posing for the photo and signing an autograph for the fan for good measure, Gianna refocused her attention to the boys below. Instantly, she met two pairs of eyes looking back at her and Patrick raised his racket in Tashi and Gianna's direction with a cocky grin. From the corner of her vision, she could see Tashi playfully roll her eyes at Patrick while applauding with the rest of the crowd. Not wanting Art to be left out, Gianna sent a small wave to him which Tashi mirrored, both flashing smiles at him. At this, Art beamed, giving them a brilliant grin as he waved back.

Gianna softly nudged Tashi in the side, "Ignoring your spying—" she began, but Tashi's light scoff interrupted her. "You should know, because I love you so much, that I made sure to put the cherry on top on this match so you can watch some 'real fuckin tennis' today," she informed, lazily looking over to her friend.

"How?" she asked, raising her brow.

"I told Art that I might be looking at the best player after wishing him good luck," Gianna divulged, her lips curling upwards. "I'm sure he relayed that message to Patrick in the spirit of competitiveness," she reasoned smugly, crossing one leg over the other. "Not only are they playing for our numbers, now they're playing to see who I’ll crown as best," she added.

Tashi laid her hand on Gianna's knee, "I could fucking kiss you," she said lowly, squeezing her knee.

A mix of admiration and a hint of hunger sparkled in Tashi's eyes.

"If only, but I don't think Adidas would approve of that," coy smile on her lips

The match began with Patrick being awarded first serve. Bouncing the ball off the blue grass court twice, the brunette lifted his racket to serve it in the non traditional way Gianna has come to know him by. Patrick struck the ball with a resounding pop, as a flash neon yellow went whizzing across the court to Art's side.

He returned the serve with equal force, lobbing it back over the net. In Patrick fashion, he made a big show of returning the hit; a curved shot which flew past Art, who lost his foot and slid a little trying to get to it.

"15-love,"

Immediately, Patrick looked over at the two girls for approval, looking pleased with himself while Art on the other hand gave a look that Gianna could only be described as despair. It went on like that for several minutes, each point scored their heads would whip over to Gianna and Tashi to gauge their reactions, until the boys gradually forgot all about them and did what everyone came here to watch them do. Play some fucking tennis.

Gianna couldn't recall the last time two people looked so hot playing tennis outside of her and Tashi, but Patrick and Art were quickly putting that belief to bed. With every hit that Art made, Patrick would return it with ease. Any advantage that Patrick gained, Art would neutralize it. Their grunts, oh god, don't even let Gianna get started on the grunts echoing in the air, it was the fucking sexiest thing ever to grace her ears. Her body reacted on its own to the sounds, her thighs pressing tighter together against each other than before. Gianna prayed that Tashi hasn’t noticed her reaction yet, but she had an inkling she had because Tashi's grip on her knee had grown in strength.

Another grunt pushed itself past Patrick's lips as he smacked the tennis ball back to Art's side. The impact reverberated in the stadium as Art was able to smoothly counter the shot with a topspin of his, but Patrick came with a drop shot. Sprinting, Art rushed forward to return the ball, but It lands on the ground, his racket only inches away from reaching it.

Patrick Zweig had done it, he was getting Tashi Duncan's and Gianna Langdon's numbers. The dark haired boy turned in their direction and dropped into bow as the girls gave him applause for his performance.

"That was such a godamn good match," Gianna commented, looking at Tashi.

"You see what we were capable of bringing out of them?" Tashi said proudly.

"Ugh, our power!" Gianna exclaimed, a giggle bubbling out of her as Tashi stuck her pinky out for Gianna to link with. A wordless promise between them and Gianna did it without having to think about it.

"Come on, let’s go congratulate the victor," Tashi instructed, standing up and extending her hand out.

Placing her hand in Tashi's, Gianna rose to her feet and two walked away, descending down the bleachers.

"You go on ahead," Gianna replied, coming down the last step. "I'll catch up," she added.

"Hmm," Tashi hummed, her eyes scanning over her in curiosity before leaving towards the exit.

Going in the opposite direction, Gianna made her way back to tennis court and walked to the fence separating the stands and the court. As she approached the fence, she saw Art gathering his gear a bit rougher than necessary.

"On your left!" Gianna called, walking alongside the fence.

Art froze what he was doing and snapped his head up to look in her direction. Instantly, Gianna watched the tension in his shoulders lessen slightly and his jaw unclench.

A small smile tugged at his lips, "Hey you," Art answered, repeating her own words from earlier.

"That was a good match, Donaldson," Gianna complimented, bearing her arms on top of the warm metal.

"Yeah, for Patrick maybe," Art replied, moving closer to the fence. "Seeing how he won the championship and…" he trailed off, now standing in front her.

"Our numbers," Gianna finished.

"Aren't you supposed to be giving that to him, like right now?" Art wondered, attempting to be lighthearted about the situation.

"I like building anticipation, it makes it all the more fun," Gianna joked, causing Art let out a genuine laugh and her smile widened from the sound of it.

"I'm sorry that you were not staring at the best player today, Gianna," Art apologized, his chin dipping a little as he looked down at the ground.

"Hey," she called softly.

Boldly, Gianna reached out to him, using her thumb and index finger to gently lift his chin back up. Her eyes gazed at Art's porcelain neck, as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down at her gesture. Gianna glanced back up at him, his eyes already staring deeply into hers.

"Not today, maybe," she whispered. "But in the future, possibly," she encouraged, feeling his breath fan out shakily against her hand.

"Oh Gianna!"

The sound of Patrick's voice echoing from within the stadium concourse caused her to whip her head around, her fingers falling from Art's chin.

"Can't have spice without sugar!" he yelled.

She smiled, "Coming!" Gianna yelled back, before facing forward again. "I gotta go, see you around?" she asked, a hopeful look in her eyes.

Art's eyes darted to her lips, but just as quickly as he did, his eyes found hers. The action didn't go unnoticed by Gianna.

"Yeah,” Art answered, a dazed, blissful smile on his face.

Beaming one last time at him, she spun on her heel and jogged back to the entrance of the concourse where Patrick was already waiting for her, leaning against the wall.

"For the record, I want you to know that was the corniest joke I've ever heard, Zweig," Gianna informed, stopping in front of him as he effortlessly pushed himself off the wall.

"It made you laugh though, didn't it?" Patrick countered easily, taking a hold of her hand as if it was second nature to him.

Gianna could only laugh, letting herself be led away from the bleachers.

~~~x~~~

The Juniors US Open was officially over and Gianna could confidently say playing there was the greatest moments of her life. She glanced back at the Arthur Ashe Stadium that she had passed by only a few minutes prior.

"One day, I’ll be playing in there and the world will know my name," she thought.

Gianna had barely taken two steps from where she stopped when two sets of footsteps fast approaching behind her.

"Gianna!"

She stopped mid step, her lips curling into a smirk knowing who was behind her. Spinning around, she was greeted with a slightly winded Art and Patrick.

"Hi boys," Gianna greeted warmly, crossing her arms against her chest.

"So, Patrick and I got to thinking about—" Art began.

"It's your last day in New York," Patrick interrupted, but Art didn’t seem to mind as he nodded his head along to Patrick. "What are you going to do?" he asked curiously.

"You know you could've texted me this?" Gianna pointed out.

"I prefer taking advantage of seeing and speaking to you face to face," Patrick reasoned, which brought a bashful smile to her face.

"I haven't decided yet," Gianna said, finally answering his question.

"You and Tashi don't have plans together already?" Art questioned.

"No, she's spending time with her family before they all go out to dinner," she explained. "So, it'll just be little oh me, by myself today," she mentioned.

"By yourself? Where are your parents?" Patrick questioned.

"I convinced them to have a night on the town, just the two of them. They deserve it," she replied, with a shrug when idea popped into her mind. "You know, my hotel has a pool. You should come," Gianna invited, eyes dancing between them.

"Me?" both boys asked in unison, pointing to themselves.

"Both of you," she clarified with a giggle. "It's not a pack of beer, but I think we can still manage to have some fun" she said.

"What about potentially having to play of 21 questions with your dad because of the two, random white boys by your side?" Art recalled, smiling at her.

Gianna looked over her shoulders before turning back to face them, "I don't my see dad anywhere, do you?" she asked, watching a grin grow on Patrick's lips.

"No I don't,"

"That's what I thought," Gianna agreed. "My hotel at four o'clock, be there or be square," she warned teasingly.

"We didn’t pack swim trunks," Art remarked, the realization dawning on him.

"Oh," Gianna breathed. "Well, I guess another time then," she suggested, going to turn around but stopping once she heard the protests coming from their lips.

"What, wait—"

"I'm sure we can think of something,"

Laughing, she looked back at them, "So, I'll see you there?" Gianna questioned, and the boys nodded eagerly. "I'll text you the address, Patrick, and one more thing," she said.

"Yes," they answered simultaneously.

"My friends call me, Gia,"

~~~x~~~

The moment the doors to the elevator opened up to Gianna's floor, the three of them took off. Running down the hallway, laughing and giggling as they raced each other to her door. Gianna was sure the guests below her and the ones who shared the floor would not be pleased with their heavy footsteps bounding across the floor, but did she really care at the moment, no.

"Ha!" she exclaimed, reaching the door first.

"I let you win, actually," Patrick claimed, coming in just behind her.

She rolled her eyes, "Sure, whatever you say," Gianna said sarcastically, grabbing her key card. "Did you let me win too, Art?" she asked, sticking the card into the door.

"It's the gentlemanly thing to do, after all, it is ladies first,"

"Oh fuck off," she laughed.

The door unlocked with a quiet click and she removed the card and pushed it open. Entering the room, the boys followed Gianna into the bright, airy space. Immediately, a shiver ran down her spine, her muscles tensing from the air conditioner blasting.

"God, it's freezing!" she hissed, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Here," Patrick offered quickly, shaking off the stripped linen shirt he was wearing.

He held out his shirt for her to put on. Smiling graciously, turned around Gianna slipped her arms through the sleeves.

"Better?" Patrick murmured, his nose grazing against the shell of her ear.

"Much," she confirmed, smirking to herself.

"I can turn off the AC for you," Art volunteered, scrambling from the door to the other side of the room where the unit was.

"Boys are too fucking easy," Gianna thought.

"Oh, I don't know what I’d do without you two," she teased, unwrapping her towel from her waist. "I'll be right back guys," she informed, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door.

Tossing the towel onto the edge of the tub, Gianna stared at her reflection. Her dark brown eyes almost twinkled in mischief as a sudden, bubbling snicker burst forth from her lips. Gianna clasped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, shaking her head in amusement at her current situation.

"Holy shit, I cannot believe this is working," she whispered.

Tashi had told her the two boys were egregiously horny, but seeing it in person made it ten times funnier. She had been teasing the moment they got to the pool.

"You think you can help put sunscreen on my back?" Gianna asked, holding out the lotion over her shoulder without looking.

Behind her, she heard loud shuffling before feeling the lounge chair she sat in dip on each side of her.

"You two don't have to fight over the honor," Gianna said, giggling at their antics. "As they say, teamwork makes the dream work," she quoted, before feeling the bottle be pulled from her grasp.

"Y-yeah, sure Gia!" Art said quickly, stumbling over his words.

Sitting up straight, Gianna heard the sunscreen cap crack open and expected to feel the coolness of the cream against her skin soon after. Instead, nothing.

"They're fucking ogling at just the mere sight of my back," she thought.

A devilish grin grew on her face.

"Boys, I'm waiting," Gianna sang playfully.

"Huh?"

"Oh, sorry,"

They both nervously laughed a little. To her right, Art slowly placed his hand against Gianna's shoulder, running his palm up and down against her skin to spread the sunscreen. Patrick's fingers slid down her left shoulder blade, alternating between quick movements to spread out the lotion or rubbing deeply along her spine to massage her muscles.

"Ah, thank you boys, you’re doing so well," Gianna praised, as Art's and Patrick’' continued gliding over her back.

Grinning to herself, Gianna stared out across the pool area behind the square frames of her sunglasses. The excited screams of children playing in the water rung through the air, while a decent handful of parents and teenagers sat poolside. Unexpectedly, Gianna locked eyes with two girls across the pool, one blonde and one brunette. Pushing her glasses down slightly, she wordlessly arched a challenging brow at them, maintaining eye contact. Gianna smirked watching as their expressions morphed into a mixture of jealousy and disgust.

Gianna knew why they were staring at her, boys like Patrick and Art were not supposed to be fawning over a girl that looked like her.

The feeling of fingers along her waist and against the small of her back, snapped Gianna from her musings. They precariously close to her bottom and she gently swatted their hands away before they could reach it.

"You two were such wonderful helpers," Gianna complimented, sighing sweetly.

Slipping on a pair of thin shorts, Gianna exited from the bathroom and walked over to the suite living room where Patrick and Art were seated on the couch.

"You know, you could've turned the TV on. You two didn't have to sit in awkward silence," Gianna informed, now standing in front of the with a smile. They let out an embarrassed chuckle as Art's leg began to anxiously bounce up and down. Gianna cocked her head at the sight. "Why are you bouncing your leg, Art? What's got you so nervous?" she questioned curiously, still wearing a smile.

Art only giggled and shrugged his shoulders, "I-I don't know," he stuttered, gazing up at her.

"Well," she began, raising her foot up from the floor. "Stop," she demanded, placing her foot right above his knee. Art froze mid bounce and Gianna watched him visibly swallow. "You're making me nervous," she said, and Art vigorously nodded his head. Gianna shifted her stare to Patrick and he straightened up his posture. "Patrick," she called, batting her eyelashes.

"Yes," he responded, a goofy smile on his face.

"As you said earlier today, it's my last day in New York," Gianna said, smoothly lifting her foot from Art's leg and plopping down onto the couch in the empty space between them. "Wanna make out?" she asked boldly, with a playful and daring smile.

"Fuck, do I ever," Patrick answered quickly, a groan leaving him.

Leaning toward him, Gianna let her lips brush against the corner of Patrick's mouth and almost by instinct his hand came to rest on her hip. Breaths mingling in soft pants, Gianna stared up at him through her eyelashes and he surged forward, pressing his lips fully against hers. A soft, surprised moan escaped Gianna as his lips devoured her own, but she responded just as eagerly. Her tongue dueling with his in a sensual dance for dominance. Gianna's fingers threaded themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck, holding Patrick in place as their kiss only deepened. His hand roamed up and down her leg, squeezing appreciatively at the flesh as he went.

His touches set her body aflame with heat, caused little noises to leave her mouth and she pulled away needing air, or else he was going to kiss her dizzy. Their lips barely parted and Gianna breathed out a laugh and Patrick joined her, his sounding almost giddy. She turned to Art who staring at her with the biggest puppy eyes, desperately wanting to be played with. Without hesitation, she guided his mouth onto hers and the noise that left Art was probably the filthiest sound she's ever heard. The deepest moan left him and it reverberated through her entire body.

Teasingly, Gianna bit down on Art's bottom lip pulling it towards her and another groan from Art. He brought his hand up to her neck, cradling her jaw as her tongue lapped at his. This time, there was not a battle for dominance, almost immediately Art allowed Gianna to take control as his other hand ran up and down her thigh. The sudden sensation of warm breath fanning the slope of Gianna's neck, followed by a pair of lips gently kissing down her neck made her moan hotly into Art's mouth.

Leaning back into Patrick, his hands reached around her back and cupped his hand around her breast and squeezed. Another high pitch moan was drawn from Gianna, which Art readily swallowed as their kiss turned greedier as. She trailed her down his chest, caressing his pecs and lightly trailing her fingers down his abs. Her hand found its way to the waistband of Art's shorts and slipped underneath.

Then, Art released the loudest, guttural moan known to man, his face falling into the crook of Gianna's neck.

"O-oh…fuck, Gia,"

Her hand had found his stiff member, and wrapped her fingers around it. Art inhaled sharply as she tightened her grip, placing desperate, feverish kisses to her neck just as she began to move up and down the length of him.

Not a second later, the shrill ringing of her phone playing a distinct ringtone made Gianna jerk away from Art causing pathetic whimpers to escape from him.

"Shit, that’s my mom calling," Gianna informed breathily, her eyes almost fluttering close due to Patrick's continued ministrations.

He kissed her neck lightly, switching between his tongue or his teeth to nip graze the sensitive area.

"So ignore her," Patrick suggested simply.

Art murmured his agreement, mouthing kisses along the length of her throat. Rolling her eyes, Gianna untangled herself from both of them, pushing Patrick's hands from her body and removing her own from Art's.

She hopped up from the couch, much to the displeasure of both Art and Patrick, verbally making it known by their groans of frustration.

"You two have two, have to go," she stated firmly, her finger moving back forth between them.

"Are they even back from dinner?" Patrick asked incredulously.

"No," Gianna answered, and Patrick threw his hands up in disbelief. "But my mom told me she would call to let me know when they were on their back, and I now know," she said, placing her hands on her hips.

"You're really making us go home?"

"You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here,"

"Gia, come on I-I cant go out like this," Art said, glancing down at the obvious boner poking through his shorts.

"You are today," she retorted, shrugging off Patrick's shirt. She tossed it to Art, hitting him square in the chest. "Here, wear this, tie it around your waist," she instructed, making Patrick snicker.

The next few minutes involved Art trying to will his boner away, but it was losing cause, much to Patrick's amusement before Gianna shuffled them out the door. Just as she was about to close her door, Patrick's hand stopped it.

"Hang on,"

"What Patrick?"

His answer came in the form of him swiftly ducking down to kiss her one last time. Gianna pulled away from the kiss first, placing a hand on his chest.

"Go!" she urged, with a laugh as she pushed him away.

Patrick retreated with a pout and walked away from her door with Art by his side, sending one last boyish grin over his shoulder. Closing the door, Gianna leaned back against the door with the biggest smile.

God, this really was the best Juniors US Open in more ways than one.

Part III: The First Crack

#black!reader #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #challengers x reader #black fanfiction #black!oc #challengers #tashi duncan #art donaldson #patrick zweig

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idiopath-fic-smile · 2 months ago

Note

i dunno if that counts as a wip, but personally i've been thinking abt the "conversation at the dinner table of enjolras' family" series for years now so i gotta jump on the oppurunity

oh my gosh, sure thing! when i checked my WIP folder, i learned i'd actually already written a second whole installment (and then completely forgotten about it) so i'll post that too, and then my new chunk after it.

first bit is here. throwing this under a cut bc it's not short!

Two

“So,” said Dad as he ladled the first round of Saturday morning pancake batter onto the griddle, “tell us about this boy you’re dating?”

Enjolras consciously steadied his hands, took a sip of green tea to stall, and reminded himself that if the relationship was real, he would have been dying to share everything he knew about the boy in question. With an unpleasant lurch, he realized this was almost nothing. He wasn’t even sure what grade Grantaire was in.

“He’s…great,” said Enjolras, hoping that with any luck, his panic could be read as lovestruck embarrassment.

Mom curled her hands around her coffee cup and leaned in, conspiratorial. “Is he cute?”

Between Friday afternoon and now, Enjolras had dedicated a staggering amount of thought to the situation, but he hadn’t made much forward progress. Any time he tried, his mind tended to get snagged, or caught in loops, or lost on wild tangents like, Did Grantaire really mean it when he said he would be okay kissing for the sake of this pretense? How could he possibly be alright with that? Was he kidding? But it honestly didn’t seem like he was kidding. But how would it even come up?

One of very few conclusions Enjolras had reached: he needed to find a way to lie to his parents as little as possible. The thought of deceiving them on purpose for months already made the pit of his stomach feel heavy.

“Yeah,” he said weakly, “he’s…got cool hair.” This was true, if asinine. “And um, a good smile. A really good smile.” Also true, although Enjolras mostly saw it either accompanied by a lot of sarcasm or directed at other people.

“So.” Dad craned around to face him, spatula in hand. “Good at smiling. What else?”

Really, Enjolras thought, he should have been able to anticipate this. He could’ve drawn up his talking points beforehand, like he had with the detention. Set aside the time to brainstorm something better than ‘cool hair,’ for crying out loud. He wondered what Grantaire himself would’ve thought of this conversation, the face Grantaire would’ve pulled at Enjolras’s ludicrous attempts to sound like a person with a boyfriend.

Come to think of it, he wondered what Grantaire was telling his own parents about the whole affair. Maybe nothing. Probably nothing. Grantaire didn’t strike him as the kind of kid to spend weekends bonding with his family. Besides, given the demographics of the area, it was unlikely that they’d be supportive of Grantaire’s—fake coming out? Real coming out under fake circumstances? Enjolras didn’t even know whether or not Grantaire was gay. On one hand, it was a pretty outrageous thing for a straight guy to do. On the other hand—well. It was a pretty outrageous thing for a closeted gay guy to do, too.

With no conscious input from his brain, Enjolras’s memory rewound itself, yet again, to the sight of Grantaire calling his name yesterday in the cafeteria—eyes flashing under that mop of wild dark hair, back straight, fists clenched at his sides like he was about to take on the whole school in one go and win.

Enjolras had seen him and thought, ‘This is why Nicolas Sparks books work on people. This is why half the songs on the radio are the same insipid story over and over again.’ Novelists and songwriters wasted all those words trying to capture a sensation and tame it into words but really it was just Grantaire—smartass Grantaire who was annoying and disruptive and weirdly moody sometimes, who refused to take anything seriously, who didn’t even like Enjolras—it was just Grantaire striding forward with Enjolras’s name on his lips, fury on his face, throwing away every scrap of popularity to back up a cause he had bitterly ridiculed just days ago, for no reason Enjolras could see.

It was a lot to think about.

God, Enjolras was in so far over his head.

“Are you blushing?” said Mom.

“No,” said Enjolras.

“Frank,” she said, “Frank, he’s blushing.”

Enjolras slumped down in his chair. “He’s—funny,” Enjolras blurted, because any line of inquiry was preferable to this, even admitting out loud that he wasn’t totally immune to Grantaire’s jokes. More than once, Enjolras had walked out of a meeting with a raw spot on the inside of his cheek from an hour of trying not to laugh at his most recent shenanigans. If anything, it was more of a liability than a point in Grantaire’s favor. He never would have been able to bring everything grinding to a halt by just shouting out quotes from Family Guy or whatever passed for humor among most of their peers. He was quick and clever and creative—and he used it to make everything infinitely harder than it needed to be.

He’d been different at lunch, though, Enjolras thought, squinting unseeing at the syrup. Once the initial shock of are these the next two and a half months of my life had started to wear off, one of the first things Enjolras had noticed was how much energy Grantaire put into making the table laugh.

“Sense of humor,” said Dad. “That’s crucial.”

“Yeah,” said Enjolras. “And—a good artist.” This was something he only knew from Jehan, since the contents of Grantaire’s notebooks were apparently top secret to the rest of the world. “A really good artist,” he added. It might’ve been true, at any rate. Enjolras couldn’t picture Grantaire concentrating that hard at anything but maybe he had natural talent. “He can draw anything. And he plays the drums.”

“A musician!” Dad called over his shoulder. “Let us know if he has any gigs coming up.”

“What did you say his name was?” Mom asked.

Enjolras told her. She grimaced around a mouthful of coffee.

“What?”

“I’ve met his mom,” she said. “She’s in my Jazzercise group. She’s—well, maybe he takes after his dad.”

“Why,” said Enjolras, “did she—” He frowned at his empty plate, but of course there was no way to end that sentence without scraping too close to the truth. Try to make you feel ridiculous for caring about anything? Roll her eyes at you for reacting? Mock and defend your friends in the same breath?

“What?” said Mom.

“Nothing.”

Mom pursed her lips. “I want to be fair, maybe I caught her on a bad day, but she—struck me as pretty phony. A very Stepford feel. Plus, when I told her I had a teenage son, she laughed and said ‘I’m sorry,’ which—you know how that kind of thing burns me. Like, look, lady, I’ve got a kid I feel great about, who I love spending time with. Don’t project your issues on me.” She took another sip of coffee. “I thought her son was younger. She didn’t really mention him but she had one of those middle school honor roll bumper stickers?”

“Does he have a little brother, maybe?” Dad suggested, flipping pancakes with practiced ease.

Enjolras shrugged.

“How did you meet him?” said Mom.

“He’s—he goes to all the meetings, for the ABC,” said Enjolras, because stressing their shared history of detention felt like an unwise move and anyway this, too, was technically accurate, just in that slippery politician way that Enjolras hated—dropping breadcrumbs and letting the listener fill in the lie for themselves.

“He’s dedicated, then,” said Mom.

Completely dedicated. Not dedicated at all. I have no idea. “Yeah,” he said. “And smart.” Truthful, if misleading. “And—nice.” Maybe truthful? Enjolras seemed to be the only person he went out of his way to annoy, at any rate. “I don’t know,” Enjolras mumbled, which was, he thought wryly, the most honest claim he’d made so far. “I just—I just like him a lot,” he finished, and nothing in the words or how he said them was an act.

That was the problem.

Three

“So,” said Mom brightly, “how was Joly’s party?”

Enjolras chewed his black bean burger and fought the urge to tug up the neck of his T-shirt over the completely obvious bite bruise blooming slightly north of his clavicle.

He swallowed. “Fine,” said Enjolras. “Good.”

“How are things with Grantaire?” she added and okay, yes, only a fool wouldn't have seen this coming.

Enjolras set down his bun. He couldn’t deal with Mom or Dad thinking he had been pressured in any way. The thought was not only abhorrent, it was completely out of character for Grantaire. Who, regardless of where he actually sat politically, had way more principles than he’d let on.

Enjolras summoned up all the sincerity he could muster. “Great,” he said, thinking of how Grantaire talked to Joly, goofy and kind, without an ounce of condescension. He could feel himself starting to smile. “Really great.” Dad cleared his throat. “You know,” he said. “When you came out to us as asexual, we assumed it meant we could skip over some conversations, but now, uh." Mom and Dad exchanged the slightest of looks.

"It's a spectrum," said Enjolras, face flaming. He hadn't articulated to them where exactly he sat on that spectrum, because for one thing he hadn't known for sure, and for another thing he could think of nothing more painful that tracing the exact topography of his attraction with his parents, for crying out loud.

"Well, there's no harm in knowledge, right?" Dad continued. His voice had the slightest practiced quality to it. Enjolras could imagine him going over his argument out loud before dinner, searching for the best way to make his case. Enjolras found this obscurely comforting. "Plus, you know," said Dad. "Kids talk about these things with each other and there's so much misinformation out there; you might appreciate the chance to be a resource for your friends. About dating or relationships, or the things that happen in a relationship. Is it okay if we go over a few things?”

Enjolras swung his foot under the table and carefully didn't think about Grantaire determinedly giving him a hickey in the kitten-wallpapered bathroom of Joly's basement.

"Sure."

"Great," said Dad, relief rushing into his face. He stood. "If it helps, I have some handouts I can go quick print out."

#world ain't ready spoilers

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doink-boink · 2 months ago

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Finally drew my interpretation of Zach's parents!

Have had these fellows in the works for a good while!

Really had to lock in when doing the writing here lol - my handwriting is normally a weird hyper mix between cursive and print. But messier. Hopefully its legible! Enjoy some more yapping about these guys below the cut >:D

Must mention this is within my own AU! My interpretation of Zach specifically is a trans man. So uh! No way in hell Arthur is supportive in that regard. He is a miserable man whose only concern is furthering the family business and his public image.

Really looked to both Moral Orel and Bojack Horseman as inspiration for how these two would be. Did not intend for Arthur to share a name with the character he is inspired by lol - but uhm! He specifically is like Arthur Puppington when Clay was a kid: Distant, cold, though not physically abusive. Emotionally? Oh brother, you bet.

Regarding Kim and Arthur's relationship, that was really dead in the water. Kim is a self published author, or rather, an ASPIRING self published author. She mostly writes crime novellas/dramas, though needed some outsider input regarding the legal side of her stories. So, of course, she decides to reach out to the biggest law firm in the area.

It is initially a short and sweet interaction: "I ask you questions, you give me answers and insight when you can." However, she grows to enjoy Arthur's company, falling for him quickly. VERY rushed marriage ensues! Good god! (Of course not ASAP, within a few months time of dating/correspondence) Not too certain as of right now where Zach comes into the mix, but definitely in that honeymoon stage of a relationship where you don't quite know the person yet to really gauge if things will work out or not.

I mean, things absolutely do NOT work out in the end, but they don't know that yet. Arthur I feel is the type to want a family ASAP. Need that sweet sweet heir to the company. Will accept nothing less than a son. Sucks for him, doesn't end up coming to fruition until much later! AFAB child, disappointment on Arthur's behalf, compassion on Kim's. Like a night and day difference - even after Zach does eventually transition (his mother is deceased by this point) his father refuses to accept it until he dies. By until I mean: "You still are not my son." *flatline*

Kim was there for Zach until the day she died, which would probably be around late middle school to early highschool? In that age range. Old enough to have fond and in depth memories. Which! Arthur is the one who discovers what had happened. Busy writing a novel when wham, sudden cardiac arrest - alone, as she tended to keep to herself. Entire family dynamic changes from then onward, though the abusive aspects of it were ever present. Arthur is generally unsupportive of Zach's endeavors, frustrated that he is going into science and robotics as opposed to law. (Though I do think he'd have been trained or prepped for a career as a lawyer throughout his teens-adolescence)

Zach is the closest to his mother, with most of his fashion sense coming from her. Gotta love the turtleneck sweater! @novazentryx came up with the idea that he inherited his early black sweater from Tazzy Chris from her after it shrunk in the wash, loved that so y'know what! This totally applies here. Not only did he inherit the sweater, but also her V-necklace! (Which, if you have seen Zoey, is where she gets it from! As well as she looks strikingly similar to Kim. On that front I think that was a surprise from Aviva, knowing how close he was to her)

Spitballing with this one, but I think it would be interesting if Zach had assisted in pitching ideas for Kim's stories! What aspects of it I do not know, but maybe names for the characters. Mayhaps that is where he gets ZACH from? Don't ask what his deadname is, haven't thought of that and would prefer not to lol

I think that concludes my rambling! Do not really have anything else that is coming to mind at the moment, so feel free to ask questions or leave suggestions about these two! I will more than likely respond ^^ (To asks or replies) Thank you for humoring me and reading all of this if you're here lol, I really appreciate it!!

#I really do go on and on in the read more - sorry for that!#Have got a lot to say about these guys #I am open to questions if anyone has any! :D #artwork #wild kratts #wk #zach varmitech #wild kratts zach #wild kratts oc #long post #uhhhhhhh other tags here lmao

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blancheludis · 3 months ago

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Whumptober Day 6: Not Realizing They're Injured, "It's not my blood", unhealthy coping mechanisms

Fandom: Batman Character: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson Tags: Hidden Injury, Hurt Tim, Hurt Bruce, Bruce Tries To Be A Good Parent

Summary:

There is no easier way to tell that a recon mission has gone wrong than the air being suddenly filled with shouting and gunshots. Batman goes down and Tim gets him home. It is only later that he realizes he has been shot himself. But Bruce is unconscious and Alfred has his hands full. He cannot be a burden to them, he'll just deal with it himself.

There is no easier way to tell that a recon mission has gone wrong than the air being suddenly filled with shouting and gunshots. A stray bullet whips barely a foot past Tim's face where he is hiding in the rafters of the manufacturing hall where the weapons deal was supposed to go off. Well, he is pretty sure the deal is off.

Just a second later, a dark blur drops amidst the thugs on the ground. Tim sighs to himself as he joins the fight. So much for a signal, but Bruce is currently not talking to him, nothing beyond the most necessary orders.

I need you to assist me on patrol, not to chatter my ear off, he had growled before putting Tim through an endless training session as if he thought he needed to drive home the point with more than words. And Tim can admit, it was a stupid idea to try and talk Batman - or Bruce - out of his bad mood, but the anniversary of Jason's death is coming closer and Batman seemed to be slipping again.

A sulking Batman definitely makes Robin's job harder, considering he dropped without warning into a firefight and Robin is wearing the clothing equivalent of a warning flag. His skills are definitely not advanced enough to storm right into the fray. Well, time to make some chaos from the sidelines.

---

Not for the first time in his brief stint as Robin, Tim is absolutely grateful for the advanced piece of technology that is the Batmobile. Without the car actively coming towards them and then being able to drive them home without much of an input from Tim, he never would have gotten the massive, unconscious form of Batman back to the cave. Well, not while also trying to keep as much of his blood on the inside as he possibly can.

Alfred is waiting for them, already getting out any medical supplies they could need. When they arrive, he rushes towards them, coming to Batman's side within a heartbeat.

"Dr. Thompson is already on her way," Tim reports as he helps to get Batman on the stretcher before going right back to putting pressure on the wounds. "Two bullet wounds that I saw happening. One in the lower abdomen, one in the upper right thigh."

Alfred nods but does not quite manage to look unmoved. He looks at Batman's unmoving form and, instead of immediately pushing the stretcher towards the back of the cave, he takes precious time to look at Tim, too.

"And you?"

Tim waves dismissively but catches sight of his sleeve - and then the rest of his clothes. Much of it is stained red with glistening, half-dried blood. Somehow, he did not expect there to be so much of it. Yes, he just spent half an hour trying to keep Batman from bleeding out, but the black body armour hides the crimson much better than his own colourful clothes. And his hands - now that he has noticed, he can barely rip his eyes away from all the reddish-brown sticking to his bare skin.

"It's not my blood," Tim says, desperate to find some equilibrium again. When Alfred frowns at him, clearly displeased, irritation shoots through Tim like lighting leaving his nerve endings raw and buzzing. "I didn't go on a killing spree, Alfred. It's Batman's."

"That's not -" Alfred starts but is interrupted by the arrival of Leslie Thompson and they both snap back to attention.

The next hours go by in a blur, following Dr. Thompson's orders, cutting away body armour, ripping open supplies, lending hands when she needs them. Tim is at once horrified and absolutely fascinated by her work. Not once does she hesitate as she cuts Bruce open, searching for the bullet and internal damage, and then sews him back up again.

When they are done with the abdomen, Tim notices he is shaking. Even before patrol started, he was exhausted. The adrenaline crash does not help, surely. As Dr. Thompson switches to Bruce's leg, Tim excuses himself for a moment to get something to drink. Something full of caffeine and sugar. It would help nobody if he passed out now. There is still work to be done.

---

Later, Dr. Thompson washes her hands, their working space suspiciously clean, as if their work has not been bloody.

"This is all I can do for now," she says. Then, with resignation in her voice, she adds, "I guess I cannot convince you to let me take him to an actual hospital."

Alfred shakes his head, although he looks just as unhappy about the state of things as she does. "Just tell me what I need to do and when to call you."

Tim lets their conversation wash over him as he peels the surgical coat off him and looks in dismay at the state of his Robin costume. Alfred's concern earlier was clearly warranted. The blood has not magically disappeared over the past hours, and it really is a lot.

With a last glance at Bruce's still form, Tim ducks away to get a much-needed shower. His entire body hurts and all he wants is to sleep for three days straight, but he knows that is not going to happen. Alfred cannot keep watch over Bruce all by himself, and Tim just knows he will not take any breaks if Tim does not force him to and take his place for a while. He also has reports to write and information about this latest disaster has to get to Gordon. No, sleep is not in Tim's near future.

The clothing sticks to his skin and he contemplates just hopping under the shower as he is, but he just does not want to deal with the mess, so he just grits his teeth and pulls it off. Sharp pain shoots through his arm and shoulder as he slips out of the left sleeve and when he reaches out to rub it away, his fingers come away bloody. With fresh blood, not this brown mess that has had hours to dry on him. Sticky and crimson and warm.

He turns to the mirror. There, in the outer part of his upper left arm is a small wound oozing a sluggish river of blood. As he turns, he finds a mirrored, if somewhat angrier wound on the back.

Oh.

When, exactly, did he get shot? True, things were pure chaos for a while and Tim suffered some hits, especially in the panic of getting to Batman after seeing him be hit twice. Still, he would like to think that he should have noticed getting shot. The evidence to the contrary stares him right in the face, but it still leaves him reeling. Perhaps Alfred is right that he should get more rest, stop every once in a while to check in with himself. But who has time for that?

Moving his arm turns out to be a bad idea as the pain quickly explodes, making his vision turn several shades darker. Tim tries to blink it away, but he is sure that, when he fully comes back to himself, a few minutes have passed, because he is suddenly kneeling on the cold tiles, half slumped against the wall. Thankfully with the uninjured arm.

Briefly, he thinks about going back out to call for Dr. Thompson. He is already back to his feet when he stops. He has an entry and exit wound in a somewhat straight line. That means the bullet is not inside him anymore but went straight through. It is hardly bleeding anymore; the skin is likely only upset by his peeling off his clothes. He can move the arm, ignoring the pain. Sensibility is as it should be right down to his fingers. Dr. Thompson must be tired and Alfred has his hands full with Bruce.

No, Tim decides. He is not going to act like a child and make a burden of himself. First, he will take that shower and clean himself up as good as he can. Then, he will find some bandages, and later, he will search for how to make an unobtrusive sling for his arm. Dr. Thompson would likely not do much more herself. And it is not like Tim will have to go back on patrol, tomorrow. Bruce will be out of commission for a while, so Tim can rest his arm while manning the computers in the cave. And, surely, Bruce's leg and abdomen will keep him longer away from training as Tim's arm will.

Yes, perfect plan.

Step one of the plan is excruciating. Now that he knows the arm is wounded, the pain does not go away. It is a dull throbbing with an underlying, constant burning, accompanied by sharp lances whenever he moves. Funny, what adrenaline can do, that he has only noticed the wound now. Too bad he cannot jump right back into a firefight to keep the adrenaline level high. It does not matter. Along with the bandages, Tim finds some painkillers and swallows two pills dry. They have the good stuff somewhere in the cave, but his night is not yet over and he needs to be alert. Bruce will go through every word of his report, and he will not be happy if there are any mistakes.

---

When Tim comes back out of the bathroom, Dr. Thompson is gone and Alfred is sitting by Bruce's bedside. The cave is not the most comfortable place, but Tim guesses they will only move Bruce upstairs once he is more stable. Once the possibility of them needing the more heavy-duty medical equipment is not as high anymore.

"Master Tim," Alfred greets, looking a decade older than when they left on patrol earlier this night. Someone should really give this man a medal for all he puts up with. Or at least a cushy retirement plan. "Are you all right?"

Tim takes excruciating care to walk as normal as possible, no trace of pain of tiredness in his steps. "I'm fine," he says, easily. The lying part of any plan always comes easiest to him. "You should go get some sleep."

If anything, Alfred looks even unhappier. "I'm quite all right where I am. You, however -"

Cutting him off with a shake of his head, Tim insists, "I mean it, Alfred. I still have a report to write, so I'll be down here anyway. There's no need for both of us to be tired tomorrow."

As if either of them could sleep restfully. But there is a slight chance that Bruce will be awake and aware the next day, so Tim would prefer to skip the day shift.

"Surely the report can wait," Alfred protests softly, lacking real conviction.

Tim tries to shrug but aborts the motion immediately as a spike of hot white pain courses through him.

"You know the rules," he says and hopes Alfred will think that is the reason for his grimace instead of him being stupid and hiding a bullet wound beneath his Superman shirt.

And he is not lying. Bruce insists on reports being written right away so that the memory is still fresh. Heaven forbid some small detail gets lost because of basic necessities like sleep.

"Well, since Master Bruce is -" Alfred hesitates, briefly closing his eyes, then continues as if nothing happened, "- asleep, I think it's in my authority to send you to bed. Your room should be ready."

Funny. Any other night, Tim would smile at that, truly. As if Bruce's rules are not in place anymore just because he caught a few bullets. As if there would not be words, later, if Bruce found out Tim overstepped his welcome and slept in the Manor without good reason. Being tired is not a good reason. He has a home a mile down the road. If Alfred needs another human being to keep an eye on Bruce, then Tim should be down here, doing his work, and not lazing about upstairs.

Alfred knows that, though. Should know that. And Tim is not in the mood to rehash it.

"Alfred," Tim says as he pulls a second chair closer to Bruce's bed. Then, instead of sitting down, he starts the computer in the corner of the room. Of course, every room has its own work station. The work is never done. "With only the two of us, we'll be stretched thin as it is."

As Alfred's frown deepens, Tim silently curses himself for his bluntness.

"I can call in Master Dick."

Dick will just love this. Of course, he will come. He is as much of a dutiful idiot as the rest of them. But there will be questions and hidden accusations. Oh, he would never say it out loud, but Tim can already see him wondering what good the new Robin is if Batman gets hurt like this. Not that Tim's mission is to keep Batman from hurting himself - which would be a nice bonus if, well, it worked. No, Tim is here to keep Batman from becoming what he set out to fight, and that, at least, is going well. To Tim's knowledge, none of the thugs they encountered over the past two months had to be brought to the ICU. None of them died, later, either.

"It's still just the two of us tonight," Tim says, as if he has no feelings whatsoever about possibly having to deal with Dick. "My night's already ruined. I won't be able to sleep. Adrenaline, you know." As if Tim would not give anything to lie down in a bed right now and not get up for a week straight. But his bed is quite a distance away, and he is really not sure his arm will like lying down. "So, go to bed. I'll sleep in the morning."

"Master Tim, you are -"

"Fine," Tim interrupts, briefly considering that he should stop being so rude. But he really, really wants to be alone right now. Remaining upright and pretending he is not in pain is quickly draining him of his remaining energy. "I'm fine."

Also, nothing Alfred could say to end his sentence would make anything better. Tim is what? A child? True, but only a convenient excuse when they want to forbid him something that is not going out into Gotham at night in a costume, fighting crime. Under Alfred's care? Wrong. If anything, he is here as an independent contractor. If Bruce had his way, Tim would have no contact whatsoever with Alfred. Tired? Boy, aren't they all?

"Bruce is heavily sedated and Dr. Thompson said it was unlikely he would wake tonight. So, all I'll be doing is write my report and watch over a sleeping man. Tomorrow will be much more demanding." Deciding a little manipulation has never done any harm, Tim adds, "I'm not sure I'll be up for tomorrow. I'm awake now, but -"

As expected, Alfred's face softens. Under different circumstances, Tim would have felt bad about it, but he needs to get his work done, go home, build himself a sling and then rest far away from people who can sniff out weakness.

"All right." Alfred sighs and, finally, looks back at Bruce. "But you will wake me immediately if you need me."

"Of course." As if Tim would ever risk Bruce's well-being. That would throw away months of sleepless nights, countless bruises and constant re-evaluation of his own worth.

"I mean it." Alfred stands up and fixes Tim with a stern look. "Not just if something with Master Bruce changes."

Tim would rather choke and die an undignified death in his sleep than putting more of a strain on Alfred, who will have his hands more than full with an injured Bruce. "I promise," he lies, easily.

"Until the morning, then."

Alfred still lingers in the door, clearly reluctant to leave, but Tim tries not to take it personally. After having taken care of Bruce for decades, it makes sense that he will not relinquish his duties easily to a tired, reckless teenager neither of them knows very well beyond his obvious superior life choices of deciding to traipse after a vigilante at night before he even finished school.

Tim waves him goodbye and almost yells out because, of course, he used his left hand. Well, at least he knows how he is going to keep himself awake if he has to. Pain is a very good motivator.

---

Tim is right. The pain does keep him awake, although it is a near thing, especially since he does not dare empty their entire stash of energy drinks lest he calls Alfred's wrath down on him. He also does not take care of his sling yet, either. Too many cameras around. And Tim decidedly does not trust Bruce with his search history.

---

In the morning, Alfred appears down in the cave much earlier than he probably should, but Tim is grateful enough that he will not mention it. He updates Alfred on Bruce's condition - unchanged, stable - and reassures him, once again, that he is fine - lie.

Then, refusing a cup of coffee for perhaps the first time in his life, he says, "If you won't need me, I'll go home to catch some sleep. I'll be back tonight."

The frown has taken permanent residence on Alfred's face by now, so Tim is unfazed. "There's really no need to leave, Master Tim. Your room is ready for you."

An involuntary shudder runs through Tim He has stayed here a few times when something went wrong during patrol and Alfred insisted they would need to observe him. Every time, though, Bruce got that pinched look of his that meant he is displeased but will not speak out against Alfred. Tim will not stay without Bruce's permission, and there is absolutely no reason for Alfred to overrule him.

Smiling, he shakes his head. "Thanks, Alfred. I'll be back at eight. Call me, if you need me earlier."

Alfred's look of disapproval is not any easier to stomach, but the consequences here are more of an emotional nature. And Tim has plenty of practice with disappointing people.

---

Bruce wakes up two days later and stays that way instead of the dozen or so half-conscious, panic-fuelled wake-ups he has until that point. It is bad timing, really, because Alfred is upstairs preparing lunch, so Tim is alone down here. He jumps up from the desk and checks the heart monitor, even though no alarms are going off.

Unfocused eyes blink at Tim, at the IV lines and cables, at the room, before Bruce slowly comes back to himself, shrugging off injury and exhaustion like it is nothing.

Unsurprisingly, the first word out of his mouth is, "Report."

Of course. Near-death experiences and emergency surgery are not enough to take Batman out of Bruce Wayne.

First off, Tim hands Bruce a cup with water. That croak sounds painful. Then, however, he sits up straight.

"The report is written and filed," he says, most important things first. "I took the liberty of informing Commissioner Gordon about what happened. Four of Black Mask's people are in custody and three of the other group, which is as of yet unidentified. Most of the weapon crates were secured."

Here, he pauses, because Bruce expectedly digs in. "Most?" he demands, somehow even more unreadable now with bruises in his face and one step away from unconsciousness. Is he displeased or angry? Does he even have the capacity for complex emotions right now?

Tim, too, can stay professional. "The unknown group started shooting and got some crates away in the mayhem." That is not his fault. Not even Batman can make it so.

Bruce coughs and only takes another sip after Tim nudges the cup closer to him. "Any leads?"

If not for the etiquette training his parents insisted on, Tim would gape at Bruce. Instead, he quickly clears his throat.

"None, as of yet."

He was too busy carrying Bruce home so he could get emergency surgery for his two gunshot wounds. And then Tim needed to sleep for twelve hours straight because of his own gunshot wound, the resulting blood loss and sheer exhaustion. He could have easily slept longer, but someone had to make sure that Alfred would get some rest, too. So, no, he does not have any leads.

He does not say any of that. Because, of course, Bruce would demand results. Officially, only one of them got shot, and while Bruce was out of commission, Tim had all the time in the world to work on the case. And Tim is not here to complain. He made a deal with Bruce that he could tag along as Robin as long as he was helpful. Slacking off, wounded or not, is not part of that deal.

Pushing any misgivings he might have away, Tim continues his report, keeping his tone neutral. "You were shot twice. In the lower abdomen and in the upper right thigh. Dr. Thompsom got the bullets out and said no inner organs were damaged. She is scheduled to come by this afternoon but has also left a treatment plan and list of recommendations."

Bruce hums and shifts in the bed, likely to test how his body feels. When he looks back at Tim, his gaze is heavy, loaded with something Tim cannot quite grasp. "You got me out?"

"Yes." He very deliberately keeps his chin up when he admits, "Loss of blood was not optimal. Dr. Thompson gave you four bags of blood."

He did the calculations. There are several ways he could have been faster, some of them riskier. Then again, he did get shot anyway, so maybe riskier would have been better. Later, he guesses, he will go through them with Bruce and they will iron out the flaws.

"And you?" Bruce asks, still with that iron focus.

Tim stares, not sure he understands. He obviously got out, too. Slowly, he says, "Alfred will kill me if I let you look over the report right now, but it's all there." He has done his work.

"No," Bruce says, immediately making Tim sit up straighter. "Are you all right?"

Tim stills. That is not part of the deal either.

"I'm fine," he says nonetheless. By now, it has become some kind of mantra. "But I should really call Alfred. He's been worried."

---

"Tim, do I need to take a look at your shoulder?" Dr. Thompson asks after she checks up on Bruce. "You've been favouring it."

The world comes to a sudden, screeching stop. Yet, Tim forces himself to frown and look at his shoulder, rolling it for good measure, careful not to hiss at the pain.

"This? No, thanks, Dr. Thompson. I think I just slept wrong." At her raised eyebrow, he adds, sheepishly. "I fell asleep at my desk."

He is a good liar, and Bruce's heavy gaze on his back as he flees means nothing.

---

It is Dick, who ruins everything. Dick, who avoids the Manor like the plague and, if he comes, only does so to yell at Bruce. Dick, who prefers to pretend Tim does not exist and, if they have to interact, is absolutely awkward, caught between wanting to be kind to a kid and being angry at already having a replacement little brother he never wanted in the first place.

With everybody else, Dick is a hugger. With Tim, he usually just waves awkwardly and leaves it at that. This time, Tim is on his way to leave when Dick comes into Bruce's room. He does wave but, at the last moment, pats Tim on the shoulder. The wrong shoulder. The shoulder in too close proximity to the bullet wound. Tim shouts, half in surprise, half in pain. Maybe more in pain. Dick freezes right where he stands, hand still half-raised in the air. Everybody stares.

Tim looks back, goes to duck his head and then thinks better of it. "Guess that pulled muscle is still not quite right," Tim tries weakly, perfectly aware that he is all but curling around his wounded arm.

Everybody is still staring, so he straightens - and definitely does not grimace in pain again.

Full of fake cheer, he nods at Dick. "Hello to you, too, Dick. I'll leave you to it."

He makes it all of half a step before he is stopped.

"Tim." That is Batman's voice and clearly an order.

Tim contemplates running. Bruce is not going to come after him. Dick could, but he still looks stunned. He could have a chance. But the very reason he hid his injury in the first place, is because he wants to be able to come back here. Defying a direct order is the simplest way to ruin that.

"It's not that bad," he tries to explain, painfully aware that he is not quite pulling up a calm tone. "Just a scratch. Dick just took me by surprise."

None of them believe him. He does not understand why. Since he has been allowed through the Manor's doors, he has made a point of being absolutely fine and as unobtrusive as possible. Nobody can accuse him of being a problem, a liar. He stays out of their way enough for that. If he says there is nothing to worry about, that should be it. Yet, Alfred is already coming towards him with a determined expression.

"Let's have a look, Master Tim."

Tim takes a step back. "No need, Alfred. I have -"

"Tim."

Great, so he is not going to get out of this one. He sighs, makes a show of it to make sure they realize they are blowing this out of proportion. "How about I'll talk to Dr. Thompson when she comes by later?"

"How about we look at you now?" Dick chimes in, because having a disapproving Batman and a disappointed Alfred ganging up on Tim is not enough. "What happened?"

Irritation rises in Tim's chest like the impossible to kill monster it is. "I basically carried Batman out of a firefight and to the Batmobile." Even while he is talking, Tim is not sure why he is only making things worse for himself. The gig is up. Dr. Thompson will not keep silent about him having a bullet wound. And that is if they even let him be alone with her.

And then what? He gets benched. Maybe he gets fired. Nobody needs a lying Robin. Nobody needs a useless Robin either, but getting caught lying probably weighs more at the moment.

This is not going to work.

"All right," he says and raises his hands, not hiding the wince as that pulls at his wound. "I got shot."

Silence.

"I must have misheard you, Master Tim." Alfred's voice is deadly calm and even Bruce glances nervously at him. This is not an Alfred that will be denied anything. This is not an Alfred that can be placated. "You were what?"

"Shot," Tim repeats through clenched teeth instead of insisting he is fine. "The bullet went straight through. There are no problems with either mobility or sensitivity. No signs of infection."

Only when Bruce blinks at him does Tim notice he has fallen into his usual cadence for reporting to Batman. Well, he feels like he is standing in front of a tribunal, so not much difference.

"Out," Alfred orders. "Now."

Nobody dares to argue.

---

It goes like this: Dr. Thompson is called in again, ahead of schedule. She clicks her tongue at Tim and conducts a thorough examination. Her bandage and her sling look much more professional than Tim's. She tells Alfred Tim is not to take off that sling until she gives them permission.

Alfred decrees Tim will stay in the Manor until further notice, but relents and promises that Dick will accompany Tim home so he can pack some things. Which leads to Dick asking some very pointed questions about Tim's parents and when, exactly, they are expected to return from their business trip.

Bruce calls Tim to his bedside and starts their conversation with, "Hiding injuries is unacceptable." Which makes Tim want to laugh. But then Bruce adds, "I can't take you out into the field if I can't trust you."

And that just pushes Tim into a panic attack - which he only finds out later is a panic attack when he comes back to himself in a dark wing of the Manor he has never been in before with Dick sitting next to him, alternating between telling him some fantastical stories from his circus times and instructing him how to breathe. Thanks a lot, but Tim has been breathing fine on his own for quite a number of years now. It still helps.

Bruce, later, tells him that he has no intention of taking Robin away from him. That helps, too.

He guesses, there will be more talking, later. For now, he wears his sling in plain sight and, when Alfred locks him out of the cave, hacks Batman's system and still gets some work done until Bruce, who is just sour that he, too is not allowed to work, tells him to stop.

It works out better than Tim could have hoped.

---

Bruce ambushes him days later after lunch, when Tim is full and sleepy and does not expect anything bad. As it is, he watches warily as Bruce comes into the living room and sits down across from him, his expression sombre. It does not help that he should definitely not walk around much. But where Tim has been a model patient ever since he was found out, Bruce is a bit harder to bully. He probably only gets away with it, because Alfred's attention has to be split between the two of them.

"Why did you not tell anyone you were injured?" Bruce asks by way of greeting.

In response, Tim flinches. He did not expect small talk about the weather, but it is something else to dive right into the deep end without warning.

"I had it handled," he says mulishly. People keep telling him how dangerous it was, but he is well aware that it is in his best interest to stay in top physical condition. He would not jeopardize that. What good would he be to anyone then? "Alfred had enough on his hands with you. I was fine."

All other inhabitants of the Manor seem to have developed a sudden allergy against the word fine. Whenever Tim uses it - which is often because he is fine - he has to deal with winces and pursed lips and studying stares.

"What if something had happened while you were at home and nobody would have noticed?" Bruce keeps going, all reasonable and calm, asking instead of telling, which is a new thing altogether.

"Nothing was going to happen." Tim has had some variation of this conversation a dozen times already with Alfred and Dick, so it is not hard not to snap at Bruce, even though he still does not understand what the big deal is. His parents have expected him to take care of himself and his needs since forever. This time, he was nowhere near his limits. "And we had a schedule. I'm punctual. Alfred would have known immediately."

Bruce's jaw tense briefly. "At which point you could have already been unconscious for hours."

Now, Tim does have to put effort into not rolling his eyes. "I rewrapped the wound daily. I took antibiotics. Why would I fall unconscious?" As if he would not recognize signs of infection.

"Tim," Bruce says and sighs, not disapproving as much as tired. That, somehow is worse. "We don't want anything to happen to you."

They want him in working order because he bullied his way into their lives and that means he should not be more trouble than he is worth. Tim has always understood that and thought they acted on the same terms. It is hard to reconcile this version of Bruce with the one from a few weeks ago who pushed him so hard during training that he sometimes thought he could not make the way back to Drake Manor. He is not sure what happened. Or if he necessarily likes it. He never set out to be a replacement for Jason. Batman was slipping and Tim felt in a position to stop it. Batman was still needed. Tim, however, not so much. At least not in any important, far-reaching matter. His parents surely would have something to say if he got himself killed and they invested lots of time and money into him without getting anything in return.

Tim shakes his head slightly to clear his thoughts. "And I'm fine," he repeats, pinching his thigh to see whether he might just be caught in some recurring nightmare.

They are silent for a while, in which Bruce looks at him but also through him. It is a disconcerting experience.

"Have you ever hidden an injury before?" Bruce then asks, his voice low and halting. His face looks drawn, years older than he is.

That is kind of a broad question. What kind of severity are they talking here? And only since Tim became Robin or ever?

"I've never been shot before," he says cautiously. It is the truth. He has been shot at plenty, but this is the first time he was not fast enough to get out of the way.

Bruce closes his eyes. Which, in Batman speak, is the equivalent of jumping up and down, screaming.

"I realize I've been harsh with you, and I want to apologize for that," he then says. The words take a long moment to register in Tim's brain, punching the air out of his lungs in the process. "I've wanted to keep you a safe distance away because - well, because maybe then it wouldn't hurt if something happened. But -" Bruce shrugs, not dismissive but uncomfortable, apologetic. "You're a good kid, Tim. A good Robin and a good kid."

Tim's throat is dry. He does not know what is happening. Well, it is probably good that Bruce thinks he is doing a good job, but all of this sounds somewhat final, like something is going to end, and there really is only one thing that could possibly be.

"I don't want to stop being Robin," he blurts out, rising half out of his seat. Heat burns at the back of his eyes, but he is not going to cry. He is not a child.

"I won't stop you," Bruce says, which is not the same thing as You can stay Robin or even I want you. "We just need to redefine our partnership."

Oh. Tim sinks back into his seat, out of breath as if he just ran all the way to Drake Manor and back. That does not sound too bad. At least, Tim does not think he is being thrown out. He can be better. He can -

"Tim." Bruce's voice cuts through Tim's racing thoughts. "We want you here and that has nothing to do with what you can do for us or how good you're at being Robin."

Sure, Tim thinks, that sounds totally legit.

But then Bruce gets up and comes towards him, limping only a little bit as he sinks down on the couch next to Tim. Slowly, and mindful of the sling, he pulls Tim into his arms.

"I have not given you many reasons to believe me," he says, all warm and rumbling and welcoming. "But I'll try to do better. Just give me a chance."

#whumptober2024 #no.6 #not realizing they're injured #batman #fic #tim drake #bruce wayne #unhealthy coping mechanism #my writing #family #hurt/comfort

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jadelynlace · 11 months ago

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Full-Term⎮Ink Drinker Blurb⎮Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader]