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greenelysium · 5 months ago

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Purple Beach - BokuAka [Fluff]

summary:

Akaashi and his friends are spending the day on the beach and he just can't stop looking at Bokuto.

content/warnings:

it's just all fluff, all relationships are established, a little slice-of-life style, generally canon-compliant, small mention of food

author note:

i think i accidentally made akaashi the rizzler in this but i didn't mean to, i just love the idea of akaashi's love being quiet but so overwhelming for bokuto

this has been cross-posted on ao3 as well: see here

word count: 1351

It was hot. Devastatingly so.

Even under the shade of his huge beach umbrella, Akaashi was sweating through his thin t-shirt. It didn’t help that his gorgeous boyfriend was running to and fro in the ocean waves, taking a break from playing beach volleyball with their friends, his muscles shifting with every movement and skin shining with sweat and water.

He let out a slow breath, placing his bookmark in his book and putting it away in the beach bag under his chair. He glanced over at Kenma beside him who was seemingly engrossed in his video game. Akaashi could see his eyes darting up to look at his boyfriend though, who was also splashing in the waves. Akaashi shifted his gaze back toward the waterline just in time to watch Kuroo jump on Bokuto’s back, sending them both crashing into the water.

He giggled and heard Kenma snort beside him.

Logically, he knew that getting in the water would work quickly to cool him off, but he’d never be able to convince Kenma to come along. And based on what he just witnessed between Kuroo and Bokuto, going there alone to join them would be a risk.

Just then, a flash of orange hair and two loud voices caught his attention. Hinata and Kageyama had returned from the small beach hut, carrying six cups of brightly coloured shaved ice.

“Thank God,” he said, causing Kenma to look back up in the direction Akaashi was facing, muttering a ‘finally’ under his breath.

Kenma raised his arm and groaned, “Us first, guys. Those idiots are entertaining themselves well enough.”

“Which idiots would those be exactly?” Kuroo asked from above Kenma, who jumped at his boyfriend’s voice, obviously expecting him to still be in the waves. The elder squished his cheeks with a hand and leaned down to kiss him.

“Your hands are sticky and sandy, go away,” Kenma gently shoved Kuroo away despite definitely leaning in and kissing him back a second ago.

Akaashi turned, looking for his own boyfriend, who was now jogging away from Hinata and Kageyama with two cups of shaved ice, one red and one blue. He smiled and stood from his lounge chair, waiting for Bokuto to reach him.

“Kaashi! Did you see my spike in the last game?! I totally blew them away!” Bokuto was practically exploding with excitement.

Akaashi, in turn, felt a burst of love for Bokuto, glad that even the heat couldn’t put a damper on his boyfriend’s spirits. He reached up to smooth back a spike of Bokuto’s hair and took the blue shaved ice from his boyfriend’s outstretched hand.

“I did, Bokuto, it was great.”

Bokuto huffed out a breath, “I honestly didn’t think I was going to get it because of how slippery the sand was but I got it in any way.”

Akaashi smiled and looked up at him, “I knew you were going to get it from the second you started moving.”

“Akaashi!” Bokuto yelled, throwing his arms around Akaashi’s middle and lifting him up, spinning him around as Akaashi laughed into his neck, being careful to not spill his treat.

“I don’t know how you two are even touching each other let alone hugging in this heat,” Kageyama said.

“Oh please, as if you and Shoyo weren’t holding hands the entire walk to the beach hut,” Kuroo rolled his eyes from where he was sitting at the edge of Kenma’s chair, massaging Kenma’s calf in his lap, who was talking to Hinata.

Even now, despite being engaged in different conversations, Kageyama and Hinata had their pinkies linked.

“Whatever,” Kageyama turned to Hinata, who was teasing Kenma about his aversion to the water.

(“You really are like a cat!”

“I just don’t want my hair to be wet.”

“Yeah…like a cat.”)

Akaashi placed his shaved ice on the small table beside his chair and smiled to himself, he had grown fond of Kageyama through the years. While their friendship started much later than the rest of the group and was generally dominated by the extreme personalities of Kuroo, Hinata, and Bokuto, they had come to appreciate each other’s ability to operate in comfortable silence. And it didn’t help that Akaashi was always a sucker for a good character arc and Kageyama had grown so much since high school.

Akaashi couldn’t even blame Kageyama for being so attached to his boyfriend because he was the same way with his. He’d rather be right by Bokuto’s side in a new place than alone in a familiar one, would rather be sharing a new kind of food with him than eating something familiar by himself. For Akaashi, he’d rather do anything with Bokuto than without him. He was his best friend, his lover, his everything.

He sighed in Bokuto’s arms, who gently pushed away to look at the setter.

Bringing a hand to his cheek, Bokuto asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about how high our water bill is going to be after the shower you’ll need when we get home.”

“Hey!” Bokuto pouted, “It’s not that bad.”

Akaashi laughed lightly, tracing a finger down Bokuto’s chest, “Honestly? I’m thinking about you. I’m thinking about how I love being with you. How I love everything about you, everything about us.”

Bokuto’s entire face went red and he threw himself back onto Akaashi, burying his face in his neck, “Oh my god, ‘Kaashi! Your honesty is too much sometimes.”

Akaashi couldn’t help but giggle in response, “I’m only saying what I truly feel. You deserve to hear how wonderful I think you are.”

Bokuto looked back at him and caught Akaashi’s mouth in a hard kiss, pulling the younger into him as if they could get any closer. Akaashi couldn’t help but smile, pushing up a little onto his toes and wrapping his arms around Bokuto’s neck as the older gently started kissing down his jaw and neck, sighing in contentment. He no longer cared about the heat or the fact that they were on a semi-public beach, he was just happy to be in this moment with Koutarou.

“Hey! They spent good money on those ice cups! Don’t complain when they’re all melted ‘cause you wanted to feel each other up!” Kuroo’s voices came fast and loud, effectively ruining whatever little moment Akaashi and Bokuto were sharing.

They broke apart, Akaashi turning to lean his back into Bokuto’s chest, who naturally came to rest his arm around Akaashi’s waist. Akaashi could see Kenma flicking Kuroo on the cheek, probably telling him to mind his own business.

Akaashi hummed and gently patted Bokuto’s hip twice before he took a step towards the table, picking his shaved ice back up. When he turned back around, Bokuto had started eating his, his tongue already a bright red that was spreading to his lips with every bite he took. Akaashi brought a spoonful of blue ice into his own mouth, savouring how cold it was. He watched Bokuto bring another spoonful up, watched as his bicep flexed at even that small movement.

Damn, it really was hot out here.

Bokuto caught him staring and tried to subtly flex again, tried being the key word as Akaashi noticed right away, gently smacking his arm and telling him to stop being a show-off. Bokuto just winked and smiled a bright, cherry-red smile. Akaashi in turn gave him a bright blue one.

“Wow, these food dyes really are strong,” Bokuto pointed out, crouching down to the bag underneath Akaashi’s chair and pulling out the small digital camera they’d brought. He brought it ridiculously close to Akaashi’s face (who obligingly gave a giant, ridiculous, blue-tinged smile in return) and took a picture.

He turned the camera to Akaashi, who in turn took a similar photo of Bokuto.

Flipping back and forth between the photos, Bokuto chuckled, “We match. You’re neon blue, I’m neon red.”

And Akaashi couldn’t help himself when he said, “Good thing I really like purple,” and leaned towards Bokuto, kissing him once again.

#bokuaka #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #bokuto x akaashi #haikyuu #haikyuu bokuto #haikyuu akaashi #kozume kenma #kuroo tetsurou #hinata shouyou #kageyama tobio #haikyuu fanfiction #kenma x kuroo

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rivstyx · 1 year ago

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hi do you have andy good ntam fics youd rec im looking forsome on ao3 but there not good enough

absolutely! here's five of my favorites, straight from my bookmarks:

The Barn Raising by PoetryInMotion 7463 words. The Old West's barn has been demolished by a fetch-related accident. When they get a new one, the Western denizens throw a good old-fashioned barn-raising party. Jedediah decides to invite Octavius (and both secretly hope that they can kindle a romance between the do-si-do and the two-step).

if this was a cowboy movie (i'd give you my boots) by Liviapenn 10180 words. There are secret articles in our treaties with the gods, of more importance than all the rest, which the historian can never know.' -- Henry David Thoreau. This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you. -- Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself"

in sickness and in health (to love and to cherish) by zhingweii 8403 words. in which Jedediah gets darted - and it turns out to be quite the enlightening experience.

On Every Horizon by flowerdeluce 15551 words. After discovering how lucrative ‘publicity stunts’ are for the museum, McPhee organises a series of art exhibitions in the museum’s gallery. The installations are refreshed weekly, leaving Jed and Octavius only brief windows of time to explore each one.

Overworked by MaidenofIron157 1317 words. Octavius has been a bit run down lately. Jed has just the solution.

and one bonus one, from a name you might recognize ;)

living beyond your years (acting out all their fears) by Riv_Styx 16447 words. Secret of the Tomb AU. Octavius doesn't make it out of Pompeii; angry and grieving, Jedediah goes home alone. Meanwhile, for Octavius, his whole world changes overnight. The new museum is thriving on the magic of the tablet, but it's not where he belongs. It's going to be a long way home.

#natm #jedtavius #natm fic #riv recs #reccing is fun yall should ask me for more of these

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oneminutefiftysixseconds · 9 months ago

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i think maybe tumblr ate my ask for the ask game? i'd love to know 🍻 and 🔮!

i think so -- i've been getting a lot of issues with this Most Definitely Functioning App And Website so i hope this works!

🍻 seeing races live

yes!! i will be somewhere out on the course for both the men's and women's Paris-Roubaix, which i'm super excited for as it'll be the first time i've seen a race live (except that time tour of britain passed through my hometown when i was ~4 but i don't remember much beyond waiting several hours in the heat for what amounted to a minute of unintelligible noise and cars going by), and i might be going to a Tour stage but we will see. plus definitely Tour of Britain if it still goes ahead and is nearby 🙏🙏

🔮 drop some predictions, no matter how big/small

okay let's have fun. all of these are just ~vibes~ and gut feelings but i will be making sure to bookmark this if anything does happen. variable startlists my beloathed.

Mathieu wins his third RVV from a small-group sprint but doesn't podium Roubaix. skips the Tour (or leaves at the end of first week) to focus on Olympic MTB where he wins a medal

Marianne Vos podiums Amstel

Jasper gets a big one-day win like Brugge-de-Panne again or GW, but misses out on the green jersey at the Tour

Cecilie wins two GT stages (if she rides two GTs, one if she rides one, but she crashed at Omloop, praying for a quick recovery 🙏🙏❤️)

Hugh Carthy wins a stage at the Giro i can feel it.

Tadej wins 3+ Giro stages then 2 Tour stages. comes off the back of winning the Giro in great form but misses out on the Tour podium because of a random event (illness/crash/mechanical etc) but another UAE rider makes the top 3

Cav gets #35, it's magical, wonderful, the commentators are crying, i'm crying, and then he doesn't start the next stage

Mads gets green at the Tour and 2 stage wins and probably green at the Dauphiné too

Primož wears yellow but doesn't win the Tour

'Giro stage shortened because of bad weather' would be a bit of a fork-found-in-kitchen prediction, but i think there'll be at least one Tour stage that's shortened/neutralised due to the heat

Whoever does win the Tour wins at least one other jersey (white if Remco, KOM if anyone else)

SDworx 1-2 at least two races with Demi and Lotte

there's a kind of surprise Olympics winner -- maybe a sprint goes weird, a breakaway go hell-for-leather and make it, who knows

Movistar get on the podium at Catalunya and top 5 Vuelta but signing Nairo again proves to be a mistake

stage winners at the Vuelta include Jay Vine, Egan Bernal, Guillaume Martin and Caleb Ewan (Jonas wins overall)

okay that's a lot actually, i love throwing prediction darts at the cycling season

early season ask game

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ripgray-moved · 7 months ago

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he'll be honest and say that ownership in general isn't a thing he's very educated on. he knows about his own property— a cabin that used to be somewhat on the grid as a holiday spot before he'd put down the deposit to claim the all but abandoned spot— and he knows about the stark difference between owning land here versus owning land in some place like new york city, but specifics? considerations like when it was bought? they aren't things he'd automatically think to consider.

"i guess i didn't consider everything," peter allows. it's a more willing admission than he thought it'd be; his mom never gave him that much space for error so god knows how he's adjusted to admitting he was wrong so aptly. progress, kid.

part of him thinks to ask why daryl cared to buy his land in the first place. if cash truly was something he and his ilk were strapped for, it hardly made sense— in his eyes at least— to fling any amount of it at some vacant stretch of woods. a bigger part of him thinks to leave the line of inquiry alone, convinced that he must have had a reason.

"'kay, so you're not loaded. that's something! look at us gettin' to know each other." it's a remark made lightly as he turns away, reaching into his inner pocket and plucking his read of the day out. it's a smaller book than most western titles. 'おやすみプンプン' declares the cover. "don't worry. i'm not here to bother you the whole time. a guy knows how to entertain himself out here."

it's hardly a dismissal of conversation— rather an out should daryl want him to shut the fuck up. much like the book in his hands, peter is good at folding himself shut when needed.

just as he settles and parts the pages, finding his place with ease ( it's more a comic than a traditional book, full of pictures that make it easy to distinguish where he read to last without the need for a bookmark or dog-earring ), max darts out of the brush carrying a comically large hunk of wood.

"oh my fucking god—" the urge to laugh is immediate as the collie trots proudly over to him with the equivalent of a log in his mouth. "whatcha got?" he asks in a tight voice, clearly on the cusp of hysterics as max sits almost daintily ahead of him. with grace not befitting an animal carrying something so large, he drops the stick into his owner's lap before looking at him with his typical goofy dog-look; lolling tongue and big, stupid eyes, tail wagging a mile a minute. peter's gaze flits between the face of his beloved companion to the log in his lap. "yeahhh, no. i'm not throwing this one, bud."

it's lucky for peter that daryl took a couple of months to get himself together. while he's not a bad person ( and not generally a violent person, either, as difficult as it might be to believe after their few quarrels ), his temper does sometimes get the better of him— particularly when he has reason to feel indignant, or like he's being backed into a corner. the drinking didn't help, either.

but now, after he's had time to right himself and think about his actions? after he's taken the step to apologize and try to move on? his baseline is a distinct level of calm that those who have known him for years recognize him for. so as peter starts asking questions, real curiosity crawling through each lilt of his inflection, daryl simply listens. ponders quietly on how to respond.

in truth, there's a lot to unpack about peter's inquiries. it's immediately clear to daryl, as it was when they first met, that he doesn't know very much about what it's really like to live out here; particularly about landownership, it seems. but part of him does find it amusing, as well, that his counterpart believes him to be strong enough to crack the wooden handle of a hunting knife with his bare hands.

‘ wood cracks, ’ he says plainly. ‘ you got a knife with a wood handle, it don' matter how careful you are— moisture and wear n' tear will do it. ’

his carving knife is held with confidence as it slices easily through the wood. the shavings fall to the ground around his feet. making a new handle isn't exactly what he wanted to do; he would much rather just fill the crack with epoxy and then seal it off and be done with it. however, the crack wasn't exactly shallow; it was more like a complete break, leaving the wood in pieces due to its heavy usage and exposure to the elements over the years. he won't get into those nitty gritty details, though. daryl believes what he's said already is enough.

the more pressing explanation, he thinks, revolves around peter's belief that he must be some kind of well-off just because he owns land. it's a common misconception by folks who haven't grown up this way— not peter's fault, by any means, but incorrect nonetheless.

‘ can't afford to jus' buy a new one. gotta fix what i got, or i don't got nothin'. ’ he allows the statement to hang in the air for a moment before his eyes flicker up to peter. it applies to everything he has: his vehicles, his personal possessions, his household appliances... even his crossbow was a gift from his uncle jess a long, long time ago. but daryl has always lived this way, as do so many in rural america— one paycheck away from being completely behind on bills, but self-sufficient enough to hunt his own dinner and craft and fix his own possessions.

it's a shame he never learned how to make his own moonshine or grow his own tobacco, or he'd be able to live off-grid forever.

‘ bought this land from my uncle back in the 90s. i was prob'ly yer age. he was on 'is deathbed, sold all of it t'me for five grand so i'd have somethin'. been here ever since. ’

he won't mention his brother, or his father, or the circumstances which led to him taking his uncle jess up on the offer to move out here. not for now— maybe not ever. it's a story full of shame that he doesn't want to lay bare.

#⋆ ⋮ 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲. ❜ ( aintashes. )#⋆ ⋮ 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘆. ❜ ( in character. )#aintashes #[ peter: i'd say my dog is making me look bad but actually we're Both stupid. <3 ]

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dreamerstreamer · 4 years ago

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Rain, Rain, Go Away

Pairing: Ranboo & gn!reader (platonic)

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] Ranboo’s memory may not be the best, but that doesn’t mean he’s not your best friend. Sometimes, you just wish he remembered to do to some things—like not get stuck in the rain.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: at last, some appreciation for my favourite enderman! let’s give this awkward, polite, tall child some love :) i tried a different writing approach to writing this, so please pardon the fact that there’s less dialogue in this one.

You let out a small gasp as your eyes scanned the page in front of you, your toes curling in your shoes as you swallowed. Your fingers curled a little tighter around the spine of the book. You could not believe that just happened—they couldn’t just throw your favourite character into prison like that!

Chewing on your bottom lip, you sank back against the bench seat, you huffed as you set your book down face-up on your lap. Whatever. He’ll probably just break out, anyways.

Leaning back slightly, you stretched your arms out above you with a soft groan, your bones cracking with a satisfying pop. Relaxing once more, you blinked at the space around you while a soft breeze caressed the side of your face. It was a beautiful day out, but Ghostbur had told you earlier that it was probably going to rain, soon.

“How can you tell?” you had asked him once.

He had shrugged at you, humming aloud with a thoughtful look. “The sky just seems a little sad, don’t you think?”

You had glanced up at the clear, boundless blue expanse lying above you, your lips curling into a small frown. “I dunno. Looks pretty happy to me.”

“That’s the thing,” Ghostbur had said, flashing you that soft, ghostly smile of his. “It may look happy, but there’s more than what meets the eye.”

While you supposed he had a point, you still didn’t quite understand how he could tell it was going to rain. It must be me his ghostly senses, you thought to yourself, swinging legs back and forth on the bench, your heels dragging along the slightly dewy grass. That, or maybe he’s officially lost it. You wrinkled your nose. Can ghosts even go crazy? Is that a thing?

You shook your head. Crazy or not, Ghostbur was never wrong when he said it was going to rain—you weren’t about to start doubting him, now.

Above you, the sky was still as clear as ever, the sun cresting high above you as its warm rays shone down on you. Just how long had you just spent reading? It felt like you hadn’t talked to anyone in ages, now.

Just then, something moved in the corner of your eye, and you turned your head, blinking.

A head of black and white hair bobbed along the distance, the figure slowly growing closer and closer until you could clearly make out the face attached to it. The moment you did, a wicked smile shot across your face, and you opened your mouth.

“Hey, Ranboob.”

Ranboo froze at the sound of your voice, raising his head only for a look of horror to pass through his eyes as realization sunk in. “Not you, too.” Exasperation tinged his voice as his eyebrows curved downward. “Have you been talking to Tommy, again?”

You simpered with a coy gleam in your eye, tracing a finger over the edge of a page. “Maybe.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, a long sigh fell from his lips. He strode up to you, stopping a few feet away to stare you down. “I came out here to have a good time,” he said lowly, “and I’m feeling very attacked, right now.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, your smile widening slightly. “Quoting stale memes now, are we?”

He lifted his chin at you, his expression firm. “Stale or not, it’s fitting for my current situation.”

You blinked at him, then shrugged. “Fair enough.” Picking up your bookmark from its spot on your lap, you swiftly slid it in between the pages of your book, letting the pages fall shut with a satisfying clap. “So,” you said, peering up at him, “what are you up to, right now?”

“Well, I kind of wanted to go exploring for a while. You know, see some new sights, get a break from—” He shivered. “—politics.”

A laugh bubbled out of your throat, and you caught the way his lips curled up at the sound. “A 2-in-1 deal then, huh? Sounds good to me.” You leaned back, your eyes pointing up at the sky above. “Ghostbur said it was going to rain, though.” Furrowing your brows, you shot him a worried look. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

He jutted a thumb over his shoulder, rocking back and forth on his heels with a nod. “I’m heading home to grab my helmet, actually.” When you narrowed your eyes at him, he waved a hand at you. “Don’t worry—I’ll be safe, I swear.”

You cocked your head at him, a hopeful look flickering across your face. “But we’re still baking potatoes later, right? At four o’clock?”

He nodded, an earnest smile tugging at his lips. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You grinned at him, wide and giddy as you lifted one hand in a wave. With the other, you opened your book once more, tugging the bookmark out and placing it on the space beside you. “Awesome. Take care, now.”

Turning on his heel, he waved over his shoulder, sending you a reassuring grin. “Will do.”

Ranboo was a few yards away when your eyes widened, a sudden thought barreling into you. Slamming your book shut, you shot to your feet, whipping around with a hand cupped around your mouth. “And do not forget,” you shouted, your voice ringing across the air, “you hear me?”

Stopping in his tracks, Ranboo turned, a smile stretched across his face as he called back, “Loud and clear!”

With a relieved sigh, you lowered your arm, watching as he darted down the path toward his house. You sat down on the bench with a hum, casting your gaze down at your book only to freeze. Then, you let out a long groan.

You forgot to put your bookmark back.

Grumbling quietly to yourself, you pulled back the cover, scouring the pages with a glower as your bookmark stared back at you tauntingly.

At least you had something to look forward to this afternoon.

Ranboo strolled through his house with a soft hum, unlocking chests here and there to dig around and stuff things into his pockets. Food, check. Sword, check. Map, check. He blinked, tapping his foot. Am I missing anything?

He paused for a long moment, blinking down at the items lying in front of him before snapping his fingers, letting out a quick, “Aha!” Scrambling to his feet, he rushed to the other side of the room, leaning up against the wall to pluck the clock out of its frame. How could he not remember to bring a clock? After all, he had to be back in time to bake potatoes with you.

Slipping the clock into his pocket with a quiet hum, he turned back to the table where he had laid everything out. Clock, check. Is that everything? He squinted for a moment, staring at the open chest pressed up against the wall as the wheels in his head slowly turned.

A moment passed, then two.

He felt like he was forgetting something.

Didn’t you tell him something—reminded him of something? He wrinkled his brow, staring long and hard at the top of shoes. What could it possibly be? He was pretty sure it was something along the lines of... something, something... sky?

Ranboo lifted his head, his eyes trailing over to the window with confusion swimming through his eyes. Just outside, the sky was bright and vibrant, not a single cloud to be seen. There hadn’t been such a clear day in weeks, now.

You must have just said something about how nice the weather was, today—he was sure of it.

Moving quickly and surely, Ranboo slipped his belongings into his pockets, making sure to strap the sword to his back before stepping outside, a soft breeze immediately caressing the side of his face. He took in a deep breath, feeling the cool summer air fill his lungs. With sunlight dancing on his cheeks, he felt his lips quirk up into a small smile.

It was time to explore.

Ranboo gazed up at the towering trees with a soft gasp, shielding his eyes from the dappled sunlight flitting across his face with his hand. People said he was abnormally tall, but when he was surrounded by trees as big as this, he just couldn’t believe that to be true.

Ducking under a low hanging branch, he let out a whistle as he stepped into a sudden clearing, a short stump lying in the center. The sunlight almost seemed to shine a spotlight atop the cut wood, and he found himself immediately walking up to it and sitting down. With one hand, he lifted his sword from his back and tossed it onto the ground. With the other, he pulled out a carrot from his pocket and took a bite, glancing around him with curious eyes.

He had never even known that there was a spruce forest in this area. Maybe he should go exploring more often instead of spending so much time thinking about countries and borders and allegiances and—

A shiver ran down his spine, and Ranboo shook his head. Now was not the time to think about all that.

For a few minutes, Ranboo simply sat and chewed, stretching out his legs. He watched as a pair of foxes darted between the trees, their orange, bushy tails swishing behind them as they ran off into the bushes. He smiled at the sight, finishing his carrot. He had to tell Fundy about them later.

All of a sudden, something wet dropped onto the bridge of his nose, and he let out a sharp yelp while leaning back. He slammed a hand over his face, not quite realizing how far he had leaned back before he was suddenly lying face first on the ground, crashing into the earth. Letting out a groan, he lifted his head, rubbing at his nose.

The skin burned where he touched it like a hot ache, and Ranboo scrunched his face. What in the world was that? Tilting his head back to look up, his breath hitched in his throat at the sight that met his eyes.

The once clear, blue sky was now overcast with dark, stormy clouds, their hazy appearance overshadowing their softness.

He squinted for a moment, desperation stirring in his veins. It wasn’t raining, was it? It couldn’t be. You would have told him if it was going to rai—

Ranboo froze, then let out a long sigh. “I,” he said aloud to himself, his low voice ringing out in the quiet forest, “am an idiot.”

You did tell him, didn’t you? That must have been what he had forgotten—that, and his helmet.

He paused again, furrowing his brow. Wait, no. There was something else too, something else he was forgetting.

With a huff, he pushed himself onto its feet, screwing his eyes shut as he pressed a hand to his temple and ran through the jumbled mess of memories in his head. He remembered walking down the prime path and seeing you on the bench... you had called him Ranboob, asked where he was going, and...

His eyes flew open, a low, sinking feeling settling in his gut.

Potatoes. He was supposed to bake potatoes with you at four.

Without even an inkling of hesitation, Ranboo shoved his hand into his pocket, frantically fishing around for a moment before pulling out his clock, his eyes widening.

It was four eleven.

You were so going to kill him.

All of a sudden, another wet droplet landed on the top of his head, and Ranboo let out a quiet shriek, feeling his scalp grow hot with the same, uncomfortably familiar burning sensation as earlier. Whipping around, Ranboo swept his eyes across the clearing. He wasn’t going to make it back in time now, at least not without possibly dying. For now, he had to find something—anything—to hide under.

Something burned against his backside, and Ranboo didn’t need to turn around to know what it was, far too busy turning this way and that. But no matter where he looked, all he could see were tall, looming spruce trees, there branches too spaced out separated to serve as even remotely sufficient shelter.

Just then, another raindrop splashed onto his shoulder. Then another fell on his arm. Then another dropped onto his foot.

With each passing second, the rain grew heavier and heavier, more and more droplets landing on him and leaving his body aching all over. Ranboo gritted his teeth, his chest heaving with wracking, wet breaths. Choking back a pained cry, his hand desperately clutched at the front of his now damp and soggy shirt.

He was so, so screwed.

You stared at the empty baking tray sitting on your kitchen counter, your eyes darting back and forth between it and the clock on your wall. After a few moments, you let out a groan, smacking your head against the counter.

It was four fifteen.

Ranboo was late.

Admittedly, it was only by fifteen minutes, but late was late.

You turned your head so that your cheek was smushed against the counter, the coolness seeping into your skin as you glared at the sack of potatoes sitting on the opposite side of the kitchen. Ranboo was a punctual guy—he was almost never late, and if he was, it was never by a landslide, or anything.

Lifting your head, you nodded to yourself, feeling yourself fill with resolve. Yes, that was it—he was surely going to show up soon! In the meantime, you could always just read some more of your book.

Abandoning your baking, you were soon curled up on your couch once more, your book clutched between your fingers as you drank in the rest of the story. You were right—your favourite character did break out of prison.

Although you were engrossed in your novel, you slowly found your eyes returning to the clock every few minutes, anxiety gnawing away at you. Everything’s fine, you reasoned with yourself, flipping to the next page with a nervous glance. Ranboo’ll turn up soon.

But soon enough, twenty minutes passed with no sign of Ranboo.

Then thirty.

Then forty.

By the time an hour had gone by, you found yourself staring out the window, your lips pursed and your eyebrows furrowed in worry. The rain ran down along the glass panes like tiny rivers, and you could hear it pattering against your roof. Beside you, your book lay abandoned facedown on the couch. Is he okay? you wondered, clenching your jaw. Did something happen?

You didn’t let yourself think about it for a moment longer, shutting your book and setting it onto the coffee table before getting to your feet, your eyes narrowed. If Ranboo wasn’t going to come to you, it looked like you were simply going to have to get him yourself.

It only took you a few moments to grab your jacket from its spot on the hanger and tug it on, your fingers deftly buttoning the front while you muttered to yourself. “He probably forgot we were hanging out, didn’t he?”

Rolling your eyes to yourself, you walked up to your front door, your hand reaching for the handle when you paused. A grimace stretched across your face, and your gaze shifted toward the coffee table.

You forgot your bookmark, again.

You stared at your closed book for a moment longer, then scoffed, twisting the door open. Who cared about some book when your best friend was missing? You had your priorities straight.

Flipping your hood over your head, you rushed down the path, splashing past puddles and damp grass as you raced toward Ranboo’s house, grumbling. Keeping you waiting for half an hour was one thing, but two? This called for some serious retribution.

When you arrived, you didn’t bother to knock before pushing the front door open, your mouth already open in a shout. “Ranboo?” you cried, your eyes taking in the room. “Are you there?”

There was a beat of silence, then you frowned. Now he’s ignoring me? Rude.

Slipping off your shoes, you stepped inside, ducking your head around as you searched for him. But it was only after a few moments that it was obvious that he wasn’t home, and you were alone. Blinking, you stared at the open chest near the wall and the empty frame attached to the space above the door.

Is he... still outside? you thought carefully. Your bit your lip, crossing your arms over your chest. There’s no way. I specifically told him that it was going to rain today. You paused, your frown deepening. Unless...

Stifling a sigh, you slowly turned until your eyes landing on the armour stand sitting in the corner of his room. Your jaw dropped.

He forgot his helmet.

You didn’t even have to think about it before you were ripping the helmet off the stand and diving for Ranboo’s open chest, immediately pulling out a handful of regeneration potions and stuffing them into your pockets. Maybe this was considered stealing, but in that moment, you couldn’t care less.

“He is so dumb,” you whined in a panicked tone, pulling your shoes back on and kicking down the door. “I cannot believe him.”

In a flash, you were sprinting down the hill that led outside L’Manburg, Ranboo’s helmet bouncing along at your side. He said he was going exploring, you remembered, panting to yourself as you tried not to slip on the wet ground, so he must be somewhere in the wilderness.

You were about to turn the corner when a figure came into sight from the side, blond locks bobbing along the side of your vision. At the sound of footsteps, Tommy lifted his head, sending you a bright grin as he waved. “Hey, [Y/N]!” His eyes fell down to your hand, and his eyebrows knit together. “Is that Ranboo’s helme—”

“No time to explain!” you shouted, barreling past him without even a second glance.

Tommy made a face as you passed, his cerulean eyes following after you. “Wait, what the f—”

But by then, you were already long gone, leaving Tommy behind to swim in a puddle of confusion and unanswered questions.

Ranboo huddled further against the tree trunk, his back digging into the bark as he wrapped his arms tighter around himself where he sat. Above him, the branches rustled, and a raindrop whizzed past his face, sliding down the side of his arm. Bristling, he let out a small whimper, his nails digging into his palms.

This was probably the most pathetic situation he’d ever been stuck in.

He could feel the back of his eyes sting with unshed tears, and he sucked in a shaky breath. He half-wanted to cry, but he knew he couldn’t let that happen. He could already imagine the way his cheeks would burn at the feeling of his tears flowing down his face. Crying would only make everything even worse than it already was.

To think that of all the days he could forget something you said, it just had to be today. God, just how bad of a friend was he to get stuck in the rain even after you told him to bring his helmet, let alone forget about hanging out with you?

He buried his face into his knees, squeezing his eyes shut with a ragged breath. He really was awful.

Suddenly, a distant voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Ranboo?”

He whipped his head up at the sound of his name, eyes wide as he scanned the clearing. “[Y/N]?” he shouted.

Just then, you burst through the bushes, stumbling forward. Before you could stop yourself, you found your shoe catching on the tree stump he had been sitting on earlier, and he winced as you toppled headfirst into the ground with a crash.

“A-Are you okay?” he asked, concern etched onto his features.

You quickly pulled yourself up from the ground, completely ignoring the mud staining your pants. “I should be the one asking you that,” you said in a blur, rushing over to him with a focused gaze.

Ranboo could only gape at you with a stunned look as you crouched down in front of him. “How—how did you even find me?” he sputtered, his head still reeling at the sight of you. “This forest is hundreds of blocks away.”

You deadpanned at him. “Lots, and lots, and lots of running.” You gestured to your dirty shoes, soaked with rain and mud all over. “My feet are kind of killing me, right now.”

He winced, his voice growing quiet. “I’m sorr—”

You raised a hand. “Ah, ah, ah. This comes first.” Pulling his helmet out from behind you, you immediately slammed it atop his head, easily making sure it was securely attached to his skull. “Also,” you added, burying a hand into your coat pocket, “drink this.”

Without missing a beat, you pulled out a potion of regeneration and shoved it toward him. As his hand clasped around the glass bottle, Ranboo opened his mouth, only to close it at the stern look you gave him. Swallowing, he removed the cork and lifted the potion to his lips, the sweet liquid pouring down his throat. In an instant, the burning of his skin subsided, and he felt his shoulders relax.

At his calm expression, your eyes finally softened, and you nearly sagged against him in relief. “Feeling any better?”

Capping the empty bottle, he let it drop to the damp grass as he nodded, but something sad flickered across his gaze. “Yeah, but...”

The words were flying out of your mouth in a flurry, and you already reaching for your pockets again. “Did you still need anything?” You pulled out another potion. “I, um, didn’t bring a lot of stuff with m—”

Ranboo shook his head, and you fell silent. “No, no, it’s not that, it’s just...” He paused, and sucked in a deep breath, his voice coming out fragile and cracked. “I’m really sorry, [Y/N].” He curled his legs closer to his chest, and he suddenly looked very, very small as his words came out in a mess of choked out syllables. “I forgot we were going to hang out and I just couldn’t remember and then it was raining which I also forgot you told me about and now you must hate m—”

Before he knew it, your arms were wrapped around him, your head pressed against his as you softly crooned. “Shh, Ranboo, stop. I’m here, okay? And I would never hate you for something like that.” You patted your hand against his sopping back, and felt him melt into your touch. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

He pulled away from you, his lips parted in surprise. “Really?”

You smiled, sincere and true. “Really.”

Just as a slow, shaky smile spread across his lips, you suddenly realized how quiet it was. Turning, you peeked up at the sky once more, your eyebrows raising at the sight of a clear, blue sky. The rain had finally stopped.

“Well,” you said, your smile widening, “would you look at that.” Then, you blinked, and frowned down at your dirty shoes. “Dang. That means I got all muddy for nothing.” You saw Ranboo wince again, but you merely shrugged, getting back onto your feet. “Oh, well. Enough of that. Let’s get going, instead.”

For a moment, Ranboo simply stared at you as you dusted off your front, a soft, affectionate warmth filling his chest. Then, he spoke. “Thank you for coming to get me,” he said so softly you almost missed it. “I really am sorry.”

You paused, then smiled at him again. “And I really do forgive you.” Stretching your hand out toward him, you tilted your head. “Now, stop thinking about it, okay? I promise I’m not mad.”

Ranboo hesitated for a second, then slipped his hand into yours, letting you tug him up onto his feet with a grateful grin. “Okay.”

Once he was upright once more, you clapped your hands together. “C’mon, let’s go back to my place. I’ve got some bandages you can use. Besides,” you said, shooting him a cheeky wink, “we still have some potatoes to bake.” You shivered, sticking your tongue out in disgust. “I also need to do some laundry.”

Laughter bubbled up his throat, lighthearted and pure as the two of you strode out of the forest, the sun shining down on you as you made your way home.

Ranboo might be forgetful, but he was sure he wouldn’t ever forget the important things—things like you.

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thestarsoutofyourwindow · 4 years ago

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To Survive this Pain, Part 1 - 11th Doctor x Reader

A/n: I'm not dead, I promise! I've just been struggling to finish off fics. If this seems slightly rushed it's because I just needed to finish something. It's exam season (it's extra-long now due to a certain virus), but they're over in a few weeks. I've been trying to stretch into writing for different Doctors, and in my new formats, but good old Eleven is easiest to write. Inbox is still open :)

Word Count: 2596

Summary: After the "death" of Amy and Rory, the Doctor is devastated. After deciding to isolate himself on a cloud, he leaves you with the Paternoster Gang till Strax informs you the Doctor wants to see you.

Warnings: Angst, Cold Doctor, Doctor is slightly ooc due to guilt, mild self-inflicted Injury, Bouts of Rage.

I should try to post part two as soon as possible.

This is my first ever Full Story (GIF isn't mine).

Your shoes splashed through puddles on the cobblestone road, on your way down to the park of which you knew he would be.

You hadn't heard from him in a short while now, but Jenny and Vastra frequently advising you to pay him a visit had been getting to you. That's why, when Strax brought you the news that the Doctor wanted to see you, you leapt at the opportunity.

You were worried, you'll admit. It was clear as day that losing Amy and Rory had him tearing himself to pieces. It was only a matter of time before he sent you off, too. Before he abandoned you.

Weaving around the quiet Victorian streets, the sun still yet to grace the sky, you had arrived at the park. Looking around the odd trees that decorated the perimeter, you picked out the tree that you knew had the elusive ladder directly above it. You stepped over the beds of wilting flowers that lined the pathways into the overgrown grass.

After completing the feat of reaching the ladders, consisting of either jumping or using your umbrella handle, you had successfully pulled the ladder down far enough to climb onto.

Making your way up the ice-cold rungs, you take a moment to consider why the Doctor called for you in the first place.

It made little sense to you. After all, the Doctor had been avoiding you for the better part of two months now; what had changed?

The Doctor planning on taking you home became all the more likely in your mind as you began to climb the spiral staircase, shivering as the late-autumn air nipped at your skin. Winter was slowly breaking through the remaining life.

If you weren't so hung up on adjusting to the less-than-ideal state of Victorian England, you would've had more time to worry about the Doctor. However, he was so hung up with his own issues, and you with yours, that he only crossed your mind when you were settling down for the night.

Of course, it hurt that you too. Never seeing Amy and Rory again. You did your best to hold onto the fact that they lived a happy life together.

A life that you knew could never have. You wish you could say goodbye to them, but you chose to carry the loss with you.

You were exhausted, it was safe to say. Spending your days helping out the Paternoster Gang with new cases that come in was certainly frustrating, especially when you had to avoid so much. Milk, green dyes, dodgy stairs, aliens and gas leaks. Nothing was safe in Victorian times.

Not that you didn't enjoy the company, mind you. Jenny always provided conversation, and paired with Vastra, there were plenty of investigations to be had. You just missed them all, sometimes.

The Doctor had become such a vital figure in your life that it didn't seem right for him to not be there. When you had both lost Donna, you were there for each other, and even then, he was a wreck. You had spent those first two months together, and you had never felt closer to someone before. At first, you couldn't admit it to yourself, but after six years, you knew that was when you started falling for him.

There was so much you didn't understand about him, yet so much he had begun to explain. You had seen and done so much together, places that surprised and scared the both of you. In distant worlds and ancient times, there lay so many memories that you had forgotten. Just another thing consumed by time.

A simple flip through your diaries would confirm that through all that, you admired him: mattering not which of his faces. You had accepted from the start that he was an unobtainable desire, no matter how you looked at it.

He was old, alien and a danger-magnet. Many considered the Doctor to be a God.

It upset you to know that the Doctor could never love you, not in the way you love him. Not in the way that he had shown you what love could be, what it should be. But that was what you had to expect from the Doctor.

You assumed that consistently losing those he loved must hurt immensely. You also imagine losing someone he could spend the rest of his lives with would leave another unfixable hole in his heart.

So it made sense to you that the Doctor would never willingly fall for a human. Your short life-spans and weak bodies meant that so much as a single bullet could rob you of your life.

The thought of what a state he must've been in at that very moment was disturbing, to say the least. You had seen the Doctor angry before, and it was not an easy sight.

His heart held so much pain, so much guilt.

After what felt like a good three minutes, you stepped off the staircase. Your shoes now emerged in a cloud, which could somehow keep you from plummeting into the streets below. You felt surprisingly light, almost like you were standing in a pit of feathers, yet some odd force kept you from losing your balance. Plucking your key out of your pocket, you press your hand against the door of the TARDIS. You unlock the door, pulling the key from the lock and stepping into the Console room.

You called out for him. After listening for a moment, you concluded that the Doctor must've been elsewhere.

The TARDIS was a glum sight. Most of the orange lights were dimmed: if functioning at all. A few even had fist-holes in them. There were what looked like hundreds of books cluttering the console, all of varying topics: The Time War, Time Lord Psychology, the History of the Universe, Earth History, Greatest War Losses. Some had bookmarks; others he had clearly tabbed.

Paper littered the glass flooring, each scribbled in several handwritings. They all clearly varied in ages and sizes, some a muddy brown, others a vivid white. Quite a lot were in small clusters of pages, as though they were ripped from a book. You picked up one of the sheets to inspect closer, and your heart nearly broke.

Each page had a sort of date in the corner, which you quickly realised must've been an approximation of the Doctor's age at the time. They were diary entries, ripped out and thrown in what you assumed to be a fit of rage.

The Doctors' tweed jacket had slipped off the console and onto the floor. The contents of his pockets spilt out onto the floor.

You leant to pick it up, grimacing at just how much he was carrying around. Throwing the jacket over the railing, you avoided stepping on any more pieces of paper.

"Tidy some of this, will you?" You addressed the TARDIS, a hand on the edge of the controls, "I'll go talk to him, where is he?" The TARDIS clicked and hummed in response, showing you a blueprint on the monitor, "The Library? Okay then."

Darting out of the Console Room, you attempt to discover the library as soon as possible. You vaguely remembered the three places the library is most likely to crop up. You went from there. Fortunately for you, you didn't have to go far before the library appeared.

You had always felt as though the library was too empty. Four stories of shelves filled with books, all visible from the ground floor, the rows of shelves created a sort of maze of titles and colours. The Doctor must've owned every single book in the galaxy, judging by the sheer size. Not to mention the several dozen or so empty seats. The library could easily hold thousands of people at once, yet there is rarely ever so much as a whisper.

You had a fair clue as to why the Doctor would be hiding away in there.

There the Doctor was, turned away from the door, in an intricately decorated armchair. You could just about make out the top of his head. You loomed behind him awkwardly, unsure or not if he was aware of your presence.

"Doctor?" You faltered. His head perked up slightly, and the Doctor strained out a hum. He stood up, his arms tiredly hanging at his sides after he stretched. It checked out with your fit of rage theory. The Doctor walked up to you, and you only then noticed how fraught he was.

His expression was tired, eyes sunken and lips pressed into a thin line. His shirt was unkempt: the sleeves were torn slightly. It also appeared burnt or covered in dust. His hands were covered in dust too.

However, you noticed that his right hand had quite a few cuts and gashes, which all seeped out orange-tinted blood.

His greenish-brown eyes search yours for a moment as a tear rolls down his cheek. He inhales deeply, nodding to himself.

"Look, I..." The Doctor paused, again glancing over into your eyes, "I'm sorry- I can't, I can't do this," He took in a trembling gasp for air, "I don't want to, but I can't keep doing this. I'm sick of it. I can't keep losing people. I'm so sick of saving the universe." Unsure of what to you, you reach a hand out to the Doctors. He puts a hand on top of yours, keeping the other, bloodier fist at his side. You brush your thumb over his knuckles, his hand hot against yours. The Doctor continues, "Everyone, everyone who travels with me leaves, or dies, and I'm always alone again. Alone and in pain. I can't keep doing this..."

Smiling sadly, you nod, "I understand," You looked back up at the Doctor, "If you called me here to convince me to go home-"

"Take you home?" The Doctor's voice cracked, "I could never. That'd be just as bad as losing you. I need you."

Oh, the Doctor have his way of making you feel important at the worst moments. Your insides bubbled giddily, but you refused to show it. Instead, you ignored it to the best of your ability; what he was saying was important.

Your attention had fallen back down to his hand, and it looked considerably worse than you initially thought. Pieces of glass dug into his knuckles, the skin seeming gnarled by the force of the oncoming storm, "Doctor, your hand,"

"It's fine." The Doctor seethed, staring numbly at you, "I'm not human, it's not going to kill me."

You wanted to protest. However, given the Doctor's already fragile temperament, you weren't going to push it. Instead, after an instant of silence, you asked a simple question, "How have you been, then?"

The Doctor blinked, giving an answer careful thought. He had an earnest grimace as he finally spoke, "Furious."

"I can see, that" You hum, putting equal thought into how you should approach your response, "What do you think you're going to do, now?"

"Stay here. I'm not getting involved anymore." The Doctor spat, pulling his hand away from yours, turning to sit down, "I don't want to care."

"That's fair enough." You reassure. You didn't like the sound of the Doctor retiring too much, but you respected his choice. If he didn't want to save the world, he doesn't have to. You hoped that, in his chosen conditions, he would heal.

You vowed to yourself at that moment that you'd do everything you could to help him. Starting with his physical injuries.

You heard the armchair squeak softly as the Doctor flopped back against it, picking up a book from the coffee table and beginning to read. You headed back over to the door and grabbed the small medkit from the bracket on the wall. You paced back to the Doctor, pulling a pouffe from a few feet away to sit on. The Doctor glared daggers at you, exhaling sharply and holding his arm out in your general direction. You thanked him meekly, beginning to remove the sharp, reinforced glass shards from his knuckles.

If you were new to travelling with the Doctor, you thought that seeing this might hurt you more. However, six years of travelling was more than enough for the two of you to be used to this sort of treatment. He never seemed to care much about his physical health, more about yours. That often ended up in you worrying about the Doctor, not that you minded. You supposed it worked out, as you both fussed over each other. If the Doctor's previous face saw how he was acting, you were sure he'd have a fit. Not that he mattered, as he was still a part of the man in front of you.

You could tell by the downtrodden way he pretended to read his book, staring a hole through it, that something was bothering him.

"Are you scared of me?" The Doctor halted, voice brittle. He had taken note of how delicate you were and had drawn it up to a fear that the Doctor would lash out at you.

"No," You shushed, focusing on removing the glass from his hands.

"You don't sound sure,"

"I am." You reassured bluntly, "I'm just being careful. I don't want to hurt you more."

"I'm not hurt! You don't need to fuss over me,"

You lifted your eyebrows slightly, "There's nothing wrong with feeling, Doctor. As you said yourself, feelings enhance life." The Doctor exhaled petulantly, eyes back on his book. "But not even you can be in pain forever."

"What is my alternative?" The Doctor strangled out, "I forget? I do something selfish?"

You grimace as you remove the last small shard from his pinky. You take out a clean cloth and some water, dampening the rag as you speak, "You're forced to survive this pain, this guilt, but you will grow from it. You make mistakes so that you learn from them."

You gently clear the blood from his hands and start to apply mild pressure to the deeper wounds. The two of you continued in silence, the Doctor only occasionally removing his hand to turn the page.

He was such a different person to the goofball front you were used to. He was melancholic. However, you would see a small amount of your Doctor bubbling to the surface. He would occasionally chuckle at the book he was reading or draw circles on your palm as you held his hand still. It provided you with enough comfort to know that you weren't wasting your time.

You finished up your last-minute medical care with a bandage around his hand. You closed the medkit.

"Alright, I'm just going to go restock this, then I'll go tidy up the paper in the console room,"

"Oh- right that... Must've been a mess. I'm sorry,"

"It's okay." You smiled pleasantly, "Come find me if you need me, okay? I won't be far,"

The Doctor caught your hand in his, just as you were about to leave, he tugged at your arm. You leant down, and the Doctor pressed a short kiss to your cheek. You countered with a kiss of your own on the middle of his forehead. Just like you used to, back with his previous incarnation.

As you wandered off, you were oblivious as to what that gesture meant. Was it a thank you? Another apology? Was it even platonic?

From behind you, you swore that he said something you thought you'd never hear the Doctor say.

#eleventh doctor x reader #11th doctor x reader #the doctor x reader #doctor who x reader #angst #part 1 #crying #slight fluff

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luvidzy · 3 years ago

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☆ genre: fluff, flower-shop!au

☆ pairing: jin yonghoon x reader

☆ summary: a man walks into your flower shop one day and completely changes everything in your life

☆ word count: 2.3k

The sunlight streamed in through the large glass windows of the store. The AC blew a light breeze through the main room, and you allowed yourself to deeply inhale the soft floral scents of the flower shop.

You always believed that getting a job here was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to you. It was so rare for people to find jobs that they truly loved, especially on the first try, but it seemed like you had been one of the lucky ones.

The day was fairly slow, as most of the weekdays were. A few people came in looking for bouquets for special anniversaries, or to ask about ordering a few arrangements for parties, but other than that you had been left alone to enjoy the ambience of the store and read a little bit of the book you always kept behind the counter.

You had only gotten a few pages through when the bell above the door chimed. Placing your bookmark softly into the book, you placed it on the counter and stood up to greet the customer.

“Welcome to Start of Spring, what can I help you with today?” you asked, moving to get a better view of the man that had just walked in. He was tall, with brown hair and brown eyes. He had his hands tucked into a tan overcoat, a white turtleneck peeking out from underneath it as he strolled into the shop. He was incredibly handsome and you could feel your cheeks heat up a bit as you watched him.

He turned to you and beamed. You had to shake yourself out of it, reminding yourself that you could not fall for a man that you had literally just met. He removed one of his hands to wave at you politely as you made your way closer to him.

“Hi! I need a bouquet of flowers, but I have absolutely no idea what kind to get. Do you think you could help me out?” he asked. You nodded happily, a smile slipping onto your face. You loved when customers didn’t have a specific flower arrangement in mind. It meant that you could take the reins and make something beautiful from scratch, just the way you preferred to do it.

“Sure! Usually I recommend making a bouquet of flowers that represent the occasion or what feeling you want to convey,” you explained, looking up at the stranger. You saw his eyebrows furrow a bit in confusion, and couldn’t help but giggle at how his nose scrunched as the gears in his brain turned.

“Flowers are a language. Each flower has a meaning, and even different flower colors can mean different things. It’s an amazing way to tell someone something when you can’t find the words to say it aloud,” you said, before pointing to the large bucket full of tulips that you were in front of.

“Tulips represent love, warmth, and comfort, so we usually include them in bouquets for anniversaries or weddings. Hibiscuses,” you pointed to the vibrant red flowers beside the tulips, “symbolize delicate beauty, so we include those in bouquets for dates, and even bouquets for certain family members.”

The stranger nodded, his lips parted in slight awe. He couldn’t help but observe you as you rambled on about the language of flowers, your eyes sparkling. Finally, you turned to look back up at him with a wide smile on your face.

“So tell me, what kind of message do you want to convey….?” You trailed off as you realized you’d never gotten the name of the customer that was in front of you.

“Yonghoon. My name is Yonghoon,” He finally spoke up, a shy smile slipping onto his lips. You smiled and nodded.

“What message do you want to convey, Yonghoon?”

“Well, these are flowers for some friends of mine. They have been working really hard lately with our new project, and I want to give them something to show how thankful I am. Our apartment is pretty dull, so I thought some flowers would be a good idea,” Yonghoon explained.

You nodded, taking in the information, before moving towards the counter to pull out a notepad. “Well, yellow roses often symbolize friendship, so I think those would be an obvious choice. Irises are seen as a symbol of admiration, and they’ll compliment the yellow of the roses quite nicely. And then I think some pink tulips would also fit well with the yellow and the white of the irises,” you said, jotting some things down on the paper.

“I thought you said tulips represent love?” Yonghoon said, which caused you to laugh.

“I did, but I also said different colors can mean different things. Red tulips mostly mean love, but pink tulips represent happiness,” you explained, before handing him the list you had written with the flowers and their meaning.

“Does this look good? Or would you like me to add anything?” Yonghoon’s eyes darted across your neat handwriting, before looking up with a smile.

“This looks perfect. You really know your flowers,” he joked. You chuckled, before moving to collect the flowers you’d need for the bouquet.

“I’d hope so. I’ve only worked here for 2 years.” Yonghoon laughed at your quip, his eyes following as you darted across the shop, plucking flowers carefully from their buckets and gathering them delicately in one hand.

Finally you walked back over towards him, tying the flowers together with a piece of string and wrapping them elegantly in brightly colored tissue paper.

“There, all finished,” you said, holding the masterpiece out to Yonghoon. He smiled at it, gently grabbing it with one hand. As he did, your fingers brushed and you felt yourself flinch slightly at the feeling of electricity that ran down your spine. Despite this, you forced yourself to ignore the now pounding heart in your chest in favor of grabbing the credit card Yonghoon was holding out to you.

“Thank you…?”

“Y/N,” you responded as you handed him his card back. He smiled softly as he slipped the plastic back into his pocket.

“A beautiful name. Thank you, Y/N,” he said, giving you one last nod before exiting out the door. You plopped back down into the chair as you reached for your book, letting out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding. You shook your head, blaming your flustered state on the heat because, even though you knew the A/C was on, you didn’t want to admit the real reason for your burning cheeks.

Much to your surprise, Yonghoon continued to come in every week with a new reason to buy flowers. Each visit got longer and longer, with him asking millions of questions on different flowers to the point where you almost couldn’t answer them. However, as much as you did not want to admit it, you didn’t mind the visits he made. He was incredibly easy to talk to, his smile made your heart melt in your chest, and he seemed genuinely interested in everything that you said. Week after week, you found yourself falling deeper and deeper for Yonghoon, and every week you became a little less opposed to the idea of his visits.

Meanwhile, Yonghoon was enjoying every visit that he made to your store. His bandmates, however, could not say the same. Their dorms had been turned into a small flower shop of their own and, while it was pretty, it was not very functional.

“Yonghoon, I can’t even find a spot to put my coffee cup down on the table!” Kanghyun whined as he plopped down onto the couch next to his leader. The other boys nodded their heads in agreement, making mentions of the countless other things that Yonghoons flowers stopped them from doing. Yonghoon pouted as he slumped into his seat, arms crossed.

“But I have no other reason to go see them but to get flowers! I’m sorry that love comes at such a beautiful price,” Yonghoon huffed dramatically. Dongmyeong rolled his eyes as he sat up, crossing his legs.

“Why don’t you just tell them how you feel?” “Are you crazy? What if they say no?”

“They won’t. I’m sure they’re just as enamored with you as you are them. Come on, you can even do it in an extremely dramatic and romantic way, since that’s what you like best,” Harin argued, earning a punch in the shoulder from Yonghoon, who sighed soon after.

“Fine. But if this goes wrong, I’m never getting rid of these flowers.”

2 months after his first visit, Yonghoon walked into the flower shop already greeting you as you sat behind the counter reading as you usually did. You looked and grinned at him, the grin that made Yonghoon’s own heart flutter, before closing your book and standing up.

“Why welcome back. What can I do for you today, Yonghoon?” you asked, pulling out your pen and notepad to write down the flowers that he would need. He smiled as he leaned against the counter and smirked.

“I need a bouquet to confess to someone. I want it to be incredibly romantic, the whole 9 yards, you know?” Yonghoon said. You froze as you heard the words slip out of your mouth. A bouquet to confess to someone should not have made your heart sink the way that it did, but the thought of him romancing another person with the flowers you recommended made you want to throw up and cry at the same time.

“I… I see. Well, why don’t you tell me about them so I can recommend you a bouquet,” you asked, trying to settle your shaky voice. If Yonghoon noticed, he didn’t say anything as he continued to smile.

“Well, they’re extremely pretty and super smart. They are kind and generous, and always know how to make me laugh. I always feel warm when I’m with them, like I just drank the best hot chocolate, and they’re the perfect combination of tough and delicate,” he rambled, listing off thing after thing. Each note that you wrote down about this mystery person had your heart aching. This person sounded perfect, and you were happy for Yonghoon, but you couldn’t help but pity yourself at the fact that he was not buying these flowers for you.

“Well I think red roses are a must… and probably some peonies as well for beauty. We could add some carnations as well, if you’d like?” you asked, trying not to look at Yonghoon. You heard him hum in thought for a moment, before shifting his weight a little bit.

“I think some red tulips and maybe some hibiscuses would be nice,” Yonghoon said. You nodded quickly, writing them down, before handing the list to him with trembling fingers. His eyes scanned it like the first time he had come into the shop, before he beamed and nodded.

“Perfect!” You swallowed harshly, before moving to gather the flowers. You moved slowly, trying to stop the tears that threatened to prick your eyes with each flower that you picked up and held in your grasp.

Finally you had a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers, wrapping them gently and making them look as elegant as you could. After all, even if they were another person, you wanted Yonghoon to like them as much as you liked him.

“Here. I’m sure they’ll love them,” you said, plastering a small smile on your face in an attempt to not look as destroyed as you were feeling on the inside. Yonghoon chuckled lightly and nodded, smiling softly as he looked at the flowers.

“They’ll love them.” The credit card was exchanged, and then you both just stood there, neither of you speaking. You wished Yonghoon would just leave so you could cry in peace, but he fidgeted with the tissue paper around the flowers, his feet seemingly glued to the spot across the counter.

“It’s much harder to do this than I thought,” Yonghoon chuckled out. You looked at him in confusion, trying to figure out what he meant. It was only when you finally looked at his face, making eye contact with him, that he let a warm smile melt across his face, his hands moving to hold the flowers out.

“Is there something wrong with them?” you asked, reaching to take them and inspecting them to try and find the issues. Yonghoon chuckled, running a hand through his silky brown hair, before shaking his head.

“No, they are for you.” You felt like the world had just stopped around you. Your hands froze and you stared at him, mouth parted in surprise. These were for you? But he had said he wanted to use them to confess, and had even described the person to you!

“You were the person that I was describing, and I do want to confess. I want to confess to you,” Yonghoon replied, and you flushed as you realized that your thoughts had been spoken aloud. You held the flowers carefully to your chest, before looking up at him with eyes full of happiness.

“You idiot. You scared me, I thought you were buying these for another person!” you said, reaching out to hit his shoulder playfully. Yonghoon’s expression dropped as he realized his mistake and he sighed, before letting out a weak chuckle.

“Guess I’m not great at this confessing thing.”

“No… you’re wonderful at it. Seriously this is the cutest thing anyone has ever done for me. You used the thing that I love the most to tell me that you like me, and that overshadows any stupid assumptions I may have made,” you said. His expression lit up at your words and he smiled at you brightly.

“Does that mean I have permission to take you on a date?” He asked hopefully. You pretended to think, before nodding eagerly, giggling as you did so.

“It does, but next time buy me flowers from a different flower shop. I want to be surprised.” Yonghoon nodded happily, before he made his way behind the counter to give you a hug.

You melted into his arms, happily hugging him back with affection. There was nothing more perfect than hugging the man you loved in the place that you loved, and you were lucky enough to have that.

#onewe #onewe x reader #onewe imagines #onewe scenarios #onewe fluff #jin yonghoon #jin yonghoon onewe #jin yonghoon x reader #jin yonghoon imagines #jin yonghoon fluff #yonghoon x reader #yonghoon imagines #yonghoon fluff #yonghoon onewe

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you-didnt-see-that-cuming · 4 years ago

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All The Things She Said | Hermione Granger x Reader Part One

Summary: Y/N has had a crush on Hermione for as long as she could remember. She often spent class periods thinking about her or sneaking glances in Potions when Snape wasn’t looking, but that all changed in their sixth year when Slughorn became the new Potions professor. And luckily for her, things changed for the better.

Warnings: No warnings yet!

Word Count: 3,096

A/N: I’m on a Harry Potter binge right now so here is some wlw Hermione for y��all, enjoy!

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Being in Slughorn’s potions class held several positives. Firstly, he wasn’t Snape, secondly, each class session was filled with far more interesting potions than they had been in the preceding years, and thirdly, Y/N shared the class with Hermione.

Slytherins and Gryffindors had always shared Potions together, and the two had occasionally been paired together, but now that Potions was no longer a required subject and the class size had diminished significantly, it gave Y/N the opportunity to sneak longer glances at Hermione than she had been able to before.

She couldn’t believe her luck when Slughorn announced that they were to have assigned seats and partners for the remainder of the term and that she had been paired with Hermione in the front of the class.

Hermione hadn’t spoken to her very much during that first class period, which wasn’t wholly unexpected since Y/N was a Slytherin and the rivalry between the two houses was more intense than any other in the school.

Y/N had also managed to get herself invited into the Slugclub, which could sometimes get a little pretentious, but it was bearable enough. She got to see Hermione on those evenings.

Hermione was sitting on the lawn near the banks of the Black Lake under a willow tree when Y/N found her. She was in the middle of a book and was chewing mindlessly on an apple, not even noticing when Y/N approached her. It took clearing her throat to finally get Hermione’s attention.

“Um, hey Hermione,” Y/N said nervously. Her hands were cold and sweaty now.

“Hi Y/N. Uh, is there anything I can help you with?” Hermione looked a little confused but still had a polite smile on her face.

Y/N took a deep breath and shoved her hands into her pockets, scrunching them into fists to keep them from shaking.

“Uh, I was wondering if you could help me with some of the Potions assignments? I’m having trouble understanding the theories and Slughorn said that you had the best marks in the class.” That was a lie, Y/N hadn’t spoken to Slughorn at all. It didn’t take a conversation with a professor to know that Hermione Granger was the smartest witch in their year, if not the entire school.

Hermione blinked at Y/N, her cheeks flushing pink. Y/N was trying to decipher whether it was because of the idea of Slughorn complimenting her or perhaps the idea of tutoring another student.

“Oh! Um, I guess I could help you with some stuff. We’re partners now, aren’t we? She gave a friendly smile. Y/N was surprised by how quickly she agreed.

“Great!” Y/N paused awkwardly. “Do you want to meet tomorrow afternoon in the library? Maybe around 1:00?”

Hermione nodded.

“I’ll see you then, make sure to bring your Potions textbook.”

Y/N gave a stiff bowing nod, an embarrassed smile upon her face.

“Thanks! See you then!” Y/N quickly turned and began marching back up the path to Hogwarts. She finally took a deep breath and the shaking of her hands began to subside. She looked up from the ground and saw Harry and Ron carefully running down the path, trying not to stumble over loose rocks. They acknowledged her by nodding their heads when they passed her and continued down to Hermione who was still sitting underneath the tree reading.

At least now they had something to talk about in Potions. The only problem was that Y/N wasn’t having trouble with Potions theories, in fact, she was doing very well and had received full marks on almost every assignment Slughorn had given them. All she had to do now was find something to pretend to struggle with. Easy enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry and Ron bustled past Y/N on the path leading from Hogwarts and stopped at the foot of the willow tree, panting lightly and looking slightly disheveled. Hermione looked up at them, an eyebrow raised, and a confused smile on her face.

“What’s the rush with you two?” she asked, placing a bookmark in between the pages of her book and closing it.

“What were you talking to Y/N for?” Harry asked, loosening his tie as he moved to sit down next to Hermione.

“She was asking for some help with Potions, I’m going to start tutoring her tomorrow.”

Ron balked at Hermione’s answer.

“Are you mad?! She’s a Slytherin who’s probably all buddy-buddy with Draco! How do you know she isn’t just trying to get you alone to hex you?”

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Oh please, I’ll be fine. If you’re really that worried, you can come to the library at 1:00. You can hide behind the bookshelves looking out for hexes or whatever else it is that you’re worried about.”

Ron grunted. He didn’t seem very happy. Harry looked slightly less disgruntled but still had a slight concerned expression on his face.

“Well alright then, but I still don’t trust her.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N woke up the next morning slightly disoriented after the dream she had just had. She had been awakened by the banging of the dormitory door as Pansy Parkinson rushed in. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and tried to burn the dream into her mind before she forgot. But all she could remember from the dream was the warm, smiling face of Hermione.

“I cannot believe Draco!” Pansy shouted as she stormed around the dormitory. She had a toothbrush in hand and some foaming toothpaste at the corner of her mouth. She was dressed in some silver silk pajamas and her short hair was pulled into small pigtails.

Y/N sighed, accepting the fact that her dream would not come back to her. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and pushed her hair out of her face, squinting in exhaustion.

“What has he done now?” She asked, her eyes following Pansy as she bustled around the room.

“He threw all of my clothing down the laundry chute and I had to go to breakfast in my pajamas, I looked ridiculous.” Pansy huffed. She paused for a moment, looking at Y/N.

“You should probably hurry and get ready, didn’t you say that you were meeting up with someone at 1:00?”

Y/N rubber her eyes and pushed herself up into a proper sitting position.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, it’s almost 12:45.”

Y/N suddenly felt very awake. She ripped the covers off her bed and darted to her trunk.

“Oh my god, I’m not going to have time to eat! What do I wear?!” She started rifling through her trunk, trying to find something that would be suitable.

“Don’t worry about the food, I brought you a cranberry muffin from the Great Hall. Who are you meeting with anyway?” Pansy said casually, throwing herself onto her bed.

“It doesn’t matter! But I really like this person so I want to impress them but I don’t want to look overdressed.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. She was quiet for a moment before she pushed herself off her bed and pushed Y/N away from her trunk. She started digging until she pulled out an emerald green sweater and a pair of light wash jeans.

“Here, wear this. The green brings out your eyes. You should also wear that headband you got in Hogsmead.”

Y/N gave Pansy a look of stressed gratitude and hurried to get dressed, almost tripping over her own feet as she pulled the jeans on. If there was one thing Pansy was especially good at, it was keeping herself calm and collected in moments of panic. This was most definitely a moment of panic.

Just before Y/N pulled the sweater over her head, Pansy shoved half of the muffin into her mouth. She chewed as fast as she could, grabbing a random pair of rolled socks from her trunk and pulling them on.

Once Y/N had started pulling on a pair of heavy black boots, Pansy shoved the remaining half into Y/N’s awaiting open mouth and grabbed a hairbrush from their shared vanity while Y/N finished chewing. The moment she began brushing her teeth, Pansy started brushing her hair and pulling it back into a headband. Pansy’s hands worked quickly and efficiently, ensuring that Y/N’s hair looked glossy and full of volume. The two worked together like a well-oiled machine, forging their way through the chaos that had become their dormitory.

“Okay, I say only use a little bit of mascara and some lipgloss, you don’t want to look too done up.” Pansy shoved a tube of lipgloss into Y/N’s back pocket after she had rinsed her mouth and handed her leather satchel to her as Y/N quickly swiped the mascara onto her eyelashes.

“Go, you have 5 minutes! Good luck!” Pansy shouted, pushing Y/N out of the door, running after her down the staircase into the Slytherin common room.

“Coming through!” Pansy roared as they barreled through the common room, “She’s late for a date!”

Y/N didn’t have time to scold Pansy as some first years scattered out of the way. She burst through the entrance to the common room and sprinted up the staircases to the library.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once she had reached the entrance to the library, she was panting loudly and sweating a little. The clock over the archway signaled that she had just about a minute to spare. Taking deep breaths to regulate her breathing and try to cool herself down, she began to fix her hair and quickly applied to lipgloss to the center of her lips. She turned to the portraits on the wall and stretched her arms out.

“Well? How do I look?”

Some of the portraits shouted their comments at her.

“Where are your robes, girl? You look ridiculous!”

“You look wonderful!”

“Straighten up! You’re slouching like a troll!”

She took one final deep breath and entered the library. She spotted Hermione setting her things down at a table in the center of the room and her heart started pounding. With every step Y/N took towards the table, the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears intensified until it had swelled to a loud roaring. As she approached the table, Hermione looked up from the books she had been taking out of her bag and smiled.

“Hey! You ready to get started? I thought we might begin with Potions theories.”

Y/N swallowed and put a smile on her face.

“Yeah, that sounds good!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ron and Harry were both hiding behind a bookshelf within earshot of the table where Hermione and Y/N were sitting, looking through the gaps between books to keep an eye on them. Ron had taken Hermione’s offer very seriously, he didn’t trust anyone who was a Slytherin.

“Ow! Stop shoving your elbow into me, I can’t see if you’re pushing me,” Harry complained, rubbing his side where Ron’s sharp elbow had found its mark.

“Oops, sorry,” Ron muttered, distracted.

“What are we doing here? I’m sure it will be fine, Hermione can take care of herself. Besides, we could be in Hogsmeade by now.” Harry complained.

“Give it a few minutes, will you?” Ron hissed.

“Oh please, it’s not like she’s going to hex Hermione in the middle of the library.”

“Who is going to hex Hermione?” A voice said from behind them. The voice belonged to Ginny Weasley, who was holding a stack of books at the other end of the bookshelf.

“Blimey Ginny! Don’t you ever make noise when you move?” Ron said, clutching his chest in surprise. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Like I said, who is hexing Hermione?”

“Um, no one is hexing Hermione. He thinks Y/N is up to something though.” Harry responded.

“Y/N, the girl from Slytherin? But she’s so nice!” Ginny had a surprised look on her face.

Ron rolled his eyes at Ginny’s comment.

“That’s exactly what she wants everyone to think!”

“Oh Ron, now you’re being ridiculous! Leave the poor girl alone, it’s not fair of you to target her just because she’s a Slytherin.” Ginny huffed. She now seemed frustrated with Ron. Harry silently agreed with Ginny, Ron was being a bit ridiculous.

Ron groaned, seeming equally as frustrated as Ginny.

“Fine, we’ll leave it alone for now.” He grumbled, turning away and starting to walk towards the exit of the library.

“Wait does that mean that we can go down to Hogsmeade now?” Harry called after him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So you can use a bezoar as an antidote to poisons?” Y/N questioned. She already knew the answer, but she just wanted to hear Hermione’s voice again.

“Well, it works for most poisons, one that it doesn’t help with is basilisk venom, only phoenix tears will heal that.”

Hermione looked up from the table and to the clock that was hanging towards the front of the library. The sky had turned a dark blue since they had first started reviewing together and it was almost time for dinner in the Great Hall.

“Blimey! Is that the time? We better head down to the Great Hall now if we want to make dinner.” Hermione began packing her books into her bag and Y/N did the same.

“Thank you, by the way, for helping me with all of this. Hopefully I can keep up with you now!” Y/N joked as she placed her last notebook into her bag.

Now it was Hermione who gave a shy and nervous smile. A blush had formed across her cheeks.

“Um, y-yeah! Of course, no worries.” She paused for a moment, like she was debating on whether or not she should say something else. She cleared her throat before continuing. “Um, would you like to do this again sometime? Studying, I mean.”

Y/N had to force herself not to smile as much as she wanted.

“I would love to, do you want to meet up on Wednesday? We can study in the courtyard after lunch, if that’s alright?”

“Sounds good! Do you, uh, want to walk down to the Great Hall together then?

Y/N smiled and nodded in response and the two set off for dinner. They had been up in the library for so long that even the librarian, Madam Pince, had fallen asleep waiting for them to leave. It was nearing 6:00 and as they descended the staircases, the smell of food grew more distinct and the hum of voices grew louder.

Once they had reached the entrance to the Great Hall, the two girls turned to face each other.

“Well, I guess this is where we leave each other,” Hermione said, rocking on the balls of her feet.

“I suppose so.”

There was an awkward silence for a few moments before Hermione broke the tension.

“Well! I’ll see you on Wednesday then!” She said in an overly-enthusiastic tone.

“Yup! See you then!”

The two girls parted ways and headed towards their respective tables. As Y/N began sitting down, Pansy grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down quickly.

“The person you were meeting was Hermione Granger?!” Pansy hissed quietly so that Draco or his friends wouldn’t hear.

Y/N blushed furiously and glanced at Hermione who was currently in the middle of a conversation with Ginny Weasley.

“We were having a study session together, we’re partners in Potions you know.”

“But you said-!” Pansy had started raising her voice before she caught herself, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper. “You said that you were meeting up with someone who you really liked and wanted to impress!”

“Well, I do like her, and I did want to impress her.” Maybe if she pretended that there was nothing wrong with what she just said, everything would return back to normal. She began loading her plate with some of the roast duck that had appeared on the platter in front of her. However, this did nothing of the sort. In fact, it only succeeded in making Pansy look like she was having a heart attack. She looked scandalized, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“Are you serious? Of all the people you could have chosen to fancy, you chose Granger?!”

Draco was looking curiously at the two girls now. Apparently, Pansy’s reaction had gotten his attention.

“You alright Pansy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.” He said, leaning forward to talk to her.

She shook her head and turned to respond to Draco.

“I’m fine, no worries here!” She gave a forced laugh before she turned back to Y/N.

“Fine, I can get over you liking Granger, but you can’t tell Draco about this, he would never let you live it down.”

“Trust me, I know. I’m not exactly keen on him finding out either.”

The two girls ate their dinner, distracting themselves by talking about their next trip to Hogsmeade and the upcoming Winter recess. Pansy and her family were going to go on holiday to France to visit some family. Y/N hadn’t decided yet if she was going to go home or stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. They continued talking until the plates had been cleared and Dumbledore stood to give a few, final words before dismissing everyone back to their respective dormitories.

As everyone began filing out of the Great Hall, Y/N passed by Hermione and the two girls made eye contact. They smiled subtly at one another before parting ways, Hermione going back up to Gryffindor Tower with Ron and Harry, and Y/N descending down to the dungeons to the Slytherin common room with Pansy, who had looped her arm around Y/N’s.

All in all, it had been a good day. She hadn’t really learned anything new today, but she had gotten to spend some more time talking to Hermione, which was something that they didn’t often do in Potions.

When Y/N and Pansy had finally reached their dormitories, Y/N was smiling. She and Pansy began getting ready for bed, changing into comfortable pajamas, Y/N opting to use a silk green set that she had been gifted from Pansy’s family the Christmas before. Once the girls had settled into their beds under the comfortable sheets and covers and silence fell over the room, Y/N closed her eyes. And as she began drifting off, she fell asleep thinking about Hermione’s smile and just how wonderful it was.

#Harry Potter #Hermione Granger #hermione granger x reader #hermione granger smut #hermione granger fluff #hermione granger imagine #pansy parkinson x reader #pansy parkinson x friend!reader #harry potter x reader #ron weasley x reader #ginny weasley x friend!reader #luna lovegood x friend!reader #fred weasley x friend!reader #george weasley x friend!reader #draco malfoy x reader #fred weasley x reader #george weasley x reader

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butcherknives · 4 years ago

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Brother Banter

Not a prompt, but something I wanted to write as a quick character study. Please enjoy!

It's late. It's quite late.

Dante is throwing darts with effortless precision. The dull thunk of each needle sunken into the board reverberates a hollow sound that shivers through the shop.

"C'mon, Vergil. Play a round with me."

Vergil is seated on the creaky leather sofa, legs crossed as he pointedly focuses on the novel in his hands. He does little to acknowledge that he's heard Dante, although he does raise a dismissive hand.

Dante has turned to face Vergil, yet Vergil keeps his unfocused eyes trained on his page. Distrust proves to be as distracting as the shuffle of Dante’s bare feet on the wood flooring.

Dante takes a stance.

Vergil tenses.

A dart aimed at Vergil’s temple whizzes through the air. Vergil reaches out to snatch it before it makes contact, book snapping in tandem.

Their eyes meet.

Vergil flicks the dart between his fingertips, glowering at his brother. He rears his arm back and sends it sailing in a swift line back toward Dante. It passes his brother's cheek by millimeters and lands in the center of the board with a thunk.

"Bullseye."

Dante swings his head around to inspect the dart, his index finger and thumb stroking his chin. He exhales a low whistle. "Nice one."

Vergil snorts and slides his novel back open. "Please learn to entertain yourself."

"I could! But... Eh, I don't wanna." Dante bounds over to the chair and makes to grab for Vergil's book. "What'cha reading?"

He's reading a fictional tale about a seafaring captain battling pirates and the scourge of the ocean. None of it would be of any interest to Dante, not because the plot would bore him but rather that Dante has never had the attention span to sit through an entire novel. Admittedly, Vergil realizes that Dante could have changed with age, but several months of living in the same dwelling has proven itself to be quite the opposite. In many ways, despite the passage of time, Dante is much the same.

Although in many ways, Vergil knows that Dante is exponentially different.

Vergil sighs and allows Dante the satisfaction of stealing the novel. He observes with disinterest as his twin thumbs through the pages, although he notes that Dante is mindful not to dislodge the spare piece of paper Vergil has been using as a makeshift bookmark. How unexpectedly kind, he thinks.

"Man, it's so long." Dante drops the book back in Vergil's lap in a show of theatrics that mean absolutely nothing. "After all these years, how can you still sit through all that?"

Vergil picks up where he left off without glancing up. "Because I don't have rocks in my skull."

Dante erupts in laughter without a hint of malice. He drops his hand on Vergil's head as he passes – an affectionate gesture – before he breezes back toward the dartboard. "Rocks, dirt, worms... I've heard it all. And yet... Somehow, dear brother, I still manage."

Vergil hums. "Luck doesn't supersede your low IQ."

He grins. “Woof.”

#devil may cry #I want Dante and Vergil to interact *clenches fist*#all purpose writing tag #dante #vergil

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sabraeal · 3 years ago

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We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find, Ch 8

[Read on AO3]

Written for @eveluboi for winning the Obiyuki Trope Madness 2021 betting kitty! I meant for this to be out way back in June, but it quickly slipped from a 4-5K projected fic to 7K 😂

Cold porcelain presses up against her palms, slick from where her fingers wrap around the sink’s edge. Shirayuki bows her head down, watching the water spiral down the drain, and breathes. In and out; in and out. If she hadn’t left her phone out on the table, she could look at one of those gifs she bookmarked; the one where the triangle becomes a decagon maybe, or where the star burst becomes a mandala. But she did, so instead she has to visualize it, counting out the shapes behind her eyelids.

It doesn’t work, but at least it’s something.

There’s something distinctly high school dance about hiding the the bathroom-- though in here, it’s impossible to just sit on the toilet and brace her legs against the door. Not that she needs to; unlike a bathroom stall, this door actually locks. A feature she’s sure has nothing to do with whatever the Wisterias plan to get up to in that Jacuzzi tub.

Shirayuki frankly refuses to speculate on what that might be. She still has to look Izana in the eye tonight, and the last thing she needs is to be thinking about him doing-- things in here, with people. Maybe he just has a compressed spine at the ripe old age of twenty-five, the kind that can’t be alleviated by anything less than eight massage jets.

In any case, this whole strategy of retreat isn’t really her style. Or at least, it hadn’t been, until...before. Which was a blip on an otherwise spotless record of confronting her problems head-on, with the sort of determined attitude Jaja fondly refers to as foolhardy, and Busha calls bull-headedness.

Her fingers grip the bowl firmly, levering herself up to stare into the mirror. She can do this. She can go right out there, sit down, and have Lynet reject this proposal. Because a normal person wouldn’t hide in the bathroom to avoid a fictional conflict.

Right. Shiaryuki drops her hands, giving her reflection a steely nod. It’s not like this is her first time turning down a boy; even if Shuuka throws her in a dungeon, he’ll still have taken her rejection better than the last one did, and that was a real live person. Not that Raj is much of a measuring stick for any kind of model behavior, but-- still. The point stands.

The door gives beneath the pressure of her hand, opening with a silence that’s confusing rather than comforting. Zen’s house might not be as old as hers, but it’s still not new; the apartment went up in the last five years, and its doors still hang crooked, screaming every time they move more than an inch. She can’t imagine Izana going around oiling hinges.

“Hey.” A hand catches her, strong fingers banding around her wrist. Pale ones, slender and well-trimmed; she traces them right up a crisp flannel to find Kiki frowning down at her. “I would give it a minute.”

Shirayuki blinks, and suddenly the world refocuses. It’s oddly silent in the basement, only the thin tumble of dice from the floor above. Obi’s either up to something or Beaumains is in trouble; she can’t even beging to guess which one would be worse.

And Kiki’s leaning here, right against the neutral paint, waiting for her. She shifts, casting a worried look toward the game room. “Is something--?”

Mitsuhide clears his throat; it echoes down the empty hall, a sound that fills the space like thunder overhead. Shirayuki bites back the impulse to count until next lightning strike; even though she knows it should be the other way around, that light travels faster than sound, but this--

“Is something wrong?” Zen drawls, sounding nothing like the boy who sits next to her in homeroom. No, sounding like this, he’s every inch Izana’s brother.

-- this is different. Bedwyr uses his words before he dares draw his blade, and it comes too naturally to be anything besides pure Mitsuhide, just like Beaumains’ quick tongue is the same one that wags in Obi’s mouth. He rumbles before the strike, and this one is destined to hit too close to home.

“Zen.” There’s something about how Mitsuhide wields a name; Shirayuki hardly knows him-- not as much as Zen and Kiki, anyway-- but when he says hers, it’s like having those giant arms cradling her tight against his chest, in a way that is less romantic and more like a tiny kitten living in a jacket pocket. When he says Obi’s, it’s a buzz, a burr, the sound before a siren wails, a warning that will never become a threat.

And when he says Zen’s right now, it’s a weight, a boulder to bear like Atlas shoulders the earth. It’s the moment before the punishment comes in the last act; the last temptation to turn the antagonist back onto the path of the righteous. “You should rethink your behavior tonight.”

“My behavior?” Zen squawks, chair clattering beneath him. “I haven’t even done anything.”

Mitsuhide’s silence speaks volumes.

“I haven’t,” Zen insists, though it’s weaker this time. “You’re the ones who are just letting Obi act like the rules don’t apply to him.”

“We are?”

“Well...” The pout sits sullenly on this tongue. “Izana is. And you guys aren’t doing anything about it either!”

Mitsuhide heaves a sigh that would make trees sway. Kiki’s fingers flex in sympathy against her shoulder. “I think you’re being a little unfair.”

“Unfair?” The word squeaks at the end of Zen’s range. “What’s unfair is that Izana invited that guy for the specific purpose of scaring Shirayuki off, and no one seems to care.”

Shirayuki only realizes she’s moved when Kiki’s grip holds her back, one foot still hovering over the floor, poised to make a very determined stomp. Words are welling up in her like ground water during a storm; a whole monologue that threatens to flood the basement of her common sense. The whole night comes back to her in inches; every slight, every complaint is magnified tenfold now that she knows it comes to this, and she--

“Give them a minute,” Kiki murmurs. “Sometimes Zen just needs a swift application of a boot to his ass.”

She blinks up at her, body vibrating with a need to do something. “And Mitsuhide will do that?”

A picture might be a thousand words, but somehow Kiki’s eyebrows could compose a novel. She lifts them a bare, dubious inch, and Shirayuki knows that chapter one starts with, and you think you’d do any better? “You’ll see. He’ll come around. Have a little faith.”

Bitter words lick up her throat, a carefully composed diatribe furiously scribed by her irritation. A list of all Zen’s petty squabbles, of all the times he’d tried to sideline her or sequester Obi ready to spill out, but--

But she swallows it down. Tonight’s tried her patience for sure, but it’d been Zen who leaned across the aisle in homeroom her first day. The one who’d stuck out a hand and said, you must be new. The one who had made sure she’d had somewhere to sit at lunch-- sure, Kihal had found her by then, adopting her like a baby bird fallen from a nest, but he’d swung by even though his wasn’t until next period.

That’s what’s so frustrating, to be honest-- she knows how good he can be. So the fact he’s choosing to act this way instead...

Her shoulders sag under the weight of Kiki’s hand. “I’m trying to.”

When Mitsuhide speaks again, it’s even, patient; she’d be tempted to say it was like a parent to a child, but there’s no condescension, no sense of speaking down but rather across. “That’s possible. But you’re still the only one acting hostile at this table.”

Zen’s huffs, indignant. “So you want me to just sit here and let them ruin Shirayuki’s experience?”

Kiki pushes past her with a parting pat, sauntering into the room. “How could they when you’re doing such a good job of it yourself?”

Shirayuki can’t see either of the boys, but she can see Kiki when she spins a chair around, dropping down to straddle it. “You may not have noticed, but it doesn’t look like Shirayuki minds Obi being here. At least, not as much as you do.”

“Kiki,” Mitsuhide sighs, a warning. “That’s enough.”

Kiki must not agree, since she leans in, smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Maybe you need to lighten up, brother dearest.”

Zen sucks in a hard breath, like he’s been hit. “Don’t--”

The door rattles at the top of the stairs, a muffled voice turning to a dry laugh as it opens. Her stomach lurches like that moment at the top of a coaster, looking down at the track below. It’s Obi.

Kiki is a flurry of motion; her chair flips beneath her, and she sits back down hard, feet kicking up onto the table. When Izana and Obi emerge from the stairway, it looks like she‘s been idling at a casual tilt for hours, not seconds, but still, still--

Izana lifts one elegantly arched eyebrow. No matter how cleverly they all compose themselves, he almost certainly knows every word that’s been said.

“You’re back?” Zen coughs, his words hobbling awkwardly, dragged down by guilt. Izana’s other eyebrow joins the first. “What happened?”

Obi drops into his seat, cradling chin in hand. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would,” Zen snaps, irritation already rising. “That’s why I asked.”

“Oh, don’t worry--” Obi tosses him a wink designed to send him through the roof-- “you’ll find out.”

“I--”

“If there’s any other business, tell me now,” Izana says, taking his place at the head of the table. “Otherwise, you’ve slept through the night.”

Obi flutters his eyes, grin taking on a feral edge. “Well, you know I’m all taken care of, Majesty.”

“Anyone else?” Izana sighs, long suffering. His eyes flick out over the table, settling into a frown. “Does anyone know where Shirayuki is?”

“Bathroom,” Kiki offers too quick, gaze cutting over to where she hides in the hall, before darting back. The corner of Izana’s mouth pulls deeper, and his eyes lift--

“Ah, I’m here!” Shirayuki hurries out, slipping into her seat. When she looks up Zen’s watching her with wide eyes, gears clunking along behind them as he looks from her to the hall and back, doing the exact equations she was hoping he couldn’t. “Sorry.”

“It’s not a problem,” Izana assures her, keeping his eyes fixed to the screen in front of him. “Did you have anything you needed to do before the night is over?”

“Ah, um.” Her fingers stretch wide over Lynet’s sheet, tips gripping at the table. “Yes. One last thing.”

The stars are bright tonight, shining in the firmament like jewels in velvet. Ancient poets would invoke Diana at the sight, at the thousand heroes and maidens consigned to shine above for defying their fates. Older ones still would call upon Arianrhod, the silver wheel, mother of wind and skies alone, praising the complexity of her beauty.

But when you raise your eyes to heaven’s glorious vault, you see only kingly gift laid at your feet, unasked. And when you lower them, another waits for you in Shuuka’s smile, devastating and earnest.

“A fine night, is it not?” His breath mists in the air between you; a lucky thing, since it obscures your grimace. “In all Our Lord’s creation, a man could not find one finer than this.”

“It is a wonder,” you murmur, stirring the fur at your cloak’s collar. “But I have seen so little of this world that I hesitate to say that in a thousands nights there would not be one that could surpass it.”

His mouth spreads wider still, the pearl of his teeth glimmering in the moon’s light. You’ve pleased him, somehow. “You can only say that, my lady, since you are graced with your own presence every moment, and I have only these. For now.”

Your feet stutter beneath you; the leaves crunching makes him turn, brow raised in concern. “Shuuka...”

“Ah, yes. You wished to speak with me, did you not?” His boot heels clack against the cobbles, coming to perch on the raised bed beside you. He is not close, even still, but having his eyes level with yours makes this moment too intimate for you to keep him fixed in your vision. Instead you turn, leaving him looming at the corner of your eye. “I am your servant in all things, my lady. Speak.”

“My lord,” you begin, for politeness seems the only kindness you can extend to him, “I believe there has been some misunderstanding.”

His head tilts. “A misunderstanding?”

His voice is lower, a manly rumble instead of its usual reedy melody; a child playing at a man. A man he only wishes to become because it might make you happy.

You sigh, your gut tangling as easy as your fingers do above it. Were you any other woman but yourself, you would be pleased to have made a match as fine as this. Perhaps even mere months ago, you would have been comforted by the thought of marrying a man you had met before, even if he had been a silly, sobbing boy at the time. But now, as you are, you cannot care for this-- this life your father wished for you, with no thought to your own.

“About the state of the agreement between our fathers.” Your breath catches in your chest before you manage, “They are both gone.”

Shuuka peers at you with shining eyes, and oh, if only you could choose your words as gently as he deserved. But you know better; a man who wears a hard helm often keeps a harder head beneath it, and women’s words only penetrate such a barrier if they are drawn to a point.

“That I know,” he says, so soft. “And I am sorry for it. But we may yet do what they willed for our future.”

“That is not all,” you continue, each word stinging with guilt. “This understanding was dissolved long before either of them was brought back into the great shepherd’s fold. When my family fell upon misfortune...”

You had hoped it would be easier to speak of it, but the words stick to your teeth, refusing to leave the safety of your mouth. Shuuka reaches out, clasping his hand in yours with far too much understanding for what you wish to say.

“I am not proud of what my father did,” he tells you, sincerity ringing from his words, clear as a church bell. “Though I am certain he thought it would be for the best, at the time. He never pledged my troth to any other, and above any other woman he had entertained to be the Lady of Laxdo, it was of you he spoke most highly.”

“That is--” hard to believe. Not when you spent most of your betrothal dance trodding on his son’s toes-- “Kind of you to say. I know that you value the words of your father above all others--”

“My father’s esteem is exceeded only by that of the Lord in Heaven, may he ever sit at his right hand.” Pain hollows his eyes, so raw that even in health he gleams gaunt beneath the moon’s light. You have both lost your fathers, but this wound is fresh, bleeding still, and yours--

Well, yours sewed up just fine with a little needle and thread. How quickly a wound heals when you must see to it yourself.

“Would that I could talk to him,” Shuuka rasps, fingers clenching around stone. “But I trust that if he could see you now, he would see a daughter still.”

His grief burns brightly, a halo that surrounds him-- no, a shroud, the sort that might bury him beside his fathers bones if he did not take care. It is that which makes all this worse, which turns what you must do from a discomfort to a cruelty. But it is better yet than what it could be if you indulged him, if you let pity and kindness stand where only love should.

“Yes, I understand,” you murmur, gathering every last draught of courage. “But I must admit, my lord, that I do not hold my own father in such esteem. You are a kind man, Lord Shuuka, the sort any woman would count her blessings should she find you as her husband, but I...”

You flounder, the night pressing in thickly around you. What you wouldn’t give for crickets, if only to break the silence.

“Ah.” There is a wealth of hurt hidden in that breath. “But you mean to say that it shall not be you, Lady Lynet.”

“What?” Zen’s eyes blink wide, so bright, so blue across from her. “You’re turning him down?”

Shirayuki stares. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a lord, isn’t he?” It’s a strange thing to ask, especially when they just spent the last week and change-- well, four hours really-- at his castle, but here was Zen, looking toward Izana like he needed clarification. “Wouldn’t Lynet, you know...?”

“Um.” Even with a sweep of Zen’s wrist and the emphatic lift of his eyebrows, Shirayuki still can’t see how that sentence might finish itself. “No, I don’t.”

It’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop, so when Obi lets out a hiccup, isn’t not exactly inconspicuous. She glances over at him, and from the way his mouth twitches at the corners, she’s hardly the first. “Is something...?”

Wrong, she means to say, but Obi gives a single solid shiver and collapses onto the table, head buried in his arms.

There’s a breath where her fingers go numb on the table, where her heart beat practically deafens her as it pound in her ears. She’s not here in the room, she’s out in the yard, a wrinkled arm reaching out to her, and all she can think about is where her phone is, whether she can reach it from here--

“My, my.” Izana’s drawl rattles her back to the table, gaze skittering over Zen’s forbidding glare, the clasped hand over Kiki’s mouth, Mitsuhide’s wide-eyes-- “Isn’t that an interesting question. Now just what does make Lord Shuuka such an attractive partner?”

Obi lifts his head, still trembling, but it’s not some medical event. Oh no, he’s just-- just laughing. Shirayuki catches her breath, holds it, and thinks of a triangle becoming a decagon.

Nothing is wrong. Everyone is safe. Healthy.

“W-well.” Zen’s voice creaks from the reach she suspects he’s about to make. “He has ah, hmm...”

“Large tracts of land?” Obi offers, so helpful.

Zen hands stiffen where he holds them out in front of him. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

His brows give a wiggle. “Looks like it.”

“I--”

“Castle Perilous already has land,” Shirayuki interjects, hoping the tremble hasn’t reached her voice. “Plenty of it.”

Obi leans back in his chair with a grin. “Castle Perilous has everything! Large tracts of lands, at least two level or dungeons, an ominous name...”

She flicks him a flat look. “My point is, Lynet doesn’t need a manor to maintain-- she already left that to save her sister. She has a quest, she doesn’t need--” she waves her hands, steady now-- “romance.”

Obi’s brow ticks up, just the tiniest bit.

“I mean, not with a man she’s only known a week,” she blurts out, feeling heat simmering beneath her collar, licking at her ears. “Why would I be playing D&D if I just wanted to-- to marry Lynet off to the first guy she saw?”

Zen’s mouth fall slack, eyes glued to his character sheet. “Huh.”

“Gee,” Kiki drawls, “all that production for nothing.”

“Shut--”

“If we’re all quite done?” Izana suggests pointedly. “I believe Lady Lynet is not quite done breaking her beau’s heart. Also--” those pale eyes cut toward her, eyebrow quirked pedantically-- “it’s Pathfinder, by the way.”

Kiki lets out a huff. “It’s the same thing.”

With exaggerated care, Izana nudges her character on the map. “It’s really not.”

You take Shuuka’s hands in your own; they’re soft, callused on the mounts like Arturius’. A swordsman’s hands, though not a warrior’s. He flushes beneath your touch, and you wonder if he is bothered by the rough touch of your own, marred by scrapes and scars, so unlike a lady’s that you might as well be a different country. That is what your father had called you once: a different country, the fondness thick in his voice.

That had been before. He had been a different man. You had been a different Lynet. A time you would long for, if you thought it might make any difference at all.

“I have my own path I must tread, my lord,” you murmur, “one that cannot be turned aside for my own comfort.”

He nods, head heavy. “I see. You too have your own quest of honor, like His Grace. A glory that only you can seek.”

“If only it were for glory--” your fingers stiffen in his hold, teeth gritting down on the troubles that long to pass through them-- “instead of to right the wrongs that have been done.”

His brows lift, and you do not imagine the offer in his eyes, the one that says you would only need to breathe the word, and he would raise his own blade in your honor. “To you?”

Your tongue would tie itself in knots if it could. “Among many.”

“I understand.” His hand squeezes yours so gently, as if you were a thing that could break, a glass woman cradled in his palms. That is a thing these lords do not understand; glass may be delicate once blown thread-thin, but it is first forged in fire, born at a temperature that would char flesh. “Perhaps, though, when you are done...”

It feels cruel to reject him, a man that loves the lady you could have been, but it is crueler still to give him hope where there is little to spare.

“Perhaps,” you say, stilted. It is too mild an answer for the passion in his eyes, but you learned long ago that fate’s whims could not be foreseen by any mortal heart. “But please, my lord. Do not wait for me.”

“It will be hard not to, my lady, for a woman like you is not easily found. However--” he lets out a raw chuckle-- “I do know what love sounds like when I hear it, and it...does not warm your voice when we speak.”

“I...”

Shuuka holds up one hand, chagrined, the other still wrapped in yours. “You owe me no explanation. I only mean to wish you well.”

He lifts your hand to his lips, laying a soft kiss to its back. “May God go with you, my lady. I pray you will not forget your loyal servant in your trials.”

“I...will not,” you breathe, wishing you might be the girl that could love this man. You cannot, you cannot, but oh, how much easier your road would be if you did. “Thank you.”

“Well,” Mitsuhide hums, smile hung awkwardly. “He seems nice!”

Zen nods, pink looming just under the apples of his cheeks. “A good, ah, potential ally.”

Shirayuki stares.

“You two,” Kiki starts, every syllable so overflowing with derision they practically leak, “are ridiculous.”

Obi looks fit to bursting as well-- at least, if the state of his twitching mouth is anything to go by-- but before he can get one word in edgewise, Izana clears his throat.

“Now that this little interlude is complete,” he drawls, casting a wary glance over the table. “I expect that we can move on?”

“No, wait, I’m sorry!” Shirayuki bursts out breathlessly. “Just--” she glances at Obi, squirming under the question in his eyes-- “just one more thing. I promise.”

Izana settles back in his chair, brows raised. “Oh no, by all means. Color me...” His mouth curves into a smirk that would cause a cleverer woman to reconsider. “...Intrigued.”

Your neck aches; beneath your veil, your hair lies heavy on your scalp, pinned and tied to within an inch of its life. There is no more of it than usual, you are sure, but it weighs on you now, a fetter meant to hobble your steps. A shackle meant to drag you down, to halt your progress forward. Perhaps that is always what it was meant to be.

A proper lady would not remove her covering until she was safely ensconced in her chambers; such manners had been pressed upon you since your first courses, first by your nurse and then again by your father. Modesty was a woman’s shield, and you clung to it then as if it could protect you, afraid of what might happen to you without it. No, afraid of who you might be.

But you are no fine lady, not by anything but birth. Such trappings were ripped from your hands, and now--

Now you are Lynet, alchemist and arcanist, and you keep nothing that will not serve you. Your fingers wedge beneath the fine linen, pins falling to your feet as you work them free. Everything about Laxdo may squeeze you, trying to fit you back in the mold your father made, but you will not, not ever again.

It may have been years since you last stepped in Laxdo’s halls, but this past week has made it something like a home, your feet carrying you with ease through the twisting corridors. A different answer but a moment ago and these would have been yours, your home in truth, but to stay here, to forget the power that you tamed with your own two hands and become nothing more than Shuuka’s wife--

It’s unthinkable. A life not meant for you. Though your sister would like it fine enough.

Your feet stutter beneath you, breath caught tight in your chest. Who are you to say what she would want, when you--

You shake yourself. This guilt won’t serve either, not if you let it hold you in place. Your gaze lifts, and finally you see where your industrious feet have brought you: Beaumains’ door.

It was inevitable that they would; your own chamber is on the same hall, mere steps away. But you had not meant to come here, to linger, save that-- that you had, for he has been on your mind since he delivered you to the dais, since Arturius had him sent from it to the revelry below. His voice has thrummed beneath your veins since you looked across the hall and saw him missing from the tables below, your mind turning over every word he spoke this night to see if his disappearance is merely a missing piece to a puzzle you have already solved. But no solutions have appeared before you, and now--

Now you stand here, head bare at his threshold, wondering whether you will be welcome.

You hand raises, hesitating above the grain. You could leave now, and no one would ever know. But if you did, if you simply left with no word, and found him gone on the morrow...

You knock twice. Then thrice. There is not a whisper from the other side of the door. You know better than to assume that means there is no man, not such a one as Beaumains.

“Beaumains,” you murmur, palm pressed flat against the wood. “Beaumains, if you are there...”

Your lips press to a thin line. You had not planned this, planned any of it, and your words will not come. You do not even know which ones you speak if they would.

Your forehead rests against the door, the ridges of its grain digging into your skin. “If you are there, I am here.”

There is no answer but silence.

“Goodnight,” you say finally. “I will...” You hesitate, breath catching in your chest. “I will see you on the morrow.”

Izana, at least, is happy to move on.

“If you have spells to prepare,” he offers graciously, “you may do so now, before we start the morning.”

Kiki raises an imperious brow. “I take it we’ll be doing combat, then?”

With a beatific smile, Izana informs her, “You may prepare for any eventuality you see fit.”

“Yeah.” Zen sighs, flipping to his spell list. “Combat.”

Shirayuki shuffles through her index cards, chewing on her cheek. Next to her Obi has affected a casual slouch, arm thrown haphazardly over his chair back and legs stretching well onto Zen’s side of the table. He doesn’t seem stressed, not like how she feels sitting in the splash zone of of their high stakes game of I’m Not Touching You during this fantasy field trip.

Her phone slides into her hand easier than it ever has, thumb sliding surreptitiously across the keyboard. Are you okay?

Her teeth grit down as soon as it’s sent, regret bitter on her tongue. It’s a stupid thing to ask; a feeling that grows when she watches him work his phone out of his pocket, eyebrows lifting as he reads.

His mouth curls into a satisfied smirk. peachy keen

Are you sure? Shirayuki peeks up from her cards, casting a subtle glance toward the end of the table. Izana’s bowed behind the screen, pen gracefully curving over page-- notes. He’s taking notes. I wanted to make sure Zen isn’t scaring you off.

lol impossible

A breath hisses out her nose, fingers tightening around the case. Leave it to Obi to make this into a joke. He’s really not a bad guy, I promise. I don’t know why he’s choosing to act like one.

A smothered noise hiccups out beside her, too loud in the room’s silence. Four heads bob up, three blond and one brown, and Obi smooths the noise out into a cough, a gentle clearing of his throat.

“Dorito,” he says with a tight wheeze, mouth twitching. “Musta gone down the wrong pipe.”

“Ah,” Izana hums, his eyes narrowing. “Of course.”

Zen, however, frowns. “We have Doritos?”

Obi’s mouth stretches into a smile. “You did.”

“How--?”

“Are we done with preparations, then?” Izana asks smoothly, settling back in his chair. “Should we continue...?”

“Ah, no!” Zen grimaces, ducking his head. “Just-- another minute.”

i got a good idea, Obi texts once. heads are down. but don worry im not going newere His teeth flash as he sends, jus had 2 take care f s/t

She glances up, and his grin is there to greet her, only growing wider when he reads the question in her eyes.

“Don’t worry, my lady,” he murmurs, shifting close enough for the words to ghost over her cheek. “Trust me.”

You wake to hue and cry, to chaos in the halls. A lord’s daughter might lay abed still, waiting for her maids to fetch her, but you were the Lady of Castle Perilous; when Morgaine comes to fetch you, you are already dressed, tucking the last tresses of red beneath your coif. She blinks, those midnight-dark eyes going wide before her expression settles into something far more grim, something more resigned than surprise.

“Beaumains isn’t in his chamber,” she tells you, no cushion in her words, only the bruising impact of the truth. “We suspect he never made it back to it.”

Your breath catches in your chest, struggling against its cage. “That can’t be true. Last night I...”

Spoke to his door, with not a single sign of him within.

“When the maid came to tend his hearth this morning, his cot was undisturbed and the fire burnt down to embers.” Morgaine fixes you with a steady gaze, braced as a man about to take a blow. “We mean to look for him.”

You snatch your cloak from where it hangs, winding it about your shoulders. “Then let us go. If he has been taken, then--”

“I suspect he has been taken by naught by stupidity, the same as any man,” the princess grouses, falling into step beside you as you hurry down the steps to the yard. “My brother wounded his pride, and he sought to restore it. Or at least commit some feat to let it scab cleanly.”

It rankles how much each word rings true. You had no brothers at Castle Perilous, but men you had in spades, and every one fool enough to put himself in mortal peril to salve his pride. “Let us hope you are wrong?”

Morgaine lets out a rasping laugh. “You prefer him to be in the hands of the enemy, then?”

“Rather than his own stupidity?” you ask, breathless, waiting for the yard’s door to open. “Always.”

When they do, your heart stops, stuttering right up into your throat.

“Alas.” The word hisses through Morgaine’s smile. “You are destined to be disappointed.”

Beaumains sits in the yard, perched merrily atop a cart drawn into the middle of it. You cannot, from this angle, divine what it is filled with, only that it is solid enough to hold him and his ego. Temper climbs up your neck, as choking as any ivy; to think, you worried about his heart enough to trouble your own, and now he sits here as if naught but a moment has passed from the night into the evening, as if this were but yet another day he spent in your company.

Oh, how you could climb that cart yourself to give him a piece of your mind. You do not-- would not, before all these men of Laxdo-- but the temptation lashes yours soles as thoroughly as any devil.

“Beaumains.” Arturius marches forth from the crowd, wrath crackling in the air as he walks. “What is the meaning of this? We awake to you missing, and now--?”

“So I heard.” His smile shines in the morning sun, just as brightly as his horns. “I was here, of course. Waiting.”

The Prince of the Angles flushes crimson, the whole of his frame shaking. “Then why would you not--?”

“For a lark.” His teeth flash; fitting since he wields his words like a blade. “Though I did leave last night. You see, something bothered me, and not just your manners.”

“Demon--”

“Devil,” Beaumains corrects, as fastidious as any tutor. “And you see, all this celebrating, it didn’t make sense. Not when we hadn’t solved who cursed our friend here.”

He holds one dark, clawed hand out to where Shuuka stands, gaping. “Me? But I thought--?”

“You know as well as any that we have been searching tirelessly,” Arturius snaps, temper well and truly frayed. “And now you come to mock us for it? Is it a fight you ask for? Is that what you desire? For I am happy to give it to you, if you do not--”

“I want no fight,” Beaumains scoffs. “I want results. And so...”

With a desultory kick, the back of the cart falls open, and out of it--

Ah, and out of it pours forth a mound of bodies.

“And so,” he continues with relish, “I got some.”

“You can’t do that,” Zen murmurs, but it’s not in anger. No, that’s shock that slackens his jaw, and with the number of tokens Obi just dropped on the map, it’s working on Shirayuki too. “That’s not-- he can’t do that, can he?”

“He just did,” Izana replies, somehow both weary and amused at the same time.

“But...” Zen stares at them, more than a dozen tokens sprawled over the grid. “How.”

Obi grins. “Skill.”

Izana casts him a dark, yet exhausted, glance. “He rolled very, very well.”

Shuuka skirts nearer, his face pale with shock. “Those are the men who sold us firewood. The very same you pulled from our hearths.”

“That they are.” Beaumains sits back on the cart; now that you can see inside it you see his seat is not a crate, as you had assumed, but two bodies stacked atop each other, the blood drying around their mouths and necks. “Or at least that’s what I was hoping, Master, since otherwise I’d have made a mortifying mistake indeed.”

Arturius has not moved, instead staring down at the hand that laid at his feet, at the twisted grimace the deceased’s face has twisted into. “You did this alone? With no other man to help you?”

“I surely did,” the devil sing-songs, his grin honing to a point. “Could you find me such a one, daring enough to help on a night so dark as the last?”

The prince’s jaw sets hard as granite, but his eyes belie his sternness, shining with heady mix of admiration and something that savors strongly of jealousy. “Well,” he grits out, shoulders jerking towards his ears. “I cannot fault you your skill, devil, but now there is no chance of us learning how or why this deed came to be done.”

Beaumains scoffs, enjoying every moment he sits above the Prince of all the Angles. “Have a little faith, O Master Mine. Before they met the fates they bought with their cursed coin, I asked them what man or beast compelled them to act. And they told me--” his eyes flash with triumph-- “a man in red.”

There is no chance for you to stifle your gasp, not when you see that armor shining before you, crimson in candlelight. Not when even now, that spiked gauntlet reaches toward you--

“Lynet?” Morgaine’s grasp brings you back to yourself, to the moment you inhabit. “Are you well?”

“Fine, fine,” you assure her. “It is only--”

That you may know who this enemy of Laxdo is. That you yourself have come to see him vanquished, but yet--

You cannot speak of it. Not even if you wished.

“You may thank me at your leisure, sirrah,” Beaumain crows, getting to his feet. Even now your stomach roils as you look, the blood nothing more than a black sheen on his boots. “I am ever at your--” he leaps, landing on the ground before Arturius’s gaze. “At your service.”

And with a singular, extravagant bow, Beaumains tips face first into the cobbles.

“Wait.” Shirayuki blinks down at the toppled figure, resting on a spray of tokens, right next to a white-painted 1. “What just happened?”

“Beaumains--” Izana’s mouth twitches at a corner-- “had but a single hit point left.”

Long fingers pluck the die from its resting place among the bodies, as if quick reflexes could keep them all from seeing the rock Obi just dropped. He glowers down at it-- all black and golden and glimmering, just like him-- and shoves it back into his bag. “And glass ankles, apparently.”

A low, heady laugh rolls across the table, Kiki kicking up her feet with a smirk. “This is why we invest in CON.”

Obi scoffs. “Please, I made it out with HP to spare.”

“Yeah,” she says, “one.”

“Well,” he grumbles, “it was enough, wasn’t it?”

You stoop to where Beaumains sits, propped up by the stable’s post and Bedwyr’s shoulder, hand raised to heal--

“Please.” Bedwyr’s impressive hand gently guides yours away, his smile tight and concerned. “You must save your strength, my lady.”

“I just awoke, sir,” you remind him, mouth pulled into an irritated line. “I am as fresh as I shall ever be.”

The knight cants his head, though you know him too well to believe he might fully acquiesce to you. “I know that well enough. But it is your talent we will need, should any challenges arise before day’s end. And this is entirely within my--”

“No, no.” Beaumains stirs at his side, eyes sliding open to relieve the unrelenting shadow of his face. “Let the pretty lady lay her hands on me, paladin. Her touch is far softer than yours.”

Ah, it would have been best for him not to say such things before the whole of Castle Laxdo. Or at least, not in front of its lord. The weight of his gaze already presses heavy on your back, growing only more weighty as Beaumains sears a bleary line up you with his gaze.

He’s far to gone to keep it steady; already it wanders, tracing Bedwyr’s lines as well, and--

“Wait, no, never mind,” he slurs, squinting up at that giant of a man. “You’ll do too, sir, if you’re so eager to put your hand--”

Bedwyr presses a palm to the center of Beaumain’s forehead, and with an authority you know can only come from the Lord in Heaven, he intones, “SLEEP.”

“You know, big guy,” Obi drawls, grin already stretching from ear to ear. “I’m pretty sure paladins don’t get those spells. And fighters definitely don’t.”

Mitsuhide glances up from his sheet, straight at Izana.

He smirks. “I’ll allow it.”

Beaumains sleeps the slumber of the ensorcelled. That is, complete and utterly quiet.

Bedwyr peered down, and with a nod of his head, declares, “That’s much better.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #dungeons & dragons au #my fic #ans #listen i know i said ONE chapter until the end of this arc #but like #TECHNCIALLY next chapter is gonna be the OOC wrap up for this arc #the session is complete though!#fans of this fic may REJOICE #you have two updated planned over the next two months too #Ch 9 is already in progress #and provided it does not grow out of proportion...should be complete by mid-september #and there's another update planned for late october that should hopefully kick off next arc #and perhaps...a POV CHANGE >:3c

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

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Headcanon - when you think he has an ex-girlfriend

This work, 当你误会他有前女友, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ]

You feel slightly indignant.

When you went over to LFG to invite Victor out for dinner, you were told that he was in a meeting. Planning to wait in his office, you discovered that it was already occupied by someone.

A woman.

An impeccably and gorgeously dressed woman.

You take the coffee from the secretary’s hands, donning a professional and mild smile as you enter the room. “Miss, please enjoy.”

The woman lowers her head, staring at her delicate nails. “LFG’s service is as thorough as always. But I prefer cappuccino. Vic knows that.”

“Vic”...? Isn’t that an intimate term of address?

You laugh wryly in your heart while maintaining your blank expression. “How should I address you, and may I know how you’re related to CEO Victor?”

“My surname is Lin. As for how we are related - According to our former relationship, you could say that I’m LFG’s female boss.” Miss Lin exudes an arrogant aura, causing your blood to boil.

An ex-girlfriend?

Before you can probe further, the door is pushed open, and Victor strides in.

“Vic, you’re here~” Miss Lin stands up, unconcealed joy in her eyes.

Victor takes a step backwards coldly. “Hello, Miss Lin.”

The business-like manner he’s treating her causes your bubbling anger to dissipate.

“Why are you being so distant? Just call me ‘Cha Cha’~” Happiness seeps into Miss Lin’s voice. “Can we have dinner tonight?”

Victor furrows his brows, walking past her and to your side. He wraps an arm around your waist. “Apologies. I’ve already made a reservation at a restaurant with my wife.”

“Wife?! You’re married?!” Miss Lin exclaims in a shrill voice, her face stricken in disbelief as her eyes flit to you, looking as though she’s suffered a wrong.

Ah, so she is his ex-girlfriend.

“The wedding invitation was sent to your parents.” Victor lifts his wrist to look at the time. “It’s late. If an opportunity arises, LFG will collaborate with your parents. We’ll make a move.” He gestures to her to leave the room.

She bites her lip, eyes welling up in tears as her storms off, her high-heels clacking against the floor so loudly that the entire company can hear them. Just watching her makes you worried that she’d accidentally sprain her ankles.

“See you again, Miss Lin~” You wave at her, grinning broadly.

Miss Lin almost trips on her feet. She tosses her head around, gives you a harsh glare, then leaves LFG.

After the troublesome person is gone, you peel Victor’s claws from your waist.

“What’s wrong?” He gives you an odd look. “Are you throwing a fuss again?”

What does he mean by “a fuss”?!

“Hmph.” You face away from him, refusing to talk.

Victor knits his brows tightly, turning your head around so that you face him properly. “Speak.”

“Victor, you’re being fierce towards me! Because of your ex-girlfriend!” The more you talk, the more maligned you feel, tears swimming at the edges of your eyes.

“I don’t have an ex-girlfriend.”

He sighs, wiping your tears away gently. His finger pads brush the corners of your eyes, grazing your skin. “She’s just the daughter of a business partner, and a junior two years younger from university. I helped her resolve a few issues.”

You turn your face away, huffing. “She said you knew her preference for cappuccino.”

With a look of resignation, Victor tidies your slightly messy hair. “That was the only type of coffee we had in school back then.”

Does he think you’ve never read romantic fiction books on how people from the same school and graduate into the same profession end up together easily?

Seeming to be in a pleasant mood, he pinches your cheek. “Jealous?”

You’re livid. It’s bad enough that this man doesn’t coax you - how could he be happy right now?!

“You’re the one who’s jealous!”

“What nonsense.”

Victor leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. “In university, I was busy learning how to run a business. Where would I find the time to bother about such things?”

A warm kiss meets your eyebrow. “Also, I spent 17 years looking for you. In this life, there’s only you.”

“Don’t stand so close to me - I’m still angry!” You poke his chest, pushing him away timidly.

“Angry?” He gives you a mischievous glance. “In that case, let’s call off the reservation at the restaurant and go straight home.”

“Victor!”

[ GAVIN ]

Gavin has been acting weird recently.

He often holes himself in the study room, where he would remain for at least half an hour. At first, you thought he was troubled by an unresolved case. But when you bumped into Eli in the STF, he commented that the officers have been pretty idle these days.

So what exactly does Officer Gavin do in the room?

You peek through the door furtively, meticulously observing every movement by Suspect Gavin.

Gavin is in front of the desk, its middle drawer opened halfway - the only drawer which has a lock.

On the table rests a small, pale pink box that you’ve never seen before.

The colour clearly doesn’t gel with Gavin’s usual style.

Wanting to have a closer look, you instinctively inch closer, and end up pushing the door further and catching Gavin’s attention.

In one swift motion, he hurriedly covers the box and stuffs it back into the drawer, twisting the lock. It’s as though he has a guilty conscience. If you weren’t suspicious that he was hiding something from you, you would have applauded him for how smooth his actions were.

“W-what’s wrong?” Mr Gavin has never been good at lying, and he stammers.

“Nothing. I’m just here to tell you that dinner’s ready.” You try to pretend that nothing happened, but you just can’t suppress your curiosity. “What are you doing?”

Gavin’s eyes dart around. “I was... looking at files.”

Who stores files in a pink box oozing with a feminine aura?! Does it contain wanted posters for absconded Disney princesses?!

You release a gloomy noise of acknowledgement, turn around, and head downstairs.

Behind you, Gavin sees that he has successfully evaded suspicion. With a sigh of relief, he double-checks that the drawer is locked properly before trailing behind you.

You’re upset.

Gavin has his own little secret. And it’s a pink one.

Your head is plopped on the office desk, not a single word typed on the proposal document even after half an hour. Finally, you decide to call Minor in.

You pull the curtains closed, increase the intensity of the lights, and glare at Minor fiercely. Like an interrogator, you question: “Let me ask you this - do you know why your Bro Gavin has a small box?”

Minor shrinks into the sofa. “I know.”

He adds softly, “And it’s pink.”

So even Minor knows about it but you don’t... :)

“What’s in the box? Don’t tell me it’s ‘files’.” Just thinking about the obvious lie Gavin spun makes you angry.

“Eh, there’s nothing much. It’s just things belonging to the girl Bro Gavin used to like. He just adds things into it from time to time.”

A girl Gavin used to like.

Then again, Gavin is so outstanding. Before you reunited with him, how could he not have had a girlfriend? Anyway, those things happened in the past, so you should be more magnanimous, and not care about it.

“Not care about it”?! What a joke!

After receiving the acknowledgement that Gavin has an ex-girlfriend, you’ve been in an incredibly bad mood. It’s akin to finding a good pig, and then discovering that one of its trotters has been fractured by someone else.

What’s worse is that Gavin remains in the study room to look at the box frequently, and even adds things to it! Doesn’t this mean that she’s still constantly in his mind?

The more you think about it, the more enraged you are. After work, you storm off, your high heels clacking against the floor noisily.

When you reach home, you find that Gavin is already back, and is current in the study room.

Good. Very good. You’ll settle the matter with him once and for all.

Fuming, you push the door open and exclaim, “Gavin, you’re still thinking about your ex-girlfriend even when you’re already with me?!”

“???”

Your sudden action startles Gavin, leaving him unable to hide the box in time. He stares at you, frozen in place.

He recovers after a moment. “I don’t have an ex-girlfriend.”

Nonsense. “Minor told me everything. That box stores the things related to the girl you used to like!”

“Minor?” Blue veins pop out on his temples as he balls his hands into fists.

He picks up the box and brisk walks over to you. “There isn’t another woman. These... are all yours.”

A hand-copied “Byron’s Poetry Collection”, photographs of you from various angles evidently taken in secret, a worn out copy of Franz Liszt’s “Liebestraum”, a ginkgo bookmark, and pictures of the both of you...

They are indeed related to you.

There’s practically not a shred of anger left in your body.

You lean into his arms. “Since they’re related to me, why did you have to be so secretive about it? I even thought you...”

He sighs. “I wanted to give this to you during our wedding. But it seems I have to do it earlier now.”

Why do you feel strangely guilty?

You purse your lips. “I could pretend that I didn’t see it?”

Gavin gives you a resigned smile as he pats your head. “If you see it again, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” He lowers his head, burying it in the crook of your neck, greedily drinking in your scent. “But I guess we could bring the wedding earlier.”

[ LUCIEN ]

“Good afternoon Ah Ming, have you had lunch?”

It’s 9pm, and you just received an overseas call from Ah Ming, who is now in London. You guess that they’ve had lunch not too long ago.

“We’ve eaten. Teacher’s Wife, don’t tell him I said this, but Professor just went into a jewellery shop to get a custom-made brooch. Apparently, it’s very suitable as a gift for one’s girlfriend. It’s definitely for you. I’ll send you a picture.”

It was indeed worthwhile to buy Ah Ming small bites behind Lucien’s back. Having eaten your cakes, he’s on your side.

Since Lucien didn’t tell you about it, it must be meant as a surprise. In that case, you pretend not to know about it.

After Lucien returns, you take a meticulous look through all the gifts he gave you, but there’s no sign of that brooch.

Could Lucien be waiting for an even more suitable time to give it to you?

But after waiting for a long while, he doesn’t seem to have an intention of giving you the brooch. You gradually sense that something is not quite right. Lucien custom-made a brooch meant for a female, but it’s not for you.

So could it be for another woman?

This question receives an answer in the best biological centre in the country, where you see a woman sitting on a stone bench, wearing the brooch you saw in the picture Ah Ming sent.

Your initial high spirits in coming here to invite Lucien out for dinner was doused with a bucket of cold water.

Finding a conversation topic, you decide to engage in small talk with her.

“Hello, are you waiting for someone?”

The woman seems to be a good conversationalist, and she answers your question candidly.

“Yes, my boyfriend is a professor here.”

Since the topic has arisen, you can dive straight to the main topic. “Your brooch is beautiful. Did you buy it from somewhere?”

The woman lowers her head and fiddles with the brooch. A sweet smile subconsciously surfaces on her face, a complete contrast to the emotions in your heart. “My ex-boyfriend gave it to me, so I don’t know where he bought it. from.”

Who in the world smiles so happily at the mention of their ex-boyfriend??

No - the important thing is that Lucien is her ex-boyfriend?!

Or rather - she is Lucien’s ex-girlfriend??

Jealousy overwhelms you, causing you to find this woman and even the building unpleasant to look at. Much less Lucien, who has just appeared at the main entrance.

Seeing him walking towards you, you get to your feet. He opens his arms, waiting for you to rush into them as you usually do.

Gripping your bag, you turn around and walk away.

Lucien: ???

He hurries after you, tugging your arm and pulling you into his arms. “What’s wrong?”

Despite struggling, you’re unable to free yourself from his grasp, so you simply give up.

You’re angry. “Don’t hug me. Go hug your ex-girlfriend!”

The more you speak, the more angry you feel.

“Ex-girlfriend?”

It’s rare for Lucien to be astounded, and it seems he doesn’t understand what you’re saying.

“There.” You tilt your chin towards the direction of the woman.”She said it herself - that brooch is from her ex-boyfriend!”

Lucien looks over in the direction you’re signalling towards. When the woman notices his gaze, she gives him a nod.

Such an interaction - do they think you’re blind?!

You’re so enraged that the corners of your eyes have reddened. He once said that you were the only colour in his monochrome world - what nonsense! Right now, you feel like you’re just a streak of green in his colourful and vibrant world!

“The Little Butterfly has misunderstood me.” Lucien looks as though he’s been wronged. He draws closer to your ear. “That’s Professor Huang’s girlfriend. More accurately, his fiancee. What she meant was that Professor Huang was her ex-boyfriend. Now, he’s her fiancé.”

Very quickly, Lucien catches your drift. “Professor Huang asked me for a favour to have the brooch custom-made while I was abroad. It was an engagement gift to her.”

...how would you have known what she meant...

You let out a “hmph”, lowering your head and refusing to speak.

He ruffles your hair. “Look over there.”

You lift your head, and see the woman lunging into the arms of a bespectacled man. Just like the countless times you’ve lunged into Lucien’s arms.

After verifying that you had really misunderstood the situation, you apologise softly. “I’m sorry.”

Lucien presses his hand on the top of your head, giving it a rub. The smile on his lips is tender and affectionate. “I’ve never had a previous girlfriend. You’re my first, and the only one. However...”

He steers the topic of the conversation.

“I’m very happy to see my Little Butterfly jealous. It’s very cute.”

[ KIRO ]

Kiro is really good when it comes to his skills.

Not in terms of cooking, but in terms of make-up and fashion.

Each time you fret over your dressing when attending all sorts of gatherings, meetings, and even day-to-day activities, he always pick out the most appropriate outfit for you.

At first, you thought this was a necessity for artistes. At least, that was until you visited him at his workplace once, and heard Savin being in awe at how skilled Kiro was when he arranged your hair out of boredom. “If the both of you could work together when writing songs, would your output be as good as your hairstyling?”

“...Savin, having one’s hair tied up isn’t good for the scalp. I can’t bear for my Miss Chips to go through such pain. I used my own special model before this~” Kiro pats his own hair as he stares into the mirror, then helps loosen the bun he tied for you.

His own special model?

But this is the first time he’s trying out this hairstyle on you.

You tilt your head in suspicion, looking at Kiro.

Kiro senses your eyes on him, and he turns around to meet them before averting his gaze.

Something’s odd. Kiro is definitely hiding something from you.

Make-up, pairing accessories, hairstyling... these things are close to the hearts of women.

Does Kiro have an ex-girlfriend?!

With such a thought in mind, you start viewing Kiro in a new light.

It’s not good to cause a scene when there are so many people around, so you decide to suppress your emotions for now.

Make-up artistes at the side watch Kiro and comment politely, “It’s rare to see Kiro being so meticulous. Yesterday, as usual, he asked my daughter about make-up. Specifically, make-up suitable for Loveland City’s Golden Horse Film Festival. He even recorded down pointers in a small notebook.”

‘As usual’? ‘Golden Horse Film Festival’?

You haven’t received an invitation to this award ceremony. So Kiro was definitely not asking the make-up artiste on behalf of you.

He really has an ex-girlfriend!

A staff member pushes the doors to the make-up room. “Savin, there aren’t enough people outside. The director wants Kiro’s make-up artistes to help out.”

Savin makes a sound of acknowledgement. “The two of you - stay here, and don’t move around.” He then brings the make-up artistes to the filming venue.

Seeing that they’ve left, you decide to settle the issue once and for all.

You stand up and shift further away from him.

“Miss Chips, did I do something wrong?”

Since just now, Kiro could sense that something was off about you. Moreover, you’re deliberately staying far away from him. If he couldn’t see that you were angry, he'd truly be a fool.

Your eyes redden as you bite your lip. “You’re so skilled. Did you... practise with your ex-girlfriend a lot?”

He immediately grabs your arm and denies it. “I don’t have an ex-girlfriend.” His eyes are filled with the seriousness of KEY. “I’ve only had Miss Chips.”

Although you really want to believe him, you need proof.

“In that case, why did you say that you have a “special model”? You’ve never tried that hairstyle with me before, and I’ve never won a Golden Horse Film Festival award...” Your voice grows soft, and you can’t help but choke at the end.

At the sight of you crying, Kiro becomes frantic, forgetting that there are tissues on the table. He lifts his arm, using his sleeve to wipe your tears dry.

“I was referring to an actual model. It’s the one in our basement storeroom - the mannequin with the same hairstyle as yours.”

He didn’t think his words would cause you to misunderstand. He explains further. “As for the Golden Horse Film Festival, I didn’t want to bring it up yet. I thought you would have preferred to find out from the officials. I think they should be sending you the invitation tomorrow, my ‘Best Producer’~”

The news is too sudden, like a streak of lightning in a clear sky. You’re unable to react, and can only stare blankly into his blue eyes.

“Miss Chips?” Kiro waves his hand in front of your eyes.

You have no reaction.

Like a gigantic Apple Box, he jumps up and down.

You finally return to your senses, lowering your head and speaking softly. “I’m sorry...”

“Your suspicions hurt my feelings.” He holds his chin, as though in deep thought. “Your punishment is to accompany me to the amusement park this weekend~”

[ SHAW ]

There’s something off about Shaw.

In the past, he used to send messages in the open, and you wouldn’t intrude on his privacy. But whenever he gets a notification these days, he’d first cast a glance at you to ensure that you aren’t looking before he replies.

You didn’t really care at first. But as it happened more frequently, you started becoming suspicious that he was up to some shady business behind your back again. It was as though he was planning to swindle someone - and you had a feeling that the victim was going to be you.

Another notification sounds, and his eyes subconsciously flit towards you.

You arch your brows. “What do you want!?”

“Nothing. Continue watching the television.” He blocks the screen from you secretively.

There’s definitely something going on.

After replying to the message and checking that his phone is locked, he sets it down on the coffee table, leaning back against the sofa and watching the television.

After a while, he gets up, preparing to get a glass of cola from the kitchen. He tells you sternly, “Don’t look at my phone.”

You purse your lips.

Another notification.

“...”

It would have been better if he didn’t specially tell you not to look at it. Now, you’re even more curious.

You glance towards the kitchen, and decide that it should be a while before Shaw returns. You wouldn’t be discovered if you just snuck a quick peek, right?

Judging from the name alone, it’s obvious that the sender is a female. Troubled, you tap open the chat.

“It’s been so long. How’s it going at your end?”

“I’m all prepared. You can tell her tomorrow.”

“Mm, she doesn’t know about it yet, but she seems to be getting suspicious since I’ve been hiding from her when I send messages.”

“Why do I feel like my existence shouldn’t be known?”

“That has always been the case.”

“Sigh. Be careful then.”

“Sure. I’ll leave tomorrow to you.”

“Existence shouldn’t be known?” You repeat. In the realm of relationships, the person who fits such a description is usually a third party or a mistress.

Or could it be Shaw’s ex-girlfriend?

“Hey!! Why did you peek at my phone!?” With Shaw’s sudden return and how you forgot that you were supposed to be doing this in secret, Shaw catches you red-handed.

It’s a good thing you can confront him in person. After all, you’re the “existence who has been known”.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one.” He looks as though he has nothing to hide. But after interacting with him for such a long time, you aren’t sold at all.

“Is she your ex-girlfriend?” The more you think about it, the more you believe in your inferences.

Shaw’s eyebrows arch upwards at this unexpected question. “What are you thinking? What ex-girlfriend?”

“Then why don’t you want me to know, and why are you hiding it from me?” You shoot him a cold expression.

“You’ll know tomorrow.” He snatches his phone from your hand, turns around and walks into the bedroom.

That night, Shaw tries to hug you to sleep as usual. But after you struggle from his grasp, he sighs and gives up, lying on the bed properly.

You don’t sleep.

In the morning, you feel Shaw getting out of bed. For someone like him who doesn’t get up until noon, this behaviour is yet another dubious point.

You don’t stir, pretending to be asleep while he changes his clothes.

Before he leaves through the door, he glances in your direction. “I have something on in the afternoon so I won’t be back. Tonight at 8pm, I’ll be waiting for you in Live House’s break room.”

He knows that you didn’t sleep.

Without an appetite, you skip breakfast, and have something simple for lunch to stave your hunger pangs.

At around 5pm, you start questioning yourself. Giving up would be an impossibility. Back then, Shaw was the one who confessed his feelings to you first.

You change into a sheath dress, which very appropriately showcases the sophistication and beauty of a mature woman. If the other party is a white collar employee, you’d show her the aura of a company’s boss. If the other party is a younger girl, you’d let her experience the cruel workings of society.

After applying make-up meticulously, you’re all set, and you drive to Live House.

Today, Live House isn’t as crowded as it usually is. It could almost be described as desolate.

The large hall isn’t lit, so you use your phone as a light source as you make your way to the break room.

Once the door is open, cream clematis flowers flood your vision, and you’re at a complete loss.

“Happy birthday.”

Shaw is standing in the middle, holding a present. On the table next to him, there’s an exquisite birthday cake.

You forgot that it was your birthday today.

“Shocked silly?” He walks towards you, wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you towards the table.

“That wasn’t my ex-girlfriend. It was the boss of the floral shop. I let her decorate the break room for me.”

You come to your senses. “Then why were you acting so secretively?”

“Stupid. If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” He pinches your cheek. “Make a wish.”

“My wish is to have three more wishes.”

“Wishes don’t come true if you say them out loud.” He holds up a cake knife. “All right, since you’ve ruined your wish, let’s enjoy the cake~”

“Shaw!” You twist his ear angrily.

“Just kidding. I’ll give you three chances to make a wish. For real this time.”

Under the soft illumination of the candle lights, your shadows meld together, just like the cream clematis flowers.

More translated and original works: here

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[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc gavin #mlqc lucien #mlqc kiro #mlqc shaw #cheri shortcake

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sammysera · 4 years ago

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What happens in Madripoor, stays in Madripoor (SHORT READER X BUCKY ONE SHOT)

Synopsis ~ It’s winter! You have lived in the outskirts of Madripoor your whole life and met Bucky partial way through, he was busy off saving the world until he had to come back. As he walks in the door your heart flutters, reminding you of the forever-teenage-crush you seemed to have on him, his personality, his eyes, his laugh, his hairs, his lips, You both decide to spend a bit of time together away from the crowds of avenging, what’s the worst that could happen?

Warning: profanity, drowning/death, mild sexual content, blood, murder, knives,

Word count: 3254

This has only other been posted on my Twitter. It should NOT be posted on any other accounts apart from @/imgodbtchesmrvl on Twitter and this tumblr.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The cold gusts rushed through the cracks of the window, begging to be accepted into the warmth of my home. Door creaked to the rattle of the wind’s pushes and shoves trying to get in and infect my home with the spiteful bite of raw frost. My body draped over a small coach in the corner of the living room in front of a dark-screened TV was my hands nestled book pages between each finger.

My breath was short. The tensity of the book’s situation increased, pokes and prods of the cold dotted my skin heavily beneath my thin sweater. Dancing through the pages of the book my eyes glued to the lettering, each printed meant something which helped to create this world of murder, in the simple nook of my two hands.

Blood splattered, knives thrown, glares of the dead and skulls of the living crept images into my mind of the entirely different century and world, sat between my palms. Rattle.

I tilted my head as my eyes slipped to the small handle of my front door. Blasting wind impacted the thing for the hundredth time in the last hour so my head shook away the thought of entry, the creep of reading this mysterious dark, world in front of me didn’t help the anxious-confidence of curiosity bugging my mind. Rattle.

I tilted my head as my eyes slipped to the small handle of my front door. This time I shivered as my right hand removed itself from the small portal in my hands and scratched up my bookmark off the couch, beneath my right thigh. I never removed my eyes from that blasted door handle, they stayed locked onto the threat. The bookmark noted the chapter of the book I reached prior to the interruption and I placed the paper-back down on a miniature grey table beside my current seat. Rattle.

My irises still locked onto that handle, I shifted upwards and still not unlocking my gaze I grabbed a little knife from the table beside me. You see, being the best friend one the one and only Winter Soldier doesn’t necessarily gain you any more confidence that you’ll “always be protected”. No. In fact it did quite the opposite, it exposed a weakness. One which could be exploited, especially is said-weakness had no defence techniques and was incapable to do a thing to defend themselves. On the other hand, there is me, Buck taught me basic ways to defend myself from predators and weakened parts of the body that could help me to take someone down if I needed to. Rattle.

My body thrusted against the wall in series with the door as the handle clicked. Shit. The wooden opening creaked as it threw itself around the hinge in an anti-clockwise, slow, manor. My body shivered to the hug of the frosty wind. Footsteps started to sound as a dark body started to enter the frame. I shot my knife towards it but their arms performed an ‘L’ shape, blocking my attempt, my eyes slowly looking upwards.

Bucky ‘Buchanan’ Barnes.

“Bucky.” I smirked at the tall, handsome loveable-stranger. “Hey, Frosty.” His relentless grin stole his features hastily, suddenly he thrusted himself forward onto me- shocking me I slipped backwards onto the hard, wooden floor and he fell directly on top of me but his hands slammed down either side of my head.

My eyes widened, glistening into his. I felt my heart start to palpitate at the sight of his features directly over me, just an inch or two from my own face. His chiselled jaw laced with a thin dark stubble, thin lips parted but soft, lower lip grinningly bitten slightly by an upper tooth, pearly whites staring back at me as his smile revealed at my flustered face. His eyes never left my own from our first conversion of words when he arrived.

Hesitantly his body came down on top of me, throwing a wave over my own body, of desire for my ever-long crush to just kiss me. As his entire body lie over my own, my legs already spread from the fall with his own placed between them, he halted. Mouth beside my ear.

“A little weak on our defence, huh?” He groaned into my ear, his deep voice soothed the tension of my yearning body. A little laugh left his voice as his body lifted upwards and he settled between my legs, one knee led flat and the other pointed upwards, he never let the grin leave his face as a large hand offered help to my own.

I grabbed it and smiled as we stood up together and he ripped me into a hug, squashing our body together. My body relaxed under the handsome scent of his, pine from the woodland next to my home, cologne, gun powder and fire. The best scent of all, all of this combined. Buck’s large arms engulfed half of my body and he smiled into my hair, not saying a word, just living in the moment of current affection.

I pushed my arms around his waist and cuddled into his solid chest, his muscles were easy to feel through his thin shirt, how could he be wearing such a thin shirt in this weather? I blushed a little again under his groan of joy from our glued bodies. I missed this. I missed him.

Finally after five minutes we parted and he gripped my shoulders with his humongous hands, I smiled at the hold, his eyes stared through into my soul and I felt almost naked from that gaze of his, “How are you?” I smiled a bit more at the question, “Better now that you’re back, Buck.” I patted his arm and he let go as I left for the kitchen, him plodding his large soldier-body behind me.

“I assume you’re hungry, Bucky?” my head turned as I started to walk backwards into the kitchen, making it through the doorway then turning back so I would walk forward to the fridge and pull out some ingredients for one of my best recipes: a sandwich.

“If you wouldn’t mind making me something too, I’d appreciate that.” I looked up to the super-soldier as he plopped his body into a breakfast-bar chair in front of the bar while I shifted around in front of him making two sandwiches for the both of us.

-=-=-

Time skip: 4 hours later.

catch-up: after the last few hours of talking we discussed life, love, The Avengers, how Bucky was, how I was, what we want in future. We talked about so much half of it I couldn’t even remember. But we decided that now we are going to go out in the snow to just have some general fun. It didn’t snow a whole lot in America this year so when Bucky came here, to Madripoor, he was wanting to at least enjoy the bite of snow at his skin while he was here.

-=-=-

I shot down the hallway of my little bungalow, darting past Bucky’s door and he chuckled at the sight of my body running round the smallest home he had to ever of been in, as if it was some sort of incredibly important emergency.

“Seriously, you can chill out Frosty, it snows here about two-foot a day in winter. It isn’t like we are going to miss it.” he cackled lacing his foot with a dark thick boot when I jumped in front of him. I grasped both of his shoulders and made him look directly into my eyes as I explained, “No you don’t understand, tonight’s sunset is going to be the most gorgeous one of the year. You need to see this one.” My face flourished emotionlessness as seriousness stole my features. Again, a cackle left his mouth while he stood up, placing a thick coat over his torso and zipping it shut to encase the heat of his body.

I nodded to him, eyes wide in question of if he was finally ready to leave and he returned the nod which indicated for us to go. I squealed, almost launching out of the front door and I creased the perfection of the snow which had settled on my front-door-step.

As I placed one foot into the candy-floss-snow my feet raced through the infinite acres of snow and I raced my body through the trees of the woodland placed in front of my bungalow, running from the calling of Bucky’s voice to stop. I giggled at my head start and hid behind a tree, circling a ball of snow into a snow-ball.

Footsteps crept closer alongside heavy breaths and more calls for his ‘Frosty’. My hand laced my mouth to stop a little giggle escaping at his confusion of where I had hidden, as his back turned towards me I ran out and launched a fist of snow into the centre of his back.

He spun around, a smirk gaining his features at the sight of me running away from him, no more snow in hand. His body thrusted towards me at a heavy speeding pace while I ran directly towards frozen lake I know of local to the woodland. As I shoved branches out of my path, hearing the gaining footsteps I chose to take a detour from my original path.

Before Bucky realised, I managed to take an arm of snow and climb up a tree, I was then sat up on a thick branch draping across to entwine with another arm from another tree halted proudly upwards, my eyes chased Bucky’s movements below me. A small smile flourished on my face, watching Buck struggle to find my where-a-bouts.

He spun in circles directly below me, his jacket creasing over his muscular arms, his dark hair being discoloured by the snow falling on top of the short locks of hair, his stubble starting to also discolour. He started to sputter as some snow must have landed on his lips or in his mouth and he slapped his face over trying to get the snow off his stubble and out of his mouth. Forcing my laughter to try to contain itself even more.

My self-control started to lack as I giggled aloud a little bit but not enough to make him notice my location.

He paused for a moment, squinting in the distance and a breeze overcame the air, dancing his hair forwards allowing from him to use this as an excuse to then run his hand through his hair and pull it from his eyes, this act, although not intentionally flirtatious or arousing, caused that same prior desire for him to just kiss me and be with me returned to my feelings and thoughts.

To contain this, at least for right now, I encased a ball of snow in my hand and swung back my right arm, preparing a throw down towards the back of Buck’s head. Perfect shot. Perfect aim. Perfect target. Perfect everything. I swung it but as my arm came forward and released the ball of frozen water, it slapped into the direct centre of Bucky’s face and I gasped.

Eyes widened.

Buck’s hand and cyborg moved upwards towards the snow encasing his features and as he wiped it off I released the loudest laughter I had ever had. My laughter captured Bucky’s attention and his face shot upwards towards me, allowing me to admire his beauty through tears of laughter.

While cackling uncontrollably I suddenly lost my grip, grabbing some snow on my fall down through the air instead of a branch. Everything was in slow motion.

“NO!” Bucky’s voice bellowed as my body dropped from the branch of the tree and my hand grabbed a fist of snow.

Falling.

Bright images of my parents drowning in the local lake appeared in front of me, I relived each and every moment of that trauma within seconds that felt like hours. The experience of not being able to save them engraved my memory and this must have been my “white light” that everyone talks about seeing when they die.

My hair danced in the pull of gravity versus the light-weight of my hair, it flowed upwards and my body fell through the layer of frost-bitten air, slowly getting closer and closer to the white-bedded grass.

My eyes closed.

Warmth.

My eyes opened and I felt two arms wrapped around me. One under my upper torso and the other under my two legs, shock overcame me as I was sure this was the moment I’d die. My eyes turned to look at my knight, Bucky.

Bucky grasped me in his arms, worry embedded his features as he let go of a breath and closed his eyes bringing his forehead forward into my own, he was scared. Scared he’d lost me. Scared he was going to lose me. “Don’t ever do that again Frosty.” I giggled a bit and brought my forehead upwards. Our mouths centimetres apart, lust for kissing his claimed my mind as we both looked at each other’s lips, my eyes slowly looking up into his, “I planned on doing this everyday, darling.” I smirked and pulled away, shooting out of his arms and running towards the lake.

As I launched from his arms I saw a slight grin claim his lips again, replacing the worry he once had. I couldn’t tell if it was because of the snarky comment and sarcasm which claimed my personality like slave, or whether it was because I called him ‘darling’.

My thighs pounded against each other as I slid across the opening and onto the ice, I locked down onto one knee, skimming across the soft ice allowing it to slide me as far as it could. I turned in circles across the ice hearing small cracks as I danced, I slightly caught Bucky appearing through the opening and standing on the verge of the ice, smiling at the sight of my let-go.

Dancing allows my body to let go, I love to dance. It sets my soul free and I love to do it on this lake, when its frozen, or in this opening to honour my parents. They loved my dancing, they loved me dancing. Bucky loved to watch me dance. I’ve seen so many smiles lace his face whenever he watched me dance, it made me feel alive to see him enjoy watching me do something I enjoy. It only made me love him more.

I turned in a circle, several times. Feeling the gushing wind spin out from my speeding rate of turns and and I brought my arm down, a hand gripped my right waist and my left hand. I looked into the depths of who had taken my hand.

Bucky sincerely smiled and started to dance with me. We rushed around the outskirts of the lake, spinning and turning, so many moments where all we did was lose ourselves in each other’s glistening eyes. The snow only emphasised the aura around us. We both love winter so it only feels absolutely perfect whenever we are together in this weather and season.

Bucky looked deep into my eyes as I stared into his with an equal smile, his ocean-eyes glowed even more in the shimmer of white around us. He spun me round and I fell into his right arm as he brought me down towards the ice with my leg hung upwards in the air, his face following my own.

Our faces, almost parallel following each other at every moment. He brought me up, an even deeper and emotional smile gathered across his entire face, his stubble creased under one of his numbered smiles.

Bucky doesn’t tend to be joyful too much because of everything he went through so whenever he is around me I tended to do whatever I could to make him smile. Even if it meant doing something incredibly stupid, as long as a smile graced his features, thats all that matters.

I stood directly opposite him and he spun me before bringing me back down into and identical position to our last, except now our faces were directly parallel. My leg strung up in the air again, assuming a dance pose.

His deeper emotions surfaced, “I don’t know why it took me so long to do this.”

I tilted my head at his comment and he thrusted forward. Our lips crashed, perfectly. We kissed, our lips smothered each other passionately and there wasn’t a single regret in that moment from either of us.

If passion could be physically shown, there would be mass fires surrounding our bodies as they pushed together under the heated love through our simple kiss.

Bucky’s hand clenched my ass jokingly and I chuckled at his cheeky grab as he chuckled at my laugh. I pulled my arms around his neck and tugged him closer as our bodies brought upwards. Never once did our lips part.

Buck’s arms wrapped around my lower back as mine stretched around his lower neck and his little laugh escaped, parting our lips from the struggle of reaching completely around his neck.

“Who’d have thought such a short-ass would be the one I fall for?” he giggled down to me.

“Who’d have thought you’d finally kiss me?” I chuckled back at him sarcastic and not once did my smile hesitate or leave my lips.

“Hey, this is 2024. You could have been the one to kiss me.” He replied with a sarcastic-serious face, cupping my right jaw.

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for old fashioned.” I returned the sarcasm and he pushed his lips back onto mine.

“I love you, Frosty,” his words pulsed through my mind on loop. I couldn’t get enough of those four words in his voice, from his mouth.

“Happy birthday” He smiled more and pulled out a small burgundy box. I looked at the box then up to him and slapped my hand onto his torso lightly with a wide smile of joy from the comment of his love. I didn’t need some sort of gift, I just wanted his love.

“Bucky, I-”

Crack. My eyes widened. Crack. My eyes looked into Bucky’s, fear overcoming. “love”. Shatter.

My body was engulfed by the cold wet. As I fell, I couldn’t even finish the four word sentence I aimed to tell him. Would this be my death? Is this how I die? I saw Bucky’s eyes start to fill with tears as I fell and when I dropped through I was smashing my hand onto the thick ice.

I couldn’t swim.

I pounded and pounded and pounded, but nothing. Deafening silence.

I watched Bucky’s eyes drain of the passion that once resonated, now all I could see were tears. Panic. Sadness. Anger. Fear. He dropped to his knees, letting go of the burgundy box as it hit the ice beside his knee.

Time passed slowly, but I felt the life paling from me hastily.

My hair flailed around my head, beneath the surface I was screaming but I didn’t want to show Bucky that fear. If I showed fear, he would be scared. I don’t want him to be scared. He forced his fists into the ice but it wouldn’t give. He just kept punching, his knuckles growing scarlet.

I just smiled. One of his tears dropped onto the surface of the ice. I started to fall from the surface of the ice.

“I love you.”

Darkness.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! This was originally inspired by a simple prompt I got on twitter and was mucking about making a mini commentary-short-story but then morphed an idea in my mind!

Let me know your thoughts <3

Thank you for reading!

TWITTER: @/imgodbtchesmrvl

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lilbabycee · 4 years ago

Note

Need some more miles embarassing / outing his parents content that shit is too funny!

appreciative // steve rogers

↳ pairing: steve rogers x reader

READ ALL GOOD

this must be done:

you and steve’s son, miles, has a never-ending supply of energy and with that comes a never-ending supply of questions

you’re so proud because he is the smartest little baby you’ve ever met and his vocabulary and articulation is getting pretty advanced as he gets older

so you’re not surprised when you’re curled up on the couch in your living room, a book in your hand and blanket draped over your legs, and your son comes padding into the room

he parks himself in your lap and sticks his thumb in his mouth, sucking while he just blinks at you

his baby blues drill into your forehead as his long eyelashes brush against his skin

absent-mindedly, you tug at his wrist so that his thumb pops out of his mouth and sigh, closing your book and putting it on the coffee table after bookmarking your page

the moment your book is out of your hands, miles grins, moving further into your body and lays his head on your chest, comforted by the softness of it that he can’t get from his father

“mama,” he starts, little fingers playing with the bracelet on your wrist. you note that he looks a little nervous but you want him to tell you himself

you rest your chin on the top of his head while you comb your fingers through his thick hair

“yes, baby.”

“you know how my- my birthday is tomorrow?”

“yes, i do know how your birthday is tomorrow. how old are you gonna be, miles? show me.”

he proudly holds up four fingers and you blow a raspberry into his cheek which makes him giggle

“that’s right, honey. you’re gonna be four, which means you’ll be a big boy-”

miles gives you a deadpan look and you stifle a laugh when he crosses his arms and tells you for the millionth time: “mama, i’m already a big boy.”

“mmhm,” you chuckle. “are you excited for your party?”

he nods but twists his lips to the side, raising his hand to stick his thumb back in his mouth but you stop him halfway

“what’s going on, bud?”

“i- i- i wanna- i wanna,” he huffs sweetly, stopping to think about what he wants to say before opening his mouth again, “i’m scared.”

this shocks you - your son is quite literally fearless. he isn’t scared of what most kids his age (and adults) are terrified of: the dark, clowns, monsters under his bed - he’s braved it all with no qualms at all

“what’re you so scared of, baby?” your mind goes to a thousand different terrifying scenarios and your voice immediately bleeds concern like an open wound. even miles can sense it - you can tell because he leans back and his eyes dart between yours as he places a comforting hand on your arm

(you almost laugh because who’s supposed to be the parent here?)

“s’not that bad,” he goes back to fidgeting, averting his gaze from yours. “i just- i’m scared ‘cause- ‘cause if i don’t like my present, what do i do?”

your heart stops trying to beat out of your chest and instead a huge smile spreads across your face

“oh my god, you scared me, honey - is that all, miles?”

he still refuses to meet your eyes but he nods

your laugh is relieved as you run a hand up and down your son’s arm

“if you don’t like the present, bud, you just smile, say thank you and move on. they don’t have to know you don’t like it.”

your heart falls again when your son finally looks back up at you, eyes wet and bottom lip trembling as he attempts to hold back tears

“but that’s lying! i don’t wanna lie, mama!”

jesus, this boy is more like his dad than you ever realized

but your heart is threatening to burst because it’s so full with all of the love that you have for your compassionate almost four year old

“oh, angel,” you coo and he buries his face in your breasts, fisting your shirt as sobs shake his body

rubbing his back, you try to think of a viable alternative for him: “shh, shh, relax, relax. would it make you feel better if i just tell everyone not to bring presents-”

“no!” he exclaims, looking up at you desperately. “i want presents! i just- mama, i don’t wanna be mean.”

you only realize how long his hair is getting when you brush it out of his eyes: “sweetheart, they won’t mind if you don’t like it. as long as they know you’re grateful and appreciative in the end, hmm?”

“app- appre- appreciate-? mama, i don’t know that word.”

you smile while helping him sound it out

“you know what appreciate means.” he nods. “appreciative is the same word, just as an adjective. it means the same thing as grateful.”

“so i tell them when i don’t like my present but i have to be appre- i have to appreciate it.”

“well, yeah, but maybe don’t tell them-”

“okay, mama!” he kisses your cheek before hopping off of your lap and running out of the room with a “thank you!”

the sun shines down on miles’ outdoor birthday party. miles - who has invited all of his friends from pre-k and all of the avengers - is showered with affection and compliments all day, spending plenty of time hanging out with his favorite uncle bucky

miles is having so much fun that he almost forgets about presents altogether, but tony keeps urging you and steve to open them now because he wants to see miles’ face when he opens his gift

(it was a starkpad that you definitely yelled at tony about later because he’s four and you already have a headache just thinking about how much time you’re gonna spend prying it away from him)

so you’ve formed a circle, you and steve flanking miles on either side as he tears open the paper to a reveal a multitude of presents

and thankfully, the people in attendance all know your son fairly well so he’s loved every single gift he’s opened

“love you peter! love you shuri!” miles stands up and throws himself into the two teenagers’ legs when he sees that they’re taking him to disneyland and your heart warms at the way all of their eyes light up

but trouble ensues when wanda hands him his present and he rips it open to reveal... a train set?

miles quietens and although nobody else really notices, too busy chatting away, you observe the change in his demeanor because it’s obvious that he doesn’t like it. he once said to steve verbatim: “daddy, i don’t like trains. trains are stupid” to which steve laughed and subsequently told him off for

(”stupid is not a nice word, miles. would you like it if someone called you stupid?”

“...no i wouldn’t, daddy.”)

“what do you think, miles?” wanda probes, an excited smile on her face and there’s a pause where you silently pray that miles won’t say anything-

“mama said i should tell the truth so... i don’t like it, auntie wanda. but mama also said i should be ‘preciative, so thank you!”

and you’ve never wanted to the floor to swallow you as much as you have in this moment

people quieten while miles puts the train set aside, stands up and heads over to his auntie wanda

wanda, who looks to be absolutely crushed, furrows her brow in confusion and looks at you

you casually look anywhere but her, feeling your face heat up and instead choose to busy yourself with gathering the wrapping paper into one pile

you hear snickers come from behind you and when you look over your shoulder, steve is red in the face with trying to hold back his laughter, as is bucky, but sam, rhodey and tony are actually just full-on cackling at your discomfort

a fierce scowl you send their way makes them shut up... just for a minute, though

you chance a glance at wanda and feel a sense of relief when you see miles trying to cheer her up, arms wound around her neck while he presses a huge kiss on her cheek with a loud “mwah!”

(she’s still staring at you but all you can do is mouth a regretful “sorry!”)

luckily, that was the last present and you take this opportunity get as far away as possible from this entire situation

heading into the kitchen to throw the paper away, you feel a strong body behind yours and when thick arms wind around your waist, you know that it’s your husband. you turn in his arms to face him and scowl at the mirth in his eyes

“baby,” he wheezes, still chuckling, “wanda’s pretty upset. what did you tell him?”

“oh my god,” you bury your face in your hands because this is so embarrassing and you feel awful. “i- steve, he literally came to me yesterday because he was so scared that he wasn’t going to like his gifts.”

“why didn’t you tell him to just not say anything... or lie?” steve’s laughter intensifies and it’s hard to refrain from grinning youself

“i did! and then he burst into tears at the mere thought of it and i didn’t know what to do! so i told him that if he was just honest and appreciative, then everything would be fine and nobody would think he was being rude-”

steve cuts you off with a roar of laughter, tears spilling from his eyes as his head falls onto your shoulder

“why are you laughing?! this is your fault! he did not get that moral compass from me.”

steve only laughs harder

“shut up, stop! it’s not funny, babe, people are gonna think i’m a terrible mom.”

“doll, no one thinks you’re a terrible mom,” steve immediately sobers up and looks you straight in the eyes. “people were just telling me how good it is that you’re teachin’ him to be honest.”

“stop lying.”

“i’m serious!” he holds his hands up. “on my way in here, people kept stopping me and telling me that he’s such an honest, polite little boy. he could’ve thrown a fit like a lot of other kids would if they didn’t like what they got for their birthday - but he didn’t. and that’s because you’re a great mom.”

you smile bashfully and you hook your fingers in his belt loops, pulling him towards you. you lean in to capture his lips between yours, grateful that he’s provided you with some reassurance, and he tightens the grip of his hands on your waist, running his tongue along the seam of your lips as he deepens the kiss

“daddy, mama- ew! gross!”

miles runs in but stops short, covering his eyes dramatically when he sees his father with his tongue down your throat

steve pulls away from you with a fond smile on his face as you sigh, forehead resting on steve’s shoulder

“what’s up, buddy?”

miles runs to his father and raises his arms, making steve lift him up and sit him on the countertop

“i ‘pologized to auntie wanda,” he tells you

“oh yeah?”

“yeah,” he swings his legs back and forth, looking between you and steve, “i was being a meanie. but she said it was fine and then she said she’s gonna take the trains back to the store.”

“that’s great, miles, i’m so proud of you,” steve hugs him and kisses him on the cheek which makes miles beam, proudly showing off the gap between his two front teeth. “but you weren’t being mean. sometimes there’s just such a thing as being too honest, y’know?”

miles nods, “i guess so, daddy. i miss you, can you guys come back outside?”

“yes we can, sweetheart,” you run a hand through his hair. and before steve can even bring him back down, your son jumps off of the counter (”oh my god!” you squeal because this boy is going to give you a heart attack) and sprints out of the room

on his way out, you grab the back of steve’s neck to pull his lips back to yours but are interrupted again by a very insistent voice

“and no more kissing!”

“bud, who are you talking to?”

that’s bucky’s voice

“uncle ‘ucky, mama and daddy are kissing! at my birthday party!”

bucky gasps: “no! ew!”

“i know!”

i am crying goodbye

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers headcanons #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers blurbs #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers x y/n #requests

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hurricanery · 4 years ago

Text

If the Sun Comes Up - pt. 2

A/N: Here’s part 2 of If the Sun Comes Up! (AU- interns fic). Thank u thank u thank u for the nice messages about the first chapter, your messages and replies seriously warm my lil heart. I’m still basically planting seeds for some future plot points here, but I hope you enjoy anyway <3

You can read part 1 here.

_______

And if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up

And I still don't wanna stagger home

Then it's the memory of our betters

That are keeping us on our feet

_______

Everything’s different when the sun comes up. It all comes to light in a different way. The sun rises, and reality settles in. Like sleep is some magic reset button. And all of the thoughts and decisions, all of the fun, all of the mischief, it all seems worlds away. Like that was then, and this is now.

A funny thing happens though, when that reset button gets skipped. When there is no sleep, and no separation of night and day. When you stay awake for 24 hours straight and you watch the sun come up in real time; you watch the sun rise twice in fact, and there isn’t that detachment. It all flows together like a never-ending moment.

It’s strange, Amelia thinks, to have no reset button. To sacrifice the idea of choosing sleep. Because instead of calling it quits after two sunrises, she finds herself in a bar, of all places, sitting across from the people she’d met just 24 hours ago.

“I’m sooo happy you’re moving in with me,” Maggie yawns hugely next to her. And Amelia bites down on a smile at the confession; at what no sleep and a slim two beers has done to this previously panic-stricken intern. The intern that was currently dealing with the impact of being related to a Grey.

Except the panic isn’t worth it. Because there isn’t any fallout. Lexie practically laughs until she cries, when it all comes to light. When Maggie finally lets it slip about who her birth mother is. Between the delirious fits of laughter, all Lexie can manage is a “good luck telling Meredith that.”

And it only gets more chaotic.

There’s no reset for all of the sleep-deprived decisions. Lexie and Jo, in an impressive and almost falsely confident manner, venture off towards the bar, where a handful of residents and attendings claim territory. The rest of the newly formed crew stick together, in their quiet corner of the bar.

Amelia can feel Link’s eyes on her from across the booth as she brings a warm mug of tea to her lips. But her eyes remain glued down, staring down at the crumpled tea packet on the table. One of those cheap brands. Cheap because it’s a rare request in a place like this. The kind of drink that ends up taking longer for the bartender to make. More time-consuming to prepare than one of those fancy cocktails even, because it ends up that the bartender has to go search in the stock room for a tea bag in the first place.

Her thoughts are interrupted when a strong hand occupies her line of vision. It’s jolting, to say the least. For her focus to be intruded on like that. The tea packet she’d been so comfortably resting her eyes on, now suddenly consumed by Link’s grasp. He covers it completely, picking it up and further crumpling it in his fist before dropping it back down on the table.

The action forces Amelia to look at him. Which is probably his intention, anyway. So she does, and it’s equally as jolting. His expression. Because she’s half expecting it to mirror the harshness of a crumpled tea packet. But it doesn’t. It’s warm. And it’s soft. And it’s slightly curious.

“You should all move in with me.” Maggie’s voice chimes in.

And Amelia rips her gaze away from Link’s.

“Okay, slow down there,” she lets out an amused exhalation. “You were barely on board with the idea of me moving in.”

Winston playfully nudges Maggie’s side, from where he’s seated on the other side of her. And Amelia doesn’t miss the way his hand settles just above Maggie’s knee. The interaction stands out to her, and she decides she’s going to bookmark it for later. Revisit it perhaps when everyone’s feeling more awake and alert.

“Who should all move where?” Lexie slides into the booth next to Link, eyes wide with naivety as she sips a full drink.

“My apartment,” Maggie responds matter-of-factly. “I have one more room open.”

Amelia scrunches her nose at this, and she staggers through her confusion. “Wait. Just one more? What happened, I thought-”

“Well, I already promised a room to Link….” Maggie’s voice is laced with exhaustion and something else, as she turns to explain to Amelia. “When you were in the bathroom….I told him, I-” She hiccups slightly, abandoning her sentence. And Amelia tilts her head to the side quizzically. “Anyway,” Maggie gestures across the booth towards Link. “Meet your new roommate.”

Amelia’s gaze returns to Link, and he shrugs somewhat defensively, muttering under his breath, “Sorry.”

But Amelia doesn’t feel sorry. She feels something else. The notion rises in her chest, and she wants to label it as anticipation.

“Okay, but I have to get out of Meredith’s house!” Lexie slams her drink down on the table. “I’m living with a bunch of residents.”

There’s unanimous murmurs of condolence from the group.

“Oh! Speaking of….” She continues, picking her drink back up and nodding towards the bar. “The plastics attending….Mark Sloan? Just bought me this drink.”

“Ugh,” Amelia’s quick to counter. “Do not go there.”

All heads turn to her, and she feels heat rise in her face as she takes in the curious stares. When she doesn’t follow up on her previous precaution, Lexie speaks up again.

“....Have you?” Lexie swallows, a disconcerted expression on her face. “Gone there?”

Amelia doesn’t miss the way Link surveys her expression, following this particular question. She clears her throat, eyes shifting back to the crumpled tea packet.

“No, no. God no.” Her tone is low as she shakes her head dismissively. “I’ve just….known him my whole life.”

“Oh,” Lexie shrugs, taking another sip of her drink. And Amelia quickly surveys any other reactions to her response.

A general quietness falls across the table and Amelia’s eyes eventually settle back to the tea packet. She can’t quite determine why it seems to be the focal point of her evening. Or morning. Or whatever this was. She wants to claim it’s the vivid yellow packaging that keeps catching her eye.

But, her thoughts are intruded once again when Link suddenly stands up from the table. She peers up at him intently.

“Shepherd,” his tone is gentle as he starts moving away from the table. “I think I promised you a game of darts.”

Amelia blinks. Partly in confusion. But also mostly against her sudden bout of exhaustion.

“I, uh,” she mutters, turning around in her seat as she watches Link make his way around the booth.

“Come on.” He raises his eyebrows at her.

And she bites the inside of her cheek, turning around to set her mug down.

“Okay, okay,” she’s not yet facing him when she stands from the booth. “One game and then I’m out of here.” She looks pointedly at Maggie as she exits the booth. “And I can drive anyone home that needs a ride.”

Maggie offers her a toothy grin, and Winston nods in grateful agreement at the offer. Amelia steps away from the table, and tries not to mirror the smug look on Link’s face.

“One game,” she repeats.

And he chuckles a bit, proudly.

“I don’t know….” he lets her lead them across the bar, towards the wall that’s filled with dart boards and other bar games. “You’ll probably want a rematch….when I beat you the first time around.”

Amelia feigns shock at his words. But really, somewhere deep down, she’s suppressing her gratification. Because he’s feeding into her competitive side completely.

“We’ll see,” she says, as she collects the darts and starts separating them.

She hands Link his portion of the game’s pieces and he mimics her words back to her. “We’ll see.”

_______

It ends up that uninhibited decisions turn into concrete plans. Link and Lexie move into the apartment. And Amelia adheres to her pride that she was the first choice in the matter, and that everyone else just happened to follow suit.

She wakes up in the new apartment on this particular morning, and it takes her a moment to adjust to her surroundings. She groggily registers that the unfamiliar space around her is, indeed, her own bedroom.

Her alarm blares again loudly, after it’s been snoozed repeatedly for the last 15 minutes, and she aggressively shuts it off. Sitting up in bed, she throws on a cardigan before shuffling out of her room and down the hall, towards the shared space of the apartment.

“Gooood morning,” Maggie practically sings, her voice an irritating level of cheerful for the early hour.

As Amelia rounds the corner into the small kitchen area, her tired eyes settle on Maggie, where she occupies one of the stools at the counter. All she can manage to mutter is a slight “mhm,” in acknowledgement of the greeting.

She reaches into the cupboard for a mug, before filling it from the coffee pot that’s already been prepared. Once her mug is full of the steaming liquid, she turns back around to face Maggie. She leans against the counter as she brings the cup up to her nose, inhaling the scent and closing her eyes in gratitude.

The sound of Maggie’s bedroom door creaking open eventually shakes her from her blissful moment, and then her expression quickly turns to one of shocked amusement. Because her eyes settle on Winston, as he exits the bedroom and enters into the main room. He’s dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing the day before, and Amelia looks him up and down, biting her lip in excitement, like she’s just remembered where she’s hidden the last piece of a puzzle.

“Ha,” Amelia’s delighted revelation sounds gravelly, the sleep still evident in her voice. “You don’t live here.”

She shifts her gaze to Maggie, who offers a pleading look in return. And then she looks back to Winston, who has since halted in the doorway. She can’t hold back the raspy sounding chuckle that escapes her lips. “I get it. You guys are sex friends. It all makes sense now.”

Winston scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly. And Maggie blinks, dumfounded. She stands suddenly, stepping away from the kitchen counter, like she’s desperate to remove herself from this situation.

“I’m gonna go shower. Don’t want to be late,” Maggie mutters.

Amelia just smiles further, eyes shifting playfully between the two, before she turns to walk back to her room. She raises her coffee mug slightly above her as she walks away, like she’s motioning a ‘cheers’ to the air. She tilts her head back once more in their direction, before she disappears from the kitchen, and sarcastically repeats Maggie’s greeting from before. “It is a good morning.”

Maggie rolls her eyes, but follows after her through the hallway, turning into the bathroom.

“Let me know when you’re done!” Amelia announces when she reaches her room. “I want dibs on the shower next!”

_______

Amelia finishes her coffee, and as she sets her empty mug in the sink, her impatience steadily rises.

“Maggie!” She yells, as she returns to the hallway. “You’re gonna make us late!”

There’s no response, but she hears that the shower is still on, and she even hears music coming from the bathroom. She finds the music choice odd for Maggie, and also finds it odd that Maggie is even the type of person that listens to music while she showers.

“Maggie,” she tries one more time, knocking her fist against the door.

There’s no answer.

She sighs, glancing at her watch. And then she decides to push the door open slightly, stepping into the small bathroom. “Maggie are you almost done?! I’m just going to brush my teeth real quick while you’re in there,” she announces loudly, over the music, as she reaches for her toothbrush on the sink.

“Um, not Maggie.” A surprisingly deep voice sounds from the other side of the curtain as she starts brushing her teeth.

And oh, that’s Link. “Shit, sorry! I thought you were Maggie! Wow, I just barged right in-”

“It’s fine” he interrupts, and then Amelia hears the water get shut off. “Could you, uh, actually hand me a towel though?” A dripping wet hand shoots out from behind the shower curtain and Amelia just stares at it, her toothbrush falling slack between her lips.

“Hello….? Towel?”

“Uh, right. Here.” She mutters around her toothbrush.

Blinking from her daze, she slowly reaches for a towel and hands it to him. And then suddenly the curtain is sliding open and Link is climbing out of the shower, towel around his waist, in all of his soaking wet glory. And holy shit, Amelia thinks, as she not so subtly darts her eyes around the tight space. Attempting to look anywhere but at him. She settles on turning around, and facing herself in the mirror as she makes quick movements of brushing her teeth.

She doesn’t know where the sudden panic comes from. She’s a confident person. Never timid. And somewhere, in the back of her mind, she retaliates against the idea that she’s lost any of her game. Or that she’s the one creating any awkward tension.

Link enters her line of vision through the bathroom mirror, and she feels frozen where she stands. Because, for some reason, he starts inching even closer.

He clears his throat.

“Just need to, uh, grab something…”

She practically jumps out of the way as Link reaches around her for the medicine cabinet.

“Ah, sorry. I’ll get out of your way,” she exhales a sheepish laugh at her own reaction, and tries not to cringe at the way she sounds with her mouth still full of toothpaste.

Link finally moves to exit the bathroom, and Amelia wants to sigh in relief, as she resumes her position in front of the sink. But she doesn’t. She holds back. And from her peripheral, she can see him pause in the doorway.

She turns her head in his direction. And he smirks at her before he leaves.

“Shower is all yours.”

The bathroom door clicks shut and Amelia spits harshly into the sink.

_______

Carpooling is apparently a thing they do now. They arrive at the hospital, and everyone piles out of Maggie’s car, beginning to cross the parking lot.

“Hey!” Jo’s breathless voice sounds from somewhere behind them as she locks up her own car and jogs to catch up with the group. She steps into pace with them, walking next to Link. “Whose service are you guys on today?”

“Neuro. With Shepherd,” Winston responds.

“Same here!” Lexie actually sounds excited.

“Okay, but why are we all on Shepherd’s service?” Jo mutters.

Everyone turns towards Amelia, as if she knows the reasoning behind her brother’s request. She just shrugs nonchalantly.

“Someone a little let down that they aren’t with Karev today?” Link nudges Jo playfully, and Jo feigns shock at the accusation, swatting at his shoulder.

As they enter the hospital, Amelia slows a bit behind the group, letting everyone else venture off ahead of her.

“Not excited about neuro?” She hadn’t realized Link had slowed down with her. “Not exactly my first pick either, but-”

“No, no,” she cuts in. “That’s not it.”

Link just stares at her for a moment, and Amelia almost feels scrutinized by it.

“Oh,” he continues. “Not excited about your brother, then?”

Amelia sighs, questioning to herself when they started getting so personal with each other. And then she cringes at the direction of her thoughts. Because maybe the getting too personal thing had started this morning, following the shower incident.

“That’s not exactly it, either.”

“Not exactly?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Okay, what’s with-”

“Amy Shepherd?!”

Both Link and Amelia turn around, following the voice that’s interrupted their conversation.

Mark Sloan is walking towards them full force, a huge grin on his face.

“Mark?!”

“Amy?!”

“....Amy?” Link mutters under his breath, chuckling at the nickname. And Amelia glances sideways at him in warning.

“The only person that still calls me that is Derek,” she raises her eyebrows at Mark, matching his grin.

“Well, Derek didn’t mention you were in town,” He finally approaches, and Amelia pulls him into a tight hug. They pull apart and Mark looks her up and down. “You look….different than the last time I saw you.”

“You look different, too,” she smirks.

Link looks between the pair curiously.

“And I’m not just in town,” Amelia adds as she steps out his embrace. “I work here now.”

“You work here?! Why didn’t Derek say anything…” Mark gets momentarily distracted by something, or somebody behind them. “Derek!” he yells. “Why didn’t you tell me your sister works here now?!”

Derek approaches, his demeanor reflecting his overall impatience. He completely disregards Mark’s question.

“Why do you people not answer your pages?”

“....And this conversation’s no longer entertaining. Catch up later?” Mark glances at Amelia a final time before stepping away. Then Derek turns towards his sister expectantly.

“When I requested you all on my service today, I expected punctuality.” He raises his eyebrows, and when Amelia offers no response, he continues. “I have a patient being admitted today. She’s had a sudden onset of seizures. We don’t know the cause. But we need to figure out the cause.”

There’s slight hesitation at his instructions.

“Okay, you! Dr….” his eyes shift down to glance over Link’s ID badge. “Dr. Lincoln. I want you to grab the rest of the interns and head to the library. Starting now, you all are in charge of research. Anything, I mean anything, you can find on this. Case studies, research papers, all of it. Just….find something for me.”

Link nods respectively, and he begins to turn towards Amelia.

“And Amy,” Derek’s eyes settle on hers, in an almost disdainful way. “You’re with the patient.”

Amelia is stunned for a moment, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“You want me to do what, exactly?” She steps forward towards Derek, who mutters under his breath in frustration. “Babysit your aneurysm? Because my time is worth way more than-”

“An aneurysm, is the last thing this is-”

“And what makes you so sure of that?!” She looks between his eyes incredulously.

“You think this woman’s just been walking around with a ruptured aneurysm-”

“I didn’t say ruptured-”

“Well if it’s not ruptured, she’d likely not have any symptoms at all, so your logic makes absolutely no sense.” Derek raises his eyebrows, like he’s won the argument.

“I’m just saying! I did a research paper on this. Similar case. Sudden onset of seizures. No prior history. But, this woman fell and-”

“I never said my patient had a fall.”

“Well did you ask her that?”

“Amy,” Derek breathes, exasperated. He tries to move around her, completely done with the conversation.

But she blocks his movements. And he gives her a blank stare. While Link stands off to the side, looking between the two uncomfortably.

“Derek.” She retorts, the frustration in her tone highly evident.

“Take my patient to CT. And then stay with her, while she gets transported to a room. You can manage that, right?”

Amelia bites her tongue, nodding numbly. She refrains from voicing everything she wants to say, and she tries to fight off the emotions that arise as Derek steps around her. She feels defeated. And small. Which was typical lately, following any interaction with her older brother. She curses herself for thinking it would be any different, now that she was here under specific circumstances. Professional circumstances. Hand picked for this surgical internship out of a large pool of equally impressive applicants. But it’s not different. If anything, it’s even more demoralizing, to be met with this discouragement both personally, and now professionally.

Derek steps away and she’s left standing there with Link.

“Your brother is….kind of a jerk.”

Amelia rolls her eyes, pushing past Link.

“Shepherd, wait-”

She ignores the way he calls after her, and she keeps walking. Because she has a patient now. A patient who needs a head CT.

_______

Link finds her about a half hour later. She’s walking from CT with a stack of scans in her arms. She nods a greeting at Link as begins walking with her.

“Hey! So, we've all been in the research library, could probably use your help-”

“I was right,” she says simply, shaking her head. “It’s an aneurysm. It’s tiny, but it’s there.”

Link doesn’t hold back his surprise. “Wow, how’d you-”

He’s cut off again when Amelia turns to him, forcing the scans over into his hands.

“What are you-”

“Make sure Derek gets these.”

“....You don’t want to hand them over yourself?” Link objects, trying to give them back to her. “Tell him you were right?”

“Nah,” she breathes, turning away from him. “I want off his service.”

Link comes to a halt in the middle of the hallway, watching her continue in the opposite direction. She turns around, facing him once more before she’s off again.

“Just please, hurry. He needs to see those now.”

_______

Several hours later, after her shift has ended, all Amelia wants is a peaceful evening. The first thing that comes to mind for her, when seeking this, is chamomile tea.

After changing into her sweats, which includes her favorite Harvard sweatshirt, she wanders down the hall to the kitchen to begin her evening routine.

The kitchen is dark, so she flips on one of the dim lights before she starts rummaging through the cupboards. To her left, from the balcony attached to the small kitchen, she can hear the sound of Jo’s exuberant laughter, mixed in with a couple of other voices.

A moment later, the sliding glass door is opening and Link is stepping inside. He slightly grimaces at the difference in volume to the quiet kitchen, as the voices outside get cut off with the door sliding shut again.

“Oh, hey,” he mutters, as he sets an empty beer bottle on the counter. “Didn’t know you were up. Are we being too loud?”

Amelia shakes her head, her focus still on her tea set-up.

She knows she’s being standoffish, and probably to Link’s notice, too.

“Weird day, huh?”

Amelia shrugs. And then realizes she has yet to say anything out loud here.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“You seem like someone….that would want to talk about it, no?”

Amelia smirks at this revelation.

“It’s a long story,” she murmurs, listening to the water in the electric kettle start to boil, and then the comforting sound gets interrupted by Jo’s laughter from outside. “Shouldn’t you get back out there, anyway?”

“Sounds like Lexie’s keeping her entertained.”

Amelia leans her back against the counter, peering across the kitchen at him.

“Derek….he’s not a jerk,” Amelia says simply. “I know it seemed that way earlier. But really, there’s more to it.”

Link shrugs, moving to lean against the opposite counter.

“It just seemed like he wasn’t taking you seriously. When you happened to be right, so. Maybe he should have.”

Amelia nods to herself.

“Do you have siblings?”

“No,” he chuckles. “Only child.”

Amelia grins. Something about this piece of information makes sense to her.

“I think sometimes it’s hard to....I don’t know,” she trails off momentarily. “Take the baby of the family seriously?”

It’s probably obvious to Link that there’s more to it. Reasonings that she’s conveniently leaving out. But he nods along with her explanation anyway.

“Anyway, I don’t want you to go on thinking my brother is some bad guy….” she mutters as she turns around to face the kettle again. “Because he’s not, he’s….one of my favorite people, actually, so.”

Link watches as Amelia starts drumming her fingers against the countertop, her eyes glued to the tea kettle.

He steps towards the fridge, because he’d originally come inside to grab another beer.

The kettle clicks off and Amelia’s fingers against the counter come to rest. She places a tea bag into her mug and pours some of the boiling water over it. She turns around just in time to see Link shut the fridge door, empty-handed.

“Aren’t you heading back out there?”

“Yeah, I just….” he gestures towards the kettle. “That looks pretty good, actually. Is there any left over?”

Amelia holds back her surprise, but quickly nods. She reaches over for another tea bag and hands it over to him.

“Knock yourself out.”

She watches Link hesitate, turning the packet over in his palms.

“It’s nothing fancy,” she grins. “Just use the water from the kettle.”

Link nods, reaching for a mug.

“I’m going to bed. Think you can handle it?” Amelia gestures towards the mug in his hands.

And Link rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’ve got it. Is it that obvious that I’m not really a tea guy?”

Amelia bites her lip, and shrugs, turning on her heels and back towards her bedroom.

“Goodnight, Amy.” She can hear Link snicker from the kitchen. And the use of the nickname causes Amelia to halt in her tracks. She slowly rounds the corner back into the kitchen.

“Don’t even.” Her voice is tight with astonishment. “Do you want me to start referring to you as Atticus? Because I will.”

The threat causes Link to falter only a little. And then he grins.

“Try again,” she mutters.

“Okay,” he’s laughing now. “Goodnight, Amelia.”

She thinks it’s the first time he’s said it out loud. Or called her by her first name at all. She’s been so used to hearing him refer to her as ‘Shepherd,’ that the sound of her first name falling from his lips actually stirs something inside her. She convinces herself that that’s it. That’s the reason it stuns her a little. It’s simply because she’s not used to it. Definitely has nothing to do with the fact that she enjoys the way it sounds.

She can’t help the smirk that crosses her face, as she repeats his sentiment. She turns back towards the hallway, an amused edge to her voice.

“Goodnight, Link.”

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