#with the instructions slicing it in half and with me needing to fiddle with BOTH SIDES

[vvelegrin]

I HATE BAD UI. I HTAE BAD UI. I HATE BAD UI.

[alicemitch09writes]

last love

pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x reader

summary: Nothing was the same anymore, that much was clear. But it is really? Is it really too late for it all?

author’s notes: This is the final part to the first love trilogy. Please go read the first one, then its sequel - skinny love, before this, otherwise you’ll be confused.

also available on ao3.

disclaimer: i own NOTHING but the plot.

He wakes up with a start – sweating all over, heart pounding against his chest, sleep slowly washes over before realizing where he was and the humid heat that was summer gracing his room. He let out a relieved sigh, falling back into his sheets.

“Tetsuroo, wake up already!” came his mother’s voice, which resounded through the house.

The teen waited until his heart calmed to finally get out of bed, still drenched in sweat. A mirror stood across him, revealing his image – still the same gangly guy with serious bed hair, but his eyes still looked tired, even though his bags had lessened.

Grabbing a towel, he takes a quick shower.

He pretends to not have seen the look on his mother’s face when he wolfs on his breakfast, giving her a quick sloppy kiss on the cheek, before grabbing his bag and leaves.

His phone rings – a text message, he flips his phone and sees a text from his sister, quickly typing a reply before going to the music app. Plugging on his earphones, he begins to walk down a familiar path.

Leaning his head back, clear blue skies greet him. It was too much of a good day today.

Closing his eyes, he soaked up on the light, warming his face. When he opened them, the train station was in clear sight, his steps quickened.

Four stops and twelve blocks later, and he was walking down a place he’s grown familiar with the past few months. The grass was still greener, the flowers were much brighter, and the trees were tall as ever – maybe because it was summer. But the paint job was still terrible, even though they had maintenance work on them.

Upon entering the hospital, he nods at the nurses and staff – all of which, were used to his presence for the past months, adjusting the weight of his right arm, carrying his bag.

Kuroo Tetsturou fell into a routine – he woke up, got dressed, ate breakfast, made small talk with his parents or sister, and went to the hospital. It’s been that way for months.

He stood in front of the door, about to knock when he heard her – a soft strumming and singing.

“I love this place, but it’s haunted without you��”

He felt the familiar skip of his heart at the sound of her voice. Carefully pushing it open, he finds (Name), playing her ukulele, pen, and notebook on her lap.

“My tired heart is beating so slow,” A thoughtful look crosses her face as she sings as if testing the lyrics. She quickly sketches down on her notebook – chords, and lyrics, falling into her element. Picking her ukulele, she strummed slowly, trying the new lyrics – “Our hearts sing less than we wanted, we wanted, our hearts sing ‘cause we do not know, we do not know” –  a small smile gracing her lips when they came out.

Without even knowing, his body moved on its own accord, stepping inside and towards her.

The song had a light melody to it, repetitive on the notes, yet strangely melancholic and full of longing. Yet somehow, unfinished. She stopped for a moment, stumped, before going over it again. Despite her minor slip up, she smiled through it and went over the song again – she was a perfectionist like that.

The sound of the door clicking broke the moment, (Name) looking up to find Kuroo standing in front of him, surprise written all over her face.

“H-Hey, (Name).” Kuroo says, lifting a hand in greeting.

She gives him a nod, awkwardly glances at him, then back to her notes.

“How’s your song going?”

She fiddles with the page, chewing on her bottom lip. “It’s coming.”

“I see.” He nods, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “By the way, I got something for you.” Putting his bag on the foot of her bed, he unzips it and takes out a pink package. “Sis bought some stuff for you, says you’ll be needing it once you get into college.”

Slowly, a smile forms on her face as she reached for it, Kuroo careful as to not let their fingers touch. “That’s nice of her.”

Sitting himself on the couch, he looked at the clutter of papers on the table – university brochures. “Have you decided on where to go? Or are you still bent on getting to where uncle is teaching?” he asked teasingly, especially on the last question, an attempt to lighten the mood.

Her lip curled by a fraction, hugging her instrument close. “…well, it is my dream school and all.”

Kuroo nods at that. “Well, knowing you, you’ll make it – with or without the influence of your dad.” She smiled at that, playing with the ends of her short hair. His eyes followed her fingers tangle in those (hair color) locks, remembering how strange it was to see her usual locks chopped off, of combing them when she was still unconscious.

A tense silence fills in – both teens staring at anything but each other, unsure of what to say next.

“How about you?”

Kuroo made a questioning hum.

“Keiji told me you’re yet to enroll into college,” there was her ever-present concerned tone, (eye color) eyes soft, yet, basing on her tone, there was no mistaking how carefully she had asked.

Peering up to her through his fringe, Kuroo contemplated on his next words. “I haven’t decided on a course yet.” He lied, shrugging offhandedly. “No worries, though, I’ve been working part-time.” That was half a lie, he had just started working at a small grocery store. A small distraction outside the four corners of his own home and the hospital.

Her brows furrowed slightly with worry before it eased away when a knock came from the door. Her doctor – a small middle-aged man named Dr. Ishioka peeked in, beaming at the sight of her.

“Good morning, (Last name)-chan.” Noticing she was not alone, he gave Kuroo a short nod. “And to you, too, Kuroo-kun.”

Kuroo returned the gesture, having been a familiar face in the hospital for the past few months.

“How are we today?”

 “Good,” she smiled, still hugging her ukulele, forgetting her stationary in front of her. When her doctor noticed, he merely gave it a glance. Having finally noticed at what he was looking at, she started looking sheepish. “A-Ah, I was just writing my song!”

The doctor smiled kindly. “And how is it?”

“I-It’s coming,” she replied, using the same answer she gave Kuroo earlier. “I get stuck on words, and things are a little fuzzy to figure out.”

The man nods, hands buried deep in his pocket. “That’s good, getting some brainwork done. However, don’t stress yourself, okay? You’ve been asleep for six months, and it’ll still take some time for your body to get used to moving.”

“She won’t,” Kuroo says aloud, (Name) and Dr. Ishioka turns to him. “I’ll make sure of it.”

(Name) nods dutifully, finally putting down her instrument.

In his professional eyes, there clearly was an underlying tension between the two. Instead of pushing into it, he knew where his limits were.

“Well, that’s good to hear then. You’re in good hands, (Last name)-chan.”

The girl looks up to the doctor, who gives her a kind smile before leaving her a few instructions, which Kuroo was quick to take note of, before leaving.

Just as the door closed behind him, he heaved a sigh, wishing the best for the two.

“(Last name)-saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!” a loud, jolly voice erupted in the room, making a dash for the girl. Barely a step in, Yaku kicked him in the back, grabbing the tall teen by the collar and pulling him back. “Geh- “

“Lev, control yourself! This is a hospital, not a playground! Geez, it’s like taking care of a giant baby.” Meeting her gaze, he lifted a hand. “Yo, (Last name), you look well.”

She laughed, eyes soft at the sight of the Nekoma team filling her room. Kenma, sitting beside her, had his eyes stuck to his console per usual.

“(Last name),” Noboyuki nods, holding out a fruit basket. “we brought you fruits.”

Her smile grew, touched by the gesture. “Thank you, Kai!”

Kenma puts away his console and takes the fruit basket from the taller lad, putting it on a nearby table. He plucks an orange and disappears into the washroom, momentarily leaving (Name) with the Nekoma team.

“(Last Name)-san, your hair!” Inuoka pointed out. “It’s grown so much!”

She laughed at his comment, touching her hair consciously. “Yes, it has. My head feels lighter, actually.”

“Then, you’re keeping it short?”

She hums, tapping her finger to her chin in thought. “Who knows?”

“It looks good, actually,” Yaku commented. “Then again, it’s your hair, so it’s your choice.”

After the short pleasantries, the boys headed towards the couch and sat down, Fukunaga flipping through the channels. Kenma emerges from the washroom, sitting in his spot next to her.

“Ah, it’s your mom’s turn to watch you, right?” Noboyuki asked, sitting on the couch.

She hummed, nodding, Kenma placing the oranges on a table in front of her as he plumped and propped some pillows behind her, making sure that she was comfortable. When he was done, he sat down and began to unpeel his orange, (Name) mimicking him.

“Although" she broke into a sigh, breaking off pieces of the orange "I just wish I could get out of here, it’s so stuffy in here. Not to mention, it gets kind of scary at night.” She shuddered, blaming it on the time when the boys from Fukurodani visited and Bokuto, who had been channel surfing, stopped upon a horror film – particularly on a very scary scene. Lest to say, she didn’t sleep well that night and Bokuto was nearly banned from visiting her again.

“That’s understandable, hospitals tend to be scary,” Noboyuki says kindly.

“You can say that again!” roared Yamamoto.

“Yamamoto, shut up.” Yaku reprimands the loud-mouthed boy.

“Lev, how’s your read block training going?” as soon as the question was asked, the Russian tensed, beginning to sweat profusely.

“A-Ah, it’s going great!”

“He still sucks at it,” Kenma says, munching on a slice of orange with his eyes glued to his game console. “And no amount of practice seems to work, it’s like he’s meant for failure.”

“You can say that again,” says Yamamoto, arms folded against his chest. “he’s a hopeless cause.”

“H-Hey, I’ve been practicing!”

“Bless Nekomata-sensei for ever thinking you had a chance.”

“Yaku-san, not you, too!”

“Time to scoot, little newt!”

“Goddamn it, Fukunaga!”

(Name) couldn’t help but laugh, missing her rowdy boys.

A month of being holed in here was enough to drive anyone insane – everything was too gray, too cold and too dull. It meant so much to her whenever someone came to visit, bringing color to her room and warmth to her heart. Even as they all ganged up on Lev, she knew they really cared. And as far as Kenma’s told him – being vice-captain and all, Lev’s actually not bad. Though, he is quite clumsy with executing his offense and defense. She missed this, she really did.

But the thing was, it just wasn’t the same anymore.

It was hard to be around him anymore, that was a fact.

When she woke up, it looked like she had emerged from a different world. Kuroo quickly called the doctors, happy tears slipping down his face. Too happy to know that she finally woke up – after six months! – he almost forgot to ring her parents of her recovery.

A few hours later, when she slowly came to, he walked back in the room. Happy tears filled the room, the happy parents engulfing their finally awakened sleeping beauty.

But at the sight of him, she suddenly shook and cried – Kuroo quickly ran out of the room before anyone told him to, for her sake. All his worst fears came to life.

The doctors had assured him that it was just the effects of being unconscious for so long – it was difficult to adjust to her surroundings and the people she cared about. Her mind might still be subjected to her previous mindset, long before she went into a coma. So, when she woke up, there was a lot to take in for her. But with the help of doctors, her family, and friends, she was able to come through.

In a span of two weeks, (Name) was showing progress with her recovery. She was still subjected to strains when she overworked herself, especially when it came to brain exercise. But overall, she was doing well, her energy revitalized with the support of her family and friends. And ever since she woke up, there’s not a day when a friend – from Nekoma or Fukurodani – would drop by and visit.

In fact, the only time she ever seemed comfortable was when he wasn’t in the scene. She was much more comfortable with being in the presence of others than with his. And that hurt.

Things just weren’t the same anymore.

She knew that.

He knew that.

And it was all because of that one mistake of his. Just the thought of it made his gut churn, his hands balled into fists, his anger to rise, geared towards him.

There was no questioning of her newfound fear of him, after all, it was also his fault. Kuroo accepted his fate wholeheartedly, even though it killed him.

He could hear his thoughts twisting: of the reason that he stayed, was to ease himself of the guilt, to make him feel better about himself.

So, he came up with a decision, once she’s done with her rehab, when she finally gets discharged, he’ll leave her alone. As much as it pained him, he knew it was for the best.

After all, who was he in her life anymore?

“To light the night, to help us grow…” she mumbled, jolting down her notebook. “It is not said I always know…” Her nose scrunches, having hit a block. Frustrated, she throws her hand in the air, looking around her quiet room. Everything looked too dull, too gray. Instinctively, her hands reached to her right, where her ukulele usually lay, only to find it sitting on the chair across her – her father, had visited earlier and played her a song in an attempt to cheer her up.

(Name) sat up, turns to her side to lower the rail before sliding her feet off the bed. The cold tingle on her toes was a sensation she never knew she’d want to feel again, having been bedridden for months. Taking deep breaths, she lifted her feet off, remembering to bear the weight – feeling like a toddler walking for the first time.

Just as she reached her ukulele, a harsh voice called out. “Didn’t the doctor say you aren’t supposed to strain yourself?”

She looked up, meeting Kuroo’s furious gaze, seeing her out of bed.

Technically, according to the doctor, she could walk quite well now and advised her to do some exercise when she can. Kuroo couldn’t help but overreact.

“B-But…” without a word, he gently helped her back to her bed. She didn’t argue, her mission to grab her ukulele forgotten.

He sighed, pulling up a chair. “You do want to get out, right?” She nods, slowly, withdrawing her fingers away.

“D-Dr. Ishioka says I’m good to walk now.”

“Is that so?” she nods, like a petulant child. Kuroo sighs, eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry for overreacting.”

“It’s okay.” Relaxing, she offered him a gentle smile, which lasted for a minute before realizing the bags under his eyes, how bloodshot his eyes were. “You seem tired.”

“Hm,” he yawned, massaging his throbbing temples. “shitty customer, don’t worry about it.”

“You should sleep.” she offered.

“I’ll be fine,” he calls off, turning his back to look for something to do, anything to avoid her eyes.

“Kuroo Tetsuroo,” she called, using her tone – one he and Kenma were fairly familiar with, even the team. It pleased her to see him tense, slowly facing her. A triumphant smile was ready to break into her face, but concern about his welfare won over.

His shoulders slumped, surrendering. That made her smile, a tiny bit triumphant, before patting on her side. Instead, Kuroo resigned to sitting on a chair next to her bedside, leaning forward to rest his head on his folded arms.

“Are you sure you don’t want to lie down?” she offered, clearly displeased.

“I’m fine like this,” he tells her softly. I got used to it.

She looked like she wanted to argue but quickly closed her mouth shut. She moved closer so that he was laying on her lap. “Tetsuroo?”

“Hmm?”

“I-I wanna go to the gardens tomorrow, to stretch my legs.”

“All day?”

She nodded shyly, determined.

“Okay then, walking all day it is. By the way, how’s the song coming?”

Her shoulders fell, dejected. “It’s coming…I’m just stuck…”

Kuroo laughed, muffled by the sheets. And then he broke into a yawn, his head heavy, throbbing, eyelids drooping close but he fought to stay awake. Thin fingers soothingly ran through his hair, like they usually did, easing the tension from his head and replacing it with the sense of calmness.

“Hey, (Name)?” She leaned close, face illuminated by the moonlight. How he wanted to touch her face. “Sing me a song?

Smoothing her fingers through his hair, a soft smile crept its way to his lips, especially when she began to sing. His heart tugged, slowly beating faster – he always loved hearing her sing with or without an instrument. In one exhale, his subconscious slipping, the last thing he heard was her sweet voice and the beating of his heart.

“Hey, (Name).”

“Hm?”

“Why have you been avoiding Kuroo?”

She froze, slowly turning her head to blond-dyed teen beside her, hands folded against his chest and console free. He watched her from the corner of his eye, golden eyes inquisitive, waiting.

“Of course, you knew.” She smiled, leaning into his shoulder. “It’s not that I’m avoiding him…it’s just,” she lifted her hands, making gestures before letting them fall. “I-I don’t know how to talk to him...I’m not sure I want to. Just…being around him makes me feel like a black hole if that even makes sense.” The blank TV screen in front of her bed reflected the two, lying side by side on her bed, but she could also see the view outside her window – a dark blanket of night, the moon obscured by clouds.

“Hey, Kenma?” There was a question she was dying to ask, gnawing her the moment she woke up. She wasn’t even sure if she was ready for the answer, regardless of what it was. “My mind’s a bit fuzzy, and I was unconscious and all, but I do remember voices in the dark.” Swallowing thickly, she says. “A-And I swore I heard Tetsuroo.”

Kenma’s eyes noticeable widened, his shoulders heavy from bearing weights of two sides. In his head, he was debating whether he should tell her or not – he was obligated to, after all.

“Yeah, that was him.” He exhaled, recalling the past six months. “Kuroo didn’t leave your side since he found out you were admitted.”

She let out a weak gasp, the dam breaking. Alarmed, the blonde turned to his friend. “Why are you crying? Are you happy? Sad?”

“Both.” She sobbed, crying against his shoulder. But also, she felt incredibly guilty.

Kenma sighed, really, these two were a handful. When they talked, they both had to be careful of the other, as if they threaded on thin ice. He’s had enough of bearing their secrets, especially when it concerned the other – it made him the third wheel.

But as frustrating as they were, they were still his friends and he cared about them.

A few months into (Name) under coma, Kuroo Tetsuroo received word that he had been qualified for the colleges he applied for, one, in particular, was in the United Kingdom. Driven by guilt, he had to turn down their offers of scholarships for her, too broken to even take a step forward.

A day after she woke up, he called the admissions, asking if he was still qualified. To his luck, he still was.

Although the semester wouldn’t be until next month, Kuroo’s things were all packed. He didn’t bother saying a word to anyone, it was for the best.

It was a dick move, but then again, he was a dick.

This was the biggest leap of faith in his life, the opportunity of a lifetime, he had to take it. Yet, as much as his heart yearned for it, it felt like he was taking the easy way out.

He’ll miss Tokyo, his home, his family, his friends.

But what he’ll miss the most was her.

It’ll be alright, he thought to himself. After all, she’ll be off to college, her dream school, where she can start anew.

And as much as he hated the thought of it, he knew that she’ll meet someone else, someone who’ll treasure her in ways he failed to.

It felt surreal to be outside again, to have the sun and the wind kiss her skin. Hands instinctively flew to her hair as the wind picked up, remembering that it was still growing and it was cropped short.

What’s more surreal was the audition she got for her dream school, which was in a week’s time, having considered her situation. Nekoma was going to have a practice match soon with Karasuno, a mini-reunion was planned by the two schools. She was finally going to meet Kenma’s special someone he met at a Game Expo. It was almost too much for her heart to take.

But something was missing in all this fanfare – Kuroo.

For days, she hasn’t heard a word from him, hasn’t seen from him since. If she traced it back, it started just a day before she was released. She missed him. She really did. Her heart ached just to see a familiar hide of messy black hair, his gangly form, his easy smile.

And then she received a call from Bokuto, frantically telling her that Kuroo was at the hospital.

Apparently, he was out drinking with a few friends and suddenly got into a fight. Although he started it, he didn’t fight back, allowing the guy to beat him to a pulp. Had Bokuto not been there and Kuroo’d be critical.

Without a word, she ran out of her house, thoughts flying to Kuroo.

Upon arrival, her heart broke at the sight of him, hating that his arm was bandaged, the bruises and stitches on his face. She had the exact look of heartbreak when he saw her, all the guilt washed over her as she rushed to his side.

“What happened to you, Tetsurou?” he smelled of blood, dirt, sweat, and alcohol, but she didn’t care. “I know you’re one to pick fights, but I never thought you’d go this far.”

He turned away, avoiding her in eyes. That hurt. Kenma’s words surfaced, making her heart twinge.

“What’s she doing here?” he asked Bokuto angrily, completely ignoring her presence. She flinched at his tone, mind flashing to a certain memory.

“She was the best person to call,” Akaashi answered calmly, appearing next to the grey-haired teen. “Kuroo-san, go home. And more importantly, you and (Last name)-san need to talk.”

“Eh? But Akaashi, don’t you think Kuroo’s out of it?”

“I’m very much sober, thank you very much.” Kuroo threw a glare at the raven-haired setter, ignoring Bokuto’s concern, or (Name)’s.

After being given painkillers, Kuroo was good to go. And before anyone could stop him, he walked out of the hospital.

(Name) looked at the two teens worriedly before chasing after him, calling after his retreating form. But he didn’t look back, not even once. She didn’t stop chasing after him either.

Finally, he stopped by the riverside next to the bridge – the same one she found he and Kenma some years ago. Although puzzled, she followed him down the steps. Knowing that she was behind him, that she wouldn’t leave him alone, Kuroo sighed – ignoring the pain from his chest. He sat down, she took it as an invitation, sitting a step above him.

The silence between them was thick with a heavy weight of guilt wrought by the past few months, hearts burdened heavily. It was almost unbearable to even breathe, running away was the perfect option, yet the two stayed, another option weighing heavier.

They remain like that for at least an hour, the night growing older with every second. Two teenagers too afraid to tell the other what they wanted to say, fear holding them back.

Finally, for what seemed like forever, Kuroo exhaled through his nose, a heavy sigh. That was never a good sign. “I’m going to Cambridge.”

Her head whipped to him, he worried she’d get a whiplash. But she didn’t, her world just stopped. “W-What…?”

Sighing again, he pressed his forehead to his palms, unable to meet her eyes. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but this was for the best.

“The next semester won’t start until next month, but in a few days or weeks, I was called to take a test and offered a scholarship. So, I leave sometime this month.”

She could feel her heart twisting with every word he said, and she hated it – hated the way he talked to her, hated how he seemed to avoid her. Then again, she pretty much did the same thing when she woke up. She missed him, she really did.

Brought by the pent-up emotions she’s been feeling, she called out, in a shaky tone. “Hey, Tetsu, won’t you listen to my song?”

Song? He peeked up at her. So, she finally got to finish her song.

Swallowing hard, she reached for her ukulele – the sight of the band-aid sent a sharp pain in his heart, a painful reminder – fingers positioned over the strings, shaking just by a fraction. Before he could stop her, she glanced up at him and began singing.

  I love this place

But haunted without you

My tired heart is beating so slow

Our hearts sing less than we wanted

We wanted

Our hearts sing cause

We do not know

We do not know

 Her singing was as gentle as her music, enough to bring tears to his eyes.

He was reminded of the many times she’d sing to him, in times when he was at his lowest. To cheer him up, all it took was a few comforting words, a gentle smile, a warm hug, or her offering a song. It was cheesy, but he loved it, especially because when she sang to him, it would be only him and just him alone, making it very personal for him. He was selfish like that, especially with her.

  To light the night

To help us grow

To help us grow

It is not said I always know

 Of course, you don’t, he thought laughingly.

He could feel the longing in her voice, the loneliness – it made her seem like she was a princess locked up in a tower. Its lyrics tugged at him, knowing the feeling so well.

When their eyes met, he saw the young woman he fell in love with when they were 8, the young woman who held his heart now.

  You can catch me

Don't you run

Don't you run

If you live another day in this happy little house

The fire’s here to stay

 The emotion in her eyes made his throat dry, tugging his heart – did she just?

  To light the night

To help us grow

To help us grow

It is not said I always know

 His heart was hammering wildly against his chest, a rush of emotions burning inside, igniting his veins. The words were at the tip of his tongue, heart ready to burst out of his chest to tell her.

But not just yet, he didn’t want to jinx it, couldn’t bring himself to, he wanted to hear more.

  Please don't make a fuss

It won't go away

The wonder of it all the wonder that I made

I am here to stay

I am here to stay

Stay

  Overwhelmed by her emotions, by the pent-up emotions she’s withheld for so long, tears began streaming down her face uncontrollably. Alarmed, Kuroo quickly took her ukulele aside and enveloped her in his arms.

At his touch, everything she’s been holding in surfaced - missing him, loving him. “I’m sorry!” she cried, returning the hug, tightening her hold on him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“No, don’t say you’re sorry.” He pulls back to plant a kiss to her forehead, thumbs brushing her tears away. “Don’t you ever feel sorry, (Name).” He whispered against her skin.

Kenma’s neutral look of displeasure came to mind. He felt like an idiot. How could he be so stupid to have dismissed her feelings over his?

(Name) couldn't stop crying, her heart was so full of emotions that it seemed like it would burst anytime. She felt loved, so loved in Kuroo's arms - from the boy she's loved for so long. And somehow, his embrace made everything better, everything was forgiven, forgotten – yet, it made things worse at the same time.

“Tetsurou, please don’t go…” glossy (eye color) eyes begging, his heart aching. She couldn't take not having him by her side, couldn't take the thought of losing him. “Don’t go, please.” Gentle hands reached up to cup his face, tears continuing to stream down. “Stay, please.”

Oh, those (eye color) eyes, she had no idea of its effect on him.

“Stay?”

Placing his larger hands in hers, he leaned his forehead with hers, their noses bumping.

“Always.”

[howtosingit]

Fic: when the world’s on fire, all i need is you

Concerned about his lack of culinary experience, Carlos teaches TK how to make fajitas.

*

A missing moment from 1x06.

1.7K | Also on AO3

- - - - -

Carlos stands in front of his refrigerator, staring inside and having no idea what he wants to make for dinner. 

He’s glad to have the night off at home, but ever since TK texted him to unexpectedly cancel their evening plans, he’s been wandering aimlessly around his apartment, trying to find things to keep himself busy. Unfortunately, he only has so much dirty laundry, and living alone means that his place is already pretty clean.

It’s not that he feels like he has nothing to do without TK around, it’s just that… Well, they’ve been spending a lot of time together - as friends - and he looks forward to the few nights that the both have off work. Tonight, they had planned a whole cooking lesson, with Carlos showing TK how to make chicken fajitas. Ever since he found out about TK’s limited culinary experience, Carlos has taken it upon himself to ensure that the man knows how to at least cook a few easy recipes for himself. They’ve spent many nights in his kitchen, music playing low as they circle around one another, making dinner together.

He’s not upset that TK cancelled on him; from his texts, he gathers that something came up with his dad at work. Carlos had offered any help that his friend might need, or at the very least his presence, but TK hadn’t responded to his messages. He’s trying not to worry too much; last he’d heard, Captain Strand’s treatments had been going as well as they could expect. In the past few weeks, TK has even seemed a little lighter, like a heavy weight has been lifted from his shoulders, if only a bit. 

With a sigh, Carlos reaches into his fridge to grab the chicken and peppers, deciding that he might as well have the dinner that he’d planned, even if he’ll be having it alone. He turns on some music, prepping his work station, and has just started to slice the chicken into strips when there’s a knock at his door.

He looks up, wondering who in the world could be here to see him. A glance down at his phone shows no missed calls or messages, and everyone that might visit typically lets him know when they’re coming over. He puts down his knife, quickly washing his hands at the sink before moving towards the door and pulling it open.

“Hey,” TK says, standing on his front step with his hands hidden in the front pocket of his hoodie.

“TK,” Carlos says, his surprise clear in his tone. “Hey.”

“Sorry I’m late,” the other man apologizes, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, “but I was hoping dinner might still be on the table?”

Carlos scans his face, trying to get a read on what exactly TK might be thinking. Based on his texts, he wasn’t expecting to see him this evening, and he can’t tell if TK being here is good news or bad news. 

“I actually just started,” he finally responds, opening the door a little wider, “and I’d love an assistant.”

TK smiles, his face morphing into a grateful expression as he steps across the threshold and into the apartment. Carlos follows him over to the kitchen, wondering if he should ask about TK’s day, or if it’s better to wait until TK offers something. There’s soft music in the background, the only sound breaking the somewhat tense silence between them as TK washes his hands at the sink.

“So, MasterChef Reyes,” TK jokes, turning to face him, “where do you need me?”

Carlos stares at him for a moment, noticing how the other man is avoiding eye contact and fiddling with the sting of his hoodie. It’s clear that TK’s in need of a distraction, and he is more than happy to provide him with one.

“Okay,” Carlos nods, turning back to his workstation. “So, I’ve been cutting the chicken into strips, and then I’m going to cook them. While I do that, you can start cutting the peppers and onions.”

“Yes, sir,” TK teases, coming over to stand at his side and nudging him gently. Carlos briefly shows TK how he wants the vegetables cut, then goes back to his chicken. When he’s finished, he carries his cutting board over to the stove, turning on the heat and adding oil before tossing the chicken in and adding all of his spices and seasonings. 

His mind races with a possible conversation starter, anything that might pull them out of this awkward silence that exists between them, but following his quiet day at work, nothing really comes to mind. He’s just begun to hum along to the music under his breath, hoping that might fill some of the void left by their lack of conversation, when he hears the sound of forceful chopping behind him.

He turns to find TK huffing heavily over the cutting board, the knife in his hand a newfound weapon as he slices into the onion in front of him. Carlos watches him for a moment, taking in the tense set of his shoulders and the way his head is bowed over the counter, hiding his face from view. It’s only when his fear of a possible injury outweighs his desire to let TK destress in his own way that Carlos steps forward.

“Hey, hey, be careful,” he says calmly, his right hand coming up to grip TK’s weapon-wielding arm as his left arm circles around his waist to press against TK’s hip. “No one needs to lose a finger tonight,” he jokes quietly, guiding the knife down to the board, where TK finally releases it.

“You want to tell me whose face you were picturing on that cutting board?” Carlos hedges when TK doesn’t speak. Instead, the man presses his palms into the counter, his breathing heavy and his eyes wet - whether from the onion that he was just cutting or something else, Carlos can’t tell. 

“Fuck!” TK cries, pushing away from the counter and Carlos to pace on the other side of the island, near the table. He runs his hands through his hair, clearly agitated, as he turns and faces Carlos. “I’m so sorry, Carlos, I’m not trying to ruin your night, it’s just…”

He trails off, throwing his hands into the air. Carlos hasn’t seen him this frustrated since he cooked him dinner all of those months ago and then watched as TK stormed out of his apartment into the night.

He would give anything for that to not happen again.

“TK, it’s fine, you don’t have to apologize,” Carlos says gently, backing up to turn the heat down on the chicken before circling around to join TK on the other side of the counter. “Just, tell me what’s wrong. Let me help, I want to help.”

TK stares at him for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth between Carlos’s own, almost like he’s weighing his ways forward. Then, with a nod, he steps closer, his shoulders dropping as he lets out a deep breath.

“My dad’s gonna lose his job,” TK says, his voice shaky.

Carlos’s eyes widen, and he instinctively reaches out to take TK’s hand, the other man gripping him tightly. “What?” he asks, sure he must’ve misheard.

“Judd introduced my dad to this fire captain buddy of his,” TK explains, an edge of anger in his voice now, “and my dad started spending time with him. He revealed all these things, including his cancer diagnosis. Turns out, the guy actually wants to take his job, so he turned him into the chief.”

“Shit,” Carlos breathes, his mind racing with all of this new information. 

“Yeah,” TK agrees, nodding as he clenches his jaw. “So now he’s got to take the CPAT in full gear or they’ll replace him.”

He pulls away again, letting out a frustrated groan. 

“Why is it that every single time I feel like I’m finally finding my footing in this place, something comes along to fuck it all up?” he cries, his voice thin as he drops down into a chair at the table. “Every time I start to get a really good look at things, to start to understand them, they shift and I’m just left trying to figure out where I am and what I’m supposed to do.”

“Hey,” Carlos says soothingly, coming up behind TK. Before he can think too hard about it, he bends over to give him a hug from behind, wrapping his arms around the firefighter’s shoulders as he presses their faces together. “It’s going to be okay, TK.”

“You don’t know that, Carlos,” TK says in defeat. He reaches up to run his palms along Carlos’s forearms, gripping his wrists tightly.

“Yeah, I guess I don’t,” Carlos admits, ducking his head to press his chin against TK’s shoulder. “But I do know that no matter how crazy things get, you are surrounded by an army of people who want to help you. So, be there for you dad. Do whatever you need to do to get him through this, but let others help you when you need it, okay?”

There’s a pause before TK turns to look at him, their faces close as their eyes lock. 

“Even you?”

Carlos sucks in a breath, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“All you have to do is ask, Ty. I’m right here, always.”

TK nods, his eyes shining as he presses their foreheads together. For Carlos, this moment seems completely outside of their normal friendly behavior, the lines blurring more and more as the seconds pass, but he can’t bring himself to pull away. He wants this, more than he’s ever wanted anything, so if TK’s willing to let him, he’s going to stay by his side for as long as he can.

The moment is finally broken by the sound of TK’s stomach rumbling, reminding them of the half-cooked dinner waiting for them in the kitchen. They both pull away, laughing softly. 

“C’mon,” Carlos says, holding out his hand. “Let’s make sure I haven’t burned the chicken.”

“I’ll forgive you if you have,” TK says, his tone light as he takes Carlos’s hand, rising from the chair. “Nobody’s perfect after all.”

Carlos laughs, shoving him away as he moves over to the stove. TK follows behind him, pressing up against his side to listen to his instructions, the small smile resting on his lips a far cry from his cloudy countenance when he first arrived.

The music plays on around them, keeping the roaring fire of their unexpected futures at bay for just a little longer.

[specialsituationsgroup]

In Your Care

Vetinari singed off on the palace supplies bill, then handed it back to Drumknott.

"Satisfied, sir?"

"Quite."

Drumknott smiled shyly.

Vetinari got up to stretch his legs and clear his mind. He froze, staring unseen through the desk.

"Sir."

Vetinari grabbed the desk, turning the fall into a kneel. Drumknott dropped the file and kneeled next to him.

"Are you all rigth, sir?"

Vetinari's eyes were closed. He was shaking. Drumknott grabbed his shoulder. He swallowed his nerves and brought the back of his hand to Vetinari's forehead.

"Sir, you're burning."

"I think I’ve come down with a cold. I've been feeling faint since this morning."

"This is not a cold, sir. You need to rest."

"I do not have time. Lord Rust will be here in an hour."

"I will move all your appointments for three days. He will think you are making him stew."

"In three days there will be a backlog too great to ever catch up with."

"Then let me help."

"... How?"

"To start with, you don't have to read through every report to find the important parts - I can filter them for you."

Verinari looked at him, eyes hard. "Dangerous phrasing, Drumknott. You could keep things from me and I would never know."

"I could, sir. And you could be defrauding the city."

But we wouldn't.

Vetinari sighed. "Start with the reports then."

Drumknott smiled faintly. "I'll tell the kitchen to make you chicken soup."

"That will start rumors of the unwanted kind."

"Then I'll say it's for me."

"But you will be seen eating your usual lunch."

"Then we can eat togeather."

"Very forward of you, mr Drumknott." Vetinari was sly.

Drumknott shrugged.

"Help me to my room."

"Of course."

Drumknott let Vetinari lean on him. He made to move to the door, but Vetinari did not budge.

"This way, mr Drumknott." He nodded at a random bit of wall. "Remember what I do excatly."

Drumknott understood, torn between pride and fear. "Yes, sir."

Vetinari showed him how to open a sectret door and navigate the hidden pasages safely, Drumknott soaking up every minute detail.

Suddenly, they were in a spartan bathroom. Drumknott realized he was in the patrician's private chambers. He took over, helping Vetinari through the only door, to a room barely larger than his own.

Vetinari sat on the bed and instructed him to his nightshirt. Drumknott went to make tea while he changed. When he returned, Vetinari was curled up under the covers, sweaty and shivering. His eyes were shut tight and brow creased. Drumknott left the tea on the side table, then covered him with all the blankets in the room. The shivering stopped.

Vetinari relaxed. He had a strange look on his face.

Drumknott waitied.

"The last time someone took care of me like this, I was fourteen." Vetinari, no, Havelock, began. "Madam was fussing around me and I told her not to babybe me. But secretly I was glad that she did." His voice had gone hoarse. He shut his eyes, swallowing thickly.

Drumknott sat beside him and took his shoulder through the covers. Havelock calmed down.

"I need to cancel the meetings and order soup. Do you need anything?"

Havelock shook his head.

"Get some sleep."

He nodded.

Drumknott gave a little reassuring squeeze and left. He sent Brian to inform the lords, then feigned a cough in the kitchen, asking for chicken soup and mouldy bread. The maid Jenny looked at him like he was Duck Man, but directed him to the leftorvers destined for the bin, no waste to her. Soup wouldn't be ready by dinner, on account of asking for it so late. Drumnkto thanked her profusely. With a tablecloth bag and a ream of reports, he faced the unassuming wall. A deep breath later, he walked the gauntlett alone, his heart thudding.

At the last step, he stopped to compse hismelf. It felt odd coming in through the bathroom. He half expected to catch the patricain in the tub, butt naked and glaring. Of course, he found Vetinari asleep, doused in sweat but not in pain. Leaving bread by the tea, he pulled a chair over and started to read.

Half way through, Vetinari stirred, blinking at him.

"You're here." Vetinari was surprised.

Drumknott looked up. "I didn't want you to be alone."

Vetinrai gave him a tired smile.

Drumknott bit his lip in hesitation.

"Sir, the rumors that you live on bread and water and don't sleep, is there any truth to them?"

Vetinari took a deep breath. "I eat plainly, compared to other lords, and I sleep with a candle burning to confuse would-be assasins."

"But?"

"I regularly get engrosed in my work and forget to eat or sleep. Or rather, I ignore hunger and drowsyness."

Dumknott's heart sank. "You can't do that, sir."

"Can’t I?"

"Unless you want this to happen again. Or worse. " He klutched the papers.

"Indeed I do not."

"I can help." He offered, again.

"How very kind of you." Vetinari replied, but something was off.

Drumknott couldn't tell what, but the idea of Vetinari not being patrician made him feel like the ground had dropped form under him and he was in free fall.

"If something were to happen to you-"

"Ah. You are offering out of self interest." Havelock rolled over, turning his back to him.

It felt like a gut punch. On reflex, Drumknott opened his mouth to deny, but stopped himself. He fiddled with the corner of a paper.

"I am." He admitted.

Vetinari watched him over his shoulder.

Drumknott met his gaze. "I also hate to see you like this. A man can have more than one motive."

"... Indeed." Vetinari turned on his back, but stared at the ceiling.

Drumknott glanced at the reports, thinking. "Can you sit up?"

Vetinari did.

Drumknott left the papers on the chair and checked the tea. It had gone teppid so he mixed a litle honey in it. When he offered the mug, Vetinari met his gaze. The patirican took it in both hands and sipped. Curious, he opened the cloth.

"Mouldy bread?" He eyed Drumknott.

"A family remedy, sir."

"And you believe it works?"

A shrug. "No Drumknott in living memory died of illness."

"Curious." Vetinari picked up a slice. "The scholars should look into that." He was turning it over. "Perhaps there is something to it."

"Wouldn't know, sir."

Vetinari snifed at it. "Smells vaguely of blue cheese." He gave an experimental nibble. "Not very appealing but then medicine harldy ever is."

"As you say, sir."

Vetinari washed it dwon with a sip, alternating between bread and tea.

Drumknott sat back down.

"Anything of importance in there?" Vetinari nodded at the reports.

"Lord Rust is visiting the guild masters."

"Is he having any luck?"

"Not with the seamstresses."

"Ha. And has he tired the thieves yet?"

"No sir."

"Then he has more ambition than brains."

Drumknott chortled.

Vetinari smiled. "We need not worry then."

Drumknott turned to him, daring not hope. "We?"

"You lied for me, Drumknott. I am eting spoiled food on your assurance. We."

Drumknott blushed and looked away, his eyes falling on the papers. Rust's plotting watched back, sudden like the silence of Old Tom. He sobered.

"People like me are not figthters, sir." He didn't know why he was admiting weakness. Cowardice even. "We endure."

"I know." Vetinari was sympathetic.

Without looking, Drumknott knew his eyes were gentle. "I didn't hide the clerks just to protect them, sir."

"Oh?"

"I didn't want Wonse to be able to call on them."

"You wanted to punish him."

Drumknott shook his head. "No. I just didn't want him to get away with what he's done."

A nod in the corner of his vision. "Perfectly understandable."

He took a deep breath. "People like me, the worst we can do is not give our help."

Vetinari considered him. He picked up another slice. "That can be just as debilitating."

Face averted, Drumknott mumbled "I know."

[gimmesumsuga]

Sweeter than Sweet (88)

AO3 Link

Pairings: Jimin x reader, Yoongi x reader, Jimin x Yoongi, Namjoon x reader, Taehyung x reader, Jungkook x reader, Jin x reader, Hoseok x reader.

Warnings: Nil of note

Word count: 9.3k

Previous / Epilogue 

So.  The final chapter.  It’s finally here.  It’s been a long time coming and honestly, it’s been so nerve-wracking writing this and hoping that people will like it and GOD I HOPE YOU’RE OK WITH THIS ENDING.  After two and a half years, trying to find a way to tie this all together has been... quite the task.  But anyway, enough rambling from me.  

There’ll be an epilogue after this - just a short one - so we don’t have to say goodbye quite yet but... yeah.  I hope you enjoy.  

“Whatcha making, hyungie? ”  To your right, Jimin’s eyes remain fixed on his phone as he calls out to the elder vampire pottering to and fro between the kitchen counters and the stove.  With one of Jimin’s thumbs caressing the side of your knee and his other scrolling through whatever Korean article he happens to be reading, you’re surprised Yoongi even realises his young lover is addressing him, so casual is his tone.  

“ Kimchi-jjigae ,” Yoongi murmurs in reply as his knife rhythmically thunks against the chopping board, and to your left you hear Hoseok longingly sigh at the mention of food. 

You can empathise with the feeling that spurred him to make such a sound.  You’ve been a vampire for less than a month and already you’ve started to miss the taste of real food, unable to imagine what it must be like for those around you for whom it's been so much longer.  It’s all too easy to understand why they sometimes give in and indulge despite the inevitable gastric upset that it brings. You’d done the very same just last week, unable to resist sneaking a slice of Jin’s vanilla bean cheesecake only to lament its vengeful return back up your oesophagus just a few minutes later - an experience unpleasant enough to sufficiently silence any cravings you might’ve had since; the smell of broth wafting over to you now no more tempting than that of cut grass or fragrant shampoo. 

And anyway, it’s not as though Yoongi is cooking with the intention of the meal he’s making actually being eaten.  He’s cooking because it gives his restless hands something to do - a task on which to concentrate and thereby silence the anxious thoughts that would otherwise occupy his mind - and Yoongi isn’t alone in his attempt to keep pre-occupied.  

One by one you’d gathered together in the kitchen as the day had drawn into night, some having woken early and some having not yet slept at all.  Namjoon’s imminent arrival has everyone on edge, and rather than remain in bed tossing and turning to and fro, all seven of you had ended up gravitating towards one another instead, seeking the reassurance found in numbers.  

Jin had already been here, in the kitchen, when you, Jimin and Yoongi had arrived here together, his brows furrowed in concentration as he furiously tapped away at the keys of his laptop - yelling when he’d lost at whichever game had him so engrossed.  Alarmed, Nova has been giving him a wide berth every since, hiding under the legs of the furthest possible bench and glaring reproachfully each and every time Jin dares make a sound. 

It was Jungkook and Taehyung who had joined you next, and they continue to occupy one another now, some hours later; Jungkook with his sketchpad in hand and tongue poking against the inside of his cheek as he tries to capture Taehyung’s likeness from where he sits posed across the other side of the table, a sleeping Yeontan in his arms.  

Hoseok arrived last of all, completing the set  He's been strangely quiet ever since he joined you, yet still seems to have trouble keeping his limbs from wanting to dance as he watches various choreography videos on his phone, volume turned down low.  It seems as though even in times of stress he’s unable to keep that innate sense of rhythm he’s blessed with at bay.  

You can’t help but note the subtle sense of guilt that settles in your stomach as you observe them all.  If it weren’t for you and your wanting to do this, Jin’s eyes might not be marred by such dark circles, nor Yoongi’s thumb-nail so thoroughly well-chewed as he stands gnawing on it in front of the stove.  Jimin’s knee wouldn’t be bobbing up and down so restlessly, the two youngest might still be in bed, sleeping in as late they usually do, and Hoseok…. Well, there are a lot of things that might be different for Hoseok if it weren’t for your arrival into their lives, but the less you dwell on that the better, you suppose.  

“Princess?” As if somehow sensing your need for distraction, Yoongi’s voice calls out to you.  “Fetch me the pork belly from the fridge?” 

“Sure,” you agree quickly, flashing Jimin a smile as he’s forced to relinquish his grip on your bracelet so that you’re able to move.  He smiles back having ceased his fiddling, though you can’t help but worry it looks a little strained, very aware of the soft sigh he releases as you make your way over to the refrigerator as instructed.  Inside, on the bottom shelf in a large glass bowl, is the meat Yoongi had left to marinate in there some half an hour or so earlier, and as he takes it from your hands and pulls back the covering film, the scent of rice wine is so pungent it almost makes you cough.  

“Thank you,” he wishes you softly, brushing a kiss to your temple as he passes on his way to the stove where he tips the pork into an awaiting pot, fat sizzling as it meets the heat.

“Do you need anything else?” Wanting to make yourself as useful as possible, you hover at his side as he resumes his place at the chopping board, slicing through mushrooms.  

“I’m almost done,” he assures, not taking his eyes away from the task at hand, “But thank you,” he says again, the corners of his lips curling into the smallest of smiles as he briefly glances your way.  

Dismissed, you wander back towards the group in hopes of finding further diversion.  You don’t dare disturb Jin - the last time you did he looked as though he might throw his laptop at you for having interrupted whatever kill-streak he was in the middle of.   Glancing up from where you’d been absent-mindedly watching Jin’s pink-haired avatar run across the screen, your eyes meet Jungkook’s, a smile tugging at your lips when he beckons you over.  

“What do you think, noona ?” he asks as you come to peer over his shoulder at his sketchbook.  He holds it at just enough of an angle to keep his drawings hidden from Taehyung’s view as the blonde-haired vampire squirms from side to side to try and take a peek.   

“He hasn’t given me boobs again, has he?” Taehyung pouts, and whilst you try to stifle a laugh a wicked grin appears on Jungkook’s face.  His muse groans, slumping forward till his head rests on the dining table and his torso hides Yeontan completely from view.  

“No, Tae, he hasn’t given you boobs,” you reassure, smiling just as hard as Jungkook at the thought of it, “Though, I’d really like to get a look at that sometime.”  

“ Jagi! ” Taehyung whines all the more, sitting up straight to hit you full-force with the adorable full pout of his lips and wide-openness of his eyes.  

"I’m only playing,” you grin whilst still sneaking in a side-glance to Jungkook that tells him you’re really anything but.  “It’s really good, baby,” you say, running your fingers absently through the ever-lengthening tresses of Jungkook’s hair to feel him preen at both your praise and his pet-name.  “Looks just like you, Tae.” 

And honestly, it does.  Even if he were to bestow Taehyung with some additional assets , the likeness would still be uncanny.  Jungkook has captured both him and Yeontan perfectly; from the delicateness of Taehyung’s long fingers carding through his playmate’s fur to the softness of his expression as he gazes down at the perfectly shaded puppy curled up in his lap.  

“You’re sure?” Taehyung checks, doubt seeping into his tone as he watches the way the youngest vampire curls his arm around your waist and coaxes you down to sit on his knee, adoration in his eyes.  It wouldn’t be the first time you and Jungkook have been partners in crime when it comes to playing pranks, so you can’t blame him for being suspicious, but when Jungkook finally relents and flashes the drawing Taehyung’s way, you can’t help but smile at the genuine delight you see written across the blonde vampire’s face.  

“Can I keep it when you’re done, gguk?” he asks, that boxy grin of his making an appearance when Jungkook swiftly nods, putting pencil to paper to continue shading the strong angle of Taehyung’s jaw.  You smile fondly at them both, placing an arm across Jungkook’s shoulder to keep yourself steady when Hoseok suddenly lets out a disgruntled sound from beside you. Nose wrinkled, he’s busy shoving Jimin back up off of his lap from where the younger vampire has flopped down in hopes of using his hyung’s thighs as a pillow.  Jimin’s grinning, his whole body going purposefully limp as Hoseok struggles to sit such a dead weight back up again (pun intended) and it only makes you smile more to see it, laughing when Hoseok finally gives up with a loud ‘yah!’ of frustration as Jimin’s head falls back into his lap.  

For someone who so freely lavishes affection on others, it never fails to amuse you just how unwilling Hoseok can sometimes be to being on the receiving end of it.  

“Hey Kookie?” You press a kiss to his temple to gain his attention.  “Can you do me next?” He looks up at you, one eyebrow raised and a dirty smirk twisting his mouth.  

“You want me to do you, noona ?”  A light smack to his shoulder has him laughing, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I meant draw me, you perv.”    

“Like one of my french girls?” he persists, smiling all the more lewdly when Yoongi starts to chuckle along like some dirty old man from where he’s stood stirring the contents of the pot now bubbling away on the stove.  

“Have you even seen Titanic, Jungkook?” you laugh, just about to reach down and tweak one of his nipples through his shirt as punishment when Jin suddenly throws his arms wide and exclaims, “I’m flying, Jack!” and sends the whole room into peals of laughter.  

And that’s it, then.  Once Jimin sits up and starts to belt out a somewhat pitchy rendition of ‘My Heart Will Go On’, any remaining tension left in the room is well and truly broken.  Jin joins in, Taehyung does too, and then Jungkook, Hoseok, Yoongi - or at least, he tries, bless him - until finally even you’re singing your lungs out with tears of laughter leaking from the corners of your eyes.  

And as sappy as it sounds, it almost does feel as though you’re flying as you’re sat here amongst them - heart soaring whilst you’re surrounded by these silly, wonderful men that you love so very much.  

The seven of you are singing so loud that if it weren’t for the exceptional hearing you’ve so recently been blessed with, you might not have heard the resounding knock that suddenly echoes through the manor.  You do, though - all of you do - and as another knock comes, somehow even louder than the last, the whole room falls silent, bodies tensing and eyes wide in time for the third and final knock to sound.  

“He’s here.”  

Eyes narrow and breaths are held.  Your gaze meets Jimin's as he sits up straight, on high alert, and there's an emotion written on his face that you can't quite put a name to right now.  Not whilst you're so preoccupied with how strange the absence of a furiously beating heart feels. All the same feelings Namjoon usually inspires in you are still there; your body just lacks the means to properly express them, now that you're dead.  

There's no clammy hands.  No quickening of breath. It's disconcerting and yet reassuring all at once, reminding you of just how different of a person - how different a creature - you are since you and Namjoon last met.  Now, even if he wanted to hurt you (though, you're sincerely hoping he doesn't) you doubt he'd be able to.  

You're a lot more than just the 'family pet' these days, that's for certain.  

You stand from your seat on Jungkook's lap quicker than you realise, body moving before your mind has the chance to catch up.  You're nervous - undoubtedly so - but part of you is just eager to finally go and lay to rest all the history between you. To settle things once and for all.  That eagerness gives you the courage to straighten your spine and square your shoulders; a tentative smile on your face as you turn to the others. 

Before you have the chance to speak, however, Jin promptly snapping his laptop shut mid-game completely derails whatever it was you were just about to say.  

"What're you doing?" you ask as almost perfectly in sync, the vampires around you abandon their various pastimes to join you on your feet, beautifully poised for action.  

"We could never let you do this on your own, jagi. " Taehyung's impossibly long fingers slip between your own, squeezing your hand in his as Jimin comes to your side and claims the other - stoic and silent as his gaze meets yours.  The weight of his hand in yours feels like an anchor; solid and grounding. It's comforting - just as comforting as the sweet kiss Taehyung brushes across your knuckles before placing your hand into Yoongi's waiting, open palm.  

"You can always change your mind," Yoongi reminds you, searching your gaze for any sign that you may want to turn back.  You appreciate the offer, and you're sure that deep down, some of them may wish that you would, but it's too late now. You need to see this through.  

"No.  I'm sure," you reply with as much confidence as you can muster, and out of the corner of your eye you see Hoseok nod to himself with a look of grim determination.  

"OK," Jimin says in that sweet, melodic voice of his, "Then let's go." 

The short journey from the kitchen to the entrance hall has never felt longer than it does now, with a heart so full of trepidation.  You can only recall one other occasion where you felt such dread whilst taking these same steps; back when rather than walking side by side with your lovers you had run towards them instead, drawn by the sounds of Jimin’s frantic cries.  It’s a memory that enters unbidden into your mind, pulled to the surface by Namjoon’s arrival, and you squeeze Yoongi’s hand as you attempt to push away the image of his delicate body cradled limp and bloody in Jimin’s arms. It’s not something you want to think about when you’re about to come face to face with the man responsible for having made that happen - can only hope that the vampire waiting outside your front door is now very different from the one who was forced out of it the last time the two of you met within these walls.  

You hesitate as the manor’s solid wooden doors come into sight, a lump in your throat as your footsteps falter.   It’s not that you’re scared, per se - it’s just that you’ve never been very good with confrontation even at the best of times.  You want this to go as smoothly as possible - if such an outcome is even possible at all. You just hope that - 

“Allow me.”  Sweeping past you in all his handsome glory, Jin approaches the front door with nary a hint of nervousness.  There’s a formidable expression on his face, one that sits totally at odds with the soft, over-sized sweater he’s wearing.  On his stomach, an adorable cartoon whale swims amongst fluffy sky-blue fabric - far too cute a fashion choice for someone who looks as though he's just one wrong move away from kicking serious ass.  

You murmur your thanks regardless of whether Jin might hear you over the sound of him unbolting the front door with deft, graceful hands.  Him having taken charge removes the chance for you to hesitate even more than you already have, and before you know it - before you've even had a chance to take whatever bracing breath you'd imagined you'd take before coming face to face - the door is swinging open.  

The weather has gotten more mild since last you and Namjoon met.  Rather than the howling wind and freezing rain that accompanied his sudden exit from your home some weeks ago, the breeze that ruffles through your hair now is by far a more pleasant one; the sun's warmth lingering despite its absence.  

"Evening, hyung, " Namjoon greets in that deep voice of his, little more than the tips of his hair visible over the top of the elder vampire's head.  Even with the door wide open, Jin's shoulders are so broad that even at Namjoon's greater height, he's almost entirely hidden from view.  Without loosening your grip on either of the hands you hold, you find yourself rocking forward onto the balls of your feet to try and get a better look, but to no avail.  Jin seems determined to shield you, one of his hands planted firmly on the door frame to block Namjoon's entrance.  

"Hello, Namjoon," he replies, and though his tone may sound pleasant, there's a tightness to it that puts you on edge.  "Before you come in, I just wanted to remind you-" Namjoon laughs wryly, cutting Jin off mid-sentence as he places one of his large atop his elder's shoulder and pats.  

"I know, hyung, " he assures, and even without being able to see his face, you can hear the smile he’s wearing, "I'll be on my best behaviour."  His hand slips down onto Jin's bicep as your protector lets his arm slowly fall back down to his side, opening up the way for Namjoon to come inside.  "Promise."  

Realising what it was that Jin had intended to remind him of - his promise to kill Namjoon himself should he ever dare to cause trouble again - you really hope that Namjoon is sincere about keeping his vow.  You'd rather not witness any more blood spilt between these brothers; you've seen enough to last a lifetime as it is.  

Jin steps back from the doorway, a furrow in his brow as Namjoon steps forward to take his place.  Dressed in a burnt orange sweater that's at least a size or two too large, he looks marginally better than the last time you met - though that's hardly an achievement given how back then he'd intentionally tried to appear weak and sickly for the sake of his rouse.  

"It's good to see you all."  With his hands clasped together neatly in front of him, Namjoon almost looks contrite as you all stand and stare at one another, at a loss for what to say.  Silent and stiff, the atmosphere is unmistakably awkward.

Perhaps you should be the one to speak first?  You’re the one that asked him to come, after all, so it’s no good just standing here like the cat’s got your tongue.  

Mustering up your courage, you lift your gaze from his chest and meet Namjoon’s eyes for the first time since his arrival.  They’re just as golden as you remember, and as he looks back at you, you swear his gaze softens - a tentative smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  Almost as if by reflex, you feel your own lips curving into shy, answering smile, and just as they’re about to part to speak -

“Thank you for coming.”  They’re four words that you never would’ve expected to hear Jimin say, but you’re thankful that he has.  As if him having spoken somehow grants his blessing on Namjoon’s arrival, the vampires around you seem to collectively relax; rounding of shoulders and softly exhaled sighs of breaths no longer held.  

“Thank you for inviting me.”  Even Namjoon looks relieved as he unclasps his hands, slotting them inside the pockets of his pants.  

“I didn’t,” Jimin retorts somewhat sharply, and as you glance to the side you note the way his jaw clenches despite your gentle squeeze of his hand.  

“What the lady wants, the lady gets,” Namjoon chortles in spite of Jimin’s hostility, “It’s good to know at least one thing hasn’t changed.”  

Pursing your lips, you almost feel mildly affronted by Namjoon’s insinuation that you’re spoilt until you quickly realise that he likely has a point, and from the smirk Yoongi’s wearing you’d be willing to bet he silently agrees.  

Well, whatever.  It’s not as though you getting your own way turned out to be a bad thing where he’s concerned.  

“So,” Namjoon continues, taking another step forward to finally allow Jin to close the door behind them, “For what purpose have I been summoned?  I have to say I was surprised to have Taehyung go to the trouble of tracking me down.” Nervousness has you clearing your throat as your hands slip from those of the vampires beside you, not quite able to look Namjoon in the eyes as you break away from the group to approach him.  

“Should we... go to the garden to talk?” you suggest, very aware of the many sets of ears and eyes focused on the two of you.  You’ll never be able to say all the things you need to say with this many people listening in so intently.  

“Lead the way.”  With a slight nod of his head, Namjoon comes forward with intent to follow after you, but when you turn around you find you’ve nowhere to go.  Jimin blocks your path, arms folded, eyes narrowed and jaw so tight that the veins on his neck are popping.  

“You haven’t forgotten what you promised?” he asks, one eyebrow rising ever so slightly as he peers down the gentle slope of his nose at you.  

“No…”  Looking around the group, your gaze lands on Hoseok just as his falls on you.  Easy-going and yet fiercely protective; sweet but firm when he needs to be. Out of all of your options, Namjoon’s successor seems the preferable one to have loitering nearby should this all turn to shit.  

As if reading your mind, Hoseok half raises one hand awkwardly into the air, shuffling his weight from foot to foot.  

“I could go with them if you like.”  Jimin’s gaze flickers back and forth across your face to gauge your reaction to his hyung’s suggestion, and on seeing your hopeful little smile, he subtly nods his head and takes a step back, clearing your path.  

“Alright.  We’ll be right here, ok?”  His glances over your shoulder towards Namjoon.  “In case you need us.”  

“I know,” you reply softly, closing the gap between you and placing on hand on his folded arms to give a squeeze for reassurance, your eyes fluttering closed for just a second as you brush your lips across his. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” declares another voice as hands find your hips and a similarly fleeting kiss skims the tender junction where your shoulder meets your neck.  You know it’s Yoongi not only from his tone but the delicate pout of his lips where they press against your skin.  

“Please do.”  Twisting, you smile as you and Yoongi come face to face.  He smiles back in return, content to let you take his hand and place it into Jimin’s until you should return.  Together, they’ll keep each other strong.  

“Shall we?”  Namjoon’s sudden arrival at your side pulls your focus back to the matter at hand - body tensing in response to his close proximity.  

“Sure.”  At your nod, Hoseok turns to lead the way, walking ahead as you and Namjoon follow on behind through the rest of the group towards the corridor from whence you came.  

“ Jagiya .”  A tentative touch of fingertips to your wrist makes you pause, and it’s with a sweet, reassuring smile that you try to communicate to Taehyung not to worry without having to actually say the words.  The concerned furrow of his brow remains, unfortunately, but when Jungkook slings his arm around his hyung’s shoulder and pulls him close, you know that they, too, will take care of one another.  

They all will, as they always do.  

Namjoon’s smiling somewhat wistfully as you fall back into step but remains silent.  His footsteps seem so loud compared to yours as you walk the hallway together; Namjoon in shoes that are scuffed at the heel and you in a comfy pair of rubber-soled slippers.  

“Hoseok was a good choice as my replacement,” he comments, lifting your gaze from where you’d been staring down at the motion of your feet.  Your eyes travel the length of his imposing stature to his face - still just as handsome as the first time you met despite all that has taken place between you.  He looks ahead in spite of your appraisal, his focus solely on the back of the vampire that has been filling his shoes since having left; undoing all the wrongs Namjoon had made, trying to make them right.  

Hoseok chooses not to reply to Namjoon’s compliment.  You know he’ll have heard it - Namjoon had said it more than loud enough.  

“He’s done a really good job.  Kept the guys in work and our stores well-stocked.”  Namjoon ‘mms’ along, nodding his head. “Don’t know what we’d have done without him, really.”  

You wish you were better able to read Namjoon’s expression but it seems as though he’s keeping his cards close to his chest, for now.  Whether or not that’s intentional you’re not sure, but either way, it doesn’t keep you from wishing. Is he feeling proud of Hoseok, you wander?  Resentful? Apathetic?  

When you reach the double doors to the garden, Hoseok holds them open for the both of you. You expect him to follow as you begin down the fairy-light lit path that winds deeper into the night, but he hangs back instead, loitering beside the hedgerow.  

“You’re not coming?” you ask, turning to see him standing there once you realise you can no longer hear his footsteps crunching along the gravel with yours.  

“Unless you want me to?” he offers, cocking one eyebrow, and at first, you’re really not sure.  You look to Namjoon and once again he seems unconcerned, shoulders shrugging, his hands still deep in his pockets.  

“Your call.  I won’t be offended, either way.”  In some strange way, Namjoon’s nonchalance is somewhat reassuring.  If he had any bad intentions, surely he’d be pushing for the two of you to be alone rather than leaving it all up to you?  

“I think we’ll be ok,” you say, and your stomach does something a little funny at the small, grateful smile that tugs at the corners of Namjoon’s mouth.  

“Ok.”  Hoseok leans back against the wall of the manor, folding his arms across his chest as he fixes Namjoon with a stern look despite addressing you.  “You know where I am. Just shout, and I’ll be there.”  

“Thanks, Hobi,” you smile, and then you and Namjoon take your leave.  

The garden, as always, remains tranquil despite the worry in your heart.  Now that spring is on its way, the night-blooming flowers you’d planted last year are starting to thrive, releasing their sweet scent into the evening air.  Ahead, you can hear the faint trickle of the fountain and beyond it, the gentle creaking of a swing in the breeze - your final destination.  

In silence, you sit side by side.  The swing’s slatted seat is only made for two, forcing you to cosy up far more than you’d originally planned.  You’d been aware of Namjoon’s scent - far more than ever before thanks to your newly enhanced sense of smell - but now, sat so close, it’s almost overwhelming.  Warmly spiced and fragrant, it- 

“You’re not scared of me anymore, are you?”  Namjoon’s sudden observation interrupts your runaway thoughts, and when you sharply look up from where you’d been staring at his lap, you’re surprised by the crooked smile you find him wearing.  You hesitate under his scrutinising gaze, unsure of what to say, and Namjoon laughs at your lack of reply. “I mean, it would make sense.” Taking his hands out of his pockets, he uses one to hold onto the chain suspending the bench on which you sit as he begins to rock his weight back and forth - heel, toe, heel, toe, heel, toe - to gently move the swing.  “You’re even stronger than I am right now.”  

Is Namjoon right?  Are you really not so afraid of him anymore?  Taking a moment to examine how you’re feeling as the two of you quietly swing back and forth, you realise what he’s said is true.  You’ve been nervous, certainly. You’re still nervous, in fact. But scared? Not so much. You know, now, that should you ever need to defend yourself you’d be more than capable of doing so.  Your training sessions with Jin and Jungkook have certainly helped in that department, even without your added strength taken into account.  

“I guess you’re right,” you admit and again Namjoon smiles, looking down at his feet as he exhales a short, breathy laugh.  “And while we’re on the subject,” you continue, playing with the hem of your top where it lays across your lap, “Part of the reason I wanted you to come tonight was so that I could thank you… for that.”  Namjoon looks up and meets your gaze, brow furrowing slightly as his feet fall still and the swing's momentum ceases. “For saving me, again. For turning me.”  

He stares back at you, blinking once, twice, then thrice - like he can't quite figure out what he's meant to say.  

"... They told you it was me?" he finally asks, "Can't say I expected that." 

"I mean, they didn't so much tell me.  More like Jin and Jungkook just blurted it right out."  Namjoon laughs at your admission, fondly shaking his head. "But they didn't deny it when I confronted them, either.  And don't get me wrong, it's not as though this just-" You gesture vaguely with your hands, hoping he'll gather your meaning. "-Just… Makes up for everything that happened before."  

Namjoon's expression looks pained at the mere mention of his former transgressions.  He twists in his seat to face you more directly, clasping his hands together. 

 "I know-" he begins urgently.  

"But-" You interrupt his interruption, "-But I'm still grateful.  You didn't have to come back here and help the others find me. Could've just stood back and watched me die rather than turn me.  But you didn't." Namjoon straightens in his seat, glancing down at his feet and wringing his hands. "So yeah… thank you. Really." 

Namjoon releases his hands only to rub awkwardly at the arm of his sweater; a gesture far more human than you've ever seen from him before.  It's disarming - endearing, almost.  

"Well… you're welcome."  He meets your gaze, smiling cautiously.  

You get the feeling that this is one of the last things Namjoon had expected when Taehyung had invited them here, and if you're honest, you find it somewhat strangely satisfying to catch him so off guard.  You examine his face; the earnestness in his golden eyes and the shallow dimples of his cheeks - smile not quite broad enough yet to bring them out in full force. He looks well - better than you expected him to - and he scoffs a laugh when you tell him so.  

"I've looked better," he dismisses, leaning back into the swing's seat to restart it's slow back and forth motion. 

"Well, I can't imagine you've had it easy these past few weeks…" You shift in your seat, eyes cast down to watch your fingers busily playing with your bracelet. "Where've you been staying, anyway?" Just as you look up, Namjoon looks away, scratching distractedly at the side of his face. 

"Here and there," he answers, and you wonder if the evasiveness of his reply means he's been sleeping rough more often than not.  You hope that's not the case, despite all the bad things he's done.  

"Fair enough," you say when he offers no further explanation. "To be honest, I was surprised Tae even managed to find you.  I'd kind of expected you to have moved on already." Namjoon looks at you, thoughtful.  

"I thought about leaving. Finding a new place, a new life." 

"Why didn't you?" He pauses, smiling faintly before offering an answer.  

"I guess there was just something still holding me back," he says, and as self-absorbed as it might be, your mind can't help but jump to the conclusion that that means his reason for staying was you .  Whether you're happy or concerned about that, you can't quite figure out. "I've had… A lot of time to think since I left." Namjoon opens up his hands as he speaks and stares down at the lines etched in his palms. "A lot of time alone.  Done a lot of self-reflection." 

He pauses but you remain silent, realising that he probably has a lot more to say.  Somewhere off in the distance, you hear the sound of a small animal darting through the undergrowth, its little feet scurrying between the bushes under the cover of darkness.  

"You were right about what you said."  Your head whips round to face Namjoon when he finally speaks again, eyebrows rising in curiosity. "Before, when you said that I didn't love you, you were right." He looks up at you, a deep furrow between his brows. "At least, not in the way I should have done.  The way I treated you was… despicable. The things I did? Unforgivable."  

For a moment, Namjoon seems to forget himself - moves as if to reach out and take your hands but stops himself at the last moment and keeps them clenched in his lap, instead.  

"I never meant for it to go so far or to get so bad, but once I had that first taste of you… I… I just couldn’t stop," he explains, and now that he's opening it up it seems as though the words are tumbling over one another in their haste to come out. "I was so certain I was beyond saving.  Beyond capable of being loved even if I were deserving of it…" Namjoon's expression turns into one of pain, a sadness in his eyes as he looks back at you with the golden glow of fairy lights illuminating his face. The sight puts pain in your chest; an ache where your beating heart used to be.  “But then you came and I thought… maybe…” 

“There were already people here willing to love you, Namjoon,” you interject, shuffling closer, “Long before I ever arrived.”  He smiles ruefully.

“I realise that, now, but I took too long.  The damage is already done.” Namjoon shrugs his shoulders in defeat, still wearing that same sad smile as he leans forward to rest his forearms on his thighs, rubbing his palms together.  

You wish you knew what to say - wish you could offer him some comfort regardless of his worthiness of it - but you find yourself at a loss for words.  You can’t pretend as though his former relationships aren’t as in poor shape as he says. If he were to try to make amends, it would certainly be a long and difficult road - for all of them, not just Namjoon.  

“Back when I came to the bar to warn you, you asked me what I wanted,” he says suddenly, hair ruffling in the breeze as he turns his head to look up at you, “Do you remember?”  You recall the memory easily enough - there had only been that one occasion Namjoon had ever visited you at your workplace, invited or otherwise.  

“I haven’t come to start a fight.”

“Then what do you want?” 

“The same thing I’ve always wanted.” Is it vanity that makes you presume that he means you when he says that? 

“You said what you wanted the same thing you always do,” you recall aloud, embarrassment making you drop your gaze as you admit, “To be honest, I assumed you meant me.”  You hear Namjoon softly chuckle, and then suddenly he’s touching you - lifting your chin with the curl of his index finger to bring your gaze back to his. It doesn’t startle you as much as you’d anticipated it would; doesn’t inspire the fear you’d expected should his hands ever lay on you again.  

“A reasonable assumption,” he smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners until his expression becomes sombre once more.  Sighing, he lets his hand fall, linking his hands together where they dangle off the end of his lap. “But what I really meant was… family.  First, I lost my sister, then my parents. My friends - my brothers .  You.”  He falls silent again for a moment, shaking his head as it drops forward, obscuring his face from your view.  

“Namjoo-” 

“I’ve lost everyone.”  Namjoon sits up abruptly, and when he turns his face your way you swear you see a glassiness to his eyes. “And all through my own fault.”  

Looking back at him now, you realise Namjoon really was right - you’re not afraid of him at all anymore.  If anything, you feel sorry for him.  No one deserves to spend an entire eternity alone, whether or not their exile was somewhat… self-inflicted.  Maybe… maybe if...

He shifts in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable under the intensity of your gaze.  

“I don’t expect you to say anything,” he says when the silence has gone on too long, “I know I don’t deserve-”  

“I can’t speak for the others-” You stop him mid-sentence, and Namjoon settles back down into his seat having almost stood up to leave, his expression one of cautious curiosity.  “-But I’d like to believe no one is ever totally beyond redemption.”   

Redemption.  The word is like kindling to the fragile ember of hope that flickers in Namjoon’s eyes at the mere mention of it.  

“I still want to think that somewhere inside you, deep down, is the Namjoon who cared for his sister so much that he did everything he could to save her.  Who offered his brothers immortality rather than face losing them, too.” You smile meekly. “Who saved me, knowing that to do so he would be putting his own life at risk.”  

Namjoon’s eyes search yours, though you’re not certain what it is he’s looking for.  The trace of a lie, maybe? That you’re just humouring him out of pity? Giving him false hope?  You hope he knows you better than to think you’re the sort of person that would.  

Finally, after what feels like minutes have gone by, he sighs.  

“I want to believe you.” There’s a raw, vulnerable edge to his voice when he speaks, twisting his body to better face you.  “I want… to be better. I want to… to be a man who’s deserving of your love, even if… even if I never have it.”  

“Namjoon…” 

It’s instinctive, the way you reach out - the way you gently place your hand on his cheek.  Namjoon leans into it, eyes closing for just a moment, and you just can’t help it, how your heart bleeds for him.  You should be less affected - should feel colder and more apathetic towards this man who betrayed you so badly - but you just… can’t.  There are many unflattering things people could call you, many faults that they could name, but they could never accuse you of being cold or unfeeling.  It’s just not in your nature. Perhaps some might say that’s a fault in itself, but here you are regardless.  

You wish, in another life - one where less mistakes were made and fewer hearts were broken - that you were able to hold him.  Promise to give Namjoon all the love he so sorely needs to be so that maybe, one day, he might be able to heal. 

But there’s too much water under the bridge.  Even if Namjoon were one day to come back into all of your lives, it could never be the way it was before.  You can’t be that person for him anymore. It’s time for you to both move on, once and for all.  

“Joonie,” you say again, ever so softly, and when he opens his eyes it makes your chest hurt all the more to see how desperately hopeful he looks.  “I can forgive you for what you did. I need to, for both our sakes.” Namjoon smiles, lifting his hand to place it over yours where it lingers on his cheek, but when you start to pull away his expression falters, brow creasing in confusion.  “But I can’t just forget it. Not yet.”  

You hope the implication that maybe one day that might change helps to soften the blow as you fold your hands together in your lap, offering him a sympathetic smile that at first, he turns away from.  Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath as though to collect himself, and you find yourself on edge, wondering if your rejection will be taken as badly as it was once before.  

“I understand.”  Turns out, you needn’t of worried.  Namjoon looks sad, certainly, but there’s a resignedness about him that you find reassuring - especially when he huffs a laugh and admits, “I’d probably think you were a fool if you’d said differently.”  You laugh as well, knowing he’s right, and it feels as though a weight has been lifted as you sit up straight and run both hands through your hair, breathing out a sigh.  

“Can I be honest with you?” Namjoon asks and instantly you nod, giving him your full attention.  “For the first time in almost thirty years… I have no idea what to do. I wasn’t happy before, but at least looking after the others kept me busy.  Now there’s just… nothing.” He licks his lips, wetting them. “It’s freeing, but it’s also really fucking terrifying.”  

“I get that.”  And you do. Without the others to keep you company, you’re not sure what on earth you’d do to pass the time for the rest of all eternity.  “I know it’s pretty vague advice, but personally? I’d really like to see you start living again. Find something good , something for you to pour all that passion into.”  You smile as you playfully knock your thigh against his, pleased when Namjoon does the same back.  “You’ve got too bright a mind to dwell on such dark thoughts all the time, Joon.”  

“I’m not sure where I’d even start…  But something good sounds…” He shrugs his shoulders, offering you a lopsided grin. “... good, I guess.” 

“And there’s something else I wanted to speak to you about, as well.”  You call out loudly to summon Hosoek, and within seconds he comes running towards you, eyes wild and fists already raised in preparation to fight.  “Hobi, it’s ok,” you reassure quickly as Namjoon puts hands up in surrender - a gesture that for some reason has you holding back the urge to giggle.  Hesitantly, Hoseok lets his arms fall back to his sides and relaxes his posture, all the while his gaze flitting between you and Namjoon as though to doubly make sure that everything is as ok as you say it is. 

“Everything alright?”  

“Do you remember that talk we had yesterday?  About my old apartment?” Eyebrows furrowing slightly, he nods. “Turns out, Jimin never stopped paying the lease, just in case I ever changed my mind and wanted to leave,” you explain, turning to Namjoon, and it makes you smile to see the way his eyes start to widen as it dawns on him what you’re about to offer. “It’s yours, if you want it, and so is your share of the manor's wealth.”  Namjoon’s head turns to look at Hoseok, incredulous. “Hobi and I have already spoken about it. It’s only fair."  

"You don't have to do this," Namjoon says quickly, eyes flitting rapidly back and forth between you and Hoseok. "Really. I'll be fine." 

"We know we don't have to," Hoseok smiles, folding his arms across his chest.  

"But we want to," you correct, pleased when Hoseok nods his agreement. "You saved my life, now we're giving you an opportunity to turn things around and save yours.  We can call it even." 

"I'm not sure that's right." Despite his disagreement with your sentiment Namjoon can't seem to help but smile. "I think I still owe you rather a lot more than you do me." 

"Most likely," you grin in return.  Standing, you reach down into your back pocket to retrieve the keys you'd stashed away earlier; a silver pair that jingle against the penguin engraved disc of your keyring as they're dropped into Namjoon's open, waiting hand. "Just to warn you, there'll be an awful lot of plushies waiting for you. You might want to redecorate." 

"I'm sure it'll all be very… you," Namjoon laughs, joining you on your feet.  Falling silent, he looks down at the keys in his hand and you see his shoulders move with the weight of the breath he takes.  "Thank you." He looks so sincere as he meets your gaze again, closing his fist and then pressing it to his chest as his other hand reaches for yours.  He squeezes when you grant it to him, smiling once more as you squeeze back just as tight. 

"We should probably head back inside," you say after a beat or two have passed - sufficient enough time to memorise the feel of Namjoon's hand wrapped around yours. "The others are probably going out of their minds by now." 

"Are you kidding?" Hoseok laughs as he falls into step with you as the three of you head back towards the house, "I can hear Jimin's teeth grinding from here." 

You re-enter the house together, a seed of hope taking root in your heart at the amenable way Namjoon and Hoseok are able to converse back and forth, almost as if the last few weeks had never happened.

"Once you're settled, I'll call you to discuss the finer details, and when-"  You're distracted from their talk of practicalities by Nova���s sudden high-pitched meowing, and on looking to your right you see her coming towards you down the hall with her sleek black tail swaying gently behind her as she walks, her intelligent eyes glinting as they catch the light.  

“Hi Nova,” you greet, stopping the other vampires in their tracks when they hear you speak.  Meowing again, she winds her way between your ankles as you smile down at her, brushing against your legs with each turn of her limber body until finally, you bend to pick her up, scooping her into your arms.  Namjoon approaches her with a fond smile, waiting for you to nod before reaching out to give her the fussing she truly desires, and you laugh at the sheer volume of her purrs as she rubs the side of her face against every part of him she can reach, nibbling at the tips of his outstretched fingers.  

“I think she’s missed you,” you comment and Namjoon chuckles, giving a firm scratch to the underside of her chin.  

“The feelings mutual,” he purrs back at her, lavishing her in affection for just a few moments longer before finally dragging himself away - fingers restless at his sides you make your way back to the entrance hall, as though he almost wishes they were still in amongst her fur.  

The others seem to barely have moved since you left them.  They linger at the bottom of the staircase, chatting amongst themselves, but when Yeontan barks at having spotted Nova from across the room, silence abruptly falls. 

“Is everything ok?” Urgently, Jimin comes toward you with hands outstretched, laying both on your shoulders to keep you at arm’s length while he surveys your wellbeing, a furrow in his brow.  

“I’m fine, Jimin,” you reassure softly, offering him a small smile as he meets your eyes, searching them for confirmation.  “Really. We’re fine.” He nods, still looking somewhat uncertain, yet he releases you nonetheless, stepping back so that Namjoon is able to step forward and address the group.  

It’s sad how suspiciously they regard him, though you completely understand why they do.  You’re sure Namjoon understands, too, and to his credit, he appears to be doing his best to ignore the stony silence he’s met with - or at least not let it bother him.  

“I know it’ll never be enough to make up for all the things I’ve done,” he begins, gesticulating restlessly with his hands as he talks, “But… nonetheless, I wanted to say I’m sorry.  To all of you. For everything.” Shuffling their feet, the group as a whole looks unsure of how to respond to Namjoon’s apology. Taehyung’s focusing all his attention on Yeontan whilst Jungkook avoids eye contact altogether; Jimin’s stony faced whilst Jin’s is impossible to read.  It’s only Yoongi who meets Namjoon eye for eye and nods his head in acknowledgement. Yoongi, who almost died at the younger vampire’s hands, and yet has remained kind enough - soft-hearted enough - to at least hear his apology out.  

Namjoon’s smiles gratefully, bobbing his head in return, and when Yoongi glances your way you mouth a ‘thank you’ that the dark-haired vampire shrugs his shoulders to, feigning nonchalance.  

“I should go,” Namjoon declares when no one volunteers any further reply, recognising that at least for now, reconciliation remains a lost cause.  You follow after him as he heads towards the door, Nova still cradled in your arms, and as he reaches for the handle you quickly call out,

“Don’t be a stranger, ok?”  He pauses, twisting to look back at you and the vampires stood at your rear.  “I mean… it’ll take time for things to get better but…” You glance at the others around you before looking back to Namjoon, smiling kindly, “That’s something we’ve all got plenty of.”  Namjoon chuckles fondly and in the small of your back you feel a hand being placed, rubbing gently up and down.  

“That we have, little one,” he smiles, and even after all this time - all that’s happened - that nickname still stirs something within you.  It’s not lust, and it’s certainly not love, but a feeling of… nostalgia, almost.   

With one final parting look, Namjoon turns to leave, pulling open the heavy front doors and stepping out into the night.  Before he can disappear into the dark, however, Nova begins to squirm restlessly in your arms, letting out a loud series of meows more akin to wails. 

Namjoon stops in his tracks.  

Looking down, you see Nova peering up you imploringly with those green, intelligent eyes of hers, and you’re sure it’s just your imagination, but you feel almost as if she’s trying to tell you something as she meows again, tail swishing.  

“Joon?”  You go after him, not stopping until he’s within arms reach - close enough to allow the wriggling Nova to gracefully leap out of your grasp and into the embrace of a very startled Namjoon.  

“W-what-?” he stammers as he hastily rearranges his arms to accommodate the feline form curling up against his chest.  The sight of him so flustered and caught off guard is so endearing that you can’t help but start to grin, pressing your lips together in an attempt to stifle the laughter bubbling up inside your lungs.  

“I think the lady hath spoken,” you observe as Nova rubs her face against Namjoon’s jaw, her meows now deep, rumbling purrs of contentment.  He strokes her despite his utter bewilderment, long fingers carding through her fur, and watching the two of them you know for certain that letting her go is the right idea.  What better way to slowly soften Namjoon’s heart and give him purpose than for him to have something to care for all of his own? “Look after her, ok?” He looks up from the cat cradled in his arms.  

“Are you sure?” he asks and when you nod, he smiles so hard that for the first time since he got here, you finally get a flash of Namjoon’s infamous dimples.  “Thank you. Really,” he says earnestly, and as Namjoon wishes you goodbye, his golden eyes take one long, last lingering look up and down your form before he turns, takes his leave, and you softly close the door.  

Turning the key in the lock, a heavy exhale leaves your lungs, and for a moment you stand with one hand pressed to the door and eyes closed to gather yourself.  You’re so relieved that it’s impossible not to smile despite the nagging worry at the back of your mind that Jimin might be upset at you just having given away what was originally his gift to you, but just as it starts to push to the forefront and cause your smile to falter, Jimin’s voice rings soft in your ear.  

“That was really kind, what you just did.”  You turn in the embrace of his arms as they settle around your waist, looking up into eyes that await you.  

“Really?  You’re not upset?”   

“No, kitten,” he assures, leaning down to rest his forehead on yours, a smile tugging at his lips, “I’m not upset.  Though, you’re awfully pious for the creature of the night, you know.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”  Smiling, you circle your arms around him too and Jimin begins to sway almost as if the two of you are dancing, hips swinging side to side.  

“Aside from making the rest of us look bad... of course not.”  Jimin’s lips find yours in a sweet, fleeting kiss, and when he pulls away his eyes are practically glowing with affection, cheeks full and rounded with happiness.  “If anything, it only makes me love you more.”  

Yoongi appears at your side, nuzzling into the crook of your neck with a low hum of agreement.  

“What about you, oppa ?” you ask teasingly, tilting your head in order to find his lips and speak against them.  

“You already know how we feel, princess.”  Yoongi nips at your bottom lip when you whine, chuckling deep down low.  Yes, of course you know - but that doesn’t mean you don’t like to hear it out loud.  “You know we adore you,” he whispers as Jimin assaults the other side of your neck with soft, lingering kisses.  “We cherish you, all of us.”  

Your two lovers pull away to reveal the rest of the group watching on; fond smiles on their faces, Jin’s chest puffed up with pride beneath the arms he’s folded across them.  Seeing them all there safe, happy and smiling - your family, your friends, your lovers, your everythings - it’s almost enough to bring you to tears.  Never would you have thought yourself capable of being able to love someone so much, or be so blessed as to receive so much love in return.

You’re so lucky.  So, so lucky.  

“Careful,” you say, blinking back the sting in your eyes, “You’re going to make me cry in a minute.”  

“Well we wouldn’t want that, would we, kitten?” Jimin teases, taking your hand in his and squeezing it tight as Yoongi claims your other, linking his fingers with yours.  “Anyone up for some pool?”  

Almost in perfect unison, your beloved vampires throw their hands up in the air - Jungkook shouting his enthusiasm with a ‘let’s get it!’ so loud that it almost makes you jump.  

“Dibs not with Jin-hyungie, ” Hoseok sing-songs up ahead as you make your way towards the hall, cue indignant shrieking from the eldest of the group and laughter from the rest.  

God, you love them.  You love them, you love them, you love them .  

“I love you,” you call out to them, unable to contain the affection that’s overflowing within you, tugging on your lover’s hands to pull them ever closer to your sides.  You can’t imagine anywhere else they should ever be - anywhere else that you could ever belong.  

“We love you!” Taehyung shouts back, and in his arms, Yeontan yelps his wholehearted agreement.  Up ahead, Jungkook throws his arms around Jin’s shoulders to drag him down low enough to ruffle his hair as they walk, insisting,

“But I’m still her favourite, you know?” 

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

*deep breath*

Oh, I hope you liked it...

Please, it would mean so much to me to hear your thoughts. Whether it just be about the ending or maybe you've been a silent reader all this time, I'd so love to know what you've made of all of this. I've been writing this fic for two and a half years and finally drawing it to a close has me feeling... pretty emotional to say the least.

Stay tuned for the short epilogue that I'll hopefully be posting once I return from my vacation.

I love you guys. I really do. Thank you for all your unending support - whether you've only just found this fic or whether you've been here since the start. Love you <3

[cuculine-nelipot]

ON LUTE STRINGS 

{a/n I posted this on ao3 a while ago but I finally got around to sorting out the last of spelling errors and what-nots today I think. So here we are.}

The first time in happens, he doesn’t notice.

They’ve made camp for the night, in a clearing in the woods. He’s had some bread, and even a little meat when the witcher caught him staring longingly at his roast hare.

A fire burns warm, and light enough to for Jaskier to check the angry red welt on his abdomen, already purple in places. He inhales sharply when he prods at it with a tentative finger, and vaguely wonders how long it’ll last.

Half dressed, lazing on his bedroll with his back braced against bark, he fiddles with his new lute. Getting a proper feel for the instrument, he plucks a charming, tripping little tune he can play without too much thought — an Elven composition he stumbled upon as a lad in temple school that seems appropriate to the occasion. He marvels at how buttery the strings feel under his fingertips, how clear the notes ring through the trees. A shiver of pure satisfaction shoots through him, from his hands right down to his gut.

“Shut up boy.” The growl comes from the man — mutant — whatever, on the other side of the fire. Jaskier heaves a pointed sigh.

“Goodnight Geralt.”

He gets naught but a half-hum-half-grunt in response as he puts his lute aside and settles into his bedroll.

In the morning he doesn’t notice that his torso is completely unmarred.

-

The second instance occurs not much later, but is similarly shrouded by unremarkable circumstance.

It had been a damp few days on the road, and there is not enough herbal tea on the continent to stave off the cold building uncomfortably behind his face.

He watches Geralt fiddle with his various vials and blades and what-nots from his bed on the other side of the room. He shouldn’t — he knows he shouldn’t — but he feels a sort of ache in his chest, knowing that come morning he will likely be too sick to travel. Knowing that he will be left behind. The witcher had said as much, after all.

For now at least, there is a warm room, and food enough, and his music, and he is not alone yet. He picks up his lute and plays that same, well-worn tune, the one that feels like the home he always wanted, the one that sounds like the lullabies he’s never heard. He lets the music wash through him, a stream of sound trickling in his veins, cresting in his skull. He plays until he feels tired, and calm enough to sleep.

Sure enough, he wakes up to a high sun, and the room is much, much emptier than it was the night before.

But he feels better. His nose is clear, the pressure behind his eyes in gone. It’s curious, he thinks, but he never was one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He sets out soon after, not wanting to lose daylight. If he just so happens to run into a certain witcher, well, there’s only one road out of town isn’t there? Somethings just can't be helped.

He does run into him, that night, making camp not too far off the road.

“You’re sick,” comes the other man’s effusive, albeit confused, greeting.

“I was sick. Feeling much better now, thanks for asking.”

“Hm.”

“And thanks for walking so slow, honestly I can’t believe I caught up with you. Aren’t witchers supposed to have phenomenal stamina or something? Maybe you’re getting old — how old are you anyway?”

“Too old for this. Here.” Without looking, Geralt holds out a steaming mug of something.

“What’s this?” Jaskier asked, only slightly suspicious.

“Tea. You still sound hoarse.”

Jaskier can’t say for sure, but he thinks he sees red creeping up Geralt’s neck when he turns his back to Jaskier.  

-

So many such incidences scattered through so many years, and with the ignorance of youth Jaskier notices none of them. Just like he fails to notice how at 26 his face looks identical to what it was at 18, or that he still has the same boundless energy. He doesn’t take into consideration paper cuts that are there one minute and gone the next. He doesn’t find the fact that he can’t remember the last time he was properly sick or bruised peculiar at all, despite the frequent bar fights and rambles in the rain.

Until, that is, another night spent under the stars in the woods somewhere.

“Pass me that?” Geralt makes no indication of what he’s after, but Jaskier knows him well enough by now to know he’s means his dagger. He moves to give it to him but it slips out of his hand almost as soon as he picks it up; its point slices though his breeches and a few layers of skin on the way down.

“Ow. Ow. Fucking shit ow.” He peppers the air with curses as he sinks to the ground. The edges of the slit silk begin to turn red with his blood, and he quickly but carefully divests himself of the garment before any more damage can be done. With a sigh that’s more annoyed than anything, Geralt turns around to give him a cursory glance.

“Stay there,” he huffs.

“Solid advice once again there, Geralt. And here I was thinking I’d get a head start on tomorrow’s travels.” It might have sounded scathing if his voice and his breathing weren’t so obviously strained with pain.

“Trust you to split your leg open trying to pass someone a knife.” Geralt finally approaches with his first-aid kit. Calloused fingers tenderly come to rest on Jaskier’s thigh, just barely pulling at his skin, shifting his leg, trying to ascertain the extant of the damage. “Needs stitches,” he says as he applies a salve. “This will keep it from getting infected, and it’ll numb the pain a bit, but not a lot.”

The burning pain in his leg does in fact morph into something cold, and almost soothing, but he had no delusions about how much that will do under the attention of a needle and thread.

“Come on.” Geralt pulls one of Jaskier’s arms up, draping it around his shoulder and pulling him to a standing position. Though the bard has a slighter build, he's not much shorter, so Geralt half drags the bard to sit fireside, setting him down with a gentleness not lost on the injured man.

As Geralt prepares to sew him up, Jaskier grabs his lute from where it lays nearby, and starts playing that old melody to calm himself down. After all these years, the sound has come to resemble home to Geralt almost as much as it does to Jaskier, and he feels tension he didn’t know he carried slough away from his shoulders. There’s an ever so slight shivering where his medallion touches his chest, so slight that Geralt’s conscious mind fails to register it, just like every other time.

But when he returns to Jaskier side the hum of his silver seems suddenly to fill the arena of his chest and skull.

“Jaskier.”

“Hm?”

“Your leg.”

“I’m actually trying rather hard to not think about my leg at present, so if you could just finish up there as quickly as possible I would be very appreciative.”

“Jaskier, look.”

Geralt speaks with such urgency Jaskier does look, his finger’s stilling over his lute when he sees that the gash has been greatly diminished.

“Keep playing.”

Jaskier does, and they both watch as the laceration smooths over, first pink, and then gone, as if nothing had ever happened.

“Well shit.”

“Hm.”

They’re silent for awhile, all eyes fixed on Jaskier’s leg.

“Did you know you could do that?”

“I… no,” Jaskier decides eventually. For once his babbling brook of words is dry, replaced instead by pebble-small memories being flung at him at high speed. “I never bruised.”

“Hm?”

“When you punched me in the stomach. When we met. I never bruised. I don’t remember — the last time I got hurt, or really sick, was… years ago. Years and years.”

“I guess… it explains… things.”

They look at each other then, equal parts worried and concerned and excited, so many questions swirling in the air between them.

-

Jaskier doesn’t exactly want anyone knowing that he has a magic lute, so their research into the matter relies almost exclusively on experimentation.

They learn that it works best when Jaskier plays something Elven, and much slower when he plays anything else.

They learn that while he can’t heal Geralt, he can numb the pain if he’s injured. and even — as he discovered completely by accident — induce a short coma.

They learn that Jaskier can’t use this magic to hurt anyone, even certain other ‘bards’ who definitely have it coming.

They learn, after many, many strenuous hours of Jaskier’s instructing Geralt, that it only works when Jaskier plays.

“It’s protecting you,” Geralt proffers. “The lute was Filavendrel’s gift to you, after all.”

“Protecting me from what though?”

Geralt shrugs at that. “Everything. Life.”

-

Jaskier doesn’t know why things change between them exactly — he just knows that Geralt doesn’t seem to hold him at such a distance anymore; he lets Jaskier stay closer on hunts, and he’s not so quick to leave him behind. Gone are the days where he seems determined to find any excuse to lose the bard.

And more than that — on cold nights spent under the open sky, Geralt doesn’t just meditate stoically next to Jaskier to keep the younger man warm -- he actually sleeps, holding Jaskier near. And on those occasions when an an inn can only offer one bed, Geralt doesn’t seem to mind so much anymore when Jaskier sleepily snuggles closer, or drapes himself over the Witcher’s chest. There are even times when Jaskier thinks he can feel the thrill of a nose pressed into his hair, or a broad hand stroking his stomach, or fingers lazily scratching his back.

Jaskier doesn’t really know why things change, but he never was one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and he's definitely not complaining.

-

“Jaskier? Jaskier stay awake, I need you to stay awake okay?” He should have known better than to let the bard get so close to a wyvern but they’re the stuff of legends Geralt, think of the music Geralt, the poetry. Geralt tried to tell him that wyverns were ugly bastards — absolutely nothing legendary or poetical about them. But Jaskier had his heart set, and Geralt, well, Geralt gave in.

Guilt helps no one however, so he just presses Roach onward, faster.

“’M’tired.” It’s clear that Jaskier is in no condition to play — the gash at his shoulder is bone deep, and it was all Geralt could do to keep it from spurting blood and stay attached  before getting him on Roach —  so Geralt takes him straight to the town’s healer.

“Just a little longer. I promise.” Leaning forward, he presses a kiss into Jaskier’s sweat-soaked hair. Stay awake, please stay awake.

By the time they get to the healer Jaskier’s skin is on fire, and he’s coughing strangled, wet coughs, and there are cuts and bruises covering his entire body that have no reason to be there. It’s only when he sees a familiar gash on the bard’s right thigh that he figures out what’s happening.

The last thing Jaskier remembers is a gigantic angry lizard screaming at him and lunging. Then a searing pain turned his vision white, then more pain ripped through his body as he was thrown, weightless into absolute dark.

Something pulled him cruelly from the vortex of nothingness, arranged his mangled body into what he thinks was an upright position. Then more pain as he was jostled about, more pain as he was surely dismembered, more pain as tendrils of hot summer air whipped at his exposed flesh. There was more jostling, and he tried to throw up but he didn’t know where his stomach was, and liquid fire was flung over whatever pieces were left of him, and there was an awful lot of screaming but it couldn’t have been him because he didn’t know where his lungs or throat were either.

And throughout he thought there was a voice telling him to stay awake, or go to sleep, or telling him he was okay (which seems like at odd thing to say to someone who was just ripped apart limb from limb) and he thinks the voice was Geralt’s but that can’t be right because now every time he opens his eyes to see him he’s not there, and — well, that’s it’s own kind of pain isn’t it?

He’s not sure how much time has passed between the lizard, the fire, and him waking up to find himself in one piece. One piece, but battered and bandaged, and too hot and very congested. He does not think he's being dramatic when he concludes that he's more miserable than he’s ever been.

The room he finds himself in is bare, but pleasant enough. Where ever he is is made of a warm, gold-honey sort of wood. Sunlight streams in through wide, open windows, gauzy curtains float listlessly in a gentle breeze. He’s sure the mattress and sheets he’s on would be more than comfortable if he wasn’t quite so sore. There’s a glass, and a pitcher of water on a small table to his side. He’s working up the courage to prop himself up and drink some when a strange man walks in.

“Ah, you’re awake!” The smile he gives reaches his soft grey eyes, and it warms Jaskier to see someone seemingly so happy to see him alive.

He tries to ask where he is, but his throat feels like sand paper, and all he manages is a hoarse sort of scraping sound.

“It’s probably best you don’t talk for now,” the strange man says as he moves to perch himself on the edge of the bed. “Here let me help you with that.” He fills the glass, lifts Jaskier’s head with practiced care and brings the water to his chapped lips. Jaskier manages to down half of it, and while swallowing is painful, the cool water feels heavenly going down.

“First,” the man offers, his countenance shifting into something more authoritative, “you must be wondering where you are. If you remember the last village you were in, this cabin is a little outside of that. I am a healer — you can call me Varden — and your friend brought you here about five days ago. He said you were attacked by a wyvern, but you had a multitude of other injuries on top of that and a rather nasty illness to boot. Your friend also informed me that you have a magic lute.”

He pauses then, giving Jaskier time to throw him a questioning, mildly suspicious look.

“I’ve had a look at it, and I concluded that you and your friend were right. Its magic does protect you, so long as you play it. When you were attacked the shock your body went through temporarily severed your connection to its magic, and all the injuries and illnesses it protected you from came back with a vengeance. I know it must be tempting now to make all this pain go away, but I really think you better let yourself heal properly to avoid this happening again, and much worse.”

After a moment of contemplation, Jaskier nods in agreement. His stomach knots, but surely that’s just a symptom of his ailments.

“Good!” He claps his hands together, the exuberance he first displayed returning in full force.  “Now that you’re properly awake I’ll make you some soup. You just rest, alright? You’ve made remarkable progress the last few days but there’s still quite a ways for you to go.”

He leaves then, and Jaskier can hear the clinking of pots and pans as he moves around the kitchen. Tired, but no longer able to sleep, restless, but unable to move, a dull ache throbbing through his whole body, he fixes his eyes on the ceiling, trying to find patterns and shapes and in the woodgrain.

“You’re awake.”

He doesn’t need to turn to see who it is, so he doesn’t.

“I had to complete a couple of contracts. To pay the healer.”

There’s nothing to say to that, and even if there were, he can’t speak, so he keeps his eyes fixed firmly upward.

“Jaskier—” Geralt takes a few steps closer, thinks better of it, and leaves.

The ceiling blurs, and Jaskier can’t make sense of it anymore.

-

They stay another three weeks — or Jaskier does, and Geralt scrounges up some more coin, coming and going as he pleases.

On days he does stay; he curls up on the floor next to Jaskier’s bed, where Jaskier slides in and out of fitful, fevered dreams. When the sick man hears a gravelly voices cooing comfort, or he feels a rough hand push the hair from his brow, or wipes the sweat from his face, he wants to believe it’s Geralt. Lucid, Varden’s is the only face he sees.

Finally the fever breaks, and Jaskier’s wounds have healed well enough for travel. Geralt returns and pays Varden more than was asked. He runs his hand through Jaskier’s hair, peers at him closely, much like he’s checking on a dog who’d just run headfirst into a door.

“Ready to go?”

Jaskier, his voice still worn, and slightly put off by the gesture, only nods in response.

Without another word, Geralt takes Jaskier’s pack, puts him on Roach, takes Roach’s lead, and guides them away from the cottage, and back on the Path.

The  thing is, despite his tepid countenance, Jaskier is sure that Geralt’s angry at him. Or he’s angry about something at any rate.

Perhaps it’s the frustration at having been tied too long to one place — ridiculous really. It’s not like anyone asked him to stay. It can’t be about the coin, seeing as he willingly over-paid.

So maybe it’s just that the sudden and violent reminder of Jaskier’s mortality pierced the both of them, and tore to ribbons the fragile intimacy they had spent so long weaving.

“You can’t play off every cut and flu from now on.” He says as they enter the woods.

“I know.”

“It’s dangerous.”

"I know." Jaskier supposes that he’ll just have to reacquaint himself with a life of being left behind.

Neither of them speak for the rest of the day. But then that night Jaskier can't fall asleep, his still-frail body shivering, too sensitive to the open air. He hears a resigned sigh, which is soon followed by the warmth of Geralt’s chest pressed behind him. Geralt’s hand cards his hair back, away from his eyes, Geralt’s nose brushes his scalp, Geralt inhales deeply, and holds him close with an arm firmly pressed against the length of his torso, and Jaskier thinks that maybe things will be okay. When he feels a chaste kiss at the back of his neck, he’s almost sure they will be, but then he wonders if it was a goodbye.

-

“I’m fine.”

“Jask—”

“It’s fine, I’ll be right as rain by morning.”

“Jaskier, you can’t. You promised.”

“I never promised, and I’m coming with you.”

“You’ll stay here. I’ll pick up a contract or two and I’ll come back for you in a few days.”

“No you won’t.” He doesn’t know whether it sounded more a directive, or the wounded that’s-what you-always-say it really was. In the stunned silence that follows he feels more and more like he’s confessed to something, so he adds “I’m not letting you leave me Geralt,” — which is infinitely  worse.

And now he can’t look at the other man, and now his face is burning and his eyes are watering in a way that has nothing to do with the illness preparing to wrack through his body.

“Okay.” Whatever Jaskier was expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. It startles him enough to make eye contact. Geralt holds his gaze, and takes a few, cautious steps closer. “I’ll stay.”

“You don’t have to.” Jaskier offers in a weak attempt to maintain some level of dignity.

“No, I want to.” Geralt places his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, then slowly grazes them down his arms as his continues. “I’ll stay. With you.” The words are nearly a whisper as he presses his lips to Jaskier’s too-warm brow. “Just please go to bed. You need rest.”

Without out waiting for a response, Geralt manoeuvres the sick man to the bed, tucking him in. When he straightens, Jaskier looks like he wants to protest, but Geralt slips in beside him before he has the chance. Propping himself himself up on his elbow, he glides his hand over the still smooth skin of Jaskier’s stomach.

“This okay?”

Jaskier nods once, not trusting himself to speak, and promptly falls asleep to keep himself from thinking  more than anything else.

It’s dark when he wakes up, the sky outside a flat, moonless black. The bed feels much colder and emptier. He feels much colder, and there’s a sticky film of dried sweat clinging to his skin. Flinging off the blanket sends a violent shiver though his body, bare except for his small clothes. The room is too dark for him to see.

“Jaskier.” He hears a voice, soft and deep from the corner. A candle flickers to life, and in its small glow he sees the vague shadow of a familiar form. “I’m right here.”

“I’m cold.”

“I’ve sent for some firewood. Come eat.”

Uneasy, not quite trusting his senses, Jaskier approaches the small round table in the corner of the room, and sits down. He hears the scrape of a plate being pushed towards him and when his eyes adjust to the low light he makes out bread and butter, some fruit — filling stuff that his presently delicate stomach can handle. He mumbles a thanks and sets about feeding himself.

He can see, in his peripheral vision, the other man leaning down, but he doesn’t understand the movement until he feels a large hand grasp his ankle. Geralt straightens, and with him brings Jaskier's foot to rest on his lap. Holding it in both hands, he slowly massages his thumbs into the arch. Jaskier realises then that he’s being watched. Closely.

He says nothing — can say nothing, and senses some smugness coming from the Witcher at having finally rendered him speechless. There is definitely an excess of smugness when Geralt raises his leg, and kisses the balls of his foot, all the while studying Jaskier, who keeps his eyes fixed on his plate. The blush that blooms over his face is near violent (surely the fever isn’t helping, but still) and he’s grateful that Geralt’s colour vision isn’t its best in the dark.

It’s harder than it should be to suppress the needy, plaintive sound that scratches at his throat when Geralt stands, answering a knock at the door. But then a bowl of hot stew is pushed in front of him, and a small fire is lit in the hearth, and Geralt sits down again, and takes Jaskier’s other foot in his hands. This time he keeps his eyes on his task, and lets Jaskier eat untroubled.

Now that the room’s a bit brighter, he casts his eyes around and is relieved to notice that Geralt’s packs are no longer waiting by the door. He does however, feel a twist in his stomach when he notices he can’t see his lute. He wants to say something about it, but he has the irrational fear that Geralt will stop massaging him, won’t sleep next to him later, won’t stick around til morning. So he says nothing, and Geralt’s hands work up his calves, and his body keeps Jaskier’s warm all night, and in the morning he rubs Jaskier’s back while he throws up bile, and keeps Jaskier's hair from sticking to his forehead.

In the afternoon Jaskier gets squirrelly, and he’s hot and tired and he needs to do something with his hands.

His lute makes a reappearance, but he can feel the heat of Geralt watching him from the corners of his amber eyes. So he settles on the bed and plays something distinctly non-magical, and feels much better anyway.

-

He hadn’t been serious, of course, when he’d wondered if his small brand of magic could mend his broken heart. But the tune had always provided him comfort, so he plucks away in the corner of a tavern, nursing an ale and his bruised ego.

So he’s not actually that far from the mountain, so perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised when a certain silver haired Witcher makes an appearance, but he’s had quite enough of bonds forged by magic against peoples’ wills thank you very much, so he promptly determines to book it to his room.

He only just manages to get a leg on the bottom stair when he feels a grab at his elbow.

“Jaskier —“ It sounds more exasperated that anything.

The bard turns sharply around, throwing as much vitriol into his still-boyish countenance as he can manage. It must work, because he’s never seen Geralt look quite so taken aback.

“I — I didn’t mean it.”

Of course he didn’t mean it. Jaskier knows he didn’t. But is was too much everything he’d always feared, and he still hasn’t heard an apology — hasn’t once, for anything since they’ve met — and he knows how Geralt feels about bonds forged by magic.

“Fuck off.” He wrests his elbow from the other man’s grip, and he doesn’t play himself to sleep that night, or any night after that.

-

It was much easier than it should have been — swearing off music. Music-less days turn into music-less months into a music-less almost two years, and twenty-two years of not-ageing catches up to him both gradually and all at once.

His jawline sharpens, the lines of his body harden, a significant amount of grey comes to salt his hair. He grows a beard — a proper one — and that’s almost all grey. And he likes it; studying himself in the bathroom mirror, in his lodgings in Oxenfert, he once again appreciates the air of authority his new look lends him and, well, he does look rather dashing.

He’d returned to Oxenfurt almost immediately after the mountain. One cannot be a travelling bard if one does not play music, and it took nearly all his coin just to get to the city. It was nearing winter when he arrived, his old classroom and lodgings were already prepared and waiting for him. Her threw himself into teaching with new verve, and was quickly offered a more permanent position.

People wonder why he stopped his travels — most assume he just got tired. They wonder too why he no longer plays music, but they have the good sense not to ask. Until, one night, fireside in a cozy tavern, surrounded by other faculty members and a few students staying in the city over Yule.

“Come on Professor, just one song,” a rather eager young man implores.

“Yeah professor,” goads one of his colleagues. He rolls his eyes at her — as if you don’t have your fair share of fawning students Celine.

“I’d be happy to oblige,” he lies, “but as it happens I do not have my lute,” and that’s true enough.

“I’ve got one!” Another over-eager student proffers the instrument and well, he’s in it now isn’t he?

He takes the instrument and a shock goes through him at how good it feels just to hold it in his hands. He takes his time, running a hand along the varnished wood, tuning it just so. He won’t play anything Elven, and his own repertoire is entirely out of the question. He settles for something traditional to the season; something cheery, that has people singing and stomping and clapping along in an instant.

He feels that thing like magic coursing through him as he starts swooping around the tavern in graceful-as-ever strides. His voice is out of practice but really only he can tell, and only just. It’s deeper than he remembers, and it reverberates easily over the crowd. He flits and flirts, and everyone is smiling and cheering, everyone is happy. And of course, no one notices how his skin begins to smooth out, just a little.

That night he retrieves his old friend where he’d stowed it out of sight, at the very top of his wardrobes. Where the other lute felt good, this feels right. The strings are buttery under his fingertips, and the notes ring true and clear without his having tuned them.

He doesn’t play anything Elven, and he doesn’t so much as think in the direction of a certain Witcher, but it feels like home anyway. After an unthinkable stretch of time, Jaskier finally feels himself returning home.

-

Campus is blissfully empty over Spring vacation, and Jaskier takes the opportunity to compose in the open air.

Compose. Just the word itself thrills him. What he’s working on is nothing like before, naturally. That well of inspiration was drained and sealed shut. Never again will he risk diving into its pitch depths. Now his head has been turned by a volume of old poetry he smuggled out of some long-forgotten corner of a university library.

There’s a courtyard —  framed by elegant arches and cherry trees with especially deep, richly coloured blossoms — that he’s particularly fond of. He sits there now, on a marble bench in the shade, his book open in front of him as he thinks of how best to transmute the spirit of the verses into music.

He plucks idly at lute strings — so long out of practice he hardly knows where to start. With a long suffering sigh he lies down, and the idle plucking transforms thoughtlessly into a song that sounds familiar, homely, and he’s thinking of the hero in the epic, with his wicked grin and long white hair and his amber eyes like a — no. The hero’s eyes are green, and nothing like a cat’s, and he doesn’t know why he would think they were because he definitely wasn’t thinking of the man who is now standing over him, looking down with a vaguely bemused expression.

“Geralt?” He scrambles to a standing position, unsure whether to run or attempt a punch, or if he’s even awake. “What — how — why are you here? You know what no,” he decides and begins gathering his things. “Just, fuck off alright? I don’t — I can’t — I won’t do this again.” As composed as he’ll ever be, considering the circumstances, he turns his back on the man he once thought was his and walks away. But there are so many things he needs to say.

“I loved you,” he spits, wheeling around, unable to keep the hurt out of it. “I loved you more than I loved myself and you —“ he breaks off, a sort of desperation plain in his voice and on his face. “I never knew where I stood with you.”

Geralt pauses. Words were never his strong suit, and he considers his very carefully. “I loved you too.”

“Oh fuck off with that.”

“I was self-centred, and I was cruel —“ He approaches slowly, carefully, as if hoping the other man won’t notice.

“No fucking shit.”

“— but I loved you. I still do.”

“Fuck you.”

“I miss you.”

“I gave up on you a long time ago.”

“It’s hell without you.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I still don’t know where I stand with you.”

“Let me show you.” He’d come to a pause in front of the other man, so close he can feel his breath on his skin. With one hand on the nape of Jaskier’s neck, and the other flat against his stomach, Geralt pulls him in for a kiss — and emphatic, I-will-always-love-you, kiss.

And maybe Jaskier goes more willingly than he’d like, or is expressly good for his ego, but he’s waited so long for this. Eventually he manages to pull himself away just enough to press their foreheads together.

“You’re not off the hook you know.”

“I know.” But Geralt only smiles, and kisses him again. “I know.”

[detectivecarlosreyes]

In Case of Emergency (Ch 7/10)

Ao3 | 2/13.3k | Buddie | Status: Incomplete

Prev. Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 7: You obviously haven't tried my cereal! Just a little slice of domesticity between Buck and Eddie, with Eddie planning on surprising Buck with a thankyou dinner for organising a Christmas that didn’t involve being apart from his son. Set post 3x10: Christmas Spirit.

All Eddie wanted to do was make Buck dinner as a thank you for playing a part in organising Christmas with everyone. He knew that even with Buck adamantly saying otherwise, that the main reason for it was for him and Chris. He saw the way Buck looked when Chris had asked to have Christmas with him, and he knew that Buck hated letting anyone down, especially Chris.

So, he had messaged Maddie, asking her to keep Buck distracted and out of the apartment for the afternoon while he got to work on a lasagne, sourcing the ingredients and letting himself into Buck’s apartment as a surprise for him when he got home. It was nothing extravagant, but he knew how much Buck appreciated a home-cooked meal and that it was one of his favourite meals.

It was no secret that he was not the best in the kitchen, oftentimes when they did have dinner at his place it involved either takeaway or Buck being the one doing the cooking. Which is why he thought he might try his hand at doing something unexpected, as a form of appreciation instead of more gifts.

Unfortunately for him, even with confidence, a well-laid plan and a solid recipe, a meal could be easily undone by a cook’s ineptitude and this time was no exception.

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

It had been a few months since they’d had that morning conversation and things have been going steady for Eddie and Buck. It felt right and easy, easier than either of them could have thought it would be. They decided that day to go slowly, privately for the time being as they learned more of each other through this new lens of their relationship.

They were pretty sure that the others hadn’t picked up on anything different between them and they were perfectly content to keep a lid on their relationship in the workplace; that was something that they had made clear with each other at the very beginning, to keep their personal life separate from work, and away from prying eyes at least for the time being.

However, despite their attempts at keeping their relationship quiet for as long as possible, there was no escaping the observant eyes of one Maddie Buckley, who, after a couple of months of putting two and two together, eventually managed to coax the truth out of Buck before dinner one evening while Chim was still on the way from his apartment. She had been quick to both celebrate the development and promised that she’d keep their secret until they were ready to publicly be a couple.  

Throughout those months Buck was over at Eddie’s more often, spending more and more time with him and Chris. By Christmastime, Buck was surprised to learn that he was Chris’s second choice after knowing that he couldn’t spend it with his dad. It was heart-warming to know that his boyfriend’s son already saw him as family enough to want to spend Christmas with him and, he couldn’t bear disappointing the kid.

It didn’t take much to get the idea set into motion, especially once he shared it with Athena and let her have full reign in getting everything organised. That day was his gift, making sure everyone in the team could still have the chance to celebrate Christmas on the day and in his head, he said it was for everyone but deep in his heart he knew the true reason was that it was always meant to be a gift for Eddie and Chris.

He never expected any sort of thank you, that was never the purpose nor the point of having Christmas in the firehouse, besides seeing everyone’s joy was thank you enough. He certainly never expected to find Eddie preparing dinner in his apartment while he’d been out with Maddie taking advantage of post-Christmas sales in the limbo week before New Year’s.  

Even from the other side of the door, he could hear the sounds of someone in the kitchen and he grinned to himself knowing there to be only one person who had both the access and the comfortability to be in his apartment without him being present.

This was something that had become a common occurrence between each other. Letting themselves in regardless of whether or not the other was home, Buck doing it more often than Eddie; making themselves comfortable knowing that the other would be home soon. So, it was quite the pleasant surprise for the roles to be reversed especially as he saw the amusing sight of Eddie frowning at the dish in front of him, skewer in hand.

“What’s all this?” he uttered as a way of announcing his presence, unable to contain himself as he closed the door with his foot and watched as Eddie startle minutely as he placed the mysterious dish back in the oven before fiddling with the timer dial and then smoothly leaned one arm against the countertop beside him, in an attempt to mask his earlier surprise.

“And a hello to you too,” responded Eddie with that near mocking tone that Buck couldn’t help but love. It was enough for him to immediately drop the bags where he was standing and stride over to his partner, in more ways than one, and quickly kiss his lips in apology and greeting.

“Hey there,” he murmured as he loosely wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist before breaking eye contact with Eddie as he surveyed the kitchen with a furrowed brow before returning his gaze back to Eddie’s, “I didn’t forget any plans, did I? If I knew you were here, I would’ve come home earlier.”

Eddie hummed contentedly and brought his arms around Buck, keeping their bodies impossibly close, “Nope, no plans. I just wanted to surprise you with dinner to thank you for what you did for Christmas.”

Touched that Eddie felt the need to thank him for something that he felt didn’t need thanks, he looked away bashfully, “I didn’t really do anything, just talked to Athena about it, she did all the work.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, I’m sure you did more than you let on. No matter, it meant the world to Chris,” Eddie tilted his head up and claimed Buck’s lips with his own before parting once again, “and to me, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Buck said softly, and pecked him on the lips once more before stepping out of Eddie’s arms and moved past him to look over the saucepans still holding some of the leftover sauces, “So, what did you decide to make?”

With his back to Eddie, he didn’t see the frown fall on his face, but he could hear the hint of barely concealed irritation colour his voice, “Lasagne. I was hoping Maddie would keep you out for a bit longer, so it’d be ready by the time you got home, but it’s not going exactly how I planned.”

“I knew she was up to something, there was just something in the way she was acting.” Buck shook his head as he murmured to himself, bemused, now understanding the conniving glint in his sister’s eyes.

“Anything I can help with?” he asked Eddie as he sampled both of the sauces and felt his mouth water in response, half surprised how well they’ve turned out.

Eddie hip-checked Buck to move him away from the oven door as the timer went off and reclaimed the oven mitts to bring the dish out of the oven. The cheesy top was a deep golden at this point and the edges were darkened to a near-burned look.

Buck watched with mild amusement as Eddie skewered it again and groaned in frustration, “Only if you know anything about softening the pasta sheets, I used the oven- ready ones because they were supposed to be easy but they’re still crunchy in there. I hoped that maybe the extra ten minutes I put it in for would’ve helped.”

Seeing the tension in Eddie’s shoulders and knowing how much he hated feeling like he was failing at something, Buck crowded up behind him, placing his hands on Eddie’s hips and pressed a kiss to his shoulder as he peeked over, reaching around to make his own assessment.

“Not all hope is lost just yet. We might be able to salvage this with some boiling water, plastic wrap, and foil,” he said thoughtfully as he stepped back and leveraged himself up to sit on the island bench unfazed as Eddie looked at him expectantly before frowning.

“Oh, I see, by we you mean me?” he responded in playful sarcasm with a hand on his hip as he took in Buck’s new position.

Buck laughed and spread his hands in an open gesture, “Eds, I am entirely confident that you can do this without me.”

“Except for the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing. This isn’t part of the recipe.” Eddie shot back a hint of anxiety in his voice, causing Buck to relent in his teasing, and clearly explained what needed to be done, suppressing a smile when Eddie’s face flooded with relief over having instructions to follow.

Half an hour later, he was watching with bated breath as Eddie cut through the now soft and pliable layers of the lasagne, looking as though he expected the dish to be completely inedible, much like the few dinners he’d attempted in the past.

It seemed in Eddie’s eyes it was nothing short of a miracle, considering his track record, and he voiced as much as they ate at the table, asking how he could have possibly known how to salvage their dinner aside from scraping off the sauces and trying again with a different pasta.

“Believe it or not, I did the exact same thing the first time I made it after moving away from home.”  Buck shrugged as he answered between mouthfuls, “and then searched online how to fix it without losing the whole batch.”

“Damn, and here I was thinking that you figured it out all on your own.”

“Sorry to disappoint but the internet is and will always be my best friend when it comes to cooking, it has yet to fail me on fixing any meal.” Buck proclaimed and then added as an aside, “not to mention, Bobby is a vault when it comes to problem-solving food.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Shortly thereafter as the dinner itself came to a close, the topic of conversation gravitated to Buck's shopping when Eddie’s eyes drifted to the abandoned bags by the door, reminding Buck of the gift that he’d almost forgotten about until now, having been caught up in the domestic vision of seeing his boyfriend cooking for him.

“Now I know you said Christmas lunch was a gift in and of itself, but I ordered this well before I even came up with that idea and it seems even more fitting that you get it now.”

He watched with pursed lips as he slid the already wrapped present across the table to Eddie, suppressing what was probably a shit-eating grin as he did so, knowing exactly how Eddie was going to react.

Eddie eyed it suspiciously as he opened it before standing arms outstretched as he dryly read the words out loud, “I can’t cook for shit, but it’s my turn.”

“Flip it over,” Buck suggested with a snort unable to contain the amusement of his own joke to himself especially when he could see how much effort Eddie was putting into trying to keep a straight face as he continued, “who says I can’t cook? You obviously haven’t tried my cereal!”

“One side for me and one side for Chris,” Buck supplied lightly, barely able to keep the laugh from his voice.

Eddie rolled his eyes in mock annoyance but couldn’t maintain the façade, eventually breaking down into chuckles as he threw the apron back in his face, “you’re a menace.”

“You know you love it,” Buck responded smugly.

“Hmm,” Eddie hummed thoughtfully, coyly playing off his amusement as he bracketed Buck’s body with his arms and distracted him with a kiss before speaking against Buck’s lips, “that’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

[jae-canikeepyou]

| serenity in us | j.jh | ch. one

word count: 2.9k+ ( putting this now yay :3 )

a/n: hey hi hello~ i’m back with another series! i was gonna wait until my semester’s done but my patience’s killing me and i don’t wanna keep you all waiting so here you go! ♡ enjoy! ~j

“serenity is found somewhere between the sky and the sand.” you read the font words on the minimalist frame. it was a quote you heard in an ongoing, constant dream that you thought was needed to be drawn and remembered. in it, the quote was a voice as if a narrator spoke those words to begin something new. the scenery you ask? every place was different but there was always a horizon. the dream was vague and raised a lot of question marks in your mind the moment you wake up.

you hung the item on the wall, marking the end of unpacking your things since moving in days ago. the mess was finally cleared out and the boxes were emptied and folded briefly, lined on one side of the wall. you slouched low in exhaustion, sliding your home slippers across the white marbled floor. it was squeaking even, that only explained how much of a neat freak you were. a new apartment, simple furniture and man oh man, you have an automatic vacuum with a sensor that you didn’t have to worry about the dirt at the annoying, impossible corners.

independence was something you were blessed with despite being an orphan as early as two. uncle caleb; a friend of your father’s and aunt jenn; your mother’s half-sister, gladly took you in as their own.

honestly the mention of your beloved felt like they were still alive and just working abroad, because they were always reminded and talked about from your uncle and aunt. you had a striking resemblance with your mother, but the ways were your father’s. ‘a perfect combination of the two’, was how they described the child they never wanted to leave behind.

the door bell rang and the small screen showed your childhood— and best friend, eunha. she waved at the super tiny camera and had some flowers and bento boxes with her, all packed and nicely decorated. you pressed the button for her to enter. whilst you waited, you played an hour long track list of soothing, chill, instrumental songs to make the apartment a little noisy. one thing’s for sure, silent cleaning was not a good habit since you tend to procrastinate, oops. 

eunha greeted you a hug so tight, placing down the things she brought with her. “y/n! i’m so glad we’re living so close to each other!” she hugged you and fanned herself as if that would stop her eyes from welling. “how’s everything with you? you should’ve called me honey! you know i’ll be coming straight away to help! i have a hotline like the powerpuff girls has.” she winked.

“i’m great! i crossed out the things i completed and now free from the stress. i’m ready for the new semester.” you gestured her to sit, inviting her for the meal you prepared. “well i am the bubbles to your blossom~ but it’s really okay! i managed and here we are talking freely without stressing over things.”

her hands held yours and swung them with excitement. “after we eat, do you want me to bring you around town? there’s a vinyl record store i think you’ll like.” her voice beaming as she singsonged, chewing on the pancake with whipped cream and blueberries.

“it’s still 9 a.m. we have loads of time in the world.” you showed your watch.

the leaves began to fall and you twirled around the sidewalk’s lamppost. eunha took pictures of you, happiness written on your face. you both entered the said shop. records displayed and hung on the wall, posters of legendary artists and worldwide singers encouraging customers to come in.

your hands trailed along the shelf that had new and limited turntables. as much as you were itching to pull out your wallet, there were other important things you needed to worry about and independence meant discipline too. your fingers curled and hesitated, just inches left before you could touch the surface of the one thing you’ve always wanted to purchase.

eunha giggled at your whiney, surrendered self. your back turning away from the product and walking towards her. “y/n.” she called your name, but this certain tone was serious and was more of a reminder.

“i know.” you smiled as you wiggled your phone with the ever precious wallpaper of yours.

“oh! your aunt’s calling you.” she hopped and pointed at the device, making you sliding fingers on the screen a second later. she gestured that she’d head out and wait for you.

“hi aunt jenn.” you greeted on the phone, only to extend your arm slightly at the baby’s cry on the other line. “aw he’s crying again?”

“yes y/n. i’ll be heading to work soon. can you come here?” she chuckled, though it was obvious she had the baby in her arms.

you exited the store and pulled eunha, crossing the pedestrian. “alright, i’ll be on my way.”

the office was dead silent and not one soul dared to speak. three figures stood in front of the angered woman; their continuous fiddles of the fingers and tapping of the toes became faster as they tried to come up with a reason to tell. just one. only the ticking of the clock on the table was heard. it was getting harder and harder to breathe even in a hundred square meter room.

“where is he?!” she yelled. the three flinched and were taken aback, hands either behind them or wrapped around an arm. the door then flung opened, revealing the said guy.

“young man, how can you be so inconsiderate?!” the woman asked again, this time it was in an annoying range of decibel that the listeners had to endure the volume. 

jaehyun brushed past the ‘meeting’ and sat in one of the leather chairs. his legs rested on the centered table, obviously not bothering to listen. “so, being a minute late concludes my actions in general?” he chuckled bitterly, spinning the chair around before standing up again.

“i couldn’t care less,” he now glared at the woman. “about this damn meeting. what is it for, anyway?! wasting my time!”

he left the room and the woman rubbed her temples, swinging her palms to tell the rest of the three to follow the young man. “jaehyun.” yunho called his brother, reaching a hand out to grab him, successfully turning the lad around.

“what?” jaehyun snapped, removing the grip onto his body.

krystal rolled her eyes, the pungent smell entering her nostrils. “you reek, jae.”

“you went drinking again, didn’t you? i could smell the moment you came into the office.” yunho asked, pressing the button of the lift to head down.

“when will you learn, honestly?” jessica fixed her bag on her arm. “grow up.”

jaehyun clapped his hands, applauding the expected words that woman instructed his siblings to do. “me? learn? i already did. i just won’t follow orders from that silver digger.”

“gold*.” they corrected him.

“see you’re still drunk.” krystal meddled with her new manicure, earning a nudge from jessica.

“whatever, noona. you get my point either way.” jaehyun fished out his car keys to toss them up high, whistling his heart out at his favourite tune.

they exited the building and got on the car. he dropped off his sisters at the blanc and eclare flagship headquarters, then drove to a nearby restaurant for lunch with yunho. they entered the place and went to the reserved table. jaehyun sat and loosened the buttons of his polo, removing the neck tie and sat back.

yunho stared at his carefree little brother, he put the menu down so he could maybe give him a little serious talk. he understood why jaehyun acted the way he did earlier. even he himself could do the same but given the circumstances of his standing in the family, of course he’d be the mature one. he was the first child anyway.

“got anything you want?” yunho asked, removing his sunglasses then placing them in its case. “i’ll pay.”

“nah, let me pay for my own meal, hyung.” he flashed a small smile. “i got my pay check.”

“so you still do have a heart.” yunho jokingly stated the overseen fact.

“c’mon you’re smarter than that doctor jung.” jaehyun said the occupation title in a childlike tone. “you should know why i’m filled with hatred towards the woman.”

“hatred is such a strong word, offensive even. but seriously jae, how long are you going to keep up with this behavior? the next thing you know it, you’re out of the penthouse.”

yunho raised his hands to order. the young lad didn’t dare to answer and he sighed at the usual unresponsive manner whenever they hit this certain topic. “look i know for the longest time she treated us like how captain george von trapp did to his kids. i get it. you hated how she uses out-of-the-world discipline and i totally understand that-”

jaehyun scoffed, disbelief clearly written on his face. “i was six when she entered our lives. a kid that age couldn’t handle being shoved around just because he thought there was no difference between boxers and pajama shorts. the sound of music is cool reference by the way.”

“you did have confused mind back then. and what else can i compare it with? she probably took the idea from there.” yunho laughed as he handed the utensils and handkerchief. “but still though, i suggest you man up and act like you do with dad. just be yourself.”

“easier said than done.” jaehyun began slicing his steak and popping one bit into his mouth.

“what makes you so stone cold towards her anyway?” he asked, fixing the handkerchief by his lap.

“simple.” jaehyun stated the obvious even if he knew that yunho knew the answer.

“she’s not mom.”

eunha brought you to the restaurant that opened not long ago. the interior was eye-catching yet even with its simplicity, it was able to attract customers from outside. the smell of dishes that were yet to be served was luring and probably the reason why eunha chose the place. the waiters led you to the a table and soon came back with a baby chair. you placed the little un in it and he smiled with pearls trying to peek out.

you fixed the bib around him and booped his nose. gurgles of his hoarse laughs made everyone at your area turn to him. “ooh you sure are the spotlight stealer, aren’t you? these people are already taking a picture of you.”

“gosh he has the cutest smile.” eunha melted at the sight of him grabbing the tissue. “looky here!” she aimed her camera at him. “y/n, what’re you getting?”

you pondered for a while before your eyes landed at the name your stomach was craving for the past week. moving apartments had a toll on you— that resulted in you unable to cook your favourite meal. up until this morning were you finally found the time to do that. hence the breakfast eunha devoured within seconds.

“i’m getting fish & chips, and the classic steak.” your stomach growled at the picture beside it.

“alright, i guess i’m getting the same as yours.” eunha raised her hand.

the waiter came to your table to kindly ask for your orders. when you did so and thanked the man, a wallet fell from your right side. picking it up to give it to the owner, a large hand lightly touched yours and you looked up to see two men smiling softly.

“thank you.” the man in a suit said, taking the wallet from you.

“you’re welcome.” you answered. the man looked awfully familiar, as if he was on every commercial the screen had offered to show.

you and eunha shared a look. the telepathic words exchanged between the both of you had your eyes agreeing with what you saw, confirming his identity.

“he’s that celebrity doctor.” eunha mouthed. “dr. jung yunho, a paediatrician.”

“he seems a happy child. how old is he if i may ask?” he waved at him.

“this little guy here, just turned one few days ago.” you said, wiping off the drool with the bib.

“oh precious. belated happy birthday buddy.” he greeted.

you turned to the little one and carried him in your arms, waving his hands to thank the man. as you continued have your lunch and taking turns in feeding him and yourself, you noticed some movement where other children would approach the child on your lap. they would pinch his cheeks lightly and made faces they thought would make him laugh.

then the two men beside you stood. but before they left, yunho took a something out of his pockets and handed it to you.

it was a business card of his own practice office with an address and contact information. “if there’s anything you need help with, just give me a call and this guy-” he pointed at jaehyun and pat his back. “-will pick you and birthday boy up and head to my office.”

“hyung!” jaehyun gasped loudly, later covering his hands at the volume of his complaint. “sorry, i don’t mean it in a negative way.” he smiled awkwardly at you.

“no worries.” you gave him a sincere smile and he swore he felt like the world slowed down. everything else blurred where the only focus was you; how your hair length waved below your shoulders and your eyes sparkled with the sun’s reflection.

this young fine man though, whom you thought wasn’t paying attention or interest to, was now staring at you like he had a thousands of questions to ask to fill in his curiosity. “see you around.” yunho bid you goodbye, and the other trailed from behind.

eunha poked your shoulder with an intention of a tease. she grinned and you knew where she would go from there. “i know what you’re gonna say.” you rolled your eyes, yet a faint smile was evident in your lips.

“really?” her tone was very challenging. “i’ll test you. go ahead.”

“‘dr. jung yunho is so handsome! he’s so dreamy in real life! i should’ve asked for his photograph and boast it to my friends!’ yeah, i guess it’s somewhere along those lines.” you mimicked her voice and expression, not to mention gestures as well, especially the hands.

“yah i don’t act like that!” she defended, but there wasn’t any denial as she said that. “well, maybe. you’re not wrong though.”

“hmpf. and here you went ‘test me’.” you giggled, giving another piece of fish fillet to the one-year old. “and for the record, i’m always right whenever i’m proving you wrong.”

“fine you win.” she sipped her juice from a straw. “oh! hey, the guy he’s with is also handsome.”

you nodded in agreement at the obvious fact, although he did have tiny temperment. but that was only due to dr. yunho’s sudden suggestion. “he looked young. maybe his younger brother perhaps?” you wondered.

“hm. i haven’t seen him before. not on screen at least.” eunha chewed on her food. you raised a brow since you have no idea what she was talking about. “that doctor we conversed with, is from a family of good looking people. he has two younger sisters; jessica and krystal jung. the older one is the founder and endorser of blanc and eclare, while the younger one is an nationwide actress.”

“wow.” your eyes grew at the far/fetched level of these people. “sounds like an ideal family out of a manhwa.”

“egg-xactly.” she pointed at you with a hard boiled egg by her fork.

“that guy called him ‘hyung’ though. looked like to me they know each other. plus they have resemblance too.” you wiped your lips clean from the possible stain.

“oh dear ms. y/n.” eunha called you, her palms touching her chest as if she was surprised. “you have the hots for guys like him, which was why you-”

“ah-ah.” you glared at her, making her shush and zipping the imagination by her lips. “don’t talk about that.”

“bummer, i wasn’t even gonna.” eunha pouted but held your hand anyway. “i’ll always be here for you, y/n.”

“thank you.” you gave her a warm smile.

jaehyun waited by the entrance while his brother paid their meal. although he was bummed out that he wasn’t able to pay for his, he was somehow relieved. because once that cash was out of his pockets, he’d be broke the next time he goes to drink again.

at the corners of his eyes, he could still see you and your friend, as well as the adorable child seated on your lap. you were giving him a spoonfuls for airplane feeding.

yunho gestured jaehyun that they were leaving the restaurant. “hyung, why did you say that i’d pick her up?” he asked as he took a quick glance at you.

“c’mon i’m just playing around.” he nudged jaehyun.

“by matchmaking me to some random girl?” he scoffed. “you sure got a lot of time in your hands.”

“don’t take it too seriously jae.” yunho went ahead, leaving his brother flabbergasted.

he then shrugged it off and looked at you before stepping out. his ears perked up at the three second long conversation exchanged between you and the child.

“jaewon, look! mommy’s got an airplane~”

jaehyun stopped in his tracks by the entrance. his head quickly turning to you again. your lips mouthed the one word that shock hit his entire body. you weren’t just some random girl,

you were the mother of that child.

[jimlingss]

The Colour of Our Voices [4]

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 4.5 OR Chapter 5

➜ Words: 4.9k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

Your breath is held in your throat. The phone rings.   It continues, the ringback tone dragging on and on like a terrible song of suspense.   Then, it stops. Your breath catches in your throat. There’s a crisp voice on the other end. “Ya-llow?”   “Hi.” You swallow hard, trying to collect your wits, but it takes too long.   “Hello?”   “Yes, s-sorry. Hi. My name is Y/N L/N. I was wondering if you guys were having any auditions to take clients in—”   “Sorry, we’re not. Have a nice day!”   You’re hung up on, not like an unwanted telemarketer trying to make their living. But there’s nothing you can do, so with a sigh, you continue down the list of agents. Most of them don’t pick up. You leave voice messages that go unanswered, exactly like the emails you frequently send.   Though occasionally, it picks up and it’s not just an automated voice.    “Please stop calling us!” The woman hisses on the other line. “We only take referrals.”   You’ve brought it up to the director again. But his brows always scrunch and he wears that visibly annoyed expression, giving an exaggerated sigh of feigned exhaustion. “Y/N, I told you what I told you. If you keep insisting on this matter, then I’ll have no choice but to be upset. No one likes it when they’re not being heard.”   And that’s the kinder version.   You’re spared on the speech that you need to work harder, that you’re not ready to be on actual Broadway, that you have a long way to go, that you need to be good as an intern first — like Jimin.   Of course, he would mention Jimin. You don’t doubt that he has some kind of star quality that you don’t have. Everyone seems to love him. He could probably get a referral if he asked. Or get an agent who would want to sign him within a day. Your envy is boundless.   “Okay, can you tilt your head a thirty degrees to the left?”   “Ummm…” The brunette tries to follow the instructions. “Is this thirty degrees?”   “It’s fine,” Namjoon mutters and puts an eye to the viewfinder. He snaps the shot on his Canon. The picture appears on the big screen seconds later. You muse that Jimin looks great with professional lighting and under the touch of a talented photographer. “Okay, now smile.”   Instantly, Jimin gives a toothy grin. His plump lips spread into his rounded cheeks, eyes crinkling into half-moons. He’s overwhelmingly cute and you feel your heart stutter in your chest.   Even Namjoon hums in satisfaction, turning his camera and snapping more pictures.   After a moment, a break is called and Jimin comes hopping over while Namjoon fiddles with his device.   “What do you think?”   “Yeah, it’s good.”   He leans over to the screen, unknowingly close to you, almost hovering over your body. The strands of his hair brush on your forehead as he looks over at the monitor. “You think I should put powder on?”   “No, you’re fine. It’s fine,” you correct and clear your throat. “You’re supposed to be yourself. No glamour shots. The casting directors want headshots that look like you. If you come in drastically different, it’ll hurt you in the long run.”   He hums and tilts to stare at you. “Thanks for showing me such a great photographer, Y/N.”   You smile. “Just take it as a lesson on how to get onto Broadway. Plus, it’s not me who’s taking the photos.”   “That’s right,” Namjoon pipes up and approaches, interrupting the two-way conversation. “You need someone who can capture your personality in two hours. It’s not such an easy thing.”   “Thank you for blessing us with your talent, Namjoon,” you tease.   “You’re welcome.” The photographer chuckles. “I’m just kidding. I’m happy to help. It’s not often that Y/N calls me up for a favour, and she’s certainly never. ever. brought anyone to my studio before, so of course I had to see who it was.” He eyes Jimin up and down as if choosing produce in the grocery store. “I can see it now. I can see the appea—”   You bump into his shoulder roughly. “Alright, I think we get it.”   “A friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine,” he says.    Jimin dips his head in gratitude. “I’ll entrust all my headshots to you then.”   Namjoon laughs, delighted from the recognition. “I’ll be leaving town for a few months on business excursions, but when I’m back, you bet. Let’s get a few more done, Jimin. I think we should take outdoor shots too to get that natural lighting.”   “You got it, boss.”   You watch them walk off, practically kissing each other’s asses. Then you turn back to the monitor, looking at all the photographs again.   If you were a director looking at these headshots, Jimin would most certainly get the role.   //   It’s a streak of luck that your phone rings.   Usually, you’re the one dialing. Though this time, it’s not an agent who wants to connect with you — but it’s just as good.   “Hello, Ms. Y/N? You recently submitted an application for the role of a town girl in the production of Beauty and the Beast. We’re interested in speaking to you about it further. Would you like to come in for a formal audition?”   You could sob from unadulterated relief and happiness. But as overjoyed as you are, you don’t tell anyone just in case. You never know what could happen, and you don’t want to place others in an awkward situation if you end up with a disappointing outcome. So you brace yourself.   But Jimin can tell something great happened — your smile is infectious.    “Is everything alright?” He starts laughing when your giggles spill. Your face hurts from your grin. Even the director was taken back earlier at your newfound enthusiasm to take the morning coffee order.   “Oh, just you know, life. Sometimes things work out, huh?”   “Alright then, silly girl.” His eyes soften and his smile becomes gentle. Jimin steals another glance at you again. You’re humming, uncaring that the two of you are carrying over thirty coffee drinks on a brisk Monday morning, and that you’ll have to walk down three flights of stairs to hand them out. “You know, you look really...nice happy. I mean you usually look nice, but when you’re happy, I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying….never mind.”   Your cheeks become warm and you take a glimpse of Jimin. At the same time, he takes another glance and you both divert your vision after your eyes accidentally connect. “Um...thanks.”   Jimin’s distracted. Clumsy. He nearly trips off the curb of the sidewalk. But when he catches himself, he quickly rushes over to open the door for you. You try your best to hold back your laughter.   For the next few days, you practice your part by yourself, singing it over and over again, watching your own expressions in the mirror. You practice for the audition enough to become confident in your role, excited even. If you make it, you wonder what Jimin would say. He’s the only person who would celebrate with you.   He’s also the only person you would want to tell.    Once the afternoon of the audition arrives, you excuse yourself, telling Jimin that it’s a dentist appointment. But instead, you sneak from the basement of the building to the second floor, down the west wing.   There, it’s a whole other world.   The room is full of strangers, pacing around, holding the paper with their lyrics, but shutting their eyes to belt. They’re all warming up, melodic notes that sound jarring when it’s overlapping one another. Still, there are beautiful folks dressed in extravagant clothing, having probably spent time at the spa to get facials and get salon blowouts. It’s clear that many have bold personalities. That they’re not scared of eye contact.   You tug on your shrunken sweater, palms clammy.    You take a seat in the corner of the room in the uncomfortable chair.    The girl next to you gulps down her lemon water and leans over. “Intimidating, huh?”   “P-Pardon?”   “I was just saying how intimidating this all is.” She scans the premise and meets your eyes. “But it’s all for show. To make up for their lack of talent. You don’t need to flaunt your skills in front of other people if you know you’re good.”   You relax, giving a polite smile. “I agree.”   “I’m Yeonjeon.” She stretches out her hand.    “Y/N.” You shake it. “Nice to meet you.”   “Likewise.” The young lady oozes with the confidence you wish you had. She’s stunning, bright eyed and pretty smile. “What role are you auditioning for?”   “Oh, just a townswoman.”   “Really?” Yeonjeon cocks a brow. “I thought you would try out for Belle. I’m trying out for Belle. My agent called me about this casting call and I thought I would give it a try. I’ve always liked Beauty and the Beast as a kid.”   “Good luck then.”   She thanks you and just then, another auditionee exits the room and the woman holding the clipboard calls her name. Yeonjeon nods and gathers her belongings, casting one glance at you before leaving. “Hopefully we’ll be able to work together, Y/N.”   You wish her luck once more before watching her go off. Afterwards, you shut your eyes to try to calm your nerves, hiding your trembling hands and humming to warm your throat.    How many times have you been called back for a casting call like this? Not often. And you’ve never been called again to actually get the role.   It was easier back in community theater. They’d find a place for everyone who wanted one. It didn’t matter that you weren’t bold, loud, glamorous, charismatic...   You’re shocked out of your thoughts when you’re jolted, someone beside you poking your arm. “Are you, Y/N?”   “L/N Y/N.” The lady calls and you stand straight up, so quickly that you pull a muscle in your calf and the bag that was in your lap was now on the ground. The lady sighs. “Come right this way.”   “S-sorry, sorry.” You shuffle past the crowd to enter the large room after grabbing your bag again.    It’s a bigger room than you expected and a lot more people. It’s spacious with just a long stretched table facing the empty floor and exhausted faces sitting behind it. They stare back at you, unfamiliar as they judge you from head to toe, from your demeanor to how your hair is. It’s the director, the music director, the casting director, two producers and a reader — six of them slumped in their chairs, bored.   You swallow hard, approaching the center of the room where the masking tape is on the floor.    “Do you have a headshot and resume?”   “Y-yes, sorry.” You dig inside your bag, finding the papers wrinkled. You cuss inside your head and as you try organizing them, you accidentally trip on the carpet. Luckily, you don’t fall, but the papers go flying, coating the floor in white. You mumble more apologies, picking them up to hand them out. Your head is dipped, cheeks warm.   It’s only been five seconds, but it was already going badly.   “Can you introduce yourself?” one of them asks in annoyance when the silence stretches for too long.   “Y-yes, sorry. My name is Y/N. I have experience in working in community theater, both on stage and behind. Currently, I’m working as an intern at the production of Phantom of the O-Opera.”   You’re sweating at your hairline and you flinch when you hear a sudden snap, finding someone on the sidelines taking your picture.   “Alright then, Y/N.” The stern lady straightens out her blazer and puts down her pen, having jotted down some notes. “And you’re auditioning for the supporting role of a townswoman, so part of the female ensemble?”   “Yes.”   “Pardon?”   “Yes!” you exclaim in a louder voice.   “Then what song will you be singing for us today?”   “The Life I Never Led by the Sister Act the Musical!” You’re already straining your voice by yelling, but you pay no mind, quickly flipping the page after they nod and make hums of acknowledgment.   The man’s deadpans in a monotone, “Start.”   You clear your throat, steadying your breath. “I've never talked back, I've never slept late, I've never sat down when told to stand straight—”   One of their hands raise. You pause. “Can you sound more…” He gestures with his hand. “Light? Right now it’s very serious, and we’re looking for something lively.”   “Yes, of course, sorry.” You brace yourself and start again. But it’s happening again.   Your hands have a sudden tremor. You feel your heart picking up its pace, fast enough that you’re scared of getting a heart attack. Your face twitches against its will. Your mouth goes dry.    You feel dizzy. Like you might throw up before passing out.   “I-I've never talked back, I've never slept late, I've never sat down when told to stand straight. I've never let go and gone with the flow, and don't even know, really, why.”   The strangers are scrutinizing you. A cold sweat wash down your body, palms clammy, knees shaking. It’s an out-of-body experience and you cringe when you hear yourself go off tune. Everything that you’ve prepared yourself for goes down the drain. The self-assurance washes away, leaving in its place your most desperate state — a girl who tries hard but whose effort never shows.   Your voice even warbles against your will.    “I've never rebelled, or stood up and yelled, or even just held my head high. And all of the feelings unspoken, all of the truths unsaid, they're all I have left of the life I never led—”   You inhale a breath as the note finishes off. But before you can continue singing, the woman in the center raises her hand to silence you. It goes quiet immediately. The sound of scratching pens on paper seem deafening. Then finally, the woman looks up and clasps her hands together. “Alright, thank you for coming. We’ll let you know the final results.”   “T-Thank you.”   You leave feeling sick to your stomach. Outside the silent room is noise, others still singing and warming up, sounding a thousand times better than you. They’re stable, excited, assured.   You know you did poorly, and you’re not imagining it either. You never end up getting a call back from them. No denials or confirmations.    The radio silence is loud and clear.

It’s early in the morning with you crouched over sorting clothes in a bin that two pairs of feet shuffle forward. Your head moves back to find the girls that frequently flock to Taeyeon looking down at you.   The corner of her lips curl. “You went for an audition for Beauty and the Beast?”   “What?”   “I saw you,” the other girl sasses with a shrill voice and her arms crossed. “I was wondering why you weren’t here, but Jimin said you had a dentist appointment. Looks like you were lying to even him.”   “I—”   One of them squats down, meeting your eye level. “Do you really think you could make it? Thought you could sneak away and get yourself a big role to show the rest of us and make us feel bad? I don’t think so. Let’s be frank, you could never make it, Y/N. Shouldn’t bother trying. Why would you set yourself up for disappointment? But I guess the effort is cute.”   She stands and her friend smirks. “The director knows you were lying and trying to jump ship and run away from your job. He’s pissed. So good luck trying to keep this position, intern.”   They walk away and your eyes sting painfully.   Your hand balls into a tight fist, the clothes in your hands wrinkling. Your nails sink past the thin fabric into the palm of your hand. Your knuckles turn white. It’s a privilege to work here. A privilege.    You remind yourself of these things — that you will not punch them in the face. As much as you want to and as strong as the urge is, you won’t scratch their faces until they bleed and scream.   “Fucking bitches…” you mutter out from your clenched teeth.   At the same time, Jimin enters the floor. The timing is poor.   He’s a moment too late, but it’s enough to catch them walking away and enough for him to read your angered expression that he mistakes as emotional distraught. “Hey, what’s going on?”   Your ears perk once you hear the smooth timbre. Turning to find Jimin, you sigh and relax, rage fading. “Nothing. Can you help me fold this bin? I need to grab the other.”   “Alright.” Jimin nods slowly, watching your backside.   The director is indeed passive aggressive to you, making comments that you shouldn't lose focus on this job and whatever else bullshit he usually gives. But you don't care.   The weight of your failures are heavier on your mind.   //   “Today, we’re going to brush up on some singing techniques and then talk about building your acting resume.”   “I practiced.” Jimin smiles. “I swear.”   “Good.”   It’s humiliating, not because of other people’s perceptions of you. But it’s humiliating to yourself. You’ve always complained that no one would give you a chance, that all you needed was an opportunity, but once it was given to you, you messed it up. There’s no one to blame. Not your shitty life or because of the director. Not because of your bad luck or the world’s prejudice towards you. It’s no one’s fault but your own.   You’ve lost a great chance. How many more will be given to you?   How can you ever dream of standing on a world stage if you can’t even go through an audition?   Maybe the director was right. When you stand in his shoes, it’s clear that you don’t know what you’re doing, that you’re not ready. Far from it. Your ambitions are bigger than your capabilities.   You’re a sapling who wants to be a grand cherry blossom.   Perhaps that’s why those girls laughed at you — why they were so condescending when they found out you were auditioning. You’re a foolish imposter. A sapling that wants to be a blossom tree.   You’d laugh at yourself too.   “Y/N?”   “Huh?”   “I asked you how I did.” Jimin searches your expression with his own brows scrunched in concern. “I just sang.”   “Oh, sorry. You did fine.”   You’re too distracted to teach. You’re mentally distraught, fatigued — and you honestly just want to crawl underneath your covers for a while and wish your entire life would be fixed. Or at least until everyone forgot about you and you could start over.   But Jimin would never allow himself to forget about you. “Are you sure you’re alright?”   “I’m just….at a bit of a low point,” you admit, mustering a smile. “I’ll be okay. Always am.”   “It’s okay if you want to talk about it. I’ll listen to you.” His gaze is sincere and his attention is fully devoted to you. It goes quiet as you mull over your own thoughts, and then Jimin’s eyes light up, He digs into his bag for a flyer. “Actually, there was something that I wanted to talk to you about.”   He hands it to you and you unfold the corners.   The flyer is a dark blue with a streak of red, a young girl on it facing the horizon. You recognize it immediately. It’s the musical, Les Misérables.   Jimin smiles. “They’re doing auditions.”   “You want to try out?” Your eyes flicker up to him.   “I think we should try out,” he suggests. “It’s a good opportunity.”   There’s a thick lump in your throat. The paper in your hand crinkles where you hold it tightly between your fingertips. You wondered how many chances you would get after you blew them all. But with Jimin, came another chance.   Yet you’re still humiliated. You still feel like an imposter.   “I don’t...think I’m ready.”   He’s befuddled. “What do you mean?”   “You should try out for it, Jimin. I think I’ll sit this one out.”   Jimin grabs your wrist before you can get up. His hands curl around your flesh, but his fingers are gentle, his touch tender. His softened eyes search your expression again, and you feel your face get warm under his attention. “I don’t get it. Why would you want to miss this opportunity? Didn’t you tell me that you should always take whatever chance you get? I really have a good feeling about this one. I thought we could try it out together.”   “I just…..I don’t think I can do it.”   “Why not?”   “Because I’m not good enough!” you scream.   “You are!” Jimin stands on his feet and when he realizes he’s yelling, he lowers his volume. “I know that you know that you are, so that’s why I don’t understand. Are you giving up?”   “No.” It’s an outrageous question, but somehow your harsh whisper sounds like a lie. “I’m not giving up.”   “Then do this with me,” he coaxes. “We can try out together.”   For a second, you envision being on stage with Jimin, looking over during the grand finale and exchanging silent smiles with one another — but it seems like such a far-fetched dream.   “Are you really satisfied being a ghost singer and performing behind the curtain?” he asks.   “I’m not.” You divert your vision elsewhere. There’s a sudden pressure on your shoulders, and you can feel yourself break out into a sweat.   “There’s nothing wrong with trying,” Jimin tells you and makes it sound so simple. “If we fail, we fail together. If we succeed, we succeed together.”   You meet his vision, wondering why he’s trying too hard to convince you. You don’t want to be pushed — but maybe it’s what you need. “Okay. Let’s try.”   He smiles and you shove away your hesitance.   //   The pair of you get your applications completed together in the coming days, sending in headshots, filling out your sheets, preparing the reel. You practice small sections of the available script, singing while watching your expressions. It’s exactly what you did not long ago — but this time it’s with Jimin.   And his enthusiasm crumbles away your despair.   You might be a sapling trying to be a cherry blossom, but Jimin is a grand flower bed blooming beside you. He makes you just a bit more confident of budding your own flowers and reaching great heights.   The both of you submit your applications together, and anticipation bubbles at the pit of your stomach. As much as you try to keep it at bay, your hope creeps back in. Maybe this could be it...   And then your phone rings days later.   “Hello?”   “Hello?”    The voice on the other line is unmistakable. “Hi, is this Ms. Y/N?”   “Yes, it is. How may I help you?”   “I’m the casting director for the Les Misérables production here in New York. You recently sent in an application for an audition. We were wondering if you were still interested and willing to set up a convenient date to meet.”   “I-I….” You inhale a deep breath to fill your lungs. Your vision is blurred, eyes stinging with tears that threaten to shed, but you keep yourself composed and professional. “Yes, I’m still interested. I’d be happy to set up a date and time for an audition.”   There’s a flutter in your stomach. You feel like you might throw up — but it’s the first time that it’s for a good thing. Though instead of opting for spilling your food out from your guts in excitement, you find yourself throwing the front door open.   There’s one person that you want to tell. This time, you’ll follow your urges. You won’t hold back.   But before you can even knock on the door next to yours, you catch the brunette boy walking down the hall, having turned the corner of where the stairwell is. Jimin sees you too and his eyes light up. They shimmer in the corridor lights and he approaches with his hands dug in the pockets of his trench coat.   It takes too long. You run and meet him halfway.    “I...got a call.”   His smile expands into a grin. He hitches a thumb over his shoulder. “I did too. Just now, right?”   “Just now.” You confirm with vigorous nods, almost crying.   If it weren’t for him….   You hop up to Jimin on the tips of your toes, your whimper is muffled into his shoulder with your face dug into his coat. And your arms wrap around his torso. The boy’s surprised, stumbling back from the impact, but blissfully giggles when he realizes you’re hugging him. Jimin’s arms quickly encircle your waist. His cheeks deepen into a rosy hue and his smile softens even more.    He smells of lavender body wash and fresh linen.   “I told you that you could do it,” he teases gently in an intimate whisper.   Your gratitude is immense. You’re rendered speechless. You don’t know what to say, what to tell him. So you try to show him, squeezing him tighter.    You were going to give up — you could only take so many failures — you could only last so long in a state of limbo. But with Jimin by your side, you feel like you could achieve anything.   You finally let go of him, heart racing, making wild gestures. “We-we need to get started, Park. We have to go look for a song and start practicing. You told me we’re in this together, so why are we wasting time out here? Come on!”   You grab onto him, pulling him towards his apartment as his laughter rings in the air.   In the meanwhile, Jimin muses in his mind that he meant it when he said you were beautiful when you were happy. You’re practically glowing.   //   There’s more practice to be done, helping one another choose songs for the audition, giving opinions to improve certain parts, to use certain techniques. You’re more motivated than before, fueling your own morale instead of relying on his. You’re eager, especially knowing that you won’t be alone during the audition, that you won’t be entering a room of complete strangers.   Singing in front of Jimin wasn’t as hard as it used to be either. Your palms don’t get clammy, sweat doesn’t start dripping, your knees don’t shake. It helps a lot to sing directly in front of someone. And you’ve gotten comfortable with him. Jimin’s attention is still a lot sometimes, but you know it’s coming from a good place. He’s not so much scrutinizing as he is listening and savouring.   “What if they ask you to dance?”   He pipes up out of the blue while you’re making dinner at the same time as practicing.   “What?”   He repeats the question and smiles mischievously. “What would you do then?”   “I don’t think they would. I’m pretty sure there isn’t any dancing in Les Mis, Jimin. If there is, then not a lot.”   “Hey, you never know. They can tell you to do anything and you have to be ready for it.”   You scoff lightly. He’s still trying to convince you to teach him after all these months.   And you give in this time. You allow Jimin to pull you away from the stove. You’re timid, uncertain, but he places your hands where they need to be — both on his firm shoulders, while his own are light on your waist.    “Like this.”   “What if I step on your feet?”   “I’ll survive.” His eyes twinkle, playful. “Okay, step back once, then I’ll step forward. Now step forward and I’ll step back. One, two, three, one two three. Just follow my lead.”   You look down to your shuffling feet, making sure not to step on his toes. You feel silly, but it’s also easier than you realized. Maybe that’s just because he’s a good lead.    “Relax, I’m not that fragile.”   “I don’t want to be responsible if you get hurt.”   You raise your head, eyes connecting to his. Jimin smiles, and then twirls you suddenly, making you laugh. He holds your right hand, letting you sway back and forth. It begins to feel more like a swing dance than a slow one.    But the giggles are infectious and he pulls you close to him, enough for you to feel his body heat and for it to warm your face to your toes. You feel light, butterflies swooping from your chest to the pits of your stomach. And Jimin’s the very cause of it.   “Jimin!” You laugh, trying to pull away. “The water’s gonna overboil!”   He stares deeply into you, corners of his mouth pulling. “Just let it.”   “And burn down this apartment?”   Jimin shrugs, but lets go anyhow. “I wouldn’t mind.” You feel colder when he’s gone, though your fingertips still tingle with his touch. His hands were soft. “When the time comes, I’ll happily teach you how to dance properly.”   You know that time will come someday as long as you stay by Jimin’s side.

[dayawantstosleep]

Goo Goo Eyes

Summary: "Making goo goo eyes at Chan again?"

Genre: hogwarts au, enemies to lovers au, fluff, angst

Word Count: 2,391

Warnings: swear words

I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet for the sixteenth time today. The red sweater I wore felt too tight on me and my stomach felt funny.

"Hey." I turned around to a soft voice to see Chan smiling at me. His hair was parted in the middle and brown roots were peeking out from his blonde hair. It made him look more attractive.

He wore simple black dress pants, a white shirt and nice black dress shoes. I hope he didn't notice me staring as he approached.

"Hey." I fixed my grey cardigan and smiled back at him.

"Do you wanna go to the three broomsticks?" I suggested.

"I'll go wherever with you." He said, dazzling me with a smile.

"Cheesy. I didn't expect you to be the type. Let's go to Madam Paddifoot's." I said, burying my hands in my jean pockets. Both of started walking away from the castle.

"You know if we get caught, I'm blaming you." He teased and I wriggled my nose.

"That's fair. You're paying for my coffee though." I teased him right back.

"Why do you like me?" I asked. Chan turned to me and stopped walking. I hid my face in my hands, silenty asking the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

"What's not to like? You're pretty and really smart. You're also kind, who doesn't think I'm evil. You've helped me so much these past few years, you know? Like when you and Seungmin volunteered for the Yule Ball committe because you didn't want me to be alone." I laughed.

"No one wanted to plan it with you. I had a crush on you back then too, so of course I'd volunteer."

"And you never told me?" He asked, hand ln his chest in a dramatic way. I shook my head.

"I thought I was way out of your league. So instead I admired you from afar." I said with a shrug.

"For the record, you're defenitely not out of my league." He reached for my hand and I took it, a warm feeling in my stomach.

"That's good to know." I said as I walked along the streets of Hogsmeade.

I lead him into a small pink and green shop. I've never been there before, but I've heard good things about it.

"Woah." He said as I opened the door. The smell of sugar hit me at full force, but the thing that caught me off guard was the frilly pink everywhere.

"Have you been here before?" I asked, smiling brightly. He smiled back at me and sat down at a nearby chair.

"Yeah." He said as I sat down in front of him.

"What do you wanna order? There's this really good chamomile tea." He said and I nodded.

"Well, then I'll get that."

As soon as I got my tea and a piece of strawberry cake, I felt the need to eat it all quickly. Except, I resisted since I'm on a date with Chan.

He had a slice of chocolate cake with ice cream and chamomile tea as well. I took a sip of my tea and the doorbell rang, signalling another customer.

I nearly spat my tea out as I saw who it was. No freaking way, I did not see Changbin and half the Quidditch team (Han, Soobin and a few others) sit down at the far corner of the room.

"Are you okay?" I turned to a concerned Chan and I cleared my throut before nodding furiously.

"Yeah. I just...burned myself."

"Drink it carefully, okay? Want a piece of my chocolate cake?" He slid the plate over to me and cut a piece with his fork.

"Say ah." He instructed and butterflies erupted in my stomach.

Han laughed loudly and I turned to him. Changbin was glaring our way, and the butterflies dissapeared.

"Aria?" I turned to see Chan holding his fork out to me. Shoot, I forgot to open my mouth. I opened my mouth and took a bite of cake.

The cake was good. I nodded and tried to focus on my date. Stupid me for feeling this way over Changbin.

"It's really good." I slid the cake back towards him and I cut a piece of my own cake before holding it out to him.

"My turn." I said and he took a bite of my cake.

"That's really good." I smiled and nodded.

"I bet." I said, taking a bite of my own cake.

I set my cup of tea down on the small white plate and smiled brightly at Chan. He seemed to be enjoying the date.

He looked at me intently and smiled. Normally I would have found this cute, but since I haven't been myself lately, something felt off.

I felt like something was off with my feelings.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked out of the blue and my eyes widen. They travelled towards the far corner of the room, to a certain Slytherin who was staring at us.

"Here? Right now? There are a lot of people here." I fiddled with my fingers, feeling my cheeks grow hot.

Out of the corner of my eye, Chan turned around.

"Ah. I get it." He says, turning back to me. He stood up and I widen my eyes.

"What are you doing?" I asked but he just. shakes his head before walking to my side.

"You don't like me, do you?" He asked softly.

"What?"

"I mean, you did at first but then your feelings changed. Don't worry, you'll always be my friend." He leaned forward and kissed my cheek.

"What? Wait, Chan. Don't go." I pleaded.

"Take care of him, yeah?" With that said, he walked out the door. I sighed and put my elbow in the table, laying my cheek against it.

I just let one of the most perfect guys ever leave me in a tea room. What in the world is wrong with me? I should have ignored Changbin and his stupid friends. Why would Changbin even like me? I've been rude to him and bitchy.

"Look what we have here?" I resisted the urge to grab Chan's uneaten cake and throw it at his stupid handsome face.

Wait, did I saw handsome?

"Quit acting." I said

"Here." He shoved a rose in my hand and I curled my lip. How convenient.

"I don't want it." I set it on the table and turned to him. His lips were in a tight line, his eyes set on the rose.

"Sit down and eat Chan's cake. You look pathetic." I snapped, taking the last sip of my tea.

"Look whose talking. Did Chan finally come to his senses and ditch you?" I frowned.

Who the fuck does he think he is insulting me? Here I was, trying to feed his ass and he was being an ungrateful brat.

"I'm leaving." I stood up but he grabbed my wrist.

"I am not paying for your food." He said and I sighed. I sat back down and flagged down a waiter.

"How can I help you, miss?" A cute guy with feckles asked.

"My friend's fork fell. Can I get another one please?" He nodded and ran off God knows where.

I leaned back into my chair, feeling stupid for having feelings for the man in front of me. The waiter came back with a fork and set it down on the table.

"Here you go, Ma'am. My name is Felix if you need anything else." He smiled brightly and I nodded before he walked away.

"Eat the stupid cake quickly. I wanna go home." I snapped, crossing my arms.

"The guy was flirting with you. I'm sure he'll take you." Changbin said, stabbing a piece of cake.

Can I please combust his ass?

"Whatever."

"You're not that ugly." He said and I scoffed.

"Shut the hell up and start eating, unless you want me to eat it for you." He froze and slid the cake towards me.

What the fuck is even happening right now?

"Do it then." He said with a smirk.

"Can I stab you with my fork? Because I freaking will if you don't stop doing whatever you're doing right now." I crossed my arms and leaned back into the chair.

"Fine." He grabbed the cake again and started eating. I ran a hand through my hair, feeling a pang of guilt.

"Felix isn't my type." I said and turned away.

"What?"

"You heard me. He might be really cute with the freckles, but I don't like him. Happy now?" He just turned to his cake and continued eating.

Has he always looked that way? His eyes sparkled, the way Chan's used to. I closed my eyes and when I opened them Changbin was staring at me.

"You already fallen for me, sweetheart?" I grimaced at Changbin's words

"You wish." I turned around, spotting Felix a couple tables down.

"Felix." I waved my hand and he walked towards me.

"Yes, miss?"

"Can you bring the check, please? Oh, and two more slices of chocolate cake in seperate to go boxes?"

"Of course."

"Thanks." I smiled brightly at Felix and he walked off.

"Not your type, huh?" Changbin grimaced in front of me. I sighed through my nose and set money on the table.

"No. I'll pay. Chan should know better." Changbin said. I stood up and walked out of the shop.

For the five hundreth time today, screw me and my feeling. I covered my ears with my beanie and began walking.

"Wait." I groaned and hung my head.

"Will you leave me alone?"

"No."

"I've had a very off day. I was looking forward to my date with Chan, until you ruined it. Thank you for that by the way."

"What?" I sighed.

"What is your problem with me? Chan is a fucking idiot and I am one too for thinking an asshole likes me. All I am is a fucking joke for him and I am sick of it. So, if you don't mind. All I want to do is go to my common room and die." I huffed out and walked away from him.

Over the next few days, I've noticed small things about him. Like the way he scratches his neck when he's nervous or bites his lip when something bothers him. That's why I begun to avoid him.

Whenever I saw him with Chan, I walked the other way. And when I was stuck next to him in DADA, I stayed silent.

"You okay?" I looked up to see Chan staring at me. I ran a hand through my hair.

"Why did you think I like him again?"

"Bin? Because you have a look. Like heart eyes whenever you see him even though you try to mask it as dislike. There's a fine line between love and hate, you know?"

"Heart eyes?" I asked and he nodded. I began walking to my Common room, and he followed.

"Yeah. And when he came back to the dorms, he was grumpier that usual. He yelled at me for an hour. 'Why did you leave her alone.' 'She rejected me a hundred times for you and that's how you pay her?' The usual."

"Wait, wait. When did I reject him?" I asked. He laughed.

"Basically every time you make 'goo goo eyes' at me, his words not mine." He pauses.

"He was really jealous when you gushed over me at practice. He gave you a rose at Madam Paddifoot's. He was super jealous of the freckled waiter too. He even paid for the meal. He likes you."

"No fucking way Chan. Him and I are like water and oil." He frowned.

"Why can't you just admit it?" He asked

"Because we're just too different, Chan." I rounded the corner and he followed. Apparently, he was mad.

'And this conversation is over." I said, turning around and stormed away.

I got all the way to my Common room before sitting down on a table. Seungmin and Minho immediately sat down with me.

"What happened?" Minhi asked and I laughed.

"Why do you two always assume something happened?"

"Because it normally does." Seungmin continued.

"You guys were right. I like Changbin. Now, help me with my Divination homework, please."

I hugged my knees and sniffled. The Quidditch pitch looked small from the Astronomy tower.

"Making goo goo eyes at Chan again?" I heard a voice said and I buried my head on my hands.

"Do you fucking care?"

"No."

"Cut the crap, and tell me what you're doing here."

"Chan send me to apologize for him. He didn't mean to make you mad. He shouldn't have yelled at you." I shrugged.

"Tell him I forgive him." Tears pricked my eyes.

"Eww, don't do that. You look ugly." I let out a laugh. Chan's words suddenly made snese. He doesn't want to see me cry.

"I know. Shut up." I sniffled and hid my head in my hands.

He did give me little bits of affection. He suspended Minha, his own housemate for me. He pretended not to care for me when I got injured. He took the punch meant for Minha.

He dragged me away from the fight and tried convincing me not to go out with Chan. But my dumb ass thought he was mocking me. He gave me a rose, didn't let me leave the table, and paid for the food.

I was pretty sure my dream about Changbin was real. He really did visit me in the infarmary. Screw me and my feelings.

"Quit crying. At least make goo goo eyes at Chan." He pointed to the Quidditch pitch.

He's trying to avoid his feelings. I felt something in the pit of my stomach.

"Are you making goo goo eyes at him now?" I nodded and he turned to me.

"Yeah. But, not at Chan." He smirked and I closed the gap between us.

He hugged my waist and kissed me back. I pulled away and he smiled. I finally wiped that stupid smirk off of him.

"You're very clueless, you know?" He said softly.

"I'm sorry about what happened at Madam's, and for everything else too. I've been trying to ignore my feelings for you, but it doesn't work."

"I forgive you." I smiled brightly and kissed him again.

[leylinefiction]

No More Yesterdays: Chapter 10

Jo follows Sarah’s instructions on how to make the boys lunch, as well as a couple extra sandwiches for some kids who were not as fortunate as AJ and Cass. Once the two boys are off to school, Jo starts the process of mixing up cornbread batter and getting that made for the grill that afternoon. She never thought of herself as being domestic in the cooking sense but she does love being not just busy but helpful.

She’s washing her hands in the sink when she hears the screen door open and sees Bucky walk into the kitchen. He comes over to the sink, wraps his arms around her waist and kisses the side of her neck. It tickles and she giggles, trying to move away from him.

“Ew,” Sam comments from the doorway, “in the kitchen too.”

Jo blushes straight to the roots of her hair but a quick glance over at Sam tells her the ribbing is good natured based on the half-smile he gives the two of them.

Bucky whispers in her ear, “Wish me luck,” before kissing her cheek and following Sam out the front door. She notices Sam has picked up the case with the shield in it and they’re heading to the far end of the yard where the trees had padding strapped around them. Jo sends up a silent prayer that the conversation goes well before continuing with the kitchen prep. Less than two hours later, as Jo is slicing the cornbread, both men return to the house with drawn faces.

“Uh-oh,” Jo says it before she can stop. Both men nod as Bucky leans on the counter and Sam sits at the kitchen table.

“We got a call from Hazel,” Bucky starts. “She and Zemo are heading to Walter Reed.”

“The hospital?”

“Yeah,” Sam answers. “She’s been diagnosed with stage two chronic lymphocytic leukemia.”

Jo hasn’t met Hazel yet and only knows the basics from what Bucky has told her but it still takes the air out of her lungs. “Is there a treatment plan?”

Bucky scoffs. “Yeah, there is one. A foolproof one too.”

“If Zemo hasn’t convinced her to not take it,” Sam adds.

Ah. The super soldier serum. Jo hasn’t met Zemo yet but she certainly knows of him from covering The Sokovia Accords and fallout that followed. “Well, if he’s convinced her not to take the serum, you two just need to convince her otherwise.”

“I think that’s a job for Sam,” Bucky states.

“Really?” Sam counters. “Not the actual super soldier?”

Bucky sighs. “I’m what can go wrong with the serum. She doesn’t need a reminder of that.”

“No,” Jo interrupts, “HYDRA was what went off the rails with the Winter Soldier program. Walker is what can go wrong with the serum. There’s a difference.”

“Maybe we should send Jo.” Bucky suggests.

Jo rolls her eyes and goes back to wrapping up the cornbread.  “It needs to be someone that she has respect for, that she’ll trust.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “someone like Captain America.”

Jo glances over her shoulder at Bucky, who gives her a slight nod. She can’t hide the wide grin that spreads across her face.

Sam sighs. “Fine. I wanted to stop in DC anyway. Which also reminds me, I have a favor to ask of Jo.”

***

Hazel stands on the tarmac by Zemo’s plane watching him climb the stairs. He must have noticed that she isn’t following and turns around halfway up the climb.

“There should be someone in this vicinity,” he motions to the steps below him.

“Send me back alone.”

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’ve talked about this. I am not sending you back to the United States alone. You’re too ill-”

“I’m not that bad.” She’s lying through her teeth. She can feel it in her bones, ironically enough.

He leans against the railing and crosses his arms. “Charlotte.”

She jolts at the use of her birth name. She hasn’t heard someone use it since she was eight and she’s not sure how to feel it about now. She fiddles with the strap on her duffle bag. “There’s no sense in both of us going back. You know what’s going to happen the minute you step foot on American soil.”

He sighs dramatically and pulls out his cell phone, dialing a number. Whoever it is, they pick up quickly. “We’re having a bit of an issue.”

Now it’s Hazel’s turn to cross her arms as he makes his way down the stairs and hands her the phone. She takes it reluctantly. “Hello?”

“Get on the damn plane.”

Hazel leans the phone away from her ear. “How did you get Pepper’s number?”

He shrugs nonchalantly and climbs back up the stairs, disappearing into the aircraft. Hazel returns to the phone.

“Pepper, I’m sorry-”

“No, you’re not. You’re being stubborn and pig headed and quite frankly it’s way too early in the morning here to be dealing with this bullshit. Get on the plane, get to Walter Reed. Banner and Rhodey are already on their way.”

“Rhodey I can understand but why Banner?”

Pepper sighs. “I wasn’t going to tell you until you landed. Tony had his own safety deposit box for you that he inherited from his father. I opened it when you called about the cancer diagnosis just to see if there was anything in there that could help.”

Hazel wraps her hand around the railing and puts her foot on the bottom step. “What was in there?”

“Two more doses of the serum that were used when you were a child. Banner is waiting on the analytics to make sure the serum hasn’t degraded but he sounded pretty positive about the preliminary results.”

Hazel tries to process this news. There’s hope. There’s a cure. She’ll be able to live. She looks up at the plane and thinks of Zemo and the cost of that cure. He would never approve of this course action.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, sorry, Pepper.”

“I would have thought you would have been a bit happier at the news.”

Hazel rallies some enthusiasm. “I am. It’s just surprising. I didn’t think Uncle Howard would have thought that far in advance.”

“Well, if he didn’t, we certainly wouldn’t be where we are at the moment.”

“Pepper, there is one other thing that we should discuss before I get there.”

“Your traveling companion?”

“Yeah.”

She sighs heavily into the phone. “He’s the least of our worries right now. Getting you home and treated is the number one priority right now.”

“He hasn’t hesitated at bringing me back to the States. In fact, he’s been insistent. I don’t want to see him punished for putting his neck out for me. Not for this.”

“I’ll have Happy handcuff him to your hospital bed or IV line. We’ll call it ‘custody’ to appease the authorities. Now, enough stalling. Get on the plane. Wait a minute.”

Hazel hears blankets moving and Pepper’s muffled voice. “Tell Aunt Hazel to get on the plane.”

A sleepy child’s voice comes across the line. “Get on the train, Auntie Hazel!”

“Plane, sweetheart,” Pepper corrects.

“She knows where she’s going, Mom.”

Hazel laughs. “Okay, okay. Auntie Hazel is getting on the plane right now.”

“Good,” Pepper sighs in relief. “I’ll see you at Walter Reed in the afternoon then.”

Hazel hangs up the phone, takes a deep breath, and walks up the stairs into the plane. Oeznik is in the galley and she pats his arm in greeting.

“Do you need anything, ma’am?”

“No, nothing at all. Thank you.” She slips past him and hands Zemo’s phone back to him. “I can’t promise you immunity when we land but Pepper definitely is more concerned about my treatment than you being out and about.”

He nods. “I figured as much.”

“Speaking of treatment.” She sits down in the chair across from him and notices his face is slightly drawn. “You already know, don’t you?”

“Howard Stark was neither a stupid nor unprepared man. It would have surprised me had he not set aside extra serum for his...insurance policy, as you put it.”

“And you’re still willing to fly me back to the states, knowing how they’re going to treat me?”

“It’s not a decision that sits well with me. However, you also have not said that you’re going to take the serum. I’m curious about your hesitation.”

She’s certain he is but she can’t just come out and tell him the direct truth. “I have my reasons.”

He smirks. “I’m sure you do.”

She wants to throw something at him. “Why are you asking questions when you already know the answers?”

“It’s very entertaining to watch you squirm.”

She huffs in frustration and straightens her jacket with a sharp snap.

Zemo seems to take pity on her. “My intention is not to make you angry though.”

“Good job.”

“My sincerest apologies then.”

He extends his hand and after waiting a few moments, she finally slips her hand into his. “God, you’re exasperating.”

“And yet, you value my opinion in such a serious situation. Why?”

Hazel starts to pull her hand back, but Zemo stands up and tugs her over to the small couch where they can sit closer to each other.  She can’t tell if the closeness helps or hurts her desire to speak the truth. Zemo seems to pick up on this and situates her so that she’s leaning back against him and they’re not face to face. It does help calm her nerves slightly. His fingertips trace imaginary patterns on the exposed skin of her arms.

“So, Schatz, what are your thoughts?”

“Schatz?”

He chuckles. “It’s a German pet name. It means ‘treasure.’”

“Oh.” She lays her head back and it rests on his shoulder. “I guess I could ask you the same. You’re fundamentally dead set against anyone using the super soldier serum and yet here you are being a personal valet for someone who is going to receive it.”

“So you are going to use it?”

“I don’t want to die.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” she fiddles with her watchband, “there’s still things I want to do.”

“Like what?”

“Like, the normal stuff. I want to do research on projects at Stark Industries. I want to see Morgan grow up. I want to, maybe, watch my own kids grow up. I’ve been stolen away and protected for so long that I just want to be free before I die. At least for a little while. But those all seem like very selfish reasons to take it.”

“I don’t see the selfishness in that.”

“What makes me any better than Karli then? She just wanted to live her life.”

“Once again you miss the nuance of the situation. Karli wants other people to live the life she believes they want. You want to live your own life and improve other’s lives as much as you can. There is a big difference between the two mindsets.”

Hazel sits up and turns to face him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you’re getting ready to talk me into taking the serum.”

“Perhaps I am.”

“This makes no sense. You’ve talked about how those who take the serum have a supremacy ideal.”

“The desire to live your own life is not a supremacy ideal though. It’s survival.”

“You said that the serum corrupts those who take it.”

“Except for Steve Rogers.”

Hazel frowns. “You said there will never be another Steve Rogers.”

“True. Rogers was unique and will always remain so.” He looks her dead in the eyes. “Just as there will never be another Charlotte Carbonell.”

The truth spills out of her before she can even think to stop it. “I don’t want to do this if it means you’ll turn your back on me.”

“That won’t happen.”

She searches his face for any tells of deception and she can’t find any. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to see you die either. I do believe you have more to accomplish in this world. The Stark legacy is synonymous with ingenuity and global influence. You have obviously inherited the intelligence and creativity. Added with your empathy, how could the world not be a better place?” He sighs. “Why do my words matter so much to you? Surely people have told you how special you are?”

“Yes, but this is the first time I’ve actually believed someone.”

[blackcatkita]

A Not So Blue Christmas

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Bryce x MC (Kayla)

Word Count: 2925

This is my contribution to the 12 Days of Fictmas- 2019 edition and true to form, I am posting this at the literal eleventh hour. I was assigned “Blue Christmas” by the late and great Elvis Aaron Presley (may he rest in peace). Big thank you to @leelee10898 for hosting this event and wrangling us all and to @darley1101 for creating the awesome moodboard you see below. I hope you like it and happy holidays!

A Not So Blue Christmas

When Kayla matched at Edenbrook, some 980 miles from her hometown of Chicago, she knew there would be things she would miss out on. Her proud Irish family was huge and freakishly close; three brothers and one sister with Kayla smack in the middle, five aunts, three uncles, twenty-six first cousins and an absolute lunatic of a grandmother to round it all out. And that was just on her dad’s side. Birthdays, holidays, graduations, anniversaries; they were spent together whether you wanted to be there or not. Going away to college had been a blessing. For the first time, Kayla got to be seen as her own person instead of Sean and Connor’s little sister but she would be lying if she said she didn’t miss her family. The last time she saw them was back in June when she took Bryce home to meet everyone. Well, almost everyone. No one should have to be subjected to the entire clan on the first meeting, no matter how confident and easy-going her boyfriend was.

It was worth it though. She’d wanted to be a doctor for as long as she could remember and working with Ethan Freaking Ramsey on the diagnostics team was a dream come true. Her career fed her constant thirst for knowledge and allowed her to help people so she didn’t mind not being there for every little thing her family deigned worthy of celebration. Christmas was different. Christmas in the Donovan house was a huge deal.

The house would be so full it was fit to burst, food, candy, and cookies as far as the eye could see. Her oldest brother Sean and his wife Meghan sniping and snarking at each other, everyone spoiling the hell out of her niece because she was the first child, seeing what new bimbo was Connor’s latest flavor of the week because he was too stupid and too much of a playboy to find a nice girl, Gran handing out shots of whiskey and hitting on any poor soul whose only mistake was dating or marrying one of the Donovan girls; she’d had a field day with Bryce. Her dad and uncles escaping to the garage or basement, betting on how long after dinner it would take her mom to throw in the towel and switch from wine to liquor; Kayla was going to miss it all.

But Boston provided joys of its own; a group of friends she considered family that included the most supportive boyfriend the world had ever seen. Working as much as they did with no way in hell of getting off on a holiday meant none of them would be going home but that didn’t mean they would spend Christmas alone. Luckily, their apartment was spacious enough to house everyone for the open house party she and her roommates planned, though Kayla wondered why hosting always fell to them. Ethan had an even better apartment and you didn’t see him inviting anyone over. Rude.

“And, voila!” Kayla exclaimed from her post at the kitchen island. The cheese tray she put together looked damn good if she said so herself. Cheese ball in the middle with alternating yellow and white cheeses surrounding it in a pinwheel pattern. Yep, damn good indeed. “Sienna, where do you want the cheese tray?”

“Umm…” Sienna didn’t look up, too preoccupied with arranging upside-down raspberries on top of the chocolate ganache cake she made. “The banquet table by the window maybe? There’s more room for people to mill around over there.”

Kayla looked around, finding only empty space near the windows. “Banquet table?”

Glancing up, Sienna shook her head and went back to the raspberries. “Bryce!”

“Yo!” he called out.

“Where’s that banquet table you said you’d set up?”

“Oh, shit,” he laughed before bringing the table in from the living room where he and Elijah had been fiddling with the tv for the last half hour. “Sorry, ladies.”

“What are you even doing in there?” Kayla asked as Bryce unfolded the legs and flipped the table right side up.

“Helping Elijah with the surround sound,” he answered simply, taking a folded red tablecloth from the kitchen table and spreading it over the one he just set up.

“Do you really need to be doing that right now?”

Shrugging in response, he sauntered over, gave Kayla a quick peck on the lips while squeezing her ass, then snatched a piece of cheese, popping it in his mouth before going back into the living room.

Minutes later the front door opened with a thump and Jackie’s voice rang out, “Oh, hell no. You two don’t get to do whatever it is you’re doing in here while we do all the work. It’s all hands on deck so get your asses up and help. And before you say it, no, Lahela, I don’t care that you don’t technically live here. God knows you’re here enough it’s like you do. You can start by putting these bags of ice on the balcony.”

Eyebrows raised, Kayla slowly turned to grin at Sienna, finding her covering her laugh with a hand plastered to her mouth. “Remind me to buy Jackie a pony for her birthday.”

“Or a bottle of tequila,” Sienna giggled.

Kayla picked up her glass of red wine, waiting for Sienna to do the same before clinking their glasses together. “Hear. Hear.”

An hour later, people were trickling in. The cold food was moved to the kitchen table and the hot to the banquet table because that’s where the outlets were, the bar was set up, holiday music was playing and Kayla was mingling in a fitted midnight blue dress that was both sexy and elegant.

“I’m loving this party even more than your last one, Donovan.” Zaid’s tone was as dry as ever, expression impassive as he bopped to the beat of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Oh, thanks! It was a team effort.” A knock sounded at the door and Kayla excused herself before opening it with a smile.

“Rookie.”

“You came!” Kayla gasped, putting on an air of shock with her hand pressed to her chest. “I never thought I’d see the day!”

“This is for you.” Standing stiffly in the doorway, he thrust a bottle of red wine into her hands. “I know you like red.”

“I do, thanks, Ethan.” Considering how reluctant he looked, she grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him into the room. “Come on, no one’s gonna bite you. Can I get you anything to drink? Bryce is supposed to be playing bartender but he’s fallen in love with my tv.”

A brief look of confusion flashed across Ethan’s face before he shook his head, probably deciding he didn’t care enough to ask. “What do you have?”

Kayla shrugged. “Everything? I can make you a brandy old fashioned or cranberry mule. Those are our signature drinks.”

“Old Fashioneds are generally made with bourbon.”

“Not in the Midwest,” Kayla smirked. “It’s really big in Wisconsin.”

“You’re from Chicago…” Ethan shook his head again. “What’s a ‘cranberry mule’?”

“Bryce,” Kayla called out. “What’s in the cranberry mule?”

Bryce’s voice came from by the tv, only now he had the thing turned to the side. “Four ounces ginger beer, four ounces cranberry juice, two ounces rum and the juice of half a lime.” His head popped up, looking at her over the top. “Put that in a shaker then pour over ice and garnish with a slice of lime and some cranberries. Make sure you use a copper mug.”

“Ok, seriously, what are you doing over there?!”

“I’m almost done.” Grinning, Bryce shot her a wink and ducked back down.

Rolling her eyes, Kayla turned back to Ethan. “Don’t ask because I have no idea what he’s doing.”

“I wasn’t going to. I don’t care.”

“Nice,” she stated, raising her eyebrow and pressing her lips into the tiniest pout. “Well? Your drink, Dr. Ramsey?”

“I’ll take Scotch if you have it.”

“Uh… if we do it’s probably not very…” Kayla grimaced, leading Ethan to the bar across the room. “Oh, wait! I think Landry might have left some here.” Reaching her destination, Kayla ducked down and pulled a bottle from the lower shelf. “Ha!” she exclaimed as she stood up. “Score one for the jackass.”

“Babe! Kayla!” Bryce shouted out over the noise. He smiled when she looked over, then his gaze seemed to move past her and he gave a subtle nod. “Can you help me with something quick?”

“Be right there!” she replied as she splashed some Scotch in a glass. She handed it to Ethan and gave him a little push. “Go have fun. Socialize. Be normal.” Ignoring his look of disdain, she moved back into the living room. “What’s up?”

“I need you to sit on the couch,” Bryce instructed, turning the tv back the right way.

“Why?”

“Because I need to make sure the angle is right.”

“Angle for what?”

Bryce’s eyes widened, brows raised to give her a look that said, ‘just do it’.

“Fine.” The couch that had been filled with various guests all night was miraculously empty and Kayla sat down carefully so she didn’t flash everyone with the new lingerie Bryce had given her. That show was for his eyes only. “Are you finally going to tell me what you’ve been up to?”

“Stop asking questions,” Bryce laughed as the conversation around them grew quieter. “Elijah?” The music cut out and the lull in conversations spread through the apartment. “Ok, now push the input button on the tv remote.”

Brow furrowed, Kayla reached for the remote on the coffee table. Whatever he had planned, it seemed like most of the people in attendance were aware of it. If it turned out to be a slideshow of embarrassing photos from throughout the year or a video of her drunk ass singing karaoke, Bryce was a dead man. All eyes on her, Kayla pressed the button and the tv lit up. She screamed, both of her hands flying up to cover her mouth as tears sprang to her eyes. Before her, her family sat crowded together, enough of them they filled all seventy inches of the screen.

Her dad Sean leaned forward, squinting at the camera in front of him. “Is that it? Can she see us now?”

“Oh my god, Dad.” Squished against him, Kayla’s nineteen-year-old sister Brianna rolled her eyes. “Why do you think she’s screaming?”

“Shut up, you’re all ruining it!” Gran scolded from where she was wedged between Kayla’s dad and her brother Owen. “On the count of three… one… two… three…”

“Nollaig Shona, Kayla!” Everyone shouted as they smiled and waved, not exactly in sync but close enough.

“Nollaig Shona, everyone!” Kayla returned the sentiment, smiling and waving back. She looked around the room at her smiling friends and colleagues. “That’s Irish for ‘Merry Christmas’,” she explained. Her lip began to quiver and she looked at Bryce, waving him over as her eyes flooded with tears. “Get over here.” She felt her face crumple and pressed her palm over her lips as her boyfriend finally came over, looking uncharacteristically subdued. Sitting beside her, he slung his arm around her shoulders and she turned toward him, hugging him around his waist as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, trying to choke back her quiet sobs.

“Hey, everybody.” Bryce’s voice was tight as he gently rubbed her back. He cleared his throat and when he spoke again, she could hear the smile in his tone. “Merry Christmas. Thanks for helping me out with all of this.”

The comforting movement of his hand didn’t cease as he continued to chat with her family and when she was sure the tears had stopped flowing, Kayla peeled herself off him. “Well, my make-up is officially ruined,” she laughed, swiping at her cheeks. Sienna appeared out of nowhere and with tears in her eyes, thrust a wad of Kleenex into Kayla’s hands. “Thanks, Sienna.” Kayla did her best to clean the mascara from beneath her eyes then smiled, shaking her head in awe. “I just can’t believe you’re all in front of me right now.” Her eyes watered again.

“That man of yours is more than just a pretty face, Kayla,” her sister-in-law Meghan said.

“And what a face it is,” Gran added, giving the most exaggerated wink possible.

“Oh, don’t I know it, Gran,” Kayla agreed. “Great hair, too.”

“And a body to boot!” Gran slapped her hand on her skinny little knee. “Bet he’s a right stallion in the sack. You young ones get all the action these days.”

“Okay! Enough of that!” her big brother Sean shouted, clamping his hands over his four-year-old daughter’s ears while Kayla’s dad dropped his head in his hand mumbling something Kayla couldn’t make out. If she had to guess, it was ‘Lord in heaven’.

“Sorry, Sean,” Kayla laughed. Her eyes roamed the faces in front of her; her dad, grandma, her sister and two of her brothers, a few aunts, and uncles and some cousins. “Hey, where’s mom and Connor?” Of all her siblings she was closest to Connor, they were best friends on top of being brother and sister and her mom was her biggest cheerleader. No way would they not be a part of Bryce’s surprise.

“Oh, I imagine they’ll be coming in the door any minute now,” her dad said with a twinkle in his eye. “We’ll let you get back to your party, Punkin. Don’t forget to call us now.”

“I won’t, Dad,” Kayla promised. “It was great seeing you guys and I love you all so much!”

“We love you too, Kayla!” they all shouted back, waving again as they said goodbye.

“Now how the hell do I turn this damn thing off…” her dad grumbled, looking down at his remote before the connection ended.

As the music started and the party resumed, Kayla turned to Bryce, who was looking mighty proud of himself. She grabbed a fistful of his sweater and pulled him to her, planting a kiss on his lips. The doorbell rang and she pulled away. “Duty calls but later, you’re mine.”

“I mean, we can just kick everybody out now,” he teased, leaning in for another kiss. She laughed, giving him a swat on the shoulder but he snuck one anyway. “Get the door, babe. I’ll even come with you.”

“Ah, now that your ruse is over you’ll join the festivities?”

“Something like that.” Grabbing her hand, he pulled her to her feet. When they reached the door, he stopped her a few feet away with an arm around her waist then stepped forward to open it himself.

“Shut the fuck up!” Kayla shouted when she saw who was on the other side.

“Kayla Donovan!” her mom Erin scolded. “Such language!”

“And on Christmas too!” her brother Connor added in a mock scandalized voice with his eyes wide and a palm pressed to his forehead.

Her mom laughed, holding her arms out wide. “Surprise!”

The initial shock had worn off and Kayla launched herself into her mother’s arms. “I can’t believe you’re here!” She held tight for a moment, then turned to Connor.

“Brat,” he greeted.

“Jerk.”

Laughing, he grabbed Kayla around the waist and lifted her off her feet, bouncing a few times before setting her back down. “Damn, it’s good to see you, Kay. Bryce,” Connor nodded as Bryce turned away from the warm hug her mom had given him and held out his hand, doing that weird handshake-shoulder clapping thing guys did. “Good to see you again, too. Thanks for inviting us.”

“Let’s get you guys a drink. There’s a ton of people you have to meet.”

Heart full and cheeks sore from smiling, Kayla paraded her mom and brother around the room, introducing them to all of the people who had become so important to her. When Sienna eventually dragged them to the kitchen to eat, Kayla turned to Bryce, smiling up at him as she looped her arms around his neck. “You.”

“Me.” His warm hands slid around her hips, pulling her tighter until they were pressed against his.

“You’re the best boyfriend in the entire world.”

“I know.” An easy smile spread across his cheeks. “Handsome, too.”

“And the smartest, most thoughtful,” Her words were punctuated by quick kisses. “most supportive, sweetest, the best lover, the…”

“Stop, you’re gonna make me blush,” he laughed, then raised his eyebrow as his lips settled into a cocky smirk. “You’re not wrong, though. I am pretty amazing.”

“And so humble,” she laughed with him. Gazing into his eyes, she knew she was exactly where she was supposed to be. Bryce was home, no matter where it was. “Seriously, Bryce, this was… I can’t believe you did all this.”

“I almost didn’t think I would pull it off,” he admitted. “The Portal thing was supposed to be here weeks ago but it got lost somewhere in Ohio and just came today. Then your dad couldn’t get his to work and threatened to throw the thing in the lake, and now today your mom and Connor’s flight was delayed by like four hours. I’m surprised I survived.”

As he spoke, Kayla’s smile grew wider and when he finally stopped talking, she pulled him down to press a slow kiss to his lips. She pulled back, just enough to lock her eyes with his. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Merry Christmas.”

[littlerose13writes]

"You took my son to get his tongue pierced?!" -Draco 😃 Congratualtions!

Ever since they had started dating, Harry’s son and Scorpius Malfoy were even more inseparable than before. Barely a day went past when they weren’t either Flooing to each other’s house or asking when they could next Floo to each other’s house. Harry didn’t mind Scorpius Malfoy being around so much more - he was polite and friendly and he made Albus so happy - but interacting with Draco so much more took a bit of getting used to.

Harry was always hyper aware of ensuring Scorpius’ safety and wellbeing when he was under the Potter roof. Draco would have his head if anything were to happen to his precious son while he was under Harry’s care. But seeing as the boys liked it best when they were simply in Albus’ room, or in the garden, Harry didn’t have much to worry about.

Towards the end of the summer, Harry agreed to take Albus and Lily school shopping and Albus had immediately asked if Scorpius could come with them. Harry wasn’t sure Draco would be okay with that, whether he’d want to take Scorpius school shopping himself, but he’d written a letter all the same.

Draco’s short reply had been a slightly disparaging comment about how he’d already been organised enough to take his son shopping for school supplies but that Scorpius would love to accompany them nonetheless and thanking Harry and Albus for the invitation. They’d Flooed into the Leaky Cauldron to find an excited Scorpius and a bemused Draco, who sent Scorpius off with a brief hug, promising to pick him up later.

That had been several hours ago and Harry was now in a cafe with his daughter, a large coffee and an enormous slab of Victoria sponge he could have sworn he was going to say no to. Lily nibbled at the cake, sipped the Frappuccino she’d ordered and chattered away. His school essentials purchased, Albus had long since shaken him off and was somewhere in the alley with Scorpius and strict instructions to stay there.

It had been a very successful morning. Albus had only needed new robes and a couple of new books for his NEWT subjects; Harry gave him some gold to top up his own potions kit, knowing they’d be in the Apothecary for hours otherwise. Lily had asked no less than seventeen times for another pygmy puff and had spent almost half an hour choosing some new hair accessories which coordinated with her Hogwarts robes but didn’t clash with her hair.

Harry’s serene bubble of success was burst when an irate looking Draco Malfoy appeared in the coffee shop, bypassed the counter and took about three strides to approach Harry, his expression furious.

“Potter, what did you do?”

Lily snorted into her slice of cake and Harry threw her a warning look.

“What’s the matter?” Harry gestured to the spare chair at their table but Draco did not sit down.

“Do you know where our sons have been?”

Harry was confused. Was Draco annoyed at him for letting Albus and Scorpius off on their own? Scorpius was only months away from turning seventeen and it wasn’t like they were off gallivanting around muggle London together, the alley was very safe. But Harry was suddenly worried he’d misjudged the situation and that Draco would never have let Scorpius leave by himself.

“Look, I’m sorry, Draco, but they were getting bored of me hanging around and where they’re both almost of age, I thought it would be okay if-“ Harry stopped. “Hang on, what are you doing here anyway?”

“I happened to have tasks to complete here,” Draco said cryptically. “I saw Scorpius and Albus as I was passing.”

“Draco, it’s very safe here, and-“

“No, Potter, that’s not where my concern lies.”

“Where does your concern lie?” Harry asked warily.

“I have just seen Scorpius and your son leaving a tattoo shop.” He left a dramatic pause.

Lily gasped gleefully. “Ooh is Albus getting a tattoo? Can I get one, Dad?”

“What?” Harry stared at Draco in confusion. “Albus wouldn’t have got a tattoo, would he, Lil?”

Lily shrugged and ate some more cake.

“Maybe it would be wise to check what they’re up to?” Draco gestured for them to leave and Harry looked at Lily.

“I want to see!” she cried enthusiastically.

“There won’t be anything to see, Albus hasn’t got a tattoo. He hasn’t,” Harry insisted.

“Maybe Scorpius has, then,” Lily said off handedly and Draco turned pink.

“No, no, Scorpius has not…” Draco muttered to himself reassuringly, striding along the cobbled street determinedly.

Draco was on such a mission that he didn’t notice Albus sat outside Florean Fortescue’s giving them a cheery wave.

“Oh hi, Dad, Lil. Hello, Mr Malfoy.” He smiled innocently while all three of them scrutinised him for evidence of a tattoo. “What?” he asked in concern after a second, playing with his hair like there might be something wrong with it and that’s what they were all staring at.

“Er, what have you been up to?” Harry asked jovially.

Albus shrugged. “Been here and there, now we’re getting milkshakes.”

“Here and there…” Draco muttered.

“Um,” Harry cleared his throat, “Draco seems to think he saw you and Scorpius leaving a tattoo parlour.”

“What tattoo did you get, Al?” Lily cried happily, joining him at the small table. “Show me! Or was it Scorpius?” She got up on her knees to try and look inside the ice cream shop.

Albus laughed. “Nobody got a tattoo.”

Harry relaxed and he saw Draco’s tense shoulders release slightly.

“What were you doing in that shop then?”

Albus shrugged. “Scor got his tongue pierced.”

Harry felt his stomach drop, his heart stop and his face redden. Draco would never, ever forgive him for this. Harry chanced a glance over at his old school enemy, now sort of friend. Probably not friend anymore.

“You took my son to get his tongue pierced?!”

It wasn’t clear whether the question was aimed at Harry or Albus, but as Albus was his son, Harry felt told off either way.

“Why did… how… how did that happen?” Harry was willing Albus with his eyes not to say he’d talked Scorpius into it.

Albus shrugged again, the epitome of nonchalance. “He’s wanted it done for ages.”

Draco spluttered in protest. “He’s never expressed any desire to do that before!”

At that moment, Scorpius emerged from the shop with a milkshake in each hand. He set them down at the table with a cheerful grin, which quickly turned to mild confusion when he spotted his dad’s expression. Harry wondered if Scorpius had deliberately waited for today to go off and do this without his dad being able to stop him.

“Hi, Dad. What are you doing here?”

Scorpius looked breezy and casual, no trace of guilt or suspicion on his face. Harry watched his tongue as he talked, looking for the flash of silver.

“Scorpius,” Draco spluttered again, apparently unable to say anything else.

Scorpius glanced at Albus who looked blank then at Lily, who was gazing at Scorpius in impressed admiration. Harry hoped she wasn’t getting any ideas.

“Albus told your dad what you did,” Harry said when it didn’t look like anybody was going to say anything.

“What I… did?” Scorpius looked anguished, as if he were trying to work out what he’d done wrong. He was gaping a bit in confusion and, almost immediately, it was clearly visible that he didn’t have a tongue piercing.

It was then that he realised that - while he was appraising Scorpius - Draco was watching Albus. Albus, who was now sipping his milkshake with a poorly concealed grin on his face, as if he were about to burst out laughing. Because Scorpius hadn’t pierced his tongue at all.

Harry looked from his son to his old rival, something passing between them which he wasn’t fully reading. Draco raised his eyebrows, then smirked, just with the corner of his mouth. Albus winked at him and the two gave almost identical snorts of laughter.

“Can someone explain to me what’s going on?” Lily said in a loud, bored voice.

“I think maybe it’s a Slytherin thing,” Harry commented, grinning at Albus.

Scorpius cleared his throat. “Hello, yes, um, I’m a Slytherin too and I’m also a bit lost.”

“Why were you in a tattoo shop then?” Draco asked Albus.

“Seeing how much it would cost to get my ears pierced, can’t go on my own until I’m seventeen anyway.” Albus fiddled with his ear lobe experimentally. “Can I do it, Dad?”

“Er, let’s discuss it at home with your mum,” Harry said non-commitally.

“I told you he’d say that,” Albus said quietly to Scorpius.

“What did you tell my dad I did?” Scorpius was still stuck in mild confusion. “Dad?” He turned to Draco.

“You knew I’d say that?” Harry pressed Albus. “We’ve never talked about it before.”

“Nothing, Scorpius. Just Albus’ idea of a hilarious joke.” Draco spoke at the same time.

“So Scorpius didn’t get his tongue pierced? Dad, can I get my tongue pierced?” Lily interrupted.

Scorpius’ face was a picture as it dawned on him what Albus had said.

🎉1k celebration drabbles🎉

[gothicmagpie]

Vampire Hunter D: The Northern Castle, part 2

Author’s notes: This piece of fan fiction is written for @vampires-and-dhampirs‘s VHDweek celebration. One section will be posted each day, and the final work will be posted to AO3, if you prefer not to read it serially. Readers should be aware that this work contains violence and cursing, equivalent to a PG-13 film. This segment includes graphic description of wounds, and a minor surgical procedure as part of an autopsy. This work is primarily based on the version of the VHD ‘verse as seen in Kikuchi’s novels. Part 1 may be found here: X

"Admit it, you just like the weird cases, and that girl caught your eye. Not that anyone could blame you! Ha! Though I suspect it was her resourcefulness, not her figure, that got you into this." A hoarse voice came from the Hunter's left hand.

"I'm not necessarily taking this case."

"Oh no, you are just examining corpses, weeks out of our way, for fun, since we both know we won't be making a reasonable profit on this job."

"Who said anything about 'we'?" The subtle teasing tone in D's voice might have raised eyebrows if anyone was around to hear it.

"Knock that off! I do plenty for you, slavedriver. Imagine where you'd be without me! Dried jerky in a godforsaken Frontier desert, probably."

There was a notable silence in response as the Hunter draw close to the large building Lidia had indicated, and stopped, squinting into the summer sun. It was a typical Frontier structure, pre-fab metal and high-tensile plastic, utterly practical and just as ugly. As they had been told, a large sign directed visitors to either side, one arrow bearing the red, sideways X that was a traditional indication of medical assistance for which the origin had been forgotten, and the other simply marked "funerals." The elegant young man headed towards the second door, a black wisp across the simple but nicely maintained lawn around the building.

He was ushered into a small, spotlessly clean waiting room by a junior nurse who seemed unable to speak in his presence and backed out of the room slowly, waiting until the last second to look away from his pale face. Alone, the Hunter stood like a statue, back to the wall, holding the wide-brimmed Traveller's hat he had removed on entering the funeral home. It seemed he would have held that position all day, but a door opened after a few minutes and Lidia poked her head around the gap. She looked older and more somber in her uniform, with her hair knotted tightly back and covered with a vacuum-sealed cap. "Hello, D. You can come back here. I've let everyone know you are here." She held the door for him, and shook her head to try and refocus herself as she ushered him through a veritable maze of rooms and hallways.

"This place is well-equipped." The Hunter's voice held subtle admiration. "I wouldn't have expected to see this type of technology here." A hand raised to the blue pendant he wore, doing something to ensure it wouldn't disrupt the delicate tech around them, although anyone watching would have seen nothing more than a man fiddling with a piece of jewelry.

"We are very lucky," Lidia pointed him into a narrow stairwell, moving briskly as she spoke. "Most of this was reclaimed from an old Noble facility; we got it for a reasonable price, since folks are superstitious about their equipment and it didn't exactly come with instruction manuals. I wouldn't be surprised if we are only using half the capabilities of this technology. There are few no one has been able to figure out, even when we had a retired technician from the Capital come through a decade or so ago. Perhaps they are only useful for treating Nobles." She shrugged, and knocked on a door.

They entered their destination, a small exam room mostly filled with a large metal and glass device that looked like a cross between a diving machine and a coffin. Lidia moved towards it authoritatively, stood on tip-toe to see the top display at one end, and tapped out a code, pressing buttons with the many-fingered ease of long practice. With a loud hiss, the top retracted, folding into itself and drawing away until a corpse lay on a fancy exam table before them. 

Lidia had turned to D as soon as the operation began, which was the only reason she saw the swift flash of recognition and dismay that flickered across his reserved features as the maimed body came into view. "Sorry, I got him cleaned up as best I could with the time I had. Summer means a lot of accidents, particularly among the farmers."

D didn't react to her words, simply stepping forward and raising a hand to press one ragged flap of flesh back over a now-shattered cheekbone. He stood frozen there, and Lidia would have sworn she heard a soft, raspy voice say, "shit." D flicked a hank of long, greying, once-blond hair off the face. He had been handsome, even with age etching lines around his eyes and forehead as gravity pulled jowls down to blunt the jawline and heightened the always-bold cheekbones. 

"Mirko Illic." D's voice was low, and Lidia couldn't tell what the emotion she could in the background of it was. Disappointment? He looked up, and met Lidia's confused expression. "I worked with him, for a time. Our approaches were too different, it didn't last. I always knew he was going to end like this. He didn't know when to step back." The bitterness in the last phrases might have been the strongest emotion Lidia had heard from him yet. "Do you have a full record of his injuries? And the other victims? Details on the locations found, too, if you have it." He stooped over the corpse and ran his left hand over the stapled rent in the chest.

He had apparently finished his examination when Lidia returned with a handful of printouts. He scanned them with uncanny speed, then held one out to Lidia. "What was this? A magnetic reading?"

"I suspect it was a computer glitch. We only saw it for a second, not even enough to get a frequency or magnitude. He has quite a lot of augmentation, if it was a true reading it could have been a last flicker of energy stored somewhere in the cyborg implants. I didn't find any batteries, but," she shrugged, "the implants aren't legal anyway. I didn't dig too much. No point in finding anything someone might feel compelled to report."

"Cybernetic enhancements, eh? Does that explain it?" He seemed to be talking to himself, but Lidia saw his left hand twitch oddly. "Do you have a scalpel?"

"Yes, just a minute." Lidia rummaged in one of the cabinets. "Is unsterilized okay?"

D nodded, took the blade and grasped the body's left leg, twisting it until the inner calf faced up. After carefully running his left hand over the muscle, he plunged the blade in and neatly sliced away a section of flesh, pulling it away from the bone. A second stroke severed a metal cable running from the knee before Lidia could caution him that the blade wasn't intended for such hard material. He slid the scalpel in again, flicking it along the bone until it struck something he was seeking. The otherwise silent room echoed with the soft scrape of metal on bone as he pried free a tiny data chip. He held it up, examining the find. "Do you think you have something that can read this?"

"Surely. I can't believe we missed that! I'll go arrange use of the data processing room. There's a sink under the third cabinet, rinse it off if you can." Lidia hurried out, excited by the unexpected find. If nothing else, this would justify her requests for this Hunter.

D rinsed it and put it into a coat pocket before returning to the corpse. "I'm sorry," he said softly, touching the dead man's shoulder before running his fingers over the controls and closing the preservative coffin.

Lidia returned and led him through even more of the medical center's maze. They entered a small room, where they were met by a wiry old man, whose thick glasses and grey beard didn't diminish his sharp gaze and quick smile. "Mr. Tsu is our best cryptographer. He considers this a retirement job after doing government work decoding old Noble files for decades. If anyone can figure out how to get data off that stick, he can." The man in question continued to beam under Lidia's praise, and held out an eager hand for the small piece of technology.

D handed it over. "If we can figure out how to read the files, I'm not concerned about decoding. I have a fair guess what will be needed."

"You do?" The old man tilted his head, examining the beautiful figure with a curiosity he hadn't shown before. "Ahh... I think I know who you are, sir. And if the tales are true, I imagine you probably can access the data, eventually, but I might still be quicker."

The glimmer of a smile traced the Hunter's features. "I'm sure you could hack it more quickly, but I knew the man we took it from, and I believe I know what the password is likely to be. If I am correct, then no guesswork will be needed."

Mr. Tsu nodded. "I see, then we shall try to figure out what device we need." He lifted the chip to his eyes and was peering at it as he opened a door and led them into a truly massive data center. 

Ancient Noble computers, carefully restored, whirred along every inch of wallspace, filling them with bulky monitors, busy screens, and housing of bronze, silver, and copper-plated technology from a dying civilization. A flock of jumpsuited techs moved among them, pressing buttons, adjusting paper feeds, tapping touchscreens, and making repairs. Even D looked impressed, staring around at the unknown wonder. His surprise evidently delighted Mr. Tsu, who took his eyes off the data chip to urge D to wander around and have a look.

D had not gone more than a few paces when a triumphant shout came from the old man, who was holding the chip aloft. "So very simple! You hardly needed me at all. This is a standard configuration, the only difference was this disguising shield over the port. Pry it off, and you are in business. I have a computer for this style over here, it is very common." He ushered Lidia and D to a large silver terminal, with a huge viewscreen and a small keyboard beside a data port. 

He fit the chip to the port, and the screen flickered briefly before a calm female voice said, "Welcome, thank you for using Jezmine's computer system. As a reminder, this is a public terminal and transmissions may be monitored. Please sign in." Mr. Tsu typed something, the screen darkened, then the voice added, "Accessing data files. Please enter your password."

D stepped forward, and his fingers flickered over the keys so quickly that Mr. Tsu and Lidia couldn't guess what the code was, despite looking at his hand as he typed. Any human-made computer might have stalled, unable to process keystrokes that swift, but this was constructed for the Nobility, and kept up without trouble. The screen flickered, and a video began playing.

For a moment, it only showed a bare, minimally-furnished room, but then the camera shifted and Mirko stared into it. He sat down heavily, sighing a bit and pulling the leather armor vest he wore down into a more comfortable position. "Hello, D. At least I hope that is who is seeing this, although given the fact if anyone is seeing this, I'm dead, I don't suspect it makes much of a difference. Anyway, I heard you were in the area and had made sure to mention a few critical things to a young Miss Graczyk who has been aiding me from the hospital. Hopefully that got you here."

"What?!" Lidia clapped a hand over her mouth and bowed her head in an apology for speaking over the recording.

"I've never done something like this before, but I don't think I'm going to make it through this case." He stared silently at the camera for a couple seconds, face somber and contemplative, as if weighing what to say. "I suppose I just wanted to try and pass the information I got together so far to the next Hunter to try having a go at Vasmer. I've spent several days researching his castle and planning this attempt, but I suspect I've missed something. This case... Vasmer feels different, even to my human senses. I wish I had you and your close friend here; he might have an insight. I've got copies of everything stashed. I'm sure you noticed the cabin near the old water wheel, it's exactly your sort of place." The man smiled. "If you cross the creek that splits off about two miles downstream, you'll see a marker flag I left. Walk from there straight to the woods. There is a lightening-struck tree with a hollow spot about 12 feet up. The info is there. Keep an eye out for wild pixies, they seem to be going through the summer breeding season and are feeling pretty fierce. I know you can find it."

He ran a hand over his tightly braided hair and sighed again, shifting forward to stare earnestly into the camera, grey eyes flashing. "That wasn't the only thing I wanted to share. Damn, I hope you're actually the one watching this." He grinned, "it would be pretty awkward if some doctor doing an autopsy is the one who found this. Anyway, I wanted to say sorry. I've always regretted how we parted. I'm an old man now, even all the augments I've had done are wearing out. I can feel it in my bones, and I know you never thought I'd be in this position. How many times did you tell me to be more careful, that there was no point in being a beautiful corpse? Well, what I leave behind at this point won't be. I'm grey, and wrinkled, and half my bones are metal, and..." his gaze dropped. "And I'm scared, D. I've read the reports, I can't take Vasmer and it won't be a clean death. I considered running but, ah! Don't make that face! I'm not going to do it. I'm not that much a coward, but I think Vasmer already knows I'm here."

"I'm going to die without a chance to apologize, or to try and make things right. My pride has gone with my age. I'm not the cocky Grade A Hunter I was back then. I can understand your reasons now, when I mocked those fears as a youth. It just took several decades! You were correct, all the things you said when you left-" D's hand flashed out and stopped the video. He disconnected the chip and pocketed it, his face a harsh, frightening mask that made Lidia and Mr. Tsu step back. Lidia was suddenly very aware of his Noble background. 

"Will you show me out?" His voice was ice, as rigid as his expression. Lidia didn't dare speak, just nodded and hurried them out of the building. She didn't even dare ask him about the info they had just gotten once they were outside. She just watched him stride to the road in a whirl of black coat slicing through the golden summer light, still clutching his hat in one fist.

Part 3 can be read here: X

[writingsofmyimagination]

Red and Gold Chapter 5

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***I’m writhing, screaming and restrained. My Dad’s shouting to me, he’s not here and can’t reach me. My body is burning, through my watery eyes the face of my captor. His eyes burning daggers slicing through my soul, that evil smile flashing his irritatingly perfect teeth***

I jerked awake knocking my phone clattering over the floor, beads of sweat had formed round my temples, and my body temperate had risen considerably. I recovered my phone and checked the time, I had just under an hour to transform from whatever state I was currently in to a picture glamorous enough to be seen with Tony Stark.

  I loitered to my room and stared aimlessly into my closet; not that I had much choice. My going out section was minimal I had more suits than dresses; I decided to go safe with a black number. The dress was simple but alluring finishing mid-thigh with thin straps holding the deep V neck plunge front securing in place teasing the inside of my cleavage and the top of my stomach. The straps round the black were slightly thicker and sat in an X shape. My hair hadn’t taken me too long; it never does being only shoulder length, and the coal colour of my hair highlights how blue my eyes are. I quickly finished straightening my hair while slipping my feet into a pair of blood red eye catching heels with the straps wrapping delicately round my ankle. Placing the straighteners to cool on the marble side amongst the debris of lotions, brushes and sprays I scrunched my eyes while dousing my hair with spray which I then slightly ruffled adding some volume to the style. As I shut the bathroom door a down draught of way too many different smells combined causing me to cough, after much deliverance I decided for a floral and fruity scent.

 As I made my way down the cold empty hallway my phone sounded breaking up the echoes of my heels, the loudness muffled by being in my bag. Upon seeing the sender a small smile took over me and I clicked it open. My longest friend Tyler was being way too curious about my outfit choices. He was pressing for a picture, I denied him saying he could wait; his appetite for the gossip was still not satiated I was bombarded with questions about the date I’d yet to actually go on.

I got down to main floor before I stopped realising I had no idea where I was going. My knowledge of Tony led me to believe that if he was going out he’d want to take one of his extravagant cars. Quickly walking over to the elevator hoping no one noticed that for a few seconds I probably looked struck with amnesia; I depressed the button for the elevator down to the garage. Tony of course had to keep his cars separate to everyone else. Not sure if I had the clearance to access the area; I found out quickly when the box I was in jolted before transitioning smoothly downwards.  The elevator doors revealed a spectrum of cars and colours along either side of the pristine looking floor leading out of the building. I heard the roar of an engine and the beam of the BMW lights slowed towards me. The metallic ionic silver body with accents in blue came to a halt in front on me. The door nearest to me lifted up and excitement escaped to my face in the form of a raised brow accompanied by a large smile. Tony replicated my expressions and indicated to the passenger seat “Well let’s go then”

    As soon as the door clicked shut the engine revved ferociously, feeling the vibrations beneath me before Tony pressed the accelerator and we sped forward and merged onto the streets of New York. The smart black interior was broken up the by the same blue as the outside, the dim blue glare of the multimedia screen drew my attention slightly before it was diverted to the top half of Tony’s suit. It was nicely fitted as always, tight enough to happily notice his biceps. The black dinner jacket was slightly intruded by the leather lapel which contrasted to the white shirt beneath. His hair was the usual perfectly messy style along with the precise sculpture of his facial hair. “Well Miss Chase you do look enticing tonight” Irritatingly I couldn’t get a read of his eyes through his purple tinted glasses that he likes to hide behind all too much. “Well I just hope the effort is enough for a Stark and is appropriate for where we’re headed” I said calmly hoping to pry a destination but to no avail. “Do you trust me?” He asked seriously, glancing over in my direction.

“Depends on the context” I responded curious as to where this was going.

“That’s probably wise with my record, will you trust me if you put this on?” he reached into his pocket and presented a blindfold. I laughed to myself “Of course I trust depriving one of my senses and relying on you” I said over dramatically and willingly complied with Tony’s request.

“Distrust noted, on another note am I correct in that you minored in psychology? And you had keen interest in brain chemistry and electrical activity?”

“That is correct, but you knew that”

“I did, I actually read one of your papers”

I turned and raised my eyebrows at him in surprise.

“The one about different responses in the brain to stimuli of immediate and delayed gratification and impulses and the relevance and benefits of both” He continued pausing after waiting for confirmation.

“What drew to you that one I wonder” I shot back sarcastically

“Never too late to learn about yourself , biology is more Banners area”

I thought quickly to responds in simple terms,

“Surely you knew you’re immensely impulsive and are all for the instant gratification, not exactly a secret is it Stark”

“Ouch Jamie” He toyed, a smile creased across his face. The atmosphere in the car was calm and playful, completely relaxed in my blinded state.

“We’re here” The engine quickly died and the rush of air caused me to jolt in my seat as the doors opened. I fiddled and freed myself from the low seat. I heard soft footsteps stop by my side “I’m going to take your hand okay” he softly spoke. I offered my right hand cautiously

“I’d be pissed if you didn’t” His hand firmly gripped mine; I took comfort in the warmth of them as he helped me to my unsteady feet. In trying to gain more stability I instinctively linked my arms through his. Our footsteps changed from an almost inaudible sound against the passing traffic to distinctly clacking on the hard loud surface. Tony stopped gently unhooked me and gave my arm a reassuring squeeze and backtracked quickly followed by the sound of doors closing. The smooth footsteps stopped in front of me, I jerked as I felt pressure around my head  “This is where I bring my test subjects” Hardly keeping the amusement from his voice “You can remove the blindfold now” he instructed after securing me to my ambiguous headpiece. Reaching round to my blindfold I curiously felt the band around my head, it felt mostly plastic with some cold metal sections, the band sat horizontally around my head with two small circular metal plates resting on my temples.

“Tony you really have lost your touch if you think taking women is anyway to imp..” I stopped mid-sentence as light flooded back to my eyes overwhelming the retinas momentarily before adjusting to the misleadingly dim room. The room was a large spacious crescent shape, what really had me speechless was the fact that the room I was standing in was in the building I had left minutes earlier.

“I’ve technically not taken you anywhere” Playful sarcasm etched in his cool voice. As familiar as the room was I’d rarely seen the room empty, the gleaming beech wood flooring blanketing the whole floor including the slightly raised platform at the far end of the room. There was a single table in the centre of the room which was dressed elegantly. “Would you like a drink” he offered angling his head toward the fully stocked bar which ran along the curve of the right-side wall.

“I needed one yesterday” I was still looking round at the bare room I hardly recognised it without the live band and sea of slightly drunk partygoers. I followed Tony and leaned against the bar whilst he played bartender, I smiled to myself watching him prepare two very strong martinis, the back drop of the glowering shelve of bottles was lightly illuminated by a white light behind a plastic fixture imbedded in the wall. The gentle hum of the fridges below the bar was drowned out by the cocktail shaker before its contents were poured to their final destination. He nodded his head triumphantly before heading over and taking a seat at the only place he could. “So explain my flattering headwear”

He leaned back slightly and pulled another head dongle and placed it on his own head. He produced a small round remote with three buttons and placed it down in between us, his face softened and slid it over to me “green button”

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously before proceeding with the green button. I gasped, a small shock shot through my temples, two large projections engulfed the area above us. I looked up in awe at the stringy web like jumble, small clumps had multiple legs joining to another forms; the clumps occasionally flashing before going dark again. The structure as a whole was a faint blue, it was magnificent. It made sense now why I was asked about my study; after admiring the structure which I could describe in the simplest terms as a map of the brain synapse and chemistry. I was left completely speechless in my little brain orb which was now firing a lot more frequently.

“This is literally the coolest thing I’ve seen and had done for me” I said excitedly; which is saying something at Stark’s Industries.

“Better than the Gala?” he returned slightly confident.

“Definitely” I responded almost immediately “Thank you Tony this is incredible” I beamed looking into those chocolate eyes which melted right in front of me at my approval and happiness.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y play the Gala playlist please” whilst Tony took the last swig of his drink and walked over and quickly made another and came back over and offered his hand out to me “care to dance?”

“I really don’t dance” I said hesitantly knowing no was not going to be an option. He waited until I caved in and stood up into his arms. He inspected my outfit with playful eyes “I’m supposed to be a replacement date, at the Gala you would have to dance at some point” he spoke triumphantly. Our bodies started swaying in sync one of his arms round my waist and the other gripping my hand firmly. “I just wanted to say thank you for the other night and you know what you did for me” his words were hesitant  and eye contact was avoided, knowing him he’s not the best at apologising or saying thank you he was trying and he had succeeded in my books. He let go of my hand momentarily and took another swig of his drink trying to fight the feeling of vulnerability which probably had just flooded over him. “How’s my dancing?” trying to break the silence. The hand which was round his neck ran through his hair in an attempt to reassure him. How soft his hair felt brushing over my skin, I tried to ignore the intoxicating smell of his strong aftershave I suddenly began to wish he’d start exploring me with his hands. “It’s ok, so tell me what’s your deal how did you get where you are at such a young age” he quizzed

“You don’t need to have been surrounded by genius your whole life to be one yourself you know” I played “ With that being said my dad was a leader in his field in virology” I stated

“I guess growing up with that you’re bound to have picked his smarts up”

“ I wish I could say so, my dad took his own life when I was 12” I was not going to share that It was because after I escaped from kidnappers he would rather die than give them the information they required to do terrible things.

“I’m sorry..”

“it’s fine, anyway I have always had a gift of retaining information and analysing it, I flew through school often put up a couple of grades; before I knew it I’d secured a scholarship to MIT and thus enters Nick Fury into my life” I was half telling the truth.

“Uh oh” he laughed

“Yep” I agreed jovially “He gave me one of his famous speeches and wanted to take me under his guidance; we all know you can’t refuse him” Tony rolled his eyes in a knowing fashion and chuckled

“Enough said I get the impression you don’t get out much, a beautiful young woman like you should be …….” Tony presumed correctly

“Personal much” I gently tugged at his hair

“I have a few close friends college and developing some here, I do have trouble maintaining relationships as I get too immersed in what I do and the fact I can be rather awkward” I admitted

“You sound like such a well-rounded stable individual”

“No more than you” I countered

“Touché.” sounding happily defeated. We broke apart and took a seat and continued to infuse our bodies with more alcohol than was needed. I’d definitely drunk enough to impair my inhibitions significantly, I think we both had.

Permanent tags: @txnystarkimagines

[quicksilversquared]

Roomba Rumble

Adrien and Marinette weren't expecting anything exciting to happen when they got a Roomba. It was just a glorified vacuum, after all. But even glorified vacuums can turn exciting in the hands of the right person....or, in this case, in the paws of the right kwami.

(FF.net) (AO3)

The Roomba had been an impulse buy. Marinette had been complaining about what a pain it was to vacuum under their bed and their couches just that morning, and then Adrien had seen the advertisement an hour later. He trotted out to the store over his lunch break and returned with a Roomba thirty minutes later.

And now it was roaming around in the middle of their living room.

"I mean, I suppose it could be useful," Marinette managed as they watched the little machine putter around the room. It seemed to not be cleaning in any particular order, instead zig-zagging to and fro as it bumped off of walls and furniture alike. As she spoke, it vanished under the couch and bumped around under there for several minutes before emerging again and heading across the living room towards a lamp.

"Well, it's fun to watch at least," Tikki offered. The kwami floated along after the Roomba almost absentmindedly as it bumped its way off the lamp and headed down the hallway, seemingly intent on getting somewhere. Plagg floated along after her, green eyes focused on the Roomba as it went.

"Maybe we can program it so it's a little more efficient," Adrien suggested as they shuffled over to watch the Roomba bump its way into their bedroom. "It really isn't very methodical at all, is it? Funny, they don't say that in any of their ads."

"I'm sure it would cover almost everything if you let it run for long enough," Marinette said as the Roomba rounded the corner and vanished. There was a thump as it presumably bumped into the legs of their dresser. "...it could take a while."

Adrien looked a bit sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll go look at the instructions booklet. There's bound to be something in there about how to program it."

   Adrien sat in their bedroom, searching for jobs on his computer as he waited until it was time for him to leave for a photoshoot. He wasn't finding a whole lot- not for his field and his level of experience, at least- but Adrien wasn't about to give up. He was about to search another site when he heard a thump in the living room. Adrien paused, puzzled, and turned partway towards the sound. Marinette wasn't supposed to be back until the evening and she was meant to be in a meeting right now. Tikki would be with Marinette, and Plagg was napping away on the bedside table, using a half-eaten slice of Camembert as a pillow. There shouldn't have been anyone in the other room.

There was another thud, closer this time.

Adrien set his computer aside and rolled out of the bed quietly. His eyes flicked around the room for a second, looking for something he could use to defend himself if someone really had broken in. There really wasn't much of anything in the bedroom- his fencing sabre was too flimsy to cause any real damage to a potentially dangerous opponent, his computer was too expensive to fling around, and everything else was either too small or too unwieldy to use- but maybe he wouldn't need it, maybe he was just hearing things or it was their upstairs neighbor being a bit louder than usual-

There was another thump. In a panic, Adrien grabbed his fencing sabre, figuring that even if it couldn't really do much damage, he could maybe at least startle the thief enough to get an advantage.

Taking a deep breath, Adrien gripped the sabre, flung the bedroom door wide, and leapt out into the hallway with a savage yell, holding the sabre aloft.

The Roomba bumped into the wall, turned, then rattled through the doorway into the bathroom.

"Very scary," Plagg said dryly as Adrien stared after the little machine, sabre still held half-up and jaw hanging open. "I'm sure you intimidated that Roomba good."

"What is it even doing out of its charging station?" Adrien asked blankly as the Roomba banged around the base of the toilet. "Did it just up and...decide to clean the place?"

Plagg sniggered, clearly still very amused. "It appears so. Maybe it thought there was too much dirt on the carpets."

Adrien groaned and trotted after the Roomba as it trailed along the wall. Scooping it up, he carried the protesting machine back to its charging station. He set it down and this time, it stayed put.

   Marinette found the whole thing hilarious, of course.

"You must have accidentally set some timer when you were fiddling around with it a few days ago," she said with another laugh as she stood alongside Adrien, watching the Roomba sitting innocently at its charging station that night. "Oh, I wish I could have seen it. The look on your face must have been hilarious."

"It was," said Plagg, who had been the one to tell Marinette exactly how Adrien had acted, complete with reenactment with a toothpick as a prop. Adrien hadn't been pleased to have Plagg chime in with the retelling; he had been completely content to tell Marinette that the Roomba had gotten loose and startled him without mentioning all of the extra dramatics. Still, he couldn't be too angry at Plagg, not after the way Marinette had laughed and laughed, nose scrunching up with glee as stress from her earlier meeting melted off of her shoulders.

"I still can't make head or tail out of these instructions," Adrien said, snagging the instruction booklet off of the counter he had left it on earlier. He had come to the same conclusion Marinette had and had spent most of his downtime during the photoshoot paging through it, trying to figure out what the instructions were talking about. Maybe it would have been easier to figure out with the Roomba actually in hand, but Adrien sort of doubted it.

"Let me try," Marinette said, holding out a hand for the booklet. "Maybe I can figure it out."

"Or maybe you'll accidentally set it to go off this Thursday at three in the morning," Adrien joked, but he handed the booklet over anyway. "God, imagine our reactions to that, if we heard thumping around in the middle of the night."

Marinette snickered as she flipped through the pages. "I would get to see you leaping from your bed and challenging the Roomba to a duel."

Adrien stuck his tongue out at her.

   The Roomba behaved for all of two weeks. They had figured out how to turn off the timer on it after that first day and they had managed to program in a few so-called 'invisible walls' so that it wouldn't waste time aimlessly crisscrossing the open part of the living room that wasn't hard to vacuum normally. They really didn't need it coming out often- dust didn't exactly build up particularly fast under the bed, couches, and dresser, and they were hardly throwing regular large parties requiring intensive cleanup- but it needed to be kept at its charging station, so there it stayed.

And then, at three-thirty on the dot Friday morning, it whirred to life, thunked out of its charging station, and puttered out of its pantry home. From the top of the counter, a pair of glowing green eyes watched it go with no small amount of anticipation.

The Roomba explored the kitchen, sucking up a few spare crumbs before bumping its way back out. It made an attempt at cleaning under the dining room table but had to give up after bumping into a few too many chair legs. Instead it moved on to the couch, edging strangely around the room as it avoided the imaginary walls Adrien and Marinette had entered in. It let out a particularly large thunk as it hit the wall behind the couch.

In the bedroom both Adrien and Marinette sat up blearily, looking around in confusion.

The Roomba managed to extract itself from the couch without further clatter and, like it had before, rolled along towards the hallway. It bumped and scraped lightly against the wall as it went.

"Robbers," Adrien suggested with a hiss. He was scowling blearily at the door. "Wait here, I'll take care of it."

"I'm not staying back," Marinette hissed back hotly. She tugged a hoodie on over her pajamas and followed Adrien towards the door. They both paused at the door, listening.

Bzzzzz. Thunk, the Roomba went. Marinette and Adrien breathed out a simultaneous sigh of relief.

"How did it get loose again?" Adrien asked, puzzled. He pushed open the door- peering out carefully in case they had misheard, of course- and went out to catch the Roomba before it could push its way into the hall closet. "We haven't even touched it in ages."

"Maybe it's buggy," Marinette suggested around a yawn as Adrien scooped the Roomba up. "If it does this again, maybe we should return it and get a replacement."

"I think it's catty," Tikki said sleepily, floating lazily out into the hallway behind them. She landed on Marinette's shoulder with a plop. "I can sense Plagg all over it."

There was a pause as Adrien and Marinette froze and exchanged a look. Plagg hadn't come out with the rest of them to investigate and come to think of it, the cat kwami hadn't really been hanging around before bed. It had been strange, since Plagg usually tried to beg an evening bite of Camembert before bed. A glance into the bedroom showed Plagg's normal sleeping spot empty.

Tikki, suddenly more awake, let out a very angry-sounding string of syllables and sped off to the pantry. Seconds later, there was an annoyed squeal clearly identifiable as Plagg's as Tikki pounced, intent on punishing Plagg for his prank. Both Adrien and Marinette sighed.

"I don't really feel like breaking up a kwami fight right now," Adrien said as they headed cautiously towards the kitchen. They dodged around the squabbling kwamis and deposited the Roomba back at its station. "Think we can just ignore them?"

"Let's just do that."

   It had been three months, two weeks, and a day since their last Roomba-related incident, though it wasn't thanks to any lack of effort on Plagg's part. Adrien and Marinette had decided to turn the Roomba off and separate it from its charging station. For good measure, each went in their own closet and the Roomba was packed into a box and placed under another box that was too heavy for Plagg to move.

Plagg had pouted, disappointed that he hadn't gotten a longer run of pranks out of the Roomba. He had sworn up and down that he wouldn't set it off at three-thirty in the morning (but he hadn't said anything about two or three or three-oh-three, for that matter), but Adrien and Marinette refused to reconsider their decision.

But now the Roomba was being brought out again for a day of cleaning. It reunited with its station for a quick charge-up beforehand (still held captive under the heavy box, just in case Plagg got any funny ideas) and then was set loose, with Plagg perched proudly on top.

"I don't understand how obsessed he is with that thing," Adrien said to Marinette quietly as Plagg and the Roomba puttered past. "It's just cleaning, and slowly at that. It's hardly causing havoc or anything."

"I've heard that it interests a lot of cats," Marinette whispered back as Plagg and his vacuum steed vanished under the couch. "It wakes up their hunting instincts or something."

"I've heard that too but he's sitting on it, not stalking it!" The Roomba and Plagg reappeared briefly, hit the couch leg, rotated, and vanished again. "It's just strange."

Unseen by anyone, Plagg smirked.

The Roomba's path slowly started to turn very odd. It circled the couch leg several times and then went out into the middle of the dining room, ignoring all of the imaginary wall boundaries that Adrien and Marinette had entered in. It bumped against Adrien and Marinette's feet repetitively, sucking at their toes and circling them several times before puttering off innocently to duck under the living room cabinets. Twice more it made the venture into the middle of the room, bumping against Adrien and Marinette each time, even as they moved absently out of the way. Plagg was smirking openly at that point and Tikki was eying him suspiciously. Before she could say anything, though, Plagg and the Roomba were puttering away down the hallway, looking the picture of innocence.

"I'll get the real vacuum out and get the main floor areas," Marinette said. There was a gentle thump from the other room as the Roomba bumped into something. It was ignored. "Should we give the Roomba another five minutes? It can't possibly take it that long for it to get under the dresser and the bed-"

The rest of her sentence was cut off by the sudden roar of a motor in the next room over. Both adults whipped around in the direction of the noise, startled. A second later, the Roomba positively whipped around the corner and shot down the hall towards them like a racecar. Plagg's wild cackling filled the air as he clung to the machine, steering it with little tugs as it raced around the room.

Marinette yelped and dove for the safety of the couch before it could clip her toes, Tikki clinging to her shoulder even as she shouted at Plagg. Adrien dancing around, trying to avoid the Roomba's wild swoops while simultaneously trying to catch both Roomba and the cheering Plagg. Adrien tripped and cursed as the careening Roomba clipped his ankles and Plagg only laughed louder.

"That's enough," Adrien growled as Plagg swung around for another hit. He looked irritated now, all surprise gone now. "Plagg, transform me!"

One thoroughly destroyed Roomba ended up in the dumpster ten minutes later.