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dokidokey · 3 years

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who would have thought that passing a 20-page paper 5 days late would lead you to dabi?

word count: 3,765

tags & warnings: bad boy x straight a student au, college au, fluff, a pinch of endeavor slander, brief mention of throwing up, brief mention of abuse (nothing explicit, the word just gets mentioned once!)

notes: hi zeze (@reddriot), i’m your secret santa! sorry this is so late, we’re on our way home at this ungodly hour and i finally have some stable connection now lmao. i’m so so sorry but also, happy holidays! i hope you enjoy what my pretty much dry and blank mind managed to cook up lol i’m so thankful and i met you and got to know you. <3 thank u for everything. and the title lol omg i’m so bad at titles but i kind realized it rhymes with ornaments, so i left it at that.

The day you met Todoroki Touya was not a good day. You would even consider it a bad week, actually. Apparently, you were a week late on a 20-page paper for History and you didn’t even know. It irked you because you have no other excuse except that you didn’t know. There was a totally different due date in your head, one that wasn’t five days ago. So when your teacher shook her head disapprovingly while tucking your 20-page paper against the smooth surface of her desk, you had no other choice but to leave the room.

You wouldn’t want a teacher to see you cry over a late submission. You certainly wouldn’t want other students roaming the hallway to see you cry either, so you had to fight off the warmth pooling at the corners of your eyes. The last corner leading to the campus library was where Todoroki Touya presented himself.

The impact of your bodies bumping against each other came first, then the stinging pinch of something hot against your skin next. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you pulled your arm away, eyes widening at the sight of a small, circular burn mark on your forearm.

“You burned － Why are you smoking here?” The accusing tone in your voice immediately disappeared and replaced by panic as you watched a quite familiar face bring a cigarette to his lips, perfectly poised between his long fingers. “You’re not allowed to smoke on campus grounds!”

A puff of smoke swirled through the air as he huffed, the corner of his lips twitching as he eyed you up and down. The intense, blue eyes taking over your body sent shivers down your spine, arms protectively crossing over your front to try and shield yourself from his gaze.

“Not if I don’t get caught,” he smirked, bringing the cigarette back up to his lips. The man was familiar; face and most of his skin that’s exposed under the leather jacket were covered in scars, a dark contrast against his fair complexion. You’re sure you will never forget him if you knew him, but the familiarity of his face doesn’t ring any names in your head.

He puffed out the smoke in a harsh breath, the delicate sound seeming so loud in the quiet and isolated hallway. For a moment you forgot about your late History paper and the chances of you getting anything lower than an A.

Both of your palms met the fabric of your denim-clad thigh in a light slap, arms sagging and voice raising. “If you and I get caught－!”

“Then leave.”

The deadpan and harsh delivery of his words left you open-mouthed, the disapproving look of your teacher once again flashing in your mind. The corners of your eyes warmed again, stinging more than the way it did earlier.

You’re croaking out an unwanted explanation before you realized it. “I － I might get detention and－,” you sniffled, trying to prevent the tears from flowing because you know how embarrassing that would be, so much so to this mysterious person who you found familiar but not really. “And my parents－.”

A scoff cuts you off. You watched as he killed the ember of the cigarette using his bare fingers, pinching the lit end between his thumb and forefinger before tucking it in one of his front pockets. If it weren’t for the strong stench of the cigarette, no one would suspect that he was smoking here, in front of you, inside campus grounds.

“Of course. Precious little [Name] can’t have bad grades and a bad record.”

He said it as if it was so bad. You wouldn’t normally find offense on jabs like those, but today wasn’t just your day. Your retort died down quickly in your throat though when you realized he said your name. He knew you.

With furrowed brows and quivering lips, you asked, “how do you know me?”

The dark-haired man leaned on the concrete wall, shoving a hand down the pocket of his pants. “Who wouldn’t know the teachers’ favorite student? Straight A, little miss [Name].”

It was your turn to scoff. “Favorite,” you mocked, eyes rolling, “I didn’t know being the favorite meant not considering the fact that I didn’t know the deadline was 5 days ago without anyone else informing me.”

A smirk blossomed on his stupidly handsome face. “For once you didn’t get away with something, huh?”

“Didn’t get away? I didn’t know! I had no idea! It’s not my fault.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s true.”

“If you say so,” he chuckled, pushing himself off the wall and taking two steps back, eyes still on you. He winked, then turned around. The silence in the hallway felt deafening as you stood there, but the quick footsteps of his figure walking back towards you eats up the quiet. “Or on second thought,” he says, tapping a foot on the floor, “I can excuse you to the teacher about your late paper.”

It seemed like the tears of frustration pooling at the sides of your eyes retreated back to your tear glands, ears more than ready to hear out whatever his proposition was.

“If you act as my fake girlfriend for a Christmas dinner with my family, I’ll tell the teacher that I tricked you about the deadline.”

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “And that’s going to work?”

“Have you seen me, doll? I’m that boy your teacher refers to as a bad influence.”

“You should not be hanging out with people like him, [Name.]”

Mrs. Nakamura’s disappointed tone does nothing to stop the smile spreading on your face, though you tried to suppress it to not come off as suspicious. You’re nodding your head like you’re agreeing with her, knowing that that will not happen any time soon because you have a Christmas dinner with your boyfriend’s family in less than three weeks.

“Go on then,” your teacher waved her hand, “you aren’t marked as late but remember what I told you. If you keep that boy around you, trouble’s sure to follow.”

The hallway didn’t feel as dark and lonesome as it did earlier. It’s surely not because of the other person walking along with you. You’d like to think that, but a part of you knew you might just be lying. And it was stupid, really. Were you really harboring a crush over him? You. . . don’t even know his name.

“What’s your name?”

A choked laugh was the reply you got. “What? You don’t know me?”

“You’re familiar. I just can’t put a name on you,” you shrugged.

“Touya. Todoroki Touya,” he answered, grimacing. “But call me Dabi. That’s what my friends call me.”

“Are you saying we’re friends?” You grinned, looking up at him. He was tall, okay. So much more taller than you. You barely reached his shoulders.

“Technically, you’re my girlfriend, so no. We are not friends.”

You decided technicalities weren’t so bad when Dabi almost never left your side. The sudden (and quite cliché yet comic) pair you two made didn’t go unnoticed by the teachers. Mrs. Nakamura reminded you every single day about Dabi and his troubles. You aren’t aware what kind of troubles Dabi is associated in yet, but you’d like to think you’ll get there.

When you agreed to pretend to be his girlfriend, you didn’t think it would be this kind of long-term thing. You thought that maybe he’ll leave you alone after that day and just hit you up again on the day of the dinner, but you were so wrong.

You’ve never liked being wrong as much as you did about him.

“Stop fussing, my mom’s going to love you.”

He’s said that for the fourth time now. You’re making him more antsy than you are with your bouncing leg and deep sighs every ten seconds.

“And your dad?” You glare at him, wiping your clammy hands on your jeans and bouncing your leg again. He rolls his eyes as an answer.

In the short, three weeks you’ve gotten to know Dabi, you learned a lot about him. One, he hates his father passionately. Two, the teachers don’t really like him (but that sounds so mean when worded like that so you like to think he just isn’t the favorite student.) Three, he’s allergic to fish. Four, he pays attention to every single thing you say. Five, he’s actually the eldest out of the four Todoroki children and lastly, (this is more about you than him) maybe you let your little crush fester more than you planned.

You’ve had to berate yourself multiple times that he is not your boyfriend. You and Dabi are not in a real relationship. This is all a product of your grades being saved and an arrangement to fill up an empty seat at his family’s dinner for Christmas.

“What if your sister doesn’t like me,” you say meekly, “or your brother. And your other brother.”

Dabi shifts on the bench you both are sitting on to face you properly, placing a warm hand over your sweaty ones. “Stop it. They’re going to love you.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes but really, you’re just having a hard time making your brain function properly to process a reply when his hands are there, on top of yours, warm and soothing. It makes your heart do a little happy dance inside your chest that you know it should not be doing, but you can’t help it.

You’re way too deep into this hell, and you don’t know how you’ll take it when he cuts you off after you both benefit from this arrangement you have.

When Dabi pulls you up to stand up before he walks you home, you try to remember how his hands felt against yours.

“You look nice.”

Nice. You had to rummage through your closet for this halter dress, the most decent thing you can find that can fit for a Christmas dinner. It’s 6 PM on the 24th of December and even though this isn’t how you expected to spend the night before Christmas, here you are anyway.

“You look nice too,” you compliment, taking in how Dabi is wearing an actual pair of decent slacks and a button up. A nervous laugh bubbles out of your throat. “You said it was a simple dinner date so I was kind of expecting you to just show up in one of your old, ragged jeans, you know?!”

He quirks his head to the left, the sides of his lips turned up. Dabi offers you his hand as you descend the few steps from your apartment door. “It was,” he says, “but my mom made me wear this when I said I’ll bring a girl over.”

“Haven’t you brought a girl over before?”

A mischievous smile spreads over Dabi’s face, a thumb pressing a gentle pressure on the back of your hand. “No. You’re special because you’re the first one.”

Great. It’s not like you’re not nervous enough about meeting the Todorokis. He just has to tell you you’re the first girl his family will meet. What makes it worse is that you aren’t really Dabi’s girlfriend. It seems a little selfish on both of your parts to let the rest of his family get to know you and then you’ll never see them again because, well, this arrangement can’t last forever, can it?

“And you have a car?” You gasp, eye zeroing in on the sleek, black vehicle parked across the street where you both are heading. “You have a car?”

He chuckles, shaking his head side to side. “This is my dad’s, actually.” He says it again with an eye roll, opening up the passenger door for you. “He only made me use it to impress you.”

“Like I’m not impressed enough?” You huff out a laugh, palms gliding over the dashboard.

“Impressed by what?”

You, you’d like to answer, but for the sake of your sad excuse of a relationship, you keep your mouth shut.

“Things.”

The ride to their place was filled with back and forth banter from you and Dabi. He’s tried to calm you down when a new wave of nervousness surged within you but as you stand in front of their door with hands sweating an entire Pacific ocean, it’s obvious his attempt didn’t work.

“Calm down,” Dabi says, forehead scrunched as he watches you fiddle with the skirt of your dress. You’ve been standing there for about two minutes now and if your goal is to make your nervousness rub off on him, then you’re doing a pretty good job.

“Is my hair okay?” You fuss over some more, smoothing out the unruly strands that weren’t even there. “Is my face－?”

Dabi grabs your hands in his, calloused fingers wrapping around yours. The words die in your throat as you look up at him with wide eyes, mind blanking out at the warmth on your palm.

“You look beautiful, okay? If you touch your hair or smooth your skirt one more ti－.”

“I knew I heard you guys!”

An enthusiastic voice of a girl almost the same height as you rings through your ears and you look over to see his sister, Fuyumi, white and red hair parted in the middle and over her shoulders. You’ve seen her in some pictures in Dabi’s phone because you’re in that stage where you can just casually unlock and go through Dabi’s phone. (You haven’t seen anything unusual yet, just some candid pictures of you that you have no idea how he took. Bless your poor heart after you discovered that album dedicated just for you.)

Fuyumi places her hands on her hips, smiling brightly at you. “I thought Touya was just lying about you to escape the marriage arranged for him but turns out he isn’t.” She opens the door wider for you and Dabi. “Come in. Mom’s been waiting for you.”

The Todoroki household is neat. Minimalist. You aren’t sure if it’s spacious or it’s an illusion due to the lack of decorations inside. Fuyumi immediately hugs you after you and Dabi are completely inside, and she leads you away to meet Natsuo and Shouto. The sight of Natsuo startles you at first. He looks exactly like how you envisioned Dabi to be if he didn’t have scars. And seriously, what’s up with this family having scars? You noticed a dark crimson circling Shouto’s right eye.

Mrs. Todoroki is the most welcoming of them all, if not as much as Fuyumi. Her hand immediately went to your hair, patting softly and smiling delicately at you.

“I never imagined the day would come when Touya finally brings home a girl,” she whispers. The sight of her eyes getting glassy is enough to make your own gloss over, though it’s for an entirely different reason. How cruel can you and Dabi be to pretend and lie like this in front of his mom?

“Oh, please don’t cry! Did I make you cry?” She laughs tearfully, squeezing your shoulder. You choke out a laugh at her reaction, shaking your head no.

“I leave her alone for five minutes and you already made her cry?” Comes Dabi’s voice at the entryway of the kitchen, his tall frame blocking the path. He walks over to where you and Rei are standing, placing a warm hand on the small of your back. “What did mom say to make you cry?”

Rei sniffles and you dab a finger under your eyes, trying to keep your tears at bay. “Nothing,” you reply, unconsciously leaning back on his chest as you keep your emotions in check. In front of you, Rei has a fond look in her eyes as she watches Dabi tuck a strand of hair behind your ears and your wobbly smile directed at her son.

Your little moment is ruined when the front door shuts close with a loud rattle. Dabi tenses behind and you crane your neck enough to see across the living room a tall and broad man with bright red hair.

“That’s your father,” Mrs. Todoroki sighs.

The food is good but the dinner is awkward. Todoroki Enji made sure that either you nor Dabi will be able to sit through tonight peacefully.

“I’m surprised you managed to stick around my son this long,” Enji rumbles, looking at you briefly before going back to his meal. Four months. That’s what you and Dabi came up with for your pretend relationship. You’ve been dating for four months and you both knew each other after getting paired up for a History project. It’s not much of a lie since you did meet because of History.

“I’m surprised Dabi managed to stick around me this long,” you reply nervously, trying to make light of the situation. It seems you only made it worse when Enji’s sharp eyes bote onto yours.

“Dabi?” He inquires, head tilting to the side. The rest of the Todorokis are quiet except him. “You call him that?”

You nod, stomach churning. Any time now and you might just throw up. “You call him by that name, huh?” He chuckles hollowly, shaking his head. “Imagine my surprise when I saw you here, much less as Touya’s infamous girlfriend. If I didn’t know better, he just hired you as a fake girlfriend to run away from tradition.”

Tradition. Right. Dabi has mentioned to you once that his parents were arranged. He’s told you how he knows his father doesn’t really love his mom. You know about the abuse and the way he treats his family.

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong because what Dabi－,” you pause, turning briefly to look at him, “Touya. What Touya and I have is pretty much real.”

Enji scoffs, a large, heavy palm slapping on the smooth surface of their mahogany table. “Tell me that again when you’re still here a year from now.”

“Sure,” you smile, cheeks aching with how forced it is. It baffles you how Dabi’s father has all the authority in this household －how no one dares to object or talk back.

Todoroki Enji decides to surprise when deep chuckles start escaping his lips. “You,” he points a finger at you, “I like you. You’re brave. Not a single person in this household can face me like that. You’re too good for that boy,” he nods over Dabi’s direction. From your peripheral, you can see just how tight Dabi’s hands are clenched, and you reach over to place one over his.

“Actually, he’s too good for me,” you quip back. You have no idea where this sudden surge of confidence is coming from, but that doesn’t matter. You need to say what you have to say. You wouldn’t be seeing this family ever again after this anyways. “Touya is actually a good man. He’s more than what meets the eye. Maybe you’ll know that if you paid enough attention to him － and all your children, honestly.”

There’s no taking back what you just spewed out. Too stunned, you aren’t aware of the smug smirk and raised eyebrows Dabi is sporting. You don’t see the way Natsuo is trying to fight off his smile. Mrs. Todoroki and Fuyumi have a hand in their faces and Shouto, for the first time since you arrived, looks at you wholly and quite in awe. With your blood rushing in your ears and heart beating erratically, you open your mouth to excuse yourself, but Dabi beats you to it.

“Now if you would just excuse us.” And he’s tugging on your hand. You whisper out a quiet ��I’m sorry,” when you pass by Rei, and you’re out of the front door.

“So,” you grin, hugging the mug of hot chocolate to your chest with your feet tucked beneath you. “On a scale of one to ten, how good was I at ruining your family’s dinner?”

After that whole dinner fiasco, you both just decided to go home to your apartment. Dabi is currently sprawled over the other end of your couch, his feet perched on the coffee table (you told him three times already to put it down) and three of his shirt buttons are undone. He’s got his own cup of hot chocolate on his hand, the other playing with the frills of your throw pillow.

“An eleven,” he grins back at you. He leans over and places his mug on the table. “That took guts.”

You nod. “It did. It just didn’t sit right with me how he talked about you like that, like － I remember you telling me how he used to be all over you as a child, but after Shouto was born, he neglected all of you. He isn’t － That’s not － What kind of father does that?” You sigh, groaning when you remember Rei and the rest of his siblings had to witness that.

“That is so embarrassing. I’m pretty sure your mom hates me now.”

“Trust me,” Dabi chuckles, sitting upright and moving closer to you, “she does not. You should have seen Natsu. He was about to lose it.”

“Still,” you press, throwing him a dirty look. “Who talks like that to their boyfriend’s dad on the first meeting?”

Dabi stares at you, turquoise eyes brighter than ever. “So I’m your boyfriend now?”

You’re pretty sure your heart just skipped a beat at that. “I mean, t-technically. Right? That was － That was what we － That was what we were pretending to be.”

Reality dawns on you again. This is all pretend. No matter how warm Rei and his sibling welcomed you, no matter how much Rei adored you, you’ll never see them again. This is a one time thing － something beneficial for the two of you. And as much as it breaks your heart that you got attached to Dabi that fast, you try to hide your sadness by saying, “at least I won’t see them again, so technically, talking back to your dad is fine.”

“Do you want to though?”

“I － What?”

Dabi leans closer. “Do you want to stop pretending?”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer. “Is this a trick question?”

He goes closer. The tips of his hair are grazing your forehead. Even this close, Dabi seems to be looming over you. “I wouldn’t mind making it real.”

“I really don’t want to see your father again,” you whisper. Dabi barely closes the gap between the two of you, nose touching yours.

“We can arrange that.”

more notes: tbh this kind of strayed, uh, kinda far from the bad boy x straight a student au but that’s just because most of what i plan ends up straying kind of far from the original idea. but never mind that, i’m happy with how this turned out. EXCUSE ME THAT LAST LINE? WITH THE ARRANGE THING? HELLO? AM I GIVING MYSELF TOO MUCH CREDITS? I MIGHT BE, BUT I DON’T CARE. also ze (´ ▽｀) if you ever get tagged by me on another dabi fic, it’s just me making up for this late post i am sorry.

#dabi x reader #dabi #dabi fluff #dabi angst #dabi scenarios #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha angst #bnha fluff #omfg my first dabi fic bye

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zelzenik · 3 years

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all of her longing

prompts 19 & 20 of @zutaramonth 2021: hurt/comfort & longing

Three times Katara asks Zuko for a baby... and the first time Zuko says yes.

click here to read on ao3 or keep reading below the cut!

“Zuko?” Katara whispers into the darkness. She flips onto her side, a few dark curls slipping over her shoulders.

It’s been almost an hour since Zuko dimmed the lights in their room with his bending and a single flick of his wrist. She can tell that he’s just about ready to drift off to sleep when he replies, “Yes, Katara?” His voice is a soft rasp as he shifts his position so that he can face her, reaching out and drawing her close.

Tucked securely beneath her husband’s chin, curled up against his warm body, Katara somehow finds the courage to admit, “Zuko… I think I want a baby.” She can feel the way his muscles tense as he registers what she said.

All of a sudden, Zuko’s more than awake. “What?” He pulls back slightly so that he can glance down at her, golden eyes earnestly searching her face.

“I want a baby,” Katara repeats, her brows furrowing.

Cupping her face with his hands, Zuko presses a kiss to her forehead, hiding a laugh, “Katara, we’ve been married for all of two weeks, and you want a baby?”

Katara isn’t joking, though. “We’ve been together for all of two years now, Zuko.” It’s true. Katara was only seventeen when she began courting the Fire Lord, and now, at nineteen, she finds herself married to him, sharing his bed and holding his tender heart in her careful hands.

“You’re… You’re not serious, Katara,” Zuko manages to choke out in reply. Upon realizing just how earnest on the matter she actually is, his golden eyes suddenly fill with an anxiety that she hasn’t seen from him in years. “I… Katara, it’s too soon for us to have children.”

In this moment, Katara knows that it’s better to drop it than press further. So she does, for her husband’s sake. She remains quiet, wrapping her arms around his bare waist, rubbing soothing circles into the small of his back.

Above all else, above her maternal instincts, above her deep desire to have children, Katara loves Zuko. And, when he hides his face in the crook of her neck, she holds him tightly, peppering kisses along his skin, whispering words of comfort for whatever pain that grips him in the dark of the night. “It’ll be okay, Zuko.”

ii.

“You’re quite distracted, Fire Lady Katara,” Zuko notes, his voice teasing. “Like what you see?”

They’re sparring in the courtyard, both sweating lightly from the pervasive Fire Nation humidity. Seamlessly gliding in and out of forms, they dance around each other in a way that’s unbelievably familiar but still manages to keep them on their toes.

With a coy smirk, Katara arches her back, narrowly avoiding a fiery kick to the face. “So what if I do?” She’s light on her feet as she launches herself away from him, pulling streams of water along behind her.

“I should hope you do,” Zuko replies, rolling his eyes lightly. He pursues her, though, just as he always has over the past five years.

Before they know it, their sparring is long forgotten as they tear down the hallway together with reckless abandon. By the time they reach their chambers, they’re both breathless, panting heavily as Zuko nearly shoves open the front door.

As soon as they’re both inside, Zuko shuts the door behind them, pinning Katara against a wall, hovering over her. The air grows thick with tension as he brushes her nose with his, broad arms caging her in on either side.

“Katara,” he murmurs, pressing kisses along her jawline. “Katara, I love you.”

Tipping her head back slightly, giving him better access to the soft skin of her neck, Katara allows her eyes to close, blissfully. “I love you, Zuko…”

The windows to their room are still open, and their skin glistens beneath the afternoon sun. Their limbs tangle, and Zuko’s fingers run along the curve of her waist, skimming beneath the blue fabric of her simple training tunic.

They’re a mess, really, but they’re a mess together.

Katara doesn’t mean to ask, but the question tumbles from her lips before she can stop it. “Zuko… What if we tried for a baby?”

This time, Zuko seems perfectly content pretending as though he didn’t hear her, far more interested in the bottom edge of her tunic than her question. He pushes her toward the bed and hovers over her, love shining in his eyes.

“Zuko?”

His eyes seem to shift back into focus as he meets her gaze. “Yes?”

“Can we try for a baby?” She asks, completely in earnest. “We’ve been married for several weeks now, and I just…”

Zuko sits up, pressing shaky fingers to his temples. “I… I don’t know, Katara. The council barely approved our marriage to begin with. I don’t know if springing a baby on them so soon would be wise.”

Rolling off the bed, Katara begins to rummage through their closet, looking for a fresh set of robes to change into, hiding her disappointment. “Yes… You’re… You’re probably right, Zuko. We can wait.”

iii.

There’s something very peaceful about the turtleduck pond that had once belonged to Zuko’s mother. Standing at the edge of the water, soft waves lapping at her bare ankles, Katara breathes in once, then twice.

After receiving several pointed comments from various members of the council regarding the current insecurity of Zuko’s line, Katara fled to the pond. Under normal circumstances, she would have snapped back at them in an instant, but now, she’s all too aware of the fact that she’s a nineteen year old girl that many of the more traditional council members believe to be merely a figurehead. Deep down, though, she’s also mindful of the fact that, in some regards, she agrees with them.

This is a subject that she and Zuko have spoken of on several occasions before getting married.

Children.

Really, after the sheer amount of conversations they had during their courtship regarding becoming parents one day, Katara would’ve expected a more positive reception from Zuko when discussing carrying on their family line. She thought that they were of one mind on this, that they’d look toward starting a family as soon as they were married.

But, no… They’re married, and Zuko’s shied away from the topic twice now, and Katara can’t bring herself to push him too far, too soon.

Kneeling beside the pond, Katara doesn’t pay the clods of mud and loose grass any mind as she trails her fingers along the surface of the water. A few turtleducks swim nearby, occasionally daring to quack in her general direction. The air is balmy, and she basks in the gentle warmth of the day.

“Katara?” Zuko appears beneath an archway leading toward the gardens. “I thought I’d find you here.” Then, he’s by her side in an instant, looking down on her kneeling form with concern. “I’ve scolded the council members who spoke out of turn soundly. They had no right to make such remarks toward you.”

Her lips twist into a frown. “I can fend for myself, Zuko.” She can. And she does, when the situation calls for it.

Zuko seems taken aback. “I know that… I just… I didn’t want them speaking of you in such a way.”

“Thank you,” Katara replies simply. “But while I disagree with their delivery and the methods by which they convey such a message, I can’t help but think that perhaps what they say has some merit.”

“You’re not some… harlot or concubine with whom I’m supposed to conceive children, Katara.” Zuko looks scandalized.

Katara’s temper flares as frost forms at her fingertips. “No. I’m not. I’m your wife. Your wife, Zuko.” She stands abruptly, water she doesn’t bother to bend away dripping from her robes. “We spoke about children before getting married, and Dad and Iroh aren’t getting any younger, and we have the security of a nation to think of, and… I was under the impression that we… that we weren’t going to waste any more time.”

“Waste any more time?” Zuko repeats, hurt clouding his eyes. “How is any moment I spend with you a waste of time?” He stumbles backward, nearly tripping on his long robes.

Almost instantly, Katara’s anger dissipates. The surface of the water toward the edges of the pond have begun to crackle with ice, but she steps away from it before she causes any further damage, turtleducks quacking indignantly. “Zuko…” She reaches for her husband, gripping his warm hands in her freezing ones. “I didn’t mean it that way…”

Zuko stands rooted to the ground in silence, allowing her to trace his palms with her thumbs.

Then, Katara reaches out to tug her husband into her arms, not bothering to heed her drenched robes. “Zuko, I love you.” She rests her head against his chest, hoping that the tears glistening along her lashes go unnoticed. “We can talk about this some other time.”

iv.

“Katara?” Zuko lingers just outside of her study, a hand resting on the doorframe.

Fingers stained with ink, her hair piled atop her head in a way that’s likely quite unfitting for a Fire Lady, Katara lifts her head, meeting her husband’s gaze. “Yes, Zuko?”

He steps into the room uncertainly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder as he stands by her side. “Are you… Are you feeling okay?”

Forgetting that she’s covered in ink, Katara pinches the bridge of her nose lightly. “Of course.” She’s buried in paperwork and notices and letters, and she’s very likely overworking herself, but she’s also happy, helping others, serving Zuko’s people and, by extension, her own.

A ragged sigh slips from Zuko’s lips as he tugs an empty chair forward so that he can sit beside her. “Katara… I’ve given everything a lot of thought, and I think that I’m finally ready to talk.”

“To talk?” Katara repeats, her brows furrowing. “Talk about what?”

Zuko dips her brush back in its ink well and scoots her parchments across the table. “Children.”

Instantly, Katara’s eyes fill with worry. “We don’t have to – Really. Not until you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Katara,” Zuko replies, his voice a light rasp. “But I think that I am ready, now.”

So, Katara stills her body and gives him her full attention, correspondence and paperwork long forgotten.

“I’m… scared.” Zuko’s confession is soft enough that she almost doesn’t catch it the first time. “I’m really scared.” He clarifies, “I’m scared to have children. You know as well as anybody that I don’t really give a damn about what the council says, as long as they’re not hurting you or our people. But I’ve been using them as an excuse because I haven’t been sure of how to explain this to you.”

Carding his hands through his hair, Zuko unties his topknot, dropping his Fire Lord’s crest onto her desk. “I love you, Katara, and I’m sorry that I haven’t been more clear about how I feel or what I’m thinking.” He hangs his head, suddenly looking less like a twenty one year old man and more like a sixteen year old boy. “When we’d spoken about children in the past, it had always felt so distant, so far away in the future.”

Zuko continues, “But now the council’s pressuring us for an heir, and we’ve only been married for a month or two, and I guess I wasn’t expecting for everything to happen so fast.” He steals a glance at her when he thinks she’s not looking. “I don’t want to be like my father, Katara.”

And suddenly, it all makes sense.

“I don’t want to be like my father,” Zuko repeats again, stronger and with more conviction. “The thought of having children scares me because I don’t know who I’ll become with them around or who they’ll become with me as a dad.” He laughs bitterly, “I’ve always known that you would make a wonderful mother, Katara. I just didn’t have confidence that I would be a good father.”

Katara softens, opening her arms so that he can collapse lightly against her. “Zuko… I’m sorry for all the times in the past where I’ve pushed you.” She drops his gaze. “I had no idea.” Running her fingers through his messy hair, she presses a kiss to his forehead. “Thank you for sharing this with me… And, for what it’s worth, I think you’ll be a wonderful father one day.”

“I think so too,” Zuko agrees in a whisper, as though saying it too loud will cause it not to come true. Then, he flicks his gaze from her eyes to her lips and back again. “Hey… Katara. Ask me again.”

“What?” She nearly laughs, tugging him even closer.

Zuko’s expression shifts, the features of his face softening with joy. “Ask me if we can have a baby.” He pulls her onto his lap, allowing their limbs to tangle despite their heavy robes.

It’s as though the wind’s been knocked out of her. “Can we have a baby, Zuko?”

“Let’s have a baby, Katara.” Zuko surges forward to kiss her again, and they’re both nearly delirious with happiness. “I’m ready now… We can have a baby,” he whispers.

And those are the sweetest words Katara’s ever heard.

#zutara #zutara month #zutara month 2021 #zuko #katara #family portraits #let them be happy #let them be a family #;-;#post canon #post war #prequel fic to family portraits #but can stand alone #zel writes

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in-tua-deep · 5 years

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What are your thoughts on Vanya’s book? I’m torn between knowing it was an empowering thing for her and being like damn girl, you were all abused, not cool putting that out there without their consent. The lines I’ve seen from it were about how Vanya’s siblings treated her but I don’t see how she can talk about their childhood without the abuse coming up. Do you think Vanya would have to apologize for the book as part of improving the siblings relationships?

I think that Vanya’s book was very important for her to write - for herself. I don’t think she should have published it without the consent of her siblings, because Vanya does not exist in a vacuum. If you think Allison was not absolutely grilled over the contents of that book in interviews and it didn’t continuously pop up in her world you’re wrong. And anyone who both knew the other siblings and read the book might make comments or ask questions or make assumptions. Vanya wrote an entire book about how terribly she was treated and then pointed the finger at her siblings.

Because the issue is this: Vanya was abused. Horrifically and terribly abused and neglected. She was drugged for the majority of her life against her consent, frequently emotionally abused and belittled, and isolated from the rest of her siblings. She has a right to be angry. BUT. That does not erase the fact that her siblings were all also abused and victims. And Vanya was so wrapped up in her own pain she couldn’t really see that.

Of course, the reverse is also true. The others were all wrapped up in their own trauma to the extent that they never considered Vanya’s point of view or the ways that Vanya was being abused.

But imagine for a moment that you father raises you as a child soldier. You and all your siblings except one. While you’re running drills and learning to fight and gathering bruises and the only time you’re allowed to yourself is half an hour during the weekend - the life of the one sibling who is allowed to pursue her own passions (violin) and is generally ignored by your drill sergeant father seems to have it pretty darn good wouldn’t you think? You’d give your left leg to be invisible or not be forced to do the training. You’d give your left leg to have her freedom.

And then she publishes an entire book painting you the bad guy because, what, you didn’t include her in your half an hour of freetime? You had better things to do trying to survive your father’s regime than take a few to play happy family with her? You look at this book and ignore all the emotional abuse and gaslighting that she’s highlighting because you think she had it easy, and she’s saying in here that she was jealous of the attention your father gave you. Jealous. As if gaining your dad’s attention was ever a good thing.

She spills a whole bunch of family secrets. Discusses your brother’s death, something you find very private (maybe you even witnessed it and she didn’t), with the entire world. She drags up all the shitty things you did as a child. A child raised in an emotionally and honestly probably physically abusive household from which your only adult human role model was your asshole father. He built you a robotic mother who obeys his orders and parrots his words. The only other person is a chimpanzee who also only ever seems to regurgitate Reginald’s ideas and always defended him even though he was hurting you. Abusing you.

Vanya deserved to write down those thoughts and discuss them. With a therapist. Or friends. Or anonymously! Maybe a blog and give everyone pseudonyms and work through it that way. Because like it or not, her siblings did hurt her. They probably gaslit her about how bad things were, blowing her off because clearly her life wasn’t that bad. And they’d probably roll their eyes and call her lucky that she wasn’t included in training anyway. And Vanya would have to grit her teeth and smile and agree because it’s six against one.

Vanya was abused. But that doesn’t mean her siblings weren’t equally abused. Honestly I bet if Vanya had called up Diego and was like “hey I’m writing a whole book about how much growing up with old Reggie fucking sucked, thinking about publishing, wanna help?” Diego would be the first one on board like “HELL YEAH let’s ruin dad’s whole career I have like, seven stories about child endangerment off the top of my head let’s go”

the book we deserved to have was a collab by the whole family offering different points of views and discussing the trauma their siblings didn’t get to see - like private training.

So what I’m saying is that Vanya does write a sequel to her book. Except this time it’s with everyone sharing. That’s the apology. The opportunity to set the record straight with what they’re comfortable sharing with the world.

Luther can talk about never feeling good enough, can talk about his isolation at the top of the pyramid and his relationship with Allison who was also there. He can talk about impossible standards and his father never using his name. Strained muscles and terrible testing. The nonconsensual body modification and the isolation on the moon. The realization that four years of his life had been wasted because his dad never even bothered to read the reports - he didn’t even care enough to try. He can talk about the fact that he was so raised up as a child that he feels like a failure at everything he does now.

Allison can talk about her father forcing her to rumor her sister when they were both four years old. She can talk about the training, having to rumor her siblings and then later the random people Reginald would bring to her. Delivery men and door to door salesmen and girlscouts who were always rumored to forget after. (And then the homeless people, the people no one would miss. The ones who weren’t rumored to forget after because they didn’t go home. She doesn’t write about them though). She can talk about rumoring her way through life and never learning how to get anything without forcing people to give it to her. Constantly on the offensive. The way that’s impacted her career, her relationships.

Diego can talk about never being good enough. His stutter that Reginald had no patience with. The training, being forced to throw knives at the one person in the world he really truly cares about as she smiles at him with her plastic smile. Trying desperately to keep Klaus from drowning under the weight of Reginald’s expectations when he was barely treading water himself after Ben’s death. Leaving the first chance he did and never looking back. The way he still tried to prove himself by joining the police academy, and when he failed at that by becoming a vigilante.

Klaus can talk about his father throwing him in a fucking mausoleum. Being scared of the dark and claustrophobic. The ghosts he sees screaming behind his eyelids and sometimes even when his eyes are open. The one escape that he found being looked down on by everyone around him when he was only doing his very best to survive because the sad truth is that he could not live that way. Not how it was. He can talk about Ben showing up after his death, and nobody believing him. Being homeless. Living on the streets with no one but a ghostly follower for company. Every moment of sobriety in that house was one of fear - and Klaus is just so very tired of being afraid. (Maybe he can bring himself to talk about Dave, the one person that made him feel safe and protected and loved and how he lost him. Maybe he can’t.)

Ben can talk through Klaus about his own life. He was forced to kill people against his will with a power he couldn’t really control and that he was afraid of. He ended missions covered in blood that he never wanted to shed. Then his death which was reportedly very bad. Then showing up again and only being able to talk to Klaus. Not being able to hug him or stop him or intervene - forced to become a spectator to his brother overdosing over and over again. Loving him but being so angry that he’s squandering the chances Ben wishes he could once again have.

Five can talk about growing up pushing the boundaries and the way the others only seemed to notice when Reginald praised him and never when he was punished. And he was punished. Reginald tried over and over again to get Number Five to come to heel and never quite succeeded. Every point Five gained in his own personal score was gained through blood and bruises and willpower. There’s all that to talk about, and then there’s the time travel and forty years of isolation and Dolores and becoming an assassin and his plethora of issues regarding that he doesn’t even need to get into to make a whole book of his own. Coming back and seeing that cold portrait sitting on the mantle and knowing that Reginald used his presumed death in order to further control his siblings.

And they write it together, sitting in the living room and contradicting each other’s memories of events (”No, Dad caught us because you tripped on the table!” “Nuh uh! It was because Klaus was whispering too loudly!” “Actually guys looking back I’m pretty sure Dad just checked the cameras and noticed us leaving.”) and maybe they don’t publish it! They don’t have to! Or maybe they do, taking out all the bits about, you know, murder and all of that sorry Ben they could probably just downgrade the language to ‘hurting a lot of people’ though I mean. He’s dead it’s not like they can charge him with excessive use of force at this point.

And it’s a bonding experience. And they all come out of it better understanding that they were all traumatized and abused and groomed and gaslighted and neglected and just overall their childhoods were shit. Five will defend Vanya’s book with his fucking life and probably is instrumental in making the others see that just because her abuse looked different doesn’t make it less valid. And he’s also instrumental in making Vanya see that just because the others abuse looked different doesn’t make it any less valid, either.

Do yeah, have enough material for a sequel? There’s enough material for a fucking series.

Honestly though genuinely do you know what I think would have been a way better and more empowering move on Vanya’s part? Writing a fiction novel about an ordinary child in a world of magic and superpowers who saves the world. Writing about her own life through the lens of fiction. Basing her characters on real people, yeah, but not writing a tell all book about people whose lives it would very much still affect. Plus, I bet the others would actually read the book at least and recognize it.

I mean, if they read an entire book about a character who was excluded and belittled and ignored and told she wasn’t worth anything because she wasn’t special in the context of this fictional world, I think they would sympathize. And then if Vanya told them hey, actually this is me projecting and I really did feel this way a lot then it might go over a sight better than hey I’m writing about our childhoods and all your friends are going to read about it

and honestly?? I think that’s a story that needs to be told to other little girls as well. Maybe they aren’t literally being told they’re ordinary because they don’t have superpowers, but there’s a lot of girls who are told they aren’t special and can’t do things and having an ordinary character save the world is an important and inspiring narrative. And it might help Vanya get some closure, because she gets to come up with an end to the story. Wish fulfillment. She gets to write about an ordinary little girl who saved the world. Or maybe she didn’t save the world. Maybe she saved her piece of the world and left the rest up to the people with powers. Small acts of kindness that change everything, for some people.

(and it would reach more people than whoever reads autobiographies and memoirs)

I have a lot of feelings about the book as you can probably tell lmao

I just think the book could have been handled better on Vanya’s part. But I also think she had a right to write it because she had a LOT of stuff to work through. Honestly I think the book originally began from an exercise her therapist gave her and took on a life of its own until it reached the publisher. But like I said, she doesn’t exist in a vacuum and her actions have effects on other people - specifically her family.

Granted, it’s not like I’ve read the book in its entirety and can’t judge it because of that. But the others had a right to their privacy and I don’t blame them for feeling angry and betrayed because of that invasion of privacy I mean damn. And I doubt Vanya put any of the good stuff in there really, mostly bad. Because that’s how she was feeling.

(If I wrote a book about my childhood with my brother - I could talk about how he sold our joint runescape account without consultation despite all the hours I put in. I could talk about him chasing me through the house or eating my chocolate that I was saving. I could talk about some of his shitty views and his self-isolation, how he would call me stupid and never let me play with him. When he purposefully ditched me in Mini-Amsterdam when I was six and I had to find someone to call my mum for me. Maybe the time he left me on the school bus when I fell asleep next to him. When he pushed me into a bank of nettles, ouch. Or I could talk about how when my balloon popped when I was seven, he gave me his balloon. Or the time he won me a toy starfish on a crane machine. Or when he took me to school after my surgery so I could pick up my homework and when I went back before I was ready he was the one to pick me up again. Or the time when my sister and her friend were being horrible and he let me hang out with him and his friend in their secret base even though he usually didn’t give me the time of day.)

At the end of the day, you can frame people any way you want, and Vanya was going for the bad stuff. Because she was hurting. And she hurt them. And she needs to acknowledge that, so yeah I do think she needs to apologize for writing the book without asking or consulting in order to improve their relationship. I think the others need to apologize to her as well for what little shits they were as kids, because their own abuse is a reason but it doesn’t excuse what they did, either. Vanya was abused and they hurt her and they need to apologize for that. But that didn’t give Vanya the right to hurt them back, so she has to apologize as well if that makes sense??

I dunno this ended up longer than I thought it would oof but I hope it answers your question!!

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grifalinas · 3 years

Text

Batter Up (working title) (Chapter 1)

-/-

“It will be good for you,” Raphael had said, and, “You should expand your horizons,” Raphael had said, and, “It will give you a chance to get out of the house,” Raphael had said, and finally, “You know I’m right.”

That last one had been the final nail in the coffin. She was right. She was always right. Infuriatingly so, but Samuel had trusted in her judgment for over twenty years and he wasn’t going to start questioning her now, not when everything else about his life was falling apart, anyway.

Which was how he found himself outside of a tiny little shop tucked practically into the alleyway between a half-dead bar on one side and what he suspected, from the stacks and stacks of books in the window and not down to any visible signage, was a used bookstore. There was smoke pouring out of the backdoor, yelling and barking, a smoke alarm going off, and a general sense of chaos hanging over the entire establishment.

Samuel sighed. What in the world had Raphael gotten him into?

Still, he was there for a reason, so he picked his way down the alley to the back door- barely wide enough to walk abreast, though he was a very broad man- and peered inside, immediately choking and waving away the smoke still pouring out. At least nothing seemed to be on fire; the oven was hanging open, still belching smoke, and a hunk of smoking charcoal in a baking tin sat on top of it. The smoke alarm was at a fever pitch now that he was actually near it.

He was interrupted from his musings by a gruff voice calling, “Eddie, have you figured out how to shut that damn alarm off yet? Take the batteries out if you gotta!”, followed by a much higher, equally loud voice hollering from the kitchen door, “I’m working on it Uncle Flint!!” accompanying the appearance of a little girl who couldn’t be more than twelve or so unless he missed his guess.

She froze at the sight of him, and then chirped, only just loud enough to be heard over the din, “Hello! Welcome to the Witch’s Cottage, where we sell baked goods and possibly coffee and don’t capture lost orphans to fatten them up as pie filling~”

A beat. She beamed up at him.

“...I wasn’t thinking that before, but now I am.”

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

“Because it’s the first thing I thought when Uncle Flint told us what he was gonna call his bakery. Are you sure you didn’t think it even a little?”

“It’s a reference to the story, right? The name? I didn’t assume it was meant to be taken literally.”

“Oh. Hmm.”

“...I’m Samuel Bassington? I’m here to see a Flint Meadow.”

“Oh!” She brightened again, and turned to holler over her shoulder, “UNCLE FLINT!! THE GUY IS HERE!! HE DIDN’T LIKE MY SLOGAN EITHER!!” She turned back to him. “We’re in the front while the kitchen clears out. If you’ll follow me?”

He nodded and made to follow, but paused before going farther to pop the battery out of the smoke alarm. Immediately the din dropped to a murmur; the beeping gone, the dog stopped barking, and the conversation in the other room, muffled but loud, dropped off as well. Eddie let out a sigh of relief as he finished following her into the main area of the shop.

There were two other people in the front of the shop as well, a scruffy, unkempt man with a permanent aura of disdain around him, and a tall, broad teenage boy that resembled him in a superficial sort of way.

“Uncle Flint, the guy is here,” Eddie repeated, and turned to do her due-diligence in introducing them, being the only one present acquainted with both. “Uncle Flint, this is Mr. Samuel Bassington. Mr. Bassington, this is my Uncle Flint, and my big brother Radley. And I’m Eddie. Oh!” She reached down and scooped up the dog- a blond terrier whose tail had not stopped swishing the entire time. “And this is Jock. Say hello, Jock.”

Jock yipped politely. Eddie beamed. Flint and Radley exchanged a look, and Flint moved forward with his hand outstretched.

“Good to meet you,” he said, holding the handshake for just a touch too long. There was a glint in his eye, like he was sizing Samuel up. “So… you’re gonna help me run my business, huh?”

“That’s what I was sent for. Raphael said you need some help with management? She said you were brilliant in the kitchen but just didn’t have the head for the business side of running a bakery.”

“That’s about the long and short of it,” Flint said. “Well, you didn’t run off when my beloved niece implied we were cannibals, so that’s either a good sign or a bad one- come on back into the office, we’ll talk shop.”

He turned toward the hallway on the opposite side of the shop from the kitchen, where a pair of doors led to the bathroom and to the office past that. Samuel noted with satisfaction that, if the office door were left open, the front door of the shop was visible, or would be once the boxes filling the shop currently were removed, and followed him in with a final-sounding click of the office door.

-/-

An hour later, Samuel had set terms on a contract agreeing to be store manager of The Witch’s Cottage, though it worked out more as a partnership once all was said and done. The contract would be signed later, when a witness could be procured; for now, Flint leaned back in his desk chair and studied Samuel rather openly.

“So why’d you agree to this, anyway? Raph said you needed a change of scenery but didn’t bother explaining why.”

Samuel shrugged. “You know how Raphael is, she doesn’t like telling someone else’s business.”

He considered the question a moment, trying to decide how to explain. There were plenty of explanations to choose from; he felt sometimes like he was buried under an avalanche of worries.

“My entire life is falling apart,” he said slowly, when he finally did answer. “I needed something that wasn’t going to follow suit. And I needed a new job, and Raphael suggested I could be of use to you, and that it would be good for me.”

Flint was nodded along, and now he brightened. “Well if your credentials are anything to go by, we can definitely use you. I just can’t wrap my brain around all this fiddly business stuff. I just wanna sell baked goods.”

“I’ll do what I can, then.”

This got a smile out of Flint, an almost dazzling one that felt to Samuel like he’d just been run through; he cleared his throat of a sudden blockage, and stood. “Would you mind showing me the store? I’d like to take stock of what work needs to be done to prepare for the grand opening.”

“Sure. There ain’t much to show, honestly…”

-/-

The tour was… revealing.

Flint and the kids (who lived with him? There was talk of a father, and a mention of Flint’s brother, no specification of them being the same; Samuel made a note to find out the specifics of their living arrangement later) had taken possession of the shop a week ago, and spent that scrubbing down the kitchen and store room; there was still the front room to be cleaned up, and a guy was coming tomorrow to hook up the register, and most of their equipment was in boxes around the front room and would have to be put away before the front room could be cleaned, and Flint had hoped the have the place presentable by the time the register hook up guy came around, and, oh, yeah, they had a delivery of ingredients coming tomorrow but the freezer didn’t work, they had a guy coming around to fix that tomorrow, too.

Samuel stared at Flint as he rattled off problem after problem in a vague sort of way that implied these things do happen sometimes, and finally came to a halt just past the doorway of the storeroom, stooped slightly to accommodate the low ceiling.

Not too low for most people, he supposed…

“We’ve got an awful lot of work to do,” he said.

Flint shrugged. “I’m sure all four of us pitching in can at least get the front room clear, and we can scrub it down in the morning.”

“Two,” Samuel corrected. “I’m still not cleared for heavy lifting, and Eddie is too young. There are child labor laws for a reason.”

“I’m fifteen!” Eddie protested. Samuel turned around to find both children peering around the storeroom at them.

“...you have to be sixteen to work here. And certain jobs you aren’t allowed to do until you’re eighteen. The law is very strict about this sort of thing, since you could easily get hurt.”

“Or burn down my kitchen,” Flint added, giving Eddie a pointed look. “Wish I’d known about that before, I coulda cut you off at the pass and saved some smoke damage.” He raised an eyebrow at Samuel. “What do you mean you’re not cleared for heavy lifting? You look like you could lift a horse.”

Samuel cleared his throat hastily. “I was… in an accident a while back, I’m still on medical restrictions for certain physical exertions.”

“Hrm.” Flint looked a little put out by that; Samuel suspected he’d been hoping he’d take on some of the workload, but he waved it away readily enough. “Fine, fine. Are you allowed to scrub? I can put you and Eddie cleaning up her mess in the kitchen while me and Rad start getting those boxes shifted. And don’t worry about child labor laws; I’m allowed to put my niece to work, especially since she’s just helping me get the store ready and not an actual employee.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighed. “I’m not getting paid for this.”

“I let you live in my house and eat my food.”

“That’s not paying, you would do that anyway.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes I do! You love us and also if you neglected us Dad would kick your ass when he got back into the country!”

“...I think scrubbing down the kitchen will be fine,” Samuel interjected before they could start arguing- they were already staring each other down, Eddie trying (and failing) to puff herself up to look bigger and more intimidating.

Mostly she just looked really cute. Samuel felt bad for the poor kid. If this was her at fifteen, she was going to have a babyface for life.

“I bet we finish before you do~” Eddie chirped, taking Samuel’s hand and pulling him back into the kitchen.

More out of surprise than anything, he allowed himself to be led, only to forget to duck under the doorway in his effort to keep up, and nearly concussing himself. He yelped, startled; Eddie squeaked out a frantic apology, and Samuel hastened to assure her it was fine, he was fine, he was extremely used to banging his head on doorframes, seriously, it’s fine, while somewhere near his feet, Jock started barking again.

And thus began Samuel’s first day as store manager at The Witch’s Cottage.

-/-

#batter up (working title)#i am resisting using all in the batter as a title but like #it's SUCH a good title i probably will anyway #also please don't reblog this!#just comments will suffice thank you

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ryik-the-writer · 4 years

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Note: I started this fic way back in 2016, and had this Thanksgiving-themed chapter planned in advance.

Over four years and several bouts of depression-induced writers blocks later, I’m glad to finally get it out.

I present to you: Marinara Main - Burnt Bits I . Feat. Rumbelle and a big dash of baby! swanfire.

A03

Mr. Gold pulled into Belle’s next stop, smiling at her apologetic grin as she jumped out and grabbed two pizzas from the back and bounded up the stairs to her customer’s home.

It had been two months since Belle’s French Bread’s business car had burst into flames, setting off a chain of events that involved him lending his assistance, or just his vehicle really, on her deliveries and them dating on the side. It was where they could be together without the mocking or overbearing look from the town. It was theirs, and even if Belle was delivering pizzas and Gold was just watching from the window, they were together and having the seats smell like melted cheese was worth every second.

“How’d it go?” he inquired when she jumped back in the front seat.

She leaned in and kiss his 5 o’clock shadowed cheek. “$6 tip.”

“Hmm. I should have glared at him a little more, make him drop a full $10.”

Belle gave him an unamused look. “I asked you not to scare my customers.”

“Just making sure they’re not gouging you, dear.”

Belle sighed. She knew her sweetheart meant well, but she valued her independence. She swallowed her pride when he offered her his car for the sake of her family’s business, and held her head tall when she moved into his spare room after her accident, but drew the line with him bullying her customers into paying her sums she wasn’t offered.

It was there last delivery of the night so Belle decided to drop the disagreement for now. She had other things to worry about anyway.

“Didn’t you say Bae had an old bike gathering dust in your garage?”

“I’ve began using it as a garden decoration it’s been sitting around for so long. Why?”

“How much would you want for it?” she hated equating money into their conversations. It was gross reminder of their status difference, something he swore up and down he kept forgetting about but haunted her.

Mr. Gold slowed to a stop at the stop light. “Belle, I apologize for earlier. I was just being facetious, I swear.”

Belle paused. “Thank you for that, but what does that have to do with the bike?”

“You don’t want me to drive you around anymore.”

Belle cringed at the accusation. “That’s not it at all!”

He sagged in his seat with relief and Belle couldn’t help but laugh, relaxing when he joined her. They really needed to work on not jumping to conclusions.

“What do you need a bike for then?” He inquired.

“I don’t want you working on Thanksgiving.” She answered.

Gold looked at her. “Your father is making you work on the holiday? Is he mad?”

Belle rolled her eyes. She wondered sometimes if her father really was.

“No, just blinded by dollar signs. I read him something about how in China people have fried chicken instead of turkey and now he’s convinced that if we’re open people will forgo the turkey and order a pizza.”

“Logical.” Gold deadpanned, speeding up at the green light. “As for the bike, never you mind. You can borrow my car.”

“Won’t you and Bae be going away for the holiday?”

Mr. stared at the road ahead. “It’s always been just the two of us. Not much to celebrate really.”

Belle felt her heart sink, knowing that story all too well. After her mom died, Belle had her father spent many holidays in their quiet home with TV dinners in their laps and a game blaring. After he opened the business, holidays got livelier but there was still this sickening loneliness that bounced around in her gut.

“Well, I’ll just have to convince my dad to close shop early.”

Gold blinked from his gaze and turned to her. “Why’s that?”

“Because I’m going to need his help turkey shopping if we’re having you and Bae over.”

Gold startled back the horn, his hands flinching around a he tried to grasp the proposition.

“I…no Belle really. We couldn’t impose.”

“You’d be doing me a favor actually. I haven’t had a proper Thanksgiving meal in years.”

Gold pulled into the parking lot of French Bread. He wanted to say know, wanted to save her the burden of having him invade her home on a day that was restricted for family. However, he couldn’t resist the hopeful gleam in her eyes.

He sighed and nodded. Belle squealed and nearly jumped into his seat, kissing him roughly on the cheek.

“This is going to be great! I got to go make out a menu! I’ll call you tomorrow!”

He said nothing as she charged from his car to her business. He waited until the light came on before he made his way quietly home.

After checking on Bae’s homework situation, he stepped into his office and discretely pulled out the antique ring he had planned to offer Belle.

He wanted to be excited, and in a way, he was. His son would be able to have more festive holiday and he’d be able to spend more time with Belle, and hopefully find the right time to ask her the big question.

But crowds were not his forte, and he still wasn’t sure how her “boys” felt about him, let alone her father. He did not want to face another kidnapping escapde like he did on “poker night.”

Sighing, he left the ring alone for now, making a mental note to stop by the liquor store on his way to Belle’s tomorrow for two bottles of wine: one for tonight and another for the holiday.

-,-,-,-,-

Belle double-checked her table setting as fidgeted around the small kitchen of her and her father’s apartment.

Five plates were set: her and her father’s, Mr. Gold’ and Bae’s, and a guest her father had invited that may or may not show up.

Jefferson and Grace were heading to Jefferson’s in-laws, whom they both hated but had to visit at least once a year to avoid a nasty custody battle (which often lead to a week of pre-panic attacks from Jefferson; thank God they put that cot in the backroom).

Merlin was heading to dinner near Boston for a football game, and then to a children’s hospital, and Will was meeting Anastasia’s parents for the first time and asked only for prayers.

Belle checked the clock; it was just past 12:30 and “dinner” started at 2:30. She never quite understood this tradition of eating so early, but decided not to argue when she had five stomachs to worry about.

Belle hummed as she thought about her father. He had left early in the morning to pick up their “mystery guest”.

Thank Gods.

Moe French had started their pizzeria on a whim all those years ago, and really had no legit culinary skills. If it weren’t for her and Merlin jumping in and secretly taking over, French Bread’s would have literally burned to the ground. All his recipes had to be seriously revamped, but thankfully Moe was out half the time, handling the books or the equipment or something else that kept him far away from the food.

Just as Belle was checking the turkey’s temperature, a knock thundered through her father’s tiny apartment. Belle panicked a bit. Whoever was at the door was extremely early, and the she had no idea how she would entertain them for two hours while she tried to finish the meal.

She threw her oven mitts on the table and rushed to answered the door before anything burned, blinking at who was there.

“Hey,” Jefferson smiled shyly.

“Hi Jeff,” Belle greeted, stepping aside to allow them entry. “What can I…”

She glanced around him and noticed Grace wasn’t with him, which wasn’t a surprise, but he was supposed to be with her.

Belle asked bit urgently. It was no secret that Jefferson had major issues with his late-girlfriend’s family. They never thought he was good enough for her, and all but disowned her when she fell pregnant. Following her death when Grace was just over a year old, they suddenly wanted sole custody. Pinning down a job at French Bread’s had been the first step to securing Grace’s future, and Belle had been so patience with his back-and-forth court dates while he sorted himself out.

She only hoped something wasn’t stopping him from attending his mandatory dinner.

“What’s going on?”

“They um…” Jefferson shrugged. “I…decided not to go.”

Belle eyed him carefully, seeing the bags under his eyes.

“Ah,” Belle said with an affirmative nod, knowing now that she couldn’t turn him away, holiday or not. Her and the rest of the French Bread’s crew were all he really had.

She stepped aside. “You’re on dishes duty.”

“Deal!” Jefferson gasped, pulling her close and giving her a smack on the cheek so loud it made Belle’s ears ring.

“Down boy!” Belle hissed, giving him a playful smack. “You stir the beans while I move the table around.”

Belle had just placed two more plates down when someone knocked on the door yet again.

She answered it with a huff, and was a bit surprised to see Merlin enter, a brown bag in his hand.

“Hi,” she greeted a bit uneasily. Merlin had left after closing yesterday to make his trip, and wasn’t due back until Sunday. By the look on his face, he hadn’t stopped to rest.

She ushered him to the kitchen where Jefferson pulled out a chair for him to sit.

“What is it?” she asked earnestly, unnerved to see her strong-minded friend in such a state.

“Nimue was at my hotel,”

Belle and Jefferson both paled. Belle didn’t know all the details about Merlin’s borderline insane ex-girlfriend, but did know that he came to Storybrooke to get away from her.

“How did she know you were there?”

“I have no idea,” Merlin sighed, exhausted. “I saw her before she saw me, and I got out of there as fast as possible,”

Belle nodded, sharing a look with Jefferson.

“How about you stay for dinner,” Belle insisted. “We’ll walk you home tonight.”

Merlin began to stand, muttering something about not wanting to impose, and Belle had to stand on her toes to weigh him down.

“You’re imposing as much as Jefferson over here is,” Belle joked. “Help me figure out this new table arrangement.”

As her friends helped her in the kitchen, Belle glanced down at her phone. Nothing from Gold or Bae yet.

Belle frowned, wondering what was keeping her kind-of boyfriend and his son, and more importantly if she was going to be able to fit them in her tiny apartment now that there were so many extra people.

Just as she about to pull out the chair she had in her bedroom, the doorbell sounded once more.

“I’ll get it,” Merlin volunteered. Like Belle, he hoped it was the Gold’s.

The resounded “oh” he released afterwards gave Belle the answer she needed.

“Hello darlings!” came a high accented voice.

Everyone turned as a tall blonde woman head to toe in scarlet entered Belle’s tiny living room, wearing sunglasses that left only the tip of her nose exposed.

She gasped and inspected Belle’s home like a tourist who has stepped foot onto Time Square for the first time, even looking at her and her guests like they were performers.

Merlin and Belle exchanged curious looks, and just as she was about to ask who the tell was in her home, Will came bounding through the house, throwing a series of suitcases into her entryway.

He collapsed against the door, looking up with her a nervous smile.

“Hey…”

“Hi,” Belle greeted, eyeing the blond as she examined her father’s dusty shelf of knickknacks. “What’s uh…what’s going on, Will?”

Just as she said that the woman turned around, approaching Belle with a wide smile.

“Darling, thank you so much for having us,” she said as she kissed Belle’s cheek.

Belle stared at her wide-eyed, shooting another at Will.

“You remember, Belle,” Will said with a strained smile. “You said you wanted Ana and I here for Thanksgiving and you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Belle’s eye twitched. “Of course…” she said, her mind going into overdrive as she struggled to think how she was going to fit nine damn people at two-person table.

She snuck a calming breath. This is what holidays were about, and there was no way in Hell she was turning Will, a man she saw as a brother, out the door.

Besides, she and the other men of French Bread’s were wondering about this mystery girl Will would take weekends off to see, would take extra shifts for so that he could make a few extra bucks. The four of them had everything on the table when it came to each other, all their past and present secrets.

Or so Belle thought.

Still, she smiled whole-heartedly. “It’s great to meet you, Ana,”

Ana offered a wide, glass-like smile. “Thank you, your home is so,” she glanced around. “…simple!”

All the goodwill Belle was ready to extend crumbled around her, and it was then all the little details Belle had noticed about her had gathered together.

High quality clothes and accessories, gawking at simple, working people.

She was a rich bitch. Like Regina, like countless other people who turned her nose up at people like them.

Belle glanced at Will. Did he know? Did he care?

His gaze was pitiful, begging her not to say anything.

He did know then. Belle felt a bite of betrayal on her heart. Why would he deliberately associate with someone like her, someone who would only hurt him.

A calming hand met her shoulder, and Belle met Merlin’s warning glare.

“Ana,” he greeted. “Please make yourself at home. Belle, Will and I are going to work on the seating situation.”

Ana nodded, a pleased gasp escaping her lips when she studied her father’s tacky decorations.

Merlin steered Belle and Will into the kitchen where he and Jefferson had watched the exchange.

“Thanks for the heads-up, Will,” Belle sighed exhaustedly.

“It was really last-minute, I’m sorry,” Will said.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,”

Will’s gaze melted into a glare. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“Okay,” Merlin said, moving between them. “How about we try to get through dinner before we start class warfare, okay?”

Belle and Will glared at each other, but it was Belle’s whose gaze lowered first.

“You’re right,” Belle agreed. “We have to figure out this seat issue before we all end up in the park.”

Will met her smile. They’d work it out, but now they had to make an already stressful day suitable for everyone, including his unexpected guest.

“What if we ate on the floor, Chinese-style?” Jefferson suggested.

They all chuckled, the sour mood broken some.

“That might be our only option, hands in everyone,”

Four hands piled on each other as a plan came into place. They were putting on Thanksgiving dinner even if a wall had to be torn down.

“One…”

“Two…”

“Three!”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Meanwhile…

“Stop moving!” Emma gnashed Baelfire as she glared at his puffy finger under the high-powered magnified glass in his father’s study, the glistening stone of Belle’s hopefully-soon-to-be engagement ring glistening.

“Sorry,” Bae sniffed, and Emma sighed.

“Hold it together, Bae,” Emma warned gently, reaching out to pat his son’s shoulder. “This isn’t…well actually this is your fault.”

“It’s as much as my fault as it is yours,” Bae barked. It had been a joke, when he tried on the ring he found on his father’s desk. He’d brought it to Emma and the two gushed and joked at the engagement that was to come, ready to giddily tease Bae’s father when he came out of the shower, and get the details about the obvious proposal on the way. But when Bae had slipped it on—just as a joke mind you— he knew instantly there was a problem. It was too tight, and his finger began turning pink from the strain.

Now they were struggling to get the thing off, half dressed in their holiday best for Thanksgiving dinner.

Emma released an aggravated sigh. “We’re going to have to go to the hospital.”

“But we’ll lose the ring!”

“I think your dad would rather lose the ring than your finger!” Emma argued.

Bae pondered quickly. This would ruin everything.

The ring had belonged to his dad’s Aunt Genevieve, one half of the spinster aunts that raised him. They died long before Bae was even born, but with all the stories he told of them, of how much they loved each other during a time where the law and world wouldn’t see them as one, he already knew them.

The ring was one of love, one that his father had held onto and hadn’t even given to Bae’s mother (she was more of a diamond person). But Belle would appreciated the story behind it, and she would wear it with pride.

No!

Bae jumped up and began desperately searching for anything that could be used to slide off the ring.

“Let’s go get some dish soap,” Bae began to suggest when the sound of his father leaving the bathroom echoed from the hall.

“Well, we’re screwed,” Emma shrugged.

“Not yet,” Bae denied, mind reeling with thought. If his dad caught them, they’d be at the hospital with a saw before they knew what hit them!

“Check the desks,” Bae suggested in a hoarse whispered. “Maybe he has ink or oil from his antiques or something!”

Emma gasped. “We have baby oil at my place! We can sneak it out before my parents catch on!”

“Yes!” Bae hissed, heading to the door.

“Bae, where are you?” Gold called close by, causing Emma and Bae to shrink back.

Emma glanced around and made a b-line to the window. She opened it and made a quick survey of the distance and began stepping out.

“What are you doing!” Bae hissed, panicked.

“What does it look like?” Emma hissed back. “We should be find if we jump from here.”

“Jump! Off the roof?” Bae squeaked.

Emma glared up at him from her place near the gutters. “You want to risk it or you want to wait for your dad to find us and kill you for sure.”

Bae glanced back to the door where he could hear his father moving about. With a groan, he stepped out of the window, gripping the tiles for dear life as Emma led them to the draining pipe.

“Hold on tight and slowly slide down,” Emma instructed, easing onto the pipe.

“How do you know about this?” Bae whined as he watched her slide down like a firefighter on a pole.

Emma gave him a look when she hit the ground, placing her hands on her hips and waiting for him expectedly.

Gulping, Bae took hold of the pipe, trying to steady his breathing as he tried to gain a hold. He tried to up it with his shoes, but slipped instantly, having to grab the gutter to keep from falling.

“Shit, shit!” Emma gasped as Bae hung from the gutter. “Just…don’t think about the ground!”

“Thanks for the adv—”

The gutter snapped, and Bae managed to hold onto the bending metal until it started snapping off the foundation and Bad landed head-first into a neatly trimmed shrub.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” Emma panicked, grabbing hold of Bae’s leg. “Please be alive, please be alive…”

Bae groaned and slowly sat up, his face scratched and eyes unfocused.

“Anything feel broken?” Emma asked as she carefully picked leaves and twigs out of his curls.

“My brain’s still shaking, hang on,” Bae groaned.

“Bae?” Gold’s voice echoed from the office above.

“Break’s over!” Emma hissed, grabbing Bae and dragged him through the back garden and down the street.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Mary Margaret Nolan was –understandably – quite surprised when she answered the door and found the young Baelfire Gold and her daughter standing on her steps.

“Hi Mrs. Nolan,” Bae greeted with just the lightest air of nervousness.

“Hi, Bae,” Mary Margaret greeted uncertainly. “I…wasn’t expecting you. Emma, it’s nearly dinner time. Your grandparents are here…”

“He won’t be here long,” Emma cut in, grabbing Bae’s arm and drug him up the stairs.

“Hold it,” Mary Margaret called after them. “You know the rules, Emma…”

“We’re not going to my room!” Emma called back, rolling her eyes. She never understood why her parent’s suddenly put the “no boys in bedroom” rule in place earlier that year. Bae’s dad let them be by their selves at their place, especially on their video game-movie-pizza nights in the basement.

Oh well.

Keeping a glance over her shoulder, she led Bae to baby Neal’s room, watching every step to avoid making even the slightest noise.

“Maybe I should do it,” Bae suggested when they stood outside his room.

“No,” Emma resisted, slowly turning the knob. “If he sees you, he might freak out. Just be quiet.”

Bae rolled his eyes but stayed outside the room, waiting impatiently as Emma tip-toed into her baby brother’s room to grab the baby oil.

His father was bound to start calling him or the Nolan’s soon. They needed to get the ring off and back to his place soon.

“Find it yet, Emma?” Bae hissed as he opened the door a crack, meeting baby Neal’s large green eyes.

Bae grinned nervously at the babe, not entirely sure how to act around children. Apparently it wasn’t the right thing because Neal burst out screaming at the site of him.

“Damn it Bae,” Emma cursed, grabbing his arm and pulling him from Neal’s room as Mrs. Nolan called up the stairs.

Emma dragged him into the bathroom just as Mary Margaret sped up the steps to comfort Neal, leaving the two teens holding their breaths and listening to every step she took.

Emma snatched Bae’s hand to hold over the sink, dousing it with baby oil and trying desperately to yank the ring off.

“You’re pulling my whole damn finger!” Bae cursed, yanking away hard and hitting the door.

Emma dropped the baby oil, the plastic echoing through the small bathroom sounding like a bomb.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret’s voice rang, knocking on the door a second later.

Emma quickly locked it, flinching when her mother gasped and began wriggling the knob.

“Emma Ruth Nolan what is going on in there!”

Bae muttered a word that his father would have grounded him a month for while Emma began pushing open the tiny bathroom window.

“We’ve got to risk it,” she gasped, her blond locks flying wildly as she judged their distance.

“Oh…no!” Bae shook his head, stepping back. “I am not going through another window!”

Mary Margaret continued to pound on the door, shaking the knob profusely.

“That’s it young lady…David!”

Emma and Bae stiffened. David Nolan was a great man, but as a father he was more terrifying than a rabid bat in a Halloween haunted house when it came to his children’s well-being.

As they heard the Nolan patriarch’s boots shake the house, Emma and Bae scrambled to the window, now suddenly eager to make a quick get-away.

“Me first, he wants my blood!” Bae hissed.

“No!” Emma seethed, pushing Bae away by his face. “Me first, and watch me this time so you don’t die!”

Bae reluctantly stepped back and helped Emma ease out of the small bathroom window legs-first, sweating profusely as Mrs. Nolan relayed the locked door situation to Mr. Nolan.

“Hurry it up!” he begged as Emma grabbed his collar to pull him unceremoniously through the tiny window as her father began banging on the door.

“You have a big head, Bae!” Emma snapped as they struggled to get his shoulders through the window. Hearing Mr. Nolan’s booming voice threatening to break the door (and Bae’s legs—thought that may have been his anxiety spiraling), Bae wormed his way out until he clutching the tiles of Emma’s roof.

Emma had already located the steady gutter near her room and called out to Bae to follow her lead.

“Slowly…slowly!” she instructed as Bae struggled to grasp onto the gutters with his swollen finger. “Our gutters are cheaper than yours.”

Bae growled as he slid down the tiles, the toe of his shoe sliding over the metal of the gutter.

Just as he thought he had a chance to get off this damn roof without injury, the tell-all sound of the bathroom door bursting open shocked him to the point that he lost his grip on the roof and went spiraling down.

Emma released the drain and flew down the extra five feet, hitting the ground hard.

“Bae?” she cried, helping her friend turn over.

Bae groaned, holding his head as he looked at his best friend.

“We’re having a talk about all this when this is over.”

Emma smirked and helped him up. “Let’s get to Belle’s.”

Just as the words left her mouth the two youths heard a loud bang from upstairs.

They managed to squeeze behind a hedge before Emma’s head shot out of the window, his murderous gaze burning into the ground.

“Baelfire Gold you better have one hell of an explanation for this or I’m going to shake one from you!”

Sweaty bullets ran down the young Gold’s back, his body numb even as Emma began dragging him away.

“We got to go!”

“I…I think I’m having a heart attack…”

“Move it!”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Gold searched the misty streets of Storybrooke as calmly as his racing mind would allow.

Bae had snuck out for some odd reason, and if he didn’t have the explanation of his lifetime he’d be grounded until he graduated high school!

To add to the mystery, he could have sworn he’d heard Emma in his office as well.

The pawnbroker sighed and wondered if he had to give Bae the old birds and the bees talk again. His son was a few months shy of 15, and had been more than responsible when it came to such matters since the last time they had that talk last year, especially when it came to Emma Nolan.

He trusted his son to mind himself around the Sherriff’s daughter, and had shown any romantic interest in her. Why Gold didn’t want to jump to conclusions, he was worried that those interests may be changing if they were locking themselves in rooms now.

Just as he was about to turn around, the all too familiar sound of police sirens wailed behind him, the mulit-colored lights instantly causing his head to throb.

“I don’t have time for this!” he cursed, jumping out of the car as they both pulled to a stop.

Sherriff David Nolan stepped out, looking unamused.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you never to leave a car when a cop pulls you over?”

Gold glared at his sometimes acquaintance. He and David got along like sheep and sheep dogs: they did much better a part, and there wasn’t a promise that teeth wouldn’t be used during their encounters.

“When an actual cop pulls me over, I’ll remember that,” Gold snarled.

David frowned. “Okay, enough niceties, I saw your son and my daughter jump out of my bathroom window. I want to know why and where they are now. I have angry in-laws and an even angrier wife, and I am not going back to them without my daughter.”

Gold’s eyes widened. It was worse than he thought. Something was going on with them, and he needed to get to them before they got into any more trouble.

And there was really only one person he could think of that his son would run to.

“I’m not sure, but I will find them,” Gold said, returning to his car.

“Hold it,” David said, placing a hand on the hood of Gold’s car. “You know something, so either I come with you or we can settle this at the station.

Gold gave him a bland look. They both knew David wouldn’t dare, but like Gold, he was a terrified parent and would make any threats necessary to ensure the safety of his daughter.

He motioned to the passenger door, hoping Belle wouldn’t mind an extra guest for the holiday.

“Get in.”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Belle managed to hold her tongue as the blonde bombshell gawked at her cooking. It was cute in a way, honestly, her general interest, but Belle couldn’t decide if it was out of delight or judgment.

She glanced into the living room where Will and the rest of the men were rearranging furniture to accommodate for all the extra people. He looked at her as well, begging her to accept Ana.

Belle sighed. “Would you…like to help?”

Ana’s well-manicured hands shot up. “Oh no, darling. I’ve never worked in a kitchen before.”

Belle held back a snort and helped Ana position the bowl of sweet potatoes she had been mashing and showed her how to hold the masher.

“Just keep crushing them until their smooth, no lumps. Then we’re going to put them in a dish and cover it with brown sugar and marshmallows for a casserole.”

Ana’s eyes widened as she awkwardly mashed the potatoes.

“Is this…a meal…all people eat?”

Belle bristled a bit. “It’s pretty popular for this holiday, though I don’t mind eating it whenever sweet potatoes are on sale.”

Ana paused. “You eat discounted food?”

Belle gripped the counter. “Yes, some of us can’t afford lobster and steak every night.”

“What was that?”

“I said I need to check on the turkey,” Belle replied, and it was both the true and a distraction.

Belle opened the boiling oven and poked at her crisping bird. It was the first she had made that wasn’t from a bag, and she wanted it to be perfect…as perfect at her pizza making skills would allow that is.

As she was reapplying the tin foil, Ana came to look over her shoulder.

“Oh, it’s so hot!” she laughed, the sound light and chirpy.

“Maybe don’t get so closed to it,” Belle muttered, slamming the oven shut.

Ana jumped back, tensing when Belle brushed past her.

Belle returned to cutting vegetables for the dressing, Ana coming beside her to continue smashing the smooth potatoes paste.

Belle glanced to the living room at Will’s pleading glance and continued to force conversation for his sake.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Belle inquired.

“Oh,” Ana answered cheerfully. “A little of this, a little of that. Usually I’m in a plane being catered off to some event or another.”

Belle hummed, unsurprised. “Sounds nice.”

“Will tells me you own your own business,” Ana offered.

“You’re standing above it,” Belle returned, chuckling a bit. She was rather surprised to hear Ana return the sediment.

At least she had a sense of humor. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.

“Of course, business would be charitable at best.”

Belle’s knife stilled, the small hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

“I…beg your pardon?”

Ana giggled, not yet knowing the beast she was about to unleash.

“Oh, it’s a sweet little hobby, darling, but you can’t possibly find it profitable,” Ana said, sweet as overly sugared coffee.

Belle gripped the knife she was holding, struggling to hold back all the nasty instincts she had to smash the blonde in front of her.

Yet…Ana was right.

French Bread had been operating in the red for years, but they’d always been pretty well off. Moe managed to keep everyone employed however, and were overall comfortable.

Belle had never looked at her business as a hobby. She saw it as a lifeline, one that she liked at that.

She made something that people liked. She offered her business for fundraisers for the local schools, and took pizzas to families after a loss or birth.

She was a member of this community, and damn it she was a business owner, no matter what she made.

Before she could defend her very livelihood—or even throw Ana’s arse out—Baelfire and a panting Emma Nolan came bustling in, slamming the door and locking it as if they were being chased.

“Bae?” Belle gasped. “What on earth—”

“You got to help us!” Emma gasped, grabbing Bae’s hand.

“No,” he protested, squirming in her grip.

Emma dragged him to her level, glaring fiercely.

“My dad’s probably on his way here with a hatchet, and I do want to jump out of another window!”

“Wait, what?” Belle demanded.

Emma snatched Bae’s hand up, showing Belle his swollen finger.

Belle gasped. “Bae, why are you wearing this?”

Bae gulped, glancing at Emma. “I…well…you see…”

Belle shook her head and led him to the couch.

“Merlin, can you grab my first aid kit? It’s under the bathroom sink.”

Merlin nodded and set off.

“Will, I need some ice, we need to get the swelling down.”

“I’ll get it!” Ana volunteered, practically skipping to the kitchen. “Oh, ice trays, how cute!”

Belle’s eye twitched. “Will…”

Will quickly got the ice from Ana, handing it to Bae without meeting Belle’s eyes.

“Crazy day, eye lad?”

“Yeah…” Bae said, wincing as Belle examined his hand.

“What happened, and where’s your dad?” Belle inquired.

“Probably right on our asses,” Emma muttered. Jefferson chuckled.

Merlin handed Belle the kit and winced at the purple digit.

“Maybe we should get Whale down here?

“NO!” Bae and Emma shouted.

“He’ll cut it,” Bae said. “Then it’ll be ruined.”

“I think your dad would be more concerned about Whale cutting off your finger than a ring from his inventory.” Belle said.

Bae looked down guiltily at the ring unknowingly meant for his possible future step-mother.

A family heirloom and a proposal would be lost today on his account. It was almost too much to bare, especially after he nearly died trying to save them both.

It’d hurt to tell Belle, but he was going to be grounded until after new year’s anyway. Might as well attempt to save one.

“Wait, Belle,” Bae begged as she was dialing the number. “I need to tell you—”

A loud pound on the front door cut him off.

“Baelfire Gold,” came David Nolan’s booming voice.

“Shit!” Emma and Bae hissed, instantly searching for a window.

“What on earth…” Belle began as Merlin began to open the door, only to have David push it open with his weight.

His heated stare instantly fell on Bae, and then on his sweating daughter.

“What is going on with you two?” he demanded.

“Dad, I can explain!” Emma swore as Bae shot up to stand behind her.

He looked back and forth between the two teens, and then finally the ring on Bae’s finger.

“Oh hell no!” he exclaims, jumping to the most severe conclusion.

Bae and Emma followed his glare, paled, and then looked at each other.

“Whoa, no, no!” she burst.

“You two are too young to get married have you lost your mind!” he yelled.

Belle stepped in front of the teens, trying to bring peace back into her living room.

“David, don’t be ridiculous,” Belle instantly defended, ducking beside Bae. “Right?”

“No!” Bae burst, pulling away from Belle. “This whole thing is because—”

The door flew open once more and Mr. Gold burst in, panting like he just ran a marathon.

“I told you to wait for me, Nolan!” he barked. “There’s three flights of steps to get through!”

“It’s a good thing I’m here, they were about to run off together!” the deputy fought.

Gold looked at his son, eyes instantly drawn to his swollen finger and the ring suffocating it.

He paled a bit, and looked at a frazzled Belle, and then the other guests in her home who looked just as confused as she (except the blonde who looked amused —who was she?)

“Belle,” he began, gripping his cane tightly. “I can explain.”

“You explain in the station,” David said, heading to Bae. “We’re going to have a talk young man—”

Gold stepped in front of him, snarling like a wolf protecting its cub.

“Like hell you are!”

“Oh this is exciting!” Ana cheered.

“For god’s sake.” Belle groaned.

“Okay, everyone calm down,” Merlin tried to sooth as Gold and David went at each other.

“Your son is a menace!”

“Your daughter was the one who was dragging him out of windows!”

“Oh my god I want to die!”

The piercing sound of the ancient fire alarm screaming through the air.

Jefferson fist-pumped the air. “Yelling feels really good right now!”

Belle looked around at her chaos-filled living room, her heart clenching.

All she wanted was a nice dinner with her friends and family – the first real nice dinner she’d had in years at that!

Jaw clenched, blood boiling, she turned to step into the kitchen, Will and Merlin watching her carefully.

Grabbing her broom, she aimed the handle at the screaming fire detector and promptly stabbed it, the thing slowly dying with a low whine.

The room became quiet, all eyes turning to the fuming woman. Even Ana had stilled, this part of the simple life mostly unappealing.

Belle turned to turn off the stove and donned oven mitts, glaring at Merlin when he offered to assist.

She removed the scorched bird, taking a moment to mourn what could have been, before turning to her terrified onlookers.

“You,” she growled, pointing at Gold. “You said you could explain, so tell me, what the everlasting hell is happening here tonight?”

Gold gaped at her, his heart pounding. He couldn’t tell if he was utterly terrified of her or madly in love.

Well, the later was a no-brainer. That was the whole reason he had delicately cleaned his great-aunt’s ring. He wanted her in his life as long as she would have him.

He looked at his son. The boy was no doubt facing a very long probation for putting him through all this, but he very honestly looked remorseful.

Gold looked at Belle, beautiful, bright, brilliant Belle. The woman he loved. The woman who’d brought so much life into his gray world.

Belle continued to stare at him expectantly, and Gold knew he needed to act now if he didn’t want to get sent through a window.

He turned to his son, frowning, and held out his hand.

Confused, Bae reached out his ringed-hand, and gasped when his father represented his whole hand to Belle.

Gold carefully got down on his good knee, the spectators in the room alighting when the realized what was occurring.

Belle’s face as well melted, her cheeks pinking.

“Belle,” he began. “I love you so much. These last few months have been some of the best of my life and I want to have so many more, years in fact.”

Belle’s knees began to shake. She hadn’t planned for this. She wasn’t ready. They should be somewhere nicer than her dingy apartment. She should be in a nicer dress. They should…they should…

“So as soon as a I pry this ring off my son’s finger…”

Bae winced.

“Clean and resize it, I…I would very much like you to be my wife.”

Belle could only stare, all words lost. Is this what true, unabridged happiness felt like?

“Well?” Jefferson urged, causing Will and Merlin to shush him harshly.

David had already brought out his phone and was recording dutifully.

“For mom?” Emma chuckled.

“Oh yeah, she loves this stuff.”

Belle released a wet laugh, tears building behind her eyes.

“I…I…”

The door swung open before she could answer, her headset father clambering in and shivering.

“Sorry I’m late Be…” he looked around and the myriad of strangers in his living room.

His eyes particularly zeroed in on Gold—the man who almost ruined his business not too long ago—who had hastily released his son’s hand and was slowly rising from his knee.

“What on earth?”

“I…think the market might have one more turkey we can grab,” Merlin suggested, clutching Jefferson and Will’s shoulders. “Let’s go see.”

The two men dared not protest. Will quickly took Ana’s hand and led her from the apartment before Belle went off on them all.

“It was lovely to meet you darlings!” she said, not seeing Belle exaggerated eye roll.

David stopped his phone and poked Emma’s shoulder, motioning that they really needed to leave.

“Bye Bae,” she whispered, signaling for him to text her later as Moe and David nodded awkwardly to each other.

“Well that’s different, the former Australian citizen said.

“I swear dad, there’s a reason for all of this,” Belle gasped, feeling a bit calmer once Gold was straight by her side.

There was a sound outside, and Moe peeked out the door, saying something so soft that Belle nor Gold could pick it.

“We can talk about this later,” Moe said, chirpier than he was a moment ago. “I really need you to meet someone.”

Belle blinked, wondering if this someone was the reason her father had been so absent from his business—and her life—for the last several months.

She glanced at Gold, who was frowning sulkily. A beautiful, abet odd, proposal had been smite, he was hurting.

Belle took hold of his hand, smiling when he met his eyes.

It’s okay, she said, we can try again.

He smiled back, thankful.

Moe stepped aside to allow, to Belle’s slight surprise, a woman enter.

Like Ana, she was elegantly dressed, though didn’t stand out quite like she had.

There was almost a familiarity to her, the way her shoulders straightened and her hands clasped over her hips, like someone in charge.

However, her attention was brought back to her current boyfriend. His hand had fallen from hers, leaving her cold, and confused.

“Belle, I’d like you to meet—”

“Why Mr. Gold,” the woman greeted, carefully.

She stepped forward, and Belle suddenly felt like she was being advanced by a wolf.

“How lovely it is to see you.”

Belle shot to her boyfriend. He was pale, trembling just enough that she could feel the vibrations in the old wood of her apartment floor.

Gold couldn’t find the words he needed. Couldn’t even scream if he so chose to.

The very world around him—years of healing, of running—gone.

All because one woman had returned into his life.

“Cora.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #swanfire #belle french #mr. gold #jefferson #merlin ouat #will scarlet #baelfire #emma swan #ouat #ouat fic #marinara on main #ryik's fics #hope to have a pt 2 out for november!

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catchlalune · 4 years

Text

My Dearest Rose

a/n: hello again my starbursts! I hope quarantine is treating you well, please don’t forget to keep practicing social distancing! In the next installment of fics I may never finish writing is one very dear to me, I was having soooo much fun writing it but admittedly lost my steam. There are a lot of errors that I haven’t fixed and though the plot was thought out it was not completed in its entirety (obvi) it was maybe about 55% complete? But please give me some feedback and tell me if you like this style of song fic! (Also the very end is supposed to be very close to the very end of the story, I jumped around a bit whilst writting it!)

Pairing: Kim Woosung x Reader

Word Count: 3012

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Fantasy! Au, Cinderella! Au (Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella to be more precise)

Warnings: mentions of minor character death

The sweetest sounds I’ll ever hear are still inside my head

The kindest words I’ll ever know are waiting to be said

The most entrancing sight of all is yet for me to see, and the dearest love in all the world is waiting somewhere for me

The first time you meet him it is down by the public shoppes. He’s someone you’ve never met before and someone you are sure you’d remember due to the color of his hair, golden like inside of an iris’s petals.

His eyes were so brown and so kind you had trouble responding to him when he spoke to you.

“Miss? Are you alright?” You have to blink several times for his words to register in your head and when they do, you jolt and quickly look to the ground.

“Yes, I think so.” You finally speak up as you gather the packages that were dropped when you were trying to not be trampled by the majestic horses and the beautiful blue carriage embroidered with the most astonishing golden detailing.

“Those royals, never caring if they’re in someone’s way.” He comments as he begins to stack the packages for you and you quickly take them from him.

“Oh, I’m sure they were going somewhere very important.” you reply sheepishly He doesn’t seem to buy that but gives you a gentle smile nonetheless.

“Important enough to almost run someone over? I’m not sure about that.” He remarks, with a telling smile. You stop for a second just to think over his words, your brows furrowing as you turn from him.

“Well, thank you, thank you very much.” You thank him meekly remembering you really are in a hurry, but before can make your getaway he frantically follows you.

“Wait, what’s your name?” He asks, questioningly. You weren’t inclined to answer but you did nonetheless.

“(Your name)? I like it.” The smile he gives you is charming, fit for a prince you think.

“It grows on you I guess, if you’ll excuse me I really must deliver these now.” You can hear the fatigue in your voice as you say that and you turn to leave again but he continues to follow.

“I can help! I do wish to speak to you some more and figure out what a man would need to learn in order to get in your good graces.” He says cheerfully and he takes the heaviest boxes from your arms before you can think about protesting. He just sets off in the direction you were headed.

“Well, I suppose I should know the name of the man that would like to know. And why he might be so adamant in helping out a girl he’s just met.” You sass as you jog after him.

“Let’s just say that he’s” a charming stranger.” He chuckles out, smirking.

“How charming can he be if he won’t answer a simple enough question as his name?” You ask as you stray away from him for a moment to drop off a package to the baker’s wife who was waiting outside of the bakery for you. She greets you with a wide smile and a warm muffin freshly baked. She sends you off with well wishes and a Tell your father thank you!

“How well do you know the people of this town?” You jump a little at the voice of the strange man to your left.

“I’d feel more obligated to answer once I know how to address you.” You shrug. He laughs and shakes his head.

“I thought I would be able to get away with not telling you but I concede. My name is Woosung.” He says pleasantly

“I’m not sure why you wouldn’t want to tell me if you want to help me but alright, it’s a pleasure to meet you Woosung.” You say almost dropping a box.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine.” He replies smoothly. You want to smile at that but cover it up with a shift of the packages in your arms.

“So it is.”

With the help of Woosung you were able to get the deliveries done much faster than anticipated. Though he was a little strange and a bit over eager he was kind enough to help you with your task and see it through to the end. You decided it best to reward him by sharing half of your muffin with him.

“It is much better when it’s still warm and with a glass of cold milk. My mother always thought so anyway.” You comment, remembering. He perks up at that while mumbling the question you so dreaded hearing with a mouthful of muffin, his stuffed cheeks making him look like a woodland creature.

“Thought so?”

“Yes, she passed when I was five. I remember bits and pieces but not everything.” You say. His shoulders slump and he gives you a sympathetic look.

He replies. “I apologize for asking.” You were glad he didn’t say he was sorry for her passing, for you never really knew what to say after that in a conversation.

“There’s no need for an apology. I’ve learned to live with it now, my father had a girlfriend a couple years past and she was nice at first. Until she wanted me to call her mother then she got very mean. She made me do all the chores around the house alone and then at the end of the day would make me sleep in front of the fireplace as her two daughters took my room.” You state, seemingly unhappy with it.

“And your dad did nothing to stop it?” There was anger simmering underneath his tone.

“He wasn’t around often. He may have been around for a week at a time before leaving for business trips. Until one day I begged him to stay or to take me with him and then he questioned why. My stepmother and sisters left very promptly after that.” Is what you respond.

“What do you do now?” He asks,with eyes that seem to be hanging off your every word.

“Now I work with him. We moved towns after that and we are actually fairly new here. We own the flower shoppe right down there.” You point to the shop on the far side of the square that sat on the corner of the road. The bench two of you sat on having the perfect view of the quaint little store.

“I’m not sure why I told you all this. But I think it probably has to do with having the same old routine all the time.” You continue.

“I understand that. Working tirelessly day in and day out doing the same old thing. It is nice to do something out of the ordinary once in a while.” He nods looking up at the clouds that lazily passed by. You were glad that at least someone could understand you.

“Well, what about you?” Your question seems to startle him.

“M-me?” Was that a stutter? He seemed so confident a moment ago. “My story is not very interesting. Just a boring family living in a boring place surrounded by boring people doing boring tasks.” He sounded a bit bitter about it.

“That does seem a bit uninteresting.” You remark, letting it go for now, allowing the silence to settle comfortably over you both. Well, as silent as the ambience of the busy town square would allow. When the sun begins to lull he stands and stretches looking much like a cat, the thought makes you giggle and he grins in your direction.

“Leaving so soon, Prince Charming?” He blinks at you, a bit startled. “You act so gentlemanly, it is something befitting of a prince.” You tease.

He shakes his head at this. “Oh hardly m’lady, I am not deserving of such a title.” He tilts his head then a small frown adorning his lips. They were a pretty pink color like that of a peach-colored rose. You then wonder. “Will I see you again?”

“Perhaps, if you are ever in need of a bouquet.” He says smiling at you again, always such a dazzling occurrence.

“I will make sure to need one in the future. Then, I’ll be going first.” Woosung says, you nod at him a small wave after until he turns his back and disappears down the cobblestone walkway.

When you turn to make your back way to the store, your best friend stands before you a question in his eyes and his arms folded across his chest.

“Oh! Dojoon, you nearly frightened me to death.” You squeak out, the hand over your heart could hardly calm its frantic beating.

“Who was that?” He questions. You weren’t sure why but the tone in his voice had you a bit miffed. He was a nosy man but all in good faith. He was the first person you bonded with in town after landing a job in your store and you two were basically attached to the hip ever since. Usually you two would take turns delivering and working in the store, often alternating between the tasks. He probably set out to find you after you took longer than usual to get back.

“A charming stranger, that’s all.” You said, opening the door to your store, not really caring too much if it hits him as it shuts.

“He has a name, doesn’t he?” He pushes. Dojoon had no trouble keeping up with your shorter strides.

“Who has a name?” Your father's voice makes you jump for the third time that day.

“No one, papa. How were the sales today?” You say, diverting the conversation.

The attempt to change the subject worked well in your favor as your father and Dojoon were easily distracted by telling you animated stories of the days events. You only listened half heartedly, in the back of your mind you hoped -though a strange thought-that you would be able to meet the charming man once again.

♧♧♧

After that encounter, Woosung came back the next day, and then the next, always incredibly charming and princely. The two of you spent so much time together you hardly noticed the changing of the seasons, summer turning to autumn, autumn to winter, the chill of the snow bidding its farewell when spring came and nestled its way into the trees, breathing life back into the nature around you.

The two of you often spent time working together, if he didn’t help you with deliveries then he was helping your father with business matters or Dojoon with tending the flowers. If anyone enjoyed Woosung’s company more than you it was Dojoon. He was certainly skeptical at first until he met him and then they bonded well over their common interests in black roses and music.

“Aye, did you all hear? The prince is giving a ball!” One of your regulars Mr. Windsong informs you with a bright smile. You notice Woosung stiffen next to you but you choose not to say anything about it.

“Oh is he? I’m sure that will be very nice for the royals.” You reply to him flippantly, you weren’t very interested in the affairs of the rich.

“You should be more interested,” Mr. Windsong motions for you to lean in so he can whisper in your ear,you humor him if only to get him to leave. “I hear he is to be picking a princess. Any lady he sees fit to marry so all of the eligible young woman in the land are invited.”

“Trying to marry my daughter off are you?” You giggle at your father’s grand entrance bringing with him the lingering smell of cherry blossoms from the outside.

“Oh no papa, he was just telling me about the ball the Prince is holding.” You watch as your father raises his brows and hands off a couple packages to Woosung to put away.

“Oh the I heard about that too, apparently his parents want to marry him off. A little strange if you ask me, the King isn’t even past his prime yet.” The wind chimes tinkle as Dojoon steps in and Mr. Windsong steps out bidding everyone a farewell.

“Perhaps his parents just want what is best for him.” The three of you turn your heads to Woosung whose mouth is slightly turned downwards.

“Perhaps, but regardless it has nothing to do with me,” You get up from your perch behind the register and pick up a watering can to water some yellow carnations. “I have no interest in marrying a prince, let alone one I don’t know. Don’t you think marrying someone you hardly know is barbaric? What’s the use of marriage if not to marry someone you love?” You remark.

“Well we don’t know if the prince is being forced into it, he could not be.” Woosung adds, smiling at you but you sigh shaking your head slightly.

“I’m not talking about the prince, I’m talking about the women. Why are we expected to just fall in love at the drop of a dime? Who cares if you’re a prince or a common man if you just expect us to just fall at the mention of fame and fortune?” You rebuttal.

If there was one thing Woosung was not expecting it was that. Your words caused his skin to flush, they were so cold.

“Now dear, not all men are the same.” Sensing the tension your father steps between the two of you and Dojoon lets out a loud boisterous laugh.

“Honestly, papa. I’m as mild and as meek as mouse, whenever someone gives me a command I obey. But the idea of being forced into marriage infuriates me. I loathe it, what am I to do if the one I marry forces me into it to? Will I ever get to be myself?” You question.

“Listen to me dear, I will not let that happen. No one will ever force you into anything ever again, not even me.” Your father sets a warm palm on your shoulder as reassurance and you nod at him.

“I know, I just get scared sometimes thinking of life outside this shop. What if when you pass I’m married off to some evil man? Money does the worst things to people papa.” You can hear the “emotion” in your voice.

You watch as Dojoon steps forward with a crooked smile and shakes his head. “What am I chopped liver? I thought we made a pact that if you weren’t to be married by the time of your father’s passing that we’d-”

“Why are we speaking as if I’m about to meet the undertaker?” Your father interrupts, his question makes both you and Dojoon laugh.

“Not at all sir!” Dojoon says, face flushed from laughing.

“It’s just, mama passed out of nowhere it seemed and if that were to happen to you too well I..I wouldn’t know what to do.” You prune at a patch of Forget-Me-Not’s as you say this, you vaguely remember your mother being fond of the baby blue blooms.

☆☆☆☆

"I yearn for you, for your soft glances and your approval. I have never known a feeling quite like this, I only wish for you to extinguish the fire inside me. Please, tell me you care for me too."

You can't help but look at him from his confession, affairs of the heart were not something you were well versed in. But you'd be lying if you said his presence didn't alight a fire in you and snuff it out all at once. Its the tenderness of his voice and the way the moon reflects off the water on to his face that makes your breath quicken, at least that's what you tell yourself.

"You know I care for you."

"But do you care for me? Does me being a prince make a difference? Tell me now, and I won't ever bother you again but you have to speak to me. Please do not shut me out." Woosung sounds desperate and you cant help feeling it's your fault for making him this way.

The two of you sit there for a long while, him waiting patiently and you staring at the way the moon hits the water. You want to say it, want to speak your truth but admission is so hard and you are so weary. Regardless of the passage of time Woosung never moves from your side, he remains even when the chirping of early morning birds can be heard. He knows you, he understands.

"I- I wish to-" Your voice comes out hoarse but Woosung doesn't seem to mind, he just hangs on every last word.

When you turn to him you can see the adoration in his eyes, it was always there sparkling and bright. You could always feel it, the way he seemed to find your gaze in a crowded room always. The way with which he spoke to you, soft and steady. The way with which he bore his heart to you, slow with no pressure. It is all you can think about before pressing your lips to his in a kiss that would make Aphrodite squeal.

The touch of his lips on yours is so right, he melts into it but does not move to make it go any further. It is languid and full of the emotions you both can not hope to ever put into words. It is full of the longing and of two beating hearts that call out for each other. Even then he remains as he always has.

"Charming."

"My dearest love, you are the charming one. And I will always be right here for you." He speaks the words like the whisper of a song as he taps the spot on the left side of your breast where you can feel a hammering.

It's clear to you now that from the very moment you met at the shoppes all those seasons ago that he had always been for you, waiting and patient.

#the rose #the rose fluff #the rose angst #kprosenet #kim woosung fluff #kim woosung angst #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kim woosung

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thebookofus-depravity · 4 years

Text

Skinny Bone Jones

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 coming soon!

9k words

This is my baby Park Jaehyung and an AU in which y’all are dealing with the coronavirus together in LA. Jae grew up with Y/N and you were childhood friends. You stayed close but haven’t seen each other in ages. Now you’re both back.

Teeth rotting fluff, possible smut in future chapters (lets see if I have the balls to post it), Y/N has a strong proclivity for a certain guitarists hands. And honestly, who can blame her? TW: Confrontation with a nasty old ex, Coronavirus, Quarantine, overbearing parents.

...

This fucking sucks.

Closing your laptop, and shoving it off of your lap to the side of your bed, you are struck by exactly how warm the underside of your Netflix Machine was in contrast to the chilly room. Well, 3 hours of To Catch a Predator in, and sure, your old 2011 Dell dinosaur is going to be a little mad at you. I've got to do something today. Anything.

Week 3 of your quarantine is coming to a close and on this breezy LA Thurs-Fri-Turday (who the hell knows anymore) you can feel the last tendrils of your sanity escaping with the setting sun. It just doesn't stop setting. And rising. And setting. And rising. Tortuously slow some days and before you can even get out of bed the next. Not that you get out of bed much.

Alright. That's it. I'm gonna do something. I have to. It's time to make some art, bake some cookies, go for a run, tell someone around me how much I value them, topple the patriarchy. I am going to get up and do something with my life and damned if I get in my own way again. I am unstoppable. I am formidable. I am inevitable.

Rising from your rumpled bed clothes with the steadfastness of a slightly anemic Viking (whoa I’m woozy, I shouldn't have stood up so fast. Shit, when's the last time I ate?) you cross to the large bay window that faces the street. You throw your curtains open, ready to face the day, only to be faced with… stars starting to twinkle at you out of the inky blackness. Dammit. I'm gonna have to defeat systemic oppression tomorrow.

Squinting from behind your glasses, you see that the stars are not stars at all but helicopters blinking down at you. You haven't seen real stars since your trip to Big Sur last summer. Although you moved to LA when you were 7, you have vague recollections of the Korea that you loved as a young child. Your parents had picked up and moved to the States after years of struggling through VISA's and citizenship red tape. Your mom and dad had originally meant to get married and have you in the US. The land of opportunity.

You now chafed slightly under that blanket of opportunity as you are far too aware of the responsibility you have been given to make the absolute most of it. From the ripe old age of 8 you had been conditioned to follow your dreams to their fullest. As long as those dreams were to become a doctor, lawyer, or marry a CEO. Your parents cared about you greatly and you knew that. They only want security for you, happiness comes from security. Now 25, you can't quite remember the last time their overbearing nature had been quite this...potent. You were in your final year of medical school at USC and there was nowhere to run. It was time for you to begin your foray into the 'real world' of residency. The same post-undergrad 'real world' that you had watched all of your non-premed friends crash land into. They had all distanced themselves from you, both figuratively and literally; intentionally and inadvertently. Divorced, Beheaded, Died: Divorced, Beheaded, Survived. You had watched you friends get married, have kids, sabotage marriages, buy houses, do well, do poorly. And here you were in some kind of bubble both safe and isolated from all of the uncertainty beyond the classroom.

Jokes on you, Jessica, now we're all screwed, you find yourself thinking for the upteenth time over the past month. You had been watching the Coronavirus since December and knew exactly what was to come. You did all that you were capable of as a not-quite certified medical professional and tried to convince people of the reality of the threat, convince them not to panic, and to exercise a reasonable level of preparedness. Well, that didn't work. You found yourself sunk into a deep well of frustration and futility at the action and inaction that was being exhibited throughout the States. For the first weeks of quarantine you found yourself glued to your phone, helplessly watching the tragedy unfold and the stupidity that was ensuing. By week 2 your empathy had burnt out and you knew you couldn't watch that world anymore. K-drama's it is. After completely obliterating Crash Landing on You, Itaewon Class, and rewatching Descendants of the Sun for the eighth time just because it's so. damn. cute!, your parents started to get a little concerned.

Your stomach growled and you realize you, in fact, haven't eaten since early this morning. As you consider what the consequences of emerging from your cave of a bedroom might have, you resign yourself. Five minutes later you are hovering in the kitchen with a bowl of leftover whateverthefuck in hand, you turn to see both of your parents at the bar stools staring at you with a look of concern that you haven't seen in years. Shit, I keep forgetting, they think I'm functional. Your parents had shipped you off to Health Careers College Prep school, a boarding school in Sacramento, when you were 16. Upon graduation there with your high school diploma, nurses aid, and dental hygienist's certificates, you immediately started at USC premed. You hadn't lived at home since your Jonas Brother's phase. As much as your parents loved you, they didn't really know you. This had been overwhelmingly obvious when the USC campus closed and you returned home to open arms and your bedroom frozen in the clutches of 2009. Your parents had welcomed you home with tearful hugs and a new gift for your room. I know how much you love that Kevin- boy. And your room is so old. Come. Come. Already wary and wondering who the hell is Kevin? you allowed yourself to be led to your old room and set your bags down with a deadened thump. You tried so hard not to laugh, You really did. They're trying so hard. But like, Where did they even find this monstrosity? You had been staring up at the largest poster of Kevin Jonas that you had ever seen every night for 3 weeks and it was starting to get to you.

Regardless of the decor (purple fuzzy lamp shade included), there were so many parts of living at home that were so foreign to you. Although everything was completely the same, you were worlds different and it was disorienting. Your bed seemed smaller, the walls shorter, the colors dimmer. Everything that made that house your home was still there, only you had changed. It was like you were in a coma and had just woken up, the rest of the world unchanged but with 10 more years under your belt. Your therapist would tell you that you were reverting into a childlike state because of trauma and surroundings. Hush, Mollie, I don't need that right now. I need food.

Food was honestly what was keeping you sane and civil. Your parents own a pho shop just down the street that was still taking carry out and delivery orders for pho, crawfish, whatever they had lying around. You had been helping out in the kitchen and with deliveries since you had been home. As freeing as the drives have been, you really come alive in the kitchen. You had been watching your mom make pho and dumplings for years and although she sent kimchi to your apartment every month or so, you missed your moms cooking. And her kitchen. You immediately took to cooking just like you had when you moved off of USC campus and into an apartment with some friends. You had 12 burners! That all worked! A convection oven! Two of them! Kitchen Aid's! You had no problem opening up shop at 8am every morning to prep the dough and get the stock boiling and all of the other things that her mother and father had been doing for the past 20 years.

Returning to your room after rinsing out your bowl and chopsticks, and exchanging goodnight's with your parents you sit on your bed and tell yourself to go to bed. You have to be up at 7am for the kitchen. You need to chop scallions for the pork and chive dumplings so it has time to coagulate. Come on, Go to bed. No phone. It was a pitiful attempt, really. You had been pulling med-school grade all-nighters since your junior year of high school and nothing was stopping you now. Turning on your side for easy access to your charger, you plug your phone and coast through Instagram, Youtube, Twitter, Tinder for an indeterminate amount of time before your eyes start to get heavy. Instagram was just filled with all of your peers from USC recklessly meeting up with friends for picnics and drives and all of the other things they thought they were free to do because they were young and healthy and beautiful. Fuck off. Youtube provided a lovely escape from the actual outside. Mikey Chen showed you around TaiPei's street food scene, Binging with Babish gave you a new hand pulled noodle recipe to try, Bon Appetit made you glad you weren't Claire Saffitz. Tinder was a joke but an adequately funny one. Instead of your bog standard USC fuckboi's you were able to talk to fuckboi's from Korea, Dubai, Indonesia, Guatemala, Brazil. How fun. You had downloaded it 6 months prior after yet another guy in your department was just 'too busy, i'm sorry' to make the date that you had planned. You generally tried to avoid Twitter as it was just an echo chamber of panic and 24 hour news cycles and didn't do much for your anxiety. See, Mollie? I'm being smart.

You flick open the little bird app and scroll for just a minute. A particular notification picques your attention. Jae tweeted. Well, Day6 tweeted, but we all know who runs their twitter. Your throat tightens with nerves as the post loads. You worry about him more than you'd like to admit but with tours cancelled and travel suspended, you know how hard it can be for people whose livelihoods revolve around entertainment and travel. The post loads and you let out a sigh of relief to see Jae surrounded by his band mates and smiling. Brian starts speaking Korean and delivers his message about their newly acquired tiktok. Brian gestures for Jae to speak and Jae delivers the same message in English. Ah, he went back to blonde. It looks good on him. Wait is he- oh god, he's wearing a crossbody fanny pack. Jae, you're old. Stop. Shifting to get more comfortable, you let the video loop a few times before closing the app. Jae's okay. You roll over onto your side and set your phone to the side. Jae's voice echoes through your ears for the next few minutes but you resolve yourself against it. I'm not getting fucking tiktok. I'm a grown ass woman. That app is for 12 year olds. And Jae. Resolved, you burrow into your Jonas brothers duvet cover for the night.

Sweating and on the verge of tears, you wake with a start. The dream was already slipping from your consciousness with a blessed haste but the uneasy feeling that the nightmare gave you seemed to coat the inside of your skull and taint it's entire contents. A thin light filters through your still open window and your eyes creak open. Morning? Sure, why not? Rolling over, you flick open your phone and are greeted by an all too unfamiliar, 5:17am. It's too damn early. Even for you. You still have an hour or so to kill before you have to get up but you didn't fancy the idea of trying to go back to sleep after that dream. Propping yourself up on a few of the approximately 67 pillows that litter your twin sized bed, you open your phone. 3 new emails from USC congratulating you on your graduation and asking for some documentation of something or another or evaluation of some class you hadn't thought of in weeks. Skip. 2 emails from residencies that you had applied to before the coronavirus urging you to reapply in the fall. Great. You couldn't even bring yourself to feign concern over the missed opportunity. 1 email from Twitter informing you that Jae had tweeted. Again. You follow the link to another video of his side project EaJ. You had been following his new releases and you were surprised by the tenderness and vulnerability that they showed. He was always such a funny guy, it was the only side that he really showed much to the media. Sure, fans got glimpses at concerts, but not many knew just how deep the well ran in that man.

Today's Tuesday, apparently. The next episode of How Did I Get Here? comes out today. I'll have something to listen to while I food prep. You never admitted to yourself how pleased you were when he started the podcast. You missed hearing his voice on a regular basis. Hollered up into your window, whispered between giggles in the back-most church pew, hurled across crowded hallways. Of course, the voice was different than it is now. Pocked by pubescence and the LA accent, you remember a far squeakier Jae. He was the first person you met when you moved into the neighborhood at 7 years old. He was 9 so of course, he took it upon himself to show you exactly where you could and couldn't go and what taco trucks would give out fare for free to little kids on weekends. You remember those years fondly as finally having the big brother you never had. Skinny Bone Jones, you called him. He stood up for you when the kids in middle school called you smelly for bringing kimchi in your lunch. He called you smelly just for being you. He was well liked in school and by extension so were you. You had the cool big brother. You were more than happy to play second fiddle and be his backup. Tagging along to parties, helping him record his yellow post-it note covers on Youtube, letting him know when his hair looked stupid.

And so it stayed until Jae actually made it on KPop Star. As much as you loved him, you didn't think he would ACTUALLY make it. Sure, he could sing. He had a beautiful voice but that wasn't enough. The boy danced like a drunk chicken and was 6ft tall and 120lbs soaking wet. He didn't even know Korean. What was he thinking? He was thinking he was going to prove you wrong. And he did. You watched as Skinny Bone Jones transformed into Park Jaehyung with a perfect balance of immense pride and terror. You knew you wouldn't lose your friend entirely but during his trainee days he had very limited access to the outside world, and you just weren't a priority. Honestly, you would've been offended if you had been. He has a mom, dad, an older sister, bandmates, college. It only makes sense that the steady stream of communication turned into a trickle. It wasn't until Every Day6 that you were more of an insistent presence in his life. You burrowed your way back into his inbox with the tenacity of the annoying little sister that you were. You were worried. You watched him on After School Club and in the deluge of content that Day6 was serving their slowly growing fanbase. He looked tired. You once again rekindled your relationship but it was different now. Instead of you leaning on him for social support, you became his confidant. He was struggling. Burnt out, and questioning so many things, he didn't want to go to his bandmates because he didn't want them to worry. His parents would pull him immediately if they knew exactly how rough his condition was, his 'friends' from college had proved fake. He now had Alpha Phi Omega blocked because they wouldn't stop asking for favors: Day6 tickets, Twice merch, Got7 tickets. He felt alone but you reached out and he was able to lean on you. The trials passed and he was happier than ever and Day6's growing popularity meant good things for his lobster funds.

You stayed in contact over the years and shared with each other the going on's of your lives. You had even managed to go to the Gravity World Tour date in LA. Jae got you backstage and you were able to meet the rest of his bandmates that you had heard so much about. It was an act of God that you managed to keep your composure. I mean sure, he's just Jae but you're still backstage at a concert for the first time! Your cheeks still redden when you remember how Jae caught you ogling at YoungK. Heart in your throat, and voice barely above a whisper YoungK had walked directly over to you and asked what you were doing backstage. After a solid 15 seconds of pointing listlessly at your Press badge and making just the strangest of noises that were meant to approximate speech, Jae finally caught wind and rushed over, knocking your sense back into you and introducing you to the members.

Oh! Y/N! It's so nice to finally meet you! Jae talks about you all the time, I'm so glad you were able to make it! Your cheeks inexplicably reddened further to a violent shade of pink but the boys slowly defanged themselves in your mind. They're truly lovely people and you're glad Jae has them. That being said, you still can't quiiiite look Brian in the eyes and Jae thinks it's hilarious.

The Gravity tour feels like ages ago as you shrug on some jeans and a tee shirt for your walk to the shop. August 2019 at the Novo may have only been 8 months ago but it seems like a different reality. The Novo will be closed for the forseeable future and concerts are cancelled. That stings but not as much as the radio silence from Jae. First it was his tour schedule that rendered communication difficult and now the virus. You know he's busy and it's been a weird few months for the entertainment industry, but a 'Hey I'm alive.' would be nice. From his podcasts and twitter you've been able to keep some thread attached but you feel it stretching thin as the months stretch on. You really don't want to be annoying. You're sick of feeling like a fan. Yeah, you support Jae and Day6 and would call yourself a MyDay, but that's not all you are. You know him. You dragged him through the mud when he convinced you to try sledding down a muddy hill on a trash can lid. You set up his camcorder for his covers when he still had that stupid swoopy hair. You posed as his angry girlfriend when a crazy fan wouldn't leave him alone. You're starting to feel like just a fan and not a friend and it's only exacerbated by the glee that you feel when you get the notification from dive studios that How Did I Get Here? has updated. I miss my friend.

Not bothering to flip the sign on the front door from closed to open, you shoulder open the front door of the shop after fumbling with the keys. Tying an apron securely around your waist, and flicking on your noise cancelling headphones to a comforting thrum, you wash your hands and begin to chop the largest pile of scallions you've ever seen. Crunching through the pile, you start Jae's podcast and everything is gone but him. You can almost imagine him in the room with you, perched on the counter talking your ear off about the Mandela effect or how weird elbows are or something equally as ridiculous. Today he's talking about soul mates. As you listen to him joke and banter and pontificate, your eyes well up. It's just the scallions. You know damn well it's only partially the scallions. You miss Jae. And you're in the middle of a pandemic. And your family barely knows you. And you're not sure if you even want to be a pediatric oncologist. Fuck. Jae's words turn into white noise in your ears as you toss your headphones to the side and place the knife on the butchers block, perhaps more aggressively than necessary. You pause the podcast and let yourself sit in the feeling. You're lonely and sad. See Mollie? I'm letting myself feel things. Making room for every emotion. You cast your mind around and recall all of the little wounds that prick a little too deep today. You feel a squeeze in your abdomen and your eyes shoot open wide. Shit, my period. I've got to be PMSing. Even Jae recognized the trend in your emotions before you did. The week before your period, you were notoriously mushy and weepy and indulgent. Well, that's one mystery solved. I'll be okay. Mollie's voice echoed through your brain with her familiar argument that hormones only heighten the emotional distress, not fabricate it. These feelings are valid and aren't fake just because you're hormonal. You steadfastly ignore that point, wipe your eyes, and pull your headphones back on. You finish up the pile of scallions and a few other morning chores before the podcast ends. It's Jae's sign off that sends the bowl of mandu filling that you were holding clattering to the floor. "I'm coming to you from my childhood home, so if the audio is a little finnicky… blame Byron." Jae's home.

…

After sweeping up a pound of pork, beef, mirin, soy sauce, and chives and disposing of it, you stare at your phone- hands shaking slightly. Jae. What the fuck. You rip off your apron and your mind races. Should I call him? Should I go see him? I can’t believe he’s right here. 2 houses down. Fuck. Your rational brain knows that it’s okay to feel excited about Jae being home. But the sneaky little bitch that lives in the back of your brain is telling you that if he wanted to hear from you, he would’ve called. You feel a little bit of yourself fragment at that, but you push it to the side. You open up your phone and slide over to his contact in your phone. What greets you is your last text conversation.

Jae: I’m so glad you had fun, Y/N! But if you ever look at Brian like that again, I might have to put a ban on you at our concerts. His head was way too big.

Y/N: Look at him like what?! I didn’t do anything and you know it!

Jae: Of course you’re didn‘t. You totally weren’t drooling over my bassist.

Y/N: Fuck off.

Jae: Gladly, love. ;)

8 months ago. Sure you’d DM’d quite a bit since then and called a few times. But it just seemed so sparse. You don’t want him to just humor you. You’re an adult and perfectly capable of being alone. You’re not going to text him just yet.

You finish up your morning chores and head back to your house, pausing for perhaps just a little too long in front of the sandstone house with the tan shutters and shoes out front. You knew that house so well. You knew how much weight the tree outside the upstairs bedroom window could hold. You knew where the kimchi refrigerator was tucked away in a back corner of the garage. You knew there was a blonde boy in there that you wanted nothing more than to run inside and get a hug from.

You shower and let the hot water run over you, hoping it will relax the knotted up muscles in your back. It’s not like I can go see him anyway. We’re in quarantine. He probably just got back to LA and just hasn’t gotten the chance to-. You run the same conversation over and over in your head until you can’t take it anymore. You need someone else’s voice in your head. Curling into your covers, you sigh and go to the App Store. A few short minutes later and you hate yourself more than you ever have. Tiktok. Here we go. You watch the video of Day6 introducing themselves to the social networking platform once, twice, three times until your eyes start to ache. All of a sudden you’re met with a new post that pings up. Your breath catches in your throat as you see Jae standing in his living room, attempting to keep up with Amber Liu’s dance challenge. You can’t help but giggle as he flails to the left, to the right, oversized black hoodie always falling into his face. BM would be proud. Express not impress. You find yourself shocked at the weight that he’s gained. He looks healthy and happy. You remember the conversations in middle school about how much he hated being skinny. The evenings in the weight room in high school. Failed doctors appointments. He looked good before but you see that in recent months his chest has been swelling and not just with pride. His shoulders sit a little bit broader than you ever remember in the past and you’re happy for him. Good for you, Jae.

You like the tiktok and let it loop a few more times before sighing heavily and opening your messaging app.

Y/N: I got TikTok for you, ya little shit.

You chuckle but leave the text unsent. You’ll think of something better later. You toss your phone to the side in the face of the mountain of laundry on your bed that needs to be taken care of. As you hang the last of your shirts, your phone pings. You pick it up to a notification from Jae.

Skinny Bone Jones: Language!

Skinny Bone Jones: Do you think Amber approves?

You feel a flare of indignation wash through your limbs at the mention. Apparently it had sent. Oh well. As the thrill of a reply ebbs out of you, it is replaced by a rising indignation. How dare you?! Not tell me you’re in town and pretend like you didn’t?! Really?!

Y/N: I don’t really care what Amber thinks.

Maybe that was a little snippy. You love Amber, truly. But how can he have time for TikTok but not me?

Skinny Bone Jones: Yeah? Do you still care what I think?

Your heart catches in your throat. So he’s caught on that you’re pissed.

Skinny Bone Jones: Y/N, can I call you?

You swipe up to the phone icon and call him on auto pilot. Talk to me, Jae.

“Y/N?” you hear Jae’s voice.

“Jae.” Your voice comes out whispier than you meant it to. You try again.

“Jae! How are you?”

“Oh, y’know, just got off a plane that smelled like bleach and got to my house that isn’t really my house anymore, left my guitar to be sanitized, was “strongly encouraged” to make a TikTok by my company, and then got my head bit off by my best friend. Just quarantine things.” There is a touch of acid in his voice but Jae mostly sounds tired. Your empathy comes surging back and you sigh.

“I’m sorry Jae. I just- I didn’t know you were in town until I listened to your podcast this morning. I was a little hurt that you didn’t call or anything.”

“Look, kid. I just got home. I’m a diva. You know I require at least an 18 hour period of naps and boba to function properly. I’m a KPop Star now.” You laugh at the callback to your irate spiel a few years ago about how fame had changed him and he was a diva and just ‘wasn’t the Jae you knew’ anymore. It wasn’t his fault he was allergic to everything and turned down all of your food suggestions.

“Jae, you’ve been a diva since day one.” You quip back, tension resolving as you fall back into a familiar playful banter.

“And don’t you forget it, Y/N.” There's a slight pause before Jae continues,

“This diva is really sorry he didn’t call you. It’s just been a lot the last few days. The tour just got cancelled. And our album comes out in a few days. Our team has been going crazy trying to figure out how we’re supposed to publicize in this climate and I just-“

“Jae. Chill. When I preordered mine last week, it was the most popular album on the site. It’s gonna sell. Don’t worry too much.” There’s a beat of silence in which you can hear the air whoosh out of Jae’s lungs.

“You-You preordered Demon?” Jae sounds shocked but endeared at your admission and you laugh.

“Of course? I’m really pumped to hear that sexy, soothing voice of Wonpil’s. Maybe I’ll even get a Dowoon photo card this time! I keep getting Jae ones in my other albums and I give them to my little cousin.” This isn’t entirely true. You have 3 of Young K, 2 of Dowoon, and 1 each of Wonpil and Sungjin. You’ve been waiting for a Jae photocard for ages. You would die before you told him that, though.

“You little shit. If you don’t want to see my face, why are you following Day6 on TikTok?” Jae ribs back.

“Brian. Duh. He’s fine as hell.”

“Yah! Haven’t you found a boring ass Orthopedic surgeon or some shit, yet? Why do you have to terrorize me like this?”

“Why? Haven’t you found a Twice member that’ll marry you yet, Skinny Bone Jones?”

“I’ll have you know, I gained 10 pounds the past 8 weeks! I’ll be big as BM soon!” You can picture the expression of childlike pride in his face even if you can’t see it.

“You look really good, Jae. I’m proud of you. You’ve been working really hard.” The sudden sincerity catches the both of you off guard and you clear your throat.

“Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot.” A comfortable silence is followed by a lengthy conversation recounting the previous weeks, the various states of the other members, your own eviction from college, and the status of the shop.

“You know, Y/N, if you or your family need anything I’m more than happy to help. I mean I know how hard it can-“ You cut him off before he can go any further.

“We’re okay Jae, honest. I know you’d be good for it but we don’t need anything right now. Business is good at the pho shop and we’re okay.”

“Okay, okay. Just know I’m here.”

“I mean NOW I do, no thanks to youuu,” you wheedle, whining about his failure to let you know he was in town.

“Come on, Y/N, I said I was sorry!” He laughs but you can hear the desperation of sincerity in his voice.

“I know, Jae. I’m just kidding. I just really missed you.”

“I missed you too Y/N.”

You get off the phone upon the realization that you needed to go to the shop and prep for the dinner deliveries. Sometimes you abhorred that you were “essential”. You run downstairs and tell your parents the good news about Jae and inform them you’ll be back soon.

“I know you’re excited, Y/N, but remember we can’t be going and visiting people like that. Only essential work.” You roll your eyes slightly but assure them that you know. As if you hadn’t been telling them the same thing for weeks. I had to convince you not to go play mahjong in the park, eomma. You might be excited, but you’re not stupid.

You had just started filling the mandu when you hear the bell over the door chime. Pardon me, are you stupid? We've been closed for weeks, why do you think it would be okay to just walk in? You wipe your hands on your apron and start to walk to the counter.

"Hello? I'm sorry, we're only open for call-in deliveries." You round the corner and lift your head from your hands to see the form of the gangliest, tallest, loveliest man you've ever seen in your life.

"Special delivery." Jae remarks smoothly, arms open wide in invitation and head cocked to the side as if he was bracing himself for the crash landing that was to come.

"Jae!" you yell, and launch yourself from behind the counter and into his arms. His arms fold around you and everything else melts away. Your face burrows against his chest and you inhale. He smells like home and cinnamon. You can feel tears welling up in your eyes with the tide of emotions that wash over you. Jae's hand cups the back of your head into him and he hugs you just as tightly as you hug him. You press yourself into him with everything you have and in the deafening silence and warmth all that you can think is I love you.

"Y/N" He whispers, not loosening his grip on you.

"Mmph." you respond weakly.

"My shirt's wet." You jump back from him a bit and see that he's correct. Your eyes are leaking. All over his white shirt. Oops.

"Oh! I'm-I'm sorry." You laugh a bit and swipe at your eyes before patting at his shirt in futility.

"It's okay, love. Come here." He welcomes you back into his arms and you wrap your arms over his neck this time.

"I missed you." You whisper, voice cracking a bit.

"I know you did." You jump back from him. Bitch.

"Hush. I missed you too, you idiot. Why else would I be standing here right now?"

You cast your eyes around in a panic. He's here. He's right here. In the store. Here. He shouldn't be here. He should be in quarantine with his family. You're unessential to him.

Sensing the realization in your eyes, he pushes past you, walking to the back and puts on the latex gloves hidden behind the counter.

"I figured it was about time to get a 'real job' like everyone keeps telling me to." He smiles smugly and picks up the knife to start chopping the bok choy. You stand there in shock for one second, two seconds, three seconds until you realize he’s about to cut his fingers off.

“Jae! Stop!”

“Look, Y/N, I don’t care what you say, I’m going to do this. I want to help. And I’ll be damned if I’m not allowed to see you in the time I’m finally here-“

“No, Jae. Stop. I know I can’t argue with you. I’d be thrilled if you’d work with me. But Brian is gonna kill me if I let you cut your damn hands off.”

“I… what?”

“You’re a guitarist Jae. We can’t have you cutting off your pretty little fingers. And if you keep chopping it like that, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

Jae looks down at his hands and stretches his fingers wide as if considering them for the first time.

“Pretty?”

You roll your eyes, but unbidden, your eyes are still trained on his hands. They really are pretty.

“Just. Let me show you.” You show him how to tuck his knuckles up against the blade and chop in smooth rocking motions so as not to take off his fingertips.

You work in relative silence for the next hour, packaging meals and portioning combos as your mom and dad peek in and out to pick up the orders. You can feel a warmth flowing through you as you take in your surroundings. The loneliness of the past weeks leeches out of you and dissipates into the warm atmosphere, homey smells, and murmur of conversation. It’s almost as if your limbs wake up bit by bit, like a tree waking up after a long frigid winter. You feel yourself stretch and shine and the bubbles of contentment flow through you. By the time the last combo is out the door, you find it really difficult to take the smile of your face.

Jae seemed to be in the same boat. On more than one occasion you caught him staring at you. Every time you caught him he just shook his head and laughed in that infuriating way of his. But you really couldn’t be irritated at him. It was impossible. He was your happy fairy, even if you wanted to kick him in the shins every two minutes for saying something dumb. Mom and dad said goodnight to Jae in the same way they have been since he was 10. “Tell Mrs.Park I say hello and don’t be a stranger.” Right after they leave and you’re washing the last dish, while Jae sits on the counter telling you about production for Day6’s new album, the phone rings. Before you can tell Jae not to answer it, he’s already taking the man's order. Fine. One more can't hurt. You weren’t anxious to end this day and return to bed alone, so you welcome the post-closing distraction. Cobbling together a plate from the leftovers you were about to bring home, you grab your keys and beckon Jae to follow you.

“No need to bug mom and dad, we can take this one.”

As you walk outside toward where your little yellow bug is parked, you feel Jae move behind you. You can feel his body close to yours and you stiffen instinctually. You’re not used to skinship anymore and you can feel the blood in your veins carbonate as Jae’s breath ghosts across the back of your neck. You stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide, flush creeping up your neck as you feel his hands- those damn hands- ghost along the side of your left arm. You squeak when his fingers brush against the back of your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Your world spins. Fuck is he holding my hand? Do I want this to happen? He’s so close to me. Can he hear my heartbeat?

“Jae-“ you begin to say, with absolutely no idea as to where the statement would go after.

Luckily you don’t have to think of any sort of decisive move because Jae immediately snatches the keys from your now limp left hand with a cackle, running ahead to the car.

“I’m driving!” You little fucking- oooh!

You’re thankful for the cool evening breeze and dim street lights or you were sure to get a ribbing for the blazing red cheeks that you were sporting. You climb into the passenger's seat with the food on your lap and do your best to sink into invisibility. It doesn’t work. You’re convinced that he can hear your brain jackhammering away at the night's events.

Did I want that to happen? Did that happen? He was so close to me. He felt so warm and the way he touched me. Running your hands over your arm, you could feel his touch like it had raced a burning path down your whole left side. Do I… like Jae?

You glance over at him now and again as he puts the car in drive and begins the route to the destination. Jae, of course, is jabbering away about how everything has changed since he’s been gone and, “Omigod, is that ANOTHER pinkberry?” You find yourself nodding along passively while actively trying to figure out what the hell was going on in your brain. Much like his podcast, his voice became white noise by which you asked yourself questions you weren’t sure you wanted the answers to. Of course I love him. But do I like, like him? Never in your life have you felt more like a horny, confused teenager but as you glance over and watch Jae with one hand on the steering wheel, wind blowing through his hair, you know one thing for sure- Jae isn’t a kid anymore. And he isn’t your brother.

It isn’t until you pull into a neighborhood about 10 minutes later that you remember that you’re here on a delivery. Yanking yourself from your reverie, but with unease still firmly lodged in your thoughts, you address the task at hand.

“Jae, where are we?”

“Uhhhh, 3051 Driver Rd.”

Driver Road. You know this neighborhood but you can’t quite place where. If your previous safari into your possible romantic interest in Jae wasn’t jarring enough, you feel panic rising through your system like so much bile. Why do I know this neighborhood? Jae, unaware of any turmoil on your part, pulls up to the house in question and when your headlights wash over the yard your heart sinks into your throat. You’re going to be sick. 3051 Driver Rd. This is where Sean lives.

You had met Sean Avery in your sophomore year of premed and had fallen head over heels in love with him. He was tall, attractive, ambitious, and he wanted you. You were star struck. It wasn’t until a year of ‘dating’ later that you unearthed the whole messy truth of his long string of side pieces and general douchebaggery. If that wasn’t enough, in the past year you heard the report of him almost catching a case with a high school senior in the area. You knew now that he was nothing but a predator and a coward. You had managed to avoid him since your explosive breakup but now it seemed you had very little choice.

“Sean fucking Avery” you seethe in the seat next to Jae.

“What did he do to you?” Jae asked, taken aback by your sudden vitriol.

“Shit, that wasn’t in my head was it?” Jae laughs a bit but sobers up quickly at your expression.

“Y/N you look really pale, are you okay? I don’t know your history with this guy but hey, you don’t have to deliver this. I’ll do it. Don’t you worry, love.” Jae places his hand on the top of your head and ruffles your hair a bit in an attempt to be comforting. The attempt helped. Your heart pricks up a bit at Jae’s term of endearment but it feels more deadened than it should. You’re sick of feeling like this. Of letting Sean steal your joy from you. It’s been too long for that shit. Pulling yourself together a bit, you shake yourself out of your head and steel yourself.

“No, Jae, I’ve got this.” Jae looks at you with slight concern but shrugs nonetheless.

“Alright, well, I’m going with you okay? This dude really must’ve done a number on you if this is your response. And I’d like to see the bastard.” Jae’s eyes glinted with something dangerous that you’ve never seen in him before and it causes the same fire in you to spark. Let’s do this.

With Jae by your side, you march up to the door with the delivery order and set it on the front steps. The doorbell is deafening in the still night and you have to remind yourself to breathe. You jump as the door swings wide and a pathetic looking man sporting a robe and a beer belly peeks from the inside. All of the breath that had been waiting in your lungs released and you feel your head go a little bit light with the realization that this was the man that you were in love with. 7 years later, gone was the debonair gentleman who could sweep you off your feet. In his stead stood a balding, fat, stiff man in boxers and a moth eaten robe. He grunts in acknowledgment of the presence of other humans but it’s obvious that the Neanderthal hasn’t recognized you. He retrieves his food and goes fumbling in his robe pocket for his wallet. He fishes out a card and hands it to you. You take it from him and process the payment.

Declined.

“Sorry, Sean, your card- it declined.”

He huffs and makes a sound in the back of his throat that you can only describe as gross as you hand it back to him.

“It what!? What do you mean declined?” He stumbles forward a few steps and you automatically flinch backward into Jae. Jae’s hand comes up to your shoulder to ground you, a reminder that he’s still there. Sean’s movement wafts a smell of body odor and brown liquor. He always was a mean drunk. You decide to cut your losses while you can and keep the transaction as minimal as possible. No games.

“Your card, Sean, it declined. Do you have an alternate form of payment?” Sean whips open his wallet and roots around for a minute before retrieving a few crumpled up bills. He extends the cash but before you can swap his card for cash, his arm whips back. Looking at you sideways, suspicion drips from his slurred speech,

“How do you know my name?”

Shit. Fuck. Dammit.

You watch helplessly as the cogs turn in his inebriated brain and recognition washes over his face.

“Y/N! It’s you! What do you want from me now, bitch? Trying to take my money now too? Get out of here!” His voice steadily rises in volume and you can feel the walls of your panic closing in on you. Suddenly Jae steps in front of you, arm outstretched to the belligerent man.

“You’re talking to me now. You’re done with her.” Jae holds himself with a confidence that you had only seen from him onstage.

“Just pay for the food and we’ll be going.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Sean spits back, as if Jae were something distasteful that he had found on the bottom of his shoe.

“I’m Jae. Y/N’s boyfriend. Now I’d really love to take Y/N home tonight before it gets too much later. So if you can just pay for your meal, we’ll get going.”

Sean crumples up the bills and throws it into Jae’s chest.

“Good luck with that bitch, kid. You’re gonna need it.” And with that he retreats inside and slams the door shut behind him.

Jae immediately rushes to your side and wraps you in a big hug. Although similar in mechanics to the hug earlier that day, this one was far different in intent. You could feel it in his soul, that hug was meant to squeeze all of the fragmented pieces of you back together again and hold them until they stuck. You can feel your heartbeat slowing to match his and your breathing slowly regulates.

Mollie is gonna have a lot of fun with this one.

Jae escorts you back to the car and there’s a thick silence that you can’t quite bring yourself to cut as he puts the car into drive. You know he is forming his own story of what happened between you and Sean in his head and you can’t tell if that’s better or worse than just reliving it and telling him the whole story- cops and testifying and court and all.

Once out of the neighborhood, Jae heaves a sigh and chuckles a bit.

“Well he seemed lovely.”

“Uh huh. He’s a real peach.”

Jae looks over at you with an expression of dual concern and amused what-the-fucker-y. Did that really just happen?

There is a beat of silence and solid eye contact before you both start cracking up. Unable to restrain yourself any further, you both dissolve into a kind of healing, deep belly laughter that shakes the entire car. Pulling up to your house, Jae throws the car into park and then turns to face you.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, you know? It’s not my business. You’re my business. But asshats like him aren't. Just that I’m around to keep them away from you.”

You sigh deeply, still recovering from the laugh attack, before giving him a brief bulleted list of the sheer shenanigans that Sean had pulled on you all those years ago. You watched as Jae’s face contorted over the course of the story, hardening into yet another study in fierceness that you were yet to see from him.

“I really am okay, though Jae. He had me pretty fucked up for a little bit but honest, I’m okay. I did the therapy, I fought my battles. I just hadn’t done the last closure step of actually looking him in the eye and saying goodbye and good riddance. And I probably never would’ve if it weren’t for tonight.” You reach out and grab his hand instinctively.

“Thank you, Jae. I really appreciate you doing that with me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“You would’ve gotten your ass handed to you is what you would’ve done.” Jae states, deadpan.

“Jaeee!” You laugh, hitting him on the arm.

“Oh, so now you can throw a punch? Okaaay, nice.” This little shit.

Banter aside, Jae takes the key out of the ignition and gathers his things to get out of the car. As he closes the door, you hear him mutter “You need to pick better guys. You’re too great to end up with someone like that.”

You don’t have any kind of answer to that, but you feel a lightness in your chest as his eyes burn into you. Jae walks you to your front door and all you can hear in your head is an echo of Jae’s declaration of “I’m Jae, Y/N’s boyfriend.” Is that what I want?

You end up at your front door far too soon and the twinkling of the helicopters in the sky signals to you that it’s more than time for Jae to go home. Your heart sinks into your stomach at the thought of him leaving and you inwardly groan.

Jae gives you one last hug goodnight and you know before he even releases you that this isn’t enough. Not even nearly. Your feelings, whatever they may be: love, like, general affection, haven’t been correctly quantified and expressed. This has been the best day you’ve had in months, and he was the deciding factor. You were grateful to have him there on your front door step, in his arms. But maybe, just maybe, if you’re able to express to him exactly how you feel about him in this moment, he’ll be able to help you out and translate exactly what this feeling means for your future together. Without thinking about it too much, you retreat from the hug and angle your face up to his so that your noses are almost touching. You sit like this for just a second. That sickening second that would allow him to retreat and tell you you’re an idiot for even thinking it. But he doesn’t retreat. Instead, your lips are brushing against one another in just the barest of whispers of a kiss. His lips are so soft. It’s over in an instant and as the chilly night air cuts between the two of you, you are all too aware of how disproportionately warm your face and neck have become. You smile up at Jae and he carries a similar, if not slightly more shocked, half smile.

As if reading one another’s minds, you both understand that it’s wise to let one another think about the night's proceedings before any further rash decisions are made. In an attempt to preserve the spell of the night sky and the kiss and the chirping cicadas, neither of you say another word to one another but instead exchange content smiles that convey more than a goodnight ever could. With a slight bow of his head and a glide of his hand down the length of your arm, Jae walks backwards down your front steps and slips into the night, shaking his head slightly, trying and failing to conceal his smile. You watch him from the porch as he skips up to his house, before slipping into the warmth of your own home.

...

GIVE IT A LIKE IF YA LIKE

FEEDBACK IS MY LOVE LANGUAGE

#kpop #day6 #day6 jae #park jaehyung #slow burn #fluff #kpop fanfiction #day6 fluff #day6 au #fanfiction #skinny bone jones #friends to lovers

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impala666 · 5 years

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It’s For Protection Lex Luthor x reader

I just started watching Smallville for the first time and I love Lex, even though I think I figured out what happens between Lex and Clark. But in this fic the reader is Clark’s adoptive sister and is in a secret relationship with her brother’s best friend, Lex Luther.

Your dad had asked you to take a delivery of produce and flowers to the Luthor mansion because Clark was busy, so you said yes like the good daughter that you were and took the pick-up truck to the mansion. The other reason you had said that you would do this favor for your dad was because it had been a few days since you had seen Lex, he had been pretty busy with trying to start up his own company as well as keep it out of his father’s sticky hands. When you drove up to the front door and knocked, no one answered so you had no choice but to use the key that Lex gave you and let yourself in. You had walked the mansion’s halls numerous times, and every time you were amazed by the fancy walls and the many elaborate paintings that were hung on them. Without thinking to knock you grabbed the handles of the double doors to Lex’s office and strolled right in and the sight you saw was Lex Luthor, sitting behind his desk, with his feet on the desk, and phone to his ear. When he saw you he flashed you a quick, bright smile before he finished with who ever he was speaking to. “Of course, thank you. I look forward to talking to you soon.” Lex smiled at you again as he hung up the call. “Well if it isn’t Ms. Kent. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“What? Am I not allowed to visit you?” You scoffed as you placed your bag down and walked behind the desk to him.

“Of course you are, it’s just it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

“It’s only been a few days,” You gently placed your hands on his shoulders. Your words sounded muffled when you placed your lips to the top of Lex’s shiny, bald head.

“Which is way too long,” Lex closed his eyes in bliss and relaxation as you continued your hands down his chest and you lips to his neck and ear. He could feel the warmth and care of your hands through his dress shirt, as well as the warmth and softness of your lips against his skin which was driving him crazy.

“It’s not my fault we both have lives,” you bit his ear lobe one last time before you decided that you still needed to bring in the produce and flowers before this man turned the logic side of your brain to mush.

“Where do you think you’re going? I didn’t say we were done,” Lex sat up straight as he watched you walk back to the other side of the desk.

“And I don’t want to be, but before this goes any further I need to get your delivery from the truck.” You were about to turn toward the door, but him continuing to speak made you stop and turn to face him again.

“Don’t, I can just have someone else get it,” Lex shrugged it off.

“But I want to,” you rose your eyebrows at him. When you were at the mansion Lex never made you lift a finger or a toe which you always loved, but it still felt nice to do something and be needed once in a while.

“You are so stubborn, just like your brother and your father,” Lex threw his head back in exasperation and stood up from his seat behind the desk. “If you’re so animated to do all this heavy lifting I may as well help you.” Before you could say another word you turned around and walked out the door while he followed you.

“You know I like to do things and feel useful. Besides, I would prefer to get all of the heavy lifting done first instead of you distracting me and it not getting done at all. Do I need to remind you of last time?” You asked Lex as you opened the bed to the truck.

“Of course I do,” Lex chuckled at the memory. “You got halfway back home and remembered that you left everything in the back of the truck, and you panicked so you just dumped in the dam.” The more he continued with the story the longer and louder his laughter got.

“But at least you got a good night of it,” you chuckled in response. You took one box of the produce and turned around to walk back in the mansion while Lex grabbed the flowers and followed you back into his home.

“That I did, but I didn’t have fruit or vegetables for a week.” Lex defended.

“Wow for a genius and millionaire that can beat his father at his own game, I think that was your thinnest argument.” You glanced back at him when you heard Lex laugh again.

“Just put them down here,” Lex instructed once you reached the doorway to his office and he placed the flowers down just a little inside of the room like the many times he’s had Clark and you do in the past. After you placed the box down and stood back up, you felt arms wrap around your waist. “Now that that’s out of the way, what do you want to do?” Lex pecked a kiss to the side of your head and rested his head against your own.

“I don’t know,” you mused with a shrug. “What did you have in mind?” You turned your head slightly to look at him.

“Well before I knew you were coming here I was going to take a nice, hot bubble bath when I was done with my phone call.” He whispered in your ear and kissed just under your jaw the way that you liked.

“Hmmm, that sounds good,” you slurred in agreement while you got lost in Lex’s actions and smell.

“I’ll go draw the bath then,” you thought Lex was going to walk away from you when he started to walk away and take your hand. But he lightly tugged your hand to get you to follow him up the stairs. “There’s a bottle of champagne in the liquor cabinet that I have up here if you want to get it.”

“I think I will,” you told without a second thought. Even though you were under 21, Lex let you drink when you were with him, but only the smallest bit since you usually had to drive back home.

“I’ll meet you in the bathroom, then,” Lex let go of your hand and winked at you before walking away towards the bathroom.

“Okay,” you smiled like you were having the greatest dream of your life come true as you watched him walk away.

After you found the bottle of champagne for the two of you and found two classes, you made your to the bathroom. There he was, Alexander Luthor in all his glory, wearing absolutely nothing but a smirk. When he saw you walking in he held his hand out toward you. You took the hand and he brought you into him, when you were close enough Lex leaned down and wrapped his arms around your waist as he pressed his lips lovingly to yours. While he had you preoccupied, Lex ran his hands down to the button on your jeans and started undressing you. “I forgot something, go on ahead and get in.” Lex told you rubbing up and down your arms, and he reluctantly turned away to get whatever it was he needed. When you put just a toe in the water you could feel the heat and smell the chamomile salts he put in the water, the bubbles enveloped your foot as you entered the tub. As you sat back against the expensive porcelain you let out a long overdue relaxed sigh; you wished you had more time to take bubble baths but living in a house with 3 other people and having farming as a chore and school, you rarely had time. It had been a couple of minutes until you heard Lex’s footsteps walk back into the bathroom.

“What did you forget?” You opened an eye to watch him as you ran a hand through your hair. When you heard something being placed into another one you opened your other eye.

“I forgot the ice bucket,” he replied as he popped the cork and placed the bottle in the cold bucket next to the tub after he poured each of you a glass. He gestured for you to sit forward and he slid into the tub behind you.

“Thank you,” you smiled as Lex handed one of the glasses and then you took a sip. Lex was totally spoiling you; you weren’t even 21 and you were probably drinking the most expensive champagne. You didn’t actually know how much it costed, but if Lex Luthor had it, it must be super pricey. You reached to set the glass down and leaned back so that your head was against Lex’s chest and your forehead was against his neck. It was very quiet for quite some time, the water even got a little cold, but whenever that would happen Lex would just fill it up again with hot water. You were almost asleep when Lex started talking.

“You really needed this didn’t you?”

“I really did,” you answered him as your eyes fluttered open. “Before I came here Clark and I were moving bales of hay and bags of feed for two hours. My muscles are so sore.”

“Ohh, poor baby,” Lex soothed as he kissed your bare shoulder. “By the way, where is your brother?”

“Apparently he was busy,” you shrugged not thinking anything of it.

“So I got you instead of Clark? I might just prefer it that way.” Lex thought out loud to himself. Which made you chuckle because you knew that he was joking.

“Me too,” you agreed.

“Do you have to get back anytime soon?” He asked and you shook your head.

“I just have to be back by dinner, but no. Why?” You looked back at him.

“I just don’t want you to get in trouble or make us look suspicious.” You looked away in slight disappointment; you hated with everything in you that the two of you had to hide your relationship. You couldn’t take it anymore, you gathered yourself slightly and got up and out of the tub. “Y/N,” Lex tried to get you back into the tub and enjoy the time you had together right now. But you were already out of the tub and wrapping a towel around your body. Lex hated himself for opening his mouth as he watched you make your way out of the bathroom and to somewhere else in the mansion.

After you walked out of the bathroom, you found yourself laying on the leather couch in front of the fire place in Lex’s office still wearing your towel around your body. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Lex sighed with relief once he found you in his office. “Are you okay?” That made you snap your head at him and the look you gave him was telling him that he should have known better, and you were right, he should have. Lex knew that you were having a hard time with keeping the relationship you had a secret from everyone that you loved and cared about deeply. “What are you thinking?” Lex asked, trying to get into your mind a little.

“Nothing,” you shrugged not turning to look at him.

“I know this is hard on you, hiding this is hard for me too.” Lex went to wrap his arms around your shoulders, but when you felt them getting closer you shook him off. Making Lex feel guilty, but also a little frustrated. “You know we can’t tell anyone yet. Clark’s my best friend and your brother, your dad still hates me, plus if my father ever found out I don’t even want to imagine how that would go…” Lex listed the reasons. He knew that if your dad found out that you were dating him, your dad probably wouldn’t look at you the same way.

“I just hate this, why can’t we be a real couple.” You were trying really hard not to get upset, but your voice wavered and your voice cracked while your eyes watered.

“I know, I know, I know,” Lex tried to soothe you even though on the inside he knew he wasn’t good at it. This time you let Lex wrap his arms around you and take you into his chest. “We just gotta keep it a secret a little while longer, be able to protect ourselves.”

#smallville #clark kent #lex luthor #lex luthor x reader #reader!kent #reader

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zodiacal-dust-and-curls · 5 years

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It’s Late (Ch 1)

A/N: This is a work of fiction! It takes place in an altered universe where certain member's partners don’t exist. Should line up with the Sheer Heart Attack tour. No one requested this. @rogers-wristbands was kind enough to proof read for me (thank you, love). I’ve been told that I’m no longer allowed to come for anyone’s whole life just because I’m sad (bc I definitely did. I came for my own favorite.) Enjoy!

Warnings: Angst (like you wouldn’t believe), Cheating (very bad. I do not condone this), Pregnancy (Unplanned), Mention of Abortion, Swearing

Word Count: 1.6k

The boys had been on tour for about a month now. It felt much longer than that thanks to waking up to a routinely empty bed. You’d had phone calls nightly, but a disembodied voice did nothing to soothe the ache that was beginning to burn through your soul.

Brian usually called you at the same time every night. Just before you went to bed, which was before the show started but after soundcheck. Tonight, the call was running late. John had managed to sneak a call in to check on his favorite un-biological sibling. Yes, he really insisted on using that term, just to get under your skin and drive you a little crazy. After years of pretending to hate it, you’d grown quite fond of it and missed hearing it while he was away.

“What do you mean he hasn’t called?” You’d swear you could see his eyebrows furrowing through the line, his mouth managing to flatten and pout at the same time. “He left 30 minutes ago to go back to his room and change before the show. He’s had plenty of time.”

“I guess I’ll just have to be the one to call tonight.” You said a little wistfully, Something wasn’t sitting right with you. “Can I have the number for your hotel?”

“Sure. Ask for room 615.”

“Dr. M’s room. How can I help you?” It came through the line too giggly, too feminine, and absolutely wrong.

“If you could put Mr. May on, I’d appreciate it.” You managed to hide the venom in your voice surprisingly well, but you were sure your facial expression told a very different story. Thank the powers that be for telephones not having a video option.

“Briiii ~ phone for you.” The mystery woman called out.

“Who is it Junie?” You heard call back.

“They didn’t say, but they did ask for you by name.” She must have forgotten to cover the receiver because the amount of giggling you heard next was enough to make you forget all the coolness you had purposefully injected into your tone.

“Hello?” This voice you knew. You’d heard it every night for the last 12 months either in person or over the phone.

“Hello, Bri.” The malice in your voice was clear. You could hear the blood draining from his face over the line. “Lose my number and don’t bother coming to see me when you get back. Tell Junie I said hello.” The last thing he heard was a click then a dial tone.

The show that night was a disaster. John had told you as much the next morning when he called to chew you out for messing with the guitarist’s head. The conversation quickly turned around when you told him what had happened.

You still got nightly phone calls, but now it was your oldest friend and confidant instead of the man you thought you loved.

About 2 weeks after the switch, you noticed you were feeling sick all the time. You’d mentioned it to John and promised to see a doctor if it stayed that way for more than a week.

“Johnnie,” you breathed out in a sigh of relief when the phone rang that night. True to your word, you’d gone to the doctor after feeling like crap for a week. “I’m so happy to hear your voice right now.” It was starting to come out in sobs, all your forced composure slipping from your grip.

“Hey, hey, Y/N. Breathe.” He whispered to you and hoped that his words would provide the comfort that his arms could not. “What happened? What did the doctor say?”

“John . . . I’m pregnant.”

The silence that followed was not what you were hoping for, but you knew it was a distinct possibility. John quietly followed it with death threats to the only person he knew could be the father and promises to support you with any decision you made.

The band would be home in 2 weeks for a short break. Brian seemed to have lost your number and you had no intention of looking up one for him to tell him this news. You told John that you still had time to make your decisions and wanted to see him in person before making anything real.

The day had finally come. You were estimated to be about 8 weeks pregnant. John had promised to come see you before running off to Veronica’s. As a man of his word, he knocked on your door early that afternoon and scooped you into a hug. You weren’t ready for that hug to send you spiraling into a mass of tears, but it did. Having John back meant decisions had to be made, people had to be told, things had to be done.

The one thing you knew for sure was that ‘having some sort of an accident’ was completely out of the question. The little bean growing inside you was partly you. They had been your most constant companion through all the heartbreak and anger you’d endured. Your little bean was going to live, you just weren’t sure you were the best option for a parent.

John once again kept his promises and supported your decision. He hadn’t told a single soul of your situation, but now it wouldn’t be a secret for much longer. The break was only for a week to regroup with loved ones before continuing the tour. If you were going to keep bean, there was someone you’d have to tell and a signature you’d have to collect.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” You had heard those words too often in the last few weeks. First from John, then your parents, and now from Brian.

“And what would you propose as an alternative, Mr. May?” You had said his name with such contempt that it would be difficult for a passerby to believe you’d been in a loving relationship at any point in time.

Brian just looked at you sadly. He’d never gotten the chance to apologize and it looked like he wasn’t going to. You had come over, accompanied by John, to inform him of your new situation and get him to sign away his parental rights. If you were going to have your little bean, Brian would have no say in the matter.

“It’s just that this is my child too, Y/N,” he had always wanted to be a dad one day. It broke his heart that his eldest child wouldn’t get to know him.

“Are you joking?” Something about your quickly shifting hormones pushed you to anger quite often. At this moment you could feel it pulsing through your veins and pooling in your stomach, as if to make a protective cover for your little bean that was growing there. “You wouldn’t even know if I didn’t need you to sign this. As far as I’m concerned, you lost all privileges to have a say in how I conduct my life the moment that woman entered your room.”

Brian wanted to bite back at you. He wanted to be angry, but the only person he could find at fault was himself. He slowly signed the document and passed it to you.

John had been characteristically quiet throughout the whole exchange. He just watched for the moment things went to far and he would need to intervene, but it never came.

“Good bye, Mr. May, and good luck with your future endeavors.” You removed some of the anger from your voice as you said your good-bye, opting for a cool if almost business like tone. You could feel John watching you, waiting for the next outburst.

“Good bye, Y/N. John.” Brian let you leave without trying to convince you of anything further.

You were lucky to make it through the majority of your pregnancy with minimal complications. Morning sickness was a bitch, but it ended early in your second trimester. John delivered a bit of good news the same day your morning sickness ended.

Veronica was pregnant, too. You had someone to formally bond with while you made it through your journey. Also, your little bean would have a lifelong friend, just like you did.

With the band wrapping up a tour and planning to record every day, you and Veronica grew very close. So much so that John started to feel like he was being replaced by his own wife. You reassured him of his importance in your life by asking the two of them to be godparents. They gladly accepted.

Days came and went as time passed you by. You’d been so busy preparing for the little one to finally make their appearance, that you were almost shocked when your water broke. Luckily, a phone call to the Deacon residence (and to your parents) gathered all the necessary people to meet you at the hospital.

Several hours later, you were greeted by two smiling faces holding a small white bundle. Labor for you had been intense and after the initial skin contact, you more or less passed out.

“Good morning, mumma.” You heard Ronnie’s sweet voice greet you as you turned your head to look at her.

“Good morning.” You smiled gently, still extremely tired from delivery, but absolutely delighted that John and Veronica had waited to see you.

“I hope you don’t mind, darling, but we couldn’t stop ourselves from seeing our godchild.” John spoke this time. He only called you darling when he really wanted something from you, or when he was feeling extremely vulnerable.

“Of course not.” You smiled at the pair of them, feeling something loosen in your chest. In just a few short weeks, you’d be back for their little nugget’s delivery. “However, I do think that it’s breakfast time for the two of us.”

“Quite right, Y/N.” Veronica passed you the bundle she’d been holding.

Looking at your little girl made you so incredibly happy. Thank heavens you had decided to keep her, your little bean. She made everything worth it.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this and I’m sorry. Leave me some feedback! I’d love to come for someone else’s fave.

Ch 2 - Ch 3

#queen #queen fic #brian may x reader #brian may angst #john deacon #veronica tetzlaff #tw: pregnancy #tw: abortion #pregancy #abortion mention #tw: children #children #t writes #nsfr #queen imagine #queen angst #it's late

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mikami · 5 years

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Death Note Audio Drama 04

Disc 4: Proof of Loyalty - a summary / partial translation

Prior translations / an explanation as to what the fuck this is.

The plot is still manga-close. This episode is honestly fairly boring, it’s full of homophobic jokes that nobody asked for. But hey, Misa is here now!

_____

We begin with a Sakura TV executive conference. Demegawa wants more features like the one about the witness protection victim in Australia. Demegawa suggests provoking Kira or the cops in order to get a story. The ‘moral standpoint’ does truly not concern him. Then a special delivery comes in.

It’s a letter from Kira.

_____

TITLE MUSIC

_____

An announcement for “Kira Speaks” on Sakura TV. It’s styled as a really dramatic advertisement, with echo features and all.

____

Sachiko visits Soichiro in the hospital.

SOICHIRO: You’re late, visiting hours are only until 8.

SACHIKO: The nurse is Emi, we went to college together. She looked the other way for a moment.

SOICHIRO (laughs): My wife... The wife of a policeman....

SACHIKO (also laughs): Do you maybe want to arrest me, chief inspector?

Sachiko notices that Soichiro’s heart rate is no longer monitored. It’s because he’ll get discharged tomorrow. Suddenly, Soichiro notices the TV transmission and turns the audio up.

Kira asks people to turn to other TV channels to see the people there dying, as proof of his identity.

____

L and the Task Force are also listening. L wants to stop the transmission. Ukita drives over to Sakura TV. Misa’s Kira II speech continues very similar to the manga.

____

Soichiro gets up and leaves the hospital despite Sachiko protesting and telling him to let his team handle it.

____

Ukita arrives at Sakura TV. He threatens employees with a gun in order to get to the studio quickly.

____

Demegawa is THRILLED that someone with a gun is coming to the studio. He lets the security transmission of Ukita trying to get in play on a split screen with the Kira video. Ukita gets a heart attack before he can force his way into the room.

____

L stops Aizawa from also going to the TV studio. The Task Force realize that Kira no longer needs a name.

____

Sakura TV employees realize Ukita is dead. Demegawa goes on air.

DEMEGAWA: My name is Hitoshi Demegawa from Sakura TV. I apologize in the name of the program for the images you just had to witness. We’re not transmitting these news and these messages for any kind of awards or for viewer numbers, but for the good of the populace and to save innocent lives.

[He’s referring to Kira threatening their employees if they don’t send the tape. ]

____

A phone ringing.

SACHIKO (on the phone): Light? Light, are you awake?

LIGHT: Mom? What... What time is it?

SACHIKO: It’s about your dad.

LIGHT: Dad? Is he okay?

SACHIKO: He just discharged himself from the hospital.

LIGHT: Oh, uh, good. Are you two taking a cab?

SACHIKO: He lost his mind!

LIGHT: I get it.

SACHIKO: And he stole an ambulance!

LIGHT: He did what?!

_____

Soichiro crashes an ambulance into Sakura TV, as he does.

_____

Back in the studio.

DEMEGAWA: What happened to the lights?

EMPLOYEE: Power outage. In the whole building. Someone took us out.

DEMEGAWA: Are we still on air?!

EMPLOYEE: I’d say... no.

DEMEGAWA: Who is shutting off my power?!

EMPLOYEE: Oh, someone with a light is coming.

DEMEGAWA: I don’t need a light, I need a transmission in HD!

SOICHIRO: You’ll need a hearse, if you don’t do what I say. Hands up!

______

L and the Task Force want to turn the power off and need Kitamura to keep police away from the building. Soichiro calls.

______

Soichiro informs L that he’s got the tapes. He’s escaped and Watari is going to pick him up by car.

______

News transmission about Soichiro’s break-in. Demegawa is getting interviewed and repeats his ‘I didn’t do it for any awards’ spiel almost ad verbatim. People online, however, are commending Sakura TV and Demegawa. Demegawa also did a big donation for Ukita’s funeral.

______

At Ukita’s funeral. L and Soichiro talk about whether or not Kira is watching the funeral. They assume no, because there is a lot of police surveillance. L is still not wearing any shoes.

Soichiro informs L that forensics hasn’t found any hints on the tapes and envelopes. L weighs the options of whether or not they’ll say yes or no to cooperating with Kira. He decides they need to decline.

L also points out that there are two Kiras now, based on the different victim patterns and powerset. L also assumes this Kira is younger than the other.

L wants to play the two Kiras against one another and decides to add Light to the task force for real.

______

L calls Light to invite him to the Task Force. After this, Light and Ryuk watch Kira’s answer to the police refusal on TV. Light literally physically got popcorn for it.

On TV, Kira II demands to either kill L or Kitamura and that the police can choose who.

Light is pleased with Kira II so far, but also knows very much that there is risk inherent in their existence. He wants to stay careful.

______

TV broadcast of the fake Kira I message that the Task Force made. Misa is listening, delighted that Kira answered. She immediately goes to record an answer video, remarking on how it’s close to Valentine’s day.

______

Kira II tape, though not yet live broadcasted. This is the message in which she mentions the eyes and shinigami, as well as sends the fake diary.

______

The task force discusses the new tape. They wonder about the terms eyes and shinigami. Light meanwhile is hiding out in the toilet. (L: “Maybe that’s where he gets his good ideas.”)

______

Light is FURIOUS at Kira II for mentioning the word shinigami on the tape for public TV. He’s in the bathroom to rant a little while letting water run for camouflage.

RYUK: Come on, soldier. You have to get back in there.

LIGHT: Before they get suspicious?

RYUK: Before they think that you’ve got indigestion.

_____

They discuss the diary entry. Light discovers that it is a message about a meeting place. L then discovers that the Aoyama and the Tokyo Dome entries are about this year and not the year the diary is from.

_____

Misa humming while getting ready. She wears Nr. 5 perfume.

_____

They discuss how to look for a single person in a place as big as Aoyama. L analyses the speech of the second Kira. He suspects Kira II is a woman.

[Once more, I am largely guessing which task force man is which.... ]

MATSUDA?: The second Kira is... female?

L: I think so, yes. Listen. “Tried out JUMP yesterday. I liked it.”

MATSUDA: JUMP is a boy’s magazine.

L: That’s why she never read it before. “Dumbass Musume concert with the squad”...

MATSUDA: Dumbass Musume?

L: Exactly. Why would she be so negative towards a girl group?

MATSUDA: Because he’s a boy...?

SOICHIRO?: Because she’s a girl that rejects and looks down on mainstream.

MATSUDA: Still sounds like a boy to me.

L: Then this one. “Met the guy in the cafeteria. Not my type.”

MATSUDA: That proves nothing. Maybe he’s gay.

AIZAWA? (amused): So we’re looking for a gay serial killer?

MATSUDA: I’m just saying, this form of profiling is a little... heteronormative.

L: Your opinion about gay men isn’t exactly non-prejudiced either.

MATSUDA: Well, I’m not an expert of course.

L: You assume that a man who acts girly has to be homosexual...?

AIZAWA?: He’s not saying he’s walking around in dresses and high heels. He’s just saying some turns of phrase seem more like a girl.

MATSUDA: I can’t believe you’re all becoming holy knights of equality now. Just because I--

L: Gay men are also allowed to be criminals.

Light hits the table and makes everyone focus again, agrees that Kira II sounds sooort of girly. He sums up that they’re looking for a longer girl who is trying to be social. Someone who is smarter than the people their age but nobody realizes. L says she tried to stick out before by being unconventional. Light jokes about being on the lookout for a punk girl or a gothic lolita. Light also assumes she’s a teen.

_______

MISA: Loves me... loves me not... loves me... loves me not....

Her train stop to get off is announced.

MISA: Oh! He loves me!

_______

The task force is hiding in a van in Aoyama for surveillance. They tell Aizawa to put his binoculars away as to not look like creeps. Light and Matsuda, the undercover agents for the day, come around.

SOMEONE: What the hell is Matsuda wearing?

MATSUDA: I’m just trying to fit in, okay?

LIGHT (laughs): Pride Parade is only in May.

MATSUDA: I am talking about Aoyama. The trends happen in this district, my friend. I’d only stick out with suit and sunglasses.

LIGHT: Just do whatever you want.

MATSUDA: And I will.

AIZAWA: Wait, I got it. Matsuda! I think your cover would work even better if the two of you held hands. Over.

MATSUDA (over the comm): I can’t understand. Please repeat.

SOICHIRO: Forget the order, Matsuda. Those two here had clowns for breakfast.

AIZAWA: Two queens couldn’t do it any better either.

SOICHIRO: Focus, Aizawa. We’re looking for a killer. Keep the channel open.

L is watching from a roof. L orders the task force to split up and check the cafés. Rem and Ryuk are on the same roof as L, watching. L is cold. The shinigami suggest that he’s pretty sensitive, being able to feel their presence.

______

Ryuk and Rem introduce themselves to each other and chat about ‘my boy’ and ‘my girl’ respectively. Both of them are very convinced their kiddo is going to be smarter in this situation. Rem is oddly tempted to throw L off the roof / or kill him in another way. Then Misa got Light’s name and leaves, so Rem leaves too.

______

Misa bumps into Matsuda by accident.

MISA: Hey, watch where you’re walking!

MATSUDA: Oh, sorry.

MISA: ... cool T-shirt.

MATSUDA: Did you hear that?

LIGHT: Hear what?

MATSUDA: I’m on eye level with the kids. Speak their language. ... uhm, I’m just saying.

______

Misa moons over how good Light looks to Rem. She looks him up on social media and finds herself impressed with his grades. (”Just the kind of guy I’d introduce to mom and dad..... if they weren’t dead, that is.”)

______

The Task Force is faced with the fact that their investigation didn’t really do anything useful. Aizawa is pissed he had to work on his free day for this. However, Matsuda comes in with a new tape that Kira sent. The tape says Kira II found Kira and nothing else. That confirms Aoyama was the meeting point. L orders to cancel the baseball game in Tokyo Dome, so that the Kiras can’t meet at a second meeting point, since it isn’t confirmed yet if Kira II contacted Kira I.

They now decide to try and turn Kira II against Kira I by making him sound dangerous to her.

______

Yagami household. Misa suddenly shows up and introduces herself as Light’s girlfriend to Sayu. Light also comes downstairs.

MISA: Darling. You never mentioned your sister is such a beauty.

LIGHT: No! No, I.... this sister?

Sachiko comes in and Light asks Misa up to his room, getting away from the crowded situation.

SACHIKO: This came out of nowhere...

SAYU: He kept her a secret from us....

SACHIKO: Look at those shoes. It’s a miracle she’s able to walk in those.

SAYU: I like her. She’s got style.

SACHIKO: You’re just saying this because she called you good-looking.

SAYU: Because a rational-thinking human being would never get that idea, right?

SACHIKO: Oh Sayu. You know exactly what I mean.

SAYU: Of course! No wonder I turned out so meek and shy.

SACHIKO: Don’t be so melodramatic, dear.

SAYU: My own mother thinks I’m ugly!

SACHIKO (laughs): I didn’t say that!

______

Light and Misa are in his room. She explains how she found Light (”I saw you in Aoyama, with your strange buddy Matsuda. What was he supposed to be? A pirate or something?”). They show each other their shinigami.

______

Sachiko is very displeased about Light bringing home such a girl and going up to his room with her to make out. She and Sayu chat about it briefly.

_____

Misa declares her motto is “Live fast, die young... slay all my enemies.” when she explains why she took the deal.

Light and Misa’s “Make me your girlfriend” talk is fairly similar to the manga.

Then Sachiko interrupts to throw Misa out (politely) and the episode ends.

#death note #misa amane #light yagami #l lawliet #audio drama translations

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malereader-inserts · 6 years

Text

Give Me My Worth

Fandom: Twilight Pairing: Cullen x Adopted Son/Brother!Reader Summary: It had to get yourself sick in order for your foster family to realise Word Count: 2251 Request: “Cullen family x mreader where the reader does everything that his siblings ask him to do put whenever he asks for anything the family ignores him and it ends with a happy ending. I need some hurting put not that much” A/n: you didn’t say human or vampire reader so I am making the reader human - also extra ANGST. Also, I don’t know what time some American school start or finish their day, so I’m going with what usually England school’s run by with 9am to around 3:30m (obvs depending what school you go to, then end time fluctuates around)

You flop back onto your bed.

You were exhausted, the alarm clock was hitting 2:00am. Your body shook with a dry cough as you wipe the sweat off your forehead. You sighed as you sat up, getting your bag ready and finish the homework you were supposed to finish when you got home until Emmett asked you to clean their clothes.

Then you got busy when Jasper asked if you could go on a book hunt for one of his lessons, which got added by Alice ordering you to pick up her delivery, then Rosaline asked you to grab some equipment for her car. As you went to pick the essentials - took an hour to find Jasper’s book, Alice delivery was out on the opposite side of Seattle of the bookshop that Jasper’s book was. Then it took your upper strength and energy to lift the tools for Rosalie into the back of your car.

By then, it was 7pm. You watched Jasper come and go with his book without a simple thanks as Alice, scowls for you taking your time as Rosalie walks passed you to retrieve her essentials, leaving you to feel unwanted as a cough took over your body.

You had asked what was dinner, but you found out that Esme went out to help into the local shelter, leaving you with nothing eat, though you weren’t that pressed about the situation because they needed Esme more than you need her. You had to dinner around 7:30, finishing later into 8, though you weren’t eating much.

By then you were ready to start your own work to do before Bella called you if you could pick her at La Push since her truck broke down and Jacob refused to go to the other side.

It was a simple pick up and drop up, yet Bella had dragged you to join the wolf pack in their storytelling session around the fire making you leave with Bella around 10:15, the cold wasn’t helping with the situation, suppressing your faint cold. Just as you dropped her off, you were met by Edward, who looked at you thankfully for bringing her home safely but annoyed that it was late at night.

When you were driving away you stopped to get yourself gas for your car, returning home at 10:35. Just as you were about to sit down and make a start on your homework, you were beckoned once again by Alice.

She had claimed that she was far too busy to do her own history homework, it was just a one-time thing and she wanted you to do it. She gave you a look and waved you off as she and Jasper went hunting, leaving you no choice to whip out your history book and write her essay, coming up to 11:49.

Just as you printed it off and placed it Alice’s bag, you were called by Rosalie to help her with her maths homework, despite her repeating high school she always seemed to be failing maths, you were barely managing and whilst everyone else was out hunting you were the only one available.

You kept your cool around your sister, it took almost an hour for her to understand what she was doing and fifteen minutes for her to finish it. By 1:20, you were exhausted, you craved for your bed but you just couldn’t with the amount of work you needed to do.

At this point of the night, you felt unwell. A headache, a rough dry cough kept taking over as you breathed unevenly, ignoring the pain that came along with it.

You had greeted your foster dad when he came through the doors at half one, kissing his wife and the both of them went out the door to hunt, ignoring your begs to stay off school.

Just as you were about to drag yourself up the stairs, Emmett came bouncing in with a smile, begging for you to join him and Jasper in a video game. You had one game before rushing to your room.

Currently, you looked at the bight screen in front of you, your exhausted eyes bore into your geography homework. Your chest hurts, breathing hurts as you shiver. Ignoring everything you plugged in some music until you found yourself working up at the sunrise.

The situation had been almost a routine, you loved your family, but everything was unbearable. You were in a constant state of tiredness, your body ached and you were becoming feverish. In the heat of that, you pushed on, despite feeling used and unwanted at the same time.

As you got yourself ready for the day, you noticed the sun was out. Your siblings would be staying off and the fact that you had helped them do their work, you sighed in frustration sending yourself in a fit of coughing. Pulling your sweatshirt on you, you grabbed your bag and went to your car.

It wasn’t like the family had anything good to say, they were all engrossed with their things - ignoring or forgetting that you had existed. You shouldn’t be driving with the lack of, or no, sleep you had gotten.

Angela greeted you with your head leaning against your steering wheel, “You don’t look so good (Y/n).”

“Thanks, I don’t feel like it either.”

You drag yourself out the car, a wave of dizziness had hit you, as you lean on the car. Angela’s hand flew to your shoulder, keeping you stable.

“Do you need to see the nurse?”

“I think I can live.”

You waved her off as you join Bella in the first lesson of English. She greeted you with furrowed eyebrows knitted together as you sat down next to her. You placed your head on the table, a headache consuming you with the pain in your chest increased, Bella had noticed your shallow breathing.

“You should go home,” Bella spoke as she looks down at you, “Visit the hospital or something.”

You sat up, leaning your chin on your palm, heaving a cough as you covered your mouth, ignoring the wheezing, “I rather be here than hell at home.”

Bella looked at you confused, “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t had a good night sleep for the past week, Bells, I just feel like I’m back at the foster home with the Cullens.”

Bella had known your traumatising experience with the foster home and found herself severely disappointed with the Cullens. She gave you one last look before she turned her attention to the teacher, who had walked in the class.

When the lesson had finished, you and Bella walked to your locker.

“Alright, give me your keys, we’re taking you to the hospital,” Bella held her hand out as she gave you a look, you sighed as you dug through your pocket and gave her your keys.

She grabbed you by the arm as she escorted you to the car. You sit there shivering, unable to fight back as you started to hack out a cough.

“What about your truck?”

“Broken down remember? Dad took me in,” Bella responded, “Are you coughing blood?”

You had slipped into silence as Bella started the car, muttering how annoyed she was at your family, at her boyfriend. Pulling up to the hospital, you had muttered how your family couldn’t find out about your state.

Once admitted into the hospital with severe pneumonia, which had been developing for days with quick x-rays and other medical precautions that took place, you were felt rendered unconscious after a day’s worth of examination.

Bella had called her dad that she was looking after you in the hospital, pitying as you were in for monitoring oxygen levels, temperature, heart rate and breathing rate, whilst antibiotics were given to you at intervals.

She softly runs her hand through your hair, “I wish you knew how much your family cares about you.”

She sighs as she leaves you for the night, going to your car and examining the empty notifications of your phone, wondering where you were. As she drove your car, she didn’t know what to say, wondering if Alice had predicted this outcome.

When she had arrived at the Cullen’s house, she was greeted with Edward and Alice. They had wondered why she was driving your car but allowed her to go into the house, despite no greeting.

“Ah, Bella!” Carlisle greeted, “Didn’t know you were visiting today.”

“Unexpected turn of events,” Bella responded, her arms crossed and looked like she refused to be touched, “I’m feeling like I’m having an off day.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, I didn’t expect to find myself pitying the honourary human Cullen, at the hospital where he lies unconscious with the last thought that his foster hates him, making him feel unwanted nor needed,” Bella explained, “But, what do I know? It wasn’t like he was on the verge of tears on the way to the hospital complaining his chest hurts as he begs me not to tell you, fearing he was wasting your time.”

“Wh-”

“And the fact he was about to pass out due to his sleep deprivation and I swear he had compared his life here like the foster home-”

“We get it!” Rosalie sneers.

“Do you?” Bella asked, keeping herself near her boyfriend in case Rosalie attacked. In this sheer moment, Bella had gathered a lot of courage to speak like this to a bunch of vampires, “You’re sending him to an early grave.”

The Cullens share a look, Jasper felt so much guilt, regret and remorse. He couldn’t take it as Edward was gaining too many thoughts at once, he couldn’t contain it.

“My dad is picking me up,” Bella commented, just about to turn around and leave.

“Bella?” Esme quietly spoke, the human looked at her, “Why is he in the hospital?”

“Severe Pneumonia, monitoring his levels,”

Carlisle’s feeling worsens because he was the doctor, he should have spotted your illness before you had ended up in the hospital. Edward and Alice grimace as they also were trained to be doctors, but they couldn’t give much thought to their brother as they cared way too much of themselves.

The moment you had woken up, you didn’t expect to see golden eyes watching you intensely. You blinked slowly, before processing what was going on, where you were and what had happened. You shut your eyes once again, hoping that the tiredness would wash you off to sea and ignore your family.

“We’re not leaving,” Jasper spoke from the corner of your room, his arm over Alice.

There was silence, you felt Esme rub your arm, she had a heavy heart as she had lost her son once she did not want to lose another. You peaked your eye open, groggily rubbing the sleep away.

“Hey, there sleeping beauty.”

You glared at Emmett, muttering under your breath knowing full well they could hear you, “Still feel like I haven’t slept enough.”

Rosalie smiles at you, “How are you feeling-?”

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why are you here? Don’t you have anything better to fulfil your goddamn boring life?” You questioned as your chest started to spaz as you were sent into fits of bloody coughs.

“We haven't been the greatest,” Edward started, “Carlisle is working right now, but he’s keeping an eye on you, but nevertheless, we came to apologise.”

You looked at him, eyebrow raised and unamused.

“We treated you horribly, we used you and for that we’re sorry.”

You cut Edward short with a snort, “You didn’t just use me, you made me feel shit, reduced me to feel like nothing. Home didn’t feel like home anymore - I want my worth to be validated, give me my worth.”

Your voice broke at the end of the sentence as your breathing was laboured, uneven and you were wheezing. You blinked slowly, ignoring the ringing noise in your ear and the distant headache you could feel, your body was shutting down again. You just wanted to rest.

“We’re so sorry, sweetheart,” Esme soothes you.

“Sorry doesn’t wash away the feeling-”

“So, we’ll prove it to you, prove that your worth is validated in our house.” Emmett interrupted, he was almost begging, “We forget we’re not human like you, but please give us a second chance to show you that you can have faith in us.”

You looked at them, their golden eyes looking hopeful at you. You softly hummed, before responding.

“If I say yes, will you let me sleep?” There was a simultaneous nodding of heads, “Okay, but this doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“That’s okay, we’re okay with that,” Jasper responded.

“We’re not deserving of your forgiveness, at least not yet,” Alice concluded.

“You mean a lot to us,” Rosalie spoke fondly, “We love you.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I love you too, unfortunately.”

The room was full of silence, as your body too over allowing you to sleep. Your uneven breathing become steady, as the group of vampires watched the rise and fall of your chest, fearing that if they would look away you would just stop. They didn’t want to lose you, it was awakening for them, but it was something they needed to know.

You weren’t a robot or a vampire like them. You were human, with needs and emotions.

If you need your worth validated, damn right they will show it to you.

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xxkellsvixen19xx · 5 years

Text

Forget Me Not Jim Mason x Reader 50 First Dates AU Pt 9

@michael-langdon-appreciation

There was this itchy sensation at the back of her brain screaming it was past time for this to be over. Not only the baby's arrival, but all of it. Her family had taken control of the waiting room down the hall, but they still managed to hover. Between the anxious glances and the well-meant but annoying suggestions to make her feel better, she was ready to kick their collective oversized asses out of the hospital.

She was having a baby, damn it, not on her deathbed. There was too much going on now that labor had started. Too much, and yet not enough to distract her from thinking about what she wanted.

Or more specifically who she wanted.

"I can’t do this anymore." Y/N eased her way down the hall, holding tightly to Medina’s arm.

"I don't think you can cancel at this point, hon." Medina paced slowly, her head dipping closer as her volume went even lower. "Although, if you want me to encourage anyone to leave, tell me, okay? Anyone," she said pointedly as one of Y/N's brothers stepped toward them.

Here they went again. Y/N eased a hand over her rock-solid belly as she paused to deal with another contraction. "Oh damn, this hurts."

Her brother Alex wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "You're doing great."

She couldn’t answer for a moment. It was nice to know they cared, but really? Her brothers and her dad? Y/N blew out the final moment of pain and straightened to look into Alex's concerned eyes. "Thanks for the encouragement, but please. Go home, and we’ll let you know when the kid arrives."

"Take the other guys with you too," Medina suggested. "Because, dude, none of you are going anywhere near the delivery room when the actual event is happening."

"Ick, that is so true."

Y/N squeezed her brother's hand. "I'm glad you want to be there for me, but this is going a little too far, if you know what I mean."

Only, Alex wasn’t watching her, he was watching the nurses' station. "I don't mind hanging out for a while."

Jeez, good to know his reasons for being here weren’t all about wrapping her in cotton. "Go home, Alex. Or at least pretend to go so I don’t have to look at you. We'll call when there’s news." Y/N stepped away and ignored him, easing through the next few contractions.

It wasn't her family she wanted around. She wanted Jim. She'd allowed him to be sent way, and she'd thought it was the right thing to do, but now that the moment had come she wasn't so sure.

Medina led her down the corridors in an endless loop. Her brothers had at least obeyed the part about getting out of sight, although knowing them, they’d probably only hit the coffee shop on the second floor and were tormenting people there.

Between contractions and pacing, she paused to look out the window. Spring had already passed, easing into full-on summer, and it was time for all kinds of new things.

Maybe a new chance as well.

Medina leaned on the wall beside her, arms crossed over her chest. "You want to call him?"

Was she that transparent? "Jim?"

Her best friend shrugged. "Honey, you love the guy. I think he loves you, and I doubt at this point anyone here at the hospital is going to call the cops if he shows up, restraining order or not." She made a rude noise. "I think we'd all lie our asses off for you two right now."

"I can’t...” Y/N thought really hard about what she wanted to say to finish that sentence.

She couldn't what?

I can't do this without him.

She lifted her eyes to her friend's. "Do you think he wants to be here? Even if it might get him arrested?"

Medina held out her cell phone, Jim's number already up on the screen. "I bet he'd go through hell itself to be here if you asked."

It really wasn’t that hard, hitting the button to make the call.

“Medina?" Jim sounded breathless. "Is she okay? Is the baby there? Tell me they're both fine."

His obvious concern had Y/N's throat closing tight, and she had to force out the words. "Jim, it's me. I'm doing good, but ..."

“Y/N? Thank God. You had the baby?"

"Not yet." She paused, wondering if it was right to even offer him the temptation. It wasn’t her who could end up in jail. But he'd told her once she should reach out and take what she wanted, and damn if she wasn't going to do exactly that. At least to offer him the option and let him decide if the risks were worth it. "This could get you in trouble, but do you want to be here? I mean, be with me when the baby arrives?"

"Oh, yeah." Loud clattering rang in the background, something like a door slamming. "Are you asking me to come to the hospital?"

"It might be a terrible idea, but yes, I want you here-oh, shit..." Another contraction hit, and she had to bend over and concentrate on breathing.

Jim's anxious voice blared from the phone as she held it against her thigh, his frantic questions getting louder and louder.

Medina somehow helped support her and at the same time grabbed the phone. "Stop shouting. She's busy for a minute." A pause, then Medina snorted. "Well, I don't know, sweetheart. Hold on to your knickers and I'll ask her." Her friend held the phone against her chest to cover the speaker. "What should I tell him?"

Y/N blew out a long breath as she found her feet, reaching for the phone. "Jim, me again. Sorry about that. I want you with me, if you still want to be here."

"You know I do."

Y/N twisted to the right in surprise. His answer had come not from the phone, but from the man himself who stood only two feet away. He was breathing heavily as if he’d been running stairs.

Y/N was breathing pretty hard herself. "Seven fucking hells, how did you do that?"

"If he's got a transporter and he hasn’t shared until now, I'm going to be pissed off." Medina held out her hand and gave Jim a quick handshake. "Now that you’re here for backup, I'm going to do a little distracting of the nursing staff and warn the people who will help us. I'll return in a moment to be an awesome baby catcher. I suggest you two hide out in the birthing room."

"Good idea."

They paused as Medina backed away, briefly flashing them two thumbs-up before she twirled and disappeared around a corner. Jim let Y/N guide him quickly into the private room she'd been given.

Only once the door was shut did he answer Y/N's question. "I was in the parking lot, waiting in my truck. Hoping that you'd call." He was there, the bruises on his face fading, his dark eyes taking her in from head to toe, and he reached out... And stopped. His hand fell to his side. His big strong body trembling as if he were afraid. “Y/N, I'm here for you. For you and the baby." His eyes-God, his eyes. Full of pain, and yet hope. "I promise with everything in me that’s true."

She was going to be bawling in a minute, which wasn't going to work great with the whole labor thing still happening. "I know."

Y/N caught him by the hand and tugged them together. She had to twist sideways to make room for her belly as she stepped into the warmth of his body, but he had his arms around her and that was all she needed right then. The solid assurance that he was there. That he was hers.

Jim stroked her hair as he held her. "I hate that we’ve had to be apart."

She nodded. "If you see the PVPD coming, hide in the bathroom.”

A reluctant laugh escaped him. "No more hiding. This is too important an event for me to spend it in the parking lot waiting for news."

"Were you really just going to sit there?" Y/N didn't want to let go of him, his touch soothing her more than any breathing techniques.

Jim stroked her cheek as he gazed into her eyes. "I was planning on sneaking in, but this is so much better than hiding behind a mask and staring through the door. And if I do get in trouble, it'll be worth it."

They had to pause each time a contraction hit, but the distraction of their conversation helped make the pain fade a little.

He rubbed her back before she even asked him to, touching her gently, supporting her. His strong hands that were capable of inflicting pain giving such tender care. And when he cupped her face in his hands and leaned in to kiss her tenderly, she lost it.

"It was bad enough that I had to lose memories, now I've lost these last weeks with you." She held his hand against her cheek. "Damn Rick to hell."

"Forget Rick, Angel Eyes. He doesn't matter, or he won't in a few days. What does matter is I love you."

She gasped out a laugh past the tears. "I love you too, Jim."

"Forever," he added, stroking her cheek and wiping away her tears. "I'm going to love you forever. And that's not going to change, and if I have to spend the next sixty years reminding you again and again, it'll be worth it."

"It'll be worth it," she repeated. There were still questions they had to answer, but right now, he was there and the kid in her belly was posing the most demanding request. "Ahh, Jim? I think it's time."

"Time for what?"

She wanted to laugh, but the pressure was building too fast. "The baby?" she reminded him.

His eyes widened. "Now?"

"Now."

#jim mason #tribes of palos verdes #fan fiction #forget me not

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isakwon · 6 years

Text

MALEVO

Pairing: Reader x Got7’s Kim Yugyeom

Genre: Angst

Warning: Violence and swearing

Word Count: 2k

Yugyeom was only a baby already living the best life he ever had. Sometimes his father would take him to work while making sure his son had fun working in an office all day. His mother would teach him floral cake decorating and he would eat sugar cookies if he behaved. He liked picking flowers for his teacher and the librarian just for doing their job. Elder women who lived next door given him the nickname “Gyeomie Bunny” because he resembled one apparently. He loved everything about his life as much as the person next door. He was adorable as he was harmless so the nickname stuck around him.

When he was a little boy, he skipped on the pavement leading to his home. His parents their youngest son’s little hands. Tonight his relatives are coming over and he was excited to watch his parents cook for them while he set the dinner table. When they arrived, Yugyeom ran directly to hug them. His aunt took him aside crouching down to match his eye level and takes out a goodie bag

“Yugyeom, what do you want when your grown up?” She asked him.

Yugyeom said brightly, “I wanna work with Dad and look after Mom.”

His heavily touched parents adore over their sympathetic toddler, smiles and awes follow.

“And where are you going to live?” She asked again.

“Here. I wanna live here forever and ever.”

Young Kim Yugyeom loved climbing the rooftop to watch the sunset before bathing.

That was before he ran away quickly before light shone on him.

He loved running down the street with neighborhood kids holding sparklers high.

But that was before running down the street hiding behind corners trying to catch some air.

Too many people looked down onto him, and they had their own right justified. They said he needs to be locked behind bars. That he needed some good beatings. They assumed he wasn’t raised properly, rumors spread about him and none were true. They said police should shut them down. On some occasions, they were right.

People who think, behave, speak like him are your least favorite. So why did you keep caring about him?

.....

Because he’s your childhood friend.

You were a transfer student starting the second Junior high school year, and the week before, you sprain your ankle. Walking and using the stairs weren’t as easy as always with crutches especially lunchtime but Yugyeom offered carrying your tray until your ankle heals.

“Are you still going to want to sit with me after my ankle heals?”

“Nobody wants to sit with you anyways.” He smirks.

You reaction was a released chuckle because hell since you didn’t know anyone, you sat all alone.

....

Soon later your friendship was incomparable with past ones. The two of you were inseparable like peas in a pod and sometimes people teased about one day you’d end up falling in love, but that was never the case. Your parents met through your 17th birthday party for the first time at last. He laughed while you apologize for your Dad’s behalf, who was offering his parents every booze under the basement. handing you his birthday gift. You went complete shocked. “Gyeom...how did you know?”

The collection album covered with your favorite music idols tore the wrapping paper away to get held firmly like the bouquet full of daffodils.

“You talked about how much you were ‘dying to have it’. What friend wouldn’t listen to you?”

You throw arms around him hugging each other and smiling. Crossing his arms over your shoulder blades as you whisper beside his ear.

“Thank you so much.”

…

One day Yugyeom walked beside you through the street the way to his house during summer picking snow cones with the spoons.

“Hey Kim Yu!”

There was an older man seemed to be in his thirties waving at you smiling while wiping down his car. He began to walk towards the spot where you were as Yugyeom shares his childhood memory of the man teaching him and his group mambo. He increased the music volume and told the then little boys basic steps which eventually turned a dancing circle with neighborhood children.

Out of nowhere two loud bangs roared almost muffling your hearing. Some mysterious maroon car sped the scene revealing the man who was walking towards your spot, present with blooded wounds diagonal across the back. You stare over the body, frozen in horror unable to move until Yugyeom rushes you inside the house.

Shortly after one life was lost, Yugyeom stopped coming to school nearly losing contact with anyone including you. Although he gave you his new phone number Yugyeom has been seen less and less anywhere. Teachers ask how he was and the answer was you hadn’t heard from him because the daily calls were decreasing by months.

You stood still grasping your fingers, weary before knocking the door again. No one was home but the cars were in the driveway so someone at least must’ve heard you however when you knocked on the door again, nothing. “Excuse me mam, have you seen Kim Yugyeom?”

The elder woman pauses her knitting, “Oh he’s no more here. His parents left the house with him and came back without him. That also the last time I had seen them.”

So they have moved away but why was Yugyeom silent about that? Together you had been through thick and thin whether the situation was chance getting held back because grades were dropping or nerves shivering before ditching class parties simply because neither enjoyed being there. Was he just worried about what you’d think? How far is the location, you could still make the friendship work. Even the bestest friends disperse using distance keeping them away, however you and Yugyeom loved each other so much. You were like the sister he never had and boys don’t often wish having a sister.

“Are you his girlfriend?” The woman ask out your pacing thoughts.

You shake your head. “No no, his friend, we met Junior High. We spend lots of time together especially here.”

If moving away was the case how come they still have their cars parked in the driveway? Yugyeom left with them how come they came back without him? Where was he? How come they didn’t move together? Who allows minors leave the house before his parents the month before graduating and nobody have seen the parents?

This puzzled you.

“You shouldn’t ever come again. Walking freely over here won’t be happening again, thankfully I don’t have much time to live.”

Your jaw drops, suddenly feeling slight discomfort and saying sorry for the best thought up response.

“Don’t be, this place had always been my home for many years until outskirt problems are slowly making their mark here. I’ll be safe in paradise with JoIn without actually getting hurt.”

The woman leaves the spot beside the fence grasping the yarn cloth and knitting needles with her. You scan the worry-free neighborhood where residents considered safe and private place. Your parents wanted to move here. Nobody complained about being poor they didn’t need millions of dollars. This place having problems can’t be true.

Distance took time separating those who were once friends.

“He escaped from the girls he dated plotting to fight him for being a player.”

That’s not true.

“Is he still alive?”

Of course he is, at least hopefully.

One day a fellow student caught him at gas market and they said, “He wore this rain jacket that looks like it cost two hundred, maybe he got a good paying job and left school.”

And he did.

He was no longer seen much around the building anymore because he was working full time for the worst job possibly easy to get. The salary came easily, largely, late, on time, and put bread on the table.

….

As you stretch your arm muscles, you looked forward cuddling with blankets for hours, watching your favorite movies while eating ramen and chips before falling your head back down into the pillows. During early college years, you thought working five days each week would earn you enough money, but the more days working the more fatigue you become. “Bye Y/N, enjoy your night!”

You and your boss wave good bye, and you take your keys and phone out your pocket unlocking the screen being aimless scrolling through messages between you and Yugyeom. The messages dated almost an entire year since he disappeared before moving away. Sometimes you forget neither stands beside one another opposing having no idea where he went. All that you had was his new number working for some time, yet whenever you asked when you could meet, he always said the same response.

There must’ve been an excuse for Yugyeom to stopped messaging like losing his phone. As much as you denied it, the friendship was going extinct on his behalf meanwhile you thought about him so much, it worries you.

....

He knocked on the door using the secret rhythm doing the same delivery tonight for his least best client, none were the best clients. None of them trusted him and he could care less he didn’t trust them either with all rights. Every afternoon Yugyeom wakes up regretting this job so much he wanted to be saved since the moment things around him working their way to crush him. Since the moment the people he trusted the most turned their backs.

“Open the fuckin’ door man.”

He squeezes through the creak looking the peeping eyes’ owner head down to toes slapping and shaking his hand, meeting his face reflecting exact blank narrowness. Three more men with women under arms hung around the room, the more buffed looking one leaned back against the couch closing his legs. Their faces held as emotionless all observing Yugyeom coldly revealing bit of his eyes flicking his visor.

“You good Rabb?” He dipped his head in a nod as he stood still scanning the walls covered with mold, dirt, torn holes, graffiti gang signs which were also written on the door. Their television set decorated with collectible almost empty beer bottles and shot glasses lacing around leading on the nearest side table. Some couch pillows were slouched covered with thin quilts, tears, unidentified stains visible in the dimness, white smeared lining remains on the armrests and coffee table. ‘Girl A’ wore an oversized jacket probably must’ve took some “candy” he last delivered before arriving, dangling her leg while sitting on the other, flicking baldie’s ear slumped against his side.

“What’s up Yu, did you bring the soda?”

“The candy’s the only noun welcomed here. You don’t give two shits about me without it. And we’re in private just call it what it is.”

His already uncomfortable aura matching the atmosphere and occupiers lounging over the couches, except Yugyeom never supposedly forgets anything. And today he would be expecting his deserved payment already past deadline.

“Delivery man is just as important since he’s the one bringing the stuff to us.”

The taller leaner man said. “Of course we know you’re too close minded to trust us.”

Yugyeom pulls a crumble brown paper bag from his inside pocket, hunched above the table scattering ziploc bags filled with dope in different measurements. Trust rolls their tongues like honey as if that were their lifestyle motto When these buyers cared for drugs only unlike others who put pressure on Yugyeom to trust them.

Yugyeom never tried hitting dope nor considered trying, he saw how addicted users get. If it weren’t for the news presenting grotesque slideshows with photographs of effects from drug use, he would have died the even stupider way. Whether he used dope or not, dealing came with a huge amount of violence putting lives on the edge of line.Yugyeom could lose his life anyway any day and he’s lucky enough having lived more than some newbies. He outlived those always doubting he’d live long enough before turning twenty-one. Few dealers are actually five times smarter and five times wealthier than their customers. Most smarter than others who were keeping the dopamine for themselves and not having some escape route in case the fuzz was coming.

Baldie shrugged his supposed lady going into another room as she’s clouded in bleached Isobutane lingering the couch she sat on, she definitely had eaten the leftover dopamine in small amounts. She says very drowsily, “Hey...you smell clean?”

“Bitch, look at me then look at you. I’d be walking around wearing nothing but that sweater to be higher than you. Get off.”

“Okay hey don’t be like that..like all ruthless or something.” She says, sitting back down, crossing her legs, exposing black boy shorts and messing with the cushion beside her.

Baldie comes back holding a handful of cash rolled with a rubber band and a bottle in the other hand. Yugyeom wished delivering dope and driving where he stayed money in pockets were as easy and quick as making deals on apartment parking lots during the day. Unfortunately, dope dealing was a secretive job that started taking longer getting it done as long as money. And unfortunately as he’s counting the rolled up cash, there wasn’t enough.

“You want some toke Rab? Maybe feeling little anxious, one time my girl Chae came up with her own-”

“Not from these little strawberry thotties you have business with while they’re blacking out.” Yugyeom moves away the other lady attempting to massage his shoulders, “What I want is my fucking money, where’s all the money you owe me?”

The girls face each other being taken aback how someone could talk against their customers the way Yugyeom did. Baldie backed away for the taller man to stand directly eye to eye with Yugyeom who lifted his chin.

“The fuck are you being so goddamn disrespectful in my household man?”

“Aye you already disrespected this house turning it into a drugged brothel. You’ve already been left off past due payment and you think I’m just gonna let a weekend's worth slide?” Almost raising his voice.

He glimpses the corner of his eye where the sounding double clicks coming from barrel shotgun gripped by the snarling girl called Chae. Behind Yugyeom he hears another click that can mistake for curtains bending, but doesn’t look.

“Yeah, coasts clear.”

The guy who opened the door looms behind Yugyeom trying to raise tension onto him however he stayed cool as ice. A twenty-two pistol gets seven centimeters closer as Yugyeom’s eyes never leave the taller man’s who are locked on Yugyeom, huffing thick weed clouds through his nose, smelling like burnt cardboard.

“The bottom line is we’re still short. So you’re gonna have to let this one slide the entire month.”

In the beginning, this terrifies a younger Yugyeom when he showed late and accidentally messed up a large delivery. Despite accompanied during the deliveries as ‘Training Godfather’-as newbies were liked to be called- hiding crouched down beside the passenger door before escaping had been the day he realized he just became a new target. He fears for his life every morning and hesitates before grabbing the doorknob.

“Yeah? Every house I’ve been to always have some secret stash next to their own stash, I know you have somewhere above short back there. Mind if I take a look?”

Threatening situations no longer froze him, he’s getting more used to them. “You really wanna go there?” He turns the pistol off safety

“You welcoming me there looks like.”

Only two seconds pass when cardinal whistles breaks tension off, probably their watchman Yugyeom saw on top the roof before entering. The taller man tugs the curtain to peep out one of the windows stepping aside from Yugyeom, his eyes sharp and ears open wherever the sound of truck’s running engine is heading. “Oh shit, the fuzz are coming! Hide everything!”

Before they knew it, everybody stays behind scattering around cursing under their panicked breaths, stuffing their drugs beneath the floor, walls and ceilings. The guns hid behind the canvas paintings, the refrigerator was filled with beer, water and little dope bags. The men were yelling and the women panting going everywhere, ducking from flashlights and getting more anxious when they hear dogs barking. Yugyeom raced toward the back the house hanging flat back against the wall waiting for the spotlights to pass, once they were gone the window was wired so he couldn’t get out. He acted quick as he could, holding his breath, scanning the halls, before the oncoming tank rammed the house with their battering. Not caring whoever he pushed the door on, twas all one man for himself. “Shit.”

As soon as he finds another, Yugyeom wastes no time kicking the window hard as he can. Meanwhile, the clients continue stuffing all their stuff down bathroom sink pipes and into the air vents. Backup cops snuck around the opposite side of the house blowing fire extinguishers off into the bathroom. And judging by the sudden midnight thunder and following grunts, the tank already tore the entire living room down, giving someone a damaged back. Shouting instructing voices draw closer. “Shit.”

It takes three kicks more to free Yugyeom and jump the same direction shattered glass fell.

He skidded one way then the other, the dog barking vigorously behind him hopping rooftop after the next. Not even the cops could spot him since the night was still mostly dark and his full on black outfit was the most helpful camouflage. He may have failed to earn delivery payment but he succeeded escapement for survival once again, winning against weapons, tanks crushing him, and risk from getting arrested had been now Yugyeom’s life. But this life, this persona wasn’t who Yugyeom truly was and it never will be.

He finds hiding right on time disappearing into the crack of dawn.

| Read MALEVO 2

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real-fakedoors · 6 years

Text

under leaves so green - CHPT 7 - Miraculous Ladybug

After the Dupain-Cheng family purchases a flower shop around the block from the Agreste mansion, Chat Noir frequents the spot in search of company from the manager-but-not-really Marinette. Beneath the mask, Adrien starts to struggle with how cute she looks in that green apron. (AKA: the not-really flower shop AU where basically everything is the same, but Marinette is extra stressed by her job and Adrien tries to be supportive)

Cross-posted on AO3 and FF.net

Chapter 7: 绣球花 (Hydrangea)

In which Adrien and Marinette spend Mother's Day in very strange ways.

Adrien had grown to enjoy the call of bells, almost always associating the pitchy jingle with happiness. One would ring at the front and back door of Marinette’s shop, come day or night. Another sounded lightly as he prowled the streets as Chat Noir, jostling ever so slightly just below his throat as he leapt from building to building.

And this morning, one greeted him upon entrance to the Dupain-Cheng bakery.

“Welcom - oh! Adrien, hello!” Madam Cheng beamed as he stepped inside, his senses overcome in the most fantastic sort of way.

It was warm within the buzzing bakery, but not hot and sticky like the summer air - this was a comfortable heat, one that reminded him of fuzzy blankets and hot chocolate. The smells were staggering in their own right, the aroma of cookies and fresh bread flowing around him like the sweetest tides of a cotton-candy sea. Adrien could drown in it and never want to come up for air; it was the same smell that always seeped from Marinette’s pores, only more poignant. A chattering pair of women eyed a display case near the window, so he strode past them and returned Madam Cheng’s smile with as much kindness as he could muster.

“Madam Cheng, so nice to see you. And Happy Mother’s Day, of course.” He bowed politely as he reached the register, standing just a bit aside in case anyone came up to make a purchase while he chatted. If it was possible, Madam Cheng smile only widened.

“This is Nathalie, my father’s assistant,” Adrien said through pursed lips, and the woman shook Madam Cheng’s hand.

Of course, Marinette’s mother seem just thrilled. “A pleasure, Nathalie -- and please, Adrien, Sabine is fine.” The tiny woman held up a finger to pause their pleasantries, leaning her head into the back. “Hey! Tom! Adrien is here!”

A pause.

“Be right there!” A familiar, jovial voice answered, and Adrien felt himself pink slightly. He tended to almost forget how overwhelmingly kind the Dupain-Chengs were until he was in their company, but then, their daughter was practically the dictionary definition of perfection. He shouldn’t be surprised.

“So, how can I help you this morning?” Sabine looked between the two, and Nathalie only responded with a strained smile. It took an impressive amount of self-control for Adrien not to laugh at the woman’s dismay, clearly unsure of what to make of Madam Cheng’s bubbly attitude.

“Well…” Adrien fumbled with his fingers. “I actually came by to see if Marinette was available. I wanted to talk to her, but my phone is, uh,” his gaze flickered over the tight-lipped woman beside him. “Unavailable at the moment.”

Sabine frowned. “Oh, I’m so sorry, but Marinette’s not home. She left early this morning on an errand.”

Adrien had only enough time for his eye to twitch before a small bear emerged from the back in the shape of Marinette’s father.

“Adrien! How are you, son?” Tom Dupain walked right around the counter and hugged Adrien fiercely, crushing his bones and giving his torso a light dusting of flour in the process. Nathalie looked like a fish out of water, both literally and figuratively, and appeared about ready to pry the man away from him.

The blond was all smiles, though, and gave Marinette’s father a firm pat-pat. “Hello, Monsieur Dupain, how are you?”

“Just great - business is, ah, hold on. Come!” He extended an arm and gestured for Nathalie and Adrien to follow him into the back of the bakery. Sabine nodded at them, but kept her focus on the customers who had just approached the counter with sweet selections in mind.

“Sorry, sorry. Just easier to talk without people buying - so good to see you! And who’s this?” Tom smiled kindly down at Nathalie, who cleared her throat.

“Nathalie Sancoeur, thank you. I work for Gabriel Agreste and am escorting Adrien this morning.”

He blinked, likely taken aback by her biting tone, but there was no dampening the man’s mood.

“Well, welcome to the Dupain-Cheng Boulangerie Patisserie! Don’t mind our mess; when you work with flour and dirt, it’s something you learn to live with.”

“I… see. Thank you.” Nathalie eyed their surroundings, quickly understanding the man’s meaning. The place was indeed a mess, all sorts of ingredients strewn around the work stations, a half-dozen aprons hanging on hooks, and piles and piles of open books littered with numbers and figures.

Monsieur Dupain set himself to task while making pleasant conversation, and Adrien thought his behavior seemed very much like Marinette at that moment. “So, did I hear you say you were here for Marinette?”

Sheepishly, Adrien scratched his cheek. “I - yes. But Madam Cheng said she’s not home?”

The man nodded severely, rolling out a mysterious dough that smelled like heaven. “Yes, it feels like our girl’s never home anymore. Did you want to leave a message of some sort? We can always give it to her when she comes back after work.”

Before he could answer, Marinette’s mother appeared beside Nathalie, and the leaner of the two women flinched.

Adrien had to snicker quietly at that. It was upon Nathalie’s own insistence that he was not to enter the bakery unattended, so he was going to enjoy watching her squirm, at least a little.

“Yes, and I’m afraid she didn’t say where she was going, probably just had to facilitate some deliveries or something,” Sabine sighed and wiped her hands on her apron, which caught his attention.

“Oh, your apron! It’s lovely.” He pointed, elated by his recognition.

She looked down momentarily and the smile that spread on her features reached her eyes.

“Oh, yes, speaking of Marinette,” she sighed contently and rubbed the embroidered D/C proudly. “This was a gift she made me for Mother’s Day. I didn’t expect her to get me anything; I don’t even know how she found the time.”

Adrien did not respond, but he nodded his agreement. Marinette had been deadbeat exhausted yesterday, but he wasn’t about to say that to her parents or Nathalie.

Oh, yes Madam Cheng, I know. I snuck into your daughter’s room last night while she finished making that apron. There was about a million reasons why that was a bad idea, and at least half of those reasons would have made him blush to think about.

Adrien coughed. “Well, I am sorry I missed her… Maybe I will just try again tomorrow, or swing by the shop later.” He didn’t even need to look her way to feel the look Nathalie was giving him. Such a detour was not in his schedule and therefore was not going to be allowed, but Adrien didn’t want to appear suspicious to Marinette’s parents.

“Well, that sounds like a wasted trip son, at least take some pastries back to your Dad.” Monsieur Dupain replied, wiping his cheek carefully with part of his forearm. The dough was taking taking the form of a swirled knot-bread, and Adrien could smell the vanilla and cinnamon from where he was standing. His stomach growled, and by some good graces, not loud enough for anyone to hear.

“Ahh, no, that’s okay,” Adrien rubbed his neck. “My Dad’s not really a… ‘sweets’ kind of guy. But thank you for offering.”

Of course, Madam Cheng wouldn’t hear of it.

“Hmm, well, how about at least something for your troubles? Nathalie, that includes you of course, pick out anything from the display and we’ll package it up for you.”

Adrien blushed, always overcome by their generosity. They hadn’t much, at least compared to his father’s wealth, but that never meant they weren’t eager to share.

“I- I, well,” Nathalie sputtered, uselessly pushing random buttons on her tablet. Clearly she was not used to being treated this way either, and Adrien remembered how flustered he had been the first few times he had come here.

“That would be amazing, thank you,” he accepted for the both of them, and Sabine lead them back out the front. Adrien didn’t want to disrupt Marinette’s father a second time in the middle of working, so he went to give him a friendly pat on the back in farewell. Once again, more bear than man, Monsieur Dupain turned and engulfed Adrien in a hug so tightly he felt short of breath by the time his feet were back to solid ground.

“Take good care Adrien, and thanks for stopping. I’m sure Mari will be sorry she missed you.”

Tom Dupain finished his statement with a not-so-subtle wink. Adrien swallowed a lump in his throat and tried not to burn too furiously while returning to the front of the bakery.

Sabine greeted a new gaggle of customers that entered just as the three of them returned to the front of the store, so Adrien gestured for Nathalie to follow him to the glass display of cakes and breads and cookies.

Once out of earshot, Nathalie shot him a sharp whisper.

“These foods will not comply with your meal schedule, so please say your goodbyes and we’ll go.”

At that, Adrien snorted and had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. He actually felt a little bad as Nathalie flushed, evidently disquieted by his behavior. She saw this place as one of indulgence - sugar and happiness, free food and plentiful hugs.

How ironic.

Wealth meant Adrien had seen display cases just like these many times, usually filled with pillows of rich velvet that were topped with excess. Diamond jewelry or watches that could fund a year abroad were the “bread and butter” of the upper-class, so expensive taste came with the territory.

Adrien felt the bread and butter prepared by the Dupain-Cheng’s hand to be much more tempting.

Everything was a careful arrangement of love here, and it filled him with a million reminders of Marinette at every turn. Each price tag was hand-written, with chalkboard specials on display. All of the boxes were pink and simple, somehow adorable and refined at the same time. The energy itself was animated, a welcome world, and it required no explanation to surmise that Marinette was a product of this saccharine wonderland.

By comparison, Adrien had felt only lucky enough to window shop before. He didn’t want to browse anymore.

Marinette may have been reared within these candied walls, but Adrien found it hollow without her in them. He longed for laurels of green and Banks’ roses. The absence of dirt felt like the absence of her, resolute and empowering without ever being too much. To him, the bakery had become an echo of her, whereas the shop was filled with Marinette from the dirt to the air to the sun itself. A pastoral daydream, between the green apron and the green house, the shop was the metropolitan wilderness.

A paradox.

It shouldn’t exist in a city like this, and it was too pure for this world.

Yet somehow, he had found her.

Nathalie interrupted his daydreams by clicking her tongue.

“We cannot accept their food without paying. If word gets out, the press might take it to the rumor mill.”

His response was probably more bitter than it had to be, not because of her words but because of the sneer behind them.

“You are worrying too much,” he studied some cocoa truffles absently. “I’ve tried to pay them for years, but they always refuse. Marinette even snuck money back into my wallet once; their obstinacy is borderline unfair.”

Nathalie pursed her lips. “This… Marinette that you came to see. She’s been through your wallet?”

Sometimes he forgot how protective Nathalie and his father were, to a painful degree. Still, the insinuation that came with Nathalie’s worry he found to be in poor taste.

He kept his tone matter-of-fact. “Yes. I’d trust her with anything, my wallet included.”

The dark-haired woman narrowed her eyes and looked ready to say something else, but Sabine completed her recent customers and appeared across the glass case.

“Have you settled on anything? I already grabbed some of that cheese bread you always ask for, Adrien, but please, pick out at least a few more things.” Marinette’s mother jostled a bag lightly over the counter, and Adrien thanked her. In his shirt pocket, a very exciting twitching began at the call of cheese.

After some back and forth, Adrien made up Nathalie’s mind and kindly accepted two pieces of cheese bread, a sweet smelling strawberry tart for himself and a few macron’s for his father’s assistant. It took more effort than it should have to accept, what with Nathalie’s constant disapproval, but he had gone through the motions with the Dupain-Cheng’s enough time to know they were impossible to argue with.

By the time he said farewell, two hugs later and a whole heart fuller, Adrien settled into the backseat of the car and sighed comfortably. He almost could have forgotten he had come to see Marinette and utterly failed to do so. Almost.

Nathalie directed them home, dubiously accepting a macron when offered, and Adrien even tried to see if his ever-silent bodyguard would accept one. There was no verbal response, but the man did hold out his hand when Adrien reached towards the front of the sedan.

“So, is Marinette someone we should…?” Nathalie began as they were neared the mansion, and Adrien cleared his throat.

“Nope, that’s -- nope.”

The woman sighed pointedly, but did not ask any further questions. They both knew better than to bother his father with petty matters like high school crushes, so Adrien at least could confidently say Nathalie would not to bring up the subject again.

He bound up the stairs once they arrived home, shutting the door to his room behind him. A greedy-eyed kwami greeted him swiftly.

“Pay up, kid, I wants me some of that bread.” Plagg almost cackled as Adrien unfurreled the bag and set it at his desk, listening to the strange gorging sounds of a kwami bodily assaulting unsuspecting pastries.

Adrien was already pacing, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“What a waste of a morning.” He stopped at the window, pressing an arm against the cool metal beams and resting his forehead there. “I don’t think I can wait until tonight to see her, and not as Chat Noir. I need to see her as me this time.”

“You know,” Plagg called from the bag, clearly speaking with his mouth full.

“You sure are going way out of your way to see this girl. You’re sure you just want to be friends?”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Just, shut up, Plagg.”

“If your poor heart can’t wait, we could sneak out again. You know, stop by the flower shop, go and see your lovely lady,” the kwami mused in a sing-song voice.

Adrien didn’t answer. It’s not like he could deny it anymore.

From the night she gifted him the Russian Snowdrops petals, he probably should have realized it then. The comfortable way she deposited the sentiment, more than just the flowers, into his hand and the sincerity of her soft blue eyes within their private twilight was something from a movie.

That night had been a wickering candle that had burned just bright enough and just long enough for him to fall smitten.

If not then, Nino’s not-so-subtle talk should have forced him to acceptance. His friend had called him out like a judge during a fencing match, making Adrien confront some imaginary coin flip that he didn’t believe could be real.

But how far back did his denial go? The shy glances, sweet blushes, thoughtful gestures and innocuous little fleeting moments they had shared through the years. He couldn’t tell if his stomach had always twisted in excitement when it happened and he had just tried to bury the instinct, not wanting to freak her out, to the point where he himself believed it wasn’t there. Adrien tried to remember, but then, none of that mattered anymore.

What mattered now was that Adrien was absolutely, hopelessly in love with her.

Of course he was.

Marinette’s smile was everything. When she laughed, he felt like the most fortunate person in the world to hear the sound - and that’s not even to say how he felt when he was the one to make her erupt into giggles. Sometimes, if surprised, she would squeak, and it was adorable. She was beautiful - lean, strong, soft features and lips that looked so kissable he wanted to tear his hair out just thinking about it. If he hadn’t come to her home with the mask last night, he might not have been able to stop himself from kissing more than just her forehead.

His legs guided him to his bed, laying down and staring at the ceiling. Marinette was everywhere in his world, and so suddenly, too. It was like the most pleasant vertigo imaginable. The dark ceilings looked like her hair, soft and rich tresses of ebony. The sinking sound of his head hitting the pillow was her sigh, and the rustling of Plagg at his desk was the fluttering of her lashes. Most devastating was the sky, though, miles of her eyes for him to get lost in.

Marinette was everywhere, but even so, she wasn’t here.

Plagg belched and flew over to him, looking upon his charge with a smug grin.

“You’ve got it bad, you know that, don’t you?”

Adrien didn’t respond, but his face surely said enough. Plagg nodded.

“Well, if it means anything, I -- ”

The kwami stopped and his brow dipped, catching Adrien’s attention. A moment later, there was a crisp knocking on the door, and they met eyes before Plagg flew away to hide.

“Yes,” Adrien groaned as he sat back up, walking towards the door. “What is it, Natha-- ?”

“Adrien.” His father greeted with a nod, and the blond went slack jawed.

“D-Dad, hi, what are you…?” Adrien cleared his throat and paused when his father motioned for him to stop, raising a hand.

“Why don’t you come to my office for a moment?” He asked, though he spun on his heel before Adrien could answer. Stumbling after him, he hoped Plagg had enough sense to stay put, just in case, and followed his father down the stairs.

Each step felt like a march towards some sort of purgatory. Had he done something wrong? He couldn’t remember the last time his father called him to his office and they had a pleasant conversation. All they seemed to talk about anymore was Adrien’s future, and they both had very different visions in mind for what that looked like.

Adrien kept his irritations under lock-and-key. He was resigned to wait for his father’s invitation to speak.

It wasn’t until he shut the door that the conversation began, and Adrien wondered which one of them had lost their minds. It had to be one of them, because his Dad didn’t just say that, or he himself was dissociating and misheard him.

“Are you in a relationship with Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

It was the proverbial record scratch of the past week. Flowers and blue eyes, slamming doors and text messages, late night stargazing and bitter coffee all rushed to greet him in a visceral sensory experience. A whole week’s worth of memories pumped through his veins, sending his heart into a tailspin of nerves and worries and fears but, more than all of that, Adrien was blindsided by so much sudden happiness that it a miracle he managed to stay on his own two feet.

He didn’t really have words, so he managed a croak.

“Huh?”

His father pursed his lips, hands behind his back as he gestured for Adrien to sit in the pit around the runway. Apparently, he managed to comply with his Dad’s request, though he had no memory of even sitting down.

A few hours earlier

“I can do this.” Marinette fanned her face with a hand, as if it would help. It wasn’t particularly hot today, in fact, it was cloudy and pleasantly mild for a morning in the summer, but that wasn’t the cause of her clammy complexion.

No, this was the kind of crippling nervousness that would knock anyone off their feet in her situation, and Marinette wasn’t exactly known for her superior coordination.

“I can... do this.”

Spilling your guts out to your crush of three years was never easy.

Doing it on Mother’s Day seemed like an awful mistake, given his mother’s mysterious disappearance.

Coming to his house unannounced, early in the morning, with pastries and a tiny potted plant?

“I can’t do this.”

Every neuron in her brain was firing off at once, screaming at her legs run away, but she was trying not to listen. Her heart was hammering, working overdrive to make up for the disagreement between her body and mind, and she was stuck.

Hiding.

Tikki jostled her purse, knocking into her hip slightly - it was a sort of silent code they had established, for Marinette to check their surroundings for curious eyes before opening the clasp.

With fumbling fingers, she managed to get the thing damned open and her kwami’s large round eyes were sympathetic.

“Don’t say that, Marinette! You can do it - you can do anything. I believe in you.”

“I-I know, Tikki,” she stammered, and the kwami’s red face frowned. “I just, heh, you know, we said ‘set small goals’? That was the agreement… I feel like… this is a little much…?”

“No,” her kwami shook her head. “It’ll be perfect, I promise. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do!” Marinette’s response was immediate, and she felt her pulse relax just slightly. “I just… no, no, you’re right. I can do this.”

“You can do this,” Tikki parroted and nodded, closing the purse herself so Marinette couldn’t talk herself down.

“Thanks, Tikki,” the girl whispered before brushing herself off unnecessarily.

With a pit - no, a crater - in her stomach, Marinette slipped around the corner and stiffly walked up to the front gate. She spotted a familiar, almost angry-looking red button on an inlaid control panel, and gulped.

The first time she rang the Agreste doorbell, when Nino had been akumatized years ago, a little camera came out and appraised her. Just in case, Marinette fixed her bangs and patted out her pigtails, hoping her make-up covered most of the bags circling her eyes. Her choice of outfit was… acceptable. It was just her work uniform. The whole pretense of coming before work on a Sunday was so she had a designated time to leave in case things became awkward, and Marientte wanted to have an escape plan; she preferred to plan for the worst-case scenario, so anything better than that exceeded her expectations.

Long inhale.

Marinette pushed the button, feeling the weight of the world compress the shiny plastic covering against her forefinger.

No going back now.

Long exhale.

She stood for almost a minute, fidgeting more and more and thought about pressing again (or, better yet, about just running the other direction) when a voice finally answered, accompanied by a camera’s judgmental eye.

“Yes?”

It was male, but it wasn’t Adrien.

Oh for fondants sake…

Her mouth was horribly dry and she licked her lips - surely, that had to have looked great on camera.

“M-Monsieur Agreste! I apologize, I’m… um… a friend of Adrien’s. I was wondering if he was… home?”

There was a long silence, and once again, Marinette considered fleeing the scene.

A hard voice swept away whatever nerve she had gathered. “What’s your name?”

“I-I… I-I’m Ma-Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. A-Adrien’s, um, he’s in my class.” She swallowed, and Tikki jostled lightly against her hip. The reminder of her kwami gave her some confidence, however small, so she added, “I designed… a hat for your contest a few… years ago?”

Marinette tightened her grip on the reusable paper bag she had in her right hand in an effort to stop her nervous shaking, and, to her genuine surprise, it actually helped.

“Hmm,” Monseiur Agreste sounded thoughtful, and Marinette tried to smile at the camera as kindly-and-not-dorkily as possible.

“You may enter.”

The electric blue eye of the camera retracted back into the wall, and there was a brief buzzing as the lock on the gate fell. She could hear Tikki lightly chime at her hip.

“You’re doing great, Marinette! Just keep it up!”

“Phew,” she breathed a sigh of relief and nodded, even if Tikki couldn’t see it. “Thanks. Wish me luck.”

Her usual stride was definitely clipped of it’s usual personality, much more rigid as the door loomed ever closer. She had only been here a few times, and this was the first time she’s ever come totally alone - the entrance seemed so massive up close.

A tiny voice dubbed Rationality in her mind noted that it was probably unusual for Gabriel Agreste to answer his own doorbell, but then, that tittering was snuffed out rather quickly by the hundred of others voices - Worry, Anxiety, Fear, and Uneasy, for example, were composing an epic interlude against the raging metronome provided by her heart.

Marinette, as conductor for this impromptu orchestra, only found it fitting that the crescendo built with the stacco thump of her knocking fist against the heavy barrier that kept her out.

Much faster than she expected, the door was opening, and stood before her was the ever-immaculate Gabriel Agreste. Sometimes, she was so wrapped up in Adrien that Marinette all but forgot her idolization of the man before her.

He was a fashion legend, and even his home attire showed for it - his hair was swiped back, out of his face. On his person, he wore a crisp white suit jacket with red pants that were tailored to perfection, accented by a red-white ascot.

Marinette bowed, feeling humbled and tragically underdressed.

Staring at her feet instead of at his piercing eyes, she found enough of her manners scattered on the immaculate foyer tiles to muster a greeting.

“Monsieur Agreste, it’s an honor to meet you in person. I’m… Adrien’s friend, but it’s also such an honor. I’m a huge fan of your work!”

She would never bet anything on it, but she could have sworn it almost sounded like, ever so lightly that he… laughed?

“Come in, Mme. Dupain-Cheng,” he stepped aside and Marinette meekly scuttered in, feeling more a mouse in a giant labyrinthine of architectural splendor.

Naturally, she drank in as much as she could as fast as she could - huge ceilings, a refreshing clean smell, marble pillars and a central staircase like one she pictured in Cinderella. It was spacious and monochromatic, and Marinette could only admire the careful attention to the building with each slope or facade.

“I’m ashamed to admit I only vaguely recall our first meeting, Mme. Dupain-Cheng.” Monsieur Agreste began, hands behind his back. His posture was impeccable, and Marinette quickly tried to fix her slouch.

“But I do remember the bowler you created; it was a rather impressive piece, especially for someone your age. So forgive me if I’m a bit... unsure to the nature of your visit.”

Marinette bit her lip - she knew from Adrien’s occasional mention that his father was harsh, but she could certainly tell where her friend got his lessons in etiquette. So far, Adrien’s father had been entirely intimidating, but surprisingly kind.

He frowned and cocked his head to one side when Marinette didn’t respond, and she nearly squeaked when she realized she was just staring into space.

“O-Oh! Right. I’m very sorry to show up unannounced, and on… a holiday, no less.” She paused to make sure she hadn’t just put her foot in her mouth, but he didn’t seem to mind the mention of today’s date. His wife was gone, but it had been several years so perhaps he had just learned to accept such affairs. “But I… I wanted to see Adrien and thank him for his help the other day. Your son is, um, a very… kind young man.”

Studying her shoes, Marinette quickly found his lack of response to be unbearable, so her gaze flickered his way. Mounseir Agreste had a small, albeit nonplussed, smile on his face, and it looked remarkably similar to Adrien’s.

Maybe she could do this after all.

Feeling a bit emboldened by his agreeable expression, Marinette held the bag out infront of her with the D/C logo printed proudly on the front.

“My parents own the Dupain-Cheng Boulangerie Patisserie - it used to just be called Tom and Sabine’s - by the school, and they recently purchased a flower shop only a few streets over from here. I work there and… I brought some pastries and flowers for Adrien as thanks. I... hope that’s okay?”

Mounseir Agreste studied the bag with a severe expression on his face before bringing a hand to his chin.

“Mme. Dupain-Cheng,” his eyes flickered to her face, and Marinette felt herself blanch slightly. His voice was like a whip, and each word was the crack before the lashing.

“While your gesture is very kind, Adrien is not here at the moment.”

She deflated. Bag lowered back to her side, Marinette felt all of the reassurance she had spent the past several days gathering be swept away with a single sentence. This had been hard enough to do the first time, and now she was doubtful she could ever find the courage to come back here like this.

Still, she couldn’t just stand and sulk in the middle of the Agreste mansion, so she cleared her throat and turned politely towards the door.

“I’m very sorry for intr-- ”

“But he should be back soon,” Adrien’s father interrupted lightly, and her head shot up in his direction. Was he really saying what she thought he was saying…?

Flatly, he confirmed her disbelief with a few easy words.

“If you’d like, you are welcome to stay here until he returns.”

Marinette felt her mouth fall open, and she blinked repeatedly. “A-are you sure? I’d hate to impose!”

He shrugged, and Marinette couldn’t believe how impressively casual he was acting. Surely this couldn’t be the monster Adrien painted him to be?

“I assure you Mme. Dupain-Cheng, it is fine. But Adrien is out with my assistant Nathalie, so would you be willing to wait for their return in my office? I mean no offense, but we prefer company to stay supervised in the house.”

She was practically bouncing now, almost too elated to mind her manners. “Are you kidding? Me, in the Gabriel Agreste office? Where you create your designs?! I would - I can’t -- ummmm,” she exhaled low and tried to calm herself, and to her relief, Mounseir Agreste didn’t seem to mind her fangirling. “I would be so honored, sir!”

“Very well,” he gestured for her to follow, and Marinette tried not to trip over her own feet as Adrien’s father stopped at the western wall before a set of massive double-doors. “We can leave the door open, so we’ll hear them come in.”

As Marinette passed the threshold, she could barely keep the bag in her hand, marveling each and every surface of the room with adoration. She had been in here before as Ladybug, but never had there been a chance for her to really stop and appreciate the room for what it was.

The walls were smoky marble, scored in a diamond lattice of light grey that stopped a few feet up from the ground, framed by wood so dark it was almost black. Each panel was carved with intricate molding, giving a sort of three-dimensional depth to the walls. The room itself was divided into three levels with short steps between each. Adrien’s father walked straight towards the top level on the far-end of the room where a large white screen - his famed ‘designscape’ - was situated, just in front of a grand golden portrait. Between the computer and the door, Marinette noticed a short sort of pit in the center of the room that opened to a lower level that mimicked a runway, but, she guessed, could also double as a conference table depending on the circumstances. Spread across the crisp white surface was a dozen portfolios and even more loose pictures, covering the desk from end to end with hundreds or even thousands of drawings and pictures of designs. The far end of the room was pierced by two larger-than-life panes of glass, windows to the world beyond, and they shone brilliantly with the emerging light of a Sunday morning.

On the wall to her immediate right upon entering, Marinette spotted Adrien. And Adrien. And more Adrien. This had been the image to capture her attention most prominently the last time she came here, naturally, and it was an ever expanding collection of his portraits done for his father’s fashion line. Everything about him, the poses, his smile, his presence - all of it, he was effortless.

Mounseir Agreste, apparently, noticed her staring. From behind his pseudo-computer, he commented off-handedly, “He does excellent work, doesn’t he?”

Marinette felt her heart leap into her throat, and she could barely breathe for how quickly the blood rushed to her cheeks.

“U-um, yes, sir. He’s very… ahh... talented?” Her hormone-addled teenage brain could come up with plenty more colorful descriptors for what else Adrien was, but perhaps his father was not the best audience for that. Instead, Marinette just laughed awkwardly, and Mounseir Agreste looked at her from above his glasses before smirking.

“You can set your things down on the tableau, if you’d like. Just push aside any of the mess,” he gestured towards the runway-esque-table in the center of the room, and Marinette shyly nodded and accepted the invitation.

Her mind was racing a million miles a minute, of course. Was this a stupid thing to do? What could she possibly talk to Adrien’s dad about? How long would they be - what if she had to get to work before Adrien even came home? And if not, would she even have sufficient time to talk to him? Why did she stop stalking Adrien’s calendar, if she knew where he was then this never would have happened!

Because, her brain scolded, tracking his whereabouts was creepy and you know it.

Yes, but, her squirming stomach argued, she had never been trapped in the Gabriel Agreste’s office when we had Adrien’s schedule memorized, now did we?

Both of you - Marinette’s jack-hammer heart interrupted - whatever figment of my imagination is giving you unique voices, please, cut it out! This is hard enough when I’m not arguing with myself!

Unsure what else to do, her eyes eventually started to linger across the countless designs sprawled across the length of the runway. The action started as a distraction, but Marinette’s attention was swept away in the painstaking detail that went into each image. From bodice to bustier, tulle and organza, slacks and skirts and accessories of every kind, the Gabriel span of influence know no bounds. She was particularly interested in a volume of unfinished work, most pages only half-colored but otherwise lined with pencil sketches suited to the shapes of men and women of every size and proportion.

“M-Mounseir Agreste?” Marinette spoke meekly, and his attention flickered up from the screen. “I hope you d-don’t mind me saying, but these are all so lovely.” She gestured a shaky hand across the runway.

“I-I promised myself if I ever got the chance, I would tell you the Adalaid handbag from Milan Fashion Week… was - is the most amazing use of suede I’ve ever seen… the attention to detail is something to be… sorry, I’m rambling,” Marinette pushed a hand against her forehead and ducked her head again, hoping he might just let her self-esteem die a quiet death.

“Milan is always a favorite of mine,” he responded, almost sounding bemused. Marinette glanced up to see him come to end of the runway, looking down over the cascade of his own creations through his decades in the industry.

“Ah,” his attention lingered over the thick portfolio right in front of her. “I see you’ve found Emilie’s work.”

“Emilie…?” Marinette responded, but she need not clarification when the man turned around and beheld the abstract, flawless painting of his wife hung behind his work station. She lowered her eyes on the book, and suddenly the unrefined but peculiar drawings seemed to make sense.

“Oh… these were, um, your wife’s…” She mumbled, trying to put distance between herself and the bound collection of sketches, feeling like there was some invisible line in social etiquette and that she had most definitely crossed.

“Yes,” he responded curtly, but sighed and descended to the pit. “She wore many hats, and her own creativity is something I still… I never sketch without the book you’ve got there.” His voice sounded wistful, and Marinette was surprised to hear him speak so openly about his wife. Adrien very rarely even mentioned Madam Agreste.

“It’s one of the handful of things she... left behind.”

Marinette didn’t dare ask for clarification on what else she might have “left behind,” but she didn’t really have to. There were some that required no explanation, like her husband and her son.

“You do have an eye for fashion, Mme. Dupain-Cheng,” Mounseir Agreste said as he looked over her shoulder, noticing the sketches she pulled towards the front in her absent minded admiration. “I always did like this one, but the color always felt wrong. I could never get it as I wanted.”

He pointed at a brown-leather ensemble, fitted like a trench-coat but seemed to Marinette a dress, the bodice dipping to a sweetheart neck with dropped-shoulders. A wide buckle pulled the eyes to the waist while accentuating the curvature of the hips. Interestingly, there was a peek-a-boo line of fabric that poked out from the bottom of the dress, where the leather crossed over itself like a coat; vertical stripes of white and brown just hinted at something more. To the side of the page, a razor sharp stiletto heel of the same color crisscrossed over a more detailed side-sketch of a foot, with smaller straps that resembled the center buckle as it clasped around the ankle. Were it food, Marinette would have been drooling; but as a designer, she could only feel her creative intuition flare at the sight.

“Wow,” she breathed, and without thinking, added “You said it was the color? You mean the tone of the leather?”

He frowned. “Yes, it was supposed to be… young and bold. Spirited, even. But it always seems… matronly, when worn.”

Marinette had to swallow the urge to make suggestions - who was she kidding? She was a no-name designer speaking to the Gabriel Agreste. No way would she even think of proposing modifications to one of his designs. It’s not like the leather might not be better suited as the patent variety, broadening the possibilities of color. Something like red would certainly pop with spirit, but this… that wasn’t her place.

“I never considered patent leather,” mused Monsieur Agreste, and picked up the paper with one hand and rubbed his chin with the other.

Marinette’s eyes widened in mortification.

Did I seriously just… say that… out loud?

“Oh - oh my, I’m so sorry Mounsier Agreste! I just blabbed and I know that was totally inappropriate, my sincerest apologies - sir, um,” Marinette stood and stepped away, bowing her head again, but this time in shame. Her face was burning and her eyes were nearly watering from the embarrassment.

Looking at the floor, Marinette couldn’t see the amused, if not a little bewildered, raise of Monsieur Agreste’s brows.

“You should never regret speaking on an original idea, Mme. Dupain-Cheng. They are scarce enough as it is. And a good idea? All the better.”

All she could do was blink inanely, sure she must have heard incorrectly.

“Some people make their literal livelihood as purveyors of honesty, you know,” he said, taking the picture with him to his designscape. Marinette slowly returned to the long table, not sitting but listening with interest.

“What is a critic but someone who is paid for their opinions? Or the curator of a museum? They seek out the best pieces of art on some sort of objective scale and create a gallery from their opinions alone. A discerning eye is a rare gift, Mme., you might not be so quick to silence yours.”

“I… wow,” she eventually answered, nodding as she sort of collapsed onto the row seating again. “Thank you, that… that really means a lot, coming from you.”

Marinette watched Adrien’s father’s with rapt attention, his own gaze flickering between the wide touchscreen and the picture in his hand. He hardly paid her any mind for several minutes, and for that, Marinette was thankful; her face right now was probably the picture of dumbfounded admiration.

“So,” Mounsier Agreste offered after a few minutes of silence. “What exactly is the nature of your relationship with my son, Mme. Dupain-Cheng?”

His voice had regained that pointed, almost dangerous quality to it, and Marinette flinched slightly. Thankfully, the man’s attention was caught in his work, so he didn’t notice see the very obvious embarrassment color her cheeks a deep crimson.

“Ah…” Marinette scratched her cheek.

“We are… just friends.” She sighed, unable to keep the regret from her tone. “His best friend Nino, you might know?” Marinette paused, but he so much as look up. With a dry gulp, she continued. “W-well, Adrien’s best friend Nino is in a… he’s dating my best friend, Alya. So… the four of us, um, hang out together. Socially. And at school, too - Adrien’s been… been, uhh, in my class since he started school with us. So…” She sort of just let her explanation taper out, not really sure where she was going with that.

They continued to sit quietly for a time after that, save for Marinette’s heart pounding in her ears and the occasional tap-tap against the designscape. She was torn between excusing herself, trying to think of anything that might not sound stupid to say to him, or continuing to suffer in the near-silence.

Mercifully, he cleared his throat and looked up from his work before she could act on any of her escape plans.

“My apologies, I wanted to incorporate this while it was still on my mind.” With a few keystrokes against the side of the machine, a projecting eye - much like the one she had been interrogated with at the front gate - popped out of the ceiling and a dazzling splash of blue light spilled onto the wall across from Adrien’s portraits. A narrow, blank canvas hung on the wall there - Marinette hadn’t really given it a second thought upon entering - but now it’s utility made perfect sense.

A life-sized drawing of the leather outfit, now accommodating Marinette’s suggestion for red patent, appeared and occupied the space perfectly. The empty canvas was almost poetic as Marinette stared, wide-eyed, at the creation come to life before her. With her suggestion, so too did the outfit itself come to life; the shine of the red seemed more animated than the maturity of browns and whites. Along the bottom lining, Monsieur Agreste had also recolored the peek-a-boo fabric to follow a nautical schema - vertical stripes of blue, white and red seemed to wink out from the folds of the dress, and it definitely looked youthful. Sexy, even, Marinette dared to admit.

“Wow…” She breathed, amazed by how quickly and masterfully her idea materialized by his hand.

“Indeed,” he said, agreeing with the sentiment of Marinette’s exclamation. The girl realized she was gaping, mouth-open, so she firmly closed her lips and tried to her fix her face into something appreciative but not too starstruck.

With all the practice I’ve had with Adrien, I’m pretty sure I’ve got that one down.

A contented sigh escaped Adrien’s father, and with a quick hand, he turned off the projection and the canvas returned to its former off-white, all creativity sterilized by the flip of a switch. Marinette’s eyes could still see the echo of an image, splotchy as her focus blinked back into reality.

“Now, where were we?” Monsieur Agreste came down from the top-level and stood with his back to her, which Marinette found less intimidating, They both faced a wall of Adrien.

“You said you’re a friend of Adrien’s from school - and, oh, that’s right. A gift in thanks? And what did he do that would be so deserving of such a kindness from you?” He turned his head slightly and smiled, laughing just one breath of a laugh, but Marinette felt the tension in her stomach unknot slightly.

She considered how best to respond this time, not wanting to ramble or putter through her sentences like she had been. Honesty felt right, and Adrien was someone with his whole day planned out, so it’s not like she might be sharing anything he wouldn’t already know. Maybe it had been a stroke of good luck with their designer-to-designer moment, but she felt like maybe he respected her… just a tiny bit?

“Well… we crossed paths recently since I work so near to your home… I fell at work a few days ago and messed up my shoulder, and Adrien stayed to help me sort out my mess with the customers. I was willing to pay him, but he declined - so I thought, um, this would at least be a small form of thanks.”

Looking at the bag, Marinette smiled. “He even made a sale. I know it’s probably… not the best idea for him to do something like that, with his fame, so I hope he didn’t get in trouble because of me. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Adrien’s father turned, a brow raised. “That... sounds like my stubborn son.”

She laughed lightly. “Stubborn is a good word for him.” They met eyes, and Marinette was relieved to actually see him smiling.

Proudly.

“And again, I really am sorry for just showing up like this, sir. If I had known Adrien was out I would have just dropped this off,” she gestured towards her bag, ducking her head shyly. “I appreciate you letting me wait with you, but I do have to get to work soon.”

Adrien’s father adjusted his glasses and glanced at his watch. “I see. Well, your apology is not necessary Mme. Dupain-Cheng, but it is a nice gesture. You can leave the… gift with me, and I’ll make sure Adrien receives it once he gets home.”

Beaming, Marinette nodded and stood up, walking out of the pit towards the door. He followed a few steps behind her into the foyer. She put a hand on the door and prepared to open it when he caught her attention.

“By the way,” he said, voice curious. “What was the name again?”

She blinked, admittedly a little hurt. “M-my name? It’s Marinette Dup -- ”

“No, I’m sorry,” Monsieur Agreste stopped her with a hand. “I meant, the name of your place of work. The flower shop.”

“O-oh! I don’t think I said it, my apologies… It’s Sous les feuilles si vert.” She dug in her purse quickly, Tikki pressed against the very bottom. The kwami read her mind and lifted a business card for Marinette to grab. “I, um, imagine you have a florist on hand… but if you ever need anything quickly we are over off Courtier St.!” She nodded fervently as he accepted the card, and Mounsier Agreste studied the piece of cardstock in his hand.

“Under leaves so green? An interesting name…” He tucked the card in his breast pocket as Marinette pulled open the door.

“We can’t take credit, that was the name when my parents bought it. The previous owner said it’s from a famous poet… William Blake, I think.”

The man wrinkled his nose. “English. I should have figured.”

Marinette giggled nervously and started out the door, waving. “Yes, my thoughts exactly. Thank you again, sir, for everything!”

His expression was strange, looking caught between amusement and something else she couldn’t identify, and Marinette found couldn’t get around the gate fast enough. Each step was a beat to her mantra, repeating again and again as she made her way to work.

You. Just. Met. Adrien’s. Dad. THE. GABRIEL. AGRESTE. You. Just. Met. Adrien’s. Dad.

THE.

GABRIEL.

AGRESTE.

That had gone far better than she could have imagined - if she had been planning on meeting Gabriel Agreste today. Seeing Adrien and dumping three years’ worth of feelings in his lap, with gifts in tow? Yeah, that part could have gone better.

Still, the whole way to the shop, Marinette felt a spring in her step, a lightness in her chest. The blaring philharmonic that carried her to the mansion had quieted, shifted keys, and now the melody was brighter. It twisted and bloomed, unrefined around the edges and a little off-tempo, but Marinette found that she rather enjoyed it. It felt natural and beautiful and right.

This felt right.

The question came a second time, with a different inflection but a surprising amount of patience on his father’s behalf.

“Are you in a relationship with Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

Adrien had half a mind to wonder what he looked like at that moment, because he was pretty sure his face would have made for a good laugh for Nino. Alya, too. Heck, even probably Marinette would get a kick out of his scrunched lips, drawn brow but concerningly wide eyes. It was a mixture of shock and embarrassment and a stupid amount of pride. That emotion definitely doesn’t belong there, mixed in with the others. Adrien was at least self-aware enough to recognize that, but he didn’t question it, either. That’s love for you.

“I’m not...” Adrien managed, meeting his father’s gaze. “But... I... want to be.”

Across the table-desk-runway, his father’s face remained passive, but a curious finger tapped his pointed chin.

“I see. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Adrien was wondering if this was a joke and some washed up celebrity was going to pop up and shout “You been PUNK’D!” in his face. Then again, that was even less likely a thing his father would agree to... So, somehow, this conversation was really, actually happening.

Struggling to find the words, Adrien leaned over his knees and rested his elbows on his leg. “I… I didn’t even think you knew who Marinette was. It’s all still sort of… new… I’m just sort of admitting it to myself, to be honest.”

A beat of silence passed, and he heard his dad release a long sigh. The clipped sound of dress shoes on cold floors were like short little needles, pricking his ears until the swishing of fabric told him that his father was sitting beside him.

“I’m sorry, Adrien.” His voice was gentler than Adrien was used to, and the blond glanced at him. Glasses off, his father looked uncharacteristically pensive - regretful, almost. “You’re not wrong. I didn’t know her name until this morning, and I feel… I’m not sure how I feel, actually.”

Adrien blinked, too surprised to react verbally, just watching his father return the glasses to his face and lean back, crossing one leg over his knee and looking at the ceiling.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I at least hope you know that you can talk to me about anything.” With a little grin, he glimpsed towards his son. “Even about girls, believe it or not.”

Adrien leaned back too, folding his hands in his lap. His fumbling thumbs seemed much more interesting all of the sudden, and it certainly didn’t have anything to do with the redness he felt rush across his cheeks.

“Father,” he stopped to clear his throat, surprised by how choked he sounded. “I, um, thank you. I… I know that. I guess I just haven’t figured out a lot of this myself yet. I only just discovered that she has feelings for me, so I’m trying to make sense of it… I don’t want to freak her out by coming on too strong, but I hate not having my phone. She’s… she’s sort of amazing, Dad.” He laughed through the stress, halting momentarily to gaze down the length of the room. A portrait of molten gold, beautiful as the woman portrayed there, made Adrien smile. Words were coming easier, and it felt like his Mom was listening, too. He imagined she would approve - but then, how could she not? Marinette was perfect.

Indeed, so wonderful, Adrien didn’t even realize that he started rambling.

“Her parents are bakers, and she works at a flower shop around the corner. That’s… that’s where I was, actually, when I lied to Nathalie a few days ago. I really was with Nino and his girlfriend Alya, but I wanted to see her and I just sort of got caught up. Sometimes I can’t even remember my own name when she’s talking about something, she gets really…” Adrien paused, trying to use his hands to explain. It didn’t even occur to him that he was rambling.

“Animated? I don’t know. I can’t figure her out, and that’s the best part about her. And… well, I didn’t want to tell you because… um, I don’t know. She’s really kind, Father, but I don’t know if she’s… uhh, who you would expect me to date,” Pursing his lips momentarily, Adrien turned back to face the man seated next to him.

“But I think you might like her if you met her. She’s interested in design, so you would even have something to talk about.”

At this point, Adrien was pretty sure it could have started raining akumas in the room and he wouldn’t have been surprised. A very large part of him still wasn't convinced this conversation was really even happening.

Adrien was startled a second time, and it was by a sound so foreign that could do little else but stare.

His father was laughing.

Really laughing. Covering-his-face-with-a-hand laughing. Shaking-and-covering-his-stomach laughing.

Laughing.

Adrien was torn between confusion, indigination, and shock just at hearing the sound come from his own father. Still, his lips turned up and let out a laugh or two himself; it was an infectious sound.

Eventually, through some breathy chuckles, his father shook his head and stood, turning towards the door. “I didn’t realize you felt so strongly for her, son. I am... happy for you, but I wish you would have let me finish.”

Adrien frowned. “Finish… finish what?”

Only then did he notice the bag sitting by the door, and Adrien balked. It was brown paper, stamped with a familiar logo across the front.

“Didn’t you wonder how I knew about your interest in Mme. Dupain-Cheng?”

Adrien just opened his mouth and closed it again, utterly baffled. Did his Dad go to the bakery? Or the flower shop? Had he gone through his text messages? But that wouldn’t give him away - he hardly texted Marinette. Adrien had just sort of assumed Nathalie had told his father about this morning, but he had already figured that wouldn’t have made sense for his assistant to do.

“These are for you. They were delivered this morning, in-person.”

“In… person?” Adrien accepted the bag and pulled out tissue paper, his hands shaking with disbelief and unbridled excitement.

A small piece of stationary was the first thing he could find, tucked into the silky face of a dozen tiny petals.

“ 绣球花”

For your help.

Love,

Marinette

He blinked at the Chinese. “Hydrangeas.”

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #miraculous #miraculers #fanfic #ao3fic #tales of ladybug and cat noir #ladybug and chat noir #adrinette #adrien x marinette #adrien agreste #adrienette #marinette dupen-chang #marinette dupain-cheng #flowershop au

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strangenormal · 6 years

Photo

Cherry Bomb Part 6

Summary: You were Billy’s best friend when he lived in California. You lost touch not by choice. You never took the chance to share your feelings before he left. Will you take the chance now that you followed him all the way to Hawkins?

Billy x Reader/ POSSIBLE Steve x Reader

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters featured in strange things. Story will contain mature content as it progresses. Requester open & hope you enjoy. Image credit to original poster.

Warnings: Minor foul language

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Max was so excited you were going to be hanging out with Steve and her friends tonight. She knew the they were all going to love you. You tried to get Billy to join, but he said he felt it was too soon after everything else that happened. But you made him PROMISE he wouldn’t skip your holiday get together with all of them next week. Steve’s parents were out of town on business, so everyone was headed there for the evening.

“Billy, I’m going to be late if you don’t let me up.”

He had you trapped with his whole body wrapped around you on your couch as you were both laying watching TV for a short time after you got off work before going to meet with everyone.

He sighed and grumbled before slowly releasing you and allowing you to stand up, only to pull you back down on top of him.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Billy, it’s just Steve and the kids. You could go ya know.”

“You know it’s too soon for that and they invited YOU, not me. “

You wanted to say that you two were a “we” so whenever someone invited you, it should be implied that he was too. But you looked at how things have been and he’s still secretive around Max about it. He won’t kiss you on the lips in front of her, you haven’t really been on a date outside of your place and going for long drives. Were you a secret he was hiding? Was he ashamed to be dating you? Were you just a fling? Were you seeing you two as something more serious than he was? You were lost in your thoughts you didn’t notice him looking at you as if trying to figure out what was going on in your head. He placed a chaste kiss on your lips bringing you back to the present.

“Penny for your thoughts Princess?”

You shuffled yourself off laying on top of him and dismissively responded, “It’s nothing. I should really get going.” You started to collect your bag, keys, and jacket. “You’re welcome to stay and hang out here if you don’t wanna go home.” You gave him a quick kiss before rushing out your door leaving the poor guy sitting there stunned about what he may have done wrong for you to just run out like that.

You made it to Steve’s in no time and could hear the ruckus inside. You rang the bell and Steve answered the door, a big smile spreading across his lips as he pulled you in for a hug as he ushered you inside out of the cold.

“Glad you could make it y/n.”

“Wouldn’t miss tonight for anything.” You just realized the room got quiet as you walked inside.

All the boys were gaping at you and the girl you assumed was Jane was looking at you with her head tilted to the side. You weren’t sure if it was the new (punkish color of your choice) you just put in your hair or your style in general that had them all intrigued.

Max broke the silence introducing you, “Guys, this is y/n. Y/n, this everyone.” She started to point to each of them as she listed off names and they all gave you a slight wave as they were each introduced. Until Jane. You could tell she was going to be tough cookie to break through with.

“Hi everyone.” You normally weren’t this socially awkward, but it was different having a bunch of young teens gawking at you that you didn’t know.

Steve broke through the tension offering everyone head into the basement and start the movie while he called to see where the food was and start making the popcorn and getting the snacks together. You offered to help while the all the young ones went downstairs.

“Sorry about them. They’re not used to someone as eccentric as you.” He laughed a little as he started to get bowls out of his cupboards.

“Eh, I’m used to the weird glances and stares, but that was a little intense with a whole squad.”

“Well it doesn’t help that you’re beautiful too. The guys are still learning how to deal with girls.”

You couldn’t help but blush at his statement. “I don’t think they ALL do. Lucas and Mike have girlfriends, Max and Jane, right?”

“Well yeah, but Dustin and Will aren’t quite at that level yet. Dustin’s come out of his shell a lot and will usually go and strike conversation no problem, until he meets someone REALLY amazing.”

You bit your lip not ready for the stream of compliments to be coming from Steve. “He JUST met me, how does he know how amazing I am?” You sat on the counter next to the bowls looking at Steve and this time you caught him blushing.

“Uh…Max raves about you all the time after she found out you were back. She talked about you a little when the guys asked how she learned some of her skateboarding tricks, but as soon as we arranged this get together she just raved on and on about you.”

“Uh huh…well I’m glad I’m something to rave about.”

“From what I’ve gotten to know about you, you’re someone to shout from the rooftops about y/n.”

You had to look away from him he was standing so close to you. You shuffled off the counter top before grabbing one of the bags of candy and pouring it into a bowl.

Steve scratched the back of his neck and cleared his throat before picking up the phone to dial the pizza delivery, but as soon as he picked up the phone, the doorbell rang. You both looked at each other at the odd timing. Steve made his way to the door to find the pizza boy a little winded.

“Sorry Steve, it’s been crazy.”

“That’s ok Sam. I was just about to call.” He handed Sam the money and thanked him again before shutting the door.

The popcorn only took a couple more minutes and you carried the pizzas while Steve juggled the candy bowls and popcorn. The kids were sprawled all around, but left the loveseat open for you and Steve to sit on. You looked at Steve with an accusing raised brow. He sheepishly smiled back at you. You smirked back at him before grabbing a plate and loading it with pizza and taking your seat. Everyone else followed suit and Dustin hit play for the movie to start. It was Star Wars of course, but you really couldn’t blame them either.

“They’ve already watched this about a hundred times, but they KEEP watching it.”

“It’s ok. Love to watch Star Wars I do.”

Steve almost choked laughing at you and your horrible Yoda impression. You shoved at him telling him to fuck off under your breath.

“I’m sorry, that was adorably lame.”

“Whatever Steve, just watch the movie.” You faked a tantrum before digging back into your food.

About half way through Steve went and made more popcorn for just the 2 of you since the rest of them were hovering over the bowl like vultures. Your hands would sporadically brush against each other if you both reached into the bowl at the same time. There were small sparks, but you were confused by them. You knew you loved Billy, even if you had never said it aloud, and even if he was being a dude and being weird as he seemed to be hiding you. But you couldn’t deny you liked Steve too. He was cute, funny, was great with all the kids, and wasn’t afraid to do something he could be made fun of for. You started to get tired and Steve moved the popcorn bowl offering for you to lay on his shoulder. You took the offer and got comfortable resting on him. You all must have dozed off, because Max woke you up in a frenzy.

“Y/n! I need to get home! It’s so late! Dad is going to be FURIOUS!” You jolted up and took in your surroundings forgetting where you were momentarily. You looked at your clock saw it was 11PM.

“Shit!” Steve woke up at your outburst.

“Everything ok?” His voice laced with sleep.

“I need to get Max home and I need to get home too. Thanks for having us over Steve.” You placed a kiss on his cheek before you and Max rushed back upstairs and out to your car.

“So what’s the plan kiddo? AAAAAAH!“ You nearly jumped out of your skin at a tapping on your window.

You looked out the window to find Chief Hopper. You had run into him in town already before.

“You ladies Ok? Saw you running out of the house pretty fast.”

“Yeah, we’re good Chief. Just dozed off and lost track of time and now I need to rush to get this one home before she gets in trouble.”

He let out a sigh and you were hoping it wasn’t because of you.

“I can take her.“

“I’m not sure if it would help her to show up in a cop car.”

“Eh, I can say I got held up at the station and forgot to call them to say I’d be dropping her off late. They haven’t called her in missing, so she can’t be in that much trouble.”

You looked to Max for her input.

“I think it would be safer for me to go with the Chief y/n. My parents won’t question him.”

“Alright kid.” You give her a hug before she hops out as Chief Hopper goes inside to retrieve Jane. They all head off in no time and so do you. You make it home and Billy asleep on your couch.

“Fuck…his dad is gonna be pissed that someone else brought Max home and that he’s not home either.“

You strode over to him ready to rouse him awake, but stopped a moment to admire how peaceful he looked when he was sleeping. No creases of anger across his features and a content look on his face as if he was having a good dream. You tried to think of what to do. Do you send him home to face his father tonight or wait til the morning? You kneeled down in front if him and trace your fingers over his features before placing a kiss on his cheek. At this he starts to stir and slowly wake up.

“Hey there sleeping beauty. You sleep ok?”

“No, this couch was a whole lot comfier before you left it.”

You chuckled, “Well it’s almost 11:30 now…”

He shot upright and you placed your hand on his forearm.

“You’re welcome to stay here and WE can go to your house tomorrow."

He looked at you like you just suggested to climb Mount Everest.

"No, you’re not going near my dad. Out of all the horrible things I could think about how shitty it was to move here, the one good thing I didn’t have to worry about what his him having a chance to hurt you.”

You let out a sigh. “I can’t just let him continue to hurt you Billy. I lo- I can’t lose you and I’m scared he’ll beat you to death one of these days."

He took your face in his hands, "I’m not going anywhere. BUT… I should get home. I think he’d be more pissed if I was out ALL night.”

You kissed his palm and let out a sigh as you held his hand in yours. You tried not to cry, but you were literally terrified of what might happen when he gets home. You had flashbacks of the abuse you suffered and it killed you to know Billy hadn’t escaped his abuser yet .

He pulled you in close to sit in his lap as he held you, rubbing his hand up and down your back, as he whispered how he’d be fine and see you after you got off work tomorrow. You calmed down after a few minutes and he placed a long kiss on your lips.

“I’ve got to go, but I promise I’ll come straight back here if he gets too bad, ok?”

You nodded in agreement and he made his way out the door, quickly placing another kiss on your lips before dashing out.

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove #billy x reader #stranger things fanfiction

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