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e-milieeee · 4 years

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you are enough (i promise you)—miraculous soulmate au

Summary: In a world where your dreams are snapshots of your soulmate’s life through their eyes, Marinette’s dreams are lonely and quiet, where smiles and laughter have long been forgotten.

Adrien dreams of light—where the air is charged with happiness and the warmth permeates through his dreams and seeps even into the coldness left behind by his mother’s disappearance.

Then, one day, everything changes.

Notes: This was inspired by an amazing piece of art by @australet789! I’m a sucker for SAL lyrics as well, so it was a big bonus.

Thanks @jattendschaton for beta-ing!

Or read it here on AO3 | Kofi

Marinette wakes up with tears in her eyes.

It’s always beyond her control. She lies in bed, staring at the ceiling with blurred vision, phantom thoughts from the dream still gripping her heart and refusing to let go. All of a sudden, her room, colorful as it is, feels extremely lonely. Her soulmate’s steady trickle of emotions still run through her like a current, and no matter who she surrounds herself with, that underlying melancholy never seems to leave.

Taking a deep breath and wiping the tears from her face, she climbs down from the bed.

Maybe today she’ll meet him.

***

Adrien wakes up with the feeling of warmth fading around him.

He squeezes his eyes shut in hopes of grasping a little more of it, but it’s already gone. His room is only artificially warm while his dream is warm with the smell of sweets and the thrill of laughter tumbling around. Here, silence makes the loudest noise of all, and turns even the hottest days cold.

He breathes in, breathes out. He thinks back to the dream. Pink, all around—his soulmate’s life practically revolves around pink. It’s endearing; the color has grown on him since the dreams started. Adrien’s own room has started to adopt a splash of that pink in remembrance of her.

Like he does every single morning, Adrien pushes the covers off himself and peers out of the window, hoping for a flash of pink. He wonders if she ever passes by below his window.

Maybe she will, today.

***

The hardest moments are the ones when her soulmate sits alone at that long, long table.

Marinette looks down at her hands—not her hands anymore, but his—as they pick up the fork and knife and cut dutifully into the meal. He eats slowly, because he is waiting—he is waiting for somebody to join him.

The fork lifts to his mouth. He chews. Swallows. Stares at those giant, forlorn doors.

Nobody enters.

He lets out a ragged breath and forces himself to continue eating. His heart—no, her heart as well—is bleeding.

Disappointment hurts some, but hope hurts much more.

***

Adrien is always awed by the plethora of colors and scents in his soulmate’s life.

In the mornings, the sunbeams slant into her room and it positively glows, resplendent in light. He can hardly imagine some place so lovely exists. And this girl—with her laughter like bells—is his soulmate. The thought fills Adrien up with hope—the good sort.

His favourite moments are the ones when she’s in the bakery with her parents. Their features are blurred to him, but he feels their joy all the same. She joins them early in the morning, singing and dancing as they bake, and the happiness is the sort that leaves a sweet aftertaste long after it fades away.

Even if he knows that when he wakes up, he’ll be alone once more, at least he won’t be running on empty.

***

Fall, winter, spring, summer. They pass in the blink of an eye. Marinette keeps her eyes out for him, but she has no idea who he can be. Perhaps she will never meet him, because he’s always in that house. Perhaps she has met him already, but they have parted.

She wonders if he will have to sit at that table alone all his life.

***

Hope is a dangerous little thing.

In the beginning, it’s refreshing and beautiful to cling onto. But with the seasons’ passing it becomes stale and cold, and every time Adrien tries to rekindle it, it steals a little bit more of himself. He hopes until it hurts, then hopes some more.

Because even if the hope twists into his gut, if he doesn’t cling onto it, there’s nothing else he can hold.

***

She still dreams of her soulmate, but they’re bleak and tired, and she can almost feel the hope he’s so desperately clinging onto fade breath by breath. She wants to tell him not to, wants to ask him where he is, wants to be there with him, but she can’t. The only thing Marinette can do is watch.

So she does, until doubt starts gaining a larger foothold. Perhaps this is what is meant to be: the glimpses of his half-lived life in her dreams, the accompanying sadness that never goes away, this feeling of not being whole. Marinette will have to learn to live with it.

Then, as the seasons fade to fall once more, Marinette finds a small box with a red, spiralling pattern on its lid.

***

What is once warmth turns into longing, and longing turns into pain. Adrien wakes up from his dreams with the warmth draining from him, the loneliness of the house leeching even the brightest of emotions.

The days melt into a mundane blur of lessons, of waiting and giving up. His father is scarcely seen; even Nathalie doesn’t have time for him outside the homeschooling. His nights are full of can’t-haves, and Adrien wakes up in the morning feeling emptier than the day before. He tries— he really does. But it’s pointless.

Then, as the leaves outside his house put on their autumn cloaks, Adrien finds a small, black box sitting on his desk and learns to hope again.

***

The wind tears at Marinette’s face as she struggles to keep her balance.

With a supersuit and magic, one would think that she’d be granted better coordination skills. But as the monster rampages through Paris, she still can’t use the yo-yo properly. It’s stupid, she thinks, to have a yo-yo as a weapon. Out of everything she could’ve ended up with, it’s just her luck to end up with the most useless thing.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Marinette lets loose the yo-yo once more. She can no longer see the creature, but the noise it’s making is deafening, as noticeable as the destruction it leaves in its wake. She gives the string one tug, and, finding it secure, throws herself towards the next building.

Two things happen in quick succession. First, she catches a glimpse of a shadow streaking directly beneath her, and the lapse in concentration causes her to slip. She misses the landing, slams against the corner of the building, and tumbles.

Marinette’s grip around her yo-yo loosens. She braces herself for the impact—what a godawful superhero she makes—but the landing isn’t harsh concrete and broken bones like she imagines. Instead, she’s snatched out of the air by a pair of arms—gingerly, the movements full of uncertainty—but it saves her from the fall.

They hit the ground a second later. Her saviour ducks into a roll, lessening the impact, before they finally skid to a stop.

For a moment, Marinette lays on the ground. The air feels like it’s been knocked out of her lungs and the adrenaline burns through her veins. Somebody rises beside her, giving her a glimpse of black in her periphery: it’s the shadow she had seen just before she’d toppled off the roof.

A hand extends into her vision, cloaked in shadowy black. “Judging by your suit, I think we’re supposed to be partners,” a boy says. There’s a faint note of mirth in his voice.

Marinette lets out a groan, but accepts the hand. Partners— the little fairy (kwami? Tikki?) had informed her that she would have a partner. She allows the boy to pull her to her feet. His hand, despite the suit that covers both of them, is warm around hers. Marinette squints at his features as soon as they’re level.

“I think,” the boy is saying, “that stone thing—”

He breaks off. She sucks in her next breath and does not let it out.

He’s sitting in front of a large window. Outside, people walk past the mansion, where iron gates separate him from the rest of the world. He counts the figures one by one, looking for someone he has never seen but knows.

He exists in a world that is simply cold: the faces around him, the voices that address him, the reality that he has found himself in. But he waits with far more hope than his world deserves: he waits for the tall, silver-haired man to join him at a table that is perpetually empty; he waits for the girl who has filled his dreams with so much warmth and beauty.

He waits for her.

***

Adrien meets a pair of clear blue eyes.

The world splinters around him into a kaleidoscope of colors.

She hunches over a sketchbook, one that is always tucked away safely in the corner of her desk. Inside, she draws what she can remember of her dreams; his room, his bed, even the long, empty table. There are sketches of large details, such as the grand staircase in the Agreste mansion. Then there are small things: the pencil holder on his desk, the little picture of his mother he keeps hanging on his wall. All of these are drawn in remembrance of him, so she can capture every little detail about her soulmate that she’s dying to meet.

She lives in a world that abounds with color and life, yet she still makes room for him. She thinks of him, she searches for him, she loves him. Even if they’ve never met. Even if her life is already so full of love, she still loves him— loves the boy who pales in comparison to her, loves the boy who is broken and bruised and hurt.

But broken, bruised and hurt can be mended, and that mending can start now.

***

When the images fade from Marinette’s eyes and the boy in front of her comes back into view, she finally allows herself to breathe.

They stare at each other for the longest time. His hair is spun of golden thread, reflecting the sunlight softly. Even the black of his suit doesn’t take away the colors. And all of a sudden, even if her life is full of vibrancy, everything is grey compared to him.

Because despite everything—the coldness of his house, the missing presence of his father and the pain of having lost his mother, his eyes brim with life. They are brilliant and beautiful, making Marinette’s breath catch again in her throat. She’s never seen his eyes—she’s seen through them only—and now she knows they are the brightest shade of green.

“It’s you,” she whispers.

“Yes,” he replies hoarsely, “I—I found you.”

***

Adrien cannot look away from her eyes.

They are the best sort of blue; the sort where the sky is clear and cloudless, like sunlight gleaming off the ocean. She is beautiful and radiant, and Adrien does not know how she is his and he hers. He feels as if he’s known her for a lifetime, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t need to second-guess to know: she feels the same.

He blinks, feeling his eyes misting. Tears follow not long after and Adrien reaches up to wipe at his cheeks. It's a fruitless effort because not long after, he’s crying in earnest. “Ah, sorry,” he murmurs, not quite managing to stop his voice from trembling. “I’ve thought a lot about what to say when I finally met you, and crying wasn’t on the list. It’s just… I almost gave up thinking I’d ever be able to meet you.”

“Gave up?” she echoes. Her voice is just as he remembers it. It’s carried him through rough days more than once.

“Yeah.” Adrien sniffles, but the tears still don’t stop. “I thought that maybe I would never find you. Or maybe you didn’t want to find me, because my dreams of you were always so full of vitality and I can’t even begin to compare to that, and—”

She lifts up a hand and rests it gently on his cheek. He stills, words melting away. Her touch is featherlight but at the same time anchoring. He feels the world through her fingertips; he feels the beauty that he hadn’t seen before.

“No,” she says fiercely. “I have always wanted to find you. And now, I’m so, so glad I did.”

Adrien leans into her palm. Her gaze does not waver when she meets his eyes, and carefully, she draws her thumb under his eyes, brushing over wet cheeks. “I’m so glad,” she repeats, “that I found you.”

All those days of loneliness and longing are swept away to mist. The feelings of inadequacy, the aching question if anybody truly cares— her expression says it all. You are enough.

And it’s worth it, the pain of waiting. Because he will wait all over again if just to meet her.

***

They meet up once more after the akuma is defeated. There, standing on the rooftop, Marinette faces her soulmate once more.

“Spots off,” she says, and simultaneously, he commands, “Claws in.”

He doesn’t look much different without the suit. She recognizes him easily, even if it’s barely been an hour since they’ve formally met. She knows him deep down in her bones, singing in her blood, like the oxygen filling her lungs.

“What’s your name?” she asks him.

He stretches out his hands, a smile lifting the corners of his lips. “Adrien Agreste,” he tells her. “What’s yours?”

Marinette takes his hand. It’s almost a ridiculous motion to follow through with, but she shakes it nevertheless. Silently, she vows to herself—he will never have to endure a meal alone, never have to face his loneliness alone. She won’t let him, and it’s a promise.

***

Everything has changed, and Adrien knows.

The meals he eats alone will never be truly lonely anymore. His dreams of her will no longer be wistful but genuinely bright, speaking of better things to come, because she is here.

“Nice to meet you, Adrien Agreste,” she says, a brilliant smile alight on her face. “My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Notes: Likes are appreciated, but reblogs help very much! Here’s my fics masterlist.

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #soulmate au #chat noir #ladybug #mlb fic #my writing #hurt and comfort #fluff

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softowlhours · 4 years

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by the lakeside

bokuto koutarou(horror!AU)

it should’ve been the perfect summer getaway. you were both in need of some down time away from your busy careers. but things get a little eerie when there’s a voice in your head that isn’t yours and you find out that you’re not alone in that pristine white house on the hill.

genre: horror, angst, fluff if you squint

tw: descriptions of drowning, asphyxiation, strangulation. suggestive sexual situations.

a/n: i promise i’ll proofread this later and also write an epilogue but until then please enjoy this story it took me way longer than necessary to write. i’ve read it so many times that i don’t find it scary anymore. but i hope you do! :)

word count: 6k

my body feels like an empty shell sometimes, a carcass I am dragging around. when I look into the mirror I don’t recognise myself. i don’t recognise him, either.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

bokuto’s hair gleams silver in the glorious morning light. wind blows through your own strands as you zip past the lush green meadows. you could see the sheep dotted on the grassy planes like puffs of pure white clouds. far away, there stood giant mountains. their high peaks looked like they were breaching the baby blue ceiling of the sky. you only notice your gorgeous surroundings with half a mind, because your eyes keep trailing back to the man besides you. you admire his profile, the sharp slope of his nose, the chiselled cheek bones and jaw line. you zero in on the plush of his lips and it is then that you notice his teasing grin.

‘admiring the view?’ he asks.

‘mhmm. a sight for my sore eyes.’ and he truly is. your gaze drops a little lower. his toned chest peeks from where the buttons of his shirt have come undone. his biceps flex and strain against the fabric as he manoeuvres the steering wheel. he looks like a movie star, straight out of the golden age of film. the red vintage convertible he drives only adds on to your day dream. you can’t help but feel like a heroine starring in your own block buster romance. heat rises to the tip of his ears and the back of his neck at your shameless appraisal. bokuto notices the way lust is barely concealed on your face. he fucking loved the way you looked at him, like he was the guiding star you were always attuned to. the one for whom you’d always search for in an endless night sky.

‘your eyes are sore from staring at your computer screen all day everyday.’ he ignores your attempts at flirting, and instead addresses what has been eating away at his mind lately. he’s been worried about you. you often called him out for pushing himself to the point of breaking when it came to volleyball. but, you never noticed how you were inclined to do the same when it came to you own work; buried under papers and ink, day after day as your work ethic kept you confined to your study room. you being a best selling author, him a pro volleyball player; you truly were the power couple worthy of everyone’s envy and admiration, but your lives could get stressful at times.

‘kou, I’m sorry ‘m dragging you away from your routine. the game season starts in two months. you should be hitting some balls right now.’ you withdraw your hand, and he instantly misses your touch. you appear a little crestfallen as you opt to idly fiddle with the lace bordering your sundress.

‘hey,’ his voice is silky, tone slightly chastising. ‘don’t apologise. this was my idea anyways. we need some time away. from everything.’

‘you know that,’ he continues, ‘i’ll never be too busy for you, right? it makes me feel lonely when you just withdraw from me... shut me out.’ his face eyebrows furrow a little. ‘for you I’ll always carve out time.’

bokuto had a way with words that always left you stupefied. they weren’t embellished and gaudy, like yours. all you ever did was spin fairy tales. Yes they were beautiful, but they were also false. unlike you, he always spoke from his heart, and you wonder if that was why his sentiments without fail reached others.

‘oi- don’t fall asleep.’

‘i’m not sleeping!’ you snap out of your reverie. ‘i’m sorry i… never realised you’d feel that way’ puffing out a sigh, you lean back lazily on the leather seat. ‘i haven’t been feeling much inspiration lately, and when i do write i just hate every word of it.’

‘maybe I should retire,’ you muse. ‘never write a word again. let people remember me as the genius author I’m not.’

‘but you are a genius writer!’ bokuto insists. ‘give it a fifty years and they’ll be teaching your work as a part of the curriculum. i’ve never read anything better!’

‘that’s because you rarely read!’

‘i am a picky reader,’ bokuto shrugs, cocking an eyebrow as he looks at you haughtily. ‘so congratulations that your writing actually piqued my interest.’

snorting, you pinch his thigh.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

it’s almost evening by the time you drive past a small sleepy town. the few houses have their curtains drawn. there’s a small supermarket and a polyclinic but you notice how the streets are mainly empty, save for a couple of children who play seven tiles on the roadside. fifteen minutes and more grassy meadows and sheep later, you arrive at what looks like the edge of the world. surely you’re being a little dramatic calling it that, but the road winds up the gentle slope of a hill and on top of it sits a pristine white house. bokuto pulls up the car in front of massive wrought iron gates, a chain holds it shut.

‘okay, but when nori said ‘vacation home’, this is not what I had in mind. Is he actually the heir to a conglomerate or something?’ you observe, definitely appalled.

‘uh- knowing his stingy ass, i’m not sure?’ bokuto sounds and looks puzzled as well, so you know he wasn’t expecting it either. he reconfirms the address konoha had messaged him. ‘do we climb the gates? because he never gave me a key or anything. he said the place has a caretaker who’d-’

‘how can I help?’

your heart leaps to your throat, and both you and bokuto snap your heads to your left to look at a man who stands on bokuto’s side of the car. neither of you had seen him approaching and it was as if he were a magician, materialising out of thin air. old, sinewy and dressed sharply in a suit, he’s hunching to be at your eye levels. upon closer look the fabric of his clothes looked worn out and they fray at the edges. his hair is slicked back and he wears gold rimmed spectacles, its lenses the shape of half moons. his smile is serene, demeanour dignified but there’s shrewdness in his tone.

‘um- hi.’ bokuto greets recovering first. ‘i am konoha’s friend. i assume you’ve been expecting us?’

a beat passes.

‘indeed. allow me to show you around.’

bokuto parks the car under a shed close to the gates and you walk down the stretch of the garden. it is immaculately kept, and roses of all colours bloom neatly in rows. a giant sycamore tree stands close to the house, its branches brushing the roof. when you stand on the porch of the house the gate seems miles away. bokuto wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close to his side. he sneaks a soft kiss under your left ear as the caretaker opens up the door for you.

the inside of the house is splendidly furnished and it leaves you awestruck. simple but gorgeous, a modern castle of sorts. a cream colored leather sofa sits in the centre of the living room, the rug in front of it is white and fluffy. There is a box television- the kinds popular decades ago, and you wonder if it actually works or if it’s just for show. the chandelier above is a million crystals and an open kitchen makes up the far end of the living room. a stair case winds its way up. but, what truly catches your eye are the massive french doors which open up to the stretch of a green lawn. calling it a backyard would be a bit inadequate; for the trimmed grass meets the surface of a great lake, its water like molten lava reflecting the evening sky. you can see the outline of ducks waddling away, probably on their way home. the lake stretches out for almost a mile and after that you see nothing but the thicket of the woods. it is almost the end of july, so while the days are warm, the temperatures tend to dip quite a bit at night. you shiver a little and snuggle closer into bokuto’s side. the caretaker, in his monotonous voice, explains to you how your room shall be upstairs, the one to the right. there were four other rooms which were mostly empty and locked for the sake of easy maintenance. you tune him out when he moves on to the instructions regarding the heating and locking systems.

you’re entranced by the house, and standing there in its magnanimity you feel like you’ve been drawn into a picture book. you can imagine breakfasts every morning on the front porch. afternoons spent lolling on the grass besides the lake. you would keep a vase filled with freshly cut roses from the garden, in the centre of the kitchen table. spend the nights sitting in front of the fire place when winter laid its thick blanket of white snow outside. your high flying careers felt like a distant dream. your laptop back home could collect all the dust it wanted to. you could just stay here forever wrapped up in each others arms.

i’m lonely. i hate how you’re always away from home because of volleyball.

bokuto notices your distant look , the slightest way your lips are set in a grimace. it tugs on his heartstrings. makes it difficult for him to breathe.

bringing his mouth close to your ear, he whispers your name bringing you out of your head. you blink, biting back the ugly realisation that had just intruded your brain. you had never felt that way before, you had forced yourself not to. it was long ago when you had decided that you’d never make him choose between you and volleyball. or maybe that loneliness was something you’d always felt. but because you were afraid of it; you had hidden it under your skin, in between your bones.

if i could, i’d steal you away and keep you all to myself. in a cage just for me and you.

too afraid that he’ll somehow read your mind, you step away from him, disoriented by the venomous voice of your subconscious as you look around for the old man.

‘he left while you were zoning out, princess. said he’s going home.’ he pulls your back against his chest, long fingers begin snaking up a well known trail up your thighs. your cute little sundress does little to stop him. ‘he’ll be back by noon tomorrow, to tend to the garden and all that.’ bokuto speaks in between the kisses he’s placing along the side of your neck. ‘apparently, he lives in that town we drove by earlier.’

‘mhmm.’

‘want to live in a house like this someday.’ he asks you, his voice hushed. you rest your head back on his chest, as love and lust pools in your stomach and clouds your thoughts.

i’m scared someday you’ll leave me behind.

“me. you. maybe a dog. maybe… children?” he continues and your eyes widen at that.

‘you want all that?’

‘with you? yes I want everything. i’ll take everything that you can give me.’

liar.

you turn around and pull bokuto into a heated kiss. his chapped lips meld into yours and your teeth clack a little from the suddenness of your movement. by now it is completely dark outside and the living room is dimly lit by a lamp. bokuto seems unaware, too lost in you to be notice space and time. but, a weird sensation surrounds you. you feel the whisper of a cool breeze, a murmur disturbing the stillness of the house. with one hand, bokuto cups your behind. the fingers of his other rake through your hair. it’s a buzz now, like a thousand bees hovering over your heads. you feel dazed, you’re needy, you’re confused.

there’s someone else here. the two of you are not alone.

‘ow,’ you yelp in pain.

bokuto jumps away from you, but his hands are badly tangled in your hair.

‘I told you to tie your hair in the car!’ he is laughing. ‘it’s a nest in here!’

the buzzing dies down. the silence that follows is deafening. you wonder if you’re delusional with the lack of sleep.

as bokuto carefully weaves his fingers out he places a chaste kiss on the little crease in between your eyebrows. he finds you so cute, it physically hurts him.

‘don’t worry, babygirl,’ his voice drops a few octaves. ‘windswept looks sexy on you.’

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

later that night as you are lie under the drapes and canopies, you notice how the bedroom is much like the rest of the house- fit for royalty. bokuto snores softly, but you lie awake with your head on his chest. his heartbeat is a mind-numbing rhythm. a thin sheet of sweat covers your bodies and you try to ignore the wetness in between your legs. you should probably change the sheets as well, but your body refuses to move and you don’t know where to find any new ones. sleep evades you so you let Bokuto’s question roll around in your mind. a forever with him. of course you would say yes. there was nothing more that you wanted than that. but the dread from earlier which you had managed to keep at bay with lust, slowly begins to resettle in the pit of your stomach.

he promises you an eternity now, but he’ll leave you behind soon.

you somehow clamber out of bed, making sure not to awaken bokuto. picking up his shirt from where it lies on floor, you put it on. the bedroom has identical doors from the living room, made of glass, and they open onto a small balcony. you draw open the lacey curtains and step out into the chilly night air. the sight that awaits you makes you gasp. a fine mist rolls over the water, but the lake itself is still. its surface is like taut cellophane. beyond the lake where the woods begin, it is pitch black darkness and you cannot tell where the woods meet the moonless sky. it’s a new moon night, but where you expect to see the stars is an empty hollowness. its eerily silent. too silent. no insects trill. no wind blows. you stare intently into the water for so long that you swear you see something lurking just underneath its surface. the mist that hovers slowly inches towards the house, coiling like endless bony fingers.

that pool of velvety darkness, i wonder what it’d feel like against my skin.

come to me then. feel it for yourself. your voice, no, her voice purrs.

you whirl around to see bokuto. he’s standing a feet away from you, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

‘whoah! easy,’ bokuto exclaims, surprised by your jumpiness. no way it had been him who had spoken moments ago. ‘what are you doing outside?’ he asks. ‘i nearly got a heart attack when I saw someone standing out here.’

you look back towards the lake, and you’re utterly confused. the mist seems to have instantly vanished. you can even hear the water now, softly undulating. it appears akin to a creased sheet of silk.

had you been hallucinating? dreaming with your eyes open?

you fight down the growing panic and instead walk over to him, squishing his cheeks. you softly kiss his pout. ‘aww. baby’s scared?’ you coo.

he grumbles something about you catching a cold but tugs you inside and you decide to let it all go. you’re tired and tomorrow will be a new day.

had you turned around, you’d notice how the stars were glittering like cold hard gems in the night sky.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

you were pleasantly lazing about in the sun. the lake was a glittering blue and the woods looked benign during the day. they weren’t as dense as they appeared to be in the absence of light. from where you lay, the house looks like an entity of its own. imposing and regal. bokuto is dressed casually in a t-shirt and sweatpants as he plays around witha volleyball, tossing and spiking it all by his lonely self. you didn’t remember seeing him pack a volleyball, but then again somehow he always seemed to miraculously have a one at his disposal. today, he hasn’t gelled his hair up in its usual style, so it flops onto his forehead in a way you wished he’d leave it more often.

‘y/n! nice receive!’ he hollers at you.

he spikes the ball aiming straight for your stomach and you somehow manage to block his assault. thank god he hadn’t used a quarter of the strength he usually puts into his spikes.

your strong and annoying man.

‘you trying to murder me or what?’

he pulls you up to your feet. ‘i’ll be teaching you how to spike, drama queen. it’s insane how you’ve been with me for all these years and haven’t learnt a thing or two about volleyball. people would die for a one on one training session with me.’ he brags as he fetches the ball from where it had rolled off to.

you try to copy his motions, but what he can effortlessly pull off is an impossible feat for you. you send the ball upwards and jump as you try to match your timing to spike it. but before you can hit the ball it lands on your head.

bokuto is losing his shit, doubling over with laughter. and you try to look angry but end up giggling with him.

‘i give up!’ you complain. plus my boobs jiggle since i’m not wearing a sports bra,’

‘babe, thats kinda the point!’ he beams.

a perfect spike lands on his face.

‘owww, that’s foul play, y/n! ’ he yells. rubbing his nose, he walks over to you.

‘you should be punished!’ he scolds you, but places a kiss on your temple. his hands wander downwards to unzip your dress. he lets it fall to the ground. you know where this is headed. you think he’s going to kiss you so you close your eyes and lean towards him but before you can react, he’s bending down and suddenly you’re being lifted. he has you over his shoulders and your peals of laughter warm his heart. he hadn’t heard that sound in a while.

bokuto marches straight into the lake and dumps you in. the water is cool and refreshing, just as you had imagined it. it’s shallow enough so you’re chest deep in the water when your feet are planted at the bottom. his body glistens with dampness, hair a floppy wet mess. he was so beautiful, that even though it was irrational you felt a little bit shy. you’re splashing each other with water, the atmosphere’s light and bubbly with amusement. bokuto tries to catch you but you slip out of his reach. he is being his loud and dramatic self as he falls face down into the water, complaining as he comes up with his eyes screwed shut.

‘i swear i’d rather be blinded by your beauty than this water.’

you shake you head, feigning disdain and then you’re swimming away from him, towards the safety of the house. it must almost be noon, and you vaguely remember its time for the care taker to come around. you did not want to be seen in your wet underwear. bokuto calls out to you, apologising. there is water in your ears, it laps all around you as you swim. it dulls all sound and every other sense until the only thing you hear is your thumping heart. when you come up for air, you can see the blue sky, when your face is in the water you can see the stones and pebbles littering the bottom.

but, when you come up for air again, the sky is overcast. laden with dense gray clouds.

the water runs icy, lead flows through your veins. your body is sinking like a ship. it feels like you’re trying to move through viscous jelly. when you try to pull up for air you cannot break through, the surface traps you like its the cellophane you remember seeing the night before. a tight grip on your waist, abruptly pulls you under. your flailing hands try to grasp at nothing in particular. you wonder if its bokuto just messing around, but you know it isn’t. you don’t feel his presence anywhere. your fingers suddenly entangle into something. your eyes burn when you try to open them and look. jet black strands of hair, a bone white face, a mouth that is open like a gaping wound. you scream and nothing but gurgles and air bubbles escape you. you try to pull back but your hands are stuck in the weedlike hair. Funny you think of the evening before, when bokuto’s fingers had entangled in your messy hair the same way.

‘kou…koutaro!’ you try calling for him. you hear your disembodied voice, feel the water flood your mouth, your nose. but you feel all alone with that woman straight out of nightmares. fear has you in its grip, your minds a mush.

you hate him so damn much. you hate him, you hate him, you HATE him. a voice repeats the same words in your head. you wonder if it sounds like your own or someone else’s. you cannot tell the two apart.

you feel a hand wrap around your arm, its large and warm and it feels like home. as it drags you out of the water the ashen face seems to quiver and distort. her eyes flicker open. they roll in their sockets but when they fixate on you, you see eyes just like your own. but they are transparent like marbles; burning with betrayal and accusation.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

you wake up with a start to screams piercing the air. they are shrill and blood curdling. your hands are on your ears as you try to block out the sound but it only gets louder. it takes you a moment to realise that the screaming had been you. bokuto holds you in his arms, you can feel him shaking underneath your palms that grapple at his back.

he’s crying.

no! why is your bokuto crying? you pull away a little just enough to look at him, but the way his features are twisted in melancholy punctures a hole through your heart.

‘y/n, babe… babe,’ his lips quiver stealing away speech but he forces himself to speak. ‘ i looked everywhere in the water but I couldn’t find you. you were swimming and then you just stopped. i thought you were fooling around but you were down there for too long. so i come over but... I couldn’t see you anywhere at first. i panicked! holy shit... i was panicking.’ he shifts away from you, an arms length away. leaning back on the sofa, he stares up at the ceiling. ‘You weren’t even struggling, just stopped moving. Do you remember what happened?’ bokuto drags a hand down his face. he’s visibly distressed.

‘i don’t know what happened,’ you croack. ‘it felt like I was stuck. my feet wouldn’t come lose. as if someone was there with me in the water, holding me down…’ a sob escapes you.

bokuto pales a little at your description. but there had been no one but the two of you in the water. hell he hadn’t even seen any fishes.

he had pulled you under in the first place hadn’t he. there’s no one here but the two of you.

you remember not being alone in the water. you remember the heaviness. but nothing else.

bokuto opens his mouth to say something, but you cannot concentrate. the urge is too strong. before you can think, before you can answer. you are bending over and puking your guts out.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

you spend the rest of the day, clinging to bokuto. and he doesn’t mind. he seems to be craving that constant feeling of your skin on his. something to remind him that you were okay, that you were here now. he makes his way around the kitchen with you stuck to him like a little koala.

“sit down on that chair just for a minute, y/n. i can’t find the plates!” he tries to loosen your chokehold on him but you only tighten it and bokuto booms out a laugh.

‘i swear you’re lucky you’re cute.”

‘just consider this weight training.’

bokuto had put together a light meal. you reckoned you’d be unable to stomach anything too heavy.

‘we were supposed to be having fun. i feel like i’ve ruined everything.’ you mumble gloomily. you’re sitting on the chairs you pulled up around the kitchen island. a make shift dining table.

‘it’s okay. its enough to just be together.’

‘oh no been away from you for a five whole minutes.’ your expression is of mock worry as you rush over onto his lap. you immediately bury your head in the crook of his neck, his familiar scent calms you down. he chuckles at your antics.

‘do you think we can just go home?’ you ask apprehensively, still feeling bad about having spoilt your perfect little getaway. ‘i don’t feel like staying here anymore.’

‘sure, baby girl .’ bokuto replies in a heartbeat, and you wonder if he feels the same unease in remaining here any longer.

‘we can leave tomorrow morning.’ he suggests. ‘it might be a bit too late to leave now. plus, caretaker-san didn’t even show up today.’

‘is it okay to just leave?,’ you ask.

from where bokuto sits on the dining table in the kitchen, he can see the doors in the living room that open up to the porch. it’s around three in the afternoon. the weather was beginning to turn awfully gloomy.

clouds slowly fill the sky eclisping the sun that had shined all day. it leaves everything in shades of gray.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

you wake up alone in bed. the remnants of an eerie dream still lingers in your mind. you had been combing your hair, which was unusually thick, dark and long. you kept brushing the silky smooth strands, on and on and on, until they started coming loose in your hands. shuddering as you recall it, you turn around to see the wall clock read nine p.m. where was kou? at some point you had fallen asleep although you did not remember coming upstairs to the bedroom. he must’ve carried you from where you and him had been lying on the sofa downstairs, idly chatting.

your body is still heavy with exhaustion but you force yourself to sit up. hearing the water running in the bathroom, you call out to bokuto. ‘kou?’ you pad your way over to the bathroom. when you open the door there is no one inside. water drips from from a leaky tap into an empty bath tub. strange. where had the sound been coming from then?

you find yourself mesmerised by your reflection in the mirror right across from you. when you step inside the bathroom, the tiles are dry and frigid underneath your feet. the lights are off, however, the bathroom is faintly lit up by the light filtering in from the frosted windows. the bags under your eyes are dark and puffy, your lips look ashen. you look like you had lost a tonne of weight over the span of the past few hours. tracing a finger along the outline of your reflection, you notice how your eyes were a forlorn abyss. hollow like the dead.

mine. stay with me. don’t leave me alone. a voice whispers to you and you listen, enchanted.

you see the corners of your lips quirk up in your reflection. your expression twists into that of deranged happiness.

so, you’ll stay?

you don’t feel the smile on your face.

you’re backing away slowly. a scream dies in your throat.

that isn’t you. it’s her.

you’re running full speed out of the bathroom and you make it just in time as the door slams shuts behind you. the edge of your thin white slip gets caught in between but you yank it loose with enough force. bursting out of the room like a bat out of hell you’re hurtling downstairs. you have to look for bokuto. you must leave. now!

you’re me, i am you. he doesn’t love you, so just stay with me. I’m lonely.

you try to call out to bokuto but you cannot find your voice.

and then you see him. sitting on the sofa. the relief you feel is momentary. the old television is on, and the screen is grainy with static but bokuto’s eyes are intent on it. he’s still as if he were carved out of stone. he doesn’t acknowledge your presence just keeps staring ahead with an owlish gaze. you place a shaky hand on his shoulder and he finally turns to look at you.

his eyes that usually are like pools of golden honey are dark and murky like cheap kerosene. his features are sharper, more cunning. a devil in your lover’s skin. the mist outside thickens, appearing as if they were pale white walls surrounding the house.

i told you to just stay with me. you should’ve stayed with me in that cool dark water.

he doesn’t love you, i do.

suddenly bokuto is stalking towards you, his movements hypnotic like that of a panther, sinuously fluid, predatory. a feral look glints in those foreign eyes. he slams you against the nearest wall, his hands tightening over your neck. your head meets the hard surface with a thud. those large arms that have always felt like home suddenly feel empty and cold like a prison cell.

you’re just a prisoner in his cage. he doesn’t love you like I will.

black spots fill your vision, as your air supply is slowly being cut off. ‘kou- please don’t.’ you whimper. a flicker of recognition flashes through those eyes, but the grip around your neck only tightens. ‘kou-’ you call again softly. tears fall freely down your face. your hands go limp by your sides and in the process you knock over a vase that had been on table besides you. it falls to the marble floor with an obnoxious crash. the ceramic splinters into a hundred pieces. bokuto’s eyes widen and the darkness from his face lifts. it is as if a thick patch of clouds obscuring the moon had drifted past, letting its pure light fall to the earth once again. he’s your bokuto once again.

horror struck he lets go of your neck and catches a glimpse of the angry red fingerprints left behind like a morbid necklace. you collapse to the ground.

a door bangs shut somewhere in the house, startling you both. bokuto is about to crouch down next to you when suddenly the volume of the television is cranked up. the harsh static sound grates your ears, like a drawn out growl. there’s thumping coming from behind every surface of the house- the walls, the floors, the ceilings. every door, every window swings open only to shut back with a bang, over and over until shards of broken glass lie like a carpet all over the floor. the house is alive with the breath of countless souls that live in its every crack and crevice. you both look on with horror as heavy mist begins to pour into the house. bokuto’s teeth chatter with fear, and he tries to get you to stand. he follows your gaze which is fixed to where your bedroom had been. and he sees it then. on the door which opens into the room, there’s a shadow of a woman. he can discern the long straight hair which she combs on and on and on.

‘f-fuck!’ he spits.

he harshly pulls you over his shoulders but transfixed you crane up your neck to continue looking at the shadow. hastily he manages to grab the keys which he had hung on a hook by the main door. the shadow grows darker, more defined as if whoever it belonged to was coming closer. he feels you struggling and you scream to be let down.the main door to the house is already open so with one last glance at the chaos behind, you are both bolting out of the house.

‘y/n, run! to the car. hurry, hurry, hurry!’ he shuts the door, hoping it would buy you some time. he’s not really sure what he’d just seen or what any of it meant. but thinking would come later. he grabs your hand as you start the mad dash across the front garden. you notice despite your compromised vision due to the mist, how the roses look wilted. the grounds gooey and wet underneath, and your feet sink into the soft mud making movement sluggish. but you don’t stop. moments later, the door behind you flings open with enough force that it comes loose from its hinges. the whole house seems to be angry.

come back here.

don’t leave me alone.

an overgrown root coils around your calf and yanks you back. your hand slips out of bokuto’s and he turns around, horrified, to see you being dragged into the ground. like you were falling into quicksand.

‘hold on to my arm,’ bokuto bellows, ‘and just don’t. let. go!’

the circulation in your leg is being cut off and you cry in pain. you can feel the disgusting way the soft earth keeps parting further to let you in. you want to let go, give in to the struggle. maybe it’d be better to just lie buried here, decomposing till you forget whats fear, whats pain.

your name is rolling off bokuto’s tongue like a chant. his muscles burn with strain. the sweat and slick makes his grip on you weak and he notices how you’re letting go. he reads the resignations on your face. but why are you letting go? why are you trying to leaving him alone?

bokuto loses his footing and falls backwards and almost loses you, but he manages to interlock your fingers. he’s grunting with effort, and roars with frustration when it doesn’t seem to be working. it is then when you see the blood covering his feet, the glass splinters buried deep into his soles. in your haste to get away you never noticed how he had walked all over the shards with you over his shoulder. the ache in your heart swells. you know he’d never leave you behind. it was the two of you, or none of you who’d make it alive out of here.

the thought of bokuto buried deep into the ground, lips blue and crusted with mud gives you a renewed conviction. with the last spurts of energy you hold tight onto bokuto’s arm with one hand. the other digs into where you find soft but solid ground. you attempt to claw your way out and fight the drag of the noose around you ankle that tries to pull you in the opposite direction. away from bokuto. bokuto is inching backwards, his voice hoarse with all that screaming as he does his utmost to haul you out.

rain begins to pour in heavy cascades even though there hadn’t been a single cloud in the obsidian sky. and suddenly you feel earth’s hold on you go slack. bokuto and your efforts come to fruition as your foot comes loose and you tumble straight on top of bokuto’s body. but its too early to celebrate. a loud thunderclap spurs you both into action and you run and run, fighting the burn in your lungs until you reach the car. bokuto, is grateful, infinitely grateful that the keys had remained in his pockets during that struggle. he hands you the keys and with no time to waste you’re running to the car, afraid that something inauspicious might happen again if you didn’t hurry. bokuto notices with relief that the iron gates are not chained shut like they had been upon your arrival, and with some effort he swings them open. bokuto clambers into the passenger seat and you floor the gas as you drive straight out of the gates, into a calm quiet night.

it takes you a moment to notice that the rain had stopped.

∷ ∷ �� ∷

the two of you are covered in dirt, in blood. absolutely shattered with exhaustion. bokuto finally feels the pain that had been dampened by adreneline. it now ignites like an inferno. he almost tears his lip trying to bite back a whimper. in the rear view mirror, you catch a glimpse of the house. it looks regal and imposing, as it had when you’d first arrived. you can see the dimly lit bedroom, the curtains billowing gently in a slight breeze. the glass on the doors is intact. the garden is immaculate once again and you can see patches of soft grass spread out where the mud had almost eaten you up alive just a few moments ago. a shaky laugh escapes Bokuto, and before you know it, feeling delirious, you’re laughing with him.

bokuto’s phone rings and the sound cuts short your hysteria. with some effort he retrieves it from the dashboard where he’d left it two days ago. he had planned on not letting anything distract him from you on this short getaway. he puts it on loudspeaker.

‘they picked up!’ you hear Konoha say to someone and the collective sighs of relief are audible.

‘dude, where have you both been? we’ve been calling you all day. ms. nakamura told me that you never made it to my vacation home?’

‘ms. nakamura?’ bokuto rasps.

‘yeah, the caretaker I told you about?’

‘the caretaker was a man!’ you snatch the phone with from bokuto with one hand while other remains on the steering wheel. you’re yelling at the receiver like a mad woman. ‘we came to your villa, but that man opened the gates. listen, there’s something wrong with the house and lake behind it is-’

‘what lake? there are only corn fields behind my house. which is, by the way, a traditional japanese one. where the fuck have you both been?!’

you and bokuto look at each other in confusion, and you hit the brakes. you glance back at the house which is now far, far away. if you squint your eyes you can see the outline of a man at the gates. the lamp in his hand glows golden like a distant star.

a woman’s shadow is dark and lonely against the delicate lace of the bedroom’s curtains.

#bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto x reader #bokuto koutarou #bokuto #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq!!#hq #haikyuu angst #bokuto angst #bokuto fluff #bokuto imagines #hq scenarios #hq imagines #haikyuu fluff

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dante-vergil64 · 4 years

Text

To the Stars, The Moon Pleaded “Stay”

Sasuhina Month 2020

Day 1

Rated T

She is a most wonderful vision.

A figure of sensuality and virtue as if tailored by the gods to bring about salvation and sanctuary to this undeserving mortal ground. With skin pristine like unstained glass and smooth like tender velvet bathing soothingly in the essence of the sun as if beckoning and rejoicing in its warmth. Her hair dark, lustrous and silky beyond words in its descent against her form as if embracing her in protection and serenity. And her eyes, wide and jolly, the most captivating shade of lavender, bewitching and consuming beyond comprehension.

How is it, he wonders, that a woman like her exists? How is it, that her mere presence provokes this intense change in the contractions of his heart, in his gathering of breath, in the formation of his thoughts?

She is more than beauty, more than grace, more than warmth, more than light. She is kindness and respect. She is honesty and compassion. An angel fallen from the sky, a fairy without wings.

This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while. After all, it had been her, the one that handed him the stars, the one that found him in the dark. When he was drowning in the pain, in the loneliness of his own insignificance she had dared to reach her hand, to look at him and form a smile.

“Please don’t cry, don’t let tears inside your heart when there is so much happiness around. Smile instead, all teeth and wide, and I promise that this pain that hurts so bad…it will be banished to the sky”

It is a memory of youth, his most precious treasure.

He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. Merely the second son, the shadow of his brother, the spare of his father. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while. He knows his place, he knows his role.

“Lady Hyuuga turns more beautiful everyday, doesn’t she?”

“She does, undoubtedly so”

He can feel his lips smiling, his expression lost in the gift that is her. He allows himself to indulge, if only just this once, to gaze once more at her eyes, at her nose and her lips.

How is it, he wonders, that he is so lucky to be alive at this moment?

His eyes turn to his right, resting on his favorite cousin before turning around ready to head back to the station.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Shisui asks, and despite the smile lifting his lips there is something sad about his eyes

“I know my place, I know my role” he smiles, all teeth and wide “come on Shisui, there’s a ton of paperwork waiting for us”

He’s unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while.

But there is much he can still do, much more still left for him to give. He can vie for her protection, bring peace within the walls. He can take the burden off her friends, can take the troubles off her mind. He can wish for her happiness, can pray for her health. However far she may be, however unreachable to him, he can still try with all his might to keep the smile that she once gave, all precious and irreplaceable, illuminating her face. . . . . She’s an exhilarating performance, all fierceness and grace following wherever she goes.

Her movements, so calculated and precise, cast judgement upon the wicked in a continuous dance of silence that holds a simmering gentle fury in each and every of her soft feather touches. Dead stillness falls upon conclusion as her form forever gorgeous basks in sorrowful solemnity. Her spirit, both tranquil like the waters of a pond in coming spring and infinitely warm like the air of enduring summer, casts a blanket of protection on the weary, a promise of safety to the innocent. Her heart, pure as it is stubborn, weeps for the forsaken, prays for the forgotten, absolves the repenting. It is a tender and forgiving heart, more forgiving than anyone has any right to.

How is it, he wonders, that she continues to find the strength to forgive those who wrong her despite the pain that they cause her? How is it, that they don’t realize what an amazing woman this is, how strong and resilient and skilled she has become?

She is more than strength, more than speed, more than instinct, more than talent. She is discipline and hard work She is practice and repetition She is determination and never going back on her word

This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while. Like it was yesterday he can remember, that time he learned of the lion hiding beneath her eyes

It’s an easy memory to recall, after all, it was the first time his flash step was faster than Shisui’s, his eyes sharper than his brother’s. It begins with the report of an ambush, with her as the target and him as the backup. With fear palpable in his tongue and overwhelming in his trembling hands, he runs. But by the time he arrives she has begun, a force of nature twisting and charging with every one of her practiced steps, the absolute might of the sixty-four palms discharged upon her foes in a crescendo. And her eyes, they are still the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. This goddess given flesh is a sight to behold, and even now he remembers the staccato his heart played at the scene before his eyes. It ends with her fingers near his throat, her surprised lavender gaze overcoming the sheer look of concentration from before. He does not allow himself to wallow in the memory too long, for he knows that if he does the delicate scent of hyacinth will reach his nose and the distance that lies between them will be breached by his treacherous heart.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that sa-chan! I could have hurt you really badly. But, thank you…you know, for coming to help me”

“You really are amazing Hina”

He cannot help the strange feeling of pride every time he recalls that memory, she has grown so much, has become so strong.

He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. Yet, he is so thankful to be able to witness this girl, a little shy and innocent and everything that is right in the world, become such a confident mature woman. It is a privilege he will never take for granted. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while.

“Tell me dear boy, who is she? Who is this woman that consumes all of your thoughts, the one that has taken ownership of your heart?”

His gaze falls upon his mother, a look of wonder and joy in unhidden display. She’s just as lovely as when she sang her first lullaby, as attentive and caring as when he was but a young boy.

“There is no one like that. I know my place, I know my role” he gifts her a loving smile “you don’t have to worry, mother”

He brings her into his embrace, a warm farewell and a see you soon. He does not see the light of her eyes dim. He does not see the tight grip of her fist close to her heart.

He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while.

But there is plenty he can do, a lot more left for him to see. He can marvel in her movements, both the peaceful and the violent. He can wallow in her laughter, both from memories and in her presence. He can take care of her sister, to bring both joy in any way. He can steal just one more glance, lie to himself just one more time. . . . . She is a breath of fresh air, quite familiar and comforting.

Her voice is soft and sweet like cotton, her words woven with patience, thoughtfulness and care. Even so, he can’t help but compare it to the allure of a siren’s song. The hypnotizing melody of her chords. So relaxing and consoling it has long become his favorite sound. And the silence in between, that is its own special gift. The offer of her company, of her presence within reach, of the sounds of her breath and the image of her form. As if the world was in stasis, saying it’s okay, to gaze at her just one more time. And her authenticity, her concern, her love for her family and her friends is so mesmerizing and so disarming he wants nothing more than to forget her, because he knows that it is possible, downright certain that these feelings in his heart will only grow.

She’s more than innocent, more than friendly, more than loyal, more than extraordinary She is security and peace She is the water and the wind The steady rock in minds of many, the anchor deep within.

This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while. There is one such instance of time, a time his brain cannot ignore, when the mere sight of her left him speechless, because it was a glimpse into the future, another treasure in itself. And it begins with his arrival, his form weary from a mission. The night is long as stars are bright, yet his feet carry him regardless into her warm welcoming home. What awaits him is a lady, a few years younger than her sister, yet her beauty is not diminished, only hidden by mischief.

“Sa-san, you’re back! Did you bring it?! Did you?!” “Hello to you too, firecracker. I said it was a promise didn’t I?”

Her eyes sparkle in the light of her front door, a sweet souvenir within her palms, and he knows he is being ridiculous but the thought comes anyway. She has taken after Hinata. As he holds the child in his gaze he cannot help but feel content. But the moment is then stopped, not destroyed, but expanded. She emerges from inside, all porcelain and silk and lavender in her wake. And his heart gallops one more time, long surrendered to her smile. And that is when it finally happens, the vision in his eyes travels through time. And there, standing steps ahead is a much more mature woman, with no less beauty, no less grace, no less warmth. And in her arms is not her sister, not the rebellious adventurer filled with passion and mischief, but a much more inexperienced little thing, wide eyes in wonder and curiosity. It takes everything he has to dissipate that very scene, for he knows that deep within, he’s not strong enough to face it.

He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time patrolling near the Hyuuga compound. Something you want to say?”

His gaze falls upon his father, the commander of the police force, forever strict and infallible. An old wound threatens to reopen, a hurt of times long past.

“I know my place, I know my role” he salutes in subordination “Sir”

He bows and he departs. He does not see the hesitation, the inklings or regret.

He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while.

But there is much he can endure, much more left for him to bear. He can handle frozen nights, her form sound and in blissful rest He can fight against exhaustion, peace and order his reward. He can perpetuate his distance, only admire from afar. He could accept his place as second, a meager warrior and protector. Whatever price he pays is little, when measured against her smile. . . . . She is an inescapable revelation, a bright enchantment of the truth.

Her mind benevolent and understanding, captivating in humility glimpses past layers of deception, offers redemption and mercy. And her eyes, like stellar windows, like nebulous ice reflections glimmer sharply with intelligence and observe with calm rapport. Despite her powers of deduction, the blessing of her sight, her only passion is to aid, to sooth the spirit and the mind. And so she sees the hearts of men, so full of sin and of regret. And yet her hope never falters nor declines, her gaze set in the path towards the sun.

She is more than perception, more than intuition, more than introspection, more than sensation. She is experience and involvement She is patience and rumination

The culmination of her years, of her talents and her efforts.

This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while. And he’s not the only one. This ethereal creature of benevolence, of boundless wisdom and stability has already taken stage, has become a steering knight. And she is power and authority and compassion and bravery. There is no soul that does not listen, there is no dimming of her light.

“We will not risk civilian settlements! That, I will not allow! If it’s gold that is the issue, then take it from my vaults. If it’s men you are In need of, I will gladly join the fight. Whatever else may come our way, whatever hardships they may be, I will protect them with my life!”

It is the idealistic way, the laborious road ahead, yet all it brings is inspiration, optimism and unification. He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while. The path she walks he cannot follow, he’ll never join her in the sun. She is destined for so much more, to such great heights, he can only be grateful, from the bottom of his heart, that he was allowed the chance to meet her.

“You should tell her how you feel. If you truly wish to make her happy, then that is the only way”

His gaze falls upon his brother, the man most treasured in his heart. With tired lines along his eyes, his pupils still glimmer with the kindness and the brilliance of his being. And it is him, Hinata’s promised, what she truly deserves. A man of honor, and integrity, and strength, a man whose everything that he could never be. A true pacifist and seer, so altruistic it almost hurts.

He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while.

“I know my place, I know my role” he smirks at his sitting brother, the white-red hat resting closely by his side “And I know yours. You have worried all your life, made me into who I am, I will always be grateful that I got to be your brother. So now it’s time for you to let me worry, for you to let me protect you.”

His feelings are inconsequential, they would only be a burden. More than anything else, his one single wish has been for them to be happy, for them to smile always, to repay them, to thank them. Because before he was nothing, before he was no-one. Shadow he may be, that is no longer the case. He knew plenty of happiness, reveled in their glow. Now it’s just time to look away, now it’s time to fulfill his role.

“Foolish little brother, your eyes are still closed even now. For all your prowess and your foresight you are still so incredibly blind. By choice no less. There is only one man who is in possession of her heart, only one man who consumes all of her thoughts, only one man who can evoke that precious smile. For all that you see her, that you know her, that you love her it never occurred to you that she felt the same” his smile is easy, teasing yet honest “She has rescinded the contract of marriage this very morning, confronted her father too. What will you do little brother, I wonder”

He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while.

And yet… She is a most wonderful vision. An exhilarating performance A breath of fresh air An inescapable revelation

He doesn’t have the chance to pursue her, to ask after the cancellation of the contract. She finds him first, refuses his words, grabs onto his body, kisses his lips.

And as her lips meld with his, as his tongue caresses hers, as he drowns in her essence he has to acknowledge that perhaps, just perhaps, he knows nothing after all.

#Sasuke Uchiha #Hinata Hyuga #SasuHina #sasuhinamonth2020 #shmonth2020 #happy sasuhina month

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warmau · 5 years

Text

{Reverse!Beauty x the Beast AU} Wonwoo

*this post was commissioned | beast!reader and beauty(?)!wonwoo, with my own twist on the plot!! *tw: mentions of violence, mentions of blood

time ticks by slowly, every second of every day is filled with inexplicable loneliness and pain

how long have i been like this? who was i before i become,,,,,a monster?

the questions circle in your mind - as you circle the cold halls of a castle that once bore the bustling light and love of your family

of your kingdom

till a cursed, jealous women brought wraith upon your family, banished them into nothingness and left you

the you who once had bright eyes, pink lips that read poems to your younger siblings in the garden

left you - mangled and broken

all that has been left of this place - that has been left of your humanity is that garden that has overgrown with weeds since you were destroyed

ugly vines and spreading spores, taken the places of once lush bushes and tall stemmed flowers

the only smudge of a better time remaining are the roses

the red roses

you nurture with the hairy paws that crush everything else

i am doomed to this fate, but i will protect what still holds the memory of my past,,,,,,,,anyone who dare step foot in my garden,,,,,,,i shall rip oyu to shreds!

on the other side of the woods, lives jeon wonwoo

oblivious to your horrors - a quiet, bookish boy who works hard delivering newspapers to help support his traveling merchant father

and otherwise greedy older sisters

he’s clean cut, with curly dark hair and eye of an earthy, but sparkling brown

humble, wearing the same cap his father brought back from the main village for three years now

and never one to ask for a second meal at dinner time

he rides his bike, long legs peddling him fast among the cobble streets

throwing papers at the doorsteps

ears going red when older maidens open their windows to shout out compliments

respectfully declining offers of free fruit or flowers from love struck younger girls in the town square

he’s never been anything but kind, if not even a bit of a bleeding heart and his father couldn’t have asked for a better son

so when his father announces a trip to the main village again - wonwoo’s sisters squabble over who gets to give papa a long list of expensive gifts to bring back first

while wonwoo simply shrugs

“a red rose would be nice, to put something colorful on my window.”

his father smiles, hand on wonwoo’s shoulder

“i’ll be back in a weeks time - make sure your sisters don’t make,,,,,mistakes while im gone.”

wonwoo waves goodbye as his father pulls off in the familiar carriage

the sisters are already talking about how they’ll spend this allowance he’s left, but all that is on wonwoo’s mind is his paper route in the morning

he gets up, bright and early, sleepiness following him to the table where he yawns and watches out of the window as the sleepy little forest-edge town he lives in wakes with him

he buttons up his vest, puts on the matching cap and hops on his bike for the usual route

the summer breeze is pleasant against his skin and he hopes that the dark circles that always have a habit of forming under his eyes after sleeping go away quickly

the towns children always tease him for looking like a crow with them

“why why,,,,,now is that who i think it is!”

wonwoo hates to admit it, but the voice sparks a slight bit of panic whenever he hears it

it belongs to an old friend he’s known since they were both children, and while wonwoo had chosen to stay at home and help out his family

mingyu had chosen to join the local army

and had not only been made a hero - but had come back with the idea that he just had to recruit wonwoo

“good morning mingyu-”

the boy hops down from the windowsill he’d been lounging against

he’s still wearing the issued uniform, crisp white britches and a stiff looking royal blue coat

his hair is done up and out of his face and wonwoo can’t believe this clean cut guy

is the same person he used to run around in farm mud with when they were just young teenagers

“i see you’re still doing the paper route?”

mingyu flashes a bright white smile and plucks a rolled up newspaper from wonwoo’s basket

he unrolls it, reading a headline as wonwoo attempts to snatch it back

“wonwoo, ive told you this a million and one times - you can make much better money in the reserve!”

“i can’t leave my sisters and fathers behind to fight foolish battles on behalf of some king in some castle.”

mingyu chuckles

“always being political and smart wonwoo, but we both know what matters and that’s money - and money -”

mingyu drops the newspaper to the floor and fixes the pristine buttons on his cuffs

“money can buy even happiness!”

wonwoo resists the urge to roll his eyes, he’s told mingyu a million times that he’s not joining any army - especially when it’s much more about showing off than anything else

he picks up the newspaper and kicks back up his bike

“ill be late with my delivery’s, see you around mingyu”

mingyu huffs but before he can complain once more, wonwoo is off - throwing papers left and right until he can return back home

back in your castle, you watch the summer sun rise and fall

like a slow exhale, the light sinks into a backdrop of darkness and you walk through the halls

all the mirrors that once lined various rooms have been long since smashed

glass still on the tiles, a low groaning sound coming from the back of your throat when you think of the times you’ve been forced to come face to face with your own reflection

ugly, overgrown teeth - sharp and always stained. hair that tangles and is too thick to handle - hair all over my body. and these claws,,,,these hands once nimble and playing the piano for ballrooms full of dancing guests,,,,are now nothing but killing machines

you hate summer the most - the season when you should be able to spend the most time outside

tending to your garden, humming to the sweet tune of a favorite song

yet it has been so long since you’ve let anyone else gaze upon you

the risk running high every time you step out, the whispering woods could reveal a stranger

and they could see you - call you names - have you killed

that’s why you’ve learned to keep to yourself, inside your cold halls, the old furniture is what is left to keep you company

but this evening feels different, you’ve paced the window - glances thrown out into the garden

no one is going to touch my rose bush, but why do i feel as if -

and then you see him

a human

an older human, whose parked a peasant looking carriage outside the gates

he seems to be unaware of you, up at the window, watching

as he makes his way around the maze of plants

before stopping at the rose bush

at first - you stand still and hope that he won’t be so foolish as to try and pluck one off its leaves

but he does

and a fire inside you snaps

no one touches them!

you roar, jumping from the window and pouncing right onto the man

he’s shaking with terror as you lean your entire body weight forward

snarling

“what do you want”

you ask, your voice gruff and sharp

“i just - i was just admiring the roses -”

“LIAR!”

you raise your hand, extending one of your claws

but the human covers his face in fear

“no please, im sorry my son asked for me to bring back a rose and you’re the only one whose garden has any -”

you hesitate, because you can smell how scared he is

and you are a monster - but you’ve never wanted others to see you that way

then again,,,,,,you spot the petals of the flower he tore fall against the soil

you jump back, but wring your hand around his neck

if you let him off, he’ll tell others about you! he’ll make sure everyone comes in droves - he’ll tell them how you look! how disgusting you are! how weak you are!

the fire burns and spreads through your body, your hold tightens and the man begins to beg

“bring me your son, he will pay for your crime.”

you hiss the ultimatum, throwing the man to the ground with a hard thud

“if he does not come within three days - i will find you and him and the rest of your family myself.”

the threat in your voice is so venomous and cruel, you hardly recognize that it’s you

the man skids backwards, before turning and pulling himself up to run back to his carriage

you stand there, breathing heavy before dropping to the dirt beside the torn flower

you cradle it, but your claws cut through the fragile red petals

when wonwoo’s father returns - wonwoo can see the mark on his neck

it looks like something from a bear

but his sisters just push past each other to ogle the gods the father has returned with

wonwoo takes his papa to the side and asks quietly

“and my rose?”

“unfortunately,,,,,i could not retrieve it and even worse,,,,”

wonwoo’s father tells him, in a hushed voice, about his encounter with a beast in the forest

at first wonwoo doesn’t believe it - it must be a story of fairy tail

but the mark on his fathers neck and the trembling in his voice convinces him otherwise

“of course, im not going to send you into those woods. im going to tell the local soldiers and see if the army can hand-”

“i can take care of this myself.”

wonwoo takes off his cap and drops it into his fathers hands

“i will go and speak with this beast myself.”

wonwoo’s father pleas for him to reconsider, to sleep on it, to just think hard about such a dangerous decision

“you don’t know what i saw out there,,,,that thing is evil!”

“it said it would come for our family, papa - i will go and make sure that we are safe.”

wonwoo’s father goes to bed telling wonwoo over and over that he should do so as well

but once nightfall cloaks the town, wonwoo prepares a bundle of bread and ventures out into the dark woods

his father had mentioned that the abandoned garden had been somewhere off the carriages path

but after hours of wondering, it’s obvious that he’s lost

and the sound of nearby wolves chills wonwoo to the bone

he’s never been one to be afraid - he’s always been rather brave, if not complaint with any pain or fear that’s come in his life

but this is something new

this is something unknown

wonwoo circles what he thinks is the same camp of trees until finally taking a seat beside some of the giant roots

he opens his bundle, but before he can take a bite of his bread he hears it

a growl

there are only seconds before wonwoo looks up - his brown eyes meeting the flashing yellow irises of a wolf

it’s big, with messy fur and chewed up ears - it bares its teeth as soon as it makes eye contact

and wonwoo’s blood goes cold

if i die here, the beast will still go after my family!

he thinks, quickly trying to piece together a cause of action

he takes the bread he’s holding and tosses it to the side - a momentary distraction, but as soon as wonwoo gets up

he moves to run, but it’s too late the teeth are sharp, lodged into the meat of his leg

wonwoo has felt pain, but not like this

not a pain that leaves him tumbling onto the forest floor, grasping at the dirt for dear life

the image of his father, his sisters, the townspeople flash through his mind and his racing heart

when suddenly

the teeth are gone

the pain is pulsing, but it isn’t digging into him

and he is not being mauled again

instead he’s left laying, coldness creeping up - darkness filling the parts of his vision that obscure the figure that picks him up

you haven’t been this close to a human in what must be years

and this human is handsome, dark long eyelashes and perfect sun kissed skin

his curly hair is slightly matted with dirt, but you pick it out and smoothen it down

eyes lingering on the curve of his lips

he has a likeness that matches that of the old man who you’d caught in your garden

he really sent his only son? he didn’t lie to me? what did he say his name was,,,,wonwoo?

you study the face, and then the long lean body that belongs to it

but when the human begins to twitch, the bandaged leg you’ve treated jerking a slight bit

you rush out of the room at once

we must not let him see me! if he does, he will think i attacked him!

the heavy wooden door shuts behind you as you hurry back to the confines of the master bedroom

the sound is what startles wonwoo awake

when he sits up, he can feel the dull ache of his leg wound - but is surprised to see that it’s been cleaned and taken care of

the room he’s in is large - even in the dim light of a nearby candle he can tell that it’s grandiose

probably once gorgeous in its prime, the wallpaper now fades and the bed he’s laying on seems to have made friends with its layer of dust

for a moment he tries to assess where he might be

“could i be ,,,”

he begins, but the words die on his lips

there is no way that he is in the beasts castle,,,,that would have meant that the beast has rescued him from the wolves attack

and a beast that had hurt his father - could not be such a kind animal

but then, wonwoo thinks, where could he be?

the walls don’t answer any of his question, not when he calls out and his voice echoes through the lonely castle

only when glancing over the foyer does he notice another small candlight from below

wonwoo adjusts his shirt, noticing that he’s left the vest he usually wears back in the room - the person who had carried him back must have taken it off when they’d fixed up his leg

he tries to press his hair a bit, and clear his throat

“im awfully sorry to intrude - are you the owner of this -”

he says as he descends the stairs toward the light

but,,,,,,,,there is no one in the room

only a long table - one cloth mat set up right at the end with a warm helping of soup

and various smaller side dishes with a paired old wine

wonwoo stares, the surprise doesn’t beat out his hunger nor his caution

and he takes a seat

he picks up one of the knives, but places it down

even though this space is also empty, and no one has come out to greet him - he think it’d be rude to not say a thank you

so he calls one out before he starts his meal, and you - floors above him in the isolation of your room

can hear the warmth of his voice

this human,,,,,wonwoo seems to be less vicious than the ones who’ve crossed this path before. perhaps i will let him spend the night and just allow him to go.

wonwoo does just that, he wanders a bit and you listen as he touches paintings and peeks into other closed doors

he doesn’t come close to your room though, even if he did he wouldn’t be able to budge it open

but before he returns to the room you’d set up for him

he exits out into the garden

he’s limping a bit from the injury - and you watch intently as he winds through the same maze his father did

before coming to a stop before your prized roses

he touches them, but doesn’t dare take one from the bush

instead he seems to just admire them

“beautiful,,,,”

he breathes, and then turns his head up to window of the castle

you dodge backwards, frightened that he’s seen you

but there is no scream of terror or no acclimation of horror

so you assume you’re safe

and when wonwoo returns to go to bed again, you leave your chambers

down the hall and out into the garden - you touch the rose he touched and his warmth still lingers

how it would feel to be called beautiful again,,,,,how it would feel to be loved by a human again,,,,

wonwoo decides in the morning that he should go back to trying to find the beasts home

whoever the kind stranger was that fixed him up and helped me have a bed for the night has still not shown themselves

and wonwoo is surprised that in the morning there are fresh berries in bowls laid out at the table

he calls out another thank you, but this time

there is a reply

“you’re very welcome”

the voice is rugged, pained, and sounds like a mixture of words and groaned noises

it makes wonwoo pause

no human has a voice like that, this house does belong to the beast!

the realization causes him to freeze

but this beast - took care of me. feed me and cleaned my wounds,,,,,

wonwoo hesitates but calls out into the emptiness one more time

“can you come out so i can thank you properly?”

there is a spark of panic, and you roar back a defiant “NO”

you think it’ll scare this person away, but he doesn’t seem to faint of heart

“please, i would think it very rude if i did not see a host that treated me so well.”

you twitch, looking down into the palms of your hand - the claws that had wringed this own boys father’s neck

the horrid mess of hair and teeth and just anger which has settled within you

how could you show yourself like this?

but the voice was pure, deep and ringing with truth

somehow it pulled you out of the shadows of your castle and into the open light of the dining room

at first, wonwoo doesn’t move his eyes from yours

which have become unnaturally lined with red, pupils slitted like that of a cats

he then lets his gaze travel over all of you

take in the rags you’re wearing - once a beautiful outfit you’d been gifted by your mother

the necklace you wear almost blackened by the same cursed magic that made you like this

wonwoo does not speak for a moment and you are ready to retreat back - not put him through anymore

when suddenly he walks forward

the closer and closer he gets the more anxious you are

your animalistic instinct tells you to get ready to attack, but wonwoo’s hand on yours is gentle

“thank you for saving me from that wolf.”

he smiles and a feeling of warmth spreads up through you which has been a stranger to you for years

“and im here to take the punishment on behalf of my father who stole from you.”

you pull back your arm, touching the spot where he’d brushed your skin as if it had just been burned

“no, ,,,, just go”

you groan out, but wonwoo doesn’t budge

“im sorry that my father tried to take one of your beautiful roses, and if you’d like i can stay here and tend to the garden as punishment. would that suffice?”

the words confuse you, his calmness and lack of disgust make the room spin

and this is the first time you’ve let daylight cast down on you for so long

so you put up a hand

“if you wish to do so,,,,,,you are free to stay and repay the debt,,,once a new rose blossoms - you may go!”

wonwoo’s smile returns and something inside you that’s still human stirs

“thank you, it seems we have a deal then.”

wonwoo commits one hundred percent to the agreement of tending to the garden

for the first few days you are sure he’s going to run away, afterall the gates are open

nothing is binding him to stay

but he keeps his word, watering and digging and doing all of the work that you usually do in the dead of night

under the bright sunlight, small streaks of dirt on his cheek

as you watch from the window of your room

he catches you one afternoon, and instead of retreating into the shadows - you watch him wave

and call up

“please have dinner with me tonight?”

and you just can’t understand - why is he so kind to me? does he not see me as the vile thing i am?

dinner is awkward, at least for you - whose used to tearing into meats like a rabid dog, no use for utensils when your fangs could rip off flesh

and instead of being disgusted

wonwoo tries to copy you, but ends up with sauce over his button up instead

you laugh

or let out some sort of jolly sound, which is so loud is sends the old chandelier above you two swinging

but wonwoo only stares up in wonder before grinning too

“how impressive!”

you look down, shy of your display but wonwoo really means it

soon enough, you’re not shy of it anymore

you are open enough to allow wonwoo to see you in the daylight - you even join him for gardening

and before you know it,,,time has passed,,,,,autumn creeps up

and a bud of a rose appears on the bush

you two admire it

and wonwoo suddenly says, “how is it that these roses are so much bigger than any others ive seen before?”

you cast your eyes down, and feel the pain of old memories rush in

wonwoo seems to catch onto the tension and gives a small apology

but you reach out - stopping yourself before one of your claws can tear through the delicate little leaves

“my mother planted them,,,,,she said the magic of her love for me and my father would make them the most beautiful in the land ,,,,”

your voice drops

“but not even her own magic could save her from her downfall,,,,,or save me from this curse”

wonwoo touches your wrist again, this time you don’t jerk from his hand

but let the comfort of another person’s sympathy wash over you like a gentle wave

“is there anyway to break this curse?”

you sadly shake your head

“i would need the tears of someone who loves me to break it. but everyone that loves me,,,,,,is dead.”

there isn’t much one can say to that, so you do not feel hurt by the silence that follows - instead you focus on the bud that is growing

“soon it will bloom - and you can see your loved ones again.”

wonwoo gives a small nod

“i miss them, but i will miss you too beast”

the sentiment pings through your hearts cold walls, melting them down and causing the human parts of you to buzz

you don’t want to take this all so seriously, but that means more than you could ever imagine

and when the day comes, that you awaken and peer out of your window to see the rose has blossomed

it hurts more than it should

it’s when you hear a banging on the gate that you realize,,,,,,,something is wrong

you rush down, wonwoo following in step behind you

when suddenly you see a group of people and they’re holding - torches

“LET US IN YOU UGLY BEAST!”

“GIVE ME BACK MY SON YOU MONSTER!”

“WONWOO! ARE YOU ALIVE?”

your eyes widden, the colors turning a dark and malicious red

you look to wonwoo, your back hunching in pain

“you - you called a mob on me!?!?”

he looks back at you, just as terrified

“no, no i would never - i think my father told some of the townspeople i hadn’t come back -”

the sound of the gate breaking stops you both

charging toward you, like a thunderous stamped of bulls are angry looking humans of all shapes and sizes

you can see the father of wonwoo at the helm with another tall person, he looks like a soldier that you’d remembered seeing back when you were young

the group runs past you - you hear the only home you’ve ever known being destroyed and pulled apart

and the soldier looking one takes out a long, clean silver sword and holds it out to you

“mingyu don’t-”

wonwoo’s voice fades in

but you ignore it, dropping down low on all fours and letting your fangs jut out

the soldier, mingyu, watches you with horror

“how disgusting!”

he yells and you two charge at one and other

you doge a sword slash and let one large claw slash at the front of his uniform - digging in deep to draw blood

you pull back, running a hand across your mouth - looking at the blood on your claws

“no mingyu leave them alone -”

wonwoo pleads, but when he tries to bolt after you - his father holds him back

“wonwoo, we must kill this beast or it will continue to terrorize us!”

“they are not just a beast! they are a kind person who saved me -”

mingyu groans, but gets up, landing another sword slash that catches you on the shoulder

you tetter backwards, gripping your wound

“wonwoo! have you absolutely lost it! this thing tried to kill your father - and you’re defending it?!”

you can hear the destruction going on in your home, heirlooms being broken - paintings being torn

but you see red - you see this soldier, with his bloody uniform and his big sword

and you see wonwoo - who had been so kind,,,,,so sweet,,,,,,,,,,betraying you to these people

you lunge again and wonwoo screams

his voice louder than you’ve ever heard - but the sword pierces through you

and you find yourself pinned down in a matter of moments, a metallic iron taste in your mouth

a darkness gnawing at the sides of your vision

“get off of them!”

you hear and suddenly the weight of mingyu’s knee is not in your chest anymore

instead you see a blurry image

wonwoo, his handsome face twisted into fear

are you scared of me? or are you scared of me?

you think, blinking between light and dark

do you see me as just a monstrous beast? or do you see me as the person i am inside?

wonwoo’s touch on your face doesn’t feel warm enough to stop the impending coldness of depth

do you know that beasts like me can fall in love too?

suddenly the world is still and wonwoo is gone

there is just pain and black

and then

wetness

wetness on your face, salty and small

tears - who is crying,,,,are the angels crying to have seen such an ugly thing?

fluttering, it’s a fulttering feeling

but then it almost stings - like a wound being sown up

you try to pick up your hand, but it isn’t your hand - it’s a human hand

no claws

no blood

you look at it and then back at the person whose crying over you

it is an angel - an angel that looks like

“w-wonwoo?”

he pushes back another sob, before whispering “b-beast?”

“no, im -”

you say your name, out loud for the first time in years

the hair that falls over your shoulders is not the same mangy mess

your clothing isn’t tattered

there isn’t a sword sticking out of your gut

you’ve been transformed

wonwoo pulls you up, into the embrace of his arms

the crowd around you shares a collective gasp

and you hear mingyu’s sword clatter to the floor

“the beast - the beast was a human!?”

“we just ruined this poor persons home for nothing?!”

the sounds, the people, the smell of a fire all hit you at a million miles

but nothing hits you more than the scent of wonwoo, the feeling of his cheek on your cheek

and when you pull back you lean in to kiss the remaining tears on his face

there are apologizes, questions, and much more being thrown around

wonwoo’s own father falls down on his knees beside you and asks if you’re hurt - that he didn’t know who you really were

mingyu quickly shrugs off his uniform coat and offers it to you

but none of that matters

as wonwoo looks at you - the redness around your eyes disappearing slowly

the golden shimmer returning to your necklace, the human glow on your skin

and through the strands of hair - suddenly, blooms a vivid red rose

“your curse,,,it’s broken”

he whispers

“because of your tears - because of the tears of someone who loves me”

wonwoo leans in, lips against yours - and the mob that had yelled angrily at you breaks out into applause

the life and beauty returning to the ruined castle, the unkempt gardens, and everywhere

on every bush

bloom those red roses

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen au #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo au #17 scenarios #17 imagines #17 au #sfw #member: wonwoo #writing commissions #pledis seventeen #Seventeen #seventeen wonwoo #jeon wonwoo

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drowning-in-dennor · 4 years

Text

The Summer Side

Magical or mundane, nobody is immune to the agonising curse of loneliness. This is the story of two lovers, lost and alone in their own worlds, who found each other through nothing but fate. [Based on this post by @biggest-gaudiest-patronuses.]

The bowl is light.

Tossing it on his dining table, Njord slumps down on his chair with a sigh. The rigid wood does little to soothe his cramps, attained from a full day of rewardless performing. He remembers all the times he’d return home with a bowl full of coins, treated to drinks and meals and loved by all.

When was the last time he earned such a bounty?

Winter is here, and snow blankets the ground. People hide inside their houses with bolted doors and gather around the fire with toasted bread and mulled wine for their December celebration. They scurry around the village, slipping on ice and sparing none of their earnings for the young man dancing on the streets.

Across the table is Njord’s most prized possession, the fiddle he has been playing since childhood. The wood is chipped and the bow is frayed, but still he picks it up and runs his fingers over the bridge, thinking about when these blistered fingers and aching arms were worth it.

He’s hungry.

As usual, there is nothing in his cupboards, not even a crust of bread. Njord gets up from his chair, stumbling and suppressing frustrated tears as he leaves his house and makes his way towards the woods.

The snow crunches with every step Njord takes, frigid water seeping into the worn leather of his boots. He shivers and jumps to pluck tiny vermillion berries from a rowan tree with numb fingers. Carefully he clambers up a blackthorn tree to pluck their midnight-blue sloes, storing them in his pocket next to the rowan berries. He shivers again.

He looks into the forest, beyond the berry trees he is used to picking from, beyond cobweb-strung trees and frost-covered leaves, beyond ice-slick stones and snow-covered blewit mushrooms. Njord finds the small, round mushrooms forming a perfect ring, absolutely nothing inside the circle. He dares not near it, for nobody knows what happens to people who fall into fairy rings. Njord turns away and tries to forget it.

He doesn’t go farther than the juniper tree, pulling every berry he can see before trudging back home. The sun is setting but the village is still very much alive — laughter flows from the local pub, childish screams from one cottage, mindless chatter and the clinking of plates from another.

Njord’s house only has creaks as he pushes the door open and walks across the loose boards.

The harsh winter gale roaring in from his open window, Njord devours the berries like an eagle would its prey. He almost laughs at himself, at his pitiful state; once a beautiful dancer, now a dying boy surviving on berries. Then he sneezes, rubbing his arms and his threadbare sleeves.

There are no ageing parents to tend to, nor pestering siblings or children that he can tell stories to. He has no lover to hold or to kiss by a fireplace. There is only him, alone and far, far away from a family he ran away from in hopes of a better future, slowly starving to death.

Heading for his bedroom, Njord slumps down heavily on his thin, lumpy mattress and curls up, stomach growling and breath misting in the air. Outside, the wind howls.

The cheery noises from outside slowly die down, and a few returning partygoers tromp past Njord’s house. Their thundering steps feel like punches to the stomach to him, and he covers his ears in an attempt to block them out. The tipsy singing of a young man, one perhaps his age, fills his ears, and he sighs. A young woman, presumably his lover, joining in and laughing drunkenly is only salt on the wound.

Tears, boiling and resentful, rolls down Njord’s cheeks as the group finally walks away and their conversation fades out of earshot. In a sudden burst of malcontent, he hits his mattress.

The wintry wind chills the tears tracing his face, stinging his eyes and sending a flurry of snow swirling in from the window. He wipes his face clean with the scratchy burlap sleeve of his shirt and wraps his arms tighter around himself. Njord remembers himself two years ago, a stubborn sixteen-year-old running from his parents and his baby brother with nothing but his best clothes and his fiddle, determined to make a new life.

And now, two years later, it’s clear that he cannot emulate the applause and riches the people here gave him when he first arrived. The village is freezing almost year-round, not a day passing by without a cold breeze or hail pelting him in the face. The ground is often too slick to dance on, the air too cold to expose his fiddle to. With too little money and energy to go to a new village, Njord is a prisoner.

It has been two years since he has been truly warm.

His stomach growls.

After a few more moments of tossing and turning, Njord gets up from his mattress and reaches for his paper-thin coat, wrapping it around himself and leaving his house once more. The village is completely silent and every house is dark, the lamps off as everyone else slumbers, wrapped in warm quilts and hugging fluffy pillows. He pushes down a twinge of jealousy and continues tramping towards the forest.

He plucks what’s left of the blackthorn tree’s sloes and pops them into his mouth, the sour berries feeling like a feast to him. Njord clambers up higher and reaches for a sloe at the highest branch of the tree —

Only for the branch to break and send him tumbling to the ground.

For a while, Njord lies in the snow, letting cold water soak into his coat and turn his skin numb, tears once again tracing down his face. When he struggles to his feet, brushing snow off his coat, the ring of blewits, nestled behind the juniper tree, catches his attention.

He makes his way towards it, senseless from the snow. The moon shines bright and cheerful above him.

Tentatively, Njord looks at the fairy ring, rumoured to be able to take people to the fairy realm, and wonders if it’s any warmer on the other side. He takes a deep breath and steps inside.

Nothing happens.

Positively trembling with the prospect of finally leaving his village, Njord raises his arms and starts to dance.

It’s not easy, with his boots crunching in the snow and his clothes still wet from melted snow. But Njord dances with all the emotion he can muster, careful not to trample any of the mushrooms as he twirls, hopping to the other side of the small ring and spinning again. The forest blurs in his vision and the wind tosses his hair around. It is bliss.

There is no music, but Njord dances on, stepping around on tiptoes and gesturing to the moon, hoping for something, someone to sweep him away, to a place where he can be warm, fed and happy.

The last thing he sees before everything fades to black is the full moon smiling down upon him.

…

It’s warm.

When he awakens, he feels like he’s floating, cushioned by clouds and tended to by the warm summer breeze, something he has not felt in two years. His eyes open and he sees a ceiling, painted with creamy white marguerite daisies and swirling angrec, a mesmerising mural of white and gold. As he sits up, he looks around him. He appears to be in a bedroom, the walls painted with white forget-me-nots and the shelves and desks made with some pale-coloured wood.

He looks down. He is still in his worn clothing from the village, lying on a pristine white mattress that feels a million times softer than the one he used to have. He runs a hand over the surface and gasps. It is smooth, cool and light, unlike anything he’s ever touched before.

“You seem surprised.”

The voice is coming from next to him. He jolts, whipping his head towards the speaker. There, on a profligate four-poster bed and lounging atop the beige blankets is a man — no, a fairy — dressed in a vermillion tunic, the golden filigree sewn at the hems glimmering from the sunlight shining in from open windows, breeches messily rumpled and what is presumably his coat tossed across the headboard. A crown, woven from roses so sweet-smelling that he can smell their perfume from his bed, rests atop an unfastidious halo of corn-silk hair. From his back, a pair of vibrant orange butterfly wings fan out. If the fairy were human, he ought to be the same age as him. He is the brightest, most colourful thing in the room.

“The mattress is made of cotton and stuffed with pigeon feathers,” he continues, “it’s nothing special.”

He neglects to tell the fairy that his mattress in the village was made by stitching together old sacks and stuffed with dead twigs and dried leaves.

The fairy grins, showing pointed teeth, and slides easily off the bed, landing next to him. “Aren’t you going to run, human?”

He stares blankly at the fairy.

The fairy strides towards his desk across the room, rummaging for something in the drawers. “Aren’t you going to jump up and dash for the door?” He asks, voice melodic and resounding, “or, you know, beg for me to take you back?”

There is nothing for you to bring me back to, he nearly replies. “No,” he settles on saying, “I won’t try to escape.”

“Really?” The fairy pulls out something from the desk-drawer. “You’re unusual for a human, you know.” He makes his way back to the mattress. “What’s your name?”

To give a fairy one’s name is to give them ultimate control over oneself. “I have no name.”

But the fairy, perhaps royalty with his crown and therefore used to getting what he wishes, persists. “What did other people call you?”

For a moment, he feels as though he is back in the village again, lying alone and crying with the wind freezing him. “There was nobody to call me anything.”

“That’s a pity.” The fairy bends down to meet his eyes, knees pressing on the front of the mattress. “How about I give you a new name?” When he nods, the fairy declares, “you’ve barely reacted since waking up, except to that plain old mattress. Perhaps I shall name you Stellan.” He grins jauntily. “It means ‘calm’.”

A new name for a new life in a new world. Stellan nods again and decides to take a risk. “May I have your name?”

The fairy recoils a little, eyes wide. Stellan notices that his eyes are a bright, almost too-bright shade of cornflower blue. “Oh, of course you may not. But if you wish, you may call me Henrik.” He leans back again, saying, “you’re a fascinating human. I’ve never met one who looks so similar to a fairy.” Henrik surveys him. “Not the round ears or the lack of wings, of course, but…” His hand stops just a hair away from his cheek. “You have beautiful eyes.”

“T-Thank you?” Henrik’s hand is so close to his cheek that he can feel the heat radiating off of it.

Henrik’s palm brushes his cheek, fleeting and quick. “May I?”

His heart leaps inexplicably and Stellan nods. His eyes flutter closed as he feels a hand cup his cheek, thumb brushing tenderly at his cheekbones, moving to trace the outline of his eyelids and drag lazily along his jawline. Henrik’s touch is warm and caressing, almost like a summer breeze he has not felt for too long. Stellan finds himself leaning into the touch, having almost forgotten how it felt to have such lavish attention piled upon him.

“The rest of my kingdom may not take kindly to their King taking in a human.” Henrik opens up his other hand, revealing a delicate, transparent length of thread with dried red berries dangling down from it. Months of gathering from the woods tells Stellan those are rowan berries. He lowers his head as Henrik helps him put the necklace on. “Keep this on lest my jealous subjects try to enchant you.”

He feels the shrivelled berries rest against his collarbone. When another warm breeze blows in from a window by his mattress, Stellan feels the uncontrollable urge to run outside and feel the wind through his hair and the sun on his skin. “Can I go outside?”

Henrik gets up and extends a hand in invitation. “I’ll go with you.” Holding Stellan’s hand, he leads him towards the door. “I can’t afford to have such a pretty human get lost in my castle.”

…

Much like Henrik’s bedroom, the castle is painted in muted tones of pale yellow, beige and white. The nobles and servants flitting down the hallway are swathed in bright colours, wings glinting like ice in the sunlight. Stellan dodges a girl with swallowtail wings, stares at a butler with eye-spotted bushbrowns flapping at his back, gets knocked to the floor by a banded peacock-winged fairy zipping past.

Flowers, blooming in every shade of the rainbow, twine around the fairies’ wrists and ankles, wafting with their intoxicating, heady perfume. Only then does Stellan notice the red camellia, elegant and bold, on Henrik’s jacket and right over where his heart ought to be, nearly blending in with his extravagant cardinal jacket. Still in his village clothes, Stellan feels like a stone among jewels.

“You were dancing in that fairy ring last night,” Henrik says, grip firm and steady, “so you might like this.” He walks up a winding staircase, running hands over cool marble railways and turns right along a corridor with laurel-carved walls. At the end of the corridor, he reaches a door and opens it.

Past the door is a studio, with floor-to-ceiling windows that let in sunlight turning crimson from the sunset. The wood is varnished and shiny, as though covered in a layer of ice. On one side of the room, an assortment of instruments are lined up — fiddles, lyres, wooden flutes. Part of Stellan longs to pick up the fiddle and coax beautiful music from the strings, or spin around on the glossy floor until he grows dizzy, but he stands still at the doorway even as Henrik picks up a fiddle.

“I saw you, dancing your heart out even with wet clothes and an empty stomach.” He begins tuning the fiddle with practiced excellency. “I want to see you dance again.”

Stellan watches Henrik play a few experimental chords. “You really do?”

Henrik nods, gesturing for him to walk onto the dance floor. “I’ve never seen a human dance like that. Now dance away.” He smiles. “I’ll play something as you do.”

Taking a deep breath he walks, bare feet cold against the floor. With one look at the slowly-descending sun, then at Henrik, face bathed in the warm sunlight, he spins.

Unlike his village, the air is warm and the sky bright, as he steps around the room (far larger than the fairy ring) on tiptoes, hopping like a skittish bird. From the corner, soft fiddle music plays, exquisite and lively. Stellan twirls and the windows, the instruments and Henrik blur past his vision in a psychedelic whirl. When he stops, striking a dramatic pose and staring at the ceiling, he is out of breath, heart pounding and feeling feather-light.

At the corner of the room, Henrik sets down the fiddle and approaches Stellan. “That was amazing. During the daytime, when you aren’t freezing to death, you’re even better.”

“Thank you.” Perhaps from outside the castle, crickets begin to chirp. “Now that night is falling, what are we going to do?”

Henrik glances out the window, where a cloak of navy has blanketed the fairy realm in its inky folds. “Well, I’m supposed to be going for dinner, all alone in my gloomy little dining room.” He starts walking towards the door again, beckoning for Stellan to follow. “But instead, we’ll go to the gardens for our meal.”

And they leave, Stellan trailing behind Henrik through labyrinthine corridors and painted doors, until Henrik leads them out of the castle.

The floor outside is carpeted with lush grass that tickles his feet as he looks around. Verdant bushes line the outside of the garden, juicy berries hanging from some of them. Patches of flowers grow around them, and right in front are towering trees. At the very center, a crystal fountain gurgles with water.

Stellan looks around, wondering just why this collection of plants can emit such cloying scents. Henrik hovers up on his wings and picks an apple from a tree, holding it out to Stellan. “Have one.”

Once one eats fairy fruit, there is no returning to the human world. Stellan takes the apple, gazing at its smooth skin, and takes a bite.

The sweetness is so overwhelming that he nearly drops the apple, mouth filled with its crisp, saccharine flesh. Stellan bites into it again, memories of sour, barely-filling berries disappearing from his mind as he polishes off the rest of the apple, leaving only the core and feeling fuller than he has been in too long. Henrik takes the core from him and leads him towards another tree. Flapping his wings, Henrik soars up to the highest branch and plucks a large, juicy peach.

He doesn’t hesitate this time, biting into the peach and just stopping the syrupy juice from dribbling down his chin. When Stellan finishes, handing the pit to Henrik, he feels as though he is floating, drunk on fairy fruit. He shakes his head when Henrik offers him a blackberry, stomach already full. Instead, he approaches the fountain, listening to the tranquil bubbling of clear water that glitters just so in the moonlight.

“You can drink the water if you want.” Henrik cups a hand in the water and scoops up a handful of it. “During the daytime, lots of servants come to drink here, too.”

The water is warmed from a day under the sun, and when Stellan tips it into his mouth, he tastes honey, sweetened wine, syrup and nectar and sugary tea, a million things that should never taste good together but somehow do, combined in water enchanted by fairy glamour. For all he knows, the water could be muddy and filled with rotting plants, but still he drinks, gazing up at the star-studded sky and feeling giddy.

“Ah, I think that’s enough.” Henrik finishes off his own array of fruits and sends the pits away with a snap of his fingers. “Overeating the food here isn’t good, neither for fairy nor human.” He strides towards the door leading back to the castle. “Shall we go to bed?”

Back in Henrik’s bedroom, the mattress next to Henrik’s bed has been elevated slightly on a wooden frame, little butterflies carved into the short headboard. Stellan accepts a fluffy towel from Henrik and dips it into the basin of water set next to his bed, wiping his face clean and relishing in the cool water. At the corner of his vision, he notices Henrik changing into his nightclothes and looks down, wondering just when he can change out of his rags.

“I’ll ask the servants to get you some new clothes tomorrow,” Henrik says, as though he read his mind, “and a pair of new shoes, too.”

“Oh, er, thank you,” he replies, taken aback.

Henrik only grins and flops down on his bed, yawning loudly. “I’m tired,” he announces, “let’s go to sleep. Goodnight, Stellan.”

Stellan crawls onto his bed and pulls the thin, velvety blanket over himself, laying his head down on the cloud-like pillow. “Goodnight.”

…

The next morning, gentle golden rays of sunlight rouse Stellan from a peaceful, dreamless sleep. For a moment, he thinks he is lying on his lumpy mattress back in the human realm, about to be snapped awake from his fantasy by harsh winds threatening to rip his window apart. But somewhere above him, he hears someone yawn and feels the soft blanket around him and curls back into his mattress with a sigh.

A breeze wafts in and stirs his hair, hitting him in the cheek with a stray leaf. Stellan peels it off with a groan, sitting up and feeling his blanket fall off from his shoulders. Henrik’s bedroom is just as extravagant as he remembered, the ceiling still elegantly carved and the wallpaper painted with blossoms. The mattress of Henrik’s grand four-poster bed creaks and he sits up as well, wings flapping languidly. “Mornin’,” he mumbles, “how did y’sleep?”

“Very well.” His jumps off his bed and stretches, basking in the sunlight streaming in from the perpetually-open window. “How about you?”

“Good.” Henrik reaches for the clothes neatly laid out at the end of his bed, pulling out a mass of azure fabric. “The servants got this for you.” He falls back onto his pillow.

The gown nearly slides out of Stellan’s hand when he catches it, not used to feeling such sleek fabric. It’s light, almost like spider-silk, and so soft it’s as though the softest flower petals were woven to create it. He slips it on and almost sighs at how the satin skirt pools around his legs like water. It fits perfectly. When Stellan reaches up to button the back of the gown, his hands brush over wooden buttons carved with fleur-de-lis.

When he has finished changing, Henrik flits over to Stellan, dressed in a rust-red shirt and still buckling russet breeches. “How do you like your new gown?”

Stellan looks down at his old clothes, sad and abandoned and looking even filthier and torn on the spotless floor. “It’s beautiful, Henrik. Thank you.”

Henrik laughs, sounding, perhaps, like the jabber of a sparrow in his mirth. “Those scraps from the other side were anything but fit for someone like you. Now I can see how lovely you really are.”

Flushing slightly at the kind comment, Stellan notices the pair of shoes laid down neatly by his bed. “Are these mine, too?”

“That’s right!” He grabs his own boots, varnished and beetle-black, and slides them on. “Tell me if they don’t fit, by the way. I almost forgot that you humans can’t fly instead of walk when your feet hurt.”

The leather of the delicate white slippers is soft and supple, fitting better than his old boots and feeling twice as strong. Cautiously, he walks towards the door. Nothing pinches his toes. It feels as though they were made just for him. “They’re perfect.”

“Let’s go, then.” Dainty-looking wings launching Henrik into the air, he flits towards the door as well, somehow managing to look elegant. “I’m sure you’d hate to miss breakfast.”

The dining hall of the castle is just as exquisite as the rest of it, both the tables and chairs engraved with butterflies and moths. Henrik takes his seat at the end of the table, the back of his seat painted with a bright orange monarch butterfly. Next to him, the second-largest seat has what appears to be a blue morpho butterfly painted onto the dark wood. Nobody takes it.

A servant pulls up a smaller chair for Stellan on Henrik’s other side. He runs his fingers over the carving of a brimstone, painted simply in beige and brown. Watching Henrik cheerily greet some of his attendants, he takes his seat and tries not to feel so dreadfully mundane.

As they eat, Stellan looks around the dining hall. Both attendants and nobles are radiant, swathed in flowers and vibrant wings fluttering in the sunlight. But at the very end, trailing some young maidens, a pair of children catch his eye. There are no flowers twining around their wrists and ankles, nor butterfly wings poking out from clothing. Like him, they are ordinary, regular, human.

“My court has always had a strange interest for humans,” Henrik says, noticing his fascination, “some think we’re strange and that we should spend our time making weird contracts with them, But I mean, why toy with humans when you could be their friend?”

Their friend. Strangely, the words send warmth spreading through Stellan’s chest. “Well then,” he replies, “I must be lucky to have shown up with you.”

Henrik pokes him playfully, passing him a chalice of water. “And I’m lucky to have met you.”

…

The days pass by quickly, as though Stellan is in a dream he knows he never has to awake from. The castle seems to be in an eternal summer, every day just as warm as the one before and the sun anointing the lands with its golden light before it sets and the moon rises to grace the night sky with its presence. The grass is always lush and the water cool, nothing barren nor dying. Every fruit, every berry, regardless of size, is a feast.

After another dinner in the castle gardens, he taps Henrik on the shoulder. “Henrik?”

He turns around, bright eyes questioning. “Hm?”

“Everything here will last for aeons, right?” Stellan gestures to the bushes and trees around them. “Even you.”

“Yep.”

“What about me? In the human realm, I’d be turning nineteen in four months, during May.” He pops a blueberry in his mouth, savouring the tart sweetness. “Would that be the same here?”

Henrik considers the question for a moment, taking another bite out of his apple. “It depends, really,” he says slowly, “on how long you’ll be staying here. If you were like any other human, you’d have only been here for maybe a week and you’d be back home before anything were to happen. You, on the other hand…” he makes the apple core vanish with a snap of his fingers. “You’ve been here for a month. If you stay the way you are, you will age, but far slower than a human in their world.”

Stellan tilts his head, watching as Henrik’s wings quiver in the breeze, weak but so strong at the same time. “‘If I stay the way I am’?” He repeats, “what do you mean?”

“If you stay human.” Henrik tosses his head back to look at the sky, one hand keeping his crown from falling off. “If I were to make you one of us, you would age like the rest of the fairy world. You’d live for thousands and thousands of years.”

Rather unusually, Stellan begins imagining himself as a fairy. With majestic wings launching into the air, flowers he can bend at his will and magic that he can use to achieve unfathomable things. Excitement, exhilarating and thrilling, rushes through his veins like a bolt of lightning. Thoroughly confused, he clamps the feeling down.

“Don’t worry, Stellan.” Henrik claps a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll have many more years with me before it’s your time.”

Somehow, the thought reassures him.

…

At first, the night passes like every other. Stellan bids Henrik goodnight, curls up in his soft, luxurious bed and drifts off to the world of sleep. But then he opens his eyes.

It is a dream.

He is still lying down, gazing up at the starry night sky. Strangely, the air is cold and above him, the wind shrieks. Dirt skitters down from somewhere and lands on his face.

Grimacing, Stellan raises a hand to wipe his face clean before realising that he cannot. His arms are firmly pinned to his sides, and when more dirt falls onto his face he realises that he is being buried.

He thrashes, mouth open in a scream that he cannot hear. Dirt, cold and wet, falls onto him, accumulating in their deluge until it weighs him down and he is immobilised. He screams again. Nothing comes out.

Henrik is the first person who comes to Stellan’s mind. He calls his name, imagines his face and his smile and his gentle hands, gasping for air as the dirt continues to fall. Nobody comes to his rescue, of course, for what immortal fairy would rescue a mere mortal? With what little energy he has left, Stellan cranes his neck to see who is sealing him in his grave.

A clump of dirt falls and blinds him, covering his mouth and nose and making him choke. Black fills his eyes and his vision ebbs as he frantically struggles for life.

Stellan’s eyes fly open and he sits up, soaked in sweat and heart in his throat. Next to him, Henrik stirs.

He looks around. The room is dark and not as extravagant as its daytime state, dulled by the night. Stellan’s vision adjusts and, almost instinctively, he looks over to Henrik. As though he has sensed his presence, he awakes and his wings flit, glowing a soft orange. “What’s it?” He slurs sleepily, “why’re ya awake?”

“I, er, just snapped awake.”

Henrik rolls out of bed, landing unceremoniously on his rear on the floor. “Yeah, right.” He climbs lazily onto Stellan’s bed and sits down next to him. “I heard ya. You were, uh, erm…” he stares off into the distance. “What’s th’word? Cryin’, I think. Or gaspin’, or something-or-other.”

For some strange reason, it is almost endearing to see Henrik bleary and half-awake, free from fancy words and royal responsibilities. Somehow the room grows even warmer when Henrik nudges him, the silken sleeve of his nightshirt brushing against Stellan’s bare arm. “C’mon, you can tell me. I want you t’sleep well.”

Thoughts of his nightmare fly back to him and he suddenly feels cold again. “ I had a dream,” he begins softly, “that I was being buried alive. I couldn’t move, nor speak, nor breathe. I thought - I thought I was going to die.” Growing light-headed again, Stellan doesn’t resist when Henrik pulls him closer and lets him rest his head against his shoulder.

“You won’t die, Stell.” Henrik wraps an arm around him. “Not any time soon. I’d take on Death himself to keep you alive.” His left wing, as gentle as a leaf descending from its branch, beats steadily against Stellan’s side. “I promise.”

“You’d really go such lengths so I can live?”

“I promise,” Henrik says firmly, “and you should know that the fair folk never break their promises. Now — “ he squeezes his shoulders one last time before returning to his own bed — “I’m off to sleep again. Wake me up if something else happens. Goodnight.”

Heart fluttering as quickly as butterfly wings, Stellan watches as Henrik, kind, caring Henrik, disappears under his quilt and begins to snore. And, wondering just how his twisted, lonely heart made him fall in love with the fairy king, he sinks back down into his soft bed and drifts off to sleep.

…

As grand and beautiful the castle is, Stellan finds himself growing bored of it. The rolling hills beyond the castle grounds, the barely-visible roofs above the common folks draw him in, far more than the gilded windows and polished chandeliers of the fair court.

One lazy afternoon, Stellan interrupts Henrik while he is tuning his fiddle. “I want to go outside.”

He looks up, plucking idly at the fiddle’s strings. “You mean, outside the castle?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then.” Henrik stands up and sets his fiddle on the chair. He reaches for his coat. “Shall we go to the stables?”

Taken aback, Stellan very eloquently blurts out, “what?”

Henrik turns. “What is it?”

“I never thought you’d say yes, that’s all.” Stellan tugs at the skirt of his gown sheepishly. “Some say that the fairies will only keep their humans inside the castle.”

“Other fairies also make their humans dance until they can’t dance any more.” He laughs, ruffling Stellan’s hair. “But I’ve told you before, my court is different. We’re the oddballs of the realm because of that.” And with that said, Henrik buttons up his coat and marches out of his bedroom. “Now, let’s go!”

Stellan follows him through already-familiar hallways and down the staircase into the stables, eyes widening at enormous dragonflies with their iridescent wings and beady, jewel-like eyes. Henrik chooses a beautiful demoiselle, its shiny teal wings shimmering in the sunlight. Hopping onto its back as easily as one might a horse, he beckons for Stellan to follow suit.

He climbs onto the demoiselle’s stick-thin back behind Henrik, instinctively reaching up to hold on to his shoulders for support. “Won’t we fall off once he starts flying?”

“Of course not!” Henrik reaches back and moves Stellan’s hands so that they wind around his waist. “Just hold on tight.”

Before his position can sink in, the demoiselle takes off flying out of the stables.

As swift as a river, they dash out of the castle and deep into the fairy realm, trees and bushes blurring past Stellan’s vision. The rigid scales of the demoiselle dig into his legs as he holds on to Henrik for dear life. Just barely managing not to scream, he presses his cheek against Henrik’s back and feels the wind, cool and quick and free, soar past him.

When he sees bricks instead of trees and roofs instead of leaves, the demoiselle slows to a stop and hovers, bobbing up and down with its thin legs occasionally brushing the cobblestone paths. Henrik jumps off, hair a wind-tossed mess. “Oh, I nearly forgot how fun it is to ride a dragonfly!”

Head spinning and knees trembling, Stellan half-falls off the demoiselle and stumbles into Henrik’s waiting arms. “Why don’t you fairies just fly?”

“Not all of us are fast enough.” Releasing Stellan (internally, he protests the action), Henrik’s wings flap wildly. He sweeps his hand out grandly at the village. “But anyhow, welcome to Rosenmont!”

Rosenmont, with its stout little houses and narrow paths, is as charming as the castle. Henrik leads Stellan through winding paths, next to orchards overflowing with fairy fruit and past houses that overflow with music like siren-song and tinkling laughter. The few fairies he sees ignore him and Henrik completely, busy tending to their houseplants or magicking dust away from the doorways of their houses.

“Why aren’t any of the fairies greeting you?” Stellan remarks, as they pass a fairy with silvery-blue wings, “You’d think that if the king were to visit a village, everyone who lived there would be terribly excited.”

Henrik shrugs. “I’ve been coming to Rosenmont since I was a prince. Some fairies here have known me for hundreds of years. I’m nothing special to them.”

From a house, Stellan hears an explosion of laughter, and almost immediately afterwards a cloud floats to block out the sun. Golden light yields to ash-coloured shadows, and cool breezes, freezing in the eternal summer of the realm, send dust swirling up from the ground and goosebumps rising up on Stellan’s arms. Cursing himself for not borrowing one of Henrik’s cloaks, he rubs at his arms and, as the laughter inside the house only grows in volume, shudders.

And while he shivers, suddenly feeling so vulnerable under the loss of light and raucous laughter, the most peculiar sound emerges from another nearby house. Stellan recognises it immediately; it is the whimsical, jaunty playing of the fiddle. The melody is painfully nostalgic, sweet to the point of melancholic.

It reminds him of the other side.

Eerily observant, Henrik notices his frown. “Does this remind you of the human realm?”

Stellan nods.

“And you want to forget about it, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“It must be because we’re on the ground.”

He turns to Henrik. “Huh?”

Henrik grins, gesturing to the sky. “How about this, Stell? I’ll take you up to the sky, where you can see things that can never, ever be seen where you came from. We can fly all over Rosenmont, and the winds will blow away every memory you had of the human world.”

For a moment, Stellan thinks that the sun’s clouding-over has blurred Henrik’s senses as well. “I can’t fly.”

“Of course you can! With magic, I can have you soaring over the land as though you have wings.” He points at the necklace of rowan berries around Stellan’s neck. “But first, you’ll have to take that off.”

He hesitates, one hand ready to untie the necklace’s knot. Taking off the rowan berries would leave him vulnerable to the magic and glamour of the fairy realm, could turn him into the enchanted, glossy-eyed humans that fairies are known for creating. But Stellan looks at Henrik, his vivid, manic eyes shining in invitation, and his excited smile, and takes the necklace off.

The necklace disappears the moment it leaves his neck. Next to him, Henrik closes his eyes. He is silent, almost terrifyingly so. But when the breezes turn warm again, Stellan realises why.

His feet leave the ground and Stellan finds himself floating, higher and higher, until he drifts higher than the roofs. A few moments later, Henrik follows, flapping his wings and still murmuring under his breath. But when he reaches Stellan, he asks, “ready to fly?”

Apparently, his amazed expression is the only answer Henrik needs, for in a blink of an eye, Stellan begins to move forward. He shifts his position to resemble Henrik’s, relishing the wind tossing his hair around and the warm sunlight on his back.

Then he looks down.

Rosenmont looks like a painting, idyllic and tranquil, trees miniscule blotches of green. He can barely see the fairies living there, all of them appearing as tiny as dolls. A distance away, the castle of the fair folk stands tall and majestic, silver turrets and polished buttresses gleaming in the sunlight.

Somewhere behind him, Stellan can hear the beat of Henrik’s butterfly wings, and all around him the lively whistle of the wind. He feels weightless, lost to the exhilaration of flying without really flying, and laughs out loud as Henrik has him dip lower and swoop over a tree, so low that his slippers brush over the leaves, before soaring up again.

They begin to fly back to Rosenmont, soaring over patches of trees again and propelling through clouds. All the while, Stellan cannot keep the laughter bubbling out his lips.

But then, mere seconds from the village, somehow, he falls.

The ground grows larger before his eyes, trees blurring past him, the whistle of the wind turning into screams. Scared into silence, he stares, too horrified to move nor look at anything apart from the ground. Stellan curses his idiocy, curses his illogical, affection-addled decision to allow a fairy to enchant him. He misses the loop of rowan berries around his neck, keeping him safe from fairies he should’ve known not to trust.

He descends, down, down, down, falling faster than he can process and frozen as the chill of the wind shoots him toward his demise. Stellan’s eyes water, both from the wind and from the horror of being tricked.

The ground nears. Stellan closes his eyes and awaits death.

Strong, steady arms wrap around his waist when the ground feels but a hair away. His eyes flutter open.

Ascending again, Henrik leans down to whisper, “did you think I’d leave you to die?” His torso is pressed against Stellan’s back, warm and heavy and so, so reassuring. “I promised that I’d never do that.”

Finally catching his breath and basking in Henrik’s warmth, Stellan murmurs, “what happened?”

Rosenmont emerges in the distance. “I never was good at magic,” Henrik admits, “lost concentration for a moment, and apparently that was all it took to drop you. I’m sorry.” He tightens his grip and, quietly, adds, “you must’ve been so scared.”

His slippers land on rough-hewn cobblestones, and Stellan takes a while to regain his balance. He feels dizzy from his flight. Lightly, Henrik lands in front of him and places his hands on his shoulders. “How do you feel?”

“Better, now that I’m not plunging to my death.” He steps closer and stares up at Henrik. “I never thought you’d save me.”

“I told you, all those weeks ago, that I’d fight Death to keep you by my side.” Henrik leans down, so close that their noses touch and Stellan can see the freckles splashed across his face. “I don’t think I could handle losing you.”

Whatever he tries to say gets stuck in his throat. Stellan finds himself lost in Henrik’s eyes, the shade of the bright summer sky. For the third time since arriving at the fairy realm, he cannot speak.

“How about you?” Somehow, for Stellan didn’t think it possible, Henrik closes the already-narrow distance between the two of them. Their lips are almost touching — it is practically an invitation for a kiss. “If I were to leave, what would you do?”

A shudder, thrilling, riveting and perhaps even enchanting, ripples throughout Stellan. He clears his throat, but his voice is still hoarse with emotion when he speaks. “I don’t know,” he replies, “because wherever you go, I’ll follow along.”

Right after answering, like he is possessed by the spirit of someone lovelier, more romantic and far bolder, Stellan teeters up on his tiptoes and kisses him.

Henrik’s lips taste even sweeter, even more addicting than fairy fruit. They bring the scorching intensity of the summer sun, the balm of fountain water; they are softer and gentler than feathers. And though Stellan closes his eyes, stars explode before his vision as he sways, pure, untouched adoration igniting in the very depths of his heart.

Stellan opens his eyes. It seems that all but Henrik has disappeared from his view and there is nothing else he can focus on, except the touch of his lips.

The sight of Henrik, after he pulls away, flustered and red-faced and devoid of his usual winning charisma is nearly amusing. Once again out of breath, Stellan tentatively reaches out to cup Henrik’s cheek, like Henrik did to him when they first met. Henrik seems to flush even deeper. “I — “ he stammers, “I, er, well.” He coughs. “Yes. Do — do you mean it? Do you, um, really, y’know, want to stay with me?”

It feels nice to be the one with charming words this time. “I meant every word.”

With a little gasp, Henrik grabs Stellan and cradles him to his chest, laughing joyously. Arms once again ‘round his waist, he spins them around and around, laughing still, and Stellan cannot help smiling along. It seems dream-like, fantastical — he has fallen in love with the fairy king, and the king loves him right back.

When they both grow dizzy from their spinning, minds hazy with love and laughter, they stumble back to Rosenmont’s square, where the demoiselle awaits. Henrik barely manages to keep from tripping over his feet and mounts the demoiselle, and Stellan hops on behind him.

They return to the castle just as the sun begins its descent over the horizon.

…

After another dinner of fairy fruit, after a bath spent in a crystal-clear pond, they return to Henrik’s chambers. The first thing Stellan notices is that only his bed has its sheets turned out, ready for him to sleep in. Henrik’s bed still has its sheets tightly tucked into the frame, untouched from that morning.

“Should I go get a servant?” He asks, gesturing at the bed.

“No need for that!” Having recovered his old allure after their brief kiss, Henrik flops on Stellan’s bed. “We can share.”

“Share?” Stellan repeats, “but the bed isn’t big enough.”

“We can stick closer together, then.” Henrik peeks slyly at him. “Unless you don’t want to — “

Before Henrik can say more, Stellan crawls into bed with him, nudging him towards the edge of the bed and yanking the blankets toward himself. Henrik yelps in indignation and tries to reclaim his half of the blankets. “Hey!”

Stellan pulls harder, unable to suppress a smile.

Henrik thrashes, half-laughing, half-growling, “wha — no — give me the blanket, I am your king!”

“I’m your lover!” Stellan counters. Apparently, that is enough to keep him from taking the blanket, and Henrik releases it. “I’ll get the blanket and you can sleep without it.”

He huffs when the blanket, once again, is tugged away, and Henrik wraps it around them both. “We need to share.” Henrik pulls Stellan flush against his chest. “Now, goodnight.”

The perpetual warmth that comes from Henrik is making Stellan drowsy, and he presses himself against his lover, already feeling his eyelids droop. “G’night.”

They curl up against each other, a sun-warmed fairy holding a shivering human. Sighing sleepily to himself and fitting perfectly in Henrik’s embrace, the warmth and nearly-dozing atmosphere of the room lulls Stellan to sleep.

…

The morning after that, and the mornings after, all seem to pass by in a daze. Stellan decides to count every day after it, for no reason in particular but to record every joyful memory he has of Henrik — that being all of them — so that he will never forget.

On their second day together, Henrik begins holding his hand boldly, unabashedly, in front of all his court, even daring to lace their fingers together when one of his advisors sneers at them. On their thirteenth, Stellan begins attending every royal meeting with Henrik, meeting the other courts of the fairy realm. On the twenty-ninth, right after a conference with what appears to be a particularly important fair court, Henrik takes Stellan’s hands and kisses him in front of both courts.

The fortieth day sees an elaborate ball during a full moon, and as an enchanted orchestra plays at the corner of Henrik’s grand ballroom, they dance, awkward and inexperienced but happy all the same. Through a slow, lumbering waltz, a lively foxtrot and a dizzying rondo, hand-in-hand they remain. During the final dance, arms around each others’ waists, they bow to the courtiers’ applause.

On the sixty-eighth, Henrik worms his way into Stellan’s bed again, and they burst two pillows fighting each other before falling asleep, tired out from laughing and nestled in a mattress of scattered feathers.

The eighty-first day, Stellan watches as Henrik gets into an argument with one of his advisors. He slams his hands on the table as he seethes, blood-red camellias snaking from their perch on his wrist onto the table and threatening to choke the varnished wood. In shock and panic, Stellan yanks at one of the woody stems and nearly snaps it in half. Henrik pauses in his shouting and stares down at the bent stem, and sits down. He apologises for his brashness with a kiss to the forehead, along with a promise of, “I’ll control my temper.”

The advisor riles Henrik up again during a conference on the ninety-fifth day. Staying true to his promise, Henrik remains seated, the flowers under his bidding perfectly still. Stellan keeps one hand resting on Henrik’s wrist, the other wrapped around his waist. After the meeting, after the court has filed out, Stellan perches on Henrik’s lap and kisses him, saying, “you kept your promise.”

Hands on Stellan’s hips and lips smiling, Henrik replies, “I can never break them, my darling.”

…

Stellan counts one hundred days of consistent happiness before something changes. When he and Henrik retire to their chambers on the hundredth night, Stellan realises that his bed is gone. There is only the floor, polished and devoid of dust, where it used to be.

He nudges at Henrik, who has already begun to change into his nightclothes. “My bed’s gone.”

Henrik shrugs off his jacket and reaches for his nightshirt. “I know.”

“Will I have to sleep on the floor?”

“Of course not!” Henrik exclaims, horrified. “You won’t have to.”

Rolling his eyes a little, Stellan asks, “then, where will I sleep?”

“With me. In my bed.” He does not miss the little quaver in Henrik’s voice, uncertain and nervous. “Come to bed with me, if you wish.”

He has no doubts as he crawls into bed with his lover, sinking into the impossibly soft mattress and silken quilt. Stellan lies on his back, staring up at the beautifully-painted ceiling he is yet to get used to. The creak of the mattress signifies Henrik’s joining, and soon his grinning face crowds in Stellan’s vision, gradually learning down for a heated, breathtaking kiss.

One kiss turns into two, then four, then eight, before Stellan can no longer keep track of where nor how many times Henrik has pressed his lips over him. Petal-soft touches over every inch of him cause him to sigh; touches that he returns with shaking hands coax euphoric exclamations of beatitude from Henrik as well. Both of them are trembling, hesitant with the shyness of springtime lovers, lost in each other’s embrace.

Timeless moments later, when they both are spent and sated, they collapse onto the mattress, delirious smiles stretching their kiss-bitten lips. Stellan rests his head on Henrik’s chest, made sleepy and placid by the pioneer of such a bold declaration of love. “You seemed nervous,” he slurs, “just now.”

“I was.” Henrik lolls his head back, allowing Stellan to tuck his head under his chin. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Not in your who-knows-how-many years of existence?”

“Not once.” Henrik smiles, his eyes blemished with just a glimpse of sadness. “But that can be a conversation for another day. Goodnight, my love.”

Choosing to ignore what appears to be a tear glistening at the corner of Henrik’s eye, Stellan kisses him once more, a swift peck on the cheek, and closes his eyes.

…

Like the one hundred days before their coupling, the one hundred days after it pass by in a blur for Stellan. That is, until one morning, when Henrik shakes him awake. A look outside the window shows that it is barely dawn. Stellan’s vision is blurry with sleepiness as he garbles, “why’re we awake?”

“It’s my birthday!” Henrik is strangely energetic, pulling on his jewelled clothes with uncanny speed and bobbing up and down.

“Oh.” Stellan blinks down at the gown Henrik drops in his lap. “Happy birthday.” He rubs his eyes. “Can we go back to sleep?”

“Nope.” He pulls on his own jacket, reaching for his woven crown of thornless, undying roses. “We have to do something important.”

“At the crack of dawn?”

“Correct.” Henrik balances the crown delicately on his head, admiring his reflection in the mirror by his bed. “This is the only time we can do it.”

Grumbling under his breath, Stellan pulls on his gown and follows Henrik out of his chambers, the marble floor cold against his bare feet. A few servants bow to them in the corridors, but other than them, the castle is empty. Stellan recognises the path they take, and follows Henrik, arm looped with his, into the gardens.

The gardens are as beautiful as they were when Stellan first saw them, serene under the just-rising sun. Henrik kisses him on the forehead before rushing back into the castle, calling out, “I need to get something!”

Popping a few cloudberries in his mouth, Stellan perches on the edge of the enchanted fountain and watches the sunrise. His gown sparkles under the rising sun, and it’s then that he realises it is not made of just any ordinary fabric; Stellan looks closer, and notices the overlapping mint-beetle wings on his skirt, as iridescent and bright as an opal.

A few moments after that, Henrik returns, holding something in his hands. “Close your eyes.”

He does so, and feels something cool rest on his brow. Stellan opens his eyes and one hand raises to touch what’s on his head. It appears to be a garland of flowers, and his reflection in the fountain’s water shows that it is woven out of blue salvia flowers. “Is this a part of… whatever you want to do?” He asks.

Henrik nods, tugging Stellan up and squeezing his hand. “Maybe I should tell you what I plan on doing.” He takes a deep breath, and looks almost tense as he says, “I have been king of my court for hundreds of years, and the prince for even longer than that. All the while, I’ve befriended so many. I remember all the elves, goblins, merfolk, fair folk and humans I’ve been friends with.” He gazes right at Stellan, vision deadly serious. “I have loved none of them.”

Stellan takes a moment to process what he has said, before saying quietly, “until me?”

“Yes, until you.” Henrik smiles, and touches the crown on his head. “It’s rare for a fairy, especially a fairy king, to be lonely. People thought I’d marry, or at least fall in love, really soon.” He coughs. “I didn’t. I felt so… so alone. Even when holding revels or visiting the human world, I felt nothing.”

“Until me?” Stellan dares to ask again.

He nods. “When my attendants first took you to the castle, I thought you’d be the same, that you’d stay for an hour or so and have me take you home before it was too late.” Henrik blinks rapidly, rubbing at his eyes. “But no. You were the first, out of all those I’ve met, who I fell in love with. And I can’t imagine ever parting with you.”

“Neither can I.”

“I want to stay with you, for as long as I live,” Henrik breathes, “so I need to know if you feel the same.”

Just as he nods, Stellan remembers what he heard when he first arrived at the fairy realm. If I were to make you one of us, you would age like the rest of the fairy world. “Are you going to make me a fairy?”

Tears slip down Henrik’s rosy cheeks. He hurriedly wipes them away. “Yes.” One quivering hand points to the salvia garland on his head. “That - That belonged to my mother, the fairy queen. If I change you, you’ll be ruling alongside me.”

“Go on, then.” Stellan bows his head, feeling the garland slip a little. “I’d like nothing more than to be with you forever.”

No sooner than after he’s said that, does he feel Henrik’s fingers tracing between his shoulder blades, sending tingles shooting through him. Whispers sound, in a language Stellan is yet to understand, sounding like the rustle of breezes through leaves, faster, faster, until the garden disappears and everything fades to black.

When Stellan opens his eyes, his vision is flooded with light. Something moves behind him.

He turns.

Lo, and there on his back, poking out through his gown, are a pair of wings, magnificent and glimmering. They flap, once, twice, lifting Stellan up from the ground, and he sees their colours, blue and brown and blue again as they flutter. They are the wings of the blue morpho butterfly, an exact replica of the ones carved into what is meant to be the fairy queen’s chair around the castle.

Blue hyacinth flowers twine around his forearms and ankles, one sprig going to rest over his heart. Right after that, Henrik flies up to meet him, taking his hands. The camellia over his heart is blooming brighter than ever.

“My love.” Henrik pulls him close and takes his hand. “You’re so beautiful.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Stellan jests, “you’ll have to look at this face forever.”

“Oh, of course.” He smiles, bringing their foreheads together. Their crowns, woven with the blossoms of crimson love against azure remembrance, bump against each other. “I could never get tired of it. So,” Henrik says, lacing their fingers together, “shall we have one kiss? You know, for our eternity?”

“Just one.” Stellan kisses him, just as sweetly and lovingly as their first. “For our eternity.”

#aph dennor #APH Denmark #APH Norway #you'll get a very #VERY #long author's note about this later #aph fanfiction #my writing

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xialing-gf · 5 years

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surprise!

Summary: (requested by @dutchiewhotriestowrite) Could you do a mj x bi!reader who’s an avenger but isn’t out yet and they caught MJ and reader mid make-out session?

Wc: 1554

a/n: this is pre-iw and post-homecoming to achieve ultimate fluff levels

Of course, your Calculus teacher decided to surprise your class with the information that there would be a test tomorrow on the on sushi night. Every Wednesday night, you and the Avengers went out to get sushi for dinner and tonight, you had to skip that weekly dinner to study. When Tony told you to get up from the couch, you gloomily replied, “I can’t go out tonight. I have homework.”

“C’ mon. You can do homework later,” Tony reasoned, leaning against the back of the sofa and you looked up at him as you lay horizontally on the couch. You smirked at the fact that for once in your life, you had to look up at Tony to meet his eyes.

“No, I have to study a ton. Bring some tempura back for me,” You decided, focusing on the pages of your calculus textbook. The rest of the Avengers walked into the living room, getting ready to leave, and Tony rolled his eyes exasperatedly at your protests, “Suit yourself.”

It was hard to focus on the formulas as you really wanted sushi. The loneliness in the building made it even harder to concentrate and you decided that you should probably get MJ over or else you weren’t going to be able to get any studying done. “Friday? Can you turn off surveillance cameras until Tony and the others get back?”

“Sure, Y/n,” Friday, Tony’s artificial intelligence assistant he programmed into the house, answered and you sighed in relief as you picked up your phone, dialing MJ’s number. Honestly, you weren’t sure if Michelle was free since she seemed to be pretty busy lately with poetry club. After three rings, MJ finally picked up the phone.

“Hey Y/n, what’s up?” MJ casually asked and you imagined that she was speaking to you in her bean bag chair with a book in her hand. You smiled, the visual of MJ and her voice comforting you a bit.

“Can you come over? I’ve been feeling a little lonely and I need a study buddy. The Avengers aren’t at home right now,” You explained, twirling your mechanical pencil between your fingers as you spoke. You frowned as you accidentally dropped the pencil, a dark pencil line appearing on a textbook page and you grabbed an eraser, erasing the line. You were always comically clumsy, a trait that MJ found adorably endearing and also a trait that often got you into awkward situations.

“Sure, I’ll be right there,” MJ answered enthusiastically and you thanked her, feeling your smile widen even more at the thought of MJ cuddling with you soon. When she hung up, you told yourself you were going to at least focus on studying until she arrived so you could spend some extra time with her after studying together and surprisingly, you were more productive than you had been all afternoon. In fact, you were so engrossed in studying that MJ had to ring the doorbell twice before you realized she was here. You quickly ran down and opened the door for her, gasping when you saw a takeout box in her hands.

“I know tonight is usually sushi night and figured you wanted some-” You cut MJ off by kissing her on the lips, wrapping your arms around her. MJ smiled into the kiss, placing her hands gently on the sides of your face.

“Let’s get inside. I think if we stay out here any longer, I’m not going to resist the temptation to eat that sushi,” You giggled, holding MJ’s hand as you both headed into the building. You brought MJ to the living room and sat next to her on the couch where you had been studying. You picked up your calculus textbook, placing it on your lap, and a sympathetic look crossed MJ’s face.

“Oh man, I’m sorry you got Mr. Rudo for calc this year. Everybody was stressing about that impromptu test he sprung up on you guys in chemistry. Ms.Toper is way nicer and never surprises us with tests,” MJ wrapped an arm around you, allowing you to nestle closer to her. She handed you the take-out box and opened it, feeding you a piece of sushi as she watched you look over the textbook pages.

“Yeah, he really surprised us. I still don’t get what hyperbolas are. Do you mind helping me out?” You bashfully asked and MJ smiled softly, kissing you on the forehead as she replied. “No, not at all.”

MJ explained what hyperbolas and ellipses were clearer than Mr. Rudo did and you were confident that you were going to pass your calculus test with flying colors, even if you were briefly distracted by your girlfriend as she was teaching you. The way her lips parted you drove you insane and the curls that fell across her eye made you want to play with her hair. Her eyes sparkled with a crystallized zeal and you wanted to kiss her so bad.

Finally, now that you had finished studying, you turned on the TV and let MJ choose a movie as you popped some popcorn and grabbed blankets. MJ chose the movie called “The Battle of Sexes” and you both shared a giant bowl of popcorn, cuddling under the blankets. You two lasted about ten minutes into the movie before you started making out, unable to resist the temptations that were slowly driving you insane.

You two made out for a couple minutes, practically breathing each other in. MJ smelled like strawberries and the warm summer breeze and her kisses were as gentle as a fairy’s touch and as rough as waves lapping against the sand. You were distracted by all these emotions (mostly lust and love) but while you were kissing MJ, a thought crossed your mind. MJ immediately knew something was off and stopped kissing you, quickly asking, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just… how am I ever going to come out to the Avengers? I haven’t told them I’m bisexual and dating you yet and I really want to spend more time with you, but I can’t if I’m constantly hiding who I am and who I love from my only family,” You rambled, feeling insecure and upset. You and MJ were having the perfect make-out session until your thoughts ruined everything, per usual. MJ lightly caressed your face with her gentle fingers, admiration filling her gorgeous eyes.

“You might not feel ready now and you might never feel ready but if you tell them, I’m sure they won’t react harshly. They might be surprised but I know they’ll accept you. They care about you dearly,” MJ kissed the top of your head, pulling you into a hug. The TV softly mumbled in the background with the dialogue in the movie as you nodded, hugging MJ back.

“Sorry I ruined the moment,” You laughed lightly, hoping to lighten the mood. MJ shook her head, grinning at your dorkiness before kissing you on the lips again. You two made out for what felt like forever and you were so distracted by MJ’s kisses, you didn’t hear the Avengers coming home.

“Y/n? I brought the tempura back-” Steve stopped mid-sentence as he walked in on you and MJ locking lips. The rest of the Avengers filed into the room behind him and you almost fell off the couch in shock. Steve looked equally as surprised and everybody looked surprised except for Tony. You and MJ quickly separated, sitting up straight with wide eyes.

“Oh, should I… go?” MJ awkwardly asked, getting ready to stand up but you quickly held her hand, shaking your head. You met her eyes and she saw the determination and desperation in your eyes and sat back down on the couch. Squaring your shoulders and breathing in a deep breath, you faced the Avengers and announced, “Guys, this is my girlfriend, Michelle Jones. I probably should have told you this a while ago but I was too scared.”

“Y/n, you know we’re going to accept you for who you are, regardless of what you’ve done or who you are. Next time, just give us a heads-up; we’ll understand,” Natasha offered a small comforting smile as she spoke and the other Avengers nodded in agreement. You sighed in relief and grinned, “Thanks.”

Steve awkwardly put the take-out box with tempura down on the kitchen counter and told you that it was there if you were hungry. You turned off the TV and cleaned up the popcorn and blankets as MJ got ready to leave. She insisted that it was late and that she had to go home before her parents got antsy. MJ also wanted you to sleep early so you could do well on your calculus exam the next day and you gave her one last kiss before she left.

As you sat back down on the couch, wedging your pencil between the textbook pages you had studying, Tony walked over with a coffee mug in his hand. You narrowed your eyes at him and asked, “Why weren’t you surprised when I came out?”

“You forget to clear surveillance footage often,” Tony chuckled, walking away while sipping his coffee. You felt heat rising up your cheeks, embarrassed that your clumsiness had once again resulted in you getting caught in another awkward situation.

feel free to send requests! check out the rest of my marvel fics on my marvel page :)

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dimplelu123-blog · 5 years

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TITLE:PIECES OF MY SISTER LIFE BY:ELIZABETH JOY ARNOLD PLOT: Pieces of my sister life is story about two sisters,twins ,who grow up best of friend ,but end up falling inlove with the same man.After a series of unfortunate events,Mom runs away and Dad dies,the girl are left to grow up on thier own ,eventually searching for love and a new begging in exactly the sane place.As each sister goes through a series of ups and downs,the sister end up hating each other over the shared adoration of Justin,and the betrayel that follow.Fast forward about 12 years and one of the sisters receives a call from the other sisters that marries Justin(I'm keeping out the names here so I wont spoil anyones read)with the news that she is dying of cancer.And so the story goes into reliving the past,writing the wrongs,and searching for a road to forgiveness. Twin sisters share everything from the womb to their 17th birthday when a tragedy befalls them which has a greater effect on them than the fact their mother walked out on them years ago.After being apart 13 years they are once again together but you wonder whether they will be able to overcome the bitterness and hatred between them that has not abated or dimmed with the passage of time. Once,Kerry and Eve Bernard did everything together:sailing the block Island harbor with their father,listening to their neighbor Justin magical fairy tales ,and all those who loved longing for their absent mother.They were twin girls arm in arm,secretentwined between two hearts .Until the summer of their seventeenth birthday ,when their extraordinary bond was shattered.And at the wall clock above the bollet barred.Estella Baker had been holding me imprisoned in the YMCA dance audio for the half hour ,talking about anything from her ground nephew to get her gout.Every week after class shed thank me for the lesson,and then reminisce about some scene from her youth that the taped music had brought to mind.I let her because I assumed she had no one elase to talk to,and I knew what sort of poison loneliness could be. Between the present and the past we never talked about.It was what made life so hard for him,and in the end it was why death came so easily.I think we understood this all along,but on this day ,his dying day,it was the last thing on our minds. It eas one of those late summer days that always come way too soon,slapping you in the face with all your june plans(lets learn how to drive!lets get dresdlocks)that never got past the planning stage.Last night the temperature had managed to touch fifty before changing its mind,and this morning had been cold enough for sweatshirt and wool socks.Sund and moon shared the sky,twin gray spheres behind the haze of clouds.It was the summer of our sixteenth year. We slapped down water street in our flip-flops,hand in hand,past the swanky hotels with their mansard roofs and attitudes,the not so swanky shop below them with their doors flung open to plead for end of season business.It was always a little weird in summer not knowing the faces we passed l,all versions of the same stereotype with their sunglasses and pasty legs.The tourists made me and Eve feel lucky as we watched them cooing over flowwing bushes and ocean views.They made us remember that not everybody lived this way.Thirteen years later,i will take all the courage they can summon to put the pieces back together at a time when it matters most.......pieces of my sister's life is filled with salt air and summer breezes,the dares and secrets of island life,and the mysterious bond that exists between two sister.Elizabeth Arnold has written an unforgettable first novel,so beautiful and poignant it will take your breath away.--New york times bestselling author,Luanne Rice "Pieces of my sister life is filled with salt air and summer breezes,the dares and secrets island life,and the mysterous bond that exists twin sister Elizabeth Arnold has written an unforgettable first novel,so beautiful and poignant it will take your breath away. SETTING:The setting is in the place of new york NAME FOUR CHARACTERS AND TELL THEIR IMPORTANCE IN THE STORY: 1)BERNARD -who once had one face ,one body,one friend and any number of abandonment issues.Having been left by their mom at age seven,the still-smarting sisters are crushed when,10 years later,their father drowns off the coast of their small block Island,R.I town.through thye've no one else to turn to but each other,the twins quickly drift apart;instrospective Kerry clings to justin for her self while also pursuing a congressman and the police officers.The framing narrative finds Kerry looking back at the faithful summer from 13 years old and ,while Eve is dying of cancer,srtugging to face her sister and find peace for them both.It sound confusing ,but debut novelist Arnold never loses control of the complex interplay between past and present.Though a touch melodramatic,this well observed story is vibrant and rich with the nuances of family life;fans of Luanne Rice should clear a space in their beach totes. 2)HESSIES -Hessies always been narsistic Estella said.Narsistic is that word?I seem to be loosing my vocabulary lately.You know shes had her breast doneshe pulled a tissues from the arm of her leotard,dabbed at her nose and then tucked it back inside. 3)ESTELLA -When shed gone i knew a dress on over my leonard,pulled on a pair of sneaker and jogged the twelve block home.The streets were crowded with tourists deciding where to eat ,mostly young couples alone or burdened with strollers and diapers bags.Cities were made for couples.Go to restaurant or movie and I'd be started at,whereas on the island single people were embraced,befriended,invited ato join ,Here I didn't even like clling pizza;I was sure the delivery boy. 4)KERRY -Deep down part of me had been waiting to get his call.Part of me knew hed figure out the truth about Eve ,see what she really was.I'd played it over in my mind so many times,even practiced how I'd react,how I'd steel my shoulder.I'm sorry ,but youre years too late.Go back to your wife .In my mind the word ls sounded strong and indifferent and slightly accented like a British aristocrat,But hearing Justins voice,older maybe,with the new edge but so much the same,everything loosened inside me .My legs felt like putty .There was no strength,no indifference ,only the loss. MORAL: There was a very engaging novel about the struggles of sister relationship,illlness and love.I enjoyed it thoroughly and recommended it to others.Rich believable characters and appears to be a summer,self sufficiency ,betrayal,responsibility and love.You will come to care for the main characters in the first few chapters,and find yourself torn by which sister to cheer and could almost feel the ocean breezes,smell the saltiness in the air,see the emotions the girls wear on their feel and hear the shift on inflection in the voices of the characters.The taste of tears,for joy and sadness ,is tucked away in the pages as well.Eliazabeth Joy Arnold,using all five senses,showns the differences between love as a child,and the sometimes harst reality of loves as an adult.

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sketchynebula · 6 years

Text

Scribbles, Chapter 1:

Content Warnings: Self-hate, parental death, descriptions of anxiety and breathing, verbal and physical bullying, neglectful adults

Pairing: LAMP

Word count: 4,351

Genre: Hurt/comfort, Angst

AU/trope: Soul-Mate AU where whatever you write on your skin, it appears on your soulmate’s.

Summary: Fate had assigned them to him knowing he would never muddy their relationship with his presents, but as he watched the colorful dots of happy color take up every last inch of blank space on his arms, he couldn’t help but be happy that it chose him to be lucky enough to witness it. The unfolding of this relationship was going to be something akin to a fairy tale and if that was the only light fate would ever grant Virgil then he would take it joyously.

Virgil had been six when he had first had the pleasure of staring down in awe at the bright colours. The tears running down his face a result of the wave of desperate relief rushing down his spine. He exhaled shakily.

He had a soulmate. A soulmate who could draw skies with puffy clouds and did so in bright marker.

He was sitting in his room, his back pressed against his headboard. The dark was only just kept at bay by a flickering night light. He watched, despite the bad lighting and the sharp edges of darkness pressing fear against him, as whoever they were patterned careful green spirals underneath the blue of a sky.

The shadows of his room seemed so far away as his hands carefully traced out the colourful lines. His chest swelled with joy at the images, the possibility, the promise of unconditional love.

Before today he had been hopelessly and helplessly resigned to the idea that he would be alone. No soulmate and too much anxiety to approach anyone else. His eyes filled with the light that these small doodles gave him.

Then, the moment was suddenly joined by someone else. Someone who vigorously worked to colour a row of red roses on the other arm and in a single instant, one soul-mate became two.

The hope Virgil had been harbouring had dropped to the pit of his stomach. A bitter taste stained his tongue and he numbly watched as the colours moved down his arms, roses and clouds melting together.

There was so much joy, so much colour and happiness and what did he have to add to any of that? The only contribution he could give, the only thing he had to be able to give, was the darkness that poured into him every night.

He only had fear.

He had nothing, no qualities that would make him redeeming in anyone's eyes, and if the two of them could have each other then why would he jeopardize that?

Why would he force someone to deal with issues that they shouldn’t have to? To deal with him when there was someone else, someone better, right there waiting for them.

Virgil swallowed hard watching each and every design pull together perfectly. A smiley face was drawn on his wrist, the light blue smile soon joined by a bright red heart.

It figures fate, or magic, or whatever caused the stains on soulmates arms, would make sure he ended up with someone better off without him, happy and content in their own world. Of course he would honour that.

Fate had assigned them to him knowing he would never muddy their relationship with his presents, but as he watched the colorful dots of happy color take up every last inch of blank space on his arms, he couldn’t help but be happy that it chose him to be lucky enough to witness it. The unfolding of this relationship was going to be something akin to a fairy tale and if that was the only light fate would ever grant Virgil then he would take it joyously.

Scribble

Virgil pulled an oversize, dark hoodie over his arms that morning. The corners of the fabric hung off his body and immersed him in folds and wrinkles. He adjusted it, once, twice trying to make it work anyway he could. He was desperate to hide the colour from everyone who might try to use it against him, but he didn’t have any long-sleeved shirts. In the end he’d rather have people jeer at him for his clothing, then have his soulmates weaponized against him.

Virgil had trudged downstairs, mind filled with the fatigue he earned from staying up almost all night. When he had rounded out of the living room to stand at the kitchen doorway, he stopped, eyes wide at seeing his mother sitting at the table. She was normally gone by now. Too caught up at shift after shift at work. Too busy trying to provide for her blunder of a son in the wake of an unwanted, terrible situation.

Virgil’s bit his lip as his eyes shifted to the living room clock, he only had a few minutes to get to his bus stop. He didn’t know what he would be in more trouble for, missing the bus or raiding one of the boxes of dad's old clothes.

“Virgil it’s almost summer.” His mother stated with a sigh, making Virgil’s head snap to her, her hands were curled into fists on the kitchen table as her eyes caught on the hoodie Virgil was wearing. Her lips thinned into a forced neutral expression, but the pain in her eyes was clear and Virgil hated himself even more for being the cause of it.

Something in Virgil’s chest clenched, eyes falling at her sharp gaze. He shrugged, making some of the fabric shift off his shoulder. He picked at the hem of it before pulling it back up, looking to see his mothers expecting face. She wanted an answer. She wanted some sort of excuse, and that made Virgil’s blood run cold.

“I-I. I just...don’t want to get a sunburn.” That was true in some respects, he was always worried about that. His pale genetics meant faster sunburns and half of first grade was, unfortunately for him, spent outside.

His mother shook her head, puffing out an annoyed sigh. She looked back down to the papers in front of her, waving her hand and dismissing him out the door. Her left hand ran through her hair, while the other stabbed at buttons on a calculator as she went through receipts.

She always seemed so tired lately.

The bus had been crowded, it almost always was, and he had always hated that. The bodies that were all pressed too close together made the space too warm and suffocating for Virgil. There were too many eyes but these days it felt like it was better that way. More people meant that he didn’t have to worry about anything yet. Too many people and a stone-eyed bus-driver meant that Darrick kept to the back with his goons instead of coming up, closer to the front and bothering him. Too many witnesses and too little breadth between the adult and them.

It normally wasn’t until they got to the school that Darrick decided to torment Virgil.

“What’s with the gross, old hoodie weirdo?” Darrick joked, and Jamie, one of Darricks new friends, and the son of their teacher, roughly grabbed the fabric of his hood, pulling Virgil to stand by all three of them.

“I-,” Virgil murmured out the beginning of a sentence that he never finished, bunching the over-sized hoodie sleeves over his hands, holding the fabric tight.

“Maybe he’s poor now because his mom is the only one left alive.” Freddie announced haughtily, smirking at Virgil. Virgil gripped his hands harder into the fabric of his hoodie, eyes dark and teeth grinding together.

“What! Your dad was a loser anyway” Darrick scoffed making Freddie snort. Jamie laughed along, and Virgil took an enraged step away from them.

“Hey!” Freddie yelled after him pulling at the back of his hoodie, “It’s just a joke!” Virgil found himself back where he started, crowded and trapped as Darrick grabbed the sides of his hood forcing him to face him.

“Yeah, we’re just having fun!” Darrick said mockingly, and Virgil’s heart rate sped up, mind trapped in the realization that he didn’t have an escape route. “Let’s play a game, let’s play tag- You’re, It!” Darrick moved abruptly, pushing Virgil backward. Virgil stumbled, heel connecting with the edge of the sidewalk, body bracing itself as he fell on the asphalt.

His hands hit the ground first, only protected by the now roughed up hoodie sleeves. The collar slid down his shoulder again but he made no move to pull it up, head tilted to his chest as Darrick and the others laughed.

His face heated up, wanting nothing more than to hit the smiles off all their faces, and he might have, he might have turned around despite every sensible thing he knew, and made that horrible mistake. If Mrs. Smyth hadn’t called for the kids to come inside he would have found himself on the wrong side of the principles desk yet again this year.

Mrs. Smythe yelled over top of the thick crowd, completely oblivious to his situation as she almost always was. She waved the bulk of them inside, letting the stragglers catch on and follow suit. Darrick and his gang ran to the door, while Virgil attempted to weakly rub the dirt off of himself, body shaking from the adrenaline as he pulled himself off the ground and walked alone to the front of the school, numbly continuing until he got to his classroom.

The first recess of the day was after lunch. Virgil spent most recesses the same way, quietly sitting behind the wall of the north side of the school. The screams and shrieking laughter of his classmates could be heard even here, playing some game or another, absolutely crowding the playground.

His back was pressed against the bricks of the wall of the school, a spot he knew well from years of hiding from bullies and teachers alike. Here he was cut off, safe from the others. He took this time to roll the edges of his hoodie-sleeves up to his elbows eyes scanning over the skin there.

The water based markers from last nights doodles had been almost fully wiped away. The others had most likely washed their hands or arms at some point, making the colours muddy on his end.

The feeling of loneliness, and despair that this would have brought didn’t come. It was drowned out as he watched careful and precise lines slowly pull themselves into recognizable shapes on the now blank areas of his arm.

The careful, calculated precision seemed out of character for the two he had ‘met’ last night. The slow lines impossibly straight, seemingly done by a ruler, and soon his fascination was broken as another one of them started coloring in the careful shapes. The outlines of blue pen were slowly filled with bright neon colours, and Virgil felt like crying again.

Three.

Three soulmates.

Soon they were all happily doodling, and colouring. The precise lines slowly became shaky drawings as the blue ink was slowly crafting stars that decorated the empty areas, then a loud yellow highlighter coloured them in.

The forceful sounds of stomping footsteps filled his ears and he barely managed to panickedly pull his sleeves down over his hands in time as Jamie rounded a corner to see him sitting against the wall.

“Found him!” Jamie yelled over his shoulder, and Darrick sped toward them with Freddie, panting behind him, his hand gripping a half-empty juice box.

A large wave of despair hit him, making his eyes water as shock made him freeze. They had found his spot, the one place he had found respite in over the last few months. They had just taken every scrap of safety that he had.

“There you are!” Darrick yelled, running over and grabbing his sleeve, the skin just beneath it peeking out with a neon green line. Virgil felt something in his heart fall.

They had every scrap of safety but one.

His mind launched into full panic mode, running on unthought out instinct, he roughly tried to pull away from Darrick, who just held the hoodie sleeve harder. Darricks face contorted in confused anger as his normally docile prey started to fight him. He hit Darricks shoulder repeatedly before managing to pull Darricks hand off his sleeve and yanking the fabric over his skin again, trying to keep this one thing for himself. They could take everything from him but he wouldn’t let them take this.

Darrick looked at him with fury and, bunching up the fabric in the shoulder of the hoodie, he pulled Virgil to the center of the playground. Virgil’s body twisted as he tried to break Darricks grip, frantically yanking his body away from them, but this only made Darrick pull him more roughly. Eyes dark as he threw Virgil to the ground as hard as he could.

Virgil’s head hit the earth before the rest of him followed, which made him dizzy and disoriented. The ground was hard and dry from the heat of this coming summer, which meant the fall caked him in a thin layer of dirt.

“Hey Freddie let me see your juice.” Darrick said and Freddie silently handed him the Juice-box. Darrick pulled the bendy straw out of it before unceremoniously tipping it over Virgil, getting almost all of it along the front side of his pants.

This time Virgil really did start to cry as Darrick yelled at the top of his lungs,

“VIRGIL WET HIMSELF!”

Suddenly all eyes were on him, all the snickering cut into him more than the fall did and soon tears started to run through the dirt on his face. The dirt slowly streaking into muddy dark smudges.

His breathing became too panicked and harsh to be called breathing anymore, and suddenly his turmoil ridden mind pushed him to run. His legs stumbling as he pulled himself up and moved past all of them, rushing by the side of the school and moving until he managed to reach the back area that had all the trash cans. He hid there, tucking himself into a less-smelly corner on the asphalt as he pulled his hood up over his head, knowing the teacher wouldn’t notice he was gone, knowing that the others wouldn’t care to point out that he was gone.

He cried, he cried long and hard, and only when his watery eyes started tracing the patterns of colour on his arms again, glancing over lines that must have been drawn during his ordeal, did he stop.

He watched the patterns closely waiting for any of them to change, at least once more. His soul ached for the respite he had found in the others happiness, and his wish was granted in the form of lightly doodled shapes.

The blue ink trailing along and creating structured lines, not as straight as before but just as methodical.

As each line revealed new shapes his breath started to even, his body was slack and exhausted from the traumatic events and the small amount of sleep he was already running on didn’t help. His mind slowly started pulling him down until he fell into a fitful sleep.

Scribbles

The loud sound of motors running was what woke him up, eyes puffy and raw. A common aftermath of crying.

He stood carefully, only to find one of his legs had fallen asleep in his folded position. His adrenaline spiked again, mind clouded with multiple scenarios of missing the buses and being home late. What would his mother say to him? Would his mom even care? He couldn’t even decide which outcome would be worse.

The stain on his pants was mostly dry, and the darkness of his jeans stopped any noticeable staining but the stickiness made the inside of his thighs itch. Standing up was a slow process, legs shaking and body wobbly. His leg painfully tingled as he walked on it, but despite all his physical discomforts, he still felt a wave of relief at seeing the buses still parked near the front of the school.

He looked to see the doors of the school still closed. Sudden dread spiked in him. He had possibilities but none of them were good, It was early, too early to approach the buses without getting questioned, but if he went inside now it would just be worse. Eventually the idea of seeing anyone who laughed at him during recess outweighed any worries about being caught, not to mention he didn’t want to wait and run into Darrick and Freddie on his way to the bus. The both of them would definitely take the time to throw him into the rose bush next to the library window again.

All this running through his mind, he carefully sprinted to his bus, minding his leg, and only stopped when he was just in front of the closed doors. The bus driver’s attention was drawn to him almost immediately, eyebrow raising to his hairline at seeing Virgil’s small form, shaking and covered in dirt. He reached down to pull the switch that would open the doors.

“What are you doing out here already?” He asked, eyes piercing.

Virgil didn’t say anything back. Shifting uneasily, and closely examining every pebble that he found on the ground.

Instead of yelling at him, demanding answers or dragging him into the school to talk with the principle or his teacher, the bus driver sighed. He waved him into the bus and gestured for him to sit in the front seat that was opposite of the drivers chair.

“Sit down.” he said, in gruffly. Virgil did as he was told, even though he felt the uncomfortable itch of his pants dig into his backside at the movement.

His body was ridged as he waited for something to happen. Waiting to be yelled at, to be punished and share another tense car ride with his mom afterward. He waited for the same outcome as always, face lax in sorrow, resigned to the idea.

“Here. you look like you could use it.” Virgil paused, schooling his facial expression before slowly looking up to see the bus driver calmly extend a plastic water bottle to him. Virgil risked making brief eye-contact, seeing no ill intent there, before quickly pulling the bottle out of the bus driver's hands and towards himself. Carefully making sure the seal had broken when he had opened it before daring to take a much needed drink.

“Now, what happened? Why are you out here so early.”

Virgil’s hand pulled the fabric at his shoulders back up. Wondering what kind of punishment he would get if they found out he hadn’t been in class since lunch.

“I-,” he croaked, his voice hoarse as he tried to pull together enough words to explain the situation. At least Darrick wasn’t here right now to lie and make sure that Virgil got in trouble. “Darrick…” He trailed off, would that matter anyway? Even if Darrick isn’t here right now it doesn’t mean that if Virgil does get him in trouble he’s not going to pay for it later. Virgil can win this one but what will he lose by doing it? His breath gave a loud heave and he was startled out of his spiraling thoughts by the driver putting a weighty hand on his shoulder.

“Now- none of that. You’re not in trouble. You’ve never been one of the troublemakers in my book.” The bus driver pulled a Clorox wipe out of a box on the floor and handed it to Virgil.

“For your face.” He stated, “it looks like you’ve been through hell son.” Virgil sniffed as he tried to forcibly calm his breathing down, only succeeding in making it worse.

He gripped the edge of the wipe, and roughly pressed it to the side of his face that wasn’t sore, making the dried mud and dirt come off in one ugly patch on the wipe. His embarrassment came back ten fold at the sight. He must look pathetic.

“Let's start with this huh? You can call me Benny, how about you?” Virgil looked up at him before pulling the wipe away from harshly rubbing at his cheek.

“V-Virg...Virgil.” It came out hard, and was broken up by rough breathing and a scratchy throat that had been turned raw from crying. His face twisted at the sound and his eyes suddenly found his lap.

“Alright then Virgil. Nice to meet you, why don’t you take a drink of your water and then maybe we can start to try and work this out.”

Virgil’s hand shook as he moved the bottle to his lips, taking a light sip that only made his breathing calm down enough for him not to choke on it as it went down.

There was a moment of silence. The watch on Benny’s wrist clicked by to show the reality of the situation. That this wasn’t lasting years, but mere minutes, and when he had finally managed to get his breathing to listen to him enough to get out words that wouldn’t be interrupted by an uncontrollable loud inhale, they still had fifteen minutes until the actual end of school.

“Th-they pushed me down at recess.” He said, figuring that saying ‘they’ was safer than saying names. He felt his eyes go wet again, making him more frustrated than miserable at this point.

Benny nodded, handing him a tissue as stray tears moved down his cheeks. Vigil twisted the Clorox wipe in his hands. His nose stung as he gripped the offered tissue and brought it up too his face.

“Was that all that they had done son?” Benny asked, even as Virgil was fighting to get a grip. His brain screaming at him to stop being such a wimp, crying in front of someone like he needed all the attention and pity it brought.

Virgil shook his head, roughly rubbing at his eyes as if he could press hard enough to get the tears to stop.

“Did they hurt you?” He asked carefully, and Virgil shrugged. It hurt. His cheek was a little swollen where he face-planted on the dirt and he would probably have a rash down his thighs when he got home.

“Did you hurt them back?” Benny asked slowly, and Virgil looked up, eyes wide at the possibility. He shook his head, he was too small, too short and there were too many of them. Fighting back meant losing and losing meant something worse than what would have originally happened.

“As faculty of this school, I am… obligated to recommend going to an adult, perhaps your parents,” Virgil felt his face pinch at the suggestion.

“-but somehow i have a strong feeling that you wouldn’t be- okay, with doing that.” Benny shifted his body, pulling his arm rest up and turning to fully face Virgil. He exhaled through his nose as his eyes scanned up and down Virgil's face. He rubbed his forehead a little before holding his hand out for the Clorox wipe and tissue that Virgil was anxiously tearing to bits in his hands.

Virgil handed the pieces to him and watched as he threw them away.

“Look kid,” Benny began, eyes soft as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t know what you got goin’ in your life right now. I do know that those two boys in the back give you a hard time,” Vigil looked away from him, he was just so tired. He didn’t want to do this anymore. “I also know this,” The bell rang and Virgil jumped as kids started to flood out of the school.

He watched them rush to their respective places, some kids moving to wait in the carpool area, others running over to where the buses were. His heart picked up a beat again. The silent calm he had managed to gain was broken as he realized he was about to be surrounded by other kids, while covered in dirt, face red and raw from crying.

“Virgil,” Virgil turned back at hearing his name, his eyes wide and body shifting in anticipation for a good sixty kids to suddenly swarm the bus. “Those kids out there,” Benny said, gesturing to the window, Virgil looked back out as Benny kept speaking, “they all go home with something bad. At your age, everyone is finding out what they don’t like about themselves. Those boys back there, aren’t actually sayin’ anything about you. Not when they call you names and not when they hit ya’” Virgil turned back to Benny, “make sure that, you don’t get it in your head that you have to be the victim here. If you don’t like how they make you feel, don’t let them make you feel that way. Stand up for yourself when you can. Or stand up for others if you find that easier.”

Virgil didn’t know what to say or do, but he found he didn’t have to do either, because as soon as Benny was done, crowds of kids started narrowing into a single file line as they all moved to get on the bus.

Virgil didn’t meet Darrick or Freddie’s eyes as they got on the bus, he didn’t meet anyone's eyes. Virgil stared out the window, ignoring everyone out of embarrassment, but as Benny started to pull the bus away from the school, he at least felt like he had something to think about. Something that could maybe qualify as help, even if it was just advice, and even that made him feel less hopeless, less stuck.

He turned the words over and over again in his head even when he got off the bus and watched as it drove off, taking the sound, and crowd of bodies with it.

Only when the last echos of the motor of the bus had faded off did Virgil dare to pull his sleeve back up. His eyes raked over the images he had seen earlier until they connected with the only new neon colours there.

Something warm spread through Virgil’s chest, making the sourness of his day not sting as badly. Shaky letters spelled out a simple ‘ILY’ underneath a large red heart. Even though Virgil couldn’t read all that well yet, he at least knew what that meant, and even if it wasn’t really meant for him, the idea of people with such kindness and joy was enough to pull him out of the dark recesses of his mind. With the first and last advice he would ever receive fresh in his mind he pulled his body back into his empty house to clean himself up.

Chapter 2

#Scribbles #My fanfic #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #lamp sanders #soulmate au #polyamsanders #polyamory #hurt/comfort #angst

1K notes · View notes

ikonislife · 7 years

Text

Please Stay.

- Hanbin x Reader (ft. Monsta X’s Shownu)

- Requested part 2 to Just Go. (I did write this piece so that it could be a stand alone so reading Just Go isn’t necessary but it does provide some context.)

- Angst, fluff (Eventually...It will be fluffier than a baby husky, I swear...)

-There’s one more part!

- Despite being the one to initiate the break up, Hanbin finds himself lost without you. All the while, the return of your past life poses an imminent threat that Hanbin knows all too well might be the end of you and him forever.

- A/n: I know this is so late, omg. (I’m so sorry @7n13bang *cries* I promised i wasn’t lying when I said I’d post it last week.) My stupid ass accidentally deleted a lot of this part off so I had to rewrite it from the notes I had saved. Plus I had some personal stuff with my family that came up so I’ve been a little more busy than usual. There’s still another a looooot more but I decided I’ll post this up for now since I’m already so behind. That and it was getting kind of ridiculously long so a 2 part sequel might be better. It’s not that fluffy yet but it will be 🙃 i promise!

Like being hit by a bullet. No… That would’ve been too nice, much too easy.

“La petite mort. Do you know what that phrase mean, babe?” He had breathed so effortlessly with his arms entangled around your body, chest heaved heavily, hair drenched from sweat. The lust had long left his smiling lips along with the last desperate plead of your name, lingering somewhere far in the air filled with the leftover wondrous scent of love.

“No but it sounds romantic.” The words tumbled from your lips, barely abled to pass the raggedness of your breath. Light summer breeze fanned your slick, sticky skin. The stars were shinning so brightly above but somehow his eyes twinkled just a bit brighter. His skin glistened from sweat yet you were sure that wasn’t why he seemed to be glowing so magnificently, so ethereal. The sweet and delicate perfume of the rose blooms dotting the green hedges just a half a field away bathed your worn bodies in its heavenly scent. Perhaps your vision blur from the hours of love making, perhaps just drunk in love, staring at Hanbin now, you could almost swore he had always belong here in the garden like some mythical fairy gracing you with his rare luminosity. His arms wrapped around your naked body shielding it away from the bashful stares of nature surrounding, fingers gently pulling the soft cashmere throw atop your legs as if it would’ve make a different. As if the quiet mouse running along the far edge of the fence or the moon would’ve forgotten about watching you given your most intimate act to him in the open field behind his vacation home just moments ago. As if the clouds above or the tree in the far corner of the field would’ve forgotten about your lustful begs and desperate screams of his name. As if the small divinely soft throw could cover your bare breast overworking to catch a breath or his sinful, dangerously revealing lower torso. He heaved a laugh so clear it made you question the transparent, perspicuous quality that the night always brought you, how it always calmed you no matter how insane the twist and turn of daylight might be. Everything about him changed how you view the world and for once, you don’t mind changing.

“It means the little death. The French uses it to describe the high and come down of sex. I know it’s a bit morbid but imagine having the incredible luck of sharing it with the person you love. You love them so much that the feeling they give you can only be liken to small deaths.”

La petite mort. The words echo, leaking into every dimension of your weary mind. You reached out to that comforting smile but its dematerialization left your finger helplessly grasping at thin air. No longer could you sense the wonderful warmth of his smooth skin under your finger tips or feel the lightening bolt he sent through your body with every touch ghosting by. His brilliant grin and the soothing voice hide away in the dark corners of your brain, leaving you lost inside your mind. Cold sweat breaking, you jolt awake. The tenderness of his smile replaces with the deafening silent of dead air grumbling around the empty room and the soft hum of your heater. A long sigh torn from you lungs by the loneliness of winter.

La petite mort. What your beloved bastard had never told you was the phrase has double meaning. The phrase can also be use the when a person go through events so trying, so torturous that they die a little inside. The way you live your life these day, you were sure he’d be proud you’re taking the double entendre of his words so literal. The tiny, little deaths your heart and soul experience every damn waking minute of the day are far from being pleasurable, far from the meaning the French loves to moan about.

The sickening scent of the bowl still full of mushy soup-soaked instant noodle permeates every crevice of your nostrils. Your cheek, redden from the icy surface of the marble dinning table, lift away in haste as your eyes wander around the cold room. You haven’t had a second to settle from the dream when a wave of crushing pain radiates from your chest. It was the kind of heart wrenching, gut twisting little death that’s pushing another round of stomach acid mixed with alcohol souring your throat. The kind that’s currently sending you pummeling for the toilet. The kind that vacates your lungs of air, leaving you aguishly gasping from the rush of the mundane memories of brushing your teeth together, nuzzling noses, fingers shyly inching together; The mundane memories to never be recreate ever again.

Once again collapsing onto the cold tiled floor, you curl yourself up against the corner of the small bathroom that had been more comforting these past few weeks than the soft plush bed that might as well be a nail bed. Every time you had laid down, his words, his laugh, his touch prick every inch of your body over and over again until it felt like fire. All you could hear was the random whispers of the night telling you about his day at work. It was something he did often. Being your little spoon, he’d lay in your hold, chatting away about how bad he felt for scolding a worker, the bitchy potential partner he had to deal with, asking you for advices on things you got absolutely no knowledge of. Other nights, he’d giggled madly in victory whenever he could coax a snicker despite you being on the brink of sleep by telling really bad jokes he had heard from his subordinates. On nights neither of you were too tired or in desperate need of each other, even the ghosting of his breath on your neck could make you come undone in matter of seconds.

You lost it all.

Once the harsh convulsing in your stomach had stop, you laugh. Laugh to make sense of all this nonsense.

We broke up.

You continue to laugh. Laugh at how much this hurt. Laugh at your pathetic brain keeps replaying the image of him dimming away through the crack of the closing door that night. Laugh at how much you hate him. You laugh so hard that the tears falling from your eyes might as well be ghosts, invisible and unnoticed.

No, Y/n you dumbass. We didn’t break up, he dumped you.

It had been two months since he broke your heart.

You didn’t hate him at first. How could you, he had done all this so you could have a second shot at “true love” as he had put it. He had sacrificed himself for the betterment of your life. How could you be angry at someone so selfless. You were frustrated, of course. Being blind sided like you did, frustration would be mildly putting what you were going through. You had thought everything was fine, best it had been in months even when he just up and left you...

As the the sun and the moon repeat their courting dance around the Earth again and again, it begins to sting. Your spent mind began to latch onto the lies and excuses he had given as a escape from the relationship you had thought you will always have. He left you... To fence for yourself, dragged away like garbage in the middle of the night by a man you barely know. For your own good. You couldn’t honestly understand why he would do such a thing, especially after you had begged like a dog for him to trust you. As the clock struck 12 again and again, bitterness became friend. Like the heartening one-sided love he decided you need all those years ago, all on his own once again, Hanbin decided your life for you. Except this time instead of giving you all your hope and dream, he decided to abandon you.

How dare he decided my life

Thank God for giving you Hyunwoo back.

Hyunwoo had arrived that night just as he was asked to. Confused and lost, he nearly died seeing your soulless form sitting at the front door of the grand apartment Hanbin had rented solely because he wanted you close, to have a private piece of heaven with you. See, you had lived nearly 45 minutes away from his house, 20 minutes away from his work and in his lovesick mind, that was too far. He needed you as close as possible to him. Well, none of that matter now.

Carefully hiding his pain, Hyunwoo picked you up with ease and made his way into the place you used to called home. He sat with you in front of the fireplace till morn, offering the strong shoulder you were accustomed to at one point in your life, the one you had leaned on million of times before. Beyond the pain of lost, you shuddered at how foreign Hyunwoo’s touch and support felt.

So this is how Hanbin will feel like some day…

Strange or not, you couldn’t denied the comfort Hyunwoo brought, like the old ripped teddy bear you had since you were a wee baby. Despite nearly losing all its stuffing, feeling near completely different than how it once was, the nostalgia alone could hold you through the roughest of nights. He sat in silent, absorbing all the pain you let out, all the sobs. Large hand caressing your hair, gliding along the dip of your spine, he whispered “it’s okay” like a prayer. A prayer for you to stop hurting. A lone tear slipped out of his small, kind eyes knowing this wasn’t the first time you had gone through this…

Straightening yourself up, you throw the messy locks into a high pony tail before rushing toward the sound of the door bell before stopping dead in your track thanking God Hyunwoo remains ever so gentlemanly and refuses to use the key you had given him to give you some privacy. You look like shit. Rushing back to the bathroom, you vigorously splash ice cold water onto the worn face hoping to brighten it a bit. The last thing you need is for Hyunwoo to see your dishevel self, he’d get too worry. For the all the long weary days that had past, he became your rock just as he had so long ago.

“You’re late!” you exclaim to hide the sadness in your voice, pulling the large body through the frame.

“Yah, are you still wondering how I fit through the doorframe? I do not have Santa’s magic so for the last time, I am not that big.” He groans at your daze stare, eyes tracing out the door, arms struggling with two large bag from the nearby market. Too far deep into your acting, you fail to see the small glint of sadness behind Hyunwoo’s kind eyes. He knows the joke, the overexcitement are mere diversions of keeping his worry at bay yet he follows along anyhow if it means you have one less thing to worry about. He knows it all too well from the last few weeks he spent with you. In between the constant fighting and the moment of silent out of sheer exhaustion were random jokes, too random for it to not be intentional. He knew you were just trying to cover up how far off the deep end you really were, really are, all for his sakes.

“Hyunwoo, you’re 6 ft. tall, muscular dude. In what world is that not big. Like you were big when we were in school, now you’re biiiig.” you quip, shaking your head incredulously at his definition of “big”.

“I am not 6 ft. Stop spreading false information before I sue you for defamation. We’ve been seeing each other nightly for over 2 months now, get over it.” He retorts, shuffling into the kitchen to settle the bags of grocery. Following suit, you trail close behind, finding a small giggle easing its way out from his silliness, heart thankful for the banter that bring some light to your darkness. Staring at the handsome boy busily whisking dinner together, your heart aches a bit less knowing you’re still lucky enough to have such a wonderful person to be the pillar of your life.

“I’m just joking. We were together for 3 years, did you really think I don’t know how big you are?” You wink, secretly lamenting over the past and the cruel tricks life played on you. It gave you two wonderful men then ripped them away from your hold in the worst ways possible.

“Oh God, there’s my perverted little Y/n. No, I KNOW. You used to make the biggest deal out of me fitting through the door of our old place every time we come home drunk. You were really embarrassing, you know that.” He raises an eyebrow at you, almost waiting for your outburst.

“Uh, excuse you. I am magnificent. Embarrassing... yea right.” You scoff at his blatant mocking face that’s currently sticking a tongue at you. “Said the asshole that also cried he’d die if I leave. You love me and you know it.”

“Yea, yea. You know I do.”

Hyunwoo eyes light up at the sight of you joking around, God know how painful it was for him to see the sunshine drained out of your expression. However, the crescent in his smiling eyes soon gone as his lips curl into a distasteful frown seeing your awkward body blocking his view of the small round dinning table.

“What are you hiding?” The firmness of his voice tenses your whole body. Looking much like a deer in headlight, you shake your head. His looming body has you feeling like a 3 years old hiding candy from her parents. Eyes averting to the floor, you timidly step aside knowing there’s no point in hiding your uneaten dinner from Hyunwoo. He’s already so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body yet you're not scare of his large stature. You're mostly embarrass, guilt runs through your veins.

“Y/n…” His voice calling out your name so soft and caring. Before he has the chance to say anything else, you abruptly cuts off the sadden voice.

“I’m sorry, Hyunwoo… I know you’re disappointed in me.”

“Babe, I’m not disappointed. What on Earth make you think I would be. I’m worry for you. You’re not eating, even when you are, you’re eating shitty food...” He motions to the bowl of soppy noodle with a disgusted face, shuffling just a bit closer. “...that and all the drinking. No more drinking.” His words trail off before your face was gingerly lifted by the soft pad of his index finger. With a smile, what comes next takes all your breath away and replaces it with discomfort.

“ Plus, if you’re not healthy, how are you going to fight for Hanbin? If you die before he sees you, what good will that do.” He breathes out so easily the sentence you dread with a soft smile.

“I don’t know if I want to fight anymore…” was what you wanted to say, instead against your better judgement, you hid the truth.

“I feel guilty because you’ve literally been the best angel ever, taking care of me. All I do is just go against your words. You have your own problems too, don’t worry about me too much.”

Your vision suddenly blur and your face covers by the strong bicep, nose fills with that musk cologne just as you remember. Your hands find themselves wove around his sturdy frame, rubbing the broad back, leeching for warmth. A near muted chuckle drops from his lips as he presses a kiss atop your hair. You were always a handsy person and he loved to tease you about it.

“It’s the least I can do after all the shit I put you through. You’re a good girl, you deserve all the happiness in the world. Don’t worry, Hanbin will understand your side soon enough.”

“You think so...” softly sighing, you lean into the comfort of a strong embrace. It’s really true what everyone says, you really don’t know what you’re missing until it’s gone. Something as simple as getting hugs were never a problem in the past. Even before holding the spot of being a significant other in your life, Hanbin had always been there to offer a supporting hug whenever life gets a bit too rough, too calamitous. As a boyfriend, Hanbin had always cling onto you like a koala with separation anxiety. Even when he was down in the deepest pit life had thrown him down, he would still welcome your touch with wide open arms, preferred it actually. There was never a second in your life in the 2 years you’ve been together that he didn’t have any sort of contact with your body. Now, your skin-ship hours restricted to 7:00-10:30, the only hours you’re able to see Hyunwoo.

“Hyunwoo...” you whisper, fingers digging deeper into the warmth he has to offer, immersing yourself in the comfort his loving self brought.

“Yes, babe.” He sighs at he softness in your voice, a small smile flashes across his lips reminiscing of all the time you both had in in this position before, although now, you feel a bit different resting in his arms.

“You know I never blamed you for how we ended things right? I loved you to the moon and back, still do. I was so so so happy for you even if all those hurtful words and all our fights said otherwise. I was so thankful. You gave me the best 3 years even when you had no money, no time for love. You gave me everything you got and I felt so loved. You made me feel like I’m worth the world. I hope you know that. Please don’t look at our past with regret. Please don’t blame yourself or feel guilty.”

“I know. I love you too and don’t you ever forget that. Even when no one else in this world will be there for you, just know I’m there no matter what. I will forever look at our love as one of the happiest time in my life. You taught me how to really love someone and how to live. I just hated that our relationship had to end in such a rush. If I could do it all over...”

“I’d still let you go. You’re too precious for me to keep hidden away from the world. Everybody needs to know who Son Hyunwoo is, and now everybody does.” You cut him off with a smile as his eyes crescent into a smile of his own.

“You’re worth this whole galaxy, babe. Trust me when I say Hanbin knows that too. If he didn’t, he could’ve blamed you for being in love with me. He could’ve gotten angry that you were sharing your heart with someone else but he didn’t. He took the hard way out so you could take another stab at true love. I’m not saying he’s right. I think it’s kinda stupid to be honest but he’s hurting too. I know the guy looks like he’s a tough cookie but behind that cold facade is a softie. You should know this side of him best. Don’t be mad at him. I know you hate him right now but just, look at his heart, not his actions. Do that for yourself. Letting yourself lost in the embrace of hatred will do you no good, got it?”

With a few pets of the cheek, he parts way, heading back to getting dinner ready. Staring at him now, you’re glad he found his way back into your life even if the love you both share wasn’t what it once was, you’re just glad.

“Oh, I know. Since you feel soooo guilty about making me worry, how ‘bout you be my therapist.”

“UUUGHHHH, Hyunwooo~ you still haven’t confess to her yet? How many time do I have to say it, she freaking loves you. Man, you’re such a wussy ass.”

“HEY, if my memory served correctly, I confessed to your whinny butt back then.”

“Uh, I went to your place after that fight, okay? Mr. Wuss, you were just sitting in front of your house like a loser waiting for me to show up. If you don’t ask her out soon, I’m gonna swoop in and ask her. Don’t cry then. You know i’m really convincing. Like reeeealllly convincing.” With a smirk, you wink smugly at him inciting a panic gasp out of the boy.

“Okay, okay. Stop will you. I don’t need you stealing my girl... I’ll ask her when we go to Japan.” A bright shade of red flushes over his tan cheeks, the shy smile lingering on those thick lips had you mesmerized over the past, over how lucky you were to once be able to love Hyunwoo.

“Seriously, Ella is your personal assistant. Personal, do you know what that means, ya dummy? That means you got all the time in the world, all the excuse in the world to call her up but you don’t. I don’t get it, honestly. I mean you come over here and I can feel the boyish teenage hormones radiating from you from a block away. Just like do one of those thing where you call her into your office pretending it’s business then like i don’t know, take her over your desk or something. That sends a strong signal.”

“YAH, Y/N. I don’t need you meddling in my sex life.” Even his tan skin couldn’t hide how brighter than a boiled lobster red he is at this moment. So flusters he stands there waving the kitchen knife around like a maniac. You cackle knowing those eyes all too well. He’s so completely head over heel for the girl that even God can’t change his mind now. If Hyunwoo is anything like he used to be, Ella was going to be in for a treat once the nervous boy works up enough gut to do anything.

“What? it worked with me... I mean if she hadn’t caught onto your dumbstruck face every time she walks by yet, she might just be as clueless as you are.”

“Not everyone is perverted like you, okay. God, I take it back. You’re a horrible therapist.”

You were so busy bickering with the moonstruck boy in the kitchen that you hadn’t notice the air lifting. A sense of hope fills your lungs as you feed off the young love of a couple that has yet to be, wondering what Hanbin might be doing at this moment. Perhaps you might be just as lucky in your own love venture. Perhaps one day you’ll be able to move on.

Despite daylight barely breaking, the hallway leading to the big boss office is already buzzing with talks. Three young men huddle near the small office just outside the big fearsome grand doors, recalling their rare sighting of the boss.

“I’m telling you, he’s not a mean person.”

One of his young assistant, Lily, defends her boss, knowing full well what had happened in that office just weeks ago. Through your many days and nights of visiting, you had became close friends with both of Hanbin’s assistant. They too, just like Hyunwoo, had spent countless night binge watched sad movies and cried with you on the couch. They offer the solace of understanding ears and benefits of girl nights in, something Hyunwoo couldn’t. The affection, the doting best friends aside, like the equal sign, they were the only two that knew both side of the equation, getting glimpses of both side without bias.

“I’m just saying, if he wasn’t then he is now. Ruthless at that.”

“Of course you guys would defend him. He favors you two. We low men on the totem pole are different. You should’ve seen his stare. Man, I thought I was gonna wet myself.”

The other young men chimes in, earning a big slap from Jane. If Lily was Hanbin’s right hand, Jane would be his left, both his trustful helps. Like understudy of a big broadway star, they hide in the shadow, offering support when his work becomes overwhelming. Before they could say anything else, with the ruffles of his jacket, a sudden chill emerges from the fading dawn, washes the young men away back to their office as drab follow the young boss’s steps. Lily and Jane share a depressing look as his condition hadn’t seemed to better. He rarely leaves his office. That contagious smile that used to never leave his face had vanished with your shadow that night. It was as though the business coursing through his blood got amplified. He became scary, distant and cold, insufferable.

“Morning, boss.”

The girls speak in unison, earning a weak smile from the fading life in his face, evidences of another sleepless night visible. He had remained more or less indifference to the friends of his ex-girl. “Ex”, the word still hurt unfathomably even if he was the one initiating the break up. Deep down, he wishes they would just update him on your condition but alas, they were too fearful of crossing the line to do so.

“Any updates?”

He waits, sanguines about their answers, hoping the girls would finally get the hidden meaning in his words. His heart screams for the girls to just say anything, mention your name, even one word about you but he knows better. One can hope.

“We updated your meeting schedule for next week, adding in new appointments and…”Jane voice trails off, her body jerk at the sudden prod of Lily’s finger. Ever so reluctant, she continues with a weak smile. “… and uhm, Y/n was here again last night… We told her you had left early and she said she’ll be back.”

He had suspected you asked them to keep news away from him. If there was one thing he learned from the years you had so graciously given him was that you never wished ill will upon anyone nor would you want to incite pain. Having the girls update him would just be a knife in his heart but little did you know, he goes to sleep every night hoping the next crack of dawn, Lily and Jane would say anything other than you were waiting.

He knew he had no right to ask about you but he craves for your attention. Ultimately, he just want to know if you were alright. When you suddenly started to wait for him in the parking lot two weeks ago, he was elated. He couldn’t believe what he had heard, you were waiting for him, just like you would every night before he went and threw everything you both built away. Forgoing his jacket, he had actually run 15 floors down to the lobby before reality kicks in. He had broken up with you for a reason. You had beg, you had cried but he had to be strong for the sake of your happiness. If he gives into your pleading now, it was all for naught. The pain he had put you through would be in vain, his sacrifice would be in vain so ignored you, he did.

The very first time he had to walk away from you in the parking lot was like walking through the gates of hell. The way your cute smile dropped into a frown, eyes glistened with a few tears like fire searing his skin, melting his inside. All he wanted was to embrace you and never let go but he got in his car and drove away, watching your small body walks into the distant from the rearview mirror. He spent much of that night in his car crying. In all honesty, it hadn’t gotten any easier. You always just wait, so patiently with a smile on your face whenever he’d try to sneak a look, never once forcing your way into his path. Even in the low light of the garage, you still look as lovely as ever. It reminds him so much of the daily moments in life you deemed too unexcitable for a globe trekker, CEO big shot as he is. He had always just love watching you. The little noise you’d make whenever you find a picture of a cute animal on the internet, the little hum to random tunes whenever you cook, the weird little dance you’d do when you clean the house. Most of all he loves the fact that no matter what or when, the second you realize he was looking, the most beautiful smile would bloomed on your lips making his heart flutter like the first time he realized he loves you. You never realized that with you, there was no such thing as “boring”. The darkest corner of his heart wishes you will continues to wait, then maybe one day, he’ll succumb to your love. However, he knows that’s not realistic from the increasing disappointment in your eyes with every night past that he gives no reaction. He knows soon enough, your exhausted heart will give way...

What the young boss hadn’t realize was his faithful assistants had once again entrust you with helping them a month after the break up. Fearing for his reputation, his health, they confirmed your worst nightmare…

He wasn’t fine.

They had begged you to come check on him but by this point, your inconsolable heart had turned bitter and hateful. Something about nightfall brings clarity to the disarray of your brain whether it be a report with approaching deadline or matters of the heart. One cold lonely night when both Hyunwoo and the girls were away on business trips, in a fury of alcohol and despondency, you decided to blame him for destroying your life, for leaving you. You wrestled with the thought of seeing the face of the person that had repeatedly stabbed you once again many nights before deciding you deserve closure. No, you needed closure.

Pulling the collar of your trench coat higher, you shield the coughs hiding in your cold chest away. Your path litters with flashing neon lights and matching couple shoes. Trekking down the lonely path of January, a small smile cracks on your dry lips at the joy on each couple’s faces, wishing them the best luck in the new year. Heartbreak is something no one should ever have to go through yet life is a but a cruel mistress, only ever kind to a selected fews when it comes to happiness. You, Hanbin, Hyunwoo are not among those lucky fews.

Bowing to the night guard, you silently pass through as he smile understandingly, knowing your nightly trip is now for very different reason. Your feet drive themselves onto the habitual path toward the small metal bench beside the entrance. Your breathless pant hadn’t fade away before the creak of the door could he heard. Ignoring the sharp stabs on your bruised chest you rise up from your spot, hopeful as ever that today will be the day he gives into your incessant present. Your eyes glue to the the familiar tall slender frame, handsome under the black peacoat he had worn on your anniversary.

He’s smiling.

For the first time since you take upon yourself to do these nightly trip, he wears joy proudly upon the sculpted face. You let your heart drowns itself in elation even if it’s just for a micro second, even if it’s just pretend. You were at one point embarrassed about the unprecedented level of obsession you had over his smile. You had thought it was such a strange thing to be so devoted about but you couldn’t help but be in love with the joyous expression. Having accidentally confessed your little secret to him one drunken night, you were mortified, readied to break up when he not only assuring you it was alright, he showed you how happy he was to have you be so utterly in love with him that even his simplest expression could swoon you. Unknowingly, you smile back even if his weren’t meant for you but wishful thinking has its power.

It wasn’t.

You were suddenly reminded of the wonderful birthday last year happy in Hanbin’s arms. You both found your plan of exploring Amsterdam foiled by the sudden changed in weather that made even winter in Antarctica feels like a walk in the park. You awoken to Hanbin with that sad puppy face you never quite learned how to resist. He had worked so hard on making the anniversary of the day his love was born even better than the spectacular rooftop dinner the year before. All his sorrow unexpectedly found themselves washed away with the rain as you pulled up two chair onto the the porch of the small home he had rented for the week. With two pipping hot tea mugs in your hand, you cracked a smile that stilled his vexing heart. You spent most of the afternoon giggling about the most random things, snuggling close to his chest to get a glimpse into his heart as he talked about your future together. Neither of you were sure of anything but a dog named Benji and a house with a big yard flourishing with flowers were a few things you both decided on. Tea gone and the sky still hadn’t stop showering Earth with its pristine clarity, you curled onto his lap stealing some warmth as you reached out, letting the rain drops danced along your skin. A different kind of raindrop now dances on your shaky hands, your happiness once again slips through the crack of your fingers, evaporating without a care for what it left behind in its wakes. The adorable giggle echoing through the parking garage, pushing its way into every crack of your heart, breaking it just a bit further. Your heart sinks, sinks so far down you were sure it was lost upon the stars, within a blackhole. Not a second later, like an angel, she floats across the concrete floor in a tight yet elegant dress, neat curls bounce with every click of her expensive heels. A silent tear streams down your frozen face as he wrap his coat around her small shoulders, the smile never left his face as his eyes gaze deep into hers lovingly. Defeated, you blend yourself into the background, watching, feeling like a fool for being hopeful.

Sharp pain sears through your chest as the coughs had fought its way into the cold night. You press a hand over your lips, suppressing the ugly onslaught of coughs and a choking sob, careful not to break the invisible shield you had decided to put up.

He had moved on…

Like a zombie, you wander aimlessly, bumping and pushing without care, letting yourself fade into the darkness. You were once the golden threads that hold his life together, woven light into his lonely days but now... She’s like a sky full of diamonds, illuminating his path with her brilliant, unachievable luminosity. All you can do now is to step away and accept the event unfolding even if you don’t understand. If you can’t give him happiness then the least you could do was to pave the path for him to move on, to say one last goodbye even if you don’t mean it. Tonight, you will cry one last time over Hanbin.

Coat wrinkled from the sleepless night, you found yourself once again walking the path of self-destruction except this time you breach the entrance. You let your spent legs carry you down the same old path that weren’t yours any longer. Disturbing the dull elevator music, the interface ping indicating you have arrived at the 15th floor. How funny just one night changes everything. Countless night you had spent staring at yourself in the mirror surface, making sure your outfit and make up on point to meet the man of your dream not thinking twice that one day, this short trip would feel like an eternity of pain as you journey it one last time. A second before the set of shiny cold metal doors part way, you let out a long sigh eyeing the emotionless, empty reflection of yourself staring back. One last time before you’re free. Even before you reach the small door aside his big ones, you could already hear the scream of hope, of longing joy that their prayers had been answered.

“Oh my god. You’re finally here… Thank God.” Gleeful, Jane pulls you by the arm, holding your windswept, unkempt body close. You’re abruptly acutely aware of how gross you must be, feeling guilty of letting them be near you in such a dishevel state.

“We were wondering when you’d come by. Wait here with us, it’s 7:00 now, he’ll be here soon you know.” Lily chimes in, exuberance oozes along with the small desire for Hanbin’s wellbeing. All they wish is for their two friends to once again be happily in love. More than once they had made it a point to thank you for making their boss the happiest they had seen him in a long while.

A dejected “I know” slips out, ending the cheerfulness in the girls’ faces. Pushing a white envelop in Lily’s hands, you sigh a soft smile.

“Give this to him will you? Tell him I said thank you and I won’t be bothering him any longer. Oh and that I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no. Y/n, you can give it to him yourself. Look just 15 minutes, he’ll be here. He called me like 5 minutes ago... He’ll be 10 minutes top. Come on, stay here with us. you know he wants to see you.”

“I can’t... I’m sorry. I decided I’m not going to cry over him anymore. It’s time I get to be selfish. I can’t keep up with this much longer.” You whisper as your heart clenches knowing none of the words really meant what it suppose to. Like a puppy in a toy store, you let your gaze ballets around the room not really able to focus on anything, fearful of the storm your eyes might bring if you look into the girls’ eyes.

Panic engulfs the young faces. They had thought you finally come and answer their prayer, be the savior their exhausted boss needed. With the small shake of the head, you bid goodbye before disappearing into the elevator. You have to get out of there, need to. You can’t bear seeing his face, look into his eyes because then, you don’t think you’ll be able to walk away. There was nothing left to hold you here, not when he had moved onto newer and better. Rushing away before the fatigue of meandering the city all night long sets in, you just have to get home.

Having given up on driving entirely from sheer fatigue, Hanbin sits silently in the spacious leather backseat of his company car, a folder in his hands. The same one he had read the first sentence of the first page for about 30 minutes now without really comprehending what the hell it was saying. All his thought immediate diverges to you, aching even more that he hadn’t seen you the night before. He absentmindedly flattening, smoothing the lapel of his jacket that somehow seems to still smell like you. He couldn’t quite remember when or where you had put this on but he remembers the how. He distinctly recalls the playful glint in your eyes as you swiftly pushed pass his body, body slightly hunching over hiding something in front of your stomach. He had chased after you, laughing as he called for you but of course you were never one to back down from a fight. You thrown the jacket on hastily and continued to run even when you knew he was so much faster. You had ran until he picked you off of the ground and tickled you until you cried. A small chuckle graces Hanbin with its presence. Something that was so bountiful when your shadow was still lurking. Now, it was rarer than sighting of unicorns. Like all good things in his life, the small happiness he gained from his reminiscing soon washed away as his face engulfs in sheer terror. He might never be able to hear you laugh, ever again. His smile falters and once again, he leans back onto the spacious leather backseat, rereading the first sentence of the first page.

Eyes longingly stare at the passing scenery, misery emanates from the way he sighs, every breath he takes. Fingers absentmindedly tracing out the curves of your name on the frost bitten window, he feels worse than usual, feeling so stupid for not checking if you had been sitting there waiting before leaving for dinner. He had been so wrapped up in the attention of his companion to notice. As the black luxury sedan bends around the curve of the parking’s entrance, his eyes latch onto your bench like a starving leech, imagining the small smile you’d display every time he comes into view. Letting his thought lost in the universe he whispers your name, wondering if you would come tonight.

Like magic, you materialize out of thin air at his summoning spell, looking perhaps a bit more worn than usual but as always, stunning. He observes the sharp breaths you take, the tired steps and feels his heart smashing. The small shivers, the unfocused eyes, the rubbing hands, something isn’t right... He can feel it. His eyes couldn’t strays away from your fast moving steps. He had sunken back down into the seat before giving into his gut. With a tap of the shoulder, he commands his driver to follow you down the empty street of morning, wishing you would just call a cab instead of traipsing in the cold all alone. What happens next turns his world upside down, giving him all the reason to never doubt his gut ever again. Leaning against the wall of the old convenience store, you clutch your chest in pain before collapsing onto the hard ground. Hanbin jets out of his car faster than a shooting star, holding your lifeless body close hoping to give you all his warmth.

“Baby, oh God. Baby, wake up. shit.”

Wasting no time, he carry you back into his car before it speeds off into the horizon. Never before in his life had he feel this frightful. Clutching your limp body in his lap, he gives himself no time to cry as sheer consternation shoot through every single vein in his body. Hands tracing out the cold features of your serene face, he couldn’t help but whispers your name desperately, hoping you’ll respond to the sound of his voice.

Waiting is painful as Hanbin vexingly paces the small hall way in front of the locked door that holds his entire life. Having been kicked out by the doctor for not letting go of your hand, he rages at his incompetent, powerless in every way. He has absolute control over every aspects of his life but standing here, hanging onto the smallest sound coming from the room, he feels vulnerable, defenseless. All the money in the world, all the juice he got and you’re still laying alone in the roomful of strangers. All he wish for is to be there when you open your eyes, to give you some solace.

After an hour, the rhythmic mechanic beeping of the your steady heartbeat did nothing to soothe Hanbin’s heavy heart. Looking at you laying there so still, endless tangles of wires coming out every which way, he feels so helpless. Anger rising, how could he had been so careless. He knew you were waiting in the cold but did nothing. Now… Now all he could do is sit here and stare at your expressionless face, with his hands tie behind his back, utterly useless.

Holding your small frail hand, he presses it to his lips, letting them trace out every wrinkle, every bend, down to the small mole on the back of your hand. There was never a need for him to memorize the ways of your hands as you were always gonna be there until his last breath on this planet. Now, he regrets not studying them with greater details.

“Baby, wake up. I’m here. I’m right here. Won’t you look at me? Y/n, I’m waiting for you right here. Come back to me, baby. We can talk till morning come, that’s what you want right? for me to listen to you?”

Words of a desperate man. Pathetic sobs soak your soft skin. He had so many chances, if only he had turn around. What good does staying strong do if you’re miserable. How stupid was he to think that ignoring you would be the solution. The sudden click of the door tears his eyes away from you just long enough to see the older gentleman in a white coat sauntering into the room.

“Mr. Kim, I wish I could say good to see you again in better circumstances.”

With a small smile, he nods for the gentleman to continue.

“She appears to have an acute case of pneumonia on top of physical exhaustion, and dehydration. Pneumonia on its own isn’t worrisome but her body is weak beyond just simple exhaustion. We had her on drip and antibiotic but…”

At the sudden pause, Hanbin eyes dilate in fear.

“But?”

“I haven’t seen pneumonia this severe in a long time. It seems she has been suffering from it for a little while now without getting treatment so I fear antibiotic won’t be enough.”

A hopeless “oh God” rips the silent of the room, weighing down the air even further. The worst scenarios run through his mind. He could live without you knowing that you’re happy even if it’s not with him. The thought of you completely vanishing off the face of the Earth is one he never wants to think of. What would he do. Surely he won’t be able to survive.

“You, you can help her right? Tell me she’ll get better.”

“My hope is for the high dose of antibiotic to work. My fear is that it will spread through her other organs or fluid build up in her lungs will complicate the situation.”

Hanbin’s jaw drops. The thought of his precious girl having to go through all these physical pain all alone kills him.

“If those situations arise, our last resort would be surgery. The upside is we’ve caught this and begin treatment. Although not out of hot water she’s very strong. The chance of death being an option is non-existent so we continue to monitor her. I suggest having her stay until fully recover as sometimes patient do relapse. Especially since the weather hadn’t been that great outside. If she catch another cold then we’ll be in very serious problem.”

“Do whatever you need to do. Money is not a problem. All I want is for her to wake up and be healthy.”

Nodding understandingly, the doctor excuses himself, giving back the privacy Hanbin needs. The hand that never left yours now move to brush your tangled hair gently, petting it delicately.

“Did you hear that, baby? You gotta be strong. Be a good girl and fight it. I’ll be here with you every step of the way. Do this for us, be strong for us.”

He thought about pressing a kiss onto your motionless lips. How satisfying would it be to finally kiss those lips he loves so much once again but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not after all that he did. He sigh at the irony of it all. How he had wish you would stay by his side but fate granted his wish in the worst, most twisted way it could by having you in a coma.

Days passed and your hospital room is beginning to feel more like an office. The small coffee table, the couches, your side table all strewn with endless amount of documents and files. On the grey plush suede couch nearby lays an exhausted Hanbin, passed out cold with his glasses still on. He couldn’t bother to fuss with contact lenses, not when you need all his time. He trades in his suit for casual jeans and tshirt, curl up with his laptop still in his lap. The rhythmic beeping of your heart no longer visible to the second resident to this room, he had learn to drone the noise out by the 2nd night here. Jerking awake from the creak of the door, his eyes immediately grasp onto the bed in case you had woken up while he was asleep.

“Oh, morning mom. I thought Y/n woke up...” He sits up groggily, throwing his glasses carelessly aside to rub his eyes.

“My poor babies. I brought you home food, you need to stay healthy for her. We should really clean up the room too.” Hanbin’s mom whispers as she glances around the room. She couldn’t help but let out a few ‘tsk’ at the state of your hospital room that resemble the mess of her husband’s office an awful lot. Examining the small boxes, Hanbin’s attention once again on the creaking door as the older Mr. Kim arrived.

“How is she?” he says, voice laces with concern of a father. He had taken a liking to your spunk and will to work for everything you got. Before the relationship went south, many weekends you would spent sitting in the patio chatting about the mundane of life. He had never forgotten the joy in living a simple life even if they barely had enough to make rent. He often picked your brain about the simple things in life, the complication of wealth, and really just any random topics that came along.

“She’s responding to the medicine, which is good. No surgery needed any longer...”

“But?” His mom warily speaks up, fear rattles her usually poised and graceful tone.

“The doctors aren’t exactly sure why she won’t wake up...” His voice trails off, eyes tracing the lines of your face. No longer did your lungs require aid in breathing, the plentiful wiring was also taken away yet you refuse to open your eyes. Laying there like sleeping beauty, your prince Charming stumps at what else he could possibly do just to see you smile just one more time.

“What? then we’ll get better doctor, nicer hospital...” Mrs. Kim’s voice is near cracking now. She couldn’t help herself watching you laying there in such disturbing silent. In her eyes, you were never one to be still for long. Whether it be running around with her daughter or helping her in the kitchen, you were always on the move. The only time she had ever seen you in such a tranquil state was during your long talk with her husband, or the moments when you get so lost in the sight of Hanbin that you simply took a step back and admired his marvelous self. She knows in the state of your relationship with Hanbin now, neither of those things are longer plausible. Calls it mother’s intuition or whatever you may, she had always voiced her opinion strongly about keeping you around until her days in heaven. Tear brimming her long fluttering lashes, she sighs a regretful breath of how wrong she was and how much she wishes to be right.

“It won’t help, mama. The doctor, they said even though it’s irrational and there’s no proof, the human’s brain is complicated. This weird phenomenon, it’s often seen in terminal cancer patient, the- their will to fight gives them hope and that in turn affects the outcome of their treatment, even if it’s just by a little bit. Y/n, for whatever reason, they think she’s unwilling to wake up, that she wants to stay in her coma... Medically, she’s almost pristine. Emotionally...”

He sighs the sigh of that perhaps only world leaders would understand. Millions of thoughts run through his mind, worrying about the company, worrying about you.

“... I’m so scare. I have to leave for a business trip soon and.” he chokes on his words, images of worst case scenarios fumbling through his mind. For the first time since he was a kid, he parents witness his tears out of the pure fear of never getting you back. “and what if something happen when I’m gone.”

A firm hand grips onto his shaky shoulder, offering a few supporting squeeze. His mom holding onto your hands tightly, petting and caressing as if nudging your sleepy self toward the sunshine of Hanbin’s love.

“I’ll take care of the oversea trip, you hold down the fort here while I’m gone.”

“No, dad. She hates when I skip work because of her. The last thing I need is for her to be mad at me the second she wakes up.”

Father and son share a chuckle of the quirks that makes you so dear in their eyes. Although a man of few words, Mr. Kim shares with Hanbin a supporting look, telling his young inexperience son that everything will be alright. Mrs. Kim leans in pressing a small kiss to your forehead before taking her husband’s hand, eyes still lingering on your face, hopeful that you’d open your eyes any second now. Seeing his parents off, Hanbin returns to your bedside, praying to all the Gods for your safe return before packing up. Allowing himself a moment of selfish, he crawls under the cover to hold you close.

“Y/n ah, do you know how much I miss you? Everywhere I look, I just see glimpses of the past. I know I haven’t been good to you lately but please don’t punish yourself because of me.”

His voice weaken almost to a whisper at the possible reason why you’re still asleep. Pressing a big kiss onto your lips for the first time in almost 3 months, he feels your love coursing through his veins, reviving the dismal heart he had been neglecting.

“I love you so much and all I want is for you to be happy. You must hate me so much right now. That’s why you won’t wake up, right? Because in your dream, you don’t have to see the ugly betraying monster I’ve became. I’ve always admire how much faith and love you put in me. You gave me your life line to protect, to hold but instead I cut it in half. Trust me when I say that was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I thought I was going to die when I saw you cried, the disappointment in your empty stare when my assistant took you away... Just wake up, baby. All I want to do is making sure you’re healthy. After that, after that you can cuss at me, hit me, slap me, leave me. I don’t care what will happen to me, what will become of me. I just need to know that you’ll smile again, even if it’s not with me. I love you. Can you hear me? I love you, Y/n. All I want is for you to please, please stay with me but I know I lost that right so... Please, baby. Just wake up. Wake up and I promise I’ll do whatever you want me to. I love you so much.”

With one last lingering kiss to your forehead, he fasten a dainty shiny silver chain around your neck, hanging from it a worn gold band. Your worn gold band. Shedding the wrinkled, filled with crease from the strange sleeping positions on the couch sweater, he places it next to your head with a hopeful grin. Very early on in the relationship, you once timidly whispered to him your peculiar obsession over his scent. You didn’t know how or why but it always seems to calm you down no matter the situation. You had thought he’d stare or call you weird but instead, he pulls you close, pressing your face onto his chest, indulging you in your obsession that he doesn’t view as weird at all, not one bit. To him, these little quirks are what made you so you and so dear in his heart. He even took a long inhale, muttering something about always loving how your hair always smells like apple in response to calm your embarrassment about loving his scent. Ever since then, he made it a point to leave you his clothes whenever he has to leave for long business trip. He can only hope his sweater will act as a light, guiding you back to him.

Grudgingly walking away, a sudden intruding thought furrows his brow, his lips curl into a distasteful frown. Where the hell is Hyunwoo. Too lost in his thought, he closes the heavy door to give you some quietness from the bustling hallway, fails to notice the small twitches in your fingers.

Part 1: Just Go Part 3: Always Mine

#ikon #ikon scenarios #ikon hanbin #kim hanbin #hanbin scenarios #ikon b.i #b.i scenarios #hanbin imagines #ikon imagines

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