#there's also a weird voice under the Stranger files that I think might be from her older versions??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jae-canikeepyou · 3 years

Text

| into you | j.jh

pair: jaehyun x fem!reader

word count: 7.7k+

summary: as the uni campus’ social butterfly, it’s a given you have a lot of friends, invited to almost all gatherings and all adore you. for the latter, jaehyun does too. he’s so into you and likes how you’re his happy place. or; jaehyun— an unsocial, often misunderstood person, finds his behaviour different with you and perhaps wants to keep you for himself, not anyone else.

genre: fluff + elite!au

a/n: i’m back after a while since i’ve been so so busy! this is not proofread again and i’m sorry if there are any grammar mistakes down there :> this is not canon with “letting go” scenario in case there’s any similarities with the characters. hehe anyway i hope you all enjoy reading! ♡ ~j.

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seated at the front row in the amphitheatre-shaped lecture hall, jaehyun frustratingly put his hood back on to hide himself from those who were staring from all around. they were definitely whispering about him, hands by their lips to conceal their voices in case he heard them. he hated this much attention, all because he chose stay of out school and classes— and claimed that it didn’t interest him.

so did coming today.

but the point was his attendance for this class was on the line and his busybody parents were sick of receiving phone calls or mails that kept filling their boxes, all for the same reason; that their son could be expelled despite handing assignments.

he rolled his eyes at the heat creeping up his ears as the whispers grew louder. he slammed the thin granite table, causing everyone to flinch at the sound and his presence. “can i have some quiet?! i can hear you guys talking crap about me!” he turned around at the pairs of eyes, soon frozen like meerkats.

they ticked him off. he couldn’t stand being in the same room with people who repeatedly questioned his existence of being here. he knew that rumours were going around, that the ‘jeong jaehyun’ in high school got into an private elite university— it could be anywhere but never expected it‘d be this campus. it was written in the judgment of their faces.

“chill man,” a guy his age swung his lollipop with legs on the desk. “some are curious why you decided to show up today since first semester’s a week away from ending, while some even wonder why you got into such prestigious and elite university.”

jaehyun’s eyed him slowly from legs to head. “who are you supposed to be?” he snorted at the stranger.

“just a guy who wants to break the distraught you’re trying to start.” he kicked his legs off the desk and stood up on his suede shoes, showing off his pearly whites.

he looked at everyone whose eyes averted from the two of them. “our town’s a small neighbourhood, so everybody knows everybody. we know exactly who you are, jeong jaehyun.”

“excuse me?” he swirled his tongue that it was evident he was pissed. “careful what you accuse me of. you and i both know it’s not going to end well-”

“they’re near they’re near!” a voice echoed the hall, cutting jaehyun’s attempt to intimidate the young man any further.

and with that signal alone, jaehyun could see and observe ladies fixing their hair and make-up, while the guys gave fistbumps to those near them. he rolled his eyes at him returning the favour to them as the guy unbuttoned his collar. “what’s wrong with you?” jaehyun was utterly weirded out. “with everyone?”

the crimson-haired guy only gave a flirty grin with raised brows. “this happens everytime.“

the door swung open with the professor rushing in. the students swifted heads, it wasn’t the first time he ever was late. he was young and good-looking, and it was hard to believe he still a bachelor. he gestured someone at the door, then the held-in giggles and mumbles were soon replaced with whispers of awe, as you walked in carefully with a tower of binder folders halfly covering your view.

clearly the guys around him have been secretly admiring; some had the confidence of taking selfies even if you were far, while others took a picture with their eyes so you were marked in their memories. ladies flocked towards the flustered professor like little chicks and surrounded him.

and that’s when the comments started coming in.

“park seojoon is so hot.” “hey remember to use ‘professor’.” “i guess genes runs in the family.” “his sister is ethereal too.” “i see her weekly and y/n’s a goddess.” “y/n! are you coming to the party tonight?”

jaehyun knew who you were through social media and common friends. and he included himself part of the people who admire you. he also remembered because he bumped into you during orientation. he wouldn’t usually care about passerby’s and strangers and although that was a brief moment and short eye contact, something about you was hard to not forget. you had people and friends under a charming spell he couldn’t describe, and that was in a good way.

you tucked a strand behind your ear and became shy afterwards as they whistled and cheered towards your gesture, making you heat up a thousand degrees higher. you should be used to this but every time it happens, you were just as flustered as your brother.

jaehyun’s legs got up on its own and was surprised at himself for making his way to help you. he picked up the fallen binder files and scattered papers while the whiskers by your eyes creased up in shyness.

he hitched a breath realising that the clumsy you was adorable too.

“thank you.” a smile then appearing at the corners of your lips caused jaehyun to freeze for a while. yuta wouldn’t miss anyone’s reaction. he slid his chair close to jaehyun’s as the he came back, nudging his chair for him to give into your beauty.

“i know a person with heart eyes when i see one. now you understand why we’re whipped for y/n. isn’t she a babe- agh.” he held the back of his head from the smack.

“don’t call me that, nakamoto.” you hissed sharply with how confident and careless he could get, especially with people you weren’t familiar with. you looked at the guy in a black sweater and let out an embarrassed sigh. “i’m sorry about my annoying best friend. yuta tends to be chatty when he feels lonely.” you winked at him.

it was jaehyun’s turn to flash short chuckle, its faint sounds perked not only your ears, but yuta’s as well. “not a problem. i know a lonely person when i see one.” jaehyun emphasised through his gaze.

“i’m not lonely! i have y/n and my men!” he whined and turned towards you. “see what you did y/n?”

“it’s good to finally see you, jeong jaehyun.” you ignored yuta and brought out a hand for a greeting.

you pursed your lips to stifle a laugh, jaehyun’s ears quickly turned from pink to red. he gulped loudly and took your hand in his, eyebrows lifting at how you knew his name.

lost for words and you both locked eyes where he forgot to let your hands go. “we take the same course together? i know your name because you’re the only one missing from the class-” you said, shaking his hands to subtly let him know it had been a minute since your hands felt his vainey flesh.

“okay young lad that’s enough time holding my sister.” seojoon separated your hands and jaehyun snapped out of his admiration, inhaling quite stressfully with how stupid he looked. “get to your class y/n.”

“alright, i’ll see you at tea hour.” you waved at the boys.

“as long as you’re treating i’ll go.” yuta hummed in a monotonous voice, fixing his laces that went untied.

“i’m not talking to you dimwit.” you flicked his forehead, leading to your satisfaction of the nut-like sound from it. “jaehyun, because you missed yesterday’s class, prof assigned me to assist you, along with the other topics you’ve yet to cover. i’ll be expecting you at the café near campus.”

before you stepped out of the hall, yuta pulled your sweater, yanking you back. “are you going to taeyong’s party tonight? you never miss an event!”

you puckered your lips, pinching his cheeks that a cute gummy smile came out from it. “you know my rules. as long as you’re driving me home, i’ll go. see you later.”

jaehyun nodded yet was still in a daze. he realised what you said when yuta pushed him. “gross. don’t act as if we’re already close.”

“hm? was i really? i think it’s normal when you’re making a move on my best friend.” he brought out his laptop and typed his password.

i wasn’t. “whatever.”

and to say that jaehyun didn’t feel butterflies flying uncontrollably in his stomach would be an understatement. they made the intestine churn in ways he couldn’t imagine, and he himself wanted to deny that what he was feeling was just from the influence of others. but wouldn’t that mean his feelings were temporary? because if it were, he should perceive you an ordinary person.

yet here he was outside, still admiring you before he entered the café. he found it was amusing of how oblivious you were of his presence— you were too immersed into this assigned task by professor, but others found it funnier when jaehyun looked stupidly in-love and cowardly the lad looked, despite having the overall aura of a stuck-up.

as the sun’s rays brightened the city and the wind’s breeze made the trees leaves dance, only then had you raise your head to see jaehyun waving at you. ten minutes early, not bad for an actual first impression. “hey,” he greeted, making you smile with his low but gentle voice. “am i late?”

you took your bag from across and asked him to sit down. “no no. you’re just in time, it’s really nice to have an early bird around.”

his dimples deepened at the compliment. “how about the project? is it too late? you think i can still catch up?” jaehyun cleared his throat.

“that depends on your dedication. based on the record professor gets, you’ve been doing your tasks and homework quite diligently. he’s just worried about your habit of not attending his lectures might lead to procrastination when second semester starts.” you gave him a slice of cheesecake to eat. “he’s still teaching us another subject.”

“it’s quite the contrary.” he dove in for the dessert. “i don’t have the will to procrastinate at all.”

“then good.” you twisted the pen in your fingers. “let’s get started?”

for that span of two hours, how he wished it could be more. who knew you would have a lot of things in common with him? that time alone was not enough to talk about vinyl and jazz singers and pretty much everything that were overlooked by people. he brought up his favourite spots in the city and how they became a safe haven to escape the reality.

to cut the explaining short, his shell slowly started to open, bits and new things were showing. if you were surprised he was a good person, jaehyun himself couldn’t believe he was able to converse with people normally. being the awkward and shy type, doing this almost seemed impossible.

was it your magic that caused him to do so?

you learnt that jaehyun was rather special and by special it meant he had gifts that you believed were way beyond human limits. he never studied in a library, rewatched lectures or written his notes. and the professor mentioned how jaehyun received good grades in most of the things he submitted.

to be very honest, you were a little jealous. from how he was sitting in front of you, he didn’t seem to be interested but was definitely listening. and you sort of gave up in continuing anyway. “i don’t understand why i’m told i need to guide you when you’ve already caught up with everything.” you let out a soft chuckle that seemed more of a question.

“i was waiting for you to stop..” jaehyun said quite blatantly and stretched his arms and you were hurt because if he didn’t want to, he could’ve said so. heck, even more so, he shouldn’t have come here and wasted time-

“..because it looked like you were forced to do this by prof.” his smile then faded seeing you mirror the same. “are you alright? you’re a little pale..”

your eyes widened. “oh uh, sorry, i assumed-” you sputtered and probably died inside with what he said. you cursed in your mind. dammit y/n.

jaehyun raised his brows, making you more flustered and panicky. you sighed and waved your ‘its-nothing’ hand. “assumed that i’m brusque and a stuck-up?”

he pierced his eyes at you and you weren’t going to lie, he scared you a bit. but that fear immediately disappeared when a gentle giggle and adorable dimples replaced it. “i get that a lot, but don’t worry. i’m different from what people think. they think i’m not friendly, a-and a loner too.”

“you’re not.” he heard you counter him, slightly slamming the fork down. “if you were, you wouldn’t be here with me. or even bothered to come.”

his heart became warm through your words, that act of kindness torn down his walls of inferiority and his perception towards people changed. “thanks.” he checked the time on his watch and twisted his wrist to show to you. “don’t you have a party to attend to?”

“lee taeyong’s?” you stood up to leave the café. “i feel like skipping it for tonight. i’m not in the mood for parties somehow.”

“because i’m a better company for you?” jaehyun teased and boy was he proud with his remark, you didn’t even deny it. “you don’t have to go if you really don’t want to. it’s better to have time for yourself sometimes.”

“you’re saying from experience?” you asked, putting pressure on your words about his claim of being alone.

“it’s more of an advice for you.” he winked.

you thought he was quite observant even though he barely socialised with others. he noticed the light in your eyes sparkling, in which he felt his chest squeeze. you twirled in your toes as you hugged your laptop. “say.. are you up for a movie marathon?”

—

including now, it’d be the fourth time you both have rewind the specific scene just for that certain song jaehyun kept singing nonstop. and although you loved his voice, having the song on replay would be a little too much and the purpose of the marathon might go in vain. it seemed jaehyun was way into it, so interrupting him would be mean of you so you sang along.

“the nostalgia still hits me ‘til this day.” jaehyun tossed a bag of chips from your kitchen island to you.

jaehyun kept saying it may sound stupid and corny coming from him, but as a child he liked the whole high school musical series; and he pretty much became one when breaking free started to play.

because you both couldn’t decide where to watch the beloved movies by everyone, the marathon ended up being at your apartment. it was subtle, yet quite obvious to you he didn’t want it to be held in his place. you thanked your psychology course for giving lessons to notice even the little things in behaviour.

“how many times do i have to keep telling you it’s okay to like it? not like anyone would tease you for it.” you giggled as you opened the bag and popped a couple of chips into your mouth.

“yeah sure, but i know you would.” he squinted his eyes for you to admit that that was your plan eventually.

“have i?” you singsonged, sipping on the large cola cup.

he pointed at the hairbrush you held and suddenly you bursted out in laughter since jaehyun was obviously— maybe a little— offended with how you mimicked him singing earlier. “okay you caught me.”

jaehyun felt his entire body heating up. still in denial about actually being into you, he took a challenge upon himself and scooted next to you. his arms slightly brushed and touched against yours. “you in for hsm 2?”

“well we are having a marathon, might as well go for camp rock later.” you shrugged and eyed him with a confirming gaze.

“uh-huh.. but i’m still a fan of the trilogy.” jaehyun stole the chips in your hands.

“now aren’t you cheeky.” you gasped at his playful behaviour, and you didn’t dislike it. perhaps you prefer this naught over yuta’s as it didn’t get into your nerves or have the urge to hit him because of the hyperness.

he sat deeper into the beanbag. “i’m comfortable in here. your house feels too homey.”

“so is it my fault that you’re in your comfort zone?” you stated, taking the bag of chips back into your arms.

“yes.” he protested with frequent waves of his palms. “you’re too kind and i might come here to visit often.”

“suit yourself.”

since he arrived here it had him wondering, why did he decide to show up today at campus when there was actually a pure human being like you? he just needed a person— just one— to knock onto his heart. yet with many people in his life trying to do the same thing, none held the correct key. and somehow,

it had to be you.

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you’ve lost count of the number of times jaehyun has been hanging at your crib since then. it became a normal routine but never have you been to his place. it was always yours and you didn’t mind that. though he did promise, you respected his decision.

you found out he could be little dorky and corny but that was the unique trait about him. like friends at kindergarten, you both were still at a get-to-know-each-other stage. so that day, he created a schedule where he would hang out with you on wednesdays and fridays, claiming that he didn’t want to be seen by others, e.g. mr. nobody with ms. golden girl.

however, since then, people close to you have been looking at you rather differently. it wasn’t because they sometimes see jaehyun following you around, they sensed a different aura from you. you could feel their piercing stares from all directions, as if you were the centerpiece of a watch. there was something a little different than usual.

and you tried to ignore this ominous feeling for now.

yuta shook his legs vigorously, in which was an unsightly act to see for someone on the soccer team. you could see him from afar with his hands by his lips, biting it as he waited for your arrival at the university’s sports ground. jaehyun jogged towards you with his bag slung diagonally across his torso. he poked your neck and as a person with severe tickle spots, that caught you off guard into a fight-me position to the doer.

“chill, it’s just me.” jaehyun had both of his hands up, whiskers appearing just by the sides of his nose.

“jaehyun!” you relaxed your limbs. “got a better way of greeting? i don’t like being surprised.” you pulled the hem of his sleeve, missing how he pursed his lips in glee when you both instantly became close, like it was overnight.

he let you grab him as you both walked towards where yuta was standing by the bleachers. “i’m sorry?” he giggled loud enough only for you to hear. “i thought i’d get a priceless reaction from you.”

you rolled your eyes that it almost hurt doing so. “be glad i have enough patience for you.”

“and i didn’t have enough patience last night!” yuta joined the conversation seeing you and jaehyun before him. “where have you been? you said you were coming to my place yesterda- why is he here?” he looked at him then at you. “with you? again?”

“ever thought that i want to have my own ‘me’ time for once?” you took off your cardigan and placed it on the bleachers. you could feel jaehyun chuckling softly when you made reference to his remark.

and boy was he proud. “you’re emphasising on that quite often nowadays.” he helped you carry your bag as you to settled down.

“that’s because i never realised how true it actually is until i say it out loud, since being in everyone’s eyes does pressure me.” you balled your fists to nudge him lightly on the arm, and for him to dramatically receive the attack did put yuta in an awkward position.

“uh hello? i’m still here!” in front of you and jaehyun, yuta snapped his fingers several times to divert attention. “what’s going on with you two? how are you both suddenly so close when you’ve just met for the first time two weeks ago?”

jaehyun swifted his head towards you, and the telepathic exchange of words between you and him had yuta clicking his tongue in disbelief. “you were right, he will react.” jaehyun’s voice prolonged while munching on a corn dog.

“told you so.” you flicked your hair and turned to yuta as you continued talking. “bestie, we’ve been seeing each other since then.”

what the hell? the way yuta’s face turn sour at your smile towards jaehyun, he could almost faint right then and there since he swore he saw mr. dimples smile subtly at you too. “and with just that i’ve been replaced-”

“no i would never replace my best friend.” you held his palms hoping he would calm down from his high emotions, but he immediately pulled his hand away from you, much to your dismay. “hey, i’m here to make amends-”

“yeah?” he clicked on a pen and wrote something on a tissue, soon grabbing your bag from the seat and fished out your wallet. “then you’re treating me my meals for a month. i have another order right now.”

now it was your turn whose face became sour. “a month?! i can’t do that- hey!”

yuta tossed your credit card up in the air and upon seeing his eyes darken— though that was all in your head—you gave in and sighed heavily. you stomped your way to the caféteria while yuta comfortably put one leg on the benches with a satisfied grin. “man she’s easy to tease.”

“is that so? then i know now who she gets it from.” jaehyun said through his chews on his food, making yuta’s ears perk up at the response.

the atmosphere lingering between the two of them invited dark clouds. both could sense the change in their moods, and they both weren’t liking it.

yuta spun and played the ball on his hands then forearms, later let out a scoff when jaehyun raised his brows. he didn’t like the vibe jaehyun was giving and so did the latter. “i do it for fun. it’s natural between us.” yuta said.

“hm? she told me she doesn’t like it when you do.” he saw you on your tiptoes as you struggled to tell the order to the person at the high-levelled counter. but another scoff came out from yuta. “you got a proble-?”

“yeah kinda.”

“i don’t think so. i can tell it really bothers you when y/n hangs out with me.” jaehyun sat up straight at yuta’s comment about him.

“i should be. because i’m her best friend and who knows what type of person you are.” he did a few tricks with his legs. “but if you really want to know then your attitude is what i have problems with.”

“i remember telling you it wouldn’t be good for you when accuse me wrongly.”

he let out a monotonous and rather mocking laugh, taking jaehyun aback but he anticipated this kind of response from him. “and what? you’ll go berserk like you did years ago? as a high school freshman? beating the innocent up or whoever comes your way?”

“look i don’t know where the hell that came from but it’s not what you or everyone else thinks.” jaehyun aggressively crumpled the hotdog wrapper in his palms.

“c’mon you don’t have to hold it all in,” yuta set his ball aside and rested his hands on his waist. jaehyun was getting uncomfortable the more he listened to him. “unleash that side-”

jaehyun rolled his tongue, nodding his head to test him. “alright, i guess i don’t have to when i have feelings for y/n. thanks for the advice.”

what the..? yuta stared at him when there wasn’t a change in his expression. jerk- “now you’re talking. you wanna fight? let’s do that-”

“tsk yuta! the bill’s too expensive!” you whined and gently put down the tray.

while yuta clicked his tongue at your sudden entry and with how quickly you came back, for a moment jaehyun wanted to hug you for being his saviour. he was so close to lose his temper towards your best friend. the relief seen in his tensed shoulders, but you interpreted it otherwise. “are you okay?” you asked while you sat down beside him.

he hummed, folding his arms and looking at the distance, clearly avoiding eye contact with yuta. “mhm, i just realised the deadline is coming up in three days.” he excused.

you managed to utter out a giggle as you finally ate, finding out how jaehyun’s ears always turned red when given attention to. “you’re stressed about it?”

“aren’t you?” jaehyun drank the remains of his soda.

“not really since i finished mine. but, if you’re worried about your progress, i can help you.” you swirled the fork in the air like a wand. jaehyun smiled to himself when yuta took his ball to throw a fit.

“i’m not worried about the project. but there’s an annoying bug i’m trying to hit so help me.” jaehyun’s dimples appeared deeply again and as the darkening ombré sunset shoned his side profile, there you witnessed how pure he actually was— and you missed out on yuta’s frown towards jaehyun.

you gulped and almost choked on your own saliva, eyes still locked in jaehyun’s. his hair caught in the wind, making it look fluffy and his entire demeanour softer than you usually see him. you hitched a breath since jaehyun seemed like he had no plans to avert his gaze too. both of you were definely mesmerised and hypnotised, and for jaehyun it was just like that time. he remembered the colour palette of your makeup while you recalled the perfume he wore.

in the recent marathons with him you’ve never been this close, physically speaking. so this close-up really debunked the impression you heard from people, especially from yuta.

however, as you were oblivious with the pressure behind jaehyun’s words and even smiled back at him, yuta flicked your temple. he was indeed a worry wart and sometimes he would like to flick you just this once for being too much of a social butterfly. he knew it was in your nature to be kind and always on the look out for others. he’s fine when you were with anyone except with this guy you befriended. not him.

he dodged your flying limbs in attempts to hit him. “oi, you’re not going to ask how i am? if i’m worried?”

the pain from the flick remained on your temple. “no? you look fine to me-” you stared at your phone. the message reminding you of the singles elite party a month from today at 8pm. “a party?”

“yeah if you attended the previous party you’d know that there’ll be another one after taeyong’s.” yuta took off his shoes in change for his casual.

“hm. i’m don’t feel like going.” you jumped off the bleachers to dust off your pants. “probably gonna be boring.”

“i’m the one who’s holding it this time!” yuta put you under a headlock in his arms. “you’re ditching your best friend?!”

you giggled and ticked his sides and followed it with a playful hug. “just kidding. i heard from momo! i’ll be there.” you brushed your hair up into a messy bun while spotting jaehyun starting to feel out of place. “oh! do you wanna come to the party, jae?”

yuta mentally facepalmed and it was given he didn’t like what you did. but your eyes were quick to see his reaction and you slapped his chest. he glared at you while his hands caressed it. why did you have to invite him? it was the whole purpose why he decided to hold a party; maybe you’d finally appreciate his hardwork, or perhaps, notice him as someone more and as not a best friend who only worries and teases you.

jaehyun nodded in response, no words needed. a smile crept your lips as if you were given chocolates on valentine’s. “cool.” you pulled him on the wrist after hearing the coach calling yuta, followed with a loud whistle. “ah yuta, we‘ll get going! see you.”

“mm yeah..” yuta hummed, seeing you both vanish in the distance. “see you..”

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your sulking self laid sideways by jaehyun’s lap, head rested on a pillow. it’s been too long since yuta avoided you, purposely ditched your hangouts, seenzoned your messages and ignored your calls. as if these weren’t obvious enough for you to know something was up. there definitely was but you couldn’t put a finger to it. so you forced jaehyun to let you stay at his place, being it your apartment was currently invaded by your brother’s friends from abroad.

but honestly it was also because you discovered jaehyun’s unit was blocks away from yours. fate was gladly on your side.

“y/n, you know i can’t work properly when you’re like this.” jaehyun sighed while he adjusted his sitting posture and lifting his laptop.

you slightly and lazily your body turned upright, seeing his dimples beginning to show themselves. “let me be.” you complained.

jaehyun put down his laptop. “i can’t. you’re in my way of cramming hours. plus, how long have you been coming here? it’s getting too frequent..” he paused when your eyes were no longer on him— rather they were on your phone, staring at the last conversation from yuta.

he couldn’t bring himself to say that he was reason why yuta acting the way he was to you. and for all honesty he would keep this matter to himself. “did i do something wrong?” you asked.

“of course not. he’s probably in his emo phase. guys have them a lot more than you think.” jaehyun typed on the keyboard for the remaining parts of the essay. “but he’ll get out of it eventually.”

“fine i’ll trust on that.” you sat up and scooted over to see his progress. you submitted your assignment hours ago. looking at jaehyun, it seemed he was struggling at some parts. were you unconsciously pressuring him? the beads of sweat began to roll down his temples and that made you giggle if it was the case. uh-huh. he was really feeling that way.

he gulped so loudly that it came out as a weird noise. he hoped you didn’t hear that. but the way you pursed your lips to hold the laughter in only had him discontinuing his report. “d-don’t do that.”

“do what?” you snicker.

jaehyun rolled his eyes and poked your forehead. “you’re too distracting.”

oh how the tables have turned. that comment flipped your head upside down, your heart in a frenzy and stomach churning. it wasn’t “so”, but “too”— that only meant he wasn’t concentrating on his work for a while.

even so, you waited for him to finish despite questionable feelings you’ve been feeling. his coffee cup already did seconds and thirds. and suddenly you remembered the happy hour the local café was promoting and there was a few minutes left until it ends for the day. you had to bring him there.

but you decided that because you wanted to be out of that suffocating air jaehyun caused.

—

the more you walked faster, the more jaehyun’s wrist reddened and hurt. but he let you be as he liked how you were comfortable with someone like him. your hair flowed with the wind, the remains of your shampoo left a sweet scent. was it lavender? and the wind blew stronger, making the scent clearer to the nose. his heart skipped beats, because it was indeed lavender. he swore in his head. scrap aside the frequent marathons and meet-ups. lavender’s all the more reason why fell for you quickly than ever.

and when the local café closed early for the day, you almost lost sight of the pedestrian signs. jaehyun pulled you in as the light emitted red. though you had your emotions get the best of you, you realised how childish you were for something so minor. you laughed in awkwardness, he did too. “i didn’t want anyone to see this side-”

warmth. that was all you thought of right there. you were in his embrace.

“..of me.” you soon mumbled in his chest, realising later of the action he just did. “jaehyun-”

“it’s okay. i don’t too.” his hand gently caressed the back of your head, treating it with care as if he held a newborn baby. “so can i keep you?”

that warmth became hotter, almost boiling that you weren’t able to breathe properly. “i’m sorry.” he said, that must’ve surprised you.” jaehyun chuckled.

surprised? of course you were. how was it natural for him to do skinship? and that smoothly? you both weren’t at that stage yet, let alone have a relationship with mutual feelings. even yuta couldn’t hug you because of how conscious you felt.

but then again, you looked up. you saw his ears. it was red, the usual reaction whenever you were with him. was it normal though? you were never aware of it up until now.

because it was so clear now.

“i’ll see you tomorrow? i have to help my mom with some things.” you lied as you scratched your neck.

jaehyun nodded and pulled away. “alright, go on ahead.”

you poked his dimples because he has been staring at you like he had questions to ask. “what is it?”

maybe he didn’t notice or maybe he did, but he was leaning closer, his head tilting to the side and eyes staring into your soul. you knew what he was about to do, you feel like letting him do so but at the same time you weren’t sure of your feelings.

just a little more and you could’ve locked lips but..

your phone vibrated.

in panic you looked at your device and eyes widened that brought jaehyun aback.

“ah yuta!” you brought your phone so close to your face, not believing your best friend’s announcement on social media, in which he then followed up with a text message.

the light in your eyes was something jaehyun liked seeing, but didn’t so as well.

“oh! he said the concept for the elites’ party is live wardrobe. all singles will go through a ballot draw. it’s for the clothes to wear for the night..” you locked your phone. “tsk i wanted to wear my favourite dress.”

“i think you’ll look great in whatever gown is chosen for you.” jaehyun pat your head while you were immersed in your phone. “now go. it’s getting late.”

“i’ll expect the same for you.” you replied.

he laughed and that didn’t want to make you leave just yet. “nah don’t. i’m just ordinary in a suit.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

funny how he was so damn wrong.

fate let him draw red, and confidently chose a suit once it was his turn to change. it was as if he knew this attire would go well with him. a suede texture with a black outline on its collar accentuated his brushed up light brown hair, while his black under-shirt contrasted with his porcelain skin. gladly it wasn’t halloween, or else you would’ve mistaken him for a vampire.

he had you feeling all sorts of things, and you didn’t know why when you were nothing more than friends.

an hour ago he was in his usual casual wear. now he was surrounded with ladies who already seemed like they were friends with him for decades. you could see jaehyun was uncomfortable but he kept his cool with folded arms as he leaned against a column. the comments from them irritated you, because at one point they were badmouthing him— and the second he showed up they flooded him with compliments of his good looks and how they named him the “model elite��.

you swirled the wine glass in your hand, the other arm hugged your waist. you rolled your eyes at the falseness these people have towards him. “can’t believe it.” your fingers curled as irritation began to cover your sight. “look at them trying to make a move on him. erlgh too close. they weren’t like that before.”

sicheng rolled his tongue, hands in pockets and walked to be in front of you. “really? you weren’t like that before too.” he pointed out.

“i agree. recently you’re stuck like glue whenever you’re with him.” yuta gestured.

“am so not?” you gasped while your eyes trailed to jaehyun, who was still had patience for the ladies surrounding him. “i just like how he’s a good friend.”

“doubt it.” sicheng poked your cheek. “you wouldn’t feel like this when you have feeli-”

not this again. “i’m grabbing a drink.” yuta suddenly cut the conversation.

“get me one too!” the younger one yelled and after he was satisfied with the gesture, he winced as you pinched his sides from the remark he said earlier. “ow! y/n! it’s true though! i know what i’m seeing!”

truthfully, nothing about sicheng’s words or actions bothered you. but if there was anything that did, it was your own heart. as of tonight, you began to question your feelings towards jaehyun. when did it start? how was it possible to like someone so quickly? “i’m telling you i don’t.” your eyes trailed to him, not realising the rush of heat creeping your cheeks.

jaehyun was approached by yuta, who was giving him a glass of beer. the ladies fled after stealing pictures of the guy and he took the drink in his hands. then they headed towards the garden of the mansion. wonder what he’s here for?

“nice party you have here. concept’s cool.” jaehyun started to break the lingering silence because he knew how awkward this was going to be with your best friend.

“yeah, never knew you’d end up in red. it’s y/n’s favourite colour.” yuta’s voice lowered. there was an impact jaehyun could describe but assuming that would be too rude of him.

“really? i didn’t know.” he hummed. aren’t you a little too happy, jaehyun told himself. he shook it off, for he doesn’t expect him and you to go any further than this.

“now you do. so can you back up for a while? take a week off or something from y/n.” yuta raised his brows.

this was the same feeling from before. he knew this feeling because he felt the exact same way. he wanted to be selfish for once. not like he hated yuta, it was just.. he always had to appear whenever he didn’t want him to. then he would mess his mood. he interrupted his joy of admiring you. jaehyun licked his lips to dampen them. “i’m sorry, who are you to tell me what to do?”

yuta grinned and leaned against the column as he mirrored jaehyun. “don’t you get it?” he asked, his tone rising. “i love y/n. you entering the picture just ruins everything.”

my hunch’s correct. he does love y/n. “if you love her you wouldn’t ignore her.”

“it’s because you’re with her! and she does the same to me! it’s like she’s found someone else-”

“you’re being dramatic.” jaehyun pushed himself off the column and turned to him. “y/n’s sad and moping around because you treated her like she’s all alone. you have no idea how much she waited for you to contact her.”

“what do you know, smartass? you’re just another guy trying to fit in when you know you couldn’t. no matter how much you tried, everyone’s afraid of you. and now you’re telling me you have feelings for y/n? please.” his lips jutted with sounds of disbelief while his body posture challenged jaehyun. “y/n’s kind to everyone she meets. it’s who she is. but to think you have hope to be with someone like her? if you ask me, all i see is a greatest mismatch.”

jaehyun usually didn’t give a damn of the comments about him. he couldn’t care less of any of those. in fact he’d hear them through one ear and out they went. but when he said anything, it irked him.

you see, that was the thing— right now, he actually listened.

he turned a blind eye on yuta’s words and let it off for the night. he was given a drink and maybe the alcohol didn’t work its way on him than it did to guy. in the end, yuta was probably spilling tea even if he didn’t intend to.

“what i feel for y/n has nothing to do with you. just like people can’t control the tides,” jaehyun lightly knocked onto yuta’s chest. “i can’t control mine.”

the footsteps echoed in yuta’s ears, he could hear them despite the noisy hall. “rghhh!” he grabbed hold of his glass and threw it towards jaehyun.

sounds of shattering glass met the ground, as well as catching everyone’s attention. then there was silence. jaehyun began to lose his patience as he turned around. his smirk challenged him. ouch. this was the fight yuta was looking for, seeing jaehyun’s heavy breaths only made him stand on his toes.

jaehyun punched him in the jaw though he knew it wasn’t worth his time. but he wanted to give him a taste of stepping beyond boundaries. yuta punched him back too. he made sure the star of the night was the other— shone the brightest and reveal his true nature. he didn’t count the number of hits he received, as long as jaehyun stayed that way.

“i told you it wouldn’t be good if you provoked me!” jaehyun growled. “you’re asking for show? i’ll give you one!”

“huh..” yuta wiped his bleeding lip. “you sure about that, beast?”

jaehyun held himself for the next punch, feeling all of the pairs of eyes on him. yours included. that was what he feared. “aw. what impression does she have on you now?” yuta’s cooing words caused jaehyun’s eyes to soften.

all bleeding and bruised, jaehyun’s injuries have matched with his suit. he clenched his fists as he frustratingly left the hall.

in your peripheral, your eyes trailed his direction and your legs followed him by heart, without realising yuta calling out your name several times. everything went blank, not thinking things straight because while everyone watched, no one understood. you glared at yuta before heading outside, a more disappointed sigh was the only response he got from you.

yuta was then nudged by sicheng. the latter could see the change in his expression. “what did i tell you?”

“you don’t have to tell me.” yuta dusted his pants.

“i’m still gonna.” sicheng rolled his eyes and poked the lad’s temple. “that’s what you call ‘stupidity’. if only you confessed to her before maybe things would be different between you guys.”

“i don’t want things to be different dude.”

“i’m gonna state the obvious, you probably already know this but.. you lost this battle.”

“crap..” yuta’s voice changed from a nervous chuckle to a soft sob. “i liked her first.”

you spotted jaehyun sitting atop a metal barrier just in front of the carpark— head down to mend his injuries and scratches. he sniffed from the cool night breeze before hopping off. “you’ll hurt your feet.” he pointed at the heels you had dangling in your hands.

his gaze softened when you pointed at his face, especially the black eye. “touché.” he chuckled, later feeling your cold hands against his throbbing flesh. “it’s no big deal-”

“i’m sorry about yuta’s behaviour.” you sighed. “don’t let it get into you. he’s an airhead when he’s drunk-”

“you sure? he seemed pretty sober when he said- ah.” he pursed his lips to speak any further. “nevermind.”

now that gotten you curious. “what did he say? spill it!” you whined, causing jaehyun mouth to curve a little in amusement.

jaehyun prolonged the silence and grabbed your shoes, leading you towards his car. once he unlocked it and opened the door, he bursted out in a loud, healthy laugh. “he said he was head over heels for you.”

you pushed him to the driver’s seat and slammed the door, rolling your eyes at the pun. “that was so lame!” you sat on the other side. “but i know that already if you thought i didn’t. i subtly turned him down ages ago. guess he didn’t take the message.”

“clearly.”

as you tended to his wounds, one question still had your curiosity at its peak. jaehyun was quiet through-out, so it was hard to bring the topic up for a while. until your eyes and his met.

“what did you tell him before he threw the glass at you?” you dabbed the cotton onto the beaten area. “it must’ve pissed him.”

he dropped his car keys and let out a nervous hum. “uh..” he didn’t know what else to say. right when he was finally about to tell you, you suddenly giggled.

“unless you told him you like me and that made him angry, but i doubt that happened.” your lips shrank to a circle, cursing at yourself for assuming too much. girl the guts you have was incomparable—

jaehyun’s large hand held yours while you continued to apply medication. the warmth, the heat and the building tension of skinship made you weak. “you’re right.”

your smile and breaths changed in an instant when he fixed himself on the seat. he smirked a little, finding how cute you were. it drove him crazy.

“i like you, for the longest time, since the orientation. i’m so into you that i couldn’t help myself be selfish and have you to myself— i- i don’t know what i’m saying.” he sighed, pushing himself away in embarrassment with arms above his face.

“t-thanks.” you fiddled with your fingers.

“i’m not asking for an answer. i just wanted to let you know.” he said. “gosh this is a bad timing for confession.”

“then is it a bad timing if i said i’m into you too?” you looked away and out in the distance. you could see his reaction on the window’s reflection. he was shocked, but an uncontrollable smile was forcing itself on the surface. it was written in the dimples.

“no,” his husky voice called you to look back. “you’re just about right.”

#jung jaehyun #jung yoonoh #nct jaehyun #jaehyun oneshot #jaehyun #jaehyun imagines #nct 127 #nct #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun nct #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun angst #jaehyun au #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun fanfic

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cinnamonruts · 3 years

Text

SUMMARY → the three times you can’t talk and the one time you do

PAIRING → todoroki shouto x fem!reader

GENRE → comfort/crack

MASTERLIST → if you want to read more fics of mine

READERS QUIRK → the reader has an unidentified electric quirk ( from another multi-chapter todoroki fic that is still in the developing stages ) and when she get nervous sparks come from her face much like pikachu

A/N → these are just blue spring ride scenes that i think shouto would fall into — also, whomever made this manga coloring; it is gorgeous!

i. with your arms full of papers

As the class rep of 1-F there are many duties. Making sure no one blows up the classroom, everyone there needs are taken care of, and of course getting all the paperwork of what you and your classmates have fixed, created and blueprinted to the filing system Principal Nezu has created for your department.

That system being implemented after Hatsume-senpai has made so many inventions that the school did not know about caused many hero students a visit to Recovery Girl. So, now prevent measurements are taken as she sailed off to her second year.

Sliding the door open with your leg, not being allowed to take unfilled inventions outside the support course classrooms, you have to do it this way — something, you should thank Hatsume-senpai for, again — your eyes contact with a mismatched beautiful eyes and an even more beautiful face to match it. Your lips part as you quite obviously stare at the angle in front of you.

“Hi.” he said, staring right back at you. Parting your lips, you try to get words out but instead just sounds come out. Making your eyes widen at the sudden embarrassment of stuttering and falling over your tongue in front of him sets in, “Are you okay?”

Looking down again, you nod, “Maybe she is a mute.” one voice offers up at your silence.

“Mutes don’t try to talk.”

Squeezing your eyes shit, you turn around. Running as fast as you can with the folders. Praying you will not let them fall as you leave the group of students to themselves.

“Uh… should we follow her?”

“I think she does not want to be followed.”

ii. falling into his lap

“Hi.” a voice suddenly says. Making you freeze up at the deep voice addressing you. Turning around, your eyes widen a bit at how much closer he is standing than you had expected, “Support Course, right?”

Nodding you try to step around him to bring some space between the two of you. While also inching closer to the door so you will not embarrass yourself in front of the gorgeous boy again.

Due to that, you did not fully focus on where you placed your feet, you accidentally stepped on his foot instead. Wincing at your metal cladded boots, a gasp leave your lips at the pain it must be ( honestly it is cladded so well that it would hurt a hammer before it would hurr your toes ).

Dropping down, you try to help him. Instead, heads bump into each other. Wincing again you hold your forehead, trying to stop the throbbing. Standing up to fast your blood rush to your head; “Hey—” startled by the new voice, you want to curse at the sudden attention you are getting.

Turning around the girl stands incredibly close. Stepping back you wonder if either of them has ever learned about personal space or if pretty privilege exhumed them from ever having to learn it.

Yet those questions leave as the fast step you took made you wobble in your boots and down you went, taking him with you. Gasping at the hand that squeezed you close, bracing for the impact. Trying not to focus on it, you try to focus on not electrocuting the boy, “I-” you say trying to apologise.

“Are you okay?” the girl asks, cutting you off. The sparks from your face now not being able to be stopped, pushing up from the boy. A groan leaves his lips as you pushed onto something you should not have.

Shifting your eyes to him, fire waves from his face as he glances down. Following his eyes, your sparks flare up even more as you see your hand right on top of— scramble to your feet. Bolting out of the library as fast as your boots will take you as Lugosi-sensei, the librarian, reminds you that you should not run in those boots or you might break a bone.

Being to surprised by the speed she left at, “Well, she couldn’t have run faster from you if she had tried.” Yaoyorozu tells her classmate who is slowly standing up again.

“What even happened?” Midoriya asks baffled at the whole ordeal. He saw it all but it made no sense at all. How was it even able to have that many coincidences happen all at once? How did ‘hi’ get to running — if you could have called it that — out of the library.

Making him shake his head, letting his hair fall into his eyes, “I have no clue. I just said hi, it was quite, she stood op my foot, our heads hit and we weirdly we fell. Then she touched my crotch and she ran.”

“I guess that it was very embarrassing.”

iii. as you cry in public

It is a natural habit at this point; during every prop week, you have at least a couple cry sessions.

Not only having to make sure your project is done well and getting all your papers on track but also those of everyone in your class. Constantly putting out fires figuratively and literally. Gets really stressful and the only — healthy — way of dealing with it is having a cry.

To let all of it out at your special place under the window outside which is where you resided right now. What you definitely hadn’t expected or could have foreseen was an input fire drill.

Trying to clean your face up you and make yourself look as presentable as possible and not like you just cried. Getting your tissues you wipe your face clean, softly thanking your mum for reminding you to always have them on hand.

Feeling an arm around your shoulder, before being pulled into a chest. Stiffing up at the sudden feeling, you glance up having your eyes connect with one grey and one blue eye.

Now being even more flustered by simply having him continuously catching you at the most awkward of times. Instead of truly thinking about it, you take him up on the invite and push your face into his shoulder, sighing deeply having a scent of pine and cologne invade your senses.

Having truly calmed down, you feel internal grateful for this stranger that held you and prevented being seen crying by everyone as he sways us slowly. Making it seem like the two of you were just weird people hugging out of a window instead of what was actually happening, “Are you okay?” he asks softly.

Nodding, you pull away. Smiling softly at him as you leave without another word being too embarrassed to say anything else.

iv. tired of all the work

Rubbing your eyes you lay your head onto your work table. Just for a moment, in a minute you will stand up. It is Friday night and everyone has just left to the dorms; prop week was successful and Principal Nezu has gifted — your class — as the most promising new inventors. Earning your all the price; which is the same every year.

An invite to I-Island and it’s benefactors annual event. I-Island is a floating island close to the coast, but most of them have a quarters on land.

Who have hired many U.A. alumni after they have interned with them. Specifically, the class president who has pulled the class to those achievements. Which is why you wanted to be the rep to begin with but slowly you start to realise why no one else wanted it.

Hearing the door slide open, you can not be bothered to stand up. So, you just groan to signal that you are still there, keeping your eyes closed as you hear soft footsteps come closer to you.

The scraping of the chair and the soft shuffle makes you open your eyes. Connecting with heteroromantic eyes, the handsome stranger. Honestly, there are many things you have gone over to say to him since the last time you saw him a few days ago; ‘I’m not a mute.’ , ‘I’m sorry I touched your no-no-square.’ , ‘Thank you for letting me cry on your shoulder.’ but instead of all of that you just stared in his eyes and softly whispered the first thing that came to mind;

“You have really pretty eyes."

Making him raise a brow as you trace your eyes over his face. From his eyes to the tip of his nose ending on his lips, “You think so?" He asks in the same soft tone.

Nodding, you hum softly, “Could look at them forever." you say, the sleep deprivation letting you say whatever without shame.

“You can." and for the rest of the night of you did. There was slow conversation and comforting silent, truly you could have lived in that moment forever.

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST → @tsukkisbae @lovinnoya @tanakasimpcorner @lonelyweeb77 @suga-tofu @yammmers @tanakasprayer @honeykami @intense-socks @bakugoubiddies @bakujirou4562 @littlemaladaptivedaydreamer @melodyofroses @softiehawks @hotgreenteea @falling4fandoms

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 3 years

Text

for @bend-me-shape-me 's SPN advent calendar 2020. prompt: phone calls and late night texts.

Cas isn't a serial texter.

And Dean's a-okay with it.

But for all that's worth, they sure seem to have a ridiculous amount of emotionally significant conversations via, or starting off as, texts. And most often, in the middle of the night.

>>> hello, dean. [12:07 am]

Dean jolts up at the sound, realizing he fell asleep still wearing his headphones, with the laptop on his lap (and a new episode of The Good Place playing) and rolls his eyes at himself, hitting pause before he can see what’s happening (because he has good reflexes, and because screw spoilers that’s why) and rummaging for his phone.

At this hour of the night, it has to be something important.

It doesn’t really strike him that Mechanical Engineering majors whose only other selfprofessed skill is air guitar aren't exactly the frontline warriors for midnight emergencies.

Cas's name shows up when he squints at the too-bright screen, and he sits up a little straighter.

<<< hey [12:09 am]

<<< you OK? [12:09 am]

The response is immediate.

>>> do you have peanut butter? [12:09 am]

And as if it's an afterthought, Cas adds.

>>> yes, I'm fine. how are you? [12:10 am]

Dean blinks.

<<< peachy. peanut butter? [12:10 am]

At least this time the response takes a while. Dean wonders if Cas realized it was midnight, and not exactly a time to run inventory on your best friend's stash of condiments.

>>> I ran out. [12:12 am]

Dean sighs, unable to help smiling.

It's not like he's a stranger to Cas's weird cravings when he's high. (There'd been this one time with pie and a traumatized Gas 'N Sip cashier that still sits heavy on Dean's conscience.) But he doesn't think Cas is supposed to be high right now — Dean's usually either invited or informed by an unspoken rule — which just means this is regular "jelly, not jam"-Cas, at his core a weird, persistently sleep-deprived economics major and astronomy nerd, that Dean may or may not have had a crush on for an embarrassingly long time, and who's also prone to grammatically perfect texting, deadpan, Disney references, and bluntness when the occasion calls for it.

<<< pretty sure i have some [12:14 am]

>>> :) [12:14 am]

>>> I'm coming over [12:14 am]

And weird as it may sound, that had turned out to be the night Cas told him he was gay. Said it had been a revelating moment, unprecedented and wholly unexpected — and apparently revelations come in pairs because it had been followed by an intense need for peanut butter, and the rest, he explained emphatically, was history.

Dean had just snorted, congratulated him, and brought out the fancier plates for sandwiches — shipped in from home instead of a sale at Target — all the while, repeating to himself in a loop, that this changed nothing between them, nothing at all, and Cas having the capacity to be attracted back to him didn't mean that he ever would be (or for hell's sake, he'd scoffed at his traitorous chick-flick-nonsense brain, is.)

The second time had been early — way, way too early and it was by pure chance that Dean was awake to respond at six friggin' am on a Sunday. Like, that’s practically nighttime.

Goddamn stupidly-fit running-freak.

Dean picks up his phone blearily, tongue in cheek as he clicks on it.

>>> I miss you [6:28 am]

>>> I'd* miss you [6:29 am]

Dean's stomach twists, and he's not sure if it's in a good way, or a bad way, or what-the-sincere-fuck-are-you-talking-about way.

<<< what [6:32 am]

<<< wtf are you talking about? [6:32 am]

Nothing.

<<< cas? [6:33 am]

<<< dude [6:34 am]

<<< cas???? [6:34 am]

Dean swears at his screen, more queasy than irritated. He can't stop fidgeting, so gives up on lying down altogether and hoists himself to his feet. Better to get his friggin' toothbrush since he's already up, and now definitely awake. Cas was so paying for this later.

He comes back, mouth mint-fresh in theory but still tasting awful and of fear and dread, and practically sags when he sees his screen blare with two messages from Cas.

>>> sorry, I had to make a call. [6:42 am]

>>> I'm not taking the job. [6:42 am]

And that's how Dean finds out about Michael (Cas's oldest brother, entitled asshole) inviting Cas to join his and Lucifer's (second oldest, bag of dicks) firm the year he graduates — invite, of course, being a loosely used word here for expecting it blindly (out of some crap he calls 'loyalty') and being readily willing to manipulate him into it.

And it's how he finds out that Cas turned them down.

"It's not who I am anymore." Cas had repeated, third time probably, and surer than before, and Dean had nodded earnestly before realizing Cas couldn't see him through the phone, and humming his affirmation instead. "And if I go back there, I'm never getting out again."

Dean'd swallowed.

"I don't want to." Cas had said, voice trembling. "I am — my own person here. It shouldn't be like this but this is the first time I have autonomy, Dean. Here is free will, and here are you. I don't — I can't. I'm not going to let them take it away."

"Good." He'd sounded shaky to even himself. "Don't."

"Yes." Cas had promised. "I'm not going."

And eventually they'd moved past the heavy talk into why-didn't-I-hear-about-this-before territory, Dean being righteously annoyed at his best friend for keeping something so huge from him, and Cas making lame (but probably valid) excuses in the name of not knowing how to explain the situation until he knew himself what he was going to do, because Dean may've been the first person he'd confided in about the insane fuckery that been his childhood and adolescence, but that still didn't mean he'd understand this, broken and convoluted.

And then Cas had nicely segued himself out of Dean's target of irritation and added, "They asked Gabriel too, by the way."

"And?" Dean didn't ever have much care for Gabriel (third oldest brother, cares about Cas, still a jerk) but Cas shared an apartment with him, so he had to face him plenty.

"He's running off to Miami."

And Dean had thrown his head back and laughed until Cas had smoothly added, "And I was wondering if you would consider moving in with me."

At which point, of course, he'd started coughing instead, because holy shit, it actually made sense (Sammy had left for Stanford two months back, and Dean lived alone in a space that had probably been two big even when there were two of them) and might actually happen, but Dean wasn't really sure how much longer he'd be able to hide his crush, sharing a friggin' kitchen with the guy.

The third time's after their first date.

(Because, well. It happened.

It happened with Dean leaning across the breakfast table to prove to Cas his bacon was superior (to cookie friggin' crunch, because goddamn is Cas a dork) and Cas taking a bite with their eyes fixed on each other's, and Dean turning red when Cas licked his lips and then, just like that, Cas swearing under his breath (definitely filed for later pondering, that bit), grabbing Dean, and kissing the living daylights out of him.

And Dean had kissed back with everything he had, hands cupping his face, and nearly melting in his arms - but then they'd separated for air and Cas had had an apologetic look on his face and when Dean had tried to lean in to kiss it away, he'd received half a smile and a shake of his head.

"Let's do it the way we're supposed to."

And Dean had known immediately what he'd meant. Let's not fuck this up by becoming best friends and roommates who sleep together. Let's...play safe.

"Okay. Uh," he'd rubbed the back of his neck. "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

"Thursday." Cas had promised with twinkling eyes, though Dean had already known he was going to say that since he knew Cas’s week at least as well as he knew his own, and two days and an anxious half of a thursday later, they went on their first date. Burgers and beer, and Led Zepp, and hands held in the Impala. Four hours later, they were back, and in their respective rooms, and Dean couldn't stop thinking about Cas.)

When his phone vibrates, Dean reaches for the bedside table.

It's at least midnight, it feels like he's been in bed for ages, and the only reason he isn't asleep is because all his brain seems to be capable of at the moment is thinking endlessly about the date. Fortunately, he's not the only one — although he's better at hiding it (practise, he'd say) because his heart is in his mouth the moment he reads Cas's text.

>>> I think I'm falling in love with you [11:43 pm]

>>> already. [11:43 pm]

Dean is very grateful for autocorrect as he types back with too-excited thumbs and a racing heart.

<<< so much for doing it the regular way cas mosby [11:44 pm]

>>> in my defense, it's been years. [11:44 pm]

<<< that part i get [11:44 pm]

<<< me too [11:44 pm]

<<< but youre supposed to wait three days before calling dumbass [11:45 pm]

Jesus, he'd never expected to blush cause of texts, but here they are.

>>> I'm texting. [11:46 pm]

And he guesses he'd never expected to giggle (he's alone there, sue him) cause of them either, but Cas apparently exists to prove him wrong about himself.

<<< good for you [11:46 pm]

He sends, biting his lip, and then lies in the silent darkness for a couple of minute, devoid of text notifications entirely, thinking uneasily — before he gives up.

They're idiots, sure, but nobody is this dumb.

<<< so when the fuck are you coming over then [11:50 pm]

>>> on my way <3 [11:50 pm]

And thinking about the lightening speed of that reply and the fucking heart emoji is enough to sustain him the entire one minute it takes Cas to get there, gently opening Dean's door, and climbing into bed — fitting in Dean's space like it's been made for him, and kissing him in greeting after leaving his phone on the table next to Dean's.

As it goes, with the confessions and the midnight cravings (and the grocery lists that keep getting piled onto through the day, and random pickup lines Cas decides are perfect to send Dean daily once he's found a website for puns, courtesy of Claire, and of course, pictures of Grease, which clog Dean's cloud in dozens whenever the ridiculously cute cat does something even slightly out of routine, god bless her lazy soul) Cas might just be a texter.

But Dean's pretty sure he's more than okay with it, so it doesn't really matter.

#spnadventcalendar2020 #destiel #destiel college au #casdean #dean is bi #texting fic #destiel fluff #best friends to lovers #+ roommates :))#deancas au #young dean winchester #young castiel #bluefirecas #rambleoncas #tearsofgrace #userpris #oh writing my writing #i had fun writing this :)#college aus almost feel like my roots at this point

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ohmysparkle · 3 years

Text

🔮 A New Arrival 🔮

✨ Spellbound: Prologue

Series Masterlist

✨ Pairing: Hyunjin x reader

✨ Length: 2.9k

✨ Warnings: none in this chapter

✨ Tag List: @xviternity @straykisz @97lovestay @aliceu @meow-minho @velvetand-roses

✧･ﾟ🌑: *✧🌙 . *⭐️:*✧✨* : ･ﾟ✧ *.🌑 ✧･ﾟ

A dainty young secretary in a stylish little skirted suit dashes down a hallway towards an office, holding a telephone receiver in her hand, careful that the wire doesn’t snag behind her lest her boss get upset. Afterall, he’s been waiting for this for quite some time.

Knock, knock, knock!

“Yes?” A sharp voice calls out on the other side of the heavy wooden doors. She opens one wide.

“Mr. Mayor! They’re on the line for you!” She urges.

“Damn time, Alyssa! Come in, hurry up and bring your notebook!” He shouts. The secretary dashes back to her desk and grabs her notepad, looking back to the Mayor’s office to see if he’s connected to the line before she hangs the receiver. She dashes back, little heels clicking on the glossy floor.

“Speaker.” She insists to the mayor, urging so that he presses the button in time for her to hear the person on the other line answer. His neat mustache wiggles before he gives a stern “Hello.” for whoever is on the line.

“Hello, this is the Old Zealand Office of Coordination for the Association of Guilds, Clans and other Specialists on Magical, Supernatural and Paranormal Affairs, also known as SMSPA Central. This is Ezra, Lead Coordinator, speaking. What may I help you with today?” Both the Mayor and his assistant quirk eyebrows at the upbeatness of the man's way of speaking, and the mayor clears his throat before his focus escapes him.

“Ezra, good man! This is Mayor Armand Brandywine speaking from Nocturne Town, from the League of Lake Towns… Uh, calling because, hmm… I believe Ezra, it’s been two months-“

“Nocturne, Nocturne, Nocturne… hmm?” Ezra ponders, measuring the familiarity of the name - “Oh yes! The Ponies! I saw your Towns in a travel magazine just last week! My wife has insisted we go over to the League for our anniversary, she says apparently the great lakes over there are crystal clear, and that there are hills full of flowers and quaint little towns pocketed beneath, and that you use the most darling trains and ferries to move about. And the semi-annual pony contest!”

“I - yes, well - we do. Listen Ezra, as I was saying… it’s been four months since we filed an official request to have a specialist come here to help with a witch problem…”

“A witch?!” Ezra exclaims in disbelief, “A witch way out there? No way, you’re not even close to any of our mildly risky areas… there’s hardly any magical activity on your continent. Are you sure it’s a ‘bad’ witch?”

“Yes, positive.”

“Like a ‘sold her soul’ to the devil kind of witch? Or ‘weird lady who lives in the woods and smokes a pipe that makes people sort of uncomfortable but is actually really harmless’ kind of witch?” He questions.

“The former.” Armand replies flatly, giving Alyssa a look.

“Bad?” Ezra confirms.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“And to whom did you submit your request with this claim?” Ezra continues asking.

“To a mister…” Armand looks at Alyssa.

“Zachary Z.” Alyssa whispers, clearly mouthing out the name.

“It was addressed to a Mr. Zachary, I believe he was the liaison for this region.” Armand states.

“Oh no…” Ezra does not say anything after this exclamation, and again, Alyssa and Armand share a look throughout that moment of silence.

“Oh… no?” Armand asks after uncomfortably expecting Ezra’s reply..

“Yes, ‘oh no’... you see, Zack was on a field assignment a few months ago and… well, he died. He was assessing if a local pyromancer had become a danger worthy of sending a specialist.”

“Oh.” Armand mouths to Alyssa, with her silently making the same gesture.

“We wouldn’t have any record of his assignments - he had his suitcase with him when he burned.” Ezra continued.

“Oh!” Alyssa silently exclaimes, again, crossing wide eyes with her boss, both of their faces contorting into grimaces.

“Oh poor Zack… He burned, suitcase and all…” Ezra reminisces. Armand is at a loss of words in the awkwardness of it all until the man on the other end bounces back. “So anyways, tell me about this witch of yours to see if I can help. When were the first and last reported sightings? ” Ezra returns to his upbeat, almost musical tone of speaking, having not missed a beat despite the sorrowful interlude.

“Well, you see… no one’s actually seen here. But - “

“Invisibility, you say?! Now that’s something you don’t see often!” Ezra prematurely interrupts, not missing the opportunity for his pun.

“No, no! I mean we haven’t sighted her… yet!” He corrects.

“So you are… placing a request for a specialist… for a witch that is unconfirmed?” Ezra says rather skeptically.

“But, there have been signs! Items, I mean trinkets, of witchcraft appearing in people's homes, dead animals stuffed with tokens…” the Mayor explains.

“Don’t forget the symbols!” Alyssa urgently whispers.

“And symbols! Runes! Painted on people's doors and under their beds!” Just as if he were visiting a skeptical doctor, Mayor Brandywine made the symptoms seem as serious as he could in fear that he would not be taken seriously.

“Hmm… could just be a prankster… any other proof? Any bewitchings? Hexes? Evident signs of curses or dark magic?”

“Well… people have dreamt of the same faceless woman, but I’m afraid we can't prove anything.”

“Well, in that case, it might be difficult to process a request on the basis of a witch. Besides, if there really is a witch, and she’s not actively harming the population, it might be better to just… let her be.” Ezra muses.

“Let her be?!” Alysaa mouths to Armand, which he repeats verbatim to Ezra on the line with emphasis on his outrage.

“Well, yeah, I mean… ‘evil’ and ‘bad’ are both pretty wide scopes. Maybe, if you think about it, witches are almost still human. Just think of her as a bad neighbor. Sometimes it’s more bothersome to deal with them and confront them than to simply let them be” Ezra suggests.

“Wait! Hold on, hold on! Can’t you at least send us someone to evaluate the situation? Maybe one of those fancy Black Knights?”

“Ha! Black Knights, ha! Get a load of this guy Zelda, he wants a Black Knight for one witch!” Armand and Alyssa can hear several people laughing on the other end of the line, most likely seated in desks beside Ezra’s. “No way… have you not seen how things are over in Arcadia? Necromancers, lots of real witches that people actually see, all kinds of undead… ha! Good luck trying to find a Black Knight at this rate, they’re all boarded up in their own country. Simply no way. They won’t leave their little civil-war-issue-thingy over there unless it's something serious. Like bad bad bad black magic serious, not ‘maybe a witch’.”

“Fine!” Armand says with an eye roll, “What about an Other Brother, or a Ghost Buster?!”

“Listen to this guy! Are you honestly willing to go beg one of those associations for an unconfirmed witch?”

“Alright, alright… What about one of those Arctic Druids?”

“No! No! Simply no! We do not work with those people anymore, they are way too fond of human sacrifice. No!” He firmly refutes.

“Then who the hell can deal with a witch?” Armand asks in exasperation, still communicating with Alyssa in silent glances.

“Oh we’ve got a handful of people available… but not for your case, seeing how it is. Hmm… let me think… Are you maybe dealing with anything else?” Brandywine takes advantage of this question to put in complaints that have been more complicated to deal with.

“Yes! Werewolves - plenty of them, and I’m pretty sure someone has been sneaking some bloodusckers into town.” The mayor emphasizes this with a slammed palm on the table.

“Well, Mr. Brandywine, I’m seeing here that some of the towns in the League allow werewolves… hmm.” The sound of flipping papers and heavy slams of stack of folders is clear over the speaker. “But I see here in my records that Nocturne itself is not a ratifying member of the ‘Treatise on the Rights of Magically Affected’ of ‘78, yet I also see that werewolves residents are allowed so long as they adhere to specific medical protocol - which as I see, is being tended to by a Dr. Nemo…”

“Yes but they are a danger to the population! They - they…” the Mayor looks at Alyssa for guidance.

“Say they spend the full moon naked in the woods!” She whispers with fervent urgency and he nods. Bingo!

“They transform without any kind of restraint, running free through town. The woods are like a hunting ground for them, God forbid any innocent happen to roam near there at night. Near feral, I say!” Armand dramatically states.

“Hmm… Well, they should be following medical protocol under the supervision of a trained magical practitioner. I see you have someone assigned,,, a Dr. Nemo? And, these vampires, they are outlawed within your jurisdiction, is that correct? I don’t see any record of any vampiric trespassing, no reported cases or documentation here at all.” Armand worries at Ezra’s skeptical tone, concerned he’ll lose his request.

“It’s that damn Doctor, I tell you!” He finally exclaimes, “I’m sure she’s been bringing in all those vampys under the table. You know what we do to them, they must submit to the authorities to be defanged and treated - that is the law here. Some of those free loving magi hippies on the other Islands may think differently, but everything to the west of me is a Vampire Free Zone.”

“The sirens!” Alyssa quietly interjects.

“And do not get me started on the damn sirens! Zombies too!” Armand concludes.

“Hmm…” Ezra thinks, he has quite a dilemma. According to all records, Mayor Armand Brandywine and several other governors in the League of Lake Towns are quite ‘anti-magic’, not so much the practice of it, but the act of being magical. He isn’t a stranger to getting calls like these, trying to put much needed specialists in situations that are otherwise political, and quite frankly, he was quite clear on not having one of his guys go in to terrorize people.

Ezra considers some of Zachary’s old notes… scribbled on some files in a shared folder. “Mayor Brandywine - staunch anti magi-humanist” meaning, he did not consider magically affected peoples, such as vampires and werewolves, zombies and sirens, to be human at all but instead monsters. Ezra could not allocate a particularly special specialist such as a Black Knight for such a frivolous case. After all, there were greater urgencies elsewhere on his hemisphere. Besides, his organization did not treat such individuals as monsters, he could not give Brandywine what he seemed to suggest he wanted. Monsters, by the standards of the SMSPA, were non-human entities. Enchanted animals and whatnot, ghouls, definitely the incurable undead - so long as they were precisely incurable. He thinks of a possible solution until something catches his eye…

A sheet tucked neatly into the regional folder where Mayor Brandywine’s town’s information was, titled simply “Dr. Nemo - Practitioner of Magical Medicine and Professor of Magical Biology”. Most of the fields were blacked out with ink, a brief description stating that her office was in Nocturne Town, despite the stance of Brandywine, and that she taught a focus course in a magical academy on the other side of the League. Hmm, no picture either, and suspiciously young.

Ezra continued to study the sheet, finding something of particular interest. A stamped red seal that every coordinator in Central knew, but that he had only come across twice before in all of his years of service:

Do not intervene - Tier S approval. The licences assigned to this person were quite… advanced, and quite… obscure. And below… request submitted by the Armed Forces of the League of Lake Towns.

Ah yes, a centralized police and military force for all of the smaller cities and townships in the League. Must be messy, especially considering the polarized stances on magic from the different members on the lake. But why would a magical practitioner require such high level authorization? He’d only seen it used for instances involving Black Knights and the like… never for something as lowly as medical men.

This is definitely one of those hush hush situations, lots of the specialists in his region required anonymity, hid from persecution because of their skills, or ran from some of their previous targets… especially if those individuals worked in the same field as this so-called Dr. Nemo. But this person… he didn’t place them in Nocturne, or else he would have remembered. This must have come from higher up - one of those top secret cases that Zachary would occasionally manage.

It certainly was curious. He held the blacked out form in his hands, retracing the dented letters that pressed this curious name on the paper… Dr. Nemo. Sounded like something out of a book.

“I have… a possible solution.” Ezra finally states, after the Mayor and his assistant had been expectantly leaning into the speaker for some time. “Maybe, perhaps, I can send you someone… Zandor!” Ezra calls to someone who seems to be at a distance from him. “Have we got any newbies?”

“What field?” A voice calls back in the distance.

“Monster hunters.” Ezra specifies.

“We got a class of newbies from that place they sent us that last guy from - the one you sent after that undead bear.” Zandor answers back.

“Gimme!” Ezra orders with a couple of finger snaps, and soon enough Alyssa and Armand hear a heavy folder plop on his desk. “Let’s see here… hmm, quite a few available clansmen… eenie meenie miney mo! Aha! No, not this one… aha!”

Ezra studies the page. The picture is of a young man who looks a bit too young to be in the field. The boy is trained to deal with most issues passively, good references, a bit inexperienced. No reports of excessive force. Mayor Brandywine won't be able to do much harm with the kid’s stats, he thinks, and he’s got good training and just the right licences. Silence again, until Ezra resumes after having studied the file.

“Aha! I’ve got your man. Hmm, and he’s quite a looker! Hyunjin, Hwang Hyunjin. Recently licensed as a tier one monster hunter… deals with all kinds of threatening non-occult entities... authorized to identify threats that are of the occult or ‘other’ nature. Can dispel moderately complex dark magic… transfiguration, discretion, stealth. Sounds good. The boy won’t cost you as much as a Black Knight, that for sure. If you have a werewolf or vampire problem, he can deal, and if you do have a witch, he can send us the claim and we’ll scale it up. How does that sound?”

“Not ideal.” Armand replies with a sigh. “How much does he cost?”

“Hmm…” Ezra presses keys into some kind of machine, “two and ninety seven hundredths of Zealand Zeals per Rupee… fifteen point two Limnian Ponies per… He’s gonna cost you twenty thousand Ponies a month.”

“How much do we have?” Armand quickly whispers to Alyssa.

“We can go up to thirty grand.” She replies. He nods, knowing what part to play.

“Twenty thousand?! We don't have that kind of money!” the Mayor exclaims, putting on the best of his acts. “We can do fifteen!”

Ezra takes a good, long sigh before replying. “Fifteen… and you offer top quality room and board, full, two days a week off, and one day a week for him to take private jobs in the area. He works four days for scheduled items, but will be available 24/7 for emergencies pending his acknowledgment of it actually being an emergency.”

“Deal.” Brandywine quickly affirms, quietly snickering at his accomplishment.

“That being said… I see you only have one other magical specialist in the region, that being this Dr. Nemo. You will make sure Clansman Hwang has access to medical care in the case of any event, and you will make sure he is given a thorough briefing on the area he will service, in this case I am writing his permit to do his work in Nocturne Town, and authorizing him to take up private commissions and attend to emergencies throughout the entire League.”

“Done.”

“Very well Mister Brandywine - “

“Mayor.” He corrects.

“... Mayor Brandywine. You can expect your specialist to arrive in ten days, please be mindful of the documentation and permits he hands you, you will need to keep them safe. Payment instructions will be attached, we collect monthly. For any additional inquiries, feel free to call, and I’d greatly appreciate if you could stay on the line to answer a quick survey if you considered my services satisfactory this day. Thank you for calling Old Zealand Office of Coordination for the Association of Guilds, Clans and other Specialists on Magical, Supernatural and Paranormal Affairs, goodbye.” Ezra’s tone had become flatter, but in view of his dirty victory, Mayor Armand Brandywine did not notice.

The line soon goes dead.

“So… looks like we’ve got a fix to our little problems. Make sure to register the expenses as twenty thousand ponies. Understand?” He says to Alyssa.

“And if it’s not billed in the invoice? They said only fifteen.” She questions.

“Administrative expenses.”

#strange devotion skz collab #straykidsland #hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin #stray kids smut #hyunjin au #stray kids fantasy au #stray kids au #hyunjin smut

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vanessakirbyfans · 3 years

Link

Vanessa Kirby suggests we meet on the Mall, the central location for her on-screen triumph as the young Princess Margaret in The Crown. I’m standing outside the shuttered Institute of Contemporary Arts when she strides into view, a slender, leggy figure with bleached hair and brilliant blue eyes, clad in trademark black, but for her gleaming white Converse trainers.

"I haven’t been here since we were filming!" she marvels through her mask, gazing up the processional avenue towards Buckingham Palace. "I was whizzing up the road on a motorbike, holding onto the back of Matthew Goode [as Antony Armstrong-Jones] and feeling so exhilarated about what on Earth was happening to my life – being in a job I loved, playing someone I loved."

Her ebullient mood was dented when Margaret’s handbag, into which she’d put her own phone, was blown away from between her feet, and an opportunistic passer-by ran off with it. "By the time I could check Find My iPhone, it was already in Leicester Square," she says. "Of course, the costume department were furious because the bag was vintage and a one-off." We both laugh, rather ruefully, for such anecdotes already seem to belong to a more carefree time. This bright, crisp lunchtime in lockdown, the Mall is all but deserted –there would be no need for roadblocks or filming at dawn today – while the roles Kirby is here to discuss are light-years away from her embodiment of a pampered royal party girl.

The morning of our meeting, Pieces of a Woman has launched on Netflix to rapturous reviews and critical acclaim that has seen Kirby, in her first lead role, picked as a front-runner for the award season’s most coveted best-actress gongs.

It is not, however, an easy watch. Kirby plays Martha, a first-time mother whose baby dies moments after being born; the film follows Martha’s subsequent disintegration, alongside that of her close relationships. Her labour, which comes at the start of the film, is some 26 minutes of one unbroken take that manages to be simultaneously intimate and menacing as the camera swoops around the apartment and hovers beside the traumatised protagonists.

Kirby’s performance is astonishingly unselfconscious, which is the more surprising since she never went to drama school (turning down the offer of a place at Lamda in favour of stage roles at Bolton’s Octagon Theatre) and says she couldn't bring herself to dance in front of her friends. "I’m the one who sits in the corner and watches." She describes seeing herself on-screen as "disconcerting", and "not a very natural human experience", and indeed even finds making Zoom calls a trial. "There’s nothing to hide behind!"

For Pieces of a Woman, the director Kornel Mundruczo decided that the birth scene would be the first to be shot, she tells me, as we stroll around St James’s Park, conducting ourselves like a couple of spies in a Le Carré novel. "I knew I’d have to be naked, and literally open my legs and give birth in front of a group of strangers I’d only met that morning. I was actually quite thankful – I thought, the rest of it’s going to be a lot easier."

In fact, she says, she found herself swept away by the emotion of the story. "Normally, it’s so hard to forget there are machines in your face, but I had no idea that a camera was even there." Was it traumatic to act? "The first time we shot it, I was literally sobbing for 10 minutes afterwards. I couldn’t get out of it. My brain was telling me it wasn’t real, but my unconscious didn’t know the difference, especially with having a real baby in my arms.

"Kornel came over onto the bed and held me so tight. He didn’t let go of me for five minutes, and he said, 'Just remember this feeling.' That really helped me for the rest of the movie, when the character doesn’t express anything, but almost has to be doing the howling without speaking a word."

Kirby took her research seriously, even asking a mother-to-be –a total stranger – to allow her to be present in the delivery room at the birth of her son in a north-London hospital. "I remember every single second of it," the actress says emphatically. "I was there, glued to my seat, for seven hours, not even a loo break! I was just amazed, in awe. I saw a woman completely surrender and go on this spiritual journey, which involved indescribable pain, clearly, but also ecstasy. It gave me a whole new respect for women and how powerful they are, and a new empathy for men, because they feel so helpless. And obviously, seeing the baby come out was the most incredible thing in the world I’ve ever seen, by far. After he was born, all of the mother’s colour returned, she looked like an angel, she had a kind of holy glow." Bathetically, it was only then that the couple recognised Kirby. "They were going, 'Oh my God, it’s Princess Margaret! This is so weird!'"

The experience has given her a new philosophy on life, she says. "I was watching the mother go through these contractions, which were excruciating, and the pushing, and then there was a moment of calm, and of expansion. And so, when I’m going through things in my life, I say to myself, this is like a contraction, surrender to it, because there might be something born from it. Sometimes we don’t want that; when we’re feeling something horrible, we want it to pass as far as possible. I’m teaching myself to allow it to be there and not resist or push it away, and that’s because of that woman."

But her character’s storyline also demanded that Kirby understand the experience of stillbirth. A friend introduced her to a woman who had lost her baby Luciana under eerily similar circumstances to those in Martha’s narrative. "She shared everything with me." They have become close friends, and the film’s ending is dedicated to Luciana. Kirby continues to work with Sands, the Stillbirth and Neonatal Death charity, and is voluble in her admiration of the Duchess of Sussex and Chrissy Teigen, both of whom have recently spoken out about their own experiences of miscarriage.

"I feel so close to them and so proud of them for breaking that silence," she says. "Meghan is probably the last person who would feel comfortable sharing her very personal, intimate feelings. It’s that courage that I want to continue to honour. What they’re saying is, if you’ve been through it, we have too, we share your story. I think that makes you feel less lonely. But one in four pregnancies ends in miscarriage, which is far more than I knew about. Society finds it difficult to hold space for that kind of pain."

Her parents, to whom she is very close, have both seen the film and wept throughout, she says. As if on cue, her phone pings, and her eyes soften when she checks the message; it’s a childhood friend who herself miscarried, getting in touch to say how much the film has meant to her.

The integrity of Kirby’s performance has already netted her the Volpi Cup for Best Actress at the Venice Film Festival. "It doesn’t seem real," she says. "I have it in its case – I wouldn’t have it on display, it looks like a football trophy – but occasionally I glance at it and think, 'Did that really happen? Or did I make it up in a weird dream?'" In a similar vein, she is reluctant to engage with the Oscar buzz surrounding her. "I don’t even know when they are," she admits. "My 13-year-old self would have a heart attack. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it!"

Kirby’s other film, The World to Come, is set in mid-19th-century America but touches on the same themes of bereavement and redemption. The central character Abigail, played by Katherine Waterston, has also lost her young daughter, and in her grief, turns away from her husband to have an affair with Tallie, her free-spirited, flame-haired neighbour. "I was glad I was playing Tallie rather than Abigail, because it might have been a bit too much," Kirby confesses – though without giving away spoilers, that role is pretty traumatic too...

The screenplay is taken from the short story of the same name by Jim Shepard, which was inspired by an entry he found in an antique diary: 'My best friend’s moved away, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.' "It was one woman’s voice, like an echo from the past, and we’ll never know who she was," says Kirby. "The World to Come really educated me about what life was like for women not that long ago. They didn’t have a choice about anything they did with their time. You were owned by the house, and the man, and you had no freedom outside that. The best thing about doing this mad job sometimes is having your ignorance illuminated. I gravitate towards things that push beyond my experience, I want to go to places I don’t know, I’m not familiar with."

The experience of making both films has changed her profoundly. "I can’t do anything unless it means something to me now," she says. "It’s a better way to work, because you’re not focused on yourself at all. So maybe I’ll only work once every 10 years!"

To ensure that this is not the case, and in order to find more untold, female-led stories, her ambition is now to set up her own production company. "Even a few years ago, a film about a woman losing a baby would have been unthinkable. There are so many voiceless people, and I have a voice in this industry, and I want to make sure the tribe is represented properly."

It is undeniably awkward, therefore, that her male co-stars in the films, Shia LaBeouf and Casey Affleck, both of whom play violent, abusive husbands, have been called out for their treatment of women. In December, the British singer FKA Twigs filed a lawsuit against LaBeouf, her ex-partner, alleging that he "hurts women. He uses them. He abuses them, both physically and mentally". While LaBeouf largely denied the accusations, he admitted in a statement to The New York Times: "I have a history of hurting the people closest to me. I’m ashamed of that history and am sorry to those I hurt. There is nothing else I can really say."

Meanwhile, Affleck was sued by two female crew members working on his 2010 film I’m Still Here, one of whom accused him of sexual harassment. He denied the allegations, and the lawsuits were settled out of court, but he later told the Associated Press: "I behaved in a way, and I allowed others to behave in a way, that was really unprofessional, and I’m sorry."

Kirby is understandably reluctant to get into any of this. "I can’t comment on a legal case that’s going on in someone’s personal life," she says. "I feel really protective of Pieces, so that’s what I want to speak about. Because it came out at eight this morning, all I can think about is the mothers I spoke to, and wanting them to be my focus. I just know my job is to honour them."

Perhaps counter-intuitively, starring in Pieces has awakened in her the desire for a family of her own. "It’s definitely made me want a baby, for sure," she says; but she hasn’t currently got a partner, having split up from Callum Turner (Frank Churchill in last year’s Emma), whom she met when they co-starred in the 2014 film Queen & Country. "This year has made me think a lot about the home I want to create. I like the idea of inviting someone into a space that’s mine, preferably before I have kids."

In the near future, however, Kirby has nothing on her plate except for getting through a third lockdown. "I’m free as a bird! I’ve read a lot of stuff, and said no to a lot of stuff..." She currently shares a flat in Tooting, south London, with her sister Juliet, an assistant director, and two friends. "I was just about to move out to live on my own in north London – my God, I would have been so lonely! My sister saved me. It was so nice to have routines together. We were trying to take a bit of exercise, cooking together, watching films that made us feel better, drinking wine on Friday nights..."

By now, having circled St James’s Park several times, we are strolling back towards the Corinthia Hotel, where Kirby has a full programme of Zoom interviews lined up for the afternoon. "That’s why I’m so happy to have actually had the chance to go out and meet you in real life," she says enthusiastically. "It’s funny when everything in your life closes down, and you have to sit with yourself, and you suddenly notice all the things you have and you’re grateful for. I hope that feeling never goes away – I will never underestimate how lucky I am."

#Vanessa Kirby #Pieces of a Woman #The World to Come #Interview #Articles

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annewritesfic · 3 years

Text

Happy Endings Don’t Exist

this au is not dead!!!!!!!!!!!! wow!!!!!!!!!

it has been. a month. i am so sorry.

fun fact: i actually wrote this like a month ago but never actually posted this yes hellbrain is still suffering from writer’s block it’s not wonderful i am fine

uhhhhh word count: 2823

tw: oh god uh, mentions of guns/bullet holes, blood, tyrannical rulers, death, parent death, mentions of stabbing, mentions of hospital rooms, please tell me if i missed anything

Kate ran a hand over the smooth rock that the throne was carved from, relishing the silence. The throne room itself was a mess, furniture still strewn across the floor, marked with bullet holes, and it reeked of the cleaning supplies that had been used to scrub the blood from the floor. Kate’s blood, Levana’s blood, Farrah’s blood, Mattie’s blood… so much blood. But it was quiet and otherwise empty, so Kate had escaped there.

So many things had happened in this room. Kate shivered when they thought about it, about all the people who’d sat in this chair before her. Levana, most recently. Before her, Kate’s own mother. Channary and Levana’s parents, Kate’s grandparents.

Kate thought about Channary a lot. In one of the palace’s hallways, there was a line of holographic portraits of past kings and queens, names Kate didn’t want to know but that their system committed to memory anyway. At the end of the line was Channary Blackburn, and Kate had sat in front of her holographic portrait for an hour, staring at the face of her mother. A woman Kate had no memory of - she’d died just weeks before Kate’s first birthday. She’d been queen for just about two years before she’d died, leaving Levana as queen regent, and Kate’s system had put together an entire file in their head with all the articles and papers and history there was about Queen Channary. But the articles didn’t tell Kate as much as the people who remembered her did.

Queen Channary had died fifteen years ago, so there weren’t many people left who’d also worked under her, but Kate had asked to see everyone who had. There was Clark’s father, Garrison Winslett, a tall palace guard with a soft voice and kind eyes. He’d made Kate feel safe, but he’d refused to share many details, claiming Kate didn’t need to know.

“That’s in the past now, Your Highness,” he’d said. “You need only concern yourself with Luna’s future.”

Which, while that hadn’t told Kate any of the details that they’d been looking for, did say volumes about what kind of queen Channary had been.

As Kate met the rest of Channary’s former subjects, they learned more and more about her. When Kate was a kid, living with Adri, they’d used to spend the bad nights imagining what her mother would have been like before the hover crash she’d been told had killed their parents. She’d imagined a kind, loving woman, with a soft voice and a gentle smile, who’d loved Kate with her entire heart. Kate had imagined walking home from school and telling their mother about their day while she listened attentively, a hand stroking Kate’s hair as they walked together. Snowy days where Kate’s mother would take her sledding at a neighborhood park, then bring her home and wrap them in a blanket and tell stories until Kate fell asleep.

Sitting in that dark, abandoned hallway, face lit up by the gentle light from the hologram, Kate thought about those old daydreams and scoffed a little bit. That’s not who Channary was.

Channary was beautiful and cruel. She was impulsive and vain and saw being queen as a right, not a privilege, not a responsibility. She didn’t care much about improving Luna, about helping the citizens she was sworn to protect. Instead, she threw dozens of lavish parties and flirted with just about every man that entered the palace and left most of the important decisions to the thaumaturges and to her younger sister, Princess Levana.

Honestly, it wasn’t a surprise that Levana had so easily won over the Lunar population. While she was terrifying, murderous, and corrupt, at least at the beginning she’d been dedicated to the job and did help grow Luna’s economy, which was probably a relief after Channary’s lazy, unproductive, brief rule.

Kate had sat alone in the hallway with the smiling image of her mother for exactly an hour, seven minutes, and eighteen seconds, according to their internal clock, before Eva appeared around the corner, calling Kate’s name. Kate glanced up at her, then looked back at Channary, and didn’t watch Eva while she came and sat next to them on the cold marble floor.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Eva asked softly.

Kate didn’t touch her - normally, she was comforting, but Kate couldn’t handle being touched right now. “My mom.”

They didn’t speak for a moment.

“She was a really terrible queen,” Kate murmured eventually. “And a shitty person.”

“I read up a little on her, when I was on the Rampion with you guys,” Eva said softly. “I just… I knew a bunch about your aunt, but not about her, so…”

“I almost did. I was too scared, though.” Kate thought for a moment, then dryly laughed. “I had reason to be scared. She fucking sucked.”

“She sort of did,” Eva agreed.

They were quiet for a few more minutes.

“She looks a lot like me, doesn’t she?” Kate asked softly. “But, like… a thousand times more beautiful.”

“She looks like…” Eva hesitated. “Your glamour. At the ball. When you fell and your glamour came up… you looked like that. Almost exactly.”

“Oh.” Kate hugged their knees, a headache pulsing behind her eyes.

They sat awkwardly in silence for a while, before eventually Kate couldn’t take it anymore. “Can we go?”

Eva let Kate help her to her feet. “Let’s go.”

That was yesterday. Now, Kate sat in the throne room, Luna’s artificial night darkening the corners, a crescent Earth visible in the dark sky beyond the protective dome. Sitting on the throne made Kate think of Channary, wonder how many meetings they’d attended as a baby, but this was also the room where Levana had finally been dethroned.

Those last few minutes were sort of a blur. Kate remembered firing the gun, remembered Levana pretending to surrender, and then there was just a flash of pain through their chest, and warnings flashing across her vision, and Eva screaming, and then… nothing. Waking up in that small, white, sterile room with a stranger bent over her left hand and Eva holding their right.

But Kate was told what happened. That Levana died and Kate didn’t. And Queen Selene finally took her throne.

Kate leaned her head back against the hard marble throne and breathed a shaky sigh.

“I thought you’d be in here,” said a familiar voice. Kate didn’t open their eyes but smiled. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Kate tapped their human fingers against the arm of the throne. “Just… wanted to be alone. Did you know that when you’re a queen, it’s surprisingly hard to find alone time?”

“Crazy,” Eva said flatly. “I never would’ve thought.”

Kate scrunched her nose, eyes still closed. “I mean, I get it. There’s a lot to be done, a lot I’m responsible for fixing, but… I just needed a minute. So I’m hiding.”

Eva laughed a little and walked into the room, her footsteps echoing off the walls. Kate finally looked at her, taking her in, her gentle smile and soft eyes, one hand behind her back. “A hoodie makes a pretty good disguise, you know. Wanna borrow mine?”

“Ugh, please.” Kate tucked their legs up, curling up on the throne. “Did you bring it with you?”

“I did, actually.” Eva shrugged. “It’s, like, a comfort object at this point.” She turned to look out the window, at the view Kate was staring at. “It’s so weird to see Earth where I feel like the moon should be.”

“It’s beautiful.” Kate leaned their head against the chair again, smiling softly when Eva turned back to look at her.

Eva bit her lip. “I have to tell you something.”

Kate’s smile faded. “You’re leaving.”

“Not now. But yeah, I am.” Eva scuffed the floor with her shoe. “My ship is supposed to leave the port in about 46 hours.”

Less than two days.

Kate looked away, at a crack in the wall. Mattie, Farrah, Chess, and Cairo had left yesterday. About a week from now, Annleigh and Clark would leave for their first ambassadorial mission to Earth. And now Eva was leaving, and Kate (and Reese, they supposed) would be left alone.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, angry at how small and pathetic it sounded. “I mean, I know you have to, and you have your own country to worry about, but…”

“I know.” Eva’s voice was gentle and understanding. “I don’t- I’m not looking forward to being so far away from you, but I have to.”

“Sometimes I forget, you know?” Kate admitted. “That we’re… you know. Monarchs. Revolutionaries. Whatever. Like, people know us, know our names, and we’re responsible for them, but it’s hard to remember that sometimes. You’re just… you. You’re just Eva, you’re my girlfriend and you’re dorky and sweet and awkward and I love you, a lot, and I really like it when the world is just you and me.”

“Me, too.” Eva sighed. “Maybe- maybe you should come and visit soon? It could be, like, symbolic of the new alliance, or I could make up some sort of political crisis…?”

Kate smiled. “We’d never pull it off.”

“We could try.”

Kate laughed a little, and Eva did too, and for a second, things were better again, but then the reality crashed right back into Kate like a wave. “I’m going to miss you. So much.”

“Being a queen might not leave much time for being lonely.”

“I doubt that.” Kate suddenly felt awkward sitting on the throne, and stood up, coming to stand beside Eva, close enough to touch - but not quite touching, not yet. Two more days just… wasn’t enough time. Kate wanted more - wanted Eva every damn minute of every day. Wanted to hold her close and never let go. Wanted to grab her and drag her onto a ship and just leave, live forever in the stars, just the two of them.

But they couldn’t.

“You know,” Eva said thoughtfully, slipping her hand into Kate��s, “I spent so long avoiding a marriage alliance with Luna. But now, when it’s no longer necessary, it doesn’t seem so bad anymore.”

Kate lightly nudged her. “Stop that.”

“It’s a shame you can’t blush.” Eva leaned over and brushed a light kiss against Kate’s temple. “I’m not saying I didn’t mean it, though.”

Kate bit their lip and rolled her eyes.

“I have something for you.”

“I swear to fuck, it had better not be an engagement ring,” Kate threatened.

Eva grinned mischieviously and stepped back, kneeling on one knee.

Kate crossed their arms, tamping down the flutter in her stomach. “Eva-”

“I’ve been waiting a long time to give this to you.”

“Eva, wait-”

Eva pulled her hand from behind her back, revealing a small metal foot. A cluster of wires stuck up from the cavity, and the whole thing had smudges of grease.

“I hate you,” Kate muttered.

“Are you, like, disappointed?” Eva asked. “Because if you want, I bet Luna has some great jewelry stores-”

“Shut up.” Kate took the cyborg foot from her, studying it. It was so familiar, yet so foreign. “Why the hell do you even have this?”

“I don’t know, really. I kinda wondered…” Eva went a little bit pink. “I thought maybe if I could find the cyborg who fit this foot, it would be a sign we were meant for each other? But then I realized it would probably only fit an eight-year-old.”

“Eleven.”

“Close enough.” She bit her lip. “But really, I just… it was all I had when I thought you were- when I thought I’d never see you again. I couldn’t let you go that easily.”

Kate studied it for another moment, then glanced up at Eva, one eyebrow raised. “Why are you still kneeling?”

“You’ll have to get used to people kneeling to you. Happens a lot when you’re royalty,” Eva said, standing up.

Kate reached for her hand. “Maybe I should make a rule that the proper way to address your monarch is with a high-five.”

“Genius. I’m gonna do that too.”

Kate stepped closer, just an inch from Eva’s face. “Maybe I’ll also make a rule that the proper way for the queen of Luna to greet the empress of the Eastern Commonwealth is a kiss.”

“Even better.” Eva kissed them, and Kate reveled in it, in the feeling of finally, unapologetically loving Eva the way she wanted to love her, and being loved back just as much. “Although,” Eva murmured as they broke apart, “I doubt it’d be relevant in a hundred years or so. Might be a bit awkward.”

“Actually, about that…” Kate led Eva to the edge of the room and sat down, both of them dangling their legs over the edge of the balcony, over Artemisia Lake. “Can I ask your opinion on something?”

“Anything.”

“I think…” Kate took a deep breath. “I want to dissolve the Lunar monarchy.”

Eva didn’t react with horror or surprise, just smiled and put an arm around Kate and said, “When?”

“Not now. That’s too much of a change, too soon after… you know.” Kate leaned into Eva’s side. “But once things have settled down, started getting better. When I think Luna can handle a change in power. As soon as possible. I don’t- I can’t risk another Levana.” They hesitated. “Or another Channary.”

Eva pressed a kiss into her hair. “It won’t be easy. The people will be pissed. And they have that whole superstition. But you’re right. Luna needs a checks and balances system.”

Kate breathed a sigh of relief and snuggled even closer. “Okay. Thank you.”

“So what are you planning to do after you abdicate?”

Kate blinked. “Oh- I guess I hadn’t really thought that far ahead? Maybe Farrah would want a full time mechanic.”

“Or…” Eva rubbed Kate’s shoulder. “You could come stay in the Eastern Commonwealth as an ambassador. A show of good faith. Prove Luna and Earth can work together, side by side.”

“And be with you?”

“And be with me,” Eva agreed.

Kate considered it. “I think the Eastern Commonwealth hates me.”

“Hates you? You saved them from Levana. I think there’s a toy company that wants to make action figures of you, and Torin just showed me an article suggesting a statue where your booth used to be at the market.”

Kate shuddered.

Eva smiled and kissed the spot right next to Kate’s eye. “I promise, if you decide to come back, you’ll be welcomed with open arms.” She pressed her lips against Kate’s hair. “And if you want to come to the Annual Peace Ball next year, you’ll have hundreds of people begging to take you.”

“Oh, God.”

“I thought I might as well get my name on the list now. Maybe I’ll even have time to teach you to dance.”

Kate tried not to smile.

“Please say yes?”

Kate pretended to consider it. “Do I have to wear a dress?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“Maybe I’ll come in cargo pants.”

“I’d be so okay with that.”

Kate made a little humming noise. “Can I bring my friends?”

“Absolutely. I’ll extend a personal invitation to the entire crew.”

“Even Reese? Because there’s a rule against androids coming to the ball.”

“I might know someone who can change that rule.”

Kate couldn’t resist a smile. Going back to the ball, facing all those people who’d so openly hated them for years, should’ve sounded terrifying, but the idea of doing it with Eva sounded perfect. “Yes, I’ll go to the ball with you.”

“What about those dance lessons?”

“Mm, I wouldn’t push your luck if I were you.”

“Fair enough.” They kissed again, and Kate sighed against Eva’s lips, tired but happy.

Eva pulled away eventually and pressed her forehead against Kate’s. “Katie, I know- you’re a great ruler already. You’ll be even better till you abdicate. But… I know you never really wanted this.”

Kate chose to stay quiet.

“But… maybe, one day… would you consider being an empress?”

The silence hung in the air, but wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable.

“Maybe,” Kate eventually assented. “One day.”

Maybe meant yes, and both of them knew it.

Eva was right - Kate didn’t want to be a ruler. Didn’t want to be in that position of power, making real decisions that impacted real people. But Kate did want Eva, more than anything, and Eva came with an entire country, whether or not Kate liked it. And Eva was worth it. Eva was worth anything.

Kate leaned against Eva’s chest and looked back down at the foot. This too small foot had hurt for years, had made it hard to walk, and had represented everything Kate hated about being cyborg. It had never done anything but make Kate feel like shit.

Kate held the cyborg foot over the shining water of Artemisia Lake and let go.

#we are the tigers #the lunar chronicles #kate dalton #eva sanchez #kateva #blood tw #gun tw #stabbing tw #hospital rooms tw #death tw #parents tw #ask to tag #again: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE tell me if i missed anything #anyways i love them so much #they deserve the world

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 44: Tim

Tim can pinpoint the exact moment he knows he’s screwed. Later, when he takes the time to think about it, he’ll be able to trace the progress of things and see all the signs, from his fear for them to his instinctive desire to reach out for them when he’s scared to the quiet comfort he feels when they’re together. He’ll remember that weird knot of jealousy he felt the very first morning when he saw the Primes cuddling and realize that it wasn’t a general I-wish-I-had-someone-to-love-me thing, it was specific to who was involved. He’ll figure out that he’s been quietly in love with Martin probably since the moment he saw him trying to apologize and look contrite with an armful of spaniel doing its level best to lick his face off with its tail going like a windmill, and that if there’s a moment he can point to later and say is the one where he completely fell for Jon it’s probably the soft look on his face as he tucked a quilt around Martin’s sleeping form.

But that’s all going to be in retrospect. The moment he knows comes a lot later and is a lot easier to detect.

After an exceptionally extended lunch that only ends when the afternoon crowd starts shuffling in, they part, Melanie with a promise to come by the Archives on Monday, Georgie with an offer to stop by and tell her story after she’s put her next episode of “What the Ghost?” to bed, Sasha with a cryptic reference to some sort of appointment and a promise to see them later. They discover what she means later that night when the doorbell rings and Tim opens it to find her and the Primes on their doorstep. Neither of them seem surprised to learn that Elias is forcing Jon on his grand tour, but they don’t seem pleased about it either. Jon Prime warns Jon, over and over again, to be careful. Tim would almost expect Jon to get exasperated, but he doesn’t. They actually have a pretty pleasant evening; Jon Prime cooks for them while they take turns telling him about dealing with Elias. He does seem pleased to hear Jon has reconnected with Georgie, and he and Martin Prime make the others laugh by sharing stories of dealing with their Melanie and Georgie. They pull out some board games after dinner, and while they all agree that with at minimum three people at the table who can literally access the sum total of human knowledge at a whim, Trivial Pursuit is right out, Monopoly is fair game.

Charlie comes over Saturday while his grandmother hosts one of her bridge nights. He’s extremely distressed to learn that Jon is going away again already, to the point that he throws himself into Jon’s arms and starts to cry. It takes all three of them the better part of an hour to get him calmed down, and it ends with Charlie curled on Jon’s lap, the two of them sandwiched between Martin and Tim. Tim looks at Charlie’s tear-streaked face and the heartsick look in Jon’s eyes and the tender concern in Martin’s, and he tightens his arms around them and tucks his chin over Jon’s head and hopes.

It rains pretty much all day on Sunday. Martin makes breakfast and brings it into the bedroom on a tray, and they sit close together and eat quietly and don’t talk about what’s bothering them. Finally, in desperation, Tim reaches under the nightstand on his side of the bed and fishes out a book he’s been meaning to read for years. He wraps his arm around Jon and manages to get a hand on Martin’s shoulder; Martin, evidently taking the hint, scoots closer and does the same, and Tim begins reading out loud. It transpires that the book is one of Martin’s childhood favorites, but Jon’s never read it before and is both delighted at the novelty and enraptured by the story. They spend the whole day curled up together, rain lashing at the windows, underneath the apple-leaf quilt Tim’s grandmother made him, heads touching as they take turns reading aloud. It’s a stolen moment of peace in a world gone crazy and Tim tucks it away in his memory to cherish later when he needs it.

He wakes up in the middle of the night and rolls onto his side, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The first thing he’s able to make out is Martin, doing the exact same thing he is—just watching. Jon, curled into a knot between them, is still asleep, but from the twisted, pained look on his face, it’s not an easy slumber.

Tim meets Martin’s eyes over Jon’s head and reads there the same worries and fears he has himself. Jon’s nightmares are bad. They’ve known that from the beginning, when Martin was recovering from the worms and they were all camping out in Tim’s living room, and they’ve only grown worse as time goes on. The screaming terrors from reliving what he went through with Orsinov have stopped…for now…but Tim knows in his heart of hearts that what’s making it easier these days is him and Martin bracketing Jon and doing their best to physically shield Jon from the Eye. There’s no real stopping it, but they can at least help.

But now Jon is going to Beijing, and God knows where after that, and he’s going alone. They won’t be able to help him with the nightmares if he’s not there to protect. And that’s besides the fact that Tim knows they’re both trying not to consider the possibility of some other monster trying to take Jon away from them when they’re not there to protect him. It doesn’t even have to be a supernatural one. As easy as it is to blame every horrible thing that happens on one of the Fears, there are ordinary people that are perfectly capable of being horrible on their own, and it would be just Jon’s luck to be caught up in something at random and get hurt, or worse. And they won’t be there to help. Again.

“I guess we could just…go with him,” Tim says, keeping his voice low. “Whether Elias wants us to or not.”

Martin shakes his head slowly. “I still don’t have a passport. And…I don’t think we can leave Sasha alone in the Archives. You can go, maybe.”

“I’m not leaving you behind.” Tim sighs and gently tucks a strand of hair back from Jon’s forehead. His skin is damp and clammy. “It’s a mess. He might be safer away from the Archives than we are, but…I worry, you know?”

“I know. I do, too.” Martin closes his eyes for a moment. “We just got him back. And we’ve got months to the Unknowing.”

Tim hesitates. He’s been thinking about that. “I don’t know that we do, actually. I—I don’t think it’s time-sensitive. I mean, I don’t think they have to wait for a certain time or anything. I think they just have to be…ready.”

“How will we know when they’re ready?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what they’re waiting for.” Tim stares down at Jon’s face. “I can’t decide if I’m afraid they’ll be ready before he gets back—”

“Or hoping,” Martin completes. “Because if the Unknowing happens while he’s overseas…at least he won’t be caught up in it. At least they’ll leave him alone.” He’s quiet for a moment. “At least it’s one thing we can protect him from.”

“God. I just…want to wrap him in bubble wrap and a blanket and fight off the world with a stick. Or at least keep him right here with us. I wish we could just stay here and let the world sort itself out for a change. Why do we have to be the ones doing all this?”

Martin reaches over and brushes Tim’s cheek with his fingertips, ever so lightly. “Anything worth having is worth fighting for,” he says softly.

Tim reaches across Jon’s sleeping form and pulls Martin closer, but he doesn’t say anything further.

The alarm goes off not long after; Jon is taking an early-morning flight by virtue of it being the cheapest available option, and he’s got to be there close to three hours early to check in. It’s too early for any of them to be properly hungry, but Martin makes tea while Jon takes a shower and Tim…sits around feeling useless.

As if sensing that, Martin glances over his shoulder at Tim. “Does he have any statements with him?”

“Oh, God, yeah, let me check.” Tim heads over to where Jon’s bag is. It’s a simple messenger bag he’s probably had since university, if not longer, frayed in spots and festooned with patches and pins. Jon never brought this to the Institute, instead using a professional faux-leather laptop bag, which isn’t surprising; it’d be pretty hard for him to sell the “serious academic” persona if he’s walking around advertising that he listens to Sinner’s Gin.

He opens the bag and looks through it. Jon’s packed a couple changes of clothes, some toiletries, a couple of paperback books, and of course the tape recorder, his personal one. But no statements.

Quietly, Tim goes over to the end table and opens the drawer. Inside are two tapes and a slim folder. He takes a deep breath and relaxes his hold on his powers, bracing for the colors to pop up. It’s surprisingly easier to filter out the Eye and see the beneath colors than usual—whatever’s in the folder glows orange around the edges but green in the middle, and one of the tapes just seems to have indigo stripes through the green rather than them being layered on top of each other. Like the Eye isn’t hiding the truth from him anymore, like it’s letting him really See.

He files that information away to deal with after he’s got some caffeine in him and nudges the Stranger tape out of the way; it’s probably the one he and Martin listened to, so it’s no good, it’s already been used. The other one is pure, blinding green—an Eye statement that Gertrude recorded, which is unusual. Tim seals off his ability and reaches for the tape. It takes him three tries to pick it up without dropping it—his hands are shaking, he guesses because he’s upset about Jon leaving—but he finally carries it and the folder over to tuck them into Jon’s bag, then seal it up again.

“He didn’t,” he tells Martin, heading back into the kitchen. Martin sighs and hands him a cup of tea. “But you never took back the ones you brought home after that whole thing with the Not-Diana, so I put them in his bag.”

“God, I can’t believe I forgot about that,” Martin murmurs. “Still, it’s been a hell of a week.”

Tim pauses, cup halfway to his lips. “God, how has it only been a week?”

Jon comes into the kitchen, hair still damp from the shower; it’s down to about his collar now and takes a while to dry. Martin silently hands him a cup of tea, too. None of them speak while they drink. It’s as if these last few minutes at home are too precious, or too heavy, for words. At last, though, Jon glances at the kitchen clock and swallows hard. “Time to go.”

Pure devastation flashes through Martin’s eyes, but he simply nods and takes the cups from him and Tim to put them in the sink. Tim worries at his lip as he studies Jon. “You’ve got everything? Passport, wallet, phone?”

A faint smile tugs at Jon’s lips briefly. He reaches into his pockets and produces the requisite items—a burgundy passport in near-pristine condition, a black billfold that’s seen better days, and the new phone they picked up for him Saturday morning that he’s gone to a lot of trouble to set up. “Charger’s in my bag.”

“Okay. Okay.” Tim takes a deep breath. “I guess that’s it, then.”

They take Tim’s car, not because Jon minds them driving his car but because Tim’s has a column shift and a bench seat in the front, which means Jon can sit between Tim and Martin for the journey. Traffic isn’t too bad this early in the morning, at least not until they get closer to the airport, but Jon is apparently far from the only person traveling today, so there’s a bit of a snarl before Tim is able to navigate up to Terminal Three.

He hesitates at an intersection and looks at Jon. “Do you want me to drop the two of you off at the door or—”

“No. There’s time,” Jon says softly. “You can park first. Then you’ll both know where it is.”

There’s more to that than what Jon is saying, but Tim doesn’t question it. Instead he finds a space in the short-term lot for Terminal Three, and if it’s one of the farthest spots from the terminal doors, well, there might not be a lot of people here dropping off or picking up at this time of day, but who knows what the situation will be by the time they go to leave? Jon slides out of the car and doesn’t take Tim’s arm or Martin’s, but they walk close enough together that it doesn’t really matter.

The doors open up into an enormous space. Martin, who’s clearly never flown before, looks around him with wide eyes, and Jon shrinks back slightly. Tim gently ushers them to one side of the door, where there are a couple of benches, and heads off to the departure boards to make sure they’re in the right terminal. Once he’s located Jon’s flight on the boards (on time, unsurprising for an early-morning flight), he makes his way back to where he left them. Jon has edged closer to Martin and Martin has an arm wrapped around Jon’s shoulders, and both of them look both terrified and heartsick. Tim looks at them, unobserved for the moment, and he’s struck by the urge to drag them both home, shut the door of their bedroom, draw the curtains, and stay there until the Unknowing collapses on its own. As badly as he wants revenge, as much as he wants to hit back at the thing that murdered his brother, he’ll give that up in a heartbeat if it’s the only way to keep Jon and Martin safe.

The penny drops then, bounces off just the right pegs, lands squarely in the right cup and oh.

Tim stands stock-still for a moment, stunned by the swift and sudden revelation. In retrospect, he doesn’t know why it surprises him so much; it’s not like he hasn’t known he’s polyamorous since he was fifteen, and God knows he’s wanted to kiss both of them more times than he can count. But, somehow, he’s been convincing himself they’re just friends, as close as brothers maybe, but nothing more than that. And, well, maybe they are. It’s more than that on Tim’s end, though.

He’s in love with Jon and Martin both, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses either of them. And Jon’s about to go haring off across the world alone, and Martin keeps accidentally coming to the attention of things that want to hurt or kill him, and oh, God, Tim is so incredibly screwed.

He shakes himself out of the stupor. He can deal with this later. Or never, as the case may be, but he promises himself he’ll deal with it later and heads over to the other two. Jon sees him and pulls, with obvious effort, away from Martin. “Is this the right terminal, or—?”

“No, you’re good. Your check-in counter is down this way.” Tim indicates the large sign for the airline Jon will be flying on the first leg of his journey—he’ll apparently be changing planes in Copenhagen.

They stay at Jon’s side all the way up to the check-in counter, where he provides his identification and credit card to the rather stiff old man behind the counter, who keeps sneering at the three of them in a way that makes Tim very much want to hit him. The man asks rather more questions than Tim is used to, even for an international flight, and he’s about to step in and explode when the man finally, finally hands Jon his boarding pass and moves on to the next person waiting.

“How did he manage to make ‘have a good trip’ sound like a curse?” Jon says under his breath as they turn towards the security checkpoint.

Martin snorts. “It’s like ‘may you live in interesting times.’”

“I’ll pass. After this, I would like my times to be as un-interesting and quiet as possible, thank you.” Jon smiles, but it melts away almost instantly.

There’s virtually no wait at the security checkpoint, Tim notices, or at least not compared to how it would be later in the day. Jon will be able to breeze through it in a matter of minutes. And according to the signs posted everywhere in huge letters, Tim and Martin won’t be able to accompany him. Martin stares at one of the signs boldly declaring TICKETED PASSENGERS ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT for a long minute. His face is implacable, but Tim knows what’s behind it, because he’s feeling it too.

Jon looks at the queue, and the security gates, and the signs telling him to remove his shoes and have his ticket and passport ready. He turns to face Tim and Martin, opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, then suddenly gives a small, choked sob and lunges forward, clutching them both by the front of their shirts and burying his face in the narrow dip where their shoulders touch.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he whispers.

Tim wraps one arm around Jon and the other around Martin; Martin does the same, and the three of them cling to one another tightly. He can feel Jon trembling and hear Martin’s breath hitching in his chest and he almost dares to let himself hope, but he pushes the thought out of his mind. He can’t let himself think that, not now, or he’ll drive himself crazy with wanting and fear. And if he’s wrong, if they don’t…it’s better to assume they don’t and possibly be surprised later than believe they do and almost certainly be crushed.

There’s soft music coming from somewhere, a gentle and soothing melody in a choked and broken voice, and it takes Tim a second to realize that it’s Martin, singing quietly so that just Tim and Jon can hear him. It’s a plaintive melody and the lyrics are a little melancholy, but the line when I return united we will be does at least warm Tim’s chest, just a little.

Jon gives a deep, shuddering breath and pulls back, almost reluctantly. “I—I’d best—I shouldn’t miss the flight.”

“We’ll wait,” Tim says, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. “Until—until you’re through.”

Jon nods. “I’ll let you know when I get to the gate, and when I board.”

“And when you land,” Martin insists. “I don’t care what time it is.”

“I will. I promise. I—” Jon swallows hard, looking from Tim to Martin and back, then steps forward and hugs Martin tightly. Martin hugs him back, and they murmur something to one another before Jon eases back, turns, and hugs Tim just as fiercely.

Tim hugs him back. He’s still too thin, feels too frail, somehow. He’s barely recovered from the hell Orsinov put him through and now they’re sending him off on his own, and Tim wants to keep him here, but he knows he can’t.

“Please look after him,” he whispers in Tim’s ear.

“I will,” Tim promises. “You be careful, you hear me?”

“I hear you. And I’ll be as careful as I can. I promise.” Jon squeezes him briefly, then slowly, almost reluctantly, lets go. He takes a deep breath, slips out of his shoes, and heads over to join the queue.

He doesn’t say goodbye. Tim’s strangely relieved by that.

True to their promise, Tim and Martin stay where they are, side by side, watching as Jon inches ever closer to the metal detectors and security checkpoint. When Jon places bag and shoes in a bin to go on the conveyor belt, Martin reaches over without looking and grabs Tim’s hand. Tim grips his tightly in return, and they only…watch.

They can barely see him on the other side of the security gate, but for a brief moment, Tim sees Jon hesitate and look over his shoulder. Tim waves, Martin does too, and Jon raises his hand in farewell before slowly turning and walking away.

Martin lets go of Tim’s hand, but before Tim has time to regret its absence, he puts his arm around Tim’s shoulders and pull him closer. Tim slides his arm around Martin’s waist. They don’t need to say anything; they just turn and walk away.

People mostly ignore them, although one or two give them inscrutable looks. Tim doesn’t know if they think they’re a couple and disapprove or think they’re mourning something or what, but he decides he doesn’t care as long as they leave him alone. They make their way slowly back to Tim’s car, but don’t get in; Tim leans against the back of it, and Martin joins him, arms folded as they look up at the still-black sky.

“What song was that?” Tim finally asks. “That you were—before he left.”

Martin rubs a hand over his face. “It’s called ‘The Leaving of Liverpool.’ I think. It’s—it’s the song my dad always sang the night before he left, when he was putting me to bed.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, then adds softly, “I fell asleep.”

“What?” Tim turns to look at Martin, frowning.

“The night he—we had this whole routine at bedtime when he was about to leave for the fishing run, and one of them was him singing that song to me. I sang along on the chorus, once I learned it, which didn’t take long.” Martin isn’t looking at Tim, his eyes still on the sky, but Tim can see the glint of tears in them. “Normally I’d settle down and close my eyes after he left, but that last time…I was tired. I don’t remember why, but I fell asleep before he got to the last verse, so I wasn’t awake for the whole song.” He turns to look at Tim. “And then he never came back. I thought it was my fault. I thought—it’s stupid, I know it’s stupid, but at first I thought it was like a-a magic charm or something, and I broke the ritual and that’s why he didn’t come back. I thought something had happened to him and—”

“Oh, Martin.” Tim reaches over and pulls Martin into a tight hug. Martin hugs him back, and Tim can feel the tears spilling over. “It’s not your fault. And—and Jon’s going to be okay. He will. He’ll be back soon.”

“I know,” Martin says softly. “It’s just…”

Tim doesn’t need Martin to finish. “I know.”

They don’t go anywhere. They probably should, probably don’t need to sit in the parking lot, but they do. They lean against Tim’s car and watch the stars, occasionally punctuated by the lights of planes taking off or landing. Jon texts them both to let them know he’s through customs, and then that he’s at his gate. Still they don’t leave, and still they don’t speak.

Finally, finally, the text comes to both of their phones. [Just took my seat on the plane. Have to turn my phone off now. Will text you when I arrive.]

Martin’s hands shake as he sends the reply. Tim waits for it to pop up on his own phone. [Have a safe flight.]

Jon’s next text comes almost at the same instant; he must have been typing it to send while Martin was trying to reply himself. Three simple words. Their meaning can’t be clearer. Still, Tim has to stare at them for a long moment.

[Miss you already.]

Slowly, Tim raises his head to look at Martin and finds Martin staring back with a look that’s probably identical to the one on Tim’s face. He’s pale, his eyes red-rimmed, but he’s not crying. They’re probably both past tears at this point. It’s just fear and longing and the ache of missing a part of themselves.

Tim fishes out his keys and holds them up; Martin nods, and they both climb into the car. When Tim turns the ignition on, the entire dashboard flashes for a moment—there’s a short in the electrical system somewhere; he’s been meaning to get it looked at, but he doesn’t drive much these days and this doesn’t happen every time, just occasionally—and the radio kicks on of its own volition. A reedy American tenor belts out the last line of the first verse. Already I’m so lonesome I could die…

Tim scowls at the radio. “It should be illegal to play this song within ten miles of a major airport.”

Martin gives a soft, slightly broken laugh. “Breakfast?”

“I don’t know that I can eat, but we can give it a shot.”

“Yeah, but…” Martin gives Tim a sideways look. “I promised I’d look after you.”

Tim grins and tries, once again, to kill the sudden flare of hope in his chest. “Same.”

“God, he’s such a worrywart.” Martin holds up a hand. “I know, I know, pot, kettle, et cetera. Want to call Sasha and see if she’s up?”

“No, I don’t want to die today.” Tim puts the car in gear and backs out of the space. “Come on. There have to be a few places open this early that won’t be too expensive for us to not eat at.”

Martin reaches over and puts his hand over Tim’s, not squeezing or holding, just resting it there. Tim slips his thumb over the back of Martin’s hand and rubs it gently, feeling it catch against the very, very slight roughness of Martin’s skin. The scars from the worms have faded as much as they ever will, mere pale circles against his skin, but there’s one on his right pinkie finger where the worm very nearly went all the way through, and there’s an ever-so-faint ridging there that Tim keeps rubbing at, over and over, as if he can erase the hurt and the marks from Martin’s skin.

It’s not until they get to the café that it occurs to Tim that what they’ve just done is exactly what the Primes did in those early days when they were still trying to conceal their relationship. It seems too dangerous to consider the ramifications of that, though, so Tim settles for sliding into the same side of the booth as Martin and leaning against his shoulder, needing some of his strength and warmth and softness.

Martin lets him.

#leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#ollie writes fanfic #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartim #WE'VE GOT TWO OUT OF THREE REALIZATIONS FOLKS #angst #pining #heartbreak #look Jon's leaving for America and Tim has just figured out he's in love #what did you expect to happen

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coeurdastronaute · 3 years

Text

The Story, Ch. 5

Previously on The Story

The show was at the largest venue in Bly, an old community center that doubled as town hall, wedding rental, voting station, and almost every other event in between. The bar in the back was composed of tapped kegs in containers of ice and boxes of cheap liquor, while the stage rose only two feet off of the ground on the opposite wall. Old wood beams held up the roof and giant pillars kept all of it standing, solemn and tender as they were, worn soft with age and bodies and heat.

It felt smaller than her elementary school gymnasium, but Dani didn’t mind. The warmth of the bodies that filed in felt safe, as if she could feel every beating heart.

Owen was kind enough to grab the first round, returning with stretched hands full of frothy pint glasses. The lights were dim, just strung up string lights hanging from the rafters, the vents propped open for added fresh air while the ceiling fans wobbled on their stems to keep everyone from roasting. Dani surveyed everything, enjoying how normal it all felt, and how weird it was to be around so many people suddenly. Laughter and conversation boomed and echoed around them, and it, too, was a comfort she hadn’t expected.

There was something different about Jamie, as they sat down at a small, lopsided table in the corner, the whole party oddly anxious all around to be away from the house for the first time in a long time. But Dani picked up on a different kind of anxiety in the gardener. She knew it was about the rarely-seen sibling, but she also didn’t know how to fix that. Something told her she couldn’t help despite her desire to do it. Jamie hadn’t given her enough to be someone that could make this better.

“It’s pretty full. He must be fairly well-known,” Dani offered as Jamie went half in on her drink quickly.

“This is the only thing happening tonight,” she disagreed. “Not much entertainment coming through Bly. They’ll take anything they can get.”

“I’m excited for some music,” Owen decided. “Time to cut a rug and such.”

“I don’t know if I’ll remember how,” Hannah sighed wistfully before taking a demure sip of her beer. “Can’t keep up with the new stuff.”

“What kind of music does he play?” Dani turned to Jamie who stared at the swirling mass of people. “Jamie?”

Startled slightly by the hand on her thigh, Jamie followed the touch up the arm to the au pair’s amused gaze and cleared her throat.

“Oh, he grew up play traditional stuff back home. Kinda branched out all over. He mostly is just in the band. This is his first band where he’s been the lead. Calls himself a Swiss Army knife of a musician. Whatever books him the gig for the next few months.”

“It’s going to be fun,” Dani promised, quieter this time, just fo Jamie. “I’m sure he’s excited to see you.”

“Or he needs a kidney or money.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, squeezing the leg in her palm. “But at least we get a night off.”

The gang relaxed into their spot as the hour ticked on toward show time, while still more locals filled the hall, milling about, drinking and existing for a rush. Jamie, too, relaxed slightly despite her constant looking out over the crowd for familiar faces. Dani moved her hand to take a drink from her glass and didn’t put it back, but the length of their arms rested together, squished at the table. Jamie thought about that a lot.

They were four friends, not coworkers. They were four friends, being themselves, and it was a wonderful feeling for them all.

By the time the band took the stage, their table had the remnants of three rounds of trips to the bar, and while not exceeding drunk, they were laughing more than ever before.

Jamie looked at her brother as he took to the mic for just a minute before turning to the au pair, oddly vulnerable in the moment. She watched Dani stretch her neck to get a better view as the lanky young man put a guitar strap over his shoulder and introduced himself.

“That’s him,” Jamie nodded. “Mikey.”

“You have the same chin,” Dani decided, turning her eyes to the gardener beside her, appraising her, strictly for comparison’s sake. “And... “ she smiled. “The same eyes.”

“Are you blind? His are painfully brown.”

“No, not the color,” she shook her head. “This part.”

Jamie felt her smile falter as finger tips touched just under her eyes and moved around to her brow, causing the furrow to soften. She just watched Dani smile softly with her observation.

“You have eyes like a forest. Sometimes green, sometimes brown, sometimes gold, sometimes all of them at once. It’s oddly fitting. I think you might be made of the woods.”

It knocked her out to hear that. Jamie filed every word, every shape of every syllable to keep to herself and replay all night. The whole thing. The smell of the drinks on their breath. The feeling of the skin on her brow. The fact that Dani was less than a foot from her face and that was the closest they’d ever been. The way the lights overhead made her hair glow white almost, or golden sometimes. And the words. No one ever took the time to say something like that to her, but it was said so factually, so unlike a line, that it felt like maybe it was a fact. That Dani was someone who could make facts true.

“Excuse me--”

Dani looked away before Jamie did. Time didn’t quite matter at that point, because the gardener had forgotten even where she was.

“We already have drinks, thanks,” Dani dismissed the man at the table.

“I already know I’ll strike out with this one,” the stranger nudged his head toward Jamie. “But I was hoping for a dance from her beautiful friend.”

“Fuck off, Tommy,” Jamie slumped back in her chair as the music swirled to a new height, louder than should have been allowed.

“See what I mean?” he teased.

Dani looked to Jamie who just shrugged and relented.

“We play darts at the pub. He’s a shite dancer and darts player.”

“I don’t know,” Dani politely shook her head, bashful suddenly.

“I’m a great dancer,” he promised. “I’ll show you around.”

“First one to dance with the American wins the pot, yeah?” Jamie looked over his shoulder at the table she knew to be the regulars about town. “How much?”

“I’d never partake,” he promised, holding out his hand.

“Go on,” Hannah encouraged the au pair. “Quite a strapping young man.”

“I’ll be coming back for you,” Tommy nodded toward the housekeeper.

With one more glance at the gardener, Dani tentatively took the hand extended to her. She was tugged out to the dance floor, laughing and holding on for dear life, much to Jamie’s chagrin, which she buried deep down as she tried to make herself watch her brother perform.

“I suppose I better get my dance in while I can before that goliath comes back,” Owen stood, offering a hand to the housekeeper.

“I’m all left feet,” Hannah shook her head.

“Perfect. I’m alright.”

The guitar twanged, and drums kept a beat, and the classic noises of their festivals were spun into a modern kind of feeling, alive and new but still with the steps and changes. Whatever the people had expected, this wasn’t it, and perhaps they were surprised and grateful for it. Mikey’s voice was deeper than Jamie remembered, deeper than the sparse phonecalls separated by months. He looked like their mother. He looked like his father more, and that man was a stranger to Jamie.

But for the life of her, she wasn’t sure how he did it-- how he turned the entire place alive.

XXXXXXXXXX

James was tall. Much too tall, Dani realized as they danced together. But he was sweet and polite, careful to ask the basic questions, compliment her enough. He made it to the second song before he was interrupted with a request for her hand by another strapping young man in a stripped shirt.

For some reason, Dani accepted despite the annoyance of being away from her table. When she looked over, she saw Jamie alone, slouched there, but intently watching her brother. From the table, the gardener chanced a look to see the smiling au pair, glowing and effervescent as all hell. Dani kept a distance with her dancing partner, Benny from the grocer down the block.

By the third partner, Jamie was beyond annoyed. She didn’t like the way Dani held their hands, nor did she appreciate how the boys smiled and were so polite and she kept the smile on for them.

Only when James made his pitch to the newest woman in town, did Jamie decide that it was enough, that she couldn’t handle the fearful but polite look of the au pair, that she didn’t want to see anyone else, that she wanted to be the last one dancing with the American.

“May I?”

Dani looked toward the voice as James put some space between them finally. Gallant and cocky, Jamie challenged him to say no. The song swirled around them all in the stand off, outliers in the moving mass.

“Yes, of course,” Dani nodded, dropping her hands and nodding politely to the gentleman caller who took it well enough for her sake.

Satisfied at her handiwork, Jamie gave him a smirk as he rolled his eyes in his defeat. She held onto the victory as best she could, aware that it now meant touching the au pair, and she hadn’t particularly planned on this part of the endeavour.

“Looked like you’d seen a ghost. Thought I might save you if you didn’t mind.”

“He… he looked like…”

“James looks like everyone. That’s his curse, you know? Destined to be a fill-in despite my best coaching to find him a proper bride.”

Dani gave up thinking about it. She didn’t want to anymore as Jamie held her hand and pushed her hip, spinning her out, exaggerated and right on time. By the time she was pulled back, all was gone with the past and what remained was just that second.

“How was my delivery this time?” the gardener asked with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “I’ve been practicing after my last report card.”

“Much better.”

“I can always call him back over and we can try again, if you’d like to provide notes.”

“That’d ruin the follow through.”

“Ah, right,” she sighed. “I suppose I’ll just have to keep saving you then, if that’s alright? Strictly for revision.”

“Strictly,” Dani nodded, fighting her smile though it burst forth a little.

The song shifted to the next, but neither moved, neither let go. The lights flickered slightly overhead, the ancient electrical system unaccustomed to the weight of the music and the mood. Dani softened in Jamie’s hand. She wasn’t sure how, or where it all came from, but she took a breath and washed away the nagging feeling that she was doing something wrong. She was out with friends and the music was good and the night was happening.

The gardener adjusted their pace, deftly moving them in a way Dani hadn’t expected her to be capable of doing. What was revealed just showed the multitudes that remained hidden, perhaps under lock and key, from the average passerby. But Dani was set to investigate, no matter the cost.

They moved in a comfortable quiet, until Dani realized she was closer than she’d been with anyone all night, and for the first time it hadn’t felt like work. She ran her thumb along the worn fabric of Jamie’s shirt, willing herself to remember just that, just the threadbare feeling and the smell of sawdust and begonia.

“Did he call you a ‘bonnie lass’?” Jamie asked, pressed close. Dani swallowed as a hand moved to her hip. “Try his exaggerated accent and tender Scottish boy routine on you? Call you beautiful beyond compare?”

“How did you know?”

The smirk appeared, only this time Dani was so close she could practically miss it. Her nose nearly touched a dimpled cheek. The heat from the crowded bar and the last vestiges of summer made the moist ends of Jamie’s hair even curlier. The au pair held onto her shoulder and felt a squeeze on her hand as they moved to the pace of the music.

“Taught him everything he knows, Poppins.”

Dani chuckled and shook her head, pushing away slightly though she didn’t make it far, the tight grip of the gardener keeping her still as the song began to close.

“His accent was quite charming.”

“And ye’ don’t like mine?” Again she leaned closer. Dani could smell the sweat and Jamie-like scent on her skin, just beneath the beer and heat and wood of the bar. As the music grew quieter and the applause rose, Dani felt the tickle of breath on her neck. “Do you need someone to tell you how beautiful you are? Do you not know, Dani?”

“I…”

“It has been an absolute pleasure to play our songs for you tonight,” Mikey interrupted the applause. “We have just a few more for you to enjoy. Thought we could do an old favorite, spice it up a bit and really wear down these old floor boards if you’re interested.”

The arms that were holding her up loosened and Dani was left in a daze as Jamie whistled and hooted, so that all the au pair could do was wake from the haze of the bright dance floor and squished bodies and weakly clap as well.

In the middle of the entire group of happy, dancing humans, Dani felt, for an absolute instant, that she was free. Her hand was still on Jamie’s shoulder until she snatched it away, remembering herself. Someone shifted, and she saw Eddie’s face in the crowd for a split second, and the warmth that seemed to emanate from her very core went cold, like water on a fire.

A drowsy guitar chord began, lazy and somewhat more old-fashioned than the previous set. Before Dani could escape it, she was stuck, and a beaming gardener turned to her.

“M’lady,” Jamie held out her hand after a formal and deep bow.

Dani took her hand and looked around to remind herself it wasn’t real.

“I, uh, I don’t know the steps,” Dani whispered, fumbling slightly.

“Good thing it doesn’t matter then,” Jamie promised. “Keep up and find me, yeah?”

“Find you?”

“Aye, you’re the hen in this fox house.”

By the time the drums kicked in, Dani felt herself relax in Jamie’s gentle guiding, the music and her smile infecting her completely. Just as she was getting the hang of it, Mikey’s dulcet tone humming and vibrating the very rafters with the stamping of feet. And despite herself, the warmth came back to Dani as the chorus rang out. She lifted the hem of her dress slightly as she bounded around, completing the steps, stomping the rhythm out.

It was sometime at the beginning of the second verse that Dani felt herself tossed, moved around from dancer to dancer, spun and laughing so loud she thought she wasn’t making a sound because the music drowned it out. She was dipped and spun, with various sized hands on the small of her back, and twisting her hand as she moved from suitor to suitor and with every passing chord she felt free and light, she felt like she was floating. Each caller seemed more eager than the one before, and Dani lost track of time itself.

She lost sight of Jamie in it all, and dismissed Eddie’s visage in the dark corner for a moment as Owen snagged her, carefully tugging her back to the present and maybe the future, his movements no where near as easy and agile as the gardeners despite his best efforts. He lasted about ten seconds before her hips were encircled by strong arms, and Hannah found her a few seconds later, both out of breath and brimming with warmth before Owen spun to her as well.

And it didn’t matter that she hadn’t a partner for a few moments as Dani allowed herself this second, to not catch her breath but rather keep losing it. She felt her cheeks aching from expressing more joy than she had perhaps ever before in her life, right there, on the unsanded and stained old floorboards of the ancient community center. The lights were too bright, too hot, the fans ineffective against August and the bodies who didn’t seem to mind. Dust kicked up and floated around them while the walls seemed to shake and move with them, allowing such jubilee. It was unexpected, to suddenly be alive. Unexpected and confusing and overwhelming.

In the middle of all of the bodies and all of the bliss, Dani found herself trying to remember the last time she’d danced, truly, honestly, painfully, deliriously, deafly danced.

“I thought I told you to find me, Poppins,” a low voice murmured against the shell of her ear.

Jamie was her favorite dancing partner. It was no contest really. The other dancers were great in their own ways, but never quite right; some were too tall, and some too short, some not fast enough, and others were too slow. None of them had the smile. None of them chased away the guilt of being alive. Her smile was infectious and only made Dani’s bigger. The drinks of the evening were coming to a head into a perfect timing of buzzing beneath her skin and feet. It was Jamie who made the magic, and only right there did Dani realize it.

“I can barely see straight,” Dani laughed, her smile poking her own ears, her movements a little more haphazard, but she didn’t care because Jamie met each and every one of them. She knew the steps now and she couldn't be bothered to care.

The music slowed for a moment, but the crowd knew it was just gathering it’s momentum, and Dani inhaled the calm as Jamie spun her and clung, their hips close.

“This is the best part,” the gardener promised, shuffling them along. Chests heaved to catch breath. From beneath her lashes, she looked at Dani and noted the pink of her cheeks and the red of her lips.

Sweat slicked the curls to Jamie’s forehead, the tan of her skin not at all hiding the blush of her chest.

“Am I going to be hunted again?”

“With a face like that? Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Don’t let go then.”

As much as she wanted to freeze time, it wouldn’t, and the song continued, exploding into noise for the finale. A small curl of the guitar grew quicker, prepared to grow louder until the drums came back in. Dani didn’t hear Jamie’s response, but rather felt the grip tighten. And all hell broke loose, bodies ducking and dodging and moving. Dani tossed back her head as Jamie spun her again and again and again until it stopped with no more than a whimper.

As soon as it ended, Dani wobbled before tossing her arms around Jamie’s neck and laughing there. She let herself be spun once again, her dress flowing around her knees as the crowd applauded and cheered, the laughter milling between it all.

“Didn’t know you could move like that,” Jamie chuckled.

“Me neither,” Dani confided, still slightly amazed.

“Seems like you needed it.”

“I did.”

The next song began and with a little less confidence than before, Jamie held out her hand again.

“Unless you’d like a break,” she offered. “I’d go for a pint--”

Dani took her hand and moved closer again. There wasn’t the rumble of the song among the people, there weren’t steps to it, just two people pressed tightly against the rest of the room.

“I don’t want to stop moving,” Dani sighed, resting her cheek on the gardener’s shoulder. “It’s safe here.”

She didn’t get to see the small smile that Jamie had as she stood a little straighter, grateful her brother knew enough to play a slower song after such a commotion.

“I suspect you might have a few attempts to interrupt.”

“Please don’t let go,” Dani shook her head.

“It’s going to get another thumper in a minute.”

“Good.”

“You better hold on tight.”

XXXXXXXXX

The town of Bly was nearly quiet until the bar spilled open and from the large doors, a wave of overheated bodies washed out onto the lane, pouring into every direction as the drinks were cut off and the music finally ended. It was a clear and warm night, with thin clouds occasionally hiding the stars, creating patches that tore at the evening intermittently. The respectable crowd was already in bed, and the rowdy bunch set about slinking home.

With a bit of nerves, Jamie bit at the skin of her thumb as she toed where the dirt met the grass near the fence beneath the old lamps that led back into the town proper. Cars began humming past, kicking up dust as they dispersed despite a few roaming gaggles of drunk and laughing friends.

It’d been nearly a decade since she’d danced so much or had that much fun. It was still swirling in her head as she came back down to earth. The continual spinning could only be attributed to the au pair and her laugh, how it bounced around the room, better than the music, and how carefree she looked, moving with such freedom it betrayed all of her power walking through the manor. It was entirely a new problem, Jamie realized, to see such a tightly wound thing break away because she was perfect before, and now it was… it was…

She sighed and dug for the smushed pack of cigarettes in her back pocket. She just wasn’t going to think about any of it and blame everything on the stiff drinks and mixture of alcohol and music. It worked for the puritans.

“Your brother was pretty good,” Dani offered, taking a seat on the fence. “He got all of the talent then?”

“I’d like to see him grow three varieties of orchids,” the gardener murmured as she stuck a cigarette between her lips and began the curious search for her lighter.

“I meant musically. You are clearly a talented dancer and botanist and camper and trainer of young men in the art of flirting.”

She couldn’t help but smile as she met Dani’s eyes during that list. She fiddled with the cigarette, wiggling it between her teeth as she leaned against the fence. Her shoulder touched Dani’s leg, where the hem of her dress fell on bare knees.

“Must be from the other half of his genetics.”

The flick of the lighter effectively ended the conversation, or at least she hoped, shielding it from the nearly non-existent breeze out of practiced habit. She took a long drag and tilted her head up to add to the flimsy collection of clouds hidden in the dark behind the streetlight.

“Thank you for tonight,” Dani offered amidst the quiet.

“I didn’t do anything but bring you to a lowbrow night at the opera. Not sure it’s in need of any gratefulness.”

With another drag, Jamie shook her head and crossed her arm over her middle. Dani reached over and pulled the cigarette from her fingers before taking a deep drag herself. Elegantly, like a professional, she fiddled with it, furrowing at the burning end. Jamie hadn’t ever thought to imagine such a sight from the tight pony tail in human form. But now that she had seen it, she didn’t want to imagine anything else.

“Thank you for tonight,” she repeated, handing it back.

“You’re welcome. Thanks for… thanks for coming.”

“I want to dance more.”

“Lucky for you, I know a guy who can pluck a fine tune,” Jamie stood a little taller. “I’ll go fire up the band again.”

“No no, stop,” the au pair laughed, tugging Jamie’s arm back from her faux errand. “I meant in general. I need more moments to feel… to not see… for--” Despite the smile on her face, Dani struggled to find the right way to say what mattered. Helplessly, amused at it all, she looked to the gardener.

“To feel invincible.”

“Yeah, that.”

In almost quiet they passed the cigarette back and forth until Jamie tossed it to the ground, snubbing it with the toe of her shoe.

“I should go find Hannah and Owen, get a ride back to the Manor.”

“I was-- I could take you.”

“Enjoy some time with your brother,” Dani reminded her as she hopped down, her hand firm on Jamie’s shoulder for support with the maneuver. “It’ll probably be another six years before you see him again.”

“I’ll see you around then.”

“Seems bound to happen at some point. “

Still brimming and smiling, Dani twirled as she made her way toward the car and Hannah’s form waving in the distance.

“Night,” Jamie offered weakly, sure it never reached the target who was humming and dancing her way across the field that acted as a parking lot. She leaned over the fence and folded her arms, waiting and watching.

“And thank you for being my fox tonight,” Dani called, turning back again and bowing, exaggerated as Jamie had on the dance floor.

Her laugh trailed off, wafting along in the breeze, dipping and winding its way between the branches and leaves and gone, evaporated into the night and among the clouds and the smoke they’d shared.

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buckybarnabus · 3 years

Text

The Dance of These Things

Summary: Dawn and Bucky go to a gala.

Warnings: Some cursing. Moderate alcohol use. A broken wrist? Mostly fluff

Word Count: 5.4k oops

A/N: Next part of my Snapshots series involving Bucky Barnes and OFC Dawn. I can’t for the life of me write a whole multi-chaptered story, so this will be a series of one shots in no particular order that may or may not develop into something coherent over time. You can also read on AO3 if you want. Thank you!

“Tell me again why we’re here?” Bucky grumbled as they walked through the parking lot. Dawn shot him a look.

“Because Sam is our friend and he asked us to come,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“He’s your friend. Not mine,” he said, sounding much like a petulant child.

“He spent like two years of his life looking for you under every leaf and pebble he could find. ‘Not friends’ my ass. I actually think that might even qualify as bestie material,” she teased. Bucky tossed a scowl at her.

“As what material?” he asked. “You know what, no. I don’t care. He only went looking for me because Steve needed help. That doesn’t make us friends.”

“Right, because that makes sense. You’re only friends when he’s not asking you to go to a gala in commemoration of saving the universe,” Dawn drawled. Bucky huffed.

“Yeah, not exactly the place for someone like me,” he muttered. That made Dawn pause. She looked at him as they walked, and it hit her, way later than it should have. She should have known better. Bucky felt like he had no right to be there. All of the extra grumpiness made sense, suddenly, and she could see it then in the furrow of his brow, the clench of his jaw. He wasn’t mad, or pouting about having to go to some fancy party. He was nervous. Maybe a little scared.

“Hey,” she said, grabbing his wrist and planting her feet. She stumbled just a little in her heels as Bucky’s momentum kept him going for a couple steps. She felt him stiffen up at her touch, but she ignored it. He’d gotten better about contact, after that night she cut his hair, but it still wasn’t exactly easy for him. One step at a time.

He heaved a heavy sigh as she tugged him to a halt, and he looked over her head, exasperation in his face. “Look at me,” she said. He acquiesced after a stubborn moment.

“What?” he snipped. She stared at him. There were a million cliché things she wanted to wax poetic about, but she found herself at a loss. If she said any of it, she knew it would just work him up even more. Calling him a hero would probably send him into hysterics.

“I don’t know,” she said dumbly. She chewed at her lip briefly, forgetting for a moment that she was wearing lipstick. It claimed to be smudge proof. She was, apparently, going to test the claim whether she meant to or not. She sighed and fixed him with what she hoped was a meaningful look. “I get it, okay? My track record isn’t all that pretty either. It’s just one night. Just a few hours. People are here to celebrate being alive and throw obnoxious amounts of money at foundations. You know, if nothing else, we can just sit at the losers table together, and you can watch me get drunk,” she said, offering a sly little grin and a squeeze to his wrist.

Bucky looked at Dawn for a moment, didn’t say anything, his jaw still working overtime with his stress. But a certain softness worked its way into the edges of his eyes as he took her in, and it made a certain little shiver run up her spine. She felt almost exposed under his gaze. A tiny little grin made its way onto his face, and he gently slipped his wrist out of her grip to carry on walking.

“Well, don’t get too drunk. I’m not carrying you through the parking lot if you can’t walk straight,” he said over his shoulder.

He was tense as they walked up to the entrance of the building, people loitering outside, one or two of them staring from the sidelines. Dawn couldn’t be sure if Bucky noticed, but he paid it no mind regardless. She managed to weasel her way in front of him, giving the name to the bouncer at the door. They found Sam not five minutes after going in, and a wide smile spread over Sam’s face when he spotted them.

Dawn let out a low whistle as Sam flounced up to them, giving him an exaggerated once over. “Look at you, Wilson, Jesus,” she exclaimed. “You’re gonna piss a lot of married men off tonight, looking like you do.”

“Please,” he scoffed, giving her a hug and a light kiss on the cheek in greeting before holding her at arms length to get a good look at her. “Have you seen yourself? I think I just fell in love with you a little,” he said. Then, genuinely, “Dawn, you look beautiful.”

“If you two are just going to fawn over each other all night, I’m going home right now,” Bucky drawled. Sam smiled upon seeing Bucky.

“Look at you, man. A haircut, no tactical gear. If it wasn’t for the staring thing, I never would have thought it was you. Didn’t even think you owned a suit,” Sam said by way of greeting.

“I didn’t,” Bucky said flatly. Dawn tried to hide her smile. She had all but dragged Bucky, kicking and screaming, to the suit store a few days prior, when he was still adamantly refusing to to go the gala. Sam chuckled and smacked him on the shoulder.

“You look good, Buck. I’m glad to see you came,” Sam said.

“I can change your mind, real quick,” Bucky said. Despite the grouchiness, there was still a little lilt of jest in his voice, and Dawn was going to count that as a success. Not a minute later, someone else was calling for Sam’s attention, and they parted ways with promises to catch up later. Dawn spun on her heel to face Bucky.

“I think it’s time for a drink,” she chirped. Bucky gestured toward the bar.

“Agreed. Lead the way,” he said, a tight smile on his face.

To his credit, Bucky was doing just fine, making small talk with those who approached him, whether it be by Sam’s introduction, a familiar face, or the occasional stranger.

The pair had actually ended up getting separated after a little while, though Dawn made certain to keep him in her sights. A trio of old men had apparently decided to adopt Bucky while Dawn was just a little caught up letting some rich older lady talk her ear off about the donation she was making. Which was fine. The woman could flaunt her money all she wanted for all Dawn cared, so long as she was doing something useful with it.

But alas, that conversation came to an end when the woman suddenly saw someone she knew across the way and promptly forgot about Dawn, gliding across the room as she hollered and waved. Dawn blinked a few times before looking briefly over toward where Bucky sat, to find him already looking at her. She rose a brow at him in question. He gave a little grin and a nod, and she smiled brightly before wandering off back toward the bar for another drink.

She ordered one for herself, and another for Bucky with every intention of meeting back up with him and his old men soon, and leaned patiently against the bar top as she waited. There was a man standing near her- nondescript, a little sweaty- sipping on a beer. She didn’t pay him much mind as she waited, simply offering a polite grin when they briefly locked eyes.

“Hey,” the man said, giving her a weird grin as he pointed at her. “I think I know you.” Dawn immediately had a bad feeling about it.

“I think you don’t,” she responded, clipped, but trying to remain at least a little polite.

“No, I see it now. I definitely know you,” he said, scooting a tad closer. “Can you guess how?” Dawn took half a step away.

“I don’t really do guessing games,” she said, haunches quickly rising.

“You’re an assassin. You kill people,” the man said, and she caught the look in his eye. He was either very drunk, or way too excited to talk about things she didn’t want to talk about. Seemed like a little bit of both.

“That’s a bold accusation to put on someone who potentially kills people,” Dawn said, eyes flitting around for a possible escape.

“It’s true. You’re the Serval, I know it. I saw you in the S.H.I.E.L.D. files when they were leaked,” the man continued, Dawn’s attitude going right over his head. She gave him an incredulous smile.

“Oh, you’re one of those deep diving types, huh? Must’ve dug pretty far into those, the Serval wasn’t very high up in the ranks,” she said, giving the bartender a light thanks as she dropped the drinks off.

“I can prove it. The Serval’s got the brand of the Handler, right on the back of her neck,” the man said, eyes darting to the back of Dawn’s head. At the mention of the Handler, Dawn was suddenly in full fight or flight mode. She was just trying to have a nice night.

“You sound a little obsessed there, buddy,” she said, voice flat. “I wouldn’t test that theory if I were you. Excuse me,” she said, making to pick the drinks up and escape the situation. His hand was wrapped around her wrist, then, strikingly quick for a drunk man. It took every ounce of willpower Dawn had not to drop him right then and there.

“Let me go,” she said, surprising herself at how calm she sounded.

“Come on, just let me see it,” he said, other hand moving toward the back of her head. Dawn was a hairs breadth away from kicking the mans knee out when a familiar whir of metal was swiftly followed by the hand it belonged to. Bucky had the mans floating arm caught in his left fist, twisting the wrist sharply and painfully down and out of Dawn’s face. It happened so quickly, so subtly, no one around them even seemed to notice.

“This ain’t a game you want to play, man,” Bucky growled at the man who’s face was contorted in pain. “You’re gonna leave, and hope neither of us finds you later. You know, especially with her being a potential assassin and all.”

With that, Bucky released the mans arm, and the pair watched him crumple before stumbling off in a hurry, tail between his legs. Dawn didn’t bother questioning how he heard the exchange. They’d been through it before. He heard it all, so he said.

“Were you a drama major in your past life? Because that was pretty dramatic,” Dawn teased, hiding what definitely felt like a stiff smile behind her glass as she took a hefty swallow. Bucky looked her over quickly, assessing her body language for unease.

“A little theatrics can go a long way,” he said when he seemed satisfied that Dawn was mostly fine. “You think it scared him?”

“Maybe a little. That, or the broken wrist,” she shrugged, picking up the drink she’d gotten for him. “Got you a refill,” she said. He huffed a breath of laughter and took the glass.

“You went through all that trouble just for me? You’re a peach,” he teased.

“What can I say, I’m a hell of a date. I know how to treat ‘em,” she shrugged.

“I’m sure you do, Donnie,” he said. They fell into an amicable silence after that, but before either one could decide to start talking again, the crowds attention was drawn to the head of the hall, where the presenters of the gala were starting some big speech.

It really was a nice speech, all things considered. Well spoken, hopeful. Bittersweet, but overall optimistic about the world trying to get back on track. As galas went, full of rich, slightly sheltered people who didn’t really understand that things were still going to be rough for a long time, Dawn supposed it could have been a worse crowd. They had hope that things could be good, given the right resources. It made sense that Sam was so eager for them to go.

Sam had reappeared out of seemingly nowhere not long after the speech had ended, and the music had started back up.

“Dawn, you mind if I steal you from your date for a little while? I’m dying to dance with someone under sixty,” he requested, earning a giggle from Dawn.

“Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time? Wooing all the old ladies?” she asked.

“I’ve been drowning in Chanel Number Five for like an hour. Please, I need a break,” he whined, coaxing a proper laugh out of her. She turned to Bucky, then, the silent question on her face.

“Go ahead. I’ve got a conversation to get back to,” Bucky said, gesturing toward the table of old men he’d been talking to previously.

So Sam offered Dawn his arm and led her out onto the dance floor. They fell into form easily, and began moving with the music.

“So Bucky made some friends, huh?” Sam asked, raising a brow in amusement. Dawn smiled.

“Yeah. A bunch of old men, naturally. They’re probably just swapping war stories or something, I don’t know. Whatever old men talk about,” she said.

“Of course he’d fall in with them, cranky old bastard,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “At least nobody’s giving him any trouble.” Dawn shrugged a shoulder.

“He’s already broken a wrist tonight, I think he’s filled his quota for the time being,” she said.

“He what?” Sam baulked. Dawn laughed lightly.

“Don’t worry, it was very subtle. We’re staying out of trouble, I swear.”

“No, no. You aren’t getting out of this so easily. Why the hell is Bucky stealth breaking people’s wrists?” Sam prodded.

“The guy had it coming, honestly. He grabbed me. Trust me, I would’ve made a bigger scene if Bucky hadn’t stepped in,” she said.

“You two are going to be the death of me, I swear to God. Can’t stay out of trouble for one damn night, can you?” he said, giving her a little spin.

“Gala’s can’t stop a couple of wild animals, Wilson,” Dawn winked.

“And yet here you are, schmoozing with the best of ‘em,” he said, shaking his head fondly.

“I mean, I look sort of nice tonight. Might as well play the part, you know?” she said, earning a chuckle. They bantered easily for a bit before falling into quiet and letting the music guide them.

“You know,” Sam started after a few stanzas. “I don’t think Bucky’s danced since the forties. Steve said he used to go dancing all the time,” he said, pointed. Dawn snorted.

“What, you think he’d go for that now? No way. It was enough work just to get him to come here,” she retorted.

“You should ask him to dance. Since, apparently, he can deny you nothing,” Sam said, still with the stupid pointed look. Dawn was willfully ignoring it.

“I think he’d sooner rip his other arm off. You know how he is about touching,” she said.

“I don’t know about that. I don’t think you’re seeing what I’m seeing, Donnie,” Sam said.

“Oh? And what’s that?” she prodded.

“Right now, I see Sir Grumpalot sitting over there looking like a kicked puppy because someone else is dancing with his girl. Seriously, the dude is straight up pouting.” Dawn shot him a glare.

“I’m not his- he always looks like a kicked puppy, that’s just his face.” Sam smiled at her, a soft, warm thing. She felt small under it.

“To you, maybe. That man is an immovable object when he wants to be. Unless it comes to you. Then, sad little puppy, always ready to please.” She huffed at him as the song ended, and reached up to pat his cheek.

“Alright, Samwise, keep telling yourself that. I’m not nearly drunk enough for this conversation. Thanks for the dance. Back to the cougars with you,” she said, removing herself from his grip.

“Dawn, baby, don’t do this to me!” he crowed. She shot him a wide smile as she backed away.

“Sorry, sweetheart. You know my heart burns for you. But I think I’ve got a puppy I need to get back to,” she called.

Bucky was scowling at her once she arrived back at the table he sat at with his three old men. “Was Sam calling me a puppy?” he asked, throwing a glare in Sam’s direction.

“You heard that?” she asked, taking a seat next to him. He slid a glass across the table toward her, a refill of her drink. She smiled in thanks.

“I heard you say it. Which means he said it,” Bucky said, clearly grumpy.

“Don’t worry, Buck, you’re not a puppy,” she said, poking her foot into his shin under the table. “You’re a big, bad wolf, huffing and puffing as much as you do,” she said.

“I hope you don’t ever get into comedy. It’s really not your calling,” Bucky grumbled, and Dawn let out a bright peal of laughter.

And then, apparently, Dawn was dancing with one of Bucky’s three old men, because her feet weren’t killing her enough already. She could run around all day and night on missions, but on those, she typically had boots. A few hours gallivanting around in high heels, though? That was definitely another story.

By the time Dawn had managed to slip away from the dance floor, Bucky was looking spacey, tired, and ready to leave. He’d been a good sport over the course of the evening, and broke a drunk guys wrist for her. He’d earned the relief of leaving the gala.

They slipped out into the refreshing night air, after Dawn’s insistence that they at least say goodbye to Sam, and Dawn felt the relief instantly. She’d been riled up all evening, trying to be social and gracious. It was nice to breathe and let the tension go. But with her relief, the pain in her feet and ankles became her main focus. Heels were a curse to womankind, she decided. And Bucky was already a good few yards away.

“You always walk that fast, or are you just that sick of me?” she called out, irrationally grumpy at the pain in her feet. Bucky stopped and turned, looking just a little surprised that she was so far behind. He watched her for a moment as she tried to pick up the pace, and she scowled when she saw the amusement written all over his face.

“You look like a baby deer,” he teased.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You try wearing heels for hours at a time, see how you do,” she said, embarrassed as she hobbled up to him.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to wear them,” he said, raising his hands in defense.

“I’ve got a knife under this dress, somewhere. Don’t make me use it,” she grumbled.

“You brought a knife?” he asked, surprised. She scoffed.

“Oh, like you don’t have at least ten stuffed in your slacks,” she retorted.

“That’s fair,” he said, then looked back down at her in consideration. “Alright. Come on,” he said, stepping into her space.

“What-“ Dawn was cut off by a yelp as she was suddenly airborne, and she found herself scrambling for a good grip around his neck. Bucky hiked her up higher and started walking, carrying her bridal style through the lot like it was nothing. Dawn took a moment to gather herself again before speaking.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to carry me through the parking lot,” she said quietly, amused. She was also trying not to think about how warm he was, and if she was talking, that helped to distract her.

“That was if you were drunk. Which I’m pretty sure you’re not,” he said, giving her a suspicious glance. She smiled.

“Nah. I can hold my liquor. Maybe even drink you under the table,” she said.

“Right. We are never testing that theory.”

“Don’t underestimate me.”

“I’m not. You’d die.”

She let Bucky drive her car, not trusting her feet to cooperate with the pedals. It was a long, quiet drive back to Bucky’s apartment. They’d spent the drive sort of winding down from the evening, and Dawn was about to bid him goodnight upon parking, but Bucky beat her to it.

“You’ve been drinking. I can’t, in good conscience, let you drive home,” he said flatly. She rose a brow at him, unable to help the grin.

“I thought you said I wasn’t drunk,” she said. He didn’t look at her as he pocketed her keys and started walking.

“Three drinks? Maybe four? Yeah, you’re not driving,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Don’t know where your keys went, anyway.” Dawn smiled softly at his back and followed. She liked when fragments of his boyish nature of years past shone through all the grey he surrounded himself with. It was nice.

He let her borrow some clothes, let her use his shower, and she eventually emerged, clean and warm and comfy. She dropped herself onto the couch and let out a relieved sigh, leaning her head back and shutting her eyes with a grin.

“Feel better?” Bucky asked from the kitchen around a mouthful of food. His stomach had growled angrily the entire drive home. Dawn had tried to get him to eat at the gala, but he just wouldn’t. He moved back into the front room and placed a plated sandwich in Dawn’s lap. She was, admittedly, also very hungry.

“You have no idea,” she said, tucking into the offered sandwich. She watched TV while Bucky took his own shower. It was a familiar routine after sharing many a hotel room. They existed pretty easily around each other, for the most part. It was comfortable. Something safe, easy.

“Did you have to use all the hot water?” he griped without venom upon exiting the bathroom and flopping onto the couch.

“You should have thought of that before you met me. Long, hot showers are kind of my favorite thing,” she said, shoving at his shoulder.

“Right, because I definitely could have predicted some ex assassin, hot water leech was going to prance her way into my apartment one day just for the amenities,” he shot back. She could practically hear him rolling his eyes at her.

“Constant vigilance, Sarge. You can never be too ready,” she said, curling into her corner of the couch as Bucky started flipping through the channels. Dawn’s mind wandered as she stared at the television. The air between them was easy, comfortable. Quiet and content. She found herself continuously looping back to Sam’s words at the gala, couldn’t quite seem to get them out of her head. Bucky liked to dance, once upon a time. She could imagine it, the bright smile on his face as he twirled a pretty girl around the room, the innocence of it all.

“Sam said you haven’t danced since the forties,” she blurted before she could stop herself. She could see him turn his head toward her in her peripheral vision, but he said nothing. “Well. I guess Steve said it, really. Steve told Sam, Sam told me,” she rambled, picking at the borrowed sweatpants.

“Well. It’s a little hard to get some dancing in between brainwashing, bouncing from fight to fight. Turning to dust,” Bucky said, slowly, clearly trying to figure out her reasoning.

“You could’ve tonight. At the gala,” she said, chancing a quick glance at him. He was giving her a look, something carefully neutral and just a little suspicious.

“Don’t be so sure about that,” he said.

“You could’ve,” she repeated. “I’m sure anyone would’ve danced with you.”

“Not really my scene these days, Donnie,” he said. She chewed on her lip, ignoring the feeling of her heart hammering in her chest.

“What about here?” she asked.

“What about it?”

Dawn gestured around them. “Is this more your scene?” He furrowed his brows at her. Her stomach dropped into her feet.

“This is my living room?” he said, clearly confused. She was going to fucking throw up.

“Dance with me, Bucky,” she said. Maybe she would just die, dissolve into the couch and cease to be.

“What?” he asked, almost a whisper. She squared her shoulders and turned to him.

“Dance with me,” she said. He just kind of sat there for a moment, looking bewildered and caught off guard. It took him a minute to find his words again.

“I haven’t danced since ‘43,” he said, sounding a little breathless. She nodded slowly.

“Yes. We’ve been over this. It’ll be fine,” she said, standing up and crossing the room toward his stereo.

“I’m not any good,“ he argued weakly.

“Who cares? No one’s watching and I won’t know any better,” she said, hooking up her phone and pulling up a proper playlist. She pressed the play button and put the phone down before drifting back to Bucky as the grainy, old music started playing. She quickly muted the television and outstretched her hands expectantly. She made a grabby motion when he still just stared up at her.

“Come on. Just a few songs. It’ll be fun,” she said. He pressed his lips together and sighed heavily, not being overly helpful as he took her hands and let her pull him up. She pulled him away from the couch and they stared at each other for a moment. Bucky’s brows were furrowed, but she couldn’t tell what he was feeling. She could barely hear the music over the blood rushing in her ears.

He still didn’t say anything. Just hesitantly tapped her arm up, looking resigned, a silent order to place her hand on his shoulder. His left hand fell lightly onto her waist, and his right gently scooped up her other hand to hold up in the air. She gave him an encouraging smile, and then they we’re moving.

She let him lead, and it was a shy thing at first, stiff. “See? It’s not so bad,” she said. He huffed a tense breath of laughter.

“This is stupid,” he said. She clicked her tongue.

“No, this is nice,” she argued, giving his shoulder a gentle pinch. She moved with him as easily as he would let her, but he was still uncertain, almost awkward. She found it endearing. It took some time for Bucky to warm up to the idea.

Dawn could almost pinpoint the moment he got comfortable. He tugged her hand, twisted her out for a little spin, and pulled her back into him. She giggled as he spun her, almost losing her footing on the return. His left hand landed on the small of her back when she bumped back into him, and they were suddenly much closer. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, the coolness of his metal hand against her spine. She looked back up at him, and she caught a glimpse of that boyish charm he once probably wore so easily.

“I guess it’s not so bad,” he muttered as they continued swaying to the music.

“And you think you’re not any good,” she tutted. They moved around in a little circle for a while. Then, Bucky got brave and started putting some foot work into it. Dawn’s heart was absolutely soaring, and she could tell Bucky was legitimately having a good time, if the softness in his features was anything to go by.

“You looked beautiful, tonight,” Bucky said out of the blue, quiet, like he didn’t want to break the little bubble they found themselves in. “I should have said it before.” Dawn bit her lip against the shy smile threatening to rise. She could only manage a whispered thanks as she felt her cheeks heat up.

“You know. Baby deer ankles and all,” he teased, earning a scandalized gasp out of Dawn. She went to smack him in the arm, but instead, he stopped the motion by gripping her hand tighter and pulling her even closer, flush against his body. Any and all fight Dawn had in her left in a rush. “I’m kidding, Doll,” he said, the words rumbling against her chest. Dawn couldn’t find any words to say, so she rested her head against his chest instead, opting to feel his warmth and let the music guide them.

They danced around the apartment for more than the promised few songs, swaying and spinning and stepping. Dawn only stepped on his toes a few times. And Bucky seemed happy. The tension he usually held in his shoulders was nonexistent, and everything about him just seemed soft and sweet, and Dawn was almost jealous of all the girls he must have taken dancing back in his day, jealous that they got to see that side of him so freely. And she was sad for Bucky, that he’d been through so much, had no choice but to shut himself down. But at that moment in time, the pair of them floating around his apartment, things were good. Everything was okay. There was no mission. No nightmare. No Handler. No greater goal. Just Dawn and Bucky. Just music. Just a little bit of peace.

The song was nearing its end. The crescendo came, the last big chorus, and Bucky spun Dawn around once more before catching her against his chest. He smoothly transferred his weight, held her snug as he got a steady hold of her and dipped her with all the grace in the world. She found herself giggling at the feeling, and then he pulled her back up. He pulled her back up, and she was proud of not messing it up for all of a second before her mind blanked entirely.

They were close. Very close. Both of his hands were pressed into her spine, one warm, one cold, steadying her frame. Her hands landed on either side of his neck. Their noses brushed. They were so close. Dawn felt his breath against her lips, a quick, surprised little puff, and she almost could have sworn her heart stopped beating, that she would die right then and there. Hair had landed in her face with the momentum, and she couldn’t see much of anything, but she felt it all.

Her breath hitched and she froze as Bucky’s nose just brushed her cheek, an almost mindless nuzzle against her skin. She could feel the heat of his lips so, so close to hers. She would barely have to move an inch to meet them. She was pretty sure she was dead.

But, almost as soon as it had happened, it was over. Bucky took a step back, releasing Dawn completely.

“It’s, um,” he cleared his throat, looked somewhere over her shoulder. “It’s late. I’m sure you’re tired. You should get some sleep,” he said. It took Dawn an embarrassingly long moment to collect herself.

“Oh. Right, um. Yeah. It was a long day, wasn’t it,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as spaced out as she felt. She moved on stiff legs to grab her phone and shut the music off. Bucky was standing awkwardly off to the side, arms crossed tight over his chest.

“You can take the bed,” he said with a stiff gesture, voice rough. She nodded dumbly and pulled her lips between her teeth before shuffling down the short hallway. She was about to shut the door behind her, hand on the doorknob for a moment. She swung it back open a little.

“Bucky?” she called out hesitantly.

“Yeah?” his voice echoed, quick and a little shrill. Her words got stuck. She cleared her throat.

“Thank you. For coming. I had a nice night. I hope you did, too,” she called out, awkward, unable to keep the uncertainty out of her voice. She didn’t get a response for a minute, and she was about to shut the door.

“Yeah. I did. Goodnight, Donnie.”

Neither one of them knew it, but they both spent a long time staring at the ceiling that night, too wired, too deep in thoughts of What the hell is going on to fall asleep. And when they did, their sleep was as turbulent as whatever it was that they were trying not to feel.

#bucky barnes fic #buckybarnabus writes #bucky barnes #tfatws #avengers #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x ofc #james barnes #marvel #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #ca:cw #catws #captain america #mcu #bucky barnes x original female character

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thatfanficstuff · 4 years

Text

Wait. What? - NCIS

Pairing: Just read it.

Warning/Note: I don’t know what this is. This is Chaos in written form.

***

Tony kept glancing up from his work to watch you digging through paperwork. You were new to the team and this was your first case with them but you were no stranger to field work. Gibbs himself had recruited you from the FBI convinced you would be a better fit at NCIS. So far you seemed competent though you were a little quiet for Tony’s liking. There was also a weird dynamic between you and Gibbs he hadn’t figured out yet.

Gibbs was in MTAC while the rest of the team dug through evidence that had already been gone over twice trying to find what they needed to arrest the man they were all sure was guilty of the crime. You hopped to your feet grabbing Tony’s attention once more. You snatched a file off your desk and hurried over to sit in Gibbs chair while you sorted through the paperwork on the boss’s desk.

Oh God. Tony kind of liked you. He didn’t want you getting killed on your first case. “Probie, what are you doing?”

You ignored him as you continued to dig through files.

“Y/N,” he hissed again.

You marked your place with your finger and glanced up at him clearly annoyed at the interruption.

Were you nuts? “What the hell are you doing? Get out of Gibbs’ chair.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s fine, Tony.”

No. No, it wasn’t.

“Um…you know how much I hate to agree with Tony, Y/N, but I really wouldn’t sit there if I were you,” McGee added.

“They speak the truth. Gibbs is very protective of his chair. And his desk,” Ziva whispered from beside you. “It would perhaps be in your best interest to return to your desk with the papers you need.”

“Noted.” Your voice was little more than a mumble as you yanked a stack of papers out of the middle of the pile and scanned through them before grabbing the sheets you’d carried over with you. It appeared you were comparing the two documents. And you’d found something if the expression on your face was any indication. Tony winced as Gibbs stepped into the bullpen. Your grin wasn’t going to last long.

“Hey, boss. We tried to tell her, but she’s new, you know? Take it easy on her would you?” Tony stammered out.

“It’s fine, DiNozzo,” Gibbs answered and you glanced up.

Tony’s gaze narrowed as Gibbs handed you a cup of coffee before grabbing you chair and wheeling it over to sit beside you. “What’ve you got?”

You slid the papers toward him. “His financials. Two accounts. Business and Personal.”

“We already went over his financials. It was a dead end,” Tim argued. “It only backed up his story.”

You shrugged. “You didn’t look back far enough.”

“Lay it out for me, Y/N. What am I looking at here?” Gibbs instructed.

“Two weeks before the murder both cards were used within an hour of each other. 300 miles apart. One at a gas station, one at a restaurant.”

“Lincoln said he was the only one with access to the accounts,” Tony added.

“Are you implying the suspect lied to us, Tony? I’m appalled.” You placed your hand to your chest in faux surprise.

He glared at you. This is what you did. You were always so damned quiet but when you talked, it always seemed to be a smart remark directed at him. “Ha, ha, Y/L/N. You’re a riot.”

“Y/L/N, McGee, go pick him up.”

You hopped to your feet and went over to grab your gear.

“Nice work, Y/L/N,” Gibbs said as he pushed your chair back to you.

You grinned as you snagged it and shoved it under your desk. “See you when we get back, boss.”

Tony waited until they were out of sight before looking at Gibbs. “Does this mean we can all sit in your chair now, boss?” The look the other man gave him had Tony wishing he could disappear. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Get back to work, DiNozzo.”

***

You and McGee managed to bring the suspect Jonathan Morgan in with no hassle. He still seemed to think he could talk his way out of trouble. The team stood in the observations room watching Gibbs getting nowhere with Morgan. Tony had seen Gibbs pull some incredible tricks in his interrogations, but he didn’t think any of them were going to work this time.

Tony noticed you pull out your phone and type quickly. Almost immediately Gibbs’ shoulders went tight in irritation as he glanced at his phone. Surely you weren’t that stupid, but he was at the wrong angle to see the screen of your phone.

“Did you just text Gibbs during an interrogation?” Ziva, who was in a much better position, asked looking between you and the boss.

“Yeah. What of it?” you shrugged and stepped out of the room.

Tony’s chest actually went tight at that. He wondered if there were any spare boxes in the copy room for you to pack your stuff in. There was no way Gibbs wasn’t firing you now. “Rule 22. Never bother Gibbs during an interrogation,” Tony said with a grimace.

Ziva frowned. “I thought that was seventeen.”

“No. That’s never interrupt Gibbs during an interrogation. Two different things. At least she didn’t break that one. Could you imagine?” Tim said with a laugh of disbelief.

Just the thought was enough to send a chill up Tony’s spine. Texting was one thing, but actually going in and interrupting his interrogation? You’d be fired on the spot even if Gibbs did recruit you himself.

Less than five minutes passed before the interrogation room door opened to reveal you with your hands full of food. Tony smacked McGee on the arm and pointed. Tim’s mouth dropped open in a mirror of his own.

You placed everything in your arms on the table.

“What do you want, Y/L/N?” Gibbs snapped.

You shrugged and chomped a piece a gum. “Boss says he’s got to eat. I’m here to feed him.”

Gibbs huffed in irritation. “Fine. I’m taking a break. Let me know when he’s done.” He stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Almost immediately he was in the observation room with the rest of them.

Tony’s eyes never left you. In the short time since you’d left his presence, you’d changed into heels, a skirt and a men’s button up shirt. You’d tied the shirt at your waist and left the top three buttons undone. The skirt was far shorter than what would be considered professional and he turned his head to get a better look.

A sharp slap to the back of his head had him jerking forward. He cringed and frowned at his boss.

“Quit looking at her legs, DiNozzo. And pay attention. You might learn something.”

***

Tony leaned back in his chair and played with a pen as his gaze ran between you and Gibbs. The two of you had to be dating. There was no other explanation as to why you weren’t only still employed but Gibbs was praising the information you’d gotten from Morgan. And not one comment had been made about you interrupting his own questioning.

Only good sex would make a man act like that Tony decided. He grimaced at the image that flashed through his head. Ugh. Yeah, he wasn’t going to think about that again. Tony watched as you signed off on some paperwork and reached for your coffee. You frowned when you found it empty and tossed the cup in the trash. Heading to Gibbs’s desk, you handed him the file before grabbing his coffee and taking a swallow.

Tony dropped forward, his eyes wide as he waited for the retaliation. You placed the cup back on his desk and grinned. Gibbs simply smiled back and gave a shake of his head. Tony was on his feet before he could think better of it. “Okay, what the hell is going on around here? This is chaos and I won’t stand for it.” Everyone turned to look at him with various levels of confusion. “I won’t,” he repeated pointing his pen in the air for emphasis.

Gibbs licked his lips as he stood as well. “DiNozzo, what the hell are you talking about?”

Tony stepped out from behind his desk to the middle of floor and counted offenses on his fingers as he named them off. “First, she sits in your chair. Then she texts you during an interrogation. Then she physically interrupts the interrogation, wearing clothes no one else would get away with, might I add. And now she took a drink of your coffee. All of these are killing offenses Gibbs and you just smiled at her. You smiled.”

As he took in the looks of those around him, it occurred to him that perhaps he’d been a bit more excitable than necessary. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie. Gibbs blinked several times before tilting his head in consideration. “You can wear the skirt if you want to, DiNozzo, but I don’t think you have the legs for it.”

Before Tony could voice the protest on the tip of his tongue another voice interrupted.

“Would you really kill someone for drinking your coffee? I feel like you might,” Tobias Fornell said as he stepped into the bullpen.

Gibbs simply frowned at the FBI agent but Y/N grinned at him. “I’m sure that was just a vicious rumor.”

“What are you doing here, Fornell? She works for me now, remember?” Gibbs grumbled.

Fornell lifted a brow. “I heard she finished her first case with NCIS. I thought I’d take her out to dinner to celebrate.”

“And convince her to come back to the FBI?” Gibbs crossed his arms and shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Tim and Ziva came to stand beside Tony. “What is going on?” the female agent whispered.

“I have no idea,” Tony replied. And if he was honest, that terrified him.

“You can’t keep me from seeing her just because she works for you now, Gibbs.” The FBI agent stepped forward, his frown deepening.

Gibbs stepped forward as well bringing them within swinging distance of one another. Tony’s shoulders went tight as he watched this scene play out. A glance at you showed you to be extremely irritated but otherwise at ease. If Tony didn’t know any better, he’d say you’d seen this before and often. Were you dating both of them? Really? You?

“I can keep her from seeing you because I’m her father,” Gibbs snapped.

“Well, so am I,” Fornell snapped right back.

What just happened?

You sighed. “Are you two finished?”

The two older men turned to look at her and she shifted her attention to Fornell. “Pop, Dad and I were going to have steak and beer at his house. You’re welcome to join us.”

The men eyed one another before Fornell nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Gibbs nodded as well. “Okay, then.” And like that the tension dissolved.

Ziva stepped forward. “Excuse me, but what just happened? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Gibbs and Fornell both smiled slightly as you shook your head with a roll of your eyes. “Gibbs married my mom. After they got divorced, Tobias married her. I kept the step-fathers in the divorce. So, Dad and Pop.” She gestured to the respective men in turn.

“Wait, so Y/N’s available?” Tony knew the moment the words left his mouth they were a mistake. He grimaced as you and your fathers all yelled his name in unison. “Yeah, sorry.”

After the three of you gave him a glare for good measure you moved toward the elevator. The last thing Tony heard before the door slid shut was your voice. “If you two don’t knock it off I’m transferring to the CIA.”

#fornell x reader #gibbs x reader #dinozzo x reader #ncis imagine #I don't know #pure chaos #what is this #no really

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written-prose-things · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Laura Hale, Laura Hale & Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Laura Hale Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Miscommunication, lil bit of angst Summary:

Laura Hale has been the alpha of a teenaged pack who's seen everything from draculas to faeries. How is she going to deal with Stiles getting her brother's name as his soul mark? Especially when said brother already has someone else's name.

(the fic’s under the cut as well)

Even if the pack’s a bit more grown-up now, they still act like the kids they were when she first met them. So as she’s sitting down on the couch with her noodle soup, to enjoy some reality tv, that one pack member or another is going to bust through the door and start clamouring for her attention. But she’s nothing if not headstrong.

The staple fight between the Kardashians is barely in its first act when Stiles rushes through the door, his sneakers squeaking and plaid shirt and jacket flapping around. He smells of anxiety and nervousness, exactly like he did the first day they met.

He whispers urgently, “Laura??!”.

She yells back from the den, “Here!!”

He walks towards her quickly, muttering, “Oh my god, be quiet!!”

When he finally turns the corner and enters the den, Laura puts her bowl aside and pats the seat next to her, “What’s wrong pup?”

He takes a deep breath, and she already expects a long-winded rant, “So, you know about soul marks, right? Obviously, you got yours, you’re still looking for the person with that name, so you know about this thing. Everyone gets it, right? But does everyone get that of the person that reciprocates? Not always. Sometimes people have different names.”

Laura frowns. Why’s he talking about soul marks suddenly? God knows it’s been a sour topic for him since his 17th birthday passed and he didn’t get-

“Oh my god!!! You got your mark??!! Stiles! You-” Stiles muffles her mouth quickly.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” He whispers urgently, “Someone might hear!”

Laura batted his hand away from her mouth, “No one else is here.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, “Derek?”

Laura shrugs, “He said there was some work that needed to be done on the roof so he went to get supplies from the hardware store.”

Stiles smirks, “Wow, I always thought that nothing short of an apocalypse would make that homebody move from the mansion. But hey, in miracles we must believe.”

Laura smacks his thigh, “Shut up about Derek already, tell me about your mark, where is it?”

Stiles’ smirk becomes a little stilted as he replies, “I can’t really stop talking about Derek, he’s related to this whole mark thing that’s happened to me.”

Laura stutters, “You- Derek? You got Derek?”

Stiles’ smirk is now a full frown, “Yup.”

Laura knows she shouldn’t point it out, and that Stiles knows it already, “But he already has a-”

Stiles doesn’t let her complete, “Yup.”

Laura sighs. Everyone knows that Derek has a mark, he’s had one since they moved back to Beacon Hills, but he doesn’t like showing it or even talking about it, other than the one time he told her that he’d finally gotten his mark.

Laura sighs, “I’m so sorry, Stiles.”

He shrugs, “Yeah well, it is what it is. But that’s not why I came here.”

Laura barely stops her jaw from snapping open, one of the worst things on this planets happened to him and the boy wants to talk about something else. He’s either finally lost his mind or it’s a whack plan to set things straight.

“Oh? What did you want to talk about?”

Stiles shrugs, “I read this thing yesterday. when I got the mark, I couldn’t just wring my hands and cry about it right? So an older version of your uncle’s bestiary has mentions of a ritual that only werewolves can do to exchange marks.”

So whack plan it is. Laura interjects, “Stiles what the hell are you talking about? How can someone tempt fate like that? Also, why would I take my brother’s mark on my self? That’s so many levels of gross and weird.”

Stiles shakes his head, “No, I-”

The thing about the Hale mansion is that after years of use and the god awful fire, the house creaks and rattles with even the smallest wind. So Laura has trained herself to file little noises inside the house away. But she should know better by now. In giving Stiles her full attention, she didn’t keep an ear out for Derek.

And now her younger brother is standing at the door in front of them.

Stiles lets out a faint choking sound, “H-hey Derek, fancy seeing you here.”

Derek growls, “This is my house.”

Stiles laughs like he’s at a polite office party, “Just uh- How much of that did you here?”

Derek grits his jaw, “You don’t want my mark.”

Stiles bobbles his head, “Well, no- but. I- Look Derek, it’s been 3 years since my 20th birthday. I’ve made my peace with being alone and I don’t want to come in the way of you and whoever it is that you have. So it’s a spell that I’ve read. Any werewolf can do it and I then we can exchange names. So I was thinking that I could get the person with your soul mark to switch with me and the both of you can-”

Derek growls again, “No.”

Stiles stutter, “-get togethe- or no. right. Sure. Uh, What exactly, does that mean? No? Like I can’t give your name to your mark, or…?”

Derek sighs, “Give me my mark.”

“Huh?”, Laura knows better to get in the way of, what ever the hell this is, but Derek’s response is entirely unexpected.

Stiles holds up a finger, “I’m sorry, but what now? You want your own name… as your mark? Isn’t that a bit vain?”

Derek growls and Stiles quickly amends, with his hands tucked inside the collar of his shirt, “Not that there’s anything wrong with being vain. Late-stage capitalism ya’ know, everyone’s on their own...”

Stiles’ voice peters out under Derek’s stern gaze.

Derek grumbles, “There’s nothing wrong with taking my name back. I’ll finally be able to do my own thing and you’ll be fine, the person with my name is some old polish dude. You’ll be rid of him sooner or later.”

Stiles nods jerkily, “Yeah, right. That- It makes sense.”

Laura gets up. She doesn’t want to do this at all. She trusts Stiles with her life and seeing Derek give that up, it breaks her heart. But it’s his life and his choice, she doesn’t want to come in his way.

“Right so what am I supposed to do?”

Stiles startles like he’d forgotten that she was even there, “You don’t need to be here for this lulu, we can manage on our own.”

She sighs and walks out of the den, she’s too tired to nag Stiles about the nickname.

oOo

Stiles holds his arm out to Derek, his sleeves fall back and Derek sees his name written in a neat freshly-dried inky script.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Stiles replies in a whisper and the gravity of the situation dawns on Derek, “Where do you have your mark?"

“On my leg.”

“Okay.” Stiles slides a chair towards him, “put your leg here and roll your pant up.”

Derek does as he’s told while the younger man busies himself with pulling out the photocopy of the tome his uncle had compiled.

“Now what?”

Stiles nods and looks up from his book, “It’s a little awkward, but we have to make our marks touch and-”

Stiles stops short of touching Derek’s leg with his forearm and Derek growls out, “What?”

He knows that the name is funny. He’s spent years on the internet looking for someone with that name and trying to understand the meaning of the name.

“I- That’s mine.”

Derek huffs, “Yes, that’s going to be yours when we switch. You seem to care much more about this then you let on.”

Derek can’t help but get irritated. Stiles wanted nothing more than to get rid of Derek’s name, he was willing to pawn it off to some stranger, but this god-awful key smash of a name is making his sappy?

Stiles looks up at him, “No, I- That’s me. I’m Mieczyslaw Stilinski.”

Derek huffs, “Oh.”

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf

28 notes · View notes

namjoonspiration · 4 years

Text

Saudade

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Summary: After your parents died, you are the sole heiress to a booming electrical company, and your grandmother has put you to the task of making connections. Although, Park Jimin didn’t seem all too happy to see you.

Word count: 16.8k

Rating: M

Genre: fluff, angst, 1920s AU, non-idol AU

Warnings/Tags: Short, non-descriptive mentions of parental death and miscarriage (i.e. no gore or graphic material); so much angst; mentions of amnesia, apathy and heartbreak; lots and lots of kisses. It’s not really a hardcore story. I purposefully tried to keep my story from being too heavy.

Author’s note: This is my first BTS fanfiction, so please go easy on me. I tried my best at editing, so I apologize or any blaring grammatical errors or word misusage. If you liked it, please leave a comment or a heart. It’ll help me continue forward with my other projects 🥺👉🏻👈🏻Enjoy!

Masterlist

You were the picture of perfect togetherness. Your grandmother had made sure of it. You must present yourself as the rightful heiress to the family fortune if you are to be accepted by these people. Rightful heiress? You’re the only heiress. These people can be quick to judge. No, really? The thought hadn’t crossed your mind all day. The maids had entered your room before the crack of dawn to get you ready for battle for a brunch that wouldn’t start for another several hours.

White satin T-strap shoes with crystal embellishments adorn your feet, which stand in a precise parallel position. White gloves fit perfectly to your fingers, hands fold neatly right over left, which hold your soft pink Chanel purse. Your loose, straight-fit dress of a matching color falls below your knees. Underneath are the ungodly itchy flesh-tone tights that you had despised since you bought them. Your hair, which is painstakingly curled and styled into a bob to the give the illusion of the short trendy hairstyle nowadays, was half-hidden under a white cloche hat. Pearls--all of which tapped with every step into the mansion of magnificent grandeur--adorned your ears, neck, and wrists.

It was hard to focus your eyes on anything in this place. At any point, dark rich colors of purple, red and dark brown jumped out to blind you, making you feel as though the sun didn’t come out this morning. Portraits upon portraits of the family line the walls, along with countless gold plaques. Oddly shaped awards and random busts perch on pedestals. Clearly the people who owned this house--the Parks--were not shy about displaying their achievements in the industry and within their family. But then again, who lived in the East Isles and didn’t have the main entrance of their home brag about their elite status for them?

You didn’t. Yes, because you weren’t a narcissist. You were also “new money.” Your family hadn’t been in the electrical business for generations... People seem to forget it’s still a relatively new thing.

To be honest, you didn’t really care you were here. The pomp and circumstance didn’t make your heart jump or your fists clench. In fact, nothing these days invoked much emotion from you. You’re not sure when you started feeling that way and why it was so prevalent. Maybe it was after your parents passed away a couple years ago. Your grandmother came to live with you to help you transition into your new life. You had asked her repeatedly how your parents died, but she never could bring herself to tell the story. You mourned your parent of course, but after a while, you just stopped feeling most emotion.

So, as you walk behind your grandmother--who was talking to Mrs. Park presumably--you wondered about the food you might get to eat. If anything brought you real satisfaction and pleasure from living this lifestyle, it was the meals. However, you don’t think scarfing down food will win you any points with these people today. Your job was to network today, make connections to build your way up in the world, or so your grandmother had put it. Once again, you didn’t care, but your grandmother very much. did. So, you decided that you would do your best for her. Your apathy may get you most days, but you know in your mind without a doubt that doing this for your grandmother would make her happy, thus should make you happy. Even if you didn’t feel it.

Hopefully, Hwasa, your life-long best friend, is here. She should be. After all, her family doesn’t own the largest portion of the country’s textile industry for nothing. She was always best dressed and loved getting a kick out of the other ladies gawking at her perfectly stitched clothes that were ahead of the trends.

“Y/n,” your grandmother calls, waving at you come forward to her side. You obey, and the butler opens the door, announcing your arrival. Good lord... You felt like fresh meat being served to the wolves. But, of course, the scene before you is masqueraded in pastel colors, silk furniture, glimmering flute glasses, and smiling faces to make the whole situation seem less grotesque than it felt.

You survey the room to find most eyes on you. Ladies piled around the couches in front of the open floor-to-ceiling windows had stopped chattering and sipping their tea. More of them clustered in small groups had stopped their conversation as well, some even daring to give you looks of disapproval. However, there were some that might as well have been deaf to the announcement, much to your gratitude. Young children still run around the room or played their games on the lawn just outside the open French doors. Old men continue with their odious laughter and cigar smoking. Even the young men don’t spare you more than a glance or two.

Except for one.

A young man with dark blond hair dressed in a dark blue suit, gently cradling a flute in his ringed hand. Perhaps more striking than his blue-gray eyes are his full pink lips, which were slightly parted to reveal one slightly crooked tooth in an otherwise perfect row of white teeth. You have never seen a man with a face such as his. But what is even odder is the way his eyes shone as he looks at you.

You tilt your head slightly, holding his stare. What a weird way to look at a stranger.

Your curiosity about his strange behavior only goes so far. Suddenly, the brightness on his face is gone, replaced with a deep frown and a scowl aimed towards his shoes.

So much for trying to appear approachable and “make connections.” You had not learned anyone’s names yet, and it was already going south.

Your grandmother tugs on your arm, steering you over to the ladies surrounding the couches. Then the introductions and small talk begin. You only had enough motivation to explain the premise of your family business and some future projects and contribute to some of the minor gossip being shared. You didn’t want to be doing this at all, but your grandmother had put in so much effort today to make sure this went swimmingly. She was also putting up with it so you and she could continue to live comfortably.

Every so often, you survey the room again. After almost two hours into this, the men have filed out, probably to have a crack at the gaming tables, and the children have been laid down for their afternoon naps. You thought you even needed a nap yourself. Or maybe it was the conversation. In any case, you excuse yourself to freshen up.

Once outside the room, you take a deep breath, inhaling the air free of heavy perfume and bad breath. You wonder around the seemingly endless hallways, looking at the paintings and occasional pieces of art. Anything to delay going back to the gathering.

Then, you hear harsh. whispering. Slowly, careful of the noise from your shoes against the floor, you approach the voices and peer around the corner.

To your surprise, it’s your best friend. She is talking furiously with a man, whose back is almost completely facing you, his hand propping himself against the wall not too far from her.

“Hwasa?” You call, stepping out completely from the corner. She jumps at her name, and the man stiffens. She looks over the man’s shoulder in your direction and smiles brightly at you.

“Y/n, is that you?” She steps around the man and greets you with a hug. “It’s so wonderful to see you! It has. been way too long.” You relish in the brief happiness you best friend’s hug gives you. Then, your smile falls. She notices when she pulls away and follows your line of vision.

He is looking directly at you. The young man who actually isn’t happy to see you after all. “I must be interrupting something,” you state blatantly. “You know, Hwasa if you wanted to be intimate with the son of the house, you should have demanded he take you to a less-traveled part of the home.”

They both look at you in surprise, and it’s enough to make you cringe. “How did you know he was the son?” Hwasa asks.

“The paintings.” You look around the hallways, twirling your finger. “Kind of obvious.” Hwasa lets out a laugh. The son breathes out a sigh--not sure if it’s relief or something else--and then chuckles to himself. “What’s so funny?” He stops but doesn’t respond. “Hwasa, your man is very rude.”

She smiles sweetly and laughs off your comment, “Oh, he’s not mine. I’m way above his standards. And I don’t like men who can’t bother to be polite and introduce himself properly to a new friend,” she hisses in his direction. “Come on, let’s have a proper introduction.” She grabs your hand to lead you closer to the man. “Y/n, this is Park Jimin. His family is in the metal industry--”

“Old family steel,” you mutter, but both fo them apparently hearing it.

Jimin looks at you curiously, “How’d you figure that? The paintings?”

You shrug, “I just knew that. Maybe it somehow came across my vision when I was admiring all the participation trophies at the door,” you say, with probably a little too much sarcasm. His eyebrows rose, and you saw Hwasa try to hold in a giggle. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Park.” I think. “I’ll just leave now, so you two can finish your private conversation.”

Hwasa stops you, her mood cheery again. Probably to mask the shocked and confused feelings coming from Mr. Park. “It’s alright, y/n. I need to do my pleasantries with those in the sitting room. Why don’t you get to know Jimin more? I find him to be one of the more tolerable ones in this lot. I’ll see you later.”

Once Hwasa is gone, you continue to look around the hallway, but Mr. Park is just staring at you as if he’s trying to figure you out. You notice he’s somewhat taller than you, his sun-kissed skin looking even deeper in color in this oddly lit hallway.

“Are you mind-reading skills working?”

He is caught off guard. “What?”

“I was wondering if you had discovered anything about me while you were burning holes into my head.”

He scoffs. “You’re awfully blunt.”

You simply shrug again. The emotionless part of you felt dominating today, so his comments and strange looks don’t affect you. You think back to Hwasa’s bright personality and heart-warming interaction when she greeted you. It sparked some brief brightness in your stoic heart, but only briefly.

He clears his throat, trying to fill some of the awkward silence that has blanketed the atmosphere. You look at him expectantly. He raises his eyebrows in response. “Y/n, may I ask you something?”

“Please address me as Miss Y/l/n as we’ve only just met.” You’re quick to speak. He shifts awkwardly on his feet. You soften your tone. “But go ahead.”

“Would you like to have dinner this Friday?”

“Dinner? Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Park?” You are taken back. What an incredulous question. And he had commented you were the blunt one...

“Uh...” He trails off, confusion rippling across his face. “Yes, I am.”

“Mr. Park, may I ask you something?” You don’t even give him the chance to nod. “When I first arrived, you seemed very unhappy, and dare I say, disgusted, at my presence, and now you’re asking me to have dinner with you?” It seems that Mr. Park is giving you quite the first impression as you feel anger start to flare in your chest.

His eyes widen in panic. “No, y/n--I mean Miss Y/l/n. Please do not misunderstand my earlier interaction.”

“Misunderstand? How could I have possibly misunderstood you when you looked directly at me and appeared as if I insulted you?” You fire back.

“I apologize. It was not like that. You just reminded me of someone who broke my heart.” He rushes out in a hurry to redeem himself. Well, it didn’t seem clear to him that he failed until a few moments later when he squeezed his eyes shut and palmed his forehead.

You practically gawk at him. “I’ll give you the effort of trying to save yourself Mr. Park, but I will not give you a second chance to redeem yourself over dinner.” And with that, you walk off, heels clicking against the mahogany floors.

What a spoiled boy. He’s probably never had a woman reject him before. It brought you satisfaction that you were probably the first. Never has a man looked at you with such distaste and then try to woo you with dinner. You don’t know what he wants from you, but he wasn’t going to get it.

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

The rest of the gathering stretched into the late hours of the afternoon. You didn’t see Mr. Park or his parents for the rest of the day. Hwasa grabs you before leaving the party, telling you to meet her for lunch Friday on Brouton Street.

And you do, and it turns into more of a shopping spree than a lunch date. Not that you were complaining. You never complained when it came to shopping and trying on the latest fashion trends out of Europe. You stepped out of probably the thirteenth ship you’ve visited today when you notice it was already two pm, and you still haven’t eaten lunch yet. You were waiting outside the shop while Hwasa was paying for her new bracelet.

You survey the bustling street, thinking about what you wanted for lunch when you spot a pair of men that seem to have all the ladies giggling to themselves and their friends. Even wives are looking twice, much to the discomfort of their husbands who definitely noticed, but weren’t immune to looking a second time as well. As they got closer to you, your vision focuses.

Mr. Park.

You couldn’t resist rolling your eyes at the name. What a surprise. Next to him is a dark-haired young man you didn’t know. They were dressed to the nines, complete with hats and walking sticks--more for fashion rather than function.

They spot you, and the young man gives you a big, boxy smile and a wave. Your eyebrows shoot up, and you look around to make sure he wasn’t waving to someone else. By the time you stop looking around, they’ve approached you. The strange young man seems ecstatic to see you while Mr. Park looks embarrassed. Serves him right.

“Hello, Miss y/n.” The young man greets you enthusiastically.

You blink. “I’m sorry, have we met before?” And why didn’t you greet me formally, you wonder. You glance towards Mr. Park. His lips are pressed, hand tightening on your walking stick.

The young man laughs charmingly, but somewhat nervous. “Oh, right. It’s just... my friend, Jimin, here mentioned you!”

“Did he?” You smile, sweetly. Almost too sweetly. Mr. Park’s jaw clenches. “How did you know what I looked like?” You inquire further for the fun of it.

Mr. Park quickly cuts in. “I--we saw you b-back there,” he gestures down the sidewalk. “I said, oh that’s y/n--Miss y/l/n. We met the other day...” He looks anywhere else but at you in the eyes. You narrow your gaze at him.

The store’s door opens with the ring of a bell, and Hwasa joins you. “Taehyung! It’s so good to see you again.” She gives him a quick hug. You notice some of the other women walking around you are gawking or giving her death stares. “I hope your time in Paris was spent well. Have you met my best friend, Miss y/l/n? She’s new to town. Her parents made quite the fortune in the electrical sciences, and she is their sole heir. Y/n,” she gently wraps her arm around yours, “this is Kim Taehyung, a true artist. He has his own exhibit in Paris to display his work. He also dabbles a bit in photography.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kim.” You smile.

“Please call me Taehyung. Mr. Kim is my father,” he laughs, showing off that boxy grin of his again. You have to admit he’s a very charismatic person.

“Alright, but please address me as Miss y/l/n for the time being. I understand Jimin may not have told you my last name, but I would hate to see his rudeness rub off on your seemingly polished character.” You tack on a smile at the end, hoping Mr. Park feels the jab.

Indeed, he does. Mr. Park sputters, muttering “polished” under his breath like it was the last word he’d use to describe Taehyung. You ignore him.

“Yes, Miss y/l/n.”

Hwasa interjects, “Well, y/n and I are famished. Would you both care to join us for a late lunch?” Before you could protest, Taehyung agrees enthusiastically. Hwasa takes his arm, leading the way back up the street. You pout. You wanted to eat with your best friend only, who you haven’t seen in forever. Mr. Park notices your sad expression and offers his arm to you. You simply look down, tightening your grip on your bags before following Taehyung and Hwasa.

Jimin rubs his face in frustration, watching you walk away without a second glance. He can’t keep tiptoeing around you. He made himself a royal fool and an ass last week at the gathering. He needed to fix this if he wanted to get closer to you.

Mr. Park catches up to your side. “Miss y/l/n,” he speaks politely.

“Yes?” You offer.

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, and I apologize if you find my behavior to be untoward. I was not very good at expressing myself the other day, and it bothers me greatly that you would think that I find you unpleasant when I really don’t.”

You consider his words. The apology was genuine, you know that. You also. know that he found you pretty. Or at least Hwasa had told you as much. You complained to her earlier about Mr. Park’s behavior at his. house. She had laughed, claiming it was because he found you attractive. You were confused as to what made her say that. She explained that you were all he could ask about before you found them in the hallway.

You didn’t know what to say. Hwasa wouldn’t lie to you. It certainly made your heart flutter that Mr. Park, an uncommonly handsome man--discounting his behavior--would find you attractive. You can’t say you didn’t stand in front of the mirror for a while after that figuring out what he liked about your appearance. In the end, you credited his odd behavior with the fact he found you pretty. While that did not excuse his rudeness, his present apology has rerouted the course of your thoughts. He genuinely seemed like he was trying to make amends.

“Alright, Mr. Park. I forgive you. I understand that sometimes introductions and first impressions can go awry. Especially if the man finds the woman astonishingly pretty and charming.” You gently fiddle with your diamond earring.

“Pretty?” he asks, chuckling.

You stop walking and turn towards him, “Do you not find me so?” Your tone is accusatory.

He looks a bit panicked. “No. I mean, yes. I--” You take a step closer.

“You what, Mr. Park?” You ask, looking into his blue-gray eyes, which are traveling all across your face before landing back to your eyes. Your brain has already started to take back every meaning you put to his apology.

“I think you’re more than pretty.” He finally breathes out, tension slipping from his shoulders.

Your heart pounds so heavily against your chest, your composure slips. A blush rises to your cheeks, partly from relief and partly from embarrassment. “I apologize,” you say, suddenly your voice much softer.

He didn’t seem to hear it. Instead, he smiles, eyes twinkling. “I think you’re very beautiful, Miss. y/l/n.” Oh, your mind blanks momentarily. Now you felt like the fool. Your cheeks become hotter, pulse racing faster. He said it with such nakedness. He didn’t beat around the bush about it or tease you into guessing how you looked in his eyes. You lay a hand on your cheek, surprised at the heat. Hopefully he would think it’s the weather. It has been unusually warm lately. Your flustered state is clearly evident. Mr. Park grins cutely at you. While your head is still swimming, trying to process the abrupt change in your interaction, he gently takes your shopping bags from you before shifting it to hold in his hand that holds the walking stick. He offers his arm again, “Shall we catch up with Taehyung and Miss Hwasa?”

Your eyes snap to his. Your cheeks are still flushed, lips parted.

Jimin thinks it’s the most beautiful sight he’s seen.

Suddenly, as if you fell into a drunk stupor but without the disorientation and wild behavior, you feel warm and… fuzzy, like you were covered in a soft blanket. You haven’t felt this kind of happy feeling in what seemed like forever. And he does look incredibly cute with the way he was smiling at you.

Returning the sentiment, you take his arm. The muscles hiding underneath his peach colored suit jacket felt strong in your hands.

You two leisurely stroll, having lost Hwasa and Taehyung after they turned the street corner.

“Do you know where we are eating?”

“This little French restaurant between Main and Central. Le Lacroix Pâtissier.”

He hums contently, “I love their almond croissants and apple tartlets.”

“Really? Those are my favorite dishes! Are those your favorite?”

He shakes his head. “But I had a friend who insisted I try them once, and I ended up really liking them.”

You were pleased. “You have good taste, Mr. Park.”

“Please, address me as Jimin.”

Your smile to yourself. “Okay, Jimin. Since we are moving onto a first name basis, you may address me as y/n.”

He repeats your name. It rolled softly off his tongue. You like how it sounds very much coming from him. And you, without knowing it, tightly your hold on his arm, leaning more into his solid form as you continue to the restaurant.

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

After that Friday, you meet Jimin every week for several weeks at the same restaurant. First Taehyung and Hwasa joined you—you insisted Hwasa come with you to keep you from making a fool of yourself in front of Jimin—but after about two weeks, they claimed other commitments. However, you didn’t mind at that point. You grew really comfortable with Jimin. You talked about everything together—your favorite dishes and restaurants in town, your families and their businesses (okay, those were brief topics of discussion), your interests (you found out you both like dancing, upon which he offered to take you to a dance club sometime), your future plans… Of those, which then led course into deeper topics—marriage and love.

It was a strange conversation, and it wasn’t brought up during lunch. He actually had invited you over to his estate for tea and a meal of any foods that you could want—more of a change of scenery decision if anything. You were concerned that your favorite food might not be so favorite if you kept eating it for several weeks on end.

Following the delicious meal, he suggested a light walk outside. He led you out of the back of the mansion to the small private beach. You both kicked your shoes off, walking in the sand, letting the fine, white grains sift over your toes. You two strolled side by side, enjoying the sun’s warm on your faces, the summer air and each other’s company.

Then, Jimin had asks the question. “Has your grandmother proposed that you marry anyone yet?”

You shake your head, laughing to yourself. “My grandmother wouldn’t put that out there. At least not yet. I think she thinks it would be too soon after the accident.”

Jimin turns sharply towards you, concerning etching lines into his handsome face. “Accident?”

You nod sadly. “Yes. My grandmother told me I fell down the stairs several months ago, and I hit my head. She said it had frightened everyone we knew. She was concerned about my recovery from it all. I don’t think I’ll get married until life returns to normal,” you trial off. “But, actually… I don’t really know what normal is anymore. Not after the accident. It’s like I woke up in the completely different world, and I don’t know what I’m doing. There’s always this awkwardness I can’t get past. It’s like I’m walking on eggshells.”

You weren’t sure why you were telling Jimin all this, but you knew you could tell him, and he wouldn’t make fun of you for it. He wasn’t that kind of person. He seemed very open with you, so you supposed that in your heart, you could be vulnerable with him too.

After the silence became too long, you looked up from your feet and saw Jimin wiping at his eyes. “Jimin, are you crying?” You lay a hand on his arm to stop him from walking any further, and step in front of him. He bows his head lower, and you crane your neck to the side to try to see his face. After a few moments, he breathes in deeply, bringing his head up. He looks at you with eyes, pink and puffy from rubbing at them, and a slight upturn of his lips accompanied by a chuckle.

“The sand and salt keep getting in my eyes. That’s all.”

“Would you like to go back inside?” He shook his head. “Are you sure?”

“No, no, I’m alright. I’m sure I’ll be okay now.” He smiles at you, attempting to reassure you. He blinked away the redness in his eyes. Besides, you look too beautiful in the setting sun for us to leave, was what he wanted to add.

You return his smile. Then, you’re just staring at each other, taking in the colors the evening sky paints on your skins and in your eyes. Then, you ask him, “What about you, Park Jimin? Has your mother arranged you to marry anyone?”

“She did once, to the daughter of a man who owned a successful old railroad company.” He admits.

“Are you still to marry her?”

“No,” he hurriedly states. “I didn’t want to from the start. I eventually pushed it off enough that they let it go. They said they couldn’t wait around forever.”

“Why didn’t you want to? I’d assume a business like that would pile onto your wealth, and she couldn’t have been that hideous.” You inwardly cringe. Why would you try to reason with him?

He laughs, almost bitterly. “You wound me, y/n. To think that I would think about money and looks to be the top priority in finding a wife.” You open your mouth to assure him you don’t think so lowly of him, but he beats you to it. “But I know that’s not like that. You merely considering the things we have to think about in our world. And I know that’s not how you truly think either. I know you wouldn’t marry for money.” You hadn’t realized how close he was until he was gazing intently into your eyes.

“Then what would I marry for?” A soft, curious question.

“Love.” There is no hesitation in his response. He believes it whole-heartedly. Then, he pulls away. “Just as I once tried to do.” He reaches down in the sand, picking up a shell.

You didn’t expect that. “What happened to her?” Jimin’s jaw clenches and unclenches, but not in anger. This was really difficult for him. You suddenly regret asking about it.

Then, he says, “She left. And I haven’t heard from or seen her since three months after I proposed to her.”

“Why would she leave?”

He shook his head, “I don’t think she had a say in leaving, and so she left quietly.” He gently brushes the grains of sand from the shell, exposing its pure white and rose color.

“I’m so sorry, Jimin,” you say after several moments of silence. I’d never imagined that something so horrible could happen to two people in love.”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter anymore though. What is done is done, and I can only move forward to find that love again. Except this time, I’m never letting it escape from me so easily.” He sounds resolute, so sure of himself and you can’t help but admire him. He smiles, holding the bonnet shell out to you.

You accept it gratefully, pleased with the small gift. Glancing at Jimin, you see his cheeks have turned pink. Your mouth curves into a smile. You take his hand in both of yours, the shell pressed between your palm and his. His skin feels smooth, and although his hands are smaller than the average, they feel no less strong and comforting. You squeeze his hand lightly in comfort. The bonnet shell imprints a small circle in each of your hands, serving as a little promise of your connection with him. “You’re a good man, Park Jimin. And I hope you find what you’re looking for.” He smiles at you sweetly. But to his unhappiness, you let go of his hand much sooner than he thought you would. However, it didn’t take long before you realized how much you missed it too.

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

You don’t see Jimin for the next week and a half. He left to accompany his father out West for several days to learn more about the family business. When he mentioned it, you couldn’t help but pout, which he immediately felt guilty about. He told you that he’d very much make up for the missed Friday lunch tenfold. He promised the next Friday lunch you two would have all the food, chatter and enjoyment as a month’s worth of lunches. Upon this, you giggled and said you would expect nothing less.

During the days he was out of town, you quickly grew to miss his company. After only missing one lunch, you quickly realized how much more time in the week you wanted to spend with him. Those lunches on Fridays, along with the regular community gatherings, just weren’t enough. You wanted to see him every day. He brought brightness back into your days, made you feel warmth and happiness again. And when he talks with you about the hard stuff in life and is so honest with you, it’s like he’s filling in the empty spots in your life. Where your lifestyle of material and money is only the surface of your being, Jimin looks deeper and sees you as the person you are. He never wants to talk about business or money. He always wants to know about you. And you can’t ignore the way your heart flutters when you’re answering one of those many questions about yourself and you catch him so content listening to you.

He would relax in his chair, head slightly tilted to the side, lips turned up in a pleasant smile, his eyes gleaming with interest and admiration. Never once would he look away from you when you spoke. You always had his undivided attention. And the more and more you think about, you love it. His caring heart towards you, his kind words and gentle soul, the ability to be open around him.

But it was also more than that.

You like Jimin so much that you feel you’ve known each other longer than four months. It feels like a lifetime that you’ve known him.

You told Hwasa about it one afternoon while painting in the sunroom of your home, unsure what it meant. She merely giggled at you and said, “Y/n, you’re falling in love. And you know it, too.” You did know in your heart, but you couldn’t help but feel the shock of it all. But also, the doubt given your circumstances.

“But Hwasa, how do I know what love feels like? I feel empty most of the time. I don’t even know if I can know what love is.”

Hwasa stopped you right there, “I know where this is coming from, but you don’t have to you worry about that. No one knows what love feels like until it hits them. Besides, you just told me that Jimin makes you so happy and you miss him so much when he’s not here. Trust me, don’t think I don’t see the moping you’ve done for the past couple days. That’s emotion. You’re feeling everything for him with your heart, and there’s no reason to doubt that, no matter what.” And that was why you loved your best friend so much. She was a grounding force and always has been since the accident. Always a level-headed thinker and confident woman. A true role-model. You gave her the biggest hug, thankful for her friendship. Without her, you thought you would have reasoned yourself out of your love for Jimin.

Finally, after said week and a half, you are walking with Hwasa and your grandmother in The Grand Hotel for a large gathering of all the affluent families in the East Isles.

Of course, you and all the other ladies wouldn’t be in the same room as the men. Instead, the women would be drinking tea, tasting little cakes, gossiping and playing a few rounds of light-hearted card playing while the men ate their hearts out and smoked cigars while testing their gambling skills. They would talk of business, family dealings, blah, blah, blah.

Just as the last of everyone was filing into their respective places, you were trailing behind Hwasa and your grandmother to the tearoom. Then you felt a hand grasp your arm.

You gasp, whipping around to see Jimin with a playful look on his face. Your face breaks into the biggest smile, and he pulls you into an empty hallway in the hotel. When he let go of your hand, you pull him into a hug. “I missed you, Jimin.”

He hugs you back with equal the comfort and emotion, his strong arms pulling you tightly to him. “I missed you as well.” He pulls away and that’s when you noticed his disheveled state.

“Oh, my goodness. Jimin, did you just come from the train station? Your collar isn’t even straight.” You grasp the edges and aid him in fixing it.

“I apologize for the long trip, but it gave me enough time to think about how I’m going to make up for it.” He smirks lightheartedly.

“Oh, really? How?” You asked curiously, smile creeping up on your face. You finish with his collar and brush your hands down his shoulders and arms to smooth out the wrinkles in his jacket.

“We’re going on a picnic tomorrow at the best place in the East Isles. I’ll pick you up tomorrow from your house around lunch time.” He looks hopeful about the idea, but you can’t help but figure from the confidence he exudes that he already knows you’ll agree.

You bite your lip to prevent from smiling too much like a fool. “Okay! That sounds wonderful. I can’t wait.” You dare yourself and kiss his cheek quickly. You’re about to dash off before he could see your face turn scarlet, but he catches your wrist.

He slides his fingers down to grasp yours before bringing the back of your hand to his lips. They press a soft kiss there. He keeps his eyes on you, and your heart won’t stop fluttering. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he smiled at you in farewell.

You practically skipped to the tea hall.

Once there, you sit with Hwasa at a table with four other finely dressed girls. “Oh, good you’re here y/n. We were just about to start.” She hands you a little stack of cards. All of you begin shuffling and laying out cards onto the table as the game begins.

The red-haired girl dressed in a powdery blue color directly across from you seems smug. Hwasa notices it too. “Something you would like to say Florence?” You remark.

She shrugs her shoulders, but the smirk doesn’t leave her face. “I think I’ll be married by spring.”

“Oh! I suppose congratulations are in order then. Who’s the lucky man?” The petite girl at the end of the table chimes in.

“None other than Park Jimin, of course.” Your blood turns to cold steel in your veins. It takes every effort for you not to reveal too much of yourself. Hwasa stiffens next to you. “What other man is there to marry?” Florence has turned her attention directly to you, eyes flashing with spite. Your eyes narrow only enough that she would notice. What was she going on about? Did she know about the time you were spending with Jimin?

Thankfully, being the well-versed girl Hwasa is in social graces, she merely laughs. “Florence, you are funny. Park Jimin has not committed himself to a woman since he was rumored to be in love with someone almost two years ago.” You felt your head swim. Did Hwasa know about Jimin’s lost love too? She was pretty close with Taehyung, who was close with Jimin. Maybe she only knew the rumor. Regardless, your heated rage turns cold, remembering how devastated Jimin looked talking about her.

“Doesn’t matter,” Florence sneers. “Clearly she is long gone. Or maybe she never existed in the first place. I heard a rumor he was using that as an excuse to get out of his previous arranged marriage anyway.”

Hwasa raises her eyebrows, her gaze scrutinizing. “And now you’re saying you’ve magically brought Park Jimin out of his despair and you two are hopelessly in love?” Hwasa harshly fingered the edges of her cards.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” She replies with bittersweet venom. “Try not to get jealous, Hwasa. I’m sure Taehyung will propose to you when he finally impresses your father with a fortune earned from his artistic talents. Although I don’t know how long that will take. I heard his exhibit caught on fire last month, torching most of his work. A shame he will have to start over…” Your eyes snapped to Hwasa. She hadn’t told you about the fire. Nor did she ever mention just how close her and Taehyung were.

“Florence,” Hwasa tosses her cards on the table, the paper landing with a smack on the polished wood. “I need you to get your head out of your ass for a minute and listen carefully to what I have to say.” You are shocked at her choice of words. Some women at the table behind you glare in Hwasa’s direction, but she ignores them. “Firstly, Taehyung and I are not getting married. We are close friends.” Florence falsely pouts. “Secondly, Taehyung has more talent and grace in his pinky finger than you have in your entire body and then some. So, I suggest you shut that trap of yours before you wake up and find every single one of your father’s department stores foreclosed.” Florence’s face was the perfect cross of fear and royal anger. With that, Hwasa straightens her spine and stands up. “If you are confused about what I said, I hope you figure it out because I won’t be repeating myself.” Her red-painted lips are set in a deep frown, most of her rage having left her. She heads for the door, her shoes clacking loudly from her firm steps on the marble floor. Most of the women in the room have paused their games to watch her leave, some even going as far to disapprove of her sour attitude.

“Poor Hwasa. She’ll die an old maid if she keeps that attitude.” Florence remarks with unrestrained smugness. You are ready to slap her into next week for her treatment of your best friend. It’s time she gets a reality check.

“I don’t think you should be wasting your time worrying about the wrong person,” you say coolly.

She scoffs, “Is that right, y/n? If I shouldn’t be worrying about Hwasa, who should I be worried about?”

“Yourself, obviously. I forgot that you can’t put two and two together. I’ll remember next time to spell it out directly for you.”

“Get to the point,” she hisses.

You lay your cards down and fold your hands neatly on the table. “My point is you’re not marrying Jimin. Not in the spring, not in the year, not in your lifetime.” Florence’s face nearly matches her hair color. “In fact, I dare say Jimin doesn’t even know that you are planning to ask him for his hand.”

“I won’t be the one asking, you stupid girl. By the time I’m done with him, he’ll be begging me to marry him.”

You force a smile. “If you insist. I’ll just give him a fair warning about his eminent doom tomorrow during our picnic date.” Florence’s expression twists into surprise. “Oh, and while we’re on the topic of you, I’ll mention how I accidently walked in on you and—what was his name?” You tap a finger thoughtfully to your chin. “John Withers!” You snap your fingers. “You two were in quite the predicament at his sister’s birthday a few months ago. Petting parties and dancing tongues and all that.” Florence gapes at you like a fish, her face overtaken with terror. The other girls looked at her in shock.

Caught in a lie.

You smirk. Your work here was done. Gathering your purse, you send a wink her way before strutting out of the tea hall. You knew you had hundreds of eyes on you, including your grandmother’s. You know you’re going to owe here an explanation later. Everyone in the room probably heard what you said about you and Jimin, but you could care less. You never had such pleasure in telling someone off.

You find Hwasa standing outside in the hotel courtyard smoking a cigarette. She sees the look on your face as you approach, and she grins wickedly. “What did you do?”

“I may have called her out on her lie and mentioned me spending time with Jimin. You should have been in there. Her face was priceless.”

“That’s my girl,” she takes another drag from her cigarette. “Want one? Special edition tobacco. Tae got them for me in France.”

You consider it, eyeing the delicately arranged rolls in the silver case. “Sure. I think I’ve earned it.” Hwasa laughs, handing you a roll and helping you light it. You feel your body release all the rage and spite with each pull. As you eye the cigarette in your fingers, you can’t help but think about what was said about Hwasa and Taehyung’s relationship. They were awfully close, and you had to admit the idea of them marrying had come across your mind sometimes. You had no idea about Taehyung’s finances or career, or even that his relationship with Hwasa was enough to warrant her father’s attention. You couldn’t help but feel bad for Hwasa; however, at the same time, you knew she’d test her father’s patience to its limits. She’d refuse every single marriage he’d set until he gave up. It didn’t matter if she didn’t marry. She had an older brother who would inherit the family business and take over. You wonder if this was a part of her plan. Even if she and Taehyung didn’t marry, they would be lifelong companions.

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

“She said that?” Jimin yells over the vroom of the engine. He throws his head back and laughs. “I’ve never heard such a lie before. I was the one who first caught her and John Withers together. They were having a petting party in the back of his car during a party a few years ago.”

“Really?” You yell back, holding onto your hat. “That’s so disgusting! I’ve seen him before, and he’s so greasy looking.” You make a face of sheer disgust, making Jimin laugh even harder.

“Yeah, he is! But, y/n, are you sure she wasn’t just saying something like that to get a rouse out of you?” He inquires, one hand relaxing on the steering well as he drives. “From what you’ve told me how she acts towards you it seems that way.”

“I have no idea! I really don’t know what the whole point of that conversation was,” you laugh. “Even if she was, I don’t care. I like you a lot Jimin, and I wasn’t about to let some girl try and spread false rumors about you.” You look out the car, trying to hide your blushing cheeks.

“Y/n,” he calls you. You turned your head, looking over your sunglasses at him, with your hand resting against your cheek. You answer with a small hum. Between the road and you, he spent as much time as he could gazing at you. Despite his own pair of dark sunglasses, you could still see joy twinkling in his eyes. “I like you a lot too,” he finally says. It did nothing to slow your racing heart or help you cool down, but you didn’t care. Not with the way he could barely keep his eyes off you.

You bite you lip, barely suppressing a huge smile. You lean back in your seat, gazing up at the blue June sky. It was a perfect day for your picnic with Jimin. Not a cloud in sight. A slight breeze blowing through every now and again to relieve you of the sun’s beating rays. The tall grass fields dotted with white and yellow flowers made soft hushing sounds with the wind.

Soon, you and Jimin arrive at the place he promised was the most beautiful place in the East Isles. And it was beyond beautiful. Jimin opens your door and takes you hand to help you out of the car. He was pleased to see your expression of awe as you took in the scene in front of you.

Flowers of all colors poke through the grass—a luscious green carpet—and lead to a small, crystal clear river. The water flows gently after soft brown rocks and into a pond at the end. Birds chirp, some of them chasing each other in the air before perching on the delicate branches of nearby trees. You think this is heaven.

Jimin grabs a large basket and blanket from the car. You seemed entranced by the scenery, and he giggles at your reaction. He slides his fingers down the back of your hand, breaking you from your trance, and threads them with yours. He leads you further into the grass to a perfect spot partially shaded by foliage. He expertly unfolds a thick blanket onto the grass and unpacks the basket, pulling out plates of all your favorite foods and wine. You kick off your shoes and sit down on the blanket, fixing your skirt to neatly cover your legs.

“I didn’t know what you wanted to eat, so I just had everything made that I know you like,” he smiles sheepishly.

“You must have been taking notes after our meals.”

“That and I feel like I know you well enough that if I had to guess out of these foods is your favorite I could.”

“Really?” You challenge, chewing on some grapes. “Which one then?”

“The cheese Danish,” he states without hesitation.

“Nothing else?”

“No, just the pastry itself. Even if you were in a new place with the most fantastic patisseries in the world, you would always go with a cheese Danish.” He replies with such confidence. He knew you so well.

You smile in delight. “I see your mind-reading skills have improved Park Jimin,” you tease, grabbing the cheese Danish from its plate and taking a huge bite out of it. Jimin laughs at your expression when some of cheese falls out of the pastry due to your aggressive eating and you try to catch it. He hands you a cloth napkin to wipe your hands.

“You’re going to spoil lunch!” he joked. “I have proper lunch dishes to eat before dessert. Glazed salmon with a spring mix salad and raspberry walnut dressing?” he offers.

“Yes please,” you grab the plate excitedly, your mouth watering at the sight of such a delicious looking lunch. You and Jimin eat through the first dish with ease, both admitting to each other that you each had skipped breakfast this morning in order to eat lots of food during your picnic. Then, you finally got to eat your cheese Danish, savoring every bite. After your stomachs were nearly full, you both drank wine, nibbling on an assortment of grapes, cheese and buttery crackers. You and he moved to the bank of the river, letting the water move soothingly over your feet. Conversation flowed with ease, discussing literally about everything that popped into your mind or led from one topic to another. Somehow you had gotten from topics like how you had a green thumb as a child and how you would be upset every time the birds ate the seeds you freshly planted to Jimin helping a man fix his car when in broke in the middle of downtown the other day. The man offered Jimin to take one of the puppies his dog gave birth too recently as a thank you.

“And you didn’t pick one?” You ask, surprised.

He laughs. “No, I said I didn’t need a puppy.”

“What about me? I wanted a puppy,” you deadpan.

Jimin’s face morphs into bewilderment. “You’ve never said to me that you wanted a puppy!”

You giggle at his reaction, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m teasing you, Jimin. I don’t expect you to think of me all the time.”

“But I do think about you all time. I should have picked one.” He rubs a hand over his face in frustration and regret.

“Jimin, it’s okay! I was only giving you a hard time.” You push his hand out of the way from his face and gently brush away the hair that had fallen into his eyes.

He watches your face as you focus on fixing his hair. Then his eyes slide to the hat on your head. He hates how you covered your hair with that ridiculous accessory. He knew about your voluminous curls that were pinned and restrained to the current trend. It made him unhappy.

He pulls your hat from your head and tossed away somewhere in the grass. “Jimin, what are you…” you trail off as he begins to pull the pins from under your hair. Somehow, he knew where each one was, as if he’d done it a million times.

As he removes each pin and your hair falls over your shoulders, he keeps his eyes on your face, gazing into the mesmerizing dark caramel color of your eyes. A blush paints your cheekbones. Slowly, you become your real self—the one that Jimin knew so well, but you had forgotten about.

When the last pin was removed, Jimin smiled lovingly at you. “I like your hair down. You shouldn’t wear it up so much. I love your curly hair. It kind of reminds me of one of the puppies I saw.”

“It had soft curly hair like mine?”

“Yes. The man said they were called Lagotto Romagnolo dogs. Ironically, they’re an Italian breed, but I only found that out after I said to the man, they sounded like a type of pasta dish.” Jimin explains, and you laugh softly. Comfortable silence fell upon the atmosphere. The sun warms your back, and the trickle of the river soothes you into an almost sleepy state. You turn your head and lay it on Jimin’s shoulder.

You sit there like that for several minutes, watching nature go about its day, sipping on your wine. Your wine glass then becomes empty, and you say as much. Jimin said he would get you some more, gently laying a kiss against your hair. Any relaxation you felt from the wine dissipates and your nerves spark. You lift your head up, and Jimin swoops in for a kiss on the cheek. He smiles cleverly, grabbing your wine glass from your hand before getting up to fill it with more wine. You couldn’t help tracking him with your gaze. From your sitting position, you finally get a good view of his body, particularly his backside. It’s a nice backside, you thought to yourself. As if he felt your eyes on him, he glances over his shoulder and totally catches you checking him out. He winks at you, and you shyly shift your gaze to the river.

Suddenly, your head feels so fuzzy. Your mind drifts, like you’re falling into a dream. You rub the heel of your palm against your temple, squeezing your eyes shut. When the sensation passes, you open them again, gazing back into the water.

Then, a dream comes to you, and it’s such a vivid dream.

You and Jimin are in the river, splashing water at each other. He wraps his arms around your waist. Pulling you to his naked chest, he spins you in circles in the water.

The sensation in your head turns into a pounding, and you gasp at the pain. You lay your hand against your forehead, your skin feeling hot. You feel your pulse beating against the side of your neck. You twist in your seat, craning to see Jimin. He’s putting the cork back in the bottle. He looks up and smiles sweetly at you.

Another dream flashes before your eyes. You see the bodies of a man and a woman locked in a passionate embrace, kissing and holding tightly to each other. Underneath the woman is a familiar blanket and patch of wildflowers.

Then, it’s gone and so it the pain. Jimin’s face with creased with concern. He jogs over, abandoning the wine glasses. He kneels in front of you. “Y/n, what’s wrong? You look hurt.” He searches your face, your arms, your legs, your torso. But he finds nothing wrong with you.

That was because nothing was wrong.

You were remembering. Everything.

You pull Jimin in for a kiss, and your world bursts into a kaleidoscope of memories.

All of them were so vivid.

Your parents. How your father’s electrical business took flight. The money and the new lifestyle that came with it. Hwasa and the dance clubs. The parties and gatherings for tea. And then Jimin—he was in most of them.

The first time you met him, almost five years ago, similar to the situation months age when you “first met” him at his estate, being presented as new money. Except he never looked away from you when you walked in the room. He looked at you with the gleam in his eye like he does now, as if he’d fallen in love with you right then. And you too had found it difficult to look away. He was so handsome. Dressed in a black suit, with the pants so perfectly fitted that it made his legs look unbelievably long. His hair was styled to expose his beautiful face to the world. It was much darker back then, making his blue-gray eyes even more striking.

You had met him every chance you got. You were both inseparable. He was always so polite and sweet. Then, one night he confessed to you under the moonlight at the architectural park downtown and gave you the best kiss of your life. You secretly met up for picnics and boat rides, soaking in the luxurious things in life together, making happy memories. And you fell deeply in love. You had even gone to this place—the meadow with the crystal river. Jimin insisted taking a swim, immediately stripping down. You were worried someone might catch you, but he owned this land and assured you that no one would disturb you two. You looked away when he removed all his clothes before entering the water, and you insisted Jimin do the same. And he did. You remember the exhilaration thrumming in your bones when you removed the last of your undergarments. Never in your life had you imagined that you would be walking in a meadow and swimming in a river stark naked, much less in front of a man you weren’t married too.

When you got in the water, it was chilly, and you had said as much. Jimin had offered to warm you with a suggestive smirk. You had felt boneless at the thought but decided to tease him instead. You smiled mischievously before splashing him with water. Thus, a water battle ensued, and he ended up capturing you in his arms and tickled you to death. After admitting that you teased him on purpose, he finally stopped tickling you and insisted he just hold you in the water. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and you rested your head on his solid chest. He pulled you around the pond, humming and laying the occasional kiss on your head. You complained that you were getting too cold and hopped out of the water onto the picnic blanket.

You flopped down on your back, smiling up at the sky. Jimin laid down next to you on his side, head propped up on his hand so he could look at you. Water droplets fell from the ends of his dark wet hair and collected on his skin. You turned your head towards him and offered a soft smile. You reached your hand closest to him and brushed it soothingly on his forehead, pushing his hair from his eyes, which were slowly taking in your body. His eyes had grown darker with passion each passing second. Eyes locked on yours, he placed his hand over your heart, feeling the fast racing of it. Jimin saw your expression change, more reflective of his. “Jimin.” Your hand moved to his full lips, stroking the bottom one with the pad of your finger. “Please.” He leaned forward, kissing you passionately. Jimin conveyed his love with every touch.

Your one and only true love.

You feel your soul rush back into your present body, pulling away from Jimin. You were breathless and panting. His eyebrows are scrunched together in worry, eyes bright with fear “Jimin, I remember. I remember everything,” you rush out.

A million emotions flash across his face—happiness, sadness, confusion, fear, joy, pain, relief, but love outshines all of them. Tears form in his eyes that quickly fall down his cheeks. You feel your own tears on your face.

He cups your face in his bands, thumbs wiping away the tears. “What are you feeling? Tell me.” He speaks so softly, and it breaks your heart.

“Everything. I remember everything that I couldn’t from when my father’s company succeeded until now. I can’t explain it. I remembered things. I didn’t feel like I had any gaps in my memory before. It’s like I couldn’t remember that I was missing memories of you, my parents and my friends.

“I… I didn’t just fall down the steps, did I?” You ask. He shakes his head gravely. “I was in a car accident.” And as you explain the details, you see it clearly in your mind’s eye.

You were driving home with parents after a weekend getaway to the coast. Your dad was stressed and needed to get out of the city. After the weekend was over, you were riding in the car with your parents back into the city. Your dad was driving the car over the bridge when another car smashed into your family’s vehicle. Everything happened so quickly, you don’t remember seeing your parents. All you remember was falling so far, so fast and then hitting the ground before blacking out. Then, you woke up in the hospital with your grandmother by your side surrounded by doctors.

“My parents died that night, didn’t they?” Your voice cracks with the question.

Jimin frowns deeply. “I’m so sorry, y/n.”

“I already knew they were dead, but not how they died or when.” Then, you see their faces in your mind. “Mom… Dad…” you sob, covering your mouth to prevent from crying out. The full force of the loss hits you. Jimin quickly situates you into his hold, grounding you while you grieve for your parents.

You remember the family meals and time you spent together; the happiness on dad’s face when the business took off; the times when your parents got on your nerves, and now you wish you hadn’t argued with them so harshly; all the times you had mom-daughter and dad-daughter conversations. It all ended too soon.

You’re not sure how long you cried before you finally calmed down. Jimin was rocking you gently, cheek against the top of your head. The sun had started to go down. Jimin finally speaks, his voice forlorn.

“I went and saw you in the hospital. I heard what happened the next day. I hadn’t seen or heard from you. I called your house so many times, but no one answered. So, I went over there, and your staff had gotten a call from the police. They said your parents had died in the crash. I grieved for them.

“But you had managed to survive. Somehow by some miracle, you landed on a wooden platform not too far below the bridge. I thought they were going to say you fell in the icy water and that they wouldn’t find you. They took you to hospital, and you were unconscious.

“I visited you every day. I brought you your favorite flowers. I held your hand and told you everything I loved about you. And that I wanted you to wake up so badly so I can hear your voice and fully convince myself that you were still here. You didn’t wake up for almost a month. When you did, I was on my way to see you. I heard your voice from down the hallway. I was so excited. Finally, I could hear your voice again and kiss you. But, as I got to the door, the doctors had been explaining your condition to your grandmother.

“You suffered a serious brain injury and had amnesia. They assessed you couldn’t remember what happened in the last two or three years with other long-term memories having been forgotten. They found you could no longer associate emotions with most of your memories anymore. After the doctors left, you had already fallen back asleep. Your grandmother saw me and stopped me at the door. She knew that I had heard everything, and she insisted that I stop visiting. You hadn’t asked for me, and that based on the doctor’s evaluation, it was unlikely you remembered me at all. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I should have been in there, trying to help you remember, but your grandmother forbade it. And, in the end, she was right.

“You had just gone through so much, a lot of it you didn’t remember. You didn’t need me, someone you would have thought was a stranger, to come in and try to convince you that we were in love. It wouldn’t have brought you back. I wanted you to love me, not because I told you, you did, but because you do. I wanted to give you the chance to discover love again. Whether it was with me or not.

“It killed me to see you walk into my house again, several months after the accident, and reintroduce yourself and everyone pretend as if they didn’t know what a wonderful person you are. That day a couple months ago, when I had seen you… It was like seeing you again for the very first time. Then I was reminded I had lost you, but you were still here, not knowing that you still had me in the palm of your hand.” He softly circles his fingertips on your palm. “Besides,” he smiles ruefully, “what would you have done if I came up to you and said I was your fiancé?”

You hiccup from your tears, “Fiancé?”

Jimin swallows thickly, nodding. “Yes. I had proposed to you that Christmas. We were in the sitting room in front of the tree. We were just sitting there. You were looking at the candles and ornaments on the tree, commenting how pretty they were and that you’d want Christmas to be this beautiful and peaceful in your own house one day. When you said that, it made the ring that I had kept in my pocket for weeks feel heavier, and my heart was racing so fast I thought you would have thought something was wrong. But nothing was wrong. I was with the most beautiful, kind, intelligent woman in the world, and I wanted nothing more than to be in the future she was talking about. So, I got down on one knee and asked you, y/n y/l/n, to marry me—to allow me the honor of cherishing you every single day until our last.”

“And I said, ‘Yes, I will marry you.’” You sob, but it’s happy tears.

“And I kissed you and told you I would never leave your side ever, no matter what came our way. I guess I just hadn’t imagined that, that something would come so quick and with so much loss.”

You looked deep into his eyes, soothingly caressing the side of his face. “I’m here now Jimin. And I promise I’ll never leave you again.” You had forgotten the most beautiful moments in life—your memories of your parents, Hwasa, and Jimin—but you didn’t know that you had. And ever so slowly, Jimin was bringing you back to him.

However, despite your promising words, he was holding back something. He got choked up again, fresh tears shining in his eyes. He let out a shuttering breath, “Y/n, there’s something else about those months leading up to the accident.”

You trembled, anxiety lighting every nerve. “What is it?”

He covered your hand on his face with his and wiped at his eyes with his other hand. It took him a few moments to gather himself to say it, and it came as a shock—

“You were pregnant.”

Your world stilled and began to spin. “I was pregnant…” You repeat it quietly to yourself. Your mind spun into the kaleidoscope of memories again. You remember you hadn’t asked for your napkins at the beginning of the new year. You remember telling your mom about your missed cycles and explaining to her that you and Jimin had already been together before. You hadn’t told Jimin yet because you didn’t want to tell him until you saw a doctor and said it was official. And you and she were going to tell your father about it, but he was so stressed when he got home. That was the Friday of the weekend getaway. You both decided that you would tell him together when you got back home on Sunday you when he was in a better mood. Except that never happened.

“The doctor had said you were 12 weeks along. It made sense. After I proposed to you that night, we made love, but we decided not to use protection that time. I was so excited I didn’t think to ask if you were taking a contraceptive medicine. I assumed you were, so I didn’t think about it. You didn’t even show at all during those 12 weeks. The only way the doctors found out was because you miscarried. The trauma from the accident was too much for your body, so the baby…” Jimin couldn’t say it, breaking down into sobs. It was still too much for him to talk about.

And for you. You began to cry as well. “I’m sorry, Jimin that I couldn’t protect our baby.”

Jimin hushed you immediately, looking deep into your eyes. “This wasn’t your fault, y/n. You have to know that and believe that. I would never blame you for what happened. I’m not upset that you didn’t tell me because you weren’t ready to yet. And that’s okay. I mourn our son or daughter every day, and I still love them as much as when I found out they had existed and as if they were here.”

You cried for the loss of your parents and the pain your grandmother felt of losing her son and daughter-in-law. You cried for your unborn baby. You cried for Jimin, who had to hold in everything he knew and felt so you could figure out who you were again. He could have told you he was your fiancé but didn’t because he wanted you to love him and accept his love without controlling your heart.

“I know we’ll never be the same people before the car crash, but that doesn’t matter. I would go to the ends of the Earth for you, y/n. And if that meant we would have to start over and fall in love all over again, I would do it a million and ten times more. I was reminded of things about you that I had forgotten that I shouldn’t have and the little things in the experiences that we have together that made me love you all the more. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Jimin. Even when I couldn’t remember anything, I was falling in love with you.” He kisses you passionately, quickly muttering about he waited so long to hear you say those words again. Your faces are warm and wet with tears. You each kiss them away on the other’s face until they are gone. “I don’t have enough words to describe how incredibly patient and loving you are with me. You didn’t deserve to go through all of this.”

“Neither did you. We just know now that our love has conquered all. It has transcended tragedy, doubt, heartbreak and stolen memories. You’re mine, and I’m yours; and I’m never letting you go again.” You kiss each other sweetly, the pain of the past melting away with each press of your lips. Neither him nor you were sure how long you stayed perched in his lap just brushing kisses across each other’s lips and whispering promises.

“You know,” you start, brushing his hair from his eyes, “there’s no way I’m letting you leave me tonight to go to your too-far away house. You’re going to go to sleep with me in my bed tonight, and the night after, and the night after, and—”

He interrupts you with a laugh, his eyes squishing into cute crescent moons. “That sounds like a fine idea.”

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

After quickly shoving the picnic basket and blanket into the car, you and Jimin drove to house. It was nearly 9 o’clock at night. You had been gone practically the entire day. You wondered if your grandmother was worried.

Thankfully, when you tiptoe through the house, your hand holding Jimin’s, the only person you encounter is Hwasa, who had been staying with you the past couple days ever since she got in a fight with her parents. She sees your intertwined hands and says, “Finally you two confessed your feelings. I was concerned I was going to lose my bet with Tae. Although, y/n, I would keep the noise level down, your grandmother is sleeping—”

You didn’t even give her the chance to finish before you pull her into a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you, Hwasa. For being the greatest friend ever.” Hwasa returns the hug. She looks over your shoulder at Jimin, who simply winks at her. Even in the dark of the night, you and Jimin appeared radiant. “We have so much to talk about, Hwasa. But let’s do it tomorrow morning over breakfast.”

She beams at you, finally understanding what was going on. “I’ll be up bright and early. You two get some sleep, and I’ll phone Tae in the morning to bring some extra clothes for your guest. Goodnight, you two.” She exits the corridor, her silk kimono floating behind her like an extra shadow.

Once in your room, you and Jimin collapse on your bed. The only sound was the delicate chorus chirped by the crickets out in the garden by your window. You gaze at each other, listening to the other’s breathing, until you both fall asleep.

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

You and Jimin meet your grandmother and Hwasa in the seating room the next morning. Taehyung had stopped by briefly to drop off Jimin’s clothes. He said he gave the excuse to his parents that Jimin was stayed the night at his house after a much-too-fun game of pool. The staff had laid out extra breakfast and tea per your grandmother’s request. There was a lot that needed to be said before life could move forward.

Your grandmother and Hwasa explain the whole point of the plan they had set when it was discovered you had amnesia. It was very similar to why Jimin agreed to go along with it. It was to let you rediscover yourself and grow into a new person that fit the life that you knew. Nothing would have been more miserable than being told who you were and what you had to do. It was difficult getting the community around you to agree to it, but in the end, most felt awful about the terrible ordeal you’d been through. Everyone loved your parents, who were honest and hardworking, so they decided that if pretending to meet you again for the first time was the best way to help you recover it would be so. Thus, began your new journey.

You talk through the difficulties you had. The emptiness and loss of emotion that came with the “gap” memories your brain had created to lessen the trauma. This world hadn’t felt real to you in most aspects until you had more interaction with your best friends and lover. Even though your head had forgotten your memories with them, your heart had known them. And you were so grateful you had Hwasa, Jimin and Taehyung to anchor you back. You can’t say that you desperately wish to turn back the clock to change the events that happened. Firstly, that would be futile and a waste of energy. Second, although your parents have passed on from this world and entered paradise, you know you will see them again someday. You’re happy that your memories came back and you have those to remember them by.

This whole journey has only grown your love and appreciation for every moment and person in your life.

After many hugs and tears with Hwasa and your grandmother, Jimin politely asks if he could have a moment alone with you. Hwasa walks arm-in-arm with her out of the room, beginning to chat away about Paris. Before leaving, Hwasa looks over her shoulder and smiles at you both. You smile back at her, pink coloring your cheeks.

Jimin stands from his chair and holds his hand out to you. You take it, him helping you to your feet. He gazes at you, seeming focused and determined. You grow a little shy, and giggle. “Quite the morning, right? Probably one of the most eventful breakfasts in my life.”

“Yes, I think so too,” he states, but sounding only half-present. He’s engrossed in memorizing the features of your face, and the brightness that is radiating from you after just rediscovering who you were. He thinks that you only get more beautiful with each passing day.

He presses a kiss to your cheek with plush lips, the softness of it drawing a light gasp from you. His lips move closer to your’s, pressing another kiss to your cheek, but firmer this time. His steady hands come up to hold your waist. You tilt your head towards his, your lips brushing his as they come in for a third kiss. You’ll never get used to this. The passion with which Jimin shows you, even with the most delicate of touches. Your hands slide from his shoulders to around his neck, pulling him closer.

When Jimin breaks the kiss, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you as close as he can. You lay your hand against his, fingers gently stroking through his hair in comfort. It occurs to you for a second that he might not believe that you’re really here, that you remember everything about your love for him. “Jimin, I promise I’ll never go far away again. I’ll stay so close by your side you’ll start to think you’ve got a second shadow.” You whisper to him. He chuckles against your neck. You feel him relax against you, his weight growing heavier in your arms. Then, he’s letting go of you, sinking to the ground.

To get on one knee.

“I know you won’t, y/n. And I promise I won’t be the only one who thinks they have a second shadow.” He smiles at you endearingly.

You laugh at the turn-around of the joke, but you feel hot tears already prickling at your eyes. Happy tears.

“You’ve already heard most of what I’ve wanted to say for so long, so I’ll keep it short and get to what I’ve really wanted to do since you came back into my life. Y/n… Life had thrown us a huge curveball, but we made it out on the other side. Never did I imagine that when I met you again that I would mess up so badly,” he tells you, and you laugh at the memory. “I was just so in love with you, and I didn’t know how to act around you without wanting to convey my love. And then, you called me rude and refused dinner, and even though you were made, you were so beautiful when you were. Of course, that didn’t help me get my thoughts straight because I was so head over heels for you. Then, the next opportunity came to make it right, and I knew I couldn’t miss my shot to be around you again. I’m so glad I didn’t because I know you’re the only person in this entire world that makes me feel the way you do. And, if you’ll allow me again to honor and cherish you for the rest of eternity…”

He reaches into his pocket to pull out a velvet box, not once taking his eyes off of you. Jimin opens the lid to reveal the diamond ring that once made a home on your left hand. Details of his first proposal to you rush in for a moment. Between that memory and the present, Jimin still looks very nervous, albeit in an endearing way, but wears all of his love for you on his sleeve.

“Will you marry me, y/n?” The tears finally escape his eyes as he asks you for the second time, one of the most beautiful questions in life.

“Yes, Jimin. Always.” You sink to your knees in front of him, hands reaching to pull Jimin in for a passionate kiss. He wraps you against him tightly, dropping the velvet box to the floor. You both kiss for what seems like forever between the two of you until you hear a very Hwasa-like cheer from outside the door. You and Jimin, pull away laughing.

He takes the ring out of the box and slips it on your engagement finger. He marvels at it, “You make this ring ten times more radiant,” he grins cutely, earning another laugh from you. “I’m serious! When I was picking one out, I was concerned that I’d never find one that matched your bright spirit, and then I realized that it was impossible. No diamond or gem will ever shine brighter than you.” He lovingly pinches your cheek.

You pinch his in return. “You’re so cheesy. I love it,” you smile at him and kiss him again. “Let’s get married next week. I don’t want to wait too long. I think we’ve done enough waiting.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I’ve already got the best place in mind for our honeymoon.”

“Really? Where’s that?”

He smiles knowingly.

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

You are married on the following Tuesday, only five days after Jimin’s proposal. The news of your marriage had hit the papers the next day, thanks to the Parks who were finally happy to see him finally getting married. Between Mrs. Park and your grandmother, everything from flowers to food and cake to wedding favors was planned to perfection. Hwasa called in every favor from the best dress designers in the city to create the most beautiful gown imaginable. It was very necessary, she explained when you had said you only needed a simple gown. And she was right. Because when you walked out of the church on Jimin’s arm on that bright sunny day in June, you looked like royalty in the photos. Many citizens in the city were excited to finally see a big wedding happen again. They cheered and tossed flower petals when you and Jimin descended the church steps to head to the car for reception.

The next morning, you and Jimin left home together when the sun rose for your honeymoon. You briefly rode to the airport, where you and Jimin boarded a small plane. You asked him repeatedly where he was taking you, but he would simply grin and kiss your hand. He was probably much more excited than you, if that was even possible. You felt as if you’d been on a high for the past week since the proposal. Life couldn’t have been any better.

But, of course, it got even better.

When Jimin said you both had finally arrived, you are pleasantly surprised.

Santa Bella Island.

You’d heard about it before from friends and family. Crystal clear, blue waters with warm, white sand speckled with seashells. Pleasant summer weather that was a tad hot during the peak of the day but left a gentle breeze by the time the sun fell in a cascade of pinks, oranges, and purples. The sunrises were even better.

You stood against the threshold of your private villa, drinking in the morning sun as it started to peek from the ocean’s horizon. You sipped quietly on a cup of tea, letting the sun’s early rays warm your skin. Jimin was still sleeping on the bed, body wrapped around the sheets, which were sufficiently wrinkled from last night’s late activities. You giggled to yourself, fingering the silk of your robe.

It was so perfectly peaceful here. Birds chirped happily as they began their morning songs. The waves lapped softly on the sand. The palm trees swayed with ease. Jimin was snoring softly on the bed, his cheek squished against the pillow and lips parted. You couldn’t believe that you get a whole month of this with your husband.

Husband. You smile to yourself. That will never get old. It brings warmth to your cheeks every time you think about it. You murmur the word to yourself, testing out how it rolls off your tongue. It was so strange to say, yet it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your husband must have heard you. Caught up in the sunrise, you’d only heard soft footfalls against the wood floor that signaled Jimin’s wakefulness. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back to rest against his bare chest. His head rests on your shoulder, tilted to nuzzle against the side of your neck. “Good morning, my lovely wife,” and he places small kisses along there.

“Good morning, my darling husband. Did you sleep well?” Your free hand comes up to stroke his hair.

“I did,” he murmurs against your hair. He reaches over your shoulder to take the cup from you and set it on the table. He wraps both arms around your waist from behind you, fingers massaging your skin through the silk of the robe. “Although, I was hoping I would get the chance to wake you up in a very husband-like kind of way,” he says coyly. You giggle, biting your lip. You hold your left hand closer to your face.

The two white diamond rings—for your engagement and wedding—glitter perfectly in the morning sun. You marvel at the striking beauty of them.

“My forever is with you y/n.” Your husband whispers in your ear.

“You’re my forever Jimin.”

#bts #bts fanfction #park jimin #jimin fanfiction #jimin x reader #taehyung #hwasa #the great gatsby #1920s #jimin fluff #jimin angst

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misterewrites · 3 years

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Underground Proper (Welcome to the Underground!)

Hello everyone! 2021! WOO! Thank god. I know it's pretty much just arbitrary signal of the passage of time but you gotta enjoy the little things. I hope you are all good, staying safe and sound in these chaotic times. Here is the new chapter which I hope you enjoy.

It's finally time to enter the Underground proper. Abigail and company had an exciting large send off but the first steps of the journey are at hand and Abigail is quick to realize that leaving the Underground might be harder than she thought.

Reblog, enjoy stay safe tell your friends about it! Wear your masks, wash your hands, have a great week! E out!

and if you want to leave me comments or find an easier way to read it, here’s a link to it on ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/69919671

The longer Abigail stayed in the Underground, the more realized she was wildly getting further and further out of her depth.

She thought the little walk from the cemetery to town had properly prepared for her trek into the wilds but all it had really done was lure her into a false sense of security.

The tunnel floor was uneven, the ground straightening and sloping at random which nearly caused her to trip once or twice. The path would randomly grow and shrink as well, sometimes becoming so wide that the Swift Slivers could march side by side then without warning becoming so narrow the trio had to fall into a single file line. She jumped at noises that abruptly existed in the tunnel, signs of life or movement echoing further down the path. The air was frigid and moist, reminding Abigail of her town’s harshest winters. She tried to keep track of where the group currently was but that ultimately proved useless as the road would veer slightly left, snaked back and forth, bent at a weird angle and sometimes looped back around, rising or falling with a spiral or slope. Illumashrooms weren’t as plentiful as the town and while it wasn’t pitch dark, Abigail had to squint and focus among the dim light of the occasional mushroom found on the path.

Her dear departed brother Arthur once mentioned how he was not a fan of tight spaces. Claustrophobia the clerics called it. At the time Abigail thought him silly given that they lived in a wide open farm. Here, among the darkness and stony walls of the underground, Abigail understood what he meant more clearly.

Arthur.

Abigail could feel her heart ached terribly at the thought of her brother.

“Watch out here farm girl” Oliver’s voice called from out front.

Abigail snapped back to reality, her hand reaching out for Archibald’s shoulder as the road sloped sharply once more.

Abigail knew the other two were helping her through her first time through the tunnel and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. She was used to being caught flat footed but never to this degree. Well except that one time during Winter’s Solstice. That was just awkward for everyone especially her.

Oliver was ahead, lightly humming the occasional song while calling out warnings about sudden shifts in the road. Archibald walked beside her when the path would allow, offering his hand then shoulder for her to brace herself with.

The boys were clearly no stranger to this way of traveling and while Abigail felt a little embarrassed at her tripping and confusion, she was grateful the two went out of her way to help her. Even Oliver hadn’t sent a pointed barb at her.

“I can see why it takes half day to a day.” Abigail sighed, steadying herself against Archibald “Is it always this rough?”

“Better and worse usually.” Oliver admitted, peering into the shifting shadows ahead “This just one path and since not many people go to West End, it’s usually uncared for here.”

He gestured to a illumashroom plucked from the ground and thrown to its side.

“But” he continued “The other paths are well worn, lot more people and lot more care put into maintaining the roads and the signs. More ways to get where you want too but also more roadblocks and unforeseen circumstances.”

“Mixed bag then.” Abigail huffed.

“Like life” Oliver replied.

Archibald nodded his head in agreement.

“How do you guys get used to it?”

Oliver motioned to himself “Born here.”

Archibald gestured to his sliver hued clothing.

“Right. Silly question.”

Archibald tiled his hand back and forth.

“Ha, thanks Archibald.”

He rose a thumb in response.

“Enough flirting back there.” Oliver shouted “It’s getting late.”

“Is it?”

“We’ve been working for about 6, 7 hours Archie?”

Archibald paused thoughtfully before wordlessly counting his fingers, holding up 7 after a moment.

Abigail glanced at them “Have we? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You will when we stop. Luckily there is a clearing up ahead.”

“Clearing? Like a field or?” Abigail glanced at Archibald who simply gestured forward.

“Clearing.” Abigail whispered in understanding.

Before them was a cavern, wide and spacious whose ceiling couldn’t been seen through the inky darkness. The walls were rough and jagged with the odd crack or smaller tunnel that led away from the beaten path. The faint of smell of ash filled the air as Abigail noticed the various imprints of tents and footsteps scattered across the floor, travelers long past persevered by dust.

“Rest stop” Oliver explained, putting his travel bag on the floor “There’s a couple of these caverns across the roads. Perfect to set up and keep an eye out when resting or sleeping. Usually there’s more people but like I said, no one comes to West End. Willingly at least.”

Abigail rose an eyebrow “You did though.”

If Oliver heard, he made no indication as he began removing things from his bag.

Archibald and Abigail followed suit, making themselves comfortable among the stony floor as they set up for the night.

______

Abigail was quick to realize what Oliver meant when he said she would notice once they stopped.

Once her little sleeping bag had been laid out and she folded up the cloak under her as a comfortable seat, she could feel the exhaustion ebb into her bones.

Abigail huffed tiredly as she took a seat “Wow, I’ve never been that winded before.”

Archibald was hard at work setting a fire pit, finding rocks around and enclosing the various logs of wood within while Oliver plucked at his lute mindlessly, sitting upon on his own pile of clothing for a seat.

“Lack of sun people say. Humans aren’t really suppose to go without it for long periods of time. Luckily a lot of food down here that helps with that.”

Abigail’s stomach rumbled hungrily at the mention of food. She briefly remembering eating snacks throughout the day but not a full meal.

Archibald fished out a piece of jerky from his pack and handed it to Abigail

Abigail smiled gratefully “Thanks.”

Archibald coughed, returning to his work as Oliver searched through his bag.

“Archie, Slimewood?”

He replied with an unhappy face.

“I picked up some Jub steak too.”

The archer nodded happily at the alternative.

“Slimewood? Jub steak?”

Oliver pulled out a carefully wrapped package, laying it to the side as he dug deeper “Food Abigail. I bought some for this road trip.”

“You bought food?? When?!” Abigail couldn’t recall seeing the bard make such a purchase.

“I snuck out after everyone fell asleep. Butcher owed me a favor so I did some midnight shopping.”

“And were you planing on sharing this information?”

“Yes” Oliver admitted “Now when it’s dinner time.”

“Surprisingly nice of you” Abigail murmured suspiciously. “Practical” Oliver corrected “We’re traveling together so the best shot to stay alive is to make sure we’re all well fed and in one peace. Especially this one.”

Oliver pointed at Archibald who beamed with pride.

“Right. Travel companions.”

“Hey you came at me with a knife.” Oliver reminded her.

“After you tried to rob me.” Abigail shot back darkly.

“Thought you were a corpse farm girl.”

Archibald looked back and forth between the two.

“Long story” Abigail offered sympathetically.

Oliver scoffed “I thought she was dead, tried to find something of worth, she came at me with a knife. Not that long of a story farm girl.”

Abigail glared openly at the bard. Oliver shrugged as Archibald finished the fire pit, flames and all.

Abigail sighed happily “Much better.”

“Oi merc, got a pan?”

Archibald nodded and pulled out an old worn frying pan. Oliver took it appreciatively and placed it upon the roaring flame, meat shortly followed after.

“Smells pretty good!”

“As opposed to?”

“I dunno. Not good? I don’t even know what this is!”

“First rule of eating food: Never asked what it’s made of.”

“I live on a farm. I’m aware of that rule.”

Archibald chuckled to himself as he eyed either tunnel entrance carefully for any sign of trouble.

The trio sat in a surprisingly peaceful silence among the crackling of the flame and sizzling of cooked meat.

“I’m surprised you know how to cook” Abigail admitted “Given that you’re a grave robber and a jerk.”

Archibald quietly nodded in agreement.

“Personality traits and old habits are not inductive of my skill set.” Oliver replied, turning the meat over.

“I don’t think I’ve seen a bard do anything besides sing and dance.

Oliver scoffed “They’re not real bards like me. I’m going to be the best and to be that, I need to be varied.”

Abigail couldn’t hide her surprise “So you’re not the best? I thought you burst into flames if you were ever honest.”

“I am honest” Oliver countered “I just decide how much honesty I need to share with people.”

Archibald snorted loudly.

“Yeah yeah” Oliver gestured threateningly with his spoon “Keep it up merc and I’ll burn your piece extra crispy and black.

Archibald rose his hand in surrender.

Abigail chuckled, smiling at her companions. She had forgotten how nice it was to be around people.

“Watch it farm girl” Oliver teased, passing her a plate filled with a well cook steak and odd side dishes “You keep smiling like that people might think we’re friends.”

“Moment of weakness. It’s been a long day.”

Oliver snickered, offering Archibald his plate “As long as we’re on the same page.”

Abigail decided to not reply.

Oliver took a smug pride at the others faces as they bit into their first taste of the sweetish salty meat.

“Not just another bard huh?”

Abigail stuck her tongue out “I’m not going to give you the satisfaction.”

Oliver turned to Archibald “How about you merc? Gonna give me some validation?”

Archibald choked, too caught off guard by the question. He gave a friendly thumbs up before trying to clear his airway.

“No greater compliment than a man choking on your food.” Oliver beamed proudly.

Abigail gently rubbed and patted his back in an attempt to help Archibald. He let out a might cough and smiled sheepishly towards Abigail in thanks.

“You don’t talk much huh?”

He shook his head.

“Not a fan?”

A nod.

“I understand.” Abigail gave a cheery smirk.

Archibald was awfully interested in his plate all of the sudden.

“So” Abigail glanced back towards Oliver “This competition? This isn’t you picking on a bunch of kids for a talent show right? You’re actually competing against real bards in a real competition.”

“Of course.” Oliver waved off her accusatory tone “I’m morally gray, not a bully.”

“You’ve been bullying me just fine.” Abigail murmured with an unhappy edge to her tone.

“It’s how I show tolerance.”

“How about you stop being a jerk and sing for us bard?”

Oliver rubbed his fingers together.

Abigail raised an eyebrow “Seriously? You’re going to charge us?”

“No point to do something for free when you can get paid for it.” Oliver gave impish grin.

Abigail frowned before an idea formed in her head “You know Archibald doesn’t think you can sing at all. He was telling me he thinks you just talk a big game but doesn’t see it.”

Archibald froze, his fork halfway between his open mouth and his plate. His eyes darted back and forth, unsure how he got pulled into this.

Oliver pursed his lips: On one hand he knew Abigail was baiting him given how much of a conversationalist Archibald had been this far. But on the other hand, he could never resist a chance to show off.

“I’m playing” Oliver stated simply as he slid his lute off his back “But because I want to. I need practice if I want to win first place.”

“Oh right sure.” Abigail nodded mockingly

Archibald was still confused.

Notes filled the still cave air. It was a soft tune, slow and peaceful reminding Abigail of a lullaby. The bard closed his eyes, swaying back and forth as his fingers strummed across the strings almost like they were made of air.

“For the one day I have long since gone through my past.” Oliver whispered, his voice gravelly and low “Memories of a place that surely can not last. For far and wide I have long always done roam, watching and seeking where I shall call home.”

The flourish, the rises and drops in the music filled Abigail with some nostalgia she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying: He was by no means perfect given some notes did not fit with the others and she could tell this slow more determined song was not his preferred style but even she had to admit this was nice. Surrounded by people, enjoying songs long into the night.

It was nice to be around people.

______

Abigail yawned tiredly as morning came. Well according to Oliver and Archibald it was morning: In the darkness of the tunnels, it was pretty much impossible to tell what time it actually was.

As they drew closer to the capital, Abigail had a better idea of what Oliver meant by better maintained: While not perfect, the path was well worn yet smooth. The slopes weren’t as drastic or without warning. Once or twice, the road branched off to some other path that shot off in some direction Abigail couldn’t hazard a guess.

“What are these all about?” Abigail motioned to yet another crack in a wall, some smaller tunnel that led off into the darkness.

Archibald guided her away from the opening as Oliver glanced backwards.

“Stay away from those.” Oliver eyed the crack cautiously “We call them sideways because who knows where you’re going to end up.”

“I don’t get it.” Abigail was unable to keep the confusion out of her tone.

“Unexplored tunnels.” Oliver clarified “Well as far as we know. No one knows where they go and they’re very dangerous. If you’re lucky, they’ll just spit you out somewhere on the main road. But no one can really be sure and it’s best not to tempt fate.”

A shiver ran down Abigail’s back as she moved closer to the middle of the road. She was already disoriented and lost on this main road to the capital. She didn’t want to know how would it feel be hopelessly lost in the dark.

Abigail nearly crashed into Oliver, took caught up in her thoughts to realize the bard had stopped dead in the road.

“Wha?!” Abigail flailed in surprise “Oliver! What are you doing?”

“Do you hear that?”

Abigail looked about, unsure what she was supposed to be hearing.

“No, I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly.”

A sense of dread began to fill Abigail, her breathing becoming labored. Now that she thought of it, this was the first moment in her journey that there was a tense thick silence. Even in the middle of nowhere, she could hear far off noises among the chilly air. Now the air was still with an overwhelming quiet surrounding them.

“Archie?” Abigail called only to find the archer’s eyes darting about, bow ready in his hands.

He pulled her closer, putting her in the middle of himself and Oliver.

“Guys?”

“Not now Abigail.”

Abigail felt the tension growing, some unseen danger that lurked close by, waiting for their chance to strike.

Abigail glanced about, desperately trying to find some sort of clue to what was going on when she spotted it: glowing silver gleams peering through the darkness of the crack.

Something scurried out quickly, it’s claws scraping the stone walls as its form was silhouetted against the dim glow of the tunnel. She tried to make out what exactly it was but its skin or shell or whatever was too dark in this light.

It was small which was a comfort to Abigail though its claws were sharp and dug easily into the floor. It was misshapen that even Abigail, whom was well versed with a variety of animals, couldn’t tell its features. The only that was noticeable besides its claws were its sliver eyes which were smooth and solid.

“What’s that?” Abigail tilted her head quizzically.

“What is…?” Oliver whirled around “ARCHIE!”

“what, wait?” but no sooner the words had left her mouth, the creature let out a horrible shriek. It thundered in her ears with such a volume that it made her dizzy and unsteady.

The creature stood on its hind legs, throat wide open and the shriek slowly growing louder and louder.

Silence came without warning but it was welcomed.

Abigail panted heavily, the ringing almost unbearable as her sight slowly focused.

There was an arrow where the creature once stood.

Abigail turned sideways to find Archibald, sweat on his brow, his breath heavy and uneven.

She let out a sigh of relief “Did I tell you how much I love you?”

Archibald gave a weak smile.

“Move!”

Archibald and Abigail stared back at Oliver who began pulling at their wrist.

“MOVE NOW!!” Oliver shouted, shoving them forward into a desperate run.

Abigail opened her mouth when she heard the sound of dozens of claws wildly scratching and scraping at anything and everything.

The creatures burst forth from the crack or at least Abigail thought they were creatures. She couldn’t tell where one ended and another began. It was a mass of constantly shifting shadows that took odd shapes. It was if the creatures couldn’t agree on what form they should take. The only thing that did not change was the dozens pairs of sliver smooth eyes, their gaze lifeless yet single minded.

Abigail struggled to break into a run. Her feet felt heavy like the floor was pulling her deeper and deeper into the ground. She could feel fear creeping into every inch of her body, threatening to send her into shock as she tried to keep her panic under control.

“I don’t want to die.” Abigail murmured fearfully as her hands grasped deliriously at the air “Not here. Not yet. Mom, dad. Please! Not here! NOT YET!”

She couldn’t hold in the scream, the panic and fear was too much. She could feel the tears running down her cheeks, the whirl of claws closing the distance inch by inch.

There was a quietness that came with the end. A strange sensation of peace, of acceptance. She felt it now amid the fear and panic. She could hear the soft sounds of trumpets in her ears, a familiar song playing in her mind. It took her a moment to recognize the fanfare of the king’s guard, a triumphant march of victory. She always felt safer whenever she heard the blaring of the horns far in the distance.

She took a deep calming breath. Her body no longer felt sluggish and disconnected as the fanfare played faintly in her head.

She could feel Archibald just behind her, the occasional notch of an arrow letting her know he was trying to push back the hoard but not finding much luck.

Abigail looked forward and was not surprised to find Oliver busy at work. The jet black lute glowed with previously unseen blue runes scrawled across its surface. His fingers were furiously strumming across his lute as if their lives depended on it.

They probably did. His song was the only thing keeping the fear at bay.

“Bards.” Abigail muttered under her breath before calling out “How much further to the gate?”

“Not close enough!” Oliver answered, his fingers never stopping “We’re going to have to lose them another way!”

“There is no other way!” Abigail struggled to keep the tears from spilling onto her face.

Oliver cocked his head forward “One but you’re not going to like it!”

“Why?”

“Remember how I told you never to go down sideways?”

Abigail nearly stopped in her tracks but Archibald sprinted past, clasping her hand tight and pulled her forward.

“Yeah we’re going sideways. Straight ahead, get up here Archie!”

Archibald glanced backwards, the massive wall of claws and sliver eyes just a few feet behind.

Oliver whistled to get his attention “We know what’s behind us, I need you to clear what’s ahead or else we’re not going to make it! Get up here merc!”

Archibald let out a shaky breath and pushed further, dragging Abigail close behind.

The trio spotted Oliver’s idea: A split in the path. One path curved to the side, the dimly lit main path that led to Haven’s Nest. The other was not so much a path as it was a void of darkness, a path that sloped downward into the unknown.

“Oliver!” Abigail cried.

“We can die now or we die later!” Oliver firmly answered “And at least later we might not die, now go!”

Abigail nearly let go of Archibald’s hand but the mercenary gave her a comforting squeeze. He turned to her and spoke wordlessly with a simple smile.

I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.

She took a shaky breath but nodded in understanding.

The trio threw themselves at the opening, sailing through the air for a moment before landing with a dull thud onto the stony floor. Before any of them could react, they began sliding forward, the slope pushing them further deep into the dark.

Oliver’s lute dimly lit the tunnel the little they traveled. It must’ve been a heartbeat or two when the group found themselves tumbling across the straighten floor.

“Get up!” Oliver shouted, pulling the other two to their feet “We need to get going.”

“Where!?” Abigail cried “There’s nowhere to go!”

Archibald elbowed Oliver and pointed out a strange silhouette outlined in the darkness of the cavern.

“Is that a house?” Abigail’s voice asked with disbelief “Down here? That’s creepy.”

“And probably bad news.” Oliver admitted as he pushed the two towards the strange house cloaked in shadows “but later is later! Go go go!”

The claws echoed faintly from the tunnel but the trio had already reached the pouch of the home.

It was oddly similar to Abigail’s home though in much worse shape: Faded, splintered wood with dull peeling paint. The windows were blackened out with dust and the house creaked unhappily as they climbed the porch steps. The door swung open by itself and while that gave Abigail pause, Oliver shoved them in, shutting the door behind them and locking it.

“This is a bad idea.” Abigail panted breathlessly.

Oliver wiped the sweat off his brow “Hopefully we’ll live to regret it.”

“I doubt it.” A voice called from the shadows.

Oliver and Archibald threw themselves forward, pushing Abigail behind them in a defensive formation.

The air was thick with creak, creak, creak of heavy boots walking down some unseen stairs.

A figure appeared before them. He was taller than anyone else here with an old tattered riding cloak draping his massive figure. Brown eyes peered curiously under his hood, his thick beard black and gray. His armor was dented and worn with a faded symbol of a sun across his chest.

“You do not know where you roam children.” the stranger’s voice spoke, melodic and deep.

“At least we’re alive right?” Abigail offered hopefully.

“No you were right.” Oliver eyed the stranger’s symbol distastefully “This is was a terrible idea.”

Abigail leaned in, dropping her voice to a whisper “Is he bad news? A thief or murderer or something?”

“Worse.” Oliver glared openly “A paladin.”

#Original Work #underground #my work

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