#though hopefully in the spring next year it should be pretty chill? even though i have my capstone at that time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blackfemmecharacterdependency · 4 years

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32. God Bless the Child

Previous || Word Count 7132

The next year was eventful for a tremendous amount of reasons.

First and foremost, Grace had a World Tour scheduled for the end of spring, entire summer, and beginning of fall. That meant that Hazel had the chance to travel, stuck with staff most of the time, or her mom the OTHER portion of time. She didn’t want to do that. Hazel liked seeing new things and traveling, even being around crowds of people, but she was going through puberty and often just wanted to chill with her friends or even by herself, to write poetry, maybe record some of her raps, and work on comics. Of course, Grace told her that if she could do that anywhere, it was in the tour bus.

Simon’s final book was going to be released in the summer, and he was going to begin working on the movie production for the (hopefully first and not only) film in the fall. Whether or not the studio would want to make more would depend on the success of this film, and the budget would be determined by what types of sales this last book made.

Grace was always going on about “an ecosystem,” a concept that one of her favorite influencers spoke about. Basically, she believed that whenever you had the chance to give people that you knew of/believed in a shot, you should do that. So, Simon wanted to get the studio in business with the tech company that he currently worked for, for numerous aspects of the production.

Simon already had multiple prototypes for animatronics and pointed plans for various aspects of this movie. A deal like that could really help the company (that he may or may not be staying at once he finished with this huge movie project), which also might be a situation in which he could be working on many of these things and get paid from his company as well, in the meantime for the work that fell under the studio’s umbrella. It would help all of them, and save money and trouble in other areas where he might have problems with CGI concerns and such.

Simon had been preparing for if Esmoroth took off big his entire life. He still had models at home, and years worth of world building, sketches, schematics, simulations, mini movies, files of programming for how various scenes looked in his mind.

These things being considered, whenever Simon put his and Grace’s schedules side by side at the beginning of the year to find opportunities and plan special events… well… They were not matching up very well. “I don’t like this Grace. I know that sometimes we take a few days apart, but our longest stint has been 2 weeks and 4 days… This calendar makes it look like we might see each other in increments of 6-8 weeks at a time, more than once and the fragments in between are…” He started breathing hard and she wrapped her arms around him from behind. He placed his hands over hers. “Okay. You’re right. We can do this.” She just smiled. She hadn’t said that, but that was basically what she wanted to convey. “Montanus’ arrival is scheduled for the 4th of July weekend.”

“Yeah. I’ll be flying out there. Are you coming?”

“Can’t. But, I’ll be there for the christening… which… you have a show the night before, so… Are you going to be there?”

“I’m planning on it. My show the night before is a few hours away, so I should be able to make it the next morning and still dash out to the next venue.”

“Sweet. Then, I’ll catch the show that night.”

“My period is that weekend.”

“Ugh. I mean… not that I don’t still love you then…”

“We both know why you’re here,” she said, chuckling.

“Because I can’t function outside of your divinity,” he replied, quicker than she was prepared for. He made note of all the spaces that he would have to possibly see her on this tour and started looking into the accommodations that he would need whenever he did.

Grace had hit after hit after hit on her album, her old original stuff was starting to receive a resurgence of streams and her pages were getting more traffic than her current team was able to handle some days. But, she simply reached out, within her ecosystem for others that might be able to join said team and make things flow better. Meanwhile, she didn’t get onto social media much. One of her problems with fully letting down her walls was the fact that surfing the Internet always made her have to take a look at how people viewed her. She had to start considering that no matter how well she did or how hard she tried, someone out there would have a problem with her, and because she was famous, it would be a lot of someones.

Hazel was online more with her work. She liked to enter freestyle challenges, submit her spoken word, publish her poems. She called her current brand of creativity “Doetry,” and she had a pretty increasingly large following. Simon usually helped to administrate, because Grace was never great at that type of thing and also because he didn’t trust Internet weirdos enough to not be involved.

She was going through things, but he never censored her or intruded. He monitored to make sure that nobody was making her life any harder than it had to be, being raised in NYC and the daughter of a very public figure, and also Simon, who was important enough, depending on who you asked… and he was getting to the point where he might reach notable fame.

May 19 was a Tuesday that year, so they would be spending the previous weekend celebrating Hazel’s birthday and her actual birthday would just be a school day that everyone on social media sent her birthday wishes on. Simon took time off to take Hazel, Lucy, Lindsay, Alex, Todd, and Louis to Grace for the weekend. The way that the schedule was set up, she wouldn’t have had the time to leave and come back and go to her next venue, but they would have the time to come to her. Hazel suggested that she just miss out, but Grace was NOT going to do that, especially with the year that Hazel had been having. So, she paid for Hazel’s friends to come with.

Simon found it fascinating that these kids’ parents were entrusting the children to him to get on a plane together, travel to another state, spend more than one night there, and fly them back home safely.

He supposed it was similar to a Scouts trip, or a school trip… but he was just the “parent” of another child. He wasn’t a scout leader or teacher. Then again, those were just people too, he guessed. He would NOT feel comfortable sending Hazel on a plane with any of these children’s parents, except for maybe Lucy’s.

But, Simon found that his old scouts instincts kicked in when being responsible for a group of kids, but this time around he had that nagging dad-like behavior that the past couple of years around Hazel had given him.

Being off for Hazel’s birthday, she arranged for them to have a spa day retreat. The kids and some of the staff were included in this, though not as advanced a day as Grace and Hazel. Whenever they met up and had their indulgences, Simon could barely keep his hands off of Grace. Hazel felt a little bit slighted.. It was HER birthday, after all. They didn’t have to be cozied up the whole time. Of course, Grace presumed she wanted to spend most of her time with her friends, and whenever they finished with cake and began listening to music and chilling, Grace and Simon left them with the Nanny so that they could have some alone time. Hazel aired her grievances to her friends. She hated that Grace was on tour. She hated that their home life was separated into different worlds that she had to board and unboard. Lindsay understood it perfectly. Her dad was sometimes not home for weeks or months. Sometimes, she didn’t see her mom (who actually lived with her) for days. Sometimes, whenever she did see her, the woman was busy with making appearances and performing shows, and she DIDN’T have a nanny. She just had to be at home by herself a lot. Whenever her dad was there, he’d have his friends over a lot. They would disrupt Lindsey’s quiet, but she would be grateful that she wasn’t alone. She would LOVE if her parents tried to include her in their worlds like Grace and Simon did with Hazel.

Lucy’s parents were usually there whenever she needed them, but they didn’t seem to be very happy. They were always together, but the only time that she saw them smile at each other or talk to each other was whenever they were out in public. Her father was a politician, and her mother was a public figure, simply for being his wife and being a good conservative wife who followed his guidelines. Lucy… didn’t care for any of it. She would’ve liked to just have two people who love each other like Grace and Simon seemed to.

Hazel felt a little better, because apparently, she had pretty good parents. She also didn’t feel a little better, because she still felt dissatisfied.

Whenever Simon and Grace made it back, after the others were asleep, Hazel talked to Simon about letting her stay home with him after the school year ended. Both Grace and him loved her, right? So, she should be able to stay home, near her friends, in her comfort zone, and then she’d see Grace when she got home, and she’d be crazy excited about it, like she used to be when she didn’t get to see her everyday. Like she was whenever she saw her this weekend!

Simon reluctantly let her know he would be much busier in the summer than he was at the moment. He was at home with her and the Nanny as much as possible, but he reminded her that there was less than a month left of school and then she would be with her mom again. Her mom had ONLY been gone now for about a month… Hazel didn’t know if he could hear himself basically saying, “It’s only a couple of months away from your mom, both of you changing over that time in different ways and potentially growing apart, then you get to be awkwardly thrown back together because I’m not actually your parent and can’t wait until she can take you back!” He didn’t say that, but that was what she heard. She nodded her head, sadly, and Grace chimed in to remind her that she’d be on tour with her! They hadn’t been able to be together in almost a month and after one more, they would! Hazel smiled. “Of course, Grace. I can’t wait. We’re gonna have a lot of fun.”

Hazel finished off the school year with the Nanny and Simon. They flew out to meet with Grace, in June, spent a couple of days together, then Simon was headed back home, to focus on his stupid important things, Hazel couldn’t help but think. And she was pissed at him, too. She had been mopey and basically on autopilot most of this time, even with Grace trying desperately to cheer her up whenever she had some free time.

She just wanted a summer where she could hang out and have fun if she wanted to. Grace asked her to at least give her a couple of weeks to prove that this could be a fun experience. However, Grace kept running into that troublesome hassle of the public being pushy and entitled. Hazel and she kept either getting rushed in and out of places and trapped for a while, bothered every few minutes when they weren’t holed up, or surrounded by staff getting things done in between performances. Hazel lasted two weeks, then cried and begged to go home and be able to see her friends. It broke Grace’s heart but she promised to let Hazel go back with Simon after the stop in California for her baby brother’s birth.

Grace felt super rejected and cried about it, but if that was what Hazel really wanted, she didn’t want her career to make her feel stressed out. Her mother was quite a smartass about it. “Who would have thought that it might be difficult to focus on a demanding career while raising a child?”

“I didn’t call you for this.”

“Of course not. What did you call for?”

She wanted to know how the surrogate was. Grace didn’t know what it said about someone that they would rent out their body to grant someone else a child, but she could totally understand the flipside. Whenever Simon mentioned babies, she was extremely willing to adopt again, even the smallest baby that they would be able to be matched with… but nothing statistically made her have an inkling of wanting to actually change her entire body, probably for the worse so that she could potentially die to bring someone else into the world that she would immediately begin having to take care of and put everything into. It was hard enough to do with Hazel, and getting harder all of the time.

When that child’s period came around in February, Grace picked her up from school, gathered up the products she was most interested in (products from Grace’s own line), provided snacks, emergency meds, just in case, and any information that Hazel wasn’t certain about. Simon came over with a gift basket of stuff that had been suggested to him by browsing nice things to do for periods. They really wanted her to be comfortable and safe. She just wanted them to stay the fuck out of her room and let her lay down and write poems.

She didn’t get how Grace had period yoga, and heightened self care. The LAST thing Hazel felt like doing was caring about anything, even self. She wanted to rest and to rage. That was it. Grace would buy her flowers and say something silly like, “Whenever my period comes around, sometimes, flowers make me feel happier,” Then just… leave a pot with an orchid, or geraniums, or a peace lily in her room… to have to what? Care for a flower now TOO, as well as self?? Hazel hated the way her period made her feel. She spoke to her therapist about it and was advised to speak to her mother and potentially a gynecologist about it as well. Hazel put that conversation off, though.

She seemed her happiest whenever she was able to go to her grandparents’ to wait for the baby with them. Grace… didn’t understand…

Simon explained, “You don’t remember being 12 and not wanting to be around our parents?”

“Our parents sucked though! And she WANTS to be around my parents!”

“She wants to meet her baby uncle,” Simon told her and wrapped himself around her.

“Has she mentioned anything to you? I know that sometimes she feels more comfortable telling you stuff than she does me, since you aren’t her parent…”

He let go and frowned, “Wow.”

“I mean… There’s paperwork, Simon. You aren’t…”

“I know, but, I step in as much as you did before that, maybe even more. I understand that she technically isn’t mine, but she's important to me, too, Grace.”

“I know, but…” she sighed and shook her head, “I’m not trying to start a fight. Of course you’re as present as any father has ever been for her. I wasn’t trying to downgrade that, and I didn’t mean to sound like I was. I just wanted to know if she’d said anything to you about me.”

“No. She’s not talking to me. But, she does express herself via Doetry.”

“Her content is so angry and dark…”

“What she shares, at least…” Grace threw him a warning look. “I’m not saying make it a habit, but maybe taking a peek into her personal stuff might give you some type of clue as to what she needs right now.”

"I'm not snooping into Hazel's things, Simon. There's a reason that she shares what she shares and hides whatever she hides, IF she's hiding anything. I don't want to parent that way."

"Okay."

"And I'm also saying that you shouldn't."

"Noted."

"Okay… what I meant by shouldn't is don't do it."

"So, it's an order?"

"Yes."

He sighed. Hazel WAS Grace's daughter, legally, and he didn't want to do anything that he didn't have permission to. "Okay." It took him longer to say it than Grace had gotten accustomed to, but she knew he meant it and that it was hard for him to agree to this wish. She strummed his cheek with her thumb and he leaned into it and smirked. It was also easy to make him forget whenever she upset him. She leaned up just enough to kiss him on the nose and he blushed. She giggled. “What?”

“The fact that you’ll blush when I kiss you on the nose when you literally have been putting your nose right in between my thighs for almost 2 years.”

He blushed even more and shrugged his shoulders, “I’m blushing then, too. You just don’t notice because you’re usually quivering in pleasure.”

Sha gasped, “Cocky,” she said and elbowed him playfully.

“Confident… and accurate.”

“You don’t have to SAY it,” she said, now blushing herself.

He didn’t call her on it. Just seeing it was enough. Simon kissed her on the forehead and whispered, “I love you…” Her smile vanished and he furrowed his eyebrows, staring at her mouth in disappointment. “Sorry. I thought…”

“No… Don’t be. I guess it had to come up some time…” She stared at her hands. “I don’t know how to… I feel like my actions should… I know sometimes people just need to hear it, I just…”

“Please, stop.” He laughed, but was red and she had a feeling not from blushing. “You’re making it worse.”

“I just… Had an immediate flashback to the first time you told me and… I don’t know. This was so different, and you’re so different, and I have no idea why my brain is doing this to us…”

He wanted to say because of what he did to her, but hell.. That was really long ago and like she said, everything was different now. One day, she HAD to forgive him! He shrugged his shoulders, “You can’t control how you feel any more than I could.”

She frowned and nodded. Then, fortunately, Hazel came rushing in, "He's coming!" Simon and Grace both rushed into the birthing quarters where Mrs. Monroe, the documentation crew, the surrogate, midwife and such were. Hazel and Simon stood out of the way while Grace rushed to the surrogate and asked the midwife what she should do. (She was designated as her birthing partner, as she felt bad that her parents didn't seem to see her as anything more than a vessel) Grace spent a lot of time reading up to try to prepare for this.

It was a powerful time. It LOOKED as painful as it sounded from everything she read that discouraged her, but she tried to be strong for the surrogate. Simon was really impressed with how much Grace was able to do for her. He knew that she had become very empathetic over the years, but it was honestly a side of her he still hadn't seen. Meanwhile, Mrs. Monroe looked on, excitedly, but useless.

Whenever Montanus was born, Grace and the surrogate were both crying and Grace complimented her and told her how she was stronger than (Grace) could ever hope to be. When Grace tried to show her the baby, Mrs. Monroe cut her off and collected him, then gave the nurses some instructions for seeing to her. She was about to have delivery day photos taken.

"None with Astrid, Mom?" Grace wondered, still holding the woman's hand.

"You can, if you insist," she said. "Bad enough your father is late. I don't want to hold everyone up."

Grace was going to say more, but the surrogate squeezed and tugged her hand to get her attention and shook her head. "I signed up for this," she said, quietly. "It's not like he's mine…"

"You held him. You changed. You grew. You hurt. You bled. You cried. You.."

"Signed up for that." But she looked sad. Ao sad that Grace decided at that moment of she EVER DID have a surrogate, it was going to be a fellowship. A sisterhood. A loving connection in which she repaid the person with respect as well as her fee. She was a human. How her mother was able to just plant Montanus inside of her and basically discard her afterwards made Grace feel sick. She didn't even go with Simon and Hazel to see the baby. She was more concerned about this woman who had to put on a strong face after a really hard job.

Later, when she had to leave and also send Hazel off with Simon, she cried on him. "I'm not gonna do that to my surrogate. It was really mean, right? That was so cold…"

Simon rubbed her back, "Grace… it's a business transaction."

"He's not a transaction! He's my brother and he JUST got here, and Mom's ALREADY treating him like an asset. She messed up one kid and she’s had two decades to learn better emotional intelligence. The restart doesn’t look good to me.."

"She's bad at the emotional stuff, but she's trying," Simon offered. You aren't like her and you'll never have to be. You can treat your surrogate as sweetly as you please. But...I have to agree with your mom that they didn't need to connect. That'd just make it harder.

"She couldn't even say hi to him? After all of that?"

"It's what they agreed to. She would have taken one look at him and tried to keep him."

"She wouldn't be able to. He's from my parents' DNA. It was just… so uncomfortably cold. You should bring a baby into a warm life. I was too upset to even see him. I didn't want to give him the negative energy I had."

Hazel shrugged, "You didn't miss anything he looks like… a potato."

Simon gave her a shove and she wondered what was wrong with the truth. "He hasn't developed his looks yet. But he was cute in that it's a new life way."

"I… did not see that," Hazel admitted.

"You saw a potato," Simon repeated.

"Yep."

The christening was closer to the end of Grace's tour. She was going to be seeing her parents, new brother, Simon, and Hazel all again for the first time since she'd been on the road alone. Hazel and Simon went early so that he could help his dad with some things and Hazel would stay with her grandparents while he was doing that. Grace arrived in the morning and headed straight to the church.

They were supposed to wear neutral colors and earth tones, meanwhile, Montanus was styled to be in brilliant white with silver and gems. Grace had flashbacks to seeing photos of her own day. She had been draped in gold and yellow and dressed in something that was probably more expensive than reserving the building. She had been "clothed as the sun," and now nearly 25 years later, they had a boy "clothed as the moon."

Her mother told her that she has her outfit selected. She has to change in a room that brides generally used and Grace was a little thicker than when she had initially been fitted, so she squeezed into it and was far more voluptuous than she wanted to be in a church. Non-believer as she was, it simply seemed distasteful. She loved her halo crown for the event. It was pretty fancy, as she seemed to be reprising her role as the sun.

The officiant said something about the sun giving light to the moon, just as she, as his sister and godmother would give her own form of light to him and other poetic and sweet things about love and support, God and stuff and he blessed the baby and allowed them to put him on display for another photoshoot.

Grace ducked out, because she was STARVING, so of course Simon and Hazel came with, as they hadn’t had a chance to spend time with her in weeks. Old stomping grounds made them feel nostalgic and gave Hazel more fodder for imagining them as kids. She loved those times. Them, her age or a little bit younger or little bit older - she wished she knew them then. She wished for adventures like theirs with HER friends. She would never let it turn out how they were for a while, but she was also glad that they had each other now. The past few weeks with her and Simon had been very challenging, as he was more strict in Grace’s absence than when she was home, but he wasn’t abusing it. He just didn’t have Grace there to override him putting his foot down. Hazel hated THAT, but he didn’t care about certain other things, like she got to hang out with her friends longer, stay out later, and stay up later. Grace was a little more about her keeping a certain structure, which was fine a few years ago, but now it was unnecessary to Hazel and fortunately, Simon didn’t care because it was summer. So long as she was upfront about what she was doing and checked in, he was pretty chill. BUT, if she went outside of the boundaries, he was VERY strict. Almost like he felt betrayed. She hated to make him feel that way. They worked out well, though. At the end of the day, they were always friends again.

Grace noted that they had a few inside jokes and stuff while they were at lunch. People kept looking at the trio, in their fancy dress at this little burger dive. A few people came to see if they could get autographs and stuff. Grace was pretty open to that, even when it was uncomfortable. Simon reflexively wanted to step in, but she would brush it off and give him a look to ask him not to, so he gathered his sense of territory and possessiveness and choked it down. He didn’t have consent to defend…

Then… Something else happened. They were getting ready to get into the car and someone rushed up on them for an autograph. Simon would have been impressed with his quick reflexes if it didn’t go so… terribly infuriating…

He stopped the person in their tracks and they threw their hands up, and said that they just wanted a photo with Grace. Simon let go of the guy’s collar and looked at Grace. Hazel had her hand over her heart. Apparently Simon wasn’t the only one caught off guard by the Flashlike fan. “You okay, Haze?” he asked.

She was breathing hard and staring at the man. Grace stooped down to get on her level. “She’s fine,” the man said. “Could I get a photo?” Grace took a deep breath, ignoring him and repeated her question to Hazel. She wasn’t sure why her baby girl was reacting so intensely. Sure, it could be that this motherfucker came out of nowhere, but also… she could have known him from before, because they were in the same area they used to live, OR she might have had something recently happen that made this spook her today. WHATEVER the case, Grace was concerned and trying to talk to her. “I’ll just get a photo and leave you to it.”

“Chill,” Simon warned. He was getting pissed at this person and also worried about Hazel, because she still hadn’t responded. The guy scoffed and Simon clenched his fist. Realign your patience, Simon. Realign.

“Haze?” Grace repeated. Hazel took a deep breath and nodded.

“Sorry. He scared me. I’m fine.”

“Told you she was fine,” the dude said, really annoyed. Simon bit his lip and was practically digging holes into his palms with the balls that were his fists.

Grace wrapped an arm around Hazel and politely told the man, “I’m not currently taking photos. We just stopped to eat and we have to get back to something.” She was now too upset to take a photo. This was her boundary.

She opened the car door for Hazel and the man said, “Ugh, you were signing stuff inside, I saw you.”

Simon stepped in front of him and reiterated, “Yeah, but she told you no, so I advise you to step away from Grace and her daughter. You’ve already startled her and were extremely insensitive about it. You didn’t even apologize to her.”

“She said she was fine, just like I said.”

“She also is clearly not fine, and you, as a grown man should have been keen to it and respectful of that, especially considering that YOU were the one asking for something!” Simon’s canines were bared and Grace had to admit… she was not against seeing this Simon emerge again… not in this situation, at least.

“That’s not even her real daughter…” CRACK! Hazel called Simon’s name. He didn’t hear her. He had taken that balled up fist that he had been tempering and connected it to that man’s jaw. Grace held Hazel back and said softly, “Maybe cover your eyes, Baby.” Because she wasn’t gonna interfere. Simon looked at the man after he had punched him onto the pavement and some people had gathered. Then, he remembered! He turned towards Grace and Hazel, worried that he had just royally screwed up. Hazel’s face was alight with amusement and Grace’s alight with… something else.

“It just snapped…” He explained.

“It’s okay. We all mess up, right MOM?” Hazel asked, smiling at Simon.

“Yeah, Haze, but he didn’t mess up. Sometimes, people deserve it.” She took Simon’s swinging hand in hers as the ex-fan rushed off crying and complaining about pressing charges. “Let’s get back to my folks so I can tend to this.” She kissed his hand and smiled at him. He smiled back, swelling with pride. Hazel took his other hand and kissed it. These two hand kisses were very separate and different things. But, both mattered to him more than anything in the world.

“I lost my patience, but i don’t feel bad. Nobody’s gonna hurt either of you, as long as I’m there. You ARE Grace’s REAL daughter.”

“I know that, Simon. I’m yours too,” she said with the casual shrug of her shoulders, but he knew that it was a huge thing for Hazel to say such a thing.

Simon got to hold the and he was extremely enchanted. "Grace! He's so beautiful. Oh my God. He looks just like YOU!"

Mrs. Monroe offered, "Or, he looks like ME? Grace got her beautiful genetics from me."

"Yes, Mrs. Monroe. You look like Grace, too," he said, not turning away from the baby in his arms. She frowned and folded her arms. "Grace, if we have a baby, I hope they look just like Monty!"

"His name isn't Monty," Mrs. Monroe said. "It's Montanus. It means mountainous. He's the highest point of my life."

"Wow, Mom. Screw me then, huh?" Grace joked. This kid really WAS precious.

Mrs. Monroe said, "You put me through months of HELL, and quite frankly depression and misery. But… after a very long and painful journey pity of my body, we looked at each other and I felt like seeing your face delivered me from all of the worst of all of that. I'd been given grace, and I told your father after he snuck that hideous photo of me gawking at you that would be your name. We were going to call you Soleil. Like the Sun. But, I met you and I said, No. This is my Grace." Mrs. Monroe cupped Grace's chin and Grace smiled while Simon's eyes watered.

"That's a beautiful story." He nuzzled Grace with his nose and whispered, "I can't wait until we have a beautiful birth story."

"You certainly CAN wait," Mrs. Monroe said and eyed him up and down.

"So, you put Grace in THAT dress and let me look at THIS baby and you think I'm NOT going to think about knocking her up?"

"He's joking. We don't even do that,"Grace said.

"Doesn't mean I'm joking. LOOK at him, Grace. This has got to be the most beautiful baby that has ever lived!"

Grace scoffed, "Um. No. I'm sure that was me as a baby."

"I don't know… I can't imagine any baby ever looking more adorable than this one." He shook his head and looked at him, then pulled him close to hold against himself.

He heard Mrs. Monroe whisper, "I think he thinks he's ready for one." He shut his eyes to listen to the infant breathe. He… hadn't held a baby since he had been helped in holding Hope when he was a little boy. He'd had a similar reaction to her… but he didn't know what she looked like anymore and he didn't even have feelings for her anymore. He remembered her as someone who was lost way too soon, someone that he accidentally hurt, someone who would remind him to always handle the innocent with extra care. "I would kill for you," he whispered and kissed Montanus'" head. For his own. For Hazel. For Grace.

Grace wondered, "Can I hold him?" The way that he was feeling about this baby… He didn’t want to let him go… but then again, Grace was still not wanting kids and Simon rationalized that holding “Monty” was gonna change that for her, so he reluctantly handed him over in the hopes that she might be swayed. “Wow…” She said staring into big brown eyes, like her own but more bright and full of wonder. He reached out for her and she let him hold her finger. “Okay. I absolutely want one,” she joked. Simon smiled. He knew the feeling, even though he also knew that SHE didn’t really mean it. She did have a point, they still hadn’t actually had sex. They had… done a lot. Very gradually over the past year and a half, but not that and she seemed to get anxious whenever things approached it. Simon always stopped and confirmed whether or not she wanted to do more. That out that he gave her, she always took it. It was why he kept checking. He worried that if he didn’t, she might just go along with things, and that could be something else to resent him for down the line. Affirmative consent. It was a small price to pay to keep the amount of trust that HAD been rebuilt intact, and maybe someday it would pay off.

Someday was closer than he’d thought. They eventually surrendered that baby back to his parents and Hazel, not wanting to cry jealousy, but feeling a way retired to her room to meditate and write before bed.

Simon and Grace retired to her room, afterwards. “I am lovesick with baby fever,” Grace said. He was on her like prey, with his hands sliding up her sides and his nose tracing her neck. “Slow down, Gray Eyes,” she said with a chuckle, looking at them in the vanity mirror. How many times had they looked at themselves in that mirror when they were younger? It was never like this… They didn’t even look the same to her. They didn’t feel the same, but somehow, everything was all coming back to her, just being in here, with him.

The good and the bad. Luckily, she would be able to say goodbye early in the morning and not see him for a couple of weeks. Tonight could just be… fun. She tried to push out the old thoughts, the old fights, the old Grace and Simon. They were Simon and Grace before The Apex and they had become another Grace and Simon. New and improved.

“This dress really isn’t helping in the “slow down” department.”

“I’ve gained a little weight,” she said, a little self consciously.

“Mmm hmm,” he said, appraisingly, tracing but not touching the curves of her cleavage. She hadn’t given him permission. Simon was very disciplined, now. Very diligent in not crossing any boundaries, but he certainly danced the fine line.

“Will you please help me out of this dress?” She whispered, not taking her eyes off of the obediently trained blond man in her mirror.

“Yes, ma’am.” He carefully unclasped the back and slowly unzipped, revealing each inch of her skin with utmost reverence and full throttle desire, contained, but entirely visible as she studied his face. She stepped out of the dress and carefully placed it aside. He noted that specifically, because he remembered how she used to just toss them on the floor. He was making more and more notes of how much more thoughtful she was about her things and surroundings. “Grace?”

“Yes, Simon?” she was cleaning off her makeup, still in her undergarments and halo crown.

“I just wanted to thank you for letting me back in. I know that it takes a very big person to be able to do that and I’m grateful that you’re so big of a person and I’m also proud of you. You’ve changed a lot in a lot of ways that I tried to stop before, because I was scared that you’d outgrow me and leave me behind if you came to be this bigger person. I’m glad that I’ve realized that becoming a better you was exactly what type of person who could give me another chance. It makes me want to be a bigger, better person. It makes it easy for me to be good, and I’ve realized that I do it for you, but also for myself. I feel better, and I just want you to know that you’ve done so much towards that.”

She wanted to make a joke about how he must’ve really wanted some tonight to be spilling all of this, but he was so genuine, she was entirely too touched. Between that and his protecting Hazel earlier, not to mention Hazel claiming him?

She set her cloth down, turned around and kissed him. No other response was needed.

The kissing grew, she didn’t break apart while they carefully made their way to the bed and… well… it wasn’t really a discussion or a question. The time had come. Simon opened his mouth to confirm that she was sure and she silenced him with her lips while she took off his clothes.

At every point that he wanted to ask her for permission, she took initiative while simultaneously kissing him to stop the question. If she thought too hard about it, if he asked her about it, she would think too hard about it - If she thought too hard about it, it might never happen.

At some point, she began crying. Simon panicked. He tried to pull out, but she clasped him tightly with her legs and held on to him, sobbing into his ear. Were they happy tears, or had he made a mistake? It was fucking with him. “Grace?” he whispered, slowing down, at least. She urged her hips to make him speed back up and he started crying too. “I don’t know if I’m doing something wrong!” he whimpered, terrified of her tears right now.

“Does… it mean something to you, Simon?” She asked in an insecure voice that he hadn’t heard in so long that he forgot how she sounded when she wasn’t sure of herself.

He lifted his head to look her in the eyes, moving her chin to face him so that she couldn’t avoid it.

“Everything. It means everything to me, Grace. You mean everything to me.”

She sobbed and began to move her hips again, somehow holding on even tighter to him. “Never let me go again. Never push me away.”

“I promise. I won’t. I swear on my life.”

She’d mentioned before that her period was that weekend, but she wasn’t on it. The stress of touring probably knocked her off of her schedule. At any rate, she wasn’t one it, as she had planned to be. That worked out perfectly for Simon that night, but he wasn’t even thinking about those details at the moment. He had to spend the rest of the night making sure that she knew things wouldn’t be like they had been before.

A couple of weeks later when she came home from the tour, Hazel and Simon had her welcome home party under way. It was lowkey - just the 3 of them and the cat. Simon cooked everyone’s faves, and they didn’t ask tour questions. Hazel kept using “Mom” and “Dad,” despite the official paperwork. Grace felt super at ease, considering.

“Hey… We have to talk about something, as a family…” Hazel and Simon looked at each other, both a little worried, as she sounded super serious out of nowhere. Did something happen to her on the tour? Were they about to have to kick somebody’s ass? What was she about to say?? “I have an announcement…” She took a deep breath and took something that she had on her person out.

Simon gasped and got up to rush over. Hazel asked, “What is that?? What’s the announcement??”

Simon took both of Grace’s hands and searched her face, “What do you want to do? You know I’ll support anything. If you aren’t ready, I understand…”

“UNDERSTAND WHAT?? WHAT IS THAT, MOM???”

“I’m ready,” Grace told Simon, then to Hazel, “Mom’s… having a kid…” She winced, unsure of how Hazel was going to feel about a bio on the horizon. She SCREAMED. “OMG! Lindsay and Lucy are gonna be JEALOUS. SO JEALOUS! Lindsay thinks her kinkajou is SOOOO cool… and it is, but I’m gonna have a SIBLING! Oh… unless we’re being quiet?”

“For a while. I’m still… taking it all in…” Grace said. She looked at Simon. She was scared shitless.

“I’m going to do whatever you need.”

“I know. I trust you with my life.” He smiled brighter than anything she had ever seen. She collected Hazel and him, “Both of you.”

#If They Didn't Get on the Train #AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics

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realityhelixcreates · 4 years

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 66: The Forsaken Soldier

Chapters: 66/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Mature Warnings:

Relationships: Loki x Reader (There We Go)

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent),

Summary: Loki has several worst nightmares. Here is one of them.

You woke safely in Loki's arms.

“Mmm. I could get used to this.” You murmured, voice morning-rough. Loki shifted so that he could squeeze you a little closer.

“Then sleep here. Every night. You can, you know.”

“I know.” You said, rolling out of bed. “I just don't know if I should. Or if I want to. Well, I kind of want to. No, that's not quite right. I want to be at a point where I feel like I ought to.”

“What holds you back?” He asked, handing you a bathrobe.

“The newness. It's only been a month or so. And I haven't really known you all that long in the first place. I'm still a bit overwhelmed by everything. It's a lot more manageable now though, don't worry.” You hurried to assure him. “It's like being back in school. School is pretty tough; you have to cram a lot into a day, but I did it nearly every day for like, twelve years. I can do it again.”

“Don't let me pile too much on you.” Loki warned. “You may have noticed, but I've been told I have a tendency to go slightly...overboard...with my planning.”

You slipped into the bath, grateful for the warm water. The mornings were definitely getting colder, the closer to November it got.

“We can slow down after Buridag.” You said. “There's a lot riding on the holiday. I want to do it right. As much as I possibly can.”

“You will be fantastic, my dear. The herald of a new era.”

“Yeah, that's part of the problem. You know that.”

“The people will grow to love you even more than they already do. With your dedication, how could they not?”

“Maybe. But they aren't looking at me through your eyes, Loki. I mean, you look at me and you don't seem to see how I could possibly fail, even though I very well could.”

Loki scooped water up into his bowl and doused himself with it.

“Not with me by your side.” He said firmly.

“Okay, but all those people out there might be looking at me and not see how I could possibly succeed without you by my side. Scooting me along, holding my hand, catching me when I fall.”

“But I'm supposed to do that-” He started.

“As a boyfriend, yes.” You interrupted. “But as someone in one of the highest positions in the kingdom, to another person in another of the highest positions? No, I don't think that sets a good example. If I can't do my deeds myself, won't I be seen as...huglausi? Incompetent?”

“No, no. That simply means to be somehow craven. Treacherous and cowardly. Trying and failing is not the same. It takes courage to try at all.”

“It's the failing part I'm most worried about. There's so many people to let down. I've never actually been in a leadership position, Loki. Not over children, not over pets, or my peers, or at school, or at work. I've never actually wanted it, and I'm not sure I'll be any good at it, no matter how much tutoring you give me.”

“Oh. I think I understand now.” He gathered you up into his soapy embrace. “You will not be asked to run this kingdom, fear not. Your main duties will be to me. Helping me with my work, and acting as support. Saga has taught you of this, has she not?”

“Yeah, it's just...Well, it seems like most of the Seidkonas we study also took on a lot of other duties. And we're seeing each other now, and everyone knows it, and I know everyone's thinking about how it went with your parents...”

“They are nostalgic. My parents were well matched, it's true. But we are not them, and we don't have to do things the way they did. No matter how many people wish to project the image of my mother onto you, you will always only be you, and I will always be me. We don't have to be like them, and you don't have to take on more than you feel capable of. Continue learning, continue training, and you will become capable of even more, but you will never need to take on everything yourself.”

“Okay.” You said, nestling into his chest. These morning baths took longer and longer every day, and it was obvious why. “I'm just worried, you know? Three months ago, it seemed like I had all the time in the world, but now it's like I could never have learned enough in such a short time.”

“I will admit that this is a bit rushed.” Loki said. “Normally, a Seidkona is in training for decades, if not centuries. Obviously, that won't work here, which is why I've had Saga try to distill things down to their basic essence for you. You will only have to train for years.”

You sighed. More years of schooling. Well, hadn't you been a little jealous of your classmates that had gotten to go to college? This would just be like getting a special degree. On the bright side, you would be the only human to have that degree, at least for a while. Would that make you an automatic PhD?

“I know it might be better to wait until you have more experience, but this Buridag is of pivotal importance. We should set our new traditions as early as possible.”

“Well, I agree with that. I guess I just kinda wish it wasn't so much all at once. It's so much, Loki.”

He kissed your wet forehead.

“I'll slow it down after Buridag.” He promised. “We can dedicate different days of the week to different subjects. Or switch subjects each week. Whichever suits you best.”

“That sounds good. I would like some calm, quiet times too. I'm not used to so much adventure.” You swayed back and forth in his arms, the water lapping your skin in slippery comfort.

“I like it here.” You murmured. “Right here. It feels safe.”

You heard Loki breathe in sharply, felt his embrace tighten, and you looked up. His expression was...not exactly unreadable, but unfamiliar. But his perfectly sculpted cheeks had gone all red, and his eyes were suspiciously glassy, and you suddenly found yourself wondering if anybody had ever told him that he made them feel safe before.

“It's too bad my magic isn't about time travel.” You continued. “I'd just freeze time right here for a little while just so I could stay.”

“I feel the same.” He almost whispered. “Just here. Just us. No interruptions, no deadlines. Maybe sometime soon. Maybe a tour around Iceland? Just us, our horses, some tents?”

“Camping? I like camping. Can we do that?”

“If you would like to, yes. In the spring, when everything has thawed back out, and we are all tired of being cooped up inside, we can go out and see the wonders of this country together.”

Just you, him, and the horses. Spring in Iceland was beautiful, even from the small glimpses you had gotten. Just you and him, in a tent, under the sky. Firelight and starlight, the chill wind from the mountains, thick woolly blankets. Shared body heat.

“Let's do it. First day of Spring, let's pack up and go see everything!”

All you had to do was get through the winter.

*****

Loki floated along on a buoyant heart. The trust you showed him, the vulnerability! The belief that he could do something about your problems; it was extraordinary.

Had he really done it? Had he really become someone worthy of the love of such a woman? Maybe not yet. He was still keeping secrets, after all. There was still much about his crimes that you didn't know. But soon, he would tell you. And then, he might be worthy. Maybe. He would have taken the first steps, at least!

He'd better figure out how to build that trust up fast, because learning these things was going to damage it. Learning that he was no Asgardian would be bad enough. How might you feel to discover that even the face he showed you everyday was a lie? You'd be in the right to demand to see what creature was really embracing you.

Would you be kind? Would you swallow down your bile at the sight of him, or would you be so overcome with disgust at the revelation that this was what had been kissing you, sleeping next to you, bathing with you, that you would flee from him?

Would you dismiss him and his nobility when he told you of how he had betrayed both of his fathers, and all of his people, usurping the throne and glorifying himself? Would you scoff at his humanitarian efforts and his care for the Asgardian people once you knew about his treasonous acts?

Would you still be here, once he told you about Jotunheim? His greatest, most heinous, most unforgivable crime? Would you even look at him, after that? Or would you disappear somewhere into the outskirts of the city, and never let him lay eyes on you again? He would deserve that. He couldn't even tell you that he was making amends. He had no way to do so. It wasn't as if he could take both sides of the great canyon and smash them back together. He couldn't restore the lives lost. He couldn't even take the throne and rule them as he was born to do: How could a frost giant ever trust him after what he had done to their entire world?

And how could you trust him, after these terrible deeds? The longer he waited the more you would love him, and the greater the betrayal would feel. He knew this. He had lived this! He couldn't possibly put you through it too.

He couldn't make you happy on a framework of lies. He knew this. All of his misery was based on such a framework; he knew how insidious it was. Learning these things was already going to hurt you, just hopefully not so much as to send you running. Perhaps he had already waited too long. Thor had been urging him to tell you, at least about his heritage, for some time now, and it was becoming clear from your ever-increasing affection that he couldn't put it off much longer.

A messenger approached him, a little out of breath.

“Sire.” She said. “The ice wall in the underground tunnels-they've broken through!”

“Thank you.” Loki replied. He'd almost forgotten, but he had told them to let him know as soon as they had reached the other side. “Let them know I will be down shortly.”

“I shall.”

As she turned to leave, a second messenger limped around the corner, leaning heavily against the wall as he approached. His left arm hung lifeless at his side, the shoulder collapsed in a crushed mess.

“M-my liege...” He stammered, barely above a whisper. Loki and the messenger rushed to his side.

“What happened?” Loki demanded, as the first messenger fitted herself under his good arm for support.

“Frost Giant...” He gasped. “In the ice tunnels. It woke up....rampaging...”

“Get him to the healers!” Loki ordered. A Frost Giant in the city! Where? Where? He had to find it fast.

What was it doing here? If it had been in the underground tunnels, sealed up in ice...Could it have been here since the time the Jotnar had invaded, a thousand years ago? That was the last time Jotnar had been on Earth.

Save for himself.

Rushing down the halls, he found evidence of the creature's passing in smashed objects and walls, in horribly still bodies. All leading to the interior of the palace complex.

To the library.

To you.

*****

Today's lesson was on Alfar loan words, with Saga, and Asgard's most unwelcome guest instructor, Gloa. The smug brat had been asked along partly because her ever-present maidservant, Kolla, could actually speak and interpret several languages. You figured it was just another example of the lower class being even more savvy and skilled than the people who assumed to rule them, but Gloa actually seemed to be putting effort into teaching.

It's just that she was teaching a bunch of literal children, and you. And she utterly refused to engage with you. She didn't call on you, didn't address you, didn't look you in the face, even once.

Saga stayed at another table, taking notes, while other scholars hustled here and there for books, giving the class as much room as they could. None of them really paid you any attention, but you still found it a little humiliating to be put in the kids class, getting tutored by a political rival.

You got the feeling that Kolla was subtly tutoring Gloa as the class went on, cleverly steering her from subject to subject in her humble way.

Maybe you wouldn't eventually steal her away into your employ, after all. Not if she was doing the good work of helping Gloa develop into an actual person.

Strange noises and an odd thumping that you could feel in the floor made you look up from your notes, only to see that everyone else had noticed too. The whole library seemed frozen in place, silent, staring at the doors.

“I will check.” Kolla said quietly. Just as she reached the heavy wooden door, it flung open, ripped from its hinges, and slammed her to the floor, trapping her beneath it.

Gloa screamed, everyone screamed, as a huge and monstrous form shoved through the doorway. People ran past you as you stared, to the back of the library.

You had seen something like this before. This was a Frost Giant. Loki's little illusions had not truly prepared you for how massive they were. This one was three, four times your size, one arm encased in a sheath of ice that formed a club longer than you were tall. His head whipped back and forth, red eyes wide and wild. They landed on the children behind you.

You leaped up on a solid wood table between him and the kids, summoning your strength and concentration, you focused on the icy club as he lifted it over your head.

You couldn't teleport it off of his arm. It was like an extension of him, and he was simply too large to budge.

He brought the club down, and you threw yourself off the table just before it was smashed into splinters.

You jumped up onto the next closest table, knife in hand. The children were still in the giant's path, and you shouted at him, waving your woefully inefficient blade.

Magic wouldn't work; he was simply too big. And your little knife might not even penetrate his skin, but you had to keep him distracted. Someone must be coming.

A book sailed over your head and bounced off the giant's shoulder. He turned to you, snarling something, and Gloa leaped up on the table next to you, snatching books from the shelf and pelting him, shouting at the top of her lungs.

The giant charged at you swinging wildly. His club connected with a bookshelf, dropping it against the table, and blocking off the direction you had planed to jump. There was another bookshelf behind you, where Gloa was getting her ammunition, and children to the other side.

Nowhere to go.

The Frost Giant raised his club once more, you and Gloa clinging to one another in terror. In a blur of black and green, Loki flew through the air, to slam a dagger into both of the giant's shoulders. He let his weight drag the blades through the frigid flesh of the giant's back, overbalancing him, and sending him reeling backwards, arms flailing.

The Frost Giant roared in pain and fury; a sound cut short by the sudden detachment of his head by the flying arc of Stormbreaker. You flung your arm up instinctively, catching droplets of blood on your bare skin, and crying out as they burned you.

Gloa dashed away from you to her maidservant, trying to lift the massive door off her, as the Frost Giant collapsed, trapping Loki beneath him.

Commotion reigned: screaming, crying children, help pouring in from outside the library, Thor directing the wave of activity, until everyone was gone, and the library silent and empty.

But Loki was still under the huge corpse, and you rushed to his side. Or, you started to, before his voice rang out, slightly muffled, commanding you to stop in your tracks.

“You made a promise to me, _____!” He snarled. “What did you promise me?”

“Loki-”

“Don't come any closer! Even in death, this body is dangerous to you! What did you promise me?”

“That...That I would hide if I ever saw a Jotun...”

“And did you keep that promise?”

“But Loki-”

“Did you break your promise to me?”

“...Yes...”

He didn't understand. There were kids. And maybe you hadn't been all that effective, but you had kept the giant's eyes off of the children for just long enough.

“And what happened? You were injured again!”

“No, he didn't hit me! I'm fine!”

“I heard you shout!”

“Oh...The blood stung me. It's nothing, really.”

“It is not nothing, you little fool! That's undiluted frost magic! Left untreated, it can freeze your blood within your veins. There was a reason I extracted that promise from you, _____!”

“Loki, there were kids here!” You shouted in frustration. He sounded so furious, and no doubt he had been frightened for you, but you had a responsibility that even he couldn't deny.

“...Get to the healing wing.” He commanded. “Blood burns are no small matter. We will talk later.”

“Loki...”

“Go!”

You went.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

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ziracona · 4 years

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This idea has been kicking around in my head for a long time, and I am finally writing it. Here’s the first chunk. (It’s fun but the second is more fun. Bc Joey :-) ) An offering to @platinumbered and my buddy Tyler, for (intentionally and unintentionally respectively) setting me on this path I cannot escape, and @speckeltail for enabling/encouraging me to keep going. It’s named after a Joy Division song for Quentin reasons. Hope you enjoy (whenever you get the chance to read, that is. ^u^ ).

New Dawn Fades (part 1)

“There’s been a lot recently, hasn’t there?” asked Quentin.

“Of new killers?” checked Dwight, turning and glancing back at him for a second. Quentin looked distracted. He was eyeing the terrain with curiosity, but he turned to Dwight at the sound of his voice and nodded.

“It…seems like it used to be longer…Didn’t it?” checked Quentin, speeding up for a second to be at his side again, “Like. I don’t know. I mean, I know I can’t really tell time here at all, but it used to feel like a year—or—I don’t know, maybe not a year, but half a year? A few months? It felt like longer, back when I was new.”

“Yeah. I don’t think it’s just you getting adjusted,” agreed Dwight, holding a branch back for Quentin as they passed through a dense chunk of the woods, “I think you’re right. The Entity’s been…escalating. Which, unfortunately probably means it’s been-“

“-Getting stronger,” finished Quentin with him, looking as not thrilled about that as he felt.

“Yeah,” said Dwight. There wasn’t much else to say to that.

“So…what’s the end goal with it, do you think?” asked Quentin, pushing through a tangled copse of saplings in their way and having some trouble.

We should really just go around, but at this point, I’m too tired to do that too… Dwight forged after, fighting with the underbrush with as little tact as Quentin was. At least there was no one to see them getting their asses handed to them by shrubbery. God I’m tired, thought Dwight. They’d been walking around casing the area for hours now. It was a nice thing to do—useful, trying to monitor the changes in the woods ever since they’d figured out the areas shifted all the time, but it took forever recently. Now that they had, like Quentin had mention, so much more shit. More killers, more area, more ground to cover. More change. He was also pretty damn sure at this point that the Entity was also making the forest denser than it used to be, and a part of Dwight wondered if that was being done explicitly to deter them from doing exactly what they were doing now—to—to encourage them to stay close to home, to the campfire. Keep inside the safety of their cage. Well, now I just want to explore more, so I guess thanks for the motivation, you shitty spider god, thought Dwight, glancing up at the dark sky overhead. Weird that as long as he’d been living in the dim twilight of the realm, he thought of this kind of time as day. His idea of night and day really had nothing to do with the state of the sky at all anymore.

“I mean,” continued Quentin up ahead, finally breaking through into a more open section of the woods again and waiting for him, turning back and trying to help him through the last patch of tangled under brush, “Do you…think that if—like, does it want to kidnap everyone? The whole world? I don’t think it’s got the room to fit us all. A-and I know that like—what are there, like almost fifty of us now? However many, that that’s not even close to the population of a town, let alone a city or a country or the whole world or something, so I-I know it’s going wild with the assumptions to say something like that, but—”

“No, I get you,” agreed Dwight, brushing leaf and twig fragments off himself, “I don’t know either, but it is worrying. I definitely don’t think it could hold a couple billion people in here though, so world domination can’t be on the table, but that said, I don’t know what it does want. Other than to feed on us.”

Quentin nodded thoughtfully, and idly fiddled with his necklace for a second. “Maybe it’s just stockpiling,” he offered, “It’s probably had lean times before. I guess it’d make sense for any kind of creature that feeds to pile up food when it can, to be ready for a time it can’t.”

That made sense, and honestly, that would be like, a best-case scenario for them. “I hope you’re right,” said Dwight, giving him a tired smile, “That’s way less intimidating than the stuff I’ve been considering.”

“Yeah?” asked Quentin, moving to keep pace as they started off again, “What do you think?”

“I think it’s greedy,” said Dwight, glancing over at him, “Or. Gluttonous. Both. Not sure which applies here, if we’re food. Whichever. I think probably it’s just gotten more powerful slowly, and now that it’s got more strength, it just wants more and more to snack on, so it’s been taking more and more people. Getting bolder. And it’ll keep doing that as much as it can.”

“Maybe it’ll do something stupid, then,” said Quentin hopefully, “Push itself too far. Even as powerful as this thing obvious is, there has to be a limit to what it can contain.”

“Yeah,” said Dwight, starting to grin a little conspiratorially, “I’ve kind of been hoping that too.”

“Oh!” Quentin hissed the warning in a whisper and shot out a hand, stopping him. Dwight paused and looked the direction he was looking and could just barely make out a change in light up ahead. Deathslinger.

“You see it?” mouthed Quentin.

Dwight nodded and took out the little notebook they’d been keeping track of nearby realms in and marked it on his poor attempt at map. Deathslinger was new. They’d only had him in the realms for maybe a month now—no, probably not even quite that. And he was especially dangerous, because like the Huntress, he could hit you from a distance.

“What now?” mouthed Quentin after a second, looking from him to the book questioningly.

“Let’s circle it carefully,” whispered Dwight, “If we go all the way back into the woods, we might miss the next area.”

Quentin nodded, and much slower than before and keeping low now too, the two of them kept going, edging along the border to the Deathslinger’s land. The border was clear, so it was easy to see where the line of danger was drawn. The area was lower than the forest, with a small embankment dropping down to his territory and marking where forest ended and prairie started, the yellowed grass springing up at the base of it a clear and stark contrast to the cold, dim green woods around them. It was so hard not to be fascinated though, as they went, by the town laid out before them. A frozen snapshot of the old American west. A ghost town, in maybe the truest sense of the phrase Dwight had ever seen: an old saloon, a stagecoach, rickety wood buildings along the sides of a dusty old street, leading to a grim gallows at the end of it, nooses still up and swinging idly in the wind, and nothing but rotting corpses and the knowledge that somewhere, out of sight but not out of mind, would be the single living inhabitant of that ghost town, if you could call him living. Dangerous and deadly no matter what the truth of that questions was. But as fascinating as the ghost town was, or even the Deathslinger himself, that wasn’t why it was hard not to stare at it. It was because the Deathslinger, for some unknown reason Dwight would never understand but couldn’t have been more thankful for, had been gifted the sun.

It didn’t even matter that the ball of fire in the sky wasn’t real. God, it had been so, so long since he’d seen even a mockery of it. The sight of it again had almost killed him with heartbreak and nostalgia and desperation. The first time Dwight had had a trial with the Deathslinger, back the day he’d appeared, he’d been taken completely unawares and would have been shot through the back in the first twenty seconds of that trial if Claudette hadn’t been there to knock him over, because he’d just been staring at the sky. Lost in the wonder of seeing even the Entity’s too large, false reproduction of the burning orb he hadn’t seen for real in years. It was always sunset in the Deathslinger’s land, but that was still sun, and God. He had missed it. He had missed the light of day so much he didn’t even have words for it. For the feeling of seeing it again, even if it was just a cheap Hollywood painting set up against the backboards, a fake sunset, not a real sun at all. Still. Still, thought Dwight, emotion choking him up in his throat at the sight of it. He loved and hated ending up here in trials, because it always threw him off. And yet. And yet…

The sun…God. How can I miss you so much, thought Dwight painfully, creeping towards the far end of the Deathslinger’s area, maybe two thirds of the way to its edge now, You’re just a star. But I would cut off my right hand to be able to see you again for real and just…just actually feel true, real, honest to god sunlight on my skin again. How could a thing like that matter so much?

Forcing himself to refocus on the reality past the ache in his chest, Dwight kept moving, sliding along the edge of the Deathslinger’s place. They were up high, on the edge of the little maybe six foot slope leading down to the lowered area the Deathslinger was in. Which was weird, now that he’d moved on from the sun and was thinking about it—usually the borders were even, and you just had to depend on the change in plant like to know where the border was. But then, what wasn’t weird about the Deathslinger’s home turf? There was no sign of the man, though, and that was good. Honestly, they couldn’t be in too much danger, because the killers couldn’t get out—they probably could have stood up here and yelled at the guy and gotten nothing worse than some extra aggression next trial—but hey, it paid to be careful and it cost nothing. And the dude had a ranged weapon. No one had ever like, taken a pot-shot from a Huntress hatchet while chilling out in the woods, so they had no reason to think that could happen, but uh. At the same time they had no definite proof that they couldn’t, and uh, better sorry than really fucking dead, you know?

“I wonder if the birds are edible,” mumbled Quentin under his breath.

Dwight snapped out of his own convoluted line of thought and turned to give him a disbelieving look. “Quentin,” he hissed back, “You don’t want to eat a buzzard. I’m not kidding. Even if those were real birds, you know what they eat, and there’s only one type of carrion here, and I’ll give you a hint: it’s a large bipedal mammal.”

“Okay, okay,” agreed Quentin sheepishly, “I’m just curious.”

Dwight exhaled what was almost a laugh and turned back to the path ahead of him, and the dirt ledge beneath his foot gave out.

He screamed—only for a maybe a half a second before he’d choked it back as he realized how fucking bad an idea screaming was, and he heard something between a gasp and a cry from Quentin and saw his hand reach out for him as he went plummeting backwards, and then his head hit the ground, and he rolled, fast and hard against unforgiving, dry ground as solid as a rock, and then as quickly as it had started, he slammed into a box by the old stagecoach and everything stopped as he came to rest with his heart pounding and body aching, a big cloud of dust settling around him. And the second he had any motor control back, Dwight froze and went absolutely silent, breath held, just listening, straining for any hint of noise.

On the little ridge above him, he could see Quentin watching him, eyes enormous, panicked, looking out over the silent town and then back at him—trying to figure out if he should come down and help, Dwight was sure, from the only half-checked urge to rush in very evident in the lines of his frame, and Dwight dragged himself up to an elbow as quietly as he could and held up a hand towards Quentin. Don’t do it, he tried frantically to convey in silence, mouthing the words and locking eyes with his friend, It’s okay. There’s no sound. Just stay put. He kept a hand up towards his friend, praying it would deter him, and made it slowly to his knees, breathing shakily. Glancing back up the ridge, he shook his head at Quentin, then pointed to himself, made a motion with two fingers like walking, and pointed up to the ridge. Quentin nodded, still pale and on edge, but a little less desperate as the seconds ticked on and there was no motion from the ghost town to indicate the monster there had heard them.

Okay, thought Dwight, trying really, really hard to stay calm, Okay. No sound, no movement. He peeked out from behind the boxes for a second, scanning the town. Nothing. No sign of the man with the gun. He ducked down, took another long, steady breath, and checked again, but everything was completely still. Empty. Dwight felt his frantic heartbeat slow back down just a little. Okay. No Deathslinger. Oh my god I thought I was dead. Thank god—wow, is this actually happening to me? I got lucky for once?

Go figure. He probably owed Ace a drink or something for this much good fortune, especially when historically, uh, luck had it out for him with a hell hath no fury level on par with a woman scorned. Trying to believe things actually hadn’t turned out shitty for him for once, Dwight shakily pulled himself to his feet, still crouched in cover, and readied to spring up and run, picking out the easiest path back up the embankment. Quentin saw what he was doing and hurriedly closed a few feet between himself and a small tree, wrapped an arm around its trunk to make himself an anchor, and then held the leaned out over the embankment and held his other hand out. Ready to bring him back to safety with a sprint up the bank and jump to the waiting hand. Dwight smiled. I’m so glad it was Quentin. He’s reliable and he won’t give me crap about this and tell everyone once we get back to the fire. There were a lot of reasons he liked him so much, but the level of dependable and loyal was for sure one of them. Feeling a lot better, Dwight counted to three in his head, muscles tensing, and then rushed for the bank.

The second he was out of cover, Dwight heard the shot, and on impulse, he ducked. The old instinct to a gunshot still to ingrained in his DNA saved him, and as he went flat against the dirt, he heard metal whir and then snap above his head as the harpoon went where he had been, hit the end of its chain, and fell short. Seeing the world in bullet time, Dwight rolled onto his back, barely even thinking yet, just following instinct, and he saw him then. The Gunslinger had made the shot through an open window in the saloon, hidden, waiting for a clear shot at his prey under the guise of safety, but he wasn’t hiding anymore. He was up on his feet and he was coming. Dwight knew from trial experience that he had maybe three seconds before the man could reload and take a shot again and he heard Quentin shouting for him to run, and he did, rolling over and scrambling to his knees, and with everything he had he bolted for Quentin, tearing up the ledge, leaping the last foot, and his hand caught skin and he felt Quentin’s fingers wrap around his wrist, and closed his own around his friends, and then as he being pulled up to the border of safety that was just inches away, and he heard the shot. There was no way to hide this time. Nowhere to run, or to dodge. He just had time to realize what was going to happen, and then the metal barb was through his torso and out the other side, and the hooks opened and plunged into his stomach like a grapple gun, and he was being dragged back with force, and he screamed, and for a second everything was just pain and confusion, and then he was looking up into Quentin’s face and watching his friend trying desperately not to lose his hold on him, horrified, and calling his name, and Dwight realized looking up into his face that if he didn’t let go, they were both dead, and that no matter what happened, it was already too late for him, and so he let go.

Quentin tried to keep him. Shouted, “No! Please—Don’t!” almost crying, and struggling with all his might not to let go too and to bear enormous weight and force with the strength of one hand alone, and Dwight was afraid he would be desperate enough that he would lose his hold on the tree before he lost his grip on him, so he wrenched his wrist free, still looking up into the frantic, betrayed horror and fear on his best friend’s face, and then he fell, jerked hard backwards onto the unforgivingly stiff ground again, and felt the chain connected to the metal rod through him dragging him back and he couldn’t see Quentin anymore. This had hurt before—hurt in trials, but it was worse—he didn’t know if that was real, of if it was the fear of the potential finality of death this time, but it was more pain than he could even process right, and as he was pulled backwards, Dwight caught onto the wheel of the old stagecoach as he passed it and looked back up at Quentin, terrified to die but not really feeling that, too in shock for that to be real, too out of control for his brain to look at, because it had realized that there was no escaping it now, and so it was focused on his friend, who still had a chance.

“Stay there!” he shouted desperately, the second word melting into a scream of agony as the man behind him tugged hard on the reel in the mechanized gun, chuckling low and slow to himself somewhere behind Dwight, “Please! Quentin, go back! Tell them!” and he knew he’d meant to say something better, but the pain was too much then, and he lost his grip and was choking on dust, and then he was as the Deathslinger’s feet, barely processing that through the agony in his stomach. He felt the hooks release and the barbs slide free as the tall man in the leather duster placed a foot on his head, pinning him down, and freed his weapon. It came out of his torso with an awful shlick and a ripping sensation that was unbearable, and Dwight tried to scream, but it came out choked. His whole body was shaking, and for a second he thought he was going to lose consciousness, but he didn’t, which was worse. He could feel the blood starting to seep out of his stomach and pool around him.

“Please,” begged Dwight, voice raspy from the dust he’d inhaled, looking up at what little of the man above him he could see with a boot crushing his head against the ground, “I-I know you have to hunt us in trials. Please don’t do this. I didn’t mean to come into your home. I would never—I fell.” His cheek was bleeding from being dragged, and he could taste the blood running into his mouth. God, please, please care. The Deathslinger was new. He’d never done anything to give Dwight any hope he might show mercy, but he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t either—he hadn’t been especially cruel and sadistic, and he was new, he was an unknown. Maybe…Maybe.

The man above him grinned and raised his gun butt to ram down into Dwight’s head, and Dwight started to shut his eyes and brace, choking on despair, and then he heard a scream and he recognized the voice in time to open his eyes and catch a flash of movement as Quentin rammed into the man and knocked him off Dwight and sent them both flying back together in a heap. Dwight heard a massive crash and dragged himself shakily onto an arm in a really surreal mixture of dismay and incredible relief and a fragmented processing of time to see Quentin roll free of a broken water trough and lock eyes with him and scream, “RUN!”

Over by the saloon, that was all that Quentin had time to say before he lost sight of Dwight as the Deathslinger made it up too and came at him, relentless and angry. All he could do was pray that Dwight would—that he’d even have the strength to, and then he was dodging a swipe from the gun’s bayonet, and didn’t have the ability to think about anything but the man in front of him. He dodged left and avoided a second swipe, and then thought he’d moved in time to avoid a third, but the man twisted the blade horizontally when his thrust missed, extending the reach it had at its widest point, and he caught him in the outer arm with the edge of it, and Quentin felt the blade bite deep into his left arm by the shoulder and slice as the Deathslinger drew it back, and he cried out and fell back a step, trying to think frantically fast as he barely managed to duck out of the way of a swipe that came hard for him now that he was off balance and would have run him through the head if he’d been even a half-second slower. Fuck—I can’t keep this up for too long—he’s so much faster than I thought. W-what if Dwight can’t run? He couldn’t see him anymore—he’d tried to move to get him in view again, but the Deathslinger had pressed him the other way and forced him too far back, past too many piles of debris now to see at all, and the Deathslinger was still between them, and God, he’d been hurt, bad, and—

Too focused on fear for Dwight, Quentin dodged right too slow and took a slice to his side and struggled to refocused on the Deathslinger as best he could, terrified for the friend he couldn’t see, but needing to buy him time. Fuck. He couldn’t focus like this. He. Fuck-fuck-he was hurt so bad, what will we even do if we get him back to camp? Can we— Quentin ducked beneath a swipe meant for his head, only to be caught by a boot to the gut with tremendous force from the Deathslinger who had learned to anticipate his movements way too fast, and then he wasn’t thinking anything at all as he was flung backwards into a row of crates in the road not far from the stagecoach with a cry. He hit them hard, smacking his head against them with a crack, and stumbled to his knees, barely even enough time to look up before the Deathslinger was there, bringing the bayonet down on him, and he flung himself left with the little energy he had left, too slow, and too late, and he knew it as soon as he moved, and then somehow the shot went wide and missed him, and he heard a scream in a voice he knew was Dwight’s, and there he was. Leaping onto the man’s back just in time to save him, and locking his legs around the Deathslinger’s waist, his arm wrenched around the man’s throat, trying to strangle him, and Quentin was overcome with gratitude and relief, and then fear as he saw the Deathslinger angle the gun back to run the blade into Dwight’s side, and thinking as fast as he could, he followed the first impulse his frantic brain threw his way and shot forward and threw himself like a bowling ball into the man’s knees, no time to make it back to his feet. As he went, he ripped the shard of glass he’d taken to carrying to defend himself in trials at Laurie’s advice out of his pocket and buried it blindly into the side of the Deathslinger’s right knee on contact, and all three of them went flying. Quentin heard Dwight cry out, and the huge monster of a man yell as the glass went in and then grunt in pain as Quentin took out his legs and he slammed backwards into the wooden base of the saloon, and then Quentin had rolled past him and was frantically struggling up again, spotting Dwight a few feet back where he’d rolled.

“Run!” shouted Quentin again, taking off for Dwight, and ripping a big handful of dirt from the road as he came even with the Deathslinger, who was still on his knees. Quentin pivoted, shouted, “HEY!”, flung the mass of dirt and dust into the Deathslinger’s eyes when he looked up, and then tore off towards Dwight again as he heard the killer hacking and letting out an agitated yell behind him as he tried to get the shit out of his eyes and mouth.

Dwight was up by the time Quentin reached him, clutching his bleeding stomach with one hand, but running hard. Riding adrenaline past the mass of pain he had to be in. As they tore off for the border, Quentin realized that the little gulley wall ahead would be easy enough for him to jump, snag onto a tree or something, and struggle up, but Dwight was fucked, and he desperately looked for other options. Something—anything. There was a spot a little to the right of where they’d tried originally, with a small tree growing up in the gulley itself, and thinking fast, Quentin called for Dwight to follow and made a B-line for it.

Out of breath, Quentin checked over his shoulder as they neared it, and saw to his relief that the Deathslinger was only just now making it to his feet again, gun not ready yet to take another shot, and he realized that if he could just do this right, they were going to make it. Riding that hope like a drug, Quentin leapt the four-feet he had to to reach the lowest branch on the tree, braced his foot against the edge of the gulley wall, and reached out his free hand to Dwight.

“I got you! Come on!” shouted Quentin.

Dwight saw what he was going for and nodded, running hard and breathing raggedly, old white dress shirt streaked with blood. He made it the last three feet, jumped and caught Quentin’s hand, and Quentin, braced and ready, used himself as a fulcrum and swung Dwight up onto the safety of green grass and tall deciduous trees.

His friend landed painfully, on his side, but safely—about three feet from the edge. And he dragged himself up onto his arms and smiled in almost frantic relief at Quentin and started to call him to come too as Quentin shifted his weight to be able to shove off the trunk of the little tree and make it the last foot up himself, and then Dwight was gone, and Quentin’s smile froze and he felt shock overcome his system as the woods in front of his eyes changed.

No, Quentin realized, eyes wide, and feeling sick. The woods were shifting. The areas re-arranging. Now? Fuck! Of all the possible times for this to happen? How? Why-why now! The odds must have been incredibly low! This didn’t even happen every day—sometimes it wouldn’t happen for more than a week. But it had—it was. The killer areas, their own campfire. All the little microcosms that made up the world here in the Entity’s realm shuffling again to remain difficult to understand and travel, like a shell game made up of tiny worlds that the Entity played any time someone got too comfortable with understanding the layout of their little prison.

It didn’t matter, though. Fuck it! No matter what the woods became, Quentin had to make the jump and get out, or he was getting shot, and whoever the killer in the next area was, they wouldn’t know he was there immediately. He might be able to hide, to sneak through—anything was better than here. He still had decent odds of being okay, no matter where he ended up—fuck, even if the Deathslinger shouted for the person in there to come find him, he’d have time to run, and that could serve as much as a distraction for him as anything else. All he had to deal with was flesh wounds, and he’d be okay even if he couldn’t dress those for a couple hours. The only real, immediate, terrible danger was that Dwight was now injured badly out in the woods alone, and already trying to plan the fastest way to find him again, Quentin had committed to the motion to jump when the heavy fog around the area in front of him shifted as the change in locations became truly set, and he saw a building he knew, and he shot out a hand and caught a branch on the little tree and jerked himself to a frantic stop, frozen in horror. Because it was the Preschool.

It was the Preschool.

And he could never go in there. He would never. He would rather die burned at the stake or bled out for hours on a hook, or to a reverse beartrap—anything—anything death imaginable was better than setting foot in that place outside of a trial and being caught by Freddy, and…

The horror of that lightning-fast chain of thought and where it was leading hit him so hard that he stayed frozen for a full second. He didn’t make it from I can’t go there to I can’t stay here either nearly fast enough, and he realized that too late, and as he turned to locate the Deathslinger again and to try to regain movement and chase the miniscule chance he had of outrunning him and maybe making it to the far side of the area and another border and the possible freedom of whatever realm was there now, he heard a gunshot.

The barb slammed into his gut before he’d even seen where the Deathslinger had gone, and Quentin screamed in agony as he felt metal tear through his stomach and out his back, felt metal hooks open and embed there, and then the chain tugged.

He wasn’t ready for it, wasn’t ready to fight, and he lost his balance immediately and fell down the little incline and smacked his head against the hard earth, then tried desperately to make it to his knees, bloody hands clutching at the chain and trying to bear weight and lesson the agony in his gut each time it dragged him closer, struggling to break free as he went, or to fight back at least, to slow the process of being reeled in and killed. His heels dug frantically into the earth as even powered by overwhelming fear his strength wasn’t enough and he was dragged forward, each little yank sending waves of pain that almost completely destroyed his ability to think at all ripping through his entire body.

The Deathslinger was watching him with a grin and those glowing silver-white eyes, standing a little lopsided with Quentin’s chunk of glass still embedded in his knee, and in desperation, Quentin latched onto that tiny fragment of information as he was dragged closer.

You can’t die—you can’t die—Dwight needs you. Fuck—fuck. One shot, you have one shot—c-come on. Please, he prayed, and then he was there—so close he could have reached out and grabbed the man, and he felt the barbs in his back release and the bolt rip back out of him with so much intense agony it was everything he could do not to just collapse, and as the bolt came free, he saw the Deathslinger already drawing back a hit, going to plunge the bayonet into his chest, and in that half-second of free from the harpoon and not yet run through, Quentin put all his weight on his right leg and flung himself hard down and left, ramming his left foot against the piece of glass in the Deathslinger’s knee with enormous force. And somehow, it worked. He wanted to cry with relief. The undead looking man screamed, and the bayonet missed, and the Deathslinger went down, clutching his badly wounded leg, and Quentin hit the ground and rolled and came up all in one frantic motion, then tore off deeper into the ghost town, running as fast as his legs would carry him.

Everything was a blur, of pain and fear and desperation.

Somewhere behind him, he could hear the Deathslinger coming after him, but Quentin didn’t know where to go. He stumbled over old rotten floorboards and through the empty shell of a building to the left of the saloon, leaving streaks of bright red in his wake and unable to stop it, even knowing he was leaving such an easy trail. Th-there was just too much blood. It was going out his back and his stomach and his arm and side and he couldn’t staunch it and run at the same time—it was all he could do to slow the bleeding in his gut as he tore off unsteadily through the ghost town. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Come on. Come on—you can make it. You just have to get to the far side, and you’ve got a shot. He can’t follow you over the border, and you can hide in the brush somewhere, a-and stitch yourself up, and live—come on—I know I can do it. I know it.

God. Dwight. Fuck—fuck! Was he going to be okay? Quentin wasn’t even sure how badly he’d been hurt by the end of it. He can still run, right? He can make it back.

There was so much fear and adrenaline in his system, and the thought of Dwight fighting to make it to the campfire and failing made him choke impulsively on a sob, and he stumbled, the emotion cutting off the supply of oxygen he so desperately needed and fucking up his ability to breathe right. He saved himself from going all the way down by catching the edge of an old crate, aware of the bright red handprint he’d left on it clearly marking his path as he made it back up to his feet and kept going, but nothing at all he could do about it. He had to focus, he had to, but. God—it was so hard. There were thirty things pounding against his skull for precedence, but he couldn’t listen to any of them, he had to just run.

Up ahead, he could see the border again then, the far one. Dead ahead. He’d run diagonally, not thinking straight. If he’d run right down the road, he’d have hit another border faster, but he hadn’t been thinking about speed, he’d only been thinking about visible cover. Still. He hadn’t heard a shot from the gun, and when he risked a quick look over his shoulder, he didn’t see the Deathslinger at all, and that had to be good. Okay, okay. Almost out, he told himself, focusing through the pain in his gut that kept begging his mind to just shut off his legs and give in and let him collapse.

There, across the border—Houses. Quentin could see them now, past a few trees at the edge of the new killer area up ahead he was fast approaching, and for a second he had an unbearable flash of deja vu and fear, thinking some fucking way it was Badham again, but it wasn’t—it was Haddonfield. Quentin was terrified of the Shape, but right now, he didn’t give a fuck. Anywhere except Badham Preschool was better than here, and he’d run and hide and patch himself up, and he could take his chances with the silent masked giant. And then only ten feet from the border, so close to safety, and almost the moment that he’d thought those words, Quentin saw him.

The Shape. He was standing there, just almost completely behind a tree, watching Quentin run towards him. Quentin almost hadn’t seen him in time at all, and he skidded to a stop painfully four feet from the edge of Haddonfield, breathing raggedly and wanting to cry.

No.

He could try. The left edge of the area and whatever killer realm was on that side wasn’t so far. He might make that before the Deathslinger got him. He had a chance, maybe, if he tried. But he had been so close, so close to making it, and he choked on the despair of that reality for a second, staring up at the Shape, half-considering just going in anyway. The Shape killed you quick. In here, if he tried and didn’t make the third border, especially after wounding the Deathslinger, Quentin was pretty sure that wasn’t what was going to happen to him. At least if he took three more steps forward and let the man in the white mask kill him, it would be over almost as soon as it began. That really might be the only choice he had left to make. Quentin had died that way a lot of times, and it wasn’t so bad. Kitchen knife to the heart. Four seconds maybe? He usually went numb as soon as the knife was pulled back out. Maybe he should. Maybe that was the right choice. He was in so much pain, and even if he ran as hard as he could, he didn’t know what area was on the left, and what if it was worse? What if there was a killer waiting there too, watching, like the Shape had been, and the Deathslinger must have been long before they’d ever seen him at all? If he got there and had to make this split-second decision again, but between Deathslinger and Cannibal. Deathslinger and Doctor, or Pig. Fuck, even if he got lucky, the less cruel killers almost all hurt more than the Shape did to die by. The only one that would be more merciful to him was the Nurse, and those were such low odds.

The thought process had been almost instantaneous, and as he ran through it, the Shape met his gaze, and he could just barely make the outline of eyes beneath the shadow of the mask. Eyes fixed on his own. The man tilted his head to the side slowly, still studying Quentin.

“Please,” thought Quentin, wanting to cry and feeling blood leak past the hand pressed against his stomach as he held the towering shape of a man’s gaze longer than he should have, his mind begging him to say it out loud. He wouldn’t, though. There was no point. He had seen people beg the killers for mercy in trials, had seen Dwight try it less than three minutes ago with the Deathslinger. They didn’t care. They just liked to hear it.

The things that hunted them in the dark did not show mercy.

Fuck. Quentin turned left and ran.

That had always been what he’d been going to do, because he fought, and he tried, and he didn’t give up, even when maybe it would be less painful to, but he’d wasted too long considering an easier death, and as he turned, he saw those few seconds had cost him. The Deathslinger was in sight again, following the visible trail of blood and then looking up and seeing Quentin in the instant too—no longer needing the old trail to find him.

Without another look back and with everything that he had, Quentin tore for the left border fifteen yards away. He wasn’t even holding his wound anymore, he was pumping fists at his side, every ounce of focus and energy he had left just on running. Back in his first year swimming, his coach had taken the team aside early on and told them that speed-based sports weren’t about raw skill: they were about how much pain you were able to withstand. When you swam, you’d go faster the less you took breaths, the more you tore at your muscles and made yourself keep going and going and going when every part of you ached and your chest was pounding for breath and your head throbbing from the effort, muscles screaming with strain. Had told them that was how great athletes were made. Quentin hadn’t really thought about it much after, but he was thinking about it now, praying it was true, and that the agony ripping him apart would be enough to get him across the far border if he could just take it until then. That that price would be enough.

There was something behind him, a faint clink of metal as the Deathslinger went to take a shot, and Quentin recognized it and jumped a foot to the right, into Haddonfield, praying the impulse would work, and the harpoon slammed into the invisible barrier between realms that survivors could pass over and killers couldn’t an inch from his chest and pinged off, and Quentin flinched and jerked away from it on impulse, no time to recognize mentally that the shot had missed and his idea had worked. As soon as him mind had made the connection, though, he leapt back into the Deathslinger’s land, because he had no idea where the Shape was and if he was coming after him or not, but he wasn’t about to find out the hard way. Still not even risking a look over his shoulder, Quentin tore on towards the far border, only about four yards away now, and he recognized it without the ability to feel any emotion associated with the sight itself, only relief at the lack of another large person with a sharp object already visibly waiting just inside it to kill him.

It was Ormond. Snow, debris, and the ancient, rotting lodge. And Quentin dug deep and, in agony, made the last five feet faster than he’d ever run in his life, and then he was over. Feet crunching against the snow, breathing raggedly, and the second he was, he stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, fighting for breath, unable to keep running now that he didn’t have to, ripples of pain running up his torso with every movement, and feeling nauseous and lightheaded and awful, but so sick with relief he wanted to laugh.

Barely thinking functionally at all, Quentin clutched an arm to the wound in his stomach, and looked over his shoulder now that he could, and saw both of the others, the Deathslinger and the Shape: the Deathslinger right at the edge of the border, as far as he could go, furious, glowing eyes burning with hatred and fixed on Quentin, the Shape a few feet back and into Haddonfield, near the end of one of the streets that went nowhere, just watching in silence.

Swallowing hard, Quentin made himself get to his feet again. The moment he did, black seeped into his vision and he almost collapsed, and he stumbled a half-foot left and caught onto a large boulder to keep himself upright. S-shit. I’m. I’m not doing so hot, he realized in a kind of disconnected way. That…that made sense. He’d lost a lot of blood. For all he knew, he could be bleeding internally too. Even if he could stop the bleeding in his gut and his back, he still might die before he could make it back to the campfire for help. But at least he—

Behind him, Quentin heard a low laugh, and he froze and then turned slowly to look, and saw the Deathslinger was grinning at him. The man glanced down at the wound seeping blood and then back up at Quentin’s face, still smiling. He must have realized it too. Quentin shot him a furious look. Fuck you. Even if I don’t make it out, you still didn’t get me. And I’m gonna be fine. I. I-I just have to—to stop the bleeding. And then I can sneak out and find whichever one of these stupid realms borders the campfire, and I can get safely back to the others.

“You better run.”

The words had been spoken low, almost a whisper, but not the kind that was worried about being overheard. Darker than that. And horror and shock washed over Quentin, and he looked up again, eyes wide, and the Deathslinger was still just standing there smiling at him, glowing eyes fixed, eternally broken jaw hanging just a little bit wrong.

The tall man met his eyes then, and held up his right hand. Slowly, he turned his head and looked at the bright red staining his fingertips, and then he licked them, like he was tasting to see whose blood it had been and where they were hiding from him now. As he did, he met Quentin’s eyes again and held them, and his smile broadened just a little, and it wasn’t a good smile. It was hungry.

“We can all smell blood,” whispered the man.

No killer had ever spoken to him before—well—besides Krueger, which was different. They just—they didn’t. They never had. Never. And for an instant it petrified him, and then dread set in as the words hit home.

Fuck—fuck. He’s right. They all track us by how we bleed. And it’s worse than that—I have to move. He’ll want me to get caught even if it’s not by him—if I don’t get out of here, he’s going to start calling for the Legion and I’m fucked.

Quentin backed up, clutching at his stomach and staring at the Deathslinger in frozen horror, and then he turned, and with energy that had already been stretched far too thin, he ran.

Ran, or, tried to. He was so beyond exhausted though, it was practically a miracle he could move forward at all. He stumbled quickly through debris and snow, trying hard to go fast, and keep his footing, but after a few seconds, it was too hard to keep a pace like that going anymore. Ormond was different than the other realms too, like the Deathslinger’s ghost town. It was the only place with snow, and it was freezing here, and that wasn’t helping. Quentin was already shaking badly, and he didn’t know if it was temperature or blood loss or both, but God, he was so cold. He felt like the air itself was sucking the life out of him. H-had it—had it ever been this cold at Ormond in trials? He couldn’t remember, and he was having more and more trouble thinking right, and with no real idea anymore where he was going, Quentin plunged on through the snow in the darkness, towards the lodge, and then finally stopped, breathing hard, well out of sight of the border now and feeling a little safer for it, listening for sounds. There was nothing. No Deathslinger calling for the Legion, no shouts of the Legion noticing his presences. So. Maybe he’d made it. Maybe he was in the clear, and could hide now, and try to take care of the wounds.

…Only.

He realized it with a sinking heart, and slowly looked down at the snow behind himself, and there it was, plain as day. Footprints and a blood trail, leading back the way he’d come like a bright neon sign reading: “I’m already fucked up—Come kill me. It’ll be easy.” Even the worst killer at tracking in the world wasn’t going to miss something like that. If he’d been leaving an obvious trail before, back in the Deathslinger’s place, he was impossible to miss now. Bright red against crisp white snow. There was just. No way anyone would miss that.

“Fuck,” whispered Quentin out loud, trying hard to think, and having a harder and harder time doing it at all. He reached up with his left hand and found his necklace and held it in his fist, trying to draw some tiny modicum of comfort and reassurance from it, and he thought absently and with a twinge of pain in his chest like a muffled sob, how much his legs ached and his stomach was killing him, and how tired he was, and his legs gave out on their own at the thought like he’d asked them to, and no strength to resist that, Quentin slid down into the snow, back against some square hunk of metal he’d stopped by that must have had a mechanical purpose once that was lost on him now, out here in the ruins.

Everything was so impossible. And he was losing energy so fast that didn’t even scare him much anymore, and he knew that was bad—he knew it, but. Fuck. He still hadn’t even caught his breath after that last mad sprint, and he tried to do it now, huddled in the snow, shuddering. It was so cold.

C-come on, he tried to plead with his failing mind, You can figure this o-out. You made it. Just…just lie low, and stitch yourself up.

That had been the plan, right? Only. It wasn’t that simple now, he realized, looking up at what he could see of the dim, snow-covered terrain. There was no way he could stay awake long enough to fix himself up out here, and then just hunker down in a snowbank and wait to get his strength back. Every second, he was losing more and more of what little strength he had left, and with the blood loss and the cold both eating at that tiny reserve he still had, he’d never make it. Even if by some miracle he was wrong, and found a way to power through long enough to stitch himself shut, he’d freeze to death outside in a snowbank as weak as he was, which meant…

Quentin looked at the lodge, only about sixteen feet off now, maybe twenty. A big, empty, looming shape in the night, glowing oranges and yellows and reds leaking through cracks in boards and broken windows, promising warmth and safety inside. Promising shelter. But that was a lie, and he knew it, because that had to be where the Legion would be waiting.

Still, he considered, shuddering in the cold and keeping his arm firmly pressed to the hole in his gut. The lodge was big—two stories. It was a good place to hide, and creep around in trials, and that might still be true now. If he could make it upstairs, it would at least be warmer than outside, and the walls would protect him from the windchill. There were spots behind ancient couches and crates in some of the little rooms on the second story he might be able to get cover behind and not be discovered, even if he passed out. Plus, a blood trail would be harder to follow in there than out here in the snow. It was a shot, anyway. Better than any other option he had left.

Maybe, thought Quentin wearily, in a kind of disconnected way, feeling sick as he hooked his arm over the top of the square hunk of metal he’d slid down against and struggled to make it back to his feet, after…after all the bad luck I. …I just had back to back. Maybe Legion will be…in a trial, right now. Maybe I’ll have good luck, just once, and…

He tried to bear his weight on his legs alone and almost crumpled, and cursed under his breath, catching onto the hunk of metal with both arms shakily and dragging himself back up, then letting go more slowly. His vision felt fuzzy and off as he looked down at the spattering of red in the torn snow by his feet and the huge smear where he’d slid down along the old hunk of metal. Everything about it was wrong. It was like he was looking at the world through goggles that had fogged over. He tried blinking to refocus, but even after his third attempt he just…couldn’t focus right. He just couldn’t.

This is bad, thought Quentin, taking a step much more carefully and managing to stay upright this time, arm pressed against his abdomen again. He took another step, and then a third, focusing on breathing, trying to not think about how many more steps it was going to take just to make it inside the lodge. I’ve lost…lost too much…blood…and- He shut his eyes for a moment and took a long, deep breath, then opened them.

Come on. No giving up. He could do this. He’d lost a lot of blood, but he was alive, and he was thinking…okay still, anyway. Thinking coherently enough, he was pretty sure. So he could make it. He still had a shot. Come on. You can’t give up. Quentin dug the fingers on the arm pressed against his wound into his palm until it hurt, trying to focus on something beside the cold and the real pain in his stomach and the way each step was harder then the last, and he kept going, slowly, but steadier and steadier as he went, and he made it shakily into the open doorway of the waiting lodge.

It was different inside the lodge than it had been in trials. There were pieces of cloth with words and symbols on them hung up in some places like ripped flags, boxes, furniture and paraphernalia in places it wasn’t set in his memory. But at least the layout was basically the same. Staircase leading up on the far left side of the room, bar on the right. Dead ahead there was a little lowered area with cushions around a big open wood stove warming the massive room, and he wanted nothing more than to go crawl over and collapse against it in the hope it could produce warmth for him when he very shortly lost his ability to make his own anymore, but he couldn’t. That was the most conspicuous spot in the whole lodge, by far. He’d be found in seconds.

Upstairs, he told himself, forcing his legs to move again, and then two steps into the room, he stopped, feeling dizzy and sick, remembering for the first time that there was more than one way upstairs in the lodge. Right. Two…t-three staircases? Several, anyway. So. He should—should probably go back into the snow, right? Circle around the outside instead. There was a staircase outside that led up from out there too, in trials, at least one—he was sure of it. He could find it if he circled the exterior wall long enough. So…he…he had to, didn’t he? If he took the indoor one, he’d be leaving smears of blood all across the room on his way.

Quentin turned to face the snow again, beyond utter exhaustion, and his right leg buckled on him at the first step. He cursed in pain as he went down, and he tried to catch himself with his left leg, but he fell wrong, and the leg he’d been hoping to catch himself with caught against the arm pressed to his stomach as he went down, ramming it back and slamming it hard against the wound, and he fell forward and barely muffled a scream of pain as the impact sent debilitating waves of agony along his torso. He dropped against the floor and curled up, huddled there shuddering in a little ball, fighting not to make noise and to weather the pain tearing through him in agonizing waves until it subsided enough to think again. It took so long. But when the spasms finally stopped after what felt like an eternity, Quentin forced himself to open his eyes again. It was hard, but he did it, very, very slowly, and he tried to focus his vision on the wood grain of the wall opposite him. He had been tired before—he had been beyond tired, beyond exhausted, beyond a lot of things, but God. He was so fucked up, and overwhelmed, and lost, and the heaviness and exhaustion in his bones was so insurmountably stiff and painful that he felt like there was no energy left in the whole world. I’ll never make it upstairs, thought Quentin without enough strength left to feel a stronger emotion to accompany the thought than sad, I can’t.

For a moment, he stayed there, huddled in a little ball about a foot into the ancient Ormond lodge.

God, please. Please help me. I need a miracle or I’m gonna die here. I’m gonna die here, and Dwight… Just. Just please. Please. Anything. Please.

It was such a desperate and lonely thought, because it was the only hope he still had, but he tried to believe in it, even though there had been nothing but unanswered prayers and silence for years now. He found his necklace with trembling fingers and held it in his fist for a moment, eyes shut, trying to regain a little strength, and then slowly he opened them again and pushed himself up onto an elbow.

Come on. Get up. Get up. I know you can. … Fuck.

He had known it would be bad, getting run through by a spear gun like this—he’d fucking know what it’d feel like exactly, because it had happened to him a bunch of times already in trials, even though the Deathslinger had only been here a couple weeks. But he’d had no idea how serious the wound would be. In trials, you felt everything at complete reality. If you got hit in the head with a sledgehammer, it would feel like fucking getting smashed in the head with a sledgehammer. A hook ripping through your torso to hang you like a piece of meat would feel exactly as awful and unthinkable as the act did in reality. But in a trial, rules were different. You could be unhooked, and run around with a huge fucking hole in your shoulder, and that would never kill you. Never make you pass out. The shock of having a chainsaw slam into your shoulder wouldn’t make you faint, and save you from the pain. Nothing would. Quentin had definitely lost more blood than humans had in their bodies in a lot of trials, but that was just how they went. You’d feel the real sledgehammer to head pain, but not the aftereffects of that. Just the impact. It would happen, and be fucking agony, but you could keep running, head not actually bashed in beyond repair. The Entity must have put really specific rules in place to balance what could and could not cause fatality, or when someone could bleed to death—because he’d definitely fucking bled to death on the ground a lot of times too. But not every time he damn well should have. It might have been hard to explain exactly where the cutoff was, but even if Quentin had no real idea what the rules for a trial would have looked like on paper, he had a pretty good instinctive grasp on it. And the debilitating pain from being shot through your stomach was exactly like what he was feeling now, but the blood loss and weakness and nausea were new. And fuck, fuck they were taking him down fast—way faster than he’d thought. Was he dying? Am I? Fuck—how—o-oh shit. Fuck. God, he really, really hoped Dwight was okay. Shit. If this was messing him up this badly so fast, did that mean…? B-but he’d been in their forest at least, right? A few minutes from camp at most, and—and even if he hadn’t had the strength to make it back, if he had shouted for help, someone would have heard him, right? Someone would have been able to come. He wasn’t dying in the woods. He wasn’t. …God. Fuck. “Please. Please let him make it,” he prayed in a desperate whisper, trying to power through the bottoming-out fear that came with that thought, and ashamed he hadn’t thought of it faster, digging his shaky fingers into the pocked of his coat for the needle and thread he always kept there as he did.

Okay. Okay I still have it. That’s…something. Wait. I. I should…should find something to sit up against first, he thought wearily, looking around at what was near him. Usually there was a big stack of boxes and junk piled up by this entrance, between the outside and the couch up above the fireplace and lowered area in the center of the room, but that had all been moved in this version of the lodge. The couch was still up, but the boxes had been pushed closer to the walls, and set in different places. He’d walked right in the middle of this opening, and it had been a huge entryway. To craw to the wall on either side would have meant dragging himself about five feet at minimum, but he’d gotten lucky, and someone had left a couple of the big boxes from the wall that had been up here at one point, and the closest one was only about two and a half feet further into the room, and it looked pretty solid, and that, he thought, he could make. Could try to make, anyway, and he did, dragging himself painfully across the wood floor on his side, teeth gritted and breathing hard, and when he reached it he gave himself a second to breathe, and then with intense effort pulled himself up so his back was against it and let out a shaky breath.

Okay. No Legion yet. That was a mercy. Maybe he would keep getting lucky. If I can’t make it upstairs, I can at least try and stitch myself up here. Stop the bleeding, bandage it a little. I don’t have much, but I’ve got a roll of thread, a needle, and some gauze, and that’s okay for now. If I’m still too weak to go upstairs once I’m done, I’ll go crawl into one of the cabinets under the bar or something. I-I think I could make that, even like this, and I’d probably have…okay odds, of holing up there without getting found. Right? I know it’s a lot of blood, he added mentally, looking with shaky vision at the stain he’d left on the floor crawling to the box, But they won’t know to be looking for it, and they’re covered in blood all the time from killing us. Probably they have to track some in, right? Maybe that’ll…be…be enough, and…

Fingers trembling, he dug into his pocket again for the needle he already knew was there. It was okay. It would be. He could do this, he was sure of it. God, he hadn’t felt this awful in a long time though. For a moment he hesitated, and lifted the left arm he had pressed to the wound in his stomach away to try and get a look at the injury underneath. He couldn’t actually see the puncture at all though, through the fabric. Just blood. Fuck, I don’t even know how bad it is y—

“Hey!”

Quentin’s head shot up, a jolt of alarm shooting through him, and he looked across the room for the voice’s owner in horror. There was a hole in one of the walls caused by a cable car that had fallen and embedded there, and standing in the unintended entryway the old metal frame had created, stood the Legion.

Oh fuck.

Tall and menacing, elevated on the little platform, it loomed over him at a distance. The thing was one of the male ones, the one that wore all black. A hood up, thick belt slung over a shoulder, wickedly jagged and curved hunting knife in hand, white dripping skull painted on top of his cloth mask. The thing was staring at him like he couldn’t believe Quentin had had the audacity to exist in this space.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!” snapped the Legion at him in a mixture of anger and disbelief, and Quentin was so shocked he just stared up at it in horror, not remembering to speak in time, or move, or do anything, and then the looming figure moved and it came for him, incensed and advancing in long strides with a violent purpose, knife ready in hand. “You think you can just sneak onto our turf?”

“Wait!” said Quentin, snapping out of the moment of frozen horror as adrenaline he hadn’t known he still had kicked in and ignited panic. He tried frantically to use the box like a brace for his arms to help drag himself back to his feet, but the strain was enormous, and he was failing. Fuck! “Wait, wait, wait!” shouted Quentin desperately as the thing kept coming, talking so fast his words ran together, “I-I didn’t sneak in!—I got chased—" and then the Legion was on top of him, and he saw the guy lunge for him with the knife, and he flinched and gave up on trying to make his feet or talk and just threw his arms up to shield his head and fell back a little against the floor, shutting his eyes and trying to brace. The knife didn’t connect with his arms like he’d anticipated, but the Legion didn’t stop either. It shoved his arms aside with a burst of anger, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and dragged him violently up. Quentin cried out in pain and opened his eyes as the rough movement sent a wave of agony along his body. He instinctively clutched his wound with his right arm, struggling to deal with the pain, and while the agony of the first motion was still too much for him to even really process what was happening through it, the Legion jerked him closer and he fell forward, so beat to shit already that it was all he could do to try to catch himself with his left arm to keep from landing on his stomach at the guy’s feet. He wouldn’t have really had the strength to keep himself propped up like that, but he didn’t have to bother; the Legion wasn’t about to let go of him. It had a firm grip on his shirt and was keeping him suspended with it, radiating fury, and while he was still off-balance, the masked killer yanked him towards its face by his collar and leaned in close, shoving its knife against his throat. Quentin blanched at the touch of metal biting into his skin and turned his head away a little, breathing raggedly and closing the eye closer to the knife on instinct while trying to watch Legion with the other, struggling to bear some little bit of his weight on his left arm to keep from being dragged forward any more. It hardly mattered. It would take such little fucking effort for the thing grabbing him to drag the knife the three inches to the side it would take to slit his throat, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It had already drawn blood, and he could feel a little droplet running down his throat from where the knife had cut in.

“You fucked up coming here,” growled the Legion threateningly, adjusting its grip a little, and Quentin tried very hard to stay absolutely still, because the knife was pressed in so deep against his throat now that it would only take a fraction more effort to slit it sideways through the vein it was pressed in very, very close to.

He’s going to kill me, thought Quentin, staring into the face of the thing with its knife to his neck and feeling sick and overwhelmed, breathing too fast and too shallow now to really be able to get enough air into his lungs and feeling the pressure of the knife and the pain of it cutting in against every breath he took as he was hit mercileslly with memory after memory of having his guts ripped open by the guy above him. F-fuck. No. I- His arms were shaking. I should fight back—I could—

“Think you’re hot shit, huh?” snapped the Legion jerking him and drawing a little more blood with the knife.

“It was an accident!” pleaded Quentin desperately, meeting the Legion’s eyes and hoping there might be some little bit of a person left inside this thing that hunted him and the people he loved endlessly in the fog, but all there was in the dark brown eyes looking back was anger, like he’d known there would be. Killers didn’t listen. They didn’t care. There was no hope to be found appealing to them, and there never would be. “I didn’t—” started Quentin, still trying even though he knew it would be futile, because it was all he had left, but he barely got the two words out before the Legion flung him backwards against the ground without warning and with so much force that for a second after impact he couldn’t breathe at all.

“An accident?” the Legion gave a disbelieving almost laugh, tone still violent and full of fury, but his voice sounded distorted to Quentin’s hearing now, and he barely took the words in at all. The impact had stung, and his head swam from it, throbbing pain running down his backbone and ribs as he lay on his side where he’d fallen. He needed to get back up. Needed to fight, or to run, but he didn’t have the energy to do either. Come on—fuck it! Please! Please try! You can’t give up like this! Just try! Please. Please try.

Quentin gritted his teeth, beating down his body’s urge to cry at the pain it was feeling, and dug his fingernails into the wood grain of the floor. Fighting desperately with everything he had left to focus, to find some way to move. You can’t pass out. You can’t. Please. Come on. Try. Come on!

Above him, he was aware of the Legion straightening up and moving beside him, talking as it did, but its voice still sounded muffled and off. Quentin couldn’t make it off his side, so he turned his head to look up at the killer, breaking raggedly. Struggling to make out words.

“Now you’re gonna pay,” said the Legion darkly, and he kicked him.

Quentin realized what would happen and tried to shout something, but it turned into a scream of anguish as the shoe collided with the injury in his gut. Debilitating pain shot through him on impact, and he jerked, and his vision went white, and then all that there was was intense agony and unbelievable suffering. So awful, so overwhelming, so much of it, that for a second, he thought it had killed him.

But it hadn’t. He was still awake, still aware. Somehow. Somehow the pain wasn’t enough for his body to be willing to give in, even now. And then he felt himself convulse, but it was different—it wasn’t like that motion had ever felt before. It was barely like he was in his body at all anymore, and the pain was gone then, mostly, with the convulsion, and he just felt exhausted and absent and disconnected and sick. His vision came back blurry, and he felt himself tremble and shudder violently again, and then again, more weakly, and he realized what that was, and just stared emptily at nothing on the far side of the room as he faintly felt the sensation of blood seeping out of his stomach and against his limbs as it started to puddle around him.

It did kill me, thought Quentin hollowly, feeling sick, and heartbroken, and distressed over the fact that he couldn’t feel even those things very strongly. That there was no one to say goodbye to, or to ask to tell Dwight none of it had been his fault and that he was just glad he’d made it. …If …if he’d made it…

But there was no one to say that to. And Quentin knew what it was that was happening to him, because he had seen it happen to animals when they died. Jerking like this. There was a name for it he couldn’t remember. He didn’t have the energy. Not for that, or for anything anymore.

God, it was lonely. It was so lonely. It was scary in a way he had never thought about before and couldn’t even really understand because there wasn’t time to. But he was afraid of the loneliness, he just. He wished there could have been. People. Friends. Any of them. When…

Seeking the only comfort he had left, Quentin tried to move his hand up to find his necklace, and couldn’t.

Something touched him then, and flipped him over onto his back, and he looked up with blurry, failing vision as his body shuddered again, and he watched the Legion stare down at him in an almost frozen shock. It bent quickly and tugged up the bottom of his shirt and took in the wound, and it said something he couldn’t really hear.

At least the…pain stopped…

Quentin took an agonizingly shaky breath, and struggled to keep his eyes open. He didn’t want to die. To. To just…give in. But it. It was hard. His eyes kept shutting on their own and he could only force them up for little fragments of time before he’d lose to the weariness that had overcome him and they would shut again. He felt another shudder run along his body, but it was different this time. His vision started to go dark with it, and it didn’t come all the way back this time when he opened his eyes again. He felt like since he knew he was dying, he should do something—say something. He wanted to—he needed to. But. He. …he didn’t…didn’t know what...to...and...he was…alone…no one left to…

Above him, the Legion said something again, but he couldn’t hear it at all this time. Could barely even make out its lips moving. It put a hand on his gut and he faintly felt a dull ache at the touch, and the black-clad figure tugged off its mask, and he couldn’t understand why it would have done that, but for just a second he was seeing a guy, maybe…maybe eighteen or something? Looking down at him, with an expression that was hard to place. And the Legion said something kind of frantically, but there was no sound Quentin could make out to accompany the blurry visual. He felt his body giving up and tried to fight against it, desperately wanting to live, but the exhaustion overcame him then and his eyes shut and wouldn’t open again this time, and his consciousness faded with it only a few seconds after, and Quentin blacked out, dying in a pool of blood in Ormond at the feet of the person who’d killed him.

[part 2]

#dbd #long post #dead by daylight #New Dawn Fades #writing #dead by daylight fic #dbd fic #New Dawn Fades (fic)#Joey Harmin #Quentin Smith #dbd Joey #The Legion #For the record I actually think Caleb would be one of the lest cruel killers. Survivors have no reason to like. Except that from him here?#and he is still new. Canonically the Entity influences his vision to make him think he's seeing people who wronged him in life & while prob #he would eventually figure that out--at least off & on if the Entity is able to mess with his memories--I don't think he's /quite/ there yet #during this fic? I think he's not stupid #so he knows something is very much up and very off but he's also still very like. disoriented. And doesn't know what /is/. fun tidbit: when #Dwight begs him not to kill him and Caleb goes to hit him with the gun butt I don't think he was planning to kill him. If he was he'd have #stabbed. Don't think he wanted to like torture either. I think he was planning to take him as a prisoner to get information out of bc he's #curious and also super disoriented and doesn't know what /is/ happening & dislikes that and being used/imprisoned. But ofc the boys had no #way to know that. He /was/ trying to kill Quentin but that's bc he was hurt/enraged and acting on impulse after getting injured and then #again after getting stabbed in the knee. He did /not/ want to let them both get away and get nothing out of the exchange so he def stepped #up the violence levels. But for the record I don't think he initially just like. Wanted to kill or draw out torture/hurt either of them.#Man wanted to capture and get answers. He actually isn't super threatening Quentin near the end either. He's doing that a little bc he's #pissed. But it's like. Both a 'okay but this ain't over you little rat' and a 'since you /did/ make it out fair warning that you better keep #running' bc Caleb has a sense of like. Fairness/honor among thieves. Which is why while he p would have killed Quentin to stop him from #escaping. Once the kid had he did not actually call Legion to give away his location or up his odds of being killed. Begrudging respect.#but also still v mad about the knee and bc he doesn't know the situation but his current understanding is that they are some kind of enemies #changed the title bc this one fits better (thanks Spek) ^u^

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eyeofmud · 4 years

Text

my holiday exchange gift to @shadesyste <3 happy wintersend!

My dear Reina,

I do hope this letter finds you quickly, seeing as you are now a remarkably hard woman to track down. It has been too long without hearing you, seeing you, so I find myself compelled to send this. I say so long, it has hardly been a month since I left Ferelden behind and I while I can still feel the chill of its winter under my skin I find my thoughts wandering to warm nights. Fortunately, there are other things to occupy my time than cleaning my dagger.

Spring has arrived in Antiva, finally, and the streets bustle with far more activity than your Ferelden cities. I cannot say I miss the quiet there but I can say I have missed some of your noise. The docks are the loudest, with the waves and the shouting sailors vying for attention with street market hawkers. One day I shall bring you here, the port of Antiva City is a sight everyone should see at least once. It shines in the sunlight, but it is the shadows I am interested in, but you know this. The city is alive in more ways than one, though if I am successful it will not be quite so lively for long. But that is for the future and today all I wish to tell you is I have arrived back in my city and already I find myself yearning for the place I just left.

I have missed many things, in truth. I have missed the warm sun of my Antiva more than I can describe to you but it pales in comparison to how my arms ache to hold you. I have missed the sound of your breathing next to me and the softness of your hair between my fingers. When you wake do you do so with my name on your lips as I do yours?

Ah, pretty words are they not? I found them in a book of poetry an urchin left in an old weapon stache I should have known would be pilfered. But they are true of a sort, and if I were to add my own words they would fall short. Maybe I will keep the book, and read from it to you when I see you again.

Until we next meet,

-Z

My dear Reina,

Yesterday I found myself slipping through a festival held in a city square. I wasn’t on festival business of course, but one cannot find themselves in a dance without joining in no? Even before I could see it I could hear the music and smell the flowers, light bouncy melodies and red carnations littered the streets far ahead of the celebration. In summer the cities often reek of rotting fish and leather but today the only thing in the air is the scent of soft petals. Even the backstreets held an air of anticipation for the festivities. I admit I stopped and lingered for a moment, hidden in an alley near the main square. There is nothing better than listening to dancers just around the corner. Except being a dancer I suppose. Would you ever want to dance in a square surrounded by flowers and music? I doubt in the Circle you had much reason to dance, I could teach you. Just imagine in, my hands on your hips and your body close to mine and my lips by your ear.

Can you picture it caro? Sweet carnations on your tongue, the music bright and swinging, my fingers brushing your skin as we dance. The summer sun would not be able to keep up with you, mi amor. I took a flower, one of the far too many to be missed carnations, and hopefully, by the time this letter reaches you, it will be sufficiently dried out. But who knows, I have never sent a pressed flower before. There are many things I have never done before meeting you. Perhaps you can say the same, and we can keep teaching each other.

Yours,

-Z

My dear Reina,

I hear you have been busy making a name for yourself after I left, saving cities from darkspawn and rebuilding the Wardens from the ground up. Dangerous business for anyone else. Tell me you do not sleep with any windows open, though if you do I am sure you are never defenseless. You are a remarkable woman, amor, and I am proud of what you have accomplished even if I cannot yet tell you myself. But, soon, I think I will. What passes for autumn here is beginning to arrive and it finds only empty darkness with its chilly winds. When I am done here I will return to you before anything else. I can think of nothing else I wish for once this is over, and yet I also find myself wondering of all the places I could show you here in Antiva. A busy, beautiful woman such as yourself deserves a hard-won vacation do you agree?

I still have the poetry book, if you are curious. Most nights I would read one or two, comparing them and thinking about which ones would make you laugh so the corners of your eyes crinkle up or the ones which would curl your lips like you do when you’re trying not to laugh or the ones you would genuinely enjoy. When I read them to you you must tell me which ones I got right.

Soon I will see you again, hold you again. Reina, amor, it has been a long time without you but now there is no shadow over us. No darkness between us. You are a busy woman, even from Antiva I can see the tension in your shoulders. When I return will you allow me to ease them? Have you missed me as I have missed you? It is far too late at night for me to be writing this, my candle burns low even as I try to put my thoughts into words fast enough.

Soon,

-Z

Smoothing out the last of Zevran’s letters Reina places a hand against the heavy parchment. It only arrived yesterday but he must have written it well over a week ago. Cold air sighs gently across Reina’s ankles as she retrieves her own parchment and pen, raising goosebumps on her skin. Shivering she adjusts the shawl she’d grabbed to go over her nightgown, glancing towards her now open window. When did this happen, she could have sworn she closed it when night fell. Reina stands, she needed a new ink well anyways, and crosses her bedroom quietly.

Outside the stars shine brightly over Vigil’s Keep and the chilly breeze whistles across the scaffolding holding the tower together. Looking out Reina can’t make out much beyond the shadows of night falling across the stone and wood, must have just been the wind blowing the window open.

“Amor, I told you to lock your windows at night.”

In her chest, Reina’s heart stops. The letter had read soon but she never thought- And yet his voice is in her ear and hands she’s dreamt about for a year are wrapping around her waist from behind and there’s no air, no air in her lungs because Zevran has stolen it from her in a breathless kiss. He tastes like forgotten memories and starlight and Reina throws herself into the kiss, wraps her own arms around him and holds him to her like she thought she might never again. But it doesn’t matter now, how often she read his letters or how much she missed him, because Zevran returned to her. Just like he promised.

A kiss tasting of salt, starlight falling on a pressed carnation.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #zevwarden #zevran x warden #zevran arainai #reina amell #<3

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zecretsanta · 4 years

Text

Fic: Scavenging

To: @gaulemtypefemale-dm-l-016

From: @electric016

Merry Christmas, gaulemtypefemale-dm-l-016! Tenmyouji and Quark are my faves, so I’m always excited for an excuse to write about them! This fic sort of wandered off in a weird direction, but hopefully it’s all still in character and more importantly I hope you like it!

Ao3 Link

It had been about four months since the end of the Nonary Game and life with the Tenmyoujis had finally returned to normal. Even after the excitement of the moon and a second Nonary Game, there were still chores to be done and scrap to scavenge.

“Quark!” Tenmyouji called out, “Are you up yet? We need to get going.”

“Coming, grandpa!” came the disgruntled and tired voice behind his grandson’s door.

“You’re going to miss breakfast!” Tenmyouji called again, cracking a couple of eggs into the frying pan.

“I’m coming!”

Tenmyoji smirked to himself, knowing that before long he’d have a teenager to contend with. The thought was simultaneously amusing and terrifying as hell.

The door to Quark’s bedroom creaked open. The boy emerged mostly dressed. He wore a khaki pair of shorts and a t-shirt. His arm was in one sleeve of a jacket.

“Finally. I thought I was going to have to eat all of this by myself.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know, I’m feeling pretty peckish.”

Quark slumped into a chair by the kitchen table, leaning his head in his arms and muttered something in audible.

“What was that?”

“I’m going to eat them!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Tenmyouji placed a plate of eggs and toast and beans before his grandson. He knew he’d perk up a bit once he’d had some food. Mornings had always been a bit of a struggle with the boy, and Tenmyouji had a sneaking suspicion they’d only get worse the closer they got to Quark’s teenage years.

He joined his grandson at the table with a matching plate of food and a hot drink he’d like to say was coffee, in that it was dark and brown and bitter, but was actually a rather horrible root tea. He did enjoy the warmth and habit of it though.

“Where are we going today?” Quark asked, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth.

Tenmyouji put his fork down. “Well, I was thinking of maybe trying something different today,” he said slowly.

“Yeah?” Quark asked, looking curious.

Tenmyouji nodded. “I’ve been thinking. I’m not getting any younger and I might like to start thinking about retirement. Now don’t give me that face, nothing to get worried about. I’m just thinking an extra day off or two every week might be nice.”

“What does that mean?” Quark inquired, studying his grandpa incredulously.

“Well, what do you say you go out by yourself today? No supervision. I won’t be breathing down your neck or micromanaging what you find. I trust you.”

“What? Really?” “Sure! You’ve been at this for how many years now? I think it’s time for a promotion.”

Quark immediately perked up--it was as if his sleepiness were totally forgotten. “So where should I go?”

“Hmmm.” Tenmyouji took a swig of his tea. “Where would you suggest going if you were in charge?”

“Well.” Quark looked thoughtful, scratching the back of his neck as he thought. “There’s that old food processing plant in the next town over we saw last time we were there. I could start there.”

“Yes, I suppose you could. It’s an awful long walk though.”

“What? Aren’t you going to give me a ride?”

“Nope. I’m going to be enjoying my day off here.”

“Can I drive the truck then?” Quark asked eagerly.

“How are you going to push the pedals and steer at the same time? Nice try, kiddo. Maybe once you’ve got a bit more height on you.”

“Aww. So I guess somewhere I can walk to, huh?”

“Unless you’re planning on hitchhiking.” Quark opened his mouth. “I’m kidding. You’re absolutely not hitchhiking.”

“Well. In that case, there’s that old abandoned radio station. That might be a good spot to start with.”

“That’s not a bad idea at all.” Tenmyouji rubbed his chin. “I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone else having gone through it. I think that’d be a good place to start.”

After cleaning up breakfast and feeding the chickens, Quark got packed up to go out on his mission.

He looked a little as if he were about to set off for school, and it gave Tenmyouji a weird sense of misplaced nostalgia.

“Alright, you got everything you need?”

“Yes, Grandpa!”

“You got your lunch?”

“In my pack.”

“Radio transmitter?”

“Over and out,” Quark said pulling the radio out of his pocket and speaking directly into it.

“Okay. I think you’re set. If you run into any trouble, be sure to give me a call. Or you can give Red or Marco a call if they’re in range. But don’t bug them unless you need to.”

“Okay. What are you going to do today?”

“Hmm. Well I might drop off a loaf of bread with Clover and Alice and see how they’re doing. But mostly I think I’m going to catch up on some reading.”

“Sounds good! Tell them I said hi!��

“Will do, kiddo. Take care now.”

“Bye, Grandpa! See you later!”

Quark set out with a spring in his step. It was a good feeling, knowing his grandpa trusted him enough to send him out to work by himself, and quark was confident he’d be perfectly fine by himself. Really it wasn’t too much different than usual. Usually they’d travel together to a scavenging location, and then split up. They’d meet up for lunch and then go back to scavenging.

Quark enjoyed scavenging with his grandpa--well at least when he wasn’t getting in trouble for messing around. He liked when Tenmyouji found something particularly interesting or unique, he would call Quark over and explain exactly what it was and how it worked and how it could be used to turn a profit.

The novelty of striking out on his own was still fresh; however, so he was really looking forward to being totally in control.

The abandoned radio station was only about a 45-minute walk from their home. Three of the station’s call sign remained: K LV. Quark decided it must have been a Q. Ever since he was a kid, he always enjoyed recognizing his initial on buildings and signage. Q for Quark.

Breaking in was fairly easy. It seemed a lot of offices and commercial buildings weren’t secured during the radical-6 outbreak. They found so many that were simply left unlocked and ready to be explored.

Tenmyouji had trained Quark well and he knew the first thing he had to do was check for signs that the building might not be safe to enter. But this one seemed to be structurally sound.

Quark pulled his lantern from his backpack and switched it on, illuminating the hallway before him. The halls were dark and musty, dust floated up through the air as he entered. An ancient fire escape map on the wall gave him his bearings, outlining where there server rooms were and where he was likely to find the sound equipment.

He was aware from a theoretical standpoint that fear of the dark was pretty common, and he liked to tell himself that he wasn’t afraid of the dark at all. Why would someone who spent their life exploring dark rooms and who found a thrill in discovering the most remote nooks and crannies be afraid? The truth of course was that he still felt a little flutter of anxiety whenever he entered a new room.

Steeling himself, he turned the handle to the recording room.

“Huh,” Quark said aloud to himself, filling the hallway with the sound of his voice. “Won’t budge.” He turned the handle again and shoved his shoulder against the door. But still it remained stuck.

“Guess this calls for a little back up.”

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small crowbar. Wedging it between the door and frame, he leaned his weight against the metal.

Finally the door gave way and there was a whoosh of air as the seal on the room was broken and the pressure between rooms equalized.

He stood in the doorway, an apprehensive chill going up his spine and shone his lantern into the room. The light bounced off the large glass window in front of the control panel. There was a work chair turned slightly towards him and it gave him a start when he realized it held the remains of a slumped skeleton.

Quark was used to seeing skeletons. He knew many of them were victims of the radical-6 outbreak. He knew it was harder for his grandpa to see the skeletons and be reminded of what it was like to live through the fall of humanity. For Quark they were relics of a bygone age. Sad, but no more sad than a mummy in a museum. They did startle him every now and again though.

“Sorry to bother you,” Quark addressed the skeleton. “I hope you don’t mind, I’m just coming in to collect some parts.” His grandpa had taught him that the line between life and death is thin. Sometimes the only thing that decided what side you were on was chance. It was important to always be respectful of the dead.

“This is a pretty interesting set up you have here,” Quark told the skeleton, setting his lantern on the ground, and pulling out an additional flashlight from his bag. “I have a small radio, but it’s nowhere near as powerful as what you had going on here. I mostly just use it for calling people. Grandpa said you used to play music from here all across the city. We’re not allowed to do that anymore.” Quark affected a mocking adult voice, “‘Public radio stations are for official use only.’ They only play boring things like news and public service announcements. I think it’d be much cooler if they played music.”

Quark situated himself on the floor beside a control panel and pulled off the metal grating. “Ah yeah, I should be able to get a lot of good stuff from this. Thanks for keeping an eye on it for me.”

As Quark got to work he continued chatting to the remains in the chair, “You know, this is my first job out all by myself? Usually I travel with my grandpa. But he trusted me to go out by myself this time.” He glanced over to the skeleton. “I know he’s not telling me exactly what happened on the moon--oh yeah! I went to the moon recently.

“It’s a bit of a long story. Originally Grandpa thought we were going to meet an old friend of his, so we got all dressed up and everything, but then it turned out it was this weird game. It was actually kind of scary, but I didn’t want anyone to think I was a baby.”

He was silent for a moment, working through a tangle of wires. “You know, I think something bad might have happened to me up there. Apparently we were all infected with radical-6, and Grandpa said it was fine, but I don’t know. I was asleep for a lot of what happened. I think maybe it made me sicker than he wants me to know.”

Quark was quiet again. Working in the dark room by the light of his lantern and flashlight.

“Actually, I think he’s still worried about me,” Quark confided to the skeleton. “He’s been a little more overprotective, and it’s very nice of him, but to be honest it’s been a little annoying. I know he feels guilty about the whole thing, but I wish he wouldn’t. I don’t remember anything bad happening, so it’s all fine, right?”

The skeleton didn’t respond, but Quark said, “I know, I should probably be telling him this, huh?”

Still no response from the skeleton.

“Yeah, you’re right. But Grandpa can be so awkward about feelings.” Quark sighed.

“No, you’re right, it’s still better to say something. But it’s still a good sign that he’s sending me out on my own, isn't it? Maybe it means he’s getting over it.”

Quark sat back. “Okay well I think I’m good with everything here for now. Maybe I’ll come back on my day off, but I want to have a look at some of the other rooms while I’m here. Thank you for your company!”

Quark zipped up his bag and hauled it back onto his back. He briefly placed his hands together in a quick gesture of prayer for the skeleton, then headed on to the next room.

When Quark got home that evening his pack was full of useful wires and connectors. He was feeling pretty satisfied with his haul.

“Grandpa! I’m home!”

“Hey! Welcome back! How’d you do?”

“Really great! I found so much stuff! Do you want to take a look?”

“Hmmm. No, I think I’m good. How about tomorrow we go into town and you can try your hand at bartering? I’ll come along as your back-up of course. But I trust you. I know you did well.” He ruffled his grandson’s hair.

“Sounds good! And then do you want to go back to the radio station the day after?”

“I think maybe that day we can head out to the food processing facility. You can save the radio station for my days off.”

“Okay!”

“Alright, now go wash up and you can help me cook dinner.”

“Hey, Grandpa?”

“Hm?”

“I just wanted to say, thanks for trusting me to go out on my own. I know you’re really worried about me, especially after the Nonary Game, but I really am fine.”

“What’s this all of a sudden?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to say thank you.” He gave his grandpa a quick hug, then darted off to the bathroom to wash up.

Tenmyouji was bemused, but relieved. After the Nonary Game he’d been so worried that Quark would have come away from the experience clingy and paranoid. And truth be told--that was probably just a projection of his own feelings. Quark seemed fairly unfazed by the whole situation having been asleep for the most terrifying portions of it.

He was glad Quark seemed so thrilled with having this new opportunity for independence. Listening to Quark babble away about the adventures of his day, it sounded like he was happy to have the time to himself. And in his whole long life, there was only one truth that he had found to be absolute. When Quark was happy, he was happy.

#zecret santa 2019 #virtue's last reward #gaulemtypefemale-dm-l-016 #electric016

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dimpled-gukkie · 5 years

Text

Give and Take

Moodboard made by @i-am-today-we-will-survive

Pairing: student heiress! Feminine Reader x art student!Jeon Jungkook ft. platonic best friend Kim Taehyung. (Brief appearances made by Park Jimin, Min Yoongi, and Kim Seokjin).

Word Count: 20.5k

Warnings: mentions of drinking, taking pain meds (not abusively), belittling parents, incarceration, slight cursing, and allusions to feeling depressive

Genre: Fluff w/ some angst, S2L, College au, kinda a coffee shop au but barely

A/n: I’m sorry I’m a day late on this, I really thought I could get this whole thing written out but I was 4k short yesterday. I promise to get better at time management and not overextend myself. Anyways, yesterday I hit a milestone so this fic is also like a celebration to that. Hopefully you guys enjoy it!

Summary: Love has never come easy to you; you would say you even question if it exists. So when your parents hound you about finding a boyfriend to improve the company image you panic. The only boy you trust enough to bring home is Jeon Jungkook but he doesn’t quite match your parents ideal which means you need to give him a bit of a makeover. Along the way can Jungkook prove to you that love is real or will he just re-affirm your beliefs that it’s a lie?

Your heels clack against the linoleum floors, each step making you wince at the harsh sounds. It’s a stark contrast to the gentle thud of your converse, and you keep your head down as you pass through the hallways. People turn to stare at you as you walk by and you wind your arms around your middle in an effort to comfort yourself. If it were up to you, you’d be tucked into a pair of leggings and and a thin sweater, just warm enough to protect you from the cool breezes of spring. Instead you’re in what could best be described as a summer dress because your father’s words keep going through your head. The first impression is the only thing that matters, so always dress yourself well. In your own mind, you’re merely setting yourself up for being able to wear sweats for the rest of the semester.

Casting a sparing glance to your phone, your eyes widen in surprise when you notice the time. Class begins in three minutes and you have to cross the entire building. Picking up your pace, you’re nearly to the lecture hall when you smack into someone’s chest while rounding a corner. Papers fly and the sound of a million pencils rolling across the tile haunt you. You’ll surely be late if you stop and help them but you accept your fate. Hastily you swipe the pencils and paper nearest to you, shuffling them into a haphazard pile. The person you crashed into says nothing as you both grab their belongings, only grunting in annoyance. Once everything you can see is collected, you give them the pile of paper and pens that threatens to capsize in your arms. “I’m so sorry.” You begin, looking up to see a pair of dark brown eyes glaring back at you. Their icy gaze causes chills to run up your spine and you find yourself backtracking. “I-I wasn’t looking where I was going and it’s all my fault-“ A deep blush creeps onto your cheeks as the stranger breaks out into a lazy grin, amused by your nervous antics.

“It’s alright, no big deal.” You nearly get whiplash from his icy stare turning into molten pools as his eyes crinkle around the edges.

“Well-“ You clear your throat. “Alright then. I have to get to class.” Scurrying past him, you catch a glimpse of a fond smile but don’t pay it much mind. After all, you know too well how fake smiles can be. Upon entering the classroom, all eyes turn to you and you awkwardly shuffle towards an open seat. Of course they’re left in the front row, meaning everyone in the lecture hall watches you plop into your chair and throw your head onto the table in embarrassment.

“Well now that it seems that everyone is here,” The professor looks at you pointedly.”We may now begin. It should be noted that since this is an upper level business class, I expect you all to dress accordingly. That means no sweats, leggings, or anything less than business casual.” The class lets out a collective groan causing the professor to roll his eyes. “In less than two years, you’ll be entering the work force where you’ll be treated as professional adults. It’s about time you start looking like it.” With that the professor turns back to his slides, beginning his presentation. You could tell this was going to be a long semester.

A grueling two hours later, you’re finally free and make a break for the door. You’re not sure if you can handle a whole semester of that man. His monotonous voice nearly drove you to sleep, but his sharp eyes kept you from dozing off. It was clear he had disdain for his job and you were worried he would take it out on your class. Taehyung is waiting faithfully outside of the classroom, leaning against the wall directly across. He opens his arms wide when you emerge from the classroom and you hide inside his chest. Nothing is as comforting as crawling into your best friends arms after a rough morning. “How was your first class of the day?” He mumbles against the crown of your head. Sighing you press yourself further into him as you answer. “That bad huh?” He chuckles giving you a squeeze.

“I want to go back to the apartment.” You whine. You and Taehyung have been roommates since the end of your freshman year when the dorms dumped you both out onto the streets. They don’t appreciate when you smuggle dogs into them apparently. It was on the fateful day, surrounded by your Prada luggage and Taehyung surrounded by his Gucci, that you decided to be roommates. For most it was probably a bad idea to move in with a random stranger, but you and Taehyung clicked so quickly that by the end of the day you were best friends.

“Me too. I miss Tannie already.”

“We can skip?” You offer, giving off your best smile. It’s hard to want to go to class when you hate your major.

“First impressions are the most important remember?” He wiggles his eyebrows and you regret telling him your whole life story.

“Don’t remind me. Besides my classes suck.” You’re back to whining because being sweet isn’t working.

“I know.” He rubs his hands down the length of your spine soothingly. “But college is almost over and then when you get the company you can sell it.”

“I’m sure my dad will love that. He won’t even let me take the classes I want.” Glancing around, the hall is void of any other students, the rest already heading to their next class. You should be too, but you’d rather be with Taehyung.

“You don’t have to take classes to make it as a writer.” Taehyung points out. You appreciate that he always tries to see the bright side, but sometimes you just want to complain.

“Yeah. I wish my parents were more like yours though.”

“I don’t think so. At least your parents care, in their own twisted way. I don’t even think I really have a family at this point.” He chuckles lightly but you’ve known him for long enough to know it’s to cover his sorrow. He’s pretty good at hiding behind a smile but you’ve know him too well for it to ever fool you.

“You have me. You’re my family.” Glancing up, chin resting on his chest, you watch as a small smile makes its way onto his features.

“And you’re mine. We’re our own two person family.”

“Exactly. And why would you want any more members when you already have the best?”

“Did-did you just refer to yourself as the best?” Taehyung pushes you from his chest and holds onto your shoulders, keeping you at arms width. He suppress the smile trying to make its way onto his face.

“What? No-no I meant you!” You both fall into a fit of giggles and Taehyung pulls you back into him.

“I know bubs, you’re just too fun to tease. Now come on, let’s head to class. I’ll walk you there.” Pouting you let Taehyung drag you to your next class and sadly wave goodbye to him. You never have any classes together, aside from that rare time there’s an elective you both manage to snag. Taehyung majors in Art History, something he is actually passionate about, but always manages to be there to walk you to and from classes. You really don’t know what you did to deserve him. Inside, the classroom is already pretty full, only a few seats empty here or there. Walking towards the back, you sit down quietly next to a boy with his head down. Taking out your AirPods you pop them in to listen to some music before class starts. Taehyung always makes sure that you arrive a little early to class, the only exception being this morning because he has a class earlier than your own. You just hit play on your music when the boy next to you turns to face you. Looking over you realize it’s the same one from this morning.

“Oh hi.” You wave awkwardly and take one earbud out.

“Hi.” He smiles and now that you have the time to really look at him you notice his whole face crinkles when he grins. “Airpods huh?” He gestures to the one in your hand.

“Yeah. I don’t speak broke.” You both fall into a fit of giggles at your lame joke and you reach out to give your earbud to him. “You can listen too if you want. I wouldn’t say my playlist is the best but it’s good enough.” Grinning he takes it and bops his head dramatically to the beat coming from them.

“I don’t know what you mean. This is great.” Rolling your eyes you slide your phone over to him with the music app open.

“Fine then. You pick something.”

“Let me show you what intellectuals listen to.” His grin becomes earsplitting as he shields the device from your prying eyes and you gradually become more concerned. You shouldn’t have trusted him. The beginning of Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley begins to trickle through the speakers and you try your best to snatch the phone back from him but he holds it out to his other side.

“I can’t believe you just rick rolled me.” You groan, struggling to hide a laugh of your own. “I don’t even know you yet and you’re already messing with me.” He turns to you suddenly serious and his face falls.

“You mean, you share your headphones with just anybody?” Pouting he hands you back the device and guilt already begins to eat away at you.

“No I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t really share them with anybody but I’m comfortable around you for some reason even though we only met this morning so I guess we’re not really stra-“

“I’m just teasing.” He cuts you off from your rambling. “I’m Jungkook.” He says sticking out his hand. Gently you place yours in his and he shakes it firmly.

“Y/n.”

“There you go, now we’re not strangers.” He smiles and you find yourself smiling back. You’re not sure what exactly makes you trust him so much. He’s just so warm and bright, reminiscent of Taehyung. He makes you feel safe and protected, something you haven’t really felt in a long time. Maybe it’s a mistake, but you decide that you want to keep him around. The professor enters the room and calls for your attention, effectively ending the conversation.

That night you’re curled up next to Taehyung on the couch of your apartment, the dogs sprawled across your laps. “Who was that boy in your second class?” Taehyung asks, absentmindedly playing with your hair.

“Taehyung there’s lots of boys in my second class. You need to be more specific.”

“The one with the red hair. He kept glancing at you when we were talking after your class.” You rack your mind for someone with red hair before mentally facepalming.

“That’s Jungkook. I think we’re friends now.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you.

“Really? You don’t really trust people after him.”

“Yeah I know, but there’s just something about Jungkook. He makes me feel safe.”

“Well that’s good. I’ll have to meet him though, make sure he knows that if he ever hurts you I’ll beat his ass.”

“Tae we only just became friends.” You groan hiding your face in his neck.

“I don’t care. As long as we’re best friends it’s my job to make sure no one will hurt you.”

“Ah yes, big bad Taehyung. You’ll really scare them away with that boxy smile.” You tease pinching his soft cheeks for extra measure.

“Shut up.” He swats your hands away. “Besides I have a very manly voice. I’ll just use that to my advantage.” Nodding you rest your head against his shoulder, attention focusing back on the tv. “You tired?” Taehyung asks softly. You lightly nod in response. “Come on then.” Gently he scoops you up and places you onto your bed, shuffling the comforter up to your chin. “Sleep well okay?” Nodding, you watch with half-lidded eyes as he walks over towards your door. “Goodnight bubs.”

“Goodnight Tae.

The next morning you’re enjoying your day without class, walking hand in hand with Taehyung. He swings your connected hands in large swooping motions, giggling childishly at the action. “Ahh I missed this.” He says and you roll your eyes, albeit your heart does grow a tad warmer.

“Tae we see each other everyday. We live together.”

“Yeah but it’s not the same. I have you all to myself today.” Grinning he pulls you into him, stopping to give you a bear hug in the middle of the street. Hugging him back tightly you rub his upper back, sensing a shift in his attitude. Maybe something happened last night after you went to bed that upset him and is making him so starved for affection.

“You okay?” You murmur into his ear, ignoring the annoyed grunts and huffs of air the people around you are giving.

“Your parents called me last night.” You feel yourself turn rigid in his arms, and this time it’s Taehyung rubbing soothing circles down your back.

“Why? What did they want?” You’re not exactly sure how they got Taehyung’s number seeing as they only know him from the time they stopped by your apartment uninvited. They were solely against the idea of you living with a male until they found out Taehyung also came from a wealthy family. They couldn’t stop talking about him and pressuring you to make a move until you broke the news that Taehyung was already engaged to someone else. Truthfully, Taehyung was just as single as you but your parents would never accept the fact that you and Taehyung would only ever be friends regardless of his beauty or wealth. After finding out Taehyung was a no-go your parents have never mentioned Taehyung again and you had thought they’d completely forgotten him.

“They called me and pleaded that I break off my engagement and court you instead.” Your cheeks turn a hot shade of pink and you hide yourself in his neck.

“They really think I’m that much of a lost cause that they have to do my bidding huh? Did they offer you money? Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Bubs…” Taehyung warns, his tone of voice telling you not to ask questions you don’t want the answer to.

“How much?” Your voice is muffled by his sweatshirt but his sigh signifies he still heard you.

“1 million.”

“That low huh? I guess my worth has decreased over time.” You laugh humorously. “To them that’s the equivalent of 20 dollars.”

“Well you’re priceless to me, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Thanks Taehyungie.” You pat his shoulder a few times before disentangling yourself from his grip. “Now come on, I definitely need some coffee to get me through the day.” Pulling him into the first shop you see, you’re welcomed by a soft yellow light emitted from the lights strung along the ceiling and soft piano music filtering through the speakers. The smell of freshly ground coffee beans swirls through the air, the smell like the soft flutter of a butterfly’s wings rather than pungent and assaulting. You’re too busy looking around to notice the boy with familiar red hair, dark eyes, and crinkly smile, which comes on full display when he notices your presence.

“Y/N!” Looking over towards the register you finally take notice of the beaming boy.

“Oh, he-hey Jungkook.” You move to rub the back of your neck nervously but end up pulling Taehyung’s arm with you, completely forgetting that you’re attached. Jungkook’s eyes dart down to your conjoined hands, as do yours, and his smile droops a little.

“Hey. What can I get you both today?”

“A medium vanilla iced coffee for me and then a large strawberry smoothie for him please.” Jungkook types in your order before turning the screen around for you to pay. He says nothing after you swipe your card and enter your pin, just turns around to start making your drinks.

Taehyung gives you a weird look before leaning in to whisper in your ear as you wait to get your drinks, “I thought you said you were friends?”

“We are?” You’re just as confused as Taehyung about Jungkook’s sudden change in mood. He seemed so happy before to see you, but now he won’t even speak to you.

“Mmm. I don’t like him.”

“He’s really nice. Maybe he’s just having a bad day?”

“Just be careful alright? I don’t want a repeat of-“

“Your order is ready.” Jungkook cuts Taehyung off gruffly. You flash him a concerned look but he ignores it and heads back over to the register. Maybe Taehyung is right. Is Jungkook even worth it?

The next time you see Jungkook is your shared class together three days later. He’s sitting in the same spot as last week and part of you wants to go sit somewhere else. Your heart wins out though and you decide to sit next to him anyways. Everyone has bad days, you shouldn’t hold it against him. Pulling out your headphones and notebook you place them on your desk and out of the corner of your eye see Jungkook giving you a soft smile. “Feel like sharing?” He asks.

“You want to be AirPod buddies? Hmm… I don’t know.” His grin turns into a pout, plush bottom lip jutting out considerably. His eyes twinkle like they’ve captured the stars. “Fine.” You huff and roll your eyes.

He grins happily as he pops the bud in, and bops his head happily side to side. A fond smile stretches across your face and it’s like the coffee shop incident never happened. It must’ve really been a bad day. You both sit at the desk bopping along happily until the professor comes in and you both set the headphones aside. You’re halfway through the lecture when a loud crinkling sounds next to you, and when the people around you also turn their heads toward the sound, Jungkook is frozen with hunched shoulders and wide eyes, a bag of banana chips clutched between his fingers. You struggle to hide your giggle, eyes scrunched as your body shakes in silent laughter. When everyone finally turns their sharp gazes away, Jungkook lightly shoves your shoulder. “I can’t believe you laughed in my time of need.” He whines.

“It’s your own fault for trying to open up a bag of chips in a quiet room.”

“Just for that I’m not sharing.” He sticks his tongue out at you when you spare him a glance.

“Alright banana boy.” You snicker. A pout grows on his face at your words and you resist the urge to poke his jutted lip in response. It’s odd for you to feel so affectionate towards someone so quickly, Taehyung’s really the only one who brings it out in you, but you don’t want to shake off this feeling. It feels warm like friendship and it’s been a while since you’ve made a real friend after Taehyung. When Jungkook starts getting back into the lesson and is too focused on his notes to realize you inching your hand towards the bag, you quickly swipe a few chips and push them into your mouth to hide the evidence. You’re too busy grinning at your “sneaky” plan working to notice Jungkook tilt his head to the side quickly and poking his tongue into his cheek to hide his smile. He definitely saw you but if you were going to get so happy over sneaking chips he offered, he’d let it slide.

When class is over and you are gathering your notebook and pens, Jungkook softly taps on your shoulder, twirling the AirPod around in his fingers. “Do you maybe -um- want to go grab a coffee or something? You don’t have to, I mean you’re probably busy but-“ His face gets increasingly redder the longer he rambles, becoming more and more flustered.

“Sure. Just let me text Tae and tell him I have plans, unless he can come with us?”

Scratching the back of his neck he gives you a tight lipped smile. “Yeah sure. The more the merrier right?”

You look at him skeptically before raising an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yup.” Walking outside the classroom, Taehyung is once again leaning against the wall and when he notices you both come out together he raises an eyebrow. You dismiss it with a roll of the eyes but a blush still makes it’s way up your neck and onto your cheeks. The three of you walk out of the building in an awkward silence, the tension almost palpable. Pursing your lips, you wring your hands together, lost on what the route of the tension is and how to solve it.

“So umm… what are you planning on getting?” You turn to ask Jungkook. He gives you a small smile.

“I was thinking something sweet. Maybe a caramel macchiato.”

“Oo good choice. Maybe I’ll get that too.”

“It’d definitely be more exciting than a vanilla iced coffee.” He snickers. In result you shove his arm and he practically throws himself onto the grass next to the sidewalk, rolling a few times while clutching his “injury”. “Yah! Who knew someone so small was so strong? Be careful will you? I could’ve broken my arm or something!” Rolling your eyes you stifle your giggles behind the sleeve of your sweater.

“You’re a dork.”

“You know, surprisingly I’ve heard that before.” He chuckles while picking himself off the grass.

“Wow that is surprising.” Jungkook rolls his eyes in response and opens his mouth to say something before Taehyung interjects.

“Now now children. Let’s not fight.”

You and Jungkook both huff and mumble, “I’m not a child.”

“If you have to refute it, then you probably are.” Squinting your eyes, you give him your best glare but he ignores it. “Where are we going anyways?”

“My place.” Jungkook grumbles. His eyes widen as he registers his words meanwhile you and Taehyung have stopped to stare at him.

“Umm.. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression but-“ You begin but Jungkook frantically waves his hands while shaking his head.

“No no not my place my place like my coffee shop. My place of work. This is so awkward, I’m so sorry. I swear I’m not like that.” Taehyung giggles behind you as a bead of nervous sweat trickles down Jungkook’s head the longer you remain silent. His gaze is pleading as he stares, praying he hasn’t ruined his chances.

“Jungkook it’s fine. I figured that’s what you meant.” Taehyung is still giggling as you make your way towards Jungkook’s cafe, the same one you visited a few days ago. The bell chimes above your heads as you enter and the boy behind the counter whips his head up at the sound. “Kookie!” He yells, grin so wide that his eyes squint to the point that they’re nearly closed.

“Ahh,, hi Jimin.” Jungkook smiles, voice soft.

“Look at you making friends. I never thought the day would come.” The cashier teases while wiping a fake tear. “My Jungkookie is all grown up.” Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“This is Y/N and uhh,,,”

“Taehyung, but most people call me Tae.” Taehyung sticks his hand out to shake Jimin’s and Jimin winks at you when they release.

“So you’re Y/N..” A smirk grows on his face as he gives you a once over and your cheeks heat up.

“Yup, that’s me.” You smile awkwardly.

“Okay well now that introductions are over, how about taking our order?” Jungkook steps in front of you, shielding you from Jimin’s gaze.

“Sure thing.”

“Two caramel macchiatos and a- what did you want?” Jungkook asks turning to Taehyung.

“Strawberry smoothie.”

“Yeah that.” While Jimin’s punching in the order you squeeze between Jungkook and Taehyung. “What are you doing?” Jungkook asks watching as you take out your debit card.

“Paying?” Reaching out to hand Jimin the card, Jungkook places his hand over your own to stop you.

“No I got this. Don’t worry.”

“Jungkook it’s really no big deal.” You begin.

“Y/N it’s really no big deal.” Sighing you put your hand back down, realizing this argument is futile. Jungkook is too determined.

“It really is no big deal. He’s got that employee discount anyways.” Jimin teases, leaning against the counter as he shakes in laughter. Pink dusts Jungkook’s cheeks and your heart hurts a little because he’s so cute. But you only mean it in a friendly manner, at least that’s what you tell yourself.

Ever since you’ve gotten coffee with Jungkook and Taehyung you’ve felt giddy. The type of giddy where your whole body feels like a live wire budding with electricity. You deduce it must be because you’ve made a new friend. You’ve finally found someone new to let in, someone who doesn’t seem to only want you for your contacts or bank account. Not that they’re even yours to begin with. Growing up in a household where your father was the youngest CEO of the largest distribution companies in the country meant you were always more than comfortable. You could get whatever you asked for, money came in like it really did grow on trees. Your biggest worry though, focused on the people outside your immediate family. Crooks and snakes lied around every corner, waiting to strike the naive girl you once were. The type who gave love so freely and in such an abundance that you couldn’t fathom the greed or cruelty that overtook humanity so easily. When you did finally see it, it felt like all the warmth and love you had was sucked out of you, leaving you this shell of a person. For a long time you didn’t really know how to be, the new you was so cynical, so cold. It wasn’t until you met Taehyung and truly trusted him that the flicker of life in you came back. That’s part of the reason you and Taehyung are so close, seeing as he made you feel human again.

With a smile on your face even throughout your classes, nothing can break your mood, not the grumpy old man who loiters in the lobby of your apartment building yelling at the people at the front desk or the loud stomping of the people on the floor above you. Smiling widely, you flop onto the couch and both pups jump onto you, Tannie settling in your lap and your own dog lying on your chest giving you a few licks on your jawline. “Hi babies!” Craning your neck up, you pat them both on their heads before settling fully back down.

“Why didn’t I get that kind of excitement when I picked you up from class earlier?” Taehyung whines, nudging your legs aside to make room for himself on the couch.

“Oh, hey Tae! I didn’t see you there.” You voice drips in faux excitement making Taehyung roll his eyes. “Aww come on. You know I’m always happy to see you.”

“And?” Taehyung pushes, eyes wide and hopeful.

“And?”

“I can wait all day you know.” Resting one arm on the back of the couch he shifts to his side to stare at you head-on.

“I love you.” A boxy grin two sizes too big stretches across his features and you’re sure if they dogs weren’t on your lap, he would’ve tackled you. It’s not often that you say I love you, what with all that happened last time.

“I love you too! You should really say that more often. It makes my day.” He’s practically beaming and you consider maybe just for him you’ll try and say it more frequently. After all, there’s no risk of losing Taehyung. You’ll be best friends even in death.

“I might.” You mumble, half hoping he won’t hear you but also hoping he will. After all he’s done for you, you could at least give him this.

The rest of the night is spent how every night is, you and Taehyung wrapped in pillows and blankets while surrounded by take-out boxes, the pups waiting fervently to catch any spillage. The whole time though, thoughts of a certain red haired, crinkly smiled boy swirls through your head leaving a small smile on your face even when you’re asleep.

You find yourself back in your dreaded class, the same eyes as before judging you for your outfit choice. Did the professor say that you were supposed to dress nicely? Yes. Are you going to dress nicely though when you hate your major and have to study it at 7 am every morning? No. So here you are in your comfiest sweats and one of Taehyung’s hoodies, nursing a coffee that’s not nearly as good as the one Jungkook made a few days ago. The professor walks in and his beady eyes land right on you and you give him your best fake smile before grabbing your notebook out of your backpack. “I see some of us have forgotten the dress code.” He begins and all eyes fall to you. “Today I’ll let it slide, but next time you’ll start to notice an effect on your grade.” His eyes say try me and you shrink a little into yourself on the inside, even though you don’t let it show. You make eye contact with the class TA named Seokjin and he winks at you before mouthing something unintelligible, well at least to you. He definitely said something to garner the giggles of the girls around you but you’ve always been bad at reading lips. You just smile awkwardly before turning back to your notes.

When class ends, he saunters over to you, placing both hands on the desk before leaning into you. His wide shoulders shadow part of your desk leaving you feeling caged in, but not in a good way. “I’m Seokjin.”

“I know.” His smirk widens. “Kinda need to know the name of the TA in case I have questions.” The smirk falls a little and you can’t help your swell of pride from knocking him off his high horse.

“Well I thought it was real sexy how you stood up to the professor like that. He’s a prick.” Seokjin says.

“Thanks. Well, I have to go. My friend is waiting for me.” You point to Taehyung who’s leaning against the wall like he does everyday. He won’t admit it but he definitely does it for the wallflower aesthetic. Seokjin’s eyes follow the direction your finger is pointing in and he stiffens when he notices Taehyung.

“Friend?” He asks as he follows you towards the door of the classroom.

“Mmhmm.” Taehyung wraps his arm around your shoulder when you you walk out sensing your discomfort.

“Well, you should come to my party. It’s at my frat. Free entry for pretty girls.” He winks and you lean further into Taehyung.

“Free entry for him and I’ll think about it.” Seokjin gives Taehyung a once over, like he’s assessing whether he’s more attractive than him.

“Free entry for both if you come.”

“You drive a hard bargain but I’ll accept.” You stick out your hand to shake on it and when you pull away a folded note is left on your hand.

“I mean I study business so.. But I’ll see you later, Y/N. Maybe we could even hang out before the party?” He smiles before walking away with a small wave. Opening the folded note, his number is scrawled across in red ink along with a wink and a heart.

“How can you be so greasy in a note?” You ask, scrunching your nose in disgust. Throwing the note in the nearest trashcan, you and Taehyung speed walk to your next class, seeing as your little chat with “mr. worldwide handsome” put you behind schedule.

Jungkook chuckles as you race into class moments before the professor and settle down in the seat next to him. “Running late?” He asks.

“No I just decided to have to run to class today for fun.” You roll your eyes and shake your head, not bothering to fight the smile stretching across your face.

“You sure have an interesting idea of fun then.” He pushes his tongue inside his cheek and tilts his head a little, fighting back a large smile but leaving his eyes twinkling.

“Well what’s your idea of fun?”

“Going to the countryside, photoshoots, painting.” He whispers, both of you neglecting the lecture going on at the front of the room.

“Spoken like a true wannabe art hoe.” You giggle and wink at him. He puffs out his cheeks in a pout and you can’t help but poke a finger into one of them, effectively making him blow out the air.

“First of all if anyone’s the wannabe it’s you and your paint stained hoodie. I bet you bought that from Urban with the paint smears just to be quirky.”

“Someone’s defensive.” You snicker. “Besides it’s not even mine. It’s Tae’s and he actually studies art for his major.” You stick your tongue out at him for extra measure.

“Well so do I so ha!” He sticks his tongue back out at you and you both fall into a fit of giggles at your childish antics.

“You’re such a dork.” You laugh.

“Takes one to know one.” He sings.

“Remind me why we’re friends again?”

“You mean… I’ve been upgraded from desk mate to friend?” Jungkook sniffles and wipes under his eye like he’s catching tears. “This is such an honor.” You shove his arm but he doesn’t even move.

“I hate you.” You pout crossing your arms over your chest. “I was just trying to be nice and-“

“Ahh you know I’m teasing. Besides we both know you’re only my friend for the banana chips.” Reaching into his bag, he pulls out two packets of banana chips and hands you one. “Now we can wreak havoc together!”

The next day you and Taehyung coincidentally end up at the coffee shop Jungkook works at. Taehyung says nothing the whole time you’re ordering, opting to just look at you with this big grin as Jungkook turns to make your drinks. “What?” You ask sharply.

“Oh nothing, just find it funny that out of all the coffee shops in town we had to walk five extra blocks to come here.” He shifts his weight between his heels and toes, rocking back and forth and looking up while he says it. You glare at him in response.

“Maybe I just like it better here? Did you think of that?”

“Or maybe you just like a certain worker better here.”

“Is it wrong that I want to see my friend?” Taehyung coughs loudly muttering boyfriend in between. “No. I don’t do boyfriends.”

“Don’t do boyfriends?” Jungkook interjects, his brows furrowed and lips pursed as if he’s displeased.

“Ahh,, let’s just say I don’t have a good history with them.”

“With one.” Taehyung says, holding up one finger to Jungkook to really emphasize your lack of experience.

“It only takes one bad experience to ruin something. Besides it’s alright, I’ve coped with dying alone.” You shrug.

“That’s a little morbid. Don’t you think maybe you should give it another shot? Find someone who’ll treat you better?” Jungkook pushes, holding onto your drinks. He keeps them close to his chest though like they’re tethering you to him, making you stay.

“That’s what Taehyung’s for,” You pat his arm a few times. “Who needs a boyfriend when you have a best friend that provides you with everything you need sans romance, of course.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jungkook pushes your drinks towards you, his mouth sadly quirked up in one corner.

“Not quite. Since I’m getting married soon, you’ll need someone to take home to your parents.” Taehyung says, winking at Jungkook. Both of your faces turn scarlet and you hastily pull Taehyung out of the shop, not even taking the time to say goodbye to a stunned Jungkook.

“What the hell Tae?” You exclaim when you’re a safe distance from the shop and the cool breeze soothes your burning skin.

“What? I was doing you a favor. Planting a seed if you will.”

“I won’t.” Grabbing your drink from his hands, you stomp away towards your apartment with Taehyung trotting happily behind you. You’re not paying much mind when you’re shoving your key into the door of the apartment, mind still reeling over the incident back at the coffee shop. What if Jungkook doesn’t want to be friends anymore? What if Jungkook thinks you like him? “I can’t believe you told Jungkook I need someone to take home to my parents.” You’re not looking as you enter too busy scowling back at Taehyung who’s standing behind you. He looks a tad guilty now, finally sensing your distress over the situation and it makes you feel a little better. He shouldn’t be pressuring you into getting a boyfriend, let alone one meeting your parents, when he knows the wreck you were left in last time.

Later that week Taehyung convinces you to go to the university art exhibit with him. The gallery is made up entirely of student compositions and there’s even a small scholarship given to the creator of the best piece, voted by the art board staff. It’s a requirement for all students in the art programs to attend even if they haven’t entered a composition, hence why Taehyung is here. As a fellow art hoe, mainly a sucker for textured paintings, it really didn’t take much for you to give up your Saturday afternoon. Walking around there’s many pieces of all forms: paintings, prints, sculptures. You must spend at least three hours wandering from piece to piece discussing your own interpretations of the pieces and their meanings. Nothing has quite caught your eye yet, but Taehyung has become enraptured with a piece called ‘Squirrel trapped in a garden’. The ceramic squirrel sits in the center of a clear vase turned upside down and Taehyung can’t seem to pull himself away. While he stands staring at the woodland creature, you move on ahead of him to a painting tucked in the back of the venue. It’s a mixed media piece, the melancholy theme of it all contrasting with the bright colors. Your hand itches to run across the gray canvas and touch the raised paint and trace the harshly etched lines making up the face. An array of rainbow makes up half of the man’s hair and the color seeps from his eye like tears and trips down his face off his chin. It’s almost like the color is being drained out of him, spilling from the cracks that line his face.

You’re too engrossed in the painting to notice the sudden presence beside you leaning in close to whisper, “What do you think?”

“Hmm?” You ask turning to jump back when you realize Jungkook’s face is mere inches from your own.

“About the painting.”

“Right. I think the juxtaposition of the dark theme but bright colors makes for a really interesting piece. I like that it’s open ended. Is he becoming darkness as his colors fade to grey or is light breaking through his dark facade?”

“Which do you think?”

“I feel like you’re going to psychoanalyze me based on my answer.” You joke.

“Just answer the question.”

“I think he’s being taken over by darkness.”

“Interesting. I would’ve pegged you for the type to choose sunshine and rainbows.” Jungkook says.

“I once was.” You scoff, almost mad at yourself for your past mentality. You were a fool.

“What happened?” Jungkook presses, moving to stand in front of you as you refuse to take your eyes off the painting.

“It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

“Correction, you’ve got time. I have to get ready for a party.” You say.

“A party? Where?”

“Kim Seokjin’s frat.”

“How’d you get in? He’s real picky about his invite list.”

“What can I say? The people love me.” Jungkook scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Well if you’re going then so am I. Can’t let you get drunk alone.”

“I’d be in a house full of other people but okay.” You don’t tell him that you were planning on going with Taehyung anyways. You’re not exactly sure why, he’ll find out when you arrive together, but you’re afraid he won’t come if Taehyung does.

The front door of the frat looms above you, your body nearly vibrating from the bass of the music coming from the house. You can taste the regret already as you walk inside, wrapping your hand around Taehyung’s as he pushes his way through the dense crowd of people. You pull Jungkook behind you by the belt loop, too awkward to grab onto his hand but not wanting to loose him. You release them both when you enter the kitchen, opting to hold onto a red solo cup instead. The only way you’ll be able to get through this party is with a little liquor in your system. Mixing yourself a little drink you turn towards the boys and only Jungkook grabs one too. Taehyung decides to be the sober one for tonight and watch over your little trio but you feel like it’s really to watch for Seokjin. Something about him is off-putting. Maybe it’s because he reminds you of your father.

Speaking of Seokjin, at just that moment you have the misfortune of making eye contact with him from across the room. He smiles and nudges a boy with dimpled cheeks before nodding in your direction. The boy gives Seokjin a clap on the back before he makes his way over, the partygoers parting for him like the red sea. “Y/n.” He says, standing on the other side of the island.

“Seokjin.”

“Y/n’s friend and boy I don’t remember inviting.” He says nodding to Taehyung and Jungkook respectively.

“Jungkook is with me.”

“i thought I only gave you one plus one.” Seokjin smiles sweetly, to contrast his sharp tone. He really is picky about his invite list.

“That would be Jungkook. Taehyung got his own invitation remember?” You turn your head to the side and smile at him sweetly. It just feels so nice to one up him.

“Ah, smart girl. You’re a true business student, always looking for loopholes.” Seokjin reaches across the island and swipes your cup, taking a swig.

“Poor taste in alcohol though.” He coughs throwing your drink in the trash. “Here let me make you a new one.”

“No!” Taehyung and Jungkook yell simultaneously.

“Fine.” Seokjin says throwing his hands up in the air. “She can make her own drink, but she has to dance with me first.” Seokjin winks at you and your skin crawls. Something about this doesn’t feel right.

“I think I’ll take my chances with the drink.” You say.

“A shame. Most people would kill for a dance with the Kim Seokjin.”

“I’m sure.” Jungkook snarks under his breath causing you to laugh. After your drink is mixed and back in your hands, the four of you stand in an awkward silence until the dimpled boy calls for Seokjin and he disappears from sight. You all immediately relax and Taehyung leaves for the bathroom, comfortable to leave you unattended for a few minutes.

You turn to Jungkook once you’re alone in the kitchen, placing Seokjin’s drink in the sink. “So, I was meaning to ask but did you enter a piece in the art show today?”

His cheeks dust pink, making his red hair a little softer. “Y-yeah.” His gaze focuses on the floor between you two and he smiles at something in his head. “You really seemed to like it.”

“That was yours?” You exclaim, shocked that something dark could come from the boy whose eyes and smile shine.

“Yup.”

“So which one? Did you make him radiate light or darkness?” You ask, referring to the question he’d asked you earlier.

“I can’t tell you, that defeats the whole purpose of interpretation. But I will tell you the answer I’d give today is different than the original one.”

“That’s even more confusing.” You whine. Jungkook just grins.

“Good. Art is supposed to make you think.”

“Hey, did they announce who won?” You ask and Jungkook’s smile falls a little.

“Yeah, something with a squirrel?”

“You mean that squirrel piece beat your painting? I have to question the judges then because yours was definitely the best one there.”

“You think so?” His blush deepens a shade but you blame it on the heat of the room.

“Of course! I was even thinking of buying it to put up in the apartment.”

“You don’t have to buy it. I’ll just give it to you.”

“No, I couldn’t just take it. It’s a work of art, not some child’s painting.” Reaching into your purse you pull out your emergency cash before pushing it towards Jungkook. “Here, take it as a downpayment on the painting. I’ll give you the rest tomorrow.”

‘Woah, woah, woah. Slow down there. I’m not charging you for it. Think of it as a gift.” Jungkook says, putting your cash back inside your purse.

“Well at least let me do something for you in exchange.”

“Take me out for breakfast tomorrow. I could use a pick-me-up after the headache I’ll get from this music.”

“O-okay. Here, I’ll give you my number and you can text me when you wake up.” Handing over your phone, he types in his number before taking a derpy photo up close to the camera as his contact photo. It’s so close in fact that all you can see is his nose and eyes. “Kook, that’s gonna be so scary when you call me.” You whine, staring down at the photo with a pout.

“Scary? Why because your heart will skip a beat at my handsome face?” He quips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“More like because you look like some deranged fish.”

“Just for that you don’t get a contact photo.” Jungkook says as he makes your contact. What did you do to deserve this treatment?

Your phone blares at six a.m. and you groan, having just gotten to sleep a little past two a.m. You’d made the most of the night, what with all the free alcohol, and your head throbs. You’re contemplating letting the call ring out until you turn over the device and are greeted by an intimate view of Jungkook’s face. Annoyedly you swipe to answer, croaking out a “what?”

“You said to let you know when I wake up.” Jungkook sounds much to awake and happy for how much he drank last night.

“Who wakes up at 6 am after a night of drinking? How are you even alive?”

“I just don’t get hungover.”

“Lucky you. My head is pounding.”

“I’ll pick up coffee and ibuprofen on the way. Drop me the location of your apartment.” Jungkook says and you don’t think much of it. You’re drifting in and out of consciousness for about fifteen minutes when there’s a knock on the door. You could yell for Taehyung to get it even though you know who it is, but that seems too cruel. No one should be up at the crack of dawn involuntarily. Standing up you pull your comforter along with you, wrapping it around your head like a hooded cape. You acknowledge that you probably look ridiculous but it’s too early for you to care. The knocking persists even as you move towards the door and you hurry across the living room, throwing the door open so the dogs don’t start barking. “Hi.” Jungkook smiles, cherry hair a tad messy from sleep.

“Hey kook.” Turning around you plop down onto the couch and Jungkook follows.

“You look ready to go.” Jungkook teases.

“Oh I am. Blanket and all.”

“Good, it’s cute.” He pats the top of your head for extra measure. You sputter a little as your brain malfunctions. Is Jungkook…flirting with you?

“Okay, let’s go!” Standing abruptly you sway a little from moving too fast.

“You gotta take your meds first.” Jungkook says, unscrewing the cap on the ibuprofen and handing you two along with your drink.

“Thanks.” You murmur unsheathing yourself from the blanket. “Now I’m good to go.” Jungkook gives you a once over and your cheeks flare up a little. You’re only in a pair of sweats and a baggy t-shirt.

“You sure you’ll be warm enough?”

“Aww are you worried about me?” You tease, tempted to pinch his cheek.

“Eww no.” He scrunches his nose and gets up to open the front door. “Now come on, I’m hungry.”

A fifteen minute walk later and you’re seated in a small diner, your coffee Jungkook brought you long gone but replaced by another. Jungkook chose to get a hot chocolate because “coffee should cease to exist” which you can’t help but find a little ironic seeing as he works in a coffee shop. Your waitress is a young girl in her twenties who seems bored to death. She just stands by the till repeatedly stirring her coffee with a small spoon. “So you and Taehyung?” Jungkook asks after taking a small sip of his drink.

“Me and Taehyung what?”

“Are you two together or something?” oHis fingers drum on the table like he’s waiting with anticipation.

“Oh no. Tae and I are just friends. He’s basically my brother.” Your nose scrunches in displeasure at the idea of you and Taehyung being something romantic.

“Ahh. So you live together for fun?”

“Yeah, it’s nice having someone to come home to. Plus the rent isn’t cheap.” You may be rich but you’re not about to drop 4k a month on rent.

“Yeah your place is really nice. Much nicer than mine.”

“I’m sure your place isn’t bad.”

“It’s not. Just compared to yours it’s a dump and yet I’m still barely able to pay my half of the rent even though it’s considerably cheaper. Student loans are a bi-“

“Here’s your orders.” The waitress sets your stack of pancakes down and Jungkook’s breakfast burrito down. “Need anything else?” You can tell she’s only asking because she has to.

You and Jungkook both shake your heads and she heads back to the till. You both fall silent as you eat, merely enjoying each other’s company. You watch the world outside begin to wake up as the sun rises and people begin to venture outside. You like this, being outside when the world is still half asleep. It’s peaceful, a stark contrast to the usually busy streets of the city your college is tucked into. When your plates are both clear, do you and Jungkook pick back up conversation. “This is my favorite time to be out, you know? When you can just move at your own pace and the city feels like it’s yours.”

“It’s nice. Normally I’m still asleep but I like watching the world wake up.” He hums in agreement. “Is this what inspires your artwork?”

“Sometimes. I just find I can think clearly during this time of day.”

“Probably the lack of distraction.”

“Do you have any passions?” A blush dots your cheeks as you pull at the hem of your shirt.

“Writing.” Your family has never been fond of your hobby. You aspired to become an author but your family quickly vetoed it. An author isn’t a respectable career in their eyes. You think it’s just because it’s not a big money maker.

“Like poems or stories?”

“Stories. I wrote a novel but I haven’t had anyone read it yet.”

“I’m not much of a wordsmith but if you ever do decide to share it, I’d be down to be the first reader.” A grin stretches across your face and you look up to meet his eyes, shining with sincerity. Everything suddenly feels warm.

Three weeks later and two 6 a,m. friend diner dates with Jungkook later, you’ve both decided to make it a weekly Sunday hangout, and you’re standing in front of the cafe Jungkook works at. You made sure to learn his schedule so he wouldn’t be here today, because surely he would sense you’re up to something. Your hand shakes with anxiety and you nearly drop the papers you’re holding in your hands as you walk up to the counter and ask for the manager. Glancing back at the ‘hiring’ sign in the window you take a big breath and remember who you’re doing this for. Jungkook has mentioned for a few weeks now about how broke he is, and you know he’s joking and that it’s common for a student to struggle financially, but it hurts you. Seeing as you’ve never had that worry you want to help him out and alleviate his stress as any good friend would. But seeing as you’ve never worked anyone before, you’d rather have the comfort of Jungkook beside you. “H-hi.” You stumble awkwardly when the manager comes out to meet you. Wiping your hand on your pants quickly, you shake her hand. “I saw your and filled out the application.” You’re ninety-percent sure your voice is shaking.

“Great! I’ll give this a look through and call you if we decide you’re a good fit.” Your heart stumbles a little. You thought they’d just give you the job right away. That’s how it happens in movies.

“O-okay. Have a great day.” Hurrying out, you rush back to your apartment trying to outrun your embarrassment. You accidentally slam the door which alerts Taehyung who sticks his head out of his room.

“What’s up with you?” He asks, moving from his room to the couch in the living room.��

“I just applied for a job.” His eyes go wide as he stills before motioning for you to sit down next to him.

“Why? It’s not like we need the money.” He laughs.

“I- uh I wanted to help.” His brows burrow as he tries to detect the hidden meaning to your words.

“Help? Who? Jungkook?” Your cheeks flare up at his more than right accusation. “I should’ve known.”

“I thought he could use a little extra money. To help with his student loans and stuff.”

“That’s sweet. Taking care of your man and all.”

“He’s not my man, Tae.”

“But you wish he was.” Taehyung sings and you scoff.

“Boys and girls can be just friends you know. Like us for example.”

“Bubs we’re an anomaly.” He says but you disregard him entirely. If you give thoughts like that the time of day, you’re done for.

You hear back from the manager a week later that you got the job. You’re standing in the hallway with Taehyung right after your first class and jump up and down excitedly. You’ve just landed your first job! Giddily you sit beside Jungkook, not even bothering to take out your airpods. You have too much to say. “So..” You begin.

“So?”

“I got a job!” You tap on his arm excitedly like it’s a bongo.

“That’s great! Where at?”

“The coffee shop you work at.” His whole body freezes for a second before he engulfs you in a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re the new coworker. I was worried it was going to be awkward but now I can see you even more often.” He’s all smiles and so are you, too enthralled in each other to notice the professor come in.

Your first day is on Wednesday seeing as you said you could start right away. You do your hair extra special today seeing as first impressions are important but also because you’re working with Jungkook today and if you’re going to be a bumbling mess you might as well be a cute one. Not that you’re worried about him not finding you cute or anything.

You have to show up at five seeing as you have the opening shift but after your friendly dates that aren’t dates with Jungkook you’ve grown to somewhat enjoy the morning. At least when you’re in good company. He meets you outside your building and you both walk to the cafe together mindlessly chattering. You’ve found that you and Jungkook can talk about anything and everything, from your biggest fears to why mint chocolate chip ice cream is a valid flavor. When you arrive at the cafe the doors are already opened and the lights are on which has you a little confused. You could’ve sworn only you and Jungkook were assigned the opening shift. Sending your confusion he turns to you and says, “I asked Jimin to come help out this morning so I can focus on getting you familiar with the machines.” You’ve only met Jimin a handful of times so you don’t really have an opinion about him, but you’ll definitely give him credit for coming into work when he doesn’t have to to help you. Well more-so Jungkook but you inadvertently.

Inside soft singing bounces off the walls in the backroom and you’re honestly a little floored. Jimin has both the looks and the talent? You wonder what that must be like. Following Jungkook into the back you spot Jimin picking up coffee blends and different cups. “Hey Jimin.” Jungkook says.

“Oh hey guys!” Jimin waves, a smile gracing his features.

“Morning.” You smile back, his happy attitude infectious.

“Y/n we’re so glad you’re working here. I could use a pretty face to look at instead of Kookie.” You and Jimin break out into a fit of giggles at his jab and Jungkook just pouts in the corner.

“I feel attacked.” Jungkook says.

“Does it make you feel better if I say you’re pretty to me?” You ask. Jimin’s laughter suddenly dies and Jungkook looks at you with wide eyes and mouth forming a small ‘o’. His cheeks match the color of his hair and Jimin comes up next to you to place a hand on your shoulder.

“I think that answers your question.” He winks, disappearing back to the front of the shop. The rest of your morning is rather uneventful and Jungkook has you man the cash register the whole shift. The machines aren’t that confusing but with how hectic the morning shift is it’s better for you to learn during the slower mid-day shifts. Jimin ends up staying through yours and Jungkook’s shift and when the three of you turn your responsibility over to the next shift workers you all let out a collective sigh. Rolling your shoulders and neck, you try and relieve the tension in your body from the stress of your first day.

“Good job today.” Jungkook smiles when you’re both standing outside your apartment building. He insisted on walking you for safety purposes even though it’s mid-day.

“Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I know.” Rolling your eyes you push his arm.

“You had to ruin the moment.” You groan.

“We had a moment?”

“I swear, every time I try to be nice to you-“ He cuts you off by pulling you into his hard chest and your breath hitches. He smells sweet and citrusy, his body warm as he wraps his arms around your middle.

“Shh, you’re ruining the moment.” He whispers and you nearly burst out laughing. You can hear his heart hammering against his chest like he’s nervous. But he shouldn’t be, friends hug all the time.

When you get your paycheck the next week you’ve never felt so accomplished in your life. You did that. It’s so gratifying to actually earn something and not have everything handed to you. Too bad you’re just going to give the money all to Jungkook, but at least it’s helping him. The real issue is how to give it to him because he’s definitely too prideful to accept it even if you gave it to him as a gift. You could leave it in his mailbox but there’s no guarantee he would actually use the money. He’d probably think it was counterfeit to something. The only real option you have is Jimin, if he could find a way to put the money in Jungkook’s bank account. When you have a shift alone with Jimin, you decide to confide in him about your idea. “So you’re like his sugar mama?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I mean I could use a sugar mama too. I’d make it real easy to pay me too.” Rolling your eyes you continue cleaning the counter top.

“Focus, Jimin.”

“I could give you his account number? You could just directly deposit the money in there.”

“I feel like that’s illegal. Even if it’s not, he’d definitely notice someone putting money in his account and call the bank.”

“You can just tell you’ve never been poor. If someone is sending you money for no reason, you just hope they’ll keep sending it.” Jimin says.

“You sure?”

“Yup.” He pops the ‘p’ for extra measure.

Later that night Jimin drops you Jungkook’s account number and you anonymously deposit your paycheck into it. You log out right after, feeling wrong about seeing how much money Jungkook has in his account. It’s much lower than you expect but you guess that has to do with the fact that you have no real perception of what it means to be struggling for money. You do feel a little lighter though, knowing you’re relieving a little of his financial worries. With two incomes he’ll be better off and maybe can even buy himself some new art supplies. You could drop a little more money into his account but you figure it’s better to start out small.

Weeks pass and Jungkook says nothing about anonymous deposits in his bank account. You even ask Jimin about whether Jungkook has said anything but he hasn’t been told anything about it either. Everything between you and Jungkook is as normal as ever as he spends the whole time you’re together at work and school teasing you about your apparent coffee addiction and the fact that the only coffee you really seem to like is his own. He really doesn’t need the ego boost so you never admit this to him, just refute it every time he brings it up. You’re smiling as you enter your apartment after work one day, ready to tell Taehyung about the stupid thing Jungkook did not really paying much mind as you say, “Tae you won’t believe what Jungkook did today.” Laughing at the memory you look up only to spot your parents sitting on your couch. Taehyung stands up from the chair to the side of them and comes to stand beside you for emotional support.

“Mom, Dad. What are you doing here?” You reach your hand back towards Taehyung who silently intertwines his fingers with your own, giving a comforting squeeze. Your relationship with your parents has been strained for quite a while.

“I think the real question is what are you not doing here? You should be studying not out with your friend. I don’t pay for this apartment and all your things so you can go out and have fun.” Your father says.

“The semester has only just started. I have nothing to study for.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone young lady.” You struggle to suppress the need to roll your eyes.

“Irregardless, that’s not what we came here to talk about. Taehyung would you mind giving us a minute?” Your father is only nice to Taehyung because he has money. If Taehyung was anything less than a millionaire your father would forget all manners and pleasantries.

“I want him to stay. Anything you can tell me, he can hear.”

“I’m not sure what gave you the impression that you have a say in the matter or that you can talk back to me, but this behavior ends right now. Otherwise, you’ll find yourself being moved back home under my supervision.” More like his scrutiny.

“It’s fine. I’ll go.” Taehyung says, giving your hand another squeeze before heading into his room. With Taehyung gone, your father begins his tirade.

“It’s no wonder you can’t get a boyfriend with that attitude. What man would want to date someone so outspoken? Did you even bother trying to dress up today? You look like you just rolled out of bed. Do you even realize that whatever you do is a reflection of me, of the company? I constantly get sent photos of you and that Taehyung that I have to pay off because I can’t have my daughter frolicking with an engaged man! Do you have no shame? I mean you even live with him! Surely his fiancé can’t be too keen about it. I think it’s time you find a boyfriend, you need a man in your life. Someone to pick up your mess and make you a respectable woman, someone worthy of my company.” When he’s done he’s heaving, worn out from the yelling. You’re swaying in your spot, eyes a tad watery as you try and calm down. He already sees you as weak, you don’t need to make it worse by crying in front of him. You want to scream at him that a man doesn’t define you, that you had a boyfriend before and they ruined it but you bite your tongue. It’s not worth it; they wouldn’t care anyways.

“Okay.” You murmur.

“Do you have anyone in mind or do I need to find someone for you?” You can just imagine your dad’s choice: a money hungry beefcake who sees you only as a means to and end.

“I heard you mention the name Jung-Jung…” Your mom begins and your breath hitches. You hate to drag him into this but you really have no choice.

“Jungkook.”

“Yes him. Is there something between you two?” Taehyung barges into the room then like you’re saving grace.

“Yes! Sorry I don’t mean to interrupt but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, the walls are only so thin you know? But yes Jungkook and Y/N are together.” Taehyung smiles widely at you, blinking purposely as if to say ‘I’m sorry, please forgive me’.

“Why didn’t you start with that love?” Your mother smiles standing up to pull you in for a hug. “I’m so happy for you. Hopefully this one is acceptable.” You look at Taehyung over your mother’s shoulder, nervousness taking over your features. Jungkook is not the type your parents are looking for, although he does have a rather nice muscular build. But that’s merely an observation.

“He sure is! She picked him out with you guys in mind.” Taehyung’s honey tone soothes over the rough edge to his words, passing in your parent’s ears and out just the same.

“He’s clearly not done that well of a job then. Bring him to the estate next weekend so we can meet the boy. Maybe by then he’ll have fixed your little attitude; if not, I’ll just have show him how. Or maybe just find you someone new.”

“No need for that. I’m sure you’ll love him just fine.”

When your parents leave, coincidentally right after they berate you like that was their only reason for coming by, you’re left in a shaking mess. Taehyung brings you into a hug and sits with you in his arms on the couch, stroking your hair while softly humming to calm you down. You silently cry, your tears wetting his t-shirt but he says nothing about it. He’s always been good at being the silent supporter. For once you kind of wish he was someone else, but you can’t put your finger on who. Or maybe you just don’t want to acknowledge it. “What am I going to do?” You whisper, after your heart finally settles and your eyes are dry.

“You’re going to have to ask him to go to your parents. I would but they already know who I am.”

“I don’t want to drag him into this though.” Your voice is muffled as you press your face further into Taehyung’s chest like you’re trying to hide from your reality.

“You have no choice. Unless you have another guy in mind willing to pretend to be him.”

“They would love Seokjin. Maybe I should just ask him?”

“Bubs, he would want to go as himself not as Jungkook. Besides, I don’t think you want to have to spend a weekend with him. That would make you even more miserable.” Taehyung says.

“Jimin?”

“Y/n.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. But do you think he’d do it? I mean he’d have to pretend to be someone else entirely. You know they don’t like the artist type. Especially not the non-millionaire kind. We’d have to make him into your basic business major. I feel like it’s unfair to ask someone to change their entire persona.”

“It is but for you I think he’d do anything.”

“You say that like he’s in love with me or something.” You scoff.

“Something like that.”

Turns out Taehyung is right about Jungkook being willing to pretend to be someone else for a weekend because as soon as you ask he agrees. Even after you give him an extensive list of reasons why he should say no, including the fact that his beloved cherry red hair will have to go. Not willing to lose the chance, you run your hand through his bright locks as he sits in the salon chair on Monday evening. His eyes shutter closed as you pull lightly at the surprisingly soft strands and he leans his head back towards you for easier access. “I was thinking black.” You say as your hand still cards through his hair. “A classic color you know?” The hairstylist nods and goes to the back to mix the dye. “I’m gonna miss your cherry hair.” You pout.

“Yeah?” Jungkook asks, popping one eye open to look at you in the mirror.

“Yeah. It really suits you.”

“Maybe I’ll dye it back then after this weekend. So that way you don’t miss it for too long.” Looking up from your fingers tangled in his locks you make eye contact through the mirror.

“Really?” You ask smiling.

“Really.”

You and Jungkook spend the next two hours sitting in adjacent chairs, battling each other in cup pong and other little phone games. He pouts dramatically when you beat him 5 times in a row at cup pong and you cheer dramatically. As someone who calls himself the king of video games, he’s not very good. The hair stylist laughs at you two before turning Jungkook’s dried and styled new hair around so he can see it in the mirror. You end up missing your shot on the game, too distracted by Jungkook’s beauty. If the cherry was beautiful, the black is otherworldly framing his face and giving him a timeless look. It contrasts nicely with his eyes which gleam like they’re made up of stars as he looks at his reflection in the mirror. His hand reaches up to touch a tuft of black and he scrunches his nose before the bunny grin is on full display. “Don’t I look like James Bond or something? I feel like I could be a spy.” You bite back a giggle.

“Yes Kook, you look like James Bond. All we need is to find you a bond girl and you can go off on your international adventures. Be sure to send me post cards amidst your travels.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re not a bond girl.” You try not to mull over his words.

“Bold of you to assume I am.”

“You’re a dork.” He laughs.

“Takes one to know one.” You sing.

The night before your trip to your parents you invite Jungkook over to your apartment to go over how to talk like a business major, well more like Kim Seokjin. Jungkook is more soft-spoken and reserved but to really sell his business persona he needs to be brazen and loud. The first trial is with the pizza delivery guy, mainly because you don’t want to answer the door but Jungkook doesn’t need to know that. “Rule number one is to never admit defeat. Be like a bulldog, relentless.” You say as he walks towards the door. The poor boy on the other side must be only sixteen and you feel a little bad as his voice wavers under Jungkook’s intimidating persona. He’s really got the domineering attitude down.

“One pepperoni pizza and one cheese.” The delivery boy says and you cringe a little. Of course this one time they screwed up on your order. Normally you’d let it go but the whole point is for Jungkook to learn how to be your father.

“That’s not what we ordered.” He says gruffly and for a moment you almost let out a small laugh. You’re not sure why he decided to lower his voice but it has the opposite effect. Maybe it’s just because you know what he really sounds like.

“O-oh?” The delivery boy says.

“Yes. This heathen,” He says pointing towards you. “wanted pepperoni and spinach.” He says the latter word like it’s insulting him to even have to say that and you glare at his broad back.

“Maybe it’s a good thing the order got screwed up then.” The boy laughs. You feel attacked.

“I’m not paying for a pizza I didn’t order.” Jungkook says, crossing his arms and cocking his head to the side for a more intimidating stance. He’s really laying it on thick.

“Uh-I- okay? Then just the one I guess?” Your heart hurts a little and judging by how Jungkook looks away for a moment his hurts too. This must be the poor guy’s first day. Handing him only half the money, the boy basically tosses both boxes into Jungkook’s arms before dashing away.

“I feel awful.” Jungkook says, placing the boxes gently onto the kitchen table.

“Me too. Here, give me the money.” Before he can say anything more you run after the pizza boy and catch him just as the elevator doors begin to close, risking your arm just so he can get his full payment. “Here’s the money for the other pizza. Don’t worry, accidents happen.” You smile as the boy cautiously takes the money. “Have a good night!”

Back inside the apartment you and Jungkook sit on the couch as the tv plays some drama. “Did I do well?’ He asks, after inhaling a slice.

“Yeah, almost a little two well to be honest. Rule number two is to always look for loopholes in people’s wording. Things you can get around.”

“Are all business people like this? They sound so shady.”

“My father is. I’m merely going off what type of people he likes.” You shrug.

“They don’t sound like good people.” He’s not wrong. Your father’s business partners have always put you off a little. There’s just something about them that doesn’t seem right.

“The last and final rule is to never lose face. Show no weakness.” You say. Jungkook says nothing as he continues to eat, both of you falling into a comfortable silence. There’s really not much to say. Taehyung bursts out of his room frantically calling, “Hey bubs did you take my favorite shirt? I-“ Taehyung emerges from his room shirtless, but stops when he sees you with Jungkook.

“Why do you always assume I steal your stuff?” You grumble, unfazed by the sight of Taehyung shirtless. Walking back into your room you return moments later with the shirt in hand.

“You get mad at me for accusing you of having it, but you have it anyways? That’s not very fair bubs.” He teases ruffling your hair. Swatting his hands away you huff in annoyance and try smoothing down the mess he made. He slips the shirt on before going back to his room to continue getting ready for his date, something about also wanting to find romance. You’re not really sure what he means.

“Why Bubs?” Jungkook asks when you settle back beside him. Before you can answer Taehyung pops his head back into the living room.

“She used to be obsessed with bubbles. I remember we went to Disneyland once and she got this bubble maker and she had to keep rebuying the soap packs because she wouldn’t stop pressing the button to make them.” Pink coats your cheeks and you hide your face in your hands.

“Taehyung you said we wouldn’t talk about that!”

“Awe was that when you were little?” Jungkook asks and you peak at him through the slits of your fingers.

“Summer of freshman year actually.” Taehyung snickers.

“See now I’m glad I kept hitting you in the face with them.”

“I had the taste of soap in my mouth for days Y/n!” Jungkook’s laughter breaks the argument and you both turn to see him leaning against the coffee table clutching his stomach.

“I-I’m sorry.” He says dramatically wiping a tear away. “I just-freshman year?” His fit of giggles starts back up and Taehyung joins, laughing at your embarrassment.

Pouting you mumble, “I had never gotten to use them before. I didn’t really have much of a childhood.”

“Ah yes, the woes of your typical rich kid. Hopelessly following nannies around for a sense of a family.” Taehyung chimes, walking towards the door to grab his coat from the rack.

“Well this just got real depressing. Thanks Tae.” You say sarcastically.

“Anytime.” He winks. “Now if you don’t mind I’m off to go on my date. Have fun, be safe, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” He blows you a kiss before leaving out the front door of the apartment and for the first time in a long while you feel awkward around Jungkook.

“Best friends huh?” You chuckle.

“Tell me about it. Jimin is always saying stuff like-“ And just like that things fall right back to normal.

The next morning you and Jungkook are packed and the luggage is loaded in your car. Well really you did the packing for the both of you, borrowing Taehyung’s clothes for Jungkook to wear because they’re roughly the same size. Plus as much as you like Jungkook, you don’t want to spend a mini fortune on posh clothes when you practically have a mini Gucci store in the room next to yours. The drive to your parent’s house is nice, both of you singing along to the same playlist you played the first time you and Jungkook shared headphones. If someone would’ve told you then you’d be taking the boy sitting next to you home to your parents, pretending that he’s your boyfriend, you wouldn’t have believed them. That sounds like something out of a drama, not real life. Although your life always has been sort of a drama.

Pulling up to the gold gates that practically scream ‘we have way too much money then we know what to do with’ Jungkook’s jaw drops. “I- I knew you were rich but not this rich.” He stutters. Sometimes you forget that your house is beautiful; all you can see are the bad memories. Punching in the code for the gate, you wait for them to open and impulsively check your rearview mirror, feeling like someone is watching you. A car on the opposite end of the street idles and it strikes you as odd. Even though it should look the part, being one of those fancy self-driving ones, it still seems out of place. “Y/n?” Jungkook disrupts your thoughts and nods towards the now open gates. You completely forget about the strange car. “So we never talked about PDA.” Jungkook says as you’re parking the car.

“Oh right. I forgot about that. So umm we should probably hold hands.” You say, your blush rivaling that of Jungkook’s old red hair.

“We could uhh.. kiss a few times in front of them, you know if we really need to.. sell it.” Jungkook’s cheeks are also very pink and he now refuses to look at you.

“O-okay.” Turning off the engine, the car suddenly feels claustrophobic and you hastily climb out of it. Members of your staff immediately rush out to grab your luggage once you’re both out of the car and Jungkook panics for a moment, grabbing onto the bags’ handles and pulling them behind him. “It’s okay Kook.” You say coming up beside him. “They’re just taking them to our rooms.”

“I thought this was a house not a hotel?” Jungkook asks innocently.

“You’ll realize real soon this doesn’t feel like a home.” Sticking out your hand Jungkook intertwines your fingers as you lead him inside. It’s only awkward for a moment but holding hands with him feels almost natural. His hand is a comforting weight in your own, his warmth seeping through and easing the goosebumps you get when walking through the house. You haven’t been here in two years; truthfully, you thought you would never come back. The house is lined with art and Jungkook’s eyes never leaves the walls as he gazes at all the artwork lining your home. You would think your parents really admire art but truthfully this is all a ploy to make them look more cultured and refined. Well that and to also flaunt how much money they really have. Unlike most homes, there’s no pictures of you and your parents lining the walls, although you do have a few portraits of other families.

Your parents are waiting for you in the great room, sat perched in two giant chairs that somewhat resembles thrones. Coincidence? You think not. When you open the doors their faces are entirely stoic as you call out to them, “Mom, dad.” A fake smile plastered on your face. Your grip on Jungkook’s hand tightens like it’s tethering you to your sanity as you walk farther into the lion’s den. This is all to reminiscent. You don’t know whether you want to cry or scream.

“Sir, Madam.” Jungkook says and you try not to look startled. Glancing over at him he’s got a confident smile on his face and standing tall and straight. His eyes have a glint in them and he looks like he could give Kim Seokjin a run for his money. You’re almost worried you’ve lost him entirely to this facade, until a rough thumb moves across your knuckles. Glancing down at your intertwined hands you notice just how hard your grip is and loosen it a bit to be more relaxed. Jungkook however continues his movement. “My name is Jeon Jungkook and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He smiles but it’s not quite the same. His face doesn’t crinkle and it makes you a little sad. Sticking his hand out he shakes your father’s hand first before moving to shake your mothers. She ditches the shake for a hug and you’re thrown off. This was not the same reaction you got the first time you brought a boy home. The only time. Maybe it’s because he wasn’t decked out in an Italian suit.

“So tell me, how did you two meet?” Your mother asks once you and Jungkook are seated on the couch across from them. You lean closer to Jungkook who’s hand is still in yours for comfort as this feels more like an interrogation than innocent questioning.

“We share a class together and sat beside one another on the first day.” Jungkook answers for you and your father nods. You sit silently beside Jungkook knowing your father will like a man that does all the talking for you.

“How sweet.” Your mother coos. This is sickening. Everything about this is just sickening. It’s like you’re reliving when you first brought him home but the only thing that’s changed is their answers. They’re okay with Jungkook but why couldn’t they be okay with Yoongi?

“I just like that you’re a business major. She needs a man with a real job not one of those useless art ones. Wasn’t that what your last boyfriend studied?” You clench your jaw to keep from saying anything you shouldn’t. He knows exactly what Yoongi studied. Instead you nod. Jungkook’s grip on your hand tightens and it takes you a minute to realize your father offended him too, seeing as he is an art major.

“Dear we shouldn’t mention her ex in front of her new boyfriend.” Your mother says and your father glares at her.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He growls. “Now tell me son what really made you want to join the business field?” Son. You almost laugh.

“I’m a man of many passions and business is my main one. Well, besides family of course.”

“Let me give you some advice seeing as I like you. Business should always be your first priority. If you want to be successful like me and be able to afford my daughter, you’ll have to make sure everything knows it’s place. Both in your work and personal life.” You’re not even surprised that this comes out of your father’s mouth. This just completely embodies him.

Jungkook is quiet for a moment before saying, “That’s some great advice. You’ll have to take note Y/n.” Your father and mother chuckle. You and Jungkook make eye contact for a brief moment and you both look equally as pained.

The day continues on with your father giving Jungkook advice which you can only hope he doesn’t taker seriously. You’re starting to worry he’s actually becoming your father he’s playing the role so well. He’s brazen, confident, stubborn. The perfect man in the eyes of your father. They play pool for half the afternoon, making bets to prove their manliness, well at least your father is. Jungkook seems to be very secure in his masculinity. Meanwhile you and your mother are sat on stools sipping wine and watching the boys. You’re tempted to have Taehyung call you just so you have an excuse to do something but you don’t want to leave Jungkook alone here. “I’m sorry.” Your mother whispers and you spin to face her confused. “No no face the front. He’ll notice.” It takes you a minute to register she means your father.

“I know mentions of your ex hurt you. So I’m sorry that he kept bringing it up. These past two years you’ve been gone and I’ve been stuck here alone have been really awful. I just… missed you and wanted you to have good memories while you’re staying here.”

You’re a little taken off guard. Your mother has never apologized to anyone in your life. “It’s okay mom.” You say.

“Please move back home.” She croaks out and only then do you realize she was playing you. She wanted you to feel vulnerable so she could manipulate you. “I can’t stand being here alone with him. He won’t let me leave the house anymore and I’m all alone.”

“So you want me to leave my apartment with Tae just so I can come here and be put on lockdown?”

“Yes.” You actually can’t believe you believed this woman for a second. That she could actually be motherly when your entire life she’s practically been a stranger.

“Sorry mom, I can’t.” More like you won��t but that answer would get you in trouble. You’re putting your own happiness in front of theirs for once. They can finally get a taste of their own medicine as vindictive as that sounds. But you’re finally really happy after a long while of being miserable and you’re not about to give that up/

“Fine. I didn’t want you here anyways.” She huffs like a chid, crossing her arms over her chest. That just confirms your decision.

Dinner rolls around the corner and the four of you are seated at a table made for ten. Your father sits at the head, no surprise, and you and your mother flank him with Jungkook beside you. The staff returns and sets your plates down, your favorite meal set before you. Eyeing the meal suspiciously you give your father the side eye. The only time they’ve ever bothered to have your favorite meal prepared is your birthday, which is not remotely close to today. “Why are we eating this for dinner?” You ask and Jungkook pauses mid-bite, eyes round and cheeks full.

“What can we not eat this meal now?” You father remarks, fire ablaze in his eyes. Oops.

“We only eat this on my birthday and that’s not today.”

“We’re celebrating.” Your father smiles maliciously. You gulp nervously and Jungkook reaches over to grab your limp hand resting in your lap. “Today is the day that Yoongi boy signed the contact.” Your eyes begin to water and you blink the tears away but they keep coming. Your father begins recounting the story of your first heartbreak but the words don’t even meet your ears as you’re too busy reliving the event.

(flashback to two years ago today)

Your father is sat at the head of the table with you and your mother flanking his sides. Yoongi, your current boyfriend and most likely love of your life, sits beside you with a hand on your thigh, stroking his thumb along it in an effort to soothe you as you bounce it nervously. Your father has been vehemently against your relationship since the moment they found out about Yoongi. For one he is studying the arts, something you found really intriguing but your father finds utterly useless. Secondly, he is middle-class at best, living mainly off your student dining card because you don’t care that you are racking up quite the bill as long as he is fed and healthy.

But for as against your relationship as your dad is, your father is smiling brightly at the table, cheery even. He’s in a good mood which is very peculiar. Your favorite meal is served and you think this was strange seeing as it isn’t your birthday or anything. Your mother keeps the chatter going at the table, both of your parents cracking jokes and being pleasant, making you think maybe everything is okay. Maybe they finally see that money doesn’t make a person and that it should be more about how they make you feel. You begin relaxing, your leg finally stilling, hope building in your chest that this will work out. That you can live with Yoongi in peace and your parents will respect your relationship. Instead though, halfway through dinner the staff brings in a manilla envelope and Yoongi’s hand tightens momentarily on your thigh. You both immediately sense the change in atmosphere as your parents both put down their silverware and carefully empty the contents of the manila envelope. Stretching forward you take note of some sort of contract but the print is so small and fine that you can’t read much. “So, Yoongi is it?” Your father asks. Yoongi’s eyes turn into slits as he regards your father and nods. “Well Yoongi, judging from my daughter’s dining bill and your full stomach despite your very low account balance, I can guess you’re in dire need of money which my daughter is so willingly supplying.”

“It’s not like that. I don’t date her because she’s rich, I date her because I love her.” Yoongi rasps.

“Love,” Your father says. “such a fickle thing love is. It can be so easily bought.” The hope that was building earlier has crumbled. “Especially when you have as much money as myself. Say Yoongi, how much money do you need?”

“I don’t want your money.” Yoongi growls.

You both move to stand up and leave the table when your father shouts, “I’ll give you two million dollars! Two million dollars and a producing job at the biggest record label in the country. I’ve already got it lined up, all you have to do is sign this little contract.” You scoff and b begin walking away when you realize Yoongi isn’t behind you. Turning around he’s still facing the table staring down at the contract that your father is now pushing across the table towards him.

“What’s the catch?” Yoongi asks, fingers tracing over the pen that lies on top of the contract. You take a step forward to stop him but freeze at your father’s next words.

“You break all contact with my daughter. Your relationship is terminated at the very moment you sign. I want it to be like you never even existed.”

“Yoongi?” Your voice breaks, tears clouding your vision as his fingers start to wrap around the pen. “Baby please don’t do this. I-I can get you the job and the money just please, please don’t leave me.” Sobs tumbled out of you harshly and you begin to hiccup form the violent onslaught of emotions. “Please Yoongi I can’t do this without you. You can’t- you can’t do this to me.” Running forward you grip onto his bicep turning him to face you head on, hoping that if your words can’t convince him then maybe the love and impending heartbreak swirling in your eyes will.

Tears fill his own and as you hold eye contact a stream of tears fall down his full cheeks. You reach up a hand to wipe them away but he turns his head to the other side. “I’m sorry angel. I am. I don’t want to hurt you but this is my dream. If I don’t take this opportunity now I might regret it for the rest of my life.” His voice is even raspier than normal and as he clicks the pen to begin writing you put the final nail in the coffin.

“But you’re my dream.” You cry, and he sucks in a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry angel.” He says one last time before pressing the pen to the paper. You leave the room quickly, the sound of a pen scratching on paper and the overjoyed looks on your parents faces haunting you every step of the way.

When your father is finished with the retelling of arguably the worst day of your life, a proud smile takes over both his and your mother’s face. You want to throw up. Silent tears stream down your cheeks from the memory and you say nothing as you push up from your chair, letting go of Jungkook’s hand. You’re unresponsive even as your parents question you and what you’re doing. Walking to your old room, you slam your door shut hoping to alleviate some of the tension but it does nothing. Laying facedown on your bed you scream into the pillow but nothing. It’s like you’re feeling everything and nothing at the same time and you don’t know what to do with yourself. So you decide to call the only person who knows how to make you feel better: Taehyung.

He picks up on the second ring cheery after just getting free pizza from the student union. Something about there being a fundraiser. You can hear him talking but fail to register his words, too lost in yourself to even notice. “Taehyung.” You cut him off.

“What’s wrong?” He asks worriedly. You never call him by his first name unless you’re pissed at him or upset.

‘They-they celebrated the day- the day Yoongi signed the contract.” You croak, sobs wracking your body once again.

“What? They memorized the date? They’re sick!” Taehyung spits, disgust evident in his tone. “Do you want me to come get you?” He asks, voice much softer.

“I can’t leave Jungkook here.”

“I’ll pick you both up, no worries.”

“It’s okay. We’ll just drive back tomorrow morning.” You’re not sure why you’re so calm and rational when you were crying two minutes ago but you guess it’s because you’ve already dealt with the heartbreak a while ago.

“How about you talk to me on the phone a while okay? Until you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” You mumble placing the phone on your pillow. You wake up hours later to a soft knock on your door and when you open it Jungkook is on the other side.

“Are you okay?” He immediately asks pulling you into him. “I was so worried about you, you know that? You just ran out and I could tell you were upset but your parents wouldn’t let me leave to come check up on you, and I should’ve just told them to fu-“

“I’m fine.” You grumble, half-asleep against Jungkook. It’s heartwarming that he cares. Giving his waist a squeeze you yawn against his chest. “Thanks for checking up on me though.’ Walking back to your bed you crawl under the comforter and turn to face Jungkook who’s standing in the doorframe awkwardly. “Kook could you sleep in here? I don’t feel like being alone tonight.” Taehyung had ended the call a while ago and you’re glad he had because you wouldn’t want him to hear this. He’d tease you for the rest of your life.

“O-okay.” Stepping inside, he shuts the door quietly before moving towards your bed. “Here give me a pillow and one of the blankets and I’ll be just fine on the floor.”

“You can sleep on the bed if you want. If you’re comfortable.” You mumble, pushing your face into your pillow to hide your embarrassment but to also not see his reaction. It’s all too silent and you get ready to backtrack, but the bed dipping stops you. Jungkook clambers into the bed and lies down beside you, the room suddenly so much cozier as his body heat mixes with yours. Your eyes instantly fall closed and your breathing slows, your body relaxing. “Thanks Kook.” You murmur before sleep finally takes its hold.

You wake up in a heap of tangled limbs that your half-asleep self didn’t really account for when there was originally some space between you two last night. You’re laying on your side and his arms wrap around you from behind, a thigh pressed between yours and his nose tucked into the crook of your neck. Soft snores escape his mouth in short increments, his breathing slow and calm against your back. You just enjoy the moment and relax, eyes beginning to flutter closed when there’s a knock on your door. Jungkook starlet behind you and digs his face into your shoulder groaning. Your body goes stiff at the motion, the fact that Jungkook is conscious making it seem much more intimate. Scrambling, you land on the floor with a loud thud making Jungkook jump up and whoever is behind the door to burst in. When the maid comes in and notices you and Jungkook she blushes and apologizes profusely for her intrusion, but not before she sends you a sly wink. You shake your head and try not to think about her implication. “Your parents are requesting you in the dining hall.” She says before closing the door and awkwardness begins to cloud the room.

“I guess we better get going. We’ve got to say goodbye and all. Pretend that we actually had a good time.” You chuckle, moving to reopen your bedroom door. Jungkook follows closely behind you, his hand slipping into your own. You almost take your hand out of his own, still reeling from the bedroom incident, but calm yourself down by repeating that this is fake. He’s only doing it because that’s what he’s supposed to do. He’s putting on a show.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks, sensing that you’re a bit jittery.

“Yeah, just peachy.” You smile but he stops you in the middle of the hallway.

“Talk to me. Is it about what your parents said last night? Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?” Jungkook takes his your other hand in his own and rubs his thumb over your knuckles, and it’s too much. It feels too real, it makes you feel like you could have a fighting chance. That you could get your happy ending. So you pull away to save yourself both from the pain and from the disappointment.

Carefully taking your hands out of his own your gaze ices over, face becoming unreadable. “I’m fine, just want to go home is all. We can quit the act now. Doesn’t matter much as we’re leaving right now. I’m not in the mood to stay for breakfast.” You head off towards the dining room not looking behind you to see if he’s following.

Your parents take the news of your early departure surprisingly well, almost like they were expecting you to take off right away. You promise yourself that this really is the last time you’ll step foot in this house, bad things just seem to happen here. When you’re changed into fresh clothes and your bags are packed and loaded, they stand outside to see you off. Your heart picks up a little bit as anxiety sets in because this is wrong, something feels off. They’ve never taken the time to see you off, half the time not even taking the time to see you. When the engine roars to life and you’re about to put the car into reverse your father taps on the window. Rolling it down, he leans in to say, “ Feel free to come by anytime Jungkook. I’d love to get to talk to you more, maybe about a future position at the company.” You change the gears and start slowly reversing, desperate to get Jungkook out of here before this goes any farther. Your father jumps back but continues walking next to the car, hunched over to continue talking. “How about you and your parents give me a call and we can try and work out something? Maybe even a deal if it comes up?” Slamming on the breaks you send Jungkook shooting forward, his seatbelt thankfully catching him.

“A deal?” You ask incredulously. “You’re fucking kidding me right?” You ask eyes welling with tears. It’s like Yoongi all over again. Any time you get close to someone they try and exploit them. “What you want him to break up with me too or would you rather me keep this one for the money? You people are sick, I can’t believe I have to call you my parents.” You spit. If you thought you were done with them before, you’ve never been so sure of it now. “You know what? Keep all your money, I don’t give a shit. Cut me out of the will if you want. I don’t want to be a part of this- this- whatever we are because a family sure isn’t it.” Your chest is heaving from your yelling and also the emotional toll taking over. There’s no going back now. Switching back into reverse, you peel out of your driveway barely giving time for the gates to open enough for your car to slip through. The car from before still sits across the street.

Jungkook ends up driving home because you’re too emotionally distraught to focus on anything. You’ve just isolated yourself from your family and your funds, meaning you’re basically broke, something you’ve never been in your whole life. You just ripped your own safety blanket right out from under you and while it feels nice to no longer be under your parent’s control you’re entirely rattled. You have no idea how to live or support yourself. Taehyung meets you in the parking lot of your complex a sad, knowing smile on his face when you pull up. Jungkook must have told him what happened before he took over the wheel. “Hey bubs.” Taehyung says softly, pulling you into a hug as soon as you stand out of the car. You limply wrap your arms around his waist, too exhausted to do anything more. Taehyung kisses the top of your head before laying his cheek against it, rubbing up and down your back. “Let’s go inside yeah? I ordered chinese and ice cream.” Your nose scrunches.

“Those don’t sound very good together.” You mumble into him and he chuckles.

“They taste good though. Separately.” Moving to wrap his arm around your waist, Taehyung guides you all the way back to the apartment, Jungkook following behind while carrying your bags. You feel a little guilty letting him carry everything for you but make no move to help him. You really don’t think you could do anything other than focus on putting one foot in front of the other, which is already hard enough with your current mental state.

Taehyung opens the front door and the dogs climb in your lap, licking your face and cheeks like they’re trying to cheer you up. Jungkook sets the luggage down by the door and stands there unsure about whether or not you want him to stay. Normally you would, Jungkook usually brightens your mood, but you’re feeling too vulnerable today and your vulnerability will get the best of you. So instead you say, “Thanks for driving and carrying the bags kook. I’ll see you at class tomorrow okay?” He deflates a little and you wonder if you made a mistake.

“Okay. Call me if you need anything.” As soon as the door shuts you start crying again.

The next morning during your shared class Jungkook arrives later then you and throws down two bags of chips as well as a large stack of newspaper clippings onto the desk. You look at him with a raised eyebrow. “I can’t let you starve, so I’m introducing you to the world of couponing. This will allow you to buy a lot of food without having to blow your whole budget. Speaking of which, you have a budget right?” You shake your head. The only thing money related was Taehyung offering to cover all your living expenses until you get on your feet which you politely declined. He was insistent on paying the rent though, so at least that’s one less thing to worry about.

“Oh right. You and Taehyung are like dumb and dumber when it comes to this.” Jungkook chuckles at his own lame joke and you glare at him. “We can just use the same one as Jimin and I do. We all have the same income anyways.” Throughout class Jungkook shows you how to plan out how much you’ll spend each month and on what, along with several rebate apps that give you cash back. You feel like a fool for wasting so much money that you could’ve used today by completing disregarding discounts or sales. You used to even feel embarrassed for picking something up off clearance.

When class is over you and Jungkook both head to the local grocery store to pick up food. Pink colors your cheeks as you hand the woman your rather large stack of coupons but she says nothing of it. Apparently a lot more people coupon than you thought. Carrying the groceries home though is a chore since they’re so heavy and you wish you would’ve just stolen temporarily borrowed a shopping cart so you wouldn’t have to carry them. The dogs yip happily at your heels when you and Jungkook enter the apartment, probably thinking that the food was for them. You can’t help but feel a little bad for them because there’s nothing for them, no coupon equals no buy, so when everything is packed away you give them a few bites of cheese. Flopping down onto the couch Jungkook joins you, throwing his head into your lap. He’s seemed to grow more physically affectionate after the trip to your parents.

Unsure what to do you keep both of your hands close to your chest to avoid touching Jungkook. The thought of running your hands through his hair is much too tempting so you really have to keep yourself restrained. You don’t really know what’s wrong with you, why you’re having such a problem with this. Well you have a semblance of an idea but you’d rather not think about the repercussions of that. You shift a little uncomfortably because of your thoughts and Jungkook turns his head to look at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just uhh… your head is heavy.” You lie, too afraid to hurt his feelings. It’s like you want him close but far at the same time. You feel like you’re running from something, you’re just not sure what.

“Feelings,” Taehyung says when you bring it up to him a week later after your weekly 6 a.m. sunday breakfasts with Jungkook. You had mentioned how Jungkook went to hold your hand but you pulled away at the last second, pretending to reach for more syrup as an excuse. You also ask him why Jungkook is suddenly more affectionate with you. He’ll give you hugs when you arrive at class and work now, his hand brushing against yours as he walks you home. “You’re running from your feelings because you’re scared to be hurt again. After your breakup with Yoongi you convinced yourself love wasn’t real and now that you’re feeling it, and it’s being reciprocated, you’re freezing up. You like the feelings but you’re scared of the hurt they could bring. You’re scared of being vulnerable again.”

“But I’m not scared with you/“ You say, anything to save face. To pretend he’s not entirely right and that you’re just causing you and Jungkook pain all because you’re too afraid to put yourself out there again.

“I’m not going anywhere, there’s no danger with me. We’re still friends even as ghosts remember? But with Jungkook you’re unsure because neither of you know where the other is at but have an inkling that your feelings are mutual. Which is why he’s getting touchy because by taking him with you to see your parents that was his in. That was the first time you’ve ever been vulnerable around anyone other than me right?” You nod. “That was your make or break moment and you didn’t even know it. So when you asked him to stay, that was you solidifying your feelings which he’s trying to encourage you to act on.” Taehyung says this all so matter-of-factly that you wonder whether it’s really been this obvious. If you’d been so in denial that you were blinded.

“What if- what if I’m always scared? He shouldn’t be with someone scared to love him.”

“Bubs, you’re not scared to love him. You’re scared of love itself. But so is everyone. Love isn’t easy, sometimes it’s hard. But you shouldn’t let that deter you from chasing after it.”

“Okay,” You’re still wary but you think you’ll always be given your past. But you trust Taehyung and if he says, you’ll be fine you believe him. “I guess it’s time I accept my feelings and tell him.”

You decide to wait until the weekend to confess your feelings to see if that’s really what you want. If you’re truly committed to the idea of trying to make this work. Because you accept that you love Jungkook and his stupid dorky humor, starry eyes, and crinkly smile but you haven’t accepted that you’ll have to open yourself up again. On Monday when you walk into your shared class again, your heart speeds up for a moment when Jungkook grins and waves frantically at you as you shyly wave back. You notice though that when you get settled behind him your heart slows down dramatically, instantly relaxed with him being in close proximity. This whole time you had thought it was because he was one of your closest friends but this whole time it was really because you love him. All those days where you sacrificed countless hours at the cafe just so you could give all your earnings to Jungkook so he could live easier were small declarations of your love. To have it all in the open now, well at least with yourself, is relaxing and for the first time you initiate intimate contact with Jungkook. You expected it to be nerve-racking and awkward as you lean your head on his shoulder but instead it just feels natural. Just like how it was when you two held hands for the first time. Jungkook stiffens for a short moment before he relaxes and you can feel his cheek brush the top of your head as he turns to glance down at you, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a soft smile. Looking up at him through your lashes his eyes are soft, their glimmer a soft glow rather than their usual blinding light, as he whispers softly, “tired?” You just nod because if you open your mouth you just know those three little words will tumble right out. And when you say you love him for the first time, you want it to be in something other than the back of a classroom.

The next time you get the urge to tell him is when you’re at work and he’s got his white button up sleeves rolled above his elbow, arms practically on full display. Normally you wouldn’t give yourself the time to look at them, busying yourself with menial tasks to keep any wandering and dangerous thoughts at bay but you don’t care anymore. Your mind is too hazy with the image of his taut arms that you don’t notice that rather than the cup, your hand is under spot where the steamed milk comes out and you hiss in pain when the boiling liquid comes in contact with your skin. The sound attracts Jungkook who immediately leaves the till to come to your aid, gently holding onto your wrist to inspect the injured appendage. Tsk’ing quietly he hurries you to the back where he runs the faucet on cold before gently putting your hand under it. His hand is still cupping your wrist gently and his mouth is moving as he probably tells you to be more careful but you can’t make sense of his words. Not when his presumably soft and pink lips keep forming into a pout like they’re waiting for you to give him a peck. You need to tear your eyes away before you do something stupid, but you don’t want to. Unconsciously you begin to move closer and it’s not until he stops mid-sentence that you realize you’re much too close and you don’t want to confess in the back of your work so instead you turn your head and pretend it never happened.

Sunday rolls around and you wake up before Jungkook’s traditional 6 a.m. wake up call to put in a little more effort today. Today is the day, no more waiting, no more torture of not saying anything even though it’s practically bursting out of you. This is your time and place to tell the Jungkook you love him, at your very own spot. Throwing on a comfy dress, one to hide the food baby caused by one too many pancakes, and fixing up your hair a little you anxiously wait for Jungkook to arrive at your apartment. You swear he takes a little longer than normal to get there but maybe it’s just because you’re so nervous. You’ve only confessed once before and that relationship didn’t end very well but you’re trying to not let it effect you. Just because it happened once before doesn’t mean it needs to happen again.

When Jungkook does arrive he’s in his typical white t-shirt and baggy sweats but you swear he’s never looked so good in his life. During your double take do you only then notice his bright cherry red hair has made a reappearance. “Gone back to red huh?”

“Told you I would didn’t I?” He smiles bending down so you get a full view of the top of his head. “Wanna double check it’s the same quality as last time?”

“If you want me to play with your hair why not just say so?” You laugh softly, carding your fingers through the strands. It’s just as soft as it was last time. “Come on, we can do that later. I’m hungry.” You say grabbing onto his hand and dragging him down the hall. This time you don’t let go the whole way to the diner.

You both sit in the same booth as always and the same bored waitress as always is working. She doesn’t even say anything as you come in, just begins punching in your order since you both always get the same thing. The only thing that has seemed to change is the tv mounted on one of the corners of the room above the counter top seating area. A news station plays in the background but the volume is practically inaudible.

“So what’s been up with you?” Jungkook asks leaning on his elbows that are resting on top of the table. “You’ve been really affectionate all week, not that I mind, but it’s kind of out of character for you. Did something happen? Are you okay?” Your heart warms that he cares enough to ask. It grows twice as large at the fact that he noticed the change in your demeanor. It just validates everything Taehyung told you and gives you the confidence you need to really take the leap of faith. You’re ready to put your faith in Jungkook because you know he’ll be there to catch you.

“Well actually-“

“Wait isn’t that your dad?” Jungkook interrupts. Whipping around you turn back to the tv tucked away in the corner. Sure enough there’s you dad with his hands handcuffed behind his back as two cops lead him to their patrol car. Your mother is shown seconds after your father is placed inside the car, also in a set of handcuffs as she’s placed in a separate vehicle. “Hey can you turn the volume up please?” Jungkook asks the waitress who begrudgingly obliges.

-just in, the CEO of Medle Distributions has been arrested on several counts of tax evasion and embezzlement. According to law enforcement, he’s been doing this for quite some time and has also scammed smaller companies by selling them fake shares into his company. His wife has been arrested for assisting her spouse in his crimes.” The news reporter says and his words circled around your head for a while. Your parents have been arrested. They’re probably guilty of the crimes. Somehow they managed to mess up with your love life again by screwing up the day you were supposed to confess. But it’s in this moment while you’re processing what’s happening that you realize that life will always have its hiccups. It will never be perfect, there will always be some aspect that’s not great. If life was a garden there would always be a weed somewhere. But you shouldn’t expect it to be perfect either. If your life was perfect you would have never been here with Jungkook, you probably wouldn’t have even met him. And if a perfect life meant no Jungkook, well then you didn’t want it.

“Y/n I’m-“

“I love you.” You say, not wanting to withhold it any longer. Your whole body sags after you finally let it out, relieved of the weight on your shoulders. Jungkook’s doe eyes have reached their peak roundness and his mouth is parted slightly open from being caught off-guard like a deer in headlights.

“Y-You what?” He stutters.

“I love you.” You grin at him, leg beginning to bounce in anticipation. Jungkook’s eyes sparkle even brighter than possible, their intensity rivaling that of the sun beginning to rise outside. His cheeks once again match his hair and your heart skips a beat as his crinkly smile takes over his whole face.

“i love you too. But what about your parents? We can’t lie to them forever.”

“That doesn’t matter. When I said I was done with them I meant it. Besides, I don’t really care what they think anymore. If they don’t love you for you, then that’s their problem.” You say, reaching over to grab onto his hand. Your heart is still slightly racing from the nerves of confessing but as Jungkook’s comforting warmth seeps from his hand into yours you know you’ll be okay. You have a home now, a family. Your family may be small with just you, Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin (you two have gotten much closer since you’ve been working together). It may not be much but to you they’re you’re everything and you wouldn’t trade them for all the money in the world.

“Scooch over.” Jungkook says before sliding next to you and throwing an arm around you.

“What are you doing?” You ask. The waitress comes over and places your food down before disappearing into the kitchen.

“What does it look like? i’m sitting next to my girlfriend.” He says giddily before pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek and giggling into your neck as both of you grow shy.

“Bold of you to assume we’re dating.” You tease and his other arm wraps around your waist to pull you into him.

“Bold of you to assume I’d confess and then not make you mine.” He mumbles into your neck.

“If I remember correctly I was the one who confessed.” Jungkook pulls back to roll his eyes at you.

“You couldn’t have just let me be cute.” He whines, pouting. This time you finally give in a place a soft kiss against his jutted lower lip.

“You’re always cute kook.” He nuzzles his nose into your neck and you laugh, bringing a hand up into his hair.

“Is this your embarrassed tic?” You tease. “Because I hate to tell you but it really just makes you that much cuter.” You giggle.

“You’re the worst.” He groans but moves so he can kiss you properly. His hands cup your cheeks stroking your cheekbones as he kisses you soft and slow. It’s more than you could’ve imagined because it’s real and when he pulls away and his eyes stay closed for a little while longer like he’s trying to relish the feeling a little longer, with a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips you just know this it is. Love is all about the give and take and you’d give Jungkook the world if it meant you could take small moments like this.

“i love you.” Jungkook murmurs leaning in to give you another kiss, the food in front of you long forgotten.

“I love you too you dork.” You mumble against his lips.

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guillemelgat · 4 years

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Quarantine questions

Thank you for tagging me @gwendolynlerman <3

1. Are you staying home from work/school?

Yep! At home for the rest of the quarter regardless what happens

2. If you’re staying home, who’s there with you?

My mom, dad, and most importantly, cat

3. Do you have pets to keep you company?

Yes, my cat!

4. Who do you miss the most?

I miss just being at school and all the people I interact with in passing there, who I don’t see anymore now, especially the fourth years who are going to be gone forever next year ;;-;;

5. When was the last time you left your home?

To go for a walk? Yesterday. To go to the store? Two days ago. My family hasn’t been good about staying inside but we have been doing social distancing, covering faces, and cleaning everything we bring from the store so hopefully that’s okay???

6. What was the last thing you bought?

Cat food, laundry detergent, and aspirin for my dad.

7. Is quarantine driving you insane or are you finally relaxed?

I was having a great time until school started up again, that’s driving me up the wall though. I don’t like to have to do things when I’m at home :////

8. Are you a homebody?

Big yes, I love being at home and hate being out

9. What movies have you watched recently?

I think the movie I watched most recently was Booksmart, which was pretty good.

10. An event that you were looking forward to that got cancelled?

Spring Quarter??? Especially Scav though, because I had a really bad Scav last year and wanted to enjoy it this year, but that’s not happening I guess :)))))

11. What’s the worst thing that you’ve had to cancel?

Just everything I was looking forward to in the spring, my happiness is cancelled I guess

12. What’s the best thing you’ve had to cancel?

Hmm I suppose I am happy about not having back-to-back classes from 9:30am-2:00pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Was not looking forward to that.

13. Do you have any new hobbies?

I built some shelves, if that counts???

14. What are you out of?

Hopefully not anything, although I’m sure my dad will find something for us to be out of so he can go to the store *rolls eyes*

15. What music are you listening to?

I’ve gotten into Koers recently! Also have been listening to some Lágrimas de Sangre, who I hadn’t listened to much before. And the Zoo concert that they put up on Youtube, which is really good. I guess just my usual stuff, you know how it be.

16. What are you reading?

The Fires of Merlin by T.A. Barron, which is from a series that I loved in middle school. It holds up really well, and it’s very wholesome, if any of you need some good YA fantasy in your lives rn (and who doesn’t??)

17. What are you doing for self-care?

Trying to do some exercise and also talking to my parents and cleaning a lot, which is nice and relaxing

18. Are you exercising?

Attempting to. Unfortunately I don’t like doing indoor stuff very much and I can’t go on long walks or bike rides (at least as often as I would want), so I haven’t been exercising a whole lot. And my motivation decreases with each passing day so we’ll see how this goes.

19. How’s your toilet paper supply?

I think it’s fine. People have chilled out a bit now, so we even have some sanitary wipes, which is good.

20. Have you made any changes to your hair during quarantine?

Nope but I should probably get a haircut soon

I’m not going to tag anyone, but if you want to rant about your quarantine experience, please do! I’d love to know how everyone is doing <3

#i just hate being in school #besides that i could sit at home forever probably #i don't want to do classes though :////#as you can tell by the fact that i'm not watching my compsci lecture and am doing this instead #random stuff #tag games

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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Royals 4/9: I'm a Star and I'm Burnin' Through You (Branjie)- athena2

A/N: Thank you to everyone that’s read and left feedback! B and V are getting closer in this chapter, and I hope you all enjoy! A thousand thank you’s to Writ for betaing, you’re absolutely awesome! Your comments mean so much to me, and I would really appreciate it if you leave some for this chapter!

Chapter title from Love song by Lana Del Rey

—

In hindsight, the eggs were probably a step too far.

But this ‘spend a month with Brooke’ plan sounds exactly like something her mother would dream up, and it most likely would have happened even without throwing eggs at Brooke’s door.

They had definitely moved it along, though.

Hopefully Brooke knows she’s not to be messed with now, and won’t try to murder her in retaliation. Just because she didn’t follow rules as intensely as Brooke, or turn rigid as a soldier around her parents–she noticed Brooke do that this morning, there’s definitely some secrets in the Hytes castle–didn’t mean she wasn’t a good princess. Since when did following rules and doing well in lessons become the only qualifications of worth anyway? Though throwing eggs definitely wasn’t on the list, either.

Vanessa has always known she’s lovable, grins and handshakes and agreements blooming where she tred. She’s won over lords and ladies, princes and princesses. Her parents said she could walk into a room and have people on her side in minutes. So why couldn’t she act that way towards Brooke? Vanessa had fun skirting the rules for all they were worth, but what about Brooke made her take it to the point of throwing eggs? She thinks back to their interactions, trying to picture them clearly this time, not tinged with hatred. Brooke has been polite to her, if a little cold and condescending, but she probably didn’t deserve what Vanessa had done. She had overreacted. Again. It’s been a problem the past year—overreacting, letting her temper take control, not knowing when to stop acting out. Maybe she can be nicer tomorrow, turn on some of her charm. She knows the alliance is important to her parents, and she doesn’t want Brooke and her family angry at them. Besides, the month will only be even worse if she and Brooke aren’t on speaking terms.

Her thoughts are pierced by howling outside her window that chills Vanessa to the bone. Inside this creepy castle, where it already feels like the walls watch her, she can’t be sure the howls don’t sound like her name.

Great. Not only does she have to worry about Brooke poisoning her breakfast, but there’s also a chance she might get eaten by wolves. They probably wouldn’t even find her body out in the woods.

She rolls over in bed and sighs. This damn wedding couldn’t come fast enough.

—

Vanessa pulls on her favorite dress, gold swirling around her like the sun’s rays. If she has to spend an entire day with Brooke, she’s at least going to look good while she does it. She always wore her sun necklace with it, but that’s long gone now.

A knock at the door signals the start of the day’s suffering.

Brooke stares at Vanessa’s dress so long it’s like she’s trying to find the individual fibers in it. Vanessa’s cheeks burn as Brooke’s eyes take her in; it’s probably just anger. “You can’t go out there like that,” Brooke says, matter-of-fact, and all thoughts of being nice fly out the window.

The heat in her cheeks spreads to her whole body. “Now you’re telling me how I can dress? It’s bad enough I have to spend the day with you. I’m wearing what I want.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just…if you go out there obviously dressed like royalty, people might not be happy to see you.”

That’s not something she had considered, admittedly. She gave up on pretending to be someone else last year and flaunted around the city square in fancy dresses, not caring who saw her. People were always excited to see her, talking and smiling with her, telling her their stories. Figures that can’t happen in the north. This is the place where joy comes to die.

She can tell Brooke is serious–who is she kidding? Brooke is always serious. Vanessa thinks her whole face might crack if she were to smile. But there’s something–maybe an ounce of fear that passes across her face before it resumes its steely mask so quickly Vanessa might have imagined it–that makes her think she should listen, that Brooke knows what it’s like to have people unhappy at her presence.

“Fine. Do you need to watch me change?”

Brooke leaves and Vanessa exchanges the gold dress for a dull gray one, pulling her black winter cloak tight over herself. She can’t say they don’t fit her mood.

“Let’s get this misery over with,” she brushes past Brooke.

—

The village is a few minutes’ walk down the road, and it’s nothing like the bustling village home. The cobbled streets are a dusty gray brushed over by people with scowls plastered on their faces and eyes staring icily. Everyone seems hunched over, like the same force keeping their lips downturned is also dragging them toward the ground. It’s much quieter than her village; no children laughing or merchants chatting with customers. Two guards dressed in regular clothing trail a few feet behind them.

“Why did guards have to come with us? I thought no one is supposed to know who we are.”

“Well, not all of us parade around and fight people without guards–”

“I could handle myself,” Vanessa insists. She doesn’t bother telling Brooke that she wasn’t even the one to get in those fights. “Obviously you can’t take two steps from your door without someone watching you. Do you faint like an old lady or something–”

“It’s my father’s orders. They come in normal clothes and no one notices. It’s for our safety,” Brooke informs her, leaving no room for argument. “Look, I don’t like them any more than you do. I wish I could do one thing without people watching me.”

She’s about to retort that Brooke probably loved having people watch how perfect she is, but something holds her back. Brooke is less steel and more silk today, bags under her eyes dulling some of her sharpness. Maybe Brooke is just pretending to be nice, trying to talk normally to her, but maybe she really does mean it. And maybe Vanessa should do more to make this work and keep her parents happy. Either way, Vanessa understands, and she nods in agreement.

“Sometimes it feels like I can’t even take a bath in peace.”

“Yes,” Brooke agrees, nodding fiercely.

“It’s like you can’t just be you. Nothing you do is your own. There’s always something else involved.” It’s a feeling she was born into, royal rules and standards dictating a lot of her life, but it didn’t settle into her bones and cloud her mind, didn’t really squeeze her like a vise, until last year.

Brooke doesn’t speak, but her eyes are deep with knowing, and it occurs to Vanessa that she’s probably the only other person who can understand something like that.

Any further connection is interrupted by a woman swinging her basket in rage after leaving a butcher shop, almost beheading Vanessa. Another miserable northerner with a scowl, eyes on the ground rather than the light blue sky above.

“Is there a law against smiling here?” Vanessa demands.

Brooke shrugs. “It’s not a common practice. People mostly keep to themselves.”

“Well, I’m hungry,” Vanessa whines. “Do they have lunch in the village, or is that not a common practice either?”

And she swears, just for a second, that Brooke’s lips quirk up into a half-smile.

—

Brooke doesn’t talk freely; Vanessa discovers that their second day, as they chew roasted chicken sandwiches for lunch in a silence that makes her restless, but she answers questions like they’re in a lesson and she’s receiving marks for her responses.

When Vanessa’s voice grows hoarse after a day of rambling to fill the silence, she asks Brooke questions about the north and its villages. Brooke gives her answers like a human history book, and Vanessa is back in lessons all over again.

“Alright, let’s talk about something else,” Vanessa cuts off Brooke after her innocent question about northern trees becomes a lecture on tree bark exports. She wracks her brain for something to get them through the next hour until they went back to the castle as painlessly as possible. “What’s your favorite color?”

“I hardly see how that’s relevant,” Brooke splutters. “Surely there’s more important things–”

“Just answer the question.”

Brooke’s mouth opens but nothing comes out. It’s the first question she doesn’t have an answer ready for, and Vanessa wonders how she knows a dozen uses for tree bark and history going back several centuries but has to think about her favorite color. Was it possible that no one had ever asked her?

“What’s yours?” Brooke counters.

“Yellow,” Vanessa responds without hesitation. Yellow like the sun, like the lemon candies in her village, tart and sweet in the same bite, like the birds welcoming the morning outside her castle window. “Now you answer.”

Brooke bites her lip. “White,” she says finally.

“White?”

“Yes. Like the snow when it falls all fluffy like a cloud.” For a second, her voice has the wonder of a child and her eyes shine.

Vanessa nods, glad she didn’t laugh at Brook for choosing a boring color before hearing her explanation. She guesses the snow can be pretty, when it’s not numbing your legs. She’s just a little surprised that Brooke likes it so much when she sees it every year, but Vanessa supposes that just because something’s familiar doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful. Maybe it was even more beautiful when you saw something countless times and still appreciated it for all it was.

“Favorite food?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke describes the honey cakes and crusty rolls Nina makes, and Vanessa tells her about the roasted chicken with beans that she devours back home.

If this is what she has to do to make Brooke stop hating her, this is what she’ll do.

Only after exchanging favorite seasons (spring for Brooke and summer for Vanessa) does she think that maybe the questions are making her stop hating Brooke.

—

Vanessa didn’t think it was possible, but somehow the nightly dinners with both their families are more painful than days with Brooke. Tonight, Thomas has been talking about the wedding so long it might be here before he finishes, and the bread with roasted garlic that Nina made is the only thing keeping Vanessa from sprinting out of the dining room. She reaches for her fourth slice as Thomas lists names off the mile-long guest list, watching Brooke fiddle with her knife.

A clang sounds underneath her. Brooke has gone completely rigid and stares intensely at her empty hand, lips parted and brow furrowed, as if she’s trying to understand how she could have dropped it.

Vanessa’s body reacts without thought, sliding her own knife over to Brooke as heads turn their way.

“My apologies,” Vanessa offers. “The knife slipped right through my hand.”

From how tense Brooke is, Vanessa expects shouting, but there’s no reprimand from anyone. She doesn’t know if Brooke would have gotten in trouble for that, but she thinks of how stiff Brooke got when her father scolded her the day of the eggshells, how scared she was after the knife hit the floor, and Vanessa figures it’s better to let everyone think she’s clumsy if it keeps that fear from Brooke’s eyes.

One of the kitchen staff brings her a new knife, and the dinner continues like nothing happened.

Brooke’s fingers brush against hers, light as a bird’s feather.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and Vanessa knows she did the right thing.

It’s not until she’s in bed that she thinks of how last week she would have paid a bag of gold to see the Ice Princess slip up like that, to see a crack in her perfect exterior. But now that it’s happened, she wants to patch that crack up and keep her whole.

—

“Are there any shops that sell candy here?” Vanessa asks. They’re in a different village today, a little farther from the castle. This one is even more gloomy than the one they normally go to. The snow is a dirty gray and many shops are closed, empty behind broken glass. It’s been a week and though she no longer hates Brooke, they’re far from friends. Brooke is still too guarded, too composed for Vanessa to really know her. When Vanessa asks questions she always expects Brooke to say more, but she doesn’t; she just gives simple, exact answers. Vanessa considers if she just doesn’t want to talk or if she’s hiding something.

“There’s one on the next street. It has chocolate truffles,” Brooke says, and Vanessa needs no more.

She turns the corner to see the sign reading Scarlet’s Sweets hanging off its hinges, rocking in the wind. Thick dust and grime coats the windows. Looks like she isn’t getting chocolate today.

“I think it’s been closed for a while.”

“I didn’t know,” Brooke replies. “I don’t know much about the stores or people here, really.”

Vanessa knew all about the people in her village. She knew Honey, who appropriately owned the candy shop where Vanessa bought lemon drops and chocolates by the pound. She stopped in Ariel’s tailor shop to talk to her, bearing raspberry chocolates for Ariel’s little sister. She knew Ra’jah at the apothecary and Mercedes at the butcher shop, has listened to all their stories and helped her parents enact laws that protected merchants.

“You don’t? Thought you knew everything,” she teases, wondering what has changed over the past few days for her to venture teasing Brooke. Or what has changed that leads to Brooke not yelling at her, but flashing a half-grin–Vanessa doesn’t think she has any others–before resuming her frown.

“I don’t really go out much,” Brooke explains. “My parents like me to stay inside and do my lessons and go to meetings because that’s more important.”

She couldn’t imagine being stuck inside all day like Brooke. She was like a caged animal when she was inside too long, eyes flitting to the sky and dense green trees when she was in a meeting. Running along the village cobblestones or through the cornfields where the stalk towered over her was the best part of her day. Her parents had always let her, setting aside time each day for her to go outside, knowing how important freedom is to her.

“Oh.” she says, things starting to make a little more sense. Brooke’s parents keeping her inside all day, forcing her to study, is another piece that helps add up to the puzzle that is Brooke. It explains why she knows so much about history and commerce but so little about the world or even herself, why she seems uncertain of the shops they go in.

“There’s chocolate truffles in the candy shop closer to the castle,” Brooke offers.

“Let’s go then.”

—

The howling is back, jolting her out of a somewhat decent sleep. Now that she’s awake, the cold returns and digs into her bones like tiny knives, back aching as she shivers.

Maybe there’s more blankets somewhere. She grabs her robe and opens the door, only to narrowly avoid bumping into Brooke. Vanessa notes the deep bags under her eyes.

“What are you doing stalking around in the middle of the night?” Vanessa asks, holding her robe closed.

The light pink tinge to Brooke’s cheeks glows rosily in the light of the wall torches.

“I-I couldn’t sleep. Thought a walk might help. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

Judging from those bags, Vanessa suspects this sleeplessness is nothing new. But Brooke looking so vulnerable, so small and lost without her glittery jewelry or dresses is new, and she softens, uncrossing her arms and waving Brooke off. “I was up anyway. Some animals outside woke me.”

“Right,” Brooke nods. “I’ll just be moving along then.” She turns smoothly and shuffles back down to the other end of the hall.

Sleep well, Vanessa thinks but doesn’t say, surging with a sudden warmth that makes her forget the blankets.

—

Vanessa’s grown bored with the village today, drumming her fingers on the tabletop in the square, and she jumps when Brooke asks if he wants to return early and have tea with Nina.

Snow is fluttering to the ground on their way back to the castle, sticking to her cheeks and landing bright on the shoulders of her black cloak.

“It’s so pretty when it falls.” Brooke is so quiet Vanessa isn’t sure whether she’s meant to hear.

“It is pretty,” Vanessa admits. “We don’t get it at all down south. It’s socold though. Especially at night. I’ve been sleeping with three blankets and I still can’t get warm,” she laments, but she lacks any real bitterness. It’s hard to be bitter about it when it’s falling so thick, fragments of a cloud like Brooke said, pearly-white and delicate as it lands on her forehead. Brooke nods, and Vanessa again gets the idea she’s holding something back, that she wants to say something but isn’t sure she should.

Regardless, Brooke is a little looser as the snow settles in her wavy hair, head lowered until they stride across the castle’s stone floor, when it snaps back up like she’s on a string.

Thomas is there to greet them. Brooke pales, her mouth twisting as she appears to bite the inside of her cheek, before becoming the perfect princess again, face a blank canvas. Thomas’s eyes are rimmed with hatred when he first sees her. He forcefully brushes the snow from her hair, muttering under his breath about presentation and that she needs to change for dinner. Brooke nods and Vanessa knows tea with Nina is out of the picture.

She considers the defeat in Brooke when she saw Thomas, and Vanessa’s thoughts have to regroup. Had she gotten it wrong? What if it wasn’t Thomas that was stuck with Brooke, but the other way around? It wouldn’t be the first time she had completely misread a relationship, seen things that weren’t there, missed the problems staring her in the face, changed the narrative to fit her emotions.

At least this time it wouldn’t cost her anything.

–

That night, there’s a stack of thick, fluffy blankets on her bed. She plucks the note off the top.

Stay warm.

The handwriting is so elegant and precise there’s only one person it could be from, and Vanessa finds her mind tracing the curves and swells of the letters all night.

—

“You’ve been watching every other day, correct?” the correspondent asks the man.

“Yes. I think I’ll increase to every day. I need more time sizing that one up, picturing that arrow going in,” the man says.

“If you think more surveillance will help, do it. Just make sure you aren’t seen. I’ll increase castle surveillance as well. Neither of them expect anything, I’m certain of it. And don’t forget to keep working on your aim.”

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #princess au #lesbian au #royals by athena2 #royalty au #tw unhealthy relationship #concrit welcome #submission

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oftripps · 5 years

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“ –– wow. ” it’s not so much a critique as it is a g-rated expletive. tripp forces a smile mid-chew and blinks. “ my tastebuds are screaming. gah–– uh, singing. singing. ” he avoids swallowing and as ring-decorated fingers snag a napkin, wide eyes drifting to the tabletop as a small jingle breezes past tensed lips. “ ~ allergic to mushrooms ~ ”

or, alternatively: this is somethin’ new! the caspar slide pt. 2 !! & this time, it’s ‘bout to get funky !! so i’m linc and this is tripp and he’s........ a trip, honestly, so let’s just... yeet on into this ––

( joe keery + 22 + muse 12 ) isn’t that phillip joel “tripp” goodman over there? i heard he joined faction: one after they got back to west ham. it’s funny, ‘cause they were only on the service trip because HIS BANDMATES DUPED HIM INTO THINKING THE SIGN-UP WAS FOR A WOODS-THEMED OPEN MIC GIG. hopefully they fit in there – they’re JAUNTY but also OUTRÉ. oh, i’m sure they’ll be fine.

out the door ! ( tripp goodman: a roadmap )

look up townie family in the dictionary and you’ll find a portrait of the goodmans directly beside. these folks have a looooong flippin’ legacy here in lil’ ole west ham, kansas. it all started with montgomery goodman, a good man, who helped west ham’s founders break ground on this midwestern charmer several centuries ago. and now, the goodmans still live on the same property –– a refurbished farmhouse ( now closer to mcmansion ) surrounded by five acres of roooooollin’ hills. once upon a time, they were farming folk. now, theresa and joel goodman run the town’s one and only veterinary clinic.

honestly, growing up? tripp was a problematic kid. he’d take in frogs from the woods and start his own frog hotels. he’d sneak pets from the clinic to school who “ needed help learning their numbers ”. in class, he’d flick sunflower seeds at the backs of his peers’ heads and, when threatened with discipline, claim he simply “ wanted to see if they’d grow ” . so no, to answer your question–– tripp never really saw the real wrath warranted by his rulebreaking.

in fourth grade, he chose the saxophone as his required instrument. he caused such a commotion in his house, that his parents asked his teachers to suggest something quieter. the viola. the flute. the clarinet. the piano. instruments came and went,;instruments were quickly mastered and abandoned. because dear lord, how many times could they listen to the spongebob theme song played on woodwind ?! on strings ?! once middle school rolled around, little phillip joel knew his way around a whopping total of six instruments, a tally that would only grow in the coming years. eventually, his parents caved and allowed him to keep playing, so long as he respected instrument curfews. they gave song requests to avoid hearing the same pieces on repeat: the goodman household was probably the only one blessed with an oboe-and-beatbox rendition of under the sea. young phillip joel’s take on the issue was simple: not all heroes wore capes.

( tw: domestic unrest, mentions of violence ) theresa and joel split when tripp was 9. just seven months later, tripp’s mother moved in with her girlfriend: tripp’s guitar teacher, ms. lillith. tripp didn’t mind ms. lillith. she was chill. he came to find out she could knock back a chocolate milk almost as fast as he could, and she liked her grilled cheeses with swiss only. his best friend became a thirty-six year old woman who happened to be his mother’s girlfriend. and that was fine. he could dig it. but joel goodman? oh no. his family name was tarnished. the scandal was too much to bear. joel sued for full custody and nearly made it, thanks to hometown politics and loyalties. but then he made one fatal mistake: he crossed his own son.

at 10 years old, fifth grade phillip joel returned home to his father’s after school with three fingernails painted effervescent blue. sidney frasier made me so cool, he gushed as he put his colored nails on proud display. dad, aren’t i so cool? the next day, his dad enrolled him in the town’s peewee football program. he returned home from his first practice with a black eye and a split lip. from a ball, the coach insisted. hit the poor fella square in the face, real strong. phillip joel put up a fight against football; it wasn’t for him. it conflicted with music practice. couldn’t he just play music with ms. lillith instead?

the custody battle persisted. they settled on a parenting schedule. joel contested, consistently, months later. and so the cycle persisted up until phillip joel’s 12th year, when he was knocked out cold on the football field. the broken ribs came from hefty tackles. bruises from the fall. concussion from the impact. but theresa spun it to her advantage: joel had since started coaching the middle school team. this was an instance of parental neglect. and, when the courts didn’t comply, she instructed her son to jump down the stairs. one broken ankle later, and joel goodman was accused of child abuse. his word against his injured son’s. the maneuver won theresa full custody. phillip joel has yet to forgive himself.

after the custody battle’s conclusion, joel stayed in town: but phillip joel didn’t want a thing to do with sharing his name. his mother still scolds him as phillip joel, but to everyone else, he became tripp –– inspired by his knack for, you guessed it!, tumbling over his own two feet.

in high school, tripp was the class clown. always smirking, always grinning, always ready to catch someone off guard. he became a pivotal part of west ham high’s jazz band, and even formed a small group with a few buds: face. they played some school events: homecoming, pep rallies, prom. garage-baked young rock, their songs often preached meetings under bleachers and high school never ending.

in senior year, the band saw a reboot: and after assuming a more indie, spacey sound and a nifty new name –– 1757. –– they saw a rise in local celebrity. coffee shops commissioned them for jam nights. they played on the local radio. so they collectively decided to stick around and see how far they could ride this west ham fame train. with tripp as their frontman, they always leave a memorable impression: he’s not exactly the most run-of-the-mill performer.

1757.’s sound is reminiscent of LANY: i’ve reblogged a few tunes onto tripp’s blog for reference. he’s v much a paul klein / matty healy vibe. big into music. big into losing himself in it.

so what was he up to before the service trip? playin’ tunes. working part-time as a waiter. and brainstorming ways to get out of going on this trip, as soon as he realized his stupid bandmates lied about the form he signed. an open mic in the woods ! pah ! he should have known. but the concept sounded pretty flippin’ cool.

wear our shades on our nose, 'cause we're cool like that ( tripp goodman: the man, the myth, the ledge )

oh god, he’s w e i r d . he believes in goblins and ghosts and aliens ( oh my )!

still VERY VERY close with his mother. v broken up about not being able to get through to her, because it was about to be his parents’ wedding anniversary and they were going to anti-celebrate it with big slices of oreo cheesecake and setting things on fire.

how he feels about coming home to west ham: post apocalyptic version.

uhhhh... can he please get a waffle? specifically a cinnamon raisin waffle with extra cinnamon and a shit ton of syrup? actually. syrup with a side of waffles?

why he was banned from his personal twitter.

“ do you even lift, bruv? ” * proceeds to pick up a teacup & lift his pinkie like a true knock-off british monarch, shitty accent included *

listens to wham! and glam rock. unironically.bluetooth speaker mounted on his bike. no helmet! like an absolute boss. he knows!! wild!! shades on. it’s 2am. it’s dark. but true swag obeys no clock.

catch him biking everywhere stranger things style, actually. his bike’s name is milo because he can roll on for miles. mess with milo and he’ll fuck u up. aka find out if you’re lactose intolerant and slip heavy cream into your meal.

has a strong vendetta against blue doritos. which might take root in some horrific experiences involving cheez wiz, cool ranch, weed, and the new york subway system at 4am on a tuesday. spring break freshman year of college. oof.

he has a lil drawwwwl. tease him about it. he’ll probably blush.

stress-hums chili’s babyback ribs without realizing. catch him singin’ that about to be murdered.

weapon of choice: kindness.

actual weapon of choice: baseball bat.

he will write little jingles to keep morale up. “ so we’re trapped / cash us inside / how bou’ dat ? ”

has a passion for introspective literary quotes. but... has somehow managed to learn each and every one wrong.

friggin’ loves superheroes even though he can’t be bothered to watch the films? he just… always used to get made fun of for liking comic books even though he never read them? “ arachnid man is uh... heh. he’s pretty dope, huh? ” he embraces the falsehood. someone call him on it.

9/10 times if he’s in the gym, it’s just to eat his donut and watch pay-per-view movies on the bike for free.

apple pie can absolutely be breakfast if you try hard enough. jeez. get with the times, man!

he had a legitimate pet rock before going on this service trip. but has no idea where that bugger’s gone. probably got fed up with tripp serenading him with “ we will rock you ” at all hours of the night.

lawful good. will wave other drivers on forever.

got into an accident on his bike once. bitch broke his arm and he just kept on smiling. “ no you have a nice day! and uh.... hey. mind if we like... call an ambulance? ”

low key feels like he’s the reason his parents’ marriage crumbled. low key guilty about it. low key wonders if maybe he lived up to his father’s expectations, he might have saved them a lot of grief.

give benny goodman by saint motel a listen and tell me that’s not his soul in audio form.

known for slightly hyperbolic storytelling.

pansexual as heck. falls in love. hard. it’s a mess. he can’t hide it. hence the shades.

he has brilliant hair. and it’s immortalized in his high school yearbook.

is hellbent on being a source of positivity in this terrible situation. can he interest you in a meme in these trying times? how ‘bout a granola bar? maybe a good ole game of mash?

he’s convinced this is an elaborate prank. or a social experiment. maybe aliens. but let’s not question it too much, let’s just.... have a good time? hakuna matata? no worries? lol where the twizzlers at?!

leaves a voicemail for his mother every morning and every night. maybe he cries. maybe.

he has one ear pierced because like.......... senior year of high school, he wanted to feel more cool.

allergic to mushrooms, shellfish, eggs, and harbingers of doom.

he truly boggles minds. just.... v out there? v spacey. he closes his eyes and drifts about on stage, fingers dancing on the keys, body moving in eclectic ways. he says “groovy” and fuckin’ means it. he dresses in prints inspired by grandma’s carpet. lots of half-buttoned flowy shirts, boots, tailored statement pants, dangly necklaces. he’s got his hands full of rings –– they symbolize milestones. and some are just, like... pretty. and one’s his mother’s old wedding band.

where the hell are my friends ! ( wanted connectz. )

i was gonna do a whole section on this and got lazy but like.... anything. all the things. good, bad, ugly, beautiful. hurt him. make him suffer. but also support him a bit.

i imagine he’s got a solid squad goin’. he’s in faction one too, so... hmu for those.

i feel like he’d be pretty chill with the greeks? yeah bro, he parties. he’ll chill. he’ll crack open a cold one and pretend to understand what those letters on your jacket mean! pie-apple-fate-uh? cool stuff !

ride or dies. pls.

he needs someone to like....... melt his heart. maybe someone unexpected.

thisssss got long & disorganized but yes! let’s plot! let’s do this thang! #hype!!

#apogeeintro #✰ mother trucker dude; that hurt like a buttcheek on a stick ! isms.#if u cannot tell...... he is a gay ass MEME

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jamesbvck · 6 years

Text

express shipping | s. wilson | one shot

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader Summary: Sam’s new neighbour keeps getting his mail. But instead of taking it to the apartment office, she hand-delivers it to his door. Also, she’s cute. Word Count: 2.8k Warnings: None! Cute and fluff. A/N: My first Sam Wilson fic because he deserves some good love. Let me know what you think? :)

MASTERLIST

It started on a Thursday.

After a long day of working and managing, Sam was ready to wind down on the couch with the takeout Chinese food he had picked up on the way home. The television was on with sports highlights flashing across the screen, counting down the top ten plays of the week. Sam kicked the refrigerator door closed, twisted open a beer, and took a sip. He tossed the cap onto the kitchen counter and shuffled his feet to the living room. The Chinese food he had gotten was spread out on the large rectangular coffee table.

His phone rested on the table, glowing with two notifications. He munched on a spring roll and swiped open his phone, seeing a double text from Steve clarifying weekend plans with some of their friends. As he tapped the message box to reply, there was a gentle yet firm knock at the door. Sam quickly chewed what he had in his mouth and wiped off the grease on his hands on his pants before heading to the door. He turned the lock and opened it, surprised to see an unfamiliar woman standing at his doorstep.

You were beautiful; from the way your eyes sparkled to the slow polite smile that began to form on your lips. Sam was taken back by the sight. He almost wanted to compare you to an angel. Light illuminated you, but perhaps his imagination was getting away from him and it was just the window down the hall letting the sunlight stream in.

“Are you Sam Wilson?” you asked.

Sam straightened his posture, arms folding over his chest. “Depends who’s asking.”

He watched as you laughed softly, adjusting your own standing position. His eyes followed as you motioned to the few white envelopes in your hand. “These were in my mailbox. I’m 721 and you’re 712, they must have gotten mixed up. I just moved in.”

“Was that your moving truck last week blocking the parking garage entrance?”

Your face contorted with an embarrassed expression. Sam remembered coming home to a Uhaul parked poorly and he was among some of the apartment residents that were less than happy.

“I’m so sorry about that,” you gushed.

You’re gorgeous, Sam thought. The words wanted to slip out of his mouth but he refrained, not wanting to scare you off or appear to be a douchebag. But it wasn’t just beauty, it was everything about you in only thirty seconds of meeting you.

“Didn’t bother me,” Sam shrugged it off. “Old Harold on the second floor might file a complaint with the landlord though.”

He watched your face nearly drained of colour and he could sense you were mentally kicking yourself. So quickly, he started laughing to diffuse the tension he’d created.

“I’m joking.”

“Oh my God, don’t do that!” Your head shook and out came your own laughter to match Sam’s.

The laughter trailed off to a brief bit of silence. Somehow it wasn’t awkward, even though Sam was shifting his weight from leg to leg. Your shoulders straightened as you gave him his mail. Sam took the envelopes and lazily flipped through them. Two were bills and one was some flyer for something stupid he had signed up for over a year ago.

“Anyways,” you broke Sam’s thoughts. “Hopefully there won’t be a mix up again.”

Sam gave you a long lingering stare as you began to turn away to retreat back to your apartment. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, though,” he said casually.

You twisted back. “I supposed it wouldn’t be.” The smile on your lips sent Sam into another dimension for a split second. It was coy, and perhaps a little flirty? His body leaned out the door to watch you jiggle the doorknob of your apartment and disappear inside.

If he wasn’t so taken, he would have asked for your name. As he thought about it, it gave him another excuse to talk to you. You knew his name, but he didn’t know yours. Sam stepped back inside and closed the door. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation, and tossed the mail onto the kitchen table. He sat back down and focused back on his dinner, eventually texting Steve back and catching up on the latest in sports news.

The next time it was a Tuesday.

Sam was in the elevator wiping his face with a gym towel after an intense workout. His purple Nike top was damp with sweat and he chugged his water, hitting the number seven on the elevator panel. The door began to slide shut just as a voice called for someone to hold the door. Sam moved and stuck his arm out, causing the door to slide back into the pocket.

“Thank you.”

“Hello neighbour,” Sam greeted with a toothy smile. “After work grocery shopping?”

You placed three overfilled reusable bags onto the ground of the elevator, nodding. “I’ve been living off TV dinners for too many days. What does an apple taste like again?”

Sam chuckled, taking another sip of his water.

“Tough workout?” you asked him.

“One of my friends is like a machine, and another one likes to make fun when I can’t keep up so sometimes I overwork myself,” he explained. You trailed your eyes along his chest and explored the outlines of his biceps.

“I hope you have a photographic memory.”

“Pardon?”

Sam snickered, stepping out of the elevator as it arrived onto the shared floor.

“I wasn’t staring,” you murmured.

“Don’t be embarrassed, the ladies stare all the time.”

You did your best to put on an unimpressed face, heaving your bags out of the elevator. Sam went back and took two out of the three bags to help carry them down the hallway. You unlocked the door and pushed it open. Sam peered in, seeing you had a similar floorplan to his; big windows along the living room facing the city, kitchen off to the left and down a small hallway was the bedroom and bathroom.

“You can leave those there,” you said. “Also, something else for you came in my mail yesterday. I didn’t have time to drop it off.”

Sam took the manila coloured envelope, it was large and sturdy with a prominent eagle stamped logo on the front.

“Seems like a big deal,” you added.

“Work thing.” Sam nodded.

You nodded too. Sam noticed you didn’t question him about it. Maybe you weren’t the nosy type, or you just didn’t care enough to ask. Either way, Sam said thank you and turned to go take a much needed shower.

“Hey,” you stopped him. “Thanks for helping me, neighbour.”

Sam turned back, brow arched, “Does this neighbour get to know his neighbour’s name?”

“Maybe next time.” You got up and began to put some of the groceries into the fridge.

Next time? A small smile grew on Sam’s lips and he nodded. Next time, then. He closed the door behind him, tapping the envelope as he wandered back down the hallway to his apartment. Before going inside, he briefly took another glance at 721.

He wasn’t sure what it was about you that was so compelling. Entertaining himself with the thought, Sam entered his home, kicked off his shoes and slipped into the bathroom for a cool shower.

Saturday nights were reserved for pizza, chilling out and playing cards.

Sam and his long-haired friend Bucky had gotten themselves two extra-large deluxe pizzas from the place down the road and an 18-pack of beer. Bucky effortlessly carried the drinks and Sam had the pizza boxes pressed to his side as he dug in his pockets for his keys. They exited the elevator, chatting about something less than important.

“Hey, 721!” Sam called with a wide grin.

You glanced up from your door, dressed to go out and meet some of your friends for dinner. A smile graced your lips and you waved to Sam. “You two gonna eat all that by yourselves?”

Sam shrugged. “This is nothing.”

You laughed, locking your door and began to walk down the hallway and stopped to see what they had. “Smells delicious.”

“No mail for me today?” Sam asked playfully.

“Not unless you’re into knowing your monthly horoscope from Cosmopolitan.”

Sam chuckled and his eyes took in your attire of a gorgeous peach sundress and your glowing skin. “Going on a date?” He wasn’t sure what kind of answer he was looking for when he asked the question. If you were, that was great. You were beautiful, so it would make perfect sense. Good for you.

Yet in the back of his mind there was something flickering, a tiny bit of jealousy if you were headed out for a date. And he knew that asking you out might stomp out that jealousy, but you two just weren’t there yet. He didn’t even know your name yet.

“No,” your head shook. “Going to hang out with some old friends who are in the city.”

Relief.

Sam almost felt like an asshole for feeling like that. He barely knew you, but he definitely wanted to. He wasn’t shy, but he was respectful of women. You and Sam shared a lingering look for a moment, Bucky seemingly a figure far off elsewhere. You took a small step back, smiling politely at the two of them.

“Enjoy your pizza and beer,” you wished them. Bucky had moved out of the way, watching you go just like Sam was. You were mesmerizing.

“Who is she?” Bucky asked.

Sam unlocked the door and moved inside, sliding the boxes onto the table. “My neighbour.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, heeling off his boots. “What’s her name?”

“Don’t know.” Sam opened the fridge and got out the last two cold beers. Bucky set the beer case of the counter, tearing it open to load the warm ones in to get cold. “She moved in a few weeks ago and sometimes she gets my mail.”

Sam got out the pack of cards and a poker set he had. They were still waiting on a few other friends to file in for the night. Bucky sat at the table, lifting open one of the pizza boxes and took a piece. “You should ask her out. She’s pretty.”

“Freezie Pop is really telling me to ask a girl out, yet you’re the one that doesn’t go on more than one date with a lady?”

Bucky made a face at one of Sam’s hundreds of nicknames. “Whatever,” he mumbled, biting into his pizza.

The round table became full when Steve, Clint, Rhodey and Scott arrived. There were poker chips on the table, a large pile in front of Sam with his own winnings and Clint was close behind him. The evening was much of the same as it always was: Steve’s philosophy life chats (which got a few jokes directed at him around the table), Clint drumming the table out of an old habit, Scott betting more than he had to offer and Rhodey always coming back by clean sweeping the table.

Sam wondered how your night was going. Were the old friends good friends like the ones he had now? Could you rely on them, trust them with everything in you? Were you smiling and having a good time?

It was past midnight when the boys trudged out of Sam’s apartment. Bucky’s shoulder brushed passed Sam’s as he was the last one to leave.

“Ask her out before someone else does.” He lightly alluded to himself, a mischievous smirk present.

“Shut the hell up, Buck,” Sam scoffed.

Monday, 7:56am.

Sam had never seen the point in showering before going to work out. He knew some people did it but it seemed more efficient to wake up, go work out, then shower. Plus, it would use less water. He pulled on his gym shorts, fitted a workout top over his head and securely tied up his running shoes. Grabbing his phone and earbuds, he was set to go on his morning run.

“Well, good morning.”

Your sweet, silky voice washed over Sam, making him alert and bright-eyed. He figured you’d be on your way to work around this time; jump on the subway and head to wherever you needed to be.

“Up and at ‘em, 721.” Sam closed and locked the door.

You laughed. “While I do love the nickname, you can call me by my real name.” You told him your name, and Sam said it back, rolling easily off his tongue like he had said it a million times before. It suited you.

Sam walked with you to the elevator, pushed the down button and motioned for you to enter first like a proper gentleman. The ride was far too quick, with only one stop along the way. Sure, there wasn’t much conversation, but your presence was enough to make Sam’s mind swirl. Sam followed as you walked out into the lobby and towards the front doors. He moved ahead and pushed the door open for you.

“Which way are you headed? I’ll walk with you,” Sam offered. You nodded, shy smile and led him east.

“Don’t you have to work today?” you questioned, peering up at him with squinty eyes.

“Nothing’s come up yet.”

“Yet.”

You hummed, adjusting your purse on your shoulder. Sam walked the two blocks to the subway with you.

”Don’t work too hard,” he told you.

“I’ll try not to.”

He bid you a goodbye, glancing around before heading north to begin his run.

“Hey, fly boy,” you called him. Sam spun back around. “In case yet happens, stay safe out there.”

Did you really know? Did the envelope with the obnoxious SHIELD eagle give it away? It wasn’t like he hid himself from the public anyway. Maybe you saw him on the news, or in the papers. It didn’t matter to him. He should have asked you out right then and there, but his scrambled mind had missed the opportunity with you disappearing underground. Next time, he thought. There was always next time.

The next time was Sunday morning.

Sam had an advantage. Not only was it Pancake Sunday, but he had a special surprise in his mailbox. He hadn’t checked it since Thursday and low and behold there was something with your name on it. He was beaming, practically skipping back to the elevator like he had a golden ticket in his hand. But it was early, far too early to go banging on your door. So he retreated back to his home.

He whipped up his mother’s pancake recipe from scratch, whisking the ingredients. Sam had it down to a science at this point; he knew how to make them the right amount of fluffy so they were like clouds. The batter made just enough so there was an equal amount for two people. He set the table with plates, cutlery, juice, glasses, and of course, syrup. By the time that was done, he believed it to be a decent time to go knock on someone’s door.

Grabbing your mail, Sam confidently walked himself down the hallway. His knuckles brushed the door three times before he stood, chin high and back straight. He heard some shuffling on the other side. You appeared with an adorably sleepy face.

“Express shipping from yours truly, neighbour 712, Sam Wilson.” He held out the mail and you grinned, taking it from him.

“Is this real, or did you break into my mailbox?”

Sam gave a faux disheartened look. “You think so lowly of me. I am performing a civic duty.”

You chewed on the inside of your lip and looked at the two envelopes in your hand. “Thank you, Sam. How can I ever repay you for your heroic actions, such as providing me with my monthly bills?”

“Well, now that you mention it, how do you feel about pancakes?”

“Hmm,” you pondered. “They are a delicious breakfast option.”

Sam smiled. “How would you like to join me for some I just made?”

Your brow rose at the offer, stomach grumbling right on cue. “Okay-- Let me go change.”

“No need. Pajamas and Pancakes.” Sam motioned to himself, as he was wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt. So you nodded, looking down at your pajama shorts and tank top. You grabbed your keys and phone, making your way back to Sam’s.

Sam’s pancakes were the best, and he couldn’t believe you ate more than he had. He couldn’t fathom that you were actually in his home sitting with him. He attempted to get you to leave the kitchen when he was doing the dishes but failed miserably. You washed, he dried. His signature playlist blasted through a wireless speaker. He sang, you swooned, then he twirled you around. Then you made him the best coffee he had ever had and he was beyond smitten.

His arm draped along the back of the couch as you sat with him. Reruns of an old sitcom you liked were on and Sam didn’t mind one bit. Sam caught you looking over at him during a commercial, mug raised to your lips but he could see a smile.

“What’s got you smiling?” he asked.

“Just wondering if our next date is going to be this perfect.”

sam list: @wintersparker @tjhammcnd @thefalconsam @bitch-from-the-block @sweetwaterprincess @lovinglokiforever @dont-worry-nicolle-is-here @lilah-bard @lil-taco-kid @angelsamwilson @sweetpca @bleedlikerubies @mylastnameisthe-fish @petersbenjamin @eventyyr @buckystan-plums @dcnaldglcver @fromthesouthside @mystic-scripture @lovemesomepietro @chloemac86 @ohkingsteve *bold crossed out urls do not work!

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #sam wilson x you #marvel fanfic #avengers fanfic #sam wilson fic #sam wilson imagine #userten #fic: express shipping #with you until the end of the queue

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linkade · 6 years

Note

Linkade HC: Whenever Lance gets really angry or something and goes on a rampage, Ryan always has to follow behind him like "I'm sorry about him he's had a rough day."

This was used as a bit of stress relief for me, so my apologies for it being written…well. Badly. I hope this is what you wanted though, and it gave me a bit of happiness when I was feeling down. Also not proof read, so sorry about that too!

Words: 1,259

Lance doesn’t get angry very often, but when he does Ryan likes to call it his Bulldog Anger. He snarls and snaps at people and is just genuinely unpleasant to be around when this happens. Ryan is lucky that it only happens once every blue moon, because God knows he wouldn’t be able to handle his boyfriend if he acted like this 24/7, as much as he loves him.

So when Lance does go through one of his Bulldog Anger episodes, Ryan is as supportive as he can be. He hovers over his boyfriend protectively and trails behind him, making sure nothing gets too out of hand. So far, Lance hasn’t complained about it yet.

“Lance-“ Captain Shirogane attempts to get Lance’s attention in the dormitory hallways. Big mistake, because upon seeing him the scowl on his face intensifies. Such a dark look really doesn’t belong on the normally happy teenager. It looks completely alien on him, like he’s been possessed.

“Fuck off, shiro.” He hisses. The older man recoils like he’s just been hit. Ryan winces, and before following his beloved he offers Shiro a brief apology.

“He’s having a bad day.” He puts it simply, not one for using too many words that aren’t directed at lance or family. Shiro doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to stare dumbfoundedly at Lance’s retreating back. Obviously he’s never seen this display of anger from Lance before.

His second victim of the day is Veronica, who maybe mentioned something that hit a little too close to home. She has the tendency to make mean jokes, and normally Lance would laugh it off, or ignore the jab, but not today. Ryan watches wearily from his spot in the corner of the mess hall, trying desperately not to sigh with exasperation as the younger McClain storms off. Veronica stands there looking mildly peeved.

“An episode?” She asks when he comes to stand next to her, though the answer is quite obvious.

“Yeah. Bad day.”

“Ah.” She’s most likely seen the worst of it, having grown up with him and all. Ryan leaves it at that and wonders off in search of his wayward boyfriend. He’ll have a talk with her later, after this whole ordeal is done and over with. Ryan wants to be better equipped to help Lance when another Bulldog episode happens, because Lance deserves only the very best treatment no matter what type of situation.

The third, and final victim of the day is none other than Ryan himself. Really, he should have seen it coming. Lance had barely spoken to him all day, even if he allowed the trailing to continue.

“Can you fucking cut it out?” Lance snaps at him. Ryan pauses from where he was getting up from the bed to follow Lance out of the dorm and tilts his head.

“What do you mean?” He knows exactly what he means.

“I mean stop hovering around me like I’m a goddamn animal that needs to be kept on a fucking leash.” Ryan is suddenly very, very glad he decided to never share the whole Bulldog thing with Lance.

Before he can say anything, perhaps an apology or words of comfort, Lance stomps out of the dorm room, slamming the door behind him. This time, Ryan doesn’t doesn’t follow. There could be a chance that all Lance needs is space for a little while, and Ryan is more than happy to oblige at the moment.

He doesn’t take Lance’s anger to heart, because it’s not like he said anything outright hurtful to him, but it’s still a tad bit discouraging to see him act like this. He doesn’t even know what happened this morning to cause this outrage, and by this point he’s not entirely sure he wants to know. Lance will talk when he’s ready though, he always does. He just needs time.

So he curls up on Lance’s side of the bed and cracks open a Harry Potter book. They’re ancient, and he’s pretty sure Harry Potter isn’t even talked about anymore (the books were written over seventy years ago, after all) but god, does he love them. And so does Lance. In fact, it’s Lance’s limited edition collection he’s got his hands on. Hopefully, the Cuban won’t mind too much.

As it turns out, he doesn’t mind at all. Hours pass, and eventually Lance shuffles into the small room with a vaguely ashamed look on his face. That look is almost as worst as that scowl, Ryan thinks with a scowl. “Ry,” The Cuban sniffles, and any sort of displeasure he felt from Lance’s earlier actions completely disappear.

He tosses the book onto Lance’s end table and hops up off the bed in a hurry. He then spreads his muscular arms wide and wraps his boyfriend securely in his arms. He’s always fit nice and snug when embraced with him, like he was made to be there and never leave. “I’m sorry.” His love sobs out, and Ryan’s heart breaks clean in half.

“Don’t be,” He murmurs, stroking a hand through his soft brown hair. “Everybody has bad days.”

“But that’s not-”

“Let’s sit down, okay?” He cuts through before anything even vaguely self deprecating can leave Lance’s mouth. Wordlessly, Lance nods. Ryan pulls away and leads the two to their shared bed. It’s not exactly the most comfortable thing in the world, and it’s actually just two twins pushed up together to make a bigger bed for the couple. As much as Ryan loves laying on top of Lance on a cramped twin, it gets way too hot for that in the spring and summer.

“What’s up?” He prods gently once they’re both seated on the edge. Lance kicks out his feet and rubs violently at his wet eyes.

“My ex texted me.” He whispers out, like he’s scared that Ryan’s going to get mad at him for even mentioning a past relationship. “And…brought up some stuff that just. Set me off, I guess.” When Ryan doesn’t respond quick enough, Lance visibly panics. “I blocked her, don’t worry, I swear she’s not-” For, the second time, Ryan cuts him off.

“Chill, I’m not upset that you talked to your ex. It’s not like you were cheating on me or anything like that.” He doesn’t think Lance is capable of cheating on him, he’s too kind for that. If he has a problem with their relationship, he’d tell him. “I was just tryna find the words to say. You didn’t do anything wrong to me, okay?”

Tentatively, Lance nods.

“Do you wanna talk about what she said?” This time he’s quick to shake his head no. “Then that’s okay, too. What’s more important to me is you being happy. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” Lance pauses, and then glances to the Harry Potter book.

“…Could we maybe binge the Harry Potter movies?”

That one was unexpected, actually. He was thinking more along the lines of Ryan doing something for him, like fetching him a cup of cafecito. But he’ll gladly do this for his boyfriend. After all, he’s had such a bad day and needs a bit of extra TLC. “You wanna start from the very beginning?” He asks with an affectionate smile.

At the excited thumbs up Lance shoots back at him, combined with the the jovial expression on his face, Ryan’s heart warms. Finally, even if it did take all day, Lance is at least a little bit content, and that’s all he asks for.

#jarofdisappointment #ryan kinkade #lance mcclain #Linkade #Ryance #Kinkance

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pbandjesse · 5 years

Text

Today was a pretty good day. There was a big stressful part of the beginning but the majority of the day was very good. There was even a special surprise. And yoga.

I slept super poorly last night. I couldn't fall asleep for forever because I felt sick and nauseous and bad. And then when I did fall asleep I woke up a few times again. Air conditioner turned off in the middle of the night and James rollover next to me and I woke up just horribly uncomfortable. He wouldn't turn the air conditioning back on that because he always takes care of me. And I was able to sleep until about 7.

James was awake and told me I could keep sleeping but I didn't really want to. I wanted to lay there so I just played on my phone for a while. And then I got up. I got cleaned up and dressed and I felt okay.

I hung in my hammock for a little bit and then James told me he made a waffle. And I was like okay. And I was confused because he had asked me what I wanted for breakfast last night and I said I was going to have the avocado scramble thing I made the other day. And then he remembered that after he made the waffle and felt very bad. But it was fine. He made the thing I wanted and he had the waffle for breakfast instead.

I got the best boyfriend.

We hung out for a while and then left to go to the bus. James walked me there. And then bus proceeded not to show up for almost a half an hour. I was very frustrated. Because it was supposed to be there at 9: 30 but it didn't come until almost 9:50. And we had been there since 920. So I was very stressed out and I hate being late!! I texted Tiffany and let her know and I was just very distressed.

I was about 15 minutes late in the end. Sucks. I'm going to try to get an earlier bus tomorrow. So even if it runs late I will hopefully have the same issue. Because seriously we were three blocks away from access art and our bus driver saw someone on the street that he knew and he park the bus and got off to go have a conversation with him. I was losing my mind.

But I got there and everyone was fine. We're just lesson planning so it wasn't like I was missing anything yet but I hate being late. We all kind of bullshitted and talked for a little bit and then the teacher from holistic Life Center came.

He was a really nice guy. He told really funny stories and he was young and covered in tattoos and wearing a Orioles yoga shirt. He mostly talked about mindfulness. A little bit of yoga. And we learned a lot about breathing exercises. I felt very Vindicated and validated about the types of breathing exercises I already do with the kids when they're upset or hurt. But I learned some really interesting ones today. Specifically that I breathe wrong and I'm trying to retrain myself but it's very hard. It was very enjoyable even though I hated sitting in the folding chairs for that long. My feet don't reach the ground and it's uncomfortable.

But we also played a couple mindfulness games at the end of that was cool. Stuff that we can use in the classroom and it's awesome. I'm really glad that we were able to do that.

We had a late lunch. Marcus went down the street and got me a spring roll. Was very good. And I worked on my lesson plan. Almost out. I think I'll probably end up finishing it tomorrow. And then I'll go back in and make sure it's all good. I also think I want to use a couple other visual things for the classroom. And maybe add some tutorial images of some kind. We have tomorrow and Friday to finish lesson plans. And even with my brain breaks where I sketched tattoo ideas I still got a lot done.

While I was taking a break on my lesson plan I was looking at eBay and I got a crazy good deal on a Furby buddy. Something that I've been trying to get for 2 months now there's a little plush versions of the Furbies. I don't absolutely love them but people use them to make the long Furbies. And I'd like to try my hand at that. And I got one for $5. Usually they go for $35 to $40. I am very excited. I think I'm going to use it slightly as part of my example for my quilt making lesson. I'm going to make its belly pattern based off of Victorian crazy quilts. I'm very excited.

At 3 we finished up. We all decided on which weeks we should be teaching our lessons and when. Was decided that my quilt project would go first which makes me slightly nervous but it's probably a good idea. Because it's community building project we're going to kind of have all the kids get out there art things right away before they jump into other projects and I think that will work out nicely.

And then me and fitsum went home. His driving kind of makes me nauseous. Lot of fast speed up and then stopping. But we had a nice conversation about capitalism and its downfalls. And talked about apartments because he's moving as well. We saw a couple meet cars that we pointed out and talked about. It was a good time.

He dropped me off and I made some food. Did a couple packing things. Made a pile of the furniture and getting rid of. And just kind of hung out. Me and James were going to have dinner together but I kind of just wanted to be by myself a little bit. My dad's going to come visit this weekend and he's going to take the bed. So really these are the last couple days I'm ever going to live alone if all goes according to plan. And it feels very strange. I've lived alone for a long time. But I am excited. Nervous but excited.

I was just kind of chilling. Even though it was too humid in here to call it chilling. Playing Animal Crossing and watching videos. And then I decided to go check the mail.

I was excited because I had a package. But then I saw that there was a letter in there as well from the Minneapolis Apartment project. Which means it's from the class action settlement. Which means it's a check. When we won the settlement last year they said that we would get all of our rent back. But of course it was going to go into appeals. So we would probably just get a portion of our rent back. And honestly getting any amount of money from living in those apartments would be fine. But I was so nervous about opening this check. So he opened my package first. And it was socks! very exciting. I was looking forward to those socks. They're black and they have little hearts on them.

But I couldn't put off opening the check any longer. And I did and if I did my math right I thought about nine months worth of rent back. And the checks that this might not be the only check. That I might get more? Like after all the lawyers and fees are paid if there's anything left over there going to send another check. That's wild. And like all of my money stress. The $40 me and James got scammed out of the other day. James his bike breaking. Moving. All of it. This kind of feels like a buffer. We don't have to worry about it now. Least for a while. And I'm making more money and if he gets this job he's going to be at making more money. And even if he doesn't get this job he's going to keep looking until he does get something good. Don't have to be so stressed out and nickel-and-diming ourselves all the time. it's exciting. It feels Like the universe is telling me everything's going to be okay. That means using my white privilege to help make the lives of my neighbors and Minneapolis better is being rewarded. And that sometimes being a good person and trying to help other people does pay off in the end. And sometimes in cash.

I kind of didn't know what to say when I open the check. So I called James and let him know. And then I called my dad. We talked about taxes and he's going to check with the tax lady to make sure that I have put enough aside next year. I don't want to have an issue. But yeah it's exciting. And it was good to hear dad. He sounds a lot better. And he's looking forward to coming on Sunday and I'm looking forward to having him here. We're going to patch holes but hopefully we'll also do something else. Maybe we'll eat some good food and maybe we'll go see something interesting. Unsure of what yet but I'll figure that out.

I called Jess next to let her know. And she was very excited for me. And then I went back to packing. I brought more stuff from the basement. I broke down all of my Furby boxes. I don't know why I'm keeping them but it feels weird to throw them away. So flat in the Middle East to put them in storage. And I use the box that I have been storing them in to put kitchen stuff in. Paper towels and Ziploc bags. That one bottle of alcohol I always have. And then I took a shower. I painted my toenails and I'm just watching videos and enjoying my night.

Back to lesson planning tomorrow. And then I think falafels with James. No matter what it's going to be a good day. I can feel it. Hope you all have a good night tonight. Be kind to each other. Go out of your way for someone else. Don't expect anything in return. Good night

#ootd #work #good day #weird dog #cat #drawings #wensday

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margarethelstone · 6 years

Text

It’s warmer when you’re here

So @wilderwestqueen sort of dared me to write a fic that would be nothing but meaningless fluff. And I can’t ignore her dares (or any dares in fact). So here it is, and hopefully, you guys will have as much fun with it as we did.

Dedicated to @wilderwestqueen and @astridthevalkyrie

fanfiction.net, AO3

“Why is it always so wretchedly cold in here?” Astrid asked impatiently, standing on the driveway before the Haddock Manor, rubbing her hands while waiting for her fiancé to unlock the door and finally let them both inside.

After three hours spent in the open, she felt like any additional minute of delay would result in her quick, yet painful death.

Hiccup only laughed at her.

“You know what they say about Berk. It’s twelve days north of Hopeless and a few degrees south of Freezing to Death. It’s -”

“-located solidly on the Meridian of Misery,” she chimed in, hardly able to stop her teeth from chattering. “Yes, I know. You came up with that monologue when we were both fifteen, and have kept repeating it ever since. Though, I’ve never heard anyone else say it, so I really don’t know who they are.”

“They are people who can appreciate my talent for naming things, thank you very much.”

“Oh, so we’re talking about your imaginary friends now?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.”

A characteristic “click” was heard when Hiccup finally got to the last of the locks – Astrid wasn’t even sure how many of them there were – and pushed the door open with one hand, waving the other one in an inviting gesture. The blonde girl sighed with relief, and crossed the threshold without any further delay.

Hiccup closed the door behind them and shrugged his jacket off, simultaneously putting Astrid’s heavy backpack on the floor in the corner. He turned back towards her, ready to help her with her coat, yet in fact half expecting her to be already finished with the task – only to see the girl standing still next to the radiator, with her arms crossed on her chest, as if trying to keep the warmth she was continually losing.

He chuckled again, and approached her.

“Come, let me take this,” he offered with a smile, putting his arms on her shoulders and swirling her around.

“I’d rather not,” she answered, turning back so she could face him again. “I’m still freezing, you know.”

He gave her a piteous look.

“Astrid, your coat is cold, if anything, it’s keeping the warmth outside. It’s like a Thermos flask, and you are ice-cream.”

“Oh, now that’s the compliment I’ve been waiting for all along. You’re a true romantic, Hiccup.”

“Stop teasing, and give me your coat. Or do you want me to take it by force?”

“You seem way too eager to make me take my clothes off,” she retorted, while unzipping the coat. She couldn’t refrain from casting a sly glance at him; and when she did, she saw Hiccup raise his eyes to the ceiling, obviously pretending that her words affected him in no other way than amusing him – and she obviously knew it was not the case.

So many years together, and she still could make him blush at will.

“Fine, I surrender. I’ll take it off. But I really don’t need your assistance, I’m perfectly aware where the rack is.”

“But-” Hiccup tried to protest, but she only pressed her hand to his mouth, making him turn around with her other arm, doing it even more easily than he had done with her moments earlier. Ignoring his groans and moaning, she pushed him towards the kitchen, laughing at his poor attempts to withstand.

“Come on, go in there and boil some water. I could kill for a hot drink so for your own sake, please don’t make me wait longer than I have to.”

“Hold on, that means that as long as I don’t have a hot drink you have nothing to kill for, right? So the best I can to for my own sake is -”

“Just go!”

She finally managed to push him over the kitchen’s threshold, and slammed the door before Hiccup had a time to block it. She held the handle to make sure he wouldn’t try to escape, laughing wholeheartedly at the new grunting that she had caused, and only let go of it when her ears were filled with the noise of pouring water and the clank of shifted mugs. She shook her head, imagining Hiccup’s mumbled beefs, and slowly, she made her way to the living room, leaving her coat and shoes on the way.

She opened the door ajar, and slipped inside, trying to stay as quiet as she could. The spacious room was chill and silent, yet even though she knew some might have called it overwhelming, there was no other place on earth where she felt more at home than there.

It was here where she had spent her first evenings with Hiccup, sometimes alone, sometimes with his or even her parents accompanying them. They had sat here cursing their high school teachers, their driving instructors, their university lecturers; they had said quite a lot of improper things about their own families, too. They’d laughed, and cried, and fought here – the list of memories was just too long to be fully recalled at once.

Their bond hadn’t been born inside of these walls, but it had certainly grown inside them, slowly but surely leading them to the point at which they were now.

And she was so glad they were.

Astrid made her way to the window, passing the now cold fireplace, part of her wondering if she should try to make a use of it before Hiccup reappeared in the room again. She stood by the sill and, crossing her arms once again, she looked through it, expecting to see the usual sight of the garden, covered in snow and adorned with frost. She was not disappointed – everything was exactly like she remembered it to be. Like it always should be.

“I really missed this place,” she muttered, smiling gently, breathing in the smell of the house she loved so much.

“I think this place missed you, too.”

She turned her head to see her fiancé leaning on the wall next to the door in what was meant to be a nonchalant pose, but as usual, turned out to be the dorkiest position he could have assumed. Astrid had to suppress the smile that was springing to her lips, and only raised her eyebrows in a curious grimace.

“You think so?” she asked, finding it even more difficult not to let the laughter resonate in her voice. “And what do you mean by the place, exactly?”

Hiccup pushed away from the wall, and walked casually in her direction.

“The same thing you meant when you said you had missed it,” he explained quietly. “The walls, the bookshelves, the spruces in the garden… The good lady who’s the actual owner of this house complained about your absence, too.”

Astrid compressed her lips, although she knew her mirth was more than visible.

“So your mum missed me?”

“She sure did. But also -” he took her hand and lifted it to her eye level, brushing his fingers over the ring she was wearing. “I’ve heard that the guy who gave you this missed you pretty much as well. I didn’t really see it for myself, but Fishlegs says he looked absolutely miserable.”

Astrid bit her lower lip, but that couldn’t stop her grin from widening – she was more than sure than after tonight her cheeks would hurt from all that smiling. Then again, there was hardly a time when meeting with Hiccup didn’t result in this sort of pain, and now the situation was even more intense.

After all, it was not every day when they met after a five weeks long separation.

“Oh he did, did he?” she asked innocently, meeting his gaze with her own.

“I believe he really did,” he answered. “Again, I can’t know for sure, but being cut off from the most important person in your life seems like a good reason for not staying in the best shape.”

Astrid chuckled lightly, and looked down and her fingers, seeing and feeling Hiccup still fiddle with the ring. She raised her gaze at him again, and prompted carefully, “You know, it’s not like we were exactly cut off. I recall receiving at least one Skype call every night, and from what I remember, none of them lasted for less than forty minutes.”

“Well, that is true. But Skype calls don’t really allow you to do this -” Hiccup reached out and put his hand on her waist, pulling her closer to him. “or this -” he cupped her cheek with the other one. “or this -” he leaned in, brushing his nose against hers and letting their breath intermingle. “or -”

A highly pitched whistle of a kettle resonated in the air, startling them, making them open their already half shut eyes and almost jump in surprise; however, as unexpected as the noise was, their reactions to it certainly were not. Astrid laughed cordially – Hiccup groaned impatiently. She stood still and straight – he took the first opportunity to bury his face in her shoulder, only by miracle holding himself back from screaming out of frustration.

“Why does that always happen?”

Astrid kept laughing, knowing that Hiccup’s accusation was not entirely wrong. True, he did exaggerate a little, but the point remained anyway.

She embraced him tightly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and neck, putting her hand on the back of his head and pressing it gently, as if she wanted to assure him that the attempt was still appreciated. She turned her head and pecked his cheek.

“Just the way it is, I guess,” she hummed, still smiling against his skin.

“I guess that hate it.”

“Oh you don’t say,” Astrid straightened up and forced her fiancé to do the same, earning another groan in acknowledgement. “Come on, let’s turn that thing off before everyone in Berk hears we’re having tea.”

She pushed him gently towards the door, but didn’t move from her spot herself. Hiccup looked back at her, surprised.

“You’re not coming?” he asked.

“You put a ban on me entering your kitchen. Of course I’m not.”

“Right, I almost forgot how much of a threat you are to a place like this.” The man chuckled in response, shaking his head at the blonde girl in front of him. “My fire alarm must have missed you terribly. Should I let it know you’re back?”

“I can do it myself if you wish.”

“No! No. I certainly do not.”

Once again, Astrid found herself alone in the room. Now that Hiccup was longer near her, she felt the chillness get to her again, almost making her regret her decision on not following him. First, because the Haddocks’ kitchen had always been the warmest place in the entire house, and second – Hiccup the Radiator was there, too.

She looked around the room, pondering whether or not she could kindle some flame in that great fireplace; yet seeing no wood fuel, she decided to wait with the action for the host. Of course, she knew perfectly well where the Haddocks stocked the logs – only getting it required going outside of the house. She certainly wasn’t that desperate.

In the corner of her eye she noticed a blanket, folded neatly on a couch. She smirked with satisfaction, and approached the furniture, grabbing the covering with both of her hands. It was thick and soft – just want she needed it to be.

Astrid unfurled the blanket and threw it over her shoulders, wrapping it tightly around herself, and nestled on the couch immediately after, pulling her legs to her chest and covering them as well. She felt better at once, and even though it still wasn’t a perfect situation, it would certainly do until Hiccup reappeared in the room with their drinks.

He came in a moment later, carrying two mugs of aromatic, steaming tea. He was clearly surprised not to find her at her former place by the window, however, seeing her wrapped in that particular covering, sitting on his coach like a big blonde burrito made his astonishment grow even more. He raised both of his eyebrows at her.

“Are you really that cold?” he asked, putting the mugs on the tea table that stood nearby.

“I sure am. I spent three hours walking in the snow, and this room is the coldest place in an entire house. I think I’m better now, though.”

“Where did you even get this blanket?”

“It was lying here, on the couch. What, is it some special blanket I shouldn’t put my hands on?”

“No, of course not.” Hiccup shook his head, laughing, and sat down at the edge of the furniture. “It’s just funny to see you like this.”

“See me like what?” she asked, and reached out towards the table for the tea that was obviously standing too far from her to get a hold of.

Hiccup understood the sign, and handed her the mug. “Well, you know. Sitting here all wrapped up, hiding under the blanket and huddling in it with such a serene expression. I can’t remember when I last saw you this… peaceful.”

“Considering that for the last month you haven’t seen me at all, it’s not such a big deal.” Astrid stuck out her left leg and poked him on the rib. “And the blanket is warm and fluffy, of course it makes me feel good.”

“Fluffy? Since when do you -”

“For goodness’ sake, Hiccup, just take your mug and come here.”

Hiccup obeyed willingly, and ensconced himself in right beside her, deliberately reducing the space between them to minimum. Astrid didn’t waste her time, and snuggled her face in his shoulder, slowing her motions only to avoid spilling her tea on them both. Hiccup grinned; if he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he’d heard Astrid purr.

“Someone missed me,” he mumbled into her hair as he planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“I didn’t,” came a muffled answer. “It’s just warmer when you’re here.”

Hiccup laughed and gave her another kiss before stretching his arm and embracing her tightly.

“This should make it even warmer, shouldn’t it?”

“Mmmmm.”

“But seriously, if you’re still that cold, maybe I should light up the fire…? I don’t want you to spend our first evening together thinking of how freezing it is here.”

“I’m not freezing. I’m just… warming up very slowly.”

“A working fireplace could speed up this process. Come on, let me -”

“No,” she cut him off. “Stay.”

He shook his head at her, but again, he complied.

“You did miss me,” he added in a satisfied voice a moment later, watching Astrid carefully sip her tea as she held the mug in a firm grasp. The cup was still full at this point, and Hiccup rightly guessed that it was the only thing that stopped his fierce wife-to-be from punishing him with a punch for a remark like this.

He lifted the steaming liquid to his own dry mouth. “What part of you feels the coldest right now?”

“My feet,” Astrid mumbled, and closed her eyes. She was tired as Helheim, and the change of temperature was finally getting to her – if Hiccup had stopped asking her those ridiculous questions, she probably would have fallen asleep.

She opened her eyes and drank some more tea, trying to prevent it from happening.

She could feel Hiccup shift as he put his cup away – he never could have finished his drink in a normal time, either pouring all of it into himself at once, or leaving it for the better times and consequently forgetting about it for a week – and glanced at him, curious to see his next move. If she expected him to return to his previous position, she was wrong; if she supposed he would leave the couch, she was wrong, too.

Her puzzle was solved soon enough, when Hiccup used his now free hand to reach out towards her ankles and touch them lightly, as if he was asking for the permission he didn’t need. Astrid flinched at the dab, instinctively jerking her legs and again, miraculously avoiding splashing the beverage on them.

“Don’t do this!” she exclaimed louder than she thought she could after almost choking on her tea. “You know how I hate this!”

“Hey, I was just trying to -”

“Don’t touch the feet!”

Hiccup raised his eyes to the ceiling, and flopped on the couch’s back, his arm still rested behind Astrid’s neck, even though she was no longer leaning against it. She was scanning him now, as if expecting another attack. It took a good few minutes before she calmed down enough to resume her previous action of drinking, and even more before she decided to move any closer to her aggressor, who also happened to ignore her for the entire time.

It wasn’t until she was done with the tea that she spoke to him again.

“You’re going to pretend I’m not here now?” she asked with a sigh, putting the mug away and fixing her gaze on him. “Just because I didn’t agree to be tickled?”

Hiccup gave her a death glare. “I was going to massage your feet so they would warm up more quickly. Again, I was trying to be romantic and considerate, and you ruined it.”

“And that’s why you’re pouting, big baby boo?” Astrid laughed openly; she shifted towards him, only to see him look away and cross his arms in response.

“Oh, so you’re also stealing my best lines now, huh?” he grunted in a mock offence. “What a fantastic girlfriend you turn out to be.”

Astrid couldn’t refrain from snickering.

“Bad news, dragon boy,” she announced cheerfully. “I stopped being your girlfriend about a year ago, when you decided to ask me to marry you, and I had no choice but to agree. Also, I always ruin our perfect moments, you should’ve got used to it by now.”

“That you certainly do,” Hiccup answered with a smile, finally turning to glance at her. He had never been particularly good at hiding his emotions, and there was nothing that could affect him more than the mention of their upcoming wedding – and it was something Astrid was well aware of. So she grinned back at him, and resting her hands on his shoulder, she pressed a soft, yet long kiss to his cheek.

“That’s bribery,” was the best comeback he could come up with.

Astrid couldn’t help but chuckle against his skin; she pulled back, and cupped his face in her hands, making him turn in her direction. Their eyes met – their grins widened – and Astrid spoke again.

“You’ve never seemed to have much problem with this kind of bribe,” she stated teasingly, leaning in once more, to the point where their lips were almost touching. “I only hope it’s not that effective when you’re dealing with someone else than me.”

“It’s not,” was the only thing Hiccup cared to say before closing the space between them, and immediately drowning in the kiss he himself had initiated.

Astrid didn’t blink in surprise, but smiled under his lips, hoping that this time they would not be interrupted. Her right hand moved to his neck, pulling him even closer to her as she kissed him back eagerly, with every passing second more aware of how much she had missed that physical closeness which no call and no letter could bear.

Hiccup’s hands were now on her waist, and she realised how thirsty of his touch she was. It was all the little gestures, or at least that’s what it would have seem for most of her friends. Brushing her fingers through his thick locks; feeling his fingers gently rubbing her back; and his lips, his lips moving against hers in that perfect manner, telling her with every quiver that he’d missed her as much as she had missed him.

Astrid’s left hand moved from his cheek, easily finding its way to the back of his head, while the other one left his hair and travelled down to his chest. She parted her lips a little, and Hiccup used the opportunity well, letting their tongues meet, making her groan against her will.

She grasped the collar of his shirt and tightened her fingers on it.

She definitely had missed him.

Apparently Hiccup decided that keeping both of his hands on her waist was a waste of potential, because as soon as their kiss had deepened, she felt his left arm move smoothly, once again resting on the sensitive skin of her bare ankle, gripping it gently, and pulling it up towards him. Astrid understood the suggestion at once, and in a swift move she lifted her legs, letting Hiccup lead them to the other side of his lap, all in a perfect integrity, to the point when it would be hard to decide which one of them was the originator of that manoeuvrer.

The thick blanket, now wrapped loosely around her shoulders, fell down after Hiccup pushed her gently to the couch, making her lie down on her back, somehow managing not to break the kiss for more than a split second. All this time his hand was running up and down her calf, causing new shivers to go down her spine. She embraced his neck with both of her arms, pulling him even closer, when his fingers stopped their impatient journey, settling to caress her knee instead.

Every time they kissed Astrid felt like laughing. Not chuckling, not giggling, but laughing, openly and wholeheartedly laughing, as she felt it would be the only way she could ever express the happiness and love that began to twirl in her chest with even the slightest show of affection on his side. The most beautiful part was, however, that she knew her feelings were fully reciprocated, that he wanted and needed her to the same point of ridiculousness as she did; that he felt unworthy of her love just as much as she felt of his, but having argued about it all too many times already, they both realised that they would never be more equal with anyone else.

And they were engaged. Engaged to be married, willing and ready to spend a lifetime together long before any of the vows were said – and yet, they both understood the meaning of that promise, which had a bigger power than any of the love tokens they had shared with each other so far.

Hiccup wasn’t the only one who couldn’t wait for their wedding day. Astrid, that strong, independent, butt-kicking Astrid couldn’t be more impatient to start that new chapter of her young life, in which they would no longer be two different people, but one being, blessed in the sacred institution of marriage. She wanted to be called his wife, and she wanted to call him her husband. Not for a year, not for a decade, but forever.

Until death do they part.

She stiffened a little when she felt his palm move up her thigh and almost in a reflex action, she grabbed his hand in her own. Hiccup stopped, as if alarmed, and pulled away ever so slightly.

“Don’t get too excited,” she mumbled with a smile, watching him from under the lowered eyelids. “I haven’t changed my mind about the limits.”

Hiccup froze when he realised what she was referring to, and looked away, embarrassed.

“I wasn’t going to -” he started, but cut it off immediately, realising there was no point in finishing that sentence. He glanced back at Astrid; she was still smiling at him.

“I know you weren’t,” she answered. “I just thought I should react before we both lose our senses.”

As if to make sure he wouldn’t feel guilty about the situation, she craned her neck and pressed a short kiss on his lips, and when that didn’t seem to solve the problem, she repeated the action.

She fell on her back again, gazing at him intensively.

“Remember that one time when I had to put drops into my eyes for that examination, and couldn’t see clearly for almost an entire day?” she asked out of a blue, suddenly recalling the events from almost four years earlier. “Everything was so blurry that you had to lead me everywhere, so I wouldn’t walk into a lamppost or anything.”

Hiccup chuckled at the memory.

“Well, blurry is a serious euphemism. You were practically a blind person then, or at least, you were acting like one.”

“That’s not the point.”

“So what is?”

“That walk, in the evening. I remember I was rushing somewhere, and you were trying to stop me, but of course, I didn’t listen and -”

“You stumbled on a stone and in my chivalry I tried to catch you, which obviously resulted with both of us hitting the ground in a very embarrassing position.” Hiccup laughed softly, carefully freeing his treacherous left hand from Astrid’s firm grip, intertwining their fingers instead. “Feels kinda similar, doesn’t it?”

Astrid closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “It does now.”

She expected Hiccup to lean in and kiss her again, but to her surprise, the man hardly even moved. She cracked one of her eyes open, then the other… Only to find him staring at her in that dorky, blissful awe, as if he was seeing her for the first time, and yet, with the certainty of someone who knew her better than she knew herself.

“What now?” She asked.

“You can’t even imagine how much I wanted to kiss you back then,” he answered, his voice barely a whisper. “I was so hopelessly in love with you, but at the same time I was so certain you would never have me. Because we were just friends, right?”

Astrid shook her head piteously. “We were never just friends, Hiccup.”

“We thought we were.”

“Yeah, I guess we did. That was pretty damn stupid of us, wasn’t it?”

“It was, but you know? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He finally did kiss her, and even though it was nothing like the passionate exchange from earlier, it was long enough to carry all the emotions that filled them at the moment. It might have been calmer, but it was just as meaningful – if not even more.

After their lips parted, Hiccup slowly returned to a sitting position, offering his hand to Astrid, and pulling her up towards him. Her legs were still thrown across his lap, and at first, she wanted to move them, and simply curl by his side in a similar way she had earlier that afternoon. Before she had a chance to put her plan into life, however, something landed on her thighs, gracefully, yet decisively sitting itself on the spot, and purring contently while boring its big green eyes into her.

“Look who decided to show up,” she commented on the scene, but reached out to caress the mischievous cat nevertheless. “Do you remember me or should I introduce myself again?”

Toothless sneezed.

“I don’t think he could ever forget you,” Hiccup said absent-mindedly, observing the pair carefully. “No one spoils him as much as you do, and he still needs someone to team up with him against me.”

“Me? Against you? Never.”

Hiccup only shook his head at her and pecked her forehead. Astrid on the other hand felt another wave of tiredness take over her, and still stroking Toothless’ back, she buried her face in Hiccup’s neck, and closed her eyes.

“Will you drive me home?” she muttered into his collar, breathing in the scent of his aftershave. One more thing she hadn’t known she’d missed.

Hiccup frowned.

“Wait, right now?”

“Not necessarily.” She yawned. “But in an hour or so?”

“Why so soon?”

“Because first, I don’t want to fall asleep on your couch again, and second, believe it or not, I’d like to see my parents today, as well. I sort of promised them I wouldn’t make them wait for me for too long.”

“Well, now that’s just rude.”

It was Astrid’s turn to frown, as she straightened up and looked him in the eye, completely puzzled.

“What, wanting to spend time with my parents after all this time abroad?”

“No. Ruining another of my highly romantic evening plans.”

Astrid’s eyes widened, but on contrary to his accusative words, Hiccup only laughed at her reaction. He embraced her tightly, forcing Toothless to jump to the floor in order to avoid being crushed by the future Mr and Mrs Haddock, who somehow managed to forget that the poor animal was still curled on the lap of the latter. He squeaked angrily, but again, none of the humans seemed to care.

How typical.

“I can always call them and say I’m coming back later than planned,” Astrid broke the momentary silence some time later. “They wouldn’t make much fuss over it. Although… My dad will probably be disappointed.”

Hiccup sighed.

“It’s okay,” he hummed in response. “You should go. Especially as there’s the rumour going that they invited some special guests for the occasion.”

“I hope you know I’d rather spend the evening here. But I did miss them, too.”

“Really Astrid, it’s fine. I mean, I would be lying if I said I didn’t see that coming. After all, ruining our moments is what you do, isn’t it?”

“I swear, Hiccup, two more months and you’ll have all of my evenings to yourself. Just… wait.”

“I will.” He pecked her on the cheek, and chuckled. “Though I’m pretty sure you’ll find a way to ruin them as well.”

Astrid pulled away from the hug and punched him fiercely, yet apparently, that was still not enough to bring Hiccup to a more serious state. Even while massaging his arm, he was still grinning at her like an idiot.

She snorted, which obviously only made his smile widen.

“You know what, now I think I’ll need to find a way to ruin our perfect wedding as well.”

“Sure. Just do me a favour and try to ruin it nicely?”

“No promises, Hiccup. No promises.”

#fanfiction #hiccstrid #httyd #modern au #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson

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