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binniesthighs · 3 years

Text

call me babydoll | reader x chan

a/n: chapter threeeee here it is!!! hehe thank you all for being patient for this update and thank you as always for giving this fic your love!! i start out the first part of this chapter in 3rd person which is a lil different, but i wanted to try it out! hehe i love hearing what ya thought of the chapter too! 😊

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan

Genre: action, mystery and suspense, fluff, smut, angst

Tags: (of this part) bodyguard au, secret agent au, royal au, moderndayprince!chan, secretagent!reader, secretagent!jeongin, secretagent!jisung, collegestudent!seungmin, skz side characters, 3rd person for the first section, adventure and mystery, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, sexual tension, explicit language, mentions of food, brief talk of gaining weight while travelling, there’s a few spoilers hidden in this one...can ya find them? ;)

CWs: blood and other wounds, shooting at a convenience store, thoughts about death and dying when in peril

Word count: 5.6k

Parts

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR

Two years of pocket change and Seungmin had finally saved up enough money to afford to study abroad. It had nearly taken him life and limb, and he might’ve suffered (1) concussion from a bowl of soup being thrown at his head, but, he had done it.

With grease stains on his sneakers Seungmin traversed the long and stretching corridor of the airport terminal with his backpack strapped onto him tightly. The air smelled different here. It was fresher than he was used to--coming from a large city center--everything here felt more pristine. Outside of the tall glass windows, airplanes lifted off into the sky like massive metal giants. He couldn’t remember properly, but the last time that he must’ve been on a plane, it likely had been when his mother...

Seungmin shook the dusty and cobwebbed ideas out from his head.

No more sad thoughts.

I’m gonna like it here. He thought to himself, then clipped the little buckle to his backpack straps over his chest with a determined huff.

I’m really going to like it here.

With his phone in hand, he tried his best to decipher what the signs said above him. Mostly, they looked like a jumbled mess of symbols, but luckily he had spent some time trying to learn the language between shifts and sneaking peeks at his little dictionary under the diner counter. The whole terminal buzzed with a lovely kind of energy, and he was thrilled to get to know it better. The first wonderful thing about travelling abroad was that no one knew who he was, and he could be whoever he wanted. In this new land, no one knew him or anything about the dingy little apartment that he had lived in. No one knew about his less than honorable roommates or the debt that he had put himself under to go to college in the first place.

I could be a prince for all they know.

Seungmin liked that idea a lot.

His stomach grumbled as he passed by food stands, however he hadn’t had the chance yet to change his currency, so he knew that he would have to wait just a minute longer. Seungmin had been assigned a host family by his college, and he hoped like crazy that they would be the kind to cook for him. Seungmin had heard somewhere that kids who go on study abroad gain a ton of weight at first...but he didn’t mind. Where else would he get the chance?

There had been a host father that had sent him an email a couple weeks ago--that he promptly had to run through Google Translate--who told him that he would meet him outside the main luggage claim area after his flight landed. Seungmin had tried to look up and see if his host family were on social media, but he could find no such profile of theirs. He decided it probably was better that it was a surprise.

Seungmin lugged his two large suitcases out to the summer air of the new and strange land, and it finally hit him. Standing on the solid ground of another land thousands of miles away from his home, it was really all happening.

The landscape outside was like that of a movie scene: rolling hills and jagged mountains capped with snow, adorable little homes built into the countryside and tiny cars with horizonal license plates. The sun was warm in the cerulean sky that puffed with perfectly white clouds. On the air, the scent of flowers wafted, and he was certain that there was a lake nearby too--he had researched it. There were old men in their caps with a crook in their back, and ladies with long floral skirts and dresses with Mary Janes. Each of them had smile lines on their faces and under their eyes as if they had all lived lives well lived. There were pretty girls too with slender legs and delicate arms swaddled in light scarves.

Seungmin wouldn’t have minded getting a girlfriend on this trip. While he kept the fact to himself, Seungmin had never really done anything with a girl before outside of some awkwardly handsy kissing in middle school. Maybe this time around, he would finally get his chance: he had read somewhere that girls often like foreigners.

“Seung Min! Seung Min?” A man’s voice called.

The young college student whipped his head around in the direction of the sound, finally finding a middle aged man with salt-and-pepper hair with whiskers of the same color. He had red cheeks and a large nose, and looked a bit like a character from a comic. Seungmin waved back, greeting his new father. When they met, the older man threw him into a large hug with a chuckle. He smelled a bit like Tabaco and old leather. He had a couple missing teeth, but that didn’t lessen his bright smile.

“English?” Seungmin’s host father asked.

“Yeah! I can speak English.” He returned with a welcoming grin.

“I thought it would be good for us to speak English since I don’t know your tongue and you don’t know mine...meet in the middle?”

“Thank you for coming to get me!” He said, handing the man his suitcases which were just a bit too big for the tiny trunk of the car that looked as if it had come from the 80′s. In the end, they decided to put his bags in the backseat.

The man beamed with smiling eyes. “Of course...son!”

Seungmin gave him a little bow, “Heh, thank you.”

“Get in the car! You must be hungry right? Long flight?”

“Oh yes, it was really long.”

“You will eat well here! Mother knows how to feed well. She will put meat on your bones. She did with me!” He guffawed out with hearty laughter, and Seungmin already knew that he would really like this man.

“We have a room ready for you back at home, and I will show you tomorrow how to use the buses. Okay?”

Seungmin nodded with a bit of rose to his cheeks. He found his hand wandering down to his arm which he pinched at lightly--cliché as it was. His host father coughed and the engine sputtered, then they took off away from the sounds of jet engines to the countryside which was scattered with churches with protruding steeples and all kinds of homes with red-orange roofs and perfectly symmetrical windows. Seungmin couldn’t help but keep his eyes glued to the window as they drove on to take in the whole scene. Never had he seen a place so beautiful or magical looking. They drove on past a crystal clear lake that stretched on and on to the base of a mountain appearing to claw at the heavens, and adorned in emerald green pines and other deciduous trees. If it was even possible, he had never seen greener grass in all his life.

“Beautiful, eh?” His host father said while tuning the radio.

“It’s amazing.” The young student said in his amazement. “Oh, do you know if there is somewhere I can change my money? I don’t have any of your money yet.”

“Ah!” The older man said with a wink. “I know of a place. I can take you there first.”

The radio hummed with a static fuzz as Seungmin’s host father messed with it, skipping over the channels, blurring the music and the talk radio all together.

Seungmin tried out the best he could to make out the words he knew, but even then he didn’t focus too hard, not when he had all this to take in.

Mad....crime....joke...violence in the South...drugs...unknown...information...hiding...red...

“Ah!” His host father called out after changing the channel once more, “I love this song!” He held his chest with an affectionate grasp. “The song of my homeland!”

Seungmin whipped his attention back, trying to listen to the song that sounded anthem-like, and was sung by what sounded like several men harmonizing. Seungmin tried to focus on the melody--it was nothing like he head heard before. It sounded very...honorable.

The small car whipped up to what looked to be a gas station on the edge of the town with one single pump and a little convenience store attached to it. In the window he read the yellow and black sign saying Currency Exchange.

“This is what you need?”

Seungmin nodded in his thanks then stretched his legs out once he exited, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Are you coming too?”

The older man shook his head and took out a pack of cigarettes. “I’ll gas the car, you go in.”

The young man gave his host father one more nod, then set fourth inhaling the immaculate summer air into his lungs. It was as if the very oxygen there held the vitality of life; he almost felt bad wasting it on himself.

The door swung open with the tiny tinkling of bells and he entered to the smell of cured meats hanging on hooks along side the dry scent of the refrigerators holding their display of soft drinks with labels that he had never seen before. He chuckled a little seeing the giant slab of meat with twine hanging from the ceiling as such.

“Free sample?” The attendant said while he picked his teeth with a toothpick. “Foreigner?” He added after looking Seungmin up and down.

“Yes, and no thank you. But, can I exchange my currency here?”

The unamused man nodded in the direction of the little kiosk in the corner of the shop. He went back to reading his tabloid where he slumped in a stool surrounded by an assortment of candy and cookies.

Seungmin picked his mother tongue first on the little screen, robotic and green, thankful to see Korean for the first time in this new place. He navigated to the options screen. Behind him, the little bells tinkled to the shop door again, followed by the sound of the attendant scrambling out of his stool, metal legs scraping the floor.

The student turned his head around in the commotion, taking in four very strange looking customers. Firstly, they were all covered in blood in one way or another, and each of them wore clothes--pajamas from the looks of it--which were shredded, torn, and blackened by something that might’ve been soot. Three men and one woman, and they all had a bit of a crazed look to their eyes. Clearly, none of them cared that they had walked into the store looking as such.

Seungmin pressed his body to the corner of the shop, as if this could make him invisible. The attendant cowered behind the counter with a series of scared sounding whimpers.

“Wh-what do you want?” He asked in his native tongue with quaking breaths.

One of the men in the group wearing a flannel with chocolate brown hair threw open one of the fridges, took out a water bottle, cracked it open, then greedily slugged the liquid down his throat.

“Pay the man, Fox.” He said to a man with pure white hair and shattered glasses.

The man with white hair and glasses nodded, digging through his pockets. The man with the flannel then proceeded to revenge the place, opening up snacks and shoving the cheesy dust into his mouth with gluttonous moans and crunching loudly with an open mouth. Had he not been doing something as unsavory as such, Seungmin thought that he was pretty handsome, and somewhat familiar. The other three simply stood and watched as he did so calmly, and surveyed the shelves themselves after a moment.

The attendant clocked Seungmin with fearful and confused eyes and Seungmin truly didn’t know what to do besides melt into the corner with the currency exchange kiosk.

A man in running clothes ran a hand through his deep brown hair, then turned to grab several first-aid supplies in his hand. Seungmin noticed that he had a horrible gash over his eye that crusted and bled into the white of his sclera. The woman approached the attendant with arms crossed over her thin camisole that was stained a number of different colors which Seungmin didn’t want to identify. He noticed that she was only wearing white socks that were nearly stained green.

“You do currency exchange right?” She said with a bold kind of confidence. “EGP?”

The attendant shook in his boots, then pointed a trembling finger at Seungmin. The young man nearly felt his heart stop. The woman had stern eyes that were bagged with exhaustion, but that didn’t make her any less intimating. While she too looked a wreck, there was something about her so cold and threatening that Seungmin felt like crumpling up into a ball. Over it all, she was startlingly beautiful too.

“Are you done?” She asked him kindly, and Seungmin struggled to get out a feeble “yes.” Of course, he hadn’t actually drawn any money out yet, but this seemed to be the best answer.

The man in running clothes dumped a large arrangement of goods on the counter with an emotionless expression: coffee drinks, shooters of alcohol, gauze and tape, Band-Aids, anti-bacterial ointment, gum, a couple lighters and toothpaste with four tooth brushes, combs, several bottles of water, sour candy, and, oddly, condoms.

The man with white hair came behind him to provide the cash to pay, and the attendant rang the odd group up with nervous glances to the man in the flannel who destroyed the store further. That man laughed maniacally as he popped open the plastic packaging to a pastry, then shoved in as of much of it as he could, smearing white cream over his lips.

“Bee!! You have to try this!! A day driving through the woods and this is fucking fantastic!” He jumped up and down like an ecstatic toddler--but this was a strange juxtaposition to all the blood staining his arms and the fabric of his flannel.

“Have some decency, Your Highness.” The woman chided, then held out her hand as the bills dispensed from the little machine.

“Your Highness?” Seungmin muttered, not really understanding why he was still in there in the first place.

“Fucking scam.” She muttered. “Is this all that you have??” She growled at the attendant.

“It’s a little thing!! What do you expect??” He stammered with hands thrown in the air as if she had pointed a gun at his head.

“F, tell Carroll to wire us when we get to Egypt. This’ll barely get us a place to stay.”

“When I get internet access, sure, I’ll try my best.” The man with white hair said with an edge to his voice, sarcasm clearly giving it a type of bite. He then took to shoving all of their goods into plastic bags since the attendant had been too fearful to do so. He slid a few spare bills onto the countertop. “This is for everything that he ate.”

“Do you have a bathroom?” The woman demanded, and the shopkeeper nodded, giving one more fearful glance to the college student.

“Is there somewhere around here to get clothes?” The man with running clothes asked.

“I-In town, a couple minutes in--”

Outside of the little store, the sound of tires screeching on cement screamed, and all four of the strangers whipped their heads in the direction. Seungmin jumped too at the sound, and held his backpack to his chest tightly as if it were some kind of safety vest.

The four strangers gravely exchanged terrified glances before throwing their bodies to the floor without a word.

“GET DOWN!” The woman screamed, and in milliseconds, the rapid-fire crack of machine gun bullets came shattering the glass of the convenience store.

Seungmin too threw all of his weight to land on his stomach on the cold linoleum floors and pressed his cheek against it while his ears rang. Tiny shards of glass pricked at his hands, but this adrenaline didn’t even let him feel the pain. He was certain that he must’ve been hyperventilating, because the room had started to spin among the relentless sounds of metal shells hitting the ground and metal shelves being upended from the force. The room filled with the smell of dozen different kinds of foods as packaging was ripped open and food and drink came spilling to the ground. The shopkeeper whimpered out loud prayers in his native tongue while he hid behind the counter.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as three of the strangers whipped out hand guns from their waistbands and knelt down behind the remaining shelves to shoot back at the black van outside.

Seungmin pinched his arm with eyes shut.

He wished he hadn’t.

oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. He bit the words into his lip.

“Hey kid!” The man with white hair growled at him. “You okay?”

While the two of them looked nearly to be the same age, this other man with snow white hair seemed to know what he was doing, so Seungmin decided to take the smallest bit of solace in that over the deafening sound of bullets.

“I-I think so?!”

“Keep your head down!” He said with gritted teeth, then angled his gun with a squinted eye.

“Bee??? Bee?” The fourth man with the flannel cried.

“Head. Down.” She said while firing more shots.

The room filled with a thin haze, and Seungmin covered his ears with bloody fingers.

The strangers fired their guns until there was nothing left, then escaped hiding behind the shelves with heaving chests. The young man had curled up into the fetal position, mouth feeling deathly dry with hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

Seungmin didn’t know that he had gone on this trip for his life to end.

How fucking cruel fate was.

His body shook, and he clung to his bag for dear life, waiting for it all to end, and for his time to come. Seungmin would’ve thought that in the moments before he had died, he wanted to think of all the good things that had happened in his life, but, he was disappointed to find that all he could come up with was fear.

“Did you get a look at him?” One of the strangers yelled on the other side of Seungmin’s muffled ears.

“NO!” One of them barked back.

“He was wearing the crest!! The red!!” The woman called out.

The world was black behind his eyelids, but anything was better than the scene that was actually unfolding before the terrified college student. Soon, the sounds faded, and Seungmin was then really convinced that it had finally happened. This was it. He was even still scared to open his eyes.

A grip at his arm pulled him up.

“You okay? They’re gone. You kinda blacked out there for a second.” It was the woman had pulled him up to his feet.

His head spun seeing the carnage of the destroyed store, and the student became dizzier by the second.

“I-I think I’m about to black out again--” His knees felt week and his vision blurred.

“Hey! Hey!” One of the other strangers, the one with the running clothes scooped him back up and gave a light pat to his face. “You’re alright! See?”

Miraculously, Seungmin really was unscathed.

“Who-who are you? Who...who the hell were they? What the FUCK was that?”

The four of them exchanged glances once more, communicating some kind of silent understanding between all of them.

“What’s your name kid?” The white-haired one said as he put his gun back into his waistband.

“S-Seungmin?”

“Ok Seungmin, there’s a lot going on here that you really shouldn’t be aware of, and there's a lot of answers that I can’t give you, I just need to to trust me, alright?”

“O-okay?”

Now that the shop was devoid of windows, the summer breeze came blowing into the store--an odd contrast to the mess that was made all over the glass shards and food.

“You’re safe now. They’ve gone. No one can hurt you.”

“A-are you sure about that?”

“We need to get going. I don’t know why the hell they leaved when they had us cornered, but we can’t be here for long.” The man in running clothes said with a tentative bite to his lip.

The woman nodded. “You’re right Two.”

“What do we do with him though?” The man supposedly named Two said, motioning to Seungmin.

“D-do?” His eyes widened to frightful full moons. “D-do????”

“We take him with?” The man in the flannel suggested and shrugged.

The woman rolled her eyes. “You don’t call the shots on stuff like this, Your Highness.”

“H-Highness? What??” Seungmin blabbered.

The man with white hair snatched the young student’s bag from his hands. “You got a laptop in that bag of yours?”

“--H-HEY!”

He man pulled out Seungmin’s dismal Chromebook that he had also saved several months for.

“Hm. This will do.”

“I guess we don’t have any other choice...” The woman rolled her eyes. “Introductions later. They could be coming back.”

“Hey, HEY!” The shopkeeper yelled, then rose from his hiding place to look in despair at his destroyed shop, and his aging cured meat slab stuck with bullet holes on the floor.

“We’ll take care of it all. We apologize.” The man in the flannel bowed deeply.

Sunlight stung Seungmin’s strained eyes, and he realized that he had completely forgotten about his host father in his little car from the 80′s. To his surprise, the little car was nowhere to be seen.

“M-my dad??” He said under his breath, also realizing that all of his belongings had gone with the man too. All he now had left to his name was his passport, a spare set of clothes, his laptop, and a couple school journals.

“Get in.” The man named Two said while throwing open the door, but then gave him squinted wink. “Been to Egypt before?”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“This mission is fucked.” Jeongin muttered to you, voice echoing slightly in the cobblestone alley.

“Yeah, it certainly seems like it.”

You fiddled with you new blouse. It was two times as itchy as you had expected and two times as expensive, but you had been desperate. With all of the spare supplies destroyed in the bombing, you and your partner had found yourselves hopelessly empty handed.

“Carroll is gonna have our asses. Fuck...” Jeongin slicked a hand through his hair with a bandaged arm. “We can’t take that kid to Egypt with us!! We already have to be on high alert for the prince...and now this??”

Your partner threw his head back incredulously against the brick wall, then stopped to watch the rest of the group sitting outside of the café and garnering odd glances from passerby's.

“Well what the hell else to do we do??”

Jeongin shrugged, then looking to the side shamefully. “You...know what the protocol is. We can’t stay here to watch over him until someone from the agency comes...and, we’re running out of time...White Rabbit is waiting for our correspondence..”

“Absolutely not.”

The poor young kid, naïve as he was, you couldn’t but help but feel bad for him. Not only was he all alone out there as he had explained, it appeared as if his host father had made off with all of his things too. It was hard to not pity the kid.

“Y/n, you know that he’ll only drag us down. If we take him with, his life becomes our problem. If he dies, we’ll have to answer to whoever his family is and we both know that could get messy. We already have a mission: get the intel, then get the prince home. Not take that kid along with us for the joyride.”

“You’re forgetting that they’ve seen him with us now. He’s associated with us. If we leave him in the dust, there’s gonna be an innocent kid dead in a foreign land, and it’ll be our fault for letting that happen. Do you want that to happen?”

Your partner sucked at his teeth in thought for a moment, then groaned out.

“I really fucking hate this babysitting thing.”

“It’s the three of us and the two of them. The odds are still pretty much in our favor.”

“It’s still dangerous odds.” Jeongin threw his hands onto his hips, then paced the length of the alley for a small stretch. “As of now, you’re assigned to the prince. Forget about the kid, Two and I will worry about him. The prince is the priority. If shit hits the fan, don’t even think twice, take the prince and get out. Okay? You should never leave his side.”

You nodded in agreement, feeling a sneaky sense of pride. After all of the chaos and the uncertainty, Jeongin was really coming into his own.

From the little patio where the others were, it looked as if Chan and Seungmin were getting a long swimmingly. You assumed that it had something to do with shared trauma. Weirdly, Chan had taken to the young man like a bit of a pet. Knowing all that the prince was going through, it made sense...perhaps this also could’ve explained why he had kissed you more than once. Anyone in his position would’ve acted as frantic as such--at least, this was what you had convinced yourself.

Two sat with the two men wearing thick black sunglasses to hide his gnarly eye wound, sipping espresso. Jeongin started walking back towards the group when you grabbed at his arm.

“--Wait, I need to talk to you about one more thing?”

Your partner’s rather gaudy Hawaiian-themed shirt flapped in the breeze. “What’s that?”

You drew him in closer. “What do you make of Two? He doesn’t strike you as suspicious?”

“Suspicious? Why?”

“I-I don’t know...it’s just a feeling that I’m getting. We know next to nothing about him--”

“--But isn’t that how this goes? We’re not supposed to know things about each other? That’s the point? He’s stuck with us this far...and...”

A couple passed by the two of you with linked arms, and Jeongin stopped his thought out of distrust of the two of them listening in.

His voice lowered even further, “If Carroll trusts him, so should we.” The young man nodded, then patted your scratched shoulder. You winced, and he quickly apologized. “It’s...fine that you’re suspicious. Its best for us to be, you know?”

“Expect the unexpected?”

Your partner dished out a little eyeroll, “Yeah. Something like that.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

It was as if His Royal Highness Prince Chan had never seen the inside of a public airport before. Everything was just so novel to him, and he gasped out at all the little trinkets and tchotchkes.

As excited as he was, he still tried his best to keep a solid composure under his disguise: a cap, a hoodie, and thick framed sunglasses. The royal didn’t look the most non-descript, but you figured that it was better than nothing.

The young kid sulked seeing the inside of the airport once more, as he had claimed that he had just left from there. You still didn’t know what to make of him all the way, but at least you could tell that he had a good heart. While in the car he told you and your companions how he had saved up all this money to travel, studied the language and arranged to go to school here too. While all of his plans had been thwarted, at least the kid was still getting to travel...with a price on his head...but still...he was getting to travel.

Now that Jeongin had been able to contact HQ thanks to the kid’s computer, everything was arranged. Flight tickets, sleeping arrangements, supplies and Bun even knew that you were on your way. You had little desire to see that man considering how you had heard that he was one to live up to his eccentric reputation, but there was little other choice. Jeongin’s words ran through and through your head, “If Carroll trusts him, so should we.”

Over it all, it was the prince who had worried you most. He was out in the open, and undoubtedly whoever those bastards were with the red crests would be close on your tail. Your neck strained with a pain that only seemed to grow stronger with every corner that you turned to ensure that no one was there. While the handsome prince liked to joke about how his life was on your hands, it was much more serious than that.

You had seen the fear in his eyes that night--it was so tangible that you could practically hold in your hands. He was a man terrified of death, and he knew that he had little control over it. You had control over it, but you knew that you could only stretch yourself so far.

Your group of five neared your gate in the international terminal lined with several dozen different kinds of multi-colored flags. You situated yourself between Two and the Prince on one of the thin teal chairs with flattened cushions. Chan tapped his hands on this knees impatiently as he inspected the place.

“Kind of exciting isn’t it?” He said with a tiny grin.

“What?” You moved to look at him with his obscured features. “Exciting?”

“Yeah, you know, travelling together. It kind of feels like an adventure. I mean, they’ve got a gun to our heads, but at least we’re together right?”

You scoffed, simply amused at how he had taken the severity out of the situation. It was clear that this prince knew little about the concept of perspective.

“I’m not following.”

“I get that...we need to be careful, but who said that we can’t, say, enjoy the journey?”

“You’re saying that you want us to have fun while we’re running for our lives?”

The prince smiled. “You know that I like having fun. That and...I’m just trying to be optimistic.” Under his cap, he slicked his brown strands back. “The three of you seem to be so tense all the time. Obviously, that can’t be good for your health--”

You cracked out with laughter. “You’re being ludicrous, Your Highness. We have to be on high alert at all times--”

“I said, that you could call me Chan, remember?” He rather languidly spread out his legs in his seat, removing his glasses for moment. “How about, when we go to Egypt, I take you out somewhere nice to eat? We can relax, talk, get to know eachother more--”

You raised your hand up to silence him. “--If this is just a ploy to get me alone, I politely rescind the offer. Here I was thinking that you were concerned about all three of us...”

“--I am!” Chan quickly piped, “I-I’ll take you all out for dinner! But...but...you’ll have to allow me to take you out for drink then. Just the two of us. I still hold to my word of wanting to get to know you.”

The prince’s face was puffed and bloated, and scraped with little pink and red cuts, but nothing stopped him from pulling out his signature charming and persuasive grin.

“Try to kiss me again, and I won’t hesitate. You might be royalty but I don’t ca--”

“--Hmmm no promises.” Chan then cut in, his grin turned even more indulgent while you watched him inspect your frame in that god-awful scratchy blouse.

Next to you, Two let out a particularly amused sounding scoff of a laugh.

“Forward as ever, Your Highness.” Jeongin deadpanned, then buried his nose in his coffee and newspaper once again. He hadn’t gotten to finish doing so earlier.

Seungmin, the young student stifled his own laughter which then gradually got louder and louder. “I can’t fucking believe this. Me. Kim Seungmin, the most normal-ass person in the whole world with you four: a fucking prince, secret agents...and now we’re going to Egypt??? Egypt???”

“Why does that sound like the set up to a shitty joke?” Two popped a bubble he had blown with the gum from the convenience store. Turns out he actually had a bit of a “gum habit” as he called it.

“Settle down kid.” Jeongin said without his eyes leaving his paper. “You’ll make a scene.”

The prince yawned, sliding his sunglasses back on.

“I never really did end up getting as much sleep as I would’ve liked.” If you could’ve seen his eyes, you would’ve then seen him eye your shoulder. “May I?” he politely asked.

Rather than giving him an answer, you rolled your head around as if to say do I need to?

Chan let out a happy little hum after resting his head on your shoulder, nuzzling in slightly.

You met your partner’s side eye, and he repeated for you, I really fucking hate this babysitting thing.

“Thank you Bee.” Chan softly muttered, almost too quiet for you to hear. “I really do owe you everything.” He was careful at first, but he reached out his hand to rest it atop of yours. While the action made you twitch at first, you remembered how the same action had calmed him in the van when you had escaped the gala.

You told yourself that you were just being nice.

The young kid pulled out a journal from his backpack and started scribbling something, Two popped a bubble, snapping it on his unnaturally white teeth, and Jeongin sipped at his coffee.

This really was the set up to a shitty joke.

A woman cleared her throat over the intercom and announced, Flight C1180 to Cairo will be boarding in one hour. Thank you for flying with us today.

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @lunarskzzz

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gukyi · 4 years

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the courtship chronicles | ksj

summary: dating has never been anywhere near your list of priorities, but kim seokjin is nothing if not determined. and when he comes to the rescue and accompanies you to your friend’s wedding, he decides to request only one thing in return: for you to let him take you out on fake dates and shower you in fake affection, and show you how much fun dating can be. he just needs to remember to keep the part where he’s been in love with you under wraps.

{friends to lovers!au, fake dating!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, and emotional hurt/comfort! word count: 20k a/n: big, big, big thanks to @aurawatercolor for commissioning me for this piece!! i honestly am so happy with this fic and even happier to give my main man kim seokjin the love and attention he deserves!!! this fic is pretty much slow burn from start to finish, so enjoy!

check out the post-script drabble here!

“You’re bringing a plus one, right?” Cynthia demands on the other end of the line, voice frazzled and breaths quick. “You better, because I already factored it into the wedding budget. There will be food meant for a plus one for you which I already paid for so you better bring one. I paid for it already.” She’s running in circles, trying to make her point. It’s clear she’s got an awful lot on her plate as it is.

“Can’t I just eat their serving myself? You know I’m a growing woman,” you plead. Cynthia and the rest of her bridesmaids have been on your back about bringing a plus one ever since she got engaged.

“No, you have to bring a plus one. Even if it’s your mom, Y/N, I don’t care,” Cynthia says. She makes to say something else, but then pauses. “Actually, I do care. Can it please be a date? Even like, someone you met off of Hinge. I don’t know. Not your mom. Don’t bring her. That would be only a little weird,” she corrects herself.

“Weirder than some stranger I met off Hinge?” You ask pointedly.

“No. At least they’re around your age. I want to see you applying yourself, Y/N!” Cynthia scolds. “Go out there and find a man! Pick him up off of the street if you have to! Anything!” She rallies. “Being single is cool and everything but being in love is just as fulfilling!”

“Of course you would think that, you’re getting married tomorrow,” you tell her, sighing. Can’t she just accept that you aren’t really looking for a relationship right now? And haven’t been looking for one since you graduated college three years ago?

“I love my future husband, thank you very much. We plan on leading a very full and extraordinary life with our fifteen dogs and eighteen geckos.”

“Okay, Miss We Bought A Zoo,” you tease.

Cynthia laughs. “Pretty soon it’ll be Mrs. We Bought A Zoo, thank you very much!”

You hear a knock on the door, turning to check the kitschy cuckoo clock you had found at a flea market for five dollars for the time. It’s six on the dot.

“I have to go, Cynthia, Seokjin’s here,” you tell her, already making to hang up the phone as you head towards the door, using your shoulder and ear to hold it in place. “We’re making a family dinner for two, tonight.”

“Bring Seokjin! He’ll charm the shit out of my mom, I just know it,” Cynthia tells you. “Bring him! Tell him to clear his fucking calendar for tomorrow.”

“Bye, Cynthia,” you say as you reach out for the doorknob, twisting it to reveal your grinning best friend with a bag full of goodies on the other side. “I have to go.”

“Send Seokjin my love! I don’t even expect a wedding gift from him! His presence is enough!” Cynthia shouts, loud enough for Seokjin to hear everything despite the phone not even being on speaker. You hang up before Cynthia can say anything else to goad Seokjin into accompanying you to her wedding, sending an apologetic smile his way.

“Sorry, that was—”

“Cynthia?” Seokjin finishes with a grin. You usher him into your apartment, letting him place his bag on your kitchen countertop as he pulls out two wine glasses to get the party started. You sigh, helpless. “Yeah, I figured. She’s getting married tomorrow, isn’t she?”

“She’s uber stressed, if that’s what you mean to say,” you correct, joining him in your kitchen as you start to unpack what he brought, countless tupperware containers filled with vegetables, meats, pastas. There’s even an entire bag of rice. Does Seokjin really think you have no rice in your apartment? Seriously?

“I can imagine,” Seokjin agrees with a laugh. “Thank god you and I aren’t getting married anytime soon, right?” With a flourish, he produces a bottle of red wine you had been saving in your fridge for this very occasion, filling up half of each wine glass.

“I’ll toast to that,” you say, smiling as you hold up your glass. Seokjin swirls the wine around in his own before holding it out.

“Here’s to not being romantically involved whatsoever!” Seokjin hurrahs, and you laugh at his honesty as your glasses clink together, the sound echoing around your kitchen. “Who says you need to be married to prepare a kickass meal together.”

“You’re in charge of the meat,” you immediately tell him. You’ve never been the biggest fan of handling it. Vegetables are much more your speed. They also don’t get angry at you when you make a mistake cooking them. Besides, Seokjin’s always been the better food mediator between the two of you.

“Like always,” he teases, giving you a nudge as he pulls the pots and pans from the cupboard beneath the counter and hands you one of the seventeen different cutting boards you have in random places in your kitchen. You don’t know what it is about them, but every single month you find yourself buying a brand new cutting board. They may as well be drugs. “You should really branch out and try cooking beef sometimes. I’ll teach you, hey? So you don’t have to be scared of it.”

“I am not scared of cooking beef,” you tell him sternly, flinching when Seokjin places the meat in the oil-slick pan and it begins to sizzle and pop.

“If you say so, Y/N,” Seokjin singsongs. “You know, I’d make a pretty good teacher. I reckon I could show you a thing or two about cooking.”

“Okay, Mr. Cooking Is My Passion,” you say, scrunching up your nose. “Just because I can’t make a damn filet mignon does not make me a bad cook,” you tell him, “whose soup do you ask for when you’re sick and in bed with a cold? That’s right, mine!” You poke his chest for good measure, making him put his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright, I concede,” he says with a laugh. “Your soup is delicious.”

“Thank you,” you say, proudly. “How about I make a couple of servings while you cook the meat?”

Seokjin blows a kiss your way. “Y/N, You know just the way to my heart.”

An hour later, you and Seokjin have whipped up an impressive set of dishes, from your homemade vegetable soup to his traditional bulgogi bibimbap, a small bowl of kimchi in the middle of the table accompanied by some sauteed vegetables and a serving of glass noodles. There’s enough to feed a family of four (one of whom could be a ravenous high-school football player) on your table, and yet, you and Seokjin never fail to finish it all.

Seokjin takes one bite out of his bulgogi bibimbap and moans in delight, tossing his head back as he holds out two thumbs up, chopsticks clanging onto the side of the bowl as he drops them. “Wow,” he says loudly, patting himself on the back. “I’m amazing. Gordon Ramsey wants what I have.”

“There’s no way it’s that good,” you tease, even though it most definitely is that good. Seokjin is, without a doubt, the best chef you have ever met, the best chef whose food you have ever had the pleasure of eating. If he weren’t employed by a publicity company he would almost certainly be the owner of the best restaurant in the city. The New York Times would visit his restaurant and write a five-star review to be published in the paper the next morning. You take a bite of it yourself, chewing it slowly and pretending to ponder its flavor. It’s delicious. It’s never not delicious. “Hmm… it’s alright.”

“‘Alright’?” Seokjin shouts, slandered. “Just ‘alright’?” He slams a fist onto the table in anger. “This is blasphemy! It’s amazing!” Grabbing the knife beside his plate, he holds it under your chin dramatically, glaring into your eyes. “You better retract that statement, or else!”

“Or else what, Mr. Kim?” You say, desperately resisting the urge not to burst into laughter. Seokjin’s not doing much better, lips pursed tight in an effort not to cackle aloud.

“Or else I’ll have no choice but to eat all of your bulgogi bibimbap for you!” He cries, reaching over with grabby hands to take your plate away from you.

Just as he suspected, you hold on tight to your plate, refusing to let such good food go into the mouth of someone who has his own plate. It’s then, as you’re playing tug-of-war with your food, that Seokjin finally breaks into chuckles, hiccuping out his laugh as he concedes and lets you eat your food in peace.

“Just as I suspected, peasant!” He says proudly. “It’s delicious!”

You put a heaping chopstick-ful into your mouth. “It really is, Seokjin. You always do such a great job.”

“I’m honored,” he says, bowing slightly. “Food is what brings people together.” He holds out a piece of kimchi in front of your mouth, and you eat it obligingly. “Speaking of bringing people together, what was Cynthia shouting about on the phone?”

“Oh, just her wedding, you know,” you tell him with a shrug. “The usual. She’s desperate for me to bring a plus one,” you say. Marriage is disillusioning her. She thinks everybody around her should have a love like her own. And while it is a wonderful, fairytale-esque thought, you just aren’t really on the same wavelength. You never have been. “She even factored it into the budget to guilt-trip me into doing it.”

“Why don’t you?” Seokjin asks, downing a spoonful of soup. “Going to a wedding alone can’t be too much fun.”

“I won’t be alone,” you protest. “I’m one of her closest friends. I’ll know a bunch of people there.”

“Yeah, but you won’t have brought someone who, by way of how plus-one’s work, will be obligated to be by your side the entire night. Who are you gonna dance with when Crazy in Love comes on, huh?” Seokjin points out.

You frown. “I can dance by myself.”

“Yeah, but a plus-one would make it more fun! You guys can dougie, or whatever it is the cool kids do these days. Is dabbing still a thing?” He dabs, just to make a point. It’s cringey and awful and hilarious, all at once.

“Stop, stop, you’re embarrassing yourself and I’m the only other person here,” you plead. “You and Cynthia are so on my ass about bringing a date, God. I just—I’m not really interested in anybody right now. Dating just isn’t my thing.”

“Has dating ever been your thing, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, even though he clearly knows the answer already. “I don’t think you’ve been on a date since sophomore year of college. Do you even know what dating is, anymore? Love?”

You roll your eyes. If there’s one person who’s a bigger hopeless romantic than Cynthia, it’s Seokjin. The man has an entire bookshelf of romance novels in his bedroom. He waxes poetic about falling in love every other day, about coming home to a significant other, a family, to cook for, to spend time with. He’s been on more Bumble dates in the past year than you can count on both hands and feet.

“I know what it is,” you defend yourself, “I’m just—I don’t really believe in that, for me. I don’t ever see myself having it. I have friends. My family. That’s good enough. I don’t need romantic love.”

Seokjin scoffs. “What? You mean to tell me you don’t ever want to fall in love? Never ever? Come on, Y/N. Love is great! It makes you feel warm and happy, like one of those giant Costco teddy bears. Those are the material equivalent of love. Haven’t you always wanted a giant Costco teddy bear?”

“When I was five, yeah,” you tell him. “Listen, Seokjin, I get it. Love is great and amazing, I’m just not that interested. You and Cynthia have been trying to get me to go on a date for years and it doesn’t appeal to me whatsoever.”

“What about dating is unappealing?” Seokjin inquires. He’s determined. And you, the best friend, are weak.

“I don’t know, having to meet new people, talk about yourself, try to see a future with them. It seems so tiring,” you say, sighing. Seokjin looks positively bewildered, because of course he enjoys dating—he’s so charismatic, charming, and outgoing. Even if a date goes poorly he still ends up with a new friend. “I’m just not that into doing that stuff.”

“Psh,” Seokjin says casually, skeptical. “I bet that if you just gave the whole dating thing a try, you might actually like it. You haven’t gone out on one in so long—maybe it’s different than what you remember. The last time you did it, we were all just college students.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groan. “How exactly do you expect me to ‘give the whole dating thing a try’, then? Last time I checked, I wasn’t particularly interested in anybody.”

Seokjin pauses, pondering for a moment as he taps his chin with his pointer finger. Then, like a smack to the face, it hits him all at once, and in his excitement, he pounds his fist right onto the prongs of the fork by his plate. “Ow, holy shit!” He shouts, excited nonetheless.

“Oh my God, are you alright?” You ask, a little concerned and a lot amused.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assures you, rubbing the side of his palm. “But what I was about to say, is why don’t we go out?”

You sputter, choking on the soup you had just taken a sip of. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

“Why don’t we date? It’ll be fun!” He says happily.

“Seokjin, we’re friends,” you say.

He shrugs, carefree. “Yeah, sure we are. But think about it: since we’re already so close, you won’t have to worry about introducing yourself to someone new. You won’t have to go through the whole tell me about yourself thing, we can just jump right into the dating part! It’ll be fun and you’ll get to see what dating is like past the introductions. How about it?” He asks.

He thinks it’s brilliant.

You think it’s ludicrous.

“But, Seokjin, are we actually going to date? Like, be a couple? Because I don’t know if that’s what I was really aiming for with our friendship today,” you say hesitantly. You love Seokjin, sure, but you aren’t in love with Seokjin. You’ve been best friends since college. Won’t it be weird if you suddenly start dating? And doing other couple-y things?

Seokjin waves a hand around like a nonchalant businessman. “No, we won’t actually be boyfriend and girlfriend, or anything,” he promises. “It’ll just be fake. Make believe! Think of it as a dating test-run. What do you say?”

“You sound too enthusiastic for me not to be worried,” you tell him tentatively. He’s like an energetic salesman. It’s a little frightening. There must be some fine print you aren’t looking at. Something that you’re missing. “Are you sure about this? Like, do you want anything in return?”

“Anything in return to help my best friend find love?” He asks, scandalized. “Of course not!”

You frown.

“Okay,” he gives in, “maybe some more soup. I’m about to visit my mom and she loves it.”

“Why don’t I just come with?” You suggest. Seokjin’s mom is the second-best chef you’ve ever met. Somewhere along the line, Seokjin took what he learned from her and improved it ten-fold.

“Even better! Mom’s been begging me to bring you around sometime. How about it, do we have a deal?” He asks, holding his hand out.

You sigh. He’s your best friend, and all he wants in return is for you to visit his mom with him. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

“Sure,” you say, conceding. “Why not?”

Seokjin’s first order of business as your self-appointed brand new not-real boyfriend, is to accompany you to Cynthia’s wedding as your plus-one. He does actually find a wedding gift on such short notice—a fairly new cookbook from which he had memorized the recipes already, so it was no longer of use to him. Because of course, Kim Seokjin is the only person on Earth who memorizes the one hundred recipes in a book just because he wants to. Where does he find the time?

[May 18th, 3:18PM]

Seokjin: Are we wearing matching colors? Seokjin: Or is that too senior prom?

You: As long as you don’t show up wearing white you should be fine

Seokjin: >_> Seokjin: You know that if I wore white the groom would drop everything and marry me instead ;-)

You: Only because of your charm You: I’m wearing pastel pink! I don’t suppose you have anything in your closet to go with that, do you?

[Seokjin is typing…]

[May 18th, 3:20PM]

Seokjin: Oh, Y/N, you don’t even need to ask twice

An hour later, Seokjin pulls up to the curb outside of your apartment complex in his Volkswagen, which is every bit as charismatic as he is, right as you’re scrambling to tug on your most comfortable heels (as if such a thing could exist!), running late, as per usual. The ceremony begins at 5:30 and you and Seokjin were meant to leave for the venue at four.

It is 4:19.

Frazzled, you rush around your apartment movie-montage style, tweaking strands of your hair in the mirror in the hallway and nabbing your bottomless bag on the coffee table. It’s not even really summer yet, but your apartment doesn’t have air conditioning and it’s becoming more and more of a curse as the globe slowly warms multiple degrees over the years. The true loser of climate change, rather than the polar bears, the bees, and coastal cities, is you, who thought renting a place with no air conditioning would be just fine.

Desperate not to open the door to Seokjin with your forehead dripping, you dab off the beads of sweat gathered by your hairline with the skirt of your dress—whatever, you were going to sweat in it at some point—right as you hear the first knock.

Seokjin’s fashion choices are usually rather conservative. He does work a somewhat menial half-office job, so he can’t roll up to his desk wearing the exceedingly stylish and exceedingly adventurous clothing that Namjoon and Taehyung wear, which, in turn, limits his closet. Lots of plain or argyle sweaters pulled over dress shirts with the collars peeking out, lots of navy jeans, lots of white sneakers and loafers. The only clothing item Seokjin does experiment with is socks, of which he has an impressive collection, ranging anywhere from corgi butts to Santa Claus.

You didn’t really know what you were expecting when Seokjin said you didn’t need to ask twice after mentioning that you were wearing a pastel pink dress. He does own a couple of pink things, but as far as you’re aware (and you’re pretty aware, considering you’ve been best friends with him since the beginning of college), it amounts mostly to his sock stash and a couple of sweaters, which he most often wears under denim jackets or over dress shirts.

What you most certainly aren’t expecting when you open the door is to see Seokjin standing on the other side in a full-on suit, a light grey color that complements the peach in his skin tone perfectly. More so, however, you hadn’t at all anticipated for him to be wearing a perfectly-matching pastel pink dress shirt underneath, complemented by a rather obnoxious bow tie with red hairs littered all over it.

“Wow, okay,” you say, blinking just to make sure that your eyes are working perfectly. “It’s May, why do you look like Valentine’s Day threw up on you?”

Seokjin opens his mouth to send a witty response back to you, but the moment he lays his eyes on you, it’s as if all of the words have fallen from his lips. He swallows, hands fumbling with the bouquet in his hand. “Don’t say that to me like you aren’t also wearing the most Valentine’s Day dress I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a pastel pink midi dress,” you tell him, frowning. “At least I’m not wearing something that has cartoon-y red hearts all over it,” you accuse, pointing to his bow tie.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “Hey! This is my lucky bow tie. It’s never steered me wrong when it comes to love.”

You scoff. “I don’t think Cynthia and her fiancé need your bow tie’s help today. Have you ever seen someone more in love with another person than they are with each other?”

Seokjin pauses. He sighs a little bit, like there’s something weighing on his mind he refuses to divulge. You won’t press. You may be best friends, but you aren’t mind-readers, and sometimes, there are some secrets that have to be kept even from each other. Yours is that when you guys were juniors in college and Seokjin was running late for class because he was desperate to find the last Pop-Tart in his apartment, you had actually eaten it the night before when he was in the bathroom.

You wonder what his is.

“You never know,” he finally says, “we could always use the extra luck, don’t you think?”

You nod, “I suppose. What’s with the flowers? You know you aren’t supposed to bring them to a wedding. They probably have enough flowers as it is.”

As if caught off guard by the flowers held in his very own hand, Seokjin turns his gaze down to look at the bouquet, a collection of baby’s breath, tulips, and carnations. “Oh,” he says, speechless. “Well, I was dropping by the flower shop anyway to bother Hoseok, and he said that they had some leftover stock that nobody wanted because they were a little smaller than the other flowers, so he gave them to me at a discount. They’re for you, I guess.” Like a nervous high schooler going on his very first date, he shoves them towards you, making you step back to avoid getting punched in the chest.

“Seriously? You didn’t have to do that, Seokjin,” you say happily, pleasantly surprised at the bouquet. Sure, some of them are a little wilted, a little dehydrated, but you get flowers so infrequently (in fact, you don’t think you’ve gotten any since Seokjin sent you one of those singular rose grams during your first Valentine’s Day at college), that the gesture is as good as gold.

“Eh,” he says, shrugging casually. “I don’t really have anybody else I would want to give them to.”

Gleefully, you take them from his outstretched hand and immediately rush to put them in some sort of vase. You, like the piece of millennial trash that you are, end up using a random empty mason jar you find in one of your kitchen cabinets.

“What time is it?” Seokjin asks, looking around for a clock.

“Late, we have to go,” you instantly respond, shooing him out of the door and darting down the stairs because the elevator in your apartment building is about four hundred years old and doesn’t even have a light bulb inside of it. You cram into Seokjin’s tiny white Volkswagen, which just screams hipster-mom-in-her-forties, and he speeds off at a velocity that tiny Volkswagen beetles were not meant to go at.

Surprisingly enough, you make it to the wedding venue with a few minutes to spare, which you largely attribute to the fact that Seokjin was driving faster than some of the SUVs on the highway on the way over. He isn’t a bad or reckless driver. He’s just a driver with certain priorities that rank higher than the act of driving itself.

“Ah, the smell of nervousness and love,” Seokjin says as you step out of the car, inhaling dramatically. “Smells like a wedding.”

“Smells like the ceremony is about to begin,” you say, and you both rush over the pebbled path to the entrance, giggling like a bunch of high schoolers as you stumble through the front doors very ungracefully.

“Wow,” Seokjin says, impressed at the extent of decoration. Cynthia had been raving on and on about how she was aiming to have a sort of romantic, Impressionist art painting vibe to the wedding, lots of pastels, flowers, twinkling lights. “This is very impressive. One hundred out of ten.”

“Cynthia’s been planning this for months, so I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear it,” you say, ushering yourselves into the main wedding hall as the rest of the guests file in from chatting outside as the clock ticks down. There are two seats close to the front that Cynthia’s saved for you and your plus-one, which she most certainly will be very happy to see you have brought with you, in the form of your best friend, Seokjin, of course.

“Aren’t you excited?” Seokjin whispers as everyone settles down. “Can’t you feel the love in the air?”

“It’s not in my genetics to feel that sort of thing,” you retort back, earning a pout from your best friend in return.

“Well, it’s in mine, and let me tell you, Y/N, it feels like love!” He exclaims happily. “You should be basking in it.”

“Are you?” You round on him. No point in not practicing what you preach.

“Always,” Seokjin says, gazing at you happily. He seems so content, in this very moment, about to watch a ceremony that will bond two people together for the rest of their lives, devote themselves to each other, wholly and completely. “I’m always basking in it.”

Then, the officiant steps up to the microphone at the front of the room. Seokjin reaches his hand over to grab yours, letting it rest in his palm on his lap, and the ceremony begins.

Going to weddings as a child, even as an adult to a fairly distant coworker, they’ve always felt so detached from you as a guest. Sure, the ceremonies are wonderful and you’re happy for the newly-married couple, but it’s almost as if you’re watching a movie and instead of being another character, you’re part of the audience. When you leave the wedding venue, when all of the dancing and eating and celebrating is over, you forget all about it, and you move on with your life.

But knowing the two people standing up at the altar as more than just coworkers, or a distant relative, knowing them as friends, as near family, tints everything in a rosy pink. It’s the most beautiful wedding ceremony you’ve ever had the pleasure of attending. It’s humbling and real and unrehearsed, romantic and funny and meaningful all at once. It makes you feel warm inside, truly, truly happy for your friend and for what is to come in the next chapter of her life.

Crying was pretty much unavoidable. It was mostly on Seokjin’s end—he’s not as close with either of them as you are, but he certainly loves love much more than you do—but some tears were shed on your end, as well. This is the sort of thing you’d want to talk about for years to come, even after you walk out, in the hopes that a constant reminder will prevent it from ever fading from your memory.

As weddings go, the next part is the best part: free food. You get to your tables and Cynthia’s fancy (and expensive) caterers come whooshing around with bottles of wine and pitchers of water, filling up the glasses on your tables as the wedding party prepares to enter. You’re seated next to some other old friends from college, ones you recognize and ones you don’t, and ones that Seokjin is very happy to start chatting up the moment you take your seats.

“Are you here together?” One of the men—you think his name is Nathan(?)—asks, pointing to the two of you.

“No,” you say.

“Yes,” Seokjin says.

You both turn to glare at each other as Nathan—no, maybe Noah—furrows his brows, clearly having not received the response he was aiming for. Seokjin makes a bunch of aggressive and dramatic facial gestures to remind you that you two are fucking dating, remember? Even though it’s not actually real, and that was the part you were focusing on. The not real part.

“We are,” you correct awkwardly, even though Whatshisface seems to have moved on from the topic. “He’s my plus-one.”

“I’m not as tight with the bride as I am with one of her closest friends,” Seokjin says jokingly, even though you’re the only one who laughs.

“Yeah,” one of the girls chimes in. “You guys were best friends in college.”

“Still are,” you say, grinning. At least you don’t have to lie about that.

“So cute,” the same girl says romantically. “I wish I could fall in love with my best friend,” she turns to the man she’s with who clearly doesn’t want to be here whatsoever. “You guys must be so happy.”

“It’s not always a walk in the park,” Seokjin warns, and you don’t have time to smack him in the chest and ask him what the hell he means by that, as the officiant taps onto the microphone to begin to announce the entrance of the wedding party.

As each couple, each bridesmaid and groomsman, walk through the door, you can’t help but wonder why Seokjin said it wasn’t always a walk in the park to be together. Are you that awful to fake date?

“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” Cynthia’s father asks, tapping his teaspoon against the wine glass in his hand. “I’d just like to make a toast.” He turns to where Cynthia and her fiancé are seated, and he looks on the verge of tears. “For as long as I’ve lived, I’ve never seen two people love each other so selflessly. When they’re together, they make grey skies turn blue, turn night into day. All I can wish for you both is that you will forever be each other’s best friend, each other’s rock. There is no greater joy in life than to get to spend the entirety of it with your best friend. Congratulations, Cynthia and James. We are so lucky to know you both.”

Everybody begins to clap.

Everybody, except Seokjin.

You notice that his hands are resting in his lap, and when you turn to look at him, you see his eyes welling up, his smile soft and wistful.

“You alright?” You ask quietly, giving him a nudge with your shoulder.

Seokjin looks back at you like you’ve caught him off guard. “Me? Yeah.”

“You’re crying,” you point out.

He shrugs, blinking to let the tears roll down his cheeks. “I just love that,” he explains. “Love knowing that some of us can be so lucky to spend the rest of our lives with our best friends by our sides.”

According to the ancient law of weddings, the reception is where all guests are mandated to get out of their seats and boogie-oogie-oogie. At least, that’s what Seokjin says, when the food gets whisked away and the space morphs into a dance floor, tables in the center cleared as the bride goes to change in her mandated second dress, because one just isn’t expensive enough as it is. Seokjin just seems to know everything about weddings. It’s almost as if he’s planned one himself.

“Just wait until all of the stuffy, traditional dances are over,” Seokjin whispers into your ear as Cynthia and her father share a dance. Seokjin looks like he’s about to jump out of his seat, desperate to get onto the dance floor. “You’ve never seen me dance at a wedding.”

“I’ve never seen you dance at all,” you correct, excluding all of the dabbing he did in 2016 when it was still a cool thing to dab.

“Then you’re in for a real treat,” he says smugly.

Sure enough, the moment the rest of the guests are invited onto the dance floor to drop it low, Seokjin is the first one out of his chair, and you, the second, begrudgingly dragged to the center by your over-enthusiastic best friend. He’s always been absolutely shameless in everything he does, which makes for high confidence and low embarrassment, two things you are certainly not the strongest in. Which is exactly why you end up side-stepping awkwardly like a geek at senior prom, while he uses every single one of his limbs to express his passion for whatever generic pop song is blasting through the speakers.

Cynthia’s never been one for niche, hipster music.

“Come on, Y/N, have a little fun!” Seokjin encourages, grabbing onto your wrist and rapidly waving it up and down, making you shake.

“You can have enough fun for the both of us,” you tell him, still just as aware of everybody else’s opinion of you as you were in high school. Some things really never change.

“Impossible! Come on!” He says, and you have no idea what dance move he’s about to break into from his positioning, and then you suppose you’ll never know, because the song immediately switches to an acoustic one by Ed Sheeran, which is the most generic type of slow song you could possibly think of.

“Grab your boys and girls, everyone,” the DJ says, a random white guy who definitely would prefer to make mixtapes in his basement than do this shit. “This one’s for love!”

You don’t even have time to take another step before Seokjin is grabbing your hand with his own and pulling you in close to him. He holds your one hand out and places his other on your waist, and instinctively, you rest your hand on his shoulder.

When you went to senior prom in high school, your date was this terribly nervous friend of a friend, who asked you because you both didn’t have a real date to go with, and you figured it would be better to go with an acquaintance than nobody at all. And it was sort of fun, because you sat at a table with all of your friends and ate decent senior prom food, and it wasn’t in your stinky high school gymnasium but a fairly nice country club. But when the only slow song of the night came on, thus ensued the most awkward three minutes of your entire high school career.

This is by no means an exact science, but you figure that the people you are closest to are the people you can slow dance with without it being terrible and awkward and awful. You did it with your parents when you were a little girl in the living room of your family home. You did it with Cynthia at two in the morning one night when she had just gotten dumped by this absolutely rotten boy.

And now, you’re doing it with Seokjin. And it isn’t terrible or awkward or awful at all. You sway to the soft strums of the guitar and it feels just right. The feeling of his hand in yours, on your waist, of yours on his shoulder. There’s less than a six inches of distance and you feel as close as you have always been. Seokjin feels so natural. He always has, and you know that he always will. There’s no doubt when it comes to him, no regret.

“Isn’t this nice?” Seokjin asks, grinning at you.

“Only because it’s with you,” you say back with a smile. Seokjin beams.

Later, when the slow dance is over and you make your way back to your table so you can watch your best friend make a fool of himself from a distance. Cynthia drops by, blissful.

“I knew you’d bring Seokjin! He’s charming the pants off of my mom as we speak,” Cynthia says happily. You both crane your neck to see him teaching Cynthia’s mom the floss, outdated as per usual.

“Yeah, I mean,” you say with a shrug, “who else was I going to bring?”

“He makes you happy, doesn’t he?” Cynthia asks. She looks proud. She deserves it.

You turn back to look at Seokjin, on the verge of tears of laughter as Cynthia’s mom successfully flosses for the first time. He’s so wonderful. The light of your damn life. “Yeah. He does.”

When the fair comes to town, you don’t find out from posters stapled to utility posts and taped to traffic lights. Nor do you find out from word of mouth, from the two strangers in your favorite (slightly overpriced) coffee shop ahead of you in line. It’s not even your coworkers who mention it to you in passing one day because their eight-year-old has been begging them to go but they can’t because they have a dentist appointment.

It is, because who else would it be, of course, Seokjin, who texts you at 4:18PM on that Saturday and says:

[May 27th, 4:18PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment to pick you up Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

And it is, in every possible way, the scariest thing you have ever received on your phone. Seokjin’s always been one for spontaneity, but ever since the two of you graduated and stopped feeling the urge to go out to McDonald’s at three in the morning, random activities have become less of a rule and more of an exception. But it’s a Saturday, which means you don’t have to go to work, and it’s near-evening, which means you’ve been sitting at home doing absolutely nothing all day as it is. And it’s May, which means that the sun only sets at seven at night and there is so much to be done in this wonderful weather.

So, Seokjin’s on his way.

You spend the next seven minutes (Seokjin lives approximately eight minutes by car from where you live, not that you’re counting, or anything) changing out of the yoga pants you’ve been wearing since you returned from work Friday evening and trying to make yourself look as presentable as possible. You don’t know where he’s taking you. He could be bringing you to an alley to murder you for your inheritance. He’s definitely on your will, that’s for sure. You want to look nice.

Seven minutes later, you see his tiny white Volkswagen pull up outside your apartment complex as you’re slipping on some sandals. He hops out of the driver’s seat and scurries into the lobby, which signals to you that he is a man on a mission, and you are simply the best friend who gets roped along for the ride. He knocks on your door thirty seconds after that, and you linger for a few moments so as not to seem like you’ve been anxiously awaiting his arrival.

“Let’s go,” Seokjin declares in lieu of a hello. He reaches out to grab onto your wrist, pulling you out of the door as you frantically make sure you have your bag with you, otherwise you’ll be phone-less, key-less, and lip-balm-less. Three equally terrible fates.

“What? Now? No explanation, nothing?”

“I parked in the no parking fire lane with my blinkers on, which means we have to go right now. We also have to go because I am very excited about where we are going,” Seokjin elaborates, though it does nothing to clarify the situation at hand. Other than the fact that if you don’t get into his car right now, he’s got a ticket to pay.

“But where are we going?” You ask again, as Seokjin and you scramble down the stairs to make it to his Volkswagen before the security guard in the lobby starts shouting at him for his illegal parking job.

“The fair!” Seokjin says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Did you see it was in town?”

“No,” you say dumbly.

“Oh,” Seokjin says awkwardly. “Well, it is, and I feel like we haven’t seen each other in a while—”

“It’s been three days.”

“—and we haven’t gone out on a real date yet, you and me.” Seokjin explains as you get to his car. Luckily, there is no angry security guard nor a ticket underneath his windshield wiper, so you slide into the passenger seat and he drives off.

“Yes, we have,” you object. “Cynthia’s wedding counts as a real date.” He was literally your plus-one. What more could define the word ‘date’?

Seokjin scrunches his nose up in clear disagreement. “No, it doesn’t,” he argues back. “Cynthia was going to tear your arm off if you didn’t bring me with. That was a date out of obligation.”

“Aren’t all of these dates out of obligation?”

You expect some sort of witty response, but instead, you’re met with silence as Seokjin opens the driver’s side door, the two of you looking over the top of his Volkswagen wordlessly, each waiting for something.

What? It’s not like you’re wrong. Seokjin is taking you out on dates to get a feel for what a real, blossoming relationship is like. Except this isn’t real, and your relationship is far from blossoming. It’s bloomed, already. Into an irreplaceable friendship.

“Yeah, well,” Seokjin sputters, for once in his life, speechless. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, sitting roughly in the driver’s seat as you get into the passenger side, watch as he fumbles to put the keys into the ignition. “Don’t you want to know what a first date is supposed to be like?”

“You don’t have to take me on a fake first date just to spend time with me,” you tell him, the two of you facing forward, staring at the road in front of you as he drives. The radio is playing, some generic alternative rock song that neither of you are familiar enough to warrant turning up the volume for. Seokjin’s always preferred listening to the radio over his own music. Something about ambience while he drives. “We can spend time together wherever. Even if we’re just in my apartment.”

Seokjin’s wonderful and the best and one of the (if not the) greatest people you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, but he doesn’t need to do all of this for you. It’s enough for him to text you in the morning to remind you to drink a glass of water before you eat anything to wake your body up. Enough for him to leave leftovers from your dinner nights in your fridge, so you can savor the taste of his food after he’s gone home. Enough for the two of you to be as you used to be, as you always have been and always will be.

Seokjin scoffs, honking at a driver who sped through a red light. “Those aren’t dates, Y/N,” he explains like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “They’re just ways that we spend time with each other.”

“So then what makes this a date? What’s the difference?” You demand. Seokjin’s not making any sense. Sure, you aren’t nearly as well-versed in the dating scene as he is, certainly haven’t been on as many as he has, but from your limited knowledge, you’d always thought that what makes a date is not the setting, not the time or location, but the person you spend it with.

Arguably, that would mean that all of the nights and days you’ve spent with Seokjin could, by that definition, be dates, but that’s obviously not the case. You’ve always just been friends.

“It’s a date because I say it is,” Seokjin declares. “You wanna know what makes a date? It’s when the two people—or more, depending on how you swing—decide that it is a date. It’s just a label.”

“If it’s just a label, then why are you making such a big deal out of it?” You ask. You know you’re being a bit annoying with all of the questions at this point, but who’s to say you couldn’t have spent the evening curled up in your apartment and called that a date as well?

“Because,” Seokjin begins, sighing. His hands are gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles are turning white. “Because,” he repeats, “if someone really wants to impress you, then they will make a big deal out of it. Because you deserve it.”

Eventually, Seokjin pulls into the giant open field designated for parked cars, and expertly squeezes into this tiny space between two absolutely massive SUVs, likely once filled with five children and two very, very tired parents. Sure, you both only have about six inches of space to shimmy out of his car, but it was a good parking job nonetheless.

“Get you a boyfriend who can park as well as I can,” Seokjin says, patting himself on the back as you head towards the entrance.

“Why would I need a boyfriend when I have you?” You tease back.

You wait for a cheeky response from Seokjin, turning to look at him when he delivers the blow, but it never arrives. Instead, Seokjin reaches a hand down to grab onto yours, and you walk hand in hand towards the entrance, wordless. He pays, which makes you angry, but he tells you that you can buy a funnel cake for you to share to make up for it, and that’s good enough.

In movies and books, a fair is a very high-school event for people to attend. Lots of bright flashes of color, loud noises, and junk food, which are three things that society believes deters anyone over the age of nineteen from attending. You can’t name a single piece of pop culture that features two fully-grown adults eating cotton candy and sitting in a ferris wheel carriage. Because the moment you turn twenty, your back starts to permanently ache and noises louder than the sound of your refrigerator making ice give you a headache, of course.

Seokjin, of course, has never been one to let the media define him.

He lights up like New Year’s Eve the moment you walk through the gates. Like a child on Christmas day.

There’s a difference between being immature and being youthful that people often fail to realize, confusing the two, or worse, thinking they’re the same thing. But there are sixteen-year-olds out there who are more mature than middle-aged adults, and there are middle-aged adults who still act like they’re going through puberty. Seokjin was immature when you first met him, the same way all college freshmen are, but over the years lost that mindset while still never parting with the youthful part of himself, the part filled with childlike wonder, with innocence and hopefulness. It has always been part of him.

When Seokjin looks at the world, he sees it bathed in light, in color. He sees people in their most wonderful form. Sees every day, every moment, as something worth remembering. Sees the future as something worth looking forward to.

You’ve always envied that about him. Perhaps it’s just in your nature, but you’ve always been jaded, a little cynical.

A realist and a dreamer.

And they always say that opposites don’t really attract.

Here at the fair, Seokjin is more than prepared and willing to have enough fun for the both of you, even as you pull up to one of those impossible-to-win water-squirter games. He’s already pulling out his wallet to hand a couple of bills to the angsty-looking teenager behind the booth.

“You know that these are totally rigged, right?” You ask, chuckling to yourself as Seokjin rubs his hands together with a wide-eyed excitement.

“Just because they’re rigged doesn’t mean winning is impossible,” Seojin says confidently, taking a seat and gearing up to begin. You stand to the side, arms crossed, waiting to be sufficiently unimpressed. “What are you doing standing there? I paid for both of us.”

Before you know it, Seokjin is pulling you down into the seat next to him as the teen counts down, giving you a very monotonous three seconds before the bell rings and you have to aim weakly-pressurized water into the mouth of a faded plastic clown.

You’ve never had the best hand-eye coordination. On multiple occasions, Seokjin has tossed you a fruit, a bag of rice, something non-dangerous and relatively large, and on multiple occasions, you fumble to grab it and it eventually ends up on your kitchen floor. It takes you about half of the minute you’re given to blow up the balloon to get your aim straight, and by then, Seokjin’s balloon could eat yours for lunch.

“Pick up the pace, Y/N!” Seokjin teases, relishing in his lead. This is embarrassing, and you’re better than this. And yet.

“It’s working against me and you know it!” You defend yourself. Because their unfairness is the reason Seokjin’s about to win and you’re about to lose.

“How can you say that when I’m doing so well?” Seokjin laughs, and his balloon pops the moment that the sixty-second countdown ends, an underwhelming blare of celebratory music playing through the speakers at the corners of the tent.

A sad little “Better luck next time!” echoes from the clown in front of you, and you slam your water gun on the table as Seokjin gloats in your face, the teenager coming over to hand Seokjin his prize, looking dead on his feet.

“What should I get, hmm?” Seokjin asks.

The selection is pretty weak. A lot of Frozen merchandise, two-dollar stuffed Olafs and capes with Anna and Elsa’s faces on the back. A couple of nondescript stuffed animals, from glittery lizards to pastel teddy bears. What looks like a generic-brand Whoopee cushion.

“You don’t want a stuffed Olaf?” You ask innocently. The design is a little off, so it looks like Olaf is staring into your soul, Mona Lisa-style.

“Hmm,” Seokjin says, pretending to think about it. The poor kid looks like he’s about to faint from boredom, desperate for two fully-grown adults to stop acting like they don’t know what prize to pick from an amusement park booth. “How about the pink teddy bear?”

Very on-brand for him. The teen hands it to Seokjin and the two of you go on your merry way, Seokjin demanding the two of you go to stuff your faces with funnel cake before rounding out the night on the ferris wheel.

“For you,” Seokjin says, holding the teddy bear out to you as the two of you stand in the surprisingly-long line for funnel cake.

“Me?” You ask, eyebrows raised in disbelief as your fingers curl around the fluffy fabric. It’s softer than you thought it would be.

“Yeah,” Seokjin says, certain. “To remind you of me.”

You grin, holding the bear close to you. Sure, it’s a little bit kindergarten, like the cute boy on the playground placing a quick kiss on your lips before the teacher calls everybody in after recess ends, but the gesture is more than enough. To know that Seokjin won something, even something as plain and inexpensive as a prize from a fair, and his first and only thought was to give it to you, well, that makes you happy. “I don’t need a bear to be reminded of you,” you muse. Not when there are pieces of your friendship lingering everywhere you walk, from your apartment to your old university to your mind.

“Can’t hurt to know you’re always thinking about me,” Seokjin says, and it’s not greasy or smug or weird. It’s honest.

You laugh. “When am I not?”

Funnel cake starts with a black t-shirt and the two of you arguing over who’s going to foot the ten dollar bill, much to your dismay. Even though Seokjin had explicitly said that you could pay, since he covered your entrance ticket, he still makes a big deal about doing it himself in front of the poor funnel cake girl, who definitely doesn’t get paid nearly enough to watch two grown adults fight over a ten dollar funnel cake. Eventually, you get your way and successfully hand the girl a ten dollar bill and she hands you a paper plate piled high with funnel cake as you begin to search for an open place to sit.

“Just because I said that you could pay for the funnel cake doesn’t mean I actually meant it,” Seokjin says with a frown as you scope out a place to sit. At evening’s peak, it’s nearly impossible, which leads the both of you to a curb next to a recycling bin piled high with plastic cups, stained with Coca Cola and Fanta, knees up to your chin as you crouch over a single plate of funnel cake.

“Isn’t this cozy,” Seokjin says with a grin as a burly middle-aged dad steps on Seokjin’s clean white sneakers to throw something away.

“We’ve been in more cramped quarters before,” you say. One of the many instances that immediately comes to mind is when the two of you were trapped in a closet in a frat house for nearly two hours because two people on the other side were having sex, the entire time. It was a good bonding experience. The two of you got very acquainted with each other’s scents.

Seokjin’s hasn’t changed. Still sweet, sugary and vanilla from all of the baking he does, and a little bit like raindrops.

You wonder if Seokjin thinks the same about yours.

“You know I don’t mind where we are and what we’re doing when I’m with you,” Seokjin says, and it sounds like a line straight out of a Hallmark movie, cheesy and cliche and rehearsed. But it’s none of those things. Seokjin says it and it’s real. And it’s the sort of thing that makes you wonder if you’re ever as true with him as he is with you.

“Even when we’re sitting on the ground and eating funnel cake next to a recycling bin in a fair filled with messy children and their deadbeat parents?” You ask.

Seokjin nods, taking an enormous bite of funnel cake. “Yes, even then.”

“True love,” you muse. Very few people would you do this for. Seokjin is one of them.

Seokjin coughs at the words, his whole body shaking, and the powdered sugar from the piece in his hands goes flying, like a tiny little blizzard, falling onto his skin, his shirt, his lips, and everywhere in between. Snowflakes.

Funnel cake ends with Seokjin trying to wipe the white dust on the front of his pitch black t-shirt away with a napkin, and only smearing it further into the fabric, cotton turning sticky from the sugar. It looks like a cocaine bust gone wrong. It looks only slightly not-kid-friendly.

“Am I addicted to cocaine or did I just spill powdered sugar on myself?” Seokjin jokes, much to the horror of a family passing by, the mom giving you and Seokjin an alarmed expression as she picks up the pace. “It was powdered sugar!” Seokjin calls after them, making the two of you laugh. “Or it was cocaine. Whatever you want to believe.”

“You’re too soft to do cocaine,” you tell Seokjin, a very strange sort of compliment.

“Maybe powdered sugar, though,” Seokjin says with a laugh as you heave yourselves off of the curb, tossing out the paper plate and dusting off your hands, flakes of powdered sugar falling to the ground. “Ferris wheel?”

“Anything you want,” you tell him, letting him lead you towards the ride, lit up like a Christmas tree.

It’s as if every possible holiday threw up on the damn thing, a jumble of rainbow flights flashing erratically as a generic carnival tune plays in the background, sluggishly moving on its axis. It couldn’t have been built before this century.

You squeeze into the carriage, clearly built to fit a child and their father at most, let alone two adults who both don’t have a regular exercise schedule. In order to fit, you have to stretch a leg over Seokjin’s lap and lean so that part of your shoulder is against his chest. It’s… cozy. It’s most definitely not the most cramped either of you have ever felt.

“This is the part where I pretend to yawn and then stretch my arm over you,” Seokjin says matter-of-factly, as if that particular action is a mandatory part of the date.

“Oh, is that proper first-date etiquette?” You tease.

“Only for me,” Seokjin says, cheeky, and it’s the greasiest thing you’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing. Even so, you let him fake yawn, melodramatic and totally contrived, feel as his arm comes to rest on your shoulder, hand swinging down over your side. Instinctively, you reach up to grab it with your arm, letting the two of you sit like this as the ferris wheel creaks, slowly moving you upwards. “Aren’t you having the best first date ever?”

“It’s the only one I can remember,” you admit, especially since it’s still in progress.

“That means it’s the best.” Seokjin grins.

“And the worst,” you add on, making Seokjin laugh.

Finally, finally, finally, you reach the top, overlooking the entire fair, lit up in the night in a warm pink and yellow haze. At this hour, only the teenagers are left, families having gone home for the night, and you can hear the cheers even from up here, hear the laughter and jokes and chatter. it’s a sort of ambience you’ve never had the pleasure of listening to before. One of an active night, filled with people, and you, far away enough to be out of the action but close enough to enjoy it nonetheless.

“Isn’t this nice, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, the two of you looking out into the distance, wishing you could stay like this forever. “When we’re up here, it feels like I can forget about everything and just think about now.” If only you could stay like this forever.

“And what are you thinking about, right now?” You ask, head resting on his shoulders.

Instinctively, his arm moves from your shoulder to your waist, tugging you into his side, letting you rest your legs on top of his own. Seokjin’s never needed to be more honest than he already is. He says what he means, and he means what he says.

It’s always been so easy when it comes to him.

He lets out a breath, and you can feel his chest rising beneath your hand on his torso, feel the subtle beat of his heart beneath your fingers.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

He rests his head atop yours. “You,” he says.

Seokjin, a man of his word, holds up his end of the deal like he does everything else: honestly and fully. Little has really changed about your relationship dynamic—he still sends you good morning texts and reminds you that you need to drink your eight glasses of water (which you never do, and he consistently does because he’s an organized man with perfect skin). Still randomly comes to your apartment with two brown bags filled with groceries to last you the next two weeks. Still makes time for you.

But now, it’s all being done under the guise of courtship. Of what it’s like to have someone romantically interested in you.

Of course, Seokjin’s not actually romantically interested in you, but he does a damn good job of pretending to be. For the sake of this whole thing. Seokjin still has one objective in mind: get you to believe in love again, and that all of these things he’s been doing, from taking you to the fair to dancing with you at Cynthia’s wedding, are means to accomplish an end.

(The stuff in between, the texts, the calls, the visits, those are just part of your routine.)

It feels completely normal and totally unnatural, all at once. Like a new kind of relationship neither of you have really ever delved in before, toeing the line between friendship and this other feeling, one without a name. Seokjin will do something that you and he have always done, long before any of this was in motion, like ordering Indian takeout to your place unprompted, and then he will say that that’s what people are supposed to do when they’re courting someone. As if he is the end-all be-all of chivalry.

Truth be told, you can’t wait for this to end, for things to go back to the way they were. You never did set an official fake breakup date (if that’s what it’s even called), but you suppose that that means that you can just call it off whenever you’d like. You don’t feel as though anything he’s doing is working. He treats you just the same. What is there to fall in love with, other than familiarity?

But Seokjin’s diligence makes you diligent, too, which is why you’re standing in your kitchen, outnumbered by vegetables (ten to one, which means they could definitely kill you if given the chance—and opposable thumbs), a gigantic pot on your creaky gas stove, boiling soup swirling inside. Even though your kitchen is nowhere near the level of organized and systematic as the Chopped set, it certainly smells like it. Your cooking can hardly compare to Seokjin’s (you roughly chopped vegetables and put them in broth, he makes kimbap for fun), but, like all other aspects of your life, he rubs off on you, one way or another.

Seokjin seems to think that this transference of his personality will apply to how he feels about love, too. But time can only work so much magic, and ever since freshman year of college, for the seven years you’ve known him, it’s always been like this.

You let the soup simmer on your stove as you begin to pack up the food scattered on your counter, unsure when next you’re going to use it, especially since your daily meals usually consist of leftovers and, if you’re feeling exotic, stir-fry. It’s then that you hear the knock on your door, and you don’t even need to think before you’re scurrying over to pull it open, revealing Seokjin leaning over to peek happily into your peephole.

“Look who it is, for a change,” you say sarcastically.

“You mean your favorite human being in the entire world who is about to take you to see his mom and enjoy a nice home-cooked mom meal?” Seokjin corrects obnoxiously, making you laugh as you let him inside.

“You blackmailed me into this,” you remind him, pointing an accusing metal soup ladle his way. “You convinced me that you’re doing me a favor by treating me like someone you’d want to court, and tricked me into making an enormous pot of soup for your mother!” A lose-lose situation.

“I am doing you a favor,” Seokjin defends. “Don’t you love having a doting, attractive young professional taking you out to fairs and ordering you take-out? This is what the beginning of a relationship is supposed to look like.” Emphasis on supposed to. “Also, I accompanied you to Cynthia’s wedding after she had been talking your ear off trying to get you to bring a plus-one, so…”

A dirty, dirty play.

“Fine, you win,” you concede. You did really appreciate him coming, especially so last minute. “I better hear nothing but pure, unadulterated praise coming from your lips when you eat my soup, or else.”

“I would have showered compliments on your soup even if you hadn’t sent me a thinly-veiled threat,” Seokjin says proudly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Perhaps one that confused you a little less.

You spend the entire car ride to Seokjin’s mom’s house (who lives forty-minutes out of the city) listening to him ramble on about how desperately his mother wants him to get married, settle down and have kids or a dog or two. The two of you still have half of your twenties to go, but the moment he graduated, Seokjin got a steady job and a nice apartment in the city, which immediately equates to marriage material.

At least, that’s what his mom thinks.

But those aren’t the sort of things that make Seokjin marriage material. You’ve known him for years. Ever since he first spoke to you, it was immediately obvious he was always the sort of perfect, dreamboat husband material that teenage girls fawn over, that characters in anime fantasize about.

At the most basic level, Seokjin is goddamn attractive, and even if you’ve seen him in nothing but tighty-whities as a nervous eighteen-year-old, seen him with tomato sauce in his hair, seen him sick with a cold and strep throat, you can’t deny him that. He’d got the sort of looks that make people on the street take photos of him, thinking he’s a celebrity.

But not only is Seokjin undoubtedly gorgeous, he’s an entire package. He’s an excellent cook, capable of impressing any and all parents, hilarious, charming and charismatic. Professional but never dull. He does his part in group projects, studies for his exams, listens to the music recommendations you give him even if they aren’t his style. The girls he dated in college knew exactly what they were doing when they went out with him. They were attempting to secure their future. It’s a shame none of them stuck, not like you, Elmer’s glue on his skin.

Seokjin’s mom, the lovely woman she is, is under the impression that Seokjin became husband material when he graduated, got a job and moved to the city. But you know better than anyone—Seokjin’s always been husband material. Now, he’s just old enough that he knows he could be looking for himself.

When you pull into Seokjin’s mom’s driveway, a little suburban home with a freshly-mowed font lawn and flowers by the mailbox, she’s already opening the front door and scurrying out, still wearing her slippers.

“Eomma!” Seokjin says happily, getting out of the driver’s seat as she bounds towards him, the two of them wearing the same smiles on their faces. Like mother, like son. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long!” She chides, smacking him slightly. “You have to come and visit me more often. I don’t live that far away from you.”

“I’m busy, Ma,” Seokjin says with a roll of his eyes. “I have a job.”

“A job and no wife!” She exclaims, though her attitude immediately changes the moment you exit the car, pot of soup still warm in your hands. “Y/N!”

She rushes over to give you a hug as well, albeit a much more careful one. She looks positively thrilled to see you. Seokjin’s mom has always liked you, even when you were an insufferable eighteen-year-old. They would invite you over for their Chuseok celebrations every year, and sometimes to their New Year’s Eve parties, if you were in the area over winter break.

“No wife yet, Eomma,” Seokjin says.

“You look so pretty, Y/N,” Seokjin’s mother tells you. She takes the pot from your hands wordlessly, refusing to listen to your protests as she shoos you both inside.

The house smells of a home-cooked meal, savory and salty and sweet all at once, and you can see several dishes already laid out on the table. It’s both a familiar sight and scent, something you all too frequently experience whenever you barge into Seokjin’s apartment around mealtime. Seokjin immediately joins his mother in the kitchen, scrambling around to help her finish cooking, as you wait awkwardly by the table, easily the most inexperienced of the three of you.

“Is this your soup?” His mother asks.

“Yes, I thought to make some to bring tonight,” you say with a smile. Seokjin’s mother beams.

“Delicious! Seokjinie always tells me how much he loves having it when he’s sick. You take care of him very well,” his mother grins. She places it on the stove, turning on the heat to warm it up.

“Only because he does the same for me,” you say, sending a grin Seokjin’s way, one he returns instantly.

The rest of the meal preparation (which doesn’t take long, especially with an extra pair of equally-gifted hands) goes by like this, Seokjin’s mother heaping compliments onto you as you stand there, helpless, watching as the two add the final dishes to the dining table. Seokjin dodges every question about his lack of engagement, always deflecting and shifting the topic to something you’ve done. Maybe this is why he wanted you around…

Finally, when dinner is ready, the three of you sit down, eager to pick up your chopsticks and dive in.

“Seokjin’s father is away on business,” his mother explains after you note the empty place setting. “He sends his love!”

“I knew I was missing the dad jokes,” Seokjin says with a shake of his head. “Luckily, I can make up for them with my own.”

Seokjin’s mother laughs. “You must get a lot of this, don’t you?” She shoves an extra serving of fish onto your plate, letting it plop on top of the kimchi she had previously spooned onto the dish. “Eat, eat. I made it for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say with a smile. You’ll probably walk out of this house with a food baby the size of Jupiter. You always do. “And yes, but it’s nice. I like spending time with him.”

“Oh, thank God,” Seokjin says dramatically, a hand to his chest. “I was worried about that, for a second.”

“You two have always been inseparable,” his mother comments. “Don’t tell me this is why you haven’t married yet, Seokjin-ah.”

“What do you mean, Ma?” He asks over a mouthful of naengmyeon. “You know that I’m waiting to get married.”

Seokjin’s mother scoffs, shocked. “What? But Y/N’s right here! You two make an excellent couple.”

“Eomma!” Seokjin admonishes, even a little taken aback himself. You had no idea this was the secret plan his mother’s been plotting, all this time. It seems both you and him were just operating under the assumption that she was doing what all mothers do when their children are adults—dreaming out loud for grandchildren.

“I’m sorry, did I misread something? You two are a couple, aren’t you?” His mother asks, positively bewildered. No wonder she’s been grilling Seokjin so hard about getting married. She had thought he was halfway there, already.

You open your mouth to correct her, but your mind gets the best of you. Isn’t this what Seokjin wants? For people to think you’re a couple? For the true dating experience—are they, aren’t they?

“No, Eomma,” Seokjin says, interrupting your thoughts. You turn to him, brows furrowed in confusion. “We’re just friends.”

Nobody mentions marriage, dating, or love for the rest of the meal.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom once everyone is finished, Seokjin’s mother shooing you away from the kitchen sink, refusing to let you partake in any sort of clean up as the honorary guest. You’re glad to get away, the tension palpable and thick, looming over your heads, a reminder to all three of you that friends is all you have been, and friends is all you will ever be. Strangely enough, Seokjin had seemed the most disappointed out of all of you, even more so than his mother, whose dreams of grandchildren were crushed before her eyes.

You wonder why.

If Seokjin had been so adamant about the two of you calling yourselves a couple at the wedding, then why did he backtrack here? Was it his mother? Was it you? What could have made him change his mind?

As you walk back to the kitchen, you can hear the two of them having a conversation, hushed voices so as not to alert you. You take a step back from the entryway, hiding behind the wall to eavesdrop.

“You must see the way she looks at you, Seokjin-ah,” his mother says.

“No, Ma, that doesn’t mean anything,” Seokjin says, voice cold.

“Yes it does, my boy,” she says. “Can’t you see it? The way she cares for you.”

“That’s just how it’s always been.”

“Seokjin-ah, please. You’re being stubborn.”

“Eomma, believe me, I know better than anyone else that we’re only ever going to be friends.”

“You don’t see it, then?” His mother’s voice is sad, helpless. “The way she loves you.”

You hear Seokjin suck in a breath, a deep, heavy inhale, weighed down by his thoughts. At that moment, you decide to round the corner, pretending like you haven’t hear a thing.

“Y/N!” Seokjin’s mother exclaims happily. “Your soup was delicious. You’ll have to come over more often so I can keep having it.”

“I’ll have Seokjin send home a thermos with it,” you joke, lightening the tension you can still feel lingering in the air.

“Ah, you’re too kind!” She says, sending you a warm smile. Seokjin hasn’t turned around from where he’s facing the sink, yellow rubber gloves up to his elbows as he scrubs the dishes clean. “Seokjin-ah, you must remember to bring Y/N more often. I love seeing her.”

“Yes, Eomma,” Seokjin says dutifully. When he finishes, he packs up the leftovers his mother is sending him home with, placing tupperware after tupperware into a plain brown bag. “Y/N, ready to go?”

“Yes, it’s getting late,” you say, the words stiff on your tongue. Seokjin seems closed off, bottled up. There’s something he’s not saying, and you can feel it weighing on his tongue. “it was lovely to see you again.”

“Of course!” Seokjin’s mother grins. “You must visit me again soon. I’ll be waiting!”

“Bye, Eomma,” Seokjin says as you head to the front door, pulling on your shoes as he opens the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Remember what I said, alright, Seokjin-ah?” His mother says, pulling him in for a hug. “You mustn't ignore what’s right in front of you.” You can’t help but wonder if maybe, you had overheard something you weren’t supposed to.

In the car, you ask, “What was your mom talking about? When we were saying goodbye?”

Seokjin shrugs, nonchalant and calm. It’s so plain that it’s uncharacteristic of him. “Oh, nothing.” You hate not knowing what really lingers in his thoughts, rests deep in the pit of his heart. You want nothing more than to reach over and promise him that, no matter what, you’ll always be by his side. “She just wants me to look out for myself.”

Even on this clear night, the moon and stars visible above your heads, your mind (and heart) couldn’t be foggier.

In your freshman year of college, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 had just been released on DVD, digital, and Blu-ray. Seokjin, the eighteen-year-old genius he was, had brought a projector to school that year, and so, one chilly November weekend, you and him set up in an empty lounge with a perfectly white wall and watched (spoiler alert) Voldemort get Avada Kedavra-ed at one in the morning.

Ever since, monthly movie nights have been ingrained into your routine, even when Seokjin was in London for a semester in your junior year and you used a shady website so you could stream Netflix movies together. You think, that semester, you watched every Certified Rotten movie on Netflix possible, relishing in being able to joke about how terrible the films you were watching with your best friend. You almost thought you would break your tradition, just because of how difficult it was to organize.

But still, you persisted.

Of course, now, in the age of platform subscriptions and renting on YouTube, it’s a lot easier. Seokjin has a subscription to every movie-streaming platform under the sun, which means that by default, so do you. One of the many perks of having Seokjin as your best friend.

As two mostly-functioning adults in the real world, this is how your movie nights typically go: you will alternate apartments as the designated living room of the weekend, the host is in charge of arranging a pre-show dinner, and the guest is in charge of bringing a bottle of wine as a gift. You eat dinner, drink wine, and watch a movie together, either on the couch, or, in emergencies, in bed. The host always chooses. Three years out of college and running, neither of you have been able to come up with a system more foolproof than this.

Tonight, it is Seokjin’s turn to host, which you always prefer because he cooks dinner on his own instead of giving up and ordering takeout like you always do, and because his couch and bed are much more comfortable than your own. Not that you frequent his bed. Because you don’t. You just know that from your limited experience, it’s much more comfortable than your own bed. It’s probably his mattress.

When you arrive at his apartment, his door is already cracked open, resting on the door frame as you can hear him whistling a tune you don’t recognize. Almost like he’s been expecting you, or something.

“If you leave your door open like this, you’re gonna get robbed,” you announce, forgoing a hello as you barge inside, the apartment smelling of smokiness. “Whoa, what the hell are you cooking? Lava?”

“I accidentally set off the fire alarm,” Seokjin explains, back turned towards you as he bends down to pull something out of the oven. “That’s why the door’s open.”

“Oh, not because you were expecting a guest?” You tease, placing the bottle of wine on the counter as you join him in the kitchen.

Seokjin turns around to reveal a baking dish with four chicken legs, drenched in a sauce that smells of spice and flavor, charred on the skin. Gourmet restaurants couldn’t even compare.

“No,” he jokes. “I was gonna eat all of this food and drink this wine by myself.”

“Hey, that is my wine!” You shout, making grabby hands towards the neck of the bottle. Seokjin raises a single eyebrow, unimpressed, as he dishes up the food, two chicken legs a piece on some luxurious paper plates. “Fine, I guess we can share.”

“You know you can’t resist me,” Seokjin tells you, and you hate it, because it’s true.

As you finish up, washing the pots and pans as Seokjin puts away the various bottles of seasoning on his counter, some of which you can’t even name, he asks, “Couch or bed?”

You turn, scandalized, swatting him with a fork lathered with soap, “So forward!”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Ugh, you know what I mean. You know I don’t mind where we watch our movie.”

(So long as he’s with you.)

You give the two options not another second worth of thought. You’re in the mood to lounge around on Seokjin’s terribly comfortable mattress tonight. You’ve had a rough past week at work, and sometimes, if you complain enough, Seokjin will massage your shoulders as you watch the movie.

“Hmm… bed, please!” You say like a child, wrapping up the dishwashing as Seokjin grabs his laptop from the coffee table by the couch. You skip into his bedroom, giddy and only the tiniest bit wine-drunk, Seokjin following like the heavyweight best friend he is.

Seokjin’s bedroom space has always felt so familiar to you. Plants along the windowsill, shelves with photos of his family, an enormous full-length mirror for gratuitous outfit-of-the-day pictures. Even in college, it felt this warm, this cozy. When you knocked on the wooden door of his dormitory at midnight to go out and get McDonald’s, coming back and gorging out on your McNuggets, it felt like this.

People always say that your bedroom should be your little sanctuary, a home within a house. But instead of your own bedroom giving you that comfort, it’s Seokjin’s. Here, more so than anywhere else, you feel safe. Warm. Loved. There’s something magical to it.

“What are we watching?” You ask happily, jumping onto his bed and grabbing the nearest plushie to hold onto. Seokjin plugs his laptop charger into the nearest outlet and sets it up on a couple of pillows for optimal viewing pleasure, the two of you leaning against a mountain of pillows as he pulls up Netflix.

“To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, have you heard of it?” Seokjin asks, clicking play on the movie.

You furrow your brows as you curl into him, letting your head rest on his chest. “Really? I thought you were gonna pick something cool, like Interstellar, or something. Not something my fifteen-year-old cousin loves.”

“First of all, your fifteen-year-old cousin has great taste,” Seokjin tells you, offended. “Secondly, just because this is a teenage romantic comedy doesn’t mean it’s any less cool than Matthew McConaughey in a spacesuit, okay?”

You’re still skeptical. The New York Times gave To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before a pretty decent review, but you have long outgrown your teenage coming-of-age romantic-comedy movie phase, even if you still quote Clueless regularly. As you’ve gotten older, your movie nights have transitioned away from young adult books turned into movies and more towards films that people like Lupita Nyong’o star in, movies with sad endings on purpose. So this is very out of character, especially for a movie junkie like Seokjin, who sends you weekly movie reviews of the latest indie divorce drama.

You snuggle in closer, accepting defeat. It is Seokjin’s turn to choose, after all. And you suppose, that after a long week of unforgiving work, you could use this time to unwind, mindlessly watch a movie geared towards high-schoolers instead of analyzing some unknown French historical drama. “Alright then,” you tell him. “I trust you.”

Famous last words.

You always have a habit of putting your trust into your best friend at the absolute worst times. Example One: In junior year, when he swore that the new salad place on campus was delicious until you got food poisoning from their chicken. Example Two: The summer after you graduated, when he promised you that roller skating was “easy” and “fun”. Example Three: Two months ago, when he blackmailed you into letting him take you out on dates after promising to go with you to Cynthia’s wedding.

Example Four: Right now, as you’re snuggled up together like two birds of a feather, watching two sixteen-year-olds agree to fake date for personal gain. And even though they’re high schoolers, and even though he’s going through with it to get back at an ex-girlfriend and she’s trying to recover from her disastrously-mailed love letters, it feels too similar to be something that Seokjin just happened to stumble upon.

You turn to look up at Seokjin, the movie a distant hum in the background, hardly at the forefront of your mind, but he doesn’t spare you a second glance. Instead, he pulls you in closer, wrapping an arm around your torso as his fingers dance across your own, mindless. He doesn’t have a damn thing to say, a rarity in your relationship, letting the movie do the talking.

I think it’s funny, the boy says as the two main characters sit in this absolutely ancient diner, you say that you’re scared of commitment and relationships, but you don’t seem to be afraid to be with me.

Well, there’s no reason to be, the girl responds casually. Unbothered.

Why’s that? He asks.

She shrugs, nonchalant. Because we’re just pretending.

You feel Seokjin’s grip tighten, feel his skin pressing against your own, the exposed part of your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. It’s almost like he’s afraid to lose you. The mere sensation, one you have felt hundreds, if not thousands of times before, sends shivers down your spine.

“You cold?” He asks softly, pulling up the blanket that’s crumpled up by your feet, placing it gently over your bodies.

You couldn’t care less about the movie playing in front of you. Not when Seokjin’s this close, not when he’s got his arms wrapped around you, not as you feel his soft breaths against your forehead, as he tucks you underneath a blanket. You’re frozen still next to him. You think that even your heart has stopped.

Dozens of movie nights, but never one like this. Dozens of cuddle sessions, dozens of nights in. But this one feels brand new.

Seokjin adjusts himself, turning in towards you. You can’t even feel yourself breathing.

When did this start happening? You ask yourself. Why do your palms feel clammy? Why does his touch leave little embers along your skin?

Traitorously, your mind responds, a question to a question.

Hasn’t it always been like this?

Tuesdays have always been your least favorite day, because they’re Monday’s shitty cousin. They’re far enough into the week to have you not complain about it being the beginning of the week, but they’re too soon into the week to warrant any excitement about it ending. At least, when you wake up to go to work on a Monday, you know it’s a Monday. When you wake up to go to work on a Tuesday, you think it’s a Wednesday. Tuesday is the day of the week that wears a mask and tries to make you think it’s something else.

After the printer jamming, salad dressing getting spilled on your pants, and your coworker losing his cool in the break room and breaking a cabinet door off of its hinges, you think that, when you get called into your boss’s office in the middle of the afternoon, there could be nothing worse for him to tell you.

Instead, you walk out of his office with a brand new job title and a salary increase to match, positively ecstatic as you bounce all the way to your desk, whipping out your phone to text, well, who else?

[June 16, 2:43PM]

You: I GOT IT!!!

Seokjin: OMG SERIOUSLY?? Seokjin: CONGRATS YOU DESERVE IT !!!!

You: thank u jinie 8) now i can buy us more expensive wine for our movie nights

Seokjin: :D Seokjin: I’m so proud of you, you’re amazing!

And it’s the sort of text exchange that makes your heart soar, even more so than the promotion itself, because there is truly nothing more fulfilling than sharing your accomplishments with the people closest to you.

You pack up later than usual that day, sitting at your desk for a little bit longer as you wrap up some emails and reorganize the space, determined to make it suitable for someone who just got a kick-ass raise. You’re leaning underneath your desk to gather your belongings, plopping your phone charger and a couple of nice blue pens into your bag, when you feel a sudden tap on your shoulder, scaring the absolute bejeezus out of you.

“Ow!” You shout as you bang the back of your head on the underside of your desk. Angry and in pain, you turn to face the asshole that’s just given you a bump on your scalp for the next week, only to find your expression lightening the moment you lay eyes on Seokjin, fresh from work with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Shocked and pleasantly surprised, you say, “Oh.”

“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” Seokjin jokes, rolling his eyes as he reaches a hand out to help you up. “You alright? I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

Rubbing the nape of your neck, you shake your head. “No, no, I’m alright. You just caught me by surprise. What’s all this?” You ask as Seokjin reaches his hand towards you, the flowery scent permeating the air around you. The bouquet in his hand is a collection of various pastel-colored flowers, baby’s breath and lilies, carnations and hydrangeas.

“A congratulations,” Seokjin says in lieu of any other sort of explanation. “You deserve it.”

“You make it sound like I’m pregnant,” you tell him, grabbing your bag as you double-check your desk, making sure you haven’t left anything behind.

“Oh my God, are you?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide.

You laugh, shaking your head as you accept the flowers graciously, immediately holding them up to your nose. “No, I’m not, Seokjin. You’d be the first to know. But this is so sweet of you, you didn’t have to come to my work like this.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to pick you up for dinner?”

Stopping in your tracks, you knit your brows together in confusion. “Dinner?”

“The reservation is at 5:45 so we’re already cutting it close,” Seokjin informs you, offering no explanation. “Come on. I had to pull a few strings to get this, so over my dead body will we arrive late.”

Seokjin reaches down to take your hand in his own, giving you no time to ask any more questions as he tugs you out of your office and into his little white Volkswagen, the scent of the flowers filling the air in between the two of you.

When Seokjin somehow manages to get a parking spot a block away from the restaurant in question, your mouth practically drops open.

It’s a cozy Lebanese place, complete with more plants you could ever dream of owning, and an outdoor patio decorated with warm fairy lights, lanterns hanging from strings above your head. It’s been ranked one of the best restaurants in the city for years now, and it is practically impossible to get a table (that is, unless you book a year in advance).

“Seriously?” You ask, in awe, as Seokjin leads you towards the restaurant, the flowers resting safely on the passenger seat.

“Of course,” Seokjin says like it’s nothing. “You deserve it.”

You aren’t a moment too late, the hostess happily seating the both of you at a corner table on the outside patio, the evening breeze sending flutters through your napkins as she hands you your menus and the wine list.

“How did you swing this?” You ask, blown away as Seokjin grins.

“Well, you know my friend, Yoongi?” He asks. You remember him, having met him a couple of times at Seokjin’s few-and-far-between house gatherings. He’s a dainty man with colorful hair who’s got the biggest alcohol tolerance you’ve ever seen. “He’s a food critic, so I had him do me a favor…”

“You didn’t have to do all of that for me,” you say. Seokjin probably owes Yoongi his first-born child, now.

“But I wanted to,” Seokjin says firmly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t celebrate something like this with you?”

Seokjin must know, after all of these years, that you aren’t one to make a big deal out of things. That you vastly prefer staying inside, curled up with a good book or an even better best friend, over going out and getting wasted, over eating at a too-expensive restaurant with portions the size of your fingernail, because that’s who you are. And still, he insists, because that’s who he is. Someone who thinks that everybody deserves a little celebration in their lives, a little love from the people closest to them.

“You’d be my best friend no matter what,” you tell him, because it’s true. Because Seokjin has always been and will always be that person: the one you’ll never second-guess. “Even if you had gone home after work and passed out on your couch, you’d still be my most favorite person.”

Seokjin grins. “I’m your favorite person?”

“Well, other than Yoongi,” you tease. “After all, he did get us this reservation.”

“Can’t believe that I’m second best to a friend you’ve met like, twice,” Seokjin says, mock-offended. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

“You’ll find a way,” you muse. He always does. It’s incredible—ever since you met Seokjin, you don’t think anyone’s ever quite stacked up to him. Nobody has ever compared.

“I’m really proud of you, Y/N,” Seokjin says, the two of you clinking your wine glasses together to celebrate your promotion, celebrate the night, celebrate being together. “You deserved that position more than anybody else.”

“You don’t even know half of my coworkers,” you joke.

“But I know you,” Seokjin reminds you. “And I know that you’re the most hardworking, determined, focused person I’ve ever met. When you want something, you get it.”

“What?” You ask, a hand reaching out over the table to caress his own, thumb rubbing against the back of his hand. “You’re like that, too. You’re honest and real and certain.” They’re traits you’ve always admired about him, things that you wish you could be but know that you’ll never compare to him.

“No,” Seokjin says, with a shake of his head. “I’m really not. I wish, though.”

Seokjin’s the truest person you know. What secret could he be keeping? Why hasn’t he told you? Doesn’t he know that you’d care for him, stay by his side no matter what? Not a damn thing in the world could ever make you leave him.

Your waiter comes around to take your order, and you and Seokjin order a variety of appetizers that you fully intend on sharing with each other. You’ve never really been able to keep to your own plates. There is something so genuinely wonderful about sharing. Afterwards, Seokjin launches into this hilarious story about some old college friends that he had recently heard back from, ones that you’d met once or twice during university but never cemented a real friendship with, unlike Seokjin.

Quite honestly, you couldn’t care less for them or what they’re doing, but Seokjin is so animated, so vivacious and excited to be telling you about them, that his words are music to your ears. Nothing makes you quite as happy as Seokjin when he smiles, when he laughs, when he’s fucking effervescent. His joy brings you joy, and you suppose that that’s really what it means to care for someone. To love them. When even something as simple as being in their presence makes your heart feel lighter.

In the evening light, illuminated by the warm flame of the lanterns littering the sky above you, the fairy lights along the fence that encloses the patio, the house lights from the building next door, Seokjin glows. The way his body bounces as he speaks makes it look like a yellow halo surrounds him, his gold jewelry glinting when it catches the light, shimmering. He looks straight out of a movie, straight off of a red carpet, warm brown eyes and an honest smile to match, charismatic and golden and real.

The craziest part is that he’s always looked like this. Always outshined everybody, no matter his surroundings. Every day, you wonder how on Earth you could have gotten so lucky to have been able to meet him. How blessed you are to be his best friend. How fortunate you are to love him.

When your meal arrives, the two of you take a break from laughing aloud in this ambient, cozy restaurant, likely bothering all of the people within a twenty-feet radius of your table, and dig in, only emitting the occasional groan of pleasure. It’s no wonder this restaurant has been ranked the best in the city for years on end. Every bite explodes on your tongue, decorates your taste buds. You won’t be surprised if, next time you go over, Seokjin’s recreating every dish you have tonight. He’s always had a knack for it, anyway.

“You know,” he says over a mouthful of zucchini, “you’re my favorite person, too.”

Normally you’d say something cheesy and dramatic, something along the lines of a sarcastic I’m touched or even a self-deprecating At least I’m number one at something, but instead, you smile softly to yourself. You always knew you and Seokjin were entwined with each other, but it makes your heart flutter to hear him say it for himself.

“I know,” you murmur. “I’ll never forget that.”

“I don’t know, I just—” Seokjin begins, pausing. It’s not the sort of stop where he’s trying to figure out what words to say. He already knows. He’s just waiting to see if they’re the right ones. “You know, it’s always been you, Y/N. A lot of my life has always been uncertain, but you—you’re the only thing I’m always sure of.”

Afterwards, Seokjin walks you to the door of your apartment, the two of you lingering in the doorway, him refusing to leave and you refusing to say goodbye.

“Don’t forget these,” Seokjin says, handing you the brown paper bag filled with your leftovers, various to-go boxes filled with treats.

“What? I thought you wanted them,” you say, eyes wide. “Don’t you want them as reference for a recipe?”

“No, it’s alright,” Seokjin tells you with a shake of his head. “I’ll remember.”

“Are you sure?” You ask. Seokjin nods, certain. He’s got a steely expression to him, one filled with determination. There’s something he’s not saying, and you’re almost positive it’ll come out tonight. Maybe he knows that you ate that Pop-Tart in junior year. Maybe he’s about to get his revenge. To protect yourself, you smile, telling him, “I had a really nice time tonight, Seokjin. You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“I wanted to,” Seokjin repeats. He need offer no other explanation. “Any excuse to spend time with you, I’ll take.”

You laugh. “I suppose that that’s what this whole pretend-dating thing is about, right?”

Seokjin’s face goes blank.

“What?”

“Well,” you say, shrugging as you reach out to grab his hand. “Dinner tonight, isn’t that the sort of thing you’d do on a date? That’s why you took me out to celebrate instead of just bringing over some wine and takeout. I have to admit, you’re pretty good at this whole dating thing. Must be why you offered, right?”

“Y/N, I—”

“All of those romantic things you said, us playing footsie underneath the table, getting the reservation from Yoongi, I mean. You’ve always loved pulling out all of the stops. You’re giving me such unrealistic expectations for dating, you know?” You chide, grinning as you toy with Seokjin’s fingers amongst your own. Looking up at him, he looks frozen solid, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. “Hey, is everything alright?” Your hand trails up to his shoulder, forcing him to meet your eyes with his own.

They’re swirling in ink.

And then, he leans down, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in, and presses his lips against your own. Shocked, you gasp into his mouth, feel the heat of his lips on yours as he kisses you, fervent and desperate, like he’s got something to prove. You feel your heart race, dropping the brown paper bag by your side on your hardwood floor as he presses in closer, insistent. It’s as if your entire body shuts down at his touch, at the feeling of him against you, on you, surrounding you.

Eventually, your mind comes to, flickering back to life after being entirely short-circuited, and you pull out of his grasp, pushing him away with your palms against his chest, gasping for air.

“Seokjin, what the—”

“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you,” Seokjin tells you, and no longer does what he say sound like a line straight out of the Dating 101 Handbook. It sounds honest, and what once was something you treasured about him has morphed into fear, into words you dread coming from in between his lips.

“No, that’s not—”

“What do you mean?” He asks, insistent. He takes a step towards you, and it makes you take a bigger step back. Being far away from him makes you ache, but being close to him is absolutely unbearable. It’s impossible to know which one your heart would prefer. “That’s how I feel. That’s how I’ve always felt.”

“I can’t—I need—” You stumble over your words, backing up into your living room, hand reaching out to the doorknob. You don’t know what you can’t do. You don’t know what you need. All you know is that your heart hasn’t stopped racing the moment his lips met yours, and that you aren’t sure what will happen if Seokjin stands outside your apartment any longer. “I just—”

“I know,” Seokjin says with a nod. His face is beet red and he looks just as breathless, sending your way a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know that you don’t feel the same. But I just—I wanted you to know.”

“I don’t know what I feel,” you whisper to yourself, eyes boring holes into your shoes. “How could I?”

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, reaching a hand out. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” you interrupt. “Don’t apologize. Just—please, just go. Please.”

Seokjin doesn’t protest. Not as you shoo him away, not as you begin to close the door in front of him.

The door is nearly shut, barely inches away from the door frame, when you hear him call your name. “Y/N,” he says. If you were any more heartless, you’d shut the door, let the last thing you hear from him be your own name. But you aren’t, and not once have you ever closed the door on Seokjin. Not now. Not ever.

“Yes?” You whisper, terrified of what he might say but too desperate to avoid it altogether.

You hear him hiccup. You don’t want to see him cry.

“You’re my best friend.”

(Kim Seokjin prides himself for being a man of few mistakes. He has good time-management skills, triple checks his entire apartment every time he leaves, and only illegally parks in the fire lane when he knows he won’t get a ticket. He’s got great foresight, makes educated decisions, and generally feels as though everything he does will benefit somebody, in the long run.

You always tell him that you envy how put-together his life is, how picture perfect it seems—stable job, nice apartment, meals prepped and ready to go in his fridge. And even if you aren’t nearly as obsessed with falling in love as he is (and he’s willing to admit that, at least), you tell him that it’s admirable that he has all of this time to go on dates with women he’s met off of Bumble or through a friend of a friend, making an effort to go out into the world and do something with his love life.

The truth is, Seokjin has been on more dates in the past year than to work events in the evenings and on weekends, but he’s never seen the same person twice. Sometimes, he ends up with a phone number punched into his contacts and a promise to meet again as friends, but most of the time they pat him on the back after it’s over and tell him that they hope he’ll get over his ex soon.

Seokjin hasn’t had a real ex, a real breakup, since sophomore year of college, when his long-distance girlfriend from high school told him she couldn’t bear to listen to him how much he loves his new best friend any longer.

It doesn’t take a genius to guess who that best friend is.

Seokjin’s always been sort of foolish, a little too forward at the best of times and terribly obvious at the worst of times. Always holding out hope that maybe one day you’ll pick up on all of his slip-ups, and he’ll stop acting like a bumbling idiot around you.

Admittedly, he had gotten pretty fed-up by the time he invited you to dinner to celebrate your promotion. He rolled up to your office in a silk button down and a bouquet of the nicest flowers Hoseok could find, brought you to a restaurant you had been dying to go to ever since you moved to the city, and told you that you were the one constant in his life. And he thought that maybe, just maybe, you would realize. And he wouldn’t have to do everything by himself.

It’s a wonder that you hadn’t figured it out.

At least, not until you said goodbye to him, standing underneath the wooden door frame to your apartment, and he leaned down and kissed you.

Seokjin is a man of few mistakes, but he’s almost positive that that one was the most costly. He had been psyching himself up in his head the entire ride home, telling himself I can do it, I’m gonna tell her, what’s the worst you could do?

As it turns out, the worst you could do is reject him.

Seokjin knows you don’t feel the same way. He doesn’t need to go on any dates, doesn’t need to read any more novels or watch any more movies to know that. Maybe you had known all along, you just never knew how to let him down easy. Maybe you were just hoping that if you never acknowledged it, it would go away, age like fine wine, bottled up for an eternity.

But when he was standing in the flower shop, lingering behind the counter as Hoseok insisted he knew the perfect bouquet to make, there was a little spark in his heart that thought, maybe. Just maybe.

“Think she’ll like it?” Seokjin had asked hesitantly, fingers curling around one of the petals of the lilies in the bouquet as Hoseok rang him up.

“What do mean, of course she will!” Hoseok says. He has long been witness to Seokjin’s fruitless efforts to get you to see how he feels. “She’d be a fool not to realize.”

Seokjin’s never been sure if you were the fool, or if he has been, all along.

“I don’t know, Hoseok,” he had said with a sigh, handing over his credit card. “I feel like telling her might be the wrong move.”

“Why? From what it sounds like, you two are really close,” Hoseok had asked innocently. He even shimmied in a tulip, squeezing it into the middle of the bouquet with nimble fingers. “Are you afraid she’ll say no?”

“I’m afraid I’ll ruin everything,” Seokjin had told him. He’d rather keep you close as a best friend than lose you entirely in the hopes of confessing. That has always been his priority. It always will be.

Hoseok had laughed, disbelieving. Seokjin had bitterly assumed that he’s never been in love with a best friend. It sucks hard, but Seokjin was in no position to ruin Hoseok’s day by telling him that. “You won’t ruin everything, Jin. You’re a wonderful guy with a great personality. I think it’s worth telling her, you know?” Seokjin did not know. “Like, if you don’t, you’ll never know what could have been.”

And perhaps that was the reason that he leaned down to press his lips against yours. On the off chance, the miniscule possibility that you might feel the same way. His mother had been absolutely insistent that you were in love with him, and while he trusts his mother’s instincts, Seokjin’s known you much longer and much closer than she ever will. And you were never in love with him. Friends is all you have ever known with him. It’s all that the two of you will ever be.

You’re lucky, Seokjin thinks as he sulks around in his apartment, having decided to give your relationship some space after he completely annihilated it the Tuesday prior. Unrequited love isn’t something he’d wish on his worst enemy. It’s a ray of sunshine surrounded by clouds. It’s the constant reminder that even though what you already have will never be enough, losing it entirely is a fate much worse.

On the bright side, at least you still tag him in Facebook memes.

Seokjin gets a phone call from an unknown number that Saturday evening, as he cooks a meal for one and pretends that his apartment doesn’t feel bone-crushingly empty without you to fill up the space. He lets the phone ring all the way through the first time—he’s not in the mood to bait those scammy telemarketers tonight, and gets back to cooking. And then his phone rings a second time, same number, and suddenly Seokjin feels as though it might be something urgent. What if it’s a coworker whose number he doesn’t have? Oh God, what if it’s his boss?

“Hello?” Seokjin asks, picking up the call and holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder.

“Seokjin?”

It’s Cynthia.

“Cynthia?” Seokjin asks, just to make sure he’s not wrong. “How did you get my number?”

“I looked you up on the White Pages,” Cynthia tells him. Oh, yes. He forgot that that existed. “I would have asked Y/N, but she would have gotten suspicious.”

“Oh, uh…” Seokjin hesitates, chuckling nervously. “Y/N? Have you, uh, spoken to her recently?”

Cynthia lets out a deep sigh on the other end, what sounds like a billion thoughts weighing her down. “Yeah, she and I had a girls’ night last night. My husband’s away on business.”

“Oh, how are you both doing?” Seokjin asks. He has the decency to pretend that he hasn’t been positively miserable the past few days.

“Wonderful, thanks,” Cynthia said. “Seokjin, did you kiss Y/N?”

“It was a mistake,” Seokjin immediately says. He shouldn’t have done it and now he’s paying the price. He has no idea how long it will take to repair your relationship, or, even worse, if you’ll just go back to the way it was before and pretend it never happened in the first place. “I wanted to tell her that, but I haven’t seen her recently.”

“Don’t,” Cynthia says harshly, making Seokjin jump a bit, wincing as some hot steam hits his bare skin. “Don’t tell her it was a mistake.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin frowns. Isn’t that what you want? It’s blatantly obvious that you don’t really want a relationship at all, let alone with him. Seokjin doesn’t know what he was thinking when he thought he could change your mind. He was just being selfish. The chance to get to date you under the guise of guidance, and he snatched it up at the first opportunity.

Well, look at him now.

“She’ll be heartbroken if you tell her that,” Cynthia tells him, and Seokjin nearly pours boiling hot water all over his arm at the words. “You can’t.”

“What do you mean, heartbroken? She doesn’t want to date me. I’m the one in love with her. I’m the one who should be suffering,” Seokjin says into the phone, his heart starting to race. He wills himself to calm down, to act like everything is normal, but he can’t stop thinking about you. About what Cynthia had said.

“No, you’re wrong,” Cynthia says. “You couldn’t be more wrong even if you tried. You might be in love with her but she loves you back. She does, I swear.”

Seokjin’s brain nearly short-circuits, the power sparking. “What?” He asks, too hopeful for his own good. “She can’t. I’ve loved her for so long, but we’ve always just been friends. That’s what she wanted.”

“She wants you, Seokjin,” Cynthia says firmly, almost as if she’s reaching through the phone to knock some sense into him. “She didn’t realize that she loved you until you kissed her. And then everything fell into place.”

“You’re lying,” Seokjin says, even though he knows that Cynthia isn’t.

“Want to know why she hasn’t really dated anyone since midway through college?”

Is it the same reason Seokjin hasn’t, either?

“She was waiting for you,” Cynthia tells you. “She just didn’t know it.”

Seokjin’s about to faint.

He can hear Cynthia smiling through the phone. “She’s always been waiting for you.”)

[June 21st, 1:22PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

You’ve long learned by now to listen to Seokjin, to never question his methods. And for once, when you receive a suspicious text out of the blue that says Don’t ask questions, you aren’t scared. You’re thrilled.

The last time you went this long without contacting each other was when you were just starting to become friends in college, during orientation week where you met five hundred people a day and forgot all of them by the next morning. You and Seokjin eventually caught up with each other when you started seeing each other in the halls of your dorm, living onto a few doors down from each other.

You didn’t want to be the one to initiate contact. Seokjin had kissed you and then instantly looked like he regretted the entire thing. He had been sitting on his feelings long before you knew that yours even existed. He deserved the space.

You, well. Cynthia, the wise, wedded woman she is, seems to think that communication is key. Perhaps that’s why she’s been so successful in her love life.

There’s a knock on your door six minutes after you received the text, the fastest he’s ever gotten to your apartment.

When you open it, you find a familiar sight: Seokjin, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and a nervous grin on his face, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet like a teenager about to ask his crush to the school dance.

“Long time no see,” you tell him.

“I missed you,” Seokjin says honestly. “I really, really did.”

“I did, too,” you tell him. It’s impossible to be away from him. You figured that out briefly when he went abroad in junior year, but were brutally reminded this past week what life is like without him to light it up. And it’s dull. Empty. Missing something.

“These are for you,” Seokjin says. It’s an entire bouquet of tulips, red and yellow and orange and pink. The scent immediately wafts through the air, brightening up your sullen apartment.

“They’re beautiful, Seokjin,” you tell him, pressing your nose against the petals as you take in the aroma. The flowers are gorgeous, but Seokjin, as always, steals the show.

“I was going to bring takeout, but then I thought that you might have already eaten lunch,” Seokjin tells you.

“Then we can do takeout for dinner,” you suggest as an alternative, fishing through your kitchen cabinets for a vase to put out on your countertop, filled with the tulips and carnations and lilies and hydrangeas. The bouquet he had given you on Tuesday is sitting in your bedroom, and you’re giving it all the plant food you can get your hands on, determined to make them last.

“You want me to stay for dinner?” Seokjin asks, an eyebrow raised.

It’s high time you were honest, too.

“I want you to stay forever,” you admit, and it feels as though the dam has broken, like the first droplet has been spilled and the rest is soon to follow. “I can’t tell you how much I hated being away from you like this. Everything in my life revolves around you.”

“I think about you, every day,” Seokjin says as he comes up to you, joining you in the kitchen as you fill an oversized mason jar with water. “Scratch that. Every hour. Every minute, every second. You’re always on my mind.”

“I thought that was just how you were best friends with someone,” you tell him, feeling the warmth of his body as he stands next to you. “I thought that all of the kind gestures, the traditions, the words, that was what being best friends was. And it is. But I never realized that that was what being in love was like, as well.”

“I thought you’d never figure it out,” Seokjin muses, and it sounds so sad but he looks so happy. “I was ready to never tell you. I was too nervous, every time I’m near you I get all sweaty.”

“You were just going to be in love with me forever?” You ask, turning to him. The thought devastates you, the idea that he was willing to never tell you, to love you silently, for the rest of time. He would have never known what could have been, would have never allowed himself that luxury. And he was okay with it.

“I would rather love you on my own than lose you,” Seokjin tells you firmly. “You’re my best friend. That will never change.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Seokjin interrupts. “I had made that decision. I was willing to live with it.”

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” You ask, reaching out to hold his hand in your own, as you have done so many times before, and will do so many times more. The feeling never gets old. The spark never fades. “When they’re in love.”

“I don’t know how you never noticed,” Seokjin jokes, laughing more at himself than you. “I thought I was being so goddamn obvious. Any time I said or did anything that even slightly alluded to the fact that I was in love with you, I started panicking because I thought you’d figure me out. And you never did.”

“I think I just needed a bit of coaxing,” you tell him, hand reaching up to turn his face towards you, palms resting on your cheek. “I would have loved you, forever. I just needed you to tell me that you’d love me, forever, too.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Seokjin promises with a grin. “I’ll love you forever and a day.”

Seokjin leans down, big palms resting on your waist as he finally, fucking finally, presses his lips against yours. It’s soft and warm and cozy, the heat enveloping you as you hold his cheeks in your hands, let him push closer and closer, refusing to let you go. The feeling sends warmth through your veins, sparks a fire in your body that you wouldn’t will away even if you wanted to. Seokjin kisses you, and you kiss back, and it feels like a promise. With your lips against his, and his against yours, you tell each other, that you were meant to be together, and that you always will be.

You had always wondered why you were never really interested in dating anyone. Never wanted to find someone new, a relationship filled with love and laughter and joy, never wanted to go out on fancy dates and tiptoe around each other, a nervous confession on the tips of your tongues. But now, as Seokjin giggles into another kiss he presses against your lips, you know: you already had exactly what you were looking for.

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

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athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit · 3 years

Text

Feral Fatality

(Part 2)

I'm supposed to be working on the requests but here I am. Writing nonsense. But its my nonsense so *shrugs*

Pairing: Jason Voorhees x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence (or so I think), Blood (lots of blood), Murder (as usual), Feral side of the reader coming out for a brief moment, and cursing.

—

Three harsh knocks made you flinch and woke you up from your sleep.

"Hey, loser! It's dinner time. Eloiza wants you by the campfire. Now." Layla, one of Eloiza's side girls, stressed. You sat up, rubbing your eyes before you set your book on the bedside table.

"Did you hear me?! I said—"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you alright. I'll be out." You swear the whole camp could hear her with the way she's squawking.

She stomped off, huffing loud.

You chose to stay in your baggy clothes. A black hoodie with a small yin-yang symbol on your left breast with a matching pair of black and white sweatpants, half of your ebony hair tied up in a ponytail.

It was already dark when you walked out, the moon climbing bit by bit up to the sky and subtly lighting your path. You shivered as a chilled breeze went past.

In the distance, you could see a small fire, dancing, swaying its fiery arms. It would have been a nice sight if not for the people around it.

Even from afar, you could see them engaged in a heated session, the smell of cigarettes and pot reached your senses, making you grimace.

"Yo look, it's (Y/N)," one of them said once you were close to the campfire.

Few gave you glances, before going back to their business. You remained quiet, though you noticed five people were missing in the group.

Fucking in the cabins, no doubt.

Eloiza was in the middle, her ass planted on someone's lap while she held a cigarette, both of them sharing and blowing smoke at each other.

Different. Out of place. You regretted coming out here, but if you didn't they'd only harass you in your cabin. Break down your door, and drag you out just to humiliate you. Then it fully dawned on you; no adults or teachers to protect you here, they could kill you if they wish.

You cursed as worst-case scenarios ran wild in your mind.

Damn, I'm gonna die tonight.

"Layla, why don't give her some food already, she's obviously hungry," Eloiza ordered.

"Ugh! Me again? Why can't you let Betty do it?" She was straddling Jake, vice-captain of the rugby team in your school. Layla subtly ground down her ass unto his crotch. The act was uncomfortable and disgusting to you.

Eloiza shot a glare at her, expression grim.

"Fine!" she jumped off, "I'll be right back babe," she whispered not so quietly. It was clear that they weren't in a relationship, only looking for someone to fuck. Lacking the sense of intimacy that lovers have. The air was just full of sexual tension and lust, anyone who's good at reading people would know.

And right now, you wanna vomit.

"While we wait for that hoe to come back, why don't you sit down with us for a bit (Y/N)?"

"Thank you, but I'm fine standing. I'll just take the food and eat in my cabin," you replied. Your smile was fake and your voice, monotonous. You hid your hands in your pockets.

"I insist, let's chat for a bit," she said. The rest of the group ignored you still as they were busy with their...partners.

You blinked and looked at her right in the eyes.

"No."

You refuse to submit to her, you submit to no one. You came to camp to get away from the noise people like her make. Ironically, you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her either.

"What did you just say to me?" Oh, right, Eloiza hates you as much as she hates being disobeyed. Her face turned red, and it wasn't from the fire.

"No," you repeated.

"No?" she scoffed, "I told you to sit the fuck down. I was being kind to you and you de—"

"No, I won't sit down. And no, you were not kind, you just gave me an order and I refused."

The group froze and looked at you, halting their activities. Eloiza shot up, making you raise your guard and take a step back.

Still, you did not expect her to grab a half-burning log and fling it at you.

You barely dodged, the hefty ember grazing the side of your face, burning your skin and some of your black strands. You took a sharp intake of air and staggered back, dizzy and groaning from the pain as you hover your hand on your cheek. Gasps and cheers sounded around you.

"Nobody. Disobeys. Me." she said, accentuating every word. "You're just a useless piece of shit. You think being a smartass will save you? You do realize that I can kill you right here and now, don't you?" Eloiza threatened as she approached you, her eyes burning holes into your head. A hand grabbed her arm, "Babe, you can't murder her! We'll go to jail if you—"

"Shut up, Evan. No one would know what happened here. It's so easy to say a bear attacked and ate her. And who would notice her gone anyway? Everyone knows her parents don't give a shit about her."

She's right, no one would care if I'm gone. Nobody would give two shits if I died.

"But—"

"I said shut up, didn't I?! Do you want to die too, huh?!"

"Let her have fun, Evan," Betty commented.

"What the fuck is going on here??" Layla was back, carrying a bowl of soup.

While they were preoccupied, you twisted on your heel and bolted, your vision spun but you didn't stop. While a handful of traitorous thoughts tells you to drop dead, that you should just die than prolong your suffering, your heart didn't. Yes, not a soul cares about you, but you have yourself, your books, and your art. There was no fucking chance in hell you'd let them have their way with you.

You raced to your cabin and slammed it open, closing it in the same fashion and locking it in place. Your face was throbbing, stray tears stained your cheeks as you searched for a handkerchief to wet and cool your burns.

You eventually managed to lessen the pain, thanking yourself for bringing skin ointment. Your hands were shaking as you applied it to your skin, whimpers escaped your lips as it stung a bit. You took deep breaths to calm your heart down...

In. One. Two. Three. Out. Repeat.

—

Jason Voorhees stood in the shadows as the scene took place.

A girl was telling you to sit, and you refused politely, yet she asserted.

The others ignored you until you outright said no.

Was it so surprising to hear one word from your mouth that the whole group turned to you?

The girl snapped, took a burning log by its safe edge, and threw it at you. It hit your cheek and you staggered backward.

His grip tightened around his weapon as alarms rang in his head, an overwhelming urge to protect you arose. You did nothing wrong and that woman harmed you.

She was shouting, threatening to end your life. A man stopped her but...

Jason heard what she said, the words only made his sight darken with rage. What did she mean by "your parents 'don't give a shit' about you"? Did they not love you as a parent should to their child?

He sees you dash back to the cabin in haste and silently praises you for taking the chance to escape, he wouldn't want you to see what he'd do to them. The killer watched for a little longer only to make sure they wouldn't follow and hurt you again.

With you out of the way and safe, he emerged out of hiding. He threw an ax with precision, splitting open one's head like a coconut, the blood spattering on the ones nearby. In an instant, they shrieked in terror, their faces turning pallid, terrified as they scattered in different directions.

The hunt begins.

—

You broke out of your trance when the screams reached your ears.

Oh.

You were no fool of course. You knew the legend about Jason Voorhees was true, just from looking into the cases of mass disappearances, bodies never seen again. With no evidence, no one believed it, thinking it was just an old story to scare people away, a silly myth.

Nobody, except for one little you.

Well, maybe there was somebody else but you know what I mean.

It wasn't hard to connect the dots. There were two conclusions you came up with;

Either the killer was real or the people found themselves in the stomach of a monster.

You preferred the former, honestly.

Somehow, you expected this to happen. It was part of the reason why you came with them even though you knew the possibility. Risking your life in the process just to see him with your own eyes.

Wow, what's happened to me...

You sat up on the floor and as if on cue someone pounded on your door.

"(Y/N)!! (Y/N) Let me in! Open the door and let me in!"

By the sound of it, it was Betty.

You ignored her pleas, she deserves to get torn in half for being the bitch she was...

Wait.

Why not do it yourself?

A glance at the toolbox was all it took for you to stand up and take out a screwdriver. You approached the door, Betty still pleading for her life behind it.

"Please, please! I don't wanna die yet! I'm too young to—"

She stumbled forward when the door opened. But instead of a thank you, she screeched as you tackled her to the ground and stabbed her in the eye.

Stab.

Her blood splattered on your clothes and skin as you drove the metal tool into her skull several times. The squelching sound of meat and bones surrounded you together with the deafening pounding of your heart.

Betty had long gone silent. Her face was unrecognizable once you stopped.

Oddly enough, you felt a familiar thrill with what you did. It was the same one when you won your first contest, received your first trophy, and made your first masterpiece. It was a first.

And it was...enthralling.

You sensed someone's eyes on you. You looked up and saw a tall and massive man with a hockey mask covering his face, standing a few meters away, his machete dripping with blood. A glint of blue flickered in his eye for a moment.

Jason Voorhees.

Not knowing what to do and still high in the moment, you waved the bloody screwdriver at him and smiled.

"H-Hey," you uttered out.

The murderer—well, you were a murderer now too— trudged towards you, stopping when a scream to your left cut through the air.

—

Jason honestly couldn't believe what he was seeing. Little you with a little tool, gouging the brains out of the one he was chasing down.

With a screwdriver.

Multiple emotions went through him that moment, he was shocked that you could kill someone with your tiny hands, proud that you just killed said someone that was his prey, and relieved that you were alright.

Wait, were you?

He was snapped out of his thoughts when you waved and greeted him. You just waved and greeted— what? Why weren't you running back inside your cabin? Why didn't you scream at the sight of him? Did you not know him? Was the blood on his clothes and the weapon he was carrying not ringing any bells?

Jason wanted answers and moved to close the distance between you, but then a shrill cry echoed.

Someone got snared in his traps.

He looked at you, your face was dirty with blood, but your eyes were wide open, not of fear, but happiness?

He'll have to finish his hunt first. He gave you one more look before he trudged to the origin of the sound. He'll visit you later, that is if you're still here. He wouldn't be surprised if you used this chance to get out of the place, and he'd let you. You were innocent...different, and the murder you just did was well-deserved, albeit shocking.

It was the one who injured you, the cause of your burn, miserably crawling on the ground as her foot bled through the jaws of a bear trap.

"Help! Please help me!! I'm dying! Somebody help—"

She howled as the killer gripped the source of her pain and dragged her back to the center of the camp, taking the long path on purpose.

Jason was always angry in one way or another every time people came to disturb the place, but this? Oh no, all he sees is red, not a word had been heard from his mother ever since.

He would usually kill them the instant he catches his prey, but he wants—needs— this one to suffer. He knows, more than anyone, how it feels to be an outcast, to be bullied for being different. This hideous woman is going to die slowly, the pain she gave you a hundred times more agonizing.

"Let go of me you fucking murderer!" She shouted, kicking and clawing on the dirt in hopes of stopping him. Jason paid her no mind, his eyes focused on the fire that glowed close.

This bitch will burn to ash.

He stood in front of the campfire and brought up her body over it, her long blonde tresses turned to nothing as she flailed and shrieked pathetically. The killer crushed her legs before he let go, the flames big enough to devour her entirely, scorching her alive.

A yell from behind drew his attention as another one ran towards him, an ax lifted and ready to attack.

"Die you monster!" They shouted, embedding the ax on his shoulder. Jason felt no pain from the shallow wound, only an itch.

What a lousy attack.

Jason pulled out the silly thing and bashed it on his assailant's skull with one heavy strike, crushing the bones beneath. Lifeless, he tossed the body into the fire, the cries died down moments ago, only the smell of burnt flesh filled his nose as the embers crackled remained.

The undead man stalked away, feeling better than before. There were still a few people waiting to be disposed of.

Jason Voorhees will not rest until every single one of them is dead.

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with-love-anu · 4 years

Text

Consequences

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader Summary: You help Fred and George escape from Flitch and soon become friends with one and fall for the other Warnings: swearing Word Count: 1,655

You were going through the corridor when you bumped into someone, specifically the Weasley twins. Their eyes widened as one of them grabbed your hand and made you follow them.

“Hey!!! What the hell do you want?” You whisper yelled, scared that Flich would catch out after-hours. Afterall trouble followed the two identical redheads.

“Shhhhh… Mrs. Norris is following us!”

“What?!? Why are you taking me with you then?” You asked incredulously. They turned and hid behind a small opening, taking you with then. You were already huffing. To think you wanted a cup of hot cocoa to soothe yourself.

“Meowww” the cat’s voice came from nearby.

“Shit.” Fred mumbled under his breath.

“Shushhh” you motioned towards the twins taking out the red laser light, you always kept to yourself. Positioning it through the opening, you pointed it at the ground near the cat.

Mrs. Norris’s eyes quirked as it kneeled down, facing the red dot with excitement. As soon as it jumped towards it you moved the light farther away. The cat jumped, slided, ran, getting more and more impatient to catch the mysterious red dot; not even noticing the quiet snorts of Fred and George.

“Okay, when I say now, quietly move to the 3rd corridor.” you whispered, moving your laser to the far opposite end.

“Now!” you said, turning the laser off and exiting quickly.

You all huffed as you reached the familiar staircase, sure that Mrs. Norris would not follow you here.

“That was wicked!” one of the twins said watching the laser in your hand.

“What is that thing?” asked the other one.

“Oh, this? This is a red laser. Apparently cats go crazy for it.” You handed him the laser to see.

“Bloody brilliant!” they both said together, making you let out a laugh.

“Who knew, (Y/n) would be up to some mischief?” Fred said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, just because you are not caught, doesn’t mean you lead a boring life.” you said winking at them and turning to leave for your dorm.

Unknownst to you, you had left Fred in awe. How did he not notice you before? Well, he did now.

***

You made your way to the history of magic class, yawning. How did you get sleepy, just thinking about it? You slid into your usual seat, taking out a notebook even though you knew, you weren’t gonna write anything that day.

“Morning (Y/n)” you heard someone as they slid beside you. You turned to see none other than Fred Weasley. You raised your eyebrows to ask what he was doing there.

“You up for some mischief?” he asked.

“Nooo” you said, shaking your head. The twins meant trouble.

“Oh come on, you’ll be a valuable addition.”

“I rather not.” you said quietly as you saw the grumpy Professor Binns come in.

“Okay, then go on a date with me.”

“What?” you said whipping your head towards him, widening your eyes.

“Well, we could go to honeydukes, Zonko’s, Madam Rosemeta’s for butterbeers later?” Fred said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what makes you think I would say yes?” you said smirking.

“Well, I am funny and hot; so that ticks two of the desirable traits. Plus I can show you a good time.” Fred said, wiggling his eyebrows.

He was cute, you could see that. And you knew the things he said were true. But, you decided to toy with him a little. You glanced at the professor, seeing he had no idea that you two were talking.

“I don’t know, is that enough?” you asked cocking an eyebrow, keeping a poker face on.

Fred’s mouth dropped before he composed himself. He smirked.

“Okay, then you tell me, what would you like?”

You grinned. You acted as though you were thinking hard.

“Well, I definitely want someone I am comfortable with, you know, know a little bit before thinking about each other romantically.” you said air quoting ‘romantically’.

“Ahhhh” he said, “I could do that!”

“How are you sure of yourself? What if I don’t like the little bit?”

“Who cannot like this?” he said gesturing to himself. “And besides I am a complete sweetheart.” Fred made love eyes almost making you melt. Almost.

“Well, we’ll see.” you said rolling your eyes.

***

After that Fred seemed to be everywhere. He would sit beside you in classes, study with you. You found out he was actually very intelligent and sharp. He just didn’t give academics much thought. You were never not smiling when you were near him and he constantly flirted with you. You did keep a poker face but sometimes he complimented you so genuinely that it became hard not to blush. It was only time before you started hanging out with George too. The three of you would be seen laughing your asses off at some corner of the common room, because it was ;in fact; fun to be with them.

You started noticing little differences between them. How Fred’s eyes were lighter in shade and sharper than George’s, whose eyes were rounder. How Fred was louder and more emotion-driven. Fred was making it very difficult not to fall in love with him. It was impossible to keep up the nonchalant exterior when in fact you wanted to kiss the hell out of him. He would put his arm around you casually at times, and you couldn't help but smile. You wanted it there. You liked it.

As for Fred, he was whipped. He was falling hard and fast for you. You were funny, witty and not to mention breathtakingly beautiful. You were driving him crazy. There were times you would flirt back and act as if nothing happened, while his heart thumped so hard, he thought it would burst. Over the top of everything, you cared for him. And it showed. You had panicked when he had broken his leg during a quidditch mishap. He had fainted and had a bad concussion. When he woke up in the middle of the night in the infirmary, you were there beside him. You had cried in his arms as he reassured you, he was okay. He knew it was wrong, but your sadness had filled his heart with warmth. He loved you. And no matter how much you denied it, he knew you loved him too.

***

You woke up with a grunt. Your nose was stuffed and you felt like you were burning. You went into the washroom cleaning yourself up. You sneezed on coming out. You shivered, feeling very cold suddenly. You piled yourself with clothes, moving towards the great hall for breakfast. You filled your cup with some hot tea, not feeling like eating anything else.

“(Y/n), Are you okay?” Fred asked.

“Just a little fever.” you said not having the strength to smile.

“Come here,” Fred said as he placed a hand on your forehead.

“You’re burning! Come-on you are not attending any classes today!”

“Noo” you tried to protest, but Fred had already wrapped an arm around your waist, making you stand up and leaving for your room.

“We’re gonna need soup!” Fred called out and you heard a faint “on it” from George before the two of you had exited the hall.

Fred laid you on your bed and covered you up with blankets. There was a knock on the door and Fred got up and brought back soup with him.

You ate some and felt suddenly very full.

“I’m not hungry,” You said, handing the bowl back to him.

“You need it, even if you don't feel so.” he said, making you pout.

“Come on, I’ll feed you while telling you something about my childhood”

Fred started feeding you as he launched into a story of irritating his mother. Even though you had a headache, Fred’s voice felt soothing. You felt calm just listening to him talk and before you knew it, the soup was gone. Fred gave you a pepper up potion and you drank it unwillingly. He made you go under the covers again and he caressed your hair until you fell asleep.

***

It was nearing Christmas and the school was decorated beautifully. Mistletoes, trees, bells everything looked like it was out of a fairy tale. Fred was chasing you for the last chocolate frog when you both froze. You looked up to see a mistletoe hanging over your heads. Fred noticed it too and you gulped. Fred took this as you being uncomfortable.

“I know a spell to undo this, just wait.” he said reassuringly as you felt a rush of affection for this man. Never mind the chasing he did for months, he wanted you to be comfortable first.

As you felt the spell weaken around you, you grabbed his shirt, pressing your lips firmly against his. He was surprised at first, but quickly responded back grabbing your waist pulling you closer. Your hands were in his locks, tugging at them gently, making him moan. As you pulled back breathless, you looked at Fred’s eyes sparkling brightly.

“Well, it’s tradition,” you said as you turned and started to walk away. Fred grabbed you, pulling you back to him.

“Nuh-uh, you wanted to kiss me and you did it. It has consequences”

“Really? And what would those be?” You asked, smirking.

“Well, for starters you need to admit that you want to be my girlfriend.” He said bumping his nose to yours.

You sighed.

“Well I guess I would have to suffer the consequences, huh? Fine, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“Noooo, say you want to be my girlfriend”

You pouted and Fred rolled his eyes. He turned to leave and you stopped him quickly.

“Fred, I really, really want to be your girlfriend. Allow me?” you said in a small voice.

Fred pulled in and kissed you again.

“I did a long time ago.” He whispered.

A/N: Guys I hate asking this, but I would love some feedback on this one as this is this is the first time I am writing about Fred. And some reblogs would be nice as most of my blog is about Sirius Black. Thank you!

#Fred #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #george weasley #george #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Anu writes

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mooncustafer · 3 years

Text

Recover, Regroup, Roadtrip

Agent Dale Cooper disappeared in March 1989. The case is still open. Agent Dale Cooper disappeared in October 2016. The case is still open.

for @laughingpinecone /

/ @countdowntotwinpeaks‘ WONDERFULXSTRANGE 2021

“Diane, I am uncertain of the date and time, or indeed if such concepts have any meaning in this place. Nor do I have my recorder, but I find verbalizing my thoughts helps me to resist the confusion and lethargy. As for addressing my words to you, even though you’ll never hear them— well, old habits die hard.”

It pleased Wally Brando on a profound level to discover that a few pay-phones remained in Philadelphia, that reaching out was not yet the prerogative only of those who could afford a landline or a mobile. He could also have checked his email on a terminal at one of the city’s Public Libraries, and indeed, made a note to do so within the day so that he might catch up on the news of parents and former school friends. The pay phone was also blessed with both the yellow and the white pages, and the number he sought appeared under “F.” Getting transferred to Dr. Albert Rosenfield was a more complex quest, but he was persistent as well as polite, and after a few minutes he was able to speak to Dr. Rosenfield’s voice mail, if not the man himself.

He introduced himself with salutations, and was about the explain the nature of his request when a beep signalled that the allotted time had run out.

“To listen to your message, press one. To re-record your message, press two,” said the voice of the machine.

Silently cursing his volubility, Wally pressed two. This time he simplified the introduction, and asked if Dr. Rosenfield would be good enough to meet him that evening at the Morimoto Japanese restaurant not far from the FBI offices, to discuss a matter of deep concern connected, he believed, with the little town of Twin Peaks. When the beep came this time, he listened to his message and then, satisfied, hung up. The restaurant he’d named was slightly above his means, but he was meeting a friend of his godfather, and wanted to do justice to the occasion, even if the reason for it was one of peculiar anxiety to himself.

“Diane, I have tried so many times to escape— on the last attempt I really did get out into the world, but my plans, I fear, had dire repercussions for you, and to no end— my course still led me back to the Black Lodge. Some flaw in my own nature keeps trapping me in this loop; perhaps it’s what they sometimes call Saṃsāra.”

It was Agent Tammy Preston’s custom, when scraping the internet for information relevant to one or more recent cases, to check her email inbox every seven minutes— to do so every five minutes would disrupt the flow of her work, but ten-minute gaps might let something important go unanswered for too long. Just now the inbox was due another glance, and switching tabs she saw that two minutes earlier Director Bryson had replied to Tammy’s email of that morning with an invitation to come by her desk at her earliest possible convenience.

Tammy locked her screen, paused ‘Soft Fuzzy Man’ on her playlist and removed her headphones. Picking up the folder marked Missing Persons, 1989– Palmer, she slipped back into her pumps and made for Bryson’s office. The door was open but Tammy stopped at the threshold and rapped on the wall.

“Come in,” said Director Bryson, looking up from a folder. Bossa nova music played softly in the background as Tammy entered and pulled up a chair. It sometimes puzzled Tammy that apart from herself and Director Gordon Cole, no one in this particular division of the FBI seemed to have any interest in music recorded after 1979. (The first few times she’d heard ‘Du Hast’ pounding through the walls of Cole’s office, she’d wondered if this taste for metal was the result, or perhaps the cause, of his hearing loss; but after he’d joked to an unamused Agent Rosenfield about how these were difficult times and difficult times called for Dave Brubeck, she’d looked up the reference in case it was a coded message, and then the next day had overheard Gordon whistling ‘Mister Sandman,’ a song she knew primarily from an internet meme, at which point she concluded that the ear wants what it wants, regardless of demographic.)

“You told me you’d found some serious inconsistencies in the records surrounding Twin Peaks and the Palmer case?”

Tammy nodded, hesitated:

“I believe there may be inconsistencies as well in my own perceptions of the case.”

“Well now, that I find a little harder to believe.” Bryson smiled, but then her voice grew serious: “I’ve looked over the notes you made, and it confirms my own doubts about events.”

“Worse yet— the fact that I truly left the Lodge and then returned to it, will enable the beings that inhabit this place to take another twenty-five year turn in my likeness, unleashing even more evil on the world. The only thing stalling them is the doppelgänger I had MIKE make for the Jones family, but I don’t know if he’s still under the White Lodge’s protection.”

After all these months it still surprised Harry Truman there was so little physical pain, and so much boredom, to dying. Oh there’d been pain at the beginning, when he’d started treatment and had had to stop drinking; the memory of detoxing still made him shudder. But now he only felt a tiredness too huge for sleep to make any dent in it; and since he couldn’t sleep all the time, there were a great many hours during which all he could do was lie in the hospice bed or sit in one of the hospice chairs, and think.

At this point dying didn’t even sound so bad— it wasn’t like the past three decades had been all that great. He imagined going to sleep, just filling up a big bowl of silence and darkness and sinking into it, and then he felt bad for thinking that because Frank had already lost enough people without Harry lighting out too. Anyways, with the things he’d seen over the years he’d be a damn fool to think there was anything peaceful about death and whatever came after. So he’d lie awake trying to find some other topic to ponder, and that’s generally when the boredom set in.

Right now, courtesy of the nap he’d had in the afternoon after today’s treatment had left him especially exhausted, he was lying awake in the wee small hours. 3:52 am, said the clock on his bedside table beside the stack of paperbacks Frank had brought him on his visits— Harry wasn’t afraid of e-readers the way Lucy was of cellular phones, but he found the smell of paper comforting. It reminded him of the Bookhouse. The hospice tended to smell of disinfectants and sweat and soup. The food actually wasn’t as bad as the food at the hospital in Twin Peaks used to be, not that any food could be as bad as the hospital food in Twin Peaks used to be, but it made no difference to Harry, whose appetite had been gone for months. Frank always brought a slice of Norma’s pie too, carefully sealed in an old cookie tin to keep it fresh, but Harry could never manage more than a couple of bites, and they didn’t always stay down.

Being awake in the middle of the night in a hospice wasn’t as bad as being awake in the middle of the night when you were alone at home— the occasional voices or footsteps from the corridors beyond were reminders that whatever might be happening to Harry, life went on for the staff; and the lights from the city outside showed that life went on for others outside the hospice walls. When he’d first arrived, those city lights had made it hard to sleep, but now they substituted for the starry sky above Twin Peaks. There were fewer birds to watch in the city, though sparrows, pigeons or a starling sometimes lit on the ledge outside his window and peered in at him, or maybe at their own reflections. The frequent rain pattering against the glass— well, that sounded the same here as it did in a cabin.

Frank had called to tell him about Margaret Lanterman. Harry sometimes wondered if he should have stayed in Twin Peaks and died in his own home like her, instead of lingering in this hospice like the doomed heroine of some nineteenth-century novel. Or like Annie Blackburn. Or Audrey Horne.

The rain was spattering now against Harry’s window, bending the light from the Japanese stone lantern in the pocket-sized garden below. Harry couldn’t remember what the hospice building looked like from the outside, but he guessed it was similar in style to the mid-century one next door where the day-patients came for their treatments. A flash silhouetted the roofline; five seconds later came the thunder-crack. Harry settled back and closed his eyes.

Sleep pulled him into dreams of an espresso machine, like the one in the coffee place down in the lobby next to the gift shop for visitors. This machine filled a whole room, metal pipes feeding back on themselves like some kind of espressouroboros, neither steam nor coffee escaping from the grotesque contraption. Agent Cooper stood wearily before it with two empty coffee-cups. Harry was just wondering who the second cup was for, when Coop looked up and met his eyes:

“What year is this?!”

Harry sat up in bed, listened intently for two full minutes, but he didn’t hear Coop’s voice again. He sighed. Sometimes the mind pulls imaginary sounds out of the background noise. False pattern recognition or something— Coop would have known a word for it. Harry had little hope left they’d ever find Cooper, or if they did, that he’d still be the man he’d known. Yet he’d carried on, more (he told himself) out of habit than any real hope. He’d kept in touch with Agent Rosenfield, even when it meant letting him know about the cancer— not that Albert would blab the secret to anyone in Twin Peaks.

“Hello?”

“Good, you’re still alive.” Albert’s personality hadn’t mellowed with the years, exactly, but familiarity had worn the edges off his jibes.

“Shut up, Albert. So what have you found?” Albert’s calls generally came every three months, but never at nine in the morning, and he’d last spoken to Harry only two weeks back. Something important must have happened.

“Actually, Sheriff Truman, I’m the one coming to you for information.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, it’s not easy to do investigations from a hospital bed. What can I tell you that you can’t get from other sources?”

“I need you to summarize the Laura Palmer case back in 1989, and the actions of Agent Cooper in Twin Peaks at that time.”

“Albert, is this one of your damn cognitive tests? You already know—”

“We’re both too tired to argue, just humor me.”

“How detailed do you want?”

“An outline will suffice.”

Harry took a deep breath and briefly listed the finding of Laura’s body, and the living but dazed and injured Ronnette, and the arrival of Agent Dale Cooper to lead the investigation. He skimmed over the crimes of Jacques Reneault and some of the other peripheral drama that had occurred in the town around that time, noted that Leland Palmer had murdered his own daughter, albeit while not fully himself, and was beginning to recount Cooper’s temporary suspension and Windom Earle’s campaign of terror, when Albert interrupted:

“You’ve still got the unofficial version, then.”

“Unofficial?”

“According to FBI records and your colleagues at the Twin Peaks Sheriff’s Office, Laura Palmer is an unsolved missing-person case.”

Harry began to feel sick.

“Goddammit, Albert, you did the autopsy. I punched you and you fell across her body. You found a broken poker chip in her stomach—” Albert broke in:

“I hadn’t disclosed that detail to anybody I’ve questioned about this.” His voice was a little shaky. “Listen, Harry,” he continued. “Last Friday I was contacted by a young man wearing motorcycle leathers and talking like Jack Kerouac on quaaludes.”

“Wally.”

“Naturally I supposed him to be from your iodine-deficient neck of the woods even before he introduced himself as your godson and the offspring of those lieutenants of yours. He told me he’d come because he wasn’t sure where else to turn. Apparently he keeps in touch with his parents as he rides across the continent, but in their most recent conversation he’d noticed their memories of certain events had become confused. I was about to tell him I wasn’t the least bit surprised, when he added that he’d checked with other townsfolk, including your brother, and they all seemed to have had the same— how’d he put it? ‘The walls of their memory painted over like a childhood bedroom converted to a study.’”

”That sounds like Wally, all right.”

”Eventually he got round to explaining why he’d come to me. The message that had prompted him to call home was from Lucy; she said she’d shot a suspect who was attacking your brother Frank. She’d also mentioned some FBI agents arriving a few minutes later.”

Harry swallowed. He tried to imagine Lucy shooting anyone:

“Frank never said anything about this.”

“And when Wally called home, Andy and Lucy not only denied it had happened, they had no idea what he was talking about, not that I’d guess that to be an unusual state of affairs. Anyway, after I sent your godson away, I began to have contradictory memories myself of what Cooper had told me about the case. I remembered the poker chip after waking in the middle of the night from the worst dreams I’d had since medical school. I’ve been telling myself it was a false memory, maybe a composite of all the young female murder victims I’ve had to examine in my career, but I told myself I’d make one more phone call, just to check. And now you confirm it. Also, in my recall you knocked me across Leo Johnson’s body. Thanks for the correction. Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Harry answered, glad he was already sitting on his bed.

“Now that that’s established,” said Albert’s voice on the other end of the phone: “here’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question: when do you remember Agent Cooper disappearing?”

“March 1989.” Harry tried to keep his voice steady, as though he was giving evidence in court. He briefly explained about the Black Lodge and Coop’s reappearance and unsettling behaviour and how he’d checked himself out of the hospital and was never heard from again. There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. “Are you still there, Albert?”

“According to FBI records and, up until two days ago, my own memories: Coop disappeared this past October while driving to Odessa, Texas for a case. The last record of him was a credit-card charge at a motel just outside the city.”

“What was he investigating in Odessa?”

“Missing person. I’ve tried looking into that case, but it seems to be a dead end, especially since Coop never seems to have arrived at the diner where the man he was looking for had allegedly been running drugs.”

“Sounds like the kind of establishment where nobody’d admit anything. Maybe Coop did get to the diner.”

“Gee, you’ve cracked it Sheriff, we would never have thought of that. The diner was old-school, but not so old-school they didn’t have a security camera trained on the front counter. We went over three days worth of footage. I admit we can’t be sure he didn’t slip in through the back for some reason; but you knew Coop— can you honestly picture him entering a diner and not ordering a coffee?”

“Not the Coop I knew, but— I already told you he was acting pretty erratically just before he took off.”

Harry heard Albert sigh.

“I’ve been checking with a few of my colleagues who were involved in the original Palmer investigation. I think Gordon knows something, but being Gordon he’s saying nothing, and as loudly as possible. Denise— Director Bryson, now— remembers the unofficial version, and according to her so does Agent Preston— oh right, you never met Agent Tammy Preston, the poker-faced glamazon computer hacker— I’m not sure she was even born yet in 1989, but she was on a case in Twin Peaks in October 2016, and during the course of the subsequent paperwork, she started noticing a lot of records and statements didn’t match up, and then she realized her own memories didn’t match up. Which brings up another problem with trying to reason this out by conventional methods: something in that Salem’s Pacific-Northwest Lot of yours is rewriting memories, documents, maybe the facts themselves. But so far it’s predominantly affected the people who were on the spot this past October.” Albert’s voice rasped a little from the long phone call, and he paused to clear his throat. “Unfortunately, that also means the people most likely to remember the original version of events are people who weren’t in the Sheriff’s Office during the incident that seems to have triggered the change. At the risk of sounding like one of those bullshit shows on the History Channel, we may never know exactly what happened that night.”

“Wait, what even was the case that brought you all back in 2016?”

“That’s the problem— I’m one of the people who was there, and I only have vague and disconnected memories of a British man with a gardening glove, the chorus of Guys and Dolls, Agent Cooper leaving the room with Diane, his secretary who quit the FBI decades ago, and Gordon, and only Gordon coming back.” Albert paused again. “It goes against my personal feelings and medical opinions, but would you be willing to let me visit you in person? I’ve some vacation time and enough frequent-flyer miles that the trip will probably cost less than the long-distance charges if we continue this conversation.”

Harry opened the drawer of his bedside table and took out the key to Coop’s old hotel room:

“Yeah, come by.”

“Diane, I am currently alone. I realize that statement implies that I’m not always alone here, and indeed I sometimes have a companion, who I still think of as Laura Palmer, though I don’t know if that’s her identity anymore; I’d hoped, after my last attempt, that Laura would no longer be in this place at all. She comes and goes, or perhaps we both come and go and our orbits occasionally intersect. I’ve tried to find some pattern to it, but with no reliable way to measure time, I’ve had little success.

The last time we met she told me about a room she hadn’t seen before, all white walls, in which a dark-haired woman was contemplating a mirror with a puzzled look. I can’t help but feel this parallels my own situation.”

“Frank sent me this last month. But when I thanked him the next time he called, he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about.” Albert hesitated before taking the room key:

“Great Northern Hotel,” he read, turning it over. “Twin Peaks. Isn’t the front desk going to want this back?”

“Unless I miss my guess, it’s from 1989 when Coop was staying there.”

Albert’s ears stuck out more noticeably, or perhaps it was his face that was thinner. He’d spent the first part of his visit scrutinizing Harry and questioning him about his case and what the doctors were doing for it, until Harry told him to quit it or he’d run out of time to discuss Coop’s disappearance before visiting hours ended, and anyway weren’t Albert’s patients usually dead to begin with?

The trouble with the subsequent discussion was that it went in a circle— the people who’d been present for the 2016 Unknown Event had uncertain memories of what had actually happened; and the people who clearly recalled the 1989 Palmer case as a murder hadn’t been present for the Unknown Event. The one thing that seemed likely was that there was some connection between the 1989 case and the 2016 case, particularly since both had been followed by the unsolved disappearance of one Agent Dale Cooper.

“I hate to say it, Albert, but I’ve given up hope on ever finding Coop.”

“What’s hope got to do with it?” Albert asked. His tone was not sarcastic.

“Diane, I’ve decided that, if only to keep my mind occupied, I will go looking for the white room and the woman with the mirror. I’d feel happier if I had a ball of twine or some breadcrumbs to leave as a trail back to the waiting room, but I’m coming to terms with the idea that’s there’s no advantage to remaining or returning here— it’s not as if I need food or drink in this place, and I cannot be any more lost than I already am.

So far, I believe I’ve walked down five identical red-curtained hallways, and turned left five times. It therefore seems likely that I’m following a counterclockwise, roughly spiral path, although I’m uncertain if I’m proceeding inwards or outwards.”

“If this search is going to require juggling two sets of memories, then I’d better come along so you don’t get brainwashed again.”

“Sheriff Truman, if you haven’t noticed by now, you’re in a cancer hospice.”

“I just finished a round of treatments, I’ve got a couple of weeks free.” Albert snorted and Harry added: “You can monitor my health while we’re on the road.”

“I’m already thinking of your health. You’re immunocompromised, travel is too risky.”

“We’re crossing a few state lines, not going to the other side of the world.”

Albert pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. I’m driving. Which also means I get to choose the music.”

In fact, they went most of the way by plane, after Albert weighed the odds and decided five hours in a tube of recycled air would still be easier on Harry than a two-day road trip. Some of the passengers threw suspicious looks at Harry’s N95 mask, but they’d cleared it in advance with the airline, and Harry had briefly removed it when he went through TSA, and Albert was prepared to flash his FBI badge, but the flight crew were understanding.

They picked up a car at Midland International. Someone, presumably an employee of the car-rental company, had left a bundle of tourist-attraction pamphlets on the front passenger seat.

“According to these, Odessa has replicas of the Globe Theatre and Stonehenge,” Harry observed once he’d got himself settled.

“Why?” Albert asked.

“Got me there. The pamphlets don’t explain the motivation.”

Albert reached up and pulled down the car’s sunshade on Harry’s side, though the Sheriff insisted his cowboy hat was protection enough for his pale scalp:

“We’re not in the northwest where it rains every fifteen minutes,” he muttered, “and I’ve been looking up the side effects of your meds— you sunburn easily now.” Albert’s driving skirted the city, and they did not pass the Globe or Stonehenge.

The Pearblossom Motel, last recorded location of Agent Cooper, proved to be closed down. They’d noticed the papered-over windows as they pulled up, the sign unlit, not even to say NO VACANCY, but Albert got out to knock anyway. Harry watched him from the car; eventually he clambered out and slowly walked over to join him.

Albert was peering through a spot where the paper had torn away behind the window-glass. He stepped aside for Harry, and the sheriff took a look into the motel’s dim interior. He saw an ordinary, rather old-fashioned registration office, wood-grain panelling on the walls along with a few faded posters for local attractions. Rows of keys still hung on a board behind the desk, and a daily calendar read October 15, presumably the date the motel had closed, or the approximate date— Harry could imagine a concierge might not bother to keep tearing off the pages if they knew it was their last week on the job.

“I now realize that despite everything, I’ve still been harbouring hopes of finding my way back to the waiting room, hence my continual choosing of left-hand turns, as if attempting to mathematically navigate a maze. I must make a true leap of faith if intuition is to guide me, so I’ve closed my eyes and spun around several times in this corridor, first clockwise and then counterclockwise.

Now that I no longer can tell which direction I’ve come from… Diane, can you hear that? Of course you can’t, I don’t really have my tape recorder. I’m going to fall silent and listen for a bit.”

There seemed little else of interest at the motel (Harry, feeling a bit silly, had even tried the Great Northern’s room key on all the doors), so they turned back towards Odessa to look for the diner Cooper had been investigating. The motel was only a mile behind when they saw, ahead of them, a tall woman walking along the highway, her fire-engine-red hair, black t-shirt and pencil skirt out of place in a locale that was rural to the point of emptiness. Albert swore under his breath.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” he told Harry. “Roll down your window, I’m pulling over.” But the woman only threw a glance at the car as it slowed, flipped them the bird, and kept walking, though she stepped gingerly and Harry noticed she was barefoot on the asphalt. Albert leant across him and stuck his head out the window:

“Diane!”

“Fuck off, guys. I’m not Diane, and whoever she is I bet she’d tell you the same.” Harry gently pushed Albert back and leant out the window himself:

“Sorry, ma’am, mistaken identity. Are you all right though? I see you’ve mislaid your shoes.”

“Looks like somebody ran off with them,” the woman answered, her tone mocking despite the tired set of her shoulders. “I haven’t been up to anything illegal, officer. Just a bit of fooling around.”

“We can give you a ride into town,” Harry offered. “If it helps, you’ll be alone in the back seat— means you can get the drop on us if you start to feel nervous.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at the offer, then abruptly barked out a laugh and opened the back door of the car, took a seat and folded her long legs in after her. “Only because I need a lift,” she insisted, rubbing her bare feet. “I knew office romances were a bad idea, but he didn’t have to be a dick about it. Nothing to do now but go home and drown my sorrows in Hallowe’en candy.”

“You’ve still got candy left over from Hallowe’en?” In the mirror above the dashboard, Harry saw Albert raise an eyebrow and the woman in the back seat frowned, insulted:

“No! I may not have a maternal bone in my body, but I’m not going to give the trick-or-treaters candy that’s a year old.”

“Ma’am,” Harry asked, thinking about the calendar back in the Pearblossom Motel office, “what date d’you think it is?”

“Mid-October,” she began. Harry saw her reach into her purse with her black-and-white nails and pull out a mobile phone. Her eyes widened at the date: “No, it’s March. The fuck?—” She ran a hand through her scarlet hair. Harry wondered if it was dyed or a wig. Perhaps she was bald too. “Must be losing it. I was so sure it was October. And it’s not like I’ve could’ve been wandering around this desert for five months.” She tapped her phone screen. “5,230 messages?!” She looked frightened now, raising her head to meet their gaze in the mirror. “Where the hell have I been? And you guys— you’re feds, aren’t you?”

“No,” Harry began.

“I am,” said Albert. “He’s not.”

“Well, can you tell me what’s going on? Or is it classified? God, it’s not aliens, is it? I always assumed alien conspiracies were bullshit to cover up real conspiracies.”

“It’s probably not aliens,” Harry answered, unable to keep doubt from his voice as he remembered Major Briggs, “but I afraid it’s not going to sound any less weird.”

“To start with, we’re in the area investigating a colleague who disappeared in October,” began Albert, “and then you turn up, apparently amnesiac since that date.”

“And with my messages unchecked since then.”

“Yes, but there’s another detail— you look exactly like a former colleague of mine who was close to our missing man. That’s why I called you Diane when I slowed down.”

“I need a smoke.”

“No.”

“Albert,” Harry interrupted, “I’ve already got cancer, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Do you want me to answer that in detail?”

“No I don’t.” Harry turned to look over his shoulder at the woman in the back: “Just roll down your window first.”

“We’ll pull over and she can step away from the car,” said Albert.

He stopped on a shoulder, and their passenger got out and lit a cigarette. Examining the packet, she called to them:

“Three left. That’s fewer than I remember having on me in October, but not by much.” Albert, meanwhile, had pulled a shopping bag from the back seat:

“You should eat something,” he said to Harry, producing a sealed cup of applesauce and a box of plastic spoons. Between rounds of treatment, Harry’s nausea receded, but his appetite was still pretty weak. “There’s saltine crackers, too.” Harry chuckled in spite of himself as he tore the foil off the applesauce:

“This all makes me feel like I’m home from school with the ‘flu.”

“You’ll have to watch Roadrunner cartoons on your own phone, I’m not paying for the data,” Albert snapped.

“I’m surprised we even get reception out here.” The red-haired woman had strolled back to the car with her cigarette, though she took care to stay downwind from Harry’s rolled-down window. “Guys, is it just me or is this highway really deserted— like, Rod-Serling-voiceover deserted?”

“We were just thinking Roadrunner cartoons.”

“Can’t be, there’s no weird rocks.” She flicked ash onto the pavement, “Though it does feel like if someone painted a tunnel entrance on a wall around here, you might be able to drive into it. If you weren’t a coyote.” She took another drag and glanced at the power lines humming above their heads. “Maybe it’s the hum from those wires that’s giving us brain cancer— oh sorry, dude.” She broke off and looked at Harry in apology.

“It’s all right, ma’am,” he said when he’d finished swallowing his mouthful of applesauce. “I’ve got leukaemia, not brain cancer. And the sound from those lines is unpleasant. Like the whine of mosquitoes in the woods.” As he spoke the hum intensified, becoming a loud crackle. Albert glanced up as a shadow fell over the three travellers and their car.

In the sky a dark, nebulous shape twisted, circled, formed a comma or an apostrophe, and dove towards them.

The first few grackles, out of thousands, came down on the roof and hood of the car. Harry could see one pecking at the windscreen and glaring at him with hard yellow eyes. He suddenly remembered Coop had been afraid of birds; until now, he’d never been able to imagine why. He turned and pushed open the back door as the woman dove inside the vehicle. Around them, the flock blotted out the landscape.

“Hope they don’t scratch up the finish,” Albert shouted over the sound of wing-beats, “or I’m not getting my deposit back.”

“Is this nesting season? I mean, are the grackles round here normally this—”

“Oh fuck, one got in!” came a yell from the back seat. Eardrums ringing, Harry turned to see a small black shape ricocheting around the car’s interior as the woman flailed her long, bare arms. The grackle made for the gap between Albert’s seat and headrest.

And got stuck, its beak not quite touching the back of Albert’s neck.

Harry reached for the little feathered body, thinking of how to pin the wings against the bird’s sides to avoid injury to it or the surrounding humans, but the moment his fingers touched it, it crumbled. At the same time the din outside the car ceased.

“That— that’s not natural.” Their passenger was covering her mouth with her hand. Even Albert looked shocked. Harry stared at the palmful of ash that was all that was left of the grackle.

“Let me get a sample bag,” Albert muttered. He pulled out a small clear plastic bag, and held it out while Harry poured the remains in. Then he handed him a packet of wet wipes. “You all right, Diane?” The woman in the back seat did not correct him on the name this time.

“Couple of scratches,” she said, examining her right arm. Albert passed her a mini first-aid kit. Got to give him his dues, he prepares for everything, thought Harry, adjusting the brim of his cowboy hat.

“Y’know,” he said, “This could be a good sign. In that it’s any kind of sign. There’s nothing worse than working in the dark, waiting for some hint you’re getting warmer or colder— that’s the kind of thing makes you wonder if the thing you’re looking for is even out there at all. But this—”

“Someone tipped their hand, you mean, when they tried throwing a Hitchcock movie in our faces,” Albert cut in. “But what exactly did we do to worry them?” His glance, and Harry’s, moved to the dashboard mirror’s reflection of their passenger.

“You think the birds were after me, or wanted to break up our merry band?” She raised an eyebrow. “Trouble is I know a token effort when I see one.”

“Or a warning.”

“We found the Pearblossom Motel;” Harry thought he saw the woman flinch at the name. “And then left it, to head for Odessa.”

“Are you suggesting we drive around in circles and see if they attack again?” Albert muttered.

“I think that’d be a little unfair to our passenger.” Harry turned to her: “Ma’am, I believe Albert when he says he knows you; but I also believe you when you say you don’t remember him. We can drop you anywhere you like— your call.”

“Give me a few minutes, fellas. Given all the weird shit I’ve just been through, I’ve got to think about whether I’m safer away from you two, or sticking close by. Plus I’ve got messages to check.” She took her phone out again. Without taking his eyes off the road, Albert pulled his own phone from his suit jacket, passing it to Harry:

“You’d better check mine. Maybe Tammy’s got some news—she’s been looking up everyone connected with events in Twin Peaks, but not living in the area. She even emailed some couple in Japan, though I’m still not sure what they’ve got to do with this.”

Harry peered at Albert’s phone screen, occasionally commenting if something looked to be of interest:

“Gordon’s sent a grudging OK, tells you to be careful. Also tells you to look after me. I’d always imagined he’d type in uppercase— didn’t realize it was him at first. Hm. Do you know a coroner?”

“I know lots of coroners, we get together for an annual poker tournament and lucky draw. And when I say draw…”

“Do you know a Dr. Talbot in Buckhorn?” Harry interrupted. “Autopsied a headless body last September that turned out to be Major— wait, he— is this one of those revised timeline things?”

“Not exactly.” Albert brought Harry up to date as best he could on Major Briggs’ disappearance and decades-later reappearance. “I certainly remember meeting Constance,” he added, after a pause, and cleared his throat again. “According to Tammy, I made a favourable impression on her, which is… unusual among my acquaintances, even those who share my profession. So what does she have to say?”

“Something about a wedding ring and Schrödinger’s Cat?” Harry looked at the message again. “She says Tammy spoke to her, and was going to contact you too… a gold ring they found on Briggs… sorry, in Briggs… keeps disappearing from her office’s records and the FBI’s evidence files, then coming back again?”

Albert frowned in thought as he drove: “Does it have anything engraved on it?” Harry tapped a message on the phone screen, CC-ing Constance and Tammy.

Outside the car, suburbs, or at least car dealerships and big-box stores, were beginning to sprout up along the highway.

Albert’s phone pinged and Harry read the message from Constance:

“Yes, scribbled it down last time I could find the record. This ring any (wedding) bells? TO DOUGIE, WITH LOVE, JANEY-E”

“Janey-E,” said Diane from the back seat, and Harry heard her drop her phone. Turning around he saw her wringing her hands, the nails now robin’s-egg blue. “Albert,” she gasped, “Oh, Albert, I was almost lost again.”

“I believe the change in method may have led to a breakthrough: I haven’t found any rooms leading off of the corridor I’m following, but the decor has gradually changed from black-and-white flooring and red curtains, to dark brown linoleum flooring and institutional green walls hung with large relief maps of different parts of the world. The maps appear to have been manufactured some time between 1954 and 1965, as they show North and South Vietnam as separate nations. I’m just passing the continent of Antarctica, now, and… oh. I think there might be…

Diane, I found the white room, and when I call it that, I’m not simply echoing Laura’s name for it. It was like a cross between a sanatorium and a snow cave, if a snow cave had furniture. There was a bed with white blankets and a white metal frame like a hospital bed. Audrey was sitting on one end of it, wrapped in a white bathrobe and looking at a round mirror that stood on a little white table. She turned as I entered, and her face was older, drawn and, for a moment, frightened. Then she looked at me again and relaxed, saying ‘Oh, it’s really you.’ I fear she must have met one of my nastier doppelgängers at some point.”

At Diane’s request, they stopped to eat at a fast-food chain before approaching the diner Coop had been investigating in at least one timeline.

“I’m hungry, but I’d be too nervous to eat at the place where Dale might have… well, if they’re a front for something, then the food’s either spectacular or terrible, and I’m not feeling lucky right now. I want to be someplace as bland and mundane as possible for a while, so I can regroup.”

“Well this place has a twenty-minute limit.” Albert jerked his thumb at the sign.

“That’ll do.” Diane curled up beside Harry in the booth as Albert went up to the counter to place their orders. She still wore her pencil skirt, but on on of their stops she’d purchased tennis shoes and a couple of fresh t-shirts— the one she was wearing at the moment read NOT TODAY in flowery letters. “Now he’s got two of us to worry about,” she said under her breath. Harry decided to reply:

“Someone needs to worry about him.” Diane nodded, and Harry offered his hand: “Sorry, we never did the proper introductions did we? Harry S. Truman.”

“I know.” Her expression relaxed slightly. “I see why he likes you.”

“Not sure Albert likes anybody, exactly—”

“That’s not who I was talking about.”

Albert returned with a eye-searingly-orange plastic tray:

“Mushroom burger, cheeseburger, buttered biscuit for you, Harry, because they can’t just serve toast like a real restaurant and those things they claim are bagels are made out of lies.”

“Don’t worry Albert, I’ll survive a biscuit.” Harry picked up one half of the baked item and took a bite. It wasn’t too bad, actually.

“Diane, the ring that jogged your memory—”

“My half-sister and her husband. Don’t ask me how they’d be mixed up in this though, Janey-E’s aggressively normal.”

“And her husband?”

“Never actually met him. Janey-E and I don’t talk much,” she explained. “But from her comments he’s… passively normal. Works for an insurance company, drinks too much sometimes, the whole man-in-the-gray-flannel-suit thing.”

“I’ve been talking with Audrey, or the version of her that existed in the white room. You’ll notice I use the past tense. Still sitting on the bed, she raised a finger and pointed to the mirror in front of her, saying:

‘The other me— she ran away from home, like she thought Laura had done. I’m amazed she survived her first year in the big city, but look:’

Diane, I saw Audrey searching records online, tailing suspects, testifying in civil and sometimes criminal courts. It’s a life that can make a cynic of the kindest soul, but there are situations the police don’t or can’t investigate, and those were— are, I suppose— Audrey’s bread and butter, in that mirror world. And they seem to pay well enough she can afford to do some pro bono cases.

‘I wish I were out there,’ she said, and the mirror clouded and shifted. She patted the bedspread, and I sat down beside her. ‘You know how,’ she began, ‘when you’re a kid, and you’re reading your favourite book, and a little after the halfway point, you start to think ‘I’m getting near the end of the book?’ And really, you’re not— there are pages and pages left of scenes and pictures. You’re always surprised just how much more there is. But it’s not enough to shake the feeling it’s putting off the inevitable. Dawdling before bedtime.’ She stood up suddenly, bent and kissed me on the brow. ‘Say hello to the other me, if you ever run into her.’ And then she was gone, Diane. Not in flame or fadeout, just gone.”

I look up, and Laura is beside me.

The diner, when they found it, was not what Harry’d pictured. Instead of a lonely Edward Hopper tableau, or a grimy spoon where toughs whispered to each other along the lunch counter and cast knowing glances in the direction of the men’s room, “Wispy Dreams Cafe” was a blandly cheerful donut shop, the logo rather obviously altered from that of a national chain.

“Looks like they’re under new management.” Diane observed as they got out of the car. “Or else they got tired of paying for the franchise?” The three of them made their way across the parking lot the cafe shared with the landscaping company next door. Inside, the sound of chattering customers and a hum from the coffee machine both soothed and overwhelmed. Harry steadied himself against a gleaming, cream-colored formica counter. The woman on the other side— not a fresh-faced high-school senior or a kindly-faced matron, just a woman with her hair in a ponytail and circles under her eyes, doing her best to smile— threw him a glance and Harry nodded.

“I’m ok. Albert, Diane, what do you two want?”

A couple of minutes later, they sat by the window, feigning interest in their donuts and coffee.

“Well, we’re living the cop cliché,” whispered Albert. “So, what do you think? Soulless suburban hangout, or den of villainy?”

Harry gingerly sipped the brew in his cardboard cup and eyed the other customers. You couldn’t say the place wasn’t busy; the woman at the counter had already served a family of four in the time it had taken Harry, Albert and Diane to seat themselves with their coffees, and another customer had just come in the door.

“That counter’s been installed recently. Deep-fat fryer’s been replaced too.”

“And they don’t know how to use it yet. You could wax skis with these donuts. That’s hardly a crime, though.” Diane looked around at the blue and yellow walls painted with large trompe l’oeil sprinkles. “Doesn’t seem to be anything else funny about the place— I hate to say it but this place might be legit.”

Harry watched the new customer lean in to the counter. Harry couldn’t quite make out what he was saying— presumably the man was placing his order, but it seemed to be taking a while and there was something tense in the woman’s expression. Beside him he heard Diane swear under her breath, and faster than he could turn his head, his peripheral vision took in that she was getting up. She strode towards the counter and Harry had a glimpse of the angry red scratch on her arm as he struggled to his feet.

Diane was leaning on the counter now, trying to insert herself between the customer and the worker.

“What did you just say to her?” she was asking.

“Look, I come in here all the time, we joke around. What makes you think it’s your fucking business?”

“What seems to be the trouble?” Harry loomed up behind the customer— he might have only half his usual strength but he was still a good six inches taller than the other man. Behind him, he guessed, Albert was approaching. Harry knew the agent was unwilling to use physical force and not exactly skilled at defusing situations through diplomacy, so he turned his gaze on the customer with all the quiet confidence he’d used as Sheriff. In his ear Diane hissed:

“It’s nothing to do with the case, this asshole’s just creeping on the staff.” She must’ve locked eyes with the man too, for he was staring at her now, his bland pink features shifting expression from anger to terrified fascination.

Rather an unimpressive face, thought Harry, and then, what’s Diane doing? He turned to look at her sharp, smiling profile, and saw a tear slide from her eye.

“No,” she said loudly and abruptly, and blinked hard. “Do you want us to escort him out?” she asked the woman behind the counter; but the man was already out the door and running for his car.

“Diane,” Harry whispered.

“Diane,” whispered Albert. Diane was passing one hand across her eyes.

“I could have fried him. Just now. Something wanted me to; but I just wanted him to back off.” She beamed at them as Albert held out an arm for her to steady herself. “I think I’m back to normal. Well, normal for me.”

“Are we the only two left here now?”

“I’m not even here anymore.”

“I don’t know how to get back to the waiting room.”

“It doesn’t matter, the coffee’s cold.”

Somehow, the white room has become even more featureless, despite that being both a logical and a grammatical impossibility. Only the bed, the table and Audrey’s mirror remain. A moment in the glass catches my eye, and I look to see— oh Diane, I’m so glad you escaped! I see you travelling with Albert, and… oh, Harry…

…the cafe’s fluorescent lights flickered as the background hum, noticeable since their arrival, now rose to an ear-splitting volume then died away just as suddenly. As the three of them looked on, an old-fashioned hospital bed, its steel frame painted white, materialized between the counter and the booths, replacing two unoccupied tables. At one end of it sat Agent Dale Cooper, fully dressed in his suit and tie, a look on his face of mild surprise that turned to the familiar joy as his gaze met theirs. Coop had grown older like the rest of them, sharper angles in his face, but he looked hale and well, and his eyes did not have the cruel gleam that chilled Harry’s memories of their last meeting.

“Harry,” he said, as though a quarter-century hadn’t passed. In response Harry silently doffed his cowboy hat, revealing his pallor, his naked scalp. Coop’s smiled wavered a little. “I’m sorry I was gone so long,” he whispered, and rose from the white bed. In the background, the cafe staff and patrons continued to chat and serve and drink and eat coffee and donuts as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on right in front of them. Albert made a hesitant noise in his throat and Coop raised his hand in that just a moment gesture he always used to make, and in that moment Harry knew his friend really was back from wherever he’d been all those years.

“Apologies for being brusque,” Coop said, “but there’s a family in Las Vegas who I’ve reason to believe are in danger right now—”

“Janey-E?” Diane asked.

“Right on the button. For personal reasons which I’ll explain later, I can’t get in touch with them myself. The Mitchell brothers might be able to help, but I don’t know how much they’ll be able to recall of our last meeting.”

“Tammy and Constance are already on it.”

“Good,” Coop looked relieved, and Harry stepped forward, shaking a little in spite of himself, and as if the motion had at last given him permission, Coop sailed forward and embraced him— very gently, as if he feared Harry might break. He’s gauging by touch how much weight I’ve lost, thought Harry, but it’s all right. He’d forgotten how warm Coop was. He became aware of Albert and Diane joining in, arms circling his shoulders and Coop’s. If I died right here and now, it’d be all right.

But this embrace was not an epitaph, or an epilogue. Outside, somewhere else in the city, was an imitation of an ancient stone monument; and a copy of an old theatre where real audiences watched real actors. Somewhere the forces that had sent the dark cloud of grackles prepared another attack, and somewhere Tammy Preston was moving to protect Janey-E and Dougie Jones. Elsewhere Audrey Horne walked the mean streets and was not herself mean. This was an interlude, but let them have it for a while.

A couple of patrons turned their heads to smile at the reunion going in their midst.

#wonderfulxstrange #@laughingpineapple #twin peaks #@laughingpinecone

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 years

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After Each Midnight Begins A New Day

[Extra #7 - Pre-fic by roughly five years, so again the only people who know anything is different from before is Wangxian. I had an anonymous request for a look at A-Yuan living his best AU life, so here it is: a few snapshots of Wen Yuan/Sizhui’s summer school days making friends in Cloud Recesses. Enjoy <3]

[Masterpost]

“Dafan Wen Clan is presenting!”

Wen Sizhui takes a deep breath and steps around his desk, one of Wen Qing’s most highly favored apprentices - besides himself - at his side. They step to the center of the room and Wen Sizhui salutes the men seated on the dais at the front of the room.

“Wen Sizhui, Dafan Wen, here to learn from the Grandmaster,” he greets with his perpetual soft smile. He keeps his eyes trained on Qingheng-Jun and Grandmaster Lan, but it’s impossible not to notice the jarring note of black and red behind and a bit to the left of them. He ignores it for the moment - he’s positive that Wei Wuxian will find him later anyway to ask after Wen Qing and Wen Ning, and Wen Qing will kill him if he messes this up because he got distracted by her friend. He kneels to complete a kowtow and then straightens again. “I know that the Grandmaster values knowledge of all varieties. I present Grandmaster Lan with this book personally compiled by Wen-Zongzhu herself for the study of all as well as for practical use by the Gusu Lan healers. It details her latest research into medicinal practices using ingredients unique to Gusu Province, paired with innovative and varied methods of application. I hope the Grandmaster will find it suitable.”

A murmur sweeps briefly through the room around them, and Wen Sizhui stifles a wider smile, eyes still trained on the Lan Sect Leader and his brother who will be their teacher for the summer. Both of them are too well-mannered to show their surprise at such a highly-sought after gift, but Wen Sizhui breaks his own rule to allow himself a single glance at the men standing on the dais with them. He finds three different variations of similar reactions - Zewu-Jun is smiling gently at him and offers him a slight nod, Hanguang-Jun is practically radiating a pleased sort of smugness as he stares into the middle distance in his general direction, and Wei Wuxian is grinning openly from ear to ear. When he catches Wen Sizhui looking he shoots him a quick thumbs up and Wen Sizhui quickly returns his gaze to the two men seated in front, lest his attention wander too far or his amusement at Wei Wuxian’s antics show in his expression.

“A fitting gift,” Qingheng-Jun replies when the quick susurrus of whispered surprise from the other students has died down. “A treasure indeed, to benefit so from Wen-Zongzhu’s expertise.” He waves for the closest Lan attendant to step forward and take the tome from Wen Huali beside him.

The nervous tension leaves Wen Sizhui’s shoulders as he’s allowed to retreat behind his desk again, the attendant already calling for the next student.

“Lanling Jin is presenting!”

----

“I swear I thought I was going to puke that whole time - and I wasn’t even presenting anything! I’m glad I didn’t eat breakfast but I’m starving now,” Lan Jingyi exclaims that evening around a mouthful of rice and roasted vegetables.

“I thought Lans don’t talk during meals,” Jin Ling shoots back with a hint of a curl to his lip as he looks at the half-chewed food visible in Lan Jingyi’s open mouth with clear distaste.

“We don’t, but neither of you are Lan, and we’re not eating in the dining hall anyway so shut your mouth,” Lan Jingyi retorts, all lazy insolence that Wen Sizhui finds both funny and confusing, given the fact that this boy is a Lan.

“Why were you nervous watching the rest of us present our gifts to Grandmaster Lan, Lan Jingyi?” he asks before Jin Ling can turn a darker shade of red while he splutters for a retort - Wen Sizhui gets the feeling he’s used to being shown at least some level of deference as the oldest of his siblings and the Jin Sect Heir (deference which Lan Jingyi is pointedly not showing him), but he also gets the feeling that Jin Ling is just one of those people who’s generally easy to tease.

“All that pressure! Weren’t you scared you’d mess up in front of everybody?!”

“Who cares? It’s just Great-Uncle Lan you have to impress and he’s not scary at all!”

Wen Sizhui and Lan Jingyi both pause and look at him straight-on at that and Jin Ling blushes again, seeming suddenly surprised to have their full attention on him even though he’s been loud-mouthing since he stepped foot in Cloud Recesses the previous day, practically begging to be paid attention to.

“What?” he adds, defensive.

“I confess that I am not very educated in some of the intricacies of the Great Sect bloodlines, Aunt Qing doesn’t enforce learning it. You are related to Grandmaster Lan and Qingheng-Jun?”

Jin Ling huffs at that and scowls down at his bowl.

“We don’t have time for me to tell you who I’m related to, it’s easier to ask who I’m not related to I swear.”

“Oh is this gossip? Is this sweet, juicy gossip?” Lan Jingyi asks with far too much enthusiasm, leaning over the table to poke a finger into Jin Ling’s upper arm, which the Jin Heir instantly swats away with a glare.

“No it’s not gossip, idiot, and Lans aren’t supposed to gossip anyway! But everyone knows Uncle Chen is married to Uncle Yao and that Uncle Yao is my dad’s brother.”

“I thought Zewu-Jun is married to Chifeng-Zun of Qinghe Nie?”

“He’s married to both of them,” Lan Jingyi pipes up before Jin Ling can. “They all live here but I never really see them much. Well - Zewu-Jun I see slightly more often, of course, but Chifeng-Zun and Lianfang-Zun don’t interact with us disciples very much except for when we’re learning about the Nie Sect and they’re available to give lectures or demonstrations.”

“And Jin-gongzi - you visit your uncles enough to be familiar with Qingheng-Jun and the Grandmaster?”

“I don’t actually come here to Cloud Recesses very often anymore it happened more often when I was a kid, but Second Great-Uncle comes to see us in Lanling all the time, and Uncle Chen comes to see us at least a couple of times a year with Uncle Yao and Uncle Jue.”

Wen Sizhui’s head is beginning to hurt.

“Wei-Qianbei is married to Hanguang-Jun,” he points out next and Jin Ling rolls his eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t pop out of his skull.

“Believe me, I know.”

“So you are also related to them?”

“Twice over, yeah.”

“Wait what?” Lan Jingyi interjects, laughter already suffusing his voice. “How are you related to them twice?”

“My mom is Uncle Xian’s sister.”

“Wait whoa hold on that means you’re also related to Jiang-gongzi?!” Jingyi adds and now he’s definitely laughing - Jin Ling’s expression has gone positively pained which Wen Sizhui will admit is actually pretty funny. Jin Ling takes a deep breath in and lays his hands flat on the table, looking like he’s bracing for war.

“Alright, better to just get this all out of the way now. I’m only going to say this once, and you two had better keep up because I’m not repeating anything! I hate when I have to recite all of this, it’s ridiculous. But - okay. My dad’s second brother is Uncle Yao, who is married to Uncle Chen and Uncle Jue. So Uncle Ji is my Uncle once because he’s Uncle Chen’s brother, and then Uncle Xian is my Uncle once because he’s married to Uncle Ji. Lan-Zongzhu and Grandmaster Lan are my Great-Uncles, Madam Lan is my Great-Aunt.

“My mom’s youngest brother is Uncle Cheng, who is married to Uncle Sang who is Nie-Zongzhu, who is also my uncle because of Uncle Jue being married to Uncle Yao, so that’s twice related for both of them, too. My mom’s other brother is Uncle Xian, who is married to Uncle Ji so there’s the second time for both of them. Jiang-Zongzhu is my Great-Uncle and Madam Yu is my Great-Aunt. And then I have my Uncle Yu, but he’s just my dad’s youngest brother and he’s not married to anybody, and my Aunt Su is their sister but she isn’t married to anybody either.”

There’s a long silence while Wen Sizhui and Lan Jingyi stare at each other wide-eyed across the table.

“Remind me to send my Aunt Qing a thank you letter for not making me learn how all of this works,” Wen Sizhui finally says and Lan Jingyi bursts out laughing so loudly it startles a nearby flock of birds into flying off with a loud rustling of wings.

Wen Sizhui hides a smile behind a bite of his soup as Jin Ling shoves Lan Jingyi off his seat (only for him to keep laughing on the ground) with a snapped, “Shut up!”

As he watches his new friends he thinks to himself that he’ll have to remember to also thank her for allowing him to be the first Wen besides her and Uncle Ning to attend the Gusu Lan lectures in decades.

----

Wen Sizhui is doing his best to read Wen Qing’s return letter a few weeks later in the shade of a tree in the back hill. It would be easier without constant interruption, but he doesn’t mind the distraction in the end, and he’ll have plenty of time to finish reading the letter later. New friends are equally as important.

Ouyang Zizhen sighs again next to him and Wen Sizhui glances up from his letter to find him forlornly plucking the petals off a flower, a small pile of plucked blades of grass already neatly stacked in front of him.

“Zizhen,” he prompts, smiling indulgently when the other boy looks up at him with a truly impressive pout. It would work better on him had he not seen Wen Ning give Wen Qing some equally impressive doe-eyed pouts over the years (and perhaps learned how to do it himself from his uncle - it was the easiest way to be given extra sweets as a child). “You didn’t need to stay behind with me if you wanted to go to Caiyi with Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi.”

“Well I didn’t like the thought of you hanging out here by yourself on such a nice day! Are you sure you’re not a Lan with all this...meditating and quietly enjoying nature that you like to do?”

“Yes, I’m definitely a Wen,” he chuckles as he folds the letter up and tucks it into his sleeve. “My aunt says that we have to take good care of ourselves to be able to most effectively heal others, and meditation is good for you. The Lan Sect are masters at it, their lessons are extremely beneficial, and this weather is perfect for it.”

Ouyang Zizhen is grumbling something about how girls are extra flirty when the weather’s nice like this, and that Caiyi is apparently full of pretty girls just waiting to be flirted with, when a cheerful call suddenly rings out through the little field.

“Aiyah - Lan Zhan!! Look at these awful children stealing our favorite picnic spot!” Ouyang Zizhen scrambles to sit up and Wen Sizhui glances further up the ridge to see Wei Wuxian standing there with a wide grin and with his hands on his hips, Lan Wangji a silent pillar of icy white beside him.

“Wei-Qianbei!” Ouyang Zizhen squeaks, already nervous - it had become clear to the other three soon after the Ouyang heir had joined their friend group that authority figures make him nervous and they’ve been trying to help him with it, but it’s slow-going somewhere as tradition-bound as Cloud Recesses.

“Hello Wei-Qianbei, Hanguang-Jun,” Wen Sizhui greets politely for both of them, getting to his feet and helping Ouyang Zizhen to his so they can bow as the two men approach, though Wei Wuxian reaches them first by a long shot.

“What are two fine young gentlemen like yourselves doing hiding out in the back hills on such a nice day?” Wei Wuxian teases with narrowed eyes, a playful grin already tipping up the corners of his mouth.

“I was reading a letter from my aunt and Zizhen was keeping me company,” Wen Sizhui supplies before any assumptions can be made - he knows if anyone will jump to the most embarrassing assumptions it’ll be Wei Wuxian, even if he’s just doing it to tease.

“Ahh Wen Qing! How is she these days? Still terrifying?” Wei Wuxian laughs as Lan Wangji draws level with them - he had taken a much more sedate pace than his husband’s energetic bounding and sliding down the hillside to get to where the two teenagers are set up for their quiet afternoon.

“It depends on what frightens you, Wei-Qianbei,” Wen Sizhui replies sweetly with his most guileless smile. Between one blink and the next he’s got three long needles between his fingers, withdrawn from a pocket in his sleeve, and Wei Wuxian yelps, instantly ducking back a pace to half-hide behind Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

“Oohhhh I do not like how much you remind me of her!” he laughs, eyes bright. “Aiyah, put those away, Wen-gongzi! No one’s sick here, no need for your needles, put them away!”

Wen Sizhui tucks the needles back into his sleeve smoothly, still smiling. Ouyang Zizhen has, thankfully, relaxed marginally where he’s standing next to him. It’s difficult to be afraid of a man who goes around hiding behind his husband because of a silly little thing like a needle.

“Wen-Zongzhu sends her greetings to both of you along with a...not very gentle reminder that it is your turn to visit her in Dafan this year as she and Uncle Ning have visited you in your travels the past two years in a row,” he reports dutifully once Wei Wuxian has righted himself and straightened out his robes.

“Ah such a filial boy, passing along your Aunt’s messages! And I appreciate that you didn’t quote her word-for-word as I’m assuming there were threats involved,” Wei Wuxian praises with a grin and a nudge of his elbow against Lan Wangji, who’s watching their conversation with his usual stoicism. “I’ll write her back myself though, don’t worry about it. And Lan Zhan and I will find another spot to while away our afternoon, go back to enjoying yourselves!”

Wen Sizhui and Ouyang Zizhen stay standing even after parting salutes have been exchanged, the pair of them turning in place to watch Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji continue on their way further into the hill, hands subtly linked under the trailing material of their sleeves. Ouyang Zizhen eventually sighs again and drops back down into his spot to continue assaulting the poor flower he’s still picking apart, but Wen Sizhui can’t resist watching the pair of them a few moments longer.

They make for a striking couple, he’ll readily admit that much. The both of them are tall and broad-shouldered, Lan Wangji just slightly more so in both aspects. While Wei Wuxian’s dark wardrobe is a jarring contrast amongst the rest of the Lan Sect while in Cloud Recesses, out here in the mountain with no one around him but Lan Wangji they just look like two halves of a whole, light and dark, evenly matched. The tips of Lan Wangji’s silver guan glint in the sun, Wei Wuxian’s worn and time-dark leather band around the base of his ponytail its humble but equally elegant opposite.

Just before the pair has completely disappeared from sight between the trees, he sees them pause to embrace, Lan Wangji’s arms curling around Wei Wuxian’s waist and Wei Wuxian’s arms around his husband’s neck. He blushes slightly and averts his eyes to give them the privacy they seem to think they have and he returns to his seat next to Ouyang Zizhen, who sighs again but this time it sounds different. When Wen Sizhui glances down at him it’s to find a slightly dreamy expression on his face.

“Imagine having such gentlemen for uncles,” he supplies for an explanation when he notices Wen Sizhui looking at him curiously. “Jin Ling has nearly every major Sect Leader and Heir in his immediate family tree, do you think he’s immune to that...aura they all have around them by now?”

“You should ask him when he and Lan Jingyi get back,” Wen Sizhui teases with a smile, well aware by now of how such a question would be received by their prickly friend. “I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to answer yet more questions about his uncles.”

“A more important question to irritate the Young Mistress with is if Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s love story is true.”

“That depends on what version of it you’ve heard,” Wen Sizhui laughs as he gives up on any further meditation for the day and lays down in the grass beside his friend, eyes closed against the bright blue of the summer sky overhead. “All I’ve heard is the short version from my aunt, and she’s not what anyone would call a romantic - at least not that I’ve seen. Tell me the story?”

Ouyang Zizhen takes to telling it with relish, embellishing so many mundane things with such overly poetic language and dramatic sighs that Wen Sizhui can’t help but laugh occasionally, in the hazy way people laugh when they’re warm and content in the grass with a soft breeze stirring the scent of magnolias through the air.

By the time their friends find them in the evening Wen Sizhui has been treated to as many stories as Ouyang Zizhen can think to tell - romantic ones, funny ones, even folk tales he tells his sisters to help them sleep at night. Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling join them with little fanfare and only a little bit of roughhousing, and Wen Sizhui basks in both the golden hour and the presence of these boys who have somehow, over the course of mere weeks, become his closest friends.

----

“Why the pout so early in the morning, Young Mistress?” Lan Jingyi yawns behind his hand a few days later as Jin Ling joins the rest of them on the path to breakfast in the main dining hall for all the students.

“Uncle Ji stopped me to talk on my way out the door,” he replies around a yawn of his own, not even rising to the obvious bait of Lan Jingyi’s favorite nickname for him.

“What did he want to say?” Wen Sizhui prompts, genuinely curious to know what someone as aloof as Lan Wangji would want to say to his nephew at 6 in the morning that would also make said nephew so grumpy.

“ ‘Dinner’,” Jin Ling replies in such a good imitation of Lan Wangji’s cool, dispassionate tone that Ouyang Zizhen snorts.

“That’s it?” Lan Jingyi grumbles, likely irritated even by the prospect of being approached so early in the morning for something so simple.

“Yeah? He doesn’t usually say much if he doesn’t have to. It means he wants me to come have dinner with him and Uncle Xian tonight, probably so they can ask me how things are going with my classes.”

“And you just...know that. From one word.” The skepticism dripping from Lan Jingyi’s tone is too thick to be missed. Jin Ling makes a rude gesture in his direction.

“Yes, stupid. I’ve known him my whole life, of course I know how to talk to him, and my little brother talks like that too. Don’t judge me just because you’re too dumb to figure out what people are trying to say without it being spelled out for you.”

Lan Jingyi makes a half-hearted grab for him as if to pull him into a headlock and Ouyang Zizhen whines, shoving them both in different directions. “It’s too early for you two to start this, just drop it,” he pouts and Wen Sizhui is in full agreement with that. He doesn’t mind waking early, he actually enjoys it now that he’s used to it, but that doesn’t mean he wants to put up with his friends wrestling in the middle of Cloud Recesses when he could be eating breakfast.

“Is it strange for you to be attending lectures knowing that so much of your family is nearby when the rest of us are far from ours?” Wen Sizhui asks mainly to keep everyone awake and paying attention once the roughhousing has officially been put on hold and they’re all back to shuffling blearily along and yawning behind their hands as they go.

“Not really,” Jin Ling shrugs. “They’ve all been good about giving me space like any other disciple. I probably have Uncle Ji to thank for that, the rest of them are...clingy. Besides, pretty much everywhere I go I’m related to somebody. You get used to it.”

Wen Sizhui startles as Ouyang Zizhen nudges him in the side with a bony elbow and he glances at his friend first to see what he wants before following his gaze. The four of them stumble to a clumsy halt and dip into bows as they realize they’ve come face to face with Lan Xichen walking in the opposite direction back towards the residences, a basket from the kitchens in hand.

“Zewu-Jun,” they all greet and Lan Xichen smiles as he finishes closing the distance between them to return their bows with a nod - Wen Sizhui is determined to find out how the Lans (well..perhaps minus Lan Jingyi) can manage to turn every movement into something so regal.

“Wen-gongzi, Ouyang-gongzi, Lan Jingyi, A-Ling. I hope your morning is going well,” he greets in return, voice warm.

“Yes Zewu-Jun,” they chorus, only Lan Jingyi ruins it a bit with another wide yawn. Thankfully Lan Xichen just chuckles with what seems like understanding.

“I will not keep you from your breakfasts, then, nor would my husbands appreciate a delay in ours. A-Ling, shall I pass your greetings on to them?” There’s a distinct note of teasing under the polite question and Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen both stifle snorts behind their hands. Jin Ling, for once, has the grace to just sigh, seeming momentarily resigned to his lot in life.

“Yes Uncle Chen,” he mumbles, his attitude only making Lan Xichen smile wider. They exchange another round of salutes and step past each other, Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen instantly pulling further ahead. Wen Sizhui glances over his shoulder in time to see Lan Xichen pause to give Jin Ling a pat on the shoulder and murmur something quietly just for him, both of which Jin Ling accepts with an affectionate smile that transforms his whole face. For all that Jin Ling bemoans his truly convoluted family situation to his friends, Wen Sizhui thinks that, if it were him, it would be nice to know that he’s loved no matter where he goes - and looking at the smile on his friend’s face, he realizes it might be possible that he feels the same.

Jin Ling turns forward again to catch him looking and Wen Sizhui expects him to bluster and fuss at him to hide the moment of vulnerability, but instead all he does is blush a bit and duck his head, that pleased little smile still on his face, and step forward to join him so they can finish walking to the dining hall in peaceful quiet.

----

“A-Ling! Hey!!”

“Oh gods it’s Uncle day,” the nephew in question sighs with a roll of his eyes, tipping his head back as if the sky will have any reprieve to offer him from the affections of his family.

“Three out of five before lunch, that’s a decent lead going into the afternoon,” Ouyang Zizhen remarks with a put-upon accent and mannerisms, both of which Lan Jingyi instantly copies, stroking an imaginary beard as he leans his shoulder against Ouyang Zizhen’s and tips his head back to look down the length of his nose at Jin Ling.

“Indeed, will the Young Mistress attempt a full score today? It’s a tricky feat, but it seems the uncles themselves are more than willing to help by seeking Young Mistress out whenever he dares to step foot outside.”

“Shut up you two,” Jin Ling hisses as Wen Sizhui laughs into his sleeve. “You’re so annoying!”

“Shall we count the Great Uncles as double points if they make an appearance as well?” Lan Jingyi addresses the question to Ouyang Zizhen, ignoring Jin Ling entirely save for a hand raised in his face to block his angry glaring.

“No, at least triple, I would say. Sizhui?”

“Four points each for Great Uncles, they are both a rare sighting out in the wild,” he supplies dutifully, as serene as ever as Jin Ling splutters and starts throwing punches - not at him, never at him, which Wen Sizhui would be lying if he said he hasn’t noticed.

“Ah ah, hey!” Wei Wuxian laughs as he draws up next to them to put a restraining hand on Jin Ling’s shoulder. “While I fully support fighting while you’re young you’re supposed to save it for your enemies!”

“They are my enemies,” Jin Ling grumbles as Wei Wuxian waves off the attempts of the other three to stand and bow.

“Don’t get up, don’t get up! Aiyah your manners are too good, all of you. Where are yours, A-Ling?” Lan Jingyi’s eyes and grin both go wide with pure, mischievous delight as Wei Wuxian ruffles his free hand in Jin Ling’s hair, making him squawk and duck away from his grip.

“Da-jiu!!” Jin Ling snaps as Wei Wuxian throws his head back to laugh.

“Hush A-Ling, you can’t expect me to believe you haven’t missed getting teased by an uncle this last month since you left home, I’m just filling in for Mo Xuanyu! I have to go set up to teach the babies their archery basics so I’ll be on my way, but Lan Zhan asked you to come have dinner with us this evening, yes?”

“Yes,” Jin Ling mutters, still looking mutinous.

“Good! The invitation is actually for all four of you, I realized he probably didn’t make that clear.” Wen Sizhui looks up at that, surprise written as clearly on his face as it is on Ouyang Zizhen’s and Lan Jingyi’s. “Why are you all looking at me like that?” Wei Wuxian laughs.

“In the Jingshi? With you and Hanguang-Jun?” Lan Jingyi pipes up, looking starstruck.

“Of course! It’ll be nice, Lan Zhan’s going to cook and I’m going to sneak behind him and spice things properly. We want to see A-Ling and we thought it would be nice to have all of you over together since you’ve become such good friends.”

“Of course, Wei-qianbei,” Wen Sizhui replies with a smile. “Thank you for the invitation, we will be happy to accept.”

“Great! So polite! Jin Ling is so lucky to have such examples of gentlemanly behavior to learn from,” Wei Wuxian teases, ducking away from Jin Ling’s weak punch in his direction with another laugh. He offers them a jaunty parting salute before stepping back onto the main path.

“I’m telling er-jiu that you messed with me so he can come kick your ass!” Jin Ling shouts after his retreating back. Wei Wuxian just laughs again and waves a hand without even bothering to look back at them.

“Hey - Jin-gongzi,” Lan Jingyi says once Wei Wuxian has turned the corner and is out of sight. He smirks when Jin Ling turns to give him a wary look. “No shouting in Cloud Recesses.”

Wen Sizhui has to stand up and back away from the table to avoid several flailing limbs as Jin Ling goes in for a tackle, and he’s glad that the four of them had chosen to study far away from the main teaching pavilions as his laughter and his friends’ playful shouts echo off the trees around them.

----

“Lan Zhaaaan!” Wei Wuxian’s whining is audible as soon as the four junior disciples step through the gate that leads to the yard surrounding the Jingshi that evening. “Come on, they’ve been eating nothing but boring Lan food for a month! I’m sure they’ll appreciate some spice and flavor!”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji’s quiet admonishment is only audible because their doors are already thrown open to the warm summer breeze.

“Okay fine, we can set out the chili oil and let them decide for themselves. But we already know that A-Ling will want it! Just let me spice my bowl and his at least!”

Wen Sizhui glances at Jin Ling to try to gauge his reaction but the back of his head doesn’t offer any answers. It feels strange to even be anywhere near the private home of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, let alone to approach it with the intention to go inside, but Jin Ling clearly feels right at home doing so - and leading his three friends to do so as well.

“Da-jiu!” he shouts now while they’re still crossing the yard and there’s a clatter from inside the house shortly followed by Wei Wuxian bounding up to the threshold to grin at them.

“A-Ling! My favorite first nephew!” he cries, flinging one arm wide. He seems, if possible, even more energetic than when he can be seen flitting around the public spaces of Cloud Recesses.

“You say that all the time, da-jiu, and it never stops being ridiculous.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me A-Ling, you look just like your er-jiu when you do that, it’s creepy! Come in, come in, all four of you. Lan Zhan’s just finishing dinner.”

The four of them troop into the house and Wen Sizhui tries not to look around the space quite as obviously as Lan Jingyi is doing, but he can’t help but be curious. Their hosts at least don’t seem to notice, or if they do they don’t mind. Jin Ling gestures for them to settle at a table and begins to pour tea for them all as Wei Wuxian flits back to his husband’s side at the hearth on the other end of the main room.

“Where’s A-Xiao?” Jin Ling asks his uncles once the four of them are all settled in with tea and the silence threatens to creep in, thick and heavy. “My cousin,” he supplies quietly to the rest of them at the table.

“Dormitories,” Lan Wangji replies, his deep, steady voice instantly soothing some of the awkwardness curling through Wen Sizhui’s chest.

“Oh. When did he start taking classes with everyone else?”

“Two months ago, right after we gave him his courtesy name and his ribbon. He’s Lan Xiafeng now, so you know just in case you run into him, but it’s taking him a while to get used to it,” Wei Wuxian supplies as he starts bringing finished dishes over to the table with surprisingly good balance. “Honestly he’s been ready for his formal studies for longer than that from a teacher’s standpoint, but we wanted him to choose when to move to the dormitories and begin his lessons with everyone else. He’d love to see you sometime if you can spare him a minute, though,” he continues. Wen Sizhui wonders if he should feel uncomfortable that they’re discussing family business in front of them and a glance at Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen proves that they’re looking similarly at a loss.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji calls without looking up from whatever he’s stirring and Wei Wuxian immediately flaps his hands a bit (thankfully he’s not still holding any dishes when he does it). “Guests.”

“Aiyah, I know Lan Zhan, but A-Ling asked! But of course you’re right anyway, enough family talk,” he sighs as he plops down at one of the two remaining place settings to grin at all of them. “I may mostly teach the babies these days but I remember what it was like both to take and teach the lessons you four are in. Tell me about them, come on! Don’t be shy.”

Lan Wangji brings the rest of the dishes over in silence over the next few minutes as Jin Ling practically bullies Wen Sizhui, Ouyang Zizhen, and Lan Jingyi out of their nervousness to get them talking. It doesn’t take too long before Wei Wuxian’s natural charisma and questions have the conversation flowing more freely, even once they begin eating. Wen Sizhui notices about halfway through the meal that Lan Wangji seems to uphold the Lan rule of no speaking during meals - even when Wei Wuxian tries to get him to offer up an opinion or a potential solution to whatever scenario they’re discussing - but at the same time he makes no move to stop the others from chatting, not even Lan Jingyi.

He studies Lan Wangji as subtly as he can in glances and out of the corners of his eyes, looking for the things that Jin Ling had told them about that afternoon in preparation for dinner. Jin Ling had sworn that if you look close enough, Lan Wangji’s face is actually very expressive, much more so than he seems from a distance, and that his expressions can help with decoding what he says when he hardly uses words. ‘It’s just a matter of knowing what to look for and paying enough attention to spot it’, Jin Ling had said with all the confidence that comes from a lifetime of prior experience, as if it should be that easy for everyone else.

It takes most of the remainder of the meal for Wen Sizhui to begin to see it. Lan Jingyi has relaxed enough to start teasing everyone at the table (well, everyone who’s not Lan Wangji) and something he has just said makes Wei Wuxian throw his head back and laugh. While the eye would normally be drawn to Wei Wuxian’s boisterous character, Wen Sizhui glances at Lan Wangji beside the other man just in time to spot the ghost of a smile on his lips and the way his eyebrows relax marginally out of their perpetually stern set, somehow managing to soften not only his eyes but his entire countenance. It’s such a small, subtle change, but now that he’s noticed it he can’t help but feel like Lan Wangji is...glowing. Practically radiating silent contentment, like a cat sleeping curled in a beam of summer sunshine or on a hearth in front of a fire in the winter.

Wen Sizhui is still staring (on accident) when Lan Wangji turns his head and meets his eyes, his smile somehow managing to gentle even further until it becomes so unexpectedly tender that Wen Sizhui can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed for getting caught looking. He offers his own smile back, an easy slip of a thing that feels right at home on his lips, and after a long moment Lan Wangji breaks the contact with a nod and a return of his gaze back to his husband at his side.

Wen Sizhui returns to the conversation at hand - something about talisman theory that is being hotly debated between Wei Wuxian, Jin Ling, and Ouyang Zizhen (who has also apparently relaxed in response to Wei Wuxian’s gregariousness). The conversation continues to fly quickly for the rest of the evening - witty and loud and fun - until they have to leave to make it back to their dorms for curfew.

They say their goodbyes and their thank you’s on the threshold of the porch and then step out of the warm light of the Jingshi into the dark hum of the evening, Wen Sizhui trailing behind his friends still chatting and laughing amongst themselves. At the last moment, he can’t quite resist turning to glance over his shoulder one more time, back towards the comfortable home tucked unobtrusively into its little copse of bamboo.

The sight of the warmly lit silhouettes of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian standing in the door to their home, Wei Wuxian leaning against his husband’s side with his head on his shoulder, imprints itself instantly into his mind like the bold strokes of a painting. He raises one hand in a tentative wave and instantly receives one in return from Wei Wuxian.

For propriety’s sake, he’s willing to pretend not to hear the gentle, “Be good, A-Yuan,” that follows after him onto the path, Lan Wangji’s mellow tones turning the goodbye into something so soft that it feels like a hug. Maybe, Wen Sizhui supposes as he gets ready for bed in the room he shares with Jin Ling a few minutes later, he’s loved here too.

#The untamed fanfic #the junior quartet #Jin Ling #Lan Jingyi #Ouyang Zizhen #Lan Sizhui #only he's Wen Sizhui this time around #Y'all I know the courtesy name was a product of LWJ missing WWX but I just do not have the energy to come up with something new for him #I already made courtesy names for Jin Ling's oc brothers and for Lan Xiafeng I'm done lol #If anyone wants to know any of my headcanons for these boys/how things are for them in this AU just let me know!#Anon I hope you like it ^_^#Also - Jin Ling has TOO MANY UNCLES I'M SORRY I CAN'T FIGURE OUT GOOD TITLES FOR ALL OF THEM #WHO IN THE WORLD HAS SO MANY UNCLES?! NOBODY #I'm sure it's probably not the greatest for JL to call them all by their names but I just. I can't #prompt fill

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acciocrzychickfics · 3 years

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Happy

Author’s Note: I wrote this a while ago actually and I have been struggling if I should make this public or not. I guess its now or never. The setting is post-war. I don’t know why but I have this feeling that the Order was never really disbanded, it was kind of like a watchdog type organization after the war.

Adjusting his eyes to the dark was never a hard thing for Remus to get the hang of. However, adjusting his ears to the crying of his son took him awhile. He was always the first to wake up to little Teddy’s cries. He chalked this up to his keen sense of hearing. Rolling over in bed, he saw Dora sleeping soundly. She had been through the wringer at work these past few weeks. She needed her sleep and he knew it. He kissed her forehead and went to the small room he had magicked when she was pregnant to let her know that while he was still unsure about if his lycanthropy would be hereditary or not, they would get through this together.

“Are you hungry, little cub?” he asks, picking up the small blue-haired baby who was now smiling up at him as he walks into the kitchen.

At first, he had struggled with these midnight feedings especially if Dora had to do a night shift for the Order or had to an all-nighter at the Ministry. Not understanding how such a small child could eat so much. He finally broke down and apparated to Andy’s in the middle of the night with a wailing Teddy. He had done everything to try and get him to calm down but once he put Teddy in his grandmother’s arms he quieted now.

“You know, you are going to be a charmer when you get into school. Don’t tell your Mum but I charmed a girl or two in my time.” Remus exclaims trying to calm his two-month-old son down while using a warming spell to heat the bottle, chuckling then adding “She wouldn’t let me hear the end of it.”

Teddy gurgles as the bottle is placed on his lips and latches on unsure how he likes this “I know it’s not the same as when Mum does it.”

Sitting down in the rocking chair in the living room, Remus begins to read to his son that his mother would read to him as a small child. “Where we were, little cub? Ah yes, Chapter 3. They did not sing or tell stories that day, even though the weather improved. They began to feel the danger was far away on d either side.”

Until four or five pages later did he notice, that Teddy had fallen back to sleep and the bottle had been drained.

“I never expected to fall in love. I never expected to marry, let alone your mother. I never expected to have children. Never in my life did I ever expect to have an amazing son like you. Teddy Lupin, I. Love. You. One day, I will have to be honest with you about why I left. I regret that immensely and am unsure I ever will forgive myself for that. However, know I missed your mother and you the entire time I was gone. I thought that you both were better off without me in case you did inherit my furry little problem. Just know, no matter what I love you with all my heart and will do my best to provide for you no matter what. I can not guarantee your life will be easy with having a werewolf as a father.”

“I have a feeling Teddy will be very defensive if anyone talks bad about his father” he hears from behind him. Standing up, he sees Dora standing in the doorway of the lounge smiling. “I will also keep anyone in line who talks ill about my mate.”

“You should be in bed” Remus answers concern lacing his face as he holds Teddy in his arms letting the bottle fall from Teddy’s lips.

“You should have woken me up, I would have fed him,” Tonks exclaims in frustration, now holding her breasts. “My boobs hurt.”

“I am sorry” Remus answers quietly going slightly scarlet “I should have realized.”

“ It is only natural and it is nutrients for our son. No need to be embarrassed, Rem” Tonks answers back motioning to her breasts “There is a spell I can use to get the milk out of these. Mind if I hold him?”

Remus transfers Teddy to her arms as he squirms in her arms “It is alright, little cub. Mummy is here.” It was as if hearing her voice calmed him down as he snuggled into her arms.

Kissing Tonk’s head, then Teddy’s whispering “I love you both”, he pulls out his wand to whisper “scourgify” to clean up the mess he made in their kitchen.

“I would have just left it in the morning.” Tonks yawns walking back into their bedroom to put Teddy down in his crib as he changes his hair color to bubblegum pink “Have you noticed he changes his hair color depending on who is holding him?”

Lupin smirks, not realizing that he did indeed change his color to brown when his father was holding him. “Now that you say that when Any was over, he changed his hair color to dark brown.”

“I think that is his way of letting us know that he knows the difference between us,” Tonks replies yawning again.

“Dora, you need to go back to bed.” Lupin reiterates “You are going to be exhausted come tomorrow.”

She sighs trying to come up with an excuse trying to hold her son as much as she can “I just want to hold him. I just want to hold him in my arms and not let him go. I feel like a bad mother because I am working all the time.”

“Dora, come here.” Remus motions towards the bed, picking up his son and placing him in his bassinet next to the bed, “Teddy will be fine for a couple minutes in his crib.”

Glancing at Teddy once and then looking back to his wife, “Darling, you are in no way a bad mother because you work. You are creating a better world for our son. A better future for him to grow up in. A better world for both of us to raise our son in.”

“I just am afraid I will miss him growing up.” Tonks begins to say before Remus puts a finger to her lips.

“He is only two months old, Dora.” Remus responds “Maybe you can talk to Kingsley about creating a hybrid work schedule so that you can be home but also in a time of need, you can be in the office? I am sure both of you will be able to come up with something that will be applicable.”

Tonks bit her lip “I guess, I think I’ll sleep on it”

“I also think you need to sleep. Your hair is turning its natural color again” Remus reiterates calmly putting a strand of her brown hair behind her ear.

Tonks walks out of the fireplace as her mother is feeding Teddy and Remus is cooking lunch.

“Nymphadora, why are you here? It is only one” Andromeda asks as she puts Teddy down in his swing.

“I am home for the rest of the day” Tonks answers smiling the biggest smile she has had in weeks.

“Did you talk to Kingsley?” Lupin asks grabbing some bowls from the cabinet. Walking up to him, she gives him a peck on the cheek.

“I did,” Tonks replies pulling herself up on the kitchen counter swinging her legs. “We agreed that I would be on something called hybrid maternity leave. Since my full maternity leave was up about a month ago, I will be going to work every other day. On the days I am not on the job, he will or another Auror will be updating me.”

Remus hands her a bowl of soup smiling, “That is wonderful, Dora.”

“I have other news about you, my dear” addressing Remus looking back at him. “I heard a rumor, that you will be asked to take back your post at Hogwarts.”

“What? Me?” Remus questions trying not to make his disbelief show on his face.

“Yep, Kingsley was talking to Harry and Minerva when I walked into his office. I can not help that I have learned some skills from a certain werewolf” Tonks answers him as he hugs her forgetting about the soup in her hands.

“I am guessing they do not believe that I know,” Remus asks realizing that she had the soup in her hands

“Oh, I have a feeling that they will notify sooner rather than later” Tonks smiles glancing out the window as an owl flies towards them.

#remadora #acciocrazychickfics #remus lupin #nymphadora tonks #dora lupin #teddy lupin #andromeda tonks #post war fic #hp fanfiction #remadora fanfiction

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halowastaken · 4 years

Text

💌Lovesick: A parkner love story 💌

(This is a little sneak peek of something that I'm writing. Hope y'all like it!)

"Hey spider boy. Pepper wants me tomorrow for intern stuff so what do you say we do something in the lab?" Harley was confused when he didn't get an answer. Then he turned around and saw Peter taking off his mask. He was pale and had bags under his eyes "You look like a dead tarantula, spidey"

"Harls I'm fine" Peter threw his mask in the table and went to Harley's table "What are you doing?"

"Just some science project. FRIDAY what's wrong with Peter?" Peter rolled his eyes at Harley's answer

"It seems like Peter has a temperature of 102.2 degrees farenheit" Peter laughed

"Fri, I am fine" Harley raised an eyebrow. Goddamit he looked cute

"God Spidey. What am I supposed to do with you?" Peter immediately put his hand in the wall next to Harley. Oh god

"I have a couple suggestions" Peter was cornering Harley. Peter was cornering Harley.

"W-what?" Harley was being cornered by a Peter that looked so hot

"Come on Keener. We both know that this is supposed to happen" Peter was smaller than Harley, but he still could be so intimidated by him. However, Peter had a fever. He couldn't give it to him even tho he wanted. He couldn't do that to Peter. But god it was hard

"Peter stop it. Lay in the couch" Harley pushed Peter away and dragged him to the couch "I am gonna make you soup"

"Come on Harley" Peter said grabbing Harley's wrist. Harley rolled his eyes and took off Peter's hand

"Lay down Parker" He got in the elevator and sighted when the doors closed "Penthouse Fri" Was the only thing that came out of Harley's mouth

"You seem in distress" FRIDAY informed. Harley chuckled and shook his head

"I'm ok FRIDAY" The silence that the AI provided could be easily confused with doubt. The door opened and Harley went straigt to the kitchen. He took all the ingredients and started making the soup. After a few minutes of cooking he got bored and started playing music. He was humming and dancing.

He felt great. Maybe Peter does like him after all. Maybe the fever made him finally admit it. Maybe everything could go as Harley's daydreams. There was also a part of himself that told him that Peter could be delusional and it's just because he's sick, but there was nothing wrong with daydreaming about Peter liking Harley. If Peter didn't like Harley that way, it's not gonna be that easy to get rid of that crush.

Harley was serving the soup in a bowl when he finally noticed that he was being watched. He turned around and there was Peter super close to his face

"What the fuck Peter?! You scared the hell out of me!" Peter passed his arms around Harley's neck causing him to blush

"Hey" It's everything Peter says. Just that with a smile. Harley literally got lost in his eyes

"H-Hi" Peter chuckled at Harley's response.

"Why so nervous Harley?" Peter asks getting closer to him

"Peter you're sick" Peter rolled his eyes. Harley right now is in one of the toughest situations he's ever been

"You always take care of me. Let me take care of you" Peter said smiling. Harley sighted and pushed Peter away

"Come on. You need some rest" Harley grabbed Peter by his wrist and dragged him to the couch. Harley couldn't help but to cuddle Peter in the couch

"You smell good" Peter added. Harley chuckled

"Let's watch a movie till you fall asleep" Then Harley proceeded to play star wars on the tv. He knows Peter good enough for him to know that Peter loves it. They spend like half of the movie there. Just cuddling while Harley is playing with Peter's hair and Peter is slowly falling asleep

"Harls?" Peter said with his sleepy voice "Thanks for taking care of me" Harley smiles

"Anytime spidey" Harley says watching him fall asleep

"I really like you Harley. You have no idea how much I like you" Then Peter finally closes his eyes and falls asleep in Harley's arms

"I really like you too Peter" Then Harley leaves a kiss on Peter's head and stays there watching Peter till he eventually falls asleep too

-💟-

"Hey boys" Harley finally opened his eyes. Tony and all the Avengers were around him. He turned down and sawPeter who was also waking up "I see you guys were ok without us"

"I feel like someone stabbed me multiple times in every inch of my body" Peter admitted. Harley couldn't help but laugh at the comment

"You're sick Peter. FRIDAY informed me in the middle of the mission. I would've come but the timing was really bad" Tony said and Peter and Harley looked at each other

"When did we even get here? I was at school and then I wake up here" Harley's smile dropped. You gotta be kidding me

"You don't remember when you came from patrol?" Harley asked

"Not really. I just remember that I felt horrible" Peter said hesitant. Harley could see how some of the Avengers wanted to start laughing. He just faked a smile

"Really? What a shame!" Harley said in the most passive aggressive way possible. Obviously Peter didn't even notice

"Yeah well. I'm gessing that you took care of him by the soup in the kitchen" Tony asked. Harley just sighted

"He never ate it tho. You should do that Peter" Peter smiled and got up

"Thanks Harley" then he walked towards the kitchen leaving Harley alone in the couch.

"That is so fucked up" Clint finally said laughing. Tony and Harley glared at him

"Well. Guess that tells me that he really doesn't like me" Harley admitted. Before anyone could say anything he got up and went straight to his room.

How could he be so stupid? Peter liking Harley? Please. Harley could never be with someone like him. Peter was literally Spiderman, he was one of the most brilliant minds in the world, and he was also the best human being in the galaxy. Why would he want to be with Harley, the guy that only knows how to get in trouble? Peter only took him as a joke. Either way it's just a crush. Harley will get over it just like all his past crushes. He just has to distance himself from Peter. Before it's too late. Before it starts hurting

The next past week Harley tries to not be around Peter. When Peter gets better then he starts to notice it. Harley is avoiding him. Everytime Peter talked to him he gave short answers or just avoided the question, everytime Peter goes in the lab, Harley makes an excuse to get out of it, everytime Peter texted him or called him, Harley didn't answer. Basically all the stuff you do when you start avoiding someone. Obviously Peter started overthinking it. Did he say something to Harley? Maybe he hurt his feelings, maybe he was rude to him, either way Peter couldn't remember no matter how hard he tried. He thought nothing bad happened because Harley even took care of him and they ended up cuddling in the couch (what a dream) but maybe it was an accident? He had no idea. He just knows that Harley is mad at him so he's gonna do what he does best: apologize.

He knew exactly at what time Harley would be in the lab alone, so he did his thing. He opened the window and got into the lab. Harley was there with his earbuds on. He took his mask off and immediately handed Harley an envelope. Harley raised an eyebrow

"What is this?" Harley asked confused

"Just open it" Peter said firmly. Harley hesitated and opened it. It was a card that said 'I messed up big time (I'm sorry)' Harley couldn't help but chuckle at it. He opened the card and read it

'I'm sorry for what I said...Let's eat our weight in tacos and make it up'

Harley then raised an eyebrow and looked at Peter

"What is this for?" Harley asked. It was a progress. They were having a conversation.

"I noticed that you are avoiding me and I guess it's because of something I did or said when I was sick. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings" Harley rolled his eyes

"You didn't have to buy me a card" Peter sighted at Harley's answer

"But I did. I'm gonna be honest with you. I like you a lot Harls" Harley's eyes widened as he dropped the card. Peter then realized that it was a bad idea. Harley obviously doesn't like him "Y-You don't have to, like, say it back. I-I get that you don't like me. I just really wish we could stay as friends, you know? I get if you don't want that either. The point is that I am sorry I hurt you" After that Harley just stared at Peter. Peter was waiting for an answer while Harley just wondered why did he like that idiot.

"I like you too Peter" Was everything that came out of Harley's mouth. Peter immediately smiled

"Really?" Harley chuckled at Peter's answer

"Yeah. I just thought you didn't like me. That's why I was avoiding you" Peter sighted in relief

"That's good. I thought you were mad at me or something" Harley shook his head. A short silence followed that "We should go out sometime" Peter finally said. Harley smiled

"I would really like that" Peter then cleared his throat and looked down

"I was going to the movies tomorrow with Ned but he got sick. Do you want to go with me instead?" Harley wanted to start screaming. This was actually happening! But Harley saved that for later. Instead he just smiled and nodded

"Text me the time and place. I'll be there. It's a date" Peter then nodded.

And that is how it all started.

#peter parker #mcu #spider man #tony stark #iron man #irondad #parkner #peter and tony #peter and harley #sickfic #Spiderman #spiderman mcu #harley keener #avengers #the avengers #hope you like these <3 #ilysm <3

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

Note

Spin the bottle with Sammy and Norman story?

Summary: In the immortal words of Bowling for Soup, high school never ends.

---

[[MORE]]

"Ok so, just to make sure, we're all adult men and women." Sammy shifted uncomfortable as he sat among a circle of coworkers on the floor of the breakroom.

"Yep." Grant looked just as uncomfortable, picking at his bowtie and adjusting his glasses as he glanced around.

"Then why, pray tell, are we playing spin the bottle like a bunch of college kids?" Sammy asked, glancing down at the empty licor bottle in the middle of the circle of people.

"Cuzz it's fun!" Shawn grinned. "Ya ever heard'o it? Fun?"

"Don't you sass me... And when has spin the bottle ever been fun? If memory serves right, it was more of a tool for blackmail and humiliation when I was finishing my studies." The exasperated music director pointed out.

"That's half the fun." Norman smirked. "Yous use it t'be smart. Get some good information on your peers. Have a good laugh outta someone's expense. End up playin' just as much o'the fool as 'em."

"Figured the guy twice our age with a thing for snooping would like spin the bottle." Mel snorted. "Can't say I see the appeal."

"Enough blabbering, let's get to it! We have one hour to ourselves and I wanna have fun!" Susie called above the chatter as she reached over and spun the bottle. It went for three full loops and half an arch, landing on Wally. "Ok, we're starting with Wally. Truth or dare?"

The Brooklynite looked surprised before humming in thought. He gave her a cheeky confident smile before crossing his arms.

"My ma didn't raise no chicken. Dare me!" He proclaimed proudly. "Dare me good."

"Bold! I like it." Susie smirked. "Well Wally, I'll have you know my mom didn't raise no gentle little lady that doesn't like irony. I dare you to behave like an actual chicken."

".... What, like an impression?"

"Yep. Walk, flappy wings, clucking. Heck if we have any eggs in the fridge you better go sit on them." Susie waved at him to get to it.

"Well I did ask for a dare... Erm, I mean...Bawk Bawk Bawk, ba-gawk!" At her command the young janitor began to shuffle around like a chicken. Arms tucked in and head bobbing as he moved around. That got a quick chuckle out of everyone.

"Nice..." Mel snorted "Pity we're out of eggs."

"That's good enough, your turn Wally." Susie pointed to the bottle, which the Brooklynite eagerly spun. It stopped on Shawn.

"Truth or dare?"

"I ain't enough o' a muppet t'take dares from you. Truth me." The Irishman glared.

"Hm... Is it true Joey was makin' fun o' you when he made Charley?"

"Yep. He's a god awful depiction o' a leprechaun that's greedy an' mean spirited an' I hate him." Shawn deadpanned before smirking. "But joke's on that damn racist, everyone thinks the fuckin' Butcher Gang boss is a chimp."

"Which he isn't!" Mel sounded offended.

"Anyway, takin' it for a spin." Shawn took his turn and watched the bottle intently. He looked a little dismayed when it landed on Jack. "Aw dangit... I wanted t'mess with Johnny..."

"Fucker." The organist glared. Jack looked a little nervous.

"Right Mr. Fain, truth or dare?"

"Erm... Truth?"

"Is it true ya speak three different languages?" It looked like Shawn was taking it easy on the nervous lyricist.

"Oh thank god... Yeah. English is my first, but I know Mandarin and Spanish too. Not uh, not fluently though... The Mandarin that is." He reached over for the bottle and spun it. It landed on Mel.

"Dare me."

"I haven't even--"

"Well I already picked. Dare me."

"I err, dare you to be nice to Norman?"

".... Nah. Not in my nature to like creepy snoops. First punishment of the night!" The voice actor got up. Everyone knew the two did not get along, so it was silly to think he'd accept such a dare, still Jack tried.

"Oh... Well uh, your punishment is to stand inside one of the toilets in your socks then."

"... That's nasty. You drive a hard bargain Mr. Fain..." Mel clucked his tongue in displeasure.

"Its not hard to be nice..."

"It is when it comes to Polkadot there. Goodbye my beloved striped socks, I'll have to burn thou once I'm done!" And off the man went to do the walk of shame to the bathroom.

"I don't get him..." Jack sighed "He's usually nice to everyone..."

"We just don't like each other. Ain't too hard Jack." Norman chuckled. "Someone take his turn."

Johnny took it, smirking evilly when it landed on Sammy. The blond growled slughtly. Everyone knew the two butted heads constantly, just as Mel and Norman did.

"Well well well... Look who's at my mercy." Johnny chuckled.

"Do it you bastard. Dare me."

"I dare you.... I dare you..." Johnny thought before grinning cheekily. "I dare you to french Polk for a full minute."

Sammy stared while Norman blinked in surprise. Both men exchanged looks before looking back at Johnny. Did he really just...

"Chicken out, and I'm having you kiss Joey on the lips instead. I hear his mustache tickles." Johnny's grin widened.

"Fuck no! Norman over Joey, always! The man's a sleazy creepy son of a bitch!" Sammy practically vaulted over the circle to stop in front of Norman. "And you, Brokeheart, are a bastard for pitching this at other people. Writing you out of the next bits."

"Worth it!"

"Right..." Sammy swallowed drily as he noticed Norman watching him quietly. "You ok with this?"

"I don't want yous to go off kissin' Drew either. No person deserves that sorta punishment."

"I'd probably catch something... You're a lifesaver."

"Stop with the foreplay an' kiss already!" Shawn called out.

The blond hesitated again before sucking in a breath and going for it. It wasn't like he'd never frenched anyone before... Just not a man. Especially not one twice his age that was married with kids. Still... As soon as lips connected there was... Something there.

Like an electrifying spark that only intensified when both of them parted their lips to complete the full dare.

Eyes fluttering shut, the music director and projectionist deepened the kiss, taking in the other's taste and gentle exploratory tongue movements.

Sammy noted the light taste of chapstick, cream and coffee. Norman had been lightly snacking on a box of filled donuts Susie had brought for the music department that morning, and the taste had lingered.

Norman meanwhile couldn't help smile as he tasted chocolate and peanut butter, knowing fully well that Sammy had been sneaking sweets in between recording sessions to keep himself going. It was nice. A much better taste to associate with him than the whiskey he favoured.

"Time's up." Johnny snapped his fingers. "Hey Romeo, your minute is up!"

"They are really goin' at it!" Wally marveled.

"I think it's cute." Susie smiled.

"I don't!" Mel looked appalled from all the way in the doorway "Just came back from contaminating my socks and I find the two most obnoxious jerks straddling each other and sucking face! I'm gonna have nightmares!"

"Let the love fill you with rainbows an' unicorns Melvin!" Shawn called, barely keeping himself from laughing.

"No! I am darkness incarnate! A lone wolf that needs not bare witness to the power of homosexuality!"

"Don't be dramatic you big baby!" Johnny laughed.

"You torment me so!"

"Guys they're still going at it, should we leave them to it?" Grant asked.

"Yeah let's just play without them."

And so the game carried on, until Joey came in to break up the fun. At least three people left the studio different from when they'd come in that morning.

Sammy and Norman having a lot to think about what they felt between one another, and Mel now without a pair of nice socks.

#eps writes:#bendy and the ink machine #batim #sammy lawrence #norman polk

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katsukikitten · 4 years

Note

Hi, could you do a scenario or headcanons of a reader who feels like a burden towards everyone? And they can’t really speak up about it so the become more withdrawn x bakugo? Fluff pls

Useless

A/N anon hopefully this is what you wanted and needed. I know it's hard but be kind to yourself my lovely bbs

If you had one word to describe yourself what would it be?

A few come to mind as you reread the question on the board.

Troublesome.

Burdensome

Useless.

You flick your mechanical pencil as you debate writing them. If you write them down won't that be a red flag to someone?

This is an assignment after all. Aizawa Sensei is sure to read it and either, one, give you an F in red ink, or two, give you an F in red ink AND a lecture.

Neither will help your mood.

The bell rings but you don't notice, too absorbed in the question truly trying to find a positive word that might have a sliver of truth to it. Several minutes pass and still you do not notice the rest of the class shoving papers into backpacks shuffling out. Now long gone already half way to the dorm.

Nor do you notice the looming body in front of your desk with a deadly gaze.

"Oi." You jump out of your skin from the sudden harsh tone. The hot head narrows his gaze.

"Its been almost twenty minutes moron. They're gonna eat all the fucking food at the dorm if you don't get your ass in gear." He snarls, red eyes staring down his nose.

"Ah sorry B..Bakugou-senpai." Your hands shake as you gather your stuff, damning yourself for not noticing the cues.

You had told All Might and Aizawa that you didnt belong in the hero course, let alone UA.

Anyone would have jumped in front of that semi truck to save the little girl and her cat.

Anyone would have turned their body just right to take the brunt of the force to keep the girl and cat safe.

It's not like you even did that well, sure they were left with out a scratch but you still wrecked that truck. You weren't *fast* enough to move out of the way, so the front of the truck wrapped around your sturdy frame as if it were an old jacket.

You were lucky the driver wasn't quirkless, that he could harden his skin much like Kirishima.

Bakugou sucks his teeth as he begins to leave you behind.

"W...wait please." You say but trip over the chair in front of you that juts out of the normal neat line.

"Pay attention." He growls and you shrink away, walking slowly behind him.

You add oblivious to the ever growing list.

You watch Bakugou with steady eyes. You had seen him at the sports festival, confident, cocky and passionate to a fault. He had a deft, sharp gaze, strategic and an extremely powerful quirk that he almost mastered. His only downfall would be his temper but it was hard to enrage him enough to act without thinking in a battle.

You admired all of class 1A. You knew their weaknesses, what they liked and who they liked but it was Bakugou your eyes gravitated to the most.

Though you did not consciously realize it yourself.

You reach the dorms as a cold gust of wind whips through you, biting down harshly on your bones. You made it easy what with your jacket lying on your bed, your grit your teeth but they still chatter.

Bakugou sucks his teeth and you shrink further.

"Where's your jacket?" He asks harshly although he is sure it's in your dorm room since it wasn't on the couch like it normally was. Since winter started it had become a daily ritual for him to grab your coat and yell.

"It uh..." You swallow knowing you cannot lie to him, "Its on my bed I think."

"Moron." He mutters baring his teeth, he opens the door to the dorm for you, "Good thing we are home then."

"Y..yea. Thank you Bakugou-senpai." You rush inside, hand resting on the handle to the stairwell. Anything to get from under his gaze.

"Y/N!" Kirishima pops out of the kitchen with a smile, "Dinner is in five okay?"

"Thank you, Kirishima-san but I am not feeling well." You feel needles prickle your back and swear you hear a soft popping sound.

"Oh okay. Is there anything I can do?" He asks softly, "Like some hot tea?"

"Um no thank you Kirishima-san." You pull open the door but he speaks a final time.

"Please call me Ejirou! Tomorrow is yours and Katsuki's turn to make breakfast. Let me know if you aren't feeling well enough to do it."

Fuck how could you forget. Was there even breakfast food in the house? You'd have to check later. Right now you wanted to be alone.

"I should be fine." You say ripping open the door just before Bakugou shakes his head in displeasure.

You flop on your bed as you think and think hard about your life and how you ended up here.

Saving one kid and her cat didn't make you a hero.

In fact every adjective you could think of today for that assignment proved that you weren't.

You were timid, selfish, sometimes ungrateful, irritable, childish, and reclusive.

Does that describe a hero?

No, no it does not.

You do not bother to change out of your school uniform as sleep begins to weigh heavy on your body, you are apathetic for your future self as you know your bra and your thigh highs will be leaving angirly marks on your sturdy frame.

Still you sleep, longing for it after not being able to catch a wink last night.

A knock comes at your door and you jump to your feet, fists ready before another impatient knock comes your way.

"Oi, Y/N. Open up." His voice is like razor blades across your skin as you've been caught for the thousandth time.

"Just...just a minute senpai." You stammer noting the tsk from the other side of the door. You attempt to straighten your hair as best you can, knowing full well he will fuss at you for sleeping in your uniform as it will wrinkle the skirt to seem shorter. You open the door to a surprise as disapproving eyes rove over your body.

"What did I tell you about napping in your uniform?" He bites, "Its always my week for laundry when you do and ironing the skirts are a bitch."

He pushes past you with tray in hand, a small bowl of soup and steaming tea slosh gently as he places it onto your desk. His eyes linger over your open journal you've left out and fear curdles in your stomach. Your face flushes as you swipe at the notebooks like a cat, knocking them from your desks, praying he did not read yesterday's depressing entry. You give an awkward smile as red eyes watch the tumbling pages.

"I..I don't want soup to get on them. Um thank you." You bow slightly.

"Kirishima made me bring it to you." He puts his hands in the pockets of his black sweatpants as he makes he way to exit, "Be sure to eat it while it's hot baka."

"Yes!" Is your only response as your door slams shut and you groan. Unzipping your skirt and tossing it to the floor before practically ripping the buttons off of your blouse to add it to the pile. You look over the warm soup and wonder how Kirishima knew Zenzai was your favorite.

Your eyes flutter from the taste, you consume it in haste, even drinking the broth striaght from the bowl. You send him a text thanking him for the delicious meal and all you get back is a question mark. You ignore it thinking maybe that was intended for someone else.

Somehow in the middle of doing your homework at your desk and daydreaming in the late hours of the night you had fallen asleep.

The sun filters in gently telling you that it is still early morning and Saturday at that. You let your eyes flutter closed before jolting upright, notebook pages cling to your cheek as you hit your phone to check the time.

No response but a black screen comes from your phone. You dont understand it the charger is clearly plugged into the port, you brought the cord over here for this very reason! You rip the paper from your cheek and follow the white cord just to groan angirly.

Phone did a lot of good to be charged when you SHOVED THE PRONGS INTO THE DRYWALL INSTEAD OF THE FUCKING OUTLET TWO CENTIMETERS AWAY.

Bullish makes it's way onto your mental list adding along side it foolish as your scramble for clothes hoping that it's still early enough to beat Bakugou to the kitchen.

You were supposed to get the ingredients for breakfast but you never even checked last night.

"FUCK!" You scream whisper as all that is clean in a bralette, crop top hoodie and leggings.

Items you would not normally wear when the boys were home thanks to the oogling eyes of Mineta.

You rush down the stairs two at a time as you stumble into the kitchen. Ripping a cabinet door off of its hinges in your haste causing you to stand perfectly still as you collected yourself. There was no bullshitting yourself out of this one by putting it back gently and letting the next person think it was broken.

Not with the screws with brackets attached hanging from the door. You place it behind the trash can and root through more cabinets only for your heart rate to increase.

"The fucking fridge!" You remind yourself as you fling open the door only for dinner meats to be available.

"Fuck." You hiss but there was still time, you had beaten Bakugou, that was enough time to go to the convenience store and pretend you were planning to go the morning of the whole time.

You rush to the door, slipping on your converse, you reach out to the hooks by the door for your hand to come up empty. Your hook is vacant, no jacket in sight when normally your jacket was there in the morning like magic. You damn yourself for having left it upstairs. There was no time to go back upstairs, every second was precious. You fling open the door only to be met with a red cheeked Bakugou, the wind whipping into the house with the threatening smell of snow.

Nothing more threatening than the look Bakugou was serving you.

"I know God damn well you were not stupid enough to think you could go out like that?" Pops ring out even beneath his gloves as he pushes past you with an armful of plastic bags.

Bags filled with ingredients for breakfast.

Your eyes burn with welling tears as the logo for the corner store etches itself into your retinas. Bakugou notices as he kicks off his shoes.

"Oi, you can cook. It will be fucking fine." He says passing the bags to you so he can shed his coat. You nod furiously biting your lip.

"See you wouldn't have lasted long with out a jacket." He tilts your face to his, it is harsh like his tone yet his eyes seem...soft as he speaks again, "The wind is bad enough it has you tearing up from just a few seconds of exposure."

"Ah..." You swipe at your reddening cheeks as he let's your chin drop, "Th..thank you Bakugou-sama."

"Yea yea just start cooking damn it. I'm starving." He hisses as he makes his way into the living room.

Shameful loops itself onto your long list.

You ready the griddle with bacon and mix the ingredients for homemade pancake mix quickly. You crank up the heat when you hear your other classmates stir in the living room.

"Bakugou please my favorite anime is on!" Denki whines loudly enough to be heard before a small explosion erupts. You peek into the living room to watch the exchange.

"I got here first dunce face fuck off and die." He growls, "Plus you only like that show for the big fake tits."

You giggle before a burning smell begins to tickle your nose, frantically you rush back into the kitchen. You've successfully burned half of the ration of bacon. You hide your mistake by sliding the slices of bacon into the trash. Maybe Bakugou wouldn't mind too much to cook the rest of the ingredients. You think you'll do better with the pancakes.

They sat like the internet said for them too. You even added some chocolate chips. You place a few on the hot griddle and flip them when the center begins to bubble. When a perfectly tan pancake winks back at you six times you bounce on the balls of your feet.

You could at least do something right. You place them on a plate and begin to do more adding different things here and there.

Bakugou walks in, a grimace on his face when he spies the cabinet door. Your cheeks burn but he spares you by not mentioning it.

He spies the half a pack of bacon uncooked and the rest discarded in the trash.

"Oi..." He watches your face sour and changed his mind on his comment, "Did you get the butter and syrup out?"

"No not yet." You flip another six perfect pancakes as he rummages through the fridge and the doorless cabinet.

"Pancakes look good." He says as he sets the stuff down, grabbing on and settling by the uncooked bacon, "Since they look so good I'll cook the bacon."

"Th..thank you Senpai."

"Don't fucking mention it." He says before taking a bite of the pancake. You watch and your stomach sours as a shudder goes through him with grimace painted lips.

"Oh no." You murmur and he keeps his eyes shut. He cannot bring himself to tell you it is awful. You grab onto a cake biting into it only to have a soapy after taste, your eyes water from both the unpleasant after taste immediately identifying your mistake as you think back to what went wrong. You put double the amount of flour called for into the batter and only the normal amount of everything else.

Stupid makes it's way right beneath useless on the list.

"It smells so good in here." Kirishima's eyes become delighted when he sees the stacked up cakes of various additions. Your eyes widen as you watch him in slow motion bringing the awful pancake to his lips. Irrationality forces your hand as you slap the pancake from his hand, surprising the three of you in the room. It hits the tile with a light slap before time speeds up again. You grab onto the plate and throw it all away pancakes and all.

"Suddenly I'm not feeling so well again, I think I may be sick and I don't want anyone else to catch it. Sorry for the inconvenience, Kirishima-senpai." You bow slightly before rushing to the stairwell fighting burning tears.

The door shuts with a loud pang and the slap of your footsteps fight with the thoughts in your head. You burst into your dorm room slamming the door and sliding down it.

Fat drops fall from your cheeks as you angrily wipe them away, sobbing harshly as you relive your failure over and over as if on repeat.

Watching Bakugou fight back a comment or possibly a gag as he tasted your food.

Melodramatic is scrawled into your brain.

Time ticks by and you avoid people at all costs, claiming to be ill. Even to go as far as avoiding training all through winter and well into spring.

You left class faster than anyone could stop you, running to the dorms to hole yourself up in your room. You did your share of the chores in the middle of the night or while the group was out and about. You were always invited depsite all of the ignored texts you had. Each person in your class trying their luck on asking you out of your room. All save one ash blonde.

Whenever an impatient knock came at your door you would become completely still, even going as far as holding your breath. As if you were prey who spotted a large predator that may not have noticed you just yet.

Eventually they would leave, setting some sort of item by the door. More often than not it was your favorite meal and a fresh set of clothes.

But today is a little different, today your door is blasted from its hinges with a sharp look staring you down. Deadly hands smoking, threatening to pop some more.

"Cut the bullshit Y/N. What's really going the fuck on?" You stare wide eyed at Bakugou in your crop top and leggings in your desk chair.

"I...I just haven't been feeling up to much." You stammer and he closes the distance. Clearly unsatisfied by your answer. He towers over you as you strain to stare up at him.

"I said cut the bullshit. I hate liars." He snarls and it cuts deep.

"Ahh I'm...I'm..." You struggle to come up with something but whatever you said wouldn't have mattered as the man before you blew up anyway. He leans close, gripping onto the arms of the chair causing you to press against the back of it.

But there was no escape from Bakugou Katsuki.

"You're what? Y/N? You're useless? Burdensome? Troublesome? Bullish? Foolish? Shameful? Pitiful? Melodramatic?" He yells and you shrink as if struck, "Shall I fucking go on?"

Your heart shatters with every beat as you stare up at the blonde through thick lashes. Did he think those things about you too?

"That is what you wrote isn't it in your class notebook? Before you crossed them all out?" He asks with a snarl. You gulp down the lie but it lodges in your throat. struggling to get past the quickly forming lump, choking you.

"I..."

"And then you settled for content? Are you content? Is someone who is content always hidden in their room like a damn hermit?" His eyes flicker to your open notebook and you follow, "Does someone who is content write about how sad they are in their journal every fucking day? Avoid theirs friends? Their family? Your mom called the dorm phone CRYING!"

He headbutts you then and your vision blurs.

"What..."

"Yea Y/N. In hysterics. I told her we just had some tough exams to study for. That you were fine and staying off your phone. I knew you were avoiding us but your mom? What the fuck?" You're stunned into silence and it kills him.

It's been killing him, he's hated to see the crestfallen look make a permanent residence on your face. Hated seeing you sneak away like a slinking cat who hates people.

Hated still that you would not come to one of your friends even if it wasn't him. It's why he left you so many care packages, why he demand to see if the other class mates got a reply from you.

Why he lingered in the classroom waiting to walk you.

He could accept you being distant from him and hell even your friends while you were working shit out but your own family? Especially your mother that he knows worries easily.

"There were other words you could have used to describe yourself. Strong. Resilient. Careful. Kind. Thoughtful. But you lingered on useless. Do you know how people get into the hero course?!"

When you don't answer he goes on.

"They are hand picked after the entrance exams. That's it. One look and they knew. Hardly anyone in the history of UA has been transferred to this class. And what happened to you?" His tone and body language are harsh but when you look into those crimson eyes you see something else.

That damn misguided passion. All his feelings masked beneath anger and aggression.

"I...I was transfered Bakugou-sama. From general studies." You finally speak.

"All might saw something he didn't initially see. You got a second look that most do not get. A hard enough second look for you to transfer into class 1A. So dont piss it away with your negative attitude."

"It's just that..." You don't go on. Cant go on. How can you expect your hot headed crush to ever like you back if you don't even like yourself.

He sighs and the anger leaves his body with the steam leaving his skin.

"I'm worried about you." He admits but cannot look you in the eye. Your cheeks burn and you twist your shirt in your shaking hands.

"Senpai..."

"No more senpai." He bites out tilting your face to his, beginning his tirade, "Its Katsuki from here on out. And you're gonna change how you speak to yourself. Instead of saying useless say I need more practice. More focus on this area of my quirk. And if you need help then ask for help God damn it. That's what the teachers are here for. What your classmates are here for. What I'm fucking here for. You got it?" His tone is stern and yet soft as he speaks.

"Yes, K..Katsuki." You whisper, thick eye lashes letting tears slip past. Heated thumbs swipe them away before he leans ever closer. Lips suddenly pressed to yours as you sit shocked in your desk chair. He breaks the kiss and drinks in your red cheeks with a smirk on his face. He lifts you, sits himself in your pink chair before setting you on his lap. All of the seriousness is back on his face before he speaks in a deadly husky tone.

"Now you're gonna be a good little friend and tell me everything."

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugo #bnha bakugou #bnha katsuki #bnha kacchan #bnha au #bnha imagine #bnha answer #kitten answers #ask kitten

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

A warm heart(h)

Henry Cavill x OC Lisa - multi-chapter fic

Author’s note: The Christmas vibes continue, including some cute moments with Marianne, Henry’s mom. No smut, just fluff this time <3 Have a nice Wednesday!

Word count: 3.985

Disclaimer: fluff

This is part 14 of the Tea for Two story.

Find the Masterlist here.

< Go back to part 13

He speaks just like his father, I thought, looking at the two men as they were chatting.

I was sitting in the back of the car while Henry and his father were sitting in front, their melodic voices having an animated conversation which I couldn’t quite follow over the loud racket. Was it about Henry’s motorcycles? Or Kal?

I soon gave up my futile attempts to figure it out as the car continued to hurdle itself over the loud, bumpy country road that seemed to go on for miles now. I let out a silent sigh as I pressed my travel weary head against the cold glass of the SUV and looked outside. The fields were freshly frosted with white tips of snow, the crisp white merging almost seamlessly with the grey sea in the distance.

The Jersey Islands were every bit as picturesque as Henry had described them. Its rocky cliffs held up an island that was coasted with a number of quaint little villages, a natural reserve, a castle and a zoo. Especially the zoo held a special place in his heart. He had spoken about it in great length while he had shown me some pictures of the Durrell challenge - a yearly running event he was an ambassador for. Yes, this island sure seemed nice and I could totally imagine him as a small boy, running through the fields, climbing in the trees and diving in the sea on a hot summer’s day.

‘You okay back there dear?’ Henry’s voice awoke me from my stare. I sat up a bit, leaning forward so he could hear me over the loud noise. ‘I’m fine.’ The car shook wildly as it drove over a pothole. ‘Could use a cup of tea though.’ I said, touching his cheek. He smiled, moving his head slightly to rub his cheek into my hand. I sniffled, seeing the look his dad was giving us.

Colin was everything you expected a dad to be. A big, burly man with a small heart and that unmistakable dad humour that made everyone cringe in slight embarrassment. The same embarrassment I kind of felt right now, as Henry finished his very eager cheek rub by planting a loving kiss in the palm of my hand. Henry and Colin shared a look between them that I could not fully decipher, but it sure was something along the lines of; “Like it or not, dad, I’m going full PDA in your face.” To which Colin thought “Oh will you now? Be careful before me and your mom start doing the same.”

I snickered at the thought.

‘We’re almost there lovebirds. Almost.’ Colin rumbled.

—

This week was all about Christmas. We had started off with a small dinner at our place with some of Henry’s friends on Monday. Henry and I had cooked some simple fair since we had little time on our hands, but it had been fun nonetheless. Henry’s friends were surprisingly normal people. Mostly middle aged, slightly balding men with wives who definitely over-plucked their eyebrows. And boy could they drink. It had been a while since I last had a hangover, but Tuesday definitely was hangover day. Much to Henry’s amusement, who had had his hangover from hell just a week earlier. Aren’t we quite the pair?

Thursday we had flown to the Netherlands for a Christmas dinner with my parents. And I must say. I don’t think I’ve ever, ever in my life, seen my mom act this awkwardly around guests. She was fidgeting endlessly, getting up at every whim to ask Henry if he really didn’t need anything else. Coffee? Tea? Beer? Wine? She had downed almost a whole bottle of red wine before she had calmed down to the point that we could have an actual conversation. Poor mom. Thankfully, other then a bit of an awkward start, it had been nice. Kal had totally captured my parent’s hearts - yes they are dog lovers - and Henry’s down to earth, relaxed demeanour had further calmed their worries about “their daughter dating this movie star”.

And now we had finally arrived at his parent’s home. A house that quite perfectly fit the bill of “countryside”, it’s shape barn-like and the large number of classically glazed windows offering a lovely view over the crisp white fields around us.

The car drove up a small driveway as the wheels crunched over the freshly fallen snow. ‘Good thing you arrived early. There’s more snow expected later this afternoon.’ Colin said in his rich brit accent, turning his steering wheel to park the car underneath the carport. ‘Home sweet home.’ Henry cheered in equal vibrant brit timber - he sure got his voice from his dad - jumping out of the car to reach for my door and hold it open. I felt slightly embarrassed by his never ending gallantry as I accepted his reached out hand. ‘Milady.’ He smiled, earning an amused chuckle from me. ‘Darling.’ I mused, giving him a quick peck on the lips, before moving to the back of the car to help his father move our suitcases inside.

—

The house was surprisingly large. We arrived in a spacious hallway, which was heavily decorated; wreaths wrapped around the staircase railing, hundreds of small lights that adorned every nook and cranny, and a small Christmas tree to boot. If you think English countryside at Christmas, this was probably the first thing you’d imagine.

We stalled our suitcases next to the door as Marianne appeared from the kitchen, her appearance every bit the dainty housemother. She was wearing a pink apron, her pale blond hair neatly coiffed, as her hands were still wrapped around a big white mixing bowl. ‘My dears! Come in, come in! Let me put this down real quick.’ She moved back inside the kitchen as Henry followed her, his step as excited as that of a kid who just came home from school. I followed them, walking into the spacious kitchen.

What a dream kitchen. In the middle there was a large oak and grey granite kitchen island with some bar stools, which was surrounded by dove grey kitchen cabinets stretching along one side of the wall, the other wall offering a handsome view over the surrounding meadows through the many, many windows. The air was already filled with a mixture of scents. Roasting meat, spices, sweet cake, a hint of coffee. Hmmm. I took an appreciative deep breath while Henry gave his mother a big bear hug.

‘It smells delicious in here Marianne!’ I exclaimed as she unfolded herself from Henry’s embrace, reaching out her arms to also give me a hug. She smiled. ‘Well it’s Christmas only once a year!’ She cooed, wrapping her skinny arms around me. I noticed in the corner of my eye that Henry had already moved to the stove, stirring one of the pots and eagerly sniffing in the smells. ‘Mmm! This is going to be delicious mom. Any idea when the others will arrive?’ Henry asked, looking at his mom as she joined him at the stove. ‘Not until five [o’clock]. Piers and Charlie are out for a long hike with the wives and kids.. and they only left like..half an hour ago. So plenty of time to get comfortable. Can I get you two something to drink? Eat?’ She put the lid back on the pot that Henry was stirring, gesturing him to sit down. He smiled, kissing his mother on the forehead before moving to one of the bar stools. I also sat down and sighed: ‘A cup of tea, no milk, no sugar, would be..most welcome right now.’

Marianne nodded, a half-smile painted on her lips as she noticed the exhaustion slip through my smiles. She didn’t hesitate a moment to put a kettle on the stove. ‘And you dear?’ She quickly peered at Henry, whom had aimed his gaze at me. I looked from his mom back at him, a silent question in my eyes. ‘You okay dear?’ He brushed a hand over my back, looking at me intently. ‘I’m okay. Really. Just a bit tired. A cup of tea would do me wonders right now.’ I said, offering him a reassuring smile. He nodded, his lips turning in a soft smile before looking back at his mother. ‘Tea would be lovely mum, thanks.’

—

A few hours later the others returned from their hike. Within moments the quiet house was filled with trampling children’s feet, laughter and the rich smell of the hot cocoa I had been making together with Marianne - I had been helping her out in the kitchen.

It was the first time meeting Charlie, Piers and their wives and children, but thankfully this was once again a really relaxed meet-up. The Cavills - or should I say Cavilleers as they called themselves? - truly appeared to be a friendly lot. They acted like I had been part of this family for years already, which was the best and most comforting feeling in the world.

While dinner was being prepared the kids had folded themselves in some blankets in front of the television, the adults busying themselves with setting up the table and sipping on well-earned glasses of hot, spiced wine. This was as Christmassy as one could get, I decided, leaning against one of the kitchen countertops while Marianne instructed the men what should go where.

‘How long have you been cooking them Christmas dinners now?’ I asked as she turned back around to sip on her wine. She shrugged. ‘Forever and a day. I believe I started when I met Colin. And well..now there’s five grown boys and then some.’ She smiled, taking another sip. Piers had wandered back in the kitchen. ‘Anything else?’ He asked, raising his eyebrows expectantly. ‘Oh no, that’ll be all. I think in 15 minutes we’re ready for the first course.’ Marianne smiled. Piers didn’t waste a moment, turning on his heel and slipping back to the living room where the others were residing.

I felt her grey blue eyes giving me a warm, yet curious look-over. ‘It’s quite different without all those fans around, no?’ She winked, walking back to the stove to stir in the curried leak-potato soup that was slowly heating up. ‘Yes. A whole, whole lot more relaxed. And thank you again for having me for dinner. Truly. Shall I toast the toppings real quick or do you want them fresh?’ I asked, moving to the kitchen island where all garnishes and toppings were neatly splayed out.

‘Oh perhaps that’d be nice. Yes, a quick toast of the almonds would be great. Good thinking.’ She smiled, pointing at a pan I could use. ‘Do you and Henry cook together?’ She asked as I started toasting the almonds, her hand still languidly stirring the soup. ‘As often as we can, though on workdays it’s currently mostly me doing the cooking since he’s home much later.’ I shrugged, tilting the pan with a short tug to skilfully flip the roasting almonds. ‘And for you and Colin?’ ‘Same.’ She shrugged in turn. We both chuckled.

‘You know I’ve never seen him so..openly affectionate with anyone.’ Marianne said, offering a cheeky smile. I felt a blush creep up my cheeks - or was it the hot stove? - and smiled awkwardly. ‘Well I wouldn’t know about that. I’ve never known any other Henry.’ Our eyes met again, both amused. ‘Has he always been so chivalrous?…That’s the word right? Chivalrous?’ I asked. ‘Yes, that word totally befits him. Oh goodness. From the moment he could talk he’d say “please” and “thank you”. Obsessing over these fantasy books of his, imagining himself to be Sir Lancelot or the likes. The courteous behaviour kind of stuck from there.’ Marianne crooned, recalling the sweet memory. ‘That’s adorable… And so befitting him.’ I chuckled, removing the almonds from the fire.

‘And I heard he met your parents? What was that like?’ I heard Marianne ask as I scooped the almonds back in a small container. ‘Oh..super awkward. But fun nonetheless. It’s was a bit of a challenge for my parents to speak English and well..let’s say..my mom was not totally ready for his good looks?’

Marianne laughed heartily as she turned away from the stove to give me another look up and down. ‘My dear you are so pretty yourself I hardly believe you never brought home some handsome gent before you met Henry.’ She praised. I shook my head. ‘Only one. And he was good looking, sure. But not..the Henry-kind of good looking. If I had been my mom, I’d TOTALLY have stared as well hahah.’ We shared another knowing look before both bursting out laughing, the hot wine making our cheeks glow.

‘Ladies…’

We quickly straightened our faces, suppressing further chuckles as Henry appeared in the doorway. ‘Are we almost ready for the first course?’ He asked, looking at both our rosy cheeked faces, an amused smile brushing over his lips. We both nodded, wide smiles on our faces as Marianne turned down the hob and took a deep breath to calm her chuckles. ‘Yes dear. Let us eat. Can you call for the others?’ She said, laughter still thick in her pretty brit accent. Henry nodded slowly, not fully wanting to leave now his curiosity had peaked regarding the conversation me and his mom had just had.

“Go” I gestured with my eyes, seeing him hesitate. He peered at us for another moment. ‘Alright then. Keep your secrets, fair ladies.’ He said, winking and striding back towards the living room.

And so started the yearly Cavill Christmas dinner.

—

A half a wine rack of wine bottles later, the kids put to bed and the fireplace cracking, we had settled down for a cozy night.

The others were playing a board game on the kitchen table, while me, Henry and Marianne had made ourselves comfortable near the fireplace. Marianne had sat down on one of the couches, me and Henry on the opposing couch. We spoke a bit about some meddling subjects. Maintenance of the house. Colin’s retirement. The health of some family members. Holiday plans from Marianne and Colin.

I couldn’t help but slowly sink deeper and deeper into Henry’s chest, the fireplace and his heavy arm blanketing me in a soothing warm embrace. Before long my eyes started to droop, my ears no longer registering the conversation as I fell into a most welcome slumber after this long month of almost constant travelling.

—

‘So how are you two doing?’

His mother’s voice sounded through the thick veil of sleep. Were we still in the living room?

Probably, I decided. I could feel the gentle heat from the fireplace near us and hear the distinct sound of fire crackling. I got intrigued by the conversation and couldn’t help myself but remain completely still so they wouldn’t know I was listening, feigning to still be deep asleep, my head now resting on Henry’s lap.

‘Good mom. So good.’ Henry spoke. I could imagine him smiling right now, as his hands were slowly caressing my hair. ‘I didn’t know a relationship could be this ..normal. I feel like a normal person with her and that is more than I could ever have asked for.’ He halted petting my hair as his body slightly shifted, one of his hands untangling from my hair as I heard some soft footsteps on the carpet near us. Probably someone was reaching him a drink, as I now felt his abs press into the back of my head as he bent forward.

‘Thanks,’ He said, relaxing back into the seat, his one hand free hand continuing to caress my hair softly.

‘Oh darling. I can’t be happier. Finally! Goodness..’ His mother’s voice was a bit shivery. ‘Mom..’ Henry said sweetly - probably giving her that sweet, knowing smile. ‘Oh I’m being silly. It’s just..ooph..’ She snouted her nose in something. ‘..It’s just that I was feeling so sad for you. You were trying so hard. And all these girls. They were nice..but not quite right..not for you. You know?’ She spoke, her voice still a touch emotional. ‘I know mom. I was there…believe it or not.’ He sighed.

I could almost feel his eyes look at me, were it not for the fact that I couldn’t actually see as I was pretending to still be asleep. I imagined the way he was looking at me with those silent, ocean blue eyes. Full of admiration and love.

It made me think of a question one of my friends had recently asked; whether I got insecure when being around him - since he was so good looking - and I had simply answered; never because of him. There was not a slither of a doubt in my mind he thought me beautiful, the centre of his love and affection. If anything, he doused me with so much PDA I sometimes came to the point of complete embarrassment (sorry colleagues, sorry friends).

All the more glad I had been when he had kept it on the down low when his little nieces and nephews had joined around the dinner table, their curious faces quietly deciding whether or not I was “cool”.

‘And I heard from Sarah that you are taking a bit of a hiatus from work?’ His mom continued. ‘Oh..no, not really a hiatus. More like..getting my schedule to a point that our relationship doesn’t completely revolve around me and my work. We’ve decided to split our schedules. Half the year she follows me around, the other half of the year I follow her around.’ He said. ‘Oh my!..So you are really serious about this. Oh Henry! Sweetheart! I’m so happy for you. This is just so good. OH!’ Her voice quivered again.

‘Is mom being the good ol’ sensitive Sally again?’ Charlie’s voice sounded from the doorway.

‘Oh stop it you.’ Marianne retorted, sniffing her nose again. Henry chuckled softly. ‘It’s fine mom.’ He said sweetly as Charlie’s feet shuffled to the couch Marianne was sitting on. ‘It’s okay mom, we love you all the same.’ Charlie crooned, the couch whiffing as he plopped down next to Marianne. ‘Oh Charlie, don’t tease. And weren’t you playing a game?’ ‘Yea, though I’m..unfortunately..on the losing end, so a few moments respite to come up with some new tactics should be allowed.’ Charlie said. ‘Ah, Piers still kicking your butt?’ Henry chuckled. ‘Not even. It’s the ladies you oughta watch out for.’ Charlie chuckled in turn. I heard Marianne sigh, her breaths becoming more steady now.

‘Looks like she could use a bed, no?’ Charlie suggested - probably looking at me, sleeping on Henry’s lap. Oh no, don’t. I want to stay! Please! I want to hear what you all have to say. Besides, Henry’s lap is SO comfortable. My mind raced, as I tried to keep a deep slow breathing rhythm. Fake sleep Lisa. Nice and calm. Henry hummed. ‘It’s fine. Just going to finish this drink and then we’ll call it a night. I could definitely use a good snooze as well.’ He sighed. ‘You do look tired my dear. Work’s been busy?’ ‘Yes. Almost constant travel, lots of interviews, cast calls, meetings, you know the drill. I’m glad we have a week off now.’ ‘And so is she, from the looks of it.’ Charlie chuckled.

Marianne huffed. ‘Oh I can remember the days that you didn’t shy away from using napping as the perfect excuse, Charlie dear. Remember? Whenever you had to do a chore, you’d just take a nap instead… I sure do remember.’ She laughed, a tone of mockery in her voice. ‘Mommm.’ Charlie whispered, slightly embarrassed. Henry laughed in turn. ‘Oh..I remember that far too well.’ He said, his hand that had been stroking my hair now halting.

Was he looking at me? I could almost feel his eyes on me.

‘She does look cute when she sleeps.’ Charlie said. Henry hummed in agreement. ‘She looks cute, always.’ ‘Except for when you’re in a fight, right?’ Charlie quipped.

‘Actually..we’ve never had a fight.’ Henry almost sounded surprised himself. ‘We just..communicate really well. Talk about everything on our minds. No secrets.’ Henry said, matter of factly. ‘Ah, so you two already talked about..big future plans?’ Charlie got more curious and I could hear Marianne gasp softly. My heart fluttered. Henry however, remained quiet for a moment as his hand moved to softly brush my cheek. ‘Perhaps that’s the one thing we really should start discussing. I mean. Sure we had some chats. We both want kids, perhaps another dog, and at some point a house with a nice garden so she can make a vegetable garden. And..marriage…of course. But..we haven’t really discussed when…’ His voice trailed off as he shifted a bit.

‘Ohh I know that look brother.’ Charlie squealed in excitement. Gosh. I missed something. Had he given them a certain look? A wink? Had he showed them something? ‘Anyways. I don’t want to rush it either. I know she doesn’t want it to be rushed. So we’re just gonna take these steps one at a time.’ He said, soon after taking a last swig of his drink and moving his body to probably place the cup on the sidetable. ‘And now..’ His hand brushed my hair back again. ‘We’re going to bid you good night.’

‘Good night Henners.’ Charlie said and his mother also cued in: ‘Oh do I need to help? Or can I get you anything?’ She said, her mom-mode activated again. Henry chuckled as his large arms easily scooped me up, lifting me off the couch. ‘Mom, it’s fine, please. I’ll see you all in the morning. Good night.’

I felt the heat of the fire fall away as Henry moved us through the cool hallway. I involuntarily shivered, leaning harder into Henry’s chest. He hummed softly, pulling me slightly closer. ‘I know you’re awake.’ He whispered. I groaned softly, peaking open one eye to look up at him. Dammit. How did he even know? He chuckled softly, seeing me sneakily peering at him, his legs now walking us up the stairs. ‘How’d you know?’ I croaked. ‘I’ve seen and felt you sleep next to me a hundred times. I KNOW when you are asleep.’ ‘Sorry,’ I said softly. He hummed again, moving us around the corner of the hallway to walk to the bedroom at the end. ‘Don’t be. It was..kind of fun. Besides. Mom and Charlie definitely didn’t know.’ He spoke as he got to the door. ‘Now..if you could..help me out a bit.’ He whispered, glancing at the door knob. I giggled and quickly turned it so the door fell open.

Usually I would have protested him for carrying me to bed. But honestly..this time I didn’t mind at all. I felt so tired I doubt I could have moved up those stairs without my eyelids closing again - they were closed again now - and it was so very sweet how Henry carefully laid me down onto the bed. I sighed and felt the heavy weight of sleep crawl over me, not even noticing how Henry started to unbutton my pants. The lights went out after what had probably been one of my most relaxing Christmases ever.

Part 15 >

#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill fanfiction #fluff #christmas #parents #dinner #jerseyislands #countryside #awarmhearth #teafortwo #fanfiction #charlie cavill

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mini-moongi · 4 years

Text

Notification [Revamped] || 3

Genre: Fluff, comedy, slow burn-ish

Summary: Alert!AU, School!AU; A mysterious app appeared on your phone and you can’t get rid of it?? It texts you people’s thoughts. One day, you accidentally send the star basketball player, Min Yoongi, to the nurse’s office.

A/N: please god forgive me for being so spontaneous with uploads... Speaking of which!! I’ll start a taglist for anyone still interested in finishing this series with me!

Chapters: 1|| 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 coming soon!

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─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The pissed off man has both hands on either side of the door. He stood looming over Jungkook, but not by much. His eyes registered who he was facing and let out a breathy greeting. “Oh, Hey Jungkook. How’s it hanging...?” His words were short and concise with deep breaths in between. It was like he just ran a mile.

“Pretty good.” Jungkook is so unfazed that you aren’t sure if Jungkook was lying when he said he wasn’t a thug. The young man just smiled up at the stranger saying,” Are you going to let us in...?”

The stranger nods and goes to move out of the way, but a body somehow whammed into the him. A strangled cry for help filled your ears for a split second as he falls.

You are the first to respond,” Oh my god, are you okay??” You rush over to help the stranger up who is just as flabbergasted as you are. A groan comes from the giant lump that practically ran the stranger over, and you realize that it’s another human??

“I’m Kim Seokjin,” The first stranger looked at you dazed and confused. “.....who are you?”

The second, lankier man said,” Y/n???” A smile lit up his face. “It’s me, Namjoon; Your old tutor!” He scrambles off of the floor and envelopes you into a hug.

You’re stunned in shock. Namjoon definitely aged like a fine wine, but his personality was still as sweet as ever. You reciprocated the hug with lingering memories you two shared in the past.

“Ahem.” Taehyung clears his throat. Wordlessly, he slides past the scrambled eggs of bodies and into the house. He looked back to motion you into the house. His face shifted into an infectious smile. “You’ve got to drop off Yoongi’s homework, right?”

When you nod he keeps talking,”Afterwards, we’ve got to head to your place. But of course, you know that already. ” He doesn’t further elaborate as to why or what the heck he’s talking about, so his suggestive comment takes you off guard.

An awkward laugh escapes you as you excuse yourself from the gang of onlookers. Quick, maybe ECHO will give you a hint?

[18:20] How could Namjoon do me dirty like this??

[18:21] He tutored her and NEVER thought to tell me???? That he was teaching???? The prettiest girl in the world????

[18:22] ugh at least we have a project together and I get to go to her place

[18:23] Namjoon can suck it 👁👅👁

Your mind is thrown into (yet another) state of shock. Well, that’s kind of an overstatement but hey, you were surprised. Prettiest girl in the world?? But the bigger surprise was how you managed to completely forget about your project with him...

“Hey are you listening?” Taehyung looks at you strangely. His brows are furrowed, and you can tell that he wants to know what’s poppin’ on your phone. “What’s on your phone? A picture of me, I hope.” He bursts into some hearty laughs at his own joke.

He technically wasn’t wrong, those thoughts were probably all from Taehyung. Why were you born to be such an obvious dumbass?? Anywho, Taehyung guided you to a bedroom door.

“It’s Yoongi’s room.”

Nerves start to pile in. Even after all of this time, people still make you nervous. On the door writes “YG” in black vinyl decor. The bag strung over your shoulders call for Yoongi, and you feel as though you are an adventurer coming to the final boss. You look at Taehyung, unsure of your next move.

Taehyung beams a smile, unaware of your anxiety. He pats you on the shoulder like one of the guys™. “I’ll be out in the kitchen if you need me.” And just like that, your safety net walks away into the void.

You take a deep breath and turn the knob. Your eyes meet Yoongi’s and out of impulse you just,, closed the door.

“...Y/n?” Yoongi’s voice is muffled as he calls out to you through the barrier.

The image of him burned in your mind. The battle in your head fought for control, and you open the door again. “Hey Yoongi. I uh,” you look away at an attempt to distract yourself. “I brought your homework. Here.”

Half-hazardly, you rummage through and hand him his papers. They land in his lap, and you force your eyes to stay only on his face. Don’t look don’t look don’t look don’t—

Min Yoongi, the most intimidating guy in the world, was sitting on his bed in an oversized cream colored t-shirt and a pair of pink strawberry boxers. His room is a monochrome theme with various decorations. The baddest bad boy himself is surrounded by cute cat decor. His sleepy eyes, cat plushie, and lack of clothing were all too much for you. Damn, maybe you’d risk it all for this pretty little guy.

“Uhh thanks?” He glances at the papers and groans. “Is there a gift receipt?” He jokes. His gummy smile ripped your heart out and called you a bitch for assuming he was anywhere near scary.

You tried extremely hard to only make eye contact because you know as soon as you look down you’re going to see a little too much skin from the infamous bad boy. After a couple of exchanged words, you say goodbye and leave to find Taehyung.

Your footsteps echo down the hallway only to lead you to an empty kitchen. The pot on the stove is boiling unsupervised, and a half eaten bowl of cereal lay abandoned on the counter. A soggy sock chills on the kitchen floor. “...Taehyung?” You call out.

A hand comes up from behind you and cover your mouth from alerting others. Who does this hand belong to? The sheer thought of it belonging to a murderer makes your blood run cold.

Swiftly, it pulls on you making your body tumble backwards into the chest of the murderer. You turn to defend yourself against the attacker, but you come face to face with Taehyung in an all too close promximity. So close in fact, you can smell faint cologne seeping from his t-shirt.

“Shh,” Taehyung shushes you as you realize you’ve stumbled into a small closet with him. He closes the closet door as he whispers to you. “If Jin finds us, he’s gonna put us in his fucking stew.”

“Excuse me??”

“Kook and I may or may not have stuck a sock in the soup.” He wipes the sweat on his hands onto his pants in a desperate attempt to not look guilty. “Sorry you got dragged into this. Didn’t want you to end up in the pot.”

He looks at you with puppy eyes that held a striking resemblance to that one emoji you use way too often. You can’t be mad at that face...

“What’s going to happen now?” You try and look through the crack in the door. Jin’s figure paces through the house as he desperately tries to lure the suspect out. (Luring: him singing the State Farm jingle™ in hopes that you’ll finish it.)

You look back at Taehyung who, in hind sight, is not the best problem solver. “Don’t we need a plan? Just come clean or something, I don’t know,” you whisper to him.

Tae stares at you incredulously. “What? No! I don’t want to die!” Whisper-yelling definitely wasn’t his strong suit because Jin stops in the middle of the room; he turns to your direction.

“Oh my god... He heard you.” You step away from the door as you see him approach. “Uhh quick!! Pretend to kiss me or something!!”

You pull Taehyung in front of you and place his arms onto your body. Your arms reach up to rest around his neck as you bring him closer. His skin is soft, and his hands are warm to the touch. Bringing his face close to yours, you pretended to make out just as the door opens.

“For fucks sake Taehyung, get a room!”

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-A/N-

I redid this chapter like 5 times....

14 notes · View notes

hyucksong · 5 years

Text

delights.| zhong chenle

summary: as the new royal baker, it’s your job to make the most delicious sweets for the royals for whenever they need it, including the prince. while the prince does catch your attention, you’re there to bake, not fall in love. too bad he falls in love with you the second your specialty cookies touch his lips.

warning: none...just the cutest shit to ever exist...so get ready for that!

word count: 8.6k

The Royal baker was the biggest honor any pastry chef could ever have. It was like being the Royal Chef -- but for sweets. The tradition was for the existing Royal Baker to travel the lands right before retiring to choose the next person to take their place. And the current Royal Baker’s travels had led to you -- an eighteen year old pastry prodigy.

When you were a kid, you had already acquired a knack for baking, simple things like cookies at first, and then slowly you’d go to more and more advanced things. You had never thought anything about it, but your parents had always told you how good of a baker you were, which increased your ego. Enough so, that you brought your mastered version of your chocolate chip cookies to class. From there, it was a legend around the school that anyone who had a bite of your sweets would have luck for the next week from how utterly good they were. This convinced you to open a small bakery, it was right next to your house and every morning you’d go in early to start baking, since all your pastries were always freshly made the morning of.

You had grown a rather impressive reputation around your town, and then that slowly spread further and further out of the city. Then, out of the country. Within a year of your shop opening, it had become an internationally renowned bakery. One would expect that after becoming so popular, you’d hire more workers. But you refused, only employing yourself to stay true to your loved recipes. So every day, buy three in the afternoon, all your sweets would be sold out, since you could only make so many at once. No matter how busy you got, you never hated your job, you loved it more and more everyday.

You treated every customer the same, no one was more special than the other. So when rumor had it that the god that was the Royal Baker was going to visit your bakery, you didn’t really care. In fact, it escaped your mind. You had forgotten it by Sunday.

That Sunday was the busiest you had in months -- you were scrambling around trying to get everything made and handled. The line wasn’t getting any shorter, so as you ran to the front desk and to the kitchen in the back to get your last batch of sweets for the day, the faces blurred together, no one sticking out.

You paid no mind when the short old woman wearing a cute scarf popped her head above the counter, asking for a slice of your Saint Honoré cake, you simply gave her a slice and took her money, thanking her for coming and rushing off to take the macaroons out the oven before their delicate shells collapsed in on themselves.

However, the lady didn’t just leave after eating that heavenly cake. Obviously not, because if she did, you wouldn’t be standing in front of the Royal Zhong family castle, your luggage by your side, your grip tightening with each second you stared at the magnificent building. As soon as she had picked you to be the next Royal Baker, she had moved out of the castle, only leaving you a booklet of each of the family and staff members and what pastries they liked, and some details about their personality and what they did.

But you sucked up your fear of the possibilities, and inhaled one strong and determined breath, before opening the heavy spruce door to the castle.

...only to be met with a sharp spear to the face.

As soon as you opened the door, the sharp metal tip of a spear was pointed straight at the middle of your forehead. To say you screamed would be an understatement. However, the attractive knight that was threatening you didn’t even flinch, their stale dead eyes trained on you and your movements. You shakily waved at them, stuttering your next words.

“U-Uh, I’m the n-new Royal Baker...” The words sat in the air for a moment, before the guard laughed, their eyes suddenly turning into crescent moons, leaving you very confused. “Oh, sorry. I forgot you were coming today.” He was laughing as if he didn’t just hold a spear to your face and nearly end your life.

Another guard joined him, putting his arm around the knight with the spear. “Jeno, she’s literally shaking right now. You almost killed her.” However, the new guards laugh showed how he found the moment rather amusing too. The cresent-moon-eyed knight, Jeno, rolled his eyes playfully. “Puh-lease, Jaemin, I didn’t almost kill them.”

“Yes, you did. I saw it with my own two eyes.” A voice from the side mused. A person dressed in a butler uniform came out of a hallway, another taller butler trailing behind him. He stopped in front of you, his arms behind his back politely. “Hello, I’m Renjun. I am the family’s Head Butler. This kid behind me is the Prince’s personal butler, Jisung.” The taller boy behind Renjun smiled awkwardly and gave a wave that seemed less formal than Renjun’s stiff words.

You nodded, the room lapsing into silence as no one made a move to converse more. That was, until another obnoxious laugh broke out. “Renjun, why are you acting like that, bro.” Said a tan boy dressed in chef’s robes. Renjun glared at the said boy, and huffed, his face turning red. “Shut up, Haechan. Why aren’t you in the kitchen, anyway.”

Haechan shrugged, gesturing to the top of the grand staircase, which you only just seemed to notice. The golden accents in the rug on the staircase stood out against the dark wood; the handles of the staircase curled at the end, your eyes trailing down the beautiful shape. “The Prince is sick again today, so I’m going to take up my specialty -- Haechan’s Chicken Soup.” The chef joked, posing with the bowl of steaming soup in his hands. You giggled, the guy seemed like he was sweet enough.

However when the posing boy’s eyes landed on you, they narrowed. His posture suddenly turned more stiff, his back going stick straight, his whole demeanor changed from a friendly chef to an intimidating competitor. You looked down, trying to see what he was staring at, but the only thing you were wearing was a baker uniform.

“Oh, I see you’re the new Royal Baker, eh? Well, nice to meet you, I’m the Royal Chef, Lee Donghyuck.” The difference in the way he talked to you compared to the other staff made you frown, but you hid that feeling and instead gave a shy smile to him, extending out your hand for him to shake, though it was shaking all on its own anyway.

He stared at it, and scoffed. “Yeah, like that’ll happen. I’m going to the Prince’s quarters.” He looked at you in the eyes one more time, and you recognized the challenging look. “See you in the kitchen,” His dark eyes flicked to the name tag that was encrypted in gold, as it was for the Royal Baker and Chef, “Y/n.”

His figure disappeared up the stairs, leaving you looking like a fawn without its mother, scared and confused. “What was that?” You asked, looking at the sighing head butler, Renjun. “He’s the Royal Chef, and he tends to not like other cooks or bakers until they can prove themselves, so,” He put his gloved hand on your shoulder in an attempt to be comforting, but all it did was make you more nervous at his sympathetic look. “Be ready for some heckling. I promise he means well, he doesn’t like half-ass chefs -- or bakers for that matter.”

“Most of the other culinary staff are afraid of him. You see how nice he is right now, but that’s only because we’ve known each other for years. His parents were the previous Royal Gardeners so he grew up in the castle, and we all lived in this castle from a young age. He’s tough in the kitchen.” Jeno further explained, leaning on the hilt of his spear with a lazy look in his eyes.

“Yeah, good luck.” Jaemin laughed, throwing an armored arm around an unsuspecting Jeno’s shoulders. You gulped, and clenched the handle of your suitcase tighter than before, your knuckles turning white. Everyone seemed rather uncaring, save for Renjun who gave you reassuring smiles, and Jisung who cringed when he saw Haechan’s change in persona.

Suddenly, another person wearing a cook uniform walked out from the same hallway the butlers had originally appeared from, looking around as if searching for someone. When their eyes landed on you, they smiled, rushing up to you. The person was rather beautiful, their eyes shining and a beautiful smile hitting you in the face. You managed to catch their name that was encrypted in a silver plating, Nayeon.

“Hello! Oh my god -- I’m so excited to meet you, I’m your assistant baker for now until you get used to the place! We’re going to room together, I’m so excited! I already picked out a cute outfit for later tonight for the big dinner welcoming you to the Royal family! Of course not the royal family, the royal family staff -- but still!” And she went on and on, talking your ear off, albeit in a rather endearing way that made you smile. You saw the other staff you had met disperse, the guards standing back in their spots next to the door with their weapons in hand, the head butler going back into the side hallway, and the shyer butler heading up the stairs.

You forgot all about Haechan and the Prince as your new roommate tugged you along with a bright smile, insisting on showing you the place before you got ready. There was a feeling in your stomach that you may have bitten off a bigger bite than what you could chew when you accepted the job as Royal Baker.

///

The wooden comb went through your hair roughly, snagging on tangles and knots that made you wince in pain. Despite the pain, the payout was worth it. This was the best you had ever looked -- most times you were dressed in your baker uniform, covered in flour and stains. But with your hair done up in a beautiful bun with golden embellishments, you felt like a princess.

A princess with fawn legs, that is. No matter how beautiful you looked sitting idle, the sheer awkward aura you radiated as you stumbled across the room to get your lipstick in the four inch heels provided by Nayeon took away all the positive attention.

“Nayeon, I really don’t think I should wear these.” You sighed, sitting back down on the love seat as your twisted the cap off your lipstick. She laughed and rolled her eyes, assuring you that the heels wouldn’t be the main concern, anyway. “What’s important is if you make a good first impression on the King and Queen. They’re really nice and all but if you have a sucky attitude, you can kiss that golden name-tag goodbye.”

You applied the creamy pink peach stick to your lips, smacking them together after you put the lid on it. It closed with a ‘click’ and you set it down, turning around to look Nayeon in the eyes. “I could care less about a golden name tag, Nayeon. I love baking, regardless of whatever title is thrown at me. Nothing can change that. Being a Royal baker means nothing more to me than being a baker back at home.” At this, Nayeon smiled, sitting down next to you on the bench. She fixed some of your wild baby hairs, her hand landing on your slumped shoulder afterwards. “And that’s the great thing about you. I’m sure the Royalty will see that.”

You shrugged and stood up, mustering all the strength and balance you had to make sure you didn’t fall over and embarrass yourself like you expected. “Well,” You started, giving yourself one last glance in the mirror. “We don’t want to keep them waiting, do we?” You grinned lopsidedly at her, making your way out the room.

To say the dinner was extravagant would be an understatement. The dining room was massive, bigger than a gym with a long and wide hickory wood table with dishes upon dishes scattered throughout. The chairs had tall backings, the white cushion material crawling its way all the way to the top. Golden accents were placed on the handles, which also had rare jewels like Emeralds and Diamonds arranged on them. The sight you beheld as you walked bast the heavy doors astounded you; it was all for you.

The back doors opened and closed rapidly, cooks and bakers regularly filing out to put more and more food on the table. You figured the meal was for the whole staff, and that was why there was so much food, but either way it was fascinating to watch dishes you never even knew existed were being put on the table. As soon as your presence became known in the room, everyone stopped and waved at you, briefly greeting you with wide smiles. It made you excited to work with these people, who seemed to love their job as much as you did.

Suddenly, a tan hand popped out of nowhere and pushed you towards a chair that was next to where the Royals’ would be siting, two chairs at the head of the table and one next to them, which was currently an empty space. “This is where you need to sit, please use your manners and don’t be messy.” You could recognize the condescending voice at this point, despite only hearing it once before.

“Thanks, Haechan.” A sassy ‘mhm’ left his throat as he eyed the seat next to you. “And, by the way, Prince Chenle won’t be here tonight. He’s been sick for the past couple of days, he has a cold. So no one will be sitting next to you. Not that that’s abnormal.” You smiled and nodded at him, ignoring his snarky remark. You knew that he was just teasing and sizing your patience up, at least you hoped he was.

At the mention of Prince Chenle’s name, your mind wandered. You had heard that the young boy was a phenomenal humanitarian, and that he often volunteered and helped people in need. However you also heard that he was bratty, isolated, and greedy. The opposite words you received confused you, but you knew better than to judge someone without knowing them. If anything, it just made you more excited to meet him and make your own judgments about him.

In your own mind, you imagined him to be handsome and regal, untouchable even. A good ruler like his parents, as well as a social butterfly because of his volunteering. You personally doubted that he was greedy, possibly more ambitious and impatient more than anything. People easily mixed them up, ambition and greed.

You realized you were staring off into space as Haechan nudged you harshly, jutting you out of your peaceful world. “Hey, the King and Queen are entering. Bow.” He quietly commanded, his head already level with his hips. You quickly followed suit, your head hitting the table as you mindlessly copied him. People around you snickered and snorted, but you were much more focused on the diamond-studded heels and the refined posture of the feet in front of yours, which were presumably the Queen’s.

“Raise your head, please.” Her voice was solid from years of ruling, yet they brushed you gently like a consoling hand. Your head stuttered up, almost afraid to make a wrong move. But the Queen’s compassionate smile made the anxiety flow off your back like water.

“Did you hurt you head?” She laughed, her soft hand coming up to touch you. You flushed, looking to the side in embarrassment. “I-I’m fine.”

“Well, just in case you aren’t, the Royal Healer is on the third floor, it’s the first door when you get off the stairs. You can go after dinner so Jaehyun can check you.” A much deeper voice sounded, though it wasn’t harsh. It felt like a dad’s voice. It was...nice.

“Thank you, your Highness, but I’m fine.” You bowed again, this time moving a little away from the table as to not hit it again. The Queen laughed at the small movement. “You’re very charming, aren’t you.” She walked away, sitting at the head of table next to her husband.

“Oh, and I’m sorry to say; but the Prince won’t be dining with us tonight. He’s sick again.” She added on, apologizing. You shook your head, denying the apology. It was just one less person to embarrass yourself around, so you weren’t complaining.

“Anyway, let’s get on with the dinner, shall we?” The King smiled, clapping his hands together, the joy seeping through his voice. It made you smile that a serious King could become so happy with food.

The dinner is two hours long, everyone is talking, mainly with questions directed at you. ‘How old are you?’, ‘How long have you been baking?’, ’What’s your favorite dish?’, ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’.

The last question made you blush, and you shook your head. “You don’t have to react like that, I was just curious.” Jaemin snickered, his teasing eyes probing at you. Jeno elbowed him, also laughing. “Don’t tease them, Nana. Even if they are easily flustered.”

“You’re not helping.” You narrowed your eyes at him, playfully stabbing the steak with your fork.

“No, but seriously, have you ever dated anyone?”

“No...I’ve never really cared about that stuff.” You answered shyly, ignoring the laugh from Haechan. “Seriously?” He snorted. You nudged him, annoyed.

“Well, let’s stop that topic shall we?” The Renjun intercepted, coming up behind you. You looked at him in question. “It’s time for you to do some baking.” He smiled at you, pulling your chair out so you could get up. A surprised ‘Oh!’ left your mouth, forgetting for a moment that you were a Royal Baker.

Nayeon got up too, taking your arm to guide you into the kitchen. You felt a familiar feeling start through your veins, the smell of raw batter and dough filling your senses and memories. A smile made its home on your face as you rolled up your sleeves, ready to turn the kitchen into your playground.

///

An hour and a half later, you’re covered in powdered sugar, buttermilk frosting, chocolate batter and the smell of baked dough. Your hair was white on the ends from your messy baking and your hands were drying out from the dry ingredient and constant kneading of raw dough. But the final products, were worth it. You wouldn’t even hesitate to say the sweets were some of your best work. They needed to be, you were serving them to royalty.

As you walked out of the kitchen into the dining room, your expensive dress covered in different colored powder and splotches of random ingredients, the Queen gasped. But she quickly hid it with a strained smile, and crossed her hands in her lap, the King laughing and placing a reassuring hand on her forearm, calming her.

“Wow, you look great.” Haechan snickered, lying his chin in his hand. You rolled your eyes, setting two plates of different desserts in from of the King and Queen, then Haechan and the rest of the royal staff. With a huff, you sat down in your seat, nothing in front of you. When you realized that no one was moving, but looking at you, you smiled, “Please, dig in!”

And with that, started the gasps and moans. The forks hitting the plates with surprise and sometimes even whole desserts being eaten in one bite; you took all forms of compliment in stride. You let the smirk poking at you come to surface level as you peered over at the Royal Chef, who was staring at his plate in shock.

With a prideful air around you, you stood up, walking into the kitchen, knowing that the plates would be licked clean. ‘My job here is done.’

It was later on in the night, and or early morning, where you sat in the kitchen alone. It was twelve in the morning, but you couldn’t sleep due to the excitement that still rushed through your veins. Instead, you walked around the cooking area, realizing that it was bigger than three of the houses on your block combined. You simply walked around, checking out the ingredients and plates, trying to get used to your new kingdom.

“Um, excuse me?” A mellow voice called out, surprising you. You swiveled around, the sound of someone’s voice so late into the night causing your eyes to flash open. There, at the doorway, was a tall boy dressed in what looked like pajamas standing awkwardly with his hands interlaced together. “Uh, yes?” You stepped forward, flattening your hair against your head in an attempt to calm your nerves. He gave a lopsided smile, obviously uncomfortable.

“Uh, I’m the butler from earlier --”

“Prince Chenle’s personal bulter?” You cut him off, leaning against the counter of the kitchen, waiting for his response. He nodded, not saying anything else. Your lips formed a tight line, and you were about to turn away due to his lack of words, but he spoke up before you could. “Um, I’m sorry for bothering you so late, but Prince Chenle has requested some chocolate chip cookies...since, you know, we didn’t save anything for him.” Your eyebrows popped up in realization, and you nodded, accepting his request.

“I mean, it’s not really a request if it’s from the Prince, is it? It’s more like an order, right?” You laughed, aiming the words at Jisung as you took out pans and the dry and wet ingredients from the pantry and fridge. You meant it as a joke, but Jisung waved his hands frantically, not catching it. “N-No! It really was a request, Chenle --uh, Prince Chenle isn’t like that...” His words were stuttered, making you feel bad for him and his awkwardness, though you personally weren’t far off.

“So, this Prince Chenle guy,” you start, beginning to get tired from the young butlers silence. “Seems to be pretty close to you, you know, since you’re calling him by his first name with no honorifics.” You quickly glance at Jisung to gauge his reaction, and he bashfully nods, this time without the same awkward stiffness he’d been showing so far. “Yeah, all the staff is close with the royal family, but he and I are best friends.”

“Oh? You and Prince Chenle? What about the other young boys, the same?”

“We’re all friends from childhood. Jaemin and Jeno both grew up in the caslte because their parents were royal guards. Renjun’s parents were head butlers before he was born, so he grew up in the castle, and Haechan’s parents were the royal gardeners, which, and don’t tell him I told you this,” He looked around before leaning a bit closer to you and whispering, “he can’t garden at all, he sucks.” He giggled before straightening up. “That’s why he started cooking. And, he’s pretty good at that. My parents were servants so I grew up in the castle too.” After he explained all that, he sighed, leaning back on his arms.

“That’s nice.” You muttered, taking the cookie batter and putting it onto a cooking sheet. He side-eyed you. “What is?” You shrugged, sitting next to him on the metal counter-tops after you put the cookies in the oven. “I don’t know. I had friends growing up, but I was usually at home baking or running the store. So I didn’t have any close friends like you guys. Chenle must be one happy kid.” Jisung nodded, before chuckling. “Kid? Chenle and you are the same age, you know.” At this a surprised sound left you mouth. “What? I thought he was like a teenager? Like an angst-filled fifteen year old?”

“No, he’s eighteen, your age.” You sat next to Jisung, slack jawed. “Wow, must be hard.”

“Yeah, but Chenle is really awesome. It’s almost like he isn’t worried about being the next King, at all.”

“He seems nice, I’ve never met him, though.” You looked off in wonder, “What’s he like?”

And that’s how you spent the remaining half hour talking about the Prince. Talking about his love for comedy and unhealthy food that Haechan would always yell at him for, and how he would always invite the boys into the back garden and just hang out -- everything that Jisung told you about the mysterious boy just made you more eager to meet him and discover new things for yourself.

“...Prince Chenle seems really kind.” You mused, taking the finished cookies and plating them nicely. Jisung hummed, taking the plate from you with a smile on his lips. “Yeah, you should really meet him sometime. I think he’d really like you.” You scoff, nudging Jisung with your elbow. “Really? Why would he like and want to talk to me when he’s got the world’s best-est friends surrounding him?”

“You’re really down to earth, for one. Not only that, but you seem really passionate about baking. Chenle likes passionate people.” And with that, Jisung left your kitchen grounds, taking the pretty plate of chocolate chip delights to the Prince.

You stood there, for some reason more eager to meet the Prince than ever before, and if you were lucky, maybe he’d let you call him Chenle, like the others.

///

“Chenle, you awake? I brought the cookies.” Jisung sounded, lazily knocking at the grand door of Chenle’s room before opening it, not giving the elder boy any time to respond.

A groan was the only response Jisung got, making him roll his eyes playfully. “If you don’t get up than you’re not getting these cookies.” And with that, Prince Chenle was up. His hair was a messy mop of brown waves, and his face was swollen from sleep.��“They better be good.” The tired boy grumbled, sitting up on his bed properly, his legs pulled up against his shivering torso.

“Trust me,” Jisung started, taking his shoes off before sitting in the bed next to Chenle, getting under the covers with him. “They are, some of the best ones I've ever tasted.”

“Yeah, sure they are. They’re chocolate chip cookies, how good can they be?” He sassed, picking up one cookie and bringing it up to his mouth. Chenle nonchalantly took a bite, expecting a mediocre cookie, a delicious one at best. It’s not that he thought the Royal Baker sucked, but how good can a cookie really be?

The answer was, really good.

The second the chocolate sweet broke off in his mouth, Chenle was paralyzed. The dark brown sugar and the unsalted butter, the eggs, the hint of kosher salt he tasted -- wow. He shoved the cookie down his mouth, then the next, and the next -- only leaving Jisung with the first cookie he picked up. A teasing smirk broke out on Jisung’s face, laughing at the boy.

“’How good can they be’” The younger one mocked, taking a bite of his own cookie and closing his eyes in happiness. Chenle didn’t even respond, instead just eating the cookies, no time for mere words to be spoken.

“Oh man, I’ve got to meet this lady.” He sighed, leaning back on his headboard, wondering what the baker was like. He presumed them to be an old woman, maybe a legend in her town she came from. The boy next to him snickered, stretching out his arms before getting up from the warm bed. “If you mean young teenager by ‘lady’, then yeah, you’re right.”

“What? She’s 14?” Chenle asked, exasperated. A soft sigh left Jisung’s mouth. “No, she’s your age. Eighteen. She’s nice, kind of a mix between a down to earth teenager and a nervous wreck.” He looked up in thought. “She’s really hard-working, and passionate about what she does.” He gave Chenle a last knowing glance before making his way out of the room. “You should get to know her.” And with that, he was gone.

‘Damn,’ Chenle thought, ‘When did Jisung get so smooth?’

He looked at the empty plate in wonder, before getting an idea to thank you, but when he looked at the clock, he realized that it was a little too late to go to you, so he settled for writing a cute ‘Thank You’ note on the plate, and setting it on the kitchen counter tops.

“The cookies are heavenly - princely boy” He wrote on a little slip of white paper, before lying it on the plate, his feet softly padding on the castle wooden floors, small pats being heard resonate in the large and empty hallways.

Chenle slept like a baby that night, the warmth of the cookies sitting in stomach nicely. As did you, your mind occupied with thoughts of what the Prince might be like.

///

You woke up early that morning, the excitement of working in a castle bubbling in your stomach. In record time, you took a shower and washed up, walking in to the kitchen by six in the morning. No one else was up yet, the vacant-ness making you feel small. You sighed, quickly putting on an apron over your baker’s outfit. As you got eggs out to make macaroons for the afternoon, you noticed a plate in the middle of the metal counters. An annoyed sound left your mouth as you grabbed it quickly, only stopping when a little piece of paper floated off the white plate and onto the metal surface.

“Huh?” A confused sound left your lips, and you picked up the note, curious. You read the message, a shy smile breaking over your face like an egg into a pan. “So this is what Prince Chenle is like, huh?” You snickered, happy.

“Prince Chenle what?” You whipped your head towards the direction of the voice, noticing Chef Haechan putting on an apron of his own.

“Nothing.” You muttered, shoving the note into your pocket. Haechan rolled his eyes, going about his business. “What’re you doing down here so early, anyway? Bakers don’t need to be up until eight. If you haven’t noticed, it’s six.”

“I woke up early.” You shrugged. “Well, now you’re going to help me with making the Royal’s food.” You quirked a brow. “I am?”

“Yes, you are. Royal Chefs have to make the King and Queen’s breakfast, and I’d appreciate it if you made Chen-- Uh, Prince Chenle some porridge. I don’t have time --”

“Don’t you need to prove if I’m worthy?” You teased, leaning against the fridge. “Yeah well, those desserts were really good.” He admitted, smiling at you.

“I know.” You smirked, turning around as you opened the fridge to get the necessary ingredients for Chenle’s porridge. “Hey, If I remember correctly, you smashed your head into the table in front of the King and Queen.”

“That was an accident!” You defended, beginning to chop up the fruits for the decoration on top of the porridge. As you both prepared your dishes, you bickered, like a pair of siblings. The rest of the workers flooded in, beginning their own tasks and projects for a complex dinner and lunch, the baker’s making some sweets to stock up the royal bakery store.

“Where is Chenle’s room?” You walked next to Haechan as you and him traversed up the grand staircase, making your way to where the Royals were resting. “It’s the furthest room to the left, it has Chenle written on it, you can’t miss it unless you’re actually stupid.” He chuckled, separating from you down to a different hallway.

You ignored the last bit of his comment, focusing on getting to where you needed to go. You walked down to exactly where Haechan told you...yet you didn’t see any sign with Chenle on it.

A sigh escaped your mouth, your back slumping in failure. Maybe you really were stupid. It continued for a little while, you aimlessly wandering down hallways and finding dead ends, having to turn back. It wasn’t until it happened for the third time, when you stopped and groaned rather loudly.

“Ahhhhh, why can’t I find the room...” You whined, hoping you found the room before the porridge got any colder. A door opened with a soft creak, and you flinched. You were hoping that you didn’t wake anyone up, getting in trouble the first day would be a bad impression.

Instead, you saw a groggy figure with brown wavy hair, which was sticking up in all ways from what you suspected was sleep, and their fine silk clothes wrinkled. You watched as the person peered from behind their door, their eyes scanning the area before they landed on you and went wide.

“W-Who’re you!” It squeaked, the door closing loudly. You cringed at the echoing, but managed to get out a few words. “Sorry! I’m supposed to bring Prince Chenle his porridge!” Your desperate tone must’ve been apparent, because the door opened once again, more of their body poking out. “Isn’t Haechannie supposed to bring me breakfast...” The boy wearily asked, narrowing the tired eyes at you. You nodded, fixing your posture and scratching the back of your neck. “W-Well, yes, but -- wait, ‘me’. you’re Prince Chenle?” You gasped, shocked.

This time, the door opened fully, revealing the full body of a beautiful boy, who’s silk pajamas sat atop his skin like calm water, ripples whenever he moved to rub the tired out of his eyes. He was cute. Very cute.

“Yes, shouldn’t the staff know that?” Prince Chenle’s voice was grainy from sleep, and he seemed to be waking up a little bit, as he stood up straight and brushed his hair back with his hands. His gaze the whole time wasn’t really focused on you, more so your silhouette. But as he stretched and consciousness returned to his mind -- he could finally see you.

Your disheveled hair and flushed cheeks added to your frantic looking character, even the tips of your ears were turning red, Chenle recalled that the nurse on the third floor’s ears also did that. But overall, as he looked down at you, he thought you were rather cute. He tried to remember your name, but he was sure his mind wouldn’t forget the name of a girl as cute as you.

“Who-- Who’re you?” He asked, his hand holding the knob to his room. “Uh, I’m the new Royal Baker. Y/n.” You smiled at him, transferring the cooling porridge from one hand to the other so you could extend one out for him to shake.

When Chenle heard your title, he could’ve swore that you saw his face erupt into bright red flames. The only things going through his mind the tiny, minuscule, crush he got on your cookies and the fact that he probably looked like trash.

“O-Oh! You-- Your cookies were amazing! Thank you for baking them for me last night, I felt kind of bad far asking so late, so thank you so much for taking time out of your first night to make me something, I really am sorry --” You cut him off with a laugh, which entered his thoughts like a bullet.

You shook your head, covering your mouth with your free hand. “You’re cute, Prince Chenle. You’re welcome. Anyway, here’s your porridge.” With a giggle still in your voice, you handed him the food. His body stuttered to grab it, his mind focusing way too much on the feeling of your skin brushing his.

You walked away, or more so jogged away, muttering words of worry under your breath for taking so long to deliver the Prince’s food. Chenle only started to breathe again when the scent of sugar and chocolate left his nostrils. As soon as the smell went away, he found himself pouting, wanting to smell it again. It was like his heart began to ache as soon as you were away from his presence, his want to be near you growing every second. He thought he must be really dumb to feel such a way when he only knew you for a few minutes, max.

Ever since the, Chenle would find himself loitering around the first floor, mainly near the kitchen, trying to catch glances of you. He felt his heart beat speed up every time his eyes caught sight of your familiar hair and figure, the want to talk to you again becoming every more apparent. After his cold went away, he ventured into the kitchen to watch you more closely, but every time he would be inches away from tapping you on your soft shoulder, Haechan would tell him to leave the vicinity, or Jeno and Jaemin would call for him and escort him to the throne room, or Renjun and Jisung would find him for his princely lessons. It didn’t take long for him to experience the symptoms of withdrawl.

“I wanna go downstairs!” He groaned, sitting back in his seat as Renjun rubbed his temples in annoyance. “I already told you, no! Why are you being so difficult lately...” Renjun stressed, sighing into his hands. After a few more seconds of no progress and Chenle whining, he had finally had enough. He needed a break.

“Do you want to take a break? I’ll call up one of the bakers to bring something up.” At this, the fidgeting boy stopped, turning red. “It has to be the Royal Baker.” He exclaimed, sitting still. Renjun’s brow quirked up, “Why? She’s just like the others.” At this, the Prince shook his head defiantly. “No! She’s better! Way better! And prettier...” He mumbled the last part under his breath, hoping Renjun didn’t catch it.

But, he did. “Oh, “ His voice came out teasingly, “So you want the Royal Baker because she’s pretty?” Chenle didn’t deny the accusation, only averting his gaze elsewhere. “She’s really nice, too...”

“And she’s as dense as a pound cake.” Renjun added, laughing. Chenle rolled his eyes and started to whine again. “Are you going to tease me or call the Royal Baker?” The head butler shook his head and sighed, getting up to go to the phone to contact the cooking department, but a hand darted out to stop him. Renjun looked back with an unimpressed face, waiting for the Prince to explain himself.

“U-Uh, I can go down and tell her.”

///

You huffed as you kneaded the dough quickly, your arms tiring after kneading so many batches. A bit of sweet smelling sweat dripped off of your face onto the rolled-up sleeve of your baker’s uniform, causing your attention to divert for a second. The labor of being the Royal Baker was intense and demanding, often calling for you to get up at awkward hours in the night to make something for the Royalty, but it was satisfying. You weren’t particularly ambitious, but the respect your position received in the castle gave your life a little more meaning than before. The blood, sweat, and tears that came with the job became normal for you.

Even Haechan’s annoying teasing became the norm for you, his passing snarky comments becoming more endearing than anything else. You didn’t have any siblings, so he served as a teasing brother, and it added a little spice to your day.

“Hey kiddo, did you finish the dough for the lemon custard pie crust?” Your eyes snapped over to the aforementioned boy, and you scoffed. “Didn’t know you were the Royal Baker, Hyuck.” He sneered at your comment, “Hey, I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, I’ve got it. Thanks. I know the deserts I’ve planned out for today.”

“I know, I’m just --” You sighed, giving the controlling chef a pointed look. His hands rose in surrender, before backing up and retreating to the other side of the kitchen. You giggled at his retreating back, finding his brotherly worry rather amusing.

You turned back to working the dough, falling back into the rhythm, that was, before the large metal doors slammed open, causing everyone’s attention to whip towards the loud noise, including yours.

You were expecting a panicked Renjun requesting some dish for the Queen, but instead all you got was a red-flushed Prince Chenle. His chest was heaving up and down gently, his eyes scanning the room, looking for someone. His warm dark chocolate brown eyes landed on you, and your heart-rate all of a sudden peaked.

“Y-You!” He yelled, making his way to where you were standing, ignoring the stares the rest of the staff were giving him. You faced him and opened your mouth to speak, your words stuttering. “Y-Yes, Prince Chenle?” At the sound of your voice, his body seemed to shrink back, and he shyly waved everyone’s gazes away, happy when they followed his orders. After a few seconds more of silence, he looked back at you, his hand rubbing his forearm nervously.

��“Um, I was wondering if you could bake something?” You crinkled you nose at him, giving him a skeptical look under your lashes. “You want me to bake something?” You looked down at the finished dough, switching your gazes from the cute blushing prince back to your crust. “That is what I’m doing.” From the gasps of shock around you, and the mortified look on the adjacent boy’s face, you guessed that probably wasn’t the best thing to say.

“O-Oh, U-Uh--”

“He want you to bake something for him.” Haechan added, walking past you to put something in the oven, picking up your custard lemon pie crust from in front of you and throwing it into the bottom oven. You ‘ohed’, and smiled, looking at Chenle apologetically.

“Oh, sorry, Chenle.” As soon as his name casually passed your lips, you gasped, covering your mouth hurriedly. No one else reacted to your words, but the Prince’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, causing you to sweat. “O-Oh, I’m sorry. I mean Prince Chenle. I shouldn’t call you Chenle--”

“I really like the way you say my name.” He whispered, his gaze still boring into yours. You felt yourself shy away at his words that seemed to escape his mouth without him really knowing. You looked down at the ground, choosing to not say anything in response to the comment.

Chenle’s heart was racing. The blood in his veins must’ve been a thousand degrees Celsius from how fast it was travelling in his body, from his heart to his fingertips. The way his named flowed off your lips enchanted his ears the way classical music did, your soft voice reminded him of the music of The Greats; Chopin, Mozart, Liszt, Rachmaninoff, Debussy -- yet still, none of them could compare to the soft pink of your cheeks and lips.

You were similar to him, the way the tips of his ears were slightly red, the softest pink on the head of his nose (from his recent cold), the part of his plush (and chapped) lips, the twinkle in his eyes -- it all sent a weird and unfamiliar fluttering feeling to your gut. From all the time you’ve spent pondering his personality and remembering his cute sleepy face, you can’t recall a time where he was anywhere near as cute as now.

The silence between you two was cute by a loud whistle, that you traced back to a prying Haechan. You sent an embarrassed glare his way before focusing on Chenle again, gently raising your voice to ask him, “What did you want me to make?” He snapped out of his daze, giggling cutely. “Oh yeah, almost forgot about that.”

And that’s how you spent the next hour and a half baking chocolate chip cookies with the Prince’s “princely supervision”.

///

You giggled as the rest of the staff cleared out of the kitchen, their break time starting, Even Haechan left, but not before giving you a knowing look at how you giggled closely with Chenle.

“You should really bake with me next time, Chenle.” He scrunched his nose, shaking his head, before hopping onto the counters to sit on them, “I’m not that good at baking. I don’t want to set your kitchen on fire.” You shook you head and pushed his shoulder gently with your hand, “No one is good at something if they don’t try, plus if you bake with me, then you’ll be a master in no time.” You joked, taking the cookies out the oven and placing them on the metal counter tops to cool faster.

You were too preoccupied with checking the cookies to see Chenle’s hand cover the area you touched him, his fingers lingering over your gentle touch. His mind was reeling in joy, the fire that started where you pushed him spreading to his heart. Even Chenle wasn’t dumb enough to ignore his obvious feelings for you; love.

But as Renjun had stated earlier in the day; “she’s as dense as a poundcake.”.

“S-So, how’re the cookies?” Chenle asked, slipping off of the counter to stand next to you, his head peering over your shoulder. You nodded happily, turning your head to give the good news back to Chenle, but you realized that your two faces were much closer together than previously thought.

You smile slipped off your face as you continued to stare at his perfect complexion and his imp-like smile. You figured that he didn’t catch your staring, because instead a loud shriek-like laughter filled your ears as he saw the cookies. “Wow! They look perfect!” You stepped away from him, awkwardly laughing. “Well, they better be, with how long I took making them.”

He quirked his head in confusion, “Doesn’t it usually take you this long to make cookies?” You shook your head and started to plate the cookies, “No, I took longer on them for you.” Those words probably shouldn’t have affected the poor boy as much as they did, the heat traveling up to his neck and ears. “O-Oh, well thank you.”

You gave him a toothy smile, “Anytime.” You put your attention on decorating the plate, making it look pretty for Chenle to take up to his room, or where ever he was going. His gaze followed your slender hands as they touched the cookies gently, he looked at your messy hair and your enchanting profile, how could someone be so beautiful?

He didn’t realize his body was moving on it’s own before it was too late, his arms were already wrapped around your waist, his nose buried in your nape, inhaling your sweet scent. His skinship made you both freeze, Chenle apologizing profusely as he slid his arms from around you, but was surprised as you caught him and kept his arms in place.

“I like it, it’s fine.”

“Y-You like it?” He stammered, his head tilting to see your facial expression better. You hummed in response, before turning around in his grasp to face him, your hands pressed gently against his chest, his arms around your back. The few inches between your faces spoke for themselves, but it still didn’t explain the playful and loving air hanging around you both.

“Chenle, I really like --”

“Chenle? Chenle? Earth to Prince Chenle?” You waved your hand in front of his face, laughing at the way his eyes were trained on the cookies with the tiniest bit of drool slipping from his mouth, his mind obviously somewhere else. He was knocked out of his daydream with a snort, his eyes darted around the room until he realized it was just you two.

“Sorry! I was...”

“Daydreaming?” You giggled.

“Uh,” his gaze shifted to the ground, awkwardly, “...yeah. Daydreaming.” You nodded with a raised eyebrow. “Seemed like it was a pretty intense daydream, you were muttering my name.” A horrified look crossed the Prince’s face, causing you to shake in laughter. “Wait, really?!”

“No, No. I’m just pulling your tail.” Chenle huffed, crossing his arms and blowing out his cheeks. “Not funny, Y/n.” You patted his shoulder, leaving your hand to rest there for a second. “No, it was absolutely hilarious.”

You didn’t expect his hand to clasp over yours, his eyes meeting yours in a determined stare. You shifted back, “w-what?”

“Would you, Y/n L/n, uh --” He cut himself off, letting go of your hand and dropping the topic, when he saw you shift away from his touch, seemingly losing the confidence to say what he wanted. Instead, he took a cookie from the plate, munching on it sadly. “Never mind.”

You nudged him with your elbow softly, trying to coax his statement out of him. “Hey, come on, Chenle. What’s up?” Your soft voice rang through his ears, but he still didn’t make a move to say anything. So, instead, you mustered all the courage you’ ever have in the rest of your life, and you took hold of his hand, trying to be brave. “Tell me, Chenle. What’s up?”

His wide eyes lingered on your hand in his for a few seconds before smiling and lacing your fingers together. “I was wondering if, maybe -- only if you really want to, of course -- uh, go out sometime? Like...on a date?” The last part of his sentence came out in something you couldn’t even consider a whisper.

“Huh?” You went slack-jawed, your shoulders falling limp. Were you hearing him correctly? Did he just ask you out? Prince Chenle? The next ruler of the kingdom? The cutest boy to ever exist? The only boy to ever exist? The so-called boy was patiently awaiting your answer with a shy smile on his face, his eyes tracing your features so lovingly it caused a shiver to go through your body.

“I-I mean,” you muttered, “yeah -- of course. I’d love to.” Prince Chenle laughed out loud happily, taking both of your arms and dancing around in a quick little jig. After a few seconds of celebration, Chenle stopped, turning towards the iron door expectantly. Footsteps came from down the hall, before opening the door with a tired look in their face. Renjun was looking at Chenle with an unamused expression, one that you felt he probably gave Chenle a lot, “Chenle, you were supposed to be back half an hour ago. Let’s go, come on. Take your cookies.” The Prince waved him off lazily, groaning. “Yeah, yeah.”

He turned back to you with a cheeky grin, and leaned down, placing a quick kiss on your cheek. His hand reached for the plate of cookies behind you, giving your hand one last squeeze before parting and following behind a scoffing Head Butler Renjun.

“See you later at eight, okay? We can go into town, or something!” He yelled behind him, practically skipping off to continue his lessons. And you stood there, unmoving and red as a perfectly ripe tomato, one that Haechan would gladly use for his soups.

The bakers and chefs started to file back into the room, Haechan being on of the first back into the kitchen. He passed by you and took the things in the oven, a smirk on his face.

“Have fun in here with Prince Chenle, Mrs. future queen Zhong?” You crinkled you nose and hit the teasing boy with a near-by rag, ignoring his squeal. But even if you didn’t want to say it, you must admit;

You really did like the sound of Zhong Y/n.

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