#She's supposed to be like.. Reaching for her baby who's slipping out of her paws | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

muffindaddystyles · 3 years

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OMG I LOVE DOM H THATS INLY SOFT FOR HIS SUB BUT WHEN THEIR BRATTY HE GOES FULL DOM MODE

MELTS AND BOILS OUT OF HORNINESS

Y/N was more of cuddly and clingy tonight.

Wanting nothing but to hide herself in Harry’s chest pawing at his well-built hips with a huff through her nose to be more closer to him, all of it because of his sweet praising for her's while he took her pictures in his phone before leaving for this party he wanted her to be his date— maybe a simple companion she doesn’t know yet where they stand.

She looked too angelic in a baby pink satin slip dress for him not to smother her face in careful dotting kisses and grumbled in feign offend when she pushed him away with her small hand and giggled shyly.

“Y'gonna say no to daddy, Angel?” His daunting tut, blew her pupils into surprise and she rolled her eyes and went to swat his bicep, while her lower abdomen sparkled and tingled with excitement and delight. He likes to play all sweet and precious, but underneath that tentative and “’M putty in my Angels palm,” gooey exterior’s a wicked, mischievous little sneak and satan who likes to see her suffer, basking in the sputtery and fiddly reactions of hers.

Especially in public. Oh he loves it, when he’s intentionally grazing his warm lips against her earlobe to whisper how she’s so good for daddy, darting his tongue out to wet his lips and tease her. He liked taking her out on expensive fancy restaurants and be a filthy prat with his words without a shame making her knees knock into tables, gets her all warm and pink with his little plays like kissing her fingertips one by one and slipping them slowly into his mouth, kissing the dribbles of ice-cream from her chin and murmur hotly against her cupid bow, “Hmm. Your peach’s sweeter, moppet.” to feel her squeeze onto his hand that holds her all the time, always having a hand on the small of her back and raking it impossibly low only to get her all squirmy and bashful for him, barking out a laugh when she squeals for he slip it inside her bottoms and snapped them playfully.

He loves to rouse her and make her dip into the haziness, then has an audacity to sharpen a finger at her and grunt at her, “Behave.” When she copied his vicious actions back.

Saying this, he was back to chatting his friends and call Y/N bratty how much you want but the impulsive yearn that was bubbling in her tummy skunked over with jealousy, so she chose the better option. To infuriate and arouse him with her risky little play-tactics, in hope he might drag her away and push her into the nearest washroom and tell her to suck onto daddy’s cock— then swat her hands away harshly and fuck her little watery mouth himself.

So. When she tried to be as sly as possible pretending to drop something on the ground and then bent to have her ass, clad in silk lacies peeking for him teasingly. Harry noticeably gets a bit disgruntled, adjusting himself in trousers and shifting to yank her back to pull her against his chest with a displeased frown.

This time he didn’t tell her to behave making her pout awfully whiny up at him and getting her even more frustrated by smiling down at her as if nothing happened.

Though, the smile’s one of the sinister pressed jaw bbreakin-ly to stop him from gritting his teeth and land a hard stingy slap to her bum right infront of everyone.

Y/N stomps her feet which indeed gains his attention but he chooses to ignore it, wrapping his arm around her waist to keep her closer to his side without even sparing a glance down at her.

Alas. Y/N has waved white flags of defeat considering no-amount of teasing and battiness would break his resolve – one the many things she’s envious of him in their little escapade of naughtiness, is Harry got a hellish of self-control, no wonder that’s one of the reasons he’s her dom.

“Where y'going?” He asks through a smile that was gleamed at his childhood bestfriend and not Y/N, she gulps down the lump of bitterness down her throat–- tone high-pitched in her mumble from the unbelievable achiness between her thighs and all she wants to do’s claim him hers, with deep red bites at his sweet pulse and the front of his throat’s bump.

She has no-idea in the flying fuck, what she’s stammering about, “Ni. Ma–. . . maybe he’ll be a better dom than you.” Ouch. Harry’s veins boils with spleen and indescribable outrage, his face sculptures into a fierce indignation–- out of his realization staring down at her blankly.

For a moment though Y/N feels an immense guilt pour down her head like cold icy water, cause all he’s been to her is sweet and caring telling her how precious she’s for him and how he’s gonna make love to her once they come back home.

She tends to say rubbish in her floatiness but never she has ever doubted him and her eyes gets all swimy, hands rushing up to cradle his face not caring if there’s a gathering around them – though she retreats when he doesn’t let her and to play nice with him has become a none to never option, atleast for tonight when he sets his eyes back on his friend, Y/N’s shoulders slump and shrugs; her head perks up immediately after when he’s bidding them byes and her inners fill with excitement and anticipation to just go home.

. . .

Her panties pools with arousal when he spreads his thighs apart, patting his meaty flesh with a skewered annoyance, “On daddy’s lap, bum out,” With gleeful little nod she’s stumbling her way towards him and he’s not pawing at her hips to lay her down and shove her face into the mattress, keeping his hands to himself quite for a moment before pondering if it’s the right punishment seeing how her panties are already twisted, she shrinks into herself at his cold demeanour wiggling a little to adjust.

Don’t get her wrong. She loves having him gentle and sweet and tentative, pressed so tight she could feel each lull and thump of his heart. Feeling him crush her under his weight with each thrust of his’s overwhelming each of her pores with so much love for him—- sometimes she imagines him to be rough with her, when he grabs and holds and bite her to leave her sore and whiny next day. Pinning her thighs roughly and fucks into her so fast and hard and deep .. god so deep she feels him in her tummy and her pussy swallows down onto him wetly.

He bunches her dress up her spine, strokes her cheek lovingly, plucking at her waistband and touches the soft supple skin then realizes how and why they ended up here.

Her body relaxes into him, nuzzling her nose into his knee and thinks he changed his mind and is out of fumes, will now fuck her nice and warm until a very, disrupting startling swat to her bum makes her gasp and she jerks against his bicep that’s holding her place in now, “Tha’ hurt!” She whined, pouting even though he couldn’t see it because his hold’s firm on her and if it stung didn’t mean she wants to stop him – it’s sparking the tingles in her pit wanting for more.

“’S supposed to,” He grabs onto her hand that tries to reach behind and rub the sting away, “Knows why you’re gettin’ punished right?” He doesn’t wait for her short nod and gives another firm slap to her right cheek and she feels it jiggling under his calloused palm.

“Words!” He growls, she feels small and little in his lap and she’s loving it – knowing he’d immediately stop if she’d accentuate any discomfort, “Was mean. Teased daddy and ...” She mewls when he kneads her blushed skin and clucks his tongue at her, something so dominating and domineering about him in a way she wants to obey him and listen to him quite oddly now after so much wreck havoc—- her noise strangling inside herself out of embarrassment and utter shyness; that she hurt him.

“...and daddy doesn’t likes to be teased.” He says derisively, blunt nails scratching her thighs to raise goosebumps on her skin.

“Ought to teach ya a lesson, didn’t I? You’d be still a filthy brat if it wouldn’t hurt.” He slithers his long fingers under her chin and grabs it, makes her look up at him– giving a light slap to her parted lips when she refuses to look him in eyes.

She's puckering her spit coated lips to suck his digits in her mouth and shallow her cheeks around them, grousing when he removes them out of her reach and she melts into his palm when he gives her two more spanks one after another between her asscheeks quick and hard and rolls his thumb painfully closer to where her little hole is clenching.

Might, in other cases, he'd have cooed at her and caressed her bottom, murmuring, “Such a soft little thing,” and “Moppet y'did so good for daddy,”

“Turn over.” He elevates her with his knee, rocking her on his bulge teasingly and loops his arm around her waist to finally help her up.

The sea foam glazed eyes peering down at her with such intensity makes Y/N chase for his lips eagerly and she cries out when he backs away, “Daddy no ...” Her complain is dropping to a low whimper as Harry strokes his thumb over her bottom pouty lip, creaming her panties and pricking the balloon of exhilaration in her tummy -- she’s a bit upset he hasn’t called her pet names at all and he still thinks she’s bad and hasn’t learned her lesson.

She did! She’s good!

“Maybe if you weren’t so mean,” He cups her bum, breath hitching for a moment when she hisses, lifts her up and glides her panties down, “I would’ve eat your cute pussy out earlier.” He utters, nose burrowing in her neck when she tries to get rid of the panties to be good for him, “Perhaps only really good girls gets their peach eaten . . ‘cos they really deserve it, dunno?”

Her head bows against his chest, feeling unexpectedly too small and disheartened as she murmurs kittenishly clutching his sides and blinking up at him in desperation with glossy lashes, “’M good daddy. Aren’t I?” He let a small smile tick his dimples which went unnoticed by her, of how much haziness and subbiness she has gone under.

He sponges his lips to her collarbones, a whimper scrapes from her throat from where her hands are pressed to the seam of his slacks, while he leans back undoing his buttons.

His cock twitches and akin to it his face warm pink and happy at the noises she creates once he’s out and he grasps her wrists and tugs her forward, “I’m your good girl.” She takes a huge weepy sigh leaning herself to get his cock inside her without seeming bad— because she wants to be good and she’s needy and achy at the same time.

“Your sore and stingy bum would say otherwise, Bunny.” He grins, and a groan rattles in his chest when he swipes his fingers up her folds to inspect her and she’s dripping thickly.

“Fuck. Sucha tight pretty hole f'me.” He murmurs. Helps himself ease inside wet, tight hole and holds himself from making both of them flop back into sheets when she fits around him velvety and snug, his balls pressed to her bum.

She goes to loop her elbows around his neck to smush herself into him and to muffle any inhumane noises she’ll create-- too afraid she’d sob out for being in such a vulnerable state, rather, he hooks his fingers around her wrists securely and holds them behind her spine.

“Bounce on my cock, Bunny.” He orders and she mewls, realizing he isn’t done with her and knows she tires herself too early whilst ridding him and ends up grouching and huffing.

She complies. Feeling herself stuffier and stuffier, she soaks his cock utterly slick with each of his throb inside her and she always loves how he gets more stiff once inside her like it’s the best place he wants to be in and she gazes with hooded eyes to where she has created the slide for him easier, as her pussy squelches around him with his each buck and rough thrust.

“Aah! Ah!” She cries, nibbling onto the fading love-mark on his neck when he slips his hand between their bodies to roll her clit, “Yes, yes. Right there daddy!” He tips her chin to wrap his mouth around her swollen bitten lip and suckles on it murmuring.

“Here yeah? Is daddy’s cock nice and big, hitting your spot good, fuckin’ my baby’s spots good.”

She pouts up at him, chest heaving from all her work and he brushes her hair behind, “Apologise fo’ being naughty and you might get to cum,” She wastes no time, body stretching in arched bow with his slam of hips into her.

“I’m sorry, for being naughty and misbehaving!” She blubbers slumping onto his chest.

He pats her bum, groping it to help her fuck her cunt down his heavy prick and he whispers gutturally in her ear, “Keep going bunny. I could feel ye' pussy squeezin' me s'bloody tight.” He fucks her sloppily circling her sensitive nub twice, thrice until she’s gushing all over him in a heavenly manner thrashing in his arms and not able to screw down any moans and noises.

His own orgasm follows her. Pouring her hole with a heavy cum-load and his grip from around her wrists loosens up, falling on his sides and crinkling the sheets while he stuffs his nose into her shoulder hill thighs jerking under her.

They stay, like that for some seconds, covered in sheen and possibly eachother’s sweat— his recovery was too livid he didn’t heard soft sniffles against his cheek and his chest immediately suffocates up when he draws Y/N away to be met by her glassy drunk pink eyes, lower lip wobbling awfully sad.

“Daddy I’m sorry, I’m bad, I’m so sorry daddy —...” Her jumbled apologies gets lost into her violent sob that knocks her chest and she gasps, bursting wide pupils locked to Harry’s panicked ones and he quickly cradles her face shaking his head furiously, “No baby. You’re my good girl, me best girl.” His tone honest and loving and adoring.

“No! I hurt you ....” She trembles, hiding her face into her elbow and Harry pulls it away, he moulds both of his palms against her teary warm cheeks and lulls her face with all of the endearment he holds for her in his heart.

“I didn’t mean it daddy, promise.” She sulks, fear swimming in her eyes shattering Harry’s heart into infinite pieces and he scolds himself for it, terrified he went too harsh with her, “I know bunny. I know."

“Now come back to me, Angel. Harry misses you. Wanna have me Angel bac—...” Her babbling takes over his coaxing and she hiccups, head a mess of vivid thoughts and doubts, “I got jealous, don’t like it when you look at your friends the same way y'do to me,” He wasn’t. He could never see someone in the same light and same affection and adoration he sees his lovie, since, she was gone under the foam of dizziness too much and neglected of his attention it seemed like that to her and Harry’s beating himself for making her feel like it.

“I...I know, shouldn’t. ‘M sorry, but I love you so much daddy . . .” More tears springs and falls from her eyes. Her crying confession leaves Harry appalled and shocked, butterflies swarming in his tummy and his hands stays limp on her side before he ponders that’d make her over-think he doesn’t wants to touch her so he instantly rubs his hands up and down her arms, mouth guppies many time to stutter out something.

They hadn’t exchanged ‘I love yous' yet. He knew they’d. He wanted it be when they’d be all cuddled and he’s pecking her all where and making love to her, not when she barely knows about her presence and is too floaty to have her feet on ground.

“I love you too. I love you too, so much baby, fuck.” He presses his forehead to hers, nosing her softly and gently and then smashes his lips against hers in a deep humming kiss instead of answering when she blinks up at him startled asking, “You do,” So innocently that Harry had to kiss his love and feel the taste of sex on her mouth and suckle on her tongue to drive her mind away from deprecating herself.

“Wanna have my Angel, back. Please? Pretty please?”

“No more mad?”

“Could never be, you my baby.”

“Can I keep you inside me for sometime? I’ll be good.” She murmurs sleepily, Harry wraps his arms around her and snuggles her into his chest, “My cock’s all yours pretty girl.” He soothes her back. Waiting patiently for her breathing pattern to go back to normal.

“Thank you.” Her voice sobering up, cracking the cocoon of fog where his Y/N rests and the moment she’d be out, he’s gonna kiss her love for him out of her lips.

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sweetsbfreex · 3 years

Text

a father’s duty

Summary: brought to u by the wholesome picture of Cevans sewing up dodger’s stuffed lion 🤧

Warnings: Talk of trauma (nothing too in depth) and talk of sex

Pairings: Dad, Husband!Ransom x reader

You and Ransom were cuddled up together on the couch, some random movie he had chosen that you weren’t paying attention to. You wanted to cuddle, but he insisted on watching this movie so a compromise had to be made. And the feeling of his hand going up and down, inside your shirt, against your arm; Could only make you purr in contentment.

And you were meant to doze off if it wasn’t for the dramatic, high pitched scream of pure agony. You both shot up from your seats, looking at each other wide eyed before dashing up the stairs (Ransom ahead).

Until you were in the doorway of an overly purple room.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

Ransom let a small, stunned gasp at the feel of a teary eyed four year old, Celeste bolting to his legs. Her small arms had tried to wrap around his legs as she sobbed into his jeans, fists tight as she clutching the denim.

Confused you had leant down adjacent to her, Ransom peering down from his stance, lifting her arms to softly run circles over her back.

“What’s wrong baby?” a fake pout on your lips.

“She’s dead!” she had sobbed, her puffy cheek making contact with his expensive jeans to make eye contact with you.

“What? Who’s dead babe?” Ransom asked, tilting his head downward, eye brows stitched together.

She propped her chin up against his leg, “Daffy” she blubbered, extending her arm behind her to point at the limp stuffed bunny a few feet away.

“Fucking–��” He couldn’t finish his sentence a hearty laugh emitted into the otherwise somber air, still laughing (some tears streaking his face) he had picked up the once blubbering girl so she saddled on his hip.

“Ransom! It’s not funny and language, god”

“C'mon” he dragged the n, “You gotta admit this is hilarious, she’s so dramatic...I wonder who she gets it from” he smirked, looking at you knowingly.

“You” you appointed, holding back your smile.

“As if” he scoffs rolling his eyes.

“Daffy!” Celeste exclaimed, snapping the two from their loving trance.

“Right!” you snapped yourself back into mom mode, making way to Daffy and your way back to the two, watching Ransom wipe the tears from Celeste’s face, calming her down in a hushed voice.

You sidle up next to Ransom lifting the stuffed animal, so the both of you could evaluate the state of her favorite buddy. You looked up to him, watching his face scrunch up, almost like disgust, but you knew he was just very confused.

“Jeez leste, what’d you do?”

The light yellow bunny up front was perfectly fine, but once you had turned it around a tear in the fabric of the it’s “spine” was parted, the thread poking out along the hem.

“I–– I was just spinning her around”

“Is that really what you did” you prompted.

“No..” she set forward shyly, resting her temple against her father’s shoulder. “There was a string and then I pulled it by accident”

“By accident?” Ransom asked, eyebrows raised.

“On purpose” she mumbled, eyes tearing up slowly.

Celeste is probably the biggest liar the two of you know. You both have been working on that habit, reassuring her that it was fine and being honest is better most times (minus surprises, safety, etc). You both had even resorted to acting out examples for her. She was getting better, but ever the fibber she still found a way to slip into the habit. And when you had asked her why exactly she loved lying, she only replied with a quib “It’s fun!” giggling to herself.

“Hey it’s okay, you were curious” he cooed, “Mommy will fix it don’t worry”

You looked up at him mesmerized, not so surprised at the father he was becoming. Remembering all those nights he had kept the two of you up, even the day you were in labor, he had been worried. How was he ever supposed to love a kid properly–– let alone his–– when he never had that benefit. All these what ifs running through his head in a cycle.

He had even taken it upon himself to sign you both up for those parenting classes. The ones with the fake dolls. Dolls that he held gently as if they were alive.

“I will. You’ve had a long day, love, you wanna go to bed now?” you asked her, smiling.

She nods silently, reaching her hands out to you. Ready for the familiar night routine to begin.

––––

After Celeste had been put to bed, it was not you and Ransom being the only two up. You were both in your shared bathroom, getting ready for bed.

You groaned, catching the attention of Ransom. “Sewing that thing is gonna be some work” watching yourself in the mirror as you rub in your lotion.

“You’re tying that thing together, how hard can that be?”

“I’m sewing it together”

“Tomato, Tomahto” he responded.

“Fine, since you think it’s so easy why don’t you fix it for her?”

“Deal. I’ll take another night of anal as my end” he says this confindently, not expecting another word for you, as he saunters past you briskly but not before placing a kiss to your check and a rough smack to the ass.

Ransom.

–––––

And god did he take this seriously. Making sure you were up this entire time as he achieved his new level of domesticity.

And you did, sitting up against the headboard as you watched him sit shirtless across the sized room.

He sits in the barrel chair. the stuffed animal in his lap, a spool of light pink thread to match the bunny in between his legs, and a packet of needles in his hand.

“Babe you have to––”

He holds up a hand, stopping you from saying whatever you were about to say.

“I got this babe” he tells you, looking at you wearily as he pulls up a video (‘how to sew stuffed bunny animal together’) on his phone.

You watch him watch the video,switching the show you were watching to make it seem as if you weren’t watching him too carefully.

He squints, focused as he listens to the lady in the video.

“You look so cute”

“Thanks” he grumbles, placing a thimble on his pointer finger.

He was like a cute grandmother. His eyebrows brought together and tongue poking through his cheek, which you teased him endlessly about. There was just something about watching a brawly, grumpy man like him knit. So you pulled your phone out wanting to take a quick picture.

“Put. it. down.” he tells you, not even looking away from his task.

“Wha–– You’re really creepy, you know that. Smile” you demand of him. “It’d be so cute for the album”

He of course doesn’t smile instead raising the stuffed animal to cover his face from the camera, but you were quick enough to get something before that. Smiling fondly at the adorable photo of his concentrated face. Once you had your fill of serotonin, you closed the device and reached over to set it on your nightstand.

“You gonna give me a kiss goodnight before you go?” he asks you stoically, head still looking down at his task.

“Yes Ransom. Just give me a minute’ you respond, shimmying yourself from the soft sheets. You make your way besides Ransom–– naturally he wraps one arm around your waist to bring you–– leaning down and placing a kiss to his cheek (which he smiles at) then his lips. He pulls back first only to return again for a deeper one. Sending you off, finally, with a pinch to your ass.

“Goodnight, Baby” you tell him over your shoulder on your way back to the bed.

“Night y/n/n.”

–––––

“y/n” is whispered in your ear and the shaking of your shoulder is what causes you to wake up. You turn your head over your shoulder to see Ransom standing over you gleefully.

“Ransom?” you rasp, turning your whole body over to face him, looking at the clock on your night stand. “It’s two in the morning!”

“Thanks captain obvious” he mutters, rolling his eyes. Yet, he lifts up the stuffed animal. Both hands on either paws, holding it up to show you. “I finished!”

You instantly noticed the band-aid wrapped around his thumb and the brightest smile on his face. Through it you could see how proud of himself he really was. He really was getting a hand of this dad thing he was still figuring it out.

Ransom, however, could only think about how tired he was and how strained his eyes felt––probably rimmed red. With the amount of times he had to rewatch the video because he missed or didn’t understand a step. But, for his little girl it was definitely worth it.

“Well, look at you. You did so good bub” you extend your arm up lazily to then loop it around his neck, bringing him down for a kiss.

If only his conceited friends could see him now. Thinking about how Danver, one of the many friends he had dropped, would berate him passively. Calling it a women’s role most likely.

“Thank you” he settles one more kiss, “Let’s go”

“Go where?” you chuckle

“Leste’s room...where else? She’ll need him to sleep the rest of the night comfortably” he explains, removing your arm from his neck. To gently tug your hand.

“You sure?” you ask hesitantly.

“Hundred percent, let’s go”

––––

You open the door slowly, the creaking sound it emitted making you cringe. And when you’re hushed by Ransom, you twist around instantly sending him a stink eye.

And you both stand against the side of her bed, you crouch down. Raising your hand to her shoulder.

“Lesty” you whisper, your thumb running circles over her shoulder.

She wakes up slowly, as always. The clear indication that she is awake being when she raises her hand to rub at her eyes.

“Mommy? She stops and gasps, “Are we going to Disney?” asking the question with glee, she sits up, her hands placed over her book patterned pajama pants.

You and Ransom share a short laugh. Remembering how you surprised her just like this months ago. The frown that overtakes her face makes you both want to laugh.

“I’m going back to sleep” she tells you both, already reaching for her blanket.

“Wait” you laugh, holding her hand. “There's a surprise for you”

At your announcement, Ransom steps up holding out the sewed up stuffy. Her tiny hands covered the gasp she let out, muffling it.

“She’s fixed!” she’s astonished, running her fingers along the stitches.

Celeste felt like a jumping bean with all this happiness filling her body and she wasn’t sure how to express how happy she felt. So, she jumped onto her mother, arms latched onto her neck. Kissing her cheek incessantly.

“Thank you thank you thank you-”

“Actually––” you start.

“Woah! Woah! Woah!” ever the dramatic, “Momma didn’t do this. I did babe” he tells her, a gobsmacked, playful expression on his face.

Ransom’s replica quickly unlatched herself from y/n, rocketing herself into his arms. He held onto her tightly. Falling in love with the toothy smile–– albeit it was missing a front one–– she gave him. He was rolling around in her appreciation towards his gesture. This was all he wanted. To be a better man for you to marry and be a better father for his daughter.

He brought her into him a little bit, placing a kiss to her forehead.

“Anything for you Leste” he tells her in a hush.

You rise slowly from your crouch, knees a bit sore from how long you were down there. Just in awe of the love they both exerted towards each other. Ransom’s hand lightly flying over the back of her head and Her tiny palm coddling his cheek.

“Time for bed?” you ask the two of them, your hand naturally going to Ransom and Celeste’s shoulder.

“Yeah. I’m tired” she tells you, dragging out the h. Setting her cheek to her dad’s muscled shoulder. Nuzzling her cheek against it lazily.

“Yeah? Well let’s put you in bed first” Ransom responds.

You walk behind the two, as Ransom sets her down gently on her bed.

He sets a kiss to her cheek then he pulls back, watching the way her arms tighten around the stuffed animal.

“You love it?” he asks, a proud smile etched on his face.

“Yes” she whispers, “Thank you, daddy” her palm caressing the top of it’s head.

“Anything for you Leste” he reaffirmed. He needed her to know that he’d do anything. Anything. To keep a smile that bright on her precious face. He didn’t want her to doubt if he ever loved her or if she could ever come to him about anything. He especially didn’t want her to think that she’d be second to his work.

He loved her too much and decided, right when you told him the news, he’d learn from his parents’ mistakes and trauma he had to deal with.

“Goodnight, honey”

He gets up from his spot watching you lean over placing a kiss to her cheek, tugging the crocheted blanket to Celeste’s chin.

“Night baby” you tell her sweetly.

“Night” she replies to the both of you before snuggling into the duck more.

––––

RIght when you shut the door, you expect to face Ransom’s back walking towards your bedroom. But try not to scream, startled, when your head meets with his chest.

You look up, probably not the smartest thing to do. “You ready for bed?” you ask nervously, each hand landing on his broad shoulders.

With the way he was looking at you, you would assume you were the last stash of biscoff cookies he always keeps fully stored in the house. Especially, with the other Drysdale in the house, the cookies went by faster when they used to.

“Don’t think so..We made a bet. Remember?” he smiles

“RIght now?!” you hiss lowly. He must have lost his mind. “You woke me up at like three in the morning”

“It was actually two” you whack his arm at his smart mouth, of course he doesn’t react. “Anyway. A bets a bet. Let’s go baby” he crouches down, lifting you up swiftly into a bride-groom like position.

“Ransom!” you whisper, taken by surprise.

“A quickie and then we’ll drop her off at your parents tomorrow to get to the real stuff tomorrow” he asserts.

With that, he picks up his speed. Taking you both down the hallway. Once he’s arrived at his destination–– the bedroom–– he throws you on the bed. Laughing to himself with how stricken you look. You should be used to this by now, he tells himself.

“Ransom!” is the last of his name he hears with a tone of scolding mixed with shock, before he gets to work. When he climbs on top of you quickly––like a lion to prey––biting your neck.

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

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bandaigaeru · 3 years

Text

song of the summer - bang chan

→pairing: ceo bang chan x gn reader

→genre: kinda strangers to lovers

→synopsis: he runs one of the biggest music companies in the country, yet he inducts you to help aid him and his friends, each of them deemed as representatives of the ‘big three’, for their next official comeback.

→word count: 12.5k

→ warnings: swearing, shitty father figure

A single question hangs over the dim conference room you’ve somehow scored a seat in. Does the general public want to see 3Racha? Bluntly, the answer is right in front of you. Glowing against the whiteboard from the overhead projector, the carefully curated slideshow answers the rhetorical question.

One of the dance representatives from the back of the room twirls his pen between his fingers. Leaning back in his chair, he apathetically wonders aloud, “So it’s true, then?”

“What’s that, Mr. Lee?” the marketing representative, a Mr. Choi, holds his remote between both hands as he leans toward the table. The word ‘full’ dances across his face as he steps in front of the projector’s path.

“That they’re making a comeback. A full one?”

Mr. Choi nods, scanning the rest of the patrons’ reactions with squinted eyes as he says, “That would be correct.”

Of course, the three who would walk onstage and perform aren’t here. Mr. Bang is probably running around, abiding by his role as the professional CEO who never skips a beat. Regarding the other two, you’re not sure. They’re not as predictable.

The project is pretty tight in terms of what needs to be met. Summer is around the corner, and everyone and their mother will be fighting to hold that mere title of having the temporary greatest hit. When the general public awaits their yearly easily digestible, flowery songs.

“Keep in mind that we are all under Bang! Entertainment,” Choi remarks, clicking to his next slide displaying headlines questioning the company’s next move. “It should go without saying, but all eyes will be on us as the season turns.”

You stare at the bolded words, trying to digest each of them. Joining the company was likely the best decision you’ve ever made, outside of adopting a cat named Loba. When you got scouted as a producer, you were under a different company. Bang! offered a contract, but didn’t require an interview because they ‘didn’t want to invalidate or question a talent they’ve already seen.’

It was an ego boost.

“I’m sure you all know what your roles are in this,” Choi says, taking glances around the room to make sure each face isn’t lost or distant. This is 3Racha we’re talking about. Everything must be perfect.

You take a glance of your own. A few belong to the dance department, some to hair and makeup; however, you are the only producer here.

You raise a low hand to garner Mr. Choi’s attention. “Why am I here?” you subsequently ask, dropping your hand and crossing it against your chest as before.

“The team personally requested you,” he says.

Connections, you instantly understand. In a place like this, in a time like this, they’re a necessity. Nepotism is practically required in the world of music, hence why it sucks for most aspiring indie artists. You didn’t choose to befriend a guy who happens to be best friends with one of the big three here. So, you cast a blind eye.

It’s all a game of luck.

The meeting doesn’t run much longer. A concluding statement with hints of a threat if anyone messes up rings through your ears. A project end date of July 20th, when the album is supposed to go live. You’re not nervous, per se. Simply blindsided given the lack of information. What’s the song about? When’s the due date? Will 3Racha come to you first, or do you have to take time out of your day to the CEO’s harrowing office? The uncertainties aggravate the impulse of opening a new document on your computer and delving into your producer rituals. You can’t create someone else’s project out of blankness. And that irritates you to no end.

Someone throws their arm around your shoulder in an attempt to throw you off your purposeful stride.

“Congrats,” the belonger says.

You glance over to look, even though you know the voice well. He is your connection, of course.

“Thanks.”

Minho pulls you back to a slower pace. Familiar faces from the meeting pass you to the elevator, a majority in a meaningless chatter. They expected an appearance on this project.

“What are you doing tonight?” he finally asks, stopping altogether and dropping his arm from your shoulder.

You shrug, looking curiously at him. Minho’s not one to beat around the bush.

“Hypothetically,” he starts, “how would you feel being invited to bro night?”

“And actually witness you or Felix puke on the lawn instead of hearing about it? No thanks,” you scoff, making an attempt to abandon the situation by following the distancing crowd.

He grabs your wrist, spinning you back to him. “Please?” His eyes are pleading, glaring back at you like an innocent kitten.

You tip your head and sigh. “Why?”

Instead of cutting to the chase, he sucks in a deep breath and says, “I’ll pay you.”

An eyebrow cocks. Regardless of your amusement—a desperate Minho doesn’t appear often—worries consume you. “What’s up? Why are you acting like this?”

Wary eyes jump around the hallway before they land back on you. “Follow me,” he mumbles.

His steps are calculated as he guides you to the elevator and presses the floor his office resides on. The ride is silent, as is the walk down the hall. You step into the room first, and he closes the door behind him. Despite the urge to ask if he’s about to murder you, you bite your tongue and take a seat on his upholstered couch. Identical to the one in your office.

Gently, he lowers himself into his chair. A few minutes pass of you simply staring at each other. Nerves crawl up your spine and you disguise them with a snarky comment. “Are you going to tell me why you’re willing to bribe me into spending time with your friends?”

In the time he takes to respond, you think about how the only mutual friend you have is Jisung. Sure, you know everyone on a name basis; but it’s not like you’ve known them as long as Minho. He doesn’t have other, more qualified, friends to drag to bro night?

“Chan’s kinda in a mood right now,” Minho’s words are slurred by the breath he releases as he speaks.

“And?” you press.

“I want you to see it before you work with him. And for him to understand you in advance. Y’know. You’re a little,” he hesitates, “forward sometimes.”

You should take this as an insult, but you can’t because words’ owner knows you too well. Minho never speaks unjustly.

“Touche,” you nod. It’s better to own up to your flaws. If you don’t, that’s how you end up walking into a carefully curated narcissistic personality.

His features loosen as he presses his forearms on his thighs. “So. You in?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” you emit a wry laugh. All in one sentence, you’ve managed to prove his point. It’s simple, really.

“You see, I’ve already told the boys you’re coming. Either way, I would’ve gotten you to go. The only other option would have been to threaten you with a knife,” he admits. As you gawk at him in awe, realizing you stand in the same boat, a proud grin grows on his face. With time, you begin to mirror the ones you admire. Friends, for example.

“I think Seungmin will like you,” he adds.

“Why do you say that?”

All you know of Kim Seungmin is that he’s in the vocal department, along with his younger counterpart Yang Jeongin, and that he’s a menace. Minho’s words.

“You’re both evil.”

That’s the last straw. You stand up without a word and stomp for the door.

His laugh echoes behind you, striking a quieter one of your own. Still, you stay in character and slip out into the hallway. Minho has won too many of these scenarios.

ii.

Loba sneaks into the kitchen as you wait impatiently for Minho. Thirty minutes. That’s how late he is. You consider texting him, but acknowledge the possibility he’s stuck in traffic or something. Agitation tells you to do it anyway since he only lives two blocks over.

The orange cat paws at your calf for attention, momentarily distracting you as you set your phone down on the counter. Minho’s chat is wide open. She, too, finds excuses for him.

Her head nuzzles against your palm as you scratch behind her ears. She meddles successfully enough to trick you into feeding her a few treats. While you reach for the top shelf of your pantry, a pair of footsteps sneak up behind you. Heavier than Loba’s.

“Did the cat convince you to spoil her again?”

“Son of a-” you recoil, whirling around to greet the man, the myth, the late bastard.

The familiar appearance of a sly smirk, mischievous eyes, and an outfit that makes him look like a casual runway model, pierce your vision.

“You’re late,” you mutter, stepping past him and scooping Loba up. You rest her head on your left arm, cradling her like a baby. She tilts her head up to stare back at Minho. Traitor.

Minho grabs the bag of treats for you.

“Sorry, I had to pick up Jisung. He’s in the car,” his voice trails as he slips his thumbs between the plastic fold and focuses on opening the difficult seal.

“Damn it,” he curses. Karma arrives faster in deserving situations.

“It took you thirty extra minutes to pick him up?”

He deadpans, “You know he likes to be presentable for the boys.”

When you don’t give him the satisfaction of a single laugh, let alone a change in emotion, he whines, “Oh come on, that was funny.”

“You trick me into going to your stupid hangout, and now you have the nerve to show up late?”

He sneaks a few treats to Loba. “You’re really not mad at me right now, are you?”

“Irritated, at the least,” you admit.

“Well, then I’m sorry. Jisung got off late so I had to wait at Bang! for him.”

The words sink into your skin, but you don’t acknowledge them further. The anger fades on the walk down to the car, a great distance separating you and Minho. It’s practically dissipated by the time you climb into the backseat of Minho’s Kia Soul.

Jisung turns in the front seat and offers his hand at an awkward angle. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

You hold your seatbelt in one hand, accepting his with the other as you force a measly smile. “Same for you. Thanks for suggesting me to Mr. Bang.”

Confusion warps his face, twisting his eyebrows in a weird knit as he shakes his head. “It wasn’t me. Must’ve been Chan.”

Minho drops himself into the driver’s seat, suspending any further questioning.

Jisung returns to his original poise as when you approached the car. Eyes focused on his phone, actively typing something out.

You click your seatbelt into locking. An unnatural feeling plagues your gut. Mr. Bang wanted you on the team? It feels unlikely, but you know Jisung wouldn’t joke like that. Even if he were the type, his acting of unawareness gives away the truth.

Minho glances back at you in the mirror. “Ready?” he asks as his hand rests on the gearshift.

You press your lips into a line as you nod. “Mhm.”

You stare down at your hands carefully folded in your lap. For the first time since before producing, the itch to create is drowned by an intense, overwhelming brew of something lingering in your veins.

The expectation of you has pierced through the roof and is shooting out of the stratosphere.

Chan—Jisung quickly advised you to drop all formalities, so you’re rewiring your thoughts—has a home in Gangnam. Fitting for his status, but smaller than you expected. It’s still able to fit at least four of your apartment in it, though.

Jisung and Minho walk ahead of you up the stairs. The elevators in rich apartments on this end can only fit two people if you really scrunch together. What’s the money for, then?

“Today’s Monopoly night, right?” Jisung examines Minho’s side profile as he cautiously lifts one foot after the other. The stairs here are steeper than any you’ve seen. Hiking sounds better than this.

He hums in approval. “I guess we’ll sort teams later. We probably won’t live through the night with last week’s.”

A brash laugh escapes Jisung’s lips, subsequently echoing against the walls and bouncing back to your ears. “Right.”

You tune out their conversation for the rest of the climb, settling for watching your shoelaces sway with each step.

Jisung pushes on the door for the fourth floor, holding it open until you’re fully into the hallway. “Chan’s the second door on the right,” Jisung nods to one of the identical doors along the hall—appearing more expensive than your monthly rent with its rich stain.

Minho doesn’t bother knocking, instead opting for trying the doorknob. It allows access to the gigantic living space and the loud chatter previously muffled by walls.

You must be the last to arrive, but you probably could’ve guessed such.

“Hey,” Jeongin looks up from his conversation, inspiring a round of greetings from all the others.

“You all know each other enough so I’ll skip the introductions,” Minho glances between you and the group, starting for an empty end of the couch.

When Jisung follows his lead, you take a headcount. It appears everyone’s present except Chan—his birth name still feels awkwardly informal in your thoughts. You glance down the dark hallway to your right, counting one, two, three closed doors. Nature drags you into curiosity.

Seungmin, your alleged evil twin, waves you over.

As you take the empty spot beside him, he says, “Sorry, you looked a little awkward just standing there. Thought I’d save you before Hyunjin said something.” He shoots a pointed nod at the long-haired blond lounging between Changbin and Minho.

“Oh. Thanks,” you force a little smile that imitates gratitude. You didn’t feel awkward observing, but maybe your aura screamed otherwise.

Jeongin leans slightly over Seungmin’s shoulder with an inquisitive eye. “How did Minho convince you to come?”

“Blackmail,” you nod. Not attempting to summon a laugh, but managing so in the process.

“That’s Minho for you,” Seungmin tips his head in a slightly disbelieving manner.

“It’s okay, though. We’ll make tonight fun for you,” Jeongin raises his hand, and you meet it with a high-five.

Bro night might not be as bad as you thought.

“If only Chan comes out from his room,” Seungmin mutters, particularly to himself, as he leans his arm on the back of the couch and twists his body to look back into the hallway.

Questions. You want to ask them, but then Minho’s words return in full, blaring effect. Forward, he said. Meaning: blunt. In your face.

You bite your tongue. Redirect the temptation, you think, as your eyes scan the room. Admittedly, it’s odd seeing all these people away from their respective passions. However, Changbin’s phone is cradled in his hands, and his fingers are typing away potential lyrics. Felix, too, is hiding the fact his fingers are mirroring the directions of his recent choreography. Maybe passions are always a shadow of you.

“Should we just fix teams?” Minho says above the impatient silence.

“We can,” Hyunjin leans his forearms on his thighs. His hair falls in front of his shoulders like he’s some kind of Greek god.

“Team captains?” Seungmin asks.

“Let’s do the oldest of each unit, but since Chan’s God-knows-where, Changbin can represent,” Minho nods, glancing around for looks of satisfaction.

“Sure, rock-paper-scissors for who goes first?” Seungmin pushes a strand of hair out of his eye.

Short story short, Minho wins the first round with a victorious cheer of, “Easy!”

“You only say that because you know they always pick scissors first,” you accuse.

Minho points a finger at you, “Allegedly.”

You land a spot on Minho’s team since he got the first pick of the litter. Then, by Minho’s attempt at matchmaking, Chan lands on your team.

As you’re moving spots, you shoot Seungmin a sad, unmoving look.

He laughs, pushing you towards Minho. “Maybe next time.”

“What?” Minho glances between you. “Are you planning a coup against me?”

“You wish, Lee Minho,” you sigh, falling into the empty space beside him.

After a few beats of silence, for good measure, Minho leans down to your ear and says, “I told you you’d like him.”

“Yeah, he’s like a better version of you,” you turn to see the predictable look of offense on his features.

“Fine then, get Seungmin to drive you home,” he pouts, crossing his arms against his chest and pushing his back into the couch.

“Oh come on,” you nudge his elbow, laughing at his exaggeration.

You see a smile tug at his lips before he breaks, letting a chuckle break through his barrier.

In the remaining meantime that you wait, Minho calls dibs on the cat. Seungmin’s team claims the dog, with an offhand comment from Minho going, “You would choose the dog.” Finally, Changbin’s team chooses the hat.

“Is that a joke because you’re so short? So you can gain a few inches with the hat?” Hyunjin jabs.

Changbin reaches over the couch to try and hit him.

From this end of the couch, you can look directly into the dark, mysterious hallway. You watch as the second door knob slowly turns. You focus on it, and the shouting dispute fades out in your ears.

Chan steps out from the room, carefully closing the door behind him so as to not bring all the eyes on him at once. You fight your facial expressions to remain neutral as you take in his appearance—which is shockingly normal. Suits are his workplace fashion, and consequently, all you’ve seen him in. Now, he wears black basketball shorts and a black tee. His hair is even loosening into curls. Is this the same man who runs a massive music company? Are we sure?

His cover is blown the moment he steps into the light of the living room. Jeongin warily points a finger in your direction, “You’re on their team.”

Chan presses his lips into a makeshift smile as he approaches you and Minho. He pushes out a small ‘hey’ before taking his spot on the other side of Minho.

His reclusive figure makes your heart wrench. You wish you could have talked Minho out of going. To him, you’re just an outsider he has to put a front up for. But, the thing is, he isn’t trying to build a barrier. It appears that he doesn’t have any more energy to try.

You catch yourself staring when Minho nudges your knee with his. “You take the first roll.”

Collecting the die, you notice your hands trembling a little. Not good. You manage, somehow knocking Seungmin’s dog in the process. He feigns shock, whining in an accusatory tone, “You’re no different than Minho.”

The choir of laughter shuffles you back into reality when you glance back at your accused teammate, catching the look of the other. The corners of Chan’s lips are slightly turning up into a smile.

Whew. You’re amazed by the amount of relief that little smile gives you.

iii.

The game trails into the early hours of the morning, and a few times a boy will point at Chan and say, in an attempt to be lighthearted, “This is all your fault.”

To the dismay of the rivals, Changbin’s team manages to win. Jisung, a member of Seungmin’s team, flips the board twenty turns too late at the news. “This game is stupid!” he laughs through his words.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Changbin says as the money flutters to the rug beneath the glass coffee table. A cue for the group to laugh blinks above their heads, each varying in intensity. Hyunjin even claps a few times, for his vocal contribution pales insufficient.

Jisung slumps to the ground, “I know.”

Chan lifts himself from the couch to aid him with a lingering smile from all the laughs. As the night progressed, he seemed to slowly inch into his ‘normal’ state, as Jisung had referred to in the car.

Minho slips his phone out from his pocket. At the single-digit time, nearing close to sunrise, he heaves a sigh and pushes himself up. “Guess I should get you home.”

He extends a hand to help you up.

“You’re leaving already?” Seungmin asks.

“Uh, yeah. It’s like three A.M.,” Minho squints at him, turning his lit home screen at him for proof.

Chan snickers as he stacks all the thousands. “That’s early for me.”

See? He’s even making jokes now. This is a weird normal, considering all you know of him is his status, but admittedly better than whatever funk he was previously in.

“See you on Monday, I’ll just spend the night,” Jisung lifts his hand in a semi-wave.

Chan doesn’t protest. Instead, he looks up at you and sticks his hand up. “Can’t wait to work with you,” and smiles. Dimples indent his cheeks in a way that makes your stomach churn.

You take his hand and mirror his smile, though it’s rather genuine in comparison to the one you offered Jisung.

Minho has the decency to wait to call you out on it until you’re in the soundproof safety of his car.

“I saw that,” he says.

“What?”

“The smile. Don’t like Chan. That’d be way too awkward for me.”

You laugh, examining his twisted face of disgust as he starts the car. “Why?”

You’re not asking out of curiosity. You don’t like Chan, and you don’t see yourself liking him anytime soon. Or in the far future, for that matter. It’s just so easy to mess with Minho.

“Uh, my best friend dating my other best friend? That’s third-wheel central. I’m too hot to be a third wheel.”

Later, as you’re unbuckling your seatbelt to venture into the apartment building, Minho mumbles, “But, I mean, if you like him it’s whatever. I don’t want you feeling like you have to hide anything from me.”

You punch his arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You’re getting all sappy on me again. You don’t have to worry about stuff like that, dude,” you frown. Above anything Minho can say to you, his insecurities taking over his words hurts the most.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” you say, then adding, “Unless you want to come over sometime this weekend. I’ll be home.”

He smiles, though you sense the differing thoughts behind his eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you say before shutting the door.

iv.

In all the wrong ways, Monday comes too fast. Faster than you can process Friday night, essentially.

You try to scramble your remaining thoughts into order as you walk into the lobby.

Is Chan going to be normal today? Hoping so. Why was that relief so astonishing? Did Minho catch onto something-

“Hey, Y/N!�� Jisung intercepts your thoughts.

Your eyes involuntarily widen as he pops out from seemingly nowhere. Your gaze drifts to his outstretched hands, offering you one of the drinks each brandishes.

“I didn’t know which you’d prefer, and Minho wasn’t awake so I couldn’t text him. So, I got coffee and tea.”

You take your pick and nod a ‘thank you.’

“How was your weekend?” you find yourself asking as he leads you to the elevator.

He shrugs, “I did absolutely nothing other than a brain detox for this project. You?”

Despite his back being to you, your chin twitches into a nod. “Same as you, pretty much.”

“I think Chan’s in a good enough mood,” Jisung glances back at you as he reaches for the up arrow on the elevator’s panel.

“Sweet.”

Minho is your gateway to an easy conversation. Of course, he’s not here, but you slightly wish he was. You’re forced to meander in an abrasive silence until the elevator takes you up to the eighth floor.

Eight, because Chan detests the idea of being too close to anyone. He doesn’t want his presence to divide anyone’s attempt at creating their best. An icon in distancing, Minho joked as during your first week under Bang!

Jisung sucks in a deep breath as he turns into a room whose door is partially cracked. “Here goes nothing.”

On the far side of the room is an L-shaped couch. Resting upon the vertical side as if he were in his own bed is Changbin. A laptop sits in his lap, closed, but his phone is inches away from his face as he types.

“It’d be more effective if you used that laptop,” Jisung comments, resting his drink on the coffee table and sitting by Changbin’s feet. Giving Changbin the perfect opportunity to wedge his foot between the younger’s ribcage. A cry of pain shoots out of Jisung’s mouth. Truly, he should have seen that coming.

“Dude!” he shouts, jumping to his feet and clutching his side.

“I told you not to mess with me,” Changbin’s eyes narrow into a warning gaze, but Jisung laughs anyway.

“You are not scary, bro.”

You start for the opposite end of the couch, pressing your back into the armrest as you watch the scene unfold. Cupping your drink with both hands, you’re unsure if the warmth stems from it or the sibling-esque fight before you.

Changbin slides the laptop off of his lap and pulls himself to his feet. He stands before Jisung, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Then, as his eyes flutter open, he brings his fists up.

“Come on. Fight me.”

Jisung takes a step back. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Changbin shakes his head. “I’m not.”

Jisung’s eyes flit around the room for help. It would be that when the muscle man wants to fight, the only person physically capable of pacifying him isn’t here. Pure, unadulterated luck.

“And when you break my arm, then what?” Jisung’s eyebrows raise in taunting interrogation.

“Then I break your arm? What about it? You can perform with a shattered humerus. Right, ace?”

By chance of a higher being granting Han Jisung a break, Chan enters his office with a manila folder in his hand. Only a few steps into the room, he has to halt. His hand finds his hip, releasing a big sigh as he clutches the folder. To no surprise, he’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit. Black, of course. But with a surprising navy undershirt, which you give him credit for.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to cause injury in my office? Can you imagine the lawsuit? Would you do that to your beloved friend?” he asks a stream of questions.

He seems relatively happy.

Changbin drops his fists to his sides, gaze dropping back to his abandoned laptop. He scoops it up before reclaiming his spot. To fully conclude the argument, he opens the laptop’s lid. “Jisung started it.”

The accused boy looks at Chan and silently pleads his case. His hands clasp into a prayer.

Chan waves him off with a smile and a breathy laugh before starting for his desk. He acknowledges you with a small raise of his hand.

“Ah, where to begin?” he asks, to no one in particular, as he tosses the folder onto his desk and sinks into his chair.

“Han, can you turn the projector on?” Changbin takes the initiative, reaching over the couch’s back to grab a white USB cord.

He does as told, warily trying to avoid another pseudo-fight, before rushing to the light switch and fading the room into a mass of darkness. Chan must not like having his blinds open. Black world he lives in.

Changbin’s screen presents against the vacant wall across from him. A pre-written document appears, with the title ‘TT Ideas’ and a dashed list. 1.5 spacing, you admire.

“Okay, I did my homework,” he sighs, dragging his cursor over the highlighted ideas for the title track. “These are my personal favorites, but I’m up to debate.”

Jisung shivers at those words. Debate. Meaning: duel.

In the darkness, Chan steps in front of you. He sits halfway between you and Changbin, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies the list. You notice that his lips pout as he focuses, and his eyes squint a little.

You shift your own attention, for you’ll lose pacing if you stare at Chan the whole day. Changbin has highlighted unrequited love, turning the aura of summer into a song, unique abilities, and simply ‘flexing our equities’.

“Yeah, I definitely think that last one will go over well,” Jisung sardonically comments.

Changbin sighs in defeat and drags his cursor over his beloved idea, hitting the backspace in pity, “I knew you’d say that.”

“Can you elaborate on the unique abilities?” you ask, quieter than anticipated but still reaching its aim.

“Not to tute my own horn,” Changbin starts, running a hand through his hair, “but we’re sought after. When people see our names on tracklists, they immediately know the song is going to be good. They don’t sit and wonder if they’ll be disappointed, because they know with 3Racha that’s unpalatable. Hell, I saw someone tweet the other day that their favorite artist was spotted here, and the fandom went fucking crazy.

“People know what they expect from us, and that’s excellence. We deliver. You can’t say the same for a lot of producers. Doubt is inevitable for a lot of them, even if it’s only personal.”

“Couldn’t have said it better,” Jisung smirks, leaning his extended hand out to Changbin for him to high-five.

“What if we did it with an,” Chan hesitates, tilting his head at the screen to try and ease out the right words, “unnatural sound.”

“An experiment no one else could attempt,” you mumble, not expecting him to hear. His head snaps over to you, snapping, pointing a finger, and nodding.

“Exactly.”

The boys look between each other, bobbing their heads in agreement. “We can do that,” Jisung grins.

“You know, I had a feeling you would say that,” Changbin slips his phone out of his pocket, swiftly unlocking it and opening his notes app. “So I’ve already written my verse.”

“No way,” Jisung cocks his head at him.

“Okay,” Changbin mutters, “I had verses written for all the highlighted ones.”

“You are insane,” Chan chuckles, but not in an insulting tone.

From here on out, it’s smooth sailing.

Until Jisung pats the pockets of his jeans two weeks later. “Shit,” he mutters, glancing back at the elevator you had just come from.

Midnight was around the corner and Jisung had promised Minho they’d go see the late-night showing of the latest horror film.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He turns to you with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “I think I left my phone in Chan’s room. I’m gonna be late. Minho’s gonna kill me.”

You cease his rambling by putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go get it. Just tell Minho to text me when you’re done so you can pick it up. ‘Kay?”

So what if Loba’s waiting for you at home, probably pawing at the front door and meowing like, “I’m hungry”? You have a profound soft spot for Jisung. And not because Minho threatened you if you ever showed any disliking. Plus, Loba’s spoiled in all other walks of her life. She can handle you coming home a little later than usual for one night.

He breathes a sigh of relief, looking up at the high ceiling in some kind of grateful manner. “You are a lifesaver, Y/N.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you smile, starting back to the elevator as he continues his path.

The company is rather unsettling without its daytime bustle. It’s even worse on the eighth floor. A usual ghost-town, except with an increased darkness and an odd chill trailing down your back.

The hallways feel stuffy as you get close to Chan’s office, your gaze set ahead. A sniffling sound seeps into your range of hearing, though you don’t think much of it. You can get colds in summer.

Naive to think a man as esteemed as Mr. Bang would succumb to a measly cold.

As you sneak your head between the cracked door, placing your hand around its width and slightly pushing forward, the view sends your heart crashing into your stomach. Chan’s head is lowered, either hand cupping his head as incessant tears drip from his nose.

Awkwardly stepping forward, you clear your throat.

His glossy eyes, rimmed with red and slightly puffy, jump up to you. Instinctively, he attempts to discard the evidence.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he croaks, pulling his sleeve over his hand and gliding it across his damp cheek.

That’s something he could learn. If someone’s a witness, you can expect them to ease into questions. It’s only nature.

“Do you need a hug?” you attempt. Don’t be forward, don’t be blunt, don’t be mean. Minho’s reminder blinks across your vision.

He laughs, “Maybe.”

A pitiful smile creeps onto your lips as you step around the desk. Your arms link semi-awkwardly around his shoulders. He presses his cheek against your collarbone, silently crying a little. You take careful breaths, trying to stabilize your chest for him.

“Does anyone know?” Your hand rubs soft circles against his back. He shakes his head against your body. A small hiccup shakes his frame.

“You can tell me if you want.”

“I don’t want to burden you,” he manages through his tears.

You pull back a little for him to look at you. “I will smack sense into you if you say some stupid shit like that again.” In spite of his eyes crinkling into a smile—looking at you like you’re a childhood friend who he knows like the back of his hand—you try to recover. “I swear, you won’t burden me.”

He takes in a shaky breath. A blaring thought curses the forefront of your eyes. “Do you mind if we go to my apartment, though? I have a hungry cat waiting for me.”

Your arms retreat to your sides as he nods and drags the back of his hand across either cheek. “Yeah, no problem.”

You glance over at the couch, and the object of your mission stares back at you. For a second, you swear it’s glowing gold and screaming, “Your quest ends here! Bring me to my owner!”

You shuffle for the couch and scoop it up. When Chan looks at your hand in confusion, you offer, “Jisung left it. I’m the delivery service.”

“Right.” And he smiles. Comfort engulfs your body when you notice the flood has stopped.

Since you normally walk or ride the bus to work, Chan drives. His shiny sports car looks rather alien beside your used, well-used, car.

“I should warn you,” you turn to him as you push your key into the lock, “Loba’s a cuddler.”

“Sweet. I’d feel bad asking you for more hugs,” he jokes.

Sure enough, Loba is lying before the door. She scrambles to her feet and stares up at her guardian and the new intruder. Conveniently misplacing her cries for food, she scopes out the new man.

“What’d you say her name was again?” Chan asks, squatting in front of her and scratching behind her ears.

“Loba,” you say, opening the fridge to dish out Loba’s expensive special food. Adopting a cat with stomach issues, am I right?

“Loba?” Chan repeats, stifling a laugh.

“I didn’t name her,” you turn to him in defense.

Chan lowers himself, crossing his legs as Loba climbs into his lap. The love-hungry cat doesn’t even notice when you set her ceramic bowl next to her water station. She’s too absorbed in her newfound friend.

Rather than forcing them to relocate to the couch, you sit offset from them on the tile. Smiling down at the orange cat, you admit, “She’s not even like this with Minho.”

“Really?” Chan’s amused face stuns a vibration in your chest.

You appeal confirmation.

“That’s crazy. I’m a dog person, normally,” he coos down at the lovebug.

Don’t let this distract you from the task at hand, you remind yourself.

“So,” you drag. How do you say this without tempting the tears again? Admittedly, it would be nice if you had an ounce of insight. You’re walking into a minefield without a blueprint of where they lie.

Chan sighs, acknowledging his cue. “My dad doesn’t really like me all too much,” he wryly laughs.

“He seems stupid then,” you offer, not thinking further than trying to comfort him, “You’re very likable.”

“Thank you,” Chan drags his tongue against his bottom lip.

He continues, “Moreso, he dislikes his father. The one who skipped a generation when trying to continue his legacy. By association, I kind of take the brunt of it.” He looks at you through blurry eyes as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think you were the only person who could have continued the company. Your dad seems,” you hesitate, “insolent. You, on the other hand, are an ace.”

“I try to tell myself that. He makes me go to all of his business parties to keep his reputation up, as well as mine in a way. You don’t want the broken family running a huge corporation,” he mimics what he’s been told.

“So you can’t tune him out,” you echo.

“Yep,” he drags the word out, prompting a heavy sigh.

“I’m not really good at the whole comforting thing,” you study the creases of your palms. “But I’ll say that you are, by far, the most amazing person I could work for. You’re really admirable. Plus, Minho really likes you. You’re kind of like the brother he never had.”

“God, you’re gonna make me cry,” he laughs, staring up at the light as he pulls a hand away from Loba to wipe at his waterline.

“I’m serious,” you chuckle. “Would I blow smoke up your ass if you’re crying on my floor with my cat in your arms?”

When he hesitates to respond, you do it for him. “The answer is no. I don’t even do that for Minho.”

“That’s comforting,” he admits.

“I’d hope so. Now, hand me your phone,” you stick your hand out.

“Why?”

“So I can give you my number. Text me if stuff goes downhill, now that I’m in the loop.”

He looks at you quizzically.

“What? Do you think I’m going to let you suffer in silence now that I know?”

He leans to the side, cradling Loba protectively, as he draws his phone from his pocket. Unlocking it before he hands it to you.

As you type in a new contact, you say, “Do you want something to eat? I can order a pizza.”

vi.

Unfortunately, peace is temporary. Always and forever.

When you enter Chan’s office a few weeks after the father debacle, prepared to start the official recording of the album as decided on the previous day, you’re met with two confused men. Admittedly, you’re a little late, but not enough for them to be lost.

Changbin looks up at you as you cross the threshold. “Have you seen Chan?”

You shake your head.

“Heard from him?” Jisung follows.

Again, you shake your head.

“Shit,” they both fall back against the couch cushions in defeat.

“What’s wrong?” The grip on your bag tightens. Despite your inquisitive words, your gut gives you a fair answer.

“We haven’t heard from him since five this morning,” Changbin looks at Jisung for confirmation on the details.

“No one’s seen him?” you follow up.

“No one. He won’t answer our group chat either.”

Your foot taps against the floor as you try to remain composed. He texted you last night about his dad’s upcoming gala but was sparse about details. Or about the fact he would straight up disappear. Obviously, you can’t offer this information to them. A promise is a promise, even if half unspoken.

“Should we work through it? Get his parts whenever he decides to show up?” Changbin speaks.

“We can’t exactly meander anymore. Tracklist goes out at noon,” Jisung shakes his phone as annoyingly clear evidence.

“And you still need to learn the choreo for the title track,” you add. There’s only a month left. You bite your tongue, allowing the pain to slightly calm you down.

“God, what horrible timing,” Jisung laughs, but no joy laces through his tone.

You point harsh eyes at them, heavy steps leading you to the microphone stand designated for recording. “Come on then. Let’s get ahead before we can fall behind.”

vii.

You leave work the moment recording is done for the day, a discovery pulling you from focusing on anything else. Chan shared his location with you a few days ago when he offered a reciprocal to what you’ve done for him. “So you can always find me,” he said via text.

Though not for the right purpose, per se, you’re going to find him. And when you do, you might have to smack sense into him this time. With love, you convince yourself as you pull up to the stadium.

Who in their right mind rents an indoor stadium for an evening party? Rich people, evidently.

You find Chan’s car, among its shiny counterparts, and park as close to it as you can. As you get out, you pull your phone out of your pocket and call him. Not expecting him to answer, honestly.

“Hello?” his voice penetrates your ears.

“I’m outside,” you say, fighting the heavy heartbeat echoing in your head. Your hands tremble at the thought of him here, all dressed up and acting like nothing’s wrong.

“What?” he mumbles.

You look up to the big screen above the gate. “Gangnam Public Stadium, right?”

The background noise slightly fades as he says, “Wait where you are, I’ll come meet you.”

“Parking lot,” you offer before he hangs up.

You step into the shade and lean against a brick wall.

Today’s one of the finer days of summer. It’s mid-June. The solstice is just around the corner. A light breeze brushes against your skin and gently ruffles your hair. It probably helps that you’re surrounded by wealthy cars. A mood booster, in a weird way.

Quick, heavy steps draw closer. You turn your head to the source.

Chan drops his hands onto his knees as he pants. “You shouldn’t be here,” he manages.

“You should’ve told someone why you wouldn’t be at work. We all have our regrets,” you nibble on the inside of your cheek as you stare at him.

“God,” he mutters, straightening himself before standing next to you against the wall.

“You’ll get your suit dirty,” you comment, but he doesn’t care.

“You should leave.” His eyes, heavy with an emotion akin to irritation and sadness, scan over your face.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me why you did this,” you stand your ground. Just like Minho would hate in a moment like this. “To get to a person, you have to ease them into it,” he guided at one point. Frankly, you couldn’t care less right now.

He avoids your eyes as he tries to flatten his staggered breathing. In due time, he composes himself and finally looks at you. His features have loosened, and you note his brow is no longer creased.

“I didn’t want to lose my cool in front of them,” he admits.

“Scared to?”

He nods. “It was scary enough having one person see me cry.”

The place between your heart and ribs begins to pulsate heat.It begins to spread across your bones and through your muscles. For once, you have to think about what to say next. You can’t be mad at him, for his reasoning makes more sense than it had before. God, this is irritating.

“Let’s make the song of the summer, then,” you reassure him with a curt nod. “Pull you out of this monster field around you and let’s make history.”

The dark surrounding encasing him cracks away as an unbelievable smile finds its place. One like you have never seen. One that pierces your heart with its joy. “Let’s do it.” And he drags you into a hug. Despite the roles taking a quick turn, you feel comforted. But he’s squeezing the life out of you.

viii.

You’ve done all you can do for 3Racha within the next week. The album is complete, as far as instrumentals and lyrics. All that’s left is promotion, along with all the theatrical elements left to be discussed. But that’s separate from you.

It feels bittersweet that it’s come to an end. You know that sometime in the future you’ll return to the studio with them, working alongside creative geniuses to invent a piece. Together. That’s the key. But it feels so far away.

You sit in your empty office, staring at the broad window as raindrops fall down the glass. Recounting the process in your head with distant gratitude. Title track: God’s Menu. You’re proud of it, viewing it as your child. Watching it grow into a real song, with real words and sounds attached to it. Wow. You catch a glimpse at the meaning of life as you watch two raindrops race down. It’s this: blossoming art from a tiny idea. Admittedly not entirely your own, but the principle remains.

The other tracks enlist an equal amount of precious memories for you. Late nights felt normal with the unreal energy coursing through your veins. You notice the products of effort as you consider all those extra hours. Admiration shoots through your body, leaving it numb.

It was all them, though, you acknowledge. You were only there as a caretaker, offering your own hint to mark the music.

3Racha is like a shooting star. It's fantastic, in a sense. Not everyone can say they’ve seen a shooting star in the same way not many can say they’ve witnessed the production process with three of the most talented producers in the game. They’re unreal.

A knock against your doorframe shocks you out of your thoughts. You drag your foot against the floor to turn your chair.

Chan, dressed in an outfit similar to that of boys’ night, awaits your attention. Sweat lines his forehead, glistening his skin. You can guess where he’s been.

“Hey.”

“I need your help.” His words were trailing your simple greeting so close you could say he interrupted you. Seriousness brings his face into a dimness, slightly intimidating you.

“With?” you prompt.

He leans against the frame with his arm, replaying his words in his head over and over before spitting them out, “I kind of told my dad I’d bring a date to his next party.”

“Oh?” you say, slowly realizing. “Oh.”

“Will you do it?” His features twist into a nervous reflection.

“Sure, if you pay for my outfit.”

You say this as a joke, but he fails to convey it this way. “Deal. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Does Loba need a cat tree by any chance?”

He doesn’t await your answer as he slips back into the hall. Was that conversation even real?

An indistinguishable whiplash conquers your body into a sudden realization. You turn to your desk, scooping your phone into your hands and texting Minho, beginning with, “When you see this…”

ix.

Certainly, Chan is a man of his word. From the mere month you’ve known him, you should have gathered this. But as you stand in his living room, decked out in some outfit he carefully chose for you, it blares against all of your senses in bright, evident clarity.

Minho’s message buzzes against your palm.

Lee Knows: Loba’s conked already, two minutes after she ate. Have fun ;)

You: Lol thanks again for taking care of her.

Lee Knows: Of course. Anything for my bestest friend in the world. Now, a night of yearning!

The only way to describe this feeling rooted in the base of your stomach are the words: raw emotion. It’s a cluster. Jitters mixed with a blend of uncertainty and a weird elation? To be fair, you are about to lie your way through expensive drinks and hors d’oeuvres. What even are those?

Regardless, one thing is certain. Minho was right. It’s...discouraging to admit. Frankly, you’d ignore it for as long as possible if you could. But adoration is difficult. In your face. Forward, some would refer to it as.

God, this is all Minho’s fault.

“Ready?” Chan’s shoes click against the hardwood as he departs from his dark hole of a room. He looks stunning, though his attire isn’t much different from his office wear. A small sign of rebellion appears in his appearance, which ignites a flame in your chest.

Chan brings a hand to where your eyes are burning a whole into—his hair. The curls are there, less accentuated than bro night, but evident. “Ah, I didn’t really want to straighten it. I’ve already had fried hair one too many times in my life.”

“It looks nice,” you smile. Your throat tightens as you swallow. “You look nice.”

“Same for you,” he allows a prolonged scan of you. Sheepishly, you do one of those cheesy twirls you always see in the romance movies before Prom night or whatever expensive evening the protagonists are attending. Sincerely, with all the love rampaging through your chest, you’re going to kill Minho for cursing your life like this.

He snaps out of his trance, starting for the door. “We should get going.”

Aside from the quiet hum of the radio, the ride to the venue is silent. It wouldn’t be complete without hitting every redlight, either. Jisung’s luck must have rubbed off on you when you had that group hug.

You sit at one now, red gleaming against your face as you stare out at the sidewalk vacant of pedestrians. No one’s even at any of the other lights.

“You okay?” Chan asks.

“Yeah,” you turn back to him.

“Good,” he nods, instantly averting your eyes.

Perhaps you should have found a way to decline. Even Loba would have been a better date option. At least she has chemistry with him.

To no one’s surprise, the venue is huge. Potentially larger than the stadium. From ceiling to the carpeted floor, decorated properly with the black tie theme.

Chan reluctantly grabs your hand before you tackle the crowd. If you were cold, the warmth radiating against your palm is sufficient for heating the rest of your body. Unluckily, though, you aren’t cold. Your hand feels clammy in his. If he wasn’t attracted to you before, he certainly isn’t now.

You stare at your shoes as you follow.

“Just a heads up about my dad,” he glances over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there, despite the tether between you, “he most definitely thinks we’re dating, so be prepared for questions.”

“Oh great,” you mumble. How do you cure a lovesick heart? What an ambiguous question offering up to a plethora of potential answers. One incorrect answer, though: acting out romance. In real time, too.

“Sorry, I probably should have told you sooner. Kind of slipped my mind,” he squeezes your hand in apology.

Even when you break out into a free space, his hand doesn’t pull from yours. Instead, he slightly tightens the hold as he approaches an older man. Without any prior knowledge (ie. not Googling his dad after he cried on your kitchen floor over the bastard), you could guess this is his dad. They practically have the same face. Striking differences, however, given some context.

“Hey,” the man grins, eyes shifting curiously between you and his son.

You dip your head in respect. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bang.”

His hand claps your shoulder as you look up. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.” Silence hangs onto the end of his sentence as he glances at Chan for help.

“Y/N,” Chan offers. Your name sounds pretty coming from him.

“Y/N,” his father repeats. You want to sock him for saying your name.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Would have been nicer if Chan had given a little notice,” he laughs for you, alternatively offering a subtle, but not unnoticeable, glare to Chan.

Reflexively, your unoccupied hand clenches until you feel your nails pressing sharply into your skin. Discreetly, you nudge Chan’s arm with your elbow as a sign that you’re here. Slightly, his hand loosens in yours as his nerves slowly ease.

“Sorry, it’s kind of recent,” Chan laughs. His eyes crinkle into a faux delight.

“Of course,” his father nods. “Haven’t seen any articles about it yet, which is good. You might not want this being exposed to the GP.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Chan manages through gritted teeth, albeit hidden in a way only you could notice.

Then, as if the attack didn’t have a cooldown, he reaches up and tugs at one of Chan’s curls. “Your hair looks...interesting.”

It’s really difficult trying to remain neutral in the face of backhanded advice and compliments. Especially in front of this man, who shouldn’t even be given a title as esteemed as that. He’s scum stuck to the back of your old, rusty car that won’t go away in spite of however many power washes.

“Mr. Bang,” a waiter appears behind him, stealing his attention long enough for you to drag Chan in the opposite direction. He’ll find his way into a business conversation soon anyway. With no recollection of what he said to his son whatsoever. Considering his words will always stick with Chan, your face heats up.

You ignore Chan’s repelling tug, and his words that go in one ear and out the other. A hidden area near the bar is the only place where he has enough courage to stop you. But only because you let it happen.

“If we stayed there much longer, I would have caught an assault charge,” you huff.

“You handled it well, though,” he admits, “Even if you were about to break my hand.”

In the face of anger personified, he manages to smile and crack a laugh.

“Sorry,” you mumble, finally pulling your hand away from his.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, glancing back at the bartender serving an established looking woman a margarita. Likely strawberry from its tint.

You shake your head, “I’m good. Thank you.”

“Well, then, I’ll be back,” he reaches out to rub your shoulder before slipping back into the crowd. You’re jealous of the effect he has to just become invisible.

You pull your phone from its hidden spot and open Minho’s awaiting text.

Lee Knows: Has he made a move yet?

You: Why would he?

Lee Knows: Idk you’re kind of obvious.

Before you can answer, an incoming notification from Seungmin pops up.

Seungmo: Is it true that you like Chan?

Minho. Lee Minho. You grimace.

You: No comment.

Seungmo: Sweet. Jeongin owes me twenty bucks. But ew. Who would romantically like Chan?

The text really ties together with the barfing emoji.

“Who’s that?” the subject of both text logs peeks his head over your phone.

You snatch it back, instinctively turning it off. “Seungmin.”

“I didn’t know you were friends with him,” Chan observes, placing the black straw between his lips. His drink is also tinted pink, but not in a margarita glass.

“Minho built the bridge during bro night. Now we plot behind his back,” you joke, promptly making Chan choke. He coughs, covering his mouth with his sleeve as he sputters.

“Don’t do that when I’m drinking!” he laughs.

Your chest heaves as you try to stifle the laugh building up in your chest.

“Oh come on, you’re even gonna have the nerve to laugh at me?” he tips his head to look at your quivering frame. He finds this funny, but he can’t just not tease you. That’s not in the rule book.

“I’m not laughing,” you try to convince him, lips pressed into a fine line as quick breaths leave your nose.

“Right,” he rolls his eyes.

If he were being honest with you, he was doing this as a ploy to take your mind off of his dad. Honesty isn’t one of his finer points, though. So he stays quiet.

“Do you want a sip?” he offers the fruity looking drink to you.

“What is it?” you ask, but accepting the glass anyway.

“Just a strawberry mimosa.”

Again, if he were honest, he’d tell you he only got it to share with you. It was a shot in the dark, neutral enough. But, again, not one of his stronger urges. Minho would refer to this as him ‘making a move’, unbeknownst to you.

You take a quick sip. Humming in approval, you hand it back to him. “It’s good, I can barely even taste the alcohol.”

He fixes his hair absentmindedly as a passing conversation arises. Subject: Minho. Goal: offering both parties ammunition for his next offhand comment or prank.

“Did you know that Minho talks in his sleep?” you laugh.

Chan pulls at a curl, pulling it straight. “He seems like the type.”

You reach up and flick his wrist.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Stop thinking about what your dad said,” you scold. The nerves in your stomach dissipate as your hand ruffles his hair, fluffing it out. He looks more relaxed as you pull away.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t apologize, or I’ll punch you next time.”

“I can see why you and Minho get along so well.”

xi.

By the time you’re set free from the hell of socializing with all of Chan’s dad’s friends who last saw him when he was ‘this high’, the effects of the single mimosa wear off. Luckily for Chan, you drank most of it, so he’s set to drive.

“My feet hurt,” you complain. Maybe it would have been smart to break in the fancy shoes Chan invested for you before the event.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Chan asks, turning to you.

Against all voices inside of you screaming to decline, your pain receptors answer for you. “That’d be great, since you're offering.”

He bends his knees slightly and holds his arms slightly out. When you jump onto his back, he doesn’t even react.

“Do you religiously workout or something?” you joke, though true curiosity shines through your words. You’re pretty obvious.

“Duh. Every breathing moment I’m not working or crying over my dad. It’s a stress reliever.” Your arms, hanging from his neck, feel each vibration in his chest as he laughs.

As he readjusts his hands beneath your thighs, maintaining a steady hold of your body against his, your body grows warm and you can envision your cheeks glowing red. Minho was so right. And the field day he’s going to have with the upcoming weeks until the joke grows stale. You shiver at the thought.

“Are you cold?” Chan asks.

“Oh, no, I was just thinking about Minho.”

“Scary,” Chan mimics his own shiver at the mention.

You press your cheek against his shoulder, his steady steps drawing your eyes shut.

The silence you find is unparalleled to the one in the car earlier. This one is comfortable, homely even. So much so that you feel yourself fall asleep.

xii.

When you get to his apartment, he nudges your shoulder.

Your eyes slowly open, fighting against the dull light from the roof of his car.

“You can spend the night at my house. I’m not confident in pulling a sleeping body out of a car. Putting you in was hard enough,” he chuckles.

You manage a smile and hazily push the passenger door open. From the rest, your feet should be fine walking to the elevator (since there’s one less body than bro night, you’ll fit) and to his apartment. Still, he wraps his arm around your shoulders to steady you all the way up to his front door.

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” he says as you fall onto his couch. You didn’t acknowledge how comfortable it was just from sitting on it. Honestly, it feels like a normal mattress.

He returns from his room quickly with a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. Both black, as you could have guessed.

You walk to the bathroom and sleepily tug your fancy outfit off, careful not to ruin it. As you pull his shirt over your head, a rush of his cologne hugs you. You fight off the ‘I could get used to this’ comment that floats through your head.

You don’t remember walking back to the couch. But you remember Chan pulling a blanket up to your chin.

xiii.

Chan pokes your cheek, drawing you away from your precious dream of living in a cottage on the seafront—conveniently with him. You whine, pulling the blanket over your head in an attempt to ward him away. Dream Chan is waiting for you.

“Y/N, come on. You can’t sleep on my couch all day.” The worst part is: you can hear the faux pout in his voice. And potentially worse: you definitely could sleep on this couch all day if your life depended on it. Even if it didn’t, to be honest.

“Go away,” you grumble.

He sighs. His presence beside you disappears for a few moments, long enough for sleep to momentarily return. The bubble of peace pops eventually.

“Hey, Minho,” his voice returns, slightly muffled by the distance and the cloth pressed against your ear.

This is enough to spring liveliness into your bones. You sit up, hateful eyes shooting in the direction of the voice. When you see him laughing, his dark phone pressed against his ear, you reel. “One of these days, I’m gonna leave your company and then your stocks are gonna plummet,” you groan.

“Is that the best insult you can come up with?” he counters, dropping his hoisted arm to his side.

“I have more, but they're still closed off. You know, since you’ve rudely interrupted my sleep.”

“I’m sorry. Not really, though. It’s like noon.”

“And?”

“I can’t leave you here alone,” he laughs.

“What, do you have a date to attend?”

Awaiting his response, you reach for your phone on the coffee table. Two missed calls. A few Snapchats from Seungmin, likely pictures of his new puppy, but no matter.

“I wish. I have to meet up with Jisung. Pressing news he has to tell me, too confidential to be told over text.”

“He’s gonna confess,” you shoot him a look.

“Yes, because Han Jisung would be in love with me,” he starts for the kitchen. An extended arm pulls at the fridge, and he pulls two waters out.

“To be fair, if I were Jisung, I’d probably be in love with you,” you say, obviously without much thought behind it.

Okay. In your defense, you were a little too focused on reading Minho’s latest string of confusing messages. Trying to decipher the code, Chan’s response passes right through you like a ghost.

Lee Knows: Y/N you won’t believe this.

Lee Knows: Loba’s gonna be so happy.

Lee Knows: I know you’re probably cuddled up with Chan or whatever but call me ASAP.

Chan lowers himself beside you, tossing the cold water in your lap. He peeks over your shoulder. “Huh. That’s pretty much what Jisung said to me.”

“Why are you invading my privacy?” you glare at him, considering elbowing him precisely between the ribs. Ultimately deciding against it, of course. Through tense internal conflict.

“Really? You’re sitting on my couch, in my clothes, refusing to leave, and you wanna talk about privacy?”

Just because he has a point doesn’t mean he should voice it. Plus, he offered the clothes. And the couch for you to sleep on. It really just seems like a self jab to you.

“Should I call him?” Your finger glides across your bottom lip as you look at him for an answer.

“Sure, why not?” he throws his hands up in defeat. “Let’s see what Jisung and Minho have conspired this time.”

The ring echoing sparks a nervous pit in your stomach. You pick at the sticker of the water bottle. It feels like forever by the time he answers.

“Morning, sunshine,” Minho’s sweet voice reeks of sarcasm.

“You’re on speaker, by the way,” you close your eyes to avoid looking at Chan’s burning eyes.

“Oh perfect, you are too,” Jisung joins in, a dry laugh escaping his throat.

“We have some questions,” Minho begins, but fails to continue.

“Such as?” Chan prompts.

“Are you guys dating yet?” Jisung bluntly jumps to the case.

Your heart rams against your chest. That ‘yet’ tugs at your insides.

“Uh, no,” you draw out.

“The media sure thinks otherwise,” Minho jabs.

Chan’s already searching for the articles by the time you can react.

“Fuck.” He throws his head back against the couch in frustration, tilting his phone towards you so you can see.

CEO Bang Chan Lands a Date Weeks Before Comeback.

Bang Caught With Employee?

Bang Chan, CEO, Makes a Striking Appearance at Dad’s Gala.

“What? Did you really think there wouldn’t be journalists there? Come on Chan, do better.” You never knew Jisung had this cutting edge to him. If the words were aimed at you, you know you’d break down. It’s a miracle that Chan is this composed.

“Can you calm down? My god,” you say without realizing. “It’s not like we can’t fix this.” How, though, you ponder?

“If it makes you feel any better,” Minho reluctantly says, like this sentence could put his life on the line, “you looked cute.”

“Thanks,” you mutter. In any other circumstance, you’d be quick to mock him. Well. At least he’s not outwardly making fun of you. Another one of Minho’s late night insights seeping into your thoughts: see the positive.

A text notification drops down against your screen. Despite having the luxury of using his voice, it’s Minho.

Lee Knows: Would now be a bad time to out you?

You: Horribly.

“Well,” Jisung draws in a sharp breath.

“Good luck,” Minho finishes for him.

After he hangs up, promptly after letting you know he fed Loba this morning, you pick up the water bottle and place it against your cheek. The shocking chill redirects your nerves momentarily.

You try not to look at Chan, but you know he’s looking at you.

After a moment to catch your breath, he sighs, “I have an idea.”

It takes an effort to pull your attention to him. A war against yourself.

“Play along with me for a second,” he says, pulling his leg beneath him as he repositions himself beside you. Fully facing you, taking in your entire being—which doesn’t help your burning skin. You’d give anything to be invisible right now.

“What if,” he starts, “we go along with it?”

You laugh in his face. “Are you sure that wouldn’t blow up even worse? Imagine people finding out we faked it. That wouldn’t be good for you.”

He messes with his fingers, suddenly finding an intense interest in the linework of them. He rubs his thumb against the crease of his ring finger. “I don’t think anyone would have to find out it’s fake, per se.”

“How are you so confident?” You look at him in awe. Even when he’s spewing absolute nonsense and under pressure, he looks like a god. Calm as ever. It’s horrifying for your heart. And for common sense, but that’s not as important right now.

“I don’t think Minho would lie to me.”

“What does Minho have to do with this?”

His dimple shows itself as a measly smile crosses his lips. “He may have told me.”

Regardless of what he may have spilled, you know instantly. “You’re kidding me,” you huff. What was the point of his dramatic message, then? A distraction, maybe.

“I mean it’s okay. It’s not like it’s not reciprocated or anything.”

“You are unbelievable,” you shake your head. “How did you know and not say a single thing?”

His hands shoot up in defense. “To be fair, I didn’t find out until after you fell asleep last night. For the second time. He texted me with this whole ‘I know something you don’t’ facade. I wasn’t going to act on it until I had a stupidly romantic plan, but then this happened,” he gestures around the room, as if it’s the decor’s fault. He’s quick to add, “And I couldn’t do that as soon as they said anything about the articles. That’d kinda ruin the mood, don’t you think?”

So Chan’s probably not good with looking amazing under pressure—he very well could be, but you wouldn’t know that right now. Which slightly irritates you, but no matter.

“Well,” you sigh. “I guess that solves the problem.”

He nods, looking at you solemnly.

“Your dad’s gonna be pissed, though,” you comment, and he laughs.

“I know.”

Funny. As soon as the problem jumped at you, the imminent solution scared you just as fast. Your head hurts from the whiplash. That must be a pattern with him.

“You know what’s kinda perfect about this?” he says after a moment.

“Tell me.”

“We can write love songs together now. Isn’t that cool?” The sheer joy in his face shatters any aggravation left in your veins. A smile creeps up on you.

“You’re such a nerd.”

“And you’re madly in love with a nerd so I don’t see what your point is.”

You pull the pillow out from behind your back and chuck it at his head.

“Oh so you’re trying to kill your beloved love interest? Real classy, Y/N.”

“Please just shut up and kiss me already,” you lean over halfway and wait for him to meet you.

Kissing a major CEO doesn’t feel much different than kissing a normal person, but there’s a striking flare of passion to it. Maybe that’s a personal thing.

His lips fit against yours in a way that makes your soul instantly tethered to him. You hope he can’t feel your heartbeat against your lips, for it’s pulsing rather loud and antsy for you.

Chan radiates warmth in every piece of his body, extending all the way to his aura. If it wasn’t for your pesky lungs running out of air, you’d never pull away.

xiv.

In spite of his idea for a romantic confession going down the drain as soon as he decided to think one up, he makes up for it with incessant gestures. Bringing you snacks when he should be in meetings. Buying you sweets when you get stressed. Purchasing Loba a huge cat tree, even though she doesn’t need to be spoiled further. Spending the night at your house even when his is way more comfortable for the sheer reason that Loba would feel lonely.When you mention taking her with you, he’d say, “I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable with the new environment.”

He even postponed bro night because you got sick and wanted to be the one to take care of you.

You don’t need reminders that he loves you, but it’s all the while heartwarming when he says it.

Even now, with his arm wrapped around your waist and his chin propped on your shoulder, he’s thinking aloud in romance land. “What if we went on a vacation to France for Christmas? Isn’t Paris the city of love?”

You watch the TV, but his voice drowns out all of the dialogue. “I don’t know, Chan. Why can’t we stay here?” you shift in his arms to roll over and face him. This close, as you’ve grown accustomed to these past months, you can count all of his eyelashes. And you can see tiny freckles scattered across his cheeks. It must be an Aussie thing.

He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “We can stay here. I’m fine with that.”

Loba jumps onto the bed, her collar jingling with her sudden movement to warn you she’s arrived. You pull away from Chan a little to make room for her between you. “Here comes the princess,” you feign disappointment with a sigh.

She claims her spot between your chests and curls herself into a ball, burying her face in Chan’s chest. Per usual. She often forgets who feeds her around here.

“Anyway,” Chan leans over her, kissing your lips gently, “I’m okay wherever. As long as you’re with me.”

After a beat of silence, you cup his cheek delicately and say, “Let’s go to the moon.”

“Yeah,” he grins, “Let’s go to the moon.”

xv.

He leans over and presses a kiss to your temple, setting a bottle of water in front of you.

Jisung gags from across the room. “Get a room,” he complains.

“You are a grown man and you can’t handle a couple being affectionate?” Changbin criticizes. “Get a life, dude.”

“Yeah,” you chime in, “Just ‘cos you live a poor, single life doesn’t mean you can hate on us.”

“Jeez, I didn’t sign up for slander on this Monday morning.”

“You definitely asked for it, but let’s get to work.” Chan draws his phone from his pocket and prepares for the official meeting regarding 3Racha’s next comeback.

God’s Menu was well received from the public, sending Chan’s dating scandal into the shadows. Minho basked in the compliments on the choreography. Seungmin whined when no one on Twitter noticed he was the vocal coach—and Minho didn’t make it much better by rubbing his glory in Seungmin’s face every chance he got. And you couldn’t get Chan to stop showing you funny Tweets and praise for nearly a month. Likely longer.

Here you sit in Chan’s office at the beginning of the new year. A lot of things can go south during six months, but things can shoot north too. Generally, for you, it’s been pretty north.

This time around, Jisung has calculated his homework and broadcasts his thoughts onto the wall.

“I already know what you’re gonna choose for the title track, so let’s choose B-sides,” he adds the disclaimer before anyone can mutter a peep.

“I don’t know about you all,” Chan dips his hands into the pockets of his trousers and leans against his desk, “but I’d say I’m pretty confident in writing a love song right now.”

You groan alongside Jisung. “Stop talking.”

Here we go on the hunt for the song of the new year. Conquer the competition before anyone has a chance. Like you did in creating the song of the summer.

#skz au #skz imagine #skz chan #skz #stray kids chan #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #chan x reader #chan au #bang chan x reader #stray kids au #stray kids scenario #bang chan #skz bang chan #chan oneshots #skz oneshots #stray kids oneshot

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daydreaming-away-reality · 3 years

Text

Not Just Another Day

Jack Frost x Reader | ☁️ | 1.4k

The sound of someone tapping your window made you look up from the book you were reading. Spotting Jack waving to you from outside your window, you grabbed your bookmark and stuck it into the book.

Rolling out of your bed, you opened your window to look at the Guardian of Fun.

“(Y/N)! Took you long enough,” Jack said with a huff.

You stuck your tongue out at him. “You mean you’re too impatient, Jack.”

Jack chuckled and hopped into your room when you stepped aside. He glanced around your space, noticing the book you had been reading prior to opening the window.

“That doesn’t look like a very festive thing to be doing,” he commented. “Is it a good book at least?”

“Yeah, you should give it a try, if you ever read,” you responded, moving the book off your bed and onto your desk. You could see Jack rolling his eyes at your remark, but ignored it. Moving back to your bed, you sat down to watch the winter spirit. “Besides Jack, not everything you do during the holidays has to be festive.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Jack agreed. He turned around and tilted his head, peering at you curiously. “I’ve noticed you seem a bit off lately, everything okay, snowflake?”

You froze at his words. “Have I seem off?”

“Just a little.”

The Guardian of Fun moved to sit down next to you.

Of course he would notice this much, you and Jack been friends for a while after being introduced by Sandy and Tooth. Something about you and Jack just clicked - the two of you hung out on a regular basis.

“You want to talk about it?”

The kind tone that Jack used made you lower your guard a bit. This was Jack, after all. You could trust him with almost anything.

“My birthday is coming up,” you began. “It’s after Christmas.”

Jack nodded, listening intently. He didn’t say anything, worried that you might decide not to say anything at all.

“I... don’t really like to celebrate my birthday. It’s just...” You paused. A frown appeared on your face as you thought back on what happened. “Let’s just say I have bad memories associated to my birthday.”

“Ah, I see,” Jack softly said. “Thanks for letting me know, (Y/N).”

You offered him a small smile.

The white haired boy seemed deep in thought for a moment, as if he were trying to figure something out. But before you were able to ask what was on his mind, he jumped up.

“I almost forgot why I came by!” he exclaimed. “The snow outside is perfect for a snowball fight! You have to come out with me.”

Deciding to mess with him, you pouted.

“But it’s the perfect weather to stay inside and finish reading,” you whined playfully. “Why can’t we just stay inside and read all day.”

At this, Jack began to pout too.

You laughed at his expression. “Alright. I was just joking - I’ll finish my book later. Let me grab my jacket.”

Jack cheered as he hopped back out your window, telling you to hurry up.

Anything was fine to help you take your mind off things. A snowball fight was definitely something you were up for anyways.

After spending the day with you, Jack had gone back to his usual duties of bringing snow around the world. The entre time however, he couldn’t help but think back on what you had told him.

Birthdays were supposed to days to be celebrated. They were days to express how much you cared about having someone be part of your life.

Ever since meeting you, Jack had found himself drawn to you. He never said anything about it, but it seemed like Tooth and her fairies seemed to catch on straight away.

“Seems like you have a crush on someone, Jack,” Tooth had pointed out one day. “Baby Tooth says you’re always busy, trying to see someone.”

“What?” Jack asked, surprised by this accusation. “I...”

He couldn’t find the words to defend himself.

The word crush made him think of you - and that made his cheeks heat up.

“Ooh, who is it?” Tooth asked excitedly. She flew around Jack in anticipation. “Do I know them?”

“It’s... (Y/N),”

Tooth clapped her hands together with a smile.

“That’s great, Jack. I hope things go well between the two of you.”

Just like how you were always able to get him to smile, Jack wanted to the same for you in return. Especially if your birthday was a day that bring you good memories.

“I should go talk to North,” he murmured to himself. Jumping up, he called out to the wind. “Take me to the North Pole!”

“Hey (Y/N), wake up...”

You let out a groan, slowly blinking your eyes open. Pushing yourself up, you sat up in your bed. As your eyes adjusted to the dark room, you could see someone standing in your room via moonlight.

“Bunny?” you asked, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a very important task to do,” Bunny said. He offered you a paw and pulled you out of bed. “There’s somewhere we need to go, are you ready?”

You looked down at what you were wearing. “Do you think it’s okay for me to go like this?”

Bunny smiled and nodded. “Don’t worry about that, you always look fine.”

“Okay, I guess I’m ready then,” you agreed.

With a tap of his foot, one of Bunny’s rabbit holes opened up and swallowed the two of you. Sent on a wild ride through the tunnels, you soon were sent flying out of the other end.

“Surprise!”

The loud cheers startled you as you looked up to see that you were at the Pole and all the Guardians were there. North, Sandy, Tooth, Bunny, and Jack. Slowly getting up, you noticed how the room had been decorated to celebrate a party. Even the yetis were wearing birthday hats.

“Happy birthday, (Y/N)!” Tooth said, putting on a birthday tiara on your head.

Sandy waved to you with a smile, a little picture of a cake floating above his head.

“Good to see you, birthday girl!” North exclaimed, pulling you into a quick hug.

“You guys...” you said, your eyes welling up with tears. “You did this all for me?”

“Of course, it’s your birthday, how could we not celebrate?” Tooth replied. She flew closer to you, whispering a message in your ear. “This was all Jack’s plan by the way.”

Hearing her comment made your cheeks warm up. Looking over at the Guardian of Fun, you decided to go confront him about it. As you headed towards him, you were slowed down by others who wanted to wish you a happy birthday along the way.

By the time you were free again, you noticed Jack had slipped into another room. Following him, you noticed how much more quiet this room was compared to energy from the other room.

“Jack?”

The white haired boy turned around, a soft smile gracing his lips when he saw you.

“Happy birthday, (Y/N),” he greeted. “I hope you’re feeling okay.”

“Tooth told me you planned all of this,” you said.

Jack scratched the back of his head as his blue eyes turned downwards. “Ah, she told you.”

You moved to stand in front of him, reaching out to touch his cheek.

“Thank you, Jack.”

“I’d do anything to make you smile,” he responded. “Today’s a special day for you, after all.”

As the two of you gazed into each other’s eyes, the sound of someone clearing their throat startled the two of you.

Baby Tooth waved, grinning at the sight of the two of you. A cheeky smile grew on her face as she pointed above the two of you before flitting off somewhere.

Looking up, you felt your cheeks heat up.

Mistletoe.

Jack’s cheeks were red too. But that didn’t stop him from gently pulling you closer and asking, “May I?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

Hearing your consent, Jack pulled you in for a sweet kiss. When he leaned back, he rested his forehead against yours and a bright smile was on his face. Arms wrapped his neck to pull him close, you were blissfully happy. Today was going to be a day to remember.

#rise of the guardians #jack frost imagine #jack frost imagines #jack frost x reader #jack #frost #jack frost #x reader #reader insert #imagine #imagines #not just another day #request

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chaoticpuff17 · 3 years

Text

When the Chips are Down

part 11

masterlist

hello, my darlings! the plot thickens! You all know how I love drama. Very excited for you all to read the newest installment in the series--- chaotic puff

Y/N loved lazy mornings. She enjoyed the freedom of just laying in bed half asleep still and basking in the warmth of the early morning sun. The windows of the cottage would allow in a pleasant breeze, and she would always burrow back into Mark’s arms. He always slept curled around her protectively. It was safe, secure.

Here, on mornings like this, she could forget the worries of Namjoon hunting her down, of Jackson’s death, of the sister who was probably worrying herself half to death back home. Instead she could, if only for a moment, bask in the embrace of a man who loved her.

But there was no breeze. There were no sounds of the lazy Italian countryside coming to life, but there was a set of arms wrapped around her and the warmth of someone pressed against her back.

Her eyes shot open as the realization of where she was and who she was with sunk in. This was not the Italian countryside. This was Korea, the estate, and the man holding her wasn’t Mark.

Y/N took a moment to collect herself, to fully bring herself back to the present, before she began to extract herself from Namjoon’s arms. She had just begun to slip away, when Namjoon’s grip tightened like a vice bringing her firmly back to his chest and ruining all of her progress.

“Go back to sleep.” Namjoon murmured, voice still husky with sleep as he nuzzled into the back of her neck. “It’s still early.”

“Namjoon.” her voice was firm, as tense as the rest of her, but he ignored that, pulling her even closer. “Namjoon.”

“No.” he growled against her neck. “Sleep.”

“Namjoon.” she hissed, beginning to get annoyed.

“Just a little longer.” he whispered, thumb moving back and forth across her belly. “Let’s just stay like this a little longer.”

“Namjoon.” she sighed, even as she relaxed back into his arms. She could allow him a few more minutes of peace before she shattered it again.

“Just a little longer.”

Namjoon drifted back off to sleep behind her, but Y/N couldn’t. She was wide awake, mind reeling.

She knew that last night was a bad idea, but she was horny, pregnant, and alone, and Namjoon had looked at her so softly, so excitedly. Just for a moment she had wanted to forget her situation, to feel loved and safe, and it had worked, if only for that moment. The moment had passed now, and reality had come crashing back down again.

She felt dirty, ashamed. It was something she never should have allowed to happen, but it had, and she couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t. Namjoon wouldn’t let her. Last night was sure to have meant more to him than it did to her. Every moment that they had together meant more to him than it did to her. This was hell for her, but to him it was heaven. It was their married life. Every moment she was anything but hostile to him was a win in his books, a sign that they could be more even if it was nothing more than a distant dream.

Eventually, Y/N couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to get out of his arms. She needed space to clear her head, space Namjoon seemed intent on denying her. His grip had loosened since she had first tried to leave his arms, and Y/N moved carefully to remove herself. Based on the light filtering through the window, it was still early morning, and if she was very careful she could slip away without waking him. That all depended on how deep asleep Namjoon was and how carefully she could remove herself from his arms.

Each moment was slow and careful, but eventually she was able to completely extricate herself from his embrace. Finally out of his arms, she could breathe again, and thankfully Namjoon was still asleep. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep. It was hard to imagine that he was the creature from her nightmares when he looked so soft and sweet like this, but he was still the monster in her dreams, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

A glance at the clock told her it was just barely seven in the morning, and that gave her time to get washed up and ready before Namjoon woke up. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Forty minutes later she was washed and ready for the day in a pair of flowy lounge pants and a comfortable top, and Namjoon was still sound asleep in bed. She knew she probably should have stayed, but she wanted out of this room, and the doctor had told her she was fine to be off bedrest.

The staff was already working around the house, and as she moved through the house, she received odd looks. The doctor may have cleared her, but Namjoon had not, and it was Namjoon that the staff obeyed. As far as they knew, she was supposed to still be in bed under the master of the house’s watchful gaze, but she wasn’t, and it was clear she was making them all nervous.

“Buin?” Miss In appeared as if from nowhere with a concern etched onto her face.

“Namjoon is still asleep.” she smiled as naturally as she could trying to sooth the worries of the staff. “I thought I could take Moni for a morning walk in the garden.”

“Buin should be resting.” Miss In sighed shaking her head. “Sajangnim requested you stay in bed.”

“And Dr. Yang said it was alright for me to be out of bed. I’d very much like to go for a walk.”

“Buin should wait for Sajangnim to accompany her.” Miss In sighed, shaking her head disapprovingly.

“Would it make you feel better if I put off the walk until later and took breakfast in the piano room instead?” Y/N huffed, giving in knowing that she wasn’t going to win against the housekeeper when Namjoon’s orders were in question.

“I’ll have the kitchen prepare something for you.” Miss In bowed with a slight smile. The housekeeper turned slightly, setting her sharp gaze on one of the maids lingering in the hall. “Miran!” the poor young woman jumped like a startled mouse.

“Yes, Miss In?”

“Have the kitchen prepare breakfast and tea for the lady..” she turned back to Y/N. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to have breakfast in the dining room or the garden?”

“The piano room will be fine.” she responded with a smile.

“The garden would be more comfortable.”

The message was clear. The piano room was off limits for breakfast today. Namjoon wasn’t allowed within the room without her permission, and Miss In wanted her where Namjoon could find her without any hindrance. It was nice for Namjoon, but it removed the small sense of space she would have had within the relative safety of her piano room.

“The garden will be fine.” she said with a sigh. She was tired, and it was easier to give in rather than fight to have breakfast in the room she wanted.

“I will accompany you.”

Y/N nodded allowing the older lady to walk her out to the patio. She was probably going to have a babysitter until Namjoon woke up and came to find her, but she was relatively used to having babysitters within the confines of the estate. She’d had them for the vast majority of the time she’d been here last year. Jungkook had been her favorite of the babysitters, and she found herself missing the young man. She had yet to see him since she returned to Korea, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he was. Logically she knew he was probably just as bad as Namjoon, but something about him made her forget that and instead look at him like a little brother. She’d have to ask Namjoon to send him over. She’d do it herself, but the distinct lack of phone made that hard.

“Could you let Moni out into the garden?” she asked as Miss In helped her down into one of the chairs on the patio. “Poor dog would probably like to run around for a while.”

“As you wish, buin.” Miss In nodded, going back to the doors to release the dog that was already waiting to be released. He was just a few moments too late to have gone out with her, but she still knew the dog well enough to know that he had an almost supernatural ability to tell when she went outside.

“Hey, Moni.” she cooed reaching down to scratch the dogs ears as he jumped up to put his paws on her lap. “How’s my good boy?” his puffy tail wagged excitedly as he tried to reach up to give her puppy kisses and getting white hair all over her. “Miss In?” she called turning her attention back to the older woman who lingered waiting for the master of the house to arrive. “How long have you worked here?”

“Since before Master Namjoon came to the house.”

That caught her attention. “Before?”

“Master Namjoon was brought to the estate by the previous master of the house.” Miss In nodded.

“How old was he?”

“No more than eight, buin.”

Eight. It was so young to have been brought into this world. “So he wasn’t born here.”

“No, buin. Sajangnim was adopted by Si Hyuk-sii as a boy.”

“Si Hyuk-ssi?”

“Bang Si Hyuk was the previous master of the house and head of the business. He was also Master Namjoon’s uncle.”

“What about his parents?”

“I’m sorry, buin. I don’t know.” she bowed apologetically. “Si Hyuk-sii did not make me privy to this information. I was only a maid at the time. You would have to talk to the previous housekeeper or ask sajangnim himself. All I know is that sajangnim was the son of Si Hyuk’s sister.”

She was going to ask another question, but it was at that moment that Namjoon came through the door looking more disgruntled than she would have preferred, but she did leave him alone in bed after he asked her to stay, so perhaps she should have expected that.

“Y/N.” he sighed out half annoyed and half relieved. “You shouldn’t be up.” he scolded quickly striding across the patio to her side.

“The doctor said I don’t need to be on bed rest.” she huffed, sitting perfectly still as Namjoon pressed a kiss to her lips.

“And I said bed rest. You’ve been too stressed. I don’t want anything to happen to you or our daughter.”

“Congratulation, sajangnim.” Miss In bowed with a bright smile.

The people in the room for the doctor’s appointment all knew about the baby, but Y/N had refrained from telling anyone else until Namjoon knew. She didn’t like him, but there was something just wrong about telling everyone else before him. No matter what her feelings for him were, he was still the father.

“Shall I start preparing things for the young miss?” the housekeeper asked, the bright smile still stuck on her face.

“Actually, I’d like to pick things for her if I could.” Y/N chimed in, sitting up a little straighter and accidentally dislodging Moni from his place half leaning against her lap.

“Of course you can.” Namjoon smiled, sinking down into the seat beside her. “I’ll have someone bring catalogues for us to look over.” Of course it would be catalogues. He wasn’t about to let her actually go into the city to look for baby clothes.

“I’ll check on breakfast.” still smiling, Miss In excused herself, leaving the couple to relax in the gentle morning sunshine.

As soon as she was out of sight, Namjoon turned his attention fully on her. “You weren’t there when I woke up.”

“I didn’t know I was confined to the bedroom.”

Her stiff posture and brusk tone didn’t go unnoticed by Namjoon. “Y/N.” he sighed reaching over to grasp her hand. “I don’t want to fight with you, not today.”

She slipped her hand away from his. “I’m not fighting.”

Namjoon was a smart man, smart enough to know that something was wrong. She wouldn’t meet his eye, and she strung taunt like a bow string. It seemed like she would snap at any moment, and that wasn’t good for the baby.

“Please, jagi.” he cooed forcing himself to remain calm and gentle even though she had a look in her eye that made it seem like she was going to punch him if he so much as moved wrong.

“Last night was a mistake.” she whispered, keeping her eye on the dog who had jumped up onto the chair on her other side.

“No, jagi. It wasn’t.”

“We shouldn’t have. It’s not good for the baby. It’s not…”

“No excuses, jagi.” he cut her off, annoyance building up. “I’m tired of excuses, and I don’t want to fight. Last night wasn’t a mistake. We are consenting adults, a married couple. There was nothing wrong with what we did.” she was going to argue, but namjoon cut her off again. “We would have to eventually, jagi. As pleased as I am that we have a healthy daughter on the way, I still need a son.”

“Couldn’t you adopt a son? You were adopted” she whispered. With her eyes fixated on Moni, she didn’t see the way that Namjoon tensed beside her.

“I see you and Miss In have been talking.” he mused, his voice lowering into a growl and a certain darkness entering his eyes. “No. There will be no adopting. You promised me a son, and we will have one.”

“I lied.”

“What?” he snapped, tone venomous.

“I might not be able to give you a son.” She turned her gaze to meet his, jaw set stubbornly. “This pregnancy shouldn’t have happened. None of the others made it. I didn’t think this one would make it either. The never made it.”

A deep, charged silence fell between them as Namjoon processed this new information.

“Others?”

part 12

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hawthornewhisperer · 3 years

Text

epiphanies

Some DILF!Draco for @ambpersand. Currently 1,500 words and rated T, but I hope to add a second chapter tonight/tomorrow/soon that would be rated M. This will stay tumblr-only until I have that second chapter ready, then I'll put the whole shebang up on Ao3.

Inspired by this incredible fanart by @mignon-chignon and thank you to @bgonemydear for her on-the-spot betaing.

Hermione hadn’t even finished getting dressed when the owl from the Ministry arrived. She scanned the note, swore under her breath, and dashed off a reply. If the Mitford hearing had been moved up, that meant she needed the files and she needed them today.

She had last seen them in Malfoy's briefcase as he went home two days ago, but he'd been out of the office ever since. She hurried up the stairs to her building’s owlery, scribbled a note to Malfoy and returned to her flat, hoping against hope she was wrong.

His return owl arrived when she was halfway through her toast and she groaned under her breath. Mitford files are at my place. I’ll leave them in the Floo Parlor.

That was it, not even his initials as a sign off. “Rude prat,” she grumbled under her breath. Malfoy had been working at the firm with her for the past six months, and while he was no longer the sneering bully she remembered from Hogwarts, he was an exceedingly grumpy arsehole most of the time. Everything he said was clipped and sardonic, and he seemed to have a deathly allergy to saying thank you. She would have hated working with him if he wasn’t so bloody good at his job, which had downgraded her feelings towards him from “loathe completely” to “tolerate grudgingly.”

Hermione always did have a weakness for competence.

She grabbed her blazer and joined the queue in the lobby for the floo, still piling her hair into a bun on the top of her head when she took her turn.

Malfoy’s Floo Parlor was immaculate. It looked like a magazine spread, tastefully decorated and without even a speck of dust. In contrast, her tiny flat looked like a library had exploded in it, largely because one basically had.

But of course Malfoy’s was neat and tidy and...empty. The Mitford files were nowhere to be seen. She let loose a swear that would have made her ex-husband proud and steeled herself to walk into Malfoy’s apartment proper, wishing she had had time for an extra cup of tea if she was going to have to deal with his surly face before nine am.

She pushed open the door to the rest of his flat, ready to snap at him, and froze.

He had his back to her, looking out the expansive window that framed much of London, and the first thing she noticed was he had a very nice back.

A very nice bare back, because he was shirtless. Shirtless and holding a baby.

She knew he had a child, of course. He had one framed photo of the boy on his desk— the only photo of any kind in his entire office, which otherwise resembled a prison cell with a very fancy sofa— but Malfoy did not talk about personal matters at work. All she knew was his name— Scorpius— and that he was approximately Albus Potter’s age.

The little boy shared his father’s blond hair, but there was a soft curl to the ends that must have come from his mother. The Malfoy-Greengrass divorce had been the subject of more than one gossip page article, but Hermione hadn’t read any of them— she didn’t like how exploitative they felt, turning people’s pain into sport for entertainment.

Not that she cared much about Malfoy’s pain, per se, but it was the principle of the thing.

Scorpius’s eyes were red rimmed and his cheeks looked sticky with tears as he eyed her over his father’s shoulder. His father’s exceptionally muscled, well defined, bare shoulder. The boy pawed at his eye with a chubby fist and she watched as Draco pressed a soft kiss to the side of his son’s head, the sort of careless affection she was used to seeing from Harry with his boys but she had never once thought she would see from Malfoy. “It’s okay buddy, I know. It hurts,” she heard him murmur, and she realized she had been staring for entirely too long.

She cleared her throat and he turned with a start. “Fuck, the Mitford files,” he said, the soft look on his face vanishing in an instant.

Hermione felt an odd sort of loss when his familiar cold mask slipped into place, like she had gotten a glimpse of something she would never see again.

Why she wanted to see that look on his face again was a mystery she didn't much feel like solving.

“They’re in my study, hold on,” he added, shifting Scorpius higher on his hip and padding barefoot towards a closed door.

Hermione used his absence to compose herself. She was just thrown by seeing her coworker out of context, that was all.

Out of context and shirtless with an unfairly sculpted chest, plus a pair of joggers slung low across his hips. Did all men have muscles that arrowed down from their hips like that? That was not something she had seen in the flesh before, and it had her flustered.

By the time he returned with the Mitford file, she was thoroughly uncomposed. “You know if you’re going to be off work you really shouldn’t take home client files that can’t be owled,” she snapped.

Anger flashed across his face. “I’ll be sure to have Scorpius schedule his sleep regressions and teething fits with you next time,” he growled.

“It’s nothing to do with him,” she said, doing her best to keep her eyes anywhere but where they wanted to be, which was staring at the play of morning light on the planes of his chest. “These files are supposed to stay at the office for a reason, Malfoy.”

Exhaustion abruptly flooded his features. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes and Scorpius nuzzled into his neck. “I know,” he said, broad shoulders slumping. “Look, this week has been hell. I didn’t think I would be out this long. I’m sorry,” he added, and quite frankly, she never thought Draco Malfoy would ever apologize to her for anything.

The shock from hearing those two words was the only explanation for what came out of her mouth next. “When was the last time you showered?”

Something that was almost a smile tugged the corner of his mouth up. “I look that bad, huh?”

Actually he looked like a Greek god carved out of marble but she wasn’t about to tell him that. And he did have rather alarming purple shadows under his eyes, plus stubble that indicated it had been several days since he shaved. “You’ve looked better,” she said, reaching out and plucking Scorpius from his arm. “I don’t have to be in for a bit. Go shower.”

He hesitated, but Scorpius was already interestedly pulling at her hair. “Okay,” Malfoy said, something unreadable in his grey eyes. “It’ll only be a minute.”

Hermione stuck her tongue out at Scorpius, who giggled. “Take your time.”

By the time Malfoy emerged from his bedroom, freshly showered and shaved and in jeans and a white v-neck shirt, Hermione and Scorpius were on the living room floor while he clambered all over her like a muggle jungle gym. Scorpius was fascinated by her hair and was sitting next to her while she laid flat on her back, grabbing chubby fistfuls and yanking on it.

“Careful, he’ll skin you bald if you let him,” Malfoy drawled.

She pushed herself up to sitting, at first grateful Draco had put on a shirt and then disappointed as it meant his chest was now hidden from view. But then he crossed his arms and the muscles in his biceps strained against the sleeve of his shirt, and she circled back to grateful again.

“There’s plenty to go around,” she said, gently prying Scorpius’s hand from her hair and retying it into a bun. Draco's gaze rested on her as she did, and an unaccountable blush started crawling up her neck.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said, sitting down on the couch, lifting Scorpius into his lap and bringing the total number of apologies she had ever heard from his lips to two.

She shrugged. “Honestly? You’ve been worse.”

He huffed, a noise that almost sounded like a laugh. “I have been a prat, haven’t I? Between the divorce and Scorpius, I’ve been an arsehole at the office. I’ll try and do better,” he said.

The utter sincerity of his words drew her up short. “Actually, I was talking about Hogwarts but yes, you have been a prat at the office.”

Draco blinked. “Fuck, I— I never apologized for that, did I?”

“You didn’t, but it’s okay,” she said surprising herself. Apologies were nice, but they didn't mean much if the person didn't actually try to improve. She wasn’t sure when, exactly, but at some point in the last six months she had stopped thinking of who Malfoy used to be and accepted that he had changed for the better.

“It’s not, though,” he said. “Again, with the divorce and everything I’ve been— it’s isolating, is all. I'm sorry.”

“Pity there’s no one else in this room who knows what it’s like to go through a divorce,” she said drily.

His eyebrows shot up. “Are you saying I can come to you for tea and sympathy, Granger?”

“I’m saying you don’t have to do this all alone,” she said gently, and stood. “McAvoy will be waiting on the Mitford brief though. I should get going.”

He stood, Scorpius once again snuggling into his chest. “Thanks, Granger. I owe you one,” he said.

Hermione leaned over to place a kiss on Scorpius’s soft curls without even thinking. She could smell Draco’s skin that close, the soap and shampoo from his shower filling her nostrils. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said, and headed towards the Floo Parlor, Mitford files safely in hand.

She only wished she could say the same for her hormones.

#dramione #dramione fic #draco x hermione #single dad!draco #divorced!hermione

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chipper-smol · 3 years

Text

Feral Vessel Chain 2

reminder that these are being posted by when they finish and not chronologically

Prompt: Herrah has a heart to heart with Feral about looking after Hornet once she’s called to fulfill her duty as a dreamer.

( @reverieriver )

“Feral one.”

Herrah’s voice, calm as it was, immediately had their attention. Ghost wouldn’t say they were afraid of the Beast, not by any stretch of the word--but they also weren’t inclined to go against her lest they get on her bad side. They’ve seen her bad side. It wasn’t something they wished to inflict on even the Radiance.

“Come with me. I need to speak with you in private.”

Respect, that was it. Everything about her presence demanded respect. That wasn’t something they gave freely, but they respected her. They nodded in silent affirmation, and followed as she led them away.

It was only when the both of them were settled in a quiet room away from the bustle of the Palace that Ghost noticed the tiny, red-cloaked form of a familiar spiderling clinging to her mother in her sleep. Their heart did a little jump inside their chest. It was still difficult to imagine this adorable being as the cold and stern sister that tried to kill them twice.

“Ghost.” Once again, Herrah’s voice redirected their attention at once, moreso now with the sound of their name. So she did know it. Father or Mother must have mentioned it in passing. Why did she need to talk to them, though? They watched her with intent curiosity. She said nothing at first, taking the time to contemplate her words before she spoke again. “You know what is going to happen.”

They tried their hardest to tamp down the sudden surge of panic that threatened to rise up. What did she mean by that? There wasn’t any way she could know, right? There might have been suspicions, of course, but they thought they were pretty good at hiding the whole “I’m from the future and know everything that’s going to happen” deal.

“You know of the plan the Wyrm has for us.” Oh. Right. That. That was something they knew anyway. Of course they did, they were technically part of it. But why bring it up now?

They watched as Herrah gingerly plucked her daughter from her cloak to cradle in her arms instead. The hatchling fussed for only a moment, scrubbing her eyes with tiny hands before nestling against her mother and settling into sleep again. There was a look in Herrah’s eyes that Ghost wasn’t sure they’ve ever seen before as she gazed down at Hornet. A certain softness, a mother’s affection... but also, fear. Uncertainty.

“I...” She faltered, and took a deep breath before continuing. “One day, I will enter an eternal slumber. On that day, and all the days after, I will not be able to care for my child. I will not be able to raise her.” She hugged her daughter a little closer. Her voice wavered in a way that made Ghost ache to the very core of their void. “I won’t see her grow up.”

Finally she looked at Ghost again, after collecting herself. “Someone will have to look after her, in my stead. Someone I trust enough to hold my child’s life in their hands.”

She moved in close to them. Something shifted, and their arms reflexively curled around a gentle weight placed in their grasp. Herrah pulled back, and Ghost realized with a start that Hornet now rested against them. The hatchling’s eyes blearily blinked open, looking up at Ghost... and then she nuzzled into them much like she had with her mother, and went back to sleep.

They looked up at Herrah again. There was something like a sad smile in her eyes. “Out of everyone here, I trust you the most. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Their gaze dropped back to the little slumbering spiderling in their arms. She was so small. So light, she barely weighed anything. But the gravity of the situation sat heavy in their mind, as they remembered again that she was one day going to grow into the Hornet they knew. They remembered again how she looked when they returned from the dream realm after breaking Herrah’s seal. They remembered her grief, and their own guilt.

They wanted more than anything to change that; to see her grow up with her mother; to see what kind of bug she would become if she never lost her, and never closed herself off to the world, cold and bitter. If they succeeded, and the Dreamers never had to Dream.

But if they failed, if they didn’t find a way to get the Dream Nail or some other means to fight the Radiance, then what would all this be for? Hornet would still lose her mother, their sibling would still be sealed away, everything would continue to fall apart in slow motion and there wouldn’t be anything they could do about it.

Ghost wanted to protect their family, but as things stood now, they couldn’t even protect them from their fates. Couldn’t even protect the spiderling in their arms, so small and so vulnerable, from the pain they knew she would suffer in the future. Vaguely, they were aware of Herrah beginning to say something when--

“No cry!” a tiny voice squeaked.

They looked down, startled. They hadn’t even realized that Hornet had awoken at some point. Worse yet, they hadn’t realized the moment that tears began spilling down their mask. But she had. “No cry,” she pleaded once more, a tiny hand reaching in their general direction as though trying to offer comfort. They dipped their head towards her, and she pawed at their tears.

It almost made them want to laugh, that their baby sister of all bugs would try to comfort them right now. They carefully shifted her weight to one arm so they could have a hand free to wipe their eyes.

“You... don’t have to, you know,” Herrah offered. “I simply thought that, considering how I trust you and how she adores you--”

Ghost raised their hand with a quick motion to say, stop. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to, that much was certain. But their resolve was set now; they were going to do everything in their power to make sure that they wouldn’t have to. Not that they could tell her as much. So they gave her a nod in answer. If, and only if, they did fail after everything was said and done, then they would take care of Hornet in her mother’s stead.

Herrah nodded in turn, and her relief was nearly tangible. They could only imagine how she must have worried for her daughter’s future. “Thank you, Ghost. Now, if I may have my child back?” She reached for Hornet, only for the spiderling to scuttle straight up Ghost’s head to settle between their horns in an attempt to get away. “Little one...”

“Wanna stay wif Ghos’!”

Herrah laughed softly. Ghost did as well, if only silently. “Well, alright, then. I suppose I can let you watch her for a while. I trust you’ll take good care of her.”

They nodded. No matter what happened, they promised: They would take care of their sister.

( @philliaesaya, https://twitter.com/ArtistPhillia )

( @ofstormsandfire )

If Ghost could speak, they’d have to say they very much underestimated just how high-energy their sister would be. But then, who would they say it to? They certainly wouldn’t admit it to the Pale King, who likely isn’t even aware of their current whereabouts, never mind Hornet’s. Herrah is a possibility. Their mother is also a possibility.

But due to a particular monarch’s insistence on his perfect vessel having no voice to cry suffering, Ghost is as voiceless as the day they were hatched. Never mind that they are, by choice, nearly as far from being that perfect, impossible vessel as anyone can be without actively colluding with the Radiance.

(That wasn’t a choice Ghost had ruled out, upon waking up in their past. They haven’t entirely ruled it out even now. But to do anything concerning the Radiance, Ghost would first need the Dream Nail. To get the Dream Nail, they first need to find the Seer. And, unfortunately, their drawings of moths when shown to others are always mistaken for surprisingly non-insulting caricatures of the king.)

“Ghostie! Be tall!”

Out of nowhere, Hornet leaps all the way from the ground to cling onto Ghost’s mask. She hangs there and giggles. Her giggles only intensify as she starts to slip.

If Ghost could smile, they would. As is, they catch her with a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, and deposit her once again in the space between their horns. Hornet grabs both of them with a tiny cheer, and they start walking again.

They still can’t quite decide what is stranger: Hornet being this small, or Hornet being this friendly. This is a Hornet long before her life and her family fell apart, before any of the things that make her who she becomes go horribly wrong. But they still see the Hornet they know in her own, clumsy attempts at pranking the king, attempts that are slowly but surely getting better and better.

The Pale King blames Ghost, as he does for even the smallest and fully unrelated inconvenience. Ghost strongly suspects Hornet would have turned out like this with or without their influence.

Their wandering takes them to the Resting Grounds, as it often does. Never before has it been with their sister in tow. They pass the space where Xero’s grave will rest, the not-yet-built memorial to the Dreamers. Both are reminders of time running out.

Xero did not turn against the king for no reason. He has not, yet. He will not until their sibling is sealed away, and it is becoming clearer and clearer that the desperate plan the king pinned everything on has failed.

There were Six Great Knights, once.

And the Dreamers… Ghost cannot speak for Lurien, as the Watcher is conspicuously absent from his Spire whenever Ghost comes around. Perhaps he knows, somehow, that Ghost would exact revenge for his knights in prank after prank after prank. Perhaps he doesn’t, but merely suspects what Ghost is up to and hides himself away in preparation. But even he does not deserve to sleep forever, no matter how many times they were reduced to shade and broken shell attempting to reach him.

They have met Monomon and Herrah, however. Monomon automatically earns a place on their List Of Bugs They Like, Actually by sheer virtue of unintentionally assisting them in their sacred quest of vengeance (and on one notable occasion, very intentionally assisting them.) Quirrel had already been there, and nothing short of him attempting to kill them would take him off that list. Their opinion of him had shot up with his involvement in the Unn Incident, however.

Herrah is so much like the Hornet Ghost remembers that it’s painful. They’d overheard her, once, saying that a large part of why she’d agreed to this was so Hornet wouldn’t have to go through the things she had.

There had been no crimes committed against the king that day. They had been too busy crying somewhere no one would find them.

Lost in their thoughts, they almost miss the flash of movement up ahead. Almost. They do not, however, miss the gasp, nor the… was that a purple cloak?

It might have been. It was certainly some dark color. The Seer wore a dark purple cloak, or perhaps those were the wings they never saw her use outside the realm of dreams. That might not be the Seer. That could be any other bug, or even just a figment of their imagination.

But if it is her… why would she be hiding from them?

The answer is so obvious, Ghost could kick themself for not realizing it sooner. Of course the Seer would hide from a vessel, now. For all she knows, they could be their sibling, but even if she has no knowledge of the Pale King’s plans, of course she’d hide from someone close to the king.

They have no voice to explain otherwise. Somehow, Ghost gets the feeling she won’t stick around long enough for them to sign anything, and even if she did, she wouldn’t know their signs! Only they, their sibling (who Ghost stubbornly refuses to refer to even mentally as Hollow, because they are not) and to a limited extent, their mother understand their signs.

They can’t exactly write an explanation, either.

Maybe they can steal the Dream Nail? They would feel kind of bad, but it’s for a good cause and they can always just give it back once they’ve dealt with the Radiance, however they’re dealing with the Radiance. That might be their best option at the moment, actually, but what if the Seer attacks them?

What if she attacks Hornet?

They reach up to their horns, disentangling the tiny presence there that had just begun to purr. Internally, they apologize for setting her down.

“Ghostie? Where you going?”

I’m sorry. I’ll be right back. They pat her on the head and pull out a charm: Nailmaster’s Glory, no longer in Sly’s possession and unlikely to be returned to Sly’s possession anytime soon. Ghost places it in her tiny grasp and closes her grip around it.

“Keep dis safe?”

Ghost nods.

“Like Ghost keep safe?”

Their shoulders sag, but they still nod.

“I’ll be right back,” they sign, even though it will be a very long time before she understands half of what they say around her. Somehow, somehow, Hornet seems to understand.

“Back soon,” Hornet says impatiently. That, Ghost nods to much more forcefully, and then they turn and run.

They do not find the Seer, though not for lack of searching. Unfortunately, they cannot fit into all the tiny spaces they could when smaller. After they’ve looked through what feels like the entirety of the Resting Grounds, they eventually give up and return to where they left Hornet. They can’t help but be relieved when they see her there, sitting on the lip of a tombstone, swinging her lowest set of legs back and forth without a care in the world.

“Ghost!” Hornet cheers once she sees them. “Wanna show something!”

Ghost nods wordlessly, and kneels in front of her. Hornet chrrs in concentration. She reaches back into thin air, but there’s something shiny in her grip. The charm they left with her, perhaps? No, that’s in her other hand, and honestly, Sly never kept it in as good of condition as they did.

Then pink light erupts from her back hand. Familiar pink light, in the unfamiliar form of a needle. For a few, brief moments, Ghost is the closest to truly hollow they’ve ever been from the utter confusion radiating from them.

What the fuck, they think as Hornet swings.

The Dream Nail—Dream Needle now, what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck, passes through them harmlessly. It tickles, actually. Apparently learn what the Dream Nail feels like on the receiving end is something they can cross off their bucket list, although there’s a distinct funny feeling after. If they didn’t know what it was and what it did, they would have assumed the Dream Needle was merely a trick of the light.

But they found the Dream Nail. Hornet has the Dream Nail. Needle. Of course it would take the form of a needle for her. Has she even seen a real needle yet?

Hornet blinks innocently up at them and says, cheerfully, “Fuck!”

Their sibling finds them on the outskirts of the City of Tears, nail strapped to their back in the same way Ghost’s stick is. Free from prying eyes, they cross their arms and tap their foot impatiently, as if expecting an explanation.

Ghost signs, Not sorry.

“Holly!” Hornet crows from her perch atop Ghost’s horns.

Holly… that’s actually a name Ghost can get behind, for their sibling. As usual, Hornet is the best at names, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

“Hello, little sister,” Holly signs back, having apparently deemed Hornet safe enough. Even if she isn’t, who would look at Holly next to ghost and honestly assume that they weren’t hollow either?

The Pale King sure wouldn’t, and right now, that’s all that matters.

Hornet doesn’t understand a word they’re signing. Dream Needle tucked carefully in her dress, she proudly proclaims, “FUCK!”

Holly looks at Ghost. Ghost shrugs helplessly.

“We don’t even have a sign for that. How?”

Ghost shrugs again, because they don’t have a sign for the explanation either.

Holly sighs. They resume their typical, supposedly hollow stance. “Let’s go home.”

The White Palace is not home to Ghost. It never has been, and it never will be. But when Holly extends a hand to them, they take it.

The Pale King’s reaction, once they return, is glorious. And he can’t even really blame Ghost, because no fucking voice to cry suffering, asshole! No voice to teach their little sister to curse, either! Of course, he blames them anyway, but it’s the principle of the matter.

And no matter who he blames, it doesn’t change the fact that Hornet has a new favorite word, and it’s going to be echoing through the palace for weeks. Maybe it’ll drive him crazy. Maybe it’ll distract him from Hornet’s newest toy.

Ghost knows where the Dream Nail is now, but that’s just the beginning. They still haven’t seen anything of the Godseeker. Without the Godseeker, how the—to quote their favorite sister—fuck are they going to find the Radiance?

There’s much to think about. And they’re slowly, oh so slowly yet oh so quickly, running out of time.

At least they have Hornet scandalizing nearly every adult in the White Palace in the meantime.

( @tangelojack )

( @idiotjuicyy )

( @dovalore, https://twitter.com/dovalore )

( @lesiasmadness )

Lullaby Lament

Nothing was ever off limits to the princess of Deepnest. The fact that she hasn’t grown to be spoiled rotten was great testament to her graceful and collected nature.

“Only proves that she does take after my dear Wyrm,” thought the White Lady as she gently cradled Hornet. A little while ago the Gendered Child was carried by her collar into the garden by the Pale King, after an adventurous day in the Palace with her half brothers. The King didn’t give his wife many chances to figure out what exactly transpired that finally got all the little ones in trouble, but it definitely involved Grimm’s spawn setting something on fire and sweets. The queen allowed herself to giggle softly now that her sweetheart was out of sight, her branches shaking a bit, causing the child in her hands to move a bit in her sleep, only having drifted off recently. Silence finally filled the White Palace, a rare occurrence nowadays, as Hollow was sent to his fathers office to wait for his disciplining, Grimmchild was tossed into the troupe masters hands like a naughty kitten to his owner, and Ghost ran off somewhere, no doubt to resurface soon and unite with his new found nightmare spawn friend. But for a short while, all was quiet.

Hornet brought a new kind of chaos to the Palace. Something the White Lady should have expected, but couldn’t have predicted the feelings it would invoke. Hornet was an actual kid. Unlike the two vessels who could, as soon as they hatched, climb their way up the ledges most adults would struggle with, the Gendered Child needed to be cradled and fed, supervised at all times. In other words, she was vulnerable. Anything happening in her sight left a mark on her, and seeing those changes filled the queens heart and mind with fascination and worry at the same time.

The first time Herrah brought her little one to a meeting, the baby wouldn’t stay quiet, and despite all the disruption it caused, the White Lady wanted them to stay for as long as possible. For the first time in many years, she heard a child’s laughter. Ever since that day, any time Feral shook his shoulder indicating a mischievous chuckle, the queen's mind goes back to that moment.

Not a sprout of envy ever rooted itself in the White Lady’s heart. It didn’t even cross her mind until Dryya asked if she might be resentful of the Deepnest’s queen for getting to hear her daughter’s voice, while she didn’t even know how it felt to hear “mom” once. Her answer was that Herrah would never feel the same euphoria that came over White Lady when she finally figured out how to speak to her child with their hands,

seeing them sign, “happy! happy! happy!” over and over. The joys of motherhood came in many unpredictable ways, and the journey would never be the same for any two families. But despite the differences, and despite almost never speaking to each other aside from diplomatic affairs, the two queens understood each other in the feelings that plagued them at every waking hour. First, it was a desperate desire to have an offspring of their own. Perhaps that understanding was why, upon hearing the request to have the king’s child, the White Lady agreed even before her husband did. Then, another feeling resonated between the two. Constant, cold dread. Dread of their time with their children running out. It might take years before the time came for Hollow to step into his role of being a sacrifice to the kingdom. But even now, there wasn’t a moment when Herrah’s heart didn’t ache, not for herself being deprived of both life and death, as a Dreamer, but for her daughter being left on her own. At least White Lady will get to nurture the feral vessel even after Hollow is reduced to a living gravestone. But even then, the queen would soon lose her only link to the child. As every new sign they learned together only reminded her of how fast her vision was weakining...

“Root lady!”

The queen’s wandering thoughts scattered like a flock of startled maskflys. She hadn’t noticed Hornet opening her eyes a few moments earlier.

“Have I disturbed your slumber with my light, little princess?” “Nu! I’m not sleepy. I didn’t sleep! Imma go play with Ghost.”

Ghost tried to pull the same bluff sometimes, as if the letters on his paper didn’t trail off the borders, turning into a crooked line ending where his quill lay as he dozed off right there on the table, sometimes right in his mother’s lap.

“Oh? You’re not sleepy at all? Goodness, Ghost must have been running way more than you today” - The queen made an exaggerated confused expression.

“No! I run more! And faster! Ghost can never catch me.”

To much of Hollow’s confusion, Ghost often play-raced with his little sister, and always lost on purpose. Something he suspected was that she didn’t get much slack back home, as it wasn’t customary in Deepnest to go easy on anyone, even if it’s to humor a child. No doubt once she’s old enough to train with a nail, she’ll know just how much building character is prioritised over mercy in those lands.

“That can’t be right,” - The White Lady put a hand to her chin, pretending to be deep in thought. - “They surely are more tired. How can it be that Ghost is already asleep, but Hornet isn’t even sleepy?”

“Ghost sleeps now? Bleh, baby.”

“Maybe little Hornet should sleep a little too. Your mother is talking to the king about important things, but they are taking a longer time because, can you imagine? While they were having a meeting, some kids made a fire in the palace!”

The humm of the garden filled with Hornet’s chiming laughter, as she flailed her tiny feet a little bit in amusement.

“That’s Ghost! Me, too. We made sticky sweets!”- the little spider announced proudly, showing her hands, still covered in bits of burnt marshmallow.

“Really?” “Ye! The flying... The flying bug... Lilpet made fire with his mouth!” “Lilpet?” “Ghost’s Lilpet. They can fly and have pretty eyes.”

After a few seconds, the queen deciphered that Hornet gave Grimmchild that name hearing her mother call it “Ghost’s little pet.”

“Ah, I understand. Do you like them? “Lilpet makes soft sounds. I like them more than sounds at home.”

From Dryya’s tales, the White Lady knew that from every tunnel in Deepnest you could hear the hissing of its wilder residents. Although she’d expect living there would make one numb to such sounds. However, the only noise in the White Palace was the one kids caused. Perhaps the difference is playing with Hornet’s ears. Hornet liked it in the Palace. So many spaces for her to climb and stick her silk to, and brothers to look after her, who would always find a way to catch up, even on the ceiling, getting them to chase her was almost its own game. Besides, she’s never forbidden from doing anything, as Herrah wouldn’t let the king boss her child around, thus White Lady being the only one he cpuld turn to to tame the rambunctious child. At home, she’s probably running wild as well. Herrah had no reason nor will to restrict her child from anything that’s not dangerous. She wanted to spend what little time she had left seeing her little daughter curious, free, and happy. So causing chaos at home wasn’t nearly as fun as raising the roof of the palace, though, as she won’t get the same reaction she gets from the Pale King. And having an accomplice in Ghost makes it double the fun.

The noisy mischief those two cause amused the queen every time, but the moments of quiet the two share are much more precious. Ghost would often try to teach their sister their signs, and being young and clever, she picks them up no problem, although the learning process resembled charades. Hornet is often Ghosts voice, and she cheers as much as the vessel does once they manage to communicate something to servants in the castle or the knights. Watching her child indulge in the process of teaching others the same way she does warmed their mother’s heart.

“...When will mom co-...?” - Hornet yawned mid-word.

“They need some more time, little princess. But I heard sleeping makes time go faster.”

“You made that up!”

“My-my, you are a clever child! People can tell you a lot of lies, but you can ask your mom if what I said was true.”

“I can’t ask her now.” “We’ll just have to wait then, huh. ... Or you could try and see for yourself“ “But I can’t sleep. I’m not tired!”

“Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?” “What is lulby?”

“A special song they sing to princesses when they can’t sleep.” “You made that up again!” “Well, I won’t sing it then.” “No, I wanna hear!”

“Lie down and close your eyes then.”

The queen wrapped her hands around Deepnest’s princess, dimming her glow, and a soft hum soon crept just at the edges of Hornet’s hearing. It grew into a melody, and somehow, a song, although the sounds weren't like words at all, they resembled ringing, resonating with the sound of the garden, and the specks of white glow seemed to dance to their tune. The pale beings song was not in any language, but the meaning of its lines Hornet would carry in her memory long after, and years later she’d put them into words she could actually sing herself.

Twist the spindle Round and round Princess sleeps Don’t make a sound Born of three

And left with none Stop the spindle thread is done.

In the darkness

Far below

Wishing star

Is born to glow

Thread by thread

The star has sawn Silky web

they’ll call their own

Soon came spring To be her guest

Gave her life Then left to rest Summer came Was brief and sad left behind

A cloak of red Autumn took The lone star in Made her strong Fit to be queen Winter shook The web star made Soon two bugs Came for her aid Hide the bugs

In her cocoon Safe from winter

Pale as moon Twist the spindle Round and round Princess sleeps Don’t make a sound Born of three And left with none Stop the spindle thread is done.

To the gentle hum of the song Herrah found her daughter sleeping in White Lady’s hands. No words were exchanged between them as she gently took Hornet and held her close, the little princess will soon be home.

( @huntersapprentice )

( @astronomicartz )

( @brimal-baspid )

#hollowknight #hollow knight #telephoneknight #otherart #otherfic #shitlordau #fanart #giftcorner #this one started off angst #but then went super wholesome #which i dont mind #long post #lets see if this one breaks tumblr mobile too #noticeablepronouns

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teshamerkel · 3 years

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Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 19] (26 Pages)

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Tobias and Nia practice their sparring skills under Val’s guidance, and receive a warning about their upcoming trip.

“Begin!” Val calls.

As Tobias expects, Nia takes a defensive stance, so he dashes forward to go on the attack and try to strong-arm her. He swipes at her once, twice, only for her to side-step out of the way each time. Good. Even if she’s upset, at least she’s trying. Wouldn’t be much of a spar if Nia just gave up immediately.

Tobias moves into the riolu’s space and ducks low, spinning and catching her legs with his tail. With a yelp, the riolu trips backwards and falls to the ground. He lunges to pin her, but she rolls out of the way and springs back to her feet. Tobias follows, not letting up on his assault. Nia is struggling to keep up, all her focus on deflecting his scratch attacks, so Tobias switches tactics. He steps closer and blows a puff of white smoke directly into her face, and she falls out of her concentration with a startled yip, stumbling backwards and falling onto her butt. Tobias smirks down at her, victorious.

“Elemental moves,” He reminds her. “An ember would’ve hurt from that close.”

“Ugh, I keep forgetting about that,” Nia huffs, a frustrated frown on her face. “I wish I was a fire type or something too. Maybe then I could figure out my moves easier.”

“You have more options than most fighting types,” Tobias points out.

Nia gets to her feet and gives him a curious look. “How so?”

“…Don’t tell me you forgot about your aura powers.”

“Oh!” Nia’s ears flick back, a sheepish expression crossing her face. “U-Uh. No, but I…might have forgotten they could be used for attacks?”

Tobias gives her an unimpressed look. “Aura’s not just a cool party trick. If you use it right it could be a huge advantage in battle.”

He’s half-expecting Nia to scold him for his harsh tone, but she’s busy looking at her palms with a thoughtful expression. “Huh. That’s…a good point.”

“I’m full of ‘em,” Tobias drawls. “Now come on, we aren’t done and I don’t wanna know what Val’s idea of punishment is for slacking off.”

Nia hurries back into position and they go again. The next round it’s clear Nia’s mind is elsewhere, probably thinking about her aura powers, and Tobias easily knocks her flat.

“Don’t check out mid-fight,” Tobias growls. “That’s why you freeze all the time in battle! Stay focused. Stop thinking so much.”

“How do I stop thinking?” Nia complains.

“Just…let your body do it’s thing. I dunno. Just stop worrying so much.”

“Helpful,” Nia grumbles. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll get right on that.”

Tobias throws his arms up. “I don’t know how to get your head to shut up!”

“Less arguing, more sparring,” Val calls from the sidelines. “Unless you would rather do laps around the training grounds?”

Tobias and Nia fall silent, exchanging a look of dread. The riolu moves back into her starting position and they begin again, quickly falling into their usual pattern of Nia going on the defensive and Tobias attacking non-stop.

“Neither of you can keep that up forever,” Val calls, not so much a hint as a command to switch it up.

Tobias huffs, irritation sparking in his belly. Fine. This isn’t working anyways, now that Nia’s getting into the groove and fending him off more successfully. Val thinks they need to branch out and try different styles of fighting? He’ll show her different.

Still trying to keep up the act of his usual fighting style, Tobias lets a weak smokescreen trail from the corners of his mouth. It’s subtle enough for Nia not to notice immediately, their little bubble of battlefield becoming hazier and harder to see through.

Well, for Nia at least. Tobias’ eyes are better for piercing through smoke, and he notices her movements becoming sloppier and more unsure as her visibility lowers. Tobias fakes a swipe, then darts out his other arm to bop the riolu’s sensitive ear. She yelps and steps back, shaking her head. Tobias takes his chance to step back, into the smoke and out of her field of vision, quietly moving behind her.

Once he’s in position, he lunges. Her ears swivel to his direction, and she spins towards him, eyes wide and arm reaching up to deflect him. For a moment he thinks he sees a flicker of familiar blue light, but then he’s slamming into her, the two of them rolling until he has her pinned to the ground again.

“Was that your aura?” He pants, frowning down at her.

She laughs, a little shaky as she tries to catch her breath. “I-It was supposed to be. Didn’t really do much, though.”

“Were you trying to attack?” Tobias asks, letting Nia up.

Her nose scrunches up into a puzzled expression. “Um, kinda? I guess I don’t really know what I was trying to do with it. I was just thinking about what you said about using aura for battles, so instead of keeping my aura, um…contained, I guess? I just kind of woke it up and, uh…let it do what it wanted?”

“You talk like it’s alive,” Tobias notes, frowning.

“I mean, it kind of is?” Nia asks more than states. “It’s like…my soul or something, right?”

Tobias shrugs, uncomfortable. “I guess.”

“Riolu,” Val calls out, interrupting. “This round, go on the offensive. Charmander, you are on the defensive. No leading the attack.”

Tobias and Nia both slump. Guess Val got tired of waiting for them to switch roles on their own agenda.

“This is dumb,” Tobias grumbles as he faces the riolu once again, falling into a defensive stance, wider and sturdier than usual. It feels unnatural.

Nia doesn’t look any happier. “I-I mean, Val knows best, right? It makes sense for us to mix up our fighting styles.”

Tobias snorts. “Sure.”

Nia ignores the sarcasm in his voice and hesitantly shifts into a stance that leaves her a bit more open than usual, a bit lighter on her feet. She looks just as uncomfortable with the unfamiliar fighting style as Tobias feels.

They wait, one beat. Two. Tobias arches a brow at her. “You going to attack sometime this week?”

“Y-Yeah! Just, uh. Give me a sec.”

After another beat of hesitation, Nia throws a sorry excuse for a punch, and Tobias easily bats it away. An equally weak kick follows, which he catches, yanking the riolu’s leg so her other foot slips and she falls hard on her back.

“What was that?” Tobias growls, glaring down at her. “Luca is a bigger threat and he’s eight.”

Nia sits up, looking uneasy. “It…I don’t wanna hit hard enough to actually hurt you.”

“Oh for—Nia, I can take a hit. You aren’t going all-out anyways! Just put some power behind your attacks!”

The riolu stands, looking torn.

“Did I go easy on you?” Tobias asks, impatient.

“W-Well, no. I don’t think so?”

“I didn’t, because you can handle it. You owe me the same respect. You actually have to try or neither of us are gonna get anywhere and this whole thing is useless.”

Nia looks back at him for a moment, brow furrowed, but Tobias can see the moment her expression hardens with resolve. “Right.”

She falls back into a fighting stance, a bit looser than her previous stiff posture, and Tobias mirrors her with a defensive stance. Quicker than he’s expecting, Nia lunges forward with a jab that Tobias barely manages to dodge. She follows with a kick that actually does catch him in the gut, and he staggers back, surprised. Nia hesitates, a flash of worry on her face, but he doesn’t let her overthink and goes on the counter-attack with a scratch combo. She yelps and wards him off with a messy block, using her forearms to bodily shove him away. She follows it up with a punch that Tobias dodges with a grin.

Finally, she’s actually fighting back! Tobias blows a cloud of smoke at Nia’s face. She ducks under the fake ember attack, sweeping out a leg to trip him up, then tackling him once he’s off-balance. The two go rolling, and Tobias barely manages to pin Nia this time. He relaxes, victorious taunt on his tongue, and Nia takes full advantage of his confidence.

In a flash she bunches her legs close to her chest and kicks him in the stomach hard enough to send him flying. Tobias lands hard on his back, caught off-guard and struggling to catch his breath. He blinks up at the high, root-twisted ceiling of the training floor.

Then Nia’s worried face pops into sight above him, blocking the bright sunlight pouring in from the openings in the walls. “Tobias! I’m so sorry, are you okay?! I didn’t mean to hit you that hard, I just got carried away a-and—”

“Shut up, I’m fine,” Tobias rasps, cutting her off to sit up with a slight wince.

Nia looks at him round, wet eyes, like she just punted a baby and not her sparring partner.

“For Entei’s sake, Nia, I’m not made of glass. This is literally the whole point of training.” Grudgingly, he admits, “That was a good hit.”

Nia’s concern is replaced by surprise. “Oh! R-Really?”

Tobias stands, forcing himself not to rub at his sore gut, and waves a hand to urge her to her own feet. “Yeah, but don’t count on it happening again.”

He puts just a smidge of cocky goading into his tone, and Nia rises to the bait, scrambling to her paws with a competitive grin playing at her lips. “We’ll see about that!”

Tobias and Nia face one another again, the riolu starting them off this time. Soon enough they’re back into the rhythm of the fight, trading blows and dodging around one another with increasing ease, and the charmander slowly realizes how annoyingly right Val and Azami have been for weeks now.

Sometimes, all-out attack doesn’t work best, especially when facing an opponent like Nia, who is particularly comfortable with taking the defensive and who is used to his full-frontal tactics. Each time they line up again to battle, Tobias finds himself leaning into his usual aggressive style, only to hit the wall that is Nia’s defenses and having to make up new ideas on the fly. Distracting her with his smoke, surprising her with a feinted move, trying to unbalance her wide-set stance, anything to chip away at her solid footing.

But each time he does, Nia shifts her own fighting style to match him. She’s definitely the more passive fighter of the two of them, but as their sparring continues he notices her adapting more and more to trying out a range of fighting tactics and styles. When Tobias goes aggressive, she goes defensive. When he decides to fall back and try distracting her, she adapts by closing the distance between them, upping her own assault until all he can focus on is fending her off. Despite her brutal kick earlier, Tobias can tell her hits are too light even in training—too weak, lacking that fighting type “power”—but he has to admit that she’s holding her own otherwise. She was apparently raised in a world where she never fought, so it’s a good sign that she’s catching on to the basics so quickly.

It’s not until the two of them break apart for a breath that Tobias realizes he’s grinning. He’s panting and steaming, blood roaring in his ears, his tail flaring bright and his muscles screaming for rest, but he feels…happy, with electricity in his veins and a bubble of something light in his chest.

He’s actually having fun with this.

He meets Nia’s eyes, and the riolu’s serious expression breaks into bright-eyed laughter. For a moment Tobias thinks she’s laughing at him—but no. She looks purely happy, like when she’s rambling to Maggie, paws gesturing wildly because she’s so excited she can’t contain her energy. She’s enjoying this as much as he is.

Before either of them can start again, Val’s voice cuts into their match. “Stop. Time for a break.”

Tobias relaxes, almost reluctant to stop but recognizing that his body needs some time to recuperate. He looks at the medicham’s face as she approaches. She seems...satisfied? Maybe? She’s annoyingly hard to read.

“Good,” Val says. “Riolu, you still hesitate to take advantage of openings in your opponents’ defenses, but you pick up techniques quickly once you pass that mental block. We will work on that.”

Nia nods, and Val turns to Tobias. “Charmander, you are strong and your combat skills are solid, but you still rely too heavily on one style of fighting. Learn to be more fluid and responsive to your opponents and you will be less predictable.”

Tobias swallows back a sharp retort and grunts an acknowledgement.

“Now, take a few minutes to rest. You have visitors.”

Tobias frowns, looking around and catching sight of a dainty green deerling and a sneasel waving at them from the sidelines of the arena. Oh. Great. He rolls his eyes and plops down where he is, but Nia stops, looking down at him hopefully.

“What?” He asks.

“Um. Do you wanna go say hi? Th-They’re really nice.”

“Not even a little bit,” he replies, flopping onto his back and allowing his tender muscles to relax. Nia just sighs in response, and he hears her footsteps pad away to go meet up with the two Pokémon.

The charmander closes his eyes and decides to take the time to stretch out his limbs, one at a time. Before he gets very far, though, he hears Nia call, “Tobias!”

He groans and turns his head her way, cracking an eye open. What does she want? The riolu is waving him over, smiling, and he glares at her in response. “What?” He calls, not wanting to move.

“C’mere for a sec!”

He closes his eyes again. “I’d rather not.”

“Andyn and Ezra brought snacks!”

Right on cue, Tobias’ traitorous stomach growls at the thought of food. Still, he doesn’t move. Is it really worth it?

“They have rawst berries,” Nia says in an almost sing-song tone.

Ugh. This is why he doesn’t want friends: they learn all of your weaknesses. Groaning dramatically, Tobias sits up, drags himself to his feet, and shuffles over to them. Nia’s smile looks suspiciously smug, but the other two Pokémon just seem surprised that he actually came over. He decides to ignore them.

“You’d better not be lying to me,” he grumbles to Nia.

The riolu laughs, shifting the little basket at her hip and showing a rawst berry sitting neatly on top. “Nope! Just as promised.”

Tobias grabs the berry and takes a bite out of it, appreciating the slightly bitter taste as it floods his tongue The deerling and the sneasel are still staring at him, so he glares back and snaps, “Do you always gawk like magikarp or is that pleasure only reserved for me?”

The sneasel holds up his clawed hands in a calming gesture, but the deerling puffs up with self-righteous fury. “You little punk, I—“

“Andyn!” The sneasel is quick to grab her shoulders as if to physically hold the little twig back. Nia shoots Tobias a scolding look. Oh, what, does their partner clause include him being nice to these idiots too?

Tobias finishes his rawst berry in record time and peers into the basket to see if there are any more. Nia holds it out to him, and while he digs through the different types, she speaks up again.

“Uh, s-sorry, he didn’t mean that—“

“I did,” Tobias says.

Andyn makes an angry noise in her throat. “Do you wanna fight or something, flame-brain?!”

Tobias levels her with a narrow-eyed glare. “Bring it, kindling.”

“Oh, gladly—“

“Okay!” Nia says loudly, stepping in front of Tobias to block him from the deerling’s view. The sneasel tries to do the same for his partner. “U-Uh, so you guys said you had something important to tell me?”

Tobias nibbles at his second rawst berry, debating on walking back to his previous spot on the ground. But after a few seconds the deerling bites back her anger and sighs. “Yeah. It’s, um...about you being human, actually.”

That news, along with the deerling’s unnerved tone, catches Tobias’ attention. The sneasel seems uncomfortable too. Worried, even?

Nia tilts her head, looking concerned. “What is it?”

“Well...” The deerling shifts on her hooves, exchanging a reluctant look with her partner. “We were pretty far out of the Haven the past few days for a mission. Y’know, the escort one we told you about? And um...we heard something from a traveling ‘mon we ran into out there.”

“And?” Nia presses.

The deerling shoots the sneasel a helpless look, and he picks up where she left off. “I guess he’s been traveling through some bigger cities pretty far from here, and we know you guys are planning on going to Ghatha this week, so. Uh.”

“Would you two just spit it out?” Tobias snaps. Nia doesn’t even give him a look for his tone.

“Well, he said that, uh...a couple Pokémon were really upset with the former humans. Like, a fight broke out and everything.”

Nia blinks, looking startled.

Tobias frowns. “You sure you weren’t talking to some spacey old 'mon like Hadley? Pokemon claiming to be humans have been around for decades, and there haven’t been any actual serious issues before. Just a lot of blame getting thrown around.”

“That we’ve heard of,“ the deerling points out, hardened gaze meeting his own. Her attention shifts back to Nia. “You said you were going to the city because of some...human meet-up thing, right? Like an organized one?”

Nia nods.

“The guy said that that’s what really riled everyone up,” The sneasel cuts in. “I guess that new human organization is causing some tensions between the humans and the rest of the Pokémon.”

“That’s stupid,” Tobias growls, crossing his arms. “Why would they go to the trouble of attacking each other just because the humans are setting up some dumb club?”

“Look, we’re just telling you what we heard,” the deerling snaps, glaring at him. Her gaze softens as she glances at Nia. “We were worried.”

For a moment, no one speaks. The deerling and the sneasel both seem convinced that this is something more serious than it probably is, and Nia looks to Tobias with wide eyes and pinned-back ears.

“So you haven’t heard anything about this before?” She asks him.

Tobias sighs, shaking his head. “No, but I haven’t traveled far from the guild in years. It’s possible, I guess.”

“Maybe you could ask August?” The sneasel proposes. “Surely since he’s the guildmaster he would know something about this.“

“You didn’t report it back to him?” Tobias asks, voice bordering on a growl.

Before the deerling can start shrieking again, the sneasel hurries to add, “Well, he’s out of the Haven right now, so we told Verene, but...”

“She wouldn’t be as likely to know,” Tobias guesses.

“Yeah.”

“You aren’t leaving for another few days, right?” The deerling asks Nia.

“I think we were planning to leave in about four days,” Nia replies, shooting Tobias an uncertain look. “So no.“

The deerling finally seems to relax. “Good. He should be back before then.”

“Would Maggie know anything?” The sneasel asks.

Tobias snorts. “Nah. She probably wouldn’t let Nia step foot outside of the guild if she did.”

The sneasel actually laughs at that. The deerling gives him a betrayed look.

Before the conversation can continue, Val calls out, “Five minutes!” Nia and the sneasel both jump.

The deerling shifts on her hooves, still not looking reassured. “Well, I guess we’d better get going. Just be careful, Nia.”

The sneasel nods, offering a playful smile. “Seriously. You get hurt and Andyn will go all the way to Ghatha herself to chew you a new one.”

“I’m going to chew you out either way if that scarf isn’t fixed next time I see you!” The deerling teases, nodding at the ill-fitting scarf around Nia’s neck. “I’m telling you, a bow is all the rage.” She flicks her ear, where her own pink bow rests.

Nia laughs, some of her tension rolling away. “I know, I know! You told me already! Thanks again for stopping by to let us know, guys. We’ll go see August about it tomorrow.” The riolu looks to Tobias, eyebrows raising encouragingly.

He stares back at her with a flat expression, taking another bite of his rawst berry. He’s not thanking them. He didn’t sign up to be friends with these two.

Nia sighs, then smiles again at the duo. “Thanks for the fruit. You guys be safe too, okay?”

And with that, the sneasel and the deerling head out of the training floor. Tobias finally finishes his second rawst berry, and Nia hurries to scarf down a sitrus berry before their break ends. When Val catches their attention a few minutes later with a loud clap, Nia tries to brush the berry juice off her paws and only looks dismayed when it makes her fur stickier. Tobias barks a laugh and revels in the pout she shoots him.

After that, Val has them continue their earlier mode of sparring for a while longer, reminding them to lean into the styles of fighting they’re less comfortable with and watching as they go through round after round, Tobias winning most but Nia catching him off-guard occasionally. Once or twice Val breaks up the battle in order to correct Nia’s form or demonstrate a new technique to Tobias, patiently answering the riolu’s endless questions and not commenting when Tobias gets frustrated, simply pointing out where he’s leaning his weight wrong or turning too sharply before prompting him to start again. The medicham annoys him, but he has to admit she knows what she’s doing when it comes to fighting, so he silently takes her advice and tries to incorporate it into the practice rounds that follow.

Tobias doesn’t know how long he and Nia spar until Val calls for them to stop, but judging from the late afternoon light filtering into the training floor, it’s been a while. Tobias and Nia both slump with exhaustion, breathing hard as Val walks over to them.

The medicham is holding a few things in her hands, and without a word she hands them over—a wooden thermos for Nia, and a small pouch of berries for Tobias. “I picked these up earlier. Hydrate and catch your breath.”

With that, Val sits cross-legged nearby and closes her eyes, apparently finished with the conversation. Nia sits down and unscrews the cap of her thermos with a curious look, making an excited noise at the discovery of water before tipping it back and taking huge gulps. Tobias snorts and sits as well, digging through the berries to pick out a yache berry before biting into the bright blue skin of it. It’s chilled on his tongue, slightly sour, but juicy and refreshing.

Nia finally lowers the drink with a gasp, chin wet from where she dripped water all over herself. Tobias gives her an openly judgmental look that the riolu misinterprets entirely.

“Oh! Sorry, here! I didn’t mean to hog it all for myself.” She offers the thermos to him, and Tobias leans away from the offering, curling his lip.

“I’d rather not deal with being nauseous all night, thanks.”

Nia blinks at him. “But…aren’t you thirsty?”

“I’m a fire type.”

“Oh.” Nia tilts her head and frowns at him. “Fire types don’t drink water?”

“Have you ever seen me drink anything?”

Nia thinks for a moment, then hesitantly shakes her head. “I…I guess not. I never noticed that before. But how do you stay hydrated? Surely you need some form of water in your system, but I know you don’t absorb it through your skin like a frog since water hurts you so—”

Tobias throws one of his berries at her to get her to shut up. “Why do you think I’m eating these?”

Nia picks the berry up, rolling it between her fingers and squinting at it. “Wait…These look familiar, but I don’t think I’ve eaten one before.”

“You’ve probably seen them on my tray in the cafeteria. They’re usually saved for the few Pokemon around the guild weak to water.”

Nia’s mouth drops open to a fascinated little “o.” “So these keep you hydrated?”

“A lot of different foods do, but yeah. Fire types don’t need a lot of hydration—we’re built for a lack of it. But I still need some greens and berries in my diet to get water in a way that won’t make me sick.”

Nia frowns. “So you can’t drink water at all?”

“I could,” Tobias says around a mouthful of juicy berry. “But I’d feel awful all day. Getting liquids through food doesn’t mess with my stomach the same way. Something about the other nutrients and stuff in it, I think.”

Nia looks absolutely enthralled by this information, still rolling the berry around in her palms. “That’s so cool!”

Tobias shrugs. He doesn’t really see what the big deal is, but he’s mostly used to the riolu’s strange overreactions by now. “’S just normal for us. And don’t ask me fifty questions about it because I don’t really know how it works.”

Nia nods, finally putting the berry aside to sip at her water. “I’ll talk to Alistair before we leave and see if he has any books about it in the archive.”

Tobias rolls his eyes. “Not like we don’t have enough stacks of books where we’re supposed to be sleeping. Also, eat that berry. I’m not going to after your grubby paws were all over it.”

Nia ignores the jab, apparently too excited about getting to try a new food. She stuffs the berry in her mouth without hesitation and her face lights up. “It’s super juicy! Like a watermelon or something!”

“Kinda the point,” Tobias drawls, finishing off another berry. Nia hums and sips at her drink again, paws tapping to some invisible beat as they rest.

After a few minutes, Val opens her eyes, turning to Nia. “Riolu.”

Nia jumps, startled out of her thoughts, “Y-Yes?”

“You attempted to use your aura earlier, when sparring with Tobias. Correct?”

Huh. So Val did catch that. He thought she’d missed the quick flash of blue in the midst of everything.

“Oh!” Nia sets the thermos aside. “Um, yeah. Tobias brought up using my aura in battle so I thought I’d try it, b-but I, um…wasn’t really sure what to do with it. I didn’t want to exhaust myself if it wasn’t even going to work, so I only tried it once.”

Val narrows her eyes at Nia, looking thoughtful. “Are you too exhausted to summon your aura right now? Do not lie.”

Tobias snorts at the subtle scolding, watching as Nia’s posture shrinks with guilt. Overworking her aura and trying to wave off her exhaustion in order to learn more about it sounds exactly like something she’d do.

“I-I’m tired and sore,” Nia admits. “But I could still do some aura stuff! I don’t feel sick or anything yet!”

Val doesn’t look convinced, but after a moment she does continue. “We will not be doing a full lesson on aura. You have done enough physical training for today. I only want to introduce a basic idea, so you can eventually use your aura to cover the blind spots left by your lack of moves.”

Nia perks up. “Wait, really?! Yes, please teach me!”

Val sighs, and for once Tobias relates to her. “We are only practicing this once. Understood? You may practice it on your own time, of course, but only after you have rested.”

Nia opens her mouth, probably to mindlessly agree, but Val cuts her off by looking at Tobias and adding, “Charmander will tell me if you do not follow this guideline.”

Tobias isn’t sure whether to growl at the medicham for implying that he’ll follow her orders or laugh at how Nia looks genuinely offended for needing a chaperone. But if Nia makes herself sick by overworking her aura, that’ll throw a wrench in their team’s development, so he should probably agree this one time.

“Sure,” Tobias says with a shrug, smirking as Nia gives him a betrayed expression.

Val nods and turns back to Nia. “Are we clear, Riolu? You are not to overwork your aura.”

Nia groans, outnumbered. “Fine. I’ll be careful.”

“Good. Now, summon your aura as you usually do.”

Nia nods, eagerly sitting up and holding a paw out in front of her. Almost immediately, a small turquoise flame flickers into existence in her palm. She’s getting a lot quicker at that. It’s strange, to think that according to these two that energy is somehow connected to Nia’s very being, to her soul. That it’s somehow the energy that keeps her alive, and not just an energy granted to her through her typing.

“As we cannot currently practice your moves, we will advance your aura training,” Val says. “The next step is to make your aura a physical, tangible force that you can use in battle, both to attack and defend.”

Nia, bathed in the blue glow of her aura, looks awestruck at the idea. “How do I do that?”

“Like most issues concerning your aura, it is a matter of willing your energy to form a specific way. You know how to summon it. Now you must make it change shape and solidify. Imagine what form you want it to take, how you want it to feel, and learn to balance how much energy is needed for both.”

Well, that sounds like a load of nonsense. Tobias finishes off his last berry and watches idly as Nia glares at the aura in her palm. Either Val’s words made a lot more sense to her or she’s just used to the medicham’s cryptic advice, because she doesn’t ask for clarification. After a few moments, the aura in Nia’s paw wavers, the shape of it twisting and folding into something shorter, more ball-shaped. Then, all at once the flame sputters out of sight and Nia doubles over with a gasp, like she’d been holding her breath.

Tobias shoots Val a questioning frown. The medicham doesn’t look worried, though, simply waiting for the riolu’s breathing to even out again.

Once it has and Nia sits back up, looking even more fatigued but not necessarily in pain, Val says, “That was a good start.”

Nia gives her a weak, skeptical smile. “Really? Felt like I didn’t do much.”

“You have had a long day of training,” Val assures. “And you are trying something entirely new. You will not understand how to do it immediately, but you will figure it out. You are a very fast learner in terms of aura.”

Nia seems stunned into silence, and Tobias can’t really blame her. For Val, that’s some seriously high praise.

Val stands before Nia can stutter out a response, apparently deeming the lesson over for the day. “Once you are rested, feel free to practice on your own. Focus on changing the shape of the aura, and on solidifying the consistency. Eventually, you will be able to use it to form weapons and shields at will.”

Nia nods as she stands, stumbling on her paws and catching herself on Tobias’ arm. He barely resists shaking her off as she steadies herself.

“R-Right!”

Val gives Nia another stern look, pointing a finger at her in a way that feels almost comical for the stoic medicham. “I repeat: do not take that as permission to overwork yourself. You must learn boundaries for your own body. Charmander—” she turns her look onto Tobias. “—You will keep her from overworking her aura, or you both will face punishment.”

Tobias rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll make sure she doesn’t knock herself out.”

“Hey! I wouldn’t go that far,” Nia protests weakly.

Val ignores her. “In that case, you are both free to go. Tell Magnolia you did well today.”

Nia beams at the compliment, annoyance forgotten, and bows to the medicham. “Thank you, Val! Have a good night!”

Tobias hesitates, meeting Val’s dark gaze as his earlier frustrations with the medicham fight to resurface. He feels like he should still be angry with her for her stupid training decisions regarding Nia’s moves, but other than that she hasn’t been awful to work with today. Eventually he just gives her a nod before turning away and following Nia as they make their way out of the training floor. The riolu takes a brief detour to scoop up the tiny basket her friends had brought earlier, offering it to Tobias again. He picks a cheri berry out from the meager pile left and nibbles on it as they walk.

Nia tucks the basket against her hip, rolling her free arm and stretching out the muscles there. Then, with a too-casual note to her voice, she says, “So…you aren’t actually going to tell on me if I practice with my aura more tonight, right?”

Tobias snorts. “I will tell Val without an ounce of hesitation.”

“What?” Nia yelps. “Why?!”

“I’m positive Val has some other weird way of finding out if you overwork yourself on my watch, and I am not dealing with whatever punishment she has in mind if I let you go wild.”

Nia pouts. “I wish she’d be less serious about this. It’s not like I’m hurting anyone.”

“You’re hurting yourself, idiot,” Tobias points out. “And when is Val not serious? Look, as long as you don’t overwork yourself to exhaustion and don’t practice your creepy aura powers on me, I don’t really care.”

“They’re not creepy,” Nia objects half-heartedly, turning a curious look onto him. “Does the thought of me reading your aura really bother you that much? I noticed you didn’t seem big on it before, but…”

“If you aren’t exaggerating, you’re literally looking at someone’s soul. How is that not creepy? Did Xander’s freak-out not clue you in to that?”

Nia flinches and murmurs, “Please don’t bring that up.”

Tobias sighs. “It’s just…okay, yeah, for you it’s this cool power, but for someone who really doesn’t want to share the most private thing about them? It sounds terrible.”

Nia goes quiet as they drag their tired bodies up the stairs towards the medical floor, looking down at her paws with an upset expression. Tobias might feel a bit guilty if he didn’t think the riolu was a bit too lackadaisical with her aura reading abilities. Sure, maybe some Pokemon don’t mind sharing literally the most honest portrayal of who they are with Nia, but Tobias is not one of them. Even if he probably shouldn’t have used Xander against her like that, Tobias is relieved that someone else had a negative reaction to having their aura read so he can use them as an excuse. Sometimes you just don’t want other people to know you to such an intimate, vulnerable degree. Don’t want them to know how you really are.

And sometimes you don’t want to know yourself, either.

“Okay. I won’t do it without asking first.”

Tobias looks at Nia. “What?”

The riolu meets his gaze, voice and expression equally serious. “I won’t ever look at your aura without asking you for your permission first. I promise.”

Tobias feels like it’s stupid to take that at face value, but can’t really find it in himself to doubt the riolu at this point. She’s a terrible liar and lays her emotions out for everyone to see without a second thought. Plus, what can he even do to stop her if she wants to break that promise?

“Fine,” he sighs. “Again, I don’t care if you practice your aura when I’m around. It’d be good for you to have those abilities for battles. Just don’t use them to look at my aura.”

“I won’t,” Nia says, with another serious nod.

The two of them continue their slog up the tree, the heavy silence lightened somewhat. Tobias glances over when he sees Nia stretching out her arm again, extending it and bending it as if to work out some soreness. On closer inspection, Tobias realizes it’s the arm her bite wound is on from the outlaw. He frowns. “Did you hurt your arm again today?”

Nia shakes her head. “It’s fine. Just feels a little weird with the scabbing and everything. I’m still trying to get over how fast it sealed up, honestly. It’s only been like two days! Pokemon heal so quickly.”

“How long would it take for a human to heal from that bite?”

Nia hums thoughtfully. “It depends, really. But something this deep? I’d guess at least a week for it to scab over, maybe another two or three for it to fully close up. You’d probably need stitches, actually.”

Tobias gives her an incredulous look. “That long?”

Nia laughs. “Well, we don’t really pick fights as often as Pokémon do, so it kind of makes sense.” The riolu pauses, then adds, “I wonder if it’ll scar? Or if you’ll even be able to see it with my fur.”

Tobias shrugs, hand drifting up to feel the worn fabric of his own scarf. “If it does, you could always tie your scarf around it, like we did to stop the wound when it was bleeding everywhere.”

Nia doesn’t answer for a few moments, looking thoughtful. “I don’t think the scarring would bother me, but I do still need to figure out how to wear my scarf, since I think my neck is out of the equation.”

Tobias snorts and glances at the riolu. She’s fiddling with the scarf buried ridiculously deep in the fluffy collar of fur around her neck. “Yeah, anything is better than the disaster you’re sporting right now.”

“Way too much fluff,” Nia agrees. “I’ll try it out! Would you mind helping me tie it?”

Tobias’ immediate reaction is to not-so-politely decline, but he catches himself. Teamwork. Partners. They’re partners. It’s not like taking thirty seconds to help the riolu with her scarf each morning is going to set them back in any serious way.

He sighs. “You’re hopeless.”

“So...”

“I’ll help you tie the dang thing.”

Nia does a fist-pump with her uninjured arm. “Yes! Thank you!”

Tobias shakes his head, but he can’t manage actual irritation towards the riolu. If Nia finally starts wearing her scarf, they’ll look like an actual team. Real Seekers.

And he has to admit he likes the thought of that.

#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokemon #riolu #charmander #pmd seekers of soul #tesha draws #tesha writes

135 notes · View notes

alecxaheart · 3 years

Text

Someone's Someone | Bang Chan Oneshot (2)

✎ Genre : CEO AU, Soulmate AU, Fluff

✎ Pairings : Bang Chan X Reader

✎ Word Count : 5.5k words

✎ Synopsis : We all just wanna be someone's someone that we can't live without. At this time, Chan was looking for his. And unexpectedly, he was already tied down to someone.

✎ Warnings : Explicit Language

✎ Parts : 1 , 2

" Let's just part ways here, " Saying those words felt a bit disheartening at some point, yet you chose to disregard it.

You walked forwards, while Chan stayed in his position, wearing his coat and fixing his tie. Although, something stopped you. As in you couldn't go forwards as much as you force to. Well when you did force yourself, it only tugged Chan towards you. Turning around, he was already eyeing you. " What was that for?! "

Glaring at the thread, you thought out loud, " Is this string telling me, it can only stretch itself approximately at 7 meters?! "

Twin buildings towered above you two, heavy work's shouting for the both of you. You suddenly feel so small when you found out who this dude was in the company. Either way, you stepped inside the building next to him as if you're supposed to be. You don't have any other choice though unless you wanna be dragged by this buff guy and look like a fool rolling around since the thread is invisible to the public.

" I'm surprised that you don't know who I am, " He stated as you entered the elevator with him. You could tell how much of a fuss this is already when you walked in those doors alongside him.

" Does it really have to be my fault when I only started working here a few months ago, Mr. CEO? " He responded with a chuckle.

" It's Mr. Bang, well, at work. You can call me Chan when we're not. I don't like such formality and bringing work on my rest hours. "

" Oh, so you're that Mr. Bang. The one I hid from last night, " You whispered the last sentence.

" Pardon? " The elevator chimed as you reached your floor, opening its doors swiftly.

" It's.. It's nothing, " You stuttered and hastily stepped out of the elevator while Chan followed. " Why are we on my floor again? Isn't yours like, at the very top floor just to have that stunning view of the world or something? "

" Seems like some fanfiction you got there for me, " He chuckled first while you lowered your head in embarrassment. " But no, my office is at the opposite building, about two or three levels above yours which means it's the middle floor. In addition to that, I have to discuss matters with your boss due to some adjustments that we have over here, " He brought up his thumb to your view, talking about the red string. " Just hand over the documents then wait for me outside by the door, copy? " Chan explained as he stopped in front of a dark oak door, knocking on it three times.

" Adjustments? What- "

" Come in, " The voice on the other side of the door called out. You could've had a short session of hesitations first but this Bang Chan just opens the door widely and gives off such superior vibes that gave you the chills - like he should 'cause he's the CEO, he freaking owns the place. You did wonder why you haven't been fired yet after every informalities you've shown to him. What a great first impression you got there for a Chief Executive Officer, you're never gonna get a promotion to get out of this trashy position.

The surprising entrance of the uninvited and unexpected guest caught your boss off-guard. " Ah! G-Good morning, Mr. Bang! " Ms. Kang frantically stood up and bowed, her phone slipping off of her hands and onto the desk. Looking up, she saw you behind Chan, your hand fidgeting around the strap of your bag while head held down. " And Ms... (Y/N)? " She questioned as she averted her eyes back to Chan.

" Pardon me although I won't be here for long, I'm only handing you the documents like you instructed, Ms. Kang. " You said while handing her the documents. She took a quick scan on it before she gestured you to leave. Following Chan's instructions, you wait by the door as soon as you've shut it. Trying your best to not let curiosity get the best of you and eavesdrop, you distracted yourself by scrolling through your phone and jamming to some Monsta X's songs.

" May I ask what business brought you here to my office? "

" I'd like to compromise. "

It wasn't long that you've thought about getting fired and promotions, not even hours had passed.

Yet here you are, promoted and working as the CEO's assistant on that very day like it's the only choice. Standing on the polished marble floors, opposite side of the building, in his high-class office. It was spacious enough to fit two office desks and a lounge (probably for coffee breaks or small meetings) yet grand-looking with the accent walls and chandelier. The smell of lavender and the nice fluorescent glow it had made it better. Speaking of glow, you suddenly missed Kim Seungmin, the only co-worker friend you got. His bright presence who would constantly bother you from time to time during work hours. You can't really pinpoint whether he is an angel or demon with that fact because most likely you're the one being scolded instead of him. He better be jealous by the time he finds out you're now a CEO's Assistant.

" Ms. Kang got what she wished for in exchange for you getting the 2nd best achievable seat in the company, " Chan continued to elaborate the discussion in the room where it happened as he took a seat, not even bothering to help you fix your new desk if he was a gentleman. Honestly, it's undeniably comfortable being around this man despite you only got acquainted with him this day.

" Seriously? Can't you just promote me with a snap of your fingers? " You whined, arranging all of your things out from the container.

" Maybe if I had the infinity stones, " He first joked and you're not taking it. " Although it's Ms. Kang, there's an exchange for everything with her, " He casually said, looking through his emails with his chin resting on his fist.

" I- " Learn to shut your pesky little mouth, (Y/N). Your own conscience just sealed your mouth from babbling nonsense.

Well, let's think about the bright side. First up, you're promoted, meaning you'll get a way higher pay than before. Second, you're free from Ms. Kang's grasp. Third, Chan seems like a nice and chill boss. If your impression on him will be proven wrong, in any way he couldn't be as worse as Ms. Kang 'cause so far he saved your butt and doesn't mind your attitude.

" Ah, right. You're staying at my house for the meantime, " The book you're trying to place on the top shelf just fell on your head, making you lose your balance and fall to the ground. The loud thump made Chan glance at you, preventing himself from laughing. With your head aching and vision uneven, you tried to process what he said.

" What did you say? " Chan stood up from his chair and made his way towards you.

" I said you're staying at my house until we figure out how to break this thread off, " He answered as he offered a hand for you to take. This simple action made you tense, feeling your face heating up. You gladly took it with weak legs, though you eventually got back to your own feet without his support.

" Yours? Why not mine? I bet it's closer to work than yours. "

" You got a lot of complaints, I hope you know that. "

" No I'm not! Just.. talkative, " You bluffed, pouting. " And fine, your house then. Mine's probably not as presentable as yours anyway. "

This is the red string of fate that kept you two together the whole time, knotted around one another's finger securely. Both of you share the same thoughts while sitting on the couch in the living room of Chan's luxurious penthouse. It did offer extravagant views of Seoul from the top of the apartment, making everything feel so surreal. Could it possibly be malfunctioning? It's supposed to stretch out without limitations as well as it'll be invisible to the naked eye including yours, according to the tales and legends you've heard as a child. Most importantly, how could you break it off?

" Maybe this had to do something with the child, " Chan thought to himself, legs crossed and eyes trained down to the floor. " You cleared our schedule for the week, correct? " He looked towards you, catching your gaze on him.

" Yes, I did. Why? " You couldn't help but be enchanted in his brown eyes. It did look brighter in the sunset than before as the sunlight kissed his face. You wanted to take a closer look at it as to what it may hold within those orbs.

" You know the child back in the train? The one who placed this string of fate around our fingers? " With those words, you were snapped back into reality.

" Child? No? I was asleep, remember? " You looked away and a dog's appearance caught your attention, feeling soft and in 'awe' for it immediately. It had some large brown spots on its white fur, fluffy and has this wavy ears. It looks quite similar to that dog named 'Lady' in "Lady and the Tramp". Noticing that it was really friendly even with strangers, you patted its head lightly as it neared you. Chan witnessed you bond with his partner, smiling. The dog was ecstatic to make new friends with you that it jumped to your lap. Giggling, you ruffled its fur and kissed its forehead. " Seems like you're well loved, baby~ " You cooed, booping its nose.

" She's Berry, by the way. " Chan informed you while watching you play with berry's paws.

" I have to say, she's the cutest, " You flashed a beaming smile at him, eyes forming into crescents. Chan couldn't do anything but smile back, his heart slowly melting at the scene in front of him. You caught the sight of his dimples, which made you think that it's now one of your favorite features he has. If everyday's like this, it'd be such a bliss. Yet you know it'll somehow be just another memory you'll treasure since there will be an end to this.

Back to reality, Chan further tells you the details of the occurrences while you were sleeping. " Ah, right. About the child. If my memory serves me correct, he was blonde headed and had ocean blue-like eyes. He's about 4'6 feet in height and the one who placed this thread around our fingers. When I tried to run after him, he just vanished into thin air. "

" You sure you're not being delusional? " You carefully placed berry down on the couch then made your way to the kitchen.

" Positive. " He replied while petting his companion, who's getting some rest first, before following you. You asked him what his plans were, wrapping your fingers around the refrigerator handle. Opening it, you scanned for available foods due to your stomach being upset in this whole conversation. There's a lot of goods, especially meat. You're assuming that this man eats a lot even when he's on his own. While you were busy with that, Chan thinks of an itinerary for the whole week to get your own lives back. Until, his deep thoughts were interrupted by you.

" How about we eat dinner first so then you can plan properly, hm? You want steak? " You asked, placing the ingredients you need right in front of his view. His eyes just twinkled before you and were already on the raw steak, famished.

" Chris wants steak, please! " Enthusiastically said by Chris, giggling afterwards.

" Steak coming right up just for Chris! " He responded with a small clap, smiling ear to ear. You have to be honest, your first meeting with him is just the worst than any other possible happenings to you two's first meeting. Yet you're satisfied that at least you met him in some way that brought you closer, especially with this string of fate. And today's gonna be a long night for the both of you.

It's very late at night yet your body wouldn't let you rest despite Chan giving you his whole king-sized bed while he sleeps on his divan couch a few meters away, or so you thought he's fast asleep. Although the comforter, mattress, pillows, just the bed as a whole is definitely a 5-star, you can't really sleep easily in someone else's home that you just met. Minutes that felt like hours passed, your eyes were blankly staring at the ceiling. The silence was quite dreadful for you usually at night, which is what you get for watching a fairly ton of horror movies. With a few sessions of hesitations, you decided to break it by calling Chan first. " Psst. Hey Chan. Who designed your house? "

After a short pause, you received a fade sound of shifting and a groan. " A friend of mine. His name's Hyunjin. Why do you ask? " He responded, staring at the same ceiling as you. Arms resting behind his head.

You laid down on your stomach then propped your chin on your hands, facing him. " Is he cute? "

" Seriously, (Y/N)? " He deadpanned. " Also he's already Changbin's anyway so I suggest you stay away unless you want a death wish. "

" Okay, Okay. Chill. I'm just asking, " You rolled your eyes. " I just can't sleep. "

" I already offered you the best bed there is. " Chan looked at your direction and glared.

" It's not that. It's from the fact that I can't fall asleep easily in a stranger's house, that's for sure, " You shifted again in the soft cream cotton bed, letting your body sink. It's like you're laying on a relieving cloud in the heavens.

" We've already passed the stranger level. Let's say we're acquaintances. "

" That doesn't make any such difference especially to my problem but okay. " You pouted.

A long pause surrounded the room, the chills slowly creeping on to your skin. You covered your whole body with the warm comforter, feeling the slumber visiting you little by little. A yawn escaping your lips and eyes getting droopy. Pondering for a second before you let yourself sleep, you took a last glance towards Chan. " Are you cold? " You asked when you saw him without any blankets. He responded with a hum.

" A little bit. But I'll be alright, don't worry, " He yawned, eyes getting heavy as he slowly visited dreamland. " Goodnight, (Y/N). "

However, before you reply, you silently get off the bed when you're sure Chan's too tired to even open his eyes again. Making your way around the room with tippy toes until you found what you needed. You've gone over to his divan couch where he occupies it, placing the blanket you found on top of his and Berry's body, who happen to be sleeping peacefully right next to him. With a weak smile, you finally greeted him back before heading back to the bed and your slumber, " Goodnight Chan, Berry. Sweet dreams. "

Almost afternoon came but none of you decided to rise and shine, except for Berry who's starting to get hungry. It was indeed past her usual breakfast time and she doesn't seem to like the sound of having 'brunch'. So then to get what she needed, she has to be the doggo clock for today.

Berry starts barking the best that she could although it didn't make any much effect, Chan only responded by covering his ears and turning away while you stayed unbothered in your deep sleep. She proceeds to hop back on Chan's couch and licks his face, surely an effective way. He immediately flinched at the wet contact and moved Berry's face away from his, slowly opening his eyes to meet an adorable face smiling at him. " Good morning to you too, " He replied followed with a yawn.

The King Charles Spaniel dog makes her way out of the room after accomplishing step one. While Chan took his time before completely getting out of bed - or rather, couch. With a few stretches and after taking a glance at the time, he made his way out of the room to make breakfast. He glanced towards your sleeping figure. Mumbling a silent, " Thank you. " for what you've done to him in the middle of the night before carefully closing the door behind him.

Before he could even reach the kitchen, a tug from his thumb stopped him in his tracks. Chan forgot that the string of fate only has a length of 7 meters. Sighing, he went back to you and thankfully found you still fast asleep.

Chan sat down on the edge of the bed, your back facing him. Once more, his dark brown eyes gazed upon your sleeping beauty state underneath the sunlight. Once more, he admired this mesmerizing view of you for a good few seconds. He lightly tapped your shoulder, causing you to shift your body to face him while responding with a hum. " Good morning, it's time to rise and shine, " He greeted in his husky morning voice, unknowingly smiling sweetly at you. You replied with a groan, covering your whole body with the comforter. " C'mon, let's go and have breakky. "

" You should've woken me up when breakfast is ready, " You whined, your voice muffled underneath the comforter. Chan chuckled then pulled down the comforter away from your face, " I would've if it wasn't for this string. Now come on. ". You groaned, feeling defeated. Sitting up on the bed, you opened your eyes to meet Chan's face filled with softness and joy. Seeing that first thing in the morning made you smile. It was lovely.

A loud bark from outside of the room interrupted, assuming that Berry's dying of hunger. You instinctively hopped off the bed and hastily made your way to Berry, Chan followed suit. At the kitchen, you both found Berry sitting in front of her food bowl, whimpering. " Oh no, the baby's hungry, " You cooed as you knelt down to pet her. " Chan, you can start making our breakfast, " He followed your instruction, putting on an apron and started preparing you two's breakfast.

" Where's her food, by the way? "

" Are you sure we're gonna find him here? " You questioned, walking a little behind Chan at the same train station yesterday. His strides were big and quite fast which made it difficult for you to keep up at his pace. To the point that your eyes were set on the floor where you have a clear view of you two's feet. You're trying to match his pace but you immediately get worned out and fall behind once more. You guessed it was a CEO thing.

" Well, did you see him in any other places? " You fell silent, continuing to keep up with his pace. The fact that you've been asleep during that time and missed the chance to see who's behind this string of fate hit you. Chan's considered lucky to be awake and witness it.

Chan took a glance behind him to see your reaction, only to find you struggling to match with his settled pace. As soon as he noticed it, he slowed down and matched his pace with yours. Confused, you looked up at him. There were no signs of annoyance or pity on his face, and that made you delighted. What a considerate guy.

It wasn't that long until you both got in the train. The two of you sat down next to each other on a vacant bench and let the train lightly sway you as it starts moving. There was a comfortable silence lingering in the train car as you waited for this child to come into your view. Fortunately, the train's not as crowded as you thought it would be so it would be easier for you to spot the child.

After 3 more stops, you started to get distracted. Your eyes boring onto the view of the opposite window side. Chan kept cautious in his surroundings, still having high hopes of seeing the child's appearance. He didn't realize how much time had already passed and sooner or later, they'll reach the last stop. On the other hand, you slowly began to get drowsy. It's probably because you're sleep deprived for the past few weeks, over-working yourself since that Ms. Kang came into your life. You let your head rest on Chan's shoulder unconsciously which surprised him. With that, Chan first made sure you were comfortable, setting aside the thought of needing to meet the child. He hesitated first, though he did ended up wrapping his arm around you and kept you close to him. Feeling relaxed and secured, you shut your eyes as you slept in his warm embrace.

Chan noticed how much exhausted you are during the time he's been with you. He may not know exactly how tough your previous boss was to you, but it did show a huge impact on you. He thought that you looked so fragile underneath his touch, and he greatly feared the moment you might break. So he made sure to be careful with you. But other than that, he felt the urge - the need or wanting to protect you at that moment. He did questioned why, out of all people, he felt it from and because of you.

Maybe, it's because you looked so exquisite especially under the sunlight. Maybe, it's because he thought you looked adorable and amusing at the same time when you whine or complain. Maybe, it's because you're motherly especially to Berry.

Maybe, he just caught feelings for you. That's why he's questioning " why you? ", it was already love.

Unfortunately for the both of you, you never got to encounter the mysterious child once more. Days have already passed, it has been almost a week. Yet to you and Chan's dismay, no signs of the boy at all. The both of you began to lose hope and just give up. Especially you.

You felt guilty for being the least focused between the two of you, leaving Chan more responsibilities. Find the mystic child and to look out for you. You weren't really in the best shape right now, Chan knew that. You easily got tired, tend to oversleep, and you're hella pale, which you knew well that it isn't so you. " I'm sorry, " You mumbled weakly, your legs crossed and back lean on the couch pillows. Trying to not lay down and sleep more since you did just woke up from a faint.

Hearing this, Chan head over to you then immediately refused. " No, no, no. It's alright, no need to apologize. Just focus on getting better right now, okay? " You replied with a small nod, his warm hands were on yours. That simple touch always made your blood color your cheeks and feel so shy. He went back to the kitchen to continue preparing your dinner as soon as he is satisfied with your answer. In the mean time, Berry made sure to keep you busy and entertained.

While Chan's dicing some pork on a cutting board, he took a glance at the red string wrapped around his thumb. He noticed a small difference to it ever since the first day you both tried to look for the child. It had more of a faint color red, losing its opaqueness. Almost like it's about to vanish which is at some point is a good thing. Though it still has its limitations for length and never broke at your own will. He wondered if you have noticed it as well. What would it be like to be back on your own lives? Chan would be lying if he managed to picture that when he felt disheartened just at the thought of it. He got used to your small complaints, you baby talking and spoiling his dog, needing to be taken care of - when you're unable to do it yourself, even the pocket knife in your bag, that he couldn't imagine you being gone. You did became apart of his life afterall and that left him thinking of making you stay. Chan already figured that he's starting to like you back then on the train, 1st day of hunting down the child.

Which got him pondering. Concluding to a theory that maybe, this string of fate isn't going to vanish. It was only starting to get invisible to your naked eye, just like what you originally thought it would function. But it will always be there no matter what. This string of fate just happens to be more translucent the more you both realize how much you love each other.

Chan tore his gaze away from the string, switching to your pale figure in the living room. Once he knew he could leave the food cooking for a while, he grabbed a glass of water and went back to you. " You like that friend of yours, huh? " You referred to Berry's favorite dog plush. Seeing Chan in your peripheral vision, you locked eyes with him. Beaming him the sweetest smile you could muster which he instantly returned. He offered you the drink and you gladly took it into your hands. Taking a sip, you could feel Chan's eyes burning through your skin. Heat rushes to your face just by that. It's frustrating how you're so easy when he's by your side and only with him. Frequently getting the butterflies, timid, blushy, heart racing, distracted by how ethereal he is, and everything related. And you completely denied your feelings for him.

Chan took a seat beside you, now looking at the pitch black night sky out of his window walls. Those dark brown orbs showed a hint of disappointment. Following his gaze, you figured out the reason. The sky's literally pitch black, starless. As well as the moon being nowhere in sight. The melancholic sight did brought a frown to your face and you couldn't stand it. Looking back at him, you realized that there's no need for you to be crestfallen. In fact, you should be in awe.

It seems like Chan took and held the whole galaxy in his eyes that's why the night sky is empty. His eyes twinkling and shining in the darkness. Many must've envied him for that and it feels so surreal to witness it in by your very own eyes. To have it in front of you. And maybe, just maybe.

You do like Bang Chan.

" Where the hell are you taking me, Chan?! " You quietly panicked as Chan led you to an unfamiliar forest. Just the thought of the crawlies present in places like this made you shudder. " D-Do you really think the child would be brave enough to be here when I am already cowering in fear just looking at this? "

" We're not here for that child, " He chuckled at your state, continuing to walk ahead of you and deeper into the woods. Your wary eyes stayed restless, darting from left to right. " We're here to just relax. " Chan's voice began to echo the farther he is away from you.

You started to get pissed at how he started being inconsiderate and how relaxed he is right now, that's definitely not what you know about him. " What the fuck are you talking about?! So we're just wasting our ti- " The sudden raise of your voice resulted a noise in the forest - sounded like a bird flapping its wings. The sound made you flinch then you picked up your pace to get to him. You tugged onto Chan's jacket which caused him to stop and look back to you. " Chan, please, let's just go home. " You hushly pleaded from behind him, your head hung low in fear and embarrassment.

Sighing, Chan held both of your hands in his. Rubbing circles on it for you to ease up. The both of you still connected by the string of fate, which looks like it's bound to vanish soon. He also noticed how you're short in breath. " Easy, easy. Take deep breaths with me, yeah? " You matched his breathing with yours, eventually loosening up in his warmth like always. You just felt so safe and secure when you're with him. " Let's proceed? I promise you that when we get there, it'll be worth it. " He reassured, never leaving his grip on you.

" Chan.. " You whimpered and Chan instantly hushed you.

" If it makes you feel better, I'll never let go of you, " Oh how you wished that'll last forever. " Sounds good? " You nodded hesitantly.

With that, you let Chan lead you towards his destination. The comfort of his hands wrapped around yours never left on the way just like he promised. It wasn't too long until you saw light at the end of the forest. You could hear faint sounds of waves meeting the seashore and birds singing a melody. The fear you had a while ago slowly washed away as you're nearing the place.

Reaching the light, you witnessed the jaw dropping sight of the beach on the other side of the fence. Like Chan said, it is promising and worth it. He guided you in hopping onto an enormous boulder to get to the other side and you didn't complain, you're too drawn into the beach. In excitement, you went ahead of Chan, letting go of his grasp. Your feet immediately ushering you to the seashore where you could feel the cold water at your toes. As soon as you got here, you felt like you were cleansed. As if the sea took every problem, worries and fears away from you. It was healing and just the thought of it made you smile unknowingly. You never knew you needed this until now, it has been years since the last time you've been this carefree.

On the other hand, Chan's seated at his usual place. Where he could take in the whole view. Now that you were apart of it, everything seemed to set into place for his secret escapade paradise. All felt just right. The way you dance with the waves, moving with the sea, completely letting the rhythm of the water set yourself free. Plus the wind blowing your hair, your face glowing underneath the sun, how blinding your smile was at that moment, he cherished it all. " Perfect with no reasons, " Chan thought out loud as his eyes were trained on you. Unbeknownst to him, it was loud enough for you to hear it clearly.

" Perfect? " You questioned, making your way to his side. His eyes widened, alarmed. Chan looked away without hesitation. The tip of his ears starting to turn red in embarrassment. You sat down next to him, knowing that you'll be bringing some sand in your pockets back home. Noticing his ears, you let out a hearty laugh. " Aww, look at you! "

" I know, I know, " He started, covering his ears. " I'm helpless. "

" Huh? What are you talking about? " You asked while tilting your head to the side in confusion. There was a short pause, only the sound of waves continuously ringing in the area could be heard. As well as the sound of leaves rustling while the wind whispers sweet nothings to it and palm trees swaying from side to side.

" Like- "

" If this is you doubting yourself again, gosh Chan you're not the helpless one between the two of us. " You pointed out with your arms crossed. " You're a CEO of a well known company! Plus, who took care of me? You. Who saved my ass from Ms. Kang? You. Who just comforted me a while ago? You. You are never incapable or weak. If anyone told you otherwise, I- "

" I'm helplessly in love with you is what I meant, (Y/N)! " Chan confessed, now facing you.

Then, the thread in your fingers entirely loosened without any of you knowing.

The two of you locked eyes for a minute. Both surprised by everything, especially you. The wind did whisper something to the two of you, too. Yet it's difficult to figure it out at the moment. Even in broad daylight, his eyes still held the whole galaxy. And you could never let that dim.

" You walked into my life as if you've always lived there, like my heart was a home built just for you, " Chan continued, his hand already searching for yours. Looking down at your now intertwined hands, eyes filled with pure love and adoration. " It fits just like a glo- "

Perfect with no reasons.

Chan was taken by surprise at your sudden answer. You cutted him off, attaching your lips to his. Your free hand finding itself cupping his face. He then passionately responded to the kiss, his arm snaking its way around your waist to keep you close - now that the string of fate is invisible and endless. The kiss resulted you to feel so lightheaded. The softness of his lips brought you to euphoria, everything just felt so right in place. In the end, both of you were left breathless. You couldn't do anything for a few seconds after, keeping your eyes closed with mouth agape of you to try let your mind process what just happened.

You did't need for him to explain or give you anymore reasons why he loves you. The string of fate has always been the answer, reason and explanation to your love. Ever since the beginning, you and Chan are destined to meet regardless of the time, place or circumstances. It may stretch or tangle but nothing could break it and never will. You're one another's someone's someone who you can't live without.

End.

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emilia3546 · 3 years

Text

Our Future - PoppyCas

Keiran's been left to babysit his little sister for a few hours, nothing could go wrong, or could it? Luckily Poppy is on hand to save him, getting her thinking about families, the future she wants to start with Casteel.

*****

"Your majesty!" Poppy whirled around at the shout, still not entirely accustomed to the title, but smiled warmly at the young wolven running towards her,

"What can I do for you, Laurie?" She asked, chuckling as he shifted to wolven form and back again, shaking his head to regain his bearings,

"Lord Contou asked me to find you,"

"Kieran? He'll laugh to hear you call him that," she chuckled,

"but he is, isn't he?"

"Technically, but I don't think he's ever used that official title, even since we made him advisor,"

"Oh, well, he said he needed your help with something, he didn't say what, but he's waiting at his parents' house."

"Thank you, Laurie, I'll head over there now, if you see him, let Cas know where I've gone." She held up a hand as Laurie made to run off again, "If you see him, don't go out of your way, he'll find us,"

"Yes, your majesty," he muttered, but smiled and waved at Poppy when he reached the edge of the garden, and Poppy resisted the urge to laugh as Laurie vanished. It wouldn't take long to get to Jasper and Kirha's house from here, but she did let out a sigh at the sight of the freshly-planted night-blooming roses, she'd come and check on them later this evening. There was something about Evaemon in the spring that had completely captured her heart, perhaps it was the way that the breeze ruffled through her hair, the scent of flowers floating all around her. Perhaps it was the way that her people smiled and waved when she passed them in the street, but perhaps it was simply the feeling of peace, of safety. She hardly noticed her feet moving, following the same path that she'd walked a thousand times now, at least until she found herself at the Contous' door.

She let herself in, calling Kieran's name, but froze at the sight before her,

"I need your help," Poppy struggled to hold in a laugh at the sight of him holding his baby sister at arms-length, covered in what she hoped was baby food, surrounded by discarded toys. She blinked a few times in surprise, but quietly closed the door, and took the child from Kieran's arms,

"Oh, sweetie, what's he done to you?" She crooned, gently rocking her from side to side,

"Me? Look at what she's done!"

"She's two, Kieran, you're what, two-hundred?"

"Something like that," he muttered, and Poppy snorted with laughter, carrying the child through to the kitchen, carefully cleaning her up, and tickling her when she squirmed, so that she squealed in delight. Kieran sheepishly followed her, still complaining that babies were impossible,

"Go clean up the living room," Poppy ordered, "I'll deal with her,"

"Thank you," she made a face when he kissed her cheek,

"You smell like baby vomit, go shower as well,"

"Not my fault," Kieran insisted, "I don't know babies, Netta was supposed to help, but she got delayed in Spessa's End,"

"Uh-huh," Poppy hummed, "Go clean up," she didn't wait to see if he obeyed before slipping out of the room, and disappearing up the stairs to find a change of clothes for the toddler now wriggling in her arms. "Shhh," she hushed, humming a tune quietly, trying to quieten her down, just long enough to get a clean set of clothes on before wriggling away and dodging Poppy's attempts to catch her. Poppy stopped chasing her, and cocked her head to the side, laughing as the little girl mimicked her, staring at her with those brilliant blue eyes, "Come here," Poppy held out her arms, laughing again when the child shook her head,

"Don't want to," she giggled,

"Come to Auntie Poppy," in that moment of hesitation Poppy lunged forwards and scooped her up, "Do you want to play in the garden?" In a heartbeat, she wasn't holding a child, but a wriggling wolven pup, and she set her down on the ground, laughing again as she raced round her feet, her tail wagging uncontrollably. Kieran was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, "We're going to play in the garden," Poppy explained, grinning at Kieran's shocked look,

"How did you catch her?" He whispered,

"Magic," Poppy chuckled, "You just need to learn to cope with children,"

"I can cope with children," he complained,

"Cas doesn't count," Poppy shot over her shoulder, following Kieran's sister into the garden.

"Hey!" She turned at her husband's voice, "I am not a child,"

"Go and prove it then, she's in the garden," Casteel and Kieran shared a look, but he finally shrugged and passed Poppy to reach the door to the garden. Her heart swelled at the way he immediately took to the task, letting the howling pup pounce on him, and bat at him with her paws. She leaned against the doorway, and ignored Kieran's knowing look,

"You want one," he teased,

"Shut up, we agreed to wait a while,"

"Tell him, if you want one now, just tell him, he's only waiting because you wanted a bit of time to learn to be Queen and to live peacefully first, if you've decided you're ready, just tell him."

"I don't know, maybe he wants time,"

"Maybe, but if you don't tell him you're ready, how can he decide if he is?" Poppy rolled her eyes,

"Now who's asking questions," but Kieran was right, she did want one, she really wanted one, and she knew that Casteel did too, but the thought of it, of their child still frightened her a bit, but in a good way she supposed. She turned her attention back to where joy and contentment was practically radiating off her husband where he was now playing peekaboo with a mortal toddler. Her screams and squeals of delight melted Poppy's heart, and she was so absorbed with watching that she didn't notice the door behind them opening,

"Kieran roped you two in then, did he?" Kirha nudged her son's shoulder as she spoke, "I should have known better than to think he'd actually cope on his own,"

"Mom! I can cope,"

"Then why are Poppy and Casteel here?" Jasper teased, "We can't even go out for lunch without you needing help," Kieran narrowed his eyes and Poppy chuckled again,

"Lunch? You mean all the mess I walked into was just from about an hour?" Kieran grunted, trying to dismiss her attention, but all he managed was to confirm her question.

"Mama!" Kirha grinned as her daughter practically leapt into her arms, "I've been playing with Auntie Poppy, and Uncle Cassy," Poppy snorted at the toddler attempt to pronounce Casteel's name, but politely refused Kirha's offer to stay for dinner, claiming that they'd promised to eat with Casteel's parents that evening, even if she was just trying to avoid adding any extra stress to her life.

*****

The night-blooming roses were absolutely beautiful, they'd taken perfectly, surrounding a pond that glowed silver in the moonlight. Poppy sighed to herself, running a hand through the cool water,

"C'mon, what's the matter?" She shrugged, still not quite sure how to explain her thoughts, "Poppy," Casteel gently turned her chin to face him, "You've been quiet all day, tell me what's on your mind,"

"I don't know," she muttered, "This is lovely," she gestured to the roses, to the rest of the gardens, "Our people are safe, happy,"

"And you're not?"

"No, I am, I just, it's like there's something else I want." She paused for a moment, trying to think about her next words, careful not to end up pushing Casteel into something he might not want yet, "Earlier, at the Contous' place, it just felt right, you know?"

"I do know," Casteel murmured, "You think you're ready?" Poppy nodded,

"I am ready, I want a family, with you, I never really had a chance to think about what I wanted, I assumed I'd never be able to have children, to choose my life, and now we're safe, we have time, I want to. I chose you, and now I want to choose our family." Casteel didn't speak, simply smiled, both dimples appearing, and leaned forward, until his and Poppy's noses were almost touching,

"I want to choose a family too," Poppy's heart leapt when Casteel closed the gap between them, pulling her in by her waist, a hand diving into her hair as he slanted his mouth over hers. Poppy blindly grasped at his shirt, clinging on as she met him move for move, and sighed when he finally pulled back and tucked her into his side, "We should probably get started then," he murmured, chuckling at the way Poppy squirmed slightly at the suggestion, but grinned, and practically dragged him back to their bedroom.

#fanfiction #fanfic #from blood and ash #blood and ash #the crown of gilded bones #tcogb #tcogb spoilers #fbaa #poppy balfour #poppy x casteel #poppycas #kieran contou #kieran #casteel da'neer #casteel #fluff

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vivifrage · 3 years

Text

(This one is a Siriks Lives He Just Got Captured AU because @shadowtriad endeared me to him and now this catboy lives rent-free in my brain. I hope I got him right.)

4: Taken Hostage

The days stretched on, indiscriminate, in the cell.

They were interrupted sometimes, but he couldn’t say when in the day it was, or whether it was in the same day, another day after, a week after, what. The Exo had tried to bring a clock, show him the time once or twice at least, but the clock had been whisked away shortly after she left, and Earth timekeeping without the sun to double-check was a headache on top of his current, overarching, already massive headache.

How Eramis had withstood decades of this, he didn’t know. Whether she had recognized all the years passing, how much she missed, until she stepped outside into a changed world, he didn’t want to think about.

In comparison, he’d barely been in here (he knew that, at least), and he was already considering sneaking another one of the snacks the Exo had left him. The first had been good, but they’d been brought as some sort of… pity offering by the being who by all rights should have killed him, instead humiliating and dishonoring him like this. But his stomach was starting to ache, and he didn’t know when food would come next.

Maybe he would simply bite the next person to enter the cell.

The Exo was a relatively frequent visitor, so calm even when he growled and bared his teeth. (She’d laughed at that, once. Just a short burble of a noise. It was the first time he bit her, teeth scraping against her armored forearm. He hadn’t been able to open his left front eye for a while after she punched him for it.) She was likely, but biting her wasn’t even worth the revenge for capturing him.

Other Lightbearers stopped by sometimes. Usually they just hovered around the edges while someone else - staff, interrogators, what have you - worked, and put on their most threatening face. If he didn’t know what they were, he would have laughed at the little dolls trying to look scary. As it was, he kept his face hidden behind an arm when he snarled back.

Then, perhaps worst of all, was the House of Light. Usually one of their Splicers, gauntlet snap-snap-snapping over their arms, asking question after question. Or, at times, a Captain, much more blunt and to the point. Always accompanied by their Scribe. She rarely spoke, asking whoever she was with to clarify something or another, and listening to just that had made it plenty clear that she was young, hardly finished growing. But she scribbled note after note, hadn’t backed down at all after the first time he lunged for her, and when he’d looked her in the eyes, something uncomfortable settled in his stomach. He couldn’t place it, but it left him on edge until the Exo visited again.

...That would work. Bring the House’s meager nobility down a bit. Busy the Sacred Splicer, so-called Kell of Light, with worrying over his baby rather than getting in anyone’s way.

Said Kell hadn’t even bothered visiting his prisoner in person. Maybe he did have a more sadistic side, and was waiting for him to be thoroughly infuriated and ashamed with himself before coming in to dock him.

He didn’t know how much longer he sat there, seated on a bed sized for Humans, the couple of scruffy blankets he had piled in a poor excuse for a nest at his feet. He toyed with one of the snacks, listening to the wrapper crinkle, and ignored the hunger building in his gut.

But eventually, the door clicked and his head snapped up, fixated on it. He shoved the snack back into its hiding spot, crossing his hands over his lap. Watching, waiting, to see who came in the door this time.

It opened a crack, enough for him to hear Eliksni voices. So the House of Light again. Bringing question after question, no doubt, or maybe some new trick to dig into his memories and see what he knew. He growled, low in his throat.

He was definitely biting the Scribe. At this point, just for the grim glee of seeing her and whoever she came with squeal.

It opened more, just enough to admit, yep, the Scribe, as bundled up as she always was, like she’d spent so much time among Humans and their ilk that she was trying to hide what she was. Poorly, considering her secondary arms and the glow of her eyes, but still.

“It’s fine. It’s just to talk-” She turned to him and dipped her head. “Hello, Siriks- We’ll see how things go.”

A much deeper voice rumbled behind her, and a new hand replaced hers on the door, pushing it wide open. In the doorway stood a taller Eliksni wearing a purple mask, glowing lines tracing around his form. He kept two hands on the Scribe’s shoulders, kneading away. “If you need me for anything, I am right here.”

“Yes, I know. I’ll see you.” The Scribe gently pried his hands off her, turning so her back was to him, and stepped into the room. Nervous confidence filled her short form, keeping her head high and chest puffed but her limbs close to her chest, clutching her tablet like a weapon.

With a hand wielding a Splicer’s gauntlet, the other Eliksni tapped under his eyes, shooting Siriks a sharp glare.

The door closed, leaving him alone with the Scribe and a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Shit. Shit. Fuck him.

That was her father, wasn’t it? Standing right outside the door, ready to rush in if anything went awry.

And he knew, he had been told, the Scribe of House Light’s father was its Kell.

Oh, he was fucked every which way.

If he did so much as make her shout a little too loud, sound a little too angry or afraid, he was dead. No chance to appeal, no chance to argue that he still knew things they didn’t (not that he would give them up, but it would buy him time to try and escape), no chance to even apologize for upsetting her. The Kell didn’t have to answer to any authority save perhaps the Vanguard, and he could lie to them. Whatever he wanted to justify killing him on the spot.

“I don’t think I ever introduced myself.” The Scribe startled him, suddenly just out of arm’s reach. Close enough to be caught if he lunged, but her father was right there. She didn’t even seem to care, instead picking around at her thick, woolly cowl. “I am Eido. I’m sure you gathered that I am the Scribe of the House of Light.”

Perhaps it was for the best she already knew his name. It was like someone had tied a knot in his throat, and the only thing that could escape would be a growl.

She sighed; she wasn't even looking at him any more, too busy fiddling with the tie keeping her cowl and hood in shape. "I hope you don't mind if I take this off. It's warm, but if I didn't know better I'd swear someone wove prickles into it."

She met his eye, and said, deadpan, "To be honest, if you do have an opinion on it, that's your problem, not mine."

He managed to chuff. Oh, the Scribe thought she had some backbone to her, didn't she? Speaking like that to a Devils Baron. No wonder. She looked like she might be getting a Captain's Ether rations, when by all rights, at her age she would just be getting promoted to a Vandal. Provided she had the skill and tenacity to back up that overinflated ego.

"Anyways," she said, finally undoing the tie. The cowl slackened, the hood slipping back enough to reveal a lock of coarse, dark brown hair. She continued to unwind the length of fabric, folding it over her arm as she worked. "I do not plan to interrogate you as the others did. I'm here in my duty as House Scribe, not a notetaker. Which means understanding all involved points of view. Yours included."

The fabric fell away, and she stared back at him, barefaced. "If you will work with me, that is."

He couldn't answer. He couldn't breathe.

There was no mistaking it. The eyes alone were easy enough to dismiss; a greyish blue was nothing spectacular. But the shape of her brow, her nose, jawline, mandibles, it all flowed together into a face he swore he saw in old pictures. The color of her skin and shell were almost an exact match, too. And her hair, wrangled into a thick braid - he could almost feel the coarse, ridiculously voluminous texture under his hands, hear ghosts of conversations marked with banter and dramatic stories. Not to mention her stature, the sound of her voice - now that he saw, it all added up.

He had seen one of her siblings, when he'd been able to search the wreckage. Trapped under dented metal, lower body crushed.

Late one night, decades later, Eramis had whispered to him about the other two, the ones they had never found and who must have died long ago. Including a little girl who looked just like her, and had a patch of thick, dark hair, trying to be fluffy even while egg-damp.

And she was standing right there, alive and well. Still the spitting image of her mother.

He had grieved for her and her siblings. He knew all too well the ways of war, he knew they were at risk. But that didn't change how his heart had sung seeing the eggs in their nest on the Sepiks-Fel. It didn't change how he had cradled them while he sat in the dark, shining a light through their shells to illuminate the dark, growing forms within. It didn't change how he had cheered them on when they wriggled and kicked while he watched, and traced a knuckle along the eggshell to see when they started responding. One had reached out once, when he did that. Had it been her? Was she the one who had pawed at the inside of her shell with a scrawny, underdeveloped hand, her egg the only thing between her and his palm cupped around where she patted?

Maybe it was. It was a one in three chance, after all, that it was her. Two in three that it had been one of her siblings, killed in the crash.

And she stared at him, unknowing. Stepped closer, close enough he could catch her scent and erase any lingering doubts in his mind.

It was her.

He was supposed to be her father.

He choked back a raging storm of conflicting feelings. Deep, white-hot rage that she had been taken from him, that he had gone all these years with her, her siblings, and her mother ripped away all at once. She should have grown up cradled in his arms, raised to be a proud Devil. He should have sung her to sleep, taught her everything he knew, taken her onto his crew.

But at the same time, she was alive and well. Cared for, educated, given such a notable rank. If she had ever suffered for anything, he didn't see any sign of it. And, all right, he doubted Misraaks would have taught her any sort of unpleasant biting tricks.

She was still the Scribe of House Light. She had still stood there, watched, and taken her notes through interrogation after interrogation.

But now she stood within arms reach, painfully familiar, the father who raised her waiting just outside while the father-who-could-have-been, the father-who-should-have-been, sat before her, imprisoned.

He swallowed down the keen rising in his throat. He couldn't even tell her.

#whumptober2021 #No.4 #taken hostage #Destiny 2 #Infant death tw #Jaxx writes

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hatterstan-shameblog · 3 years

Note

Okay so Aguni is sound asleep, just enjoying the few hours of peace he has, when there's a knock on the door. He ignores it, but the person just keeps knocking and knocking.

"Morizono, open the goddamn door!" he hears Takeru call, "This is an emergency!"

He groans to himself before standing up and opening the door.

"What?"

"So, remember that weird chonky cat Niragi found?"

"Yeah... what about it?"

"It's not fat... and is not a cat."

Where Hatter and apparently every other idiot at the Beach mistake a domesticated pregnant genet for a fat exotic cat. And it just gave birth on Hatter's bed.

I have no idea in what direction this is supposed to go lol but hopefully something chaotic.

alright I had to look up what a genet is and DAMN they are CUTE AS HELL and I’m love them v much

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Terminator

Rating: PG-13 for dialogue and like one drug reference

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Aguni Morizono is a simple man who enjoys simple pleasures.

He enjoys a healthy slathering of grape jelly on his toast. He enjoys watching the sunset reflect over the ocean. He enjoys watering his garden and reading the newspaper and taking naps on the sofa on Sunday afternoons after he’s finished his grocery shopping for the week.

What he does not particularly enjoy is being shaken awake by a borderline-frantic Takeru in the middle of the night.

Takeru insists that he has a good reason; that this is an emergency. Aguni reminds him that running out of marijuana does not qualify as an emergency, and pulls the blanket over his head in an attempt to shut the very exuberant man out.

But the aforementioned exuberant man refuses to be shut out, and he references the aforementioned emergency again—this time insisting that it is an actual real emergency and requires immediate attention. Aguni sincerely doubts this and tries his damnedest to fall back to sleep—a truly Herculean task, given Takeru’s incessant talking and the way he’s bouncing on the other side of the mattress like some kind of weird large puppy. Aguni is just about to enter the first misty moments of dozing off as Takeru says words like ‘Niragi’ and ‘cat’ and ‘bed’ and it’s all somewhat possible to ignore until he utters one word that makes Aguni sit straight up.

‘Babies.’

Now, ‘babies’ as a concept does not bother Aguni. He’s actually somewhat fond of them, the way they unabashedly stare at him on the train or in the park, eyes wide and fat little hands waving a clumsy ‘hello’ in his general direction. And if he waves back sometimes, well...that’s his business. (It’s only polite, after all.)

No, the issue here is that ‘babies’ and ‘the Borderlands’ sounds like a terrible, terrible mix. What’s worse is that said babies have, for some reason, been left in Takeru’s care. And, judging from Takeru’s presence in his room, the babies have been left alone.

It takes no time at all for Aguni to throw on a pair of pants and slip into his boots. It takes even less time for him to grab Takeru by the collar of his robe and physically drag him down the hall, the other man switching between heartfelt thank-you’s and desperate pleas for Aguni to be gentle when handling the raw silk of his ensemble.

Now, to those of us on the outside of Aguni’s brain, it may seem like he hasn’t thought this through; that he has tunnel-vision’d his way through the last two paragraphs without a logical thought as to how and why ‘babies’ may be present. That is simply not true. Aguni has considered that ‘babies’ could actually mean a number of things aside from ‘human infants’ and has thus compiled a short list of the three most likely candidates:

The spider plant he had placed on Takeru’s windowsill has propagated—or, as some would call it, ‘had babies.’ This is Aguni’s favorite option of the bunch. It is also the least likely.

Something about the cards. Although Aguni has never Takeru refer to them as ‘his babies,’ it is no secret that he is very protective of his prized collection. Seeing as this may or may not affect the entire Beach, it’s important for him to be aware of the situation.

Takeru is high as a goddamn kite and hallucinating. This is, unfortunately, the most likely scenario.

It is also important to mention that Aguni has taken a good look at his life and his choices throughout this ordeal, particularly when Takeru commented on the state of his biceps and made an off-color insinuation about the right one looking slightly more defined than the left—and then asked if he would like to discuss his love life, with an exaggerated raise of his eyebrows. Aguni chose not to comment. He also chose to push Takeru into the doorframe on the way into his suite, and took a smidge of pleasure when his head collided with the wood with a satisfying clunk-ing sound.

“Look,” Takeru says proudly, pointing a finger at the bed, “babies!”

Nestled in what a bulging nest of fluffy white blankets are...things. Fuzzy things. One big fuzzy thing, with sleepy eyes and what looks to be a long spotted tail wrapped around one, two, three tiny fuzzy things. When Aguni leans in to get a closer look, the big one quirks a corn-chip-shaped ear and gives him a wary glare.

“What,” Aguni asks, “in the goddamn—“

But before Aguni is able to finish his sentence, Takeru is giving him a stinging slap on the arm.

“Aguni Morizono,” he hisses, hands balled into fists and perched on his hips like a mother hen, “I will not have my children exposed to that kind of language.”

There are plenty of things wrong with what Takeru just said, but Aguni is having trouble getting past the idea that these...creatures have somehow been claimed by his very silly friend.

“Think about it,” Takeru continues, swanning his way past a very confused (and tired) Aguni to sit on the edge of the bed just behind the brood of fluffy individuals, “This lovely lady could have given birth on anyone’s bed...but she chose mine. Why do you think that is?”

“Because you leave the sheets all balled up in the middle and it’s the perfect place for an animal to make a nest?”

“Wrong, but I like how confident you sounded when you said it!”

With his hands pressed together and held in front of his lips, Takeru looks almost prayerful as he very seriously explains his theory.

“A woman alone-- heavily pregnant, scared, and lost in these cold and cruel Borderlands. Her thoughts shift to her young. Who will keep them safe? Who will help take care of them? That’s when her instincts took over,” Takeru opens his arms, the silken cuffs of his robe pooling around his elbows, “and, using her superior sense of smell, followed her nose to the den of the nearest alpha male for protection.”

Aguni wishes he could say that this is the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. He also wishes he had a cup of coffee (with a healthy glug of Bailey’s in there for good measure) before this whole event took place.

Takeru has since busied himself with the tiny new mother and her young, watching with gentle fascination as the newborns snuffle and snooze against her with unopened eyes and clumsy paws. When he reaches out a ring-bedecked hand to stroke along the bigger one’s head, she gives him a small growl and a pointed glare—to which he laughs and withdraws his touch, saying something cheeky about “the last time she let a man get too close” and quickly following it up with a promise to talk about it “after the kids are asleep.”

Takeru has just held up his hand for a high-five (which Aguni has decided to not reciprocate) when they hear a crash and then a bang and then the thundering thumpthumpthump of angry booted footsteps rapidly approaching their position in the bedroom. For some reason—a reason he’s not very keen to dwell upon at the current moment—Aguni instantly snaps into defense mode, hands curling into fists and shoulders squaring themselves in anticipation of a coming attack.

“WHERE. IS. TERMINATOR!?”

Niragi bursts into the room like a firework, all noise and flash and fire in his eyes. His knuckles strain around the dark of his rifle, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. Of course, Aguni knows (hopes) he won’t actually resort to filling Takeru full of bullets, but he keeps a close eye on his trigger finger, anyways.

“Ah! There’s my co-parent,” Hatter says with a measure of glee, gesturing with a flourish of his hand towards the cute, hairy pile on his bed, “As you can see, our lovely Terminator is doing very well and—“

“Our? She’s not fucking ours, she’s fucking mine,” Niragi snaps, “and I’m gonna fucking kill you for stealing my cat.”

“Not a cat,” a calm voice says, and Aguni turns to see Last Boss lurking in the doorway, katana sheathed and arms crossed, “She’s a common genet, native to the savanna’s of Africa.”

“Ooh, does that mean the babies have dual citizenship? No, wait,” Hatter claps his hands together with glee, “triple citizenship? Africa, Japan, and the Borderlands?!”

“Africa’s not a country, it’s a continent, dumbass,” Niragi retorts, “and I think we have bigger problems than what’s going to be on their fucking passports.”

It’s probably not the best thing in the world for Aguni to let Takeru and Niragi descend into heated bickering—a back-and-forth of ‘you stole her’ versus ‘no, she chose me’—but Aguni is simply not interested in breaking up their squabbling. Instead he goes to stand by Last Boss, who’s watching the two long-haired men argue like it’s a mildly interesting tennis match.

“So,” Aguni says, “you, uh, seem to know a lot about those things.”

“I did my research when Niragi first brought her back,” Last Boss says calmly, “He’s good with her, but I wanted to make sure we were taking care of her correctly.”

“Did you know she was pregnant?”

“I had my suspicions. Niragi wouldn’t listen, though. Kept telling me she was just fat.”

“Yeah, I thought she was ‘just fat,’” Niragi interjects, his gun no longer pointed at Takeru but a murderous gleam still in his eye, “because this fucking asshole kept feeding her potato chips!”

“Because she loves them,” Takeru shouts back, throwing his arms up in the air, “So shoot me for being a nice guy and sharing my snacks with your weird cat!”

“Don’t,” both Last Boss and Aguni say in unison—which is very uncomfortable for the both of them, but at least it has the desired effect of keeping Niragi from blasting a few dozen holes through Takeru’s person.

With the two of them quickly getting back into their heated back-and-forth, Aguni turns his attention to the creatures on the bed. Somehow, despite all of the noise and excitement, the mother and her babies have curled up and fallen asleep, the rhythmic rise and fall of their bellies a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around them. Aguni feels jealous, but also, feels bad about feeling jealous because this...Terminator thing has undoubtedly had a rough night, too.

“Luckily,” Last Boss says, “genets are pretty independent creatures. She’ll be fine to take care of the kits on her own, provided that she has access to food and water.”

“So we should just...leave her alone?”

Last Boss shrugs.

“More or less.”

Aguni sighs internally. He sighs externally, too, but the internal sigh is the one that really sums up his thoughts on the whole situation. Just getting one of those hot-headed men to leave those poor animals alone is challenging enough, but both of them? That’s bordering on ‘damn near impossible.’

But, for the sake of those weird fuzzy babies, he has to try.

Takeru jumps when he feels Aguni’s hand on his elbow. He also manages to shut up for a moment, which is a nice bonus. Last Boss has also sprung into action and seems to be talking to Niragi in hushed tones, a hesitant but friendly hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon,” Aguni says, gentle-firm as he guides Takeru into a standing position—much to the other man’s confusion.

“Mori, what—?”

“You’ve had a big night. I’ve had a big night. But do you know whose had the biggest night of us all?” Aguni gestures to the snoozing creatures in front of them, “Terminator. She’s exhausted, and the last thing she needs is the four of us keeping her up. You can stay with me tonight, and we’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”

“But,” Takeru protests—an iota quieter, now that he’s realized that the pipe on the bed is now a sleeping pile, “we can’t just leave them alone, can we?”

“You’re right. Which is why,” Aguni says, “Last Boss is going to stay with her and keep an eye on things. If he’s okay with that, of course?”

Last Boss offers a solemn nod. Aguni makes a mental note to thank him for this later—maybe he’ll let him pick the music on their next supply run (provided it’s from Aguni’s list of pre-approved artists, of course...)

“You know what? Fucking fine,” Niragi spits, flicking his hair back with a quick jerk of his hand, “it’s too goddamn late to deal with you fucking losers, anyways. I’ll come back to collect my cat and her kittens in the morning.”

Aguni does not risk correcting Niragi on his incorrect terminology regarding his pets—frankly, he’s a little too busy being amazed at how suspiciously easy it was to get him to leave. With a sharp pivot, Niragi is exiting the room in what could be called a ‘brisk saunter,’ no doubt wanting to put as much distance between himself and whatever-the-hell just happened in this room as possible.

Aguni, for once, can relate to Niragi quite well.

With Last Boss keeping vigil over the new little family, Aguni is able to wrangle Takeru away from his room with minimal fuss. It’s probably because the man is very tired—despite multiple claims that he ‘isn’t sleepy yet’ and ‘can stay up for hours.’ This theory is proven when, within a grand total of seven seconds of Takeru flopping face-first onto the middle of Aguni’s bed, he’s managed to slip into what only can be described as a ‘light coma.’

Aguni manages to wrestle a stray pillow away from his sleeping friend’s grasp (he’s a notoriously cuddly sleeper, which has led to some...interesting situations over the course of their friendship) and settles his weary self onto the couch. It’s not quite long enough to accommodate his height, but it’s good enough for what will most likely end up being an extended nap before the sun comes up and he needs to solve whatever other issues have popped up at the Beach overnight.

...But, at least those problems won’t involve babies.

Probably.

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Also here is a common genet and DAMN SIS U CUTE AS HELL

#alice in borderland #danma takeru #alice in borderland netflix #aguni morizono #niragi suguru #last boss #writings and such

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let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

Text

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 22: Can’t Refuse

Chapter 21

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Jamie pulled up in front of the Beauchamp apartment, his heart hammering. For some reason, he was even more nervous than their first date. And for some reason, even though he’d eaten dinner with both Claire and Faith in that very kitchen once before, it still felt brand new and very frightening.

Claire had texted him on Monday afternoon that her shift ended at five on Wednesday, followed by:

So how’d you like to make good on that promise of homemade lasagna?

He got out of the car and wiped his sweaty palms on his cargo shorts, then opened the back seat to retrieve the prepped ingredients that he’d taken care of last night. He’d already browned the beef and onions and portioned out all the cheeses so all they had to do was layer the ingredients and pop it in the oven.

By the time he’d finished with his last client at the stables, got home, and showered the smell of horses off of him, it was already almost six. He jogged up the driveway, bags in hand, and his heart immediately felt lighter to see Faith in the front window, nose pressed against the glass, flapping her hands. Claire pushed aside the curtain and firmly grasped one of her daughter’s hands before opening the front door before Jamie even reached the top step.

“Hallo there, Princess Faith,” Jamie said fondly, his cheeks already sore from smiling. She was humming loudly, on the verge of even yelling.

“Hey, hey…” Claire bent down and hoisted Faith up despite her protestations, holding her close and rubbing her back. “Yes, I know…we are very excited to cook with Jamie…”

They shuffled out of the doorway and Jamie closed the front door, locking it again behind him.

“Shh…easy, baby…” Claire bounced her gently and stroked her back. “I know, I know…”

She tried launching herself forward toward Jamie, nearly toppling headfirst out of Claire’s arms, and Jamie leapt forward to catch her.

“I got her,” Claire assured. “Hey, hey, it’s okay…I know…”

Her shouting quieted to a constant buzz of hums, and she rocked forward and back in Claire’s arms. “There you go. Good girl.”

“Aye, there ya go, lass. Good job.” Jamie offered a thumbs up, which Faith returned, still rocking.

“Okay, time to wash up. Can’t cook with dirty doggie hands.” Claire scrunched her nose up and leaned close to Faith’s face, and Faith giggled, shaking her curly head.

“Say hello to Angus and then wash your hands as well,” Claire said, putting Faith down. “No dirty doggie hands for you either.”

Jamie chuckled. “Aye, aye, captain.”

He put the bags down in the kitchen then knelt down to scruff up Angus’s neck. He heard Claire’s lilting voice from the bathroom, saying some sing-song little rhyme to help Faith wash her hands, and he sighed with contentment. What a gift it was to be privy to hear something so intimately beautiful that mother and daughter shared.

Claire and Faith emerged from the hallway, Claire holding both of Faith’s hands and waddling awkwardly, and then Jamie noticed that Faith was standing on her feet.

“Can’t have her touching anything,” Claire explained.

“Ye keep her sterile like a surgeon before dinner?”

Claire gave him a look, rolling her eyes. “Go on, Fraser. Sanitize.”

He saluted her before making his way to the bathroom to follow orders. As the water ran over his hands, he heard music coming from the kitchen, followed by little hands clapping. He smiled again, drying his hands, then made his way back to the kitchen. Claire had taken everything out of the bags and created a spread on the table for them to work with, and Faith was sitting dutifully in her chair, rocking back and forth to “Heigh-Ho,” that sweet, absent smile on her face. She was wearing a little yellow apron with bumblebees on it.

“Almost forgot,” Jamie said. “Cooking time is music time.”

“That’s right,” Claire said, taking the phone off the table. Faith moaned, reaching up to take it back. “I’m not turning it off, I’m just moving it. Look. See?” She put the phone on the counter and raised the volume a bit. “See? We need room to cook on the table. Yes?”

Faith leaned heavily on the table to hoist herself onto her knees in her chair.

“Alright. Are we ready?” Claire sat down, and Jamie sat down across from her so that Faith was in between them. Faith slapped the table excitedly. “Quiet hands, Faith. Thank you.”

“Alright,” Jamie said. “Let me show ye, now — oh! Did ye heat the oven?”

“Started when you were washing your hands.”

He nodded curtly. “Bonny.”

He spread a thin layer of sauce in the pan, then dumped the beef and the remaining sauce into a large stirring bowl. He gave Faith the wooden spoon and instructed her to stir.

“Watch, a leannan.” He made big stirring motions with his hands, and Faith began copying him with two hands, causing the bowl to spin.

“Woah!” Claire cried, seizing the bowl before it could spin out of control and create a disaster. Faith squealed at the commotion, but she resumed her task, clumsily trudging the spoon through the bowl.

“Good job, lass. Fine stirring,” Jamie encouraged her. “Let me finish it off, now, so it’s all ready. May I have the spoon?”

Faith yanked the spoon out of the bowl, splashing sauce and beef onto the table and Jamie’s shirt, which was thankfully black, him having anticipated a possible mess. Claire, to her credit, was wearing black shorts, but a lavender t-shirt. The adults laughed off the little mess, and Jamie took over stirring, getting it evenly mixed.

Next, they began layering. Jamie would put in the liquid ingredients while Claire counted out loud with Faith, one through five lasagna noodles, and then they placed them inside. They repeated this until the ingredients were depleted and the dish was full.

“And look at that! All ready fer the oven!” Jamie said.

“Yay!” Claire said, waving her hands in applause. “Good job, little chef.”

Faith jiggled her hands as well, and then looked back at Jamie to be sure he was applauding her as well, and he was, of course.

“Alright, lovie, sit with Mummy while Jamie opens the oven.” Claire pulled Faith into her lap and held on tight, nodding to Jamie when she was secure. He popped the dish in and set the microwave timer for an hour. Claire tried to take Faith’s apron off, but she groaned in annoyance, and pawed Claire’s hands away.

“Suppose she’s no’ done being a chef until it’s cooked, aye?” Jamie smirked, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

“I suppose not,” Claire said, releasing Faith to scramble off her lap. She pattered over to the counter where Claire had put her phone down and picked it up again, wanting to hear the music more clearly. The song changed and Faith hummed excitedly. From the French in the opening lines, Jamie deduced that “Be Our Guest” was about to play.

“Ah! They're making dinner in this song, aye? Like you, wee Faith,” he said.

Faith put the phone back on the table and threw her hands up, then proceeded to skip around the kitchen in time with the music, flapping her hands all the while.

“Sings and dances?” Jamie said, sidestepping her path to make his way back to the table.

“Hm. Yeah.”

Jamie sat down in Faith’s seat, closer to Claire, and he gingerly reached out for her hand. She looked up at him, and then they both leaned in for a brief, sweet kiss.

“Hi,” Claire said, stroking his stubbled chin.

“Hi,” he returned, tucking a curl back that had slipped loose from her ponytail.

Claire opened her mouth to say something else, but before she could, two little hands slapped one of each of their knees. Faith looked up at Claire expectantly, and then Claire turned to look sheepishly at Jamie.

“She wants me to dance with her.”

Jamie’s grin widened. “Then who am I to stop ye?”

Claire blushed and got out of her chair, taking Faith’s hands in hers. The grand finale of the song was nearing, and Faith kept insisting on being twirled. Jamie noticed that she was entranced by the way her apron swished about when she twirled. The song ended, and Jamie applauded from his seat.

“Bonny dancers, both of ye,” he said. Faith gave a dramatic, silly little curtsy, holding the edges of her apron.

A familiar drum riff came from the phone, and Faith began jumping up and down.

“Oh no…” Claire said, blushing at Jamie again.

“What?”

“I only have myself to blame for always getting so into it…but she expects a full performance of this one whenever it comes on. Every time.”

Jamie tossed his head back in a barking laugh, and Faith continued tugging on Claire’s hands. Claire did not look ready to give a full performance; she looked like she wanted to melt into the floor.

Well, James, looks like there’s only one choice.

He jumped to his feet with a flourish, and jumped in with the singer:

“Let’s get down to business to defeat the Huns!”

He watched as Claire’s jaw fell slack and Faith whipped around, abandoning all hope for Claire’s performance and focusing on Jamie’s instead. They’d discussed Jamie’s lack of pitch before, so it was no surprise to him that Claire was soon doubled over in her chair, tears of laughter leaking out of her eyes. It sounded just fine to him, and to Faith as well, he supposed. Though he wasn’t sure if Faith laughed her head off when Claire sang.

By the end of the song, Faith was tugging on his hands, insisting he dance with her. And Claire was still howling with laughter.

Those three-and-a-half minutes would burn themselves into Jamie’s permanent memory, never to be forgotten or replaced.

“Alright, alright,” Jamie said at the end, trying to stop Claire from fully falling over. “I’ll stop before ye die of secondhand embarrassment.”

“I’m sorry! It’s just…” she wheezed, wiping her eyes again. “I had no idea you knew all the words…”

“Jen’s favorite movie. Warrior woman and all that,” he explained. “Plus Mam was a big Donny fan.”

She shook her head, finally calming herself down. “Well, you did splendidly.”

“Aye, sure I did.”

But he was apparently not done yet.

The entire rest of the hour the lasagna was baking, Faith did not let Jamie sit down. He didn’t know the words to every song, especially not the newer ones, but he didn’t do too poorly if he said so himself. The bairn seemed happy enough.

At some point in the proceedings, Faith took the phone in her hands and scrolled through the songs on the playlist, the corner of her tongue sticking out between pursed lips. Jamie waited patiently to see what she wanted to play next. She usually let the music play in whatever order shuffle chose, but sometimes she wanted to repeat a particular favorite. A gentle, lilting intro began, and Faith gave Claire the phone instead of putting it on the counter. Jamie was able to place the song when the lyrics began discussing the hundred-acre wood, and Faith approached him with eager hands.

“D’ye want to dance?”

Before he could even begin swaying her arms, she started yanking on his hands, pulling him out of the kitchen. Jamie looked up to Claire for an explanation, and she was already standing up, a knowing smile on her face.

“She wants to show you something.”

Jamie allowed her to lead them both through the living room and into Faith’s room. She let go of his hands when she opened the door, and she scampered right over to the giant yellow bear that was exactly where Jamie had left it on Saturday night, right next to her bed. She giggled as she threw her arms around it’s neck, barely having to crouch in order to do so.

Something had changed, though: it was now wearing a red shirt.

Jamie felt a lopsided grin melt into his features, and he turned around to see Claire holding up the phone as the Winnie the Pooh theme song continued.

“It was the first thing she did when she woke up to see it there,” she said. “I took a picture to send you, but I figured she’d want to show you, and you’d rather be surprised.”

“Would ye look at that,” Jamie said, walking over to Faith and her bear and crouching down beside them. “It would appear I didna bring home any ordinary bear from the carnival. It was Pooh Bear all along, aye?” Jamie poked his squishy tummy, and Faith giggled.

“I didn’t even think of that when I told you to ask for the yellow one,” Claire said, joining them by sitting on Faith’s bed. “She woke up, freaked out to see it, and then ran right to her dresser to pull out one of her red shirts. She turned it inside out so you can’t see the print, because then it wouldn’t be plain red like Pooh’s. She made me cut the tag off the back, too.”

“Ye’re a clever lass, a leannan.” He signed smart. “Smart girl, Faith.”

Faith swayed with her giant Pooh Bear, and then took Claire’s phone back from her again to restart the song.

“What does that mean?” Claire asked.

“Leannan?” Jamie said, sitting back on the floor and leaning on the bed. “Means my darling, sweetheart. That sort of thing.”

He felt fingers thread through his hair, and eagerly leaned into her touch.

“That’s…very sweet, Jamie.”

He took one of her hands and kissed it, holding it against his cheek as she continued to play with his hair.

“You said it at her birthday,” Claire said thoughtfully. “And a little before that, too.”

“Aye, well…she was my little darling long before I had the guts to tell ye.”

He heard her shifting behind him, and then she was on the ground beside him, nuzzling into him and kissing his cheek.

“I am one lucky lass,” she said softly. “And so is Faith.”

For the rest of the baking time, Faith gradually lost interest in dancing, and she began puttering around her room. She pulled out toys to hand to Jamie and Claire, she sat at her little table and colored, she sat cross-legged on the floor with one of her little toys that lit up and made sounds, this one in the shape of a guitar, playing the same sound over and over before switching to the next. When the timer went off, she was out of her room like a shot, leaving Jamie and Claire to scramble after her lest she try and open the oven, Claire crying “wait for Mummy!” after her.

By the time they got there, the timer had stopped, and Jamie had to hide his grin to see that Faith had dragged over a chair to reach the microwave to stop the timer herself.

“No climbing, Faith!” Claire scolded. “Get down at once, and put the chair back.”

Faith obeyed with clomping feet.

“If you want to push the buttons, you ask Mummy or Jamie for help. Do you understand?”

Claire put on a timer for a few seconds just so it would go off again. “Come here,” she said, picking up Faith and holding her up to the microwave. “See? Mummy can lift you, no climbing. Press the button. There. Good girl.” She walked a safe distance away from the oven. “Jamie is going to take the lasagna out of the oven now. Almost time for dinner, lovie.”

Jamie set it to cool on a hot plate, and then enlisted Faith’s help to set the table while Claire prepared the scooper and water for Angus’s dinner. By the time all of that was settled, and Faith fed Angus, Claire was cutting up the lasagna.

“I can already tell you it smells better than the microwave one,” she said over her shoulder.

“Aye. That it does, Sassenach.”

“You’re going to have her spoiled,” Claire said, putting Faith’s plate in front of her. “She’ll never eat my microwave cooking again.”

“Och, would be a shame if I’d have to come over just to cook fer the lass every night.” Claire paused to raise a brow at him, and he smirked and winked. She rolled her eyes with a giggle as she returned to the counter to serve Jamie, and then herself.

The meal was quite delicious, if Jamie did say so himself. He’d always been a moderately good cook; at least he was always satisfied with what he made, living alone and all. But to see Claire enjoying it so thoroughly, and Faith devouring it without a thought, was satisfying beyond words.

Faith’s dessert of choice hadn’t been Oreos as Jamie had thought it would be. The last time he was here had been during the winter, so it would only make sense that now Faith would request ice cream regularly.

“I hope you like chocolate,” Claire said, retrieving the tub from the freezer. “It’s the only flavor she’ll touch.”

“Of course I like chocolate,” Jamie said with feigned offense that she would even need to ask such a question.

“Just making sure! Here lovie, sit down.” Faith took the bowl and spoon handed to her and got back into her chair. Claire sat down with her own bowl and handed Jamie his. Claire took the longest to eat, being that she constantly had to stop to wipe Faith’s mouth or the table from her dripping. Claire had to raise her voice to stop Faith from digging through her movies without washing her hands clean of sticky ice cream, and then eventually had to hold her hands still under the running water in the kitchen while the lass squirmed and moaned in protest.

Claire sighed as Faith finally escaped the kitchen, clean as she was going to get. Jamie chuckled as he stood to help her clean up. Claire bent to retrieve a container to give Jamie some lasagna to take home, but he waved her off.

“Keep it all, Sassenach. Save ye some trouble later.”

She tried to protest, but Jamie wasn’t having it. She relented and put the entire covered dish in the fridge.

“Did you mean it? You’d come over to cook again? Not every night, I mean,” she added quickly. “I just mean…well…I’m a terrible cook. And Faith had fun tonight.”

“Ye can say it, Sassenach. Ye like my cooking.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter with a smirk.

“Well! Yes! It was very good!”

“And ye can say that ye enjoy a home cooked meal. Since ye never get to have such a thing.”

“Well…yes…I suppose.”

“And I can say that I enjoy cooking for ye, lass.” He pushed himself off the counter and crossed to the fridge to take her in his arms. “Does my heart good to give ye something nice after a long day. I ken ye dinna get that much.”

Claire hummed sweetly, then kissed him lightly. “You’re too good to me.”

“Ye deserve it, mo nighean donn.”

Before Jamie could kiss her back, the pitter-patter of Faith’s bare feet reentered the kitchen. They separated just a bit, but remained in each other’s embrace. Faith patted Claire’s thigh and reached up with a DVD box in hand.

“Ah! Tangled, tonight!” Claire held the box up to show Jamie. “Have you seen this one?”

“I havena actually,” Jamie said. “It came out before Jenny had any of her bairns, and I dinna exactly know any other wee lasses or laddies.”

“Ah, I see,” Claire said. “Well, you’ll love it. I know I do; it’s very funny. It came out the year Faith was born. Right, darling?”

In response, Faith tugged on her hands, and the adults followed her into the living room. It was familiar for Jamie, sitting in this living room in the fading light with the tellie flashing. Faith was wedged between he and Claire, just like last time; Claire held onto his hand the whole movie, just like last time; they laughed and swayed together, and Faith hummed the melody of the songs, just like last time. The scene in the tavern had Jamie wiping his eyes from tears of laughter, and the rousing love duet in the boat had his heart swelling and his hand squeezing Claire’s, bringing it to his lips and kissing it behind Faith’s head.

Christ, am I glad we see the light.

The ending had him tearing up again, even though he knew Eugene couldn't really be dead. He still cried every time he watched Beauty and the Beast, even knowing that the Beast would be fine soon, so of course this movie couldn't be any different. He could feel Claire’s eyes on him, inwardly chuckling at him in this emotional state. When the movie ended, Faith jumped up to dance to the ending-credits-music, and Claire scooted into Jamie, sitting on her hip with her legs curled next to her.

“Alright there, Soldier?” she asked, kissing his cheek. “Relieved that everything turned out alright?”

“Och, leave me be.” He lightly swatted her arse, but then tenderly kissed the top of her head. “Ye were right, I enjoyed it. Dare I say I like it better than Frozen.”

Claire pushed herself off of him and looked at him, gravely serious. “That is a heavy statement in this home.”

He laughed. “Oh, aye, dinna tell Faith I said so.”

Upon hearing her name, Faith momentarily paused her dancing to look at them. Jamie laughed sheepishly and waved at her, and she waved back, blissfully unaware, before resuming her dancing. Jamie and Claire shared another loud laugh that ended with their lips together.

After the music ended, Faith ejected the DVD and put it away. She scrambled onto the couch to plant herself in Claire’s lap, wedging her little body between the adults. They both chuckled, and Claire squeezed her daughter, kissing her head.

“You like watching movies with Jamie, don’t you?” she said. “Was that fun? Yes?”

Faith was smiling absently as Claire rocked her, playing with Jamie’s fingers in her small hands.

“You…don’t have to leave, you know,” Claire said hesitantly. “You can hang around while we get through bedtime routine, and then I can join you right back on the couch for another movie. I’ve got drinks, too. If you want.”

Faith began rhythmically patting the back of Jamie’s hand, and he felt warmth spreading from head to toe.

“Aye. That sounds great, Sassenach.”

Her nervousness melted away, and she broke into a wide grin. “Okay. Just wait here while I get her settled. Should only be twenty minutes.” Jamie nodded. “Faithie, say goodnight to Jamie. It’s time for bed. Say goodnight.”

Faith patted his cheek and then slid off of Claire’s lap, tugging on her hand.

“Goodnight, Faith. Sweet dreams,” Jamie said, and the lass waved over her shoulder as she pulled Claire into the bathroom.

He stretched out on the couch, contentment filling him to the brim as he listened to Claire coax Faith into swallowing her medicine, then talk through their teeth brushing routine.

“Open wide, Faith. Let me get the back— I said open…”

“Now rinse and spit, lovie. Rinse and spit. Good girl.”

It was so domestic, so normal. And yet it was music to his ears.

He heard them shuffle from the bathroom to Faith’s bedroom, and Claire called Angus. He shot up off the floor where Jamie had been occasionally reaching down to pet him, and he trotted into Faith’s room. A few minutes later, Claire returned to the living room and leaned over the back of the couch.

“Alright. She’s not asleep just yet, but she will be soon. She sleeps much better now that we have Angus.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jamie said. “What’s this about drinks, then?”

“Come on.” She grabbed his hands and he hoisted off the couch, following her into the kitchen. “Faith can’t reach this, not even with a chair,” she said, indicating the cabinet above the microwave. Claire reached up on her toes to stretch into the cabinet, sighing triumphantly when she emerged with the bottle.

“This is what we call big-girl-juice,” she said, smiling crookedly, waving the bottle around. “Though you don’t seem like a red-wine kind of lad.”

“I’ll drink whatever ye give me, Sassenach.”

“Good. Because I also have…” She stretched back up, and the bottom of her shirt inched up, exposing the smooth expanse of her back. He could focus on nothing else until he heard her sigh, and the shirt slid back into place. His eyes flicked back to her beaming face, slightly flushed with exertion.

“This!” she finished, holding up a bottle of whisky.

“Ye didna trouble yerself to get that fer me,” he said, though he couldn’t help but smile.

“No trouble at all. I just had a feeling when I was out buying the wine, so I grabbed this, too. Mostly for you, but I drink it too.”

He chuckled, closing the space between them and kissing her softly, cupping her waist with one hand. He laughed again, breathing it into her mouth.

“What?” she said coyly, peering up at him through her lashes.

“Jest imagining what ye’ll taste like after a drink,” he mused, snaking both arms around her waist. “Fruity, sweet, tangy, the crisp alcohol taste, of course.” He gave her a small peck. “Sticky, perhaps?” He flicked his tongue briefly over her bottom lip, and she squealed, swatting at his shoulder.

“Oh, enough,” she giggled, squirming out of his grasp. “I need to get us some glasses, unless you prefer to drink out of the bottle.”

“D’ye take me fer a heathen?” he said, aghast.

“What? I’ve had plenty a wine-night with Gi where we just pass the bottle back and forth. Glasses can be overrated.”

“Good whisky should be savored, treated wi’ respect.”

She shot him a look from the cabinet as she pulled out the glasses. “You’re serious?”

“Aye, I am.” He nodded.

She sputtered with laughter again as she put the glasses on the counter. “You really are a Scot.”

“Ye doubted me, then?” He arched an eyebrow, coming up behind her as she uncorked the wine bottle, snaking his arms under hers and clasping his hands over her stomach, bending to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“Of course not,” she said with a laugh. “You’d have to be one hell of an actor to fake a dialect that authentic.”

“Ye say that as if I couldna be a hell of an actor.” He pressed a kiss to her jawline, and she gave him the most attractive side-eye he’d ever seen.

“I’m sorry, darling, but I’d have to say you couldn’t.” She turned her head and closed her eyes, pursing her lips adorably, waiting for him to kiss her. And who was he to deny her? He obliged, kissing her slowly and sweetly, his heart straining as he felt her smile against his lips.

“I can always see right through you,” she finished, a devilish glint in her eye. He went to kiss her again, but she turned her head, and his lips landed on her temple instead. She giggled, and the sound made his stomach flip. She took the uncorked wine bottle in one hand and her glass in the other, and Jamie grinned. He unwound his arms from around her waist, circling around her shoulders instead, then closed his hands around hers.

“Allow me, Milady.” She slid her hands away, resting them on the countertop as he poured the deep red liquid, keeping his lips buried in her curls all the while. Wine glass full, he moved to the whisky bottle, opening it and pouring his own glass, keeping her pressed against him. She innocently wiggled against him, just a bit, and his hands jerked, causing a small splash of whisky to land on the counter.

He didn’t think she realized, not at first anyway. But now, there was no way she didn’t.

He was hard as rock with her bonny round arse wedged right against him.

——

Claire immediately felt liquid heat rushing to her stomach as soon as she felt it. She felt paralyzed, completely unaware of what she should do.

Her mind immediately went to the incident in the car, how she’d almost ruined the entire evening. She could tell easily enough that he was not the type of guy to put out on the first date, and she’d been painfully ashamed when she’d pushed that boundary too far and crossed a line.

Did this even count as a second date? They’d just finished watching a princess movie with her five year old daughter, who was now asleep right off the living room.

His whisky was poured, and he managed to close the bottle with surprising ease given the state she knew he was in. She knew she should just ignore it, not embarrass him further…but God, the urge to rub her arse up and down over it, just to hear him groan, maybe even grab her hips…

Thank God she didn’t have any more time to contemplate that, as he left her side to grab a paper towel to clean the little spill.

“Sorry ’bout that,” he said, quickly swiping at the counter.

“Oh, it’s fine. You’ve no idea how many spills these counters have seen.” She forced a small laugh, and he chuckled as well. After tossing the paper towel in the bin, he returned to pick up his glass, and he smirked down at her.

“Slaínte,” he said, clinking his glass into hers.

“Cheers.”

They took a small sip, and then Claire snatched her wine bottle off the counter and made her way out of the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder to catch him staring at her arse, and she blushed from head to toe. He cleared his throat before grabbing the rest of the whisky and following after her.

Claire put her glass and the bottle on the coffee table before plopping down on the couch with a contented sigh. “So, what’ll it be tonight, then?”

“I figured I’d let you choose,” Jamie said, sitting down beside her. “Since it’s your home and all. If ye’re ever at my place, we’ll pick my favorite princess.”

Claire guffawed and swatted at his arm. “We are not watching another princess movie, thank you very much.”

“A right shame,” Jamie said, smirking behind his glass.

Claire rolled her eyes, flicking on the tellie with the remote. “I’m terrible at making decisions. What are you in the mood for?”

She couldn’t stop herself from flicking her eyes downward to his lap.

Well…I know what he’s in the mood for.

“Ye have Hulu?” Jamie said excitedly. “I’ve only got Netflix and I’ve seen just about everything on there. Though I wouldna mind watching something again if ye havena seen it.”

“No, that’s okay. Peruse Hulu all you want.” She opened the application and handed him the remote, taking another sip of her wine.

Jamie scrolled for a while through various titles that either one or both of them had seen. He stopped, though, tensing with excitement.

“Ah! I haven’t seen this one in ages,” he laughed. He was stopped on The Godfather. “A classic.”

Claire cringed a bit. “How many brownie points do I lose if I tell you I’ve never seen it…?”

“Never seen The Godfather?” Jamie was aghast. “It’s a cinematic masterpiece, Sassenach!”

“Well, I’m sorry! If I’d known you were such a serious film critic I’d have brushed up on the classics!”

“Ye ken we have to watch it now, don’t ye?” He raised a brow at her, remote poised to hit play.

“Go ahead! I’d love to finally know what all the fuss is about.”

“Fuss!” he said haughtily, hitting play and putting the remote on the coffee table. “It’s certainly worth the high praise. The first one at least. The rest leave much to be desired.”

“How many are there?”

“Three. I willna subject ye to the rest.”

“Well, what if I want to be subjected to it?” She scooted a bit closer to him, leaning against his shoulder. “Needing to watch sequels is an excellent excuse to see somebody again.”

“Ye need excuses, then?” He was feigning shock and offense, but Claire could hear the soft, endearing undertones as the trumpet theme began, the lone chair occupying the screen.

“Hm. Perhaps.” She snuggled in tighter, and he draped his arm around her, then she placed a kiss on his pectoral.

He made one of those Scottish noises of his, but he kissed the top of her head and rubbed his hand up and down her arm.

“Much easier to cuddle without a child sitting between us,” Claire remarked with a smile, and Jamie chuckled softly.

“Aye, that it is. Though having the bairn between us is special for its own reason.”

That warmed Claire from head to toe.

The wedding sequence began, and the both of them began steadily intaking their respective drinks. Claire remarked that she’d love to go to an Italian wedding, and then Jamie held her at arms length to quirk his brow at her.

“No’ one filled wi’ mobsters, I should hope?”

“Not all Italians are mobsters, you bloody Scot!” She swatted at him again, but was laughing heartily. “I know quite a few Italians — ”

“Aye, we’re on Long Island — ”

“And none of them are in the Mafia.”

“Never seen a Scottish wedding, then?”

“No, I actually haven’t.”

“I think it could rival this. And no mobsters necessary.”

“Oh, stop that!”

They fell into more laughter and more drink, and they were both already refilling their glasses before Marlon Brando even stepped on the scene. When the scene inside began, Jamie leaned forward excitedly, and Claire almost teased that he looked like Faith watching Frozen. When the Godfather himself said his iconic line, Jamie felt compelled to repeat it:

“I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse,” he garbled, and Claire immediately doubled over in howling hysterics.

“That’s horrible!” Claire wheezed.

“Och, come on, now!” he said, his face bright red. “Da always said I got it spot on!”

That sent her howling again, and before long she was laying with her head in his lap, tears of laughter leaking out of her eyes.

“Your father has never lived outside of Scotland has he?”

“Well…no…”

“Oh, God…” She wiped her eyes, and then looked up at him from his lap. “Do it again! Please?”

“After the brutal treatment I just received? No chance.” He pointedly looked away from her, staring at the tellie. “You’re missing important stuff, ye ken.”

“Oh, come on…” Claire sat up, getting on her knees on the cushion. “I’m sorry, darling…I take it all back.”

He took a sip of his whisky, his face remaining stoic aside from a small twitch of his brow.

“Jamie…” Claire whined, putting her chin on his shoulder and pouting her lips right against his jaw. “I’m sorry for teasing…You make a smolderingly handsome mobster.”

She kissed his cheek, and he looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Do I?”

“Mhm.” She kissed his cheek again and threaded her arms around his neck. “With a silly voice.”

Before she could even blink, Jamie ducked his head and seized her around the waist, pulling her off of him and pinning her into the cushions. She squealed loudly, and he put a finger over her lips.

“Dinna wake the bairn, lass.”

She glowered up at him, feeling a blush creep all the way down her chest, more heat gathering in the pit of her stomach. Before she could do anything about it, he was leaning down himself to press their lips together, and Claire sighed contentedly, enjoying the feeling of being pressed into the couch cushion far too much. He pulled away by dragging his teeth against her bottom lip, causing another squeak. He then sat straight up and turned his attention back to the screen, taking another sip of whisky.

“You bloody tease…” Claire sat up, shaking her head and downing the rest of her wine.

“You started it.”

She snorted. “Who’s the bairn now, hm?”

“Mm…I like hearing ye say Scots words.”

“Do you?” She batted her lashes at him as she poured more wine.

“Aye…in yer silly Sassenach voice.” He flashed her a wicked side eye, and despite herself, her stomach flipped.

“What other Scot words do you want to hear, hm?” She inched closer on her knees.

“I’m trying to watch the movie.”

As usual, she could see right through him; could see how he was flushed red down to his chest, how his brow was sweating, and how the bulge in his pants had gotten all the larger.

“Mm…” She put her wine glass down, and then plucked his whisky out of his hands as well. “I’m…enjoying it so far.”

He quirked a brow at her. “The movie?”

She licked her lips and moved in closer. “Sure.”

She had no idea what was prompting her to be so bold — probably the wine. Had she not just finished telling herself that she’d crossed a boundary on their last date, and that it would be wrong to even come close to doing so again?

But then Jamie exhaled loudly, and she could swear it was a growl.

And she completely lost her senses.

She resumed her former position, arms around his neck and face buried in his shoulder, and began kissing his neck and jaw, humming softly as she did. He growled again, much more obvious this time, then captured her face with his hands and kissed her, hard. She groaned immediately at the contact, plunging her tongue between his lips right away.

“Christ…” Jamie breathed out, before plunging his tongue in her mouth as well. They remained in this position for a while, Claire on her knees and Jamie awkwardly twisting his torso to reach her properly, until Jamie’s hands wandered lower and lower to try and find that arse that she knew he was admiring earlier.

Well, she knew of one position for him to hold it easier.

She pushed his shoulders back and straddled him on her knees, and Jamie groaned again when he could finally properly squeeze that soft flesh that he so desperately needed in his hands.

“You like that, don’t you?” Claire teased, running her own hands up and down the rippling muscles of his chest.

“Christ, Sassenach…” he gasped against her mouth. “Ye’ve the roundest arse I’ve ever seen.”

Just those words had her moaning again, and she sealed her lips to his once more as he squeezed and pressed and released. He occasionally ran his hands up her back, grasped her shoulders from behind, even tugged on her hair, but they always found their way back to her arse. The more he pressed on it, the more he was pressing her heat into his rock solid erection.

She didn’t mean to start rocking against him. She really didn’t. But then his lips latched onto that spot on her neck, just as his cock pressed right where she needed it. And she couldn’t help it.

She cried out and started moving, and he sighed with what she could only perceive as relief.

It’s different this time. We’re not in the car, it’s not the first date.

“Fuck…” she groaned, gritting her teeth as his hands moved from her soft flesh to the sides of her hips so he could help control the pace.

He wants this.

She ground down harder, undulating her hips erratically, their mouths clashing messily. Jamie muttered something unintelligible, perhaps in Gaelic, and he arched up into her, pushing and pulling her hips at a faster pace.

His hands suddenly left her hips and she cried out as they gripped both of her breasts just as firmly as they’d been gripping her arse. She braced her hands on the back of the couch behind his head, throwing her own head back as Jamie pushed her breasts together and apart, buried his face in them, dipped his tongue between them.

“God, Jamie…I’m going to come like this…”

The question was…did she want to?

His hands moved back to her hips, and she threw her arms around his neck, locking their lips together again.

It would be so easy…just a little faster, a few small circles of her hips…

But she could have him. He seemed eager enough. And God…did she want him.

It’s different. We’re not in the car. My bedroom is right there.

“Will you…” Claire panted, unable to stop herself from kissing him again before finishing her sentence. “Do you want to…”

She cut herself off again, inhaling sharply through her nose as their tongues clashed, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

“Claire…” he groaned out, and the sound of her name coming out of him like that was enough to send her hips pumping harder. His grip on her hips tightened almost painfully, and she moaned loudly into his mouth.

“Claire,” he said again, and she suddenly couldn’t move her hips anymore. He was holding her…stopping her.

Oh.

Breathless, Claire stopped fighting against his grip and tried to focus her bleary vision on his face. Her hands slid from his neck to rest on his shoulders, and she wet her swollen lips nervously.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie stammered, his face red and hot. “I should've stopped ye sooner…I’m…It’s no’ that I dinna want to. Please dinna think that.”

Her word processing was admittedly quite slow at the moment — arousal and now confusion closing her mind — so it took her a while to actually register what he was saying.

“It’s jest that…” He went on before her fevered brain could catch up, and she could feel her heartbeat in her throat.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Jamie,” Claire said quickly, feeling his discomfort, and wanting to bury herself alive yet again. She chuckled uncomfortably, then awkwardly slid off his lap, sitting beside him. She could not help but feel some sort of loss at no longer having him pressed against her.

“It’s…been a while. Since I’ve felt…this way,” Claire continued, avoiding his eyes. “I just got…excited.”

“Dinna be sorry fer it,” Jamie said, taking her chin in his fingers and forcing her to look at him. “Please. Don’t.” As if to prove to her that he was alright, he closed the small distance to kiss her sweetly. “Have I upset ye, Sassenach?”

“No, no, Jamie.” She took his hands in hers. “It’s alright.”

They spent a few seconds in uncomfortable silence, shoulder to shoulder, fingers laced together, both of their eyes fixed on the colorful images on the television that were largely going ignored.

“I, uh. Haven’t. Since Frank,” Claire said, finally breaking the silence. “So it’s been a while for me.”

She cringed even as she said it, feeling like a teenager and an old maid all at once. A divorcee at twenty-seven, randy as a sixteen year old and yet starved for attention as an old widow. The man beside her was a young bachelor, handsome as all hell, and childless to boot. She cringed even harder to think of all the women he’d had while she was crying herself to sleep after cutting her ex-husband out of yet another photograph, an ex-husband that hadn’t even touched her for years before they finally cut the cord.

She heard Jamie swallow, and she tensed, anticipating hearing that he’d gotten some just last month.

“I…haven’t.”

Her brow furrowed. It had been a while for him, too? Had he really not seen anyone in the time they’d met? Were his feelings that strong all along?

“Ever.”

Claire felt like she’d been smacked in the face.

“You…you’re…” She looked up at him for the first time in several minutes.

“A virgin. Aye.” He was redder in the face than he’d been when she was straddling him.

Claire must have looked as gobsmacked as she felt, because he actually laughed.

“Does that surprise ye, Sassenach?”

“Well…it’s not that there’s anything wrong with it…” she stammered, studying the lines of his face, feeling his arm muscle against her, only one word echoing in her mind:

How?

“You’re just…” She exhaled, flustered. “You’re…you’re a young man…” She had to give a conscious effort to not say out loud that he was a fucking Adonis.

“And quite…attractive.”

He laughed again, blushing deeply.

“Think so?” He smirked at her.

She chuckled nervously. “Well, of course, but I don’t think I’m biased…what I mean is…it can't just be me.” She ran her thumb back and forth over his knuckles, almost subconsciously.

“I ken yer meaning, Sassenach,” he said sheepishly. “There were lasses with…interest, I suppose. But I ne’er felt right doing it unless she was my girlfriend. Didna matter what the lass thought, I jest couldna get past thinking I’d be dishonoring her. Jest the way I am.”

His face was impossibly more red than it had been before, and it made Claire’s heart feel strained. She could tell that he was embarrassed, that he felt like he should have some sort of explanation for why he was the way that he was.

“I think that’s very sweet, Jamie,” Claire assured him, threading her fingers in his curls and caressing his head.

“Ye dinna find me any less manly?” He was teasing, but she heard the underlying insecurity, his need to be reassured.

“Of course not,” Claire said, kissing him gently, massaging his scalp. “It’s part of what makes you you. And I quite like you. Very much.”

“And thank Heaven fer that,” he chuckled, giving her another light peck.

“So you…” Claire thought perhaps she should put a cork in it, but she was too curious, too eager to know what made him tick. “You didn't want to outside of a relationship. So you’ve never…”

“I’ve had girlfriends, Sassenach, if that’s what ye’re getting at,” he said casually. “I would wait until it felt right, and either we didn’t last that long, or it never felt right. That’s all.”

Claire nodded in understanding. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Dinna thank me. I’m only telling ye to spare my pride,” he joked. “Had to let ye know there was a reason, lest ye think I was some sort of prude.”

“Well, I do know that isn’t true, at least,” she teased, tracing her finger down the length of his arm and onto his hip bone. “But even if you were, I wouldn’t judge you at all. Though I can’t say I’m not glad.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, a glint of something she couldn’t name in his eye. “Couldna keep chaste around me, Sassenach?”

“I could, if you really felt strongly about it. It would just be…” She bit her lip, feeling herself blushing again. “Very difficult.”

“Aye, I ken what ye mean.” He tightened his grip on her, pulling her into his side. She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, then rested her head on his shoulder. “Ye’re irresistible, mo ghraidh.”

That sent an electric shiver through Claire from head to toe.

“So, ye see, it’s no’ that I dinna want ye, Claire. Because I do. I verra…” She felt his throat muscles swallowing against the crown of her head. “I verra much do. And it’s no’ even that it doesna feel right. You…this feels more right than anything ever has.”

It was Claire’s turn to swallow thickly, anxiety clawing at her throat as he pressed a fervent kiss to the crown of her head.

He is so sure.

“I jest…I want it to be right, is all. I want tae honor ye the way ye deserve."

"Suppose my frantic clawing at you on the couch doesn't exactly create the perfect moment."

"It's alright, Claire," he insisted again, squeezing her shoulder. "I did...enjoy that."

She smirked against his neck, pressing a dangerous kiss there. "I could tell."

He made one of his Scottish noises, decidedly an amused one.

"I agree," Claire said. "That we should wait, I mean. I didn't realize...about you. And I think I need to, as well. For different reasons."

She'd been so wanton, so desperate to be physically closer to him, so frantic to forgo words and use her mouth to claim him rather than to open up to him, that she'd nearly ruined their first time. His first time, ever.

"I tend to..." Claire began, feeling the need to explain herself. "Avoid words, sometimes...a lot. I'm not as eloquent as you are. My body knows what to do when my brain doesn't. And that's not always a good thing.”

He gave her shoulder another squeeze, then began soothingly rubbing her upper arm. “Thank ye fer telling me that, Sassenach.”

Claire supposed that her body was ready for his, but her mind could not fully process how deeply everything ran, while Jamie had his mind more than made up about her, but he was not yet ready to give her that final piece of him.

They’d have to meet in the middle somehow.

“I trust you, Jamie.” Claire peered up at him and stroked his stubbled jawline. “It’s myself that I don’t trust quite yet. I’m trying.”

“I ken, mo ghraidh.” He kissed her head again. “It’s alright.”

“Can you…be patient with me?” She lifted her head off his shoulder so she could look into his eyes, keeping her one hand on his chin and the other on his shoulder.

Jamie smiled warmly, tenderly pushing some hair away from her face. “Of course.”

They shared a lingering, passionate kiss, and by the end, Jamie had pulled her into his lap, both legs draped over him, feet tucked between the cushion and the arm of the couch. They shimmied around a bit so they were both comfortable, Jamie nestled into the cushion and the arm, Claire’s legs curled up, and her arms draped around his neck. Heads resting together, they actually turned their attention to the television and restarted the movie they’d been ignoring.

“Is this alright?” Claire whispered, afraid of stirring something up again by sitting — however innocently — in his lap.

His massive hand moved soothingly up and down the expanse of her back.

“Aye, Sassenach. I like ye in my lap jest fine.”

144 notes · View notes

fandomsonrequests · 3 years

Text

christmas with ateez (maknae line)

reader: gn!, m!, f!

notes: some cussing. read the hyung line >> here happy holidays everyone!

san

It was Christmas morning and everyone knew what that meant— gift opening time. Well, it wasn’t actually morning, it was more like early afternoon. But you and San didn’t care, you weren’t going to be late for anything so why not sleep in for a while? Anyways, you both deserved it.

San was practically vibrating with excitement at the thought of being able to give you your gift. Yours on the other hand was wrapped up neatly and tucked away in your jeans pocket. You smile to yourself, trying not to give away your own excitement.

You were pulled away from your own thoughts when you felt something large but light plop onto your lap, making Byeol (who was on your lap) scamper away by your feet instead. You gawk at the size of the gift, it was almost as big as your whole body. You stared up in pleasant surprise at San who only beamed at you, his cheeks flushed and dimpled.

“Merry Christmas _____!” He greets you, and leans in to kiss you. It was full of teeth and smiled but neither of you minded. “Go on, open it.”

You put the gift in between your legs and opened the wrapper carefully, letting out a gasp. A little backstory— you and San met at a plushie store, aiming for the same one before letting him take it in exchange for a coffee date the next week. You were both stuffed doll enthusiasts; so you were filled with joy and gratitude when you pulled out a rather large unicorn stuffed toy.

It was one you wanted when you passed by a plushie store but couldn’t get due to the lack of time. It was soft to the touch and silky, making you squeal in delight. “Oh my God, San— I love it!” You lunge at him, pressing kisses all over his face.

He wraps an arm around your waist, laughing along with you. “I’m glad you like it, baby.” He muses.

Now it was your turn to bring out your gifts. You pick up a small package from under the tree and call for Byeol. San raised a curious brow at you but said nothing, watching as the cat jumped onto your lap and purred when you started scratching behind her ear.

“How come she listens to you more than me?” He pouts when his cat basically bathes in your affection, making you giggle.

You shrug, unsure of why she prefers to listen to you. “This is for the little cutie. I’ll give you yours after you open up hers.” You tell him, the grin never leaving your face.

Once again, your boyfriend gives you a curious look before opening the gift to see a cat-sized sweater perfect for Byeol. “Oh it’s so cute! Byeol look what they got you.” He cooed to the feline who pawed at the sweater curiously. You two struggled a little to put it onto her but manage to do so. The both of you give a successful cheer when she makes no move to remove it from her body.

While San was distracted with taking photos of the cat, you stood up, pulling out a small box from your pocket. You knelt down in front of San and curled your throat, managing to get his attention. He turned to you with a puzzled look before it melted into one of shock after seeing the position you were in and the velvet box in your hand.

“_____,” He gasps, wide eyes glazing over with tears that were threatening to spill.

“San,” You breathe out.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes _______ I’ll marry you—“ He says, unable to hold back the tears while you laugh gently.

“I haven’t even said anything yet..!” You protest playfully but move to slip the ring onto his finger.

“Well either way I’d still say yes..!”

San takes a moment to admire the engagement ring, seeing the simple jewel on top of it glint from the afternoon sun. He practically throws himself onto you, crying happily into your shoulder before pulling away to give you a deep kiss. It was wet and salty— but you could feel the way he poured all his gratitude and love and passion into it.

You reach up to brush away his tears, leaning your forehead against his. “I love you so much San.”

“I love you more, _____.”

mingi

“Chunghee, Mingi— look at the camera!” You call over to your fiancé and your brother.

The two boys turn their attention from their snowboards and sleds and towards the camera you had pointed at them. They strike a silly but cute pose, waiting for you to take the photo before asking you to take another one. You indulge in their request, snapping a few more photos before letting them do their thing.

You, Mingi, and your younger brother decided to enjoy the snow for a bit. And what better way to do that than going to a ski resort? It was only for a few days but still- you were surprised, to say the least, when Mingi presented you with the confirmation email of your stay from the ski resort.

“Alright bud, just don’t hesitate. It’s a lot like skateboarding— only on the snow.” You hear your fiancé tell Chunghee as he prepares to snowboard down a small hill.

You beam at your brother and give him a good luck pat to his shoulder. “You got this. We believe in you.”

“Okay, yeah I got this. Easy peasy— no big deal.”

Your brother inhales and takes a deep breath before pushing off and going down the hill. You and Mingi cheer excitedly when he manages to slide down without toppling over, the both of you jumping up and down. Your brother beamed up at the both of you, giving you two a thumbs up.

“HELL YEAH CHUNGHEE!!” Mingi hollers, his grin so wide that his eyes turn into small crescents. He turns to you this time, his smile shifting into something more mischievous.

You know what the smile means and you shake your head, backing up from the man. “Mingi, no—“

“I haven’t even said anything..!” He protests as he advances towards you.

But before you could run, he lunges at you and pulls you right into his arms. He kisses your cheek before blowing a raspberry onto your skin, making you laugh. You try to wriggle out of his arms, arguing that Chunghee was waiting for him at the foot of the incline. But that doesn’t work because he was tugging you towards a rather large circular sled.

“Just this once, I’ll be behind you. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Mingi says, brushing away a bit of snow that fell to your hair. “Promise.”

You glanced over to the sled with cheesy Christmas patterns painted onto the side. You hear Chunghee calling out for the both of you, particularly the way he was cheering you on. “C’mon, _____! If I can do it so can you!”

“See? It’s no big deal.” Mingi adds as he was already settling into the back of the sled.

He pats the space in front of him, the dorky smile never leaving his face. You chew the inside of your cheek before relenting, releasing a defeated sigh. “Fine,” You whine as you settle into the spot in front of your fiancé.

You immediately feel his arms wrap around your waist, tugging you closer to him. You settle your hand over one of his much larger ones, and squeeze them in gratitude. He starts to push the sled forward with his other hand before calling out to the teenage boy waiting for you. “Get ready to film their reaction!” He tells them.

“Mingi wh-aAAAHHHH” Your sentence is interrupted as he launches off, the both of you sledding down the hill.

The wind rushes through your ears and you could feel the icy air brush past your face. You hear Mingi’s excited whoops and cheers as you descend. You on the other hand were yelling out of surprise and adrenaline. Sooner or later you reach the bottom of the hill where Chunghee was rushing to you, phone in hand. You couldn’t process what he was saying, the feeling of your heart beating out of your chest and the blood pumping filling your senses.

Your fiancé gently shook your shoulders, looking over at you. “You okay baby?” He asks you with a giggle.

“Y-Yeah,” You reply as you stand on shaky legs. Your brother hugs you tight, telling you how he was proud of you for braving that hill. Mingi joined in a couple of moments later.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.” The older male says as he pecks your cheek. “We’re so proud of you.”

“You wanna go again?” Chunghee asks.

You look up at the top of the hill where you came from, seeing that the drop wasn’t as big as you thought it was. Your lips slowly form into a determined grin. “Alright, lets do this again.”

wooyoung

“Honey, no offense but what the fuckis that?” Wooyoung asks in slight horror when he sees your runny icing batter.

You sigh in slight frustration and drop the large spoon into the bowl, wiping your hands on the apron around your waist. “I knew it, I knew something went wrong.”

Your boyfriend only chuckled, shaking his head. You see, the two of you thought it would be a great idea to bake a gingerbread house from scratch. Granted, you two got a fairly popular recipe from the internet but it’s the effort that counts. And for a while, things were going great. The gingerbread pieces came out alright and we’re cooling down on the trays.

It was the icing that was supposed to hold them that was the problem. Wooyoung was tasked with the cookie people and house pieces, as well as some other parts to add to it, while you were tasked with the icing. Unlike your boyfriend, you weren’t blessed with much skills in the kitchen. Which is why you left the cooking to him and you were stuck on cleanup duty.

“Okay baby boy don’t panic,” he tells you as he grabs some of the powdered sugar to add to the icing in order to thicken it.

He looks up to see you by the side with a small pout on your lips, causing him to laugh and hug you. He nuzzled into your cheek when one of your arms came up to wrap around his waist, pressing a kiss to your jaw before leaning in to give you a proper one. “Don’t be sad, you actually did well for a first try.” He mumbles against your lips, pecking them one last time before pulling away completely to continue mixing the icing.

“That’s a biased answer,” You argue as you clean up the kitchen counter, curiously poking at the gingerbread pieces. “You’re only saying that ‘cos you’re dating me.”

“What? No, no, no, I’m being genuine.” He refutes as he sets down the spoon once he was done mixing the icing. “Now help me dye this icing.”

You waddled over to him and nuzzled into his neck, hugging him from behind and placing a sweet kiss to his cheek. “What would I do without you..?”

“Burn this whole kitchen down probably,” He teases as he basks in your affection. He pulls you back towards him with his adorable high-pitched laugh when you throw him an unamused glare and detach yourself from him. “I’m kidding, don’t give me that look.”

He turns around and wraps his arms around your neck, your own going around his waist. He leaned his forehead against yours and nuzzled your nose with his. “I’m proud of you _____. Thank you for doing this with me.”

You couldn’t help but crack a small smile at that, closing the gap between you two for a short but sweet kiss. You grin into it, him doing the same, bursting into another bout of giggles when your fingers tickle his sides. He begs you to stop, saying that one of you could knock over the food, and successfully pries your wriggling digits away from him.

“Come on, this gingerbread family needs a house built for them.”

jongho

“Areum, can you open the door please?” You call out to your teenage sister who was brooding on the couch, phone in hand.** **

She sighs heavily, irritation clear in her tone. You couldn’t really blame her- she did go through an ugly breakup this season. One that was done over the phone when she caught her boyfriend cheating on her with a good friend of yours. You tried your best as an older sister to get her cheered up. One of these attempts was calling your boyfriend Jongho over. The two practically adored each other, so hopefully being around each other would lift her spirits.

Areum’s gloomy face brightened significantly when she saw her future brother-in-law(strike that) your boyfriend behind the door. “Hey,” She greeted him with a hug who reciprocated it.

He ruffled her hair and stepped in when she allowed him in. “Why the long face, kiddo?” He asks.

“Its Jack; he cheated on me with Winny _and _dumped me over the phone.” Areum sighs as she sits down on the couch beside him.

You soon join the two on the couch as she pours her heart away to him. You’d occasionally provide some information, supporting your sister’s story. By the end of her story, tears were slowly trickling down her cheeks. Jongho reached up to gently brush them away, hand traveling down to her shoulder and offering a supportive squeeze.

“What do you say that we put into the snow and get your mind off of it?” He suggested and looked over to you, eyes silently asking if it was okay.

“That sounds like a good idea,” You add and nudge your sister with your elbow. “Wanna have a snowball fight? Us against Jongho?”

The said man gave a whine of protest, successfully eliciting a soft chuckle from Areum. She sniffles and brushes away the rest of her tears. “Alright- get ready to lose big guy.”

You told the pair to go on ahead, tossing Areum her gloves, coat, and scarf. Jongho makes small talk with her when he notices her suddenly stop mid-sentence and freeze. He saw that her haze was elsewhere and followed it all the way to a teenage boy with a girl on his arms. It didn’t take long for him to realize that the guy must’ve been her boyfriend. He looked back to Areum who had fresh tears pooling in the corner of her eyes.

His heart clenched at the sight and a quiet rage was lit inside of him. Jongho leaned down to grab a fistful of snow, compacting it into a tight ball before catching your sister’s attention. “Hey Areum, watch this.” He smiles, a bit devilishly, before chucking the snowball towards the boy.

Splat.

The snowball hits the poor kid straight in the face. This causes Areum to snort out in laughter. She decided to partake in the fun, allowing Jack and Winny’s momentary confusion to give her a chance to make a couple of snowballs, throwing it at the two of them. Sooner or later, you and Jongho were tossing a merciless volley of snowballs at the two, making them whine in protest.

“C’mon man what the fuck???” Jack yelled in annoyance.

“You’re lucky that’s all you get for messing with my baby sister!” Jongho yelled back and stepped aside to allow Areum to throw another ball at him.

You rush outside to see the commotion. The sight was funny, seeing the younger couple be hit relentlessly, but the pacifist in you told you that it was too much. “Okay, okay- you two they got the message.” You laugh as you stop them, looking back to the others to see them dusting the snow off their clothes. “God, you guys really let them have it.”

You manage to calm the two down, steering them away from the cheaters when Jack called out. “Yeah that’s right- get your bitch ass sister to protect you..!”

The insult makes you stop in your tracks, the cheery disposition dissipating. Without another word, Areum grins and hands you a snowball which you gladly took. And before Jack knew what had happened, you threw the ball right at him, hitting him directly in the face and causing him to fall back into the snow. Areum and Jongho let out an excited whoop.

“You wanna say that again?!” You ask, moving to gather more balls.

Winny, being sensible enough, tugged Jack away before the three of you could chase them away. You three share a laugh, watching as the pair run away like cowards. Serves them right.

“You ladies are deadly,” Jongho muses.

Areum couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s why you’re so into my sister. That’s your type.” She chuckles. But before Jongho could quip back, she had already tossed a ball at him, followed by you throwing another one.

He laughs, baring his cute gummy smile. “Alright- you two asked for it.”

You and Areum squeal in delight as he chases the two of you around, volleys of snowballs being exchanged. Sure the day started off glum, but at least now it could end with joy paired with the warmth of hot chocolate that was soon to come.

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