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victoriansvilevictorians · 11 months

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"But you can't wear the red scarf, ma'am!" But the black scarf, Sarah admits, is still in to soak, having become unbearably frowsty, and the white one, despite Sarah's best attempts, is streaked with dull yellow stains. Why anyone thought of wearing white silk next to their neck is a mystery to her. "You could wear a shawl?" Sarah suggests tentatively, but her mistress doesn't reply. She detests shawls, they remind her of market women.

Sarah is not elevated to the status of a lady's maid, and washing the black scarf had taken its place alongside tasks like cleaning out the fires. Mrs Ampleforth had noted, even as a child, that while her mother professed to be exhausted after a tea party, Sarah and her workmates were banging about the kitchen before it was light, and could be heard still clearing up long after she had gone to bed. It had left her slightly in awe of servants, and the feeling had never quite worn off.

Anyway, she explained to her employee, though the sun is bright there is a chill gusty wind, it is still only February, Pedro needs his walk, and who is she going to meet on the Common at this time in the morning? She opens the front door, then steps smartly back inside. Fumbling under her coat, she releases the strings of her crinoline, steps out of it, and hangs it over the newel post at the foot of the stairs. "Madam!" says Sarah in horror. "You'd best pop that straight upstairs, in case anyone calls" she replies calmly, and steps out into the tail end of the storm, her skirts clutched firmly in her hand.

If she hadn't got out of the house, she says to herself, she would have screamed and, having screamed, started smashing the china. The sandy paths, though still damp, hold no puddles, and progress is far easier (and her legs warmer) without the crinoline swaying and bucking in the wind. The scarf cracks and flaps like a flag, pulling out every time she tucks it in, and she ends up clutching it in her other hand. It's a good job there are no gates to open, she thinks, as she doesn't have a hand free. The broad brimmed hat wasn't the best idea, but it is so firmly pinned to her tight plaits that its efforts to escape are futile.

She was wrong, however, about meeting no-one. She passes several working men, and an old lady collecting firewood blown down overnight, who count, for social purposes as No-one, but then she realises the figure chasing his round hat into a clump of juniper is the vicar. In Westheath, the church is out at the end of a lane, and this must be his short cut to the village.

"A red scarf, Mrs Ampleforth?" he says, instead of the customary how-d'ye-do. As he has started the conversation without the usual grace notes, she will follow suit. "Red is God's colour too, Vicar. I am not aware of the Bible discriminating amongst shades." This is clearly more than he bargained for, and he bows and walks on without anything more. She resists the urge to turn her head and see if he is looking back at her.

Nonetheless, the sermon the next Sunday, taking as its text "Render unto Caesar", seems rather pointed to Mrs Ampleforth, seated in the third row in her clean black scarf. Several working men and an old lady collecting firewood have been quite sufficient to pass the news round the village that Mrs Ampleforth had been seen wearing scarlet, while still in second mourning, although fortunately the collective lack of sartorial acuity had barely noticed that her gown had seemed rather bedraggled, and not identified the actual lack of crinoline.

The vicar expands, at length, on the topic of fitting in with our fellows, conforming with what is expected of us, and generally not outraging public decency. As Mrs Ampleforth is close to the front, everyone else has the luxury of staring at the back of her head, while she has only elderly Major Binks to hide behind, and he is asleep as usual. She holds her gaze with rigid stoicism on the altar cross and refuses to blink.

The rest of the service passes in its normal dreariness, and if the vicar, standing to greet his parishioners in the porch before they step out into the rain awaits Mrs Ampleforth with chagrin, he gives no sign of it. Perhaps he is ready with forgiving compassion for her to step forward, eyes downcast. Not a bit of it. "An interesting sermon, Vicar" she observes sharply "one wonders what Our Lord would make of the suggestion that we should take worldly opinion as our moral guide?" She has had half an hour to sharpen and perfect her barb, and is pleased with her firm delivery.

If the vicar has flinched, if she has hit home, she does not see, for she has stepped out into the drizzle with her nose in the air and her gaze straight ahead. On Monday morning, however, when she walks down to the post office with Pedro at her side, she is wearing the scarlet silk scarf like a flag of war.

Reactions are so varied that she is soon too amused to feel any awkwardness. The better sort of villagers simply pretend they have not seen her. Those below her in the social scale blush, or try to hide a sly smile. The children, of course, are unaware of the depths of her outrage, although some of the older ones gasp open mouthed, vaguely conscious they are witnessing a phenomenon. Does she really hear a low buzz of voices as she ducks to go through the low door of the post office, or is she imagining it?

In the darkened room there is only the postmaster, yet even he leans forward and speaks in low, conspiratorial tones. "Aren't you concerned about what Mr Ampleforth might say, looking down?" His tone is amused, the way he raises his eyes to heaven theatrical rather than pious. "Scarlet was his favourite colour, and it was he who gave me the scarf." she says tight-lipped. It is her prepared speech, but the post-master breaks into a broad grin. "Good for you, ma'am", and she finds herself smiling shyly in return.

The postmaster is a notorious free-thinker, and rumoured socialist: but he is also the village's news-service, and she knows that the fact that the disgraceful scarlet-wearing is a tribute to her tenderness for the late Mr Ampleforth rather than an insult to his memory will be disseminated very quickly. But as she and Pedro make their way back, she is restless and fidgety. She may wear a scarlet scarf every day for a month, but it hardly signifies anything other that a desire to tweak the vicar's nose.

Other women, she vaguely appreciates, experience a dissatisfaction with the ways things are arranged. Not such quibbling and, she trusts now purely temporary, inconveniences such as those affecting property, or education, or the vote: these, she is confident, will sooner or later be swept away by Progress, in this modern age. The Sarahs of this world, she is embarrassingly aware, have good reason to be as dissatisfied with the Mrs Ampleforths as with the law. Does the postmaster's rumoured socialism free the Sarahs from tyranny, or only their fathers and husbands, she wonders. She must ask him next week.

Her sister-in-law Jessica has Turned To Rome, which she feels must only make things worse, not better. As if having a husband wasn't bad enough! she catches herself thinking, which is strange, because she never thought it while Henry was alive.... Her mother recommends Good Works, and her brother says she should marry again, and is rather offended at the response he gets. "You need children" he goes on, undefeated. "No I don't!" she snaps, surprising herself.

Turning to the catalogues of progressive publishers, she embarks on a course of reading, but each new book sways her one way until the next comes along to sway her another. The solution to poverty isn't penwipers, and there is more wrong with women than Rational Dress can solve (though it is very tempting): the postmaster, tentatively consulted, concurs and supplies her with a bundle of pamphlets. She agrees with everything they propose, but finds their suggested methods of achieving it naive in the extreme.

Westheath may be charmingly rural, but the train from the little station beyond the windmill whisks her into the centre of London within half an hour. Sensibly shod and soberly dressed, red scarf apart, she tries every institution and library. She attends lectures with titles like "What is religion?" or "An Examination Of The Proposed Methods For Reforming The Plebiscite" and finds, regardless of the advertisement, regardless of the serious, nodding heads in the auditorium, that the point has been sorely missed somewhere along the way.

The old vicar, his grey hairs no doubt dragged down in sorrow, if not to the grave at least to Bournemouth, retires, and his place is taken by a wiry, nervous man who has earned Westheath by service in the East End. She attends church, which she had not quite given up doing, to hear what he has to say. His first sermon explores an obscure point of theology in Saint Augustine. After the service, at the church porch, she shakes hands. "Did you preach like that in the East End?" she asks with wide-eyed innocence. "Good Lord, no. It was all very Evangelical. Why, do you think it went over their heads?" She cannot resist a smile. "Well, it certainly went over mine!" and leaves him there, blushing slightly.

She is of course, by now, no longer young, and the beauty that turned Mr Ampleforth's head is not there to cause awkwardness between her and the Reverend Hughes. Nevertheless, villages being villages, their conversations are conducted at the church porch, or in front of the post office, and are brief. "You should try the Greeks" he ventures one week, having divined from the ether a need. "Which ones?" she asks, thinking vaguely of heavily-bearded church fathers. "I'll make you a list." he promises, boldly. If Mrs Ampleforth has put on weight, and grown grey: if her teeth are no longer so numerous as they were, she is still an imposing woman. "I don't read Greek..." she adds cautiously. "I never for a moment supposed you did." And they laugh nervously at his temerity.

She orders the books on the list from a publisher specialising in cheap editions for the working man. They are refreshingly small, after some of the books she has waded through. They are also surprisingly hard. If people were at this stage more than two thousand years ago, even before Christianity, how is it the world is still such a muddle? "You must try Marcus Aurelius next" says the Reverend Hughes. "I found him a great solace during my worst times." Somewhat alarmed at this encomium, she orders him too.

Somewhat later, she orders a deluxe edition, bound in green morocco with gold tooling. The Reverend Hughes has moved on to Anglo Saxon poetry, and though she is warmly appreciative of the copy of The Wanderer, beautifully calligraphied in his own handwriting, which falls from her Christmas card, she tells him she is more the Ancient Roman than the Dane. The difference of taste does not sour their friendship.

As the years pass, Mrs Ampleforth gets heavier, and greyer, and more of her teeth fall prey to the dentist, while the Reverend Hughes gets leaner, and wirier, (a difference which may be due to her distinct fondness for cake, and his for long solitary walks) and continues to deliver his baffling sermons. The Reverend Hughes flirts briefly with Kierkegaard, but Mrs Ampleforth, despite her other reading, remains faithful to Marcus Aurelius.

As she had predicted during an argument with her sister, all those injustices of property, and education, and politics which had exercised them so wither progressively with the passing of the years, leaving her nieces and, in time, great-nieces aware only of others, as yet unresolved. People forget there was ever a Mr Ampleforth, regarding her title as an honorific, like that bestowed on cooks. She gains, and keeps into extreme old age, a reputation for not suffering fools gladly, and being a good place to turn in a crisis. She watches her contemporaries decline into complacency or fretfulness - all except the Reverend Hughes, who expires in the fullness of years while wrestling with the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus.

Mrs Ampleforth lives on, missing him less than she had expected. The older she gets, the fuller her days seem to be. Her maid, Sarah's grand-daughter ("Don't think of it as 'service' " says Granny, "think of it as quite a cushy job with a nice boss. You don't have to stay forever, just till she finds someone else." Which was twenty years ago...) reads the newspaper to her every evening, as the print has got so small these days, a task which is especially bonding during the Great War, when Mrs Ampleforth loses a favourite great-nephew and Sarah's granddaughter loses her sweetheart. She sinks slowly and gently, much comforted by Marcus Aurelius, and eventually passes during the General Strike, her main feeling one of irritation at not knowing how it will end.

She encounters the Reverend Hughes again almost immediately. He is wearing a goatskin, and his wiry limbs are very sunbrowned. She, for her part, seems to be dressed in something soft and loose and pale - bliss after a lifetime of corsets - and her arms, when she glances down at them, are bare and unwrinkled. Looking further, she sees, peeking out from under the creamy wool, feet that have never been forced into tight patent leather boots. Her own dress is expected enough, but his is a puzzle.

"Is this heaven?" she asks tentatively, gazing into a crystalline distance resembling, quite remarkably, that in John Martin's painting at the Tate. "I rather think" says the Reverend Hughes, leaning picturesquely on a staff of rough wood "it must be the Elysian Fields". But just as she no longer cares what happened in the general strike, she meets this observation with quiet calm. "And is everybody here? Or is there ... another place?" The Reverend Hughes observes that this is rather unlikely, as he has met a number of people who would undoubtedly be in it, if there were.

"Really? Anyone interesting?" asks Mrs Ampleforth with excitement, thinking of Ivan the Terrible or Caligula. "Not really..." says the vicar, brushing away an affectionate butterfly "only my Latin tutor and the like. I haven't yet encountered anyone I didn't already know." As she ponders this intriguing peculiarity, a speck in the distant meadow resolves itself into the shape of a bounding, hairy animal with a long pink tongue. "It's Pedro!" she cries, pressing her hands together. "Oh, how awfully, awfully glorious!" Behind the dog labours a figure in an embarrassingly short tunic, carrying a basket. It is the postmaster.

"I say, Emily!" he hails, approaching. Who? My goodness, that will take some getting used to! She hasn't been Emily to anyone since her sister-in-law died. Which is a thought: she wonders what Jessica Ampleforth makes of the present arrangement? The postmaster is breathing a little hard from climbing the hill. "I say!" he repeats "What ho, Fred? Would either of you like a fig? They're awfully good this year Emily. Did you get the vote yet?" The figs are large, a lustrous purple, and wonderfully sweet. "Oh yes, ages ago. Straight after the War." He looks blank. "Which one?" She takes another fig and says "Never mind, eh?" Pedro runs round them in circles, chasing the butterflies.

#19th century #short fiction #victorian era #fiction #short stories #kingdom of heaven #socialism #victorian #mourning #cocker spaniel

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medicinemane · 2 years

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One day I really need to learn how to draw, like for a number of reasons

One, is that anything like my carving is kind of only as good as the pattern it follows. For example the biggest problem with that commission (that I'm still working on getting myself to tie off the wire on) is my drawing is just ok

The carving is pretty good, and I did a good job of taking the reference and converting it into something I could use and figuring out the logistics of transferring it to something that big*, but like the hands and the face, and the fabric at the bottom are all worse cause I couldn't draw that, so I couldn't carve what I couldn't draw

Every creative thing I do will benefit from being able to draw, kind of like how I should pick calligraphy back up to improve my woodburning (drawing also important for that though). Just have to learn how to draw, and if I can also learn to draw digitally I can take commissions there too

Problem is I have no idea how to learn how to draw. I know people say practice, but... with the redstone I was doing (which I still need to clean up for the server, and also make a video on) I had a specific goal in mind. I had a binary of "is this doing what I need it to", and could ask how I could get closer to that as I went

Drawing... it's hard cause I didn't feel myself getting better at redstone, but I had something I could just smash my head against. Drawing I can't feel myself getting better at, but it feels like I'm just trying to draw something way past what I'm capable of with no success

It all feels like doodles or failure, and even if it's productive I can't tell, so I can't even tell if I'm going in the direction I need to

So that's my trouble with drawing, but I seriously seriously need to learn it. For me it's an essential skill because of everything else I do. To an extent I don't even need to get perfect at it, I need to get a good sketchy style where I can bang out an idea to draw or carve in a couple of minutes since I lose a lot of detail, but... the better I am, the better in general

*I think I took a picture with my phone, imposed the reference, drew a simplified version, and then had copied that using landmarks

#mm tag so i can find things later

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fanficwritersworld · 2 years

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Big Brother To The Rescue

Summary: You get kidnapped by Zoom.

Pairing: Barry Allen x Allen!Reader

Requested: by this anon. Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 841

Warnings: Zoom, kidnapping, brief mentions of torture and death.

Masterlist|Prompt List

You always knew that Barry was protective of you. Ever since your mother was killed, you're big brother never let you see monstrosities like that as much as he could. You loved your brother, he was there when no one else was. Except now.

You were visiting your father in his cabin, finally knowing the man who was taken from you at one-years old. The moment you reached city limits, a figure ran in front of your motorcycle. Last thing you remembered was his voice, it brought chills up your spine. "Looks like we'll be spending some time together"

A loud bang woke you up, your head feeling like you had a massive hangover. You looked around you, hoping that it was all a fucked up nightmare. "Shouldn't you be in school? Seems a bit young to be visiting out of state?" You felt the chills run up your spine as the man spoke, hiding in the shadows. "Who are you!" You asked him, banging on the glas that caged you. "I'm a friend of Barry's" He echoed, a flash of navy blue lightning.

Zoom.

He was the guy who almost killed the Flash last Christmas.

“Since when was Barry friend with murders!” You screamed, banging against the glass. Zoom raced up to the glass, causing you to jump in fright. “You don’t know your brother as well as you think (Y/N) Allen” Zoom hissed at you.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? “Ever wonder why he cancelled plans at the last minute and you haven't heard from him in days? Or that injury from Christmas?” Zoom snickered which made your insides want to stop functioning.

“Sorry (N/N) I have work left at the Lab” Barry told you before turning the corner away from the theatre. It was your weekly movie night and he promised to come before exam week after cancelling for the last two weeks. “Oh… okay” You huffed, deciding to walk back to Joe’s.

There was the mysterious hospital stay just before Christmas, Joe said it wasn’t safe for you to visit. “Joe! You and Iris get to see him, why can't I?” You begged your adoptive father, not leaving him out of the house. “I’m sorry baby, but the doctors want to limit his contact so no one gets hurt” Joe sighed, kissing your head before leaving the house and you alone.

Yellow lightning took you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see blue and yellow fighting in a circle. It was like the night your mother died, one of your oldest memories. Soon enough Zoom was gone, his cackle echoing throughout the weird place you were in.

The Flash walked up to you, smashing the glass cage you were in. “Are you okay?” He asked you. You looked at him with wide eyes. That voice, you know it anywhere.

“Barry?” You choked out.

You threw your math book across the table. Why was online school so fucking hard?! That was an easy answer. Barry. You haven’t talked to him since that night, which was hard as he moved back after his ‘hospital visit’.

You were pissed at your brother. He lied to you for two years, all the excuses, the lies just because he didn’t tell you he was the city’s hero. It wasn’t fair, it was bad enough you lost nine months with him and now one day he might never come home.

Knock, knock

“(N/N)! Can I come in?” Barry’s voice called from the other side of your room. You looked at him, a deadpan expression on your face. “Fuck off Barry… wait sorry Flash” You spat, truning back to your homework.

Barry picked up the math book by his feet, seeing the frustrated look on your face. “How many times do I have to say sorry? I miss my baby sister” Barry moaned, sitting on your bed. You turned around, crossing your arms. “How many lies have you told me since yuo got fucking super powers! Why is it that everyone but me, your sister, knew about this?” You asked him, tears falling from your eyes.

“I tell you everything! But you couldn’t tell me? It’s bad enough Dad isn’t in the city, but you live just down the hall and still lied to me” You sobbed, the anger you kept down turned to tears. Barry walked up to you, wrapping his arms around you.

He stroked your hair, kissing your head every so often. “I promise from now on, no more secrets, no more lies. I’ll tell you everything” He promised you, hugging you tighter than ever. “Pinky promise?” You held up your pinky finger.

“Pinky promise” Barry confirmed, linking his with yours. You felt a jolt of electricity, making you jump. “Jesus Christ!” You giggled, seeing Barry laugh at your reaction to his powers.

“Come one, I’ll help you with your homework and tomorrow, you get to meet the team properly” Barry smiled.

You have the best big brother in the universe

#barry allen x sister!reader #barry allen x reader #barry allen #the flash #the flash season 2 #zoom #team flash #cisco ramon #caitling snow #iris west #harry wells #joe west #henry allen

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cherryatiny · 3 years

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𝐍𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬 - 𝐊.𝐇𝐉

⩥𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐞𝐫!𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠 (𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳) 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⩥𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐥 𝐀𝐔

⩥𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐,𝟏𝐤

⩥𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐜𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧?

⩥𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐩𝐬, 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐜𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞-𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐩𝐬

⩥𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐍𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐏𝐑 𝐈𝐚𝐧

⩥𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐢 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲. 𝐈'𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

08.09.2021

Opening the door to their shared flat with shaky hands, blood dripping down his knuckled, the blonde male almost collapsed on the floor, his weakened legs failing to support him any more.

With a loud bang, his body fell on the cold floor, alerting his [insert colour]-haired girlfriend, that ran to the hallway, being met with a sight of his bloody figure laying on the floor half-unconscious, she let out a sharp yelp.

The girl fell to the ground, shaking her partner's body, to get any reaction from him. „Ah Hongjoongie, who did you get into a fight with this time...“

Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, to help him lean on her so he could walk more easily, she directed her steps into the bathroom. Sitting him on its edge, she began to fill the bathtub with water, to wash off the blood and dirt of his body. „Y/N... I'm sorry“

Without words, she started unzipping his blood-soaked clothes, letting them fall to the ground, already used to having to deal with her boyfriend coming home almost beat-up to death.

Tears filled her eyes yet again as she thought about all those moments, where she was on the border of losing her lover. The aforementioned boy always just shrugging it off with cheap words of comfort.

And that's how their relationship went. He got into a fight, they argued, he felt guilty and made her a song, they made up, went through another short period of romance where they felt like those head over heels couples at the beginning of their relationship, and the endless cycle repeated itself once again.

Her partner undressed completely and sat in the bathtub, the water gaining a reddish tint from the blood that leaked from his wounds. Without a word, she got into the bathtub with him, not caring that her t-shirt or shorts would get soaked.

Grabbing a sponge that was laying near them, she rubbed the dirt off his body. Hongjoong inhaled, preparing himself to splash Y/N in apologies, but her voice cut him off.

„Please, don't make this harder than it already is, I don't need to hear your apologies, please just stay still until I clean you, so I can treat your wounds afterwards...“ Treating the fair skin of his hurt body, she sighed as she looked at her soaked clothes.

Does living like this even have a meaning? Does crying herself to sleep from how scared she is of losing her loved one when he doesn't even care, have meaning?

Sensing the broken expression in her deep eyes, his hand took her in his, playing with her fingers and kissing the top of her knuckles reassuringly.

„I'm sorry Y/N, I'm sorry for acting like a jerk and making you bawl your eyes out at nights. So many times I could've held on I still can't believe I left you alone. Left you alone to deal with all of this, when it's completely my fault. The fault of my inconsideration of your feelings. When you lie down tonight, please get a good sleep in which you forget of all those fights and stupid things I put you through. We'll start a new chapter, I promise.“

Liar.

These words of reassurance left his mouth every time he got into a fight and yet, it always happened again. Not being able to hold the tears in any longer, the clothed figure sitting next to him let out tears, pitiful whines leaving her lips.

„You say this every time, yet you always break the promise, so how can I believe you any longer?“

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

15.09.2021

Colourful leaves falling on the forest alley, the two jiggly walked down the path hand in hand, as they laughed and enjoyed each other's presence.

Approaching a small wooden bench, the two of them sat down on it, Hongjoong pulled his girlfriend into his lap, letting her back fall onto his chest, hugging her from behind.

The girl raised her legs and laid them on the bench, stretching them. Looking at her boots covered by the brownish mud, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. „Y/N?“ humming, she signalised him to continue with what he had to say.

„I made you a song. I realised how bad I was treating you, but I didn't know how to express my gratitude towards you and I'm sorry, I will sing this song to you. To tell you I really cared.“

His melodic voice audible for everyone passing them as he started singing, all the people just captured by those young lovers. Only if they knew, how heartsick their relationship was.

As his voice quietened, signalising the end of the song he composed for his girlfriend, he pulled her into a deep kiss, his hand holding her head in place, as his tongue explored all those forgotten places of her mouth.

„I hope you're not angry at me anymore.“ Shaking her head in disagreement, Hongjoong pulled the figure of his girlfriend into his embrace, hugging her tightly, to replace the warmness his heart couldn't give her, with his body.

„Let's go home, shall we?“ Taking her hand in his, the two of them got up from the bench, stretching their stiffened limbs for a bit. „Aren't you cold?“ looking at the shaking figure standing beside him, he pulled his brown trench coat off, laying it on his girlfriend's shaking figure.

Walking home hand-in-hand, the two of them lived through yet another episode of the cycle.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

21.09.2021

„You're unbelievable Kim Hongjoong! Oh god, I'm so stupid! I always put my faith in you, believing that your aims are sincere, yet you always disappoint me. You're never gonna change! I should just pack my things and leave, cuz it looks like my presence is annoying you. If it weren't for me, you could live your poor life peacefully, right? Getting into fights on daily basis, fucking whores you find on the streets and flushing it all away with nicotine and alcohol while dreaming of accomplishing something in your life, you would like that, right? You know what? I should do that right away!“

Dramatically spatting those words into his face, she turned on her heel with anger in her eyes ignoring the glasses Hongjoong threw against the wall near her to make her look at him. His hand gripping her wrist harshly, turning her back to face him.

„What the fuck do you think you're doing? You're not going anywhere!“ Disbelief filled Y/N's veins. Who was he to tell her what she can or can't do?

„What do I think I am doing? Leaving you, Kim Hongjoong. I can't express how much I hate you, I feel so stupid for letting you use me, I don't want to have anything to do with you!“

Hongjoong couldn't control his emotions any longer, letting his hand come in contact with his girlfriend's cheek, that will for sure leave a reddish mark on the spot.

Y/N yelped at the stinging pain of her boyfriend's hand slapping her cheek. Her hands caressing the hurt place as tears filled her eyes. Realising what he did, Hongjoong's eyes immediately softened, ready to comfort and apologize to his girlfriend. But it was too late...

„Leave the fuck out of my flat! I never want to see you again, we're done. Did you hear me well? We're done, there's not any us anymore, and I'll never be your girlfriend again Kim Hongjoong, actually..., I hope I never see you again!“

Motioning with her finger to the door, she signalised for him to leave, not wanting to look at him any longer, she left the room and locked herself in the bedroom, falling on the bed and bringing her knees to her face, nuzzling her face into the created space, bawling her eyes out.

Absorbing the said words, Hongjoong finally understood the weight of his actions, this time it was really the end. Smashing the front door loudly enough for the crying woman to hear, he dived into the darkness on the streets.

As he walked down the empty streets, recalling all the things that happened, he couldn't help but start crying himself. Sitting down in the middle of the road, not caring if any car drove him over anymore. Life without his lover was meaningless for him...

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

18.11.2021

Sitting down on the metallic fence near the train station, he pulled the lighter out of his denim jacket, lighting the addictive stick in his shaking hands. Inhaling the relieving substance, he sighed, trying to pour the stress of his mind.

The first weeks after the break up with his past lover Y/N were hard, he lost faith in everything, barely living through, he then met a couple of boys that helped him get back on track. They put a roof over his head and helped him pursue his dream of becoming successful in music, he was truly thankful towards them.

Taking another inhale, he looked around, observing the people that were approaching the train station. Thinking about how all of them were hiding a different story, his eyes fell on an oddly familiar figure.

The figure he thought he would never see again. As the girl turned around, trying to figure out where to go, her eyes fell on him, locking eye contact.

He heard that Y/N was leaving town in a few days, pursuing her happy ending in a new place. A place that didn't wound her as much as this one did. Hongjoong smiled at her, his eyes motioning for her to come over.

With a hesitantly uncomfortable look in her eyes, she approached his figure that was still sitting on the fence, scared as to what might happen. „Y/N, long time no see.“ smiling at him lightly, she looked down rather than to look to those eyes she once loved.

„Hey girl, I heard you seem to be happy now,... how you doin'? I heard you're leaving town,... it might not matter now, but maybe it worked somehow, but I really changed this time. I know you have no intention of coming back to me and I can't blame you for that, but I couldn't live peacefully if I didn't say my sincere apology to you for the last time. I lived horribly before, but I found people who helped me and now I'm living a life that I enjoy. That's what I tell myself: she'll never know how much I wished I never let you go. Thinking of this, it tore me down to pieces.“

Looking at him with glistening eyes, she could hear the sincerity in his words for the first time in a long time.

„Ah yes Joong, you're right, I'm leaving town soon, starting a new life somewhere else. I may seem happy now, but it's not like that all the time, some wounds take time to be healed, but I'm better, how about you? I'm pleased to hear that you decided to change your life and I'm sorry for letting you go without giving you space to explain yourself, but you must understand it had to be done. Our relationship was hatred and it was destined to break sooner or later.“

Nodding in agreement to her aching but truthful words, he took an inhale from his cigarette for the last time, throwing the cigarette stub onto the ground and stepping on it to smoosh it.

„Don't worry 'bout me 'cause I'm doing fine. Although the first weeks afterwards, I came to the street you live in every day, just standing there in front of your flat and looking into the room we once shared. But I'm doing fine, girl, I swear it's not a lie.“

„I saw you a few times, the smoke coming from your cigarettes always reached my window, that's when I immediately knew you were there...so you came around my house, and you left your marks with your fingertips, I was always thinking: I'm sitting where you sat down and now he's looking for something meaningless... I'm getting a little nervous talking to you... it feels like I'm getting to the surface“

Absorbing each other's words, the two of them stood opposite of each other, their heads tilted down, as they regretted their past manoeuvres. He's getting a little nervous and she's finally getting to the surface.

„I got a little nervous of running back to you when you weren't there Y/N.. and I'm sorry, I was hurting too much to know, that you were standing right there. And I'm sorry, when I left you all alone, girl. It's time I should probably let you go and forget about a jerk who hurt you as much as I did. I know that wasn't fair 'cause I loved you. He loved you, the man who you hate sincerely loved you, even though he didn't express it in time...“

„Bye Kim Hongjoong. Stand tall and pursue your dreams.“ Bidding goodbye to her for the last time, he watched as his lover disappeared in the span that was separating them.

#ateez #ateez hongjoong #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez hongjoong fanfic #ateez hongjoong scenarios #ateez hongjoong angst #kim hongjoong imagines #kim hongjoong fanfic #kim hongjoong scenarios #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong fanfiction

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linz33y · 2 years

Text

Fic Writer Review

@veraynes-blog, you tagged me in this months ago, and I kept telling myself I would fill it out once I got back into posting on AO3. Welp, nature is healing and apparently so is my brain, because that time is now 😁

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

110,947

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

Published to AO3? 5.

Counting my WIPs? 10.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

You've Got a Funny Way of Making Friends (Good Omens)

One of a Million (Good Omens)

Sleeping Arrangements (Doctor Who)

Might I Tempt You? (Good Omens)

Long Time, No See (Good Omens)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

Doesn't matter if it's a single word, an emoji smash, or paragraphs of text: if I ever *don't* respond to a comment, please assume AO3 borked and didn't notify me, or I'm dead. Seriously, the immediate serotonin boost I get from seeing a comment notification makes me so, so excited that I have to share some of that joy with a response. I also try to leave comments on other people's fics as often as possible. Gotta pay the love forward <3

6. A fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don't normally write angst, but this Doctor Who drabble probably fits the bill. (I swear the rest of that drabble series is fluff and humor! 😅)

7. Do you write crossovers?

I don't currently have any published, but I swear to god @veraynes-blog, I have not forgotten about that Hannibal/Venom crossover one-shot that we've discussed on-and-off over the last year. I am determined to finish editing it one of these days 😁🙏

8. Ever received hate on a fic?

No, thank god.

9. Do you write smut?

I wish I could write smut, but alas, it is outside of my wheelhouse.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

11. Ever had a fic translated?

Yes, a couple of my Doctor Who fics have been translated! In fact, AO3 user Clara1998 read the translated version of The Locksmith, and wrote a follow up: 一个The Locksmith的续写 (roughly, A Continuation of the Locksmith). I had to paste it line by line into google translate to read it, but it made me very happy :')

In case anyone wanted to know, my transformative works policy is in my profile on AO3, and I welcome anyone to translate my fics as long as you link back to the original.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Closest thing I've done to a collab was the Masterversary Big Bang, with @mushigo-palm-spores illustrating my fic, Saxon and Jones.

13. All time fav ship?

Oh lord, it changes so often that it's impossible to answer this. Although I will say that I have a special place in my heart for Ineffable Husbands, seeing as the Good Omens series is responsible for my first post on AO3. When season 2 comes out, they'll probably be my fave again for a time 😊.

14. WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I can't think of one? If I want to finish a fic, it lives in my head until I figure out how to execute it, or until I decide I don't want to finish it anymore, at which point it wouldn't fit this category.

15. Writing strengths?

Humor and snappy dialogue. The first draft of my fics are basically screen plays: 90% dialogue, 10% screen direction. Then I spent the next several drafts slamming my head against my keyboard, attempting to fill in the actual scenes.

16. Writing weaknesses?

I definitely struggle with writing serious, emotional scenes. (For someone who finds herself in a puddle of tears near constantly, I am horrible at actually putting ernest expression into words 😂)

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I'm pretty sure I've only ever written made-up alien dialogue, but I'm not against it. However, I'd have to narrow the language options down based on whether or not I know a fluent speaker who could help with translations.

Although, now that I think about it, even though it's not technically fic, @mushigo-palm-spores did help me with the German in this Ace Attorney comic I made a while back. Only the best for Franziska Von Karma <3

18. First fandom you wrote for?

Good Omens was the first that I actually published fic for.

19. What’s your fav fic you’ve written so far?

Unsuprisingly, it's my most recent. So, backstory: the pandemic made it really, really, really hard to write anything that I didn't immediately scrap in a bout of frustration. It's also the reason I have twice as many fandoms with WIPs than I do with published fics lol. It wasn't until around this past July that I got the idea for a little Fullmetal Alchemist multi-chap. It refused to give up on me, even after the first draft collected dust for a few months, and I finally finished editing/started posting chapters last week. Not only did it feel like a massive accomplishment (like, I actually finished! a thing! for the first time in like! a year!!), but I also got such a lovely comment on the first chapter that I cried. I've re-read that comment every day since, and it's been a huge motivator to keep on writing :')

There are still two more chapters that I'll post in the next week or two, but here's the first half of What's Yours is Mine (and What's Mine is Mine) ^_^

20. Tag!

@echospool (but I know you're still recovering from Nano, so no pressure) and anyone else that wants to fill this out <3

#my fanfic #tag game #long post

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lionheartkrbkzine · 3 years

Text

Lionheart’s Interactive KiriBaku Twitter Thread

Pro Heroes, Bed-Sharing, Fake Dating, Quirk Accident

Rating: T (for swearing & canon-typical violence)

At the end of each Twitter update was an overnight poll where our followers got to decide the direction of the plot or details about story elements!

Feel free to reply with your thoughts, predictions, or desires, and Head Mod ET and Social Media Mod Belle will do our best to incorporate your ideas! This is a thank you and a way for us all to collaborate together until application responses are sent out on April 5th.

🧡❤️💥⚙️💥❤️🧡

Three buildings were on fire, and it wasn’t Bakugou’s fault.

Blackened smokestacks billowed above the Tokyo cityscape as he and Kirishima raced toward the scene. Bakugou took to the skies while his partner swerved between sedans and work trucks parked bumper-to-bumper on the roadway. Bakugou’s boots skid on the rough gravel of rooftops as he blasted from one to the next, his scorching propellant warping the air behind him, leaving trails of Schlieren lines in his wake.

He crouched on the edge of a four-story building above the battle, glimpses of a hero battle raging beneath the haze of ash and concrete dust. Heroes with water-based quirks tried and failed to mitigate the damage of six gangly beams of red-hot light.

“Riot, you got eyes?” he asked into his earpiece.

“Not directly on the prize, but I’m getting intel now! Are you seeing how the beams flicker in and out?”

“Yeah. Probably low level of quirk control or erratic mentality. Or both.”

“The team leader on the ground says the villain’s in a donut hole of concrete. Rubble’s piled up on all sides, so no one can get to him.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Amateurs.” The villain probably got himself cornered in a pit of fallen debris and figured he could wait it out or cause enough damage to try to make a run for it. “Shock Diamond, then.”

“Now?! Finally?! Hell yeah, let's go!"

Bakugou felt the heat of the lasers as one shaved the side of his building. He sneered at the heroes doing a piss-poor job of containment and checked behind him for the extent of the damage. A singed line gouged into the wall of a parking garage, but it stopped with a blunted tip before it speared the next building. The lasers didn’t seem to work like Aoyama’s — they could only extend so far.

Not made out of light, then. Kiri will be fine.

Not that he was worried about his partner. Kirishima could handle himself.

Even if Bakugou did pack the idiot a lunch every day and nudge him to go to bed when he fell asleep on the couch. And bought him cold medicine when he stayed out late walking Mirko’s seventy-eight-year-old receptionist home on dark, rainy nights. And bleached and dyed his roots when they started growing out.

But he wasn’t worried. The fact that the beams must be a form of slow-moving energy just gave them a tactical advantage. It had nothing to do with the fact that Kirishima’s hardening was more sensitive to concentrated light attacks yet the hero would bulldoze his way in front of them anyway.

The idiot’s voice rang through Bakugou’s earpiece. “Greenlight, Dynamight!”

“No matter how many times you say it, the rhyme doesn’t get any catchier.” Like a swimmer, he gripped the edge of the roof, rose halfway from his crouch, and dove into the pool of ash and smoke head-first.

Catching the current mid-air, he soared closer to where Kirishima was probably charging into the fray. Bakugou used the familiar shock of red hair as his signal and dropped feet-first, sending down a counterblast to stick the landing.

As Dynamight set himself up directly behind Red Riot, they charged the villain in a single-file line.

Without missing a beat, Kirishima extended his arms behind him at the same time Bakugou pushed his chest into the other man’s back. Kirishima’s arms locked onto Bakugou’s sides.

Bakugou tucked his chin, extended his hands behind him, and sent out a blinding explosion.

They rocketed forward — an unbreakable wall and a ballistic force. The perfect offense and defense. Explosion and Hardening.

Dynamight and Red Riot: Shock Diamond.

As they smashed through the rubble, the devastating strength of Red Riot’s quirk wracked through Bakugou’s body, but Kirishima held him tightly against his back. The shock waves cleared from Bakugou’s spine, and he jumped into the rapidly-clearing fog of smoke and dust.

His eyes widened. He whipped his head from side to side. He stopped, listened.

The pit was empty.

Meeting his partner’s eyes, Bakugou could only think of one thing to say. “What the fuck?!”

But Red Riot was similarly dumbfounded, his brows furrowed and jaw hanging slack, glancing around the center of the crater.

Bakugou kicked at a fallen pebble, its mere presence offensive in the heat of his frustration.

“Dynamight! Red Riot!” An aged hero with a sky blue costume ran toward them, waving his arms in ridiculous circles and spraying arcs of water through the air. “Good work out there!”

“We didn’t do shit! We just busted through a wall!”

"What Bakugou means to say is 'thank you', sir!”

“Well, the guy’s a problem for tomorrow’s heroes now. I’ve sent a team to scout the perimeter, and the police have his mugshot and quirk info. Another group is putting out the last of the fires. We’re lucky it’s a weekend — no one in those office buildings meant no casualties.” The older hero jiggled and sloshed as he rested his hands on his service belt, the edges of his existence just barely see-through as his costume molded to his mutation quirk. “For now, we need you two to handle some of the media coverage while we start to get a section of road opened back up.”

“No problem! Leave it to us!”

Flubber strode off, his boots leaving wet footprints on the asphalt.

Bakugou turned to his partner. “No.”

"Hey— where are you going?! You can't just leave the press to me all the time!"

Huffing, Bakugou slipped through an unblocked alleyway, brushing concrete crumbs off his shoulders as he took deep breaths. Normally he would feel some semblance of guilt about leaving a crime scene or abandoning Kirishima to fend off the harpies on his own, but the villain did escape. Bakugou might as well join the search of the perimeter.

A sharp scream had his feet slapping the pavement before his brain caught up.

Rounding the corner of an office park, the street opened up to allow for a municipal park one block long and one wide. Amidst swing sets and jungle gyms stood a proud maple tree. In one of its branches clung a girl no more than six years old.

Below her, a group of parents huddled in a crescent moon around the trunk, some gawking, some enjoying the entertainment, and others consoling one woman in the center of it all. Bakugou made a beeline for her.

She jumped at the hulking form of a grenade-adorned hero. He never tried very hard to work on his public image.

“Oh, Dynamight.” The whites of the woman’s eyes gaped in surprise, and she looked back and forth between the imposing hero and the girl high up in the tree. “She just— She feels more secure when she’s up high, and she got scared by all the noise and the lights, so she climbed into the tree, but now she can’t get back down and she’s too high for me to reach her, and I can’t climb up—”

“Stop.” The woman snapped her teeth closed with a click. “I’ll get her down.”

She didn’t look especially reassured. Shit. What would Kirishima do? Probably flash a smile and bang his fists together or some other cute-ass Kirishima-ism. Bakugou gave her a closed-mouth smile and a stiff pat on the shoulder instead. That’ll do.

Grasping a branch with one hand and placing the flat of his boot on the trunk, he hoisted himself into the tree. He climbed higher and higher, wary of the thinning branches. When he couldn’t fit on the remaining limbs, he lifted his arms out for the girl.

“C’mon, I’ll take you back to your mom.” His voice was soft, low, and practiced. The girl eyed him warily, but after catching a glimpse of her mom below, shuffled into Bakugou’s hold. “Good job. Just hold on to me like you did to the branch, okay?”

She nodded against his shoulder, and he began his climb back down.

“What’s your name?”

“Matatabi,” she mumbled.

“What were you doin’ that high up?”

“Wanted to catch it.”

He frowned, wondering what it was, but they had reached the bottom and he had reached his patience quota for the day. Especially when the girl threw a fit in his arms, hissing and wiggling, and pushing and scratching at him. “Oi!” He dropped her, and she scurried to her mom, leaving him with whiplash and three welts on his bicep.

“Oh. Oh, dear.” The mother looked like she was about to confess to murder. Great. “Did she scratch you?”

No shit. “Yes, but it’s completely understandable.”

“Ah, awe, thank you—” at least he got a smile out of that one “—but, um, there may be a bit of an issue?” Of course there is. “She seems to activate her quirk when she scratches or bites.” She grimaced, floundering for her next words.

He took a deep breath. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. “It’s fine. What should I expect with the effects?”

“Um. Cat?”

He blinked. “Cat?”

She nodded. “Cat.”

“Dynamight!”

They both looked up then to Red Riot’s jogging figure, dust and cement billowing behind his ass cape.

“Everything alri-oh.” Kirishima was staring somewhere above Bakugou’s forehead, his mouth formed in the perfect ‘O’ shape.

“What are you looking at?!”

“Ears.”

Bakugou’s stomach fell into his butt. “What?”

“Bro… ears. You have… ears.”

“No.”

“Dude they look so soft.” Slow hands lifted higher and higher, above Bakugou’s face up to the top of his head. “Can I just—”

Bakugou slapped his hands away. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed.

Kirishima chortled— chortled! — and turned to the mother of the tree climbing, cat nabbing daughter.

Bakugou watched the exchange with clenched fists.

“I’m so sorry!” She bowed low, almost tipping her kid onto the ground. “Is she in trouble?”

“No, no!” Kirishima smiled at them. They seeped into it like a warm blanket on a cold day. “We’ll just get your contact information in case we have any further questions about the quirk—”

A sharp pain stung both of Bakugou’s palms. He hissed and checked his hands, tuning out the rest of Kirishima’s mediation.

Claws. He had ears and claws.

Well, at least he had another weapon now — that was pretty cool, actually. As soon as the thought passed through his head, the claws retracted into his nail beds, leaving behind his normal, blunt nails.

He felt his ears droop to the side of his head.

“So… do you want to head back to the agency?”

He looked up at his partner, giving him his best baleful glare with the ears and all. Kirishima just snorted. “There’s no way in Hell I’m going back there like this.”

“Awe, but you could be our new office mascot.” He reached forward to pet Bakugou’s ear again. He was unsuccessful. “Alright, alright,” he laughed, pulling out his phone, “let’s call Mirko and get our next orders, then.” The ringer blasted loud and clear, Kirishima holding his phone in selfie-mode.

“You little shit! She doesn’t need to see!”

They played a game of impromptu tag until their boss picked up. She, of course, immediately burst into guffaws of laughter.

Bakugou was so ready for today to be over.

“Hey, boss! What, uh— What do you suggest we do here with uh, Cat...kugou?”

“I’ll kill you,” he whispered.

“Hell if I know, I’ve never needed flea prevention.” Bakugou balked. “Take him to the vet, I guess!”

“Yessir!” Kirishima hung up before Bakugou could even process the words that just came out of his boss’s mouth.

“I am not—” he huffed “—going—” huff “—to the fucking VET!”

🧡❤️💥⚙️💥❤️🧡

If All Might himself had told Bakugou that hero life would involve sitting on a metal exam table in a veterinarian’s office, he wouldn’t believe a word of it. Not because it was impossible. Just because Bakugou would never get himself into that kind of situation.

He craned his neck back, glaring at his reflection in the operating mirror hanging from the ceiling. Two ash blond ears twitched back at him.

He sighed, crossing his arms and adjusting his seat on the hard metal. If I grow a tail, I’m gonna scream.

After what felt like hours of waiting, twitching, and reading pamphlets about “What to do if you have a fat cat,” the vet finally strode through the door, Kirishima hot on her heels.

She turned, frowning. “Oh, I’m so sorry — I know you’re hero partners, but technically the exam room is family only."

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to Kirishima. His partner met his desperate glare head-on.

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iceslushii · 3 years

Note

So, I'm writing this to document what I can only assume is my sudden descent into insanity. I can't possibly be THAT bad a navigator, and yet as I write this I've been trapped in Ikea for 2 days. I haven't seen another person in the entire time I've been here. I thought it was a prank at first. Turn the place into a maze, get all the people out and see how long it takes me to get lost, then everyone has a good old laugh. Realised that wasn't the case when I tried to backtrack. Everything had changed, so I ended up lost. Instead of the exit, it was just row after row of bookcases.

So, I'm trapped in Ikea. Sounds like the setup for a bad joke. The lights went out at 10pm. Nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, that loud electrical THUNK sound and then pitch blackness. Place is full of beds though and my phone has a torch on it - but no damn signal - so I found a bed and went to sleep. Spent most of the next day trying to find my way out with no luck. Did find a restaurant serving those meatballs though, so at least I won't starve. That's probably the punchline to that joke. Anyway they were still warm and fresh, but I haven't seen anyone around who could have cooked them. Made my way back to the beds before the lights cut out again since it's too dark to search with them off.

It's 9.10am now, the lights came back on a little while ago. I'm sure I've searched the entire area around where I came in now and the exit obviously isn't here, so I'm going to pick a direction and hope for the best.

Day 3 of my magical Ikea mystery adventure. If I wasn't sure that there was something seriously weird about this place before, I am now. Walked for 3 hours in a more or less straight line (insert Ikea joke here) before I came across a ladder next to one of those huge stock shelves they have here. Climbed up to get my bearings, and it looks like this place just stretches on forever. Like that scene from the Lion King, except instead of trees and grass it was all shelves and tables and crap. I did see a person moving not too far away though, so I headed over.

Thought it was a staff member at first - it was wearing the uniform. And hell maybe it was, maybe freakish 7ft tall monsters with long arms, short legs and no faces are just the kinds of thing they want working at Super Ikea. Damn thing completely ignored me though, and with no eyes or ears I can't even be sure it knew I was there. Thought about shoving it or something to get its attention, but its hands were big enough to crush a water melon so I decided against it. It just kept moving along and eventually I lost sight of it so I decided to carry on the way I was going.

Anyway, no comfy bed for me tonight. Looks like I've entered the Improbably Hard and Pointy Table section of the store. Guess I'll have to make do with some bunched up tablecloths. Phone battery died during the day too. Didn't work anyway, but I feel like I've just lost some vital lifeline.

You ever see one of those cartoons where they're going through doors in a hallway and they just pop out of another door in the same hallway? That's how I feel right now. I've seen nothing but the same identical bookshelf for 2 days now. Just row after row after row of them. I mean, come on. I love books as much as the next guy, but this is excessive. I'm obviously still moving forwards though, I can see the signs hanging overhead passing by. Too bad none of them say "Exit".

Not sure who I was addressing that question to. Lets just say it was practice for the autobiography I'm going to write when I get out of here. I'll call it "My perfectly normal trip to a regular old Ikea".

If I ever get out o

Finally found some other people! Yeah, turns out I'm not the only poor bastard trapped in here. Lucky for me, I guess. My 6th night here, 2 of those staff things came at me in the dark. Different from the first one I saw, but still messed up. Heard them coming, they were saying that the store was closed and I had to leave the building, all nice and polite like. I'm not sure which part of that was weirder, that they don't have mouths or that they were apparently trying to kill me while they were saying it. Came at me like rabid dogs.

So, I legged it. Sprinting through ikea in the dark like a fucking madman. I saw it when I cleared another stand of those giant stock shelves, all lit up with torches and floodlights. They've built a whole town in here! Got a massive wall built out of shelves and beds and tables and whatever else. I swear to god it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Anyway I guess they saw me coming (or maybe they heard my girlish manly bellows of fear), because they had a gate open and 2 people were there waving me in. Heard the staff things slam into the gate behind me after it closed, still politely informing us all that the store was now closed. They wandered off eventually though.

They call the town Exchange, because that's whats on the sign hanging from the ceiling directly above it. Exchange and Returns. All lit up against the night using lights they've found and plugged into the power lines. And there are beds and food and people. Over 50 wonderful people with regular sized limbs and a full set of facial features. It's now my 7th night here, and the first one not spent in darkness. A full week living in Ikea. There's probably a TV show in that somewhere.

Now that I'm around other people, I'm starting to feel more normal. Maybe normal isn't the word. But after a week with only the sound of my own footsteps for company, I was becoming increasingly sure that I'd just gone nuts. That I was tied up in some padded room somewhere, banging my head against the wall. But no, I feel quite sane now, thank you very much!

Apparently there are other towns out there. Some with more people, some with less. I found that fairly mind-boggling - how can that many people go missing with no one noticing. Surely someone would have noticed that everyone who goes to ikea seems to fucking vanish. Or maybe it's not everyone. Maybe we're just the lucky ones.

The people here just call those staff monster things the Staff. Apparently they are fine during the day, minding their own business walking the aisles. As soon as those lights go out though, they go fucking bonkers. So during the day people go out to find food, water and whatever else they need. Apparently there are restaurants and shops around that randomly get restocked. No one knows how. Maybe the staff do it. Apparently they aren't very good at their jobs though because the restocking sometimes takes a while, which means the food needs to be rationed. Maybe if they weren't so busy chasing people around in the dark they'd get more done.

Anyway when night comes the staff go nuts and everyone holds up inside the walls. Apparently it's the same everywhere in this place, whatever this place is. The Ur-Ikea, from whence all other Ikeas sprang. Or maybe we're all still just in the regular ikea and this is all some fever dream brought on by mind-numbing boredom. Who knows.

Been here for 10 days now. Most of the people I asked said they stopped keeping track a long time ago and one guy, Chris, said he'd been in here for years.

Years.

[ILLEGIBLE SCRIBBLES]

Apparently there are rumours of people who do manage to get out. And of people who see the exit, only to have it vanish before their very eyes. I get the feeling not everyone believes that, but I do. Explains how we got stuck in here in the first place (sort of). And I mean, come on. Staff monsters, row after endless row of high quality Swedish furniture. I don't know why they would find a disappearing door so hard to believe in.

Anyway, I went out scavenging for food at a nearby shop with Sandra and Jerry today. Once you learn the landmarks of this place it's not so hard to navigate. The overhead signs help a lot, but there are others; not too far in the distance a huge section of those giant stock shelves has collapsed against each other and way off in the east (we all assume it's east anyway - apparently Ikea doesn't sell compasses) is some kind of tower that looks like its made of wood, reaches all the way to the ceiling. Maybe they were trying to break out through the roof. Lights up at night so there must be people there, but its apparently a few days walk (which means it must be miles away) so no one here really knows for sure. Apparently I got incredibly lucky sleeping out in the open for a week without getting ripped to bits by the staff. That's me. Lucky lucky lucky.

We found some food in the shop. Guess the staff restocked it during the night, which was nice of them. There was a telephone on the wall, so I figured I'd try it out. There was a voice on the other end, but they were just talking nonsense. Random words strung together with no real meaning. You ever see a video of someone with aphasia? Kind of sounded like that. Didn't answer me when I spoke to them anyway. Sandra says all the phones in here are the same.

Oops, asking the journal questions again!

I was thinking last night. The ceiling on this place is pretty high and as far as anyone can tell it goes on forever. Shouldn't there be some kind of weather in here? I'm sure I read about some NASA building that was so big it had its own weather patterns, with clouds and stuff. This place is definitely bigger than that, but now that I think about it I'm pretty sure I've never felt so much as a temperature change in here.

I'll add it to the Grand List of Weird Bullshit.

The staff attacked the Exchange last night. Must have been 20 or 30 of them all just asking us to leave the store calm as you like, while trying to smash the walls down with their bare hands. Apparently this happens pretty regularly, so everyone is prepared for it. Knives from the restaurants, lawn mower blades made into hatchets, a fire axe. One guy, Wasim, even made a functional crossbow. Anyway the walls have holes in them, which I hadn't noticed before, specifically so we can stab out at the staff when they attack. Took a couple of them down myself. They don't seem to bleed, which is weird, but they go down as easy as a regular person once you start sticking holes in them.

We had to haul the bodies away in the morning. Apparently the dead ones will attract more during the night, so we had to get them away from Exchange. We have a couple of those trolley things they use to move big boxes around, so we loaded them up and took them over to Pickup. Apparently people just name everything in here after whatever sign is hanging overhead.

Pickup was grisly. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of dead staff all piled up. There was no smell, which was a blessing. Apparently in addition to not bleeding, these things don't rot either. My curiosity got the better of me while we were unloading them, so I took a look at one of the more cut-up ones. They're just skin, or something that looks like skin, all the way through. No muscle, no bone, no organs. Are they even really alive in the first place? They certainly seem like they have bones when they are moving around, pounding on the walls. And I'm sure I felt more resistance than just skin when the knife went in during the night. Maybe something happens to them when they die. Just one more thing on the ever-increasing list of Weird Shit that goes on in here, I guess.

Something occurred to me, after the staff attack the other night. Every time you see a situation like this on TV or in a film, like its the end of the world or everyone is trapped on an island or whatever, once groups like ours start to form people always seem to turn on each other. Fighting for food or dominance or whatever else. That hasn't happened here. Apparently people from other towns come by from time to time, just to check in or occasionally to trade if they are short on something. But everything is always cordial. Friendly, even. Maybe its the threat of the staff, or perhaps the constant restocking of supplies in the shops means there's nothing much to fight over.

Maybe people are just better than they are generally given credit for. That's a nice thought. I think I'll go with that one.

A dozen people showed up at the gates this afternoon from a town called Trolleys. Apparently the staff broke through the walls and tore the town apart during the night. These 12 are the only survivors out of over a hundred. We let them in, obviously. One more point in the human decency column. Later, I asked if anyone knew how many of these towns there were out there. Between us and the new folks, we managed to come up with over 20 names. 20 towns filled with people, and who knows how many beyond that.

The motto for this place should be "How Is That Even Possible". Surely someone, somewhere must be looking for the thousands of people that must be in here.

I've been here for a little over 2 months now. Not that much changes, as it turns out. A couple of new people showed up, same story as the rest of us. Nice little trip to Ikea and suddenly they're trapped in Billy Bookcase's House of Faceless Weirdos. The staff attack the Exchange once or twice a week. We kill them and haul their bodies off, sometimes they hurt some of us first. They killed a guy called Jared a couple of weeks back. It was awful, frankly. Turns out regular humans still bleed in here, even if the staff don't. We tried our best, but none of us are doctors.

Jared was a good guy. He deserved better. We all do.

It occurred to me a couple of days after that, none of us were really looking for a way out of here. I don't even know where we'd start.

One of those quad copter things with a camera attached buzzed passed Exchange today. I thought it meant that someone was finally looking for us, that help was on the way. Apparently it's not the first time this has happened, though. Same thing happened a few months ago, and everyone is still here.

No idea if it saw us, it didn't stop if it did. Just kept flying until we could no longer see it.

Note: Based on recovery time of the journal, this entry appears to line up approximately with our first successful test piloting a drone inside SCP-3008-1. Analysis of footage shows a walled settlement under a sign labelled "Exchange and Returns". Attempts to relocate the settlement failed. Origin of previously sighted drones is unknown.

I started talking to people about the stuff they miss from home during dinner today. Probably not the best idea I've ever had, everyone seemed pretty down after. A bunch of people here have families. Husbands and wives, kids. Dogs. Franklin apparently has a pet llama, though I'm not sure I buy that.

But apparently some of the people here have some seriously odd gaps in their knowledge. 3 of them had never heard of the International Space Station, 2 of them seemed to think █████ ███████ was the Prime Minister, and one of them had apparently never heard of the Statue of Liberty. I believe them, too. They seemed just as confused as the rest of us.

The more I thought about it though, the more it started to explain a few things. What if the reason no one is looking for all us missing people is because we haven't all come from the same place. This is going to sound weird (maybe that should be the motto for this place) but what if all the people here have come from different dimensions? Realities? Whatever you call it. I've seen enough TV shows to know the drill. Sarah comes from a place where there is no Statue of Liberty. They didn't launch a space station where Wasim is from. If everyone here came from different places, even from ones that seem identical, there'd be no huge missing persons panic. No mass search. We'd just be a blip, a single missing person in a world of non-stop news.

Well. That was a fun train of thought.

Just realised that yesterday was the six month anniversary of my arrival here. I wonder if Ikea sells party hats. The routine around here has remained more or less the same. More new folk show up, one every couple of weeks or so. Food supplies go up and down, but we've never actually had a major shortage. Occasionally we get a visitor from one of the nearby towns, usually Checkouts or Aisle 630. We check in with each other from time to time, occasionally trade supplies if someone gets particularly low on something. It's comforting, in a way. A reminder that we aren't alone in here, some small glimmer of civilisation. Sometimes they bring medical supplies. Apparently there's a pharmacy a few towns down from Checkouts that gets restocked every now and then, so they share out what they can. I've never heard of an Ikea with a pharmacy before but at this point I wouldn't be surprised if someone stumbled on an Ikea Organ Harvesting Lab. Would certainly explain the staff.

Speaking of our faceless jailers, their attacks have been getting worse lately. 3 or 4 times a week now, with twice as many staff as there used to be. No idea where they all come from, or why the attacks have increased. We tried following one of them during the day a few weeks ago, me and Sarah. Wanted to see if they lead back to a staff room or something. Didn't seem to go anywhere though, just randomly walked through the aisles. We had to turn back before we found anything.

We've been reinforcing the walls, trying to arm ourselves better. Certainly no lack of materials to use. Wasim has been making more crossbows, but it's pretty slow going.

Too bad Ikea doesn't sell guns.

Note: No new personnel have entered SCP-3008 at Site-██ in the time span indicated in this entry.

The attacks are getting bad now. Almost every night, and with so many staff that the bodies almost pile high enough for others to climb the walls. I think we're in real trouble here.

Exchange is

I think Exchange is done. We got hit pretty bad last night. Not many casualties, but the wall is wrecked. We finally figured out why the attacks had been escalating, too. A box of supplies had a chunk of one of the staff in there. No idea how it happened but apparently a piece of one will draw them as well as a full body. Too late now in any case, there's too many bodies for us to haul away and still have time to fix the wall before night. Candace has called a meeting. I suspect there will be talk of abandoning Exchange, maybe try and get shelter at Checkouts or something.

It's already getting late though. I don't think we'll have time to make it. Maybe some of us will. I was fine for that first week out in the dark, after all. But then, how often can I keep getting lucky.

I'm only writing this for a sense of closure, I guess. For me, or for anyone who finds this. If this is the final entry here, I hope whoever is reading this is doing so from outside of this place.

My biggest fear? If I do die tonight, I'll just wake up here again in the morning.

Note: This is the last entry. It is assumed that while attempting to reach the "Checkouts" settlement he was separated from the rest of his group by a pursuing SCP-3008-2 instance and happened upon the exit.

We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you We've known each other for so long Your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it Inside we both know what's been going on We know the game and we're gonna play it And if you ask me how I'm feeling Don't tell me you're too blind to see

Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give, never gonna give (Give you up) We've known each other for so long Your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it Inside we both know what's been going on We know the game and we're gonna play it I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye

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lousimusician · 5 years

Text

Sex Pollen Part 1

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Summary: You and Peter decide to break into your dad's lab when Peter comes across an interesting plant.

A/N: This is me aggressively ignoring the events of endgame by writing something with Peter. Also I think that movie fixed my writers block because I've been writing nonstop this whole week.

Warning: Language, smuttyish(kinda)

[Peter and the Reader are both 18]

------------------------------------

Peter quietly observed you while you were hunched over your desk in the corner of your room, playing around with a piece of technology you stole from your dad.

Peter was currently on the ceiling, looking down at you. He was incredibly bored and as much as he loved to just admire you while you concentrated, he couldn't stand the silence that came with it.

He watched as you quietly got frustrated and leaned back in your chair, head back and eyes closed. Peter took this as his que and slowly lowered himself, upside down from the ceiling by a web. He stopped once his face was leveled to yours. He watched as you took in calming breaths, and the little furrow in your eyebrows form, telling him that you were thinking.

To say he was completely and utterly crazy for you was an understatement. Peter was head over heels for you and was pretty sure he'd die for you if it came down to it.

He felt his cheeks redden as he realized he may have been gazing for a little too long and realizing how creepy that was, decided to break the silence by saying, "I'm bored."

Your eyes shot open as you sat up quickly, banging your head against Peter's. "Oww." You whined. You pushed your chair back, putting some distance between the two of you so you could see him better. "Peter! Don't scare me like that."

Peter smiled sheepishly, rubbing the spot on his forehead that you bumped. "Sorry but, I'm bored." He said again.

You shook your head, fighting the smile that tugged on your lips. "Then go do something."

"Like what?"

"I dunno, be Spider-Man. I'm sure there's someone that needs to be saved." You said, maneuvering around him, to pick up the tech you were playing with. "How do you do that?" You said, referencing his position, "Doesn't all the blood rush to your head?"

"No." He said simply. "I don't wanna go out. I want to hang out with you."

"Aren't you literally doing that right now though." You smirked. As you admired the wiring you were staring at.

"Ha ha ha." He said sarcastically. "I mean, I want to do something fun."

You looked into his puppy dog eyes and immediately found yourself giving in. "Fine," you sighed. "How 'bout a movie?"

"I dunno, we always watch movies."

"Okay then do you wanna go out or something?"

"No." He said shaking his head. "Whenever we go out together you get too much attention."

You paused. "...Well, my dad has been working on a new suit for you, if you wanna check it out."

"Wait really!?" Peter suddenly exclaimed, jumping up, which caused him to fall down on the ground, making you laugh loudly. "Shut up." He grumbled.

"Anyway, how does sneaking into Tony Stark's lab sound?"

"It sounds great, let's go!" He said, excitedly jumping up and grabbing your wrist, pulling you with him.

~~~~~~

While the two of you were scheming on how to break in. Bruce Banner had currently been the only occupant of the lab.

He stood with a gas mask on his face as he studied a plant in front of him.

A week ago, the Avengers had gone on a mission after a few aliens landed on earth and claimed they wanted to "Take over the planet". It had been pathetic really, the aliens were wiped out in half an hour.

But while on this mission, after Hulk had finished "smashing" the last of the aliens, he had reverted back to himself. Finding that Hulk had taken him onto one of the alien ships.

Bruce looked around at the strange tech, while he stood up, already heading for the exit. That was until something had caught his eye and started to draw him in like a moth to a flame.

It had been a plant.

It stood tall, about seven feet in height. It was absolutley beautiful. It had pink flowers that mimicked the shape of a heart and it was quite literally glowing.

Bruce touched the plant, his fingers coming back covered in a pink dust, which he naturally assumed was the flowers pollen. He leaned in, realizing it smelled familiar.

But the strangest thing happened after.

His heart started to practically beat out of his chest and before he knew it Hulk had come back.

Once he had calmed down and turned back into himself an idea struck him. He quickly plucked a flower off the plant and stuck it in a box that he found in the corner of the ship.

Not a single Avenger questioned why he now carried a box with him on the ride home.

And now a week later, Bruce stood in front of the plant which had grown two feet after it had been replanted, running tests on what exactly it could be.

"Ah Banner." Thor's booming voice sounded, as he stepped into the lab. "I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to-" Thor stopped, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he looked at the plant that sat in front of Bruce. "Why do you have that plant?" He asked genuinely curious.

Bruce looked up at Thor, surprise written all over his face. "Wait, you know what this is?" He said, voice muffled by the mask. He stepped around the table to approach Thor.

"Of course." Thor said, mildly offended. "Where did you get this?"

"Found it after the mission last Friday. It made me turn into Hulk, so I figured it could be useful if Hulk ever chickens out on me again." Bruce quickly explained. "What kind of plant is it?"

"It's called a Sex Pollen Plant." Thor said, stepping around Bruce to approach the plant. "It belongs to that specific race of aliens we fought. The plant helps the aliens to breed since they find it very difficult on their own."

Bruce scrunched his face in shock. "What does it do?"

"The pollen arouses the alien that breathes in the pollen- that may be why you turned into the Hulk, it raised your heart rate. I'm immune to it of course."

"Wait- I brought a sex plant into the compound." Bruce asked in shock, utterly horrified of his own judgement on the situation.

"Yes and I suggest you get rid of it. I have heard the affects of the pollen on a human could be very severe."

"H-how do I get rid of it?"

"Hm, I suppose I'll do it then. How have you been able to contain it?"

"I had this box I took from the alien ship, but it's too big now, so I've been putting it in one of the quarantine rooms just in case."

"Alright, come with me. I may have something that can help dispose of it safely."

"Okay, let me just lock up the lab." Bruce said.

The two of them stepped out of the room and Bruce pulled off his gas mask once the lab was locked.

Thor and Bruce headed towards the elevator, walking through the living room where the two spotted you and Peter sprawled out on the couches. They shot you two a greeting before leaving.

Peter's head snapped towards you. "I can't believe sending in Thor actually worked. Do you think either of them know what we're planning?"

You smiled, shaking your head. "No, I was too vague when I told Thor to get him out of the lab, and I love the guy but he isn't exactly the smartest person I've met. Now let's go, I don't know how long we've got." You said, trailing ahead of him.

You easily unlocked the lab, Peter following behind you.

As usual the lab was filled with tables with piles upon piles of weird tech, ranging from projects your dad or Bruce had been working on to discarded scraps that should've been tossed or moved out.

You immediately got distracted from the task at hand when you spotted one of your father's latest projects, "Alright, go find your suit." You muttered, walking towards the table.

Peter looked around the lab, trying to find some sign of the new suit he'd hopefully be getting soon. But to be honest, it was a bit of a wreck. With two scientsist's working there, the lab got a bit messy. So instead of Peter being able to locate the suit, which actually was placed nicely in the back of the room, his eye was drawn towards something else.

And it was beautiful, and definitely something he's never seen before.

Off to the side was a plant that had stood at two feet. Pink and glowing. And it was as if he couldn't control his movements while he walked towards the plant.

Now standing in front of it, his finger traced the petals of the glowing flowers, making his index finger come back with a pink dust on it, which he could only assume was its pollen.

He leaned in, breathing in it's scent.

He expected a normal flowery smell but, instead it smelled like you.

He pulled away for a second, and narrowed his eyes at the plant in confusion. But only for a few seconds, before being compelled to smell it once again.

Peter's eyes fell closed as he let the scent dance around him. There was no other way to describe it other than it being completely you.

Sweet and calming. It smelled like lavender and jasmine, with a hint of peaches, your perfume, your body wash, your shampoo, and that very specific scent that belonged to you and only you.

Peter was completely lost in it, breathing in deeply, treating it as if it was a drug he could never get enough of. The different layers of your scent completely engulfing him, making him feel warm and content.

His chest blossomed with warmth that spread down all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes and to the very crown of his head, that made his whole body feel like it was buzzing.

But he snapped out of the trance he was in when he felt a rush of blood travelling south. He tensed up, quickly turning around to see if you were still distracted.

He turned back around and backed away from the plant. And that was when he had noticed his spider senses had been going haywire. The hair on his arms standing up straight as goose bumps rose.

And whatever the plant had did to him was getting worse.

He felt warm, too warm. Like he'd start to melt soon.

He leaned on the table behind him, panting. A flood of arousal coursing through him.

From the end of the lab you heard Peter's panting breaths, causing you to look up and see his hunched over form leaning on the table behind him, sliding onto the ground.

"Peter?" You asked in concern. "You okay?"

He groaned at the sound of your voice, his eyes shut tight, trying to gain control of himself. But it wasn't working, inappropriate thoughts flooded his mind immediately wandering to what you would sound like letting out high pitched whines and moans of his name with that same voice, while he bent you over one of the tables and pounded into you hard.

He moaned at the thought, your eyes widening in shock at the sound not quite sure if he was in pain.... or if it was something else.

You stared at what was in front of him on the table, and knew whatever it was was the cause of Peter's state right now.

You quickly ran over, crouching down next to him.

You gasped, "Oh my God." His face was bright red as a thin layer of sweat collected on his skin. He was out of breath, eyes screwed tightly shut. But what caused your own face to turn red was the very prominent buldge in his pants. You cleared your throat. "Peter can you hear me?"

He slowly opened his eyes but immediately wished he hadn't, his pupils blown wide at the sight of you. Eyes trailing over every bit of exposed skin on your body, just picturing what it would feel like pressed against his own.

"(Y-Y/N)." He stuttered out a whine. "I-I-...S-something's...happening."

"Oh, shit." You cursed.

Peter wanted nothing more in that moment to pull you down into a kiss and pin you to the floor, grinding his hips into yours, but he still had enough mind to know how wrong that would be.

"Okay, alright, okay. This is what I'm gonna do." You said frantically. "I need to find Bruce-"

"No... d-don't go.." He didn't know why but he knew that if you left, it would only get worse. That even just your presence made him feel a little better and that he might just go insane if you left him. "Please... s-stay.."

It was too overwhelming, instead of his senses being dialled to 11 it felt like they were at a fucking 20 now. Hyperaware of you and only you, every movement, every breath, the beating of your heart, everything.

"What? B-but Pete-"

A gasp cut you off. Your head snapped towards the doorway, where Thor and Bruce stood.

"Thor, the kids got in." Bruce said in terror.

"B-Bruce!" You yelled in relief. "I- I don't know what's wrong with him- he just sorta collapsed, and he's acting really strange."

"Oh no, oh no, oh no, this isn't good." Bruce said rushing over to Peter. "Thor how do we fix this."

Thor looked down at him in pity, standing next to Bruce who was crouching on the opposite side of where you were. "The only known cure for someone who has been contaminated by a sex pollen plant is, well..sex."

Your head snapped towards Thor. "W-What?" You shrieked. "Is that what that thing is?" You started yelling angrily.

"Yes, and it must be with whoever's scent he smelled on the plant."

"Oh for fuck's sake, who brought a sex plant into the tower!"

"F-fuck, (Y/N)." Peter moaned loudly, eyes training on your figure. Getting more aroused at just how fucking hot you looked when you were mad.

"Ah," Thor said, coming to a conclusion. "And it would seem that it would be you Lady (Y/N)."

You cleared your throat, opting to ignore Thor's last comment. "Okay what are we gonna do?"

Thor looked at you in surprise, "Lady (Y/N) do you not know what sex entail-"

"Shut up Thor. I know how it works- but there's gotta be another way to help him." You gulped, looking down at him.

Bruce sighed, "I think- I think I'm gonna have to tell your dad. I'm pretty sure this isn't something I can fix in an hour by myself."

You huffed. "Fine, but we can't leave him here. Let's take him to his room."

You reached out and grabbed his arm, but at the loud moan he made due to the skin to skin contact you let go.

"I probably should have mentioned." Thor started. "That you shouldn't touch him."

"W-what? Why?"

"(Y/N) Please." Peter whined, trying to grab your wrist but you quickly pulled it out of reach.

You looked up at Thor. "It'll make him," Thor paused searching for the right word. "Eager? And you don't want that if you plan on looking for another cure- see he's trying to touch you now."

Thor was right, just that small bit of skin to skin contact seemed to have sent Peter into a frenzy. Your head snapped down at him, as you realized he was just about to put his hand up your skirt. You quickly grabbed his hand, holding it in a tight grip so he'd stop getting handsy. Your other hand quickly grabbing his free one too as it came nearer.

"Fine, then Thor take him to his room."

"N-no." Peter stuttered. "Please, I-I need you." He said as Thor picked him up, making you let go of the hold on his hands. "No! Let go!" He yelled at Thor. "(Y/N)!"

Thor headed for the door while Peter began struggling violently in his hold.

Bruce shook his head. "Tony is not gonna like this."

You scoffed. "Y' think?"

------------------------------------

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wisewidow · 4 years

Text

The One With The Unfortunate Bottle Smashing Incident

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Reader

Summary: I wake up to find my girlfriend's side of the bed empty and a runaway Avenger in my living room. I improvise.

Prequel

A cool breeze drafts in through the open window. I stir in my sleep, the cotton sheet covering my body shifting, and mumble a good morning to the blonde sleeping next to me.

No response.

A frown tugs at my features. "Yelena?" I whisper, turning over. Her side of the bed is empty. I run my hand over the mattress and find it's cold.

This shouldn't alarm me, since it's normal for her to expertly sneak out of bed before me at an ungodly hour. "So you can get your sleep," she'd explain in her accented voice. I work long night shifts, sometimes covering for Sergei, the friendly bartender who sleeps with his customers more often than he serves them.

But then I hear the footsteps. They're not loud. They're not rowdy. But Yelena had taught me to listen for people who don't want to be heard. Something isn't right.

"I know you're out there," Yelena's voice calls out. I know she isn't talking to me — I've learned the different tones she takes when talking to people. The clipped tone used for strangers. The tentative murmur reserved for me and the occasional stray cat she spots when she used to insist on accompanying me to take out the trash, back when we first moved into this unfamiliar city. And the tone she's using now is the one she was trained to use in the horror show she grew up in, directed at a hostile.

I slip out of bed and silently open the bedside table's top drawer, where Yelena had hidden a handgun for me to use in emergencies. I find that it's gone, and feel unease bleed into my gut.

"I know you know I'm out here," an unfamiliar voice calls back. "So, we gonna talk like grown-ups?"

I pad lightly over to the door and slip into the hall, pressing my back against the wall outside the kitchen.

"Is that what we are?" Yelena asks dryly.

I hear them move into the living room. There's a deadly pause, and then a sudden flurry of movement. I listen for sounds of grunts of pain, but find none. It's quiet, and, for a moment, I wonder if one of the two women had taken the other out. I hold my breath.

Then more fighting. Huffs, yells and crashes sound out, and I see a body flying into the wall. It's Yelena.

Outrage burns through me and in a sudden movement I've grabbed a bottle of vodka from our stash and am quickly rushing into the living room. Yelena is regaining her bearings quickly, and stood over her is a tall woman with blood red hair tied in a single Dutch braid. The woman senses my arrival, but I'm quick on my feet, and she's only partly turned around before I smash the bottle against her head and she stumbles.

Yelena shoots to her feet. The redhead straightens in time for my girlfriend to kick the gun out of her hands. It lands by my feet, and I pick it up, finding the grip comfortable in my hands after many self-defence lessons. I aim it at the stranger and pull the trigger.

Yelena yells, starting forward as if to rush to the woman's aid, except there's no bang. There's no blood. The woman stands upright.

I realise the gun the woman had been using's safety was on. I blink in surprise. Was she that stupid?

Something in her eyes tells me otherwise. No, not stupid. She just hadn't come with intentions to kill.

"It's good to see you too, sis," she smirks at Yelena, then winces as her fingers go to her hair. She turns to me, observing curiously.

Yelena walks to me and gently lowers the gun in my hands. She nods at me reassuringly when I resist, still at edge, still confused, but I begrudgingly let my arm fall limp at my side.

Broken glass crunches under her boots as she grabs the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table and starts pouring a generous amount into her glass from last night. "So," she arches a brow to the redhead. "What brings you home?"

The two of them talk. I listen. The woman introduces herself to me politely as Natasha Romanoff, and I wonder why I hadn't recognised her sooner, since her face had been plastered all over the news as one of the Avengers gone on the run. Yelena refers to her as Natalia at some point, and I realise I remember that name from some of the late nights where we would lie in bed, bodies entangled in a mess of limbs. I'd braid little strands of her hair while she'd tell me little bits about her past, the Red Room.

Instantly I know both women would feel more comfortable without me there. I catch Yelena's eye and motion with my head to the kitchen, and she nods. Natasha's green eyes follow me until I open the fridge and pull out a bowl of leftover pepper cream sauce from dinner last night. I put it in the microwave, throw some butter and gnocci into the pan, and set to work making breakfast (lunch? I hadn't checked the time, but I figured by the sun's position in the sky that it's noon).

By the time I'm nearly done, I hear Yelena calling me. I turn around with a small questioning hum and see that Natasha is approaching me. Yelena stalks behind her, looking sulky, but, as always, protective enough that she won't leave my side in the presence of an assassin, shared trauma or no.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, (Y/N). I'm sorry I can't stay for food, but I hope to see you again."

"You won't," Yelena states bluntly.

I ignore this and smile, shaking her hand. "Stay safe. And, uh, sorry for . . ." I gesture to her head.

She waves me off. Yelena leads her out the door and, once she's gone, collapses into her seat at the dining table so hard that the poor old chair squeaks against the tiled floor. I put the third plate of food into the fridge for another time, or, perhaps, another surprise visit from an ex-assassin, and carry over some gnocci to where she's sitting.

She grunts a thank you. I stand behind her and loosen her ponytail until her blonde hair falls around her shoulders in waves, and then begin to braid it into a crown. It's lopsided and messy, thicker in places and thinner in others, and I know she could have done much better, but still my intentions work. She straightens in her chair when I've finished and starts to eat, put at ease. Though I'm sure it won't last. Her past had come knocking on her doorstep, the past that she had rather remained buried.

I sit in the seat closest to her, as she's at the head of the table, and subtly slide her whiskey out of view. She sees this and huffs through her nose, not pleased, but too drained to complain.

I pick at my food as well, more calmly than her aggresive fork spearing and angry chewing. I want to wait until she's ready to talk, but she's worrying me now. She's reverting back into the woman she was when I first met her, just a customer at the bar I work at, drinking to forget. I'd drawn her out of her shell over the years since then. It's killing me to see her like this.

"Yelena," I begin calmly. "What did Natasha want?"

"A reunion," grunts Yelena unhappily. "A big, happy, fucking family reunion."

I shift nervously. "Melina and Alexei—"

She pushes her plate away. Most of the gnocci have been stabbed at, but very few eaten. My plate was half empty. This is our normal, I guess. She vents by destruction. I vent by eating everything in sight. "I can't— shit, (Y/N)."

She's slipped into Russian. She'd taught me that, as well as how to protect myself, so I follow her lead and answer in the same language. "Sweetheart, you don't have to do anything. We have passports, few belongings, and my job is shit anyway. We'll relocate. Start over."

"And Sergei?"

I frown, surprised. "What about him?"

"Sergei. Anika. Lizzie. Mr. and Mrs. Pavlov and that old crone you bake cookies for every weekend."

She's listing my co-workers and our neighbours. I'm not following her point.

She sees my confusion and sighs. Smiling sadly, she takes both my hands in hers and switches back to English. "You have a life here, моя любовь." My love. "I do not."

"If you're suggesting I leave and you don't, the answer is a very stern fucking no."

She shakes her head. "I know you would never agree to that, and to be honest, I feel a little too selfish to let you go. But as Natalia said, we have unfinished business, and I need to stop running from it. I need to stop hiding. So you're going to book a flight to Amsterdam."

I open my mouth to protest, but she squeezes my hands reassuringly and continues in a stronger voice. "Just for a couple of weeks. A month, tops. And I swear on my life I will come back for you, when it's safe again, and we can finally get around to actually decorating this shithole." She gestures to the barren apartment around us.

I worry my lower lip. I don't want to part ways with her, but I know I'll run out of bottles to smash over people's heads eventually. Yelena needs to fight her own battles. I need to accept that. "Okay," I say quietly. "As long as you come back to me, okay?"

She brings my hand to her lips and kisses my knuckles. "I always will."

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova fluff #yelenat x reader #marvel wlw

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rosaetae · 4 years

Text

stay warm this winter— two

☇ “And do me a favor. Stay warm this winter. xx.”

part one / part two / part three

➣ pairing: reader x hoseok

➣ genre: exes2enemies2lovers!au, angst, CEO!hoseok

➣ word count: 11.7k words

➣ summary: when a young ceo arrives in the area one winter day, everyone is falling in love with him and his charm. and quite ironically for you, you’ve already fell down that hole before.

"She remembers everything except the last couple of years ago, but she woke up aware. It happens sporadically sometimes to patients."

It was supposed to be a regular, proper morning of your day off of work in the week. Except that morning included a phone call from Rebecca.

"___?"

"Hi," you breathe out, resting your fingers on your forehead, trying to think of ways to make an excuse to hang up. "I'm so sorry, Rebecca, but I have to get to work right now—"

"Your mother's lucid," Rebecca states, getting right to the point. She knows the excuses, knows the tactics that you always try to get yourself out of when they call you. "She remembers you, ___."

And you've never thought you've experienced a moment where you've frozen entirely in place— to the point where the phone leaves your fingertips so easily.

You purse your lips together. "Does she know she has Alzheimer's?"

"Yes, but she doesn't know she doesn't have much time," Rebecca informs as you look through the tiny window of the wooden door, observing your mother pacing back and forth in front of her bed. "She was asking for you." Giving Rebecca a prepared glance, she gives you a knowing nod, departing the other way as you turn the knob to walk into your mother's room.

"___," she begins, finally gasping as if she just discovered air. "There you are! I'm trying to remember everything that happened, but I can't— you... you got accepted to Trinity University and you decided to place a deposit for a house in Trinity. We were going to move and I— I can't seem to remember anything after that—"

"Mom," you interrupt her, setting her down by a gentle push of the shoulders to sit on her bed. "I need you to calm down, okay? We did move to Trinity, and I graduated—"

"You did?" She gasps, her eyes lighting up. However, her face immediately falls when she realizes that she can't remember it.

Nodding, you inhale sharply. "Yes, and we moved back here because of your treatment..."

Maybe it was the pause in which you didn't want to finish her sentence that was already breaking to you when you were told that, but your mother's face falls even more, creating the direct effect of your heart dropping. You watch her direct her eye contact away from you, staring immediately down at her hands that stay limp in her lap before she takes a minute to give you one more look.

"I'm dying," she finishes for you.

You've cried once, and you weren't going to let yourself cry again.

"Okay," she exhales. Your mother takes you off guard when she grabs your hands, a hopeful glint in her eyes as she tries to disregard the fact that she's not getting any better. "Okay. Let's do something, then? The both of us. We can catch up and everything—"

"I have work... right now," you hurriedly state. You're scared shitless when she said she wanted to get to know you, when she just wanted to know what she missed. "But we can do... something later tonight?"

"Dinner?" She suggests. There's such a hopeful look in her eyes that you couldn't keep making excuses to. As much as you do try to avoid her, there was no way you could avoid her now, now that she's aware. "You can invite Hoseok, too!"

She's smiling— a smile that you haven't seen in so long. It was a smile that you couldn't say no to or even avoid so when she awaits for your answer, you give her an agreeing nod.

"Okay. I'll ask him."

You weren't in your usual business formal clothing that consisted of mainly slacks and trousers, instead you were in the most laziest form of clothes you could throw on to waste no time to visit your now apparent lucid mother. In truth, you stood out when you walk into The Novahaven surrounded by others who wore solid colors of business formal clothes.

In that time you get into the elevator, you tell yourself to just rip the bandage off— and that you won't take no for an answer. Over and over again, you practice it as if a mantra, the elevator stopping on the many floors in between the floor where Hoseok's office remains.

When it finally became the floor you were impatiently waiting for, you rush out of the elevator and making a turn, only to find him coming out of one of the board rooms. He had his head down, flipping through pages as he walks, people who saw they were in his way, making clear of the area he'd walk through.

You rushing after him as you call out his name numerous times, dodging desks and other people who you didn't have time to apologize to unfortunately as you try to keep up with him.

"___?" Hoseok inquires, recognizing your voice. His head remains down, staring at his folders as you trail behind him towards his office. "The sky must be falling to have you come here unannounced."

Maybe not the sky, but your sky was falling.

"I know you want nothing to do with me— you kind of made that clear the last time we met— but I need you to do me a favor," you immediately decree, stepping foot into his office just after him, sucking in a breath for impact.

"I need you to have dinner with me and my mother."

Hoseok turns around to blankly stare at you. If you were him, you'd look at yourself incredulously, completely thinking that the sole idea would be absurd, following with protests, but with him, he simply shakes his head.

"No."

"Okay," you blink, slightly surprised by his easy manner. "Notice how that wasn't a question."

"___," he says, scoffing. "Your mother?"

It's ridiculous, you're aware, but you were sticking your foot in the ground on this one.

"Long story I don't have time to explain, but I just need you to pretend that you've been with me and you're still with me. For one night. Can you do that?"

He drops his paperwork on the desk, sloppily, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looks back at you, taking a step closer. "___."

"Please."

Hoseok then stands there, trying to analyze you. You know this because he makes that attentive look with his eyes. It's not stern, nor is it empathetic, but he stares at you, trying to find an answer that you can't fully tell him yourself. Usually, he figures you out, yet, however, this was an answer you weren't letting him figure out regardless.

And it's in that instance that he gives up in trying to find an answer and elicits a long sigh, before he agrees. "Alright."

Admittedly, you weren't expecting that, but you sure as hell wanted that and, truly, getting what you want from him was oddly satisfying. You're grinning like a cheshire cat, one of which he's raising an eyebrow at you, the smallest smirk at your immediate delight on his lips. You want to thank him a million times, but as you realize the current relationship you have with him as of now, you settle with a knowing nod. "Great," you purse your lips, quickly turning around to open his office door. "Tonight."

"Wha—"

But you're too busy running away, out of his office, down the elevator and pressing the down arrow as quickly as possible and running to the parking lot where your is parked.

You don't realize it until you've sat in your car, hands on the wheel and eyes gazing somewhere that you did all of that in one breath. Maybe it's your mother being lucid that you became delusional, but one second you're there and another, you're here, sitting inside your car with your mind running circles.

"Stupid," you utter to yourself, breathlessly. "Stupid." The realization causes you to bang on your wheel a few times before you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to bring oxygen into your brain for a moment.

It takes awhile, but once you compose yourself entirely once again, you buckle your seatbelt and start your engine, driving mindlessly to Ardor Interiors knowing very well that you have the day off.

Once you walk inside, standing out from your coworkers who are wearing business formal clothes, your eyes instantly land on Nadine who greets you with a wave.

"What are you doing here? You have the day off."

Nadine hovers a hand over her mouth, swallowing down a salad as she tries to discreetly hide it. Before she does, you trudge around the front desk and pull up a chair next to her, grabbing the salad from her grasp and smashing the plastic fork onto the greens. You take in a mouthful of it, stressed.

"I'm stressed," you tell her with a mouth full of arugula. "I can't be at home when I'm stressed and overwhelmed and I—"

"Okay," Nadine raises her hands up as she leans in closer. "I'm going to need you to repeat that without my salad in your mouth."

The minute you swallow, your face makes a look that could almost resemble constipation, but the slight horrifying thought of that blows past your mind when you inhale deeply, beginning to state things clearer for your seemingly worried friend.

"I feel like I am drowning," you decree. "I have reached my tipping point and my body hasn't exactly processed it so I'm basically in this... limbo between being sane and losing my shit entirely and I just know, for a fact, that once I step foot in my house, I will break, so I- I just need to..."

Before you could finish your sentence that you were saying in one big breath, you set the salad down before you turn around abruptly.

"Where are the boxes for the decorations?"

Nadine, furrowing her eyebrows at the sudden question, points at the closet behind you both. The direction causes you to stand up and scurry over to unlock the door with one of the keys on your lanyard.

It was a closet the size of a pantry, but you spot exactly what you were looking for, ignoring Nadine's concern for what you were doing as you carry those large boxes to the lobby next to the couches.

"___," Nadine calls for your name as you make another trip to the closet, taking out a step ladder to reach the lights hung on the wall. "What are you doing? You have the day off."

"Removing the Christmas decorations," you finally answer, hoping she'd stay quiet and not further question your motives. "I'm not on the hour, nor am I going home— I might as well at least be useful."

"But you don't really remove them until February is over. It's still January—"

"Well, they'll be removed now," you cut her off taking the ladder and the staple remover in your hand.

Gold and silver tinsel were decorated as by Yana's choice to match the lobby's minimalistic, yet festive design for the season. Icicle lights were hung up as well, bringing a nice winter touch with the warm white color. There sat a decorated Christmas tree next to the couches, ornaments matching the tinsel.

Starting with that, you decide to bare the Christmas tree by ridding of the ornaments, tossing them gently into one of the box, ignoring Nadine's look of incredulousness as you indulge yourself into removing the decorations as fast and efficient as possible.

You do these things to clear your mind. You busy yourself to the point where your hands can't take it because you know your mind can't take the reality of what you're experiencing. Back before in Trinity when your mother was in the hospital, you made yourself busy by taking up two part time jobs and taking max units in college.

Nevertheless, it keeps your emotions and priorities in tact.

"You know Paul usually does the tree?" Nadine calls out.

"Change of plans," you call back dismissively as you grab a few ornaments from the behind.

Once the tree was seemingly bare and not a single gold or silver ornament lay evident, you smile in success before you peer up at the tinsels hung.

You maneuver the stool you used for the top of the tree to reach the tinsel, carefully standing on the third step as you stretch upwards.

With knit eyebrows and focused, steady hands, you tug at the silver tinsel first, letting it fall along as if it's a domino effect with each tug you made. In just that time, you hear footsteps approach you, but you keep your eyes trained on the trickling tinsel, catching and collecting it as you go. "I don't need help, Nadine—"

"Do you need a hand?"

The voice did not strike you as Nadine, and in fact, when you look down at the person who asks that, you're stumbling on the step ladder causing him to immediately grab you on instinct.

His grasp on you is warm, but when you pull yourself back out of his grip, it easily becomes fire, burning your skin.

"Hoseok?" You stumble. "What are you doing here?" He gives you a look the moment you hastily grab yourself back, but it fades when he rolls his shoulders back.

"Well," he begins. "You left rather abruptly and you didn't bother to tell me the details, such as...where we're having dinner and an exact time or what to wear. A person would like to know these things."

"You could've texted," you tell him, raising an eyebrow at his surprise, and unnecessary, appearance.

He lets out a light scoff, shaking his head. "If I'm going to be your pretend boyfriend for the night, I would like it if my pretend girlfriend didn't run out on me."

"Right," you mumble to yourself. You don't know it, but you're avoiding all eye contact with him, looking at the boxes and flickering your eyes to and fro the tinsels hung on the walls. "I'm kind of busy right now—"

"Here. Let me do that."

"No, I'm—" Your protests gets lost in the air too quickly when you notice that he's taking off his coat, blazer coming along with it. It makes you realize that you've never really seen him with the blazer off and truly, you'll admit that the shirt fit him nicely. He's seemingly more built than the last time you remember by his shoulders and his torso.

If that didn't distract you from your processing words, it's the giggles that you could hear a mile away. Peering over beside him as he places his coat and blazer on the couch armrest, you don't miss the group of coworkers standing next to Nadine's front desk that she probably called the minute he showed up.

They were eye-goggling him as if he is the chocolate cake with the sweetest type of frosting while whispering like school girls as if you didn't pay notice to them— it makes your stomach churn in ways that is foreign.

Your eyes avert to Hoseok who is now in the midst of rolling up his sleeves, slowly exposing skin only for you to reach out to stop him from going any further.

"It's ok!" You immediately protest. "I'll do it." You give him one more assuring smile to him, before you take a short glimpse at your fellow coworkers who had their eyebrows raised, fingers pointed in your direction, and eyes eyeing you and Hoseok conversing. Your eyes bulge, subtly mouthing them to leave.

It wasn't so subtle when Hoseok notices this and turns around in curiosity, noticing your coworkers doing what you saw before they panic and flee in different directions.

He turns back to you with a smirk. "Not the sleeves?" He questions amidst rolling his sleeves back down as you offer him a sheepish smile. He gives you an amused look as he reaches for his tie.

"Don't loosen the tie either."

An entertained scoff elicits out of his mouth as he stops what seemingly made you panic. "Right," he laughs before making a step on the stool gracefully. "I'll remove the tinsel and you collect them."

"No 'please'?"

"My offer is as nice as I'll get, ___. Don't push." You roll your eyes at him as he chuckles to himself. You continue to watch him remove the tinsel hung on the wall, noticing how him reaching up to the wall has made his shirt tighter around his bicep, and how the shirt had a nice fit on his torso— but you divert your attention away from it once you've realized you were staring.

You focus on gathering the tinsel that he continues to drop.

"So, what am I supposed to do as your pretend boyfriend of the night?" He ponders aloud, snapping you out of your own bubble.

"Dress nice." This earns an arch of his eyebrow at you before he gives you a pointed glance. "I don't know! My mom is kind of... it's not hard to please her," you settle with. "She wants dinner with both of us, so I'm thinking dinner at my apartment and uhm— I can order some take-out?"

"Are you joking?" He asks in an almost offended way. You look at him, his arms again outstretched to detach the tinsel you were collecting.

"What?"

"Take-out?" He repeats, and somehow it makes you sound like you're a dumbass.

"She doesn't want to go out," you tell him when really, you don't want her to go out. "And you know my specialty is baking. I can't cook anything except grilled cheese."

"I'll cook," he volunteers, nonchalantly. "No worries."

You blink up at him. "Huh?"

"I said I'll cook," he repeats himself. You heard him, but you weren't going to let him do that— put effort into something he may deemed redundant. "After this, I'll stop by the market, I'll come by early, and I can make some pasta and garlic bread. Nothing too special."

"No, Hoseok, I couldn't—"

"___," he says your name as he steps down from the stool. And for some reason, your eyes don't leave his with every move he makes and there's this settling, sure look on his face that you forget that he was ever cold and degrading to you. "It's alright. It's for your mom."

Right, it's for your mom.

The doorbell rings just an hour after you got home, and you had this fancy blouse on that you took off and put on a billion of times because you weren't only having dinner with your mother who is now lucid, you are having dinner with your ex-boyfriend— who just so happens to be at the door when you are half naked with only a pair of black jeans on you.

You throw a sweater over your head as you make way down the hall to your apartment door where the only visitors you only ever get is Yana and her boyfriend to make you food. However this time, you open the door to find Hoseok in a nice fit blazer, holding up groceries with his two hands. He shoots you a small smile. "Let's make dinner?"

He is in the kitchen, you settle with a white blouse, one you found hidden in the very back of your closet, but it was flattering and you weren't about to have another on and off fight with it when Hoseok is downstairs, alone.

Asking as you enter the kitchen, he turns over his shoulder to give you a glance as he opens your fridge and puts, what you assumed was cheese.

As he opens your fridge, you hear him stifle a laugh.

"What?" You question, walking over to where he is and trying to get a sight of what he saw that was considered to be funny in your fridge.

"Nothing," he says. "You still only eat pineapple?"

And you realize that, in your fridge is stacked boxes of pre-cut pineapples taking up its own shelf. "Yeah," you state. "Is it a crime?"

"Is it the only thing you eat?"

"No," you tell him, narrowing your eyes at him. "I'll occasionally eat a banana, too."

He gives you an amused smile before he nods. Strolling over around the island to peer up at what he was doing, you observe silently as he grabs one of the pans from your drawers. It surprises you that he knows where such things are, knowing that he's never step foot in your apartment before.

"Your mother's not here, yet?"

"Nope," you reply, backing up to give him wiggle room to cook. "I'm picking her up later." He doesn't respond, only with a single, understanding nod before he turns on the stove. ""What type of pasta are you making?"

He doesn't say yes or no, but he simply nods towards the three boxes of pasta next to him. "Choose your poison," he tells you.

Hoseok used to cook a lot, only on week nights. You wonder to yourself if he ever has time nowadays to cook for himself considering how busy he is, but you know you shouldn't be wondering. It's none of your business.

But in this moment where he allows you to choose the pasta, it brings back the times when he would let you help with the small things that even a monkey couldn't mess up— like choosing which cheese to top it off with, which bread to make a sandwich with, opening a can, and so on. You settle with the penne pasta, something he smirks at considering that penne pasta has always been your favorite type (that and gnocchi).

"You're on penne duty then," he lightly tells you. "Pour it into a pot of boiling water and add a slice of butter."

Truthfully, everything seemed fine until he said add a slice of butter and it made you lose control of the wheel completely. "Wait. Butter in the water?"

"In the water," he affirms, and without any question or constant hesitation, you do what he says, taking out a pot and filling it with water two-thirds of the way and setting it on the stove on high heat. You were being careful, knowing that yourself could even burn the apartment down even with water on boil.

In the midst of your focus, Hoseok is mindfully washing and cutting up vegetables that he bought, you watching intently from behind him, sitting on the counter top as you wait for the water to boil.

"You know, I was expecting the apartment to be a mess knowing that you live alone."

Hearing that, you couldn't help but laugh. Hoseok knows you of being a slob— only because you've grown too comfortable with him when you'd stay over at his place at times. Despite that, you still knew how to clean. "I'm not a total mess. I can clean, too," you laugh. "Not everyone can afford a maid to clean their house up."

"What makes you think I have a maid?"

"You're telling me you don't?" You hop off the counter, noticing that the water has boiled and you were ready to dump the pasta into the pot after you added a slice of butter into the water like he said. As you do so, he's dumping, what seemed to be, vodka sauce into the cut vegetables that are already in the saucepan, him taking a spoon and incorporating it together nicely.

"I don't," he laughs. "I'm not that messy to begin with."

You suck in a sharp breath mockingly, taking one of the spoons and mixing around the pasta, turning the stove down a bit. "Calling me messy, Hoseok? Even with my neatly stacked containers of pineapples in my fridge?"

He shakes his head, a laugh coming out of his throat. "You were," he smirks, scooping a small portion of it on the spoon as he turns towards you, bringing the spoon that hovered over his other hand towards your mouth. "Try this for me."

Without hesitation, you bring your mouth over to the spoon, letting your tongue indulge in it as he stares. You ponder on the taste, thinking nothing but how delicious it admittedly was. "I like it."

"Really?"

You look at him with a shrug. "I've always liked your cooking. I don't doubt it."

"I've always been pretty good, huh?" You notice the way Hoseok smirks at you, his cheek bones becoming more defined as his lip curls upwards, but to save face from staring a second too long, you roll your eyes.

"No need to get cocky about it. Your cooking is edible, that's all."

"You like my cooking, just admit it," he sings, teasing you every step of the way.

"Better than my grilled cheese," you offer, a smile on your face when you meet his smug grin.

"___," he chuckles. "Anything is better than your grilled cheese."

"You liked it."

"I'm going to be honest with you— your grilled cheese wasn't all the best either."

Mouth dropping open, you let out an offended scoff. "What?"

"I only ate it that one time because I was being nice."

"You said it was good!"

"It was burnt on the inside." He laughs, shaking his head as he cracks some salt into the sauce. "And for some reason, you cut them into rectangles."

"That's how you cut it!"

"You cut them into triangles."

Staring at him incredulously, you give him a nudge, light laughter being elicited by both of you. "If it was that bad, why didn't you say anything? Or at least critique me?"

"Because I loved you and I didn't want to ruin your excitement after you accomplished something."

The words roll off too quickly off his tongue for him to process because you notice

Because he's blinking and he shuts his mouth in a way to keep himself from saying anymore stupid stuff that you should or shouldn't hear. The words get lost in your throat as well, but you can tell it's probably worst in his head from the way his jaw clenched and his eyebrows were furrowed. And maybe, if he wasn't so focused on the sauce, he would see that you're smiling, lips curled up in felicity by that little thing he just confessed.

And call you a sucker for the little things, but not having the guts to tell you that your grilled cheese is the actual bane of anyone's existence because he didn't want to hurt your feelings makes your heart flutter again.

You suck in a deep breath, one that resulted into a tiny laugh. "I have to go pick her up," you announce. Hoseok doesn't turn to look at you, but he nods, understanding what you said. You grab the keys on the counter, making your way outside the apartment. "Promise me, you won't burn down my apartment?"

"No promises," he calls out.

"Oh, and Hoseok?" You turn around, hoping that maybe you'd meet his eyes as well, but he doesn't budge from the stove. "Our second anniversary night, you decided to come over; you volunteered to make both of us dinner, so you cooked chicken parmesan." He doesn't respond, but you know he was listening.

You smile. "You were too excited to surprise me that night. I didn't tell you I was allergic to chicken."

The sounds of utensils hitting the plate fill in the space of air of what awkward silence created for a split second, the introduction of your mother to Hoseok fades, and you know it's your mother trying to memorize the face of Hoseok— one that aged into fine wine, you'll admit.

"I know I haven't seen you in four years, Hoseok." You think that bringing Hoseok to this dinner was a good idea— her attention is directed towards someone other than you. "Tell me more about you. ___ hasn't said much."

And Hoseok pulls his signature smile that your mother always talked about— the one that can be compared to the sun rays outside on a fine morning. "Well, I work at The Novahaven."

You watch as your mother's eyebrows raise, you putting a forkful of penne into your mouth. "The hotel chain? I didn't know you were apart of that. The CEO is quite handsome. Jung Haein, is it?"

"Yes," he nods. "My brother."

"Your brother?" Her eyebrows shoot up in interest.

"The one and only," he laughs. "We both run The Novahaven together."

"The Jung Brothers!" She exclaims, bringing her hands together. "Of course, you both do! Why didn't you just say you were the co-CEO?"

You're chewing fast, presumably from nervousness, but you're chewing fast. The pasta was good, no doubt about it, but when one little detail that has no correlation as to the timeline your mother may understand, the sole downfall of such happening makes you forget to savor the food that you haven't had in awhile.

"How long have you been working with your brother?"

"Just recently. Almost two years," he tells her, your mother staring up at him with eyes in awe. "I was working at Marigold beforehand in Brandmont."

"Brandmont?" She immediately asks, before her eyes trail over to you. "You two did long distance?"

In your peripherals, you can see Hoseok looking over to you, expectant for an answer that will probably not correlate the same with his. You swallow down the food you shoved into your mouth out of anxiousness, giving a nervous smile to your mother who is looking at you with these doe, oblivious eyes.

"Yeah," you choke out, plastering a smile on your face as you glance at Hoseok.

There's a smile she wears on her face, her eyes averting back to your boyfriend next to you. "I'm curious— did you take the move well?"

Hoseok blinks, and you're hoping that he would just pull something charming out of his ass. "It was the hardest thing to accept," he states, and taking you by surprise, he puts a hand over yours— the one that was clenched from agitation on the table. The contact makes you flinch, but you let his warm hand melt over yours, like butter on toast. "But, we made through it— and I'd say it was worth it in the end to get us where we are now."

The words don't really settle in completely in a second, because you're staring at him. He gives you a glance, offering a smile that could easily be fooled as genuine, but

"I wish I was there to witness your journey," she says, and it doesn't click immediately, but the second you realize what she said, you turn your attention to her. "I wouldn't peg my daughter to be one of long distance, but I guess you must have changed her mind— I would have loved to witness that."

Hoseok raises an eyebrow in confusion. In your head, you felt that the dinner should have ran smoothly, but with the little dose of nebulous information you gave him, the look on his face says it all that he is confused and unaware. And yet, your mother continues. "You know, the last thing I remember is her wanting to end the relationship just so I could get proper treatment, but I guess you didn't want her to leave that easily, huh?" She laughs, but Hoseok wasn't. "It's nice to hear that tiny bit of reassurance from both of you."

A lump grows in your throat.

Hoseok retracts his hand from yours. "Treatment?" He repeats.

"You didn't tell him?" She asks, her eyes morphing into concern. "That's why we moved to Trinity—" she turns to you. "You spent all those years of long distance and you didn't tell him why we moved?"

You freeze. There are moments where you freeze in time of peril— the ones where your body knows you're in the arms of danger— and moments where you freeze in complete and utter fear— the ones where letters can't form words, and words don't even coalesce into sentences because it is stuck in your throat and it is tense in your chest, in your stomach, and in your mind.

And you abruptly get up, letting your utensils clatter to the porcelain plate as the latter takes over.

There are only a few times you'd ever use the balcony— to water your plants hanging off the railing, and to let fresh air in. Opening the door, you feel the previous tension be relieved the minute you allow air to meet your lungs again. It's a familiar, but a much necessary feeling in order for you to gain some kind of composure.

"___."

He always had a certain way of saying your name. It is distinct and it continues to make your heart skip.

"My mother is lucid," you managed to let out after taking a sharp breath. "She went from not being able to remember my name to remembering everything only up to four years ago— the only years that drastically changed my life."

You turn around.

"I didn't know how to tell you," you tell him directly. "She had Alzheimer's for awhile and she was slowly forgetting things when we were still together, but it started getting worst. The doctor recommended us to go to a place in Trinity to provide better treatment for her. It gave us time, but there's nothing more to do but to take care of her. Today, she woke up and she was lucid. And she was asking about you."

"Which is why you asked me to pretend tonight."

You look at him, pressing your lips together. "She loved you a lot. You meant a lot to her. So when she asked for dinner with you and me? I couldn't say no."

"Then, let's get inside and finish up dinner, okay?" He offers, approaching you slowly and carefully. "You shouldn't waste anymore time with her."

He helps you go inside, a simple hand on the small of your back that, when in contact, brought shivers down your spine. The minute you enter the same room after your heart slowed, your mother immediately looks up, concerned and worried about your sudden flee. "I apologize—"

"Mom," you start, shaking your head. "It's okay. He understands."

She falters, her eyes flickering from the both of you and seemingly, Hoseok puts a hand over yours again and it somehow always seems to calm your nerves. The simple consolation makes your mother smile softly, before she picks up her fork, readily to start over if you two were willing to.

"Hoseok mentioned that you're a brilliant designer," she starts, hoping that little shred of silver lining would be just enough. "Tell me about your successes." And it was.

It was just like talking to your mother a couple years back and you don't miss the sheer sparkle in her eyes when you tell her stories— your stories. Hoseok, too. He listens to your stories and he's intrigued, marveling at your experiences that made you where you are now.

And when you would mention how working on Hoseok's hotel was a pain at first because of all the office gossip you'd get from Nadine and your other coworkers who fancy him just as much. It makes your mother laugh, her knowing very well that that sort of situation is bound to happen with "a man of good looks". The compliments boosts Hoseok's ego beside you.

It boosts him enough that he brings up the incident that happened earlier today when you wouldn't let him roll up his sleeves or loosen his tie to help remove the decorations at your office, simply because of—

"Jealousy," he sings.

"Was not!" You narrow your eyes at him.

The bickering continues over the table, your mother laughing at how you were probably blushing, but you refused to admit it. He continues to taunt you, having you scowl at him.

And with that, the night nearly comes to an end and once Hoseok checks his wrist for the time, he announces that he should get back home before it gets too late. After all, you two had a meeting the next morning.

When he stands to give your mother a farewell hug, you smile at the sight as your mom's hands rub his back with care, the same exact way she would do the same to you.

"I'll walk you outside," you state once they pull away, before you retract, nearly forgetting that you put his blazer somewhere neatly. "Wait— your blazer, I'll grab it real quick."

You search in the living room for his recognizable blazer that he came in with. You stop in your tracks, overhearing the conversation between your mother and Hoseok when you hear your name being thrown. "Hoseok, take care of ___ for me? She likes to pretend she's strong, but secretly, sometimes she's not— you probably already know that."

"I'll take care of her," he promises. Admittedly, it makes your heart skip a beat, because it doesn't sound fake. You walk in, holding his blazer over your arm, a thin smile on your lips.

"I have your blazer," you tell him, to which he nods knowingly and takes it in his hand, your mother placing a hand on his arm carefully.

"Thank you, Hoseok, for coming. It was a great to see you again."

"It was great to see you again, too," Hoseok gives a smile towards your mother.

"Until next time," your mother says to him. The farewell was slightly sorrowful, but you and Hoseok know she says that with a hint of hope.

It was that little smile she wore on her face as you open the front door for Hoseok that almost made you forget that she by tomorrow or even in an hour that she'll probably forget everything that happened today. You give her one glance before you shut the door behind you, your skin meeting the cold night air.

"Thank you for coming tonight and dealing with all of that," you tell him, genuinely, sucking in a sharp breath. "I couldn't bring myself to tell her that you and I broke up. She loves you."

"She really does, huh?"

You narrow your eyes at his cockiness and let out a short laugh. "I just thought that maybe dinner with you there would be good— I couldn't spend time with her alone. So thank you, really. For doing this. She loved our relationship a lot, so thank you."

"We were pretty good together," he muses.

There, you peer up at him, meeting this mischevious glint in his eye that makes you nudge him, another short laugh coming out. "Yeah. Yeah, we were."

Approaching his white Bentley amongst a pool of Toyotas and Hyundais, you give him one last look as you stop a hearty distance for him to finish his journey to his car.

"Goodnight, ___," he tells you, a small smile on his face that was even evident in the night.

You give him a smile back, bringing your hand to wave at him. "Goodnight."

Not wasting time when he gets into his car and starts it, you go back inside your apartment, your mother grabbing the dishes left on the table, but you rush after her.

"Mom. It's okay, I got it," you tell her, swooping over to grab the porcelain plates out of her hand. "Go sit down, watch TV, get comfy. I'll do the dishes."

She gives you a look that you haven't seen in awhile. It's the same look she gave when she saw you graduate college. It was a little while ago, but you remember it and it makes you feel like you're a kid again, struggling to cling onto your mother.

"I did a good job raising you," she states observingly, and you furrow your eyebrows at her.

"What?"

"You're successful," she tells you. "Brilliant and stable—"

"Mom," you interrupt her. In truth, it is much harder than what you tell yourself. It's as if your mother is a stranger— sending you compliments that you've never heard come out of her mouth before; it's as if she didn't know that you can be successful.

Your mother doesn't need you to finish your sentence. Maybe a mother's instinct or the way you don't even spare another glance at her after you interrupt her. "I'll be in the living room."

Sucking in a deep breath, you hear her footsteps fade away from you, making a knot in your stomach tighten. "Mom—" When you look up, she turns around, an eyebrow raised in concern. Taking a mere second, you settle with a small smile. "Thank you."

The faint smile that grows on her face evidently loosens the knot entirely.

And all of a sudden, the sheer timbre of the doorbell rings along the walls of your apartment, alerting your mother who volunteers to grab the door. Agreeing so, you walk into the kitchen with the stacked pasta stained plates, gently placing them in the sink that you noticed was empty the last time you left it.

Curious as to who the guest was, you walk from out of the kitchen. "Who was it?"

Appearing into the living room, you firstly notice that the guest just so happened to be Hoseok. Your mother had her hand on the knob, closing the door behind him and giving him a gentle pat on his arm as you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

"Did you forget something?" You ask him.

Hoseok averts his eyes from your mother to you, locking his gaze in place with yours.

"Yeah, I did," he huffs and unknowingly, you watch him take a step towards you and within a blink of an eye, you feel his lips on yours.

It catches you off guard, the sudden contact allowing you to widen your eyes, and just when your mind could process his lips, he's pulling away too soon. There's a look left on your face because he had the audacity to smirk down at you, your cheeks encased in his palms, letting a finger smoothly move your hair behind your ear.

You open your mouth to form a response, but he lets go of you, turning around to face your mother who might find this normal. "Forgot the goodnight kiss," he tells her, to which she nods understandingly and amusedly.

"Goodnight," Hoseok calls out, opening and closing the door after he makes his exit, leaving you and your mother stunned.

"I am telling you that man is meant for you," your mother immediately says, locking the door. "You'd be a fool to let him go."

Ironically, she means it as a joke— in a way where she thinks that letting him go isn't anywhere near your agenda, but in that sense to you, she was right.

You call in the next day early, cancelling your meeting with Hoseok without leaving any sort of explanation. As slumber did not come easily for you again in bed, you take the opportunity to drive to Kona's just before the sun would rise.

It used to be tradition for you and your mother. Ever since you were a kid and freshly moved into this city just overlooking the beach, your mother found Kona's. Right before work, she'd take you there, gave you chances to sneak some sips from her coffee— the same one you drink nowadays— and you two would watch the sun rise.

Beau makes the coffee like no other, it was specially handcrafted for you since, as a child, you never were a fan of sweet coffee.

When you moved back here from Trinity, you were surprised Beau even remembered how you liked your coffee— it was the same type of gold you missed and you never miss an opportunity of your free time to stay at Kona's.

This particular moment deemed necessary and notable as you sit in your designated spot, watching the sun rise and the sky turn its baby blue hue, not a word being spoken to you as you let your coffee grow cold.

"You cancelled our meeting?"

The abrupt and deep voice makes you jump, turning your attention away from the large window to peer over at the origin of the sudden voice.

You wrap your hands over your mug, realizing how cold your coffee grew. "Why are you here?"

"You cancelled," he responds after he notices that you weren't in the entire mood to snap at him back. "There's no meeting to go to."

"No," you shake your head, peering up at him. "Why are you here?"

Hoseok realizes your question and emphasis, inhaling sharply as he pulls the chair next to you. It was a familiar scene— sitting next to each other and not even sparing a glance at one another.

"Because you're here," he mumbles as if it was an easy answer.

To that, you let out a light-hearted scoff, one that could easily be mistaken as a tired reaction. "She asked who I was again," you say. "I took her back to the retirement home last night and I fell asleep, thinking that she'd still remember a bit of me. I didn't know what to expect when I woke up. But when I did, she didn't remember who I was and I don't know— it's nothing I've never dealt with, but it's just—"

"It never gets easy," he finishes. You nod, letting your index finger tap on the mug in front of you.

"Yeah," you agree, absentmindedly. "It doesn't."

You don't look at him, but you feel his gaze on you. "Are you alright?"

"Getting there," you truthfully affirm.

"Getting there?"

Nodding, you stare out into the brown hue of your cold coffee. "Getting there."

Beau comes to stand in front of you from the other side of the bar, always checking up on you every 20 minutes. "You're coffee's cold, missy," he observes. "Want me to warm it up for ya?"

You shake your head in reply before he narrows his eyes at you.

"Well, a warm muffin complements cold coffee," he tells you. "On the house. Ya feelin' banana?"

There was not much room for you to protest as he begins to slide open the case where varieties of fresh and golden muffins are showcased, taking one with his tongs and placing it on a plate and into the toaster oven, making you smile at him as he gives you a thumbs up.

"Split between you and pretty boy over here," he implies before turning away, giving you a subtle wink that you silently hoped Hoseok didn't see.

Hoseok probably doesn't think much of it, but he's looking at you, probably concerned and worried about your headspace— at least that's what you think. Instead, you brush it off, turning to face him with a devious smile, hoping to lighten up the mood.

"So," you nudge. "About that stunt you pulled last night—"

"It was nothing," he immediately states, shaking his head. Hearing that, you can tell that he may be slightly embarrassed— that and the way his cheeks slightly grow into a peach hue.

"No, I was just going to say—"

"Nope. Just drop it," he tells you hastily that it makes you back off, pressing your lips together in a straight line, worried that maybe teasing him went too far. But testing if he was still stubborn about it, you nudge your muffin that Beau slid onto your plate towards him, eyes as taunting as a child.

"Half the muffin with me?"

And he gives you a sideways glance before nodding, taking a piece off from the top and throwing it into his mouth. The small little acceptance makes you smile, knowing that at least you both can share something without the realities of the world pressing against you both.

A week passes when you haven't had any encounter with Hoseok.

The unintended dryness remained unnoticed, until one day it makes you concerned, questioning where his whereabouts have been ever since there was no need to continue the meetings until your presence is needed.

After you finished one of your projects for a newly wed couple's house, you grab your phone to call his personal assistant.

"Ms. ___," Allen's voice fades in, allowing your ears to perk at the sound of his voice. "How may I help you today?"

"Hi, Allen," you sang, knowing well that you're not entirely his favorite person to hear from. "When is Hoseok's lunch break?"

"In two hours," he answers, smoothly. "After his meeting with Yesung."

"Great," you grin. "Is he craving anything specific?"

"He usually doesn't eat during his lunch breaks, Ms. ___."

"Well, he is today. I'll be heading up there a quarter til' his break. Don't give him a heads up— it'll be a surprise."

"Will do, Ms. ___." His sentence ends rather blandly, making you frown at his lack of excitement.

"Allen. Are you allergic to bananas or strawberries?"

He hesitates. "No—"

"Great. See you then!" You chirp before hanging up, eyes gawking at the time on your computer, hoping to busy yourself a bit more to make time move along faster.

After a few mini projects and a phone call from Nadine who claimed she was bored (but really avoiding heavy duty work), you get ready to head out, grabbing your coat and heading downstairs to the lobby where Nadine's eyes peer up from her desk in curiosity, giving you a questionable look.

"Where you heading?" She calls out as you're pushing against the door.

"Grabbing lunch!" You don't specify entirely, knowing she'd bombard you with an ongoing litany of text messages blowing up your phone, so you give her a two-finger salute and disappear into the sunlight outside.

Hoseok isn't picky, so you order from one of your favorite places that just recently opened up, ordering him food and Allen one of their signature power smoothies.

You're aware that Allen's not very fond of you, but he's deserving of a power smoothie for his hard work and the unnecessary harshness that you notice Hoseok give him. He says it's for respect, but you know he could give Allen some slack.

Heading up to his floor, the elevator makes a stop two floors before, and just who enters happens to be Jung Haein. His eyes light up when he sees you, you returning a polite smile at him.

"Well, isn't it a familiar face," he smirks, stepping beside you as the elevator closes behind him. "Did Hoseok ask you to bring him food?"

Letting out a laugh, you shake your head. "No, I thought I'd be nice."

"Are you coming to the conference next Saturday?"

"Conference?" You question, the elevator making its way to the floor where both you and Haein were heading towards. "Am I invited?"

"For my resignation as CEO," he informs you, shooting you a grin. Unaware of such event, you give him a confused look. Haein, realizing the situation at hand manages a soft chuckle, shaking his head to dismiss the topic idly. "I'll just leave it to Hoseok," he tells you rather vaguely before shooting you a wink and walking the other direction, leaving you to stand there in complete obliviousness.

Shaking it off your shoulder, you walk towards where you notice Allen and his fancy mint green tie sits noticeably at his desk, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he vigorously types something on his computer.

"Surprise!" You smile, placing the smoothie cup in front of him. "I got you a strawberry banana smoothie from Tender Leaf!"

Allen, taken aback from your sudden presence and oddly confused about your surprise for him, looks at the smoothie and back at you, blinking. "Thank you? Why?"

Frowning, you reach to take it back. "Fine, if you don't want it—"

"No," he snatches it back, immediately causing you to grin again as he brings the straw to his lips. "Thank you. I'm just surprised is all." As he takes a sip, you look at him expectantly, hoping to gain a good reaction to the smoothie.

"Be honest."

His eyebrows raise, throwing up a thumbs up— and it could be just a reaction in hopes to leave him alone, but after seeing his either real or counterfeit reaction, you gave him one last smile before turning around to head into Hoseok's office.

The thought of knocking didn't go through your head as you open the door, swinging it open to expose a Hoseok sitting back on his chair, an arm propped up on the armchair with a pen being spun by his fingers.

His eyes tear away from his computer in annoyance to someone who wasn't polite enough to knock, but the minute it was you walking into his office, he immediately drops his pen and sits up straight. Baffled, he scrambles to stand up as you approach him with a sheepish smile and his lunch in hand.

"___?"

"Hey," you quirk. "I brought you lunch."

"What?" The sheer surprise from your appearance and you bring lunch makes you giddy as you reach out with the paper bag in your hand to which he hesitantly accepts, flabbergasted. "What is it?"

"It's from Tender Leaf," you tell him. "I got you the grilled salmon and potatoes."

"Why?" He questions, pulling the to-go box out of the paper bag as you sit in one of his guest chairs, sipping on your ice coffee you bought for yourself.

"I thought I'd visit," you shrug. "And I've been told you don't eat during your lunch breaks."

"Because I'm busy."

Arching an eyebrow at him, you cock your head to the side as he opens the box to reveal a delicious presentation of a grilled salmon and diced potatoes on the side next to some greens. "Busy doing what?"

"Important things," he replies, squinting your eyes at him.

"Well, when I come stop by and bring you lunch, the only important thing you're doing is eating whatever I bring you."

"You make it sound like you're keeping this as a routine."

Hoseok gives you a glance as you watch him swallow down the food in front of him, a pleasant smirk on his face as you shrug. "Maybe not an everyday routine, but when I do come by, you're not going to complain." And with that, he elicits a sonorous chuckle from his throat, stabbing into a potato and shoving it into his mouth.

"Actually," he begins amidst swallowing down his food. "It's good that you came because I wanted to ask you... something."

You look at him expectantly, awaiting his question that grew you curious as you sipped at your coffee.

However in the moment, words don't exactly flow out of his mouth fluidly like they usually do; you can tell by his constant chewing veiling his stalling and the silence that seems to drag on. Raising an eyebrow at him, you watch as he internally fumbles with his words.

"Well," Hoseok starts, choking out his first word. "I know we haven't done things—" The nebulous beginning makes you frown, causing him to retrace back, a panic striking in his heart. "No, I meant more like— we're not— we haven't, uh, really done things together romantically—"

Maybe it was the way you were blankly staring at him, throwing in some discrete expressions of where you're genuinely confused as to what he was implying, but he completely shuts his mouth, his usual hard confident gaze being dismantled as he goes back to the salmon and potatoes.

Suddenly, as if your own oblivion needed it and the universe was watching afar in pain of the situation at hand, it immediately hits you when you backtrack to the elevator in which the other Jung brother just so happened to inform you about an event that he quote on quote, will "leave to Hoseok".

As your slow brian catches on, you tilt your head to the side, peering at Hoseok with amusement as he looks back at you in attempt to try again.

"I wanted to ask you if you would like to—"

"Hoseok," you interrupt, glancing at the time on your phone. "I have to get back to work, so, please, if it's something important—"

"Right," he breathes out sharply, shaking his head defeatedly. "Never mind then."

Perhaps you like teasing him a bit, but you can't help it when you smirk at him. "Jung Hoseok, were you not just trying to ask me to be your date for next Saturday a second ago?"

He averts his eyes from his food to you, realizing that you're wearing a shit-eating grin that makes him realize how foolish you may have strung him along to be, but to you, the look on his face was priceless. He lets out a scoff, in awe of how simple you can mess with him.

"Not a date."

"Right," you acknowledge his denial, taking a sip of your coffee again. Watching as he stabs at his potatoes, trying to regain his superior composure, you couldn't help but grin— you wanted to tease him.

"I like chocolates," you blurt, swirling your coffee with your straw. "Not flowers."

And with that, you don't expect it, but you notice a smug look on his face as he gazes up at you. "I know."

"You're sleeping with Mr. Dick-Me-Down, aren't you?" Nadine decrees, intruding your personal space as she makes a grandiose entrance without much of closing the door behind her. You don't react, simply blinking at her cluelessly until she closes the door behind her with an elongated jaw. "You are!"

"Nadine!" You hush at her shriek, her piercing voice striking your ears uncomfortably. "Keep your voice down!"

"You are," she whisper-yells, her face morphing into complete excitement. "Aren't you?"

"No!" Scrunching your nose, you shake your head. "I'm not sleeping with Hoseok, what made you think—"

"Then why is Yana covering up something very suspicious when I ask for updates on you and Hoseok?"

"What?" The statement makes you snort an ugly snort, one that you didn't knew existed.

"I asked Yana for some juicy news about you and Hoseok because you won't give me anything. And when I asked, she was being oddly suspicious, so what's the deal? Are you guys together again? Is this an office romance? Fill me in!"

As she voluntary takes seat in the chair in front of you, you let out a laugh as you continue to work on the design for a kitchen on your computer. "Don't you think that the possibility of two people who haven't been together for a few years after a bad fallout getting back together is quite low?"

"But it's never zero," she quirks, before you roll your eyes. "Come on, I want something juicy on my aspirational couple."

"I thought that was Yana and Tristian?"

"That was before I was introduced to you and Hoseok! This is way more interesting than Yana and Tristian's sixth honeymoon getaway."

"Nadine," you settle at the girl who was always thirsty for the next biggest gossip topic. "If you want me to be honest, I don't know what we are, but I'm okay with it."

The sound of that immediately made Nadine retract, blinking a couple times at you before opening her mouth. "You're okay with it?"

You nod, not a single thought . "Confirming things would just ruin it."

"Not confirming things is the reason why you lost him in the first place, ___," Nadine says bluntly, having you open your mouth to retort. "Nope— I don't want to hear it. Ignorance isn't entirely a bliss, you know."

"Nadine—"

"Nope. I'll get my updates once you two figure it out," she says, backing up towards your office door. "I prefer my comedies over tragedies."

Hoseok makes an entrance up at your door that night, picking you up in a grandiose limo that you weren't expecting entirely at all. He is dressed in a gray suit and a navy tie that he took a picture of and sent to you as a reference. As so, you take that into consideration, complementing him with a cocktail dress of a similar hue.

Admittedly, it was odd. Having to buy a dress that matched his tie and having to prep yourself for a date with someone you've had countless dates with— it is too familiar and nostalgic, it nearly makes you want to cancel and stay at home.

But the minute you hear the doorbell ring, your heart quickens and you're in an internal conflict with yourself to just merely open the door or act like you weren't home. Yet, with hand on the knob, you take one sharp breath before opening it, a smile on your face as you meet the eyes of a man in a gray suit, your smile reaches your cheeks.

He is hiding his arms behind his back, a polite smile on his face as he looks up at you, taking in your appearance as you do the same to him. It's not like you've seen him anything outside of a suit, but it definitely was different when the entire attire corresponds with your dress— intentionally, too.

"You look beautiful," he compliments and if you listened more intently, you would've noticed that he said it breathlessly.

Awkwardly, you laugh, standing there under his continuous gaze. "You clean up pretty well yourself, Mr. Jung."

To that, a chuckle releases from his mouth before he shifts in his position before unveiling what he was hiding behind his back. And like so, a large box of chocolates is held in one hand, but when you peer at the other, unexpectedly he held a plant.

"I got you a bamboo tree," he rushes out to say before you question the gift in his hand. "You had one in your office, so I thought it could use a friend."

Admittedly, that mere thought and consideration makes your heart flutter, a grin on your face so wide as you reach out to take the plant and the box of chocolates yourself. "Thoughtful, as always," you tell him and it earns a sheepish smile. You glance at the box of chocolates before you peer up at him, impressed. "A nut medley. You didn't forget."

"How could I? You go insane if your chocolates don't have nuts," he adds in sarcastically, making you gape at him lightly.

"Like I said— thoughtful."

Hearing him chuckle, you turn over your shoulder, taking the plant and chocolates inside, setting it on the nearest table before you're grabbing your purse and locking the door behind you.

He offers his arm, and naturally, you take it— forgetting that there are years and history missing in between the last time you've taken his arm subconsciously. The single thought follows you until you reach the limo, giving a sarcastically dazzled look as he opens the limo door for you in an act of chivalry.

In the entire duration of the limo ride, you feel as though reality has been altered in a certain way. From the way Hoseok and you unfolded to the current moment in time, it didn't settle well within your bones. It's as if the whole 'you leaving' bizarre has totally been forgotten the minute he uncovered the real reason and everything from the last time you saw him to the first time you saw him after years was a complete haze.

This is because you're sat next to Hoseok without the feeling that there is bad blood. You're sitting next to him as his date to one of his big moments of his life. You're sitting next to the person you've hurt in ways you wish you would take back, but can't. You're sitting next to the person that you cannot deny that you still love.

And he lets you.

It was a private event, and though the thoughts of reporters swept past your mind, you were relieved that there were no cameras or flashing or even people with microphones standing outside the hotel. He gives you a small nudge, a supportive smile on his face that calms you down before the chauffeur opens the door, allowing a gust of wind contacts your bare legs.

Once you both found your way inside the warmer and grandiose building, you forget about how much riches there are in life.

Hoseok's hand is on your waist. Usually, you'd want to tear away from such contact, but admittedly, it felt nice, comfortable— you felt safe.

There are people who greets him, handshakes all around and broad smiles that hold so much authority that you don't realize you pulled yourself away from his side.

"Look who showed up," Yana smirks, a dazzling neckpiece flattering her entire torso. An arm is crossed under her elbow that props up the champagne glass in hand. "I'm sure you're here with a certain someone."

You smile at a familiar face, giving her a hug as she offers her glass to which you kindly decline. "Where's Tristian? Did he come?"

"No, unfortunately, he's on-call tonight," she replies, smoothly. You frown at that. "But never mind that. I see Hoseok asked you to be his date."

You smile. "Just for the night."

"I don't know about that," she smirks. "How are you two? Nadine won't stop bombarding me with updates about you guys."

"We're alright," you smile, eyes averting to the crowd to find the mop of hair amidst the chattering. "I just don't want to ruin it."

"Please," she rolls her eyes. "Ruin what? You guys just got each other back."

"And I intend to keep it that way," you blurt. It wasn't so much of a blurt when the words coming out of your mouth and into the open air made you oddly relieved. Yana meets your eyes with a knowing look, as if that's all she ever wanted to hear you say.

Opening your mouth to defend yourself, she shakes her head, a peculiar smile painting her features. "No, no, no. There's nothing wrong with wanting to keep him in your life."

"No, but I—"

"Yana!"

You and Yana immediately turn heads towards the voice, one that you can instantly recognize because it brings warmth all over your body. A grin grows on your face, cheeks lifting when you notice your date walking your way in smooth elongated struts.

"___," he acknowledges your presence the minute he steps in front of you and Yana. "I've been looking for you."

"And you found me."

He quirks an eyebrow, pressing his hand at the small of your back, eyes focusing on Yana who takes note of the action, smiling in her glass. "So I take it you decided to come tonight, Yana."

"Of course," she smirks. "It's big stepping stone for a dear friend. How could I miss it?"

The flattering comment makes his face light up, one that you don't miss a heartbeat to look up and adorn. He must have noticed your staring because he looks down at you in which you quickly falter, not knowing how to cover your slip up.

"Did you need me for something?" You immediately ask.

"No," he replies. "I just wanted to know where you would be standing when I go up there."

And oddly enough, as if cued, a sonorous voice echoing through the walls rings in your ears, followed by spontaneous claps before you turn towards the stage, noticing Haein walking towards a podium. It's then that you realize that the moment you've so only expected and believed in Hoseok for since the beginning of time is finally happening.

It doesn't take long for the applause dies down, and Haein is speaking through the microphone, a tranquil smile on his face as if he had done this whole "speaking in front of an audience" thing too many times to count. He rests his hands properly on the sides of the podium, scanning his eyes through the sea of people with each fluid word.

You don't pay attention to a single sentence of his beginning resignation because though Hoseok doesn't allow anyone to see him break a sweat, you know that he is nervous. It takes a lot of courage in you, but you finally rack a nerve to grab his hand that was luckily the one not in his pocket.

"You'll be fine," you lean in, whispering.

He looks down at you, offering a ghost of a smile. He's grateful— and you know he is because he gives you a gentle squeeze. He used to that to you when you needed it.

"And with that, I am proud to announce that the person who will be taking my place will be someone of high prestige and dignity— one that you have all watched grow— my brother, Jung Hoseok."

Haein motions towards the man who stands next to you, an applause following afterwards. You instantly let go of his hand, covering up by clapping sophisticatedly was you watch him move through the people, approaching the elevated stage.

Once Hoseok shakes his brother's hand, his place is immediately replaced by Haein, a smirk on his face.

"Thank you, Haein," you hear him broadly announce into the microphone. It makes you ineffably pleased as you watch him become the man you've always known in full force. "I want to say that it is of great honor to be given this position, one that I will be soaring on my own this time. The Novahaven has not been a temporary place to stay, but it became a home for all of us..."

"He's going to be great," you mutter towards Haein who is just as proud as you are of his younger brother taking on the position that he was destined for.

"He will— he is," he quietly responds. "Destined for greatness, that's for sure." You smile at the sound of that, having this similar sense of pride blooming in your chest.

Watching with adoration, you listen intently to the voice of Hoseok who captures the image of his older brother and even his father. You think about the times he's wanted to become someone extraordinary and great, going to you as a support that has always been there for him. Almost laughing to yourself at how swift time became, your thoughts get pulled away.

"Did he tell you about Brandmont?"

You pause, tearing your eyes from Hoseok to look up at his brother with furrowed, confused eyebrows.

"What?"

He looks down at you, meeting your eyes with just the same confusion. "Brandmont? That's where The Novahaven headquarters are."

"The Novahaven isn't stationed here?" The cluelessness rolling off your tongue was appalling, even to you.

"The one here is one of the corporate offices," Haein explains. "Hoseok wanted to plan Luminous here to map out the hotel with Yana— or well, with you. We've always been stationed in Brandmont."

The words don't process fast enough, because then you turn back to look at Hoseok, who just so happens to meet your eye. The feeling felt like a pang, an accent on a note that made you freeze, but it was over in a second the minute you present him a smile gleaming on your face.

"Yeah," you breathe out. "Of course. It completely slipped my mind."

As you grasp about the series of events that happened today, you recall back to your previous thought about reality.

And you realize that reality isn't altered.

History was simply repeating itself.

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