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hyungieyoongi · 3 years

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Epilogue: “Run Away to You” Part 7

To the person who never stopped supporting and loving me, even when I ran away from him – I promise from now on to always run away to you.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Former Actress!Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Genre: Angst (if you squint) + Fluff (nobody look at me I’m so soft)

Warning: Brief mention of reader’s panic attacks and mental health

Series Masterlist: Run Away to You

Premise: You ran away from your acting career one year ago, disappearing from the spotlight without a trace. No one from your past life knew where to find you. On the anniversary of your disappearance, your carefully constructed reality is shattered.

Part 6 \\

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One year later...

You stood in the wings to the right of the stage, watching Yoongi stand side-by-side with his fellow members as they took their final bow. The love and energy from ARMY was overwhelming, your heart swelling with pride as you saw the look of pure happiness radiating from Yoongi and the rest of the boys.

BTS had held a series of surprise concerts in the past couple of months, and tonight was the last one in Seoul. Yoongi had made sure you attended each one with him, no matter where it was in the world. He told you he had always wanted to travel with you.

You looked out into the stadium, ARMY bombs lighting up the seats, illuminating the arena with a wash of purple light. You smiled, tears coming to your eyes at the beauty of it all.

As you took in the sight, you couldn’t help but reminisce on the past few months with Yoongi and everything you both went through to get to this moment.

You had been honest with the world in your video, explaining that you had to step away from your career for your mental health. You opened up about dealing with panic attacks and the toxic pressure of the acting industry. You explained how you needed to get your creativity and passion back for new projects by disappearing for a little while. There were so many people who had sent you messages of love and support, welcoming you back with positivity and warmth.

But the other side was picking you apart relentlessly. They accused you of trying to use Yoongi to get back into the spotlight now that you had gotten tired of living the “normal” life. They were saying that the pictures of you and Yoongi were all a ploy to get attention to restart your acting career.

If only they knew how much trouble those pictures had caused you.

You remember how you found it ironic how much the first few weeks of your life back in the public eye were so like your life when you first went into hiding. Moving into a new apartment, donning baseball hats and masks whenever you stepped outside, the threat of unwanted and uncontrolled publicity controlling your every move.

You had to have security with you, especially in the early days. The press wanted to get the scoop on your disappearance and your time with Yoongi, often flanking you with cameras if you popped out to get a coffee or go to the store.

Yoongi’s label put out an official statement to explain away the potential romantic implications of the picture, saying that the two of you knew each other from your time in the business and you were “old friends.” They cautioned the two of you to avoid being seen alone together in public, but Yoongi put his foot down, telling the label that you were not going to be hidden away forever.

Your publishing company was thrilled to hear that you no longer wanted to publish your book under a pseudonym; your name recognition was guaranteed to start a buzz around your upcoming release. Yoongi would often try to peak over your shoulder when you were working together, trying to read what you were writing. You would tease him, telling him he had to wait to read it just like everyone else.

Not to mention you were a little nervous to tell him that the story that you were writing was not-so-loosely inspired by your own relationship with him.

Navigating the public world again was made better by having Yoongi there with you, albeit privately at first. You would often have dinner with the boys or go watch Yoongi rehearse when you weren’t in editorial meetings or writing your book.

Being in love with him again had been the easy part.

The harder part was the conversations late at night about when and how you wanted to go public. You both were trying to balance the needs of his job as an idol with your timidness over putting too much of yourself back out there too soon. You were attempting to show the world your genuine personality this time around. There was no production company to impress or an acting job that was dependent on your popularity; you were just hopeful that his fans would be more receptive to your relationship if they already felt like they knew the real you. You never wanted to go back to feeling like you were suffocating under the weight of the pressure.

You decided as a couple on a deadline – six months. After six months of dating privately, you had to decide whether you wanted to be together publicly.

Yoongi came to your apartment six months later, looking pale with nerves and a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hands. You hadn’t spoken over the past two days, wanting to give each other the space to decide what was best on your own.

You told him you had already made your choice the night when you went to dinner with him and the boys at his apartment – you weren’t about to change your mind. He carelessly dropped the flowers on the ground, sweeping you up into his arms.

You both knew that you would face backlash, maybe even some hate, but you were stronger together than apart. He was it for you, and you weren’t going to let him go just like he promised you he wouldn’t. It hadn’t been easy, but it certainly was worth it.

You turned your head to watch as the boys waved goodbye, exiting stage right and stage left. Yoongi walked toward the side of the stage with purpose, eyes alight with adrenaline. You smiled brightly at him, his arms coming around you as he practically collided with you, head landing between your shoulder and neck as he breathed out heavily. Your hands instinctively went to his head, running your hands through his slightly sweaty locks as his heart rate came down from the high of the concert.

“You were amazing, Yoongs,” you told him. He leaned back, placing a firm kiss on your lips, surprising you. When he pulled back you were greeted with a gummy smile. Staff started to flutter around you, dabbing Yoongi with a towel and handing him an open bottle of water. You stepped away to let them through, not wanting to interfere with their jobs. Before you could move too far away, his hand reached through the bodies surrounding him, searching for your own. You wrapped your fingers around his, Yoongi using the grip to pull you back to be closer to him.

The staff adjusted to your presence again, shuffling you both along toward his dressing room. Intertwining your fingers with his, he brought your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of your knuckles. You thought you saw Jin amidst the flurry of activity, hearing a distinctive laugh that you were pretty positive was directed toward the blatant show of public affection between yourself and Yoongi since he got off the stage.

With how lucky you felt in that moment, you couldn’t seem to find it in yourself to care.

---

“Remember, I warned you that you might not like the book. I was dealing with a lot when I started writing it, and I promise I changed the characters enough. Only you or I will even notice the similarities. I mean, the characters get a happy ending and so did we, but…” you were rambling, your newly printed hard copy gripped firmly in your hands.

A week after his final surprise concert wrapped, you had come over to Yoongi’s apartment to gift him the copy of your book you had promised him, but you were reluctant to actually let it go. Yoongi was trying – and failing – to get it from you, leaning back with an exasperated sigh when he realized you weren’t going to budge.

“We have been dating for over a year now, Y/N, I think I can handle the fictional book version of our relationship,” Yoongi said, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“But it might bring up old memories. Bad memories,” you said quietly, averting your eyes. Yoongi propped your chin up with his index finger forcing you to look at him.

“Stop worrying so much. Our past is the reason why we are together now. I’m not scared of it anymore,” Yoongi admitted with a nonchalant shrug. Your cheeks burned, Yoongi chuckling at your pink face before kissing you sweetly. Even after all this time, you still became flustered at his romantic gestures.

You finally handed the book over.

“You should probably check the dedication page first,” you murmured, slightly embarrassed. Yoongi’s lips quirked up in a smirk, slowly flipping to the dedication page in the copy of your book in his hands. His expression changed to something unreadable and soft as he read the words dedicated to him:

To the person who never stopped supporting and loving me, even when I ran away from him – I promise from now on to always run away to you.

I love you.

You held your breath as you watched him read the page twice, your knee jumping up and down in nervous anticipation. Yoongi put his hand on your knee, stopping your movements. He leaned forward, your book still in his other hand. You felt yourself instinctively move closer to him, seeming to melt into his warmth.

“I love you, too,” he whispered into your ear.

He would always be your happy ending.

Part 6 \\

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To everyone who read and followed along with this fic – it has meant so much to me to have people read this little series of mine and interact with it. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Taglist: @loveyoongles @agustd-2020 @delacyrose224 @sunshinejunghoseokie @jinsearthh @alpacaparkaseok @sheebaba @diamonddia-mond @dearyoongii @tarahardcore @kawaiiixchan

Check out my other work! ❤️

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bxllafanficc · 3 years

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¡Skate/sing your hearts out! (Yuri Plizetsky x reader)

(Part three)

Part one. Part two. Part four part five Masterlist

Summary: After last year's cancellation of Figure Skating Grand Prix, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself unable to bring out his inner skater after a year of doing nothing but enjoy life like a regular teenager. That's when you enter the picture; We Are Voice Grand Awards's currently hottest competitive vocalist come first place two years in a row. Just like the other competitors of Grand Prix, it turns out that Victor and Yuuri faces the same issue. With an arrangement between Victor and Yakov, they agree to travel to Japan and hire you as a mutual coach for Yuri and Yuuri to help bring back the emotion into their performances like before, maybe even more intense than ever. Yuri however, who's never experienced issues with his coaches before, for some reason finds this one particularly difficult to coexist along with in their (reasonably) odd partnership. Warnings: mentions of minor injury, tsundere Yuri

*Yuri's POV*

"Do it again. This time slow down and think every turn through before you start over."

It's worse than he anticipated. How many practices did he cancel exactly? The sweat is pooling at the base of his hairline and he can feel a nerve in his pinky twitch uncontrollably after using his hand to save him from a particularly bad fall after attempting a rushed series of jumps ending in a loop. The all too pleasant sound of the blades of his skates cutting up fresh ice from the surface is mixed with grunts of frustration and rapid panting. His mind tells him to repeat repeat repeat from the start if he gets something wrong. Repeat until he gets it right and then move on.

Yakov is visibly in a bad mood after seeing how much training they had to get done before moving to his sessions with (Y/n). That means hiring her longer than expected and that's something both him and Yakov wants to avoid. Not because they don't have the money, but because she'll be wandering around without a purpose in Japan, waiting for Yuri to get back in shape.

Another fall. Yuri attempts to use his other hand for support and spring on his feet again but the balance fails him since it's the wrong hand and the inner edge of his right skate bends outwards. He stumble for a second but gets right onto repeating the combination. Deadset to move on as fast as possible.

He knew that Yakov said they would be starting tomorrow morning with his time at the rink. Though, Yuri had a feeling he would need all the extra time he could get.

(Y/n). The aftermath of his first meeting with the all too famous singer started kicking in. All he could do was thinking about it. His harsh behavior and the disappointment in her response. 'Your voice isn't that special'. Why did he say that when she's literally gold winner of the hottest contest in current time? Even worse, why did he say that when until today he had been following her journey through We Are Voice with a great interest? He especially remember the shock of entire Russian population when she chose to compete with 'Scream' by Sergey Lazarev. That song got sent as Russia's participating song in Eurovision Song Contest. The music contest arranged by the European countries each year. Even though it only came in 3rd place that year it certainly felt like we had won with such a legendary cover. Her presence glowing on stage like that with one of the prides of Russia certainly exploded all over the internet.

But now? It felt too surreal to stand in the same room as the (y/n) (l/n) from that performance. Like he shouldn't know stuff like what shampoo she uses or her off-camera personality. It was almost too intimate in a way and Yuri wasn't sure that he wanted to get to know her. And certainly not as his coach. That just felt like some sense of mockery to him. 'Hey, let's pic the girl who won gold for her intense stage-presence because Yuri is that sucky on feeling stuff.' Was the stuff people surely would be saying about him as soon as media got hold on the news. No, not that he cared about what other's said. It was partly true.

Each jump more rushed than the other, his ears tuned out the sound of Yakov's irritated voice at the end of the rink. The only sound he heard was the sound of his skates clashing and his own breath. Somewhere a door opened and he heard quiet voices at the entrance.

Great. An audience. He decided to stop with the combination for one moment and went with a basic camel spin, slowly fading into an upright spin, hoping into a salchow. The intention was to gain some of his dignity back before he would have to go back falling on his face again. But when the rotation of the salchow was off, anger burned up inside him. Now he was determined to get the jump right followed by the combined spins.

"Yuri, you still have to..." Yakov said to him somewhere to his left but he didn't hear much of it. Or was it right? No, behind him. Where was he located again? Doesn't matter, just keep moving.

Where are the walls of the rink? No, just do it.

It's just camel, upright and salcho-

*smack*

A heavy impact to his head and startled gasps somewhere. He was on the ground now, clutching his forehead in his hand. After one look of the object causing the impact he groaned and stood up in a haze. That damned wall. Was he really that caught up in his thoughts that he didn't realize his balance was completely off even before the finishing jump?

He looked around on the people inside the room. Yakov with his furrowed brows and a girl and a man running into a lounge. That must be the piglet's friends. And beside Yakov a few turns away-

(Y/n). Of course she had to see that. After her stern words at dinner time, Yuri had no intention of causing a further scolding from her. Yakov he could handle but her, just ridiculous.

The old man flailed his arms for a motion for Yuri to continue practicing.

"Don't stop now! You haven't gotten it right yet!"

R-right, he stopped moving and ended up staring at the people around him. Even if he didn't get to catch his breath, he still was too far behind to call it a day now. 'This time I'll have to get it right.' He thought and proceeded to finish the camel/upright spin and then-

Yes! He landed on the outer edge with his right foot like expected and took a little skip to finish it off more aesthetically pleasing.

He tried to ignore the blood pounding in his ears as he went back to the previous combination. But once again the loop faltered and the muscles in his hand hissed underneath the ice as he held himself upright.

"Hey, Yuri! You go take a breather, don't ya? And come here while you do."

It was (Y/n) who rested her arms against the edge of the rink. But a confused cough from Yakov made him hesitate and he stood still, waiting for the two of them to decide for him. He should probably keep going-

"But he just got it right!"

"I can tell when someone's on the verge of collapsing. It's very clear that he won't get anything done if you keep it at this rate. Hell, he might even get seriously injured if his limbs don't follow instructions, Yakov. At least grant him a break." The smile (Y/n) gave the man was a sign to say 'no hard feelings' but the tone of her voice said otherwise. After a moment of silence he nodded and waved at Yuri to get off the ice towards (Y/n). But Yuri didn't really want to be alone with her so he went to the opposite side of where she was waiting for him. He earned a questioning look from her but just waved it off with his own hand.

His fingers were cold and stale. It was hard getting a good grip on the shoelaces and getting the blades in its sheathing. He grunted and leaned back against his seat, the skates still on his feet and his hands turned to fists.

"I know you don't need my help." The boy gazes up at the girl beside him. His new coach looks down at him from where he's sitting and takes a seat beside him. A first aid kit and a blanket rests in her lap.

He sits up properly and turns his head away from her, continuing to untie his skates.

"You're right, I don't."

"You're very consistent. I personally think you did a grea-"

"Why are you here anyway? Aren't you supposed to meet your fans or something?" Yuri knew it was risky to cut your coach off mid-sentence but the words came anyway. Besides, is she really a coach if she has zero experience how to teach others? She's just playing like Victor did two years ago and kept doing so. Even if she's no coach, her (h/c) eyes still feels like they are piercing his soul and there no way to shield himself from her. He feels like an open book for her to abuse so... Maybe she's just good at reading emotions and not actually teaching them. How does one teach emotions? What will she be doing exactly?

"That ended hours ago. You weren't at Hot Springs when I returned so Victor figured you'd be here."

Stupid Victor. Couldn't he tell that Yuri didn't want her near?

(Y/n) opened up the first aid kit and Yuri eyed it carefully. She handed him the blanket with an extended arm but he just swatted it away. It fell on the floor and she stared at it blankly. Then she bent forwards and picked it back up, forcefully wrapping it around the skater burrito style.

"Wha- stop it!" He pouted and shot daggers at her once again. This time, he only earned a grin of satisfaction from her as she took a cotton pad and drenched it in hydrogen peroxide.

"You earned a pretty nasty wound when you headbanged the wall, you know." He knew. Blood was dripping into his left eye and made his vision turn red. He started thrashing and trying to eel his way away from her. That caused her to take a steady grip of both of his cheeks and hold him still. The look she gave him said 'don't you dare move again' and she put the drenched cotton against his forehead. Sharp pain exploded from the wound and he hissed. When the pad was removed, a wet tissue swept up the blood on his cheek and on his eyelid. The touch was cool against his hot skin. Some of his vision turned back and he released a small sigh of relief. Lastly a bandaid was put over the wound. He saw (Y/n) judging her work carefully and then she nodded to herself.

He jolted slightly when he felt her grab his hand with careful manners. Her hands spread is fingers cautiously and he felt her thumb swipe over his still twitching pinky.

"You feel this, right? Does it hurt badly?" Her voice was soft like a breeze and it startled him slightly. A moment ago she was rough and stern and now she's soft and tender? And for the record, yes. Yes he does feel that. And he doesn't even want to begin to think of how soft her hands are-

"No... It's nothing." He lied. But what else what he supposed to say anyway. His hand was swollen but he can't skate with a bandage. But depending on the unimpressed look she gave him, he knew she wasn't buying any of his bullshit.

"Then how come your face looks like that when I touch this spot?" She spoke and applied the slightest of pressure in between the joints of his knuckles. He let out a forced 'owowow' at the action and yanked his hand out of her grip.

"Fine! But you don't have to hurt me further then!"

"Then only one hurting you here, is yourself."

She picked up the rolled bandage and grabbed his hand once again. He took a moment to linger his attention on what she said. How is he hurting himself? He's just doing what needs to be done!

Yakov returned to the two of them and stood slightly off to the side. Yuri saw the dismay in his eyes when he saw the bandage (Y/n) held.

"Kid, we're done for today. Take the rest of the day to gain back your energy for tomorrow's practice."

Yuri nodded and kept watching (Y/n) wrap the bandage. Meanwhile, he couldn't help but catch the mild scent of peach and wild berries. But there was something else. Probably (f/c) (favorite scent) and it smelled fantastic for some reason.

"You know, you should probably get settled into your room immediately when we return." (Y/n) spoke up and flashed Yuri a smile.

"I'll help you." She continued but he shook his head.

"No, that won't be necessary!"

"Oh right, there is one more thing I forgot to mention earlier." Yakov leaned against the walls of the rink as (Y/n) finished wrapping Yuri's hand with the bandage. It felt better with the comforting pressure onto his swollen hand. Jokes aside, maybe he could actually find something to enjoy at his stay here.

"Hot Springs and the hotels in Japan are currently all occupied. You will be staying in (Y/n)'s room thought your stay, as roommates."

...

Nevermind, scratch that thought.

#yuri on ice fanfiction #yuri on ice fandom #yurianime #yuri on ice #yuri katsuki #victor nikirofov #yuri plisetsky x reader #yuri plisetsky #anime fanfic #fanfiction #animelove #anime

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travellvogue · 4 years

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Date -Trent Alexander-Arnold

The same boy, the same time, strolling casually into your office.

“What?” you spit. The harsh tone has no effect on him, after all he’d grown used to being your punching bag. You had of thought being the social media manager to such a huge football team would mean you wouldn’t have to cope with a stream of nosy men, desperately trying to keep to yourself, simply stick to your job of posting a few pictures on a match day, and carry on with your life within the addition of being attached to any of them personally.

“Oh, good morning to you to, thought I deserved a nicer welcome” he smirks, voice laced with sarcasm, thick scouse accent filling the small room as he throws himself down onto the arm chair, legs sprawling open at different angles, man spreading beyond belief as you stare coldly at his face, your blank expression making him giggle. You pay no attention to him, the oak wood desk littered with sheets of paper and sticky notes was far more entertaining than his mind games, returning to typing out your email, blissfully ignoring his presence.

He clears his throat, searching for the attention he didn’t receive, patting at his chest, the hollow echo bouncing off the walls. Every noise he seemed to make pierced through one ear and out of the other, shivering with a huff as your eyes dart upwards, looking over the frame of your glasses to see him smiling at you, nibbling on a complimentary chocolate, the wrapper tossed to the side- he’d done it on purpose, he knew you were particular about the organisation of your office, always reminding you how ‘sad’ it was to have the chocolates in colour compartments, always making it his mission to see how many he could put in the wrong sections until you notice and tell him off, creating a game that only he seemed to enjoy.

“You think I’m just gonna fall to my knees and suck your dick or something?” you scoff, your vulgar words making your cheeks heat up at the realisation of what you’d just said, Trent taken aback by her blunt wording, certainly not hating the idea, but he’ll keep that to himself.

His finger drums against the wooden frame of the arm chair, the continuous pattern driving you slowly insane, breath becoming increasingly heavier with frustration. “What do you want?” you finally groan, accepting that you’d have to acknowledge his presence to try and make him leave, your words harsh as you push away from your desk. Hands clamping together, lips in a tight line as you display the fakest, over-the-top, smile you could manage in your moment of annoyance, eyes peering through his body, only for him to gift you a flirtatious wink.

“Just here to enjoy your kind and loving words” he says way too cheerfully for an early morning training session, and for being in an office he certainly wasn’t welcome in to. His words dripped in sarcasm knowing he’d never received such affection. Sighing as you force out a fake laugh, wobbling your head as your ‘smile’ rips from ear to ear.

“Trent.” you begin, elbows resting on your desk, leaning forward to ensure he listens, “I don’t know what you want, but I’m certain you’re not here to help me post an instagram, so... if you don’t mind, I’ve got a job to be getting on with… a proper one”. You shoo your hand in front of your face, beckoning him out of the room as he scoffs with a cocky smirk, tongue poking out to lick the corner of those plump lips. You envied how they always looked so smooth and kissable despite the constant attention his own tongue showed them.

“Aight” he holds both hands up in defeat, legs swinging forward as he stands up and brushes his training gear down. “Love ya, see you at lunch” he winks, noticing the small blush rising to your cheeks as he hops out of the office.

Shutting the door behind him, he stood still for a second, back resting against the metal plaque scribed with your name across it, even the sight of the words that made it up made his stomach twist. His smile speaks a thousand words, the image of your blushing cheeks and eyeline fixed on the floor as you tried to avoid his deep brown orbs replayed in his mind. The bitterness of your tongue couldn’t hide the true emotions behind your eyes.

He knew that you giggled to yourself every time you looked through the pictures from the recent training session, studying the shots of him pulling stupid faces at the camera, knowing they’d be run passed you before they were posted to social media platforms. Yet, there was one image that always seemed to haunt him. One you’d convinced yourself to be the firm truth. And that was how you viewed him. The lense of your eyes snapping him into the frame with ‘every other footballer’ as he remembers you mumbling under your breath the first time you’d hurried him out of your office. Your cold, abrupt, attitude seemed to simply be there to protect yourself- the walls around your heart ones he wished he could chip away at, but you wouldn’t allow them to erode, a stubbornness he knew was similar to him- but the two of you were fighting for different things. Yet fighting for the same person. You.

That’s why he sits with you at every lunch time. The unavoidable teasing from Virgil, Ox and Robbo, was something he could put up with if it allowed him to explore the Y/N behind the mask. Plus, he hated seeing you lonely. Maybe you had your guard built up but you weren’t a nasty person. No one here hated you, they just simply let you be, your attitude oozed independence- something he so strongly admired yet detested.

“What you got for lunch today pretty girl?” he asks, sitting himself down opposite you, the plastic chair legs scraping against the wooden floor making you flinch at the invasion of your silence.

“The same as you?” your tone was dry yet still laced with slight humour, a question and a statement within the same words, looking up to be greeted by his smile, stabbing at his food with the meta fork.

“Y’know where you won’t have to eat the same as me?” he asks casually, the nervous bounce of his leg hidden by the table, shoveling a mouthful of food into his gob, seeing you raise an eyebrow at his question, but you don't dig any deeper, it’s almost as if you didn’t hear him, continuing eating your meal like he’d said nothing. The quickening pace of your heart hidden by your calm demeanour.

“At that nice italian” he answers for himself, phone pushed along the table so it’s in clear view for you to read the booking confirmation for ‘Alexander-Arnold’ shining on the screen.

It took a second for everything to sink in, the smoothness of his ‘request’, the question, the answer, the booking confirmation. Was this his way of asking you on a date?

“A date?” you groan, the butterflies in your tummy batting their wings against your rib cage.if the table wasn’t covering both your lower halves, you’d noticed your legs had begun to dance to the same beat. Every part of you wanted to say yes- but why? This wasn’t what you wanted...right. The battle between the angel and the devil on your shoulder was one sided at this point. You knew he wasn’t like all the other footballers’ - the type of guys your mum warns you of. But the fear of; ‘maybe’, a simple ‘what if’ put on hold what your heart was really screaming at you.

“A date” he nods in confirmation of your question, proud smile on his face, he;d done it, he’d asked you on a date. Having gone off on a limb to book a table for the two of you, the sense of pride was joyous in this moment, no matter what the upcoming answer was.

The commotion of the other players in the dining room filled the silence between the two of you. Heartbeat seeming to hammer in your ears with anticipation. Before you could convince yourself otherwise- you’d answered.

“Alright” you shrug, playing it as cool as you could whilst feeling overwhelmed with emotions you didn’t even know existed. Although, it was enough of a reaction for him to let out a small chuckle, almost a cheer if you’d listen closer over the pounding of your own heart. Watching him rub his hands together in the corner of your eye, once again nibbling on his bottom lip.

Back to silence, returning to eating the meal that was now on the border of becoming unpleasantly cold. A comfortable silence, one that simmered his excitement, letting him know not to get too carried away with himself, the thoughts in your mind racing round in a loop at 100 miles per hour.

“I’ll- uh- see you tonight? 6pm sharp m’lady” he winks, wobbly legs lifting him up from his chair, praying you wouldn’t see the trace of nervous sweat he’d left on the wooden seat, cleaning up his plate and cutlery, taking yours with him within an ask.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all...

#trent alexander arnold imagines #trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold one shot #trent alexander arnold smut #trent alexander arnold blurb #liverpool fc #liverpool imagines #football imagines

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uwua3 · 4 years

Note

that taichi headcannon for jealousy broke my heart :( could you do one where he finds another person? one that makes him laugh, ruffles his hair, games with him etc~ a happier one!

oh no!!! i’m so sorry here u go *offers u a new, super cool heart that is angst–proof* ♡ yes, i definitely want taichi to find ~ love ~ like he deserves because he’s such a puppy 🥺 i adore him endlessly so him having a happy alternative is Required Immediately!

summary: love came in many forms—including platonic best friends

warnings: heartbreak, unrequited love

author’s note: i actually went a bit more different route with this! i know this prompt typically means a romantic love, but i didn’t really feel like it would fit. this is a best friend! reader x taichi, and i am so happy with the message in this! go best friends!!!

love is love and you shouldn’t have to rush into a relationship to find it. your friends love you, and although it’s not the same, it’s more than enough ♡ love isn’t just what you do for others, so don’t try so hard to be loved. people will love you for you, not whatever romantic movie–based idea you have of them. i hope you know you are loved. i love you ♡

word count: 2,106

music: ily (i love you baby) – surf mesa ft. emilee

a skater gets back up.

🍁🛹 nanao taichi

taichi missed being in love

he missed writing all those heart–shaped love letters made of pink construction paper and his exaggerated, overwhelming feelings with red pen. he’d write their name in pretty cursive that took so many tries, he dotted the i’s with hearts, he color–coded it so well that it was just an explosion of valentine’s day

he missed dedicating his favorite songs to them, hearing it randomly in his shuffled mix and immediately thinking of them. he missed explaining what the songs meant, feeling all types of love when he repeated them over and over again

he missed creating playlists with them in his mind, forming it so it flowed perfectly and it was like he handcrafted the album himself. he missed sending the link and listening to it on repeat like a lovesick fool

he missed sending good morning/night texts, putting all his time aside just to fall head over heels again like he was on his skateboard. taichi knew he was a good boyfriend, that he loved with all of his heart and his feelings were real. but, he missed all of it, he missed love so much. taichi needed love

(it was so fucked up, but taichi sometimes listened to all the music he dedicated to them at night and stared up at his dark bedroom ceiling, crying just wishing he didn’t break it off. that he kept the toxic relationship going for just a bit more, just for the attention. he missed them)

so, taichi knew what he had to do. he actively started looking for love, not caring if he was going to get hurt again or if his heart was weak and broken from his last situation

(taichi’s reliance on love was so unhealthy, that even his friends got tired of his whining and eventually stopped communicating back when he went on a rant again)

(taichi didn’t mind, his dependency and need to be someone’s and be their one & only was too strong for him to even consider any other rational solution)

but you, you came out of no where

taichi was busy scrolling through his instagram following list, trying to find out if anyone cute was single. he could slide into their DMs with a fun message, be as enthusiastic as possible to avoid being left on seen. he was considering if he should start a digital conversation as he rode home from school

(he wasn’t the best multitasker. taichi was skating to the dorms, texting on his phone without looking up. he was casually skating before bam! he hit a curb, tumbling to the pavement as his phone flew a few feet away)

taichi groaned, knowing he was going to get scolded and laughed at by autumn troupe the moment he showed up to the dorms like he lost in a fight. as he moved to lay on his back, taichi rubbed his eyes as the sunlight was suddenly blocked from his vision

taichi opened his eyes and looked up, you were looking over him with wide, concerned eyes as you were saying something about first aid and asking if he was okay. taichi just blinked, not hearing you over the ringing in his ears as he stared at your face

you were cute! this could work, taichi just had to say some clever pick–up line you’d like. you would maybe find it so witty that you’d give him your number, you two would walk, form a momentary bond where he’d fall in love, and then you’d leave. taichi couldn’t believe fate finally recognized he needed a partner so it made him fall for them instead (literally)

taichi was about to open his mouth before you took his hand and pulled him up, helping him stand and he stared at your face, trying to process the situation. why were you helping? were you interested? did you want to go on a date? taichi blushed, never having someone ever be this direct to him

in reality, taichi’s sense of perception and reading between the lines was so warped. taichi romanticized his entire life, the way you touched his arm and made sure a completely random stranger was okay. this had to be the universe’s calling! but really, he just fell in love with everyone he met and pretended like his soulmate was out there

(maybe, this was all just an elaborate game to prove to himself that someone could love him. maybe, taichi just wanted to be worthy of someone’s love)

last time, he purposely fell off his skateboard to get a person’s attention. but this time, you were the one who came over to help. maybe, this could be different

“hey, hey! are you okay?!”

when the ringing subsided and he could pick up on your voice, taichi kicked his board up and swung it in his open backpack, putting his free hand out as he grinned like he didn’t just embarrass himself in front of you

“nanao taichi, great to meet you!” he exclaimed, smiling like his elbows weren’t scraped or his uniform was in desperate need of an ironing. he had a dull headache and he needed an ice pack for that bruise on his hip, but he looked so happy

you carefully took his hand, shaking it as you warily wondered how could someone be this happy after crashing like that (it was honestly a wreck, he looked like he could’ve died from the way he landed)

you said your name and the rest was history as he picked up his phone, wincing at the cracked screen, as he asked for your number

from there on, it was the start of a healthy friendship. at first, taichi tried to force this image he had onto you, convinced the timeline was basically telling him he had to do everything in his power to fall in love. but you shut him down quickly, emphasizing you guys were only friends and you weren’t about to risk this great friendship for some fling taichi wanted

honestly, it was for the best. taichi respected your boundaries and backed down (especially after you were adamant on not entering a fake relationship for the attention). when taichi took off his rose–tinted glasses and realized not every relationship he had meant pursuing some fantasy of love only he could imagine, your friendship with him became even better

taichi wrote you letters when he genuinely meant them, not because he felt like he was obligated to. sometimes, when he was so appreciative of how much you were there for him, he wrote pages of what you meant to him. they weren’t heart–shaped, but it had even more meaning because you actually read them and ruffled his hair, saying he was the bestest friend ever

you loved it! even though, he didn’t try as hard as he always did. he wrote your name normally, but you still smiled when you read it. he didn’t dot his i’s with hearts, but you still joked about how messy his handwriting was, and it didn’t bother him! it wasn’t perfect nor a representation of his lovey–dovey heart, but you loved it more than anyone else he ever did it for in his past

(his heart swelled with pride, not because he did something romantic, but because it made you happy. taichi was happy you felt loved, and were loved. was that the true purpose of letters? taichi didn’t think he could’ve wrote letters that were just plain without all the love clichés in the world, but you enjoyed them just the same without the flowery language)

taichi even sent you songs he knew you would love. you always listened to them, even sent back feedback about what you liked. but, taichi didn’t think it was romantic in any way. you appreciated that he took his time to send you something he associated with you. you always sent one back, but it wasn’t random, he always had on repeat whatever you chose because it fit him so well

he even remembered the first time he created a playlist for you on your birthday, selecting the same amount of songs as your age with thoughtful consideration. but this time, he didn’t go overboard and nitpicked at every single beat and rhythm. he just picked songs that made him think of you in a random order, and you still loved it. you even sent a video of you listening to it and shooting a thumbs up to the camera

(taichi’s heart doubled in size. you knew him so well! you knew what he liked and always paid attention to his likes & dislikes just like he did with you! you put in just as much effort with him, you really tried in this friendship and it wasn’t for the gifts he’d shower his future significant other with)

taichi always said good morning/night to you, but you didn’t yell at him when he forgot sometimes. you always said it back and even texted him first on occassion

(his heart was truly overwhelmed with all the subtle love you showed him. for once in his life, taichi felt like this was love. but he didn’t have to follow every romance movie’s rules or imitate every protagonist ever to get that love, all he did was be his true, authentic self)

taichi stopped himself from forcing love onto everyone he met. on nights when he felt like texting his ex again, or rekindling old relationships that didn’t work out for a reason, you stayed up with him, reminding him how much pain he went through and he couldn’t just put himself through hell again

taichi had to accept not everyone was his soulmate–to–be, that maybe this wasn’t his time to be in love. it took so much time to know that he’d rather be in love for a very long time than in short bursts

(not because it was more romantic, but he deserved a long–term, stable relationship that wasn’t just him begging for validation)

you taught him he was more than the people who played him in the past. he couldn’t sink to their level and start messing around just for the satisfaction, he would fall in love with someone right and it would be all worth it

(you two even once got into an argument. when taichi was going on and on about wanting a partner, you cut him off angrily, frustrated he wasn’t listening to your pleas for him to stop. you were so confused why he kept doing this to himself on purpose and if he was going to turn into some player. he kept ignoring you, whining about some partner before you gave up, telling him you couldn’t handle it today)

(that’s what it took for him to snap back to reality, taichi apologized immediately and tried his best to avoid ranting so much. at the end, you were always right and wanted the best for him. taichi had to accept that)

you provided taichi with real love that wasn’t because because he did all these romantic things, it was because you liked him for him. he stopped trying to see you as a potential lover and loved you as a friend, and that was more than enough

taichi had skateboarded to your house, rapidly knocking on your door as you came outside to see him with a boquet of flowers and your favorite candy. your heart dropped, oh no, was he about to confess when you made it clear—

“i love you.” taichi said, passing you the gifts as you stood shocked. you couldn’t believe it, you told him numerous times you two would never be in a relationship like this... you were about to object, reprimand him before he burst out laughing, holding his stomach as he hopped off his board

“oh my god! your face!!!” taichi hollered, trying to contain himself as you smacked his head with your boquet. you were genuinely so freaked out but breathed a sigh of relief once you saw he looked at you the same as before. taichi wasn’t in love with you, but—

“i just came to say i love you, as my best friend. i love you, and you taught me real love. i love you.”

your best friend, taichi, smiled just like that day he fell off his skateboard and scraped up his entire body. you hoped he never changed and stayed the same romantic nutcase as before, but for the right person

as you hugged him, taichi realized he didn’t need a relationship. he needed love, and his best friend was more than enough

#nanao taichi #taichi nanao #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #taichi x reader #a3! taichi #a3 taichi

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let-me-love-you-loki · 4 years

Text

Surprising Too Late Part I

Part 1

Nick

“Matt, hand me that shelf.” My brother and I were practically dripping in sweat as we helped our dad put in a partition wall in the garage that had once been our home gym. It still was, technically, but we’d moved some of the pieces around to make room for a new purpose.

Y/N’s birthday was in a week, and we had a surprise for her. When we’d met almost nineteen years ago—God, had it been that long—she’d been an art student. There were so many times when she’d beg the two of us to sit for sketches. I remembered the first time she showed me one of her paintings. It was a breathtakingly beautiful self-portrait. She’d given it to me as a present on our first anniversary. But in the years that followed that gift, our wife spent less and less time chasing her joy of art. It was as if the moment that Mattie was born, Y/N set aside everything except for our newborn daughter and us.

“Is that going to be big enough?” he replied, holding out a piece of varnished and polished wood.

Our dad poked his head around the corner. He was working outside, making sure that the window AC unit was sealed. “What are you putting on it?”

I pointed to a spread of jars filled with a variety of paintbrushes and tubes of acrylic paint along with a bento box Kenny had given her where she kept her chalk. Dad looked between the objects and the shelf in Matt’s hands before he nodded.

“Yeah, just tack an extra screw at the back of the bracket top and bottom.”

I grinned and dug into my pocket for two more screws. “This is going so much better than the swing set.”

Dad practically cackled. “You two helped me build your ring when you were teenagers. How you couldn’t follow some simple instructions is beyond me.”

“To be fair,” Matt said as he passed over the electric screwdriver and the level. “We were stubborn.”

“You were showing off,” Dad called back.

“True,” I snorted. “Matt, hold this down.”

Matt

It was hard to keep a straight face in the days leading up to Y/N’s birthday. We spent those final days in a panic. We ended up having to be in Jacksonville an extra day for a taping, and we ended up making panicked calls to our dad to get some final hardware stuff handled. From Friday to Saturday night, I don’t think either my brother or I slept more than a few hours. We took turns keeping our wife occupied while the other slipped away to the other house with the kids or to the garage to hang shelves or photos or art.

I spent Saturday night—the night before her birthday—going through boxes of drawings the kids had done over the years. Nick had gone out that morning and picked up a dozen picture frames. I picked out two drawings from each of the kids and tucked them carefully into a frame to hang on the wall or sit out on the tables in the space we’d made for her.

Nick had crept into her charcoal pencils and sketched the outline of the Tokyo Dome. It had taken a while, but the story of that first time he’d kissed her came out in the early days of our life together. It was a moment I didn’t begrudge them and I memory I hoped they kept with them forever.

I’d spent hours trying to figure out what my addition would be. After a while, I decided to do my best to replicate that moment when our lives together really began. I went through my iCloud and pulled up the photos from our honeymoon. There was half a dozen of that day on the coast where Nick and Y/N had exchanged their rings. It took three tries, but I finally produced something that looked like the lighthouse on the edge of Oahu.

It was the early hours of the morning of Y/N’s birthday when I finally slipped back into the house, bleary eyed and exhausted. Nick stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, and chugging a bottle of water.

“Everything’s ready,” I said around a yawn. I thought about making a cup of coffee. “Is she still asleep?”

“Everybody is. RJ was having nightmares, so I slept most of the night in his room.” My brother smiled a little. “Go get in bed. I’ll be there as soon as I check on little man.”

I reached out and hugged him. “Thanks, Nick. For everything you’ve done all these years.”

Nick locked his arms around me and squeezed me hard. “Thank you for letting me be here. For taking me back.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I wasn’t going to cry. “You and Y/N are the most important people in my life. And this life is the one for us, no matter what anyone says.”

I padded down the hallway to the master bedroom. Y/N was curled beneath the blankets in the center of the king-sized bed. For a moment, I stood there watching her sleeping. I remembered the first time I saw her, the first time I kissed her. My wife was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t believe that I’d been lucky enough to have the last almost twenty years with her.

She snuggled close to me when I slipped into bed beside her. She pressed her lips against my cheek and tucked herself under my arm. Her head pillowed on my chest. I kissed the top of her head and closed my eyes.

Sometime later, Nick crawled into bed on her other side. He curled up behind her, his arm tucked around her waist. Together—just like we faced everything else in life—we went to sleep.

***

I woke up to a faint knocking. Sleep fell away slowly. I was warm and comfortable snuggled between Matt and Nick. They were both sound asleep, made evident by Nick’s slightly open mouth and Matt’s soft snores.

The knock came again. I sighed and sat up, crawling down to the end of the bed to avoid waking either of them. Rubbing my eyes to wake up, I opened the bedroom door to find my sixteen-year-old daughter.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” she said with a grin. “We made breakfast for you and Dad and Papa.”

I smiled, tears in my eyes. “I think Dad and Papa are out of it for a while. But we’ll save them a plate.”

She led the way to the kitchen where thirteen-year-old Nicole was piling eggs on the plates of her brothers. Ten-year-old Lee was carefully pouring orange juice into a line of cups. He turned and gave me a smile that looked exactly like Matt’s.

“Morning, Mama! Happy birthday!” he said as he carried one cup at a time to the table. He handed six-year-old Ty his favorite cup, earning a wide grin from his youngest brother.

The kids pulled me toward the table and tucked me into my normal place between Mattie and Nicole. The boys lined up on the other side of the table. Seats at the head and foot were empty, waiting for Matt and Nick to join us.

Mattie looked around the table and frowned. She stood up and practically stalked down the hallway back to the master bedroom. I hid my laughter behind my hand as I heard her pounding on the door, yelling for her Dad and Papa to get up right now you’re ruining Mom’s birthday breakfast!

Ty grinned, his smile pushing into his cheeks, and giggled. “Mattie’s yelling at them!”

RJ looked over at his baby brother and nodded. “Serves them right. It’s Mama’s birthday.”

My heart swelled at the sweetness from my sons. Lee looked after his sister and scrambled from his seat to run to join Mattie. He stood next to her, pounding his fist on the door in time with hers.

“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Nick growled playfully as he swung open the door. I saw him grin at our eldest daughter before he leaned over, picked her up, and threw her over his shoulder. “Do you think we’d miss your mother’s birthday breakfast?”

Matt appeared right behind him, swinging Lee up onto his back. “We were up late getting Mama’s present ready.”

“Present?” I asked, arching my brows. I followed their movement as they carried our eldest son and daughter back into the kitchen. They deposited them in their seats, slipped around to press a tandem kiss on my cheeks, and smiled as they sank into their seats.

“Who made this?” Matt asked, looking down at the plate in front of him.

“Nikki,” Ty said proudly. She was his favorite, and he loved everything that she did.

Matt’s brow lifted as he beamed at her. She blushed and looked away. “It looks amazing, Bug,” he said before taking a bite. “You cook like your mother.”

Nicole glanced up at me, pride on her face. I kissed the top of her head. “You can help me make Thanksgiving dinner this year,” I whispered.

***

After breakfast, Matt and Nick tied an Elite bandana around my eyes. Then they took me by the hands and led me through the house. I could hear the children following along, whispering and giggling at each other. I looked around, trying to get an idea of what was happening, particularly when we left the house for the late September sunshine.

Nick talked quietly as he guided me over the uneven bumps and dips. I followed a map of our property in my head as I tried to figure out where they were taking me.

“Okay,” Matt said from my left. “Mattie, you got the camera?”

“Yep,” I heard her reply.

The bandana fell away, and I squinted in the bright light. We stood outside the garage that the boys had converted into a home gym when they bought their homes next to each other. I stared at the door, not sure what was happening.

Nick stepped in front of me, his hand on the doorknob, and grinned. “You’ve given up so much for us, Y/N. Your passions and your hobbies. It’s time you got those back.”

The kids filed in behind Nick, Mattie walking backward to keep her cell phone trained on me. Matt pushed me forward with his palm on the base of my spine. The moment I stepped over the threshold, I started to cry. The space was no longer a gym. Somehow, the boys had created a whole new room. It was painted a soft heather grey and stocked with every art supply I owned. My bento box with my chalks. Mason jars of brushes and acrylic. An easel and canvases of every size. Parchment paper. Everything I could ever want or need to draw, sketch, or paint.

The walls were hung with frames of every size and shape. Some held pictures the kids had drawn over the years, signed at the bottom with their names and ages. Two of them were clearly by Matt and Nick. A rough black and white sketch of the curving roof of the Tokyo Dome. Another carefully drawn outline of a lighthouse along a coast.

A palette had been turned into a photo frame—I suspected Brandon’s wife had something to do with it. It was splashed with bright colors, and circular holes had been cut into the wood. A picture of each of my children had been placed inside. A larger oval had a picture of the three of us at the wedding, the two of them standing in their suits on either side of me. A photo we were desperately grateful for after the fact.

I turned around in circles, one after the other, trying to take in everything. My heart pounded in my chest and the tears poured down my cheeks. Mattie followed my every move with the camera, her hands shaking as she cried, too. Nicole sniffled.

“Do you like it?” Matt asked softly.

Nick leaned his chin on his brother’s shoulder. The two of them watched me apprehensively, almost terrified.

“I love it. So much,” I whispered, trying to take a breath. “You… you did this… It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.”

A moment later, I was wrapped up in their arms. “We love you,” Nick whispered in my ear as Matt cradled my head in his hand. “Happy birthday, Sunshine.”

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it @not-that-kinda-gurl08 @lilred91 @imagineall-the-fandoms @maelleoute @librathepheonix13 @justamess44

#the too late tales #too late tales #surprising too late part 1 #matt jackson #matt jackson fanfiction #nick jackson #nick jackson fanfiction #young bucks #young bucks fanfiction #aew #aew fanfiction #matt x reader #nick x reader #matt x reader x nick #polyamory #polyamorous relationships

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ghost-writing · 4 years

Text

The Monster 3/?? - August Walker fanfic

PART THREE - Change

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Mentions of sex, mentions of violence and murder, swearing and bad language (in English and in Dutch!), some angst I suppose. And August Walker. (The Kingstache deserves its own warning.) And it’s probably full of typos and redundancies. If you see something that irks you, please tell me! :)

Part one can be found here, and part two here!

She felt tense. She was certain he'd try something during the “London expedition”, as Simon had named it. She had checked the reservations, and he only booked three rooms for the four of them, arguing that Simon and Niklaas could share, and assuring her that she would have her own room. Could be true, could be a ruse. Still she would've bet that Agent Control Freak had something planned. It was something in his eyes, faint but present. So she readied herself for a battle. A battle for power over the other. She would not let him get what he wanted that easily. But her team had to remain clueless of what was going on. She would not allow them to find out what was going on between the two of them. Because Niklaas would definitely use it against her.

She arrived early at the station. Simon was already there, his usual anxious self. Walker got there briefly after her. As if he had been following her. He probably had. That creep. After greeting them curtly, he sent Simon to the coffee shop. “My treat”, he said, giving him some money. She then was sure he most definitely had followed her. An intuition. Simon almost ran, happy to oblige, already salivating at the idea of fresh croissants he wouldn't pay for.

“Couldn't get them yourself?”

“Simon knows everybody's preferences in coffee. I only know how you like your tea.”

“And you know that we'll get breakfast on board with our 1st class ticket, right?”

“I do.”

She sniggered. “Ok. Spill the beans.” He lifted an eyebrow at her, trying to look perfectly innocent. “What the hell do you want, Walker?”

“I don't know what you are talking about.” He looked at someone behind her. “Den Boer. Almost late.”

“Rot op, kut”, the young agent muttered.

“What was that, Nik?” Frankie would not pass an occasion of putting that kid back in his place. He turned a deep shade of red, remembering she knew many Dutch curse words, and looked at her right in the eyes, mentally slapping her or spitting in her face, no doubt.

“I... I'm in a bad mood. Alarm clock did not go off this morning. Still, I am right on time, and Simon is not!” His triumph was short lived, as the coffee boy arrived, one hand holding a cardboard tray with four cups, and the other a bag of baked goods. Frankie's stomach growled instantly at the smell of pastry. Walker looked at her, with that unbearable smirk half hidden by his mustache, as if telling her “I knew you'd enjoy something to eat right away. Because I hid cameras in your apartment, and I know you did not eat anything since you woke up.”

“Klootzak”, she thought. “I so want to punch that smug face of his...” Apparently, she was now in a fouler mood than Niklaas.

She took it out on two croissants, eating in silence, sipping on her tea, avoiding to look at the big ass American spy who was gloating.

The speaker announcing that boarding would start shortly pulled her out of her ruminations. They all grabbed their hand-luggage, and rolled to their first class car. They were all seated around a table, so they'd be able to go through the plan again during the two hour journey. It would not be necessary, but she knew that Simon would ask the same questions again.

As she lead the way, she sat next to the window, and shuddered when Walker sat right next to her. He did not seem to notice, taking her small suitcase without asking her, lifting it above their heads. She shivered again, noticing how effortless it seemed for him, so tall and strong and...

“Frankie! What's wrong?”, Simon asked.

“Headache”, she mumbled. “Give me another croissant.” His face fell.

“I took the last one”, Niklaas said, a hint of defiance in his voice.

Frankie breathed in, through her nose, slowly, deeply. “I'll kill you for that.” Only after that thought had passed, she allowed herself to breathe out, as slowly as she could, never breaking eye contact with Niklaas. The young man was not ready to back down either.

But Simon was noticeably uneasy, trying to calm things down. “Aren't we supposed to have breakfast on board? I suppose it'll be croissants... I'll give you mine, Frankie! I've had enough already.”

“No, thank you, Simon. You don't have to deprive yourself of your breakfast for me.” She forced herself to look and smile at him. Poor Simon was always stuck between her and that shithead. Said shithead felt like he had won this battle, and looked at Walker with a huge grin on his face.

“What are you so happy about, Den Boer?” Walker couldn't stand the kid either. He usually did not care much about the people he had to work with, like Simon. Frankie was a different thing entirely, for obvious reasons. But sometimes, they'd get under his skin almost instantly, as was the case with the other junior officer. That one was not working hard enough, and acted as if he already knew everything he had to know. From experience, those were the worst kind, the most dangerous too.

“No answer? You're usually quite talkative when it comes to criticizing the Ice Queen...”

Niklaas' head almost exploded.

“Don't worry: she already knew you call her that. And worse.”

He looked at Frankie, who had murder in her eyes...

“Juniors, scram.” They didn't wait for further reasons, and left hurriedly.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck. Walker?”

She had paused between every word. Walker saw she was trying to control her wrath through her breathing, but did not understand right away why she was now so angry at him. He remained silent, not sure what answer he should give her.

“What the fuck are you doing? You are... Just... Weird. Stop being weird. Stop it! We're going to London to do a job. I don't know what's going on in your head, but get yourself in check and focus on that fucking job. For fuck sake...”

She stood up, and left him alone. He should have known treating her like a damsel in distress was not going to work. He should have known she'd put up a fight.

The rest of the journey was filled with awkward silences and quick questions about the case. When they got to the hotel, Frankie switched rooms with Simon and Niklaas: she absolutely did not want to be in the room next to Walker's, as they had a communicating door.

She barely talked to him that first day. They met the person they were supposed to get intel from, but that brought up another problem. They now had to go to the countryside to find someone else. But they'd have to conceal their identities and actual purpose. So, the whole team couldn't go, and Niklaas had the most ridiculous idea.

“Frankie, you should go with Agent Walker, pretend you're a married couple...” Again, his eyes were full of pride and mischief. He knew that would bother her. What else did he know?

While she was struggling to find an answer that wouldn't sound too angry, she heard the American say: “No. I'll go alone.”

“You'll look less threatening with a woman...”, tried Simon.

They all looked at Frankie, and something in her made their faces contort in three different expressions, but all meant “This might not be the less threatening-looking woman there is, but she'll have to make do, because it's the only one we have”. Her murderous intents had clearly reappeared.

“Maybe with a cute flowery dress...” Simon regretted his words instantly. Frankie's lips were shut tight, her jaw clenched, her anger palpable. Her silence only made her even more frightening.

“We should find another story”, cut Walker.

And then, Frankie heard herself say “We'll manage. It's only for a couple of days...”

“And at least two whole nights”, teased Niklaas, under his breath. He knew something. He definitely knew something.

Hearing that, Walker straightened his imposing frame, meaning to put an end to this silly conversation. “I said no.”

“I'm the leading officer here, CIA. You're only tagging along. And I say we're doing this. Simon, can you...” She felt queasy at the thought.

“Rent a car, search for a nice hotel in the area, and book a room for the happy couple, sure! I'll contact Emily... I mean: Agent Richards! For the details of your covert identity, Agent Walker...” And Simon skedaddled, followed by his colleague, leaving Frankie and Walker alone in his room.

After a moment of silence, Frankie trying to assert her dominance over her counterpart, Walker attempted a joke.

“Well, nobody is going to believe we're a happy couple, if you look at me that way...”

“I don't have to pretend yet.”

She moved towards the door.

“Wait! We have to... Plan this.”

“We'll have time for that while driving there. Now, I have to go shopping...” Turning around, she looked at him. “Maybe you should too.”

And she left him, confused, worried, and wondering what was wrong with his wardrobe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Walker was driving their rented car to the hotel they were supposed to sleep at. In the same room, of course. They had made contact with Peggy, the person they came all that way to meet. Peggy was now called Elizabeth, and was posing as a rich widow, taking care of a small art gallery in a picturesque village in the country side. Expecting her to be weary of strangers, they did not push their luck with her: Walker barely talked to her, most of the work was left to Frankie. She managed to have a lengthy conversation with Elizabeth, about the things a young couple could do in the area: where to eat, what to visit – even each on their own. Frankie pushed the “wife angry at her husband” story-line, because it seemed to work on their target. That woman had no trouble believing they were really married, because “Françoise” was genuinely mad at “Hank”. So, yes, Niklaas' stupid idea had actually worked, because of all the rage that tiny wife had towards her giant of a husband. The best lies are the ones anchored in truth.

But Frankie was drained, unable to conceive that she'd have to play that role for at least a couple more days, spending as many nights in the same room as him... So, when they arrived at the hotel, she went straight to the small restaurant, leaving him to take care of the reservation and the luggage. She sat at a table in a corner of the dining room, ordered a cocktail, drank it whole straight away, and ordered another, plus the lamb dish for herself, and the beef one for Walker. “Ugh! Him...” This mission was not easy, but the worse part was being with him. Him, constantly trying to hold her hand, or putting his arm around her waist or her shoulder. Him, ogling her like she was a flower and he was after her nectar. Him, his warm body, so tall and so wide, smelling so nice... Him. His huge hands. His stupid mustache. His hard cock... “Ugh!”, she hissed, full of rage and lust. She had already downed half her second glass when she saw him enter the room.

Getting inside the eating area of the inn, he saw her sitting at a table in a corner, away from the two other couple of guests who were already enjoying their meals. An older lady smiled at him, which her husband did not notice because he was focused on Franken. As he sat down in front of her, she gestured at the waitress to bring her another glass.

“I ordered food.”

“Thank you. But no drink for me?” He grabbed her glass and sniffed it. “What the hell is that?”

“Pear daiquiri. They're using local organic pears, it's nice and fresh. And it's my second glass already, because I need to unwind. Oh, here comes the third!” She finished her glass.

The waitress put the cocktail in front of Franken. “They're delicious, aren't they? Do you want one too, sir?” She smiled and batted her lashes at Walker.

“I'll have a scotch, thank you.”

He did not look at her leaving, but he noticed that whatever she did, it irritated his fake wife: she sighed in exasperation.

“We need to talk.”

She sighed some more. “Can I at least eat in peace, please?”

“It doesn't have to be a battle, we can have a quiet, civilized conversation.”

He saw rage in her eyes. He also noticed that she was exhausted. Or maybe it was the rum kicking in, or rather kicking her down.

“I'm sorry for the other night.”

This time, her face was blank. She did not believe him.

“I really am. I've thought about it a lot, and I know I made a mistake.”

Still nothing from her. How did that woman, who had looked so angry with him for the past week and a half, especially since yesterday, could now look that calm and unaffected?

“When was the last time you apologized?” Her tone was quiet, yet threatening. “To anyone.”

She looked at him right in the eyes. Walker made a mental note to never play poker with that woman, because she was not giving any clue to where she was going with that question. So, he tried sincerity, for once.

“I don't remember. It's not very often I do.”

“Why?” She drank, just a gulp.

He chuckled a little. “I don't like being wrong.”

“No, I mean, why to me? Why now?”

That's where she wanted to go. He realized she had done the same thing the other night, when she called him a boy... She had cornered him, just like now. Not leaving him any room for action, forcing him to go forward. He remembered she studied psychology and criminology. He remembered her file said she was good at interrogating suspects. He remembered how she got the man in London to tell them about Peggy and her location. He got played.

“Was it all an act? Your hostility, today?”

The waitress arrived with their plates. “Lamb?”

“That's me”, she said. “He's the beef.” The girl put their respective plates in front of them, and came back right away with Walker's scotch, trying to make eye contact, but he did not react.

Frankie smelled the food, and relaxed. She was starving, and drunk too. She cut a piece of her meat, swiped some gravy, put it in her mouth, and closed her eyes.

“Hmm... Good!” She opened her eyes, and Walker's face was another good thing. It was not the first time she saw that face, she often had that effect on people. But she was fairly surprised that a CIA agent had not seen her coming.

“It was all an act...”

“It wasn't.” She kept eating her dish. “It's really good, eat while it's still warm.”

“But...”

She cut him off. “It wasn't. I find you're insufferable. I didn't mind how smug you were, at first, but I don't know how I've managed to not slap you in the past few days... Or kick you in the balls.” She lifted her knife in front of her. “Or stab you multiple times, dismember your corpse, and disseminate the evidence across the English countryside.” She went back to eating her food like what she just said did not made her sound like a psycho. He still had not started his plate yet.

He took a deep breath, like he was about to say something, but he stopped himself, drank his glass in one go, and started his dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GUYS! You have no idea how hard it was to get to this... 3 months since I posted part 2. I wrote and re-wrote this, at least 3 times, if not 4. I just HATED what came out. I didn’t like how they were interacting with each other, or with others... It just felt WRONG.

And then, I don’t know how, Frankie changed her act, she was different: she was a mean cat and August suddenly was a little mouse stuck in her claws. And that weirdly felt RIGHT. (Maybe it’s because I watched How to Get Away with Murder. So: thank you, Annalise Keating, I guess... ^_^ )

So, I’m sorry there’s no smut (there should be in part 4, if I get to finish it!), but I’m so relieved...

#fanfic #August Walker #August Walker fic #August Walker angst #The Monster #angst

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suitofvibraniumarmor · 4 years

Text

The Nearness of You [Part Three]

Read Part One Read Part Two

Summary: Bucky Barnes is haunted by a ghost of the past. Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word Count: 2970 Warnings: Canon divergence, creative liberties, canon-typical violence, assassination, information that may not be accurate due to the aforementioned creative liberties and a lack of information on Google. A/N: There will be at least one more part to this mini-series! Huge thanks to everyone who has read/liked/reblogged. I have a lot of pride in this piece and I’m happy to be able to share it with all of you!

Years passed. Wars were waged, not only between countries and enemies, but between friends. Within the very inner workings of their own minds, never-ending wars were fought between the men they believed themselves to be and the men life had conditioned them to become.

After Y/N disappeared, Bucky convinced himself that the mission with Steve, the one he had already agreed to be a part of, would bring her back. Not only did she remain out of his reach, but he nearly lost his own life. He wouldn’t know it until years later, but Steve put that huge ship into the ice and was gone, for a while.

An entire lifetime of events had happened since the few kisses Bucky had gotten to share with Y/N. He’d lost an arm. Lost himself. Lost Steve. The latter two had been found again, but Y/N was the one thing that stayed missing. Bucky knew that if she hadn’t died at the hands of Zola, old age would have taken her by now. Ironic, thinking back on it; something he had never much believed in, played such a significant role in his life, but had been a part of him for such a brief moment in time. The impact, though, was lasting.

Sparring with Steve now, for training purposes, Bucky could feel the pull on his soul that her memory often caused. It was as though someone was reaching into his chest and tugging out his very essence. The pull distracted him and gave Steve the upper hand. Next thing Bucky knew, he was on his back with Steve’s cocky smile staring him down.

“Where’s your concentration today, Buck?” Steve asked, slightly breathless and slightly joking. He extended out a hand to help his friend up from the mat.

Bucky accepted the gesture. “I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. Let’s go again.”

Steve looked unsure, but they hadn’t been training for long. With a shrug of his shoulder, he took up his stance a few feet from Bucky and the sparring began again.

Three more takedowns had taken place — two for Steve, one for Bucky, finally — when the familiar AI voice came over the intercom.

“Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY began, “your presence is requested in the main conference room.”

“Requested by who?” Steve frowned.

“Director Fury.”

There was no questioning that. Grabbing a couple of towels from a shelf by the door, the two men did the best they could to wipe away the sweat worked up from their training exercises before joining Fury and, presumably, the others of the Avengers team, in the conference room.

Only Fury was waiting for them, though, at the head of the table. On the projector screen, news coverage of the Cuban diplomat coming out of the United Nations headquarters. Within a few seconds, the man fell to the ground, his guards converging over him with guns drawn. Around them, visitors and staff and others in the area were running this way and that, trying to find cover. The frame paused there.

“He was declared dead on the scene,” Fury informed them. “Considering the entry wound was roughly the diameter of your pointer finger and the exit would was that of a baseball, we’re assuming a sniper round killed him, but no slug and no casings were found anywhere within a reasonable radius of the assassination.”

Steve snorted. “Did you check outside of a reasonable radius?”

“Not yet,” Fury answered. “Here’s the information we’ve been debriefed on as of now. Unfortunately, even surveillance cameras didn’t catch anything. Following the trajectory of the bullet, they believe they know where the sniper was staged, but besides there being no casing and no bullet, there’s zero evidence — no tracks in the dust, nobody saw anything. Forensics dusted for gunpowder in the area where they believe the sniper shot from. Not a single fingerprint, epithelial cell, nothing.”

Bucky heard it all, but the pictures Fury supplied them with had his attention. He knew a bullet that could do that damage. He knew the disappearing act.

“Someone with a sniper rifle came and went within shooting distance of the front door of the United Nations headquarters and isn’t seen, doesn’t leave a single ounce of evidence? Sure it wasn’t a ghost?” Steve asked, his brow furrowing as he reviewed over the information in front of him.

Fury turned to the other man in the room. “Barnes?”

Steve raised his brow at his friend. “You think Bucky knows something about this?”

“He knows I do,” Bucky answered quietly. “This is Hydra, no doubt. Another Winter Soldier is my bet.”

“I thought Zemo put them all down?”

“So did I.”

Fury crossed his arms over his chest. “So did we all. Intelligence is working on it, digging into the oldest files we have, working to see what we can find. In the meantime, before I set the team on this, I’d like the two of you to check out the scene. The sooner we can figure this out, the better.”

Bucky exchanged a glance with Steve; his friend’s expression read concern. “It’ll be fine. It’s just recon, right?”

Steve pressed his lips into a thin line. “Right. We’ll go now, report back as soon as we can. Maybe keep backup available, in case.”

Fury left them to ready for their mission. Steve looked at Bucky again, standing from his chair.

“Buck, if this is too much, we can get someone else.”

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky assured. “It should be me. I’ll recognize the signs, if they’re there. I’m good.”

Steve didn’t look convinced. Even after a lengthy stay in Wakanda, he knew that the old memories sometimes took a toll on his friend. If Bucky said he was good though, there was nothing for Steve to argue.

Once they were cleaned up and in street clothes, Bucky and Steve went together to the UN headquarters to scout out, well, anything they could find. Intel told them that a building roughly half a mile from the entrance of the building was where the shooter was believed to have set up for the shot.

“The building stopped the bullet,” Steve observed, pointing to a crater in the cement wall, “but who picked it up after all was said and done?”

Bucky tilted his head. “No one on our side, apparently. Fury said there was nothing found.”

“Doesn’t make sense. Made out with a sniper rifle, made out with the slug, right on the crime scene. But no one saw anything.”

“Someone knows how to blend in.” He squinted his eyes and looked closer. “Hey, Steve — you see what I see?”

Steve leaned closer, looking at a piece of material glinting in the afternoon sun. It was buried deep in the cement, almost undetectable.

Shrapnel. Bucky reached a gloved hand into the crate and carefully dug out the piece. Steve provided a small, brown envelope for them to drop the piece into, and they decided from there to find the rooftop from where the shot had been fired.

“So the assassin would have to go into the building — no way up or down on the outside. Unless they climbed. Not much fun, not too easy with the weight of a rifle.” Steve opened the front door of the building, casually milling around the shop to avoid suspicion of any more serious activity.

“If they’re trained, that’s nothing more than busywork,” Bucky commented, following Steve inside.

The two of them walked around the shop for a few minutes, before Bucky saw a staircase at the back of the shop. He managed to get Steve’s attention and nodded toward the staircase. Steve nodded his understanding and struck up a conversation with the shop owner so that Bucky could investigate without being detected.

Too many flights of stairs landed him at a metal door. Through the small window in the door, Bucky could see the vents on top of the roof. As quietly as possible, noting the rusted hinges, Bucky pushed the door open. The air up here was warmer, naturally, but the view was nearly perfect — he could see for miles. The UN building was a faint sight near the horizon, but with the right scope, Bucky figured a shot from here wouldn’t be so difficult.

He walked over the rooftop, his eyes searching out even the tiniest clue — like the sun glinting off that piece of shrapnel — that would tell him if this had been another Winter Soldier or not. Nick had told them forensics couldn’t find a thing, and now he understood why. The whole rooftop had been cleared; only the dust that could have settled in the last hours since the assassination were present. The paint on the building was chipped, the brick of the long-since-used chimney was cracked.

“Everything else is neglected, but all the dirt and dust is swept up. Doesn’t make sense,” he muttered out loud.

If a grappling hook had left marks, it was too difficult to tell them apart from the cracks and chips the years had wrought upon the building. He made a mental note to ask Fury if any air vehicles had been noted in the area; maybe the assassin had been dropped in and picked back up. It was unlikely a helicopter that close would have gone undetected by the employees or customers in the shop, but stranger things had happened. At least it would give them some information.

Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and meandered over to the chimney. Not a drop of soot or ash around it, though he remembered the fireplace at his parents’ house back in the day keeping the remnants of a fire until someone cleaned it up. That sort of thing didn’t just disappear. It was only more evidence that someone had cleaned up anything that might be left behind, though, didn’t tell him anything new.

Close to giving up, Bucky checked out the last bit of the rooftop on the other side of the chimney, for good measure. Still not finding anything, he began to wonder if this was even the right place where the shooter had been. Maybe the clean-up had happened as a decoy, something to throw everyone off the trail.

And then he saw it: the one brick out of place in the chimney. The breakaway was clean, too clean. Licking his lips, his brow furrowed with puzzlement, he pushed one end of the brick. The opposite side gave way, allowing Bucky to carefully move the brick out of its spot. In the opening that was left behind, a casing and a sniper slug were waiting.

His heart raced in his chest as he took both pieces, shaking them in his palm once before replacing the brick and putting the pieces in his jacket pocket. He had all he needed now. Well, enough to be of some help, anyway.

Back in the shop, he cleared his throat. “Hey, buddy, you ready to get outta here? I’m starving.”

Steve looked up. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for the tips on bargain shopping, Mrs. Rittmiller.”

They both smiled and waved at the woman before heading out of the shop. Steve waited until they were almost a full block down before he asked.

“You found something?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Bucky replied. “We’ve got to get back to the compound. I’m done looking for today.”

This time, the whole team assembled in the conference room. Bucky sat nervously in his chair. This was going to lead to a fight; it always led to a fight. This new information in particular, however, was going to lead him right back to a fight he thought he had let go of after coming home from Wakanda. Those days were supposed to all be behind him.

“Soviet sniper slug,” Natasha observed, then met eyes with Steve. “Sound familiar?”

“It’s how we tracked Bucky when — how we tracked the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky leaned forward on the table. “It led you to me, I get it. It’s all right. But, that’s only part of what’s important about this. When I was in Siberia, the guards would talk about another soldier — someone I assumed was another soldier. Whatever high-priority jobs I didn’t do, it was this guy. Got in and out meticulously, without leaving any evidence behind, except for one thing, no one ever managed to find. The guy would retrieve the casing and the bullet from every kill, bury it either near the sniper stage or near where the victim had fallen, if possible.”

“Too much foot traffic to do that in front of the UN,” Nick noted.

Bucky swallowed. “But behind a brick in an old chimney on top of the building where the shot was fired from? A rooftop that’s hardly ever accessed? Judging by the upkeep, I’d guess it’s been months if not a couple, three years since someone’s been up there. Really, the brick being out of place came down to the details. If I wouldn’t have noticed, I doubt anyone ever would have.”

Tony Stark looked skeptical. “How come we’ve never heard of this other guy? You put him out of a job, or what?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky sighed, “I only know that he was never in Siberia, not when I was. We never crossed paths, I mean. The guards, they called him The Ghost.”

“Another ghost story,” Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are we sure this is the same person? Not a copycat, or even a newly-risen Hydra division that’s created a copycat?”

“I don’t think so.” Bucky stood from his chair and lifted his hands momentarily before letting them slap back down against his thighs. “I’ve told you what I know. You let me know when you decide what to do about it.”

He walked away from the conference room after that. The tension in his muscles was becoming too much, and he needed time to breathe. Needed time to sort out what it meant to potentially be back in the middle of all of this again.

In his room, he pulled a shoe box out from under his bed and set it on the mattress next to him. He opened the lid and took out the contents: old letters from his parents while he had been overseas, newspaper clippings from Steve’s first ridiculous performances as Captain America. Pictures from his youth, a few greeting cards his mother had saved.

At the bottom was the thing he had come here to find. A picture of him with Y/N, standing outside the medical tent at the camp where they had met. Bucky had been clever about the picture, claiming he wanted a picture with her to send to his mother to show who had stitched him up after the fight. He had his arm around her, and she smiling at the camera. It was a natural smile; Bucky remembered that she had been laughing at something he said right before the picture was taken. He was looking at her, smiling and so delighted with the fact that he had made her smile, brought her some little morsel of happiness. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost hear her laughter.

“How’d you manage to keep that?”

Bucky looked up from the picture to see Steve leaning in the doorway. “Ma. They sent all my belongings to her after the fall from the train. It got passed around to some different places, but Fury tracked this box down for me. This picture was at the bottom. I don’t look at it often, but sometimes …” Bucky let out a breath. “Sometimes seeing her is the only thing that helps me calm down. This is the only way to do that.”

It wasn’t the same as seeing her in person, but remembering what that calm had been like, it was enough to pull him back from the edge. Steve offered some comforting words, about how Y/N had been brave enough to go after Bucky, and he knew she would be incredibly proud of everything Bucky had overcome.

Bucky tossed the picture back in the box before piling the other things on top of it and replacing the lid on the box. “What’s the move, Captain?”

Steve hesitated to tell his friend at the moment, but there was never gonna good time to tell him that the decision had been made to go after The Ghost.

“And we’re sure it’s not me?”

Steve frowned. “What? Buck, of course it’s not you. How could it be?”

“I don’t know, man. I’ve done a lot of shit. I got wiped God knows how many times. Maybe The Ghost is just another persona Hydra put in my brain and buried deep down in there, where even Shuri couldn’t get to it.”

“It’s not possible,” Steve assured. “You were with me, training when it happened. All of that is on the compound’s cameras. Not one person here has had a passing thought that maybe it was you. All right? You’re a good man, I know that. I’ve always known that. Y/N knew that. The rest of them know that, now.”

Bucky didn’t say anything; he didn’t know what to say. A part of him had hoped they could explore the possibility that he was The Ghost, stall finding another lost soul for a while. The thought of looking into someone else’s eyes and seeing the pain and misery that he had dealt with for so long was almost more than he could think to bear.

For that reason, a few days later, when enough intel had come in on a possible location for The Ghost, Bucky tucked the picture of Y/N inside his jacket before loading onto the quinjet.

Part Four

Tags: @captain-s-rogers @the-murder-strut-murdered-me @jackryanplz @xtina2191 @shynara51 @captain-rogers-beard @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @pinknerdpanda

#marvel #fanfiction #bucky barnes #reader insert #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #soulmates #soulbond #to be continued!#queue and i remember budapest very differently

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ofwizardsandmen · 3 years

Text

Pride and prejudice

Characters: Minah Delacroix, Enzo St. Pierre, Johnny Suh, Leah Richmond

Word count : 1,3k

Collection of drabbles in which Tara & Mark's friends react to their engagement

Mayfair - Beauté+

“I can’t believe them” Enzo St. Pierre’s voice echoes in the silence of Minah’s large office. For a man with quite a free-spirited approach to life and his easy-going temperament, he sounds particularly bitter. Minah ignores her friend for a brief moment in favor of the contract in front of her. After all, Enzo had installed himself on the pink velvet sofa across her desk hours ago and so far he’d done nothing but to watch her go through paperwork as he scrolled down his OwLine’s —Sungjae’s latest social media app— feed.

Now, despite the rumors that circulate about him, Minah knows that Enzo Saint-Pierre is not one to enjoy watching women like some creep. No, Enzo can’t lie for his life —at least not to Minah—, so she is aware that the only reason he’s pretending to wait for her approval before embarking on a new project is the long-forgotten mail in his office that keeps —literally— exploiting on his desk.

Biting down a laugh, the young woman watches Enzo toss his phone on the couch with a scoff and the sudden urge to discuss Gossip Witch’s latest blast prompts her to push aside the stack of documents in front of her.

“So you heard about the Olivier’s launching a lipstick collection?” she asks visibly amused.

“What?” For a second or two, Enzo seems the slightest bit perplexed, but his confusion quickly morphs into a disgusted frown. “Eww. No. That’s obviously a desperate attempt to one-up our company and we’ll get back to this real quick, but I am talking about Tara and Yang” Enzo says, leaping out of his seat to slide his phone across Minah’s desk.

Minah can’t remember a time Enzo has ever used that uncharacteristic whiny tone to talk about his best friend and her boyfriend, so she eyes him with a confused frown.

Moving closer to her, Enzo simply deadpans “They got engaged”.

“Engaged?” The young woman looks at Enzo over the rim of her Dior reading glasses, almost refusing to believe one of their closest friends —and arguably the wisest of them all— would make such a life-changing decision overnight. This is surely her business partner reading that Gossip Witch rip-off website again. “Love, I’ve told you to stop reading that fake Gossip Witch page-”

Enzo rolls eyes fleetingly before pushing his phone closer to Minah. “This is real, Min. Look for yourself”

Still downplaying the situation, Minah slowly takes her glasses off and grabs Enzo’s phone. She almost has an “I-told-you-so” escaping from her crimson lips when her eyes catch a glimpse of a red box on the screen. Minah blinks twice before reading Tara’s very simple message. “Mark proposed”. Two pictures are attached as proof: the first one shows a huge diamond ring —Cartier, evidently—; the other captures Mark and Tara smiling brightly to the camera, he's holding his guitar with one hand while his free arm holds his girlfriend's waist.

“Well, this is-“ Minah flounders at a loss for words, unsure of what and how she is supposed to feel. Surely those are good news, but there is also a part of her that feels wronged by the fact she is finding out about them through a message sent to Enzo.

“Horrible” Enzo completes the unfinished sentence, a huff slipping past his lips.

“No!” Minah is quick to deny. She throws her shoulders back and fixes her position to appear composed “I mean, completely unexpected yes, but those are great news.” She goes on, in an attempt to brainwash herself into believing she isn’t offended at all “I just-“ The woman purposely ignores the way Enzo rolls eyes for a second time and instead reaches for her own phone, secretly hoping that Tara had the courtesy to inform her too. “Isn’t Mark famous? Why would he propose without a big eve- wait, did he plan a proposal event and kept us out of it?” She bombards Enzo with questions as she goes through the dozens of messages she’d received that morning, a cold trickle of anger shivering down her spine when she realizes she has received the exact same message.

___

Camden Town - Leah Richmond’s house

On the other side of Regent’s Park, in a small residence in Camden Town and with Natalie Imbruglia’s most —and probably only— famous song playing in the background, Leah Richmond walks into her kitchen to find the broad-shouldered and tall figure of Johnny Suh. Her first instinct is to laugh at how ridiculously cute her boyfriend looks, dressed in a simple t-shirt, cuffed jeans that barely cover his ankles, and a yellow apron with a silly duck print, but upon registering the way he is angrily holding a frying pan and a plastic spatula, she decides against it.

“Is this about to become another how-do-you-even-survive-without-me speech?” Leah questions biting the inside of her cheek when he turns to look at her. The fact she has gotten used to Johnny’s slightly obsessive cleaning habits and long rants that remind her of her mother doesn’t mean she’s learned to appreciate them. Especially not when she has huge news to deliver. “If yes, I’d like to skip it or save it until you hear the news. I was on the phone with Tara and you won’t believe-”

“How stupid Mark is?” Johnny interrupts, he places the frying pan and the spatula on the counter before turning to the fridge. “You’d think he can’t possibly get worse, but he always delivers. I’m actually glad Tara is…” Johnny makes a pause to look at Leah and see her reaction, so far she looks perfectly confused. “…so brainwashed or so in love, whichever it is” he shrugs, earning a soft chuckle from his girlfriend.

“Wow, news surely travel fast.” Leah rolls eyes playfully and clicks her tongue disapprovingly “And Tara said I was the first person she called”

“Well, Mark was panicking and about to tell Tara he was joking, so-” Johnny pulls the fridge open with such force the door ends up hitting the wall. Johnny stops on his tracks, shocked by his own strength and expression mildly panicked making its way onto his face. Leah still wants to laugh, but there’s something holding her back, something she can’t quite figure out yet

In its place, she glares at her boyfriend until he’s purposely avoiding her eyes. “Great, destroy my house because you’re jealous of your crush getting married”

“And who are you even marrying to?” Johnny replies smoothly, earning himself a quick peck on the lips and a soft slap on the shoulder. Leah also gifts him with an inexplicable warmth spreading in his chest as she laughs.

“Now, for real, I know Tara doesn’t really care about that kind of thing, but I can’t believe Mark improvised a proposal.” Johnny pulls out a carton of eggs, picks a couple of tomatoes and pushes the fridge close with a loud thud. “That’s no way to ask the love of your life to marry you, where did he even learn about relationships? Clearly not from me or Taeyong” Johnny shakes his head in disapproval as he moves around the kitchen opening cabinets and taking out ingredients and supplies “I hope Mark is dealt with accordingly, no woman deserves such a lackluster proposal. Especially not Tara.”

“Well, knowing Ara and Adela, I’ll be surprised if Mark even makes it to dinner tonight” Leah chuckles “And don’t forget Enzo”

“Or her brother” Johnny shudders involuntarily when the image of Tyler Lee invades his mind. “Tara will be lucky if Mark even makes it to the wedding”

Minutes later when Johnny settles a plate of scrambled eggs and a mug of steaming coffee in front of her and complains about Mark’s “lack of creative effort in the romance department”, Leah finally dares to ask a question that has been reverberating inside her brain. “Hey, Suh, what’s the right way to propose to a girl then?”

Johnny is briefly taken aback. His eyes widen the slightest bit and he gulps almost imperceptibly before replying with a smart “You’ll know when I do it” that leaves Leah bursting out in laughter but feeling oddly flattered.

...

#johnny #leah #friends #minah #enzo #story #oc

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deathduty · 4 years

Text

Leanan On Me || Deirdre & Lydia

TIMING: Pre-Mushrooms LOCATION: Lydia’s House PARTIES: @deathduty & @inspirationdivine SUMMARY: Deirdre visits Lydia and they talk about weakness and voluptuous chests WARNINGS: stalking tw, head trauma tw

Lydia was getting stronger by the day, but not strong enough. She wasn’t resting as much as Dr. Oakfield expected, she wasn’t brave enough to sleep nights, but she was managing little trips out, and she was getting fast on her crutches, and maybe the cast could come off soon, as long as she didn’t put too much weight on it after. Her bannister and doorframe replaced, so there was no more evidence anywhere of the original attack. Just in her head, and every time she saw the upstairs bathroom. And on her body. The doorbell buzzed her phone, and when Lydia peered through the camera on her phone, she spoke through the mic. “Hey Deirdre. Door is unlocked, come in!”

She had often heard that death was a mercy, that there would always exist far worse fates than an end. But Deirdre didn’t have the heart to say she wasn’t beyond happy that Lydia was alive. That no matter what, and no matter how selfish it sounded, she wanted Lydia to live. All she could do as a friend, was help her move past the trauma of what had happened. All she could hope for, as someone who loved Lydia, was exactly that. She stepped through the door with a relieved sigh, having worked herself into a worry by the simple virtue that she couldn’t see Lydia. She had half a mind to just ask to stay with Lydia permanently, until her worry dissolved---which might have been never for the banshee trained to analyze risk. She took care to make sure the door was locked as it should be before she began calling out for Lydia, finding her a moment later. “Hello there beautiful,” she smiled gently, taking a seat next to her, holding her hand out for Lydia to take. “You’re looking better. Has sleep been good to you?”

The swelling on her face had reduced significantly. She still looked asymmetric, but at least now when Lydia smiled it reached both sides of her face without the need for a glamour. “Hey there yourself,” she replied softly, taking Deirdre’s hand. Oh, she hated this, the gentleness with which others approached her, as if the wrong word might rip off her other wings. She ought to consider herself lucky fae were visiting her at all. It was traditional for fae undergoing moulting to avoid other fae until their shame was passed. And Lydia’s shame was so present she’d refused to discuss it with anyone, unwilling to spread such bad luck. At least her lungs didn’t burn anymore, breathing and talking merely a strong discomfort rather than an agony. “I’ve slept so much since it happened, one would hope so. How are you, my dear?” But she only slept during the day, and it showed in her red eyes.

Caring for a fae was strange, for all Deirdre knew about pride, she’d never been taught about love. Her family treated pain like an independent hurdle to climb, and she’d never lived through any major family tragedies to know how they were supposed to be dealt with. But she’d learned of care recently, and she liked to think she knew just enough to ease someone’s burden. “Oh, I miss you and our wine dates, so you better be resting good. There’s only so much wine I can drink by myself, without your scathing commentary.” She smiled softly, trying to figure out how to breach the topic of Lydia’s care without...breaching anything at all. But the worry was clear in the furrow of her brow, the way her lips kept falling off into a frown. “You know…” she sighed, clasping her other hand over Lydia’s, cradling it safely in her hands. “You don’t have to do this with me. Worrying about...not yourself. Pretending like things are better than they are. I’m not going to run off and tell everyone how much pain you’re in. I’m not going to tell the world you’re weak or afraid if---if that’s how you feel, it’s okay. I just mean...I don’t need to see a strong face, Lydia. I just want to see my friend, as she is, however she’s feeling. So, truly, how are you?”

“I don’t know what else to do,” Lydia replied, voice creaking. “I don’t know how else to be. I’m not supposed to be weak.” She looked down at Deirdre’s hands, and god, she wanted to pull away, to pull herself into perfect posture and a perfect smile. None of that was real. “A young fae came by, recently. I’ve been befriending him, introducing him to our culture. He’s left a Raiju somewhere around to protect me, in case I need it, but when he first saw me, god, it was like he’d walked into a murder scene. It was just… written all over his face. I just- I feel like he sees me differently now. How is anyone meant to respect me if I let someone do this to me?” Deirdre had veins along her wrist, each fading as they stretched up her arm. Lydia started at them, tracing each with her gaze intently. Better than looking up at Deirdre’s face. “I- Remmy was supposed to be safe here. Instead they got poisoned here and then this happened, and I was supposed to have this under control. I didn’t think he would do this at all. I thought I had him promise bound, and the only-“ Lydia’s voice cracked and she looked abruptly to the window, blinking at the sudden heat in her eyes. “I must have made a mistake in the wording. That’s the only explanation. I’m usually so careful. It’s what I’m best at.”

Deirdre could remember the way her mother reacted to her emotions, the way she was taught to get rid of what few she had. There were many crimes she could commit, but none worse than weakness. And what greater weakness was there than vulnerability, emotion and failure? Then she could remember the first time she cried in front of Morgan, the deep shame that settled in her like a tidal wave and the guilt that roared above like thunder. But where she thought she might find disgust, she was met with love. Deirdre could think of no other reaction to give Lydia but that. She began slow and soft, “I don’t see someone weak. I see someone that was attacked--unfair, unjust--and I see that person, with great strength, recovering as a person does. Please don’t say you’re weak. It’s not true, and the only purpose that serves is making yourself feel worse. No one is indestructible.” Deirdre lifted Lydia’s hand, meeting it half-way to press a kiss to her knuckles. “You didn’t let anyone do anything to you. Someone hurt you. Someone came into your house with that intent. That’s not your fault. Whoever that man is, he did this. Not you. He did. You’re not weaker for having gone through it. You’re not lesser than for being hurt by it.” She smiled softly. “Strength doesn’t have to be one thing, your strength isn’t one thing. There is strength in recovery, strength in perseverance, strength in honesty and strength in vulnerability. And, honestly, you don’t have to be strong all the time. There’s a strength in resting too, in just letting yourself be as you are. What I see is someone who is strong, I always have and I always will.” Deirdre paused. “Maybe I can’t change your mind about this, but if anything, I promise I don’t see you as being weaker--or at fault for any of this. So here’s at least one person you don’t have to worry about ruining an opinion of. I love you, and I respect you just the same as I did before.”

Lydia still didn't look at her, not until Deirdre kissed her hand. "How are you so kind?" Lydia asked after a long moment, trying to take it all in, trying to accept it when it rattled against her internal beliefs. Deirdre was right that all she was doing right now was considering herself weak. So all that did was harm her, but it was still true. She hadn’t prioritised protecting herself, or Remmy. She hadn’t been smart. All those other things were nice platitudes, but… "What if it is. I've been so… arrogant, Deirdre. I've been so far up in my righteous indignation that I forgot to be scared. He's been stalking me for months, I knew he was dangerous, but I was so angry, so indignant that any supernatural being would treat another like this. So I punished him with the promise. He killed a local priest to get to me and I still wasn't afraid. I was angry. I made him burn himself until the holy water made holes in his mouth. I set him a task that was painful and humiliating, and was supposed to be impossible." Lydia took ab deep breath looking down at her hand. The scrapes were nearly gone, as least. Her hand looked so small in Deirdre's. There were no acrylic nails to make her fingers look longer, no no polish to make her look bolder. Her nails looked cracked and chipped from her flight. Except fight was a strong word, wasn't it? She'd given up in a heartbeat. All these words and definitions for strong, and Lydia wasn't any of them. Not right now. "Deirdre, the only reason I'm even alive is because he wanted me to be. That isn't strength, that's terrifying. Doesn’t that make me weak?”

"I'm not kind," Deirdre shook her head, "you're just important to me." Whatever kindness was being perceived, might as well have been attributed to Morgan—after all, Deirdre had learned these beats somewhere. But it didn't matter so much, how or where any kindness had come from. Not knowing what else to do, Deirdre crawled into Lydia's lap, hovering just above to keep from applying any actual pressure. She needed Lydia to look at her, and so she gingerly cupped her face, tilting it up to meet her earnest gaze. "It's not your fault. We could go on like this forever. It's my fault because I didn't ask enough questions, and as your friend I'm responsible for keeping you safe. It's Remmy's fault for not paying enough attention. It's your floor's fault for not swallowing him up and sending him down to hell. You could put blame anywhere. But the truth is this: he hurt you. He came into your house to hurt you. What does it matter what you did or didn't do? Where mistakes were or were not made? You should know, better than anyone, that it doesn't matter how careful people are—or how humble they act—someone can still hurt them. You did what you thought was right, that's all anyone can do. It's not your fault, Lydia." Deirdre didn't know the full story, not that it would have changed her mind, but she was beginning to piece it together. For now though, she thought it far more important to move Lydia's mind from self-blame than to procure the facts. "He took control of your life, maybe so you suffer more, thinking of him, fearing him—I don't know. But you have it now, it's yours again. Doesn't it make you strong to reclaim what he took? For every breath you take, for every second your body spends repairing itself, there is strength. You're living, and there's nothing more powerful than that."

You’re just important to me. That was when the tears spilled down her cheeks, finally. Lydia pressed the back of her hand to her eyes to stem the flow of tears. She shifted to give Deirdre space as she felt the woman shift closer, but didn’t realise quite what was happening until Deirdre’s soothing cool fingers tilted her face to look back at Deirdre. “I’m sorry,” she said, quietly into the inches between them, and didn’t know what she was even apologising for. For needing comfort, for needing talking to, for crying. Maybe she was sorry that Deirdre’s words were a balm, that each sentence made her a little softer, a little sadder. “But I’m not reclaiming anything! He left. He’ll come back. He got in by compelling Chloe. What if he does that to Remmy, or you, or to me?” Lydia’s voice cracked. There was a certain irony to the terror of having done to you what you so carelessly did to others, but Lydia was in no fit state to appreciate that right now. “You know, many Aos Sí expect you to self-exile until it grows back. Having them is an honour, they’re sacred, letting anyone touch one, let alone remove one… And he can just do it again. Any time he likes.”

Deirdre took care to thumb away Lydia’s tears after a moment, wanting to encourage her to cry in some small way--to let out everything she felt she couldn’t in different company. It helped, sometimes. “What if any number of wardens I’ve pissed off decide to target someone else? What if someone from the Ring decides they want to target Remmy’s friends instead of them? What if a bird I fed once decided it was going to shit exclusively on you for the rest of its life? You could say that about anything, Lydia. You can’t blame yourself for the actions someone else takes. You’re not in control of that. No matter how careful you are, how cautious you decide to be, bad things will still happen---to you, to anyone you care about. If he takes an action against someone, that’s his actions, prompted by his own thoughts. It has nothing to do with you, no matter what he says about it, it’s never your fault. It’s never because of you. It’s him, it’ll always be him.” She smiled, contorting herself and leaning down just enough to press a kiss to Lydia’s forehead. “Oh, believe me, I know how the fae act about a lack of wings. I know exactly how cruel and callous they can be. Most of them will never know how bad it hurts to have one pulled off, most of them will never consider how much more powerful it is to stand as someone who knows that pain--and lives. Your wing will grow back, and none of them will care that it was ever gone in the first place. You have wings, and you’ll always be better than...a fae that doesn’t.” Deirdre slumped, then shook her head. “Tell me what the worst case scenario is. Tell me what you think it is, if you can.”

Lydia listened to all of Deirdre’s arguments, a tiny smile playing her lips as Deirdre talked about the birds she might feed, and opened her mouth to immediately argue. “But-“ But nothing, because Deirdre planted a small kiss on Lydia’s forehead and fresh tears sprung from her face before she’d even remembered what the gesture meant to non-Leanan Sidhe. Deirdre slumped, still somehow straddling Lydia’s Lao without touching her. Lydia wrapped an arm around her friend’s back, and she wasn’t sure whether it was to comfort Deirdre for the flatness of her back, or to cling to her like a life raft. She sat with Deirdre’s question for a while, still looking up at Deirdre’s eyes, and tried to decide. “It might grow back wrong. It might not grow back at all. I don’t know if I’ll ever fly again, Deirdre. I don’t know- I don’t know if I’ll be able to think properly again. Even this, right now, it’s so hard to concentrate. To really get what you’re saying and to remember it.” But that wasn’t the worst thing. “I’ve seen the worst thing. He hands me heads in baskets. Over and over. Yours, Remmy’s, Felix’s, Morgan’s. He drowns me, over and over, until I eventually don’t wake up after. And I think that would be a- a-“ Lydia stopped, stuck on the word, “a soothing? A relief, there. I can’t… I can’t believe it happened, but it’s all I think about. Him, playing with me until he gets bored.”

It was strange to listen through another wing-based anguish; Deirdre tried to remember if even one wing was better than none, or if walking around with the evidence of her attack would be worse. The fae were all about appearances, after all. But Deirdre didn’t know the answer. “That’s how time works. Everything feels permanent in the present; as though you’ll be like this forever. And pain, it makes everything feel longer, doesn’t it? The future is unknown, and murky at best. At worst, it’s scary.” Deirdre stiffened at Lydia’s description, playing it out in her head. “But I won’t let that happen…” She grimaced, “if you’re going to die, Lydia. It won’t be like that. I won’t let it. I promise you a good death.” She knew that promise would be hard to keep, but she didn’t care. She felt the desire to make it true burn through her, and by sheer will alone, she’d make it happen. It was her duty, but more than that, it was the least she owed Lydia. “I mean it. There’s an old adage in my family: as long as you live, nothing is over. Even the greatest trees will be struck down by a strong enough storm, but for every one that falls, there are dozens more that haven’t. And I don’t---I believe that, Lydia. I can’t tell you he’ll never come back. I can’t tell you he won’t hurt you again. I hope for it, I don’t pray but...fates, I’d pray for it. I’d do everything I had to to make it so. I know you will too. Bad things will always happen, we can’t prevent them. But life is--it’s more than just waiting for the next tragedy.” She paused, hugging Lydia back, wrapping an arm around her head and another around her shoulders--careful to avoid irritating her healing back. “But you don’t even have to worry about any of that right now, Lydia. You don’t need to pay attention to what I’m saying right now.” She leaned back to look at her. “You don’t have to be okay. Give yourself time, Lydia.” Deirdre smiled, “and I promise you a good death, no matter what.”

In any other time, Lydia might not have appreciated Deirdre’s words. Lydia lived a life of beauty and excellence, of perfect control and vanity. She didn’t usually think about death other than in the context of her ephemeral humans. Now it ate at her, consumed her daily thoughts. The burning in her throat, the twist of her lungs. When Lydia slept she dreamt of death. She spent her nights in fear of it. One bottom feeder had done all this to her. As Deirdre hugged her, Lydia pressed her face into Deirdre’s voluptuous chest, sinking into the banshee’s comfort. I promise you a good death. Why the hell did she live at a time that that was comforting? But it was. A quick knife in the back, in the throat… felt so much more welcome than anything else. “God, I know it’s more than waiting. I know it’s temporary, rather thank forever. But Deirdre, I’ve never had so little control in my life. I just… I hate this. The fear, the control, the pain, the lack of certainty if anything will ever heal right.” She pressed her face harder against Deirdre’s chest. “I’m so lucky I have you in my life.”

"I know…" Deirdre soothed, carefully running her fingers along Lydia's pearl hair. She didn't know if the act was as soothing as it was with regular hair, but she could only hope. "I know, Lydia. I won't tell you to trust the future, or have hope. But I'll do it for you. I'll hope, I'll trust. And when you're ready, you can join me." She smiled, glancing down as she realized Lydia couldn't see her expression, her vision obscured by breasts. Well, she couldn't exactly blame Lydia for enjoying it, but she laughed anyway. "Uh huh, or do you mean you're so lucky to have my chest in your life?" Deirdre laughed again, trying to breathe life into the scene around her. Her thighs quivered, beginning to struggle with her lap hovering, but she didn't have the heart to move away. "Can I ask you something?" She started, "the man...the one who did this...who was he? Or, rather, what? I heard about the uninviting spell and—was it that vampire that fed from you, some time ago? I-I remember you talking about that." And if this was some drawn out back and forth of revenge, it'd make sense that it started there.

Deirdre’s joke was another balm on her back, as it startled a laugh out of Lydia so loud it hurt her chest, which Lydia clutched with a soft “ow” and a lingering smile. “Mm, well, we both know about how jealous I am - envious I am of Morgan when it comes to your excellent chest.” She replied, managing a chuckle, but she didn’t move her face. “Y-yes. It was him. It’s all been a big game of cat and mouse. Where it was my turn to be the mouse. I, god, I’ve been so stupid. He was always wearing suits, always with a cruelly pleasant smile. I don’t think I ever saw him lose his composure.” Lydia pressed her hands to her head, bending over with the sudden pain, even as her pupated back protested at the movement. “I’m - Deirdre- Some space - Can I have some space?” Her hands curled into fists in her hair. “What were we talking about?”

“Oh, oh--” Deirdre scrambled off Lydia, sitting stiff with worry at her side. “Are you okay?” She asked quietly. “Hey, it’s---maybe we can just sit like this? We don’t have to talk about him...or anything.” She frowned, staring at her friend. She couldn’t be sure if that reaction was something induced in speaking of her attacker--she spoke of him before, hadn’t she? It couldn’t be that. Or the head trauma she was still recovering from. Either way, all Deirdre wanted was for Lydia to get better, and maybe that meant sitting quietly with her. “What do you need right now, Lydia? Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” Lydia replied sharply, and winced at just how pointy it came across. “Sorry, sorry-” she murmured, reaching for her handbag where she had a blindfold to help create darkness in the middle of the day. “It’s okay, it’s not you- I-” Lydia groaned, and nodded gratefully for the offer of help “Can you- There’s this- In the fridge, there’s a bottle of a tea. Can you strain out the spider legs and bring me a glass? And some Tylenol. On the oven. Please.” It was a revolting concoction, which made it all the worse that it worked. Something to bury the weakness, at least for a little bit. Deirdre could see right through her right now, barely even able to get up. “How can I be brave like this?”

Deirdre didn’t need to be asked twice, or once even, she was up and going before Lydia finished speaking. She found her fridge, pulled the tea out, strained the legs. Grabbed her the Tylenol and promptly came back, not a single second to spare looking around or analyzing what had changed since the last time she was here. “Hey,” she offered out what was asked for, the tea in one hand and the pill sitting in the palm of the other. And then there was her question. Deirdre considered it with a frown. “I don’t know...maybe it just means allowing yourself to be vulnerable so you can get better and let people help you. Maybe it means you stop beating yourself up. Maybe it means something else entirely. But I know that I love you, and I always will--no matter what happens. Maybe you don’t need to be brave, maybe that’s the brave part, maybe you let someone else be brave for you. I don’t know.” She slumped, feeling helplessness tug her down. “I’d do anything if it’d make you better. I’d do anything if it meant going back in time and stopping that man from ever hurting you. I don’t know what it means to be brave, I think I’m as much of a coward as anyone. I just know that you matter to me, and as someone who loves you, I don’t want to see you denigrate yourself or your state. I love you, maybe that’s enough.”

Lydia took the pill and tea, dropping the pill on her tongue and immediately downing the entire cup of tea. She shuddered and cringed, the taste sticking to all of her teeth and her whole tongue. It was sweet as maple syrup, and tacky, and textured like rotten cabbage, despite being a liquid. “Thank you,” she breathed, and knew she was lucky her and Deirdre were so close, so her continuous mistakes wouldn’t be exploited against her. Lydia might have laughed at the thought in any other situation, worrying about her vulnerability beside the fae she trusted most, right as Deirdre was encouraging her to be soft, to let others be brave for her. “Oh, if I could go back in time, I would do so many things differently.” The pulsing in her brain was slowing. The tea was no miracle cure, but thank god that it existed, just enough to make herself numb to her own brain. And everything else, but… no magic with consequence, right? Lydia’s eyes prickled again as Deirdre spoke. “I love you too,” she said softly, and reached for Deirdre’s hand, to put her to sit next to Lydia, so that Lydia could rest her head on Deirdre’s lap, This time, she made no effort to hide her quiet sobs.

If pain could be loved away, or dissolved with the right flowery metaphor, Deirdre hadn't figured it out. She loved Lydia more than she ever knew she could love a friend, and knew with resounding truth inside of her that Lydia was a good person. If there was anyone who deserved peace, it must have been her. It should have been her. Deirdre wanted it to be her. She'd make it so. "Rest," she told her, adjusting her lap so it was more comfortable. "I'll be right here." She didn't believe in God, or fate that existed outside of death, but she sang Lydia an old hymn quietly. In it, she imagined the world changed and shifted. That Lydia Griffin, of all people, would live long and happy—that all pain, was only temporary.

#wickedswriting #c: lydia #chatzy #leanan on me #immo made me cry :(#and then laugh #and then cry again :(#lydiaisgood2k20 #stalking tw #head trauma tw

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psychosistr · 4 years

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Pride

Summary: Domino and Steelbeak are sent to eliminate a target at a rather colorful event, leading Steelbeak to question his past attitude and learn a few things about a community he never thought he’d be a part of.

Notes: This is the result of having no power at work for eight hours, having typing programs on my phone, and remembering it’s pride month. So, enjoy this one shot of @thefriendlyfour‘s OC Domino and Steelbeak experiencing his first pride festival and learning more about himself x3

Another day, another mission, Dominic thought to himself as he and his partner, Steelbeak, made their way through the streets of Saint Canard.

Today’s assignment was fairly simple: F.O.W.L. High Command had plans involving a local company with rumors circulating around them regarding the possible production of portable thermonuclear generators with the same power output as an entire factory. If the rumors proved to be true, then such powerful devices could do the world a lot of good…or a lot harm, in the wrong hands. (Hence why F.O.W.L. had taken an interest in the company.) While the idea of a portable thermonuclear generator was certainly enticing, High Command was nothing if not thorough in their research & planning and needed more information on the validity of these rumors as well as information regarding the stability of the generators.

That was where the chief officer and his partner came into play- the two had been tasked with tracking down the head of security while he was away from the premises and “relieving him of duty” so that a similar looking agent could go in undercover to gather information and ultimately make any actual plans to breaking in easier when they were ready to make their move. Due to the nature of the lab’s research, it was hardly a surprise that they’d been assigned a security detail comprised primarily of military-grade personnel, with the head of security himself being a retired brigadier general. Needless to say, challenging him head-on in a location where there could be possible cameras- not to mention armed reinforcements- would be a very bad idea, meaning they had to get to him when he was as far away from the company as possible.

Luckily, F.O.W.L.’s sources had it on good authority that he was a regular presence at a certain event that took place downtown every June…

While the deadly duo would typically arrive at their destination in one of the agents’ cars, the streets were currently closed to vehicle traffic, so they’d been dropped off on a rooftop a few blocks from the target’s location via helicopter. After making their way down to the streets and navigating a few back alleys, the fowls found a side street leading them right to the middle of the festivities that had claimed downtown Saint Canard.

“You sure these outfits are gonna cut it, Deedee?” Steelbeak questioned as they prepared to enter the bright and colorful crowd in front of them.

“For the hundredth time, yes.” Dominic replied for what certainly felt like the hundredth time he’d repeated himself. Stepping out onto the sidewalk and revealing himself to the light of day, the loon was dressed in an outfit that was a far cry from what he normally wore. His usual iconic coat and hat had been exchanged for a sweater with large horizontal stripes in three main colors- purple on the bottom, white in the middle, and gray at the top with a black turtleneck collar- and a pair of square purple sunglasses. “Now come on, we’re already behind schedule.”

“I dunno, Dee..” Steelbeak mumbled as he stepped out to join the loon. Like his partner, he had also left his usual suit behind and was now dressed in a pair of vibrantly deep blue colored jeans with a plain black belt, a form-fitting light purple sleeveless muscle shirt, and a faded pink bandana around his neck. “How the heck is this-” He gestured broadly to his outfit with one hand, starting at the white ankle boots on his feet and moving upwards to his usual metallic prosthesis. “-not gonna get any looks?”

His answer was the frustrated rolling of a pair of red eyes and a shake of the loon’s head, his colored glasses briefly being removed to make the action more apparent. “I did what I could with what you had in your wardrobe, though it still would have been better if you’d taken my advice on the shoes-”

“I ain’t wearin’ sandals anywhere ‘cept the pool an’ the beach.” The taller bird rolled his own eyes while repeating his earlier opinion regarding his partner’s insistence on wearing a pair of ocean blue sandals that had been in the back of his walk-in closet. “An’ I still don’t get how walkin’ around dressed like a friggin’ unblended berry smoothie stands out less then my suit.”

“Trust me- I know more about this sort of thing than you do.” Not wanting to waste anymore time debating the matter, Dominic put his sunglasses back on and ventured out towards the colorful crowd of people in front of them. “The more you stand out here, the more you fit in.”

“If you say so, red eyes..” A look of uncertainty made the chief officer’s feelings on the matter clear, but he reluctantly followed his partner into the vibrant and noisy spectacle that was the annual Saint Canard Pride Festival.

Steelbeak’s general discomfort with his current clothes was quickly forgotten as he took in the various outlandish and far more insane outfits of the festival goers around him. The looks that passed over his face when he saw spectacles such as a female tiger walking around in nothing more than a bikini to properly show off how each of her normally orange stripes had been dyed a different color of the rainbow or a peacock with with an obviously fake set of oversized tail feathers alternating in pink, white, and blue were all truly priceless expressions that made Dominic wish he had a camera handy to capture the moments for posterity.

Unlike his partner, Dominic was mostly unfazed by the vibrantly energetic crowd. Although it had certainly been a while since he’d attended one of these events, it was most definitely not his first time going to a pride parade or festival. There were many reasons for him to avoid such gatherings (huge crowds, a general sense of chaos & disorder, and a unsettlingly large number of people who seemed to have trouble remembering things such as personal boundaries after a few drinks, to name a few), but, despite those irritations, there was still something comforting about being surrounded by such a generally cheerful atmosphere full of people who, to at least some capacity, all shared something in common. It definitely brought about a sense of pride and community to everyone in attendance-

“Burn in hell!”

-well, almost everyone…

The cursing followed by a loud crash drew the duo’s attention to the one unplanned yet ever present part of pride festivities that was universally despised by all attendees: Protestors.

The crash had come from one of the booth’s that had been set up along the side of the street selling pins and other small accessories. The short border collie in a frilled red, pink, and white sundress (the poor girl couldn’t have been older than twenty) who had been working at the now overturned table was currently cowering in fear from the intimidatingly tall grey and white goshawk dressed in dark jeans and a green button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows who was giving her an intimidating red-eyed glare while looming over her.

“Geez, what’s his problem?” Steelbeak watched the goshawk shout curses and obscenities at the cowering collie with a mild look of annoyance.

“A religious protestor, apparently.” Dominic replied with a scowl. “They’re usually lurking around these events somewhere, graciously taking time out of their day to make sure we all know how ‘immoral’ and ‘sinful’ we are.” The sarcasm and general feeling of disgust in his voice were nearly tangible.

“Sounds like someone’s got too much free time..” His partner commented with an appropriately matching amount of sarcasm. “..Wait a minute…” Dark eyes narrowed as Steelbeak looked the predatory bird over. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. After opening it up to take a look at the paper’s contents, a pleased and devious smirk found its way to the fowl’s deadly beak. “Oh-ho, Dom, you are gonna love this.”

Curiosity piqued, the loon moved closer to the chief officer so he could see the information as well. “…?” As he read the description and took in the blurry photograph printed on the crumpled paper, Dominic found a similar smirk spreading across his own beak. “My, my, that IS quite the coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Almost feels like we’re doin’ a public service on this one.” The taller bird put the paper back in his pocket before winking at his partner and doing a sweeping gesture with one hand towards the altercation across the street. “After you.”

“What a gentleman.” The darker fowl winked back with a quiet chuckle before weaving his way through the crowd. Along the way, he smoothly swiped a half-full plastic cup from a blue jay’s slack hand without being noticed. “Sir,” He began once he was close enough, earning the goshawk’s less-than-pleased attention. “All that screaming is bad for your throat. You should have a drink- my treat.”

Right on cue the taller bird opened his beak wide, likely to shout something derogatory, but whatever he had been about to say turned into muffled gargling and choking when he suddenly found the cup in Dominic’s hand shoved firmly towards the back of his mouth before he had time to finish drawing in a single breath. The unsuspecting goshawk was so preoccupied trying to cough up the liquid in his windpipe and dislodge the mass of plastic in his mouth that he didn’t even notice the equally large man drawing up behind him until a fist slammed into the back of his neck, sending him crashing to the ground. The attack served the dual purpose of (ironically) dislodging the cup from his beak and knocking the gray bird out cold.

There was a beat of silence from the festival goers around them before the crowd erupted into whistles and cheers. “Woooooh!”, “Nice!”, “Way to go!”, and “This is why we don’t need cops!” were just a few of the words and phrases that accompanied the applause.

“Ha..” Steelbeak grinned as he hefted the unconscious bird’s body up onto his shoulder. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard people cheerin’ just for doin’ our job.”

His voice had been just loud enough that only his partner had heard it over the loud clapping and excited hollering around them, so Dominic matched the tone with a grin of his own and a shrug. “They’d probably be less enthusiastic if they knew more about us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nobody questioned where the pair of fowls were taking the knocked-out protestor (odds were high that they all wanted him as far away from them as possible and would more than likely play dumb if anyone came looking for him), making their job of bringing him into a back alley for disposal much easier. The noise from the festival goers further aided them- after all, with so much cheering, loud music, and general merry-making going on, no one noticed the sound of a silencer-equipped pistol being fired and the resulting blood splatter would be washed away by the rain later that night.

Taking a few twists and turns to be absolutely sure they weren’t followed, the agents finally spotted a dumpster behind a currently closed restaurant.

An efficient, if unpleasant, place to throw away their man-sized load of garbage.

Dominic, luckily, won the coin toss they’d used to assign tasks for the disposal process, meaning he got to search the body for its wallet, keys, and anything else necessary for their impostor’s charade to be a success while Steelbeak, much to his chagrin, was forced to rifle through the trash bags filling the dumpster and try to find enough nearly-empty ones to hide the remains in.

“Ugh, I’m seriously gonna hurl…” The rooster grumbled for the twelfth time since he’d started, the sound soon followed by a louder one when a bag dripped an unidentified black substance (hopefully just soda) onto his pant leg. “Ack! Well ain’t that just great?!”

Grabbing the last of the former head of security’s personal belongings, Dominic stood with a roll of his eyes. “If you stopped complaining, we’d be done by now.” He could feel the brief glare cast in his general direction, but chose not to acknowledge it as he pulled out his guns. Taking aim at the body on the ground in front of him, he fired out a burst of flames from one pistol, making sure to thoroughly scorch the remains.

“Hmph, easy t’ say when you’ve got the easy part..” Despite his complaints and protests, Steelbeak finished his job and managed to open the bags with minimal retching (though at this point he was likely just playing it up to be annoying). “Alright, short fuse, we’re good t’ go.”

“It’s about time.” The darker bird replied while pointing his other gun at the body, this one firing out freezing rounds of ice that encased the charred carcass in seconds.

There was a lull in the conversation for a while as the duo worked to break apart and hide the evidence of their crime. With Steelbeak’s exceptional strength, breaking apart the frozen-solid corpse was as easy as snapping a popsicle in half, making quick work of the body and handing the pieces off to Dominic so the other man could put them in the appropriately sized trash bags before they were chucked back into the dumpster. It was simple, monotonous work that they were able to do effectively without a word needing to be spoken between them to get the job done.

Comfortable silences were, surprisingly, a common thing for the chief officer and his partner, especially when they were on the clock. They could go back and forth between bantering, arguing, flirting, silence, and everyday chatter in equal measures and had gotten to a point where they were generally comfortable in one another’s presence with or without words…but this was not one of those comfortable or busy types of quiet- this was a “something needs to be said but hasn’t come out yet” type of quiet that generally brought the mood down until the issue was addressed.

By the time they’d finished throwing everything into the dumpster, Steelbeak had a look on his face that Dominic knew all too well: It was the one he wore when he wanted to say something but was doing his mental back-and-forth debate about if it would be “the wrong thing”. The taller bird was normally so cocky, so brimming with self-confidence to an almost insufferable degree, that sometimes it still took the loon by surprise to see him looking so unsure of himself.

Depending on his mood, Dominic could find it either endearing or frustrating. At the moment, though, after doing so much physical labor, he was leaning more towards the latter. Unfortunately, he knew how bad Steelbeak was about admitting what was bothering him, so it would likely fall on him to break the silence and-

“Hey..” Red eyes regarded the lighter bird curiously. So Steelbeak was going to bring it up on his own without any prompting this time? Good. Dominic would count that as some form of progress. “Was I…y’know…” The rooster was avoiding eye contact and moving one of his hands towards the dumpster in indication, an uncomfortable frown on his beak. “Was I…that bad before……?”

Even though he trailed off at the end, Dominic knew perfectly well what he meant. “No.” The answer came without hesitation, a small smile on the loon’s beak as he looked up at his partner’s still uncertain expression. “You were rude, callous, ignorant, insensitive, clueless-”

“Alright, alright, I get it- I was a jerk.” There was a bit of red under the off-white feathers of the other bird’s cheeks, making his attempt at a scowl fall hopelessly flat.

A quiet laugh rumbled in the loon’s chest as he reached up towards the rooster’s face. “You’re still a jerk. But-” A single black feathered fingertip lightly touched the other man’s deadly prosthesis without a shred of fear and began lightly running back & forth along the metal, a wider smile coming over his own dark beak when the tension quickly left his partner’s body and the familiar trilling sound filled the alleyway. “-you’re a tolerable one.”

He might never say it out loud, but Dominic REALLY enjoyed touching Steelbeak’s namesake in such a tender way. The lack of natural keratin didn’t set off the usual discomfort he felt when making physical contact with another person. Plus the reactions it elicited from his partner- that instant relaxation, contentedly happy trilling, and blissful half-lidded smile- were always gratifying to see. He still wasn’t 100% sure how much Steelbeak could ACTUALLY feel from the light touch, but he certainly felt something, even if it was mostly psychological. Ultimately, it was an intimate gesture that both of them found enjoyment in.

Did Dominic play dirty and use it to his advantage sometimes when Steelbeak was in a bad mood, arguing with him too much, or flat-out refusing to talk to him? Yes- a minute or so of the gentle contact was enough to turn the chief officer into putty in his hands and make him far more agreeable and willing to go along with whatever Dominic asked of him.

Did Steelbeak realize it was happening? Definitely- he’d sometimes grumble out a muttered curse at how manipulative the darker bird was but he’d still smile through his cursing and do what his partner wanted.

Did he ever try to stop it? Surprisingly, no- even in the middle of an argument when he noticed those fingers heading towards his beak (sometimes Dominic was subtle about it, sometimes he was direct- either way, Steelbeak noticed the approaching hand eventually) he’d never once tried to move away or avoid the other’s touch, meaning whatever sort of enjoyment he got out of the contact far outweighed his usual pride and dislike of admitting defeat to the point that he’d submit to whatever the loon demanded of him just for a simple touch to his prosthesis.

“Hmmm…ya make a convincin’ argument, Dee.” Steelbeak gave a pleased sigh once Dominic’s fingers finally left his beak. He looked far less stressed than he had a moment ago, that blissful smile still on his face. “But..are ya REALLY sure I wasn’t as bad? I know I wasn’t exactly ‘Mr.Tolerant’ back then.” The tone of his voice made it clear that he wasn’t doubting the validity of Dominic’s earlier claim, he just wanted confirmation now that he wasn’t so worked up over it.

The loon rolled his eyes, but it was with a good-natured, fond smile on his face. “Yes, I’m sure.” Red eyes looked back up into the other’s dark ones, his tone conveying the sincerity and certainty of his words. “You were confused and uncomfortable because you were dealing with something that you weren’t familiar with, but, while you were rude, you weren’t hateful. Most of your problems were because you were in denial, not because you wanted me to ‘burn in hell’ and, take it from me, the ones who haven’t figured themselves out yet are MUCH better than the fire and brimstone zealots.” He gave the tip of the taller fowl’s beak a quick tap before heading back down the alleyway they arrived through, winking up at him with a more alluring smile. “Besides, you get a one-time pass for being more attractive than him.”

Within seconds he heard that particular laugh that he was growing more fond of every day accompanied by quick footsteps that soon drew even with his own. “Good t’ know this mug of mine’s still good for somethin’.”

The pair of fowls shared a smile and a quiet laugh as they made their way back towards the main streets, knowing that was probably the closest thing the taller man would give in terms of a “thank you”.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Getting to a point where they could be picked up and brought back to HQ by their designated vehicle and driver meant once again navigating their way through the throngs of colorful animals and many booths of the festival, something the deadly duo had to be more careful about given the crowd’s growing numbers as the day progressed and Dominic’s aversion to them. To avoid any accidental contact, the pair of fowls did their best to stick to the sidewalks near the walls of the surrounding buildings or behind the stalls when possible. Thankfully, they’d made it through without incident-

“Hey! You two!”

“!!” Dominic and Steelbeak instantly stiffened at the call clearly directed at them. They both instinctively reached for their hidden guns but didn’t draw them just yet- the streets were too crowded and it wouldn’t be a good idea to cause a scene.

When the pair turned to see their potential enemy, however, they were surprised to see the small border collie that had been the victim of their target’s earlier aggression standing at her now right-side-up table. She waved to them with a bright smile on her face as her tail wagged happily behind her. “Was hopin’ you’d come this way!” Deciding for the moment that the dog wasn’t a threat (and even if she was, they could easily take her hand-to-hand if it came down to it), the fowls relaxed their previously tense stances and walked closer so they wouldn’t have to strain to hear the energetic young girl. “I wanted to thank you for helpin’ me out earlier. That guy was a real pain.”

“Don’t mention it, doll.” Steelbeak told the grateful collie with a quiet chuckle, clearly amused at the idea of being THANKED for such a thing (if she knew what they’d actually done and why they did it, she probably wouldn’t be thanking them).

“We just happened to be in the right place at the right time.” Though he held back any sounds of his own, Dominic was equally amused by the situation. “There’s really no need to thank us.”

“Aw, come on, don’t talk like that- it’d eat me up if I didn’t repay you guys somehow! Here,” She grabbed a display box from the other side of the table and dragged it closer, showing off a wide and colorful array of different pins shaped like waving flags. “I know it’s not much, but take a couple in your colors!”

“Our colors?” The taller bird asked while looking down at the pins in confusion. “Ya mean the ones we like best or..?”

“No, I mean the colors for your pride flags.” The girl at the counter explained with a giggle. “Go ahead and help yourselves!”

Picking up the rainbow striped flag hard-enamel pin with a golden butterfly clutch on the back, Dominic examined it carefully to make sure there wasn’t anything dangerous hidden in or on the unassuming pin (tracking devices, mini explosives, microphones- they had to be careful in their line of work, after all). “These are very well made.” Finding nothing off about the small accessory, he pinned the colorful flag to his chest and contemplated grabbing the one for his other colors-

“Hey, stripes, I’m lost here.” His partner was still looking down at the pins curiously. “I thought the pride flag was supposed t’ be a rainbow? What’s with the rest??”

“You’re joking, right?” The quiet laugh that had started in the loon’s chest died the moment he actually looked at the rooster’s face. He saw no traces of sarcasm or teasing anywhere in Steelbeak’s eyes as he looked down at the colorful flags- only honest confusion and curiosity. “…You’re serious..” Dominic looked at the other bird in disbelief, feeling honestly bewildered by the whole thing. “You can’t REALLY be this clueless, can you?”

Dark eyes rolled slightly before looking back down at the shorter bird. “Hate t’ burst whatever bubble ya got ‘bout me, red eyes, but I didn’t exactly get a full education on this sorta thing with how I grew up.”

Oh..right…

With how clever the chief officer was, it often slipped Dominic’s mind that Steelbeak never received any sort of official education growing up. Everything the other man knew, he’d learned on his own or through experience later in life. Growing up alone on the streets, it stood to reason that he never received any reliable information on the subject, and it was highly unlikely that his initial training and education with F.O.W.L. included a comprehensive high school-level sex-ed course for the fifteen year old rookie.

“……” After deliberating on it all for a moment, Dominic looked back up at Steelbeak with a soft, understanding smile. “Would you like me to teach you?” After receiving a nod from his partner, he started his explanation by tapping the rainbow flag already pinned to his shirt. “The rainbow is the most well-known pride flag- it’s typically known for representing homosexuality. There are a few variants, as well as the lesbian flag for gay women.”

“That’s my flag.” The girl running the stand told them while happily pointing to the multi-striped flag pin that matched her colorful dress. “That’s the original version with all the pinks and reds, but there’s another version now with fewer shades of pink and red and a couple of orange stripes.”

Moving his fingers down to the rest of the pins in their box, Dominic pointed to the first one in the upper left corner. “This one with the magenta, lavender, and dark blue stripes is for bisexuality- it traditionally means being attracted to both men and women, but many people have expanded that definition over time to include other genders. Other variations have popped up as well, including pansexual-” A black feathered fingertip moved to the brightly colored pink, yellow, and blue striped flag nearby. “-which means attraction to all genders, and polysexual-” The finger moved to a darker pink, green, and blue striped flag. “-which means attraction to many different genders, but not necessarily all of them.”

“Hold it, back up a sec- ‘other genders’?” Steelbeak seemed fully invested in the loon’s explanation, giving him the same look he often used when the darker bird was laying out their strategy for a mission. “What does that mean?”

“Ah, right, we should probably cover that, too.” Dominic said quietly to himself before addressing Steelbeak again. “Aside from male and female, there are a variety of genders and labels in between the two.” He pointed to a pair of flags with light blue, light pink, and white stripes. “Transgender, for instance, is used for people who are assigned one gender at birth, but identify as a different one. Some of these people get surgery if possible to physically match what they view themselves as, but it’s different for each person. There’s also intersex-” He indicated a yellow flag with a purple circle in the middle. “-which is for people physically born as more than one gender, and agender-” His finger moved to a symmetrical flag with black, grey, and white stripes surrounding a single light green one in the middle. “-for people who don’t identify as any gender.” The next pins he pointed to were one that was a light purple, white, and green flag and another right next to it that was yellow, white, purple, and black. “Many of the others fall under the label of genderqueer or non-binary, meaning that they don’t exclusively identify as male or female; one of my ‘coworkers’ up north preferred using gender plural pronouns like ‘they’ and ‘them’.” The loon’s mind wandered for a brief moment- it had been a while since he’d spoken to Wildcard and the others, he hoped they were all doing alright…

“What about this one?” The taller man’s voice brought him out of his thoughts to see him pointing at a pin with pink, white, purple, black, and dark blue stripes.

A small smile reappeared on Dominic’s beak. It seemed Steelbeak was thoroughly absorbed in his lesson and genuinely wanted to learn more. “Oh, that’s gender-fluid- it’s for people whose gender and pronouns change frequently. Some of them also identify as bi- or tri-gender, meaning that they identify as more than one gender, but not everyone who’s bi- or tri-gender identifies as gender-fluid.”

“Wait…” Steelbeak looked back to his partner in surprise. “That’s a real thing?” When his answer was a nod of the loon’s head, he groaned and brought a large hand up to smack himself in the forehead. “Think I need t’ call up one of my ex-partner’s an’ apologize for bein’ such a jerk…”

“I’m guessing you didn’t use their pronouns correctly?” Dominic tried not to laugh at the guilt-ridden frown on the lighter fowl’s face, but it grew harder when an embarrassed flush became visible on his cheeks.

“I thought the guy was gay an’ just liked cross-dressin’ or somethin’! I mean, sure, he told me felt like a girl sometimes, but I didn’t think he MEANT it!” The rooster hid his face behind his hand, clearly trying to avoid the immensely amused look in his partner’s eyes. “Great, now I feel stupid..”

“You are not stupid.” There was a hint of a laugh in the loon’s voice and an amused smile on his face. “You’re just…uneducated.”

Oh, that annoyed glare he received when the other man removed his hand was truly priceless. “Wooooow, you always know just what t’ say, don’t ya?”

“I try.” The laugh that followed Dominic’s words was quiet, but it seemed to be enough to ease the glare in the other’s dark eyes until they were both snickering.

With his mood improved and a smile returned to his gleaming beak, Steelbeak looked back down at the pins and saw a particular color combination that caught his eye. “Hey, this one looks like you.” He looked back down at the darker bird’s sweater for emphasis.

“That’s because it’s my other flag.” Taking the small black, gray, white, and purple striped flag that he’d considered grabbing earlier, Dominic smiled as he pinned it to the other side of his chest. “This is the asexual flag: It’s for people like me who don’t really experience sexual attraction to others.”

Steelbeak gave his partner and the new pin on his chest a curious look. “So, what, they just don’t like sex or somethin’?”

“Not necessarily.” That was a pretty common question that Dominic was more than used to by now. “Being ace isn’t the same as being celibate or disliking sex. It means not being sexually attracted to other people, but it’s a fairly large umbrella that covers a wide variety of people: Some don’t have any interest in sex at all. Others like the way it feels, but don’t really get ‘turned on’ by any specific gender. There’s also demisexual-” He pointed down to a flag with similar colors to the ace flag, but with a white stripe on top, a purple one in the middle, and a gray one on the bottom with a black triangle on the left side of the flag. “-which is for people who can develop sexual attraction for someone they have a very strong emotional connection with.” Spotting a nearby pin with stripes in dark green, light green, white, gray, and black, he tapped the area near it to draw the rooster’s gaze. “Asexuality can also sometimes go hand-in-hand with aromanticism, but the two can also be separate cases. Similar to asexuals with sexual attraction, aromantics don’t typically experience romantic attraction. There’s even a demi version-” His finger moved to a flag that looked identical to the demisexual pin, but with a green stripe instead of a purple one. “-for people who usually only develop romantic attraction after they begin to feel a strong connection with another person.”

“Huh..guess the whole ace thing makes sense with you an’ your ‘quirk’.” Steelbeak was back to looking intrigued by all of this new information. “So, these flags can tell people what you’re not interested in, too?”

“Of course. Pride is about knowing who you are and not being ashamed for things like how you identify yourself or who you are or are not attracted to.” Feeling he had properly covered every pride flag in the box, red eyes looked back up at the lighter fowl inquisitively. “Any questions?”

“Nah, that was pretty thorough, Dee.” Off-white fingers reached down to the box of pins and picked out exactly the one that Dominic knew he would go for. “Least now I get why ya had me walkin’ around dressed like a fruity-cereal mascot.”

Dominic watched the other bird pin the bisexual pride flag to the right side of his chest with an amused smile and a shrug. “I figured it would be accurate.” Preparing to bid the girl behind the table farewell and continue on their way, the loon paused when he saw the lighter fowl reach back down to the box and grab one of the less colorful pins as well. “..Demiromantic? Really?” He asked with genuine curiosity at the other’s choice.

“Yeah. It’s just…I dunno..the way ya described it…it just felt like me, y’know?” Steelbeak looked down at the black, white, green, and gray pin held between his thumb and forefinger. “ ‘Love’ don’t exactly come easy t’ me. I could probably count the number of times a ‘relationship’ actually meant somethin’ t’ me on one hand an’ still have a finger or two left over.” Dark eyes glanced down at the aquatic fowl beside him, the corner of his mouth turned up in the slightest of smirks. “Present company included.”

“Noted.” The wink sent his way made Dominic smirk right back before his expression softened, watching how the previously playful gleam in those dark eyes faded into something else. Something almost…sad..

Looking down at his hands while pinning the demiromantic pride flag to the left side of his chest, Steelbeak kept an unreadable smile on his face but the look in his eyes contradicted his beak. “Started thinkin’ maybe that sorta thing just wasn’t for me..that maybe…I was too messed up for it or somethin’…” As he finished setting the pin in place, the expression on his face changed from its previous state of sad, indifferent neutrality to a small but far more genuine smile. “Knowin’ I’m not the only one like that..that it ain’t just me bein’ too cold……it’s..kinda nice..” He looked back down at Dominic, that same smile still on his face.

If Dominic ever made a list of things about his loud-mouthed, arrogant, cocky partner that made him fall for the over-confident egomaniac, that look would be within the top three. That soft, unguarded, completely open and sincere look in those dark gray eyes combined with that small smile which was so different from his usual smug grins and smirks that it was almost like looking at a completely different person- like he was seeing the man beneath the suave bravado and flashy showmanship. It never lasted long, but Dominic mentally filed away each and every moment he was treated to the sight to make sure he NEVER forgot that look.

“……” With a softer smile on his own dark beak, Dominic reached up to the pin on the left side of the rooster’s chest and carefully straightened it. “It suits you.” Red eyes met dark gray and the smile on both agents’ beaks grew a little more.

Not everything in life needed a label, but sometimes it was nice for a person to know they weren’t alone in how they viewed themselves or others. Having something as simple as a flag to show others a part of who they were could make a world of difference to a person. It showed them that there were others out there going through similar experiences and let them know that their differences were something to be proud of.

For all the issues that he’d had growing up, one positive takeaway that Dominic had from his youth was that he had a decent education and grew up in an environment where he was free to express his own romantic preferences. His mother knew he was gay before he’d ever even heard of the word and wasn’t surprised at all when he came out to her as a preteen. Thinking about it as they thanked the border collie for the free pins and continued their walk towards the extraction point, Dominic supposed he was at least a little lucky in that regard.

Despite how clever and outspoken he was, Steelbeak grew up without access to information that should have been common knowledge to many people and had no one he truly felt safe talking to about things deemed “outside the norm”. While that didn’t excuse his previous behavior towards Dominic (and others, given what he’d said about one of his former partners), it was easy to understand where his ignorance stemmed from. Now, at least, he was at a point where he was willing to learn…and had apparently decided that he was comfortable enough with his partner to admit he didn’t know something and ask for information.

For Steelbeak, Dominic decided, that was remarkable progress compared to how he was when they first started working together. He took a small measure of pride in being both a witness and a major part of what helped foster that growth and looked forward to seeing how his partner would continue to grow over the course of their partnership.

End Notes: This may have been unplanned, but it was fun to write ^.^ Sorry if I missed any flags, I was really just running through a mental check-list and did a quick double-check when I got home to make sure I got all of the colors correct ^^”

#darkwing duck #dwd #steelbeak #Dominic Domino #steeldomino #not my oc #thefriendlyfour #pride #pride month #lgbtpride

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pattispunk · 4 years

Text

All Alone-ly

Summary: Reader is part of the legends crew. She is from one of the other Earth’s, Earth-5. It’s a post-apocalyptic Earth. Her family is dead, fallen victim to what they called The Culling. A supernatural occurrence that wiped out most of her people – it also happened on her birthday. The Culling devastated the planet, leaving the reader alone and lost with no purpose. This tragedy left the Reader with strange abilities and desire to leave, to get away. It wasn’t until the Legends showed up two years after The Culling happened, that she finally got her chance to do so. With nothing to her name, she joined the Legends crew; helping others avoid having go through the same pain that she goes through daily. She has finally found a purpose, a drive; but no matter how much time passes she still remembers the Day of The Culling. Every year it is burned in her memory, scarred on her body – the Legends never realized that she was absent for one day of the year. Not until three years after they picked her up, five years after it happened.

Author’s Note: Hey guys, it’s been a while since I wrote anything really including my poetry (which you can find under - wickety-wack-its-jack-Kerouac). Anyways, I’ve had part of this one saved for a while and I needed an outlet so I finished writing it. It was supposed to end up being a mick rory x reader type fic, but this ending just suited it better. Hope you like it! There is one sentence that if you have an active imagination then yeah its hella gruesome. But the rest of the story is good! hopefully….

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You wake up in a cold sweat. Like clockwork every year, your body says no, not today. You toss in your bed, to see the clock read 2:00am in green neon numbers.

Your heard fills with dread. Everyday you walk out the door and put your past exactly where it belongs. You leave it at the door. Someone takes a look your way and no one could tell that you’ve been through heartbreak, through tragedy. You pride yourself in your ability to continue on even though your heart aches with every step you take. But today, today you allow yourself to feel.

You open your door and step out. Silence hangs in the air, a heavy weight crushing your chest as you struggle to breathe. All you’re thinking is I have to get there. I have to go. Right foot. Left foot. Gideon knows the drill, she has been the underlying salvation you’ve needed to get through this day every year. She whispers, (Y/N) you are almost there keep going.

A few more left turns, and all that is left is a door. When you got here, the first anniversary, you had a panic attack as soon as the clock struck two. Gideon directed you to a small room far from curious eyes. The first time you had seen the room, it was simple, the size of a college dorm room here in Earth-1, all gray with soundproof walls and no cameras. Since then, Gideon transformed it. Rather than being a simple panic room, she changed it to a fabricator. With the help of your memories, every year, you can go back. See your home, your family. Happy before The Culling ever happened.

You stare straight at the door, as if looking right through it as Gideon quickly opened it. You take two steps and when the you heard the mechanical lock of the door, you let out a guttural scream. Tears streaming down your face, your scars that run down from your arms to your legs burn with grief, and memories that have been repressed for the year come flooding to your mind. You snap your eyes shut, your voice raw as you drop to your knees. Despair filling your body as you let go any ounce of control you had.

When you finally crack your eyes, you knew Gideon had come through. Your knees sank less than a quarter of an inch. Your palms flat on the sand that blanketed your hometown. You look up and see a little girl with a huge smile, as big and bright as the sun in the sky, running towards you.

You whisper with a smile ruefully tugging at the corners of your lips – “Evine”

Back on the rest of the ship, hours have past. Everything and everyone have woken up, the team milling about as they do on lazy days. However, today the whole team have decided they need a well-deserved break and have all gathered in the control room trying to figure out where they should go.

Ray and Nate are arguing with Amaya and Zari over which time period they should go to. Jax and the Professor are of course arguing what type of vacation should glean the most rest and relaxation from the entirety of the team.

“We should obviously go to the past, come on a chance to dress up, go to parties, drink some ale!” Sarah shakes her head, Mick’s eyebrow cocked in approval with Nate’s suggestion, but was quickly distracted by the lack of your opinion butting in.

“I’m with Nate” Of course Haircut agrees with Pretty. “How fun would that be! We could go to the old American West, an oldie but a goodie. We can go to old Victorian, London and… OH MY WORD NO WE NEED TO GO MEET ROBIN HOOD!”

“Men in tights… not my thing.” Mick grumbles still sweeping his eyes across the room looking for you in case you were hiding. “Hey….”

Mick is interrupted by Zari – “And give ourselves the opportunity to mess up the timeline? I say we go into the near future and enjoy ourselves on a nice bea…”

“HEY” Startled eyes from each member of the team immediately turn to the seemingly angry pyromaniac. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

That statement won confused looks from every individual, as they turn there heads only now missing your snarky comments and sassy remarks throughout the entirety of the conversation.

______________________________________________________________

The sand was warm against my back as you lay there, tears sun-dried. Evine and you were staring at our red sun, heads touching. You shuddered as your sister laughed, a sound you missed so dearly only brought back bitter memories. You sat up, and staring off into the distance, you saw your small little village. A desert village with stone buildings, very few green sceneries but it was quaint. As quaint as it could be for being the remnants of somebody else’s mistakes. It was war that ravaged Earth-5. Greedy men who thought of no one except themselves. Cities were torn down, peoples starved, civilization fell. Many survived, most did not. You were the sole survivor of your family. Fresh tears trail down, turning your head, you see Evine glowing. Happy. Radiant. No longer in pain. You closed your eyes and you could feel the atmosphere shift. She was gone, home was gone. Reality came knocking.

Your eyes open, and all you see is the empty room. Arms shaking and knees weak, you hear Gideon faintly in the background.

‘Miss (Y/N), the corridor is clear to your quarters. You should go now.’

You didn’t wait a second more, and stumbled, using the wall as your support, all the way back to your room.

_______________________________________________________________

The team swiveled their heads to no avail, you were nowhere to be seen. Before Sarah could even open her mouth, Gideon interrupted.

‘Miss (Y/N) should not be bothered today. She is in her quarters and unless you want me to lock down this ship, you will not even go anywhere near her room.’

Everyone had a look of concern and confusion. Mick’s ears turning red, he kept any and all emotions off of his face. He was angry, why couldn’t he see you. Sure, he doesn’t display a whole lot of emotions but he… he… realization dawned on him. He liked (y/n).

‘Why not.’ Mick grunted, more of a demand than a question, but one that needed an answer, nonetheless.

Gideon sighed and displayed Awn Verna in ruins – (y/n)’s village in ruins. Dead bodies lying everywhere, out windows and in the streets. There was one image so gruesome, everyone especially Mick HAD to look away. In the commons of the city, there was a pile four feet high of carcasses and at the top - a girl, younger than a teenager, speared. Clothes tattered and covered in blood. Ray threw up in his mouth, Sarah had tears in her eyes.

‘The girl’s name is Evine. She was (y/n)’s sister. This was her home before she joined the legends. Today is the five-year anniversary of the attack of Awn Verna, today is (y/n)’s birthday.’ A few gasps but a collective silence was the predominant reaction. ‘Every year, I have helped (y/n) spend the day in solitude and watched her spend the day in pain. So, no. You will not go to her, what she needs is this one day. One day to remember her sister without any interruptions.’

The control room was… silent. No one spoke, no one wanted too. Sniffles could be heard; eyes were red, and hearts were broken.

“No.” Mick whispered – breaking up the monotonous silence. The Flame who never showed any emotion, but anger and contempt was crying. He got up and left the room, quickly making way towards your quarters.

_______________________________________________________________

You stood in the center of your room, slowly and barely swaying and eyes closed. You were never religious, wasn’t raised it and sure as hell didn’t become it once I left home. But this… honoring your family, honoring Evine… it felt right. You wore a light, white linen wrap draped over your body, barefoot and hair down. Your scars from The Culling on your arms and back were clearly visible. A small amount of smoke filled your room as you stood in silence, breathing in slowly and remembering your loved ones.

You suddenly hear heavy footsteps coming down the hall and then they suddenly stopped as if they were forced to. You hear Gideon trying to muffle a voice, but you could pick that voice out from a mile away.

‘Mick?’ You open your door and step out into the hallway, forgetting how exposed you were. You saw Mick being held back by Nate and Ray, but everything stood still as they saw you.

…

Mick stopped struggling as his eyes met yours. What he saw in front of him, was something he had never seen before. He saw pain and heartache wrapped in a warmth that defied hate and anger. He stood up, shrugging off his teammates and walk towards you. And suddenly no one was there, it was just you and Mick, the only two people who mattered.

He stopped and traced his rough, gloved fingers along the scars that snaked up your arm. You turned your head to the side, not ashamed but resigned to the fate that these scars reminded you of daily. He circled behind you, his hand following the scars across your back. All the while not a word leaving his mouth, not even his signature solitary grunt.

You don’t know why you don’t stop him. Yes, you and Mick had gotten close this past few months since Leonard died and while your feelings for him had grown, you never thought it would ever get to the point of what it was. Of what was happening.

Mick circled to the front and looked at your face. But it felt more than that, there was no need for words. There was something there that replaced verbal affirmations and encouragements. He looked into your eyes and he saw you.

Beautiful. He thought, he didn’t need to know the specifics of what had happened. He didn’t need for you to explain, he just saw you. With more than just his eyes.

Mick maintained eye contact and motioned for you to take off his jacket. Slight movements revealed Micks arms and hands, nothing left your mouth as you traced your fingers along the scars that covered every inch. You looked up at him and you saw Mick. And you just knew that everything was going to be alright.

You retracted your hand, moving your arms in a motion to hug yourself as if to close yourself off to anyone and everyone when Mick stopped you. He dropped his jacket and grabbed your arms. And instead of letting you wrap them around yourself, he guided your arms around his waist and you held each other, knowing that everything was going to be alright.

#legends #legends of tomorrow #zari tomaz #amaya jiwe #nate heywood #ray palmer #sarah lance #Mick Rory #mick rory x reader #legends of tomorrow x reader #lot fanfic #lot headcanon #reader insert #oc characters #justice league #DC comics #dc universe #fanfic

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muixlac · 4 years

Text

an enigma of feelings and emotions. (ravn/hwanwoong)

One shot. Fluff. Light angst with happy ending.

Yeo Hwanwoong was conflicted.

His own feelings and emotions might as well become the most convoluted puzzle ever. There was an unfathomable feeling within Hwanwoong, but he couldn’t comprehend what it was. Whatever it was, it was stubborn.

What he knew, though—and he was certain of this—was the root cause of all this. And that was none other than Kim Youngjo himself.

Consider supporting this piece on Ao3 here.

Yeo Hwanwoong was conflicted.

His own feelings and emotions might as well become the most convoluted puzzle there ever was. There was an unfathomable feeling within Hwanwoong, but he couldn’t comprehend what it was. Whatever it was, it was stubborn. Adamant. It comes back every time he tries to shove it away, in a locked box buried deep within his mind for all he knows. And it bothered him. Like a nagging feeling from deep within his mind. He wasn’t even sure if it was a good kind or a bad kind. It was just… confusing.

What he knew, though—and he was certain of this—was the root cause of all this. The root cause of the chain of events that is this indescribable yet overwhelming feeling, his bewilderment about all this, his irascibility.

The damned Kim Youngjo.

Hwanwoong didn’t believe it at first either. But as more and more evidence compiled itself up against him, he wasn’t given any other choice but to believe it.

It wasn’t a vivid memory, but Hwanwoong could vaguely recall the first time he noticed this odd feeling of his. It was quite a long time ago, actually, before his group was even called what it is now. Geonhak and Dongju hadn’t joined back then. It was only him, Seoho, Keonhee, and Youngjo. They were practicing for the monthly evaluations in the practice room, Hwanwoong crying out counts with heavy breathing as the screeches of shoes scraping against the wooden floor resonated throughout. During the break, then, as Hwanwoong sat down against the wall to take a big gulp of water, Youngjo rested his head on his thighs.

“Your thighs are now my personal pillow,” he had said, smiling with that greasy smile of his. Hwanwoong remembered not saying anything as a response, which elicited the older man to pinch his cheek.

If that was any other circumstances, Hwanwoong would’ve cringed and hit Youngjo on the shoulder playfully while laughing. He and Youngjo had always been close, too, so this shouldn’t be out of the norm for the two. Youngjo had always been a touchy person. Not to him only, but also to the other members. So, instead of acting like that was something normal, of course what happened was that he froze. He couldn’t say anything as a response. He was flustered.

Hwanwoong hated that he could barely act normal around Youngjo because of this. He hated how his face would become increasingly hot whenever Youngjo did so. He hated how his brain would short-circuit whenever Youngjo had his hand on his thigh. Most of all, though, he hated how his stomach would churn like crazy whenever Youngjo told him that he loves him. It didn’t matter whether it was for a game, for the fans, or even off camera. It always happens, and Hwanwoong hated it.

However, he did not, in any way or form, hate Youngjo, even with all this confusing set of events that his older friend unbeknowingly made him go through. Hwanwoong knew Youngjo wasn’t doing this on purpose, as the latter is also touchy to most if not all of the members. But—maybe it was just him—he honestly thought that Youngjo attended to him more than any other members. He wasn’t sure if that was an important factor or not, or whether it was actually true. Nonetheless, that thought struck him once he noticed that Youngjo never asked the other members to sit on his lap or to snuggle with him.

But perhaps it was just because Youngjo was comfortable with Hwanwoong. Yeah, surely, that was the reason.

Because if it were any other reason, Hwanwoong wouldn’t know how to take it in.

There were a few times when an overwhelming surge of emotions would flood him whenever he saw Youngjo giving any sort of affection towards the other members. Hwanwoong refused to validate these emotions, but one thing he knew was that they weren’t anything good. He could tell it was hostile. A mixture of spite and insecurity of some sort. It happens whenever he sees Youngjo babying Dongju, whenever Youngjo lunges at Geonhak for affection, whenever Youngjo glances at Seoho with a look full of affection, and whenever Youngjo hug-attacks Keonhee from behind.

To put it simply, Hwanwoong… disliked it.

These convoluted emotions weren't as glaring just a few months ago, despite the fact that they have been bugging him unceasingly. It was as though there was the loud ticking of a clock at the back of his mind, always going tick, tock, tick, tock without him having the ability to habituate to it. Annoying.

This week, however, it had become immensely obtrusive. So obtrusive, even, that it has inadvertently affected Hwanwoong’s day-to-day mood. Perhaps it was the culminating result of his avoidance towards his emotions. Like a drawer that can barely contain the items it was keeping inside to the point that it is unable to close completely, its insides peeking out through the gap. If the drawer’s owner were to pile more and more items inside, it could probably explode due to overstoring.

Hwanwoong was treading on thin ice when it comes to his current emotions, but of course he didn’t realize this. He was too busy rejecting his own emotions to notice that they were on the brink of exploding.

Just at the beginning of this week, as they were practicing for their next performance, his lack of emotional control had impelled him to chew out Dongju when the latter placed his feet just on a slightly different angle than it was supposed to be. Dongju was clearly shaken up. The way he stammered out a quiet apology all the while looking down at his fidgeting fingers broke Hwanwoong’s heart.

The others’ eyes on him weren’t of much help either, Youngjo’s especially. Hwanwoong could see them exchange stunned and concerned looks at one another from the studio’s mirror, which only increased his nervousness by a tenfold. Everyone knows that Hwanwoong always puts on his strict dance instructor facade whenever they’re practicing their dance moves, but he never gets worked up, ever. Something was wrong, and they knew it.

Hwanwoong snapped out of his emotional distress almost immediately. He tried to soothe the boy by giving him a pat on the head and a small apology, but this was a futile attempt as Dongju had avoided eye contact with him for the rest of the practice.

They went on to run through their movements for a good few hours before finally stopping. Hwanwoong left the room then, with his water bottle in his hand, unable to cope with the intense discomfort that was hanging in the air of the studio. He was just finishing his drink when Geonhak came through the door and strode up to him.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Hwanwoong glanced away, his sight fixed on a spot under a decoration on the wall. “You really don’t waste your time, do you.”

Geonhak’s lips twitched. “I don’t know what you’re going through right now, but Dongju didn’t deserve that. He was really taken aback, you know.”

“I know,” Hwanwoong said. Then, after a sigh, again he said, “I know… I’m sorry. To Dongju, you, and the others. My emotions went wild, I guess.”

The sincerity in Hwanwoong’s voice pushed the anger away from Geonhak’s features. He crossed his arms, saying, “Woong… If something’s bothering you, you should tell us. It’s only gonna get worse if you keep hiding things.”

“I know.”

“We’ve all been together for more than a few years now, and we’ll also be together for more than a few years too. You should know that it’s necessary for us to have each other’s back every time, whether it be for physical or mental problems.”

“I know.”

“Hwanwoong.” Geonhak stressed his name with such sternness that it unwittingly stirred the insides of Hwanwoong’s stomach. “You’re only gonna hurt more people if you keep on being like this. And that’s not gonna be good for our group. Camaraderie is the most important thing for groups like us.”

Hwanwoong bit his lips. His grip on his water bottle was tighter than before, so tight that it began to shake just slightly.

Of course he knew all of that. All of what Geonhak just said—he knew that more than anyone else. He knew that his inability to identify and describe his own feelings and emotions would sooner or later hurt his friends. But what could he do? His lack of emotional control was the one warping his mind and thoughts, and on top of it all, his pride was preventing him from opening up to his friends. It was even harder to vent to his friends when one of them was actually the cause of all of his pent up feelings and emotions. It was painful—his own awareness knew of all of these things, yet he had no control over them.

“I’m sorry, hyung,” Hwanwoong said after a while, his voice heavy and tired. “I don’t think I’m ready to tell what’s bothering me. Later, maybe, but not now.”

He knew Geonhak was disappointed at this, proven by the disapproving frown etched across his lips, but he was sure he’d understand.

“Okay, then. That’s alright. Just make sure this doesn’t happen again, okay? Try to control your emotions,” Geonhak chided as warmly as he could. “Come find me if you need anything.”

Hwanwoong merely hummed and nodded. He was too restless to talk to anyone at the moment, so he excused himself and made his way to his room. It was a good thing they didn’t have any other schedule for today. Hwanwoong could have the rest of the day all to himself in the comfort of his own bed, pondering over his guilt about what had happened earlier and how to solve the conundrum that is his own feelings.

The next day, the six of them had a schedule to record for their next performance. As usual, it took a bit more effort to wake Hwanwoong up compared to the others, as told by Seoho. It took him a full hour to shower and prepped his skin, though soon he then found himself sitting on the sofa behind the assigned producer for this song.

Just before he sat down, though, a painful decision immediately presented itself to Hwanwoong. Since he was the last one to come thanks to his habit of oversleeping, the spots on the sofa were all occupied except one at the one side of the sofa, right beside Youngjo. Hwanwoong chewed on the bottom of his lips. He didn’t want to sit there, except maybe if he wanted his soul to leave his body. He refused to deal with his feelings today. Yesterday was traumatizing enough, with how he shouted at Dongju for no reason because of his stupid impulsivity, followed by him being chided by Geonhak.

Embarrassing.

The empty spot was the nearest one from the door where Hwanwoong was standing, so when his feet brought himself to the other end of the sofa where it was the furthest from the door, Geonhak—who was sitting there with one hand on the armrest—looked up with eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you doing here?” He asked. The look he gave to Hwanwoong was stern; eyes narrow and lips a straight line. It wasn’t quite visible for the others to notice, but just enough to tell Hwanwoong that he hadn’t forgotten about what’d happened yesterday.

“Wanna sit. Move your hand away.”

Geonhak raised an eyebrow. “On the armrest?”

“Yeah, duh.”

A slight trace of suspicion lingered across Geonhak’s countenance, but he did as told anyway. Not wasting any time, Hwanwoong took his share of the printed papers containing the lyrics of the song on the table and propped himself on the armrest.

Keonhee was the first one to go inside the booth to record. Hwanwoong would be the third after Dongju, as decided through rock-paper-scissors just a minute earlier. As he waited for his turn, Hwanwoong had his eyes glued onto the papers on his hand. Hwanwoong had a habit of concentrating a little bit too much, especially when there’d be a chance of embarrassing himself in front of a group of people by failing something. He was a perfectionist when it came to his performances. He would go as far as to block out his surroundings just to make sure he wouldn’t make a mistake later on.

While he was humming along to the imaginary tune of the song, a pair of eyes glanced over. Hwanwoong hadn't noticed Geonhak’s eyes spying on him. Its attention soon changed to the oldest member sitting furthest from them.

Something clicked in Geonhak’s head.

He nodded to himself. The pieces of puzzle were now complete and the picture it’d produced was as clear as the day. Geonhak had merely speculated, of course, but he had faith in his own deduction.

Geonhak came up with an idea. This problem of Hwanwoong certainly wasn’t going to be solved by itself, considering how his younger friend was dealing with it. What made the whole situation more complicated was that the antecedent himself had no clue that all of this was happening in the first place.

A third party had to step in, obviously.

Meanwhile, Hwanwoong’s train of thought was interrupted as he realized that Seoho was done with his session. He made his way to the booth then, placing his papers on the sheet music stand. After adjusting the mic to his height and wearing the headphones, he looked up to the other side of the room to give the producer the OK—only to see Youngjo smiling brightly at him, his fingers a form of a heart. Good luck, he mouthed.

Hwanwoong's heart skipped a beat.

There it was again. That strange feeling. Hwanwoong could feel his cheeks heating up once again, as usual whenever Youngjo does any kind of affection towards him. He pressed his lips together and glanced away. He didn't want to repeat yesterday's event. He also didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of someone he barely knew, especially if that person was in charge of their music. Hence, Hwanwoong merely responded with a feeble smile, and as he didn't want to deal with Youngjo anymore, he gave the producer a thumbs up to tell him to proceed.

The whole recording session lasted for about three more hours before they were let go. All six of them trudged back to their dorms with the apparent layer of fatigue coating the whole group. Despite that, they were still messing around with each other and throwing jabs here and there, especially with how Geonhak’s voice cracked in the middle of his recording earlier.

Hwanwoong wasn’t participating in the banter though. His mind was anywhere but there; demeanor pensive and unheeding. He was mulling over how he wasn’t as good as he’d expected earlier. His vocal chords had given up by the end of his session, so the producer told him to rest and that they’ll continue to polish Hwanwoong’s lines on the session two days after this.

Keonhee suggested a movie night, which the others acquiescently agreed to, including Hwanwoong. When the coping mechanisms he usually uses had failed him in times like these, he might as well vicariously immerse himself in another’s perfect life and adventure.

As soon as they’d gotten back to their dorms, Seoho, Keonhee, and Dongju raced as quickly as possible to the sofa. This was due to the deal the six of them made the first time they did a movie night—the first one to go sit on the sofa will be given the opportunity to pick the movie.

Keonhee, the one who initially proposed the suggestion to watch for tonight, had won. With a grin on his face and the other two slumped at his sides, he picked up the remote and turned on the TV.

“There’s this movie I wanna watch. Been wanting to go see it, but there hasn’t been any time, especially with how packed our schedules are,” Keonhee had said as he scrolled through the catalog, eyes squinting in search for the movie he was talking about.

Dongju frowned when Keonhee finally picked his movie. “‘Ready or Not’? Seriously? Isn’t there anything better to watch?”

“Hey, I like horror, okay! And tonight is just the perfect night for that, with all of us present, y’know.”

“I don’t mind,” Seoho chimed in. “Why, is our maknae scaaaredddd?”

While Dongju bent himself across an amused Keonhee to get a bite of a terror-stricken Seoho, Hwanwoong, Youngjo, and Geonhak began to take a seat on what was left of the remaining seats. Geonhak was about to sit on the remaining seat of the sofa that Keonhee, Dongju, and Seoho were in, but Hwanwoong abruptly butted him away by kicking him lightly on the shins. He sat on it afterwards, a victorious smile on his face.

“Woong, what the hell—”

“First come, first serve,” Hwanwoong grinned mischievously.

Although from the outside it’d seemed like Hwanwoong stole Geonhak's just to take the piss out of him, in reality it was because if Geonhak were to sit there, he'd have to sit with Youngjo on the two-seater sofa.

Nope. Anything but that.

“I’ll start the film, ‘kay?” said Keonhee, and the others, synchronized, answered, “Yeeeeees.”

And with a press of a button, the movie started.

The premise was an interesting one, as Keonhee had explained as the opening scene played. Geonhak shushed him then as the action escalated, though once the opening scene had ended, Keonhee talked again. This time, Dongju threw a pillow at him.

"The aunt's so creepy," Seoho commented.

"Maybe she's hiding something," Youngjo added. "Like a dark past, or something."

"You think it's gonna be that cliché?"

"I mean, it's kinda obvious, isn't it?"

It was more or less fifteen minutes into the movie when the plot began to escalate. Keonhee and Seoho were leaning forward, eyes fixed on the movie as though their lives depended on it. Dongju was hugging his knees, looking at the TV through it with his eyebrows furrowed. Geonhak also looked immersed—Hwanwoong swore he'd heard a gasp come out of his older friend's mouth when the main protagonist had her first encounter with the enemy.

There was Youngjo, too. Hwanwoong did not realize this, but his attention had been sidetracked by the oldest. He watched the other closely; from how he flinched when a jumpscare ensued, how he chuckled when a funny bit took place, to how his eyes gradually began to droop as the clock ticked closer to midnight.

Hwanwoong took a pillow from between him and Dongju and hugged it tightly until it covered his blood-rushed face. It happened again. It always does whenever he thinks of Youngjo, or whenever Youngjo is of close proximity, or whenever Youngjo gives him any kind of affection.

Just… Youngjo. Youngjo's own existence does things to Hwanwoong. And he hated it. For the love of god, he'd do anything to get rid of these intricate feelings so that he'd never have to feel them again.

Before long, Youngjo stood up, placing back the pillow he'd hugged onto the sofa. Hwanwoong averted his glance almost immediately back to the screen, displaying a poor interpretation of acting as though he hadn't been staring at and analyzing him for the past twenty minutes.

"Gonna go to the toilet, be right back," he said as he left the room.

"'Kaaay," Seoho responded.

Hwanwoong was sure only a couple of seconds had passed—okay, a full minute maybe, but it hadn't been that long since Youngjo went to the bathroom when Geonhak also stood up and muttered "bathroom" before striding off. No one paid much attention to him, though, as the plot was becoming more and more exhilarating as it went on.

Hwanwoong, too, was fully immersed like the others. His nails had become an abysmal form from chewing on it too much as to release tension. His eyes were fixed onto the screen; the only thing in his head was his hope for the protagonist's fate. As the others were chirping about comments of the movie, Hwanwoong joined in too. His nose scrunched and he hissed when one of the enemies had successfully maimed the protagonist.

It had seemed like Youngjo had completely slipped off his thoughts. His head that was previously filled with an assortment of puzzling feelings and emotions—all gone. Like a messy room that was finally being cleaned by its owner. What comes next? A sense of peace, perhaps. Hwanwoong smiled. During this time, things didn't seem so bad at all.

Someone's arms wrapped themselves around him.

Hwanwoong froze.

"Boo!" Youngjo's voice resonated in Hwanwoong's ears.

“Huh—”

Blood rushed onto Hwanwoong's cheeks. His heartbeat picked up its pace from how he could literally feel Youngjo's breathing against his neck. His stomach felt as though it just did a backflip.

Hwanwoong frantically struggled to get out of Youngjo’s arms as though they were boiling. A couple of seconds later, he was out—followed by a thump of palm against cheek.

It felt like time had frozen. Every single muscle of Hwanwoong's body froze. No one spoke a word—their widened eyes expressed a lot, though. The sound of the movie had stopped; maybe Keonhee paused it. Hwanwoong didn't know, he didn't see. The only thing he could focus on right now was his hand, stinging from the contact earlier. His heart might as well as jump out of his chest with how hard it was pounding. His every veins pounded, like hammers whacking against his head again and again and again.

“Woong…?” Hwanwoong didn’t know who said that nor did he care about responding. He was mortified. The worst had actually happened right in front of everyone. This was a nightmare. Hwanwoong stood there, breathing heavily, sweating; basking in the bewildered stares of his friends.

And Youngjo. Oh, Youngjo. His face was a canvas painted with hurt, his cheek red from his impulsive slap. Hwanwoong wanted to cry then and there. This was the last thing he'd wanted to happen. There was no rescue from this embarrassment. The memory would be seared into everyone's head forever, and their friendship would never be the same.

So, he ran. He ran to his room and slammed the door shut.

The moment Hwanwoong crashed onto the bed, tears burst forth, spilling down to his cheeks and onto his pillow. Painful sobs filled the room, its echoes like a fingernail running down a blackboard. Everything was crumbling away—his pride, his friendship, his career—all because of his ego. His refusal to admit that he had fallen completely and utterly in love with Kim Youngjo.

After all, Hwanwoong wasn't stupid. It wasn’t like he was an innocent boy who has never gone through any romantic relationships. Teenage year was full of that—hormonal, immature adolescents looking for romance, acting as though they’d grasped the real meaning of love from just watching drama and movies. He’d gone through it, like everybody else.

He knew it all along. His feelings for Youngjo… Hwanwoong wouldn’t go as far as to call it love per se, but every single of Youngjo’s touch, the way his eyes sparkle with affection whenever he smiles at Hwanwoong, how he just emits a sense of comfortableness that not only Hwanwoong, but the other members also love…

Stupid, stupid Hwanwoong.

If he wasn’t so in denial, things wouldn’t have gone this bad.

A knock from the door broke Hwanwoong out of his reverie. The voice that followed suit made him abruptly sit straight up, eyes wide and chagrined.

“Woong, are you okay? Can I come in?” Youngjo’s muffled voice said behind the door.

Hwanwoong stayed silent for a moment, thinking, before saying, “Come in.”

Their eyes met for the first time in a while. Youngjo’s eyebrows were furrowed, concern painted upon his countenance. The state Hwanwoong was in didn’t help either—hair disheveled, eyes puffy and red and wet, and the same goes for his cheeks. Hwanwoong looked away almost immediately. He wiped his eyes, refusing to look into the other’s eyes.

“Bet I look horrible,” Hwanwoong chuckled in disdain.

Youngjo didn’t respond. Instead, he took a few steps forward and made himself at home on the seat adjacent to Hwanwoong’s dresser. Hwanwoong watched him closely from the corner of his eyes.

“I know something’s been bothering you, Woong. You’re not exactly the best liar around here.”

Hwanwoong pressed his lips together. He couldn’t back off now. Things were already bad as it is, and the only one who could mend it was him.

As a response, he only hummed.

Youngjo sighed. “From the looks of it, it seems like I’m the one causing you to be like this. Right? Am I wrong?”

“Not… necessarily.”

“No?”

Hwanwoong hugged his knees. As he spoke, his lower jaw trembled from resisting his sobs, “I’m the one causing this. Not you. None of this is your fault, hyung. Don’t… don’t blame yourself.”

Youngjo looked absolutely devastated. “Woong… Do you know how much it kills me to see you like this? I hate that I can’t do anything to help you—not to mention you’ve been avoiding me. Tell me, Woong.”

And just like that, Hwanwoong broke down again. This time when Youngjo reached out to hold his hand, he didn’t flinch away. Instead, he accepted it, and it was the most wonderful feeling he’d ever felt. A sense of relief washed through him and he felt peaceful. It was as though a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

His ego had made him think that the only one suffering from this was him and him only, but truthfully, other people were also affected. If he hadn’t been so egocentric, Youngjo and Geonhak and Dongju wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

Youngjo waited patiently, rubbing circles on the younger one’s palms, while Hwanwoong was trying to calm himself down. Eventually his tears stopped and his lips ceased from trembling. He took a deep breath, drawing up any kind of courage he had left within him to assist him with the next few explanations he owed Youngjo. Nodding to himself, he began to talk.

“I… I think I like you, hyung.”

Hwanwoong glanced at the other from the corner of his eyes, expecting some kind of reaction from the other man, but there was nothing. Not even an ounce of surprise nor uneasiness. Youngjo’s face was blank.

“No—Not I think. I do like you, hyung. Very much.” Hwanwoong’s sentence ended with a bit of a quiver. Not love, no. It’s not that deep, yet.

The warmth of Youngjo’s hand on his own sent a sense of serenity down Hwanwoong’s body. He would be lying if he said he disliked it.

The older man didn’t respond, so Hwanwoong took it as a cue for him to continue. “I don’t know when or where it started. But, um… You know how I have recently been avoiding being touched by you? Your skinship or whatever. Or that I’ve been avoiding you altogether?”

Hwanwoong watched the older man closely. He hummed.

“I, well… It’s because, um, you—ahh, how do I say it…” To Hwanwoong right now, trying to find the right words that could do your feelings justice was like trying to fit yourself in a shirt that is considerably smaller than you. It was impossible.

“Take your time, Woong. We have all the time in the world right now.” The smile that followed Youngjo’s words sent another wave of courage into Hwanwoong. “I know it’s hard to put what you’re feeling into words.”

Hwanwoong nodded. “Um, yeah. So, anyways—it’s because, um—” Despite Youngjo’s pep talk, his stammers remained. He pushed, nonetheless, forcing himself to speak up. “—Basically, you make me crazy, hyung.”

A hint of a smile crept across Youngjo’s features, but it left as fast as it appeared.

“This is seriously embarrassing for me to say so l-listen up because I’m not gonna say it twice,” Hwanwoong stammered. He took a deep breath before carrying on, “Just… It’s hard to control myself when you keep… keep on being so close to me. T-Touching me so affectionately, holding my hand almost every time, no matter if we’re out on a show or inside the company… Lying on me like it doesn’t give me butterflies everytime. Saying you love me so nonchalantly like it doesn’t give me any false hope that you actually mean it in, um, more than a—a platonic way…”

Tears threatened to spill once again as his voice began to waver. Youngjo seemed to notice this, because his grip on Hwanwoong’s hand tightened.

“On top of it all, I don’t want to ruin, um—our friendship. I don’t want our relationship to be ruined. The fact that our relationship with each other also functions as an integral part of the group’s success isn’t helping either. If our friendship is ruined, the group’s, um, what is it—charm? Charisma? Whatever. What I’m trying to say is that if our friendship changes for the worst just because of some stupid feelings that I develop towards you, then the impact will not only damage our relationship, but our group as a whole.”

Hwanwoong was panting the moment he finished. All of those sentences had been uttered out under a single minute and it didn’t even dawn upon him. Youngjo, on the other hand, pulled back in his seat. He crossed his arms and Hwanwoong swore he could hear the mechanical whirs from within his head with how thoughtful he looked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can see where you’re coming from,” Youngjo nodded.

At this point, Hwanwoong was more than a little bit perplexed. Why is Youngjo reacting so calmly? Isn’t he surprised? Why isn’t he responding to the fact that Hwanwoong, like, liked him?

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Hwanwoong blurted out before he could stop himself.

Youngjo cocked his head to the side, eyebrows raised. “I want to listen to your whole perspective first before saying mine. I want to understand why you’ve been acting like you’ve been for the past few days,” he said. “If you want some sort of vulnerability from me, Woong, I can tell you that I was hurt seeing as you’d avoided me all week.”

Hwanwoong cursed at himself.

“Do you still want to continue?”

Hwanwoong nodded. “That’s why I became so avoidant with my own feelings. I was in denial. I didn’t want to acknowledge that I fell—um, had feelings for you. Romantic ones. I guess because of that I became so pissy, like how I shouted at Dongju.”

“Dongju was so shaken back then.”

“Yeah… I felt so bad.” Hwanwoong sighed. “Anyways… I suppose I unconsciously made my anger a temporary protection from my own real feelings and emotions. Well, I knew that, but… I couldn’t stop myself.”

A suffocating silence followed suit the moment Hwanwoong stopped his rambles. He took this time to compose himself, to take a deep breath and wipe off any remaining dry tears sticking on his cheeks. He caught a glimpse of Youngjo while doing so, and all of the fondness Hwanwoong had toward the older man that he previously had hidden deep within his consciousness came back all at once.

This was one of the reasons Hwanwoong fell in love with him. Youngjo’s affectionate upbringing was a nice addition for sure, but his deep consideration and attentiveness for others were honestly the most attractive part about him, in the opinion of Hwanwoong. Exactly like this moment—the way he had been listening to Hwanwoong rambles as if his words were music, even though they were one step closer to be deemed as incoherent. He loved it. Hwanwoong loved Youngjo.

“Is there something on my face?” Youngjo’s words snapped Hwanwoong out of his reverie, and he panicked.

“Oh! No, no, uh… Nothing. It’s… nothing,” Hwanwoong stuttered. “A-Anyways, I think I’m done.”

“Oh, okay.” Youngjo repositioned himself in his seat. He was silent for a couple of moments, collecting his thoughts perhaps.

“You know, I was about to say that you’re the densest person I’ve ever known, but then again I’m also at fault here since it never really crossed my mind that me doing all that would cause such a reaction out of you.” Youngjo scratched the back of his head, a sheepish smile crossed his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

Huh?

Hwanwoong blinked, dumbfounded.

He was about to go on a rant about how things weren’t Youngjo’s fault and that he shouldn’t blame himself, but after processing every single word that the older man had said, Hwanwoong couldn’t help but malfunction.

As if sensing his bewilderment, Youngjo took both of Hwanwoong’s hands into a gentle grip and sent him the fondest look he’d ever received from someone. At that moment, his cheeks became warm for the umpteenth time.

“Haven’t you realized that the feelings are mutual, Woong?” Youngjo said, and Hwanwoong wanted to scream.

With his hands over his mouth, Hwanwoong blurted out, “—Shut up.”

Youngjo raised his eyebrows. “Woong?”

Hwanwoong’s hands travelled up to his face, covering it completely. Behind that, he dissolved into laughter, one that was afflicted and painful to hear. Youngjo’s attempt to get him to talk remained disregarded as he kept on shaking with laughter. Not long after that, though, the laughter was replaced by subtle sobs.

“Hyung, please tell me you’re joking.”

Youngjo knitted his eyebrows. “I’m not. I’ve liked you ever since… Well, I don’t know either, to be honest, but I do. Something about you makes me comfortable, Woong. I feel at home when you’re around.”

Hwanwoong couldn’t even describe what he was feeling at the moment. He was angry, euphoric, confused—like incongruous ingredients being mixed into a cauldron of utter nonsense, stirred and fused together until they form an indistinguishable blob of feelings and emotions.

He wanted to be angry at Youngjo for not telling him upfront that he liked him, but he could understand it better than anyone else why Youngjo didn’t. It was probably for the same reason why Hwanwoong avoided acknowledging his own feelings; it was because he was afraid. But Youngjo dealt with his own feelings by projecting them into affection, unlike Hwanwoong who projected them into animosity.

“I was also afraid, Hwanwoong. The possibility of our friendship being destroyed by just some petty romantic feelings was too high, and I couldn’t risk it. So my brain told me to hide it. But I’m naturally a very affectionate person, you know that, right? So… yeah. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were also… y’know.”

Next thing he knew, Hwanwoong’s limbs were moving by themselves. His hands wrapped themselves around Youngjo, so tightly that if it were any tighter, he was sure Youngjo would’ve begun choking.

Hwanwoong’s whole body was shaking. Like a dam that’d just been broken, ceaseless tears began to stream down his face. His silent wail was muffled against Youngjo’s shoulder, and it intensified once the other started to apply gentle pats on Hwanwoong’s back.

“Hey, hey, now, why are you crying again?” Youngjo laughed, but a faint crack could be heard at the end of his sentence. “Everything’s fine now. You don’t need to suppress your emotions anymore. Oh—but that’s more reason to cry, huh? Well then, cry your heart out, Woong.”

Those simple yet effective words sent a wave of butterflies coursing through Hwanwoong’s veins, easing the whimpers that had overtaken him before. By the time the two broke the hug, Hwanwoong’s snivels were mostly alleviated, though a few sniffles had escaped from his lips. He was still shaking too—from his shoulders to the tip of his fingertips.

Youngjo brought his hand up to Hwanwoong’s hair, ruffling with it. “It’s okay now. Everything’s been sorted out. Well, except if you still have some more things to say?”

“No,” Hwanwoong shook his head, but something struck his mind immediately. “Oh, um—can I ask you something?”

“Sure, ask away.”

“Why do you, ah, like me?”

Youngjo blinked. He hummed for a short while, cocking his head to the side as he did so. Hwanwoong waited, watching the other cautiously with squinted eyes.

“I like a lot of things about you. It’s mainly because you’re absolutely adorable, though.” The shit-eating grin that followed Youngjo’s words made Hwanwoong want to punch him.

“Oh, come on! I’m serious!” Hwanwoong pouted, playfully hitting the other’s chest.

“Okay, okay! Well, where do I start? I love how passionate you are about dancing, first of all. Or maybe just your passion in general. I love how you always put your best when it comes to things, even ones that you don’t necessarily like.” Youngjo paused for a moment, then continued, grinning again, “And your smile. I love your smile a lot.”

Which only drew another playful punch to the chest from Hwanwoong. “Cheesy.”

“Hey! I’m being serious here!”

This time, Hwanwoong didn’t respond. Instead, he buried his face against Youngjo’s chest, withholding the fact that his face was beet red. So much has happened for the past few days. The humiliation, the anger, the melancholy—those things seemed so out of reach now, specifically with how everything had turned out in the end.

It felt unreal. This seemed too good to be true.

“Woong?” Youngjo called out, lifting Hwanwoong’s chin so that he would face the other.

“So what happens now?”

“Huh?”

“What happens now, now that our feelings are mutual? Are we going to date? But we can’t, right? Dating another member of your group is just… unspoken of. Right?”

With the same amount of warmthness he retained upon his smile, along with the soft caresses of his thumb against Hwanwoong’s cheek, Youngjo asked, “Do you want to date?”

Hwanwoong thought about it for a while. “No… Not right now. Commitment’s too scary for me. I don’t want to be too fast with relationships—I don’t want to ruin us.”

Youngjo nodded appreciatively, but he failed to hide the dejection that was apparent in his eyes. “I get it. I agree, too, to be honest.” There was a pause again. Youngjo was thinking. “What do you think about taking things slowly?”

Hwanwoong blinked. “Taking things slowly?”

“Yeah, like… We’ll be together, but not together… There’s a word for it, but I forgot…”

An amused chuckle left the younger’s lips. “Not labelling ourselves?”

“Yeah! That’s it. What do you think?” Youngjo asked. “Oh, but it’s seriously okay if you don’t want to. No pressure.”

The thought of he and Youngjo holding hands while smiling at each other crossed Hwanwoong’s mind almost immediately. The two of them have always been considered to be as thick as thieves by the other members, more so than any other pair within the group, so if they were to be more affectionate than before, it wouldn’t be really that out of place.

On top of everything else, though, to be able to call Youngjo his without feeling awful or guilty, and to have Youngjo call him his… Other than a first win on a music show, Hwanwoong couldn’t think of any better sensation,

It took him quite a while to make up his mind, but eventually, Hwanwoong nodded, albeit meekly. “Yeah. Sure. Doesn’t sound too bad.”

The astounded look Youngjo’s face consequently gave off was close to out of character, if it weren’t for the fact that Hwanwoong had seen that expression before a lot of times. Under different circumstances, of course.

“Oh, r-really? Um, I didn’t expect you to say that,” Youngjo stammered as he scratched his nape.

“Yeah. Why? Do you not want to?” At this point, Hwanwoong was expecting the worst of the worst, honestly.

Youngjo frantically waved his hands. “No! Well, yes—ugh, I mean, I want that too.” His mouth twitched as though he was holding back a huge grin, but his eyes could never lie. “I’m ecstatic, Woong, if you can’t tell. I can’t believe my feelings are mutual…?”

For the first time in a while, Hwanwoong genuinely laughed. “Yeah, I relate to that on a spiritual level.”

And then they were silent again. Hwanwoong noticed how Youngjo was fidgeting though. He played with his fingers and his eyes were darting back and forth from who knows where and to what. Hwanwoong was about to ask what was wrong, but was defeated by their eyes meeting abruptly once again.

“—Can I kiss you?”

Hwanwoong’s response was almost automatic. “Yeah.”

And their lips met. The kiss wasn’t anything impressive, no tongue or exchange of saliva like those romantic movies usually make it. It was just a slight peck on the lips, but it was enough to send tingling shivers down Hwanwoong’s spine. They pulled away as quickly as they kissed, nevertheless Hwanwoong’s pulses were already racing.

Youngjo seemed to be as embarrassed as he was. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were sparkling like he’d just seen fireworks. The crimson painted across his cheeks drew laughter out of Hwanwoong. “You’re so cute, hyung.”

Youngjo only smiled. “Do I need to give you a mirror, Woong?”

Hwanwoong rolled his eyes. “Ugh, does this mean I have to deal with your greasiness every second of the day?”

“Guess so! Make sure you’re up for it because I’m gonna be greasier than before just to annoy you.”

“Uuuugh.”

Hwanwoong was glad that they could exchange banters again without worrying about one another’s feelings anymore. This outcome was the outcome that he least expected, but he contentedly welcomed it nonetheless. To be able to touch and be touched by Youngjo without feeling awful to himself, added with the fact that Youngjo was his and he was Youngjo’s—it was as though Hwanwoong was dreaming with his eyes open.

“Y’know—we should thank Geonhak,” Youngjo said after enveloping the other into his arms.

Hwanwoong looked up at the other, confused. “Geonhak? Why?”

“He was the first one to notice that you were being like that because of me. He told me in the toilet earlier. He also told me to do something to you in order to, in his words, ‘evoke some kind of reaction out of you’.”

As he snuggled closer to Youngjo, Hwanwoong pouted. “I wanna be annoyed at him for deliberately playing with my emotions, but I also can’t because the end result isn’t bad.”

“You can tell Dongju to bite him tomorrow as revenge,” Youngjo suggested, a sly smile creeping upon his countenance.

“Mhmm,” Hwanwoong hummed, closing his eyes. “I’ll do that.”

Youngjo raised an eyebrow. “Are you gonna go to sleep? What about the movie?”

“It’s probably finished by now. Even if we joined, we probably missed quite a lot. Besides, I’m tired.” Hwanwoong shrugged. “If you wanna join them, it’s fine. Just… accompany me until I sleep.”

Youngjo’s characteristic smile appeared once again. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

It didn’t take long for Hwanwoong to drift off to dreamland. Youngjo called out to him a few times, but no response was given. Perhaps he was imagining things, but there seemed to be a ghost of a smile left upon the sleeping boy’s face. He must’ve been exhausted, Youngjo thought sympathetically.

He carefully stepped out of the bed. As he tiptoed to the door, he glanced at the clock at the wall. Half past twelve. The movie hadn’t finished just yet, and he could still hear the others’ ruckus from the common room.

“Sleep well, Woong,” Youngjo whispered softly as he turned off the light, before making his way over to join the others.

#moifics #yeo hwanwoong #hwanwoong #ravn #kim youngjo #youngjo #oneus #rawoong #fanfiction #fanfic #ravn x hwanwoong #hwanjo #oneus fanfic

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devnny · 5 years

Text

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

i like to call this chapter ‘AH, devi’s crazy TOO.’

[additional end-of-chapter drabble here: X ]

Devi watched Johnny brood sourly in the reflection of her rearview mirror, and couldn’t help but smile in amusement. There had been an argument between him and Tenna about who would be sitting in the passenger seat for this particular car ride – an argument that Johnny had bitterly lost.

“Who the fuck cares if you ‘called shotgun’…” She managed to hear him grumble under the thunderously loud music, and she snickered to herself.

Maybe she would pacify him with kindness later, if all went as planned tonight, but for now, Devi needed him to be in as pissy of a mood as possible without him being completely insufferable. She didn’t know the innerworkings of his fucked-up head too well, but she imagined that like anyone other person, he was more likely to get in a fight with someone if he was already in a bad mood.

The yellowed sign of the Camera slid across the windshield of the car as they drove past its front and turned into the small, poorly lit parking lot behind it. Devi had barely turned the engine off when Johnny undid his seatbelt, eager to leave his abhorred spot in the backseat. He got out and took in the familiar scenery of the theater’s dumpy, dark parking lot with a fond smile.

“Hm, I haven’t been here in quite a while.” He commented while Devi stepped out of the driver’s side beside him. She looked to him, then surveyed the area herself.

“Yeah, me either.” She replied, deciding not to mention that it was because of him that she had avoided this place for so long, then took up the leash that dangled loosely from his neck. Johnny’s eyes flickered down a moment at the movement, only to snort in remembrance of his new attachment.

Tenna looped around the trunk to meet them as they began their walk to the building.

“They still haven’t fixed that light by the dumpster?” She complained. “That’s been out for like, a year! Who knows what vile city dwellers could be lurking in the dark, ready to shiv me and steal my monies.”

Devi snorted a laugh.

“Eh. I’ve got the most dangerous thing in this parking lot roped to me, so I’m not too worried.”

Johnny smiled devilishly at that, and Tenna squinted apprehensively in his direction. Devi wasn’t wrong, she guessed, but was that really a good thing? She desperately hoped that whatever Devi was planning didn’t get either of them stabbed in the process.

The trio walked into the dull lighting of the entrance, and Johnny felt his asshat senses heightening by the second. He listened to the small crowd’s murmuring, pessimistically certain that someone would make a comment about either his attire, like usual, or the fact that he was currently adorned with pet equipment. A few people gave them weird stares, but his keenly tuned ears failed to hear if they said anything. Devi tugged him in the direction of the ticket booth, interrupting his paranoid scanning for the time being.

They settled on an old horror film, much to Tenna’s dismay, given the current company. Johnny felt some contentment in leading Devi to his old favored spot in their designated theater – he had a preferred spot in each of the Camera’s handful of theaters, back when he frequented the movies more often. He was also pleased when Devi readily sat beside him instead of putting Tenna between them, though it was most likely because having that damned leash drape over Tenna’s lap while she held it from the other side was impractical. He wanted to believe that she would have sat next to him anyway, even if the situation was different.

Devi only half-minded the movie, instead keeping her focus on Johnny’s behavior, which was more suspensefully entertaining than the cheesy, predictable stalking scenes of a film that she’d seen plenty of times as it was. She watched as covertly as she could at every twitch and look he gave to the people that laughed at inappropriate times, or talked through the ‘boring’ parts, and she felt some God-awful mixture of pride and disappointment that he did little else. Maybe his self-control had improved more than she thought it had.

The closest he got to losing it was when a couple of girls’ talking started getting progressively louder, as if they were unaware that their difficulty in hearing each other was because of the movie that they had paid to see. Devi could see Johnny tense, and could vaguely feel through their conjoined seat the movement of the muscles and tendons in his arm flexing and stretching as he ground his knuckles into a fist over and over. Before he could even yell at them, Tenna lobbed her still half-full box of candy over their row and hit one of the girls in the head with it, sending the shadows of little chocolates across the screen for a second, paired with her target’s aghast gag.

Johnny was surprised at the direct action, then built up a grim laugh into a quick cackle, joined by Tenna, who squealed out her usual high-pitched hyena laugh. Devi sunk back against her seat in defeat, already sensing by the hushed chatter a few seats ahead that the woman her friend had just beaned with a box of Raisinets was too weak-willed to confront their ‘larger’ group about it.

She tried to brush it off. Johnny was fantastic as drawing trouble to himself, and there would surely be another decent opportunity as the evening progressed; people were just too rude and shitty to not give him the desire for violence.

When the movie finished and they began their walk out to the street, Tenna insisted that she knew of an amazing little train of food trucks that parked nearby that they just had to try. It was almost six blocks away, and with the streets mostly dead, Devi would have insisted on any normal night that they drive there – of course, tonight was a little special, so she insisted that they walk.

“Yeah, I could use the exercise. Been cooped up in the apartment with Nny for one day too many.” Devi spoke nonchalantly about her choice, guiding Johnny smoothly away from the direction of the parking lot and toward where these alleged food trucks should be. She hoped along the way that Johnny would try and run from her side, at anything, even to chase a cat or something equally harmless.

Tenna nodded as though that made sense, but still had the gut instinct that Devi was up to something that she wouldn’t admit to. She kept her suspicions to herself while they trekked down the sidewalk, and instead continued talking up their eatery for the night.

Two streets passed, and Devi almost wanted to pout that Johnny had done nothing but walk dutifully by her side. He observed his surroundings with waning interest, unaware of Devi’s scrutiny. The darkened buildings of the already-closed shopping district blended together into one amorphous, black shape in his eyes, with his mind unable to find the square, uniform city architecture interesting for long. He was much happier looking at the starry sky, though it was difficult for many of the stars to appear brightly enough to be seen from a view inside the city. Stupid concrete monster wasn’t good for anything.

Partially coherent jabbering from Tenna failed to distract Devi from her disappointment in what was, so far, the most normal outing that she had had with Johnny since their reunion. She wished it wasn’t disappointing, but the entire purpose of this trip was to ensure that her leash idea would hold up in the face of Johnny’s unpredictable nature. She couldn’t afford to have a false sense of security when walking the streets with him!

The universe had thrown her so many asinine screwballs at this point that she wouldn’t be surprised if Johnny magically slipped his collar despite his big, dumb pumpkin head, or somehow had the unreasonable strength to break the clasp and attack something.

Why did he have to pick tonight to be on his very best behavior?

They reached the gated lot full of assorted food trucks without incident, and Devi’s lips vibrated with an annoyed exhale that sounded more like a disgruntled horse. Tenna assumed it was because of the gross, greasy looking people and food that awaited them, and gave her shoulder a friendly jostle.

“C’mon Devi! Truck food is amazing, you remember the hamburger sushi don’t you?” She asked with a giggly smile. Johnny made a face at the mention of ‘hamburger sushi’.

“Oh, I remember.” Devi eyerolled. It was actually pretty good, if she was being honest, but as of now she was bored with this completely fruitless adventure.

Johnny watched Devi curiously while they followed Tenna around the lot to different van windows, and his lower lip tented up in thought. She seemed unhappier suddenly, and he wondered why. Like Tenna, he speculated that it was because of their current environment, which he would emphatically agree was horrible. The mixing of smells from the numerous different types of frying dishes certainly did nothing for his already small appetite, and the people bumming around eating were all loud and irksome. And smelly.

“Devi, must we eat here?” Johnny whispered to her. Devi turned her head toward him.

“You don’t have to get anything if you’re not hungry.” She told him. “There’s food at home.”

Johnny pouted more.

“That’s not completely what I meant…” He mumbled, looking around. “The people here are wretched. Can’t we go somewhere more… completely absent of life?”

Devi looked at him for a moment before caving into quiet chuckles. Johnny felt his heart swell at the sound of her laugh. He steadied his composure as she moved to speak again, but her response was lost as Tenna called them over to the farthest corner of the lot.

“I FOUND THE HAMBURGER SUSHI TRUCK!” She yelled victoriously. Johnny’s mouth wormed miserably as Devi lead him to his doom of the fast-food version of fusion cuisine.

As they came to a stop beside Tenna, Devi noticed two men leaning up against the side of one of the buildings that walled off the lot, and raised her eyebrows in interest. They were smoking and drinking, and overall looked like the kind of late-night assholes that would loudly criticize others for a laugh. She wasn’t getting her hopes up, but kept their presence in mind as they waited for their food, just in case they were more trouble than she was asking for tonight.

Tenna had ordered them two ‘cheeseburger’ rolls to share, and the concept of splitting two items between three people only vexed Johnny further. Now he would have to make certain – if he even bothered to EAT this disgusting-sounding thing – that whatever he was grabbing hadn’t already been handled by someone else. It was repulsive enough knowing whatever sweaty creature lurked in the van’s ‘kitchen’ was going to create this abomination with, likely, their bare hands.

He shivered in disgust.

The truck was either very popular, or the cook was very slow, because it was taking forever for their order to come out. As time drug on, Johnny began idly picking at his collar while Devi talked to Tenna. He was indifferent to their conversation topic, and his eyes listed over the rooftops of the surrounding structures, again looking for anything to occupy his thoughts while he was unable to have Devi’s undivided attention.

A particularly rude-sounding set of laughs resounded behind him, and his senses were suddenly sharp again. Anyone else wouldn’t have thought twice about it, probably wouldn’t have even heard it amongst the chatter of everyone else nearby, but Johnny was accustomed to being an object of ridicule, and knew the common vocalizations of assholes and bastards.

“Hey!” One of them said. He stopped to laugh again before continuing. “HEY! Dog-guy! Did she get you neutered too??”

Johnny and Devi both straightened at the comment, immediately aware that they were the subject of discussion. Johnny trembled a second as he attempted to swallow his insult, but failed, and turned to face the men that were trying to humiliate them. Devi only turned enough to side-glance at the interaction with a small, apprehensive smile.

“DOES MY SITUATION CONCERN YOU THAT MUCH?” Johnny yelled back at them. He steamed when the pair only ‘OOOH’d back at him in response before breaking into hysterics.

Devi watched as Johnny’s body began to shake more, and held her breath behind her inconspicuous expression as he took a step forward. Tenna eyed her in concern, uncertain why she wasn’t intervening into an exchange that would surely only escalate without her involvement.

“Hey girl, he’s had all his shots right? He looks rabid!” The other called toward Devi, and Johnny took even more offense that they would address her directly with their brainless, monkey-drool humor.

“SHUT YOUR MOUTHS.” He ordered, standing wide-legged and pointing aggressively in their direction. “DON’T SPEAK TO HER, you filthy, bleating, devolutions of humanity! I don’t come outside to be a spectacle for swine like YOU.”

His eye twitched when their response was something about him coming outside to have ‘walkies’, followed by further spittle-inducing laughter. Oh, how he hated people so very much. Just watching how unguarded they were as they hooted and gestured at him made his fingers twinge with the desire for physical mutilations. It would be so hard to laugh without tongues! Or faces! OR A HEARTBEAT!

The grit on the asphalt scuffed with the friction of his boot as he lunged toward his intended victims, and Devi barely had a chance to register he’d moved at all before her arm was outstretched, a continuation of his now taut leash. Within the second, her arm was extended as far as it would go, as was the leash, and Johnny gagged from the speed at which his collar hinged around his neck. His body propelled forward further, twisting him around, and he hit the ground face first with an unceremonious BLAP!

Everyone stared at his limp figure on the floor for a few seconds, and then the men spasmed with a new, uncontrollable fit of laughter. Devi’s eyes were wide as she watched Johnny raise up onto his elbows, and she felt a long-missing energy crackle to life in her stomach.

She bowled over and laughed; laughed with deep, desperately needed triumph beating in her blood.

“IT WORKED!” She yelled at Tenna as she rose. “DID YOU SEE? It worked!!”

Tenna offered her a confused, open-mouth smile, but her eyes only showed her worry and discomfort at Devi’s abnormal change in demeanor. Devi bent back and held her forehead, still laughing.

“Oh my GOD. That was so perfect!” She chuffed. “I… I can’t believe it! Heehee!”

Tenna set a hand on her shoulder.

“I think… all the joy you’ve repressed for like, an entire year, is coming out right now. All at once. About this weird fucking leash thing.” She dropped her hand and pointed to Devi’s wide smile. Devi’s only continued her snickering.

“It worked, it worked, it worked! HAH-HAH-HAH!”

Johnny’s ego couldn’t have been more bruised if he ran it over with his own car in a freak accident. He pushed himself up, using his knee to get back into a standing position. The bastards behind him were still laughing, and Devi was cutting up with Tenna about it too, which stung a lot more than the taunting of some nameless strangers. He tried to breathe between his clenched teeth to calm himself down, but he was so embarrassed and angry – Devi probably just let him make an ass out of himself to teach him a lesson. Why did she always have to make a fool out of him to get her point across? Talking and being gentle was an option too, if she didn’t know!

He couldn’t stop himself from glowering when she turned to face him.

“NNY!” She smiled at him, and Johnny frowned unhappily, believing her smile was part of her mockery. He could guess that Devi was going to reprimand him, again, for trying to attack some ‘innocent’ people – he was getting sick of this. Those morons were not innocent; they instigated this! She saw it!

“What?” He snapped bitterly. Devi only laughed and tugged him closer by his leash.

“That was PERFECT, I’m so happy!” She cheered. “You did just what I wanted you to do!”

The tension in Johnny’s face vanished immediately.

“I…” A weak smile crept over his lips. “I-I did??”

“YES! This night wasn’t a total waste after all!”

Johnny’s previous perception of her smile as cruel and jeering dissipated, and instead he felt himself amazed by the wide grin she wore. He hadn’t seen that particular smile on her in quite a long time, and the inside of his chest was suddenly light and airy. He had absolutely no idea what part of his actions exactly she was talking about, but he had made her so very happy, and that’s all that mattered to him for the moment. Johnny clasped his hands in front of him, admiring her continued giggling until Tenna approached them.

“Um… our food is done.” Tenna spoke while she chewed, still judging the bizarre scene uncertainly.

“Oh, good—” Devi took one of the take-out plates from her, but got distracted when she realized that the two peons she’d used to test Johnny’s apparatus were still guffawing in their direction. Her attention moved back to them, and Johnny followed her stare, scowling in their direction to show his support of her disapproving look. Devi passed him their food casually, and then slipped the handle of his leash off of her wrist.

“Here, hold this a second.” She said with a smile as she dropped it into Tenna’s open palm. Tenna almost gagged on her food when she realized what she had just gripped onto.

Johnny was surprised too – it was unlike Devi to give away control so casually. His wide eyes flicked away from Tenna’s hand and back to Devi, who was walking toward the men standing by the wall. He felt a twinge of worry; not because he thought Devi couldn’t handle these idiots, but rather that said idiots might touch her in some way.

If either of them pushed her or something, he would gut them both with the chopsticks that were so carefully perched on the raised edges of this disposable plate. No way would Tenna’s weak grasp be able to hold him back, he was confident in that.

Devi looked between the men in front of her as she walked, debating from her experience with shitty guys and their unspoken douchebag tier rankings, which of the two was more leader than follower. She thought that the one that first called out to Johnny, the taller one, was likely that man.

“Huh?” The same man said as he saw Devi encroaching on the invisible border of their hangout territory. “Oh, what’s the matter girlie? Did we upset your pet over there?”

He sneered a rude grin at her, and Devi smiled back, certain that she had chosen correctly.

With her last step, she drew her arm back, then hurled it forward as though her knotted fist was a shotput. Her knuckles cracked against the bottom of his jaw at such a speed that it threw him back with a light topspin. His turning body slammed his head into the brick wall behind him, and he bounced off of that like a sad rubber ball, landing at the wedge where the building and ground met in a heap.

Johnny and Tenna opened their mouths in silent gasps, unable to do anything else.

Devi held her fist in front of her a moment, appreciating the dull ache in her digits with a satisfied smirk, then dropped her expression to shoot the remaining man a warning look. He looked terrified, like a sheep separated from the flock, and Devi was content with that. She turned around and regathered her ‘things’ from Johnny and Tenna.

“C’mon, Nny.” Her mouth perked up again. “Let’s go.”

BACK HOME:

Johnny jammed himself further into the nesting spot he had made for himself on Devi’s couch, shuffling his legs to get more comfortable. His head lolled over to watch Devi, as it had many times since the movie started. It was supposed to be thought-provoking, said one of Devi’s film magazines, but by all accounts was dull and droned on aimlessly about the futility of society. It was a totally unbelievable portrayal of a mental downward spiral– and he would know. Where was the frenzied tears? The passion?

But, to be fair, even the most interesting, well-written plot in the history of cinema couldn’t keep his attention right now, with Devi sitting beside him lazily and scorning the images on her TV. His heart fluttered remembering her gleefulness just an hour ago, and how she decked that guy that had been laughing at him. Now that was passion.

A relaxed smile spread across his face, and he sighed contently. It had been such an exhausting night; from venturing into public, to enduring Tenna’s loud nature, to arguing with shitheads, to falling and hitting his head on the floor, to eating hamburger sushi – which was much better than he had imagined, actually – he was exhausted. It didn’t help that this movie was unengaging and badly-written. It would be a better use of his eyeballs to look at the dark inside of his eyelids.

Devi turned to make a sarcastic comment about the film, but lost her air when she saw Johnny asleep with his head tilted back over the couch cushion. She stifled a laugh.

“Wow. This movie must really be a boring piecashit to put you to sleep, Nny.” She said to him.

She pulled a wadded blanket out from her corner of the couch and threw it over him, then settled in to continue watching the rest of this abhorred picture. Maybe the ending would blow her fucking mind, or something.

Half an hour later, Devi’s cheek was stretched against the back of her hand, her head drooping despite her arm’s best efforts to keep it upright. She blamed her outburst of absolute joy tonight for taking so much out of her, and her weary brain decided it would be fine to fall asleep right here, beside Johnny, the man she normally locked her bedroom door to ensure didn’t come in and kill her while she slept. She didn’t even have enough cognitive function to argue how fucking stupid that was.

Devi’s eyelashes flittered closed for a few seconds, but just as she was drifting off to sleep, Johnny screamed at the top of his lungs and jolted her wide awake. Her hands clamped over the arm and top of the couch, and she scrambled back against the corner to stare at him. Johnny’s irises ricocheted around the whites of his eyes madly, before settling on Devi with the look of a frightened animal.

“…YOU GOOD?” Devi asked with concern and restrained fear in her voice.

Johnny looked cautiously around the room, then back to Devi, who was not bleeding or stabbed, as he had dreamed she was. He stared at her torso until he was absolutely positive that the injuries that he’d just seen seconds before were, in fact, figments of his imagination, and then relaxed shakingly against the couch cushion.

“Y… yes.” He choked out, then cleared his throat. “Yes. Just a… bad dream.”

He pulled the blanket on his lap up and around his shoulders, bundling it over his head and huddling up into a paranoid ball on the couch. Devi blinked tiredly, then rubbed her eyes as she mentally chastised herself for bothering to be startled by more of Johnny’s nonsense.

“Okay.” She sighed and stood. “I’m going to bed. That movie sucked, in case you were wondering.”

Johnny smiled fondly at her pessimism.

“Alright. Goodnight, Devi.”

“Night, Nny. Try and… get some rest.” She raised an eyebrow in reference to his previous panic, and left to her room.

Johnny watched her door close, then snatched up the remote and changed the output to cable. He focused on the TV as if his life depended on it, stubbornly refusing to even consider the notion of sleep again. ‘Get some rest’—yeah right! The night terrors were only getting more gruesome and realistic each time he slept, and he was not at all interested in seeing exactly how bad the dreams could get. He decided the best way to avoid that was to not sleep at all again, for as long as he could manage.

NEXT.

#4.1k of devi what the hell are you doing #jtrm #jthm #mine #devnny #chapter

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p-artsypants · 5 years

Text

Longest Night (3)

The day started out sucky to begin with. Her crush ousted to the class and Adrien. Lila taking pride in exacting her revenge. But by the time patrol was over, a young man was dead, and Ladybug's identity was at risk. Lila was the least of her concerns. Good thing Adrien was taking it all like a champ.

Ao3 | FF.net

Adrien returned to school after that, and Marinette stayed home. She spent her time designing, watching movies, helping in the bakery, anything to keep her mind occupied. It was unfair that she had to stifle her emotions, but she refused to be a pawn for Hawkmoth.

Her phone laid still all day. No word from Adrien, no apologies or further harassment from anyone else. And that was totally fine with her.

It was now evening, on the day where Ladybug made a new enemy.

—

After school, and after fencing, which was an absolute mess, Adrien returned home to his cage.

Something that Nino had mentioned at lunch time had really stuck with Adrien, and he decided to act on it before things were too late.

“Nathalie? Can I talk to my dad? It’s...it’s kind of urgent.”

She considered for moment. “I’ll see if he’s free.”

God, how awful. Having to make an appointment with his own father. But such was the life of the son of a famous designer. “Thank you.”

Nathalie walked into the office and closed the door behind her.

Adrien dropped his bag on the floor, and then collapsed in a chair with a huff.

“What a day,” said Plagg, coming out to sit on his leg.

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“I told you that Lila girl was trouble, but you decided to be all high and mighty.”

“Again, I didn’t know that she was threatening Marinette, or else I would have done something else.”

“I guess I can’t give you a hard time for being stupid.”

“Ignorant,” Adrien corrected, “I was ignorant of the problem.”

“Stupid, ignorant. The thing is that pigtails needed your support, and as a hero, you should have done more.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?! If I called her out, she’d get hurt and get akumatized. If I let her lie, she gets caught and gets akumatized, or other people feel betrayed and get akumatized! I’m between a rock and a hard place here!”

Plagg smirked, “one of those options had a higher Akuma probability than the other.”

Adrien rolled his eyes.

“Akuma-wise, I think you made out well this time. Pig tails is strong. And checking in and making up with her was good move.”

“Thanks...it just felt like the right thing to do. It was kinda of my fault anyways.”

“By doing what? Being cute?!”

Adrien chuckled. “I mean, there had to be a reason that Lila picked me as Marinette’s victim.”

“Marinette had a crush on you. The only person who is at fault here is Liar.”

“Lila.”

“See! Even her name gives her away!”

“Plagg...”

“I’m just sore that you got dragged into petty high school drama. Same with pig tails, she seems like a nice girl.”

“She is a nice girl!” Adrien confirmed.

Plagg snickered to himself, then continued. “But because you both saw through her, you’re being dragged through the mud.”

Adrien huffed. “It’s stupid. It’s totally unfair.”

“I agree. Chat Noir should pay her a visit and hold her over the edge of building by the ankle.”

Adrien laughed. “I’m not doing that. I bet Hawkmoth would love it though.”

“Eh, probably.” The Kwami gave him a proud little pat on the cheek. “Just promising pig tails that you’d be there for her was a good move. You could have ignored it, to avoid getting involved.”

“No way, there’s no way I could have done that.”

Plagg smiled with his fangs. “And that’s why Master Fu picked you.”

“Oh you.”

The door to Gabriel’s office clicked, and Plagg swooped away to his hiding place.

Adrien looked in horror as Lila walked out of Gabriel’s office.

“Thank you again for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Agreste.” She said, her voice laced with faked concern.

“Yes, Miss Rossi. I’m glad you decided to come right to me with this. It greatly concerns me. I’ll be talking to the police to get that camera confiscated, and I’ll be having a word with my lawyer about a restraining order.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

“You’re welcome here anytime. My secretary will show you out.” Then he glanced to Adrien. “Nathalie says you wanted a word with me?”

Adrien didn’t respond immediately, since he was too busy glaring at Lila. His fists clenched at his sides, as he trembled.

She just sent him an innocent wave and turned to leave.

“Adrien?”

He stood and walked briskly into the office, standing rigidly.

“You seem uncomfortable, does this have anything to do with those pictures from Miss Dupain-Cheng? Rest assured, Miss Rossi just informed me of the matter and I’m about to take care of it.”

“Lila is a compulsive liar.” Adrien spat, pressing his index finger down on his desk for emphasis.

“Excuse me?”

“Marinette admitted that she has a crush on me, but she insisted that she has never taken a photo of me, ever, without my consent. Furthermore, Lila has been threatening her for the last two years.”

Gabriel sat in his chair and crossed his arms. “You’re saying no photographs were ever taken?”

“None! Marinette let me look through her phone. The only photos she had of me were photos from shoots or ones of us with our friends.”

“And you believe her?”

“Absolutely. Marinette is honest, kind, and good. You know that! She made that derby hat that Chloe Bourgeois copied and tried to play it off as her own.”

“Oh yes, I remember that.”

Adrien began to pace as he ranted, “Marinette is the class president. She’s always bent backwards to help others, including me. But when Lila started lying to everyone, Marinette called her out for it, and Lila in turn threatened her. Marinette kept being the amazing person that she is, and I guess Lila finally had enough and pulled this...this stunt! Lila has turned everyone against her except for me.”

“So you’re the only one that believes Marinette?”

“Only because no one else knows that Lila is a liar! She claimed to know Ladybug! But Ladybug appeared one day and shut that down.”

Gabriel met his eyes. “You’ve met Ladybug?”

“She’s saved me from some Akuma, so yes.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “Be that as it may, I can’t allow you to be involved in such childish drama. If there’s even a chance that Miss Dupain-Cheng took any photos, I have to pursue legal action.”

Adrien crossed his arms. “No.”

This surprised Gabriel, as he raised his brows. “No?”

“No. Marinette is not a threat to me. However, Lila is.”

“Oh really?”

“Lila has insisted that I will ‘belong’ to her one day. She doesn’t take my feelings into consideration, and someone who compulsively lies is not the kind of person I should be professionally associating with.”

“I see—“

“Marinette, on the other hand, is interested in the fashion industry and has been recognized by you, Jagged Stone, and Audrey Bourgeois! And even though her parents aren’t in fashion, they are still well known business owners with a good reputation and creditability!”

“I didn’t say—“

“And furthermore!” Adrien cut him off. “We have never pursued any legal action action people who have done far worse!”

“Like who?”

“Like that model that groped my butt on the runway? Or that fangirl that tackled me on the street and pulled out a chunk of my hair? The rabid fan girls that send me their unmentionables in the mail? Or Chloe Bourgeois in general? All of those incidences, I told you that I was uncomfortable and wanted you to take action. Instead, you told me that was the life of a celebrity, and I had to deal with it.”

“I never said—“

“But the one time there’s a rumor about a very good friend of mine, you want to pull out all the stops! And you’re not taking my feelings into consideration!”

“Adrien—“

“Marinette is one of my best friends, dad! It’s like you purposely want me to be miserable!”

“Are you quite done?” Gabriel bit.

Adrien snapped his jaw shut, and stood silently.

Gabriel exhaled loudly. “You’ve made your point quite clear. I will withhold any legal action for now, but once there is undeniable prove that she did take explicit photos, I will be getting a restraining order.”

“Thank you. As long as this undeniable proof isn’t just Lila’s words again.”

“It would have to hold up in a court of law. If Miss Rossi gets up to testify, and the court fines that she is lying, she can be charged with perjury. That’s not something I want to deal with.”

“Oh.”

Gabriel sighed again, rubbing his forehead. “Have you had any contact with Miss Dupain-Cheng since this came out?”

“Yeah, I visited her during lunch.”

“Alone?”

“My bodyguard stayed in the living room.”

“Nothing happened?”

“No. She was crying, we talked. That’s about it.”

“Alright.” He tapped his fingers on the surface of his desk. “You…you seem to have some warm regards towards Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

“She is a very good friend of mine.”

“Just a friend?”

Adrien blushed. “Yeah…just a friend.”

Gabriel hid a twitch of a smile, “of course. Well, you know my rules for dating. You’re sixteen now, so you may pursue whomever you wish. I would just like to meet them first, and approve of them.”

“uh, yeah, but—“

“And you must be prepared for your fans. In an age with social media, people will make assumptions and become irrational. You’re significant other must be prepared to ignore the criticism that happens from dating a celebrity, you understand.”

“Yes, I do. But why are you bringing this up now?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Girls are fighting over you. Eventually, you’ll pick one. And gauging your protectiveness of Miss Dupain-Cheng, it’s not hard to guess.”

“Wait. First you were accusing her of stalking, now you’re accusing me of having a crush on her?”

“Miss Rossi was the one to accuse her of stalking. I’m only acting as a concerned father. You’re a teenager, about the same age I was when I started dating. I’m not an idiot.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you were. I just…I don’t feel that way about Marinette.”

“If that’s what you say, then that’s what I’ll believe.” He turned toward his computer and started to type something, while Adrien just stood there awkwardly. “Don’t you have homework to do?”

Ah, the abrupt dismissal. “I—yes, uh…thanks.”

“Mmhmm.” Gabriel replied without looking up.

Adrien sighed and left the room, closing the door on the way out.

Gabriel waited a few minutes, then went to the painting of his wife.

—

A few moments later, Hawkmoth stood in his lair, his eyes gazing out the window into the fresh fall evening. Paris was a large city of course, and there were many hearts in pain. They echoed and ebbed together in a chorus of agony, dropping out once the emotion was spent, only to be replaced with another.

He stood waiting, focusing on a pinprick of emotion. A girl in distress and anguish, who lived not too far away.

There.

A slow burn, one that had been rolling for hours. A controlled, focused burn. These were the most dangerous akuma. The ones that felt injustice and stewed in it for a long time. The white hot flashes were sufficient and numerous, but those that burned with wrath were powerful.

But he didn’t call for an akuma.

He imagined a young kid, a designer with hope on the horizon, though she was drowning in the drama bestowed upon her as a high schooler.

It’s like you purposely want me to be miserable!

Gabriel clenched his fist. How dare he! How dare his son question his decisions! Didn’t he know it was for the best? Didn’t he know he was doing this for him!?

No. He didn’t. Because if Adrien knew who he was, he’d run. He’d scratch and claw and scream and beg to be let go.

And if he found out he had akumatized his crush, he’d never speak to him again.

“Dark Wings Fall.”

Gabriel Agreste remained in the big empty room, surrounded by his little butterflies.

“Master?” Asked sad little Nooroo.

Gabriel shook his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Am I…am I forgetting her? Am I giving up?”

The little kwami didn’t say anything, but floated up to meet his eyes. “You’ve been passing on the ones who are grieving. You have no problems akumatizing those who are selfishly angry. You…I think you’re healing yourself, by not hurting others.”

Gabriel didn’t answer, but looked back outside.

“I think…it’s a little nicer that way.”

#ml #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #hawkmoth #identity reveal #adrienette #ladynoir #fanfic #fanfiction #longest night

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