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hier--soir · 6 months

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vis-à-vis

frankie morales x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: your bedroom window offers a direct view into your cute neighbour's apartment. as time goes by, you two start looking for each other through the glass. shy glances become desperate, needy glimpses into each other's lives until one day, you finally make contact. warnings/tags: neighbour!frankie, some serious exhibitionism, naked window neighbour behaviour, a mild obsession between two strangers, mutual masturbation, brief piv sex between reader and an OC [while frankie watches of course], very little actual foreplay, unprotected piv sex, a hint of possessive!frankie, come eating, getting fucked in a short little sundress yahtzee, two* people that need to be thrown in horny jail [three* if you include me] word count: 4.2k masterlist a/n: so i got caught up last night thinking about vis-a-vis apartments. the exposure of it, the perversion, the intimacy... annnnd this was born. hope you enjoy x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing

You live in a studio apartment on the fifth floor of a complex.

Crowded and cluttered, you live practically on top of yourself. Always squeezing through the doorway, shins permanently littered with grazes and scrapes from where you’ve bumped into the bedframe, the coffee table, the anything. Kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, all cramped within 600 square feet.

And there is only one window. A thick, wood framed sheet of glass that rests directly above your bed. When you peer out the window and look down, you are privy to every coming and going in the alleyway below – a constantly overflowing dumpster, a family of rats scavenging for discarded food scraps, the occasional drunken hook up between two sturdy brick walls on a Friday night. But if you let your eyes float up, if you stare directly out your window, you can see into his apartment. Into his kitchen, you realise quickly. Can clearly see a tall cabinet, a wide silver fridge.

And he’s a stranger to you, in those first few weeks of your lease. And then, slowly but surely, a little more than that.

At first, it’s just a brief catching of eyes. Awkward, almost shy moments where the two of you find yourselves peering outside at the same moment. Looking away quickly, cringing, drawing the curtains.

And then it’s wary smiles.

You sit up in bed one day, hair greasy and flattened from your pillow. Pull back the curtain and spy him standing in the kitchen with a mug in his hand. Rubbing sleep from his eyes with a tired fist and then pausing, nodding suspiciously at you through the glass. Good morning, stranger.

Another afternoon you get home from work to find him pacing, phone tucked between ear and shoulder, that far away face twisted up in a frown. You catch his eye and smile; offer raised brows and a curious thumbs-up that ask – You doing okay, stranger? He imitates the gesture, face going soft, kind. Long fingers curling into a wave, and then a thumbs-up in return. I’m good, thank you, stranger.

Your stranger is tall. Built strong, broad, with dark hair, dark features.

Your stranger has a moustache, facial hair, and he scratches his fingers through it when he cooks dinner some evenings.

Your stranger is never dressed up. He wears weathered t-shirts, hides his hair away beneath caps, slips sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose before he leaves the apartment.

Sometimes your stranger has guests. Loud, boisterous friends that fill up his kitchen. Two blond men frequent the apartment; lounge against his kitchen counters, nursing beers and talking shit. You hear them sometimes, on the warmer nights. He cracks the window to welcome in a breeze, unaware of you lying in your bed, hidden beneath the windowsill, eavesdropping on deep voices, and bellowing laughter. You play a game with yourself on those nights, trying to pinpoint which voice might be his. Hear the name Benny once or twice and imagine that it could be his name, although it never seems to fit.

Sometimes weeks will go by with no sign of him.

In those times, his curtain stays drawn back – no prying eyes to hide from except yours. You watch the morning light brighten his lonely kitchen. Admire how the setting sun hits his cabinets in a glistening display of orange and yellow. You find yourself anticipating a roommate. A wife or a husband; someone that shares his bed, who sips from that same mug he takes his coffee in each morning. But there is no one else. Your stranger is a solitary creature, just like you.

When he returns from these disappearances, your stranger often looks exhausted. Pours his coffee with hunched shoulders, rests heavier against the bench than is normal. He offers tired, drowsy waves to you in the mornings. Tilts the neck of a beer bottle to you in the evenings, cheers stranger.

And then one day, a handful of weeks into the sticky Floridian summer, things take a turn.

At dusk, freshly showered, you rub a towel over your skin, chasing wayward droplets of water as you tug open a drawer. Dry enough, you twist your hair into the towel to keep it off your skin. Pull a pair of underwear up your legs, slip a thin sleep singlet over your head. And only then do you look. Almost instinctual now, the way your eyes flick and flutter in the direction of the window, curious and searching. And to your surprise, those eyes are already on you. Dark and beady, they peer through the glass, piercing the bare skin of your legs, your arms, your stomach. Face slack and dappled with red, he meets your stare and flinches. Tears himself away and pulls the curtain closed in fast, jerky movements.

And where there should be shock, or perhaps an affronted uneasiness, you just smile. Tuck yourself into bed and grin, the skin beside your eyes pinching. So endeared to your stranger now, you find your stomach warming at the memory of his blush, his embarrassment at being caught. Pulse quickening, your hand slips beneath the band of your underwear, and you wonder how long he must have stood there. How long he let himself watch you, how much he’d seen. And you know that you want to see it again – that flush on his cheeks, those lips twisting into an apologetic grimace. You make yourself come twice just thinking about it.

Soon the air gets hotter, wetter, and you wear less clothes around the apartment. Open the curtains earlier, close them later, hoping that he’ll look in. That he’ll see you in your underwear again, or less.

In early July your AC breaks and you resign yourself to lounging in nothing but your littlest underwear most evenings. Thin strips of cotton that only just cover the seam of your cunt, the crease between your ass cheeks. Breasts bare, skin shimmering with sweat – all of it exposed to the warm lamplight of your apartment for your stranger to see as you prance through your space.

One weekend, after darkness has shrouded the street, you text an old flame. Some guy whose name starts with J and you’ve slept together a handful of times, and always regretted it afterwards. You lay him out on your thin mattress and spread your thighs over his waist, eyes darting upward as he slips inside of you. He notices your stare out the window, mistakes the look in your eyes for nervousness, says someone might see us, and you assure him that no one lives there. You wedge it open, feel the summer breeze whisper against your skin, and he says, someone might hear us, and you assure him that they won’t.

You grip his shoulder and rock your hips against his, breasts bouncing with every rise and fall of your body, and your stranger pauses at his window. Head tilting to the side, he peers across the alleyway, and you see the way his body jolts. Shoulders stiffening, eyes meeting yours, he doesn’t look away. Drags the hat off his head and stares.

Eyelids fluttering, you stare at the hard line of his jaw. That expressionless face stares back at you, and you moan when he crosses his arms, biceps pulling taught across his chest, and leans against the wall beside his window. You wonder if he can hear you; hope that he can. Whimper a name that starts with J while your mind calls out to your stranger. A hand lands on your breast, too soft, too gentle for your liking, and then he’s turning you over. Pushing you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back into his, and when you look up, your stranger has fled the scene and turned out the light.

Four days later, you see him for the first time without a pane of glass between you. It’s late, uncharacteristically cool for mid-summer, and you’re tipsy off vodka lime sodas wearing a skirt that leaves little of your legs to the imagination. Your fingers struggle against the keypad, trying to get inside of your building, and you hear laughter down the street. A couple sets of heavy footsteps that get closer with every second.

When you glance over your shoulder, a sort of nervous anticipation bubbles in your stomach.

He's with the blondes again. One of them has an arm wrapped around his neck, hand on the brim of his cap, threatening to pull it off. The other stumbles along a few steps behind, chuckling under his breath.

Your breaths are coming short and sharp as you jab a finger against the keypad. Five, seven, nine—

You hear something clatter against the concrete path. A phone, maybe. And then—

“Told you not to drink so much, Benny,” a low voice teases, so close now, and something goes tight at the base of your spine.

You can’t help yourself. You have to look, you have to.

It’s fleeting, a passing glance over your right shoulder, but your eyes lock with his instantly. Your stranger, in the flesh.

His pace slows a little, dark brown eyes rounding out as he stares at you. Head turning, turning, looking back now to keep an eye on you even as he comes to a stop outside of his building. Movement catches your attention, and you look back to see the drunk one—Benny—moving to follow them. He meets your eye and flashes a quick wink at you.

“Benny,” your stranger snaps. A shiver races down your spine. His voice. “C’mon.”

“Alright, alright,” Benny mutters, jogging now, following the other two men inside.

You take a deep breath, hands shaking as you press five, seven, nine, four and head into your own building.

The blondes stay for a few hours. Sounds of a sporting match blare from a TV and drift out the window, sneaking into your apartment. You drink a cold glass of water, and then another, shower and then tuck yourself into bed naked. Another hour passes, and the cool front that plagued the city for the day slips away, allowing that familiar humidity to attack your senses once more. You kick your sheets to the end of the bed, restless, and strain your ears to listen. Television off, no more Benny now. The neon numbers on your alarm clock blink, telling you that it’s just past midnight.

Carefully, you sit up in bed. Turn a little to see if he’s there. And he is, of course, he is.

Your stranger is shirtless, stood a few metres away from the window, clad in a pair of loose black shorts. Dark hair a mess on the top of his head, and it’s curly. Gorgeous little tufts of wavy hair that cascade around his ears and—you’re salivating at the sight of him.

He steps closer to the window, and then closer again. His shoulders are wide, arms long and strong. But his middle is soft, and you watch as he rests a broad palm across it. Shy, maybe. Hiding from you, maybe. You wish he wouldn’t.

So you rise up, perch on your heels and expose your bare chest to him. You think you can see him swallow, think you can see his hand twitch against that gorgeous stomach. And then you raise a hand and graze one of your nipples, slow. Feel it harden beneath your touch, pinch it between your thumb and index fingers as he watches. And when that hand on his stomach lowers, disappearing beneath the band of his shorts, you feel nothing but relief.

Please, you whisper, begging him. Please, please, please.

Your free hand slips beneath your pillow and grips your vibrator, hot pink and long. Never taking your eyes away from his, you press the on button and glide it between your thighs. Jolt when the tip of it presses between your slick folds, clit twitching beneath silicone.

His face is flushed again, jaw clenched tight as he steps as close to the window as he can possibly get. He’s shaking his head, chest rising and falling faster now. You notch the toy at your entrance and press it inside, mouth falling open at the stretch, and you wish it were him, wish you knew how it felt to be touched by him. Endlessly, painfully needy for him.

Bathed in soft yellow lamplight, the muscle in his bicep strains. It makes his skin look waxy and warm and you wish you were there. Want to know what he sees in you when he peers through your window; if you look as angelic as he does.

His elbow shifts, jaw titling upward as his chest heaves, gaze unwavering. The base of the window hides everything below his waistline from view, but this is enough. It’s enough to see the soft swell of his stomach, the dark smattering of hair across his pecs, the tension in his right shoulder as he touches himself.

You come with a groan, face a twisted mess of pleasure and agony and please, please, please, and you think you can hear him moan in response. Think he must be able to tell, because his left hand brackets against the top of the window, bracing himself, and he works his cock harder, faster. Arm shifting in rapid movements as he fucks his hand, dark eyes trained on your softening face. And when he finishes, hair sweaty and stuck to his forehead, mouth ajar, you whimper, desperate to know how it tastes. You imagine that salty slick on your lips, your tongue. Imagine swallowing it down and making it yours.

And a few days later, you do exactly that.

You walk home from a late dinner and the cool evening draft is kind against your skin. It plays with the hem of your sundress, flicking it up to expose the tops of your thighs. When you reach your building, you text you friend home safe, and tuck your phone back inside your purse. You’ve only made it halfway up the path to the complex when you see him, walking towards you from the other end of the street. He reaches his building before he notices you, and you watch him consider the door for a moment. Weigh up his options. And it feels like minutes, like an eternity, although it’s only a few seconds, before he continues walking, feet light as he makes his way towards you.

Five, seven, nine, four, you push open the heavy door and step inside. Hold it open for him to follow.

He does so silently. Doesn’t say a word as he steps inside and glances around, as you make your way toward the stairs. Doesn’t comment on the out of order sign on the elevator, and doesn’t complain as he trails behind you up five flights of stairs. And with every step, you feel your stomach tightening. Feel liquid heat coiling between your thighs; that hot, wet desire that has been so so patient with the two of you.

Your stranger only ever lets himself fall a few paces behind, and as you grace the landing of the fifth floor, you feel fingertips graze the hem of your dress. A whisper of a touch; the tips of his fingers brush against the back your thigh for a split second, and disappear just as fast.

You rifle through your purse for the key, slot it inside the hole, and then he’s there. Hot chest against your back, a hand on your waist, nudging you inside. Finally.

A rough exhale pours from you as he presses your back against the closed door, and your stranger’s mouth is there to swallow it.

Warm, plump lips mould against yours, and you moan in relief. Knock his hat to the ground, fingers tangling in those dark curls, holding him against you.

Face to face, at last.

Everything is sticky and hot in your apartment, and you feel a sheen of sweat form across your chest, your stomach. The thin fabric of your dress clings to your skin and you sigh as his hands grip your hip, your thigh, hitching one of your knees around his waist. You haven’t even turned on the light, you want to see him up close, want to see everythi—

The zipper on his jeans scratches at your inner thigh, and when the thick weight of his cock presses against your cunt, you both let out a ragged moan.

“You want this?” he breathes into your mouth, voice a low rasp. The way his moustache tickles the skin of your face makes you throb.

“Yes,” you gasp, inhaling his scent as your tongue presses inside of his mouth. You taste behind his teeth, feel them bite and suck at your lips as he grinds into you. His clothed cock presses your soaked underwear between the crease of your cunt, material rubbing perfectly against your clit. “Ohh, I need you to fuck me.”

“Shit,” he growls, damp forehead heavy against yours. “So fucking pretty.”

He pulls back a fraction, rucking up the front of your dress in his fist and holding it against your stomach.

“You wear this for me?” he asks, eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin, every slip of material still covering your body.

“Yes,” you whimper again, mouth falling open as he nips at your neck, your collarbone. His free hand slips between your bodies, nudging your panties to the side, and then a thick finger glides through the slick spread of your cunt. He sighs against your skin, fingers rubbing messily against your clit until you’re keening, arching your chest into his.

“You’re so wet,” he marvels quietly. “Wanted this cock for so long, hmm?”

“It’s all I think about,” you confess, and the words burn as they leave your mouth. A dirty little secret that you’ve never even voiced out loud to yourself.

“And what about him?” he urges as a thick finger nudges its way inside of you. “Huh? You want him like this too?”

You gasp, eyes pinching closed. You can feel the ridges of his knuckles as he presses deeper, squeezing another finger inside. Curling them against the softest spot within you, stretching you out for him.

“Who?”

“That fuckin’ guy,” he grunts against the hinge of your jaw. The memory swims in your vision; Josh or Jeremy or Jacob or whatever his name is fucking you while you looked for him.

“He’s no one,” you moan, hips bucking against his hand. “Just—fuck—needed to see if you’d look, I wanted you to look.”

He laughs, low and breathy against your neck, craning back to stare at your face while he fucks you with his fingers.

“You want me that bad?” he murmurs, gaze heavy. A sharp pink tongue sneaks out to wet his lips and you whimper, eyes zeroing in on his mouth.

“Want you,” you nod slowly, tilting your chin up to kiss him again. He coaxes your jaw open wider, and his kiss is desperate, fast, a clashing clicking mess of tongues and teeth and spit.

His fingers pull away from your soft clutch and you whine into his mouth, only abated by the sound of his zipper coming undone, of his jeans hitting the floor. Your fingers fumble with buttons of your dress, but he stops you on the third one with a hushed whisper of leave it on, of you look so good like this.

His cock slips between your folds, and he grinds the thick length of it against you. The thick, drooling head bumps your clit, and you cry out.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, and it’s so hot in here, so much all of a sudden, and you’re dizzy. Head a spinning blur, body nothing but a trembling wet mess beneath his palms.

“S’Frankie,” he says then, notching the tip at your dripping entrance.

“What?” you murmur, eyes flashing open as he begins to press inside. It’s a stinging burn as you stretch around him, and your leg tightens around his hip, desperate to have him closer, deeper, after so much waiting.

“My name,” he pants, eyes wide and searching, forehead knocking against yours again. His nose brushes against yours, so soft. “Frankie.”

“Frankie,” you repeat, and it feels so right in your mouth. Something in his expression crumples at the sound of it, and he pushes in all the way to the hilt. You gasp, a wet, rough sound, jaw swinging loose as he settles inside of you.

“Fuck,” you cry out, head falling back against the door. “You’re so much bigger than I—”

“Hmm?” he noses at your jaw, pulling back a little just to press in deeper, gripping your hips, your panties hooked around his thumb. “You can take it, pretty girl. Thought this was what you wanted?”

A hand falls to grip the flesh of your ass and then he’s lifting you off your feet entirely, clutching you to his chest. You grip his shoulders desperately, both legs locked in a vice around his waist now, and all you can do is steel yourself when he finally begins to fuck you.

It’s fast and loud and wet. He holds you against his chest, strong hands lifting you up and down on his cock relentlessly. With every stroke his tip glides against your g-spot, and soon enough you’re a stuttering mess, vision blurring as your body goes loose and pliant in his grasp.

“Feel so good,” he groans, hiding his face in your neck. “Been fucking waiting for this, you have no idea.”

“Frankie—”

“Thought about it every night,” he grunts, teeth snagging on your earlobe. “I’d fuck myself thinking about how’d you’d taste, how soft your skin would be. Fuck.”

You grip the back of his neck and bring his mouth to yours, but you can’t even bring yourself to kiss him. Just two open mouths, breathing each other in. Twist your fingers through the curls at his nape and tug, and you think you must be saying please, please, just like the first time he made you come, because he fucks you harder. Pushes you against the wall and pistons into you, unforgiving, hitting something inside of you that no one ever has before.

“Oh, oh,” you gasp, eyes widening as you feel that familiar tingle in your spine. Your toes curl against his skin, desperately seeking purchase, something to ground you as you hover over the edge. It’s so close now, suddenly right within your reach, and you grind yourself against his pelvis, meeting him thrust for devastating thrust.

“Say my name again,” he rasps then, and you do, over and over again. “Wanna hear it when I make you come, please.”

Frankie, Frankie, Frankie, you moan it into his skin, his mouth, your fingernails carve the word into the flesh of his shoulder.

It spurs him on, and he is unrelenting, giving you everything he has, every wet shift of his cock inside of you punching the air from your lungs until you pull hot and tight around him, cunt pulsing, sucking him in deeper as you come. Body shivering and jerking, you’re trapped between his large frame and the unforgiving wood of your door, nothing to do except writhe and gasp and take it as he keeps fucking you.

You can hear him grunting under his breath. Hot against your neck, licking the words es perfecto into your skin. And you wish you could understand, wish you could say something back, but the only word you know anymore is Frankie.

“You wanna taste it?” he grunts, and yes, you cry, yesyesyesgodyes.

He pulls out and you drop to your knees with a thud, drooling tongue slipping past your lips just in time to catch the hot, heady spurts of his come.

Frankie presses the tip of his cock inside your mouth and when you close your lips around it, he lets out a drawn-out groan. You hollow out your cheeks and chase down every bit of himself that he has to give to you. Slip your hand beneath his shirt, lay it over his stomach, that gorgeous stomach, and feel it rise and fall beneath your fingers. His come pools on your tongue and dribbles down your throat; hot and salty and bitter, but better than you could’ve ever imagined.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so good for me.” Strong hands cradle your face, thumbs digging into your skin as his hips buck forward once, twice more, finally emptying the last of himself onto your tongue. “Can't believe this."

And only when you’ve swallowed every last drop do you let his cock slip from the warmth of your mouth. Gasping for breath, already missing him, you look up with wet. He brushes hair off of your face.

“You good?” he asks softly, cupping your jaw in his palm.

“Yeah,” you murmur, nuzzling into his hand. “I’m good.”

Slowly, Frankie helps you up from the ground, hand on your elbow to steady you, and then looks around your apartment.

He’s quiet for a moment, still breathing heavy, hand slipping around your waist, and his eyebrows drift down into a small frown as he gazes at your home for the first time.

“Jesus,” he finally speaks. “This place is fucking tiny.”

a/n: okay but do you have a naked window neighbour or are YOU the naked window neighbour? i've always been the latter, oops, anwyays thanks for reading!

#happy frankie friday to all who celebrate #me: hates having a man's come in my mouth #me writing it: ooh la la! yum mmm delicioso best meal i ever had thank you sir it's utterly delightful can i please have some more sir #like im a fucking person in the olden days begging for another bowl of gruel #my brain's suspension of disbelief goes crazy when writing fic i swear #my writing #fic: vis-a-vis #frankie morales one shot #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader

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kenttheatreblog · 1 year

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A REVIEW: The 39 Steps at The Hazlitt Theatre

My very first review and what a way to start with this clever comedy.

With tongue in cheek, Patrick Barlow has created a very up to date hilarious modern play extremely loosely based on the 1935 Alfred Hitchcock classic movie. Bored bachelor, Richard Hannay’s life becomes rather more eventful when he meets stunning Annabella Schmidt, a counter espionage agent. After taking her home to his flat, she is murdered in front of his very eyes. Accused of her demise, he flees to Scotland in an attempt to expose the spy ring, closely tailed by a mysterious organisation in a nationwide man hunt with twists and turns that climaxes in a death defying finale.

In the programme, the Director (Ian Craddock) tells of his struggle to choose a cast of only four as it was originally intended and I can fully understand his dilemma because the talent on that stage was immense.

As the hero, Hannay, Michael Kurtay, with his suave manner and his tweed suit, not to forget his pencil moustached stiff upper lip, created the perfect pivot point for the mayhem and disorder that circled him and I loved his opening monologue and of course his spontaneous political speech later in the play. Very ably partnered by Clare Corrigan as Annabella Schmidt whose comic timing was impeccable and who played the temptress femme fatale very convincingly. I applaud Clare for lying still for so long across the armchair with a knife in her back whilst Hannay hilariously made his escape.

At Hannay’s side, the prim and proper Pamela, played by Emma Edwards, a very accomplished actress who injected humour and seduction as Hannay’s love interest. Emma never falls out of character and she has such stage presence.

Margaret (Charlie Hilton) played her cameo beautifully with sincerity towards Hannay and Sheila Veitch added a bit of a Hilda Ogden moment whilst waving her feather dusteraround, which made the audience smile.

All the clowns deserve a massive mention (Matt Dallas, Russell Hambelton, David Ruler, Richard Pilborough, and Scott Raffle) with their array of costume changes,characterisations, hats, accents, comedic facial hair and wigs. They were witty and high on energy, nailing the characters at a pace and showcasing their versatility.

What a brilliantly assembled company which includes the crew, lights, sound, scenery, costumes and those holding up prickly bush and muddy puddle signs, not to forget the sheep. The scenery appeared to be simple but incredibly effective. I am a huge fan of less is more when it comes to stage sets and being able to change a car into a train into a bed meets with my approval. Also what a genius idea to dress the scene shifters in coats and flat caps.

Memorable moments for me are of course the biplane scene, which was ingenious and I am still chuckling at the Radio Presenter‘s very funny delivery of his lines.

Mix Hitchcock and a spy story with a pinch of Monty Python and you have an incredible unmissable chaotic comedy which will have you laughing out loud.

I consider myself to be an active theatre goer and I wanted to give a fair and honest opinion, so tonight, without a doubt, I was hugely entertained. I have absolutely no negative comments at all. Well done The Willington Players – A remarkable terrific triumph of theatre.

Julie Argent

The 39 Steps as presented by The Willington Players runs at The Hazlitt Theatre in Maidstone from 25th-29th April 2023. Get your tickets at parkwoodtheatres.co.uk

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witch-hazels-musings · 3 years

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I was wondering if I could request a scenario where the reader goes to Childe and Diluc (perhaps Albedo and Zhongli too?) to get protection from some creepy people following them. The reader isn't dating the character but claims that they are just to try to get them away, like they're very nervous and trust the character to protect them/go along. But perhaps there has been mutual pinning between the reader and character, and after everything maybe there's some sort of confession?

can you help?

gosh, love these scenarios so much!

Warning -> reader is being stalked/followed by someone, kissing, touching, threatening actions

Character X GN Reader | Anthology

Includes: Childe, Diluc

Childe

The hair stood on the back of your neck as you looked around the corner. You had just lost them, or so you thought and were hoping they wouldn’t find you peeking from behind the building. They had been following you for some time now and nothing you did shook them.

You had tried everything, walking through the shops, passing through a busy part of town, starting conversations with random people, but nothing seemed to deter them from following you.

Something across the way caught your eye and when you focused on it you saw Childe leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed and smile wickedly charming. You waved him over and he did the same to you. Frustrated, you point at him and point at the space at your side. He laughed and strutted over to you, leaning on the corner of the building and resting his hand on his hip.

“Hey, something on your… Woah!” Childe’s body collides against your own and you do your best to steady him. “Hey there, comrade. If you wanted my attention this is a good way to get it.” He slides his hands down your shoulders and laughs at his own joke.

For the tenth time, you peer around the corner, and in the pit of your stomach, you feel your anxiety grow as the people you’d been trying to shake start to make their way toward you. You plaster you back onto the wall and look up at Childe, the fear seeping into your eyes as you look at him.

“What’s wrong?” The realization that something isn’t right spreading across his face, and he looks out from behind your temporary hiding space.

“Do you see those people walking this way? They’ve been following me for a while now, I can’t shake them.” You look to the right and wonder if it would be better to move, the nerves in your body begin to fire and you rub your arms with your hands. “If we leave before they get here, we might be able to lose them again.” You plead, wrapping your hands around his arm and attempt to pull him further down the alleyway. When he doesn’t budge, you call out to him but he continues to stare past you toward the people you desperately didn’t want to get involved in.

“Follow my lead.” He turned his attention to you and the glimmer in his eyes made your legs weak.

“Huh. What?”

“Trust me.” Childe grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him, your chests connecting and in your confusion, you felt the cold wall touch your back. He placed his hand firmly against the space next to your head and slid his other up your arm and up to the back of your neck. You felt your heartbeat widely in your chest when he leaned his face down next to your own, and when you felt his nose brush against your skin you shivered.

“Childe …?”

“Grab onto my shirt.” He whispered against your ear, his breath sending chills down your body. Your arms did as they were told and grabbed onto him, which, luckily, gave you extra stability. Your senses were on fire at his proximity to you and it took everything in you to just stay standing.

You heard voices growing louder but it was so hard to pay attention.

Someone’s following you? Who would even try something so stupid as to mess with you - they must not know who you were tied to

Childe’s pissed - the thought of someone bothering you other than him made him furious. It didn’t matter why they were bothering you, it just mattered that they were - that was more than enough

He had a plan to show them they’d never stand a chance at getting close

Childe pulled you closer to his chest, he felt your hair dance over his fingers and he wished the circumstances were different. He’d much rather be touching you this way, be close to you this way in a place where you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. However, he knew you only saw him as an acquaintance, maybe a friend, and that you were letting him do this just to get you out of a bind. Still, the smell of your hair, of your skin so tantalizingly close was making his head spin. He had to push those thoughts away because right now he needed to keep you safe.

As the three problems rounded the corner he turned his head to their approach. They came to a sudden stop once they caught sight of the situation unraveling before them. Childe put on a show.

He kissed the exposed skin on your shoulder and the sound that slipped from your lips set his ears on fire. He kept going, moving the arm they could see up to his mouth, and with ease, he placed his lips there too, all the while he glared at the three idiots who stood with their mouths open just a few feet from you.

He scowled fiercely at them and practically begged them to do something stupid. Slowly, he stretched out into his full height and felt how your weak hands slid down his chest and came to rest again near his stomach.

“Oh,” he began, his tone slipping into threats, “I didn’t know anyone was watching. I guess we should be more careful.” He put great emphasis on his last words as his eyes narrowed into slits.

All three of them looked at one another before quickly turning around and making their way back down the path. He continued to watch them until they had faded from view before returning his attention to you.

“I think they are gone, but let’s move on just in case.” He scanned his eyes over you and picked up on the quick movement of your chest, perhaps letting them get that close wasn’t the best idea. “Hey, they are gone it’s okay.” He put his finger under your chin and lifted your face so he could see if you were okay. As he moved his head close to you so he could get a better look your legs gave out under him, he caught you just in time.

“I’m sorry. I just … I need a minute. I can’t seem to use my legs.” Your hands gripped tightly onto his arms and as he processed the situation he came to realize what had happened.

“Sorry, I might have gone a bit too far.”

“No, it’s okay …” Your voice was breathy and it made him blush.

Cute, he thought as he held you in his arms.

Diluc

You made it back to Mondstadt and couldn’t believe those people were still following you. It all started when you noticed the shady characters lurking around near the road and you did your best to avoid them, but for some reason, they wouldn’t let up. It was starting to make you nervous.

As you walked through the front gates and looked for a potential place to hide, you spy Diluc mulling around the tables outside of the bar and the voice in the back of your head told you to go to him. You knew even now how capable he was at taking care of things, you trusted him unconditionally.

Quickly, you made your way to him and your urgency caught him off guard, his facial expression was clearly one of confusion.

“Hey, Diluc!” You shout cheerfully, leaning against one of the tables in front of him and peering past his arms. The people who had been following you stopped at one of the market stalls and pretended to look at the items on display but you could feel their eyes on you.

“Hello, y/n.” He responded, eyeing you curiously.

“You look busy, what are you doing?” You look at him quickly before glancing behind him again.

“Charles had some things to do, so I’m filling in.”

“Ah, the ever so diligent Diluc, getting things done.”

“I wouldn’t say that much.” He was eyeing you suspiciously, and as you continued to stare over his shoulder, he tracked your gaze.

“Oh!” You shouted. “You wouldn’t mind if I hang out for a while. Would you?” You fuss with your hair for a bit before giving him a grin.

“I don’t see why not. I might not be good company, however.”

“Well, you’re the exact type of company I’m looking for. Honestly, I seem to have drawn some unpleasant attention and I’m hoping they will leave if they see me with you.”

“What do you mean?” He stopped fussing with the tables and looked at you.

“You see the three people just down the way, by the stairs. They’ve been following me.” You pulled at your ear and laugh as if something funny just occurred while you gestured toward them with your chin. He made his way around the table as subtly as he could and glanced down their way, he continued his circle before coming back to stand at your side.

“Why don’t you go ahead and go inside.”

He handed you a small key, placing it in your hand. “Are you sure… I don’t know if all that’s necessary.”

“Of course it’s necessary.” He pushed you from the table, his fingers hot even through your clothes. “Go around to the back entrance and lock the door once you’re inside. Don’t come out until I say so.” You glanced back at him before disappearing behind the building and when you closed the door behind you, you heard voices spilling in from the front of the bar.

He doesn’t like this at all - it doesn’t matter who you are, if there were people harassing anyone from Mondstadt he wouldn’t like it - he still cared for the city even if he wasn’t a knight anymore

He’d also want to keep you safe, he considered you someone in his inner circle, and a pack leader protects those close to him

There wasn’t a way for him to ignore your fake smile and weary demeanor - it set something off in him and he wanted to get rid of your discomfort, no matter the cost

“Excuse me.” Diluc looked up from his work and when he saw the three people you pointed out earlier, his chest felt hot.

“How can I help you?” Flinging the rag he’s been using to clean the tables into the small bucket of water and flicking his fingers, water droplets splatter across the ground, he crosses his arms and looks at them.

“You were just talking with someone now, weren’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Hmm, could you tell us where they went? We have something important too … discuss with them.” He picked up on their vigilance, the way they scanned the space and turned their heads to figure out where you went. It made him furious.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you're talking about. If you need to find someone, you can always ask the guards for help.” Turning back to his tasks, he picked up the small bucket of water and held it in his hands.

“Listen, pal. We saw you talking to them and it would just be easier, for everyone, if you told us where they ran off too.”

“Yeah, we just really, really wanted to talk to them.” One of the others chimes in, his voice shrill, like nails on an old chalkboard.

“I’ve already told you I don’t know where they went. I’m busy. Move.” He was starting to get more and more frustrated the longer he stood there. The boiling irritation in his stomach ready to burst.

One of them walked up to him and in one fluid motion pulled out his knife and drilled it into the table. “Tell us where they went and we will make it worth your while.” He smiled and his teeth were unsettling.

With a sigh, Diluc felt his patience run dry, and his actions followed suit. Quickly, he thrust the water bucket into the man's face. It hit him with a heavy smack, crashing to the ground and splintering the wood, a small nail dislodging from its holding. Diluc yanked the knife from the table and reached around to grab the man's hair before slamming his face back onto the surface, holding the knife up to his cheek.

The other two nuisances took a few steps forward but stopped when Diluc’s eyes fell on them. “Do not threaten me. You have no idea what a stupid idea that is, and if I see you anywhere near them …” He leaned closer to his face and the smell of fear seeped from his skin, “I mean anywhere near them, I will not flinch. Do I make myself clear?”

Diluc let go of the man's hair and felt great pride in himself as he scrambled back to his friends. As they began to run away, Diluc lobbed the knife after them and watched as it lodged itself into a post, the sound satisfying as it dug its way through the wood. “You forgot something.” They didn’t even take a moment to retrieve the knife, instead, they ran further down the stairs and out of sight.

He made his way toward the front door and knocked gently onto it. “Y/N, it’s me.” He heard shuffling and the sound of a key slipping into the lock. When you opened the door and he saw your face, the rage in him began to slip away. You looked out behind him and when you didn’t see anything your eyes rested on his face, how he adored your eyes. “They’re gone, you shouldn’t be seeing them anymore.”

“Oh, thanks … Diluc.”

“Of course.” He pushed the door open and held out his hand to you, when you placed your own in his it caught him off guard. The feeling of your skin against his own was pleasant and he enjoyed the sensation. “I was asking for the key…”

“OH! Sorry.” You were embarrassed, that was obvious, and he found it endearing nevertheless.

“Would you like to stay?”

“Okay.” The two of you walked into the bar and for the evening he knew you were safe. Tomorrow, he’d figure out how to ensure that when the time came.

#genshin impact #genshin impact X reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #childe X reader #childe #genshin childe #diluc X reader #diluc #genshin diluc #genshin impact childe #genshin impact diluc #hazelmail

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

Note

Hi! I was just watching good omens and I came up with some questions, but I didn't know whom to ask, so I was digging around for go analysis blogs and found you. *takes a breath* So, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on why Heaven's camera angles are the way they are. I noticed that, in heaven, the camera tends to focus on the characters' heads specifically, so they fill most of the screen. Either it's a meta reason or a reference to something (like Newt with the Office) that I'm not getting. That's the main thing, but I've also wondered why exactly Aziraphale uses the verb "fraternize" in the 19th century. It seemed an odd pivot from caring about Crowley's safety to Heaven's rules. Thanks so much!

Hello! Omg yes, let's talk Good Omens cinematography.

First, the obligatory Analysis Disclaimer: I doubt there's a specific interpretation that you're just not getting, some singular, "correct" reading of the scene(s). Two years past release, I'm positive the fandom as a whole has come up with plenty of ideas (I mostly hang on the periphery. I'm far from up to date with GO meta), but any and all of it will, by nature, be subjective. Thus, all I can offer is my own, personal interpretation.

So for me? It's about intimacy.

Not intimacy in the sense of friendship, but rather the broad idea of closeness. Confidentiality. Emotion. Knowledge. Understanding by means of literally getting into the thick of these conversations. I love the camerawork in Heaven (and elsewhere) because the camera itself acts like a person — an additional party to these interactions. And, since we're the ones watching this show via the camera, it makes it feel as if we're peeking into scenes that are otherwise private. Obviously all cinematography does this to a certain extent, the camera is always watching someone or something without acknowledging that we're doing the watching (outside of documentary-esque filmmaking), but GO uses angles and closeups to mimic another person observing these scenes, someone other than the characters involved.

The easiest example I can give here is when Michael makes their call to Ligur. Here, the camera is positioned up on the next landing of the staircase, as if we're sneaking a look down at this otherwise secret call. There's even a moment when the camera pans to the right to look at them through the gap in the railing, briefly obscuring Michael from our view.

Here, a standard expectation of any scene — keep your character in focus — is done away with to instead mimic the movements of someone actually hiding in the stairwell, listening in on the conversation. It creates that feeling of intimacy, as if we're really there with Michael, not just watching Michael through a screen. The camerawork acts like a person overhearing an illicit conversation prior to falling back on mid/closeup shots. We're spying on them.

To give a non-Heaven example, the camera helps us connect with Aziraphale during Gabriel's jogging scene. It's hard to show through screenshots, but if you re-watch you'll see that the camera initially keeps them both in the frame with full body shots, allowing us to compare things like Gabriel's unadorned gray workout clothes with Aziraphale's more stylish outfit; one's good jogging form and the other's awkward shuffle. However, this distance also creates the sense that we're jogging with them, we're keeping pace.

That is, until Aziraphale begins to lag. Then the camera lags too, giving them both the chance to catch up, so to speak.

Until, finally, Aziraphale has to stop completely and the camera, of course, stops with him. We're emotionally attuned to Aziraphale, not Gabriel, and the camerawork reflects that. Even more-so when we cut to a low shot of Gabriel's annoyed huff at having to stop at all, making him appear larger and more imposing. Because to Aziraphale, he is.

This work carries over into Heaven's other scenes. The closeups are pretty much a given since, whether it's Gabriel realizing Aziraphale has been "fraternizing" with Crowley (more on that below!), or Aziraphale choosing to go back to Earth, the scenes in Heaven are incredibly important to the narrative. Closeups allow the viewer to get a good read on each character's emotional state — focusing on minute facial changes as opposed to overall body language — and that fly-on-the-wall feeling is increased as we literally get an up close and personal look at these pivotal moments.

Compare a shot like this one of Gabriel to the line of angels ready for battle. We don't get closeups on any of their faces because their emotions aren't important. Yes, that's in part because they're background characters, not main characters, but a lack of emotion — their willingness to enter this war without question — is also the point of their presence in this scene. So they remain a semi-identical, nearly faceless mass that runs off into infinity down that hallway, not any individual whose inner life we get a peek at via a closeup.

I particularly like Aziraphale's conversation with the angel... general? Idk what to call this guy. He's just gonna be Mustache Angel. But, getting back on track, his scene has a lot of over the shoulder shots which, admittedly, are pretty common. From a practical perspective they're used to help the audience situate both characters in the scene — you're here, you're there, this is how you're spaced during this conversation — but it can also help emphasize that closeness between them. Keeping both characters in the shot connects them and though Aziraphale and Mustache Angel definitely aren't on the same page here, those shots help cue us in to the unwanted intimacy of this moment. They're both angels... even though Aziraphale no longer aligns himself with them. They're both soldiers in a war... but Aziraphale will not fight. This angel has a list of Aziraphale's secrets, including that he once had a flaming sword and lost it... but Aziraphale doesn't want to admit those circumstances to him. This angel wouldn't understand, even if he did. Intimacy here, connection and closeness, is something discomforting because Aziraphale can no longer embrace those similarities. They put him (and us) out of sorts, so when we get them both in frame, that connection creates tension, not relief.

And many of those over the shoulder shots are given sharp angels, or the camera is placed too close to the "off screen" party. Compare a shot like Luke and Rey to Aziraphale and Mustache Angel. Here, Luke is a clean, solid line on the left side of the screen, just enough there to cue us in to where he is in relationship to Ray, In contrast, Mustache Angel's mustache is Too Close and proves rather distracting. Rey and Luke are connecting here over being Jedi with responsibilities to uphold (or at least, Luke will acknowledge that connection later lol); Mustache Angel is forcing a connection with Aziraphale that makes everyone uncomfortable.

We are too close to him here. He feels too close to Aziraphale too. This whole conversation is upsetting and discomforting, pushing Aziraphale to finally choose which side he's on (his own with Crowley). The shots aren't meant to subtly keep the audience from getting lost and then otherwise be unobtrusive, we're supposed to be Very Aware of this angel's body and how close he's getting to the character we've come to identify with — both literally (he's leaning in) and in terms of forcing Aziraphale to finally make his choice.

When Mustache Angel marches forward and gets all up in Aziraphale's face, the camera positions itself behind Aziraphale in a way that makes it feel like we're hiding behind him, with Aziraphale taking up far more of the screen than Luke does. Like the scene with Michael or running with Gabriel, the camera often likes to mimic a "realistic" response to these events. This angry, shouty angel is getting closer, best take a step back and stay out of sight behind Aziraphale, holding his ground.

These closeups also serve as a nice contrast to the wide and longshots we get of Heaven. It's an imposing place with skyscrapers in the distance, lots of steel, immaculate floors, and endless white. It's overwhelming and it's cold. But then we cut to those mid-shots of Gabriel and Michael, telling us that they're in control of it all.

Aziraphale? Aziraphale is not in control. Not now, anyway. When he appears in Heaven we get a longshot to show off this endless void and he's just another, tiny speck in it. If he weren't flailing around — an acting move that likewise helps sell how out of his depth he is — it's unlikely you'd even notice him. Aziraphale's clothing and hair blends in perfectly with the background. He's forgettable. Easily overlooked. Someone to underestimate. And when he moves, he has to come to the camera. We don't cut to Aziraphale to establish control like we do with Gabriel. He's left to awkwardly shuffle up to Mustache Angel until he's finally come into view.

Yet when Aziraphale makes his decision, he aligns himself with the brightest, most colorful, most interesting thing in the room: Earth. Earth, with all its messy individuality, is the antithesis to Heaven's controlled uniformity and a bright blue orb hanging in the midst of all this white helps remind us of that. Aziraphale rejects becoming one of the identical soldiers and instead literally reaches out for the one thing in Heaven that doesn't fit in.

When he leaves, we get an extreme closeup for the first time. Mustache Angel is pissed and as such we not only get a good look at his face in the aftermath of Aziraphale's choice, but that extreme closeup on his mouth as he's shouting too. It's like he's shouting directly at us, the viewer who is currently cheering on Aziraphale's decision. There's a war, dammit... but we don't care. Not in the way he cares, anyway.

So there's a lot! And I could probably go on, but apparently I'm only allowed to add 10 images per post now (tumblr what the actual fuck if anyone knows a way around this please share!) and I've already had to merge a bunch of images like an animal. So let's awkwardly finish up with the duck pond scene.

...without a GIF because they apparently count as images too 🙃

Simply put, I don't think Aziraphale bringing up fraternizing is a pivot from one to the other — from caring about Crowley to caring about Heaven's rules. I mean yes, Aziraphale is lagging behind Crowley in terms of rebellion and a part of him is, at this point, absolutely concerned with how he'll come across to the higherups, but that worry doesn't stem solely from a (now very shaky) desire to obey for the sake of obeying. The thing is, Aziraphale's disobedience is, by default, also Crowley's disobedience. If they're friends and they're ever found out, they'll both get in trouble. Which, we know from the end of Season One, basically means being wiped from existence. That's horrifying! And it's a horror that threatens them both. I don't think Aziraphale cares about rules for the sake of rules; after all, he started off by giving away his sword, lying to God, is currently meeting with Crowley anyway... this angel has always ignored/bent the rules — established and implied — that don't suit him. Rather, he cares about the rules if he thinks they have a chance of being enforced. If there will be consequences for breaking and bending them. This is still about caring for Crowley (as well as saving his own, angelic skin). If they're found out, Crowley dies. And, as we the viewer learn, Heaven was indeed observing them that whole time. There was always legitimate risk attached to this relationship. Aziraphale's fear, hesitance, and at times forceful pleas to stop this stem as much from Aziraphale worrying about Crowley's safety as they do a learned instinct to obey the rules without question. He pushes to end the relationship because the relationship threatens the only thing Aziraphale cares about more than that: Crowley himself.

As for the term "fraternizing," that's a loaded one! I won't go into a whole history lesson here, but suffice to say it has military roots: to sympathize as brothers with an opponent. That is literally what Crowley and Aziraphale are doing. They are an angel and a demon, supposedly innate enemies, supposedly poised for an inevitable war... yet they've formed an incredibly strong kinship. They've both learned to love their enemy, the thing every army fears because, well, then your army won't fight (just as Aziraphale won't). However, beyond the enemy implications, "to fraternize" eventually took on a sexual meaning: to not merely love as a brother, but to lay with the enemy too, usually women from enemy countries (because, you know, heteronormativity). Nowadays, "to fraternize" often implies a sexual component. I've been rewatching The Good Wife lately and in one subplot, the State's Attorney cracks down on fraternization in his office. He doesn't mean his employees are forming bonds with assumed enemies, he means his employees are having sex on his office couch. So Aziraphale's phrasing here carries a LOT of weight. He's both reminding Crowley of their stations in the world — you are a demon, I am an angel, us meeting like this can have formal, irrevocable consequences for us both — as well as, given the fact that this is a love story, drawing attention to the depth of this relationship. They love one another, as more than just friends. Though whether Crowley's scathing "Fraternizing?" is a response to Aziraphale falling back on the technicalities of their positions, or acknowledging a love he's yet to overtly admit and commit to — or both! — is definitely up for debate.

#Good Omens #Ineffable Husbands #Air Conditioning #mymetas #whew #long post!#with too few images imo #with this done I'm gonna steam #about tumblr's absurd limitations #how's a girl supposed to do meta on this website anyway

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literate-lamb · 3 years

Text

can I kiss you on the dancefloor?

Steve Rogers/Reader

One year into a relationship, yet still dancing in secrecy. Steve thinks he’s protecting you.

When a civilian and a hero fall in love, anything could go wrong. But not in the way Steve would have thought.

Or how the media play with the lives of superheroes.

►word count: 7.6k

► warnings(!): slight angst, alcohol

A/N: My gift to @blue-like-barnes for the Hoelentines Fic Exchange! I’m sorry it took some time, giftee. I didn’t expect this to turn into a monster (yikes). Thank you for hosting @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes ! Dividers from @firefly-graphics and GIF from Giphy

On his day-offs, Steve Rogers was a man full of disguises.

When they first started, it was the baseball cap and thick-rimmed glasses. He liked it, it was simple, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone would notice. How could one not when his face was the one plastered in old war propaganda, in the museums commemorating his achievements, and even flashes on the telly when you walk past the local electronics store.

Hence, it wasn’t a surprise when the tabloids posted a photo of him in his disguise, waiting at a crosswalk on a cold night.

‘Captain America spotted on a midnight stroll’ came the next morning. It was taken after he was done walking you home, thankful they didn’t catch a glimpse of you.

“So capsicle, where were you off to last night?” Tony greeted him at breakfast, offending paper in hand. He unrolled it, opening and making a show of reading, displaying the front page for all seated to see. “Nice reading glasses, wasn’t aware you needed them.”

Striding into the room, Natasha came and snatched the tabloid. She gave it a critical eye, judging, before turning towards him.

“Hmm, recycling disguises, Rogers? I’m disappointed.”

Steve just groaned in reply.

The second time it happened, he had gone to the Black Widow herself for advice. He had expected sound advice coming from a former KGB spy who spent her paycheck on hair, but all he got was a stick-on mustache. Something about ‘needing to blend in rather than pointing the obvious’.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Steve, but at least it’s better than that nerd get-up,” she smirked.

You had liked it. Giggling every time he kissed you, the fibres tickling your lips. He had ‘a caterpillar’ on his upper lip as you called it. And Steve had learned to get used to the itch.

But it wasn’t long before his new look was the star in barbershops.

‘Captain America’s new look takes the world by storm.’ They had caught him again in another paparazzi shot. Tony had teased him for days after.

He couldn’t shake it off easily, constantly reminded of it when he walked the streets. Seeing them on screens when he’s channel-surfing. Even when he’s training new recruits, his vision filled with a sea of unshaved cadets, their hairy upper lips a prominent fixture.

He knew he had to do something when Bucky and Sam came in one day sporting twin mustaches.

He discarded the strip of fibre in the bin. Reminding to pay Natasha a visit.

The third time he decided, he seeked out the help of Scott Lang, who was a master in keeping out of sight during his burglary days. Scott had given him a black beanie and told him to grow out his facial hair.

The beanie hid his golden locks and the beard made him look rugged. You loved it, your thighs quivered when it was him and you in the four walls of your room. Uncontrollable groans as he went down. ‘Beard burn’ you had called it. Whatever it was, he loved the sounds you let out.

Four months. That’s how long the disguise lasted. His longest disguise to date.

Before he became a trend.

‘Captain America is the new style icon.’ The internet sleuths found out where he got it too. ‘The sale of Walmart beanies skyrocketed by 70% thanks to Captain America.’

Tony had bought everyone in the compound a black beanie for Christmas, including the receptionist.

“Our grandpa’s a trendsetter, who knew,” he announced. Steve had smacked the back of Tony’s head with the beanie before retiring the disguise.

Now, sitting in The Sleeping Cat, Steve had opted for aviators and a Nasa baseball cap. He still kept his beard after your pleads, and he liked the look, he admits. It was back to basics for him and this was one of the only places where he was safe from prying eyes. Afterall, it was in this very café where he had met you.

The Sleeping Cat was a quaint little thing, a hole in the wall in a quiet part of the city. Not many knew of its existence, the entrance obscure, a blink and you’ll miss it. Which made it all the more perfect for him. The baristas knew him and minded their own business, offering him a smile every time he visited. ‘You’re safe with us’ they seem to say.

He could say the same about the patrons. Most that frequented were regulars like him, they seemed the same, looking for a place to get away from the overbearing world. They seemed to share an understanding, paying him no mind as if he was just another man they passed on the streets. And that’s how he preferred it.

Just a boy from Brooklyn.

Ding!

The chime of the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Facing the door, he saw you, smiling as you came through.

This was the best part of his days.

You had met Steve Rogers at the most unexpected of times.

Terminated from your previous job at a small gallery, dumped by an ex-boyfriend after a 2 year relationship, you were at an utmost low. To escape your roommates —in case of pitying or prying, but if you were honest with yourself, it was to escape your own humiliation— you left the apartment on weekdays under the guise of going to work. In reality, you were at The Sleeping Cat applying for jobs on your laptop.

It was during one of the afternoon hours when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning to your left, you were greeted by a pair of startling blues. They were bright but worn as if they’ve seen too many. Looking at the bigger picture, you took him in. Hair hidden under a cap, a sharp jaw and an equally sharp nose, and if you looked closely, you thought you could spot a few moles on his cheeks. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put a finger to it.

Eyes fleeting to his lips, you realized he was actually talking.

“Huh?”

“I was wondering if this seat’s taken?” He smiled, gesturing towards the empty seat opposite. He was clearly amused.

“Yeah, sure, sure,” you nodded, making room for his things.

The following days, it became a routine and an arrangement. You would be at the café as early as the owner would allow, laptop in hand. While he would come in the afternoons in a different jacket each day, a sketchbook in hand. You would be propped up, sending application after application, praying for luck. While he would quietly sit, churning sketch after sketch, in a relaxed demeanour.

Sometimes you would peek over your screen and watch him draw for a few minutes, lost in his strokes. When you look up, you’ll find his eyes locked with yours, and you’ll immediately reimmerse yourself behind the screen, embarrassed.

It was a comfortable routine. You came to expect him everyday. And on the days that he didn’t make it, you felt a bit forlorn looking at the empty seat. You both didn’t talk much, yet you were getting comfortable in his presence.

Until one day, he broke the silence.

“So, what is it that you do?”

You stared, dumbfounded. Looking around there wasn’t anyone nearby.

“Were you talking to me?” you asked.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “It’s just that you’re always on your computer…” he trailed off.

“I’m an assistant curator at an art gallery— or, er, used to be,” you explained. “Long story short, I lost my job and now I’m looking for a new one, that’s why I’m here.”

He seemed to ruminate before replying, “So you know a thing or two about art?”

You both started a new routine; one with a lot of communicating. He would ask you about your mundane weekends and interests and in turn, you would ask about his. Except, he was anything but mundane.

On the days he was absent, you learned Steve was away on a lot of ‘business trips’. When he returned, he had never failed to present you with a souvenir. From matryoshkas to sarongs, it was always a surprise accompanied by a tale.

“The pattern on the sarong is called a batik, and it’s amazing how they’re drawn using wax like a liquid crayon. It’s an interesting art form.”

Outside of your little routine, he was an enigma. You barely knew about the Steve outside of The Sleeping Cat. Sometimes he threw the names ‘Bucky’ and ‘Sam’ a lot —out of exhaustion— without giving away anything, remaining tight-lipped. While his mysteriousness should’ve been a cause of concern, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards him, wanting to peel more of his layers, like the shell of a matryoshka.

The routine went on for a few more weeks, with calls of interviews and business trips in between. Before you received a phone call.

“I got a job! At the Whitney!” you squealed, shaking his shoulders over the table, oblivious to the other patrons. Steve endured it, smiling.

“Congratulations,” he said when you’ve calmed down. “I guess this is the last time I’ll be seeing you?”

You froze, high coming down, realization settling in. After a few weeks of secret meetings, of getting to know him, of having lunch together, of sharing laughs, you’ve come to see Steve as a good friend. And maybe, there was the birth of something more.

“Let’s exchange numbers,” you said, opening your phone. “This way, maybe we can hang out again. Have lunch sometimes?”

“I’d like that.” He smiled.

And the rest was history.

Making your way towards The Sleeping Cat, you amused yourself with past memories. Memories from almost over a year ago.

Steve had come to give a speech at the opening ceremony of an exhibition at the Whitney. Your first exhibition as a curator. An exhibition on art from the war times. When they had announced his title, a loud ‘oh’ was the only thing you could muster.

The ‘ding’ of the bell resounded, announcing your arrival. Heading in, you saw a head perked up, beaming, baseball cap securing his golden locks and aviators hiding his mesmerizing blues.

This was the best part of your days.

But maybe, you were getting a little tired.

If someone were to ask you months ago if you were happy and content with your relationship, you would’ve replied with a swift yes in a heartbeat. No hesitation, no reservations, no doubt. Now, sitting in the same cafe, the same one you frequent on dates, the same one you both met in, you weren’t sure of the answer anymore.

As Steve gets up to order for you both, your eyes wander to his sketchpad. It was filled with sketches of random objects; the flower on the table, the pastries on display, sometimes the patrons of the cafe, and occasionally, you.

“You’re my favourite subject, so far.”

It was not for the lack of love or the lack of affection. Steve was the most loving; loyal in so many ways, gentle when asked, and protective to a fault. Maybe the protectiveness was the cause of it all.

Staring at Steve’s back, your mind shifted to a memory from the past week, when your roommate pulled you aside from a get-together at the ice rink.

“Hey,” she called your name, taking a hold of your elbow. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure, what’s up?” you followed her, leading you to the sides.

Her eyes conveyed her worry. It amplified with the chewing of her bottom lip, a nervous tick.

“Are you and Steve… okay?” she asked, her brows perked. “I’m not sure if you notice, but today, it’s full of couples.”

You looked towards your group of friends. There was your roommate’s girlfriend tying her skates, your other roommate and her boyfriend talking to another couple —their friends— and they were all holding their significant other’s hand. Oh.

“I don’t want to throw you out of the loop, but there would probably be a lot of double skating involved today,” she said, widening her eyes, looking comical. “Do you want me to talk to Steve? Maybe I could convince him to come, y’know?”

Out of your two roommates, she was the only one who knew of your paramour. Having walked in on you and Steve making out on the couch. She was sworn into secrecy, with the promise of autographs from all the Avengers.

“Look, it’s okay,” you assured her. “I can handle skating alone, and you know why he can’t really come here with us,” you shrugged.

“Okay, but aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around? Don’t you want to shout to the whole world ‘I’m fucking Captain America!’” she flailed.

You shushed her, muffling her mouth with your gloved hand.

Part of the secret was how Steven Rogers was an engineered superhero. A superhero with many enemies, leading him to fear for his loved ones, and that included you.

You went into the relationship whole-heartedly knowing the challenges; discreet rendezvous, kisses in the dark, minimal contact in public. You were his secret and he was yours. It was for your own good, wasn’t it?

“What’s got your little head wrapped up?” Steve’s voice startled you, bringing you back to the café. On the table, two cups of coffee and a slice of cake was served.

“Hmm? Oh, just thinking about this party the museum’s throwing this weekend,” you took your cup, blowing, contemplating your next words.“Say, how about you and I, I don’t know, go as dates?”

Steve crunched his brows. “You know that’s a hard thing for me to do, especially with your colleagues around.”

“I know! But maybe… maybe, you can go in one of your disguises this time? Remember that one time we went to Central Park?”

Steve exhaled, he remembered that afternoon. It was the one-off that you both ventured on a date in the outdoors.

Decked in his beanie, casually strolling through Central Park with you beside him. Although he was still wary, keeping his hands in his pockets, fighting the urge to hold your hand.

No one had recognized him; not the ice-cream man, not the kids running around, not the mothers pushing strollers. No one.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You leaned forward, pecking him on the lips multiple times. “Thank you!”

“You sure this looks convincing?”

“Trust me, punk. Grade A assassin here, thank you very much,” Bucky boasted while fixing the wig on his scalp, untangling the unruly strands.

Steve had sought Bucky for help, with the belief that assassins were good at hiding in plain sight (and maybe, he just didn’t want to go to Natasha twice). Bucky was also his most trusted confidant and he knew about you, Steve trusted him not to tell. But now looking at himself in the opposite mirror, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore.

Long dangly tresses hung on the sides of his face parting in the middle, a trimmed beard leaving a bit of goatee, and to finish it off, Bucky dressed him in a checkered shirt consisting of random coloured squares. He looked like he just stepped out of the 60’s.

“Oh, wear these,” Bucky handed him a pair of large wire-framed glasses. “Done.”

Steve took a look in the mirror. A seedy pimp was the first thought that crossed his mind.

“Thanks Buck, I owe you one.”

“Sure Stevie, just bring me around next time on one of your dates, I’d like to meet her,” Bucky winked. “Or make it double.” He wagged his brows. “Like old times.”

Steve snorted.

“Okay, I got—“ Steve’s words halted when an alarm blared overhead. It demanded their attention.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, your presence is required in Prep Room six,” called the disembodied voice. “There’s been a breach of extraterrestrial energy in the airspace of Sweden.”

Steve exited and rushed through the hallways, Bucky following close behind. He made it through the living quarters, trudging to the training wing before entering one of the many prep rooms.

“Nice costume, Cap. Halloween already?” Sam quipped. Almost everyone was present, they were equally amused.

Before anyone else could follow, Tony strided in immediately, grumbling. “Okay team, there’s been an E.T synthezoid putting holes in the ozone layer. I’ll fill you all in the quinjet. Suit up and meet me at the hangover in 10.”

Everybody gathered their equipment and hurried to leave, passing by him. Before Tony could, he took notice of Steve and did a double take. And then a third.

“What’s with the pimp daddy get-up, Capsicle?”

Steve huffed, ignoring the jab. “I have something that I need to attend. How important am I in this, Tony?”

“We need all hands on deck. We don’t really know what we’re up against, Fury’s still running recon,” Tony explained, squaring his shoulders. “Whatever it is you have, Cap. It can wait. Lives are at stake here.” With that, he left, not standing by for a response.

“Darn it,” Steve cursed, removing the glasses and the wig.

He left the prep room with his shield in hand. With one hand, he shot a text to you. He’ll make it up next time.

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Emergency mission

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Can’t make it, sorry

You switched the screen off, sighing. Around you, the party was in full swing. Invitees mingling with refreshments in hand, discussing the pieces on display tonight, and bidding on the pieces they find exquisite. Hors d’oeuvres and champagne were being served, brought around by servers on silver platters. You’ve been munching on them non-stop, grabbing one every time a server comes your way, needing something to occupy you.

Surrounding you, you’d see the occasional couple walking around, enjoying their time. The palms of their hands locked in each other’s as they navigate together, rarely straying afar.

You clenched your hand, reminded of how empty it felt.

It was inevitable, you were warned of this, you were told to expect this. Dating a superhero meant that he was never solely yours. You were sharing your boyfriend with someone, except that someone was the world.

“Hiiii!” a shrill voice broke your thought, calling you by name. A blonde woman, followed by a brunette emerged from the gathering of art-goers, headed towards you. “It’s been a long while!”

“Hey! Yeah, it’s been awhile,” you waved, recognizing the two.

When they reached you, you were aware of the slight tension in the air, leaving the three of you standing awkwardly. After all, these two were your ex-colleagues and you didn’t exactly leave the previous gallery on good terms. Tonight was a night with masks, it seemed.

“So, how are you two doing?” you decided to get it over with.

“We’re fine, everyone’s fine! But how are you? We heard you worked here now, pretty impressive,” the brunette —Claire— winked at you. You laughed.

“Yeah, it’s so nice seeing you again, and at the Whitney? The pay must be good, you know what I’m saying?” Hilda chimed, knocking her elbows with yours. You didn’t appreciate it but you endured.

“Say, what are you doing over here far away? Why not you join us over there,” Hilda pointed, towards a mounted canvas at the end of the hall. It was occupied by two men in a discussion among themselves. “Chat a bit to catch up, a bit of art philosophical debate in between. What do you say?”

You contemplated her offer, not wanting to seem pretentious, but thought about the false flattery and ego-stroking that would sure ensue in their company. The thought of it drained you.

“It’s okay,” you waved them off nervously. “I have to call my boyfriend sooner, gotta check up on him and let him know I’m... alright.” You held up your phone, playing on convincing.

“Oh? He isn’t here tonight?” Claire seemed to feign worry.

“No, he got caught up with something. He’s a busy man,” you cooked up an excuse. No one could know.

“Okay… In that case, we’ll leave you to it. Maybe we’ll bump into each other sooner.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys soon.”

They waved before backing away into the mass of patrons. You let out a breath you didn’t know you held in.

While the interaction was unexpected, this was what you had to deal with when it came to the question of your relationship. The excuses, they became second nature to you. The lies. The deceit. Anything to protect Steve’s identity, and inadvertently, you.

Throughout the night, you mingled with any clients interested in a work of art, all the while stepping out of Hilda and Claire’s line of sight. You didn’t wish a repeat of the earlier evening.

When the crowd started dwindling, signalling the end of the night, you were relieved of your duties. You headed straight for the restrooms after, one getaway before leaving. You huddled yourself in a cubicle, locking it shut.

Seconds in, you heard the creak of the restroom door followed by the clicks of heels.

“Can you believe it? Someone like that got the chance of working here.”

You recognized the nasally tone. It was Claire.

“Yeah? Not like she deserves it. I mean look at her? Demure, slow. It’s like talking to a mouse. I bet she’s a prude too.” That was Hilda.

The gushing of the faucet muffled their voices, but their sharp words were clear as day, your ear catching every snark and hiss.

“And when she was talking about her boyfriend? He probably doesn’t even exist, it was just to get off our backs,” Hilda paused. “Last time I heard, her boyfriend dumped her. So, I guess she’s creating imaginary ones now.”

They both cackled.

By now, you knew they were talking about you. Their words didn’t hurt as much, you knew the colour of their hearts beneath the masks. But was that how people viewed your hidden relationship? A facade? A farce?

Once the door clicked shut, and the tapping of their heels faded, you left the restroom, heart feeling heavier.

(y/n) [6:45 PM]: stay safe stevie ! remember to hydrate

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: punch those meanies

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: (`⌒*)⍟-(`⌒´Q)

Steve chuckled when he turned on his phone, amused at your texts. You always sent him good luck messages every time he went off for missions. Although he didn’t seem to get the emoticons that you sent, even after being taught by Peter Parker. He just didn’t get them.

Steve dialed your number, sitting on the edge of the bed as he dried his washed hair. Beeps ringed before you picked up, your smooth lilt permeating the speakers.

“Hello? Stevie?”

Steve smiled, missing the caress of your voice after a day filled with explosions and cries.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted. “How’s my girl been?”

“Great, now that you called,” you teased. “But are ‘you’ fine?” you emphasized.

On the other end of the line, you mirrored his position, sitting on one corner of the bed. Picking the newspaper in your lap, you observed the front page: ‘Avengers saves the Arctic!’

“Same old, same old,” his voice carries. “Listen, about yesterday—“

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, other hand gripping the newspaper. “You have to protect the Earth and that also means me. You don’t have to apologize, I knew what I signed up for.”

Did you? Or was it now a hollow statement to convince yourself?

“I still want to make up for it, my girl deserves that much,” he responded.

You slowly unclenched the paper. It left Steve’s form crinkled.

“If you want to sooo bad,” you exaggerated. “There’s a Valentines charity ball for our arts program in three weeks time. You think you could make it this time?”

“You know no promises, but I plan to, even if I have to do everyone’s laundry for a week.” You heard rustling on the other line. “What’s the exact date? I’ll put it on my calendar.”

“The 16th.” Scratchy scribbling filled your ear, the sound loud in the silence.

“Done. Can’t wait to see you all dolled up, sweetheart.”

“Me too, baby,” you said. “At least put on a nice moustache this time.”

He laughed. Your heart felt lighter. To him, it was probably nothing, but to you, it was a form of reassurance. A reassurance that what you had was real.

“Steve, you got a moment?”

The aforementioned man turned around, taking a glance over his shoulder. Sharon Carter slowed to a stop, a small smile on her face. As always, she carried an air of superiority, matching that of Steve’s wavelength. Yet today, it seemed dim.

“I think we need to talk, you have time for coffee?”

Glancing at his watch, he nodded. “Sure, Sharon. Lead the way.”

She took them outside of S.H.I.E.L.D and into the chilly air of DC, navigating through streets and crowds while huddling in their coats. They chatted, breaths puffing as they caught up, the familiar scenes passing by.

He hadn’t been in DC in awhile, it felt good to be back.

“We’re here.”

Sharon headed in first, holding the door for him. He thanked her. They ordered and got seated. A smile was shared, strained as it seemed.

“Better just rip the band-aid off,” Sharon sighed. “I miss us.”

“Sharon—“

“Please, hear me out first,” she insisted, showing her palm. “We probably shouldn’t have done what we’ve done after Aunt Peggy’s funeral. I just lost someone I looked up to the most, and you lost the woman that you loved. We were both grieving. It wasn’t fair to the both of us.”

“While I do miss us, I know that it wasn’t meant to be,” she continued, shooting a sombre smile. “I understand that now. I guess, what I wanted was closure.”

Her hand quivered on the table between them. Steve clasped his over hers, offering to soothe.

“I don’t regret what happened in Germany. While yes, it should have not happened, it was what we thought we needed at that time. We both lost someone we held dear,” Steve explained, hoping his words reached her. “None of it was a mistake, Sharon. You’re still someone I trust and hold dear, remember that.”

Steve clutched her hand tighter, running his thumb over her knuckles in circular motions, attempting to calm and show understanding.

In his efforts, unknown to the two, the shutter of a camera went off across the street.

Something felt off. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. At first, you thought it was your own anxious mind running.

You woke up late on a work day, burned your eggs and toast, accidentally wore unmatching socks, and your roommate was acting weird. All jittery when you entered the hall, stammering her words, and performing this bizarre dance when you walked past the living room. You gave her no mind when you passed the threshold and slammed the door, phone gripped in hand.

Loverboy [6:00 AM]: Good morning, dear

Loverboy [6:01 AM]: [image]

A photo of Steve, sweaty after a run showed on the screen. He was smiling, shirt stained and clinging to his chest. You had taught him how to take selfies.

You [7:20 AM]: morning, handsome

You [7:20 AM]: 😍😍😍

The morning texts were the best part of your morning commute. It made the arduous and packed journey worthwhile. Even when you almost tripped at the doors, it couldn’t take away your joy.

You made it just in time and clocked in, meeting clients and discussions with artists throughout the day. It was uneventful, although the bad luck seemed to have followed when you spilled your coffee on the concrete.

It was when you left the museum that your day took a turn for the worst.

On the ride home, the man opposite you was reading a newspaper. Nothing unusual, but at a glance, you thought you saw a familiar face printed on the corner. Before you could take a closer look, the man folded it in half and got off.

A few minutes later, you arrived at your stop, exiting the station with the fast-paced crowd. That’s when you were bombarded.

Lining the streets, your vision was filled with the scattering of a crowd of papers. Every face you saw was plastered in them.

‘The Good Captain In Love?’

‘A Superhero & A Civilian Romance?’

‘Captain America’s Girl? Mysterious Woman Sighted’

The sight of them left you in a panic, your anxiety spiking through the roof. Your world started spinning, everything —buildings, trees, faces— blending altogether. Everywhere your eyes deflected, a headline invaded your sight, imprinting itself on your retinas. Had they found out?

Composing yourself, you headed towards the nearest news stall, mind boggled with too many questions and not enough answers. How? Why? When?

Only, it wasn’t your face they were publishing.

‘“Oh Captain, My Captain” America in love? Spotted last week in DC was Captain Steven Rogers with a mysterious lady. They seemed to be cozy with each other, an eyewitness told Us Weekly. Story on Page 11.’

The photograph showcased Steve with a blonde woman, sitting in a café with their hands clasped on the table. Your heart shattered at the sight, remembering how empty yours have felt lately.

Was he purposely out with this woman in public? What did that mean for you? Why were you shadowed?

“Are you and Steve… okay?”

“She’s creating imaginary ones now.”

“Aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around?”

“You know that’s a hard thing for me to do.”

“Hey lady, you gonna pay for that?”

You were shaken out of your stupor. Looking down, you were clutching the magazine too hard, ripping the image of Steve and the woman in half, right in the middle where their hands met.

You apologized to the man and paid for the magazine. Immediately discarding it in the next trash bin you saw.

“So… you and Sharon?” Sam had asked him after training.

“What?”

“You, and, Sharon,” Sam emphasized, pronouncing each syllable. “Are together. Man, when were you gonna tell me? I thought it was over.”

Steve froze before replying, “Because it is. A long time ago.”

“Well, this seems to say otherwise.”

Sam showed him his phone, the screen displaying an article; ‘Captain America’s Girl Revealed. A Family Affair That Transcends Time.’ On top of the article was a photo of him and Sharon at the cafe in DC, his hand atop of hers on the table. A zoomed in version of their hands were provided, fueling the tabloid’s narrative.

Steve paled at the sight. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was his fears manifested; his anonymity taken, his privacy invaded, but his worst fear was putting his loved ones in danger. And if it was due to their association with him, it would leave him racked with guilt.

While the tabloids were wrong, he knew that Sharon could defend for herself. You on the other hand…

His heart rate rose, a new wave of anxiety spiked. Steve wondered if you’ve seen this. No, you must’ve seen this.

Fishing for his phone, with clammy hands, Steve quickly dialed your number, anxiously waiting for the beeping to end.

‘The number you’ve dialed is not—‘

“Damn it!”

His outburst surprised Sam, shocking him. Sam gave him a look, inquisitive.

“Sorry Sam, I have to run.”

He left, heart in his throat.

When Steve arrived at your apartment, he was almost out of breath. He was still anxious, the ride here not doing much to his addled mind. But he was determined.

Rapidly knocking on your front door, Steve composed himself. When it opened, he was met with the sight of your roommate -- the one that he has never met before.

“Ca-Captain America?” she yelped, shocked to see him on the doorstep.

“Is your roommate in?” he steeled.

“Which one—”

“Steve,” a voice interrupted.

The door pulled further, widening the entrance. Steve was met with your familiar roommate. She was tense, arms locked across her chest, eyes full of fury. Steve detected something else in them; worry.

“You fucked up,” she said. He winced.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m here to make things right. Can I please see her?”

She sighed, stepping in, nodding towards your room.

Steve hastily walked in, stopping in front of your door. He knocked thrice, signalling you, before turning the knob. It was unlocked. The room was dark when he entered, every source of light switched off, except for your curtains.

Sitting on the edge of the bed was you, figure illuminated by the street lights against pitch black darkness. When he stepped in closer, you looked up, eyes meeting his.

Steve turned on the lights and closed the door. He took a good look at you; hair frazzled, eyes bloodshot and dry, nose red. You were the image of heartbreak.

“Are you ashamed of me?” you asked, eyes locked with his.

“What? No, I—“

“Is it because I’m not strong?” you cut him off. “I know she’s Peggy’s niece… a-and I know how much you loved her. She was your first love.”

“She and I, it’s all in the past. She moved on and lived her life, and I… did too.”

“But did you really, Steve? Move on?” you whispered, getting up. You stood in front of him. Steve could see how puffed your eyes were from crying. “Or was I just… a rebound?”

“No. No, you were never a rebound,” he took hold of your forearms. “I care for you, too much.”

“Then why?!” you shrieked, shocking Steve. “Why the secrets? Why the hiding? Steve, you’ve never even introduced me to your friends. Shouldn’t they know?”

“I wanted to protect you!”

“Protect me from what?!” you roared, eyes full of fury. “The Avengers? If they knew about me, they would protect me. Don’t you think so?”

Steve had no words to that, his mind a jumbled mess.

“I’m… beginning to think that you’re embarrassed with me,” you sighed. “We’ve never been on a date publicly, as each other. We’ve never held hands in public. I want you to meet my friends. I want to introduce you to them, and maybe soon, I want you to meet my family.”

“B-but, I’m tired, Steve. Tired of all the hiding. Of all the sneaking around. I want to tell the world that I’m in love with Steve Rogers, not Captain America,” you sighed, shedding a few tears.

You waited for his reply, only to be disappointed.

“You know I can’t do that.”

You saw red. All you saw was red.

You started pushing him, swatting him in the chest. Steve didn’t fight back, letting you unleash your anger, your disappointment. He took your hits, letting you release your pent up emotions. He began backing away when you started advancing, back against the door.

“Get out! Get out!” you screeched, pushing him.

When he unlocked the door and crossed, you immediately shut the door in his face. Steve heard sobbing from inside, his heart shattering at the sounds.

“This way, Captain,” your roommate approached him, showing him to the door.

Steve relented, shame flooding him. He fucked up.

You stopped visiting The Sleeping Cat, wanting to avoid him at all costs. You blocked his number. You immersed yourself in your work, prepping for the upcoming charity gala.

Sometimes you find yourself thinking about him when sleep proved to be difficult. It’s when you’re laying at night that you missed him the most.

But it was for the best, you reasoned. For you and him.

The Avengers PR had pushed for a fix-it, publishing a story that spoke a truth. ‘Just Friends: Romantic Allegations Proved False’. Steve had hoped you’d seen it.

He called you every day but found himself blocked from everything. He still tried, hoping you’d come around one day. He came by The Sleeping Cat every other day, sitting in the same spot, hoping to catch you.

But you never came.

You clasped the necklace in place, admiring how it sat on your clavicle through the mirror. You took a step back and took yourself in, smiling at what you saw. It didn’t reach your eyes.

Today was the day of the Valentines gala and you weren’t feeling particularly giddy about it.

Opening your phone, you stared at the one contact that stood out, finger hovering over his name. That name used to give you so many feelings, but today it was a reminder that you were going alone, again.

Sighing, you threw it in your purse and left. Another lonely night, and on an even celebrating love.

Days turned into weeks, and soon, before he knew it, the day of your Valentines gala arrived.

Steve stared at the calendar. The heart-shaped doodle he drew called out to him, reminding him of fond memories. Fond memories that seemed like a distant dream. But then, he went back to last week, and it all came crashing.

He had hurt you. While thinking he was protecting you, he hadn’t realized he was inadvertently pushing you away. He had no one to blame but himself.

He loved you. No, still loves you. You grounded him, gave him the normalcy that he craved. Reminded him of a distant time before he was Captain America.

You made him feel like the boy from Brooklyn again.

While he was ruminating in his feelings, Steve was caught off-guard when the door burst open with Tony Stark coming through. From his peripheral, he could see Bucky and Sam peeking through the frame.

“Heard from the Manchurian Candidate that someone has a case of the achy breaky heart,” Tony said, smug.

“Leave me alone, Tony. I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled, setting down the calendar.

“And leave you wallowing like shit while your girl is out there probably equally miserable? I know a thing or two about women, Rogers, and it’s that they don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Tony snapped his fingers and from behind, Sam came in with a tuxedo in hand.

“Thought you might need this,” Sam said.

Bucky came out behind him, with a brush and can of hairspray. “And I still know how to do hair.”

“And I have friends in places,” Tony quipped. “I can get you in.”

Steve was surprised. His friends had surprised him. You would’ve loved them. He was left speechless.

“What are you waiting for, Cap? Suit up.” Tony winked.

Swirling the glass of rosé, your gaze fell towards the dance floor. An upbeat song was being played as people flocked near the middle, letting their bodies take charge for the night. You saw your former co-workers among the throng, hands thrown around their significant others, having the time of their lives.

The gala was in full swing, if the crowd and chatter was any indication. Red and roses were the main theme, with a red carpet stretching from the grand staircase towards the main hall and roses lining every corner and wall. Taking it all in, you were proud to see your ideas visualized and work came to fruition.

You sipped your rosé, enjoying every bit of the gala as you could. From the sidelines, you spoke with a few potential clients and art collectors. Their presence made you feel your importance, and if you dared say it, a little less lonely.

It was during one of your little chats that you didn’t realize when the hall suddenly fell quiet. You turned around when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hi folks, mind if I crash your party?”

Steve smiled at Tony’s antics. They both had arrived at the gallery dressed in their best, and with Tony’s connections, they were granted access.

Stepping down the grand staircase, Steve felt all eyes on him. He paid them no mind, the thought of you the only occupant of his racing mind. Gazing over the crowd, Steve spotted you to the side, occupied in a chatter.

Taking deliberate steps, Steve soon found himself behind you. He admired your gown and hair, it entranced him. You still hadn’t registered his presence, even when your partner had ceased chatting and was now staring at him.

With a tap on your shoulder, he was taken away as immediately as you spun around. Steve took in your whole image; your dolled-up face, your intricate dress, your styled hair. It left him floored.

You always did manage to take his breath away. Was this what he had been missing out all this time?

Taking your unoccupied hand, Steve pressed a small kiss before meeting your eyes.

“May I have this dance?”

Giving away your drink, you took his hand as he pulled your towards the centre, taking space among the crowd. A slow number started, and before you realized, you were swept in a slow dance. It didn’t take long before you felt the sensation of his two left feet.

“Sorry, a hundred years and you’d think I’d know how to dance,” he said.

A small smile lightened your face. Steve savoured it all he could. Gulping, he took the first step.

“I’m... sorry for what I’ve done. I realize now that you were right,” he started. “I thought I was protecting you, but now I see that all it did was push you away. You have all the rights to be mad at me. I was being an idiot, a selfish one. I didn’t think about how you felt about it.”

You winced. Steve had stepped on your toes again. He murmured an apology, resorting to swaying instead.

“Can we start again? No more hiding. No more disguises,” he breathed, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “ We can meet your friends, you can meet mine. Bucky’s been pestering me to bring you to the compound, he wants to meet you.”

You laughed. How Steve had missed the tune.

“How can I make it up to you? How do you want to take the first step? A picnic at Central Park? Dinner at the compound? A trip to the beach?”

You seemed to contemplate, a thoughtful look on your face. You both failed to realize all the eyes on you two.

“How about now?”

“Right here? Right now?” he asked.

“Yes, right here, right now,” you said, determined.

Without hesitation —no more— Steve dived in, planting a kiss on your wine-coloured lips for the whole world to see. Your first kiss in public, yet it felt as if it was only the two of you there, lost in the moment.

You both didn’t notice the gasping crowd nor the clicks of cameras from photographers nor the booming laughter of Tony Stark. You both only felt the other in your orbit, and that was all that mattered.

“Can you put that down? You’ve been staring at it for the past hour.”

You pouted, setting the frame on the side table, where it has been designated since its publication.

“I can’t help it, I think it’s a good shot. Don’t you think so, Alpine?” you petted the snowy white cat lazing on the arm of the sofa. Its’ purrs intensified.

“Dinner’s ready!” Bucky shouted.

You and Steve left the room, joining the others in the dining room for dinner. On the side table, the framed article sat neatly, showcasing the tale of the famed occurrence that took place at a charity gala.

‘America’s Girl: The Modern Woman of The Captain’s Dreams.’

Fin.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #fluff #angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #happyhoelentinesday2021

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mintymiknow · 3 years

Text

Trust Fall - ch. 13 | Lee Minho

summary | character profiles | masterlist

Pairing: Lee Minho/Lee Know x Reader

Summary: You and Minho end up on one more task, and it leads you to confronting a certain someone. Events also lead to Minho finally opening up and telling you about the woman from his past.

Genre: Secret agent/spy au, romance, angst, action

Word count: Approx. 9.2k

Warnings for this chapter: Blood and injuries due to genre-typical fight scenes, showering together (nothing nsfw happens; they literally just take a bath lol)

A/N: Longest chapter I’ve written so far hahaha but I do hope you like it! We’re nearing the peak of this story as well as the end, so I hope this chapter is a nice breather of sorts. I’m kind of disappointed with the confrontation, but I did my best haha! Those are so hard to write. Enjoy! If you have any questions or comments, hit me up!

A day after the events with Minho, you gathered Seungmin and Jisung in the lab, having mustered the courage and conviction to finally explain to them what happened in SKZ’s lab years ago. You told them the same story as you told Minho, hoping it would shed some light on everything, allowing the three of you to work closely together and understand how and why everything was happening.

There were a mix of gasps and shocked expressions, faces contorting into disgust or anger, and even words of encouragement and apologies from the two males. Thanking them for listening and understanding, they also do the same.

“I didn’t know that that was the entire story.” Jisung mulls it over, “The heads of SKZ wanted it to remain a secret for the sake of the agents’ morale and avoidance of chaos.”

Seungmin releases a sigh, “I was quite skeptical of it all since I believed we all had the right to know, but I guess there was a reason. Thank you for telling us, y/n. What happened back then was terrible. We’re sorry we weren’t more aware.”

“No, don’t say that.” you start, “I would have hated for the two of you to get involved as well.”

Jisung chuckles as he offers a small smile, “Well, to make it up for all those times, we should really focus on getting the anti-serum completed.”

Seungmin nods, walking over to one of the lab tables, “We were able to extract Cle’s serum from the dead agent’s body. We can use these for our tests and compare it to the formula y/n wrote down in her files.”

“We’ll need to test the anti-serum on all the Cle prototypes we have to really guarantee it works for everything.” Jisung adds, “We never really know which prototype Cle is going to make use of in the end.”

You nod your head and gather some items on the table and begin to work, “Let’s get to work.”

For the next few hours, the three of you work non-stop on running tests and conducting experiments with various chemical formulas. A lot of mixing and pouring is done, and a lot of vials and beakers have been used in the process. There’s a variety of colored mixtures here and there, a few miniscule explosions and sizzling sounds echoing in the room too. The three of you mix chemicals, substances, acids and even solid materials into various formulas in hopes to come up with the “perfect” solution; of course, it can’t all happen in one day despite you wanting it to.

The three of you started working at 6:30 in the morning, and by the time you’ve decided to take a break after working hours straight, it was already 5:00pm. Jisung left for a few minutes to get some food, returning shortly after with a plastic bag of packed meals and three cups of take-out coffee. You and Seungmin clean the area before all three of you exit the room and head for the lab lounge room.

There, Jisung distributes the food and drinks before plopping down on a beanbag and releasing a sigh, “I can’t recall the last time I was that productive.”

Seungmin chuckles, “We’re always productive in the lab, what are you talking about?”

“I think it’s because we worked hours straight without breaks.” you point out with a small smile before sipping your coffee, “And it’s just the three of us working, so that means we did more workload each.”

“True.” Jisung laughs, “Speaking of which...who else knows about all...this?”

You hum, “Minho. I told him yesterday, but I assume he’s already told Chan some of it.”

“Yeah, very Minho-like. He and Chan have always been close-knit.” Seungmin explains, “Chan was recruited into SKZ ahead, and he was Minho’s superior for about a year, from what I remember.”

“Mhmm. Chan was his superior, but after one year of doing missions almost perfectly, Chan appealed with Jung to have Minho ‘promoted’. They’re now the same rank, per se, but Minho still treats Chan and acts as if he’s his superior.” Jisung pipes in, shoving a piece of chicken in his mouth after speaking.

“Were they always in the same team?” you ask.

Seungmin tilts his head, “Not permanently. Changbin also came into the picture, and they were the main trio. Although...back then, Changbin was usually on missions with Jeongin and Hyunjin. Minho was with Chan and a woman named Jiyeon.”

You hum, nodding your head and swallowing your food. Afterwards, you speak again, “Wooyoung from a cafe did mention a Jiyeon as well. Minho didn’t look too...happy. But I didn’t ask.”

“Ah, so you met Wooyoung too! I love that guy!” Jisung chuckles before his bright smile fades into something more melancholic, “And Minho probably reacted that way because she - ”

“She left SKZ as well.”

The three of you snap your attention to the male leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and facial expression blank. You offer him a small smile, and the dull color in his face warms with color, a small smile on his lips as well. Jisung waves at his friend before chuckling sheepishly, “Sorry about that.”

Minho uncrosses his arms and shrugs it off with a smile, “It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting any of you - besides Chan and I - would remember her.”

Seungmin shakes his head, “I was never close to her though. It was always just you, Chan, and Changbin with her. Sometimes Hyunjin.”

“Yeah? Well, Jiyeon never liked big groups of friends.” Minho releases a sigh, “And she never really stepped foot in the lab since she was busy running missions here and there. She loved the adrenaline rush.”

You feel your cheeks flushing - you’re not sure if it’s jealousy, embarrassment or awkwardness - maybe a mix of everything. But when Minho takes a seat next to you by the lounge table, putting an arm around the backrest of your seat, you’re pretty sure your flushed cheeks are a result of his doing. Seungmin and Jisung aren’t blind as they throw each other knowing looks.

Great, your cheeks are as red as the straw of your coffee.

Clearing your throat, you turn to look at Minho despite the fact that your face is still flushed. “So, what brings you here?” you ask in an attempt to divert attention away from you.

Luckily, Jisung and Seungmin give it up and look at Minho expectantly as well. “I have more intel for you all.” Minho replies, “From Busan.”

“Busan?” Seungmin inquires, “Did your team infiltrate a base or facility there?”

Minho nods, “Yes, though I assume the three of you would have an idea of what we found already.”

Jisung melts further into the beanbag he was sitting on, sipping on his coffee, “Busan’s lab facilities are known for holding acids, specifically hydrochloric, nitric, and perchloric acid.”

“In other words, some substances that could be traced in Cle’s serum.” you finish.

Minho’s lips curl into a small smirk, “Exactly. The team has brought the findings in and are currently transporting them to one of the lab rooms right now. How’s your work going?”

Jisung answers first, “We’ve attempted to make various formulas for an anti-serum and have tried them on various prototypes, but since we only have a limited number of Cle prototypes, we have to practice discretion to make sure we don’t run out of it before we actually get to test the perfect solution on it.”

“I hope the findings from Busan include more prototypes?” Seungmin playfully chuckles.

Minho smiles in response, an apologetic look on his face, “Unfortunately, none. Though we did find our next target area in Gangwon. Cle’s Gangwon facility is just a small clinic during the day, but through connections and bribes, the owner of that clinic allows Cle to use it for secret research at night. So, no one really suspects it because it literally just looks like a neighborhood clinic.”

Seungmin mutters under his breath, “Using a medical facade as cover...disappointing.”

Minho gives him a small smile before speaking, “Well, I’m leaving for Gangwon in a bit. Hopefully, I get some prototype serums for you guys.”

“I’ll go with you.” you say out of the blue, surprising both Jisung and Minho; Seungmin just hums in curiosity.

Minho puts a hand on your head to smooth your hair, “I appreciate the company, but I told you that you three should focus on lab work.”

You gently remove his hand from your head, lowering it so that you could envelope it with both your hands under the table. You use both your thumbs to brush gentle strokes on the back of the agent’s hand. Hopefully, neither of the two younger males notice the gesture. You aren’t ready for their teasing...yet.

“I know,” you start to speak, “but the three of us are currently waiting for the results of one experiment because we attempted to recreate Cle’s most recent prototype.”

“It’s going to take at least half a day for the formula to fully settle.” Jisung points out, “While waiting, I’m going to run tests on the stuff you guys brought back from Busan.”

“I’m going to do more research in the data archives.” Seungmin nods.

You look up at Minho, tilting your head, “If that Gangwon facility does have their prototypes, I’d like to take a look at them ASAP. I might also find useful files there.”

With a deep sigh, Minho closes his eyes and nods, “Fine, but we have to be quick, alright? I’m going without a team because intel tells us that the facility isn’t guarded.”

“Why?” Jisung asks.

“Because, like I said, it makes use of the fact that the location is a clinic.” Minho explains again, “With that facade, Cle is able to do research and run tests at night without anyone bothering them at all. Why waste manpower and resources on a location that isn’t meddled with at all?”

“Makes sense.” Jisung notes.

“There’s probably going to be one or two scientists at most, but that’s it. I can take care of that quickly.” Minho turns to you, “But you still have to be careful, alright?”

You nod, “Of course.”

“I want to keep this as lowkey as possible. Hence, me not even bringing a team with me.” Minho says, nodding his head towards the coffee Jisung gave you.

You hum, and without much thought, grab the coffee cup and hold it close to the agent’s lips. Minho slightly shifts to sip from the straw, causing you to stifle a giggle as you look at him fondly. After he sips enough, he playfully looks at you and jokes, “It’s lukewarm coffee. You’re so boring.”

You scoff and hold the coffee away from him, “Excuse me, but this was iced a while ago.”

Minho sticks his tongue out, causing you to playfully swat his face away. Completely forgetting that you had two other friends in the room, Jisung snickers and slaps the beanbag repeatedly, “Are you two officially dating already? Like dating dating? ‘Cause you’re both acting like one real couple right now!”

You and Minho snap your heads to the male who is currently curled up on the floor, clutching his stomach as he laughs. Seungmin looks at him with a “you good bro” kind of face before his expression shifts to that with a sly smirk, “He’s got a point. I am intrigued.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.” Minho says playfully, a smug smirk on his lips before he pushes his chair out and stands up.

“Boo!” Jisung says from the floor.

Minho playfully rolls his eyes before turning to you, “We aren’t taking any of the agents’ vehicles to Gangwon in order to remain lowkey. We’ll take the bus. Meet me by HQ’s main entrance in 15 minutes.”

“Ok.” you reply, still trying to calm your flustered state from Jisung and Seungmin’s light teasing.

With that, Minho leaves the room, leaving you, Jisung, and Seungmin staring at each other. You slowly grab your coffee in an attempt to quench your drying throat, but before you can take a sip, Jisung’s banter stops you.

“If you sip from that straw, that’s an indirect kiss with Minho.”

“Han Jisung!”

Seungmin jokes along with a straight face, “Do it.”

“Not you too…”

“Dating isn’t a foreign word to me, y/n.” Minho groans as the bus moves.

Thankfully, there weren’t many people on board, except for you, Minho and maybe around nine or ten people. You cross your arms, furrowing your eyebrows a bit too seriously; Minho thought it was cute, but he doesn’t say it out loud. “I know, but like...have you actually really dated anyone? Do agents have time to do that?” you muse, “Jisung’s question really got me thinking…”

Minho rolls his eyes to feign irritation, but the faint shade of pink on his cheeks says otherwise. “I...have dated before. It was nothing too serious in my opinion. It’s just...yeah. Not worth it.” he says, choosing his words carefully.

“So your flirtatious side did come from somewhere.” you tease.

“Haha, very funny.” Minho smirks, pinching your nose, “And you? Hard to believe someone as pretty as you has never had a relationship.”

“Ha, there’s the flirt in you.” you say in a deadpan manner before shaking your head, “But no, I’ve never dated anyone. I dated my work, unfortunately. My medical and scientific goals were the love of my life.”

“Were?”

You shrug, “Now, I don’t think it’s the same anymore.”

“Hmmm.” Minho hums to himself in thought, leaning back against his seat, “Fascinating.”

A few seconds later, Minho feels a weight fall on his shoulder. He slowly turns, now realizing that you had laid your head on his shoulder, your eyes closed in bliss as soft snores escaped your lips. Minho’s heart sings for joy and melts like chocolate at the sight of it all, and he has to use all his strength to keep himself from sobbing in joy.

“I told you I’d go to Gangwon alone.” he whispers with an amused smirk on his lips.

He presses a chaste kiss on the top of your head, gently nuzzling his nose into your hair while doing so. Unconsciously, you wrap your arms around his, scooting ever-so-slightly closer to his side. Minho stifles another chuckle, using his free hand to reposition your head to a more comfortable position on his shoulder before leaning back and relaxing completely.

Gangwon was still one hour away. Perhaps he’d indulge and relish in the way you fit perfectly by his side, giving him the light he’s lost long ago.

When Minho woke you up an hour later, you both arrived at one of the Gangwon bus stops. From there, you both put on a little act as some random couple simply strolling the city, hand-in-hand and laughing about some stupid joke (funnily enough, Jisung had randomly texted Minho a joke he and Jeongin thought of, so that’s what he used).

Since you and Minho left HQ at a calculated time, you both arrived at the location by night time; that would mean sneaking in would be a piece of cake, especially for Minho.

As you both approach the clinic-like building, Minho notices that the lights are off. “Either they’re out or it’s a trap.” he whispers to you, tugging on your hand to pull you close, “Don’t stay away from me, ok?”

“Ok.” you reply.

With that, Minho does his agent-y stuff, sneaking in through a window that he skillfully opens without a single noise. He slips in first, helping you in afterwards. Proceeding with caution, the two of you slip further inside the clinic, checking the rooms for anything.

There’s a lounge room that’s practically empty, but there are traces of chemical substances littering the floor. You swab the samples and place them in bottles before putting them in a case. Minho scans the room with his sharp eyes and speaks with a quiet voice, “Those look fresh. Perhaps there’s been activity not too long ago?”

“Yeah,” you nod your head, “but judging by the appearance of consistency of these substances, I’d say it was from hours ago...maybe earlier this morning?”

“I don’t see or sense any sign of people right now.” Minho brings a finger to his chin, “Either they worked this morning and left tonight, or they aren’t here yet. Either way, we should hurry. Are you done here?”

“Yeah, let’s go to the next room.”

After searching another two rooms that left you empty-handed, you proceeded to the last door which was locked. Fortunately, Minho had contacted Felix who effortlessly hacked into the system and breached past the lock, allowing you access into the room. You and Minho then enter, beginning to search for anything useful once more.

You find a filing cabinet and sift through its contents, eyes speedily but carefully going through the numerous sheets of paper inside. Minho tinkers with a nearby cabinet that reveals a few bottles of prototype serums when he manages to get it open. “Looks like Seungmin’s going to be happy.” Minho says quietly.

You hum, “Prototypes?”

“A few.” the agent responds, putting the bottles in a secured case.

“Good.” you say, eyes never leaving the files you’re currently going through, “How did they manage to get my information…”

Minho shrugs, standing behind you as he peers over your shoulder, “Networks and connections. Plus, many of Cle’s agents are ex-SKZ scientists. I’m sure they managed to steal some information from our database.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” you tilt your head to look at the male.

He answers plainly, “Of course, but a month after the incident in the labs, Felix and the tech team did a full-sweep and eliminated any bugs, viruses, hacks, and theft issues in our database. They’ve monitored it closely ever since.”

“I see.” you nod, putting a folder back into the filing cabinet and pulling out another one, “These are mostly just scrapped plans and formulas that didn’t seem to give them success with their serum.”

Minho nods, walking over to the other side of the room to where a locker-like cabinet stood. “Just grab what you think will help the three of you in the lab.” he says, preoccupying himself with getting the locker open.

You nod in response, pulling out another folder. A small wave of satisfaction hits you as you read the contents of the files, “This is a fairly recent file, and based on the notes and comments, scribbled on it, this is their most current formula. It...it’s identical to the one I kept at home.”

Minho has a subtle smirk on his lips, an unexplainable sense of pride bubbling in him at the thought of you being so capable, “Is that so? I guess that explains why they needed you on board. Probably knew you’d make the process faster for them since you’re an expert.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” you sheepishly chuckle, “They just knew I knew something and wanted to use that, I guess.”

Minho finally gets the locker open and narrows his eyes at the mess inside. And by mess, meaning there was so much clutter inside like someone just shoved their whole life inside. With a sigh of un-amusement, the male rummages through the items inside while saying, “Well, either way, they’re basically done with their serum, and if our intel is correct, they’re going to sell and supply those serums to high-bidding private parties in the black market.”

“I know. Jisung, Seungmin, and I will try to work on a solution as quickly as possible.” you assure the male, grabbing a few folders with formulas and plans and shoving it inside your bag.

“I know you three will.” Minho says with a small smile.

You close one filing cabinet and open another one, pulling out a random folder in the process. The first few sheets of paper are medical records, but you don’t bother to read what’s written or whose name it belongs to.

Not until the next sheet of paper reveals a picture.

There, in full color, is a picture of your dear friend, Ahn Hyejoo.

You tilt your head in utter confusion, wondering if the late doctor was also in kahoots with Cle or something of the like. You flip to the next page of the file, but regret it as soon as you feel your heart sinking to the deepest depths of despair. There on the paper, in clear writing, were plans of her apparent death.

She died in an accident. An accident.

But according to these files, Cle had “staged” or planned that accident.

It didn’t make sense. Why would they do that? Ahn Hyejoo was a humble and sweet doctor who spent most of her time drowning herself in chamomile tea and eating shortcake during her breaks in the hospital. She was the doctor who greeted everyone with a smile and remained extremely patient even to the crankier patients. She dedicated her short life to serving others and helping in the hospital. What could she have possibly done to have Cle end her life?

Your heart palpitates at the mere confusion, mind swirling and body shaking at what you had just read. “I don’t understand…” you trail off, more to yourself than anyone, really; you doubt Minho heard you as well.

Little did you know, just as you were frazzled by your discovery, so was Minho.

After rummaging through the heap of mess in the locker, he stumbled upon three things - three very distinct things to him.

A golden bracelet adorned with small red-ruby charms.

A glittery, black hair scrunchie used to tie someone’s hair into a ponytail.

And a single silver, dangling earring in the shape of an arrow, a small star at the tip of it.

The bracelet belonged to her. The scrunchie belonged to her. The earring belonged to him.

With a clenched jaw, the male agent sweeps the items to the side, revealing a small folder with just a few sheets of paper inside. Opening it, his eyes land on the picture of a woman, and below her picture is her personal information and profile details, much like how SKZ files looked like - except this was a profile for Cle agents.

Minho knew. He knew before Jiyeon left his life. But to see it again and be reminded once more...it didn’t sadden him. It only angered him, the disgusting feeling of bitterness piling inside.

From the other end of the room, you hastily put Hyejoo’s file back into the cabinet before walking over to Minho. You gently tap his back, whispering, “I think I’m good. I have enough data.”

But the agent doesn’t respond, and upon a better look, you notice how tense his body is. You decide to follow his gaze, eyes landing on the file in his hands - a woman’s profile. You assumed it to be the Jiyeon woman Seungmin and Jisung mentioned. Your eyes widened upon seeing that her profile was under Cle, so without a second thought, you brought your eyes back to Minho.

You expected to see rage - and yes, the thought of Jiyeon always angered him - but all you could see right now was bitterness and a hint of sorrow. You gently clasp a hand around his and whisper a bit louder, “Minho?”

He snaps out of his daze and quickly turns his eyes to you, offering an apologetic smile - a stark contrast to how his eyes looked a while ago. “Sorry, I just - ” he begins, but is cut off by a light snicker.

“Fancy seeing you two here.”

Minho doesn’t turn his head, narrowing his eyes instead. You, however, snap your head to the voice almost immediately, recognizing the familiarity without any issue. And because you do, your eyes widen with horror and heart ache, chest constricting with a sickening feeling as your hands move to grab the sleeve of Minho’s jacket. “Hyunbin…” you manage to gasp out, still unable to accept the fact the Minho was right about his assumption.

“Hey, y/n.” he says as if there was nothing wrong with the situation.

“I don’t understand...why?” you feel your legs go numb.

Hyunbin shrugs casually, crossing his arms, “Our friendship was all an act, my dear. I’ve always been a Cle agent. My role in Gongjak was just a cover to track and monitor you.”

“Wha - ” the words get stuck in your throat; you feel like you’ve been shot by a million arrows at once, dragged along the pavement, and thrown off a cliff when his words begin to sink in.

“It was going alright, I would say. Well, until you got involved with SKZ again and perhaps...romantically involved with that man.” Hyunbin snides.

You ignore the last part of his statement and instead ask, “What did Hyejoo do then? I saw the files. Did you know your bosses staged her accident?”

“Yes, I came up with the idea.” Hyunbin laughs, “Hyejoo’s curiosity knows no bounds. It was my mistake to let myself slip, but one evening, we had...well, spent a night together, mostly for my amusement. However, her curiosity prompted her to snoop around my place and see some...things. Couldn’t let her live after all that now, could I?”

Your body shivers involuntarily, breath hitching in your throat when Hyunbin pulls a gun out. Fortunately, Minho is just as quick, hiding you behind him as he pulls his own gun out and aims it at the male doctor. Hyunbin snickers, “You do know that my target is you, Lee, not y/n, right?”

Minho is unfazed as he levels a glare, “I know. But you’re not getting your hands on her, so be my guest and try to shoot me down.”

In the blink of an eye, both males pull their respective triggers; Hyunbin moves to the side to avoid Minho’s bullet while Minho pulls your wrist, ducking down to dodge Hyunbin’s. Without a second to waste, Minho gently pushes you behind one of the desks, “Don’t leave this spot, ok?”

You nod, heart thumping in your chest as Minho stands up to confront Hyunbin. The agent draws the doctor out into the hallway of the clinic and away from the room they were previously in. Making use of the other rooms, furniture, and walls, the two begin a rapid-fire shoot out. Bullets fly here and there, breaking vases and cracking the cement walls like mere chalk. Hyunbin may be an agent, but his shots are a bit off and frenzied, narrowly missing Minho each time. It gives him enough time to dart across the hall, taking refuge behind a wall.

Hyunbin stops shooting, and Minho knows he��s out of ammo. Taking advantage of the time frame, Minho pokes out of his hiding spot and aims at Hyunbin, pulling the trigger and landing a clean shot on the hand the doctor held his gun with. Hyunbin hisses as he drops his gun to the ground, giving Minho ample time to pocket his own gun - he’d rather save him ammo - while he rushes over to where Hyunbin stands. From there, the two males resort to physical fighting.

With Hyunbin still recovering from the shot to his hand, Minho easily lands a punch on the male’s face, causing him to stumble back. While it was normal for him to do so in the context of his job, it also gave Minho some sense of satisfaction to hit the man who built up your trust, only to single-handedly smash it down; it was like hitting him for you in a way.

Minho cracks his knuckles and stretches his neck, “You know….y/n really trusted you. She considered you her closest friend.”

“That’s her mistake.” Hyunbin says, steadying his posture for a fight, “She put her trust on the wrong person. Though, I can’t really blame her.”

The doctor then lunges at Minho, swinging punch after punch as if he were in a hurry. Minho observes his movement, calculating each swing with focused eyes; it helps him dodge or counter his opponent’s attacks. The agent then grabs Hyunbin’s wrists and twists it behind him, causing the latter to yelp in pain. Minho then uses the opportunity to kick Hyunbin down from behind, releasing a huff afterwards, “I’m surprised you didn’t just kidnap y/n during your fake friendship.”

Hyunbin stands up and shrugs the pain off, “I was tasked to simply keep watch over her until Cle wanted to make a move. We weren’t expecting she’d go back to SKZ...not after what she went through there.”

“So you knew?”

“I knew she was involved, but my superiors didn’t say anything else.”

Minho’s lips curl into a scowl, “Cle’s really just a den of snakes huh…”

At this, Hyunbin’s snickers become more audible and taunting, “Oh, you would know, wouldn’t you, Agent Lee?”

“Wh - ”

“Your precious Jiyeon was also part of that so-called ‘den of snakes’ wasn’t she?” Hyunbin laughs, “Unfortunately for you, despite your skill and intelligence, you fell for that woman. She was charming indeed, but I did not expect you to actually date her.”

Minho pretends like the comment doesn’t affect him, but Hyunbin notices the subtle change in his body language - tense and guarded. Putting on a stone-faced facade, Minho says, “She’s gone now, isn’t she? That’s all that matters.”

“Oh, ‘cause you have dear Dr. Song now?” Hyunbin pretends to gag, “Unfortunately for you, I’m going to have to take her away.”

“Like I said, be my guest and shoot me down if you want her.”

As if that spurred Hyunbin on, the doctor aggressively lunges at Minho, the sheer force of it making him take a few steps back. Minho is just as strong, standing his ground as he wrestles with the other male. With practiced speed, Minho uses one hand to grab his pocket knife, twirling it in his hand before lodging it into Hyunbin’s shoulder. The doctor yells, gritting his teeth as he tries to pry it away from him. However, Minho is way ahead of him, pulling the knife out and stabbing it onto the male’s torso, causing him to let go of Minho and crouch down on the floor.

“I’d like to kill you right now - ” Minho doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Hyunbin pulls the knife out from his body and swings it at Minho’s leg.

Fortunately, the agent merely side-steps, dodging the attempt easily. Minho pulls Hyunbin up by the collar of his shirt, bringing him close so that he could knee him in the abdomen. The doctor crumples down on the floor, seemingly unconscious. Minho then turns on his heel to return to you, but Hyunbin gets up when Minho turns his back. Hyunbin lunges at the agent, tackling him to the ground. With Minho recovering his bearings, Hyunbin straddles him and wastes no time in launching a flurry of punches. Around three punches land on Minho’s face before the agent once again overpowers the doctor, turning the tables so it was Hyunbin below him.

But Hyunbin is far from done, bringing a knee to Minho’s stomach, the force and power of it causing the agent to fall back. Hyunbin then grabs the knife that was on the floor, straddling Minho once more as he lunges the weapon into Minho’s arm. He winces but does not falter, gritting his teeth as he maneuvers their weight to flip Hyunbin over and behind him in a tumbling motion. Minho takes the knife out and throws it towards Hyunbin, piercing the doctor’s leg, prompting him to limp as he staggers towards the agent.

Not wanting to waste anymore time, Minho pulls his gun out and swiftly pulls the trigger, landing a clean shot on Hyunbin’s chest. The doctor gasps out breathlessly, falling to the ground and griping in pain. Minho scoffs, tucking his gun back in and kicking Hyunbin to the wall of the room for extra measure. Finally, he makes his leave and returns to the room where you are.

He crouches down beside the desk he left you at, offering a small smile, “We should go.”

You worriedly take in his bloodied appearance, sighing, “Ok.”

But just as you stand up, you hear the door slamming and a digital lock beeping. Both you and Minho turn towards the sound; you look at Hyunbin in horror while Minho narrows his eyes coldly.

“No one’s getting out of this alive!” he yells, blood dripping down his chin; Minho’s honestly surprised he survived that gunshot.

“Slowly walk towards the door, y/n.” Minho instructs you.

You do as you are told, taking careful steps towards the door. Hyunbin slowly approaches you, and your heart freezes for a second. Minho, however, is quick compared to the two of you, grabbing Hyunbin’s wrist and pulling the doctor towards him to bring a knee to his injuries. Hyunbin coughs up blood, and Minho flings him towards the back of the room, causing him to crash into the shelves lining the wall. By now, both you and Minho are at the door, trying to get it open.

“No use!” Hyunbin cackles from where he’s slumped over broken shelves, “I’ve encoded it to never open unless I say so!”

Minho scowls, shooting a glare before making quick use of his intelligence to bypass the security code. But when he hears your soft, shaky voice, his movements halt for a second. “Hyunbin...please don’t.” you croak out, pleading eyes meeting the doctor’s.

The Hyunbin you knew would have smiled softly and chuckled like the spring breeze, but right now, he scoffed and allowed his lips to curl into a hungry smirk, “Boom.”

Before Minho can stop him, Hyunbin pulls a lighter from his pocket, setting the various chemicals around on fire. Minho grabs the small case where he kept the Cle serum samples and stays close to the door.

“Hyunbin!” you yell, but the doctor is busy laughing; it’s not an evil, twisted laugh - it’s cold and calm and almost smooth, sending chills down your spine.

Minho speaks into his comm device, “Felix! I need you to breach this code now!”

“On it.” the younger responds.

But just a few seconds after Hyunbin lights the chemicals on fire, a small explosion bursts, a thick blanket of pungent smoke swirling in the room and causing you both to cough. The air is extremely hot as the fire grows bigger and closer to a large bottle of unknown liquids. Minho wraps you in his arms as if shielding you for an imminent explosion, his voice commanding yet leveled as he speaks into the comm again, “Anytime Lix!”

“Wait! Just...a little…” Felix says from HQ through the comms, “...a little more...”

“Hyunbin…” you trail off brokenly.

Minho turns his head to the doctor who is now engulfed in flames, silent yet smirking as if he had won. The agent pulls you closer to him, making sure you don’t see the scene unfolding before you.

“There!” Felix announces.

The minute the younger male bypasses the code and has the door unlocked, a bigger explosion booms in the room. As the explosion goes off, Minho pushes forward, both of you tripping over each other’s legs as you fall to the floor. Thankfully, that fall somehow allowed you two from getting directly hit by said explosion, though the fumes may have gotten to both of you nonetheless.

Quick to hit feet, Minho pulls you up and wastes no time dashing out of the clinic. Once outside, the whole place begins to go up in flames, the crackling sounds of fire burning disturbing the night. Minho feels you shaking by his side, so he wraps his arms around you and ushers you to the secrecy and shadows of the trees.

“Lix, please have accommodations arranged for us here in Gangwon. You know where.” Minho quietly says into his comms, “With a good change of clothes for me and y/n.”

“You got it.”

The agent grips the small case of Cle serum bottles in one hand before turning to you to press a light kiss to your forehead before speaking, “There’s a small inn here in Gangwon that we have connections to, so they’ll give us a place to rest in for tonight.”

“Won’t they suspect that you're bloody and we’re covered in ash, dirt and smell like a lab?” you ask softly.

Minho smiles gently, beginning to walk, “The owner is an SKZ agent. They know what’s up.”

“By the way...I still have the files in my bag. I didn’t leave anything.” you say, hoping it somehow mattered despite the fact that Minho’s lowkey mission ended up with a burning clinic and dead ex-friend.

Minho smiles at you, squeezing your hand, “Good job.”

A few blocks away from the clinic site, a car picks the two of you up and brings you to the inn where Felix arranged for accommodations. A woman at the lobby greets Minho with a slight bow, “Agent Lee.”

“Agent Ju.” Minho greets in kind.

“Your room is ready.” she smiles gently while turning to you, “Necessary medical kits are there as well, and we’ve provided a phone in case you need it. I had someone go out to get clothes, but you might receive it tomorrow morning, so I prepared two decent robes for the two of you to use in the meantime.”

“Thank you.” Minho nods his head, leading you up the stairs after Ju gives both of you a smile and wave.

Once you both get inside the room prepared for you two, Minho plops the case and your bag on the floor beside the bed before sitting down. “I’m going to update HQ on our situation.” he says softly, “You can take it easy now.”

You nod, choosing to sit next to him. When you lean your head on his shoulder - the non-injured one, the agent puts a comforting hand on your thigh, rubbing gentle patterns on the skin. With his other hand, he holds the phone Ju provided to his ear, waiting for HQ to pick up. A few seconds later, a familiar voice responds, “Hello?”

“Chan.”

“Hmm?”

“Y/n and I are at Ju’s inn. We finished searching the clinic and...I need you to report back to Jung for me.”

“Ok, go. I’m listening.”

Minho then begins to tell the older male the events that transpired that evening, including what you found, who you encountered and what happened after. When he finishes recalling the situation, he ends with, “We’ll spend a night here to recover. We’ll head back to HQ tomorrow morning.”

“Got it.” Chan says from the other end, “I’m glad you’re both safe, now get some rest.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Minho ends the call then puts the phone on the bedside table. He brings his hand to the stab wound Hyunbin left on his shoulder and sighs, “For a doctor, he sure knows how to use a knife.”

You offer a small smile, “Well, we do surgeries, you know?”

Minho lightly chuckles, “Right, right.”

You lift your head from his shoulder and nod your head towards the bathroom, “You need to take a bath so I can treat that immediately. And, the fire and explosions involved chemical substances, so I don’t want to risk it contaminating or lingering on your skin.”

��You should bath first.” the male responds, “You were caught in that as well.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have any other injuries.” you reason.

“We both need a bath, considering chemicals exploded around us and we’re covered in all sorts of dirt and soot.” Minho stands up, pulling you up with him, “Let’s take a shower together, hmm? Win-win situation.”

You blush at the thought, immediately looking down at the carpeted floor. Minho stifles a laugh at your reaction before squeezing your hand, “I won’t do anything, y/n. Of course, if you’re uncomfortable, you can shower ahead.”

It takes you a moment to recover before you can shake your head and flash a very shy smile, “No, it’s fine...we can do that.”

With an assuring smile, Minho leads you to the bathroom. There, he strips out of his clothes and enters the shower, turning the water on. He turns to you and tilts his head, “Are you gonna just stand there?”

You pout and begin to remove your clothes as well; though your cheeks are burning, you get in the shower with him.

You expected to be flustered and awkward right now, but the entire shower time between you two is filled with a comfortable silence, giving you a sense of normalcy and peace. Minho takes a good few minutes under the shower head; while you would have wanted to take this time to appreciate his physique, your eyes automatically drifted to the stab wound on his shoulder.

Kang Hyunbin did that.

Your “friend” Hyunbin did that.

And now that the adrenaline wears off, you feel the heart ache and exhaustion wash over you like a wave crashing against the rocks of a cliff. The tears that should have poured down in the clinic suddenly rush down now, mixing in with the water dripping from your wet hair. Minho doesn’t notice as he rinses his hair from the shampoo, but when a sob escapes your lips, his attention snaps to you.

“Y/n?”

And right there and then, sob after sob leaves you choking and sniffing, tears rushing down your face like a dam released. You have to bring a hand to your mouth to control your cries, and it absolutely shatters the male bathing with you. It takes Minho a second to move, but as quickly as he can, he brings his arms around you and pulls you close to him. This was probably the tightest, closest hug you’ve ever shared, and the idea somehow calms you.

Still, your body violently shakes in his hold as you cry your heart out, wails blending with the sound of the water hitting the tiled floor from the shower. Minho’s hand travels up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you as he whispers, “It’s ok, let it all out. You’ll be ok.”

Your hands come up to clutch at his back, holding him close as if he was the only thing keeping you from slipping - a lifeline of sorts. You bury your head by the crook of his neck and do as he said, crying and crying until your tears ran out.

After a few minutes, your breathing stabilized and your cries had stopped. Minho pulls away just enough to look in your eyes, using one hand to move wet strands of hair away from your face. “You ok?” he asks gently.

You nod, offering a broken but much calmer smile now. Minho hums in satisfaction before pulling you under the shower head. You take turns in rinsing yourselves in the warm, relaxing water, making use of the soap and shampoo provided. After you’re both essentially cleaned up, the agent grabs two towels and offers one to you so you could get dried up. Then, you both slip into the comfy bathrobes provided before stepping out of the bathroom.

Minho walks over to the bed while you grab a first aid kit. You return to Minho’s side before moving in front of him, between his legs, and gently shrug off one sleeve of his robe to reveal the stab wound. You work in silence, putting the necessary medicines and stitching the injury up with gentle and nimble hands. Minho looks up at you with warm eyes, and you’d meet his gaze every so often while offering a small smile. Afterwards, you put the kit aside on the floor, but you do not leave your position.

Instead, your hands rest on his shoulders as his arms carefully wind around your waist. With one tug, he manages to pull you close, essentially making you sit on his lap with your legs on either side of him. Despite the blush on your cheeks, you lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes tiredly and releasing a shaky breath. “You’re lucky Hyunbin didn’t turn out to be a fight-centered agent.” you say.

“Hmm?”

You gesture the wound on his shoulder, “He may be an agent, but I guess he was a scientist and doctor first and foremost, not a field agent like you are. If he was, I think he would have given you worse injuries.”

“That’s true.” Minho nods, “Still surprised he can somehow carry a fight though.”

“I trusted him.”

Minho hums quietly, “I know.”

You sniff, urging yourself not to cry again, “Why’d it have to be him?”

“Did you love him?”

“I did not.” you open your teary eyes to meet Minho’s, “But I trusted him enough to be my friend. To be someone I could open up to and be weak with.”

“I know the feeling.” Minho whispers.

You sigh, “I put my trust in the wrong person again.”

Minho looks sympathetic, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek, “...do you still trust me?”

“I do, Minho.”

“Do you trust me with your life?” he says, and you aren’t sure who moved closer, but with every word he whispers, his lips brush against yours.

“I still trust you with everything, Minho.” you taste his lips subtly, “Everything.”

And like an elastic snapping, whatever invisible sheet of resistance that had stood between the two of you had shattered, the force bringing the two of you together. Lips clashed on lips in a slow, languid yet desperate kiss. Emotions poured out in a rush after being kept in for so long. If neither you nor Minho could express how you were feeling in words right now, the kiss you shared was more than enough to convey the message.

One of the male’s hands supports the back of your neck while the other clamps on your waist; your arms snake around his neck, and the two of you ensure that not even air can fit between your bodies. Minho kisses desperately, but there’s still a smooth and patient movement to his lips. They’re so soft and addicting, and you find yourself entranced in the dance he leads with purpose. You can’t help but hum into his mouth when his tongue darts in to continue his tango. Every slide of your tongues against each other sends a shiver down your spine, and Minho finds himself navigating every inch of your mouth like a pirate searching for treasure.

After a while, he pulls away after giving your bottom lip a quick nibble. Foreheads pressed against each other’s, Minho smiles charmingly as he whispers against your lips, “Should we get some rest, y/n?”

“Sounds good.” you smile back.

The male shifts around on the bed, laying down with you beside him and still enveloped in his arms. A few seconds of silence stretches while you both get comfortable on the bed; you eventually settle with resting your head on his chest while his arm coils around your waist. Minho stares at the ceiling, just about ready to close his eyes before you suddenly whisper, “Minho?”

“Hmm? What’s wrong?”

“That woman...that was Jiyeon, wasn’t it?”

Minho recalls the files you both saw in the locker back at the clinic. With a few blinks, Minho replies, “Yes, that was her.”

“What happened?”

His silence worries you, thinking that you may have overstepped your boundaries with him. Maybe it was a subject he didn’t want to touch with anyone but the boys. Offering a small smile, you shake your head, “You don’t need to tell me if you aren’t comfortable though.”

“It’s fine.” Minho smiles reassuringly, “I suppose I should tell you.”

“Ok.”

“Jiyeon was my girlfriend.” he starts, giving your waist a little squeeze, “But she betrayed us in SKZ as well. She was Jung’s favorite and most trusted agent.”

“Jung did mention something like that.” you say carefully, “He also said that that agent apparently left or escaped so they’re most probably with Cle now.”

“Is that what he said?” Minho says a bit too bitterly, “Well, of course that’s what he’d tell you to keep you from getting hurt. It’s true that Jiyeon left SKZ, but not because she escaped. She’s dead.”

“How?”

Minho closes his eyes, “I killed her.”

The agent expects you to stand up and scurry away from him - to feel fear and dread or perhaps look at him with disgust. It does, however, surprise him that you cuddle closer to him, gently splaying your hand on top of his chest where his heart rests. “I’m sorry.” you whisper.

Minho lifts a hand to clasp around yours on his chest and offers a gentle smile. His eyes are screaming fondness and warmth as he looks at you, “It’s been years already though. I put it behind me.”

“If I may ask...what did she do?” you shift to look up at him from where you lay.

“Jiyeon and I joined SKZ at the same time. Trained together, got assigned to the same team almost always, and eventually got involved romantically. We were a pretty good team along with Chan and sometimes Bin. I always had her back, and she always had mine. But at some point in time, her behavior shifted and she became more...elusive and mysterious. She avoided a lot of conversations, chose to take missions by herself, and even avoided me for a while. Jung dismissed my concerns; that’s his greatest weakness. For someone of a high position, he’s much too trusting of his own men. I assume that’s why he didn’t realize Dr. Baek was doing...things in the secret labs. Thankfully, Chan understood where I was coming from and we decided to investigate or track her movements. That led me to speculate her involvement with a third-party organization, though I did not think it was Cle at the time.”

“Did you ever actually catch her red-handed?”

“She tried to kill me first. She knew I was suspicious of her after one evening. But I was awake and able to stop her. I let her walk away because I somehow knew we’d cross paths again. Ironically...I crossed paths with her in one of the lounge rooms of the lab department where no one was currently staying in. Hyunbin isn’t the only plot twist - Jiyeon was too. She was involved with Cle’s experiments back then. She was in charge of facilitating certain events that allowed Dr. Baek and his men to acquire certain materials and to keep nosy SKZ agents away from where you were conducting tests.”

“So...how’d you stop - how’d she die?”

“I shot her.” Minho says plainly, “The day that fight broke out in the lab was the day Cle was supposed to transport their experiments to another base or location, according to what Jiyeon was saying. I told Jung, and he told me to dispose of any traitors I could find. That included her. I was expecting to hesitate and find myself torn over the decision, but…I wasn’t. The sight of Jiyeon angered me. She lied to me and broke my trust like a fool, so I was angry. Killing her was...easy. But the realization of what I did hit harder after her death. It haunted me for so long, and I blamed it on myself for being weak...for allowing myself to waste time on human emotions and relationships. Ever since then, I hardened my heart and detached myself from everyone except for Chan and the boys.”

You were about to say something when Minho suddenly says, “But during the aftermath of that incident, Jung and I went to the lab to check on everything and round up the traitors who weren't able to escape. Then I saw you on the floor, crying and looking broken and lost with the chaos going around. I didn’t know you back then - just thought you were an innocent scientist or doctor caught in the fight. But I could tell that something broke you that day the same way killing Jiyeon broke me, and that caused something to stir in me. I knew the pain you were going through, so I consoled you.”

A fragment of your memories flashed in your mind, a sudden realization falling over you as Minho’s words sank in.

You sat on the lab floor with an empty expression, blood dripping down your face and black smoky soot smudging your skin. An agent you didn’t know or have never seen held you in his arms, whispering that it was going to be ok as Jung angrily ordered the others to search for the escaped “traitors”.

“That was you…” you breathe out.

“That was me.” Minho smiles gently, “After seeing you like that, and after I reacted the way I did, I realized that human emotions were...complicated, but they weren’t stupid. It's just that...it’s not something to be wasted on the wrong people. Emotions were something to be used with someone or people who deserved it. When Jung instructed me to fetch you back to SKZ, I somehow connected the dots that you were a scientist involved in that incident and not just an innocent casualty.”

“I see.” you trail off gently, “Why didn’t you say anything? If you knew who I was or what I did already? Is that why you put your trust in me despite me being so secretive?”

“More or less. I figured you’d be more hostile and hesitant to trust me if you found out that I knew about your past.” he admits, “It’s...your defense mechanism. You shut out anyone and anything related to your past, so I wanted to wait until you fully trusted me.”

“You really are something else, Lee Minho.” you hum gently, lips curling into a small smile, “Truly something else.”

“So are you, Song y/n.” Minho hugs you closer.

You chuckle, “Thank you for telling me, Minho. I didn’t know you had gone through so much as well. That’s what Jeongin probably meant when he said you had your reasons for acting certain ways.”

Minho nods, “You’ve put your trust in me, y/n. It��s only fair for me to be transparent with you. And yeah, Jeongin was right. I had my reasons, just as you had yours.”

You let out a sleepy yawn before nuzzling closer to the male agent, “It’s nice to not have to keep secrets anymore.”

“Indeed.” Minho kisses the top of your head, “Thank you for trusting me, y/n.”

“And thank you for not giving up on gaining my trust despite me being difficult.” you smile, lifting your head from his chest and onto the pillow below.

Minho shifts to lie on his side and presses a gentle kiss on your lips before holding you close to him, “Deserved, my dear. Now, let’s get some sleep. You had a rough day.”

“Mhmm.” you let out another yawn, “Good night, Minho.”

“Good night, y/n.”

“I love you.” Minho merely says it in his mind, but he knows he’ll be able to tell you someday.

And perhaps you’d say the same.

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conradscrime · 3 years

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The Lake Bodom Murders

May 02, 2021

On Saturday, June 4, 1960 a group of four Finnish teenagers decided to go camping along the shore of Lake Bodom near the city of Espoo’s Oittaa Manor. Maila Irmeli Björklund, age 15, Anja Tuulikki Mäki, age 15 and their boyfriends, Seppo Antero Boisman and Nils Wilhelm Gustafsson were both 18 years old at the time.

At around 6 am on June 5, 1960, a group of boys who were bird watching near Lake Bodom noticed a blonde man walking away from a camping site where they saw a tent collapse.

Between the early morning hours of 4 am and 6 am Maila, Anja and Seppo had all been stabbed and bludgeoned to death by an unknown person. Nils was only the survivor of the attack though he did have some fractured facial bones, a concussion and a deep knife wound in his forehead to show he had also been attacked. Nils said he had no memory of the attack but later stated under hypnosis that he saw a glimpse of their attacker, who was supposedly dressed in black and had bright red eyes.

The bodies of the teenagers were discovered at 11 am by a carpenter named Esko Oiva Johansson. He reported this to the police who arrived at Lake Bodom at 12 pm. Other sources say a jogger by the name of Risto Siren discovered the scene.

They discovered that whoever the killer was, they had not attacked the victims from inside the tent, they attacked them from outside the tent using a knife and an unidentified blunt object (some thought maybe a rock) through the sides of the tent. The murder weapons have never been found.

The killer took several items from the scene including the teenagers motorcycle keys, but left the motorcycles themselves behind. Nils (the only survivor’s) shoes had been partially hidden about 500 meters away from the murder scene. The killer had also stolen their wallets and multiple clothing items.

However, the murder scene would soon be contaminated as the police did not block off the site or even take any record of the details at the scene. They even let a crowd of people walk around the site, which would disturb potential evidence. The police called in soldiers to help search around Lake Bodom for more evidence and missing items, with a lot of them never being found.

Maila was found naked from the waist down and was lying on top of the tent. She had suffered the most injuries out of the three. She was stabbed multiple times after her death, which some believe the killer must of had a personal vendetta against her. Maila was the girlfriend of Nils, who had also been found lying on top of the tent. Both Anja and Seppo were found inside the tent.

There were a lot of potential suspects in the case, but a lot of people suspected that a man named Karl Valdemar Gyllström was responsible for the teenagers deaths. Karl was a kiosk keeper from Oittaa and known to be hostile towards campers in the area. Locals described him as a violent man, known to cut down tents and throw rocks at people. Others said that they saw Karl walking away from the murder scene that day but were too afraid to report it to the police.

Karl apparently confessed to the Lake Bodom murders during a drunken conversation but his wife claimed that he had been at home asleep with her during the murders. Karl had also been seen filling a well in his front yard days after the murders, with some believing this is where he hid the murder weapons and other unfound items taken from the scene. Police searched his property and found nothing.

Police found him to be a disturbed man and were skeptical of confessions he was said to have made. They also never did any DNA testing. There was no evidence to link him to the murders. Karl actually drowned in Lake Bodom in 1969, 9 years after the Lake Bodom murders. Many believe this was a suicide. Years later on her deathbed his wife recanted her alibi, saying she was afraid that if she didn’t say he was home the night of the murders he would’ve killed her.

One of the most well known suspects in this case was a man named Hans Assmann, who lived by the shore of Lake Bodom. Hans was allegedly a KGB spy and Nazi. A series of books came up with a theory of why Hans could be the murderer but police did not take these claims seriously. Some even believed that Hans was in Germany during the time of the murders so it couldn’t possibly be him. However, on June 6, 1960 Hans showed up to a hospital in Helsinki wearing bloody clothes (some sources just say red stains) and dirt covered fingernails. The hospital staff claimed Hans acted very nervous and aggressive. Police claimed Hans had a very solid alibi so they never took his clothing in to examine. Reportedly Hans cut his long blonde hair after hearing that the there was talk of seeing a blonde man walking away from the crime scene.

Nils was only the survivor of the attack and had never been a suspect as far as everyone knew. However, in March 2004, 44 years after the murders, Nils was arrested. In early 2005 the Finnish National Bureau of Investigation declared that the murders had been solved based on new forensic evidence.

Supposedly Nils had been very drunk and got kicked out of the tent that night after getting into a fight with Seppo and getting his jaw broken. Apparently this fight led Nils to murder his friends and girlfriend. Some believe Nils murdered his girlfriend in a jealous rage, which explains why she had the most brutal injuries of the three teenagers. Nils’ trial began on August 4, 2005 with his lawyer arguing that the murders had to be the work of outsiders due to Nils not being able to commit murder with the type of injuries he himself had.

The shoes that had been found 500 meters from the crime scene belonged to Nils and DNA analysis determined that the blood found on the shoes belonged to the three teenagers who had been murdered, but none of Nils’ blood was found on the shoes.

The prosecution believed that Nils’ injuries happened at a different time, separate from the time the murders occurred and that he had killed the three teenagers, hid items (leading police to believe they had been stolen), injured himself after and then came back to the scene, barefoot and pretended to be unconscious on top of the tent by Maila. Supposedly the birdwatchers who had seen a blonde man walking away from the scene identified him as Nils.

It was also reported that 10 years after the murders Nils had told a woman about his guilt as well as supposedly making other incriminating remarks.

However, on October 7, 2005 Nils was acquitted of all charges. The court said the verdict was based off the prosecution’s evidence being inconclusive, failure to show Nils had a motive and certainty about the facts being impossible given how it was 45 years later. The State of Finland paid Nils money for the mental suffering caused. Nils tried to sue Finnish newspapers for defamation but was refused permission to do so.

A composite sketch was created based off of Nils’ description of the killer during hypnosis and supposedly at one of the funerals of the teenagers a mysterious man striking a resemblance to the sketch was seen and in one of the photographs. They have never been able to identify this man and the case remains unsolved to this day.

#UNSOLVED MYSTERIES #unsolved true crime #unsolved #mystery #true crime #finland #cold case

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eugenideeznuts · 2 years

Text

You better hope they don’t play it like a mystery. The movie doesn’t need endless flashbacks to tell us exactly what happened in excruciating detail; it needs good direction to show us without revealing everything. And it needs to trust its audience to piece it together themselves.

ETA: This is the article. I have a lot more to say about it, but I can’t exactly articulate some of my criticism. Just remember that when it comes to film, direction plays the role of narration, so to speak.

Also, every second doesn’t need to be shown through Gen’s eyes. For instance, at the beginning of chapter seven, Gen tells the reader he watched as Pol and the magus discovered the missing food, but with a film, it would be perfectly acceptable to frame the scene from the magus’s perspective. In fact, I think it would be way more effective for the audience to be blindsided alongside Gen as the two men come to punish and beat him. It would make for a much more powerful scene.

Another example of the kind of changes that need to occur when adapting books are scenes like the one in which Pol forcibly washes Gen while the latter silently contemplates grabbing the former by the knees to throw off his balance and topple him to the ground. Now, I personally don’t care for most voiceovers in film, and I feel following every minute thought Gen has would be a very tedious experience for the audience. Instead, the filmmakers should rely on direction to get Gen’s thoughts across. Have a shot of Gen focusing on Pol’s knees and making a face like he wants to try something, only to visibly (but quietly) decide against it. Then if they go for the scene where Gen actually does topple Pol to the floor, it’ll be that much more of a rewarding and funny moment.

There are also certain things I would be absolutely against showing to the audience, such as when Gen cuts the leather thong bearing Hamiathes’s Gift around the magus’s neck. I would also rather they not show Gen hiding the stone in his hair, unless they somehow find a way to do it without tipping off the audience. Regardless, we only really need to see Gen bump into the magus as they flee on horseback from the Attolian soldiers. Once the surviving party finally reaches the Eddisan castle, and Gen slowly works the stone out of his braid, the audience will be able to put two and two together, and, again, the revelation will be very rewarding for first-time viewers.

I’m more on the fence with how they should handle Ambiades’s scenes, especially any actions he takes when no one is watching. Things Gen doesn’t mention outright in his narration, like when Ambiades gets rid of the food to delay the party’s progress. There are subtle cues given to the reader about the motivations behind a lot of Ambiades’s behavior, which would need to be very carefully adapted to the screen. I’m not smart enough to parse all that out though.

Furthermore, some scenes may need to be added, like perhaps Gen’s “friend” Philonikes appears on the bridge as Gen and the others are greeted by the Eddisan watchmen. If you’ll recall, “Philo” is a man Gen calls out to in chapter two, which riles the magus. This is never brought up again, but it’s clear on a second reading that this person is an Eddisan spy sent by the queen to make sure Gen was accepted by Sounis’s magus and taken on the expedition. I always assumed he was hanging around the Sacred Way so he could confirm the deception was a success and report it back to Helen. That’s why Gen risks bringing attention to himself by yelling loudly and angering the magus.

Having the magus vaguely recognize one of the soldiers (conveying his confusion through facial cues alone), only to ask Gen about it later on, after it’s revealed who Gen truly is, would make for a cute moment between the two men, especially if Gen teases the magus about so thoroughly hoodwinking him by acting like a complete ass lol.

Other scenes with Attolia might also need to be included, though I’m not sure how these would go down. On the one hand, depicting the conversation she has with the magus and Sophos as Gen lies unconscious in his cell might be more useful than them telling Gen about it; this would also speed up the escape scene, which as an action scene needs to be quick. On the other hand, it might also just slow down the pacing altogether. Still, I would welcome giving the audience more time to study Irene. Letting the actress showcase her abilities by displaying her different sides would be cool. Then again, if the actress isn’t all that good, it’d ruin the film lmao.

Of course, a lot of my points depend on hiring good actors in the first place, but if I’m willing to hope they bring in decent directors and editors, then I should also be willing to trust whoever they cast. I’m not actually expecting all that much from a Disney film though. I just want to offer my own perspective regarding the issue.

Blah blah blah! It seems I was able to articulate my opinions quite well lol. Anyway, I haven’t reread the article, so I may be missing something vital. I don’t mean everything I’ve said here to be taken as criticism of the author. I’m not mad at them or think they’re stupid or anything like that. But I do disagree with their overall assessment.

ETA2: Regarding Gen stealing back Hamiathes’s Gift, one of the reasons I would hate a flashback showing him taking it from around the magus’s neck and weaving it into his hair is that it would detract from the revelation itself. Creating a powerful scene in which a beaten down and semi-unconscious Gen is escorted into the throne room, and the actor himself giving a superb performance of the viper-like thief who tricked everyone (including the audience!) into believing he was nothing more than a slick-talking nobody, as he slyly presents the legendary relic to his queen before promptly passing out, is what filmmakers are supposed to do. We don’t need long-winded speeches: We need an honest-to-God cinematic experience!

And if you’re still worried the average moviegoer might not get it, you can rest assured that the many instances in which Gen plays with his hair or gives his braid undue attention will lead them in the right direction. I promise you that the filmmakers trusting their audience is absolutely a good thing. It’s a give-and-take.

ETA3: One more thing (channeling Columbo here lol): I hope they don’t vilify Ambiades to the point of making him a “villain”. He does a terrible thing in betraying his friends to Attolia, but we need to remember Ambiades doesn’t do it because he’s “evil”. Evil is not a personality trait. Getting the others killed is what we should consider evil, not Ambiades’s heart itself. Hope this makes sense. I like his character a lot, so I don’t want them to ruin him. The audience should be able to sympathize with him without excusing his actions.

#the queen's thief #tqt #megan whalen turner #i'm trying to find the tor.com article but it seems to have disappeared #bad take #films are not books #for the thief they're going to have to separate gen the character from gen the narrator if they have any hope of making a decent film #and we're going to have to accept that some things may be different

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kmlaney · 2 years

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WIP Guessing Game words: 'Death.' 'Past'. 'Beyond.'

Oh those are morbid. What about 'Enjoy' or its conjugations Enjoys, Enjoyed etc?

There are nine instances of the word “Death.” I did not include “dead” as part of the search (53 mentions O.O). You managed to hit some of the story-wise chronologically earliest stuff, which still needs its minimal fanfic serial numbers filed off. Here they are in story-chronological order:

under a cut for length.

cw: gore, organs, blood mention. these are at the end of the answer and are warned again before occurrence.

They were 34 at death--or at least no longer young but decidedly not elderly given how time works in both Mid-World and Mistlands--and frequently assumed to be younger given that they dress in typically masculine clothing but have no facial hair. [author note: part of a physical description section, included for completeness]

He might survive. It’s a terrible sentence, but it’s not necessarily death. I can’t hear Mother’s wailing over the noise but I hold her tighter. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll actually live.

Whidby speaks again. “Now, for the crime of spying and passing messages among the Gunslingers of the Affiliation and their sympathizers, I sentence you, Reuben Dinwiddle, to death by hanging, to be carried out immediately, and your body to be left upon the gallows for a fortnight or until it falls, whichever comes first.”

Behind me, I hear the voice speaking but not to me. “Take them up to one of the empty rooms on the third floor. Don't leave them alone, even for a minute. Keep them lubed if they want but most of all quiet. There’s been enough death today.”

Miss Peaches walks around the end of the bar to stand beside me. "There's a line between drowning your sorrows and drinking yourself to death and you rolled right over it without slowing down. So I cut you off and sent Liese home with you once you dried out enough to stand."

Drink, cheap room since I get the feeling Constant Companion is itching to send me to nightmareville and I’d just as soon enjoy that experience in private behind a lock thank you kindly, tomorrow inquire about riding shotgun on a stage or hop one if they aren’t hiring. Truly the highlights of my idyllic after-death existence.

Drink I can deal with but I don’t particularly care for stale tobacco smoke. Maybe I’ll get used to it. Most anything is better than eau de death as far as getting around among the living.

There are eleven occurrences of “past,” excluding as part of another complete word, i.e. “pasture” or “paste.”

I hold up a hand to stop her. "Don't. Just don't. I had to go past the square to get here and if I have to think about it I'll be sick. Not today. Not now, please."

She’s determined to have this argument again. It's damn hard to not take the bait. Which is why she does it. I push past her and head for the messenger bag on its peg by the door. “There’s post.”

The weather has the audacity to be pleasant. I’ve brought nothing for a long journey. I don’t care. I walk through the center of town past empty buildings. The gallows and the posts are still up in the town square but the shriveled grass around them is untrammeled.

He reaches into his coat and I tense for a second. Al and Jillian are both firm about loaded weapons past the doors but you never know. Unfortunately, my pause gives Mr Traveling Sam the opening he wants and he pulls out a printed handbill.

I try to hand the flyer back. He won’t take it. I push past him, grain buckets banging my knees.

"You should have checked this with Gabe at the door," I say, audience-loud. More crowd mutterings. I look past Peddycord to Gabe standing by the entrance. He gives me an overly dramatic shrug. I’ll talk to him later.

I clench my teeth against a giggle trying to break free. It’s not the first time someone assumed I’m barely past puberty, but under the circumstances I find it hilarious.

Unfortunately, it also makes it hard to see past the immediate vicinity and our dust cloud is a dead giveaway of our approach. It's the part of the run Bren warned me about.

It’s not real. It didn’t happen like this. It’s long in the past. It hurts as bad as if it were real and right and now.

“That’s the thing. I don’t get hungry like I did when I was alive. It’s more like when you go past the bakery or sweet shop and think ‘yeah, I want some of that.’ Except, it’s not things I used to think of as food.

I’ll eat it anyway even if it doesn’t. The only problem is getting past my own squeamishness, and it troubles me how little I’m bothered by that sort of thing anymore.

So, now the fun one. There are six instances of the word “enjoy” and literally only one of them is pleasant. This one surprised me a lot. Content warning for gore, organs, blood mention.

I sip my own coffee. No sugar, no milk, just enjoying the taste of real actual coffee. [here it is, the one pleasant occurrence]

Not too long, mind. It’s a shame I can’t really enjoy my first meal as much as I’d like. The fire still rages--my borrowed memory tells me this is bad, as if I didn’t know--and there is a slight chance I’ll be discovered--which my borrowed memory tells me would be very bad, as if I didn’t know. [author note: as in my answer to @brightephemera, this is the same character but not the same person.]

I wait a beat. “Don’t think either of us would enjoy that,” I say. “I mean, in general as far as I’m concerned, dead or no.”

I know this isn't real. It's yet another nightmare courtesy of My Best Friend. I'm not even surprised at this twist on it. He does enjoy dredging up this memory whenever I make him particularly annoyed.

cw: gore, organs, blood mention

I hate that this pile of meat and organs looks tasty. I hate that I’ll enjoy the flavor of it as it is, raw and bloody and fresh. I hate that I’ll eat it, period. Just one more chore.

#cw: gore #cw: blood mention #cw: organs #kmlaney answers #kmlaney fiction #mistlands #Bad Luck Phil #kodrevas

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irelise · 4 years

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Yassen Gregorovich - Books vs TV

With the excellent new Alex Rider tv show out, I thought I would make a comparison post for one of my old favs, Yassen Gregorovich, who has a somewhat different feel in the books as compared to the show! This post will largely cover the first book Stormbreaker and should theoretically contain no spoilers for the potential future arcs of the show, since the events of Stormbreaker are presumably non-canon now. (Spoilers abound for the episodes of the show already out, though!)

If there’s any interest, I’ll put up a second post covering Eagle Strike and some parts of Russian Roulette that delves deeper into Yassen and his complicated relationship with Alex. Just let me know!

Much like the show, Yassen was the one who killed Ian Rider. Unlike the show, however, he’s known to be active on the field and the first time we “encounter” him is prior to Alex’s first mission, where Mrs Jones gives Alex a warning:

She took out a black-and-white photograph and laid it on the table. It showed a man in a white T shirt and jeans. He was in his late twenties with light, close cropped hair, a smooth face, the body of a dancer. The photograph was slightly blurred. It had been taken from a distance, possibly with a hidden camera. “I want you to look at this,” she said.

"I’m looking."

“His name is Yassen Gregorovich. He was born in Russia, but he now works for many countries. Iraq has employed him. Also Serbia, Libya, and China.”

“What does he do?” Alex asked.

"He’s a contract killer, Alex. We believe it was he who killed Ian Rider.”

There was a long pause. Alex had almost managed to persuade himself that this whole business was just some sort of crazy adventure…a game. But looking at the cold face with its blank, hooded eyes, he felt something stirring inside him and knew it was fear. He remembered his uncle’s car, shattered by bullets. A man like this, a contract killer, would do the same to him. He wouldn’t even blink.

[…]

“Why are you telling me this now?” Alex asked. His mouth had gone dry.

"Because if you see him, if Yassen is anywhere near Sayle Enterprises, I want you to contact us at once."

“And then?"

“We’ll pull you out. It doesn’t matter how old you are, Alex. If Yassen finds out you’re working for us, he’ll kill you too.”

I always thought this was a pretty good introductory scene -- Yassen has a very deadly reputation in the books, which is established at once then hammered in over and over again. Other traits which come up again and again include his coldness and his dancer’s body which is totally something I’m into, gotta love those “elegant and deadly assassin” tropes

(also, yes, Yassen is blond in the books and definitely not a brunet or even a redhead as in the movie. he also doesn’t have a distinctive facial scar!)

Yassen doesn’t actually have many scenes in Stormbreaker, although the shadow of his presence looms pretty darkly over the narrative. Alex only runs into him twice on the mission: once from a distance -- A lean, fair-haired figure dressed in black detached himself from the assembly line and walked languidly toward a door that slid open to receive him -- and the other encounter also occurs from a distance, when Alex is spying on a mysterious delivery at the docks in the dead of the night...

And then the tower opened and a man climbed out, stretching himself in the cold morning air. Even without the half-moon, Alex would have recognized the sleek dancer’s body and the close cropped-hair of the man whose photograph he had seen only a few days before. It was Yassen Gregorovich. Alex stared at him with growing fear. This was the contract killer Mrs. Jones had told him about. The man who had murdered Ian Rider. He was dressed in grey overalls and sneakers. He was smiling. He was the last person Alex wanted to meet.

[…]

Meanwhile, the guards from Sayle Enterprises had formed a line stretching back almost to the point where the vehicles were parked. Yassen gave an order and, as Alex watched from behind the rocks, a metallic silver box with a vacuum seal appeared, held by unseen hands at the top of the submarine’s tower. Yassen himself passed it down to the first of the guards, who then passed it back up the line. About forty more boxes followed, one after another. It took almost an hour to unload the submarine. The men handled the boxes carefully. They obviously didn’t want to break whatever was inside.

By the end of the hour they were almost finished. The boxes were being repacked now into the back of the truck that Alex had vacated. And that was when it happened. One of the men, standing on the jetty, dropped one of the boxes. He managed to catch it again at the last minute, but even so it banged down heavily on the stone surface. Everyone stopped. Instantly. It was as if a switch had been thrown and Alex could almost feel the raw fear in the air.

Yassen was the first to recover. He darted forward along the jetty, moving like a cat, his feet making no sound. He reached the box and ran his hands over it, checking the seal, then nodded slowly. The metal wasn’t even dented.

With everyone so still Alex heard the exchange that followed.

“I’m sorry,” the guard said. “I won’t do that again.”

“No. You won’t,” Yassen agreed, and shot him.

Largely a reaffirmation of what we saw from the photograph scene, this time in person: Yassen is generally quiet, understated and deceptively relaxed -- up until the point he murders somebody without blinking. I think the show does a good job capturing that aspect of Yassen, with scenes like Ian’s death and Dr. Greif in the car coming to mind in particular. Gotta love that pairing of Yassen’s generally calm demeanour with the bursts of restrained yet lethal violence!

Some other minor but interesting character notes: despite being one of the most highly-paid and successful assassins in the world, Yassen is perfectly comfortable doing grunt work (passing boxes, dressing in shitty grey overalls). Similarly, despite being (presumably) more comfortable working alone, he’s also at ease with giving orders and coordinating large groups of people.

Now, moving onto the last time Yassen shows up in Stormbreaker. This is right at the end of the book after Alex successfully foils the plot of the big bad (Herod Sayle), only to get kidnapped by him while his guard is down. Sayle takes them to a rooftop where a helicopter is coming to whisk Sayle away, but first he wants to have some revenge...

"That’s my ticket out of here!” Sayle continued. “They’ll never find me! And one day I’ll be back. Next time, nothing will go wrong. And you won’t be here to stop me. This is the end for you! This is where you die!”

There was nothing Alex could do. Sayle raised the gun and took aim, his eyes wide, the pupils blacker than they had ever been, mere pinpricks in the bulging white.

There were two small explosive cracks.

Alex looked down, expecting to see blood. There was nothing. He couldn’t feel anything. Then Sayle staggered and fell onto his back. There were two gaping holes in his chest.

The helicopter landed in the center of the cross. The pilot got out.

Still holding the gun that had killed Herod Sayle, he walked over and examined the body, prodding it with his shoe. Satisfied, he nodded to himself, tucking the gun away. He had switched off the engine of the helicopter and behind him the blades slowed down and stopped. Alex stepped forward. The man seemed to notice him for the first time.

"You’re Yassen Gregorovich,” Alex said.

The Russian nodded. It was impossible to tell what was going on in his head. His clear blue eyes gave nothing away.

"Why did you kill him?” Alex asked.

“Those were my instructions.” There was no trace of an accent in his voice. He spoke softly, reasonably. “He had become an embarrassment. It was better this way."

"Not better for him.”

Yassen shrugged.

“What about me?” Alex asked.

The Russian ran his eyes over Alex, as if weighing him up. “I have no instructions concerning you,” he said.

"You’re not going to shoot me too?”

"Do I have any need to?”

There was a pause. The two of them gazed at each other over the corpse of Herod Sayle.

“You killed Ian Rider,” Alex said. “He was my uncle.”

Yassen shrugged. “I kill a lot of people"

“One day I’ll kill you.”

“A lot of people have tried.” Yassen smiled. “Believe me,” he said, “it would be better if we didn’t meet again. Go back to school. Go back to your life. And the next time they ask you, say no. Killing is for grown-ups and you’re still a child.”

He turned his back on Alex and climbed into the cabin. The blades started up, and a few seconds later, the helicopter rose back into the air. For a moment it hovered at the side of the building. Behind the glass, Yassen raised his hand. A gesture of friendship? A salute?

Alex raised his hand. The helicopter spun away.

Alex stood where he was, watching it, until it had disappeared in the dying light.

HOO BOY where to start! This is a longer scene compared to the rest but I love it so much, it’s probably the best part of Stormbreaker for me and obviously it’s fairly different from the show. I adore the last scene of the show since the tension was delightful, but this hit in a different way. Alex! And Yassen! Actually talking!!! It’s a sparse scene (like most of AH’s writing), but very atmospheric and loaded with meaning all the same.

Let’s start with the obvious stuff first - book!Yassen is fair-haired and blue-eyed (or grey, depending), and has a very measured way of speaking without any accent at all. He very much falls into the archetype of “inscrutable Russian assassin with a mysterious connection to the protagonist” and it’s delightful.

I do like the fact we only really see Yassen in person for two scenes in the entire book, and both times he kills someone ruthlessly and efficiently. (...yes, he did kill Sayle while piloting a helicopter) His reputation is well-deserved and I think the show does an excellent job with that too; every time we see Yassen on screen there’s a feeling that shit is about to go down and somebody is about to die.

The show also does a pretty good job hinting at the connection between Yassen and Alex (ughh Yassen’s expression when he sees Alex for the first time kills me every time). In Stormbreaker, Yassen does (initially) seem colder towards Alex, emotionless, just a man on a job. But even then, we get little hints of warmth shining through such as the way he smiles when Alex promises to kill him, and of course the salute! It’s pretty clear that Yassen has some measure of fondness for Alex, because no way an assassin would normally just let somebody go after they promised to kill him, even if that person is only a teenage boy (especially considering that teenage boy is driven by a desire to take revenge on his uncle’s killer). I also think it’s interesting that Alex reciprocates his salute. He’s clearly aware (even if only subconsciously) of the connection between the two of them.

Though I think what hits the hardest for me is the fact Yassen is the one to tell Alex that he belongs in school, that he’s a child and he shouldn’t be part of this world. Alex in the books is much, much lonelier compared to the show. There was no Jack or Tom there for him, since Jack was kept completely out of the loop and Tom doesn’t even exist in the book. Wolf and the K-Unit largely either ignored or bullied Alex. As for Blunt and Jones, Alex just saved thousands of kids in England yet the only thing MI6 tells him afterwards is that his actions can never be revealed to the public, his youth will make him useful for future missions, and then the only thing they give him is a doctor’s note(!!!) to explain his absence from school.

If that sounds all sorts of terrible and unfair, Alex agrees:

In the end the big difference between him and James Bond wasn’t a question of age. It was a question of loyalty. In the old days spies had done what they’d done because they loved their country, because they believed in what they were doing. But he’d never been given a choice.

Nowadays, spies weren’t employed. They were used.

And of all the people to point out how fucked up the whole situation is and how Alex needs to get out...it’s Yassen, the contract killer, his uncle’s murderer. And Yassen says it straight to Alex’s face instead of just making token protests about how wrong it is to send a teenage boy into danger and then doing it anyway. I think the moment had a fairly big impact on Alex, and I was sad it wasn’t included in the show, but ah well. Another time, maybe?

BONUS

OK i know this was meant to be a book vs tv show thing BUT I WOULD BE REMISS IN MY DUTIES NOT TO LINK TO THE LAST SCENE AS DEPICTED IN THE OLD MOVIE

‘2 minutes of questionable everything’ from the video description about sums it up. the violins. the closeness. the long lingering looks. “i’ll never forget you.”

Anyway, hope this was interesting and at least a bit informative! Do let me know there’s any interest in a part 2 of this post covering Eagle Strike and maybe a bit of Russian Roulette!

#alex rider #alex rider tv #yassen gregorovich #stormbreaker #anthony horowitz #meta #mild spoilers

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deputy-videogamer · 4 years

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Gemini |Part 2|

Pairing: Geralt x Reader, Yennefer x Reader, Geralt x Reader x Yennefer

Summary: The White Wolf has come, but so has a certain lavender eyed witch. Both has gotten word about the poor princess that has 'lost her mind and out for blood'. But there is more that meets the eye

Part 1 Part 3

"So what's this contract about again?" Jaskier asked Geralt for the- actually Geralt lost count on how many times Jaskier had asked about the contract.

"For the last time Jaskier, this contract is about a cursed princess that needs to be slay." Geralt hissed out of annoyance.

"Why do you need to slay her? Is she cursed?" Ciri asked. She has been traveling with Geralt throughout his journey ever since they finally met in the forest.

"Something like that. The girl was borned with powers, but as she grew her powers made her lose her mind." He briefly explained to the duo.

“Then the king wants you to release her daughter from the curse then?” Geralt didn’t respond. The king requested the opposite for Geralt; he wanted her to kill his daughter.

“Something like that. Let's just go, we're almost there.”

It wasn’t long before the trio had reached the king’s castle. Waiting for them was the king’s mage who waited for his arrival.

“Geralt of Rivia, We've been expecting you." The old man greeted the trio. "Please, come this way."

The three had followed the old man through the castle. It was only then Geralt took notice of the painting that was hung.

"I'm guessing that's the queen and her daughter." The mage froze in his steps. Geralt had taken note on how he was hesitant when he mentioned the queen and the former princess.

The mage turned towards him and gave him a tight smile. "You aren't a wrong witcher. Lovely isn't she?" The mage was referring to the queen in hopes to avoid talking about the princess.

"Oh yes lovely indeed. Shame that she married a king I would've loved to meet." Jaskier flirted, not caring that the royal mage was with them.

"Their marriage was one way anyway. The queen died after giving birth to her daughter. May her soul rest and find someone better than the king." This was what Geralt was surprised at.

"You seem to hate the king." Once again the mage froze up when he realized his mistake. The mage tried to think of a way to answer him, but the sounds of heels clicking against the wooden floors had interrupted him.

Looking at the direction where the sound of heels were clicking at. All three pairs of eyes looked up to see who was heading towards them, only two out of the three pairs had already known who she was.

Geralt couldn't believe his eyes when he saw a familiar raven hair female.

"Yennefer." The words almost sounded unfamiliar to him.

How long has it been since he last saw her familiar purple eyes, the sweet smell of gooseberries and lilacs. The guilt and memories of them on the hill had flashed through his eyes.

He now wishes that he could have punched his past self for saying those things to her for she wasn't wrong when she stated that he had lost her.

The pair of lavender eyes met his golden cat like eyes. It was then the air around had suddenly felt suffocating and time had stopped all around him.

“Hello, Geralt.” Her sickly sweet voice almost made him feel sick.

“Is this the Yennefer you mention?” Ciri innocent eyes gazed on the raven beauty. In return Yennefer looked at the small princess with shock; she then had a sharp gazed on why a child was with him, in return he gave her a look that he explained to her later about Ciri.

“I thought you needed a Witcher?” Geralt turned his attention back at the mage.

“Yes, but when due to the former princess…..um..condition there could be a chance that she could attack you. So I requested the help of Yennefer.” The mage answered.

“He’s not wrong. I assume Lucius has already informed you about the job right?” Yennefer looked at the mage or Lucius.

“I was about to get there.” Lucius cleared his throat and briefly explained about the situation.

Apparently, when the princess had turned 12, she started to lose control of her magic. The mages tried their best to help her regain control of her powers, which had worsened her case leading to her magic to take control over her mind. She had killed the people in the case including her own father if it was for Lucius stopping her rampage, her father’s guard tried to seize her, but she had ran into the forest for refuge.

“Has anyone entered the forest?” Geralt questions Lucius. There was something about that story that didn’t make sense to him. From the story to Lucius' tone about the voice it all sounded all too suspicious.

“Many mages including myself have tried to enter the forest, all of them have either ended up dead or seriously injured. We believe that she has support from the creatures in the forest.”

“Is that even possible?” Ciri’s innocent eyes stared at Geralt where he let out a simple ‘yes’ to his daughter.

“If you have any more questions that will be answered later, I have already let the king wait enough. I’ll let you bard and your…..” Lucius looked down at Ciri. “Daughter to their rooms once we reach his studies. Come.”

Unaware that a crow had overheard their conversation, while its blood red eyes had stalked their every movement. Before soaring its way out of the widow’s ledge then disappearing back into the forest. The raven gilded down on a branch-like hand, the silent monster stared down at his black feather minion as it silently cawed to his master. The creature didn’t say anything, the only gesture it had made was stroking his minions body before the creature had left to return spying on the Witcher’s group.

The forest creature had watched the raven fly away, then walk towards the center of the forest. During his little journey he encounters a few nymphs, everytime he encounters a new nymph he silently grunts about what his crow has seen in the castle. Their facial expressions had turned grm, each one knew a witcher was very serious, but teaming up with one of the most powerful sorceresses had made things much worse. Some of the nymphs had disappeared to warn other woodling creatures about the upcoming trouble while others had started to prepare attacks.

It wasn’t long that the creature had reached his destination. In one of the trees there was a little treehouse that was built within the branches of the great plant. The creature could hear a small humming coming inside the structure. The woodling creature had summoned one of his ravens to grab the attention of the person inside. A head had popped up as (e/c) eyes were peeking down on him.

“Oh! Hello there, Aspen.” You used a rope to get down to greet your strange creature friend. Unlike your godling and nymph friends, your skull head friend had no ability to talk. How he communicated was by drawing pictures in the dirt.

“So what brings you here?” Aspen had used his branch fingers to start drawing in the dirt.

His twing finger had drawn five people, one had long hair wearing a dress, another had long hair but he had a sword strapped on his back. The third one was a bard since he had a lyre on his back, the fourth one you immediately knew was Lucius one of your many teacher you had taught you to control your powers when you were younger, he was also one of the few who didn’t create the potion that stole your powers The last figure was strange, unlike the other people this one was more childlike. It made you wonder who would bring a child with them?

“These people are with Lucius?” You guessed at his drawing, Aspen then drew a crown next to the group of people. “Oh, my father had requested more help to kill me right?” His skull head nodded.

“Do you know them by any chance?” He then drew the woman and the long hair man only this time, the woman had sparks surrounding her while the man had drawn his sword out as there was a beast in front of him.

“The long hair woman is a sorceress and the man is a slayer of some sort or more precisely the Witcher right ?” Aspen nodded again. “Why bring a bard and a child though? Nevermind that it seems like my father is desperate to kill at this point if he is bringing a slayer and sorceress.” You growled at the last part.

Aspen turned his skull head to you. Your eyes had started to become red signifying that your other personality is coming out.

“If that crown bastard thinks that he can just kill me because he now has a slayer and a mage on his side. He is dead wrong. I have killed many hunters who have tried to kill me all have ended up dead. “ You walked towards a tree that was filled with multiple daggers embedded in the bark with a carving of your father on it.

“Well...let those two come here if they dare. Besides~ it’s been a while since I had visitors in my forest. I think I know exactly where I place their bodies~” You threw the knife straight dead center into your father’s head.

“Thanks for the information Aspen, now that I know of my lovely visitors I should prepare a welcoming gift for them.” You were about to climb back up into your home when you turned back to your friend. “Before I leave...how did my friends react to it?”

Aspen slides his thin twig finger across his neck. “I see...hmm protective as always.” Your eyes reverted back to your original eye color.

“Thanks for visiting Aspen, next time you visit I’ll make you some fruit pie.” Aspen watched as you climbed back to your home as Aspen started to leave. Unaware that he had made it to the edge of the forest where it reached the edge of the kingdom. He noticed that there were a few farmers trending their live stocks, as much as he wanted to attack and devour the flesh off their bones, he knew how much you loved your people even after your banishment. He summoned a flock of crows around him as he pointed to the nearest farmer.

He won’t actually kill them, but if he wanted to make sure that the Witcher and the sorceress doesn’t go after you he had to make some kind of reuss to let them focus on him instead of you. He watched as the crows had attacked the poor farmer before another one had come to his aid, he then ordered the flock to attack another farmer in the area.

He only hopes that this will be enough to attract the duo. And if that doesn’t work, there are more woodling creatures who will risk their lives to protect the ‘mad princess’.