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astarryon · 4 years ago

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Amends

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence and weapons, slight language, short fight scene, etc.

Summary: The last thing you expect to find when you come home is the most important ghost from your haunted past.

A/N: Not really sure where this one came from, just something I dreamed up after watching the first episode of TFATWS! Let me know what y’all think!

Masterlist

It’s the sharp, cloying scent of cologne that tips you off.

You don’t think much of it at first, initially having caught the trail of it down the hall from your apartment door. Automatically, you assume it belongs to one of your neighbors, or even one of the guests they’ve invited over for the night. Nothing to harbor any sort of significant concern over.

That changes the instant you reach your front door.

It’s locked. In addition to that, the hall light is off, and from what you can see there’s only darkness to be seen beyond the bottom crack of the door. For all intents and purposes, as far as you can tell, everything is exactly how you’d left it upon leaving your home earlier in the evening. But the closer you’d walked to your door, the more concentrated the scent had become –– to the point that it’s now the only thing your sharpened senses can focus on.

You didn’t used to be like this. Paranoid. Always instantly assuming the worst, to note something as simple as the smell of cologne hanging in the air and immediately jump to the conclusion that it meant someone had finally come to put an end to you. There’d been a time, once, when you trusted easily and laughed with everyone. When you would make conversations with strangers as you passed them by on the street, when you could spend ages soaking in the sun with your eyes closed with no worry of whether you’d open them to find a knife buried in your chest or a bullet lodged in your skull.

But you hadn’t been that way in a very, very long time. And as you crack the door to your apartment open, reaching for the knife hidden at your hip as the cologne’s stench only grows stronger, you can’t help but wonder if that isn’t as much a blessing as it is a curse.

Your apartment is dark, but that doesn’t make much difference to you. You’ve got the space memorized like the back of your hand, know where each corner is and where every weapon is placed –– home court advantage. Stepping inside and closing the door as softly as you can, you make sure to keep your back to the wall, clutching the handle of your knife ever tighter. You might know your way around, but you’ve been intentionally dulling your senses, your reflexes, in an effort to bury the past and leave it behind you. You’re not entirely sure where the intruder is in your home, and you’ll be damned before you let them get the drop on you before you’ve put up a proper fight.

And then you hear it. A creak in the floor boards with the shifting of body weight, just to your right. In your chest, your heart thumps so forcefully that you’re positive its bound to explode right through your ribcage, and you know you don’t have much time, but that doesn’t stop you from slipping your eyes closed for the single spare second you do have and steeling yourself for what’s sure to come before opening them again, sliding your gaze just over your shoulder to assess the present threat.

Your mouth instantly runs dry the moment you lay eyes on him.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says softly, but your reflexes kick in the moment he speaks and before you can blink, you launch at him in a flurry of fists and panic.

That face. How many hours have you spent trying to convince yourself you would never see that face again, never have that bone chilling, bloodcurdling voice rasping in your ear? How much time have you spent nervously glancing over your shoulder, moving from apartment to apartment because something in your gut told you he was on your trail? You didn’t want to believe it, had always tried to reassure yourself that he was gone –– that all of Hydra was gone –– but you’d never quite managed to convince yourself.

And, given that you’d just walked into your apartment to find the Winter Soldier staring back at you, that was apparently for good reason.

He blocks the first hit you throw at him easily, sidestepping out of its way. The second manages to clip him on the jaw, though it doesn’t succeed in knocking him back as it would on any normal person. He opens his mouth to speak again, but you don’t give him the chance to get a word out before you send a kick flying toward his face. He’s forced to duck and roll, which in turn gives you an opening to launch another kick, but he reaches out with a hand and clamps a vice like grip around your ankle.

All it takes is one decisive tug for him to put you flat on your back.

“Stop,” he snaps, reaching to knock the knife from your grip. Funny, that. In your panic to land a hit on him, you hadn’t even thought to make use of it. “Stop fighting. I’m not here to hurt you.”

It’s the second time the words fall from his mouth, but as with the first, they don’t leave much of an impression.

The Winter Soldier looks just the same as the last time you’d been in his presence, save for shorter hair and a clean shaven face. His skin is still pale as a sheet, turned ghostly in the few slivers of moonlight that manage to creep their way through the blinds hanging in the window. His eyes are still ice, a shade of blue that makes you grind your teeth and sets your nerves on edge. He’s got that same melancholy about him that had been there the first time you’d seen him, though now you knew better than to sympathize with it, to trust it.

Making that mistake years ago had cost you your life as you knew it.

“Get off me,” you command, struggling hard.

It’s no use –– his grip is much too strong. You won’t be going anywhere until he wants you to.

“Please stop,” he tries, an odd desperation in his words.

“Get off me!” you yell again, kicking with your legs like a helpless child.

The Winter Soldier clamps the hand not preoccupied with pinning your wrists above your head over your mouth, waiting for your muffled screams and swears to die down before trying to speak again.

“Look, this is simple,” he sighs tiredly, inexplicable sadness shining in his eyes. “I will let go of you as soon as you calm down. Alright? All I want is to have a conversation.”

You want to call bullshit, but his hand over your mouth still robs you of your voice. You aren’t sure what game he’s playing, but it doesn’t seem like he’s leaving you with much of a choice but to participate. And… well, technically up to this point, every move he’s made has been defensive. Perhaps playing along wouldn’t necessarily be the worst course of action.

He removes his touch from your body as soon as you nod and go still, making it clear that you have no intention to repeat your flurry of attacks from before. Part of you is tempted to make an attempt to pull one over on him, strike and get up and leave as fast as you can, but you know it would be in vain. He’s faster than you, always has been. It wouldn’t take more than a passing second for him to get his hand around your throat and squeeze.

The two of you sit together in silence for a few awkward minutes, trading nothing but ragged, adrenaline spiked breaths and charged stares between you. Just when you’re sure his ploy for peace had been nothing more than a cheap trick to allow him time to catch his breath before finishing the job and killing you, he opens his mouth, then closes it again, and repeats this sequence of actions two more times before actually giving a voice to his words.

“My name is James,” he tells you, casting his eyes down to the floor. “I’m… I’m not who I used to be.”

“You’re not?” you seethe, barely managing to keep your volume level in check. “You sure look the same.”

“I’m not,” the Winter Soldier –– or, James, as he’d introduced himself –– insisted. “Not at all.”

“That’s funny,” you spit, hands trembling where you’ve forced them to remain down at your sides. If you squeeze your fists any tighter, you’ll be sure to snap a bone. “Because I remember you. You and all the little lessons you made sure to incorporate into your training.”

“That wasn’t me,” James mutters lowly, jaw working hard enough that the grind of his teeth was audible.

“Oh, wasn’t it, though?” you hiss, flashes of red anger lacing your vision. “You weren’t the one who dislocated my arm and then forced me to spar without resetting it? You weren’t the one who taught me to lie by holding a blade to my throat and pressing the knife harder against my skin every time you saw a shift in my expression? Neither of those were you?”

“No,” he mumbles, but you hardly hear it, and you don’t care to.

You aren’t done with him. Not yet.

“Then you also must not be the one responsible for the deaths of my family,” you throw at him, the tang of iron souring the back of your tongue. “The one who took my parents away from me with the squeeze of a trigger? The same one who happens to be the whole reason that Hydra managed to get their hands on me in the first place? You knew what it was like, to be taken and turned into a monster, a–– a machine for them to build to suit their needs and use whenever they felt like they didn’t have enough power, but you didn’t care. You could have stopped that from happening to me, but you didn’t.”

“That wasn’t me,” James snaps, raising his hoarse voice at you for the first time all evening. The sudden outburst is so jarring it takes you aback, forcing a pause in the functions of your brain. All you can do is continue gazing upon the quiet anger which slowly boils into James’ features. “You were with Hydra for twenty years before Steve blew their cover, I was with them for seventy. Seven decades, doing the work of the people I enlisted in the world war to stop in the first place. Knowing that, do you honestly think the things I did were at all my own decisions?”

You cross your arms, swallowing hard as your gaze switches from his contorted expression to the floor. You don’t want to hear this. All these years hiding, trying to get back to some semblance of normal and carve out as much of a life as you could for yourself, it hadn’t been the faces of the Hydra operatives that haunted your nightmares each time you closed your eyes to fall asleep. It had been one with eyes blue as ice and twenty times colder, no compassion, compunction, or remorse to be found at all within their depths. One with a gaze deader than any of the corpses he’d been responsible for making.

That face was his.

“So why are you here then?” you sigh, still staring at the floor. You can’t trust yourself with anything else, not right now. Actually looking up at him holds the potential to yield very dangerous results. “To finish the job? I’m not stupid, I know none of the other agents are left. But if you think I’m just going to sit here all quiet and make killing me easier on you––”

“Oh, you people and your assumptions,” James mutters blackly under his breath, reaching a gloved hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “That is not why I’m here. Which I might have been able to tell you if you’d just let me get a word in edgewise.”

“You mean like you used to let me?” you scoff, rolling your eyes to the ceiling and doing your damnedest not to give into the rage rising in your chest. “You’ll have to forgive me for not buying that, considering the entirety of our past and all.”

“Christ,” he gripes, more to himself than to you, “and Raynor says I’m paranoid.” The name isn’t one you recognize, but to James its significance is clear. Speaking it seems to serve as a reminder to him, and he exhales deeply and loosens his shoulders in response to it. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he almost appeared to be counting himself down to his next sentence –– like it was so important he needed to work his way up to it. “I’m here… because…”

You blink, tilting your head to the side as you await his explanation. Actively refraining from attempting any guesses. Not exactly a challenge. If he truly didn’t come here to kill you, then his motive was a complete mystery.

Ages pass before he finally works up the nerve to say what he’s been meaning to.

“I’m here,” he sighs, carefully enunciating each word like he’s afraid they’ll break if he doesn’t pay them enough care, “because I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am… I am James Bucky Barnes, and you are part of my effort to make amends.”

His words are small, crafted with the brittleness of glass and about ten times as fragile. They’re spoken so resolutely that you’re positive this isn’t the first instance in which he’s uttered them to another human, but they seem… choked, for lack of a better description. Judging by his grimace, they clearly don’t come easily, either.

You’re entirely unsure what to make of them.

“You don’t have to say anything,” James assures you, clasping his hands together in a manner that almost looks meek. “I don’t expect… What I’m trying to say is that it’s not transactional, this apology. There isn’t anything I want from you, or anything I’m looking to take. Just… My doctor, she had me write out a list of names of people to confront, and some to apologize to. That’s the one yours is on.”

You hear the words coming out of his mouth. What’s more, you understand them in a conceptual sense. But for some reason your brain lags in correlating the words and their meanings, in properly contextualizing them in accordance with his soft tone and the sincere regret in his eyes. Of all the nights you’d spent living in fear of this exact moment, that your mentor of once upon a time would one day appear to quietly finish you off, the last thing you’d ever expected to be met with instead was this.

Whatever this was, exactly.

You scan his body head to toe once more, searching more carefully this time. Dressed in all black as he was, it made it slightly more difficult to be certain, but you don’t see any telltale signs of a gun hiding anywhere beneath his clothing. That didn’t mean there wasn’t one, nor did it mean there was no knife strapped to his arm or tucked away in his boot, but you could spy no evidence.

So, no weapons. No yelling, other than to cut through your assumptions of violence. No hissed warnings or threats. No apparent sign he’s looking for a fight. Each of your senses scream at you to ignore all of this, to put no trust at all into the meaningless words of a man, a machine, who had only ever served to bring strife and suffering into your life. Even in spite of the realization that he’s likely unarmed, you still find yourself tempted to attack and flee before he inevitably makes his move.

But then…

“Why?”

The question catches each of you by surprise. James, because he clearly hadn’t expected much of a response, and if he got one, he didn’t think it would be simple as a posed curiosity, and you, because you hadn’t truly meant to ask the question aloud.

“Why…?” James echoes, brow furrowing in confusion. Certainly a sight to behold. Time away from existing as the Winter Soldier had evidently made his face that much more expressive.

Strange, that there could be so much to read in that face, yet so little at the same time.

You open your mouth to speak, carefully sifting through words in your mind before deciding upon the proper combination to convey your meaning. “Why would you want to do something like that?”

James squints in confusion. “Apologize?” he reiterates, gears in his head visibly turning a mile a minute.

“You had to know what I would think,” you explain, “seeing you after all this time. You say you have a list? Well, I can’t be the only one who instantly jumped to the worst case scenario. Why would you… why would you want to put yourself through something like that? A slideshow of the people you hurt? That’s painful, James.”

“No more painful than all the things I did to them,” James sighs, shoulders deflating. “To you. And anyway, it wasn’t me who did all those things. It was someone else’s will, I was just… I was just the tool. That’s not something I can change, and I can’t bring back all the people Hydra used me to kill. But I can apologize for it, because I am sorry. Just like I’m sorry for my part in what happened to you.”

You can see it more clearly, now. The human in him. Before, he’d been cold. Mechanic. Void of any and all emotion as far as the eye could see. That had made it easy to hate him, all those days he’d made you fight, spar, endure endless physical and emotional pain until you learned to be the tool Hydra wanted you to be. In your pain, your rage, your fear that all you would know for the rest of your existence were dark rooms and metal walls, the Winter Soldier had been the one to incur your wrath.

But this man was not the one you’d known. This man was different. This was a man whose eyes glimmered with remorse so bright it looked like unshed tears. This was a man with a face so expressive it was hard to believe you’d known its features for decades. A man who only wanted to talk, because if he’d had a more sinister motive in coming here, you would surely be dead by now.

Just as he’d told you moments ago, this man was not the Winter Soldier.

“Does it help?” you question, unable to force your words above a whisper. “Seeking people out, apologizing like this.”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” James tells you, blue eyes wandering back to the floor. The light of the moon peeking through your window casts them an odd tone of silver. “It doesn’t take the hurt away, not for me or for them. But it helps to say it out loud, that I’m not that person anymore. Not everyone believes it, but all of this isn’t for them. It’s for me.”

“To what end?” you ask, words coming out harsher than you mean them to. “What’s the point, then?”

James shrugs a shoulder, head shaking. “My doctor says closure,” he supplies, reaching up almost nervously to scratch at the back of his neck with a gloved hand. “Making amends helps process difficult situations. It’s not easy, but I figure it’s as good a shot as I’ve got to move on from all of this.”

All James was looking for was a way to move on. Wasn’t that the same thing you’d been trying to do these past few years, when you laid down to sleep at night and did your best to push all the faces of the people you’d hurt at Hydra’s direction out of your mind? You certainly wouldn’t consider yourself the same person you’d been back then. Was it really fair of you to condemn James to his past in the way you’d been trying so hard to escape yours?

“I’ve been at this a long time, James,” you sigh, shaking your head. “Trying to move on from my past, trying to… forget. So far, it hasn’t worked out.”

“Forgetting isn’t the point,” James responds carefully, analyzing your face with marked carefulness. “You’ll never be able to forget. The past will always be there. It’s not something you can run from.” He pauses then, and the next time he speaks it sounds as if he’s been struck hard by a sudden epiphany. “But you can come to terms with all of it,” he goes on, “if you try. And you really gotta try, ‘cause otherwise all that bad will still be waiting for you when you wake up in the morning. Take it from someone who knows.”

And you don’t really know what to say to that. You’re not really sure what you can say. James’ certainty is tangible. You can feel it in his words, the way they tickle your brain like ribbons and set your mind rolling down a path you don’t altogether recognize. You want to ask him about it, make him elaborate further on all that he’s said, pick each and every one of his sentences apart until you understand the methods and reasonings for what he’s doing so you can know for sure if it will work for you the same it clearly seems to be working for him.

But he’s clearing his throat and running a hand through his dark hair before you get the chance.

“Like I said,” James tells you. “I’m very sorry for the hurt and the pain my actions have caused you. I can’t take it back, and I can’t change the past. All I can do now is try to be someone better. I hope… I hope you understand.”

And then he’s gone, out the front door so quickly you don’t realize until it shuts behind him.

You scan through your dark apartment, taking note of all your surroundings. James has left no sign of his presence, hasn’t disturbed a single one of your belongings. Even his footsteps over the floor on his way out had been remarkably silent –– though that, you supposed, was characteristic of his capabilities. Here and gone in an instant, fluid as a ghost.

The realization that you’d only been aware of his presence before entering your apartment because he’d wanted you to be strikes you dumb.

He hadn’t come here to cause you harm, hadn’t shown up at your home to kill you, rid himself and the rest of the world of the living reminder of the dark things which had gone on in the Hydra base –– though, doing so would have required such little effort on his part. No, James… James’ reason for seeking you out had been exactly what he’d told you.

Making amends, in an attempt to forgive himself for the things which others surely couldn’t. Perhaps that had been your mistake all these years. Rather than beating the past out of your mind with a stick, refusing to acknowledge it for everything you’re worth… maybe trying something else was the correct way to go.

Surely taking a page out of James’ book couldn’t hurt.

Your body took charge through no accord of your own, and before you realized it, you were standing in your kitchen beneath the glow of a single light staring down at a blank sheet of paper, fingers turning the pen in your grasp over and over again in your palm.

Names. You needed to write down names. But doing that would require you to actively delve into your past, and you weren’t sure that was something you could handle much of tonight. But there was one name which immediately sprang to mind, one repeating itself over and over in your head like a mantra. Sighing, you uncapped the pen and touched its point to paper, hastily scrawling out a single name before setting it back down on the counter.

James Bucky Barnes.

A list of names to make amends, half to confront, half to apologize.

You’d been on his. It only makes sense that he’d be on yours, too.

#bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #tfatws #james barnes #marvel #bucky x reader #fanfiction #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #one shot #bucky

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moonlit-han · 5 years ago

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the perfect cup of coffee ↠ lee minho

genre: fluff, office au word count: 2k warnings: none, unless you really don’t like coffee? request: no (for junhuisflower, who wrote the initial idea for this fic) a/n: i am reposting this fic because the first time i posted it, on June 13, 2020, it didn’t show up in the general tags. so, i hope you all enjoy it this second time around!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

In his impeccably neat and well-fitting suit, Lee Minho walked into the office where he held the position of Manager in Chief. This was not his official title, but one that he had chosen for himself; after all, he did manage just about everything and everyone, when it came down to it.

In reality, Minho was the Assistant to the Administrative Director of the company and was, in theory, meant to delegate the more menial tasks to others. However, this never occurred because Minho did not trust others to do work he knew he could do better. Over that which was not in his job description and, therefore, the responsibility of others, Minho still attempted to exert control. Thus, he was the Manager in Chief. Everything in Minho’s world had to perfect, or as perfect as Minho could contrive.

As he arrived at the office and reached for the company suite’s door, automatically passing something that was not there from one hand to the other, Minho stopped. He’d forgotten his coffee. How had he forgotten his coffee? This was practically unheard of, since he made his coffee at home and brought it to work with him. He did not fully trust coffee made by others.

Coffee was one of the many things that Minho insisted on being perfect. While he cared that his clothes were appropriately smart for the workplace and he prided himself on his small but wonderfully efficient car, he could manage for a time without them being in perfect condition. But, he absolutely had to have perfect coffee. In terms of non-essential costs, Minho spent the most on his cats (plenty of little treats, baubles, and warm places to sleep) and his coffee (fair trade, organic coffee made with care and attention). He was forever trying new ways of brewing coffee, and considered himself a bit of a connoisseur. Oftentimes, he’d even add some cardamom to the coffee as it brewed for a little extra spice and sweetness. Having such wonderfully delicious coffee was the high point of Minho’s day, a way he coped with the monotony of work.

So, when he arrived at the office and had no coffee, Minho was incensed. Sighing and grumbling to himself, he pushed through the door and made his way to his desk. He had back-to-back-to-back meetings and was responsible for leading one of them; so, he needed the caffeine to get through his day. His schedule was so busy that he couldn’t go back out to buy coffee, and couldn’t go back home to make himself a proper cup. Damn. It was against his every rule for coffee consumption to drink that which had not been made by him and to his particular specifications. Well, there was nothing to do now but go into the office’s lounge and drink the fluid that might just pass for coffee.

Minho’s coworkers looked up as they saw him move toward the lounge. Was he really going to drink coffee here? they whispered among themselves. They remained quiet as he passed, not wanting to disturb him in case his lack of coffee unleashed a hitherto unseen wrath (or wraith, even).

As he pushed open the door of the lounge, Minho made a noise of disgust as he took in the smell: a ground-in kind of odor from years of low quality coffee that had seeped into the wood and cushions of the lounge’s chairs and sofa. But today, there was a sweetness floating over the sourness of the smell of old, bad coffee. Perhaps someone had simply brought coffee from the outside world into the room and the dregs still lingered in a cup in the recycling.

Resigning himself to drinking the coffee—Maybe if he gulped down the horrid stuff, he could just get it over with?—Minho took down one of the mugs kept in the cabinet above the coffee maker. As he poured the dark liquid into the cup, a richly sweet and nutty smell met his nose.

Wait, what?

This was the communal coffee pot in the employee lounge of his office. Good coffee pouring out of that pot shouldn’t be possible. Surely his senses were fooling him and the taste would be just as weak and grimy as it had been the one other time he’d made the mistake of trying it.

Gingerly, he stirred a little cream into the mug. Squeezing his eyes shut as if to ward off the assuredly inherent shitty-ness of the coffee, Minho hesitantly raised the mug to his lips and sipped.

His eyes flew open in surprise. This was some of the best coffee he’d ever tasted. Minho took another sip, savoring the taste of the brew. He was stunned, absolutely stunned. He had to find out who had made this wonderful coffee. It was imperative to his proper functioning, since this coffee would now be a regular feature of his daydreams.

During each of his meetings that day, Minho took a minute at the end to ask if anyone knew who’d made the coffee that day. No one knew. With each shake of someone’s head and each “No” he heard, Minho became increasingly more frustrated. How could no one know who’d made the coffee?

The next day, he asked around the office again, but still, no one knew. On the third day, Minho decided to stop asking his coworkers for fear of seeming obsessed, despite the fact that he really was obsessed with the question of who had made that coffee.

Several weeks passed with Minho occasionally checking, with the utmost secrecy, the contents of the office’s communal coffee pot. It was uniformly horrible. But after a full month of furtive coffee sampling, Minho’s work paid off.

It was a Friday morning and he’d ambled into the break room to just spend some time away from the (non-existent) noise of the office. He was surprised to find someone already there … making coffee.

“Hello, Mr. Lee,” she said brightly. “How are you this morning?”

Minho stared at the young woman as she continued making the coffee. So, this is our new hire, he thought, noting the grace with which she moved.

“Mr. Lee?” she prompted.

Minho shook himself. “I’m sorry,” he searched his memory for her name, “Ms. L/N, isn’t it? I’m well, thank you. I hope you’re having a stress-free morning.” Minho leaned against the wall by the counter where Y/N methodically measured tablespoon after tablespoon of rich, dark coffee into the coffee maker. He noticed that it had been cleaned, too. “Do you make coffee here often, Ms. L/N?”

Damn it, that sounded like the worst pick-up line ever, Minho chided himself.

Y/N laughed softly. “Not really, since I’ve only been here a month, Mr. Lee. Would you like a cup when I’m done making this?”

“Oh, yes. Thanks,” Minho said, still in a bit of a daze. Huh, did she make that delicious coffee, then?

“Is it alright if I add some cardamom? I think it gives the coffee a deep, interesting flavor,” Y/N said before she closed the lid of the appliance.

Minho thought he’d died and gone to heaven in that moment; all he could do was nod. Y/N produced a small container of cardamom—she said she’d ground it that morning—and added a bit to the ground coffee. Minho watched as Y/N finished preparing the coffee, thinking to himself. Then, they sat in surprisingly easy silence as the smell of brewing coffee began to suffuse the room, filling Minho’s world. Leaning back in a chair, Y/N had a blissful look on her face at the aroma.

The coffee maker made a gurgling noise as it shut off, and Y/N rose to her feet. She withdrew two mugs from the cabinet, then went to her bag and produced a thermos and a jar of honey. Minho looked on as Y/N poured out the coffee, then measured out honey into one mug.

“Would you like some?” she asked, proffering the honey.

“Definitely,” Minho said, excitedly. “I rarely meet anyone else who puts honey in their coffee.” He smiled, dropping his earlier formal manner.

“Really? It’s the best. You know,” Y/N continued, spooning honey into his mug, “I’ve never met anyone else—other than a Turkish friend, at least—who puts cardamom in their coffee.”

“I had it when I was traveling and fell in love,” Minho said, then cleared his throat self-consciously. How was he talking with her this easily? “And, Ms. L/N, you’re welcome to call me Minho. You are, after all, the Assistant to the Artistic Director here, so our positions are equal.”

“Oh! Well, in that case, my name is Y/N.” She grinned and opened the metal canister, which Minho saw was full of cream. “Do you want to put yours in? I know people are particular about cream in drinks.”

Taking the thermos, Minho thanked Y/N and noticed that his heartbeat was pounding a little louder than he expected. Then again, perhaps not so unexpectedly as he was about to drink what he knew would be delicious coffee. He poured in just enough cream to turn the coffee the color of dark amber, then brought the mug to his lips.

“Enjoy!” Y/N said, smiling brightly as she took back her thermos and stowed it and the other containers in her bag.

Minho took a sip, and almost dropped the mug in surprise. It was just like the coffee he had tasted several weeks ago, and, really, even better. He savored the coffee, taking sip after sip as Y/N looked on.

“Is it good?” Y/N asked hesitantly, not drinking from her own mug yet.

“It’s delicious, Y/N, it really is,” Minho sighed, feeling as if he were drinking ambrosia. “Did you happen to make coffee for the office a few weeks ago?”

Surprise overtook pride on Y/N’s face as she chirped, “Yeah, I did! Did you have some then?”

“I’ve been trying to find who’d made that coffee ever since,” Minho said, smiling at how odd that must sound. “I just really like coffee, and yours was incredible.”

Y/N blushed furiously and tried to hide her face by taking a sip from her own mug. “Thanks, Minho” she murmured. “I’m glad you liked it!”

Minho couldn’t help but smile softly at how cute Y/N looked when he complimented her coffee. Her dimples even came out when she smiled.

How is she that pretty? Minho groaned to himself. Shit. Well, what do I have to lose?

“Y/N,” Minho said tentatively, and Y/N looked up, her cheeks still pink. “So, there’s this coffee shop I love to go to and they have all sorts of unusual blends—it’s really quite lovely. Forgive me for being so forward, but may I take you there? I’m sure you’d enjoy it!” He rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. “But only if you’d like, and it doesn’t have to be anything more than two coworkers getting coffee together. I don’t mean to sound like I’m asking you out or anything,” Minho rambled, then stopped, knowing he’d probably said too much already.

“I’d love to!” Y/N said, her eyes sparkling. “Maybe we will be two friends getting coffee … or maybe something else?”

Minho’s eyes went wide in amazement as he made a little noise that could be taken as a question or a plea for clarification.

Y/N shrugged as she picked up her bag and went over to the door. “You’ll have to wait and see,” she said and winked, leaving Minho to stand in the office lounge, staring at the door.

Still unable to process his luck—was that it?—Minho took another sip of coffee. It was just as delicious as Y/N was sweet. This was going to be quite interesting indeed.

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pridewhatpride · 4 years ago

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I like Higurashi a lot too! Did you like Gou? I liked the opening and the animation but didn't really like Gou overall. But I know people have varied heavily on Gou so I'd love to know your thoughts. My personal favorite season od Higurashi is the first tho or Rei.

Long post alert. Putting a cut right here so people don't have to scroll if they don't care.

Personally I wasn't a fan of the style initially- it's... too pretty and neat? I did change my mind because I rewatched the Studio Deen one recently enough and... well. The polish in the animation does give off the wrong vibe, but not in a 'it's cool because it's jarring' kind of way. In a 'this shouldn't look like pretty candy in a box' way. We all know what Higurashi is. Luckily enough, they managed to make some scenes work- pretty animation oftentimes cancels out the drama because you can't distort it without making it look off (reasons why I love the art direction of Masaaki Yuasa, but that's a different topic). In general I get why people might say that it looks better than it actually is- however.

I could go on about the opening, its meaning and its visuals for like... actual ages. I'll spare you that or save it for another post.

I liked Gou a lot and it's all because of the character drama between Rika and Satoko. I know that apparently there is a strong connection with the gods of Umineko, but honestly I haven't played that (it's... long. Really long). Overall, what makes Higurashi enjoyable for me is the character tension, not the horror per se. I loved the Mion-Shion bits in the original, the big question mark that Rena was throughout the whole first season. Keiichi is there (I don't hate him, he makes the series work, but he's absolutely the least interesting one). Rika turned out to be the protagonist when I thought it would always be Keiichi Maebara... In general, it's the characters. The plot is pretty good, too, you never have a clue what is going on and sometimes nobody tells you outright- I think that's great.

People will shit on Gou and the beginning of Sotsu a lot, I can see why- to some what we had was satisfying and the sequel feels like a glorified remake. Yes. I get it. But Satoko. Try and tell me Satoko didn't come off as the most useless character, with the only nuance to her being that she has a brother and her uncle is trash. Like- that is an hyperbole- I loved the arcs that covered her backstory and her feelings towards Keiichi. But I watched Gou and I thought... hey. She isn't just a child who had bad things happen to her. She is the trickster of the story, the joker. Satoko Hojo is a cool character and I understand her motivations. It's warped and wrong, but it's so human. She doesn't want Rika to leave, as simple as that. Who would want to be left alone? After all that? There is nothing worse to me than the idea of a neverending nightmare that just keeps looping. And from Rika's perspective it's so fucking terrifying. She's been in control, always, all the time. She always knew what was up, or at least more than everyone else. And all of sudden that isn't the case anymore.

... Imagine a bad addiction- one you struggled to get out of. It's been years. You've stopped. You're happy. Then you wake up one morning and your progress is gone. You relapse. You drown in everything that the addiction was to you once more- but you can't do anything to stop, because you're not the one actively acting, you're subject to the course of events. Rika has never been a pawn, but now she is- the pawn Satoko wants so desperately to bring under her command. And she's alone. Hanyuu is gone, because Hanyuu was a mistake that was never meant to happen- Featherine is her real identity and she's the real Oyashiro. She's the one who's to be feared. The powers Rika had were nothing, they didn't mean anything at all.

I love stories of twisted love like that. Satorika isn't and will never be a healthy relationship, but it's the star of the show in Gou and Sotsu. Rika was trying to solve things, she still is. Satoko is a calculating force of chaos who is forcing the hand of fate and is backed by a goddess who will simply giggle at all the misfortune she has to cause.

It's... kinda beautiful, to me. It's all wrong, it's all desperate and absolutely sick. That's what I look for in Higurashi. The first few series were about Rika's hope in escaping Hinamizawa. Gou and Sotsu are about the desperation that comes when the carefully crafted hope born from a shared effort are torn apart by the person you trust the most.

I can see why maybe the execution isn't perfect. I can see why people would dislike it. Maybe I think about it too much. Maybe if I rewatched it I would talk about missed opportunities and bad scenes. Who knows. What I do know is that if I draw art for a series, it's because it's left a mark and has left me thinking about it. Gou reawakened my love for Higurashi and I enjoyed the hell out of it. I am going to enjoy the hell out of Sotsu, too, I think.

#mmmhhh i let myself be carried away oops.#might plug i believe what you said so you can listen to it while you read lol #higurashi #higurashi no naku koro ni #higurashi gou #higurashi no naku koro ni gou #higurashi sotsu #higurashi no naku koro ni sotsu #higurashi when they cry

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crimsonbluemoon · 5 years ago

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15 & 5 for Daithi de Wildcat ples Ó w Ò

*quietly chants* spoiled spoiled spoiled spoiled spoiled... I should be more upset about this, but she’s Kihorri so XD

Ship: Daithi De Wildcat Number: 15/5 Prompt: Calming them down when they have a bad dream/Giving them a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed

Nogla knew his boyfriend was tough.

It was part of his cute charm, despite what all of their friends said. It might have had something to do with him being a soldier just back from a tour. Nogla hadn’t known Tyler before his military experience, only meeting him when going for the ride to pick up Brian’s childhood friend from the airport. It’d been a quick connection that Nogla dived head first into. Tyler resisted for three months before kissing him between insults after Nogla fell off a balcony at a Fourth of July party.

Tyler could scowl and growl with the best of them, and that tended to get him a bad reputation. But Nogla wasn’t fooled by his glares; there was a soft person inside the bulkier body. They’d been dating for seven months now, and despite the little snarks and sarcasm, Tyler was a good boyfriend. Tyler remembered things about him, like his favorite playlist or his coffee order, that sometimes even Nogla forgot. It was sweet, in its own quirky way, even if Tyler pretended not to do anything nice.

So when he was woken up by violent shaking beside him, Nogla knew it was his rare moment to shine.

“You’re okay, Tyler.” He kept his voice calm and steady, but didn’t touch Tyler while he was still asleep. He’d learned from mistakes before that physical soothing didn’t help during the violent nightmares that still plagued his boyfriend from his time across the ocean. Nogla glanced to the clock, clearing his throat to shove down the sleep. “It’s 3:12am. You’re in our apartment in Los Angeles, California. It’s a humid night, shitty weather. It never gets like this in Ireland, ya know? Should just move ya there, keep ya nice and cold to keep these nightmares from coming after you like this. Ma could make a nice stew, ya know? It’d have lots of potatoes-”

“Shuddup.” The groggy voice wasn’t loud, but enough for Nogla to know his quiet ramblings had done their part. This wasn’t the first time Tyler’s nightmares had woken him up, and he was sure it would not be the last. Each time, Nogla had taken notice of something new; humid nights and beaches reminded Tyler of the desert. A nightmare was guaranteed after any death anniversary of a soldier he knew. The sharp accent of Nogla tended to yank him away from the memories of his troop. None of them were Irish, so it ‘jarred’ the reality presented in his mind.

Now that Tyler was awake, Nogla scooted closer, placing a comforting hand against the side of his still shaking boyfriend. “Hey. What level we at, babe?”

Tyler didn’t like to talk about his emotions, especially after his nightmares. His therapist had found a color system for the two to use in moments of Tyler’s vulnerability, which Nogla dedicated to memory despite being told not to several times by the solider.

“...Yellow.” The color wasn’t the worst, and the nights Tyler had an orange or red were tougher to shake him out of. Blue and green were better, only needing some water or music for him to slip back into sleep. Yellow was somewhere in the middle, and Nogla curled himself around Tyler’s stiff back like a second layer of clothes.

“Thanks for telling me.”

“You’d fucking bug me if I didn’t.” The darkness of the room didn’t hide Tyler’s palms rising up to his eyes, pressing into them to rub away the terrible scenes behind his lids. Nogla would never know how it felt to live the life of a soldier; he’d been far too passive to lay his life on the line for ideals he didn’t know he agreed with. But Tyler, his strong, beautiful, tormented boyfriend, had. Wrapping his arm around the warm waist, he bumped his knobby knees behind Tyler’s.

A grunt showed Tyler was irritated, but not at Nogla; he was shaken by his own mind. Probably embarrassed despite having no reason to be. He sometimes treated his survival like a shameful badge, trying to hide it away from Nogla. But the way the powerful back pressed back into his chest, instead of jerking away like two months ago, proved he desired the affection. Nogla nosed into the back of Tyler’s neck gently, placing a kiss to the top of his spine to show he’d heard his need.

“Go back to sleep, okay? I’m gonna be right here when ya wake up,” he whispered, the promise rolled over the clammy skin.

Tyler didn’t speak up again, only dropping his hands away from his face and burying it back into his pillow. Nogla didn’t mention that he could tell Tyler had cried, knowing that he was too raw at the moment to speak about it. Some nights, words just weren’t needed when comfort could be given in other ways. So Nogla held him tighter, making sure to stay awake long enough to feel the stomach under his touch even in it’s breathing. Still, he lingered, probably longer than he should have if the hint of the morning light was anything to go by.

He wasn’t sure when his eyes finally lost their battle with sleep, but he knew the soft pressure against his lips that woke him up. He hummed out a noise that was caught between surprise and annoyance, but easily kissed the warm mouth back. Slanted from how Tyler was leaning over him, it wasn’t their best, but Nogla’s tummy still fluttered with happiness. Affection and love were easy for him to pour over his boyfriend, so moments where Tyler initiated romance were presents he treasured. The kiss lingered for a few wonderful seconds before the minty taste was gone, Nogla’s eyes forcing themselves open in the daylight.

“Gotta go to work.” Tyler’s sentence was a drop of disappointment in Nogla’s pleased mind, knowing they wouldn’t be able to share breakfast. He liked to use their mornings after nightmares to check in on Tyler’s mental status and see if he needed to text Brian to ‘not have enough work at the station’ for Tyler to come in. He did a quick assessment of his boyfriend’s face and posture, not seeing any of the tension or signs that’d imply the dreams still haunted him.

“Bring home dinner from that diner by the fire station,” Nogla mumbled, grabbing the blankets and yanking them closer to his shoulder before closing his eyes again.

“Dumbass, we have food here.” But the rough kiss pressed to his forehead as he slipped back toward sleep meant Tyler was going to spoil him.

“Thanks.” He yawned through the word, ears barely picking up on the creaking boards when Tyler walked toward the doorway.

“Yeah, you too.” He didn’t need to question what Tyler was grateful for.

And with a smile on his face, Nogla curled into the pillow that smelt like his boyfriend before falling asleep.

#kihoori #Daithi De Wildcat #DDW #I Am Wildcat #Daithi De Nogla #<3 #Crimson Drabblez

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marshmallowprotection · 5 years ago

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For Saeran AE, do you think V was out of character? I only had played the first two beginning chat rooms and waiting for the 9am day 1 chat to open. It just doesn’t make sense on why V would do what he just did?

SPOILERS AHEAD. Again, don’t talk to me about the AE if it’s beyond the initial chatrooms at 0:00AM. I’ve made that very clear.

I don’t think he was out of character, per se. Jihyun is a very complex character and I’ve talked about this before. His reasoning at the end of Ray Route was that he could do what we did with Saeran. He thought that it would be best to love so much without reason and accept that loving Rika meant that he had to be kicked around and treated harshly. He wants to take the blame and hatred for anything that is to come and to happen ahead. Trust me, he’s got a Martyr complex, he’s always trying to sacrifice himself and I hate that for him. He’s trapped in this very abusive relationship, and he’s made mistakes too.

Now he thinks he’s at the point of no return and he’s committed to the act. He was willing to let everyone hate him. He did what he did and played the role of someone that turned against his friends and loved ones. Did you not see the look on his face as he did it? He let them know that he was turning against all of us but not harming us specifically.

You have to look at his face out of the CG and during the point at which every single person starts to fall over in the meeting room.

And yes, his face is dark here. I was saying to myself as I was playing this that either Rika messed him up or he’s committed to his path of destruction so he is able to burn away from his sins that he thinks he made. I don’t know what to go and think about it because it did jar me for a moment when Unknown’s theme started to play and my already sinking feeling was growing when it kept giving me the prompt to talk about V.

So, I knew something was fucked.

And compare this face to the CG. This is the face that he uses during Another Story when he feels guilty. He knows that he’s doing wrong here and he’s merely doing it because this is apart of his sins. His darkness... what he has to face for what he feels like he did wrong to the boys and to Rika. However, he knows about Saeyoung and...

I fear that Rika has either teamed up with Saejoong, or there’s more to talk about on that front. Again, I don’t know for sure because I’m not playing ahead or buying the chats in advanced. This is pure speculation on my part so I don’t know if anyone knows differently than me. Don’t tell me, either. I want to learn on my own. So, something is up with Saejoong who is in hiding. I don’t know if it’s with Rika, or if he and Rika are trying to—

I don’t know, save him. I don’t know if Rika is working with Saejoong because the two of them disappeared from the public eye. What if V is trying to stop the two of them together? But he wants to burn with them because we all know that he thinks he’s irredeemable.

At the end of the day, I don’t think he’s out of character. I think that he is just playing the part that he accepts. He does the same thing in the Secret Ending when he “turns” against them and comes to take everyone from the cabin on his own back to Mint Eye because “Rika” told him to do it. So, honestly, this really shouldn’t be giving any of you whiplash.

V plays the part very well when he wants to play the villain, at least, wants everyone to blame him and kick him aside too.

This felt a lot more jarring because it was the entire RFA involved and not just Saeyoung, MC, Vanderwood, and Saeran. I think that’s why more people are upset and confused on the matter. It’s easy to forget that fact! The Secret End was so long ago for a lot of us and it’s not on anyone’s mind. I hate that he’s doing this to himself.

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starkeristheendgame · 6 years ago

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Shameless IronFam type friendly violence and fluff? Don't mind if I do. As requested, cute w no smut. No TW bar possibly light, consensual combative training. I was also a massive noob and posted the original ask with like two words written so I'm so sorry but it's just a screenshot of the original ask 💔

Peter was used to unusual wake-ups. The Avengers Alert system blaring; people crashing through his bedroom walls; a Pomeranian that was actually an alien that had escaped the Guardians on their way to document it before returning it home.

The usual type of unusual.

Being slapped awake by a boxing glove was by no means the most unusual or unpleasant, but he still jerked awake with a yell, flailing for a moment before his senses stopped doing the tango and Tony's smug face came into focus.

"You didn't sense that coming?" Tony asked, clicking his tongue. Peter blinked.

"I was asleep?" He defended questioningly, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The boxing glove was red with a gold velcro band, and proclaimed S.I across the knuckles.

"Spidey-Senses? What Spidey-Senses? Get dressed. You have an hour" Tony announced before waltzing out of the room. Tony himself could be considered unusual, especially since coming into Peter's room wasn't exactly a habit. His mentor was actually the one that afforded him the most privacy.

Peter lay there for a moment, dazedly staring at the door before JARVIS piped up softly.

"Sir would like me to add that you are to meet him at the gym, and appropriate attire for training should be worn".

"Thanks, J" Peter murmured, and threw off the covers. He went through his usual morning routine, sans the shower because he would need one after 'training' regardless.

When he entered the kitchen, Steve Rogers was hunched protectively over a bowl of honey hoops, eyeing the kitchen around him warily and inspecting his spoon before eating.

"Morning, Queens" the Captain greeted him cheerfully, and eyed another spoonful before carefully chewing. Peter watched him for a moment before his gaze slid across to the other counter, where a micro sized Antman lurked, poised in a crouch.

"Morning, Captain Brooklyn".

Scott caught his eye and threw him a mock salute as Peter passed to get a Hot Pocket, and Peter snuck a waggle of his fingers in return, careful not to alert Steve.

So it seemed The Great Prank Wars bad begun again. Peter would have to remember to be on high alert.

"Off to do some training?" Steve asked after another wary bite, arms covering his bowl as his attention raised to Peter, who nodded cheerfully, though he looked a little puzzled.

"Apparently. Mr. Stark hit me with a glove then told me to get ready. I think maybe it's that boxing stuff that he and Mr. Happy do?" He hummed thoughtfully.

"Well, whatever it is, you'll do great. Clint says he can't wait to get his hands on you" Steve smiled reassuringly, and looked at his cereal suspiciously when his spoon wobbled.

Peter tried not to think of that in a sexual manner as he took his HotPocket and made his exit, not wanting to be caught in the cross fire of whatever cereal based war was about to initiate.

He ate his breakfast quickly, and sat on his phone for a while to get it digest. His fast metabolism meant it look half the time it would a normal person, and he was already warming up by the time Tony came sauntering into the gym.

Peter's throat went a little dry at the sight of the man in fitted, breathable gym gear, but he controlled himself with a stern internal talk, and greeted Tony with a broad grin, bouncing on his toes.

"What's first, Mr. Stark?" He asked, and the boxing glove smacked him in the face again.

"Hmm. Well I'd say your reflexes, but...Maybe someone like Clint would be better for that. We're gonna look at your combative style" Tony hummed, approaching and stooping to pick up the glove. Peter kept a wary side-eye on it.

"Swing out of reach lots, try to web them like burritos and try not to get hit" Peter responded confidently.

Tony blinked. Blew out a breath. "Oh, boy. And I made you an Avenger. Alright; let's start". Peter frowned but obliged as Tony guided him through a warm-up style workout, checked how he formed a fist and his stances.

"Well, at least you know how not to break your hand" Tony announced cheerfully, unaware of how Peter's cheeks burned as Tony cradled his fist.

"I watched a YouTube tutorial" he beamed, and Tony sighed again.

"Okay. So. Standard braced fight stance" Tony encouraged, and Peter hesitantly shifted into it, knees slightly bent and shoulder width apart, loose but resting a little on the balls of his feet, ready to move.

"Good start. You just..." Tony trailed off, reaching out and grasping Peter's hips gently. Peter blew out a breath but kept his expression schooled as Tony positioned him so his spine was a little straighter. "Getting there" the older man murmured, moving to his side, fingertips trailing slowly along his forearms to reposition them.

Tony smelled like fruity aftershave and coffee and Peter took a subtle breath, losing his concentration a little. "Okay. So this, here, is what I want whenever I ask for a 'one', okay?" Tony hummed, tapping at his temple, and Peter nodded.

And so it went. Peter practised his stances and his fist, and they begun a little on throwing punches before Tony called it quits. "Good job, kid" he breezed, clapping Peter on the shoulder as he passed and left the gym.

"No cool down?" Peter asked the empty room. When it didn't reply, he begun alone.

Tony didn't wake him up the next day, but he did accost Peter during brunch, slapping his hands down onto the table and making Peter jump, staring in dismay as his oatmeal flew from his spoon and onto the cabinet behind Tony.

"I wanted that" he pouted, and Tony gave him a look that was probably intended as apologetic, but fell a little short.

"When that's not gonna make you puke, but the gym. We're entering the next stage" Tony announced, before leaving like those mysterious characters in the movies.

Or Director Fury. He did that a lot.

Sundays were apparently days of rest, at least from Tony's training. The prank war had been in full, feral swing by Wednesday and the Avengers had suffered great damage.

On Thursday morning Clint had stepped into the common room and onto a hidden panel, and fell to his knees as a marble ball swung down and between his legs.

"Oh. Yeah. -10HP" he'd wheezed, before falling onto his face. Almost fifteen minutes later he was still there, and Steve picked him up by the back of his jacket, carrying him like a briefcase down to the infirmary.

Peter, a friendly natural, had only suffered salted cereal and frozen solid bedsheets so far. Training was always a neutral zone because of the ridiculous amount of skill and superpowers that made it risky on a general basis, and he and Tony had made leaps of progress.

Stances and fists were easy, and Peter already had a good foundation of fighting knowledge (even if most of it came from YouTube tutorials and trail/error). So the basics quickly became refining what he knew, and learning more about fighting on the ground, because admittedly Peter relied a little too much on his webs.

“Wait. So...What is this supposed to do?” Peter asked, from where he lay half-suspended in the air, draped over Tony’s thigh. Being close to his mentor hadn’t gotten any easier, especially not when Tony was literally within licking reach for half of their sessions.

“This” Tony responded simply, and Peter’s world spun in four different directions before he hit the floor, head an arm cradled carefully by Tony so the supposed face-plant and jarring neck and arm bend didn’t happen.

“Oh” Peter responded, and tried hard not to puke.

Three weeks later, and Peter and Tony were fighting.

Well. It was a friendly fight, and the Prank War was officially over after the President of Uruguay got thrown into a conscious time loop portal by mistake. But their training had progressed and now they were actually sparring, trading hits and practising moves in turn.

Peter was small, fast, and strong. Hard to catch and flighty. A colt, Tony called him, when Peter slipped from his grasp again. But Tony was quick too, strong, too, and had experience in combatives that Peter didn’t. More often than not, Peter found himself tripped up or caught out, walking straight into an open move that he hadn’t even realised he’d set himself up for or been unaware of.

“You’re good, kid” Tony huffed, shifting free of the leg-lock Peter had him in, tossing Peter backwards as he rolled to his feet. They were working on tackles and holds today, and Peter’s libido was begging for reprieve. These past three weeks he’d been so affected by the training he’d invested in some soothing aloe gel.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark. You’re not so bad yourself” Peter grinned, and yelled when Tony did a move that didn’t seem physically possible, world spinning as they tumbled and rolled and...

And Tony ended up above him, braced and with Peter’s legs caught and trapped, one arm held fast by the wrist and twisted a little, so he was sort of like a pretzel. It seemed tight and impossible and Mr. Stark was right there above him and.

“Aw, fuck” Peter whined. Tony grinned, kept his grip steady and adjusted his knees so he was firmer, steadier. Peter felt trapped and tangled and held fast and Tony gripped him, let him squirm and writhe but didn’t give him any room to make a real difference.

“J, start the timer. You got twenty seconds to get outta this, any way you can” Tony breathed. Peter squirmed. Wriggled. Even ducked his head to try and bite Tony’s arm, but the older men jerked him taut and held him fast, and even Peter’s semi-free leg couldn’t get anywhere.

And Tony was still above him, so close Peter felt a little cross-eyed looking at him. He was a little sweaty and his mouth looked plush and inviting, and Tony was grinning at him so softly and breathing in short little pants and.

Peter kissed him.

A plush, firm press of their mouths, desperate and sweet, a perfect fit despite the clumsy start. Tony’s lips were soft, with the slight ridge of a scar, his stubble prickly on the corners of Peter’s mouth.

Peter pulled back.

Tony hovered above him, eyes mouth and mouth slack. It took Peter a bare few moments to realise that his grip had also gone slack, and he jerked, throwing Tony sideways and pulling his leg free, rolling with him and grappling the lax body until it was Peter on top, but he wasn’t pinning him.

They lay there, breathing heavily and staring, and it felt like all time had stopped, lost in the amber swirl of Tony’s eyes until a shrill sound had them both jumping, Peter’s knee hitting square between Tony’s legs and Tony’s own knee landing heavy at Peter’s kidney.

Groaning they fell apart, clutching their injured areas as the alarm cut off and into nothing.

“Good thing I’ve technically got you as an heir. I think you just cut off any other chances” Tony wheezed, and Peter pushed himself up onto an elbow, one hand hovering regretfully over Tony’s hip.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry! I didn’t - There was nowhere else for my leg to go! Is it...Bad?” He asked, and winced when Tony shot him an evil side-eye. It took them both almost a full ten minutes to get from floor to elevator, and from elevator to infirmary, where Tony sat on the edge of a hospital bed, thighs spread and ice-pack pressed gingerly to the crotch of his sweatpants.

“Well. I guess you got out of it” Tony spoke after a long pause where they sat quietly, staring at their respective spots on the floor. Peter gave a weak smile, fingertips absently rubbing at his mouth. He’d kissed Tony Stark. The Tony Stark.

Peter Parker had kissed Iron Man.

“Stop smiling like that” Tony grumped, and Peter tried to oblige, but the smile felt encompassing. “Seriously. You look like the Joker if Disney designed him” Tony groused, but Peter could only duck his head to try and hide the stubborn grin.

“I really feel like we should talk about it. But talking is...Not my fortè. At all. Steve makes a good middle man. You could talk to Steve. And then Steve would have to talk to someone else because if he tries to talk to me I might punch his pretty teeth in, but - Peter. What are you -?”

Tony didn’t get to finish, because Peter leaned down, catching his mouth in another kiss. Shorter, more chaste, and infinitely mindful of Tony’s tenderness.

“I don’t wanna talk to Steve” Peter mumbled, and Tony let out a slow, steady breath.

“Good”.

They stared at each other for a little while longer, before Tony sighed and slumped. “We’re gonna have to talk about this, kid. I’m supposed to be an adult. Fuck. I am the adult. I’m the fifty year old adult. I’m basically your Grandfather”.

“Well...I always used to say ‘It’s Daddy, not Grand-Daddy, but...I can make an exception” Peter grinned, and Tony threw the ice pack at him.

#fanfic #starker #starker fic #starker fanfic #starker fanfiction #ironspider #ironspider fic #ironspider fanfic #ironspider fanfiction #starker prompt #ironspider prompt #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker/tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #sie fics

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aijee · 4 years ago

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hello aijee!! what are your thoughts on mingyu and wonwoo's bittersweet?

Oh anon. Oh anon, anon, anon. I have very many feelings about this remarkable intersection of ley lines. I’m sure the WWxMG spheres of the Internet are in some state of madness, and I felt like my meager offerings would be nothing in comparison. But you are now my excuse to write up a Pandora's box answer that I've done my best to organize below the cut. It’s honestly not that exhaustive, but I have to catch a flight soon.

The short of it is: I really liked it! It was nice to see WW/MG doing something distinctly not hip-hop, or eye candy-centric, or “let’s fight over this random girl for no reason other than to give (female) fans the feeling of being sandwiched between two hot guys.” The urban imagery was also wonderful. I’m a big, big sucker for Japanese films set in cities in the 80s/90s, so this video definitely hit a specific aesthetic nerve for me. ALSO LEEHI MY BAE!!

But, fair disclaimer, I do have some reservations. Nothing is perfect!

The song itself

It was refreshing to hear a softer song with WW and MG doing so much of the vocals. I’m so used to eleven other guys contributing (I’m personally a bigger fan of the group/non-solo tracks), it was almost jarring to hear only two male voices in something very much not hip-hop or rapping. And LeeHi? My ex-YG BABEE?? I honestly wished I heard more of her!! And saw her in the video! Her voice was a perfect addition to a song that sounds more, as its name suggests, bittersweet.

I feel like all three of the artists involved have a much more dynamic range that could have been utilized, even for a muted tone. The song overall doesn’t really stand out to me, especially within Seventeen’s wonderful discography and selection of ballads. The instrumental was kinda weak ngl. But I still very much enjoyed the song! The lyrics from an English-speaking standpoint were also very lovely and definitely struck the heart on my sleeve, as you can imagine from the types of themes I tend to write about. Kudos to MG and WW for participating in it! Always love seeing SVT showing off their creative chops.

The video/cinematography

Frankly, I wasn’t impressed by it. 3.5/5 stars. I’m personally not a big fan of the blurry type of slow motion. I get that, perhaps, it was meant to evoke a sense of reminiscing on old memories, which can be blurry and choppy. But I felt like those extra seconds could have been used for more evocative cinematography between the trio or combinations thereof. There was so much potential to have a more unified sense of “story.” I felt like the acting really carried it, but overall the visual artistry didn’t hold together in my opinion.

I also thought that the imagery paired with the lyrics was often too on-the-nose. (Take this with a grain of salt from someone who doesn’t know Korean, only the official English translations.) In other words, I thought that the shots could be too literal when paired with the lyrics.Yes, yes, eyes are are meeting but something still feels far apart because the girl ain’t lookin at WW. Yes, yes, the scent of a moment fills hands because we see a glass of alcohol in presumably WW’s hand. I do like that the lyrics actually match the video to some degree (since so many Kpop MVs are just dancing in a fancy room), but, again, it felt too one-to-one without much thought otherwise.

Also, those AirPods lmao. I don’t know why, but that took me out of the immersion. WW and MG had one each, and I’d be knocking furniture down at that observation if they both weren’t wearing right-side pods, thus eliminating the possibility of sharing. Imagine!! Turning the act of sharing AirPods into something symbolic! Remembering things when someone else “plays that old tune”, being disconnected and connected at the same time, etc. To think that I’d be yell-writing about the potential symbolism of AirPods...

The duo/trio

My first thought seeing this video was: Are Mingyu and Wonwoo okay with this? They clearly had a say in the lyrics, so I feel like they’re okay. Instinctually, I get concerned about how a company can push idols pairings in official content to the point of undermining the real-life relationship; I felt like WW, as a naturally shyer and introverted person, stepped back from the WonGyu pairing at some point. I think this was a bigger concern in the group’s earlier years, and I feel like they and the fandom have matured significantly over time. Fans reading this are certainly free to educate me on their takes regarding this, since I follow Seventeen’s official content more (as much as I am able to, at least) than fan content, like fancams, and I try not to make too many legit assumptions based on official content.

All this being said, I think they looked really comfortable with each other in the video! Which I loved the most, honestly. The premise didn’t didn’t feel like guys fighting over a girl (yawn). I’m not a fan of the overused K-Pop trope of “let’s have a random girl act as a stand-in for fans to feel like they’re being pursued by their oppars.” I felt like, while MG and WW expressed clear interest in the girl, there was interest expressed in each other as well—especially MG towards WW in my opinion, cont’d below. And the interest was never forced to be romantic, even though it could be! LOVE that for them. (I highly recommend reading up on “queer platonic relationships”, which a friend of mine taught me recently. Made the mistake of writing “romantic” instead of “platonic” so sorry 😬)

Motherfuckin Kim Mingyu AKA my interpretation of the story

*I did read the little summary in the description box about “three longtime friends”, but I’m choosing to ignore it because I don’t think the video portrays that well and I like my interpretation better haha!

That sequence of WW putting a hat on MG, with WW’s fond but exasperated face of a hyung (I’m okay, not okay).

The cut from that shot of WW and the girl breathing heavy and looking at MG, to MG staring vacantly behind a rained-on glass window (I close my eyes but thoughts of you...).

The way MG steps out first into the rain and smiles back at WW in that last sequence of shots (Eyes meeting but hearts apart); MG looks so content despite the sadness usually meant to be evoked by dramatic rain sequences.

As someone who normally connects with WW, I really connected to MG’s character this time around. I interpreted MG’s character as going through a really complex series of emotions towards both the girl and WW, platonic, romantic or otherwise. It’s hard to pin down, but the small age difference between him and WW felt so much more apparent in the MV. I almost got the impression that maybe MG’s character felt new, naive and lost in the city (he has a few shots of wandering or being in front of urban areas). Then he found stability with the girl and WW, the consequence being the whirlwind of feelings he must be experiencing because of them. I wish there was more exposition hinting at what happened to the girl, since she sorta just...blipped out of existence by the end.

At the start of the MV, WW’s character looked like he was at the end of his rope, drinking away his woes, maybe because of what seems like a nice job based on the suit. But then he found solace in the female bartender, who was kind and had open ears. The two of them became friends (maybe more, perhaps one-sided in WW’s disfavor). Then WW met MG through her. He saw MG’s character as a cute dongsaeng to be nice to, mostly on the whims of the girl, even dancing with them after closing time. But maybe WW’s character started having complicated feelings for MG’s character throughout it all. He started seeing MG more (more than the girl? Hard to say), based on how he was staring at MG at the end of the running sequence at around 2:08, not even looking back at the girl. He ended up liking MG so much, that he followed MG into the rain despite them both avoiding it, staying indoors, before the end sequence.

That’s sort of the dirty and quick of my initial thoughts. Honestly, I wish I had the energy and speed to throw out a proper written work because I LOVE stories that are basically just complicated feelings with relationship boundaries that are hard to define. Also, gotta say, that little sassy look the female actress gave at around 0:30 was real cute. 👀

#askaijee #might as well be an aijeepost

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svprncva · 4 years ago

Text

𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁

𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Alex 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚂: She/Her 𝙰𝙶𝙴: 26 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚉𝙾𝙽𝙴: CDT (GMT-5) 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙶𝙴𝚁𝚂: None

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁

𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Sirius Black 𝙰𝙶𝙴: 21 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂: Pureblood ( begrudgingly ) 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙸𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙵𝙰𝙲𝙴 𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙼: Samuel Larsen, Jordan Rodrigues, Sebastian de Souza 𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙴𝚁 𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙷 & 𝙲𝚄𝚁𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝙸𝚃𝙻𝙴: Sirius Black in a position of authority, can you believe it? He certainly couldn’t, not when the Cannons first approached him about accepting a coaching position. Sure, he had a brief stint as a beater on Gryffindor’s team, but a poor practice attendance record and a penchant for less-than-textbook sportsmanship on the pitch ensured that he didn’t last a season beyond his fourth year. He was by no means an authority on technique or strategy when the job was handed to him, though judging by the Cannons’s previous season, no one on the team seemed to have a grasp on such matters. Vastly under-qualified, Sirius accepted the position as assistant coach and started the next week. After a single day on the pitch, he realized why they had come to him. They didn’t need another mastermind, they needed unity, and Sirius’s reputation for rallying the dead preceded him. If anyone could spark a flame from a dying ember, it’s Sirius Black. And if they need a morale booster to masquerade as a coach, he’s more than happy to wear orange. 𝚀𝚄𝙸𝙳𝙳𝙸𝚃𝙲𝙷 𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙴𝙶𝙸𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴: Chudley Cannons 𝚆𝙰𝚁 𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙴𝙶𝙸𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴: Order of the Phoenix 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝚁𝙲: There are a thousand ways to sugar coat it, but quite frankly, life isn’t easy for Sirius at the moment. He’s always been cursed to be trapped between who he was and who he aspires to be, but since graduating from Hogwarts, each year has come with apathetic standardization of the world. Gone are the days where black was black and white was white. Now gray surrounds him, dogs his every step and haunts his dreams. See, when he was younger, his moral compass was perfectly aligned. No, he wasn’t a saint, but it was easy enough to look around and figure out what he should be doing, thinking, saying. Anything that angered his family and made his friends grin was bound to be a step in the right direction, another leap towards becoming the man he always felt he could be. Redundancy solidified certain behaviors, but after he stepped foot off the Hogwarts Express for the final time, he was forced to realize that a life can’t be dictated by the reactions of other people, try as he may. Graduation meant it was time to carve out a place for himself in the world -- this time without real-time feedback from professors, friends, enemies. Sirius had the rest of his life to establish, and the freedom of choice began to take its toll after a year or two of liberties. Never did Sirius expect freedom to be his downfall, but as drunken nights gave way to midday sunrises, he could feel himself sinking into the guilt of the stagnant. He’d spent the entirety of his teenage years in the pursuit of becoming a good man, and he spent the first few years of his adult life believing he had somehow achieved that goal. But the empty whiskey bottles and crumpled bed sheets read otherwise, and someone was wise enough to tell him that not everyone that happened to join the Order was inherently good. It jarred him, that conversation. War beckons good men to conduct bad deeds -- and at the end, when the victor has been declared, who is to say that the guilt of those deeds won’t outweigh their intent? Extrinsic guidance ripped away, Sirius was forced to begin the arduous process of making his own mistakes, learning the weight of regret, the sleeplessness of second thoughts. It motivated him initially, but a lack of experience brought about failure. He applied to be an Auror and was promptly rejected. He worked at the Leaky for a fortnight before throwing in the literal towel; the regulars came with more baggage than there was room. He even tried to work as an auto mechanic in Muggle London only to quit after being told on the daily to fabricate problems for income. The entire world was open to him, but he has yet to find a place within it. So when the Cannons offered him a coaching position, no matter how utterly absurd, Sirius accepted. He’d been recruited, told that there was a chance he could bring value to a team. He would never let it show, but he’s desperate to feel that sense of belonging he felt five years ago in the Common Room without a care in the world except for how to sneak in his next pack of smokes. After giving up his family and feeling friendships weaken amongst the war effort, he needs someplace -- someone -- to call home. And little does he know just how vulnerable that need makes him to the influence of the Insidio phenomenon. He’s staunchly against the mission of the Death Eaters, but he’s in search of open arms and with a high enough dose, he just may find them on the wrong side of the war.

𝙸𝙽 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆:

“'ELLO, HOWDY, HI - CAN I SPEAK TO YOU FOR A MOMENT? I JUST NEED A MOMENT OF YOUR TIME, HI, HELLO - HEY, I’M WITH THE QUIBBLER, YEAH! WOULD– GEEZ, WOULD YOU LIKE TO ANSWER A FEW QUESTIONS! IT’S FOR THE SPORTS COLUMN, ON PAGE 17, YOU CAN’T MISS IT!”

Sirius laughed as the overeager reporter stumbled up to him, seemingly tripping over invisible shoelaces. “The Quibbler, yeah? You’ve got about as good a reputation as my team,” he said. There was no need to elaborate on which team. His jumper was that awful shade of Cannon Orange, a brand unto itself. “Happy to give you a bit of content, though I fully expect to be front and center on the cover.” A quick smile, effortless if a bit tired. The Cannons had been grappling for pitch space recently, and that meant everyone’s schedule had to be... flexible, to say the least. He’d seen more sunrises than sunsets this week.

The reported nodded and brushed off the lapels of his coat. For as much a mess as he appeared, Sirius should have expected the upcoming boom of another innocent-yet-abrasively-delivered question. Should have. Instead, his brows shot towards his hairline as a stranger shouted at him from point-black distance. “HOW COME YA ALWAYS HANGING AROUND HERE?! DO YA WORK HERE OR SOMETHIN’?”

“Something like that. The Cannons keep putting galleons in my vault at the very least,” he answered, consciously keeping his tone level. It’d always been easy for Sirius to become swept up in the tides of other people, especially those with louder personalities. If he weren’t careful (or exhausted), the interview would devolve from interrogation to screaming match. “Sirius Black, assistant coach of the Chudley Cannons. If you need a snazzy byline, feel free to call me Quidditch’s Savior.”

The reporter softened a bit and almost looked as if he were going to laugh. But then his quill touched parchment, his brow furrowed, and a second later another question errupted from his lips. “WHAT’S YOUR GOAL, THEN?! WHAT’RE YOU TRYIN’ TO DO? WHAT’S YOUR DYIN’ DREAM, PAL? WHAT’S THE POINT OF IT ALL?”

"Getting awfully philosophic for a sports column, aren’t we?” Again, Sirius’s voice was light, but something within him had seized upon hearing the question. What’s the point of it all? He’d asked himself that nearly every night for the past year, and he wasn’t any closer to finding an answer now than he was then.

Quidditch wasn’t that deep, no need to go scurrying about the shadows. He’d keep things light. It was his job, after all. “I’m rebuilding the best team Quidditch has ever seen. Everyone’s counted the Cannons out for the season, and it hasn’t even started yet. I can’t wait for the first game when you all see what I’ve been seeing out on the pitch during practice. This year’s team has spirit to match skill, and we’ll be taking the cup this season.” A quick flutter of something like hope erupted within him. It was a fool’s hope, he knew that, everyone knew that, but it felt good to drown doubt with conviction. “That’s a promise, by the way.”

Another flurry of the quill, another shifting of the reporter’s weight as if the world was forcing him off balance. Sirius slipped his fingers into his jeans and found himself rocking back onto his heels. He was about to walk away when the next question hit him like a bludger from a blindspot. “YA GOT ANYONE YOU’RE GOIN’ HOME TO? YOU HAPPY? YOU TAKEN? THEY FAMOUS? WHAT, A GUY CAN’T ASK A QUESTION?!”

Blind-sighted but laughing, Sirius clapped a hand against the reporter’s shoulder. “I’m not sure if you’re trying to start up a gossip column on the side or if you’re making an offer. Either way, color me flattered. But the answer depends on the night, and considering we’re on the record, I’d rather avoid giving you a straight answer.” He winked and let his hand fall back to his side.

Across the field, a separate voice thundered: “Coach Black! Practice started ten minutes ago!”

“That’s my cue,” Sirius said. “You know where to find me if you have any follow up questions, don’t be a stranger.” As Sirius walked away from the interview, the question unanswered nagged him: You happy? He swallowed it and stepped into the locker room. Maybe it was a good day to grab a broom and join his players on the pitch.

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙴𝙾𝚄𝚂:

PLAYLIST

MOCK BLOG

AESTHETIC

BAD HABITS

GOOD HABITS

EXPRESSIONS OF LOVE

(LINKS TO COME AFTER ACCEPTANCES)

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honeymoonjin · 6 years ago

Text

okAY let’s talk about namjoon learning to cook

hello it’s ur local ‘on hiatus’ writer ahhh ha ha haaa when will i learn : ) this isn’t gonna be a fic bc i still don’t have it in me to commit to a 20k beast BUT i got this idea that i shared with my friends and i wanna share it with you too so uwu buckle up (pls lmk if you would like me to do more of these concept thread thingies, it means i’ll be able to give u more content even if it’s not a full fic)

our darling yn is a famous chef

for someone so young, she’s pretty well accomplished, and she uses her Hip Young Relatability to run her own youtube series on teaching people to cook better

each week she features a budding home chef and gives them reasonable and easy tips to improve their cooking yee HAW

it’s very successful and always goes well until mister kim namjoon secures the Bag and gets a spot on the show

she’s a little sceptical at first bc he seems so smart.... in their initial interview she asks him his cooking experience and he somehow begins to discuss an ancient proverb about potatoes

you don’t get it but it seems poignant

so the cameras start rolling and you introduce ur guest, namjoon does a cute little bow and smiles shyly

the first step is hygiene of course, and he does just fine (maybe he fumbles for a solid twenty seconds with the hand soap bottle but that can be easily cut out in post)

the menu is simple

it’s gonna be a stir-fry, so basically all he actually needs to learn how to do is chop some vegetables and cook some noodles in a wok

technique is important when chopping onions; you need to tuck your fingers holding the onion half in and under and hold the knife on a slight angle away to be sure not to cut yourself

you explain this to namjoon, who seems a little confused as to why his knife is so much blunter than yours

that would be the plastic cover protecting the blade

“an easy mistake to make!” you say

it is not an easy mistake to make

“argh, it’s still blunt!”

namjoon is holding the knife upside down, sharp blade pointing towards the ceiling

for health and safety, it’s better he watches while you do it for him and simply give instructions for “next time”

namjoon seems very amused by the perfect cubes you’ve cut in a matter of seconds

“you could make croutons out of these!”

you in fact can’t, but you don’t think he’s in the mindset to receive this unfortunate news

one thing you can say positively about namjoon is that he is very attentive

he, much taller than you, hunches over your shoulder with rounded eyes and a mouth opened slackly in focus, fingers shyly fiddling with the edge of the bench

he asks questions and nods to everything you say, yet somehow the second the knife, mandolin or grater is in his hand he goes blank

he seems completely out of his depth, lying a grater on its side in his defense u held the mandolin on its side so how was he supposed to know the grater needed to be stood upright

namjoon is doing his best to be proactive: “do we need to preheat the oven?”

“namjoon this is a stir fry, we don’t need to cook anything in the oven”

he stammers, fumbling cutely to explain himself “no, no i meant for the oven timer”

“huh”

“when i make ramen i always preheat the oven so i can use the oven timer”

what the fuck

“namjoon you can use the oven timer on its own, the oven doesn’t need to be on”

“um- okay. yes chef”

you can’t be too mad at him though because as you turn on the stove and place the chopped veges into the wok, he gives a little happy wiggle, immediately smelling the crushed garlic and soy sauce you’d added

“so, we don’t need this to be fancy, we just need it to be nutritious, easy, and delicious. food is your fuel, but it should also be an enjoyable activity, otherwise you’ll never want to do it. most of these techniques i learnt when i stayed with my friend’s grandmother in gyeong-gu, they’re just hearty family recipes.”

“oh, gyeong-gu is lovely,” namjoon coos

“have you been?”

“no.”

once the veges are cooking away, you instruct namjoon to fill a pot with water as you keep stirring away

“it’s not working” he frowns

“?? how is it not working, you’ve got the tap on full blast”

“the water is just going”

you sneak a peak

he’s trying to fill up a metal colander

eventually you manage to put a pot of water on the stove to boil and tell him to grab the noodles to add

“with the wrapper on?”

“please take the wrapper off first, namjoon”

“sure thing chef. i just asked because the plastic is so thin. i thought maybe it was like-”

he pauses to violently struggle with the seal, seemingly not having noticed the easy-tear notch. with a huff, he finally breaks it open and the raw noodles go flopping onto the table (luckily clean)

“i thought maybe it was like how dishwasher tablets have the wrapper that dissolves in hot water, you know?”

“this wrapper doesn’t dissolve, joon”

he nods sadly, picking up and laying the noodles into the simmering water one at a time, delicately. “it would be better if it was. so much plastic these days, it’s not good for the turtles. or the crabs.”

you suppress a quirk of your lips at the way his voice goes so thoughtful and soft, a complete contrast from the overpowered aggression he used to rip open the noodle packet.

“now, namjoon, we should season these noodles a bit. what do we put in, do you wanna guess?”

“cumin” he answers immediately

you blink

“cumin?”

“if i could choose a spice, it would be cumin. do you have any?”

“that- okay, i was thinking some salt, our main spices are going in the wok, we just want something for the noodles to cook a bit better in”

“if i don’t have salt at home, is cumin okay though?”

“everybody has salt, namjoon, it’s very easy to come by-”

“i don’t have salt” he retorts

the pot of boiling water bubbles in indignance

“but you have cumin?”

“two jars”

“d-do you mean those little spice jars? why would you need two at once-”

“i repurposed some jam jars. reduce, reuse, recycle. that grocery store down the road has these massive bins. you bring along whatever container you have and fill it up and weigh it.”

you think the vegetables are on the verge of sticking to the wok, so you hurriedly turn and give them a stir, mind fuzzy

“why would you need two jam jars of cumin? i thought you said you don’t cook at home?”

“i don’t,” he answers easily, then his eyebrows twitch, eyes distant like he’s having a realisation. with a thoughtful him, he smiles and nods his head. “but if i was going to cook, i’d want cumin to be involved.”

namjoon is a genius idiot and you think you are falling for him (panic)

(part 2 coming soon if u want it blease give me and himbo joonie validation)

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jalapeno-princess · 5 years ago

Audio

Mark Tuan X Reader

Genre: Angst (Y’all this is my first imagine without a happy ending and I honestly think it is shit because I can’t write angst to save my life HAHAHAHA)

Summary: Two months ago, you broke up with your boyfriend of four years, Mark Tuan. Your mutual friend Jinyoung invites you over to his apartment to see how you’re doing. When Jinyoung excuses himself to grab something from his room, it’s in that moment you stumble upon a letter from Mark and you find yourself aching to read what it says.

Word Count: 4.3K

A/N: “Norman Fucking Rockwell” has been on repeat lately and I couldn’t stop listening to this song and I began to write this it didn’t come out the way I wanted it to but whatever

I shouldn't have done it, but I read it in your letter You said to a friend that you wish you were doing better I wanted to reach out, but I never said a thing I shouldn't have done it, but I read it in your letter You said to a friend that you wish you were doing better I wanted to call you, but I didn't say a thing

“Dear Jinyoung,

Hey man. It’s been a while. I’ve been meaning to call you. I just don’t really have the time nor the energy to do so these days. How have you been? I’m sorry for leaving on such short notice. I just..I needed to get out of California. Everywhere I went reminded me of her. God. I miss her so much Jinyoung. I know. You’re probably going to tell me that I’m an idiot. And you’re probably doing that thing with your brows. But I can’t stop thinking about her. I wish I could say I’m moving on and that I’m doing better. But we all know I’m not. Do you know how she’s doing by any chance? Damnit, sorry. I shouldn’t talk about her. Anyways, Greece is really cool so far. It’s a very beautiful place but it’s so fucking hot. You know how much I hate the heat. I’m sure y/n would love it..fuck. I should end it here. I hope you’re doing well. Maybe when you have the time, you could come up here sometime. Call me when you get this.-Mark”

It took you a while for you to realize that you were crying. But when the ink began to smear, you knew you had to put the letter down. Jinyoung had asked you to come over to his apartment to see how you were doing. Once you arrived, you took a seat at his bar while he went to grab something from his room.

As you were entertaining yourself while playing animal crossing on your phone, you couldn’t help but notice the envelope on his kitchen counter; it’s as if it was calling for you. When you saw who it was from, your fingers were aching to open it and to see what he had written. It‘s been a little over two months since your break up, yet you were still so hung up over him.

The break up was mutual. Like a lot of relationships, the two of you grew apart and no matter how much you both loved each other, sometimes love was no longer enough. You initiated the breakup, and God, you’ve been regretting it for the last few months. Breaking up with Mark was probably the biggest mistake you’ve ever made. However, he was quick to agree with you. He didn’t fight for your relationship like you had wished he would have. You were holding on to a tiny piece of hope that he would want to fix things. That he would want to start your relationship over and try again. But as he left your apartment with his suitcase filled with all of his things, you knew it was over.

When he left, you were sure he took a huge part of you with him. The pain you felt from losing him was excruciating. Your friends and some of your family members would always describe to you how painful a broken heart was but you never would believe them. At one point, your relationship with Mark was one that everyone seemed to envy. It was obvious that Mark was head over heels in love with you by how he was so quick to do anything you asked of him. Love wasn’t even a good enough word to describe what the two of you felt for each other.

You didn’t think that anything could tear your relationship apart, nor did you think you were going to ever experience the pain of a broken heart. That was until you found yourself crying in the middle of your kitchen floor, crying, screaming and begging for him to come back all the while downing an entire bottle of red wine. You felt pathetic. It was you who wanted this, why were you so upset over it? You didn’t want to break up with him. If you had the choice, the two of you would still be together. However, things were no longer the same. There was no spark in your relationship anymore. The two of you did your own things, you were always your own person before you were Mark’s.

With that being said, you would never run things past him anymore. If you were going out with your friends or staying back at work, you didn’t feel the need to tell him your whereabouts like you used to. Nor did you guys really communicate with each other unless you really had to. On most nights, the two of you would stay up until the wee hours of the morning, talking about anything your hearts desired. Towards the end of your relationship, all you would talk about was the weather and something interesting he would see on television.

You could feel the distance growing deeper between the two of you as the days went by and what upset you, was that it never seemed to bother him. It was as if he was okay that your relationship was falling apart and you were tired of being the only one trying to keep it together. The two of you had made so many plans together. Dating someone for almost four years was quite a long time, so it was understandable that you were so broken over it. Although, the main reason you kept beating yourself up over the break up was because you knew Mark was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. You were willing to stay with him, even if things were no longer what they used to be. You would rather have him around, no matter how dull and lifeless your relationship had become rather than to not have him in your life at all.

Learning to live without him was probably the hardest part. Both you and Mark would do everything together. He was a part of your everyday routine and you didn’t know how to continue without him. That’s why alcohol became your best friend. You found yourself getting drunk almost every single day. The amount of vodka you consumed was actually scary, but you didn’t care. It helped fill the void in your heart that Mark created when he left. You hated waking up without him. The room that you both shared for the last four years that used to be so warm and full of happy memories, was now cold as ice. No matter how many times you would wash the bed sheets, his side of the bed still smelled like him and it taunted you. You missed the feeling of his arms wrapped around you. His arms felt like the safest place in the world.

You couldn’t stop thinking about how he would hide his face in the crook of your neck because you knew it would calm him down. How he would always run a bath for you when you had a long day of work and how he would blow dry your hair right after you were done because he knew you were tired. You missed every single thing about him. How safe you felt with him around. How he never failed to make you smile by telling you the cheesiest jokes. The sweet nothings he would whisper in to your ear while he held you close to his body after your passionate love making sessions. You missed who you used to be when he was still in your life.

You were soon broken out of your thoughts when you heard the refrigerator door open and you immediately dropped the letter. Your eyes widened in shock and you looked like a little child who had just got caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. The letter was already opened, so you didn’t see anything wrong with reading it. But you were ultimately regretting your choice all together when you saw his facial expression. Jinyoung crossed his arms while smirking at you and leaned back against the fridge. “”I’ve been good Jinyoung. I’ve moved on. Stop worrying about me.” So tell me miss “I’ve been good”, care to explain why you’re reading a letter that’s not addressed to you?” You released an exhausted sigh and shrugged.

Why did you feel the need to read Mark’s letter? You knew there was a huge chance Jinyoung would catch you doing so. And why did it matter to you what the letter said? The two of you were no longer together for a reason. But now that you were aware that he missed you and that he moved away to get away from the memory of you only got you to miss him even more. So many thoughts were going through your head. He said he wished he was doing better, but how exactly was he doing? Did he regret moving away? Was he regretting your break up and did he wish he tried harder to save your relationship? He also mentioned that he had yet to move on, so did that mean he was trying to? Or was he still in love with you the way you would probably always be with him?

He was your first and only love and you were sure if soulmates exist, then he was yours. However, that did not necessarily mean he was meant to be in your life forever. Things happen and people change. Sometimes we lose the ones we love no matter how badly we want to keep them in our lives and there is nothing we can do about it. There was nothing you could do about losing Mark. Some things just weren’t meant to be. If he didn’t want to stay, you couldn’t force him to. But if he was hurting as much as you were, did this mean he was willing to end both your misery and his by getting back together?

As much as you loved the thought of having the love of your life return back to you and patch up everything that was broken, what exactly would it do? Deep down, you knew that things wouldn’t change. The two of you would only go back to the lack of intimacy, connection, boring conversations and miscommunication. Even if you were to tell Mark you were still so in love with him, and how you want nothing more than for him to come back so that the two of you could be together again, you know it wouldn’t do anything. The two of you broke up for a reason. Nothing lasts forever. If the two of you were meant to be together, neither of you would’ve allowed your relationship to end the way it did.

He said so himself one time when the two of you were watching the sunset at Santa Monica Pier while he sat you on his lap and left lingering kisses all across your back. You were upset to see how quickly the sun had set. It was winter at that time and compared to how the sun would normally set at 10:00 p.m., during the winter it was usually gone before 6:00 p.m. He found himself giggling at how adorable you looked with your arms crossed against your chest and your brows furrowed. “You’re so cute, you know that right? God. How did I get so lucky? I want to spend the rest of my life watching sunsets with you. Don’t be so upset baby, nothing gold can stay. We’ll just have to come back tomorrow afternoon. And the day after day. And the day after that.” At the time, you compared his words to that of the sunset. You didn’t think it would foreshadow the end of your relationship.

“Jinyoung?” The older boy looked at you with soft eyes and hummed in curiosity. “Did you call him?” He shook his head in disagreement before heading towards you.

“I only opened the letter this morning. Why? Did you wanna call him right now?” By the wide grin on his face, you knew he was messing with you. You rolled your eyes while bringing your fingers to the bridge of your nose, pinching it out of frustration. There was nothing more you wanted to do than to smack that smirk off of Jinyoung’s face. He was enjoying this too much. It’s as if he enjoyed the fact that you were suffering. Did he open the letter and called you over in hopes of you finding it and wanting to read it?

Out of all the members in their group of friends, you and Mark were closest with Jinyoung. The three of you spent so much of your time together and he saw just how much the two of you loved each other. That’s why he was pretty upset to hear that his favorite couple called it quits, especially because he had already planned for himself to be the best man at your wedding.

“You can say whatever you want to try and lie to me y/n, but the tears in your eyes speak the truth. You miss him and you’re probably still in love with him. It’s only natural. Your breakup was only two months ago, neither of you are expected to move on so quickly. I see it in your eyes and in the expression on your face, you love him y/n. You’re always going to love him. God, the two of you are both so stubborn. You’re obviously meant to be together, so why don’t you put your big girl pants on and tell him how you feel? I’ve never seen either of you so broken like this before and your only solution is..each other.” As he continued his speech, you felt the tears flow out like a dam. Each and every word hit at your chest and you knew he was right. But like what you had thought right after reading the letter, what good would it do? And what if he didn’t want to get back with you? What if you were to call him and he would get irritated with you for doing so?

You knew Mark like the back of your hand. Four years together made you an expert on his feelings and emotions and whenever the two of you would argue or fight, he didn’t like when you would try and amend things right after. He always needed time to think, no matter how much he hated being away from you. This situation was no different. You were sure he was going to be bothered by the fact that you were the one to end the relationship only to want to get back together months later. Even if he was hurting right now, you knew he’d be fine in a few more months. You couldn’t say the same for yourself though.

Jinyoung released a long sigh before pulling you in to a hug. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead and shrugged. “I just want the best for the two of you. You know that right? I’m not trying to force you to do anything you don’t want to. But you never know what could happen y/n. It might just bring him back here. You know he probably hates it there. Probably hates being without you even more.”

Before you knew it, his phone was being placed in your hands while he walked over to where you were previously sitting. You scrolled through his contact list until you saw Mark’s photo and hovered over it for a few seconds. You surprised both yourself and Jinyoung when you pressed the call button and your heart rate increased with every ring. Minutes felt like hours waiting for him to pick up and when you head his voice echoing through the phone, your stomach sank. “Jinyoung? Hey. I see you got my letter. How’ve you been? Hello? Jinyoung? Are you there? Did you butt dial me again?” Hearing his voice again after two months sent you through a frenzy. You missed it. You missed him.

Hearing him talk brought back so many memories of how you would get him to sing to you almost every night. Although he hated his voice, you claimed that his singing would calm you down. However, it was just an excuse to hear his pretty voice that you loved so much. Jinyoung looked at you in confusion before getting up and quickly taking the phone out of your hands. You were shaking, it was all too much for you to take in. You so badly wanted to talk to him, but you didn’t know what to say. I’m still in love with you. I miss you. Come back to me. There were so many things you wanted to tell him lingering on the tip of your tongue, yet nothing came out. Luckily Jinyoung took over and began a conversation with him.

“Yeah. I just read it this morning. What part of Greece are you at again? I forgot. I’m alright. School is shit if that’s what you’re asking. The guys miss you, our outings aren’t the same without you here bro.” He giggled through the phone and you felt butterflies swarming in your tummy at the noise. His laughter was your favorite sound in the world. You felt a small smile graze at your lips and you wanted nothing more than to be the reason behind his laughter again.

“Yeah I miss you guys too. I’m not going to lie, it does get pretty lonely here and like I said, it is hot as fuck. I’m always in my room with the air conditioning on high. I’m glad they don’t charge for shit like that because if they did, i’m fucked. But it is very beautiful and the people here are very friendly.” To your dismay, Jinyoung asked the unthinkable, but you couldn’t blame him. You were just as curious when you read that part of his letter.

“Any girl catch your eye yet? Europe has many beautiful women I’m sure.” You could feel your chest tighten while waiting for his response. But what did it matter? You no longer had the right to get jealous if he were to even look at other girls. You were always the jealous type, but that was only because you felt as if Mark deserved better than you. You didn’t consider yourself to be all that pretty. Nor did you think you were smart, funny or anything special really. But Mark never failed to make you feel as if you were the most beautiful girl in the world and he always made sure you knew just how much he loved you both physically and verbally every single day.

“I mean..they’re okay. I’m not here for the girls Jinyoung. You know that. There’s only one girl for me and it’s always going to be her. She’s the only girl in my eyes. How um..how is she?” Your breath hitched at his sweet words and you felt yourself tearing up again.

“She’s here right now if you want to talk to her. She also heard everything you just said..do what you want with that information Mark.” Your eyes widened in shock and you couldn’t believe he just threw you under the bus like that. You couldn’t even handle hearing Mark talk, how could you start a conversation with him? The silence made you feel as if he was thinking the same thing. At first, you thought he had hung up. But then you heard his shallow breaths and after a few moments, you found yourself giving in.

“Hey.” You felt a huge weight being lifted off of your shoulders and all you had to do was wait for his response.

“Hi.” Jinyoung couldn’t help but cringe at how awkward the two of you were acting. From an outsiders point of view, no one would ever know that the two of you were once lovers who could never get enough of each other.

“You um..you heard all of that?”

You let out an exhausted sigh. “Yeah. I also may have accidentally read your letter. I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry.” Although you couldn’t see him, you were sure he was shaking his head in disagreement. He always had such a soft spot for you. If you made a mistake or did something you weren’t supposed to, he would always let it slide because he never wanted you to feel bad. He wasn’t upset that you read his letter, he was upset that he didn’t know what to say or react to this entire interaction.

“Did you really move to a whole new country just to get away from me?” You never hated yourself more than you did in that moment. Mark left his friends, his family, his scholarships that he worked so hard for and his internship at a veterinary clinic just because he could no longer stand being in Los Angeles. All because of you.

“Don’t put it that way y/n. I came here for for the experiences too. I want to travel around the world while I’m still young, remember? As much as I like it here so far, I’ll probably be coming back soon. One can only last so long in a place where they don’t understand the language all too well.” You quietly laughed to yourself at the thought of Mark getting lost somewhere in Greece and him getting all flustered when he had to ask for directions.

“How have you been? How’s school? Did you end up getting the job at that one doctor’s office?” Your heart warmed when he brought it up. Mark was an amazing listener, but sometimes he could forget things pretty easily. When it came to you however, he remembered every single detail and he knew how much the job opportunity meant to you.

“I did..but um...things just didn’t work out and I ended up leaving.” That was partially true. You had gotten the job just a couple of days after the breakup. As much as you wanted to be excited that you finally got the job you’ve been dreaming about for months, you couldn’t find it in you to be happy for yourself.

You had just lost the love of your life, your best friend. How could you do anything other than wallow in self pity and cry over what no longer was? You knew you weren’t in the right mind to be working in such a prestigious office, so you quit just days after being hired; telling them that you had already agreed to another offer. If only that was the case. The longer you stayed on the phone with him and talked as if nothing was wrong, the more you craved more. Your heart was begging you to tell him that you missed him, that you wanted to pretend as if the last two months never happened. You wanted Mark to know that you were suffering without him and that you made a brief lapse of judgement when you broke up with him. But you knew there was no point. It would only spark more questions you didn’t have the answers to.

“Oh. Well I’m sure you’ll find another job soon. Anyone would be really lucky to have you.” With the way that last sentence slipped off of his tongue, you weren’t quite sure if he was referring to job employers or something else.

Jinyoung began to glare at you. He knew there was more you wanted to say, so why were you so adamant on staying silent? If looks could kill, you’d be dead by the scowl he was sending your way. You didn’t cry when reading the letter for no reason. Mark’s words obviously had an effect on you, and you heard what he said to you on the phone. What was stopping you from ending both your loneliness and your suffering?

“Y/n if I come back maybe we could-“

“Mark I think I should-“ You both giggled as he told you to continue what you were about to say.

“I should go. I don’t wanna keep wasting your time. It was nice talking to you.”

“Y/n wait-“ Before he could continue his sentence, you handed the phone back over to Jinyoung while reaching for your bag and immediately left his apartment. No matter how badly you wanted to hear what he had to say, you had a feeling he was hinting towards meeting up with you again. Your mind was in a battle with your heart. Your heart wanted to listen to what he had to say but your mind knew it was the wrong thing to do.

Love was an indescribable feeling. It was also a very scary feeling and you didn’t think you could go through all of the heartbreak you suffered in the last few months if you were to give your relationship with Mark one more chance. Sure, there was a chance that things would be different this time. Losing him was the most painful thing you’ve ever experienced and although you wanted to think that getting back together with him would end your suffering, what if it were to bring more? What if getting back in to a relationship with Mark only brought more sadness and more negativity? Maybe your break up was for the best and you needed to accept it for what it was.

If there was one thing you were sure about, it was the fact that you would always love Mark. Hearing him say that you were the only girl for him sparked something in you and you wanted to act on his words. But something just kept holding you back. Maybe one day, the two of you would find your way back to each other and end up together the way you had planned initially. If he were to come back to California, then maybe you’d see where things would go from there. Until then, you’d continue to learn how to live without him. For both your happiness and his.

Oh, I'll pick you up If you come back to America, just hit me up 'Cause this is crazy love, I'll catch you on the flip side If you come back to California, you should just hit me up

#got7 imagines #got7 drabbles #got7 scenarios #got7 #got7 mark #mark tuan #got7 angst #mark tuan imagines #mark tuan angst #kpop imagines #yall #this song has been haunting me #and i feel as if it matches him perfectly #i miss got7 #and i really miss mark

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kakimushire · 4 years ago

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"Kurotsuchi-sama.." He approached, somewhat timidly. He wasn't very good at this, but there were only a select few people who's date of birth mattered to him. His creator's, of course, was one of them. "Happy birthday, sir.." He offered a box which held a cake. It was coloured with black, blue and golden accents. It was meant to taste tropical. Sweet. Something he knew his captain liked. He also produced another package. A blue nailpolish he'd designed that would change shades with temperature.

Today was his birthday. He had forgotten about it initially, but ( of all people in Soul Society ), Zaraki Kenpachi had reminded him. Exactly how that hooligan had managed to save up enough vacant brain-cells to remember the date of his ‘ birth ‘... Well, let’s just say it was a scientific mystery. Mayuri had returned to the lab and put his new jar of face paint among his ( very few ) personal belongings. He was feeling a little shaken. Not in a... BAD way, but just --- It wasn’t often he got so surprised!

The day of surprises continued. Yon approached him. Mayuri, who had been facing his desk, trying to get his headspace onto a more work-focused track, turned around. The other sounded almost shy. Mayuri wondered if perhaps he had made a mistake, and was nervous about confessing it. Well, if he HAD made a mistake, now was the best time to come clean about it, since Mayuri didn’t feel like yelling at anyone right now. That may or may not change depending on how severe the mistake was, of course. AND THEN! Then he wished him a ‘ HAPPY BIRTHDAY ‘ instead!

Mayuri’s eyes grew rounder than usual, surprise clearly all over his face. A box was held out towards him, and just like with the last present, Mayuri accepted it with the same sort of astonishment. Small hands grabbed the box, and, childishly, he didn’t wait a single moment before popping it open to look inside. ❝ Ohh! ❞ Excitedly, Mayuri’s wide eyes sparkled when he saw that the box contained cake. It was neatly decorated in black, blue and gold. The colors which HE usually wore ( in addition to white ). He wanted to eat a slice right away! But --- He should get Nemu to make him some tea. But then!! Yon was presenting him with yet another gift. One would think that the second one would be less surprising to him - but it was the opposite. He blinked, as if he didn’t know what to do. Then, he placed the box with the cake carefully down on his desk in order to receive this second present.

It wasn’t like Mayuri didn’t often receive ATTENTION. He often did, in fact. It was just that this was a different kind of attention. This was PERSONAL. This wasn’t Yon doing something for him for work reasons. It wasn’t about doing him a favor or anything like this. It was --- His creation wanting to celebrate the date of his ‘ birth ‘. Mayuri had a hard time comprehending that someone - anyone at all - would be honestly GLAD that he was alive. On a daily basis, it didn’t really bother him that the whole Soul Society wished him dead, but... He had to admit, being shown such care... It was almost touching. Well, if anyone SHOULD be happy about Mayuri’s existence, it was Yon, he supposed. Without him, the other never would’ve been created after all. ❝ You have a very good memory. I wasn’t aware you knew about my birthday at all. ❞ Mayuri said, not quite sure WHAT he SHOULD say. He accepted the second package, and felt surprisingly excited when he unwrapped it. It contained a little bottle which he immediately recognized as nail polish ( good, he needed more ). He guessed that this was something Yon had made himself. ❝ What kind of properties does it have? ❞ Surely it had some sort of special effect? It felt more relaxing to be able to talk about something normal. Still he... Had that excited buzz int he pit of his stomach. Hopefully it would go away soon.

#ekusosu #[ hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh precious ]#[ i'm weak for mayuri being treated with kindness ]#[ he's also VERY weak towards it bc it never happens ahahaha ]#[ thank you blue!! this was so cute ]#ＩＮＴＨＥＬＡＢ | in character.#ＪＯＵＲＮＡＬＥＮＴＥＲＩＥＳ | answers.

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notgonnarememberthis · 5 years ago

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Exceptional - Chapter One

As you can see, this is the ACTUAL first chapter and this story takes place about 2 years after their meeting. I’ve thrown all the canon timeline out the window. Feel free to ask any questions and I’ll answer if they’re not going to be answered in the future but I’m so glad this story was well received. It’s such a passion project of mine and I get so excited when I get an idea for writing it. Hope y’all enjoy this chapter and thank you once again.

The crime scene is one of the most gruesome ones they’ve seen as a detective pair, Sherlock realizes as they scope the scene. His eyes flicker over to Watson, though unbothered on the outside she may seem, he’s more than familiar with her ability to bury her emotions deep within her. Her face is of stone as she studies the body lying across the carpet.

Luna Mayfield, a lawyer in the least respectable sense. Made her living getting criminals off with easy charges. He’s more than familiar with her careful dismantling of all the hard work he’s done to get them in prison in the first place. Of course, none of that matters now. Her head was burnt beyond recognizable, one would question if it was even her had she not have the identifiable tattoo on her wrist.

It was her assistant that stumbled upon the gruesome scene early this morning. It’s simple to tell before forensics even confirms that her body had been here all night. It’s also certain in his mind that someone with powers committed this act. The trajectory of the burns as well as the positioning make no sense otherwise. Her blouse isn’t even singed from the damage caused to her. The force that killed her was controlled in a way fire simply isn’t outside of a supernatural nature.

He pulls Watson aside for a quick discussion.

“Someone with powers did this.” She states, already on the same page as him.

“Someone experienced too. This wasn’t an accident or lack of control.” She nods in agreement, the blast was meant to kill her.

“They’ve cleaned up their tracks well. No security cameras caught anyone coming in or leaving except for the assistant and she has a solid alibi.”

“We’ll need to dig in tonight.”

“Where are you going?”

“Meeting,” Her eyes meet his in concern. His attendance of meetings has been growing ever more frequent as of late. “Later.” He doesn’t wish to spread his business to the rest of the NYPD. Not that he’s all the more comfortable telling Watson that as the anniversary of his first love’s death approaches, his control becomes thinner. The torture of seeing all other ghosts but never her.

“Ok.” She reaches out giving his hand a small squeeze. Touch for them is unusual but moments like these are nice. “I’ll get the files together and set up. Pick us up some dinner on your way home.”

“I will. Thank you.” He strides out feeling slightly lighter than he had when he’d risen from his state of non slumber. The past 3 days sleep has evaded him, and with no cases to work the amount of things he could do grew thinner with each passing day. This case was a blessing all on it’s own.

His walk isn’t a long one, the meeting is just a couple of blocks from the law firm. However, it’s enough that ghosts haunt him on his walk. However, it isn’t Agnes that catches his view this time, rather an older, haggard looking man rocking back and forth. He steps closer, purely out of curiosity.

It catches the man’s attention, dark eyes flashing up at him. “You did this!” He seethes. Sherlock’s brow furrows and his lips press together. “You’ve made a mistake.” Shaking his head frantically the words leave his lips at lightning fast pace. “You have to go back. She’s not safe. She’s not what you think she is. Go back!”

He stumbles back into a pedestrian walking by. The jarring motion sends him spinning with a meaningless apology. However, as he turns back the man is gone once again.

Damn.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The interaction haunts him for the rest of the day. Even during the meeting he preoccupied himself with sketching the man’s face from memory while it was still fresh in his mind.

Something deep within him told him this had something to do with the case. This man was important to Mayfield. This was no normal raving of the ghosts that roam the streets. He’d never seen this man before and the words stuck with him like few have.

You did this.

He’s used to misdirected anger from ghosts, confused by their surroundings. Could this man be another victim? Perhaps one that was removed from the scene to prevent a connection from being built. He had Watson pull all photos of known associates, narrowed down to older Asian American men to identify their ghost. Surely this will come up with a successful result.

“You forgot the food.” Watson sighs, disappointed as he walks in. He opens his mouth to apologize but she puts her hand up, “I’ll just order out. Everything’s set up and I’ve got Everyone working on connections that might have been hidden. Are you sure this ghost is connected to Mayfield?”

“Positive.” The venom and fear in the man’s voice was enough to send a shiver down his spine. There’s more to Luna Mayfield than he’d picked up on in their few interactions. Certainly the woman was vicious but this danger he spoke of, it unnerved Sherlock to no end.

Watson reappears minutes later, hair tied up into a knot on top of her head. With her jacket unbuttoned she appeared ready to deep dive into the case with him. “On the initial search I found 3 asian men above 50 who had contact with Luna Mayfield in the months leading to her death.” She gestures to the wall where she has the three photos up.

“None of them look familiar.”

“I didn’t think so. All three are still alive and two of them are in prison serving sentences. But, I thought maybe there could be a family connection.”

“Perhaps.”

“You’re still not liking the connections are you?”

“Not quite. The man was poorly groomed. His hygiene was poor. These men look like they come from wealth and he looked…”

“Homeless.” Watson huffs, frustrated. The homeless population is near impossible to keep track of, even under Everyone’s standards. The constant movement and changing of appearance from day to day depending on their conditions. It’s a deadend. “Maybe someone was cut off from the family. Something has to explain this connection.”

“We’ll find him.” He sees her chest swell out of the corner of his eye as he includes her as well. Their partnership over the past 2 years had become a fond one. She stepped naturally into detective work, as if this is what she was made for all along. Her companionship became one he cherishes. He’s told her before and he still holds to these words. He’s better with her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hours pass and she ends up asleep on the couch behind him. He abandoned the photos long ago, settled on the sketch he’d made earlier in the day. He’s tried as he could to summon the ghost throughout the night.

Three days of exhaustion is beginning to settle into his bones as the features of the man stare back at him tauntingly. He rubs his eyes staring harder at the picture, trying to will him into existence.

As if on cue, the presence of another person in the room calls his attention. His spine straightens, searching around. The man stands behind the couch, a small sad smile adorning his sunken features. His eyes are not on Sherlock, however, but trained on the sleeping Watson.

His breath catches in his throat. The features that stood out from the man before, screaming familiarity at him, scolding him for not seeing it sooner. Though broken, his eyes are the same. The shape echoing eyes he’d stared into for the past 2 years.

The ghost he’d seen was Watson’s father.

#joanlock #joan watson x sherlock holmes #sherlock x joan #Sherlock Holmes #joan watson #elementary #elementary cbs #elementary AU #powers AU #exceptional #fanfic #timeline who

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becasbelt · 5 years ago

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Chapters: 5/12 Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: T Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell Characters: Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale, Dr. Mitchell (Pitch Perfect), Beca Mitchell's Mother, Aubrey Posen, Jesse Swanson Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, skateboarder!beca, Romance, Angst

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CHAPTER 5

The fighting starts when she’s twelve.

Beca’s parents have never been perfect. Like all human beings, they made mistakes. They lost their cool from time to time, and resorted to brief outbursts when especially frustrated over something, but never anything serious. At the end of the day, Beca knows that her parents love her and that everything will always work out in the end.

And that has always proven true, ever since Beca can remember. Lately, though things have seemed… tense.

It starts out as just little things here and there. Her dad will get home late from the school, and her mom will say passive aggressive words to him while she’s dishing him up some leftover food from dinner. Beca will hear her dad talking lightly about how her mom should try to look into getting a job to help out with some of the bills. Her parents will walk into the living room after having a private conversation, the air tense around them as they try to act natural.

It doesn’t start as anything major, but the speed at which it accelerates to something big is alarming.

Beca will never forget the first night she ever heard her parents fighting.

Her dad had been working late again. After a quiet dinner filled with uncomfortable angry energy coming from her mother, Beca had rushed off to her room to finish her homework and get ready for bed. Anything to get away from the tense atmosphere her mom was giving off.

It was 10:23 when her dad came home. Beca knows, because she had glanced over to take note of the time when she heard the garage door opening, and the numbers had stuck with her ever since. It was 10:23 when her dad got home, and 10:31 when her parents’ voices stopped being hushed.

Her mom was the first one to raise her voice. Beca had been sort of falling asleep when she’d heard a cupboard downstairs slam shut, followed by a sharp, “How long are you going to keep doing this to us, Warren?” that cut through the house.

Her dad was quick to retaliate. “You know these long hours are only temporary, Tina,” he had responded, sounding as though he was trying to remain calm, but his voice rose in volume to match his wife’s nonetheless. “As soon as I finish my doctorate, I’m going to teach at the college. I’ll be making twice as much as I do at the high school now!”

“Yes, but how much of your time will be spent at the college once you start working there?” came her mom’s exasperated voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you started looking for any excuse to skip out on spending time with your family.”

“I’m doing this for our family, damn it,” her dad argued. Beca’s eyes had widened at that. She’d never heard her father swear before. “I’m doing this so Beca can have a better life. One where she doesn’t have to be worried about money like we are! If anyone should be at blame for not caring about our daughter, it should be you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” her mother had responded, almost quietly enough that Beca couldn’t hear her.

“Maybe if you actually took some initiative and worked on finding a job instead of sitting on your ass all day, we wouldn’t have to be worried about our finances so much. It seems like I’m the only one actually worried about our daughter’s future here.”

A long stretch of silence had followed, and Beca could feel her mother’s anger seeping up through the floorboards and into her room. “That’s a load of bullshit and you know it!” Her mother finally exploded. “You’re the one who’s draining our finances by paying for more schooling! And don’t even get me started on being worried about Beca’s future. I’ve practically raised her all by myself while you’ve been focused on raising other kids for years!”

Beca heard something slam downstairs, maybe a fist on a countertop. “I’m sorry that I wanted to become an educator for a living,” her dad yelled. “You knew what I wanted to do when you met me!”

“Yeah, well I’m sorry that I ever believed you when you said you’d always put your family above your job!”

Her mother’s hurt words hung in the air of the house. The sound of sobbing followed, her mother’s crying, to be exact, although it was at this point that Beca realized she was crying as well. Silent tears were streaming down her face, her parent’s harsh words towards one another resonating deep inside of her.

The sound of stomping feet started soon after her mom’s tears did. “Where are you going?” her mother suddenly demanded, voice strained from emotion.

“I’m going to Darren’s for the night,” her dad replied bitterly, words clipped. “Give Beca a kiss in the morning for me when she wakes up.”

With that her dad left the house with a slam of the door that rattled the house. Beca heard nothing for the rest of the night but the sounds her own quiet tears, and she was left wishing she had already been asleep when the whole fight started.

Their first fight was months ago, and those months had been filled with periodic late night fights between her parents that Beca had been steadily growing used to. She no longer cried at the harsh words exchanged between the two of them; now she just put her pillow over her head and prayed that they would end the fighting soon so that she wouldn’t be too tired to stay awake in her classes the next day.

Beca didn’t know how long this period of conflict between her parents would last, so all she could hope for was for it to end someday soon.

* * *

The smoke fills Beca’s lungs as she inhales deeply from her cigarette. She’s leaning against the wall of the rehearsal hall, collecting herself mentally before practice starts.

She wasn’t lying when she told Aubrey that she needed something to deal with her all those months ago.

Beca spots a head of red hair approaching in the distance and smiles as Chloe approaches. The ginger grins at her in return for a moment before sparing a glance at the lit stick in Beca’s hand. Her expression falls a bit, though she tries to hide it. Beca grits her teeth slightly.

She knows Chloe doesn’t like her smoking habit. The senior has insisted over and over again that she doesn’t really care, and that it’s your body, Beca, but Beca can tell that she still disapproves. But Beca hasn’t stopped because of that. Why should she? She’s an adult, after all, and Chloe can’t tell her what to do.

Chloe isn’t really anything of significance to Beca, so there’s no point in changing the way she lives her life for the other girl.

Still, Beca knows she hates it, so she drops the remaining bud on the sidewalk as the ginger approaches, stepping on it with the tip of her sneakered toe to extinguish it. She looks up at Chloe again. “Hey,” she greets with a grin.

“Hey you,” Chloe replies easily. She gestures to the bud on the ground. “Getting your pre-Aubrey fix in for the day?”

Beca shrugs. “Gotta get through these awful rehearsals somehow.”

Chloe rolls her eyes good-naturedly before reaching down to take Beca’s hand to pull her into the rehearsal hall. Aubrey, who’s busy setting up chairs and writing on the whiteboard, looks up at their arrival. Her eyes flick down to their joined hands for a brief moment and her eyes wrinkle in distaste before she focuses on her task at hand once again.

“I should probably help her with all that,” Chloe mumbles quietly and slips her hand from Beca’s to join Aubrey’s side.

Beca slumps down in one of the foldout chairs and pulls out her phone to occupy herself while she waits for the rest of the Bellas to arrive. She’s mindlessly scrolling through Twitter when the sound of hushed, tense words catch her attention.

Aubrey and Chloe are standing at the whiteboard under the pretense of writing the rehearsal schedule down, but there isn’t actually anything productive going on. Chloe’s arms are folded across her chest while Aubrey bears down on the shorter girl.

“You know she’s trouble Chloe,” Aubrey hisses, causing Chloe to flinch. “I don’t understand why you’re so fixated on her.”

Oh great. They were talking about Beca, which was one of Beca’s least favorite topics. Still, years of experience has enabled Beca with the talent of making out words that aren’t meant to be heard. Her ears perk up to listen.

“She’s not like what you think she’s like,” Chloe insists quietly, causing Beca’s heart to warm. “She’s dedicated, and smart, and caring, and-”

“You’re just blinded by your infatuation,” Aubrey snaps, cutting Chloe off. “She’s lazy and arrogant and nothing but trouble.”

Beca expects Chloe to retaliate, but instead the ginger just looks hurt and stares up at Aubrey with her jaw clenched. Her shoulders hunch and she folds her arms submissively.

“If you knew what was good for you, and for the group, you’d stay away from that no-good-”

Beca decides she’s had enough of listening to Aubrey bash her. She clears her throat loudly, cutting off the blonde captain’s rant. The two seniors look over at Beca as if they’ve been caught with their hands in the cookie jar, and Beca raises her eyebrows innocently at them.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt your Beca-hate session,” she says airily, feigning ignorance. “Please, continue to talk about how terrible I am. I don’t mind.”

Aubrey doesn’t even look the least bit ashamed. She squares her shoulders to Beca. “I believe I’ve made how I feel about you clear, Beca,” she says. “Don’t pretend that you care about the group, or about Chloe, in the slightest.”

Anger floods into Beca’s veins. Chloe stands behind Aubrey, remaining silent. Beca clenches her hands into fists and opens her mouth to retaliate, but at that moment the doors open and a few more of the Bellas come flooding in. Aubrey’s eyes flicker from the rest of the girls to meet Beca’s eyes, giving her one last squint of disapproval before she turns to finish writing on the board.

Beca looks at Chloe to see the other girl looking at her apologetically. She looks away and chooses to glare at a spot on the floor instead.

The rest of practice goes on without any more conflict, though Beca does make a conscious effort to act even more reluctant than usual. If Aubrey insisted she didn’t care about anything, then fine.

Beca would simply not care. It wasn’t hard to do, seeing as she really didn’t care.

As soon as Aubrey dismisses them, Beca shoots out the door. She doesn’t feel like dealing with this day anymore. She’s on her way home when a voice calls out behind her.

“Beca! Wait up!”

Chloe.

Beca rolls her eyes. Of course Chloe would try to talk to her.

Beca doesn’t turn around, but she does slow down her brisk pace in order to let the other girl catch up easier.

“Beca,” Chloe tries to get her to turn around again, slightly out of breath. “Bec, hey, talk to me.”

At this, Beca feels a hand grab her arm to pull her to a complete stop. She shrugs out of the grip as she turns to face Chloe. She raises an eyebrow irritably. “What is it, dude? I have to get to work.”

Chloe flinches at the iciness in Beca’s tone, but Beca can’t find it within herself to feel bad. “I just,” she starts out uncertainly. “I just wanted to apologize for what Aubrey said. None of that is true, you know. She doesn’t know you at all and she’s making unfair assumptions about you and-”

“Why do you let her walk all over you?” Beca interrupts, somewhat aggressively.

Chloe looks taken aback. “Wh-what?”

Beca rolls her eyes. “You never stand up to Aubrey,” she says tiredly. “You let her order you around all the time, she never lets you do anything in rehearsals, and she always shoots down your ideas.” Beca laughs bitterly. “Sometimes it seems like you’re more like her pet than her co-captain.”

Chloe’s eyes widen and she crosses her arms protectively around her middle. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Beca,” she mumbles timidly.

Beca shrugs. “I don’t need you to say anything. I just want you to grow a pair and stand up for yourself once in a while,” Beca takes a couple steps away from Chloe’s hurt gaze. “Or at the very least have the guts to defend your friends when she’s talking shit on them.”

With that, Beca turns and walks away from Chloe, not wanting to see the sad look in her eyes anymore. She doesn’t turn around to see if Chloe’s watching her go, and Chloe doesn’t try to say anything to stop her.

Which is good, because Beca isn’t convinced she wouldn’t stop a second time for Chloe. Or any number of times after that.

* * *

Chloe doesn’t reach out to Beca for two days, and Beca tries to ignore the Chloe-sized hole in her heart. She doesn’t understand why there’s even a hole in the first place; she’s never had a problem with being alone before- welcomed it, even. Still, she finds herself missing the crazy redhead and her chaotic goodness for those two days.

She’s working the afternoon of the third day of radio silence. Well, she’s not really actually working as much as she’s just laying down on the couch making fun of Jesse while he tries to move heavy boxes, but still. She’s at work.

The bell on the door chimes, signaling someone’s entrance into the store. Beca looks over, surprised because no one ever comes to the store, and is further shocked to see Chloe standing there. At Beca’s job. After not talking to her for two whole days.

Beca ignores the way her heart beats faster when she sees the ginger and sits up quickly from her lounging position, almost forcing herself to lose her lunch in the process. “Uh, hey,” she greets the other girl awkwardly.

“Hey,” is Chloe’s quiet response.

Jesse looks between the two of them for an uncomfortable moment before clearing his throat. “I’m just gonna,” he picks up two near-empty garbage bags and points to the door. “Take out the trash.”

Beca waits until he’s made his swift exit to speak. “What’re you doing here?” she asks, wincing at how harsh the words sound. Chloe doesn’t seem to notice.

“Can we talk?” Chloe asks as her anwer.

Beca nods her head and moves to one side of the couch to make room for Chloe. The senior perches herself on the edge of a cushion and angles her body towards Beca. “I’m sorry,” she starts after a moment. “For the other day, I mean. And also for not talking to you for the last few days. Um,” Chloe eyes close as she gathers her thoughts. “I don’t know why I let Aubrey push me around. She’s my best friend, and I know that she’s under a lot of stress right now, so I guess I just don’t want to make her even more stressed than she already is.”

Chloe looks into Beca’s eyes then, and Beca can see the remorse in her bright blue eyes. “She’s my best friend, but that shouldn’t mean that I let her treat you the way she does.”

Beca softens. “Chloe…” she trails off, not sure what to say.

“I promise that I’m going to try to work on speaking my mind around her,” Chloe says resolutely. “And I’m sorry for not standing up for you at practice.”

Just like that, the ice that has surrounded Beca’s heart for the last two days melts instantly. She reaches across the cushion separating them to place a hand on Chloe’s leg. “Thank you,” she says softly. “And I’m sorry for the other day, too,” she adds sheepishly. “There’s probably a better way I could have said all that.”

The tension melts away from Chloe’s shoulders. “But it was true nonetheless,” she says kindly, reaching down to squeeze Beca’s hand. They share a smile for a small moment before the door to the store opens again. Jesse stands in the doorway this time, looking between the two of them warily.

“Is it safe to come in?” he asks jokingly.

Beca rolls her eyes. “Yes, dork. Everything’s fine.”

Chloe squeezes her hand one more time before standing up. “I actually should get going,” she says as Beca stands up as well. She winks at Beca. “I’ll leave you alone and let the two of you get to work.”

Jesse laughs. “I like how you think Beca actually does any work around here,” he jests as he walks back over to the boxes he was moving before. Beca glares at him and throws a magazine at the back of his head. “Hey!”

Chloe starts walking to the door. “Oh, and Becs,” she turn around again to talk. Beca hums for her to continue. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to a concert with me tonight?” Beca’s face automatically morphs into one of disgust and Chloe rushes to keep talking before she can turn the offer down. “And I know you don’t really like listening to music all that much, but my friend is in a band, and they’re playing a gig at this bar tonight, so it’s not really a concert, and they’re actually pretty good so-”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” Beca cuts off Chloe’s rambling with an exasperated sigh, reaching a hand up to rub at her temple. “But only if you promise to never talk that fast again.”

Chloe lets out a happy squeal. “Yay! Okay,” she schools her expression. “I’ll pick you up at 8?”

Beca shrugs indifferently. “Sure, whatever, dude.”

The bell above the door to the store jingles as Chloe pushes it open. She smiles one last time at Beca. “You’re the best! See ya!” the door shuts behind her and the store is filled with silence once again.

Jesse is the one to break the quiet, Beca still staring at the door. “You’re gonna go listen to music voluntarily?” he whistles lowly. “She’s got you whipped, Becs.”

Beca whips around and picks up another magazine, throwing it at the back of Jesse’s head again. It joins the one on the floor as Jesse laughs teasingly in response.

* * *

The bar is fairly crowded by the time Beca and Chloe get there later that night. Since she’s still not legal, Beca is worried about getting in, even with her fake ID, but luckily Chloe’s friend in the band, Ryan, shows up to let them in. He only stays long enough to let Chloe hug him and tell him good luck before rushing off for sound check.

Chloe tangles her fingers loosely with Beca’s to keep them together in the mass of people while she cranes her head trying to find an empty table. Beca spots one at the edge of the room near the stage and starts pulling Chloe towards it. They sit down and a worker soon comes up to ask if they want anything to drink.

They decide on just a simple beer each and the worker rushes off. Beca looks over at Chloe when they’re alone to see the other girl already looking at her with a smile on her face. She quirks an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Chloe looks away and shakes her head. “I’m just really glad you agreed to come here with me, is all,” she says shyly. “And a little surprised.”

Beca shrugs. “Yeah, well…” she trails off, not really having a specific reason why she agreed to come. If she was being honest, Beca was surprised herself. She’d tried all day, but could not come up with an explanation for why she said yes. So, she just clicks her tongue to end her unfinished thought and lets the topic die.

They sit and watch the band tune up as people start to settle down into tables around them, drinks in hand. Their drinks are brought to them after a few minutes and that’s when Chloe decides to start up a conversation again.

“Have you talked to your dad at all since your fight?” Chloe asks hesitantly, bringing her drink up to her lips to take a sip.

The question catches Beca off guard. “No,” she replies a little shortly. She sees the apology quickly forming on Chloe’s face and feels guilty. She hurries to fix her answer. “I mean, he hasn’t reached out to me since then, and it’s not like I ever really tried to reach out to him before we fought, so,” Beca shrugs and looks down at her drink, swirling the beer in the bottle for a moment before taking a gulp.

“What did you guys fight about?”

This question makes Beca feel uneasy. Chloe knew they had fought because Beca had told her as much, but Beca hadn’t gone into any sort of details about it. She didn’t think Chloe had really cared at the time, so she hadn’t bothered to explain further.

“Well,” Beca starts slowly, avoiding eye contact and trying to act uncaring about the whole thing. “He yelled at me about the whole jail thing and I tried to tell him what happened, but he wouldn’t listen to me.” Beca sighs and picks at the edge of the label on her beer bottle. “We also had this deal that I could drop out at the end of the year, but now he’s saying that the deal’s off because of everything that happened.”

Chloe remains quiet, so Beca looks up at her. She’s wearing an unreadable expression. For a moment Beca thinks she’s about to get lectured about wanting to quit college, but it never comes. Instead, she just asks, “Do you think he was serious, or was he just mad in the moment?”

Beca shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. His mind seemed pretty made up.”

Chloe reaches over and sets her hand on top of Beca’s where it’s resting on the table. “That sucks,” she says simply, giving Beca’s hand a squeeze. Beca laughs a little in response. “And I don’t know your dad, but I bet if you just talked to him he would come around eventually.”

“I dunno,” Beca says, unconvinced. “Maybe.”

The band starts playing soon after, and Beca had to admit that they weren’t half bad. Their soft, indie vibes were easy to listen to, and Ryan’s lead vocals were soulful and solid. Beca listens to the chord changes and can’t help but think of songs that would go well with them- something she hasn’t done in years. For once instead of fighting it, Beca lets herself relax in her seat and feel the melody surround her.

She’s brought out her trance when she sees Chloe stand up from the table. Beca raises an eyebrow at her when the ginger reaches down to take her hand and start pulling her up from her seat.

“Dance with me?” Chloe asks, her tone a mixture of flirtation and uncertainty all at once.

She briefly flashes back to months ago at the hood night party when Chloe had tried to get Beca to dance with her. She remembers the confusion and hidden sadness in those big blue eyes as she’d turned her down and walked away, trying to shut her out and protect herself.

Beca didn’t want to turn Chloe down anymore, and she was tired of shutting her out.

“Of course I will,” Beca says quietly.

And ultimately, Chloe’s smile is worth any uneasy feelings Beca may have about dancing, or music, or anything else in her life.

Beca pulls Chloe close to her while they sway together to the sound of a soft melody. When she looks into Chloe’s eyes and sees the happiness they hold in this moment, she decides that she would do just about anything to keep that joy there, right where it belonged.

#fanfic #pitch perfect #bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #life is not a love song #it's v late right now #at i'm at a conference #but here it is

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