#it all ends when they are pining over each other in endgame through longing gazes and they are to pathetic to be angry with themselves | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

roniscloud · 4 years ago

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lhs - runnin’

lee heeseung [a. + f. 4700 words] runnin’

to you

you came up on some new

i know i shouldn’t feel blue

‘cause i was runnin’ out of time for you

synopsis: you met heeseung in your freshman year of college and immediately hit it off. you’ve made it to your third year and when everyone including yourselves thought that you were each other’s endgame, the devastation when you two split was immeasurable. you both know there’s still love between you. this break allows you both to realize new things. can you two find your ways back to each other? will this be the final goodbye?

genre + tropes: angst. fluff. comedy. college!au. establishedrelationship!au. exes!au.

warnings: fem reader. swearing. arguing. nosy friends. cold heeseung and cold reader. drifting relationship. interventions. slight suggestive themes but it’s only mentioned like once. they both pine over each other. mentions of alcohol and binge drinking. maybe not a happy ending. if you choose to see it that way. whoops. appearances of the rest of enha plus txt yeonjun and soobin.

i. the break

“so this is how it’s gonna end? i thought we were doing fine.”

heeseung erupts into an even angrier fit, “are you kidding me? we are not fucking fine. in what world is this fine? tell me!”

you scoff from where you stand cross-armed on the other side of the bedroom. “well, can you really blame me? it’s hard to see if there’s something wrong if we never see each other.”

“exactly my point! we don’t see each other.”

the two of you have been at each other’s throats since heeseung showed up at your apartment. you have no idea how long ago that was or when the argument started. all you remember is coming up to him when he arrived, wanting to actually spend some time with him. instead he shrugged you off and ignored you, blaming the fatigue. the rest has been a blur. one of you made an offhand comment and now here you are: frustrated and in another fight.

a quick recap: you two met at a mutual friend’s party. you thought that each other was attractive and he ended up asking you out. from there you kept going out, fell in love, dated, and everyone thought you were perfect together. three years later and it’s getting tiring. life has been draining trying to balance it all.

“and who’s fault is that?”

annoyed, he snaps back, “oh please, you can not put the blame solely on me.”

“bullshit. i sure can when i’m the only one making an effort here. i’ve actually been trying to save us. you, on the other hand…” you pause again, rolling your eyes, “well, we both know just how much you care.”

his jaw drops, defensively he spits back, “are you genuinely implying that i don’t care about you? about us? that’s rich.”

you move to sit on the edge of the bed, staring at a single spot on the floor. you can see the shadow of heeseing pacing back and forth. you sit there, not looking at each other. the only sounds to be heard are his footsteps and the heavy sighs from you. you think back to the last several weeks. you recall each of the times you have been able to see each other. there’s no substance, nothing memorable. the only thing that comes to mind is that you always end up not talking at all or arguing.

just like right now.

“be real, heesung. when was the last time we went on a date? when was the last time you stayed the night without it ending up with you just knocking out? when was the last time we actually sat down and had a conversation? be honest because i will. i can’t remember.”

“and yet you thought we were fine?”

“well it’s better to believe a good lie than face the hurtful truth. i’m trying to save this relationship. i’m trying all the fucking time and you don’t do shit.”

he spits back frustrated, “well maybe that’s because there’s nothing to be saved.”

“are you kidding me right now? am i supposed to be scared? you tell me that there’s nothing to be saved and expect me to just give up?”

“sorry but i’m not running from this anymore.”

“you’re not sorry and we both know it.” you push yourself back up to stand, resting your hands on your hips, “you can’t say you’re sorry and expect me to forgive you. that’s not how this works.”

“this isn’t what i wanted to happen. this isn’t how it was supposed to go.”

“then make it work.”

“i- i can’t,” he holds his hands over his face, running one through his hair, “it’s too much.”

“so what? what do you mean?”

he finally stops. he takes a deep breath and lets it all out, “i just can’t see this working anymore, at least not like this.”

ii. week one

you thought this would be more difficult. that this would be the hardest pill to swallow. the first week apart may actually be the easiest. nothing has really changed. that’s probably because you haven’t told anyone that you two are no longer together. perhaps the time that you didn’t spend with each other before the break up had trained you for this.

life goes on, with or without heeseung. that’s what you keep telling yourself. you choose to get caught up with your life. you have other priorities. it’s not a crime to focus on yourself for the first time in three years.

heeseung feels the same. he doesn’t see any point on dwelling on the breakup. sure, he was the one who made the decision. he’s the one who put it out there. he’s the one who ended it and the one who is taking responsibility.

lucky for both of you, you don’t have any courses together and your schedules don’t really coincide. there’s no chance at any awkward run-ins. there is this weird, tiny feeling though. there’s this small inkling of something missing. you both suppress it. i mean, hell, the breakup just happened.

iii. scheming

meanwhile, your friends have all seemed to notice that the two of you are off. they aren’t sure what it is. they get that you two have had some time apart, but you’re both adults with lives. you have your own classes, jobs, other friends, and such. no one mentions it because they don’t think it’s their business.

but come on… there’s no way they won’t get to the bottom of it. our resident gossips, sunoo and sunghoon, team up and make it their mission to snoop around. of course, they take precautions to not get caught. the scheming duo find out nothing, to no avail.

now the gang of the scheming duo plus jay, jake, and niki have convened in the common room of jungwon’s dorm building. the 02z are all playing billiards in one corner. sunoo battles jungwon in a game of ping pong. the youngest of the group sits by himself on one of the couches, contemplating if he should speak up. they’ve been in a heated discussion as they try to figure out what exactly has been irking them.

riki, against his own conscience, speaks up to the five. he has this gut feeling and innocently wants to voice his opinion. “what if,” the young boy start out while gauging the faces of the others, “now don’t get mad and just hear me out.” he stops again, taking his time to make eye contact with each of the older boys, waiting until they all nod, “what if… they broke up?”

the group of friends all exchange glances with each other before breaking out into laughter. jay composes himself a bit, still chuckling when he says, “seriously? you think they broke up? heeseung and y/n? yeah, no way.”

sunoo leans onto the ping pong table and eggs him on, “they are literally soulmates.”

jungwon sets his racket down and goes to plop himself next to riki on the couch, “there is no way in hell the two of them split.”

iv. breaking news

“yeah, we split.” plain and simple. three words that crushed the poor hearts of jake and jungwon. he broke the news over brunch. he sensed their curiosity when they deliberately never brought you up.

“good joke there, dude. almost had me for a second.” jake says, awkwardly with a forced laugh.

the youngest of the three chiming in and agreeing, “yeah, that’s really funny.” a silence hits the booth. “you are joking… right?”

the oldest then looks back and forth between the two, tilting his head to one side like a confused pup. he doesn’t see why they think he would joke and simply replies, “nope. you guys haven’t asked so i’m guessing you tried to snoop around and pick up on my cues. i’m also guessing sunoo’s behind this whole operation.”

“ok wait,” jake interjects, “what do you mean you broke up? you can’t just break up.”

jungwon agrees, “he’s right. you two are just playing a prank on us.”

“guys, i’m serious. y/n and i are no longer together.” the two just freeze, jaws dropped, eyes wide. “besides, it’s better this way.”

v. bad timing

meanwhile the remaining four members of their friend group have met up in the campus library in an attempted study session. so far, they’ve just gone back to gossiping and slacking off. the boys all find themselves teetering on the verge of sleep. that is until sunghoon catches you walking in. immediately going to softly pat the others back awake, they all look up confused. trying to stay subtle, hoon jerks his head to the side in your direction.

you make your way to one of the shelves, searching high and low for a book you need for your literature class. sneaking up behind you comes choi yeonjun, the library aid and a friend of yours.

“need any help?”

“no thanks, i’m good jun.” you give him a polite smile.

unbeknownst to both of you, the failure of a study group has creeped to a closer table. they knew that you two were friends but they still can’t help but eavesdrop. “will you two please shut up so we can hear them?” the annoyed face evident on sunghoon’s face at the bickering of sunoo and niki. he turns to see jay, snacking and not paying attention. he rolls his eyes at the group, his gaze then catching yeonjun leading you out of the shelves. quickly shushing the three and nodding his head in your direction again, they finally get the hint.

yeonjun steps in front of you, “so you know my friend soobin, right?”

“soobin… as in choi soobin?”

yeonjun flashes his bright smile, “that’s the one.”

“yeah i know him. we had a stats class together a while back. he definitely taught me a few tricks around a calculator.” you laugh with him, “he’s super sweet, and needless to say cute too.”

“well, am i glad to hear that! long story short, he’s kinda been crushing on you lately and wants to know if you’re free. he mentioned your shared class before but he said he never got your number.”

“since you have mine already, go ahead and give it to him. tell him i’m free whenever he is.”

yeonjun raises his eyebrows at your boldness, “will do. i just wanted to ask you first before i gave it to him because… y’know…”

“no worries, i completely understand.”

he gives a quick goodbye before going back to his desk. storming quickly, four faces appear in front of you, all a combination of confusion, shock, and anger.

sunoo starts, “um… y/n. why are you telling yeonjun to give your number to another guy?”

“yeah, are you cheating on heeseung?” his partner in crime, sunghoon, joins in.

you pause and scan their faces. your face dawns an equally as confused expression. “how can i cheat on someone who isn’t my boyfriend?”

four jaws simultaneously drop. riki’s being the first to close and answer a bit hushed, “i knew it.”

jay turns to him in disbelief, “not the time, niki!”

“did heeseung not tell you guys?” you ask them slowly. “i assumed he would be the one to let you all know.”

“that you two broke up?!” sunoo asks angrily, being shushed by yeonjun from the counter. giving an apologetic smile then tuning back into your conversation, “what do you mean you two broke up?”

“we just… broke up. that’s it. end of story. now if you’ll excuse me, i have to actually study.”

they watch you check out the book you came in for originally and walk out the doors, unsure of what to do next.

vi. the intervention

arranging your monthly movie night was not exactly the easiest task given the tensions surrounding two people in your group. so the only logical solution that they all could think of was to simply not to tell one of you that the other was coming over. a fool-proof plan.

in the dorm of the 02z, you did not expect to see heeseung when you walked in.

he gets up from his spot on the couch, “what the hell is going on here?”

“yeah, an explanation would be nice.” you cross your arms as you glare at the younger boys.

niki, trying to act as mediator gestures for both of you two sit on the loveseat—the same loveseat that was always reserved for the two of you before. “this is an intervention.”

after the confession of their intentions, everyone goes quiet. not a single word is spoken for several minutes, no one knowing how to start. after much internal contemplation, jungwon finally attempts to start. “we brought you two here today because- you know what, i can’t do this.” he stops and cuts himself off, burying his face in his hands.

sunoo sits next to him with his arms crossed. “how dare you two? our parents gets divorced and we don’t even get a notice.” it was common for them to refer to you and heeseung as the parents of the group, being the oldest. although something about sunoo still calling you by that nickname stings, him shaking his head to display his disappointment making you feel guilty.

you see heeseung out of the corner of your eye avoiding looking up to your friends. “look, i don’t see the big deal. we broke up. that happens when relationships don’t work out.”

sunghoon quickly intervenes, “how can you say it isn’t a big deal? you’re letting three years go to waste and that’s all you can say? that’s what happens.” he scoffs at how shameless you come off.

“well, would you rather us stay together even when we were unhappy?” their reactions were a mix of shouts, the words yes, of course not, and duh all blending into each other.

that’s what brought your ex boyfriend out of his daze. “y/n has a point. we broke up and it’s over. we were no longer happy and i don’t see the point in bringing it up again either. it’s in the past. let it go.” he says rather coldly and sternly. him actually saying it and acknowledging it caused that weird feeling to come back. his body language is off, too. your years together has taught you enough about heeseung to know when he’s upset, especially with himself.

jake takes his turn, looking down at his fidgeting hands and muttering sadly, “but you promised each other forever.”

that prompts you and heeseung to glance at each other quickly, making eye contact and it lingering for a couple of seconds. you look away first, not noticing that his stare doesn’t leave you.”some promises just can’t be kept.” your response then making him turn away.

“bullshit.” it’s the first word uttered by jay this entire time. “neither of you are the type to break promises.”

“some things can’t be helped,” heeseung defends.

jay, getting angrier, asks his friend, “did you know that she’s already going on a date? yeah, that guy, soobin. i’m pretty sure you know who he is. your ex,” he makes sure to stress the last word with a certain degree of annoyance, “thinks he’s cute.”

emotionless, heeseung answers back, “good for her, then.”

you were sure that you were over him, that’s why you said yes to the date. but something about him not caring leaves you feeling odd.

jungwon stops your train of thought, “no, you’re supposed to be upset. you’re supposed to get jealous and confess you still want to be with her. you’re supposed to fight for her and be together.”

another quick glance between the two of you, lasting longer than the previous one. no words are said on his end, but you know exactly what he’s trying to say. “he doesn’t have to fight when i’m the one who ended it.” you knew him. you knew he couldn’t admit to the others his decision. after all, he wants to be a good role model even in his darkest times. he couldn’t crush their idea of love and you did what you had to do. you lied for his sake—and maybe even yours.

vii. him

two months have passed since the breakup. there’s tension amongst the friend group, the six not wanting to pick sides between you and heeseung. they’re constantly going back and forth, like they’re walking on eggshells as to not bring up something that only happened with the other.

to get your mind off everything, you’ve found comfort in soobin. well, more accurately you’ve found comfort in between his sheets, or wherever you two decide for it to go down. that’s not to say the dates aren’t great. you’re not official and you both know that. your latest date, however, couldn’t help but feel weird.

the date was going pretty well. don’t get me wrong—soobin is a great guy. he’s sweet, caring, funny, and handsome. you have a lot in common like your taste in drinks and movies. maybe if you had met him first, you would’ve dated him… but you didn’t meet him first. you met heeseung first, and soobin isn’t heeseung.

you found yourself drifting from the conversation now and then, thinking about how heeseung would’ve been at that moment. you think back to his habits, particularly the way he raises his eyebrows whenever he’s excited or talking about something he’s passionate about. you always found it endearing. over the course of dinner, you are able to notice that soobin has some cute habits too, like him covering his face when he gets shy or puffing out his cheeks. but it still isn’t the same.

“you two deserve each other.”

soobin catches your attention again with that comment. “what?”

“you and heeseung. i know that look. don’t try to lie to me.”

“look, heeseung is my past, and i want it to stay that way.”

“do you really want it to stay that way, or are you just afraid of what could happen if you let him back into your present?”

you give him a teasing glare, “don’t get all philosophical with me. i just don’t think he and i can go back to how we were before.”

“what’s so bad about you two changing? obviously if it didn’t work out, you shouldn’t try to be what you were before.”

“can’t i just try with you?”

“as much as i would love for you to give me that chance, i can’t do that to you or to myself. it’s not fair.”

you hesitantly ask him, “but is it worth it?”

“that’s not my decision to make.”

viii. her

now that you’re virtually not in his life, he seems to be looking for you everywhere. actually… rather than going out of his way to look for you, everything just reminds him of you. the jingles of the commercials you always sang along to, your favorite songs on the radio, the reruns of 90’s shows you always binged. hell, even when he was making ramen, he was reminded of how you would make his favorite for him every time he was stressed over an exam. he was sitting in the back of the lecture hall, trying so hard to stay awake for his 3 hour long class with the most boring professor on campus. he fought the urge to text you since it felt like second nature to rely on you to help cheer him up.

there was a particular night when it really hit him. reality smacked him in the face late one evening. heeseung was bored out of his mind, laying alone in bed, aimlessly browsing netflix to find something to watch. he thinks to himself y/n would’ve slammed this laptop closed and talked all night about random and obscure topics. he laughs to himself, reliving the memories. right then, it’s obvious. he misses her.

ix. promises

the rain hitting your bedroom window had no help on your already gloomy mood. what did help was the bottle of soju- well more realistically, four bottles of soju. it was all the liquid courage you needed to call heeseung at three in the morning.

you sat drowsily on the rug of your living room, your phone on speaker and placed in front of you as you stared out the dewy glass. you heard the phone ring seven times, ready to hang up until you heard his groggy voice come out from the other end. “hello? y/n, why are you up?”

you laugh softly and ask him, sounding loopy, “why are you up?”

“because you’re calling me. would you like to give me a reason why, and are you drunk?”

“maybe. anyways, you know… i was thinking. we broke a lot of promises and it hurts. i have to know that we’re not bad people. i have to keep at least one, right?”

heeseung groans but lets you ramble, knowing that you won’t stop until you’ve said it all, “go on…”

“we made a promise that if something was going on, if we were in a dark place, that we would talk to someone. well, if you couldn’t tell by now, i’m not in the best place. the first person i thought to talk to was you.”

“why me?”

“shhh… don’t ask questions. i know you’re tired so just stay on the phone and let me talk. ok?”

he goes quiet for a bit, sighing, “ok.”

“i miss you. i do. i don’t expect you to miss me but i just want to say it,” pausing to hiccup, “soobin helped me realize some things, saying some crap like we deserve each other.” you chuckle as you recall his words, “maybe he said it because bad people deserve bad people. maybe he said it because in our own fucked up lives, we’re the only ones who can understand each other. i did a lot of thinking and i’ve come to the conclusion that we don’t. because if we stay together, we can’t move on. we can’t grow. we can’t become good people, no matter how much we want it. that’s life. sometimes, no matter how much we want something, no matter how much we wish on stars or pray, some things just aren’t meant to be.”

“y/n, get some rest…”

“wait, i’m not done. you already can tell i’ve been drinking and to be honest i have been, for a while. i do it,” starting to choke up and sniffle, “because it helps me forget. even if it’s just for a minute that i can forget what happened, i’ll drink as much as it takes. i’ll grow out of it, eventually. i know i will, but for now… i have to do what i have to do. i’m sure you can relate.” you laugh again, getting more drowsy. you bring your legs up, hugging your knees. faintly, the sounds of heeseung’s snores play from your phone. you smile to yourself, “i wish you were here, singing me a lullaby. i don’t know when you fell asleep but goodnight. take care of yourself.”

cuddled up in his bed, heeseung hears you hang up. he lets you believe he didn’t hear what you said. he knows the reality of it all and the weight that you both are carrying. knowing that you won’t check your phone for the rest of the night, he sends you a quick text: bookstore, saturday, noon. goodnight.

as he turns off his phone to try to fall back asleep, he sees his reflection in the black screen. he sees his puffy, red eyes and his tear-stained cheeks. the end of it all is coming and finally, you two are ready for it.

x. love song

seeing him in person is a good idea. clearing the air, letting it all out, getting closure. all good ideas, you hope. walking into the bookstore was a weird feeling. when you spot him sitting by the window, you quietly make your way over. he looks up at your new presence, his feet shuffling out of nervousness. you notice the glass of pear juice on the small coffee table in front of him, already half empty.

“hi,” he says like a whisper.

“hi,” you awkwardly respond. it’s unlike the two of you to not know how to start a conversation. you make your way onto the cushioned seat, letting yourself get comfortable to help ease the tension. you each avoid the other’s gaze, not knowing how to begin. you sigh and finally ask, “how have you been?”

“busy,” he says as he nods, “finally took up actual music lessons. thought it would be better to have someone who’s played piano and guitar professionally instead of trying to teach myself.”

you softly giggle, “that’s good. you’ve always loved music.”

“yeah… how about you?”

“same, busy. i got the t.a position i applied for like forever ago.”

“congrats! you still looking to become a teacher?”

“well, generally yeah. i was having my doubts before but i just fell back into it. finally being able to be there, present, and guiding others… that’s what i want.” you sit there across from him, watching him and taking it all in. the man in front of you is heeseung, but not the heeseung you knew. no, this is the better version of him. the version of him where he can focus on himself. the version of heeseung that’s glowing and happy and ready to take on the world. “so, look. there’s no easy or delicate way to put it but i think there are things we both need to get off our chests.”

“agreed. since it all happened—the fights, the breakups, the ambush interventions—we haven’t actually talked.”

“those interventions… they were silly but the guys did help me realize some things. we’re growing up. sure, i thought we had this plan of us graduating, getting married, having a family, settling down, growing old. we both wanted that type of life. sadly, it’s not what happened and we have to live with it.”

he lets out a chuckle, “heeseung and y/n: meant for each other and meant to be.”

“but not meant to last. what a bittersweet and poetic ending."

“it’s like people always say: right person, wrong time.”

“you know… you used to tell me that our love song was the soundtrack to the best life you could live.” you reach out and take his hand in yours, “i just,” pausing to take a deep breath and compose yourself, “i just want you to know… that if anything happens-”

he cuts you off with a quiet gasp, whispering your name with a shaky voice, “don’t.”

you shake your head and gently squeeze his hand, “if anything happens… if in the end, we don’t find our way back and it isn’t us, don’t think we ended on a bad note.” you drop your head as you chuckle lightly before continuing, “cause you were always on key.” you give him a small grin, trying your hardest to not make things worse by crying. “we were just playing different tunes.”

he pulls you in closer to him, placing his hands softly on your cheeks. “i always hated seeing you cry,” he says as he wipes away the tears on your face, not bothering about his own. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close for the last time.

you stay there in his warmth, hearing him sniffle as he tries to hold back the falling tears. when you pull away, you tell him “i will always love you. maybe not in the way i thought i would but it’s still there.”

“maybe in our next life, it’ll be the right time.” with that, he leaves a kiss on your forehead, leaves the bookstore, and leaves your life. your duet that worked in perfect harmony now playing a beautiful cadence—two wandering artists, free to fill your own wretched worlds with new melodies, the bliss and tranquility of it all. the hope that maybe one day, you’ll be in each other’s lives again is enough.

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ktheist · 5 years ago

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nice guys finish last | m

synopsis. you thought you were over yoongi’s dick move of ending your engagement through his parents - not even a text when he disappeared out of your life. that’s why you agreed to the newly arranged marriage with his brother, namjoon, but on the brink of your wedding day, it becomes apparent that you haven’t really let go of the past as you tear up in front of your soon-to-be husband at the back room of the church.

◟alternatively, “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just... keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

pairings. husband!ceo!namjoon x doctor!reader x ex-fiance!producer!yoongi

genre. arraged marriage au. angst. fluff. smut.

word. 16.2k

content: age gap factor (namjoon is 5 years older than oc and yoongi is 7 years older than oc). pining. teasing. hoseok cockblocking.

warning(s): heavy adult content. mentions of cheating. hospital scenes.

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs. story time.

“i don’t want to marry you at all. the person i love is someone else.” there are tears brimming in your eyes but if there’s anything the years of etiquette class namjoon’s parents forced on him taught him - he’d say he turned out okay - it’s to not mention to the crying lady that she’s crying. but he can’t help stare a little longer. admire a little too much.

the rays flooding through the window paired with the prettiest ivory dress he’s seen you in gives you an iridescent halo. you look like an angel descended from the top most heavens.

but not for him.

“i know,” he lets out a drawn out sigh, hand on his neck. he’s always been the awkward one between the two. if it was him - if it was his brother, he would say it without any ounce of self-reproach. but then again what does namjoon have to be sorry for? for being born? for being the second choice son to step into his brother’s shoes when the aforementioned man threatened to disown the family name if their parents refused to let him marry a girl of his choice who, according to the workers’ gossip, ‘he suddenly woke up one day and decided he was in love with’?

“it’s yoongi, isn’t it? you love yoongi.”

your eyes are prettier when you’re looking directly at him. the tears give them a kind of glow that makes him want to gather you into his arms and keep you there. the flushed cheeks affirms - despite saying it with full confidence, it was just - his hunch.

oh.

the ceremony proceeds rather smoothly. you’re still sniffling when your father passes your hand to him at the end of the aisle. the older man himself looks distraught. either he knows you’re against this marriage and hates himself for failing to put his daughter’s happiness before the guaranteed wealth that comes from marrying you off to the kim family or you’d gotten into a fight with him in a last ditch attempt to convince him to call off the marriage.

either way, you’re here now. the pastor’s words are muddled in your ears but it’s enough to take note of the end tone and the steely silence that ensues which could only mean it’s your turn to say those words.

“i do.” they’re the easiest to get over with.

after endless fights with your parents, going on two hunger strikes and running away to paris for a year - you know you’re in the endgame. and you’ve painstakingly and sorely lost.

he lifts the veil off your face, taking his time with setting it over your head. it’s no secret that kim namjoon is handsome. the kind of thick, textured-fabric-suit-wearing and sleek-back hair kind of handsome. yoongi was more of the hoodie-and-jeans and messy-in-need-of-a-trim hair kind of handsome. but he isn’t yoongi.

you screw your eyes shut, refusing to let the memories of your own wedding vows embed in your head. those beautiful pink full lips are as soft as they look. but they’re not kissing you on your pressed-into-a-straight-line lips. betrayed by your curiosity, your eyes flutter open only to gaze upon the smooth cream skin that wraps around his neck and just the gentle protrusion of his adam’s apple as he pulls way.

your newly-wed husband has just kissed you on the forehead.

adjusting to married life is as easy as slipping on your favorite shoes. it’s perfect. almost unsettling even. the beach house off the coast of the private island namjoon’s family owns is breathtaking. the sound of waves crashing against the shores is your constant companion as you work on your research. it’s a project you had to put aside when you graduated. the first year at the hospital is the busiest, or so your senior colleagues say.

namjoon strides into the kitchen sometime past noon, all fresh and showered with a fitting long sleeved shirt and trousers. it’s the most dressed down you’ve ever seen and yet for some people you know, it’s the fanciest they can get. sometimes you wonder if the standards have hit the ground or if namjoon’s so well-adapted into the routine of dressing up presentable enough to go to his office on an off day in case something calls for it.

“good morning.” you greet first, traces of the embarrassing tear-jerking wedding ceremony still lingers in the back of your mind - you’d tried to explain yourself on the way here in the boat but namjoon had easily blew your worries away with a light chuckle and a “i’d do the same too if i loved someone and had to marry another person.”

it’s not unusual for you to already be perched on the elegant gold sofa adjacent to the sliding doors that has the best view of the sea. the master bedroom is the other part of the beach house with spectacular view - you’d been entranced when you stepped into the room on your first day. but namjoon suggested you stay in the guest room, knowing there’s no way you would share a bed with him -

“or you can take this room and i take the guest room,” he added a moment later, probably because he saw you staring out the balcony, bewitched by the sea. that had broke you from your trance and you’d shook your head so much in protest, you were surprised it didn’t fall right off your neck. “n-no! i mean - i’ll take the guestroom.”

his parents had been nice enough to lend their private beach house for you honeymoon. you weren’t going to step over their son and conquer the master bedroom - even if technically, you’re now part of the family.

“morning.” he fixes you with that half-smile. the kind of smile you give to someone you’re in an complacent relationship with but nothing more.

at least you’ve got that going for you. and that’s a rarity coming from the gossips you’ve heard here and there about marriages found on the ground of convenience.

his eyes swipe over the ipad in your shorts-donned lap from his spot, leaned against the counter in the kitchen, pitch black mug of coffee with wafts of smoke coming out of it, “how’s your research going?”

“well,” you set the ipad down on the glass surface of the coffee table, it’s bare of anything besides your phone that’s been lighting up from the notifications. one from your mother, another from the group of friends you found in college, and the rest is from your strictly-women group from the hospital, “the world wide web is resourceful and all but it can’t beat the information in actual books - papers, you know?”

“ah, the traditional way of researching.” he chuckles, dimples digging into his cheek, enhancing his handsome features. you never knew he had dimples. not that you knew much about him - you’d only properly talked on the day of your wedding, in the back room and the first thing you said was -

you suppress the memories further down your thoughts. it works for the most part, but you can’t help the flush that spreads across your face. so the laugh you let out is a little strained and if he notices, he doesn’t show - like he pretends not to notice a plenty many things.

but alas, he knew your secret crush - was it still just a crush you had for yoongi? you’re not sure.

“what can i say? i’m raised traditional.”

that was two weeks ago. now, you’re back to working your ass off at the hospital, being grilled to the bones by your supervisor, getting reprimanded over being one minute late and then being told to run to the cafe five minutes from the hospital to buy your supervisors their favorite strawberry smoothie topped with sprinkles.

“kim seokjin, that dickwad.” jennie huffs, her cat-like eyes making it appear as though she’s plotting the man’s death. “he’s working you to the bones as soon as you get back.”

“he probably thinks i’m not that serious about my residency since my family has enough fortune to sustain me for my whole lifetime,” you can only laugh at that, her anger has sucked all the tiredness and annoyance you have for your supervisor right out of you. it feels refreshing, “all the more reason to prove him wrong.”

“enough about that asshole,” jisoo waves a dismissive hand off and you know what’s coming is far more terrifying: she blinks, eyes filled with stars and cherry red lips curling into the kind of smile that can only mean one thing, “how was it? the second son of kimcorp. were there rose petals on bed? candles lit around the house? a romantic, sizzling-”

“sorry, jisoo, i gotta go get ready for the dinner. i’ll buy you lunch tomorrow, okay?” you clasp your hands together apologetically when your phone buzzes with the reminder you set a week prior: 8am annual kimcorp dinner.

you breathe a sigh of relief as you shake off your white coat, draping it over your recliner before escaping to the washroom with a bag of makeup and the dust-proof cover bag of the outfit you’re wearing for tonight. by the time you’re touching up on your nude lipstick, your phone buzzes again but this time, the screen lights up with namjoon’s name on it.

“hey,” his voice is deeper through the phone - it’s the first time he calls you. there was never any reason for you to call each other but you suppose, he’s calling to make sure you’re not forgetting the dinner -

“i’m in front of the hospital.”

or maybe not.

“wh-what do you mean?” your cheeks heat up from the thought of namjoon waiting for you in his audi. the image, too domestic for your liking.

“well, you can’t drive so i thought i’d pick you up.” he says it like its the simplest equation to understand.

“namjoon,” the name feels foreign on your tongue regardless of how many times you taste it when you need to tell him something - to set the line straight, “i didn’t know you were gonna pick me up so i already told kyungsoo to pick me up. he’s probably already here. sorry i didn’t tell you sooner.”

“i know,” he says simply.

“e-excuse me?” while you’re beyond confused.

“i told your parents i’d pick you up so kyungsoo’s driving them to the dinner.”

“oh.”

wait. what?!

namjoon is confident in his driving skills - as he is with everything he does. he’s almost perfect. the line of his shoulders seem at ease as he stirs the wheel with one hand and the other rests on the gear, inches away from your scarlet clad thighs.

“why isn’t hoseok driving you?” the aforementioned man sticks to him like glue. everywhere namjoon goes, he goes. it’s a given since he’s the head secretary but anyone who’s seen them interact could tell there’s more than boss-employee relationship between them. they seem like close friends which is unlikely be given namjoon’s too-serious nature and hoseok’s joke-cracking every five minutes - but not impossible.

his face remains the same as he keeps his eyes on the road, humming briefly, “he had a thing.”

“can secretaries have a thing and leave their boss to drive for himself like that?” that doesn’t sound right. you may not be actively involved in fecam industries’ affairs but mr. jung, your dad’s secretary, spends more time with your dad than the two men do with their wives - that’s how demanding the business world is. but could hoseok get a free pass because of his and namjoon’s friendship?

namjoon chuckles, dimples and all and you can’t help but blush at the side profile. if anything, he has a sharp jawline and beautiful neck-

you push the thought as soon as it comes. neck? who finds necks beautiful?

“he had a date but it’s not until a couple hours,” the tone he uses is light and playful but underlined with a sort of bashfulness that you don’t know kim namjoon was capable of, “i told him to go home because i wanted to pick you up myself.”

your cheeks heat up all over again as you stare at him a little too long. so much so, the hand that’s been comfortably perched on the gear goes to the back of his neck in an unsure manner.

“i just needed to talk to you about something.” he explains, just as awkward as he was in the back room at the church.

“okay.” eyes turned to the road too, you can see namjoon breathing a sigh of relief from your periphery. that couldn’t have been because of you could it? was he nervous because you were watching him? “what did you want to talk about?”

he clears his throat, that natural ease in his tone returning, “if it gets uncomfortable - if anyone asks, we met because you were yoongi’s fiancee and we couldn’t help but fall in love. but you wanted to intern at a hospital in paris so that’s why we’ve only gotten married now.”

you take awhile to digest the information until something in your stomach doesn’t sit right with you, “you want me to... lie?”

his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth just for the briefest moment as he thinks about it. he probably didn’t expect you to disagree but he admits his mistake faster than half the people you know your whole life would, “i’m sorry, i didn’t think it would weight on your conscience. i was thought it’d be hard on you if some ass- someone’s going to start a rumor about you but i didn’t ask how you’d feel about it.”

“i see.” you simply nod. it’s true that you’re the pass-up fiancee who got between two people who fell in love in college but the other is the son of a renown family and engaged while the other is an arts major from a normal working family. unable to let bygones be bygones, you decide to marry the younger brother to your fiance - or so the story goes. “but they already know i was yoongi’s fiancee and i ended up marrying you. i don’t need - no, i don’t want to explain myself to anyone.”

despite that big talk, your can feel the prickle of tears in your eyes. namjoon steals a glance at you and he never mentions the glassiness of your gaze - if anything, he smiles. it’s different than the usual smiles. this one, though wordless, says he’s following your flow. do what you like and if and when things get though, you can count on me.

dinner has yet started when you arrived. guests are still arriving and waiters and waitresses are carrying trays of champagne glasses around. in a distance, your friends wave at you to come over. you smile, hand falling away from namjoon’s since you needed to at least do that in front of the paparazzo that were waiting outside. eager, hungry for gossip about the wedding that shook south korea’s business world.

“girl, you are glowing.” yerin literally screams. it’s a secret to no one that she’s hinting on your recent marriage and private island getaway. but nothing happened.

“how are you girls? it’s been so long.” you side hug eunha, letting her arms wrap around your waist as you stand huddled together.

you haven’t seen them since you got back from paris. the wedding was attended by thousands of people - all of whom, your and namjoon’s family’s associates. but you had your hands full shaking hands and smiling next to your husband because these people matter to namjoon. or at least he has an interest over them. business deals. merges. trades. kimcorps carries out every kinds of business they can get their hands on. namjoon passingly mentioned about the work-in-progress for a private hospital.

you dread the likelihood of having to leave the hospital you’re working in right now for family-run one but you know it’s quite impossible to not get involved when you, yourself is a doctor.

“we weren’t the ones who went under the radar and came back and got married to the second son of kimcorp.” yuju huffs sulkily, cheeks pinked from the champagne she’s had but she isn’t that far gone when she clamps her mouth shut a second later, eyebrows furrowing in guilt.

sowon nudges her side anyway, mouthing her something as your gaze falls on the light caught in your black gucci heels.

“i-i’m sorry, ___ that didn’t come out right.” comes a heartbeat later, she sounds just as sorry as her words as you offer her a small smile.

“it’s okay, it’s the truth anyway.”

“stop that,” eunha suddenly gripes, her gaze boring into you and rips apart the barrier you’ve tried so hard to maintain, “we’ve been friends since elementary school, we know how whipped you are for that asshole so-” she sniffles while you’re left wondering if it’s her who had an ex-fiance break if off and had his parents relay the news on a bi-weekly dinner.

“she’s trying to say you can cry or get mad or curse that dipshit around us. don’t hold back.” sowon finishes, lips twitching as she enjoys watching the vulnerable state of the otherwise fiercest one among you.

something in your chest feels light. like a weight being lifted off your shoulders as you study the girl’s face one by one. sowon’s and yerin’s smirk, yuju’s nodding and eunha’s teary eyes.

“yoongi, he’s-” you take a deep breath and it feels almost dramatic as the second stretches on while you build up the hurt, the anxiousness, the disbelief that the man put you through, “-a fucking idiot.”

“you bet he is,” yerin’s basically screams, swiping a glass for you and holding hers up, “that fucking idiot.”

you tighten your side hug on eunha in an ‘i’m okay’ gesture as you clink your glasses together.

it’s a few moments later that murmurs start to spread around. the tension that comes with the latest arrived guest thick enough to command every attention in the room.

“she’s ballsy. coming here.” sowon offhandedly comments, eyes trained on the girl who has her hand on yoongi’s arm like an iron clamp. “right into the lion’s den.”

she may not have her parents’ money to groom her into the women you and the girls are. but maybe that’s why she has her own air. her poised steps, coupled with a cocktail creme laced dress and relaxed smile easily gives her an innocent cloak. someone friendly and good-tempered and can adjust well to her suddenly-plunged-into-money circumstance when she married yoongi. that must have been why you never heard any bad rumors about her even though there’s almost always at least one gossip enthusiast in these socials.

“ugh, i hate her!” yuju hisses, eyes more focused as she places her glass onto one of the waiter’s trays.

“i-i think i’m going to get myself some snacks.” with that, you slip past the guests until you’re at the end of the room, standing in front of the everything-you-can-eat table lined up with pastries only from the best bakes.

that moment, when you looked from her to yoongi, your eyes met. his hair is a little longer than you remember it, flowing in light blue tresses until just a few centimeters above his eyebrows. the first two buttons of his shirt is undone. her doesn’t wear a necktie - he despises how suffocating they feel. but he’s managed to keep on his blazer - he used to say they were hot and took them off and left them in the back seat of the car when you arrived at an event. he used to attend these events with you. just the two of you. for four years. you thought you’d keep doing so for longer after you got married.

“you know, they’re not plastic and made for display.” a voice breaks you from your train of thoughts.

“p-pardon?” you blink once. confused.

“the pastries,” namjoon lulls his head to the side where towers of tarts, macaroons, pavlova and sliced cakes stand tall and proud, “they’re edible.”

it takes a moment for you to register that he was joking - kim namjoon? cracking jokes?

his smile tilts higher when you chuckle. it’s brief but the look of relief oh his face lingers. he must have seen you escape from your group of friends. and this is his own way of checking up on you.

“thank you, namjoon.” you murmur low enough for only you and him to hear, lips tugging in the corners. “but i’m fine - i just - seeing him for the first time like this - it’s just unexpected. even though this is an annual dinner held by his family and he has every right to be here.”

“that’s her? the ex-fiancee?” a guest asks in a hushed tone somewhere a few feet away. but she’s not very discreet as she thinks she is.

“yeah, she couldn’t get the older brother so she went for the younger one.”

apparently, her company needs to attend classes on how-to-whisper-101 too.

“how mortifying. and the brother just goes with it?”

“he must have felt compelled to save her face. you know how nice and well-mannered he is-”

the low noise namjoon makes under his breath catches your attention. the muscles on his face is strained and twisted. it barely shows. just a crease between his eyebrows and the lack of smile. he hardly ever smiles from the tabloids and interviews you’ve seen of him so people might not notice the displeasure. but after a whole month of knowing namjoon, if there’s anything you can say for certain about the man, it’s the stockpile of smiles he has to offer.

“namjoon, it’s okay. i don’t care.” you smile, it’s forced and you know he notices it right off the bat but sighs anyway, shoulder line falling just slightly as he runs a hand over his sleek styled hair.

his lips move and you hear the words he uttered but somehow your mind couldn’t comprehend the information without going blank. “s-sorry?”

“it agitates me that they’re freely spewing bullshit like this,” he huffs, cheeks tinted pink at having to repeat his words. “it’s taking everything in me not to go over there and tell them their husbands have at least one business deal with kimcorp. and i can end it and it’d plunge their family into bankruptcy.”

“wh-why would you do such a thing?” the question comes out almost dumbly but if it did, he doesn’t say. he just... keeps looking at you.

you’re barely able hold yourself from squirming under his scrutiny, the smile now awkward in all places.

“if you don’t mind, can i kiss you?” his eyes widen just the slightest bit as he corrects himself, “on the forehead i mean.”

he clears his throat, eyes straying away from you as if he couldn’t bear to look at your face after that mistake. “just so i can prove to them i wasn’t forced to marry you.”

the light pinkish blush spreads to the tip of his ears and neck as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. you’re not sure why, but the sight in front of you is endearing and you find yourself saying-

“okay, kiss me.”

you didn’t specify where. and maybe, as the heat flares across your own cheeks when his arm band around your waist and a warm hand presses up against you cheekbone - maybe you want him to kiss you somewhere else.

the chatter stops and so does time. but it’s only for as long as namjoon’s full lips are on your forehead, kissing you for the second time. then, time resumes and murmurs begin to spread louder than when yoongi made his arrival. when the gravelly voice speaks from somewhere behind namjoon, you know why.

“get a room, will you?” yoongi’s tone is light - you’d taken a whole year getting used to it to know he’s being playful and not condescending.

“yoongi.” namjoon greets, unlike the elder man, his sounds better natured but there’s a sort of underlying detachment. his arm is still on your lower back almost as if he needs to feel that you’re here or he’d be completely detached. “i didn’t think you’d show up. you hate these events.”

the aforementioned man draws out a long sigh as though he’s been found out over a poorly told lie. “i don’t but naeun wanted to go - you know how things are with mom and dad. she thinks it’s gonna make them open up.”

it’s no secret your father and mother-in-law doesn’t talk about yoongi’s marriage - they never do around you but you thought they were being considerate. but what yoongi’s saying right now could mean his relationship with his parents are far more strained than you thought it’d be. especially since they had let him marry the girl of his dreams who’s clearly below their standards.

she - naeun - is standing somewhere near the exit, conversing with the notorious older generation that yerin duped ‘the wickeds’. for their ways of gaining wealth, for their poor treatment towards their employees, for socially shunning a young man - new money, for addressing one of them casually. she is ballsy.

“it’s been awhile,” yoongi’s directly addressing you now. the tug on his lips as playful as an old friend’s greeting. you don’t know how he can look at you like nothing happened. “you’re finally a resident now, huh?”

“yeah, finally.” you smile, the kind of smile that celebrates her triumph. the celebration part is true but the smile is every bit unnatural. but it seems to fool yoongi as he nods, proud.

somewhere in your chest, the strings on your heart clenches at the unchanging personality of this man. no wonder you like him.

before the conversation can tread further down memory lane, there’s an announcement to have the guests move to another room where dinner is being served.

“we’ll get going first then.” namjoon announces, guiding you by the waist as yoongi nods, waiting for naeun to come to his side before going in himself.

dinner went smoother than expected. yoongi and naeun showed up uninvited and were placed in the back seats where the people socially displaced guests are. you felt bad when you saw naeun’s distorted expression as waiters bring in chairs to the table for the both of them. but there’s nothing you could have done.

“you have an 8am shift tomorrow, right?” namjoon asks as you slip your heels off, wincing at when one of them brushes against the blisters. they’re gonna be a bitch to deal with tomorrow.

stretching your arms out as you walk up the stairs, you hum in confirmation. “mhm, and you have dinner with ms. yoo, right?”

it’s ironic how you know each other’s schedule despite not being anything more than two people sharing one house and happens to be married. guess you’ll chalk it up with the fact that you both respect each other enough to be aware of each other’s whereabouts - not the creepy kind of way but the share-me-your-live-location-so-i-know-you’re-safe kind of way.

namjoon was quiet until you take a left to where the guest bedroom-turned-permanent-bedroom is, “it got rescheduled.”

your hand hovers over the door handle as you crane your neck to look at the man on the top of the stairs. his bow tie is loosened, the button to his color undone and his blazer is draped over one arm - a telltale sign of a final end to the night. “i was hoping we could have dinner to together. after work.”

yes but you don’t usually go straight home after work. you usually spend time at the library either at your previous college or at the hospital. you’ve decided to continue your research no matter how taxing it may be since you came back from the honeymoon. namjoon knows and the fact he asks you to dinner anyway - it’s unlike him.

he’s the kind of person that would ask if you had free time and match his schedule to yours. not ask for your time.

“yeah, sure.” you say and you think you see his shoulder line sagging as if he’s just let out a long-held breath, “pick me up at 8?”

“yeah.” he nods, dimples showing as his lips curl at your answer, “at 8.”

only when the door closes behind you, do you let yourself slide down to the ground. heels lying next to your thighs and dress in need of being sent for washing. your cheeks are and neck and ears are hot. dinner? just you and namjoon? like... a date?

jisoo isn’t around when lunch rolls by.

“a patient got rolled into er this morning - couldn’t contact any of his family members. suho decided to go ahead with surgery but he reacted badly to the anesthesia so she had to make up for her suho’s mistake and monitor his patient.” jennie’s face scrunches at the other woman’s supervisor pushing the task on her. shoving a forkful of the cheese cake, she sighs as the medical professional side take over, “thank god the surgery went smoothly though despite all that.”

you hum in contemplation, comparing the well-established crazy bitch seokjin who pushes those under his supervision to their limits and suho’s less-than-extreme approach. you used to envy jisoo and jennie for getting suho as their supervisor but at the end of the day, with every push from seokjin, you get out of it stronger and wiser. “i hope she doesn’t forget to have her meals.”

the day ends faster than usual. of course with rounds and surgeries you have to assist with, you’ve always find yourself barely realizing the setting sun - the sign of that your shift has ended.

but you could have sworn it was 5pm when you last checked the time. an car crash patient had arrived at the er and you forgot you’d left your phone on your desk, running out to assist the critical patient. it’s only when you’ve plopped into your recliner, head thrown back in fatigue, do you notice the vibration of your phone.

namjoon’s name flashes across your screen. your eyes almost bulges out of their sockets as you swipe to the right.

the deep voice from the other end is as calm as ever, “hey, ___-”

“namjoon!” you almost scream with guilt, phone pressed between your cheek and your shoulder as you shrug the coat off one shoulder before using the free now free hand to hold the phone and shrug off the other shoulder, “where are you?”

“i’m at the parking lot. i couldn’t wait at the lobby because i was obstructing the other cars - i called you a few times.” he sounds almost concerned and your heart clenches tightly in you chest at the thought of him waiting for you for over an hour.

you burst onto the parking lot - searching for the sleek black audi until a red bugatti rolls over. you’re about to take a step back seeing as you’re almost standing in the middle of the road - when the driver on the other side of the car steps out. his usually gelled hair is mussed from the amount of times he ran his hand over it, cuffs rolled to just below his elbow, revealing the dark veins that run just below the skin on his arm.

namjoon fixes you with that eased smile, going around the gently purring vehicle and opening the door to the passenger seat for you. the arm which hand he uses to hold the door open pulls on the thin fabric of his button down in all the right places. so this is a the normal end-of-the-day look.

you always get back a bit later than him and by the time he looks up from his work that’s laid out over the coffee table, he would usually already have bathed and changed into one of those long-sleeved shirts.

the restaurant he initially booked for dinner had cancelled. naturally. so you end up in a barbecue place five minutes away from the hospital. this is where you and your colleagues go when to celebrate a birthday, promotion or finally-having-a-boyfriend/girlfriend.

the slices of meat sizzles on the grill, its marinated aroma wafting in the air. but your stomach churns with a different kind of sensation - guilt. “i-i’m sorry. because of me you had to wait an hour and got cancelled by the restaurant.”

then, he chuckles. it’s the same kind of good natured chuckle that reverberates every time you say something amusing - but you can’t see how any of this is.

his says your name. the syllabus rolls out of his tongue in waves but you chalk up the blush spreading on your face with the heat of the grill so close to you. he leans back against the backrest, sleeves filled out to the brim as he crosses his arms over his chest. “you were the one saving a life. all i did was wait.”

“y-yeah but still.” no emergency is foreseeable, otherwise you could have saved more lives than you do now. and it’s still not enough. “i forgot about you.”

namjoon nods, taking your words into consideration - as if he never thought about it that way. as if he truly doesn’t mind wasting his time over some woman he has to tolerate because he’s married to her. “cook me dinner then.”

“wh-what?”

“i don’t want you to beat yourself up and i know whatever i say is going to come off as me being nice.” the corners in his lips tugs upwards, “so make it to me by cooking dinner.”

once your brain is done registering what he said, you clutch your hands in your lap as though you’re clinging onto this one time chance to make up for your fault, “yes! i-i mean yeah, sounds fair.”

the smooth sound of his chuckle isn’t lost to the sizzle of the meat. to him, it must be a small matter but to you, it’s a matter of pride.

“this saturday then?” you offer, a bit too eager.

almost as if remembering something, he releases a long drawn out sigh, “business trip to tokyo.”

“next weekend?”

“mom’s home sweeter home fundraiser for the orphans on saturday. sunday?”

“night shift. how bout breakfast?”

“golf with seollyu’s director.”

a heavy pause lapses in the room. after a moment, namjoon reaches for the chopsticks, flipping the slices of meat over.

your shoulders sag, lips pursed in a pout. this isn’t an unusual occurrence in your years of being the daughter of your family. your father is devoutly involved in the family business and your mother is busy with her charity work. you’ve celebrated birthdays with the staff more than you do with them.

the glint of the chopstick that’s placing a piece of meat on your plate catches your eyes. you study the long nimble fingers to the vein that runs from the back of its hand and disappear somewhere below his arm before you gulp, meeting his eyes - did he notice you checking out his arm?

“we’ll figure something out.” if he did, he doesn’t say as he fixes you with an assuring smile, “but right now you need to get some food in you. eat up dr. ___. you did great today at work.”

this time, you really can’t blame the grill for the blush.

“you could’ve told mom you couldn’t do brunch.” namjoon tells you in the elevator to the 15th floor of your in-laws’ house. it’s been three days since that night. he’s left for work but prior to this morning, he’d already made it clear that it was no problem at all picking you up from home.

he’s probably saying this because of the lack of makeup you’d put on. some pats of compact powder and bright red lipstick can’t hide the bags underneath those tired eyes. you’d spend extra hours reading about the defective genes and the fix to remodel them so every child born from parents from a history of relatives with inheritable diseases could live a life without the risk of said disease.

“i’m fine.” you wave a dismissive hand before stretching in the compact space in a last ditch attempt to wake yourself up and hopefully look fresher by the time you reach the floor. “’sides, i’ve been so focused on work, it’s nice to see mom and dad every once in awhile.”

you’ve gotten used to referring to mr. and mrs. kim as if they’re your own parents - in a way, they are. you’ve known them for as long as you can remember.

“you have to be at the hospital by noon, right?”

you hum in confirmation. though you insisted on grabbing a cab to the hospital since it’s on the opposite side of the office, namjoon had insisted better. “mhm, oh we’re here.”

a ding! echoes throughout the elevator when it stops, doors opening to a hallway with black and yellow walls and ceiling, paired with honey marble flooring. it takes a few seconds before the black door at the end of the hallway to swing open but instead of the warm smile of the elderly lady, a bring and vibrant naeun beams at the both of you.

“you’re here. come in.” she steps aside, the hem of her sundress fluttering as she moves.

your body tenses at the proximity of the woman who you thought you could avoid until a much later time. and from the barely noticeable lifted brows that namjoon does, you know he wasn’t expecting his sister-in-law too. if she’s here, so is yoongi.

“we picked these up on the way.” you hand her the paris baguette paper bag. you’d ordered a mix of fruit tarts, cinnamon rolls and macaroon. all of which you remember mrs. kim mentioning to be her favorites.

“oh! you shouldn’t have but thank you.” up close, naeun is much more prettier with a natural pinkish tint across her cheeks that makes her seem dreamy and glossed cheery lips that complements the gentle air she carries around. she passes the bag to one of the staff that’ll probably unbox them and plate them.

you offer her a smile - though a bit strained. and she must have noticed when she sighs softly, eyes darting to her fuchsia flats before looking back up at you with a furrowed brows. but even when she’s frowning, she’s pretty.

“i’ve been wanting to meet you and properly apologize for not being able to attend the wedding - i had an exhibition that day in prague and yoongi wouldn’t let me go by myself even though i thought at least one of us should go to his brother’s wedding.” she chuckles at the last part as if replaying the heartwarming scene of her protective husband choosing his wife over his family. you can feel every fiber of your body coiling and writhing - it takes everything for you not to leave through the door. would yoongi have done the same for you?

“this must be awkward for you, isn’t it?” her lips tug into a half-smile - a telltale that she’s equally uncomfortable to talk about this topic. “with you and yoongi being engaged before but now i’m the one married to him. but i hope we can put everything past us and be a family.”

but something in the way she talks - it’s as if she sympathizes. as if she’s saying it’s okay, you shouldn’t feel ashamed. but what are you supposed to be shameful of? of being engaged to yoongi before? of marrying his brother when said engagement fell through? perhaps you should have gave mrs. kim a hard ‘no’ when she pleaded with teary eyes for you and your parents’ forgiveness when she and mr. kim had to break the news over dinner two years ago. so you wouldn’t have to develop a hard skin and pretend you didn’t care about the ruthless rumors that have spread far and wide after your marriage to namjoon.

“oh? yeah, it was a long time ago.” you offhandedly say - it’s that moment, when her eyes twitches just the slightest bit that you realize it wasn’t all just in your head. she did mean to make you feel embarrassed when she started mentioning the engagement.

you join namjoon and mrs. kim at the garden while naeun follows suit a second later, taking the middle among the three seats. the elder woman’s eyes light up at the sight of you, her heels clacking against the wooden flooring as she crosses the distance and engulfs you in a hug. you hug back, smiling at the woman’s motherly warmth.

“___, my favorite daughter, what happened to you?” she cups your cheeks, brows furrowing as she seem to examine your complexion.

you should’ve used concealer.

“the hospital is working you to the bone isn’t it? why, it’s been awhile since i had lunch with chairman lee, maybe i should give his wife a call.”

that’s how it works when you have connections. if someone’s daughter or son fails to get into college or a job through regular exams or interviews, a dinner or lunch with the director of the institution will get the child admitted overnight. that’s probably why seokjin was harder on you than usual when you got back from your honeymoon - he must think you’re not serious about being a doctor. it’s not a secret he came from old money but he’d cut off all ties with his family when he started working. he has more ethics than half of the people you know.

“___ doesn’t like it when you do these things, mom.” yoongi grumbles - always the painfully honest one. the chair screeches as he pulls it and plops between naeun and namjoon while their father occupies the seat next to mrs. kim. it looks like they just came from mr. kim’s home office. and judging from the stiffness of their posture, the talk must have been a serious one.

namjoon’s shoulder line tightens just the slightest bit - you almost thought it was just a figment of your imagination but when you steal a glance at his face, you know he’s not too keen in having yoongi sit next to him. so you weren’t imagining it when he seemed like he was escaping yoongi by not waiting for naeun to come and walk with you to into the dining hall.

you’re not lost to yoongi’s familiar tone when he spoke on your behalf. but you’re not happy either. forcing a laugh, you push a strand to the back of your ear for the sake of doing something, “i-it’s not the hospital. i’ve been staying up late to work a bit on my research.”

a worker comes with the baked goods you brought. they’re plated on perfectly polished ceramic - you can easily see your forced smile in its reflection when the woman sets them down the table in front of you.

“research?” yoongi lifts one eyebrow at you. too casually. and it takes you back to those times when you used to visit him at his college’s library and you’d bring your homework with you whilst you slip in a few ‘what i did’s as he typed away on his mac but still managed to keep up with you and asked questions here and there. a sign that he’d been present and listening.

“___’s been working on researching how segregate defective genes during the fetal stage so the fetus won’t take on their parents’ inherent diseases when they’re born.” namjoon explains the simplified version almost as though it’s part of his day-to-day line of work. he grins at you, the corners of his lips tugging with pride - a gratification of being able to show you off.

“that’s good. you’re making a difference in this world.” mr. kim is the first to break the silence. and in the years you’ve known him, it means the highest level of flattery you’ll ever get from the man.

your cheeks are flushed red and you know well enough it’s not because of mr. kim’s compliment than it is his son’s. “it’s still just a research draft but th-thank you. mister-” the elder man raises his brow and you quickly correct yourself, “i mean, dad.”

he nods at the word, the slightest hint of smile disappearing under the cup of tea he brings to his mouth.

“but still, don’t push yourself too hard. working as a doctor takes up a lot of time already.” naeun fixes you with a worried gaze but something about her tone makes your stomach churn - it’s as if she’s playing down the time and effort you’d invested in your research and reminding you to focus on your paying job. even if you did downplay yourself when you were responding to mr. kim. before you can sort out the wave of emotions clashing inside you, namjoon seems to beat you to it.

“not everyone can do what ___’s doing. it’s okay if she wants to do more,” a hand slips under yours in your lap, reverting your gaze from the beautiful woman to the apparent difference in the size of yours and namjoon before you turn your cheek to him. it was a mistake because now you’re holding your breath as you come face to face. his body is leaned into you as he speaks, “i’ll just take care of ___ better.”

he turns to naeun, lips twitching upwards in a brief smile as if to enforce it more and putting a finality to the topic. but you’re left staring at namjoon’s sharp jawline until mrs. kim makes a squealing sound as she clamps her mouth shut in an attempt to tease you.

“gosh, is my baby all grown up now? he’s saying he’ll take care of his wife!”

the chuckle you let out is nowhere near natural or entertained. not when your insides are burning and you think your heart is going into overdrive from how fast it’s beating. and it doesn’t help that namjoon’s too casually playing along “of course, i only have one wife.”

“namjoon,” you take a second to gather yourself, hands fiddling in your lap as the car rolls to a stop in front of the lobby. the man fixes you with an inquisitive gaze. of course, who wouldn’t be wondering what’s up if their name was spoken with so much weight in them like you did with namjoon’s? “what was that? the wife thing?”

he stares into the street as he sifts through his memory before he fixes you with a gaze clouded with guilt, “i’m sorry. i got carried away - it won’t happen again.”

and that’s the thing. namjoon is too fast in admitting his fault. but you didn’t bring it up because you wanted an apology-

“no, i don’t mind.” you shake your head almost too eagerly before back tracking and clearing your throat, “i mean, it’s true. we’re married - i am your wife.”

the corners of his lips upturns at your last words and he doesn’t bother to hide it as he waits for you to finish - but how can you when he’s looking at you so tenderly like that?

“it’s just - too soon?” you curse yourself for sounding so meek but any louder, your heart might just jump out of your throat.

namjoon nods, that contemplative look settling on his face and takes away that smile only to return it with a dimpled grin. one hand slides in between yours and guiding the back of your hand to his lips.

“we’ll take it slow then.”

you can only nod, afraid that if you tried to speak, you would forget how to. the light rap on your side of the window catches both your attention. it’s the parking management. stealing a glance at the cars that are beginning to queue up behind you, you hurriedly gather your bag and hop out of the car.

cheeks flushed, you barely register waving back at namjoon when he leans over the passenger seat just to shoot you that dimpled smile and a ‘see you at home’.

you turn on your heels. the sharp click bounces against the white walls. a small smile spreads across your lips as you think about namjoon’s words.

yeah, the penthouse does feel like home.

this isn’t slow at all. you’re barely progressing.

it feels like everyday is passing by too fast what with the abundance of functions you’ve told namjoon you wanted to go with when you’re not working, to cramming some time for research and trying to find the time to at least make breakfast when you’re not on morning shift. though on some mornings, he’d beat you to breakfast and you’d wake up to the delectable smell of omelette or bacon.

“you must be thrilled about the new hospital, mrs. kim,” mrs. hwan is generally an agreeable woman along with her husband, the president of a small startup firm. they’re the first couple to approach you and namjoon since you arrived at the party. but that’s just it - the smiling, the talking, the eagerness doesn’t show in their eyes. it’s all about building connections while maintaining a good enough acquaintanceship. “are you going to be managing it directly since you’re a doctor yourself?”

“naturally,” the tug on your lips and the smoothness of your response is almost effortless. you’re no stranger to this scene - except back then, you would be standing next to yoongi. though your hand wouldn’t be tucked in his arm like yours is with namjoon. “though i still have a lot to learn, i hope the next two years will help me prepare to for eden.”

two years is the estimated time that eden hospital will be able to run. you’d finish your residency by then. all that’s left is to take the next step. just like your parents had planned for you as they’d planned many things. you never had the power to object.

mrs. hwan goes on to sprinkling empty praises while her husband laughs in deflated humor. they say the way to a successful business deal is through the wife.

once namjoon gets swamped by more people, you gently pull your hand away from his arm. you don’t miss the pleading look he fixes you when he notices your intention but you can only return a ‘you can do it!’ smile and slip away from the limelight.

the balcony area is dark, illuminated only by the fading light the pours over the floor past the door frame. you don’t expect the air to be this chilly at the beginning of summer but then again, namjoon did suggest bringing a coat - you were just too stubborn to because it would ruin the off shoulder look of your dress.

a sneeze escapes you a moment later as you hug yourself in an attempt to retain your body heat. but the warmth that engulfs you seems impossible to have come from just your puny palms - heck, your fingers were starting to feel prickly cold. there’s a sort of weight on your shoulders that wasn’t there before-

“idiot, you’re gonna catch a cold.” yoongi tuts from next to you - he has his hands in his pockets, all donned in crisp white shirt and checkered grey trousers and vest. all that’s missing is a matching blazer - the one that he placed around you just now.

somewhere in the recesses of your memories, you remember him taking off the muffler he had on and wrapping it around your neck when you showed up for your ‘christmas date’ with a pink nose and pinker ears - you could barely feel them. yoongi was that kind of person - the kind that acted like everything is a whole load of inconvenience and yet went to greater length to inconvenient himself for you.

“thanks. i thought i was going to freeze to death if i have to hide out here for another hour.” you tug the thick material of the blazer closer - the warmth of his heat feels just right.

“then you shouldn’t have come in the first place.” he must have noticed the higher-than-an-octave tone he uses before ruffling his hair - it’s the first you’ve ever seen him so unsure. is it really because of you?

“it’s fine. besides, what kind of wife would i be if i let namjoon get eaten by the pack of wolves by himself?” you chuckle at the fact that you’d done just that when you escaped the growing crowd of businessmen.

but when you notice the lack of humor on yoongi’s face, your own dies down. he’s staring at you with an indecipherable look. it’s not the bored expression he usually sports - not also the anger from the outburst just now. before you can say anything, namjoon’s lean silhouette appears in the doorway. you can’t see his face but his tone is strained. “we’re leaving, if you’re both done catching up.”

“so soon?” you know for a fact it probably hasn’t even been fifteen minutes - and you’re supposed to linger for at least two hours before leaving. that’d be enough time for namjoon to scout any potential business associate - the worthy ones at least.

“hey little bro.” yoongi waves, the disinterested look now returning but the way he phrases his next words oozes with revulsion. it’s no surprise. while yoongi hates these events - he’s probably here because of naeun, you heard the director of seoul’s annual art exhibition is here - namjoon strives off it. garnering attention and making the best of it by bringing in stockholders. “had enough of ass licking?”

you never understand the tangibility of the tension that feels the air when these two brothers are in the same room together - they’re barely able to remain civil in the presence of mr. and mrs. kim. anywhere without their parents’ watchful eyes, a fight would always be at risk of breaking out. whenever you were around, you’d be the one to interfere, whether it’s to tug on yoongi’s sleeve and tell him you’re hungry, or step in front of him just so he’d remember you’re here or right now-

“thank you, yoongi.” folding the blazer in half, you hand it back to the man - only that he’s not taking it back. momentarily, you wonder if you’d stained it with your lipstick or foundation but the lapels never touched anywhere above your neck. but deep in the crook of your conscience, you know it’s when his mind retracts back to you, to the present.

the sigh that escapes yoongi is a telltale of fatigue - you wonder if this is the first time of the day he came out of his studio. taking the blazer from your outstretched hand, he slings it over his shoulder, “don’t get too caught up with these functions. focus on your goal.”

your goal meaning what comes next in your career: the fellowship. you thought that information was lost on him, buried among the many things you told him just because you were comfortable telling him everything.

and as you watch him walk back into the lion’s den, you wonder, how didn’t you realize he was in love with someone else during the visits you paid while he was doing his masters and phd?

namjoon doesn’t say anything about yoongi in the car. but both his hands are on the wheel. knuckles a little paler from holding onto the wheel.

“you don’t have to be part of eden’s board of directors.” he huffs, as though annoyed but from the way he continues, you know he’s not annoyed at you. he’s annoyed at himself. “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to - i don’t want to force anything on you.”

and you know - you know more than anyone how conscious namjoon is of things. from the change in your mood to the people that tries to get close to him because of his status - that’s also why he didn’t kiss you on your lips that day. but a kiss was the prerequisite of a vow so he kissed you on the forehead. the area where his lips landed burns your skin as your cheeks flush from the memory.

“i know.” you hesitate for a heartbeat but reach out to cover one of his hands on the wheel still. to let him know that you’re not just saying that to ease the guilt.

when you pull away from the thought of how risky and distracting what you did was, the hand that you were lightly caressing pulls at yours, intertwining your fingers as he keeps them on his thigh. your entire body burns from the contact yet you’re sitting frozen in your spot. it’s the gentle squeeze on your hand that brings you out of your shell-shock state. a smile tugs on your lips subconsciously as you squeeze back.

the following week, you almost got into a fight with namjoon when he caught you dressing up prettily. he told you it was okay not to attend these functions anymore - the ones your tight schedule barely allow you to. fight was an overstatement. your feelings were hurt when he’d kissed your temple and said, “it’s okay, you don’t have to push yourself.”

well, you were but he wasn’t seeing the bigger picture. “can’t you see? i wanna spend more time with you and the only way i can is if we attend these functions together.”

in hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have thrown your strapless black diamond purse at him out of frustration.

but the following functions, you did spend more time together. he’d declined the usual advancement of business people the way only kim namjoon could pull off - with a dimpled smile and a hand around your waist as if to indicate that they were interrupting - and they were. they’d come up to the both of you while you were telling namjoon about a new skillet spaghetti recipe you’d wanted to try making for the long overdue dinner you owe him. and you’d expected someone to approach namjoon and take his attention away but you didn’t think he’d decline them.

“hm? i don’t think we have tomatoes or beef. should we go grocery shopping?” he suggests calmly as though he didn’t just turn down the chairman of tvn broadcast. the man had to do a double take in case he had mistaken namjoon’s smooth rejection.

you place a hand on his chest, restraining the urge to pull your hand away as if you’ve touched fire. you knew he goes to the gym for an hour after work and his shirts always seem a size too small around his arms but you didn’t expect anything beyond that underneath that shirt of his. you clear your throat when you realize his neck is craned so he could look at you - give you all the attention in the world, “you know, we can discuss dinner some other time - when you’re free.”

but neither of you are free. you barely see each other at home because of your unpredictable schedule and his that’s set in stone.

“then what would you rather us talk about right now?” a corner of his lips tugs upwards. if you first met him, you wouldn’t easily dismiss the smile as nothing more than because of his amiable nature. but you’ve been married for almost five months now and you clearly pick up on the playfulness that lights up his eyes.

“the desserts.” you announce too quickly in an attempt to avert his attention from what he’s thinking - one thing you’ve realized is that namjoon is painfully aware of your blushing fits and your avoidance to look him in the eyes. “they’re nice, aren’t they?”

all of a sudden, he’s scooping a forkful of the chocolate souffle he’d picked up from the desserts section while you’d opted for the luscious almond torte. a small smirk tugs on his lips as he holds the fork to your mouth the way he does during breakfast. he knows you have no objections of being fed like a child but he also knows where you stand with public display of affection.

“say ‘aaaaa’ and i’ll give you a treat, doctor ___.” and he loves to tease you. he’s taken to calling you that because of that one incident where he’d seen you discuss about a patient with one of the nurses while you were on your way to meet him. in his own words, he’d ‘never seen you this scary before.’

in your defense, it was five minutes till lunch break so it was still working hours and you were acting the way you usually did at work - but you’d understand. the person you are with friends and the person you are at work are two separate entities. suppose you’ve mastered separating personal business and work. namjoon seems to take pleasure in making that steadfast side of you squirm and blush like a tomato.

your fingerpads gently grazes the back of his hand as you hold the fork in place before taking it in your mouth. your eyes flit over namjoon’s for the briefest moment before taking a step back, licking the residue of souffle off your lips.

“they really are nice.” you murmur as you throw your gaze at the stage where a man sits at the piano before flickering back to namjoon.

you wonder why he’s so quiet all of a sudden -

the man in question still has the empty fork in the air, eyes wide and staring at you, you would’ve thought he’d seen a ghost. until you notice the dust of pink across his cheek and spread to the tip of his ears.

oh?

mrs. kim’s fundraiser is held at the school where the children attended. about four canopies were set up on the field. one for the children’s activities - you remember reading something about coloring, origami-making and storybook reading. the volunteers - possibly college students hoping to earn the graces of kimcorp’s president’s wife for an internship - already have the children huddled up in groups of three or four.

one canopy is specifically set up for a table of wide range of food - if there’s anything you like about these functions, it’s the abundance of food they never fail to prepare. as if spending a lot of money on a fundraising event is something to flex about.

the other two canopies are for the people of interest - acquaintances of mrs. kim and those who come with an ulterior motive be it to get sponsors for their own project, a business deal or simply to regain a higher social hierarchy by falling into your mother-in-law’s graces.

you press a light kiss on namjoon’s cheek before he’s whisked away by the second category. business men who jump at the sight of your ceo husband who got a fair warning from mrs. kim to “play nice. what’s gotten into you all of a sudden? these days i keep hearing things about you turning chairmen down! your father didn’t work this hard just to raise a stuck up son that could ruin his business in a matter of days.”

once you’ve had a slice of red velvet and tiny macaroons, you decide to hide yourself from the few people who try to do the same to you when namjoon is too preoccupied by the ones who claimed his attention first. just like preys on the top of the pyramid sinking its claws, the lower level preys couldn’t come close.

but one manages to follow you into one of the classrooms.

“nothing’s changed has it?’ yoongi stands in the doorway, tuxedo and brown loafers and all. hands tucked into both his pockets, he strides across the room and stops in front of the window that overlooks the light pink canopies and the people underneath them. “same old assholes using a charitable cause to proliferate their influence.”

the muscles on your face pulls your lips into a disapproving frown, “that’s how our parents manage to give us an education. a good life.” you don’t agree to the way they go about it but you give credit where it’s due.

yoongi scoffs, his shoulders jolting slightly. you can’t see his face as he stands with his back on you but you know he’s smirking that condescending smirk. the first time you saw it was when you were in your senior year of high school and yoongi was doing his masters in business and accounting. he’d looked down on the man who approached the two of you like he was scum just because everyone knew his company was wallowing in debt and he’s desperate enough to ask the lion who hates the jungle for help.

“always finding a middle ground. if you like what they do so much, why did you become a doctor? why didn’t you follow their footsteps, huh?”

you can’t help but let out a tired sigh. you’ve been here before. you’ve seen this. yoongi hates the world he’s born in and you understand why but you can never feel what he feels. “why are you here, yoongi? shouldn’t you be with naeun?” there’s a pause. a heartbeat before you decide to let yourself free. say what you want to say. “before the wolves get to her.”

“she’s fine.” it's almost offensive how haughty he sounds. he must either be aware of nauen’s innocence that makes the wolves eliminate the possibility of her being a threat or he just doesn’t care. the latter presumption makes your stomach churn.

did he also not care about you when you were together? when you went to these events as a couple?

“we should head back. it would be bad if anyone saw us alone like this even though we’re just talking.” and that’s that. you turn on your heels, making way to the door but before you can even take another step forward, lithe fingers wrap around your wrist.

“what?” it comes out harsher than you intend it. funny how you put on a face of a woman made out of steel when your knees can barely hold your weight the moment you feel his warm hand on your skin.

“i knew - i knew but i didn’t want to tie you down.” with his head lowered and his long hair, you can’t see his eyes for an idea of what he’s saying.

“yoongi, what-”

“i knew how you felt.” at that moment, his grip on you loosens. it’s almost as though it’s an overdue confession and the weight on his shoulders has finally lifted, “you only knew me - you turned down every boy that tried to ask you out in high school and college. you -you were only looking at me and i didn’t want that on my shoulders - i didn’t want you to turn down every opportunity to life - to dating, to heart break to - to sex with someone - several someone’s just because we were engaged.”

his fingers traces down your index finger before falling away. but you won’t tell him - you can never do it to namjoon - that it took all of you not to twine your fingers with his just because it felt like he was letting go.

your breath hitches in your throat when you turn your cheek towards him. the sight before you is something you’d never thought you’d see in your entire life. yoongi’s pink dusts his otherwise snowflake skin. the bored expression he usually wears is gone - almost as if he’s never worn it his entire life as something akin to desperation pools in those dark eyes. his soft pink lips are agape as though he wants to say something. and you wait, wait, wait but he never does.

so you turn your back on him, heels clicking against the ground as you slip past the door without a word. only when you’re at the end of the hallway, do you turn the corner, back pressed against the wall because your buckling legs might not be able to handle your weight.

those unsaid words - you can hear them clearly: i fucking regret letting you go.

the following week, you spend by drowning yourself in work and later working on your research until the library closes. by the time you’re pressing the 20th floor to the penthouse you both shared, you know for certain namjoon’s gone to bed. he values his sleep time. says it’s essential to keep himself in a good mood so others who work with him would be at ease. sometimes you want to tell him it’s okay not to think about others for once but the words lay buried the depth of your heart because you’re exactly like him. suppressing your feelings, smiling and saying you’re okay even though you’re not. the only difference is there’s a side of you that wants to lash out, do something worse to those who hurt you while namjoon does it from the good of his heart.

“it’s hard, being nice.” he says in between the clink of the stirring of the spoon in his coffee mug.

you look up from the peanut butter you’re spreading over your toast. “hm?”

he shakes his head, as if to say it’s nothing, i’m just thinking out loud. but the words he says next is enough to make your heart drop right to the ground. “yoongi told me.”

“wh-what?” it’s denial in your tone - the combination of those three words are simple enough to take you back to the school nine days ago. in side that little classroom.

“yesterday. he came over to the office.” he shrugs as if it’s no big deal but the tensed line of his shoulders is apparent no matter how casually he brings the mug to his smiling lips - that too. his lips are smiling but his eyes are not.

you don’t know when or how you started noticing the little things. sensing namjoon’s moods - his reactions and his retractions. you never realized you were so in tune with the things he does. all you realize is you’re already able to read him like a book - thick, best-leather book that was safeguarded by a lock.

“namjoon,” the clink of the butter knife being set on your plate resonates like a pin drop in a vacuum room, “nothing happened. i promise.”

“i know - i know you’d never do anything like that so that’s why i’m telling you it’s okay.” something in the way he looks at you make you bite your tongue - as if he’s asking you to listen even though you’re bursting at the seams. you’d do anything to prove that nothing happened even though you knew he knew. “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just... keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

he chuckles but it’s strained and tense, dumping the coffee into the sink because he couldn’t bear to stay in the kitchen any longer. you slip out of the high stool, feet padding around the counter and before you know it, your arms around his body. you feel him freeze under your touch and this is wrong - wrong on so many levels because he would have asked if he could touch you and you’re not reflecting the same amount of respect he had for you.

but for some reason, you can’t let go - you’re afraid if you let him walk out of the door, you’d never be able to grasp even a shadow of his existence.

“i don’t want to.” the words are muffled from your cheek pressing against his back.

a pause lapses between you when you don’t say anything else. no explanation. no reason. because you don’t know it yourself. you don’t know why your heart clenches in your chest at the sight of namjoon’s dismal smile. you don’t know why you acted on your instincts and hugged the man.

you don’t know.

“okay.” he sighs softly as a warm palm rests above your fisted hand. you wish you can see him - wish you can see what kind of expression he’s making because it’s killing you to not know what he’s thinking. “you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

that’s when the sniffle escapes you. internally, you curse yourself for being so emotion-driven. it’s not a good trait for a doctor to have.

namjoon calls your name. the syllabus rolling off his tongue makes your stomach churn with butterflies. “are you crying?”

you don’t expect him to say that. don’t expect the teasing undertone either. naturally, your respond comes a heartbeat later, “n-no.”

the body under your touch shifts. all of a sudden, you’re eye-to-eye with him. there’s a sparkle in them that almost makes you forget how to breathe. his dimples dig into his cheek as his lips curl into a smile whilst his large hands frames you face.

“wh-what?” you feel your brows furrowing, lips pursed.

“you’re too cute.” his thumb grazes your burning cheekbone feather light, “i want to kiss you.”

“then do it.” you don’t know the reason behind that angry, pressed tone but namjoon doesn’t seem to mind - or he knows something you don’t.

you don’t have the time to ponder on that when a pair of lush lips meshes with yours. the scent of the coffee he had engulfs your senses as one hand finds its way to the back of his neck and the other rests on his accelerating heartbeat. time seems to stop when namjoon’s kissing you. somewhere in the back of your mind, you distinctly remember something perpetually important but you couldn’t be bothered as his hands fall away from your face and finds the dip of your lower back and pull you closer until your bodies are pressed together.

somewhere in a distant, you hear the beep of the front door. hoseok’s voice booming across the hallway that leads to the living room and the kitchen where you’re at now.

“namjoon? you here? did you oversleep? man, i never thought i’d see the day our ceo is late to work.” hoseok’s footsteps stops at the end of the hallway, “oh great, you’re all dressed.”

he blinks, surprised at the sight of his boss who’s leaning against the edge of the sink - hands pressed on either side of the edge, doing absolutely nothing while you dip a butter knife into a jar of peanut butter and jelly but equally as out-of-it as his boss appear to be.

“y-yeah, let me grab my blazer.” namjoon pushes himself off, going around the counter and heading towards the stairs where his bedroom is until -

“it’s here.” hoseok points out.

“what?”

“your blazer. it’s this one, right?” the secretary loyally scoops up the thick maroon blazer off the couch and hands it to his boss who’s just barely recovered from what seems to be a trance.

he’d went down and tossed the blazer on the couch before making his coffee - before the kiss.

namjoon clears his throat, refusing to look at the man’s scrutinizing eyes as he thanks him and slips the blazer on. but he loses those eyes when he peeks over the man’s shoulder, mini-waving at you, “hey, morning, doc.”

you return the greeting, refraining a blush as you feel the ghost of namjoon’s lips when you fix his secretary a smile, “hey, hoseok. care to join us for breakfast?”

the man shrugs, eyes flitting over his boss who now seems ready to go, “thanks doc but i had some cereal and cold milk.”

he bids his farewell and escapes out of where he came from, letting the two of do what newly weds do before the other goes to work. it’s in that moment that he realizes with a chill running down his spine as he sat in the driver seat - that namjoon isn’t a bachelor anymore and he couldn’t come and go as he pleases and that he might have interrupted something. come to think of it, both you and namjoon’s cheeks were flushed...

“h-hey boss,” hoseok steals a glance of the man at the backseat through the rear view mirror. he almost chokes on his next words when the man’s eyes meet him but he persists like a man on a mission to not get fired , “y-you know, i’ve been with kimcorp. f-for a long time. i-it’s like my family a-and i’ll work harder from now on.”

confusion flashes across namjoon’s features for the briefest moment. he doesn’t know what makes hoseok say something so out of his character and shakily at that but it’s not the first time that his employee’s said something like this to him - of course, minus the stutter and all.

“that’s good to know, hoseok.” he says simply.

it’s been a week since you told namjoon you didn’t - wouldn’t see anyone. yoongi or not. when you told him you were going to meet yoongi at a cafe near his studio to give the man an answer - a hard no, there’s still some needling doubt in namjoon’s gaze as he reverts his eyes away from you. as though he was afraid that the illusion would fade away and he’d end up catching the smolder of passion he’d always seen you look at the man with.

he’s not lost to your feelings - in hindsight, it was pathetically obvious how smitten you were for the elder man. even your and his parents could see. and they’d foreseen many things but not having to plead and then beg and then finally, force you into a marriage you didn’t want with the brother of the man you loved.

your only regret was leaving without kissing namjoon goodbye - but it also felt like anything you said, any sort of assurance you offered would just be an act. until you tell his brother to stop.

“come to think of it,” you set the warm cup of latte down. it would have tasted better if the circumstances were different, “we never properly ended things. the only way i knew the engagement was over was through mom and dad.” his parents you meant.

he tilts his head to the side as a response - an indication that he’s listening. he’s dressed in plain white shirt and the darkest jeans. the bags under his eyes is an indication that he hasn’t slept in days - either it’s because of working late nights trying to make music or because of what he’d said to you.

you know he’d do this - detach himself from reality when things gets tough or when he’s stuck in a situation he doesn’t have control over. but you still had hope. still held onto the past seven years you’d spent together for him to regard you with enough respect to offer closure.

“do you love naeun that much?” and yet you still ask.

you meet his hollow gaze, not knowing the intensity yours hold until your fingerpads wrapped around aches and he lets out a heavy breath.

“she was different.” he says simply - almost tiredly, “she caught my eyes. we started talking and we found out we had some things in common. i thought she’s what i needed to get over you.”

“don’t.” the churning starts from your stomach and spreads across your body like a poisonous fog. “don’t use me as an excuse for leaving. you loved me as much as i loved you and you got scared.”

a lump forms in your throat as the memories, the inside jokes that built up over time, the comfortable silents spent - everything comes crashing in like tidal wave. you knew he loved you deep down. that was why the news of him getting married took a toll on you - so much so, you decided to leave everything behind and fly to paris.

“you could’ve pushed me away if you truly had no feelings for me but you kept me around and let me think we were going to have a happy future together.” his image is distorted from the prickles of tears in your eyes but you blink them away, “but you didn’t really know you were in love with me back then, huh? that’s why you got scared shitless and decided to leave.” you’re not sure if you’re choking on your words or if you’re actually scoffing. maybe both.

in that moment, you watch as yoongi’s expression switches from that signature boredom to realization and finally unbridled sorrow. he must feel suffocated - like he’s drowning in emotions the way you did in that suite you spent for two weeks in paris before you decided to buy an apartment and stay for good. and you would have if your parents didn’t call you back - recounted all their sacrifices for you to make you guilty enough to agree to the marriage with his younger brother. he’ll spend the same amount of time sleeping and waking up in his room and realizing he can’t turn back time.

“i fucked up big time, didn’t i?” he laughs dryly as he presses his palm to his face, hunched over the minute round table.

the latte is still half-full when you swipe your phone off the table and stand up. he doesn’t spare you a glance - he probably couldn’t bring himself to face you now.

‘you’re a fucking coward min yoongi.’ is what you want to say but for some reason, you leave the words to die on the tip of your tongue. you won’t - can’t wish him a happy life and propose to put everything past you. it’s not that simple and you’re not that forgiving. but namjoon’s easy smile flashes at the back of your head at this moment of all time and makes your heart clench painfully in your chest. their relationship is already strained and if you insist on prolonging this, it’s only going to end up hurting namjoon one way or another and the cycle will just keep going on with naeun getting hurt if she found out.

“you did.” your hand is trembling around the strap of your bag, “but it’s all in the past and i don’t blame you. things wouldn’t turn out the way they do otherwise. so just... live for the present, yoongi.”

his shoulders rise and fall a little faster than normal but there’s nothing you can do - and it’s better if you leave him to collect his thoughts. the censor at the door beeps as you pass through. it takes a moment for you to feel the morning air brush your cheeks and sunlight to seep into you. your chest still feels tight but in due time, you know it’ll lighten.

“hey, boss. you have a special guest.” hoseok peeks into namjoon’s office like the slyboots he is. the wiggle of the man’s brows before he disappears gives namjoon all the more reason to prepare for the worse.

“send them in.” he sighs, not bothering to hide his feelings in front of hoseok. they’ve been working side by side for a long time and friends for longer he knows his friend is aware of the contrasting definition of ‘special’ but this once, as he sees you walk through the door - he admits that him and hoseok may finally be of the same mind.

namjoon shoots up from his seat, clearing his throat and buttoning his blazer together the way he’s so used to doing it when he receives an unannounced visit from his father. “what brings you here?”

instead of shooting him one of your brilliant smiles, you drop your bag on the crisp white leather couch and run right into him. arms wrapped around his torso, he can smell your favorite floral shampoo from your hair but he can’t bring himself to hug you back. his heart is palpitating inside his chest and he can only pray for some miracle that you can’t hear it. which is most unlikely what with your head coming up just a few centimeters above his shoulder line and your ears being the same height as the beating organ in his chest.

if you notice, you're not saying anything about it.

“i met yoongi just now.”

namjoon doesn’t say a word for the longest time - it’s so namjoon of him not to. but it’s also not where you stand now. that day, when you partially admitted to liking namjoon and you’re pretty sure he felt the same - you’d seen a side of namjoon you never thought you’d saw. vulnerable. fearful. all because he thought he was going to lose you - and it felt like he’s always been prepared for it. it was just a matter of time.

the muscles in your arms contracts at the thought of namjoon being so ready to let you go - is it like that too, right now? is he expecting you to go back on your words and tell him you’re going to have an affair with his brother? you don’t know and that’s driving you insane.

and just when the muscles in your arm contract, just when you’re about to pull away, namjoon’s arms band around your body and a kiss lands on top of your head.

“did you tell him what you wanted to tell him all this time?” his voice is velvet and smooth and you can hear that easy smile as he speaks.

you nod against his chest. “it’s over. i told him to get lost.”

the chest vibrates against your cheek as rings of chuckles tumble out of namjoon’s mouth. it makes your body light up with a sort of fire. and for once, you welcome the heat spreading across your cheeks like an old friend.

he knows the last part is a bluff - it’s comforting that he knows without having you say it.

does he also know...

“after that i came here because i wanted to see you.” you crane your neck to look up at him.

true enough there’s that smile and gets wider when he meets your gaze. a hand comes to rest on your neck while his thumb grazes your chin as he presses his lips to yours. you think your heart might explode at any moment now as you kiss him back, your hand snaking to his shoulder but he stops your right hand, holding it on his chest. his heart beats the same rhythm as yours. his shoulder line heaving the same way yours do when the back of your thighs hit the couch and you finally break apart. but before you have the chance to gather your thoughts, his lips are on you again. the hand on your lower back pulling you closer until your thighs press on either side of his legs.

“let’s go home now.” he murmurs between breaths, “i might really go crazy if i touch another part of your body that’s covered in clothing.”

it’s in that moment that the door swings open.

hoseok bursts through the door with the photostatted files in his hand. there’s a skip in his step.

“hey boss! here’s the files you asked for.”

he looks between you - well your back - and namjoon. the ceo is fixing his tie with a hard expression while you’re standing facing the ceiling-to-floor window that overlooks the streets and several stores in the area.

d-did he just walk into you two fighting?

“thanks, hoseok.” namjoon swipes the files from his hand, walking back to his seat around the desk and dropping the files with a sharp pap!

“n-no problem boss.” he takes one frightened step backwards before turning around but before he manages to escape the lion’s den, you stop him.

“hoseok wait.” it comes out a bit rushed. granted, you’re not in any position to waste time. you dropped by even though you know you can’t afford being late to work but somehow you ended up at namjoon’s office anyway. the secretary seems to physically turn into a rock before shakily turn his cheek to you with a smile.

“uh, yeah doc?”

“namjoon, do you mind me borrowing hoseok for a bit?” the heat comes on full force as you turn to namjoon. he’s burning a hole through the files he’s flipping through but you don’t miss the pinked tips of his ears and the way his adam’s apple bobs at the sound of his name on your tongue, “my shift is starting at noon so i need to be there by,” you check the watch on your wrist, “now.”

the way namjoon doesn’t even look up from flipping the papers is how hoseok know for sure you’re fighting. “sure thing. oh and hoseok, no detours. come straight back once you drop ___ off.”

but to you, it’s because he’s flustered beyond imagination - you know, like you know how he’ll condemn himself for not being able to control himself like that. your whole body heats up as you slip into the back seat when the image of namjoon’s hooded eyes, reddened cheeks and half agape lips flash at the back of his mind. a part of you - the reasonable one - chides yourself for even thinking about ditching work and actually going home with him but another part wishes to indulge in the endless possibilities of what will happen if you did.

“____,” your name tumbles out of namjoon’s mouth in a breathy huff. naturally so. he hasn’t even caught his breath from when he finds you crawling over him like a woman in on a mission. now, the same exact woman his cuffing his wrists and holding them over his head with one hand while the other is undoing the buttons of his shirt while she kisses him in all the right places.

“wh-where did you even get cuffs?” his headboard is one of those pristine white cushioned ones meaning there isn’t any rails for you to hook him on and keep him in place. but you don’t need that because namjoon can barely move - all that time he spends at the gym has gone down the drain as invisible threads tie him down.

“oh these?” you let one corner of your lips tug deviously. it’s been six months since you got married and you and namjoon has never gone past the occasional cuddles and light kisses. the morning after that day when you dropped by his office after meeting yoongi, namjoon had declared his intentions to ‘do it right’ - like dates and getting to know each other better before anything else.

it was sweet of him. until you realized you barely had time for dates - only late night conversations that ended up with you on top of him but before things could progress, he’d do everything he could to avoid bedroom affairs. but over time, it gets a bit discouraging. so this is the last straw - there’s no wine or champagne for him to use as an excuse to carry you to your room. you’re both sober, and if he doesn’t want you -

“never mind where i got these.” the low sound emitting from his throat makes your heart skip a beat as your lips brush against the shell of his ear, “don’t you want me, namjoon?”

trailing hisses down his smooth jawline, you let your lips hover over his - it only lasts for a heartbeat before he closes the distance and starts kisses you like a famine beast.

“i want you,” he confesses when you pull away just to reinforce your control. he may be the one lying down with his hands bound but it almost felt like you’re the hopeless one here - almost. the a feral glint in his eyes sends hot waves down your core - you have to tell yourself to breathe. “of course i fucking want you ___.”

you hum in contemplation - taking just enough time to sit straighter and let your fingers undo the rest of the buttons and stopping just above his belt. the few times you laid together and he lets you lie on top of him - you knew he was brains and brawn. but you didn’t expect a perfectly sculpted body of adonis himself to be lying beneath you. the ridges of his abs heaves helplessly as he drawn in deep breaths.

somewhere on the edge of the bed where you’d tossed it, your phone vibrates - someone’s calling but that can wait.

you lean down, soft tresses brushing his skin as you kiss that spot that illicit a delicious sound from him the first time you discovered it. somewhere in the junction between his shoulder and neck.

“fuck.” his voice is raw and desperate and carnal as his body yearns for you. his legs bent at the knees, feet ground into the bed as he grinds his hip into you - the signs of his arousal painfully obvious.

you can’t help but giggle at the way he so vehemently yearn for you. somewhere on the bed, your phone starts vibrating again.

“y-your phone.” he manages to stammer out. it’s the third time it’s vibrating.

“don’t worry about it. the only people who would call me at this time is jisoo’s drunken butt dial or the hospital-” you sit back up, heat still pooling in your stomach when your hips grind against namjoon’s arousal in the process but the urgency in the way you swipe your phone off the sheets has stolen your attention.

clear as day, it is one of the two possibilities you’ve mentioned and it isn’t your quirky colleague.

when you first started working, you were of the ripe age and eager to help those in need. you loved your job despite the long arduous hours, missed meals and ungodly hour roll calls because at the end of the day, it was what you wanted to do - it was the one thing you wouldn’t let your parents take away from you. you fought blood sweat and tears to get where you are now.

and doctors don’t usually start a family until they’ve at least finished their residency - but you had to get married early to keep your end of the bargain. of course, you didn’t expect to commit to said marriage. you didn’t also expect to fall for namjoon either. and you certainly didn’t expect for him to still be here in the waiting area when you walked out of the emergency operating room, head lulling to the side as sleep begins to take him, arms crossed over his chest. he didn’t even get the chance to change when you hurriedly uncoffed him, informing him about an emergency at the er. he’d offered to drive you since you couldn’t drive and waiting for an uber driver to accept your request this late at night would take more time. you’d rushed out of the car with a ‘thanks, namjoon. i owe you one!’ thinking he’d go home and get some rest - there’s no telling how long these surgeries take after all.

when he leans too far to the side, his eyes flutter open softly before noticing the turquoise-clad body in his periphery.

“___, you’re done? did the surgery go alright?” he’s always had a way of saying your name. it makes your heart warm and your chest full as he stands up to close the distance between you - to cup one side of your cheek with his hand. though your delayed response may have been the reason for that.

“the surgery was a success.” you finally say, your smaller hand covering his, lips curving softly. guilt creeps up the creeks of your chest but gratitude washes it away. it wouldn’t have been very namjoon of him if he didn’t consider everything: how you’d go home once you’re done. if there’s even any uber working this late of an hour. your heart is swelling - you don’t think you can ever love him more than you do now but namjoon being namjoon, he’ll make you fall in love with him more and more until your heart is filled to the brim, “thank you, namjoon.”

and he gets it. just like that. the words that you’re saying without putting them into words because there are many ways to say it and a plethora of intrepreting it but namjoon gets it because his heart beats the same rhythm as you: i love you.

a dimpled smile curls over his lips as he places a kiss over your forehead, “should we go home?” he leans down to whisper into your ears, his tone changing dangerously, “and pick up where we left off, yeah doc?”

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bangtansbun · 5 years ago

Text

Endgame || Gorgeous

pairing: jeon jeongguk x f. reader

genre: fluff and pining

word count: 1,550

warnings: just a lot of pining on yn’s end.

a/n: this is the start of everything and i really cannot stand how sweet they are. please listen to the song to get a better feel for the emotions running through yn’s head. I know this isn’t a very long written part, but I think the scene fits perfectly. lemme know what you guys think after you read!!

song: Gorgeous by Taylor Swift

Masterlist

The two of you had always been this way. Always wanting to spend time together regardless of whether you’d already seen each other 5 times that week. It was movie nights and sleepovers in Jeongguk’s room, late night pizza parties in yours, and everything in between.

Originally there had been nothing there, just a pure, loving friendship of the best kind. However, as you’d grown into your teen years you started to realize that some of the feelings you had toward him may not be of the friend variety. Jeongguk started to change too. Although you weren’t sure if his feelings changed, the physical change he underwent was very apparent. No longer this scrawny and gangly boy, but someone with a strong jawline, defined abs, and thick thighs. Of course you knew this because in all the years you’d been friends you’d changed in front of each other at least a million times. Only turning away when when the more intimate parts of your bodies were being exposed.

Needless-to-say, it was hard not to notice the rapid change in his body.

His personality had changed a little bit too, but only in a way that made your crush for him grow even more. He used to be so shy and quiet. Always kind of keeping to himself. And while he still preferred you to other people even now, he was more outgoing and goofy than he was when he was younger.

All of that to say, it was hard to ignore the feelings of jealousy when girls at school talked to him. The pang of disappointment when he’d turn down a hang out session with you to do something else. The turmoil you went through when he’d talk to you about his crush of the year and dates he went on here and there. Although none of them ever turned into something serious, you still always felt regretful anytime he was spending a romantic evening with someone other than you.

That said, you’d invited Guk over to play minecraft with you and just chill, no school work, no talk of school at all. Just you and him playing minecraft and spending quality time together. However, he got bored about halfway through you building a new base and decided to take his laptop out to play his own games. Normally you wouldn’t care, but when he was playing with you he was sat in the same chair, cheeks almost touching, and warmth from being so close to you. Now he’s sitting on your bed cross-legged and the coolness of his body no longer next to yours is settling uncomfortably into your bones.

The idea was popping into your mind the instant you noticed he wasn’t even responding to you anymore, too focused on his game to carry on the conversation. You were going to bother him. Would it cause him to lose his game? Maybe. Would he be mad at you for it? Only for a minute or two. Would it be worth it? 100%. You couldn’t go without his attention for one more second.

Without thinking twice, you quickly get out of your chair and leap onto the bed, effectively tackling him in the process. He quickly moves his laptop out of the way so as not to let you break it and braces himself for the impact. You’re immediately going for his sides, knowing he’s most ticklish there. He lets out a yelp and tries to tickle you back so as to distract you from your attack. “You little brat!” he gasps out. “What?? You weren’t even t-talking to me, Guk!” the stutter falling out of your lips when he gets you where you’re most ticklish.

You started out hovering over him, but he’s shifted the position and now he’s on top of you. Desperately trying to tickle you so that you’ll stop in your tracks.

It worked.

The position he put the both of you in, having moved you with ease, has caused a shift in the air. You thought it was just you. Being this close allowing you to notice just how gorgeous he is. His brown hair flopping in front of his face, the cute bunny teeth that poke out when he’s trying to conceal his laughter, and the way his nose scrunches right before he laughs. You can’t help but be mesmerized by him. Completely lost in his chocolate brown eyes, almost twinkling when he’s looking at you. He was so cute you couldn’t stand it. All of those years of teasing him and play fighting with him leading up to this moment. You not only had a big fat crush on him, but you might also be in love.

You thought it was just you, but it wasn’t.

He felt the shift too, your faces so close to each other now, and the warmth from your bodies spreading between the two of you. Your lips just a hairs breadth away from each other. But just as quickly as you had attacked him, he’s moving off of you. “Ah, sorry yn,” he says as he rubs the back of his neck, something you know he does as a nervous habit. “I didn’t mean to ignore you, you know how I get with these games sometimes,” a light chuckle coming out of him as he avoids your gaze. You’re still lying down on the bed, your breathing still struggling to return back to normal after such close proximity to him. “Uh, it’s okay, Guk. It doesn’t matter, just wanted to spend some time with you and we are, so that’s all that really matters,” you finally move to sit up, trying to bring some normalcy back to the room.

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you, which normally wouldn’t matter, silence being comfortable from years of friendship, but this time the awkwardness is palpable. Jeongguk is the first one to break the silence, “why don’t you show me what you’ve been working on while I was sucked into my round?” You’re quick to get up from the bed and bound over to your gaming chair. You always loved showing him your intricate builds or mineshafts that you’re able to clear out, skillfully evading the mobs that would spawn erratically.

With that, the energy between you guys starts to go back to normal. You two spend the rest of the evening just like that, chatting lightly and advancing in the game together. Eventually, 10pm rolls around and the two of you start to feel tired, needing to get ready to go to bed so you both can feel rested for school tomorrow morning. You walk Jeongguk to the door, “bye Gukkie. Thanks for hanging out with me tonight,” you say with a soft smile. “Of course, yn. I’m always down to hang out with you.” With a smile and wave, he walks across the street to his own house, and you’re left to sit in your messy feelings.

You flop back down onto your bed with a huff. What was going on with you? This crush has been going on for a while now and you’re usually able to repress your feelings enough for everything to continue as normal. This time was way different, you felt like your feelings for him were practically oozing out of you. He could probably smell the desperation on you. God, you hated how much he made you want him. Sure he was your best friend, but he wasn’t really yours to have just by default. You wished he’d be yours though, it’d make this whole ordeal a lot less painful.

Your roll over onto your stomach and groan into your pillow. Wallowing, that’s what you were going to do for the rest of the night. Felt like the right next move to you considering your predicament.

Just as you’re making a plan of turning on netflix and drowning yourself in ice cream in the dark, you hear your phone go off with a *ping.*

From gukkie:

[10:17pm] thanks for having me over. really hope you’re not mad at me for ignoring you for my game. you still seemed kind of weird when I left :/

Damn, he could read you like a book. Although, while you were feeling weird when he left, his reason for that is wrong, so you’re still able to skillfully evade confessing to him.

To gukkie:

[10:20pm] no, of course i’m not mad at you. i’m just tired is all and i hate my classes tomorrow so dread is setting in. don’t worry guk, i had a good time :)

Leaving it at that, you turn your phone on do not disturb for the rest of the night, as you usually do so you can actually make sure to get some sleep, select the kdrama you’ve been watching lately, and dig into a tub of ice cream until you’re so tired you can’t keep your eyes open anymore. You go to sleep feeling a sort of emptiness, but also not because even though you were sure Jeongguk would never like you back in that way, at least you got to keep him as your best friend. There was always comfort in that and that could keep you going, at least for a little while.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jeongguk #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook pining #jungkook social media au #jungkook fic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts pining #bts x reader #bts social media au #bts fic #endgame sm au

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today-only-happens-once · 5 years ago

Text

Boy Band AU is Romantic LAMP (eventually)

Or, I was thinking about the boy band au and was like, y’know what? Could be gayer.

warnings: cursing, kissing, some miscommunication and angst, mentions of/fear of resentment and divorce, running away from problems as an anxiety response, getting together, happy endgame romantic lamp stuff tho

This got so long I’m so sorry, y’all. It started as just “listing fun facts about it” and evolved into a bulletfic. Woops.

It doesn’t happen right away. In fact, it’s... a very long, slow process for them all getting together. Years down the road, actually.

They all have moments of Gay Panic when it comes to the others throughout those years, but... especially at first, none of them are really feel like they’re in a good place to enter any kind of committed romantic relationship.

And since those feelings don’t really develop strongly and complexly until later on in their lives, they fortunately already know about polyam people--though at first, none of them know that the others are also that way.

So there’s several years of sort of figuring themselves out and learning about one another in a tight-knit-friendship kind of way, and then a few more years of romantic pining and uncertainty before they figure it out haha

It’s seven years into their band career that Grandma Foster places a bet against Remy on who confesses first. Grandma Foster’s money is on Roman. Remy’s money is on Patton.

It’s ten years from meeting each other, within the month, that the ice finally breaks. And when it does, they’re both wrong. Logan confesses first.

though the confession happens within, like, minutes of each other. Because well--

Logan had started acting weird. And weird like, distant? And it was bothering all of them, but any time one of them tried to talk to him about it, Logan just pretended like he didn’t understand where they were getting that from.

And eventually, they all corner him (figuratively, but kind of literally too because Logan is chilling on the couch when they talk to him) and Virgil is like “cut the bullshit, Logan”

And it’s a long, messy conversation between all of them. Because turns out, Logan does cut the bullshit, and confesses to feeling attracted to all three of them, and he doesn’t want to make them uncomfortable and he definitely doesn’t want to lose them. and if they don’t like him back, that’s fine, honestly, he’s sure the feelings will fade (which Logan thinks might be a lie, he’s not sure, but... the alternative is losing them, and Logan doesn’t think he could handle that)

Roman confesses next. It’s like opening the floodgates of his feelings and he waxes poetic about all of them but he says it so earnestly, how he’s known he’s loved them all for years, and think he’s loved them all for a lot longer than even he realizes--

Patton is next. How Logan couldn’t possibly get rid of him that easily, not when he loves them all too and yes, yes in that way, hadn’t it been obvious?

Virgil, though... Virgil freezes.

Because yes, yes of course he has these feelings for them all. But suddenly it feels like everything is changing, all at once, and Virgil knows he should feel relieved and happy because they feel the same way about him that he feels about them but all he actually feels is fear. Because Virgil doesn’t do well with Big Sudden Change and this feels like a Very Big and Very Sudden Change.

On top of that, in the back of his mind, is Virgil’s parents and how they used to talk about how in love they were with each other once upon a time and somehow, along the way, that dissolved into fighting and arguments and divorce and resentment--

So Virgil bolts. Not quite literally, but close to it. He stammers out a “I-I need some air” and grabs his keys and wallet and leaves and tries not to feel the weight of their gazes on his back. He pretends he doesn’t hear Roman say his name when he closes the door behind him.

Virgil drives. He doesn’t really know where he’s going, he’s just going. By the time he’s done, he’s at the coast. He leaves his shoes and socks in the car, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach. He does have enough wherewithal to text the other boys a quick message ( “sorry. went to the coast. just need to think”) and tosses his phone in the backseat before the sense of guilt crushes him completely.

He walks to the shoreline. The sun is setting at this point and the feeling of the sand under his feet and between his toes, plus the cool waves lapping at his ankles, helps ground him enough that his breathing doesn’t feel quite so tight anymore.

He’s not sure how long he’s standing there, looking out at the horizon line, but he figures it must be a couple hours because he hears footsteps stepping up behind him and when he looks over his shoulder (expecting maybe Patton or Logan or Roman or all three), he’s surprised to find it’s Remy.

It’s almost 8 in the evening, so Virgil arcs an eyebrow at the iced coffee in his hands, but says nothing about. Remy stands beside him, also without shoes/socks, and stares out at the horizon line with him for a long moment before he says anything.

when he does, all remy says is, “wanna talk about it?”

Virgil just shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “how much do you know?”

A sip of coffee. “Not much. They’re worried. Wanted me to check up on you. Logan said something about ‘respecting your need for space’ but Roman said something about ‘walking into the ocean’. He was hard to hear in the background.”

Despite himself, Virgil snorts and glances down at the water lapping at his ankles. “Only a few feet.”

Remy’s mouth quirks. “So. Do you wanna talk about it, babe, or should I just tell the boys that you’re all right and you’ll go back when you’re ready?”

And Virgil takes a deep breath that shakes a lot on the exhale, and finds himself explaining everything. About how he feels about them, how they said they feel about him, about his parents, about how everything changes and he just wasn’t ready for it and he as much as the love is present he’s afraid--he’s so afraid--that will change down the road.

And Remy just stands there and listens. When Virgil sits down, still talking, Remy stays standing for a moment before sitting beside him. Virgil talks until the sky is mostly dark.

When he’s done, there’s a long stretch of silence. And then all Remy asks is “have you told this--any of it--to them?”

Which, no. He hasn’t.

“Why?”

Virgil isn’t sure. At first, it had just been sudden and overwhelming and he needed a break from the suddenness of it all, so he left. It wasn’t until the drive and staring out into the ocean getting his breathing under control that Virgil was able to sift through the minefield of his fears and thoughts.

Remy sighs, taking his sunglasses off now that the sky was practically nightfall--only the faintest traces of dusk still kiss the horizon line--and watches the waves roll in. “Free advice is worth what you pay for,” he begins.

“That’s what Gram always says.”

“Yeah, well. She’s a smart lady.” He takes another sip of mostly-melted iced coffee. “Look, Virgil. Are you your parents? Or, for that matter, are Roman, Logan, and Patton your parents?”

“No. Thank God.”

Remy gives him a pointed look.

“Oh.”

Remy shrugs. “Look, your relationship to those boys is whatever you want it to be. I’ve known you all for the past ten years, and I’ve been watching the way you four care for and about one another evolve. It’s become an ingrained part of who you all are as a unit. I don’t think that’s liable to change, romantic relationship or not.”

“But--”

“And,” Remy adds pointedly, “if you want a relationship with them, and you don’t go for it because you’re afraid it will end badly... well. It sounds like you’re ending it before it’s even given a chance.”

And, well, Virgil finds that maybe Remy has a point. The two of them sit together a bit longer, and Virgil is pretty sure it’s just Remy’s way of making absolutely sure Virgil is really, actually okay, before he gets up and leaves.

Virgil leaves only a minute or so after Remy does. He jumps in his car, checks his phone (and tries not to wince at the missed calls from all three of them) and sees a text from Logan sent through the group text that signals to Virgil it’s probably a message from all three of them.

It’s relatively long--unusual for Logan texts--apologizing if they overwhelmed him, a heads up that they’ve sent Remy to check on him and they understand if he wants space, reassurance that he doesn’t have to be part of their romantic relationship if he doesn’t want to and that nothing has to change (that note about change is repeated a couple of times in the paragraph of text and Virgil is reminded of how well the boys know him at this point) for Virgil if he doesn’t want it to.

Virgil feels a little bad but he’d really rather have this conversation face-to-face (er... really, his anxiety would rather do it over text, but he feels like he owes it to the other three to talk about it in-person) so he just texts back “on my way back”.

When he gets back, they’re all still awake. Patton is in his cat onesie, Roman in PJs (with his head in Patton’s lap, and if that doesn’t make Virgil’s chest warm with unexpected affection), and Logan still wearing what he had been when Virgil left, pacing in front of the TV.

They all look up and freeze when Virgil steps through the door and Virgil closes it behind him, kind rubbing the back of his neck and is like “guys... I’m sorry for freaking out--”

which Logan immediately jumps in with “it’s completely understandable. A lot was happening in that conversation, a lot of things probably percieved to be changing--”

“I still shouldn’t have left,” Virgil says firmly. “That was unfair to you all. I was... It was a lot, yeah, but... I should have explained more before leaving. But... I... I can explain now, if you all... have a moment?”

They all nod, and so Virgil stammers through his conversation with Remy, if slightly more coherent this time because he’d already spilled it all from his mind once today. And he ends with what Remy had said before he left, about how none of them are his parents, and while he’s still worried and afraid of what kind of end they could all conceivably reach, it’s also not fair to not give the four of them a chance.

So... that’s how they all become official! Also, Logan kisses Virgil first.

Boy Band AU Taglist: @virgil-is-the-moodiest-mood, @withspaces, @iampengwing, @thecatchat, @northern-borealis, @panicatthebiggestpartyofthefall, @trans-demon-king, @sapph-writes-sanders, @flamingfawkes, @andreaissy, @legalitiesiwthabiscuit, @h-m-t-w-n, @i-didnt-say-liar-i-said-lawyer, @hazbin-hotel-has-my-soul, @nerdleafeon, @wynniwirt, @creativenostalgiastuff

#boy band au #romantic lamp #polyamsanders #angst #kissing

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vaingloriosa · 6 years ago

Text

love brought weight

Summary: When war against alien beings took the love of your life away from you, you cross time and space to find him again.

Word count: 5.5k

Characters: Quentin Beck x female!reader (though I do not use any descriptions or explicitly call the reader a “woman”, i do use the word “wife” to often describe the reader)

Warnings: major character death, angst, pining, cross-dimensional love, more anguish, slight “far from home” spoilers

Author’s note: my first quentin fic and i got a little carried away with this story? VALID! so, the gist of the universe i created is that alternative timelines can cross to different timelines. think back to the ending of endgame and those portals and how scott describes quantum realm physics...but this is on a much grander scale. it’s an occurrence that is readily accepted so it isn’t “freaky” but rather sorta normalized to see alternates crossing the timeline. hope i didn’t lose y’all jsjskaljskal. forewarning though: i did write some of this story while on a lot of ibuprofen...i get absolutely silly whenever i’m on that. i also made quentin bisexual because Rights. gif made by me :)

Quentin isn’t sure why he continues to twiddle with the gold band around his ring finger while he’s not performing in front of an audience.

After every debriefing, he takes a bow as the curtain draws before him, the spotlight diminishing from his view, he can’t help but reach for it. The ring acts like some sort of tether, bound somewhere between the role Quentin plays and something far fetched...a yearning feeling that breaks his own heart at times. He can’t quite find the words to express how he feels but he knows to ignore such foolish longing.

Focus, Beck.

Focus.

Home.

A mystery to be solved.

Staring down the familiar cherry wood door before you, there’s a hint of hesitance as you bring your fist up to the door. It will be him, but he won’t be yours. Being in this universe felt foreign to you with the eerily stillness of the Venice air. Back in your universe, it felt as if the world was engulfed in an endless war, a hellish nightmare that had not a single light at the end of the dark tunnel. However, you had your husband, the two of you surviving alongside each other until...until...

You blink back the tears before they have a chance to fall.

Perhaps you weren’t as ready as you thought you were. Though you may argue that the years it took to find yourself on these steps in front of this exact same door that kept the outside world away from you and the love of your life may say otherwise. You poured everything you had to get to this very point in time to be with him again, to reconnect, to have your soulmate in your arms again.

No, you are ready for this.

Knock, knock.

You can feel your body vibrate, goose flesh forming along every inch of your skin, heartbeat slightly drowning your own thoughts. There’s a beat of silence then you think to yourself that maybe this may not be the best time for a reunion. You look over your shoulder to admire the scenic night life outside the bustling tourism. The water current beats against the concrete, boats gently floating near the pier, a hypnotic lullaby. Street lights illuminate passersby as their laughter fills the once still air. You can’t help but smile at them, memories flooding back from your universe with your loved ones. Moving to Venice may had been a spur of the moment kind of deal but you had him by your side every step of the way. You miss waking up in the morning to him, interlacing your fingers into his, the way he would hold you close to his chest.

It becomes too overwhelming to bear the heaviness of the loss of Q-

“Can I help you?”

Your head perks up at the sound of a voice you never thought you would ever hear again. Slowly, you turn around to face the man that had sacrificed his life in return for your safety.

“Quentin.”

Your voice sounds nearly disembodied; even being taken aback by the sound. You swallow thickly as your eyes fixate on the face you thought you had lost forever. The way that everything seems to be in place, how it’s like looking at an exact copy of him, like he never really left, put into this alternative universe that you found yourself in. Your heart begins to skip, you feel your palms become clammy as if you were on your first date with your Quentin all over again.

Oh, it’s him! It’s him! It’s him!

Oh! You know it’s him!

Your eyes beam as if reinvigorated by being in close proximity of his aura. “Hi, I’m your wife from another timeline.”

Silence.

Quentin narrows his eyes at your form to try and soak in who you are and what you just told him. Is he in a dream? Is he currently sleep walking? Another one of his illusions that came back to bite him in the ass? Or, rather, are you what he’s been searching for?

He shakes his head violently.

You begin to protest. “I know it sounds wild, believe me I know! After losing my Quentin, the other Quentin in my timeline, I desperately been trying to find my way back to you.”

Quentin takes a step back, still clutching the door like a lifeline. Even in the dim lighting of the light post shows how white his knuckles are and you know he’s frightened and overwhelmed like you were once you crossed the timeline boundary. You want to reach out, to hold Quentin and tell him it’s going to be alright because you are there to help him through this.

He takes another look at you, then shakes his head again, letting out a shaky breath. Despite the fact that “cross-timeline destiny” has been achieved before doesn’t mean that he fully understands the concept. There were others who have crossed the quantum realm into different worlds and universes but experiencing for himself...it all feels unreal. Quentin has always been more methodical, leaning against science as proof of existence. You standing there may be the lifeline a part of his is reaching for but he thinks with his brain first.

“Listen, I am not him. This “Quentin” of yours must be really something for you to travel through space and time like that but believe me, I’m not what you’re looking for. Goodnight.”

He goes to close the door but you press the palm of your hand before it can lock. Quentin looks at the door then shifts his gaze to you. It’s not a look of determination or anger but rather of brokenness. How shattering it is to look into your eyes that loved someone like him, eyes that carry memories of the two of you.

A ring on your left hand that proves who you are.

You blankly stare at the ghost of a man you used to know, somebody that’s supposed to be dead and shredded into bits. You long to embrace Quentin, to be protected once again against the evils that the world can bring. Memories flash before your eyes as you gaze into those ocean blue eyes of the lover you thought you lost. Lazy weekend mornings, faily evening strolls through the streets of Venice, resting on each other’s shoulders, just conquering the everyday with each other. You know it’s going to be a 500 mile journey to get there yet you are determined to be there every step of the way. You have loved your Quentin and you have crossed several boundaries, bent the known physics of the fabric of time to be with him again. You will not let that stop you from getting him back; the hero you’ve lost before.

“How did Other Me die?”

The first week had been particularly rough for the two of you. How does one even navigate a situation where someone is claiming that she’s his wife from a different dimension? Tense to put things lightly. Quentin often finds you watching and observing him as he gets ready for “work”. You gaze from the corner of the couch while he cleans up the house or waters the plants outside on the patio. Every time at breakfast, it’s always stifled in awkwardness where you can’t help but break a little as you remember your mornings with your Quentin. Ones where you snake your arms around his waist while he cooks, little kisses placed on your forehead before he leaves for work, how you two would play footsies underneath the table and giggle during any ordinary day.

Now there’s just silence.

Until Quentin decides to take a step forward in discovering more about you.

Your chest heaves a bit as you straighten yourself. You’ve tried to give Quentin some space to try and adjust to his new reality since you did just intrude on his personal space. Only when he’s ready to talk, you remind yourself.

“Well, you died a valiant death. There was only one way into stopping the hellish fight with these monsters from another world that you tried to create a portal to engulf them. And that saying...’the captain does down with the ship’...my friends had to pull me away as I watched you waved goodbye with a kiss then turned it on. The portal you created obliterated you. Afterwards, I ran over to your dead body and kissed your forehead for one last time. I told you how much I loved you.”

Quentin mulls this information over for a few days.

He wonders if he should call you “alternate’s wife”.

Sure, Quentin may not live up to his Other Quentin namesake with sacrificing himself up like that but there’s something deep down that believes he is capable of doing exactly that. He’s always wanted to be the hero in his own origin story.

Peering over his shoulder, he watches you paint your nails on the couch in the living room. It’s evening already and the television is playing the news with the volume on low. Quentin can’t help but feel a pull, mesmerized by such simple actions as blowing your nails dry. He has to admit that you are still very much his type. Perhaps this Other Quentin has some taste.

Before you can even catch him in the act, he turns back to his work.

Alternate wife.

Explains the ring around his finger that he has chosen to hide away.

The one who makes him laugh, one that challenges him, nearly breaks his own mind to try and figure you out. You’re good company to the market as you playfully toy with him and reminisce on how the two of you used to do this every Saturday. Sometimes the looks you give him, the way you involuntarily reach for his hand...it kills him to know that he is not Other Quentin.

Still, Quentin tries to be there for you.

One night he wakes to the sounds of your screams.

This is the third time this week.

Quentin rushes over to your side as your whole body rattles. You run your hand over your face and leaving them there. He’s not sure how to comfort somebody who comes from a different timeline who is supposedly your alternate you’s wife and has nightmares about the night his Other died. It’s not like people Google search “how to console someone who has seen another version of you die a horrific death with their very eyes” frequently. To see you in such a state slowly broke his heart.

All he can offer is a shoulder to cry on and a hand to hold.

Those nightmare nights are complete opposites to nights where you get drunk off his beer and become a giddy individual who loves to over share.

“You know I love you, Quentin? Mmm, so, so much. Like you know the universe? The stars and the moon? She has nothing on us.”

You take another sip as Quentin still nurses his first bottle.

You sit right next to him and curl your legs under you, carding your fingers through his silky hair then try to mess around with a few strands. You miss being this close to him and you know it’s the liquid courage coursing through your veins right now.

Another sip sends you back into memory lane.

Your features brighten up, placing a finger up as you place your bottle on the coffee table. “Gosh, I just remembered our first date together and how I thought it was such a disaster. You are afraid to eat in front of others but I didn’t know then so I really thought you were like...blowing me off just to seem disinterested. It was like ‘Hello! I’m carrying this whole conversation or what!’ When I got that text afterwards about that whole fear, I always found it quite endearing. I’m glad we worked through that together though.”

You giggle at your own anecdote and Quentin rubs the back of his neck.

How did you know about that? The last few girlfriends and boyfriends before that never quite understood it, let alone find it “endearing”.

“Ooh!” you nearly screech as you bounced up and down on the couch. “I’ll never forget that giant teddy bear you gave to me for my birthday then having them eye us having sex that night kinda killed the whole mood.”

Quentin watches as you come alive for the first time in a few weeks (after the last time where you nearly blacked out). You dance to the sound of your own tun and try to recruit Quentin on the “dance floor”. He chuckles, places his hands up in mock surrender, and tells you that he should be going to bed. You pout, folding your arms across your chest, and telling him that he owes you a dance.

He caves in with a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

You provide your own music as you sing out loud some song Quentin’s never heard before but sounds eerily familiar. It’s some funky pop song that sounds like a top 40s song yet all that is in the background. He focuses on you only, the way your face is animated, lifting his arms up to twirl yourself around and not giving him the chance to dance on his own. You keep telling him that you love him with your entire being and that the rain has nothing on the love you two share.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you...

You press your head against Quentin’s shoulder.

He can feel your shallow breath against the fabric of his night shirt and he feels goose flesh forming. You have started falling asleep with one hand interlaced with his and a hand on his shoulder. Slowly, that hand that was on his shoulder drops down to the crook of his elbow.

Quentin carries you and he finds it a tiny bit ironic at the name of the hold: bridal style. You’re his alternate wife and he’s your alternate husband in a timeline unlike his, a timeline he tells the people at work about. He lays you carefully on the couch you’ve called home for almost a month now and pulls a blanket over your form. You bury your head into your pillow to try and get more comfortable.

Could it be possible to be jealous of a man Quentin’s never met before?

He’s jealous of Other Quentin finding someone like you in his timeline. Somebody who is willing to sacrifice the very physics of time to take a leap of faith and find him again. Quentin will admit that much about his love for his Other Self.

He envies the Other Quentin on how the exact same person sleeping on his couch watched another version of himself perish in front of her eyes yet still had that much love within her to approach a corpse full of blood and a rotting flesh to press a kiss against his temple.

Those same fingers that interlaced his brushed off guts and gore from Other Quentin’s face and still found love even in death.

And he has the audacity to call himself a “hero”.

Anomalies are known to happen in science.

When there’s an unusual blimp on the radar that isn’t of his own doing, Quentin’s blood runs cold. He can’t explain it on his own rehearsed terms and desperately tries to regain his composure in front of Agent Fury and Agent Hill.

Just plaster on another face.

However, deep down, he’s afraid.

Sabbath morning.

He places a plate of Challah bread in front of you as you shift in your chair. You move your head to the side as you wonder if Quentin knew this was your favorite type of bread. Maybe an alternative universe is just a mere mirror of oneself; still the same but slightly different.

Quentin nudges the honey pot closer to you.

The sun highlights the amber tint of the honey that you drizzle over your piece of bread. You take a moment to bask in the warm rays of the Italian sun while sitting outside of Quentin’s patio. Birds call out from above, clouds nearly stationary against the pale blue sky, and the world continues to spin on its axis. You take a small bite of your bread, licking a few honey droplets off your thumb.

It’s a comfortable silence between the two of you before you spot honey along Quentin’s lips.

Out of habit, you reach over to his chair and direct his head towards you with your hand so you can inspect him. You swipe a dampened thumb across the seam of his bottom lip, bringing your thumb to your lips and licking the stray honey right off. Quentin feels that pull again, the pull that you that’s intoxicating and has been drawing him closer and closer to you ever since the moment he found you standing outside his door. Why can’t he just admit the feeling? How can he admit that he can’t live up to the expectations of Other Quentin? The man you once fell in love with? How on Earth is he jealous over how Other Him managed to find someone as beautiful and loyal as you? He thinks he doesn’t deserve kindness, nor does he think he deserves the love that you are trying to give him.

A love that has stood the test of time over an alternative timeline.

Something tells him to give into that pull like a ship returning back to the sea of the unknown. It’s exciting, electric, new. Quentin brings hims lips closer to yours, you closing the gap until both of your lips are mere inches away from each other. His breath tickles your skin and it’s so damn familiar that you’re becoming more unhinged with each passing second. The scent of honey on his lips brings a certain sweet delirium that stirs inside of your body. Quentin shivers as his nose presses against yours and the softness of your skin sends a new wave of chills down his body.

Quentin places the ghost of a kiss on your lips.

He can’t. Not now.

You don’t deserve this emptiness.

Quentin shuts his eyes closed in frustration, pressing his forehead against yours for a second then apologizing.

“Sorry, I have a debriefing to attend to.”

You are not his to keep, anyways.

He wants to be your Quentin but he doesn’t know if he can. Quentin knows he will never hurt you nor put you in harm’s way yet he’s scared his technology might unintentionally do so. Maybe he’s slowly going soft on you as you stubbornly sleep on his couch, eat his food, crack jokes from here and there, and make him smile whenever you can. You are more than just some random roommate but...he fears it’s something more. Maybe the Other Quentin is rubbing off on him in some way, shape, or form even despite such cross-destiny conspiracy that his brain is yelling at him to stop believing in. The longer Quentin stares into your eyes, with infinite knowledge and wonder in them, he begins to wonder if he’s truly fallen for you. The idea of you? Was this just the jealously of Other Quentin?

Or the imminent danger unraveling before him and having no way in stopping? Could it be that he’s afraid of losing you?

Maybe the biggest act of love that he can give you now is to let you go in order to be safe. You don’t deserve to be thrown into the whirlwind of his creation, a deceitful bitter lie born out of cold revenge. To Quentin, admitting that he cares for you is a step in a frightening direction of questioning if revenge is the right way in dealing with Tony’s betrayal. In his fury, he never predicted there would be an actual imminent danger.

He stands up suddenly, pushing the white iron chair away from you then departing. You don’t open your eyes, not just yet. You squeeze them tighter as you hear the sound of the front door close then you feel your chest tighten. You erupt in a ravaging sob that causes your entire body to shake in the process. You bring your trembling hands to your mouth to try and muffle your cries but to no avail. Your fingers brush upon your quivering lips as you try to memorize the shape of him once again.

You love him, you love him, oh, how you loved him in your universe. To do anything to kiss Quentin’s jawline again with his stubble tickling your lips. How he would place kisses on the back of your hand, on your palms, on your neck, your body was a temple and he wanted to show you the utmost devotion. You miss his intimate touches, his hair against the palm of your hand, his warmth near your body. The memories only add fuel to your fire with no end in sight to your crying.

How could you be so selfish, you wonder to yourself.

To think Quentin could be the same as the Other Quentin. How could he love you the same way as yours did?

But it’s him, it’s him...you know it’s him.

Perhaps you are merely just Icarus who flew too close to the sun. Maybe you will die in your own act of selfish hubris with scorching wings that acts as your medal of valor for your efforts in time travel. Have others felt the same way that you did after crossing over a new timeline? Shame? Guilt? Selfishness? You felt alone in a universe that is not yours to keep. Had it all been worth it?

You yearn for his touch, the warmth of another human being.

You sigh, your eyes fluttering up to clean up the long abandoned breakfast.

Anxiety greets him like an old friend. Oh, how the cold Beck before him would guffaw!

Quentin reconvenes with his team and discusses the next illusion. Not as elaborate as the ones they’ve pulled off before but Peter is more than naive to notice. It’s yet another role to act with a script that gives him commands and actions.

He remembers you.

There’s a hesitation as he hovers over the phone number that reads “home”. But why? How can he tell you that the monsters that infiltrated your timeline and killed the Other Quentin, causing you to find your way back to him, are ripping through the fabric of time to destroy this world? The world you thought would be safe? The reason why Quentin pushed his true feelings aside was that he was afraid of hurting you and now there’s actual threat to his livelihood.

Now is not the time to think about his illusion, it’s about saving your life. Feelings coming bubbling in his stomach but Quentin knows this is the right decision, much to his team’s dismay.

After all you’ve done for him, Quentin accepts what has always been there inside of him.

Calling home.

You hesitate at the bar door.

It’s like being in school again when you peer into the windows then your eyes lay on a mysterious figure sitting at the bar. There’s a kid with glasses next to him hunched over a glass much different than the beer bottle of the man. He’s dressed a little funny in what only appears to be a costume of sorts. It’s hard to make out who it may be but you begin to scan the other patrons of the bar. They’re all very much in their own little worlds, caught up in the whirlwind of different discussions.

You wonder where Quentin may be.

The man at the bar turns to the kid and your heart nearly drops. The profile reminds you of Quentin but why would he be wearing a costume? With newfound gusto, you enter the bar.

He turns to see you and his eyes light up. It’s Quentin.

You tilt your head to the side.

Quentin reaches his arm out to you and you walk a little closer. As you approach, the kid turns his attention to you and suddenly you feel very out of place, almost awkward.

What’s happening right now?

“Peter, this is—my alternate’s wife.”

Your breath nearly catches in your throat as after so long, he acknowledges you for who you really are. You feel a hand at the small of your back, almost hesitant but gets stronger as the kid named Peter reaches his arm out for you to take.

“It’s really nice to meet you. Mysterio only told me very little about you but I respect his boundaries, y’know?”

Mysterio? Talked about you?

You turn to look at him but a solemn expression replaces the one he had before. You place a hand on his shoulder and shake your head.

“Are you alright?”

Quentin closes his eyes for a second then lets out a shaky breath. He swallows thickly as he catches your gaze for reassurance, to make sure he is doing the right thing. Quentin begins to replay the gruesome death of Other Quentin he’s conjured up as you told him more and more details over the course of the month. His eyes bore into your soul, knowing the inevitable.

He waves his hand like a conductor and just like that, the illusion drops.

The bar begins to dissolve in thin air with dusty chairs and tables coming to light. You spin around to take in your new surroundings, watching Peter stiffen then removing his glasses. His boyish features turn to that of pure confusion. You look over at Quentin who stands up to take off the chest plate of his supposed armor and tossing it haphazardly to the side. His mouth is agape, almost as if to say something but closes it back up.

Quentin’s afraid to reach out for help. He’s vulnerable in front of you, his lie exposed to you once and for all.

Will you love him any less? Will you care about him any less? Will you understand?

“I’m a fraud,” Quentin begins with his eyes glued to the rotting floorboard of the establishment. “There’s not too much time to explain everything but we are all in real danger.”

He glances up at you with pleading eyes, ones that beg for forgiveness. “Those monsters that came and destroyed your timeline? Well, they’re back in this dimension and I don’t know how to stop them.”

You are taken aback. You can feel yourself become lightheaded, a chill running down your spine as your eyes become wide open.

Oh, no, you tell yourself.

Not again.

“You are smart, Quentin. I believe in your work and so should you.”

Yet he feels absolutely powerless. No illusion to save him from this destruction. No more hiding behind a façade perfectly constructed to his liking.

Several papers sprawl all over the table in a headquarters you never knew operated underneath Venice. All those times you strolled with Quentin in your other life, you never knew this was all happening at the same time. However, you felt somewhat secure in a place like this. Even with the agents you met, Hill and Fury, with a tough exterior towards strangers, they warmed up to you after finding out who you are.

You are brought back to reality when Quentin sighs in frustration.

Just like before.

The life you knew begins to mirror in this timeline and you are petrified of the outcome. Would history repeat itself again and you are left picking up the pieces? Could this happen again where you lose the love of your life again? Were you simply chasing a future to call your own? Or was it simply destiny to live broken?

No matter the impending destruction, you stick right by Quentin’s side, or Mysterio that others refer to him as.

Quentin pulls out the wedding ring again.

He thinks it may bring him luck, maybe even strength, but deep down he knows it represents more than that. He touches the ring to remind himself of you and the journey it took to find him here.

It all feels a little too late when Quentin begins to reciprocate the touches that were once one-sided. He actively seeks you out, having you close to him whenever he can. Even if the days between the two of you is dwindling, Quentin tells him that he won’t stop expressing how he feels in the only way possible. You begin to sleep next to him on his bed, curled against his bare chest and falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. You two share lively conversations over every meal with laughter filling the room. Quentin holds you closer whenever a nightmare startles you awake.

It all feels like you two are running out of time.

During a particular debriefing, you recount the plans that Other Quentin had in defeating these alien beings. It pains you to revisit memories just days before his death and even looking at Quentin brings back that forlorn feeling.

Maybe this time is different, maybe this time you can stay.

You two hold onto maybe.

But maybe is never good enough.

The moments before the inevitable begin to play out again and it’s all painfully real. Quentin has the contraption along his wrists, ready to go into the line of fire for his final act. In order for this all to work, he must get close to the actual being in order to extinguish it out of existence.

He had volunteered.

Just like Other Quentin had before.

Hot tears drop down your cheek as you try to find your voice to call out to Quentin. There is utter chaos going about with Peter, known as Spider-Man, begins rescue efforts with other agents from S.H.I.E.L.D. working besides him. You can feel the heat from the fiery being and you close your eyes to blink back the ash that the wind peppers you in. Your arm is being pulled back by Agent Hill, her barking orders being tuned out as you watch Quentin walk past you. He stops with his back towards you.

This is his time to be the actual hero.

He stalls for a bit then turns to you. You can tell Quentin’s eyes are glassy with tears but they weren’t tears from the heat.

Sadness.

In your mind, you begin to plead for mercy, that this couldn’t possibly be happening again to you and your Quentin. The progress you’ve made comes crumbling down as each minute ticks away. Nothing ever seems to last.

Quentin steps forward and places a warm hand to one side of your face. You forcefully remove your grip from the agent to wrap both of your hands around his wrist. He says your name in a gentle voice and you begin to shake when you begin to relive the nightmare that woke you up in the middle of the night time and time again. The love of your life brings you closer to his face and closes the gap, sealing your fate with one final soft kiss on your lips.

And this time he means it.

You are pried away from Quentin once again as he gives you a reassuring nod, a sad smile on his lips. Oh, how you want to reach out for him, to throw yourself into the line of fire if that meant being with him again in another life.

For his final act was out of the love for you. He knows that in order to protect you, he must sacrifice his life for the safety of not only you but for others.

There’s a blast of green that drowns over you as two cosmic beams light up the night sky. Agent Hill shrouds you with her body despite the fact that you are safely away from the chaos.

It’s happened again.

You don’t listen to the chastising commands coming from the agent once the beams die down. You are determined to find Quentin again.

History repeats itself, first as a tragedy but for you, then it’s another tragedy.

Lying on the ground is the man you traveled far to find again. The one who held skepticism towards you but you could tell he was warming up to you slowly. The man who saved your life again.

You drop to your knees at his lifeless body. You wish to kiss his fingertips again, to laugh again, to dance together again, to tell him you love him again.

You brush some of his hair side then trace his jawline gently with your index finger. There are several abrasions, burns, and blood all over his face but you know it’s still your Quentin. Tears begin to blur your vision, smoke permeating the air which wraps around you like a shock blanket.

You loved and you loved and you lost him, then you loved and you loved him then lost him again.

You press a soft kiss on his forehead.

“I love you, too, Quentin.”

Tagging: @kwaiky, @xmicrxn // @omi-writes-things (AHHHHH??), @cura-posterior // @can-t-figure-it-out (i hope u open ur home to all this angst, my friend), @aliebestraum // @fuckodinlives (bruh moment ://) @phalangewrites // @chaotic--lovely (i know u said keep it optimistic...well...), @reyskywclker (you KNOW i had to do it to ‘em), @deviantramblings (i am so sorry), @arsynia (true mysterio sluts), @obsiidio (HHHHHH it be like this sometimes), @alphysian (asjdksajlska ltierally...we had it coming huh), @drmsqnc (hello, queen), @bum-rayee (hehe :3c), @lastflyinggrayson (oh hell yeah babeyy!), @anniesburg (they call us mysteriHOES) and last pero not Least @the-darklings (now i know why u write a lot for your stories....the words just keep coming and they won’t stop coming)

#angel writes #quentin beck x reader #quentin x reader #quentin beck #mysterio x reader #mysterio #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #mysterio imagine #marvel fic #far from home #spider man far from home #idk how to mf tag omg i havent written in so LONG #love brought weight

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ihaveanimagine · 6 years ago

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Loki/Reader - It’s About Time

Prompt 20: “Wait, don’t pull away. Not yet.”

(WARNING: This is a fic that takes place after Endgame, so if you haven’t seen it and don’t want spoilers then don’t read this!)

Summary: Loki finally comes back to you after the final battle with Thanos at the end of Endgame

It’s been 5 years since Thor showed up at your doorstep, completely devastated and unable to look you in the eye before telling you that Loki was also lost to Thanos.

You remember sinking to the floor, completely numb and in denial about Loki being gone.

How could he have been killed? He couldn’t be gone, he sent you a very small but heartfelt hologram of him on a place Sakaar about how he was safe but unable to get away.

You heard his voice.

You saw his face.

You could practically feel his arms around you, hugging you and kissing your hairline as he assured you that coming back home to you was his priority and that he wouldn’t stop until he made it back to you safe and sound.

You wanted to call Thor a liar. You wanted to decapitate Thanos with your bare hands. You wanted so desperately to have been more than just someone Loki met on Earth with no way to follow him to Asgard and stay at his side. But none of those things would’ve changed what’s already happened.

So instead of fighting Thor or tearing up the insides of your house, you just sank into the nearest piece of furniture and mourned.

Briefly you felt Thor do the same with you and you vaguely remembered him saying something about asking Jane if she’d be willing to stay with you and keep you company until you were back on your feet again.

But now you’ve….moved on, so to speak.

You threw yourself into numerous programs that tried to reconnect lost families and friends and find homes for people who lost their families in the Snap. You spent countless hours crying with others about their lost ones and shared their hopelessness.

Contact with Thor and other Avengers were all but lost and even Jane and Darcy weren’t available for small chats anymore. Your surviving friends and family kept in touch, each of them afraid that they’ll wake up and another half of the population would vanish. You shared their fears but at the same time, if being dusted meant seeing Loki again, you would be okay with that….

Even though you and Loki had a more or less long-distance relationship that met a tragic end thanks to a wrinkled space grape, you never looked for someone else to call your significant other. As far as you were concerned, Loki was your one and only.

It was impossible to forget your first meeting, Loki was cold as ice and unwilling to give you the time of day even when you tried to be nice for the sake of second chances. It took a long while but after many days and nights of sassing and trying to get under each other’s skin, Loki opened up to you and you did the same to him.

You became inseparable, when one of you was scheming, the other was on lookout duty or alibi making. You shared insecurities and fantasies together. You came to each other to rant about an annoying thing or to seek comfort after a long day. You laughed, cried, argued, and tricked each other until the two of you were head over heels.

If you closed your eyes for just a moment, you could imagine yourself in Loki’s arms. He would always hold you firmly in his arms, not wanting to waste a second with you. He would always have this look in his eyes when he held you that told you everything was perfect. You could feel the way Loki’s lips pressed against your forehead or your own lips before he whispered a soft “I love you”.

You could never imagine someone else in his place, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the entire universe. You could never bear to hear yourself say “I love you” back to anyone who wasn’t Loki. It almost physically hurt you whenever someone would tell you to move on after losing Loki.

You knew that the love of your life wouldn’t want you to wallow in self-pity and hold yourself back from a happy life but at the same time, you felt like looking for someone after Loki would just be taunting yourself with what you and Loki could’ve had…

Despite being a full 5 years since losing him, you acted as if he wasn’t fully gone. You had small pictures of him around your home, one photo of him smiling shyly at the camera while wearing a pair of cat pajamas was framed and placed on your nightstand so the first thing you saw in the morning was his face.

You had nights where you’d toss and turn, unable to find sleep and you’d whisper into the dark, pretending that your trickster could hear you and give you advice or comfort. Sometimes you’d look at his small pile of clothes that sat in your closet and you’d hold a shirt to your face and pretend Loki was with you and was hugging you.

At times the pictures and clothes and memories seemed to mock you and other times they were a comfort. But in a world that was very much post-apocalyptic, you took whatever comforts you could get. The photos and memories would usually be enough to keep you steady and firm in a world where half of everyone died but more often than not you needed a small fantasy or daydream about what life would’ve been like had Loki survived Thanos’ attack.

Most of the daydreams were of Loki coming home to you, battered and bruised, but very much alive and happy to see you. Sometimes they were of you marching up to Thanos and killing him yourself before he even touched Loki. Normally these daydreams stayed within the realm of possibility but occasionally you’d let yourself dream a little bigger and you’d pretend to have gone back in time to rescue Loki before he died.

But coincidentally, the Avengers seemed to have shared your daydream of time traveling.

Since you were out of touch with the team, you had no idea what they were all planning. All you knew is that one day, everyone who had been dusted came back, Thanos’ forces had returned then defeated, and you were stuck watching everyone reunite with their families after 5 years of tears and heartache.

You were happy for your friends and family who were recovered but at the same time you were furious. Was Loki not good enough to have come back? Was he killed in the second battle with Thanos? Why were you stuck watching people reunite with their lost loved ones while you were stuck pining over an Asgardian-Jotun trickster who was probably put back in another prison if he was even alive?

Why couldn’t the universe just let you have just one person back?

Why did Loki have to be the one left behind?

You spent months mulling over this, always flopping back and forth between blaming the universe for being unfair and begging it to at least give you the chance to say goodbye to Loki or to just hold him one last time before you lost all hope.

And apparently, the universe decided it was in a good mood and granted you your wish one day.

You had been following your new normal routine of showing up at work to help reconnect people who became undusted with those searching for them and met a man with light brown hair, kind blue eyes and a bit of a scruff who was waiting in front of your work, looking nervous about going inside.

You would get that often, family and friends scared to enter, dreading the news they would find. Some just needed a quick push while others needed to mull it over outside the door before going in or giving up and walking away. This man seemed to be the former and his eyes lit up and gave you a relieved smile before asking if you worked there.

“I do, actually.” You had said, giving the mystery man a polite smile before opening the door to welcome him inside. “You looking for anyone specific?” The man seemed to think for a moment before responding “Yes, but I don’t know if the person I’m looking for has...moved on so to speak.”

His voice was soft and he seemed to be holding back a lot of emotion as he spoke. You nodded and told him to follow you to your office to see if you could help him. “That’s alright,” You said kindly, trying to reassure him “Lots of us didn’t stop looking for loved ones after the Snap happened and with everyone coming back, I’m sure that the person you’re looking for is searching for you as hard as you are searching for them.”

The man gave you a wistful smile and a curt nod “I sure hope so….I’m honestly not quite sure how I’d be able to confront them if they have given up on me.” You smiled softly at him as you sat down behind your desk and logged into your computer. “I know the feeling,” You mused, “I’m still looking for someone I had lost too and every day I wonder if he’s still out there thinking of me or looking for me or if he’s really gone.”

As you turned your attention to the screen, you failed to notice how the man’s gaze softened and the tears that threatened to spill out of his eyes. “Now, how can I help you look for the one you’re searching for? Our program can search through name, hair color, eye color, birthplace, workplace at the time of the Snap and current employment, you know, basic information found on an ID card or at a job interview.”

The man nodded and thought for a moment before giving you a quick description of the person. He didn’t give you the name of the person he was looking for, saying that he wasn’t sure if they were going by their actual name or an alias. After inputting the guidelines he gave you into the database, you both sat back and chatted for a while, letting the program run through millions of matches to try and find the right person.

“So...if you don’t mind my prying...was the person you lost to the Snap close to you?” Tom, as you learned his name was, asked cautiously. You waved your hand dismissively and nodded. “I don’t mind you asking and yes, we were very close.” You sighed softly and stared at a small photo of Loki on your desk.

“We were very close…” You sighed longingly before giving a small chuckle “I remember my boyfriend’s brother would often joke that we were connected at the hip.”

“But every time he said that, my boyfriend would respond with ‘We’re not connected by the hip but by the soul’.” You rubbed your face to keep from crying and took a deep breath to calm your rising emotions.

“It...sounds like he really loved you…” Tom said slowly “Do you...still love him?” You let out a bitter laugh “Of course I do! I still love him so much even though I haven’t seen him in these last 5 years! I’ve had so many people telling me I should move on and I just can’t!”

You leaned forward and buried your face in your hands “I know I should move on, I know he wouldn’t want me to wallow in doubt like this, but he just means so much to me and with everyone coming back I just...I just have this stupid hope that he’ll walk up to my door one day and look at me with those gorgeous eyes and give me that smile that makes me want to kiss him and punch him at the same time and tell me that he kept his promise to me and came back.”

You had to take a few heavy breaths to prevent yourself from breaking down and sobbing in front of a client and missed how he stood up and moved behind your desk to place a hand on your shoulder. “Well I don’t think you’ll have to look any further, love.” A smooth, soft voice said behind you.

Your entire body froze and some part of you thought Tom was playing a cruel trick on you as you slowly turned around with wide eyes. The man you had been calling Tom began changing before your very eyes.

Glowing green lines started from the middle of his body and slowly worked its way out until Tom vanished and the love of your life was standing right in front of you in a dress shirt and some slacks. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, my darling.” Loki whispered softly, his blue eyes searching your face for any signs of anger or relief.

You felt your entire body shake with relief and you tried to stand before launching yourself in his arms, praying that it really was him here in your office instead of just a trick of your imagination.

“Y-you’re really here? This isn’t a trick?” You croaked out, your hands cupping his face as his hands wound themselves around your waist before Loki leaned his head closer to yours, leaving your lips inches apart.

“No trick, love.” Loki whispered, one hand coming up to brush your hair out of your face before gently cupping your cheek. You felt tears well up in your eyes, relief of Loki being alive and safe overwhelming you.

Unable to resist any longer, you grabbed Loki’s face and smashed your lips against his. Loki responded with equal passion and desire to feel close to each other after being separated for too long.

Tears spilled from both your eyes as feelings of relief and safety crashed over the both of you. “I missed you,” You whispered when you broke away for air. “I missed you too,” Loki said softly, pulling you closer to him before kissing you senseless.

You broke away after a moment and wiped away a few of Loki’s tears with your thumb “I love you.” You told him firmly, voice cracking slightly with emotion. “I love you so much.”

Loki gave you a small smile before taking one of his hands to hold one of yours and moved your hand down so he could press a kiss to your palm. “I love you too.” He flipped your hand over and kisses your knuckles “I thought of you every single day I was away from you.”

You laughed softly and pressed another kiss to his lips “I did the same...I honestly thought I lost you permanently for a while…” Loki chuckled softly and tugged you back into his arms and kisses you softly “It will take a lot more than Thanos to keep me from coming back to you, my darling.”

You felt yourself melt a little bit and you brushed some of his hair back, accidentally removing a small chunk of debris from battle. Loki chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his head.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for not being the cleanest,” Loki kissed your head and pressed his forehead against yours. “I couldn’t get away until someone had checked me over for injuries and my first desire was to return to you.”

You nodded and sniffles a bit before giving him a smile “You say that like I’ve never held you after you’ve just returned from a messy mission.” Your grin grew a bit as you recalled something “Besides, it can’t be as bad as that one time you came home to me and collapsed on me completely covered in dust and blood after a battle with that band of Skrull Assassins in the desert.”

Loki laughed loudly, making your heart melt. You missed hearing his laugh and the way his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched up a bit. Your love kissed your nose and wiped away the last of some tears “I don’t believe you’ll ever let me live that down, will you?”

You shook your head and smiled “Not for the rest of your life.” Loki chuckled and hugged you, nuzzling his face into your hair as you laid your head on his chest.

“Did you want a shower?” You asked after a moment of silence. Loki shrugged “Eventually, yes.” He looked down at you and gave you a teasing nudge “Unless you’re alright with bringing a debris covered stray into your home.”

You laughed softly and teasingly punched his arm. “You still think you’re the most hilarious thing, don’t you?” Loki smirked and kissed your head “I save all the best jokes for you, love.”

You hummed and slowly let go of Loki. “We should go home, I-I can take today off and we can spend the day at home-” Before you could pull away completely, Loki grabbed your arms and tugged you back into his chest.

“Wait, don’t pull away.” He begged you softly “Not yet.” You nodded and wordlessly wrapped your arms around him again and laid your head on his chest.

Loki wrapped his arms around your back and cradled you in his arms while resting his cheek on your head. “...I love you.” He whispered after a moment of silence “I love you so much...I was afraid that I would never be able to say that again to you.”

You hummed softly and pressed a kiss to his collarbone, briefly spotting a heavy line of bruising around his neck. “I know, love. I thought I’d never be able to say ‘I love you’ again to you either…”

Loki sighed wistfully and nuzzles your head. “I apologize for the deceit earlier…” He quietly mumbled “I didn’t know if you had moved on after my death and I….didn’t want to ruin what you had built in my absence.”

You shook your head and you pressed more kisses on his collarbone before cupping his face softly. “Awful bold of you to assume I can just forget about someone like you.” Loki chuckled and kissed your palm again.

“Well, I apologize for my boldness, my love.” He smiled “And besides, we made a promise remember? That we would wait for each other, no matter what.” You told him firmly “And I meant it when I said I would wait for you until the day I died.”

Loki searched your eyes for a while before smiling and kissing you desperately. “And I would do the same for you.” He whispered.

After another moment of silence, you and Loki managed to pull away from each other long enough to start heading for the door. Loki wrapped his arm possessively around your waist as you walked out, wanting to show everyone that he was back and here for you.

“You know something, darling?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m done waiting.”

“Done waiting for what?”

“Well as of today we’ve been dating around 7 years have we not?”

“Uhh, yeah basically.”

“My point exactly. We’ve been dating far too long, it’s time I wed you and became your husband.”

“You know, I’m honestly surprised you didn’t propose sooner.”

“Well it hardly seemed appropriate to propose over a recorded message or before I even said hello.”

“Okay, fair point.”

“...Just so we’re clear, you did accept my proposal right?”

“Absolutely. You’re stuck as my husband for the rest of our lives.”

“Heh, I wouldn’t have it any other way, my dearest.”

@lucy-the-android

#endgame #avengers #avengers endgame #loki #loki odinson #loki friggason #loki laufeyson #MY FIRST FIC WITH MY TRICKSTER HUBBY #IM SCREAMING #i hope this is as good as it sounded in my head XDD #if anyone else wants a loki imagine #PLEASE SEND IN A REQUEST #i wanna do more things with my jotun-asgardian hubyyy

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thecloserkin · 6 years ago

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book review: Jeannette Ng, Under the Pendulum Sun (2017)

Genre: Gothic fantasy

Is it the main pairing: Yes

Is it canon: Yes

Is it explicit: No

Is it endgame: Yes

Is it shippable: It is lit

Bottom line: HOW IS THIS BOOK EVEN REAL. When they put me in the ground I hope they bury me with a copy of this book so I can read it in the afterlife.

Miss Catherine Helstone, a clergyman’s daughter, sets sail for the infidel lands where her brother Laon is a missionary and from whence his letters home have grown increasingly cryptic and erratic. The twist is, he’s not spreading the Good Word in India or Africa or the New World — he’s in Fairie asdfgkkjkdfjdk. Catherine hasn’t seen him in three years. She’s so worried about him that she strong-arms the Missionary Society of London into bankrolling her ticket to Arcadia, on the grounds that the previous guy who held the post met a messy & mysterious end, and she is the properest person to prevent the same fate befalling Laon. Because she’s highkey in love with him. Well, that revelation takes half the book to unfold, however the opening line is “My brother and I grew up dreaming of new worlds.” For the first 25% of the book she doesn’t even lay eyes on Laon, she just shows up in Arcadia and stays in his house while he’s gone on some unspecified errand. And what a house it is.

I feel like I’ve spent my whole life reading about impossibly grand, potentially sentient haunted houses. Such houses are drenched in secrets. You need a first-person narrator to really experience the affect of the house, preferably someone who’s unfamiliar with the setting and disoriented by the mind games it plays: Jane Eyre in Mr. Rochester’s house leaps to mind. Jane Eyre btw nearly marries her first cousin to take up the missionary life with him (before deciding to go back to Rochester). See, the reason Jane’s cousin proposed to her was because ties of blood were thought to be not strong enough to bind—when you’re out in the field converting heathens you need an acknowledged romantic attachment. So the fact that Cathy follows her brother to Arcadia tells you everything about how important he is to her. She would have followed him to perdition. Think of that immortal Sylvia Plath quote: I love him to hell and back and heaven and back, and have and do and will.

To return to the subject of incest in haunted houses: The Fall of the House of Usher? Atmospheric, creepy af, but the implied relationship is presented decidedly unsympathetically. The Thirteenth Tale? The incest is canon but you are not supposed to be rooting for the incestuous couple. Crimson Peak? She’s mentally ill and it’s not even the fucked-up kind of shippable a la Jaime/Cersei. Flowers in the Attic? Shippable, but the dubious consent squicks me out. A Spell of Winter? Comes closest, in that they were 100% in love, but it was a situational in love if you know what I mean—where is my tormented passion with 200 pages of obsessive pining??? Now do you see why I lost my fucking mind when I read Under the Pendulum Sun? I have been waiting for this book for MY ENTIRE GODDAMN LIFE.

Laon may be absent from the house, but he is very much present in Cathy’s thoughts. She can’t go five paragraphs without mentioning some innocuous detail, fondly remembered from their shared childhood.

In youth, I had shared Laon’s restlessness. University had only nourished and nurtured his ambitions, but education had stifled mine. I had been taught to tame my wild impulses and desires that had agitated me to pain. I had folded it with my soul and learnt to drink contentment like you would a poison. Drop by drop, day by day. Until it became tolerable.

If this isn’t shades of Cersei & Jaime, mirrors cracked by patriarchy!!! Seriously this is exactly how Cersei must have felt, after 8 years of crossdressing in each other’s clothes, the day the master-at-arms put a sword in Jaime’s hand and she got… what, embroidery? Cathy cried the first time Laon went off to Latin & Greek lessons without her. He smuggles his books to her afterwards, of course, and they do spend plenty of time poring over the classics together. But it’s not the same as being granted that education in her own right. In the great tradition of clergymen’s daughters, Cathy is “genteel enough to be educated and accomplished, but never useful. Caught between the world of labour and that of letters,” she goes on to become a lady’s companion and later a governess—which for a gently-reared lady is a kind of social death. Jane Fairfax in Emma certainly saw it that way. Wellborn women generally embark upon the vocation of governess as an avenue of last resort. Which is to say, there’s not a lot of scope for independent ambition for a girl in Cathy’s position. She’s twenty-five when she comes to Arcadia, and what is incredible is not that she doesn’t mention any suitors or romantic dalliances but she doesn’t even mention any friends by name. It’s like her whole world is Laon, her thoughts are consumed by him, her memories are dominated by him. It must have been very lonely growing up on the Yorkshire moors.

When I was young and I walked on the moors with Laon, I could not imagine a wilder place, given over to nature. The biting chill in our faces and the mists hanging over the endless, treeless dales. We chased each other, through the rippling heather, through ruined farmhouses. We would pretend that we were the only people left alive in the world.

And so, here I was: clutching the compass he had left behind, knot tightening within my heart, under the light of the pendulum sun.

Mark that metaphor of the knot tightening around her heart—it will continue to crop up. She’s been in love with him a long time, even if she won’t admit it to herself. Ffs he left her a compass when he took up his missionary duties, and if that isn’t a metaphor for his heart I dunno what is.

Laon and I used to play games, scaring each other under the sheets … I still remember huddling against him, hooking our fingers together and promising under every token that we held sacred that if one of us were to die, we would come back and haunt the other.

This is at once wholesome and macabre—they would give up heaven and hope of salvation in order to HAUNT the other as a GHOST because they’re that scared of being separated from each other? ICONIC.

I longed to hear my brother’s sermons again. He had a passion that surged under the measured cadence of his voice and, more than that, I had begun to miss his discordant singing.

She misses his sermons! She misses his voice even if he can’t carry a tune! She misses everything about him!

I missed Laon. I used to tickle him in church to keep him awake. All too often, we’d giggle and bicker under our breaths until our father cast us a stern gaze from the pulpit and we’d silence. I’d keep holding his hand, though, as he needed my nails in his palm to not fall asleep.

He would reach across the table and wind my hair behind my ear. Reaching for a pin to secure the distracting hair, I told myself that it was nonsense to miss the softness of his touch or the stroke of his fingers.

That night, I dreamt. Laon and I were children again, when his hands were no bigger than mine. We were running, tumbling through the heather …

I tried to imagine his voice. I remembered the curve of his ears against my lips and the warmth of his hands in mine. We had not laced together our fingers for a very long time. He didn’t even shake my hand before he left.

This girl sure spends a lot of time thinking about holding her brother’s hand!!! Here the text begins to tease at the rupture that happened before he left, and the non-supernatural causes of their long estrangement. Oh here she is asking theologically thorny questions of her tutors at boarding school:

My palms stung for days afterwards as I was whipped for impertinence. I gritted my teeth through the pain as I wrote to Laon about it, my letters curling all wonky.

Awwww he’s her #1 confidante, the one she turns to for comfort and validation. It’s been tough not having him around these last few years:

More than ever, I missed Laon. I wanted to tell him about this, to press my forehead against his and whisper to him what I knew like old secrets shared in the dark under blankets and sheepskins.

It’s just that everyone seems to take Cathy for granted—offhand she says she’s darned more socks than educated young minds—and Laon is the only one who sees her and values her. Every memory of their childhood closeness is somehow sweet as well as mega suggestive?! Here are some more super suggestive lines:

”You don’t only ever want things you could have.”

”It is dangerous eating forbidden foods.”

That last line refers to the well-known injunction against mortals eating or drinking anything while sojourning in the faerie realm: Once you taste fae food the Fair Folk get to keep you forever. In the mythology of this story, it’s okay to eat as long as you sprinkle salt on it first. You have to put salt in everything you consume, though, even your hot chocolate—just another reminder that Arcadia is inhospitable and alien and if you set one foot wrong your soul is forfeit. For the moment Cathy is confined to the manor, because there’s a geas that guarantees her safety on the property but not beyond it. So she wanders around this creepy-ass house that features doors into empty air, lanterns guttering out, moths that eat away the ink on your parchment. The other inhabitants include: A ghostly housekeeper she never sees, a gnome handyman lately converted to Christianity, and a changeling fae girl who Cathy suspects to be her brother’s mistress. Cathy obtains the journals of Reverend Hale—the priest who preceded Laon—and sets to work deciphering them.

My brother’s house became to me a place of questions without answers.

Later on, when Laon returns, he straight up begs her to leave it alone:

”Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “Don’t try to solve this place. It won’t end well.”

This, of course, is the sort of admonition ignored by the heroine of every Gothic romance—warnings destined to fall on deaf ears as she plunges ahead to unravel the mystery. Ok but let’s talk about the scene where Laon comes back, encounters Cathy and concludes she is a PHANTOM conjured up to torment him:

”If you are trying to seduce me, spirit, I’m afraid I’m quite incapable at the moment.” “I … I am your Cathy. Your sister.”

But of course any spirit would take the form of his sister, the person dearest to his heart. “Seduce” is an interesting word choice, isn’t it? But listen to the way she says “your Cathy”!!!

”Why do you plague me so? Does it please you to see me like this? Have you tortured me enough?” ”Is it so impossible that I am indeed your sister? Can you not believe that I could and would follow you? Can you not believe that I have the strength and the love to come? Can you not believe that I would care—“ “Catherine!” His walking stick clattered to the floor.

And then he TAKES HER IN HIS ARMS. They fall down and roll around, his face muffled in her shoulder, and she “dared not look at him” which is code for “if I look at him I will kiss him” until they’re interrupted by a servant and guiltily spring apart. She’s so glad to have him back. Listen to the easy way they tease each other:

”Oh, hush, you are nothing like Lord Byron.” I took the page from him. “Your poetry is abysmal.” “Exactly like him then,” said Laon.

I SNORTED.

”You used to crawl into my bed when there was thunder. I was always fairly sure it was just an excuse, you would fall asleep so quickly when you clung to me.” “You were warm,” I muttered in half confession, avoiding his gaze. “And your bed smelt nice.” “My bed smelt of me.” My voice grew smaller and my fingers agitated. “Exactly.”

HE SMELLED NICE. And who can resist the all-powerful bedsharing trope amirite? The problem is, just because Laon is physically present doesn’t mean he stops being emotionally distant:

I found myself studying the rhythm of his gait, the set of his jaw and the weariness in his shoulders. There was so much between us that remained unspoken, and for all that I could read from the way he moved and held himself, it was not enough.

There are oceans of unsaid things between them. Plus, every time she lays a hand on him—and after their reunion it’s always Cathy initiating the touch—he acts like it physically pains him. How do you react to that, to your brother recoiling from you touch?

”I am not an ornamental hermit,” said Laon, his anger spilling over. I placed a hand on his shoulder and he flinched at my touch but calmed.

The sight of my own helpless brother disarmed me. I reached out a comforting hand to him, laying it on his shoulder … He leaned into my touch and I could see his demeanor soften before he pulled away.

”You need me here, Laon.” I put my hand on his shoulder; he flinched and pulled away. ”You aren’t safe here.” his eyes flickered to me and then away again. “It’s not about that … It’s not that I need you, it’s that I want—“ he stopped. His voice sounded as though it was about to break. He turned and simply left.

Laon does that at lot—breaks off in the middle of sentences. He’ll say things like, ”Is it not enough that—“ and then just stop. Like he has to clamp the words down before he can betray his true feelings to Cathy. He tells her she has to leave in two weeks, which is an entirely arbitrary deadline based on the fact that he can’t stop either worrying about her or wanting her:

”It is very dangerous out there, Cathy. In the mists. Anything … I cannot—“ “What cannot you do, Laon? … Have you not done it all? Have you not gone to university? Have you not left England? Have you not made yourself a grand explorer?”

What he cannot do, and what he longs to do above all, is protect her. He’s been petitioning the Faerie Queen to grant the Church some concessions, like license to travel & preach all over Arcadia, and it doesn’t sound like he’s getting anywhere. Cathy’s presence is both keeping him sane and driving him to distraction.

Though my eyes were on the fire, his were on me. I could feel his gaze on my skin and I ached to touch him again.

She ACHES for hiS TOuCH omg i am L I V I N G. Did I mention she DREAMS about him, like, constantly?

That night, I dreamt of Laon. He lay under a willow in a garden, resting his head on the lap of a pale, pale woman. She wound her arms around him and he sighed as she stroked his face … The dream continued for some time, and when I finally awoke, I found my eyes gritty and sore from unshed tears, and my heart aching.

She later recognizes the “pale, pale woman” as the actual Faerie Queen who invites herself to Laon’s house on a sort of Royal Progress. This is Cathy greeting the queen and registering that she’s the woman from her dream:

I withered under her gaze and that knot of pain in my chest grew heavier and tighter. She smiled, and I could see again those lips brushing against my brother’s ears.

The thing is, Cathy invokes the imagery of lips brushing against ears in reference to her own memories of growing up with Laon, “his lips brushing against my ear in mimicry of a secret.” It gets worse. She’s summoned to the Faerie Queen’s chambers and the bottom drops out of her stomach when she sees the bed:

I remembered attaching my green ribbons to our old sheets. They had been our mother’s in her dowry, and when Laon had inherited them I had sewn on the green ribbons on an extravagant whim. I had worn those ribbons in my hair running through the moors. I remember him trying to snatch them from me as we rolled about in the heather. Those were Laon’s sheets on Mab’s beds.

Those are literally the sheets that made up their mother’s trousseau, that Cathy herself had painstakingly embellished with her own handiwork. In an era when all your clothes and linens had to be hand-sewn without aid of machines, it was indeed extravagant to spend that much time adding green ribbons to a perfectly serviceable set of sheets. The symbolic significance though—Cathy would have sewn them on for Laon, would have expected Laon to sleep on them. WHAT KIND OF FUCKING MESSAGE IS THIS BITCH TRYING TO SEND??? Cathy can’t be blamed for wondering. It makes her blood boil to imagine Laon in the Faerie Queen’s arms. If the goal was to make Cathy insanely jealous by flaunting her hold over Laon, well, achievement unlocked I guess.

The Fairie Queen takes up residence. She insists on (1) a masquerade ball and (2) a boar hunt. The ball is a highly bizarre affair—the dancers are clockwork automatons, the guests materialize out of paintings—but one thing it does is force Cathy and Laon to confront their frankly off-the-charts level of physical attraction to each other:

He loomed over me and I felt that prickle of annoyance that I have known all my life about his height. “You— you’re…”he hesitated before finishing. “You’re quite pretty.” The knot within my heart tightened. I simply could not remember the last time he had remarked upon my appearance. He said nothing when I twirled before him in old dresses on the eve of my first dance at the squire’s house. Nothing when the village girls and I gigglingly contemplated the prospect of marriage and asked his assessment. Nothing when I attended his first sermon in my best dress and mother’s brooch. He must not have done so since we were children. My brow furrowed, trying to make sense of that knot within me. It ached with a visceral familiarity, as though I had borne it all my life without knowledge of it. “I’m sorry,” said my brother. “I should not have said anything.” “No … I hadn’t realized how long it was since you last said that.” A smile wavered at the corner of his lips.

”Cathy, do you think me handsome?” … I took a step closer, to see him better. A flush rose within me, unaccustomed to the nearness of him. Without asking, I reached behind him and undid the ribbon of his domino mask. It fell free of his face, and I kept staring. For the first time in a long time, I simply looked at my brother’s face. It was strange, as I had thought it so familiar, but it was to his moods and changes, the subtle quirk of his mouth or flash of his eyes …. Would she think him as beautiful as I did?

Ok first of all to reach behind someone’s head and remove their mask is the most intimate of gestures. Second of all, Cathy and Laon encounter another pair of siblings at the ball who are codependent as hell and not tryna hide it, of the “he stroked her hair with the lightest of touches…. she drew a nail across the skin of his jaw” variety. Those two are described as waltzing across the floor in a hold “too close to be decent,” which could also describe their relationship in general tbh. What’s interesting is that while Laon and Cathy do not waltz together at the actual masquerade, that night she dreams about waltzing with him. The significance of the waltz versus one of the regular old country dances is the waltz is deemed waaaaay more risqué; you spend the whole dance with one partner and there’s a lot more skin-to-skin contact. Halfway through the ball, the Faerie Queen claps her hands, dispels the illusions that festoon the hall and voila, the fae revert to their true shapes! The singing birds are revealed to be human prisoners in chains! Cathy’s elaborate ballgown disappears!

”Cathy …” My brother choked out my name. I looked confused at his face. He was staring at me intently. The hunger in his eyes was both alien and achingly familiar. That knot within me tightened and I felt a warmth spread across my skin. “You—“ His jaw clenched and his lips pulled into a tight line. He did not stop staring, though, even as I could tell he was trying to stop … I was completely naked underneath the gossamer thin fabric. I could feel my brother’s gaze upon my skin, his study of my shape.

He can’t tear his eyes from her naked body and I don’t care how cliched it is, I am HERE FOR IT. She flees up to her room then, and it’s in the context of her mortifying exit from the ball that she has the dream where she’s waltzing with Laon:

We were at once running through the heather and arguing over his departure to become a missionary. We were bickering over toy soldiers, getting lost in the garden. We were gazing upon our father’s coffin and despairing over our inheritance of debts. All moments of our intertwined lives tangled before me. I felt that old, familiar knot within my chest tighten. My fingers traced against his flesh and I found the words that were written there …. As I read his bound soul, his hands uncovered mine. We followed each unutterable word, each branded red and raw in the book of human skin … I found my own name written upon the book of his soul.

This is (1) unbearably poetic (2) inevitable. Their whole lives have been leading to this. And then the next day she confronts him in the stables before the hunt:

“You can’t do this alone. You need me here.” “You don’t understand, Cathy …” “If not me, then someone else, a wife, Miss Davenport.” My voice was hollow even to my own ears; I did not want him to marry. To utter the words twisted the knotted pain in my chest, the knot I did not want to give a name to. I remembered feeling it every time he flirted with another woman, every time the ladies at church would flutter by and giggle at the prospect of an attachment. I had carried it within myself for so long, heavy as a stone. For the first time, I felt the true weight of it, across my shoulders and tight around my chest. I felt a spinning sense of unbalance even as that weight and pain anchored me. “You need someone and it should be me. You should not be alone here.” “I want you here. More than anything.” “Then why are you sending me away?”

Do you hear that? The weight of her painful passion for her brother has anchored her for so long that she’s unbalanced by the loss of it. When she places the look in his eyes as lust, when the knot in her chest begins to loosen the tiniest bit, she’s flailing bc she doesn’t know what to do with herself. At this point I need to spoil the central twist of this story so I urge you all in the STRONGEST terms to please go read it then come back ok?

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

Gothic fiction is full of doubles. Not like, literal doppelgängers, but characters whose existence is designed to cast certain traits of the protagonist’s into sharp relief. Fresh off the boat the very first person that Cathy meets in Arcadia is Miss Ariel Davenport, the aforementioned changeling whose function in Laon’s household is unclear. Ariel is weird. She rambles on about esoteric subjects, asks non sequitur questions, and claims an unearned intimacy by calling Cathy by her Christian name. Ariel was swapped for the “real” Ariel Davenport as a baby, and grew up thinking she was human. Here’s how she found out she wasn’t:

”I do know I don’t need food. I don’t starve, I just feel hungry … Ariel Davenport’s family died in a workhouse. I watched them starve when I did not. Whatever fae gears were inside me kept turning.”

What a brutal awakening. Ariel talks a lot about how she doesn’t fit in, how she doesn’t really belong in Arcadia but when she tries to do human things like embroider a handkerchief or love someone there’s an offness to it:

”But it’s not quite the same. Doesn’t come naturally.”

Ariel’s name recalls the spirit from Shakespeare’s The Tempest, who also got a pretty raw deal—she was a genie-in-a-bottle enslaved to a magician with delusions of grandeur— and Ariel Davenport likewise never grows enough of a spine to openly cross her master. Her “master” would be the Faerie Queen, the one at whose court Laon is currently detained. She’s the one pulling all the strings. There’s a reason that Ariel was sent to stay with Laon and Cathy, and the reason, as you may have surmised, is that Cathy is a changeling too. DUN DUN DUN.

That’s the revelation that shatters her. It’s Ariel who discloses the truth to her, a truth the reader has probably divined already from other hints; it’s Ariel who, transfigured into various animal guises, is the quarry of the hunt. Cathy plunges a knife into Ariel’s heart (!) bc someone’s gotta do it, the Queen has decreed Ariel must die for sport and at least this way Laon’s hands will be clean of murder. It’s ok if Cathy does it, she tells herself, because she doesn’t have a soul. And the consummation of her and Laon’s relationship happens right on the heels of that, because you can’t really expect a mainstream audience to be invested in a love scene unless you assure them it’s not really incest since they’re not blood-related, so that checks out. She’s trying to wash Ariel’s blood off when he knocks on her door:

No, Catherine Helstone’s brother. I corrected myself … He was not mine to call my own.

I did not turn around. I did not want to see the look in his eyes. I feared his pity, his revulsion, his anger. I dreaded it all, but above all, I feared his absence.

Ahsjhdjfhdjfd he drops his greatcoat on the floor, rolls up his sleeves, and takes up a washcloth to bathe her:

”We used to share a copper bath like this by the fire,” he said conversationally. I could hear the strain in his voice, see the slight tremble in his motions. “When we were small enough to both fit inside the tub. You hated washing your hair because of the soap in your eyes.” Did I giggle when he upended buckets of water over my head or was I angered? Did I sit patiently as he scrubbed my back or did I squirm at his touch. The water was lukewarm but Laon’s touch was anything but cold. I followed his every movement, the nonsense patterns upon my skin. I was holding my breath, listening to his. I could feel him, warm and solid behind me, his breath hot on my shoulder, at the base of my neck. Shivers spidered down my spine and spread over me. I ached … And then, his hands were on me again, strong, demanding. I revealed in his force; it proved to me that I was not breaking, that I would not shatter. He tightened his grip on my hips and I gasped. Fleetingly, I felt real.

That’s the crux of it. Her entire life has been a sham; being loved by Laon is the only thing that’s left, the only thing that’s real. You can see her already begin to doubt her recollection of the past, wondering “did i giggle…? did i squirm…?” because HONESTLY IT COULD’VE BEEN INCEPTION. HOW DO U KNOW WHATS REAL. She’s spent the first half of the novel spinning us endless anecdotes from her childhood with Laon, and now this happens, it destroys the foundations of her identity:

All my memories seemed so distant. My imperfect, simulacrum mind with its imperfect memories … I told my youth to myself like a story, trying to remember who I was. I told myself about the little papers I wrote with Catherine Helstone’s brother, the names we gave the toy soldiers and the fantastical yet tediously mundane lands they explored … It all seemed so very insubstantial. Except that memory. I flushed warm whenever my thoughts brushed against it. Unlike everything else, I remembered with embarrassing clarity, every touch between us, every biting kiss and each hot breath. I was a moth, speared like a specimen by his scrutiny. I lay under him, pinned. His gaze, his touch, his grip made me real.

This is Cathy two or three days ago talking to Ariel about her earliest memory:

”I always liked to think that my first memory was of Laon. I was three, maybe and we were playing. I don’t remember what, but we were hiding under a table and we had to be very quiet. The tablecloth was red and I think I remember his fingers against my lips.” “Is it real?” “Of course it is,” I said. I touched my fingers to my mouth, lingering on that memory, the vivid feeling of his skin against mine.

If she doesn’t even have her memories of Laon, what does she have??? What is true and what is a forgery? This is from her waltz dream the night before:

We were surrounded by faceless automatons, by soulless far, by mindless beasts. He was the last real thing within these borders, under this unreal sun.

So the Queen and her retinue depart. Cathy and Laon are not atm seeing eye to eye because he’s wracked by guilt for the carnal sin they’ve committed, and she’s wracked by guilt because she, you know, murdered Ariel. I’m not at all surprised at Laon, though—this is after all the man who wrote in his journal:

Sometimes this cross is heavy beyond endurance. I carry it in repentance for the sins of my heart, for that is the same as the sins of the flesh. To look upon a woman in lust is to have committed adultery with her already . I know this and I bear it. I feel that I shall bear it for all my days.

For all his days, he says—he’ll go to his grave loving Cathy and that’s the tea. But right now she’s hurting, and she more or less keeps to her bed:

He did not ask if I was going to leave the room or when; he recognized this childish habit already. I had done it after the funeral of Catherine Helstone’s sister when I was seven and a half, then again for a while after her father’s. I remembered counting the threads in the quilt, willing my world to be just that warm, soft embrace. He had taken care of me then … He still gazed at me in hunger when he thought I wasn’t looking. I yearned for that closeness, that reality, but I could not bring myself to deserve it. Day after day, I ate because he bid me to.

He has looked after her in her grief before and he does so again now. She spends the next few chapters avoiding his name and referring to him as “Catherine Helstone’s brother.” What jolts her out of her funk is, one day they crawl into the belly of a beached whale and catalogue the wonders contained therein. It’s an adventure, and she doesn’t initially go willingly:

Deaf to my protests, he had gathered me into his arms, deposited me onto the floor and proceeded to roll my outdoor stocking onto my feet. Despite my squirming and kicking, he persevered.

Lmao this is peak sibling interaction. Once they’re inside the belly of the beast, of course, it turns into something else:

He was standing very close to me and all at once I was all too aware of him. I forgot why I was fighting so hard to put aside our attraction, forgot all the reasons I gave myself for why I shouldn’t. Each memory seemed to lead me inexorably to this point where I was standing before him, slightly too close and far too afraid. I had not wanted to give name to this passion, not wanted to acknowledge it. I could have gone to my grave not knowing why I felt this ache whenever I saw Catherine Hailstone’s brother. I could have passed this life blind of my own longing and ignorant to his. I could have … He was simply there, too close, too real and too beautiful.

So OF COURSE they tumble into bed in Cathy’s tower room amidst their scribbled notes (they’re working on translating the Bible because “the mother tongue is the best missionary”) and the ink is blotted onto Cathy’s skin holy shit how appropriate is that. All those Greek and Latin texts they pored over as kids, the sermons he practiced on her, all of that was leading up to this: Cathy Helstone, the wife and helpmeet that Reverend Helstone DESERVES. I am strongly put in mind of two other stories stop for a second and hear me out: (1) Pygmalion, the tale of the sculptor who falls in love with his own creation and brings her to life and (2) Tam Lin, the ballad about a fellow who’s abducted by the Faerie Queen and whose ladylove rescues him through sheer grit and pluck—her trial is to hold onto him and not let go while he transforms into every dangerous beast under the sun. In the beginning it seemed like Laon = Tam Lin but now it’s Cathy who’s fallen into the Faerie Queen’s clutches.

we lay curled up against each other like the working dogs used to by the fire. He looked over at me and with a lazy, contented smile on his lips, he said, “Cathy—“

”Don’t call me that,” I said, cutting him short. Panic welled up at the back of my throat at that name. “I’m not —“

”Cathy,” he said again, pressing his face against the curve of my neck. I felt his warm breath upon my skin and giddy pleasure spread from those lips; I calmed. “Let the other be Catherine. And you can be Cathy. You will always be my Cathy and you will always be my sister.” I raised an eyebrow at that, and he had the decency to look sheepish. “And other things, true,” he said. “But either way, you shouldn’t think of yourself as less real. And I do have to call you something.”

”I’m not real.”

”You feel real to me.”

I love how her being “other things” to him doesn’t in any way negate her being his sister. Lord, that “you feel real to me” is everythinggggggg. At the same time I can’t blame Cathy for being assailed by doubt:

”it’s possible that no memory before I set foot on fae soil is real … I can’t trust my own mind.”

”I know my sister like I know my own mind. I would know if you —“

”You thought I was an illusion created by the mists to torment you.”

”I had imagined you so many times … I knew I had to leave, I wanted you too much … So, believe me. I did not doubt you because you are not who I know you to be. I doubted you because of my own weakness. You are the sister I are up with, the sister I have loved and love now. And that’s all that matters.”

Laon goes as far as to try to obtain receipts to prove her realness: They attend a Goblin Market where everything is for sale—for a price. He offers to sell an arm, a leg, a lung and an eye in exchange for Cathy’s memories??? It’s half of him for half her soul, I guess. Find yourself a man who looks at you the way Laon Helstone looks at his sister:

”Cathy, I love you.” Unlike his earlier declarations, he said it quite plainly as though it were an observation about the weather … “I’ve loved you, adored you, desired you for as long as I remember … As a sister, as a lover, it doesn’t matter … You doubt the truth of your mind and your memories, and if this can give you answers … Then I’m willing to pay the asking price for that.”

This speech absolutely melted me. She talks him down from selling an arm for her soul, but I mean, as far as God’s concerned the way she feels about Laon skates perilously close to idolatry:

For all that we had the books of our faith before us, he stood between me and every impulse of religion, even as he reached out to me with the promise of intercessory grace, he eclipsed such hopes of heaven. I had made an idol of him, and for all my excuses that this but a return to the childish hero worship I had once had for him, this went deeper. When he clasped his hand around mine in prayer, when I knelt before him, I thought not of God, that Lord of Hosts, nor of Jesus, the Redeemer, but of him, simply and eternally.

So to recap: Laon and Cathy are holding onto each other for dear life in this godforsaken hellscape of a ruined castle-manor where the weather has to be summoned with arcane spells and the flowers, instead of thriving or wilting naturally, have to be individually painted with the change of seasons. Come to find out, they are literally in hell. Not purgatory, hell itself. Which would explain how all Laon’s proselytizing has amounted to one (1) successful convert. That’s a piss poor track record by any metric. And their lone convert didn’t even accept Jesus Christ as his savior on Laon’s watch. It happened when the other guy, Reverend Hale, was here. What happened was Reverend Hale’s wife decided to take her Communion bread unsalted, and was promptly CONDEMNED TO HELL FOR ETERNITY because remember the first rule of Arcadia: Don’t eat anything unless you salt it. She is the madwoman in the attic, the “woman in black” that Cathy has caught glimpses of from time to time. It was an experiment designed to show that God’s grace extended even unto Arcadia. It didn’t work, but I guess anyone who witnessed this crazy stunt would have developed a newfound respect for humans and their faith. What this means is that the madwoman in the attic is not after all the original Catherine. She is not Laon Helstone’s sister, which was the working assumption of both Cathy and the reader up till now.

A fire breaks out in the kitchen. Cathy and Laon are unharmed by the conflagration. This is because in the house they are still protected by the geas — the one that is centered on Laon, the one that Cathy was told extended to her too because “Blood binds blood. And blood knows blood.” But the entire point of Cathy being a changeling is that she does not share Laon’s blood. Something doesn’t add up. A rider arrives with a letter. It’s dated months and months ago, from the London Missionary Society. Someone has been carrying on a correspondence with Reverend Helstone’s sister in their name, but it isn’t them, and they sure as hell did not sponsor Cathy’s passage to Arcadia. The truth hits Laon and Cathy at the same time:

My mouth was a grave of words, each thought dying there and it was their rot that I tasted, that filled me with gut-wrenching revulsion. He laughed, threw his head back and just laughed. His wide shoulders shook with his senseless mirth until his eyes too were filled with tears. “I thought you were an apparition to tempt me.” His beautiful mouth twisted cruel. “I thought the mist spat you out to make me sin, to pull me down, to drag me to hell. I thought I could outrun myself, my own sins, my own sister. I thought—“ “Laon, no …” I wasn’t sure what I was objecting to, but I wanted him to stop. I wanted myself to stop. “But they did better than that.” I flung myself at him, covered his lips with mine. Tear-stained hands cupping his face, it was not a kiss so much as a hard, stubborn meeting of lips. It needed to stop. Everything needed to stop, to silence. Gasping, he choked out, “You’re my sister.” My cheeks were against his face and my tears were his. We were broken mirrors of one another. “You’re my sister,” he said again. He did not push me away.

!!!!! SHE’S REALLY HIS SISTER AFTER ALL NOT A CHANGELING IT WAS ALL PART OF THE FAERIE QUEEN’S PLAN!!!! Here she is confirming it:

”My grand scheme.” She made a gesture towards the clockwork that framed her throne. “The sins that I have set in motion, the gift that I have given you. Had I not summoned you to Arcadia, would you have seen these wonders? Had I not placed into my own home, remade for your pleasure, would you have realized your love?”

And it wasn’t like she lied about it—the fae can’t lie, after all. That’s why they’re so deadly at weaponizing the truth. She just left a trail of breadcrumbs and let people (aka Ariel) draw their own conclusions, and spill those conclusions to Cathy. You have to admire how elegantly she sprung the trap. And certainly neither Laon nor Cathy appears to regret falling into each other’s arms. It’s just that once again Cathy’s whole world has been turned upside down:

There was an acidic taste at the back of my throat … Our love had been the last pure, real thing that I had clung to and it was slipping away … Every kiss, every caress that had passed between us came to the fore of my mind, now tainted by new, old knowledge.

Okay but you know here is what else Cathy has also said on the subject of forbidden knowledge (one of the oldest senses of the verb “to know” is to know someone biblically):

The world was made with words. If I looked hard enough, I could read those words still. They flowed in the veins of the world, written on their seams. They told me this tree would reach the heavens. They told me nothing was forbidden. They told me knowledge could not be a sin.

Being expelled from Eden was not altogether a bad deal for Adam and Eve. And we are talking Edenic parallels here, since it’s revealed one of the Faerie Queen’s names is Lilith, aka Adam’s first wife. When I was younger and thought myself very superior I was of the Phillip Pullman School of “it is better to know sin than to remain ignorant and innocent,” but it’s not that simple. Cathy and Laon came to Arcadia to save souls; now it looks like they’ve lost theirs. Laon has spent more than half his life wrestling with theology: he is a preacher, and singularly unsuited to doing anything else. I keep circling back to that image of words written on the seams of the world, and I think about Cathy’s waltz dream where she read her name on the book of Laon’s soul, and the masquerade ball before that where they encountered the too-close pair of siblings whose skin was actually branded with words??? Not tattoos actual words of fire. Cathy could only kind-of read them, not being fluent in the Arcadian tongue. Cathy and Laon have spent half this novel translating scripture. Words are the building blocks of reality. If you notice in the passage where she finds out they’ve been sinning this whole time, it opens with “My mouth was a grave of words.” Anyway, Cathy is all to pieces because a person can only sustain so many blows to their sense of self in quick succession:

Lantern in hand, I drifted through the castle, numb from new knowledge: I was human. I was in love with my brother. I was in hell.

She’d need time to process even one of those revelations, let alone all three at once. And in the end they decide to stay in Faerie and do missionary work together. Because, Cathy points out, if “the mother tongue is the best missionary” and here they are in Hell, it can only help their cause that they are both fluent in sin. GIRL, A+ LOGIC. If anyone wants to read a short (<2k) fic about Cathy and Laon embarking on the next chapter of their lives, I highly recommend this one, where the Author’s Note muses, “What's the biggest theologically-evocative Molotov cocktail I could throw in their path?” and the story goes with “Cathy gets pregnant” asddfggkgjgk.

Friends, I do not scruple to say that Jeannette Ng has written the perfect incest book for me. I still can’t believe it’s an unabashed love story. Where the main pairing is canon and also endgame. It all unfolds inexorably, and when I found out Cathy was a changeling it didn’t feel like a cop-out, unlike other stories where “they’re stepsiblings!” or “one of them’s adopted!” absolutely does feel like a cop-out. Because Cathy’s identity crisis is at the core of the story. When I found out she wasn’t a changeling that felt inevitable too. It’s just such a powerful meditation on memory, that most fallible of human faculties. It’s such a power move to saturate the narrative with memories of Cathy and Laon playing as children, and then reveal that even those fragments aren’t necessarily authentic:

We chased each other through the mists, like we were children again, playing on the moors … Was I imagining now how much i had relished his closeness then? Was it simply newfound desire that was igniting all past memories or had I always flushed warm under his gaze?

It’s unlikely had they remained in England they would have gotten together. The Fairie Queen had to pull out all the stops for this to be endgame. Can we all just ... RESPECT.

#cause of death #book review #under the pendulum sun

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willowsandwastelands · 6 years ago

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if i don’t go to hell when i die, i might go to heaven

They’d gathered back those stupid fucking stones, Bruce had snapped those big green fingers, and they were there. The world was coming alive with faces Tony had never seen but knew from the reactions of those around them that they weren’t ever expected to be seen again.

They’d done it.

It was impossible, and it came with side effects (namely a homicidal Titan and his unfortunately large army.) But they’d done it anyway.

And it was worth it, because Tony heard a voice. The voice that made him invent time travel, shift realities, move the world over just to hear it again.

“Mister Stark?”

Peter.

Oh, God.

Peter.

The kid was rambling nonsense in the same way he always did, asking dumb little questions about his hair and what he’d been doing but Tony just grabbed him.

Held his kid tight, and knew every sacrifice they’d ever made to get to this point was worth it. Because Peter was in his arms. Safe. Sound.

“Oh, this is nice,” he’d said, drawing a near hysterical laugh out of Tony.

“I missed you, bud.” Though he’d be content to hug him for hours and never let him get close to danger ever again, Tony knew the action wouldn’t wait for them any longer than it had. So he just planted a quick kiss on the side of Peter’s cheek, ruffled his big, brown curls, and went back to the fight with a new found vigor.

Now, he was fighting to keep what he had. Not avenge what he lost.

So when he saw Strange raise his hand, let him know this was their only chance, Tony didn’t think twice.

He knew it was going to kill him. He felt death, his life-long lover rub her hands up his shoulders to tell him she was coming.

And Tony wanted a different endgame.

Because he’d won. He had the most wonderful son (Peter), the most caring family (Pepper, Rhodey.) And he had had the best love. He had Steve.

He had the life, if only for just one fucking moment before he was going to lose it, that he’d wanted years ago when he knew this was how he was going to die.

But he kept his promise to Pepper.

He didn’t regret it.

“I. Am. Ironman.”

He took that big, beautiful life for all it was. And made a victory out of it.

Peter told him as much, though Tony couldn’t thank him. The stones had taken their toll. He was just a man, in the end, after all.

A dying man who loved each and every person around him at the moment.

Tony had believed his whole life that luck favors the prepared. Anyone shocked to know he had a plan in place for this kind of situation didn’t know him at all.

FRIDAY activated the “EDWIN JARVIS” protocol he’d made so long ago, when death was just a little daydream. But it was here now. Quiet.

But here

“Sir.” JARVIS’ somber, calm voice (and oh god, how he’d missed him, couldn’t wait to see him soon in that kingdom they told him about when he was a kid) echoed in his comm ear. “It’s a pleasure to be with you now.”

If Tony could speak, he’d return the sentiment.

Rhodey came first, landed soft on the earth, flipped up his face plate. He was so steady. Strong. Silent. Just as he’d always been when Tony needed him to be. He didn’t try to talk. He knew there was nothing that needed to be said, no words that could be put to this. They both knew what one another meant.

Stay safe.

See you on the other side.

Take care of them. Same as you did for me.

I will. I promise.

Pepper was the next to arrive, and she didn’t say much either. Just her classic, “Oh, Tony.” A watery grin that was somehow as sincere as it was sad.

“Pep,” he tried to whisper, but his lips were far away. His whole body was far away, and drifting farther each moment. “Pep, I…”

“It’s okay.” Thick tears rolled down her cheeks, slipping into the corners of her smiling mouth. “We’re all gonna be okay, now. Thank you, Tony.”

Pepper had never lied to him. Pepper loved him too much for that. And he knew she knew how much he loved her.

Peter came next, and he was young. It was only natural to be scared. Confused. Tony once felt the same, what feels like a million years ago.

“We won, Mister Stark,” the kid had cried, holding his good hand (though he couldn’t really feel the pressure, he was comforted nonetheless.) “Dad— We won, Tony. We won…”

Rhodey caught Petey before he could fall, and that was how Tony knew it’d be alright. Rhodey had been around this block before. He’d know how to help, how to keep his kid safe. They’d be just fine. Tony was comfortable in the knowledge that he was leaving his sun and his stars with the people that’d never let him burn out.

And Steve.

Steve, with the andromedas in his irises.

Steve was last.

Steve found him, and for all his credit, he didn’t cry. Just kneeled beside him, put one big, warm palm on the side of his face that wasn’t burned and the other where the arc was. Held him so steady. Laid the softest of kisses on his unmoving mouth.

“Tony,” Steve has said, gazing at him with more love than Tony had ever seen in anyone’s eyes. It was amazing. And it was somehow for him. “Can you look at me?”

Tony couldn’t. But he did. Because Steve had asked.

“You can rest now, Tony,” he whispered, smiling through the tears that streamed through the dirt and the mud of his face. “You did so well.”

Had he?

Tony looked around again, at his little family. They were all okay. They all would be okay in the world he’d helped to bring about.

And Steve was strong, alive. Just holding his hand.

“It’s time to go to sleep, Tony,” Steve said, laughing a little, the sound wet. A callback to all the nights they’d spent side by side. All the nights Tony had felt safe.

Death loomed over his shoulder, but he didn’t fear her.

He was safe.

“Goodnight, Tony.”

He drifted with no fear at all.

………………

The next five years are a blur. But to Tony, they are the most beautiful blur in the world.

Filled with tears and the taking downs of memorials and the reintegrations of life as it used to be.

It’s so beautiful.

No one’s quite sure how he survived. They took him to the hospital to pronounce him dead, but his heart started beeping before they could zip the body bag. Doctors say it was a miracle.

Steve says it was because he was just too stubborn to die.

Tony figures both have a ring of truth to them.

Regardless, the life he thought had ended went on. He built himself an iron arm, married the man he loved more than anyone else, and, well—

“Dad!” Maria calls, jostling him from where he’s sitting curled up on Steve’s lap. He ignores his husband’s huffs of amusement as he pulls himself upright, but apparently not fast enough for their human tornado of a daughter. “Dad! Dad! Dad!”

“Yeah, pumpkin!” he asks, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Goddamn. He loves his kid. He really does. But he also loves naps.

“Everybody’s here! Get up!” With that, little Maria Margaret Rogers-Stark takes off like a bat out of hell towards their little cabin door.

And Tony can’t help it. He just smiles.

“What are you smilin’ about?” Steve asks, but he’s smiling, too.

“Nothin,” Tony shrugs, pulling on the boots he keeps tucked beneath the couch because he’s domestic like that now. Once he’s got them good and laced, he turns over, kisses Steve on his stupidly beautiful bearded mouth and gets up. “I’m just happy. That’s all.”

Steve laughs, the sound soft and kind. “Me, too.”

Peter, Rhodey, and Pepper are just getting out of the car when he and Steve emerge from their quaint little abode, hand-in-metal-hand.

Their smiles get even bigger when they see each other.

“Mister Stark!” Peter beams (an adoring Maria already superglued to his leg), like he’s still the fifteen year old fanboy Tony met in Queens so long ago and not the top-of-his-motherfucking-class-at-MIT-Jesus-chrIST-is-tony-proud adult he’s grown into.

“Aren��t you old enough to be calling me Tony?” he asks, just to be an asshole. He knows Peter’s answer.

“Aren’t you smart enough to know when you’re beating a dead horse?”

They all laugh a little, breathing in the thick pine air on each inhale, and revel in how everything just feels alright.

Pepper and Rhodey embrace them as they arrive on the porch, hugging one another close.

It’s been a few months since they were all last together— life is busy for just about everyone except Steve and Tony, who’ve decided they’ve donated enough for the cause to earn the privilege of taking some hard-earned time off.

After everything they’ve done, the vast majority of the world is inclined to agree.

“Missed you, Tones,” Rhodey says, once they pull back. “Wilson is a fucking nightmare now that he doesn’t have anyone to match wits with.”

“Aw, come on, sugar bear. We both know you can hold your own.”

And Pepper, who is so wonderfully herself, has to conduct a full field interview before they can even hug.

“How are you, Tony?”

“I’m good, Pep. How are—“

“No, I mean really? Is everything fine?”

“Yes. Why do you always ask if—“

“What about you, Steve? Are you good?”

“Yes, ma’m. Everything is just—“

“And Maria? She’s not still having that cough, is she?”

“No, the antibiotics took care of her. She’s right as rain. Healthy as a horse.”

Satisfied, she finally smiles. Tugs them both in for a warm embrace that just makes Tony feel so impossibly whole.

“There better be something unhealthy for dinner,” she jokes as she steps into the house. “Bruce hasn’t been making anything except kale salad at the towers for weeks.”

“Don’t worry,” Tony placates, remembering just how awful some of the green concoctions his old friend made could taste. “Maria is on a real cheeseburger kick lately.”

“Wonder where she got that,” Steve muses sarcastically, slipping a sinfully beautiful glare Tony’s way.

And Tony just rolls his eyes, kisses him quick (for no other reason than just loving him) and pulls them inside.

The small family laughs the night away. They talk about Peter’s internship awkward moments, Pepper attempting to navigate the rescue armor, Rhodey’s idiot coworkers, Tony and Steve’s coincidentally best and worst parent moments till they’re all shedding happy tears. They talk all the way up until the early hours of the morning, and Maria’s fallen asleep in the crook of Tony’s neck, drooling down his shirt.

When he tucks her in, she mumbles, “I love you three-thousand.”

And when he comes out, thinking of his daughter, sees Pepper, Rhodey, Peter. Steve.

He knows he loves them even more.

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jeffatk1ns · 8 years ago

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Mutual Destruction - Jeff Atkins x Reader // Part Three

Playlist (Optional)

Sober || (Melodrama) - Lorde

Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene - Hozier

A/N: I mean, I’m pretty certain you’ve all realised this now, but this is slow-burning. Jeff x Y/N ARE endgame. Don’t give up on this yet! Idk how I feel about this part though… I really hate myself for doing this to baby Monty…

“Nope! There’s still a bit in the bottom!” She giggled.

“Come on Y/N, I’m going to be way more drunk than you at this point!” Zach chuckled lovingly, but downed it anyway.

“No you won’t, I can’t even remember what I’ve had at this point. Your parents sure have a lot of liquor.” She looked around her at the empty bottles.

“For people who don’t drink, it’s quite impressive.” He snorted.

“I’m starting to think this idea wasn’t a good one. We’re on the top of a roof drinking alcohol!” She laughed manically. He joined in.

“WOOOOOO!” He shouted. “Honestly though, you know I’d never let anything happen to you, Y/N.” He stroked her cheek. Leaning in for the kiss, she thought how she’d never love a boy as much as this one. He was made for her, she thought.

The taste of vodka, and tequila, and gin, and whatever-the-fuck-else they’d consumed swilled between their mouths. Some drunk kisses had the ability to chase a person into sobreity, then make them feel drunk all over again just off of the presence of the other person.

—–

“Hello? Earth to Y/N? It’s 3:30 and you’ve got a revision date with a handsome prince.“ Jeff chuckled, sliding into the seat next to her.

“Shit, hey Jeff.” She smiled, pushing her textbook forward to reach down and grab some more notes from her bag.

“I’d love to know the psychology of daydreaming,” He teased.

She rolled her eyes. “We’ll get there. Get a pen.”

After some hardcore studying separation anxiety in babies, Jeff cleared his throat.

“Did you manage to talk to Monty at all since last week?”

“You’re very interested in my love life, Jeff.” She smirked, looking up from her notes.

“Not really. More like I don’t want to see anymore damaged knuckles.” He winced.

“I’ll talk to him.” She pressed. He seemed satisfied with the response and nodded.

Once again, Jeff hung on to every word she said, making detailed notes and asking questions. It was kind of adorable.

“Next week is going to be an intense one. I’m guessing you have ‘The Psychology Of Love by Sigmund Freud?” She asked as she closed up her textbook.

“Uh, yeah.” He nodded awkwardly. “Isn’t he the one who had a thing for his mum?”

“Not quite, don’t worry you’ll see next week. He’s just who we’re starting with. As you know 20% of our final grade relies on our coursework surrounding our chosen psychology of love.” She pushed her chair in and slung her bag over her shoulder.

“Right.” He nodded. “I’ll see you next week?”

“See you round.” She waved to his figure leaving the library.

—–

As it usually happened on Summer days like these, the boys sat outside to eat their lunch and maybe throw a ball about.

“So, uh, Monty,” Jeff said through a bite of his sandwich.

“This is about Y/N, isn’t it?” Montgomery sighed.

Jeff cocked his head in a yes.

“I haven’t spoken to her since then. You can’t say ‘i-told-you-so’ yet.”

“I know, I just wanted to check how you were doing.” Jeff genuinely cared for his friend, and knew how much of a problem this was for him.

But before Montgomery had a chance to speak, Bryce was back.

“Atkins, that hot brunette is eyeing you up.” He nodded in her direction. Jeff glanced back.

“Not again.” He muttered.

“What?” Monty asked.

“We had a thing last summer.” He shrugged. “It was nothing, literally, I don’t know why she keeps looking at me like that.” He threw his hand up.

That’s when Monty stopped listening. Why did Jeff deserve to feel the smugness of being totally completely right about Y/N because they were exactly the same. Monty didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed before. He’d known what Jeff was like, but it just seemed…different.

“It’s a bit warm out here really. I’m gonna head inside.” He stood, not so much as looking at the boys before violently throwing his lunch into the trash can.

—–

At the end of her psychology lesson the next day, Jeff approached her.

“Look!” He pointed to the ten mark pop quiz they’d done at the start of the lesson. “Only just over a week of your help and I’m already improving.” He grinned. She couldn’t help but mimic his expression, it was contagious.

“I’m proud of you Jeff.” She punched his shoulder as they made their way out of the classroom.

“Thanks, Y/N, really.” He called out as he walked backwards in the direction of his locker. She was really happy that she’d actually done something positive for once.

Her locker rattled as she entered the combination.

Y/N wasn’t evil, but her track record wasn’t the best, and for once, she had these high spirits which felt amazing.

In that moment was when it happened.

In her peripheral vision she saw Montgomery storming down the hall, headed in her direction.

“Y/N, we need to talk.” He slammed her locker door in front of her, barely scraping her nose. She inhaled.

“Not here, Monty.” She looked around at the surrounding students.

“Where then? You’ve put this off once, Atkins isn’t here this time to save you.” He moved in toward her face, his hot breath tickling her face. Dammit, he was attractive, but hard work.

“Who said I needed saving? I just don’t want you to embarrass yourself.” She hit back coolly. Upon noticing he wasn’t budging, she added; “Fine, what is it?”

“So like I was saying before, we were so rudely interrupted, you’ve been ignoring me all week.”

“Not ignoring, just not actively paying attention to.” She leaned against the lockers nonchalantly.

“So what? You just gonna bang me and fuck off?” He was almost shouting now.

“Come on Monty, you didn’t really think this meant more, did you?” She scoffed.

“Well, going on a date usually implies that, yeah!” He shook his head in disbelief. “You know, I’ve actually liked you for a while now, and i thought ‘she’s asked me on a date, I’m the luckiest guy in the world.’ But i guess I was the unluckiest. I should’ve never fallen for you.”

“Jeez. My mistake. I thought you’d know by now.” She felt bad, she really did. But she couldn’t tap into that. The first time she’d approached Monty she’d addressed how they had known each-other so long but never done anything, and now she remembered why. The way her demeanor affected Monty must look awful to a passerby, and maybe it looked awful to the ghost of herself as well.

“I should’ve listened to Jeff!” Monty spat at Y/N. Quite the crowd was beginning to form around the two of them at the lockers.

“Jeff, huh? And what did he say about me?” She smirked.

“You’d break my heart. Or, in so many words.” He looked at her despairingly. His jaw clenched.

“Jeff’s a smart guy.” Her liquid cyanide voice dripped off her tongue, her eyes emotionless and harsh. Monty shook his head slowly, before turning and violently kicking the lockers, and storming out the way he came.

She rolled her eyes at the spectators, can never mind their own business. They started making their way away from her, leaving her in an empty corridor. Or so she thought.

“Did you have to do that?” A soft voice floated in from behind her. It was deafening. The voice she’d been trying to get out of her nightmares. It felt like she hadn’t heard it in so long, but that couldn’t be true because it visited her nightly. Her entire body tensed knowing who was behind her. She didn’t know what to do.

“Do what?” She asked weakly, not bringing herself to turn around, instead finding a very interesting spot on the floor to focus her gaze on.

“Y/N, I don’t know what’s happened to you since we broke up, but you’ve become a real bitch. Monty didn’t deserve that. I don’t know, is this some kind of revenge? Are you trying to get back at me or something by hurting my friends?” He voice was stern, with a hint of hurt. “Are you going to look at me?”

Shocked with a wave of her usual confidence, she swung round on her heel and faced Zach. He looked even more adorable close up. But she wouldn’t let that distract her.

“Zach, look, It’s sweet that you think highly enough of yourself to assume I’m not over you, But facts are facts.” And lies are lies. “You’ll just have to find some way to come to terms with the fact that I’m not still pining over you, and that believe it or not this is about me.” She faltered a little, but all in all the show was a good one. Oscar-worthy, maybe.

“Like I said, real bitch.” He scoffed, pulling on his bag strap and pushing past her carelessly. It took all of her not to break down right there and then. But she didn’t. She gripped her mouth with her hand and slumped against the lockers exhaling. What the fuck was she doing? What the fuck had she done?

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lexpistachio · 8 years ago

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just jackparse - a ficrec

for my sister who requested this rec 82 years ago. special thanks for those who painstakingly linked me new fics in my askbox. you’re the real mvp!

some things first:

divided into AU, pre-canon, canon/canon divergence, and future

word length categorized as

short fic = less than 10,000 words medium = 10,000 - 20,000 words long = 20,000 - 60,000 words novel length = 60,000 - 100,000 words

format as follows:

title - author | rating | length | various tags | gratutious commentary by me

summary

just ctrl+f if you wanna find by rating (e.g search for: long) or other tags (eg. smut, humor, au)

★ are personal faves

some liberty was taken in rating fics that are not rated

might update in the future; if i missed something, i’ll be happy to read your rec!

Kent pressed his fingers into his eyes until his vision swam for reasons other than the salty tears welling up in them. “Are you seriously asking me to fly across the goddamn country to hold your hand while you cut me out of your life?” me: you know what this fandom needs? me: an eternal sunshine au me: only without the happy ending

I’ve Been Closing My Eyes by perfectpro ★ - teen | long | inception au | angst | you don't understand how much love i have for this fic. SO MUCH LVOE

Jack Zimmermann? You worked with him and Kent Parson together? What happened?” Bitty asks before he can help himself.

Everyone’s heard the stories. Parse and Zimms, taking the world of dream share by storm, trained by Dominic Cobb himself. Ten years later, no one’s heard from either in two years.

Shrugging his shoulders, Shitty tries to think of how to phrase it. “No one comes out of Limbo the same.”

Kent knew about superstitions before he made it to hockey. He knew about black cats and broken mirrors. About stepping on cracks and throwing pinches of salt over his shoulder. Kent knew about magic before he found hockey.

Jack hums and smiles, but otherwise doesn’t respond. They sit in silence, and he bites his tongue to keep from saying anything. There is no sense disrupting this fragile peace that they have.

Here is the deal he has made with himself: Jack is forbidden, until after the curse of the seventeenth summer. Kent does not want to do anything to let the gods know how they could hurt him the worst.

why do we fall? by sparklyslug - teen | short | touch telepath! jack au | epikegster | angst

“Didja miss me?” Kent had asked / looking strong/ look good/ looking happy/I could stand here all night and all day and just look at you/ and Jack’s control had crumbled, jerked him out of step with time and out into the swirling minds of the college kids filling their house, his consciousness sent running by the brightness in his own chest.

Corporal Kenny,” Jack huffed into Kent’s ear. The arms around his waist tightened.

“Captain Jack,” Kent teased right back. “You outrank me, Zimms.”

The Daily Grind by JaneJHills - mature | long | abandoned wip | the coffeeshop au that was foretold

It’s not that Jack wasn’t into relationships; it’s just that Jack wasn’t a relationships kind of guy.

maybe i’m falling for you by madameofmusic - teen | short | coffeeshop au | this is really cute <3 i too lament the lack of more cutesy coffeeshop aus from this ship. this one’s great tho

Jack’s normal coffee shop relocates, and he’s forced to start buying from the cat-themed coffee shop down the street, Catppuccino. It’s cheesy as hell, but the coffee’s good, and the "purrista” better. Jack doesn’t miss the old shop.

“Shush,” Kent says. “What have you got that says, like, thanks for not judging me when I get wasted on Moscato and pass out on your couch, and also sorry about that? Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically,” says the florist, lips quirking, “I’d recommend either white tulips or blue hyacinths.”

Even the plainest of the plain shall deign to reign (and boy, you're reigning over me) by exbex - gen | short | high school au | chubby!jack | kent pining over shy jack is cute, yes

Lardo looks at Kent with the most knowing look he’s ever seen aside from his own mother’s. “Kent,” she finally replies, “I like you Bro. So I’m going to give you the following information. Information, which, I assure you, is publicly available. Jack, who transferred in weeks ago, Oh Unobservant One, knows me through GSA. Jack is not straight. Jack likes hockey, among other things. And that is all the emotional labor that I am doing for free.”

Shitty found Kent on the porch. “Saw your girl here,” he said. “Can’t believe you actually got her to come to a party.”

“She’s not my girl,” said Kent, trying not to blush.

“She should be,” Shitty said, smiling and leaning against the railing. “Blind man could see the way you look at her, and you’re the only person she likes at school.”

Twenty Feet Back by floatingstark - mature | short | wip | daddy!jack au as in literally-a-dad-jack

Kent is aware this is a little odd; he’s standing behind some trees on the other side of the park, pretending to stretch but actually just high-key spying on a hot dad and his kid.

i'll be your platinum by achilleees ★ - explicit | medium | sugar daddy!jack au | daddy kink | angst and fluff | this is the one daddy kink fic that made me swoon, it's the banter and the way they fall for each other slowly that takes my breath away | sorta sequels here and here | better yet, read all the entire unrelated daddykink series she wrote

Wicks took a deep breath, then let out in a rush, “So I’ve been catfishing this dude online with your pictures so he’ll buy me free stuff, only now he wants to meet in person to hand off the suit jacket I need for Ginger’s wedding tomorrow, so I need you to meet him outside the Burberry at the Copley mall tonight to pick it up for me.”

Kent couldn’t speak for a minute, because he was laughing too hard.

here in the present tense by achilleees ★ - teen | short | soulmate au | bodyswap |

Jack isn’t really sure what he was expecting when he went to sleep on August 2.

Kind of. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that he genuinely thought he’d wake up in Georgia, in those checker-patterned, sunlight-limned sheets. That he’d go downstairs and hear Suzanne Bittle bustling around in the kitchen, and greet her wearing her son’s socks and his pajamas and his sweet, bashful blush.

Dynamite Boy by TomatoBird - gen | short | wreck it ralph au | glitch!jack | the concept is genius, i’d gladly read 50k more words of this

In which Jack is simultaneously a glitch, a child of champions, and an aspiring player in Hero’s Duty, and Kent is just someone he happens to meet along the way.

“You don’t have to trust me,” Kent said, “you just have to let me do this.”

Jack has spent many years away from his father's court. Now he must return to wed Kent Parson at last, with all those years and hurts between them. It's not pretty.

the light of all lights by decinq - mature | short | vampires au | look, it's not endgame and has open-ended j/b ugh but i feel like every ficrec should have at least one vampire au

Jack says, “Would you rather be able to fly or have super speed.”

The corners of Kent’s mouth tug into a small smile, and he says, “Compared to you, I do have super speed.”

Jack elbows him, hard. Jack asks, “What about being able to see the future?”

Kent thinks, they’ll end the movie here.

The story, of course, goes on.

rentboy jack and his nhl star boyfriend series by achilleees - rentboy!jack | prostitution au |

so put it on me - explicit | short | pining | smut

It will be a cold day in hell before Kent has the fortitude to say no to that pout.

“Ugh,” he says. “It’s just a dumb fantasy, man, it doesn’t matter.”

Jack cocks his head at him. “I am in the business of fulfilling fantasies,” he says. or, eloquently summed up by a friend: "Ugh poor Kent is so in love"

all the hearts they're messing with - teen | short | angst and fluff | trade |

As soon as Kent gets home, he pulls out a pad of paper and a pen and makes a list of his options.

1. Tell Jack you got traded. Get dumped. Cry in your cheerios.2. Hide from Jack that you were traded. Buy out (?) the Vegas media so they don’t cover the story. Bribe NHL.com Break Jack’s laptop so he can’t read NHL.com anymore. Fly back on off-days (?). Have plan fall through because plan is dumb. Get dumped. Cry in cheerios.

“Are you mad at me?” Kent says.

Jack meets his eyes in the mirror, gaze stormy.

“I’m just trying to get along with your parents,” says Kent. “I thought that’s why you brought me here.”

Second Chance by bittlebunny - mature | short | blind date au

“I know, I’m sorry.” Jack repeats. “It was wrong. I just didn’t know what to do, I don’t usually do that type of thing.”

“You should more often. You know you could probably get laid every night if you wanted to?”

Jack blushes and looks down into his black coffee, not quite agreeing with that sentiment.

This is a 16-fic series that centers around Jack and Kent and their history and their future. It follows canon, with one major difference; Bitty decided not to go to Samwell. Each fic is named after and based around a song on the Deluxe version of Troye Sivan’s album Blue Neighborhood. The first two fics are chronological, because they’re in the fic’s current time (2018) in the frame of the story. Most of the fics in the series are told through flashbacks and time jumps, though, and the stories switch back and forth between Jack and Kent’s perspectives.

pre-canon

meet you in the middle by madameofmusic - teen | short | pre-slash

Kent meets Jack Zimmermann for the first time.

A lot of things can happen if a cat is set loose in an ice rink; Kent never thought this would be one of them.

Or: “I may have brought my pet to the rink by accident and it may have escaped you have to help me.” AU

it’s too close for comfort by achilleees - teen | short | pre-slash | cats

“Go suck your own dick,” Parse grumbled. “I’ma find the cat.” Both pairs of shoes wandered away, and Jack was almost relieved until suddenly, without warning, the high tops came back and light flooded his sanctuary as someone crouched and lifted the hem of the tablecloth.

“Hey, you,” Parse said to either Jack or the cat, he couldn’t tell.

the bluest things on earth by blazeofglory - gen | short | drabble | pre-slash

Kent Parson isn't gay, he isn't, but there's... There's something about Jack Zimmermann.

Even though they're linemates, Jack doesn't know Kent all that well. He certainly doesn't expect the American to come look after him when he's unwell on their first roadie.

Count on It by bienenalster - gen | short | pre-slash | codependency | world juniors

Specifically, in which Jack and Kent fail at playing against each other.

Generally, in which Jack and Kent fail at being reasonable human beings. Or, the lighter side of codependency.

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes by bienenalster, Pax - teen | short | pre-slash maybe | mutual enabling

Jack can appreciate a good game of beer pong in someone's basement, especially when Parse is on his team, one arm around his shoulder as he tries to get Jack to miss his shot.

(Jack never really understood how Parse can just turn it off like that. If you want to win on the ice, then you should want to win all the time. Even at stupid things, like beer pong.)

(Jack has never considered the possibility that beer pong might not be the only game Parse is playing.)

but then his hands roamed by defcontwo - teen | short | first kiss

Jack’s hand pressed into the small of Parse’s back during team meetings, where no one else can see, and Parse toppling into Jack’s lap whenever he gets drunk enough that no one will blink twice at it.

A game of chicken, or a game of chance. Jack doesn’t know which one it’s going to be just yet.

you're neck and neck or cheek to cheek by punkpadfoot - teen | short | first kiss | i'm in love with the author's style of writing, and i love the tentativeness in this fic--they're shy and hesitant; their dilemma feels true

Kent’s always been fairly affectionate, but this thing with Jack is something else entirely.

the spark in your eyes, the look on your face by oscarmild - teen | short | drabble

Jack knows that Kent is his friend- his best friend, even. But lately, it’s been starting to feel like more than just friends.

Insults for Your Lovers by SummerFrost - teen | short | inter-class | social class difference | friends to lovers

Things Jack has: Brand new yellow sneakers, an expensive truck, Kent Parson.

Things Kent has: Converse with holes in them, riding shotgun, Jack Zimmermann.

Count on It by bienenalster - gen | short | preslash | codependency | world juniors

Specifically, in which Jack and Kent fail at playing against each other.

Generally, in which Jack and Kent fail at being reasonable human beings. Or, the lighter side of codependency.

What's Better Than This? Just Guys Bein' Dudes by Bittyybee (sunlight) - mature | short | massages | first kiss | ust

Kent's shoulders hurt. Jack gives good massages.

Kent spends the beginning of his summer with hockey prodigy/best friend Jack Zimmermann because they're young and they can and Kent likes getting free things.

"I know how you get all psycho near a game, don't worry. Just uh- maybe find a healthy way to release that frustration." Kate suggested as she turned and winked at Jacq. "Y'know what I mean?"

"Not hockey?" Jacq asked confused.

"Not hockey." Kate repeated, meeting Jacqs eyes.

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

its pimms cis swap smut!! enjoy!!

A Quiet Kind of Intimacy by alpha_exodus - explicit | short | first time | smut | photography

Jack doesn't really care about having a roommate on this roadie - that is, until he heads to his room and finds out his roommate is Kent Parson.

touches my foolish heart by foxfireflamequeen - explicit | short | first time | pwp

“That,” says Kent. “Was the most uncool moment of my life.”

Jack’s still laughing, the fucker.

First by omgericzimmermann - gen | short | first times | drabble | fluff and angst

They were just kids.

They were so young that everything was a first.

tear at the seams by defcontwo - mature | short | drabble | angsty smut

This is what Jack lives for: The second he touches down on the ice, his mind clears. For sixty minutes, he is nothing but a blank slate, a white board that fills itself up with plays and tactics, a steady hand on the stick and a heart that beats for nothing else.

So he sits next to Jack on roadies, bumping their shoulders together amicably as Jack chews on his lip and stares out the window at the passing scenery. He leans into every casual touch - Jack’s gloved hand on his back, their skates knocking together on the bench. Seeks him out on the ice, feeling a thrill when their passes connect effortlessly; slams him into the boards after game-winning goals, their teammates piling up around them but it’s Kent’s fist clutching the back of Jack’s jersey, Kent’s voice yelling in Jack’s ear.

If Jack notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Kent still hopes.

Good Things Ahead by perfectpro - teen | short | fwb

Jack doesn't want to go to a party, but Kent's pretty sure that he can be convinced.

Mutually Assured by Verbyna - teen | short | codependency | has kent/ofc | angst

The smile on Kent’s face is all wrong. He fixes it.

we gaze up at the stars above our heads by alyssakate - teen | short | fluff (mostly)

I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again, or when we meet our ends, but please just let me hold your hand.

There's thirty-four days of what feels like an endless summer stretched between the Memorial Cup and the NHL draft. Thirty-four days days of each other. Thirty-four days left.

four strong winds by defcontwo - teen | short | fluff with an angsty ending? (a tag that could be patented to this ship that's for sure) | i just love my teenage boys on dates and living in the moment ok

The sales pitch is irrelevant: this moment right here, sitting in the front of Kent’s piece of shit pickup truck, listening to “Party in the USA” on the radio at top volume – that’s all the convincing Jack ever needed.

Or: Kent and Jack, a carnival, and the last gasp of the 34 days.

follow my lead by mardia - explicit | short | the seduction of jack zimmermann | kent here is wily but his conviction is compelling | podfic available

Kent likes to have his fun, likes to mess with people, but there's something about messing with Jack that's just so deeply satisfying for him. He can poke and poke and he'll get a reaction every single time. No matter what, no matter how blatant Kent gets or how he pushes it, he'll get that same wide-eyed disbelieving stare, that same red blush staining Jack's cheeks.

New things by robokittens - explicit | short | smut | pwp

"Jack," Kent mumbles into Jack's neck. "I wanna try something."

wax/wane - explicit | short | angst | smut

Things will come full circle for Kent – he's sure of it.

party pieces by familiar - explicit | short | smut | pwp | painplay

From the early 2008 so-bad-it's-good sex idea vault: "It’s just him and Kent and the really stupid idea that was beating his ass raw with a hockey stick." Gotta hit it with something, you know?

search the world for something else by somehowunbroken - mature | short | second person POV | angst | au

Your name is Jack Zimmermann, and you were born into hockey.

Ode to Joy by coyotesuspect - mature | short | drunk sex

December 31st, 2008. Parse has a good feeling about the new year.

mess you made by schwule - mature | short | angst

Jack’s life hasn’t been very exciting, despite what people may think. Kent might just be the most thrilling thing that’s ever happened to him.

only time is ours by thistidalwave - mature | short | angst

Jack always feels like he’s running. Running to catch up. Running to get ahead. Lungs burning. Legs about to give out. Falling behind, behind, behind. Coming in dead last, even when he hits the finish line before anyone else.

Leaving Me Stranded by mardia - explicit | short

Jack’s dad and Kent really get along great. Which isn’t a surprise, they’re basically the same sort of person--outgoing, funny, always ready with a story or joke--so when Kent comes out to dinner with Jack and his family, it’s basically those two monopolizing the conversation for the entire meal.

an empty room by quietest_one - explicit | short | smut | established relationship

The Combine is a mad rush of a long weekend, painfully sober, gloriously exhausting. Kent is on the road to reaching his dreams, and he's taking Jack along for the ride. (Or, two boys exchange handjobs around the back of a gym. Whichever you prefer.)

the heart is a risky fuel to burn by idrilka - mature | fluff and angst | established relationship

Montreal in summer is hot as hell, the heat sticky and clinging to the skin. (There were the thirty-four days in the summer of 2009, between winning the Memorial Cup and the NHL Entry Draft in Montreal, where things were perfect. This is one of those days.)

let me feel i'm falling safely to the ground by natscribbles - mature | short

Kent doesn't know which what ifs are more dangerous, can't tell which ones hurt the most.

I Love You, He Thinks by blithelybonny - teen | short

It's the night before the draft, and Kent knows that this is probably the end.

my versailles at night by thistidalwave - teen | short | au | first kiss

But now—now it’s the quiet of the early morning, they just won the Memorial Cup, and Jack doesn’t want to let this moment pass him by.

where we went by speedboat - mature | short | dysfunctional relationship

Once in the car, Kent does three things: he googles "valium+vodka"; he shakes Jack awake; and he takes a napkin and wipes the tears away from Jack's face.

or: Parse was the one who found Jack during his overdose.

or: In Defense of Kent Parson.

34 days by thistidalwave - explicit | short | fluff and angst

There were the 34 days in the summer of 2009, between winning the Memorial Cup and the NHL Entry Draft in Montreal, where things were perfect. Who wouldn’t want that back?

it's the stars that score by perfectpro - mature | medium | angst

It’s a week until the NHL draft. A week until he stops competing with Kent and starts competing against him. A week until he finds out if his dad’s name carries more weight than Kent’s skill does, and Jack sometimes has a hard time breathing when he starts thinking about it.

It’s why he tries not to think about it.

Three Words, Repeated by Freudianity - explicit | short | fluff with an angsty ending

5+1 Five times Jack told Kent he loved him, and one time he didn't.

to you he is a room by punkpadfoot - teen | short | angst | kent pov to the story followed by the next in this list

He’s happy now—the weather is warm and the grass is soft and there’s still a pleasant buzz in his head. Jack is close enough to touch. Right now, summer’s end feels distant, less of a looming presence and more of an exit they’ve yet to reach.

to them he is a mirror by misandrywitch - teen | short | angst | jack pov to the story which precedes this in this list

All Jack knows is that after this summer, everything is going to be different.

larger than life by Verbyna - teen | short | also helpfully tagged as: the making of Kent "Victory" Parson“

Everything feels like the end of the world when it happens. No one can see the future, so it’s hard to believe it exists.”

Kent’s dad wasn’t always right, but he was right about that.

if you are looking for the demons that play well with your own by storiesfromtheden - gen | short | angst

Kent spent years counting the things that were not right.

Like A Missing Limb series by thatallone - teen | short | angst | suicide attempt

Without You

Prompt: "You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

[delete]

Kent typed out a lot of texts to Jack in the summer of 2009. He never worked up the nerve to send any of them.

physical or otherwise by jedusaur (podfic - audio only) - explicit | audio length: 3:33 mins | this is short and packs quite a punch; please give it a listen!

"Listen to me, Jack. I am not going first in the draft because of your shitty impulse control."

city without seasons by thepalebluedot - teen | short | angst

It’s hard to measure time in a city you don’t believe in.

Kent after the draft.

Countdown by SummerFrost - mature | short | drabble | angst

Kent Parson spends three years of birthdays asking for Jack Zimmermann. Jack gives what he can; sometimes it's enough.

what might have been lost - mature | short | angst | ransom and holster reads fic au | 5+ 1

five times jack and kent loved each other (and one time they couldn't)

So if you don't mind, I'll walk that line by alyssakate - teen | short | au |

Kent and Jack play each other at World Juniors in 2008 and then again in 2009.

A story about winning, losing and coming to terms with what really matters.

no sign of land by perichareia - gen | short | unrequited love | angst | 2nd Person POV

i love him.

you’re seventeen years old and the words echo in your head like the aftershock of a heavy check into the glass. for a long moment, your world stops.

dodging bullets with your broken heart by perfectpro - gen | short | angst | mostly jack-centric, but i feel like it's in-character with how jack compartmentalizes his life, which explains a lot about the tension with Kent refusing to be boxed and be forgotten

Kent belongs back in Juniors. Kent belongs at Rimouski, and on the bus traveling to roadies, and on the ice with Oceanic. Kent does not belong on the front porch of the Haus.

Five scenes between Ashley Parson and her brilliant, miserable, wonderful big brother. Or: Kent Parson, growing up.

Role Models by MisconductandMimosas - gen | medium | au | read the rest of the series here

Jack and Kent both missed the draft, albeit for completely different reasons

-or-

“For your ThrowBack Thursday of the week, we sat down with two of the NHL’s finest, Trotsy of the Aces and McLeed of the Rangers to talk their record-breaking Memorial Cup win as well as former juniors star and Zimmermann liney- Kent-“ Holster looked at the magazine article and blinked- “Parson,” he said at a lower volume. “Kent Parson? I forgot about that guy. How did they even find him?”

history begins to be blue and brown eyes by decinq - teen | short | angsty ending, with j/b

There are articles upon articles about their on-ice chemistry, the way they move around each other like the well-oiled grooves of an impeccable machine.

welcome to the second reel by idrilka - teen | short | angst

They win at home. It goes all the way to game six, and then they win in their own home arena after it goes to double overtime, and Kent gets to lift thirty-four pounds of silver into the air.

(In the aftermath of the Aces' first Stanley Cup Championship title, Kent goes to Samwell on his Cup day.)

This is What Happy Looks Like by VerityR ★ - teen | short | angst | i just like the author’s writing of it

It’s been years. Six of them. Kent Parson is not still in love with Jack Zimmermann. But it’s not like he’s in love with anybody else. So when, in his dreams, he stumbles upon something approaching happiness, maybe the figure is vaguely Jack-shaped. Jack-adjacent. But that’s not the same thing as love.

canon/canon divergent

past the last exit by misandrywitch ★ - teen | medium | the prose on this one blows me away

Jack wonders when Kent started asking so many questions that he doesn't have the answers to. It felt so much easier when neither of them asked any at all.

Shut the God Damn Door by jedusaur - mature | short | au | angst maybe? short but poignant

What if Jack went first overall, as planned, and took his addiction with him to Vegas?

"Leave, Parse," Jack says. Again.

Or: Kent finds himself stuck in a time loop.

i thought of you and where you'd gone by runphoebe - mature | short | angst with a hopeful ending | has k/omc | love the fics like this that don't view jack with rose colored glasses

When Kent’s name gets called first, he smiles, and when he slips the jersey over his head, he smiles, and when he realizes he’s going to be in Vegas, Las fucking Vegas, he smiles so hard his cheeks ache. Just because Jack’s a huge fucking fuck up who can’t handle being number one doesn’t mean Kent’s going to cry about it.

In which Kent doesn't even bother trying to get over Jack because he knows it's a huge waste of his time.

you're writing your tragedy by forochel - teen | short | angst | podfic available Year 2, Comic 9, Parse - Part III, from Kent's perspective. | epikegster

I basically took 'Kent "Baby One More Time" Parson' and ran with it.

you're familiar like my mirror years ago by nighimpossible - explicit | short | accidental voyeurism | epikegster

Kent and Jack get reacquainted at the Epikegster.

Alternatively: Bitty hears something he shouldn't have.

New Start by SalazarTipton - teen | short | morning after | fluff | post-epikegster

The morning after falling into bed together during Epikegster, Jack wakes up in Kent’s arms.

To Hell With Why by angelsaves - explicit | short | j/p/omc threesome | smut | my alternative excerpt/summary: id have a 3some w/u, Parse texts him after a while. Thanks, Jack replies

Jack has been over Parse for ages. (At least, that's what he tells himself.) In which there is bad-idea sex, accidental voyeurism, an invitation (or two) to a threesome, an actual threesome, and 0% "being over each other" by volume.

the epikegster remix series by defcontwo

you can take this heart - teen | short | epikegster | reconciliation

"So, what the hell was that, then?"

Or: a way that Epikegster could have gone differently.

and don't let go - teen | short | post-epikegster | fluff

"Did you miss me at all?"

Or: what happens when a pair of dumbasses use their words a little better.

down the backs of tabletops by defcontwo - teen | short | has mentions of k/omc and past j/b

Breakups are a kind of private war, Jack guesses.

varied my velocities by punkpadfoot ★ - teen | short | tentative friendship | tears were shed in the reading of this fic

This should feel like a victory. This shouldn't feel like tiptoeing around broken glass.

This Time (I'm Telling You, I'm Telling You) by sparklyslug - mature | short | angst | established relationship

He and Zimms, they’re pretty good at breakups, historically. They’re pretty good at what comes after the breakup, anyway.

fated to pretend by nighimpossible - teen | short | humor | only j/p if you squint but it's goddamn hilarious with a side of ransom and holster

5 Jack/Kent fics that Ransom and Holster dramatically reenact for the Haus + the truth.

Not Quite Too Late by loveandallthat - explicit | short | au | reconciliation | ahhhh this is nice

Jack accidentally confesses on live television that he had a young love that ended badly. It’s possible that this isn’t quite as bad as he thinks it is.

Seven-Year Itch by Idday ★ - teen | medium | fake/pretend relationship | married au | angst with a happy ending

“I’m sorry,” Georgia says slowly, like she thinks she misheard him. “You said you’re… married?”

Amanda raises her eyebrows and taps something onto her keyboard. “That’s good to know, Mr. Zimmermann, but I’m sure you know that many of our players are married.”

“Right, but this is… different.” Jack says.

“Jack,” Georgia says, “Why did you never mention this before? Do I know your wife?”

“I’m sure you do,” Jack says carefully, “Only… it’s not a wife. It’s Kent Parson.” ... (So what if they’re not pretending to be married. They’re still pretending to be happily married.)

the nearer your destination by achilleees - teen | short | angst | open-ended

“Parse fought Averin because he was talking shit about you,” Max said bluntly. “And you being here is not going to put him in a better emotional state.”

neutral zone stickhandling by achilleees - explicit | short | injury recovery | humor (hallelujiah)

The splint around Kent’s leg is a feat of engineering, a hulking behemoth of black plastic and Velcro, but the crutches are sleek and slim. an alternate take on the March of Jack’s senior year.

Push/Pull by thistidalwave, Verbyna - teen | short | soul bond au | break up | I’m gonna miss him for the rest of my life" stayed with me | why do all the soulbond fics in this pairing all end tragically? Who holds the stars up in the sky? Is true love just once in a lifetime?

He looks at Kent and feels nothing, if nothing feels like a shattered rib cage, all the protection around his heart gone. Kent is right in front of him, his hair falling into his face and his hands clenched in the sheets, but if Jack closes his eyes, Kent could be anywhere.

(or, Jack and Kent can’t keep their bond if they both want to play in the NHL.)

bang the doldrums by Verbyna - explicit | short | has j/b | au but almost canon in my head how jack aggressively minimizes kent's importance in his pre-samwell years lol

Kent Parson is not Jack's friend. He’s a fucking fever.

Maybe Jack's not the only one who's scared.

Kent and Jack come out together. Not together together, though, no matter how much Kent wishes that were true.

Alternately titled: "the jackparse get back together fic."

Kent Parson has well over ninety-nine problems. He has a chronic potty mouth, a sneaking suspicion he may be an actual idiot, a narcissistically-named cat with gas issues, too many sisters... the list goes on.

Kent Parson has more than ninety-nine problems and Jack Zimmermann — freshly, resentfully and recently traded to the Las Vegas Aces — is definitely one of them.

you know i held on too much by unveils - explicit | short | fluff | smut | yay all the way for happy smut

It takes a minute for the pieces to work together in Jack’s brain, but when he catches Kent’s Britney phone case out of the corner of his eye, heat blooms in his chest to match the spread of red across his cheeks, embarrassment and something else entirely. He doesn’t duck his head, but it’s a near thing, under Kent’s crooked grin. “Really? You think now is a good time to be taking pictures?”

Two swipes and a press of Kent’s thumb has his camera app sliding open to the picture he took. Jack cranes his neck to see, but Kent presses the phone into his hand, slides his hands around Jack’s neck. “Dude, yeah. You make me look good, Zimms.” -- or: the one where jack and kent have fun with camera phones!

my honey i know by achilleees - teen | short | possessiveness | jealousy | reconciliation

After that, it happened more often than he would ever have wanted to admit. It was almost too easy; girls were always after Kent, but Kent spent too much of his time looking at Jack to notice.

For example, Kent texted him from chemistry one day. Hey lara and aly wanted 2 know if we wanted 2 go thrifting w them after school 2day. No, was all Jack texted back.

Kk, Kent replied, and they didn’t go thrifting with Lara and Aly after school that day.

we could be made for this by stereosymbiosis - explicit | short | pwp

Kent lifts his head and peers up at Jack. “Hey, Zimms, what kind of soap do you use?”

“I’m not sure this is entirely relevant, Parse,” Jack breathes out. Kent looks at the expanse of skin stretched before him, Jack’s muscles taut and twitching, the fucking perfect rise of Jack’s ass, Jack’s legs spread just so and his knees pressed into the mattress for leverage, and yeah. That can probably wait.

Jersey Memories by SalazarTipton - teen | short | reminiscing | hopeful ending

When Jack goes home to Montreal for break and just wants to get his assignments finished, but his parents keep giving him chores. When his mom sends him to look through his old jerseys, he gets lost in some old memories.

take me back to when we started by madameofmusic - teen | short | reminiscing | reconciliation

Kent gets a package in the mail from Jack six months after Jack signs with the Falconers.

They’re never going to be the same carefree best friends that they once were, and Kent’s getting around to accepting that. Things are good, now, but they’re not the same, and that’s okay. He’s getting used to it.

They’re better than they’ve been in years, and that’s really all that he can hope for, but sometimes Kent remembers all the texts he sent at 2 am and all the responses he never got.

Better the Second Time by loveandallthat - teen | short | au | reconciliation

He gets Jack’s text, “you don’t have to,” thirty seconds before he gets a direct email from Jack’s agent.

Of course he has to.

Or, Jack has a public event before he goes into the NHL, and Jack’s agent insists that it won’t be good publicity unless Kent is also there.

the heaviest of burdens by thekissofbees - mature | short | angsty pining

Kent sleeps with his phone resting on his pillow, the volume cranked up as high as it will go and the vibrate on. He’s stretched the cord of the charger out so that it will reach his bed, and the coating of the wire is beginning to fray and peel off at the top.

(Or: Kent waits for Jack to call.)

Like Slow Motion by apatientwolf - teen | short | reminiscing | angsty pining

//There in the bathroom I try not to fall apart and the sinking feeling starts as I say hopelessly "he said he'd be here"// OR Taylor Swift's discography is the soundtrack of Kent Parson's life.

The one where it's July 4th 2015 in upstate New York.

Getting Some Rest by SalazarTipton - gen | short | established relationship | fluff

There’s a box under Jack’s desk. When he works on a paper, he’ll kick his feet up on it. Everybody that comes in doesn’t notice it. If they did, it just looks like some miscellaneous box of whatever. Nothing special. They wouldn’t think anything of it. No one knows that battered, footprint covered cardboard box is Jack’s lifeline. On his hardest days and in the surreal, dark hours when his insomnia hits, he opens it up and is able to breathe.

Kent likes the difference between their bodies. He likes being shorter than Jack because he can curl comfortably under the weight of Jack’s arm across his shoulders when they stand next to each other, and he likes that Jack’s body on top of his is enough to hold him down and keep him there if Jack doesn’t want him to move. He likes that Jack has big, strong hands and big, thick fingers.

The Aces get knocked out of the playoffs and Kent Parson is having feelings about it. Jack Zimmermann is having feelings about him.

keep your lights on by ladyalysv - explicit | short | rebound sex | au | unapologetically elf-centric jack

At least with Parse, it's hard to fuck things up more. (2016)

when you were there by defcontwo - mature | short | angsty angst

Jack plays the Aces for the first time, and two things happen at once: Jack, nervous and fumbling all the way through the warm up, right down to puck drop when he catches sight of that familiar blonde hair and something in him just settles, winds up playing the most beautiful hockey of his season to date.

And Kent ignores him completely.

Redux series by Idday ★ - established relationship | domesticity | fluff | au | the thing with future-ish jackparse fluff aus is that their issues (e.g. kent's insecurities, or jack's daddy issues) remain to be dealt with and don't vanish by the virtue of love ipso facto, and that's why they're so goddamn satisfying

Like We Were - teen | short | first times (again) | getting back together | friends to lovers

Jack thinks there should be a word for this, for when you fall in love with the same person a second time.

no one has me (like you do) - teen | short | summers and holidays

“Kenny,” Jack says again. “You went golfing for me. That’s how I know it’s real.”

my heart, it came to life - mature | short | family planning??

“Kenny,” Jack says, and falls into the deck chair where Kent is laying out, absorbed in whatever’s on his phone screen. It could be an email from his agent, or it could be a cat video. It’s hard to tell.

The chair is much too small for two fully grown hockey players, but they make it work. Kent drops his phone, but he’s wearing sunglasses, his face hard to read. Jack pulls them down gently until Kent’s squinting up at him, eyes adjusting to the bright afternoon.

“Do you want kids?” Jack asks him.

something about the way you love me (finally feels like home) - teen | short | pseudo-proposal

He loves Jack likes this and loves that he can make him like this—warm and open and laughing with their friends. It makes him stupidly proud, like he has his own personal Jack Zimmermann. He has to share his boyfriend with the rest of the world, sure, but they only get the hockey robot version. Kent gets this Jack, the real Jack, all to himself.

future

“For one player on the Aces, this game represents the return of youth in another, special way. In just three weeks, Kent Parson, captain of the Las Vegas Aces, will not only be returning to the east coast winter of his childhood, but he will have the rare opportunity of being out on the same pond as his former friend and rival, Jack Zimmermann. The opportunity to play a game outdoors may remind them of their childhood, but from sharing a special bond as young teammates to struggling against each other for victory, this game also shows how much has changed with time.“

Kent texted Jack: “fucking epix”.

Dad Hugs by MisconductandMimosas - gen | short | more kent & bad bob tbh but i’ll take more of this rn | fluff

In the summer of 2019, Kent attends Bob Zimmermann’s private Hockey Hall of Fame Induction party

Because Jack is an addict, and some addicts relapse.

Endgame Jack/Kent. I cannot stress this enough.

In Due Time by loveandallthat - teen | short | reconciliation

Jack’s been in the NHL for several years now. The Falconers rose to glory and fell again, just like the Aces. Jack gets on a plane to Vegas.

Behind Closed Doors by loveandallthat - explicit | short | reconciliation | friends to lovers | getting together

It’s just a tabloid. Nobody’s going to believe it anyway; it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Jack can tell himself any one of these things a thousand times and he’s never going to believe them.

Confirmed: Kent Parson Las Vegas Aces’ First Choice All Along It doesn’t even help that the last line is, “When asked for comment, Kent Parson said, ‘Who even cares anymore?’”

17 Again by daeguarchives - teen | short | friends to lovers | angst

“I can’t believe I actually thought I was in love with you, once.”

17 was a bad time for both of them, they both know that. Except now Kent's kidding himself into thinking he can move on and Jack's kidding himself into thinking he has moved on and for some reason, 17 seems a much better time than now.

new jersey is for lovers series by defcontwo, sparkyplugs ★ | it's soft and sweet and sometimes, that's enough

Ready to Walk a Path That's New - teen | short | curtainfic | fluff

They’ll always have things to apologize to each other for. But these days, they’re trying to focus on what they have to thank each other for.

These days, that’s a much longer list.

There's a place for you and me - mature | short | proposal | fluff

“I don’t know, I just, uh. It wasn’t there. He’s not the kind of guy I could see myself ending up with, I guess.”

Jack laughs, warm and close, the standard pre-chirp Zimmermann coming in at the edges. “And what kind of guy would that be?”

Kent swallows hard, and thinks, You. Fuck me, it’s always going to be you. Or: the slow and steady steps to a happily ever after.

“And my running observation is that Parse can’t take a compliment from you without blowing it off. Could be a coincidence, but no evidence to the contrary since I started paying attention,” Ransom said.

“What?” Jack said, right as Kent walked back in the room.

the river twice by Verbyna - teen | short | addiction relapse | angst | hopeful ending at least

Going to Vegas seemed like the only option.

player judged most valuable by achilleees - teen | short

prompt: future fic, jack’s been in the nhl a few years, ignoring parse when they play the aces. he can’t ignore him the night of the nhl awards, not when he looks this good, not when he fucking thanks jack in his hart acceptance speech.

i really really really really really really like you by achilleees ★ - teen | short | insecurity | established relationship | jack reassuring kent is my forever jam

“Hey,” Jack said. “My parents love you, alright? They have never not loved you. This is going to be fine.”

“Condescension negates cookie privileges,” Kent said, and shut the door in his face.

some nebulous universe called domesticity series by alwaysbuddy ★ - established relationship | fluff | humor

keep your hands on me - explicit | short | sex dream | feminization | dirty talk af

“Not a girl then?”

“It was, yeah,” Jack admits, throat feeling a little tight, “you were the girl.

”in search of our lost time - explicit | short | hurt/comfort | bathtub sex

Jack rests a hand lightly on the porcelain, skimming forward to catch one of Kent’s wrists, where it’s dangling off the edge of the tub. Kent immediately turns his hand over, and wraps two fingers around Jack’s own wrist loosely, tugging in a way that says, why aren’t you in here with me yet, huh?

Maybe I'm Not Too Young to be a Cowboy by bsmog - teen | medium | retirement | injury

Kent is 34 years old. He's won everything there is to win in the world of hockey (just not this year, let's not talk about it, okay?), but ever since an injury took Jack out of hockey altogether, there's something missing on the ice. What the hell is the offseason for if not to find out what that is?

If only anything was ever that easy where Jack Zimmermann was concerned.

Wait So Long by perfectpro - gen | short | fluff | wedding and marriage | domesticity

Let it never be said that Kent Parson doesn’t work for what he wants. Trembling, Kent gets off his knee, but he doesn’t close the ring box. “I don’t want to win another Cup alone. I don’t want to win another Cup without you,” he explains, and it’s a confession if it’s anything. He doesn’t know how to make it not true.

Gordie Meow by madameofmusic - teen | short | fluff | established relationship | humor

Kent’s cats are allergic to Jack. This isn’t even the most ridiculous thing Jack’s had to deal with.

Kent “No Chill” Parson by MisconductandMimosas - gen | short | humor | all-star weekend au | established relationship, if you read this first

“Be on my team for the All-Star game,” Kent said suddenly.

Jack chuckled, “They haven’t even announced next year’s format yet. It could be by division this year. Even if it’s not, they could make us opposing captains.”

#omgcheckplease #kent parson #parsepositive #jackparse #pimms #jack zimmermann #fic rec #omgcp

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