#- - a mouth like broken glass [aes]

[manufactoredxbyxdesign]

[Wesker is overall a pretty decent driver, but he is also really intimidating to share a vehicle with. If you are not going to buckle your seatbelt or you sass him in any way you're going to end up begging to be back on stationary ground again because he can- and will, make you pay for it. He takes really sharp turns, he won't warn you at all if he suddenly needs to hit the breaks, he will silently stare straight ahead and outright ignore you if you've pissed him off and try to chit-chat with him: overall he can make such an everyday experience so unpleasant just by being subtly mean spirited.

He will never drive in a way that's reckless or puts him in danger as well because his pride won't allow him to do anything that would make him a "bad" driver but god help you he will walk that line so finely.

He's hella passive aggressive about anyone touching stuff inside his car too - don't change the radio unless you want him to promptly turn it off and force you to endure awkward silence as a punishment.]

[beansidhebumbling]

Once again begging for a bit of bitter rhysta bonding over feyssian being a bit too obvious

Liar, Liar

Idk pals. Blame @ae-neon for this. Warning for blood play I guess. Jesus.

They were dancing.

Again.

Familiar tattooed hands moved over her sister's lithe frame. Cassian seemed to forget she knew his tricks, the gentle tracing of the lower back, the hidden kisses to clasped hands. He'd used them on her too. In a time long gone now. Before Nyx, before the dissolution of the Night.

His hands dipped lower, skirting the bare skin of Feyre's lower back. Nesta looked away, focused now on the thin stem of her cocktail glass.

Lovers deserved privacy after all.

Even her husband.

Even her sister.

***

In this nook she liked to pretend he danced for her. That this was merely one of the games they'd played as newleyweds.

Foreplay.

A small part of her, not her heart, maybe her ring finger, the closest to the shackle held out hope he still loved her.

Hope that died with each secret letter she found, with each charged stare she bore witness to, with each dance she observed.

Hope was for heros and children.

***

The seductive beat moved through her pulse as the smooth vodka barely bit at her throat. This was the top shelf stuff. A rarer find after the treaty. He was clearly in a mood tonight. Sat in the corner as usual, the two regular voyeurs to the budding romance and erosion of two marriages.

She glanced at the slumped form of the former Lord of Night and new monarch of the Velarien Territories. The broken lands of a broken male.

'You can sit up, you know. She can't sense you.'

He glared purple-eyed venom at her. She nearly missed the time when that might have scared her. At least things seemed simple then.

'I don't understand what she sees in him. Three months we've been following them to their dancing'

His voice caught on the shards of jealousy that lined his throat.

'And I have to watch her love him. Him. He took everything.'

'You lose what you don't mind, your Highness.'

She relished in hurting him. Something about how his too-perfect face shuttered and stars sparked from his fingertips. Joy was a scarce commodity and his suffering a deep well of it.

'Don't sound too smug, love. It's your mate she's fucking.'

'I cannot lose what I've never had. You fae and your Cauldron. I have never heeded the divine ruling of crockery.'

His laugh, piercing and chilling, cracked her glass splintering it in her grasp. The smell of honey and iron tickled her nose as blood seeped from her clenched fist.

'Liar, liar Lady Death. I still remember you on the battlefields. You've always been quick to save the bastard.'

With agility she thought him too drunk for he moved closer and cradled her stained hand within his own, droplets of scarlet staining his indigo silk shirt.

'Not brother anymore then?'

Nesta smiled sweetly, words coated in honey and arsenic.

'Not sister anymore then?'

He mimicked, raising an eyebrow as she flinched sharply, his eyes glittering, the Ptsym constellation visible in his pupil.

'Don't talk about Feyre like that.'

She muttered.

Rhysand slowly prised open her palm, magicking away the shards until all that remained of his mirth was a deep oozing cut.

His lips, plush and sharp, dipped to kiss her wrist, licking the blood as he went, laving his tongue over pale skin and working slowly towards the wound.

Tingling electricity erupted, shooting from her head to her core. To swap blood was an act reserved for mates not whatever they were.

Enemies.

Less.

More.

Her head flung back hitting hard on the mahogany lined wall as he reached the cut and sucked deeply, silver flames catching on the seams of his mouth.

Rhysand raised his head, hair tossed and eyes wild. He grinned a feral bloody creation, his canines fully elongated before murmuring,

'I'm not very interested in talking at all. Sister."

[deluxewhump]

The Scry: Conference

Spartan Enterprises- Baltimore, Maryland. Monday, 11 AM EST.

CW: forced labor, whumpee with abilities, human trafficking

-

Martin Olson waited until everyone invited to the eleven AM meeting was seated before even glancing up over his laptop. Even then, he waited another full minute - a tactic Max always found obnoxiously effective.

“Good morning,” he said finally.

Max was already familiar with the Director's way of speaking. The man knew how to command the attention of a room. He was physically meticulous, his pale hair slicked back from his deeply lined face. His clothes were well tailored and cleanly pressed, his fingernails clipped and filed. Martin had ice blue eyes, eyelashes so pale and faint he sometimes seemed to have none at all. His gaze landed on Carlo with no warning, sudden and appraising.

Carlo dropped his eyes politely.

“Good boy,” Max murmured to him under his breath so quietly he couldn’t be sure if Carlo heard it or not.

Martin looked across the room, sweeping over each of them in turn. His mouth, often a grim line, was curved in one corner as if caught by a fishhook.

“Good morning,” he said again once the room was quiet enough to hear a pen scratch.

“I am pleased to see you all here today.” He turned to make sure the presentation he’d prepared (or had prepared for him, more likely) was pulled up on the screen and ready to go.

“And as honored and delighted as I always am to see you,” he gave a lengthy pause, the fishhook smile pulling tighter. “I am just as honored to welcome the four new members of Spartan Enterprises’ Baltimore office. You all have had the weekend to get acquainted. I’ve heard some new ground has already been broken on the sales floor using our new colleagues’ rare and… frankly quite special talents.”

Colleagues, Max thought. Not quite. He looked at Blake on the opposite side of the table. Blake was Martin's son in law, though the obvious nepotism was not something Blake would tolerate hearing jokes about. People still made fun of him for it, but only behind his back.

He was watching Martin with the earnest intensity of a schoolboy, his Scry sitting beside him with his eyes trained fast on the floor.

Elle Davenport sat to Max and Carlo's right in a tight tweed skirt and heels, hair in a blunt, inky bob. Her usual getup made her Precog look somehow naked by comparison, with long brown hair and an unamused pout on her bare face - still wearing the white sneakers they'd arrived in.

Alex Clair sat at the back of the table with Zee, dressed in a Spartan Enterprises hoodie and a pair of blue light glasses. Max knew immediately the hoodie was a big, loud “fuck you”. Even with the company’s logo on the front, you don’t wear a hoodie to a planned meeting with Martin Olson. Fresh out of college or not, Alex knew that.

“Today," Martin told them. "I would like to talk with you about some of our individual and collective goals this quarter. I think it goes without saying that everyone with a seat at this table has robustly earned it. And not just the Spartan AE's. Each of your Precognitive colleagues were chosen with care. And paired with you, with care.”

Max glanced sidelong at Carlo.

He was breathing shallowly and evenly, as if each was a measured, careful effort. He kept his eyes on the empty center of the table. The conference room was cold, as usual, but Max could feel his own palms growing clammy with discomfort.

Someone should ask Martin about the alarming sickness and pain caused by forcing them to use their abilities.

“Max,” Martin Olson said, snapping him back to the uncomfortable present. “I hear you and your Precog have had some early success, on your very first try together. Do you want to share any tips with your colleagues?”

Max looked around the conference table. The timid precogs even met his eyes to see what he would say. Cecelia watched from her seat by the door, holding a notebook and not writing anything down.

“Communication,” Max said simply. The fact it was a cop-out answer gave him at least a little satisfaction. He looked at Martin and smiled as stupidly as he could, like he wasn’t trying to tell him to go fuck himself quite as clearly as gen Z over there in the hoodie.

“Clear communication is key,” he reiterated. “After all...they’re people.”

Elle Davenport's eyebrow twitched. She and Blake locked eyes and smiled at each other across the table.

“And Carlo?” Martin pressed. He leaned forward slightly at the hips, laid his weathered hands on the table. “To what do you credit your early success with Mr Kelly?”

Max didn’t know who was more surprised by the direct line of questioning— himself or his Scry.

“The same, Sir,” Carlo answered in a measured, soft voice. “We devised a strategy… a target. Sometimes it can be hard to focus on the right thing. Max… Mr Kelly provided additional resources for me and I was able to get a clearer picture of what it was he wanted.”

Martin nodded, his hungry blue eyes locked on the boy in a way that made Max want to tell him to knock it off. Though he had to admit, he was proud of Carlo's eloquence on the fly like that. Anyone in his position might've choked.

“And what helped you tune your radio, Carlo?”

Carlo glanced at Max for approval. Max gave him an encouraging nod. Just give him what he wants. Everyone does.

“It was someone’s voice," Carlo answered. "I had her name and picture but hearing her voice is what did it.”

“And you were able to do what with the information gleaned through Carlo, Max?”

Max spread his hands humbly, like it was fate. “I was able to stop one of my accounts from going to Alias. They had a contract drafted and everything. I had to undercut them, slightly. But we kept them.”

Martin nodded along. “Sure. Break a few eggs to make an omelet and all that. I understand if we have to undercut a few competitors. Remember our goal. Marginal gains.” He stood up straight again.

Max felt Carlo relax a few centimeters now that those eyes were off of him. Under the table, ever so carefully, Max brushed his pinky finger along the back of Carlo’s hand.

It’s ok. I’ve got you.

“What about the side effects?” Alex asked from the back of the table. He tapped the stylus for his tablet like the eraser of a pen.

“Come again?”

“The side effects,” he repeated. His enunciation was borderline passive aggressive.

“On the market?” Martin asked, willfully misunderstanding the question.

Alex glanced at Max, deciding if he should back off or double down.

Elle chimed in. “The side effects on the Precogs is what Alex is asking, I believe. Using their powers has a… few unpleasant physical consequences.”

Alex dropped his eyes to his tablet and did not raise them again.

“Ah,” Martin smiled at Elle. “Of course. There are some unpleasantries when using such a powerful tool. Think of it as growing pains. But I am confident you're all more than resourceful enough to deal with the little setbacks. More than determined enough." He tapped his laptop to start the presentation.

Under the table, Carlo had felt Max’s touch. He lifted his own pinky and Max hooked them together, squeezed gently.

-

The Scry taglist

@whumpsday @distinctlywhumpthing @pumpkin-spice-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @tidalwhump @pigeonwhumps @interdimensional-chaos @top-hat-aye @thecyrulik @boxenby @mylifeisonthebookshelf @inpainandsuffering @heartsherps @latenightcupsofcoffee

[achtung-attitude]

CHAPTER 73: Black Keys - Part 4

“Move, move, move.” T’onga commands Shizuka, pulling her hand away from the bathroom door. 

Only when she approaches does Shizuka notice her mother’s condition. “Mom!! What… What happened to you?! You look like-!”

“Move, I said-! And shush…!” the former assassin hisses, pressing her swollen hand over the girl’s mouth. She looks like she’s gone through the worst day of her life, her hands red and blistered. Patches of her exposed skin are also red with burn marks. “I don’t know how long that can hold him,” she says, “We might only have a few seconds, so we gotta slip away now-”

Before she can say anymore, mother and daughter hear the sound. From behind the bathroom door comes the metallic crunch of a key turning in a lock. 

A half-second later, the door bursts off its hinges and flies straight at them. T’onga shoves Shizuka out of its path. As she stumbles, ACHTUNG BABY manifests to pull T’onga away as well. Just in time, as the door slams into the wall. Both women fall onto the master bed and roll backwards to the opposite side. “Not even two seconds…” T’onga mutters once she regains her bearings.

All-Kill stands in the empty doorway, wiping a trickle of blood from his lips with a hand blistered by ultraviolet rays. His attention turns to his former protegé. “T’onga… Where is Yeon-in…?”

A second passes before T’onga responds with a smirk.

Her smirk is wiped off her face almost immediately. With tremendous skill and strength, All-Kill hurls a weighing scale like an Olympic discus thrower. T’onga raises her arms to guard, but too slow. The glass edge crunches against her cranium and shatters, showering her in shards.

“Mom!!” Shizuka cries. The girl turns, only to find All-Kill already making a B-line for T’onga, outright ignoring her with BLACK KEYS in his hand.

“You’ve just made the dumbest mistake in your life!!! Now you’re really going to die!!!” the man in black shouts, thrusting his KEY forward. She stands in utter surprise, but as his punch extends, it phases through T’onga’s chest and impacts something sharp and hard.

Pulling his arm back, the image of T’onga disappears, replaced by the sight of his hand bloodied by the shards of broken vase. He looks right. “You and your little illusions!!!” he hisses.

Shizuka, with T’onga standing behind her in the bedroom doorway, shoots a glare at him, before she turns herself and her mother invisible. 

Dark determination engulfs All-Kill. Silently, he spins both of his KEYS on their chain, striking at the wallpaper, but not at his desired targets. They have moved on.

Saying nothing still, he storms down to the first floor and resumes his hunt, whipping the keys as he stalks down the hall.

As soon as he reaches the foot of the stairs, the girls reappear at the top step. They release their held breath. T’onga wipes her mouth. “Why does the air taste like ass?” she whispers.

“It’s the remnants from his last move, I guess…” answers Shizuka, “All-Kill did something to the atmosphere, before you came in. It made moonlight dangerous, and it made breathing really hard. I don’t get how, but it had an effect on my mind too. Made me lose control of my anger-”

“Wait, holy shit…” T’onga interrupts, “He used his Stand on the air?”

“Y-Yeah? I made him undo it. What, what is it?”

“That’s the move he used to break Brother Dust into a stalemate… Ugh, nevermind. We can’t slip away from him for long. So? What’s the plan for when he finds us again?”

Shizuka stares at her.

In the loudest whisper she can manage, T’onga asks “You don't have a plan?!”

“Hey, this raid was your idea! I've just been winging it ever since I got here!”

“Uuughh…” the former assassin groans. She presses her fist to her chin, then hisses in pain as her blisters throb. After glaring at the ground, deep in thought, for some time, she speaks up. “Hey, so Ae… Uh, Shizuka, are you popular in school?”

“Huh?”

“You're still in high school, right? Are you popular? Do you have any friends, or what?”

The girl frowns. “Well, yeah. A few. We’re not super close, but…”

“What about guys? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Mom-!”

“Keep your voice down and answer the question.”

Despite everything, the girl blushes. “No… No, I don’t have a boyfriend, OK?

Her mother nods. “Good. That’s good. You don’t want to, uh…” she pauses, suddenly unsure of what she’s saying. She spends a moment searching for what to say, then sighs. “So have you noticed how strong he is right now?”

“Huh? You mean All-Kill…? He’s been strong the whole time…”

“Yeah, but his strength is ridiculous now. I almost didn’t see him throw that weighing scale, and then he punched that vase and barely flinched. I bet that has something to do with his using BLACK KEYS on the atmosphere. Oxygen: that has to be it. Deactivating the atmosphere purified the oxygen and supercharged his body.”

“Maybe… but he already deactivated that effect. The atmosphere’s back to normal.”

“But if he breathed in even a gulp of pure oxygen, he should still be metabolizing it. Supercharging his body, but addling his mind. That’s what we’ll use against him.”

Shizuka frowns. “You have a plan…?

T’onga nods grimly. “I have a plan… but I am not going to enjoy it.”

***

All-Kill leans against the kitchen island, willing himself to calm down. “Thoughts are muddied… Calm down… Have to calm down… Like that girl must have… Have to find her… Have to find both of them…”

Turning to lean back against the counter, he takes command of his breathing, inhaling regular air to flood out the pure oxygen searing through his system. Each breath restores more of his composure, until he can open his eyes and see clearly.

No sooner does he take a moment to listen, a stumbling noise emanates from the next room over. A human voice, quietly cursing. “Oh… of course…” he whispers.  His study. Where he was first betrayed.

Giving her no time to prepare whatever counter she’s planning, All-Kill charges into the study and finds T’onga there. She leans against the wall, clutching the side of her head. Raising her face to meet his eyes, in silence, they stare one another down.

[onthecrosslook]

Reverse, esreveR

Tw: S*ic*de Attempt, Dr*g Abuse

Sherlock Holmes was an arsehole. He knew that he was, he felt it- deep inside, a sort of gut emotion that clenched and twisted and made him feel all the more wretched. He really couldn’t control it at this point. It was a habit that had formed from years of keeping every awful thing that had happened to him pent up in his mind. So many years of abuse, so many bruises and scars, and so, so much hurt that left no marks on anywhere but the mind. He knew it was wrong to take it out on those he loved- and even those he didn’t- but it kept resurfacing in the forms of snide comments and manic volatility.

It started one quiet night at Baker Street. It was nothing much, a snappish comment too far, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was the last straw for a livid John Watson, who stood up and kicked over the coffee table in fury. Words bounced off of Sherlock, who heard without listening. Eyes closed, chest feeling empty, Sherlock felt John’s innate rage. Until he didn’t.

When Sherlock opened a single eye, he saw John holding a small box that had been concealed under the table. Sherlock heard a roar in his ears, he could hardly breathe, he was crushed by an overwhelming feeling of guilt- it all just hurt.

John’s steady fingers brushed over the syringe that the box contained. The flat was silent, except for the pounding of Sherlock’s heart- or was he the only one who could hear that?

Glass shattered at his feet. John was yelling, now. Sherlock was pretending to listen.

Sociopath. Liar. Machine.

John was saying those words as if they held no value to Sherlock. Of course, that had been the impression Sherlock had made, so why wouldn’t he say those things?

Sherlock was used to feeling hopeless, but this? This was it. This was all he could take and more. And worst of all? It was cowardly, and Sherlock couldn’t even have the decency to properly listen to John.

Possibly in the middle of John’s sentence, he stood up and mumbled some sort of excuse- that he had to use the loo, maybe? He wasn’t sure.

Dazed, Sherlock walked to the loo and left John alone in the living room. Thoughts were rushing through his head. He couldn’t take this. Not anymore.

He clicked the lock and slid down the door onto the cold, hard tile floor. His hands were shaking, his vision blurry with held-back tears. He didn’t want to do this. Yes, he did. No, he didn’t. Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he?

Trembling fingers pulled open the medicine cabinet. They pulled out a bottle of painkillers. They opened the cap. They poured precisely ten in Sherlock’s other hand.

Ten, because Sherlock had measured the dosage during a particularly bad night. He knew that each pill had 500mg of acetaminophen in them. Over 5000 in one go would certainly kill a man. It had to.

Shaking, crying- although he didn’t realise it, and he never would have admitted it otherwise- Sherlock popped a pill into his mouth one at a time. It was hard to swallow. His throat was rejecting it, so each pill took longer to take. He was shaking his head, not wanting to finish, but knowing he had already taken at least six.

After number ten, Sherlock broke. The tears came freely, now. He mumbled a shattered apology to his mum and dad, to Mycroft, even, and most definitely to John, whom he didn’t want to leave.

With each whispered name, Sherlock popped another pill between his lips. Now he had taken…what, fourteen? Fifteen? He didn’t really care, even though he did. A small part of him was screaming for someone to care, to stop him, to save him- but to no avail.

After a few choked-out sobs, Sherlock regained some of his composure. He wiped his eyes, which were shamefully red, and stood up. He was going to go about this bravely. The toxic shock wouldn’t kick in for at least a few hours, and by then, he would be asleep. A peaceful death. An easy one.

Sherlock unlocked the door and walked back out to the living room, where John was pacing furiously. He looked pale and frightened.

John must have asked something along the lines of “what did you take?” in a worried tone of voice, but Sherlock shook his head. He probably told him that he took nothing. John still looked concerned. He asked him again. Still, Sherlock shook his head. He felt guilty for lying to John.

John relaxed. He nodded, he sat down. He offered Sherlock dinner, but Sherlock politely refused.

Sherlock lied about something or other and said he had a stomachache, that he wanted to go to bed. John reluctantly allowed him to.

At approximately nine o’clock, Sherlock laid down in bed and wrote a short note in his pocketbook. It told whom he wanted his things left to, even though he knew it wasn’t entirely legal. He trusted Mycroft to sort all that out.

His stomach was already starting to ache. He needed to fall asleep.

And so he did, praying that he would never wake up.

Unfortunately, life was decidedly quite cruel.

By the time the clock read midnight, Sherlock realised he had made a terrible mistake. He woke up gasping for breath as his stomach burned. His face felt hot, and his head was pounding. It was as though his insides were tearing themselves apart.

Dazed, he tried to move, but instead fell out of his bed and hit the floor with a groan. Sherlock was so weak that he could not find the strength to move. He threw up, even though he didn’t want to. It meant that the drugs might not work. Mind racing, chest heaving in mild panic, Sherlock wondered if this was how he would die- suffocating on his own vomit and in horrible agony.

Spirits broken, Sherlock whispered John’s name. It hurt too much. He needed John to save him, or else he was going to die.

Sherlock kept whispering it- his lungs wouldn’t allow him to speak up. But John was already upstairs. He couldn’t hear him. Maybe Sherlock didn’t want him to.

He choked out something along the lines of “I don’t want to die”, but slowly, agonisingly, his eyes closed and he faded into unconsciousness.

You could imagine his surprise when he woke up the next morning, every inch of his body aching. His chest burned, and he kept needing to throw up every few minutes, but he was unmistakably alive.

And in some of the worst pain of his life.

He staggered to his feet and made his way to the loo. He threw up again.

For a brief moment, he felt better. He dreaded another racking dry heave that would take hold of his body.

No dice.

After typing a few things onto his laptop- perhaps updating his website with a few unintelligible entries about the side effects of acetaminophen overdose- he went back to the loo and threw up. He hadn’t eaten anything, so it was just stomach acid that burned his oesophagus and made him nauseous. The pain was growing steadily worse, and John wasn’t even awake yet.

For the next hour, Sherlock allowed the poison to simmer in his body, silently attacking his liver and slowly killing him.

John eventually woke up. Of course he did.

When he saw Sherlock’s pale face, he said nothing. When Sherlock nearly tripped down the steps in delirium, John was concerned, but said nothing.

When Sherlock’s knees buckled beneath him, he said something.

What did you take?

Sherlock slurred a half-hearted response, his head aching and his stomach twisting itself inside out. He felt like he was dying. It was probably because his organs were failing.

He clung onto the banister of the staircase as John desperately shook his shoulders. He couldn’t breathe. His brain was shutting down but his eyes and ears still worked. Everything hurt.

Sherlock saw John pull out his mobile and dial Mrs. Hudson’s number before swearing and pulling him outside.

Sherlock faded in and out of consciousness.

He was in a car.

Then a waiting room.

Then an urgent care.

Disappointed, disapproving, and endlessly pitying. Nobody would stop staring.

A nurse said he would be out of their care the same day.

His liver began to fail.

And then he was in an ambulance. He made a hazily rude comment to the EMT.

They stuck a needle in his arm. They did it wrong. It hurt like hell.

I’m clean, he wanted to tell them. Saying he didn’t do drugs anymore would be a flat-out lie.

They put him in a hospital.

His liver reached critical condition. The levels of acetaminophen in his bloodstream were lethal, yet he was somehow still alive. (It would be a case study for months and months to come.)

Sherlock was in the worst pain of his life.

They gave him morphine.

John sat by his bed during the entire ordeal.

He didn’t say a thing.

He didn’t know what to say.

Sherlock almost died.

John looked like he’d aged many years.

Sherlock felt regret.

John held his hand.

Sherlock wished he could turn back time.

John did, too.

༺═──────────────═༻

(Author’s Note: Based on a true story, sad enough to say. It’s sort of my way of giving past experiences a bit of closure. Imbuing writing with pain and anguish is rather cathartic. To tell you the truth, the fact that I’m alive now puzzles doctors and professionals alike. A case study was written on me. I am one of only eleven cases to have ever survived several doses of acetaminophen- enough to kill multiple grown men- at the age of twelve. I’m an anomaly and the fact that I’m here today writing this only proves how strange I am. I can’t say I’m better now. But I’ve learned my lesson. I’m sorry if it was so intense. If you or a loved one are having suicidal thoughts, please tell someone. Don’t make my mistake. And please, for the love of God, if you’re considering it, don’t kill yourself. It would be the biggest and final mistake of your life. People care about you so much. Much love, - AE.)

[shyvioletcat]

"I gave you everything, and it was never enough" for rowaelin?

Changed this prompt a tiny bit. But anyway, here’s part 3 of the Stupid Regrets Aelin Confesses AU.

~~~~~

Dorian walked straight past them and closed the door behind him.

For a few long moments the only sound in the apartment was Aelin’s muffled sobbing into her mother’s shoulder and the TV that was still playing. Eventually Evalin pulled away and put her hands on Aelin’s face.

“Aelin, what happened? Why did you leave?” She asked.

Aelin used her sleeve to wipe her nose and said thickly, “Can we sit down?”

Her mother didn’t say anything, just held her hand as Aelin led the way to the couch and sat down. Evalin didn’t push, she just waited for Aelin to say something. Aelin dabbed at her nose again, trying to figure out how to say what she needed to as she turned the TV off. She feared the judgement, the disappointment, everything her parents had paid for and hoped for had been ruined. They loved Sam, they were looking forward to him being their son-in-law. And Aelin had gone and ruined it. So, Aelin just bit the bullet.

“I’m pregnant,” Aelin all but whispered.

Her mother’s eyes went wide with shock, then her features twisted into confusion.

“Aelin, that’s wonderful,” Evalin asked but when Aelin didn’t answer she pressed. “Sam wouldn’t be upset at all, I don’t understand.”

Aelin's body shuddered as she tried to take a steadying breath, her voice so quiet when she spoke. “I don’t know if it’s Sam’s.”

One, two, three heartbeats pounded in Aelin’s ears before her mother asked the loaded question.

“What do you mean you don’t know if it's Sam’s?”

“I went to see Rowan,” Aelin said. Her voice was void of emotion, she was simply recounting what she had thought about for months. “I went to see Rowan and I kissed him and we… I ran after that. I couldn’t face Sam. I didn’t find out I was pregnant until weeks after I arrived here. So I don’t know who the father is.”

“I see,” Evalin said.

That was all she said until Aelin looked up. She couldn't read the look on her mother’s face, but she could tell she was withholding something by the tightness of her mouth. So Aelin waited, knowing her mother could cut her down with a few words. They didn’t often fight or disagree but when they did it was enough to bring down a house. Evalin blew out a breath, looking down and shaking her head slightly. Still Aelin waited for her mother to say something, anything.

“You need to talk to Sam,” Evalin said at last. “You need to talk to both of them. They call us almost everyday, and it has been four months. You need to talk to them, this isn’t fair to them.”

There was no anger in Evalin’s words, just hard truth. Aelin knew her mother was right, the radio silence wasn’t fair to anyone. But what was she supposed to say?

“You need to decide what you want,” Evalin said as if reading her thoughts and reached out for Aelin’s hand. “You need to decide who you want.”

“But the baby, Mum, what I did. How am I supposed to fix any of that?” Aelin said as her tears began to fall again.

“Fireheart, this isn’t something you can fix. This is something you have to face, talk about and work through. But Sam and Rowan deserve to know, but you have to be ready for whatever they decide to do as well.”

“I’m so scared,” Aelin said quietly and covered her face with her hands. Her mother’s arms were around her again and Aelin kept crying. They sat that way for a long while until Aelin’s tears turned into determination and she knew what she had to do.

~~~~~

Aelin decided she wanted to be in public to make these phone calls, less of a chance of her losing it completely if there was a public audience. So Aelin sat on a bench, overlooking the Florine River, her phone in her hand. Her mother was a little ways away, on the phone herself, no doubt talking to her father, filling him in on everything.

Rowan’s number was staring up at her, one tap away and he would be on the other end of the phone call. Aelin had decided that she would call him first, see where he stood. She loved Rowan, he was the one… No. She would not think about that now. She needed to talk to him first.

With one last deep breath that almost choked her, Aelin tapped the number and put the phone to her ear. It only took two rings for Rowan to pick up his voice near frantic as he said her name.

“Aelin?”

“Hi Rowan,” Aelin said.

“Gods, Ae. Where have you been? I’ve been worried,” he asked.

“We need to talk,” Aelin told him, ignoring his question. “I —“

“No let me go first, please,” Rowan sounded desperate.

“Okay,” Aelin aquienced.

“That morning. It was a mistake, I have been regretting it since the moment you closed my front door behind you. I should have told you to leave, to marry Sam. He is the one you were meant to be with, and because I was weak and stupid I ruined that for you. You need to fix that, Aelin. It’s what you deserve. What we had was nothing compared to what you can have. Being with you isn’t what I want. So please, please leave me behind.”

Aelin was silent. Just trying to fathom what he had said. He didn’t want her, and if he didn’t want her how was she supposed to tell him about the baby?

“Aelin, you still there?”

“Yes I am, I’m here,” Aelin said, her voice shaking a little. “You’re right. That’s what I was calling to tell you. I just… I just wanted to say goodbye, and maybe later we can talk again. I don’t know when, but maybe,” her voice cracked, “maybe later we can talk.”

“I would like that,” Rowan said. “Goodbye, Aelin.”

“Goodbye, Rowan.”

The finality of those words broke Aelin’s heart and it took everything in her not to break at that moment. Still tears stung her eyes, but she kept them at bay as she pulled up Sam’s number. She wouldn’t call him, she couldn’t. Instead she brought up the message thread, full of messages from him and none from her. This would be the first text she sent to him in months. Her fingers shook as she typed, but she persevered.

Sam. I am so sorry. You need to let me go. I’m sorry for what I did. What exactly, I don’t have the strength to tell you right now but I need you to believe me when I say there isn’t another chance for us. You need to realise what we had is too broken to fix and you need to let it and us go. I will regret what I ruined for the rest of my life. You are better off without me, but know I loved you. You gave me everything, and it was never enough. I’m sorry…

The first tear fell as she hit send.

~~~~~

Aelin walked down the hallway back to Dorian’s apartment. Her mother was staying for a few days and she had booked at a hotel not too far away. She had dropped Aelin off at her request. She needed to lie down. She needed to lie down and cry and sleep. Aelin barely had the energy to knock on Dorianos door, her key forgotten somewhere inside. Footsteps sounded and she heard him come to the door then he opened it.

“So I’m forgiven enough that you’ll be dining with me tonight?” He asked, not a hint of resentment for the anger she had thrown him earlier.

Aelin’s shoulders sagged. “I have nowhere else to go.”

Dorian took her hand, pulling her into an embrace. “You will always have a place here.”

Aelin cried, gripping Dorian tighter like he was the last thing holding her together when everything else is falling apart.

~~~~~

I’m not even going to pretend here... we all know Rowan is lying. Aelin is just a little too lost to see it.

TAGS:

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[snelbz]

“Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.” for Rowaelin.

Emilee, my darling. Ask and you shall receive.

Two Missed Calls - Rowaelin High School AU

A drunk oneshot for @highqueenofelfhame.

Aelin knocked on the front door of the Whitethorn‘s home as she cracked open the door. “Hello?”

A bright, cheery voice answered her. “In the kitchen.”

She kicked her shoes off by the rack, her vans flopping on top of Rowan’s enormous cleats. She tossed her purse on the small bench by the door and rounded the corner into the living room. As she passed by, she gave Rowan’s cat, Snowie, a scratch under the chin. The cat, never having been the biggest fan of Aelin, immediately began to hiss at her. Aelin tossed a vulgar gesture at her and kept walking. As she crossed the threshold into the kitchen, she was hit by the smell of freshly baked banana bread.

“Okay, that smells amazing,” she said, sitting at the bar and propping her chin on her fist.

Rowan’s mother, Genevieve, turned around and gave Aelin a fond smile. “Well you may just find a loaf in your bag when you leave then,” she said. She turned back to her stove, a multitude of pots and pans in front of her. “Are you staying for dinner?”

Rowan’s parents owned the White Tail, a restaurant in downtown Orynth. Every single thing Genevieve made was delicious.

“Is that even a question? Of course,” Aelin replied.

“How did tryouts go?” Genevieve asked, moving to the fridge to grab the carton of heavy cream. “Anything exciting happen?”

It was Aelin’s senior year and she had been elected captain by her fellow cheerleaders and coach, which meant tryouts for the upcoming year were up to her.

She shrugged. “A few girls coming up from middle school could be a good addition to the JV squad. But yes, something exciting did happen.” The tone of her voice told Genevieve how unexcited Aelin was. She turned around and looked at her.

Aelin pulled her phone out of her pocket and slid it across the counter.

The screen was shattered, glass spiderwebbed across from top to bottom. As she pushed it, she could hear the faint tinkling on the marble as small pieces fell out.

Genevieve picked it up and looked at it. I looked like it had been run over by a truck. “Oh no, what happened?”

“Field goal practice,” Aelin said, deadpan.

Genevieve had to keep from laughing.

Aelin had made her frustrations about sharing a practice field with the football team clear many, many times. Especially to the captain of the football team’s mother.

“I’m sure Vaughn didn’t mean to,” she said, placing the ruined phone on the counter. She laugh quietly. “Lord knows that boy can hardly ever keep the ball between the posts, much less aim for your phone.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Okay, true. But I still have to go buy a new phone. These aren’t cheap and my parents are NOT going to be happy.”

Genevieve pursed her lips as she thought. With the same silver hair and shining green eyes, Aelin thought that Rowan was the spitting image of his mother, but even more so when she saw Genevieve make that face. She had grown up in the Whitethorn house, her family living across the street. She and Rowan had been best friends all of their lives, inseparable. When he tried out for football in 6th grade, she tried out for cheerleading so they could ride the bus together the to away games, neither of them realizing they’d found their callings.

As a junior, Rowan had been offered a full ride to the University of Terrasen, to play football. Aelin hadn’t received any offers yet, but her season wouldn’t start until the following fall. She did know that her coach had already reached out to a few schools on her behalf though, one of which was UT.

“Rowan’s old phone should be in his room, I think I saw the box sitting on his nightstand. Borrow that one until you can get a new one,” Genevieve said, smiling at her “other” child. Aelin remembered that the Whitethorn’s had just upgraded phones and thanked the gods her best friend’s mother loved her so much. “It was practically brand new anyways.”

She hopped out of her seat and ran around the counter planting a kiss on the woman’s cheek. “You’re the best!” She said, hugging her. She stepped back. “Speaking of Rowan, where exactly is your son? I expected to find him in here stuffing his face.”

Genevieve laughed. “You were about 5 minutes late for the ‘post practice face stuffing’. He went upstairs to his room. Go on. I’ll have some snacks ready for you guys in a few minutes.”

Aelin smiled at her warmly, grabbed an apple from the basket on the kitchen counter, and made her way back into the living room and took the steps two at a time. She stopped in front of Rowan’s closed bedroom door and knocked.

No answer.

“Open up, Buzzard, it’s me.”

Nothing.

She lightly knocked again and opened the door. She slipped in and said, “Rowan?” as she shut the door behind her with a soft click.

It was then that she could hear the shower running in his bathroom from the half open door. Her eyebrows rose as she realized she could see him in the reflection of the foggy mirror, his muscular back on full display.

Aelin started, watching the blurred form of him as he reached up and ran his hands through his wet hair, rinsing the shampoo out. She watched as squirted soap into his hand and began to watch his body. She tried not to watch, but couldn’t tear her eyes away as one hand pressed against the tile and the other dipped below her line of sight and stayed there for quite a few minutes.

The sound of the water shutting off spurred her into motion and she rushed to his nightstand. She didn’t see the box or the phone sitting on top, so she opened the drawers.

Her eyes roved over the condoms and Sports Illustrated magazines she saw (and knew there had to be some she was glad she didn’t see), until it fell on the phone sitting in the corner. She picked it up and tried to turn it on, bumping the drawer closed with her hip. It was dead, so dead that not even the battery indicator popped up to tell her it was dead. She grabbed the charger off the floor by his bed and plugged it in, sitting down. After a minute, the screen came to life, a white apple on a black background shining back at her.

“Holy sh- you just scared the shit out of me, Aes.”

Rowan’s voice caused Aelin to jerk her head up.

He was standing in the bathroom door way, wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips. Her mouth dried out and she couldn’t remember how to speak or even her own name. She could only stare.

“I didn’t know you were coming over,” he said, crossing to his dresser and grabbing clothes. “You never texted me. I called you twice.”

Aelin cleared her throat. “Yeah, that’s because my phone is destroyed. Tell Vaughn thanks for me, by the way.”

“Oh, shit, that was your bag that got hit?”

“Yep.” She sighed. “So your mom said I could use your old phone, I just need to get it booted up and reset it.”

He whirled, so quickly that it surprised Aelin. His eyes immediately locked onto the phone in her lap. “Uh,” he stammered. “You can’t- You cant use my old phone. It’s…broken.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “It’s not broken and you and I both know it. I’ll be careful with it, I promise.”

With that, Aelin looked down to see it had booted up and only needed to be unlocked.

She typed the 4 digits Rowan used for everything into the keypad as she heard him say, “Aelin, please, don’t-.”

The world went silent. Aelin wasn’t moving. Rowan wasn’t speaking. The white noise of the ceiling fan even sounded distant.

The phone had unlocked to a nearly empty page, only a few apps across the top and bottom. And she was looking at a picture of herself, taken at one of her competitions.

“Aelin, let me-.”

“Am I your lockscreen?” She asked, eyes darting up to him, his clothes balled up in his hands.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

And once again, Aelin was noticing Rowan’s handsome face. The way the evening sunlight made his emerald eyes sparkle. His killer body. The way his bottom lip was pulled between his teeth.

The way she wanted to pull that lip between her own.

She set the phone on the night stand and stood, crossing the room to where Rowan stood in front of the dresser.

“Why am I your lockscreen, Rowan?” She whispered, inches away from him, the scent of him, freshly showered, heady and distracting.

His eyes flicked from her hers to her lips and back. “Because you’re the last thing I like to see before I go to bed and the first thing I want to see when I wake up.”

A soft gasp left Aelin as his hand rested on the back of her neck and he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. He stepped back and she stood there, shock written across her face. He patiently waited for her to do something, not wanting to make another move until she’d made hers.

With no warning, she threw herself on him, arms going around his neck and the clothes balled up in his hands forgotten as one dove into her hair and the other wrapped around her waist. He leaned back against the dresser pulling her closer to him and it was only when he felt her warm hands on his bare chest that he remembered he was only wearing a towel. He stepped back and cleared his throat, glancing down at his body, at the same time Aelin did, and he watched as a smirk formed on that gorgeous face.

It was in that moment that Genevieve knocked on the door, saying “Ro, Aelin? I have snacks for you!”

Rowan grabbed his clothes off the floor and dashed into the bathroom as Aelin fought off the urge to laugh out loud.

It was in that moment, she decided senior year might be fun after all, especially if she had Rowan Whitethorn by her side.

[inspired-by-the-music]

Chapter 2: An Arrangement 

Ae-Young’s POV

Before I ever left for college, even before my brother, Heechul, enrolled in law school, Dad insisted upon having a weekly family dinner. Ever since Mom left— which happened almost before I could remember— Dad craved some kind of intimacy with us that he could barely fit into his busy work schedule. So it didn’t matter that I was physically, emotionally, spiritually exhausted from the journey home— I couldn’t skip dinner in favor of a nap. 

Heechul said unsympathetically, “You should have taken me up on my offer to drive you home after the graduation ceremony.”

I don’t know what prompted him to speak to me. One minute, I had been drifting to sleep upright in my chair and likely drooling onto the white lace placemat; the next, I had to react to my brother’s bug-eyed stare. 

“As if I’d even consider getting into a car with you after that drunken speech you gave at dinner.” I stretched as I talked. 

“Yah!” He kicked me under the table. “Don’t call my heartfelt congratulations drunken!” When I didn’t apologize, he added, “Besides, that night was the first time I drank in my whole life.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t bite back laughter as he chugged a dark red wine he yanked out of Dad’s cooler shortly after arriving. “I see. So now you can’t imagine life without—”

He interrupted to complain. “Don’t you think Dad could be bothered to show up on time? He schedules these dinners, and he’s always the last one here.”

Yes— as fatigue washed over me, I wished Dad would hurry so I could faceplant into bed ASAP— but I didn’t like to complain about him. Heechul wouldn’t want to hear me explain what he already knew (that Dad likely got caught up in something important at the firm and was now probably stuck in downtown traffic) — so I decided to shrug and scroll through Instagram. 

Just as Heechul opened his mouth to tease me for being a Daddy’s Girl, Dad came through the front door. As he took his hat and coat off and walked them and his briefcase to his study, he called, “Sorry I’m late— I’ve told you two countless times the stresses of running the most successful Korean law firm— Don’t worry, I’ll just come to eat in my work clothes— Don’t want to keep you waiting any longer— Ae-Young—”

As he stepped into the dining room, I rose, assuming that he intended to greet me even though I saw him just a week ago for the graduation. He swiftly concluded, “Put your phone away— No electronics at the table.”

Ignoring Heechul’s giggles, which were drowned by another gulp of stolen wine, I tucked my phone into my pocket and promised, “I’m sorry, Dad.”

Heechul’s amusement at my scolding quickly lost to his all-consuming craving for attention. As Dad settled into the seat at the head of the mahogany table too large for three, Heechul said, “Don’t be too hard on our little graduate. She was just gonna perform a little welfare check on you— you know, to make sure you didn’t fall in the office like old folks sometimes do. We would’ve come to help if you couldn’t get up.”

Dad replied, eyes narrowing in either annoyance, fondness, or a combination of the two, “You joke about my age, Son, without realizing that as I mature, you do too. Or at least your body does.”

While I howled at dad’s implication that Heechul was man-child, while Heechul struggled to retort for the first time in his life, the chef Dad hired soon after Mom left wordlessly dropped off some kind of seafood. After piling some onto my plate, I picked at it curiously. I wasn’t picky; I was just the opposite, actually. I couldn’t recognize even my favorite dish to save my life, and I knew better than to ask the chef. He would mistake my innocent question for criticism. Whatever was on my plate, I decided, was delicious as soon as it touched my tongue. 

“Ae-Young,” Dad called. I looked at him and chewed my mouthful as fast as I could. “Why did you take so long to get home?”

I reddened at the reminder that I had graduated a week ago. I hadn’t been ready to abandon my independence. The day after the ceremony, I rejected separate offers from Dad and Heechul to be driven home and focused instead on promoting myself around town in the hope of scoring a job so I could afford an apartment in the city. Jobs for a recently graduated photography student were slimmer than I allowed myself to dream. 

It wasn’t the embarrassment of unemployment that struck me silent. Dad would be proud to hear how I tried, regardless of the results. He would never admit it, but learning that I didn’t want to come home would hurt his feelings. He was a strong man— tall and broad with a strong jaw and permanently arched eyebrows. I always imagined that the criminals he prosecuted trembled at his stern appearance before he ever got to use his sharpened wit against them. So why did I treat him so delicately, as if he would break from something I said? 

I had to say something, though. He was blinking at me expectantly. “I was busy, um, tying up loose ends.”

Kindly, as if merely interested in how I chose to spend my week, Dad asked, “What loose ends?”

Before I could answer that I had been helping my best friend, Key, move into a new apartment— which was a half-truth— Heechul answered, “Don’t you know, Dad? That’s a part of how young people talk today. It’s code.”

“Code?” Dad pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. Swallowing some of the fish, he looked and Heechul and questioned, “Code for what?”

I knew Heechul was just running his mouth and that it wouldn’t lead anywhere that interesting, but I cut my eyes at him and repeated, “Yeah. Code for what?”

“Obviously, Dad,” Heechul pointed at me as he accused, “Ae-Young was breaking off some university fling, but not after a few nights of passionate—”

I cut him off by flicking some of my fish— shrimp, maybe— at him and hissing, “Shut up! You’re so gross!”

Dad started with a tired, “Kids, please,” and he ended with an only slightly playful, “You better have broken up with your little fling, Ae-Young.”

Those days, I was too sensitive about my complete lack of romantic life. Defensively, I argued, “There was no fling, Heechul is just stupid. And if there was a fling, why should we have to break up just because I graduated?”

“Yeesh.” Heechul stabbed at his food, grumbling, “What a drama queen.”

Perhaps sensing that my temper was flaring, Dad said calmly, “Heechul— it’s about that time in the evening where I ask you to drink quietly while I discuss serious matters with your sister.”

I knew Heechul thought Dad liked me better. Even now that we were both adults— I was 22 and Heechul was 36— Dad couldn’t decide whether to treat us like the children he knew or adults we were. The inconsistency didn’t bother me so much because I loved Dad as the only parent I had ever really known. When Dad would dismiss Heechul’s silly comments, he would whisper something like, ‘Mom would never.’

He didn’t do that anymore. He took a long sip of his wine and avoided my gaze. 

“I’ve been thinking—” Dad said to me as I flinched out of my memories. “It’s about time you get married.”

Heechul spat out his wine in a spray across the table and spoke when I was speechless. “Well, that’s sudden. Don’t you think she’s too young for that? I mean, I’m not even married yet!” 

“We can’t expect Ae-Young to wait until miracles happen to get on with her life,” Dad responded, and Heechul shrank.

Heechul’s outburst empowered me to say, “Look, Dad, I’ll be on the prowl for a husband if it’s so important to you, but I’m a little more invested in finding a job—”

“You already have a job,” Dad replied simply. “Now that you’re home and Mrs. Choi retired, you can be my secretary.”

Before I could filter my response, I said, “No— I mean a real job.” Thankfully, he wasn’t offended; his brow furrowed in confusion, though, so I said, “I want a job as a photographer. I majored in photography, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.” He shifted slightly in his seat and straightened his tie. “I don’t know much about that field; the law firm has been in the family for generations, and nobody strayed until—” He subconsciously looked at Heechul, whose gaze hardened, but he clarified, “I don’t blame either of you for pursuing your dreams. Your happiness will always be my primary concern— and that goes for both of you.” 

He wasn’t satisfied to continue his speech until Heechul and I swore that we knew that. Then, he told me, “I know everything you dream of will come true. If it doesn’t, it won’t be for a lack of effort, and you’ll still have a family who will take care of you. But I won’t always be around to—”

I shook my head. It was impossible to imagine a world without Dad. Just the thought sickened me, so I begged, “Don’t talk like that.” 

He strictly maintained, “It’s the truth, Ae-Young. As your brother reminds me weekly, I’m not getting any younger—”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Heechul interjected, but Dad didn’t acknowledge him. 

“— And what will happen to you two? You can’t inherit the firm since you’re not lawyers. Then what about your children? What will their futures be?” He reached for my hand, but he was too far away as he swore, “I’m not just trying to marry you off to any person in search of a wife. And if my selection is too terrible, I’ll call the whole thing off.”

Simultaneously, Heechul and I shrieked, “You already chose someone?” and destroyed the diplomatic environment our father tried to create.

“Typical,” Heechul seethed and slammed his glass down. “If you were gonna set one of us up, why couldn’t it be me? I’m the firstborn, I haven’t had a girlfriend in, like, six months, my standards are a hell of a lot lower than Miss Graduate’s—”

“You went to undergraduate school too, you moron! We’ve received the same amount of education—”

“Children, please!” Dad never rose his voice, so Heechul and I instantly hushed. “If I knew anybody you liked, Heechul, you naturally would have been my choice for the arranged marriage. You are older and therefore may feel entitled to own the firm—”

Smirking, Heechul disagreed. “No, I just want a hot lawyer wife.”

Dad and I had learned a necessary skill: knowing when to go deaf to Heechul. He continued, “And I worried that at your age, you wouldn’t appreciate your father telling you what to do about something so. . . intimate.”

Heechul didn’t especially appreciate parental guidance at any age, so Dad was right to worry about that. How long has he been thinking about this? I frowned. And why is he only bringing up now? 

“So you chose a husband for Ae-Young just because she’s more obedient?”

Dad wouldn’t release me from his stare as he said, “I don’t take this lightly— asking you to abandon your freedom so I can breathe easy knowing that you will be taken care of when I’m gone. You’ve always been a free spirit. I could see you dancing barefoot in the garden from my study when you were just a little girl. Do you remember that?”

I remembered dancing in the garden, but I never knew he watched me. I nodded quietly. 

He said, “I’m not being completely selfish. I never would have brought his up if I didn’t know the perfect person to protect you—”

Heechul impatiently demanded, “Who is it?”

Dad answered, “Kyuhyun.”

I didn’t get to prepare myself— I didn’t even fully wrap my mind around Dad’s speech— I didn’t know what to say other than “Kyuhyun?”

Heechul relaxed in his seat as if he had been truly worried and the name of that family friend dispelled those worries. “That’s not so bad, Ae-Young. You’ve always liked him.”

My heart was beating me to death. I couldn’t hear as I countered, “I can’t marry Kyuhyun. I haven’t seen him in the last four years— and now our first conversation has to be about this? I can’t believe you asked him to marry me!”

“Now, isn’t four years a bit of a dramatization?” Dad shook his head, disbelieving. “You must have seen him at the Christmas parties!” “For some reason, Dad,” Heechul winked, “I think we should trust Ae-Young. She would remember the last time she saw Kyuhyun.”

My heart thundered at Heechul’s teasing. “Why would you ever ask him to marry me?” I asked again; I stood as if that would make the question impossible to ignore. 

I expected another speech about how Kyuhyun was the best lawyer at the firm, how he was unfailingly honest and morally upright in every sense, how he had always been a great young man, how he had the advantage of being the son of Dad’s lifelong best friend—

I expected to hear him sing Kyuhyun’s praises as he had done my entire life. Instead, he answered softly, “I know you loved him.”

My affection for Kyuhyun existed since the moment we met— which, I’ve been told, occurred a few days after I was first born— and it resided in the innermost part of my heart, in a place I hadn’t visited in years. To be taken there so forcibly and with no warning was overwhelming. Humiliating. I felt naked, exposed, and embarrassed that I was overreacting. 

Because my feet were frozen numb, I slid back into my chair and stared blankly at my half-cleared plate.

Dad’s shoulders fell, and Heechul didn’t say anything.

“I thought you would be happy with him. Did I misunderstand the time you cried to me after the New Years’ party?”

Dad was referring to something that happened when I was a teenager. I can’t remember exactly how old I was, but I have never forgotten the red-hot scalding shock when I found Kyuhyun’s longtime girlfriend kissing some stranger on the balcony. I never wanted to tell anyone what I had seen, but the words tumbled out of my mouth. 

“Well, that’s how these things go sometimes, I’m afraid,” he tried to teach me. He ran a thumb along his empty ring ringer the way he always did when he thought of Mom. “Passion drives people to do hurtful things. Even passionate love can leave scars.”

 I refused to accept it. “Nobody should hurt him like that. He deserves everything good in the world. And what do I do now? Do I have to tell him? Do I have to break his heart when that’s the last thing I want to do?”

“These things always come out in the end,” Dad claimed as he pulled me into his side. “The truth always comes to light, whether good or bad.”

I never told Heechul, and he seemed to know better than to ask. “No,” I admitted, “You didn’t misunderstand. But that was so long ago, Dad. Who knows what has changed?”

“Who knows?” Dad shrugged. Sagely, the thought aloud, “I think if you loved somebody once— and I mean true admiration, not childish infatuations— you will love them always.”

Then Heechul, who had been quiet for too long, asserted his presence once more. “Wait a minute. Isn’t Kyuhyun, like, way older than Ae-Young?”

Without thinking, I answered, “He’s 10 years my senior.”

“I don’t think that matters,” Dad said. Glancing at me, he added, “I understand that like most young women, you want a romance that makes you swoon, but there are many kinds of forever loves in this world. I want that happiness for you— none of the temporary pleasures and scars.”

Dad took advantage of mine and Heechul’s silence as we considered his wisdom to say, “I hope you both adjust to this idea by next Friday evening because Kyuhyun will be joining us for dinner.”

I decided immediately that I would have to reunite with Kyuhyun before then. Seeing him for the first time four years— as my fiancé— with Heechul and Dad as an audience sounded like a nightmare.

The only way I knew to contact him was to call his office on Monday morning. Of course, I was struck by the complete lack of professionalism on my part, but I didn’t actually regret dialing the number until his assistant answered. 

I forget his greeting. All I remember is the terror that seized my body when he asked, “May I receive your name and reason for calling Cho Kyuhyun’s office?”

I stuttered, “I— um— my name is Kim Ae-Young.” I knew he wouldn’t recognize me as the firm owner’s daughter. Even if he did, that wouldn’t explain why I was calling Kyuhyun’s office. There was no option except to breathe deeply and adapt to the situation. “I’m Kyuhyun’s fiancé, and I’m calling to discuss an, uh, urgent personal matter.”

There was a three-minute pause before he said, “Okay. I’ll connect you.”

[fuckyeahjerlita]

Code Lyoko Fanfic - Memories Buried in the Snow - Chapter 3 - Frolic in the Snow

A gentle snowfall through the night has cast the mantle of oblivion on the howling wilderness of last night. The bright sun and blue sky beckon our young lovers outdoors to partake of the winter wilderness.

Aelita's eyelids fluttered open, drawn by the light of the new dawn pouring in through the window, lightening her heart. The howling wilderness of last night had been transformed into a bright, sunny day beckoning to her from outside.

Moving with renewed energy, she stretched her body out slowly, then rose. After quickly dressing in new clothes, she turned her attention to the blond still sprawled out asleep on the bed. There was one surefire way to awaken him.

Aelita headed down to the kitchen and got to work on breakfast for both of them, stomach feeling quite hollow since she hadn’t bothered to eat last night. Toasted bread was spread with butter, cheese was added as well, plus cereal in milk, to be chased by good, strong coffee for both of them.

The morning sun’s bright rays streamed in through the window, penetrating the veneer of Jeremie’s eyelids.

‘Damn sun!’ he thought sourly as he prepared to roll over and go back to sleep.

That is, until the unmistakable scent of toasted bread piqued his olfactory lobe. His stomach cramped and rumbled, pointedly reminding him that he hadn’t eaten last night. Abandoning all thoughts of sleep, Jeremie rose, quickly changed into fresh clothes, then hied himself downstairs before the toast could cool.

Jeremie reached the kitchen to see Aelita just sitting down at the table, his place already set for him. With a silent smile between them, the young couple tucked into their respective breakfasts.

“Jeremie,” Aelita spoke up after a while spent eating in silence.

Jeremie looked up from his cereal.

“I’m sorry for worrying you yesterday,” Aelita said simply, gazing steadily into his eyes.

“Wha? No. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jeremie quickly protested. “I can’t imagine what you were feeling last night. I don’t know how it’d feel to suddenly…”

He trailed off, heart clenching in mortal dread of upsetting her all over again by dredging up too much of last night.

With a small smile, Aelita reached out and caressed Jeremie’s hand.

“Thank you for understanding, darling,” she said softly before retreating into her breakfast yet again.

When they finished, they took their dishes to the sink to wash later. Jeremie was about to retreat to his laptop, when Aelita grabbed his hand and began tugging him over to where they had discarded their coats last night.

‘Oh, no,’ he thought as Aelita led him to the front door.

She unlocked the door, pushed it open and stepped out into the glorious vault of blue sky under which the snow crystals sparkled like miniature diamonds.

It was even colder now than yesterday!

‘That’s one thing that’s totally different between us: she loves the cold and I hate it,’ Jeremie thought, half-minded to just retreat indoors and hunker down with his laptop.

That was, until Aelita gave a goodly tug and yanked him along behind her.

“Ah!” Jeremie yelped, though he made no attempt to pull away.

Aelita led Jeremie out onto the snowy field that surrounded the chalet, broken up only by the driveway. Through the snow they romped, Aelita leading Jeremie into the copse of pine trees that resided behind the chalet.

Only now did Aelita slow their pace down, permitting them to walk among the stately evergreens, their steps cushioned by a carpet of soft brown needles. Jeremie’s olfactory sense was overtaken by the sharp scent of pine on a cold winter’s day. Among the trees they weaved till they came to the edge of the little glen, which opened out onto a wide snow field.

Suddenly, Aelita released Jeremie’s hand and burst from his side, running out onto the field, seeming to fly over the snow. Jeremie scratched his head as he watched her. Finally, he slowly made his way out, feet sinking into the deep snow. He lowered his gaze to watch his footsteps so that he wouldn’t end up faceplanting.

SPLAT!

Jeremie’s glasses were knocked off as he received a faceful of snow from his loving, kindhearted wife.

“Ah! Aelita!” Jeremie yelped in bemusement. ‘If she thinks I won’t give her payback, she’s sorely mistaken.’

After retrieving his glasses, Jeremie knelt down and packed his own snowball, which he lobbed at Aelita.

Aelita however, had been watching him the whole time, easily dodged, and lobbed another snowball, which hit Jeremie in the left shoulder.

Jeremie again packed a snowball and threw it, only to miss her by a mile and receive one on the rump for his efforts.

“Quit dodging around!” he cried in consternation.

“Well, you don’t expect me to just stand around waiting, do you?” Aelita replied saucily.

“Yeagh!” Jeremie yelled as he launched himself at Aelita, succeeding in catching her and sending them both tumbling down into the white drifts of snow.

An impromptu wrestling match now ensued, a laughing Jeremie and Aelita rolled over each other and thoroughly caked themselves in cold, white delight. Somewhere in the melee, Jeremie’s glasses were again ejected from his face. This time, he took scant notice, much more interested in the pink haired woman now dumping some snow down the back of his coat.

“Ae-LEE-tah!” he yelped, feeling cold trailing down his spine.

Jeremie grabbed for her, missed by a mile as she sprang to her feet and loped away over the snow, and succeeded only in face-planting once again.

SMUP…

Jeremie lifted his snow-caked face to see Aelita all the way over on the other side of the field now, beginning to roll a large snowball.

‘To throw at me, I suppose,’ the blond thought as he groped about for his glasses.

Ah! There they were. After putting them on, he saw that Aelita now had a very sizable snowball, far too big for her to pick up and throw. This one in place, she was already rolling a second one. She stopped for a moment, looked over at Jeremie and vigorously beckoned him over to her.

Jeremie took off as fast as he could, moving clumsily through the snow as it seemed to always cave in under his boots and drag him down.

By the time he reached Aelita, she had the second snowball mounted on the first and was already rolling a third smaller one. By now, Jeremie had deduced what she was doing. He immediately did his part by ducking into the surrounding woods and returning with two long sticks.

Each of them took a stick and stuck it into either side of the snowman. Alas, there was no coal for eyes, nor a carrot for a nose, but gloved fingers could just as easily trace a smiley face onto his head. Aelita removed her scarf and Jeremie his hat, which they draped onto their newly made friend, thus completing him.

They stood side by side, admiring their creation, before whipping out their phones and snapping several shots, of the snowman alone, then of each other with him, and finally a timed shot of all three together.

Aelita grabbed Jeremie’s hand and led him back into the forest, walking much farther and deeper than their foray among the pine trees. Jeremie had the feeling that Aelita knew the way by heart, as she walked with confidence in her stride, never once stopping to look about for landmarks or the direction of the sun.

As they walked, Jeremie saw movement in the distance among the trees.

“Lita!” he said in a dropped voice. “Over there.”

The two stopped and stared. Aelita’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of a trio of red deer: a doe and her two yearling fawns, as they moved slowly about the forest, stripping bark from trees as their only winter food.

Jeremie slowly pulled out his phone, fired up the camera, zoomed in as far as he could, and managed to get a decent shot of the three deer, which he promptly forwarded to Aelita.

After a bit, the deer moved deeper into the forest in their search for food. Aelita and Jeremie continued on their way, Jeremie wondering where she was leading him. After a much longer time spent walking, the sound of trickling water began to filter into their hearing.

Soon the treeline ended, revealing a merrily babbling brook, the sun’s light refracted on its cascading surface. The water was so clean and clear that the bottom was readily visible, populated with many small, smooth stones. Along its banks were several large rocks. The young couple stood side by side, taking in the natural splendor.

“Wow! It’s really pretty!” gasped Jeremie.

“My parents used to bring me here,” was all Aelita said.

Jeremie nodded, daring say no more. Instead, they went and sat down on some of the rocks overlooking the river, content to rest for a bit after their long sylvan stroll. As they sat, they took in the hushed stillness of nature in its winter sleep, infrequently punctuated by a small creature or two scuttling out for a quick drink from the babbling brook before retreating into the bare foliage for its scant shelter.

One of such was a mountain hare, white fur speckled with brown, which emerged from the forest and began nosing about for food, quickly devouring whatever it found. The sight of this made them think of their resident funnyman Odd, who was keeping watch over the Hermitage back in France. This caused a smile to ghost on both their lips as they watched the hare turn and hop slowly back into the forest’s shadowy embrace.

Aelita leaned down and plunged her right hand into the water. She then brought it up and drank the cold, clear water from it.

Upon seeing her eyes light up as the water’s fresh taste hit her tongue, Jeremie made bold to try the same thing, flinching as the icy water hit his bare hand. When he tasted it in his mouth, however, he knew tap and bottled water were forever ruined for him. This was what water was supposed to taste like! One look into Aelita’s laughing green eyes told him she thought the same.

Content, the couple remained sitting on the rocks and watching various animals come and go from the river for the next several hours.

In the dying sun’s crimson light, the young couple stomped their way back to the chalet, their breath coming out in vapor streams. Hand in hand, they took one last look about the forest and the field with their snowman keeping silent vigil over it, before disappearing into the chalet, which was warmed by the crackling fire.

Inside the house, Aelita decided to take pity on the poor shivering blond man before her. She knew Jeremie wasn’t a huge fan of the cold weather and his spending much of the day outside with her meant the world to her. To that end, she helped Jeremie out of his coat, guided him to the couch, draped a blanket around his shoulders, then retreated into the kitchen to make some genuine Swiss hot cocoa.

Soon, the two of them were sitting on the couch before the hearth, each with a steaming mug in their hands, slowly sipping it, allowing the sweet liquid to warm them from the inside, and each other’s body heat to warm them from the outside.

“Thank you for coming outside with me today,” Aelita spoke up. “I know you don’t enjoy the cold.”

“I actually had fun!” declared Jeremie with a small smile. “You know, until today, I’ve never drunk water straight from a river before.”

Aelita smiled.

The two lapsed into silence after this. As he gazed into the roaring fire, Jeremie ruminated. What had started as a weird, even scary weekend, with Aelita so out of sorts, had morphed into a relaxing fun-filled time, spent getting reacquainted with old memories, playing and romping out of doors, and most importantly, just being together. Best of all, Aelita was back to her usual, happy self again, for which Jeremie was eternally grateful.

The hours ticked slowly by, the last of the sun’s light was completely gone now and the fire was beginning to die out. On the couch, the young couple sat snuggled against each other, arms around each other’s waists, heads resting against each other, fast asleep.

[manufactoredxbyxdesign]

🔪 ( Only if you want to! )

send 🔪 ( knife ) and I'll make a violent moodboard for our muses

[afangirlwashere]

We’ll always be back then (p.p. x reader)

Summary: A good thing ends to enable another good one to happen.

Warnings: a few swear words here and there, some angst 

A/N: I got really sad thinking about losing Tony and now Spider-Man in the same year and this happened.

Song inspo: this absolute gem that inspired the title, Where did all my friends go - Jamie Campbell Bower, Alone is no together - The Darling Buds

Masterlist

Peter’s stomach twisted and turned as his eyes fixed on the Iron Man helmet set on a small table in the living room.  His hands damped and he swallowed so much saliva that throwing up seemed like a very real option. 

He looked away trying to calm his senses but when he saw Pepper’s small polite smile while Morgan sat in her lap playing with her mother’s hands, staring at Pepper’s wedding ring, he felt his breathing quicken.  Morgan’s eyes wandered around the room as her little fingers kept twisting the wedding ring and her eyes eventually met with Peter’s. 

He got introduced to Morgan today before the funeral ceremony but they barely spoke to each other. It was only now that he could see her face for a little longer that he realized - she has Tony’s eyes.  They’re big and the same shade of dark brown. Though Peter couldn’t think of Tony’s eyes without remembering the last time he saw them he knew that whenever his mentor looked at him they were warm with admiration and love. They were in his last moments too. 

Morgan’s, on the other hand, weren’t like that at all. Even though Pepper had introduced him as ‘The Peter Parker’ to her he was still a complete stranger. And Morgan was smart for her age, or at least that’s what Happy told him this morning when he drove them to the lake. One of the first things you teach your child is stranger danger and the house was full of people who were exactly that. So she stayed as close to her mother as possible. 

Peter felt his body move without knowing where it was headed. He pushed the glass doors open to get out of the house and maybe puke somewhere more private.

“Peter? Are you okay?” he heard his aunt’s faint voice. She was the one talking to Pepper right now. 

“Just need some fresh air...” he mumbled so quietly that he was sure none of them heard him. 

His tie felt like it was choking him but it was impossible to loosen with shaky hands. His feet fumbled from the stairs and that’s when he noticed a figure standing on the bridge to the lake. 

At first, he thought it must have been one of the guests because all the women had some kind of a black dress and a coat. But the closer he got the more unsure he was. 

As he was opening his mouth to speak a small figure ran past him brushing his leg lightly. Morgan rammed in the girl's leg with full force almost knocking her into the lake. 

“You scared me dumpling.” she turned around and stroked Morgan’s hair delicately “What are you doing outside alone?” Shortly after the unknown girl’s head jerked up noticing they weren’t completely alone. 

Peter’s own stranger danger flags were going red at this point. He didn’t see this girl at the ceremony or inside for that matter. Even though Morgan seemed to be close with her - a lot closer than with him which stung - his first instinct was to take Morgan back inside and protect her from a possibly dangerous person.

“The nice lady wanted to go after Pete but mommy said that I should go see if he’s alright. I think she wants us to be friends like him and daddy.” Morgan watched the girl kneel to her.

“That’s nice.” she fixed the white collar on the little Stark’s dress.

Peter’s breath hitched in his lungs for a second.  He appreciated Pepper trying to formulate a better relationship between them and Morgan being a smarty pants picked up on it immediately.

“I also wanted to ask,” Morgan hugged herself trying to warm up, “uncle Happy said he’ll take me for some cheeseburgers and I thought you could come with us if you want?” 

The girl gave her a quick smile. “Of course. Are you going to invite anyone else?” she shot an obvious look towards Peter trying to help her out. 

Morgan rocked back and forth tugging at her dress. “Do you want to come with us, Pete?” 

“I’d love to,” he muttered cracking a tiny smile “if you want me there.” 

Morgan nodded still rocking her little body shyly. 

“Why don’t you go inside and tell your mom where we’re headed munchkin? I’ll come to the house in a minute and find you a jacket so you won’t catch a cold, okay?” 

They both watched Pepper opening the glass door when her daughter tapped on it. Peter saw Pepper’s polite smile again and then he noticed that the unknown girl had her hand in the air waving tenderly. 

“I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Peter Parker.” he sticks out his own hand to shake.

“I know who you are...” the girl blurts out. 

Peter’s eyes widen slightly and he can’t help but think in panic ‘Does she know I’m Spider-Man?’.

When she notices his shock her mouth opens for a few seconds before she finds the courage to speak again. “Sorry that sounded kinda creepy. I meant he... um... They... There’s this photograph in the kitchen that I remember seeing whenever I was washing the dishes. It’s you and Mr. Stark holding a certificate upside down and doing bunny ears to each other. I always thought it was funny but I never saw you around or heard anyone mention you and one day I asked Mr. Stark about it...” she paused and looked away for a second taking a breath of fresh air. “He told me that you were an intern at the Stark Industries before you blipped. I didn’t ask more about you it seemed like a sensitive topic for him. But I think he kept it there to remember you.” 

Peter felt tears prickle his already red eyes so he lowered his head nodding and sniffing. 

“I’m sorry if I agitated you I really didn’t mean to.” she stepped closer to him putting her hand out finally “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Morgan’s babysitter.” they shook hands shortly and firmly. “If you’re worried about her acting weird you don’t have to. She’ll warm up to you.” 

Peter’s lips pressed together in a line as he nodded once more. “So... How did you become a babysitter? You seem kind of young.” 

“Yeah well... Same applies to you.” 

“That’s fair.” he cracked a smile. 

(Y/N) dug her hands in her pockets and squinted. “It’s a longer story than you’d expect. It includes a broken bike, a breakin, the Iron Man armor, some broken vases and an almost trip to the AE.”

The only thing Peter managed to say after that was a quiet wow. 

(Y/N) shrugged. “What can I say? When an expensive sports car ends up in your poor neighborhood and Tony Stark - after fixing your bike - drags that old piece of shit to the seventh floor it’s not something you just tide over. Pretty sure my mom almost had a heart attack when she saw him in our living room.” 

“I can relate to your mom.” he chuckled thinking of his first time meeting Mr. Stark. “How much are you over to watch Morgan?” 

“Once a month or two. They never liked leaving Morgan alone too much. There have been a few emergencies when an expensive car would just pull up in front of our building and a grumpy Mr. Hogan would drive me here. I like to think that I grew on him after two years.” 

She made the boy smile again. It wasn’t hard to notice that it wasn’t a completely honest smile. His eyes didn’t crinkle and his teeth didn’t show.  So she made a promise to herself that day. (Y/N) swore to not stop until he starts smiling like that again. She owed it to the man that gave his life to bring him and so many others back. 

“I’m sorry if I come off as nosy,” Peter looked back to the house as if he wanted to make sure nobody was listening in. “But why weren’t you here at the ceremony?” 

He almost immediately regretted his question because (Y/N) bit on her lip and averted her eyes to the lake. Just as he was about to apologize and try to make a shitty joke she spoke. “I-I didn’t feel like I belong here. With everyone that was so close to him... Mrs. Potts invited me but I just... I thought it would be better if I  showed up later for Morgan? Because I was the one who was with her when it happened.” she closed her eyes and then immediately looked up. Peter knew that she was trying to suppress tears. He did that move too. “I just remember some strange guy with a red cape and pretty intense facial hair if you ask me,” her eyes were teary when she let out a chuckle still trying to keep this horrible story lighthearted. “Opening a portal in my room and Mrs. Potts had the blue armor I saw in the garage once. She said that it’s urgent and I jumped right in to take care of Morgan. I saw the news that people were coming back so I figured there must be a fight going on. But I didn’t really know what was going on until she came back with Mr. Rhodes.” 

Peter felt like an asshole for making her talk about something that obviously traumatized her to the core. He himself couldn’t even talk about the whole fight nor his last moments spent with Mr. Stark. But he couldn’t share his story. He was just Peter Parker to her. A guy that had an internship at the Stark Industries. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” he croaked out. “I can’t even imagine how awful that must have been.” oh but he could.

(Y/N) wiped her nose. “We should probably stop making each other cry and get inside or they’re going to go for those cheeseburgers without us.” she stopped next to Peter waiting for a response. 

He looked back at the lake one more time, the reactor nestled in the flowery wreath was out of sight a long time ago but he still wanted to try and seek it for assurance. 

“Okay. Maybe you could tell me the story of how exactly Mr. Stark ended up dragging your bike to the seventh floor on our way?” they walked to the house alongside each other. 

“Sure!” (Y/N) grinned at the boy. “So, it started on a calm thursday afternoon when I got the genius idea to go bike without a map...” 

[elvendara]

Mysme-Fictober Day 13

@mysme-fictober

October 13th 2019

Phantom *spoilers for V route, before AE* *TW: self-harm, suicide*

Saeyoung wrung his hands, what he really wanted to do was put them around V’s neck and squeeze. How could he lie to him? All these years and he’d believed that Saeran was safe. His brother was safe and happy. Why would he do that? How could he have lied to him all these years? He had trusted him, thought of him as a father, and now, to learn that Saeran had only gone from being abused physically, to being abused mentally by the very person he had entrusted him to was overwhelming.

He pulled his knees up and hugged them, forehead to knees, tears flowing, his body convulsing with pain and sorrow. He would never see his brother again, never see him smile. These things had been bearable once. When he believed Saeran was living a good life. Now, it only meant emptiness and darkness.

Yet even in the end, V had lied to him. Saeran was dead. Taking his own life in order to cover up what Rika had done. He threw his head back and screamed, the veins in his neck and forehead straining beneath his skin. He pressed against the bed, the wood floor beneath him hard and cold. His body was white hot and it trembled with fury. He fisted his hands and slammed them onto the floor on either side of him. He didn’t feel the pain. In fact, he dearly wished he could feel it in order to take the focus away from his emotional pain.

V had tried to talk to him, but Saeyoung had barely been able to contain his anger. Jumin had needed to take the other man away before Saeyoung unleashed it on him. Now he was alone, having chased away everyone else. Even Vanderwood had seen the need to leave him alone. He knew it wasn’t healthy, but when had he ever done what was normal or healthy? He glanced towards his closet. He had a safe there. He had a gun there. He could end this pain.

He crawled towards it. What did it matter now? Everything he had done. All the missions he had completed for the agency. All the illegal, immoral activities and for what? He had told himself it was all ok because it was to ensure his brother was happy, healthy, alive. But he had never been. He had gone from one hell to another while here he was, living it up with fancy cars and Honey Buddha Chips. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. It had all been for nothing.

He opened the door and pressed a series of areas on the floor. Part of it lifted and he pulled the piece away. Beneath it was the safe. He stared at it. Images of the RFA, the only people other than his brother he had been close to. Even they didn’t know who he really was. They would forget him and move on. He punched in his code and opened the safe. Pulling the gun out he also reached in for the ammo. He checked the gun, it was serviceable, of course it was, he was a professional after all. Loading it he contemplated how best to finish things.

A sharp cold wind blew his red hair around and his quick jerk almost lost him his glasses. With wide amber eyes he turned towards the windows in his room, both were closed. It swirled around him again and he stood, his stockinged feet taking him in a circle. The door was closed, it wasn’t coming from there. His eyes locked onto the vent on the ceiling, but standing right under it, there was nothing.

The closet door began to rattle, slamming shut then opening once more, his clothes jerked on the pole, some falling off completely. Wind buffeted him again and pushed him onto the bed, the gun flying from his hand. Closing his eyes he put his arms over his head to protect himself. Suddenly there was a loud shattering sound in front of him and everything died down. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he was gasping for air. He moved his arms down and opened his eyes. The mirror over his dresser was shattered, pieces still falling from it. He looked at his broken reflection. His hair was in disarray, his eyes were puffy and red. His nose was just as red, snot dripping from it. The glasses were askew on his face but he made no move to try and right himself.

Standing he made his way towards the ruined mirror. Something wasn’t right. He took his glasses off and cleaned them with his t-shirt then put them back on. Leaning towards the mirror he was startled backwards. His eyes were mint green. He blinked in confusion then looked closer. His hair was white with pink tips and his glasses were no longer reflected. The jagged image was distorted and multiplied. Reaching out he touched the broken image and hissed as the sharp edge cut his fingertip.

“Ss…Saeran?” he whispered; sure he was losing his mind. This is how V had described his brother. The changes he had made to himself. Was he imaging this? How could it be? The mouth in the spectrum of images smiled at him but he didn’t feel the muscles on his face move.

“Saeran? Saeran. Is that you?” There was no answer. He waited, but the image disappeared, and he looked like himself again. “NO! Wait! Come back! Saeran!” he pleaded, his hands against the broken shards of the mirror. His hands were a bloody mess but he didn’t care. He pulled on the shards, checking each one for the image of his brother. He had to come back, he had to.

Cold wind caressed his cheek and ran down his back. He dropped the mirrored piece and it shattered on the dresser. There was a soft smile on his face as he followed the air flow towards the bed. He lay down and let the wind toss his belongings around. It wasn’t fury, his brother wasn’t angry.

“Will you stay with me? I will never leave you again, I promise.” Saeyoung whispered to the ghostly visage of his brother above him. He reached out and Saeran did the same, fingertips touching, the cold slithering down his digits into his heart.

[insomnia-productions]

Mashiara - a mat/rand drabble

For: @glorthelions (based on his art)

Read on AO3

.

Firelight

The soft sunflower glow of the fire hints at warm reprieve from the cold night air of the Waste. But it has been decades, or more, since Moiraine has let anything as transient as cold or heat touch her. Still, as she stands a few paces away from the crackling flames, she has to resist tugging on the ends of her woolen shawl, and that has nothing at all to do with the cold.

It’s just so awkward.

Moiraine is quite sure she has never felt awkward in her life. Perhaps, once or twice, in the Tower, with Siuan, late during those twilight hours when they were supposed to be asleep…

A smile touches her lips at the memory, gone as soon as she notices it is there. That was a different time, when there were no higher consequences that having to spend another week scrubbing pots. It could be her life, still, if she wanted—back in the Tower of her girlhood, teaching Novices, handing out the punishments she had so frequently earned in her time. Yet, somehow, when she looks around her, Moiraine finds she does not regret choosing the life she has.

Except, that is, right now.

Moiraine hazards a glance towards the fire. They are doing it again. Mat is sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, gazing across the fire at Rand, who sits on the other side, legs crossed and eyes fixed on some distant star. After a few moments, Mat looks down, and, slowly, Rand’s gaze travels to him and lingers. A few moments later, they switch again. Moiraine cannot tell if they have realized—if this is some kind of complicated Two Rivers courtship—or if they are just that oblivious. Considering her time with the two young men, she is strongly leaning towards the latter.

Barely refraining from rolling her eyes, Moiraine turns back to the empty desert. It is a bland sight, its beauty smothered by darkness, but anything is better than the alternative. She considers returning to her tent. And then, into the silence, a voice.

She almost can’t tell that it is Mat—surely he has never spoken so softly in his life—yet no one else is here and Rand certainly cannot speak the Old Tongue. She is not sure how Mat can, for that matter—but he can, and he does. It has been many years since Moiraine studied the long-forgotten language, but she catches a few words.

Asa... nabir... n’am...

You… fire… beautiful…

Rand startles at his childhood friend’s voice; finally, they look at each other at the same time.

“Did you say something?”

Mat shakes his head. Rand considers him for a moment, then shrugs as though shaking something off his shoulders. They return to gazing across the fire at each other in broken synchronization. Moiraine bites back a sigh, turns, and walks back to her tent. She wonders, as she closes her eyes, if they will stay there like that all night. She suspects they just might.

Longing

They’ve been riding for hours under a vengeful sun. It’s the same routine as every day. Moiraine hasn’t had a proper wetland bath in months. But she doesn’t think about that; Aes Sedai do not think about baths.

What Moiraine is thinking about now is the Dragon and his poor life choices, which she is currently riding over to lecture him about. Rand is seated on his horse at the head of the long column of Aiel, surveying the dunes ahead. Moiraine slows as she approaches him from the left; Mat is at his right, his gaze fixed firmly on Rand. His face is shadowed by that wide-brimmed hat, and Moiraine cannot make out his expression. They sit in silence, their horses nickering quietly at each other, long brown noses bumping together. Moiraine wishes, distantly, that their riders would learn a thing or two from them.

As she comes to a stop, Moiraine sees that Rand is not really looking at the desert. His eyes are glazed over, like glass dulled by water. There are dark circles dragging his eyes and his face looks pale for being in sun this strong. He looks exhausted. He looks like Death given form. He looks like a dragon without its fire—at least, Moiraine thinks dragons and fire are related, somehow. Perhaps it was something in some book she read long ago…  

His lips are moving constantly, incessantly, but no sound comes out. She cannot pick out words in their shape; she wonders, briefly, if he is actually saying anything at all. This close, close enough to see the freckles that have formed on Rand’s face, she can finally see Mat’s expression. The shadows over his face suit it well. His brows are drawn, eyes dark and narrow. A red spot has begun to grow on his lower lip, where he keeps worrying it with his teeth. He watches Rand without blinking. It’s almost unnerving.

Quietly, voice touched with longing, he murmurs something in the Old Tongue. Moiraine strains to catch his words.

Totah... asa... niende... no...

Far… you… lost… me…

Rand blinks, then, and light seems to return to his eyes. Slowly, he straightens in his sadly, head turning towards Mat. “You said something.” Not a question this time.

Mat flushes. “I said you’re going mad already,” he says, already turning his horse. He doesn’t see Rand’s face fall. Moiraine does, but it’s back to smooth stone when he looks at her.

“Yes?”

Moiraine sighs. There will be no listening from him today. Cursing Mat under breath, she turns her horse. “Never mind. We’ll talk this evening.”

Rand is already looking at the dunes. But his eyes are sharp and sad and, as she leaves, Moiraine catches his gaze traveling back to Mat and staying there. Someday, she tells herself. Someday, they will work this out.

Insanity

Three weeks later, Moiraine is beginning to lose all faith in the Dragon Reborn and his general.

Mat is sitting on a low stool, surveying a map of the valley below. The paper is dotted with little figures. Every so often, Mat hums to himself and moves a piece. He looks tired—tired enough that he did not protest when Rand pulled him into his tent to discuss battle plans should the Shaido try to ambush them once they begin the journey down. Rand, for his part, looks equally tired if not more. He paces the tent behind Mat, one hand held behind his back, the other thumbing his lip as he mutters to himself.

Abruptly, Rand spins and bends over Mat, eyes flitting over the map. Mat stiffens; they are all but cheek to cheek. A blink, and he has straightened again and returned to pacing the tent.

“I think we should have the Wise Ones stay at the flank. They can attack long distance if need be. Aes Sedai should stay with us, for defense, but we’ll need men watching after them in case of a direct attack…”

Rand keeps talking, but Moiraine does not think Mat is listening. He is staring at the map, cheeks flushed, and there is something like pain in his narrowed eyes. His mouth is in a very thin line, as though barely holding back words he doesn’t want to say. It takes a long few moments but, eventually, Rand notices, too. He trails off.

“Mat? Are you alright?” Mat waves him off and Rand frowns. “You’re flushed. Do you need some water? It’s unusually warm today.” Receiving only a blank stare in response, Rand shifts. “I could… I could try channeling some cool air?”

Mat’s mouth opens, then closes, and then he turns back to the map. Under his breath, he mutters, “Dival, sin ga narfa. Iqet gemarise mi souvra niende.”

Moiraine picks out the key words. Something about foolishness, oblivious idiots, and Mat going insane. She would laugh, except, this time, Rand seems to pick something up too. His face twists.

“If you’re going to call me crazy, at least say it to my face.”

Mat’s eyes grow sad, but he says nothing, onlys sighs the sigh of one who has suffered too long, and goes back to the map. Rand frowns at him and turns away.

Moiraine closes her eyes and thinks of the Pattern. Is this the Dragon Reborn? she asks it. Really? This one?

The Pattern doesn’t respond.

+1

She leaves a book in Rand’s tent, an old tome she has been using to translate the Old Tongue she finds inscribed on the relics pulled out of Rhuidean. It’s the only thing she can think to do short of shaking sense into him herself. Which, of course, Aes Sedai don’t do.

It’s another three days before anything happens. But, as always with Rand al’Thor, when it finally does happen, it happens.

She’s sitting in a tent with Egwene and Mat. No one is speaking; it’s far too hot. Even Moiraine feels slightly uncomfortable in this weather. Egwene is trying very hard to pretend she is unbothered. Mat, unhindered by pride or dignity, has loosed his shirt halfway to his stomach and is fanning himself with his hat.

They have been sitting like this, without change, for close to thirty minutes when the tent flaps suddenly burst open. Moiraine’s fingers twitch. Egwene lets out a startled yelp and then tries to act as if she didn’t. Mat sits up slowly, still fanning himself. Rand stands in the tent entrance, the book clutched in his hand. His eyes flit over the room and he hones in on Mat, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. Moiraine doesn’t think she’s seen him smile in weeks—it looks lovely on him.

He says, in terrible pronunciation of the Old Tongue, “Ye mashi asa.”

Moiraine doesn’t have any trouble understanding that.

I love you.

Mat’s whole demeanor changes. He straightens, eyes widening, flushed, the corners of his lips curving up. He drops the hat, scrambles to his feet, and, grinning madly, drags Rand out of the tent.

Moiraine doesn’t see either of them again until dinnertime.

.

Bonus: What Mat Said

1. You look so beautiful in the firelight.

2. You are so far away from me now. I feel like I’m losing you.

3. Light, he’s so oblivious. It’s going to drive me insane.  (Although the literal translation of what I wrote is: Light, he is foolish. This makes my mind lost.)

Old Tongue translations from here

.

[shirtclad]

pairing: TIN x CAN series: Love by chance

;;( Had to post this for clousure purposes. This show is good until the last episode. Thought I’d fix it. ) 

Regret doesn’t hit him as quickly as some would think.

It does manage to bloom within the depths of his chest and it lodges itself heavily where his heart resides but the pain doesn’t come ’til much later. It starts as a dull throb while he’s standing where Tin had left him and, that night in bed, staring at the phone Tin himself had bought him, it causes his stomach to sink and confusion turns to sadness.

Why he doesn’t know. He’d been honest, he’d meant nothing but the best so, why did it feel like he’d swallowed rocks instead of being at peace with his decision?

The week carries on at a snail’s pace and Good’s monotone worry does nothing to reach him. It’s only at lunch, days later, that Pete comes to him.

“… Ai Can? “

Can had missed Pete’s greeting entirely. He’d been losing focus gradually and, with it, the usual boost of eagerness he seemed to show for anything and everything. Can’s hands bury themselves in messy hair and he gives a frustrated whine. Why did losing Tin feel like this? Why was he so invested in someone meant to be nothing more than a friend? Pete’s words are said gently, carefully even but that didn’t make them any less honest.

“ Ai Tin refuses to even say your name when I ask so I thought I’d come to you. He might not seem like it but I think you hurt his feelings… “

Pete trails off. He’s overstepping but, at the same time, it’s something Can needed to hear. While Pete was in the dark over just what had happened, he knows the key to resolving things lay with Can so, here he was. Can’s back goes rigid and that tells Pete he’s struck a nerve.

“ I said I’d be his friend! I begged him! “

And he’s facing Pete with such a tormented look on his face that it causes the IC student to pause, if only for a moment, before nodding gently, as if with those words, he understood it all.

“ Well, I don’t think you’d lose yourself over a casual friendship. I know Ai Tin would not. You’re similar in that way. “

And Can feels that empty space of confusion morph with Pete’s words. He’d asked for friendship, but he’d also asked for a kiss before then. He’d shamelessly held Tin’s hand while trying to force the premise of friendship on him with all his might. While Can’s lips had spoken one thing, his actions had conveyed a truth he wasn’t ready to accept.

He buries his face in his hands and Pete finds himself reaching to gently touch his shoulder. Can is sitting in the middle of the canteen on a hot weekday afternoon when he realizes he’s in love. Pete gently helps him to his feet and Can clings when tears begin to fall. Ae looks up from his own table but forces down his reflex to whisk Pete away. Can wasn’t a threat, at least not until he buries his face in Pete’s crisp, white shirt. Ae and Good quickly stand and usher a bawling Can away while Pete collects the footballer’s things before running to catch up.

***

He hits ‘replay’ for what had to be the hundredth time and watches the clip again. The chair rocks eerily and, like before, a woman’s ragged and demonic face appears. Tin’s once fond memory had turned bitter. The clip had been Can’s attempt at saying ‘Goodnight’. It had been one of the many steps they’d taken together, steps Tin had thought would lead to him getting what he wanted. He stares at the ghoulish woman and sees nothing but regret. Why hadn’t he accepted Can’s offer? Why had he let pride win out if it meant he’d lose the one person he actually cared for?

Because Tin had taken Can’s confusion and pleas for friendship as an utter betrayal.

Can had let him get invested, had let Tin buy him things and while that would be all it took to make him one of Tin’s most hated people, Tin’s heart refused to let go. While he felt defeated and raw there was an inkling of hope inside himself he just didn’t know how to squash. He can’t turn his back as easily as before, can’t turn around and make Can’s life a living hell even if he truly wanted to. Revenge would mean hurting Can and that wasn’t going to happen.

Tin gives a rough growl as he sits up in bed and flings his phone against the wall. The device is reduced to nothing but broken glass and warped metal and he leaves it be in favor of glaring at the wall. There’s a dent, small but noticeable. Another blemish Tin can’t fix in life. He shifts to stand when he hears the faint sound of his instant messenger go off. He pauses, suspicious, as he walks towards the laptop on his desk to see just who would message him this late in the afternoon.

He’s only half disappointed it’s Pete. He’s confused when, instead of writing, he sees a sound clip. It was very much unlike his friend to forgo writing a simple message in favor of a recording and Tin hesitantly clicks ‘play’.

At first, all he hears is the rustling of clothing which leads him to believe Pete had been hiding his phone as stealthily as he could. What he isn’t prepared for is the crying. It’s loud, a bit gross even, but when Can’s voice accompanies it? It makes him clench his fists. Pete is gently trying to calm the wailing freshman with Ae telling Can to ‘calm down already’ in the background.

“ I messed up! “

Tin feels his body go rigid as the cries turn to light sobbing as Can tries to speak.

“ I’m so stupid! I lied and everything! “

Pete gently points out that Can would have to explain what he meant. Tin leans in when there’s a pause in Can’s voice to allow a few sobs to escape before he presses on, sounding just a bit calmer.

“ I told Tin I didn’t love him but if this isn’t that then why does it hurt so bad Ai Pete? “

The clip cuts off after Can’s confession and Tin is left shaking in his seat. At first, he thinks it’s another bout of anger but he’s wrong. He feels himself rise out of his seat and practically trips over his feet to get to the door. Anger would cause him to lash out but right now all he wanted to do was talk to Can. He was done lashing out, done hiding his feelings when it was deemed inconvenient for everyone else.

He’d bare himself to Can one more time and, if he failed, he’d move forward.

***

They drop Can off at home in Pete’s car. It’s the middle of the day, no one would be home and Can could wallow in self-pity in peace. Can thanks his friends and drags himself up the stairs and into his bedroom. He lays in bed, eyes on his ceiling as he remembers just where he’d been the week before. With Tin, his hand on Tin’s neck and his lips against the other’s. It had felt good, hot and right and now he lay in bed with nothing. Can scrubs his hands over his face, body twisting and jerking as he gives a low cry at just how frustrated with himself he was.

Cantaloupe was no longer sweet but rotten.

Can huffs, tears making his eyes itch as they start up again only to be pulled from his thoughts and pity party by insistent knocks at his front door. Anger is quick to rear its head as Can bounds down the stairs, eyes wet as he rips his door open. He parts his lips to yell, to tell whoever that this wasn’t their home and they had no business pounding on his door when he stops. Tin meets his gaze and while he’d looked upset, it morphs to worry the second he takes in Can’s appearance. Tin steps forward, close enough for Can to feel the heat of his body when he speaks.

“ Let me in. “

At first, Can wants to refuse but he finds himself reaching to rest his hands on Tin’s shoulders. The feel of him is surreal and instead of answering Tin as he should, he tugs him forward, pulling the taller boy into a hug. Tin closes the door behind himself when they’ve made it inside and, only when its shut, does he pull away from Can’s embrace. He shifts and holds Can at arm’s length, his eyes stern yet, somehow, still soft as he asks Can the question he’d refused to hear out before.

“ Go out with me. “

And Can gives him that same look of confusion as before when he’d rejected him. Tin’s grip on Can’s arms tightens as he leans in, voice tight, commanding even.

“ Go out with me, Cantaloupe. “

And Can’s mouth moves without permission. He speaks without thinking but, this time, he’s more honest than he’s ever been.

“ Since I love you, I guess I will. “

Tin feels those words steal his breath away. Can is quiet but his actions speak louder than his words as he closes the gap between them and gently gives Tin’s lips a shy peck. All the words he’d never said, all the things he’d deemed too embarrassing to feel, let alone convey to Tin? It was like it had been said all at once. The fire inside Tin’s hollow chest comes back with a vengeance and he’s tugging Can closer, deepening the kiss. He doesn’t let him go as the smaller boy protests against him.

It’s a miracle they make it up the stairs, let alone Can’s room.

“ Ai Tin! “

And Can’s in a rather vulnerable position. His arms are above his head, hands pinned to the pillow as Tin leans in to trail his lips along his neck. Can gives a soft whimper when Tin begins to suck tender flesh and, when his hands are free, he buries them in Tin’s thick head of hair, biting his lips to keep quiet as Tin devours him.

***

Pond sighs. He’d picked a nice, shady patch of grass beneath a tree to sit on as he waits. Ae and Pete had gone for drinks.

“Knowing Ae they had to stop and fight for Pete’s honor. “

Pond snorts at the thought. Ai Shorty would fight the world if it dares harm Ai Pete. It was sweet, a bit twisted but it suited Ae’s personality. Pond then suddenly spots Can near another nearby tree and cups his hands around his mouth to call the other over before he almost swallows his tongue in shock.

Tin walks up, taking one of the drinks Can had in hand, and he smiles as Can pouts. He says something Pond can’t make out when Can rolls his eyes and, gently, presses a kiss to Tin’s cheek. Pond thinks it’s a mistake, that Can has lost his mind, or worse, a bet, but Tin turns his head to catch Can’s lips with his own and it’s like the world around them doesn’t matter. It’s soft and gentle and Pond’s loud cheer is the only thing that breaks it up.

“ Oi CAN! You landed a big fish too, didn’t you buddy?!”

Can ducks his head as Tin wraps an arm around his shoulder and, glaring in Pond’s direction, leads his boyfriend away.

[dont-leav-eme]

Insecure

An angsty TinCan fanfiction

Can felt pin pricks hit his eyes, as he watched Tin and Pete from a far. The two looked so good together, Can gulped.He hated the way Tin looked at Pete, his eyes were so gentle, how could they not be. Pete was pastel colours. Soft, pretty and totally sweet. Can was like fluorestant, far far to bright. And would hurt Tins eyes if he looked to long at him.

Just then Good came to Can side, he gently pat Can sweaty shoulder. Leading to Can to sigh softly.

‘Oh Ai Good, Why do I care so much about this?’

‘Can...what...is..this????’ Good replied with his usually slow tempo of speech. It reminded him of Tins slow heart beat when he rested his head on Tins well built chest.

Why doesn’t his heart beat as fast as mine?

‘Oiiiiii!’ Can shook himself like a dog and pointed at the sight of Tin and Pete studying together.

‘Your....boyfriend...is....just...studying?’

‘But he’s with Pete!’ And he looks at him like he’s the whole world.

Good just looked even more confused, his black hair blowing in the wind. Can studied his face, he felt so frustrated, even Good would be a better fit for Tin. Handsome face, quiet. God what was Tin doing with a boy like Can???

‘Whatever I’m going to the toliet!’ Can rushed off, stomping in to the bathroom, looking at his face in the mirror. He frowned. He looked like a kid, a dumb stupid kid with a bad hair cut. Not a man who could take out one of the most rich teenager of Bangkok. A man who could kiss that same teenager, make that teenager moan his own name. Sex with Tin felt unreal, it was unreal that Tin wanted to be that close to someone like him.

Can left the bathroom with a huff.

He felt a hand grab his wrist, a large hand, smooth to the touch. Can hated that touch, that touch made him feel weak, and he didn’t want to seem weak in front of him. Without hesitation Tin pulled Can in to his strong arms.

‘I missed you.’ Tin breathed in to Cans shoulder

Yeah, missed what? Cans annoying noises or Cans clumsiness?

‘Hmmmm’ Can said, he loosed himself from Tins grip.

‘You could see me, but you always seem so busy with Pete.’ Damn Can thought, he wish he could stop his motor mouth.

Tin looked in his eyes. A small smile appearing on his lips.

‘You’re jealous, eh Cantaloupe?’

Can felt his chest tighten, a hot steam seemed to hit the bottom of his stomach.

Why did Tin do that? Giggle at Can? Aren’t boyfriends meant to be sweet?

‘No!’ Can said, too quickly. He suddenly wanted to hide, hide away from Tins smile, hide away from Tins soft inviting lips and his all knowing eyes.

‘ I have stuff to do,bye!’ Can said quickly again, he nearly tripped over himself to get away from the older man.

‘ Can-‘ Tin called after him but Can pretended not to hear him.

-Time Skip-

Tin stood outside his car, waiting for the smaller excited boy. He wondered what was fully wrong with the boy. His cold edged face didn’t show it, but he was shaken to his core. He’d only been dating Can for a couple of months, but he felt like he was walking on the worlds thinnest glass. He didn’t derserve someone so sweet, who smiles lit up the whole world. What if this is it, he thought, that Can would see what Tin was, a stupid broken boy. And break his heart. It would hurt more then last time because he’d already had a taste of the boy.

And when Can walked up to Tin, a stromy look in his eyes, Tin opened his car door. Might as well get this over with.

The two sat quietly. It was unusual for Can.

‘Ai Tin...’ Can said at first and trailed off.

‘Hmmmm’ Tin braced himself for the blow, he shut his eyes waiting for the break up to come but instead

‘ Why do you like me?’ Can asked. The question came out all in one breath.

‘ you help me breathe.’ Tin replied his response automatic.

Can gave a whine ‘ No, Ai Tin, don’t talk in riddles, I mean ‘ he paused ‘ Looks wise’

Tin raised an eyebrow. He turned to face Can. He had seen this face in so many different emotions, hurt, happiness, wild laughter, smugness and of course absolute pleasure.

‘ Oh Can’ he ruffelled his hair ‘ I like everything, I like it your eyes, they are so bright I feel I’m being so blinded, I like your smile, I can’t describe the feelings I have when you smile at me Cantaloupe, ‘

‘Ah,Ai Tin don’t use that na-‘ Tin stopped him with a finger to his lips.

‘ You asked me a question, don’t interrupt me; I like how your ears go red when you blush, like they are doing now, I like your dark hair, it’s soft. Your fringe it’s so cute, you look so young. You are so cute. I like your body, I like how slim and small you are, but you are so strong it’s hot when you grab me, it makes me feel so wanted...’ Tin didn’t even know what he saying at this point but he couldn’t stop, his mouth felt like a run away train.

‘ I like that mole on the back of your neck, its like a little button, and your hands , your hands are so small, so soft, so gentle.’ He grabed Cans hand for effected and kissed it softly.

Can gulped as Tins eyes landed on his face. He replayed the sentenses over and over in his mind. His face was burning. 

‘If you feel all that, why do you spend all your time without me, why do you not touch me that much anymore, am I just a stand for Ai Pete, I always see you with him, you better not be making things for him and Ae difficult!’ He knew he was being stupid, but he couldn’t help it, his mind told him not to believe the things that Tin said about him. 

‘Do you not trust me, Can?’ Tin asked a steely quality in his voice ‘After all that, you don’t believe me, why don’t you believe me?’ 

Can was thrown by Tin edge in his voice. 

‘Ai Tin! I don’t understand, its all so complex, why does it feel so easy and so complex at the same time, why is someone like you with someone,’Can couldn’t help it, he felt the pin prick of tears in his eyes ‘with someone like me? I don’t believe you can’ He felt the tears roll down his cheek ‘c-c-an feel like that towards me, to s-s-see me -like t-t-that,’ Can felt his protective walls fall, the ones that kept him so happy and unthinking, ones that hid his deep self loathing. ‘Pete looks be-b-etter with y-y-you, I-i’m’

He then felt Tin go towards him, he hugged him. He pated Can softly, trying to calm him down.

‘Can, its okay, look Im sorry, I promise you, I promise you, its you. You are never a stand in, Pete isn’t ever going to get between us, I promise. I’m sorry, its the exams, I really need to do well. and you are so distracting, I know if I study with you, I’ll touch you and If I touch you a lot, I’ll not be able to stop till your sore’

‘Ai Tin!’ Can hit his arm softly, but he was at least smiling now.

‘How long have you felt like this?’ Tin asked

‘Long time’ Can mummbled in to Tins shoulder

‘Why didn’t you tell me about this?’

Can hiccuped, his voice shaking still ‘ I didn’t want to burden you with it, you are so strong Ai Tin’ he looked in to Tins shining eyes. ‘You’ve been through so much, I just wanna be your sunshine.’

‘You are’ Tin said ‘do you know how scared I am that you will lose interest in me, everytime I see you, and I don’t want you too, nothing in my life has ever made me this happy.’

Can looked at the older man, sitting in the car next to him. He had a way with words, Can wondered where he learnt how to spoke this way.

‘I always want to make you happy’

And with that Tin started his car, smiling softly. And if Tin had asked Can what he liked about Tins looks, he would say his smile, the one where Tins eyes shut slightly. But it would be a while until Can could tell Tin that.

[tommyvelvet]

Repeating Days - Tom Holland

A/N: I was talking to a guy who I really liked for about a month when he says he is talking to another girl he likes more and we could just be friends. This made me in the mood for a cheating fic since he chose her over me and I was quite sad. Anyway I have loved this song since it came out and I have always wanted to write a fic based on it but I was never in the mood for it until now. I am really proud of it and it was really long since I wrote a Tom fic so I hope you enjoy. xx

Song: Repeating days by R5 (one of my favorite songs, I highly recommend)

Word Count: 1628

Warnings: Angst, Cheating, sort of Happy Ending

Summary: You walk in on Tom kissing another girl...

You are walking up the stairs to Tom's apartment. You finished at work and just want to cuddle up with your boyfriend on the couch, putting on a good movie.

You use the spare key Tom gave you to unlock the front door. You open it and walk in. You walk around the corner to the kitchen because Tom is most likely cooking dinner at this hour.

Although, Tom is not alone in the kitchen. He is standing with his arms wrapped around another girl and they are… kissing.

You feel your heart drop to your stomach and suddenly you feel incredibly sick. Your heart is breaking into pieces and you cannot help the sob which escapes your lips.

When the pair hear you they quickly break apart and turn to look a you.

“Y/N!” Tom says surprised and quickly shoves the girl in his arms away from him. He takes two steps closer to you and you take two steps back. “It's not what it looks like. I promise,” he pleads, a distraught look on his face.

You frown and look at Tom incredulously. “You really expect me to believe that?” you scoff.

“Please darling, it was a mistake. It means nothing. You are the only one for me,” Tom pleads. “I love you.”

You swing your hand and slap Tom right on his cheek, making his head turn.

“Don't!” You say sternly. You want to cry but you are too angry to let the tears fall right now. “We're done.”

You turn around and walk straight out the door, ignoring Tom calling your name after you. When you get to your car, you get in and drive home.

The drive feels the longest it has ever felt and your heart feels empty. So empty. Like Tom had reached into your chest and ripped it out with his hands and now you have left it with him for him to keep.

When you step into your apartment you cannot hold the tears in any longer. You let out a sob and slide down the wall of your hallway. You cover your face with your hands and lean your forehead on your knees as you cry out your heartbreak.

You keep reliving the kiss you witnessed in your mind over and over again like a broken record and it makes you sob ever harder. You cannot believe Tom would do this to you. You were planning on spending the rest of your lives together. You had even talked about getting married and having children for christ sake. And what does Tom do? He throws all that away for a goddamn affair.

Your sobbing has calmed down and there are now just silent tears rolling down your cheeks. You stand up slowly from the floor and take off your coat. You walk into the apartment and see all of the pictures of you and Tom hanging on the walls and you just snap.

You grab the closest picture frame on the wall with a photo of you and Tom from the christmas party last year. You were standing in front of the christmas tree, under the mistletoe and Harry had managed to sneak a photo of you when you kissed. The picture used to bring you great joy and now it only brought you misery. You raised your hand and threw the frame on the floor, smashing the glass to pieces, just like Tom did your heart.

You pick up picture frame after picture frame and throw them to the floor and you feel yourself begin to sob again.

Eventually your floor is covered in glass and broken pictures. You sit down on the couch, still sobbing. You look through your tears at the aftermath of your break down and feel completely. Utterly. Destroyed.

It has been three days and you have not left your bed. Almost. You only walk up to go to the bathroom and drink water but you refuse to eat or shower. You even left all the glass on the floor in your living room, not having the energy to clean it up.

You keep hearing Tom's voice in your head repeating what he said before you left his apartment.

It was a mistake. Yeah, right.

It's not what it looks like. It was exactly what it looked like.

You are the only one for me. Obviously not.

I promise. Don't promise things you can't keep.

It means nothing. Not from the way you were kissing that girl.

I love you. Apparently not enough.

You feel numb. You do not know what to do anymore.

Your phone has been blowing up with messages and missed calls from Tom trying to apologise, and Harrison and Harry who are worried about where you are and why you are not answering. You turned your phone off the day after 'the incident' and has not turned it back on since. You feel incredibly depressed and do not want to talk to anybody right now.

Unfortunately the world is not on your side right now.

There is a knock on your front door and you sighs. You remain in your position on the bed, buried under your blankets, not planning on answering. You hope whoever it is knocking will leave eventually.

They don't.

It has been twenty minutes and every so often there is a series of knocks coming from the hallway. You thought you could ignore it but you have finally had enough and lift the blankets to crawl out of your bed. You put on your shoes and open your bedroom door.

You walk through your apartment with a scowl on your face, not caring you are stepping on the glass with your shoes. When you get to the door you unlock it and throw it open, too annoyed to check who it is through the peephole on the door. All your annoyance is washed away when you see who is standing before you and it is replaced with heartbreak.

You are standing face to face with Tom.

“Hi,” Tom says. He looks like absolute shit. You are sure you look worse than Tom but he is close. Tom eyes are red and he has terrible dark circles. His hair looks like a birds nest and shame is emanating from his whole being.

You do not bother answering because all you can think about is how much you want to hold Tom in your arms and you hate it. It is like Tom brought your heart back with him and being close to him makes you want to be with him again.

“How are you?” Tom asks.

“I'm fine,” you lie.

“Really?” Tom looks down at his shoes

“Yeah. I'll find someone new eventually.”

Tom looks up at you with a look that means he does not believe a word you are saying but he does not say anything.

Why? Why does Tom have this effect on you? Why can't you help but love him when Tom left you so broken? It's not fair.

Your eyes well up with tears and you let out a sob. You cover your mouth with your hand, looking down to the floor and closing your eyes. You can hear Tom close the door and suddenly you are enveloped in a tight hug. You sob in the crook of Tom's neck and your hands grabs the back of his hoodie.

“I'm so sorry I hurt you,” Tom says and threads his fingers in your hair, gently caressing your head.

“Why?” you sob and more tears escape your eyes.

“I don't know for sure but I think I did it because I feel inadequate and not good enough for my job. Or you,” Tom confesses with a broken voice.

“I want to hate you,” you say when your sobbing has calmed down and you lean back enough to look Tom in the eyes. “But I can't.”

“I regret what I did more than anything and I would do anything to take it back,” Tom says sincerely.

More tears runs down your face when you blink and Tom uses his thumbs to wipe them away.

“You're a real arsehole, you know that right?” you say and Tom nods.

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“But I still love you and I wish I didn't, but I can't help it.” your voice cracks slightly. “I can't live without you.”

“I can't live without you either,” Tom says and a single tear escapes his eye.

You lean in presses your lips together. It is an emotional kiss, full of heartbreak, shame, regret, sorrow, love and forgiveness. The kiss tastes of tears and Tom. He cups your cheeks gently and deepens the kiss. Your grip on Tom's hoodie tightens and you feel overwhelmed by all the emotions.

You break apart and stand there, in each other's embrace, for a long moment. You are the one who breaks the silence.

“We need to talk about us,” you say and just as Tom is about to comment you continue. “But not tonight. Tonight we cuddle and you will not leave my side until the morning.”

“Anything you want,” Tom says as you take his hand and begin to drag him towards the bedroom. Tom does not say anything about the broken glass and picture frames covering the living room floor and you are grateful for it. You lay down together in your bed under the blankets and cuddle up against each other.

Your heart is just as broken as before but you know it will be easier to heal with Tom beside you than doing it alone. Right now you just want to cherish the feeling of Tom's body against yours and it is not long until both of you fall asleep.

Tag list: @agirlwithpointlessideas @sidespidey @desir-ae