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musette22 · 4 years

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You Make My Heart Skip A Beet

You Make My Heart Skip a Beet

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes (Stucky)

Word count: 3.8k

Rating: Teen and Up

A/N: Based on this lovely prompt by @greyhoundsgirl. I have to be honest here, I’ve never actually seen Top Chef though so I thought it would be safer to make up a new fictional amateur cooking competition which I’ve titled Chef Wars :p

No warnings to speak of, apart from maybe for awful food puns, but it is a bit of a cracky piece, and it’s in Sam POV (poor guy). Hope you enjoy!! 💗 Huge thanks to the amazing @rainbowsandcoconut for brainstorming, food puns and awesome beta’ing, as usual 😘

Read on AO3

Summary:

“I made soda bread.”

Steve lets out the 6’2” supersoldier equivalent of a squeak. “Oh, I love soda bread,” he says eagerly, rolling forward on the balls of his feet like he does when he gets excited. “My mom used to make it all the time when I was growing up.”

The tips of Barnes’s ears turn red, and he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I know.”

****************************

When Sam and Steve had first been approached about being guest judges on an Avengers-themed special of Chef Wars, they’d spent a full fifteen minutes jumping around the common room in the Tower like a pair of overgrown kids on a sugar high.

Guest judges. On Chef Wars.

It so happens that Sam and Steve watch Chef Wars religiously. In fact, Steve even mentioned this in passing in one or two of his more recent interviews when asked how Captain America likes to spend his downtime, which is probably how the show’s executives had thought to invite them in the first place.

Sam’s love for cooking and cooking shows was passed down to him by his mother Darlene, and he, in turn, passed it on to Captain America – though if you’d told ten-year-old Sam that, he would’ve thought you were nuts. Poor Steve isn’t exactly the culinary sort of guy himself, but once Sam started turning up on his doorstep three nights a week to keep him company and make sure he didn’t sink further into depression, he’d slowly started to enjoy the shows Sam insisted on watching with him. Sam figured the familiarity of the actions and the low stakes of an amateur cooking competition would be perfectly suited to someone trying to integrate into a new century, while still being just exciting enough to hold the attention of an adrenaline junkie like Steve.

And he was right. So now, every Thursday night, the two of them chill on Steve’s couch, yelling at the TV and pretending they‘d do a better job of it than the contestants. Which, to be fair, Sam probably would, but Steve decidedly would not. What Steve lacks in culinary skills, though, he more than makes up for with his crazy supersoldier metabolism, rivaled only by the Other Guy and sometimes Thor, once he’s cracked open the mead. Steve can eat, and he does so with relish.

So needless to say, when they got the invite, they’d both jumped at the chance. Who wouldn’t, when presented with the opportunity to do the thing they did every Thursday night for funsies, but this time for realsies? And after weeks of giddy anticipation, today is finally the day.

Filming day.

The whole thing had gotten off to an excellent start. The sun was shining, Steve had actually been whistling on their way to the studio instead of nervously drumming his fingers on the dashboard (something which got on Sam’s nerves like nothing else), and they’d been offered some quality Italian espresso when they arrived. The show got on the road as soon as they’d gotten a quick tour of the studio, and after lights, camera, action, the contestants were introduced one by one.

There is Bernadette, a Missouri housewife who turned out to be somewhat of a BBQ expert and who reminds Sam of his Aunt Jenna; there’s Bob, a big, burly dude from Kentucky who wouldn’t look amiss on a Pro Wrestling show but who ends up surprising them all with a surprisingly delicate edible flower-dish dedicated to his lovely wife; and Yulia, a tiny, fierce girl from Bulgaria with some mean knife skills who Sam suspects could very well be a distant relative of Natasha’s.

And then there’s Bucky Barnes.

Bucky Barnes is a thirty-one-year-old physical therapist from Brooklyn who’s looking to change careers and get into the restaurant business full time. He has that whole hipster vibe going on: long, meticulously conditioned chestnut hair in a messy top knot, designer stubble, sleeve of – admittedly awesome – tattoos on his left arm. His cool, blue eyes and sharp cheekbones give him a model-like appearance, and yet there’s something soft and disarming about him.

Steve certainly seems to think so, at least.

The moment Barnes came walking through those glass doors, Sam heard Steve suck in a sharp breath at his side. A quick glance at Steve’s slack-jawed expression told Sam all he needed to know, since the dude is about as subtle as a sledgehammer. He’d elbowed Steve in the side until he looked over and pretended to wipe some drool from the corner of his mouth. Steve’s eyes went wide as he hastily mirrored the movement, missing the joke by about fifty yards. Oh, boy.

From that moment onward, Steve’s brain seemed to have gone through a blender, turning it into a rainbow smoothie – which was pretty unfortunate, considering they were going to have to interact with the contestants in a way that was suitable for daytime television.

The thing is, Steve is not exactly what you’d call a people person at the best of times. He’s fine with someone he’s known for a while and feels comfortable with, but with strangers he’s just… a little awkward. Credit where credit’s due, Steve is one of the most loyal, sweet, funny and whip-smart guys Sam has ever known – and let’s not forget stubborn as hell – but he’s also very, very bad at social cues. It’s not his fault, of course. Steve had gone from growing up pretty isolated without any real friends to speak of, to suddenly spending years surrounded only by his army buddies, which wasn’t at all representative for how normal people interacted with each other (Sam knows this from experience).

While Steve’s many social faux-pas are an endless source of entertainment for Sam, he’s not a total asshole, and he has tried to help Steve practice his social skills. Unfortunately, giving him well-meaning advice like “just be yourself” seems to be a sure-fire way to ensure Steve will put his foot in his mouth somehow.

That’s why Steve prefers to put on his Cap persona for public interactions. When he’s Captain America instead of Steve Rogers, all he has to do is look commanding and sort of friendly and say bland things like “I’m very happy to be here” and “You did well, son” and no one would be any the wiser that beneath that righteous exterior, Steve was floundering and wondering when he could reasonably leave whatever social engagement Pepper had sweet-talked him into attending, and head home to the comfort of his armchair and his sketchbook.

For today’s engagement, Steve had wisely adopted this approach as well, and the fact that he was genuinely excited to be there helped to loosen him up a little – so really, it should’ve all been fine.

But then Bucky Barnes from Brooklyn walked into the room and turned his big, blue eyes in Steve’s direction, and Steve promptly seemed to forget who or what a Captain America even was.

So far, Steve has already missed his cue twice, and it’s taken Sam stepping on his toes to get him to focus. To be fair, though, Steve puts in a valiant effort to pull himself together, managing to ooh and aah in all the right places when talking to the other candidates – sheer dumb luck, if you ask Sam. But as Steve’s best friend and confidante, Sam sees right through it. He hasn’t missed the way Steve’s gaze keeps drifting in Barnes’ direction, and coupled with the blush creeping up the back of Steve’s neck whenever Barnes’s eyes meet his, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Cap has got himself a Manhattan-sized crush.

Now, most people probably aren’t aware that Captain America is also attracted to men, but Sam has a feeling that by the end of this episode, that cat will be most definitely out of the closet. Steve’s never purposely hid his sexuality; it was more of a question of it never having come up yet. It sure as hell has come up now.

And what makes this even better is that Barnes is just as bad. He stuttered his way through his introduction, very obviously starstruck at meeting Captain America, but also very obviously gay as hell for him, if the way his eyes lingered on Steve’s chest and thighs is any indication. Sam, for his part, is incredibly amused by it all. Not only does he get to be on the set of his favorite cooking show, he also gets to rib Steve, throwing in as many food puns as he possibly can – most of which go over Steve’s head because he’s too busy drooling over Barnes. Sam’s wit is wasted on his friends.

Then, it’s time to judge. In the first round, the contestants are supposed to make something which represents why they got into cooking in the first place.

Sam can feel Steve practically vibrate with nerves at his side as they walk up to Barnes’ station. Feeling magnanimous, Sam decides to have mercy on his muscly pal and take the lead on this one.

“Mr. Barnes,” he says, giving Barnes an encouraging smile. “Tell us about your dish, if you please.”

“Call me Bucky,” Barnes says, returning the gesture with a quick quirk of his lips.

Next to him, Steve repeats the name in a whisper, most likely unaware that he’s even doing it.

Sam has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking.

*****

Bucky’s confessional

“I grew up in Brooklyn, as the eldest of five kids. My dad left when I was fifteen, and while I was still in school, my mom had to work three jobs to provide for us all. She wasn’t home much, so it was kind of up to me to make sure dinner was on the table most nights.”

Bucky plucks at the seam of his black skinny jeans, lost in thought. “I think that’s why my specialty is comfort food. Nothing unnecessary, just hearty, nutritious food, y’know?” With a tilt of his head, he adds, “Although since all my siblings moved into their own places I’ve been cooking mostly for myself and my cat, so I’ve been experimenting with adding some twists to my tried and tested recipes.” He laughs, right hand clasping the back of his neck in a bashful gesture. “I’ve had… mixed success. Luckily Alpine has loved all of it. She’s my cat.”

“My first dish today is Irish soda bread with sage butter and Himalayan sea salt,” Bucky continues. “Bread was something we could never have enough of in our household. Five growing kids, y’know? And also, um...” A slight blush creeps its way onto Bucky’s cheeks, his eyes flitting around nervously. “Well, I guess you could say I used to be a bit of a history nerd growing up. I was super interested in World War II, particularly, uh, Captain America.” His blush deepens, spreading upwards from the neckline of his white t-shirt to the tips of his pierced ears.

“I, uh, I basically read every Steve Rogers biography I could get my hands on, which is why I learned to make things like soda bread because, y’know, Steve Rogers was Irish. Is Irish,” he corrects himself. Bucky’s eyes glaze over, taking on a faraway look. “Man, I couldn’t believe it when Cap was found a few years ago,” he marvels, “and alive. I don’t think I slept for a week after I found out.” He stares into space for a moment before shaking himself. He clears his throat, eyes refocusing on the person behind the camera. “Anyway, so when I heard that Chef Wars was doing an Avengers-themed special, I immediately applied because Steve – Cap, I mean- Captain America. Um. Yeah, so Cap mentioned in a few of his interviews that he watches Chef Wars, so I figured there would be a good chance he’d be watching this one too, you know? And then I got the email that I’d been selected and that he was going to be the one judging us, and I just…” Bucky trails off, looking a little faint, the blood draining from his face as quickly as it had risen.

“God, I just can’t believe I’ll finally get to see him in the flesh.” His eyes widen. “In person, I mean," he hastily amends. "And I’m excited about my dishes too, of course. I really hope Cap will like them. And the Falcon. Him, too. Yeah.”

*****

“I made soda bread.”

The tips of Barnes’s ears turn red, and he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I know.”

When Steve puts a piece of bread into his mouth and chews slowly, he sniffs, eyes turning a little watery. “It tastes exactly like my mom’s,” he says in a hushed voice, sounding like he can’t quite believe his taste buds. Sam pats Steve’s back consolingly, before scooping up some sage butter with his own piece of bread and taking an enthusiastic bite.

“Hmm, nice,” he says, giving Barnes an appreciative nod. “And the butter? You make that yourself, too?”

“You butter believe it,” Barnes replies, then immediately looks horrified, like he can’t believe he made a pun that bad on national television.

Sam cackles, holding out his fist for Barnes to bump. When Barnes has recovered enough to return the gesture with his left hand, Steve stares longingly at their touching hands, before letting his gaze trail over the tattoos on Barnes’ exposed forearm. Since he's not exactly subtle about it, Barnes catches him looking and gives Steve a tentative smile when their eyes meet. Steve chokes on absolutely nothing and launches into an impromptu coughing fit. “Crumbs,” he wheezes, thumping a massive fist on his massive chest, “wrong pipe.”

Sam just smirks at him, before turning back to Barnes. “That was delicious,” he tells him. “Can’t wait for your next dish, man.”

“Really, really, good,” Steve chimes in once he’s caught his breath. “Well done, Bucky.”

Barnes goes as red as a tomato, eyes trained on the floor as he awkwardly shifts from foot to foot. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Steve, please,” Steve implores.

Barnes bites his lip, looking up at Steve through his lashes. “Thanks, Steve.”

Sam's pretty sure Steve stops breathing altogether right then. Christ, it’s like there’s an electrical current running between the two of them, the air crackling with it. Thunderbolts and lighting, very very nauseating.

Sam claps his hands. “Right,” he says loudly, “moving on to the next contestant now… Yulia, what have you prepared for us?”

*****

By the time the second round rolls around, Steve has had a series of meltdowns and Sam has spent precious time he could’ve been exploring the set and taking pics for his mom on talking Steve out of a bathroom stall. Damn, he’s a good friend. It takes all of Sam’s VA-honed therapist skills to convince Steve that he’s doing fine, he’s not embarrassing himself, and no one but Sam has noticed Steve’s massive heart boner for Barnes yet. Sam actually isn’t entirely positive about that last one – or the first two for that matter – but Steve doesn’t need to know that. There are still two rounds to go.

In the second round, contestants are asked to make a dish that represents who they are as a person.

While the contestants are cooking up a metaphorical storm, Sam and Steve walk around their stations to chat with everyone some more, camera crew on their heels. Steve manages to get out at least three complete sentences, and Bernadette and Bob are too in awe of him to notice the few times he says something that doesn’t actually make any sense. Yulia has given no indication that she even knows who either of them are, and Sam can practically feel the relief radiating off of Steve. He guesses that’s part of why he and Natasha get on so well.

When they round on Barnes’ station, Barnes has just started seasoning his dish. There’s a checkered dishcloth slung over his right shoulder and a focused look on his face, which turns into one of low-key stress the moment he spots Steve and Sam coming towards him. Leaning his hip against the counter, Sam settles in to watch Steve make a fool of himself. He's not disappointed.

“Wow,” Steve says inanely, gesturing in the direction of Barnes’ hands. “That’s- you’re- you’re really good at that.”

Barnes pauses his turning of the peppermill to give Steve a slightly panicked look. “At… grinding?”

At Steve’s strangled cough, Barnes seems to realize what he just said, his bewildered expression morphing into one of abject mortification. The poor guy looks like he’d very much like the ground to swallow him whole right about now.

Honestly, these two deserve each other.

When they've finished chatting to everyone and it’s time to taste, Barnes is asked to explain his dish and how it represents him. He seems to have pulled himself together somewhat since their last encounter, his stance a little more confident now and his eyes only drifting to Steve’s pecs every other sentence.

“I’m a simple guy,” he tells them, somehow managing to make it sound genuine instead of cliché. “I enjoy the little things in life. I like taking care of people, making them feel good and comfortable, and I think that’s reflected in my cooking. I enjoy making comfort food, the hale and hearty stuff.” He licks his lips, meaningfully adding, “Although, don’t get me wrong. I do indulge occasionally. I’ve got my guilty pleasures same as everyone else, y'know?” That last part is directed at Steve, who nods dazedly, like he knows exactly what Barnes means. Gross.

“So I guess you could say you’re just… arugula guy?” Sam grins, cheerfully ignoring the growing sexual tension.

Barnes stares at him for a beat, and then snorts. “You know what?” he says, returning Sam's grin, “the s’more I get to know you, the s’more I like you.”

Sam has a very real moment where he thinks he might actually fall in love with this guy himself. It’s only Steve’s doe-eyed look that keeps him from proposing to Barnes there and then. Okay, and maybe the fact that Barnes is clearly smitten with Steve, and also Sam is straight and very happily dating Nat, who would not hesitate to gut him if he decided to elope with some pasty hipster dude.

Barnes’ dish – mac and cheese with black truffle and locally sourced cheeses and fancy cuts of bacon – is mouthwateringly good, and Sam tells him as much. Using appropriate words to do so. You know, like a normal person.

Steve, on the other hand, moans loudly around his bite and then, mouth still full, he blurts, “That’s exactly what I thought you’d taste like.”

In the painfully awkward silence that follows, Steve and Barnes blush so hard the combined heat of their flaming cheeks could probably power most of New York City. This time, Sam can’t contain his laughter. He crows as he gleefully slaps his thighs, and even some of the crew is hiding having a hard time staying professional in the face of such blatant dumbassery.

Shaking his head, Sam grabs Steve by the bicep and herds him towards the backroom. “Come on, Casanova,” he says. “Let’s get you some ice for those burns.”

*****

For dessert, Barnes goes all out.

He actually makes Captain America cake pops, shaped and decorated like Steve’s shield with blue, red and white frosting. Steve’s eyes almost bug out of his head when he sees them. Barnes explains how they’re “sort of an adult version” of normal cake pops, which makes Sam raise an eyebrow. He’s been on the internet. He unfortunately has seen adult versions of all kinds of Captain America paraphernalia. Fortunately, Barnes just means that his cake pops have some sort of liquor in the center, “for a punch, you know?”

The starry-eyed look Steve gives Barnes clearly conveys just how clever he thinks that is, and Sam surreptitiously rolls his eyes. No game whatsoever, either of them.

“I’ve never had a cake pop before,” Steve says, carefully picking up one of the treats and inspecting it curiously.

“Oh,” Barnes says, blinking at him. “Well, normally you’d eat them in one go, but these are a bit bigger than usual because of the shape of the shield, so you probably won’t be able to fit -”

The rest of his sentence sort of peters off into a stunned silence as Steve proceeds to stick a whole-ass giant cake pop in his mouth in one go, letting out an appreciative grunt as he chews and then swallows.

Barnes’s mouth goes slack. “Oh my god,” he breathes, his eyes glazing over, and Sam cracks up. Again.

The cake pops are actually surprisingly good, despite their garish (sorry, Steve) appearance, and then it’s time to retreat and deliberate. As was to be expected, Steve has a crisis of conscience.

“I can’t vote for him just because he made my mom’s soda bread and he practically raised his baby sisters by himself and he cooks for his cat and he has pretty eyes, Sam!” he laments, voice muffled into his massive forearms. Sam makes the filming crew promise not to air this bit. It takes some doing, but finally Sam manages to convince Steve that Barnes’s food was simply the best. Better than all the rest. He even does a little Tina impression to get his point across, and that seems to do it.

When they announce the winner, Barnes smiles so wide it transforms his whole face and makes Steve melt into a puddle of Gü.

Sam has to nudge Steve again to get him to say his line, since he’s too busy mooning over Barnes to notice the autocue changing. “Ah, yes!” Steve says loudly. “First prize is a substantial sum of money, sponsored by Tony Stark, which we hope will go towards opening your own restaurant–"

“… and a weekend stay at Avengers Tower, also sponsored by Tony!”

Steve’s head whips around to him in surprise. Sam winks at him. “Including a private tour of the premises by none other than Captain America himself. Isn’t that right, Steven?”

A beat of silence, and then Steve.exe starts back up. "Right,” he nods, drawing out the word. “Yes. That’s right.” Sam pats his arm. Good man.

Stepping forward, Steve takes Barnes’ hand and shakes it slowly. “Congratulations, Bucky. I look forward to seeing you again soon," he says, adding, after a quick, bracing inhale, “and maybe when you visit, I can make my mom’s stew for you? If- if you like?”

Sam feels a surge of pride. Look at Steve go, being something almost in the vicinity of smooth.

Barnes laps it up, beaming at Steve. “I’d really love that,” he says in a low voice, still holding Steve's hand. “I’m sure you’re delicious.” His eyes widen. “It’s delicious. The stew – not- not-" Abruptly, Barnes stops babbling, then seems to come to a decision. “Oh, fuck it,” he mutters, and pulls Steve towards him, crashing their mouths together in a scorching kiss.

Over the noise of the assembled crowd's whoops and cheers, Sam gleefully calls, “And that, my friends, is a wrap!”

#stucky #stevebucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #shrunkyclunks #meet cute #fluff #top chef #chef bucky barnes #my fic #my writing #ao3 #sam wilson pov

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butwhatifidothis · 3 years

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Damn, does the writers waste Claude's potential. How about his support with Ingrid? Someone who has the crest his advisor shares the last name with, and part of a family that broke off from the Alliance to the Kingdom. The same Kingdom that the nobles wanted independence from? Or, how about gauging her xenophobia, since his main goal is to bridge both of his heritages, and maybe use the other foreign nations as stepping stones as ridding prejudices? No, just inferior Sylvain/Ingrid? Damn it all.

...Alrighty there anon you had me checkin’ my drafts to make sure I didn’t accidentally post the thing I’m workin’ on rn because it’s all about Claude’s wasted potential lmao had me sweatin’.

Got long so under the cut

But yeah, Claude’s supports with Ingrid are some of my least favorite in the game because of the big flashing opportunity IntSys had to make Ingrid’s hatred for Duscurians something more than a “ahh let’s just have one support deal with this, I’m sure only Dedue would have any problem with this”. Dimitri is also fine with his childhood friend hating another close friend of his just because of their race, I guess. I get it, you don’t want a repeat of FEA/Fates where a character has That One Trait that keeps getting brought up in nearly every support convo, but like... this is kinda big?? Ingrid has supports with two of the biggest opponents of discriminatory thought, one of them directly related to the people she hates, and it’s just... never brought up by either of them.

The only reason I give the Dimitri/Ingrid supports a pass somewhat is because what we get is still interesting, but my god her supports with Claude are just... bland. Uninteresting. The same basic “You act too much like [x] you should be [y]/Nooo wait you were better as [x] you’re fine the way you are” shtick with barely any twist or originality whatsoever.

To spoil some of that post I’m doing, I was thinking that this is actually a perfect opportunity to see some hints of Almyra’s culture? Hear me out: Claude says that cringey “You should smile more” line (after re-working it to be less... so demeaning - Claude is rarely so blatantly rude so it’s always felt strange to see that here, it’s like the writers forgot they weren’t writing Sylvain sometimes in this support) and Ingrid reacts the same way as she does, but instead of Ingrid continuing on from that, have Claude... be confused. Have that saying be cringey and demeaning to Fodlani people, but not Almyrans. Have him say something like “Whoa, did I say something wrong?” and genuinely mean it. Have Ingrid be mad and go along the lines of “Oh, you know what you said, don’t even try to play stupid!” but Claude’s just like... what.

Because look, the guy’s only been in Fodlan for a year! And it seems like most of that time was spent in some form of politics - we never hear otherwise and we know how actually busy Claude is working on his dream. Some things about casual Fodlan culture are sure to fall through the cracks when he’s actually living in it and not just being told how Fodlan is like, which is something I desperately wished 3H explored more. Think of it like a “you shouldn’t shake hands with a firm grip” sort of cultural difference. So from this point in the supports we can hear from Claude some things about Almyra as a response to some of the things Ingrid accuses him of: A noble doesn’t yawn in public? Well, maybe her nobles don’t, but that’s not to say that’s the same everywhere (wink wink nudge nudge), something along those lines. We can also see Ingrid’s reaction to these differing culture ideals: Confusion over how different it is? Curiosity over want knighthood entails for other cultures? A positive or negative reaction? I wanna see that!

Hell, we already kinda have that - Claude meditating in the morning is a legitimate practice of Zoroastrianism, an ancient religion originating in what is now Iran (to give a basic description, to say the least), which Almyra is partly based off of, for example. This isn’t the first time something related to Zoroastrianism is brought up with Claude, as seen with Annette’s supports (the fire ritual he describes closely mirrors the Chaharshanbe Suri, a practice of Zoroastrianism that celebrates the spirits of the dead - again, to oversimplify it), so it’s likely this is something Claude genuinely does and is genuinely part of Almyran culture.

Give us more shit like that! Or focus on her hatred of Duscurians and how Claude reacts to seeing that kind of hate up close! Or give us more Judith/ Kingdom and Alliance lore! That’s three topics this support could have chosen to focus on that are infinitely more interesting from a character and lore point than the played-out trope we’re given - but on the other hand, like, even that had potential to go somewhere! Claude and Ingrid pointing out the other’s flaws and genuinely trying to fix that part of themselves but failing despite their earnest efforts could have been something! There’s a reason people like that trope! But they both just give up and the support cops out with the “you’re perfect the way you were :)” when no they weren’t! They pointed out legit flaws! Claude does come across as empty and dishonest even when he’s trying not to and that lowers people’s view of him! Ingrid does come across as self-righteous even when she doesn’t mean to and that pushes people away from her! Those are not quirky lil’ personality traits, they actively harm their relationships with others! But nope, Claude and Ingrid have to have the “cute” relationship of bumbling husband and nagging wife but oh neve you worry they have kids so it’s totally a loving relationship (which is what their ending depicts them as - fun fact, this is the only ending Claude has that mentions him having kids!), so they couldn’t dare, oh I dunno, help each other develop past their flaws or anything. Ingrid couldn’t help Claude come across as more earnest (because if there’s one thing Ingrid is it’s that she’s extremely honest) and Claude couldn’t help Ingrid relax some, no they had to reenact a dynamic you’d see on fucking George Lopez

Just... yeah. Wish something better was done with them.

#ask #anon #will always be peeved at this support #so many things they could have gone with and they made these two an annoying sitcom couple #what a waste

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xddaengx · 4 years

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Welcome Home: Surprise

⚬ Pairings: Yoongi x Reader | Hoseok x Reader | Jimin x Reader

⚬ Warnings: Mentions of Hybrid Fighting | Mentions of Nightmares |

⚬ Word Count: 4.8k

⚬ Summary: You bought the old cottage not expecting much from it - you knew the old house was going to come with some abandoned furniture from the previous owners - but you didn’t expect the panther hybrid to be apart of the deal.

⚬ Author’s Note: I apologise for this part taking so long...Things just have gotten crazy with my shifts at work and I haven’t had a lot of time. Hopefully writing will become a bit smoother soon. If you would like to be added to the tag list just comment on this post - I hope you all enjoy.

(You can find all parts of the series HERE)

“Jimin, stop throwing things from your window.” You shout up at the feline hybrid chucking the plastic wrapping out of his window as he rearranges the furniture in his bedroom to suit his preference - which seems to be cozy yet luxurious. Hobi had finished his room in two hours all his belonging unpacked and his bed set up with a fresh set of sheets - he smiles at you from the master bedroom, after insisting that he fix up your own bedroom wanting to surprise you with a make over.

“It’s what you deserve.” He had explained as Jimin nodded from his spot on the lounge. You had eventually given in - even giving Hobi some money to go buy some decorations and a can of paint. That’s how you sit out in your back garden watching the two hybrid bustle in the bedrooms - trying to make the large cottage as homey as possible.

You could see Hoseok’s tail wagging in fury as he rolls the paint on your walls - the colour splattered on his cheeks as he smiles waving a hand out the window every now and then before he continues to move around your room - it’s about lunch time when the two of them come down stairs - both covered in a sky blue paint, their stomachs growling for food. The three of you tuck into some sandwiches and salt and vinegar chips while you wait for the paint in your room to dry - eventually Jimin and Hoseok slink back up the stairs to finish the bedrooms leaving you to mull around the garden planning how you were going to fix it up.

“Maybe a vegetable garden there - oh and some daisies over there.” You whisper to yourself as you stroll around the back garden finding the spots overgrown with weeds and in need of desperate clean up. It’s not even twenty minutes after you grab your notebook beginning to jot down all the improvements you were planning on doing with your garden that Hoseok comes bounding down the stairs and out to where you sat a small table and set of chairs.

“I finished your room - I think you’re really going to like it.” He chides - his smile big enough to make you drop your notebook on the table and follow him eagerly up the stairs not sparing a thought the the loud thumb you hear from the roof - must be a cat.

“Oh, Hobi, It’s beautiful.” You coo, as you walk into your bedroom - the wall behind your bed painted a light blue, the rest of them a bright white - the bed sheets matching the colours almost exactly.

“I know you like to read - so Jimin and I looked up good chairs for reading…and obviously we had to go with white to match everything else.” Hobi says softly as he points towards the short backed chair he had placed in the corner - with a soft cushion, it definitely looked like the perfect spot for reading. He had placed a large fake plant behind the chair claiming ‘I wanted to add some colour’, before pointing out a few other things in the room.

“It was Jimin’s Idea to put the light behind your head board - he said it would make it easier for you to read on your bed, or do work at night time.” Hobi’s words draw the puffed feline into your room - who looks proud at his few additions to the room.

“We also thought you might want to keep your ratty old desk” Jimin adds pointing to the white, paint covered desk sitting in front of your window - the perfect spot for it honestly. You could see right out the window into the backyard, the yellow sunflowers tucked against the back fence in the centre of your vision.

“And lastly your new light…” Hoseok says directing your attention back to the hanging pendent light in the centre of your room. The light was decorated with glass flowers - the light reflecting the clear and blue colours of the glass - covering your room in the shadows of flowers.

“You guys…” You coo at the two of them. Turning away from them quickly trying your hardest not to cry at the effort they had put in to making the room a dream. Jimin seems to notice your discomfort immediately and grab your hand dragging you to look at his soon to be finished bedroom.

His bedroom was surprisingly bright - the large windows to the side of his bed lighting up the room and making it feel warm and cozy. Jimin had tried his best to put his bedsheets on himself but eventually admits that hoseok helped him put the white sheet on his bed - his pillows all mis matching as the feline couldn’t remember where he put all his bed stuff. You immediately take notice of the small teddy bear sitting on one of the pillows and take it in your hands looking at Jimin in surprise.

“What? Mr Flop always helped me through rough times.” He defends with a shy smile, watching as you grin back gently placing the teddy back on his pillow. “Oh, I bought this table the other day - I thought maybe you and me could have tea in here at night and play chess or something.” Jimin adds pointing to the small table with two chair sitting besides his bed - a small chess board already sitting on top.

“It looks wonderful Jimin. You did great.” You coo, patting the hybrid gently on his head as he lets out a small purr of contempt.

“I guess we should go see my room now.” Hoseok says quietly you and Jimin following closely behind the canine as he walks down the hall to the room right across from yours. His room was very simple - the walls staying the bright white it was when you had first arrives, with no more than a plant and a small night themed decoration hanging on his walls - as well as a painting he had found interesting when he went to the store. His bed was low to the ground - the canine being more comfortable, saying he didn’t feel as vulnerable - with the same grey and white sheets he had had when the two of you lived in your city apartment.

He had a few more minimal decorations around the room - like a small potted plant underneath the small window - and a small rug on the hardwood floors where he thought it would be good to sit and meditate.

“I didn’t really add much - cause I don’t spend much time in here anyway.” Hoseok said shyly as Jimin mumbled about the room being bland.

“I think it’s perfect Hobi - It’s a lot like you, organised and put together.” You say rubbing his back lightly as he seems to perk up a little bit - deciding it was going to be time to start cooking dinner.

The three of you had managed to unpack the kitchen and the living room quite quickly when you had first arrived - deciding those room were the most important before they were allowed to finish their own rooms.

You had Hobi had decided it would be best to make something simple for dinner - the three of you exhausted from your day of unpacking and moving. With a quickly thrown together spaghetti bolognese - and the three of you scoffing it down in under twenty minutes - you were all ready to head off to bed.

Jimin had elected to sleep in his own room for the night - much to Hoseok delight - saying he wanted to experience waking up in the country side with his windows open for the first time. After bidding him goodnight - you and Hoseok trudge off to your bedroom, quickly getting changed into pyjamas before sliding under the new covers with a happy sigh.

Hoseok seems more than happy with your reaction - his arms wrapping tightly around your waist pulling you towards him - you head planted softly on his chest.

“Goodnight.” You squeak, the warmth and comfort of the hybrids chest lulling you to sleep quite quickly.

“Goodnight.” He mirrors pressing a short kiss to the tip of your nose before tucking your head under his chin, his breathing evening out quicker than you ever thought was possible - though you followed him to sleep town shortly after.

The loud rustling sounds had become more common over the past week you and your hybrids had spent at the new cottage. It was consistently in the middle of the night - the sound usually coming after the three of you had gone to bed for the night.

After the eighth night of hearing the rusting and clanging of the down stairs fridge - you give up on trying to sleep - sliding easily out of Hoseok’s grip, slipping on your fluffy slippers and a dressing gown - the countryside being a lot colder than you had expected - before making your ways down the stack of stairs slowing slightly as you see a small white light coming from the kitchen.

You round the corner into the kitchen stopping as the hybrid whips his head up from the bowl of cereal sitting in front of him on the bench - the door to the fridge sitting open illuminating the boy and his black sleek ears. The two of you stare at each other for another moments before the hybrid sighs picking up his bowl of cereal and moving to leave the kitchen.

“Wait…Who are you? How did you get in here?” You question the boy turning back towards you when he stops at the base of the stairs - his tail flicking behind him. He cocks his head to the side, watching you curiously as you tuck your hands under you arms waiting for him to answer.

“I’m Yoongi…Did they not tell you about me?” He asks you back quickly looking even more confused as you shake your head at his words.

“Tell me what?”

“What did the listing say when you bought this house?” He questions you - ignoring your own question.

“What do you mean?”

“The listing you saw - it said comes with some of the previous owners belongings, didn’t it?” The sleek hybrid asks you - moving away from his spot at the stairs, closer towards where you stand in the kitchen doorway.

“It did - but I just thought it meant some old furniture and stuff…” You respond - every decision you’ve ever made being questioned.

“Of course you did - that’s what the average person would think. The real estate decided that would be enough to let people know what they were getting into - but they’re also scum bags so… It’s no surprise they didn’t specify that I was apart of the deal.” Yoongi says as he moves past you placing his half eaten bowl of cereal on the bench before making his way back to the stairs.

“What’s your name by the way?” He asks stopping as he gets half way up the stairs - you manage to spit out your name quickly, the hybrid repeating it slowly his smile growing.

“See you around, then.”

You don’t know where the hybrid went after you managed to shake off your shock and follow him up the stairs. You slowly slip back into the bed next to Hoseok who just hums in content as he wraps his arms around you.

“Where’d you go?”

“Just to get some water.” You respond nuzzling your head closer to Hoseok’s chest, trying to forget about the honest hybrid you had just met down stairs.

Maybe it was just a fever dream?

Maybe he wasn’t real.

He was definitely real.

It had been two days since your late night meeting with the surprise hybrid - and both your canine and feline hybrids had figured out something was wrong.

The morning after your encounter you had walked into the kitchen to see Jimin sniffing around the bench and grimacing.

“Something wrong?” You asked as you watched the feline continue to smell the kitchen bench with distaste.

“There’s just this really strange smell - it’s smells like mint and rain, it’s very different to you or Hoseok.” Jimin answers taking another long sniff before shaking his head in confusion. You sputter for a bit before managing to piece together a sentence.

“Maybe Hoseok is trying those weird juice mixtures he keeps seeing online.” Your excuse seems to appease Jimin’s curiosity as he nods lightly accepting your words and moving away from the spot besides the counter, pressing a small kiss on your check and he makes his way to his room - mumbling about hoseok’s drink making ability.

That night you had seen Yoongi sitting on the steps eating a sandwich - he smiled and shot you a small wave as you made your way to the kitchen grabbing yourself a glass of orange juice - but as you made your way back to your bedroom, the hybrid was gone - and an empty plate sat in his place.

You and Hoseok have been trying to fix the overgrown garden during the day as much as you can - but the afternoon after your second sighting of Yoongi, Hoseok seems to be a little more alert than usual, his ears perking up every now and then - his gaze scanning the backyard for something.

“Can you hear that?” Hoseok asks as you try to pull the weeds away from the rose bush.

“Hear what?” You question back - stiffing as you spot Yoongi looking at you from the attic an entertained smile of his face.

“I can hear someone laughing and it’s not Jimin.” Hoseok says, pointing to the sleeping feline - who sits on the back steps in the sun - to prove his point.

“I can’t hear anyone laughing.” You mumble as you continue to look up at the man sitting on his window seal letting out small chuckles at the canines confusion. “Maybe we better end our gardening here for today.” You suggest trying to usher Hoseok inside before he looks up at the attic window.

You almost have him at the back door when he glances up making eye contact with Yoongi - who seems surprised he was found out. You don’t have any time to grab Hoseok before he’s bolting away from you and up the stairs no doubt trying to get to the intruder.

“Hobi…Wait… Shit, Shit, Shit, Shit.” You huff - stomping your way up the stairs behind Hoseok. “Hobi, Please don’t do anything stupid.” You yell as you finally make your way up the stairs and over to the ladder leading to the attic.

As you reach the top floor you look to the corner - Hoseok letting out low growls, as he back yoongi into the corner - yoongi returning the growls quietly.

“What’re you doing in my house?” Hoseok sneers at the feline - not even noticing your presence in the room. Yoongi doesn’t answer, just looking between you and the canine hybrid, his eyes pleading for you to step in.

“Hobi, step back now…” You say as you approach the canine hybrid - his tail sticking straight out behind him as he continues to watch the small man.

“Hoseok, I’m not going to ask you again…Come over here now.” You say a little more firmly, taking the hybrid by surprise. The canine turns to you his eyes wide, his tail tucking beneath his legs, his ear flattening on his head. He looks over to Yoongi once more before slowly making his way to your side, his hands tense on his sides.

“Hobi…Yoongi technically lives here too.” You begin to explain, Yoongi seeming to relax a little at the submissive expression the hybrid is showing. “He was left behind by the previous owners, and as I recently learned was apart of the deal when we bought the house.” You continue Hobi’s head sinking lower as he gaze stays on the floor.

“I’ve thought about it for a while - and he’s going to be staying here if he would like…It’s not like we can ask him to leave, it’s his house too.” You finish taking Hoseok hands in yours as you try to get him to look at you.

Hobi nods, looking down at your hands before pulling his out of yours. He looks over to the sleek hybrid, and then back to you before sighing and leaving the two of you alone in the attic. You stare at the empty spot where Hoseok had just stood before turning back to Yoongi with an apologetic smile.

“He’s not the best with surprises.” You begin, letting out a long sigh pushing your hair out of your face, “Why don’t you come join us for dinner tonight? We can all get to know each other a bit better.” You finish trying to muster a brighter smile but from Yoongi’s perspective you failed miserably.

“Sure…I’ll be there.” He says trying to ease a bit of your concern. He watches as you nod slowly before mulling another short apology and disappearing down the ladder back to the main portion of the house.

The four of you had sat down for dinner almost and hour ago and you think it’s safe to say it has been an absolute disaster.

“What kind of person just freeloads off the people who move in?” Hoseok shouts at the alarmed hybrid sitting across the table from the angry German shepherd.

“I think it’s a very clever idea.” Jimin adds into the conversation for the first time that night - seeming to enjoy Hoseok lack of control.

You decide to call it quits after Hoseok anger turns onto Jimin - the night obviously not going to pick up and the food going cold in the centre of the table. You apologise once again to Yoongi, not sure what else to say, but the sleek hybrid just waves your apology away.

“You shouldn’t be the one apologising…Frankly, you’ve been nothing but kind to me.” He says softly after the canine storms off to get ready for bed.

“Still… I feel like I could’ve made that go better.” You huff, looking over at Jimin who just shrugs his shoulders, still watching the other hybrid as if he’ll strike at any moment.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you two tomorrow.” Yoongi says with a smile before wandering his way upstairs, a warm plate of cookies in his hands.

“Well, it probably could’ve gone worse.” Jimin pipes up as you turn to look at him with a frown. “What?…They could’ve actually attacked each other.” He adds, and for the tenth time that night you sigh.

Its eleven thirty once you decide to head to bed. Walking into your dark room expecting to see the canine hybrid in your bed as per usual - only to see the white haired feline staring back at you, a book open in his lap.

“Is he really that mad?” You question Jimin as you slide off you jeans to pull on a pair of tracksuit pants - not bothering with changing your shirt.

“Seems like it…To be honest, I think he’s more hurt than anything.” Jimin begins, only continuing once you slide under the covers besides him. “You usually tell him everything - and this time you hid something quite big from him. He’s probably hurt because he thinks you don’t trust him.”

“You think? I just didn’t know what to do - to be honest Yoongi was as much of a surprise to me as he was to you guys, and I wanted to make sure what he was saying was true before I said anything.” You explain to Jimin who nods giving you a comforting smile, closing his book and throwing it on the bedside table.

“Why does everything have to be so hard?” You whine, as Jimin wraps his arms around you pulling you to lie down besides him, your head leaning on his arm.

“Oh, my poor baby…” He coos back at you, patting your head softly pressing a soft kiss on your forehead before tilting your head up to look at him. “He’s not going to be mad at you forever…trust me, it’s hard to go longer than a day without a good cuddle.” Jimin’s words coax a small chuckle out of you - as you lean up to press a small kiss on his cheek before rolling over in his arms, turning to face the door - hoping you would catch a glimpse of the canine before falling asleep.

Luck was just not on your side.

It’s been six days.

Six days since Hoseok has slept in your room.

And six days since Hoseok had even acknowledged you.

Apparently he had taken, you not telling him about Yoongi much harder than anyone thought he would. Even Jimin had been surprised - expecting the canine hybrid to be sleeping in your bed the day after you initial fight.

But he was wrong…Hoseok had taken to sleeping in his clean, organised room. Only coming out to get food and water when he needed it - though you assumed he would also sneak out of his room for toilet breaks.

Jimin had decided he would temporarily take Hoseok’s spot in your bed, knowing having one of them beside you was what managed to keep the nightmares at bay. Though the past few nights, even having Jimin’s tight grip around your waist wasn’t enough.

Every time you woke up - a scream ripping from your throat - you expected to see Hoseok waiting there. But only a confused sleek hybrid stood in your doorway, watching as Jimin tried to calm you down - to explain that no one was going to hurt you.

“I just need some fresh air.” You huff wiping your eyes as you turn to look at Jimin, giving his hands a tight squeeze before slipping out of the bed - wrapping your large dressing gown around your shoulder.

“Alright, well I’ll just wait here.” Jimin calls out, knowing you were probably already halfway down the stairs by now.

“Fuck.” You hiss as you swing open the backdoor letting the cold air hit your face and knock the remanence of the nightmare away. You pull out one of the chairs at the table slumping into it as you look up at the bright moon.

“Seems like things are getting a bit rough?” Yoongi’s voice was something of dreams - it was soft and deep and had all the potential to lure someone straight to the depth of the oceans. It was hard to turn and glare at him, when his voice relaxed every muscle in your body.

“Yeah…They’re not exactly going to plan.” You sigh, pushing your hair out of your face before turning and pulling the chair that sits besides you a little closer, patting it softly for Yoongi to take a seat. “Sorry about before…I haven’t had a nightmare that bad in a few months now.”

“Why are you apologising?” He questions taking a seat besides you, pulling his legs up to his chest as he watches you fiddle with the drawstrings on your jumper. “You seem to apologise for a lot of things that aren’t your fault.” He adds.

“I think it’s just a habit…Something I got accustomed to doing to protect myself.” You murmur, noting the way Yoongi nods at your words before letting out a deep sigh.

“I’m sure I haven’t made things much easier for you. I feel like such a home-wrecker.” He chuckles and you join letting out a small laugh as you gaze raises up to one of the illuminated windows.

“You all seem really close.” Yoongi says pointing up at the window where you can just barely see Jimin peeking out to check on the two of you. You nod slowly, smiling at the feline who just returns it before disappearing back behind the curtains. “I’ve never really had a family like yours before.” His words shock you a little bit - enough that you turn back towards him quickly, your eyes wide asking for an explanation.

“If you couldn’t already tell - I’m a rare type of hybrid, a black jaguar to be specific.” He begins taking in a deep breath before continuing. “The man that bought me forked out around six thousand - he needed a fighter. Someone who had enough genetic skill to win him some cash in the underground fighting centres…I was his most prized possession.” He stops again, seeming to think hard about his words.

“Before I started loosing…Once my ranking went down and we had to turn towards lower quality fight centres to make any money, but they were the ones were the police usually patrolled - he was arrested one night and I had no where else to go, so I came back here. He had to sell this place to make bail…and he managed to find a legal loophole, so here we are.”

“Oh, Yoongi…That’s awful.”

“It wasn’t all bad - I just wish I was as lucky as Hoseok and Jimin…To find someone so kind. To be able to have a family.” Yoongi say, waving away your pity to little effect.

“Well, you’re always welcome to join our little family…Trust me, none of us had the easiest time finding our family.” You say reaching over to give the hybrids shoulder a gentle squeeze before you turn back to your illuminated bedroom window.

“You know what…I’m sick of this.” You grumble, giving Yoongi’s shoulder another squeeze and a quick goodnight before stomping your way back inside - right to the room besides yours.

With your courage at an all time and with frustration soaring through your veins you knock loudly on the door, not managing to wait more than five seconds to swing the door open - a surprised hoseok looking at you from his bed.

“We need to talk.” You say, your voice faltering slightly as the courage seems to drain from you. Hoseok stares for a few seconds before nodding for you to continue - sitting forwards on his bed.

“Whatever this attitude that you have towards me and Yoongi needs to stop. I know that you’re upset that I didn’t tell you that he was here, but what was I supposed to do…I needed to make sure what he was saying was true - which it is - and even then I knew how you were going to react.” You pause for a moment trying to gage Hoseok’s reaction before continuing.

“He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, and frankly I stick by my decision. I’m an adult, Hobi and I understand I probably should’ve told you about it sooner, but if you can’t respect the decisions I make, then maybe we won’t be able to fix what happened.” Hoseok seems to jump up in surprise as you finish the sentence not expecting to hear what you had said.

“What’re you talking about?Why would you say something like that?”

“I don’t know…But I don’t know what else to do, Hobi. I can’t stand you hating me but at the same time I need to stand by my decisions.” You reply your courage completely out the window as Hoseok gets up from his spot in the best moving towards you hesitantly.

“I don’t hate you…” He sighs. “I know I shouldn’t have overreacted like I did, and I’m sorry.” You nod at his words not being able to look up from the edge of the mat in his room.

“But trust me…I could never hate you.” Hoseok adds, taking one step closer, his hands reaching forwards to lift your gaze to his - his eyes softly moving over your face.

“Can I kiss you?” His question takes you by surprise, but you nod quickly.

“Please do…Six days is far too long.” Hoseok doesn’t wait any longer to pull you closer, one of his hands still gently sitting on your cheek, the other gripping your hip as he attaches his lips to yours. His lips are soft and sweet moving gently against yours as he lets out a contempt sigh.

“Way, way too long.” He murmurs against you as the two of you take in a few deep breaths before continuing. Hoseok pulls away after what feels like hours, moving his second hand to your hip rubbing soft circles on the exposed skin.

“Does this mean I can come sleep in your room again?” Hoseok asks, letting out a breathy laugh as he leans his forehead against yours.

“I guess…but I think for tonight we should end things here. I’m sure Jimin is still waiting for me to go back to bed.” You mumble, removing your hands from where you had gripped the front of Hoseok’s shirt. He just nods, his hands slowly letting go of your hips as the two of your step apart.

“Wait…Just one more.” He says, stepping forwards planting a quick kiss on your lips before stepping away again.

“Goodnight, Hobi.”

“Goodnight.”

TAG LIST: @littlewolfieposts; @sana-b; @purplelady85; @btsxdoll; @aloyssiac; @pearylove; @wickedblue34

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nearlynorth · 4 years

Text

we can’t even be in the same room

The breaking of Luke Patterson and Julie Molina.

Or the fic that shows the aftermath of heartbreak.

Notes:

Now you may be thinking, Nicole, you've never been in a relationship or been broken up with, why are you writing a breakup fic? That's a good question that I don't have an answer to. This is the first of a three part series that I'm working on. The next part will be Julie.

I highly recommend listening to Same Room by JP Saxe when you are reading this. I listened to it on repeat while writing this. If anyone wants the playlist that I so creatively titled "Juke Breakup Fic" it's at this link. Link to spotify playlist

This is technically an au because the boys were never ghosts, but that isn't really something that is addressed or is needed to be known.

Also cross-posted on ao3. This is the first in a three part series that I will eventually manage to get the other two saved into a masterlist on here when I write them.

Disclaimer: I don't own any italicized lyrics or the Julie and the Phantoms characters. I'm also not the first person to write a breakup fic.

I watched a TED Talk on heartbreak

He had a smart person accent

He said, "Don't look through the photos"

Then I looked through our photos

Luke doesn't even know how he does it. How he resists looking through the camera gallery on his phone, the memories documented in photos. How when his heart is pulling itself apart he resists looking at the very things that could sew it back and then tear it apart again.

Luke does know a few things. He knows the post-breakup rules. He's watched a TedTalk, the man speaking with an accent that he knows that she would've loved. And he's already breaking them.

One.

He knows that he isn't supposed to look at the photos. He puts his phone in the car, pretends like it is just a normal day. He lasts two hours. Two hours spent staring blankly at the wall, wondering where they went wrong. He knows, he knows. Two hours and then he breaks. He unlocks his phone and pulls up the photos, the videos, all of what they recorded. Their history was in front of the camera, well-documented and heart-breaking. He lasts two hours and he breaks his first rule.

Two.

He knows that he's not supposed to think about her, to not let himself wallow in his self-pity. But it's hard. It's hard to block her from his mind when their apartment, his apartment, feels like her. Everything reminds her of him.

He will see the wilting dahlias on the counter, their petals falling to the marble. His last-ditch effort, when words failed and he just wasn't enough. Yet he can't bring himself to get rid of them, to finally toss them into the trash. He sees the looks that his friends shoot them when they come over to make sure that he isn't dead. He lets the blossoms rot just like what was supposed to be his great love.

He will see the empty drawers on the other side of their (cross this out) his bedroom and he will remember. It will all come flooding back to him, of how she tore through like a hurricane, pulling clothes out of hidden places and taking it all. She left him nothing, in a million pieces, with nothing left to pull himself together again.

But no, that's not true. He will see a shirt that she forgot, lying alone in a closet. It still smells like her. It's from their first tour, when they were still fumbling teenagers, sneaking glances at each other and pretending like they didn't see the chemistry between them. What he would give to go back to that time, when they were still young. It becomes stained with tears.

He breaks all the rules that he put into place for himself, watching his face in the mirror when he breaks.

I'm tempted to distract myself

I'm trying not to

Cuz I'll make myself feel all of this

If it's all that I got left of you

He debates whether or not he should drown out his sorrows with noise. To fill his days with as many activities as he can, leave no time for his brain to reflect. But his pain is all that he has left of her. All that he has are his wilting memories and his rotting heart.

When the pain goes away she will be gone forever. He will only have half-concocted dreams and plans that have holes as gaping as their bond. He will only have her from the eyes of others, never through the intimate lens of knowing someone so wholly that you know them better than they know themselves.

He will never have a connection that deep, not when they both brought each other back from the brink. He will never love like that again, never be loved like that again. It breaks him.

He takes his pain and he keeps it close to him, his last bitter remnants of something so good.

You came to Portugal in 2014

Just to spend a couple days with me

You flew halfway 'round the world for me

It's a week after she left that he thinks about how they got there. How they got to the point of breaking. He skirts around the bad memories, the ones that he sees now climbing the stairs to the final plateau. He doesn't want to feel the pain but maybe happy memories will make it worse. He doesn't care.

He thinks about a time where everything felt high, long before everything dipped so low. He thinks about a time that he was in Portugal, for a reason that he can't even remember now. He knows what she was doing, shooting her first movie halfway around the world. He remembers how it felt to be apart from her that long, and he remembers how he vowed to never do it again.

She flew half-way around the world just to see him, to make good memories. He remembers the way that her eyes crinkled at the corners when she got off the plane, her smile growing and growing. He remembers the way that he rushed to her, the way that they felt like two puzzle pieces clicking back together as cameras flashed around them.

That separation was only temporary. Now they made the final cut, he broke his promise. They closed the pages of their book, snuffed out their flame. They lost the pieces of their puzzle. He remembers the times when they burned bright, feeling like they would never go down. What he would give to go back.

I swear I'm knocking out the next guy

Who says, "At least you'll get some breakup songs"

'Cause it ain't nearly been enough time

He loves all of the fans. Those that knew him from Sunset Curve and those that found him through Julie and the Phantoms. He loves them, he really does, but sometimes it gets to be too much.

They were public with their relationship, and that only made it so much harder when it came crashing down. Julie and the Phantoms broke up. There was nothing that they could do about that, when it was impossible for the two of them to be in the same place without a shouting match, words being hurled like daggers back and forth. And Reggie didn't need that.

So they had to tell the fans, a bland statement crafted by PR that they posted to Instagram. And then they went silent. They refused to say anything, and the two biggest stars in the music industry dropped off the face of the planet.

Even though he wasn't speaking, it didn't mean that he wasn't listening. He read the comments, saw the direct messages, fans flooding him with praise and support. He appreciated some of it, but some of it only hurt. The messages about songs were his least favorite.

He didn't want to write songs about her, at least not now. Not when the wounds are still bleeding fresh. Not when his heart still beats for her. Not when he hasn't moved on.

They promised each other, when they first started, that they wouldn't write sad songs about each other, at least not at first. They also promised to never leave each other. He is a man of broken promises.

He ignores everyone who says things about breakup songs, even as he listens to a playlist full of them. His Spotify knows him too well. He starts crafting lyrics in his head.

For two weeks, he is silent. No notes slip from his lips, from his fingers. No music comes out of him. He only lasts two weeks. Music comes pouring out of him, lyrics in chicken-scratch inscribed onto paper.

The music is personal, painful, not for him to sing in public. It's not for the band, not for whatever solo album his record label wants him to put out. It's been so long since he's written music just for himself, not because someone told him to. He imagines her doing the same thing, her curls hiding the paper from view. He remembers how she bit her lip while thinking about a song lyric, how she looked up through her eyes lashes when she asked him what he thought.

He remembers it all and he turns it into a song. He sings it to himself and it doesn't make him feel any better, but it's a start.

It's a start down the path of healing, the start of his wounds knitting together. It's a start as he sings himself to sleep, tears collecting in his eyes.

It's hard to summarize three years

More like four years

Depends where you start counting

It don't matter

He doesn't know when they first started. He doubts that she knew either.

If he goes from when they first met, their story starts a lot differently.

She was sixteen, he was seventeen. They were young and naive and bright and starry-eyed. They were two chemicals mixed together in the same beaker, begging to combust. They had a chemistry that they couldn't deny, that everyone could see. They were so high, floating on the clouds. They were performing and they were singing and they were friends.

If he goes from when they became something else, the story changes again.

She was seventeen, he was eighteen. They had been a band for a year, been playing and writing and singing for a year. The time flew by, each day long and full and good. They were so, so good. They finally gave in to the chemistry, let themselves combine and combust.

Their first kiss was electric, the start of something new. Something new grew and twisted between them, green and young and alive.

They lasted for three years like that. For three years, everything was happy. For three years it felt like nothing could ever pull them down from the sky. They were young and they thought that they would be together forever.

She was twenty, he was twenty-one. He could tell that they were heading down the road of breaking. And he knew that she knew and that the band knew.

It was in the glances that used to be light and were now just dark. It was in the songs that used to be perfect harmonies and were now dissonance. It was in the shows that used to be played smoothly and now were peppered with mistakes. They gave each other so many signs.

The signs were what saved them in the end. The signs were what prevented the massive blowout, instead letting them down into a field of heartbreak gently. The signs let them leave each other silently, quiet tears and half-baked apologies.

My friends are making sure I don't see you

I strategize a path to the bathroom

So I don't walk past you

He knows that they put Alex and Reggie in an awkward spot. He knows that they are still friends with her, how could they not be, when she is who she is.

He sees the texts when he takes their phones for some silly reason, feels the pang in his heart when he sees Jules 💗.

It takes seven months until the two of them are in the same place at the same time. It's some awards show, where he can check out and people watch, not up for any trophies or shiny things.

It's all going well until he hears her name be called, sees her walk up onto the stage. It's the first time that he's seen her, really seen her. Whenever she comes up on the tv or his phone he always swipes away, hiding from it. He doesn't know what she's winning (he is a liar) and he doesn't care (liar, liar).

She looks stunning and it hurts because he knows that she isn't thinking about him as much as he is thinking about her. She talks and she smiles and she laughs on stage until he can't take it anymore.

He can't take it and he feels himself spiraling. He plots his way to the restroom, making sure he doesn't pass her or any of their old friends. He knows that the paparazzi are snapping photos of his face, of the way that he flees instead of confronting his emotions. He doesn't care, in the moment, what they get. They will get him, his raw version, not the polished PR perfect version. Good. Let the world see someone in pain.

He hides in the bathroom for the rest of the show, until he can't anymore, and then he leaves. They are screaming out his name, cameras blinding him as he rushes to his car. He ignores them all. He turns his phone off, makes the driver drive in silence, the only sounds his breathing. He almost breaks down there again, not the first time that he would've cried in a car. But he pulls it together, catching the eye of the driver in the mirror.

When he is at his apartment that still feels too big and too quiet, even all these months later, he has texts from Alex and Reggie. He responds and he catches the Daily Mail already reporting on his abrupt exit. They get everything wrong and he's not sure how much more of it he can bear.

You leave before the concert is finished

It takes a year before he is ready to perform again. If he knew that their last performance together was going to be their final goodbye on the stage, he wonders if he would have done it differently. He wonders and it eats at him but he pushes through. He swims through the acid to the other side.

It's not a proper concert, more of an opening act than the main show, but it's something. It's a step in the right direction. And she just happens to be there. He wasn't warned, he wasn't given a sign. He wanted one, so he could have prepared himself to look at her. When she looks so happy, her arm slung around Flynn.

And he knows that she doesn't know that he is here, because otherwise there would be sour lemon puckered lips on what is a sweet lemonade smile. He knows because otherwise, she wouldn't be here.

He only has a few songs, classic covers chosen by his PR team. It feels like they choose everything that he does now, they monitor his every move. He wants to be raw, to be honest. He is not a perfect man.

He gets up on stage. She isn't looking at him, still hasn't glanced his way. Flynn sees him, and she gives him a bittersweet smile.

He starts singing. It feels like him but not, the backing band roaring to life. It's so different from performing with Julie and the Phantoms, as he sees her recognize his voice and turn around. He sees her smile drop and he feels his heart break again. She watches him and he feels like his body is collapsing. But he keeps going, keeps singing, just like she did, just like they did right before the end.

There's one song left when he makes his decision. What comes out of his mouth is not the pop-punk song that his PR picked out for him. It’s a song that he listened to all those months ago, in the aftermath of the tragedy. He watches her face as the lyrics pour out of him, watches her leave before he is finished.

Because they can’t even be in the same room.

#luke #luke patterson #julie #julie molina #breakup fic #julie and the phantoms #fanfic #part one #jatp #flynn jatp #reggie jatp #alex jatp

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asynjja · 3 years

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@arzhur said, “ Value loyalty above all else. ”

𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐘; the great halls of Camelot, its streets with their eager inhabitants, and the sight that unravels at dawn when she rises – it feels so DIFFERENT than what it used to be. The absence of dragons that skim across the sky leaves a heart reluctant to trust the future that might come, but the forests with their emerald crowns remain the same, standing with PERSEVERANCE against the change of time. At times, she feels like she KNOWS Albion. But that cannot be: if she knows it then she does so only through the eyes of the king and by his words. When he talks about his people, she becomes HUMBLE, as humble as she used to feel when she was younger. Wide-eyed and with an unquenchable thirst to discover what hid underneath the auburn skin of the earth, she used to believe the universe held many more ENTICING secrets than it did daunting ones. He rekindles that curiosity, even if it remains hesitant. How he does it or why, she does not want to question. Mostly, out of fear that knowing his reasons and methods could DISENCHANT the sway he holds over her.

Arthur Pendragon is a concept, an enigma; whenever he rises onto his feet, the earth SHIFTS a little although anticipating the steps he may take and their consequences. And she is certain, since knowing him more so than ever before, that life follows a GUIDELINE and that all possible endings are predicted if not yet defined. This life is a short one, she sees it whenever she looks into his eyes. Skuld stares back with eyes not much older than his and no visible wrinkles on her fatigued features – Arthur Pendragon dies YOUNG. Where he does, she does not know but that he will, is certain. It changes her, changes every word she speaks to him. The few nights that he spends with her when his time allows, she quenches the premonition in whatever way she finds suitable. His chest rises and sinks in his sleep like the ebb and flow of the ocean, a REASSURING image that comes back to mind whenever charcoal eyes cast their gaze across the lands of Camelot. Somewhere out there, where lands kiss the water, his chest rises and sinks evermore and her inability to talk about the dread that fills her whenever she looks at him becomes INSIGNIFICANT. She knows the ocean, knows her tides and her depths and in the dark, she even knows her whispers like she knows HIS.

Tongue could not have verbalised her emotions even if she wanted to. Returning home from work and falling into the arms of the two men that have loved her despite the consequences of doing so, should REASSURE a mind that she perhaps merely overacts. It doesn’t. Neither Kua nor Willem can understand what it must be like to predict a fate outside one’s own reach, how it makes you wonder if enough love could make you blind and FORGET. So she dwells on it on her own as Camelot continues its hustle and bustle. The emerald crowns of the trees beyond the walls of the kingdom will remain persistent then also, when Arthur has died and she has withered. Perhaps they will MOURN at least in her imagination, taking back what once was theirs and leaving behind something to remember. Fingertips yearn to take a little of the soil with her, to incorporate it into her veins and to memorise the effort made to bring back what Albion had lost under tyranny. But no king dies innocent; if she wants to remember Arthur Pendragon, she wants to remember him as he is NOW – watching her from the entrance to the room, curious, courageous, a man who makes no time for her when his people need him more. That man, she LOVES. Perhaps he dies before she can grow to hate him, or perhaps he dies before he can grow to hate HER.

A smile masks the troublesome pondering when she catches his gaze. She dissolves her figure from the windowsill, posture meticulously calculated. The castle is no safe haven and perhaps never will be – but at times, she yearns to feel what it must be like to LIVE with him. He is the king, a lover, but she lacks the right proximity to call him a friend. And that the love is MUTUAL, of course, cannot be shown. Feet settle for a comfortable pace, the unspoken warning that he only has a little time for a very short walk is absolutely clear. Still, he could have spent his limited time in any other way and she appreciates every brief conversation they hold.

“ Sir Gwaine entertained me earlier this day with a story from when he lived as a vagabond, ” she begins, mouth already CURVED with the implication of a smirk. He raises his brows in expectation. “ It surprises me you picked him to become part of the round table – even now, he still exhibits certain characteristics that only a man of rogue honour has. ” The joke falls flat, though she takes no offense; the crown is a heavy burden and one she is fortunate to have AVOIDED throughout all her life. She would not want to marry Arthur Pendragon, either. It does not matter how much she loves him, does not matter how meticulously well she knows his expressions – and when his frown is a mere HABIT and not a manifestation of his thoughts. She was not born to be queen. Many other women fulfil the role much better than she ever could. It is in ARTHUR’S responsibility to be just, it is not in hers. She has no qualms about refusing to aid whomever she dislikes and had Arthur not somehow pulled her into his grasp, she perhaps would not have followed him, not even AFTER he’d proven his loyalty to the people.

Life is fleeting and a lifetime of suffering occasionally makes one SELFISH. She aids the sick because she finds a purpose in it, and the same purpose she used to find in WAR. Allowing her the power to make decisions would not end well for Camelot. HIM, she could give a life of abundance, a life of adventure and carelessness – and perhaps, had she met him at any other point in life, perhaps he could have been successfully MOULDED into a man willing to entertain a life like the that. But the man she fell in love with looks at her pensively and then he utters with knitted brows, “ Value loyalty above all else. However rogue his demeanour might be, Sir Gwaine saved my life more than once. ”

A GRIN follows the his word’s of honest admiration. She once knew the way that his mother looked at his father. She never mentions it – the wound of losing a beloved parent hardly ever heals. She knows it HERSELF. In every life she lives, she loses her mother and her father hardly ever even knows of her birth. But the way Ygraine de Bois looked at Uther Pendragon even before his appointment of Camelot’s king, she REMEMBERS and occasionally, when the mirror reflects her weary expression in passing, she catches herself regarding Arthur with almost the same RAPTURE. This time, is one of those occasions. But in one thing, she was wrong; the devotion he pours into the life of his people, it is not UTHER’S. His father wanted a son so desperately and was so blinded by the loss of his wife that he forgot he’d never truly LOST her in the first place.

The sun tickles upon pale olive skin when the walls of the castle are finally left behind. She halts, turns to her king. The sheer fabric that covers dark waves of hair trembles uneasily in a brief draught of wind as brows furrow and a FROWN replaces the light-hearted expression. “ I used to think true loyalty was a lie – and any cheap imitation of it, bought and not freely given. ” The smile that she dons is dishonest and BLAND, charcoal eyes stare at him with some kind of affliction. That she lowers her gaze, she only does to avoid the EMBARRASSMENT that comes with having been proven wrong. “ Should there ever come a time where I harbour the same erroneous presumption, remind me of your words. ”

— 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐎 𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐄𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐌. She lingers in the lecture hall after his presentation’s ending, a grin on her lips and with the last slide still projected onto the screen. “ However rogue his honour might have been, Sir Gwaine saved his king’s life more than once, hm? ” James Pendragon looks up, features expressing a slight semblance of CONFUSION as though he attempts to unravel the familiarity of the sentence. But the moment she believes to see recognition in far too acquainted eyes, he shakes it OFF. Her grin remains; the emerald crowns of trees have persisted against history’s transience and the ocean still ebbs and flows as though it REMEMBERS. Perhaps if she digs open his grave, he will too.

It’s the first time she ever invites him to a coffee.

#arzhur #ok i'll stop constantly rewriting the ending of the drabble bc i will never be satisfied with it ever #i could go on for 1.5k more words but..... at what cost #「 iv . ♡ // arthur & the trio . 」#「 iv . ♡ // arthur & moa . 」#― ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ғᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ . the asynhur indobouris multiverse .#yes i am making a tag #「 x . format : queued // interaction . 」

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eternal-love-song · 4 years

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I Must Not Stop Twinkling

Aoyama wants to rise to the top! If he happens to trip every so often on his crush on Todoroki, that's just something he'll have to deal with.

Aoyama x Todoroki

[Character Study, Introspection, Developing Relationships, Getting Together, Crushes]

There were beautiful people in class 1-A. Beauty came in different forms, of course. Some were beautiful for their quirks, some for their personalities, and others for their looks. Aoyama considered himself one of the later, and one of the former. And, if push really came to shove, how could he deny that he belonged to the middle category as well? He was beautiful in all ways, after all, as his hero name suggested.

One of the beautiful people that Aoyama had had his eye on since the beginning was Todoroki. The boy was utterly breath taking and seemed not to know it at all. Or more likely, not to care. How one could let such a beautiful physique stay hidden by such a bland hero costume, Aoyama would never understand. How one with such lovely eyes could always look so dead and cold with them, he could never guess. How one with such beautiful hair could utterly refuse to put absolutely any effort into it, he would never understand.

Aoyama had met people who did not know their own worth. Midoriya was one of those people and Aoyama had flawlessly befriended him. Todoroki... he couldn't seem to understand what Todoroki was. The boy didn't talk, didn't smile, at least not in the beginning.

During the second week of class he had tried to join the boy for lunch, offering him one of his exotic cheeses as a gift. Todoroki had looked at it as if he had never seen food before.

"What is this?" he questioned in a monotone. If Aoyama could ever be defeated by voice alone, that bland and uninterested tone would have been the blade to twine him in two.

"Ah, it's a rare cheese I ordered from home. You can't find such a thing anywhere here." Aoyama was pretty good at smiling. He had practiced it enough in the mirror, trying out new and exciting ways to be dazzling and attractive to his audience. One had to be prepared to smile as a hero, after all. All Might never stopped smiling, and everyone wanted to be like All Might, did they not? And usually when he smiled, people smiled back. Even if it was awkward, even if it was fake, people would usually smile back.

Todoroki did not smile. He looked at Aoyama like he was nothing. He felt like he might as well have been glass with all the acknowledgement he received. Todoroki then turned his gaze to the plate Aoyama had offered, changing nothing in his expression. "No thanks," he said. He then rose from his seat, taking his lunch with him, and left the room.

And that was that. Aoyama had been entirely and utterly rejected. He had stayed away from Todoroki after that.

He had continued to watch him, of course. Aoyama liked beautiful people, even if, surprise of surprise, they did not like him in return. For every frown he spotted on Todoroki's face, he added an extra smile to his own practice. For every careless flick of hair or unstylish outfit the boy wore, Aoyama took even more care with his own appearance. He could never beat someone like Todoroki in combat, but there were other ways he could surpass one of the stars of his class.

So what if the boy did not like him? So what if none of his classmates liked him? He wasn't here to make friends, no matter how much he might have liked to. He was here to be a hero and there were numerous avenues to reach that end. The press liked a smile, liked a presence! He would be brighter than anyone else one way or the other.

"I cannot stop twinkling!" he told himself in the mirror. It wasn't just his hero name, it was his mantra. It was a need. He didn't come all the way to Japan to fail at being a hero. It wouldn't do to be outclassed.

So he watched Todoroki.

To Aoyama's complete dismay and horror, Todoroki began to become more beautiful. He made friends, something Aoyama had still failed to do, he began to smile, his eyes became less cold. Todoroki was no longer looking at the world as if it were glass. Which, honestly, was completely unfair! Didn't Todoroki have enough of a lead over him without sharpening his flaws like a spear that he was preparing to launch straight through Aoyama's heart? He certainly thought so. Todoroki did not do anything about his looks, though. But when he was already that beautiful to start, could it really be called a fault?

Aoyama ate his lunches alone, faking cheerful letters to his mother back home and scribbling "I will not stop twinkling" in his notebook whenever he needed to keep himself motivated. When no one was looking at him, he didn't smile. He didn't sparkle. No one noticed.

Sometimes he wrote that in his notebook, too.

He wasn't standing still. He was training and getting stronger just like his classmates. He was strengthening his quirk, expanding his creativity, working harder than he ever had before. The beautiful boy remained ahead of him, though. Elusive and lovely and still making Aoyama feel like glass. He did not think Todoroki had looked at him once since that day he had approached him. Did not think Todoroki even remembered that he was in his class.

It was hard to explain the frustration, the disappointment, the determination, the confusion that this made him feel. He didn't want to fail further behind on even this.

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So Todoroki had made friends with Midoriya. Aoyama could do that, too. They were neighbors, after all. If there was one person that he could be friends with, surely it was the person that had managed to befriend Todoroki, right?

It perhaps could have gone smoother. Honestly, what Aoyama took away from the incident is that his classmates had rather terrible taste and could not appreciate a good cheese. That was fine. He would keep that in mind the next time he tried to make friends. Midoriya already loved him, of course. Everyone else eventually would, too.

By the time second semester came around, Todoroki was just like the rest of their classmates. He had friends, and smiled, and hung out with the class. This time when Aoyama decided to approach him, he chose something that would be more palatable to his classmates less refined taste.

"What's this?" Aoyama was nervous by the echo of his previous words, but he was also struck by how different things were. His voice was laced with confusion, a veritable chorus of angels compared to the monotone used before. And Todoroki was looking at him! Not just through him, but at him! Meeting his eyes and acknowledging him and seeing him! Aoyama could have cried with joy.

"It's a rare chocolate that I ordered from home. You can't find it anywhere around here," Aoyama told him. Remembering the... slight confusion that he had caused Midoriya, he added, "I thought we could share?" He hadn't meant to make it a question. He hadn't spent months practicing his smiling and reciting his mantra not to stop twinkling to be nervous now.

Todoroki either didn't notice, didn't care, or didn't deign it important enough to mention. (Aoyama would later spend the whole night sleepless, tossing and turning as he tried to figure out which was the more likely.) He turned to the chocolates, hesitantly picking one up and studying it as he held it delicately between two fingers. "Thank you."

Aoyama beamed at him, his smile as bright and powerful as if it was shot from his navel. Todoroki paused as he noticed it, chocolate halfway to his lips, and blinked at Aoyama. Then the moment passed and he put the chocolate in his mouth. Aoyama felt himself on the edge of his seat as he watched him. He chewed slowly, thoughtfully. Aoyama found that he was watching his lips too closely and chose not to stop.

"It's good," Todoroki told him. It wasn't a smile, like he was hoping for. It wasn't praise or anything exciting.

Aoyama was excited anyway. "I have more things like this," he said. "My mother likes to send them to me to remind me of home. If you are interested, we could continue to share?"

Todoroki thought that over for a moment before nodding. "Sure. Alright."

Aoyama used his smile like a weapon, a special attack that he fired straight at Todoroki as he gave him a thumbs up. The boy seemed less than affected, his only reaction being a slow blink as he watched Aoyama with uncomprehending eyes. The moment stretched. Neither of them spoke. Aoyama had expected this to get a reaction and now that it had not, he wasn't sure what his follow up attack should be. He hadn't expected this to be a combat situation, and just like in battle, he was trying not to show just how nervous and out of his depth he was.

Todoroki was still just staring at him! His intense eyes just... watching him, focused on Aoyama like he was waiting for what should happen next. Is this what it was like to have the attention of someone as beautiful as himself? Is this what he had been subjecting his classmates too? He made the decision to tone it down in the future. If he had a future, that is. If Todoroki's intense and beautiful staring didn't cause him to melt into a puddle of embarrassed and twinkling sweat right then and there. It wasn't the kind of death he had envisioned for himself, but perhaps if the sun hit him just right he would be beautiful anyway.

And then someone called Todoroki's name and he turned away.

Aoyama had never retreated from a situation so fast.

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Clearly, Todoroki was still on another level than him. He had always been better at battle, Aoyama would never try to deny that, but he hadn't expected him to have such advanced battle tactics. He'd been thinking that first conversation was a fluke, that the boy could not possibly slay him with mere words a second time.

Aoyama had been wrong. Todoroki was lethal in every area. Aoyama was determined not to let that stop him though! He had been training all this time to match up to him, hadn't he? On the battlefield of the beautiful, he would not give up! He would find a way to shine brighter! He would be more gorgeous than all of his classmates eventually.

"You will not stop twinkling!" he told himself in the mirror, practicing a fierce expression for once instead of a smile. That expression was no good though, so he went back to smiling, testing out new expressions and trying to find one that could do to Todoroki what had been done to him. What smile could pierce and penetrate that nonchalant exterior? What could parry aside his verbal blades and visual thrust? What could... appeal to someone as confident and strong and beautiful and rich and powerful? What could Aoyama possibly have to offer one such as Todoroki?

He pressed his hands on the mirror, leaning his weight forward as the weight of his task weighed him down. His smile was weak and forced as he stared at himself now, but that was why he needed to practice still. He couldn't let an expression like this out in public. It just wouldn't do.

"You cannot stop twinkling," he told himself. "Even if it's hopeless, right? Even if you're worthless, right? Even if the only spotlight you've ever had was when you sacrificed yourself for your classmates." He closed his eyes so he didn't have to see himself crying.

Even in this, he was twinkling, so it was okay. It had to be okay.

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Aoyama found time to approach Todoroki when he was alone, just like he'd done with Midoriya. He didn't want to compete for attention. He didn't want to find out if he would compete and lose.

He educated Todoroki on the chocolate's that he was sharing. Well, he talked a lot. Some of the things he told Todoroki were entirely made up falsehoods, but the boy seemed to be hung on his every word after a while and Aoyama simply could not turn down the attention. He'd never let a small thing like truth let him down before, so why would he bother to let it do so now?

One time Midoriya sat with them during one of these exchanges and Aoyama allowed him a sample, as well. Midoriya was much more expressive. Aoyama found himself even more encouraged, to the point that he was eventually having these little exchanges with Uraraka, Iida, and Asui sitting attentively nearby, too.

That didn't last long though. Uraraka was wide eyed and always eager to try new food, he though he could perhaps appear on her balcony to befriend her as well at some point, but Iida worked too hard to overshadow or contain him. Aoyama was not going to stop twinkling simply because the class president thought he should "stop standing on tables" or because "that's inappropriate behavior," so he would have to go. And if one of them had to go, they all would. It wouldn't do to leave any of them out.

Besides, he had liked it when it was just him and Todoroki.

He was in one of the hidden spots he'd found to eat lunch and writing a letter to his mother when Todoroki approached him for once. Aoyama wasn't smiling, was never smiling when he was alone this way, and it seemed to catch Todoroki off guard. He was stopped in his tracks, watching him with such a careful expression, head tilted as if there was a puzzle before him that he could solve if he just slotted the right pieces together.

Aoyama wasn't in the mood to smile, but he would not stop twinkling. He tried out one of the smiles he'd practiced for Todoroki specifically. A battle smile that could not be defeated by anything, he was sure. "Todoroki, what brings you here?"

"Aoyama." His name was spoken like a fact. It was something he liked about Todoroki's speech, the certainty that came across even when he was uncertain. "You've been sharing things with me a lot, so I thought I'd share something with you." He took a few cautious steps forward, as if he was uncertain of his welcome. Aoyama patted the ground beside him in invitation. Todoroki took it without further hesitation. "This is something my sister made. I didn't have enough to share with everyone, so..."

So he came looking for Aoyama alone? The genuine happiness that he felt at this melted his battle smile. "I am the most grateful, Todoroki! I would love to share something with you."

It was a pleasant experience. He liked Todoroki. He was beautiful in all three categories after all, just like Aoyama himself. This came with the unfortunate realization that he was in love with the boy, but Aoyama had a lot of experience with unrequited crushes. When your standards were as high as his, you couldn't possibly get what you wanted all of the time. And beautiful, rich, powerful, soon-to-be-pro heroes likely wanted partners that were equal in standing.

Aoyama wouldn't lie to himself and say that he was equal to Todoroki. No, of all his classmates, Todoroki had been the only one he had not lied to himself about. It wouldn't due to get his hopes up. He remembered that first time he approached Todoroki, the cold reception and feeling like glass.

"You must not stop twinkling," he told himself. He repeated it again and again. He wrote it in his notebook. You must not. You can not. I will not. Wrote and wrote until his finger cramped and his determination was reaffirmed. Get stronger, get better, be beautiful! He didn't come here to put all his effort into one beautiful boy. There were many beautiful people in his class, after all! Why despair over any one of them when it was he that was the shining star of his class. There was still one area he surpassed Todoroki, right?

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"You would be beautiful with longer hair," Aoyama told him one day when they were alone. Quite by accident, really. Aoyama didn't usually say his thoughts aloud this way, but he supposed he'd become too accustomed to speaking around Todoroki.

The boy just looked up at him, pausing with his food half way to his mouth. It was something else that he had decided to share and they were once again alone in Aoyama's private spot. That had become something of a habit lately. Nearly once a week they seemed to end up like this. Todoroki was looking at him with confusion, but not surprise. He never seemed to use more than one emotion on his face at a time. Aoyama sometimes wondered if it was skill he's practiced, the way Aoyama practiced his smiles.

"What?"

Well, Aoyama could not back down now. No use being embarrassed about it. "You never do anything with your hair," he explained, reaching out to brush the strands. "Just because you are beautiful doesn't mean you can neglect your appearance! Longer hair would suit you quite well."

Todoroki... actually blushed at that. He looked away as his face became red, fidgeting in his spot. "Th...thank you."

"I need no thanks for the truth," Aoyama told him. "You have been beautiful from the start, but in this one area, I surpass you."

Todoroki lifted one hand to touch his hair. "I... was encouraged to have shorter hair. So that it wouldn't get in the way when I used my quirk."

Aoyama nodded. "Hmm, there is truth in that. Still, I would love to see it."

Todoroki seemed to become more red and he nodded. "Okay."

Aoyama wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. Perhaps just acknowledging Aoyama's opinion. It wouldn't due to worry about it. Everyone knew that Todoroki was beautiful. Admitting it to his face was no more embarrassing than calling an apple red or cheese delicious.

Or, that was what he thought. In a month's time, when Todoroki's hair started to become longer, Aoyama had a different thought. A thought that made his heart pound and his hope flare to life like the light when he activated his quirk.

"Todoroki," he called, dazzling as he crossed the room to get the boys attention. "I will do your hair!" It wasn't a question. He didn't think this needed to be a question when Todoroki was so utterly hopeless. There were surprised noises from their nearby classmates, but honestly, they made such sounds at him nearly daily anyway. When they weren't ignoring him, at least.

"Sure," Todoroki nodded.

Emboldened, Aoyama took Todoroki's hand and immediately pulled him from his seat. Todoroki came willingly, of course. Aoyama dragged the boy to his room, sat him in front of his mirror, and laid out the array of hair products that he had.

"What are you going to do?" Todoroki asked.

"Make you beautiful!" Aoyama told him. "More beautiful, that is. That is what you wanted, yes?" Aoyama tilted his head at him, watching him in the mirror as he let his fingers slid through Todoroki's hair. "You did this for me, no?"

Todoroki blushed, but nodded. It was perhaps the cutest sight that he could have ever imagined! Who would have thought the beautiful boy to be so shy? Lovely! Sublime! It wasn't until he noticed Todoroki's face becoming even more red that he realized that he had said these things aloud. He laughed at himself, at them both. No harm in saying the truth after all.

"I will make you as gorgeous as myself," he promised."

Honestly, he was just happy to get his hands on Todoroki. He had never had the chance to improve a masterpiece before. And of course, his heart was still pounding. He ignored him to get his work done. He wanted to see Todoroki look as lovely as he knew he could. He wanted to make his boy utterly stunning. He parted, moisturized, and styled Todoroki's hair in happy silence. Once he was done, he proclaimed, "And now we much capture it!"

He leaned down beside him as he took out his phone. Todoroki's eyes widened and he looked embarrassed again as Aoyama took the picture. That meant that he would always have proof of this beautiful blush. "Exquisite," he told him.

"I'm not..." Todoroki began.

"Hush, now," Aoyama scolded. "It was not a question."

Todoroki did. Of course he did. He didn't talk so much anyway, so this was not a surprise.

"This will be a question," Aoyama said. "Will you come on a date with me?"

Todoroki looked quite attractive when he was surprised, Aoyama was finding. "I... yes. I would... yes."

Aoyama's smile was a beam shot straight from his navel, only this time it did seem to effect Todoroki. The boy's face was entirely red. Aoyama felt entirely confident when he leaned down very close to Todoroki's face. "I will kiss you."

It wasn't a question, but it was still very satisfying to have Todoroki nod his consent.

Aoyama pressed his lips to Todoroki's in a sweet, simple kiss. "Todoroki, I believe you are twinkling, as well."

Surprisingly, that got a laugh out of his beautiful boy. "So we both can't stop twinkling?"

Joy. Pure undaunted jubilation filled him. "Yes, it is so! We are a duo now. Neither of us must stop."

Just now, he did not feel this boy was so far ahead of him. He took his head and threaded their fingers together. No, they would not stop twinkling. Neither one of them.

#ELS Writing #Todoyama #Shouto Todoroki #Yuuga Aoyama #My Hero Academia #BNHA #Fanfiction #Todoroki x Aoyama #Aoyama x Todoroki

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vateacancameos · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Words: 1555 Fandom: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus Characters: Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Gideon Nav Additional Tags: Autumn, Established Relationship, Foliage, Picnics, Post-Canon, Post-Alecto, Banter, sort of but not really a wedding, perfect lyctorization, lyctor? i barely know her, One Shot, Victory Tour Series: Part 4 of snapshots of autumn Summary:

Part of the snapshots of autumn series, which tells stories of ladies in love during autumn, this story can be read independently.

Harrow and Gideon have won against God after several years of hardship apart. They deserve some time alone. Harrow grumps. Gideon frolics. The end.

Story:

“Holy shit, I’ve never seen this much color in my life,” Gideon groaned, head whipping every which way as if she’d miss something if she wasn’t looking at everything at once.

Harrow rolled her eyes and flapped her arms, hoping for a breeze. It was too warm, and the sun beat on her dark hair, making her sweat in her black robes. Gideon had stripped down to a tank and trousers in the shuttle, leaving her robe in a messy pile on Harrow’s seat.

“Are you frolicking?” asked Harrow, absolutely zero percent surprised, but feeling like she needed to at least make an effort at being annoyed. Gideon once said her resting bitch face was one of the things she loved most about her, so she tried to make it at least once a day. Gideon had argued that the point of RBF was its natural state, but she’d kissed Harrow anyway, then promptly wiped her mouth and “yeched” at the paint that had stuck to her lips.

read the rest under the cut

“Why shouldn’t I frolic?” Gideon yelled, halfway across the meadow they’d landed in. “We’re the good guys that beat the bad guys. We deserve a victory tour, adoring fans, parades, music lauding our heroic deeds.”

“Then why are we in a garish field on a foreign planet by ourselves?” Harrow pulled her robes away from her neck in hopes of coaxing a breeze to cool things down. The only thing it coaxed was a whiny bug that bit her on the back. “Ugh.”

“Because you don’t like crowds or music or anything fun, oh night mistress of zero fun.”

“So you brought me to hot meadow filled with bugs, sun, and bright colors? Are leaves even meant to have that many colors? I thought they were all green.”

“We did the dank and dead church thing yesterday. My turn to pick. And it’s not hot, it’s just a little warm from the sun. Also, Camilla said the colors were fantastic here this time of year. It’s called autumn.”

“I know what autumn is, dumb ass.” Harrow crossed her arms over her chest, even though it was far too warm to have anything touching.

Gideon sighed dramatically, made a final prance, then loped over to skid to a halt in front of Harrow, who raised an eyebrow. Gideon simply grinned.

“What are we doing here?”

“Looking at pretty colors! Have ever seen red this deep? Orange this bright? Gold this glimmering?” She waved her hand at the nearby trees at the edge of the meadow.

“Yes, I saw red this deep yesterday evening when you pricked your thumb while testing your blade. I see orange this bright always when I look at your ridiculous hair, and gold this glimmering every time I look in the mirror.”

Gideon winked one her own now-black eyes, which still threw Harrow off. At least they were the familiar black of the Ninth, and not the creepy oil sheen of God’s own. Thank God (no pun intended) that Gideon shared very little physically with her birth father, apart from their brown skin. And the horrendous sense of humor, but that wasn’t physical and therefore could be ignored by tuning the woman out. Which happened less these days, as Harrow was still so grateful to once again be able to talk to Gideon face to face, no longer parted by the River or physical distance.

“Come on.” Gideon grabbed Harrow’s hand, hauled her back to the shuttle, where she rummaged around until she reappeared with her robes and a knapsack that she slung onto her back. She grabbed Harrow’s hand again and this time hauled her to a nearby stand of trees, where she threw her rumpled robes onto the shaded ground in a sort of flat manner, then pulled the two of them down on top of it.

“Nav! You’re going to ruin your robes.”

“Better mine than yours. Although, you really should take those off. You’re going to roast. And there’s no need for roasting, I already think you’re hot.”

Harrow’s glower was hot enough to start a fire, but Gideon just laughed.

“Come on! We are the champions! Take a load off. Eat some lunch. Enjoy the views!”

“The colors are making my eyes hurt.”

But the protest was half-hearted. It was hard not getting caught up in Gideon’s enthusiasm. After the past couple of years, they deserved a break from the madness, and although this was so not her scene, she had to admit it was a nice change from space and people and death. She closed her eyes to feel the thalergy of an un-flipped planet, safe from future run-ins with Resurrection Beasts. The life wriggling around her was an unfamiliar shock, even after all the time she had spent flipping thalergy to thanergy during her training. It was nice to not think about wading into the disgusting, brackish waters of the River and taking all of this away. It was nicer seeing Gideon happy and goofy and alive, even if her eyes still weirded Harrow out. A small price to pay to have the person who understood her best back by her side. Forever. Well, for myriads at least. The perks of perfect lyctorization. This terrible meadow didn’t even seem that bad when she put it in that context.

Gideon sprawled on her side and leaned on an elbow as she dug through the knapsack, materializing a few half-smooshed sandwiches, apples, two bottles of something, and a box strong enough to come out of the knapsack unscathed.

“White bread, no crusts, bland tofu and cheese for Miss Picky,” Gideon dropped the sandwich in front of Harrow’s crossed legs, “and a gorgeous everything sandwich for me.” She kissed the package before unwrapping and taking a big bite, some sort of pink sauce dripping down her chin. She grinned. “Eat! And for Me’s sake, take off the damned robes. You’ll sweat out any calories otherwise. Plus, I have to sit with your stinky ass the whole way back in the shuttle.”

Harrow pinched the bridge of her nose. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not God. You can’t curse in your own name, Griddle.”

“God, daughter of God.” Gideon shrugged. “Same same.”

“Not remotely. Thank- somebody.”

“Thank me.”

“Definitely not.”

“Please, Harrow?”

“I’m not thanking you.”

Gideon waved a dismissive hand and furrowed her brow. Harrow knew that furrow. It meant she was about to be mother henned. “Not that. I mean, please relax. Eat. Enjoy the colors. Soon enough we’ll be back on dreary Ninth. Home sweet hole-in-the-planet. You’ll be busy running the House, I’ll be … I dunno, posing for tourists to feel my amazing biceps? Re-enacting the battles I fought in? Whatever.” She looked remarkably serious for once. “I just wanted us to have a little time to ourselves, before things get crazy again.”

Despite the solemnity, Harrow felt a grin lift a corner of her mouth. “This isn’t a victory tour. This is a honeymoon, isn’t it, Griddle?”

“What? No. Not- No.” Gideon looked away, scratching the back of her neck. “Just, ya know, some … quiet time.”

“What if I want it to be?”

Gideon whipped her head back around, eyes wide. “You’d want– But it’s– We’re not married.”

It was Harrow’s turn to pretend nonchalance. She shrugged. “Well, it’s just that there aren’t too many immortal people in the universe, and you’re the only one I can stand. I’m not about to go search out another partner, just after I got you trained up.”

A suddenly shy smile played at Gideon’s ever expressive mouth. “You like Pal and Cam well enough.”

“At a distance. I’m happy sending letters and visiting on occasion. But you’ve been by my side most of our lives. It’d be weird for you to leave.” Starting to panic after showing her hand, Harrow began to backtrack. “That is, if you want to. I know you hate the Ninth. And you have friends scattered all over. I’m sure you want–”

Her mouth was stopped by another mouth, warm and soft and comforting yet somehow exciting.

“Yes.” The words were whispered against her lips before the kissing began anew. Having this, for eternity, Harrow could get used to.

They eventually fell back onto a robe-covered ground softened by leaves that crunched. Harrow looked up into the fiery canopy above them as Gideon traced soft squiggles up and down her bare arm (yes, she’d finally removed the robe). The orange really was remarkably close to Nav’s hair. She could finally see the beauty in it that Gideon had seen upon landing. She didn’t want it forever, but for now, it was … very nice.

“So,” Gideon whispered into her ear. “I just realized that as your cavalier primary, and us being basically married, I can now say that I–”

“Don’t you dare, Nav. I had to hear it from Magnus already. I do not need an encore to that terrible joke.”

Gideon cackled and kissed Gideon’s cheek. “You’re no fun.”

🍁🍂🍁

Forever perfectly preserved on Harrow’s desk was a black metal frame, the clear plex displaying three leaves—one as red as blood, another gold as coins (or eyes), and the last the same riotous orange of Gideon’s hair. When asked what they were for, Gideon always answered first: “a marriage certificate.”

#locked tomb trilogy #gideon/harrow #harrow/gideon #fanfic #ficlet #autumn #autumn mood #meagan writes #ao3 #wlw #f/f #griddlehark

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xxkellsvixen19xx · 4 years

Text

Every Rose Has It's Thorn Pt 9

Word Count 1,657

JP moved down the hallway with an air of intention, he had to speak to Colson. With the revelations of Y/N’s past and the danger that she could be in, he felt there was no other choice. As soon as he opened the door to the containment room Colson’s eyes lifted to meet his, a mischievous sneer tugging at his lips.

“How nice of you to visit, brother,” Colson stated, his arms firmly chained to his side. JP decided against taking a seat, instead choosing to stand firmly in front of Colson.

“I need to know what happened between you and lady Y/L/N,” He demanded.

Colson grinned, dropping his head and allowing himself to laugh, “Do you think I had something to do with her disappearance? That I’m stupid enough to kidnap her again, fake searching for her and then get myself locked away in this place on purpose? You do disappointment me,” He groaned.

“Is it possible his heart isn’t as cold as you think?” JP declared, his statement clearly confusing Colson as his brow twisted.

“Are we talking in riddles now?” Colson’s confident demeanor began to shift into uncertainty as he watched JP finally take a seat opposite him.

“That is what she asked me when I questioned the time she had spent with you,” JP clarified, finding himself surprised by Colson’s apparent discomfort.

“Then she is a fool,” He hissed, “Another feeble minded lodger calling out for guidance from a being far greater than she.”

“Enough!” JP bellowed, “I have known you a myriad of lifetimes, brother. It has been an eternity since I witnessed a kindness of your own free will. You released her without harm, visited her in her quarters when you knew it would lead to your eventual capture – you are wicked but you are no fool.”

Colson looked away, his jaw tense, his body unmoving.

“Take this as an opportunity to redeem yourself, Colson,” JP uttered, “You have found her once before, find her again and I swear your punishment will reflect your clemency.”

Colson raised his eyebrows, “Desperation suits you, brother.”

**********************************

My skin was burning; the ties around my wrists were so tight I could feel them burrowing through the layers of skin. I wanted to call out but fear stopped me, I didn’t want them to come back – the doctor, the agents. It hadn’t taken me more than a few hours to realise that the people here didn’t care for my comfort. The door creaked open and I turned my head away as best I could, studying the bland detail of the white wall.

“Don’t be so unkind child, I’m not here to hurt you,” Dr. List’s voice was close to my ear; I clenched my eyes in an effort to shut him out.

“Can I go home now?” I asked, my voice feeble to the point I barely recognised it.

“Oh sweet girl,” Dr. List sighed, his hand swiping across my clammy forehead, moving a strand of stray hair from my eyes. “You don’t have a home, not really. You have this cage or the cage you’re more accustomed to. Soon the two will begin to merge and you will no longer miss the comforts of your past familiarities.” His voice was so cold and calculating. A tear trickled down my face, stinging the sensitive skin.

“I would like to tell you a bedtime story,” Dr. List began, his hands tightening the iron chains that remained strapped to my wrists. “It’s about a small child with a fascinating power, a small child who does not belong, a child whose parents feared her but were too fatuous to listen to their concerns.” He took a moment, his fingers pushing against my face until I was forced to look him in the eye, “Does this sound familiar?”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” I wept, exhaustion stopping me from internalising my emotions any longer.

“I can tell you if you like. Why this story sounds so intimate.”

“Just tell me what you want from me, please,” I begged.

“Oh, shush now child,” Dr. List brushed his knuckles against my cheek. “Do you know what came of the girl’s parents? Can you guess?” He continued.

“I get it, they’re my parents, that’s who you’re talking about,” I snapped, my voice hoarse through dry tears. “They’re dead.”

“Of course, they’re dead,” Dr. List smiled, “You killed them,” He giggled almost girlishly, true excitement reflected in his expression. I swallowed, trying to ignore the bitter taste of bile on the back of my tongue.

“No, I didn’t, that’s not what happened.” My words were halted as Dr. List pushed his thick, calloused finger against my lips.

“I wish you could see the look on your face,” Dr. List grinned. “Betrayal truly is the sweetest weapon.

Dr. List inhaled slowly, “I’m so glad I chose to tell you myself, I could have tortured you, experimented on you but no, I would have never been able to hurt you like this.” He seemed you proud of himself, so thrilled to watch my heart break.

“You killed them, your father…your mother, the men that tried to take you. All of them ripped limb from limb, bones shattered, skin burned. All of them lying there in that little brick house you called home and you, Y/N, standing at the centre of the carnage with barely a little hair out of place on your head,” he paused, his smile faltering as his eyes focused solely on mine. “You asked me what I wanted from you?” The burning beneath my skin fizzled and my chest heaved with each sob that escaped me.

“I want you to break.”

Dr. List left eventually, leaving me on my own in the small white room – nothing but his words running hopelessly through my head. My parents had never been my parents, not really. But the pain of losing them had always been real. The knowledge that I’d killed them, however, was an agony even the greatest wordsmith would have struggled to describe.

I curled up on my side, willing the memories of my parents and that night to be banished from the forefront of my mind. I wanted to sleep but I was almost certain it wouldn’t come. Just as my eyes closed and I tried to force myself to sleep, a light flickered in the corner of the room and I leapt from the bed, pushing my back flush against the tiled wall.

“Hush, it’s me,” Colson’s figure came into view as I flinched against the bright glimmer of ocean blue. My voice had long since disappeared and I made no attempt at trying to find it. I merely watched him behind my bound hands as he strode towards me, dipping down until he was on eye level with me.

“What have they done to you, little bird?” His voice seemed so cautious - as if the sound of it alone would shatter me. I couldn’t answer, there was nothing I could say.

“Do you know where you are?” Colson asked. He sounded different, strained – as if he were stretched thin.

“These are iron,” He finalised, his eyes locked on the sight of the chains around my wrists. “These people know what you are.” I could feel my gaze unwillingly lifting to meet with his.

“What I am?” I asked I tugged against the metal, causing Colson to flinch. “I’m nothing, I deserve nothing. They have me and they can keep me.”

Colson’s brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of my words. I could tell he was confused, something that looked so much like annoyance on him.

“If you tell me who these monstrosities are I can help you, I can find a way to get you out,” Colson said, sounding calmer now.

“No!” I hissed, my chains clattering against the bedframe.

“You’re being ridiculous, Y/N, tell me who they are,” I seemed to be angering him but I couldn’t bring myself to care. “I don’t have much time, tell me what you know and I will send others to free you from these shackles.”

“You’re not really here,” I dropped my eyes from his, tears rolling freely from my eyes.

“I am here in the only way I can be, now please,” The pleading words sounded so extraordinary coming from him. “Who has you here? Who did these things to you?” I wanted to question him, ask him what he meant but instead, I just looked at my hands, my arms – the pale skin patterned with dirt and bruises, marks that I didn’t even know had been made.

“Lie to them,” I muttered. “Tell them I’m dead and leave me here. I deserve whatever punishment I can get.” I rolled back onto my side, curling away from the illusion of Colson.

“What are you talking about you stubborn child! Tell me!” His voice was shrill and laced with discipline.

“Leave me!” I screamed, my voice cutting amidst my crying. The blue light faded and the room was swallowed by darkness once again.

**********************************

Colson’s form shifted and his hands clapped down against the table. JP studied him with eager eyes. Behind the one-way mirror, Slim watched on, his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth set in a hard line.

“Did you find her?” JP asked, looking as if he already knew the answer. Colson’s face lifted until his eyes were staring forward from beneath his heavy lids.

“She wants me to tell you she’s dead.” The words left him from between gritted teeth.

“What is that supposed to mean?” JP questioned; confusion etched on his brow.

“It means the damage is done, brother. Whatever secrets have been kept about Y/N are no longer sacred,” Colson twisted his neck to stare at the mirror, “And we all know what happens to those kept in the dark.”

#machine gun kelly #colson baker x reader #colson baker imagine #colson baker #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #fan fiction

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treatian · 4 years

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 177: His True Love

He tried to go back to normal. He tried. But more than a month later and he felt like every morning the sun came up was the morning after she'd gone. Every time he had tea it tasted bland or it was too cold, hot, too old-imperfect. Every night he spent in his tower, he held back tears and constantly found himself ambling over to his tower windows, looking into her blackened library tower, glancing down the road, wondering if she'd ever come back.

He wasn't sure if he wanted her to.

He prepared for her to do so; for that possibility alone, he found himself at the forge late one night, the name Nimue scribbled on his dagger which held a trickled of blood he'd drawn himself from the Original even as she stared at him in contempt. She knew why he was taking it, how he'd come up with the idea to make a binding spell with her blood so that if Belle did come back and refuse to leave, they'd be free to do as they pleased without having to worry about her ever taking the curse from him again. After he completed the potion, True Love's Kiss, and a number of other lesser-known "cures" for curses, would never pose a threat to him again. Only the Seer seemed saddened by it, an emotion he quickly shoved aside.

"Clever, Rumpelstiltskin...none of us have ever thought of something like this," the Original muttered in a voice that sounded like she was mocking him just as much as she was praising him. He really couldn't bring himself to give a fuck about what she thought.

"Age comes with wisdom," he explained away.

"You know it won't work for everything. You'll still be vulnerable to the dagger, to the apprentice...to Merlin."

He glared at her as the blood on the dagger slid into the potion bottle he carried with him. He knew what she was doing, what she was trying to get him to do. But he just didn't care anymore. He was the strongest Dark One now, and he hadn't let Belle go to forget about Baelfire. He'd made his sacrifice, he wouldn't make another one for anything that was less than what Belle had been.

"I won't focus on your problem until I have my son back," he informed her. "You'll have to deal with that. Now, away with you."

He banished the woman away and completed the potion that night. But it seemed to do no good as the effort seemed to be in vain. Belle did not return. He told himself it was fine, it was right. He told himself, but he wasn't sure he believed it.

He missed her company during mealtimes, to the point that he'd given up eating again. He didn't need it. Without her, he didn't want it. It was just another task. He missed her company in the evening. He hadn't realized just how much her presence had settled him until he first sat down to spin in the evening, saw her spot by the fire vacant, and wondered why he should bother. He missed her when he left the castle and he missed her when he returned, discovering that with her gone there was no one to care about his comings and goings. There was no one to talk to. No one to worry about.

There was no one.

He'd thought only about half a dozen times of going after her, of leaving the castle to find her, or even just checking on her in his cauldron like he used to, but he always found ways to talk himself out of it. Fucking True Love…it could go just as easily as I could come. He had to let it go. He had to.

So he tried. He put her cup away into the cabinet, where he didn't have to see it. He got himself a new tea set made of metal that wouldn't chip. He found reasons to go into the Great Room at times they would never have been together, he went to work in his tower during times that they would have been together. He left the curtains open, unwilling to think of time as "before Belle" and "after Belle". He made his deals. All kinds of deals. All the time. Whenever someone requested him. Even if it was easy or stupid or in the name of love. It was just something to do. It was just something to take his mind off of her.

But it never worked.

He felt Regina the moment that she was on his property. She'd arrived in his tower, as she usually did, probably expected to find him. But he was down in the Great Room. It was the middle of the day. He didn't care. It was a time of day they wouldn't have been together, so that was when he'd decided to leave his work and spin, to make tea, to listen to the empty space where the sound of pages turning should have been.

He hadn't seen Regina in months, not since Belle had been in trouble and he'd gone looking for her in the wrong place. Even after a month without Belle, he was still furious with the witch. So furious that he'd been sorely tempted to kill Robin Hood, "her heart", in retaliation. He'd gone so far as to track him down and found him with his infant son, his wife gone or dead or just missing, he'd never figured it out. He'd resisted killing him though. For one, though his gut told him he was right, he truly had no idea if Regina was the "she" that Belle had talked to, and he'd decided that he didn't want to know. He had to work with her. He still had to use her to cast his Curse and he didn't want it to get in the way. She might have taken Belle from him, but he wouldn't let her take Baelfire as well. Second, if he was destined to be her heart as Belle had been his own, he wanted to give her the opportunity to fall in love with the wretch before he killed him. Daniel be damned. He wanted her to know what it felt like to wait for something and then have it taken away and he wanted it done by his own hands. He'd waited over a hundred years to get his son back…he could wait just as long to take his revenge on Regina. So he'd resolved to leave well enough alone, to continue to work with her as though nothing again changed. But that didn't mean he was going to be overly kind to the woman.

He used a bit of magic to lock the door on the Great Hall. It was a simple spell she could probably break through in a minute. But at least she'd have to work for it. The door did eventually open, just as he'd expected she would, and Regina sauntered in as if she owned the place. He let her despite the fact that he wanted her gone.

"Flimsy locks!" she announced stupidly. If he'd truly wanted her out, he wouldn't have made them flimsy. From now on, when he saw her he had to think of his Baelfire and all she was going to get for him. "I have a deal to discuss. A certain…mermaid…" she pronounced as he turned back to his wheel. Not looking at her helped. A bit.

"I'm not dealing today," he muttered after taking a moment to will the Seer to say something. She didn't, confirming what he knew. The mermaid, whoever she was, wasn't important to the future. That being the case, he didn't really give a fuck about Regina's mermaid. He'd been making deals every day since Belle left, he just wasn't feeling particularly dedicated to helping Regina with something that didn't involve the Curse.

"Are you angry with me?"

Her words forced him to apply so much pressure to his wheel that he stopped it. And when he turned to glare at her over his shoulder, he found she was there, staring back at him. Angry didn't even begin to describe what he felt toward her at the moment. What he felt was too complicated for one word.

"What is it this time?"

He couldn't be sure she was Belle's "she". He kept telling himself that. But he didn't know who else it could have been. Was it the time he'd gone looking for Belle that had tipped her off? Or had that Genie of hers had seen the pair of them in the mirror? He would have liked to know.

"Your little deception failed," he tempted. "You'll never be more powerful than me. You can keep trying, dearie, but you're never going to beat me."

"Is this about that girl I met on the road? Hm…" Regina taunted suddenly; unexpectedly. He kept spinning, kept turning his wheel on and on but only because he knew that if he didn't, he might turn around and kill her right now. Met her on the road…he'd potentially betrayed Belle to Regina when he'd gone after her, he'd mentioned her when he'd forced her to come to the castle to get her glamor removed, he'd stood boldly with her in front of the mirror in plain view of her, but never not once to his knowledge had she ever met Belle. It was her. She'd found her on the road to town. They'd had a conversation, Regina was the one who'd filled her head, who'd poisoned what was between them. Regina was the reason Belle was gone. Without that talk, things might have been normal right now. "What was her name? Margie?"

Baelfire…think of Baelfire..."

Verna?"

"Belle," he spat out without thinking.

"Right," Regina practically growled, as if she was the one who was angry as if she had any reason to be pissed at him. She was the problem, not he. And he couldn't wait to get to Baelfire and teach her a lesson she'd never forget. "Well, you can rest assured I had nothing to do with that tragedy."

He felt his body go cold as he stopped the spinning of the wheel. Tragedy. What tragedy? What had happened here? No one knew about what happened between them. And he felt certain Belle was smart enough not to tell people and draw attention to herself. Why had she used that word?

He left his wheel and moved closer to Regina, who was helping herself to a cup of tea. "What tragedy?"

"You don't know?!" she blanched. "Well," she huffed as if she was surprised. The spoon she was using clattered against the metal tray when she set it down. "After she got home…her fiancé had gone missing."

His heart was already racing by the time Regina spoke, but now it felt as though his chest was squeezing the air out of his lungs. Home! She'd gone home?! He'd felt certain that she wouldn't, that she would have been hurt when she left him, but she was strong. She'd have picked herself up, gone out to see the world. Why would she go home? Why would Gaston's death affect her?

"And after her stay here, her…association with you…no one would want her, of course. Her father shunned her, cut her off, shut her out."

His mouth was dry, but his throat was thick and sticky. Maurice…a coward if he'd ever met one. She'd walked all the way home with nothing, a single dress and not a penny to her name! And then she'd been cast out. She'd be weak. Why hadn't he thought to check on her, why hadn't he thought to send her away with something?! Why hadn't he made arrangements?! It wasn't too late. He could still arrange something. He could find her, he could find someone to take her, he could pay for her pain, pay to make her life better! He could fix this! He just had to do it so that he stayed away.

"So, she needs…a home."

"He was cruel to her!" Regina shouted with a wicked smile. "He locked her in a tower and sent in clerics to cleanse her soul with scourges and flaying. After a while, she threw herself off the tower," she shrugged. "She died."

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't find it in him to breathe or tremble or even cry. The world seemed to have stopped. A second lasted an hour. Was this the same day? Was this a nightmare? Was this some kind of a trick? A terrible joke? Oh, he prayed she was scheming something!

"You're lying," he managed to choke out, unable to care if he showed too much emotion. His knees were shaking, he was lucky he hadn't fallen to his knees.

"Am I?" the Queen questioned without a smile, without wavering, without so much as a twinkle in her eye.

Oh…Belle.

His Belle.

He hurt. He hurt everywhere and nowhere. His heart ached. He felt as though it had exploded from his chest, that it was shriveling up second by second. He wanted to die too. He did. If the words were true he didn't care about killing Regina, for one second, he didn't even care about getting back to Baelfire…he just wanted to be alone and wither away in her chair by the fire.

"We're done," he managed to choke out through some miracle. He was walking. He was walking to the door, and he was using magic to open it for her…but he didn't feel it. He didn't feel the weight of his body coming down on the floor or the thrill of magic in his body. He felt nothing. The room was bright. He felt only blackness. "Fine," he heard Regina spit out. "I have other calls to make."

On her way to the door, she ran her finger over the table and examined it. Dust. He struggled not to wince. Even the dust reminded him of her.

"The place is looking dusty, Rumple." When she stood face to face with him, she sneered and leaned forward. "You should get a new girl."

Regina left. His air left his lungs, the beat in his heart faded, and he doubled over, putting his hands on his knees, a show of weakness he hadn't experienced since he was human. It was only fitting. She always made him feel human. Even in…

Death. She was dead. It didn't seem possible. She was a bright light a strong woman, determined! She'd thrown herself off the tower?! She'd killed herself?! What had she gone through, what had Maurice put her through that she'd broken and given up hope? And she hadn't tried to summon him?! She hadn't even called out to him to help her because…

Because he'd broken her. Just like he broke everyone and everything around him. He'd broken Bae and Milah, he'd very purposefully destroyed whatever Regina might have been to suit himself, and now Belle…

Belle.

His eyes darted to the cabinet, the place that he'd stored her cup, unable to destroy it he'd had no choice but to hide it from sight but now…he wanted that cup. He wanted to be close to her in some way. He wanted to be reminded of her. He strode over and removed it from where he'd stashed it and nearly dissolved into tears the first time it was in his hands again, the first time he laid eyes on that chip. He saw her then, just as perfect and solid as if she was there! He saw the night she'd chipped it all over again, the way her blush had crept up her chest, how nervous she'd been, how beautiful. Oh, if he'd known that he loved her even then…

He moved carefully, step after step from the cabinet to a pedestal, the one that held the phony Grail.

She was dead. She was gone. His memories of her were strong, so strong that sometimes he felt like he could still feel her close to him. She was dead, and the Seer was never wrong. That meant that the images he'd seen in his head, those that he'd been so worried about and sent her away for, were not visions, but merely fantasies. A dead woman couldn't tell him she loved him, a dead woman couldn't bear him children, a dead woman couldn't wake up in the bed next to him, a dead woman wouldn't wear white and make vows. A dead woman had no life. The shoulder he'd seen in the bed beside him, it wasn't her. But oh, how he wished it was. She would have been perfect, he'd have worshiped her! They would have had a True Love to celebrate. A True Love that never really got off the ground. He hadn't felt a thing when she died. True Love had a tendency to do that, they could sense when one life passed. But that was True Love that was allowed to flourish as theirs never had. Because of him. Because he'd feared those fantasies he'd had of her, because he'd let himself have feelings for her and develop a connection. Because he'd let her go, all for a fear of visions that were never to be. He hadn't been there to protect her.

Her death was on his hands.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Nimue #Belle #REgina #Evil Queen #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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allthephils · 5 years

Text

From the Passenger Seat

This work was written for the @phandomreversebang and was inspired by this wonderful art by @dnovep.

Word count: 4002 Rated T (Mild references to sex and homophobia, mental health, established relationship)

Read on AO3

“Phil.”

His name lingers in a fog of sleep before dropping to the bed. The mattress dips with the weight of it. There’s one quick, deep breath before he presses his face further into the pillow and sinks back into a disjointed dream.

“Phil!”

It’s loud enough to break through now, dragging consciousness with it. Phil resists with a grunt, turning away from the sound but a hand comes to grip his shoulder, shaking him abruptly before pulling away. He hears a heavy put upon sigh and finally allows his eyes to open, slowly letting in bright morning sunlight. “What time is it?”

“Finally.” Dan is stood now. Phil twists to see him zipping up a bag and stepping into his shoes. “I’m leaving, just thought you should know.”

“Leaving? What time is it?” Phil can’t make sense of anything. The way the sun streams in says it’s early, so much earlier than he ever gets up. He’s not looking at Dan because his eyes have settled on the duffle bag sitting on the bed near his feet. He searches for a memory he must have lost. Was there a plan? Is Dan going away today?

“It’s like 6:30,” Dan says, like that’s a perfectly reasonable time to be waking Phil up. He’s bothered, annoyed. Judging by his tone, it must be quite a burden to drag Phil from a dream this way. “Go back to sleep. I just thought I should tell you before I left.”

Dan grabs his jacket off the back of the desk chair while Phil watches, confused and only half awake. Something squeezes around his heart like a fist, clenching tighter every second as awareness creeps in. The night before had been rough. Dan spent most if it sulking, complaining about every little thing, while Phil mostly stayed quiet and tried to leave room for Dan to vent. His offers of affection were ignored, his empathy met with derision. Dan had snapped at Phil, refused to talk to him. He’d rolled his eyes at Phil’s insistence that they not go to bed angry. I’m not going to bed, he’d said you are. So not my problem I guess. Phil was genuinely hurt but there was no getting through so he did go to bed, falling asleep alone to a soundtrack of the too loud television coming from the lounge.

“Wait, Dan. You’re leaving?” Phil says, voice shaky and cracking, his body reacting before his mind is fully aware of the fear he’s facing.

“Yeah, I’ll…” He turns as he speaks but stops short when he sees the alarm on Phil’s face. “Phil?”

Dan looks so tired, his eyes are pink and heavy, ringed in blue grey, his mouth pulled down at the corners. All the while, his body darts and weaves around the room.

“Phil. What?” He’s so terse, Phil is almost afraid to answer.

“You’re leaving? What does that mean exactly?” Any attempt to appear detached is lost to the panic rising in Phil’s throat.

Dan just stares at him for a few moments and then, “Jesus Phil, I’m not leaving you. I’m just leaving.” There’s that eye roll again. It’s so dismissive and it stings, it really does. Phil wonders if it felt like this for his mum when he would roll his eyes as a teenager. Dan’s not a teenager though.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.”

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know.” Again with the irritation, like Phil has no reason to worry, no right to know what to expect.

“Are you ok?” Phil asks, earnest, and sits up, reaching for his glasses.

“I don’t know.” An honest answer, matter of fact.

Phil throws the covers off himself and stands, reaching under the bed to pull out his suitcase. He pulls shirts from the closet leaving a mess of hangers on the floor. Three drawers slam one by one as he grabs what he needs from the chest. He doesn’t actually know what he needs because he doesn’t know where they’re going or how long they’ll be gone but he grabs a change of jeans and some pajamas, a handful of underwear and a pile of single mismatched socks and shoves in all into his case.

“Get the chargers and my pillow, I’ll be fast.”

Dan is still stood in the middle of the room watching Phil. “Fast at what?”

Phil has already turned on the shower and he climbs in in lieu of answering. He keeps his hair dry and washes as quickly as he can, then steps out to dry off and brush his teeth. He grabs hair product and his toothbrush and opens the door to find Dan in the same spot.

“Fast at what?”

“Showering. Did you sleep at all?” His chargers are right where he left them. He throws on jeans and a t-shirt and grabs a tour hoodie off the floor. The last bits packed, he zips up, grabs his pillow, and walks toward the door.

“Dan?”

Dan hasn’t moved.

“Dan?!”

He startles.

“Are we going?” Phil is losing patience but he’s trying, he’s trying so hard. This isn’t the first time Dan has run off in search of a conclusion to the story in his head. It hasn’t happened in a while and this scenario is definitely new. Waking Phil up for a goodbye, however ill tempered, is an improvement.

“You’re coming with me?”

Phil just huffs and walks past Dan to grab his bag too.

“Come on.”

They get an Uber to the rental car lot because Dan is too embarrassed to let Phil ride the tube holding his pillow. They don’t talk once they’re seated in the back seat. Phil politely deflects any conversation from the driver.

The morning is dreary and grey, a little too on the nose for Phil. He thinks a little glaring sun might do a world of good right now. Maybe it would boost Dan’s serotonin levels just enough or maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe, to Dan, sunny skies would be an affront today, an assault on the senses. Maybe sunny skies would bring out the friendly in this driver and bring crowds to this rental lot. Maybe dreary and grey is a safety net.

Phil’s a safety net too though and he could really use a little sunshine right now. It’s not about him, he knows that but he can’t pretend this doesn’t scare him, doesn’t bring back all sorts of memories of hard times, bad days, and worse nights. If Dan can choose to be off meds, to let these days come sometimes, then Phil can choose to cling to him for dear life. We all have our coping mechanisms.

Phil loads a cooler into the backseat of the rental car before climbing in and setting two coffees into the cup holders in the center console.

“Where did you get a cooler?” Dan sounds angry but that’s just how he sounds on days like today.

Phil answers him with forced neutrality. “Tesco.”

“And Starbucks? You did all that while I was at the counter?” The look dan gives him could best be described as suspicious but there’s a hint of gratitude way in the back of his words. Phil holds onto it and shrugs.

“You won’t tell me where we’re going or how long we’ll be gone,” Phil says, “so I got snacks. You’re welcome.”

It takes a real effort not to mirror Dan’s mood. It’s not fair to be angry so Phil breathes deep and watches the scenery go by, bland as it is. He sips his coffee and reaches behind him to pull a box of doughnuts from the cooler. Vaguely political chatter drones from the speakers. It might be interesting if it weren’t so early. Dan waves away the offer of a doughnut but reaches over a few minutes later to take one from the box.

The landscape is dull as the sky. It all runs together, rushing past Phil’s window, beige and grey and muted green. Dan’s hands make the steering wheel look like one of those toys you’d give a baby in their car seat. He fidgets, gripping in pulses and twists. The muscles of his face twitch and spasm as he clenches his jaw and Phil reaches out to touch the hard edge of it.

“Babe,” Phil sounds small, “can you relax your jaw?” He clears his throat, “it’s gonna be sore.”

Dan inhales through his nose and lets his jaw soften. It’s a small thing but it feels like a victory and Phil’s shoulders relax the tiniest bit. He tries to remember everything he’s learned, things the internet taught him in the middle of nights made sleepless by worry, and things Dan taught him, vulnerable and open in Phil’s arms on one of his better days. There’s an inner dialogue unfolding that he’ll have to repeat on a loop until Dan is on the other side of whatever this is. All he can do is be here, strong and open-hearted, a witness to Dan’s strength, reflecting it back until he can see it for himself.

A sign rushes by, the off ramp for Wokingham is ahead. It distracts Phil from his thoughts.

“Oh Wokingham,” He says, “is that where we’re going?”

The laugh that follows is scathing. “Wokingham? Phil, are you actually joking?” Dan shoots him a look that matches his tone, “Fuck Wokingham.”

Phil’s eyelids are heavy, his head wobbles on his neck, and it’s clear Dan isn’t interested in chatting. Reclining the seat, he hugs his pillow and feels himself drift. He’s not falling asleep, he’s just getting comfortable, resting his eyes.

A cold rush of air sends a shiver over Phil and he reaches for a duvet that isn’t there. “Dan. It’s cold! Roll up your window.” He curls in tighter but his eyes flutter open to see Dan reach out and crank the heat up. The droning voice Phil had drifted off to has been replaced by something deep and loud, an angry voice half sings, half raps, and Dan sings along, hand drumming the beat into the steering wheel.

“Pull over, I need a wee.” Phil sits upright and throws his pillow into the back. “How long was I asleep?”

“An hour? Hour and a half? Wasn’t really paying attention.”

The nearest exit takes them to a petrol station and Phil runs inside, grateful for an actual toilet. He’s never been great at having a wee on the side of the road with his nervous bladder. When he comes back, Dan is leaning against the car, a picnic of road snacks laid out on the boot. Phil pauses just outside the shop, taking a moment to look. From here, Dan is only beautiful. He looks cool and strong, no sign of his crumbling resolve, no chemical imbalance, no dark circles, no trauma.

“Glad you’re eating.”

Dan holds out the pastry in his hand for Phil to take a bite. It’s a thing they’ve done a thousand times and Phil basks in the normal of it.

“When I get diabetes, you’re going to have to give me the shots.” A joke in poor taste, another small hint of normal for Phil to hold on to.

Phil gathers up wrappers and bottles and takes it all to the garbage. By the time he’s back, Dan is back in the driver’s seat.

“It’s bloody cold.” He says, starting the car and cranking up the heat. Phil breathes into his hands and looks to Dan, carefully choosing his next words.

“Feeling a little better?”

The twitch in the muscle of Dan’s jaw says he chose wrong.

“Better than what?” Dan says with a laugh that’s not at all funny.

The music is up and they are on the road again, making their way over the bridge to Wales. They don’t talk. Phil usually knows what to say, what not to say, how to just be there. He knows the heavy, shut down numbness of Dan’s depressive episodes and the weepy desperation that sometimes comes when the clouds are about to part. Maybe this is what it’s like when Dan runs off. Maybe the mood swings and the worry in Dan’s brow are par for the course. He hates that he doesn’t know. Running away like this has always been something Dan did without warning. Phil has never been privy to this piece of Dan’s puzzle but he can see that Dan’s mind is racing. He thinks he knows how that feels but he can’t be sure. He wants to know what to say. He wants to make stupid jokes and eat pizza and go home and cuddle. He wishes that he could be enough.

Outside, the blue sky has cracked through the murky grey clouds. The sea is calm, rushing past on both sides and soon they’re driving right along the coast. It brings to mind family holidays and morning walks with his mum but beneath the comfort, there’s an undercurrent of fear. Any moment, those dark waters could rise up, crash over them, envelop this little town they’re in. He conjures an image of he and Dan on the Isle of Man, watching the sunset, kissing on a high cliff where no one could see. Staring into the water, he clings to a heavy handed metaphor. He and Dan run deeper than most could imagine, so constant in their ebb and flow, so strong in their quietest moments. He’s lost in those thoughts when he feels the car pull off the road and realizes they’ve arrived. Somewhere.

Before he can ask, Dan is out of the car and walking toward the water. Grabbing a blanket from the backseat, Phil finds a grassy spot without too many rocks. There’s a lighthouse in the distance and the sound of the sea in Phil’s ears as he stands and watches Dan stretch his arms above his head. The blanket isn’t much barrier from the poking grass and pebbly sand but Phil sits anyway. Phil watching Dan, Dan watching the sea, birds screaming overhead. Enough time passes that the light has changed, the clouded sun giving a glow that feels like early morning though they left that part of the day at home. Finally, Dan turns and begins the walk back. He sits but the distance between them is miles wide.

“You ok?”

“No.”

Of course he’s not ok. “I can read on my phone or play a game. We could probably get a signal here, watch something.”

All he gets is a heavy sigh in response.

“I’m sorry.” Phil squeaks out. “Maybe this is your thing. I should have stayed home. I just get scared Dan.” Dan stretches the crick out of his neck and Phil wishes he could shave some of that annoyance away. “I try so hard not to make it about my feelings when you’re like this but things have been pretty good,” Dan’s brows shoot up, he’s picking at the grass next to blanket, “or maybe just familiar, I don’t know. But I’m having flashbacks if I’m honest. Last night was hard, this morning was hard.” Phil continues, “No, not hard, terrifying.”

Dan’s head turns just slightly and the flash of his eyes makes Phil want to reach out and pull him in but he stays put.

“Sorry I was a twat last night.” Dan tucks in his legs and pulls the blanket around his knees. “But I’m ok Phil. I mean I’m not, but I’m figuring it out.”

“Ok but that’s what scares me Dan. The only times you’ve ever scared me is when you’ve said you could handle things.” Phil’s lip is sore where he keeps biting it. “It just makes me think back to right before you started therapy. You kept insisting you were fine and then, well you weren’t. Do you remember what you said to me?”

“No.” He answers, exasperated.

Phil looks right at him and speaks slowly. “You said, ‘It’s getting scary Phil.’ Then there were tears. You weren’t really crying but there were tears. And I held you there. And you said you were scared. You said it a few times.”

“Ok, Yeah. I remember,” Dan says, “I was scared. That was a darker place than I had been before.”

“And now? Are you scared now?”

Dan turns his body toward Phil, finally looking at him. “Not like I was then. I’m not on an edge anymore. I would never do that do you.”

“Will you please come here?” Phil is really trying but he has to touch him. He’s the most important person on the planet and he can’t survive this moment without something, just a touch, he’ll take anything.

Dan lays his head in Phil’s lap and Phil’s fingers are instantly in his hair. It’s a fix and the itch under his skin finally subsides. He’s aware of the utter codependency, the addiction he has when it comes to Dan but he doesn’t care.

“I’m not going to do anything I can’t take back. This is different. I’m different.” He rolls on his side, curling against the cool air. “The thing is though, that means there’s no way out.”

“Jesus Christ Dan. How can you just say that?”

“Hear me out.” Dan has readjusted his position several times already and now he sits up, one leg folded in, on leg sort of wrapped around Phil’s so they are finally, finally close. “If I’m gonna do this, if I’m gonna feel everything, I can’t stagnate, I have to keep moving forward, making my life what I want it to be. You can’t be the only good thing in my life Phil.”

“I’m not. You have so much Dan.”

“Whatever. Some days you are. I want to have a good life with you, not just for you or because of you. Does that make sense?” He’s brushing his fingertips up and down Phil’s neck, searching for some connection and knowing he needs it as much as Phil does brings more comfort than anything could. He nods, it’s a small thing but it’s all he’s got.

They sit like that for some time. Dan watching Phil, Phil watching the sea, birds screaming overhead.

“So what were you doing last night? If you weren’t depressed or whatever, why were you up?”

“I was writing. All night. And drawing and outlining and my brain was about to combust so that’s why the drive.” There’s almost a smile now, the sunshine Phil’s been waiting for.

“Oh. Cool. What did you write?”

“Welp. Phil. I was working on a script, a concept really, for a video. It’s way too long right now, I’m gonna need your help cutting it down.”

“Of course.” Phil is lost but he waits.

“It’s my coming out.” Dan says, his eyes expectant.

“Coming out? Like, of the closet?”

“No Phil, it’s my coming out into southern American society. I’ll need a chaperone, will you escort me to my cotillion?” At least he’s laughing.

“Ok, I’m just surprised.”

“What do you think?”

“I think you should do whatever you need to do to be happy.”

Dan laughs, “Well I don’t know about that lofty aspiration, but I think it will help.” He leans back a bit, gets a good look at Phil’s eyes. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m asking. This is gonna out you too. I can’t exactly not mention the guy that made me commit to one dick for the rest of my life.”

Phil huffs a relieved sort of giggle, “so you aren’t sad, or numb, or any of that?”

“Not today. Just nervous, excited, anxious, terrified, maybe a little sad after writing my story down, but just normal sad.” He lays back down, so tired, like talking about this has used up the last of the adrenaline that was keeping him up. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“We don’t have to talk about this now.” Phil says, back to the important work of stroke Dan’s hair.

“Actually, we do. Kinda the whole point of this little trip. You’re the one that came along and uninvited bub. Can’t escape now.”

“Yeah, I mean, say what you want Dan. I’m already out to everyone that matters.”

Dan looks up at him. “I can think of 4 million people who matter who don’t know.”

“Oh come on, they know. I talk about hot guys all the time.”

“Yes Phil, I know.” Dan says with utter contempt in his voice. “And sure, the lesbians know, but what about all the people who will just assume we’re straight unless we literally leak our sex tape? What about all the people in denial because they’re just so in love with big daddy Philly.”

“Ew. Stop.” Phil crinkles his nose. “I’m not subtle Dan. And I don’t care if they know for sure, they’ll figure it out.”

“Ok babe. You do you. I’m just saying, you could maybe help some people.”

“How did this become a conversation about me?” Phil watches Dan snuggle in and close his eyes. “Let’s just get through your video first. See how it goes. You know mine will be pretty low key. If I decide to make one.”

“Alright.” Dan bats his eyelashes at Phil. It’s not intentional, just a thing that happens when he feels like this. “Thanks for hijacking my road trip. I love you.”

“Wait, what about your family, Dan?”

“Guess that’s step one.” He sounds so sleepy now, the words slur a bit, his breathing slow. “I’ve got till June. Maybe I’ll do it at Easter.”

“The June video.” Phil says.

“Has to be June.” He yawns. He looks so small sometimes. “A year is enough time thinking about it. I’ve got to rip off the plaster.”

Everything is different. Different to last night, different to this morning, different to last year, and so different to a few years ago. It doesn’t mean an absence of fear. Loving Dan means a small corner of his heart will always be hollowed out, lying in wait for the next time he sinks. But he’s reassured, for now.

There’s a little shack of motel up the road, generously referred to as a bed and breakfast on the website. Phil drags Dan awake after a half hour or so and leads him to the car.

“You can’t drive Phil.” Dan mumbles.

“I can and I am. It’s just ten minutes. No complaining.”

The lady at the front desk wears a scrutinizing gaze as she checks them in. Phil repeats yep just one room, more than once.

As they make their way up the stairs with their bags and Phil’s pillow, Dan whispers, “We’ll have to make some noise for her sake, after I get a nap.” Phil giggles looking over his shoulder.

They choose a movie and Dan’s asleep before the title appears. Phil isn’t far behind. Eventually, he gets up and ventures out to bring back a real meal. They eat and talk about all the ideas overflowing in Dan’s mind. Phil makes Dan take a shower and he doesn’t even unzip his bag, just climbs into bed to make that noise they’d talked about. In the end, they’re rather quiet but for breathy sighs and whispered affection. Dan is happy to do this Phil’s way, to let the weight of him hold him steady and let himself be adored. And so Phil does adore him, covering his skin in kisses, keeping their bodies impossibly close. He’ll taste every sweet and bitter piece of Dan and hear the soft sounds that only he’s allowed to hear. Dan will end up draped over Phil, drifting off yet again. Silky brown curls will slip around and past Phil’s fingers again and again and he’ll remember a time when he was the only one who got to see these curls. The years of hiding so many pieces of them are coming to an end but some things, the most important things, will always belong to just the two of them.

#phanfic #prb19 #prb #myfic

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celestialvinyl · 5 years

Text

good company. (roger taylor x reader).

pairing: roger taylor x reader

word count: 2.7k

A/N: okay, look -- i know that MTV didn’t start broadcasting until ‘81, but we’re going to pretend that a familiar channel existed in the 70′s. it’s mainly because of this iconic interview. just go with it. you’ll enjoy it, i hope!

warnings: swearing (a healthy dollop), historical pop culture references i’m not even sure are entirely right, and lots of different ways of saying how beautiful roger is.

You were pretty sure you were going to throw up.

“What the hell do you mean ‘you can’t do the interview’?” you hissed to the colleague opposite of you. Angela, who was looking greener than a toad stared at you, her most apologetic look she could muster spread over her face. Although, it wasn’t much. Her energy was all but gone as she pathetically sat at her desk. While the bullpin around the two of you continued with it’s routine commotion, you just stared at Angela as though she had practically ended the world.

She struggled to get anything out without doubling over, and you were surprised your boss hand’t come out yet to scream at her to go home. Nevertheless, she sat herself up and took a deep breath. “I’ve got to get home and get over this. I can’t puke all over Roger Taylor’s shoes, (Y/N).”

“Well, that’s obvious.” You shot back. Your anxiety was getting the best of you; your brain already knew what Angela was going to ask of you. It was busy trying to think of ways out of her favor. But, you still made the mistake to ask, “So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to have someone else go on.” Angie got out. She followed with a big breath, and a hand to her chest as though it would hold back something from coming up her throat. “But Benny can’t do it — neither can David. They’re swamped with the Glen Campbell thing. You just finished Carly Simon’s—”

As though you knew where this was going, you put on your fighting gloves. “I had weeks to prep for Carly! You’re giving me—” In a mad rush, you looked down to the watch — the one your last boyfriend gave you as a “useful” gift since you were always late. “— You’re giving me four hours, Angie.”

She took a deep breath, and you weren’t quite sure if that was from the nausea she was experiencing, or the hard time you were giving her. Either way, it sent a wave of guilt washing over you that somehow dispelled the anxiety beginning to overtake you from the prospect of actually doing this interview. You’d barely listened to the new album, let alone checked up on them in order to feel prepared.

A Day at the Races had been out for less than a month, and with the holidays coming up soon — listening to it had been on the bottom of your priority list. They were good — and it wasn’t an album that you were going to forget about. But damn —the Carly Simon piece had taken every last inch of your effort for the last two months. (And you were really just looking forward to gliding through the rest of the week until holiday break). But this? Roger Taylor was going to have your ass, and not in the way you would particularly want it. Maybe that was why you hated yourself as the simple “I’ll do it” crawled up your throat and off your lips.

Angie barely heard the statement, just from the softness that it came out as. Her shoulders slumped in a sense of relief — or maybe fatigue — signaling that you better go and start working on this fucking interview. Even with the folder that Angie handed over before you left, there was still so much to do.

You managed to lock yourself into your office with the album blasting.

As coworkers walked by, they found your physically anxious body hunched over your desk as you spent close to three hours surveying Angie’s notes and questions, while the album blasted from your speakers in the other corner. A room that was normally your safe haven had become a sort of hell in such a short amount of time.

It had been months since you last crammed for an interview so much; last time — it was Mike Love. He had been gracious enough to deal with you as you steered your questions towards him specifically, although you suspected it wasn’t difficult for the man to speak of himself. Even easier, it seemed, was it to keep the conversation off of Brian Wilson. And while your boss wasn’t the happiest with the results — it was the best anyone could do. (Nobody had heard from the Wilson brother in question in so long that there was a running bet in the office as to if the news would come that he had passed.)

But the problem with Roger Taylor was that he wasn’t the front man to begin with. Sure, he had a song on the album in question — and he was the pretty boy — but the sheer magnetism that Freddie Mercury held with a death grip wasn’t there when you peered at a photo of Roger. And that was alright, but it left you at an odd position. Angie’s papers noted the lack of previous interviews with just Roger, and instead of that relaxing you with the prospect of originality — you began to panic more with the knowledge that there wasn’t much info to go off of. Nevertheless, you pressed on.

As though you had another option.

Hair and makeup breezed by, and while curlers set your hair — you paced in your office and continued to read over the new notes you had scribbled. There were a few good questions you could pride yourself on coming up with in such a short time. There were a few pissers. Fucking hell, you just hoped that this would go smoothly enough. Because if it didn’t…well, your Christmas might not go as swimmingly as you wanted it to. Your job would be fine, but the anxiety of upsetting your boss was too much to deal with. This job was nice — something that didn’t seem like a good idea to strike out at.

A gentle knock on the door revealed an office assistant giving you pained glance. As your eyebrows scrunched up in a questioning return, your eyes trailed over to the small entourage exiting the elevator and making their way inside. “Shit.”

As you scrambled to remove your curlers and check yourself over in the mirror, the creeping apprehension you thought you had settled started to bubble up once more. The logical side of your brain reminded you that this wouldn’t sack your career. An interview with a drummer, from a band that had about the same name recognition as Doris Day’s son, could get you a lot of views — if you aced it. But if you didn’t? It might not be a problem. The key word was “might”. And that let you take a breath as the last curler came out, and you smoothed yourself out one last time.

And then you were out. The mess inside your office could be dealt with later, once this whole thing was over with.

The blonde, pretty boy entering the office space looked so different from everyone else’s bland attire. If nothing else gave away the lack of resemblance to the rest of the place, his clothes would do the job. With a steel pink blazer draped over his shoulders, Roger Taylor seemed to fit more to be on a runway than the office space of a music cable syndicate. His sunglasses had yet to come off. Just barely hanging on at the edge of his nose, you were thinking to yourself that you could probably blow them off with just a little wind.

When he shook your hand, you noticed how strong of a grip he had. “Mr. Taylor,” you greeted. And god damn, wow — the the sight of the veins in his hands somehow caused your pulse to quicken in the slightest. You weren’t quite sure why, because it was such an odd remark to yourself.

“Roger.”

“Roger,” you corrected yourself with a small smile, before pulling your hand away and letting it roam one of your pockets for your lucky pen. You needed to focus on something else or you were pretty sure any air of professionalism you held would be thrown out the window when he could hear your heartbeat. “It’s good to have you here.”

He grinned at you, and you could see his eyes from just over the rims of the sunglasses. And oh, shit — they were absolutely gorgeous. Relax, [Y/N], you chided yourself. With one last deep breath to calm your nerves, you flashed him your best TV smile and held out a hand as to point to the studio doors. “Would you follow me? We can go over the brief while we do mic checks and everything for the night.”

He didn’t argue with you. About halfway down the hallway — he piped up. “‘m sorry, but wasn’t Angie supposed to do this?”

You cocked your head over your shoulder, giving him a quick response while people bustled around your new group. “She had to leave early today — emergency. I took over.” There, short and simple. He didn’t need to know about how you nearly pulled your hair out on several different occasions. The drama of telling yourself that this was too short of a deadline wasn’t something he needed to worry himself with.

Someone held the door open for you and Roger (with his little entourage that consisted of a couple of men that you probably thought were part of his management.) The set was bustling with other workers, and as you got to the table — you turned back to him. “Alright,” you launched off. “I’ll keep this simple: It’s live, but we’re actually going to send it over to another sound stage after ours for a little while. It should be easy.” He probably didn’t need this whole explanation, but what could it hurt? “I left my questions open, so you can plug the album well. If there’s anything personal you want to add — that sells well. Got it?”

Roger looked at you with a little grin and nodded. “Got it. Should be easy.” He copied.

As the hook to “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy” played overhead, you finally let out the breath you’d been holding since Angela gave you the job this afternoon. The whole thing was over; it had gone off without a hitch. Roger had done pretty well, and that calm candor had to have leant to the fact that he was here promoting the album, as opposed to the other members. You’d have to ask Angela about the others later.

Your papers, discarded on the table in front of you were practically pointless now. And Roger seized on that fact. He smiled as he took your papers from the spot they laid in front of you. You tried to reach for them and yank them back, but if your boss saw — that would look more unprofessional then whatever he was reading on the—

“Did Brian May write “Tie Your Mother Down” about anyone is specifics?” As soon as those words came out of his mouth, your cheeks tinted into the most crimson shade you’d ever known. Roger’s howl of a laugh echoed through the studio, and while everyone else kept to their own business — it sure didn’t feel that way. You were sure the spotlight guy up in the rafters had it pointed on you instead of whatever act was prepping on the small stage to your right. Somehow, he had managed to find the jokes — those stupid questions you wrote when you were on the wire and you thought you were going to explode.

He wasn’t supposed to find those.

And yet he continued listening them off, holding back laughter with very little success. “After your recent problems with EMI, do you really think you can dance a Millionare’s Waltz? Would you consider yourself a good old fashioned lover boy? Mr. Taylor, do you know you take my breath away?”

The last one, written in a final and brief moment before the interview started was meant to give you one last chuckle before the cameras started rolling. It wasn’t supposed to cause you the humiliation that it did now, and yet somehow — you honestly considered just melting into your chair and pretending that you never existed. “They’re jokes,” you tried. “Don’t you ever get the jitters before a big show?”

He finally met your eyes, with a gleam of his amusement obvious. You looked horribly upset but tried to hold yourself together like the professional you were. Those shitty jokes and questions might not give that air off, but you tried to convince yourself that you were. Despite this, you were pretty sure you didn’t look more pitiful and ashamed than your pup when you were a kid and they got into the trash bin.

“I don’t write jokes that are easily accessible to the ones they’re written about, no.” He countered, finally setting down the sheet and giving you the access to take them back. “But those would have been more fun to hear on air.”

You could only imagine. “And how would you have answered?”

He sensed the challenge growing in your eyes, but more so in your tone. And something in him stirred, like a sense of enjoyment he hadn’t felt at one of these things before. Sure, some of the other girls were willing to be obvious in their admiration (and what was he supposed to do as the rockstar he was?) Yet, no one was quite like you. And Roger liked the difference. So, he played along. “Well,” he started. “I would say that the bullshit Brian says about writing that song in college isn’t as true as he wishes it was. And we’re doing pretty good for ourself now. And uhm,” he paused — trying to remember the others. Why was he forgetting something that had made him laugh so hard a few seconds ago?

You breathed a sigh of relief that he was having trouble remembering the others. The first two were practically harmless — a little interesting when getting into the more personal aspects of the band. The others were practically spelling out in big letters how much your heart raced when you were around him now — throwing your experience as a “true journalist” out the window. And just as he seemed to remember, one of the tech assistants finally came to the rescue and asked for your mic.

You gave him the biggest smile, and found your reason to pause this whole thing. Getting unhooked took a second, but as soon as the newbie was off with your mic pack in hand, you thanked the heavens for the fact Roger Taylor had found himself someone else to chat to. In your small opportunity, you rifled through the papers you quickly collected and found the cursed sheet of paper. Without much grandeur or pomp, you crumpled the horrid thing and tossed it in the bin. With that out of the way, you found your interviewee once more.

He grinned when he saw you, and you smiled back. “Thanks for the opportunity, Roger.” Despite the amount of stress he and this interview had put you in, it was a great opportunity and a slight tilt from your regular. While Angela took most of rock albums and bands, you were most often times given more folksy albums to review and work on pieces for. Queen was quite the opposite.

“Ah, I should be the one thanking you.” He shot back, and you grinned. But God, your heart fluttered because his smile was something else. And then you had to remind yourself that this was just a single interview. “Thanks for the laughs. Any chance I could get that paper to show to the band?”

Oh, no. You chuckled despite the sinking feeling of anxiety taking you over. “I wish I could. I just tossed all my papers in the bin.” As you were about to say something else, you could hear your boss calling your name and quickly gave him the ‘i’ve got to go’ smile. Rushing off, Roger started to look around the set for any bins he might see.

A young man was emptying one out by where you had been previously, and Roger figured this was probably a good shot. As he rushed over, he found your scribbled handwriting over one of the sheets on the top of the bin. Still in the young guy’s arms, Roger only took a second to fish it out and head off. This would make a good story for the others.

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myforeverforlife · 6 years

Text

smoke and mirrors (part one).

They say that in a career like yours, it’s not recommended to get attached to others. Scratch that — it’s absolutely foolish. Living as a rogue spy tied to the undercover group RF-15, you’re basically asking for a death sentence by forming relationships. There’s no room in a world this cold for love. But with someone as alluring as Kim Jongin, you may end up making the biggest mistake of your life.

Word Count: 6,937

Masterlist

You’re not called “The Whisper” for nothing. You’ve spent years doing undercover work, whether it be gathering information to take down the most corrupt officials, or sneaking into high-security facilities to steal folders of paperwork that people would only dare dream of getting their hands on.

You were one of the best, a secret agent working for a group called “RF-15” for almost a decade. It didn’t take long for word to spread of your cunning, your speed, your ability to ease answers out of anyone you came in contact with. And so, you became known as “The Whisper”. You had to give up a lot to become a spy worthy of this name, running away from a home with cold, unloving parents who had more interest in their business than their daughter. Nights once spent alone were well, still spent alone, but at least now you reasoned with yourself that you had a purpose. Now, you were tasked with airing the dirty laundry of the corrupt, the liars and the traitors.

Tonight would be no different from any other mission that you had before — except for one catch. This time, the people up in headquarters had been attempting to branch out and form connections with other rogue groups. This upcoming night would be one of the first missions between RF-15 and an all-male group who called themselves “EXO”. Your superior made no effort to conceal how important this mission was for both sides, debriefing you multiple times to make sure.

“Now when you get there, the agent from EXO will be there as well. Both of you are tasked with working together in order to find the CEO’s files, and then to bring them safely to the drop-off point without any notice. Understood?”

You had nodded once, the motion quick. EXO was known not only for being solely comprised of male members, but also for having members specializing in multiple methods of combat. Compared to people in your group who only trained in one fighting technique, usually hand-to-hand combat, these skilled agents were intimidating, to say the least. You had never laid eyes on them before, but you knew that your organization and theirs ran in the same circles. Although you preferred to work alone most of the time, the sudden twist in tonight’s mission threw you for a loop. More intrigued than you cared to let on, you put more work into your disguise for the evening than you normally would have.

You ran your hands over the smooth fabric of your dress, the color a beautiful navy blue, not much unlike the sky above you at the moment. The dress itself was modest, meant to not draw much attention to yourself. The objective wasn’t to attract the gazes of everyone in the room, but to look presentable enough to go by unnoticed. Your makeup, however, was more extravagant than usual. Your eyes were accentuated with eyeshadow, the colors muted and smoky against your lids. With every blink of your eyes, you could feel the soft feathering of your lashes as they brushed against your skin. A swipe of gloss covered your lips, and your cheeks were dusted with a light blush, a soft shade of rose making you appear even more lively and adding a fresh color to your appearance. As someone who normally didn’t put much effort into their looks, even these small changes to your makeup had you feeling like an entirely different person. Fitting, especially since you needed a new alias for tonight.

The notes of a piano floated through the air, a soft background to the sounds of forks clinking against plates as you sat waiting in the restaurant. As per plan, you and this agent from EXO were supposed to meet up at for dinner at a place called “The Ristorante” to discuss your plans for tonight over some ridiculously expensive Italian cuisine. This schedule had been arranged to give you two a couple of hours to go over any last minute changes, and then to head over to tonight’s party.

The objective was to blend in with the rest of the guests at Brandon Kwon’s end of the year gala, held to celebrate all of the work that his manufacturing company had done in the past year. His company, Kwon Pharmaceuticals, was best known for their antidepressant, Sutitrin. What the public wasn’t aware of was the failure of their topical cream, Dermatol, and the lawsuits that had been hushed up by the company. While Dermatol was supposed to help with severe acne, many trial patients reported rashes, intense burning sensations, and even severe allergic reactions. A couple of people had even succumbed to the harsh wounds inflicted upon them, and Kwon Pharmacuticals quickly put an end to the test trials, but they couldn’t erase the failures of their product from people’s memories.

And that’s where you came in. Well, technically you and Kim Kai.

Sneaking a glance at your phone, you sighed internally. It was already 7:15, and your mystery partner was still nowhere to be seen. You had been told to come to the restuarant under a reservation for a Kim Kai, a name that you were one-hundred percent sure was a pseudonym. That didn’t stop you from trying to figure out who this Kim Kai was, from piecing together a vague idea of what this man might look like. Since he was one of EXO’s men, you figured he must be pretty well-built, definitely more on the muscular side. He was probably extremely good-looking as well — it was a small joke within your circle that a good spy was an attractive one, able to use their charms to get their way out of any sticky situations.

“Miss Lane?”

Your head shot up upon hearing your pseudonym for the night, only for your breath to catch in your throat at the person standing before you.

Never in your wildest dreams would you have imagined Kim Kai to look like this.

EXO’s agent stood across the table from you, a hand over the back of his chair as if waiting for your permission to sit down. He was lean, but the slight muscles hiding under the fabric of his clothing told another story. Dressed in a crisp suit with a perfectly placed bowtie to top it all off, Kim Kai was absolutely stunning, to say the least. But compared to his face, the rest of his outfit was bland in contrast.

Hair as dark as night was swept up and away from his face, as if he were teasing you to try and decipher every nuance, every emotion in those warm eyes of his. Even as he looked at you, a hint of playfulness could be seen there, despite the neutral pout of his lips.

“Miss Lane?” he tried again, a wrinkle starting to form between his brows at your lack of response.

“Yes,” you quickly replied, nodded towards his seat. “Please, sit down.” Get a grip, Y/N. Now was not the time to be ogling men. You had a serious mission to carry out tonight.

The stranger did as told, settling into his seat easily and resting his hands on top of the table. “Have you ordered yet?”

“No, I wasn’t sure when you would arrive.” Your tone was calm, indifferent although both of you knew what message lay hidden: You’re horribly late.

“I’m really sorry about that,” he apologized. “How about I pay the bill? And I’ll drive to the gala.”

Free food? And a ride? As tempted as you were to make the deal even sweeter on your end, you had more important matters at hand. “Alright. Thank you.”

“I’m Kai.” He extended his hand across the table, waiting patiently until you shook it, your hand small in his grasp. “It’s nice to meet you. Celeste Lane, right? Or maybe ‘The Whisper’, whichever you want,” he added in reference to your name as an agent.

Celeste Lane, your cover for the night, was constructed to be a marketing genius in the cosmetics industry. “You can call me Miss Lane for the rest of the night.”

Kai nodded, leaning back in his seat, surprisingly not shaken by the distant front you put up.

Despite these small hiccups in the plan, the rest of the dinner went surprisingly smoothly. Underneath Kai’s casual mannerisms lay a driven, focused agent. It was hard not to admire the amount of work he put into memorizing every detail of the plan, along wih both of your cover stories.

“And so after the reception,” he said, waiting for you to fill in the rest.

“You will keep Brandon Kwon distracted while I sneak upstairs to the study to get the documents.” The prize for tonight — the hidden files containing the failed Dermatol tests.

“Hey, wait. Why do I have to distract him?” Kai countered, his natural pout even more pronounced as he spoke. “If we both head upstairs, we can find it more quickly.”

“And risk the chance of someone getting caught? It’s better if someone stays downstairs with the rest of the guests to make sure no one is suspicious about our movements.”

“I’m going to be a sitting duck downstairs, though. Come on, we both know that two people searching is better than one. We’ll be in and out before you know it.”

You’d have to add persuasion to your mental list of Kai’s talents later on. With a sigh, you gave a small nod. “Okay. But if anything goes wrong, you’re going to have to explain this to both of our superiors.”

“But nothing will go wrong.” Kai gave you a wink, a smile appearing on his lips as you blushed in response.

“I’ll hold you to that. Come on.” You pushed your chair back abruptly, ignoring the slight squeak it made as it scraped against the floor. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave soon.”

“Hey, wait up!” With a toss of some bills onto the table and a nod to the waiter, Kai followed after you.

“You know, this mission calls for two people,” he mumbled under his breath as he came to walk beside you.

“I’m aware.”

“Then why do you keep acting like I’m a pawn in tonight’s plan? I’m just as prepared as you.”

“I’m not questioning your abilities, Kai.” You continued to look straight ahead, not bothering to give him a glance as you pushed the exit to the restaurant open, waiting for him to go first.

Kai gave you a curious glance before heading out, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets as he headed over to the valet. Within a couple of minutes, a navy blue Maserati pulled up to the curb.

“Really? A Maserati?” you asked, looking the car over with a skeptical eye. “Not the most inconspicuous of cars.”

“Well, seeing as Kim Kai is one of Kwon Pharmaceuticals’ top shareholders, it’s only right that I look the part. Hop in.” Kai opened the passenger side door for you, motioning for you to get in.

“Thank you,” you told him begrudingly, feeling all too out of place in such an extravagant car. The last time you owned a car, it had been a old, well-loved Honda Accord. Since you barely had time for yourself, your car had sat in your garage gathering dust until you finally had the heart to sell it. It had been with you since the beginning, even before you joined RF-15.

With a small shake of your head, you took in a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to be reminiscing about the past, especially a past that you weren’t particularly fond of.

The door on the other side opened up, with Kai sliding into his seat effortlessly. With a parting wave to the valet and a starting of the engine, he gave you a quick glance before heading off. “You ready?” he asked.

Stay focused, Y/N. “Yeah, I am.”

Brandon Kwon truly lived up to his reputation as one of the nation’s “pharmaceutical geniuses”. His home was more of an estate, with groves of trees and animals scattered across the expanse. You were even surprised to see a huge body of water resembling a ridiculously large lake near the house. As Kai brought the car around to the front of the mansion, you sucked in a breath at the swarms of people entering the lavish home.

“These rich people and their money,” you muttered under your breath. “I hope I’m not underdressed.”

Kai turned to look at you, one of his hands still resting on the steering wheel as his eyes looked you over. “You look beautiful. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

His words took you off guard, and you found yourself looking out the window instead. “Thank you,” you blurted out, choosing to focus on the other guests milling around.

On your other side, Kai watched you with a knowing smile, giving a small chuckle before moving the car forward.

Once he had passed the car off to yet the second valet for that night, he came around to your side to help you out. Instead of taking the hand that he held out to you, you chose to use the side of the car for support.

“You know, we’re supposed to be dating,” he leaned down, whispering into your ear.

The sudden proximity of his lips to your ear had a thrill running down your spine, even as you grimaced at your involuntary reaction. With a sigh, you finally took his hand. He was right, after all. Kim Kai and Celeste Lane: dating for three years and with an expected engagement coming in the near future, much to your chagrin. Whoever had come up with your cover stories for tonight had been having too much fun in the process.

The guards at the doors soon had both of you cleared, and you let out a breath of relief as you crossed the threshold. “I’ll head up in about half an hour. Wait about fifteen minutes, and then meet me upstairs. I’ll be in the study.”

Kai nodded, the movement almost imperceptible as he continued to escort you inside. “Got it. Stay safe.”

You paused before responding, trying your best to remain polite, acting strictly on business. But how could you act so coldly to Kai when he continued to behave like such a gentleman? “Thanks, you too.” There was no room for any more conversation as a finely dressed man came striding up confidently towards both of you. The man of the night, no doubt.

Everything about him screamed lavishness, from the golden wristwatch that he wore to the perfectly coiffed hair laying atop his head. Even his smile was blinding, teeth almost unrealistically bright. “Nice to meet you, I’m Brandon Kwon. And you are?” He looked to you for your response, a hand outstretched.

“Celeste Lane,” you proffered, moving to shake his hand. Unluckily for you, Brandon Kwon had other ideas. Instead of shaking it like you had intended, he brought your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it before letting go and giving you one of his million-dollar smiles.

“Charmed to meet you, I’ve heard you’re a new up-and-comer in cosmetics. Your company is quite lucky to have you.” He shot you a wink before turning his attention to Jongin, the glint in his eye dulling as he studied the man before him. “And you must be Miss Lane’s guest for tonight. Kim Kai, I presume? It’s nice to meet our seventh-highest shareholder in the flesh.”

“The honor’s all mine.” Kai held out a hand, only to drop it awkwardly as Brandon ignored it altogether.

“You’ve got a treasure on your hands, Mr. Kim.” It was obvious to you and Kai that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you for more than a couple of seconds. To be honest, it was starting to creep both of you out.

Kai gave a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right. She’s really something, isn’t she? If you’ll excuse us, we were actually headed to grab some drinks.”

“Oh, of course! I’ll catch up with you later.” Brandon gave you a parting grin as he left, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he went to greet his other guests.

“Thanks for that,” you mumbled under your breath.

“No problem. Come on, let’s get some drinks in us, loosen up before the real stuff happens.”

Unable to help the smile rising to your face, you finally decided to let yourself relax a little bit. “Alright. Let the party begin.”

Almost twenty minutes later, and Brandon Kwon had gotten to meet every guest in the room and even give a lengthy speech about the greatness of Kwon Pharmaceuticals. It was also during this time that you finished your martini, a series of hiccups escaping from your lips.

“Are you okay?” Kai asked, eyebrows furrowed as he leaned in closer to you from where he sat. His glass still sat unfinished, his first drink of the night.

“Yeah, just a little bubbly. It’ll pass.” Another hiccup cut you off, and you set your glass down on the table beside you. “I gotta get ready to head upstairs.”

“Maybe it’s a good idea if I go upstairs first instead. You know, to give you some time in case you need it.”

“I’ll be fine, Kai. Just make sure that no one notices that I’m gone, especially Brandon.”

“Okay,” he replied skeptically, getting up from his seat. “But as soon as we find the documents, we’re out of here. The longer I’m around him, the more I get creeped out.”

“Agreed.” Using the table to push yourself up and out of your seat, you smoothed down the skirt of your dress. “I’ll see you in a little bit, then.”

Kai’s gaze lingered on yours, an unreadable expression lying behind those eyes. “See you.” With that, he turned around, heading back into the middle of the party to go and socialize while you got a head start.

Thinking back to the map of the house that the two of you had looked over earlier, you remembered that the study was on the east side of the mansion. Doing your best to sneak out undetected, you made it into the grand hallway with careful, calculated steps. The guards at the front doors didn’t notice you, both of them caught up in a conversation that you didn’t catch. You made it over to the staircase, a hand resting on the balustrade as you began your ascent.

Thanking every god above that the upstairs floor was carpeted, you hastened your steps. The heels of your shoes were digging into your feet from your quickened pace, but at this time, it didn’t matter. Your only thought at that time was of getting to the study undetected. It didn’t help that you still had a slight case of the hiccups, each one making you more and more paranoid.

As you reached the end of the hallway, you hesitated, your head slowly peeking out to survey the area. You let out a small gasp, retreating back against the safety of the wall as your heart began to beat erratically. There on the other end of the hallway stood two guards, each one menacingly tall as they stood in place. The only way to the study was past them, but how could you even carry out such an impossible feat?

Racking your brain for any ideas, your shoulders eventually slumped forward in defeat. It looked like there was only one option.

Clearing your throat as you rounded the corner, you did your best to stand tall, your gaze steady as you stared down the two men at the end of the hall. “Excuse me, I’m a bit lost. I’ve been looking for the restroom?”

“Sorry, miss. This side of the house is strictly for residents only. There’s a restroom downstairs near the foyer,” one of them spoke up.

Doing your best to seem as innocent as possible, you let a whine slip into your voice. “But I was told to come upstairs. Mr. Kwon specifically told me that the one over here was open for use. You’re free to double-check with him, if you’d like.”

The guard that had spoken up first opened his mouth, a puzzled expression on his face before the other guard cut him off. “That’s fine, miss. As long as Mr. Kwon knows.”

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Passing by the two men, you flashed them a grateful smile before continuing on. Once you had rounded the next corner and was out of sight, you leaned back against the wall. With a hand over your heart, you gave yourself a couple of seconds to recover from the shock of the situation. It seemed like the heat of the moment had scared the hiccups out of you, something that you were thankful for. You just had to hurry up if you wanted to get out of this unscathed. It wasn’t only RF-15 that was counting on you, but EXO and Kai as well.

Your thoughts flickered to Kai downstairs, and you hoped that he would be able to make it past the guards without raising any suspicion.

After a few minutes of opening and closing doors in the hopes of stumbling upon Brandon Kwon’s study, you finally found it. Quickly stepping inside, you closed the door behind you. Wasting no time, you scurried over to the large desk settled in the far back corner of the room. Your hands flew over the wooden surface as you pulled open drawer upon drawer in search of the confidential documents. When nothing unusual turned up, you switched your attention to the laptop on his desk.

A quick tap of the mouse awoke the laptop, already unlocked and open to his homepage. “Thanks for leaving your computer unlocked, idiot,” you mumbled under your breath. Soon, you were scouring through the files there as well. Nothing of importance was found, most of them innocuous, expect for the astoundingly large file of porn that you immediately closed upon discovering.

Just as you were starting to grow frustrated, the study door opened. Your head shot up, eyes wide in horror until you realized who it was. “How did you get past the guards?”

“Told them I was looking for my girlfriend,” Kai answered, coming to look at the laptop screen from over your shoulder. “They said you were in the restroom? How did you get them to fall for that?”

“I said that Brandon told me to use the upstairs one. I guess they’re so terrified of their boss that they didn’t even question it.”

“Or they figured their boss probably had other motives to get you up here.”

You leaned back slightly, giving Kai a glare. “That’s disgusting. I already found his stash of porn, do you really want to bring up those memories of him practically staring at me like I was up for sale?”

“His stash of porn?”

“Kai!” You snapped your fingers in front of him, your lips curling in a grin when he flinched back in surprise. “Focus. I’ve searched the desk, but the rest of the room still needs to be cleared.”

“Gotcha.” Soon both of you were each busy with your respective tasks, Kai doing a fine sweep of the room while you continued to search on the laptop. Brandon Kwon wasn’t the brightest of people, having left his email browser open for anyone to see, but no traces of the secretive documents were found.

You finally gave up, closing the laptop with an indignant huff as you went over to join Kai. “Any luck?” you asked him, peering around his shoulder to look at the folders in his hands.

“So far, just a lot of suspicious looking tax reports. Do you think they’re related?”

“They might be. Keep looking, we’ll save these just in case they come in handy later on.”

For a couple of minutes, the only sounds in the room were those of papers being shuffled and your footsteps as you put away the files that Kai had already looked through and deemed irrelevant.

“Oh shit,” you heard him curse under his breath. “I think I’ve found it, Miss Lane.”

Quick as a flash, you were back at his side, plucking the pages out of his hands. “Dermatol Testing Sessions,” you read aloud, eyes growing wider as you continued on. “Deemed unsafe for use based on the results of the testing sessions carried out, Kwon Pharamaceuticals has been denied use to create and distribute the topical product, Dermatol.”

“We got him,” Kai announced with a triumphant grin, looking down at you and awaiting your response.

“Kai, the doctor who signed this form — Eileen Hsu. She could be in a lot of danger if this got out to the public. Hell, she might even be the one who hired us to get these papers. If Brandon Kwon’s already gone through all the trouble to pay off everyone who knows about this and to practically erase it from public records, can you imagine what he’ll do to her if he finds out that these are gone?” You saw as his victorious grin changed to a look of horror, his mouth falling open and his eyebrows jumping up in surprise.

“I’ll let EXO know once we get back. For now, we need to get out of here. Come on.” Leaving the mess of boxes and papers behind, Kai reached down for your hand and headed for the door. Before he could grab the handle, the door swung open from the other side, revealing Brandon Kwon and the two guards from earlier.

“Miss Lane, if you had wanted to speak to me in private, all you had to do was ask,” he spoke softly, making the hairs on your arms rise in fear. “I didn’t realize you and your guest had disappeared until I heard from security that the two of you were spending an awful lot of time in the restroom upstairs.” His gaze flickered to the boxes left scattered on the floor before settling on the pages still held tightly in your grasp, his eyes cold and unreadable. “Although I’m guessing you’ve seen more than you had bargained for.”

“Perhaps,” you replied, just as calmly. You coukd feel your fingers beginning to shake, your nerves fighting to break through the cool facade you wore. With the hand that still held yours, Kai gave it a gentle squeeze, and before you knew it, you were squeezing his hand in return.

“Your empire holds a lot of power,” Kai spoke up. “Kwon Pharamaceuticals is almost spotless when it comes to scandals.”

Brandon Kwon’s eyes narrowed at this, already sensing where this was heading.

“Except for maybe a couple of things,” Kai spoke with a sly smirk, nodding towards the boxes of dirty secrets behind him.

Inmediately, Brandon Kwon rushed forward, hand balled in a fist as he aimed for Kai’s face. Kai let go of your hand and quickly dodged the hit, landing a punch to Brandon’s gut.

As soon as the guards saw their boss hit the floor, one sprang into action while the other began yelling for backup into his earpiece. You ducked under the first guard’s punch, leg coming up to kick the second guard between the legs. Before the guard could even fall to his knees, you were pulling the earpiece out and smashing it into pieces underneath your foot.

A sudden groan from behind had you whirling around, only to see Kai holding the first guard in a sleeper hold. Once the guard slumped down to the floor in an unconscious heap, Kai reached for your hand again, pulling you out into the hallway. “Come on, we only have five minutes, tops,” he murmured urgently.

The two of you ran down the hallway in the opposite direction from which you first came in, the sounds of people rushing up the stairs growing louder as they came closer. “Kai, we need to find an exit,” you hissed.

“We need a way downstairs.” Kai began running faster, and you silently cursed the fact that you were the only one hindered with wearing heels. You kicked your shoes off, not caring where they went as you focused solely on being able to get away in time. The carpeting of the floor was soft against your feet, but once you two got outside, your feet would be in for a world of pain.

“Here!” Kai stopped in front of a door, one you remembered from looking over the blueprints as an exit for the staff working there. He pushed it open with ease, leading you down the stairwell. Both of you were breathing heavily with exertion, tired out from the chase and the fear of being caught.

The staircase continued on in a spiral until reaching the first floor, and both of you pressed your ears against the door, struggling to figure out if it was safe to make a run for it. All you could make out were the sounds of metal clinking and something sizzling, but no signs of any guests socializing.

“On three, we run to the nearest exit and jump into the closest car. Got it?” you whispered frantically.

Kai nodded, his head bobbing once as his eyes took on a determined glint. “One, two,” he counted.

“Three.”

The door flung open, both of you rushing out into the kitchen and garnering the stares of multiple kitchen staff.

“Hey, you can’t be in here!” one of them shouted out, a tall woman in chef’s garb pointing a spatula in your direction.

Not wasting any time with words, you dragged Kai over to an open doorway, pushing past waiters and guests as you ran past.

“There they are!” you heard someone shout. As if kicked into overdrive, your legs began moving faster, the panic numbing the pain in your body as you and Kai ran out onto the veranda of Brandon Kwon’s dining room. Past the railing surrounding the vast veranda, you spotted a dark black sports car, almost impossible to see amongst the darkness of the night.

“Kai, jump!” you yelled at your companion as both of you neared the veranda’s railing.

Both of you let go of each other’s hands, Kai using one hand to brace himself on the railing as he pushed himself over while you did the same. When your feet landed on the rough, cobbled driveway of the mansion you immediately cried out in pain, the sensation comparable to walking directly into a fire.

“We’re almost there.” Kai was at your side, one arm around you as he half led, half carried you over to the car. Luckily for both of you, the car had been left unlocked — another testament to the naivety of these preposterously rich people. Kai opened the door for you, running around to the driver’s side as you barely managed to get yourself in the car.

As you looked out through the windshield, you caught sight of Brandon Kwon pointing at the car, his face aflush with anger and sweat pooling on his forehead. Before you could yell at Kai to hurry up, he had slipped into the seat beside you, slamming the door closed behind him.

“They left the keys in here,” Kai scoffed, just as appalled by the lack of security.

“Kai, just hurry up and GO!” you all but shrieked, throwing your seatbelt on and bracing yourself.

The car was soon thrown in reverse, backing up before Kai switched gears and slammed his foot down on the gas. You clutched to the door, head turned to look out the back window at the mess you two had left behind. Some of the guards were getting into their own cars, headlights flashing to life as their engines rumbled.

“Thank God this prick doesn’t have a gate around his house,” Kai spoke, more to himself as you found yourselves speeding away. The road to the mansion was empty, and the closest neighbors were at least a mile away, increasing your possibility of a successful escape.

“We’re not safe yet,” you added. “Once we get far enough, we need to dump this car and get these documents to the drop-off point.” The person who had requested for the scandalous documents had promised to leave a safety deposit box open under Kai’s name at a bank downtown. Once the pages were securely locked up in the safety deposit box, the job would finally be complete. Most banks typically closed around dinner time, but your mystery employer had pulled a few strings at a bank to ensure that they would be open when you arrived to drop off the documents.

“And get you something for your feet,” Kai interrupted.

You had briefly forgotten about your feet, the burning discomfort returning as your rush of adrenaline faded away. “We can worry about that later, right now we have more important things to take care of.”

Kai hummed noncommittally, a furrow between his brows as he continued to drive.

It didn’t take long for the car to reach the familiar downtown streets, especially at the speed with which Kai was driving the car. He pulled into an empty parking lot, the area stationed in front of a closed auto shop only a couple of blocks away from the bank.

Kai was out of the car before you could even get your seatbelt off, opening your door for you. As you moved to step out, he held his arms out to you, flashing you a look of apology before he scooped you up into his arms.

“What are you doing?!” you hissed, embarrassed by the sudden contact. Caught between two emotions, you couldn’t tell which one which you were feeling more of: annoyance at him carrying you, or comfort at the kind gesture.

“You’re injured, and we need to get to the bank. You can yell at me later,” he said simply, breaking into a run as you jostled back and forth, cradled safely in his hold. “You’ve still got those papers, right?”

Pulling them out from where you had kept them secure in your dress pocket, you looked them over. Everything was thankfully all in place. “Yeah, they’re all here,” you told him.

“Good. Because if we went through all this and lost a page, I would’ve lost my mind,” he grumbled, his breathing growing jagged as he continued to run.

“Kai, I’m too heavy. Put me down before you tire yourself out.” Your hands pushed against his chest, trying to get him to put you down but to no avail. His arms only held onto you more tightly, and Kai ran even faster.

“I’m okay. Just a little more,” he said, more to himself than to you. You could see the way his jaw was strained, the harsh wrinkling of his eyebrows as he focused on getting both of you to he bank.

Seeing as there was no point in arguing further, you let your head rest against his shoulder. Despite the jostling of it as he ran, you hadn’t felt nearly this content in a long time. Kai was a gentleman in every sense of the word, so kind and selfless almost to the point of inducing cavities with how sweet he was. Anyone would be lucky to have his heart, to have him care for you like other couples did.

Unfortunately, you two didn’t have the luxury of living like other people.

“Finally,” Kai breathed out, startling you out of your thoughts. The lights of the bank were still on, and you could see through the windows that a couple of people were still inside. Kai carefully maneuvered both of you through the revolving doors, gasping and out of breath as he scanned the lobby of the bank.

A woman came walking over, eyeing you with a raised eyebrow before turning to Kai. “May I help you?”

“Yes, we’d like to access our safety deposit box,” he replied, glancing down at his pants pocket before meeting your eyes. “I gotta get the key out, can I set you down?”

“Yeah, of course,” you stammered out, self-conscious with the stares of the bank staff on you. Kai set you down gently, watching as your bare feet touched the carpeted floor of the bank’s lobby.

“Right this way, please,” said the bank greeter. She shot a glance at your feet again, nose crinkled up in distaste before leading you over to a bank teller.

The man at the window soon had Kai’s ID and key verified, and led you two through the maze of hallways until you finally reached the infamous safety deposit box. “I’ll leave you two to your work,” he told you before returning back to the front.

“The sooner we get these locked away, the better,” Kai mumbled as he turned the key in the lock. He swung the tiny door open, pulling out the drawer of the box before pausing.

“What? What is it?” you asked, coming closer to peek inside.

At a loss for words, Kai pulled out two envelopes, one labeled for each of you. “Our next directions, probably.”

You took the one that he offered to you, your alias printed on the front in a swooping, elegant font. As you opened up the letter, you recognized the seal on the front page: RF-15. The contents were just as Kai had predicted, the next steps to be taken to ensure a safe return back to headquarters.

“I’m headed to the harbor after this. I guess I’m taking a boat back to headquarters. You?” you asked, stuffing the letter back into the envelope and in the pocket of your dress.

“The airport. EXO’s sending me out of the country for my next mission.”

“Well, then we’d better hurry so that you don’t miss your flight.” Ignoring the feeling of Kai’s eyes on you, you hastily shoved the treasured documents into the safety deposit box, closing the door and locking it soon after. “Come on,” you told him. You yanked the key out from it’s spot, holding it out to him.

Kai hesitated, hand half-outstretched before he took the key from you. “I guess this is goodbye then?” He stared down at you, eyes dark as he watched you somberly.

“I suppose so. We’ll have to wait and see if our agencies decide to do work togther again.” You extended a hand, waiting for him to shake it in a parting farewell. “It was nice working with you, Kai.”

He smiled, hand coming to meet yours. The skin of his hand was warm, fitting for such a warm-hearted person. “Call me Jongin.”

You flinched in surprise, taken aback by this sudden divulging of information. To a spy like you, your true name was the most priceless thing in this world. Giving out your name like this was reckless, especially considering how many untrustworthy people lay in your line of work. But something about Kai — well, now Jongin — had you wanting to break down these facades, to get to know the real person behind them. With a flushed face, you told him your name, the hint of pink on your cheeks only growing brighter when he said your name aloud.

“I hope we see each other again soon.”

Once you finally made it back to headquarters in the early hours of morning, you wanted nothing more than to sleep for the rest of the day. But as protocol would have it, you were required to report back to your superior first. He never told you his name, didn’t even have a nickname for you to call him. So, you were stuck calling him “Boss”, “your superior”, both of which he allowed.

You stumbled into his office, half-asleep and still in pain from walking around barefoot all night. “The documents are safe, sir. The agent from EXO and I both made it out of the bank safely.”

“Good. Get some rest, you’re not scheduled to work until next week.” He didn’t even bother to look up from the spread of papers on his desk, his eyes flitting from line to line as he read.

Next week? Usually you barely went a couple of days without any work. “Am I being punished for something, sir?” you asked, worry in your voice.

Your boss finally looked up from his work, examining you through his glasses. “Punished? Are you saying you’d rather not have a week off?”

“I meant that I’m just surprised to have such a long amount of time to recover. I’m ready to go back out whenever you need me to.”

“You’re going to want every bit of rest you can get. We’ve arranged for you to take on another mission with Kim Kai once he returns from his overseas mission. Unless you have any objections?” he asked, scrutinizing you with a curious gaze.

“Not at all, sir.” If anything, you were ecstatic to be paired up with Jongin again. There was no denying the euphoric rush that ran through your veins when you thought of him, the way you had to push back a smile at the sound of his name. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to at least try to attempt to be friends with Jongin, now that every attempt to push him away had worked out with no success.

Hopefully you would have your feelings sorted out by then.

A/N: finally jongin’s spy au is up! it was a long time in the process and i’m still trying to get part two done, but hopefully you all enjoy it! school’s been kicking my butt, but i had a day or two where i was able to sit down and work on this for long periods at a time (otherwise this would have probably still been stuck in my drafts haha) i hope you guys are excited for part two!

@mikapeanut

#kpoptrashtag #exo scenario #kai scenario #kai fanfic #jongin scenario #jongin fanfic #exo fanfic #writings

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fruitpunchninja101 · 6 years

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Perks of Coincidences (Ch.4 ) Characters: Hanji Zoe x Levi Genre: Humor / Romance

Check out Ch1 Ch2 Ch3

Hange should've been home two hours ago but she got distracted when she wandered into the university library.She happily tapped her feet against the floor as she plowed through piles books about history and weaponry used in early mesopotamian warfare.Strained from reading,she removed her glasses to massage the inner corners of her eyes.As she was pushing her glasses back to place,her eyes wandered off to the windows.

The orange tint of sunset swirled with the impending dark night sky,the tall buildings of the city seemed like hands reaching out to heavens.Its a breathtaking scene.

The brunette pulled her phone out of her pocket and traced a prominent crack across her screen.She needs to be more responsible with her belongings she thought.

Hange took a photo of the scenery from her seat,but her first shot was a bit blurry.She stood up,moved closer to the window and took another shot.Still no good.Finally, the brunette opened the windows,stuck her arms out and took another photo.Much better.But the angle was a bit off so once again,she stuck her arms out and snapped a photo.

Suddenly,her phone vibrated prompting her that she got a new text message.Startled, her phone slipped out of her hands."Motherfucker!"Hange exclaimed.She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth when she realized how loud she was.A bunch of students quietly studying on their desks perked her heads up and stared at her.The librarian let out a loud shush to which the brunette mouthed an apology.The librarian only responded with a scowl.Hange chuckled a little at that,she inexplicably remembered a short raven haired man who wears a similar scowl plastered on his face.

The brunette propped her hands by the window sill,half of her body leaned out as she frustratingly searched for the device that plopped over a fountain downstairs."I should probably get that."She huffed.

Her scandalous attempt to fish her phone out of the fountain left her dripping wet when she arrived home.When she got out of her car,she immediately spotted a teal bike parked on the yard.She placed her hands on her hips."Huh..I guess missed the little guy."

As soon as she opened the front door,Rico and Nanaba turned their heads towards her.They are slumped on the floor eating cereals while watching reruns of the The Bachelor which they insist that they only watch ironically,secretly denying that they actually love the show.Hange threw her bag on the floor and crashed on the sofa.

"Rough day at work?"Nanaba inquired as she put a spoonful of cereals on her mouth,eyes glued on the brunette.

"Not really"

"Are you sure?You are dripping from your waist down.That pretty much screams rough day at work in my book."Rico added.

"Oh this?...I dropped my phone at the school fountain today."Hange pulled the ruined device out of her pocket and waved it in front of her friends."How many times do I have to remind you to be more careful with your stuff!"Her blonde friend reprimanded her to which the brunette replied with an apologetic smile as she stood up and walked towards the kitchen.

"Speaking of phones!Did you receive any interesting texts today?"Rico asked wanting to know if her little plan worked.

"Not really"The brunette opened one of the cupboards and contemplated whether she should eat lucky charms or that weird healthy whole grain cereal she bought at the farmers market.

"Tsk"Rico whispered to herself,slightly shaking her head."By the way,he ring guy returned your bike earlier."she added.

"Yeah,I saw it parked outside."Hange reached for the healthy cereal when she remembered her heaving breath when she climbed towards the rooftop earlier.She poured milk over her food ,wallked up to her friends then settled on the floor as she ate her bland and miserable cereals.

"Big bro?You called me?"Isabel poked her head on Levis door and found him standing at the other end of the room staring at two coats laying on his bed."Whats that for?"The redhead entered the room and closed the door behind her.

"Im attending a gala with Erwin this weekend.Which one is better,midnight blue or a classic black?"Levi spoke plainly.His arms are folded across his chest contemplating.

Isabel walked around the bed and stood beside Levi to get a better look at the clothes laying on the bed.She crossed her arms over her chest imitating her big brother and let out a contemplative hum"Go for the midnight blue,everyone will probably wear a black tux."

Levi looked at her on the corner of his eye slightly adoring her niece fighting a smile that crept up his face."Okay."He deadpanned.

Isabel sat on Levi's bed as she watched the raven haired man pick up the black tux and started to store it carefully back on the cabinet. "So...hows it going with the bike lady?"

"Nothing is going on."

"Really?She didnt reply to your text?"

Levi paused briefly.He is certain he didnt tell Isabel anything and now he's confused as to how she figured out that he texted Hange the other day."I didnt-"

"Shh!Dont lie to me.I found this on your pocket when I washed clothes yesterday."She held a crumpled up a piece of post it and tossed it on the bed.

"Why are you hoarding trash from the laundry?And besides,That could be anyones number."

"Yes but I checked your phone earlier and..."

"Why the fuck are you snooping on my stuff?"

"Oh please!Your phone password is 1234.You're practically begging me to snoop on you"Isabel grabbed one of Levi's pillows and hugged it.

"I just thanked her like you said.No big deal."Levi deadpanned as he opened a drawer full of neckties folded neatly.

"Do you think youll see her again?"

"No"

"How do you know?"

Levi turned to look at her niece and gestured her to go near him.As soon as she did, Levi ruffled her hair."I just do.Now,enough with this bike lady nonsense and help me pick a tie"

The brunette just got out of the shower and now shes laying lazily on her bed wearing nothing but a bath towel wrpapped around her torso.Her dripping hair was splayed all over her bed as she stared unto the ceiling absentmindedly .

Hange's usual Saturday nights are spent inside her lab writing theories and performing light experiments.But unfortunately for her,professors are required to attend the annual university summer gala.Not that she minded events like these,but her teaching job has robbed her a huge chunk of time and she missed her experiments.The sound of beakers clinking against the tiled table,the smell of her chemicals reacting against one another, heck!she even missed the occasional explosions.

She was pulled out of her reverie when her eyes caught sight of the clock placed on her bedside table and realized that shes already an hour late.She frustratingly stood up,toweled off her hair and put an actual effort to tie it up nicely.She wore an off white cape jumpsuit and even decided to go the extra mile and grabbed an unused lipstick on her drawer she got from Nanaba a few months back."Not bad Hange."She mentioned to herself as she checked her appearance through the mirror.

"Looking sharp."Nanaba whispered quietly.Her ear was pressed against Rico's door.

"What are you doing there?"Hange's brows furrowed across her forhead as she closed her bedroom door behind her.

The blonde held a finger signaling Hange to shut up."I'm listening..."

"To what?" Hange came closer and placed her head against Rico's door but all she heard was her muffled voice."Who's she talking to?"

"Coconut's on the phone with Ian."

"Oh!Are they getting back together?"Her voice came out louder because of excitement.

"Ssshhhh!Not sure,but I'll fill you in when you get home."

"Okiedokie!..Im off!"She waved her friend goodbye and headed out the door.

The brunette never had trouble talking to anyone.Minutes after she arrived shes already aquatinted to a bunch of professors from different departments.One in particular is Petra Ral,accompanied by Oulo Bozado from the business department.They spent a good amount of time talking about each other's respective fields.

She can see Petra was a bit squeamish about her detailed explanation on how they harvest human organs and make artificial versions of it.While Oulo only snickerd at her and told her how strange she is.Good thing Petra came to her defense and hit Olou's side with her elbow.The impact was powerful enough for him to accidentally bite his tongue.The poor man excused himself to check his injury in the mens room.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side."Hange chuckled as she gulped the last of her champagne.

"I'm sorry about Oulo.Dont mind him,I dont know why he acts like that...probably because his man crush is attending tonights ball."

"Man crush?"Hange placed her empty champagne glass on a tray carried by a passing server.

"Oh!theres this man who gave a talk about product rebranding last week.You should have seen him.Hes so good at what he does even though he had a really..."Petra paused to carefully pick her next word "colorful manner of speaking" she continued."Oluo immediately gravitated towards him.Since that,Hes been hopelessly imitating him.Its really embarrassing."

Hange took note of the twinkle on Petra's eyes and her endearing smile."Well theres nothing wrong about having a little inspiration.Besides,It seems like he left a pretty good impression to you.He must be one heck of an extraordinary man."

"He is."Petra replied,a blush dusted her cheeks as she tucked a piece of her hair to her ears.

"Oh!Theres Eld and Gunther!I'll have to head over there and say hi.Thank you for your time Miss Zoe"Petra excused herself.The brunette smiled at her and started looking around the room.She doesn't know anyone.She took a deep breath and decided to roam around the fancy ballroom.

Levi was never a fan of grand gatherings and meaningless chatter.Unfourtunately, this is what the whole night is about.He gave a talk at the university a the week prior and Erwin insisted that hes technically part of the university family and he's required to attend tonight's festivities .He didnt really put up a fight against him and complied to his request.He knows his friend is only concerned of his lack of interest to go out and socialize.

Unfourtunately for him,Erwin has to leave him and mingle with potential school donors and now he's was stuck with this guy whos babbling about how vaccination isnt real and Levi is starting get pissed off.True he's not an expert on the subject but he knows people like these are fools for ignoring facts and believing down right outrageous conspiracy theories.He knows needs to get away from this bastard before his patience runs out.

The raven haired man immediately turned around and scurried away the first chance he found and bumped with a short shaved haired kid who served champagne."Sorry sir" the kid apologized.Levi lifted his palm gesturing that its fine and started to look for a secluded place to pass time to get away from all the needless socializing.He walked towards an open balcony and was greeted by a person standing on the ledge.

Levi froze.

Images of his mom standing on the ledge just before she jumped flashed before his eyes.His heart almost jumped out on his chest when this person tripped on their own toes and started to lose balance.Levi immediately grabbed the persons wrist and pulled with such force that they both stumbled on the floor.

"What the hell are you-"He turned to the person he pulled,and a pair of familiar pair brown orbs met his stare."Oh!For fucks sake!"Levi rolled his eyes as he pushed himself to stand and brushed the dust on his pants.

"H-Hey!Long time no s-!"Hange was scratching the back of her head when Levi angrily walked towards her and grabbed her by the collar"What the hell are you thinking?Do you have some kind of a death wish?If you're so eager to kill yourself,do it in the comfort of your own home!Not here where you can traumatize some guests."He was shaking but he tried to keep his composure.

Hange cocked her head on the side and stared at him naively."Uhh..we're at the second floor"

"What?"Levi said in almost a whisper as he knit his brows together.

"If I want to kill myself,jumping from the second floor wont do it"The brunette replied innocently.Levi is wondering if she grasped the fact that she almost fell off the balcony.It is true that she wont die from that fall but she should at least have some idea of the injury she'd be subjected to.He took a deep breath and decided to let it go.

"Tch" Levi loosened his grip on her collar and walked towards the balcony.He propped his elbows at the ledge and stared at the empty garden below them.

Hange pushed herself off the floor and started brushing off the dirt from her pants "I knew I shouldnt have worn white" she mumbled to herself.As soon as shes up,she settled beside Levi and leaned her back against the ledge facing the open balcony door. "What brings you here?"She started.Still sounding enthusiastic despite the fact that Levi grabbed her agressively moments ago.

Levi didnt answer.He thought that maybe if he just ignore her she'll go away.The brunette scooched a little closer to him and he can almost feel her ridiculous smile.Its as if she's waiting for him to say something.Levi is determined not to talk to her,but shes not backing down.He turned his head at the brunette and he was right,she was already looking at him beaming a bright grin.Levi scoffed and returned his gaze back on the horizon.

"I wasn't planning on jumping,I just want to see the entirety of the garden from up here...But I did get out of balance and you did saved me from a few broken bones so...thank you"

The raven haired man gave her a small nod and hummed in approval,still bent on not talking to her.

"You know,we should really stop meeting like this."Hange chuckled."If I didnt know better you might be stalking me."she added.

Okay,thats just too ridiculous he needed to say something.

"As if."Levi scoffed.

"Oh!I got an idea!Since you saved me,I guess I owe you one.How about I treat you to lunch tomorrow?

"No."He answered almost instantly.

"You cant refuse."Hange pouted.

"I can and I am."

"Oh dont be such a sourpuss!Its a thank you lunch."She pressed.

"No" She knows she had to change her approach or else this man will only keep on saying no all night. "I know you live at 52nd street.I could easily hunt you down and drag you out of your house."

"Thats your game plan?"He turned his head to face her."Do you intend to knock on every fucking door on my street hoping that I pop out eventually?"

"That's not a bad idea."

Levi only rolled his eyes at her."Drop it four eyes.Don't make me say it again."

"Make you say what?No?"

"No...I mean yes..."He paused briefly trying to remember if he should say yes or no.Damn this woman is testing his patience.

"So you're saying yes?"

"No!...Oh Jesus!You're not gonna quit are you?"

"Not a chance short stack."

He exhaled."Fuck you."

"Fuck you too."Hange laughed.Levi cant tell why the hell does she seem to have fun.

"Dont laugh,that was meant to offend you."

"No its not.Its meant to discourage me but thats never gonna happen.So just say yes.Please?"Levi caught sight of Hange's ridiculously big bright pleading puppy dog eyes.Too bad for her that shit wont work on him.Levi turned away from her and did not answer.Hes back to plan A,Ignore her and hope that she goes away.

"Hmmm?Silent treatment huh?They say silence means yes...is that a yes on lunch?"

"Just shut up and leave me alone."

"If you say yes,Ill do just that"

He knows he's going to regret this.But all he needs is to be left alone and he cant understand why this woman is not intimidated or at least put off by him.He huffed a deep breath."Okay."

"Great!"Hange put her hands together."Pick me up tomorrow at noon."

"What?!"

"You still remember where I live right?"

"Why the hell would I pick you up?"

"Because I dont know where you live.Do you expect me to knock on every door on 52nd street hoping you pop out eventually?That's pretty creepy dont you think?"

This clever motherfucker just used his words against him.Levi was about to retaliate but its too late,the brunette was already on her merry way back to the ballroom.He took a deep breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose trying to ease an incoming headache.

A few quiet minutes passed and Levi knows he has to eventually come out of his hiding spot.He walked out of the balcony and was greeted Petra.She's not bad company he thought.Shes smart,reserved,softspoken even and not bad on the eyes.Petra was going on about the contributions of Charlotte Bronte to modern feminism while his eyes roamed around the room.

He spotted Erwin speaking with an old potbellied man trying to entice him to donate for the school.As if feeling his stare,the blond glanced his way and gave Levi one of his clever knowing smile.Erwin was constantly encouraging him to go on a date with Petra and his friend was obviously pleased to see them together.He simply scoffed and rolled his eyes at him.

"Um is there a problem?"Petra asked.

"Nothing,I was just..."He gestured at Erwin and she turned at the man.The blond raised his glass at Petra giving her smile which the woman happily returned. "Dont mind him,Carry on.."He called her attention. And so she did. Levi's eyes continued to wander around the ballroom.Then,his stare drifted to Hange sitting in a bar drinking with a familiar looking man whose back was turned on him.Petra stopped her discussion and followed the raven haired mans gaze.

"Is that Djel Sannes?Whats he doing with Miss Zoe?"Petra asked.

"Im sure that chatty woman is talking his ear off"Oluo appeared out of nowhere joining in the conversation."Hi sir I hope you remember me I was facilitating the talk you gave last week."Olou offered his hand and Levi gave it a firm shake "Olou Bozado"Levi mentioned.Olou almost cried when he heard his full name uttered by Levi.His celebration was cut short when he felt Petra's elbow hit his rib. "Have some respect!That 'chatty woman' has a PhD in Bioengineering and a masters in chemical and mechanical engineering.That woman's remarkable!"

"No wonder shes gone mad."Oluo said with a sigh.

Petra huffed a deep breath and started lecturing him.

Levi did not weigh in with their conversation.Hes preoccupied trying to figure out whos the man shes talking to. He crossed his arms on his chest as he watched Hange flail her arms around as she talked to the man in front of her.Shes evidently upset.Her brows furrowed and he can practically hear her screaming at that man.People who are in their general direction are starting to stare at her.Then,a sudden realization hit him.The man shes talking to is the same man who was spouting nonsense about vaccination.

Hange cant believe what shes hearing.True shes not a physician but as a scientist,she had enough with people who dismiss proven ideas backed up by years of careful research.

"I mean,vaccinations are just a scam .Its total bullshit if you ask me.Thats why I never vaccinated my kids."

Thats when Hange lost it.Its one thing to be ignore someones studies but not vaccinating your own kid is just down right negligence on her books.

"THATS IT!"Hange grabbed the man by the collar and hoisted him up."How dare you put your childs life in dangerYou think you're so clever?Do you have a medical degree?"

Shes brimming with anger.Shes ready to throttle the man off the bar when she felt a firm grasp on her wrists.She turned her head furiosly and saw Erwin Smith staring as if telling her to calm down.The blond turned his head towards Sannes.

"I have to apologize for Miss Zoe's actions Mr.Sannes.I believe she already had too much to drink."

"No I dont!And dont speak on my behalf!this fucking moro..."Next thing she knows shes being dragged out by Levi out of the ballroom.

"Hey!Let me go!"

"Don't say anything shitty glasses...you're only going to make matters worse"He grumbled as he forcibly tugged Hange.

Levi dragged her at the lobby.Hange was pacing back and forth in front of him mumbling angrily as he sat on a sofa.

"What kind of idiot bastard doesnt vaccinate his kids?!"She turned to him"Do you know who he is huh?He is a potential board member for the school!If his donations go through,He'll have a say on every decision the school makes!If that kind of idiot changes the curriculum built around his idiocy..."

"You need to calm the fuck down.Nothing's happned yet."Levi crossed his legs and placed his arms along the backrest of the sofa.He kept his blank facial expression.

"Calm the fuck down?CALM THE FUCK DOWN?How can I calm th-"

"Hange"Erwin emerged from the corner and called for her.

The brunette hastily walked towards the man and grabbed both his hands"Erwin!Please tell me were not taking that idiots money."

"The school needed his resources.You should know that.I'm sorry."

"B-but we cant have people like him influencing the university's decisions.He is an idiot." "Theres nothing we can do.Hes donating $250,000 and the school can really use that for our scholarship funds.Not unless you find a new donor who can top that amount of money...I cant help you"Erwin gave her hand a firm squeeze as some form of apology and walked away.

"I'll do it."

Erwin stopped on his tracks.

"I'll double his price.Just get him out of the university."

"Hange,were talking about 500,000 dollars.How can yo-"

"I'll figure something out.Just get that man out of the school.I dont want him contributing to university decisions for our future generation.Do we have a deal?"Her eyes are brimming with determination.

Erwin took hanges hand ."Okay,but you need to promise to practice more restraint next time.We don't want to scare our future donors"

"Yeah,sorry about that."Her eyes binked and shes are back to their usual jovial state.Seeing that the whole situation has cooled down,Levi placed his hands and his lap and pushed himself out of the sofa."If were done here, Im going back inside." The blond gestured hange to come with them but the brunette crossed her hands in front of her. "I should probably head home.You gentlemen enjoy the rest of your night."Hange made a silly little curtsy and started walking away. # "Thank you for helping me with her earlier.Hange has always been far too intense for her own good."Erwin placed a hand on Levi's shoulder.

"Its fine.Shes a feisty little shit,But you have to hand it to her, her heart is in the right place."Levi mentioned in a bored tone.

Erwin's head turned to look at his friend's face "Did you just complimented her?"

"You got a problem with that?" Levi raised a brow at his blond friend.He didnt wait for his reply and started to walk away missing Erwin's knowing smirk.

#levihan #levi x hanji #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #snk #aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levihan fanfiction

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askullinajar · 7 years

Text

The Living Ghost (part 2/4)

(CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR TEG)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Fic info: takes place right after The Empty Grave. Rating: General. Pairings: Lockwood/Lucy and Holly/her ‘flatmate’. Ao3 link: here

“I leave for one minute and you let me get nicked again.”

“You were gone for a week!”

“Yeah, whatever. Some friend you are.”

Lucy comes home to find the skull missing. On their quest to get him back, Lockwood & Co. discover that the secret to eternal youth might not have been the only thing the Orpheus Society were striving towards.

Part 2 – The Exchange

According to Flo, the exchange was being held at a disused block of flats overlooking the Thames the next evening. Holly, George and I sat outside a café, near enough to the flats that it gave us a clear view without it being obvious we were spying. Lockwood and Kipps were waiting in a taxi around the corner, driven by our old friend Jake – the driver who had found George the night he was attacked.

“Are you sure we can’t go in George?” I said, tilting down my over-sized sunglasses to eye the block of flats reproachfully. It didn’t look like much, but I guess that was the point. Graffiti covered the walls, many of the windows were broken or boarded up, abandoned plants on balconies had withered and died. According to George, it was the site of a number of hauntings and had therefore been abandoned years ago.

George didn’t look up from the newspaper he was hiding behind as he replied to me. “I know you’re eager to reunite with your BFF, Luce –” I scowled at him – “but I want to find out what the Orpheus Society is getting up to without their leader, and that means waiting until the exchange has happened and following them.”

“Don’t worry, Lucy,” said Holly, glancing up from the book she was reading to give me a smile. “We’ll get him back, we just have to be patient.”

Patience was certainly not my virtue. Every second we spent sitting around doing nothing, I got more and more agitated, itching to take action. We’d already been sat here for over an hour, watching as the surviving Winkman’s had arrived with several burly bodyguards, then as a shiny black car had pulled up and a middle-aged woman, flanked by two men one of whom was carrying a briefcase, got out and went inside. They’d been gone for what felt like forever but was probably only twenty minutes.

I tapped my fingers against my leg as it jolted up and down, trying to use up some of my excess energy. It wasn’t working. Just as I was about to jump up and storm the building, George’s plan be damned, the door opened and the woman and her guards came back out, this time with a satchel just the right size for a skull.

“Alright, quickly,” George said as the three people across the street moved to get back into the shiny car, “let’s get Lockwood and Quill and follow them.”

I waited and kept an eye on the car, while George and Holly ran off to fetch the cab, which pulled up next to the café a minute later. “They went left,” I told Jake as I hopped into the front seat beside Lockwood. I was expecting him to budge up, but he pulled me onto his lap and fastened the seatbelt around us both, just in time as Jake slammed on the accelerator and jerked us all forward.

“So, are you lot planning more heroic deeds then?” said Jake, conversationally as he swerved the taxi through the traffic to set us directly behind the black car that I pointed out to him. “Tearing down more occults?”

“Something like that,” Lockwood replied. He had his arms around my waist for added safety from Jake’s manic driving, and I was all too aware of them.

“Not had enough of being in the papers, eh?” Jake said as he slammed the car forward as the traffic light threated to change to red and separate us from the black car. Our seatbelts locked and Lockwood’s arms tightened around me. I heard Kipps groan in pain and caught sight of him in the rear-view mirror, clenching at his side with his hand. Holly was rubbing her neck where the seatbelt had jarred it and horns from angry drivers blared around us, but Jake didn’t seem to care all that much.

“Well, you can never have enough publicity,” said Lockwood. “Again, thanks for doing this for us, Jake.”

“Nah, it’s no problem, Mr Lockwood,” said Jake. “You say these are the geezers who caused Mr Cubbins all that trouble?”

“They had something to do with it, yes.”

“Frightful thing,” said Jake, sadly. “I tell you, when I saw his body lying there, I thought… Well, no matter.” He glanced up at the rear-view mirror so he could see George sitting in the back-seat between Kipps and Holly. “You’re looking mighty better now, Mr Cubbins.”

“All thanks to you, Jake,” said George, gratefully.

“Aw, it was nothing. You would’ve done the same for me.”

After many painful twists and turns, and small talk with Jake, the black car pulled up next to an old concert hall. It looked as though it had once been a grand place of music and entertainment, but now the windows were shattered and the brickwork was crumbling in places.

“Royal Albert Hall,” Jake informed us, sadly. “I remember coming here as a kid once with my dad. Was amazing seeing all the orchestra perform. ‘Course the Problem just got worse and now…” He gave the building one last sad look, before driving around the corner to park so the cab wouldn’t be spotted from inside.

With a little reluctance, I hopped off Lockwood’s lap and onto the curb.

“Need me to wait for you at all, Mr Lockwood?” Jake asked.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Lockwood replied. “We might be needing a quick get-away.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” said Jake. “It’s not too busy at the moment and it’ll give me a chance to get some peace and quiet.”

We rounded the cab and collected our rapiers and equipment from the boot; even if there weren’t any ghosts, magnesium flares and swords worked just as well on people, if need be.

“Know anything about this place, George?” Lockwood asked as we made our way down the street.

George pushed his glasses up his nose and they flashed in the evening sun. “It’s had a few major hauntings over the years, but they’ve all been cleared out now, as far as I know. It’s only the living we have to worry about today.”

As we approached the building, I felt the tell-tale psychic thrumming of a spirit-gate nearby. I exchanged eye contact with Lockwood; this was definitely an Orpheus Society base.

We circled the building. Most of the entrances were boarded up, but we found a narrow window with the glass completely missing that we managed to squeeze through. Kipps required a bit of help due to his injuries but refused to wait for us outside.

After that, it wasn’t hard to track down the woman and the rest of the Society, even without having the follow the psychic hum; the auditorium amplified their voices tenfold.

“…I’m telling you, this is a Type 3. If it doesn’t work with this, it won’t work at all…”

We crept silently into the main room and crouched behind some seats, doing our best to ignore the persistent buzzing in our heads. Even Kipps, with his lack of Talent, was feeling uncomfortable. I took a moment to marvel at the sheer vastness of the hall, all decked out in red and gold. Stalls and balconies were set in a circle, overlooking a central arena, where I assumed the orchestra had once performed, except now the seating had been ripped up and a huge iron pit, not unlike the one in Fittes House, had been built in the centre. It must have been filled to the brim with sources; I could hear their screaming and hollering from way at the back of the auditorium. There were several members of the Orpheus Society, clad head to toe in silver, milling about around the pit while carrying weaponry, and I recognised a few of them from the candid photos Kipps had taken not so long ago.

“That’s strange,” George whispered, staring at the pit, “the bridge doesn’t go all the way across.”

He was right; though the light in the spirit-gate was hazy and dim as numerous ghosts swirled around, I could just about make out an iron bridge stretching across the pit, but it only reached a central podium. And that wasn’t the only unusual thing; dozens of wires lead from a huge switch on the wall to the podium in the pit, crisscrossing one another as they curled around it.

“If they’re not using it to get to the Other Side, what are they using it for?” I whispered back.

A little man stood nearby the bridge. It took me a moment to recognise him, but eventually, it clicked; it seemed the bland-faced Mr Johnson had gone on to bigger and better things after the death of his boss, Steve Rotwell. Except he wasn’t so bland anymore; his face was marred with magnesium burns, courtesy of Lockwood & Co. Somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to feel in the least bit bad about it.

Mr Johnson had taken the skull, which was wrapped in silver netting, off of the woman and was currently inspecting it. “And this is the same skull previously belonging to Miss Carlyle?” he was saying.

“Had the Winkman’s steal it from right under her nose,” the woman told him, proudly.

I felt a sudden surge of anger at her insolence. How dare she steal from me? I wanted to storm down there, punch that stupid woman in the face, steal the skull back, and give Mr Johnson a good kick where the sun doesn’t shine while I was at it.

Lockwood, seemingly sensing my fury, took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Not just yet, Luce,” he whispered. “They have weapons. Plus, we need to find out what they’re up to.”

With great effort, I remained where I was, bottling up my anger for later when I could actually get my hands on that ridiculous Society. I watched silently as Mr Johnson pulled up the hood of his silver cape and set off across the bridge.

It was hard to see through the hazy other-light of trapped spirits, but I could vaguely see as Mr Johnson unwrapped the skull from its silver netting and placed it in the centre of the podium. Another member stood vigilantly by the large switch on the wall. She waited until Mr Johnson was clear of the pit, then she flung the switch down.

The static buzzing of the spirit-gate rapidly reached deafening levels and the other-light in the centre suddenly became so bright that we all had to look away, clamping our hands over our ears as we did so. Everyone apart from Kipps who, without his goggles, could barely see or hear the sensory storm raging in the pit, though he still had to squint slightly.

The air crackled with electricity and I felt my hair standing on end. From somewhere in the pit, I heard the sound of a terrible scream that seemed somehow horribly familiar.

Suddenly, Kipps was shaking my shoulder. I turned to him to see his mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying over the psychic roar in my ears. I shook my head at him. He seemed to understand and said the words more slowly and deliberately, so I could just about read his lips: I – think – I – see – his – ghost.

I frowned at him. That was impossible; he wasn’t wearing his goggles so he shouldn’t be able to see any ghosts.

I turned to Lockwood and risked taking my hands away from my ears to whip open his coat and reach into the pocket where I knew he kept his sunglasses. I put them on, quickly clamped my hands back over my ears before my eardrums ruptured, and squinted through the stall seats to the pit on the stage. The blare of other-light blurred my vision, but I was able to make out the silhouette of a person standing on the podium. I frowned at it; if this was the skull’s ghost – and he certainly had the right proportions – how was Kipps able to see him without his goggles?

Then, before my eyes, the lights in the auditorium flickered; the wiring around the pit hissed and sparked, then, in the blink of an eye, the noise stopped, the other light went out, any psychic activity vanished and, in the centre of the pit, the body of a boy collapsed down onto the podium.

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