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emo-and-confused · 4 years

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au//// When someone’s causes you emotional damage or trauma, thin flowers raise from your skin. Most people have, on average, three groups. The people of the DSMP typically have a few more than the average. However, Tommy has significantly more, and people don’t realise.

Tommy’s first set of flowers raise when he’s only seven years old. Phil neglected him for his oldest brother, leaving Wilbur to raise him. The group of five flowers raise when Phil misses his seventh birthday in favor of going on an adventure with Techno. The flowers are green and white, and cover his upper thigh, raised slightly from the skin, the marks being tender and feeling slightly like a petal. He doesn’t tell Wilbur, even as his brother holds him while he cries. He knows what the flowers mean, and he doesn’t want Wilbur to feel even worse for him. Even when wearing shorts, the flowers aren’t visible.

(A small flower is added to the group of five on his thigh when he leaves for the Dream SMP, Wilbur promising to come and meet him soon, while Phil and Techno don’t say anything. The flower hurts a little more when it grows in, and the green petals have a mixture of pink swirled in. He still doesn’t tell anyone)

Tommy’s second set of flowers is smaller, during the Disc Saga with Dream. Two flowers raise from the skin along his shoulder blade, both a shade of green usually associated with the admin he’s at war with. He didn’t feel too hurt by the war, but he felt enough of it. He understood though, even if Dream had invited him to his land, Tommy guesses he was just too much to handle. But Tubbo kept him grounded, so he didn’t back down from the war. They were his discs anyways. The sleeve of his shirt covers the flowers; he keeps it a secret.

Tommy’s third set of flowers bloom when Eret betrayed them for the Dream Team. Six flowers bloom across his chest, hurting while they raise. He had liked Eret, he had thought they were friends. Now he can barely look at the guy without remembering the feeling of betrayal, the words “It was never meant to be” ringing in his ears as he remembers Dream killing him and taking his first life (a new green flower is added to his shoulder blade). He trades his red and white shirt in for a bigger size, so the flowers don’t show through the shirt.

Tommy’s fourth set of flowers grow when Sapnap kills Henry. It hurt more than when Sapnap killed Harold, because Henry’s death was intentional. He liked Sapnap at one point, but they had an unsteady friendship. Henry’s death caused a single cream coloured flower to raise at the skin on the right side of his ribcage, creating a constant reminder of the death of his pet.

Tommy loses sight of when the flowers start to bloom after that. He stops remembering which grew in chronological order, and instead only remembering why they grew in the first place.

More neon green flowers raise across both shoulders as Dream continues to mess with him, sometimes the colour of his discs showing up at the ends of the petals. He adds length to his sleeves, and makes the neckline of his shirt a little higher. It’s okay, no one needs to know. He’s not weak, he’s not sensitive (he knows the amount of flowers he already has say otherwise).

The flowers from Eret hurt less as time moves, the king redeeming himself slightly. The flowers don’t fade, he doesn’t think he ever will, but the pain is almost completely gone.

(When he comes across the Final Control Room with Techno, the pain comes back. It doesn’t leave for a week.)

Schlatt causes a grey flower to raise on the back of his neck. He was Tommy’s idol, and he really thought they were, or could be, friends. But his and Wilbur’s exile proved otherwise. His hair covers the flower easily; he doesn’t have to try hard to hide it.

Quackity’s betrayal of L’manburg for Schlatt makes two small blue flowers bloom right above Schlatt’s grey one. It hurts but is almost completely forgotten when Quackity joins them in Pogtopia later.

He gains five brown and yellow flowers from Wilbur during Pogtopia, covering the left half of his stomach. Four more are added when he blows up L’manburg, one more is added when he sees his brother begging his father to kill him. A huge green and white flower is added to those on his thigh. He doesn’t wear shorts anymore to keep it hidden. All of them cause him pain.

Techno causes four pink flowers to run down his right arm. His brother told him to die and spawned withers. It hurt a lot, but he continued to hide. The flowers were thinner than the others, and he starts wearing a white long sleeved shirt underneath his iconic red and white tee. It hides them perfectly. No one questions the new fashion choice.

Seven yellow and black stripped flowers bloom across his heart when Tubbo exiles him. His best friend exiled him and sent him away for a mistake that he didn’t mean to make. The prank had gotten out of hand.

In Logstedshire, the green flowers across his shoulder blade multiply and grow darker, and he has to ask Ranboo to get him the red and white hoodie he has stored in his home, back in L’manburg. He prepared for this, he knew he was going to be covered in flowers one day. People just didn’t like him. Ranboo doesn’t ask why, he doesn’t see the dark green flowers through the white shirt sleeve.

Dream finds out about his flowers. He’s the first one to ever find out. Dream manipulates and gaslights and abuses him, and he almost jumps into the lava so many times. When Dream blows up Logstedshire, no new flowers are added, but the preexisting ones burn. He almost jumps off the pillar he made. (He doesn’t).

When he finds Technoblade’s cabin, he starts to heal. His flowers hurt less and less as the days go by, but they never leave. They never fade.

But then Dream blames him for blowing up the community house, and he and Tubbo fight after Tubbo gets his disc from the enderchest. A new black and yellow flower is added to the bunch over his heart.

Then he chooses Tubbo over Techno. His best friend over his brother. Both have caused flowers but Tubbo was always there. He doesn’t feel like he’s betrayed Techno; he never agreed to L’manburg getting blown up. And Techno sides with Dream, causing more pink flowers to be added to his arm. He understands though, he did chose the opposite side. It doesn’t matter if his brother was the first one to hurt him.

Fundy and Niki both cause flowers; Niki’s two purple and Fundy’s two orange ones intertwining with each other on his ankles. Niki burned down L’mantree and Fundy sabotaged their war supplies. It’s okay though; they might want him dead but he fucked up in the past. He understands their hatred of him.

Other miscellaneous flowers are spotted across him, and his gives up on trying to remember who all hurt him. His skin is painted with thin petals of all colors, from so many people.

When L’manburg’s been blown up for the last time, Dream’s TNT running out and Techno’s withers being dead, and Phil standing with the two of them looking at their work, Tommy is tired. He struggles to breathe normally, but he doesn’t cry. He’s past that.

Dream looks at him, his mask lifted up just barely enough to see the smug smile on his face. Tommy looks down, looks at the destruction. He’s so tired.

“How many were added?” Dream asks. Tommy knows what he means. Tommy doesn’t respond.

Everyone is listening, just like they did at the community house. They’re confused, but they let it play out, not intervening. They never do.

Tubbo moves closer to Tommy as Dream does. Techno and Phil just watch with the rest.

“I asked a question.” His voice makes Tommy shiver and represss memories of Logsted. “How many flowers were added since I last saw?”

Tommy’s reply is simple: a shrug and a quiet “too many”.

Dream moves before Tubbo has a chance to stop him, and Tommy doesn’t try and defend himself. Dream’s axe slashes at Tommy’s hoodie, cutting away the fabric and revealing the flowers that cover his arms and stomach and shoulders and back. The axe cuts at Tommy’s jeans, the denim peeling slightly and showing a sliver of flowers at his thighs and ankles.

No one knows what to do, no one knows what to say, as Dream reveals the pain of the sixteen year old. None of them have as many flowers as that. A lot of them have more than three bundles, but no where near as many as those on Tommy’s skin.

Tommy just closes his eyes, and breathes in. He turns around and walks away, hearing Dream’s laugh coat the silence in the destruction of the broken country. It’s not until he’s at the stairs of the Prime Path that he hears yelling, everyone accusing others and shouting for revenge at Dream.

Tommy doesn’t notice when he gets to the bench, he doesn’t notice when he sits down and watches the sunset. He only becomes aware of reality once more when he feels Tubbo’s presence behind him.

They don’t say anything. They don’t need to. The silence is comforting.

#tommyinnit #tommyinnit headcanon #this hurt to write #but it got stuck in my head so i hyperfixated on it #dream smp #mcyt #mcytblr

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xjoonchildx · 4 years

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guarded | jhs x reader | chapter two: i’m screwed

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you. now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 3.1K

A/N: you guys are? the? best? i’m so thrilled that you guys like the story and i hope you like this chapter, too. i’d like to thank my emotional support llamas @ladyartemesia and @taetaewonderland for being the amazing people they are and beta reading for me, too. they really are the best.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

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

“What’s with the muscle?”

Donghyuk looks over his menu, eyes narrowed on the man just behind you. You sip your wine as you decide on how you want to answer that.

Jung Hoseok is seated at a table for one, barely three feet away. If you thought spending the last four days with him under one roof had been the most awkward stretch of your entire life, then you were dead wrong.

Tonight is infinitely more awkward.

“Personal security,” you say casually, picking up your menu to peruse the entrees for effect.

Donghyuk’s answering huff of agitation is loud -- probably loud enough for Hoseok to hear and your skin prickles with embarrassment.

“You need security to have dinner with me now?”

“Don’t be silly,” you say under your breath, hoping Donghyuk will take the hint and lower his voice. “I’m getting some heat on the Kwon and Lim case, so it’s just a precaution. Nothing to worry about.”

“Right,” he deadpans, one skeptical eyebrow raised. “I see you every day at work. How is this the first I’m hearing about this?”

“Must have slipped my mind,” you say with nonchalance, looking back to your menu.

You should be deciding on something to eat but your mind is wandering. You wonder if Hoseok has ever been to this restaurant before. You wonder if he purposely picked a table where he could see you but you couldn’t see him. You wonder what he plans to order.

You wonder --

“Well, you’re sending him home for the night, right?”

Your wine glass thumps against the linen tablecloth when you set it down with more force that you’d intended. A flush creeps up your neck.

How much of this conversation can Hoseok hear from his vantage point? The thought makes the tips of your ears warm as you fix your dinner date and occasional hookup partner with a warning glare. Smart as Donghyuk is -- with the law degree to prove it -- he can be downright thick sometimes.

‘No,” you say quietly.

He narrows his eyes.

“No, you don’t want to? Or no, you can’t?”

You blow out one long, irritated breath.

“‘Hyuk, I’m about two seconds from walking out of here,” you hiss. “Can we just drop this?”

He stops just short of frowning, eyes sliding back over your shoulder to Hoseok.

“And for the love of God, quit staring at him.”

Donghyuk slams his menu shut.

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

Jung Hoseok is like a ghost in your home.

He moves with a practiced stealth that makes it hard for you to keep track of what room he’s in at any given time. He’s awake when you wake and still awake when you head to your room at night.

You have no idea when the man sleeps or when he eats.

Conversations -- if you can call them that -- are stilted and awkward. Short discussions limited to working out the logistics of your day. You tell him where you need to be and when and he makes it happen.

Apart from that, there is silence -- thick and suffocating and constant.

In fact, Hoseok is so silent inside your home that when you’ve retreated to your opposite corners of the apartment you could almost pretend that things are normal. You could almost pretend that you don’t have a complete stranger living in your home.

But then you catch a scent.

It’s the smell of coffee that greets you when you wake every morning to a freshly-brewed pot.

It’s the clean, masculine smell that wafts under his bedroom door, carried on humid air after he’s showered.

And sometimes it’s the scent of gun oil that creeps into your room at night when he’s cleaning his pistol, bringing back memories you’d thought were long lost. Memories you’d hoped were long lost.

That’s the scent that always brings you back to your senses -- the one that reminds you that the man under your roof isn’t just any houseguest.

He might not look like the battered thugs who worked for your father all those years, but underneath the designer suits and composed exterior is a man cut from the very same cloth.

And you’d better not forget it.

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

The sunlight beating down on the window to your office this morning is deceptive.

Behind the protection of the thick glass, it’s powerful enough to make you feel uncomfortably warm in your lightweight sweater -- but outside it’s bitter cold.

Hoseok is parked just across the street from your building, like he has been every day this week. You can’t help but notice there isn’t any steam coming out of the exhaust of the sleek black sedan and you wonder if he’s warm enough in there.

“You busy?”

Hyejin interrupts your thoughts with a knock at your office door.

“Not at all,” you sigh, turning to smile at her before taking a seat at your desk. “I should be busy, I just seem to keep finding ways to put things off.”

“Tell me about it,” she laughs. “Listen, I was looking for the photos we got from the Daerim warehouse. I can’t find them in the file and thought maybe you pulled them for something.”

“No, I haven’t pulled them,” you say, lips pursing into a frown as your hands skate over the papers on your desk. You flip the corners of the folders up, checking to see if the photos are hidden underneath. “They’ve got to be here somewhere. Maybe Hajoon took them?”

Hyejin nods. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll check with him. You alright this morning?”

Tense laughter bubbles up your chest.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just have a lot going on, is all. Let me know when you find those photos, okay?”

“Will do,” Hyejin promises before leaving you alone to your work and your thoughts.

Hyejin is probably the closest thing you have to a friend — but there’s no way you’d tell even her that your brother thinks someone is trying to kill you and you’re living with an armed guard.

That’s not a conversation you can have with anyone.

You grab a drink, straighten up your papers and get to work.

The raid at the Daerim warehouse turned up enough guns to arm the entire city. Police spent hours unpacking weapons from giant crates, hidden inside huge sacks of coffee beans and offloaded from a ship that docked from Colombia. The coffee was pretty decent, actually.

As for the guns -- you knew the Ssijog leadership was furious about the confiscation. In all, investigators estimated they took about 7 billion won worth of firearms out of that warehouse that day. That’s the kind of financial hit that could level any criminal organization, including your brother’s.

What you can’t seem to understand is why the Ssijog seem more worried about the men taken away at that raid than the guns.

You take a close look at the side-by-side booking photos of Kwon Jiho and Lim Joowon.

These are the kind of men who look like the muscle your father kept around. Heavily-tattooed, thick-necked and ears cauliflowered from one too many fights. Their criminal records read like street gangster templates, page after page of petty crimes starting in their youth graduating to more violent crimes in recent years.

Men like these are a dime a dozen in this line of work. So what makes these two so special that the Ssijog are this desperate to get them back?

You pull a post-it note out of your drawer and grab a sharpie. In big block letters you write the question you have to answer before this situation really spirals out of control.

WHAT DO THEY KNOW?

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

Car rides are the only time you let yourself get a good look at Jung Hoseok.

When he’s driving, his eyes never leave the road, never stray in your direction -- and you refuse to make him feel like some kind of glorified chauffeur by riding in the backseat. So you use the silent drives as an opportunity to steal glances at him from the passenger seat like a shy kid.

Hoseok has strangely elegant hands for a man with a career in crime, you think. Long fingers free of scratches and calluses; prominent veins that move when his hand works over the gear shift. And then there is his face -- his chiseled jawline and sharp nose and bow-shaped mouth.

He’s handsome, of course, and you -- a woman with a pulse and perfectly-functioning eyesight -- would be lying if you tried to deny it.

Tonight you are so distracted with looking at Hoseok’s face that you miss the fact that he’s skipped the turn he normally takes to get back to your apartment. It isn’t until you are well into the heart of downtown that you snap out of your stupor and take a look outside.

“Where are we going?”

“Your brother wants to see you.”

Your scowl is wasted on the man because he doesn’t bother to look your way.

“So is this how things work now? You and my brother decide where I go and when and I’m the last to know?”

Hoseok is unmoved by your obvious irritation.

“Just following orders,” he counters evenly. “You’ll need to take up any concerns you have about your schedule with Namjoon.”

“I’ll do that,” you murmur, turning to glare out the window.

A short while later you’re walking into your brother’s office, Hoseok trailing closely behind. Namjoon signals for him to leave the two of you alone to speak privately. You round on him as soon as the door latches behind Hoseok.

“If you want me here,” you say tightly, “Then tell me. Directly. I don’t like finding out I have plans second-hand from my babysitter.”

The corners of Namjoon’s mouth lift into a wry smile. “Good to see you too?”

You roll your eyes but you can’t help but smile back. Your brother seems at ease tonight, lighter somehow. It’s a good look on him.

“I want to know how things are going,” he says, leaning back into his chair. “How are you finding Jung Hoseok?”

Let’s see. Frigid? Intense? Unapproachable?

“He’s...quiet,” you say after a long moment. “And maybe unnecessary at this point. I haven’t had any more trouble since that letter.”

“I assure you, he’s still very necessary,” Namjoon returns quickly. “We’ve still got a lot to work out as far as this situation goes. My guys on the street say the Ssijog are in planning mode. I don’t want any of them catching us unaware with some kind of nasty surprise.”

You sigh. “So no end in sight.”

“Not right now. Just bear with this a bit longer, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, reaching into your pocket to retrieve your buzzing phone.

Your mouth pulls into a tight line when you read the waiting message.

hyejin: can’t find the pictures. hajoon doesn’t have [ 6:15 PM ]

you: ? i have backup on my laptop [ 6:17 PM ]

hyejin: okay need to make sure we have those tonight? [ 6:18 PM ]

you: yeah, i’ll call you from my place when i get them [ 6:18 PM ]

“Everything alright?” Namjoon asks when you rub your fingers against your temples.

“Yeah, just work stuff,” you sigh, a low-level anxiety simmering in your stomach. “I actually have to go, unless there’s something else you needed?”

“No, just—“ your brother looks like there’s something he wants to say, but decides against it. “— just be careful, okay?”

You nod and send him a small smile.

“I’ll try.”

You’re almost to the door when you hear him call out to you again.

“And Amsaja -- with Hoseok. Try being nice.”

He nearly laughs at the disgusted look you shoot back.

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

HOSEOK

Hoseok’s got a pretty good idea of what a prosecutor makes in this town, and it’s damned sure not enough to pay for your lifestyle.

Your spacious apartment in one of the best buildings in town, your expensive furnishings, your fancy car and your designer clothes. Hoseok has done the math in his head and that shit does not add up.

You’re a hypocrite, he decides -- too good to associate yourself with the trash that brings money in for the Gajog, but apparently not too good to spend it. Living comfortably on the backs of men you wouldn’t acknowledge in the streets.

Men like him.

Hoseok wishes that didn’t get under his skin the way it does.

He wishes he didn’t feel resentment simmering under the surface every time he sees you, every time he even thinks of you. You keep to yourself and you don’t make demands and you haven’t really given him a reason to dislike you, but he desperately wants to.

He needs to.

He wishes he truly didn’t give a shit about the idiot you had dinner with the other day. The one straight off the assembly line of some prep school in the Seocho District. The one with the loud mouth and the loafers and the country-club grin. He wonders what you see in that guy, when all he can see is how punchable his face looks.

That’s why Hoseok doesn’t give too much weight to the furtive looks he can see you stealing in his peripheral vision. He doesn’t put too much stock in the way your cheeks color when he looks at you sometimes. He has to remind himself that underneath the polite distance and pretty packaging, you’re just desperate to be done with this entire situation. You’re desperate to distance yourself from him and people like him.

When he finds himself staring at you when you’re not looking, Hoseok forces himself to remember that men like him don’t warm your bed, they pay your bills.

And he’d better not forget it.

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

Hoseok can read the agitation in your body language loud and clear the second you slide back into the car.

He can see the way you keep scrolling through your phone, firing off texts and emails from the passenger seat. Tonight, you stare out of the window instead of pretending not to stare at him and he wonders what happened behind closed doors with your brother.

He almost lets it go because it’s none of his business. But he’s curious.

“Are you...upset about something?”

You seem to startle when he asks the simple question.

“Uh, yeah. Sort of,” you admit quietly, eyes falling back to your phone. “Work stuff. I have to find something when we get home.”

Hoseok nods, eyes glued to the road. “We’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks,” you say, turning to look out the window again.

Minutes later, you’re both walking into the apartment. Hoseok turns to secure the deadbolt lock and when he turns back, you’re gone. He hears the room to your bedroom click closed.

He briefly entertains the idea of asking you if you need help, but resists.

Instead he sweeps the open rooms of the apartment like he does every night before heading into his room and closing the door.

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

The knock that comes almost two hours later is just short of aggressive. Hoseok jumps up off the bed, ready in the case of trouble.

He does not miss the way your eyes go a bit wide when he opens the door, dressed in a thin tank and sweatpants.

“You need something?” he asks when you don’t say anything right away.

“Uh yeah, sorry,” you say with a shake of your head. “I’ve just never seen you in anything but a suit. For a second I wasn’t sure you were the same man.”

“You think I sleep in a suit?”

“Well I wouldn’t put it past you,” you say hotly. “But that’s not the point. I need you to take me to the office. Please.”

Hoseok glances at his watch.

“Now?”

“Yes,” you sigh. “I know it’s late and I’m sorry. This is super important.”

“Alright, hang on,” Hoseok says, turning to grab his holster from the dresser. He slips into it and notices your gaze lingering on the pistol he fits onto his side. You clear your throat and look down at the floor while he slips a sweatshirt overhead.

“It’s just a precaution, okay?”

Hoseok doesn’t know why he’s bothering to reassure you. You know that he’s armed all the time, you grew up in this life. None of this should surprise you.

You say nothing.

It takes only ten minutes to get across town to your office, in the dead of night and in the absence of traffic. You look almost as irritated as you are surprised when Hoseok climbs out of the car to escort you inside.

“You’re coming in?”

“Yes,” Hoseok fires back, keeping pace just behind you. “It’s well after hours. No one will see us together, since that’s what you’re so worried about.”

You stop for a moment, turning to face him and mouth opening like you want to deny it. But you don’t.

“Fine,” you say under your breath. “Please avoid looking at the cameras.”

“I know how to do my job,” Hoseok manages between gritted teeth.

“I never said you didn’t,” you hiss back.

The two of you stand just outside the entrance to the building, trading glares.

The tension feels like a step backward somehow.

One strained elevator ride later, Hoseok trails you into your office. You flip the lights and immediately get to work going through file cabinets. Hoseok takes a look around.

It’s not a huge space, but the large windows looking out onto the street make it look a little bigger. Piles of file folders and papers are sorted into neat columns on your desk. A desk, Hoseok notes -- completely devoid of personal effects. No pictures, no mementos. He doesn’t know why that bothers him so much.

“Shit.”

It’s the first word either one of you has spoken in five minutes.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Hoseok turns to find you on your knees at the base of a filing cabinet, a pile of flash drives scattered across the floor.

“What is it?” he asks, crouching down beside you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, covering your face with your hands.

Hoseok picks up a flash drive, turns it to the side to read the small label. It’s dated three years back, with the name “Cheon” written on the side.

“All of my digital evidence is gone. All of it,” you whisper, voice wobbling with emotion. “I was searching the cloud at home and thought there was some kind of mistake. There’s no way this is a mistake. There’s no way my cloud and flash backups disappeared by chance.”

You’re right, of course, but Hoseok doesn’t voice that out loud. You look stricken already without him pouring salt in that wound.

“What about these?” he asks, handing you the flash drive.

“Old cases,” you say, shoving a hand through your hair. “They didn’t bother to pull my old cases. Whoever took them knew exactly what they were looking for.”

Hoseok almost forgets himself for a moment.

He nearly forgets who you are and who he is and what this is. He stops himself just short of reaching out to put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You turn tired eyes up to meet his.

“I’m screwed.”

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

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ecclais-fouoras · 4 years

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"Why do we always make love in the dark?"

WARNINGS: SMUT, MENTION OF PAST SEXUAL ASSAULT, INSECURITIES, (BRIEF MENTION OF SCOLIOSIS)

Enjoy !

Again, it was 8 pm we were both in bed, our hands around each other, in the dark.

And again I asked her to turn on the lights, and she refused.

And again I respected that.

We had made love so many times, sometimes even just sex,

and yet she was still insecure showing me her body.

Wilhelmina had her issues yes, but I still found her beautiful despite all the things she thought of herself.

So tonight I asked why, why did she not want me to make love to her with the lights on.

"Mina ?"

I asked softly as my hand kept circling her clit while i was on top of her.

"Yes baby....mmmm....what is it..?"

-"why can't you let me see you like this ? I think you're beautiful, and yet I can't even see your pretty face when you cum.."

She was stunned by my words, she moaned softly and her eyes got watery. I felt her tremble underneath me, but it wasn't from coming, so i stopped my hand licking her wetness from my finger

"Babe, I've seen you, naked and with clothes on, laughing and sobbing while tears stream down those rosie cheeks and I'm still here. Because I wanna be. I want you to be mine, and me to be yours. Yet when we have sex, i can't see anything ?"

She registered my words and picked up all her courage to answer

"I know that, but when we are intimate it is different. I'm scared, I'm scared you'll see something i hate and run away..."

"I swear if this is about your back...."

"YES OKAY OBVIOUS IT IS"

she got mad and pushed me off of her and started to leave the bed.

"Mina.. stop... Where are you going, we need to sort this out now"

I breathed as I rushed to her side of the bed and circle my arms around her body to stop her from standing up.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING LET ME GO"

"NO ! NO ! FOR GOD SAKE I WILL NOT LET YOU LEAVE WHEN THINGS GET ROUGH, OR UNCOMFORTABLE TO TALK ABOUT...You need to work for this..."

I pointed back and forth between us.

"Honey, mina tell me what do you think will happen ? I've seen your back already, it didn't change anything, you are beautiful to me, with your scoliosis or without" I ran my finger down her spine and she shivered when I kissed the bruises on top of her spine.

"I know...but...you...have...never seen all of me at once, and especially when...i give up...control"

there it was, why did i not see that, it ,as obvious that during sex she was vulnerable, and she hated that as much as she loved to be topped.

I saw her summon all her courage to say,

TW: MENTION OF SEXUAL ASSAULT

"When I was younger..the boy that I was sort of "dating"....he...he wasn't very.. patient with me...and..."

She was sobbing, sniffling between words.

"Well.. i wasn't ready to have sex...and...after a few months...he got tired of waiting...and when he got to my house on day...he started to make out with me...ln my room on the bed....he undressed me and started to play...with himself...but as he got me naked... and flipped me over roughly to penetrate me he saw my back..and he...just stopped yelled that was disgusting...that he wasn't going to touch that...and he just jacked off...because he said i was giving him blue balls...and came on my back...then he just left."

She was now crying, curled in a ball on the bed we so often shared, and i was devastated.

Angry and mad at this asshole, for trying to break my Mina, and for having done that to her.

"Mina, I'm so sorry, i didn't know...it's ok we don't have to ever turn the lights on...I don't want you to be uncomfortable"

i said while spooning her and brushing her tears away.

After what felt like ages and her crying stopped in broke the silence.

"You know, i never told you that, but I was...too"

she turned around to face me, and looked at me confused

"Well, you know what he did to you..."

"...What ?"

"Well...god i hate those words, sexualy assaulted baby"

"No..no..no you don't understand.. he didn't do that...he was my boyfriend..and we'll just was tierd of waiti..."

-" Mina what you just described to me is sexual assault, it doesn't matter if he was your boyfriend, or your teacher, your family or friends. That has nothing to do with what he did to you. Mina you've been living like this, convincing yourself that it was normal, but it is not."

She was shocked by the words that came out of my mouth

"I..."

"I know babe"

she didn't need to speak, i understood everything perfectly, she curled up and nuzzled my neck, while I stroked her dark red hair.

"It's okay baby, your okay "

i tried soothing her with my words

"Your so pretty Mina, so Lovely, and precious."

"Thank you baby"

An hour later, we had both calmed down, she was now sprawled all over me, and I was stroking her leg softly.

"You know, I do know you'd never hurt me, and it's just my fear talking but why do you want the lights to be on ?"

She asked quietly.

Silence, silence piercing your hears, you had to think of something.

You couldn't tell her the truth but a simple 'because I like it' would never be enough.

So you didn't reply, at some point she even though you were asleep, but when she looked at you your eyes were wide open.

But she waited

"You know... you can tell me anything right ?

Of course you knew, but it was something you didn't like to talk about.

But you should, Mina and you had been together for a little over 5 month now, even though none of you said it, you knew you loved each other, she should know.

"I...when i was a kid... I always slept with the lights off, in the full darkness, I thought "if I can't see, the monsters can't see rather and it's easier to hide right ?" So every night I would sleep with no lights on... And one day my parents took in..one of my mom's friend who was getting divorced and was kicked out of his house...after a few days he would come into my room every night... I couldn't see him... and well..after a few weeks my mom found out and kicked him out...After that i couldn't sleep in the dark anymore, i was too scared he'd come back..."

She looked at me lovingly and kissed the skin below her mouth.

"Don't worry I'm okay now, i went to therapy for years afterwards, and well he is in jail because I apparently wasn't the only one he visited, and now I'm all healed"

She took my words, and a few moments passed by.

We both had your hands around each other.

You told Mina she needed therapy, for everything she felt about herself and her trauma.

She nodded and she said she'd make the appointment tomorrow.

We started kissing each other, it was slow and sweet. After we parted i said

"I just prefer to have sex with the lights on, and that is not the only reason, i just like it more, you can see what you do, your partners face, and body, and the way they move and moan. It's just priceless."

"I..."

"I know, we don't have to, I wont push that on you ok ? I'm just telling you what I fe.."

She cut you off by kissing you and replied

"No..i just want...to try tonight, if that's okay with you of course."

"Now? Like.. right now right now... or now like later now ?"

You rambled as you got a little excited at the idea.

"Now.." she rolled on top of you and kissed you again.

"Oh..baby if we do this...we do this my way"

you whispered in her ear as you flipped her over so she was beneath you.

She moaned at the sudden mouvements and whined when she felt your weight leave her body.

"Are you sure you're good ?"

You asked while holding the chord switch of your bedside lamp, she nodded rapidly and you pulled the chord.

There was now a low light in the room, and her skin lit up.

You went back to work, and unbutton her nightshirt, while kissing the middle of her torso, you went down further, admiring her from below. She was so pretty like this, panting and her hair all messy.

You took off her panties and kissed your way up her thighs, she shivered in expectation.

"Mmm... I can't wait to taste you mina"

She groaned loudly at your words,

"Your being such a good girl baby"

"...mmm...oh only for you darling...OH"

You cut her off by puting her clit into your mouth, and circling it with the tip of your tongue. You moved faster, never slowing your pace as you found her gaze with your hungry eyes. Her mouth in an O shape as you played with her bundle of nerves, her hips lifting up for even more contact.

"...please...baby"

"You need to tell me what you need, sweetie"

".mm..more...ah" she plead with her shaky voice.

"Come on baby you can say it...use your words pretty girl" you cooed as she was trying to express her needs.

"God..oh...I..want...your fingers..in me

.. please !"

You couldn't deny her request any longer so you easily pushed two fingers inside her hole as she screamed.

"OH GOD..YES..JUST LIKE THAT..."

You knew exactly what she liked so after a few seconds you curled your fingers inside her while sucking hard on her clit and she came eyes shut crying out your name. You went up her body and stared into her eyes

"Hey"

"...Hi" she breathed out.

"You were perfect baby, and oh your face when you come...i swear I almost came from just looking at it."

"Oh..did you now ?"

She replied biting my neck softly, and when she lifted my hips so I could sit on her face I knew this was gonna be a long night, and that i was so lucky to have her, and we both knew that we'll never make love in the dark again.

#wilhemina venable x reader #sarah paulson fanfiction #soft!mina #ms venable #sarah paulson characters

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writehardwhumpharder · 3 years

Text

Story Prompt/Request

@whatwasmyprevioususername

So I don’t know what this is exactly or where it fits into the Carson series but here it is. Prompt: whumper takes whumpee while the caretaker watches, powerless to stop them.

Carson cursed himself under his breath for being so stupid. He’d walked directly into a trap and not for the first time either. Although it was the first time he’d been dumb enough to bring Danny with him. Lulled into a false sense of security by the midday sun, Carson saw no reason not to do a little of his own investigating on the case he was working on. There was a new magician in town attracting a lot of attention with his pattern of killing other magicians, typically the stronger ones associated with some of the gangs in the inner city.

He and Daniel went back to the crime scene where one of the first bodies had been found. The apartment had long since been cleaned up of blood and evidence but it was still locked to the public. Carson ignored the police tape as he ducked under it to walk inside. The apartment had an older style to it with archways between rooms and a fireplace in the corner adjacent to the door. First, he looked around for visible clues left behind before doing what he really came there to do which was inspect the place for traces of magic.

“Nice place, well, except for that giant bloodstain on the floor,” Daniel commented casually as he stepped around the stained patch of carpet. He had insisted on coming as ‘another set of eyes’ but Carson suspected he was there out of curiosity. “See anything interesting?”

Carson took a moment to open up his magic senses so he could see the energy around him. To his surprise, he saw very little magic of any kind. In one corner of the room, he spotted purple tendrils of magic swirling around where a struggle had taken place but it could only belong to the victim, not the killer. His mind spun with questions. The police had seen the magician in action and confirmed the killer was no normal civilian. That’s why Carson was puzzled as to how someone with such strong magic would be able to get rid of all traces of himself.

“It doesn’t make any sense-” Carson started talking but something stopped him in his tracks. Daniel looked up when he suddenly trailed off and knew from the look on Carson’s face it was serious. A strange presence stirred in the room, catching his attention immediately. The feeling was so overwhelming it seemed to suck all the air out of his lungs at once. The magic was thick and nauseatingly wrong to Carson’s senses. Some part of him knew it was magic but if it was, it was a kind he had never encountered before and hoped to never encounter again.

“What’s wrong?” Danny asked.

“Shhh,” Carson stayed frozen in place, the hair on his arms sprang up with anticipation as he sensed another kind of presence, a physical one. The magician was close, and judging by the intensity of the magic, he knew there wasn’t time to run. Adrenaline flooded his veins and suddenly Carson was moving again. His eyes scanned the apartment, landing on a closet next to the bathroom. He opened the door and ushered Daniel inside. “Don’t make a sound, and whatever happens, don’t come out,” he told him.

Daniel’s brows pinched with worry and he opened his mouth to protest, “But what about you?”

“Promise me you’ll stay right here,” Carson commanded.

“But-”

“Promise!” He said, gritting his teeth, they didn’t have time to waste. With each passing second, Carson’s heart pounded faster and faster.

“I promise,” Daniel forced the words out. It hurt him more to say those words than he could ever describe but he knew he had no choice. As the closet door closed in front of him Daniel couldn’t shake the feeling that Carson’s request sounded eerily like a dying wish.

Slowly backing up into the middle of the room Carson tried to prepare himself for anything. He didn’t know where the magician might attack from or what he would attack with. Summoning up as much energy as he could, Carson raised his arms in front of his chest defensively.

A moment later, the door to the apartment slowly creaked open and in stepped, plain as day, a man about six feet tall wearing a dark coat, obscuring most of his figure. The move was so obvious and carefree that it gave Carson chills. He almost acted as if Carson wasn’t even there. Anyone watching the scene would think the magician was just an average guy returning from work after a long day, he didn’t seem at all like someone looking for a fight. Now that he was fully in the room the overwhelming stench of his magic had Carson wanting to crawl right out of his skin. It made him feel weak and sick to his stomach as his energy met the magician’s. While Carson’s magic was dark in nature this mysterious form of magic just felt empty to him. As the other magician looked him over it gave Carson enough time to identify what he was feeling. It wasn’t just empty magic, it was more like anti-magic…

Without thinking, Carson tried to end the fight before it could even begin. He used his strongest move, one he only uses in emergencies. And it got him… absolutely nowhere. Reaching out with his magic, Carson aimed to grab the man’s very soul but when his magic came in contact with the man’s aura of anti-magic it recoiled.

“That won’t work,” the magician said. His voice was deep but clear and each word had the power to cut through Carson like a knife. The magician didn’t just block Carson’s magic, he killed it. The loss of energy sent Carson to his knees and suddenly it was a struggle just to breathe. His magic was a living part of him so he felt it with every fiber of his being when it started to die inside him. The moment he knew he wasn’t going to make it through the fight his eyes flickered to the closet desperately. So far the magician had yet to notice Daniel there. It gave Carson a shred of hope.

“Why are you doing this?” Carson croaked.

“It’s my job to get rid of people like you,” the man answered honestly. “Your magic may be able to sway life and death but it can’t even begin to control what is and isn’t.” He wasn’t just talking about destroying something, he was talking about wiping it from existence.

Carson knew now that if he had any chance of fighting the guy he’d have to do it the old-fashioned way. With what little strength he had, Carson lunged toward the kitchen hoping to find some kind of weapon to defend himself with. The magician wasn’t going to make it that easy though and he caught up with Carson effortlessly.

A boot collided with the back of his leg, sending him tumbling into the cupboard. Pain raced through Carson’s back as he stared up at the man helplessly. Did he plan to kill him right then and there? Was he going to take his magic away? Was the dark power of death really not enough to protect him? The man simply stood there, looking down at Carson curiously. It was clear he wasn’t in any kind of rush. Attempting to crawl away was futile and yet he found himself doing it anyway.

“Go ahead, keep fighting,” he smirked. Carson knew the man was just humoring him as he watched him struggle just to drag his body back towards the living room where the front door was still wide open. It was right there. If he could just make it to…

Ice. That’s what it felt like. The pain now radiating through his back was similar to the pain you feel from holding your hand in ice water for too long. It was present and powerful and yet Carson could tell he wasn’t fully registering what had just happened. Because there was no ice, what cut through his back just now was actually a knife, maybe 5 inches long. The more Carson tried to wrap his mind around it the more he felt himself slipping. The wound flared white-hot every time he breathed. This injury wouldn’t be enough to kill him, most likely the magician just did it to keep him from running away. As his movements slowed to a stop, Carson knew he had succeeded at just that. He couldn’t pick himself up off the floor, he couldn’t move, couldn’t scream for help. The only thing he could do was turn his head to the side facing the closet door. With one cheek pressed against the dirty beige carpet, he stared at that door for as long as he could keep his eyes open. Daniel had kept his promise and stayed perfectly silent. Carson was actually proud of him. Even though his vision was darkening at an alarming speed and the sound of nearby sirens blended in with the ringing in his ears, Carson could let go knowing Daniel would be safe.

----

Daniel held his hands tightly over his mouth, urging himself to stay quiet. He wanted to scream and cry and hit something but all he could do was stand there and watch. Every muscle in his body flexed tight as he struggled to stay still. Tears streamed from his eyes as it all unfolded in front of him. He had texted their location to the police but beyond that, there was nothing he could do to help. The powerlessness welling up in his chest soured with anger. Whether it was toward the magician or himself he didn’t know. All he knew was that each time he wanted to open the closet door and put himself in front of Carson, he remembered the promise he made.

The sound of sirens faded in as the police got closer to the apartment building, but Daniel knew it was already too late. Blood soaked through Carson’s coat where the knife had gone in and slowly dripped to form a puddle underneath him. He wasn’t healing, why the hell wasn’t he healing?!

With the police closing in, the magician had no choice but to run, and to Daniel’s horror, he made sure to take Carson with him.

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malucy31 · 3 years

Text

Time in On Our Side

Here's chapter 2 a day earlier 😊

cw: nothing too heavy, but this version of Magnus isn't the happiest version of Magnus...

Chapter 2/3 - Times of joy, times of sadness

Read on ao3: chapter 1 - chapter 2

They talk and the weight of the centuries separating them evaporates.

Magnus tells Alec stories he has already heard, minus some details that make him wonder if his warlock husband didn’t invent them. He hopes he will remember everything so he can tease him a little when he gets home.

A twinge of sadness takes hold of Alec whenever he realizes that Magnus isn’t trying to find out more about him. His Magnus would. Danger be damned, he would try. He would have a lot of reasons to after all. Curiosity, suspicion, or simple intuition. Magnus’s magic never lies, and Alec knows he felt something. It must be gnawing at him.

But this Magnus doesn’t even bring up the subject. It would be fine if Alec couldn’t detect resignation underneath it. Now that he feels awake and perfectly healed, he can see it as brightly as the Sun on a clear blue sky. This Magnus is sad. The spark of joy and life that Alec is so used to seeing in him has been smothered. It sparkles every now and then, when he brings up the kinds of subjects and anecdotes he knows Magnus loves. But the moment the conversation dies down, a heaviness falls on the small kitchen like a lid. The only times his Magnus was like that are times Alec would rather not think about.

He takes a sip of wine, wincing at the sour taste a bit more than he normally would. It makes Magnus huff a laugh and the lid vanishes. Small victories and all…

It’s when Magnus gets up to check on his sandalwood blend that Alec looks around and notices something that makes his stomach drop. There are no windows in the living room. In fact, now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t seen any window outside the small room adjacent to the apothecary and the kitchen.

This is very unlike Magnus. Magnus loves natural light. Their loft has floor to ceiling windows everywhere. On a whim, Magnus sometimes redecorates the whole place and replaces walls with windows just because the light is incredible. Alec has seen Magnus lie in the sun for hours when he is having a bad day, or when he has exhausted himself with a spell.

Having no windows makes no sense. Why would he want to avoid the Sun?

Magnus’s voice snaps Alec from his thoughts. “I’m still missing an ingredient.”

He watches him sit down across the table again, taking his napkin back on his lap and reaching for his glass of wine.

“I swear, I will find it.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Alec sends him back his smile, adding something about how much he loves the scent of sandalwood, but Magnus must feel that something has shifted in Alec’s stare because he sets down his glass with caution, scrutinizing Alec the way he must be doing too.

“What is it?” Magnus eventually asks.

Alec is about to say something about the windows when something else catches his attention. He would slap himself for not seeing it earlier, but he is so used to seeing his Magnus underneath any kind of armor the warlock owns that he doesn’t always pay attention to what lies on the surface. Even today, Alec still reads between the lines, still sees Magnus’s kindred soul and open heart, the tenderness in his gaze. He still sees the most generous and beautiful man he has ever met.

But how could he not notice the obvious thicker black eyeliner? The way it enhances the dark hazelnut brown of Magnus’s eyes a little more than usual? A little differently? There isn’t a single round edge about him. His hair is spiked and even his jewelry seems to be part of a shield. I dare you to come close and find any weakness, it says. Even if there is something a little different about it today, the basic lines remain. Show them what they expect. Don’t be too much.

Alec is suddenly overcome by the need to protect him, to be the shield between him and people who can’t fathom that there’s no such thing as too much when it comes to Magnus. He just is, plain and simple.

If they were home, Alec would run a hot bath for his tired husband and kiss words of reassurance and love on his skin, remove his makeup with careful gestures until it’s just them. No armor, no one else. Only them and the walls they built around their life.

But he isn’t home, and neither is Magnus.

Alec’s chest tightens when he puts two and two together. He doesn’t know everything about Magnus’s life, but he knows enough to understand what is happening. Magnus needs protection for the same reason he has no windows outside from the rooms where he spends his time, his safe haven.

He is entering a battle that will last a few centuries, and he probably already knows it.

This battle has a name that, to this very day, makes Alec’s muscles stiffen, calls out his soldier reflexes.

Camille.

Alec doesn’t ask about the windows. He doesn’t need to.

Magnus will never open up to a stranger about this anyway, no matter how easy the conversation is. Even if he did, Alec will be gone in a few days and what good will it have done? The thought sends him into a downward spiral. He knows what is ahead of Magnus. Centuries of abuse, of loneliness, self-hatred, and despair.

This Magnus doesn’t need to be forced to open up by someone who will disappear from his life. He needs something strong enough that he can hold on to. He needs hope.

And Alec has an idea.

“I was thinking of a way to repay you for healing me and welcoming me into your home, but I don’t have any money… So, what about a small clue about who I am? Something harmless.”

“Please, do tell!”

Magnus’s eyes sparkle, and Alec is almost certain he can see his golden irises flickering for a second. There, trapped in the brown glamor that is supposed to make him presentable, a hint of gold. A hint of his aching soul searching for an escape, looking to this stranger for an answer to a question Magnus has been asking for centuries.

A pang in Alec’s stomach echoes that ache, the want and need to give Magnus everything he has ever wished. In times of joy as well as sadness, said their wedding vows. No matter the version of them, Alec will always give Magnus all his love.

“What you felt in me, what made my body accept your magic and kept you out at the same time. It’s magic.” Alec pauses for a second, considering exactly how much he can say without raising any suspicion in Magnus’s mind. His idea sounds too bold now. He could lie, invent something about being some kind of warlock, but he can’t. Not when Magnus’s eyes are begging for something, anything, as long as it’s different. The words are out before his brain has time to process them.

“It’s my husband’s magic.”

Magnus’s eyes widen and Alec is glad he didn’t backpaddle.

“Your… Your husband?” He pronounces the word with such delicacy that Alec’s heart breaks.

“Yeah, my husband.”

“H… How?” His voice is almost a whisper, his smile full of centuries-old, dried tears and smothered dreams.

Alec fights hard against the reflex to sit closer to him, take him in his arms, never let go.

“Where are you from?” Magnus asks.

“Far away.”

“You don’t say… You seem…suspended in time, like you… I couldn’t even find the words.” Magnus lowers his gaze, shaking his head and quickly trying to erase all trace of emotion on his face. But it doesn’t fool Alec. Longing is already coloring his tone. “I won’t know more, will I?”

Alec is about to apologize again when Magnus raises a hand between them. “You know what? It’s okay. Like I said, there is clearly something unique about you, and I wouldn’t want to put you or your husband in danger by knowing too much. But thank you for trusting me with this.”

Alec doesn’t know how to respond to that. There are too many things he could say and none of them would make sense to Magnus, so he nods, smiling.

“There’s one more thing I would like to know about you, though.”

“What is it?”

“Your name. You haven’t told me.”

“Oh, Gideon. I’m Gideon.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Gideon. I’m Magnus.”

Alec can feel giddiness forming on his lips. How many people get to relive a first introduction?

When the conversation resumes, Alec can’t help noticing a difference in the way Magnus holds himself and speaks. Less guarded, more himself. It sparks something in Alec’s stomach, a need to be home already, an urge stronger than he has felt in the past month and a half. He can’t wait to be home, can’t wait to hold his husband in his arms and have living proof that Magnus did overcome everything, that Camille is a long-forgotten nightmare.

Neither of them realizes how late it is until Magnus has to conjure up some light in the form of tiny bulbs floating above them. The light they cast reminds Alec of home again, of improvised date nights in the middle of nowhere, of late dinners when they refuse to go to bed before the other one has returned. It makes it even harder to pronounce his next words.

“It’s late, I should… I should get back,” Alec says, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Where are you staying? Let me walk you back. The streets aren’t safe at night.”

Alec is about to decline when he realizes that he has no idea how to go back, no cell phone to help, and that Magnus hasn’t invented portals yet.

“If that’s not too much trouble, I’d like that.”

“No trouble at all, but before you go, let me give you something in return of this lovely night.”

“Magnus, you don’t—”

He snaps his fingers, and a small pouch appears in his hand, the scent already tickling the corners of Alec’s mouth. Sandalwood. “Since you liked the scent… It’s not exactly what I want it to be yet, but maybe you and your husband will find the missing ingredient. You’ll have to let me know if you do.”

Magnus adds a wink as he hands the pouch to Alec in a way that reminds him of his own Magnus. It feels so good that Alec lets his grin grow wider than he has in a month and a half.

“Thank you. I’ll… I’ll let you know if we find something, but I’m sure you have the solution around here.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, but he can’t help it. He knows what ingredient is missing, it’s actually right there on the table, and he doesn’t always get the chance to tease Magnus.

For the first time since Alec woke up, he recognizes Magnus’s smile. It’s a smile that ends in a very soft laugh, the one that modifies his voice a little and makes him sound like a young man with no burden on his shoulders, no heaviness on his heart. It’s beautiful. He is beautiful.

Alec misses him so much.

He knows he can’t bring Magnus to the Shadowhunters’ lair, so when he recognizes the streets, he comes to a halt and stops in front of an inn.

“This is it… Thank you for everything. I… I really wish I could give you more to thank you.”

The moonlight accentuates Magnus’s soft features, but it also accentuates the ache in his eyes. Alec didn’t know he could want to take him in his arms even more than he has for the last month.

“You already did, Gideon.” He smiles, but sadness lingers at the edges of his lips. “Hope is a rare and valuable thing. It’s usually fleeting, but yours… There’s something about you, you radiate joy, hope and freedom. You let me have a glimpse and dare I say, a taste of it. It was an honor to meet you. I wish I could meet your husband too. Maybe someday?”

“Maybe, yeah…”

“In the meantime, tell him Magnus Bane sends him his best regards, will you?”

“I will.” Alec knows he has been reduced to monosyllabic words, but he can’t do more in this instant. His voice is choking with emotions.

“Thank you. I needed this, I needed to meet you, more than you know… Good-bye, Gideon. Travel safely, and I hope we’ll meet again sometime.”

There’s a lot Alec would like to reply, but no words could ever convey the depth and extent of all his feelings, not in this time or place. There is no space here for their love. There can’t be. Magnus doesn’t give him the time to say anything. He is already walking backwards, and that’s probably for the best.

“I hope so too. Good-bye…” Magnus stays trapped in his throat as he watches him walk away. He can’t shake the feeling that he didn’t give him enough. He shouldn’t have let him go before there was only joy on his face, in his eyes… Alec almost calls him back, but he can’t. Not for another two or three centuries at least. This had to be enough.

#malec #malec fic #malec fanfiction #my writing #shadowhunters #alec lightwood #magnus bane #time travel #hurt/comfort

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wishonastar7 · 3 years

Text

Timely Fate1

Life is full of surprises that people should be expecting by now but no one knows when to expect them. These surprises can be pleasant or unpleasant or they could start of unpleasant only for you to realize that it was worth it or the opposite could happen.

Life is unexpected.

It had been six hours since the plane had lifted off and thirty minutes since Ha-Neul had woken up. She looked through some pieces of social media before getting up to use the bathroom. As soon as she closed the door behind her the plane shook, throwing her against the wall. Immediately the captain spoke through the speakers, talking in a calm voice as he attempted to calm down the passengers while giving out instructions to assure safety.

She could feel the plane falling as she grabbed hold of the sink and the doorknob. Cold sweat appeared on her forehead as her head was knocked on the door. It was like this for another fifteen minutes until everything went black.

Pain.

She felt pain everywhere. Her body throbbed and certain parts pulsed. She slowly opened her eyes, a blinding light stabbing into her eyes before she closed them again. Faintly, she could hear voices from outside of her subconscious.

"Don't worry....fine...safe."

Crying. "Are you.....okay?!"

"Of course....no..."

"Thank you...."

A while later, she woke up again. There was still an overbearing sense of exhaustion overwhelming her but this time she was able to open her eyes fully.

A masked face donning blue was the first thing she saw. "It seems like you're awake." A feminine voice said from underneath the mask. "Here," A cup of water was handed to her. "Something to quench your thirst after having been asleep for so long."

Ha-Neul gave her a stiff but thankful smile before chugging down the water, still thirsty for more. The woman took off her mask, revealing a bright smile, and refilled her glass again, waiting for Ha-Neul to finish drinking, before she proceeded to speak again.

"I hope you're not thirsty anymore. My name is Kim Chan-Mi, your nurse. You were in a pretty bad plane accident. You were the only one to survive and have been asleep for the past three weeks. Your grandparents visited you yesterday and will probably be back sometime today after the news of you waking up has been delivered. It's best if you don't move around. You were scabbed pretty badly and there are a couple of burns all around your body that hasn't healed yet." The nurse gave her a pitying look before she continued.

"You have three fractured ribs, a small section of your spine that has been fractured, a broken leg, a twisted ankle, and your left arm is broken. Once you're all healed you'll be able to go about your day normally but for now, you'll need a couple of months of healing in bed before you can stand up alone and you'll need some physical therapy first and foremost after everything has finished healing."

With a hoarse voice, Ha-Neul asked, "How long will it take for me to recover?"

"About six to eight weeks, a week or two extra if the doctor says anything otherwise." Ha-Neul attempted to nod before hissing in pain.

The nurse rushed to help her steady her head, giving her a worried look. "It's best if you refrain from any sort of movement, big or small."

Ha-Neul closed her eyes before opening them again. "Y-yes." Nurse Kim looked at her again before giving her a small smile. "Your doctor, Doctor Lee Ji-Yoo, will come in to check up on you later. If you need anything just call us."

"Can I ask what time it is?" Ha-Neul asked hesitantly.

"8:54 am."

"Thank you." The nurse gave her a small smile before leaving, closing the door quietly behind her.

Ha-Neul let out a breath, closing her eyes as the headache in the back of her mind became stronger and stronger. Flashes of pictures started to appear in her mind, unfamiliar people in familiar places, things that she had never done happening, so on and so forth. Ha-Neul shot a look at the black clock on the wall, nearly a full forty-five minutes.

A groan escaped from her lips. According to the pictures that had flashed through her mind, the airplane crash had given her a chance of transmigrating. Where to? No clue.

She was currently in the body of 15-year-old Park Ha-Neul, starting middle school this year and returning from 3 years of living in France when the accident had taken place. She, unlike her original self, was an only child and a blooming model as well as a well-known child-actress, Her first movie had been as the three-year-old daughter of the second male lead in the movie, 'Hope In a Broken World' an apocalyptic movie set three thousand years after the current century. She currently lived with her grandparents.

Her mother had had a one-night stand with some Chinese CEO and had gotten pregnant with her. Instead of telling the man, Park Ha-bin, Ha-Neul's mother, had kept her and went through the birth without him. Sadly, she had died soon after Ha-Neul had been born, using her last breathes to gift the baby girl both her real name and her English name, Heaven.

This wasn't a setting that she recognized. Although Ha-Neul knew that she had transmigrated, the question was where? She didn't recognize any of the settings that were currently racing through her mind. None of the people in the original Ha-Neul's memories were familiar to her in any way. Could Ha-Neul be a background character? No matter what, being a background character was a good thing. It meant that all the drama that would happen would have nothing to do with her.

She let out a silent cheer.

The door swung open to reveal an elderly couple in a matching set of black and blue along with Nurse Kim holding a stack of files in one hand as well as a tall man with short hair and rectangular glasses wearing a white lab coat.

'Must be Doctor Lee," Ha-Neul thought, her eyes flitting to the group that had just walked in and back. A small smile flickered onto her face as the old woman, Granny Ah-Ju, and the old man behind her, Grandpa Do-Hung, scampered up to her, tears running down Granny Ah-Ju's face as a hesitant smile covered up the obvious worry on grandpa Do-Hung's face.

The two looked so much like her grandparents from her original world that she couldn't help but feel a pinch in her heart as she remembered the two elders that had passed away in her childhood.

"Granny," Ha-Neul called out, a sweet simile enveloping her naturally cold face, "Don't cry. I'm perfectly fine!" She attempted only to have the older woman start coddling her arms and head.

"Oh, my poor A-Neul! Oh, how could this happen to you! My precious little sparkle. Oh, A-Neul!" Granny cried, inconsolable.

Grandpa Do-Hong hugged the older woman, his face facing Ha-Neul. "Ha-Neul," the old man said, his voice hoarse from old age. "Grandpa and grandma can't handle the fear of losing you too. Please be more careful." He said, his brows scrunched up as his hands pat Granny Ah-Ju.

Ha-Neul gave an awkward smile. "Sorry, Granny and Grandpa."

(1228)

#ORV #OMNISCIENT READER'S VIEWPOINT #FANFICTION #OC #ORVSPOILERS #YOO JONGHYUK #KIM DOKJA #YOO JONGHYUK X OC #KIM DOKJA X OC #SLOWBURN-ISH #MUTUAL PINING #FRIENDS TO LOVERS #KOREAN WAS GOOGLE TRANSLATED #KOREANWEBTOONBASED #KOREANLIGHTNOVELBASED

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kieraswriting · 4 years

Text

Coffin Chapter Two

Masterpost

It had been a week since Virgil had arrived, and Logan had finally read through all of the reference material about training vampires. There had been a surprising amount of it, especially since it seemed that most of it wouldn’t be useful to him.

It seemed that the major point, in all of these books, was getting the vampire to a point at which it would be compliant and submissive. The methods of arriving at this point were varied, but many of them involved keeping the vampire under constant threat of pain. There were several points at which Logan’s stomach turned, reading through the accounts. He would have to keep the books away from Patton.

However, Virgil was already compliant, seemingly as a side effect of being kept in the coffin for a lengthy period of time. And also, Logan was not unaware, likely this was affected by Patton’s immediate kindness, and possibly also by Virgil’s age. He certainly was the youngest vampire Logan had ever come into contact with, and the only to claim to have never killed a human. He wasn’t sure if he believed the claim, but still.

But next was a short section on compliancy tests, after which it was suggested that the vampire could be taken on hunts, so long as they were in a situation to be controlled should something go wrong. It seemed that the easiest and simplest first test was the silver test. Logan was ready. He already had silver. He grabbed a bolt that was usually used in crossbows, but they didn’t have any crossbows, just a three-set of the bolts. It had been a gift to Patton several months ago.

He went downstairs, noting that Virgil was trembling again. He’d have to figure that out. Surely it wasn’t still fear. Virgil didn’t stand, but he did turn to face him when he saw that Logan was heading towards the cell.

Logan sat down outside of the cell, facing Virgil. Virgil still had that toy Patton had given him, and was fiddling with it with one hand down in his lap. His wrists still looked awful. Shouldn’t they have healed by now? He’d ask later. For now the test.

Logan held up the bolt. “This is made entirely of silver.”

Virgil nodded hesitantly.

Logan rolled it into the cell, and Virgil scrambled back away from it. Something rose up in him. Some kind of feeling. But Logan pushed it back down. It was a test. And Virgil was only a vampire.

“I want you to pick it up.” Logan said.

Virgil looked back and forth between the bolt and Logan. “I-it does hurt me,” he said, holding out his wrists as examples.

Whatever that feeling was, it lifted its head and bit him, but Logan shoved it down again. “I am aware.”

Virgil looked down at the bolt as if it was about to come alive and bite him. “Why?” His voice was very quiet, as if he were trying very hard to make sure it didn’t sound accusatory.

“I want you to do it because I told you to.” Logan said.

Virgil looked from him to the bolt and back again. He gritted his teeth and picked up the bolt. Immediately his face twisted in pain, but he didn’t drop the bolt.

“Hand it to me,” Logan instructed, putting his own hand through the bars to receive it.

Virgil dropped the bolt into his hand immediately. He let out a hissing breath, tucking his hand to his stomach. Logan had a brief glimpse of reddened, welted skin.

He had shoved the feeling down, but now it started rooting around in his stomach, gnawing painfully. “Well done, Virgil.”

Virgil nodded, still trying to blink back tears.

Logan stood to leave.

“Wait!”

Logan turned back to Virgil.

“I—Can I—? I’m hungry.”

Logan gave a slight frown. “Already? It was my impression that vampires ate less frequently.”

“Normally, if, if we’ve had a full meal.”

Logan has only wanted to do one test today. But the second test listed was a hunger test. It was perfectly logical to conduct the test now.

Still, the feeling in his stomach squirmed uncomfortably as he said, “No.”

Virgil’s face fell.

Logan moved to a cabinet and pulled out a childish game that Patton kept there. If worst came to worst, he didn’t doubt that he could overpower Virgil, especially since he still had the silver bolt in his pocket. He unlocked the cell door.

“Come. I want you to play this game with me.”

Virgil came out and sat down on the couch. Logan set up the game, easily playing while keeping his attention on observing Virgil.

Virgil’s eyes had been tinged with red, but as they played, as Logan stayed so close, the red darkened. They played several rounds in near silence.

As time passed, Virgil’s playing grew more simplistic, his physical movements became more jerky, and he stared more and more at Logan’s wrists. Clearly the bloodlust was affecting him. Honestly, Logan was surprised that Virgil hadn’t made any kind of move toward him yet.

“When this round is over,” Virgil said, his voice deep and growling on the way out. “Can I eat? Please?”

Logan looked up into Virgil’s eyes, not seeing any aggression, even though they were nearly glowing red now. He wanted to see how far he could push this.

“No.”

Virgil’s jaw clenched, and he swallowed heavily. He stood up. Logan’s hand went to the silver bolt. Virgil went into the cell, pulling the door shut.

“I can’t. I can’t stay there. I’m sorry.”

Logan wondered if this counted as passing the test. On the one hand, Virgil had just eaten a week ago, even if it was small. On the other hand, removing oneself from a situation was a legitimate form of self control.

“Very well.” Logan locked the cell door.

He went upstairs. He was practiced in letting his own blood, and sat down to do so. He was hit with a sudden question, and started writing an email right away.

Sir, I wish to have the records of the vampire which you sent us. Specifically regarding feeding schedules. Provided, of course, that this does not contradict the rules of the final test. Thank you.

Logan.

He was just cleaning up when he received a reply.

The vampire was captured on 7/13. It was kept in a containment coffin. It was fed 8 oz. of human blood on 8/17. It was shipped on 9/3. The date of its arrival is estimated to be 9/15. For further details you will have to make an official request.

Virgil is starving.

Depending on when he ate before capture, it could have been well over a month between eating then, and it was another month before he ate. Both times it was well under half of what would properly constitute a full meal. And the whole time he was trapped inside a coffin in constant contact with silver.

Logan’s stomach lurched, and he dove for the sink, leaning over it heavily.

Even for an uncontrollably violent vampire it would be cruel and inhumane.

This was why the silver burns weren’t healing. And why Virgil kept shaking. Why he’d been so terrified. Why he’d broken down like he had when he had been released. It was a wonder he hadn’t been driven mad.

Logan was going to need more blood.

•^*^••

Virgil crouched in the back corner of the cage, his hands fisted tightly in his hair, wishing that the mattress was a bed so he could crawl underneath it. Anything to hide him from the hunger that had spread to every cell of his body.

It hadn’t been that bad until he had come in. Until the scent of blood had filled the room. And then he had pulled out a game, his hands close enough to touch. Close enough to bite. Red and warm flowing just underneath. Of course, he still had the muzzle on, but it was so easily removed. Just a string behind his head.

Virgil clenched his jaw again. He couldn’t keep thinking about it. It only made it worse.

The door to the basement opened, and the smell became so much stronger all over again. Virgil clenched his hands tighter and buried his face down in his knees.

“Please… don’t… “

He heard the cell door open.

“Virgil, I brought you food.” It was Logan, but his voice was much gentler than Virgil had yet heard it.

Virgil’s head popped up immediately, almost against his will. Logan was kneeling in front of him, and in one hand was a blood bag, except this one was full.

Virgil could have cried. Scratch that, Virgil did cry. Logan untied the muzzle and handed Virgil the bag. It was drained in a few brief minutes, but they seemed like some of the most heavenly minutes Virgil had ever experienced.

The hunger finally stopped. He even felt full. He started feeling almost uncomfortably warm, and his wrists and ankles prickled where the skin was starting to heal. The fear he’d been trapped in loosened its hold, and suddenly he was very tired.

“Perhaps that was too much at once,” Logan mused.

“No! I’m-I’m awake. Thank you.”

•^*^••

Patton smelled blood. Which was odd. That meant that either Logan or Roman had let blood recently, like last half hour recently. Or maybe just hadn’t cleaned up very well. Patton wandered around the house, but didn’t see either of them. Roman was probably not home, since he had plenty of other things he did in addition to being a hunter-in-training. But Logan was almost always home, and left a note if he wasn’t.

Suddenly a horrible thought crashed into Patton’s mind. What if Virgil had hurt Logan? If Logan was downstairs, bleeding, that would explain both his absence and the blood smell. Patton patted his pocket, the gun was still there. And he knew he kept it loaded. He rushed downstairs.

Logan was inside the cell, with the door open, but seemed perfectly fine. Virgil was holding an empty blood bag, his face flushed and streaked with tears, and his eyes bright red. Patton let out a breath and let go of the gun.

Both Logan and Virgil turned to look at him.

“Greetings, Patton. How was the visit with your parents?”

“It was fine. I think it might have put me a bit on edge, though.”

“That does not seem to be an uncommon occurrence.” Logan noted.

Logan turned back to Virgil and picked up the muzzle. Virgil dipped his head forward to let Logan put it on.

Patton found that he was surprised. He shouldn’t be. Virgil had been perfectly submissive to anything any of them had asked of him. But, coming straight from his parents’ house, it was just different. It made him feel weird. And not a good weird either.

Somehow, he doubted that these feelings were what was intended by the final test. He’d been expecting a wild vampire, one that they had to keep perfectly restrained or else it would attack them. And judging by what his father had been saying earlier, that was exactly the intention. But somehow they had gotten Virgil, who seemed more human than Patton could have ever guessed a vampire could be. And now, Patton was left feeling incredibly guilty.

Maybe he could talk with Logan about it. Logan didn’t really understand feelings, but he always had an opinion, and facts to base his opinion on. So maybe Logan would help him stop feeling so guilty. He knew he shouldn’t feel guilty. As far as hunters went, they were being exceptionally kind to a captured vampire. But it still didn’t stop him from feeling just terrible when he saw Virgil’s face marked with tears.

“Hey, Logan, can I talk with you?” Patton asked.

“Of course.”

Logan came out and shut the cell door behind him.

Patton took Logan back upstairs and poured them each a coffee.

“What is it?” Logan asked. “You aren’t usually this hesitant to begin talking.”

“It’s just….” Patton sat down and took a sip of his coffee. “I’m feeling like, like we aren’t treating Virgil right.”

To his surprise, Logan nodded immediately. “I would agree with you.”

Patton frowned. This was not how he had expected the conversation to go. “What?”

“I’ve found myself… deeply disturbed at the suggested tests in the material we’ve been given. I was even more certain after administering some of the tests. I asked about Virgil’s feeding schedule before coming here, and now I am certain that there is something fundamentally wrong in the way that hunters are instructed to treat vampires.”

A part of Patton strongly agreed with Logan. But it still went against everything he’d ever been taught. He found himself advocating for the very thing he’d always disliked. “But normal vampires aren’t like Virgil.”

“That does appear to be true, however, I am now considering the possibility that we have only been exposed to vampires that are violent, and the further possibility that it was a purposeful move on the behalf of our teachers.”

“But I’ve been around loads and loads of vampires in my life, and I’ve never met one like Virgil.”

“That is only half true. You yourself have told me that you’ve seen vampires act in sometimes shockingly docile ways. In ways that inspired you to pity them. That you disagreed with those that would hurt them.”

Patton nodded slowly. He knew Logan was right. But it just… it just went against everything he’d been taught. He knew, if he made a decision, it could put him against both his mom and dad, maybe forever.

“I still believe that, human or vampire, if one is hurting and killing others, that we would be in the right to kill them. But I’m beginning to disbelieve that all vampires by nature hurt and kill.” Logan said.

Patton hung his head. “You’re right. I just… I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t think letting Virgil go will help anybody. If any of us doesn’t pass this test… well, Dad will be upset. And I don’t think Roman will agree with us.”

“I don’t know what exactly is the best course of action yet, either. But we have plenty of time to research and consider before we are forced into a decision.”

“Do we? I don’t know that I can just leave him down there knowing that I’m doing the wrong thing.”

“Help me then. Surely someone else has come to the same conclusion we have. We just have to find them.”

•^*^••

Roman made it back late at night. Logan and Patton were usually in bed at this time, so he made sure to be quiet as he opened the door and set down his bag. In the kitchen was a note on the table.

Patton and I have gone together to do research. We will likely wish to speak with you upon our return.

Logan.

There’s food in the oven, just turn it on for 30 min!

Patton :)

Roman smiled. It was odd of Patton to join Logan in his research expeditions, but not unheard of. The stranger thing was that Logan still insisted on leaving notes, when he could have just as easily, or more easily, texted.

Roman turned on the oven and sat in the living room. Maybe he’d watch some tv while he waited.

He suddenly realized that the vampire had been left alone for some time at least, and he was responsible, since he was the one home. He should probably check, while the food was cooking.

He went to the basement door and clicked the light on. As he opened the door, he heard a scramble and a quiet clang. Roman rushed downstairs to see the vampire sitting on its bed, breathing heavily.

He looked around the room, noting the cards on the table and the several open cabinets.

“What were you doing?”

“... nothing.”

“No, you don’t lie to me,” Roman said, stalking towards the cell. “You got out, didn’t you?”

The vampire cringed back into the corner. “The door was left unlocked… I didn’t go upstairs.”

Roman scowled. “And you thought that you could just come out? What were you even doing?”

The vampire held up sloppily bandaged arms. “I found some medicine, and the cards.”

“You can’t just go and take our stuff! None of it belongs to you!”

“Well… I-I don’t belong to you either!” The vampire said, raising its voice.

Roman flung the door open.

“No. No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The vampire covered its head with its arms.

“You’re a vampire. You hurt people. Your whole kind hurts, and kills, and destroys! You deserve whatever happens to you.”

The vampire curled up into a tight ball. “Humans hurt me too. They killed my sire and kidnapped me and hurt me.”

“Your sire,” Roman scoffed. “Your sire took a perfectly decent person and broke them into a vampire.”

“No, she didn’t! You don’t know anything about her!” Despite the angry tone, the words were still quiet, and muffled by the vampire’s head being tucked down into its knees.

“I know she killed and hurt people. Like all vampires do. She stole your chance at a normal life.”

“She was trying to help me!”

“How does turning you into a vampire help you? You have to leech off others to live, you want to hurt people—“

“No, I don’t!” The vampire broke in. “I’ve never wanted to hurt people.”

“Then why do you?! Why do you all always hurt people?!” Roman slammed his hand against the bars of the cell.

The vampire didn’t make any answer other than a flinch.

Roman turned away, disgusted. He made sure to lock the cell before he went upstairs.

The food was, of course, delicious, but the moment it hit his tongue everything just tasted sour.

#sanders sides #vampire au #vampires #blood #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #emile picani #remy sleep #my own work #coffin #violence #speciesism #vampire virgil #platonic moxiety

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writingithink · 4 years

Text

Tangled Timelines Chapter 1 Rated: T Wordcount: 5,895 Summary: The Doctor and Rose have some news to share with Jackie, but the trip doesn't go quite as planned. Notes:Hello! This is my fic for the Classic Tropes Event. Mine was Fix-It Fic. This one is going to be a multi-chapter, with more tags added as I go. For those of you who have been reading the whole series, I actually plan to finish up the honeymoon fics (they've just been giving me grief). So those will come later, with edits to series order etc etc. If you haven't read the series, I think you should be okay? They're bonded. It was an accident. That should be all the info you really need. All of the thanks ever imaginable to @hey-there-juliet for betaing <33 All mistakes are most definitely mine (esp since I did a lot of glaring at this thing after it was beta'd). I own nothing.

Multiple trips to the TARDIS' library and seemingly endless cross-referencing all culminated in the moment the large tome slipped from the Doctor's hands and onto the bed. It knocked against Rose’s leg and his eyes automatically moved to her face - still asleep. Since their bonding, his wife had gotten used to him bringing various things into bed with them for when he inevitably got bored while she slept.

“And you couldn’t alert me to this, because …?” he whispered to his ship, voice flat and eyes wide as his brain struggled to assimilate everything he had just read.

There was no answer from the TARDIS, not even a hum of acknowledgement. It figured.

The Doctor scrubbed his hand across his face before leaving the bed, heading straight to the infirmary despite the fact that he was only wearing boxers and a vest. This time he didn’t ask his inconsiderate ship for any assistance, simply pulled up every single file on Rose Marion Tyler that existed, on the TARDIS or not. It only took seconds to hack into Earth hospital files, after all.

Not that they helped much, as the technology used in Rose’s time was appallingly primitive.

“Level five medical garbage,” he muttered to himself, zooming past all of her records. Vaccines, minor illnesses, nothing that gave him a good picture of Rose Marion Tyler before she stepped onto the TARDIS. Which, overall, was a good thing - it meant that she had never been so hurt that she needed a CAT scan or an MRI. It would have just been nice to have the data, what with his near obsessive compulsive desire to have the most complete picture of his wife’s biological history.

It’s as if no one had ever heard of voluntary medical data filing. But so be it. The TARDIS had more than enough base scans, starting from the first moment Rose set foot on the ship. This time he wasn’t going to cut corners like he had before, when he’d looked at just her telepathic centers and absolutely nothing else.

Thinking about the last time he and his wife had been in here, weeks ago, the Doctor opened a new screen to check the progress of the six-dimensional comprehensive deep scan results. They were nearly complete.

A feeling of dread lodged in his stomach.

They should have been finished ages ago. The fact that they weren’t -

He shook his head, wiping a hand down his face as he swiveled back to the primary view screen. The base scans should be able to offer him an explanation. Would. They would, because he needed to know exactly what was going on.

The TARDIS had automatically compiled all base scans since their last visit, and his previous parameters were still in place, focused solely on what in humans was called the pineal gland. The Doctor wasn’t sure that name quite applied for Rose’s brain anymore - Epiphysis Cerebri seemed like a much more accurate name for her telepathic center, which was still showing slow, incremental growth.

Fingers moving quickly, he navigated away and started gathering new information. Graphs of brain capacity and function, cellular activity and health, levels of all hormones and neurotransmitters and molecules with a special search for anything that wouldn’t normally be found in a 21st century Earth human.

Waiting for the TARDIS to compile all of these graphs felt like torture, even though it took a relatively short amount of time.

And then he had screens and screens of data all vying for his considerable attention and painting a picture that had his hearts going into overdrive, adrenaline throttling through his systems. Terror. Elation. Fear. Hope. All of his emotions were muddled and changing by the nanosecond. Panic was a constant, however.

All of it was so overpowering that the Doctor soon found himself actively fighting his traitorous body as it tried to enter a completely unnecessary healing trance, confused as it was by his sudden inability to keep control of processes that he generally had a tight grip on.

Two hands fell onto his shoulders, shocking him into jumping up, nearly crashing into the infirmary’s computational system. He whirled around to see the confused and frightened face of his bondmate.

“Doctor?” she asked, hesitating.

He wondered how long she had been trying to speak to him, both verbally and through their bond. Covering his face with both hands, he finally got his breathing back in order and his hearts-rate down.

“Sorry,” he finally managed, once he was capable of speech again, though the single word came out hoarse and scratchy.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Rose asked, still not moving, hands fisted at her sides.

Focusing on their connection, he could feel her overwhelming concern … for him. Well, it did make sense in the ironic way these things always tended to. Since she had been asleep when he left her, the Doctor hadn’t put any thought into shielding. All of his emotions must have barreled into her like a freight train. Couldn’t have possibly been a pleasant way to wake up.

Reluctantly he dropped his hands, palms sliding down his face slowly as he gave up their paltry defense.

“Nothing’s wrong per se,” he hedged, wincing as her mental disbelief permeated their link. “It- it’s more complicated than that. It’s-”

He didn’t know how to explain it. His normally ever-present gob seemed to be offline now that he desperately needed it. Telepathic communication seemed to also be out, as his brain was still in the process of resettling from the accidentally self-induced bulldozing of his basic systems.

“It’s what?”

As the Doctor took another deep breath, Rose looked around, seeming to just realize where they were. She must have raced through the TARDIS to get to him in her worry. He felt incredibly guilty.

“It’s something that we would probably be much more comfortable discussing somewhere else,” he decided, scratching the hairs at the nape of his neck and looking down, shocked to realize that he was nearly naked. “Maybe after getting dressed. And a shower. Breakfast. Not in that order!”

Rose sighed and crossed her arms. The Doctor took a moment to notice her clothing, which consisted of a housecoat and slippers, but he couldn’t tell what she had on underneath (if anything).

“And then we’ll talk?” she questioned, both eyebrows raised, getting his mind back on track.

“Yes. Definitely. How does tea in the library sound?”

Her lips were pursed, but she eventually nodded.

“Good. Great! And I- I’m really, truly sorry for worrying you,” he sighed, finally moving forward and wrapping his arms around his impossible wife. It took a few moments before Rose relaxed into the embrace.

“This is about me, isn’t it?” she whispered after a few long, silent moments.

“Shh,” he scolded. “Shower first. Shower, clothes, food, then talking.”

Procrastination really is just a different type of running, and no one knew that better than the Doctor. He also knew that he wasn’t fooling Rose for a moment. Their bond was still wide open, the contents of their impending discussion only hidden due to the fact that it was all categorized in his mind as ‘scientific information’, and therefore held back by one of the many barriers he kept permanently in place so that he wouldn’t inundate his bondmate with headache inducing amounts of information.

“Alright then,” she conceded, “let’s get going.”

The Doctor took her hand as she pulled away, allowing himself to be led through his time ship. In his current, nebulous state he doubted he’d be able to find their room if he tried. He was just grateful that Rose understood that his desire to put off this conversation didn’t mean he wanted to be separated from her in the slightest.

It was funny, sometimes, to imagine that all of the effort he had previously put into studiously trying to not overwhelm her with just how much he wanted to almost always be in her presence had been completely inverted now that all of their cards were forever on the table.

They got into the shower together and he began to wash his wife’s hair as if on auto-pilot, only refocusing on the present moment when feelings of relaxation and contentment began to pierce through the veil of unpleasant emotions tangled across their shared minds. Once the shampoo rinsed away, the Doctor couldn’t stop himself from cupping her face and pulling her into a relatively chaste kiss. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince himself that everything would all truly be alright (for once). Because one thing that had been clear while looking through her scans was that Rose was perfectly healthy. Her life wasn’t threatened in the slightest.

Things were just … different.

Before he was quite ready, they had finished showering, were both fully clothed, somehow tea and toast had been made (though he barely remembered being in the galley), and they had reached the library. Rose immediately sat down on the sofa, a fire already crackling away in the grate. He followed her, taking a large gulp of his beverage the moment he sat down. For all of the time he had spent trying to organize his thoughts, they were still less than refined.

The problem was, despite being bonded and therefore having an intimate knowledge of her thought processes, the Doctor still couldn’t predict how she would react to any of what he’d discovered in the hours his wife had spent sleeping. And despite the fact that she wasn’t actually saying anything, he did know that she was growing more and more impatient by the second.

“Sooo,” he began, hoping that the rest of the words would just happen, as it were, “this is cozy, innit?”

Obviously it didn’t work.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” she suggested.

“Oh, blimey, alright then. Well, billions of years ago, a cataclysmic explosion of a singularity caused what you could refer to as the Big Bang, Event One, or even just ‘creation’. It resulted in a very compact, tiny universe that was very dense and very hot, riddled with dimension pockets and full of space-time anomalies that are now considered exceedingly rare. These were the beginnings of the Dark Times, of which not much is known - time travel so far back was-”

“Doctor,” Rose interrupted, “does this have anything to do with what has you so upset? The, erm, results?”

“Ah, well, no … not as such. I mean, it’s tangentially related to absolutely everything, of course, but it … right, sorry.” He took another sip of tea, followed by a deep breath. The beginning, but not that beginning. “I finally tracked it down. Old texts, ancient, that had descriptions of telepathic marriage bonds. Took ages to find one that sounded right, though. Apparently most ancient Gallifreyans needed to have the assistance of an experienced telepath who specialized in this kind of thing in order to join their minds. Knew that couldn’t be right, so I kept on digging and when I-”

The words were flowing out now, faster than he could keep track of and for once he was aware of just how irrelevant they were. With a huff he stood up and began to pace in front of the fire, hoping that the movement would help.

“Very old, very rare, very specific. That’s what our bond is. There isn’t even a translation for what they called it, the word would be absolutely meaningless to anyone else, anyone who hasn’t experienced it for themselves. It’s the specificity, though, that made me realize that there was much more at work than just your growing telepathic abilities. When I went to the infirmary, it was really a toss up - either I was right or I was wrong and hadn’t found the proper information yet.”

“But you weren’t wrong, were you?” She bit her bottom lip, eyes tracking him as he moved back and forth across the sitting area that for once seemed much too small.

“No,” the Doctor sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “The 6D scans will probably be ready later today, but I didn’t need those. Just different graphs of your base scans to measure different things. The thing is,” he nearly shouted, “if I hadn’t been about to regenerate, and then freshly regenerated, and then unpardonably distracted, I should have done this all ages ago! Quick as I could after I’d taken the Vortex out of you.”

“Think we were a bit busy savin’ the Universe to bother with all that,” Rose pointed out, comfort and understanding passing over to him through their link, along with a few spikes of irritation and general chastisement for pointlessly blaming himself for something yet again.

“And what’s my excuse for after all that?” he drawled, unwilling to let her absolve him for this appalling negligence of her health and well-being. What kind of doctor was he, if he couldn’t be arsed to take adequate care of the woman he loved?

“Maybe, I dunno, the fact that I felt absolutely fine? That we were busy navigating all your new quirks and preferences while still saving planets? Anyway, you still haven’t even told me what’s going on.”

The Doctor scrunched up his face as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. She was right, obviously. Somehow he was still managing to procrastinate. His teeth ground slightly as he set his jaw and made his way back to the couch.

“You have a large amount of artron energy,” he began. “More than just background radiation. Way more. I would say life threatening amounts, except you also are absolutely riddled with huon particles. Also deadly.”

“Huon particles?”

“Eradicated by the Time Lords near the end of the dark times - oh, look at that, it all came back ‘round, sort of.”

“But you just said they were deadly,” Rose frowned. “Why does it sound like they’re a good thing? I mean, your people obviously had a reason for gettin’ rid of ‘em all. How’re they even there?”

Oh, his magnificent, brilliant, fantastic bondmate - always asking the right questions. A small smile lighted her face as she caught the thought.

“See, the TARDIS is connected to the Vortex, which goes all the way back - remnants of huon particles exist in her heart, which you opened up and used to merge with her, a whole fifth dimension running through the both of you. The huon particles are stabilizing the artron energy - it’s feeding them instead of overtly impacting the rest of your body. So in this case, this one case, the reemergence of deadly particles from the dawn of time is a good thing. Even so, that wouldn’t be enough, except you didn’t just merge with the Vortex alone but with the TARDIS. The TARDIS emits chronon particles, and one of the key differences between Time Lords and non-Time Lord Gallifreyans is that our bodies are surrounded by a bio-plasmic field of chronon energy, allowing us to bond with a TARDIS.”

“Oh. Right, that’s why when you were sick the TARDIS wasn’t working properly. Couldn’t translate for us.”

“Yes, yes, exactly.” The Doctor got back to his feet, the need to pace outweighing his desire to remain close to his wife. “Now, the thing about having a surrounding field is that it can, er, leach on to others. Infect them. Not in a bad way. It’s what provides me with protection from the time stream, helps with cell rejuvenation, etcetera. So actually, if a bit of it didn’t migrate away to those I’m close with, I’d never be able to bring anyone along on the TARDIS with me. Too dangerous. Thing is, you have your own now, not just an echo of mine. Which makes sense. You two became one, of course she would bond with you as well. Thing is, to do that - your DNA, Rose. Becoming Bad Wolf. It’s given you symbiotic chronon nuclei.”

“And what’s that, then? Something to do with the chronon particles?”

“In a sense. It’s only viewable with a temporal reading, which the TARDIS base scans do automatically, because that’s what’s normal for me. She doesn’t change protocols just because the other person she’s scanning happens to be human. I’ve mentioned before that I have TNA. Triple helix instead of double, yes?”

Rose nodded, taking a wary sip of her tea.

“Well, it’s actually a bit more complicated than that. Properly, temporally scanned it’s actually four strands. That symbiotic chronon nuclei is the physical, quasi-symbiotic link between the TARDIS and I. Now you have one too.”

“So wait, I’ve got four strands of DNA now? And we didn’t even notice?” Her mug clattered onto the table as she deposited it and stood quickly.

“No, no, no, just the three. No TNA. But this is where things get complicated.”

“You mean there’s more ?” she screeched, going paler than she already had been, thoughts becoming a whirl of panic. “Isn’t it complicated enough?!”

“Weeeeeell, let’s go back to that third strand I’ve got, yeah? It’s pretty much, and by pretty much I mean almost the sole reason, that regeneration is possible. Stores all the information for past and future incarnations, as well as other things,” he explained, waving his hands around, “and as far as I understood it, that’s what allowed for a Gallifreyan’s self-replicating biogenic molecules.”

“Your what?”

“Remember the nanogenes?” he asked, finally walking back to her in order to weave their fingers together.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Gallifreyan bodies have something like that. Biological nanites. Not only do they allow for regeneration, but on a daily basis they repair and prune any damaged or malformed cells. Hence why we age so slowly. I’ll look just like this for hundreds of years yet.”

She nodded slowly. “And lemme guess, I’ve got those too, somehow.”

“Yes. Though wired differently than mine, You’re still human , Rose. Just … with genetic modifications. Powerful genetic modifications. Obviously meant to keep you alive, because really, thinking about it properly, you shouldn’t have survived the trip back to the gamestation, much less been able to accomplish everything you did. A symbiotic self-renewing cell structure is really the obvious solution to the problem, and if you did have TNA like I do, the gigantic surge of artron energy would have triggered a regeneration, just like it did for me. But your body doesn’t work that way, so it just- just healed the damage, no mess, no fuss.”

“And they’re still there now, healing stuff?”

The Doctor nodded.

“So what does it all mean, then, exactly? Without all of the science babble.”

“Without it?” He winced at the way his voice nearly squeaked.

“As little of it as you can get away with,” Rose conceded, the smidge of laughter in her voice doing wonders for his frayed nerves.

“Alright. Well, your cell death is almost non-existent. Your brain activity, in addition to the new telepathic adjustments, has increased in both capacity and function. You likely haven’t noticed because you haven’t tried to stretch things more than average, and why would you? Despite all of these changes, it’s not like you really knew about them or have had any sort of training on how to incorporate them aside from our telepathy lessons. With the way you’re connected to the TARDIS, you could probably learn to sense time. That’s what allows for most of my time senses, by the way.”

“Doctor, less babble,” his wife helpfully reminded him.

“Right, yes, well,” he swallowed audibly, “the main thing is … you’re not going to age at the same rate as everyone else you know. Everyone human, that is. There’s no way for me to be certain how long your life might be, since our timelines are too tightly wound together.”

“They are?”

“Of course they are.” At this, the Doctor finally smiled, wrapping his arms around her. “That’s the thing, the crucial thing, about the bond. Why I needed to check the scans to make sure. It exists not just because we love each other, not just because we have compatible minds, but because our timelines were able to be synced. Literally able to be together forever, however long forever might be. This connection we have, it’s not the kind that can be forced, it can only happen spontaneously. In fact, from what I’ve read, the existence of this form of bond is exactly why the practice of making less deep and all encompassing ones came into being. Others who weren’t as, as destined for each other, for lack of a better word, wanted the same kind of intimacy. And of course it fell out of favor, not just because of Gallifrey’s abandonment of emotional ties in general, but because of the pain associated with losing a partner you’ve permanently telepathically merged with.”

“So that, us … we won’t have that?”

“I can’t view my own timeline and I can’t view yours, but I do know that they’re so tightly twined that you can’t tell the two apart. I can feel it, and maybe someday you will be able to on your own, but for now I can always show you,” he offered.

“I- I’d like that, but …” Rose trailed off, biting her lip and looking away.

“What?”

“’S just, you were so, so upset earlier. And it’s definitely a lot to take in, but, I mean, doesn’t it all seem like a good thing?” she asked, turning back toward him, eyes locking with his and broadcasting her pained confusion just as adequately as the bond itself was.

“For me? Of course it is, and the selfish part of me has never been more happy. But Rose, you have to understand that I wasn’t trying to be dramatic that night, outside of the chippy, when I said that my lifespan was a curse. You’re going to outlive everyone you know and love, aside from me. You won’t age at the same rate that they do. And I know that it’s expected for children to outlive their parents, but you’re going to spend far longer without your mother than with her. This … it was never something I wanted for you, the pain of so many goodbyes.”

Rose shut her eyes before burrowing her head into his chest, holding him tighter. For a long time they were silent, though the Doctor could hear her racing thoughts as she tried to process all of the information he had shoved at her in such a short period of time. He was content to just hold her, rubbing a soothing arm up and down her back until a singular thought rang out across their bond that had her gasping and him groaning.

We have to tell mum.

The Doctor spun around the console in a whirlwind, Rose clinging to the jumpseat. He could feel her trepidation as they landed, her worry about her mother’s reaction to their news. So he wasn’t surprised in the slightest at her shock upon opening the TARDIS' door and finding them very much not on Earth.

“Think your driving’s a bit more off than usual,” she noted vaguely as he finally stepped away from the console to grab his jacket.

“Is it really?” He gave her a look of wide eyed bewilderment, just as his thoughts inevitably revealed that he had had no intention of making the trip to Jackie’s - yet.

Rose crossed her arms, giving him an unconvincing glare as the Doctor finally met her at the door and stuck his head outside.

“Ah, perfect!” he exclaimed. “Right where I wanted to be.”

“Oh, really? And where’s that then?” his wife asked, finally stepping out of their ship and having a look around. There were rows and rows of stalls and booths as far as the eye could see.

“It’s a bazaar. On an asteroid. Moves around every four cycles to a different asteroid in a different sector. Used to just be a handful of merchants and artisans and performing artists, a sort of circus, if you will, only without the mistreated animals and exploited people. Was called Mz’trak’s Marvelous Moving Menagerie - gotta love that alliteration, absolutely amazing. But as you can see, it grew. Doesn’t have a name now. Too much going on. Still, organized enough to make it’s trip across the quadrant. They span galaxies, Rose Tyler! This is the place to go to find anything you could possibly imagine!”

“Okay,” she said slowly, drawing out the word as she turned back to face him. “And what, exactly, are we lookin’ for that’s so important that you’re putting off visiting mum?”

“Oh, right, see, about that - I thought, maybe, just maaaybe, you’d be able to find something for her here. To, erm, soften the blow, as it were. Butter her up a bit.” Make her less likely to regenerate me, he didn’t say, but he didn’t have to. The thought was pretty much blaring on a loop that his bondmate was unlikely to miss.

“Seriously?! Doctor, if you hide away again and force me to have this talk all on my own, I swear-”

“No, no, I won’t! We’ll do this together, I promise!” he hastened. No need to have two angry Tylers on his hands.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you’re so afraid of her,” Rose said with a roll of her eyes before taking his hand and beginning to walk through the market.

Normally she buzzed up to nearly every stall, wanting to see as many strange and novel alien things as possible, but this time his wife was quickly passing them by, categorizing everything in their immediate vicinity as ‘too alien’. Admittedly, the Doctor hadn’t given that much consideration when he decided that a gift for his mother-in-law would be a good plan.

“It’s a premonition I have, really,” he told her, “that your mum will be the death of me. Unlikely, I’ll give you that, but you never know. Sometimes these things have merit. I was once very good at that kind of thing, seeing the future. Well, not really. More like an unconscious tracking of future timelines that seems like a form of prescience but is really-”

“You are so full of it,” Rose laughed. “But speaking of past yous, I’m not going to regenerate, am I?”

While the Doctor had thought that he’d been very clear in the library earlier, perhaps he hadn’t explained very well. Too much ‘science babble’, probably.

“Nope,” he assured her, popping the ‘p’ and giving her one of his best grins.

“So Bad Wolf didn’t make me into a Time Lord. Just …”

“Bad Wolf didn’t do any such thing,” he frowned. “If you want, I can show you the second by second time stamps of the scans the TARDIS took of you during all that - constant state of danger, there’s hundreds of them. But no, the TARDIS did all of that herself so that you two could become Bad Wolf. If you recall, our ship is a multidimensional alien being that even I don’t completely understand. And she likes you. A lot. Didn’t want you to die.”

He stopped himself, barely, from continuing on (again) about how he should have realized this all ages ago. There was really no point to it, just his wounded ego. Plus, who had time for brooding, anyway?

“Sure she doesn’t just like you a lot?” his wife asked with a smirk. “Y’know, making sure the girl her pilot likes so much has a matching lifespan?”

The Doctor abruptly stopped his near-skipping and pulled Rose into his arms with a growl.

“Oh, I much more than like you, Rose Tyler.”

“That so?” his cheeky wife asked him with a tongue touched grin.

Minx, he chastised telepathically, his mouth now busy as he dipped her into a snog that was likely inappropriate for public, but for once she wasn’t complaining.

“Also,” he added, after breaking the kiss so that she could catch her breath, “it would be Time Lady, you know. And that is a little complicated, now that I think about it. Because you’re not Gallifreyan, but not all Gallifreyan’s are Time Lords or Time Ladies. Then again, you have the bit of genetic jiggery pokery that makes a Gallifreyan a Time, er-”

“Let’s just go with Time Lord, yeah?”

“It’s a hypothetical political correctness jumble,” he muttered with a grimace.

“So I’m a bit like a human Time Lady? Kind of?”

“Kind of. Eh. Doesn’t really matter, though, does it?”

Rose had gone back to scanning the booths, but was quick to turn her sharp gaze back to him. “How could it not matter?”

“Well, I mean, you’re still Rose Tyler. Doesn’t matter to me, what kind of species you call yourself. The important thing is that you’re you, and I get to keep you.”

And the Doctor could tell that she didn’t exactly agree with him, all of the ramifications of this still buzzing around in her head and the impending talk with Jackie making her permanently anxious. But still, she smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

Finally some stalls came up that looked promising and his bondmate began looking at things in earnest. As he watched her flit about, the thought began to really settle in. They would be able to stay together, not just for the very short human forever that he had struggled to come to terms with, but for his forever.

The weight of the Universe on his shoulders had never felt lighter.

It suddenly did seem a little bit ridiculous, all of his worries about Jackie’s reaction. At least when it came to him . Over 900 years old, he could (probably) take it. If anything, he was more concerned for Rose. If (or really, it was more likely to be when) her mother reacted poorly, she would undoubtedly be hurt.

Flashes of their ‘marriage announcement’ briefly passed through his mind.

This time, though, he would be there for her. Absolutely no swanning off or hiding or cowering of any sort. Well, minimal cowering. Can’t set the bar too high, knowing he was about to get a smack (even if none of it was actually his fault). It would all be worth it in the end, being able to spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved.

“Do you think mum would like this?” Rose asked, interrupting his chaotic stream of thought.

“What’s that?” The Doctor walked closer to the booth, finally taking notice of his surroundings instead of blindly following his wife. “Oh! These are all made of bazoolium! That’s brilliant!” he exclaimed, touching a large piece that was either intended to be abstract art or a Raqkle Bear about to attack, unsurprised by the neutral temperature. After all there was no weather to speak of on the asteroid.

“Yeah, he was just tellin’ me that they could predict the weather,” she said, gesturing toward the shopkeeper. The Doctor barely spared him a glance before investigating the ones that were combined with wind chimes, surprised when the chimes were actually made of bazoolium as well.

“They’re not incredibly unlike the barometers you lot have, only much more accurate. The truly impressive part is the fact that this property is naturally occurring in the mineral. Plus there’s really not much interpreting to it - if it’s hot, you’ll have a nice sunshine-y day, and if it’s cold there’ll be rain. Or snow, I suppose. But all you have to do is touch it. Definitely simple enough for Jackie to get use of-”

He winced when Rose telepathically zapped him, which he really should have seen coming.

After apologizing, the Doctor (for the most part) kept his mouth shut as she selected a small one that looked as un-alien as possible, something that any of Jackie’s friends would look at and think was some random tchotchke, just a thing and then think nothing of it. As soon as she finished her purchase, he took her hand and reluctantly headed back the way they came.

In a private corner of his mind he had come up with thousands of different ideas for putting this next trip off, but eventually discarded every single one of them (even if some were astonishingly brilliant). His wife wanted to get this over with, so that’s what they were going to do.

If anything, he regretted putting all of their efforts into getting her mother some bauble to put her in a good mood when they should have also been coming up with a plan for distracting her after this ‘talk’.

“Distracting her? How would we possibly distract her?” Rose wondered aloud.

The Doctor felt strangely giddy, knowing that she’d been paying attention to him over the bond. They were starting to get pretty good at not constantly acknowledging all of the thoughts that were projected without real intent, so much so that he sometimes wondered if his wife was listening most of the time. His thoughts were very interesting, after all, so he wasn’t sure how she could ignore them if she wasn’t just tuning it all out.

She rolled her eyes, making it clear that she’d caught all of that as well.

“I don’t know,” he went on, “I’m not sure what would hold her attention, aside from gossip and telly. Maybe we should nip into the future, get some Eastenders DVDs. Or some tabloids. Then again, I doubt your mother could keep her future knowledge a secret and next thing you know, we’ll have a paradox on our hands. Can’t have that.”

Rose laughed as they entered the TARDIS.

“Dunno if it’s really much of a distraction, but I do have some laundry I’ve been meaning to bring over.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “I refuse to believe your mother actually enjoys doing your laundry. There’s a perfectly good laundry room in the TARDIS. You don’t even have to do much of anything. Just put your clothes down the chute and she’ll do all the rest, even the folding.” And yes, he had told her all of this before, on multiple occasions - every time she had laundry to bring back, in fact.

So the Doctor wasn’t surprised when she said, “It makes her feel useful. She likes doing mum stuff for me.”

She said something along those lines every time. This time, however, his responding ‘fine’ was telepathic, rather than verbal as he began piloting them into the Vortex and she disappeared down the corridor to gather said laundry.

Since he was going to have to wait until Rose was finished before flying them to Jackie’s (let it not be said that he can’t learn a lesson) he almost followed her to their room. But just as he moved away from the console, he sensed that his bondmate could use some privacy while she got her thoughts in order, trying to decide exactly what she was going to say to her mum, not wanting to get into absolutely everything.

So he sat down on the jumpseat, kicked his feet onto the console, and focused on sending soothing emotions over their bond. Eventually, Rose reappeared with her giant red duffle, looking plenty nervous but definitely less so than she’d been before.

“Ready?” he asked, hopping back to his feet.

“No,” she sighed, dropping the bag onto the newly vacated seat before flashing him a wary grin. “Let’s go.”

#dw fanfiction #ficandchips #ten x rose #timepetals #tenrose #dw classic trope event #fandom: doctor who #pairing: rose x doctor #my fic #fic: tangled timelines

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jjba-hell · 4 years

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Fate and Fortune

Ok so this one I just HAD to do and you’ll see why in my next chapter. Might switch over to a Part every two days since y’know- life but here ya go.

For the moots: @fyre23 and @risottoneroo (you’ll like the end I promise)

Part 12

When they ended up in Saudi Arabia, the first trip Vera had to take was to the clothing shop. Out of customary respect she had to switch to a considerably more conservative choice of clothes, slipping out of the shop to meet Polnareff outside. “It must be boiling underneath. Are you alright?”

“Oh you’d be surprised how cool this fabric is.” She gave a twirl of black fabric. “Also, this isn’t my first time here, Avdol and I...” she forgot she needed to be mourning him in front of Polnareff.

He placed a gentle hand in her shoulder, giving his best sympathetic smile. “I understand you had many adventures while you waited for him to be your confirmed guardian?”

She nodded, wringing the strap of her bag over her shoulder. In truth she did miss him terribly, but unlike Polnareff she knew he was still breathing. “It was more trying to understand ourselves and helping developing stand users. Unfortunately the true niche of his research he kept even from me.”

The hopped in the car- Vera sliding into the front seat while the others were speaking on their next steps on the journey. She figured they’d have to cross the desert sooner or later but she still dreaded the intense heat they’d have to travel through- even though, she supposed, she was best accustomed to the heat.

Or at least she hoped.

After guzzling enough water to last her well into the night and smothering her face in sunscreen she lead the camel to its knees with a handful of grass and hopped on. Vera admittedly had some experience doing this but she wasn’t going to teach the others how to do it- it was, after all, so entertaining to watch Mr Joestar struggle a bit. “I’m sorry- I though you had experience with camels, Mr Joestar.”

She tossed an apple in front of her camel and hopped off to help- moving to Polnareff first. “Honestly Polnareff, I’ve taken trips to Paris- surely you’re aware of the state of the town isn’t that cleanly as you make it out to be.”

Vera wrapped the grey scarf around his head and neck loosely, letting him lure his own camel down. Once he was up she moved to Kakyoin who was constantly looking over his shoulder. “Do you feel... watched, by any chance?”

“I’m not sure- I kind of feel like my intution’s been thrown off since Pakistan. Everything feels kind of off- like I’m just constantly....phasing?”

His hand slid up her covered arm, brows knitting in concern. “Jotaro told me the night terrors were rough last night. Are you sure you wouldn’t ride with one of us?”

She bit back to wide of a small, playing with the extra fabric of the shawl on his shoulders. With a playful snap she pulled him a bit closer, standing on her tiptoes as she kissed his cheek.

His cheeks dusted a lovely pink color and she couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re sweet but I’m still prideful- much like you.” She gazed up at him through her fluttering lashes before moving back to the task at hand.

If they were really being watched then she was hoping she just placed a target on her back. How much Dio was letting his minions know was still debatable but if they believed her to be vulnerable then that was all she needed.

To drive the point home she came to Jotaro who had seemed to manage just fine on his own- strapping the water to his steed in silence while Mr Joestar was floundering about. “You also feel watched?”

He only nodded, turning to look her head on. “I think Star would have seen something by now, wouldn’t he?”

It seemed the same thought crossed Jotaro’s mind- his gaze moving to look out over the horizon- as if he’d see what it was that was watching them.

Moving with Jotaro was slow but she took the moment to hold out her hand to him which he took, softly entertwining their fingers together as she moved to block her from view of the rest. “Are you sure you can make it through? I know you didn’t get much sleep in.”

She squeezed his hand, laughing at how both the boys thought she was only coming to them for aid. “I think I can handle myself just fine, JoJo.”

It was her turn to make the move- she squeezed his hand gently then moved in for a casual hug before moving on ahead with the journey.

Vera had believed she was used to the heat, that the sweltering fire beating down on her was normal and it would be over soon but the sun didn’t move. When they stopped a moment and realized the time she knew something was very very wrong. “Eight? As in 20 hundred?”

She moved closer to Jotaro to check and the realization hit her hard. “It must be a stand.”

“Vera, can’t you make it return to its user?” Polnareff asked but she was already off her camel and heading towards the rock nearby.

“No. Stands define Fortune.” Her back hit the rock with a thud and with a heavy swallow she tried to gather her thoughts. “It has to be short ranged- the power that thing holds is vile. So where could the user be?”

She materialized Fortune from her and allowed them to start walking straight ahead of them. Kakyoin used Hierophant Green to spread out and look as well.

She had to pull back quickly after Kakyoin got injured by the barrage of flames raining down on the group. And that’s how you ended up in the a hole in the ground sweating through your eyeballs.

“Jotaro- do you ever get tired of using Star Platinum vigorously?” She wondered out loud, laying down on her back. “Or haven’t you quite tried.”

“The latter. I know- waiting this out isn’t going to work out, is it?”

She shook her head- putting her feet up on the bigger water canteen she’d phased into the cave. If only her head would work long enough to think straight she could have come up with a solution but she couldn’t even turn back the time on their bodies.

When Kakyoin finally broke out in a laughing fit she thought she’d lose him. Then Jotaro joined and she knew it was too late. Vera sat up and tried to bring Fortune closer to reverse the possible brain damage from the heat but Kakyoin only took her wrist gently, pulling her snug against him and showing precisely what they were laughing at.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” She had Fortune move out of the cave and toss the stone at the mirror they’d been looking out on and soon enough the sun was gone and the sparkling night sky took its place.

The second it was allowed she was first to March out of the cave after the stand user. “Motherfucker!” She shouted up at the sky at the sight of the user dislodged from his perfectly little air conditioned spot behind the mirror.

“Took the stand meaning a bit literal there, didn’t he?”

They made camp after the abused the residual heat from the stand battle before settling in for camp. Of course someone had to keep watch and none other the Jotaro volunteered.

Vera was glad Kakyoin and Jotaro seemed a bit less phased by her presence with one another than before. What she wasn’t expecting was finding Kakyoin leaving Jotaro’s look out spot- looking awfully disheveled and finding none other than Jotaro without a jacket.

It took everything out of Vera to not cackle out in glee- instead letting a smile crack through the facade as Jotaro tried to cover the hickeys on his neck with a palm. “I could heal that for you, or is too personal?”

He didn’t answer, almost looking as if he felt ashamed of what he had done until she stripped off her head dress and top to sit beside him in her tank top as well. “Hey, relax- I’ve messed around with more girls than guys anyway.”

Another quizzical look which earned him a shrug. “My boarding school’s divided- curiosity was bound to take over. Kind of realized I didn’t have a preference- boys are just a bit meaner though.”

Jotaro had to clear his throat to say, “I thought I knew until you came along. Girls annoy the shit out of me so I thought I knew but-“

He ran a hand over his hair, Vera only then noticing that his cap was missing. “I don’t know.” He growled in frustration. She moved in closer, touching his cheek to let him look at her. “I’m not mad, you know. I’m not asking answers either. All I ask is the same curtesy.”

It was a side-tracked idea she hadn’t considered in a long time but which one, if any, of the two she was in love with- she wasn’t sure- then they turn around and like each other and suddenly it seemed both less and more complicated. Could they all be content with a polycule. She hadn’t noticed she was overthinking until Jotaro brought both his hands to cup her face, looking her in the eye and asking. “Can I kiss you?”

She must have seemed shocked because he added, “Just so I can make sure?”

And in that moment it felt impersonal, as if they were just two idiots trying to traverse a topic neither one could think through. “Yeah.” Was all she answered as her hand wrapped around his left wrist and their lips met.

He was clumsy with his kiss, that was for sure. She couldn’t decide if it was the inexperience or simply because his face- and therefore lips- simply dwarfed her own but it was wet and all she could taste was mint cigarette and something fruity she couldn’t quite place.

When he moved away, they stared at each other in disbelief and she couldn’t help but sigh. “Please tell me I’m not the only one that liked that.”

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo part 3 #jotaro kujo #joseph joestar #noriaki kakyoin #jean pierre polnareff #fate and fortune

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

Dream a Little Dream - 5

Nearly finished! My next @bingokisses prompt was “Sleepy Good Night Kisses/Head on Shoulder.” In this chapter, Aziraphale begins to realize what’s been happening - next chapter will bring the thrilling conclusion!

You can catch up on the story so far on AO3!

Chapter 5: 1941 - Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Aziraphale held Crowley’s heel in his hand, gently wiping the ball of his foot with a dripping cloth. The other foot soaked in the tub of water, warm, gently steaming. His walk across the church floor had left blisters, and there was little Aziraphale could do to heal them. But he could tend to them, nonetheless.

He wanted, very much, to thank Crowley. But they didn’t say thank you, that wasn’t how they operated. This was all he had to offer.

On the sofa, Crowley murmured, a little sound of relief, of pleasure, of exhaustion. He was very nearly asleep, slumped onto the cushions, arms hanging loose beside him. So different from the energy he usually showed, the way he’d hopped into the church, all full of clever ideas and witty speech…

Crowley’s head nodded as he drifted off. Aziraphale’s hands kept moving of their own accord as he watched, the purse of Crowley’s lips, the lock of hair that broke free to fall across his forehead.

Perhaps he should fetch a blanket, tuck it around Crowley. Sit beside him on the sofa. Tug him down to rest his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Kiss his sleep-soft lips as he drifted off.

He could imagine it perfectly; Aziraphale was very experienced in daydreaming by now. He could imagine how Crowley would stir, ever so slightly, one golden eye cracking open, then shutting just as quick. The way the little smile would struggle to remain hidden, even as he tipped his head back, offering his lips for another kiss.

Aziraphale would laugh, softly. “No, you’ve had one already. You need to sleep now, my dear.”

“Nhhh,” Crowley would complain, and pout until Aziraphale relented, bending down to give him a second, a third, a fourth.

“You were marvelous today,” Aziraphale would murmur, his lips hovering close above Crowley’s. “Of course, you’re always marvelous. My wonderful Crowley.”

One more kiss, perhaps, and then settle Crowley comfortably on his shoulder to sleep, arm around him. Aziraphale could imagine it, the warmth he felt in Crowley’s feet, only pressed all down the length of his side. “I’m…I’m so glad you came,” he would confess, not sure if the demon could still hear him. “I wasn’t sure if you would after…after the dreadful things I said.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Crowley muttered, “I’ll always come for you.”

Aziraphale froze, half pulled back to reality by the words he was sure he’d heard – not imagined, heard.

“Ah…” He glanced up at where Crowley’s head was bent entirely over the back of the sofa. “Crowley? Are you…?”

No response except a snore, surprisingly gentle.

Tugging at the thread of his daydream – not quite snapped – Aziraphale slid back into it, imagining Crowley curling against him. In his mind, he asked, uncertainly, “Crowley? Can you hear me?”

“Mmmmh,” said Crowley – the real Crowley – the one sprawled on his own on the sofa. “Course I can. Not that far gone yet.”

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, in his mind and out loud.

“Something wrong?”

It wasn’t perfectly clear, of course. Crowley didn’t so much talk in his sleep as mumble. But the “Smmm’ng rn,” he managed in reality perfectly matched the tone and inflection of the words in Aziraphale’s mind.

“Could you…” In his mind he prodded Crowley’s shoulder urgently. “Could you…be a dear and…and just sit up for a moment? Wake yourself up?”

“Don’t wanna,” he complained, but sat up, opening his eyes.

Only in the daydream. The real Crowley continued to sleep, and to mumble.

“Oh, oh, this is quite troubling,” the angel said, getting up to pace nervously in the dream world, as his other self continued patting at Crowley’s foot with a wet cloth. “Oh, oh, this really shouldn’t be happening.”

As an angel, of course, he had the ability to enter dreams. The dreams of mortals, though, surely not of ethereal beings. And he had to will himself to do it, it was quite difficult, requiring a meditative state and some sort of connection, a physical or emotional bond.

“Is something wrong?” Crowley stood up and followed him, not limping, naturally, in this dream his feet wouldn’t hurt at all.

Of course, the foot washing. That must be the physical bond keeping them connected.

He dropped Crowley’s foot immediately, splashing water all across his knees and the carpet around him. The demon stirred, slightly, but that was all. The dream didn’t dissolve, and Crowley’s golden eyes still watched him with concern “Tell me, Angel, I can help.” His hand reached for Aziraphale’s arm.

“No!” Aziraphale stepped back, pulling away. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right at all. His mind was now quite agitated, they were no longer touching, surely, surely that was enough. Normally when he entered a human’s dream, he had to fight to maintain the contact, like swimming against the current. But somehow he’d crossed into Crowley’s mind without even noticing.

Had he done this before?

How would he know?

Aziraphale cleared his throat, tried to smile, even as he circled around his armchair. “Crowley. My dear. Er. Do you ever…ah, remember your dreams?”

“Almost always, yeah.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the back of the chair. “Why?”

“Nothing. No. Um. Do you…do you ever dream about me?” He held his breath.

Crowley grinned, white teeth flashing. “Oh, yes. All the time.”

He clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to hold in the squeak of distress. That doesn’t mean anything, surely? “What…what sort of…dreams?”

“Nnnnh.” A lopsided smile. “I don’t like to tell. Kind of embarrassing.” But he leaned closer anyway. “There was one where I was a princess in a tower, and you came to rescue me, but I turned into a dragon.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s face grew quite warm.

“Used to have that one a lot actually.” Crowley rubbed his chin. “Ehhh, let’s see, this fantastic one involving a masked ball in Florence, another one where you rescued me from pirates – I remember because the very next night I had the exact same dream, only it was me rescuing you. Hmmm. At least five different ones where we’re both humans, ah, usually with flowers or coffee involved somewhere. And lots of kissing.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Other stuff, too. Not sure you’d approve.”

Aziraphale pressed a hand to his mouth. Oh, he would very much approve – he remembered coming up with each of those scenarios, remembered how real they’d felt as they played out in his mind, how vivid.

And how rapidly they’d spun out of his control once Crowley started speaking, always to a better place than he could have predicted…

It was rather the opposite of how a dream visitation went. Which could only mean, Aziraphale wasn’t in Crowley’s dream. Crowley was in his.

How much control did he have? Could he force Crowley to play along with a fantasy? He should test it, but the very idea was abhorrent. Not to mention the only thing he actually desired right now was for Crowley to wake up and that wasn’t happening!

“Did you ever…” He thought as quickly as he could. “Did you ever dream about us – us…dancing?”

“Nnnnno…”

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. Of course not, Crowley would never agree to—

“I mean, I did dream that we were in this room with…piano music, and you were teaching me how to hop around, but I certainly wouldn’t call that dancing.”

“The gavotte is certainly a dance and – oh, good lord.”

“That was it! How’d you know?” Crowley stepped out from behind the chair. “Something like this,” he tried a couple quick coupés, very inexpertly done. “Only went along because I liked how you smiled.”

Did that mean Crowley could have stopped if he wanted to? No, Aziraphale had played out that fantasy dozens of times, and the demon had almost never complained. “Did you…” his voice was very faint. “Did you dream that often?” Oh, no, Aziraphale had been thinking about it just the other day…

“Nh. Only once, ages ago.”

The angel sighed. Good.

“Now, on the other hand,” and that wicked grin came back, “there was this really interesting dream about the Bastille, and that one would not stop coming. You want to know the details of that?”

Aziraphale stumbled back, crying out in horror. No, he didn’t need to be told about that one. It had occupied him for many weeks. Replaying the rescue…the dinner…imagining what might have come after…

He’d choreographed it out in quite explicit detail.

How long? How long had he been forcing his twisted fantasies onto Crowley?

“Hey, Angel.” He looked up to find Crowley approaching slowly, head ducked, hands out, as if approaching a frightened animal. “It’s alright. Look, I’m sorry. I don’t – I shouldn’t tease. It’s a lot to take in.” Arms around him, gentle, pulling him in, pressing his head down to Crowley’s shoulder. “Look, yeah, some of them were…intense…but usually I just dream of us being…us. Just talking, like this. It’s nice.”

Aziraphale clutched at Crowley’s jacket. It felt so real under his fingers. He remembered that from too many fantasies, the tactile details, too subtle for a dream. The roughness of that coat sliding off to the cell floor, the smooth linen of the shirt underneath, the way the cravat slipped through his fingers as he unknotted it…

“But some of them were…” He pulled closer, and was horrified to realize how familiar Crowley’s body felt against his, how gentle the fingers on his back. He pushed away. Aziraphale had to be the one in control here. “Crowley, you dreamt about us—”

“Aaaaah,” Crowley ducked his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Look, I always woke up before…they weren’t really those kinds of dreams.”

“Are you just lying to make me – to spare my—”

“You know I’d never lie to you.”

That hit almost as hard as anything else. His heart was ready to burst.

Aziraphale pressed shaking fingers to his eyes, focusing for a few seconds on the real floor, where he knelt back in reality, dampness of water spilled from the footbath creeping into his knees. Trying to ground himself. As if that were possible.

“How…” He gulped for breath, but his lungs didn’t seem to be working. “How long…” Calm yourself! “Do you recall when you started having these dreams?”

“The Ark, I think.” Crowley rubbed his neck, eyes lost in memory. “Yeah. I remember, I, uh, I really wished you’d talk to me, and then…”

And I wished I had someone to talk to. Somehow, their proximity, or their state of mind, or their shared nature had created a bond…and that bond had dragged Crowley into his mind, again and again, for thousands of years.

Aziraphale felt sick, and no amount of breathing exercises could help.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley held his hand out, but this time it was a simple offering. Not reaching for the angel, simply inviting him to reach back. “I don’t know why you’re…upset…”

“I’m so sorry…” It was all he could manage.

“S’fine,” Crowley tilted his head in confusion. “Nothing to be sorry about. I like the dreams.” He stepped forward. “I like it when you…you talk to me. Trust me. Confide in me.” Crowley stopped just inches away, close enough for Aziraphale to feel the heat of him, the soft brush of breath through his hair. “No matter what happens, in my dreams you love me. As much as I love you.”

It was finally enough of a shock to break the connection.

Aziraphale stumbled away from the sofa with a strangled gasp, like a man awakened from a nightmare. Crowley still lay, feet in the tub of water, just where Aziraphale had left him, but now he seemed to be moving with intent, waking.

No. No, no, no, no…

This night had brought too many surprises, too many turns, Aziraphale couldn’t take another, couldn’t confront the questions, could not do this.

“No matter what happens, in my dreams you love me. As much as I love you.”

But it didn’t make Aziraphale any less agitated. Crowley couldn’t think what could be upsetting him this badly. He’d been calm enough, back on the sofa when they’d kissed…

They’d kissed…

“Oh,” he murmured, looking over his shoulder at the sofa, soft as a bed, covered in blankets. “This is a dream. Obviously.”

First thing he noticed was his feet, wet, the water still warm but cooling. Next was the awkward angle of his neck, stiff and sore. Third was the trail of drool.

Crowley swatted at his mouth, wiping it clear, then sat up, tilting his neck and rubbing at his eyes, knocking his glasses askew.

What a weird dream.

He’d said too much in his dream, always had. As if the mental blocks that helped him keep calm evaporated as soon as he fell asleep. But he’d never seen Aziraphale as anything other than patient and accepting, so why would he...

Wait. Shit. Aziraphale.

He looked around the shop, trying to fix his hair, his glasses, and his shirt at the same time. He did not want the angel seeing him like that. It was bad enough his rescue had gone so badly off-script, this would be a disaster—

The shop was empty, no sign of movement anywhere. How long had he been asleep?

Then, a clink of ceramic-on-ceramic from the shadowy little kitchen.

Crowley stood carefully, testing his feet to see if they were still sore. No, the blisters seemed to have been soothed by the bath. Bloody miracle. He’d have to find some way to repay Aziraphale, without being too obvious.

Assuming they were talking again.

He padded across the carpet, trying not to track water, though it seemed the rug was already wet, and paused just outside the door of the back room. “Angel? You alright?”

“Fine. Perfectly – why wouldn’t I be?” He stood before the sink, scrubbing dutifully at a plate.

“Well. You’re standing here in the dark.”

“Am I?” He didn’t even turn. “No matter. I can see in the dark, you know.”

“Right.” Crowley glanced back at the rest of the shop, lit up bright as anything, despite the bombing and the city-wide black out. “Anyway, I, uh, didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. How long was I out?”

“No! I mean, were you asleep? I hardly noticed.” The sudsy water sloshed as he worked on some imperceptible stain. “I mean, I noticed, but, well, not long. Yes.”

“Ngk.” Something was wrong. Aziraphale had been all awkward smiles and warm, gentle insistence when they’d come in, and now…He’d have thought his dream was some sort of omen, except Crowley didn’t believe in such things. He did believe in his own ability to mess things up, though, and he had ample evidence for the existence of that. “M’feet feel better,” he attempted. “So. That’s good.”

“Good. Good. Excellent. You should be able to get yourself home, then.”

“Yeah, I…”

What? What the Heaven was he even supposed to say?

Look, Aziraphale, I blew up a bunch of Nazis for you, is it too much to ask for you to just make eye contact with me? What more do you want from me?

He’d thought this would do it. This would make Aziraphale realize that Crowley – that they shouldn’t be fighting, they should talk again, but what would even be the point of that, since any time he tried he just tripped over his own blessed tongue and made things worse?

But of course not, even in his dream he’d managed to ruin the night, why should reality be any different?

He took a breath and turned away.

“Nh. Guess I’ll see you around.”

Maybe in a few more decades Aziraphale would be ready to talk. Just had to give him space, right?

“I…I suppose you will.”

He manifested shoes back onto his feet – next time he walked on hallowed ground, he should bring real shoes, that might give him some shielding – and strode across the shop, trying to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“Crowley.” He turned back, one hand on the door. Aziraphale stood in the shadow of the kitchen, almost hiding behind the doorframe. “Ah. Don’t…don’t be a stranger.”

He concentrated on the doorknob, tapping his fingers, swallowed hard, forcing his heart back down from his throat. “Yeah. I – I won’t.”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the fic, please leave a comment here or on AO3!

@angel-and-serpent

#good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #dream sharing #good omens prime #aziraphale #crowley #Post Church Scene #Washing Crowley's Feet #accidental confession #crowley loves aziraphale #aziraphale loves crowley #fanfic #my writing #Dream a little dream #ao3 link #prompt fic #kisses bingo

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yourperfectflaws · 4 years

Text

HYDRA’s Pet ; 02

Pairing: James Bunchan Barnes x HYDRA!Reader, Avengers x Reader (Platonic/ Familial)

Series Summary: As HYDRA’s favorite experiment, you were trained to follow orders perfectly. But, when you’re taken from the only home you’d ever known by the Avengers, you find yourself more lost than ever. However, out of all the things that could have happened to you, you’d never expected him to be one of them.

Chapter Summary: Your sexy ass is locked in a cell underneath the Avengers’ Compound and you get an offer.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.2k

Author’s Note: As you can tell, I’m pulling shit from my ass at this point. Enjoy.

Prologue // First Chapter // Next Chapter

January 18th, 2017 ; Unknown

When you woke, you were in a grey room lying on a cot, out of your soldier state. You made an attempt to sit up but began to panic when you felt a metal choker around your neck. Since trying to pry it off was futile, you steadied your breathing and scanned the room.

The area was immaculately clean but extremely minimalist. There was an armchair underneath a camera in one corner and a small bedside table near the cot. A large, steel door sat across the room and from what you could tell it was thick and heavy. There was most likely a key pad on the other side and would not budge if you attempted to ram into it.

You tried feeling out for anyone’s mind with yours but you couldn’t seem to even feel your own. Perhaps it was the collar. It was strange being unable to hear the thoughts and feel the emotions of others.

You figured there was nothing you could do to escape so you lied back down on the cot and stared up at the ceiling, collecting your thoughts. The Avengers had taken you... but to where? Their tower? Their compound? Maybe you were in a special jail? That seemed likely. You were dangerous and therefore a threat.

It wasn’t long before someone entered, the sound of beeping— a code being punched in— and then the screeching groan of metal hinges. The man who stood before you was someone that you knew was your enemy. Captain America. He stood there, hands to his sides, and exhumed patriotic confidence.

He cleared his throat before speaking. “Hello, my name is Steve Rogers and I am a part of the Avengers. I’m here to help you. Can you tell me your name?” He attempted to step closer but you hid behind your fists.

Statistically you had a 57% chance of beating him in a fight— the number would be much higher if your Commander were here— but not knowing what was on the other side of the door made your chances of getting past him exponentially lower. You realized that remaining silent would not be an option if you wanted more information.

“Where am I?” You asked in your best English. You only ever spoke in English when you were on missions. You could understand it better than you could speak or write it. Though, it seemed to get your message across. He smiled at you, which seemed nearly genuine.

“I could tell you... but you’re going to have to answer some of my questions first.” He sat down in the armchair that was underneath the camera and regarded you with a light smile. “You don’t have to be hesitant around me, I brought no weapons and I’m not here to hurt you.”

You could feel he was telling the truth so you lowered your fists but never your guard. There was still a chance that he was lying and you refused to let him catch you by surprise. He stared at you for a second before he spoke again. “Are you ready to tell me your name?”

“Project 103,” You said.

He sat there with pinched brows for a few seconds. “No, I mean your real name. The one that your parents gave you.”

“HYDRA is my parents.” You both reeled back once you said that, it didn’t feel like it was you speaking. Your voice had the same robotic tone as when you were in your soldier state. You felt like a puppet again.

“Well, since HYDRA only gave you a number, then why don’t I give you a name?” He, once again, smiled at you. You wanted to punch him in his perfect teeth. “How’s... Blondie? No? What about Angelina? Emily?” You stared at him as he kept on listing off these foreign names.

It was strange. In the nearly 70 years that you had been alive, no one had ever asked you what you wanted. No one had ever given you a choice. It was clearly a trick, some sort of ruse to lull you into a false sense of security.

So, you were presented with two options. You could either refuse to cooperate resulting in potential punishment or you could continue with your duties as an agent of HYDRA. You were beyond confused about what to do. Normally, your Commander would make decisions for you but seeing as you’re alone, you didn’t know what to do.

“...Daria ... Amy… Y/n—”

“Yes,” you said, not realizing what you were agreeing to. You wanted him to be quiet.

“Y/n? You like that name?”

“Yes.” You couldn’t care less what they called you.

“Okay, Y/n it is, then.” He shuffled his feet and leaned back in the armchair, his calf resting on his knee. “So, Y/n, you mentioned something about HYDRA being your parents. Would you like to talk about that?”

“No.”

“That’s fine, maybe another time. How about the serum? Do you have any extra abilities that maybe you didn’t have beforehand?”

You stared at him, puzzled, for a few seconds before you realized what he was talking about. He meant all of the tests that HYDRA had put you through. All the changes your body made in a short amount of time. All the strange things you could do.

“Yes.” You waited for him to respond but he just stared at you. You realized that he wanted you to explain, which filled your stomach with dread. “I am strong, fast, quick healing, smart, can see in the dark, and remember all the things I see and hear. I can enter minds of others.”

He paused for a second before responding. “Okay, so what I’m hearing is you’re strong and resilient just like me and you can see in the dark. You also have photographic memory and telepathy. Awesome.” He stood up and walked towards the door. “I will be right back, okay?”

“What about my question?”

He glanced back at you. “You’ll know soon enough, you have nothing to worry about.”

And with that, he left. The sound of the metal door closing rang throughout the room. You knew that you shouldn’t, something in your brain told you not to, but you found yourself drawn to the feeling of power and righteousness that he carried himself with. You began to doubt that he was a bad person. Though, you still hated his patriotic guts.

An hour or so later, he came back in and sat back down in the armchair. He stared at you for a few seconds before he spoke. “Well, I’m going to offer you an opportunity, Y/n.” He paused, most likely for dramatic effect. “We would like to recruit you for the Avengers.”

You could tell he was trying to gauge your reaction, but you simply stared at him with a blank expression. You were at a loss, you didn’t know what to do. being with HYDRA, you were given a direction but now that you were without your Commander’s Orders, you were lost. Though, it intrigued you to know why they wanted to recruit you.

“Why?”

That question seemed to throw him off. He paused for a second, collecting his thoughts, before he spoke deliberately. “Well, we believe that you will be a valuable addition to this team,” he said with a calm tone.

You began to realize that your Commander was waiting for you somewhere out there. So that meant that you had to find him. And, logically speaking, living with the Avengers— though they were your enemies— would be helpful in searching for him.

“Okay.”

“Okay? Do you mean that you’d like to be a part of the Avengers?” He asked with a slight tilt of his head. You blinked at him.

“Yes.”

“In that case, I will be back.” And with that, he got up and left the room. You stared at the door as it shut loudly, wondering what would be in store for you when he returned.

-----

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was much easier to write than the last one (ugh). Please don’t hesitate to let me know if I need to fix something and I’m always accepting constructive criticism.

Have a great day and stay safe!

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unknownunseenunheard · 5 years

Note

I couldn't decide. For the prompt list, BartKon, and either 23 or 26. Take your pick

Thank thee, child. You are so kind-

(And sorry it took me so long to get to this)

23. Just tell why you did it!” “Because I’m in love with you, okay!”

26. Cuddling in comfortable silence before murmuring “I love you

Standing outside of the medical wing down in the Sanctuary, Kon paced back and forth, debating whether he should cross the doorway or not.

Kon was mad.

He was angry.

He was furious.

He was worried out of his goddamn mind.

Kon could take a hit. He knew that. His team knew that. Everyone knew that. Everyone, it seems, except Bart fucking Allen, whom Kon had to carry back to base because the idiot had decided to take a bullet for him.

Fucking.

Lead.

Bullet.

A perfectly normal bullet. Nothing extraordinary about it. Hell, it was the kind Bart regularly would catch and juggle before tossing back down to the ground in a giggle to intimidate his enemies.

(Bart claimed it wasn’t an intimidation tactic and that he was just having fun, but Kon didn't believe him- Bart was a complete little shit. Knowing him, it was probably both)

The kind of bullet that would have done absolutely no damage to Kon and his steel like skin. The exact kind of bullet that managed to rip into Bart’s body mercilessly, ripping past his suit, digging into his flesh, grinding its way into one of his bones and-

A desperate noise choked its way past his lips against his will. Shutting his eyes, Kon tried to suppress the images his subconscious unhelpfully kept supplying him.

Bart, his body broken.

Bart, bleeding everywhere.

Bart, with a bullet hole in him.

Bart, wounded and injured.

The look on his face when he tossed himself in front of Kon, eyes staring right at him, wide and panicked. Kon, staring right back, mostly in confusion because what was Bart even doing, didn’t he know that bullets couldn’t possibly hurt the Teen of Steel?

Apparently, Bart didn’t know that because he’d almost gotten himself killed protecting Kon from something that wouldn’t have even phased him.

With a growl, Kon turned back to the door to Bart’s room.

He needed to see him.

He needed to confront him.

He needed to find out what on God’s green Earth could possibly possess Bart to do something so utterly stupid.

Because, that was exactly what this was.

Complete and utter stupidity.

Mind made up, Kon stormed into the room, tossing it open with a dramatic flair. On the bed, Bart jumped slightly, startled. Sitting next to him, Cissie looked up, surprise quickly morphing into anger.

Anger, directed at Kon.

Ha! As if this had been his fault!

“Cissie,” Kon growled, “get out.”

The former Arrowette’s jaw dropped slightly before she shot him a glare.

“Excuse me? You’re the reason he’s in this condition!”

“He’s in this condition,” Kon managed to control his voice, but it was a near thing, “because he’s a moron who jumped in front of a bullet for me when he already knows those can’t phase me.”

Bart winced at that. Good. As he should.

“Now,” Kon continued, “if you would kindly leave, I need to talk things over with Bart.”

Cissie shot Kon a look that told him she thought he was an idiot. For a moment, Kon faltered, wondering if he was missing something before shrugging it off. No, he wasn’t missing anything, Bart was the idiot, end of discussion.

Then, Bart’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Cissie’s wrist. Cissie looked away from Kon, down at Bart. The auburn haired teen just shook his head, expressioned pained.

“It's okay Cissie. He’s right. I need to talk things over with Kon. Alone.”

Cissie looked reluctant. She and Bart stared at each other for several seconds, seemingly having a communication through eye contact alone. In the end, Kon had to look away as a sharp pain stabbed into him. Shrugging it off, Kon waited patiently.

Then…

With a huff, Cissie stood. Kon turned back towards them. The former Arrowette shot him what could only be described as a warning look as she mouthed the words ‘I know where you live’ before sauntering off.

Kon rather maturely responded by sticking his tongue out at her, which earned him an eye roll and a reluctant smile. Then, she was gone, striding past him without another word.

Kon looked at Bart.

Bart looked at him.

Bart’s healing had kicked in almost immediately after the bullet had hit. Logically, Kon knew that he would be fine in a couple of hours. In the end, no harm done. Bart was going to be fine, because they had gotten him out of there in time.

Logic wasn’t doing much in the face of Bart’s utter stupidity.

Kon felt another sharp pang of pain rip through him as he continued to stare at the other teen and, this time, he recognized the feeling easily enough.

He was scared.

Bart was scaring him.

Bart, bleeding, crying out in pain. Bart’s voice, falling silent, first becoming a broken whisper before finally lapsing into utter silence.

A silence that would keep echoing around him until it was a booming noise, until it was all he could hear. All that he knew.

There was nothing louder than the sound of quiet. Kon knew that very well. One of his earliest memories, within the first weeks of his existence, was the sound of Coast City, loud and booming and full of life.

Loud and booming and vibrant and suddenly, suddenly- silent.

Every. Last. Living. Soul. In the city. Dead. Dead and gone and burned to ash while he had survived and they had not and-

Kon shook his head, shrugging off the memories as best he could. Bart’s form flickered back into view. Amber eyes, red-brown hair, too many freckles to count, wearing a plain t-shirt with the flash symbol across the center, covered in a white sheet.

Kon trained his ears, and listened.

Bart breathed. In, and out. In, and out.

Kon focused on that. Focused on it like a lifeline, because it meant Bart was okay. It meant Bart was alive. It meant Bart was still here, for him to yell at a couple of times for being such an idiot.

“Bullets don’t hurt me,” Kon finally spoke, breaking the silence.

“I know,” Bart said, voice quiet. Faint. Not a problem for Kryptonian ears.

“I would have been fine.”

“I know.”

“It wouldn’t have hurt me.”

“I know.”

“But it hurt you.”

“I know.”

“You could have caught it.”

“I know.”

Kon was going to pull his goddamn hair out. Bart was looking at him, expression blank. Calm. Completely and utterly calm, while Kon himself was freaking out because today, he’d almost lost one of his best friends because said best friend decided to be an idiot and took a needless risk.

They were heroes.

There were always, always, going to be risks to their profession.

What Bart had just done, however? There was no need for it. None at all!

“THEN WHY IN THE HELL DID YOU DO IT!” Kon finally snapped, finally screaming.

That, it seemed, finally cracked Bart’s shell. Face growing almost as red as his hair, Bart clenched his fists and yelled right back.

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU, YOU IDIOT!”

Kon froze.

Bart froze.

Then…

Bart shook, looking away, eyes fixed firmly on the wall.

“I’m in love with you, okay? I didn’t think, I just saw the guy preparing to open fire and the gun looked green and I panicked and I- and I- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I was stupid and I-“

Kon walked forward, taking the chair Cissie had vacated, and reached out. Fingers cupping underneath Bart’s chin, Kon turned the other teen to look at him.

Except, Bart was looking anywhere but at Kon. His eyes were moving around frantically, refusing to lock onto any one thing. The expression on his face was clear as day.

Fear. Bart was scared. He was scared of rejection.

More importantly, Bart was scared of him.

Kon’s heart thudded painfully against his chest.

Of all the answers Bart could have given him… This was not the one Kon had expected.

Bart was in love with him.

So in love that he’d toss himself in front of Kon without thinking, without considering the repercussions. Bart was a complete and utter idiot, Kon realized. Incidentally, so was he.

“Look at me,” Kon implored.

Those amber eyes finally locked back onto him. The fear was still there. Fear, and determination. Preparation. Bart was going to put on a strong face. Bart was getting ready for a blow that would never come.

Kon touched his forehead to Bart’s with a soft thud, eyes falling shut. Bart’s breath hitched as Kon reached a hand up, curling it in Bart’s hair.

“You complete fucking moron, I’m in love with you too, and you can’t scare me like that. You just can’t.”

Bart let out a hiccup and Kon realized Bart was crying and so was he and before he could even think properly about it, because Kon was almost as bad as Bart in that department, Kon crawled into the bed with him, pulling Bart close.

Bart sighed, curling onto Kon’s chest, breathing finally slowing down, heart falling into a familiar soft beat.

“I love you,” Bart murmured into his chest softly. Kon smiled, arms tightening around the other teen.

Then…

Bart shot up, starling the clone. Eyes staring at him widely, Bart spoke, “Wait, do you love love me, or bro love me? Because I love love you, and I just wanna make sure you’re clear about that because sure you said it back but you didn’t really specify and I feel like that’s something that needs to be specified but I didn’t specify first so that’s kinda my fault so I need to specify now and I-“

Kon cut Bart’s adorable ramblings off with a kiss. The Speedster made an ‘mmph’ sound before closing his eyes, sighing into the kiss. Kon pulled back, smiling as Bart’s eyes opened slowly.

“Does that answer your question?”

Bart’s calm expression melted in a millisecond, replaced with… Yup. The mischief look. Of course it was.

“Well, I don’t know,” Bart said, fingers dancing on Kon’s chest. “You still weren’t very clear. I mean, sure, you kissed me and all but you could maybe use more words or maybe kiss me some more until the message sinks in properly or-“

Kon went with the second option and kissed him again.

The pair of them spent the rest of the afternoon, lazing around in the bed, alternating between making out and cuddling before finally falling off to sleep.

Send me a prompt?

#writing prompts #bartkon #konbart #superpulse #bart allen #impulse #conner kent #kon el #superboy #cissie totally knows whats up #she and bart are mlm and wlw solidarity okay #bart: im so gay for him cissie #cissie: im so gay for cassie bart #cissie and bart: *pin in gay*

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crimsonbluemoon · 5 years

Text

Working For Love: A TerrorMoo Story 11/17

Hey everyone! I’m going out tonight so I’m going to post this earlier than normal. I hope you all enjoy!

Also, I probably shouldn’t drop this... but I have may be working on a new story for the summer... *wink wink* you’ll have to wait to see!

Previous Part

Start from the beginning

Brock didn’t like to let go of things. He had a rigid way of thinking, and he didn’t like to change it.

This was especially true for clothes. When he’d been heavier, he never wanted to wear things that clung to tight to his body. The pudge under his arms needed to be covered, jeans were worn a size bigger on purpose, and a sweatshirt was a part of 80% of his outfits. He liked being comfortable in his clothes, which sometimes presented him as ‘frumpy’. On the occasions that he’d feel a little bold, such as anniversaries or parties, Brock might try to wear a piece that had started to collect dust from lack of use. It was never big, just pants that fit snugly over his thighs or a shirt he could feel press against his chest when he moved. His ex never really said anything about the changes, which made him rarely put in the effort. By the end of their relationship, he barely even opened his closet.

Now, Brock tried not to hide in his closet while staring at the clothes he was wearing. Craig had picked out his outfit earlier when they shopped for something Brock would be able to wear to Tyler’s birthday party. If the two were invited to their gym owner’s party months ago, it would have felt strange. Now, the gym workers were a part of their weird group of friends. Scotty and Marcel got along like a house on fire, and Brock could already see Craig’s wheels turning. Ryan, a more reserved science teacher from Brock’s school, had so far avoided Mini’s cupid skills, trying to push through his shy persona to adapt to the large group. Anthony was quick to shove him under his arm and ‘show him’ things, which Brock monitored closely. But from Luke’s scolding looks at Anthony when the joyous man tried to feed Ryan another shot at their last hang out, it seemed Brock wasn’t the only one looking out for his co-worker.

Now the whole group was going to celebrate Tyler’s birthday together, and Brock wasn’t sure how to feel about his new look. The brown cardigan was useful in showing how the lean muscles in his arms had started to define themselves. A simple white shirt laid under it, but with how close it was to his body, Brock felt mixed about the choice. It didn’t look bad, because he’d been working on slimming down his stomach, but his hands kept tugging at the shirt. The jeans that he’d somehow managed to slip into (and that part had been really surprising to him) weren’t uncomfortable, but they were tight. It was out of his normal style, falling around his hips rather than over his stomach. He couldn’t pull them up, because that was where they were supposed to fall. And the outfit itself wasn’t bad; Brock was just unsure if he looked good in it.

“Brock? What’s going on? We need to meet Tyler and Brian in ten minutes at the gym or we’re gonna be late!” Craig’s hand pounded on the door, showing that the little amount of patience his anxious friend had located was well beyond gone.

“Uh, coming.” Even after he gave the answer, it took Brock two minutes to compose himself and open the door of his room. Craig’s eyes showed his irritation better than his pout, but he seemed distracted when he looked over Brock’s attire with a nod.

“You look like a completely different person when you wear clothes that actually fit you. I’d pick you up at a bar.”

“My other clothes fit me,” Brock protested, but he knew what Mini was talking about. In the new clothes, Brock couldn’t hide himself in a lumpy sweaters and overwashed shirts. Craig arched an eyebrow at the rebuttal, but his attention was drawn to the cellphone that chirped loudly from his pocket. A quick glance to the screen was all Mini needed before he turned away, looking more than eager to get to the man on the other side of the phone.

“I can’t wait to see Brian’s jaw hit the floor when he sees you.”

“He’s seen me outside of the gym before.”

“But not like this.” Brock wanted to argue it when he moved into Mini’s car, but for the first time in… well, maybe his whole life, Brock hesitated. Because was it really so bad to recognize how far he’d come in his journey? His body was starting to shift in a way he hadn’t seen in years. The physical changes were nice, and since his breakdown in the locker room (it’d been weeks ago, but the residual embarrassment still lingered when he hung out with Brian or Scotty), Brock had actually started to heal. He unfriended his ex, knowing that keeping his social media in his life would only make the wound deeper. He’d managed to go out with his friends more outside of work and fully focus on his gym routine again. Though he wasn’t fully ‘okay’, a word he’d stopped using the moment Brian made it clear he’d be accepted either way, he was getting there. Support from his friends, family, and the gym as a whole was helping him put all the pieces back again. In truth, maybe Craig was right. Maybe he was looking different than he ever had before.

But thinking Brian would notice it wasn’t something he could believe in just yet.

“He sees me at the gym all the time in less.” The droll stare he got from Craig when they stopped at a light made him fidget in his seat.

“Okay, I am too anxious and not drunk enough to deal with your self-loathing, Hamlet. You wanna play this game? Then let’s make a bet.”

“What kind of bet?” He was wary because he’d seen some of Mini’s mischief before, and rarely did it turn out well for the other in the deal. But Craig looked less manic than normal, and Brock wondered if it was because he was focused on making Tyler’s birthday a pleasant experience. It was saddening to hear that the gym owner had never had a birthday event he enjoyed, citing family drama or backstabbing friends from the past as key factors in his displeasure of the holiday. Mini had proclaimed that this time would be ‘different’, with Tyler sneering with enough sass to show how little he believed in that comment.

“If Brian doesn’t say something about how amazing you look the first sixty seconds we meet up with them, I’ll buy you a drink at dinner. But, if he does, then you gotta buy me one.” Craig’s little bet wasn’t too extreme, as both knew they’d be drinking during the party. And really, he wouldn’t mind a free drink. His eyes glanced to the gym as Mini pulled into the parking lot, head already nodding at the deal.

“Okay, that sounds fair.”

“Maybe to my wallet.” Craig’s mutter wasn’t answered by Brock when he stepped from the car, already seeing two figures waiting by the entrance of the gym. It was shut down an hour ago in preparation for the celebration despite Tyler grumbling about losing revenue. His smile was quick to pop over his face when catching Brian’s gaze, waving in hope of hiding the nervous energy flooding his fingertips. He took the bet thinking he’d win, but the smallest part of his hoped that somehow-

“Holy shit.”

“Huh?” Brock stopped at the quiet words that spilled from Brian’s mouth, unsure how to take the way his eyes travelled down Brock’s body. Craig had done a similar tactic earlier, but having Brian be the one to look him over made his ears flush and his breath catch. Brain cells refused to function, leaving him helpless to break the silence that had settled after the swear. When blue caught his stare again, his heart somersaulted through his chest, landing perfectly in the bottom of his stomach. Brock felt good about himself, but Brian was a trainer; obviously he’d seen people of all shapes and sizes. He was meant to spot people’s needs for fitness. There was no guarantee that his eyes weren’t picking up the stubborn pinch of fat on Brock’s hip or the chubby cheeks that always looked bigger when flushed. Or what if he caught something else that had nothing to do with weight? What if Brock’s eyes were too close together or his nose had a weird round tilt that could-

“You look amazing.” There was a caress in the compliment that weaved along Brock’s spine like a touch, warm and full of care with each additional word. “This is a really good look on you. Brings out your eyes and- wow. Yeah, really knocking it out of the park with this, Brocky.”

“Oh, um, thank you. You too, uh...” His fingers tugged at the edge of his sleeve when tugging it over his knuckles, unsure how he was supposed to take so much praise without melting into the concerte. His brain was soaked in endorphins to the point that he couldn’t point out how the navy coloring of Brian’s shirt made his eyes burst with color. He wanted to return the compliments, to admit that the black jeans made his frame look perfect, yet the words dried up in his mouth before he could open it. He hoped his smile would give away some of his thoughts, and from the easy grin Brian gave back when hooking his thumbs into his belt loops, it had. The motion framed his hands along the inside of his thighs, and Brock’s mind dived too far south not to duck his head and mentally curse.

“Yeah, so I’m going to count this eye fucking as a win.” Craig’s voice made Brock’s heels pop off the ground in fright, glancing over to his friend’s smirk. He was smug elbowing Tyler, who looked a mixture of annoyed and pleased at the close proximity. “Brock owes me a drink now. Thought Brian wouldn’t think he was hot.”

“Brian thinks he’s hot when he smells like shit and looks like a firetruck dipped in a bloody mary. For a smart guy, your friend’s fucking stupid.” Tyler’s grumble was sharp, but didn’t match the softer motion of his arm when Mini burrowed underneath it to press to his side. The fact that he didn’t push Craig away was surprising, his large hand even finding a home on the shorter man’s shoulder. “Now lets get this shit over with so I can get away from you weirdos.”

Tyler really was a weird enigma.

“Right, on to the party for my free drink!” Mini’s cheer was loud in the empty parking lot when leading Tyler to the car, and Brock shook his head at their weird combo until a familiar tone cleared his throat next to Brock.

“You ready to go?” Brian’s hand was offered without expectation, and his face gave none of his intentions behind the sign of affection away. Brock’s fingers moved nervously by his side and he glanced down at the palm, knowing any chance of hiding how gone he was for Brian would be lost with his trembling fingers. Even with his past relationships, he wasn’t a big hand holder, knowing his sweaty palms and twitches could be annoying to those he dated. He bit his lip when weighing his options, glancing up to Brian and stopping at the sight. The nervous flicker of hope that peeked out from behind his eyes was small, but still visible for someone looking for him. Someone who was feeling the same way.

“Yeah.” Brock grabbed his hand slowly, noticing how easily his fingers parted to slip between Brian’s. The touch made goosebumps rise on Brock’s arms, and he was grateful the cardigan would hide the reaction from Brian’s watchful gaze. He gave Brian’s palm a soft squeeze, not pulling away when the other laughed and gently guided them toward the car.

Brock liked his old habits, but he liked Brian’s palm against his so much more.

Brock needs all of the love! And good thing hes got Mini and Brian, eh? So as always, like, reblog, and let me know what you think! <3

#Terrormoo #Soft boys #Terroriser #Moo Snuckle #<3 #Crimson drabblez

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jinkisbelly · 4 years

Text

Selcouth

Pairing: Onho,

Rating: pg

W/c 7k or so

Warnings: mentions of depression and symptoms of it

Summary: For as long as Minho has known Jinki, his voice had always been a defining factor of his being. Neither are sure who the man will be if he loses it forever.

A/n: First, This is for summer of shinee, prompt 81 which was, After undergoing vocal polyp surgery, Jinki isn't allowed to speak. While putting on a brave face, he feels lonelier than he expected. Minho helps him see the light in any way he can. While putting on a brave face, he feels lonelier than he expected. Minho helps him see the light in any way he can.I had many plans for this, but life happened. I do hope this is still enjoyable and I do plan on revisiting it at a later date <3

Second, Selcouth means Strange, unusual, rare; unfamiliar; marvelous, wondrous. I decided to go with the unusual and unfamiliar, to eventually, Marvelous

AFF Ao3

The crisp winter air blew against his thick coat as Minho strode down the pavement toward his best friend’s apartment building. The gift bag swung gently, the handles cutting into the leather of his gloves, and he flexed his fingers to return some of the feeling into them. Between the chilly weather and the slight cold he was coming down with, Minho’s nose was bright red as he sniffled underneath his mask. Whatever it was, he hoped it got over with rather quickly. With the deadline coming soon for the next book, talking with his editor about upcoming fan encounters, and signing a few copies of his previous editions, his next couple months were packed full. But that all could wait for now. For he had a gift to deliver to his best friend.

No matter how many times Jinki got cast in a musical or play, Minho kept up the tradition of getting him a gift. He had started in high school when Jinki got the lead in his junior year spring musical. Through them going to separate schools for college, he sent them in the mail. And yet, every time Jinki was just as surprised to get the gift as he was the first time. It was rather cute if Minho thought about it. One would think after being friends for so long and having the gift-giving tradition, that Jinki would learn to almost expect it. Then again it was Jinki, who still had his day made by the little mints Mr. Jung always gave him every morning.

He pushed open the swirling door of Jinki’s apartment building and dusted his chest and hat free of snow with his free hand. The doorman smiled as he stepped in from the drizzle of snow falling outside. “Hello, Mr. Jung.”

The lobby had a few people going about their days in the late afternoon, but Minho paid them no mind as he approached the older man. The doorman removed his hat with a sigh, shaking his head with a fond smile. “How many times must I tell you to call me Yunho, Minho?”

“About as many times as you had to tell Jinki.”

“Forever it is then.” Yunho chuckled before gesturing to the voice box behind him. “Do you want me to notify him you’re here?”

“No thank you. I want it to be a surprise.” He lifted his dark blue gift bag with a big grin. “He landed Singing in the Rain and I have a gift for him.”

“Ah, yes. The gift-giving tradition,” The older man smiled warmly, before sighing, “He needs a good surprise I think.”

The tone of Yunho’s voice brought Minho up short, “What do you mean?”

“He came home late this morning and he looked completely out of it. I thought he might have failed an audition he really wanted. He refused my mint.”

Jinki hadn’t said anything during their text messages throughout the day. Minho knew that he had gone to the doctor this morning about the pain in his throat, but if it was something serious he was sure his friend would have told him about it already. Right? “Mm, thanks again, Mr. Jung.”

The elevator smelled like vanilla faintly and there was an older lady with a small dog sitting at her feet. Minho grinned at them both before wiggling his fingers at the pup. Their tongue was sticking out, panting softly as the tail switched against the smooth floor of the elevator. A few floors up the lady and her canine exited the lift. Minho leaned against the nicely wallpapered wall and gazed at the way the elevator buttons blinked on and off with each additional level he passed. Finally, the light reached ten and the doors opened. Down the hall to the left, he could almost count the number of steps he had taken this path so many times in various states of mental clarity. He raked his knuckles softly against the door right under the golden number marking it.

��A few moments later the key chain was slid and the door clicked open. Jinki’s mop of dark hair was pushed away from his eyes messily. He flashed a genuine smile, but it didn’t travel to his eyes like normal. Mr. Jung was right, something was off with Jinki. As he entered the familiar apartment, Jinki softly commented, “I didn’t expect to see you today, Ming.”

“That’d be because it’s a surprise, silly.” He kicked off his shoes and hung his coat and scarf up on the hanger by the door, making sure his gloves were shoved into the pocket. He headed straight into the living room, placing the gift bag on the coffee table, and frowned at the wadded up tissues tossed to one side of it. There was a stack of pillows on one end of the couch and a crumbled up blanket on the other side. He turned when he heard Jinki’s socks shuffling against the rug. The older man slipped past him, climbing onto the couch and immediately pulling the blanket around his shoulders. With a raised eyebrow, Minho softly asked, “Aren’t you going to open it?”

“Whatever it is you should just return it.”

“But you landed Singing in the Rain! Why would I return your gift?” He grinned widely, “It’s tradition.”

Jinki takes a large shuddering breath, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers grip the blanket around him tightly. Minho had known Jinki since middle school when the man’s family moved next door. They had been through everything together, but he could count the number of times Jinki looked this shaken on one hand. His voice was weak when he spoke, eyes slowly opening to make eye contact. “I must give the musical up.”

“What? Why? You worked so hard for this!”

“They’ll be other musicals.” Jinki tries, bless his heart, to smile reassuringly, but all it does is make Minho step closer until he’s sitting between the man and his mound of pillows.

“Did they choose another actor or something? Mr. Jung mentioned that you seemed off and the tissues and-”

“Because I have vocal polyps Minho!” The strength in Jinki’s voices startles him. A sob rips from the man’s throat, “I may lose my voice forever.”

Minho curls his fingers around the back of Jinki’s neck, hugging him tightly against his chest and pressing a kiss to his hair. Bewildered, and a little bit out of his element, Minho’s relieved when Jinki clings to him. “It’s alright, it’s going to be alright.”

------

He wasn’t sure how long he held Jinki close while he cried, but eventually, the older man quieted down. He was resting his temple on Minho’s shoulder as they both leaned back against the couch. The papers from the doctor were sprawled out on the table, some poking out from under the still unopened gift bag, and Minho wasn’t sure how he managed to miss that when he arrived. Jinki seemed perfectly content curled up on the couch beside him and Minho found he rather enjoyed the warmth against him. “What are your options?”

“ Only one.” Jinki stirred slightly before settling further up Minho’s shoulder. “Surgery to have it removed. Then a few months of recovering. Either it works and I can sing at the end, or.. Well.”

“Hey, don’t think like that. It’ll work out.”

“It’s...daunting, Minho. Some do everything they’re supposed to and in the end, their voice no longer is what it was.” Jinki’s breathing was shaky, enough to be felt with how close they still were. “I don’t know who I am without my voice.”

Minho swallowed thickly before softly asking, “Did you make an appointment for the surgery?”

“Yeah, six weeks away.”

“Whatever you need, I’ll be here for you, okay?”

Jinki just quietly laughed and nuzzled his head into Minho’s shoulder. “I never doubted that, Minho.”

-----

Six weeks Later

Minho was sure that Mama Lee would have rather been here to take care of her son, but Jinki didn’t want her traveling hours to do so. The least Minho could do is talk to her about what was happening. He turned the phone call off and placed his phone on the counter, heading toward Jinki’s bedroom. Sure enough, the man was still curled up sleeping away from the pain medicine he took a few hours before. Bibim was still curled up by his feet, a big dark spot standing sentry at the end of the bed. The doctors stated that Jinki would be out of it for a few days and for him to take it easy. The couch was already made up for Minho to stay the night to help him until he was healed enough to take care of himself. It almost felt like a sleepover, without the secret tellings and trying to steal whiskey from their parents’ alcohol cabinet.

He took the empty mug on the table by the bed and put it on the dresser. Returning to the mattress he gently sat down to move Jinki’s hair from his forehead, He knew the man had a hard time ahead to recover and then work on his voice from the lack of use the recovery promised. Minho could only imagine how the man felt on the subject, but he couldn’t fully understand his fears. He had never had to worry about losing his passion for writing or his ability for it. Jinki could lose his voice, working in musical theatre, and everything he worked so hard for if this didn’t go well.

Minho promised Jinki he’d help him through this, and he planned to be there always, no matter how hard it got. Jinki’s face scrunched a little, before soothing as Minho moved his hand through his hair again.

------

A month Later

The apartment was dimly lit by the barely open curtains along the living room wall. Other than the late morning light managing to slip through, the space was vacant of any other source of light. More and more the longer Jinki was recovering Minho would come to visit a dark apartment, looking like it was barely lived in. When he placed his keys on the dish by the door Jinki’s keys jingled slightly by his fingers before settling, he kicked off his shoes and hung his coat. Making his way into the nearby kitchen the light was on over the oven, illuminating the space in dim light. There were dishes neatly stacked on one side of the sink, mostly bowls and mugs from his soup and warm teas. Minho made a mental note to do those some time today, but first, it was time to get Jinki out of bed for more than using the restroom and getting something to eat.

Down the hall, Jinki’s bedroom door was half-open, probably from him softly attempting to kick it close from his last kitchen trip. Minho raked his knuckles gently against the dark wood as he opened it all the way. Jinki should know he was coming, as he had almost every day for his lunch break, but he didn’t want to spook him too much. “Jinki? You decent?”

Minho pulled his phone out from his back pocket when he heard it ding.

Jingles: Am I ever truly decent anymore, Ming?

Squinting slightly, Minho could make out the soft glow of Jinki’s phone through his dark blue comforter, which he was currently huddled under in a small ball. There was a cup of what Minho assumed was tea on the bedside table beside him. His laptop was pushed against the wall on the floor under the window, charging light blinking slowly. Very faintly he could hear the rumbles of Jinki’s cat and it wasn’t until he sat softly on the edge of the bed he realized the feline was in the cocoon with his friend. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

A little movement in the cocoon resulted in another gentle ding from his phone

Jingles: What can I do for you?

“Let me see your face for one.” Jinki let out a deep sigh before reluctantly, the blanket was removed from over his head. His eyes were narrowed, hair a mess on top of his head, and cheek red with marks from his pillow. Minho grinned, “There you are.”

His eyebrows moved into a scowl as he lifted his phone up to see it from the blanket. Once he was done, the phone was lowered once again.

Jingles: Bite me, Mr. Sunshine

"That's not on the agenda."

Jingles: what is?

"A shower and breakfast. I'll tell you more after, Stinky."

Jingles: I DO NOT STINK

After sniffing himself a moment later another text message was sent.

Jingles: alright maybe you have a point

Minho shook his head and smiled as the cat’s head popped out of the cocoon. Slowly he moved his hand closer, fingers loosely curled in as he let the cat realize he was about to touch him. Bibim purred quietly as he headbutted Minho’s incoming hand, stretching his back as he did so. “Hello, sweety. Did you have a nice nap?”

He gave Jinki a little glance as his phone dinged again but still picked it up from the mattress where he had placed it.

Jingles: I had a good nap too if you wanted to know

“The red marks on your face tell me that just fine.” Jinki rolled his eyes before wiggling out of his cocoon and across the bed toward the bathroom. Minho snorted when he realized the man only had on one slipper as he shuffled into the attached bathroom. He picked up Bibim and giggled when the cat rubbed his head on his chin. “Yes, sweetie, you’re dad is very strange indeed.”

-------

Minho had just finished making a new cup of tea for him when Jinki came shuffling into the kitchen. A few drops of honey were stirred in as well as a little bit of milk before the dark blue mug was placed on the island in front of the man. He eyed the drink suspiciously before delicately taking a small sip, humming happily as the warm beverage coated his throat. He slipped onto the stool near him and held the cup between both of his hands, smiling slightly as his eyes slipped close and he breathed in the sweet aroma of the tea. Minho found himself leaning back on the counter, arms across his chest, softly gazing over at his friend as he found a specific kind of bliss in his mug of tea.

His hair was neatly combed from his forehead, small drops of water falling down his skin with how the strands were still a bit damp. There was a soft, cream-colored sweater on his frame, and dark jeans tight against his legs. It was such a contrast to what Minho was used to seeing the man in over the last month or so, all the pajamas and boxers, but it was so nice as well. Bibim meowed loudly, announcing his arrival to the kitchen, and plopped back on his butt right in front of his food bowl at the end of the island. Minho froze when he heard Jinki’s soft, quick breaths, realizing slowly he was laughing. He blinked, trying to remember the last time he saw his friend laugh and his heart ached when he realized he couldn’t recall.

Before Jinki could let go of his tea, Minho spoke up, "I got him."

At one point in time, Minho wasn't as intimate with Jinki's kitchen layout or where he kept his cat food, but over the last couple weeks, his familiarity had grown. A few weeks ago Minho figured out that Jinki had moved his container of cat food from the cabinet just left of the sink to the floor of his pantry. There he also kept his litter and a canvas bag full of toys, stuffed animals, and beds Bibim wasn’t currently using. After taking a scoop out, he gently poured it into the cat’s bowl, getting a head butt to his head in thanks. A moment later Bibim was munching away happily.

When Minho returned the scoop, made sure the container was closed properly, and the door shut he found Jinki softly gazing at him as he tapped his fingers on the side of his mug. Near him was his dry erase board he used when visiting Mr. Jung downstairs or the old lady next door who always came over to give Bibim leftover chicken she made. He moved his sweater covered palm from the cup and picked up his marker, scribbling quickly. When lifted it read, ‘ Where are you taking me?’

“Breakfast.”

Jinki raised his eyebrows as he used the cap of the marker to erase his question, before looking down to write his reply. ‘I s tea not breakfast?’

“You haven’t left this apartment for anything but doctor appointments in weeks.” Minho leaned on his elbows against the kitchen island, flashing a smile as Jinki sighed, “Just trust me and if you really aren’t feeling up to it, I’ll take us home. Alright?”

Jinki mouthed, okay, before finishing his tea. He slipped his phone into the front of his jeans and went to grab his bag still sitting on the table by the couch from where he placed it from his last doctor’s appointment. When the man returned into the kitchen his backpack was placed on the counter. Minho was just relieved Jinki was willing to trust him without knowing where he was taking him. He had expected to half fight him out of the bed and into the shower with how things had been over the last few weeks. Minho set the empty cup near the sink for later and grinned, “Let’s get going, Jingles.”

Even with the obvious eye roll, Minho could see the faint beginnings of a smile ghosting over Jinki’s lips as he grabbed his bag and headed toward the front door.

-----

Jinki shoved his hands into the front pocket of his jeans, slowly eyeing the front of the small cafe before looking over at Minho as the man threw an arm over his shoulders. “Now this is breakfast.”

The front door was kept open by a rubber doorstop. The sign propped up outside listed their specials for the day, but Minho was too busy studying Jinki’s expression to notice it. The older man’s eyebrows were slightly furrowed, eyes flicking around the cafe patrons. Even in the early afternoon, most of the tables and outside seating were full, with a steady line. Jinki’s bottom lip was sucked between his teeth, shoulders rising as if trying to hide. “How about you find us a seat, and I’ll order, okay?”

Jinki nodded, slipping through the door and past the line before disappearing around the thick wooden pillar of the entryway. As the line in front of Minho shortened, he caught sight of his friend along the far wall to his right, fiddling with something on the table in front of him. His coat was removed, the dark fabric on his right in the booth. He seemed so small curled in on himself, not lifting his gaze even with all the hustle and bustle happening around him. Minho removed his attention from the older man to look up at the big menu above the front counter.

By the time he had ordered and the food was put on a tray for him, he found Jinki half turned out of the booth. A woman was standing before him, waving her hands as she talked with a huge smile on her face. Anyone else would think Jinki was happy, but Minho could tell around the eyes the encounter was exhausting and slightly sad. The woman’s hands lowered as Jinki lifted his phone. Jinki’s eyes lit up when he noticed Minho approaching. He caught the next thing the woman spoke. “I heard about the surgery from a news release. I was really looking forward to seeing you in Singing in the Rain.”

Minho couldn’t read what Jinki had said before the phone was pulled down again so he could respond. Just as he was placing the tray on the table, smiling as the woman noticed him, Jinki signed the playbook offered to him with a little grin before the woman was thanking him and disappearing into the crowd. The curious eyes around them slowly drifted back to their own food and conversations. Some lingered for a few moments, but eventually, they looked away. Jinki deeply sighed as soon as he was relatively alone, leaning back into the booth. The smile pulling on his face was soft and fond, eyes blinking slowly. “I hope you like bacon and egg sandwiches.”

Jinki’s eyebrows rose as he grabbed one of the brown paper wrapped sandwiches, unwrapping it and centering it on paper. The cheese was melting off the side, oozing onto the parchment, Jinki gingerly picked it up and took a small bite. With one hand, he gave a small thumbs-up, swaying as he chewed and Minho knew the man enjoyed it. He mentally put a point on his, ‘Get Jinki feeling better’ list before picking up his own sandwich.

------

The aquarium wasn’t as busy as Minho thought it might have been when they arrived. Jinki didn’t look convinced as they handed their tickets over to the front worker. “Don’t look at me like that.”

As they rode down the escalator to the start of the aquarium, Jinki pulled his phone out to text, Minho’s phone dinging quietly.

Jingles: Like what?

“Like you think this is a silly idea.” Jinki bumped his shoulder, but he was giving a little smile and that was enough for Minho to drop the subject. At the end of the escalator, there was a photographer quick to point them to the green screen hung on the wall. Minho grinned and tugged Jinki over by his wrist. After wrapping an arm around his waist to tug him close, he rested his head on Jinki’s. “Smile, Jingles.”

There was a small flash before they were handed a small card to give to a worker later to find their photo later. With a small thanks, they headed down the hallway toward the first tanks of fish. They were full of small, fresh river fish, swimming and darting quickly through the slightly murky water. Jinki pushed his glasses further up on his nose and stopped to read the information to the right of the tank. Minho just shook his head and focused on the fish. Of course Jinki would return back to his bookworm self the moment there was information to learn. Sure, they could move on, but Jinki was acting interested in something other than his cat and sleep so Minho wasn’t going to rush him.

-----

Minho had two favorite parts of the aquarium, The first was the tunnels that went under the tanks, surrounding them with a beautiful different perspective of the large fish and shark tanks. The second was the penguin exhibit, with the deep end for them to dive into on one side. Minho stepped off the conveyor belt on the floor to slowly look out into the left side of the tank. Jinki was aiming his Polaroid camera that his mother had gotten him for his birthday, focusing intently. It took Minho a minute to realize he was following the sea turtle moving through the water slowly. His finger clicked the button and a moment later the photo shot out. Jinki shook it before lifting it up toward his face. A grin was plastered to his face as he pushed it towards Minho.

He took in gingerly. The photo turned out clearer than he Minho expected it to be. When he went to return the photo Jinki was typing something on his phone, the blue glow over his face replaced with a white one of his screen. Before he could ask anything about it, Jinki was putting his phone back into his pocket and holding out both of his hands. His right hand was a fist with his thumb on top and his left was resting over it, his thumb sticking out from the front. There was such a bright smile on his face as he held up his hands even further, eyes twinkling almost. Startled with how beautiful Jinki was to him right then, it took him far longer to connect the dots. “Is that the sign for Turtle?”

Jinki’s hair ruffled as he nodded enthusiastically. Once the photo was put in the pocket of his backpack, Minho replicated the sign, giggling when Jinki grinned. The lights from above the tanks filtered such a pretty blue swirling glow over Jinki’s features. When the man turned back to look at the tank, Minho couldn’t make himself look away from his friend. Before he could stop himself, his hand lifted and a loose strand of Jinki’s hair was pushed behind his left ear. Slowly, Jinki turned, eyes wide before softening. His lips were curved up just slightly, warm and sweet, and Minho’s stomach felt like it was full of butterflies. Suddenly Jinki’s gaze was too much and Minho turned away, pretending to focus on the fish in the tank before them and trying to ignore the warmth rising in his cheeks.

------

The large tank of manta rays was big and bright across the small sitting area. Minho grabbed their tray of food from the concession stand and found Jinki sitting at the bar lining the fence separating the manta rays from the sitting area. Their food was a collection of different fried foods, cheese fries, and soft pretzels. Jinki slurped at his cherry icee, eyes following the manta rays swim lazily through the blue water. The straw is still resting on his bottom lip as he looked down at the food placed before him. His tummy rumbled softly, and Minho snorted. “You get the first choice.”

As predicted, Jinki went straight for the cheesy fries, using his tongue to bring the pulled cheese hanging from the one he picked up into his mouth. Minho shook his head with a fond little chuckle as he grabbed one of the hamburgers. He had to admit the rays were rather soothing to watch as they ate. Soon all that was left were the cinnamon soft pretzels. Jinki was doing something on his phone and out of the corner of his eye, Minho saw he was texting his mother. That’s good, she had been really worried about him during their last phone call that past weekend. “Tell Mom I said Hi.”

Jinki rolled his eyes, but his thumbs began to move again. A moment later he pushed his phone over with two fingers to make it slide across the small distance between them.

Ma: Oh you’re with Minho! That’s so good please tell him I look forward to our phone call coming up

Jinki took the phone back, typing away, and then a ding was heard followed quickly by another.

Jingles: You talk to my mother?

Jingles: About what?

“She was worried about you for the first two weeks when you wouldn’t return her text messages, so she reached out to me.” Minho stared down at his half-eaten pretzel before sighing. “We just talk about how you’re doing. She gave me a soup recipe to make you. Things like that.”

Jingles: I talk to her now

“You’ve been having a hard time since you learned about the surgery, and I understand that, but,” He took a deep breath before finally looking over at Jinki. “I know you don’t talk to her about how you really feel or how you’re really doing. It was either talk to her or she’d show up on your front doorstep.”

A very long moment passed before Jinki’s thumbs slowly tapped at his phone.

Jingles: We better get going. They close soon

Even before Minho finished reading the text message, Jinki was slipping off his stool with his trash held neatly in his hands. By the time Minho caught up he was waiting by the opening near the penguins, leaning against the wall with his arms over his chest and eyes glazed over as he stared toward the opposite wall. He mentally took away the point on his ‘Get Jinki feeling better’ list before joining the man.

-----

The dishwater was warm against his hands, soap suds slipping down his arms, bristol brush moving over the plate in the sink. He could hear Jinki moving around in other parts of the house. Minho knew he needed to talk to him, address what happened at the aquarium, but he also knew that the man would come to him when he was ready to talk. With the last plate set on the drying rack, Minho let the water out and wiped off the counter around the sink. Once his hands were also dried off, the towel was hung on the oven. He grabbed his beer from the island and flipped the light off on his way out of the kitchen.

Jinki was curled up on his couch, Bibim spread out on his lap. The record player on the bookshelf was softly playing, a book was open on the arm of the couch, and his glasses were back on his face. Minho gently sat on the other side of the couch, flashing a smile when Jinki looked up at him. “What’cha reading?”

He lifted the left side of the book to show the cover with a ghost of a smile on his face. Reflecting back at Minho was the most recent book in his ongoing series and not the signed copy that he had given his friend when it came out. “Did you buy that?” Jinki nodded as he returned to the book. Eventually, he returned his bookmark and put the closed book on the table to his right. “Why did you buy it? I know I gave you one.”

Jinki picked up his whiteboard and quickly scribbled, ‘ You did. It’s on my bookcase.’

“So why did you buy one?”

‘ I didn’t want to mess up the signed one.’

“I could give you another copy.”

Jinki softly tapped his fingers on the edge of the whiteboard, pen held between his teeth. Bibim stood up with a slight stretch, taking a few steps to climb into Minho’s lap. He was too busy greeting the black and grey cat, he failed to notice Jinki tapping on his phone. Minho looked over when Jinki’s hand fell on his knee. There was a flurry of dings from his cell phone and with a raised eyebrow, Minho picked it up to read.

Jingles: I’m sorry about how I acted earlier

Jingles: Thank you for talking to my mom. I know she’s worried for me, I just couldn’t… It’s hard talking to her about how I feel. I know she’s worried and I don’t want her to be, you know?

Jingles: Especially since I’m not sure how I feel.

Jingles: Scared, worried, anxious. Sometimes it’s so hard to get out of bed. If it wasn’t for Bibim, I don’t think I would most days.

Jingles: And that scares me you know? I felt myself slipping, each day I spent more and more time in bed, and I know it’s bad but I can’t stop myself. There’s like this… boulder over my head reminding me I could lose my voice forever, threatening to drop at any minute.

Jingles: Like it’s inevitable, so what’s the point of getting out of bed and trying? It all seems pointless. I feel so alone Minho and I know you come over every day, I know you clean up for me and I’m so thankful for that, but then you go home and I’m left here with my thoughts.

Jingles: I don’t want to be alone. A part of me regrets not going home.

Jingles: Thank you for today. It was really nice.

“I think you should talk to someone about how you feel, Jinki. Whether it’s me or a therapist. You shouldn’t keep all that bottle up.”

Jingles: I know

Jinki’s phone slipped into his lap, head hung slightly as he curled more into himself. His shoulders were gently shaking and it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together and know he was trying so hard not to cry. “Please come here.”

He looked up with wide eyes, tears on his cheeks, and bottom lip sucked between his teeth. After a moment, he wiggled closer to settle against Minho’s side. “You’re doing everything you can to get your voice back. You just need a little bit of hope, no matter how long it takes you to feel like you can.”

-----

�� Slowly as the days passed, Minho would come to visit and find Jinki a little further away from the curled up cocoon he’d always used to be found in. Eventually, he’d be dressed in more than his boxers, clean from his shower, and ready to do whatever he put his mind to for the day. Minho put it towards the therapist he had gotten in touch with over an app through his phone, but also Jinki’s willingness to accept his mental health was important too. Today Jinki had taken him by the wrist and immediately tugged him out of the apartment, barely stopping at all except to say hello and goodbye to Mr. Jung standing at his desk.

Minho softly smiled as the now-familiar sight of the cafe came into view. The same little one he brought Jinki in before their trip to the aquarium. It had become a sort of routine for them to have brunch in the back corner booth together, Jinki doodling little notes on his napkin to make it more interesting than texting with his phone. The front cashier who always seemed to be working when they came in had even managed to learn their orders in the last two weeks of them constantly coming in.

Jinki was currently sipping at his tea, eyes closing as his breathing slowed and he swayed just a bit. The warm feeling in Minho’s chest was back as he watched Jinki’s little bit of mundane happiness. It was the same feeling he felt at the aquarium under the tanks and Minho wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He was in a bit of denial about what the feeling reminded him of because he was not getting fuzzy, romantic feelings for his best friend no matter how similar the feeling felt. Maybe it was just pleasant heartburn or something. While he knew logically that was not a thing, it was better than confronting the possibility his feelings for Jinki were evolving. He wasn’t ready for that revelation just yet.

So instead, he picked at his sandwich, only stopping when Jinki’s napkin was pushed into his line of sight.

‘ You have a book signing tomorrow, right?’

“Yeah, at the library downtown. Why?”

Jinki scribbled quickly, a slight frown on his face as he pushed it back. ‘ That means we can’t come here.’

“We can come after. For a very late lunch.”

While nothing else was written, a grin was back on Jinki’s face so Minho counted that as a win.

-------

As much as Minho enjoyed meeting and interacting with his fans, after a while the whole encounter was a special kind of exhausting. His hand felt a little cramped from all the personal messages and signatures that had come through the line all morning. Luckily, he could finally see the end of the line. A young woman with a large blue bow on her ponytail stepped closer, handing him her brand new full set of the original trilogy. “I’m so happy I managed to get a ticket to this.”

“First time?”

She nodded rapidly, “I’ve tried ever since the first book came out, but it’s so hard to nab one.”

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you….”

“Oh, Taeyeon. My name is Taeyeon Lee.”

“Nice to meet you Taeyeon.” He pulled the cap from his marker off with a smile as he gestured to the box set. “Where would you like me to sign?”

“Oh, the last book please.” With a little wiggling, the book popped free. He had just opened the cover and started to figure out what he wanted to say when the woman’s voice was heard again. “May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve always pictured Lejin to look much like the broadway star Jinki Lee. Was that on purpose or am I just connecting my two passions?”

Minho’s hand froze just above the soft pages of the new book, staring as the words of the title page began to blur. He could admit certain things about the main character he had taken from his best friend, but a lot of writers took inspiration from those around them. It wasn’t that much of a big deal, so why did the realization that Lejin was the spitting image of his friend in the context of his story made his stomach feel like it was in his throat? He managed to swallow thickly and return to finishing his signature before replying as calmly as he could. “He is my best friend, so I suppose there might be some characteristics that are similar.”

“Whoa, you’re friends with Jinki Lee?”

The book made a soft thud as it was closed and slid back into the collective box. He softly smiled with a nod. “I am.”

“That’s wicked.” She held her books close to her chest and managed to wave with one hand. “Goodbye, Mr. Choi.”

-----

The traffic to Jinki’s place was so bad the interstate was practically a parking lot. His publicist had been adamant about him having a personal driver to and from official appearances. Usually, he rather hated the idea of being driven around, but with how quick and swirling his thoughts were he was relieved he wasn’t behind the wheel right then.

Over the last almost five years he had worked on the Story of Light series almost constantly. He knew his characters like the back of his hand, or at least he had thought so until the young woman at the book signing asked him such a simple question. He felt almost stupid for not putting it all together sooner by himself. The main character’s name was Lejin, bits of Jinki’s name smooshed together. He loved to sing, his power throughout the story growing and developing around how he worked with his voice. He loved puns and sweet treats, a book worm who always kept more scrolls on his person than he logically should travel with. He was warm and kind, brightened up the room no matter where he was.

All things that Jinki so beautifully was.

The part of it all that had Minho’s mind completely reeling was the growing romantic relationship between the two main characters. He had begun to create Milo when he was 15, building him up from the ground to be everything he wasn’t during the most questioning time of his identity he had been through. While over the years that first draft had changed, Minho hadn’t forgotten that Milo was based on himself. All he could think about was what if he made the two characters based on them fall in love with inspiration from his own deep, ignored feelings.

If Minho was honest with himself he had known exactly what the warmth in his chest meant when he looked at Jinki. He was falling in love with his friend, if not already too far gone to stop himself from sliding too far in. While his books were fiction, he couldn’t deny how true the inspiration to them was.

Now, he just had to figure out how to quiet his thoughts and manage to get through lunch with Jinki. He couldn’t tell him how he felt. His friendship to Jinki was much too important to risk. Besides, the man had gone through so much the last few months and wasn’t even out of the woods just yet. It would be entirely wrong of Minho to dump a love confession on top of it all.

-----

Jingles: How was the signing?

This late in the day, instead of his bacon and egg sandwich he had gone for the club sandwich. He picked at the lettuce falling from the cut in his sandwich and tried to ignore the panic rising in his chest. “It was alright. Very long, but I enjoyed it.”

Jingles: Are you alright? You seem out of it

“Yeah. Just tired.” Jinki huffed, gently knocking his foot against Minho’s shin to get his full attention. When he lifted his gaze, Jinki’s glare was waiting for him. “What? I’m fine.”

Jingles: I’ve known you too long to now know something is bothering you, spill

This was a big mistake, one that he knew he’d regret as soon as it occurred, but he also knew that Jinki wouldn’t leave it alone until he heard the truth. Minho took a deep breath before replying, “Did you know Lejin was based off you?”

The quick breaths made Minho squint. Jinki was laughing at him in his own way as he replied. Jingles: Is that what’s got you so worked up? I’ve known that since book two.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Jingles: I wasn’t bothered by it. I’m flattered really. Lots of people love that character.

“It’s not just that. Milo is based on me, you know?” Jinki quickly nodded, a kind smile curved on his lips as he intently listened. “Have you finished book five?”

Jingles: I have. It’s very good.

“And you’re perfectly okay with the characters falling in love?”

The confusion was evident in the way Jinki’s brows furrowed and his thumbs paused over the keyboard of his phone. When he finally pushed send, Minho didn’t want to read it. He wanted to run away and hide for the next week.

Jingles: Should I? It’s just a story, Minho.

The little bit of hope that he held in his heart that Jinki could possibly feel the same way about him shattered with those simple little words. With a shuddered breath, he whispered. “What if it’s not?”

Jinki’s hand was warm as it reached out to curl around his arm, but his eyes were too warm and kind for Minho to look at. He couldn’t handle Jinki looking at him with such vivid concern. “I think I’m in love with you Jinki. I think for a long time and I don’t want to lose you as a friend because I know you don’t feel the same way about me.”

Minho squeezes his eyes shut as Jinki slowly withdrawals his hand. He only opens them and looks after a deep breath. He can’t read Jinki’s expression through the blurriness of his tears and the panic rising in his chest, the fear. The man’s phone remains resting on the table in front of him, his hands out of view in his lap, and his mouth slightly open as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. It was a loud enough message, Jinki didn’t need to reply with words. “I’m sorry, just forget I said anything. I’ll.. see you later.”

Before he could be an even bigger fool, he slipped from the booth and turned on his heel, ignoring the dings of his cellphone all the way home.

-----

Minho couldn’t bring himself to go over to see Jinki. He had sent a few messages, trying very hard to ignore any mentions or attempts to bring the cafe conversation back up. He wasn’t emotionally ready to read in vivid detail that rejection or receive it face to face. Granted, deep down he knew he could never truly be ready for such a thing, but he had to tell himself something to excuse this ignoring behavior. It’s just over a week of somehow managing to bypass that particular confrontation when there’s a knock at his door. Peeking through the peephole had his heart up in his throat because standing there was Jinki. There was a ding from his phone in his pocket and he cursed. Another one popped in a moment later caused him to finally open his phone.

Jingles: Open up Minho, please. We need to talk

Jingles : I know you’re in there I can hear your phone.

Jingles : Please.

His hand was on the doorknob when he took one final breath, eyes fluttering close before he finally turned his hand and pulled the door open. Jinki’s face was illuminated in the soft glow of his cellphone screen as he looked up, a bright smile pulling on his lips when they locked eyes. “Listen, Jinki I understand if-”

“I love you.” The sound of Jinki’s soft voice after so many weeks makes Minho freeze immediately, so much it takes him even longer to process what the words he said were. Jinki huffed through his nose, fingers twisting in the front of his sweater as he looked up at him. “I wanted to say it.”

It was obvious he hadn’t said much, if at all, by how quiet his voice was. Minho knew he should say something, anything, but he couldn’t make his voice work. He opened his mouth a few times, eyes slowly blinking. His jaw snapped close as Jinki’s fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to a kiss. It was like an override for his mind to start working again, and quickly his hands were coming up to touch Jinki. One on his jaw the other on his waist as he deepened the kiss. When they parted, their foreheads were pressed together, breathes mingling as Minho softly laughed, “I love you too.”

They had a lot to talk about. From their feelings, the misunderstanding at the diner, to how Jinki was vocally talking to him once again. All that could wait just one more minute as Minho stole another kiss, Jinki’s fingers tightening on the fabric of his shirt and melting into him. For now, that’s all Minho could think about. Jinki was kissing him after admitting he loved him too. How could he ever think of something less marvelous?

#onho #minew #minho #onew #shinee #my fic #Selcouth au

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