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citydreamgrls · 3 years

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a christmas treat

george weasley x fem!reader

words: 5,243

a/n: a very seasonal one for you,, hope you enjoy !! :)

warnings: swearing , smut , 18+

It had been a drunken mistake. A situation she should never have been in at all. But one final party before the summer break had caused that fateful moment she wished had never occurred. Y/n had been in the library all evening, in a lazy attempt to avoid the Gryffindor party altogether, but decided she would need to return to her dorm at some point.

She’d hoped that maybe they would have calmed a bit now that it was later in the night, but to her dismay the excited shouts sounded the second she reached the common room’s door. With one breath she slipped inside, wanting to pass by the group huddled by the fire unnoticed.

“Hey y/n?” A voice called out.. Her friend Angelina leant over the back of the sofa with a beer in hand and a smile on her face. “You joining us this time?”

“I’m pretty tired, but thanks.”

“Oh come on, you said that last time. It’s the end of term, just have one drink with us?” She pouted, but the girl held her ground and shook her head.

“I have to be up early tomorrow.”

“So do the rest of us!” Lee groaned, “Just stay for an hour then you can escape us again.” He joked. She took the bait, leaving her books on the table and slipping next to Angelina.

She noticed the twins, unfazed by their presence at any sort of party. But she’d never really paid much attention to them, at most times she could barely tell them apart. But with a few drinks in her system, and the need to sleep fading with each one, she noticed one of them in particular. George.

She studied his face subtly as it glowed beside the fire’s light. His was skinnier than Fred’s, with a slightly different jaw shape. His voice was deeper than his brother’s, and she noticed it more as he laughed with disregard for how loud it was and was always the one to start a joke. Then the mole, on the right side of his neck. That was the last thing she noticed before he caught her staring.

But he just did what he always would when someone looked too long, and winked carelessly. Then it was an internal battle not to blush like a child as she quickly looked anywhere but him.

He’d introduced himself not much later while she was pouring herself one last drink before heading up to bed. She’d almost choked at the sound of his voice, surprised that he was taking time to speak to her when he had a whole room of people at his command.

She was drunk, so was he. And she liked the way he smirked and leant down to her from his towering stance. Y/n let him take her ‘somewhere more private’ and fuck her.

That was it. But she reminded herself that he was drunk, so was she.

Nothing more.

So the next day she woke up earlier than the other’s and made her way down to the train alone, in case everyone knew what she’d let that tall redhead do to her the night before. But when they eventually joined her in the carriage, the only questions were about her rushing off so early.

Maybe he was embarrassed, she wondered as the castle went out of view and the lake came in. All that ran through her mind was him, everything she had done was fresh in her memories. So much so that she could barely remember herself being there, if it wasn’t for the hidden bruise he’d left on her shoulder she may have believed it was a dream.

He had felt like a dream.

But he was just drunk, maybe so much so that he had forgotten it all.

It seemed so when they returned after the summer, and he acted as though he’d never even met her that night. So her and the twins remained strangers.

At least until the Christmas break came around.

“I can’t believe they’re making you stay here,” Angelina huffed, often being the first to critique y/n’s muggle parents and their choices.

“It’s just a precaution, I’m fine with them. But when the rest of the family come round, all I want to do is hex them to oblivion.” She laughed.

“It’s wrong though, they’re scared of a witch who isn’t even permitted to do magic outside of the school!”

“It’s only a few weeks, plus I can start studying.”

“Oh good, get all the studying out of the way so we can actually have fun when I get back.” She grinned, snapping her case closed and looking round the room.

“Go, or you’ll miss the carriages.” The girl laughed and pushed her out the door.

“Please don’t spend the whole break alone? And write to me!” She called before rushing out of the common room.

Later that evening she finally did what Angelina had asked of her, both requests. But not quite by choice. She was sitting in the great hall having dinner, the handful of students that remained making it a very peaceful meal. Her hand alternated between eating, flicking the page of her book and writing to Angelina to tell her how boring it was going to be.

She wouldn’t have noticed the two boys in front of her if one of them hadn’t coughed to get her attention. Her eyes looked up, wide and caught off guard as they smiled back with the same face.

“Hello y/n” They said in unison, making it harder yet again to tell them apart.

“You've been left here too?” One of them spoke.

“I don’t mind it,” she said quietly, turning her head back to the book.

Her heart was racing, of course George would tell his brother about the party, she was dumb to think otherwise. But neither of them were letting on about it. Still, they knew her name. He must remember.

“I’m Fred,”

“And I’m George, the better looking one.” He winked, and she froze.

“You okay?” Fred asked, frowning at how she had stopped at the sight of George.

The girl just nodded, resuming her letter to Angelina.

Now it was confusing, she couldn’t tell whether they were pretending to be strangers. Or they actually believed they were. The twins stayed in front of y/n as she carried on her multiple tasks, they didn’t dare interrupt her until she finished her letter and sealed it in the envelope.

“You know we’re the only ones from our year staying here?” Fred told her.

“Oh right, how come you two are here?” She asked them.

“We were hungry,” George said, waving his fork in front of her.

“She means hogwarts you dimwit!” Fred slapped his brother on the head, making y/n giggle sweetly. She had always thought they were annoying, with their pranks and lack of care for anything. But seeing them tease one another, she realised they were in fact quite funny to be around.

“Mother said she’d had enough of cooking for us all, so we’re stuck here this christmas.” Fred explained, not seeming too bothered by his family’s neglect.

“Ron’s here too, and Ginny but I haven’t actually seen her yet.” George frowned, looking round to see if he could spot his little sister.

“Maybe she’s been eaten by that troll hagrid’s hiding in the woods,” Fred said calmly.

“That would be our luck, all mum told us to do was look after Ginny this year.” George groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Back up, a troll?” The girl asked, but both twins just nodded, as if this was known information. “Never mind.”

From then on they sat with her at every meal, always telling her about tricks they would play on the few remaining teachers at the castle. It was four days into the holidays when Fred and George asked her to hang out, a difference to the studying she’d been doing previously.

“We’re heading down to Hogsmeade later, you wanna come with us?”

“You know, seeing as there isn’t really anyone else for you to spend time with,” George had added. The girl still hadn’t figured out whether he remembered the summer party seeing as the only time she saw them was when they were together, but regardless she decided to take Angelina's advice and make some friends.

“Yeah sure,” She closed her book and finished her toast before standing up, “I’ll meet you guys in the common room then?”

It was snowing heavily and y/n was glad she’d put on an extra layer to walk to Hogsmeade, especially when the twins forced her to defend herself from an impromptu snowball fight. Even when she’d hit them both in the face they didn’t give up.

Being away from the castle felt much more fun, even more so with Fred and George taking turns to tease her. Which, surprisingly, she didn’t mind too much. It was never malicious with them, and if they gave it out it was only the rules that they took it too.

They spent the whole afternoon scouring the shops and drinking butterbeer until y/n’s legs felt like jelly and Fred had to give her a piggyback ride up the hill again. Not that he was very trustworthy after him and George raced to see who could drink a pint quicker, five rounds of it.

“Don’t fall asleep y/n,” George had warned as the girl’s head bounced lightly against his brother’s back. “Or Fred will dump you in the shrieking shack!” The girl pretended to be scared, but tried to reach out to push the boy away. Instead she fell off the side of her ride and brought him down with her.

All three of them burst into fits of laughter and spent the next 40 minutes drunkenly trying to complete the 15 minute walk back up to hogwarts. When they finally made it back to the common room, after dodging teachers in the hallway, they fell onto the sofa in front of the fire.

“Fuck, marry, kill…” George started, making y/n and Fred groan in fear of his next few words. “Snape, Lupin, Dumbledore.”

“I think this one might be for you y/n,” Fred laughed.

“Okay,” The girl thought for a second, “right, I would fuck Snape, Marry Lupin… I can’t kill dumbledore though. I’d be evil!”

“You’d FUCK SNAPE?” They cried out in unison, disgusted by her final decision.

“Yeah, I think he’d be a good fuck.” They nearly screamed at what she said. “What…” she laughed, “all that rage has to go somewhere,”

“Stop stop!” George begged, unable to listen any longer. But the girl liked how it bothered him.

“Anyway, I like a deep voice.” She, not really, joked.

Fred started up the hysterics, suddenly unable to stop picturing how Snape would look naked. Something he was not proud of.

“Oh don’t I know it,” George had said.

She hadn’t registered what he’d said, too busy laughing with them both still tipsy from their day in the village. But later on when she sobered up, y/n thought whether George was trying to hint that he did in fact remember everything.

Ron and Harry came down from their dorm room while the older three were still in fits.

“God what happened to you lot,” The twins’ younger brother had called out over the noise, “We can hear you from upstairs.”

“You’ll never guess what y/n said about Snape!” Fred had wheezed out, but was quickly muffled by the other two who decided that both Harry and Ron were too young to know about their game.

“What? I wanna know,” Ron had whined.

“Don’t be so nosy Ron.” George had teased.

“Fred was gonna tell me.” He pointed out, but George kept a tight cover on his twin’s mouth.

“He most definitely will not.”

The two of them left with slumped heads, admitting defeat, and Fred was freed from his temporary prison. He slapped both of his friend’s heads.

“What was that for?” y/n complained.

“I couldn’t breath you idiots.”

They couldn’t help but start laughing again, something which would recur throughout the day until they eventually sobered up before dinner.

Y/n came to terms with the twins and their drinking habits, as it was really the only thing to do to pass the time with so little people around. But when Fred and George were around they always had fun.

The girl watched them whizz about the empty quidditch pitch on their brooms, tossing a ball between themselves. She slipped the flask from her coat and took a sly sip of firewhiskey to keep herself warm. Normally she wouldn’t drink at all, not having done so since the dreaded party where she and George had- you know. But she decided she wanted to do whatever she felt like, it was a rarity.

George flew over, hovering in front of her as she hid the whiskey back in pocket.

“Sure you don’t want a ride?” He raised his eyebrows, he’d been trying to convince her to get on since she’d taken a seat on the stands.

“Not a chance, Weasley, neither you nor Fred are sober enough. I’m precious cargo.” She smiled. The boy’s hair was blown away from his face, held back by the amount of times he’d run his hand through it. She watched his brown eyes sparkle in the winter sun, and was reminded of why he had ever caught her attention in the first place.

“You wanna talk about sobriety eh? Empty your pockets then y/n.” Her stomach filled with butterflies at the sound of his voice speaking her name, but she did as he asked.

“I’ll let you have some if you stop trying to get me on that deathtrap.” The girl sighed and he nodded, taking the flask when she offered it out.

“Nice doing business with you,” He winked and flew off.

The next week went by quickly, and y/n had pretty much forgotten about her worries with George. And now, sooner than any of them had realised, it was Christmas eve. Both twins had burst into the girl’s dorm to drag her out of bed, throwing her around the room until she threatened to vomit on both of them.

“Hurry and get dressed or we’ll miss breakfast.” They called, leaving her dizzy in the middle of the room.

Fred discussed their plans for the day while y/n drank endless cups of coffee, not having the stomach for any food. Not to mention, George had been staring at her for the past 10 minutes, making her too nervous to move much. She much preferred it when she had something stronger to drink.

“I heard from Harry that Ron fancies Hermione,” Fred spoke up, no longer interested in our day's activities. That was very him, he would make a decision then immediately change his mind.

“Well that’s obvious,” George scoffed, having yet another bowl of cereal. She wondered how he could burn off all that he ate. “He’s looks at her with stupid puppy eyes,”

“You have stupid puppy eyes,” The girl joked, earning a look from the twin.

“Oh really?” He laughed. “You practically pout whenever you want something from us?”

“At least it works for me,” I winked, making George choke a bit.

Fred laughed, rarely seeing his brother flustered. They’d discussed crushes before in the past, but y/n had never come up before. He watched the two of them tease one another over the table and thought that they suited each other in reality. Plus, he had never seen George pay as much attention to a girl as he had y/n, even ones that he’d admitted to liking.

That evening had proved Fred’s theory right as they once again sat in front of the fire, the three of them sharing a bottle of y/n’s muggle alcohol. It burnt like hell and tasted like shit, but they had never gotten drunk quicker so decided it was the logical choice.

George had made sure that y/n was warm enough, without expressing too much concern for her that she would notice. Fred had to hide his smug smile as he watched his brother start to flirt shamelessly with their newest friend.

“What do you mean Hogwarts is scary,” He had laughed, “We’re the only things to be feared.” Fred had added.

“And now you’re one of us!”

“As much as that is a very sweet sentiment,” The girl stroked their heads jokingly, like dogs. “But it’s when it’s quiet, like now. My dorm’s just me, and I had the silence. It feels like someone’s always watching.”

“Aww little y/n’s scared.” George had teased, reaching down to tickle the smaller girl. She kicked and wriggled but he was bigger and stronger and could hold her down.

Those hands, holding her arms in place. It almost threw her straight back into the memory of them in secret passageway, him gripping her as he kissed her neck. If it hadn’t been for the tickling, the boys probably would have noticed her shiver at the reminder. But it was lost in their laughter.

It wasn’t long before Fred decided he would give his, slightly older, brother a chance to talk to y/n alone. So he overemphasised his drunken state and wobbled up to bed, leaving the pair by the fire.

They sat in silence for a while, George letting the girl curl into his side as they passed the bottle between them. She watched his hands play with the sofa’s arm nervously and giggled slightly.

“What?” He asked, feeling the need to whisper amongst the silence.

“Nothing,” She dismissed.

“I’ve had fun this holiday,” y/n admitted.

“We have too,” George told her, smiling down sweetly. His top lip curled up ever so slightly, making her blush again like she had done the first time he’d noticed her. “It’s been better than being at home really.” He laughed.

“My family are pretty boring,”

“Oh I can tell,” y/n glared up at him. “I’m kidding darling don’t worry.” Her stomach did multiple flips, not only at the nickname, but at the way he took the arm that was around her shoulder and stroked her cheek. In fact, he didn’t stop. It just became normal after a few seconds, as if he’d always shown her this kind of affection.

“Why didn’t you go home this year?” He asked y/n.

“My parents are muggles, as you know,” she raised the bottle with a gentle laugh “they don’t quite get magic.”

“Oh right,” he was truly invested in her as she spoke, taking in every word with genuine interest.

“They were worried I would let slip to the rest of the family when they came to stay, and well, they haven’t really told anyone else about me.” y/n felt ashamed to be telling George about her family in such a negative way.

“That’s a shame,”

“I don’t mind, they’re just careful people.”

“Still, they should be proud. Not everyone can be a witch,” He laughed.

“I’ve had more fun here anyways, so I won’t complain.” She leant her head on him for a few minutes, watching the flame from the fire disappear over time.

“Can I ask you something?” George suddenly said, making her stiffen up. She just nodded.

“Do you remember, before the summer break, there was a party here?” It was the moment she had been dreading ever since the night itself.

“Uh, yes I do actually.” she gave in, seeing no point in lying to him.

“And you can remember us going off to-”

“Yes George,” she cut him off, embarrassed that she had never mentioned it to him.

“I never told anyone about it,” He told her, making the girl relax ever so slightly. “I didn’t want to just in case you were embarrassed.”

“Thanks, I wasn’t embarrassed as such. Just more scared, that you’d think it was a mistake.” Admittedly she had felt the same, but only because she presumed he would’ve never gone for her had he been sober.

“Why would you think that?” He asked.

“Come on George, we’re different.” The boy had always appreciated how she said his name, and even now it made him giddy with happiness. “You’re friends with every Gryffindor, and they all adore you. I would much rather have my head in a book all day every day.”

“Unless me and Fred are involved.” He wasn’t wrong.

“Yeah well that’s different,”

“Different how?”

“You two are fun,” she admitted.

“And everyone else isn’t?” He smirked.

“You know what I mean, it’s just different.”

“Because of me and Fred? Or… just me?”

She watched his face as he studied hers, taking a deep breath as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re only saying all this because you’re drunk,” y/n scoffed, getting up to leave but he took her hand and kept her sat down.

“Maybe, but that doesn't mean I haven’t been thinking about it.”

His eyes were deep and made the girl’s heart tense as he spoke genuinely. “I thought you hated me after that party, so I just never bothered you. Until Fred decided to befriend you, and then I got to know you and realised why I introduced myself that night.”

“Because you wanted to fuck me?” She watched his face get closer but remained unfazed, refusing to move away from him.

“Of course, but also because you’re beautiful and quiet. Not to mention I’d had a thing for you ever since first year, but you were always in the library and I never got that chance to know you well enough.” He explained softly, their faces now dangerously close.

George glanced down at her lips and y/n couldn’t help but blush.

“I should go to bed,” She whispered, not moving closer or further away.

“Yes you should.” He pulled back with a smirk, seeing her finally let out a much needed breath of air. “Don’t get too creeped out tonight,” He teased as she stood up and walked round the back of the sofa leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

“Come keep me company then you fool,”

With that y/n left, her footsteps going up to her dorm and into the room. George waited exactly a minute after the door shut, counting the seconds one by one. It felt like a lifetime until he reached 60, but then he stood up and smiled to himself. He made his way up the tower, one step at a time to try and make her wait a tiny bit longer. Ignoring the fact that he had been wanting to have his way with y/n ever since that night all those months ago. Having her around had been a joy, but it made his desire grow every time she smiled at him with those lips he couldn’t forget the feeling of.

The lips he noticed first when he opened up the door, not bothering to knock. She was sitting on her bed, just a nightdress on, waiting for him.

“God you’re gorgeous.” He had groaned, promptly closing the door behind him and taking off his shirt.

Y/n struggled not to drag him down as he stood over her body, his abs completely mesmerising her. She knew quidditch was good for something.

“You gonna stand there all night?” She teased.

“No, I’m gonna fuck you like I’ve been wanting to all month.” This time she couldn’t help but gasp at how his words made her feel, her thighs clenching together as a reflex.

George pushed them apart as he climbed on top of her, pressing a leg between her own two. Making the girl moan out at his mercy.

“You’re desperate aren’t you?” She nodded, giving him those perfect eyes he’d been teasing her about only that morning. He dragged his fingers over her face, lifting her chin up so he could run them down her neck. This simple action antagonised the girl, who struggled not to beg for him with each finger slowly gripping her tighter.

Soon he was squeezing, making her moan out effortlessly.

“Hmmm, I love those noises baby.” She could barely hold herself back from pushing herself against his thigh, that remained propped between her legs. It felt like heaven to be touched by him again, and she kept her head held back in ecstasy.

“Please George,” she whispered to him, although there was no real need for them to stay quiet. He slowly moved his mouth to her ear, kissing below it and making her jolt with pleasure.

“What is it darling?”

“Please touch me,”

He took the hand from her neck and pushed her down flat onto the mattress.

“Strip” he demanded, watching her closely discard her nightdress and throw it to the ground. George let her eye him up as he took off his trousers, finally revealing the extent of his bulge as it pressed tight against his boxers.

Y/n could feel it against her pussy as he moved back on top of her, her neck being sucked hard by the boy. He loved the way she reacted to every touch, every finger that ghosted her body, and every kiss placed upon her. It all garnered a gentle moan. George wanted to hear it more and more, he felt entranced by her noises and internally begged for it to never stop.

He pushed himself against her pussy, rubbing slowly with no rhythm to catch her off guard, which god it did. Y/n was all his in that moment, letting herself be whatever George needed as he teased her to the edge. Her breath held as the boy took two fingers and ran them from her neck, freeing her from that euphoric feeling just to replace it with yet another as he slipped them between her folds. Y/n threw her head back, unable to control herself as he played around with her, slipping one finger in and out.

His other hand propped his body up, his biceps big and tensed near her head. She reached up and gripped his arm, moaning out as he pushed in yet another finger inside her, knuckle deep.

“You’re perfect darling,” He told her, “I would have given anything to hear these noises weeks ago.” His voice was deeper than usual, almost a growl as he removed himself from her completely. She whined slightly, making him smirk with how powerless she was.

George reached down to pull out his cock, causing the girl to yet again almost choke. She was amazed at how thick it was. She could feel it perfectly in her memory, but it had been a while and she’d never really gotten a chance to see it in all its glory.

But now there it was, thick and big and waiting to be thrusted inside her. She locked eyes with the boy towering over her body as he teased her with his tip.

“Please George,” She begged, “Please.” Her grip was back on his arm, tightening as he pushed inside. He was drunk on power as she begged for him, begged for him to fuck her even better than he had done months ago.

“Relax baby,” He whispered, pushing it all the way in. The sound that y/n made was nothing short of a scream, finally feeling him all the way in. Her pussy was dripping wet, and gripping onto George’s cock like it was going to be taken away.

The boy pounded into her like he’d been wanting to, ruthlessly and all the while he kept a hand tight around her neck. He thought about how good she made him feel, how small she was compared to him. He loved being able to throw her around and use her as he pleased. But most of all, he loved that she enjoyed it too.

“G-george, George I’m gonna-” Her pussy tightened, making George falter slightly but he didn’t dare stop when she was this tight. Instead he thrusted faster, an animalistic pace, making her scream so much louder than he’d ever heard. Then he felt himself get closer, just from the way her body reacted and he chased that high within her.

“Cum inside me, please.” She begged breathlessly, struggling to keep her eyes open. But when George finally let loose in her pussy, she couldn’t help but widen her eyes in the pleasure of it.

The boy fell to her side, his head resting on the pillow beside her as he caught his breath back slowly. She watched him brush his hair from his face and sigh happily.

“What are you looking at?” George asked, wrapping an arm around her naked body and rubbing his hand against her side.

“I just think you look very cute,” She giggled, high from the feeling of him.

“I fucked you like that, and you call me cute?” He huffed, half joking.

“I can do what I like now, you like me.” She teased him.

“Come on, I’m gonna get enough teasing from Fred when we tell him. I don’t need it from you too.” He groaned.

The next morning, Christmas day, the pair were rudely awoken from their pleasant sleep by Fred bursting into the room.

“I knew it! I could’ve bet good money on you two!” He shouted, shaking his brother as if he hadn’t already heard him come in.

Y/n groaned and rolled under the covers.

“Come on lazy get up,” Fred pulled George out of bed and onto the floor, groaning at his naked brother.

“Good thing you got George before me,” Y/n called out from beneath the covers.

“Get dressed you idiots, there’s presents downstairs let's go!” Fred ran off again, leaving his brother to pull on some clothes. He leant down to pull the covers from y/n’s face.

She felt him place a kiss on her cheek and she giggled at the cold air.

“You getting up?” He asked, passing her a jumper to pull on. She nodded silently, rubbing her head. “Hungover?”

“A little,” She blushed at his messy hair.

“I’ll carry you then,”

The girl put on some pajama shorts and held her arms out for George to lift her off the ground. He groaned happily and took her down to the common room to find Harry and Ron already opening gifts sent from Mrs Weasley. Ginny came racing down not long after, begging Fred to give over her presents.

“These ones are for you y/n,” Harry said when she was plonked on the sofa, warmed by the fire’s heat.

“Thanks Harry,” She looked down at the tag on the packages.

Hope you’ve had a good holiday darling, see you in the summer!

Y/n had spent the best holiday anyone could ask for with her two best friends, and couldn’t imagine having to leave them when the summer came around. She frowned, but the boy with his arm still on her waist saw the note before she could unwrap anything.

“You’ll have to come home with us next summer, not a chance am I letting your parents steal you away.” He joked, but his offer was sincere. She never had to worry about George hiding her away like her parents had done.

#george wealsey x reader #george weasley #fred weasley #fred and goerge weasley #weasley twins #weasley #weasley family #smut #harry potter smut #weasley smut #george weasley smut #harry potter #christmas #seasonal #hogwarts

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 3 years

Text

Quiver (bbh)

Summary: You meet a man who seems to know nearly everything about you, save your name.

As with nearly every Baek fic I write, for @illneverrecover! Although she actually paid me for this one hahaha

Also thank you to my sister for betaing and making my gorgeous banner!

Warnings: angst, violence and death tw, unprotected sex, outdoors sex, oral sex (f. receiving), this is more soft and sad than horny tbh

Word Count: 10,219

Deja vu is something you don't feel very often, and so when it washes over you in a wave that leaves goosebumps on your flesh, you look around.

You're not sure what you're looking for, but you feel that when you find it, you'll know.

Your eyes fall on a man sitting at a table, looking down at a book. His hair is slicked back but with pieces falling into his face, and as if he knows you're staring, he looks up at you.

He has the warmest brown eyes, and something like a shock shoots through your heart. Your feet are moving before you realize it.

"Have we met before?"

He smiles, and your heart flutters.

"Maybe in another life."

His name, it turns out, is Baekhyun, and he works at some investment firm you've never heard of but it doesn't matter because he has the most endearing way of smiling at you while you're speaking to him.

You assume he has money because the car he leads you to is nice, not ridiculously so but expensive to upkeep, a foreign model that's sleek and your favorite color: red.

"Why red?" You ask, sliding into the leather seat of this stranger's car because you just know he's safe, somewhere in you.

He gives you that half smile again, the one that gives you something akin to deja vu.

"Reminds me of someone."

You wonder if you might fuck him on the first date, if coffee even counts as a first date, and it's the first time you've ever done that but when he makes you tea and you lean against his kitchen counter he gives you this look. It's like there's something dark and deep in his brown eyes, something both flirty and almost darkly lustful.

It makes your heart flip. It makes your body tingle. It makes you a little afraid.

But you've never been one to run from fear, especially when it's all wrapped up with excitement and lust.

When you're sitting on his couch and sipping tea he's swiveled his body toward you just slightly, open and inviting, but he doesn't make a move, just watches you, listens as you fill the silence, laughs when you make a face when you pick up his tea instead of yours, which is bitter and devoid of the sugar you love.

You make the first move, in fact, end up clutching at his shirt as you kiss his mouth over and over because it feels soft and his tongue is hot and it feels familiar.

His hands skate up your sides once, above your shirt, and then again, under it, and that feels familiar too, long fingers on your flesh.

"You haven't met your soulmate yet," the tarot reader said. You and a friend had visited her a few years ago, when you were half drunk at a carnival.

"At least," she'd continued, "not in this lifetime."

"Are you sure we haven't met before?" You ask, two weeks later when you've spent almost all

your free time with him, and most of it in his bed.

"Maybe in your dreams," he'd quipped, and you elbow him but he's already spooning you and you're too half asleep to do much damage.

"Always in mine," he says, softly, just as you're drifting to sleep, and you can't pry your eyes open long enough to ask what that means.

You start a fling of sorts with this mysterious man, and for the most part, you’re happy. But then you start having these dreams.

Sometimes, there’s fire on a wall in front of you and when you turn around it’s behind you, too.

You can feel your skin burning and you can barely breathe when you wake.

Sometimes there’s thunder booming all around you, lightning that streaks across the sky and you’re running and running toward someone, a man with warm brown eyes, but you can’t get there and when you look down you’re running in water up to your waist.

Always, he’s there. You suppose it’s because you and Baekhyun have been spending so much time together, that he’s in your head all the time as much as you hate to admit it.

Finally, he’s next to you in bed when you bolt upright, frightened by the thunder because it’s one of those fire dreams, one where you can feel the flesh on your arms crinkling, and it burns burns burns until it doesn’t, until you feel so cold you wake up shivering.

You’re afraid and disoriented and the dream all comes out in a rush — you tell him everything, small details about how you’re clutching a rosary in one hand, how the baubles on it popped n the flames, and he puts his arms around you, lets you bury your face in his chest as your heart rate slows down.

“Your name was Eva, then,” he murmurs, so quietly you’d think you were still dreaming.

Something about it rings true. You wonder if you’d heard that in the dream and told him still half asleep, so you nod against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into your neck after pulling you into his lap and it’s so mournful it almost frightens you.

“You can’t help my dreams,” you say playfully, trying to forget it, and he gives you the saddest smile.

“No, not those.”

You keep having those dreams, and they get more and more detailed and sometimes your name is Eva and sometimes it’s Yui and sometimes it’s Sarabeth and they’re all different, you look different, but you always feel how it ends.

And Baekhyun is always there. He looks the same, unlike you, and sometimes he’s your enemy, sometimes he’s your friend but most of the time, he’s your lover.

The dream that finally makes you confront him goes like this.

Your name is Angelica and your father was royalty but you’re just a bastard, your mother a commoner, a servant of the crown.

Once you’re old enough to have his eyes, you have to stay hidden like some fairy tale princess. Except you’re no princess in your dusty cabin, and you learn to hunt small game so that your mother doesn’t have to steal so much from the castle. It’s good that you learn, because your mother stops coming to the cabin and you learn that the plague has taken her.

The plague has taken nearly everyone, and you haven’t seen another person in months when you happen upon a man.

You have your bow drawn before he ever sees you, the string (made of rabbit sinew because it’s all you had, the bow made of oak that you’d chopped yourself) and arrow pointed straight and true.

He shifts, turns around and you hesitate just a moment when you catch his gaze, something familiar in his deep brown eyes. It’s long enough for him to draw his own bow, and he’s quick, quicker than you are, so you let your arrow fly.

His arrow flies a second after yours and they meet in the space between you, shredding each other in two.

You’d thought, then, that it was an omen.

Good or bad, you didn’t know.

You’d run back to the cabin and locked yourself in, but he’d followed you.

A few hours later, he knocked on the door and your heart started to race. Your mother had warned you what men could do to an unattended woman.

There was nothing else, though, and you waited half an hour to open the door.

A basket is sitting on the doorstep, and it contains dried meat and fresh cherries and peaches.

You hadn’t had fruit in years. There’s also a small bouquet of flowers, filled with dandelion fluff and baby’s breath, a few blossoms of lavender. It smells lovely.

You take your time eating the peaches, they have the sweetest juice that you let run down your chin like a child.

It’s been so long since you’ve eaten well that you overdo it and your stomach feels tied in a knot, but you’re smiling when you fall asleep that night, for what feels like the first time.

There’s another basket at the end of the week but he’s standing on the doorstep with it, smiling.

“Maiden, I was wondering if you had any water?”

“Will you draw your bow again when I turn my back?” You ask, wary, and he shakes his head, laughing softly.

“You drew yours first, maiden. I was surprised. The plague has taken so many it seems like I’m the only one left in all the world.”

He doesn’t look intimidating, doesn’t look as if he’s about to rush you, but you’ll be damned if you’ll let a strange man into your home, so you sit on the doorstep with him and eat the peaches he’d brought.

He watches the juice drip down your fingers, how you lick it off, with something in his eyes you haven’t seen before.

You sit and chat for a while, still wary, but he keeps looking at you like that, and you wonder if this is what it feels like, if this is what is to be wanted.

Three days and three dinners of peaches and dried meat later, you let him inside for a glass of water drawn from the well out back.

He drinks it down like he’s been thirsty for days, and you feel guilty for not letting him in earlier.

The way he licks his lips when he’s done makes something flutter inside your stomach and you put a hand there, low, almost on your pubic bone.

He watches every move you make, this mystery man who doesn’t have a hint of facial hair despite living in the woods, watches where you place your hands and fingers, how you move your mouth. He watches you as if you’re something fascinating, like watching fire burn wood down to embers.

When you were young, your mother took you to the Maypole festival, and all the children had been given these long sticks to dip in the fire, to twirl them around and make shapes in the night sky. You’d done it over and over until the stick was burned down too far and even then, you tried to dip it and burned your wrist.

He looks at you like you’d looked at the shapes you’d made with the lit stick. With wonder.

The first time he touches you it feels like the first time you’d felt warm water on your skin as a child, warmed on the fire with an iron pot, your mother spooning it over you slowly.

He touches you that way, slowly, murmuring bits of your name and it slides off his tongue like honey.

“Angelica. Angel,” he murmurs, right at the shell of your ear, and your bones seem to turn to jelly as you melt into him, your back against his chest.

Your mother had told you that one day you’d have a lover.

“Not a king,” she’d said, “but something more.”

You’d asked her what’s more than a king and she’d only smiled, held a finger to her lips as if the two of you shared a secret.

You did, your secret was that you existed, that your father was who he was and that your mother wasn’t his queen, at least not in name.

You tremble underneath his hands and when he turns you around, presses his mouth to yours, he does it slowly. You’re the one who grabs the back of his head, threads your fingers through the long hair at the nape of his neck, wanting him closer, so close, wanting to burrow inside him and live there because you’re aching for him all over and you don’t know what it means.

“Let me call you by your name,” you plead when he’s kneeling before you, pulling down your underclothes, spreading the curls at your core where you’re hot and aching and wet.

He shakes his head. “I have too many names.”

“Tell me one of them,” you beg.

He doesn’t answer, presses his mouth to your cunt and you gasp, tugging his hair hard and he makes a low groan, throat exposed, that makes something come awake in your lower stomach, something somehow both like fire and honey, hot and slow and sweet.

“Give me your name,” you demand.

One corner of his mouth turns up.

“My name is Love,” he tells you, and presses his face back into your cunt, inhales like he loves the scent of you, his hands spreading apart your thighs so roughly that you brace your hands on the table behind you.

It isn’t a name you’d heard any man to have, but maybe he isn’t a man, maybe he’s one of the fae your Irish born mother told you stories about when you were a girl.

Maybe that’s the something more your mother told you about your future lover after reading your palm when you were sixteen.

You hunt together, and you’re in awe of how quick he is with his bow, how he shoots straight through the heart of even the smallest animals, voles and rabbits that you roast over the fire and feast on while he tells you wild tales about his brothers and sisters.

One rules the sea, he tells you, with a magic trident. One makes lightning bolts for his father deep underground where there’s fire so hot it melts rock and stone.

You’re fascinated, sit for hours just watching his mouth as he speaks and sometimes you vault into his lap mid sentence, silence him with your mouth on his because you want want want.

Your mother had told you many things about your future lover, about how you should be demure just like a man wants, but you can’t even try, not with him. Not with your mysterious, many named, no named lover, because he presses your nails deep into his chest when you straddle his hips, hisses when you leave bite marks along his throat and collarbone.

You pretend to be demure sometimes, if only to make him frown, to make him throw you down on your bedclothes roughly, to bite your lip bloody.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have talons, angel,” he growled, and you can’t help the way you laugh loud and open, even with your legs spread wantonly.

Physical love isn’t at all like your mother had described it, and you wonder if she’d only ever been with the king, with a man who cared so little for his paramours that he’d allowed your mother to die alone in the slums, locking her out from the castle so that his heirs might live.

It isn’t something that you lie down and take the way your mother must have, sometimes it’s animalistic, feral like you’d seen horses mate at the castle’s stables when you were young.

You present yourself on all fours and he slides his hands down your ass, grabs the flesh there to part you, presses his face into your cunt until your thighs are shaking. It’s not love that you feel during those times, not exactly, more like that want want want that you feel so often with him.

Your breath catches when he pulls your hair, wraps it around his fist so that your back arches, so that you twist to look at him. Later, when you’re both sweaty and sated, that’s when the love comes, loud and blooming in your chest as he kisses the fingerprint bruises he’s left on your hips, his fingers gentle on your sensitive skin until your breath slows.

Love is a thing that blooms, you would write if you’d ever been taught how. Love is my man’s name and it’s blooming in me like spring flowers.

You go for walks to gather berries because you’re too busy fucking to hunt and you can get by on a few more fruits and you don’t want to wake him. Once you’d brought home rose petals for tea and a piece of a honey comb that had made his eyes light up.

He’d spread the honey across your nipples, suckled and nipped there until you were sore, and one day, you want that again, especially the way his brown eyes sparkled when he’d seen it.

You have a way with the bees, after all, a way of singing high and sweet that makes them buzz around you slowly instead of angrily.

You’re halfway down the path before you realize you’ve left your quiver and bow. Love (both the man and the feeling) makes you feel stupid, heady and slow, and you pause for a moment, wondering if you should turn back.

Instead, you head forward because it’ll be sunset soon and you won’t be able to find that tree, the one with the beehive and honeycomb that your man loves so much.

It happens so quickly it feels like an instant. You step out from the bushes after gathering some blackberries, so juicy they’ve stained your fingers, and the next thing you know, you’re on the ground. When you try to stand, you can’t, a pain blooming (a lot like love) through your stomach and you’re sure there weren’t any raspberries so what’s this red spreading out onto the ground?

You see your man’s boots, barely laced, before you see his face and someone behind you is stuttering but you hear the swish of your lover’s arrow, a choked, gurgling sound and then he’s knelt down at your side.

“Angel, angel,” he whispers, and he’s crying and you want to tell him not to because it makes you afraid.

What’s happened? What’s wrong?

You don’t realize you’re not actually speaking until he cradles your face, lies down in the dirt to face you, and everything but his touch, his eyes, seems far away and unimportant.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly. “I need you to remember. When next we meet, remember my name.”

You want to. You want to remember everything about him but you’re sure that you’re floating away now.

“Baekhyun,” he tells you. “My name will be Baekhyun.”

As an immortal, it's hard to remember every moment. Years and decades blur together. The only moments Baekhyun can call to mind in perfect recall are the first times he's seen you

For a while, he’d thought Rome might be the worst lifetime he’d ever have.

He knows what he’s supposed to do, knows it’s his job, but he can barely ever bring himself to do it.

In Rome, you’re excited, young, bouncing around with your hair braided. Fire red, always red, always as fiery as your personality. “Eros, right? God of love.”

He’d smiled, wondering if he looked as tired as he felt. “You think I’m a god? I’m flattered.”

You scoff, swirl your dress around as you turn, speaking with your hands as always and his heart aches with how familiar it all is. “Don’t think that means you’re special.”

Baekhyun cocks an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes. Means that you’re here to help me fall in love.”

“Is that so?” He can’t stop smiling at you, despite knowing what will inevitably happen next.

“Mmhm.” You’d taken his hand, flipped your braid over to the other side of your shoulder. He always tries. He always tries, gods damn it, damn his father and his brothers and sisters, he tries.

But there’s always this moment, where you take his hand, or brush your knuckles against his lips just so, or you just look at him up under your lashes, and the arrow he’s supposed to be aiming feels like it goes straight through his heart.

“I have someone in mind.”

It’s like the arrow in his heart twists, and gods know his arrows have always been true and fatal.

Your smile is so bright, and his heart is so full but it hurts at the same time and what a curse this is, to be able to fall in love with you so easily but have you fall for someone else just as fast.

He tells himself that he won’t try to change your mind, that he won’t let himself get close to you as you go on this search for your true mate.

You’d been childhood sweethearts, you and your match, but he’s been called away to war and you’ve been in mourning ever since.

He’s a god, but he is the god of love, after all, and with all your heart you believed that you loved another. He tells himself he’s doing the right thing… for the third time.

The first time, when it had all started, he’d fallen in love with you and seduced you and you’d forgotten all about your true match and it had all ended in fire and blood.

In Rome, in your third lifetime, he tells himself he won’t let that happen again. So when you put your hand on his thigh when you crouch down to drink on your journey, he wills his skin not to heat and his heart not to skip.

Three weeks in and you’re exhausted, your feet are swollen and bleeding from all the walking and you slide into his furs instead of your own, press your face against his chest.

“Maybe he’s gone,” you say, quietly, and Baekhyun is as still as death, telling himself he doesn’t want to lean down to kiss you, to tell you that it doesn’t matter where your sweetheart is because he’s here and ready and he wants you more than anything.

“We’ll find him,” he promises, and it’s a promise he keeps, even when you press your mouth to his and he takes it, this small comfort, until you fall into a fitful sleep.

Greece was bittersweet, because you found your match in the end and Baekhyun shot his arrow hoping that he’d miss. But his arrow was true, shot straight into the heart of your paramore.

You found your true match, fell in love, had children, and Baekhyun could have gone. Could have sailed away at sea, gone anywhere in the world. But even in Greece he’d spent three lifetimes with you (in one way or another) and he can’t bring himself to be more than a few miles away from you.

Instead, he’d watch you playing with your daughter in the garden, watch you kiss your husband, laughing into his mouth when he picked you up.

He watched you grow old, have grandchildren, plant roses that still never bloomed. You were never a gardener, no matter how you tried. It’s odd, how happy he feels for you, and how his heart clenches in his chest, how hard he wishes it were him.

He would never grow old, and he would never have you more than a few fleeting weeks, months, once even two wonderful years. Eros is love, and love isn’t supposed to fall in love.

So when he did, all those years ago, his father cursed him to find your match, over and over and over. It was you then and it’s you in Greece and Rome and England and Portugal and a thousand other countries that didn’t even have names when he’d met you there.

He’d thought Greece would be the worst because of the longing, because of the jealousy that brewed vile in the back of his throat, but Rome was much worse.

The Church ruled everything and at first Baekhyun thought that was normal. After all, when he was young he and his family had ruled everything. These are just different gods, although perhaps harsher ones.

They called you a harlot because of the fire red of your hair, the way you wore dresses slit up to your hip, the way you'd laugh if someone asked the last time you'd gone to confession.

"You should go to Mass," he'd warned with a lock of that fire red hair slipping through his fingers.

You'd smiled at him. "Why's that, lover? You want to hear my confession?"

He tugs your hair, exposing your throat as you let out a raspy moan, grinding against his thigh.

"What have you to confess, stellina?”

(Of all the languages and all the pet names he'd called you, stellina is his favorite, translates to star, and you burn so bright and beautiful it breaks his heart.)

"Impure thoughts," you muse. "Fornication before marriage.”

You pause. "This might take some time, amore."

You slide down under the linen, leaving open mouthed kisses and nips on his hip bones and thighs, and he forgets what he was going to warn you about.

(He loves any term you call him, in Spain mi corazon, in England love, in German liebling. But his true favorite is when you learn his name, his true name.)

You die fighting, that lifetime, clawing at the priests who’ve decided a witch needs baptism, holding you under the water until you finally stop, your nails broken and bloody.

Baekhyun finds you there, hours too late because he’d been sleeping off the night before, when he’d warned you about Mass, when you’d both stayed up all night, love talk and making love and a good deal of fucking, too, and he hates himself.

Hates that even though he is what he is, he needs sleep and food and water. He hates himself when he lifts you up, your fire red hair darkened by the water, hates himself when he kisses your bloody nails one by one and buries you behind the garden where you used to plant roses that never bloomed.

He hates himself most because it never gets easier, seeing you die, never gets easier knowing that he can’t, that he’s cursed to do this over and over.

In 1402, in Malaysia, you’d just had two streaks of red locks in the front, tendrils that stuck to the sides of your face when you were sweating, and you’re sweating when he first sees you, although you hit him before he ever sees your face.

You’d dropped down from a tree branch, locked your arms around his neck and cut off his airflow. It isn’t as if you could have killed him, but he respects it, all the same. You’ve got this little knife and you slice his throat but it doesn’t bleed, closes up as you watch and you drop to your knees, wide eyed but still, not submitting. Even when you know he’s a god, you never submit. At least, not that way.

Later, he kisses all the scars on your forearms and wrists, defensive wounds from battles and scuffles with the male soldiers who’d found you out.

"I never let them break me," you'd said, proudly, but there's something behind your eyes that makes him want to slaughter all the male soldiers in their sleep, bring you their heads, a sacrifice like the old gods had demanded.

As he had once demanded, before he met a human girl with an immortal soul full of fire and was punished for worshipping her.

Now it's 2021 and he's been through so many years, and he's tired. He's changed his name, over and over, from Eros to Cupid to then more common names.

He's been Baekhyun the last four lifetimes because you seem to like it, it makes you giggle in 1924 when your red (always red, red like fire and blood and love and all things that are important to him) hair was bobbed and you were wearing a black sequined dress at a speakeasy.

"Baek," you'd laughed, tipsy, one hand on his arm and he couldn't stop smiling at you. "Almost like Bark, like a dog."

"I'll be whatever you want me to be," he'd answered, flirting but also honest. He'd always been whatever you wanted because he got so few years with you, each time.

"You'd be my dog?" Your eyes sparkled with booze and excitement.

He nodded. "Follow you around like a puppy."

When you'd given him an incredulous smile, he'd opened his mouth in the middle of a packed speakeasy in New York City and barked like a dog.

The way you'd laughed is something he can hear in his dreams years later, tries to make it the memory he remembers most instead of the ones where you'd died screaming.

Now, there are no more gods who want you for sacrifice, all of his kind who were vengeful had gone silent, moved on or passed on, including his father who'd cursed him in the first place.

He's hoping, every lifetime, that this is where it ends. He's hoping that this time he doesn't have to tell you.

He's wrong, just like he had been in 1425 and 1604 and 1976. The curse outs itself, as curses always do.

You sit up in bed, watching him sleep and shivering, for what seems like hours after that dream.

He wakes slowly, but scrambles up into a seated position as soon as he’s fully conscious, being careful not to touch you.

“Do you remember?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumble, even if you have a feeling you do.

“At some point, you always remember.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you so goddamn cryptic?” Your voice is hoarse and loud.

He nods, as if expecting your outburst.

“Sometimes you’re not ready to hear.”

You want to scream in frustration. “Hear what?”

“What I am. What we are.”

“And what are we?”

“Immortals.”

You gawk at him. He makes it sound so simple, like he’s talking to a child.

“You’re an immortal?”

“You, too.” He pauses. “Well, in a different way.”

“So what, you’re telling me that was real? My dream? Angelica?”

Baekhyun lets out a long breath, shifts on the bed to face you.

“You were Eva. Angelica. Yui. In Greece I called you stellina. You’ve had more names than I have.”

You look up into his eyes and if he’s lying, he deserves an Academy award for the performance.

“What… what are you?”

You aren’t sure if you’re frightened or intrigued or both.

Baekhyun smiles then, wryly.

“Eros. Cupid. Angelica simply called me Love.”

“You’re telling me you’re like... the god of love? The one with the arrows?”

He looks as if he wants to laugh at you but wisely, he doesn’t. Instead he nods.

“Is it… is it always like it was when… when I was Angelica?” You ask, breathing in deeply because you remembered the pain in your chest, the way the blood spread out on the dirt in your lucid dream.

“Almost always,” he says softly, and reaches out to put his hands on yours.

You would have thought you would have flinched away but instead, his touch seems to comfort you and you lean into him.

“What happens when I don’t?” You ask, curiously, and something shutters over his eyes.

“You’re happy.” He rubs your knuckles between his fingers.

It’s a lot to take in and you have a million more questions but also, you can’t think of a single one that you can put into words. You pace around the bedroom and when that’s not enough, your entire apartment, and then outside to the elevator and back and he stays put, sitting cross legged in bed and looking at you with those deep brown eyes.

Finally, you plop down on the edge of the bed, exhausted.

“So what do we do?”

He just looks at you, again with that bemused smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

“How do we fix it?” You demand.

Instead of responding, he takes your hands in his again, brushes his lips across your knuckles but this time you do recoil.

“I’m not going to die horribly again. You can’t want that.”

“Of course I don’t,” he murmurs, and you want a reaction, something other than the way he’s just looking at you so you shove him and he just lets you, falls back on the bed when you do it a second time.

“You just keep letting me die?” You accuse, crawling up onto the bed and he makes a growl in the back of his throat, grasps your wrists with one of his hands and pins you when you try to shove him again.

“I never let you die. I try over and over and over to save you, but I can’t. The only way I can save you is by finding-”

He looks away from you, shuts his mouth with a click of his teeth and you wriggle under him.

“Finding what?” You insist.

He lets you go, rolls over and puts his forearm over his eyes.

“Your true match. In all the lifetimes that you’ve lived to old age in, I shot my arrow to find your true match.”

You deflate, lying there next to him and staring up at the ceiling.

“So you’re saying in order to live like a normal person, I have to fall in love with someone else?”

“Yes,” he says miserably. After a few moments, he lifts his arm and opens one eye to look at you. “Got anyone in mind?”

You shove at his arm, but not as hard this time, and he breaks into a smile, takes you into his arms. You melt against him, just like before, because that’s what feels right, that’s what feels natural.

“That happened? Before?” You ask, stroking his hair and usually he preens at the attention, leans back to kiss you but now he buries his face in your hair, avoiding your gaze.

He murmurs something in affirmation and kisses just under your earlobe.

“You found someone else for me?”

He nods, still not lifting his head, and you huff out a breath, wanting some kind of reaction out of him.

“Was he hot?”

Baekhyun groans and laughs, rolls over onto his back. ‘You always do this.”

“Always do what?” You demand, poking at his side. “You know all these things about me...or well, some version of me, and I don’t know anything about you.”

He looks at you, smiling just a little. “You know everything about me.”

You huff, frustrated. “It doesn’t feel like it. I want to know more. I want to know how I died, why I died, what all this means.”

To his credit, Baekhyun tries to explain it to you. The curse, his family, but it’s all twisted up in your mind with these memories you have of him in past lives, of being so in love with him you can barely breathe, wanting him so badly you can barely sit still, and it ends with you tearing off his clothes and him laughing into your mouth as you guide him inside you.

After, you’re contrite, kissing along his collarbone.

“I don’t want you to find anyone else for me.”

Baekhyun makes a sound in the back of his throat and you don’t know if it’s surprise or something else.

“I don’t want anyone but you,” you continue, orgasm drunk and with this fire burning under your skin, remembering how Angelica felt, how Yui felt, moving closer to him on the bed because you can’t bear to have your skin not touching his in every place you can.

He pulls you on top of him, kissing you after you squeal in surprise and your lips feel swollen and bruised already but it’s the sweetest ache.

“I don’t think I could, even if you asked,” he admits, and something about the way he says it makes you proud, makes your heart swell. His hands skate over your upper arms and his touch gives you goosebumps.

“No?” You shift to spread your thighs, liking the way he hardens under you with just the barest movement.

Baekhyun shakes his head, his tongue coming out slowly to lick his lips. You see that you’ve bitten his bottom lip bloody and it sends a shot of heat through you.

“Usually I never found anyone else for you, not after I’d touched you. I started out meaning to find someone for you. Touching you first… having you first… it makes things complicated.”

You don’t speak but shift again and it seems to spur him on.

His face is flushed and it’s cute, makes you smile.

“You know why.”

“Do I?” You’re grinning now, like the cat that ate the canary, and he groans but he’s smiling.

He sits up suddenly, bracing himself against the headboard and he puts his hands on your hips to move you backwards so that his half hard erection sits right at the cleft of your cunt and when you gasp and try to guide him inside you, he tightens his hands with a slight shake of his head.

“You gonna make me say it?”

“You know I am.”

You gasp when he puts pressure on your clit with his thumb, humming in the back of his throat.

“I’ve loved you for centuries, and I’ll love you for centuries more, stellina.”

“What does that mean?” You gasp, your insides on fire with lust and love and full to bursting, rocking your hips forward and he gives you what you want, puts more pressure on your clit and lets you guide his cock inside you.

“Star,” he says softly, moving a hand up to cup your cheek. “Because you burn.”

You do burn, you burn inside and out and you want to tell him that you burn for him but he sticks his thumb in your mouth, presses down on your tongue just how you like and all you can do is moan around it.

He keeps his other thumb positioned just right so that you can rock against his hand and lift your ass so that his cock slides against your g-spot and you suck on his thumb until he hisses and bucks beneath you, moving so that you can lean down and kiss him hard, brace your hands on either side of him so that you can get more traction.

You’re sure that you’ll be sore in the morning, ever since you’ve met him (in this lifetime, at least) you’ve been in some type of bittersweet pain, an ache across your throat, soreness in your thighs and hips and ass where you’ve been riding him, a rawness deep inside from too much sex and not enough rest.

There’s never enough, never enough of your sweat misted skin sliding across his, never enough of his hand fisted in your hair, of his cock at the back of your throat, of his fingers hooked inside you. The past couple of weeks you’ve only left his apartment for work and a few changes of clothes (not that you wore them much, anyway).

It makes you feel more sane, knowing that you’ve wanted him this way in other lifetimes, makes you feel like the way you feel makes more sense, because you were beginning to think you were going crazy.

It isn’t as if he’s some kind of sex god, exactly, he just seems to know exactly what you like, exactly what you want, right away. That makes a kind of sense, now, how even when you’re on top he knows exactly what to do and say to get you to tip over the edge.

“I love the way you look like this,” he rasps, looking up at you as if maybe you are a star exploding and it isn’t just some nickname he gave you in Rome. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You cry out his name, throwing your head back when you cum and he palms his hands across your breasts and the stimulation across your nipples sends an aftershock through you right after. You’re like a ragdoll for a few moments after your orgasm and he shifts you around just like one, using you to get off and you kiss and kiss and kiss him, loving the way it feels when he spills inside you.

You say it then, maybe because he said it to you first or maybe just because your heart is full to bursting with it.

“I love you.” It’s almost defiant. “I love you, and I don’t want to love anyone else.”

He strokes your cheek where you’re still lying on top of him.

“I don’t know if we get a choice, stellina.”

There’s always questions when you find out, and Baekhyun is prepared for them. There’s often questions that hurt, somewhere deep in his bones, questions you’d asked over and over again.

Sometimes you’re curious about your other perfect matches, and that stings. Sometimes you want to know about your deaths, and those are hard memories to bring to the surface.

The question that always hurts the most, though, is the one you ask after you’ve both showered, lying sated and exhausted in his bed, the curtains blacking out the sun outside.

“Did we ever have children?”

You’re rubbing your stomach and there’s something caught in his throat and he has to cough to clear it.

“We didn’t. You did. Sometimes.”

You look up at him and frown. “With my true match?”

Baekhyun heaves a sigh so deep it hurts his chest. “With him, yes.”

You pause. “Was it the same guy? Same… soul, I guess?”

Baekhyun nods slowly, his heart sinking, but you don’t ask anything more, you just lie your head on his shoulder.

He wonders what you’re thinking, wonders where it branches off from here. He’s been here so many times before. He feels more tired than he should.

But instead of asking more questions or storming out crying or any of the things you’d done after you’d found out, you start to snore softly, curled up next to him.

Baekhyun wonders idly if he’ll be able to sleep, but he’s drifting off before he’s even completed the thought.

When he wakes, you’re gone, and he scrambles out of bed in his boxers to pace around the house. He can feel you aren’t around and it’s like a hole in his chest. It’s always been that way, he knows when you’re close and when you’re not, and you must be miles away because now, there’s nothing.

When he checks his phone you’ve texted that you’ll be back with food. He’s shocked that it’s nearly noon, it hadn’t even been sunset when he’d dozed off.

Perhaps immortals can be just as bone tired as mortals, sometimes. After a dozen lifetimes of fighting, he doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

He waits for you, sitting on the couch and idly flipping through the channels, and he thinks about when it all ends. His father had moved on, had no one worshipping his name anymore, and it isn’t as if school children are learning much about Eros, Cupid relegated to only one day out of a year with awful sour sweet candy and paper mache hearts. He’s stored his bow a few hundred miles away, hoping that this lifetime he wouldn’t need it, hadn’t actually found a true match for anyone but you in centuries.

Baekhyun wonders, with no real sense of urgency or fear, if this is the last lifetime. There’s a kind of exhaustion he’s never felt before that seems to weigh him down, and he’s finding it hard to care about anything but you. He hopes it happens before you pass, before the curse ends your life too young and too violently. He wants to move on and set you free, because he knows he can’t resist you for more than a couple of lifetimes. He’s tried too many times and failed.

You return bright eyed and with half a dozen books and a notebook, a pen pinched between your teeth.

At your urging he goes out to the car and brings in the breakfast you’d bought and you spread your books across the table.

“Greek and Roman Mythology for Dummies.” He reads aloud, laughing, and you look up at him from the floor and frown.

“Don’t judge me, this is all new to me.”

He holds up his hands. “Not judging. What’s all this for?”

“I’m going to find a way to end the curse, of course.”

Baekhyun sits down hard on the couch. “Oh.”

“What does that mean?” You demand, your nose scrunching up just a little.

He can’t help but smile at you, and he shrugs.

No reason to shoot down your hopes. Not yet, at least.

Four hours later, your eyes red rimmed from staring at books and your laptop screen, you jump onto the couch and into his lap.

“I found it!” You screech, and kiss all over his face.

Baekhyun smiles, kisses you back, and you make love there on the couch. You want to be bent over, his hand on the small of your back to keep you over the couch arm, up on your tiptoes and making a little grunting noise every time he thrusts into you.

Baekhyun may be exhausted after all this time but he never gets tired of this. He never gets tired of you.

Your moans are muffled in the couch cushions but he hears his name, the one he always uses with you, ever since you were Angelica and that hunter’s arrow had pinned you to the ground.

Baekhyun is tired. He’s tired in a way he’s sure no human ever could be. He’s tired of all the times he’s lost you, to your true match and then worse, to death, and he’s tired of living them over and over again.

But when you stand up, twist his face to kiss him, your eyes bright when you grin against his mouth, he thinks that it’s all been worth it.

You’re always worth it, and the thought of getting to meet you again, another you, is all it takes for him to keep going.

It takes a few months to get the time off work, match up travel plans, and get supplies.

Supplies meaning mostly travel gear and light clothes and a passport, the place you need to get to is high up on a cliffside in Northern Greece.

Baekhyun’s supportive enough, you guess, but you feel a bit nervous about his lack of excitement when you’re finally there, in Greece, at a gorgeous resort near the cliffside. Money hadn’t been a problem. Apparently when you’re immortal you manage to accrue a bit of savings.

“Aren’t you happy? Doesn’t this feel like home?”

Baekhyun laughs, loud and open, for what seems like the first time since you’d found out.

“This isn’t my home, stellina. I’m older than Greece.’

You blink, shocked. “But you are Eros.”

He nods. “I’m Eros, and Cupid, and Ishtar, and Kuni. Many gods and goddesses, different names. My duty and purpose was always the same, but I’ve never had a home. Except with you.”

He brushes your cheek with his nose and you sigh, hate that the way he says that so simply, as if it’s the whole truth, makes your heart clench.

“Still, you remember being here.”

Baekyun nods, staring out at the sea, reliving some life you only half remember.

You don’t ask many more questions, at least not until the next day when Baekhyun is listlessly pulling on his clothes and you’re tugging at his hands, excited, wanting to hurry and have this curse looming over your head end, so that you can stop thinking about it.

“Why aren’t you happier about this?” You pout, but you quiet when he looks up at you, his usually warm brown eyes dull and exhausted.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” You ask, softer now.

Baekhyun shrugs. “Some.”

Then he grins at you and there’s a flicker of life in his eyes. “I’m a very old man, you know. I need my rest.”

It makes you laugh, makes you forget, and you don’t think of it again until you’re hiking up the trail, about an hour’s long journey to reach the top.

He’s behind you by a few hundred feet and you frown at him, waiting until he reaches you. You’ve never seen him out of breath.

You take his hand, tug him further up the trail but it’s only a few moments before he stops, bracing himself on a tree near the trail.

“Stop,” he wheezes, and you do, tilting your head at him in confusion.

“Baekhyun, we have to-”

“Just stop,” He insists, and you’d think he was angry if his voice weren’t shaking.

“Why? What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?” You fire off at him, moving closer, and he shakes his head.

You take his chin in your hand and force him to look at you.

His brown eyes are still as tired as earlier, and wet now, too.

“I don’t want to do this again,” he manages hoarsely.

You take a step back. “Have we done this before? Have we been here before?”

Baekhyun doesn’t answer, but there’s a truth in his silence.

Your eyes begin to well with tears. “So what? Maybe this time it’ll work, maybe this is different-”

“It’s not different. In France you were called Jacqueline and we came here. You read books about it, forced me here just like you did this time. You were so certain it had worked.”

You shake your head but he keeps talking.

“You were so certain that after a couple of months, I was certain too. Three months later, there was a bus accident.” His voice breaks and he’s quiet again and you feel like you can’t breathe properly for the ache in your throat.

“We don’t know that will happen again.”

“I know!” He bursts out. “I know it will happen because it does, over and over again! Listen, we should go back to the hotel. I can get my bow out of storage and-”

“No!” You cry, stalking over to him. “No, that’s not the way to fix this.”

Baekhyun laughs bitterly, and he won’t look at you. “There’s no way to fix this.”

“You don’t know that,” you say stubbornly. “Whoever I’ve been in the past, I’ve never been this person, and I know I can fix it.”

He pushes himself away from the tree as if it takes effort to do it. “You always say that,” he says, and he doesn’t sound angry anymore, just tired.

You’re angry, heat rushing through your veins, and you don’t know if it’s at him or the fact that some ancient curse has decided to come through your life like a brushfire.

You push at him and he doesn’t fight back, doesn’t even keep you from pushing him against the tree.

“You don’t care, is that it? You’re what, bored of this? You want to get your bow so you can get rid of me?”

His jaw tightens and he looks away from you. “Maybe I do.”

You push him again and he has nowhere to go, backed up against the tree so he just takes it, stands there.

“Coward.” You spit. “You’d rather match me with someone else. You’d rather let someone else-”

“Stop it,” he says, something like a warning in his voice and you want to laugh or cry or both.

“Look at you. You can’t even hear me say it, but you’re going to marry me off like some 14th century child bride-”

“I’m not-” Baekhyun huffs, then stops, runs his hand through his hair. “He’s your true match. You… you always love him, when you meet him.” He struggles with the last sentence but he maintains eye contact, jaw working.

“Fuck my true match. And fuck you if that’s your answer to this.” You rage.

He doesn’t speak. “You’re always happy when you find him.” His voice is weak and it sounds like a weak excuse to your ears and you’re shaking with anger and fear.

You have this memory, sudden and sharp like a knife.

You're in this stone room, an inn you think, and you're half asleep but you can hear a low murmur from the room. It's familiar, from your traveling companion of the last few weeks.

His name is on your lips as you sit up but he's pacing around the room, not paying any attention to you. The way he's talking to himself makes you worried.

"You have to do this. You have to, you know you do," he mutters and there's something liquid in his voice.

Suddenly he slaps himself across the face and you yelp his name, stand up to take his wrist in your hand.

"Baekhyun," you whisper. "What are you doing?"

His face is flushed and his eyes look so tired, so worn, like he's lived a thousand years.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he manages, pulling away from your touch as if you'd burn him.

A few days later, his hands are shaking when he draws his bow, and your eyes are on him instead of your true match.

"Wh-what if you miss?" You whisper.

Baekhyun smiles but he won't look at you. "I don't miss."

He doesn't, but part of you wishes he had.

The memory just makes you angrier, makes you want to push him again.

“Am I? And what about you? What about you, Baek, are you happy without me? Are you happy giving me away?”

He scoffs, finally looking at you.

“No, really. Tell me. You must be happy giving me away because you want to do it so badly-”

“I hate it!” He bursts out. “I fucking hate it, every single time. I hate the way you look at him. I even hate how happy he makes you. I should be happy giving you away so that you can be safe, so that you can have the family that you want, but I fucking hate it.”

“Why do you hate it?” You demand to know, tears streaming down your face.

“You know-” he starts and you shake your head.

“I need you to tell me.”

Baekhyun puffs out his cheeks, he does that when he’s frustrated, when he wants to scream but you don’t have time to think about how cute it is right now.

“I hate it because I love you. I hate it because whoever your true match is, you’re mine.” He says, finally, heaving in a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

“Because I’m yours,” you parrot back at him, and his mouth opens, brows furrowed in a frown.

He takes a step toward you, now, but you don’t back away, and you don’t flinch when he takes your hips in his hands, tugs you toward him, claiming your mouth.

You claw at him, can’t help yourself and you don’t care that brambles are scratching your legs when he lies you down on the ground, don’t care because he’s panting your name into your ear, your name, not all those previous yous. You don’t care because you’ve chosen him, despite whatever the gods had determined to be your “true match.”

“We have to do this,” you tell him as you’re adjusting your clothes and he’s still lying there, panting.

He nods, as if humoring you, but he isn’t as listless when he starts back up the trail with you, keeping up with you and stealing kisses and making small talk.

You’re sweating by the time the two of you reach the top of the mountain, and when you look back, Baekhyun has fallen behind a bit, struggling up the hill.

You startle when thunder cracks overhead, sudden and close, but you walk back down the path to him, put your hand on his arm and he’s trembling.

“We’ve never made it this far,” he says, voice hoarse. “I don’t know what will happen next.”

“We don’t ever know what happens next, Baekhyun, but you know what happens when we don’t.”

Baekhyun shakes his head. “Not if you let me get my arrows, we can stop all of this, we can-”

“No!” You yell. “No, shut up about that, I can make my own choices!”

You tug on his arm and he stumbles forward only a few steps before stopping again and you can see the circle of stones at the top of the hill, where you’re supposed to stand according to the legends, and you haven’t done weeks of research and travelled across the world for nothing.

You take his hand in yours, squeeze, and look into his eyes.

“It’s okay,” you promise, and you have no idea what’s about to happen and it’s raining now, cold against your skin, but you know that you have to do this.

Baekhyun looks at you and there’s nothing in his eyes but fear and uncertainty but you tug at his hand again anyway and this time he follows without resistance.

It happens so quickly after that.

You step into the circle first, and he pauses, hesitating before breaking the barrier by stepping over one of the irregular stones. The second he does, lightning cracks above your head and you cry out, frightened.

Baekhyun grabs you out of instinct or some desire to protect you and you go down, scraping your elbows against the rock and sand as you try to catch yourself. Baekhyun puts his hands on either side of your head and it’s raining so hard that it’s all you can hear, that and the thunder, and there’s lightning everywhere, lighting up his features as he looks down at you.

“I was never strong enough to do this before,” he says, nearly yelling over the storm. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t-”

He’s cut off by another crack of lightning and he seems to be… lighting up, somehow, some glow that you think is from the lightning but then you see it’s coming from inside him. He arches his back, his face lined with pain and you realize something’s happening, something bad but when you reach up to touch him, he’s giving off so much heat that the tips of your fingers burn.

“Baek,” you whisper, and he manages to focus on you again. When he does, his face… it isn’t his face, but somehow you recognize it anyway and it keeps changing, cycling through all the lifetimes you’ve shared together.

“I’ve been so many things,” he says, and his voice is strong even over the chaos. “but I’ve always been yours.”

He manages to touch his forehead to yours and you’re terrified by the storm and what’s happening and especially how it seems to pain him to even move, how he’s glowing brighter and brighter until your eyes start watering.

He says your name but it’s your name and Jacqueline and Eva and Yui and so many others, all wrapped into one, and kisses you, the bright light coming from him forcing your eyes shut as he gets closer.

When you open them, there’s no sound of the rain or thunder and the ground under you is dry, as if you’d imagined it all.

But you can taste the rainwater in your mouth. You can still taste him there, too, but he’s gone.

You scramble up, yelling out his name and there’s nothing, just the sound of the birds in the trees. Moments before, the sky had been black, but now it’s sunny again.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the tears running down your throat as you stumble down the path.

You’re sobbing by the bottom of the path because there’s nothing, no evidence he was even there at all. You’re remembering what he said, how he said you’d never been that far before, but you’re wondering if he’d known, anyway.

You’re wondering if breaking the curse means that he has to die and how all of this is your fault your fault your fault.

There’s a sound in the woods and you barely realize it until there’s a man standing next to you.

“Miss? Are you all right?”

You sniffle, looking up at him, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Baekhyun, just the same, wearing the wet and sandy clothes he’d been wearing just a few moments ago, but something’s wrong and you can’t rush to him like you want to.

“Baekhyun?”

He rubs the back of his neck, smiles a little sheepishly. “Is that my name? I seem to have forgotten it. I think… I think I got lost.”

You think about how this feels, how there’s not a single light of recognition in his eyes and it feels like your chest has cracked wide open. You think about how he must have felt this, over and over again, and understand why he didn’t want you to have to feel it.

You take a deep, shaky breath and wipe at your eyes with the heels of your hands.

“You’re not lost,” you tell him, and take his hand.

Baekhyun looks down at your hand in his and then back up to you, a smile breaking across his face. “No, doesn’t seem like it anymore.”

You’re trying not to cry as you lead him back to the resort when he stops and you turn back to look at him.

“I know this might seem like an odd question, but… have we met before?”

It hurts but you crack a smile anyway, remembering how he’d done this for you over and over, remembering what he’d said to you a few months ago.

“Maybe in another life.”

#supermnet #noonasinnetwork #byun baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x reader #super m imagine #exo imagone #baekhyun imagine

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gamerwoo · 3 years

Text

[Tales from the Pack] Chan: Homewrecker (Part Two)

Characters: Chan x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, a little fluff, angst, abusive relationship stuff

Word count: 2,728

Summary: Chan caught your attention as soon as your eyes met across the market. Something about him drew you to him, and you knew you were meant to be. However, you were already taken and arranged to be married on your next birthday, so you could never be together.

Previous | Next | Homewrecker Masterlist

Chan had been wanting to see you all week, but between Luhan and Dae coming to visit to see Eunjin, and then her and her mate going to visit Jiung and his pack for a few days, he felt it was best to stay with the pack rather than go out to the market where he could possibly get himself into even more trouble if he were caught -- he did try to change his appearance like his brothers who had been spotted by people in town, but there was still a chance of getting caught. But as soon as the couple had returned safely from their trip, he went straight to the market to go in search of you.

You returned every day, half because you wanted to get away from your family and their plans for your marriage, and half because you wanted to see the strange boy that had caught your eye. There was just something about him that made you feel…something. You didn’t know what it was, but you knew it was a good feeling.

To your dismay, nobody had shown up all week. You wandered the booths for hours and hours, but you never saw any sign of any of the strange boys from earlier that week. You felt like you wouldn’t actually ever see them again, but what did you expect with your awful luck?

You’d been at the market all day, and judging from the sun in the sky, it seemed to be about mid-afternoon. You had hardly eaten, so you went up to a stand to grab something to eat. Fishing in the pocket of your dress for money, you felt a presence beside you.

“I’ll take care of this,” the voice said before holding a hand out to the vendor, giving them a bill. You stopped what you were doing and turned to the stranger, coming face to face with a grinning Chan as he looked down at you, “Hello again, _____.”

You almost gasped at how happy you were to see him, and your excitement almost had you tossing your arms around his neck in a hug. Instead, you began to bounce on the balls of your feet, making him laugh.

“You’re here!” you exclaimed as he grabbed a fresh apple from the vendor. “I didn’t think you’d come back!”

You didn’t know, but Chan’s heart was soaring knowing that you were waiting for him. He couldn’t fight the happy rumble that sounded in his chest, but it was too loud and busy for you to hear it, “Were you watching for me?”

“All week,” you admitted shyly, your cheeks turning a light pink that made Chan so fond of you.

‘God, my mate is so cute,’ was all he could manage to think when he looked at you and heard you speak.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he smiled, bowing slightly as he held the apple out for you.

With a giggle, you took it and held it to your chest like it was a precious gift, “It’s probably weird of me to want to see you; I hardly know you.”

“Why do you think I showed up today?”

You cocked your head to the side, “Did you really come here for me?”

He shrugged, “I’m not the one who does the shopping, so I have no other reason to.”

Chan heard your heartbeat pick up, causing another happy growl. He wanted so badly to hold your hand and pull you to him and kiss you breathless, but he had to remind himself that not only would that be too sudden, but you still belonged to someone else.

Someone you didn’t want to belong to.

Chan hadn’t mentioned it to any of the pack because he knew they wouldn’t approve, but he planned to offer to take you away from the life he knew you didn’t want. He wasn’t completely sure about your home life, but he wanted to know everything about you. He was determined to get more information before making a final decision.

But at the moment, his only plan was to get you away from your fiancé before you turned nineteen.

“So, _____, how've you been?” he wondered as the two of you began to walk side-by-side through the market.

You hummed softly as you tried to think of everything that had happened the passed week, “Well…my family has gotten suspicious of me going to market every day. They think I’m meeting with a secret lover, apparently.”

“Ah, so that’s what I am?” Chan joked with a chuckle, making your already pink face turn more red. But then he turned serious, scrutinizing your body. “They haven’t hurt you, though, have they?”

You sighed, subconsciously rubbing your left forearm, “They did something a little…extreme…”

Chan’s eyes widened, and he grabbed your hand and tugged you over to a secluded area, covered by shadows from nearby buildings. He put his hands on your shoulders and looked at you intensely, his brown eyes studying you.

“Did anybody hurt you, _____?” he asked.

You shook your head, “No! Well, I mean, the procedure didn’t feel good but--”

“What happened?” he demanded, and you swore you heard him growl.

Part of you didn’t understand why this stranger seemed to be so protective over you. He only really knew your name, yet he was acting so concerned for you. But on the other hand, you liked the feeling. Even your fiancé never really seemed to act like he cared much about your well-being. You weren’t really sure why he wanted to marry you, anyway.

“His family wanted to make sure I wasn’t sneaking off anywhere,” you explained, holding your forearm out for him to see the small, raised scar on your skin, “so they put a tracker in me. They know where I am no matter what.”

Chan didn’t like this one bit. Not only would it make it harder for him to take you away and protect you, but it was just inhumane! Who in their right mind would put a tracker inside a human just because they were paranoid? Werewolves were some of the most territorial creatures when it came to mates, and even he would never do something like that.

He had half a mind to grow his claws out and tear the tracker out then and there.

“Chan!” a familiar male voice shouted behind him.

Before he could do or say anything about your tracker, he turned to see Hansol walking over to him, and Yeji for some reason following behind him with a sunhat on her head to hide her ears.

“What are you doing here, Sol?” Chan wondered.

“Hansol, right?” you asked, recalling his name.

Hansol smiled, but it seemed a little forced, “Hello again, _____. This is Yeji, my… My, uh…”

“Sister,” Yeji said with a chuckle at Hansol’s sudden lapse of thought. “He’s just a little flustered over Chan.”

The pup really didn’t want to be rude, but he had things to attend to, such as making his mate his instead of some asshole’s who didn’t trust her and treated her like some sort of pet. But it was clear Hansol knew something was up with the youngest of the pack by the way he had looked at him and made a point to interrupt his time with you.

“Sol, why are you here?” Chan repeated, a little more forcefully this time. “And why’d you bring Yeji with you?”

“What, I can’t leave the house?” Yeji asked with a playful smile. “Jihoon’s busy with yardwork anyway, and we all know I’m not doing that. Hansol mentioned coming to the market, so I tagged along.”

“So you just came here for fun?” the younger wolf asked.

"Technically, we have errands,” she explained before listing off, “Soomin asked for some supplies, Jeonghan wanted more of that honey bread since Junhui ate the last of it, Josh needs... What did Joshua want again?”

You were lost on everything they were saying, but you were just glad that Chan had come back for you. Something about him felt…safe. You weren’t sure why since he was just a stranger, but it was comforting anyway. He was still better than your family and fiancé, that was for sure.

As if he could somehow tell you were thinking poorly of him, the devil himself made his way through the crowd with two guards, clearly looking for you. He looked up from the device he was using to track you and locked eyes with yours. He didn’t like seeing you with strange people he didn’t know, especially two men.

You visibly gulped, and it wasn’t only Chan that took notice. Yeji and Hansol followed your gaze while Chan tried to grip your upper arms. You quickly shook him off and stepped through the small crowd around you.

“Hello, Donghae,” you greeted him politely, keeping your eyes on the ground as you knew he was angry with you.

“Don’t be afraid of me, sweetheart,” he cooed, which only made you more afraid of him. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friends?”

As much as you didn’t want to – you wanted to keep them as far away from Donghae as possible – you knew better than to go against an order from your fiancé. You turned around as he took your hand and looped it through his arm as if you two were actually a happy couple. However, walking toward Chan and his friends with Donghae so close, you could feel the anger radiating off of him.

Cautiously, you looked up to see all three of them staring at you. Yeji looked curious, Hansol looked curious, and Chan looked downright angry. You assumed it was because he knew what your fiancé had done to you, but you also didn’t want Donghae knowing you told other people about his treatment toward you.

You tried to hold your head up higher, hearing Donghae’s voice in your head calling you a ‘pathetic, shy girl’ like he had done before, “This is my…fiancé, Kwon Donghae.”

The man beside you gave a smug smile, bowing to your friends to play up the ‘good fiancé’ bit. Politely, Hansol and Yeji bowed back to him. Chan didn’t. Thankfully, your fiancé was too busy being cocky to realize.

“Thank you for keeping my beautiful fiancée company,” Donghae told them, although you could tell clearly that his sincerity was an act.

Hansol didn’t seem to think so, smiling warmly at him, “Of course, we really--”

“However, that will not be necessary,” he continued, his smile dropping. Now, he just looked bored speaking with them, as if they weren’t worth his time – which, in his head, they weren’t. “_____ doesn’t need to be babied, and she doesn’t need friends. I already provide her with everything she needs. If I catch any of you with her again, it won’t be good.”

“Shouldn’t that be _____’s choice?” Chan spoke up sharply, his brown eyes glaring straight at Donghae.

He’d never been talked back to since he was the son of a higher-up in town, so he was visibly shocked by this, “Excuse me?”

“Clearly you aren’t keeping her company, so somebody has to,” the dark-haired boy continued. “Besides, she seems to enjoy having some actual fun.”

You didn’t have to look at Donghae to know his angry gaze was on you now. “Is this true, _____? Do you enjoy hanging out with these people over your loving fiancé?”

“Well, I--”

Your chin was grabbed roughly as he forced you to look at him, and you could’ve sworn you heard someone growl. From your peripherals, you saw Hansol and Yeji place their hands on Chan, who was now shaking from anger.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” Donghae ordered through clenched teeth, his face inches from yours. “Now answer me.”

“N-no…” you lied nervously.

He continued to search your eyes for a moment before he finally let you go and stepped away from you, “If you’re not back to my house in fifteen minutes, you’ll be in big trouble. We need to have a chat.”

With that, he turned and left with his little posse of guards that he’d brought with him. The four of you watched him disappear into the crowd before Chan was grabbing your hand in his, automatically calming you.

“What the hell was that?” Yeji wondered quietly.

“_____,” Chan’s soft but intense voice was what made you look away from where Donghae stalked off to. When you looked at him, he definitely still looked angry, but his features softened when he saw how afraid you looked. “I won’t let him do anything to you.”

You shook your head, already having accepted your fate once the tracker was put in your arm, “Nobody can do anything to stop him. His father practically runs this town, and he--”

“Then I’ll take you away from the town,” Chan promised, a small smile forming on his lips. “I’ll take you somewhere they have no power, and you won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

As much as his promise made your heart flutter, you couldn’t help but wonder why this strange boy you hardly knew was telling you he’d risk his life to get you out of your bad situation, “Why do you want to help me?”

He just shook his head at your question, “That’s not important. I’ll try to come see you again, okay?”

“My house is usually empty during the week,” you told him eagerly – maybe too eagerly. “It’s on the same street as the flower shoppe, and there’s pink flowers out front.”

“Oh, I know where that is!” Yeji spoke up. “Chan, I can bring you.”

Chan smiled widely at the older girl before turning back to you. He knew he should wait a little bit as to lessen the suspicion on you. The last thing he wanted was for Donghae to hurt you some more.

“Two days?” he asked.

You nodded, “Two days.”

You made it back to Donghae with time to spare thanks to your running. You were sweaty and out of breath, but you wouldn’t have to face any extra consequences. However, when you went to his room, he was pacing and wasn’t paying any attention to you.

“Donghae?” you asked softly.

“Who was that girl?” he asked you, his voice a mumble as he was deep in thought.

“I…I don’t know.” you told him honestly. “I've never seen her before. Sh-she said her name was Yeji, but...”

“I know she’s not a resident of this town,” he continued, not looking over at you, “and those men you were with also strike me as suspicious. I think those are the werewolves the guards have been dealing with.”

Your eyes widened as your breath caught in your throat. You thought werewolves were just some legend; a scary story. There was no way they were actually real, right? But if Donghae was saying they were…

“…What does that mean?” you asked quietly.

“If there’s a new person being spotted in our town, then they must be imprinting,” Donghae stated, finally standing still in the middle of the room. “They must live nearby if them and their mates are coming to my town.”

He spat out the word ‘mates’, and something about it didn’t make you feel good.

“Not to disrespect you, Donghae,” you began, which made him give you a sharp look. You gulped, “but…what has led you to believe they’re a pack of werewolves? I didn’t even think they existed...”

“Stupid girl, weren’t you listening?” he groaned. “Of course they exist! And our town has been dealing with them for a while now. We had caught one and its disgusting mate, but they got away. Now, this new girl shows up with two suspicious men but they don’t actually have residence here? This Yeji is one of their mates, and the pack must be nearby.”

“What if they’re just out of town?”

“_____, I know a werewolf when I see one!” he roared. “And do you know anything about werewolves, you stupid girl? Hmm?”

You didn’t have an answer for that.

“Exactly,” he stated before calling out for guards. Two of them showed up immediately. “Send a team to the surrounding forest tonight. I’m afraid we have a werewolf infestation.”

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loving-all-for-loki · 3 years

Text

Voiceless Love Chapter 7: Missing You

Loki x reader, Bucky x reader

Word count: 2166

Warnings: swearing, sad reader, Bucky fluff

A/N: Okay, so for anyone who’s reading this as their introduction to this series, Loki is not in this a ton. I have a little, but if you didn’t read chapter 6, this is going to be very confusing. As for the series, this is the last “base” chapter meaning there are going to be two different options: the Bucky route and the Loki route. There may be three to four more chapters on each route until the end, I’m not entirely sure, but the choose your own part of the series starts after this chapter. I will be posting the next chapter for each route at the same time so the schedule is still continuous. Also for my tag lists, I will be tagging you in both. If you’d rather not be tagged in both and just one, please let me know. <3 Other than that, thank you for all the support. Remember the tag list is still open if you want to get tagged in the upcoming chapters. Back to the heart wrenching story.

Tag List: @caffeineoverloadandstudying @zizzlekwum @daddysfavoritesexkitten @buckylokisimp @magicalpieex @lokiyoulittle

You’re not sure how long it’s been since Loki was taken back to Asgard. Someone could tell you it’s been an hour or two months, but it wouldn’t make a difference. The outside light has not seen your room since. Your heart has not felt joy. The Avengers have not been blessed with your presence.

Bucky started to get really concerned for you days ago. They haven’t seen you come out of your room for food or even the bathroom. Tony teased the thought of you being dead, but nobody found it funny. Bucky even yelled at him for the insults about Loki still, knowing if you were to hear them by any chance, you’d go ape shit.

He’s tried to make contact with you, but he fails every time. Leaving food by your door, sliding notes underneath, even knocking and begging you to talk to him, but he’s always faced with deafening silence. His heart has not been the same since you locked yourself away. Steve complains about him no longer being a good spar partner and replacing him with Sam. He’s been left out of two missions for not being focused enough or being too chaotic. One time our of pure anger, Bucky ignored Cap’s orders and almost got himself killed.

“Bucky this isn’t the time to play around. We need you in the game. Don’t screw up again.”

“I’m sorry, Steve, but I-” “There are no buts in war and I think you’d know that. I understand your concern for Y/N, but you need to let it go. She’s not coming out. Leave her be. Focus on the missions or else I’m going to have to bench you.”

Bucky knows Steve is right, but there’s nothing he can do to stop his brain from thinking about you all day long. Every time he passes the library, he longs for the time where you would spend all day there reading stories about love and adventure. He longs for when you’d sneak into his room and spend all day in bed with him, asking him to read to you. He longs for your writings on his skin again. He feels so empty and boring without your scribbles all along his arm.

He sits around the living area ll day, drinking coffee and staring out of the window. The tower feels so quiet without you and Loki running around giggling, baking, reading, etc. It doesn’t feel like home even if home involves Bucky watching someone he loves love someone else. He misses your touches and glances. The way you’d offer for him to join you or taste the cookies you made. He even misses the occasional times Loki put too much salt in the cookies and made him eat them.

Bucky walks over to the door to your bedroom solemnly. He slides down the door and sits there with his long legs blocking the whole floor of the hall. He slowly rolls his knuckles on the door, knocking and hoping to get your attention yet he gets no response.

You’ve been under your blankets crying for so long, you don’t know how time works. The only thing reminding you that you’re alive is the times when Bucky comes and tries to talk to you. You have no energy to get out of bed due to the consistent crying you’ve been doing. You feel like you’re getting weaker every day. It’s the same feeling as when you healed Bucky from almost dying. Moving becomes a chore and you can’t fathom doing anything. No one is really sure how you haven’t eaten or peed for this long, even you. Sometimes you like to think it’s Loki’s magic allowing you to mourn the loss of him working. There are moments where you feel him around you.

You miss his cold touches, sending chills down your spine. His bedroom has become a place of pain and you refuse to go near it. Because he isn’t around to pick you up, you haven’t drank or taken a bath either. You completely ignore taking care of yourself. There’s no point in taking care of yourself if there’s no one to admire you.

Bucky comes up to your door again and starts knocking. You see his body block some of the light coming from under your door, showing that he’s sitting there. The sound surrounds you in the quiet room and drowns out your sobs.

“Y/N, please talk to me. We’re all concerned for you and want to help you.”

You ignore his voice, turning over to look at the wall opposite of it. Pulling the blankets over your head, you try to fall asleep but Bucky keeps talking to you through the door.

“I remember when I fell off the train back in… actually, I don’t remember when, but I woke up and was surrounded by Hydra. For years, I felt alone. I would black out at times when they controlled me and I didn’t know what was happening. Then Steve found me and told me he knew me. I was confused and scared. I was a soldier with no memory. For months, I was with someone who knew me, but I felt so alone. There was so much I was missing and didn’t know. Everything terrified me and made me alarmed. I was on the edge of my seat all the time. What I’m trying to say is I know how you feel. You miss someone you care for and I missed a whole part of my life I longed for again. I felt the loneliness you’re going through and I isolated myself, too. It was a terrible time and I want to help you. I don’t want you to deal with the feelings because I remember how it felt. Please, let me help you.”

At the end of his long speech, you felt yourself get up off of bed, still covered in your blankets. You open the door and look down at Bucky sitting with his legs out. He looks up to you with a pity smile as you stare down, still with tears running down your face. Bucky stands up and pulls you into him, holding you in a tight embrace.

“I know I said some… unkind things and I’m sorry. I’m also sorry you don’t have Loki here. We’ll get him back.”

You don’t believe him when he says they’ll get him back. You’re aware he’s only saying this to make you feel better, but your heart hopes his words are true and honest. The warmth of his body against yours makes you miss Loki even more, wishing it were his body. You squeeze tighter, imagining Loki in your head with his long hair, blue eyes, and strong hands. Bucky squeezes back, rubbing his hand up and down on your waist.

“You’ll be okay, doll.”

You back up from Bucky’s hug and adjust your blanket. He takes your hand and leads you down the hallways to the living are where Nat, Sam, and Steve are sitting. They quiet down their conversation as you walk in. Nobody looks your way or makes any comment about you leaving your room. Bucky has you sit down at the kitchen counter as he scrummages through the fridge.

“I’m sure you’re hungry. Do want anything specific?”

You shake your head and the way you don’t speak doesn’t go unmissed. Bucky nods, knowing the progress with you talking has gone away and you’re back to square one. He pulls out some leftovers and give them to you. You pick up a spoon timidly and start eating, but Bucky thinks you look weak. Your hand is shaking as you bring it to your mouth. It’s as if you had healed him again.

“Are you feeling okay?”

You shake your head no which alerts him. Bucky immediately takes the food from you and picks up you bridal style.

“Bucky, what ARE you doing?” Nat asks.

“She’s not well, I’m taking her to med bay.”

Steve gets up and follows Bucky and you. He watches as you keep dropping your head and waking up as if you can’t stay awake. Steve then looks up to his best friend and sees how tired he looks as well. Everyone’s aware of Bucky’s feelings about you and he knows nothing will change that, even your own love for Loki. Sometimes Bucky’s obsession and attachment to you scares him. He’s worried he’ll lose Buck in his pinning for you, his longing, his jealousy. He’s seen Buck in hard times, but sparring with him for the last two months while you were with Loki was rough to watch. Bucky was rough, sporadic. He was irresponsible during missions, reckless. It was like he had a death wish.

“Buck,” Steve says once he sees you fall asleep, “we need to talk.”

“Not until she’s being taken care of.”

“That’s the thing. Your attachment to her is unhealthy.”

“Steve, I know you lost your love years ago and I’m sorry, but my love is here in my arms and she doesn’t even know who she is to me. If I can do something, I will.”

“I have nothing against you helping her, but you need to detach from her a little bit. I’m scared for you.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re going to get yourself killed if you stop stressing over her all the time.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, knowing that Steve is right. He doesn’t dare to argue against him because a) he doesn’t want to wake you and b) he knows nothing he says will change Steve’s concern for him. He’s right, though. He had been reckless, almost dying even after the first time. He’s hid his injuries from the other teammates, but looking down at you, he can’t help but think how it’s worth it. If he doesn’t have you, he has nothing. As long as you’re around, even if you’re not his, he’s happy.

“She’s all that matter to me now.”

“I understand that.”

They arrive at the Medbay and keep you there.

Weeks go by and you finally return to the team. Everyone welcomes you back with some drinks and games, trying to get you to warm back up to them. You appreciate the sweet gesture, give into their advances, and stay out there with them. Bucky’s heart jumps with joy seeing you smile and enjoy your time with the Avengers. A couple drinks in and Tony decides to play truth or dare with everyone which makes you roll your eyes.

“Really?” Clint complains.

“What? It’s fun!” “It’s childish, Tony.”

“Yeah, seriously, can’t we play something else?” Steve complains, too.

“How about drink or dare?” Nat offers.

“I like how you think, Ksenia Onatupp.”

Confused, Nat looks to Steve who is equally confused and shrugs. Tony grabs a large bottle of Vodka from the kitchen and sets it on the table.

“Alright, since he made fun of me, I say Legolas goes first.”

“This is so dumb.”

A couple rounds go by and everyone is a little tipsy. You end up sitting on Bucky's lap with your legs across him. He keeps a protective arm around your waist as his metal arm rests on your thigh, rubbing his thumb up and down. Steve keeps looking over to see you two cuddling, disapproving the way Bucky has been ignoring his advice and keeping some distance. He visited you every day while you were recovering from everything.

“Y/N, I dare you to dance.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the lack of music and direction. Tony looks incredibly proud, but as a more sober person, you know how dumb that dare is so you take a drink. Tony groans at you, but everyone else is just drunk enough (beside Thor who could chug three whole bottles of Vodka and feel nothing, lucky duck) to not care. You turn to Bucky and yawn, which is his signal to pick you up and carry you to your room.

You wander to the bathroom in your room to chance while Bucky waits in your room. He looks around at all the new things on your bookshelf. There’s a little stuffed snake which he’s sure Loki got for you as well as a lot of photos of you and him in frames. There’s one of you two during a movie night, you on his lap, and one of him kissing you while dancing. The smile on your face is wider than Bucky has ever seen. He knew you were happy with Loki, he just refused it.

Bucky walks back to your bed when you stroll in. You lay down as he tucks you in and kisses you on the forehead. Before he walks away, you grab his arm and dig through the table next to your bed. You grab your pen which you haven’t used in awhile and write ‘thank you’ on his arm.

“Of course, doll. I’ll see you in the morning.”

#loki fanfic #loki fan fiction #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki #bucky fluff #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel x reader #bucky fan fiction #bucky fanfic #voicelesslove #lovingallforloki

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all1e23 · 4 years

Text

Between the Stars [Pt.7]

Pairings: Past!Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death

A/N: This might be my favorite chapter yet. Bucky is soft, and I love him. Reminder because I know the timeline for this fic is confusing with switching between readers and Bucky's POV, we are eight months past Steve's death. Bucky has been home with her for seven. Thanks to my beautiful beta @moonbeambucky for looking this chapter over for me. If you like it write me a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

Eight months after Steve’s death, Y/n was playing again. It wasn’t on the same scale as it once was and she was no longer teaching, not that it mattered. It was a big deal, Bucky didn’t downplay just how huge this was. She had given up, threw out her dreams in search of new ones as some misguided form of punishment; maybe she thought it was her penance for some terrible crime she convinced herself she committed by living. Bucky understood that feeling better than most, he really did, but she had nothing to atone for. The only one who needed absolution was Bucky and he hoped that by helping her get her life back, he was earning a tiny bit of forgiveness for everything he had done.

Nothing would ever completely absolve him, but he prayed this would help to even the scales.

Over the last month, Y/n hasn’t mentioned Steve as much. Bucky didn’t know if that was because she was starting to heal or if it hurt too much to keep talking about him. She still slept in his room most nights, only slightly closer to him now, her foot usually wrapped around his ankle and Steve’s pillow was no longer hugging her back -- it was still there every night though. A handful of nights she fell asleep on the couch watching trashy late-night television and Bucky didn’t know if he should pick her up and carry her to bed. Was it too intimate of a gesture? Should he touch her that way? And if he did what bed would he take her to? It wasn’t something he was ready to test and he wouldn’t risk the potential hurt the wrong move could make. So he let her sleep, and stayed close by, sleeping on the small window bench nearby in case she needed him.

Things began to resemble something better, calmer and there was a bit of normalcy returning. They even started going out. It began with small outings, a trip or two to the market, or down to the Mexican restaurant twenty minutes away for takeout. A few Fridays back, they spent the entire day at one of those you-pick farms a couple of hours away from the house. She told him she wanted to go get peaches. Bucky wasn’t about to tell her no or tell her that they could pick some up at the grocery store without the hassle of having to pick them off a tree. No, he wouldn’t do that. This was a big step for her; she wanted to go out, and well, she’s so damn pretty when she’s smiling.

The farm was enormous for the area, sitting at around 200 acres. They had blueberries, pumpkins, peaches, and strawberries. Some of the produce wasn’t ready to pick, but Bucky knew Y/n was planning their next trip as soon as the seasons changed, and he really didn’t mind. They had a petting zoo they found upon arrival, at which point Y/n squealed over the baby goats, and they spent some forty-odd minutes feeding them. Then Bucky spent the next hour talking her out of having a baby goat of her own. Okay, Bucky would get her a damn goat if she really wanted one, but he was praying she would forget about it on the drive home. There was a hay maze that was still in the process of being prepped for the upcoming season but Y/n’s eyes lit up at the mere thought.

The food had to be Y/n’s favorite most of all.

There were candied peach slices that she had been so excited about. Bucky couldn’t help but laugh when Y/n had a bite with too much of the ginger that was sprinkled on top and wrinkled her nose in disgust. She glared at him, but it only made him grin wider. They both tried the vanilla scones with fresh peach jam and shared a large Mason jar full of peach iced tea because she said it was silly to spend the extra money when they could share. One sip and all Bucky could think about was the sweetness on his lips is what she would taste like.

Maybe the food had been Bucky’s favorite part, too.

The sun was starting to set, and despite being forced to leave the goats behind thanks to closing, Y/n was still smiling. Bucky followed behind her, letting her lead him to whatever tree she deemed had the best peaches. Y/n delicately placed three more peaches in the pail he was carrying and then set her eyes on him, scrutinizing and somehow still playful. She stepped towards him and flicked the bill of his NASA ball cap, causing it to pop up and sit crooked on his head, and she grinned at the feigned look of annoyance he was giving her.

“I can’t see your face when you wear a cap.”

She told him that as if it was an excuse for her assault on his favorite hat.

“Well, I’m trying to hide my stupid looking hair.”

She giggled at that.

Y/n giggled, and the little bit of his heart that didn’t belong to her became hers. She leaned in, and if he was a stupider man, he would have thought she was going to kiss him by the look in her eyes and how close their lips were. Y/n slowly reached up and pulled his hat off his head only to plop it on top of her own. If she was his, he would have pulled her close and claimed those pretty lips, savoring the honeyed peach and candied ginger he knew was still lingering on her tongue as he took his sweet time tasting her. He would have kissed her until she was smiling and giggling and sighing in that soft way she does when she’s really happy.

She wasn’t his. So he didn’t.

But he would dream about what it would be like if she was.

“Looks better on me anyway,” Y/n told him with a grin, wandering off towards the next row of trees.

Bucky could only watch as she walked away with his hat and his heart. He mumbled quietly to the peaches hanging nearby, “Yes, it does.”

After their outing, their day trips became something they both looked forward to. It wasn’t their norm. In the past, they spent a lot of their time watching movies, sitting in the quiet enjoying each other’s company, or Bucky would read while she played and worked on her music. But this new normal was good, too. It was nice to see more than the seafoam green walls of her living room, and he would do just about anything if it made her happy.

“Hey.”

Bucky looked up from his spot on the couch to find Y/n standing next to him in those black skinny jeans that make his knees weak and a plain white t-shirt. He knew she was wearing that black lace bra of hers because he could make out the imprint of the lace against the delicate fabric of her shirt, and he recognized the design from an embarrassing mix-up on laundry day. Bucky couldn’t seem to find his voice so he met her gaze, a question lingering in his own eyes as he waited for her to spill whatever she was so excited about.

“Wanna take me out?”

He laughed softly and closed the book in his hand. He found it funny that she still asked him that. The answer would always be yes. For her, it’s always yes.

“I’ll take you wherever you wanna go, Y/n.”

They went out to dinner that night. It wasn’t anything lavish, but it was the right amount of rowdy. There was a band playing out on the patio and the music carried through the open doors to where they shared a small booth inside, it was loud but not so they couldn’t talk. She ordered pasta because pasta always makes her happy, and Bucky tries his hardest to make sure she’s happy. They talked a lot, well, she talked a lot. That wouldn’t be so strange if she hadn’t been so closed off the last eight months.

Bucky let her talk about how she wanted to see if the band had any shows soon because she wanted to see them play in a better venue, and she told him she liked lights the restaurant had above the tables -- a large beam with hanging Edison bulbs wrapped around them. She talked about the funny picture of him Sam posted on Instagram. Bucky had rolled his eyes at that. Sam had the bad habit of taking candid photos of everyone, and he always posted the worst ones of Bucky. This one happened to be from the worst possible angle; the camera caught his mouth hanging wide open as Bucky took a bite out half of a cheese pizza, folded over and covered in potato chips. Some people eat pizza that way, it wasn’t weird or funny, and Bucky stood by that. The night was perfect, but even perfection has a few cracks if you look hard enough.

Someone had mistaken them for a couple that night, and Bucky was quick to correct them. He informed the older man and his wife that she was his best friend, she was taken by another lucky man. It was all platonic Bucky had said. Y/n didn’t say anything. She watched Bucky charm the older couple and gave them a friendly smile and a wave as they walked away.

“Platonic,” she muttered quietly once it was just them again.

Bucky looked up from his half-eaten burger and ketchup soaked fries, took in the furrow of her brow, and the frown sitting where a smile was beaming only a few moments ago, and his heart sank.

None of that was good.

“Yeah, Trouble.”

Bucky’s eyes dropped to the wedding band she was still wearing without meaning to, and she quickly pulled her hand under the table. The rest of dinner was quiet, and they didn’t speak about it again.

They never talked about what happened at the farm or dinner that night, but whatever bothered her the night at the restaurant hadn’t caused a setback in the healing process as Bucky had feared. It seemed forgotten. Bucky was thankful for that, and he was thankful for days like today. Y/n wanted to spend the day at home, relaxing. She informed him that today would be perfect if she could spend the day with just him. She might have said something like, “I just want to spend today curled up on the couch watching movies with you.” Not that Bucky memorized the way her voice sounded when she said that or anything.

Three movies into their marathon and Y/n declared they needed a break. She was going to figure out something to eat for dinner, and Bucky wasn’t sure how it happened, but he found himself upstairs, staring at a ghost. The letters Steve gave him have been tucked away in a drawer of the old desk that sat in the corner of his room. They caused him more heartache than Steve intended Bucky was sure. Or maybe this was exactly what Steve wanted. This was his punishment for loving her. Bucky tapped the letter on the desk and ran a hand down his face, Bucky had hoped they would disappear, and he wouldn’t have to look at them again, but there all twelve sat.

A heavy-handed fist pounded on the front door, startling Bucky out of his trance and his stomach dropped at the sound. He wasn’t down there with Y/n, not that she needed him to answer the door, and lord knows if she knew he dared to even think about babying her like that, she would chew him out for a week straight. Still, he didn’t like leaving her completely on her own, not yet. Bucky tossed the letter back in the drawer, and hastily closed it before trampling downstairs.

Bucky made out a familiar voice as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Well, you never answer your phone anymore, and I figured you were spending all your time with-”

Her father met Bucky’s eyes, and he grinned.

“-Bucky. Well, shit, son. It’s good to see you home.”

Bucky grinned and took the hand that was extended towards him. He hadn’t expected it to be her father at the door; he thought Sam or maybe Natasha. It made sense, though. No one has come by to check on her since he’s been home. It was about time they started to get visitors, and Y/n didn’t answer her phone much anymore, so if someone wanted to talk to her showing up like this was their only choice. Bucky knew she wasn’t doing that on purpose, she had to put some things off in order to keep going, and there wasn’t any shame in that.

He was doing the very same thing.

Y/n was uncomfortable, whether her dad knew Bucky wasn’t sure. Bucky knew, though. She hates small talk, so Bucky knew when Y/n said she was starting the grill, she just wanted a moment to breathe without being judged; a minute so she could prepare mentally for a guest when she didn’t want one. Bucky could keep her dad busy until she was ready for idle chit chat and undoubtedly Invasive questions. How hard could it be to keep up a conversation and look for a small fire on the porch?

He could handle it; smoke meant they had to run. It would be fine.

“I thought you would’ve stopped by before now.”

Bucky passed over an amber-colored bottle from the fridge, taking a beer for himself and leaned against the counter. It probably wasn’t proper or how Steve would entertain him, but Bucky wasn’t Steve. He didn’t even know why he was thinking about that. This was still Steve’s house and his wife, no matter how much Bucky wished this life was his.

“Well, I knew she was in good hands. She has you.”

He smiled but shook his head. “I appreciate that. She’s probably helping me more than I’m helping her.”

“I doubt that.”

Bucky caved under the weight of his stare and grudgingly nodded his head in agreement (or cession depending on who you ask). He has yet to win an argument with her dad, and Bucky wasn't about to try to now.

"We haven't had a chance to talk since you've been home. I've meaning to come by. Y'know how much we love Steve; we always have."

Bucky tried to keep his face impassive, his grip on the bottle in his hand tightened, and he could feel his stomach-churning. Where the hell was this going?

“He was a good man and a good husband. Took care of Y/n, made sure she was happy and was always respectful.”

Bucky relaxed some when he realized he was simply praising his lost friend, and he nodded, taking a swig of his beer to wash his guilt down. Yeah, that was Steve. The polished side of the coin. The hero, not the broken sidekick.The better of the two. Bucky heard the speech before; it was one truth he knew well.

“But I always thought it was going to be you.”

Bucky froze and by some small miracle managed to keep his face blank as the older man went on, “Even up to the day of the wedding I had this feeling one of the girls were going to come running in, flowers in their hair to tell me she ran off with you and the wedding was off.”

Bucky huffed. “She would never do that.”

Her dad smiled and nodded his agreement. “She wouldn’t, but you would have.”

Bucky licked his lips and dropped his gaze to the counter, not risking the chance the truth could be seen in his eyes. He couldn’t lie and say he didn’t think about it after Steve proposed. That he didn’t let it play out like some romantic drama in his head where he got to her just in time and told her the truth, the whole real, painful truth, and she loved him back all along.

But she didn’t. She loved Steve, still did.

It was obvious any time Steve was mentioned or when something reminded her of him. He could see it written all over her how much she still loved Steve, and Bucky couldn’t blame her. He still loved Steve too. Despite everything, Bucky loved them both.

“Give her time to work through her grief, and I’m guessing you need to deal with your own. Losing someone you love is never easy. The time will come though when you both can move on. I’m not saying you’ll do that together or that I think you should, but there may be the chance to in the future. If you were looking for hope of some sort, well, that’s the best I can offer you.”

Y/n had found her way back into the kitchen, no smoke in sight and their conversation ended there. It wasn’t one Bucky wanted to continue anyway. Not when the hope he was offering didn’t exist. Bucky tried to leave them alone so she could spend alone time with her dad, but she gave him the look, the one that pleaded with him to stay and tugged on his heart. So he stayed by her side until the stars were shining brightly and they were alone once again.

Bucky had been more careful with his affection after that. He was meaningful in his touch and waited to make sure he meant each one. Not that it was that hard to do, he meant every one. When it came to Y/n, everything Bucky did had meaning, a purpose.

Y/n had started asking him to go on a walk around sunset every night. It was getting cooler out now that autumn was right around the corner, and she liked to watch how everything around them changed -- slowly almost without notice.

Their walk tonight felt different. Things had changed between them, when Bucky didn’t know. He wasn’t sure what they had changed to, but he wasn’t going to question it. He was afraid if he did, she would realize her mistake, and all these small moments between them would stop. Halfway through their walk, Y/n had let her hands hang by her side instead of staying crossed over her chest. When they were kids, she would do that when she wanted Bucky to hold her hand, or maybe he imagined that she ever truly wanted to hold his hand.

Bucky never could figure her out.

He never knew what she meant when she would lean in close to whisper something in his ear and pull away just as fast. When she would tease him and give him that giggle that had his heart stopping and restarting like an old engine that was about to give out. He could never tell if she felt something beyond what they already were; if she wanted him the way he wanted her.

Her street was just up the hill, and Bucky finally gave in to the screaming in his chest because feeling her hand in his once more was all he could think about. He slowly slid his fingertips down her forearm until he reached her palm. He risked a peek at her as he laced their fingers together and caught the smile she was trying to hide by dropping her head to gaze down to her white high-tops and his black boots.

Bucky didn’t know if Y/n wanted to hold his hand, and at this point, he wasn’t sure if he knew her as well as he thought, but he sure did love that smile.

Previous // Next

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #past!Steve Rogers x reader #alternate universe #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #tw: death of a spouse #tw: military death #military au #tw: character death

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amyscascadingtabs · 3 years

Text

rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky

It’s the perfect little getaway, exactly what they needed. It would be even better if she could only stop thinking.

“So, tell me.” Jake holds her hand over the table, forcing her back to reality. “Five top moments for us 2019, go. Countdown-stylez.”

Three different New Year's Eves, as celebrated by Jake and Amy (and Mac).

read on ao3 💕

december 31st, 2019.

The hotel guests checking in before Jake and Amy are a family. A little girl with blonde hair, maybe four or five years old, is carrying her own pink backpack and making up dance steps around her father’s feet as he goes through the information with the receptionist, and an even younger boy is hiding behind his mother’s legs as he watches the people in the lobby with wide eyes. Looking up, Amy realizes that the mother’s open coat is revealing a baby bump, too. She’d put her at six, maybe seven months pregnant. Three kids. Amy feels a pang of jealousy.

Even with the observation skills of an experienced detective, it shocks her how good she’s become at picking out families and pregnant women in any crowd. It’s an interesting talent, but measured against the pain it causes her, Amy wouldn’t call it a very useful one. She notices Jake looking at the kids as well, a daydreaming look on his face, and somehow, that makes her pain worse.

The idea behind going away to a hotel upstate for New Year’s was so they could get away from the stress for a moment; go somewhere else, rest and relax, forget about the pregnancy master calendar they’ve stared themselves blind at for a few days. Amy didn’t realize how impossible it would be to get away from all the other reminders.

She draws a breath of relief when the family in front of them gets the keys to their room, the little girl running first towards the elevator and her brother laughing as he chases after.

“Cute kids,” Jake whispers, watching them longingly.

“Yeah.” Amy tries not to think about the negative pregnancy test she threw away in the bathroom trashcan before they left. “Really cute.”

“I’m excited you said we could drink tonight.” Jake toasts his White Russian with her glass of Sauvignon. “It’s been a while.”

“I know, “ Amy feels the guilt wash over her. “Well, it’s not New Year’s Eve every day. I think we’ve earned it.” And I already took a negative test, she thinks.

“We sure have.” He gives her a closer look, pressing his lips together like he always does when he’s worried about her. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Just tired,” she says. It’s not technically a lie. “I didn’t sleep that well last night.”

“Lucky we have a huge hotel bed to help with that tonight, then. Seriously, this place rocks.”

Amy’s prepared to agree on that part – she did her research the moment it stood clear they would both get New Year’s Eve off. After getting their room, they’ve spent the evening getting massages in the hotel spa, dining at the surprisingly nice restaurant, and now they’re admiring the view from the bar on the top floor, waiting for the fireworks. It’s the perfect little getaway, exactly what they needed. It would be even better if she could only stop thinking.

“So, tell me.” Jake holds her hand over the table, forcing her back to reality. “Five top moments for us 2019, go. Countdown-stylez.”

“Number five!” She rolls the r and holds on the i, earning herself an amused look from the older couple next to them. “Okay, I’m going to go with… that date you took me on for my birthday. I can’t believe you got into the puzzle bar this time!”

“I might have convinced the guard to let me in because it was your birthday, but still a good one. Number fooo-uur… the Cinco de Mayo-heist. God, that was fun, even if the tasing hurt like a bitch.”

“Agreed. Number three – when Holt finally invited us to that dinner party and I almost didn’t lose my cool once.”

“You keep telling yourself that, babe. Number two… the Jake way. Seriously, I still think we should try that again. It was awesome.”

“It was, but also way inappropriate,” she reminds him, but he just shrugs. “Number one, then.”

“I know which one is mine, but you go first.”

Amy swallows, then sighs. “Mine is after the manhunt. When we decided to start trying. That’s still my favorite moment.”

“Mine, too.” Jake looks her in the eyes, and she knows the bittersweet feeling is shared. “It’s going to happen, Ames. I know it. Maybe this month’s the one.”

Amy doesn’t have the strength to correct him, tell him she’s already taken an early test and that she’s lacking any confidence there’s going to be a second line when she tests again in a couple of days. Luckily, she doesn’t have to, because right then, the fireworks that have been going off a few at a time in the distance begin to multiply as the countdown starts.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…

Amy leans forward so she can be kissing him already when the new year begins.

Three, two, one… happy new year!

The crowd around them erupts into cheers as the sky glows with colorful explosions when burning bits of metal lighting up the darkness outside. Jake kisses her deeper, seeming to forget that there are people around with a bit of alcohol in his system and his hands cupping her face. For a moment, Amy lets herself just be happy.

december 31st, 2020.

The instant Amy closes her eyes for the more-than-well-deserved nap Jake told her to take while he made dinner, Mac begins to cry from his crib again.

“McClane, please,” Amy pleads, as if reasoning with her two-month-old would solve his discontent. “You can't seriously be hungry again, that’s insane.”

She tries with the pacifier first, checking his diaper, even standing up and walking around with him for a bit to eliminate anything else, but Mac is still clenching his fists and only looking even more furious with her, so Amy gives in. She sits down with him again, unhooks one side of the bra and lets him find his grip, exhaling when the peaceful suckles begin and the desperate crying finally ceases. She swears it looks like her son is side-eyeing her for taking too long, but to her defense, she fed him for a good forty-five minutes only a little over an hour ago and it's exhausting being used like a human pacifier. Growth spurt, Camila Santiago said when Amy called her in tears yesterday, and the problem-shooting section in the 0-3 months baby-binder had agreed. Amy would argue that sounds way too innocent for something which is turning her otherwise happy and smiley baby into a constantly hungry and crying mini-monster who won't close his eyes for more than twenty minutes at a time.

There's a soft knock on the door after a few minutes, and Jake peeks in. He’s wearing his fancy kitchen apron, which Charles gave him for Christmas with the comment that there’s nothing sexier than a dad who can cook. It hasn’t magically improved his cooking skills, but Amy’s willing to admit that it does look good on him.

“You guys doing okay?”

“He is, for now. I’m going crazy. How’s our dinner going?”

“Well, I haven’t burnt it yet, but there’s still time,” he grimaces, sitting down at the foot of the bed. “Do you need anything, babe?”

“Sleep, but that’s not going to happen.” Amy rubs her eyes. “It’s fine. He’s got to fall asleep at some point, though, this is nuts.”

“Don’t challenge him, he’s breaking records,” Jake says, leaning forward to tickle Mac’s feet. Mac reacts by kicking at the boob he’s not currently feeding from, making Amy curse. “Oops, sorry. Anyway, I’m sure he will fall asleep at some point, and we can have a nice, calm New Year’s dinner. I mean, he has to be exhausted, right?”

“God, I hope so. I’m starving.” She can see Mac’s eyelids getting heavy, but every time she thinks they’re about to fall closed, it’s like he twitches and stares at her, wide awake. “He’s lucky he’s cute.”

Jake grins. “Lucky indeed.”

Mac starts pulling away at that moment, a little bit of milk still dribbling from his cheeks. Amy reaches for one of the muslin blankets that’s never more than a few feet away in their home nowadays, lifting him so he’s upright against her shoulder and patting him on the back. She expects a burp, but instead, she gets an unpleasant surprise when he spits up, managing to get sour baby puke down her back and in her already greasy hair. She groans, giving Jake an exhausted look when she sees him stifling a chuckle.

“Hey, I’ll take him. You go take a shower and I’ll put him in the BabyBjörn. Maybe that will do it.”

“That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said,” Amy mumbles, and she’s not entirely kidding.

She makes the shower as long as she possibly can. Most days, she has to shower with Mac in the baby bouncer on the bathroom floor, so even the chance to be alone in the bathroom for more than five minutes feels like a luxury. She lets the shampoo really lather and the conditioner take its time to sink in, trying to massage the knots in her neck and shoulders under the hot water. She can hear Mac still fussing from the kitchen, and it makes her feel guilty even though he’s barely left her arms today.

“He’s fine,” she whispers to herself like a mantra. “He’s fine. Jake can handle it. He’s perfectly fine. Everything’s okay. You deserve this.”

She still skips the make-up and nicer clothes she had been planning to put on, throwing on a pair of maternity leggings and one of Jake’s old hoodies instead.

The dinner looks fantastic, some sort of chicken baked in the oven with rice and a lemon sauce, and Amy’s actually impressed. She imagines it would have been even nicer if she could have eaten it warm and together with Jake, but they only make it through toasting in orange soda and the first two bites before Mac wakes up from his ten-minute-nap, wailing as if he truly believed he’d just been abandoned. They end up having to take turns eating and walking laps around the living room with him, because he starts crying again if they stop moving for a second or as much as make an attempt to put him down. Amy is suddenly relieved they said no to her brother Tony’s New Year’s party-invite.

She can barely believe it when after what feels like the fiftieth or so feed of the day, Mac falls asleep. Curled up like a little frog on her chest and letting out the cutest of baby snores, he finally seems to relax, and Amy doesn’t even dare to breathe too sharply for the first ten minutes. Eventually, though, once it seems like he’s not going to wake up from the slightest movement or a raised voice anymore, Jake tucks them both in under a blanket and gets the Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer and orange soda from the fridge. Then he gets another blanket for himself, and they snuggle up together in the corner of the sofa in front of the tv. From live footage at Times Square, Amy can see crowds of people waiting for the ball to drop.

“Wishing you were there?” Jake winks, but she just laughs.

“Are you kidding? Cold, crowded, and you can never even get a good view. This is better in every way.” She strokes her thumb over Mac’s dark hair. “I have this one and you. That’s all I need. And ice cream,” she adds, digging out a piece of cookie dough from the tub.

“You’re right, it’s pretty damn close to perfection. Top five moments of 2020?”

Amy shakes her head, pointing to Mac. “No point. They’re all about him, anyway, and they’re all too good to compare.”

“True that.” Jake shakes his head. “Hey, isn’t it crazy that although he’s been kind of a nightmare today, I’ve already forgiven him?”

“No, it makes perfect sense, because I’ve almost wanted to give him away several times and now I can’t even remember why.”

“Having a baby makes us kind of crazy, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely. I wouldn’t change it for the world, though.”

“Me neither. Not even if I was offered a role in the next Die Hard-movie and Taylor Swift did the soundtrack.”

“That’s pretty big,” Amy laughs, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Would Taylor Swift do the soundtrack for Die Hard, though? Realistically speaking?”

“It’s a daydream, Ames!”

She has no time for a comeback, though, because right then, the countdown starts on the tv and Jake raises the volume a few bars so they can hear.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…

“New Year’s kiss,” Amy says, holding Mac up slightly so they can both reach him.

Three, two, one… happy new year!

They both smother his cheeks with kisses at the same time as the fireworks explode over the sky in the distance outside their windows and the crowd begins to cheer on tv. Mac doesn’t even flinch, completely oblivious to the celebrations going on outside. Amy sighs.

“How can he magically sleep through all of this, but wake up the second I put him down in his crib at night?”

Jake shrugs. “Babies, man.”

december 31st, 2021.

Amy has only started to take off Mac’s winter overall before he starts trying to flee, kicking wildly with his boots and pointing towards the kitchen where he’s already spotted Rosa. Jake notices her struggle and is quick to help her, and the instant the toddler is free, he hurries off towards his best friend.

“Wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo!”

“Mac! Hey, happy new year, man!” Before Amy can even take off her own jacket, Mac is already in Rosa’s arms and babbling excitedly as he plays with her gold necklace. Amy wonders how much of what Mac’s saying actually makes sense to Rosa, but she’s nodding and smiling and seems to have abandoned whoever she was previously talking to in favor of the one-year-old.

“Jake. Amy.” Kevin appears to take their coats, shaking their hands. “Welcome. Drinks and hors d’oeuvres are in the living room, and I see your small child has made himself at home.”

“He found Rosa, yep.” Jake grins. “And he has a name.”

“Ah, yes… McClane.” Kevin nods. “Very well. I have to go check on… the kitchen. Enjoy your evening.”

“He’s never going to like me,” Jake whispers to Amy the moment he’s left.

“Well, I think we both might have lost a few points with the name choice, babe.”

“He’s one to talk names, he’s got a dog named after a cheese!”

“I know, but we can’t tell him that. Come on, Jake, I have to find something to chew on before I get sick.”

“You can always blame it on the alcohol, if you do.”

“Jake.”

“Just kidding,” he grins. “You go check on Mac and Rosa and I’ll locate the snacks.”

It turns out Rosa is more than willing to guard Mac for the evening, currently showing him the model train she's found in the library. Mac is watching with focus as Rosa helps him turn on the button that makes the train drive around the tracks, laughing as it lets out a choo-choo sound.

“Your son is much cooler than the rest of these lame partygoers,” she shrugs when Amy asks her if she's sure it's fine. “He says what he's thinking, unlike the rest of all these dum-dums.”

“Dum-dums,” Mac repeats, proud. Rosa nods.

“Exactly. I’ll call you if something happens.”

And so, in an unexpected turn of events, Amy finds herself able to sit down for most of the evening without having to chase a wild toddler around to keep him from whatever dangers he could somehow manage to get himself into in Holt’s and Kevin’s house. She supposes it looks quite antisocial of her, and maybe it is, but she’s six weeks pregnant and the early symptoms of nausea and fatigue seem to be coming on both stronger and faster the second time around, so Amy doesn’t really care. She’s got lemon sparkling water for a non-alcoholic drink, a paper plate of carrot sticks, salted crisps and almonds, and she’s not going to talk to anyone unless they sit down next to her. It’s practically heaven. Jake checks on her from time to time, assuring her multiple times that they can just leave early if she wants to, but however tired she feels, Amy doesn’t want to insult Holt that badly. They’re staying until midnight as per proper New Year’s party etiquette, and then — and not a second later — they can go home so she can crash in bed.

Rosa finds her again when Mac begins to get sleepy, rubbing his eyes and yawning but still shaking his head when Amy asks if he's feeling a little tired. He crawls over to her arms anyway, laying his head on her shoulder and hugging his arms around her chest.

“Thanks for looking after him,” she tells Rosa, but she just shrugs.

“No worries. I don't get to hang out with him enough. Your kid is dope.”

“Douh,” Mac whispers, mimicking her, and Rosa laughs.

“Repeats every word you tell him, too,” Amy says. “Yeah, he’s pretty awesome. Come over to our apartment at five-thirty in the morning on any weekend and you can hang out with him all you want. I won't stop you.”

Rosa scrunches her nose. “I’ll consider it.”

“He’s in a great mood then, I can assure you that.”

“I'll take your word for it. Also, Jake was tipsy talking baby names with some etymology professor when I saw him last, and he seemed very intense about it for a guy who's not currently thinking of naming any new babies. Or?” She raises an eyebrow.

“No, he just get thats intense when somebody implies McClane is a weird name,” Amy says, and makes a note to herself to remind Jake about their agreement not to tell anyone else at least until the twelve-week mark. “Which, to be fair, I warned him that people would think. But here we are anyway.”

“It is a weird name. Couldn’t imagine him being called anything else, though, even if I still don’t understand why you agreed to it.”

“There was a really good PowerPoint involved.”

Rosa looks at her questioningly, but Amy shakes her head, knowing there’s no point in explaining the unexplainable.

“Hmm. You guys are weird. You make pretty great kids, though.”

“Yeah.” Mac has fallen asleep by now, drooling a little bit on Amy’s shoulder. She kisses the top of his head and thinks of the abstract idea of her second kid, the thump-thump of an already present heartbeat they got so lucky as to hear on an early ultrasound yesterday. “The best.”

As midnight draws closer, most of the guests take on jackets, scarves and shoes to venture out into the garden to watch fireworks. Not wanting to be left out, Amy and Jake manage to get a half-sleeping Mac, who wakes up suddenly interested when he hears about the promise of fireworks, into his overall and join them. It’s a surprisingly good view from the garden, the cold winter air waking them up, and Jake points out the vibrant displays in the sky to a drowsy Mac, who blinks at them dazedly. It’s so cute it makes Amy tear up. Being both a mom and newly pregnant does that to her; she’s given up trying to fight it.

It’s hard to believe that two years ago, she was toasting in champagne in a hotel bar and wondering if they would ever make a baby together, and now she’s standing in a garden watching Jake with their one-year-old son and knowing that next New Year’s, if all goes well, they’ll be parents of two.

“What are you thinking of?” Jake must see her tears, because he looks worried, but Amy just smiles.

“Just how quickly things can change. How happy I am. And how much I love you.”

“Love you, too. Top three-hundred-and-sixty-five moments of this year,” Jake says, hugging her close so they’re standing in a little family bubble. “Every single day I get to wake up with and then come home to my family.”

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…

They both lean in so they can smother their son with kisses, and he laughs as he figures out what’s about to happen.

Three, two, one… happy new year!

The sky explodes with color, Jake and Amy attack their son with kisses, and as the new year begins, Amy thinks she might just be the luckiest person in the entire world.

#happy new year!#my writing #b99 #peraltiago #jake x amy #b99 fic #peraltiago fic #i've spent twenty minutes trying to fix the spacing on this and it still won't work because tumblr is a fucking hellsite #read it on ao3 if you want spaces

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the-black-birb · 4 years

Note

Hi! New follower here but I love your writing, for the prompt list I would love your take on 29/30 with Kuroo! 💕💕 ty !

A/N: Thank you for requesting! I got a little carried away with this and it got really drawn out, hope you enjoy!! I could see myself writing this as a fully-fleshed out story, tell me if you’re interested :)

also for @thenerdyrebel i said I'd make it up to you with Kuroo fluff huhuhuhu

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Kuroo needs a girlfriend for a week. You’re set on making him regret asking you for a favor.

Your relationship with Kuroo was anything but serious. That was a given, considering the two of you were only dating because Yaku dared Kuroo. It was simple, really.

“I bet you can’t get a girlfriend for a full week,” he prompted, knowing Kuroo’s busy schedule between volleyball and college exams. That mixed with his awful personality and he was lucky if a girl stuck around for a conversation.

Still, Kuroo couldn’t say no to a bet, and he had just the person in mind.

“[Y/N],” he approached you one day during lunch, expression screaming mischief. You looked at him doubtfully.

“What are you planning on involving me in today, Tetsurou?” you weren’t unfamiliar with his scheming nature. Three years in the same class made the two of you more than just acquaintances, and you’d been known to do each other favors in times of need.

“Remember that time you stayed up late watching anime so I wrote your essay for you so you could sleep the next day?” he smirked at you. You nodded. “And remember how you said you owed me big time?”

You sighed. “What?”

“Yaku said I couldn’t have a girlfriend for a week,” he says bluntly. You look at him confused.

“You want me to find some poor girl that wants to date you? Hun, that’s impossible,” you dismissed, ignoring the pounding in your chest.

“No, no. That’s too risky. I want you to date me,” he grinned, looking at you like this was a fantastic idea. You fought down the heat rising to your cheeks. Date me? You thought to yourself. Date me? He wants to date me?

“Well, fake date.” Oh. The disappointment sunk in. That makes more sense.

You shook your head. It was no surprise Kuroo didn’t want to date you, but you could still get something out of this. “Buy me noodles every weekend for a lunch,” you replied, gaze unwavering.

Kuroo sighed. That was a lot. “Two weeks?”

You shook your head. “Three.”

“You’re on.”

The two of you shook on it, and you were officially “dating.”

Kuroo wasn’t getting off the hook that easily, though. If you were going to be his girlfriend, you were going to be the most obnoxious girlfriend he’d ever had. You were going to make everyone question why he would ever want to date you.

At first, you were very subtle about it. You did everything you thought a good girlfriend should do, like make him lunch and wear his team jacket. To confirm the whole thing, you made sure Yaku was watching you.

Unfortunately, you were a horrible cook and a bit of a slob.

“This is inedible,” Kuroo groaned as soon as Yaku left the room. You smiled at him deviously.

“You don’t want to eat your girlfriend’s homemade cooking,” you faked a pout. He smacked the back of your head.

“We both know you can’t cook [F/N],” he reminded you, taking out the lunch that he prepared from home. Unlike you, Kuroo had some skills in the kitchen. You were about to leave to buy lunch (because obviously you weren’t going to make yours) when he placed a second container in front of you.

Oh.

“You think I’m letting my girlfriend eat some shitty school lunch when I know she can’t cook?” Was he blushing?

You wanted to laugh at him, really, but he was being too sweet. Instead, you sat down with him and prepared to eat. Still, you couldn’t resist…

“Aww, did your mommy make it for you?” He kicked you under the table. You just laughed.

You continued to be a “good” girlfriend, shouting at him in the hallways and clinging to his arm to make it difficult for him to walk. You tried to keep your antics to a minimum; after all you couldn’t let him catch on too early.

Good girlfriends even visited their boyfriend’s volleyball practice, you determined. So you thought you should surprise them! And as your surprise you accidentally opened the clubroom while the boys were changing… you tried to help set up equipment and somehow balls were all rolling out of the gym… truly you were a disaster. Finally, Kuroo approached you.

“Don’t help with clean up,” he set stubbornly. You looked up at him with big, round eyes feigning innocence.

“Why not? You guys don’t have a manager to handle things so it’s the least I can do,” you smiled at him. He hugged through his nose.

“Nope. Don’t want my girlfriend staying up late for me. Go home and get some rest,” he demanded, walking away from you.

“You won’t even walk me home,” you whined, hoping you could get a few more hours out of fun with him. Kuroo turned to you, eyes stern.

“No.”

You didn’t argue with that.

Still, your antics continued for the next few days. You showed up to school late, you’d wear your uniform wrong, you’d talk loudly during class, whatever you could do to be obnoxious. People would be absolutely appalled that the captain of Nekoma’s renowned volleyball team was dating you.

As usual, you went to Nekoma’s practice. Today, you were holding tightly to Kuroo’s hand (“Yaku has some doubts,” he told you that morning. “We’ve got to amp it up.”). You walked into the gym and sat on the sideline, already banned from touching equipment. Truly, you didn’t mind this. The team greeted you as they entered, and you pulled out a notebook to get started on your homework.

Occasionally, you’d grab water for the team but you were so tired from being a nuisance during the day, you really didn’t have energy to interrupt practice. And, although you’d never say this if anyone asked, you got to wear Kuroo’s team jacket and watch him play. He looked so into it, he was having so much fun. You wondered how it felt.

Although previous practices you’d either been removed by Kuroo or chosen to leave when the sunset, tonight you had lost track of time. Before you knew it, the moon was high and the boys were starting to clean up.

“Hey.” Kuroo walked up to you. “You’re still here?”

You pretended you didn’t feel the heat rising to your cheeks when he noticed. You looked to your notes, as if the answer to this situation would be there. “Whoops!” you stuttered with a nervous laugh. “I guess I got distracted watching…I’ll just…go… now…” You hastily stood with your bag, getting ready to leave. The quicker you got home, the less risk there was of someone lurking in the dark.

“Wait a few minutes,” Kuroo said absentmindedly, putting away volleyballs. “I’ll walk you home.”

You wondered if he knew what his words did to your poor heart.

Patiently, you waited by the door watching as he and his team cleaned up the gym. Finally, he grabbed his bag and ushered you out the door with him.

Out of habit, his hand reached to grab yours as the two of you walked. You thought about teasing him, wondering if he needed a thumb to suck, too. But the quiet hum of crickets and the calm sky told you this wasn’t the right time.

Your hand stayed firmly in his the whole walk home.

The next day, you were back to your usual antics. Today you had a magnificent plan. You had eaten an omelet for breakfast this morning, but asked your mother to put extra onion and garlic in it. When you got to school, you made sure everyone knew.

“Hhhhhello darling,” you smiled at Kuroo. He looked like he was about to vomit.

“Did you eat a dumpster? Your breath stinks,” he wafted a hand over his face, trying to dismiss the smell. You smiled sweetly.

“Aww don’t be like that. I just hhhad some garlic. You hhhave got to try omelets with garlic, they are just delicious. Especially hhhomemade,” you trailed on, making sure to drag out all of your h’s so Kuroo got the full effect.

“Wow, look at that. Class is starting,” he turned forward in his seat, discreetly shoving a few mints your way.

To make matters worse, Lev had finally caught wind of your relationship. “You’re dating the captain?” he asked you during lunch (you stopped by to tutor occasionally). You grinned up at the first-year, ready to put your plan in place.

“Yes, he’s really dreamy.” Lev made a face that said he disagreed and it took all your willpower not to laugh. “But he hasn’t kissed me yet. I wonder if I did something wrong…”

As if on cue, Kuroo walked into the first-year classroom, lunchbox in hand. “Oh [F/N], there you are. You wanna eat?” he held up his second meal, looking at you expectantly. You turned to Lev bidding goodbye, but he had other plans.

“Captain, how can you not kiss your girlfriend?” he asked, confused look on his face. “You’re so lucky to have such a pretty girl and you won’t even treat her right…”

Kuroo glared at you, handing you the lunchbox swiftly.

“If you’re not careful, someone might steal her,” Lev teased, but the look on his face was mischievous. You wanted to laugh. He’ll only care if they steal me in the next few days, you thought.

Kuroo opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by the bell. Instead, he smirked in a way that sent chills up your smile. “See you at practice, Lev,” he threatened.

His grip on your hand as you walked back to class was tighter than usual. He looked down at you curiously, trying to figure out what you were planning. “You think I’d kiss someone whose mouth smells like cat shit?” he quips as you walk in class.

Seeing there’s no Yaku around you give your honest reply. “Don’t worry, Tetsurou, I know you wouldn’t kiss me if my mouth smelled like flowers and fairy shit,” you retorted, getting out your schoolwork. “I just want to have a little fun,” you winked.

Too busy getting ready for class, you didn’t hear his quiet protest to your statement.

Class continued as usual. You sat quietly through the day, head occasionally falling. Kuroo stifled a laugh, you looked bored to death. He wondered how much you slept last night.

Partway through English, a note slipped onto his desk. In messy handwriting is said "how much money would you give me to flip this table right here, right now, in the middle of class?" It took willpower not to start laughing right there. He scribbled back quickly "I'll add one more weekend of noodles " and passed the note back to you. He saw you smirk when you read it, and write a hurried reply.

Before the note got back to him, you were on the floor, gripping your thigh in pain, and your desk was on the ground.

Kuroo tried to ignore the fact that from this position everyone could see your striped underwear. Instead he was worried about the incredible look of pain on your face and the curse words stringing from your mouth.

After a moment, you sat up, arm still rubbing your thigh but in a far less incriminating position.

"Sorry," you said sheepishly. "Leg cramp."

The teacher opened their mouth, clearly about to give you a scolding, but Kuroo was one step ahead. He slipped the note, which he still had yet to read, into his bag, and stood up to help clean up the mess you made. He pulled you up to stand, hand gripping your arm to support you.

"I'll bring her to the nurse," he assured the teacher, rushing out of the room.

As soon as you go to the hallway, the two of you burst into laughter. "You're crazy," he assure you. "Absolutely insane."

You smiled at him brightly. "You're just jealous you didn't have the balls to do it yourself," you retorted, tripping over yourself with laughter. "You hate English, anyways."

Kuroo shook his head. "Sure but I wouldn't flash the whole class to get out of it," he said through a fit of giggles. "You're wild [F/N]."

You shrugged. "So where do you want to go now?" You inquired, wandering the halls. Kuroo looked perplexed.

"Well we're not going to the nurse's office and I doubt he's expecting us to go back to class," you smiled at Kuroo. "We've got an hour until practice. Where would you like to go?"

Kuroo felt his heart skip a beat. He didn't know what to say.

You smiled at him, and he wanted to be the only person who got to see you look like that. "I know, come with me." You grabbed his hand and started walking.

He wasn't sure how long the two of you walked for. Five minutes? Ten? Usually, silence with you was deafening. You were always trying to crack a joke or make noise. But this was comfortable. He was comfortable. Finally, the two of you arrived at a park close to Nekoma. It wasn't anything special, really, but it felt private. Like the whole world was put on pause for the two of you.

You sat on the swing, mindlessly rocking back and forth. You were staring at the ground.

"So when all of this is over," you still weren't looking at him. "Do we fake a huge breakup? I mean, the whole school knows at this point." You grinned at him. "Wouldn't want them to think you're stuck with me much longer, would you?"

Kuroo smirked. Whatever you could dish out, he could serve back. "What?" He teased. "Afraid if you stick around much longer you'll fall for me for real?"

Your laughter was music to his ears. He leaned against the swingset, watching you move back and forth slowly. "I would never," you teased back. "I'm far too sophisticated for the likes of you," you assured him, swinging back and forth.

"Right," he nodded. "Polka dot panties scream sophistication. Were they pink, too?"

Your ears turned bright red. “They were striped and blue and I didn’t expect you to look!” you retorted (although the last part was a lie, you were fairly certain everyone in the class was looking)

“Hmm,” Kuroo purred. “They were? I think I’ll have to check…” he walked towards you on the swing, hands out in front of him. You were quick to jump off and run from him, but he chased after you nonetheless.

The two of you ran around the park playfully, going up ladders and down slides and Kuroo pretended to grab at you (if he truly wanted to, you were sure he’d be able to catch up to you). Although you had always been the clumsy one out of the two of you, Kuroo had his moments as well. Soon, he was tripping over his own two feet and bring you down with him.

Somehow, you ended on the ground laughing, Kuroo’s form hovering over yours. It was close, closest you’ve been with someone since you were a little kid on a playground. But the way his arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you from truly falling, and the warmth radiating from his body and his huge grin… it was worth it.

Eventually, the two of you calmed down and Kuroo stood, offering you a hand. You accepted quietly. “Back to school?” you suggested. He still had practice. Nodding in agreement, the two of you walked hand in hand back to Nekoma.

When you got to school, there was something noticeably different about the air between the two of you. Although you continued your banter, something had eased the tension. No one on Nekoma’s team was sure what exactly it was, but their captain seemed far more relaxed than he had for months.

During break, Lev walked up to you. “[L/N], has he still not kissed you?” he whispered like it was your little secret. You froze, discreetly reaching for your mints. You hoped Yaku didn’t hear him.

You thought back to the park. He hadn’t kissed you, but somehow it felt more personal than a kiss. “Don’t worry about it, Lev,” you assured him with a friendly smile. “Besides, I think you have bigger things to worry about…” Yaku was walking your way, surely to retrieve the tall first-year.

Kuroo watched the two of you talk and walked over to you. “Is he making you uncomfortable?” he asked defensively. You realized how close he was standing to you and suddenly were awfully glad you grabbed that mint.

“Nope!” you assured. “Why? Jealous?” you grinned, expecting nothing to come of it. Kuroo had to get back to practice anyways.

Instead, he swept down and planted a firm kiss on your cheek. “Just a bit,” he whispered in your ear, before turning around and heading back to practice. The warmth of his breath on your ear and his lips against your cheek lingered. For a moment, you wished this week would never end.

But practice had to end, and Kuroo walked you home like normal. It wasn’t until he was back at his own home, finishing homework, that he remembered the note placed on his desk. He went into his bag to find it and uncrumpled it to see your note, his, and then below it in familiar handwriting…

Are you asking me on a date? I accept

He groaned, throwing the note across the room and covering his face with his hands. Warmth pooled in his chest as he remembered the feeling of his hand in yours and the way you laughed running across the playground… he never wanted it to end.

Although he tossed and turned in bed kept up with thoughts of you and of tomorrow being the last day you’d be ‘fake-dating,’ he eventually fell into a dreamless slumber. After all, the only dreams he had were when he was together with you.

The next morning, you were late for school. Not late like you were later than usual, or you barely got to class, but that you walked in, interrupting the whole class. You were visibly disheveled, and dishing out apology after apology. The teacher took you into the hallway.

It was hard to make out what they were saying, but it was clear you were getting a stern talking-to. Eventually, you made it back into the classroom, awkwardly sitting in your seat and trying to avoid the noisy eyes of your classmates.

You weren’t exactly a class clown, but you were definitely someone who caught everyone’s attention. After spending the whole week drawing eyes to yourself, he wondered why now you decided to hide from it. You had nothing to hide from, he thought.

At lunchtime, he approached you like normal, with an extra lunch in hand. “So, detention?” he asked. You nodded solemnly. “Again?” It had been a while, but for a bit, you were a serial-detention-attendee. It was never really your fault, you were just late and busy and school never really clicked with you. Three years of having class together and Kuroo noticed it, too.

But you’d worked hard to improve your record, and it had been months since your last detention. Still, the slip weighed down on your desk like a metal anchor, dragging you down. You sighed defeatedly.

“Stupid me. I just had to walk my siblings to school… make sure they had lunch money… next time I just won’t show up,” you muttered to yourself. Kuroo furrowed his eyebrows. You weren’t usually one to get down, even when you had rough patches.

“C’mon it’s just some time after school. You’ll be fine,” he guaranteed you, brushing off your concerns. You nodded, smiling weakly.

“Yeah. You’re right,” you mumbled, eating your food dejectedly.

You weren’t very talkative for the rest of lunch.

Kuroo racked his mind, trying to figure out what he could do to make you feel better. He thought about offering you some noodles, but he did enough of that. A card? No, too cheesy…

Before he knew it, it was the end of the day and you were cleaning up the classroom before heading off to your dreaded detention. Kuroo stayed back to help, figuring it was the least he could do.

You’d been strangely quiet all day and Kuroo hadn’t been sure what to do. Finally, when the two of you finished up, he thought it easiest to dismiss himself. The silence between you was deafening.

“I’ll just… see you Monday then…” he trailed off, heading to leave the classroom. It was only the two of you in there.

“Wait,” you called after him. He stopped immediately, turning to face you. Your head was to your chest, staring at your shoes, and your hand awkwardly scratched the back of your head. You spoke quietly, but he listened closely to make out your words. “Could you… I know you don’t have volleyball today but could you maybe… could you wait for me?” You breathed in deeply.

“I can’t let my mom find out I got detention, she’s been so happy lately and if she finds out she’ll… she’ll…” Tears threatened to pour from your eyes. Kuroo didn’t say much, but he could see the stress weighing down on your shoulders.

“C’ mere,” he motioned. You moved towards him slightly, and when you were within arms reach, he tugged at your wrists to pull you into a warm embrace. “It’s okay,” he whispered to you. One arm circled around your waist to secure yourself to him, while the other drew circles soothingly into your back. “You’re going to be okay,” he promised. When he spoke, you actually started to believe it.

You wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your head into his neck, sobbing quietly. “It’ll be alright,” he promised, kissing your forehead. For a while, the world stopped and you just relished in the comfort of being completely honest and safe in his arms.

Eventually, Kuroo pulled away but kept his forehead pressed to yours. “Hey,” he whispered.

“I got your shirt all wet,” you apologize through tears. His hand moved to wipe at your cheek and he smiled.

“No worries, I looked better without it anyway,” he teased. You laughed tiredly. “I’ll wait for you, and then we can walk home together. We’ll tell your mother we went out on a date, okay?” He owed you at least four.

You nodded, too tired to argue, and wiped away the tears on your cheeks. “Right. I’ll see you at the gate?” Kuroo smiled at you.

“I’ll be waiting.”

True to his word, he was there when you got out of attention. You were started to look more like yourself again, with color in your cheeks and light in your eyes. Still, there was something sad about your demeanor.

You didn’t greet him, and he didn’t greet you, but the two of you fell into step with one another without question. You were simply meant to be side by side at that moment.

“So… the week is up,” you reminded him with a sad smile. Kuroo felt a weight rest on your shoulders. You were right… a week had passed and there was really no reason for the two of you to “date” any longer. But…

“What do you want to do?” he asked you. You were the one who was in a tough spot, and he didn’t want to take advantage of your vulnerability. He just wanted to see you happy.

You breathed in sharply. You seemed nervous for some reason, and Kuroo prayed silently that he hadn’t been putting pressure on you. “I’ve been thinking actually. About that day at the park.” You turned to face him. He stopped, giving you time to speak.

“I have a confession. Don’t laugh at me?” you asked anxiously. Kuroo grinned at you.

“I’ll always laugh at you,” he promised and you punched his arm playfully. “All right, all right! No laughter from me, not a peep.” He hoped his face didn’t look too hopeful.

“I know I said I wouldn’t, but I think I fell for you for real. Like, really, totally badly,” you admitted, eyes tracing the ground. “And I get that you did this as a joke, and I’m sure you asked me because I’m the one person who you’d never end up dating but I wanted to be honest with you.” Kuroo felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders. You looked cute rambling. “And you don’t even have to respond! Or walk me home! We can stage a breakup, or just tell everyone it didn’t work out or-”

There was something warm against your lips.

Kuroo’s lips were against your lips. He pulled away, stupid grin still clear on his soft, cherry-flavored lips.

“Why would I break up with someone I’m head over heels for?”

#kuroo tetsurō #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo fluff #kuroo imagine #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq kuroo #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fluff

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zelenacat · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3- When We Were Young- An Obitine Story

“We weren’t expecting two.” Satine stated plainly.

They had made it up to the Duchess’ quarters, Khaami had held the babies while Fesma supported Satine up the stairs, it had been grueling, but necessary.

Tyra wailed.

“At this hour,” Khaami observed, “only the guards are awake.”

“Still,” Fesma countered, “what if they heard?”

“What are we going to do?” Satine corrected.

“We could,” Khaami paused, “claim your bastard brother had twins.”

“We could-”

“Satine?”

The Duchess looked up from where she was seated on her bed. Fesma, who was holding Tyra, had her eyes on the girls’ outstretched hand. She was flexing it, and the bed curtains were moving with her motions.

“Could,” Khaami gasped, “could she have inherited-”

“No.” the Duchess said sternly.

“Satine-”

Her chest rose with emotion, “She will remind me of him everyday.”

“Satine,” Fesma began firmly, “perhaps it’s best if Tyra is given to the Jedi Temple.”

Maybe it was the hormones, but the Duchess began to sob uncontrollably, the twins shifted, uncomfortable with their mothers’ tears.

“Satine,” Khaami sat next to her lady, holding Korkie in her arms, “your children will always be a part of you, but they are their own people.”

The Duchess sniffled, “It’s too early to let her go.”

“There’s no way we can keep her,” Fesma sighed, “a Mandalorian Jedi, she’s a juxtaposition, an enigma.”

Satine wiped her eyes.

“It makes sense,” she agreed, “but this is my daughter we’re talking about, my child.”

“She will be well cared for at the temple,” Khaami reasoned, “I’ve never heard tales of the Jedi being unkind.”

“That is true,” agreed Fesma, “and she will never have to hide who she is.”

Satine steeled herself, she was the Duchess of Mandalore, and despite all the odds she had decided to bear her children, Obi-Wan’s children, and she was going to make sure they lived good lives.

“Whatever is best for her.” the Duchess decided.

Fesma handed Satine baby Tyra, “I’m going to contact our less than savory friends about fake birth certificates and DNA tests.”

“Thank you,” Satine nodded before turning to Khaami, “and I suggest you go get some rest, I can watch the twins.”

Korkie gurgled.

“Are you sure, Satine?” Khaami asked.

“Yes,” the Duchess answered, “and once you’re done, Fesma, I suggest you rest as well.”

Fesma cracked a smile, “It has been a long night.”

After her ladies left, Satine draped a sheet in front of the balcony exit and over the entrance to her parlor room. Then climbed into the bed and held the babies to her chest.

“You’re both so special to me,” she whispered, “do you know that.”

The twins breathed in response, Satine was in awe of how the simple action fascinated her.

“I love you, Korkyrach, and you, Tyra Satine,” the Duchess smiled, “you are both so dear to me.”

Satine didn’t get much sleep that night, as the twins woke up every few hours, but in the morning, when Khaami and Fesma returned to her bedroom, the Duchess had a plan.

“I think we should pay someone to sneak her into the Jedi Temple.”

Khaami blinked.

“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.” Fesma stated.

“I agree.”

“But-”

“Satine,” Fesma frowned, “do you know how heavily guarded the Jedi temple is?”

“Yes, but-”

“Satine,” Khaami’s eyes widened, “whoever sneaked in the temple would likely be killed.”

“Maybe,” Fesma began after a short silence, “you could talk to Tyra’s father-”

“Out of the question,” Satine snapped, “I love him for who he is, not what he was, if I told him about the twins he would become someone new and hate himself!”

Khaami jumped backward.

Satine lowered her eyes, “I can’t have that.”

“Perhaps, then,” Fesma shifted, “Master, what was his name, Qui-”

“Qui-Gon,” Satine tried to clap, but then she remembered the twins, “he will most definitely help me!”

“Are you sure?” Khaami asked, taking Tyra in her arms.

“It is risky.” Fesma added, taking Korkie.

“I know we can trust him,” the Duchess said firmly, “he was like a second father to me.”

Khaami nodded.

“In other news,” Fesma jumped in, “I contacted the forgers last night, but they’re asking a high price, especially for the DNA test.”

“It’s no wonder,” Satine sighed, “we need it to fool everyone.”

“How will we pay them?” Khaami worried aloud.

“Did they specify what they wanted?” the Duchess questioned.

Fesma shook her head, “Unfortunately, no, although I don’t think we have enough jewels to pay them this time.”

“Is there anything in the palace we can use without drawing attention?” Khaami asked.

“Maybe old relics,” Satine suggested, “candelabras and curtains that historians would die for.”

“That's a start,” Fesma stated, “perhaps some straight cash might help ease the bargain.”

“I’ll take it out of my salary.” the Duchess decided.

Korkie began to cry, then, so did Tyra.

“They must be hungry.” Fesma observed.

Satine held out her arms, “I’ll try feeding them.”

Khaami and Fesma shared a look.

“Are you sure, Satine?”

“I’ll start,” the Duchess assured, “and Fesma can bring up extra milk for my tea.”

Wordlessly, Fesma handed Satine her son and left. It was a struggle, Satine had no idea how to feed a baby. Khaami was trying to be helpful, but really, Satine was losing her patience.

“We have a problem.” Fesma announced, setting down a tray of milk and tea bags, “many guards heard a baby crying last night.”

Satine took a spoon and quietly began feeding Korkie, her mind whirling.

“We’ll have to speed things up, then.” she said finally.

“I agree.”

“Fesma, look for nice vases, candelabras, and maybe even old Mandalorian stays,” Satine instructed, “take notes of where and how prominently featured they are.”

“Of course.”

While Khaami burped Korkie and began laying out clothes for her lady, Satine picked up an old comm device and called Master Qui-Gon Jinn, while caring for Tyra.

“Satine?”

“I’m sorry to disturb your meditation, Qui-Gon-”

Over the comm Satine heard the Jedi Master stand, “Is there an emergency?”

“Not an imminent one.”

“Do explain.” Qui-Gon goaded.

“I’ve given birth to twins.”

Besides a sharp intake of breath, there was nothing but silence.

“Tyra Satine, my second born, is force sensitive.”

Master Qui-Gon sighed.

“Can you bring her to the temple?”

“Satine,” the Jedi Master began, “why not just-”

“My consort can’t have anything to do with the Jedi,” Satine interrupted, “and I can’t raise them as my own, Mandalore is too unstable.”

“Your political enemies would also be overjoyed.” Qui-Gon stated.

“Yes,” Satinie’s voice quivered as Tyra burped, “and I need my children to be safe.”

“I ask the council for a few hours of quiet retreat,” the Jedi Master told her, “I’ll be there at two o’clock today.”

Satine sighed, “Thank you, Master Qui-Gon.”

“Should I tell Obi-Wan?”

The Duchess’ breath caught, on her shoulder, Tyra sighed.

“No,” Satine said cooly, “I fell in love with Obi-Wan for what he is, a Jedi, telling him would cause a recalculation of his morals and values.”

Qui-Gon was silent for some time before speaking, “Alright, Satine.”

Satine dressed herself that morning while Khaami watched the babies. Fesma returned soon after Satine had finished brushing her hair.

“The council is expecting you,” she announced, lowering her voice, “and I have the list.”

“Thank you,” Satine smiled, “at Master Qui-Gon is coming today at two.”

Fesma nodded, “Good, I’ll start preparing our bounty.”

The Duchess turned to Khaami, “Watch the twins, will you?”

The lady lit up, “Of course, Satine.”

In the council chamber, the meeting went on as scheduled. The Duchess did her best to pay attention, but at the end of two hours, she was done.

“That will be all, Your Grace.”

Satine straightened, “Thank you, Prime Minister.”

Pushing her chair back, Satine wandered down to the kitchens remembering she hadn’t eaten breakfast yet today. Unfortunately, the Duchess rounded a corner and walked straight into a gaggle of maids.

“Oh,” one gasped, “forgive us, Your Grace.”

“It’s no worries,” Satine said, rubbing her head, “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Oh no, Your Grace,” a second maid assured, “it was us who wasn’t paying attention.”

The third maid frowned, “Are you well, Your Grace?”

“Why, yes,” Satine nodded, “though a little tired I suppose.”

The first maid gave the third one a harsh look.

“Please excuse us, Your Grace.” the second maid curtsied.

That first encounter didn’t leave her suspicious, but after Satine caught two waiters gossiping about what the guards had heard, and the cooks discussing the Duchess’ eating habits and weight, Satine realized she was the victim of rumors.

Upstairs in her bedroom, the Duchess was shocked to find Fesma and Khaami pulling down her curtains.

“Where-”

“They’re on the bed.” Fesma answered.

Satine ran to the twins, they were wearing cloth diapers and rolling around on the mattress. She could tell which one was which because Tyra, who had been born with some hair, had a blonde cowlick sticking up towards the ceiling.

“Hello, darlings,” Satine kissed her children’s heads, “now, will you tell me what mother’s ladies are doing?”

“These curtains are made from horse hair.” Fesma replied.

The Duchess gaped.

“I know,” Khaami agreed, seeing Satine’s look, “the species that went extinct three hundred years ago.”

Peaking through the side door, Satine noticed that on her parlor floor sat a whole pile of treasures. Marbled silk scarves, gold-plated vases, candelabras from the dark era, and soon, curtains made from horse hair.

“Yes!” Khaami cried.

Returning her attention to the maids, Satine grinned as the curtains fell on top of her ladies.

“Khaami, I told you to catch it.”

“Well how can I catch it if I can’t see anything!”

The babies giggled. Satine helped Fesma out of the wreckage.

“How are we going to get all this stuff to the forgers?” Khaami asked, throwing the curtains to the side.

“I’ve contacted them about that,” Fesma answered, “they will send agents in as maids to help collect the stuff.”

“Even the vases?” questioned Satine.

“Even those.”

Khaami crossed her arms, “When are they coming?”

“They will all be here by breakfast tomorrow morning,” Fesma sighed, “they gave us a code phrase and everything.”

“Staggered entry,” the Duchess mused, “these forgers are quite clever.”

Khaami frowned, “They’re criminals, Satine.”

“Still, they’re helping me save my children.” the Duchess countered.

There came a knock on the door, and everyone froze.

“The crow flies at midnight.”

Satine raised her eyebrows at Fesma.

“Come in.”

The little “maid” who came in was short with raven hair, her eyes lingered on the Duchess, then fell to the twins on the bed.

“Through here,” Satine motioned, “please follow me.”

The imposter maid’s eyes widened at the loot. Then she took out two pieces of paper.

“The DNA tests you requested, Your Grace.”

Satine looked at the tests, then smiled, “Thank you.”

“I’ll start with the scarves,” the imposter maid smiled, showing teeth, “they have to be cleaned after all.”

An hour later, while Satine was preparing Tyra for her journey, another knock pounded on the door.

“The crow flies at midnight.” two male voices harmonized.

“Come in.”

The men who came in were dressed as painters.

“You asked us to restore your vases, Your Grace.” one of them bowed.

“Yes,” Satine pointed, “through there.”

While the criminal painter who spoke to her went to the other room, his accomplice pulled out two pieces of paper.

“The birth certificates you requested, Your Grace.”

Looking at the certificates, Satine tried not to marvel at their authenticity, “Thank you.”

Once the men left, carrying two heavy vases, Khaami returned from changing the twins’ diapers.

“They're gone?” she asked.

“Yes,” Fesma smiled, arranging the papers, “and now I suggest you bring us some lunch.”

Khaami smiled at the babies, “I’ll be back.”

Satine took the twins from her and climbed onto the bed.

“My beautiful little prince and princess.” she cooed.

Tyra, as if knowing her fate, began to sniffle.

“Oh,” Satine frowned, “it’s alright my love, you’re going to be safe with your Uncle Qui-Gon.”

Tyra moaned.

“I would like to give her something,” the Duchess said, looking up, “do you think it would be too dangerous?”

“It might be,” Fesma frowned, “but maybe a necklace, though it can’t be too obviously from the Kryze Clan.”

Satine ran through a mental list of the family jewelry.

“My mother was fond of a warrior’s eye pendant,” the Duchess smiled at the memory, “perhaps I’ll give my daughter that.”

“It would be poetic.” agreed Fesma.

When Khaami returned, Satine sent Fesma to go get her mother’s necklace. She could’ve easily done it herself, but the Duchess wanted to spend as much time with her daughter as she could.

“The crow flies at midnight.”

Satine stood, handing Tyra to Khaami.

“Come in.”

Two older women dressed as seamstresses entered the room. Satine handed them each a curtain.

“Here are the hospital records, Your Grace.” said the first one.

“Thank you.”

The second maid held out her hand, “These are the connected bills, they’re completed.”

“Thank you.” Satine repeated.

The imposter seamstresses left.

“You’re amazing.” Khaami whispered.

“Really?”

“Giving birth to twins in secret,” Khaami stated, “giving them good lives, making sure they’re safe.”

Satine smiled sadly, “It’s what any good mother would do.”

“And you’re a great one.” Khaami agreed.

The Duchess felt unsure at that remark and took Tyra in her arms, preparing to burp her.

“We’ll have to get a nursery set up for Korkie.” observed Khaami.

“True,” Satine smiled wearily, “at least he gets to be near me, even if I can’t acknowledge him as my son.”

“But,” Fesma interjected, closing the door behind her, “when Queen Mara only had an illegitimate son, the court named him her heir.”

“That was a different time,” Satine frowned, “everyone was desperate for a male heir, and Mara refused to marry.”

“But that’s good,” Khaami smiled, “it could mean that your children could be considered legitimate.”

“It is a precedent.” Fesma agreed.

Satine sighed, staring at Tyra in her arms, “Unfortunately Mandalore is still too unstable.”

Once the babies were burped, Satine and her ladies ate lunch. Finally, a fourth imposter, a server, holding brass polish, came and took the candelabras.

He handed Satine a credit receipt, “The transaction is complete.”

“Thank you.”

When he left, Satine realized she had to hide this somewhere secret. Her ladies seemed to reach the same conclusion, as they both averted their eyes. For now, Satine left it in her sock drawer.

“Let’s get the papers ready,” Satine turned to Fesma, who was holding Tyra, “and make sure she’s warm, Master Qui-Gon will be here soon.”

On the night the twins were born, Fesma went out and bought a bag of diapers and two onesies, one purple and one blue. Tyra was dressed in the purple one with her grandmother’s necklace around her throat. Korkie was put in blue.

“Here are the papers,” Fesma said, holding out a paper clipped pile, “the Jedi will need these.”

Satine nodded, Khaami’s comm beeped.

“My lady, a Jedi named Qui-Gon Jinn claimed the Duchess is expecting him, is that true?”

“Yes,” Khaami answered, “Her Grace is most looking forward to his arrival.”

For the last time, Satine held both her daughter and son in her arms, kissing both of them sweetly.

“Say goodbye to your sister, Korkie.”

Korkie cooed.

“Tell your brother you love him, Tyra.”

Tyra giggled.

Satine handed Korkie to Fesma, “Stay here with my son, Khaami will accompany me to the landing pad.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” the lady responded, sensing the solemnity of the moment.

Walking down to the landing pad was the hardest thing Satine ever had to do. She clutched Tyra’s forged papers to her chest and made sure Khaami’s cloak covered the baby, then, she stepped out the door.

Master Qui-Gon disembarked just as Satine stepped out onto the landing pad, and in a burst of emotion, she ran to him in tears.

“Hush now, Satine,” the Jedi Master stroked the Duchess’ head, “it’s all going to be okay.”

“My son, Korkie, is upstairs,” Satine pulled away, wiping her eyes, “but Tyra is here for you.”

Khaami walked forward.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat, speaking loudly, “I’m afraid I only have a short while, Duchess, perhaps a walk around the gardens?”

“Of course,” Satine gestured for Khaami to follow, “let us go.”

It took a few sharp turns to lose the guards, but when they did, Satine handed her friend the forged papers.

“Everything you should need is here,” she whispered, “I’ve given Tyra a necklace, make sure she keeps it.”

“Of course.” the Jedi Master said earnestly.

Khaami came forward and held out her arms.

“This is the Princess Tyra Satine.” she stated.

Qui-Gon smiled warmly and with a gentle touch, took the baby in his arms.

“Hello, Tyra Satine.”

The Duchess steeled herself not to cry as Master Qui-Gon’s ship took off, but when she made it back to her room, Satine burst into tears.

“Oh, Fesma, Khaami, what have I done!”

“What is right,” Fesma said, leaning in front of her with Korkie in her arms, “this is what is best for your daughter.”

“She knows you love her,” Khaami assured, “she will always know.”

Satine swallowed, she would get through this.

“What are we going to do about Korkie? Fesma asked.

The baby gurgled.

Satine straightened, “Try to act surprised when I announce my nephew this evening.”

Clinking her glass, Satine stood, foreboding herself from shaking.

“There is an important family matter that must be shared with this court.”

The room went silent.

Satine tried to act emotional, which wasn’t hard, “I had a brother, he died in the war.”

Whispers sprung up around the table, spreading like wildfire on dry grass.

“My brother had a son, his name is Korkyrach,” Satine tightened her fingers around her glass, “and I have decided to raise him.”

More whispers.

“Your Grace-”

“Thank you for your input, Prime Minister,” Satine sat down, “but I have made up my mind.”

Within the week, the entire Mandalore system knew about Korkie, and Satine was free to love her son in peace. A nursery was set up across the hall from her room and a nanny was hired. What Satine wasn’t expecting, however, was the return of her sister Bo-Katan.

Naturally, her sister had to be dramatic, and had the announcer shout her arrival from the steps before the door opened. Her council gasped, but Satine wasn't surprised to see her sister in Mandalorian armor, it was practically all she wore.

“Bo-”

“I have come to meet my nephew.” Bo-Katan said grandly.

Satine looked to her council, “We will resume in an hour, dismissed.”

Bo-Katan was silent on the way up to the nursery, but Satine couldn’t stop talking. She hadn’t seen her sister since the day their parents were killed and she was whisked away by the former prime minister into Jedi care.

“I’m good, Satine.” Bo-Katan said finally.

The Duchess nodded and led her sister into the nursery.

Bo-Katan smiled when she saw him, “Korkyrach, huh?”

“Yep.”

“I didn’t know Dad, I mean-”

“Yeah.”

Her father had been an honorable man, and she hated disgracing his legacy this way. Despite their disagreements on the future of Mandalore, she had loved him, and she’d wept when he died.

“He’s got red hair,” Bo-Katan observed, “like me.”

“Mm hm.”

“Satine,” Bo-Katan turned to her sister suddenly, “where did he really come from?”

The Duchess gaped and looked around the room, the nanny was politely waiting outside.

“Bo,” Satine managed to get out, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Her sister’s eyes narrowed and her voice lowered.

“Satine, I know you published the hospital records-”

“And his birth certificate and DNA test.” interjected the Duchess.

Bo-Katan leveled Satine a glare, “But the hospital staff has no recollection or record of the woman who was Korkie’s mother.”

“That's strange,” Satine agreed, “although many records were burned during the war.”

“God fucking dammit, Satine,” Bo-Katan blurted, “our father would never do that!”

“Bo-”

“Is he yours?” Bo-Katan asked pointedly.

“What-”

“Is he yours?”

Satine blinked, she steeled her nerves.

“Bo, I’m not married.”

Bo-Katan crossed her arms, “That didn’t answer my question.”

“Look, who I get with is my own business,” Satine swallowed, thinking of Obi-Wan, “but I could never be so careless to, to-”

“Alright,” Bo-Katan held up her hands, “I guess I just don’t want to believe it.”

#duchess satine #satine kryze #satine x obiwan #fanfic #korkie kryze #korkie kenobi #obi wan kenobi #obitine #obiwan

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

Domesticated

M/F Pairing: Y/N x Bang Chan (Stray Kids)

Genre: Married Life AU

Warnings: Smut, language, some mentions of cheating (but not with the main pairing)

Word Count: 19,922 (I might break this up later on)

Summary: Marriage was something Y/N had been dreaming about since she was a little girl. But now, ten years later, she’s married to her college sweetheart, but their relationship isn’t entirely perfect. There’s the issue of her new boss, aka her ex-boyfriend Seo Changbin, and Chan’s younger brother Felix who insists on calling her Medusa. Yet, through it all, Y/N is positive she wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Notes: Y'all are really out here sleeping on husband Bang Chan and I won’t allow it anymore. Because Chan is 100% husband goals.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

I slowly exhaled after disregarding my somewhat passable resume, courtesy of one of those sketchy website builders, to look at the interviewer who waited for my response, pen poised over his expensive notebook. I swallowed hard as I struggled to compose myself under pressure. Because there was a professional answer somewhere in the back of my useless brain, but a dozen other responses, far more honest than his expectations, were waiting on the tip of my tongue.

Such as:

Waiting at home for my husband because all I do is stare at the clock, counting down the minutes until he walks through the door. I kinda miss when we were in college and could see each other sporadically between long lectures, grabbing lunch at the Wendy’s on South Campus. Now, the most exciting thing that happens is the occasional blow job before we pass out on the worn mattress in our master bedroom.

Sometimes Chan will host dinner parties at the house for his expensive doctor friends. He won’t spare me a single glance while I rush to fill glasses with rich-tasting wine, keeping an eye on Han Jisung because he can’t take more than three refills before he’s trying to dismantle the house. I’ll also have to ignore the really old surgeon who Chan admires because he likes to touch my ass when I pass through the living room. Maybe I was suited to be a sugar baby in another life.

On the rare occasion when Chan actually uses his cock, he’ll pant in my ear the entire time because he’s worn out from long hours at the hospital. Chan will cum before me most of the time and I’m lucky if he’s cognizant enough to eat me out so that I can finally fall asleep from my post-orgasmic haze. Heck, I’ll even take his fingers on my clit if it means an assured eight hours of sleep.

Shit, I miss being young.

I cleared my throat, deciding on the professional answer because I highly doubt Seo Enterprises wanted to hire a desperate housewife.

I was sprawled out on the couch in our living room when Chan came home that evening. I barely acknowledged his rushed greeting, watching through narrowed eyes as he ran into the kitchen. “Babe,” came his anticipated whine. “There’s no leftovers?”

“I didn’t feel like cooking,” I said, turning over to bury my face in the throw pillows decorating the cushions. It really wasn’t that comfortable since Chan insisted we get the stiff, fancy leather futon as opposed to the appealing sectional that could actually recline.

“You didn’t cook?”

Chan’s voice was closer this time but I still ignored him, sensing an impending headache. “I had an interview.”

“That was hours ago,” Chan pouted.

I sighed loudly. “The interview went great, honey, thanks for asking.”

“I’ve been at the hospital since 5 this morning,” Chan went on, weight dipping beneath the couch at the opposite end. “I didn’t even have time for lunch because Jisung almost fucked up a patient’s IV.”

“Remind me again why he still has a job.”

“Because he somehow graduated from nursing school and has a license claiming he’s qualified,” Chan said. “Plus, he’s my friend.”

“You have shit taste in friends,” I said, protesting when his hand landed a firm smack against my ass.

“Minho tried to wreck the Corvette when he ran out of cigarettes.”

“Minho is loyal.”

“He still wants to fuck you,” Chan grumped. “Ten years after college and he’s trailing after your ass.”

“Darling, you don’t have to be jealous when I’m wearing your ugly ring on my finger 24/7.”

“It was my mother’s!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Bang Chan,” I snapped while grabbing one of my support pillows from beneath my weight, launching it at my husband’s head. Sadly, Chan dodged at the last minute, much to my chagrin, smirking as he dug his fingers into my sides, forcing loud, high-pitched giggles as we both unceremoniously fell into the spotlessly clean floor. “Channie,” I groaned as he rolled on top of me, pinning my hands above my head before deciding to offer me a sloppy kiss with far too much tongue. “You’re fucking gross,” I said, biting at his lower lip in revenge.

“Yeah? Well, you’re fucking sexy,” Chan purred, nuzzling his head between my breasts.

“Stop it, you oaf!” I grumbled. “My period starts tomorrow. My tits have been sore all day.”

“Maybe I should have a look,” Chan teased, a free hand working loose one of the buttons on my shirt.

“And what good will that do?”

“Well, I am a doctor.”

“You just want to see my tits so you have something to jerk off to in the shower tonight.”

“Shower with me then,” Chan suggested. “I’ll fuck you against the wall.”

“Will you have the stamina?” I questioned. “You poor thing, how can you get it up when you haven’t eaten all day?”

Chan frowned at my mocking tone. “Are you turning down my cock?”

“You’re only half-hard,” I said, lifting my thigh against the tight bulge of his scrubs.

Chan let out a sigh, but his smile was endearing. “What if I order takeout? Then we can fuck in the shower.”

“Channie,” I cooed. “You always know how to talk dirty to me.”

I stand by my belief that email was now an archaic form of communication, but the number of big businesses that forced their employees to make an account @ their company name was ridiculous. But if I wanted to find a job in this big ass city, then I needed to play by the rules. Surprisingly, my most recent application was progressing with far more success than I could have anticipated, and I had read over the new email from Seo Enterprises at least half a dozen times:

Dear Mrs. Bang,

Thank you for taking the time to interview with our staff yesterday afternoon. After carefully reviewing your file with our CEO, he has asked us to schedule one last consultation. Please let us know your earliest convenience.

“That must be a good thing,” Minho remarked, digging his spoon into my ice cream since his bowl was empty and I wasn’t in the mood to argue with him.

“I guess,” I said, formulating a quick reply because I really wanted this fancy, high-paying Secretary job. I mean, sitting at home all day was definitely not high on my list of accomplishments.

“What’s the hurry anyway?” Minho asked as he licked his spoon clean. “Bang has enough money that you could just smooch off him for the rest of your life.”

“That’s not fair,” I said. “I want us to be equals.”

“Wasn’t that the point of marrying a doctor, Y/N?” Minho asked. “Otherwise, you could still be screwing around with me.”

“Except we aren’t 18 anymore,” I pointed out, frowning in his direction. “And says the guy who works part-time at his sister’s pet shop.”

“Hey!” Minho protested, shoving his spoon in my face. “I’m helping the strays. Population control and shit.”

“So what? You’re snipping some dog penises, good for you.”

Minho sat back with a disgruntled sigh. “What do you want to do after this?”

“I’ll bring Chan some lunch since he didn’t get a chance to eat yesterday,” I said. “Interested in accompanying an old friend?”

“Not really,” Minho said. “But I don’t have anything better to do.”

I maintained a long list of places that I truly despised and the hospital was number one. I always tried desperately not to let it show when I visited Chan because it wasn’t really his fault. I had a bad history when it came to hospitals and the memories lingered like the permanent smell of alcohol that Chan brought home with him on his scrubs.

“Did you see that guy in the waiting room?” Minho asked after I checked us in at the front desk. “He was seconds away from bleeding out on the floor.”

“Don’t talk about blood,” I shivered, hurrying to the elevator while frantically hitting the corresponding floor number.

“This reminding you of Freshman year?” Minho asked since he was a total airhead and missed out on the memo where I specifically told him to keep his mouth shut about that stupid Frat Party.

“There are five reasons why I hate hospitals,” I said, holding up my hand in front of his stupid face. “Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

“Is Freshman year one of them?”

“Shut the hell up, Minho.”

A quiet chuckle resounded through the empty elevator while I impatiently waited for our stop. “You’re feisty today,” Minho remarked once the doors reopened.

I ignored the nasty linoleum floors, heels clicking with every step I took in the direction of Chan’s office. “I’m eating with Chan and then we’re never coming here again.”

“Agreed,” Minho said, keeping pace with me while cringing at the gurneys being pushed through the hallways at an alarming rate.

We had almost made it to the end of the floor when I heard a lazy voice call out my name from one of the surrounding rooms. I closed my eyes because I could recognize that voice anywhere since it basically haunted my worst nightmares. He might not know it yet, but Han Jisung was the last person I wanted to run into because maybe, just maybe, he was one of the five reasons why I hated this place.

“Guys!” Jisung gushed, smiling brilliantly. “I’d hug you but I just finished cleaning piss off the floor.”

“Jesus, Han,” I said, wrinkling my nose against the overpowering smell of ammonia. “Is Chan in his office?”

“He was supposed to meet with our new superintendent,” Jisung said, grinning like a complete idiot when he shoved his gloved hands towards Minho who now looked a few beats away from losing his ice cream.

“You’re really pushing your luck today,” Minho growled at him.

“The meeting room is the last room on the right,” Jisung said, finally proving to be useful for once in his life.

I grabbed Minho’s arm because he was close to decking Jisung in the face and I didn’t need the security guards to tell Chan that I let my best friend attack one of his nurses. “Come on,” I said, urging him away from the potential crime scene.

“He’s this close to finding himself with a bloody nose,” Minho complained. “You know what’s funny? I’m pretty sure Han Jisung wouldn’t even know how to help himself.”

“You’re probably right,” I agreed, straightening the collar of my blouse as I peeked in through the tight blinds obscuring the glass wall of the room Jisung had indicated. “There’s Chan...” I started, trailing off when I noticed that he was engrossed in deep conversation with an unfamiliar woman.

“Oh, she’s really hot,” Minho remarked, wincing when I shoved my elbow into his chest.

“Commentary is not necessary,” I said, folding my arms across my chest as I tapped my foot against the floor. Who the hell did this bitch think she was?

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you,” Minho teased and I swallowed my pride, trying to ignore the way she reached out to touch Chan’s arm.

Thankfully, Chan finally noticed me outside, offering me a cheesy wave which I refused to reciprocate as he said something to the woman. I waited outside the door, attempting my best stern expression even if Chan completely ignored my efforts, encasing me in his powerful arms. “Y/N,” he cooed.

“Chan,” I choked out, struggling against his strength.

Minho snorted at the display. “I’m going to find the cafeteria. Text me when you wanna leave, Y/N.”

I waved him off once Chan eventually released me. I sucked in a few grateful breaths while holding up the takeout bag I had brought. “Is there somewhere we can go?”

Chan nodded, reaching for my hand. “Sorry I took so long, I was meeting with the new superintendent.”

I pursed my lips at that revelation. “She doesn’t look old enough to be a superintendent.”

“She’s around my age,” Chan said and I frowned because that just made everything worse.

The hospital’s staff room was small, the smell of coffee heavy in the air as Chan closed the door behind us. “Nobody should come in.”

“Good,” I said, choosing the only table that looked halfway clean before sitting down with a sigh. “I brought you lunch.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” Chan said, gratefully accepting the bag from me while he sat down on the remaining chair. I glared at him from across the table, watching as he dug into the cheap Japanese like it was his last meal on earth. “Is something wrong?” he asked over a mouthful of noodles. Something college Chan would have never done when we first started dating, but I suppose that’s what you get with marriage.

“I saw you were pretty close with your new superintendent,” I said.

“Oh yeah,” Chan replied cheerfully, stuffing even more food into his impossibly wide mouth. “She’s super smart. Like, Harvard graduate smart.”

“Of course she is,” I murmured. “Do you like her?”

“As a boss I guess,” Chan said, still horribly naive to the real problem. I cathartically drummed my fingernails against the surface of the table.

“Are you coming home early tonight?” I asked him. “I’ll fix your favorite.”

Chan’s eyes lit up because, despite the food sitting right in front of him, he always got excited at the prospect of another meal. “Really?”

I nodded. “I’ll put the good whiskey on ice.”

Chan sat back with a dramatic groan. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Where is all this coming from?”

“I’m just being a good wife,” I said, taking on a dismissive tone.

Chan grinned. “Do you want something, sweetheart? You know I’ll buy you anything.”

“No reason,” I chirped. “I just want you to remember how good am I to you.”

“Of course I know that,” Chan said, reaching across the table to squeeze one of my hands. “I didn’t just marry you for your beautiful face.”

“That’s not what you said when we first met,” I reminded him cheekily, enjoying the way his ears grew red. “Should I do a reenactment?”

“That’s not necessary,” Chan said, quickly dismissing the topic. “Did you hear back from your interview?”

“Oh I did,” I said. “They want me to come in and meet the CEO.”

“What for?” Chan scoffed, returning back to his meal.

“Well, I am taking on the secretary position,” I said. “Maybe he wants to make sure I have good phone etiquette.”

“Yeah?” Chan grumbled. “Or, he wants to make sure you look pretty for him so he has something nice to look at all day.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” I asked him because I loved it when Chan got possessive.

“I don’t want some rich bastard drooling over my wife,” Chan said, chopsticks clenched tightly between his fingers.

“Yeah? Well, it works both ways, you know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come on, Chan,” I sighed. “Your superintendent was totally flirting with you.”

Chan put down his chopsticks, eyeing me cluelessly. “No, she wasn’t.”

“Yes, she was,” I immediately countered, reaching down for my purse. “I watched her the entire time.”

“Were you spying on me?” Chan asked with a smirk.

“Minho’s probably waiting for me,” I replied instead, smoothing down my skirt as I stood up from the table.

“Don’t you think that’s too short?” Chan asked, pointing at my lower section as if personally offended.

“Work hard, honey,” I grinned, leaning over the table to peck him once on the lips, offering a cheeky wave on my way out the door.

My palms were sweaty and, despite my repeated attempts to wipe off the nasty residue on my skirt, the condition persisted. Hyperhidrosis, Chan might tell me, nerdy glasses falling down his nose. I grinned at a distant memory, one of the first dates I ever had with Chan. A younger, less confident version of my husband, frantically peeling his suit jacket from his body, complaining about the heat in the restaurant, only to cower moments later when he realized his armpits were totally drenched.

“Mrs. Bang?”

I looked up at the young man bowing in front of me. “Mr. Seo will see you now.”

I nodded, holding my tongue before I let the intern know that he sounded just like a passage from Fifty Shades of Gray. Oh, shit, what if I was about to meet Christian Gray in the flesh? Some sort of young, hot billionaire with the world at his feet, buying up other companies like they meant absolutely nothing.

It was a believable scenario, and I don’t know how I managed to get my feet to work, but I followed the intern with exaggerated steps. “The boss has been looking forward to this,” the intern told me, pausing outside the office door.

“He has?” I wondered, glancing around the grandiose lobby. Did I really make that much of an impression?

“You can go in now,” the intern smiled, politely holding the door for me as I wordlessly walked inside.

Of course, I was expecting something extravagant, considering the layout of the lobby, but I was still deeply impressed by the spacious, but oddly cozy interior. Could you really call this room an office? Considering how massive it was in size. I mean, was it really necessary to basically live in an apartment when you arrived to work every day? Complete with stylish hardwood floors that looked like something out of an edition of House and Home magazine. I’d bet my entire life’s savings that the CEO hired some kind of fancy architect to design the place because those engravings on the mahogany walls were quite difficult to achieve. “It’s nice isn’t it?” a disarmingly familiar voice asked, and I found the dark figure leaning against the desk in the center of the room, sleeves rolled up to show off his impressive arms. “I was surprised to see your application, Y/N.”

Fuck, Christian Grey would have been way better.

“Changbin?”

He met me halfway across the room, now completely visible beneath the low hanging lights, tan skin washed with a comfortable glow. “Shocked?”

“You could say that,” I said, suddenly feeling like I was 18 again in college, lusting after the object of my affections.

“Have a seat,” Changbin offered kindly, extending his arm towards the matching armchairs neatly tucked around the electric fireplace.

“Okay,” I nodded, unable to take my eyes off Seo Changbin as I stumbled over my heels like a complete lovestruck teenager meeting her musician idol for the very first time.

But, holy fuck, Changbin looked good. Why the hell did he not age or turn prematurely gray? I held back a whimper, eyes looking everywhere around the room except at Seo Changbin. How did I not put two and two together when I first got the notification for the Secretary position at Seo Enterprises? I mean, what are the chances that this Seo is my Seo...Or, at least, he used to be my Seo.

“Y/N,” Changbin said, flipping through my file with lazy movements. Where did he get those pants from? They fit him sinfully good, hugging his thighs and if I look close enough, the outline of his...“How are you?”

I startled at the question, drawing my eyes up to meet Changbin’s familiar gaze. “Oh, I’m uh..” I trailed off anxiously, trying to put meaningful words together because he was making the English language harder than it needed to be. “I’ve been alright.”

Changbin smiled and I crossed my legs because that kind of smile could literally drench a girl if he wasn’t careful. “I was really happy to see your name on my list.”

“Were you?” I asked, fingers digging into the cushion of my chair.

“I’m always happy to see a familiar face,” Changbin said. “It’s been a while.”

“College,” I choked out, completely out of mind with anxiety, like the time Minho stole my phone and made me think someone had stolen it, even encouraging me to call the number only for him to hang up every time.

“You’re still beautiful.”

“Changbin...”

“I know,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s all in the past.”

“That’s right,” I said, wondering if now would be an appropriate time to snatch my resume out of Changbin’s veiny hands and flee the premises.

“And you’ve married Bang,” Changbin said, pointing to my wedding band. “Which isn’t surprising.”

“Five years,” I said, trying my best to think about Chan and only Chan despite the literal embodiment of my every erotic high school fantasy sitting right in front of me.

“This would be strictly professional,” Changbin said, holding up my resume. “You were our best applicant, but I thought you should know everything about this place before taking the position. Including me.”

“Is that so?” was all I could think to say in return to his unexpectedly thoughtful comment.

Changbin lowered my resume slowly. “The job is yours, Y/N.”

“I’d still have to talk to Chan first,” I said because there’s no way I could just start working for Changbin without Chan knowing everything about the situation. Unfortunately, I could just about anticipate Chan’s response.

“That’s fine,” Changbin agreed. “You can call us tomorrow.”

I allowed a shaky nod, wondering if Changbin knew how much of an effect he still had on me all these years later.

Chan might be one of the smartest men I know, but he was, at his core, just a man who was quite whipped for his wife. Like all men, he was a sucker for lingerie, which is why I slipped on my best matching set, squeezing myself in the little black dress that I knew he really loved.

The hem barely touched the middle of my thighs.

I was also cooking his favorite meal, the smell filling the kitchen pleasantly as I stood at the stove. My plan was quite simple: dress pretty for Chan and surprise him with his favorite food to soften him up. Maybe then he wouldn’t have a complete meltdown when I broke the news to him about my newest employer.

But I still shivered when I heard the door open. “Y/N!”

“I’m in the kitchen,” I called back to him, attempting several meditative breaths to try and keep myself together.

“Holy shit,” he cursed, freezing in the doorway as he undoubtedly took in the sight of his wife wrapped in a tight black number.

“I’m making dinner,” I said, flashing him an arrogant smile, amused by the way he openly gaped at me while still wearing his oversized doctor’s coat. A result of an excited, freshly employed Chan filling out his form request with sloppy handwriting.

“You look hot,” Chan told me bluntly, eyes glued to my body as he eliminated the space between us with a few quick-paced steps.

“I got the job,” I said, letting out a nervous giggle as I continued to push around the searing bulgogi with a shaky hand. “Consider this a celebration.”

“That’s great, sweetie,” Chan said, standing behind me to wrap his arms around my middle, pressing soft kisses to the back of my neck, roaming hands feeling my body. “I guess the CEO liked you.”

A hellish double entendre. “Yeah, he was really nice.”

“I’m glad it worked out,” Chan said, voice next to my ear. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured to get a job or anything. I’m proud of you no matter what.”

Was it his intention to make me feel guilty? “Channie,” I sighed, turning around in his arms. “I have to tell you something.”

Chan cocked a brow. “What is it?”

“The company I’m working for...”

“Yeah?”

“The CEO is someone we know.”

“Is that it?” Chan chuckled, accent thick as those adorable dimples filled out his smile. “Who is it, babe?”

“He used to go to school with us,” I tried, hoping that maybe Chan could just learn how to read my mind and save me the effort of mustering some kind of courage.

“Minho?” Chan teased.

“We’re not exactly friendly with him,” I said.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but I’m not exactly friendly with Minho.”

“You jerk,” I huffed, half-heartedly pushing against his chest. “You really, really don’t like this person.”

“There aren’t many people I really, really don’t like,” Chan said. “Come on, Y/N, just tell me who it is. Are you afraid I’ll be upset with you?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

Chan’s smile vanished in a minute. “Y/N.”

“Seo Enterprises,” I said. “The company name.”

Realization dawned across Chan’s face. “Are you saying...”

“Changbin,” I murmured, looking down at my feet. “He’s my new boss.”

Chan let out a rough exhale because he knew exactly who Seo Changbin was and I’m pretty sure he associated the name with deep hatred. “Are you fucking serious?”

I winced at Chan’s tone because he had quickly shifted from sweet, caring husband to angry, sinister Mr. Bang in the blink of an eye. “Yes?”

“The Seo Changbin,” Chan reiterated. “The guy you fucked for like six months Freshman year?”

“That would be the one,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze before immediately regretting the decision.

“Why the hell would you take a job as his Secretary?” Chan demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. Normally, I would admire the sight of Chan’s arms stretching the thin fabric of his t-shirt, but now I was just intimidated.

“Because I really wanted the job,” I said. “And I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“Oh, it’s a huge fucking deal,” Chan said, glaring down at me. “You think I’m okay with the idea of you working for someone you once told me you were, and I quote, definitely gonna marry?”

“But I’m married to you,” I tried, attempting a sugary-sweet tone that usually broke Chan’s resolve.

Except for tonight.

“Yeah,” Chan nodded, “You are, and I told you I would take care of you. I have enough money to support both of us, you don’t need to work at all.”

“Chan, you know I’m not comfortable sitting at home,” I said.

“I get that, Y/N, but Seo Changbin? I could get you a Secretary job at the hospital.”

“Channie, this is a position at Seo Enterprises. One of their biggest assets is New York Publishers! It’s like the perfect opportunity to get my foot in the door.”

“Y/N,” Chan groaned. “I can’t stand the thought of you working for Changbin under any circumstances.”

“I get it, Chan,” I said. “But it’s different than college. I’m married now, and Changbin is nothing more than my boss.”

“Does he really get that?” Chan asked. “I’m putting my foot down, Y/N. I don’t want you working for him, okay? You can call them tomorrow and say you’ve got something better.”

“But Channie!”

“No, Y/N,” Chan growled. “You can look for something else.”

I frowned once I realized Chan wasn’t going to back down. It didn’t matter that I wanted the job or that I had dressed up and cooked for him. For the first time since we met, Chan was refusing to give me what I wanted. “Chan, you really don’t have the right to tell me what to do.”

“I’m your husband,” Chan said, justifying his unfair demands with such patriarchal reasoning.

“Fine,” I muttered darkly, ignoring the way his hand reached out for mine.

“Don’t be this way,” Chan said, following me as I marched to our bedroom, slamming the door closed behind me. “Y/N!” Chan shouted against the door, knocking loudly on the wood. “This is my room too!”

“Not tonight,” I informed him tersely, opening the door only to harshly shove a spare blanket and pillow at his chest. “Goodnight, darling.”

“This is Y/N,” I said into the phone. “I’m calling about-”

“One moment, Mrs. Bang, we can transfer you to Mr. Seo right away.”

“But you don’t understand...”

“Hello?”

“Changbin!” I squealed loudly into the phone, wincing at my shrill tone.

“Y/N,” Changbin said pleasantly, voice as deep and gravelly as I remembered. “Is this the phone call I’ve been waiting for?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, making myself comfortable at the kitchen counter since I was a notorious pacer when it came to difficult conversations. “It depends on what you’re expecting.”

“I’m expecting to hear a confirmation,” Changbin said. “This is a perfect position for someone with your qualifications.”

“I know,” I groaned. “But I’m calling because I can’t take the job.”

“Really?” Changbin asked. “Can I ask why?”

“Chan isn’t comfortable with the idea,” I said.

“Is that so?” Changbin inquired, innocently enough. “I hope it isn’t because of college.”

“T-that’s not entirely why,” I stuttered because Changbin was apparently intuitive now that he owned some big, fancy company.

“I hope not,” Changbin said. “It wouldn’t be fair of Chan to keep you from a potential opportunity because of something like that.”

“It’s just a lot right now,” I said. “I haven’t had a job in a year. My last position was really good, but the company went bankrupt and I was laid off, so I’m just trying to be careful.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about anything like that here, Y/N,” Changbin said. “This is a great opportunity for someone looking for a fresh start.”

Did he read my Facebook bio?

“I’m sure it is, Changbin, but I can’t do something that would make Chan uncomfortable.”

“But he’s not the one taking the position,” Changbin pointed out. “I can assure you, Y/N, you won’t find another position like this.”

“God, you’re good at negotiating.”

“Take the job, Y/N. I promise you won’t regret it.”

I could blame it on my desperation later, but I actually really liked the position. It promised a lot, especially considering the publishing company attached to Seo Enterprises. That would be my ultimate goal, to spend my days reading promising manuscripts while sipping expensive Starbucks coffee.

“I guess I can’t say no.”

“Then I’ll see you on Monday.”

Message to Channie

I took the job. I’m sorry but the opportunity was hard to pass up.

It only took a few seconds for Chan’s contact name to flash across my screen with an incoming call. I muted the sound like a coward, ignoring him completely while I started the ignition to the Corvette. A one-year anniversary present from Chan who was somehow more excited than I was when he first handed me the car key.

I drove to Minho’s apartment because I didn’t want to go home and I really had nowhere else to go. Plus, at least Minho was a reliable friend who really didn’t care if I crashed on his couch while he shoved cheap wine down my throat. In fact, Minho might be glad to see me since he was constantly complaining about his new hours at the shop.

“You look like shit,” Minho commented when he answered the door, standing aside to invite me inside. I shrugged off my coat, tossing it against the wall before slumping down onto the cheap sofa in Minho’s living room. The only piece of furniture he could afford in his ridiculously small New York apartment. “What happened?”

“I took the job with Changbin.”

Minho’s eyes widened in surprise. “You did? I can only assume Chan is lying somewhere on his deathbed.”

“No,” I snorted. “I took the job even though Chan asked me not to.”

“Savage,” Minho exhaled and I rolled my eyes at him.

“It’s a great opportunity!”

“When do you start?” Minho asked, feet propped up in my lap as he made himself more than comfortable next to me.

“Monday morning,” I said, mindlessly taking the remote to scroll through his limited TV channels.

“And Chan is mad?” Minho repeated, glancing at me for confirmation. “Can you really blame him though?”

“Why?” I frowned.

“I mean, Chan’s been in love with you since high school. He used to trail after you all the time, but you only talked about Seo Changbin.”

“You’re not being a good friend right now,” I said, remembering with perfect clarity the image of a sixteen-year-old Chan, hair untamed and clothes mismatched. Chan was a constant presence in my life, even if I preened after another boy who certainly had no intention of remaining faithful.

“Go home to him, Y/N,” Minho said with far more seriousness than I was used to hearing from my still immature best friend. The same Minho who couldn’t find work for an entire year after graduation because he was too busy sleeping with any woman that walked on two legs, living with various girlfriends while slowly draining his savings account.

“Since when are you the voice of reason?” I grumbled.

“Well, we all have to grow up one day.”

I hated the rare occasions when he was right.

The house was eerily silent when I unlocked the door, spotlessly clean just as I had left it which made me feel bad because it meant Chan didn’t even try to eat anything. “You always make me worry,” I muttered, toeing off my shoes as I decided to check the bedroom.

When Chan had first bought the house, he wanted it to look as close as possible to the random design I had pointed out at the local fair when we were Sophomore students. The plaque had deemed it the “house of the future” and I was enamored with the idea of the future back when my whole life was waiting right in front of me. A big dreamer who was already making wedding plans the moment Chan got down on one knee and proposed with his mother’s wedding ring.

“Channie,” I whispered into the darkness, cautiously tiptoeing my way to the side of the bed where Chan was facing away from me, sheets tucked in around his waist to leave his chest exposed. “I’m sorry.”

Chan let out a sigh. “What are you sorry for, Y/N?”

“I hurt you,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I took the job with Changbin and I didn’t think about how it would affect you.”

“I fucking hate him,” Chan said, tone bitter and laced with venom. “I hate what he did to you Freshman year and I hate that he was the first person you loved.”

“Chan,” I sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I was really young and stupid back then. I should have never slept with Changbin. But he was just a fantasy, even when we were together, and I certainly never really loved him.” I leaned in closer, brushing his hair away from his forehead. “I’ve always loved you first. You mean the world to me and I’m sorry that I went behind your back to work for Changbin. But he’s definitely nothing more than a mistake from a past full of them. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Chan shifted from next to me, rolling onto his back. His eyes were looking at me like I was literally his entire world. “I’ll always worry, sweetie. You drive me insane these days.”

I grinned at the use of his pet name for me, reaching out to run a soothing hand along the defined lines of his stomach. “Don’t worry about me, darling, when you’re the one with a supermodel for a boss.”

“Fuck, we’re both screwed,” Chan said. “Does she drive you mad with jealousy?”

“Of course she does,” I said. “She has bigger tits than me.”

“Well, I like your tits,” Chan insisted. “Don’t even think about bringing up plastic surgery again.”

“It would be to your benefit,” I pointed out.

“And the detriment to my savings account. Plus, I don’t want some old bastard fondling your tits while he pumps silicone in your chest.”

“Of all the things to worry about,” I sighed. “Does this mean we’re okay again?”

“You could probably step on me and I would still thank you for it, sweetie.”

“What if I sit on it instead?” I asked, moving my hand down to squeeze his flaccid cock.

“Makeup sex?” Chan gasped. “You don’t have to sell yourself out like this, babe.”

“Yeah? Well, I want to,” I said while proceeding to straddle his waist, smirking when Chan’s hands instantly moved to my hips. It was almost like a magnet, the reaction automatic after years of marriage. “You’re already hard,” I teased, reaching back to palm him over the sheets.

Chan always slept in boxers which I certainly appreciated because it made the rare nights of our passionate lovemaking even more accessible. Chan lifted my shirt, groaning low when he saw that I was wearing nothing but a pair of satin panties. “This is why I’m already hard.”

“You don’t see me walking around the house in underwear,” I quipped playfully.

“It’s comfortable,” Chan whimpered, moaning when my hand found the smooth velvety head of his cock.

“Something you never did when we were dating,” I said. “I spent weekends with you in the apartment.”

“Wanted to make a good impression,” Chan grumbled, eyes closed as he rolled his hips in time with my careful strokes.

“So you don’t have to impress me anymore,” I said, glancing back at his cock, hot and heavy in my hand. “But I guess you still do.”

Chan moaned even louder at my words, fingers tightening in my wrinkled shirt. “Don’t make me cum yet.”

“Why not, darling?” I asked him cheekily, twisting my wrist just right, watching as a stuttered gasp fell from between his gorgeous pout.

“Wanna cum inside,” he said, biceps straining as he pulled me closer, kissing me with a desperation that only demonstrated just how gone he really was.

“Yeah?” I smirked, tongue tracing the ridges of his full lips. “I guess you deserve it after putting up with my bullshit all day.”

Chan nodded fervently and the sight was oddly endearing. It reminded me of when Chan and I first met in high school, a nerdy sixteen-year-old boy who had just transferred schools all the way from Australia. He had a thick accent, foreign and rich, just like the untamed mass of curls covering his deep brown eyes. Chan wore thick-rimmed glasses and he had a light dusting of freckles like the main character from Freckle Juice, one of my favorite childhood novels. He was nerdy and shy, sitting alone in the cafeteria at lunch and walking between classes with his shoulders hunched like he was afraid one of those horrible jocks would try to steal his bag again.

“Y/N!” he whined loudly, forcing me out of the memory.

“Alright, Channie, you want inside?”

I sat up on my knees to work down my panties, ignoring the way Chan’s fingers tried to interfere, pulling at the fabric like he could possibly make them disappear any faster. I grabbed the hem of his boxer shorts, teasingly pulling them down his thighs before brushing a kiss across the weeping tip of his cock, precum bitter on my tongue. For a moment, I admired his thick erection, remembering how nervous Chan was the very first time we had sex back before we were even old enough to drink alcohol.

I held his cock as I positioned myself over his lap. “I’ll do all the work tonight,” I said, listening to Chan’s sweet moans the entire time I slowly lowered myself onto his cock, enjoying the way he always filled me so deeply.

“Oh yeah, sweetie,” Chan grunted, hips moving messily as he tried to find a rhythm. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

“Really?” I asked, swallowing down a moan when Chan hit just right, movements growing more and more confident as I returned every thrust. “I thought I was in charge tonight.”

Chan’s hands gripped my waist firmly, eyes wide open as he focused on where we were connected. “I’m always in charge.”

“Definitely,” I said, bracing my hands against his firm chest for balance because I was weak for this version of Chan. A complete contradiction to the one I first started dating, sweetly doting as he did everything in his power to make me happy. An image of a beautifully innocent Chan looking up from his position between my thighs. “It’s good?”

“So good,” I whispered aloud, peppering kisses across the pale expanse of Chan’s creamy skin, laving my tongue against a sensitive nipple which forced a temporary break from his regular tempo.

“Don’t play dirty, sweetie,” Chan said, giving me no warning before he was pushing me onto my back, hovering over me with his irresistible bedroom eyes. His hands spread my thighs wide, giving himself more room to fuck inside, movements growing faster with every step closer to what was beginning to feel like an intense orgasm. I’m talking about the kind that I could feel between my legs for days after I tried to walk straight again. “Do I need to touch you?”

“Fuck, I think you’re doing just fine,” I said. “Where the hell did this come from?”

“You woke up my competitive side,” Chan said, hitting deep like we were suddenly 20-years-old again sneaking quickies between lectures. Back then, Chan could literally fuck me against a wall, my legs wrapped around his gorgeous hips while he knocked the breath out of my lungs. Thank god, Chan decided that college would be his glory years, working out aggressively in the gym until he had muscles filling out the places where he had previously been soft. But I would always miss his pudgy stomach, even if his ass was now something out of a porn magazine.

“Well fuck,” I moaned. “I’ll have to do this more often.”

“I’d do it all the time if I wasn’t working until 3 in the morning at the hospital,” Chan said.

“Good point, should I come in at lunch then? You can lock us in one of the empty rooms.”

“Oh shit, sweetie, you shouldn’t talk that way,” Chan growled and it was one of the sexiest sounds I had ever heard.

“I’m close,” I warned him, digging my fingers in his scalp as his teeth teased against my collarbone.

“Me too,” he said, breaths uneven as he punctuated his words with a series of harsh ruts that sent my eyes rolling into the back of my skull. His fingers found my clit, thumb pressing down hard enough to trigger one of the best orgasms I had experienced in a long time.

I tightened around his stuttering cock, moaning when I could feel his cum deep inside, warm and wet. “Shit, you’re so good at that.”

Chan pulled out slowly, eyes growing wide at the sight of his cum leaking down my ass. “Left a fucking mess though.”

“We can shower later,” I said, grabbing his arm to encourage him to lie down next to me, burying my face against his chest, scarlet-red from the exertion.

“Was the dick that good?” Chan teased, running his fingers soothingly along my spine.

“Your dick is that good,” I replied. “The genetics are strong.”

“I’ll be sure to tell my parents,” Chan said, giggling as I shot him a warning glare. “I love you, sweetie.”

“Mmm, I love you more.”

1 Week Later

Lee Felix is the spawn of the devil and nobody could convince me otherwise. Because ever since we first met, when Chan invited me over to his house for a project, Felix had decided that I was his number one enemy, deeming me “Medusa” because he was enamored with Greek Mythology. But the unfortunate nickname had stuck throughout the years, even when Felix visited our college between breaks, forcing me to sleep on the couch while he shared the bed with his step-brother.

Recently, Felix had just finished his Master’s program for some kind of fancy Philosophy degree that would probably do him absolutely no good in the real world. But Chan was proud of his baby brother, inviting him to stay with us after graduation until Felix could stand on his own two feet. The decision was met by my instantaneous protest leading to an argument that I inevitably lost because Chan was still using Changbin as a winning point. However, even before my employment with Seo Enterprises, Felix was the cause of at least 95% of our arguments and I was not exaggerating in the slightest.

The sound of the doorbell ringing was suddenly a lot louder than I remember. “Death is here,” I said solemnly, ignoring the way Chan scoffed at my claim. I followed behind him somberly as he opened the door, letting out an excited cheer when he saw Felix waiting on the other side. Felix dropped his bag and practically screamed, which would likely wake up the entire neighborhood, jumping into his brother’s arm as the two embraced right in the middle of my foyer.

“Could you be any louder?” I snarled at the younger Bang.

“Maybe I could, Medusa,” Felix shot back, eyes narrowed as he picked up his bag.

“Come on, Felix,” Chan said, nodding at the kitchen. “I bet you’re hungry.”

Felix nodded, putting on his best smile for his ignorant brother, shoving his bag harshly at my chest as he walked by. “You can take care of that for me, right Medusa?”

“You little bitch,” I muttered, meeting his glare with one of my own.

The only thing worse than going out with Felix was including Han Jisung in the equation. For whatever reason, Jisung and Felix always riled each other up, chugging down alcohol like it was fucking water or something. However, Felix wanted to see Jisung again and Chan never said no to his little brother. This is why I was currently seated next to Chan at a cheesy bar in downtown Harlem, listening to Felix and Jisung try to talk over one another as Chan looked on with fond eyes. The only good part of the night was the fact that even Chan had allowed himself to get a little tipsy which meant he was doing his absolute best to feel me up in public. I always found it amusing, knocking his hand away when his eager fingers started to trail up my skirt.

“Felix,” Jisung whined. “How can you say that?”

“Oi, there’s no way you can put Nickleback and Green Day in the same fucking category.”

I rolled my eyes at the stupid argument, smacking Chan’s hand when he started to finger the waistband of my skirt. “Chan!” Jisung pouted. “Tell him that he’s wrong.”

“Tell the philosophy major that he’s wrong?” Chan asked, accent on full display as he reached out to playfully ruffle Felix’s hair. “You can’t even answer the phone at the receptionist’s desk.”

Felix loved the attention and I hated it when he came over only to occupy Chan’s every waking hour with his never-ending thirst for affection. But I wasn’t going to let him get away with it tonight. I cleared my throat, stretching my arms back behind my head because I knew how good it would make my breasts look in the rather low-cut shirt I had chosen for tonight’s affair. I glanced over at Chan, smiling victoriously when I saw the way his eyes had glued themselves to my chest. Even Han Jisung was looking, which would normally annoy me to no end, but I was putting on my best behavior tonight. “Chan!” Felix shouted, trying to regain his brother’s attention. “Did you hear that I scored the highest honors on my research project?”

And just like that, Chan’s attention was redirected to Satan, eyes glowing with pride. “That’s amazing, Felix!”

“I can tell you all about it,” Felix said arrogantly, tossing me a cocky smile which left me absolutely incensed. “The board was so impressed, they offered to publish my results in the University’s magazine.”

“Are you serious, Felix?” Jisung asked which was an even bigger blow because the only two things occupying Jisung’s thoughts were women and alcohol.

So I decided to push my luck, tugging down my skirt before shifting over in the booth to plant myself directly on Chan’s lap, wrapping my arms around his neck before nuzzling into his warm chest. “Channie,” I cooed while glaring at Felix from the corner of my eye.

“Do you want something, sweetie?” Chan asked, smile blinding as one hand wrapped around my waist, leaving the other to tease the bare skin of my thighs.

I reached for Chan’s beer, shoving the glass at him because nothing made Chan hornier than thighs and alcohol. “Should I come to see you at work tomorrow? Like we talked about before?”

Chan’s eyes lit with recognition and I smirked victoriously when I felt him grow hard in his tight jeans. “I’d really like that.”

And to seal my victory, I leaned forward to kiss my intoxicated husband, ignoring the sloppy way he reciprocated, breath musty with the taste of beer. Felix growled lowly from across the booth and Jisung let out a wolf whistle at our blatant display. But I was on cloud nine, satisfied to have won Chan’s attention because it meant Felix was going to be quite unhappy for the rest of the night.

“Medusa, aren’t you going to make me breakfast?”

I groaned as I glanced over at the alarm clock which informed me that it was only 9:00 AM. “Fuck, Felix, go back to sleep.”

“But I’m hungry,” he whined, reaching across the bed to tug on my arm.

“It’s Saturday,” I hissed, barely clinging to the wonderful promise of more sleep which would do wonders for my hungover state.

“Chan wouldn’t be happy with you,” Felix reminded me. “Should I call him at work?”

“Get out of here you little maggot,” I snapped. “I’ll fix you some damn breakfast.”

“Now!” Felix ordered like he had every right to make demands of me, but I didn’t want Felix to say anything to Chan because that would only lead to another needless argument.

“You’re a fucking menace,” I said, throwing off my bedsheets while briefly mourning the loss of my precious sleep. But I don’t want anyone to ever say that I was a bad wife, especially when I put up with Lee Felix just to make Chan happy.

Felix was already seated at the counter when I finally drug myself out of my bedroom, groggily reaching for a clean pan from the cabinet. “You get eggs and bacon,” I told him. “I’m not a gourmet chef.”

“Whatever,” Felix said, ignoring me completely in exchange for his cell phone. Which Chan was now paying for to help “lessen Felix’s financial burden.”

“Chan,” I remember telling him. “You’ll spoil him if you keep doing things like that. He’ll never want to leave!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Chan had shot back as if the idea of living with his younger brother for the rest of our married life was perfectly acceptable.

“A million things,” I muttered now, cracking one of the eggs against the side of the pan.

“I hear you’re working for Seo Changbin,” Felix abruptly spoke up, and I could practically feel his eyes on me. “He cheated on you, right?”

“It’s really none of your business,” I informed him brusquely, grabbing a spatula while wondering if I could teach Felix a lesson if I hit him a few times.

“My brother isn’t happy,” Felix continued as if my warning meant nothing to him. Probably because it didn’t. “I think it’s a bad idea, but your satisfaction always comes first, right?”

“Why the fuck did Chan tell you this?” I gritted out while aggressively slamming the fridge closed, pack of bacon gripped tightly in my hand.

“He tells me everything,” Felix said smartly. “Because he trusts me.”

“Good for you,” I huffed over my shoulder. “I’m glad you have such a close relationship with your brother.”

“Jealous?” Felix taunted, expression smug when I roughly placed down a glass in front of him.

“Is orange juice, okay?” I asked him in a faux sweet voice.

“It’s fine,” Felix shrugged. “But whatever is most inconvenient for you.”

“What a sweet little boy you are,” I said, pouring him a generous amount. “How long do you plan on staying here?”

“Chan says I can stay for as long as I want,” Felix said, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

“Of course not,” I muttered. “Two Bangs are better than one.”

“That’s right,” Felix said brightly, taking a sip from his glass. “Ugh, does this have pulp in it?”

“Drink your fucking orange juice, Felix!”

The invention of video games was a godsend because they could occupy Felix’s attention for hours, leaving me in relative peace as I tried not to let him destroy every last bit of my resolve. I was currently having a bath alone in the sanctity of my bathroom, shoulder-deep in soothing bath salts which I kept well-stocked in the cabinet underneath the sink. The aroma was pleasant, sending me to a place somewhere far away to where Felix’s were strictly prohibited.

For the entirety of the day, Felix had been doing his best to get on my nerves. I cooked him breakfast and lunch, cleaned his disgusting laundry, and even held my tongue when he requested I drive him to the mattress store because the guest bedroom was unsatisfactory. But it had always been like this between us, ever since the day I first met Felix and tried my best to make a good impression. Unfortunately, Felix idolized his older brother, deeming any girl unworthy of his time and efforts, including myself. Of course, above anyone else, Felix thought I was the worst possible choice, reminding me every second that his brother deserved someone smarter, richer, and prettier.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated loudly on the edge of the bathtub and I hesitantly glanced at the screen, half-expecting to see Felix’s name displayed like a caution sign. Surprisingly, it was Chan who had sent me a message to ask where I was, which meant Felix had lied through his teeth and said I’d gone somewhere.

To Channie

Bathroom.

It was only a moment or two later when the door opened and Chan stuck his head inside, offering me a pleasant smile as he locked the door behind him. “You’re home early,” I remarked, vacantly staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s Saturday night,” Chan reminded me. “I thought the three of us could go out to eat.”

I groaned in protest. “What about takeout?”

“You love going out,” Chan said. “I’ll even let you pick the restaurant.”

“I have way too many problems right now,” I said. “I’m avoiding them by staying in the water for as long as I can.”

“Sweetie,” Chan said, taking a step closer. “You should’ve waited for me.”

“Why?” I asked him airily. “You’re one of those problems.”

“Me?” Chan asked, choosing to sit down on the edge of the tub. “What did I do wrong?”

“No arguments tonight,” I said, letting out a deep sigh. “This is the most relaxed I’ve been all day.”

“Aren’t you being overdramatic?” Chan asked, reaching down to flick a trail of water in my direction. “I was in surgery for 6 hours today.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve dealt with Felix since 9 this morning.”

“Ah,” Chan sighed. “I figured it had something to do with my brother.”

“Just forget it,” I whined. “You know we don’t get along.”

“I do know that,” Chan said. “But I wish you both made a better effort. We’re family after all.”

I shivered at the idea of Felix belonging to any family of mine. “You can keep him on your side, then. I grew up as an only child, look at how much better I turned out for it.”

“You told me you had imaginary friends growing up because you were so lonely,” Chan teased.

“Asshole,” I muttered. “That’s sensitive information that I told you in confidentiality. You should know all about patient-doctor confidentiality. Didn’t you have a whole lecture on it?”

“Y/N,” Chan lightly chastised, reaching for a towel on the rack next to the counter. “Get dressed, we’re leaving in an hour.”

“You’ve condemned me to death,” I complained, watching through lidded eyes as he stretched out his arms.

“I’m serious, Y/N, at least try to get along for my sake.”

“That’s all I ever do,” I muttered to his retreating form.

Hwang Hyunjin is a willing accomplice to the devil himself who never misses an opportunity to throw out some lascivious comments about my appearance. He was Felix’s best friend and partner in crime, sharing his goal of making my life as miserable as possible. He was also coming out to eat with us tonight and no matter how much I whined to Chan, he remained adamant that Felix should spend some time with his friends. “He’s only young once,” Chan told me, ignoring the way I glared at him with every ounce of hostility that I could muster.

“Did you paint those pants on, Y/N?” Hyunjin asked the minute he sat down in the backseat next to Felix.

“I did, actually, thanks for the unnecessary observation,” I told him shortly, still focused on the staring contest I was having with Felix in the rearview mirror.

“Don’t mind her, she’s probably on her period,” Felix said and I took in a deep breath because I was very close to turning around in my seat to choke the life out of Felix’s pencil neck.

“How have you been, Hyunjin?” Chan asked, one hand on the steering wheel as he calmly navigated us through the permanent traffic of New York.

“I applied for a job with Amazon,” Hyunjin replied. “I don’t wanna brag, but I definitely nailed the interview.”

“Yeah right,” I muttered under my breath. Hyunjin had the worst people skills in the history of mankind. He was almost as incompetent as Han Jisung, but ten times worse because of his sarcastic attitude.

“You’ll get me Amazon Prime for free, right bro?” Felix giggled and I resisted the urge to mock the sound.

“I’m proud of you, Hyunjin,” Chan said. “I know you worked hard.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Hyunjin said. “But the chick who interviewed me was really hot and I think I appropriately swept her off her feet.”

“Big tits?” Felix asked because that’s all those stupid boys cared about.

“Of course,” Hyunjin said. “But I’m still waiting for you, Y/N, whenever you’re ready.”

Felix scoffed. “You could do better than Medusa.”

“How about some music?” I snapped loudly, reaching down for the radio knob to block out the sounds of Felix and Hyunjin’s voices.

Monday mornings were the worst thing to ever happen to mankind next to Lee Felix. I was sipping at my morning coffee, cold now because Felix had spent way too much time ordering me around the kitchen before I left home. But it was better than nothing and I desperately needed caffeine to get through the day. “Morning, Y/N,” Changbin greeted me smoothly, suit well-pressed and fitted to hug his arms and thighs just right.

“Sure,” I said in reply, trudging to my chair in slow motion.

“Are you always this lively in the mornings?” Changbin remarked, leaning against my desk as he looked through his mail.

“Just on Mondays,” I said, booting up my computer so that I could answer the dozens of emails likely waiting for me, most of which would come from annoying sponsors who wanted Changbin to be on their dumb podcast.

“Well, you still look gorgeous,” Changbin said.

My cheeks flushed at his comment. “You still need to call Mr. Kim back, he’s left another voicemail.”

“Just one call?” Changbin smirked, eyes dancing dangerously. “Have you been scaring everyone off, Y/N?”

“I did just as you asked, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir,” Changbin chuckled, carefully engrossed in his cell phone now as he graciously returned to his own office.

I shivered as I glanced at my computer screen. Changbin was still as notoriously flirtatious as he had been when we were younger. In fact, it might be worse now that he had finally grown into his sharper features which made him look ridiculously attractive. “I love Chan, I love Chan,” I quietly repeated to myself, even as a distant memory suddenly forced itself back into consciousness.

An 18-year-old Seo Changbin walking inside my lecture hall wearing a dark button-up tucked into the tightest pair of skinny jeans he probably owned. Every eye in that lecture room had suddenly turned to him because he was an irresistible force, impossible to ignore. “Y/N?”

Be cool Y/N, I softly chastised myself as I offered him a friendly smile. “Hi, Changbin.”

It was purely coincidental that Changbin had ended up at the same University as me, but that didn’t stop my fragile teenage heart from declaring it as something akin to fate. “It’s been a while,” Changbin said, pulling out the chair next to mine.

I swallowed hard because my mouth was as dry as a desert. “I didn’t know you were enrolled here.”

“It was my first pick,” Changbin said. “My father is an alumnus.”

“Really?” I asked, ignoring the arrival of the professor in exchange for mapping out every single one of Changbin’s gorgeous features.

“This class is just for gen ed,” Changbin said, pushing a hand through his neatly styled black hair.

“Oh, same for me,” I nodded. “I heard it was pretty easy.”

“Is that right?” Changbin asked while flashing me an award-winning smile. Roll out the red carpets because this boy was cool enough to be in an action film co-starring Tom Holland and Ancel Elgort.

But what were we talking about? “I’m majoring in English.”

“Political Science,” Changbin returned. “And Business.”

I deflated a little because, in comparison to my lousy arts degree, Changbin seemed like a certified genius. He would be educated in the art of entrepreneurship and big money while I struggled to comprehend the meaning of Great Expectations. “Have you met anyone else from high school?”

“Not yet,” Changbin said. “What about you?”

“Well, Bang Chan’s enrolled here too...” I started, only to trail off when I realized that Changbin probably had no idea who Chan was since he never paid attention to him in high school. Actually, Changbin would have been more likely to join the football jocks who liked to steal Chan’s stuff only to tie his underwear to the flagpole outside the gym.

“The nerdy Australian kid?” Changbin chuckled. “That sucks.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage since Changbin obviously didn’t know that Chan and I were friends.

“You don’t hang out with him, do you?” Changbin asked, peering at me closely like I was seconds away from losing the honor of his company.

“We have lunch sometimes,” I said, which was only partially true since I did like to meet up with Chan in the dining hall around 2:00 because it was never crowded. But Changbin didn’t need to know that I had spent the night in Chan’s apartment listening to him record one of his mixtapes because Chan had a newfound interest in music.

“You could do better,” Changbin sighed. “Hang out with me instead. I’ll treat you to the nicest fast food joint on campus.”

My heart was racing, palms clammy as I nodded my head rapidly. “Lunch?”

“Whatever you want, love,” Changbin said, close proximity knocking every rational thought clean out of my head.

It was like my best fantasy coming to life right before my very eyes, and after our lecture ended I asked Changbin to wait for me while I made a phone call to Chan. “Y/N!” came his cheerful voice from the other end. “Guess who got to dissect a liver today?”

I wrinkled my nose at the nasty image. Chan was studying to enter the medical program which meant a lot of his daily life centered around the human body and all sorts of things that could go wrong with it. “Chan,” I whined. “You’re talking to someone who can’t stand the sight of blood.”

“I know,” Chan sniggered. “Does this mean you’re not gonna want to eat lunch with me today? You know I’ll pay, of course, I got a raise at the cafe.”

“Well,” I started, desperately searching for the right words. “I actually have to meet with my professor for this essay I’ve been having trouble with.”

“No problem,” Chan said. “I’ll bring you takeout for dinner. Doesn’t your roommate have practice tonight?”

I glanced back at Changbin with a guilty conscience. Why did Chan have to be so sweet all the time? “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“No liver talk, I promise,” Chan giggled and I hung up the phone before he could make me feel even worse than I already did.

“You want to get some lunch?” Changbin asked with his hands dug inside his pockets as he stood in front of my desk.

“Like, with me?” I asked warily because I wasn’t sure where the line stood on professionalism when it involves eating with an ex-boyfriend.

“Who else?” Changbin said. “I figured we could use a break from the phone calls.”

“I don’t know...” I answered hesitantly because Chan would probably lose his shit if he discovered I went out anywhere with Changbin.

“It’s not a big deal, Y/N,” Changbin said. “My job is to make sure my employees are well taken care of.”

“I guess,” I sighed, reaching down for my purse on the floor. “One lunch together won’t hurt anything.”

But Changbin seemed awfully smug, patiently waiting for me to gather my belongings, stuffing my phone with an unanswered text from Chan inside my side pocket. It’s almost like the universe was conspiring against me, doing its very best to try and force me into the worst situations possible. Here’s an irrational thought: what if Chan happened to decide to go out for lunch today? He might find me with Changbin and I couldn’t think of a worse scenario. Of course, I suppose it doesn’t necessarily have to be Chan who finds us. For example, if his younger step-brother was to suddenly wander in the building at this very moment...

“Medusa!”

Curse you, universe!

“Felix?”

“I brought us lunch!” Felix chirped brightly, holding up a picnic basket as he waltzed right up to my desk with far more confidence than necessary.

I blinked my eyes rapidly, unable to process the idea that Felix was standing in the middle of the company’s lobby. “Is it poisoned?” I asked, trying not to alert him to any possible wrongdoing.

Felix ignored me, turning around to face Changbin with a critical gaze. “Seo? Is that you?”

“Felix,” Changbin acknowledged, frowning as if he was the last person on earth he wanted to see, and I could share the sentiment.

“Fuck,” Felix cursed, taking a step back. “You still look really young. I was surprised when Y/N told me you were her new boss.”

“I didn’t tell you that,” I said, opening the flaps of the basket only to let out a disgruntled sigh when I realized he had only brought a bag of chips and a tray of cookies.

“And what are you doing these days?” Changbin asked.

“Freelance work, mostly,” Felix replied as if he really needed to lie to Changbin about his lack of a suitable occupation.

“I forgot what you majored in,” Changbin said. “It was hard to keep up since you changed your concentration like a dozen times.”

I couldn’t hold back my laugh, even when Felix sneered in my direction. “Philosophy.”

“Interesting,” Changbin said, nodding his head. “I’m actually surprised to hear that. You never settled on anything.”

Seo Changbin needed to be careful because his charm points were dramatically increasing the more he mocked my husband’s step-brother. “I actually just finished my Masters.”

“Really?” Changbin said. “This coming from the same boy who used to party with Hwang Hyunjin at all the Fraternities, even if they were on a different campus.”

“It was just Freshman year,” Felix defended himself.

“Well,” Changbin started, “I’m glad to hear about your graduation. Y/N and I were actually just about to head out to lunch.”

I winced at his words, withering under Felix’s accusing watch. “Is that so?”

Changbin carefully studied the two of us. “I’ll be waiting in my car, Y/N.”

I grabbed my bag while pushing the picnic basket back in Felix’s direction. “I swear to god if you tell Chan about this, I’ll castrate you in your sleep.”

“We’ll see about that,” Felix growled, and that was the moment I realized that I was treading very dangerous waters.

Changbin drove us to a charming restaurant about two blocks away from the main company building. He pulled right up to the sidewalk, handing his keys to the waiting carhop as if he had done this about a thousand times. But I guess that was pretty likely considering just how well-off he was ten years later. “Impressive,” I remarked to him, reluctantly accepting his outstretched hand as he helped me out of his car.

“Yeah?” Changbin said, offering me a wink. “Maybe I’m trying to impress you.”

“You’re a dangerous man, Seo Changbin,” I told him, bowing slightly to the waiting doorman who kindly ushered us inside.

This was why the pretty girls always lusted after Changbin. When we were both still in high school, Changbin epitomized the phrase #BoyfriendGoals because he was super attractive, incredibly smart, and athletic enough to earn himself a shining record after an impressive baseball season. And I was just as mindless as the rest of the zombies chasing him down in the parking lot at school or squealing his name in the hallways between classes.

“I eat here all the time,” Changbin assured me, flashing the hostess a dazzling smile while handing her his card.

“Right this way, Mr. Seo,” the hostess curtsied, ignoring the long line of waiting patrons who apparently didn’t matter as much as my new boss as she led us to a private table. “Your waitress will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you,” I said politely, eyes wide as I took in the gorgeous chandelier dropping from the high-domed ceiling.

“Close your mouth, Y/N,” Changbin said. “You act like you’ve never been somewhere like this before.”

“Not exactly,” I said because the nicest place Chan had ever taken me was an Olive Garden and that had ended poorly after Chan accidentally knocked his shoulder against a poor server on his way back to the table causing an avalanche of salad and breadsticks.

“Bang should be taking you to places like this all the time,” Changbin commented, perhaps a casual observation to anyone else.

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Chan and I prefer to keep things low-key.”

“Should I have taken you to Applebees instead?”

“How funny.”

“I’m kidding, Y/N,” Changbin said, reaching down to adjust the buttons on his coat sleeve. “You’ve changed a lot since college.”

“Since we dated you mean?” I asked with an arched brow.

“Well,” Changbin started, “if you want to think of it like that.”

“Hmmm,” I briefly meditated, studying Changbin’s expression carefully. “How else should I think about it.”

Changbin tsked, raising a hand to signal for a nearby waiter. “I don’t mean to suggest anything.”

The waiter approached our table with purposed steps. “How may I help you, sir?”

“A wine menu?” Changbin asked, nodding generously when the waiter returned with his requested selection.

“You make a beautiful couple,” the waiter gushed while he pulled out a thick leather wallet, flipping to a fresh page.

“Oh! We’re not-”

“-A bottle of pinot noir, please,” Changbin said, returning the menu without bothering to correct the waiter’s observation.

“Right away, sir,” the waiter agreed.

I held my tongue until he was further away, bothering an older couple who were probably complaining about something to do with their food. “Changbin,” I warned him. “You should be careful.”

“It was a harmless mistake,” Changbin said. “How can I possibly come between you and Bang?”

I worried my bottom lip between my teeth because it sounded less like a dismissal and more like a challenge.

The sun was already setting by the time I returned home thanks to one of Changbin’s business partners who refused to leave the office building until they had a chance to speak to him. I was low on patience, tired from an exhausting day of dealing with telemarketers insisting our company needed the latest software for our clientele. There was only a limited number of times I could tell somebody to fuck off before inevitably shouting into the other end that I was in no way interested in whatever useless product they were trying to shove down my throat, complete with some kind of scammy discount and an opportunity to be represented on their website.

To make matters worse, my feet were blistered from wearing heels all day and my shoulders ached from slouching over my computer to answer emails and monitor the progress of Changbin’s latest project. My only saving grace was the message Chan had sent me earlier telling me that he had already clocked out at work, which meant I could probably guilt him into giving me one of his trademarked messages. I mean, all I wanted to do was curl up next to Chan in bed and sleep for the rest of the day.

But it looked like my desires would have to wait because as soon as I unlocked the door to the house, I could immediately sense that something was wrong. Taking a deep breath, I cautiously walked into the living room to find Chan and Felix busy with some kind of video game on our HD TV, volume high until I walked in the room. Chan waited until I called his name, reaching for the remote to mute the TV before tossing his controller onto the coffee table. From across the room, Felix’s eyes were alight with mischief.

“How was work today?” Chan asked with a tone that I only ever heard when my husband was feeling particularly pissed off about something, and I had a sneaking suspicion it involved me in some capacity.

“It was fine,” I said, deciding to play it safe while I kept my complaints to myself.

Felix smirked in my direction, whistling to himself as he reached for his game controller. “Felix told me something interesting today.”

“Oh did he?” I asked, wondering just how much pain Felix could tolerate if I marched over to him right now and hit him with an umbrella.

“He said he tried to have lunch with you.”

“I was busy.”

“With Seo Changbin?”

Felix was definitely going to die tonight. That little snitch deserved every ounce of punishment I was starting to formulate inside my head. “He invited me out instead.”

“I got that,” Chan snapped and I knew my husband was in a foul mood. I’m talking about the kind of mood that usually sent me scampering for the safety of the bunkers. Like the time some drunk asshole rear-ended Chan’s precious convertible while we were sitting in downtown traffic. Or the time when we were Freshmen in college and Chan confronted Changbin after finding out that he had been cheating on me.

But this time the problem was me which meant I couldn’t just hide from Chan and wait for things to go back to normal. “Honey,” I attempted to reassure him. “It was just lunch.”

“Yeah? But that doesn’t seem like keeping things strictly professional to me, Y/N.”

“He’s my boss now, I can’t just tell him no.”

“Actually, you can,” Chan disagreed, now refusing to look at me. “How would you like it if I ate with my new superintendent?”

“Depends on if she offered to pay or not.”

“Y/N.”

“Chan,” I pouted. “I’m really sorry! He just surprised me.”

“It makes me wonder what else you might be doing with him,” Chan snarked.

Meanwhile, Felix calmly continued to play his video game while wearing the biggest shit-eating grin. “Are you accusing me of having an affair?”

“Why not?” Chan shrugged. “Since we’re keeping secrets from each other.”

“It was just one lunch,” I shouted. “He’s never done anything like this before. Most of the time I’m alone in the lobby taking his stupid phone calls.”

“And that’s all I should ever hear about,” Chan growled.

“You’re making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes before remembering just how much Chan hated it when I did that to him.

“Y/N,” Chan addressed me sternly, deciding to abandon his seat on the couch to crowd me in the foyer. “If this was anyone else, I wouldn’t make it into a bigger deal, but this is someone you used to fuck while running around campus bragging about it to everyone who would listen...which was usually me!”

“He doesn’t mean anything to me,” I said. “I already told you that!”

“You’ve said a lot of things recently,” Chan said. “I’m not sure what to believe anymore.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s your brother’s fault since he’s always looking to cause a fight between us,” I said, glaring at Felix while he continued to play the part of the perfect little angel that Chan always considered him.

“Don’t drag Felix into this, he has nothing to do with anything!”

“Oh, don’t be stupid, Chan,” I huffed. “We fight more about Felix than we do about Changbin.”

“Stupid?!”

Oh, Jesus, Y/N, when are you going to learn to watch your big mouth? “Channie, I’m tired of fighting all the time. I feel like we’re always fighting.”

“Yeah? Well, you give me a lot of reasons to stay mad at you.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I groaned. “We never fought this much when we were dating.”

“Is that so? You think our marriage is the problem?”

I froze at his implications. At this point, Felix might as well drag out a bucket of popcorn because this was probably the most interesting drama he had watched all year. “Chan, you can’t honestly believe that.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Chan said, shaking his head. “But maybe I’ll give you some time to think about it.”

“Chan!” I whined, fighting back tears as I watched him turn his back on me. For the first time since we had met, Chan was leaving an argument unresolved, choosing to lock himself away in our bedroom while I struggled to keep myself together in the middle of our foyer.

“Goodbye, Y/N,” Felix whispered into the silent room, waving his fingers at me because he had gotten exactly what he wanted.

Felix’s birthday often turned into a multiple-day affair because he always wanted the best that money could buy. Since Chan and I still weren’t speaking to one another, Chan was taking the brunt of party preparations which meant Felix was practically over the moon with excitement. And why shouldn’t he be? He hit the metaphorical jackpot because he somehow got me in the doghouse while he soaked up all of Chan’s attention.

“Y/N,” Felix whined. “My toast is burnt!”

“Sorry,” I murmured softly, taking his plate even though the bread looked perfectly fine. Meanwhile, Chan chose not to say a word, heavily engrossed in his laptop and doing his absolute best to pretend I was invisible.

“What about this, Felix?” he asked, tilting his laptop screen so that his brother could see whatever it was that probably cost hundreds of dollars. On the other hand, I couldn’t even find the courage to ask Chan for his credit card so that I could replace the broken stool at our counter.

“That’s perfect, Channie!” Felix grinned, hanging off his brother’s shoulder like the little pest he was.

Our Amazon shopping cart was steadily filling with Felix’s party supplies. But I guess it was just Chan’s account now since he had changed the password without telling me. I tried to order a new curtain for the bathroom, only to repeatedly watch the warning screen pop-up with every refresh of the page. “Who do you want at your party?” Chan asked Felix.

“Hyunjin, Jisung...” Felix started, listing out each name while I winced every time because our house would probably end up completely trashed at this rate.

“Whatever you want,” Chan said, apparently forgetting the last time Jisung came over only to break one of my grandmother’s expensive vases. Since it was my stuff, he probably didn’t care. “I have to leave soon,” Chan said, wordlessly clicking on the ‘place your order ’ button before logging off.

“Will you be gone all day again?” Felix pouted, jutting out his bottom lip and offering his very best puppy dog eyes.

23-years-old my ass.

“I’ll do my best,” Chan promised his brother. “Do you need anything while I’m out.”

“More chocolate cereal?”

10-years-old more likely.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Chan cooed to Felix, ruffling his hair before snatching his coat from my outstretched hand, refusing to even acknowledge my existence.

Felix waited until Chan was gone to lean in across the counter. “You two are so cute, Medusa.”

“I fucking hate you,” I said, aggressively attacking the grease stain on the stainless steel pot I was currently washing.

“Whatever,” Felix shrugged. “Will you ask Minho to come to my birthday party?”

“There’s not a fucking chance in hell that I’m asking him,” I snapped.

“Why?” Felix posed the question as if he felt absolutely no shame. “I like Minho and I want him to be there.”

“Fuck off,” I retorted, drying my hands against the rough texture of the dishtowel.

Felix sniffled, reaching for his phone and holding it up to his ear. “Channie? Yeah, Y/N was being really mean to me-”

“-Jesus, fine, I’ll ask him,” I quickly interrupted the little Devil. “How old are you turning again?”

“24!” Felix grinned.

“Then act like it,” I muttered while dialing Minho’s number.

There were only two rings before he answered. “It’s too early on Saturday for this bullshit, Y/N,” came Minho’s pleasant voice from the other end.

“You sleep too much anyway,” I returned. “I have something to ask you.”

“It better be pretty fucking important.”

“Will you come to Felix’s stupid birthday party this Friday?” I asked him, ignoring Felix’s bright smile as he tried to listen in on our conversation.

“Did you buy booze?”

“I’m sure Chan will buy the little bastard all the booze he wants,” I said, pushing Felix out of the way.

“What time?” Minho asked. “I’m a very busy man, Y/N.”

“The hell you are,” I snorted. “9:00 PM. Don’t be late! I’ll be the pathetic piece of trash sitting on the couch alone.”

“It’s about time you learn, Y/N,” Felix remarked, giggling when I threw the dishtowel at him.

“Still in trouble with hubby?” Minho asked. “I hear you have to stay separated for a year before the courts grant divorces these days.”

“You’re an asshole,” I said. “Should I put you down on the guest list?”

“Of course,” Minho said. “Underlined because I’m a VIP”

I hung up on him before he could dig his grave any deeper.

“Don’t burn that,” Felix scolded me, hovering by my side to play the part of Gordon Ramsay while I sweated my ass off to cook everything on his stupid party menu.

“It’s not burnt,” I grumbled.

“I hope you’re not wearing that to my party,” Felix said, casting a critical eye over my outfit.

I reached down to adjust the waistband of my skirt. “What’s wrong with it?”

“This is a classy party, Y/N, and you look like a hooker.”

“Go help your brother or something,” I said, doing my best to be nice since it was Felix’s birthday. I could manage some form of kindness even if he didn’t deserve it.

“Chan’s fine,” Felix waved me off even though I was certain I saw Chan struggling to hang up lights on the balcony just moments ago when I went to change my clothes.

I glanced at the clock above the stove. “Your fellow party animals will be here soon.”

“You’re not cool enough for those references,” Felix told me as he straightened his tie.

“I wasn’t trying to be,” I said, wiping my forehead with a nearby towel. My makeup was probably smeared but I didn’t care. Who was I hoping to impress anyway? The only person I dressed up for was Chan and he could care less about my appearance.

And it was only a few minutes later when the doorbell started to ring. I took a deep breath to try and reassure myself that I could make it through tonight without another Advil. “Someone’s here!” Felix squeaked, knocking his shoulder against mine in his haste to answer the door.

“No matter who it is, I’ll still be in hell,” I muttered, closing my eyes when I recognized Hyunjin’s voice mixing with Felix’s.

“Y/N!” Hyunjin sang, poking his head in the kitchen as if he owned the place. “There you are! Looking all pretty for us.”

“That was the goal,” I half-heartedly quipped back, turning off the stove once I declared Felix’s stupid Tteok-bokki cooked enough.

“Your legs look good,” Hyunjin said, abruptly leaning in closer. “Are you even wearing anything under that skirt?”

“Hyunjin!” Felix shouted his friend’s name from the living room. “Come check out the decorations.”

Hyujin blew a kiss in my direction, tossing me a poor excuse for a wink. “Bye, Y/N!”

Maybe one more Advil wouldn’t hurt.

The party was in full swing by the time Minho finally arrived, greeting Felix with some kind of cheesy handshake. It was too late for me and I had already resigned myself to the futon of isolation in the living room, mourning the loss of one of my good dishes thanks to Han Jisung deciding to request something fancier than our regular set. “Sorry, Y/N,” Jisung had apologized. “I’m sure you can easily replace it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure my dead grandmother has another lying around somewhere,” I snarled in his direction, ignoring his wide-eyed look of disbelief as I searched for the broom.

Minho eventually finished his conversation with Felix, offering me a sympathetic look while occupying the last remaining chair. “Y/N?”

“Oh, I’m doing just fine,” I told him.

“You look miserable,” Minho informed me, throwing up his feet on my glass coffee table even though I had told him countless times before to keep his dirty socks on the floor.

“Chan hates me,” I said. “Felix is happy.”

“Ah,” Minho nodded. “Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s all Felix’s fault,” I sniped. “He found out I went to lunch with Changbin and told Chan because he knew it would lead to an argument.”

“He still doesn’t like you?” Minho snorted as if the idea were amusing.

“Felix has hated me since the beginning of time. He was brought to this Earth to cause me misery.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” Minho said. “Where is Chan, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “If he wasn’t with Felix, then you might want to check the balcony. I think I saw him sneaking the Advil bottle out there earlier.”

Minho snickered. “You don’t even realize it, but you two are grossly similar. I’m sure Chan would have preferred a quiet dinner out somewhere.”

“Well, Felix always gets what he wants,” I said. “It’s been this way since high school.”

Minho considered me for a moment. “In his defense, Chan has always been Felix’s best friend. They’ve been attached at the hip since they were kids, but then you came into the picture. Suddenly, Chan isn’t as interested in spending all his time with Felix any more.”

“Are you saying I need to find Felix a girlfriend?”

“Y/N,” Minho said softly. “I’m just saying, maybe you need to think about things from Felix’s perspective for once. You were an only child, so you can’t understand what it means to share a close relationship with a brother.”

“Hmm, well you’re like a brother to me,” I teased him.

“Ugh,” Minho gagged. “You’ve had my dick in your mouth before, Y/N, please never say that again.”

“I was trying to be sweet,” I said. “But you ruined it.”

“Did I?” Minho smirked, glancing up at something behind me. “Are you having a good time, Felix?”

“We’re out of beer,” Felix interrupted, face suddenly mere inches from mine.

“You shouldn’t drink like a fish.”

“Medusa,” Felix tried again, holding out a ring of car keys. “Make yourself useful and buy us some more beer.”

I rolled my eyes but acquiesced. “Whatever you want, your majesty.”

I hated winter in New York City because the sidewalks were icy all the time and I was constantly in danger of rolling my ankle. Nevertheless, I tolerated the snow and wind by trading my heels for rain boots and wrapping my body in the thickest coat I owned. Normally, I might consider walking to the convenience store, but tonight I knew my fingers would be nothing but frozen icicles if I attempted that perilous journey.

Thankfully, the traffic was fairly light this late at night which allowed a relatively quick drive to the store, parking my corvette at the sidewalk. I walked inside with a muffled greeting to the store attendant, searching down the aisle to where the beer was stocked in the freezers. “He didn’t even tell me what he wanted,” I scoffed, deciding on the expensive Corona from the bottom shelf since Felix always liked things more when they cost a lot of money.

“Having a party?” the store attendant joked, accepting my debit card after ringing up the cases.

“Something like that,” I said, wondering if that was always his assumption if someone bought more than one bottle of the nasty smelling beverage.

Meanwhile, it had started snowing again when I walked back outside, popping the trunk to store the beer until I finally returned home. I switched on the ignition and turned on the heat to its fullest setting before sitting back in my seat to wrap my arms around myself, fighting off a series of chills. The action reminded me of Junior Year when Chan and I used to make late-night trips to the gas station near his apartment complex. We’d buy all sorts of unnecessary snacks, driving back together because we had planned a movie marathon of Harry Potter. Chan always complained about the films I liked, but he watched them anyway because he knew I enjoyed them.

I came to a stop at a red light, frowning when I noticed that nobody was coming in either direction. “Change already,” I ordered the traffic light as if it could possibly accommodate my request.

“I’ll teach you patience, Y/N,” Chan once told me after we waited nearly an hour in a heavy downpour outside the comic book shop because he just had to have some kind of rare edition figurine.

The traffic light eventually turned green and I rolled out into the intersection, never noticing the reckless SUV until mere seconds before it crashed into the side of my car.

I had the worst luck in the world when it came to relationships. First, there was my tired rendezvous with Minho in high school, blowing my best friend in the bathroom because he’d always fuck me with his fingers afterward. Then, there was that slimy bastard Seo Changbin who I willingly gave my virginity to, thinking he was the love of my life. That was before I found out he was cheating on me with some sleazy cheerleader thanks to a couple of photos surfacing on Facebook. My heart was instantly broken, pride in shambles as I spent an entire week hiding out in my dormitory ignoring all phone calls and text messages as I cried over a boy who never deserved my attention in the first place.

I plucked a few strands of grass from the ground next to my feet, savoring the first taste of sunlight I had allowed myself since that unfortunate discovery. Who the hell did Seo Changbin think he was anyway? Playing with my heart like that as if it meant absolutely nothing to him.

At least I wasn’t sad anymore, having spent enough time crying over the destructive boy. Now, all I could think about was smacking that stupid smug grin off his face while thoroughly purging my built-up frustrations...“Y/N?”

I turned around quickly at the sound of Chan’s voice, rising to my feet to brush the loose grass and dirt from my jeans. “Channie,” I said, nervously wringing my hands in front of me. Chan was probably mad at me since I had been ignoring him all week.

“Are you okay?” he asked instead, tone surprisingly gentle as he stopped in front of me.

“Not really,” I told him honestly.

“I didn’t think so,” Chan said, features hardening. “I’ll beat the shit out of Seo for you.”

I shook my head. “That won’t do any good.”

“But if it makes you feel better,” Chan said, reaching out to delicately swipe his thumb under my eyes. “You aren’t sleeping.”

It was more of a statement rather than a question, but I still felt the need to reassure him. “I promise that I’m okay.”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Chan said, offering me a kind smile. “I can tell, you know?”

“Yeah you’re good at that,” I groused.

“I’m pretty good at a lot of things when it comes to you,” Chan admitted, eyes holding a pure kind of affection as they appraised me.

“I’m glad I have you,” I said, letting out a sigh as I allowed my head to rest against the center of his chest. “You don’t think I’m stupid for trying things out with Changbin?”

“You’ve always liked him,” Chan said with a bitter tone that sounded more like a jealous lover rather than a friend.

I chose not to say anything. “I hope the two of them make each other miserable.”

Chan chuckled. “Is this your form of revenge?”

“I don’t think it’ll work out in my favor,” I said, pressing myself even closer to Chan, pausing when my hand drug across his stomach. “Holy shit, Channie, you weren’t kidding about the gym.”

“Did you not believe me?”

“Who are you trying to impress?” I grinned, propping my chin against his sternum to make it easier to look into his eyes.

“It’s always been the same person,” Chan said vaguely, dimples on display as he considered me. “I hope Seo didn’t destroy your faith in relationships.”

“It wouldn’t be entirely his fault,” I sighed. “All my relationships have been complete failures.

“Y/N,” Chan whispered, brushing a light kiss across my forehead. “Maybe it’s because you’ve never tried the right guy.”

The memory was laced with something warm, an association that stood in stark contradiction to my current condition, slowly opening my eyes to a pulsing room, somehow much too bright for my pupils to adjust. Was I alive? I wondered because I couldn’t really feel anything which was certainly disarming. But then there was a familiar smell, rancid and burning, and it made me feel like I was definitely not in any sort of happy afterlife. There was also the problem of the blurry figure slowly coming into focus next to me, fiddling with an array of wires twisting together with the sounds of a machine distantly clicking in the background. I watched through hooded eyes as the now perceivable person in question handled an impressively large needle, pinching my skin painfully at the juncture of my elbow.

“Han Jisung,” I began, startling him from where he was checking the IV. “Just put a fucking needle into my arm. What hellish realm have I descended into?”

“Y/N!” Jisung squealed loudly, leaning down to press a sloppy kiss against my forehead.

“What the hell was that for?”

“For not dying,” Jisung sighed in relief. “When you came in, there was nothing but blood and glass everywhere!... Oh, and Chan may or may not have a fine against him for beating the living shit out of the asshole that hit you.”

“Why are you so loud?” I groaned, palming my forehead because the room was still swimming into focus. “What happened?”

“You probably don’t remember,” Jisung said. “It was a pretty bad concussion, but you were in a car accident.”

“I was?” I questioned, struggling to recall anything past a few minutes ago when I first realized that incompetent Han Jisung was sticking pointy objects into my veins.

“Chan was so upset,” Jisung said. “He wanted to do the surgery, but the superintendent wouldn’t let him.”

“Surgery?” I repeated. “I had surgery?”

“Cuz’ of your ribs,” Jisung said quietly as if finally realizing that he probably shouldn’t be saying all this to me at once, especially if the persistent beeping of the heart monitor was something to be concerned about.

“What’s wrong with my ribs?” I asked, somewhat panicking as I felt down my chest, noticing the thick bandage wrapped around my upper body.

“Chill, Y/N,” Jisung placated, reaching around me to adjust the monitor. “Now I can’t get an accurate reading!”

“So sorry to inconvenience you,” I said with a hoarse voice, reaching up to quickly wrap my hand around my throat. “Is there something wrong with my voice?”

“Well, you’ve been out for three days so...”

“Three days!”

Now I was definitely panicking, full-on hysteria as the heart monitor loudly detected the irregular contraction of the muscle thundering aggressively against my chest. It was enough to alert the doctor on duty, walking into my room to check on his patient, scolding Jisung harshly as he filled a syringe with a clear liquid. “Don’t worry, Y/N,” he said kindly, injecting the fluid into my IV. “Just relax.”

My eyelids fluttered closed, overwhelmed by a disjointed sense of calm that gradually pulled me back under the current of drug-induced bliss.

“Sweetie.”

My eyes flew open at the sound of his voice, the best wake-up call in the whole world. I slowly turned my head to the side, taking in the sight of my disheveled husband, eyes blood-shot with heavy dark bags haunting tight circles against his pale skin. “Channie?”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Chan sniffled, fresh tears swelling his cheeks as he leaned in closer to grip tightly to my hand. “It’s all my fault.”

I considered him closely, wondering what he could possibly mean by accepting blame for whatever was causing him obvious pain. I faintly remember Jisung telling me about am accident, but it was difficult to really think back any further, like a wall had enclosed around my brain, refusing to allow anything else to come into consciousness. But Chan didn’t need to cry, he was usually the best part of my life, waking up in bed together to share sweet kisses or eagerly waiting for him to come home and swoon over my newest K-Drama obsession. “Why are you sad?” I asked him, reaching out to do my best and wipe away those nasty tears.

“You wouldn’t answer your phone,” Chan cried, heart-wrenching sobs that broke my heart with every heavy inhale. “I didn’t know where you were.”

“Is that why you’re upset?” I asked, wiping away a few mischievous curls that had wandered into his eyes.

“I found you in the intersection,” Chan whispered. “And the car...” he trailed off with a choking gasp as if the details were too horrific to describe.

“I’m here now, Channie,” I said, desperate to relieve his sadness. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

Chan nodded furiously, pressing a wet kiss to the back of my hand. “I can’t lose you like that, sweetie.”

“Well, I plan to stick around for a while,” I said, earning me a half-smile in return. “Channie,” I whispered, glancing around the room conspiratorially. “Is there anything good to eat in this place?”

This time Chan did laugh and it was the best medicine I could possibly have.

“Vitals?” Chan asked, lingering around the poor nurse who clearly wasn’t expecting this much attention over one patient when she clocked in this morning.

“I already checked them,” the nurse informed him, writing down something on the chart clipped to the edge of my bed. I sipped my water as I watched the two of them, wondering if Chan had been this overbearing the entire time.

“Temperature?”

“98 degrees.”

“Blood pressure?”

“122/75”

“Respiration?”

“Chan,” I whispered softly, immediately drawing my husband’s attention who was at my side in an instant. “I think the nurse knows how to do her job.”

The poor woman shot me a grateful smile as she re-clipped my chart, hurrying out of the room as if she couldn’t possibly escape fast enough. “Sorry,” Chan said, taking his seat next to me. “I’m just worried.”

“I get discharged tomorrow,” I told him. “Pretty sure that means I’m just fine.”

“But your leg,” Chan whined, fussily messing with the large cast, tucking the blankets in securely.

“It’ll heal,” I said, frowning as I picked at the squishy jello the nursing staff had brought in earlier. “Isn’t there anything else to eat?”

Chan tsked. “That’s good for you, Y/N. It’s full of necessary vitamins.”

I should have known better than to ask my doctor husband if I could possibly have something that actually had flavor to eat. No matter how much I begged and pleaded, Chan refused to waver from the nasty daily meals I was brought, much to my disappointment. “I’d kill for a burger.”

“Too much fat,” Chan said, turning down the idea before I could possibly try to negotiate.

“It physically hurts me to eat,” I tried. “I think they’re secretly plotting my death.”

“Y/N,” Chan scolded lightly. “There’s a reason why we serve this to patients, alright?”

I frowned at him but shoved a spoonful of the nasty substance in my mouth, earning me a pleased smile in response. “Happy?”

“You can have better food tomorrow,” Chan said, pausing as he reached down to check his phone notifications. “Minho is here,” he grumbled. “I guess I’ll go get him from the lobby before he gets lost.”

“Thank you, darling,” I chirped, accepting his brief kiss.

“I’ve seen worse,” Minho declared, ignoring Chan’s disbelieving scoff.

“You obviously weren’t here when she was first brought in,” Chan growled to him.

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” Minho asked, disregarding Chan who had gone back to check the dozens of machines somehow monitoring my every possible bodily function.

“Hungry,” I grimaced, pointing to my discarded container.

Minho lifted it curiously, bringing it his nose before he let out an unattractive grunt. “Is this garbage?”

“Don’t encourage her,” Chan said, reaching for my chart for the millionth time that day. “I’ll be right back, Y/N.”

“Okay,” I said, rolling my eyes once his back was turned.

I waited until Chan was gone before desperately reaching out for Minho. “You’ve got to help me, Minho! I can’t stand another day of jello and mashed potatoes. Get me a Big Mac and I’ll give you the number of one of my work acquaintances.”

Minho raised an interested brow. “Scale?”

“Oh, she’s definitely an 8...please!”

“That’s impossible to turn down, Y/N,” Minho grinned. “Give me ten minutes.”

I snatched his sleeve before he could walk away. “Make sure Chan doesn’t see.”

“So ask Han Jisung to fuck something up, got it.”

“You’re my best friend in the entire world. The rest of my life will be spent in your servitude.”

Minho offered me a brief salute and I solemnly nodded my head while ignoring the way my stomach growled.

It was growing dark outside and I’m pretty sure Jisung had accidentally given me too much of whatever pain medicine I had been prescribed. I could barely keep my eyes open as Chan settled next to me on his chair. “Y/N,” he said softly, picking at an invisible string on his suit pants. “I want to talk to you about the fight we had.”

My exhaustion vanished in a flash. “Okay,” I said, even though I had been hoping Chan would just forget that the fight even happened.

“I owe you an apology,” Chan said. “For acting like a jealous prick. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

“It’s my fault too,” I said. “I know how you feel about him, but I still went out anyway.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Chan said, swallowing down the lie even though I could always read him like a book. “But every time I think about Seo Changbin, I can’t help but remember Freshman year.”

“You act like he broke your heart instead,” I tried to joke, but Chan was everything but amused.

“Yeah, he did break your heart, Y/N, and I’ll never forgive him for it. He was an arrogant bastard back then, and I’m sure that hasn’t changed much.”

“Not really,” I agreed, recalling our prior lunch arrangement.

“And I’ll never be okay with the fact that you work with your ex-boyfriend, but since you love the job so much, I can’t possibly fight with you anymore,” Chan said. “I should trust you as my wife.”

“I’m not remotely interested in Changbin,” I said. “It just sucks that he’s got good connections.”

“But if he tries anything on you...”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “I would never do anything to hurt you, even if his thighs look super good these days.”

“Y/N.”

“I know, Channie,” I giggled, reaching for his hand. “Trust me, alright? I don’t plan to work there forever. Fingers crossed for a promotion to the publisher.”

“I’ll pray every night if I have to,” Chan said. “As for Felix...”

“Don’t worry about him,” I said. “I know that I should try harder to get along with Felix.”

“It’s a two-way street,” Chan countered. “I’ve spoken to him about everything.”

“You have?” I wavered. “What did he say?”

“Well, he feels really bad about the accident,” Chan said. “I think he realizes how much better things would be if you guys were on friendlier terms.”

“He really looks up to you,” I said, recalling Minho’s words from before. “I hope he doesn’t feel like I’m trying to steal you away.”

“Felix and I have always been close,” Chan said. “We both had a hard time moving here from Australia. But at the end of the day, we could rely on each other..”

“High school wasn’t very good to either of you,” I said.

“Well, except for you of course,” Chan said, attempting a smile.

“They were mean to you, Channie,” I said, “and you didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I’ve gotten over that,” Chan insisted. “But Felix always took everything harder than me. He wasn’t very social until college.”

“He should have stuck to being an introvert,” I said. “Look at the kind of friends he ended up with.”

“Are you saying Hyunjin is a bad influence?”

“Have you been around for our interactions?

“I’ve definitely noticed, Y/N. Remember what happened that one time when we went camping-”

“Anyways,” I loudly interrupted. “It seems like we both have a lot of things to work on.”

“But that’s why we talk about it,” Chan said, pressing a soothing kiss to the wrinkled crease of my forehead. “That’s what married couples do, right?”

“Ah, Channie, when did you become a walking cliche?”

“Should I be more serious, then?”

“You’re getting there with the doctor’s jacket.”

“Really?” Chan asked, sitting back in his chair. “Is this your way of asking us to try some kind of kinky roleplay?”

“I don’t know, but it might be interesting. Can I call you Dr. Bang?”

Chan was positively beaming. “You can always call me Daddy instead.”

“Darling, I think they accidentally gave you my prescription of morphine.”

If anyone were to ever ask me, then I’d tell them that signing hospital discharge papers was about as difficult as applying for a loan. “How many more are there?” I wondered, scribbling a messy signature at the bottom of the last sheet Jisung had brought for me to sign.

“I think that’s it.”

“You think?” I snorted, watching Jisung sort through each page carefully like he really had no idea what he was holding.

“Each year they add more shit for the patients,” Jisung explained. “I’m pretty sure they do it just to confuse me.”

“Everything confuses you, Jisung,” I said, patting his arm sympathetically. “Has Chan come in yet?”

“He’s on his way with Felix.”

“Goodie,” I grumbled. “Are you working late today?”

“Someone has to help since Chan insists on taking the day off,” Jisung said.

“I hope they aren’t planning on letting you do the surgeries.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

I kept my mouth shut, deciding to let Jisung live in his deluded fantasy world where he could somehow manage to cure patients of their ailments as opposed to causing them. Unsurprisingly, since the moment I had first met him, Jisung had always been completely sure of himself even if he was whole-heartedly wrong. For example, when we were all seniors in college, Chan refused to speak to Jisung for an entire week after the two of them received an F on their group project. Apparently, Jisung forgot to submit the lab report on time and waited an additional week before approaching the professor to politely ask if he could still bring it to her after class.

“Channie,” I tried to console him. “You know Jisung didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Yeah, but my GPA will still suffer the consequences,” Chan had sulked, whining about how difficult it was to maintain a friendship with Han Jisung.

Yet, when Chan was first hired by the hospital, Chan sent in a very persuasive reference for Jisung, encouraging the higher-ups to offer him a nursing position. The three of us went out to celebrate Jisung’s new job offer, nursing shots of bad vodka while eating rather terrible sushi. “Chan,” a very tipsy Jisung had said. “I love you so much, man.”

“Oi, keep your hands to yourself,” Chan had grouched despite wearing the biggest grin on his face...

“Y/N,” Jisung interrupted my recollection. “I think Chan just got here.”

“Finally,” I sighed. “I thought I would never be able to get the smell of alcohol out of my nose.”

“Thank God you’re here,” I said the moment Chan and Felix walked into my hospital room. “I’m pretty sure I had to sign my life away to leave this place, but it’s totally worth it.”

Chan rolled his eyes playfully. “I see you’re feeling better this morning.”

“I’ve been better for days,” I said. “But my doctor wouldn’t allow me to so much as breathe the wrong way.”

“Is that so?” Chan asked, reaching down for my discarded bag. “Your doctor sounds like a real asshole.”

“Yeah, but he’s pretty hot. I’d totally fuck him if I wasn’t already married.”

“It sounds like you have a thing for doctors?” Chan asked. “Does this husband of yours know that?”

“He probably does,” I said. “But I feel like he’ll probably leave me to masturbate on my own for months because of this dumb cast.”

“Y/N,” Chan scoffed. “It’s important for you to heal properly.”

I groaned loudly. “Why are you so responsible?”

Chan carefully handed me my bag. “Make sure you have everything. I’m going to talk to your surgeon one more time before we leave.”

It was difficult to prevent myself from protesting, finally realizing just how quiet it was with just me and Felix in the room. “Hi, Felix,” I said, awkwardly adjusting my blankets once Chan had disappeared from sight.

“Y/N,” Felix said, gaze focused on some unidentifiable point on the floor.

“What have you been up to?” I asked, trying to sound cheery because I didn’t like the look of despondence on Felix’s normally bright visage.

“I owe you an apology, Y/N,” Felix said with a vulnerable tone I had never heard from him before. “It’s because of me that you got hurt.”

“Felix,” I hesitated because this was uncharted territory for the both of us, a distant cry from our usual taunting banter. “You don’t need to do that. Everything’s fine now.”

“Your leg,” Felix whispered as an unexpected tear slid down the side of his face.

“It’s just a fracture,” I shrugged. “I’ll be just fine in a few months.”

“Just a fracture,” Felix parroted back, voice thick with emotion. “Why aren’t you mad at me? Because you should be. I’m always getting in your way.”

“Is that what you think?” I asked, surprised to hear Felix’s true feelings. “Felix, you aren’t in anybody’s way. You know I don’t really care that you’re staying with us, especially after you just graduated. I just wish you’d be a little bit more respectful.”

“Because I’ve always been jealous of you, Y/N,” Felix said. “Especially since Chan likes you more than me.”

“Felix, you know that Chan loves you. He would do anything in the world to make you happy.”

“He’s always chosen you over me,” Felix said. “He stopped hanging out with me on weekends in high school, and he even went to the same college as you even though he was accepted into Harvard and Yale.”

I was shocked by Felix’s true feelings, a rare moment of vulnerability that he was choosing to share with me. “Lixie,” I said. “Why have you never said anything before?”

Felix shivered at my use of his nickname. “I didn’t want to. You guys are so happy together and I didn’t want to hurt Chan.”

“Ya! Felix,” I frowned, “your feelings matter too. And if you really feel that way, then we need to talk about it together.”

“I’m just a burden,” Felix gruffed.

“No, you aren’t,” I insisted. “You’re part of our family, and if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable, then you deserve to be heard.”

“You don’t really mean that do you, Y/N?” Felix asked with glistening eyes. “I don’t want you to say these things just to make me feel better.”

“Felix, when have you ever seen me lying to someone just to protect their feelings?” I asked. “I always speak my mind, and this time I’m putting my foot down. When we get home, we’re having a movie marathon, just the three of us. And this weekend, you and Chan can go somewhere together out of town. I’ll have Minho stay with me instead.”

“Really?” Felix asked, swiping a sleeve under his bright red nose.

“We’re in-laws you know,” I said. “That means we look out for one another.”

“Y/N,” Felix giggled and, for once, I didn’t feel the slightest bit annoyed.

“Lee Felix, don’t you ever let me catch you crying like this again, understand?”

Felix nodded, smiling so brilliantly that I was reminded of when we were much younger and he was just an innocent little boy who idolized his older brother.

“Careful,” Chan said, holding the door wide with one hand while keeping a firm grip around my waist.

“I’m not gonna break,” I grumbled, pausing in the doorway as I let out a grateful sigh. It was a huge relief to be back at home and not stuck in that hospital room surrounded by questionable smells.

Chan carefully led me into the living room and I gave him my crutches before collapsing on the futon, ignoring the rigid fabric because I had never been happier to hug one of the matching throw pillows. “Comfortable?” Chan asked, helping me prop my leg up on the coffee table. Meanwhile, Felix lingered in the doorway, grasping my bag tightly between his hands.

“Come join us, Felix,” I said. “You’ll let out all the heat.”

Felix nodded, eyes wide as he locked the door behind him. Chan sent me a curious look as if he wasn’t sure what I was hoping to accomplish by inviting his younger brother into the same room. “I have something for you.”

I clapped my hands together eagerly. “Is it something loaded with carbohydrates and fat?”

“Not quite,” he said, handing me my cell phone. “Seo Enterprises called earlier today. I already contacted them about the accident, but I guess they need to hear from you.”

“Great,” I grimaced, dialing the number from memory. It rang for a few moments, and Chan and Felix were both messing around with the TV, probably trying to figure out what to watch. Because the only thing the two brothers argued about was whether action movies were better than romance.

“Seo Enterprises, this is Eliza speaking how can I help you today?”

“Hi,” I immediately cringed, wondering how many cool points I could possibly lose in one day. “This is Y/N, can I speak to Mr. Seo please?”

“I can transfer you right away,” Eliza spoke promptly as if she had already been prepared to receive my call.

“Y/N!” Changbin’s voice now answered. “I’m glad to hear from you.”

“Yeah, I’ve been having a lot of bad luck recently,” I said. “I guess you know about the accident.”

“I heard,” Changbin said. “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” I said. “But I might need some time away from the company. Apparently, a broken leg is a pretty big deal.”

“Take as much time as you need, Y/N,” Changbin said. “I’ve hired a temporary secretary until you’re ready to come back.”

“I don’t know, Changbin,” I said. “It might take several weeks. Maybe you should just hire a replacement.”

“There’s no need for that, Y/N,” Changbin countered. “I still believe you’re the best person for the job.”

“Well, if you’re sure...” I trailed off, shaking my head furiously at Chan when he held up our used copy of The Notebook.

“I’m definitely sure,” Changbin said. “Call me when you want to come back. We still have a lot of things I want to do together in the future.”

“You’re too indecisive,” Chan said, finally taking a well-deserved seat next to me on the futon.

“And you have terrible taste in cinema,” Felix retorted.

“Yeah? Well maybe we should just let Y/N pick,” Chan suggested, mouthing a sweet kiss against my temple.

“I think Felix should decide,” I said, cuddling up closer to Chan’s side.

“Really?” Felix asked, appearing entirely surprised that I would allow him such freedom.

“Why not?” I sighed happily. “I’ll even watch that weird anime movie if you want.”

Felix scoffed but a faint smile remained as he grabbed the remote. Chan chuckled and leaned down to press another kiss to the top of my forehead. “I’m proud of you, sweetie,” he whispered.

“It’s only because I love you so much,” I said while shrugging indifferently, but Chan could always read through me.

“Hmm, well I love you more,” he said, brushing his fingers through my hair as the opening credits rolled across the screen.

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #bang chan #chan #chan fanfic #bang chan fanfic #chris bang #chan smut #bang chan smut

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syilcawrites · 4 years

Text

yearning

Series: Fire Emblem Three Houses Type: One shot Main pairing: Dimileth (Dimitri & F!Byleth) Rated: T Genre: hurt/comfort, pre-ts Summary: An AU based on what happens after Jeralt's death (F!Byleth/Dimitri). Hope you enjoy!

“But the moment she walks out into the brisk cold air, the uncomfortable sensation seeps back into her veins, crawling up her chest. She’s surrounded by so many, yet…

She tilts her head up ever so slightly to see that no one is in front of her.”

A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read! This is my first FE3H fic, so I apologize if anyone is OOC. Just a self-indulgent variation of what happens after Jeralt's death! I'm weak for Dimileth ;-;

(PS. i like to hc that the hug is parallel to when byleth hugs dimitri post ts after he holds her hand bc they would hug!!!)

You can also read this on ao3!

Yearning is a foreign concept, a concept that Byleth cannot grasp. It escapes through the crevices between her fingers like sand, dripping down into the darkness, disappearing.

She knew what it was when she saw it, years ago when it was just the two of them—just Byleth and Jeralt, Jeralt and Byleth. Trudging through mud and sludge during monsoon rains, through the dry, scorching hot desert heat, through the blissful warm dawn that peaked behind the vast mountains, they met all sorts of people.

When they stopped by a small village in the middle of winter, there was a woman who stood outside the door to her house, wrapped in a woolen shawl, staring out into the white abyss.

Her blue eyes were glassy, far away. Her lips pressed into a tight line as she hugged the shawl around her frail arms. She was so still, Byleth wasn’t sure if she was human or a statue. She couldn’t tear her eyes from her.

“What are you looking at, Byleth?” Jeralt asked, looking up briefly from his bowl of hot soup.

“That woman…” Byleth trailed off, pointing out the window. “What is she doing with her face?”

“What is she doing with her face?” Jeralt echoed back with confusion, leaning out toward the window now too. She heard him mutter a disapproval under his breath as he returned back to his seat. “She yearns for something to return.”

“Yearn?”

He paused for a moment, as he grasped to find an explanation that was as simple as it could be. “A desire, a want. Sometimes, it feels like a need.” Jeralt sighed, patting the seat next to him. “Come on and eat, Byleth. You’ll get winters’ chills from staying too close to the window.”

Byleth didn’t tear her gaze from the woman until Jeralt placed a hand on top of her head and turned it forward so that she was facing her warm bowl of soup. She had the urge to run out into the snow to give it to that woman.

And now years later, Byleth understands, as she holds Jeralt’s increasingly cold body in her arms.

At first, all she can do is let her tears drip onto his ashen face, as it mixes with the light drizzle of the rain.

Then came the emptiness that crept its way into her chest as his blood continued to spill onto the fabric of her clothes, soaking in his death.

“Professor?”

Byleth blinks, and instead of seeing Jeralt’s cold, decaying body in her arms, her student’s homework assignments are tucked snuggly in them.

“Yes, Dimitri?” Byleth hears herself say as she levels her eyes at his neck, finding herself unable to raise them.

“I… Are you… Have you eaten?” Dimitri fumbles with his words, his arms reach out toward her but retreat back just as fast.

“Maybe later.” Byleth steps to the side to walk past him, hugging the papers to her chest.

Rhea had told her to take the rest of the week off yesterday, but—

Byleth winces at the pressure building up in her head as she hurries back to her room. Several hushed whispers follow her trail, as if they’re chasing her, and the moment she shuts the door behind her the tears don’t hesitate to dribble down her cheeks. She clamps a hand over her mouth as sounds escape through her trembling lips, a sensation unfamiliar to the point where fear is etched into her heart.

“Rest if you must, child. Do not fight against what you are feeling.” Sothis’ soft voice soothes her increasingly jumbled thoughts.

Byleth wipes the back of her hand against her damp cheeks as she sets the papers down on her desk. Promptly after, she draws herself under her covers, staring out the window, as she watches the sky turn from blue to orange, then finally to darkness. The time lapse soothes her. She finds that focusing on the drifting clouds distracts her thoughts. Every once in a while though, steps shuffled to a stop at her door, but no one ever knocks.

Not until late into that night did a knock interrupt the silence in her room.

“Professor! It’s me, Annette…” Her voice trailed off at the end, quietly.

Byleth, stiff from staying in one position for hours, creakily raises herself from the bed, her joints pop from the stillness of her body. She can feel the flesh of her own self, but it feels like nothing in that moment.

Minutes must have passed, Byleth assumes, before she opens the door. It’s long enough to the point where Byleth wouldn’t have been surprised if Annette left, but she stands there, putting on her brightest smile.

“Mercedes and I have a gift for you!” Annette wrestles with the gigantic woolen blanket tangled up in her arms. “We were supposed to give this to you at the start of winter, but it became a lot bigger than we anticipated!” She smiles cheekily as she shuffles it into Byleth’s arms. “We noticed that your blankets are pretty thin…”

“Oh, thank you…” Byleth’s voice comes out raspy. She hugs it closer to her body, eating up the warmth. “…Do you have more?”

Annette’s hesitant eyes lit up.

The next morning, she wakes up extra early to prepare herself, to let the tears dribble down her cheek effortlessly as her face remains slack. The same unfamiliar emotion from the day before, when she came back from the classroom. One that was too hard to control, and so she decides it would be best to try to get rid of it before teaching class. Only two days have passed since his death, yet it feels like a lifetime without him.

It’s a simple plan to get her emotions in check, a plan that takes her three hours to overcome, and not even successfully at that. Redness rims the outlines of her eyes, apparent on her pale skin.

As she walks into the classroom, with her cheeks slightly flushed red from her constant rubbing, she feels the gaze of each and every student’s eyes on her. A heavy silence settles in the room as she sets down her paperwork.

The chattering and murmuring ceases as Byleth looks up toward her students. Her eyes are trained ahead of her as she feels their stares boring into her skin. She’s careful not to look directly at anyone. She has an inkling that nothing good would come out of it.

After what feels like grueling hours, a break from lessons is gifted upon her, and most of them shuffle out as quietly as they can. As they did so, the tenseness in her chest begins to rise once more at the realization of everyone leaving.

But one student lingers by the door with his fingers tapping the frame. The longer he stands there, the tighter her shoulders stiffen. The grip on her pencil becomes deathly as he takes a step back into the classroom, but the aching feeling in her chest pauses in growth.

“Professor?” His voice sounds careful, delicate.

It does nothing but anger her—the messy, tangled knots that had hung themselves inside her begin to tighten.

“Yes, Dimitri?” She says in a voice so strained that she notices he shudders slightly at the sharpness in her voice, but it doesn’t stop him from taking another step forward.

Whatever he’s about to say never comes forward, as his hesitance informs Byleth that he’s rethinking his initial thoughts.

“Will you look at me?”

She stops scribbling. She had stopped paying attention to what she was even writing the minute class ended. She sneaks a glance down at the paper. Sprawled on one of the student’s assignments is his name.

Jeralt.

Scribbled aimlessly, ripping through the thin material easily. She decimated someone’s assignment. And she could tell Dimitri had noticed it the moment she began writing once class ended.

Useless. All of this power stored within me and I was, am, still unable to do a simple thing.

She takes a moment to compose her thoughts, carefully placing them in areas where no one can seek them out, and averts her gaze from the paper to Dimitri.

Unlike Byleth, Dimitri is willing to display his emotions on his face—the way his lips form a thin line of concern, eyebrows scrunched up in worry, eyes…

His blue eyes, bright and brilliant, looking at her as if she is lost.

Byleth’s face grows warm from shame and she immediately glances back down at the torn paper. How can she, a mentor, a teacher, make a student feel the need to look at her with such worry? Was it pity?

Pity only reminds her of the newfound weakness that’s bloomed inside of her.

Just like the blood that bloomed on Jeralt’s waist, vibrant and displayed for all to see.

Could everyone see right through her? Fear pierces through her at the mere thought of being so naked.

“Perhaps another time, Dimitri.” Byleth closes her eyes as she stands up, forcing herself to let go of the pencil that’s choking from her deathly tight grip. “I have somewhere to attend, and I don’t want to be late—“ She swiftly gathers the assignments into her arms, keeping her eyes leveled just at his neck, like yesterday, to avoid his gaze.

As she passes by him, eager to get out, she’s stilled by the grip on her arm, his grip. Soft enough to break out of, if she wants to.

“Oh—! I apologize.” He immediately lets go, flustered. “I just—Professor, if you need to talk, I... we are here for you.”

“I’m fine, but thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She doesn’t hesitate to leave, and never once turns back to look at him.

But the moment she walks out into the brisk cold air, the uncomfortable sensation seeps back into her veins, crawling up her chest. She’s surrounded by so many, yet…

She tilts her head up ever so slightly to see that no one is in front of her.

Later in the evening, Rhea deeply reprimands Byleth after learning that she had taught class during the past two days, demanding that she rest. But Byleth doesn’t need rest—she doesn’t want—

She doesn’t want to be alone.

But she can’t tell Rhea that. The words get stuck in her throat, so she simply nods and walks away.

The memory of the pale lady standing in the snow resurfaces to the forefront of her mind, reminding her of the little warmth she harbored within herself.

Byleth scoops up the two woolen blankets that Annette had given her and buries herself within them, relaxing herself into the warmth. Even when she begins to sweat, even when the air becomes uncomfortably suffocating, Byleth does not move.

Loneliness creeps up behind her during the darkest hours of night, when the Monestary is silent and sleepy. She watches the last light flicker off, leaving the buildings, the grandness of it, hollow.

She wants to hold on to that last flickering light, she doesn’t want it to go out. But every night it did, and it sunk her deeper into the fog.

She doesn’t come out during the daytime, ever since Rhea advised her to rest. She doesn’t answer the door when someone knocks, unless it’s Annette bringing her more woolen blankets. On most days it’s Dimitri at her door. He begins by knocking courtesly, announcing his arrival, and asks politely if they can speak. But as time progresses, he stops such polite gestures, and at this point, almost begs her to speak to him, to them, to anyone.

But Byleth stays under the comfort of her woolen blankets, only coming out to eat when the peak hours of the day have been long gone, or to walk to Jeralt’s grave so she can lean against it, to stare at the stars above them.

At some point, she can tell who is who by the way their footsteps echo outside her door. Dimitri’s is distinct, although the softest. Her door creaks whenever he approaches, as if he’s leaning against it. The thought of someone on the other side helps her head bob above the wave of darkness.

“Do you truly wish to stay in your room any longer than this, child? I’m sure your students are awaiting your return.”

Sothis’ voice rings in her head, the only other reminder that Byleth is still here, present in time.

“I am no good to my students right now.” Byleth merely whispers into her pillow. Useless.

The unknown yearning grows deeper and uglier inside of her, conflicting with the rational thoughts that usually keep her mind neat and tidy. She desperately wants to be with others, to drink in their affection as if she is a starved beast, but another part of her doesn’t want a brush of someones skin on her own.

Her wants and needs become muddled in the yearning, and the nights grow ever colder.

By the middle of the third week, she crawls out of her cave of a room later than usual. It’s deathly quiet as Byleth treks her way to Jeralt’s grave.

She settles on the damp grass, placing another flower on it.

She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Nothing but emptiness escapes it. She grits her teeth as she clenches her fists. “I have nothing to say,” she manages to whisper out, staring hard at his name, engraved carefully on the stone. “All I wish for is your return. Nothing but emptiness and anger remains in me, and I’m afraid.” She’s afraid of becoming the ashen demon that follows her footsteps, it echoes throughout the Monestary, reminding her of who she is. It reminds her that no matter how much she tries tacking herself into this place, acting as if she can wriggle her way into an environment filled with such love and affection, she will never be able to understand such abstract emotions.

She makes her way to the other side of the gravestone, behind it, to lean against it.

The crunch of leaves behind her jolts her up from the depths of her mind. She flits her head around, her hand unconsciously hovers over the dagger attached to her hips.

An alarmed Dimitri stands not too far off from her with something in his arms--

One of Annette’s woolen blankets.

It almost drops as he awkwardly tries to adjust it so that it’s not threatening to hit the damp grass.

“I—“ He mutters something to himself as he fumbles with the blanket. “I was just about to give this to you, as I’ve heard you’ve been quite cold in your room recently. I also noticed that your room was slightly ajar… so I assumed… a-anyway! This is a gift from Annette, I heard you accept these whole heartedly.” He holds out the blanket toward her stiffly, covering his face.

“Did you think I’d open the door since you had one?” Byleth responds back, staring at the bundle in his arms. Her fists relax slightly as her attention focuses on Dimitri.

As he draws the blankets back to his chest, his face grows ten shades of red hotter than the last.

He flusters and stumbles over his words as he tries to come up with some believable excuse, but as he settles his gaze on Byleth’s blank, stoic expression, he lets out a sigh, his shoulders sagging.

“Actually, yes. Since she told me that you open the door whenever she’s there. Although she did say that you do close it immediately after accepting the blanket.” He tilts his head, offering a reluctant laugh. The simplicity of the act, for some reason, warms her. His laugh is something she hasn’t heard in a while.

Byleth casts her gaze to the ground. A silence ensues between them. “I do apologize for my actions the past couple of days.” She says slowly, unable to reach his eyes again. “Thank you for always stopping by. I’ve noticed you tend to sit by the door a couple hours every day.”

His face grows another shade deeper.

“You noticed?”

“The door creaks whenever you lean against it.”

He mutters another string of words that she can’t make out.

Byleth raises her view from his lips to his eyes, and they lock on immediately. “Would you like to sit with me?” He went out of his way to find her, this is the least she could offer.

For once, a small smile rests on her rather chapped lips.

His eyes brighten.

“Of course!” He smiles ever so slightly, draping the blanket in front of Byleth, who stiffens in surprise at his gesture.

“It’s a bit cold tonight, I wouldn’t want our dear professor catching a cold.” He plops down next to her, arms loosely around his knees.

She had forgotten that she’s still in her night wear when she went out. How unsightly…

But Dimitri is no better, since he’s also in his nightly attire as well. Byleth frowns at the thought of him getting sick due to her negligent attitude toward her students, and raises up an arm, holding the blanket open. “We wouldn’t want you catching a cold either.”

He blinks blankly, as if he’s unable to process what she’s offering. Byleth scoots closer to him and drapes the woolen blanket over the both of them.

“This seems a bit… snug?” Dimitri laughs, almost robotically as he stares at the ground. He does not meet her gaze as she stares at the side of his face.

“Even better. Now the heat will be more concentrated.” Byleth nods in approval as she leans against the back of the gravestone. They sit there in silence.

After a while, Dimitri relaxes his shoulders. “I’m sorry there was nothing I could do.” He says, his voice soft.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.” Byleth takes no hesitation in taking the blame.

“Professor, of course not—“

“I had the ability to save him.” Byleth’s voice quivers as she recounts the memory, staring at the starry sky above them. “I feel…” She pauses, closing her eyes. “Unlike myself recently. I find it hard to process… a variety of unfamiliar emotions that I am experiencing.” Even saying that makes Byleth feel strange and alien, talking about… her emotions. More so the lack of understanding them. She always had Jeralt to turn to for these types of issues, but now… she is alone.

“Of course I’ll help you—all of us will always try our best to help you out, Professor. You must believe that.” Any sense of nervousness that is in him is replaced with concern. “You have helped and saved us countless times, and no matter what the issue is, if possible, I hope I can offer the some consultation, even if it is small.”

Byleth, for the first time in weeks, truly gazes into Dimitri’s eyes—pure and blue like clearwater. “Thank you for your sincerity, Dimitri. As always, you’re empathy is boundless.” She can’t help but smile at him, but his expression confuses her. Yet another gaze unfamiliar to her, another emotion that she cannot pinpoint.

He simply stares at her with an expression that makes her feel relaxed and sleepy, as if time itself has paused, and she returns his wholly attention.

“Why do you look at me like that?” Byleth whispers, her eyes searching his face for answers. Pure curiosity is written into her own. Dimitri blinks, as if he’s snapped out of his trance, finally aware of the way he was staring at her.

“It must be late, that’s why I was so careless…” he mutters to himself quickly, rubbing an eye with the back of his fingers. He sneaks a glance over at Byleth, who is still staring at him with innocent curiosity. Redness creeps up his neck as he averts his gaze. “Despite how I may seem, I’m not very good at expressing my emotions either.” He clears his throat, straightening his back.

“Then maybe we can both learn from one another.” Byleth concludes, exhaling. She returns her gaze up at the endless starbound view above them, watching her breath flutter into the cold, night air. “I’m in your debt, since you are keeping me company so late at night.” Again, she closes her eyes, letting herself feel the coldness wash over her exposed skin.

“Think nothing of it, I’m simply happy that you are getting fresh air.” He says, leaning over her. She notices the shift in heat as he comes closer, and the shifting of the blanket on her end. His fingers graze against her bare thigh, a touch so slight, but it is enough to make her realize what she needs.

She immediately opens her eyes to see him pulling away, his face flushed and his own eyes wide as he realizes that she’s staring at him. Before he can pull away completely, she wraps her arms around his neck, drawing him against her. The blanket slips from her shoulders as she presses her head into the crook of his neck, soaking in the warmth that he provides.

He immediately stiffens upon contact, with one arm up in the air, and the other placed against the gravestone to avoid falling completely on top of her out of surprise. His left leg is fit snuggly between her own, the other bent up. Along with the blanket, they were a tangled mess of limbs and cloth.

But Byleth doesn’t care, for she appeased the yearning that ached in her chest since Jeralt’s death—to feel the warmth of another human being in her arms, to not have the last thing she had held in them that of someone who is long gone from this world.

Dimitri does not move a muscle—he is sure that if he did, he would ruin whatever it is that she discovered. But something warm and wet touches his neck. With the sniffles accompanied by it, he wraps his arms around her, melting into her embrace as her body trembles. The sound of her sobs are quiet against his skin.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #dimileth #dimitri x byleth #fe3h fanfic #my fanfics #something I wrote a couple months ago!

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elvenstar146 · 3 years

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Time Doesn’t Heal All Wounds

Author’s note: I don’t own these characters but they are so much fun to write about.

Characters: Edward Elric, Winry Rockbell, Granny Pinako, Alphonse Elric

Time Doesn’t Heal All Wounds

Winry and Edward were living in their new home that was built on the Elrics’ previous home. They had just celebrated their first wedding anniversary, and Winry was 5 months along with their first child. Edward would stay and write at their house while Winry went to work at her grandmother’s.

Winry walked with their puppy, Eva, to her grandmother’s home, and arrived to a quiet house that normally would smell of breakfast and smoke from a pipe. “Granny? Are you up yet?” She yelled upstairs. ‘Maybe she overslept.’ Winry walked up the stairs to her grandmother’s door. She knocked, and asked if she could come in. No response. “Granny, I’m coming in.” Winry walked into the room and saw her grandmother laying in bed. “Granny, it’s late. We have some orders to work on.” She walked to her bedside and noticed the stillness. “Granny, are you okay?” She shook her shoulders and noticed that the elderly woman was cold. “Granny….” Winry felt for a pulse on her neck, and couldn’t find one. She brought her hands to her face. “No…. You’re not supposed to go yet. Granny, you said you would help me.” The tears started falling. She sat on the bed, and cried. ‘How can I do this without you? We still need you.’ Winry thought to herself. Her dog put her head in lap to try to comfort her.

Winry collected herself, and made her way to the telephone. She dialed her house number, and waited for Edward to answer. “Hello?” he answered, sounding irritated. “Edward! I need you to come to Granny’s house now!” she yelled into the phone, and started crying again. “Winry! What’s wrong?” “It’s Granny. She’s gone.” “Gone, what do you mean gone? Did she go into town?” Then the realization hit him. Winry was crying too hard to answer. “Winry, I’ll be right there. I have to hang up now, okay?” “Ok.” She weakly replied. ‘Oh shit!’ he thought. ‘This was not a good time for this.’ He thought about his pregnant wife while he was running to the house.

He found her sitting next to the phone still. She looked up at him and started crying harder. Edward sat next to her on the couch, and let her cry into his chest. He still couldn’t believe it. Edward trusted her judgement but once she calmed down, he went upstairs to verify for himself. They made the appropriate phone calls to the doctor and undertaker to make arrangements. Next was making phone calls to family and friends. Edward did most of the phone calls so Winry could rest. It was really hard to her to tell people without bursting into tears. He called Alphonse knowing there was no way he would be back from Xing in time for a funeral but Al did promise to be there when the baby was born.

Later that evening, Edward and Winry went home to rest. It had a been a long emotional day for both of them. Winry just wanted to go to bed even though she wasn’t sure if she would sleep. There was a light knock on the door shortly after they got home. Edward answered the door, and it was one of their neighbors offering their condolences, and a pot of chicken noodle soup. Winry met them at the door, and thanked them for the soup. Their neighbor told them if they needed anything, to let them know. Edward brought the soup into their kitchen, and made them each a bowl. He sat them on the table. They sat at the table but Winry didn’t start eating. “I’m not really hungry.” She said with her eyes staring into her lap. Edward was worried. She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He took her hand. “Winry, you need to eat something. It’s not just you that I’m worried about.” He put their hands on her pregnant belly to remind her that it needed nourishment. “Please.” Edward was practically begging her. She nodded in affirmation, and began to eat. It was the most quiet dinner they ever had together.

Three days later, Edward and Winry were getting ready for the funeral when another knock on the door was heard. They had a lot of visitors from town visit over the past few days so it was becoming normal to have people constantly visiting. Edward opened the door, and he was surprised. “General Mustang! What are you doing here?” He also saw Riza and Armstrong behind him. “We’re here to pay our condolences.” They were in black suits and Riza wore a dress. Winry came downstairs after putting in her pearl earrings that Edward had gotten her. She was surprised, and offered them to come inside. Riza and Winry hugged. “You didn’t have to come all this way.” “We wanted to. We know this is hard for you.”

At the funeral, Winry held on to Edward at his side. She was crying even though it felt like she couldn’t cry anymore. ‘This is harder than I thought it was going to be.’ Edward thought as he held his grieving wife. Even his eyes got glossy. Granny was the one that had taken them in when Trisha had died. She was a grandparent to him, too.

Everyone at the funeral went to Pinako’s house. So many clients had shown up, and their friends from Central had come down. Winry asked Riza “Where are you staying tonight?” “We were going to get a room at the Inn.” “Nonsense! Come stay with us tonight. We would love to have you, right Edward?” “Wait, seriously?” He looked into Winry’s eyes as she pleaded him with just a look. “Fine, they can stay.” He couldn’t say no to her today.

Everyone said their goodbyes, and Edward and Winry and their Central friends went to their home for night. And the next morning, Edward got up and made pancakes for their full house. He wanted Winry to sleep in because he knew she hadn’t slept well. He heard her get up in the middle of the night, and found her reading a novel. At least she was eating now even if she had to be reminded. Mustang found him cooking, and was amazed that Edward knew how to operate a stove. “Well of course I can cook. Sometimes, Winry gets breakfast in bed.” Riza elbowed Mustang. “I wish I got breakfast in bed.” Edward smirked because he had gotten Mustang in trouble with his new wife. Winry came downstairs, and was happy to have breakfast made for her. They all made light conversation, and the new baby was an easy topic. No one really wanted to talk about why they were here to visit. Yesterday was an emotional overload.

Their guests stayed a few days because it seemed to cheer Winry up to have them there. Once they were gone, Winry had to learn how to live without her grandmother’s constant companionship. Winry would want to tell Granny something but then remembered she was gone. She cried a little every now and then but it was getting better. But the hardest thing was she was so tired. She would take a nap every afternoon but wake up in the middle of the night, and stay awake for an hour. Edward got used to her leaving their bed and reading downstairs a little bit to distract her mind. Then she would come back when she got tired again. He didn’t know if this was the pregnancy or grief, or maybe a combination of both. He noticed that some days were easier than others but some were still difficult. He knew they would get through this. He helped more with the housework and cooking meals so Winry could rest more.

A few months later, Winry was eight months pregnant. She had gotten back to doing her usual work and housework though she was having to adjust to doing certain chores due to her size. She was still having trouble sleeping but she wasn’t nearly as tired during the day. She smiled more, and Edward noticed that she was feeling better.

Edward and her were waiting at the train station for Alphonse to arrive. Al got off the train and hugged Winry first. He looked at her very pregnant belly. “Wow, Winry! You look amazing!” “Aww thank you Al. I needed to hear that. I feel huge!” The brothers hugged and greeted each other.

“I want to go to see Granny now.” Alphonse told them. They all agreed to go together, and bought flowers while they were in town. They arrived to the cemetery, and saw their family’s graves. Al kneeled down and put flowers on Granny’s grave. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here but I’m here now.” Winry put her hand on his shoulder. “She would have understood. She was really proud of the work you’ve been doing.” Bringing a medical alchemy back to Amestris had been one of their goals, and Pinako had been hoping to use it with her patients’ recovery. Now Winry would be able to use it to help her patient’s pain levels.

About 6 weeks later, Winry had her baby. It was few days early but the boy was healthy. Once mother and baby were cleaned up, the brothers and Winry looked at the baby in awe. “Hey little guy.” Al said to the baby. “Don’t call him little! It might bother him.” Edward said to his brother. “Edward, he is little, and so cute.” Winry said as she looked at the baby. Edward was annoyed because he knew he had lost. He took a serious look, and told Winry “You know, she’d be really proud of you.” “Edward, don’t make me cry.” She hit him with her free arm. “I’m sorry but she really would.” “Yeah, Winry. She also knew the baby would be early because brother’s the father.” Winry smiled at that. “I’m not that impatient anymore!” Edward defended himself. “His patience has gotten better.” Winry said with a smile.

Edward saw Winry’s smile, and reflected on how much her smile had changed over the past few months. It didn’t have a hint of sadness in it. The dark cloud had lifted slowly. Time doesn’t heal all wounds. The wounds can leave a scar. They had gotten through a dark period of their lives, and now the sky was clear. Winry would be a little sad every so often but there were still smiles and laughter to be had. Her heart had grown more. She had become wiser, and learned to cherish more because she knew that these moments were precious.

Author’s note: My mom passed away 3 years ago. I thought a grief story would suit well to the theme of ‘Mending’. There is hope for anyone grieving. There is also help. I had to get help through my grief, and I have no shame in saying that.

#503week

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

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But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 14: Fever]

A/N: I’ve written a lot of chapters for Tumblr, but this one was by far the hardest. Thank you for reading. 💜

Chapter summary: Queen enjoys an American tradition, Y/N struggles to be optimistic, John offers distractions, Roger makes questionable decisions (what else is new).

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, accidental intense flirting, inconvenient erections, drugs, overdoses, near-death experiences, medical emergencies, hospital stuff, pregnancy, babies, miscarriage, drama, sexual references, do I even need to say angst...? Y’all already know.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen @anotheronewritesthedust1 @pomjompish @writerxinthedark @culturefiendtrashqueen

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you!

It’s November 12th, 1977, and you’re six weeks pregnant.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandmother!” Your mom is positively giddy, beaming ceaselessly, patting the back of Roger’s hand at least once every three minutes. I was right about this delightful English boy and my future gorgeous, doe-eyed grandchildren, that look says. Your parents either never saw any headlines, or—a possibility that seems increasingly conceivable—didn’t believe them.

“I know it’s early to announce,” you add nervously. “But we figured...you know, since we’re here now...and who knows when we’ll be back in Boston...”

“Oh, I’m so happy you told me!” your mother peals like a wind chime. “Here, have some more sweet potatoes, and some salmon too, they’re so good for the baby...have you thought about names yet?”

“Roger Junior,” Roger jokes.

“Freddie Junior,” Freddie offers with a flamboyant flourish of his hand; his fingernails are jet black with glinting flecks of silver.

“A few,” you tell your mother, rolling your eyes at Freddie. “But there’s still plenty of time to figure that out.” In truth, this whole having a baby thing still feels rather nebulous and untrustworthy, like it’s a dream you might wake up from, like it’s a desert mirage that will evaporate as soon as you stumble too close, parched and ravenous and aching for it. Roger slips his arm around your waist, and you don’t exactly dislike that; but it feels a little like a mirage too.

“We’re so happy,” he says, with a gentle wistfulness that is striking on him. Roger is happy, as happy as you’ve ever seen him. He drinks only in moderation. He does his physical therapy. He’s taken up meditation. He fucking meditates. He wants to get clean for the baby, for you, for this second chance at a future together. And you don’t entirely trust this—because everyone lies and everyone disappoints and everyone carries around mortal shadows in the marrow of their bones—but you are beginning to let it make you happy too.

“You’re next, Fred,” Brian says. “You’re the only one left. Come on, it’s your turn. Cough up an infant.”

Freddie cackles. “All my children have whiskers and tails and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Your mother shoves a glass baking pan of sweet potato casserole, topped with a layer of gluey burned marshmallows, towards you. “Eat!” she commands.

You warily spoon yourself some, grimacing; you’re more or less constantly nauseous. Then you stare down at the heap of lumpy orange root vegetables that—to you, at least—contains a choking quantity of cinnamon. The sweet potato casserole stares menacingly back. John leans over and scoops himself a bite off your plate.

“Mmmmm!” he exclaims, to your mother’s delight. Then, more quietly to you: “Not to worry. I’ll help.”

“Everything is delicious, as always,” Brian tells your parents, ever well-mannered. “It’s always such a delight when work brings us to Boston. This was so kind of you!”

Your mom and dad wanted to treat Queen to the band’s first-ever American Thanksgiving dinner, even if actual Thanksgiving was still two weeks away; the table features a monstrous turkey with brown crispy skin, stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade cranberry sauce, green beans almondine, ham, Atlantic salmon, buttered rolls, pumpkin pie, and of course the loathsome sweet potato casserole. You endeavor to taste at least one bite of everything, sipping sparkling apple cider cautiously, biting back waves of nausea that surface at random like breaching whales. The tablecloth is speckled with autumn leaves and inappropriately jolly cartoon turkeys. Your parents are glowing, proud, thrilled...although they’re visibly channeling effort into not being offended by the fact that Brian won’t try the turkey.

“It’s our pleasure, of course,” your father deflects as he puffs on a cigar. He’s mixed a drink for all of the non-pregnant attendees: Apple Cranberry Moscow Mules for everyone except John, who requested his usual Manhattan. “And you’ve timed it perfectly. There’s no better time to be in New England than the fall.”

“Oh, the foliage is just stunning, and the skies are so clear, you can see all the constellations!” Brian cranes his neck and points out the dining room window. “Look, there’s the winged horse Pegasus, and Cassiopeia, and Perseus...”

“The scenery is gorgeous! Creatively rousing!” Roger agrees.

“Oh, planning a Boston-inspired sequel, are we?” John quips. “I’m In Love With My Lobster Boat?”

“I’m In Love With My Revolutionary War Memorabilia?” Freddie suggests.

“Get a grip on my extremely unreliable and difficult to load musket...” John sings.

Freddie points his fork at him and grins. “Yours wouldn’t be so difficult, Deaky dear.”

“How long did those old muskets take to load?” Bri asks.

“About two minutes,” your father pipes cheerfully.

Freddie snorts. “Sounds about right.”

John bears the laughter with a good-natured, smug sort of smirk. I’m not bothered because I know I’ve got nothing to worry about, that look says. You wiggle your eyebrows at him. He winks back.

Roger groans as he stretches his hands up towards the ceiling. “Am I really expected to play after all this?! Jesus christ. I’ve gained a stone in the past hour. Alright, one more slice of pie, then we have to get going...”

Queen has reserved your parents front-row seats at the show, as well as a limo to shuttle them there and back. While your mother fusses over whether you’ve eaten enough and what appropriate rock concert attire is—“leather and feather boas and riding crops, darling” Freddie informs her—your father circles the table snapping photographs, first with your Canon and then with his own Polaroid. You and Roger pose together, lean into each other, plant giggling kisses on each other’s cheeks. And you marvel at how a photo is a snapshot, a split second, nothing less and nothing more; that it’s instantly and mechanically captured, impersonal even, cheap to print and easy to burn. As your mother begins gathering up plates and glasses, you stand to help her.

“No no no,” Roger says, wiping the crumbs from his chin with an orange napkin. “Not allowed, Boston babe. Sit down, I’ll do it, I’ll help clean up.”

“I want to,” you insist. “I feel better when I’m moving around.” Less likely to vomit into anyone’s sweet potato casserole.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” You smile down at him fleetingly, ruffle his short bleached hair, then disappear into the kitchen.

Your mother is scrubbing plates in the bubble-filled sink, her hands turning pink under the hot water, humming Rhiannon in a bright merry voice. She’s wearing a sparkling crimson dress that reminds you of blood. Your stomach lists like a sailboat.

“I’ll wash if you want to dry,” you offer.

“I raised such a kind girl. My beautiful daughter, a future mama. Mrs. Roger Meddows Taylor.” She twirls a lock of your hair affectionately, then steps aside so you can reach into the sink. “That John Deacon is a bit strange, isn’t he?”

You resist the reflex to bristle, to snap at her; it’s not her intention to be cruel. It never is. “No, not really. He’s wonderful, he’s a genius. He’s my best friend, actually.”

“Oh alright, dear. I’m sure he’s lovely enough. He’s just so terribly quiet. He fades away next to the others. And certainly next to Roger.” She sighs, infatuated, dazzled.

You hear Roger’s voice echo in your skull: Watch out, baby. I get everything I want eventually.

Maybe he was right about that.

You’re trying to be happy, really you are; you’re trying to fall in love with this future Roger has planned for you. But you can’t shake the gnawing sensation that—somewhere along the way—your life stopped being written by you. You’re anxious all the time; you bite your lips until they bleed and wring your ringless hands and rarely sleep. You feel restless and ineffectual and nervy, like there’s some inescapable horror crouched behind every door you open, every page you turn. You feel the opposite of free.

Your mother notes casually, drying a china plate patterned with pink roses and edged with gold: “It must get difficult sometimes, having to share him with the world.”

You gaze into the nest of pearlescent bubbles that pop around your wrists like interrupted dreams, like broken promises. “You have no idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 21st, 1977, and you’re twelve weeks pregnant.

Blood trickles down your palm, the underside of your wrist, your velveteen-soft forearm. You hold the wad of gauze against the Scottish roadie’s pouring nose. What’s this one’s name? Nick? Nate? Niall? You’ve lost track. Whoever he is, he sustained an accidental elbow to the face as the crew was unloading the band’s luggage from the tour bus and is now slumped on the marble floor of the New Orleans Ritz-Carlton, splattered with drops of blood like the freckles sprayed across his pale cheeks. Giant red bows and Christmas trees trimmed with twinkling white lights rim the lobby.

“Alright, let’s take a look.” You lift the gauze away; the bleeding has slowed considerably. You gingerly probe the bridge of his nose as the roadie moans in pain.

“You trying to kill me, lady?” he jests.

You wrap an ice pack in fresh gauze and press it against his swollen face. “It’s not broken. Keep the ice on it, apply pressure, come get me if the bleeding doesn’t stop in ten minutes. Okay? You might have black eyes but you’re gonna be fine. You’ll look extra badass for the babes at the club.”

“Okay.” The roadie smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Florence Nightingale.”

You smirk up at Roger. “Did you have to teach them that?”

“You’ve cultivated quite the reputation, love.” He grins, takes a drag off his cigarette, glances around the lobby through his opaque prescription sunglasses. And you’re struck by how pertinent he looks here, in grand rooms with chandeliers and towering ceilings, in famed cities littered across the globe. He belongs in the spotlight. He belongs to the world. He doesn’t belong to just me, and he never will.

You reach for your duffel bag, but Roger yanks it away and slings it over his own shoulder.

“Will you please stop trying to lift heavy things?!” he pleads.

“I’m pregnant, I don’t have brittle bone disease.”

“Brittle bone disease!” Freddie cries, horrified. “Is that an actual ailment?!”

John snickers. “Yes, and it’s sexually transmitted, so watch where you stick your bone.”

“Oh, ha ha ha, you are hilarious!” Freddie says, rolling his large dark eyes. “Worry about your own performance, Mr. Misfire. Bri, you’ll join us for a drink tonight, won’t you?”

“Well...” Brian hesitates, and you suspect you know why. He’s been looking forward to this stop for months, Queen’s last in the States during the News Of The World tour; after two days in New Orleans the band will fly back to London, spend the holidays there, resume the tour with shows throughout Europe beginning in April. In just a few rotations of the Earth, Brian will be back at home with Chrissie and the twins. But tonight he has plans to see the girl he calls Peaches.

“You undependable poodle,” Freddie scolds. Then, saccharinely, batting his eyelashes: “But you’ll surely come along, won’t you Nurse Nightingale?”

“Fred...I hate to disappoint, but...”

“This is unacceptable!” he exclaims. “I am distraught! Not even an orgy with spicy Cajun men will lift my spirits!”

“I doubt that,” you reply, smiling. “I’m exhausted, Freddie. This making a kid business isn’t easy.”

“Oh, but you’re not too exhausted to cart around luggage like a fucking alpaca!” Roger massages your shoulders, enfolds the slight bump of your belly with his hands, lands a series of featherlight kisses down your neck. He’s still clean, he’s still effervescent, he’s continuously devoted in a way that is unusual for him, tender and sensitive, simultaneously ecstatic for the future and nostalgic for the past. “Want me to stay?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Freddie laments.

“That’s alright. John said I can help him wrap Christmas presents for Veronica and the kids. I’m learning how to be all maternal and domestic, isn’t that exciting?”

“I’d say you’re fairly effortlessly maternal,” Roger says, rather proudly. “Want me to bring you back anything?”

“No, I’m okay. I’ll send a roadie for chili cheese fries or something.”

“You can send them for lobster and filet mignon. Whatever you want.” He reaches into the pocket of his fitted black jeans and pulls out a small ring box.

“Roger...?”

He opens it, grinning, and taps an antique gold ring with a ruby stone into his calloused palm. “I found this at a shop in Miami. You remember the first time we were ever there? March of 1975. Hotel room with a view that looked out onto the beach, taking photos on the balcony with the ocean crashing behind you, feeding the seagulls chips until the bitches started attacking us.”

“I never forget.” And that’s true; there have been times you wish you could, but you don’t.

Roger takes your left hand and slips the ring onto your wedding finger. Then he lifts your knuckles to his lips, bites them gently, leaves faint burning indents in the flesh.

“I love it,” you breathe, turning your hand back and forth, watching the lights from the Christmas trees glimmer off the ruby. It feels real in a way that sharing a future with Roger hasn’t for a long time.

“Now don’t get all emotional over it. It doesn’t mean anything, you know.” Roger winks and lands a parting kiss on your forehead. Then he passes your duffel bag to a roadie, who vanishes with it into an elevator. “Deaks, you’ll take care of my girl?”

“I always do,” John replies.

“Have fun,” you tell Roger, beaming up at him. “But not too much fun.” This could work. This could really work.

Freddie crosses himself like one of Veronica’s Catholic great aunts. “Depravity? Us? Never in a million years, darling.” Then he hooks an arm around Roger and leads him towards the glass hotel doors. They’re engulfed by a crowd of Queen’s roadies, laughing and shoving each other playfully: Ratty Hince, Paul Prenter, Chris Taylor (dubbed Crystal by the band), Brian Spencer, John Harris, others whose names you haven’t committed to memory yet.

“You ready, Emily Post?” John asks, heading towards the nearest elevator, and you follow him.

In his hotel room is a messy stack of gifts accumulated over the past month and a half from tour stops all over the United States: tiny model Liberty Bells from Philadelphia, Yankees baseball caps from New York City, a slot machine that spits out gumballs from Las Vegas, red socks embroidered with the logo of—what else?—the Boston Red Sox, NASA astronaut action figures from Houston, teddy bears wearing Cubs t-shirts from Chicago, plushies from the Miami aquarium: a hammerhead shark for Laszlo, a dolphin for Anna, and an octopus for the newest Deacon due in mid-February. You and John sit on the floor together in a flurry of tubes of Christmas-themed wrapping paper, stick-on bows, name labels, greeting cards, and pens. John flips through the tv channels until he finds It’s A Wonderful Life. You send a roadie to get dinner from a New Orleans-based fast food chain called Popeyes, and you take leisurely breaks between gift wrapping to chomp on crispy chicken wings and biscuits and mini apple pies and to guzzle down towering cups of Southern-style sweet tea.

“Octopuses are gender-neutral, right?” John asks, floundering as he tries to wrap all eight tentacles individually.

“Totally.” You’ve been brainstorming how best to package the slot machine for fifteen minutes. You take another contemplative bite of a flaky biscuit. “These kids are gonna be super confused when it comes time to pick a favorite team for the World Series.”

“Well obviously they’ll have to be Boston fans or I’ll disown them.”

You sigh contently. “This is just too adorable. I want to wake up early on Christmas morning and open presents with some hyperactive children. Please adopt me into your family.”

“Done. You’re in.”

You laugh. “I don’t think Slavic Jesus thinks highly of polygamy.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, who said anything about a second wife? You can be the live-in nanny but also the filthy secret mistress. Take it or leave it. Final offer.”

“Alright, Mr. Misfire. But you’ll have to fuck me for at least slightly longer than two minutes.”

Oh god, I should not have said that.

John stares at you. You stare back. And something flies between you, something like a pop of static electricity or a firing neuron, something hot and lightning-quick. There’s blood flushing his cheeks, but it’s not quite embarrassment; you know because the same heat is swirling in yours.

Stop, you order yourself.

But it’s too late, now you’re thinking about it, what it would be like: what he would feel like, taste like. Not like wildfire, reckless and consuming, disaster nipping at its heels. Something different, something constant and dependable and soulful, something that feels like home anywhere in the world.

It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about me. You’re My Best Friend wasn’t about me.

John grabs a sheet of crinkling wrapping paper patterned with chortling Santa Claus faces and drags it over his lap to conceal the sizable bulge growing there in his white pants. You pretend—unconvincingly, you’re sure—not to notice.

Finally, he chuckles uneasily. “However you want it.”

“I’m so sorry. That was wildly inappropriate. I’m hormonal and stupid.”

“I kind of like you hormonal and stupid.”

“Well don’t get used to it, this is a temporary condition.”

“You really can come over,” John says. “On Christmas morning. You and Roger can come over if you want to. The kids love you both. And honestly neither of them are old enough to remember this year anyway, so no pressure if you fuck up Christmas by being accidentally slutty or whatever.”

The smile ripples through the muscles of your face, uncoiling all the tension there. He really does make everything better. “Okay. But you have to promise to behave too.”

He shrugs coyly, lights a cigarette, watches you as he exhales smoke. “You’ve always said I have game.”

There are voices out in the hallway, uproarious laughter, the pounding of irregular footsteps, thumps against the walls. You can hear Freddie giggling: “Rog, darling, come on, get it together...!”

John furrows his brow at you. He doesn’t say anything, but you know that look. What John means is: Is he okay?

“I’m sure he’s fine,” you reply. He’s been fine all tour.

And then, more desperately: He HAS to be fine. Not just for me anymore.

“Rog?!” Freddie shrieks, and now the voices are louder, more numerous. There’s one massive thud. Someone screams for help.

You and John scramble to your feet. You snatch your kit off the dresser and bolt out into the hallway. Roger is sprawled on the floor in the center of a reeling crowd, unconscious, gasping for air, his skin a starved bluish. Freddie and Crystal are hovering over him, shouting and horrified.

“Oh my god,” John says.

“Call an ambulance,” you tell him, and John sprints back into his hotel room.

You shove Freddie and Crystal aside and kneel beside Roger, jostle him awake, pry open his eyes and shine your flashlight into them. His pupils are pinpricks. His breathing is shallow and uneven. You close your fingers around his right wrist; his skin is drenched with sweat. Roger’s pulse is erratic, fading.

“Roger, can you hear me?”

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs. Then he blacks out again.

“What did he take?” you pitch at Freddie.

Freddie and Crystal exchange a glance, hesitating.

“If you don’t tell me what it was he’s going to die, what did he take?!”

“He wasn’t in the same room as us,” Freddie says, his voice quaking. “We don’t know—”

“So you left him alone,” you seethe. “Of course you fucking did.”

Roger’s hand shoots up and seizes your shirt, twisting the fabric in his gnarled fingers. “Speedball,” he rasps. His vivid blue eyes—like bruises, like veins, like cold rain—are huge and bloodshot and frantic. He’s begging for his life. He’s begging you to save him. “The guy said it was a speedball.”

You know exactly what a speedball is; it’s your job to know things like that, to know all the chemical combinations that errant rock stars love destroying themselves with. “A speedball has heroin in it, Roger!”

“I can’t breathe,” he sighs dispassionately, as if it doesn’t bother him at all. His eyes are glassy now, unseeing.

“Don’t you fucking die on me!” You rake through your kit for the vial of Naloxone that you thought you’d never need. That’s not for bands like Queen, you remember thinking when the record company insisted you carry it. That’s for people like The Rolling Stones or Black Sabbath or maybe even Fleetwood Mac on a bad day, but not Queen. Not my boys. Not my Roger.

Oh, but has he ever really been mine?

You pull a syringe out of your kit, throw off the cap, and hold the vial of Naloxone upside down. You stab the needle through the rubber stopper and measure out 1cc—an entire syringe’s worth—of the drug that can reverse opioid overdoes. CAN, not will. It doesn’t always work.

Freddie is sobbing as Crystal drapes an arm over his shoulder and turns him away. So they don’t have to watch. So they don’t have to see him die.

You don’t have the luxury of not watching.

John is back. “What can I do?” he asks.

“Shake him. Keep him awake. Hit him if you have to.”

John kneels, cups Roger’s face in his hands, smacks his cheek each time Roger begins to nod off. Roger gazes up at him numbly, breathing in haphazard wheezes. “Stay with me, Rog. That’s it. Stay with me, you’re gonna be fine...”

You pinch a tiny roll of fat in Roger’s upper arm and jab the needle in. You push down the plunger and 1cc of Naloxone vanishes from the syringe barrel as it surges into Roger’s disordered bloodstream. You toss the syringe away and rub his arm as crimson blood beads from the injection wound.

“Come on, Roger,” you beg him. “Come on, Roger, please...”

You fill another syringe and inject it an inch below the first puncture mark. Roger’s eyes—those eyes that you’ve been trying to claw your way out of since you first saw them across a hospital room in the June of 1974—flutter closed. His sweated rib cage stills.

“Roger?!” John roars, shaking him. “Roger, Rog, wake up!”

“Roger!” you scream.

He sucks down a sudden breath—deep, clear, life-giving—and his intense blue eyes fly open.

“Oh thank god!” you cry, clutching your chest. “John, help me, help me get him up...”

Together with Fred and Crystal you drag Roger to his feet, force him to walk, parade him up and down the hallway until the paramedics arrive and ferry him away—still dazed and ghastly pale, still grasping for you and muttering things you don’t understand—and then your adrenaline rush evaporates and you crumble to the floor, one shaking hand covering your face, the other on the small swell of your belly.

I’m so sorry, little guy, little lady. You deserve better than us.

“I have to go after him,” you tell John when he reaches for you, trying to lift you off the floor. “I have to make sure he’s okay, the Naloxone, it could wear off before the heroin does, and it...it...it can stop an opioid overdose but speedballs have coke in them too and he could still have effects from that...”

“Okay, no problem, we can go, come on, we’ll get a cab and we’ll be right behind them.”

And you remember what Roger once told you as the planet rolled into 1975, under streetlights casting islands of luminance in an ocean of cold darkness: But I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage. And isn’t that what this was all about for you anyway?

But Roger was wrong.

My life does feel like a cage. It feels exactly like a cage.

You sputter weakly: “He’s not, he isn’t, he can’t...”

“What?” John presses. “Slow down. Breathe. Tell me.”

“He’s never going to change, John,” you whisper. The weight of the ruby ring is heavy on your trembling left hand. “He’s never going to change.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s February 15th, 1978, and you’re nineteen weeks pregnant.

The kitchen phone rings, and you answer. The date for your twenty-week ultrasound is circled on the calendar in red ink. “Hello?”

“Do you need to get out of the house?” John asks. “Because I really need to get out of the house.”

You do, incidentally. Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, and Roger did everything right: a bouquet of pink roses and carnations waiting on the kitchen table when you woke up, a new Ferrari parked in the driveway, a candlelit dinner at Mon Plaisir. It was a little too right, actually, like Roger was trying to coax you into serenity, like he was proving how illogical it would be to consider ever being unhappy with him, like he was making up for something; and that’s how things feel a lot of the time, now that you think of it. Roger is fine, mostly. He’s home, usually. He’s clean until he isn’t, and then afterwards he’s so dazzlingly radiant and kind that you can’t stand the thought of not being there to help if he needs you, can’t remember your frustration or your anger half as much as your fear of losing him. And it’s incredible how good you’ve gotten at pushing the memory of that News Of The World headline out of your mind, like it was something from a soap opera or a cheap romance novel, like it was just a slice of scandalous fiction that happened to somebody else. That’s the way the body works too, isn’t it? Wounds close over, livers regenerate, old cells slough away and reveal fresh tissue beneath with no recollection of the pain that comes tangled up with all the other eventualities of existence. Times like Valentine’s Day are a revival, a resurrection: brand new cells, a healed fracture, a shot of Naloxone to restore the blood to equilibrium. But today is not Valentine’s Day, and Roger isn’t home. You aren’t entirely sure where he is, and you don’t know if you’d want to be. “Yeah, I’ll pick you up. I can show you my wicked new ride.”

“I’m intrigued. You’ll have to let me drive it one day.”

“What, directly into a cop car?”

“You’re awful and I hate you,” John says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “See you at 8? There’s a new disco in Soho I’m dying to check out.”

“Sure thing, I just have to make myself glamorous first. It’s quite a process now that I have all the elegance and svelteness of a large marine mammal. But I’ll rise to the occasion. I’ll be the most attractive whale you’ve ever seen.”

He chuckles. “I don’t doubt that at all.”

You roll up to John’s Putney house in your maroon Ferrari, the convertible top down despite the biting cold, a bomber jacket—just a tad too tight to zip up over your bump—concealing your short black dress. Pregnancy has finally started to look good on you, aforementioned marine-mammal-ness notwithstanding: your hair is thick and gleaming, your skin clear, your face fuller and emitting a mysterious, ethereal sort of glow. You check your hair and makeup in the rear view mirror as John jogs out of his front door. He stops dead in the driveway.

“Wow.”

You pat the passenger’s seat. “Hop in, felon.”

“He bought you a freaking Ferrari?!”

“Am I not worth it?” you joke, flipping your hair.

John slides into the car. “How do I become married to Roger Taylor? Tell me your secrets.”

“Well, to receive a Ferrari, you’ll probably have to get pregnant with his firstborn child too.”

“Ahhh. A minor obstacle.”

You laugh as you spin out of the driveway and cruise towards downtown London. Then you peer over at John, really taking him in, reading him like heart rates or units of measurement inked to the barrel of a syringe. His elbow is propped up on the window sill, his chin nestled in the heel of his hand, his blue-grey eyes unfocused as they gaze out into the night sky and streetlights that flicker by like the episodic flashes of a firefly. “Are you okay, John?” you ask seriously.

“Yeah,” he replies, a prospect that seems implausible.

“I’m glad you called.” You both know what that means: Roger isn’t home, I don’t know where he is, I don’t know when he’s coming back or what condition he’ll be in when he does.

John smirks wryly. “You have a shit husband. I am a shit husband. We should stick together, people like you and me.”

The disco is a small place called Lo Asilo with neon blue lights rimming the entrance way like vines laced through a trellis. John orders a Manhattan for himself, goes back and forth with the bartender for a while about the virgin drink options, ends up passing you a non-alcoholic raspberry mojito.

“I love it,” you pronounce after a tentative sip. This kid loves fruit. And sugar. And you feel a abrupt groundswell of affection for that sometimes inconvenient, frequently anxiety-inducing little person who temporarily shares your blood and bones: who they are, who they one day will be. These moments are coming more and more often, as your future solidifies in some ways and becomes more imprecise in others.

“You’re almost halfway done,” John says, pointing at your belly like he can read your mind.

You sigh. “Do we have to talk about me?”

“We definitely can’t talk about me.” He studies you for a moment, makes mental notes like someone browsing through archaeological artifacts in a museum. Then he realizes: “You don’t want to have to stay home.”

You nod, downing your sort-of-mojito. No offense, kid, but I could really use some mind-numbing inebriation right now.

“Because you don’t trust him...?”

“It’s not quite that,” you reply. “I can’t stand the thought of not being there if something happened to him. If something happened to any of you. If I wasn’t there to at least try to help and someone ended up...you know...” Goddammit, I’m so much more sensitive these days. You force it out. “If someone ended up dying, I wouldn’t be able to live with that.”

“No one’s going to die, love,” he says gently.

“People die all the time. Especially rock stars. Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison, Murcia, McIntosh, Bolin. I could go on. There will be more names a year from now. Maybe some we recognize.”

“What do you want me to do? You want me to haul him off to rehab? You want me to handcuff him to his hotel bed every night we’re on tour? I’ll do it if you think that would help. I’ll do whatever you want. Obviously I don’t want to lose him either. But I’ve never known Roger to be someone you could force into anything.”

“No, he’s definitely not,” you agree softly, in surrender.

The opening notes of Fleetwood Mac’s Go Your Own Way rumble from the stereo. John knocks back the end of his Manhattan and sets the glass on the bar.

“Alright, congratulations, you get your wish.” He grins, holding out his hand. “We don’t have to talk about you anymore.”

“I’m warning you, I am zero percent graceful in my current state.”

“I’ll manage somehow.”

“Loving you

Isn't the right thing to do

How can I ever change things

That I feel?”

John leads, pushing through the crowd to a spot near the center of the kaleidoscopic dance floor. Then he knots his fingers through yours, sways with the music, dances comically sluggishly as you struggle to keep up, twirls you randomly until you’re giggling against him, blushing and not thinking about Roger or the tour or your impending career change at all; and you suspect John isn’t thinking about Veronica either. You belt out the lyrics at the top of your lungs, flouncing around like an extremely ungainly Stevie Nicks, and after a moment John joins you, pumping his fist in the air:

“You can go your own way

Go your own way

You can call it

Another lonely day...”

And it feels good. It feels more than good. It feels almost like being free.

Lindsay Buckingham’s guitar solo splits through the fog-filled room, and your smile begins to fade, recedes like the frothing ocean waves at low tide. And you think, more clearly and more inauspiciously than you ever have in your life: Something’s wrong.

The body knows when it nears catastrophe. There’s a primal dread that sparks up in the blood and nerves and endocrine system, seeps from your pores like smoke, cloaks you in that bleak, biological premonition. Dogs can smell it, can be trained to alert people before that nascent calamity manifests into a cardiac arrest or diabetic coma or asthma attack or stroke; and humans can feel it when that inevitable devastation creeps close enough, when it sharpens its fangs and scrapes them down the jugular. You’ve never truly been able to understand that before. But you recognize it now.

There’s cold sweat springing up on your skin like goosebumps. There’s a stormy rush of blood pounding in your ears. You can’t remember the name of the club, the city, the type of car Roger bought you for Valentine’s Day, the stone gleaming in your ring. The air that you wrench into your lungs is thin and fleeting, without the relief of oxygen. There’s an indescribably heavy iron twist of fear buried in your guts.

John freezes in the middle of the dance floor. “What?” he asks, alarmed.

There’s pain; sudden, sharp, low. Your eyes follow it. There’s blood snaking down your bare thighs. There’s indigo darkness crumbling around the edges of your vision as you sink to the floor. Your knees bruise against cold tile.

Someone is screaming for help; you aren’t sure who. But you reach for them, because they sound so irrevocably strong, because they sound like home. Your fingertips collide with John’s leather jacket.

“Make it stop,” you choke out through bared teeth, as claws of glass and barbed wire tear at where your future once lived. The agony is unnatural, razored, almost surgical.

“I can’t. Here, we’re gonna get you help, hold on, hold on to me—”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you sob into John’s neck. His skin is stubbled and dusted with nicotine and flare-hot. He’s trying to drag you to your feet, shouting over his shoulder for someone to call an ambulance. “I don’t want this anymore, I don’t want any of it. I don’t want to see the world. I want to go home.”

“Don’t say that, everything’s going to be okay, they’re coming, listen to me, listen to me, I’m going to get you help—”

“It’s too late,” you whisper. And every light in the world blinks out.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s February 16th, 1978, and you’re not pregnant at all.

You’re a registered nurse, and so you understand perfectly the terms that the doctors use when they explain to you why it happened, after they do the ultrasound to make sure the miscarriage was complete; when they tell you why it was doomed from the start. Stage 4 endometriosis. Placental abruption. Difficult to conceive, nearly impossible to carry to term. An open and shut case. That’s the genetic lottery, and some people roll straight sevens, blood-red sevens rimmed with fool’s gold.

What you have a harder time understanding is how this could have happened to you. How is it possible to have all of that organic poison building inside of you, all that latent ruin, and yet not know it? To have never had any symptoms besides slightly-more-annoying-than-average periods? To have a nursery set up in one of the five extraneous bedrooms—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper, to be exact—with a crib your child will never use, never peer out of with their tiny fists curled around the wooden bars, never cry out to you in the middle of the night from? To have a list of names scribbled on a notepad stuck to the refrigerator—Roger favors deeply Anglophile possibilities like Arthur and Jasper and Alice, while you tend towards names with a Southern European flair like Aurelia, Callista, Felix, Augustus, although you both quite like the idea of incorporating some variation of John—that you suddenly have no use for? To have to inform your husband, your parents, your friends that there is no baby, that there most likely never will be, and that it’s entirely your fault: So terribly sorry, due to a genetic glitch my womb is rendered inhospitable, we’ll have to leave that ultimate trophy of womanhood off the shelf indefinitely I’m afraid.

You’re in and out through the night. The dreams are murky and fragmented and ominous, jolting you awake four times an hour. John never leaves, except to periodically phone the Surrey house from the nurse’s station. And there’s pain now, of course, even through the haze of the morphine drip—your uterus cramping down to collapse the void, your head splitting from the shock and hormonal bedlam—but it’s almost like that pain belongs to someone else, someone you might have heard of but don’t know especially well. The pain doesn’t surprise you. What surprises you is the totality of the darkness that rolls over you like a quilt, like a second skin.

Shouldn’t I feel at least some infinitesimal amount of relief, of liberation? Shouldn’t I feel free?

“I don’t feel free,” you murmur, your voice hoarse and very quiet.

“What?” John leans into you, takes your hand in his, lays his palm on your forehead and smooths back your hair. Harsh morning sunlight streams in through the window. “What did you say?”

“I don’t feel free at all. I just feel empty.”

His greyish eyes are slick and anguished. “I am so fucking sorry,” he says, his voice breaking.

You whisper: “He’s never going to be able to love me now.”

“Shhhhh, don’t,” John pleads. “He’s always loved you. As much as he can, and in the way that he can.”

“You’ve been here all night.”

“Of course.” And he hasn’t managed to tell Roger. Which means Roger hasn’t come home yet.

You shake your head groggily. “No, you have your own family. You have to go home.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he says tersely.

“John, you have to go home. You have to call at least. Veronica could have gone into labor or something.”

“No, seriously, it’s fine, she pops out one a year no problem. I’m staying.”

A scalding tear slinks down your cheek. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“They must have you on a lot of drugs.”

You laugh, then begin to cry.

“Hey, don’t do that, please don’t do that, shhhh...”

John climbs into the hospital bed and you fold into him, burrow into his warmth that smells like cigarettes and dusky cologne and Manhattans, sob against his chest as he locks his arms around you and pulls you in until there’s no space, no air, no line between you at all.

“You have to be okay,” he murmurs, his lips to your forehead. “I need you to be okay for me. Because when I was messed up I didn’t get better for me, I didn’t do it for me, I got better for you. So now you need to get better too, okay?”

“Okay,” you promise, not meaning it at all.

And he makes you promise again and again until you drift back to sleep with his steady heartbeat drumming against your palm, just loud enough to keep the dreams away.

~~~~~~~~~~

John finally reaches Roger at 9:47 a.m. Roger arrives at the hospital twenty minutes later, his hair a chaotic tangle, his eyes shielded by prescription sunglasses, still wearing the sapphire blue suit he left the house in the night before, his tie undone and several buttons missing from his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Roger begins. “I was at this party and met some guys who wanted to collaborate on my solo album, and it turned into a whole...oh, fuck, it doesn’t matter. Is she—?”

John grabs him, pushes him against the hallway wall, yanks off Roger’s sunglasses and pries open his eyes. Roger flinches, but doesn’t struggle.

“What—?”

“I’m making sure you’re not high.” John observes normal pupils and shoves Roger away, disgusted. “Get in there. She needs you.”

“You’ve done a lot for us,” Roger says.

“It’s mutual.”

“Thank you.” There are tears in Roger’s crystalline blue eyes. “Thank you so much, John.”

John nods towards the hospital room. “Just go.”

She wakes up when she hears the door open, and she knows it’s Roger instantly. Of course she does. Everyone knows the way a room changes when Roger walks into it, the way he lights up people and places like wildfire, the way he gets humans addicted to his innate magnetism the same way some are hooked on coke or alcohol or heroin. John isn’t that kind of man, and he knows it. He will never be that kind of man.

“I’m so sorry,” she tells Roger.

Roger shakes his head, cradling her face in his hands. “Baby, I’m not mad. I don’t blame you. I’m not mad at you.”

John watches as she explains everything, as Roger embraces her, as he says all the right things, all those beautiful and hopeful and effortlessly spellbinding things, as she begins—slowly, yes, but unmistakably—to light up again like rising sunlight glinting off quicksilver waves.

And only then does John leave.

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theflashdriver · 3 years

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Guardian (A Silvaze Fanfic)

For as long as Blaze had known him, Silver had always been an overprotective person. Outside naiveté and obviousness, the hedgehog’s strong sense of justice and want to make things right were his strongest traits by a wide margin; he’d take far countless burdens upon himself of both miniscule and galactic proportions. Even with the future saved, even though he was now living peacefully in the Sol Dimension, that fire had never truly left his heart. His protective passion had merely been lying dormant, searching out something new to focus upon. Well, starting around three months ago, it’d found its new target.

Blaze the cat, the queen and guardian of the Sol emeralds, was lounging atop a floating couch formed from pure psychic energy; being paraded around the library she’d once freely walked. Silver the hedgehog, the king and co-guardian of those aforementioned emeralds, was pulling book after book from the shelves in search of a tome she’d requested, constantly glancing back to make certain that she was comfortable. Psychic aura had begun to flare in an effort to expedite the process; books were being tugged from shelves, held to his eye, and flung back when they were found to be incorrect.

He was being silly, the feline was more than capable of seeking out the book for herself but, truth be told, she was enjoying this little display. Beads of sweat were gathering upon his brow; Silver had only been searching for ten or fifteen minutes but he was clearly worried that he was taking too long. It wasn’t as though they were in a rush and the book was hardly that important, it was just another addition to their ever-growing pile of baby-related literature, but he was seeking it out with the same fervour he’d used to pursue Iblis. This was all so mundane, but Blaze couldn’t help taking joy in it.

“Are you sure we’re in the right section?” He managed to ask, raking ten books from a shelf only to just as quickly throw them back, “We’re getting close to the end.”

“It’s here somewhere,” She cooed, reclining deeper into her floating chair, “I’m certain it was around this section.”

That was all the convincing he needed; Silver doubled his efforts immediately. Books from even higher up began to tumble but refused to contact the ground, encased in psychic cyan light. He threw glances in every direction, knowing instinctually when a book was hovering at his side. To put it plainly, the hedgehog was putting far too much effort into a relatively simple task.

The royal library was quiet today, devoid of visiting scholars and legal practitioners, but it’d been that way for a while now. Certain recent events had caused activity within the palace to slow and work-based visitation to greatly diminish. Well, it wasn’t as though the childcare section was usually bustling with life (in fact, they’d found it quite dusty upon their first visit) but the more complete calm of their surroundings had made their literature reviews far easier. Nowadays they couldn’t leave the palace without someone prying into their lives. It’d been years since life was last like that.

He froze in place, eyes darting twice across a single cover, before it was snatched from the air and presented to her, “Is this the one? The cover’s just like you described it.”

The hedgehog had produced a tome medium in size, only around one hundred pages long and (if she recalled correctly) filled with pictures. Its cover art depicted an array of cartoon fruit and vegetables tumbling free from an overfull mixing-bowl. Now that she’d seen the title, she immediately recalled her frantic flip-through a month ago; Nutrition and Newborns. This was indeed the book she’d requested.

She didn’t take the book immediately; instead, she leant in and beyond his outstretched hand, allowing her lips to weave their way onto his cheek, “Thank you, Silver.”

They’d been married for years and had of course performed acts far more intimate than such a tiny kiss, but watching his blush grow in response to her tenderness had rather become one of Blaze’s pastimes. As the book left his hand, it came to cup that very cheek while his prior beaming smile transformed into a more crooked, embarrassed, grin. He was still so plainly love-struck; rather recently she’d caught him in the wee hours of the morning, rubbing his wedding band and throwing her supposedly sleeping form all manner of tender glances. They’d been married for years but that reality still seemed to surprise him. Well, given the lives they’d lived, he could hardly blame him for feeling that.

“Do you want me to find anything else, do any others come to mind?” He asked, “I could go back through this section, see if we’ve missed anything good?”

“Perhaps later, this will do for now,” She attempted to quell his eagerness, “Let’s take things one book at a time, we’ve still got a few months after all.”

He smiled at that, almost daydreaming as the last books jumped back onto their shelves, “Yeah, just a few more months…” Silver reached up, she quickly took his hand.

Rather than simply float her, it was almost as though they were walking together; he led her back through aisle upon aisle of books to their little workspace. The worn couch and low table rather stood in stark contrast to their surroundings. While the royal library was filled with exquisitely crafted dark-wooden fixtures and floored with a deep emerald carpet, their table was formed of wrought iron and pale driftwood (crafted by Marine the raccoon herself) while the couch had more than a few patches sewn into it but was, mostly, wrapped in a soft red material. Truthfully, getting furniture that better matched their surroundings would have been easy, even if Blaze hadn’t been the queen, but the pair rather loved those mismatched pieces. Those out of place furnishings reminded her, and surely him, of their childhood amongst the flames but not the chaos tied to it. This spot reminded Blaze of ramshackle homes made in prior libraries, schoolhouses and musty old churches, their sanctuaries within a dangerous world.

The feline felt herself turn in the air, her hand slipped from his as she was gently lowered onto the couch; his psychic chair dissolved from the bottom up as it made contact with a real one and left sitting on the couch’s left side. Silver didn’t join her on it though; instead he stood on the far side of the table, concern still plain in his eyes. Knowing what was coming, her mouth curled into a small smile.

“Do you want more pillows or a blanket or…” Silver scrambled for more things to offer. He was trying so hard already, she felt lazy but so very cared for, “Something to eat, a drink…?”

He wanted to help so badly; Blaze felt herself grow softer still. She wanted to give him something to do, “We could take tea and read this together?”

“I’ll make a pot of decaf and hurry back,” He promised, beginning to turn away, “Are you sure that’s all?”

Ah yes, they had to cut back on caffeine… well, only she had to, but he wasn’t willing to let her face that alone. She was well beyond vomiting every morning, but cravings still lingered. The mere consideration of her common cravings caused one to spike.

Pinning her gaze to the book and trying to act nonchalant, she posited, “Perhaps a little bit of chocolate.”

Silver halted. He reached into his back quills and, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, produced a small, unopened, chocolate bar. Without so much as blinking, he presented it to her.

When he, eventually, noticed her befuddled expression, Silver simply smiled, “It’s your most common craving and I don’t like leaving you uncomfortable so…”

She felt heat across her face as she gingerly took the bar from him. Her eyes latched onto it, she could feel her tail flailing wildly, “Thank you, Silver…”

Was she really that obvious? Has she had this hankering that often? He interrupted her train of thought to reaffirm, “I’ll be as quick as I can, just shout if there’s anything else!” Before shooting between a set of bookshelves and towards the door, surrounded by psychic light.

Blaze slowly pulled back the foil and took a bite, but the taste did nothing to dispel her embarrassment. Her royal position had meant that, in this life at least, lots of people had tried to look after her, but none of them did it quite like him. Despite how oblivious Silver was to certain things, the hedgehog could notice the slightest of shifts in her disposition and pick up on things even she didn’t truly understand. Apparently, there were differences in the ways she purred and oddities in how her tail flicked but she’d be hard pressed to describe them. She supposed her cravings were far more obvious than those physical quirks, but it still seemed so bizarre.

Having eaten two of the bar’s eight total squares, the queen folded closed the wrapper and set it aside. She took up the book and scanned through the contents page: Foreword, Introduction, Nutritional-Timelines, Common-Mistakes, Weaning, Liquid-Foods, Solid-Foods and Additional-Recipes. Flipping through, only glancing, Blaze found that the wording was simple yet detailed, intended to be easily read but simultaneously informative. The illustrations also seemed helpful, they’d seemed rather useless on a cursory glance but, in hindsight, the feline needed all the help she could get with regards to cooking.

Before she could make a true judgement on the book’s quality though, the whir of psychic energy re-entered the room. She looked up from her book just in time for him to land in the exact spot she’d last seen him, tea tray in hand and a strong pillar of steam rising from a large pot. His quills had swept back to pin against his head and the sweat on his brow was plain. The kitchen wasn’t too far away but he’d plainly rushed, utilising far more of his power than he probably should have. The tea couldn’t have had more than a moment to brew; they’d have to leave it for now.

Despite this, Silver so very casually set the tray on the table and slunk around to sit beside her, “So, does it look alright? Anything interesting inside?”

“Well, it looks to be half nutritional guide and half cookbook; just like I remembered,” She responded, flicking her way back to the start and shifting to hold the manual between them, “I think it’s intended for slightly younger parents, but that just means it’s thorough and well detailed.”

The hedgehog shifted closer still, outer leg brushed outer leg, “So we’ll get a few new recipes out of it at the very least.”

With that, the pair begun their shared reading session; they quickly worked their way through the foreword and into the meat of the book. Her initial impression was proven correct, as she took in the nutrient-timelines, the information about baby’s requirements was handled gently yet informatively. Unfortunately, however, it was at this stage that Blaze noticed a change in her companion’s demeanour. The hedgehog wasn’t truly looking at the book, rather he was looking through and past it to what lay on the other side; a goofy smile had spread across his muzzle.

Knowing what was distracting him, Blaze rolled her eyes, but her smile grew further, “Go on, get it out of your system so that we can focus properly.”

Upturning the book and placing it upon the couch’s arm, Blaze gently raised the hem of her blouse. Her belly was revealed, still far from its full size but undeniably substantially grown. The royal baby was well on its way; the pyrokinetic feline was four and a half months pregnant. The father of her unborn child dropped to the carpet and began to tickle and brush his way through her white fur, plainly enamour by the growing form residing within her. Parenthood was so strange but it plainly excited him. Well, it excited them both, but he wasn’t literally attached to the baby twenty-four hours per day. He had to make his love known in more sporadic bursts.

They weren’t wandering into this blindly; they’d spent almost a year just questioning whether it was right to do. The life of a royal was one embroiled in politics and, even with the threats to their world long gone, the duties of a guardian were a lifelong burden. Working against that notion were their similar histories; Silver could hardly remember his parents and neither of Blaze’s had lived beyond her birth, their younger years had been wrung of relaxation by terrifying responsibilities. They’d been thoroughly enticed by even the notion of normalcy tied to parenthood. Their potential to give someone the comfort that they’d lacked had finally pushed them to decide.

Other factors had been considered of course, such as whether or how their inherent abilities would be passed on and the latent additional responsibility that would come with them. Silver’s powers were still an anomaly, unknown in origin and genetic nature, while Blaze’s had been consistently passed on for generations. Historically, her family’s powers had never mixed with another so, even as the baby grew inside her; they had no idea what would happen. It’d all been an almost blind endeavour that had, thankfully, come to bear fruit.

Blaze’s eyes closed as she felt his muzzle gently press against the bump and his fingers found her sides, “Hello there, it’s just me again.”

No response came from the baby bump, of course it didn’t, but that didn’t stop the hedgehog from listening intently. From her position it was difficult to make out Silver’s expression but from the way his ears had slightly flopped forward and the steady beating of his tail, Blaze knew this was exactly what he wanted. Despite the effort he’d gone to searching out that book, Blaze found herself forgetting their task as she looked upon him.

“I hope you’re doing okay in there, we won’t get to see each other for a while yet but I can’t wait,” He’d shifted slightly, letting his forehead press against the bump instead, “Your mum is doing wonderfully and I’m trying my best to help. I want things to be perfect when we finally do meet. Things are nicer here than they’ve ever been and we’re doing so much to prepare for you.“

Purrs broke past Blaze’s lips, their rumbling filling the quiet library. Her hand slowly came to mingle among his quills, gently rearranging them with no real purpose. Perhaps she’d braid them again tonight, their evening routine had rather changed due to their upcoming arrival. Where once they’d simply snuggle their way into bed, their journey to the land of the sleeping now took a few twists and turns. They always tried to do something before bed, considering that they’d soon be so much busier, they wanted to cherish such quiet moments. Massages would be given, books would be read, they’d play chess, watch a movie or she’d simply find herself playing with his fur.

Her touch caught his attention, the psychic’s eyes flickered up to her before returning to her midriff, “The baby’s right there, I can practically feel them, but it still doesn’t seem real…” Silver mumbled, leaning backwards and into her view, “I never really thought we’d get to…”

Words left unsaid resonated with Blaze’s very soul. One hand slipped from the depths of his quills to cup his cheek, “I wake up some mornings and question it myself, it almost seems impossible.”

“A-All of it does,” He managed to respond, “Even just being here, that weight being off our shoulders, is ridiculous. W-We’re safe, we’re comfortable, we’re together, we’re married…”

She could feel his wedding band as he brushed and rubbed the bump, hers was pressed against his muzzle, “I don’t regret a single thing, not a single moment.”

His eyes shot to meet with hers, “Me neither! I don’t at all, I just…” His head slumped into her grasp, seeking out her warmth, “Its been years since we settled, and I thought I had fully settled, but this it’s a step even further. This is normal, this is how things were meant to be; so very normal.”

She watched his tears begin to well and couldn’t help but smile. After all this time, he could still be so insecure, “Parenthood seems normal yet abnormal. We know it in theory and have our assumptions but it’s an all-new challenge, a brand-new adventure. No matter how we prepare, I’m certain something will surprise us.”

“We can read all we want but…“ As tears spilled panic came with them, “If I’m going to be a good dad I need to be even tougher than this,” He’d raised the back of his right hand to rub at his eyes, he was trying to hide his expression, “I-I shouldn’t be crying, there’s nothing to cry about, this is wonderful. I’m meant to be strong…”

“You’re still so naïve,” Refusing to let her hold be broken, Blaze thumbed away his tears. He managed to resettle in her grasp, “It’s just as you said; we were so on saving the future, neither of us thought we’d make it this far. You’re allowed to feel like this,” She promised, “We went through so much to get here, that’s why you feel this way. That and, well, parenthood scares most regular people. We’ve not lived the normal life we want for them.”

“You’re going to be wonderful at this,” He relaxed back into her touch, “You’re smart and strong and warm, you’ll do great,” He paused, as if unsure whether to ask his next question, “Do you think I’ll make a good dad?”

“Silver,” She sighed, shifting to cradle his head in her hands, “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, you’re going to be a fantastic father. The baby’s not even here yet you’re trying so hard. I can hardly imagine how caring you’ll be when they finally arrive. I doubt you’ll put them down for days.”

He smiled at that but concern still cut his brow, “I’m so excited but so scared, what if we have to fight again? What if they have to fight,” He fretted, leaning deeper into her touch. They’d of course discussed this in the lead up to her pregnancy but, while they’d decided they wanted a child regardless, Blaze had anticipated that worry returning.

“What if we did have to fight again?” She asked, knowing it was best that he finished his train of thought.

“I would, of course I would, but…” He struggled for the right words, “I just really don’t want them to. I don’t want them to have to do what we’ve done,” Fighting for one’s own life was bad enough, the pressure of fighting for whole worlds was terrifying. It was a fact they both knew, first-hand, “I want them to grow up safe and happy and peaceful. I want to be able to look out for them rather than whole universes.”

“Well, then you don’t have to worry about being a good dad, I know you’ll make a great one,” She promised, “You want them to be secure and loved, that’s what’s most important,” The queen insisted, “We’ve done all we can to make sure that they can live peacefully, more than any normal parents could have, even if that wasn’t our intent at the time.”

He’d slowly gone from kneeling to standing; his right hand had shifted to cover the top of her baby bump and the left had arrived to hold her shoulder. The echoes of his tears remained, but his smile was almost blinding. Slowly but surely, he leaned in and closed his eyes. His forehead met with hers as he began to nuzzle. Without a moment’s hesitation, Blaze returned that gentle contact.

Sweet nothings were murmured, her hands found his chest fur and soon they were freely kissing. They were gentle and brief kisses, little more than back and forth pecks, but Blaze could feel his heart in every single one. Silver’s defensiveness had easily led into softness; while he’d fight ferociously to protect others, he would also handle them with care. Blaze knew that she was going to be the sterner parent, she’d be the one to insist that they get out of bed or do their chores, but she was more than fine with that. It was in her nature, not his. For as defensive as he was, for as much as he wanted things to be just, he’d always been softer than her. Of course he was worried that he’d have to feign hardness, she hoped he’d never have to again.

Wispy words broke the quiet library air. She wanted to reassure him, even if she didn’t know what the future held, “We’ve done so much together; we can do anything together.”

“If we can manage something as impossible as this,” She felt his hand trace across his midriff, “Th-Then we can do anything.”

This intimate session could have lasted hours, perhaps even the rest of the evening, but it was interrupted by something neither of them had expected. As Blaze was leaning in again, the words “You’re such a softy” tumbling from her lips, she felt what she could only describe as a small fluttering inside her abdomen. It’d taken a moment to register but by the time the sensation repeated Blaze had realised what it meant. The baby was moving inside her, she’d felt their first touch.

Silver’s eyes had opened wide, “Did you feel that?” He half whispered.

No, they had felt their first touch. This was the quickening, the first tangible sign of life.

She managed a nod in response, her purring grew louder still as she shifted her hands from him and to her sides. Silver dropped back to his knees, returning to eye level with her swollen belly. Ever so gently, he returned his second hand to her form just in time for another flutter, “I-Is that what I think it is? They’re…”

“Y-Yes, I think they’re kicking,” She managed to stutter, closing her eyes in an attempt to focus on the sensation.

This was the first real sign, their child’s first real impact on their world. It’d been clear that they were there for a handful of months now, but they’d never acted; simply grown and waited. This was entirely new; excitement coursed through Blaze’s veins just as it plainly ran through Silver’s.

“Hey there little one, I’m sorry. Am I taking up too much of mummy’s attention?” He responded to her bump, gently rubbing small circles into her fur, “She’s just too lovely, I can’t help myself.”

Her child’s kicks having alleviated thoughts of silliness or feelings of embarrassment, Blaze also began to talk to the baby, “Or is it that I’m taking up too much of daddy’s time? Keeping him from playing with you,” She felt Silver’s eyes upon her and, emboldened, pushed further, “I did marry him you know; I do want to kiss him from time to time. I hope that won’t be a problem for you...”

Another flutter drummed within the feline; the unborn child could only be voicing their outraged. A snicker breached Silver’s lips and was quickly mirrored on Blaze’s own. Soon they were fully laughing; Blaze’s hands slipped to the pillows in an attempt to steady herself as Silver finally pulled away from her belly.

When she’d finally recovered, the hedgehog managed to respond, “I think we might have a problem.”

“Picking favourites already,” The queen jokingly scolded, gently combing through her white fur, “You know, I’m the one carrying you around; he only insists on carrying me because he’s scared that you’re making it hard for me to walk. Your dad can be so overprotective. He’ll go out of his way to solve the smallest of problems, even when there are far more pressing issues,” She was almost chiding him, though she was doing so purposefully, “But I like that about him. He’ll always look out for you, just like I will.”

No further quickening was felt but, in its wake, Blaze couldn’t help identifying a tender calmness that had overcome Silver’s disposition. He managed to make his way back onto the couch beside her, almost dissolving into the floral material.

Bright yellow eyes collided with her amber set, “Did that really just happen?”

“If it’d only been me here, I don’t think I’d have believed it,” Blaze admitted, “I’d have told myself it was something else.”

He was beaming again but the combined endeavours of overly tending her, talking so deeply and observing the phenomena that was his child’s first actions had clearly exhausted him. Reaching just past the book, Blaze drew the chocolate bar and held it out to him. It took no more than a moment for him to understand, lean in and bite off the top square. As Blaze claimed a little more for herself, a blue bioluminescence engulfed the teapot and brought it to pour. The book was flipped open and gentle chatter ballooned to fill their little corner of the library as they shifted ever closer.

They were finally making their own future, no longer struggling to fix other people’s problems. Despite how unreal it all seemed, they were more peaceful than they’d ever had before.

#silvaze #fanfic #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #silverxblaze #fanfiction

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hopetofantasy · 3 years

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‘HUMO’s big youth survey - Politics, society and religion’ - With Nora Dari (part 3)

- TW: concerns about the future, climate change, mental health - FUCK THE CLIMATE Almost half of young people says they’re not interested in politics. Bouba Kalala: “(*filled with disbelief*) What? I don’t seem to have that impression, but maybe that’s because of my bubble. We talk a lot about politics at home. Everyone should do political stuff, even the baker around the corner.” Céleste Cockmartin: “Ever since my mom went into politics, I’ve become more and more interested. But I do notice that my friends struggle to understand. Current affairs programs are really boring too. ‘De Zevende Dag’? Sorry, but I’ll fall asleep.” Bouba Kalala: “Seriously, it’s so good: drama! Intrigue! Just like ‘Temptation Island’” Céleste Cockmartin: “But young people quit when they hear all these difficult and unspecific words: bilateral, cordon sanitaire, inter-ministerial agreement, Vivaldi, socio-economic parameters, ... It’s too complicated and unclear. What are they truly talking about? It can be so simple, but unfortunately we did not chose for simplicity in Belgium.”

6 out of 10 young people think Belgium must continue to exist. That’s the same amount as much as five years ago. Céleste Cockmartin: “I might sound extreme, but why should everything be split? Belgium is very small. Big problems are asking for a bigger perspective in general: immigration, climate, crime, ... That’s one of the reasons why I’m liberal: I like the centre and cooperation with everyone, even internationally.” So you would know who to vote for? One out of three doesn’t know yet. Nora Dari: “I don’t know enough about politics to give a well-thought-out vote to anyone. If elections were tomorrow, I would need a night to study and research.” Bouba Kalala: “I’ve never voted. Last time, I stayed in bed. Not because I haven’t thought about it, but no politician could convince me. I didn’t want to participate in a fake democracy. That’s different now.” Connor Rousseau, your new employer, knew how to convince you? Bouba Kalala: “Yes. I saw him in ‘De zomer van...’ on VTM. I send him a message the same day, to ask if I could work for him. I truly believe he’s someone who wants to pull the bullshit out of politics. It only takes time. (*to Céleste*) Do you vote for your mom?” Céleste Cockmartin: “Of course, because I believe in her. She has proven that she can change things, in her own speciality and because of her 20 years of experience with the UN.” Are you concerned about the environment and climate? In the survey ‘Groen’ (= the socialist and green political party) is also doing remarkably well, at least with girls. Céleste Cockmartin: “I would love to vote for Groen, but I think some positions are the opposite to a green solution. I’m not pro nuclear energy, but at the moment, there aren’t any ecological alternatives for our production of energy. In an ideal world, every party should be green. Fortunately, you can see the classical parties fight for our climate as well.” Do you guys help the climate battle? Céleste Cockmartin: “Absolutely. I study the climate change, I separate my trash and don’t take showers longer than half an hour. I also haven’t eaten any red meat in the past year. I do eat chicken, because that’s the least polluting meat-source out there.” Nora Dari: “For two years, I was a pescotarian, where I solely ate fish and seafood. Now I eat meat again, but I do try to limit myself to chicken.” More than half of the youngsters worry about the climate. Nora Dari: “We’re constantly reminded of the seriousness of the situation: you talk about it with friends, you see it on television, you’ll get one measure after another. I do worry, yes. Our ancestors said ‘fuck the climate’ and transferred the problem to us. But the only thing we can do, is try to make it less bad for our children.” 17 percent took part in at least one climate strike. Did you? Nora Dari: “I didn’t skip school, but I’ve participated in one during a weekend. I had to. Only complaining and moaning, it would have left me a great sense of guilt.” Céleste Cockmartin: “I’ve got tremendous respect for Anuna De Wever and Greta Thunberg. What they’ve accomplished! A speech in front of the UN: I can only dream about something like that. I don’t understand the hate they get. Maybe they did wave their little finger quite a lot, but people who still don’t get how important it is, are simply either ignorant or chose to look the other way.” Bouba Kalala: “We don't like to be confronted with facts. If I’m at a café with a friend of mine and he orders water, then I’ll get cranky too. Because his behavior will send out the message that I’m doing something that’s not right for me. The same with eating meat or driving your car.” Do you feel guilty about taking your car? 37 percent prefers a bike or public transport. Bouba Kalala: “See, I try to contribute: I don’t leave the lights on, I use less water, ... But if you look at the numbers, then you’ll see that 70 percent of emissions are caused by big companies. Every human on the planet might try to live as green as they want, but as long as these companies aren’t restricted, it won’t improve. The biggest lie they ever told humanity, is that we can change a damn thing about that.” Céleste Cockmartin: “I don’t fully agree. Every company should invest a part of its profit into environmental research, true. But the responsibility still lies with each and everyone of us.” Bouba Kalala: “I understand Greta’s anger. She gets applause from the heads of state, but does it help? She knows she can’t save the world by reducing her shower time. It has to change at the top.” It does give you a free pass to do nothing and take the car instead of the bike. Bouba Kalala: “It doesn’t. By giving the good example now, I might change a mindset. The CEOs of polluting companies have children too. When they get the chance to lead, they might flip the script: ‘Grandpa, you were wrong, we’re going completely green now.’ That effect will continue to grow, but the fact that I can save the world by not tossing my cigaret on the ground? That’s bullshit.” Where do you see yourself living later on? 40 percent still prefers the countryside. Céleste Cockmartin: “The fact that young people chose the country side, has a lot to do with corona. The measures felt even more restrictive in the cities. I would like to live in a city - I love the hustle and bustle of London or New York - but a lot of friends of mine like a house with a garden.” Nora Dari: “I’m from Genk, I couldn’t settle in Antwerp or Brussels. Although, during the drive to this location, I noticed how beautiful Brussels truly is.” Bouba Kalala: “I grew up between the meadows. When I was older, I lived in the city. Now I alternate. I felt really bad for a little while and that’s when I noticed that the city was too toxic for me. My therapist advised me to go on a walk with my dog through the forest, every day. That really changed things. It’s healthier than popping some antidepressants. Humans isn’t made to live between concrete walls. We’ll have to find a happy medium.” One last number: at least 6 out of 10 youngsters are happy with their lives. Do you feel happy? Bouba Kalala: “Yes. It's kind of strange to say, but not so long ago, I was convinced that I would never feel happiness again. To find it, I had to go after it myself. How I look to the future? Not necessarily rose-coloured, because there really is a lot of shit to be addressed. But even if that doesn't work out, I know I'm going to make the most of it. Like people have made the best of corona in recent months. I try to hold on to that energy.

#wtfock #wtfam #part 3 of 3 #nora dari

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jenovahh · 3 years

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The Honey Pot - Ch. 27 - The Things that Made Us

It was hard to keep your stress down when you were planning to try and expose the biggest crime boss the world has ever known.

There’s hardly a moment Merlwyb isn't throwing you a concerned glance at the first sign of you getting worked up as you, her, and Cid sit around a big table filled with papers and photos. Empty sugar and cream packets that have gone into about three or four mugs of coffee. Half eaten snacks ranging from croissants to a bag of chips from the closest gas station (which given that Cid was rich and lived outside of the city, was quite far).

While you appreciate her worry, you’re near ready to pull your hair out as a result. At the first sign of you raising your voice, she places a gentle hand on yours reminding you to calm down. When you reach for a mug of coffee, she bats your hand away with a stern look. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear Zenos had put her up to it.

“I’m going to go crazy, Cid.” you confess, collapsing on a couch in his office, finished with another day of planning. Three heads were admittedly better than one, especially when one of them was a genius. “It’s like she thinks I’m made of glass despite being undercover for nearly a year with the worst gang the world has ever known.”

Cid lightly chuckles at that, having grabbed some dried calamari to snack on as he finishes up a few things in his office. “I think it’s her way of trying to take care of you, given that she feels she failed you so miserably.” Even though the statement is loaded with truth, Cid delivers it with a warm smile.

You can’t help but feel a little bad; Merlwyb was probably taking you under her care because she knows Raubahn would do the same.

“Cid, I came to you to vent. Not for you to make me feel bad.” You pout, kicking weakly at the cushions before rolling to face him as he settles in his desk. “I hope she doesn’t feel obligated to take care of me.” You murmur softly, barely a whisper as your heart fills with melancholy.

Settling in, Cid turns on his computer and begins to work. “It might be partly obligation. It might be repayment. But do those things matter?” he asks, giving you an inquisitive look. “Would you rather have her apathy and scorn?”

Shaking your head, Cid nods, typing away at his computer. “I know that it is something you struggle with, Honey, to accept a person’s affection. But you should try it sometime. You might be surprised at what you find.”

You can’t help but feel like a little kid around him sometimes, some worthwhile lesson always falling out of his mouth. You tell him as much. “Would it kill you to be wrong for once?” You joke, tossing him a lazy smile.

“I’m afraid it is my job to be right at least ninety-nine percent of the time, or I'd be up to my ears in lawsuits.” He laughs, having not stopped typing for a second. “You should get some rest, my dear. I’ll be up for a while yet.”

“Shouldn’t you sleep?” You return, sitting up to throw him a scrutinous look.

“Unless you’re able to pull a few strings I didn’t know about, and also prepare enough tech to take down a corporate super giant…” Cid trails off, looking as if he’s to start packing up.

“I get it, I get it, sheesh.” You groan, standing to your feet. “I think I will go to bed if it means I’ll actually get to be right, even if I’m by myself.” You huff, sticking your tongue out at him for good measure.

“You need it, growing babe be damned.” Cid smiles, pausing his work to see you off. “You’ve worked damn hard for us up until this point Honey. Let us return the favor.”

Giving him a heartfelt smile, you wave good night to him and head out the door, reentering the hallway. The night is quiet despite the fact an uprising looms on the horizon. Somehow it seems both close and far away, the idea that things would finally come to a head, sides would be taken and long buried truths would finally come to light.

These twilight hours were your only time of peace, a few sacred hours before you needed to wind down for bed before Zenos woke you up to train in the morning.

Your feet have carried you to him before you realize it, finding him meditating in the indoor garden. You watch him silently from behind the glass, the rising and falling of his chest, eyes closed as he finds his center and stays there. One of the few times he looks tranquil and genuinely at peace, and given the small glimpse you had of his personal life, of his past, perhaps it served more than just the purpose of calming his body.

Maybe his spirit needed it as well, though he would never admit it.

Jolting as his eyes suddenly flick open and land on you, you can’t help but be mildly embarrassed for staring so blatantly, and for so long. Thinking to shy away and meander down the hallway to go somewhere else (preferably far away), he’s already uncrossed his legs and stood, briskly walking to catch up to you before you can even get a fulm down the hall. “You are done for the day.” he observes, his long legs allowing him to catch up to you in no time at all.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re wrapping things up I suppose, or at least there’s nothing more I can do but wait.” You grumble, a little put out still despite Cid’s earlier words. “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve little to do, by your side.” he responds, voice surprisingly neutral.

“Do you miss...being in a gang?” you ask hesitantly, the two of you slowly walking wherever your feet take you. He seems to be following your lead rather than the other way around, and his slow stride suggests he’s not in a rush to go anywhere else except near you.

“No, and not for reasons one might think. I was apathetic toward my father’s bidding. Whatever his lackeys did, whatever shipments needed securing, it was all beneath my notice. My only concern was for the thrill of battle. Of storming hideouts and searching for new opponents.” He rumbles, the timbre of his voice vibrating in his broad chest. “In a way, I do miss the feeling of wondering if I would find a suitable opponent...the anticipation that would most times lead to disappointment...or joy.” Smirking, he gives you a burning look. “However, I’ve not felt that since meeting you.”

Huffing, you stick your tongue out at him. “Careful, that sounded almost romantic.” you groan, giving him a playful shove. Looking to your feet, you both are silent for a moment until you speak up again. “Sometimes I miss being a cop.”

He arches a brow at that, brushing a stray hair from his face. “Why would you miss such a…” he pauses as he searches for the right word. “...restrictive job setting?”

“I miss helping people. Or at least, feeling like I was helping people.” You answer, realizing you had somehow found yourself in the kitchen. Cid learned to keep some of your favorite snacks stocked here due to your frequent visits in the past. “I miss my friends, I miss my apartment, I miss just…”

“You miss your old life.” Zenos responds for you, taking the words right out your mouth. Once again his voice is neutral, giving away nothing, but he won’t let you see his face when you turn to gaze up at him.

Fumbling for the right words, you wring your hands together. “Let’s eat some ice cream.” You smile, buying you some time to think. You’re moving to circle the island in the middle of the kitchen before he can stop you, heading to the cabinets to reach for some bowls.

“Ice cream is unhealthy and full of unnecessary--”

“Zenos yae Galvus, if you do not get me two bowls down, I will gut you.”

He shudders at your threat and you can’t help but roll your eyes that only he would even get off on what is supposed to be a playful bluff. So what you could back it up? Though it was probably that very fact that excited him.

Doing as told he grabs two bowls for you, silent as he watches you move around the kitchen like you’ve lived here before. A familiarity that only comes with being welcomed into one’s home. You grab the spoons and point him toward the bar stools at the island, Zenos obeying without protest as you wrench the freezer door open and pull out your favorite Rolanberry ice cream.

You grab a heated scoop (specifically engineered by Ironworks technologies) to easily serve you and Zenos both, returning the ice cream to its place in the freezer before sliding Zenos his bowl and spoon. He looks at it questioningly as you sit down, diving right into your own ice cream. “This looks as if it was purchased from a...commoner store.” He sighs, poking at it questioningly.

“It was. Because I asked Cid to get it from a grocery store.” You reply, not missing a beat as you help yourself to another spoonful. “Hurry up and eat it before it melts.”

“Do you fear asking Garlond for higher quality sweets?” he asks, deciding to try a taste for himself. The face he makes shows that he is less than impressed and you can’t help but giggle at it.

“Not at all. This is just an ice cream I would eat a lot with Minfilia when I was a kid.” you answer, the uttering of her name not stinging as much as it used to. Maybe now that you had realized her captor, her killer, and that you were finally about to avenge her as you had promised, made it sting a little less.

Zenos is silent still, seeming uncharacteristically quiet. A little unnerved, you decide to answer his earlier question. “I do miss my old life. I miss my friends, Y’shtola and Lyse. I met them toward the end of high school. My truest friends. I haven’t talked to them since I told them I’d be going undercover to try and get close to you.” You muse, stirring your melting ice cream slightly before spooning it in your mouth.

“I miss my apartment. Even though it’s been nice never running out of hot water, having five star meals every day, sometimes I miss my shitty, little space. The tub with the terrible caulk job on the edges, the one panel on the blinds that would always break and never stay fixed. The spot on the carpet that wouldn’t come out after I spilled soda on it, no matter how hard I scrubbed.” You laugh thinking about it all, wondering if all your things had been kept safe.

“Sometimes I miss just feeling...normal.”

Though he says nothing, you can see Zenos’ brows furrow at the statement, smiling a little at his confusion. “I don’t know the specifics of the Resonant but up until...someone told me of the Echo, this whole time I thought I was ‘normal’. I thought I was like one of those Olympians, you know? That I was just really strong and had crazy fast reflexes. It never occurred to me that I was...something else entirely.” You murmur sadly, scooping a spoonful solemnly into your mouth.

“I remember so little of my childhood. It feels like it happened in short bursts. A period of just moving from place to place, until Minfilia took me, and ran away. Then there were the years with her, in bits and pieces, and then...nothing.” Finishing our ice cream, your vision unfocuses, as if staring at nothing. “Suddenly, as if I was just waking up, I was getting ready to graduate high school with my friends and joining the police force to find my mother’s killer.”

Looking up at Zenos, he stares back, but with an unreadable emotion on his face. Maybe, not necessarily unreadable, but as if he doesn’t know how to express however he’s feeling. “If you told me that I’d land myself in the lap of my mother’s killer and fall for his son two years ago, I wouldn’t have believed you.” You laugh bitterly as you finally make your way to the answer he sought. “But...as hard as it’s been...as painful as this has all been...I would never take it back.” You smile at him warmly, watching as his jaw clenches. “I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you otherwise.”

He is quiet still after your confession, and though he doesn’t say it back (part of you doubts he ever will), you are content knowing that you know he cares for you in his own way, by the gestures of how he cares for you. As he seems content to stew in his thoughts, you silently hook your finger on the rim of his bowl, dragging it toward you slowly while meeting his eyes in question. He only gives you a weak glare, but says nothing else, and you go ahead and drag it to your side of the counter and begin to eat his share of ice cream.

“The Resonant is a result of my blood.”

Looking up, you hadn’t expected him to speak. He looks uncomfortable, guarded, wary. “My mother was like you, a descendant of an Ancient. From what I understand it is rare for descendants to be born so closely together. The bloodline is passed down, but not every soul manifests its power.” He explains, toying with the ends of his fine hair, as if in a long buried, nervous habit. “To this day, I do not know what powers my mother had, just that she was unlucky enough to be caught by my father, and forced into his bed to create me.”

Frowning, you abandon your extra ice cream and reach across the island to place your hand on his. He jerks away from the contact initially, giving you a withering look, but at the look of genuine worry on your face, he curses under his breath. Returning his hand to the counter, he faces his palm upward, allowing you to clutch it with your own, running your thumb on his palm in nonsensical patterns.

“When I was born, I had shown no initial signs of ‘success’. No visible powers or abilities that would show that the bloodline of the Ancients could be used to create powerful offspring. It is why I am an only child. My father initially deemed it a failure and saw my mother as useless.” He continues, returning the motions of your fingers drawing patterns on his skin, focusing on where your hands are joined as he tells his story.

“This did not mean my father had given up hope of course. For all his airs of being a ruthless businessman, he is still a man of science. He never quit his experiments with aether, and drained every last bit of info from my mother he could until she finally ended her own suffering.” He ground out. Even as he crushed your hand within his quite painfully, you didn’t breathe a word of pain, not wanting to break this fragile moment.

“The majority of my youth, all I had known was testing at the hands of my father’s scientists. As young as ten years old, I had become well acquainted with the feel of needles, bright lights, cold rooms after my studies. I had rebelled in my youth of course, by using the power of my wealth, my prestige. I slept with anything that walked. Harmed anyone who dared cross me. It wasn’t like we didn’t have the money to pay the lawyers for it.” he sighed, his grip on your hand relaxing a bit. For a moment he is quiet, drawing patterns on your skin.

“It wasn’t until my early teens that my father’s best scientist finally had a breakthrough.”

His free hand reaches for the collar of his shirt, tugging it down forcefully to stretch the fabric more than it was intended. You see the beginnings of his tattoo, parts of the scales and talons that make up the dragon lurking beneath. “Aulus mal Asina...an eccentric most would call him as far as science goes. But it was just that sort of eccentricity my father needed after losing Midas nan Garlond to his own experiments.” Releasing a bitter laugh of his own, Zenos mumbled something underneath his breath before continuing. “He had proposed this tattoo.”

Even though Zenos’ focus has not left the sight of your hands twined together, as if it is the only thing grounding him in reality as he retells his life’s story, he goes on as if sensing your confusion. “Your power, the power of the Ancients, comes from that tattoo on the back of your neck. Or at least, that is the theory Aulus acted upon. Using this strain of thought, he made aether infused ink and put this dragon upon my chest, activating dormant blood...activating what he would call the Resonant.”

You can feel your own throat begin to close up, as you struggle to not shed a tear at how horribly Zenos had been treated. It was no wonder that his view of life was so incredibly warped, with a dad that was more concerned about turning his son into some sort of supernatural being than being there for him.

“It was also the last I had seen of Aulus. For when the Resonant activated, I had no control. It had felt almost like an out of body experience…” he trails off, a note of excitement creeping into his voice, but still he maintains his bitter expression. “I had...murdered anyone in the room with me in cold blood.” He sighs, hazarding a glance at you. Much like him, you keep your expression neutral, giving away nothing, deciding instead to scream from the inside.

“It took several tranquilizing darts to take me down. It was then I was put into my training to control the Resonant.” He rests the weight of his head on his free hand, still clutching your hand in his, drawing more random patterns on your skin. “The exhilaration I feel when in control of the Resonant cannot be compared. To be so fast, so strong, I had become obsessed with using it at any opportunity. It was then I became obsessed with the thrill of the hunt.” His eyes finally meet yours. “I had told you already how I would give myself impossible odds to fight against, until one day the thrill stopped.”

Something about that statement finally makes you meet his gaze, standing on the precipice of the unknown once more. “Do you still love me now? Even after all the monstrous things I’ve done? The people I’ve killed?” He questions, voice taunting on the surface, but you know better. Know him better than that.

You can hear the resentment that his father twisted him into the pained man he has become.

The bitterness that despite being rich, powerful, attractive, nothing would change how warped he felt inside.

The anguish that at this moment, he had bared his soul to you, let you see who he is in full...and that with his past now bared to you, you could leave him.

“Am I not any different?” You ask, clearly throwing him for a loop.

“You have only started maiming when I,”

“No, I haven’t.” You cut him off, your hand clutching his for comfort this time. Your vision goes dark around the edges as a long buried memory tries to dredge its way to the surface. “I don’t remember the details. Nor would I ever want to...all I remember is a sea of red. A knife in my hand. And dead bodies littering the floor because I was too late to stop them from taking Minfilia.”

Your breath begins to come fast, too fast, and Zenos snags you by the chin, forcing you to look at him, to acknowledge he is real and with you and you’re not standing in a pool of blood in this very moment.

“Gods help me, Zenos, did you think you could scare me away?” You laugh even though you tremble as you do so. “At this point who else could want a freak like me?”

You see something in his eyes, the spark that maybe he felt the same. That somewhere deep within him he craved love just like anyone else, no matter how much of his life he spent convincing himself the opposite. That he wanted to hold and be held, to kiss and be kissed, to experience the affection and adoration and care that he doubtless saw the many people around him experience over the years.

Of course he would fuck anything with legs. It was mostly likely the only time he got any sort of physical contact that wasn’t him being experimented on. The only time he knew someone wanted him.

Standing to your feet, you intend to do just that. You release his hand only long enough to circle the island and come to stand between his legs as he still remains seated upon the bar stool. Even sitting he’s still fairly tall.

Reaching for his hands, you bring them to loop around your waist, your arms effortlessly sliding underneath his own to hug him close. He seems unsure what to do for a moment, until his embrace eventually tightens, clutching you close, burying his face in your neck. “It could only be you, too.” You whisper, breathing him in. Your eyes flutter closed, wrapping yourself in his scent, his touch.

“There could never be anyone else.”

“It’s almost time isn’t it?”

Merlwyb glances at you from the corner of her eye as the two of you make your way to the conference room in Cid’s home.

“That it is.” She responds, hands clasped behind her back, turning her gaze back down the hall. “While we are certainly pushing the envelope in dethroning His Radiance in a timely fashion, it is good that we are getting it done at all.”

Nodding, you find that you agree. Though you were definitely cutting it close, it’s good that something was being done to knock this bastard down several pegs.

As you enter the conference room, Lord Hien is already on screen speaking with Cid as they converse about whatever particulars of the plan to take on Varis and expose him for his crimes. Zenos is there as well, arms folded across his chest and looking everywhere but the other two men, and you would go as far to say he almost looked as if he was pouting.

You’d hoped he would seem a little more enthusiastic about the whole ordeal, but through every meeting he sat quietly and neutrally, as if he couldn’t even be bothered to even feel a little bit angry by the plans being made to take down his father. You knew both Cid and Merlwyb were upset by his unwillingness to be involved, only placated by the fact he was not against them either.

You had described the horror of the Resonant to them, the sheer power and speed he displayed. You knew without a doubt Varis had kept his own son as a trump card, knowing of his killing capabilities. You had effectively taken Zenos from his hand by your “relationship” making taking him down much easier in theory.

You shudder to imagine what would happen if you had to go in a toe to toe fight with a Resonant activated Zenos.

Best to not think on it now. Not when it's time to focus on more certain things: like how you’re going to break into Varis’ compound.

“Hello everyone. Sorry I’m late.” you greet with a small wave, even to Hien displayed on the large monitor.

“Nothing to be sorry for. We weren’t talking about anything important. Wanted to save that until you got here.” Cid beams, giving you a welcoming smile. You give him a warm one in return, only able to ignore Zenos’ insistent stare for a little while longer before you throw him a reproving look, which does nothing but cause him to smirk back. Rolling your eyes, you move to sit in the chair beside him, clearly annoyed, but to all in the room it might as well have been foreplay.

“Ahem, well,” Cid coughs, angling himself at the monitor Lord Hien is displayed on as Merlwyb takes her seat beside him. “Since you’ve been here for the majority of the meetings, there’s not much new to say, except going over a few finer points.” Cid begins. “Lord Hien?”

“Yes, yes.” The handsome man nods, eyes turning to you. “The entire operation hinders upon the success of bringing down Varis’ research facility. While we could simply get video or picture proof, we do not run to the risk of him trying to cover up his tracks. We know he has been smart enough to play several hands over the years; there is no reason to not think he has no back up plan should someone see something they aren’t supposed to.”

“Or worse, he launches the technology to have a direct attack on the public. As you have told us before, he has already begun to develop weapons using this technology. We can’t bear the risk of him holding any more civilian lives hostage. We must cut off the source, and then we can handle any other weapons after.” Lord Hien’s voice is clear and concise, serious and awe inspiring. A true leader, you think, unable to not feel a little dazzled by him.

“That said, the day of infiltration, I will go into hiding. Varis has been content to let me live this long, but I would not put it past him to have some way of keeping an eye on me. Though I am capable of disappearing, he will no doubt notice this, and also notice something is going wrong.” Hien continues, threading his fingers together as he levels you with a serious gaze.

“While I hate to pressure you any further Honey, especially given how much you have done for Kugane so far, still I must ask, are you unable to recall where to find the research facility?” He asks, and all eyes in the room are upon you.

Fidgeting, you stare hard at the fine wood grain upon the table, hands fisted in your lap. “No...I don’t.” You sigh, feeling defeated. “The one time I had gone, I was so confused at where he was taking me, I didn’t think to pay attention to my surroundings. Even leaving, I had been so shocked at what he showed me, what he had told me--” you shudder as suddenly you remember the feel of his grimy hands upon you, pulling upon your clothes, his twisted words at how he would have you…

Zenos places a hand over the palms over your lap, expression giving away nothing. Nodding, you take a calming breath. “I was too distracted to take notice. Did none of our research efforts bear any fruit?” you ask, looking from one set of eyes to the next, begging that one of them will say yes.

They look back at you just as defeated, no one willing to make eye contact with you for a heartbeat. Clearing his throat, Cid speaks up. “Alas, even my most advanced sensors couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. I have no idea where it could be.”

The four of you twiddle your thumbs as you try to figure out what to do. Everything was ready to go. You could end this. Only you were too stupid at the time to remember something as simple as where the hell the secret laboratory was. You felt like you could smash a brick into your head.

Under the haze of your regret you can hear the others begin to talk again, perhaps discussing places they hadn’t thought to check, or avenues they hadn’t bothered to try. You tune it all out, unable to do anything aside from letting your own failure resonate inside you.

Resonate…

“Zenos.”

The room is quiet in an instant as you flip your hands over and clutch Zenos’ tightly, watching as his eyebrows reach for his hairline for a split second before they pinch together. “Zenos. I know we...I know we talked,” you offer vaguely, squeezing his hands that much tighter. “But please help us. We can put an end to this--”

“I told you I couldn’t.” He growls, his voice cutting so sharply, eyes so furious that you feel yourself recoil under his stare. But you knew this was bigger than you, and he had to know this too.

“Why won’t you help?” you plead, face breaking up as you watch a million emotions flit through his blue eyes. “Don’t you want to be free from your father?”

A shadow of something crosses his face, eyes unfocused as if lost in his own mind. He snatches his hand from yours as he comes back to himself, silent as he stands from his chair and stalks out the room. “Zenos!” you call, hurrying to your feet as he ignores you and flings the door open, uncaring that it slams into the wall. “Zenos!”

Following him, he’s once again halfway down the hall, deja vu urging you to catch up with him just as you had done that catalytic night at the hotel so many months ago. “Zenos, please,” you beg, trying to catch him before he rounds the upcoming corner. You don’t expect to be startled when he suddenly turns on his heel and snags you by your arms, nearly slamming you into the closest wall where he can loom over you menacingly.

You wish you didn’t feel so small before him during these times, especially now that you know how much he’s been hurting. “Zenos please, why won’t you help? Is it because of me?”

“Why would it ever be because of you?” He asks, his anger vanishing for a moment as he gives you an almost hopeless look. “I am saved by the very fact that you exist.”

“Then why?!” You whimper, trying to break out of his iron grip even as he grips your arms tighter. “Is it because the cause is too noble? Is it because you can’t go against your father?”

“Noble? What is noble about wanting to get revenge for your fallen friend? That still makes you a murderer, or have you forgotten?” he snickers darkly, ice blue eyes piercing directly into your heart. However you’ve known him too long. Long enough. Long enough to know that Zenos answers almost anything he is asked. That he doesn’t deflect, he doesn’t ignore you.

“Your father...what did he do to you that you can’t raise a hand against him?” You whisper, hating as you can see you’ve hit your mark when he goes stock still. His fingers are almost crushing in their strength, but you pay them no mind, needing to get to the heart of the matter. “Zenos, whatever it is, you don’t have to fear him--”

You cry out as he nearly throttles you into the wall, the sclera of his eyes almost bleeding black. “You know not of what you speak.” It is whispered so lowly, so vehemently, you can’t help but shiver in fear.

“But I want us to be happy.” You cry, tears leaking down your face, wanting to somehow get through to him. “I want you to be free from him Zenos, for us to be free. Forever--”

“Nothing is forever!” He nearly roars, but instead of maintaining the ferocity he had kept until this point, he couldn’t sound more shaken. “I cannot raise a hand against him. I cannot...I can’t. Not against my father.” he murmurs softly, though his grip has not decreased one bit.

Thinking quickly, you try to reason with him. “But I can.” you urge, praying that he will listen.

He barks out a hoarse laugh at that, fixing you with a derisive sneer. “Then what? Shall we both rot away in solitary confinement for our crimes?”

Whimpering, you wish he would just let go of you so you could hold him. “Chief Raubahn said I had immunity while on my mission,”

“Good for you.” He laughs again, leaning into your space. “And what of me? Do you think they’d be willing to overlook all the men I’ve killed? The things I’ve stolen and cheated for? Will your chief be willing to turn a blind eye to the monster I am?” he laughs maniacally, eyes flashing red for a brief moment before his expression becomes unfeeling. “I would sooner die than rot in prison, unable to fight.”

“Zenos,”

Dropping you, he doesn’t bother to grab you as you crumple to the floor, turning his back on you. “You are all fools to think you can even touch him.” Even at his scathing tone, you can see the haunted shadow that falls across his face, wondering just how much shit did that asshole put him through? What fucked up mind games did Varis play to have his own son that could snap him in half be too afraid to stand against him?

“I do this for you,” you cry, suddenly feeling exhausted, gazing up at him desperately. “I’ll fight ‘til my dying breath that they don’t lock you away. I refuse for us to not be together.” Tears begin to genuinely leak down your eyes now, even as you hear Merlwyb call your name as she rushes down the hall, surely ready to tear Zenos a new one. “Please...help us.” you beg, watching as he wars with himself, hating that he had gone through too much trauma to cause this hesitation. This fear.

“Honey!” Merlwyb calls as she crouches beside you, checking you over. Glaring angrily up at Zenos once she deems you unharmed, she stands back to her full height, nearly eye to eye with him. “You better have a good explanation, Garlean.”

Unamused and not intimidated in the least, Zenos scoffs, turning his back on the two of you. “Of course I do, savage.” He sighs, eyes still covered in shadow. “The facility is on the outskirts of the city, to the west. You cannot find it because my father has made it imperceptible to nearly all manner of tracking technology.” You watch as his shoulders sink, as if a heavy sin has suddenly put all its weight upon him.

“If you wish to find it, it is hidden under the guise of being a warehouse for father’s technologies, which is why the government has never investigated it. The true work is done nearly malms underground. If you truly wish to end my father as you so claim...reach the bottom of the facility. If you have someone smart enough to activate the shut down sequence, you can end his entire operation.” He pauses and reaches inside his shirt through his collar, pulling a chain with a key attached from underneath. “This will let you pass through any door.” He explains, dropping it to the floor.

He gives one final glance at you before walking away. You sit there broken, wondering how he could possibly turn his back on you. After getting on your knees to beg him to join you, to save the both of you from this nightmare. Even though you see a glimmer of regret in his fierce, blue eyes, it doesn’t stop him from walking down the hallway, into the darkness.

“Good luck.”

#ff14 #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #zenos #zenos yae galvus #THP

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