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thegirlonpeetamellark · 3 years

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Christmas Break - Part 1

Surprise!! After a looong time away Court returns to Everlark fic world with a little holiday treat for everyone - enjoy! :)

Hi everyone. So 2020 has sucked. For me, the beginning of quarantine was actually a bit of a gift. Being home gave me the gift of time, something I haven’t had much of as my daughters (who were very little when I started writing in this fandom) have gotten older. While I never stopped writing, it was a struggle to find long enough chunks of time to get into a flow. I started writing again with earnest. Not all of it was my fanfiction; some of it was my original work. El keeps me posted on the humbling and kind asks she gets about my writing. I felt bad that despite my increased writing, I still wasn’t ready to update any WIPs. But I did remember a story I had started for the final holiday PiP that I was never able to get past the first page (due to lack of time that year) and to my surprise, it started flowing. I had every intention of finishing it and having El post it as a gift to this fandom. But once my school went “back” in October and hybrid learning started, that was it. My time was gone. And further, my family experienced the very sudden and non-Covid-related death of my aunt. So while I have nearly half of this story written, it’s not done. But it will be, very soon, since it is a one-shot. As with all my stories, it took on a life of its own and it needs more love. So what I have for the readers who have loyally followed me is the first part, the part that involves Christmas. It’s my hope to have a second part posted in a week or two, so that by the time that part posts, a final part is nearly done.

Thank you for your asks and your patience, and thank you to El, one of my favorite people in this world and the best thing my time in this fandom has given me. Thank you for your encouragement. Our friendship means the world to me.

Here’s to a better 2021. Love to you all. Court

Christmas Break

Fuck, not again, Peeta grouses as the opening notes of that insidious Mariah Carey song pipe through the loudspeaker. That’s the third time in the last two hours. He’s all for holiday spirit, but if he never hears this fucking song again it will be too soon.

Leaning his forehead against the cold pane of glass, he peers out of the fourth-story window into the darkened sky. When he had arrived at work a few hours ago, the snow had just been starting to fall; a slow, lazy tumble of flakes. Now it’s coming down in a tumultuous swirl. It figures Panem would finally see a white Christmas his first Christmas Eve on rotation in the emergency room. No doubt the weather is partially to blame for the crush of bodies crowding the waiting room tonight.

Peeta walks away from the window and opens the cabinet where he stashes his Clif bars. The economy-sized box looks suspiciously closer to empty than it did the other day. He’s heard complaints from other doctors and nurses that snacks are pilfered on a regular basis and was warned to label his own boxes. But he had forgone the warnings. If someone needed an energy bar badly enough to steal one, what was the $20 he had spent on them at Costco. He snags one and unwraps it.

He’s just raised it to his mouth when his Apple watch pings and his silenced cell phone pulses insistently against his thigh. Heaving a loud sigh, he sets down the energy bar and withdraws the phone from his pocket.

“Mom, you’ve got exactly 60 seconds,” he grits out. He doesn’t even need to look at the screen to confirm it’s her. She’s called twice already tonight, calls he’s ignored with good reason, but somehow his mother thinks a phone call from her trumps any actual emergencies her doctor son could be dealing with. Which, tonight, have been nonstop since his shift began at six.

“Please tell me you ate something,” she begins.

“I was just about to, when you called,” he replies. “I’ve only got a couple of minutes. It’s been utter chaos for the last four hours.”

“We missed you at dinner. I can’t remember the last Christmas Eve when I didn’t have all three of my boys together.” Peeta closes his eyes. All these years my mother has been gushing about having a doctor in the family, and yet she never stopped to consider the ramifications of actually having a doctor in the family, he thinks. Particularly its impact on holiday gatherings. She obviously hadn’t learned anything from this past Thanksgiving, as now, just a month later, she’s already dumping a fresh guilt trip on him for missing another family dinner.

She continues, “And Jackson and Maxwell were just devastated when they heard you weren’t coming, until I assured them they’d see you tomorrow. We will see you tomorrow, yes?”

Peeta suppresses another exasperated sigh and breaks off a chunk of the Clif bar. “Yes, Mom, I’ll be there.” And though it’s childish, he crams the bar into his mouth and mumbles around it, “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” His chewing masks the sarcasm that weighs down the words.

“Excellent. We need an updated family portrait before Everly and Rye have to leave for her parents’ house.” Placated, his mother moves to ends the call, but not before getting in a less-than-subtle comment about how much she adores his brother Rye’s fiancée and how happy she is Rye is settling down.

Staring at the disconnected call flashing on the screen, Peeta tries not to let the remark get to him. Mostly because he knows it’s a lie. His mother has complained more than once about Everly and how she’s not good enough for Rye. Peeta knows the dig was directed at him. He hasn’t truly had a serious girlfriend since junior year of college; just a few casual relationships that barely qualified as relationships. He doesn’t know how his mother expects him to meet someone with the hours he keeps. And his father, for as close as they are, never seems willing to jump to Peeta’s defense.

Taking a deep breath to let his irritation suffuse, he jams his phone back in his pocket and scarfs down the rest of his pathetic dinner. All three bites of it. Then he uses the restroom, dutifully washes his hand, and stalks out of the staff lounge, his short break over.

As he strides up the corridor, he hears loud shouting coming from the ER waiting room.

“…should be asleep in her bed, waiting for Santa Claus to come, but instead, we’re still here waiting for someone to take a look at her arm! It’s been over two hours! Don’t you people have any compassion? Or is Ebenezer Freaking Scrooge running this place tonight?”

Curious, Peeta veers towards the reception desk, where his eyes land on the ranting woman. She’s young, probably no older than her mid-twenties, and in spite of the fact that her dark hair is spilling out of a messy braid and she’s not wearing any makeup, Peeta is immediately struck by her beauty. The rosy flush to her cheeks from her tirade actually makes her even prettier. She’s cradling a toddler and protectively shielding the little girl’s right arm. The toddler’s blonde head rests on her mother’s shoulder, her thumb wedged into her tiny pink mouth. Her left arm clutches a stuffed orange cat. She looks tired. Actually, both mother and daughter do.

“Miss, I understand your frustration, I really do,” the receptionist says calmly, her eyes cutting to Peeta as he stops by her side. He reads the name on the file on top of the stack, the next patient scheduled to be seen: MCMURPHY, JOSEPH. Clearly not the little girl in front of him.

“I don’t think you do!” the young mother cries, her eyes flashing steel. “She’s three, she’s in pain, and she’s scared. And what’s more, I’ve seen at least five people go ahead of us who came in after us!”

“That’s not how the emergency room works, miss,” the receptionist replies. She drums her fingertips on the desk, offering the young mother a tight smile.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” the young mother adds, an edge of desperation creeping into her tone. Discreetly, Peeta moves around the receptionist’s chair, scanning the desktop until he spies the stack of files for the patients awaiting admission. While the receptionist continues to give the young mother the run-around, he thumbs through the stack, searching. His eyes land on what he’s looking for: a date of birth. His lips tip up. Bingo. This has to be it: HAWTHORNE, IVY ANN.

At the exact second his hand snatches Ivy’s file from the pile and slips the other one in amongst the stack, the young mother’s eyes lock on his. Her gaze narrows. He can see the exhaustion all over her beautiful face. Her full lips twitch, her countenance suspicious as they stare at one another.

“Ivy Hawthorne?” Peeta taps the file he had extricated. An immediate flicker of relief lights the young mother’s mercury eyes, and that lush mouth breaks into a grateful, relieved smile. The receptionist’s neck snaps up. “I’ve got this,” he adds, his tone leaving no room for her to argue with him. It’s not protocol for Peeta to take a patient directly, but it’s also not blatantly against the rules. Sure, it might mean a little more work for him, but if it means he can get this little girl home sooner on Christmas Eve, it’s worth it.

He smiles at the little girl. “Ivy, I’m Doctor Mellark. I’m going to help make you feel better, okay?” She nods once but doesn’t lift her head from her mother’s shoulder. Peeta’s arm sweeps to the side, ushering the young mother and Ivy past the desk. He scans the hallway and spies a partially drawn curtain halfway up the corridor. He leads them to the available partition and close the curtain behind them. As he turns to face them, he nearly slams into the woman. She hasn’t moved, and her luminous grey eyes fasten to his. She looks as if she’s going to say something, but several seconds pass and she’s still quiet, still watching him. The silence starts to become uncomfortable. Peeta clears his throat.

“If you’d have a seat, please, Mrs. Hawthorne. You can hold her while I get some more information from you.”

The young woman’s lips part slightly, again appearing as if she wants to say something, but instead she shuffles forward and Peeta waits while she settles on the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly adjusting Ivy so she’s sitting sideways across her mother’s lap.

Peeta sinks down onto the stool and scoots towards the edge of the bed. This close he has a much better look at Ivy’s mother. She really is a beautiful young woman, and given how adorable Ivy is Peeta assumes her husband is probably also very attractive. He feels a twinge of jealousy. Lucky bastard. Pretty wife, cute kid…probably has a nice little house and a golden retriever too. Living the dream. His dream, if he allows himself to admit it to anyone but his mother. If he was being perfectly honest, he had always envisioned himself married by now.

“How old are you, Ivy?” he ask, even though he knows from her chart and her mother’s declaration that she’s three years old. She hesitates, and still clutching the stuffed cat, manages to display three fingers. Peeta smiles at her again.

“I have a nephew who is the exact same age as you are. He told me just last week that he’s a big boy now. Are you a big girl, Ivy?” He keeps his tone gentle, hoping it will put her at ease with him. She nods, her big blue eyes lightening imperceptibly. “I thought so. Can you be a big girl and tell me what happened to your arm?”

Her mother answers automatically, “She fell. I was only gone—” Peeta holds up his palm. He has the triage nurse’s initial assessment, so he knows Ivy’s arm is likely broken. What he doesn’t know is how the arm got broken. And those details he needs to try to get from Ivy herself. Kids her age always tell the truth when it comes to how they were injured, and unfortunately it’s part of Peeta’s job to make sure there isn’t a more sinister reason she’s in the E.R. tonight, no matter how sweet and innocent her mother appears. He’s already had a few encounters with suspected child abuse, though his gut tells him that isn’t the case with Ivy Hawthorne.

“Please. I would like Ivy to tell me how it happened.”

Something dangerous flints in Ivy’s mother’s now stormy grey eyes.

“She. Fell.” The words are curt, enunciated coolly, but her voice is soft and Peeta can tell she’s keeping her temper in check for the benefit of her daughter. Eyes still pinned to his, she inhales deeply. A second later, her shoulders relax. “Go ahead and tell the nice doctor how you hurt your arm,” she whispers, stroking Ivy’s curls.

“I was trying to see Santa,” Ivy replies, her tongue tripping in a lisp on the “S’s.”

“What do you mean by that?” he prompts her.

Ivy scrunches up her button nose. “I was trying to see up the chimney. ‘Cause the chimney at Aunt Katniss’s house is so skinny and Santa Claus is real fat and I don’t know how he’s gonna fit down it to bring me my presents!” Her blue eyes brim with tears and her lower lip starts to tremble. Peeta reaches over and pats her knee.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, sweetheart. Santa Claus is magic. He’ll get you your presents, no matter what the chimney looks like.” He exchanges a look with her mother.

“It was all my fault,” she says quietly. “I went in the kitchen, to get the cookies and milk—”

“And the carrots! For Rudolph and the other reindeer!” Ivy chimes in, her eyes shiny wet.

“I never should have left her alone, not even for a second. This is my fault. It’s my fault. She wouldn’t have slipped and fallen off the hearth if I had been watching her.” Guilt chokes her words, and it sounds as if she’s close to tears.

“Accidents happen, Mrs. Hawthorne,” Peeta says empathetically, “that’s why there are emergency rooms.” She presses her lips together, her brows knitting.

“It’s Everdeen,” she says quietly. Peeta drops his eyes to Ivy’s chart, and furrows his brows, his gaze wandering to the young woman’s left hand. No ring. A brief thrill curls through him at the thought that she’s single. Asshole, he immediately chides himself. So not what you should be thinking about right now. He scans the chart more carefully and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, “but this lists Primrose Hawthorne as the mother, under the Parent/Guardian information, and a Rory Hawthorne as the father. I just assumed—”

She cuts him off. “Primrose Hawthorne was her mother. But I’m not Primrose Hawthorne. I’m Katniss. Katniss Everdeen. I’m her aunt. I should be listed as her primary emergency contact.” She swallows and squeezes her eyes shut briefly. When she opens them, they plead with his. Peeta glances down at Ivy, and then raises his eyes to Katniss again. The guilt that was clouding those silver irises a moment ago has dissipated, replaced with anguish. He doesn’t know what the full story is here, but he didn’t miss Katniss’s usage of the past tense in referring to Ivy’s mother. So he honors her silent appeal not to ask questions.

“Okay, Ivy, you fell, and you landed on your arm? I bet that hurt,” Peeta says to the little girl, but his gaze stays fastens on Katniss. She gives him the faintest smile and mouths, “Thank you.”

~*~*~*~

An hour later, the orthopedist informs Peeta that Ivy Hawthorne is ready for his approval to be discharged. Not wanting to keep her and her aunt waiting any later than necessary, he sets down the X-ray he had been studying, and heads back to where Ivy is.

Standing outside the curtain, he hears quiet singing. He draws back the curtain and sees Katniss seated on the bed, with Ivy nestled in her lap. A bright pink cast safely cocoons the girl’s arm. Her blonde head rests on Katniss’s shoulder. Her eyes are closed, and her little body rises and falls with the deep breathing of sleep.

Katniss continues to sing, unaware of Peeta’s presence. He doesn’t recognize the tune she’s singing. It’s not a Christmas carol, at least not one he’s ever heard before, but he continues to listen, captivated by her voice. It’s soft and decidedly feminine, but there’s raspy undercurrent to it that gives him chills. It’s like the first sip of a rich, smoky bourbon.

Gingerly, he tiptoes towards the bed and stands before her for several more minutes, until Katniss finally lifts her eyes. She immediately stops singing. Peeta smiles and nods towards Ivy.

“Someone is worn out,” he whispers. Katniss’s lips twitch into a chagrinned smile.

“I’m sure the second we get home she’ll be wide awake and it’ll take forever to get her into bed. She was already amped up about Santa Claus before this.” She tips her head and gestures with her chin towards Ivy’s arm.

“Warm milk. With a little bit of cinnamon,” he suggests.

“Really?” Her eyes round. “Cinnamon? That really works?” Disbelief clouds her words. He shrugs sheepishly.

“I have no idea. No kids. And I’ve never had much trouble sleeping. I’m usually asleep the minute my head hits the pillow. But I’ve heard from a friend with a toddler that it does the trick.” He waits for her to say something—anything—in response, but she doesn’t. Her gaze is back on the sleeping toddler in her arms.

Watching her stare tenderly at her niece causes something unexpected to claw at Peeta’s chest and he’s overwhelmed by a fierce compulsion to want to keep her here, to get to know more about her. It’s been a long time since he felt this kind of instant attraction to a woman. Why couldn’t he have met her under different circumstances?

“Are we all done, doctor?”

Peeta startles from his thoughts and offers Katniss an apologetic smile.

“Yes, sorry. You are good to go as soon as you sign here—” He holds the clipboard at an angle, to allow her to sign without having to disturb Ivy, “and here.” He flips the sheet back to the second page and she scrawls her name across the line there, too. Normally a nurse would go over discharge papers and protocol with patients, but Peeta had taken it upon himself to grab Ivy’s. He needed to spend every possible minute in Katniss’s presence.

Once the release forms are complete, he review the plan for Ivy’s follow-up care, including how to manage any pain she has and when she’ll need to return to have the cast removed. Katniss listens attentively.

When he’s finished, she stands up slowly, her movements tentative so as not to jostle Ivy. A sigh parts the little girl’s lips and she stirs, but she remains asleep. God, she’s cute, Peeta thinks.

“Thank you, Dr. Mellark,” Katniss says softly. “For everything. I know what you did…” She falters. “I mean, I know we, ah, weren’t next, and ah…” Peeta waves a hand dismissively, sensing her discomfort with his hijacking of the queued patients.

“It was my pleasure,” he replies. “Little girls should be home on Christmas Eve. Waiting for Santa.” He echoes Katniss’s earlier words. “I hope he’s good to her.”

He doesn’t miss the forlorn expression that flits across Katniss’s face as she glances down at her sleeping niece.

“He can’t bring her what she wants most, but he’ll try,” she murmurs and moves towards the open curtain. Just before she steps out into the hall, she pauses and turns to face Peeta.

“Merry Christmas,” she adds.

“Merry Christmas,” he concurs. With a faint smile, she steps around the curtain. It rustles in her wake and resettles. Peeta exhales and slumps against the wall, regret washing through him, followed by a stronger wave of sadness at seeing Katniss go. If it hadn’t been for Ivy, he might have concocted some kind of delay to keep Katniss here longer, found some excuse to pry more information out of her. Like if she’s single. A surge of adrenaline spikes in his blood. He can’t let her go this easily.

He bolts out into the corridor, scanning the bustling hallway for any sign of Katniss and Ivy, but they’ve vanished. Disappointed, his shoulders slump as he trudges towards the nurses’ station to hand off Ivy’s file.

It’s probably best, a nagging little voice inside him taunts, and he reluctantly concedes that it probably is. As much as he’d love to finally shut his mother up and find a woman that he’d want to spend more than a night with, it’s not fair to subject one to the kind of schedule he has to keep. New doctors are low-man-on-the-totem-pole. He’s had mostly graveyard shifts and he’s often on call. It’s his dream to have a pediatric practice, but he’s well aware that he’ll have to toil for a couple of years to get on track to make that dream a reality.

A few minutes later, en route to his next examination, Peeta spies Johanna, one of the triage nurses, coming out of the room Ivy had occupied. His eyes immediately narrow when his gaze lands on her left arm.

“Was that in there?” He motions towards the vacated room and then nods towards the stuffed cat Johanna has wedged under her armpit.

“What, the cat? Yeah. It must have fallen under the bed. I’ll take it to the station, in case someone comes back to claim it.”

Ivy’s cherubic little face flashes in Peeta’s mind. He remember how fiercely she had been clutching that cat, and how she had reluctantly agreed to put it down when it had been time for Delly, another one of the triage nurses, to take her for X-rays.

Peeta’s pulse quickens and he immediately thrusts his hand towards Johanna. “I’ll take it,” he says impulsively. She wrinkles her nose and cocks her head, her hazel eyes intensely scrutinizing him. Though they have a casual friendship, Johanna is far too insightful for her own good. Peeta doesn’t really need her questioning his motives for taking possession of the toy.

“The little girl it belongs to goes to preschool with Max. I’ll make sure he takes it to her after the holiday break.” Fuck, that lie flew off his tongue so easily he almost believes it himself. Johanna shrugs and tosses Peeta the cat.

“Suit yourself. One less thing to overflow the Lost and Found.” She strides past him and disappears into Triage 6. He stares down at the stuffed animal. His heart skips another beat and a slow smile tugs at his mouth.

~*~*~*~

Stifling another yawn, Peeta squints at the numbers above the garage. He’s definitely in the right place. He kills the engine and sits for a moment, glancing at the clock on the navigation system. It’s quarter after nine. Early, but not obscenely so. When his shift had ended at six am, he had driven home and fought the urge to crawl into bed; instead, he grabbed a quick shower and freshened up. True, part of him hadn’t wanted to see Katniss Everdeen again looking like the bedraggled, exhausted mess he was at the end of a rotation, and also true, he was going to have to clean up before he’s due at his parents’ house at one. But he also knew he couldn’t really have shown up at Katniss’s house at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning, even if he suspects Ivy likely had her up by then. He recalls, with a wistful smile, that Christmas morning was the one morning he and his brothers were always awake before his father. It was only a question of which Mellark brother was going to be the first to rouse the others. Him being the youngest, it was usually him, he admits with a wider grin.

He quietly exits his car, careful not to slam the door, and gingerly steps across the icy driveway. He pauses at the un-shoveled front walk, where a pristine blanket of snow blocks his path. “Shit,” he whispers, gritting his teeth as he takes the first step. His foot plunges into the deep drift, up to nearly his calf. He braces himself and takes a huge step, hoping to eat up the distance in a few long strides. Fortunately, it’s not a long front walk. He reaches the also un-shoveled front steps and carefully ascends them. He contemplates ringing the doorbell, but instead raps his knuckles against the door. His breath pipes out in white plumes and he rubs his palms together for warmth as he waits.

No one comes to the door, at least not immediately. Peeta lifts his fist again, but just before his knuckles can connect with the wood again, the front door opens a crack and he’s suddenly looking at Katniss. Those silver eyes round almost comically as recognition lights them.

“D-Doctor Mellark? Wh-what are you….”

“Hi. Merry Christmas,” he begins. “I thought Ivy would be missing this.” He smiles and holds up the stuffed cat.

Katniss stares at him, her lips parting faintly, and shock and confusion war on her pretty face. But then her grey eyes darken with what Peeta can only describe as restrained fury.

She opens the door fully and glares at him.

“You had Ivy’s cat?” she accuses.

“Uh…yeah…” he stammers, his own confusion welling. Why is she so angry? “My nephew…he has a bear. Otis. Can’t sleep without that thing. I thought if Ivy is anything like Max…well, she’d be missing this.” He holds the cat out to Katniss. She snatches it so violently that she stumbles backwards. Peeta is equally jarred, but his jolt is from the very brief brush of Katniss’s fingers against his when she had grabbed the toy.

But Katniss gives him no time to revel in the feeling.

“So this is why no one at the hospital had a goddamned clue what I was talking about when I called there looking for this cat an hour ago!” she spits.

Shit, Peeta thinks, an uneasy feeling clawing its way into his gut.

“Why the fuck—” He can’t help but notice her slight hesitation before she lobs the obscenity at him. “—would you take my niece’s cat? Is this something normal people do?” She’s shivering visibly as she rants, a clear consequence of stepping onto her front porch wearing nothing but green plaid pajama pants and a threadbare black Henley shirt.

“I….I…” He shakes his head. He’s not even sure how to defend his actions. He can’t very well tell her his ulterior motives in bringing the stuffed cat back to her niece. Not now. He definitely fucked this up.

“I was just trying to be nice. That I’d save you a trip on Christmas morning,” he finishes lamely.

Katniss’s nostrils flare and her jaw flexes. “Christmas morning,” she mutters, just barely audible over the clattering of her teeth. “Did it occur to you, Dr. Mellark, that I might be looking for Ivy’s cat and I might call the hospital looking for this cat?” She shakes the toy in his face. “And did it occur to you that, in spite of all the toys she had just opened, Ivy might be bawling and throwing a fit because Buttercup was missing?”

Buttercup, he has to assume, is the stuffed cat.

She pauses, as if waiting for him to defend himself, but all he can do is swallow against the lump crowding his throat.

So she continues, “They made me think I was crazy—but not until after they left me on hold for 20 minutes while I tried to calm a wailing toddler. And then they said there was no toy matching this description in the Lost and Found. And that’s because you had it!” Her eyes are a maelstrom now, but he notices that an edge of frustration has crept into her furious tone.

“And now Ivy doesn’t have it. So thank you. Thank you very much, Dr. Mellark. Merry Christmas.” And before Peeta can release the breath he’s been holding during her outburst and plead his case, she whirls around, her disheveled braid lancing through the air like a whip, and slams the door behind her. Stunned, Peeta can only stare at the wreath on the door as he processes what just happened.

What. The. Fuck.

Heart pounding, gut churning, Peeta retreats to his car. He takes a few minutes to absorb the shock of his encounter with Katniss, his mind reeling through the accusations she made. He never would have expected her to react like this. So much for any shot with Katniss Everdeen.

He finally gathers his composure and navigates out of her complex. As he drives, his mind continues replaying Katniss’s words over and over, and he finds one thing nags at him.

And now Ivy doesn’t have it.

Those words don’t make much sense to him. He just gave the stuffed animal back to Katniss. She can give it back to Ivy. She’ll have it now. In her wrath, Katniss just wasn’t being rational, he decides.

But her words continue to haunt him off and on for the rest of the day. Along with persistent images of Katniss that further torment him. She is never far from his conscious thoughts. As he sits down next to the fireplace in his parents’ house with a tumbler of scotch to exchange gifts with his brothers and his nephews, he finds himself wondering who Katniss is celebrating with. Ivy, obviously. But does she have other family?

By the time the Mellarks all settle around the table for dinner, he’s conjured up the notion that Katniss may not be married, but she surely has a devoted boyfriend who is showering her with gifts at this very moment. Her mood is infinitely better than what Peeta witnessed earlier. She’s probably dressed nice for him, and he’s sitting around her dining room table with Katniss and Ivy, like a makeshift family.

His mother’s irritation is palpable when she has to command his attention twice to try and draw him into the discussion centered on Rye’s upcoming wedding. Peeta murmurs the apology he knows she expects and feigns his dutiful brotherly interest for Rye’s benefit the remainder of the meal. But a dull ache has taken up residence in the center of his chest and he realizes just how badly he wants what his brothers have.

He just won’t be having it with Katniss Everdeen.

#everlark #the hunger games #everlark fanfiction #court81981

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sanktnikolais · 3 years

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Fool Truth

A/N: yep this is an old work to cover up the fact that i haven’t been able to write anything new ;-; so have this for now

set in the same universe as this other fic

Word count: 2176

Nikolai is tired of hearing his father's nonsense about his need to get married every time he sees him. So when the universe allowed his father to reprimand him about marriage again, Nikolai is able to say an excuse that would get him out of the situation and put him in a more complicated one.

Nikolai was ready to bolt from the battlefield.

To hell with dessert, he thought, and yet his feet were still planted on the ground. Even after years of being away from their household, he could say he had missed their old, grumpy cook Baghra's chocolate mousse cake.

Maybe he should try holding on a bit longer, but one look from the man at the head of the table was only making running look like the most reasonable choice.

He braced himself over his father's next words, all too aware of what they would be.

"I've been talking to one of our partners yesterday," Alexander Lantsov started, his tone neutral as if he was delivering a monologue during one of their board meetings. He gave Nikolai an expectant look. "She's agreed to introduce you to her daughter."

Nikolai felt his jaw tick in annoyance. He had expected this from his father; it was already old news. If there was one thing he got from him, it was stubbornness, and it was one of the rare times Nikolai hated inheriting that same trait.

Alexander continued to stare at him, and Nikolai could feel the gaze getting heavier with each second.

"Don't you ever get tired of trying to set me up with random people?" He put down his fork beside his plate as gently as possible even when slamming it down was inviting. "Because I'm exhausted, dad. Just drop it."

The atmosphere in the room grew darker, the tension in the air crackling like electricity. Nikolai should have declined coming here, but his mother had insisted and she was sometimes the only one who could make the household a bit more bearable for him.

He looked over to his older brother from across the table, seeing the amused smirk on Vasily's lips as he toyed with the glass of wine in his hand. Being the eldest came with a life perk; he was free to do anything he wanted and as he pleased. Whether it's scandalous or the barest minimum for their company, he would still be the favorite one.

Where his brother was pertained as Perfect Vasily, Nikolai was always Nikolai Nothing. Someone who would never appease his father's expectations of him.

So much for being the unfavorable second son.

Nikolai leaned back in his chair, already losing his appetite. He regarded Vasily with a nod. "Why won’t he be the one you introduce to your partner's daughter?" he said. "Besides, isn't he the one who will inherit all this? I think it's better for him to get married for a potential merging, and I see no benefit for anyone if I were to be engaged to someone of a big name."

Alexander huffed in disbelief as if he just said the stupidest thing in the world. "You still don't get it, do you?" he said, his voice dropping to what it could sound was a threatening one. “I’m doing this for your own good.”

“Oh, wow. Really now?” Nikolai’s voice had already risen, and it earned a look of warning from his mother but he didn’t bother acknowledging it. The rush of blood in his ears was raging. “My own good or for your own? As far as I remember, Lantsov Trading’s image wasn’t looking so good because of a certain scandal in one of the famous clubs in the city.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vasily shift uncomfortably in his seat and Nikolai basked in the triumph of seeing his perfect big brother squirm. He fought the urge to smirk.

“Now tell me,” he goaded, not knowing where his confidence of talking back to his father was coming from, “is it for mine, or for your own image?”

“Hey,” Vasily snapped. “Watch your mouth, Nikolai.”

But Nikolai was having none of it and gave his older brother a pointed glance. “Shut it, I’m not talking to you.”

The look of shock on Vasily’s face was priceless and Nikolai would have etched it in his mind if it weren’t for his anger taking over. He turned back to his father, whose face was now twisted into a full scowl as if he could lunge at Nikolai anytime he wanted to. Nikolai thought he could try to poke the beast out of its cage a bit more and see where it would go.

He put on an easy grin, the kind that he knew ticked at his father’s patience. “Please enlighten me, dad.”

“You are no use in this family if you’re just going to continue your hobbies and not focus on doing important matters—”

“Like trying to live quietly without you breathing down my neck and forcing me to marriage?”

Alexander was visibly fuming, and Nikolai had to commend him for holding back. “You will not disgrace our name with your lack of achievements,” his father growled. Nikolai felt the words sting at his pride but he didn’t dare let it show. “Comply, else I will cut you off.”

Nikolai chuckled humorlessly. Finally, something that makes sense. He put his hands up and shrugged. “Then cut me off. I’d gladly take it, father.”

This somehow drained the last of his father’s patience because the old man almost threw the table up when he stood, his expression darker than the stormy sky. “You will comply whether you like it or not—”

“I’m already married.”

Everything went silent. Even breathing wasn’t even audible, as if everyone just decided to hold their breaths or some invisible force had forced them to stop breathing.

And for Nikolai, he might as well have stopped breathing. Panic overwhelmed the anger in his mind.

Shitshitshitshitshit—

The only thing keeping him from going insane and bolting off from their old home was the look of utter shock on their faces. It was one of the rare times they gave him their full attention, and Nikolai felt bitter when he realized it was a blatant lie that would make it happen again.

But it didn’t change the fact the words he had just blurted out of control.

You’re an idiot, Nikolai, an all too familiar voice echoed in his head, and for once, he found that he agreed with it.

Another long moment passed. Nikolai’s legs were already shaking violently from under the table but he refused to break eye contact with his father. Doing so would only make his lie more uncertain than it already was.

“What did you just say?” Alexander asked him when he finally found his voice. His grip on the table became impossibly tighter.

The calmness in Nikolai’s voice surprised even himself when he replied, “I said I’m already married.”

“Since when?” his father asked in disbelief. “And to whom?”

Nikolai was already expecting that question, and yet he still didn’t have anything to cover up for it. Who would he say? It wasn’t as if he had anyone that was convincing enough to be his girlfriend, let alone his wife. He had just dug his own grave with his recklessness and his family would see him lay rest in it.

You should’ve run when you had the chance, Lantsov, he silently berated himself as he continued to rack his mind for an answer.

Apparently, his distress didn’t go unnoticed by Vasily, as Nikolai could feel his gaze on him, and when he turned, he saw the first signs of a smirk on his older brother’s lips. If there was another thing Nikolai hated from his brother, it was Vasily always seeming to see right through everything.

Maybe he should just say something snarky enough to make them drop the subject—he didn’t owe them an explanation, not after treating him like he didn’t belong to their lives. He could just tell them to give up and leave it at that. He wouldn't mind another argument that would follow if it means straying from the current subject.

But of course, knowing his family, they wouldn’t stop until they got what they wanted.

Vasily huffed, catching everyone’s attention. He almost looked like he was about to say something more when Nikolai’s ringtone blared.

With a startled glance down his pants pocket, he slowly got his phone. The caller ID at the top of the screen glared at him in big letters.

Attorney Grumpy.

A thought suddenly formed in his head. He hesitated for a second when he realized he was going to get himself killed with the idea. But he figured that if he was going to die either way, he would prefer it to be by her hand.

Nikolai put on his usual grin. “Look,” he said, waving his phone up for emphasis, “she’s actually calling me.” He slid the answer icon to the right and put the phone to his ear, trying to keep his hand from shaking. He mustered up his most cheery tone. “Yes, dear?”

A beat, and then, “Are you still in that family dinner and somehow gotten drunk?” Zoya asked incredulously, and Nikolai had to fight off a wince from hearing her tone. He opened his mouth to reply, but it seemed like she already knew his answer. “Because I’m not fixing your shit if you ever do something beyond compare. But I would make an exception if it involves punching your brother.”

Her statement made him laugh genuinely, and the looks his family was giving him only became more curious. “What’s up?”

“I’m crashing over tonight.”

He waited for another moment before answering something that would surely be the reason for his death later. But he had to keep up the pretense going. “I know that all too well, dear. Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon. No need to miss me that much.”

Zoya didn’t answer him right away, and he could already imagine the scowl on her face as she processed his words, and she was most likely thinking of the ways to murder him too. “Lantsov, what the fuck are you blabbering about?”

One of his legs was already down the grave, and Nikolai sent a silent prayer to any deity who could hear him. Please protect me from her wrath later. He tried to smile, but he was sure it looked more of a grimace. “Yes, dear. I’ll be home in a bit.” He risked a furtive glance to his older brother, who was still looking at him quite suspiciously. And to sound more convincing, he went along with his instincts and blurted, “Love you.”

Then he ended the call before he could be given an earful of curses that would send his mother to a dead faint if she would ever hear it. As he put his phone back in his pocket, he could feel his heart beating erratically in his chest. Whether it was over his nervousness over the mess he’d thrown himself into or the last words he told Zoya, he didn’t know.

When he turned his attention back to his brother, he found that Vasily had his eyebrows raised as if he still didn’t want to believe about Nikolai’s married status. Nikolai challenged his brother’s look with his own, and a moment later, Vasily huffed and shook his head.

Alexander glared down at Nikolai, a mixture of rage and confusion in his eyes, but it was the former that overwhelmed his gaze. “Who is she?” he asked, his tone demanding and angry. Nikolai suddenly felt nervous for no reason. His gut told him that there was something bad about to happen. An angry Alexander Lantsov wasn’t a man to be messed with, and Nikolai had just taunted the beast out of its cage. “And why didn’t you tell us?”

A wave of protectiveness washed over Nikolai, and he glared back at his father as he said, “So you can break the marriage before it even happened? I don’t think so.”

He grabbed the napkin at the side and used it to wipe at his hands before standing up. He was as tall as his father, but the old man always had the power to make someone shrink under his gaze, but Nikolai didn’t let it faze him.

The scowl on Alexander’s face deepened. “Where are you going?”

“Why, home to my wife, of course. She’s waiting,” replied Nikolai with a sneer, and he could already sense the last remains of his father’s patience dwindling with the way he gripped the table again. But Nikolai was disappointed when Alexander didn’t decide to act out on it. Politely, he said, “Thank you for dinner.”

With a final smile in his mother’s direction, he walked out of the dining room without as much as a glance back. When he felt that he was finally out of their sight, he let out a relieved breath. But there was still no denying that his hands were trembling as he got out of the mansion, and it wasn’t from the cold.

What had he just gotten himself into?

Nikolai shook himself out of his daze. At least he was out of their tight hold around his neck.

For now.

#zoyalai #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #king of scars #fake married au #I DONT HAVE ANY NEW CONTENT #SO HAVE THIS OLD ONE #FROM MY FAKE MARRIED AU #sigh idk #no energy #and burnt out season #that's why no new content T-T #will still keep trying for this fandom for another few months maybe HAHAHAH

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descendantofthesparrow · 3 years

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Bad end rewrite concept - Arwen

Fae are a fickle type of being, once they turn 18 they have a yearly “mating” season that lasts from a day to a full week (similar to a period but once a year) only activated once the fae finds their “mate”. in the case of Mal, who is a dark fae and has yet to meet her “mate”, has never had her “mating” season.

both light, dark, and “regular” fae all have this “mating” season after they turn 18 and find their mate, but unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, FG and Jane were unaware that Jane had found her mate in Gil, so when the young fae turned 18, and that time of the year came around, she wasn't exactly...prepared for what was happening.

FG had explained once about the fae mating season to jane, but...faes usually don't know they’ve found their mate until they reach the once a year “mating season” and her mating season ended up being only just a week after her 18th birthday.

as both Jane and Gil were unprepared for the situation, along with them both being pretty much unknowledgeable about sex.ed and Gil wanting to get rid of the pain Jane was under(less painful more just really uncomfortable), had unprotected sex. and around two months later, Jane noticed her period was late...and she hadn't had one the previous month. panicked she quickly confided in Evie and (y/n), who calmed her down and (y/n) went out to get her friend a pregnancy test.

minutes after Jane took the test, Evie gently showed her the stick, with two pink lines.

Jane was pregnant as a result of the mating season.

while she was terrified of both her mothers and Gils reaction, with the support of her friends she told them both. Gil was ecstatic, but knew that they were both very young and having a child might not be the best idea at the moment. her mother was just as supportive, blaming herself for not properly preparing her daughter for fae mating season.

another month of talking between Jane, Gil, and her mother, the two young adults decided to keep the unborn child that was growing within Jane. FG was ecstatic that she would soon have a grandchild and did her best to help jane through her pregnancy, even though she had never gone through it herself she was a fairy godmother, not just a fairy.

six months later, out came a red cheeked little girl, to which the two new parents named her Arwen. they soon discovered while Arwen looked completely human, she had inherited her mothers fae genes, her eyes, while normally honey brown like her fathers, became iridescent when she was tired, and then when angry, like when they saw Arwen's first temper tantrum, glowed and turned blue with purplish pink magic flowing through her iris, her pupil turning to a thin pink slit. her teeth, specifically her canines and lateral incisors, where fangs, sharp enough to rip through skin if she wanted too. she was a sub-type of fea known as “wild fae” who had connections with nature and life

her magic burst forth wildly when she was only two months old, Jane staring wide eyed as her ,not even a toddler, child hovered her father upside down in the air in front of her, clapping happily as her father stared at her in shock and awe. it was almost effortless for Arwen, doing things even fully grown faes had trouble with sometimes, such as lifting an entire human into the air with no incantation.

FG was just as perplexed, in the end only suggesting that those born of true love/between a fae and their mate, had extremely powerful magic. an example being Maleficent herself, while she was a dark fae she had been born from fae mates and therefore had powerful magic, sometimes not even needing a verbal spell to cast her spells.

content with FGs answer but still in shock, Jane and Gil did their best to raise their magic rampant half fae child.

but one day...a bit more than one year after she had fled Auradon in shame of her failure, Mal returned. with vengeance.

she quickly took control of Auradon and the isle, spelling Jane and killing Gil with the Ember Mal had stolen back from her father, upon learning about Arwen, she ordered the newly spelled Jane to bring her daughter to her, what she would do with it she didn't know, it all depended on how powerful Arwen was.

Jane obeyed, taking the hardly over a half year old Arwen to Mal. but as she looked into the iridescent eyes of her only child, Jane was freed for a moment, and in that moment she raced off to the other edge of the enchanted forest, and left her child in a bush. in tears she left Arwen in her peach baby blanket with a spell to keep her warm and fed, along with a note.

-to whoever finds Arwen, please please take care of her and protect her. Mal wants her, and i cant bare to let my child into her clutches, i cant let her die. tell Arwen her mother loves her and to be strong.

-thank you, Jane-

just as Jane entered the castle that Mal had taken, the spell Mal had placed on Jane returned. Mal was confused, the baby wasn't with jane, so where was she? Jane took Mal to where she had left Arwen, only for her to be gone.

the two faes stood unaware that a woman that was thought to be dead already had the child, and she vowed that she would protect Arwen with her life.

(y/n) took Arwen away from Auradon and to a nearby country, luckily finding a cabin the middle of a forest, she rebuilt it and raised her friends child alone in that forest, waiting for the day that Auradon and its people would be freed from Mal’s clutches.

four and a half years later, Arwen is 5 years old, she knows her parents loved her very much, she knows her mother was forced to give her up to protect her from the evil Mal, she knows her father died to protect her, she knows that she loves her auntie (y/n).

she knows she is powerful, she knows she controls the forest around her, she knows she commands the animals before her.

she knows one day she will get her mother back and avenge her father. but for now, she is only 5 years old, and her auntie wants her to have a happy childhood before she gives it up to war.

so she will, for now.

yep...Arwen! so i posted this concept art for bad end rewrite and with the addition of Arwen, the timeline and story of this concept change. this is the original timeline and story which originally started around the end of D3 and took maybe a couple months for the timeline to run through, but now starts a bit more than a year after D3, and spans over a good couple years, im debating on weather or not to have it go to where Arwen is a teen and fights along side (y/n) and the others or too have her still be 5 when Mal is defeated. depending on what i chose the story will be changed, so ill decide on that later.

her magic is pretty nature like in concept, she can control nature and command animals, and when she was a toddler she “tamed” an entire wolf pack that now waits on hers and (y/n)s command.(her favorites are Artimus and TC) when she uses more of a...physically? visible? magic it flows like water and smoke, colored like her eyes when she is tired (aka its iridescent)

again she has very sharp teeth (and at the moment is missing one of her front teeth cuz she's five) and i added a new eye thing for her, when she gets angry, her eyes turn blue with purple/pink glowy stuff and her pupil becomes slanted and glows pink/purple

more of her info can be found on the other concept art i posted of her so ill just stop here cuz its 5am and im tired~

Again inspired by the Dream smp and @disneyfan50 “true defender” fic, and also thanks to disneyfan50 for helping me find a name for Arwen

#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #bad end rewrite #concept art #arwen #janexgil #jane descendants #gil descendants #oc #child oc #magic #fae #art #my art #i suck at drawing wolves forgive me for those two at the bottom lol

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girlmeetsliv3 · 4 years

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Lilies of the Valley VIII

A/B/O!BTS x Reader

Flowers can have different meanings depending on the flower shape, color, and method in which they are presented. Lilies are my favorite for such a simple flower can have so many distinct meanings.

“A lily never pretends and its beauty is that it is what it is.”

Release Date: 06/12/20 @ 7 pm

previously ~ next

Trigger Warning: Some of the contents discussed in this chapter may not be suitable for all audiences. Includes verbal assault.

The backyard area had been decorated with gold and pink accessories adorning every chair, table, and they were even attached to the fences. YN didn’t recognize most of the people there, seeming to be at least twenty belonging to Shuhua’s family. That put her slightly on edge, mainly because everyone that surrounded her were either alphas and betas. She was the only omega at the party and that didn’t bode well. Jungkook had yet to release his grasp on her which eased the nerves somewhat. YN looked everywhere, but couldn’t spot her sister or her fiance. YN had never met Shuhua face to face, but she had been friendly enough. Most people seemed to be friendly enough to YN.

YN saw a brief flash of grey hair before being enveloped in a hug. “Oompf.” From the familiarity of his build and the lack of response from the alphas beside her, YN already deduced who it was. “Dad!” When he pulled away, YN got to see the crow’s feet beside his eyes ones therefrom having smiled so much in his youth. “I missed you, YN.” YN had missed him too. So much so that she embraced him again, thankful to have a brief moment with him. Once again they parted and her father’s attention shifted to the alphas on by her side.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Namjoon spoke, his hand going forward. YN was surprised to see her father shake it with little reluctance. Seokjin and Hoseok also introduced themselves, though Jungkook stayed quiet by her side. Eventually, YN’s father did turn to the young alpha and his expression was that of mild irritation.

“How do you do, son?”

“Fine, sir. Thank you for having us.”

“Yes, well. Whatever makes my daughter happy.”

YN wasn’t particularly happy, but it was not the appropriate time to voice such thoughts. Despite being a beta YN’s father always exuded a strong presence, likely because of the stereotype that betas didn’t have quick tempers. Her father’s wrath was comparable to hellfire, though she’d never witnessed it. YN hadn’t believed there could be other betas like him until she’d met her supposed mates. It was when Seokjin fingers brushed her’s that she realized, her father had said something.

“I’m sorry what?”

“Your sister is still in her room. Go up and bring her down, you know she takes forever.”

“Did you tell your family to behave?”

“Yes, babe. They’ll be good I promise.”

“I’m just worried. YN usually skips out on things like this because she’s embarrassed, but now she shows up and with four alphas nonetheless.”

“Is she like mated to all of them?”

“No, it’s a pack bond.”

“A pack bond? I didn’t know those still existed or that there were so many inside a pack.”

“Yup, they’re the Kims. It’s four alphas and three betas. My sister’s been mated to them since she was a teenager.”

“So why didn’t she bring them along then?”

“Cause they had a falling out or something. I don’t know YN has changed a lot since she presented. It’s like she’s a different person. She doesn’t talk to us anymore or me even. All she does is cash our parent’s checks to help pay her rent.”

“That isn’t right. Why haven’t you guys said something?”

“Because it’s tough being an omega. Especially when you weren’t prepared to be one, plus I’m sure the mating bond was an accident but that they’re just stringing her along. Why would they need an omega?”

“I don’t think they’d do that Soyeon. That isn’t how pack bonds work…”

YN bit her lip and wiped her tears away, she pinched the bridge of her nose to try and prevent more tears from coming out. Leaning away from her sister’s bedroom door, YN walked further down the hall towards her childhood bedroom. Needing some peace and quiet before being forced to face people who clearly didn’t want her to be there. Her hand landed on the doorknob and turned it, only for the shock to go up to her spine. The last time YN had visited her family home had been last year and she had stayed in a hotel, just like this time, because there hadn’t been enough room for all the family members. Or at least that is what her parents had told her. Now YN could see the real reason they didn’t want her there.

Her bedroom was gone. The walls painted over in a generic eggshell white with the full-size bed’s lavender bed sheets being replaced by sky blue ones. Gone was the cherry wood furniture in its placed cheap knock offs that were white. It looked like an average guest room and not the room YN had spent eighteen years of her life in. Taking a deep breath she walked in and noted how hollow it felt. Like something out of a pottery barn magazine, instead of home. She could barely hold back her sobs.

The clearing of a throat caused her to turn around with a fright. In front of her stood a much older man, alpha by his scent, YN didn’t recognize him so he must’ve been part of Shuhua’s family.

“What are you doing in my daughter’s room?” There was a roughness to his voice that made his words sound more like growls. There was also the disdain in his eyes when he looked at YN like she was inferior.

“Sorry, this was my bedroom before.” YN tried to hide the emotion in her voice but knew it was useless.

“Ah, so you’re the omega.” His mouth opened wide in mockery and YN was honestly sick of it.

“Yes, now if you’ll excuse me.” YN went to sidestep, but Shuhua’s father darted his arm out, blocking her path.

YN glared up at him but saw a morbid fascination in the man’s eyes that sent chills down her spine.

“YN?” When she peered up, Hoseok was standing in the hallway. Eyebrows furrowed and staring intensely at Shuhua’s father. Hoseok held out his hand, beckoning her, it took all her strength not to purposely knock into the alpha blocking her way. Instead, she went around his arm and walked towards Hoseok taking the latter’s hand. YN smiled reassuringly at him though she wasn’t sure it was convincing. As they went to walk away, the Shuhua’s father snickered.

“Be sure to keep that one on a leash.”

YN had to physically pull Hoseok down the stairs to prevent him from plowing her future sister-in-law’s dad’s face.

Seokjin lifted the red cup to his lips, his eyes darting curiously between YN and Hoseok. “What happened?” YN shook her head not wanting to start conflict, but Hoseok clearly didn’t care. “Some old school alpha tried to start shit.” Namjoon shifted in his seat crossing one leg over the other. “Who?”

“Noone,” YN said, looking at Hoseok disapprovingly. He simply shrugged and went back to scrolling on his phone.

Namjoon and Seokjin shared a look and YN knew this wasn’t something they’d let go of easily. So she switched tactics focusing her attention on Jungkook who looked more and more uncomfortable by the second. “Are you okay?” At this, the young alpha straightened up a forced smile on his lips. “I’m fine. It’s just like Hobi-hyung said, they’re a lot of old schools here.” What’s that supposed to mean? YN knew what that statement meant when it applied to her, but she was unsure of what that meant to the men. YN glanced around realizing that some of the party’s inhabitants were openly gawking at them.

“Don’t worry,” Seokjin spoke, staring pitifully at his drink. “It happens all the time.” Despite that YN could see how Namjoon’s jaw was locked and how his scent had spiked up, indicating his anger. Not being able to take any of it anymore, YN simply spoke knowing the men would follow whatever she wanted.

“I want to go home.”

Unfortunately, it seemed escape wasn’t possible as YN’s mother wasn’t hearing it. “Did something happen?” She asked as she minded over the barbecue. YN bounced a bit on her feet anxious to get going. “There’s been an emergency at home and we have to get going.” It was a lame excuse, but hopefully, her mother wouldn’t ask for too much information. It seems that wasn’t going to be the case. “Why can’t three of them go and one of them stay?” It might seem like a casual suggestion, but it was the tone in which YN’s mother said it. The way her eyes didn’t stray from the meat and shrug appeared too forced.

So, YN did the only thing she thought to and baited her mother. “Do you have a problem with there being four alphas here?” She knew her contempt would surely be felt, but she was exhausted of walking on eggshells.

“What? No. Of course not.”

Now that was a lie. “I thought you wanted me to become mated. That way I could stop relying on you.” YN’s words though sharp were barely above a whisper, as she started to feel there were ears as well as eyes on the conversation.

Her mother rolled her eyes, “I don’t understand why you’re so worried about money. Your father and I knew from the moment you presented-” It had been a slip of the tongue, she knew from the way her mother’s eyes widened. It didn’t make it hurt any less, if anything it stung more, far more than her sister’s words had.

“From the moment I presented? That you would have to maintain me? That I wouldn’t be able to find a mate? Why, because I’m omega?!” YN hadn’t realized how much she had raised her voice, but she didn’t care. If it truly was what everyone was thinking, she would prefer they be open and honest instead of playing her for a fool.

Instantly someone gripped her wrist and tugged her harshly, so hard that YN felt like a ragdoll being pulled. When she turned YN was greeted with the anger-written face of Shuhua’s father. “That is no way to speak to your mother young lady. You lot think you’re so special and deserving. Think you get to do whatever you want because you feel oppressed.” The man was livid, but YN could tell it wasn’t at her. No, it was at her sub-gender. In the background, YN could hear the commotion as people screamed at him to let her go, but he continued his verbal assault bringing her to tears.

“It’s no wonder your family barely speaks of you. You’re a disgrace. They spend so much time and money on you just for you to spit in their face.” Her pheromones were acting up. Projecting fear and though YN was vaguely aware of hands trying to pry her away, his grip was death-like.

“Just because you are on omega doesn’t give you the liberty to be a whore.”

YN was sure he would’ve continued his rampage if it weren’t for punch delivered straight to his face. It was so strong that it knocked the man out, his body flying to the ground in its wake knocking over a table, plates, decorations, and chairs. YN knew from the scent who it was, but she had reverted to a shell of herself. Though a part of her was aware that everything the man said came were lies - another part of her, and she hadn’t known how large it was until that moment, believed him.

YN looked up and saw her sister horrified as well as Shuhua as everyone flocked inside to escape the pheromones that could potentially trigger more violence. Finally, YN glanced and saw Hoseok pounding into Shuhua’s father’s face with what can only be described as sadistic glee. Blood was leaking from every orifice of the man’s face and if he wasn’t dead already - he would be soon.

“That’s enough Hoseok.” Seokjin grabbed the man by his collar pulling him up. YN couldn’t even stand to look at any of them, eyes wandering around. Tears streamed endlessly down her face though YN wasn’t even aware they were falling until Jungkook looked at her with concern. The sun had begun to set and she was aware of how much the landscape had changed since this morning.

Decorations lay thrashed on the floor as several tables and chairs were flipped over in the tumult. YN couldn’t see much through her bleary tears, but she could see the bloodstain. Drying on the freshly cut grass while its rusty odor invaded all of YN’s senses. She was aware of the echoes and shouts around her, but YN couldn’t react to them. Not until she felt warm arms wrapping around her figure, the woody scent alerting her to who it was. “Let’s go home, baby.” YN wasn’t sure whether she nodded or not, but she was dragged away nonetheless towards the six other men waiting for her.

I called them,” Namjoon answered her thoughts, but YN wasn’t too concerned. Despite, her wondering how the men had managed to get there so quickly. She was faintly aware of getting into a car, being placed on someone’s lap, and the sweet sounds of humming near her ears. “It’s okay, YN. Everything is okay now. You’re safe.” So it was Jimin she was sitting on. That’s why her nose didn’t burn. She remembered Soyeon’s words, her mother’s shocked expression, and the face of the disgusting man being pounded into by one of her mates. “Shhh, baby. It’s okay. You’re safe now. No one’s ever going to hurt you again.”

YN didn’t know if she believed that, but she turned towards Jimin nonetheless allowing him to cradle her, while she cried into his chest. All seven of them exchanged a look and the briefest nod of Yoongi let Namjoon know everything was as he hoped.

Hope you enjoyed!!!

@hxsxxk-180294 @saxpam24 @trixsterbi @mel-gonzalez07 @cstobitk @dionysus-png @taekimxx @moonlitehunter @joonie-grim @wonderlace19 @sugashaye @rosey-roseu @mintaemark @ciderxi @soloikeadates @alex--awesome--22 @ruth619 @tinger-k @thenyousaidhello @missseoulite @justdidabadthing @ireallylikefoodandyoutube

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sparklingchan · 4 years

Text

Tipsy Turvy || Choi San(Ateez)

Pairing : Reader (fem.) x Choi San

Word count : 5k+

Warnings : Cuss words , alcohol , hangover , mentions of over drinking, not proof read.

Genre : Fluff , a tiny bit of angst , romance , friends to lovers au.

Description : You have a complicated relationship with San , and the alcohol in your system makes it worse ( or better).

Author's Note : So with all honesty , I have NO idea how people behave when drunk so I searched it up and wrote this 90% based on that ( and 10% on my friends’ advice). I hope at least one of y’all get the horrible pun in the title -_-

Please do reblog , like and comment if you like this. My DMs are also open so if you want to gimme a review , feel free.

Enjoy!

The coffee in the cup must have gone cold by now, because the moment you touch it’s surface ,you don't feel the same sting as you did a few minutes ago.

Not that it tasted good anyway. You're almost glad you didn't have to drink it but maybe, right now, you could use a sip or two to spare yourself a few seconds of peace.

"The coffee is wonderful, isn't it? It's my favorite one." The man in front of you - Mike - needs to seriously give you a break, or else there will be blood on the streets. Literally, "I'm glad you like it."

Does he not see the clearly disgusted look on your face ? Or was he so sure you'd like this drink just because he ordered it without even asking you?

"Yeah ,its fine." You sigh , touching your lips to the mouth of the cup and then putting it back down. You're not drinking that already tasteless and now cold coffee. No way.

"So ,y/n, since we're expected to give our parents an answer after this date, I'd like to know about your opinions first . And please be honest. I would hate to upset you." He says , scratching his chin .

Your eyes widen at the unexpected string of words. This is the first time since this stupid date began that he actually asked your opinion on anything.

"Well," you begin, your mind filling up with tons of words that you'd waited patiently to let out , "Marriage is a big decision. At least for me. And this is all too fast. I just hope we have enough time to know each other before our parents set the date."

He nods his head , “ I agree, I agree. Its important . Right."

You furrow your brows. His reaction seems very forced. Like he really didn't agree with you , but for the sake of it , he's agreeing.

"And what kind of qualities do you look for in a man,y/n?" You want to roll your eyes at the question but you pull your lips up in a smile, not quiet touching your eyes but enough to convince him. You wonder why he was trying so hard to save a date that had been going downhill from the moment he sat down in front of you. You guys clearly didn't like each other, and the spark was missing.

A spark you'd only ever felt with one person.

"Its difficult to describe ideal types but yeah,I'd like someone who's compatible with me and loving and well.. obviously respectful." You say. Mike chuckles at your answer , as if amused by it, "I was expecting you to say you wanted someone who's rich and handsome like...me , honestly. But it's alright." You wonder if he actually hears himself because he really sounded like a self absorbed piece of shit right now. And you'd really do anything to escape from this date.

"Well , I guess not. " you reply with a chuckle. In all honesty, you yourself don't know what your ideal type is. It's not about the conditions or requirements that a person fulfills. It's not a job , it's a connection. You can't confine people to certain criterias. It defies the whole purpose of that connection. And even if you did have qualities you looked for in a man , everything would always end up pointing at only one damn person. You push his images away even before they can surface into your mind.

"So anyway, as I was saying before the coffee arrived , my dad bought this really pretty yacht for me last month and it's super amazing to - " and you shut him out completely while he continues blabbering and you quietly sip the disgusting coffee in front of you.

You really want to groan now. Like on his face. Putting emphasis on how draining and boring this whole conversation is for you.

But all you do is smile and nod.

You were going to reject him the moment your parents set you up on a date with a ' nice and charming bachelor '. What side of Mike did they find even remotely nice or charming? You would never know. But one thing is sure now ,you will at least not have to deal with your parents pestering you for marriage after you reject Mike.

The weather is extremely humid today , despite it having rained in the morning so without a doubt , you'd spent your day indoors , reading a book and drinking unhealthy amount of fruit punch.

"Are they still upset ? " your parents should have seen it coming ,really. The rejection was as inevitable as the rising of the sun every morning or the setting of the sun in the evening. Yet , your parents are pretty disappointed at the decision even after three days since that stupid date. You , on the other hand are happy to have gotten rid of Mike - even if it meant your parents being angry.

Your younger brother , Jongho ,sighs into the phone, " What do you think? They really thought you'd finally marry now."

You don't really blame them though. Not at all. That's what they were always taught ,weren't they? Graduate high school, finish college ,get a good job and get married. The full circle.That is all they've every known yet you find yourself upset at the fact that they didn't consider your unwillingness to this marriage ( or any other marriage) at all. You're just barely starting to work ,you cannot throw away all of that to be a good wife and daughter in law. Sure Mike is the son of some rich man who does business with your father, but economical relationships cannot be a basis for a marriage.

"Well, I can't help it . I'm not marrying that asshole at any cost. " you huff , " He is so creepy and weird. Let mom and dad stay pressed. I don't care."

"Is it just because you didn't find Mike interesting or something else?" Jongho asks.

"I guess? " you reply, scratching the back of your head.

"You know , y/n, I understand that you don't want to get married and whatever but we both know there's a solid reason behind it and I am sick of you denying it all the time." Jongho is too honest for your liking. Too brutal , no sugarcoated words. Just the truth.

And the truth stings.

"Shut up." You grumble, fiddling with the book in your hands , legs dangling from the edge of your bed, " I told you not to mention it ever again?"

"Y/n, you love him. Okay? You have loved him for seven years now . It is high time you shoot your shot or else you'll end up with some rich asshole who doesn't give two shits about you!"

He's right,of course he is. His words are not really an opinion or a vague prediction of the future. Those are facts. But hearing him say all that out loud makes your blood turn cold in your body. Fear creeping through every inch of your skin , making it hard to think clearly.

"I don't think it matters if I love him or not. I gave up on him. We haven't spoken much ever since college ended. " you say.

" You didn't give up. You just ran away instead of acknowledging it. There's a difference." Jongho replies , " And for your kind information it's only been six months since college got over. You need to stop talking like it was twenty years ago or something. "

You chuckle at his last phrase, grateful that he's trying to uplift the weirdly tense mood. "I don't think I can do it , Jongho. I want to. I really do but I don't think he likes me back." You admit.

"You're delusional if you think he doesn't like you back, y/n. All the late night car drives, movie dates , eating unhealthy food late into the nights - San loves you too. Obviously he does."

You sigh ,running your fingers over the rough page of the book in your lap. 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' The words read out. The tightening of your chest increases.

"He was just being nice." You mutter.

Jongho sighs loudly from the other side , "Okay , believe what you want . I can't handle both you and mom-dad together, okay? Spare me your bullshit. Bye."

Wow, talk about being a rude, disrespectful child !

You are usually not the one to point fingers or put blame on other people , but you really despised your best friend right now. And you have every right to do so. Your best friend is the main reason why your parents are so desperately trying to get you married and see you settle down and have kids and whatever. Jisoo is the epitome of every good quality all parents desire in a daughter. She's perfect. Even more than that sometimes.

"How's your husband?" Your question doesn't sound very genuine - the words slipping out of your tongue like they were being forced out. But Jisoo seems to let it go.

"He's good , really good. " She replies ,taking a sip from the only can of cola you had left in your fridge. She passes it over to you.

"How lucky ." You mutter , taking a sip of the same drink.

"I know what you're thinking ,y/n. I know your ass is upset about everything that happened with Mike but things take time. Okay? I married early because I wanted to." she says, reading right through you like you were a book she'd read millions of times ,"If you don't want to marry , don't. Stop blaming yourself for not finding good guys." " I wonder if I'll ever find anyone even remotely nice, Jisoo. The only few guys I've been set up on dates with are not my type and well , Mike ... I don't know. We're just not compatible." You complain , " And besides I'm so terrified of marrying a guy I barely know."

Jisoo sighs , "Then marry a guy you've known for a long time."

"Who are you talking about?" You frown. You know exactly who she is talking about but you want to hear her say it. Say his name which you dare not even repeat to yourself when alone.

"Choi San ,of course. The love of your life ,your sun and stars , your sweetheart. " she says , her dreamy eyes widening to exaggerate her point.

You slap her arm hard , almost a little too hard. But you're convinced that she deserves it. "Ow !" She yells ,rubbing the sore area on her arm.

"That name is forbidden in my vicinity." You say.

Okay ,maybe now you are the one who deserves a slap. On the cheek. You couldn't believe that his name still fills your stomach with butterflies and causes your heart to beat so fast that you feel dizzy even though you claim that you're over him.

"No, it's not, y/n. Come on ,dude. You're still not over him. You will never be unless you confess and face the supposed rejection on your own. Only then you'll find it in yourself to seek other guys , unless that's not what you want." She jabs her finger on your shoulder softly , "That, or you can marry San himself. It's very simple ,really."

Now that she put it that way ,it sounds even more complicated and it sends your mind to a voyage into the sea of memories that you rarely even acknowledged anymore( or at least ,you tried to).

San's pretty eyes and alluring smile , the soft hold of his hand on your arm as you run to the movie halls just five minutes before it closes , the warmth of his hugs that you so dearly loved , his silky black hair that you've wanted to touch on so many occasions and the day you were sure he had leaned in to kiss you but your annoying brother decided to call just at that exact moment. You almost wish you could go back to your university graduation day , and wait a little longer for him after the event got over and tell him that he meant the world to you. More than he could ever imagine. You really wish you had waited that day.

"Jongho has this stupid theory that he likes me too. He's making me even more confused. " you say.

"At least Jongho has more brain cells than you. That kid deserves an award or something." Jisoo replies , chuckling.

"He's not a kid. He's just a year younger than me and you." You deadpan. Great, your best friend and brother are now on the same team.

She rolls her eyes , "Yeah , you are a kid too. Only a kid acts so naive and stupid when everything they've ever wanted is right there in front of them. Hell, even a kid would realise that San loves you !"

Jisoo talks a lot , but her words are never empty or vague. She says whatever she wants to and has to. And she is always able to make a point. But you're a dumb bitch who likes to pretend she's still not in love with her childhood sweetheart and is looking for love somewhere else.

"Anyway, can we go for a drink?"

"Glad you finally asked." Jisoo grabs your arm and drags you out of the house.

Your favorite bar in the entire world has to be the one you've been going to since you were in high school. From your first time drinking to vomiting in its toilet after having way too many vodka shots , from dancing with your friends to crying alone in a corner , that place has seen it all.

Coincidentally( not really), its Jisoo's favorite bar too.

"Okay, y/n. I think you should stop now. That's enough."

Coincidentally also ,you happen to not have a good alcohol tolerance yet an endearing desire to drown your sorrows in those glasses.

"No, I'm not even properly drunk." You whine ,your words only barely making sense to Jisoo. She grabs the glass away from you.

"Come on , let's take you home. " she tries to pull you from your seat , "Can't believe I thought it was a good idea to drink on a weekday."

"No, no, Jisoo. " you resist , pushing her away. " I want to..stay. here. I like it here. It's so warm and cozy . If I go home, I'll cry. I hate home. It's so ugly. Ew. This place is so pretty ."

Your vision is so blurry that your brain can't even form clear images anymore. You see Jisoo's form after squinting hard enough.

"You won't cry. I'll take care of you, y/n. Come on." Jisoo is so insistent you have to hold yourself back from punching her. Her lucky ass would never understand how much in pain your heart is in. And how much the alcohol helps in forgetting all that even just for a few minutes.

"You go home. I'll stay. I'll stay here for as long as I can. Away from all you blood suckers." You slur. And then giggle for no apparent reason.

Jisoo heaves a sigh ,sitting beside you. "Are you going to come with me or do I have to call San to pick you up?"

That was a threat. Jisoo always uses the same one and somehow, it always seems to work. Not today though.

"Hah! Joke's on you ! He doesn't care about me." You point at her face , giggling again.

San? Taking care of you? Funniest joke of the year.

"He does ,y/n. You know he does. What are you being like this?" She asks , rubbing your hand comfortingly. "I see the way he looks at you."

"He probably has a girlfriend already. He always posts romantic shit on Instagram. " you say ,resting your chin on your arm.

"He doesn't have one. I know he doesn't. He probably posts all that for you." She says.

You want to believe her but your brain feels fuzzy and foggy now. Like the sky on winter mornings.

"I want to see San, Jisoo. I miss him. I miss him so much. " you keep muttering under your breath , "Take me to him. I miss him."

Jisoo stares at you - wide eyed and slightly annoyed. Your low alcohol tolerance will get you into serious trouble one day.

"We can see him tomorrow. Let's go home now. Now." She pulls your arm again.

You push her off , "I said I want to see San ! Right now! Take me to him!"

You have never yelled at anyone while in a drunken state before so the sudden increased volume of your voice scares Jisoo. She let's go of your arm.

"Okay, will you come home after meeting San?" Jisoo asks ,taking her phone out to call a cab.

"Yes. No. Depends. I never want to be away from him." You say. "Take me to him , please. I haven't seen him in months. Years. I don't remember how long. Do you think he'll recognize me?"

Shaking her head , Jisoo makes a mental note to never take you out for drinking again.

San lives a few minutes away from your own apartment, but with traffic sometimes it takes almost an hour to reach his apartment.

Today must have been your lucky day because the traffic was almost negligible. Although you don't remember the journey to his house , you do remember his familiar voice greeting you and Jisoo like he had almost expected you both to arrive at his door this late at night.

"She was throwing a tantrum that she wanted to see you. So I brought her here. I hope it's not a problem. " Jisoo says in her sweet voice that she uses on everyone but you and her husband. You scowl.

"Hey, I wasn't throwing a tantrum! " You hit her arm again , but she puts on the fakest smile when San looks at the both of you with a confused face.

"And she's not very sober right now." Jisoo admits ,sighing. San presses his lips in line , observing you as play with the hem of your tshirt and your eyes are focused on his face. You never had so much confidence in a sober state. He knows this because he's seen you like this a million times before and hopefully, if all goes well tonight , he might see this state in the future too.

His stomach does a back flip when you stick out your bottom lip in a cute little pout.

"It's okay. She can stay the night here. I believe you have something important to tell me ,y /n?" San asks, titling his head.

You nod , beaming with happiness. Your eyes never leave his perfect face and his beautiful black hair which he decided to tie in a small ponytail tonight and his toned arms and his breathtakingly sweet dimples as he leads you inside, bidding goodbye to your bestfriend. Jisoo must be very relieved right now ,you think.

"Do you need a glass of water ,y/n?" San asks you , as he takes you gently by the arm to his bedroom. His alert eyes are always on your steps ,making sure you do not trip on anything.

"No. " you giggle. You're so happy to be with him alone at last that you can barely contain it . "I missed you ,San."

He laughs at your words ,shaking his head in disbelief as he makes you sit on his warm ,fluffy bed.

You've always wanted to sit there.

"Waoowww , this bed is so soft. " you swing your legs up and down with a big grin on your face , "I want to sleep on this bed. Oh my god ,awww."

San sees you lean down against the headboard and laugh at the ceiling, pointing out peculiar patterns . You look very content right now ,he notices. Your flushed cheeks , big , curious eyes , messy hair , yet he thinks you look beautiful like this - raw and natural and pretty.

"San! Sit with me, come here." You say , patting the empty space beside you.

San obliges without a question. He pushes you gently to the other side of the bed , himself settling beside you , careful not to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.

"What it is that you wanted to tell me ?" San questions, his fingers reaching upto your forehead to remove the strands of hair that cover your eyes.

"Promise me you won't be mad. " You hum into his touch ,wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around his body and snuggle into his chest. But even with alcohol in your system ,you know better than to do that.

"I promise." He replies with a toothy grin. His head leans on the headboard beside yours , his beautiful brown eyes drilling into yours ,making your knees go weak and heart flutter. And if it were possible to replace all blood from your body with physical adoration for Choi San ,you would have done it already. "Pinky promise?" You ask again ,lifting your right pinky up in front of his face.

Sighing , he connects his pinky to yours then pressing your thumbs together, "Pinky promise."

You take a deep breath then as naturally as ever ,the words you've always wanted to say roll out of your mouth , "I like you. "

San's breathing gets stuck in his throat , his whole being as if swallowed into a black hole for a few seconds. He stares at you like you were suddenly someone he'd never seen , never heard of before. Like you were a stranger that caught his eye in the mall. Like a gemstone he'd found while digging the ground. Like a precious falling star on a cloudy night.

"I-I mean we have known each other for sometime now. It's normal that you like me. As a friend." He stammers.

You roll your eyes , " I did not mean as a friend ,you idiot. I meant I like you as a man. You're so stupid, gosh." You punch his arm.

His heart skips a beat. He'd always known deep down his heart that this confession would happen one day or the other - but he had always hoped it would be him to say it first ,not you. His ego is a teeny tiny bit hurt.

"I know you don't like me , " you whine , your excited tone now suddenly switching into a sad one , " I know you won't date me."

San frowns at this new melancholic side of yours.

"Why would you think that?" He asks.

"I just know ,okay?" You say ,tears filling your eyes , " And that's why I agreed to an arranged marriage."

"You must have met someone nice then?" He takes his hand in yours.

Jongho was right - you love him. So much that it hurts to look at him ,knowing that one day you'll have to marry a man who isn't him. It hurts like someone is pressing a hot metal rod onto your skin.

You start sobbing.

"No! Of course not ! I don't want anyone but you! " You yell , a little too loud , " But my parents are still insistent about it. How do I tell them that I can't marry anyone else because I'm so in love with you?"

That's another new piece of information for San. But this one makes his heart drop into the deepest pits of his stomach , making him go numb for a few seconds. You were almost taken away from him, just because he'd always put your relationship in a complicated situation. You had almost held someone else's hand on the alter. You had almost ended up in someone else's arms.

The image of you with another man nauseates him and he decides to stop being a coward . Right now ,right at this moment .

"I like you ,too, you idiot." He says , not quite meeting your teary eyes." Don't go find anyone else. I'm here. I really am ,y/n."

His sincere voice washes over you like the first showers of monsoon - refreshing and enchanting. You feel like melting into a puddle under his gaze.

"I wasn't planning on anyway. " You sniff and rub your tears away. He leans in closer to your face , rubbing your cheekbones with the pad of his thumb. And you , being the shameless person you are , stare at his kissable, pink lips. If you lean in a little more , they'd touch and you could finally kiss him. You really want to . Would he mind ?

He presses a soft kiss on your forehead , pulling you into his warm embrace.

"I want to go to sleep and wake up like this every morning." You mumble into his chest , your hand playing with the hem of his t-shirt. "We will. I promise." he replies. The thought itself makes him feel warm inside , "I'll talk to your parents about the arranged marriage thing. They love me more than they would any other guy out there."

Your parents in fact do love San. Whenever they met him , they'd be filled with praises for him. Although a little jealous , you could easily see why San was so easy to like.

"You smell so nice." You say abruptly , drowsiness slowly taking over you , your eye lids getting heavier by the minute.

San's chest vibrates as his laugh fills the room , "Thank you, y/n."

"Will you be here when I wake up? You aren't going to run off, right? " You are just spewing out random sentences at this point but he doesn't complain either way. He likes this honest and vulnerable side of you.

"I'll be right here. Don't worry. " he whispers ,running his fingers through your hair , "But I'm pretty sure you won't remember anything tomorrow ."

You laugh, a big hearty laugh as you finally find enough courage to lightly wrap your arm around his torso. "I'll remember, San . I never forget."

San rubs your head soothingly , smiling to himself, knowing that even if you forget about it in the morning , he'll really be there to remind you of it. He'll be there by your side, as he always has been.

Every hangover is like a cycle that includes pain , regret and a promise to never drink so much again yet you somehow always seem to be struggling with the last one.

And the inevitable headache that follows makes you feel like someone had thrusted millions of knives in your head.

It hurt. Badly.

You stir in your position ,groaning at your throbbing head.

"Woah , good morning , sleepy head." San purrs into your ears , his early morning voice sending chills down your spine.

Wait. San? Choi San? With you in his arms? On a bed?

You sit up at the speed of a lightning bolt , breaking away from his warm embrace and crawling to the farthest corner of the bed. You look around the room , your heartbeat in your throat , taking in the unfamiliar surroundings that reminded you of what you might have done while in a drunken state.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Your eyes scan San, his sleepy face pressed to the pillow and his lips curved in a smile. His white t-shirt hangs loose from his shoulder, exposing the skin near his collarbone and his black, messy hair covering half of his face.

And even in panic mode , your first thought is that he looks ethereal with that early morning glow. Is this what being whipped really means?

"Y/n, don't tell me you forgot what happened last night. " he says ,visibly annoyed. He forces himself up in a sitting position as he runs his fingers through his messy hair.

You look away from him , adrenaline rushing through your veins as you try to recall last night's episode. Surely ,you didn't sleep with him since both of you are fully clothed and you didn't feel sore anywhere. Thankfully.

"Y/n? " he calls you again but you don't reply because your brain is way too occupied at the moment.

You remember the sound of a very weird combination of words leaving your mouth last night and an even weirder combination of words leaving his. And that's when it hits you - you had confessed to him. Full on movie style. All those years of daydreaming and trying to keep everything a secret gone into vain , your heart placed naked in front of him.

"Oh fucking hell." You hold your head in between your hands ,closing your eyes.

Maybe this was all a dream and if you focused hard enough ,you'd wake up in your bed , alone and yearning for the man supposedly in front of you. But that would still be better than this.

"Y/n, it's alright. You don't have to be embarrassed. " San says, inching closer to you.

You sigh. It's not a dream and you have to face him now.

"I-I'm sorry for whatever I said last night. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable at all. I don't know what had gotten into me." You say, rubbing your forehead.

By now , San is kneeling right in front of you, his galaxy filled eyes never leaving yours.

"I should be sorry , you idiot." He says , gently tapping your forehead ," if I wasn't such a coward and had confessed to you earlier , everything would have been different now. But better late than never , right?"

You gulp hard.

Now is the time to wake up , y/n, I'm going to be super pissed if this turns out to be a dream, you wonder to yourself.

"So..what you're saying is - "

"I like you , yes. Not as a friend , not as a classmate. I like you as a woman and if you agree to this ," San leans in dangerously closer , "Then I'll like you as a girlfriend, too."

You didn't need time to agree to this. You didn't need a second thought. You only need a small tug at your heartstring , which happened everytime you see his eyes focused on you and only you.

"Yes." You say.

His face breaks into a massive grin as he wraps his arms around you , with yours around his torso. You can feel the fast beating of his heart against your cheek as you snuggle into his chest .

"Thank you. Thank you so much." He whispers into your hair. Your cheeks are burning red by now but it's alright. It's a good type of burning. You can come to like it in the near future.

You don't know how long it is before he finally decides to pull away , much to your dismay.

"I'm going to make breakfast . Are pancakes okay with you?" He says , his arms by his side but his body still close to yours.

"Yeah. Obviously. " You loved his pancakes, as a matter of fact. Once, Jongho had even forced you to confess to San during your college years just so he could eat those delicious pancakes whenever he wanted to.

"Okay. You can go freshen up in the bathroom by then." He then unexpectedly takes your face in his hands , inching closer to yours with every passing second, " Don't miss me too much though."

You pout, playing along , " I already do."

And just like that , he presses his soft , luscious lips to yours, enveloping them in a quick kiss.

"Bye." And just like that too , he runs away into the kitchen , avoiding confronting what had just happened while you are left frozen and shocked and petrified and all synonyms of those words in the English dictionary.

But you hear him hum his favourite song softly from the kitchen and your shoulders relax.

Relax , y/n , you tell yourself , it's just San and he is your boyfriend now.

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abreathofthewild · 4 years

Text

a touch of magic

Prompt: This TikTok

Tagline: Sometimes all you need in life is a touch of magic.

Summary: A Halloween in the life of Thor and Reader and their family.

Warnings: this fluff will rot your teeth.

Wordcount: 1664

Notes: I am so excited to be posting this! I was inspired by the above-mentioned TikTok and after deliberating which character I wanted to write this for, Thor felt like the most appropriate choice. This piece is self-indulgent fluff, friends. I hope y'all enjoy and that you get to have a safe and fun Halloween! ALSO: IMAGE IS NOT MINE I FOUND IT WITH NO EXTERNAL LINK ON PINTEREST.

It’s Halloween. You had chosen something simple for your costume: a long black dress with gauzy black sleeves that puffed a little at the shoulders and were cuffed at the wrist. A black witch’s hat with a large swooping brim sat smartly on your head. Typically, you went all out but this year you really wanted your kids’ costumes to shine. It had taken you six months in between the creative writing courses you taught to sew Darcy’s Belle gown and half of that time to put together Cole’s knight armor. You could hear them clambering down the stairs now shrieking with laughter.

“Mm, I love that dress on you,” a deep voice said behind you. You applied your red lipstick as the final touch, smirking at Thor’s reflection in the mirror. His massive frame took up the doorway as he leaned against it, giving you an affectionately approving once-over. You turned and sauntered over to him, taking in the picture of your husband standing there. Even after all this time, there were moments where his words still made you shiver. He matched your movements, stepping further into the room and into your space as your arms wrapped around his neck.

“Do you, now?” You stood on your tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Maybe that’s why I wore it.” Another kiss on his lips. He leaned into you, smiling as he returned the kiss. “You don’t look so bad yourself, my wolfman.” It seemed only natural with his tousled golden hair and beard that he would recycle one of his favorite costumes and step out in the neighborhood as a werewolf. He wore a red and black flannel over a white shirt that he had cut in three spots with long slashes. His jeans were purposefully torn in a couple of places and instead of applying any product to his hair he had ruffled it and left it a bit unkempt. The best part in your opinion, however, was the fangs. “Love when you wear those,” you murmured, running your tongue along the fake teeth.

It didn’t take long for him to move you until the backs of your knees hit your bed. “Wish we didn’t have to go anywhere tonight,” he whispered, giving you a soft nip at the neck. A small gasp escaped your mouth as your gripped at him tighter. “Maybe we could get a babysitter,” he said as he kissed from your neck down the v of your dress. You could feel the familiar heat creep along your cheeks and flutter in your belly.

“Mommy! Daddy! Cole pushed me!” Darcy was exclaiming her frustration at the bottom of the stairs. Even from here, you could hear her stamping her little feet.

“Did not!” Cole chimed in with the vehemence characteristic of a seven-year-old trying to not get into trouble for bullying his six-year-old sister. You let out an exasperated laugh as Thor groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder. You sidled under his arm and grabbed his hand, dragging him along.

“It sounds very tempting hon’ but you know how much the kids have been looking forward to this year. Plus, they’d miss us. Plus,” you whispered as you pulled him in to rub the red smudges from his cheek and lips “I already got us a babysitter for tomorrow night.” You let go of his hand and gave one glance behind you, trying not to let your feet falter at the look in his eyes. He followed close behind.

The scene downstairs wasn’t so great as the one you had just left. Darcy had started crying and Cole looked a little like he had been caught doing something wrong. You went to her but she shook her head saying in between tears “I want Daddy.” You motioned to her as Thor came down the stairs.

“Of course. He’s right there. I’ll talk to Cole for you instead, okay darlin’?” She nodded, her eyes puffy and red. Her bottom lip stuck out and was still quivering when Thor knelt in front of her, wiping the tears from her cheeks and adjusting the laces on her dress sleeves. Even upset she was the prettiest little girl you had ever seen (you were biased), especially with the soft yellow of the ballgown she wore. Cole on the other hand looked quite miserable, his armor sticking out at odd angles because his arms were crossed. You took his hand and walked him a few feet away into the living room and sat on the couch so you were at eye level. “Cole, did you push your sister?” He didn’t quite look you in the eye.

“Yes,” he mumbled. You pursed your lips and gave him a disappointed glance, waiting for him to continue. “She told me my costume was stupid,” he finished quietly. You put your index finger under his chin and gently turned his face so he was looking at you.

“Do you like your costume?” He nodded, tears forming in his crystal blue eyes. So like his father. “Well, then that’s all that matters. I know your sister hurt your feelings but that was no reason to push her. She’s allowed to not like your costume but she definitely needs to use better words. Can you think what you could have done differently?” A begrudging and wavery sigh escaped the little boy in front of you.

“I could have used my words too. I could have told her that hurt my feelings.” You gave him a beaming smile.

“Exactly. Next time, let’s work on using your words, okay? And if you need help, you can always ask Daddy or me. Now, I’m going to wave the magic wand and when I do, I want you to try really hard not to smile. You can’t smile, all right?” You tried to hide your own as you already saw the hints of one teasing at the corner of his mouth. It was an old trick your mother had used on you whenever you were unreasonably cross as a child or needed cheering up. She would tell you not to smile as she waved “the magic wand” which was really just her hand. Of course, the act of telling you not to smile alone would bring one immediately to your face. Sure enough, as you did the same to your little boy, a grin had sprung from ear to ear across his features. “There’s my beautiful boy. I need you to do one last thing for me. Can you apologize to Darcy? We want to have so much fun tonight!”

Cole bounded away with such enthusiasm you would have never known he had quarreled with his sister moments before. You followed behind him, grabbing your coat and his from the hooks by the front door. He was already standing in front of his sister and as Thor stood, he wrapped her up as best he could in his clanky armored arms.

“I’m sorry I pushed you, Darcy.” You watched with a knowing smile as she hugged her brother back. Her little voice piped up as you caught Thor’s eye, guessing he had had a similar talk with your daughter.

“I’m sorry I called your costume stupid.” He looked at you as the siblings slipped on their shoes, now chattering happily about the candy they were going to collect. You handed Cole his jacket to put on and stepped back as Thor wrapped an arm around your waist. You glanced up at him, once again taken aback by how blue his eyes were. The small crinkles of the skin there looked a little more pronounced but you knew it was from smiles and laughter. His hair had started silvering just a little around the sides, no longer the burnished gold of his youth. You brought his hand from your waist to your shoulder, kissing it tenderly. Even his hands now held some looks of a man who was still young but had worked long and hard.

He turned you towards him and you couldn’t help but allow yourself to drown in his gaze. It was tender and after all these years still full of promise. You felt something trip across the connection you shared. A hand to his heart told you it still beat for you, still thundered under your fingertips. The flame that had once burned bright hot when you first met had now turned to a steady glowing ember. One that would last a very long time.

“What?” He questioned you with a lazy grin. You just shook your head in a bit of disbelief.

“I’m just very, very happy,” you whispered. “I can’t believe you, all this, is mine to keep as long as I live.” He looked at you for a moment, stunned into silence. You could see the gears turning in his head as he thought of words to answer you, instead settling on leaning in for yet another kiss.

“As long as we live, I’m yours and you are mine.” Nothing else mattered. It was you and him and the kids. Your family. Your family. To love and cherish and nurture. He stepped back and boomed “Who wants to go trick-or-treating?” The rumbling of their father’s voice brought Cole and Darcy to ecstatic attention as they bounced in their places by the front door. They both yelled “Me! Me!” as Thor opened the front door letting them run past its threshold and ushering you next to him as he locked it. “As long as we live,” he repeated and you nodded, grabbing his hand as you turned onto the sidewalk.

Leaves danced across the pavement in flaming reds and oranges and yellow. The kids trotted on ahead, screaming in delight as they caught up with neighborhood friends. The air smelled like cinnamon and promises. Promises that the two of you would always keep. And you were safe. And you were happy. And you were alive.

#thor #thor x reader #thor x reader and ocs #dad!thor #i feel like thor def made the most sense #because of how adorable he always looks with the kids #inthorantine writes #halloween

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beetlelands · 3 years

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okay this is probably the last one i’ll post. it’s from november 2019 and is called “son of a maitland.” bet you can’t guess what it’s about. oh and this one is just kinda chocked full of ocs so thats fun

At a family reunion Barbara Maitland (neé Anderson) was sat down by her parents after they heard her tell yet another relative that her and Adam weren’t ready for kids yet. They had heard the same thing from their daughter for years, but it’s not like they could blame her. Having kids was a big leap, but they were sick of watching her look so longingly at families.

“Sweetheart, we love you. We always have and always will.” Her mom started.

Barbara laughed awkwardly, “are you breaking up with me?”

Her parents laughed, her dad saying “of course not, sweetie.”

“You and Adam have been dating since your sophomore year of high school and you were friends far before that. You got married about five years ago.” Her mother explained.

“Thanks for reminding me, I almost forgot.” Barbara joked.

“What she’s trying to get to is that when you were little you always said you wanted to be a mother.” Her dad cut in.

Barbara’s face fell, “So that’s what this is about.”

Her mom nodded solemnly. “For years we’ve heard you say that you’re not ready for kids, but when you were five the one thing you were most excited about when it came to being an adult was being a mother. It just hurts my heart to see you look so yearningly at families when we’re out together. Or just yesterday when we when shopping, you stopped and stared at the baby clothes for a bit and didn’t think I noticed.”

“Parenthood is hard, and it’s always going to be. You’re never truly going to be ‘ready’ to be a parent. The world will never be perfect enough for your kid, but you can take the steps to make sure they enjoy the world- even with its faults.” Her dad said, giving her a gentle smile.

Her mom placed a hand on her shoulder, “We can‘t make you have a child, but we can tell you that while any fears you have may be rational, you can’t let them keep you from having a kid.”

“I- okay.” Barbara nodded, hesitation turning into determination. “I’ll talk to Adam.”

While Barbara had her parents intervene on the situation, Adam was stuck with his sister calling him out.

Adam Maitland sat down on his sister’s couch. While Barbara was at her family reunion, Adam was helping his younger sister, Jessica, move.

Jess plopped down next to him, kicking her feet up on the boxes that now took up the space where her coffee table once was. “So, how are you and Barbara?” She said in a tone he was all too familiar with. He really thought he’d make it through the day without hearing the question.

“We’re good” he said as he ignored the true meaning of her question. “We actually just started taking some couples recreational classes. She’s surprisingly good at ballroom dancing, says it’s the ex-cheerleader in her.”

“Oh come on, Adam. You know what I meant.” Jess teased her older brother.

“Look, everyone always asks. And the answer is always no. When she is pregnant, it’s not like we’re gonna keep it a secret. We’re just not ready to have a baby yet, so drop it.” He got defensive.

She put her hands up in surrender, “no need to get your panties in a twist.” He glared at her. She put her hands down.

Jessica sighed, her tone going serious. “Why are you so afraid of being a father?”

“Wha- who- I’m? What?” Adam sputtered.

“You’re afraid of parenthood. Why?” She repeated in different terms.

“I’m not afraid to be a father.”

“Then why haven’t you and Barbara had kids.”

“We’re not-“

“Don’t give me that ‘not ready’ bullshit. You’d be amazing parents, but instead you’re wasting your parental potential on restoring old objects and making pottery. Since when did Barb even like pottery?”

“We’re just not in the right place right now. The economy is a wreck, global affairs are fleeting. I don’t want to raise a kid in a crumbling society.”

“Oh my god Adam, do you hear yourself? You sound insane! You’re attached to this ridiculous need for perfection to hide away from your own insecurities.”

“Just because you took one psych class doesn’t mean you’re right.”

“Maybe so, but dude you can’t let such trivial things get to you. The world will never be perfect, that’s human nature. If you keep waiting for perfection, you’ll never have a kid.” Adam went to speak, but Jess cut him off. “If you want a baby, have a baby!”

“Okay okay, you make some good points.” He sighed. “I’ll talk to Barbara when she comes back from her parent’s house tomorrow.”

“Great! Now, let’s finish packing up my apartment. This couch has got to go.” She stood from the couch and offered her brother a hand. “Come on, grandpa.”

“I’m two years older than you!”

“Exactly.”

Adam whistled the tune of an old calypso song he couldn’t remember the words to. He was making dinner for Barbara- and himself of course. He was just about to plate the food when the door opened and the familiar sound of keys jingled for a second.

“Honey, I’m home” Barbara sung out with a small laugh. Adam smiled at his wife’s antics.

“Dinner’s ready.” He called out, and instantly he heard her footsteps approach the dining room. He placed the food in the two plates and carried them to the table.

“Welcome back honey” he greeted her, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. “how was the family reunion?” He asked, pulling out her chair for her to sit down.

Barbara sat and Adam pushed the chair back into place. “It was interesting as always. Like a pre-thanksgiving.”

He took a seat, “Was there karaoke again this year? I remember last year when your uncles performed (song) and forced your dad to join in. That was amazing.”

“Oh of course there was karaoke, have you met the Andersons?” She joked. “Granny made us all sing (song). And mom had me and dad sing (song) with her. It was wonderful.”

“I wish I could’ve gone, but I had already told Jess I’d help her move.”

“It’s no problem, babe. But they did miss having you around. You’re everyone’s favorite in-law, whether they admit it or not.”

Adam beamed, “Well I can't wait to see them at actual Thanksgiving.” They were going to do Thanksgiving at the Anderson’s this year and Christmas at the Maitland’s.

The two began eating the spaghetti Adam had prepared. They fell into a comfortable silence.

“Oh I forgot to ask how Jess was.” Barbara spoke up, totally not avoiding a topic.

“She’s doing well. I think she plans on proposing soon, which isn’t that much of a surprise considering her and Abigail are moving in together.”

“Aw that’s sweet.” She smiled, definitely reflecting on when Adam proposed to her.

“Jess actually brought something up yesterday.”

“Oh? What was it?”

“Well she asked the question as usual, but this time she was adamant about my answer.”

“Oh” she said quietly.

“She asked why I was scared to be a parent and when I answered, she told me that I was insane.”

“Well what was your answer?”

“I told her that I wasn’t afraid, I just didn’t want to raise a kid in a crumbling society. And she brought up a good point.” He sighed, placing his fork down, his spaghetti long forgotten. “Barbara, if we keep waiting for the world to be perfect, we’ll never have a kid.”

“Wow okay, my parents brought up a surprisingly similar point.”

“Do you think they conspired against us?” Adam asked, glancing around the room as if they were being watched, earning a small giggle from his wife.

“Dad said that things will never be easy and that there’s no true way to be ready for parenthood. But what really stuck with me was when he said ‘The world will never be perfect enough for your kid, but you can take the steps to make sure they enjoy the world even with its faults.’”

The couple fell silent for a few beats.

“Barbara?” She answered with a hum. “Do you want to have a child with me?”

“I- yes!” She grinned.

“But like not right now, right?”

“We should finish dinner first.”

“Oh okay wow, we’re just jumping right into it.” He awkwardly cleared his throat.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight, honey.”

“I just- this time it’s for real. It should be special right?”

“What’s more special than a home cooked meal?” She asked somewhat jokingly.

“I love you so much” he smiled squeezing her hand from across the table.

“I love you too so much.”

The couple ended up not trying that night, but they were sure to try time and time again in the following month(s). One day she took a pregnancy test and boom that shit was finally positive.

At the start of her second trimester, they told their immediate family about Barbara’s pregnancy. At the (?) week mark, they threw a baby shower. It was wonderful. And on March 7 of (year), Connor Maitland was born!!

The boy was almost 15 and in his last semester of freshman year. While he was at school, Barbara and Adam were cleaning the house. They weren’t necessarily expecting guests, but the place was due for a good cleaning. Music played on the radio that was placed on the stairs to better filter the music throughout the house. The Maitlands sang and danced along to the music. Adam stepped on a creaky floorboard and called out to Barbara to put fixing it on their to do list. He continued on with his cleaning, sweeping. Barbara entered the living room, a slower song now playing on the radio. She giggled at the sight of Adam slow dancing with the broom.

“Mind if I cut in?” She asked, looking from the broom to her husband. Adam gave a cheeky smile, placing the broom against the wall. And so the couple danced, Adam taking the lead. As the song came to an end, Adam dipped Barbara. When he brought her back up, she kissed him. The two would have continued kissing if the next song didn’t start playing. It was an upbeat song, and just so happened to be a song that Adam had put on a mixtape for Barbara way back in the day. She claimed it was one of her favorite songs because it reminded her of him. They danced again, this time Barbara leading. She spun Adam out and the two danced separately for a bit. Adam shook invisible maracas to the music, making Barbara laugh. The two had the same idea, jumping towards each other to continue their dance. But alas the place they landed was where the creaky floorboards were, they sunk through the floor crashing into the basement.

The door creaked open, causing Connor to wince at the sound. He closed the door upon entry, allowing himself to focus on the loud music playing from the old record player. The track skipped a few beats, almost as if mimicking the young boy’s heart beats.

“Mom? Dad?” He called out, putting his book bag down by the door. He slipped off his shoes before walking away from the door, heading towards the kitchen.

He noticed the large hole in the ground, and his pulse quickened. He approached the hole, peeking down to see what his below their house.

The record stopped playing as the boy looked. Connor’s eyes grew wide, and the sudden lack of noise left him drowning in his own thoughts. He scrambled back from the gaping hole, hands over his mouth. The tears forming in his eyes burned. He shook his head, sputtering the word “no.”

With a shaking hand, he pulled out his phone. He called the police, detailing the situation. His clammy hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he spoke, trying to find some sense of grounding.

Once he was done talking to the police, he called his aunt Jess. Technically his mom’s cousin Jane lives closer to them, but Jess was just a city out and he favored her over Jane. He held back his sobs as he spoke with her, but as soon as she said she was on her way, he hung up and allowed himself to mourn.

The boy sat down on the couch, curled into the fetal position. His sobs visibly shook his body. He had so many questions- namely how did this happen and why did it have to be his parents? His head pounded a sickening beat.

Connor didn’t watch when his parents’ bodies were taken away. He was barely responsive when the police asked him questions. His aunt Jess arrived and he felt like he finally found some sense of grounding. Her familiar voice was comforting. The police left because I make the rules. Jess sat down next to the crying boy, asking softly if she could touch him. Connor nodded and she wrapped her arm around him, a sideways hug of sorts considering his fetal position on the couch. He fell into her arms and she held him closely. The aunt and her nephew sat there for what felt like hours before the woman spoke up.

“Do you want to stay here?” She asked softly. Connor hesitantly shook his head no. Sure, he didn’t want to leave his home, but would it really be a home without his parents?

“Do you want to stay with me?” He nodded yes, unsure of where else he’d go. Sure, he could go live with either set of grandparents but he didn’t really want to leave his school district. He had already lost his parents, he didn’t need to lose his friends too.

“Are you ready to go now?” Connor didn’t respond. He felt like he’d never be ready. But he needed to get out of his house, the air felt heavy and contaminated by the happy memories he had of his parents. Jess didn’t rush him to answer, just softly rubbed circles into his back. Connor eventually nodded and she tapped his back twice, signaling to him that she was getting up, before retracting herself from him and standing up. Jess offered him her hand and pulled him up onto his feet.

The aunt guided her nephew out of the house, grabbing his book bag by the door. And with that they left, Jess telling him that she would handle getting all of his stuff from the house so he didn’t have to go back unless he wanted to. He didn’t want to.

Grieving is hard. Attending his parents’ funeral was like finding their dead bodies in the basement all over again.

Connor hated the funeral. Hated how people he never knew pitied him. Hated how their condolences were rehearsed and repetitive. They didn’t care- not like he did. The only people there that truly cared about his loss were his grandparents and aunt. But that’s because the death of Adam and Barbara was the loss of their children and her brother.

The funeral was over soon enough, and Connor was able to continue on with his life. Well it wasn’t that easy. The boy drowned himself in tasks to distract from his pain. He picked up several hobbies, not quite enjoying any of them but forcing himself to continue doing them. After six months, Connor had pushed his emotions to the side so often that he almost felt numb when someone mentioned his parents.

Lydia Deetz’s mother died six months ago. Now here she was, having left the Big Apple for some small town in Connecticut. But the good thing about the new house was that it was haunted! Sure, the ghosts were very vanilla but they were sweet and still ghosts nonetheless. When she had gotten to know the ghosts, Adam and Barbara Maitland, they mentioned their son Connor. Adam asked Lydia when she would be enrolling into school, and meekly asked her if she would look for their son. Just to check on him, because they haven’t had any contact with him since they died. Lydia sympathized with Connor and was quick to agree to the Maitland’s task.

But before Lydia could even start to think about said task, a certain demon came into her life. That’s right. Lawrence Betelgeuse “Beetlejuice” Shoggoth. The bio-exorcist himself, the ghost with the most.

We all know how that story goes. Lydia summons Beej, all hell breaks loose, dance break, yada yada, knock knock knock, uwu family, another dance break, Beej goes back to the netherworld, shake shake shake Senora.

It had been a month since the Beetlejuice situation had been dealt with and it was time for Lydia to go to school. She was bummed to have to return to normalcy, or as close to normal as Lydia could achieve.

Lydia left out for school, reminding herself of her promise to the Maitlands. She was to find Connor and tell him of his parents’... situation. She would have to explain the whole being dead thing. Despite having come to terms with Emily’s death, a part of Lydia was jealous to know that he would get his parents back and she couldn’t get her mom back. She knew it was wrong to feel that way, but she was only human after all.

Lydia looked down at the picture in her hand one last time before pocketing it. It was a picture of Adam, Barbara, and Connor. It had a note on the back that the Maitlands wrote for their son. Lydia had studied the boy’s face all weekend, having looked at several pictures with Adam and Barbara.

She walked through the hallway, looking around. The school wasn’t too big, so she shouldn’t have too much of a problem. But there were still quite a bit of people. She continued toward her locker, listening in on conversations in hope of hearing his name.

It had reached the end of the day and Lydia still hadn’t seen Connor. She had given up hope for the day, deciding she should try again tomorrow because he may be sick or something. She walked down the hallway, disappointed that she couldn’t talk to him that day.

Lydia was walking on the sidewalk, passing the school. That’s when she turned a corner and bumped straight into the person she had been looking for. She had nearly fallen down from the impact but the boy caught her.

“I’m so sorry” they said in unison, laughing a little at their synchronization.

“I should’ve been paying attention.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. The action reminded her of Adam.

“I think we both could’ve been paying more attention than we were. But at least no one was injured.” She shrugged.

He nodded in agreement, smiling. He went to continue walking, but she cleared her throat. “You’re Connor Maitland, right?” She asked meekly.

“I- yeah? How do you- why?” He sputtered, understandably confused.

“I know your parents.”

“I think you mean ‘knew’” He mumbled, looking down.

“No, I know what I said.”

His head jerked up. “What- you- huh?” He subconsciously pushed up his glasses.

“We have a lot to discuss, Connor.” She stuck her hand out towards him and he hesitantly grabbed it. They shook hands. “I’m Lydia Deetz.”

“We, uh, we can go somewhere to talk?” He hesitantly suggested. “There’s a bench not far from here.” He nodded in the direction of the bench.

“Lead the way” she smiled, motioning for him to go.

They sat down on the bench. Connor wrung his hands together, mind racing as he waited for Lydia to speak. Another one of Adam’s mannerisms, she noted.

“Long, medium, or short version of the story?”

“Uh, medium I guess” he shrugged.

“Good choice.” She nodded before jumping right into the story. “I moved into your old house with my dad and Delia, just a week ago or so. We’re from New York, but that’s not important right now.” She cleared her throat, deciding not to talk about Emily. “Your parents are ghosts.” She said bluntly.

“What?” Connor muttered, furrowing his brows.

“They tried to scare my family out of the house. But it really didn’t work. I tried to help them scare my dad so we could go back to New York. But he couldn’t see Adam and Barbara, and he didn’t believe me. Adam, Barbara, and I decided to come up with a plan to scare my dad and Delia. They were planning a dinner party, so we decided to cut in on that. It was great. Adam and Barbara were able to possess the guests and had everyone sing Day-O. It wasn’t exactly scary, but it was just up their alley. But that didn’t work. It just made dad want to stay more. He wanted to profit off the house. Some stuff went down, like a lot of convoluted stuff that I’ll tell you later. I don’t want to overwhelm you.” Too late. “Point is, now we all live like one big family. Adam, Barbara, Delia, Dad, and me.” She smiled. “Anyway, your parents asked me to try to find you, to let you know they were still around. They miss you, a lot. This weekend we went through scrapbooks and they told me a lot of stories about you. Oh! Speaking of..” she trailed off, reaching into her book bag. She pulled out the picture of Adam and Barbara with Connor. She handed it to him. “There’s a note for you.”

Connor read the note, and began tearing up. Lydia wondered what the note said, having previously decided to not snoop despite her curiosity.

“I don’t know what to say” he said quietly, taking off his glasses to rub away the tears falling from his eyes.

“You don’t have to say anything- not until you’re ready.” She shrugged.

Connor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He sniffled as his tears slowed to a stop. He placed his glasses back on his face.

He slipped the note into his jacket pocket, sighing. “Thank you- for bringing me the note, for talking to me, for giving me time to process everything. Just. Thank you, Lydia.”

“It’s no problem, Connor. I’m just glad you actually took time to listen to me and didn’t just write me off as some crazy person.” She said with a small laugh and he smiled.

“Can I give you a letter to bring to them tomorrow? And can you tell them that I love them.”

“You could always come over” she suggested. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Or if you need more time-“

“No no, I would like to see them”

“Then you should be able to see them.” She shrugged.

“Okay nice. Just ask your dad if I can come over tomorrow, and we can walk together after school. I know Aunt Jess will let me go, as long as I don’t give her all the details of course. She’ll just be glad I’m finally hanging out with someone outside of marching band practice.”

She smiled, “That’s fair.”

He looked down at the watch on his wrist. “Oh I gotta go. Again, thank you.” He stood up, pulling his book bag onto his shoulders. “Bye, Lydia!” He said before running off.

“Bye, Connor!” She called after him. He gave her a backward wave before turning the corner.

Lydia pumped her fist in success. She grabbed her book bag and headed home.

She placed her book bag by the door, taking off her shoes. “Adam! Barbara!” She yelled up the stairs. “I’m home!” She would’ve been quieter, but her dad was at work and Delia was out shopping so she didn’t have to worry about them complaining about her shouting.

The ghosts flew down the stairs, tumbling to a stop in front of the teenager. Lydia laughed, “why don’t you just go through the floor and ceiling?”

“Feels weird” Adam shrugged. “But that’s not what’s important.” He started.

“Did you talk to him?” Barbara asked, clearly excited for the answer.

“Yeah!” Lydia smiled.

“How’d it go?” Adam asked nervously.

“He didn’t freak out when I explained the situation to him. He cried at the note you wrote him and said he wanted to write a letter back to you. But I invited him to come to the house tomorrow- if that’s okay with you guys.”

“Of course it’s okay!” Barbara celebrated with Adam.

“Wait, we should ask your dad- or Delia.” Adam said, earning bids from his wife and Lydia.

“Dad will definitely say yes to Connor coming over. Ever since we went to the Netherworld, he’s been all soft when it comes to family things. But don’t tell him I told you that.”

“Our lips are sealed” Adam joked. In unison, him and Barbara pretended to zip their lips. However, Adam’s lips became actual zippers.

Lydia and Barbara laughed. The visual joke reminded Lydia of Beetlejuice but she wouldn’t say so. The man reverted his lips back to normal.

“Honey, that was terrible.” Barbara said, shaking her head.

“You loved it” He teased, poking at her side.

She swatted his hand away, giggling. “Maybe I did.” She shrugged, regaining composure.

Lydia smiled at the couple’s soft antics, despite the teenager daughter in her telling her to pretend to be disgusted. “I can’t believe you’ve figured out advanced dad jokes.”

“Can’t wait to annoy Conn with them.” He beamed. Barbara smiled softly at the sentiment, rubbing his arm endearingly.

“He’ll love them” she said quietly.

Lydia didn’t want to encroach on their moment which was clearly personal, but wasn’t sure if she should leave or not.

“I now have two children to bother with my dad jokes!” Adam pumped a fist into the air, clearing any of Lydia’s doubts on her presence in the room.

“Oh no” Lydia deadpanned, pretending to be upset by the notion.

“Oh yes. The dad jokes- or should I say rad jokes- are just getting started.”

“No, no, you should not say” Lydia shook her head, but was unable to prevent herself from laughing a little.

Lydia and Connor walked side by side on the sidewalk after school. Charles had, unsurprisingly, said yes to Connor coming over and Delia declared that she would make cookies for the boy (and Lydia of course). They walked in a comfortable silence- at least it was comfortable for Lydia. Connor was having a little breakdown over seeing his parents again. They were almost to the house when he finally spoke.

“Okay so how does this all work?” He asked suddenly, looking over to her.

“What?”

“My parents are ghosts” he said simply.

“Oh yeah, I suppose I didn’t really explain the whole being dead thing. I don’t know how all of it works, considering I’m not dead, but I can try to explain from our side of things.” She shrugged and he nodded for her to continue. “It’s really all just about the willingness to acknowledge the strange and unusual. Almost everyone just turns a blind eye when something odd happens, they move on. To put it simply: they don’t look, so they can’t see. I discovered Adam and Barbara in the house because I was raised to like the strange and unusual. Hell, I myself am strange and unusual. So, I was able to see them as ghosts.”

“All I have to do is want to see them? To believe they’re there?”

“I mean yeah basically.”

“And can I touch them?”

“Yeah they've been learning how to interact more with the living realm. Ghost time works different than our time, so while it’s only been a few days since they’ve been ghosts they’ve had plenty of time to practice being corporeal.”

“Have you met any other ghosts?”

“I met a demon, but I haven’t really been around the town enough to really try to find ghosts. Then again, there might not be any as all ghosts are to proceed directly to the Netherworld. Adam and Barbara just didn’t get the memo, and when they did, they didn’t want to leave.” She shrugged.

“I’m glad they didn’t.” Connor smiled.

They made it to the Deetz-Maitland house and Lydia opened the door for Connor to enter. She came in after him, closing the door.

Lydia walked passed him, cupping her hands over her mouth as she shouted up the stairs. “Adam, Barbara! We’re here!” From the kitchen Delia called for her to stop yelling. Lydia rolled her eyes.

The ghosts ran down the stairs, not wanting to overwhelm Connor by flying. The boy stared at his parents and they stared back, wondering if he could see them. Lydia gave Connor a thumbs up from over his ghost-parents’ shoulders.

Connor took a deep breath to calm his nerves but his breath was shaky. His eyes were starting to water. They looked the same as they had that morning when he left for school. They looked the same as they did when he saw their dead bodies in the basement- albeit cleaner.

“Hey kiddo” Adam said cautiously. His voice made tears fall from Connor’s eyes.

“We missed you” Barbara said softly, voice wavering as she wept.

“I mi-ssed you t-oo” his words broke as he cried.

The parents hugged their son, and they stayed like that for a while. Lydia left them alone, going to bother Delia in the kitchen.

They pulled from the hug, and Barbara held her son’s face in her hands. Tears stained the ghost’s cheeks. Her cold hand grazed his cheek.

“You’ve gotten so big.” Her smile was soft, almost sad.

Adam ruffled his hair, “You’ve got to stop growing kiddo, you can’t be taller than me.”

They laughed, but Connor didn’t push his dad’s hand away like he used. He relished in their presence.

and again that’s it. that’s all i wrote xx

#long post #draft #a work out of progress #straight up didn't edit this #not beetlelands this time lads #adam maitland/barbara maitland #the maitlands are parents Always !!!!!!!!#be it lydia or a kid made from my wack machinations #breaking the fourth wall #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice #adam maitland #barbara maitland #lydia deetz

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whispersafterdusk · 3 years

Text

Prompt #1: Foster

There were always new and missing faces when Revkr visited home; the Stormforges were known for two things: producing especially skilled craftsmen, and fostering or adopting needy children.

Two faces he'd only seen a handful of times before were both supported in his right arm as he walked at the rear of a small procession; Revkr, along with his mother, two of his sisters, and his youngest brother along with a scattering of their children had descended upon the market to purchase the food needed for a full family gathering tonight (what most would consider a feast tended to be just another evening dinner at the Stormforge house, considering the number of mouths to feed). While everyone else had a basket or bundle of something in their arms Revkr had offered to tote his sister Finia's two youngest for the trek across the city and Finia had gladly handed the boys over and taken a lighter basket of freshly baked bread in their place.

The twins had been born three summers ago and, as elezen tended to be, were tiny compared to their hyur cousins. Eugennoix had his head pillowed against Revkr's shoulder, sound asleep, while his brother Nolanel was fascinated with the clasp that held the warrior’s cloak closed tightly at the neck and often he had to carefully de-tangle the boy's fingers from it before he managed to click it open. The other children - a mix of hyur and elezen, blood and adopted, the same as Revkr's own siblings - milled about, excited that their 'favorite' uncle had come to visit, and it took the full attention of all the adults present to corral the group and keep them on course for home.

"You always do make quite the sight on family outings.” ((Continued below cut))

Distracted as he was with again shooing Nolanel's tiny fingers away from the clasp it took him a moment to first register the voice and its identity, and then to locate where it had come from; there, standing at the foot of a ramp that eventually wound its way up to the Pillars, was one Lord Edmont de Fortemps, whose gaze quickly glanced over the group as a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Revkr had served beneath the Fortemps banner for nearly thirty years before being swept up in the realm’s problems where he’d gone from humble knight to Warrior of Light; while he had unofficially retired from his post there was a part of him that still thought of himself as Ser Stormforge, Fortemps knight, and seeing Edmont prodded at that wistful ache deep inside for those simpler days. He slowed and let his family continue, waving them on, and once the throng had moved out of earshot Edmont approached.

"My Lord. Tis rare to see you by yourself," Revkr said.

Edmont's lips twitched at the title. "Old habits, old friend."

Revkr chuckled; as his main hand was full he offered his left awkwardly, which the Count nonetheless clasped firmly. "Someday the knight in me will retire himself. Until then the formalities will slip out as they will."

Now it was Edmont's turn to chuckle, then he gestured with his head for Revkr to walk with him. "Which of your sisters do these two little ones belong to?"

"Finia. Just turned three this year." Revkr fell in beside him and the two began to stroll away from the market in the general direction his family had just departed in.

"They are quite precious at that age, are they not?"

"I wouldn't really know, I'm so rarely around these days..."

Edmont nodded. "An unfortunate necessity... Would that I could lessen your burdens in any way but I shall consider it a good sign that I happened upon you and yours tonight. There is a matter I was considering and I believe I know the path I should choose."

"Oh? Has something happened?"

They walked a few steps more in silence before Edmont sighed. "You of all people know I strive to take care of those that serve or seek the protection of Fortemps. It so happens that a knight you may recall - Alistaire - was killed recently. He left behind a young daughter and even younger son, both of which I took in as wards of the house to keep them out of the orphanage."

At the name Revkr closed his eyes and took a deep breath -- he'd known the man, of course. The number of hyur who both called Ishgard home AND served Fortemps was very small. Alistaire's wife had barely survived the birth of their daughter, and then had succumbed to bleeding and fever with the son despite the best efforts of the chirugeons. "What of his mother?"

"Passed last spring. The children were staying with family friends but they...lack the space."

Revkr opened his eyes to see Edmont giving him a knowing look. "Ah. And I imagine your wife believes you both too old to be rearing children."

Edmont took in a deep breath through his nose. "I do miss when my sons were young, though I scarcely had time for them then. I would have the time now but there is... There is a question of bonding. Whether they could ever see me as a father, or my wife as their mother. The girl is old enough to remember both her parents, and does not know me as anything other than a lord."

Nolanel took that moment to shove chilly fingers into Revkr's beard and then give it a hard tug; with a grunt (accompanied by a quiet laugh from Edmont) he carefully pulled the hand free. "If you're asking us to take them in instead, we've certainly the room. Five of father's most recent apprentices have since struck out on their own and their quarters are empty. And I know my siblings always stand ready to welcome yet more into their respective households."

Edmont's face took on a look of relief. "I realize I've been remiss in my social calls to your family lately so I pray I am not imposing...but to hear that you still are willing to take in those who need it is heartening."

"It's not imposing - our doors are always open. Stick around long enough and no doubt someone would attempt to adopt even you," Revkr grinned, very lightly nudging the noble with his elbow.

"Now wouldn't that be a sight," Edmont smiled. "May I ask that you arrange a meeting, between myself and whoever would be willing to take the two in?"

"I can, or you can simply follow me home and take care of it now."

"You're certain?"

"I am. My parents certainly wouldn't make YOU of all people wait to speak with them."

Edmont nodded with a faint hum. They were already walking in the correct direction anyway, and a comfortable silence fell between the two as they moved along through the darkened streets of Ishgard. As always the front windows of the house were lit with a warm orange glow, and as he opened the door he nearly collided with Finia.

"THERE you are, I was beginning to wond- oh, goodness, Count Fortemps!" Finia quickly backpedaled to get out of the doorway to allow the two to enter, stepping back toward Revkr long enough to grab Nolanel from his arm. "Welcome, my lord. Please, allow me to show you to the parlor to warm yourself."

"Thank you, my dear," was Edmont's reply as Finia led them from the entryway into a hallway that stretched from the front of the Stormforge residence to the back where it ended in a set of stairs that carried one to the second and third floors.

To their left a great deal of activity could be heard - voices, laughter, the scrape of chairs and sounds of cutlery and plates. Technically only Revkr's parents, Finia along with her husband and four children, and his youngest brother Erik with his wife and two children, lived in the family home with the others having their own dwelling nearby but Halstein and his family had also come to visit this evening so the kitchen and dining hall behind that particular door bustled with the sound of an enormous clan come together to prepare and share a meal. The kitchen, dining hall, and his parents bedroom took up the leftmost side of the bottom floor (his mother couldn’t really handle stairs well anymore) and then the doors on the right-hand side of the hallway opened to the grand parlor and a pair of smaller, more private sitting rooms.

Finia led them to the grand parlor where a fire roared in the hearth and saw them settled into the cushy armchairs before its warmth before hurrying away with a promise of returning for Eugennoix once she had Nolanel settled. Not long after Finia had departed a young hyur woman came in with a tray with wine glasses - four of them, meaning his parents would soon be attending - and a bottle of a deep red wine.

Edmont looked the girl up and down curiously. "Apologies but you are an unfamiliar face - I do not believe I’ve seen you among this house before."

"N-no, my lord. I am only come to the household within the last few months," the girl replied quietly, face flushing. She gently sat the tray down on a small side table and deftly uncorked the bottle. "I mean to study and become a seamstress."

"Ah, I see. Gylda possesses a remarkable skill - you will learn a great deal from her."

The girl smiled and poured the glasses, handing them to the two men before bowing and departing the room. Edmont watched her go, and then turned to Revkr. "How do you manage to keep up with who belongs where?"

"I don't," Revkr answered flatly, then laughed and gently adjusted Eugennoix who still slumbered away on his shoulder. "I am at least finally old enough to be able to claim memory problems with names and faces. When I was able to visit more regularly it was a lot easier."

Finia came back for Eugennoix then; soon after Revkr's parents came in and Edmont had hardly gotten the whole proposal out of his mouth before Meriel had clapped her hands and hurried (well, hobbled) off to go prepare one of the spare rooms. Bayard looked a bit embarrassed at his wife's eagerness but politely excused himself to go assist her, leaving Edmont and Revkr to silently sip at their glasses of wine in the comfort of the fire's glow.

About halfway through his glass Revkr noted that the bustling and activity across the hall seemed to be dying down. "Would you care to stay for dinner?"

Edmont shook his head and delicately returned his glass to the tray. "I must decline, unfortunately, as my own house will no doubt be wondering where I've gotten to. How long will you be in Ishgard? It has...been some time since we've had a moment to simply talk for the sake of catching up."

"That...is anyone's guess," he sighed heavily. "Assuming no metaphorical - or literal - fires spring up, I had intended to stay three days, possibly longer."

The count stood, lightly tapping the end of his walking cane against Revkr's boot. "Then I will cordially invite you to join me for dinner tomorrow evening, if nothing else demands your attention. And if I may impose a bit further, I feel it would do my sons's spirits some good to see you again as well."

"What could they want to hear from this tired old man?"

Edmont shook his head with a smile. "What indeed, Warrior of Light."

Revkr rolled his eyes and stood, placing a friendly hand on the man's shoulder and gesturing for the door. "Go home, Count Fortemps, before your family turns the city upside-down looking for you."

He walked him to the door and then stood to watch as he disappeared from sight down the street. Just as he'd closed the door Finia came sweeping in behind him.

"Ah, I was too late to wish him a good evening. Did he know we set a place at the table for him?"

"He declined as he needed to return home but was grateful all the same, I'm sure."

Finia looped her arm in his and pulled him toward the dining hall. "Well, come along, dear brother. Dinner is ready and you've a table full of children excited to hear about your latest adventures."

Revkr made a face. "I'm not sure they're exactly child-appropriate."

"Then make something up. Come on."

"Did mother mention to you...?"

"She did. We'll be gathering, all of us, to discuss it in the morning, but I'm more than willing to take on the pair... Poor dears."

Most everyone was seated at the tables and waiting for Finia and Revkr to take their seats; if his parents and siblings would be otherwise occupied in the morning then that would give him time to spend with however many nieces, nephews, and fosterlings were about.

In hindsight he probably should have asked Edmont for the children's names...but then again, they would fit right in with the rest of the family so far as he was concerned as he already could barely keep names straight as it was.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #edmont de fortemps #WoL

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chubbyreaderchan · 4 years

Text

Technically No | Jacob Black x witch!Reader | Twilight/Buffy the Vampire Slayer Crossover| 1

jacob is over 18+ in this as well as reader! It's also a slight modern au because technology makes life easier man. And no I don't know what timeline this is. It's after Jacob phases and before Buffy dies again. So you might see Glory in this. Also it’s under a cut because this introduction/beginning is super long.

"Did you make it okay?" Buffy asked over the phone.

"Yes, Buff. I'm in my new house. I am going to my new job Monday" (Y/n) said with a soft sigh as she leaned against her new counter, having just moved from one small town to the other.

Sunnydale to Forks.

"Good. I'm glad you are safe." (Y/n) smiled a small yet sort of sad smile at the prospect of leaving the scoobs but there was a job offer in Forks that was just to good for her to not take and she was damn lucky to find a house for rent. She wondered if it was haunted. Not that was a big deal for someone who went to high school on top of a literal hellmouth.

"How's Dawny?" (Y/n) also knew that Dawn's first day back to high school was coming up as well as Buffy's first day of college for the year. "And did you get your course schedule yet?" She stated sitting in the empty living room floor eating her favorite fast food meal. Her moving truck wouldn't be there with her stuff for at least another day or two.

It wasn't exactly a house full of stuff yet, of course. She had just gone from living with her parents to on her own within a flash it seemed. It was as if the universe was pulling and placing her right in the middle of now where Washington.

"Yeah but I didn't get some of the courses I wanted. Have to try next semester." She sighed over the phone. Was it normal to talk to someone you had just left the day before as if you hadn't seen them in months? Maybe not but a lot was happening as the end of summer was coming to fruition. "Dawn is excited to go back to school"

"Interesting... She wasn't yesterday." Buffy sighed over the phone as her friend teased her. "Oh! So I'm going to try to get some essentials tomorrow!" She said suddenly remembering what she called Buffy about in the first place. "What color do you think I should decorate my kitchen in? Green? Red?" Buffy almost laughed again at one of her closest friends.

"You'll know when you actually go to the store. It's not like I can see the house." "Not yet! But you all are going to come visit me some day!" She laughed a bit. Her phone buzzed at her to charge. "Hey... Buffy. I gotta go. Phones is dying. Tell Willow and everyone I miss them."

"Will do." With that, the phone was hung up and placed on its charger.

(Y/n) sighed picking up her trash and began the work to make the floor as comfortable as possible until she could actually buy a decent bed.

The next morning, (Y/n) woke up at a fair hour for a Saturday and took a shower. It was nice to wash out some of the travel and sleep stink off before she slipped on her clothes for the day. Then she went to grab her phone as well as keys and her wallet. There was no way she could sleep on the floor for one more day and eating fast food everyday wasn't exactly a healthy option even if she did just arrive in town.

Sure she was still tired from the plane ride but she would stay tired. She need to find at least an air mattress. The car ride was short, it was nice. Familiar. It wasn't a huge change from one small town to another... Minus the demons and vampires. She hoped. It was simple enough to find the small plaza that had a few small shops and even a diner within walking distance of each other.

It was not even remotely difficult to find the things she oh so desperately needed. It was wonderful. (Y/n) was even able to add to her growing collection of magical artifacts when she stumbled into an antique shop. She thanked the gods that her family had loaned her a bit of cash to help her get by until she was fully working again.

Her day was going great... That was until she was hit with pangs of hunger. 'Did I even eat breakfast?' she asked herself before glancing at the time and gasping. She had been out a lot longer than she had realized.

Didn't she see a diner? She walked to her rental car and started a vague drive. Ah-ha! There was a diner.

She pulled in and was seated quite quickly. It wasn't long before her meal was ordered and her attention was drawn to her phone as she waited. There was a text message from Anya complaining about an argument she and Xander were having. (Y/n) laughed softly before responding with her opinion.

While she was distracted she didn't notice the small group enter. Especially a young man who had a slight staring problem. His eyes were locked on (Y/n) as she fiddled around with her phone. The young man was known by most as Jacob Black. A good kid who was madly in love with Bella Swan, his childhood friend.

"Jake... You okay?" Bella another member of the small group asked with concern on her face. An older man in a wheelchair who was previously chatting with the other older man in the group looked at the one named Jacob. A small knowing smile flashed over his features as he looked at his son.

'It's about damn time' Billy the man in the wheelchair thought. "Jake!" Bella's voice called him again, finally snapping the dark haired young man from his thoughts.

(Y/n) who was finally served food sat her phone down finally not even noticing the set of eyes on the back of her head.

"Is she-?" Bella whispered to Jacob just low enough for her father to not hear. "I... Think so... I think..."

"Son..." It was Billy who joined the conversation. "If you don't go talk to her... I will." Jacob's eyes went wide. How embarrassing would that be? His dad talking to his imprint before he could.

Jacob looked at the girl happily eating her dinner and playing around with her technology. Then she giggled. Oh God.

How could it be that just the day before he was trying to convince Bella not to turn into a vampire? That he was so madly and so deeply in love with the vampire girl that he defied Sam his pack leader for turn into dust and be replaced instantly by a young woman he hadn't even spoken to?

Jacob was so distracted by his thoughts he barely caught his father moving to go introduce himself. "No, wait. Dad. I'll go." He quickly stood up and wandered over to the table nervously. What was he going to say? What if she didn't like him? What if he said something dumb?

"Hey I'm Jacob." He said awkwardly, causing her to jump from what she was doing. Her face scrunched up in confusion before she finally looked up. Their eyes locked and it felt like everything stopped. Her heart beat hard against her ribcage at the very tall and dark haired man before her. "You looked lonely. Uhm. I know we just got here. But..." What was he doing? Inviting her to sit with his dad and his dad's best friend for dinner? That's weird isn't it? Especially since he was going to have dinner with a girl he was in love with.

"I'd love to join you." Why did she just agree to crash someone else's dinner? It looked like a family affair of sorts. "I'm (Y/n)!" She suddenly remembered her name. It felt like her face was on fire. He shifted from slightly nervous to having a large smile on his face. How sweet.

He even helped by carrying her stuff to the table. "This is my dad Billy. His friend Charlie and his daughter Bella." Jacob introduced allowing her to sit down. Something in the back of her mind told her that this was weird.

Something was off.

It felt... Magical. She knew magical.

But then Charlie began to talk about how he was a sheriff and the weirdness seemed to disappear. "So...where are you from?" Charlie asked trying to judge if this new girl was going to cause him trouble later. "Oh. Sunnydale," she paused. "California. Also graduated from Sunnydale high." She explained with a small smile.

Maybe it wasn't so bad joining their little dinner. It was nice having people to talk to, especially when one was so new. "What do you like to do Jake?" She said looking over at him before taking a bite of food.

"Oh, uh. I buy and flip cars right now. It's more of a side hustle really." He smiled at her. "Really?" She said with a smile on her lips. "Because the car I'm in is just a rental... If you find anything good will you think of me? I can't pay the rate they are wanting forever." She joked, gently and playfully touching his arm.

It was like fire. Both literally and figuratively. If it weren't for the people she could almost throw herself at him. But then his skin was so hot that it almost burned. "Absolutely." Jacob smiled. "What's your phone number?" He looked almost like a puppy who was just given a treat. She took his phone and put her number in and he sent her a text. A wolf emoji.

Her eyes looked him over again. Then the phone in her hand began ringing. She answered it quickly, it was the moving company.

Jacob watched as she excused herself to talk to whoever. Her once happy self was instantly deflated. Jacob did not like that at all. He felt it. He actually felt the sadness in her. Is this what it was like to have an imprint? Actually feeling their pain? She walked back in and sighed.

“Are you okay?” Jacob asked with what (Y/n) could only describe as genuine concern.

“My moving truck is going to be late. On Monday while I’m at work instead of on Sunday.” She shouldn’t be so easy to talk to someone she had only known for 20 minutes. Jacob didn’t like the look on her face one of distress.

Jacob looked her over again, hardly getting tired of looking at her face. “I have some friends on the Res. Maybe we can meet them. Help you out..” Jacob offered without a second thought.

“Really?” she looked at him unsure at first.

Jacob nodded, a bright smile on his face.

“O-okay” She agreed.

a/n: Stopping this one here and writing part 2 next. If I didn’t this would be 3000 words. Don’t worry I’m literally going from posting this part to writing the next bit because I already know what I’m going to do. Then I’m going to write a Paul version of this.

#twilight reader insert #jacob black x reader #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #btvs reader insert #part 1

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magneticmage · 3 years

Text

A Web of Betrayal

This is an excerpt from yet another fic I will probably never write. I have a lot of those. Anyways, enjoy!

Cw for sexism, plans of poisoning and Canon death of named characters. Also a discussion of how Orzammar's sex-based system is stupid and artifical binaries do not work in real life because nonbinary and transpeople exist. And enforcement of such a binary system hurts people who do not fit within its demands.

Valda Aeducan was lucky.

She was a princess in Orzammar. Daughter of the King and his noble Queen. Noble Caste and wealthy. Desirable and beautiful.

And yet she felt strangled in unseen webs at times for it.

She had seen her father's favoritism from a long time ago. He favored his sons, particularly his eldest two. It was not that surprising in retrospect, she supposed. Bhelen had been born from a casteless concubine-which had further soured her parents' then already-strained relationship. She had been born a woman, and thus should have inherited her mother's noble caste, not her father's royal one. But her mother had convinced the King to break from tradition for her daughter's benefit. Perhaps with the potential a future alliance of marriage could bring him.

The whole caste system was sexist, really. She had recalled the few times her cousin, Firenze, had broken down in her arms sobbing because they had not fit between their mother's noble caste and their father's casteless one since they did not wish to be male or female. Their brother, Rethan, had been assigned their mother's caste as a noble and he lived in fear for the discovery of his true self and being forced down amongst the casteless, to live in squalor and disease and refuse until he died. Both had gone off into the Deep Roads one day and neither returned. Rumors said that Rethan had escaped to the surface and Firenze had joined the Legion. But they were only rumors.

The caste system was killing them, bit by bit.

Even when one's gender did not affect things, one's caste certainly did. She was a noblewoman and was expected to be chaste and honorable. She had more bodies hidden under her stone caverns to be fed to her spiders and spilled more dwarven blood than quite a few members of the Warrior caste. She had been denied male lovers unless her father had approved of the match. Gorim was proof of that.

It rankled her. Coated her veins in venom and she was not surprised to find her growing disdain was matched with an increasing skill in actual poison and its antidotes.

She saw how Bhelen held the same doubts and frustrations. He was chided and ignored by their father, only gaining attention when he failed drastically. While she was praised for her own combat skills, it was because it was rare and often discouraged for women to become warriors due to the looming threat of broodmothers. Or so her father had explained when she had picked up her brother's sword to practice. She had batted her lashes and played on her father's soft spot as his only daughter and the family's precious jewel, to be safeguarded in Proving fights and not in true Deep Roads expeditions, when she was allowed to fight at all. She had been forced to maintain that image for years. She was as harmless as a nug as far as many nobles were concerned when really all she had been doing was weaving webs of influence and manipulating court intrigue to her family's benefit.

It had only been a matter of time before she had learned of Bhelen's ambitions. He had begun to be more reserved at family meals. But Trian was busy being groomed for heirdom and Barran-her own twin- was focused on both supporting their brother and learning the ways of war for the day he became Commander of Orzammar's armies. Whatever was left of them. No one else noticed the growing frown in their younger brother's expression. The faint hint of mockery in each laugh. The deep exhale of relief the moment he had a moment away from his brothers' shadows.

But she did.

And so she waited.

She did not strike when he took that lovely redhead as his lover. Trian had scoffed and demanded she be kept to her rooms like the dirty casteless woman she was. Barran had scowled and offered to find him a better match when he had time. Bhelen did not listen. Valda did not need to see the tender looks and small touches they hid before each parting to know how deep the affection ran. She even helped the woman by sending her gifts of food and small trinkets in passing over the years-always discreet, of course-and let her presume Bhelen had been the one to send them or whatever she wished to think of them. And her little brother did notice and gave her a questioning look between meals every once in a while after each present arrived. But she only smiled and went back to discussing the ways the various Houses were quarreling again as she cut delicately into her bronto steak.

She did not strike when she saw Bhelen begin to make moves in Dust Town. To ally with the Carta bosses to do his dirty work in exchange for some of the wealth and finer adjustments in life. Trian did not notice a few of his silver buttons went missing and blamed it on the servants as thieves. One poor girl had been beaten so badly that Valda had stepped in and offered the girl a new job instead of cleaning her brother's laundry: to make sure her spiders were fed. She had agreed and despite the healing wounds causing her some delay in being able to work, she had grown extremely adept at managing the caves and the spiders had learned not to harm the girl, even when she took a few of their eggs and venom for herself. Valda did not mind nor ask after her blatant thefts. Being a woman of any rank was hard enough when the men of the noble caste were as inconsiderate and selfish like her eldest brother.

Still she did not strike when Bhelen began to put his plans in motion. He had quietly orchestrated small quarrels between a few noble Houses, pitting them against each other in Provings to test his skills at coercing the upper classes. Barran had bested them all and drawn himself as a target after he ended the conflict through diplomacy. Their father had held a feast in celebration. Trian had all but secured Lady Helmi's daughter's affections by then, bolstering the traditionalists' favor in the Assembly despite Barran's rising own status and favor amongst the reformists and Warrior castes. Bhelen seethed over his wine that night. Until she had slipped him a note with the location of a warehouse full of food and medicine and scraps of old unused fabric and metal from her many, many gowns and armor. He had put the warehouse to use and it was empty within a fortnight, it's contents gutted and distributed amongst his followers.

He had thanked her but did not reveal his plans further.

But they both knew where the rot lay. And they both knew what measures would be needed to remove it.

Still, the entire system did not need to be torn down like he wished. Rebuilt and reconstructed, but not demolished.

So she struck at last.

It was the eve of the expedition and the feast was in full swing. Trian was complaining until his eye had wandered to some lovely noble women wishing to dance and flirt with the heir to the throne. Barran glowed with pride and swagger as he roamed the hall before disappearing with a pair noble-hunters, one on each arm. A third had been sent to Gorim's quarters and Valda did not pretend to hide her jealousy when the woman left with a smile later that night. Luckily, her handmaidens had been more than happy to help calm her anger by giving her tasks until it was time to move. She was still human, after all. She still held regrets sometimes.

If she were not who she was, she might have been able to have him. But the castes were absolute and the Assembly and her father and Harrowmont all valued tradition. Some more than others.

She was waiting alongside his concubine when Bhelen returned to his room, the two of them happily chatting about various skin and hair care regimes and the frustrations of the world's expectations with her future sister-in-law and herself. There was no doubt Bhelen would do anything for his loved ones.

And so would she.

"Sister, I....I did not expect you." He frowned and crossed his arms as he made his way across the room towards the two women.

"I know," She savored her last sip of wine for the evening before setting the glass down, "And I have a proposal, dear brother. I will be blunt since it is time we be honest to, at least, each other."

Bhelen's brows furrowed and the canny intelligence he took great pains to hide gleamed bright and open in his eyes then. "I'm listening."

"I know some of what you have struggled with these past years," She ran a finger around the rim of her glass, letting the sound breathe into the air for a moment before she continued, "Our struggles may not be the same, but we understand that our home is being destroyed by more than the darkspawn. It is being destroyed by ourselves."

Bhelen sat down across from her, gently taking Rica's hand and kissing her knuckles, "Would you mind preparing a bath for me, love? I need a moment to discuss some things with my sister."

Rica nodded and curtesied, "Course. My lady, excuse me."

Valda waved her off, "None of that, my dear. You will be Queen one day. Bow to no one but the ones you love."

Bhelen blinked in surprise and Rica smiled, as pleasant and easy-going as ever, "I will keep that in mind."

As Rica left the room, Bhelen leaned forward, fingers dipping out of view to no doubt reach for his knife sheath. "Queen, sister? Whatever gave you-"

"Honesty," She reminded him simply, "You and I both wish to change the face of Orzammar in our own way. And I believe we can help each other do that."

He leaned back and lifted his hand to stroke his beard for a moment. The gesture was so very much like her father and brothers that she had to bite back a swear. Bhelen, of course, noticed the slip in her mask and smiled, "Yes. Let's be honest, sister. Tell me how you wish to change Orzammar for the better."

"I believe you've had enough of listening to others tell you their goals, brother. " She smiled and set her hands on the table, palms up, "Tell me yours."

There was a pause as Bhelen seemed to weigh his options. Finally, he shook his head, "You will not help me. You do not have the heart for it."

"I have no more heart than you." She countered, "Our brothers are fools, my twin included. If they must be removed to ensure we get where we need to go, then so be it. That is what you planned for with that ex-warrior caste, isn't it? To move the Aeducan shield so you can set them up against each other."

He frowned, "Why would I wish them dead?"

"Because Trian does not respect you and would never change what needs to be done. Barran attempts to help but does not understand the causes of our sufferings."

"And what sufferings are those?"

Valda let her eyes drift towards the screen that separated the running water room of the bath, "You and I were not meant to be what we wish, Bhelen. Your ambition is to do better for the dwarven people, for your lover and your child."

He scowled, "You seem to know a great deal, sister. However did you come across such things?"

"People talk about interesting rumors all the time," Valda responded crisply, "Beyond that, we both know that I cannot name my sources without risking their lives, now can I?"

He chuckled and waved a hand, "You are such a spider queen, sister. If I did not know better, I would say you would much prefer the throne yourself!"

"No." She said.

There was a pregnant pause.

He arched a brow, "Truly? You could have all the power you wish. Any man you want. The Assembly would happily support you."

"The Assembly are old and do not speak for all of our people," Valda looked at her nails. The paint had chipped away a bit somewhere. "I wish to remove the caste system where it harms people. But I cannot be the one to do that."

"And why not?"

"I do not want power, Bhelen. I want people to be able to choose what they are in this world. What we Dwarves become. We cannot do that if a symbol of the old ways does that."

"Elaborate." His brows furrowed as he turned his head to the side to glance at the baths.

"Many people view me as either a copy of my mother or an extension of my brother as his twin." She smiled bitterly, "It is how I have managed to go unnoticed on my own all these years. So, no, I cannot be the one to change our people, but I can help the one who does."

Bhelen shook his head, "You want me to be King?"

"I want to help my brother," Valda corrected quietly, "Because I believe that he will do what he needs to in order to better help our people. All I ask is that I am listened to and my requests are accepted when I have them."

Bhelen met her gaze, "And what requests would you have?"

"A voice of my own to say what I wish, agency to decide things for myself be it marriage or other life prospects, and the dignity of any dwarf has been granted in your new rule."

"That's vague," He pointed out, "What will you do with these favors, if I grant them?"

"Serve our people by ensuring the old nobles do not interfere too much with your work, for one," She brushed aside her ringlets from her armored shoulders, "Ensure the casteless are fed and respected and the darkspawn driven back. Forge alliances and trade. All the same things you are already planning. And a few you haven't accounted for."

"Like?" He questioned.

"You'll find out eventually. You're smart enough, brother. And we promised honesty to each other." She held out her hand, "Now, do we have a deal?"

Bhelen glanced at her hand and seemed to think it over a moment longer. Then he clasped her forearm and they shook, "Very well, sister dear. I will do what you ask so long as you do not betray me."

#Valda Aeducan #my writing things #cw sexism #my ocs stuff #bhelen aeducan is smart and kinda hard to write so i hope i did it write?

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technicallymilkshakes · 3 years

Text

A Change of Season

Genre(s): Fluff, Fantasy Pairing: Yixing x Reader Word Count: 4.1k

This is my gift for @chicken-fifi for the @exolssecretsanta event! I hope you enjoy this take on dad!Xing. Happy Holidays!

When Mae stampedes back into the house, a whole host of critters follow her in. A young fox kit bolts between your legs, a hawk chasing after it. You shoo away a curious chipmunk, intent on investigating the roasted chestnuts you've set out to cool. Bingo, the white hare that has followed your daughter since she celebrated her first birthday, runs in next with a little leap of joy. And rounding out the procession is Yixing, who walks into the room with a sheepish expression.

Melting ice and snow puddle along the floor like little cookie crumbs trails that lead to what is apparently a whole forest's worth of animals in your house, your daughter included. You and your husband exchange a familiar look, one of equal parts fondness and exasperation.

You beat him to placing a finger on your nose.

“Not it!” you crow victoriously.

Yixing laughs and hangs up his scarf, resigned to animal round-up duty.

You smile and hand the chipmunk, who has returned for a second attempt at pilfering, a chestnut. You watch with amusement as he promptly stuffs it in his mouth. This is the enchanted life you've become used to ever since your daughter was born.

After a dinner of rich stew and homemade bread, Mae totes her father off to play, leaving you to clean the dishes. She had not been happy with him after he had herded the last woodland creature out the door, so you're glad that she seems to either have forgiven him or forgotten.

Your mind drifts as you begin washing up. The window over the sink affords you a view of the backyard and the forest that abuts it. It had snowed long and hard the past two days, but tonight the sky is clear. The evergreens appear like frosty giants in the evening with their wintry snow coats aglow.

Winter is your favorite time of year. Your family bundles up inside together against the cold, a cozy intimacy that no other season can seem to replicate. Dinners are warm affairs, full of good food, laughter, and Mae's cheerful chatter. It feels, for a time at least, that you exist outside of the rest of the world. The only sounds are of birds, the crack of branches and the snow falling from them, then crunching beneath your feet. You never want it to end.

Such thoughts and reminiscing help pass the time, and soon enough you are drying the last dish and setting it back in the cupboard. The quiet strikes you then and pulls you into the living room in its wake.

Already Mae has fallen asleep, the gentle glow of Christmas lights dancing blue, orange, white upon her eyelashes. Yixing cradles your daughter in his arms, bending his head low to sweep his lips against her cheek. The fire he had kindled hours ago crackles dimly in the background. Bingo, ever watchful, has curled up beneath the Christmas tree to keep an eye on his sleeping charge.

A deep-seated happiness burns within you. You promise yourself to commit this moment to memory.

You come up behind your husband and touch his shoulder. When he looks up, tears sparkle in the corners of his eyes.

“Yixing?”

“She's getting so big,” he whispers. “I remember when she was just a baby. Her whole hand could only wrap around one finger. And now she already knows how to talk.”

You wrap yourself around him and feel the reciprocating bittersweet ache of your child growing up. “Oh, Yixing,” you whisper back. “We're parents for the rest of our lives,” you murmur as you rest your head on his shoulder. “She'll always be our baby.”

Eventually, Yixing puts Mae to bed. She stirs from her sleep, brow scrunching. Bingo hops onto the bed and slips into her arms. You sweep her fringe away and lay a kiss as gentle as snowfall on her forehead. Only then does she relax and slip back into sleep.

Arms slips around your waist and spin you. Yixing holds you loosely in the circle of his arms. He catches your gaze, eyes sleepy and affectionate. Mae's nightlight projects snow drifting down the walls around you.

“Love you,” he says.

No matter how many times you hear it, you always have to fight down the sudden spike in your pulse, the warming of your cheeks.

“You're just jealous I haven't given you your kiss yet.”

He's smiling, the shadow of his dimple a deep dark. “How'd you know?”

You smile knowingly. “Love you, too,” you whisper back before finally giving him the kiss he's been waiting for.

You dream that night. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that you remember.

One spring day, when the first buds appeared on the trees, Mae was taken. You had been sleeping, and then you weren't. A great clattering came from down the stairs. Mae's crib was gone. You scrabbled out of bed, crying out “Mae!” Yixing jerked awake behind you, but you couldn't linger. There was no time to explain.

You sprinted downstairs to see two white-tailed deer dragging the crib out of the house. Vines had sprouted from the crib's wooden legs and attached themselves to the halters of the 12-point bucks. The backdoor was open and they were making a dash for the woods.

“No!” you shouted, leaping after them. You managed to grab onto one of the rails. Bingo peered at you over the edge. They were going so fast, they were dragging you through the remaining snow, which that night measured a scant inch. Snow and slush slid into your shirt. I can't hold on, you realized with creeping horror. And just as you thought it, you jolted as the deer dragged you over the jagged end of a rock. Your fingers slipped and you came a halt, curling around the bruise blooming on your ribs.

A breeze whisked by you and you glanced up through tears to see Yixing racing into the forest after your baby.

Minutes, hours went by, and then a blinding flash, brighter than lightning, blazed through the woods. The howl of soul in despair rang out after like thunder.

You were already crying by the time Yixing came back, carrying something. He looked up at you, devastated.

In his hands hovered the most perfect snowflake you had ever seen.

Mae sits at the table drawing with Yixing. Crayons scatter across the table in a mess of color. Some have rolled off the edge. Yixing holds one captive, rolling it back and forth on the ground with a socked foot.

“What are you drawing?” you ask Mae.

“This is you!” she says, pointing to a vaguely human-like shape. There is a concerning red blotch by the head. A smaller blob she declares to be herself, and Bingo a small circle that you had thought was a foot at first.

“And where am I?” asks Yixing.

Mae points to her father's drawing.

“I'm a sheep?” he asked, confused.

“No! A bunny,” she says back.

You stifle a laugh as Yixing looks even more confused.

Mae traces the sheep's horns. “These are its ears.” Yixing nods thoughtfully, then scrawls over the paper to make the sheep more bunny-like

He's such a good father, you think. He is patient, and kind. He listens to her and responds sincerely. You are profoundly in love with them, with your family and its small place in the world.

The two drawings hang from the refrigerator later that evening. You can hear Yixing playing with Mae in the living room, bouncing her up and down on his lap as she giggles and shrieks “Horsey!” Mae has labeled each figure in indecipherable symbols, but underneath one, in handwriting too elegant to be a child's hand, reads Daddy. It is undeniable a bunny.

You had long been suspicious of Bingo. He was no ordinary hare. But you had never been more suspicious of him than when your daughter came home this year.

It was the first snow of the year, and you and Yixing had been standing outside for hours already in the cold so that you didn't miss it. And there! To your left, a bright light had flashed in the forest. You were the first to find Mae and you fell on your knees before her.

“Oh, baby,” you said, cradling her cheeks in your hands, checking her over for any injuries. She was dressed in a similar foreign garment as last time, this one made of a pale pink shimmering gossamer.

“Where have you been?” you cried. She was old enough now, if she could just tell you where she went, then maybe....

And that was the first time you noticed it. The way your daughter fell silent and stared at the white hare.

She looked you full in the eyes a moment later and said, “Bingbing says I can't tell you yet.”

Yixing came at that moment and swept her into his arms.

“Don't leave us again,” he said, voice muffled against her. “Promise me that you won't go.”

“Daddy!” Mae complained, squirming in his hold. She looked at you plaintively over his shoulder and pouted. “I'm hungry.”

The first time it happened, you thought you'd lost your daughter forever. You had grieved with the force of a death. And then you woke up on the first day of snowfall to see a white hare on your chest.

“Mae...” came Yixing's hoarse voice besides you. You turned and saw your daughter in her crib beside the bed. Two seasons had come and gone, and she had clearly kept growing the months you'd been apart. But she watched you with those same keen eyes like she knew exactly who you.

“Did you...bring her back?” you asked, turning back to the white hare. Bingo merely twitched his nose a few times. He seemed to be staring right at you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You rested a tentative hand on the hare, who close its eyes in acceptance. After another moment, it jumped away.

Yixing watched you with wide eyes, Mae already cradled in his arms. You wrapped your arms around the both of them. “I love you so much,” you whispered in a voice choked with tears. “I am so lucky to have you both.”

It snows again the next day. You're not sure who's more excited about it, you or your daughter. Yixing struggles to get Mae kitted out for the weather, and you practically trip over yourself to shove your boots and hat on at the same time.

You had spent your free time this fall building a sled. You had cobbled all the pieces together yourself: the polished wood, the metal runners, the string that worked the rudder like reins on a horse. The winters have only grown longer since Mae was born, and you want to enjoy it while you can.

You start to wax up the candles with a broken candle when Mae huffs and puffs her way over to you, stretching up to try and reach your hand.

“No, mommy! I want to do it.”

You laugh and hand her the piece of candle. You wrap your fingers around hers, two-times clumsy with her gloves on, and help her slide the wax on the metal, lifting your daughter up when she can no longer reach.

“Perfect!” you declare when you finish with the second runner. “Thank you for your help, my little elfling.” You pinch her nose lightly and she giggles and runs to her dad.

All of you, Bingo included, pile out into the snow. You and Mae get the honors of the inaugural sled ride. Yixing bursts into a run first, yelling “race you down the hill!”

“Get him, mommy!” Mae yells, trying to scoot the sled forward. You kick off, and soon the two of you are zooming. You catch up with Yixing easily and then you are past, far past, trees blurring by.

The sled finally comes to a rest and Mae is still laughing. She has already hopped off the sled and is tugging on you, wanting to do it all over again. You roll off the sled, feeling about as dexterous as a marshmallow. Then you stand and survey how very long you have to climb back up.

“Come on, Mommy,” Mae says, slipping her hand into yours. The two of you walk forward in silence for a minute before you ask, “Where's your daddy, Mae?”

She runs forward, Bingo dashing after her, and you call after them not to go too far by themselves. Your warning is half-hearted, though. The woods welcome Mae like a friend. Even now, cardinals flock to the branches around her, bright splashes of red against the snow like trail marks pointing straight to her. There is an undeniable magic to your child. You have a feeling that nothing could hurt her, and the only thing that could take her is a force that you have no way of stopping.

The sled glides easily back up the hill—you do your best to keep it in the tracks you left on the way down. You eye the branches of the trees along the climb. Not one of the deciduous trees you spy has a single hint of a bud upon its branches. You heave a sigh in relief.

You're the one who stumbles across Yixing first. He has fallen backwards into the snow, his phone lying on his chest, staring up at the sky. You can't resist—you pick his phone up and take a few pictures of him, rosy cheeked, haloed in snow.

You pocket his phone and stretch a hand out for him. Mae comes barreling towards the two of you, yelling “Daddy!”

Yixing takes your hand with a smile.

“I guess you guys won.”

Later that night, Yixing shows you a video on his phone. He was filming the entire sled race. You watch second hand as you tuck Mae between your legs and wrap an arm around her. Suddenly, the camera is jerking forward, Yixing's muffled challenge to a race humming through the speaker. You hear his huffed laughter, the crunch of snow and the way his jacket sleeves rub against his sides as he runs. All of a sudden, you and Mae streak by, Mae squealing, and then the world topples. From white to black to white again, you hear Yixing trip, the sound of his breath knocked out of him in a single oof. Miraculously, he manages to keep a grip on his phone.

He lays there, camera facing the sky. All you hear is him breathing. A couple of snowflakes drift by and just miss landing on the lens. You feel oddly self-conscious when you show up onscreen. Is that what you looked like? A wide grin split your face, your hair windblown. You look down at Yixing with what is unmistakably love.

The video ends when you grab the phone to take pictures of Yixing (which you have already bullied him into sending you).

“I love watching you with Mae,” he confesses as the two of you lay in bed. Your bodies have curved inward, seeking the presence of the other. His fingers wrap around yours.

“Your smile, how tender you are...” Yixing turns and presses his face against your neck. “I love you both so much,” he says.

Mae becomes increasingly more cuddly as winter wears on. It's difficult to put her to bed. She'll cry long into the night, begging to sleep with you and Yixing. More and more, one of the two of you would cave in. She would crawl into your bed and rest in the warm hollow between your two bodies. Soon, neither of you bothered with carrying her to her bed.

How could either of you resist when you already had so little time with her? You want to hold her close just as much as she wants to be held. Everyday, you find her napping with Yixing, laid out along his chest and stomach. Your phone album is full of pictures of the two of them together.

Yixing said she took after you. But you see all the ways in which Mae takes after her father. The shape of her eyes. Her brilliant dimples. Her wavy hair. You had taken far too many pictures of them waking from a nap together, sporting matching cases of wild bedhead. It is the most adorable sight you have ever seen.

It happens earlier this year than it ever has before. On Christmas Day, Mae disappears. You race outside, going tree to tree, looking for the sight of even a hint of a bud. But there is nothing.

Hours pass in the woods, but they feel barren. You hunt for even a hint that Mae has been there, but find not even footprints. The forest is quiet and empty. For the first time, you feel the loneliness of winter.

You trudge into the house, numb from cold and disbelief. Yixing looks equally as hollow. “Bingo's still here,” he says hoarsely. And the two of you collapse towards each other with the gravity of your anguish. Why is this happening, you wonder.

Later that night, you wander in Mae's room. Lying atop her pillow is a single brilliant snowflake and a white hare.

Spring marches in with a a triumph. The flowers are riotously beautiful—bashful pinks, velvety reds, radiant yellows, and inky purples. All the life that winter has lacked bursts forth with a vengeance. And still, Mae is gone.

Bingo spends most of his time outdoors now. The sight of him upsets Yixing, which in turn upsets you. But outside of your husband's sights, you take some comfort in the hare's presence. He joins you on walks through the forest, thin tethers to a time before. You while away most of your days there now.

Where you have turned to the forest, Yixing haunts the threshold to Mae's room. He doesn't go in. He simply stares, watching the snowflake that never melts. You suspect that he's waiting for the moment it disappears so he'll know exactly when Mae has returned.

Neither of you have been sleeping much, nor well. The house is quiet, as if it's waiting with the two of you. It feels like the first time she disappeared all over again. A part of you, one you can never confess having to Yixing, thinks that she will never come back. Not this time.

One morning, you awake and find Yixing gone. You frown and throw the bedsheets off. Yixing never gets up before me. You slip downstairs and find yourself standing in front of Mae's room. The snowflake is gone.

“Yixing?” you call out, with real concern now.

It is quiet still. A pot of coffee rests on the counter. A half-empty mug sits abandoned on the dining room table, the chair still pulled out.

The backdoor is open.

“No,” you gasp, and stagger outside.

Yixing is nowhere in sight, but you know he must be in the forest. What is he doing. You hesitate at the edge of the woods. You've spent hours amounting to days in this forest, and yet it suddenly appears to you a maze. He could be anywhere.

And then you hear it. A chorus of whistles. And like magic, a path marked by the red of cardinals appears before you. You hurtle along it, crashing through bracken and bramble, until you see the sight of a very familiar back.

Yixing whirls around. In his hands is the snowflake.

“Look here,” he says, pointing to the snowflake. “The gates are open.” You gaze at the snowflake. It is like ice, or glass—clear enough to see through to Yixing's palm on the other side. All six points of the snowflake are perfectly formed like castle spires or a knight's sword, and at its hub is a beautiful ice castle with open gates.

You look up at Yixing. “The gates weren't open before,” he says. “There's a path,” he continues, body already half-turning, “the hare....There!”

He takes off, and you see the flash of a hare disappearing in the distance.

The two of you race after Bingo. The world flashes by in colors and noise, simultaneously real and insubstantial. You feel the burn of your lungs, the jolt that goes up your legs with each stride. All you have to do is follow Yixing. He is a few feet in front of you until.

He isn't.

You try to stop, but your momentum carries you forward. You break through the edge of the trees and slide right over the edge of a blind ravine. You try reaching for the scraggliest tree you have ever seen jutting from the cliff face, but it uproots and you, and it, plummet

down

onto warmth. Thick white blankets your lap. Yixing sits ahead of you, looking just as shell-shocked as you feel.

“It's about time,” rumbles forth a voice from beneath. You realize all of a sudden that you are sitting astride the most gigantic white hare you have ever seen.

The hare comes to a halt, lowering itself. With a gentle shake, both you and Yixing are deposited on the ground.

You gape at your surroundings. It is starless night, yet everything is awash in a glow of blue. Frost blankets the world as far as your eye can see. Without the warmth of the hare, the cold bites deep into you, undeterred by the thin pajamas you had rushed out in.

A sudden wind blows, and you shield your eyes against it. A man, or something like it, lands before you. Wings arch away from his back and a small fount of feathers sprout from his red hair, whereas his eyebrows and beard are a trim black.

“Welcome, Starbearer. Welcome, Woodweaver.” His voice is musical.

You and Yixing stare perplexed at the winged man. He approaches Yixing first.

“Thank you for returning the First Star. We humbly accept this gift.”

For the snowflake in Yixing's palms had turned into a blazing light. Warmth radiates from it, reaching you even from where you stand. The man bows his head, cupping his hands beneath Yixing's and then pushes them both up. You watch as the star ascends from its cradle in Yixing's palms until it streaks into the night sky. It settles into place, and soon, begins to color night into day.

The man approaches you next.

“Thank you for returning the First Tree. We humbly accept this gift.”

This time, the man places his hands over yours and pushes down. The scraggly tree, which you had been holding onto all this time, immediately roots itself into the ground and begins to flower and leaf. Soft showers of iridescent petals drift around you.

Morning dawns over the land and sweeps the ice away. Grass has sprouted beneath your feet, and little flowers like fireworks burst into bloom. You gasp. In the distance, you catch sight of a familiar castle, with spires that spear the sky. It glimmers golden in the sunshine.

“I apologize. We have been looking for you for a long time, however your daughter was an unforeseen element that confounded our agents.” He gestures with a wing to two white-tailed deer and a white hare. “All this time, we expected it to be one person when we needed two.” He shakes his head, feathers ruffling.

“But I digress. You have brought with you the first new season. Starvale thanks you.”

The winged man observes you both for a moment, then gives a brisk nod, the plume at his front rising.

“Daddy!”

Like a reflex, Yixing drops and gathers Mae into his arms. You find yourself in the mix a moment later. You shake with sobs, pressed cheek to cheek with your daughter. Yixing pours kisses all over both of you, much to Mae's chagrin. She is wearing the same kind of garment as before, this one with real twigs and berries stitched into it. Some berries get crushed, staining the fabric around it in halos of red.

“Will you stay?” she asks. Her eyes are wide and watery, her little hands clutching fistfuls of Yixing's sweater.

“You have my heart,” Yixing answers, helplessly in love. “For the two loves of my life, I would capture every star in the sky if I had to.”

And so, the family stayed on in Starvale.

The Starbearer walked the lands to bring morning and night. The Woodweaver felled trees and scattered seeds to make the forests grow. And their Herald of Joy showed the world what great love is capable of.

** A/N: Thank you for reading! I’m grateful for this event, which has brought forth such wonderful content and connected creators across the fandom. This was my first crack at a kid fic, which was a great challenge. Thanks to chicken-fifi for being such a good sport, and sorry that I couldn’t send you more asks! Still, I hope you enjoyed. I look forward to more of your own writing!

Happy Holidays!

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dropsofletters · 4 years

Text

the fader

title: the fader pairing: lee minhyuk/reader genre: traveler!au/strangers to lovers!au/one time love!au summary: there he is, the angel with a devilish smile, the new guy in town that has everyone talking. seated on the hood of his car, exchanging a few looks with her as she talks to her friends outside her workplace, she wonders if this is what the start of those romance movies feel like. minhyuk is here to stay, he promises her, time and time again. type: angst/fluff/romance/humor/suggestive word count: 18,812 disclaimer: this is part of my august special called ‘the anti-love club’. each story can be read individually, however, you’d be getting a little bit more of backstory along with some easter eggs if you read each of them, as well as helping me with support. the masterlist can be found here.

Not only a collector of material beings, she is, for there is something she also prides herself in: her collection of memories.

Not because of her intelligence, for the life of her she has never considered herself to be such thing, but because she can grip every bit of information from stories and myths, a lover of history over anything else. Complicated is the absolute opposite of it all, the town is not big enough for it to be a complex set of historical matters, and the people in there are not as much of a big group for her not to know what is happening. If anything, the whispers around the town could be heard everywhere, the greetings are loud, clear...everything is exposed, nothing left for imagination. If someone is bad, everyone knows it. If someone holds the rainbow in their smile, everyone notices.

The small city is the only placed she has ever been in. God forbid she ever goes to one of the places she has studied history from; planes sound like a flight to death and that irrational fear would never leave her bones. Nonetheless, she doesn’t complain, much less when Sundays come by and she is free from her job with Miss Hwang.

Sundays have always been eventful for her, welcomed by the diner that the individuals in this town often frequent. Rugged, old, full of memories and nice meals, enough for her to burn her tongue whenever she takes a bite of her food, delicacy in the form of home. Only when the youngest of the town heard her tell the tales of horror that went around the town did she get some company, for before anything happened, she would only grab a bite of food and look around for her friends to accompany her. Nowadays, or more like since a year ago, children of the town drag their friends over and sit down in the same table as her, some on seats, others on the floor, others standing, wanting to hear the new story that she has investigated.

Her talking skills are entrancing, she can say, she is good at storytelling, at giving away the necessary bits and keeping the uninteresting to herself. This routine has led her to feel more fulfilled, connected with her roots more than ever, waking up early in the morning simply to re-read over her favorite history books of her town, all courtesy of Miss Hwang. The dusty pages, the chatter of the children, the trip towards the diner every single moment of mid-day to grab some lunch. Everything made her feel useful, a new badge of memories added to her story.

Her feet are moving frantically at this point, knowing that lunchtime was just arriving and she had gotten quite lost in her own textbooks. The dust of the old streets flickers up at the mere weight of her shoes, nonexistent for someone who has grown up in such a place, the heat coming from the sky falling upon her skin and doing nothing more than warm her up. This is her daily life, the reason why she would never want to leave such a place—more than her home, it is a part of who she really is.

The first one to greet her is one of the old men that stand in front of the diner, a cigarette in between his lips that would never match the soft smile that comes from David. He lifts his hand in a salute, typical of him when he calls her name sweetly. “Haven’t seen you here in a long time.”

She rolls her eyes, smiling at the sound of the man’s voice as she presses her back to the entrance door, only needing a push of her weight to open it. “I’ve been cooking, you see. Besides, I was here last Sunday—”

“I feel betrayed,” David adds exaggeratedly, earning a few laughs from his group of old people. The over seventies club, she likes to call them inside her head. “You know there’s no food like the one my family makes.”

“I know,” She adds, a pout on her tone when she places her hand over her heart. “I won’t do it again. I sincerely missed your food.”

“Don’t worry.” The old man finishes, taking a drag of his cigarette and smoking a cloud into the air. As if the town is not heated enough, he plays part in the contamination of the world. Nonetheless, David has never been short of a good man—when times were the toughest, all caused by her adored yet non-giving job, he’d offer her free food. Something along the lines of ‘you’re like my daughter’ is his excuse. “Ask for whatever you want. It’s in the house.”

“Thank you.” She says with a big smile on her face, pushing the door open with her butt before stopping on her tracks. Her fingers point inside, a quirked eyebrow highlighting her statement: “Are the children waiting outside?”

“When are they not?”

“Sorry.” She apologizes, a hiss in her tone when one of David’s friends shake their head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He starts. “This place has never seen as much life as you give it.”

Upon entering the diner, she realizes she couldn’t lie to herself—this is what she loves the most, pleasing people, being praised for her hard work, and most importantly, giving out something to this difficult, somewhat impressively tough world. The wood by the walls are covered in family pictures...David’s great-grandfather, his grandfather, his father and so on and so forth. Much to the adoration of this place, it was now in the hands of David’s daughter, the cause of her filled stomach on Sunday days. The chattering of people is tranquil, some embarking on their food trips, other finishing off with a cup of coffee and on her usual table, the one with the torn red leather seat, there are a group of people already waiting for her. Mostly her closest friends and the children of the small town.

She rests her book down, letting out as sigh of delight when she receives greetings. How can one be lonely in such a place, where voices are always heard, love is always felt? She doesn’t know. The thought has never crossed her head. “Stop making a fuss,” She tells the children, the youngest—the sweet young boy around five years old—is the first one to keep his mouth shut. “We’ll make the other people here feel annoyed. Come on.”

Emily, the mother of the five-year-old, and one of her closest friends, speaks as she twirls her son’s curly hair in between her fingers, her glasses lowering when she gives her a tired glance. “You’re the one that started with this kindergarten slash elementary club. I’m sure everyone in town knows they love you.”

This is one of the reasons why she continues to read, continues to look for myths and the truth of this town. She doesn’t want anyone to ever feel embarrassed of where they came from—she wants art to be worshipped, loved, taken into consideration. This can only be fulfilled by teaching the youngest, which is why she plops down on her seat, extending her hands on top of the table. “I’ll go order and then, I’ll tell you guys the story of why this town is called the way it is.”

Something beautiful grows within her when she realizes that no number of negatives in her bank account could ever take this away from her: her memory. Even with her eyes closed, she could recognize the food from David’s diner. Even with her soul taken away from her body, she’d always go back home, ready to go out on Sundays—at twelve sharp, wanting to tell the story of such a place. She remembers how in her first years of living, the dusty streets had been the cause of her allergies, but she continued playing. How, sometimes, she wished she could live stronger winters, wished to touch the snow with the tips of her fingers, but she found beauty in the colors of yellow and orange that surrounded the city. Young, old, whoever passed by that town would know that it is impossible to grasp it away from you, to pluck the seed inside their heads that tells them everything here is real.

A small community, surely, but beautiful in its own way.

Excitement is what she tries to speak with, it need to be taught that way. History teachers, and even general instructors in life such as family members and friends, rarely have that tone when speaking about something. Being emotional about something that a person can like is seen as stupid—no one can speak their thoughts out without being judged. This, masked as insecurity or shyness, has destroyed the originality of life. It shall be lived in spoken words, in trials and errors, in grasping the reality that has made them and turning it into the future.

Only two hours later does she get to go outside, wondering if she should undo the button of her jeans to fight her bloated stomach. Nonetheless, she doesn’t, instead meeting up with Emily and her group of friends near the street. The curly haired woman is watching her son talk to David with ease, repeating the story that she had oh-so-happily said.

Her back rests against the red car that Emily owns, too old to even move properly, but hers nonetheless. “I can’t believe you’re able to make my child be interested in history. That’s crazy.” Emily utters, not taking her gaze away from her son, an incredulous smile plastered on her face.

Another one of her friends, Liz, shakes her head while laughter bubbles up her throat. “I tell you; she was the one that was supposed to get married, not you, Emily.”

She brings a hand up her chest, widening her eyes at the sound of Liz’s voice. “Oh, hell no. We’re not having that talk.”

While teaching younger individuals about the beauty of their town, she doesn’t think she could deal with anything like a five-year-old at the moment. Too much work, too little income in her bank account. “I’m serious.” Liz continues, moving her black hair behind her shoulders before shrugging. “You take care of everyone so well, it’s so insane.”

Biting back, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Yeah, Liz, why don’t you have a child instead?”

“Oh no, sweetie,” Liz says, a smile on her face that highlights the piercing on her bottom lip. “I want to keep my vagina intact. Look at Emily, she always complains about how saggy hers is—”

Emily finally tears her gaze away from her child, placing her hands on top of Liz’s mouth to stop her speech. This reminds her of the times they used to be in high school—Liz, the troublemaker, more often than not having her tag along and Emily, the one that would cover them had they gotten in trouble. “I—Liz, we’re in public!”

The woman in question takes her friend’s hand in between hers, pulling it away from her mouth before sighing. “Alright, I won’t talk about your vagina. I’ll talk about hers instead.”

She chuckles at her antics. “Stop saying that word.”

“Oh, come on,” Liz complains, taking the time to pull her long hair away from her face, tying it up in a quick bun before releasing a big sigh. Something about her was always too honest, nowhere near as uptight as Emily was, the main reason why Liz is always in the mouths of the people around town. Gossip goes around here quickly. “I’m going to call it spoon from now on.”

“I don’t see where this conversation is going...”

“...Because we need to talk about this.” Her straightforward friend adds, just in time to take her by the shoulders and move her until her line of vision is casted towards what had captured Liz’s attention. The woman’s breath ghosts over her ear as she whispers, a smile practically displayed on her words when she says: “That unknown city boy has been looking at you ever since you got out of the diner and if you don’t go talk to him and get a piece of that ass, I might.”

The sentence rises a chuckle from the depths of her being, unaware of how in the world Liz can come up with such sentences, such honest and yet, somewhat dirty personality. All thoughts are cut from her head when she lifts her gaze, wanting to see who this ‘unknown city boy’ could be. After all, such eventful place is rarely visited by foreigners, travelers, lovers of interesting passports and tourist spots.

Nothing could have prepared her for the smile that was given to her—no, not exactly the smile, but the man himself. Mysterious, not only because of his apparent existence in a place that people rarely visit, but in the way he looks at her. His facial structure is unlike anything she has seen before—polished, eyes with faint lines under them, a straight and slightly rectangular shaped nose, lips in a natural pucker, almost like the wind is kissing him. No one has ever looked quite like an angel more like this man, from his lanky form to the dip of his waist as he leans back on the hood of his car, chin tilted down, sharing a tight lipped smile with her that lifts up to a full on grin, she wonders where in the world someone like him was crafted.

Was he made out of pure stardust?

Was he the great-great-grandson of some monarch in the past?

And also…

“Do you think he’s lost?” She asks Liz in a low tone, unable to fight the smile that appears on her face, one that she returns out of formality. Her eyes can’t pull away from him, an electrifying stance in between them when he ruffles the strands of his bleached blonde hair and finally looks away.

Liz pats her back at that, a giggly laugh escaping her lips. “Why don’t you find out? Go talk to him!”

Though, throughout her life, she has always liked being the nice person—the one to talk first, the one to help someone stand up...she finds herself looking at Emily for some kind of reassuring stance, only to earn a rapid nod from her most serious of friends. “I’d say to go ahead. He...I mean, only if you want to.”

People forget that it doesn’t take courage to talk to someone first, it takes sentimentalism, an open heart, to be somewhat touched by the graceful existence of charisma. The feeling of her feet moving towards him had not captured his attention, not until she stood by his side, finally getting a good glimpse of this new man in town. Something about him goes past his mysterious stance, as if it is just a thin layer that she craves to look past.

To be quite honest, with herself and with her subconsciousness, she hasn’t actually seen someone of her interest in a while. The downside of living in a place in which she knows everyone is that her options get cut short; those whom she wanted and had the opportunity to date were already in her past, leading her to stand with little to no options. Not that she minded, she thought that whatever she could have in another person, she could seek in friendship, in herself…

But she’s not made of stone. She’s appreciate of people, knowing that what she sees is a recollection of memories and stories, crafted by life, put together by perfectly and yet imperfectly threaded knots.

“Can I help you out with anything? You seem to be a bit lost.” She adds, missing the chuckle that she lets out at the end of her sentence, bounding her hands together in front of her body and if she looked over her shoulder, she’s sure she’d see her two best friends sparing her glances, though not very discreet. The bleached blond turns his attention towards her, lowering his foot from the front of the car until it lands on the floor once again, tilting his head to the side as he speaks.

“Actually, yes, I look lost because maybe, I am.” He speaks, toying with the bracelet around his wrist before he extends his hand forward. Miss Hwang always told her to look at people’s hands and to fall in love with someone with rough, calloused, perhaps a bit thicker hands—this meant that said person was hardworking, someone who would try their hardest at their job and hence, work along with her. This man, the one in front of her, sports delicate and long fingertips, clearly a soft pair of hands, cladded in rings that do not receive much of her attention when she has to lift her gaze up to look into his eyes as he talks. “But before you help me—I’m Minhyuk, nice to meet you.”

She introduces herself, shaking his hand just in time for her to add a comment, one that leaves her lips far too soon, not noticing how hypnotized she is under his brown glare. “You’re the first Minhyuk I meet.”

“The first is always the best.” He comments, bringing laughter up with her as he takes a paper out of the pocket of his leather jacket, one that is far too hot for the weather in this town. The more she looks at him, the more she realizes he does not belong here. Once he extends the piece of paper, she feels his presence looming by her side, creating shadows that he’d never notice when she stares at his profile, only looking at the piece of paper when he starts speaking. “I can’t find my apartment’s address. I just got here this morning and I’ve been driving around trying to find it but I can’t.”

She takes the paper in between her fingers, not missing the way his chest pressed to her arm as he reads over the paper at the same time as hers. “It says fourth street here, not eighth. You’re in eighth right now.”

“Damn it,” He curses, rather loudly, a whine in his tone that catches her off guard. “You don’t have signs that read this here, though. How am I supposed to know?”

“You count from the first street towards the south. The first street is the one that includes our welcome sign,” She starts to explain, turning to him just in time to see him wetting his lips. The glistening brown in his eyes, the stance he holds, the smell of that perfume that is nowhere to be found in this cheap town...everything about him is uniquely pure, enough to make her feel dizzy. “Are you understanding what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do.” He nods, mind completely concentrated on her and she doesn’t miss the heat on her face. Not caused by the warmth she is used to.

“So you count from that street. One, two, three...like that. The fourth one is four streets away from here, then.” She explains, though her hands move in motions to further indicate the direction to him. “It’s the only building you’ll find there, pretty small, nothing out of the ordinary. At the corner of that street you’ll find a yellow house with black gates and all.”

“Alright,” Minhyuk closes one eye, the sun hitting directly into his face when he pulls away from her, a smirk displayed on his features. “I don’t know what I would have done had you not been here.”

“You’ll never be able to find out.” She adds, innocence in her tone though she’s playing around, his shoulders shaking with laughter, running his hand over his forehead as if dusting off fake sweat.

She wouldn’t be surprised if he was really sweating with that leather jacket, heavenly but yet nothing like what is expected to be used here.

Maybe, this was a sign. He is nowhere near someone like her.

“Thankfully.” He replies to her words, only to take his keys out of his pocket while looking at her. “No one got close to me and I didn’t know who to ask already.”

She feels the soft, warm wind moving her hair as she speaks. “Yeah, it’s like that. People in this town are not used to people coming here for tourism.”

His keys fall to the floor, all thanks to his lack of concentration on the task at hand, kneeling to take them in between his hands before humming. “You’ll have to get used to me, then. I’m here to stay.”

She doesn’t know why that brings a sense of purpose inside her body, like she has battled the wondering questions that go through her head asking if she’ll be able to see him again. “I’ll have to see you around, then.”

“Is that a promise?” He asks, teasing her as he walks towards his car. He opens the door then, leaning against it when waiting for an answer.

“It is.”

“Good, I’ll see you later.”

With that, she sees his car departure, not without honking at her one last time and leaving her with a smile. When she gives one step forward, she feels something underneath her shoe, making her scrunch up her nose and look at the content underneath her weight. A glistening silver bracelet sits there, belonging to the man that is now long gone to the fourth street, dancing around her fingertips when she picks it up. A collector, she is, and she recognizes beauty when she sees it—an M, probably from his name, and a few dangling pieces that show a variety of flags from different countries he must have gone to.

“What did he say?!” Liz is the first one to approach her, excitement all over her tone meanwhile, she can only concentrate on the bracelet in between her fingers, a smile plastered on her face.

The only question that roams her head is how could an angel like him decide to fly to this side of the world?

The question shall remain unanswered for now.

###

Sometimes, she wonders if she stays at her job because of the intricate details of her craft or because she believes in the renewal of styles, of unknown memories, of being someone else for a night.

Throughout her lifetime, she has met quite a handful of people—and like collectables, she is able to grasp pieces of them, and physical ones, that would always stay with her. Connecting with a memory sometimes includes touching or feeling a material that takes us back in time. That is what happens with costumes—you take someone else's story, wear it over your skin, and you want to be able to have fun while also giving the benefit of recollection to other people.

Miss Hwang is the one in charge of sewing, threading the pieces of fabric together to create the costumes of immensely amounts of characters, some more vague than others, while she is in charge of the details. The part that tears it apart from a simplistic copy and puts it in an artistic way—a redemption, a reminder of what makes that character so important. While she is not a lover of books, per say, just history ones to be exact, she has had to do endless amounts of studying to nitpick every lace decoration, burn a few pieces of make them more rugged, so on and so forth.

It’s either that or pinching her fingers every time she tries to sew. This is what she is good at—giving it that believable factor.

Not that they sell much, when not crafting or it’s not Halloween, the store is mostly empty, leaving her to be accompanied by her boss and the two dogs that constantly roam around the store. Miss Hwang is a woman over sixty-five years old, with hair so white it resembles snow, but her candidness when speaking—that motherly nature that is so hers, is what makes her someone so important for this town. From crafting her daughter’s, Heejung, wedding gown before she went to the city and bringing the most normal of fabrics to be elegant, there is no doubt that her talent exists.

She taps her fingers against the wooden, rugged table of the store, looking around to see the jewelry, the collectables, and she trails her gaze down to the bracelet that rests around her wrist, one that had stayed there for the past few days ever since the encounter with Minhyuk. It fits, to think about him, when Miss Hwang has some kind of romantic song playing from her vinyl, getting a sigh out of her lips that goes unnoticed when she looks at the flags on the pendants.

Thus, her knowledge doesn’t come from travelling, but from studying from those history books instead—

The elegant France is in there.

Three colors, yellow, blue, red. Colombia is in there, as well.

Belgium.

Japan.

Ireland.

Minhyuk must be a man of wealth, able to afford all these trips...he looks like the type to have gone to all these places. The thought can’t be taken away from her head, not when one of Miss Hwang’s dogs, starts barking excitedly, only reasoning for someone to be there. She never does anything lazily, lifting her gaze in excitement, waiting for anyone to be buying a costume out of nowhere—it happens sometimes, in her defense—but when she gives a few steps forward, always from the shelves and hangers that hold their costumes, she sees the person that she would have least expected to be there.

Sometimes, she thinks of people as worlds...but Minhyuk ressembled more of a ghost to her. One day, he appeared, smile on face, lost in this small place, and then, he left. People around town spoke about him, she had heard once or twice when visitors came to the shop or when she went out with her friends to sit by the streets and bask on late night conversation—Lee Minhyuk, they call him, so charming they don’t trust him. That leather jacket had been suspicious to some, just like how he says to have wanted to travel there…

You know, it’s quite weird—for someone who could go anywhere, why would he want to end up in that small town? The love of her life, it might be, but definitely not anyone else’s.

There should only be one bell by the door, enough to dingle when someone comes in, but what has made her feel so at home in Miss Hwang’s costume shop is the fact that, just like herself, she likes to collect matters. All those bells, some from the day of her marriage, others ones that she had collected when younger, ring the moment someone comes in—they create their own music, stopping her in her steps when Minhyuk finally connect gazes with her.

And she can’t help but smile, too.

Liz says it, speaks it into existence, turns it into a reality: she loves history, so to have the unknown right in her hands makes her feel excited. She’s artistic, absentmindedly, seeking for that gleam in his eyes, the brightness of his hair, today covered by a hat, now forgetting about his leather jacket and sporting a black tank top. Something about him is stylish, he definitely knows better than most people there, and she can imagine most of the teenagers swooning at the sight of the man...yet, the moment he closes the door behind him, reaching down to pat the two dogs, she knows that there is more to him.

Minhyuk is either a chameleon, ready to become invisible and match with the background of any place he goes to, not going unnoticed but instead, highlighting parts of him that match each part or he is simply just an overall interesting man.

“Huh, so you really work here...”

She hums, nodding just in time to his statement. “Why? Were you asking around to see where I work in?”

Minhyuk stands up at that, balancing his weight on the back of his feet before tilting his head to the side. A teasing smile appears on his features just then. “Do you think I would?” Answerless, more like speechless, she presses her lips together and shrugs her shoulders. “Your friend let it slip, actually. I was talking to her at my workplace and asked about you, she said you worked here. A good friend you’ve got there.”

Emily is always busy with her son, however, the sun of her life, the only reason the smile on her face has gotten bigger. Liz, with her love for cheap alcohol and her hair practically rough at the amount of times she has dyed it black, is another story. That means that it most definitely came from Liz’s lips. “...That was Liz, wasn’t it?” Minhyuk hums, making her clap her hands together as she accepts this moment. Actually, if he had gone through her head so much the past few days, she may as well take this into consideration. “Well, that’s good. You’re my first client of the week...and the day. That means you get to have me all for yourself. What are you looking for in a costume?”

Minhyuk’s eyes widen, taking his hat off his head and showing his disheveled blonde hair. He perches it up nearby, speaking as he does so. “Wait, you sell costumes?”

Chuckling is the least she does, she straight up laughs at his antics as she points around the place with an instructive glance. “This may look like we collect stuff and sell it, or that we sell antique items, but it’s all done by us. You can find the most intricate of costumes here. You want to be a devil? Go ahead. A Disney prince? You’ve got it.”

Minhyuk’s boots click against the floor, kicking fake dust as he gets closer, smiling as enchantly as he is used to. There is no way people could ever believe the rumors that go around about him—angelic features, sweet voice, everything about him is taken from heaven itself. “I’d be whoever you want me to be.”

She walks further into the shop, not trying to show the way embarrassment clings to her features—the line is tacky, he even smiles at his attempts, but she hears him follow closely. “...I’m serious, what are you looking for?”

Her fingers rake through the pieces of clothing in the male’s section, though Minhyuk is also looking through the selections. “I actually wasn’t planning on getting a costume, so I don’t know.”

“Minhyuk—”

“Really, what would you want me to be? You know, to get your attention.” She licks her lips at that, looking to the side to see him resting his weight against one of the shelves, fingertips threading through his own hair when he juts his chin forward. “Got you speechless?”

“I can say I’ve never been told that, yes,” She chuckles, crossing her arms over her chest as she stares at him. “So, you’d become anyone just to get my attention?”

“I could be anyone you want, you know?” He says, fingers threading through the fabrics of clothing he can find nearby, taking a long brown fabric and wrapping it around his head, a vest placed over his shoulders in a hassle as he speaks. “I could be a pirate if that’s what you’re into.” Rapid, he is, almost like he wants to prove his point, reaching for a hat and placing it over his head. “Maybe Indiana Jones? Is there a suit here, can I be James Bond?”

Unbeknowst to her, her hand comes up to slap at his bony shoulder, laughter bubbling up from her body when she lokoks at him, now with a tie wrapped around his neck, a vest, a hair as well as some bandana wrapped around his head. No one that she has gotten to know would ever do such a thing—this only goes through Minhyuk’s head, probably trying to make her feel more at ease. “None,” She says, wrapping her fingers on the hat and putting it down, continuing with the tie and the bandana, shredding the accesories away. “I want to get to know you. As in you, Minhyuk. I want you to be yourself.”

“Is that really what you want?” Minhyuk asked, shrugging the vest off his shoulders and releasing one of his softest smiles, as if he had not expected such answer. “With what you’ve been hearing from me around this town, you probably think I’m some asshole.”

“They’re not saying you’re an asshole,” She defends, crossing her arms over her chest, soon after putting her index and thumb together to indicate ‘a little bit’. “Maybe a little bit, but I don’t believe them.”

“I’m not a bad guy.” He says. “I just like travelling. There’s something so necessary about being somewhere new for me. I need to discover more places for me to feel like myself—”

She imagines him, in trains and in planes, always getting ready to go to his next place to call home. Does he even consider anywhere home? The question roams through her head, but she pushes it to the side to ask something else instead: “Why here?”

Looking through the costumes, he quirks an eyebrow. “Why here what?”

“This town...I love it, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s underrated for how warm and solid it is as a community, but...” Her fingers hook around the bracelet that is wrapped around her wrist, unfastening it and holding it up his face once he looks at her. “You forgot this when you went to your apartment that time we met and seeing all these flags...and if it’s how I’m thinking and you went there, it just doesn’t make sense for you to come here. This...small town.”

Minhyuk takes the bracelet in between his fingers, holding an atlas in between them almost, like he has the world upon his fingertips and maybe, his beauty is enough for her to consider that, eventually, if the flirty remarks get somewhere, he could have her world as well. Romanticism is historical, just her taste. “I wanted something different,” Minhyuk constructs his train of thought, licking his lips before extending his wrist forward and giving her the bracelet. “Put it on, please?” He asks, and she listens, roaming the skin of his wrist with careful movements, only hooking the jewel before letting go of it. “Last place I was in was Prague and—”

“See? That has so much more to discover and—”

“And I had to move out. I’m in constant need of looking for something different. If I have a life, why not spend it travelling?”

“Because planes are damn scary.” She answers in between a scoff, though her features show how enchanted she is with the conversation, the tranquil shop serving for background noise for the two of them.

“Ah, come on, birds fly every day and it’s okay. Why can’t it be okay for us?” Minhyuk retorts, putting the vest back in place before chuckling softly. “Wait, have you really never travelled by plane?”

“Or by train, or by car. I never want to leave this place.” Aware of how attached she is, it doesn’t surprise her when Minhyuk asks:

“Why?”

“...It’s my home. You never leave home.” Her sense of humbleness and loyalty breathes through her body, smiling enchanted at the shop, the place that didn’t give her much monetarily but gave her a lot of knowledge. “I’d be too drowned by nostalgia if I did. I wouldn’t be able to be like you.”

“I respect it, but I mean it. Travelling is so fun.” Minhyuk says, captivating her attention when he speaks loudly, with fervor, excitedly as well. “You—You never know what to expect, you meet new people and it’s almost like...like you evolve. You’ve got a new set of things to do, it’s crazy.”

“I can imagine.” She replies, looking at him before clapping her hands together. “Uh, you know, since we’re on the topic of getting to know each other and I don’t have any clients...do you like pastries?”

“What kind of question is that?” He trades as an answer. “Of course I do!”

“Then, let’s eat some.”

Only a few facts she gets to know about him as they eat some of Miss Hwang’s favorite pastries, all courtesy of the two bakers in town. His lips sometimes get creamy when he speaks about his first few years in Gwangju, his growth and his love for travelling, how he had learned starting sentences of a few languages and then, went from them on to want to travel. His excitement is palpable—he talks about his first trip, to Osaka to be exact, his nights in Santo Domingo, his trip to New York City...she doesn’t miss the way she speaks about her much less interesting lifestyle, though happy on its own, in the way she always felt like she was accompanied, as if her family was in the community she lived in.

Miss Hwang doesn’t interrupt them for more than asking her to continue with her job in a few pieces of clothing and he does so much as helping her, body looming over hers when he watches her sew the lace pieces in place, putting some buttons in, fixing some fabrics, tearing some in effects to make it look more rugged. He’s fascinated to say the least, wanting to try it out even though he is not good at it—

Minhyuk is just made for trying new things, and she wishes for this renewal of something good to be experimented by him.

When a client finally gets in, she hears the sound of Miss Hwang’s voice calling out for her. Minhyuk pulls away from her, pouting out when he speaks:

“I should leave, then.”

“Probably. Let me walk you to the door, just in case.” She replies, a giggle in her voice just before she watches him take off his bracelet, putting it on top of her hand just as they are walking out.

“For the time being, until we get to see each other again, keep this.” He tells her, taking his hat from the hat-holder in the room to place it over her head, not missing the way he smiles brightly when he finishes off by saying: “I don’t want you to forget me, you know? Not that you could, but...it’s never bad to make sure.”

“No, Minhyuk, keep them. They’re yours and they are probably worth some money—”

Minhyuk laughs, opening the door and leaving it ajar, the rays of sunshine seeping through the slot. “That’s the thing. I’d give you the world if it meant getting to see you smile for me again.”

She scoffs at that, rolling her eyes at his words though the compliment is well received. This is the kind of thing she likes to hear. “Alright, suave guy, I’ll see you some other day.”

“Sooner than later?”

“Sooner than sooner, even.” She retorts, making him snap his fingers before pointing at her.

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

And just like that, he is gone, but possibly to return to her. Something tells her that Minhyuk may have something deep within him that is interested in her, and she can’t help but cling to the hat on her head, to the bracelet pressed to her chest.

What does this man have that makes her so giddy?

###

On the second time Minhyuk visits Miss Hwang’s costume shop, he asks her to go out—as friends, apparently, but his tone says otherwise.

To forget the presence of him in his car would almost be impossible, he makes do for what he has, keeping the automobile with the scent of his perfume, some of his favorite polaroid pictures dangling from the mirror at the center, greeting her with the most gorgeous of smiles when he goes pick her up in her home—not that long of a drive, this town is small, after all—and finally gets a good look at her. The demon and the angel on her shoulders (Liz and Emily if she is getting technical and pointing them out individually) had different thoughts on how she should dress on this supposed ‘friendly encounter’ with none other than Minhyuk. Liz proclaimed a deep neckline would be perfect, matched with jewelry and high waisted pants; meanwhile, Emily said to go for comfort.

Maybe, she should have listened to Emily instead, for apart from his usual perfume there is something else in the air.

“Is that food?” She asks, Minhyuk’s glance finally breaking away from looking at the gorgeous blouse on her body and her baggy pants, white and beige to be exact, now looking towards the backseat to show what seems to be a picnic basket. He leans back on his seat once again, starting the car with a grin on his face.

“You see, there are not a lot of things to do in this town—and I already get to hang out with dancing, singing and drinking people in my workplace every night, I needed something different.” That is something she had gotten to know through rumors but had only been confirmed by Jessica, owner of the biggest bar in her homeplace. As it turns out, Minhyuk is a skilled server—not that good with making special drinks, but he’d be charismatic enough to have anyone in. She doesn’t blame her for believing so.

After all, it’s difficult to get over the sight of him right now. With the pink hues of the sky, indicator of the late afternoon, that cast down on his sculptured features, kissing his tender skin, making him look more like an angel. This is something Emily agrees with…Minhyuk is the main role of whatever romantic movie they had watched when they were teenagers and had expected from then on; the type of guy that swoops her off her feet and makes her feel like there will never be someone like her in this world. Liz, on the other hand, says there is a hidden demon beneath him. And that’s the magic of him, not knowing which side is the one that remains truthful.

His white shirt and denim jeans look expensive, even when they are simplistic, something about him has always been…incomprehensible. How can he get to travel so much? She doesn’t know, but one step at a time, she will discover every layer of him.

“Wait, you didn’t tell me you cooked.” She replies, not noticing how she hooks a leg under her thigh, turning to look at him as he drives. Ring-cladded fingers, he always changes in between the ones he wants to wear, matched with that blonde hair that she loves—messy or kempt, it didn’t matter.

“I get by,” Minhyuk says, chuckling at his own words. “Rice. Eggs. Sandwiches. I think I made the most complete of dinners.”

“The college student dinner, I get you.” She bites down on her bottom lip, laughing at her own words when he looks to her side and she can’t bring herself to look away. He returns his gaze to the road, though with the apples of his cheeks lifted by his grin. “Not that I went to college, either way. I really didn’t.”

“…Because you’d have to leave town? There’s only one university program here.”

“Not because of that,” She answers, reminiscent of the problem child days of her youth. Not that she was problematic, per say, just extroverted, ready to get attention, wanting to have fun with her friends or getting a laugh out of the teachers. “Well, kind of, I would have gone for something history related had it been available here, but then again…leaving is the scariest thing I can think of.”

Minhyuk leans his head against his hand, driving with only one of them. “Speaking of…what is your favorite place in this entire town? I want somewhere nice for us to have dinner.”

Mostly, their town consists of simplistic houses, diners, restaurants, nothing out of the ordinary. The climate is also not made for spacious gardens or lakes, but a momentum of her lifetime crosses her head when she remembers when exactly she had started to become the headache of the elementary school teachers. “Actually, if you go to the second street and turn to the left, there’s this elementary school, right?” Minhyuk says, already driving to where she is pointing at. “In front of it, there is this really pretty park. I used to love the slides that were there so I would always stay there for a bit longer during my break in elementary school.”

He coos at that, eyes gleaming with excitement to hear the people-pleaser that is her saying such things. “What a badass, look at you!”

She nudges his side, a sense of heat up her features. “Hey, it was badass for me! I was a trouble student.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it,” She complies, only to raise her eyebrows. “Were you even worse?”

“Not in elementary…but in college,” Minhyuk continues, chuckling at his own reminder as he pushes the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose up to rest on his head. “I went to college in Ontario and boy, I didn’t pay attention once.”

“Why?”

“…I don’t know, I picked whatever was in the pamphlet and just invested in it. At the end, I didn’t like it.” The spontaneity of him is interesting, somewhat attractive, alluring in its own way when she hums at the sound of his words.

“You’re really unexpected sometimes.”

“Hey, even I surprise myself with my decisions.” His honesty is palpable through his words, swallowing before letting out a short laugh. “That’s the fun part of me, though—Lee Minhyuk, the guy no one can ever figure out.”

…She thinks she can figure him out, though, perseverant she is.

To have him in the same lifetime is a blessing on its own, seated in front of her in the half concrete made and half ground flooring, a fabric in the typical plaid red and white color welcoming them once the sun sets. He even made sure to keep a light in between them as they eat and chat. He can’t keep still when eating, she realizes then, always needing to make a comment—tease, talk thanks to every movement of his tongue. She is not far behind, following after the conversations of their favorite films, he even tries to teach her languages that he is not fluent in himself. An entertainer, he is, with a smile that brings her closer and closer, speaking about her secrets…the ones that are not so secretive in a place like this.

At one of those points, she is walking alongside him in that field, hands tied behind her back, feeling the warmth of him by her side. Her lips can’t stop moving when she recalls the image of her as a child—she’d hide behind the monkey bars, giggling as the teachers went over to pick her up. She loved the attention, for some reason that she can’t quite know, but it wasn’t meant to be malicious. Most of the time, she didn’t even get in trouble.

Trouble, such a big word, Minhyuk even admits he had gotten in some of those in his life.

In between those words, when they have to go back before it gets even darker and mosquitos start biting them, she hears him as he is inside her car. Minhyuk shows that side of him that is mischievous, knowing that he does it simply to tease, to bring laughter beneath himself and the group of people. Trouble, he says he isn’t—but he has been involved in drama, in people that get too attached to him, something that has her keeping the conversation even when he offers to get her back home. If having a cup of coffee late at night in his small apartment just to get to know him is enough to see his presence as a person, she’d do it.

Minhyuk’s apartment is exactly what she should have imagined—it’s messy, for starters, the bed is very near to the kitchen and the bathroom door is open, but he closes it once they get inside. His usual leather jacket is thrown over his bed, but what is the highlight of the room—too filled with anything to ever consider it vintage or modern—is the wall that he left completely abandoned to fill it with a board of sorts. A world map is nailed into the wall, some adhesives in the form of x’s placed on top of the countries he had gone to.

“Shit, you’ve gone to these many countries?” She asks, aware of the cuss that left her lips as she lets her bag fall to the floor, inspecting the big map in front of her, big enough to take the entire space of the wall. Minhyuk chuckles at her reaction as she lets her fingers trail over the continents, even the islands by the Caribbean.

“And I still have more to explore.” Minhyuk says, turning his back and walking over to the coffee machine before starting it, leaning back against his counter to look at her. “Is it that impressive to you?”

“As someone who has only gone as far as the first street, yes.” Admittedly, she stops tracing the map to look at him, biting down on her bottom lip. “Which one is your favorite?”

“Wherever I am in. While I’m there, those places become my home so…” He lets his voice trail, pushing his weight forward before quirking an eyebrow at her. She can feel it deep within her bones, in the way his eyelashes flutter in his blink when his rosy lips part to breathe into the thin air: “Right now, my favorite place is here, with you.”

“Thank you.” She compliments. “…But I’ll get to know your real favorite place—”

“Actually, in all honesty, I don’t have any.” Minhyuk’s long legs move with ease when he stands by her side, giving her a glimpse of his elongated neck and his hair messed up by the wind of their picnic, resting his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. “I’m obsessed with travelling, I can admit that much.”

“Huh, so you think you won’t stay here?”

“Time will tell.” He compliments, rushing towards his bedside table and opening a small box that rests on top of the surface, getting out a few pictures that he must have taken himself. Once by her side again, he gives them to her. “For the moment, though, I can give you a glimpse of every place I’ve gone to.”

The pictures are shown in front of her, and when she turns them around they have the name of the city he was in for the picture. “…Are those all your travelling pictures? No way!”

“That’s impossible,” He says, shaking his head before doubling over in laughter. “These are my most memorable adventures. The one time I got bitten by a scorpion, my first trip—Osaka, some of these are here.” His tongue comes out to lick at the corner of his lips, enticing her when the smell of coffee is not far enough for her to wake up from this dream that is him. “For your little collection of me though, I’ll give you this one.”

The picture shows him seated on a table, coffee brought up to his lips, hair a darker shade, face visibly younger—mischievous, per usual. Once she turns it around, she reads Paris, along with a month and a day. “…Paris?”

“The typical place of love.” He comments, making her stifle a laugh before nodding.

“Yeah, it makes sense coming from you.”

Laughter and conversation becomes too much, sleepily driving her back home at one in the morning, making sure that the coffee on their systems are still electrified when she waves at him goodbye. Inside her apartment, she takes off her shoes, along with her shirt, placing it neatly inside her closet before she sees those two things that scream his name—his hat and his bracelet, not accompanied by a picture of him. She doesn’t miss the way her fingers trace the outline of him, smiling to herself.

Maybe, he really is as angelic as she thinks he is.

###

Windows had never been a sight to look out from, not in this boring town, but with him…she awaits for the moment he comes back.

With her chin propped up on her fist, she looks away from the dogs that normally accompany her, though still petting their furs with one hand, letting out a sigh escape her lips. Another week and Minhyuk has not called back, only giving her a few greetings by text or waving his hand from affair, sometimes pressing a kiss to her cheek in a hassle before returning to his rendezvouses, getting to know more people in town, having more rumors created about him. She feels as though she awaits for a moment of fun; not that she doesn’t have fun with Miss Hwang—quite the contrary, but it is different…it’s the first time she has been interested in someone, the first man that has made her feel like there is more to this world than this town, that there is history in other places that are not only perceived in the books she reads, but past that.

The sound of small heels clicking against the thin flooring barely cuts her away from her trance, the voice of Miss Hwang cutting through the thin air. “Darling, I’m sure he’ll come back. Don’t be waiting there like a poor damsel in distress.”

She puckers up her lips, not liking the term ‘damsel in distress’. “No, grandma,” She says softly, aware of how Miss Hwang would probably give her an earful had she called her other name. “I’m no damsel in distress but—” Once she turns around, she releases yet another sigh. “…He could’ve called. What if he didn’t like our little date?”

“He likes you, of course he does!” Miss Hwang retorts, wrapping her knitted scarf around her neck to see if the costume is coming out greatly. Her eyes are inspecting her figure, the rosy material beautiful against her skin, unbeknownst to her. “That boy has been going around town starting trouble with talking too much but David has not stopped telling me how much he talks about you.”

She lifts her gaze at that, before scoffing softly, her cheeks pressing to the material of the scarf. “…What if he’s all talk?”

“I don’t know.” The reality of her ‘grandma’ is that she is honest. Much like someone of this world that had not gone through motherhood, though Miss Hwang had practically adopted her after her daughter’s departure to another city. “But Minhyuk reminds me of the first love I had, and I had plenty of them.”

“Grandma—” She groans, a smile appearing on her face when the scarf is dragged away from her body, fluffing out her hair.

“I mean it. He was the only man that had me changing my vision—everything was suddenly electrifying, I felt free, I wanted nothing more than to get lost in him.” The way she speaks is so romantic, moving through the place with a smile on her face, almost dancing in her steps before halting them with a finger raised in the air. “Be aware, though, I got so lost in him that I lost me.”

Always interested in a story, she asks: “How so?”

“Ah, just your old lady talking.”

“Come on, grandma, you know your stories are the best.”

A smile appears on Miss Hwang’s face, rolling her eyes soon after. “Says the storyteller of the town.”

“Please, tell me!”

“He was a typical troublemaker. Had him fighting with one of my brothers and that was the end of it. I went against everyone just to get him…and then I realized he just wanted me to change entirely.” The old woman spits out easily, no longer bleeding from her wound before she moves towards the window. She spares a look outside, a tiny smile appearing on her wrinkled face. “But that not may be your story, darling, because a certain young man is getting out of his car and waving his hand here.”

Not in slow motion, but quite the opposite, she turns her head until she is looking out her window, widening her eyes and smiling brightly as she waves back at Minhyuk, not even detailing him past his face when she gets off the stool and gives a kiss to one of the dogs on its face. Rocco, the son of the oldest dog—Nani, wiggles his tail at the attention. “Rocco, your girl is going out.” Before she could put on her coat completely, she looks over her shoulder to see Miss Hwang. “Are you okay with closing and going home alone, Miss Hwang?”

“It’s never alone when Nani is with me.”

“I could always take you back home now and—”

With a push to her shoulders, Miss Hwang takes her out the shop before speaking loud enough for Minhyuk to hear. “Take that girl somewhere nice. No man is fun here!”

Minhyuk laughs loudly at that, waving his hand at Miss Hwang. “I will. Have a nice night, Miss Hwang!”

“You, too, Minhyuk!”

Once in front of her, she gets to be whisked away by the sight of him. Minhyuk is radiating sunshine, the one that is barely just setting at this moment of the afternoon—their typical time to meet, that is. The graphic t-shirt cladding his body is the epitome of beauty on him, this cinematic edge making her be pulled towards him, the sharpness of his personality suddenly seen when she says: “Now that you’ve finally decided to show up…what’s the occasion?”

“You know Jessica,” Minhyuk says, opening the door to his car and extending his arm as if to show her to get in. “If I’m not serving at night, she has me preparing the place in the afternoons—I just got out right now.”

When she gets on the passenger seat, she stops him from closing the door with an extended hand. “You don’t work tonight?”

“It’s my free night.”

“And you’re spending it with me…because…”

“Because it’s billiards night in the bar, and while I may not be working, I get to enjoy playing with you.” Minhyuk retorts, taking her hand in his with a gravity pull, interlocking them together before resting her palm on her lap. “So, if you could put your hand in so I don’t end up crushing it with the door and you could actually be my match for the billiard night, I’d be very happy.”

She does as he says, watching him go around the car before settling himself on the driver’s seat. In the matter of seconds, Minhyuk is starting the car again and going in reverse, hearing her speak with glee. “Jessica rarely hosts billiard nights anymore. It gets quite…frisky in this side of town.”

“How so?” He asks, interested in the way he briefly looks at her before continuing driving. It’s not that long of a ride, really, but he may as well be used to bigger cities in which he needs to use his car—yes or yes.

“People get competitive,” She acquires the memory rather quickly, ready for her storytelling ways. “Actually, before he sadly passed away, Miss Hwang’s husband used to be an excellent player and frequented the billiard nights. One time, he really got into a fight with one of the oldest men here—there were beer bottles thrown and all.”

“No way!” Minhyuk says, widening his eyes before his lips part surprisingly. “And here I was thinking this town was always tame.”

A content sigh leaves her lips when she continues to look at him, his profile hypnotizing but more than that—his talkative ways, the teasing ones, the essence of him existing in the same time as her captivates her. “We’re a tame town, you’re not wrong.” She adds. “But that’s the beauty of my town. There’s art everywhere—in the streets, in the people, roaming these streets when I was a kid was…” She trails her voice, looking out the window to see that, indeed, they are nearing Jessica’s bar. “One of the best memories I hold on to.”

The man in question promises to twirl her world around when he says. “Maybe, you should acquire some more memories.”

“…Should I?”

“I’m here to give you a new set of best memories, actually.” Minhyuk prompts, the car coming to a halt when he pats her knee lovingly, though too quickly, before sending a smile her way. “Let’s go.”

The bar is probably the most modern of spots in the entirety of the town—the old wooden counters are gone, now exchanged for pristine black ones, the tiles in the same color, the colors of blue in the decorations and the walls sported with such clarity that it almost looks like she is in an aquarium, illuminated to utter perfection. Minhyuk’s presence is behind her, leading her on with a tender hand on her waist, pulling her towards the gaming place, billiard tables mostly taken place on, if not for one that is completely empty.

“Do you know how to play?” Minhyuk asks, getting the equipment out and done before she gives him a chuckle.

“Kind of. Liz and I would bet when we were like nineteen, trying to get some money, you know…but I haven’t done it since.” She adds, leaning her weight against the table before quirking a smile up at him. “But you can always teach me, I know what kind of game you’re playing here.”

“…I’m not that good either,” Minhyuk continues. “But we can learn together, have fun.”

“We will, that’s not up to question.” She replies, looking over the stage of the bar to catch a glimpse of the voice that is speaking into the microphone. A poet, releasing their art into the thin air, and that she purely recognizes. “Do you like poetry?” She asks Minhyuk, trying to get to know more of him.

“I hate poetry.” He answers. “What about you?”

“I don’t get it,” She says, turning to him to see that he is concentrated on starting the game. “But there is this poet that I really like…he’s not that well-known…Nunu? I think that’s his pen name.”

“He must be good if he captures your attention.” Reminiscent of the pieces she has gotten to see online, she shakes the thought away before pushing her weight forward to start the game.

Fun is the most she has.

At some point, Minhyuk is the one trying to teach her, arms sprawled over hers, fingertips tracing the outline of her fingers when he helps her just get the hit just right. His abdomen is pressing to her back, height looming over her, lips almost so close that she could feel him speak and instead of pulling away, she gets closer, wanting to feel his perfume engulf her, to feel the warmth of his breath over her skin. Anyone in there could realize that there is something going on in between the two and the best part of it all is that she doesn’t care. She may be a people-pleaser, indeed, but this is the moment she gets to live at her will.

Praises leave his lips—the ones that sugarcoat her and have her up in the clouds, the taste of cotton candy resting on the tip of her tongue, Minhyuk is that…a sweetener, the one in her coffee, in her favorite pastries, the one that has her addicted, in some way or another, of being just as dulcet as him. Only when they are getting out of there, the promise of a long night filled with conversation long gone when she remembers she has to get up early the next day, does she hear her name being shouted over the sound of music, the poet long gone from sight:

“Don’t listen too much to pretty boys,” One of the drunken women there says. “They never care!”

She actually chuckles, sending her goodbyes to the woman that she knows by name but once seated in the car, conversating with Minhyuk as he takes her home, she wonders if there is some reality to it. If he is just one of those gravitational pulls of life that will only keep her tied to the ground, if she is choosing the devil to dance with in a world of angels. This is out of her head when she is front of her door, Minhyuk’s footsteps haltered in front of her when his mind makes out the sound of the woman’s voice at the bar.

“Listen,” He breathes out, hands looming over her shoulders before they press down. Once in there, they trail up her neck to cup her cheeks, staring into her eyes when he speaks, rather quickly. “Listen to me when I tell you…I really do care about you.” He nods his head, forehead a bit wrinkled under the weight of his words.

She leans into his touch, because no one has ever made her feel as unique as him—in this small town, she feels bigger than ever when with him. She seeks for him, wants him to fill her lungs, much more when she breathes out a small: “I know. I care about you, too.”

“I’m going to voice it out better…” Minhyuk says, body growing closer to her, her back now softly colliding against her door. His voice lowers at that moment. “From the moment I saw you in front of the diner, I thought I needed to talk to you. Now that I get to know you better, I know I like you.”

Perhaps, it’s the fact that she has not been in this situation for a long time, or it because it was meant to happen for her to like Minhyuk that her lips go over to his in a trip of fervor, wanting to get all of him through an energetic kiss. His left hand ends on her nape, deepening the kiss with a bit of sloppy nature, quite rushed in his matters, as if he needs to feel her in every part of his body. His neck extends, her back bending a bit backwards as she traces her hands over the collar of his shirt, not caring that anyone could see them at that moment. Freedom is all she needs, the treacherous stance of being with him suddenly intoxicating when Minhyuk bites down on her bottom lip, hands trailing downwards on her back before she pulls away with a soft pat on his chest.

“Not…tonight. I can’t take it any further” She tells him, aware of how she only wants to give him the best of the best, savor him as a person the most she could before getting him all for herself. Minhyuk’s eyes open at that, lips glistening as he tries to concentrate again, her lipstick smeared on the corners of his lips when he nods his head.

“Yes—”

“I’m sorry, I probably ruined the mood.” Apologizing is what she does, fixing her sleeve that had gone down her shoulder when Minhyuk presses a soft kiss to her lips, though she continues to feel bad. “I haven’t done it in a while and I don’t really want to rush—”

“It’s only good and correct if both of us want it,” Minhyuk whispers, ruffling her hair with his free hand. “Don’t apologize for that. It’s normal.”

So much enchantment could fill her chest and it feels like it hurts from the adoration she feels towards him at that moment. “T-The kiss was good, though. I loved the kiss.”

Minhyuk actually cackles, nodding his head before giving one of his infamous smiles. “Yeah, I—Okay, yes, the kiss was great. Sorry it was so sudden.”

“I was waiting for you to do that, hush.” She says, feeling their interlocked fingers let go softly, earning a smile from him.

“I’ll be off, then. You have to work tomorrow. Thank you for the night.” And he doesn’t judge her, the reason why she considers him an angel—whom she has always wanted to have, as he gets inside his car and doesn’t forget to honk just as she is waving towards him.

Whenever he comes back, he makes her feel as if all she can breathe in is happiness.

###

“You mean to tell me there is a book,” Minhyuk says, only after plopping down another snack in between his lips. “A book in this town that talks gossip about everyone and I haven’t gotten my hands around it?”

She is making sure the latest costume she has tried to fix is looking great just before she answers him. “Yes, but no one ever looks at it. I mean…we’re all written on it at least once, but I don’t engage myself too much on it. It’s bad for everyone’s mental health.”

Minhyuk jumps on his seat, a long whine leaving his lips. “I want to see it—!”

“Minhyuk, come on, I’m doing it for your health!”

“I’m a tough guy, I’m sure I can read some comments about myself!”

To have the notebook lent to her was not the most difficult of tasks—after all, she is someone the entire town trusts, enough for her to be left only a few days after this conversation in the costume store, back pressed to Minhyuk’s chest as they share a seat, the old, brown notebook resting on her lap, almost burning her thighs as she feels every breath that leaves his chest echo through the place. Minhyuk thinks this is lightweight gossip, as if this town is not filled with people who love stories—the drama, the twisted endings, the laid off details to leave nothing to the imagination. This notebook, a headache when she had read a comment made about herself, is the nightmare of anyone dares read it and the glory who writes on it.

She plops one of the strawberries they are sharing inside his mouth, watching the juicy treat be bitten by him before he speaks again. “I know you’re trying to distract me by looking at me with the cutest face, but trust me when I tell you I’m strong enough to read some old ass book.” He tells her, reaching over her lap and opening the pages. Eye to eye, she realizes then the importance of Minhyuk in her life for the past month—that pop of color that has come in this void town, the lightweight feeling that comes with him enough to drowsy her. Minhyuk is such a bright figure, a traveler to match her storytelling ways, it would be heartbreaking to see him wanting to leave this place for the obvious rumors that go around about him.

“I just don’t want you to be sulky,” She says, resting the back of her head in his shoulder as she hears the sound of Rocco snoring somewhere in the store. “These are pretty tough.”

“Tell me what was said about you.” And his hands expand over her arms, enough to take her breath away. Why is it that every time she is around him, she can’t help but feel like he may just be the end of her romantic life? He feels the necessity of a dot, the ending, the reason as to why she would never look at anyone else the same. Perhaps, she’s attached—she only knows the version he is now and not the man that had wandered around the world, being a chameleon just like he said in one of their first few meetings. “…So, I can complain because you’re an absolute angel.”

She chuckles at that, playing with the first page of the book, hundred of more welcoming them with different handwriting. “It should be somewhere in here. It said that I had something along the lines of a hero complex. I wanted to be the center of attention…save everyone…you know the drill.” She replies, no longer hurt for those words, mainly because she knows that is just part of her personality. She cares for people, wants them to be their happiest, what’s the sin in that? “I haven’t thrashed this book because the younger generation are attached to it. I think it’s malicious.”

Minhyuk ruffles through the pages until he lands on the last ones, looking through the names written at the beginning of the sentences. “Lee Minhyuk…Lee Minhyuk…”

“Hey, I mean it. This is nothing more than gossip.”

“I know, I just want to know what people say about me!” A brief ‘aha!’ left his lips when he finds his name written in cursive, reading over it in a loud voice, typical of him. “Minhyuk is clearly an irresponsible guy. I can’t imagine what he’s running away from.” Minhyuk chuckles lowly, tapping his finger against the end of the sentence even when she feels her heart palpitating too fast. “Question mark, is he part of some gang, question mark.” He reads out, making her grasp his finger in between her hands.

“This is not—”

“Lee Minhyuk is obviously using the town’s storyteller for a thrill.” Minhyuk continues reading, her heart starting to pump too rapidly as she closes the notebook on a hassle, capturing his hand in between the two portions.

“Minhyuk, I don’t want you to read things that are not true.” She replies, though her mind can only as her if she knows if they are not true, indeed. She knows the man for a month, much less than she has known anyone else in this town, and the thought of him always pointing out how obsessed with travelling he is could only be a red sign. Maybe, he is really trying to run away from something—not a gang, but something he never wants to tell her.

A soft breath leaves his lips, now noticing how his gaze has darkened, placing the notebook down on the counter of the store before spreading his legs widely, leaning back on the seat with a hand pressed to his forehead. “Well, fuck, it’s quite ironic…but I didn’t know it was going to be this tough.” He chuckles a bit to himself, one hand splaying across her waist when she stands up to push the notebook away.

“I told you not to read it, Minhyuk.”

“It’s nothing, though—”

“No, it’s not nothing.” She finishes. “You shouldn’t be criticized for being more cultured than us in matters of travelling. It’s really not okay for people to ever treat you like this, and for us to be judged—”

Minhyuk puts a strawberry inside her mouth, making her roll her eyes when she bites down on it, only to see him smile. “We’ll talk about this some other time. Let’s just eat these strawberries, return that fucking notebook and forget it even existed.”

Perhaps, he really is running away, wanting to fade to black, needing to be breathed out like a memory instead of a reality. Minhyuk is suddenly affected, trying to mask it with his usual jokes and his smile, not even sparing the owner of the notebook a glance when she delivers it. The toxicity of it all has her wondering who had made such assumptions and what did they see that she had not seen in him? Everyone thought he was some kind of demon, a man made to annoy and destroy, but what she feels for him goes past that. A feeling of needing nothing more than protecting him, as if she wants to make a home for him in this town—no, in herself, she needs him to stay.

But he has never stayed, she thinks, when she is opening the door to her home and his head is hidden on the crook of her neck, planting soft and sweet kisses to the juncture there. Minhyuk even has said it himself; he gets tired of places, events and people, sometimes he simply needs a change. Perhaps, he could find this type of…person, someone like her, in Bangkok or Rome, a waist to hold, a neck to kiss, a life to grace with his mere existence, a tongue that talks his ears out with how much she wants to tell him, but he goes around the subject when he tries to talk about himself. Not the Minhyuk in Paris, not the one in Prague, but the one that had decided that travelling was better than staying.

Even when they are in her room, watching TV, and he really tries not to have a silent moment—much like his personality—she wonders if this is permanent, if Minhyuk will stay or not. This has her pressing the side of her face to his shoulder while seated on the sofa, wanting to pull away but feeling so entranced in him. The only man that is unlike other, her dot, her ending, and yet so much like a beginning; she’d call him her first love had she not had one of those in the past, but this is the first time she feels fear of losing someone.

Losing is even stronger when it is a decision, not a movement of the game that is life.

So she breathes it into the air, insecure at its finest, something that had made her feel so miniscule when she had always thought of herself as big in this small town. “Minhyuk…” She whispers, earning a hum from him, looking at the reflection of him as he looks at the TV screen. “Are you ever going to leave?”

Minhyuk’s face hardens, looking over at her before quirking an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, is it because of that notebook—?”

“No, no, just a genuine question!” She excuses herself, only to hear him sighing as he runs his fingers through his hair. “I can be curious about you, you know?”

“I know you can—”

“Then, answer.” She pushes, knowing fully well that this puts him in a position that he dislikes. Yet, she can’t bring herself to think of anything more than Minhyuk leaving. It would hurt, so much that it would feel as though she is burning alive.

His hands take her face delicately, cupping her face just like in that first kiss they shared, before letting out a few words that she did not expect: “Baby, I won’t ever leave you.”

The promise flutters on her chest, blooming inside her with hope, the one that comes out as a bit childishly when she voices out: “Is it a promise?”

“You can say so, yes.” Minhyuk says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips, somewhat sleepy, like he wants to take all the stars and implant them in her heart for them to shine brightly. “It’s a promise.”

###

She knew her life before his arrival. Her place. Her time. Her dreams. They had always been low—what she sees is what she gets, only imagination suffices. And lord, that had changed exponentially.

But in its entirety, in the conceptualization of the verb know (in gerund: knowing), she doesn’t think she can live up to it. Minhyuk shows himself in a present matter, pretending he doesn’t know there is a part of him that hides—the one that is not always laughing, when he doesn’t know what to say, when he is sincerely a person more than pure entertainment. The thoughts roam through her head through every single date, none leading to seriousness, definitely leaving a bitter taste on her mouth. Talking to her two best friends about this is starting to get boring; they know how much she likes him and for that, they hype her up when she says she wants to continue down this path…but maybe, she needs wisdom. For one day, she wants to think with her head, not her heart.

The curtain that divides the store from the sewing room is pushed and she is welcomed by the sight of Miss Hwang seated in front of her sewing machine, wearing her thick glasses, concentrating with her face a little too close to her craft. She lets out a sigh that could have shaken the entire room if it could, moving over to where Miss Hwang is sewing at and kneeling in front of the device just to talk to her.

“Grandma…”

“Yes, darling?”

“Can I talk to you about something? I want some advice.”

Joyful laughter is the one that follows soon after, motherly, like everything Miss Hwang does. The woman doesn’t stop sewing, however, simply looking up at her with a glint behind her eyes before continuing with her craft. After all, she is working on the few commissions they get for pieces of clothing other than costumes. She shakes the fabric, gets back to working and places a piece of thread in between her lips. “I haven’t heard that since Heejung started dating her husband, Leo.” She tells her, voice filled with nostalgia for her mechanic daughter. “…But yes, yes, darling, I’m all ears. What is the matter?”

For a moment, she wants to say nothing is the matter. She is not like that, though, the type to hide what she feels—it is shown clearly by the way she looks at Minhyuk, after all. Why is that her thoughts are always filled with him, either way? Drowned in everything that she adores about him. “So…you know I’ve been seeing Minhyuk. Well, not seeing, but yes, we’re not officially dating…but like, everyone knows we’re practically something. Yes, that’s it, we’re something.” She rests her chin against her forearm, watching the needle pinch through the fabric as it glides across it harshly. “…But, he has always spoken about how he is obsessed with travelling and he never stays anywhere for too long and this scares me.”

Miss Hwang stops sewing, then, looking at her and lowering her glasses to say: “Okay, go on.”

She stands up, a jumpy movement in her steps as she continues speaking. “And it has me anxious, grandma! It’s not only that he could leave, that’s something I worry about on its own, but I get mad because I don’t know the root of this. Every story has its beginning, what made him so eager to run away?!” She asks, noticing the edge of her voice when she widens her eyes like a madwoman.

The patience in Miss Hwang is impeccable, blinking softly at the woman’s antics before humming. “Then, investigate.”

“What?”

“Ask him about it. Don’t go around the subject,” Miss Hwang says, going back to her sewing just in time to click her tongue repeatedly, almost condescendingly. “This is unlike you. You’re always curious, yes, but you always investigate, as well. So, do so.”

She bites down on her bottom lip. “I don’t want to pressure him into telling me something he doesn’t want to, though…”

“Then, he can give you a reason as to why he doesn’t want to talk about it.” Miss Hwang complies. “Communication, honey, that’s all that there needs to be. You guys talk too much, but you don’t communicate.”

“Huh…” That day, she learned the difference between talking and communicating, one void, one filled with everything that there needs to be done to maintain any kind of relationship. To remember someone’s birthday is not important if you never know the depth of the celebration, their least favorite one, if you never see them struggling to keep a smile on their face as people sing them in their day. That is only one of the main examples of a bond, one so profound and deep that it runs through her, the one she feels like she has with Minhyuk but needs to be fixed. “I’m going to help you out instead of just talking about Minhyuk all the time.” She says, dragging her seat closer and helping out with cutting the fabrics and sewing the smallest pieces, not excellent at it, but always making up for her enthusiasm.

After all, that is her trademark…what makes her, well, her. In poverty, in love with art, able to do something that would never have an outcome just because it makes her happy. Sadness is not for her, it has never fitted her—not like a costume, not like a lifestyle. It is then that she opts to dress up the slightest bit to go to Jessica’s bar, always breathless when she enters such place only to be engulfed by the water aesthetic, reminiscent of exactly what is lacking in her hometown.

Most of the time, the bar is not filled with poets—and yes, she continues to read the poems of the barely known Nunu, anonymous poet—, but most of the time it has someone singing, most likely the local band, and that’s the case for that night. Though with the movement of her legs, she greets a few people, as normally, moving towards the bar to see Minhyuk leaning on the counter, talking to one of the members of their little society, completely interested in the conversation, as always. He gives it his all to keep it alive.

Just like she wants to give her all to keep him there.

Troublesome, some had called him around town, from what she has heard directly told to her face when the subject of Minhyuk comes up. He is the type of personality no one wants to unfold—they believe that what he shows, youthful and annoying, is all there is to him. She doesn’t. Talking to him has been an eye-opening experience, so much that when he lifts his gaze and smiles at her, she can’t bring herself to believe that Minhyuk is a heartbreaker. The one that gets off on the thought of building a personality, having people fall for it and then, leaving. He says so himself, he can’t even finish something that he begins…but she holds onto hope.

She realizes just how much of him is around her now, in the bracelet that weights on her wrist, on the pictures she has in her room and the ones they have taken together, his habit of writing the day and month behind them once they are revealed just his own way of portraying his existence in her life. The closer she gets, she realizes she doesn’t even have to look at him to remember his features, the marks under his eyes, the protruding bottom lip, the moles around his face, though barely there.

“Minhyuk, hi.” She breathes out, sending a wave to the person he was talking to and earning a drunken nod in response. Minhyuk leans over the counter, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips like he is not embarrassed—boisterous, exhibitionistic in some way, he tends to be…or maybe, really honest with what he feels currently.

“What are you doing here?” He says after saying a greeting, hands already looking for a beer and taking the lid off for her. She takes the cold bottle in between her fingers, not paying attention to the burning sensation against her fingertips, taking a brief swing of the drink, the fuzzy feeling on the pit of her stomach…probably from the drink, but also from her nervousness.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Pushing her weight forward, her elbows resting on the counter as half her body is pressed down on the chair she is seated at, she looks into his eyes before quirking an eyebrow. “Is that okay? I know it’s probably an odd time, but I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I didn’t talk about this with you—”

Minhyuk’s lips quirk up in a smile, his hand extending to rest over hers. Weight, gravity, everything with him has been so natural…so meant to happen, that it would be impossible for it to just become invisible in the blink of an eye. “Hey, hey, there. What’s so wrong? Is there anything going on in that sweet head of yours?”

With shaky lips and another swing of the beer, she stops thinking about pleasing everyone—about only being of everyone’s liking, and with soft spoken thoughts, she clears her throat. “I’m just so…curious as to why you don’t ever tell me anything about your past.”

Minhyuk rolls the sleeves of his blue button down, matched with black pants that hug his slim hips slightly. “…Oh, come on.” He says, prideful and confident in the way his chest puffs out. “It’s not like I haven’t told you anything. I told you everything—”

“You barely tell me anything about your past…or why you like travelling so much.” She says, plopping the drink down on the counter and looking around in case everyone is listening to them. They are probably pretending to be ignoring them, but this conversation would probably end in the gossip around town. “The biggest part of your life, the most important thing for you and I know nothing about it. Does it seem fair that I barely know anything about you when you know everything about me?”

The man in question goes around the counter, taking her by the wrist and dragging her towards the hallway that leads up to the bathrooms. “Let’s not have this conversation in public.” The annoyance in her voice is what keeps her rambling.

“What even has you so embarrassed? It’s always like this, you find an excuse and never tell me anything—”

Once in the hallway, Minhyuk turns around, shrugging his slim shoulders when he says: “I don’t know. I have never done shit like this. I barely even stay for this long, okay? Just get me here—!”

She stops drinking from her beer, resting it down on the floor before sighing. “How can I even get you when you don’t tell me anything, Minhyuk? I need to know where this running away thing started.”

“It’s not running away.”

“It is! Moving around from country to country is not even normal!” She explains, hands bound to her waist when she sees him rolling her eyes. “And how do you even find the money?”

Minhyuk’s eyes widen at that, running his hands through his bleached hair and gripping at the strands. “Oh my God, don’t tell me you’re hinting at that stupid rumor of me being a gang member or something.”

Petty, tired, perhaps acting up in whatever feelings of love she holds for him, stopped by the reality that he barely shows a glimpse of who he used to be, she wants to get to know the raw version of him and if this is the way… “I don’t know, you tell me!”

Minhyuk rests the weight of his back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling almost as if making a prayer, he crosses his arms over his chest. “I can’t believe I am doing this…” He breathes out and before she could speak, he starts speaking. The way he holds himself is not a stance of giving up, it’s one of fighting back harder, against whatever it is that it bothers him, perhaps. “You know, not all of us had a good little community to talk to. Not all of us were friends with everyone. Some of us had pretty rough childhoods, for example, or we never found a place to call home…you want to know why? My parents were always working when I was growing up. Is that what you wanted to hear?” The defenses are up now, though his voice only heightens slightly, the sound of music in the background drowning their conversation. “Day and night. Day and night. I would get up at five in the morning just to get to eat with them…and sure, they did it for my favor and I am thankful, but I wasn’t truly…at home when all I was…was alone.” He replies, finally getting off from that stupid wall and nearing her, because all she wants to do is cradle him in her arms and tell him that all her love is his, that if she is there, he will never have to be alone. “Every penny I got from them, I saved. I had enough to travel and I said from then on: hey, I like travelling, and I have always been alone, it’s not that difficult. I’d much rather be alone in an exotic place than just have to think that my own home is not even mine to start with.”

“Minhyuk—”

“Excuse me for having a running away complex. I just work for some bit in the place I am in and then I move on to another. I want to live my life without thinking of the reason behind my actions. Not all of us have a story they want to tell, you get me?”

“Sorry for asking…” The empath in her speaks, reaching forward for him when Minhyuk simply stays in place, not caressing her like he normally does. “I just never want you to run away from me…you’ve been—”

“I’ve been here far longer than I’ve been anywhere else for the past eight years, that should be enough.” He complains, only to have her wrapping her arms around him, resting a kiss on his collarbone, then his neck, his cheeks, wanting to feel like he is at home.

“Because you’ll always have a home in me…” She whispers, only to have him chuckling. Uncomfortable.

“Don’t say that stuff like that, don’t…say stuff like that. Please.”

“I mean it.”

Minhyuk finally wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before finally, for the first time since they’ve met each other, talking seriously. “I know…” Knowing another part of him and loving it just the same just voices out, to herself, what she already knows. She adores, no, loves this man. So much that she doesn’t even believe that rapidness of her heart or the bad that people see in the good that is him. “Just, I told you, don’t talk about this again, okay? I travel because I just do.”

“It’s our little secret.”

Somewhere she had heard that if nightmares are spoken into the air, then they never come true. She’d rather keep this promise of him staying there in between the two, silent, so she can hope for a future…for a happy ending, one where she doesn’t feel the knot in her throat that tells her.

He’s running away.

From you. From everyone.

###

Sometimes, people forget to turn off the lights. She’s home, feet tired, mind vacant, eyes sleepy—but she needs to stay awake. She craves for that television device that blinks at her…it tells her ‘just another episode’, and she lets it. Before she knows it, she has pushed all the important things of life away, falling asleep to the light flicked on. An exchange for sunshine, it had become, because she imagines it shines just as bright…it does the trick. Sometimes, someone is enough to bring that feeling to life—she’d rather have him as his light, illuminating her days with just his radiant presence, than turning off the light. Tuning them out, living up to that expectation that screams at her, just at anyone, that this is not forever.

She forgot, or forgets, that lightbulbs are not meant to last forever. Even the Sun is not meant to live forever, some say. One day, when she least expects it, the lightbulb will flicker and turn off. She can try to fix it, nothing bad could happen with that, and it’s something people do…but it will never work the same amount of time that it did. It won’t shine as brightly, just leave a dim glow over her skin, but she’d feel it—that companion and brightness she has grown to love. Once it stops working again, she’d try to fix it…

She has a problem with letting go, as it seems. No one has ever left her—her breakups caused by herself, and still, she gets to see her exes on a daily basis, most of the time.

But the problem is, eventually, there will be another source of light and holding on to one lightbulb, generally asking it to illuminate her forever…that’s something she has never done, for she is not selfish, and there she is, doing just what she had never imagined.

Five months. Five months of being here and Minhyuk already looks drained. She wants to make him feel better, seated on his usual spot across from her at her typical diner table—that seat is filled with children, seated by his side, the youngest one (Emily’s son) seated on his lap as Minhyuk really tries to be in his zone, to be playful and talkative, but something is stopping him. Indifferent, he is, to the sound of her voice telling another story, to the children that ask him for opinions only to get a brief joke, not even receiving his usual laughter.

And still, they don’t have a title. She likes to believe he is truly her first love, in the way he sits there and fixes the curls on the five-year-old’s head, making sure that they are put in place before Emily loses her head on the fact that her son can’t keep a hairstyle for the life of him; that, he is, her first love that isn’t really the first.

To capture his attention, she pushes her weight forward, letting out a sigh through her lips in this Sunday midday, puffing them out before speaking into the thin air. “Actually, I have one more story for today.” She says, not missing the way the children perk up at the sound of her voice, nodding their heads and speaking between themselves to hurry her in the story. “Did you know that…five centuries ago? There used to be a couple in this same town. Well, not a couple—lovers.” She points out, only to have Minhyuk staring up at her, a tight-lipped smile given when she connects gazes with him. “You see, the man was a sailor. He had gone around the world…all through waters, of course. Until he landed nearby, walked and walked until he got here. This was different from anything he had seen. No water, no lakes. No sea.” The sound of her voice goes directly to Minhyuk, as if to convince him that this story is about him. The man’s face is touched by a smile, thankfully. “One of our townies, a woman, tried to help him get back home…but he didn’t have a home.”

Emily’s son is the first one to gasp at that. “How so?”

“The world was his home. Everywhere and anywhere. He liked to have different homes.” She explains, leaning forward to pinch the youngest’s cheeks. All that naivety was heart-warming.

One of her listeners asked. “So, what did the woman do?”

“In light of this man—tall, skinny, almost like Minhyuk right there,” She says, extending one hand to point at her example only to have him posing slightly to her words, earning laughter from the students. “Not finding a home. The townie tried to make a home out of the people here, out of this place.”

“And did he stay?”

“He did,” She replies, watching Minhyuk’s smile fall as she gives him a weak one. “He stayed. He found a home where he least expected it. The sailor no longer sailed after that, at least, not alone.”

But what is the magic of believing that the light will always stay turned on? How can she invent this sailor inside her head, running in imagination, when the first thing she sees in Minhyuk’s apartment once they enter is that wall that he has covered with a map? She gets closer, the shuffling of fabrics being heard in the background as Minhyuk takes off his denim jacket, and she takes the time to look at the map. New spots are not surrounded by red circles, indicators that they have probably caught his interest and in lack of X’s, she recalls that he may have not visited them on the first place.

The reason why they are there is because Minhyuk wanted for them to spend some time together, perhaps in tranquility, in the silence that basks them on the unspoken. The truth that falls on the fact that even Minhyuk doesn’t know if he’ll stay a long time, if he is just at the verge of needing to leave—a necessity, will she ever be powerful enough to battle such thing?

It takes her a few strides to get where he is, taking his face in between her hands and kissing him with fervor, like he wants to take every question away from his brain, feeling his lips jotting against hers almost immediately. A soft breath leaves her lips because nothing will ever quite compare to how it feels to kiss someone she actually loves, but she can’t have. His hands always rest on the small of her back, dipping her weight forward until their chests are pressed together, caressing his soft skin when her fingertips go up towards his hair, catching it in a soft grip, moving a few steps back and instructing him to follow her when she continues to kiss him…like everything is going to be okay, and there is an ‘everything’ to start with.

His jaw goes down slightly, panting breaths leaving his lips when she throws herself on his bed, hair highlighting her features, almost like an angel when she smiles at him. Minhyuk’s fingers glide across her arms when he kisses her again, soon after extending his palm on top of her abdomen and she feels like he controls her breathing, has done so from the moment she met him, letting his mind go off towards the unknown when he kisses her more deeply, the sound of her lips joining together contrasting the dull sound of his empty apartment.

Something about the weight of his body, his legs that rest in between hers, the feeling of his long fingertips toying with the edge of her shirt makes her feel like she has burned herself finding a source of light, and she can’t return this adoration—this love she feels for the man. Can’t give it back for anyone else to feel other than herself. Minhyuk’s soft lips go down her lips, her jaw, her hands working on taking off his shirt and tossing it on the side of the room, inspecting his body, going up and up until she rests her gaze on his, letting out a little giggle when she wraps her arms around his waist, resting fleeting kisses on his collarbones before speaking up:

“Let’s—”

Minhyuk’s hands, that had been resting on her thighs and almost cry at the mere sound of his voice, leave her body when he utters out a small: “I can’t.” That voice of his is so tiny that it doesn’t sound like him and the way he closes his eyes has her confused, already having taken off her shirt when he said those words.

“…You can’t?”

“I don’t—It’s not that I don’t want you, because yes, you’re gorgeous and I’m so…I think you’re spectacular and I like you more than I could ever voice out, but…I can’t do it.” For the first time, Minhyuk is out of words. She reaches for her shirt, putting it up her body in a hassle before looking at him in worry, seeing him standing up and walking from one end to the other.

“Minhyuk, hey, I didn’t mean to make you feel pressured. I just—”

“You didn’t,” He whispers, stopping in his tracks before looking at her. “I just need you to kiss me, okay? Let’s not talk tonight, I need you to kiss me and we’ll think about what to say later.”

She never imagined there would be the day where she kissed a fragile Minhyuk, one that barely seemed like a shell of himself when his lips pressed to hers softly. Hi brightness had dulled…and maybe, it was because of her.

###

“Jessica!” Her footsteps are quick, running through the streets with her phone tightly pressed to her hand, possibly continuing to call Minhyuk endlessly. Her heart-rate must have gone incredibly high, to the point she can hear the beats of it inside her ears, boiling hot, her head done so much of a mess that she feels dizzy. No amount of oxygen could ever make her feel like she has been breathing in enough, and when she finds her voice screaming again, she is surprised at the roughness of it. “Jessi! Jessica, please stop!”

The woman in question halters her steps in front of her bar, looking behind her before widening her eyes in surprise. Never had she been so unpoised, so messy with the way she spoke, bringing worry to the older woman’s features quite immediately. “Hey, breathe. What is going on—?”

“Where is Minhyuk?”

You see, waking up one day and not getting a text from him is one thing. That had happened, and he had probably fallen asleep. Calling him and not getting a response is also something that could happen to anyone, but when she didn’t see him for the rest of the day, the other day, the day after that…she started to get worried. So much she went to his apartment, running just like how she was doing right at this moment, and knocking his door so incessantly the landlord had to help her get in. Vacant, empty, not even his map is there anymore, not even a note or a box or anything that could tell her where he is.

It hasn’t downed on her, knowing that Minhyuk could have left. Maybe, he had to do something. Perhaps, he wanted to move out to a house instead of that small apartment, but the only person that could give her answers is the one that employed him.

Jessica’s features soften at that, swallowing thickly just at the mere sight of her and she swears she can see tears forming at the corner of her eyes, had they been placed there beforehand? She can’t recall. Her hands are resting against her chests, nails clinging into the fabric of her shirt in hopes of stopping the itching ache there.

“Where is he…?” She speaks softer, moving her legs quickly and feeling her breathing start to pick up. Her eyes can’t concentrate anywhere, looking for answers somewhere when Jessica sighs deeply.

“He quitted a few days ago. I didn’t know he was going to leave; he just left a box with me and I never checked it. He said to look for the name on top of it.” Jessica replies quickly, taking her warm hands in her palm to drag her inside the closed bar. Once inside, the aquarium-like place suddenly reminding her of the existence of Minhyuk, how he used to talk to people behind that counter and enjoy every moment of it…she feels her resolve breaking, letting out deep breaths from her lips to calm herself down. “I mean it, just breathe. I am sure he wouldn’t want you to pass out or die because of this. There must be—”

“A motherfucking reason? That he wanted to leave me since the moment he saw me, that’s that!” She exclaims, seated in front of the counter as Jessica rummages through Minhyuk’s workplace.

“No, honey, he really cared for you—”

“Then, why did he leave?”

“…I don’t know.” Jessica hisses softly, placing a wooden box in front of her before pointing at the small paper taped to the top of the lid. “But this is for you.”

No one prepares anyone for being abandoned, ghosted, much more when it’s out of the blue—as if nothing had ever mattered, and sometimes she blames herself for holding on to the collectives she has of him. In days after his departure, even the same night she had gotten that box, she had worn his hat over her head and she had been unable to take off that bracelet that showed all the places he had been to, a pendant with the flag of her hometown suddenly there. It feels as though her heart is broken in half, calling out for him, wondering why he had never accepted the home she had made just for him…in her arms, for him to stay and never feel like he is alone.

Some battles need to be fought alone, Miss Hwang says to her as she is crying on her lap, three days after Minhyuk’s abandonment and still feeling like the wound is even more open. Sometimes, she feels like she can’t breathe—like the devil has stolen her soul in the form of an angel, as if a part of her always knew that he was going to take her happiness away, own it and make it his before leaving with it. The other part of her wonders if Minhyuk felt bad the last night they met, the reason why he wanted to kiss her endlessly but couldn’t have the only thing they hadn’t shared—as if he didn’t want to promise to give all of him, when he really couldn’t play with her feelings entirely.

Salvaging him, even when he had done the worst thing he could have done in their situation, is something that she can’t find herself doing. Hands rest on her head, licks from the dogs making her feel more at ease the more sobs that leave her lips, unable to be stopped even days after, but at least she is not crying alone…like how she feels right now, even when she had not felt that way in the entirety of her life.

Something inside her tells her that she’ll get over this, but that she’ll never get back the part of her that had fallen for him.

The lights had turned down, just in time for Miss Hwang to tell her to check that box—see his side of the story, even against what Liz and Emily had said about him being an asshole. A shaky breath leaves her lips, pushing her weight off Miss Hwang’s body to tap the lid of the wooden box, reading the handwriting that represents her name before opening it softly.

A downpour falls upon her, watching the pictures they had taken, all revealed and faded into nothingness, showing the details of his hands on her waist, his lips on her cheek, her arms wrapped around him, smiles on their faces. Love. Love. Love. She always thought it had been love in between them…but maybe, she had thought wrong and watching him, that bleached blonde hair that he took so much care of, that smile that made him look like there was always something up in his brain, something to do…

The last picture is the one that takes her off guard, one of her that she had never actually seen, seated by her usual table on a Sunday, the diner is clearly seen in the background and it is not the most beautiful of pictures—she is talking, mouth open, but when she turns it around, expecting the paper to have the day and month it was taken in, she sees something else. Not quite the paragraph, really, Minhyuk has always been an endless talker…but when it comes to serious matters, he comes short. He doesn’t believe in romanticism, maybe.

“Forgive me, I really tried. I love you, be happy. You’ll always be my home.”

But how could she believe in the existence of their love when he had left? She asks, wanting nothing more than to rip the picture to shreds and forget about him, but for some reason, she presses it to her chest, wanting to capture the person she used to be and mixing it with this endless love she feels for Minhyuk. Someone who had never truly known how to stay home, how to stay even through the dullness of their reality.

…Someone who wanted to fade, but would never be invisible to her. Not when she met the real version of him.

And hopefully, she’ll always be his home.

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