#smartest travel outfit i ever seen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ditttiii · 4 years

Text

Mobius

They say some infinities are bigger than others’ and you can’t say that you fully understood what that meant—at least not until you fell in love with Kim Namjoon, the time-traveller and the man who lived in your house, decades before you.

◈ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader (A Time Travel AU // strangers to lovers AU)

◈ Genre: Romance, Angst with a happy ending, Smut, Fluff (PG-18) (slight hair pulling, if that’s a problem for you here’s a warning)

◈ Word Count: 9657 (of which 3k is smut so lol you’re welcome)

◈ Based on the prompt: In the middle of the night, you hear strange sounds. You go to investigate, only to find a man rummaging through your fridge. At the same time, you both say, "What are you doing in my house?" It turns out that the man lived in your house decades ago. But how did he get here? by @megahwn

◈ Event: Written for the “Prompt Twist” event hosted by @bangtanidx

“Because time is a drop in the ocean, and you cannot measure off one drop against another to see which one is bigger, which one is smaller.”

Mobius :: an infinite loop.

*clang*

Your brows furrow as you turn on your bedside lamp and you wince when the bright light assaults your vision. As your blurry eyes try to focus on your bedside alarm clock, you realise that it has been less than three hours since you went to bed.

'What the hell?!' Is the thought at the forefront of your mind as you groan and scoot off your bed. Your scowl only grows darker as your feet touch the cold floor of your apartment.

You had recently bought the property two months ago. You were a writer by profession, and while your books didn't top the bestsellers list, you earned enough to live comfortably. The added bonus of your job being your passion wasn't lost on you either.

As you walk across your room to your door, the noises only get louder. You think you had closed the windows before going to sleep so it shouldn't be the wind, but maybe the wind was strong, and the latch unlocked on its own?

When you had bought the land, it wasn't barren. The property you had bought also had a two-storey built house on it, one you had additionally paid for too. However, it's times like tonight that make you think, that perhaps, buying an old house, with creaky floorboards and loose windows wasn't the smartest decision.

Climbing down the stairs, you tighten your robe around your body to shield yourself from the cold that would settle every time the sun would set. Again, one of the perks of buying an old, abandoned house.

You follow the sounds to your kitchen, your feet padding across the living room. The sound of your footsteps drowned by the noises that were coming from the kitchen.

However, as you enter your kitchen, you freeze midstep. Your eyes widen, and you take a step back, as your eyes take in the scene.

There was a man, crouched over, rummaging through your fridge for lord knows what. A man who you had, from the looks of his back, never seen before in your life.

Your breathes quicken, and adrenaline flows through your veins as your fight or flight instinct kicks in.

You move soundlessly, tiptoeing to where there is a lamp kept on a small table. Your eyes stay locked onto the intruders hunched over figure as you pick it up, wrapping the wire around your arm, to make sure that it wouldn't make any noise as you move.

'To charge or to ask?' The thought runs through your head as your eyes stay trained on his figure. While you did want to protect yourself, you also didn't want to accidentally, fatally injure a hungry, homeless man. As your eyes roam over his old fashioned outfit, your belief only strengthens. Definitely homeless.

When you move to close the distance, the floor below your feet creeks and you curse. Hearing the sound of your curse, the intruders face snaps up, his figure spinning and turning to look at you.

You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, as your eyes lock with him, and at the same time, you both say, "What are you doing in my house?"

Your brows furrow and your eyes narrow, as you scoff out an, "Excuse me? The house you're in right now? Yeah, mine."

Taking a threatening step toward him, you raise your lamp and continue, "Now let me ask that again, Who are you and just what the fuck do you think you are doing in my house, hoarding my fridge?"

The man raises his brows incredulously as he points at himself and goes, "I don't know who you are, but this is my house." He then pauses as his eyes travel to where you are holding the lamp high above your head before he continues, "And I believe that lamp is loose, I'd suggest that you lower your hand before the bulb falls off and shatters on your head."

You blink taken aback before your eyes narrow further. You look up and flinch away from the lamp as you realise that the stranger wasn't lying.

"Who even—"

"Are you?" The unknown man finishes your thought, before looking at you with raised a brow.

Somehow, that makes you feel a little stupid and that, annoys you more.

'Fuck him and his holier-than-thou attitude.' Your mind supplies, miffed and maybe a little irrational, as you further narrow your eyes at him.

"Well genius, why don't you answer the question then?" You practically spit out, your words coming out more like a hiss at the end. You were at your wits end, and your patience was all but ready to snap.

The man looks at you, his jaw clenched and jutting out as he regards you. You unconsciously pull your robe tighter over your body, unsure and wary of his intent. His eyes sweep over you, then sweep over your kitchen, narrowed and contemplative?

"Excuse me?!"

"Shush, one second." He replies as he raises a finger at you as if to ask you to stay quiet?

'What the actual fuck?' Is the only thought that runs through your head as you stand there and wait for the man to finish musing over whatever it was that he was contemplating. There wasn't much else that you could do anyway. You take that time to observe him too and gulp when you see how low the neckline of his shirt is. The material thin and almost see-through hangs lose around his body, the cuffs draping low over his fingers.

You think if you hadn't met him in such unconventional circumstances, you'd have been interested in him.

"The bedroom is through the second door on the floor above this. Also, there is a crack that runs through the third tile on the left of the bathroom door."

Your gaze snaps back to him when you hear him say that and you gape.

Your mouth opens, but no words come out as you look at him with furrowed brows. He shouldn't—couldn't have known those finer details about the interior of your house.

"Wh-what?" Your voice comes out soft, unsure, as your head tilts in confusion. His dark, thin eyes track the movement, follow the way your hair come loose with the motion and slip past your shoulder.

"I have a theory behind why I am in your kitchen, but I don't think you'll believe me." He responds, his eyes never once straying from where they were fixed somewhere on your shoulder.

Your eyes furrow in confusion as your eyes track his line of sight, a soft gasp leaving your mouth as you realise your robe had slipped off your shoulder, and the bare skin of your shoulder was in his plain sight. Quickly gliding a hand over your forearm, pretending like you were itching at a point on your shoulder, you slide your robe up.

The strangers' eyes snap away then, and he blushes?

His behaviour was confusing you more and more. First, he wasn't answering your questions then he was creepy staring at your bare shoulder, and it all that wasn't enough now, he was embarrassed.

'It's way too early for this.'

You clear your throat and wait for him to look at you before continuing, "Right, I might not believe you, but I'd like to hear your theory anyway, but," and here you hold your finger up before you continue, " I'd like to know your name first. Mine's Y/n, and I can't say it's exactly a pleasure to meet you."

At that, he cracks a smile before he puts his hand out and goes, "Hello, I'm Namjoon and uh, I am sorry about all this," Here he randomly waves his hand in the air as if to indicate the mess you two were in before he continues, "but let's talk? I'll try my best to explain."

You nod and shake his hand, a little wary before you gesture him to follow you and you both settle down on your living room couches. Him on the seat opposite yours, as you wait for him to continue.

Namjoon, as you now know, wrings his hands, chin again jutting out as he seems to be deep in his thoughts. You glance at the living room clock and wince when you see the time but don't say anything, for once not disturbing him and instead wait for him to gather his thoughts.

"Do you know who I am?"

Your brows furrow when you hear him say that and you give him a look as if to say what do you think?

He, however, doesn't take any offence to your snappy attitude, and continues, "I mean, have you ever heard my name before?"

At that, you furrow your brows and shrug. "I know a few Namjoons so, what?"

His eyes widen when he hears you say that and he huffs, "Right, My bad, what I meant was my full name is Kim Namjoon. Does that ring any bells?"

Your eyes widen when you hear him say his full name. 'Kim Namjoon', your lips form the words, but no sound comes out. The back of your neck breaks out in cold sweat when you finally put the name to his face. Back when you had been looking to buy the property, your agent had informed you of Namjoons status; missing, and the conspiracy around his disappearance, still no signs of where he was or how he went missing.

He looks at you, observes your reaction and nods as if you had just confirmed something. "That's what I thought. My name is Kim Namjoon, and I am or well," here he stops before he looks at the calendar that was on the table beside his couch and continues, "Was the owner of this house 40 years ago."

You blink before your mouth opens, but again no words come out, and you close your mouth again. Thinking back to a few minutes ago, it suddenly makes sense to you as to how Namjoon would know those details about the interior of your house.

'He lived here, or is it lives here?'

"Where were you all this time then?" You ask instead, you have too many questions and you don't know which one you should ask first so, you go with what comes to your mind first.

Namjoon glances at you surprised, maybe he had expected you to freak out, which would be the logical thing to do, but you are a fantasy author, and you remember what Kim Namjoon's profession was, you just hope your hunch is right and that he wasn't a ghost instead.

As you raise your brow, he snaps out of whatever stupor he was stuck in and continues, "I've been living here. Well or I was at least, I don't know how to explain it to you. I barely understand it on my own, but I have a guess." He fumbles as he explains and you just nod to indicate that you are listening, encouraging him to continue.

"So, if you don't know who I am or was, ugh—I don't know, this is so confusing. But, well, I am a scientist, a physicist if I have to be precise. I studied time, the concept of stars, galaxies, a mixture of quantum and astrophysics." Here his hands flap around in the air randomly, which you think is his way of trying to get his point across and so you just nod to show that you are following along.

He looks at you and nods before one of his hands' rakes through his hair, the strands long, and dark, move under the force, and you gulp as your mouth suddenly goes dry. Now that you are no longer in mortal danger, your brain was finally picking up on how good looking the stranger or not such a stranger, was. His hands big, his fingers thin, long and ridiculously hot.

You snap your gaze away from him and blush as you realise just where your train of thoughts was going and internally admonish yourself for letting your libido get the best of you.

'Focus Y/N, have some shame, will you?' You think to yourself before you let out a quiet huff and straighten up, snapping your gaze back to Namjoon as you hear him continue.

"I don't fully understand how this happened either, but I had been working on a time machine." Here his eyes tentatively find yours probably expecting to see a look of disbelief or annoyance, however, you keep your face straight and expressions neutral, just nodding along as a gesture to continue.

'So your hunch was right.'

"It was a prototype, and I didn't think it would work, I mean time travel wasn't exactly a possible belief amongst the scientist community back then, probably still isn't, is it?" He asks you and looks at you with his brows raised and you fumble. You don't know if it is or isn't, but you hadn't heard about anyone inventing any time machine, so you just shake your head and hope you are right.

He nods along as if you had confirmed something again and you internally wonder why he would hold your opinion and answers so high. You barely know him, he hardly knows you too, what reasons did he have for trusting you? You could be lying, but then again what would you get from lying, it's not like you were intruding in his space.

'Or were you?' Your brain supplies and you run a hand through your hair, raking your fingers across your scalp as you groan out loud, the confusion and insaneness of the situation enough to make you feel like you were going to go crazy.

Namjoon surprised, swivels his gaze to you and frowns before he asks, concerned, "Hey, Are you okay? Do you need me to get you a glass of water? I know this is a lot to take in I can wait."

You are a little taken aback by how genuine his concern is, as you look up at him, you see his eyes on you. Squinted and full of worry, for you— a virtual stranger.

Seeing him genuinely concerned for your well being you feel a little bad about your earlier actions, and in response, you just give a small smile which you think comes out more as a grimace instead, but thankfully he doesn't comment on it.

Shaking your head with a soft, "I am fine." You urge him to continue, taking in a deep breath and settling yourself more comfortably on the couch; you have a feeling it's going to be a long night.

It has been a month since Namjoon had somehow managed to time-travel, to your time, a month since you two had started sharing the same roof over your heads.

You also were right back then because it was a long night.

Namjoon had apparently been testing the prototype of the time machine he was working on, the prototype still in its early stages wasn't fully developed, and Namjoon himself was still figuring things out with where he wanted to take that model.

On his part, it was just a side project, his little brain baby that he worked on in his spare time—something he had high hopes for but because of society and the opinions of his colleagues had been pushed back, and turned into a secret project. Not many believed that something like 'Time travel,' was possible and so they would ridicule Namjoon for his belief, mock him—call him crazy and delusional.

Your heart hurts when you think about that night now, because while you hadn't been close to Namjoon then, you are now.

In the time that you have known him, Namjoon has proven himself to be the kindest, most considerate and sweet man ever. His affection wasn't loud, and he didn't speak about how much he cared for you. Instead, his kindness and care shine through with his actions, the little things he does throughout the day that sometimes you miss at that moment, but later realise and appreciate when you think back.

His care comes through when he leaves behind a cup of coffee, made just the way you like it, every single morning on a tray outside your bedroom door with a glass of water. Or in the way, his soft voice whispers about constellations or other galaxies and paints another world as he sits on the floor beside your bed and helps you fall asleep, his hand running through the strands of your hair, just like your mother did when you were a child.

Those miscellaneous little acts of his were what kept pushing you to fall for him. You try to hold yourself back, try not to them affect you—but you know it's all in vain.

Your heart physically aches—clenches in on itself, when he looks at you with glittering eyes, orbs full of excitement and a sense of pride in his own self, when he makes a breakthrough with his repair of the prototype.

You want to be happy; you want to feel happy for him, but at the same time, you can't help but hope that his repairs don't go well, that instead, they take time. The time that you can then use to get to know him better because, good lord, do you want to know him better.

You know it's selfish to want that, he doesn't belong in the present time. Because while the land you both lived on might be same, nothing else was—not the time, not the people, nothing.

Remembering that little tiny detail, however, is hard, so so hard because you want him to be, you want him to belong to your world, to your time—to you.

Never before have you met a man who makes your heart race as Namjoon does. He makes you feel loved, cherished, happy and you selfishly want more of it, more of this happiness, more of him.

"Y/N have you seen the number four screwdriver?" You hear Namjoon yell out from your basement, his voice bellowing through the house to where you are sitting in the living room.

"Did you try the kitchen drawer?" You shout back, the back and forth of your dialogue from halfway across the house now a daily occurrence.

It's quiet for a moment, and then you hear steps padding across your creaky basement stairs, and then Namjoon is in the living room doorway, a full closelipped smile on display, passing you by on his way to the kitchen.

Your eyes follow his tall figure as he walks to the kitchen and you wince when you hear a crash, before a "Sorry about that," reaches you, and you just huff in exasperated fondness.

In the last month, you have come to realise that while Namjoon is a brilliant scientist, he is also an incredibly clumsy person, with him breaking things left and right. Just within this week, he has already shattered two of your coffee cups and a vase your mom had given you for your last birthday.

I've got to say, not too sad about the vase.

Your gaze snaps up when you hear him coming back to the living room, and you smile softly as his eyes lock with yours for a moment before he proceeds to go down the stairs to the basement.

It has been three months since you first moved in; two months since Namjoon came into your life. There wasn't much time between these two incidences, which was why you hadn't been able to fix your house and change the interior before he time travelled. And while you have slowly been making progress room after room with Namjoons help, that wasn't the case a month ago.

The basement, aka Namjoons lab, virtually abandoned for close to four decades was dusty and home to all sorts of insects and rodents; but still the same as he had left it. It was probably because of this reason that Namjoon hadn't initially noticed that his prototype had worked and that he had actually managed to time travel to the future.

The changes that you had made after moving in during the initial two months were minor enough that when Namjoon made his way to your kitchen that night a month ago, they went unnoticed by him; the dim lighting and lateness of the hour only helping to hide the changes more.

Since then you have slowly been working on repairing your home, fixing the roofs and the leaks, changing the creaky floorboards. It was a tough task, and some days you wonder if buying the land was more trouble than it was worth, but then you think of Namjoon and realise you would never have met him, if not for the house and then suddenly your fondness for the land grows.

The creaky floorboards, the chittering of mice running around in your basement, the musky smell of old wood, it all feel warm, almost cosy to you. Maybe it's just your lonely soul cherishing the company of Namjoons’ presence, but you don't dwell on the reasons, knowing full well that—that particular train of thoughts would result in you falling in love, and love wasn't ever kind to you.

Sighing you crane your neck, and let it fall onto the back of your couch, as your thoughts go to places you wish they wouldn't go.

As the clanks of Namjoon fixing up his lab, ring in the back you close your eyes and take a deep breath in, savour the moment—his presence, while you still can.

You hear Namjoons feet pad into the kitchen while you are cooking dinner, and you twist to shoot him a smile before you turn back to continue chopping the vegetables. You would ask him for help, but another thing besides elementary hand-eye coordination, that Namjoon wasn't good at was cooking.

While your new home is a little rough around the edges, it still doesn't deserve to be burned down into hot embers.

"Should I go ahead and set the plates out?" Namjoon asks from where he is leaning on the counter beside you, his eyes following the motion of your hands as you deftly chop the vegetables.

You hum and nod, a soft "Sure, Thank you," Slipping past your lips as you look back down to your chopping board to avoid looking at him for too long.

He is wearing a black muscle shirt, his muscular, coiled arms on display, with hints of his build chest and abbs showing through as the material hugs his body.

You turn your head and allow your hair to fall around your face, curtaining your blushing cheeks and wandering eyes, and take a moment to collect yourself.

It's a little ridiculous how much he affects you, how much his deep, smooth voice feels like molten gold to your ears, his smile and the crinkle around his eyes the brightest parts of your day.

You don't want to like him; if it was, something that was in your control you would prefer to hate him instead.

But the simple fact is that it wasn't—isn't in your control, not when he smiles only for his perfect dimples to pop out, not when he sits for hours beside you as you cry and stress over a chapter or lack of inspiration. Not when he then proceeds to tell you that you can do it because you are Y/N and amazing and he has complete faith in you.

Kim Namjoon is everything you have ever wanted in a man, kind, smart, hard-working, intelligent. It's like, instead of flesh and bones, he is moulded from stardust and magic, too perfect, too good to be true.

Your breath hitches and your heart skips a beat when you feel him lean closer to you, his front softly grazing against your back, as his long, tan arm stretches over your shoulder to the cupboard above and you grip the knife in your hands tighter, your body feeling light just by his mere proximity.

You breathe in to calm down, and it only makes things worse, because with every breath it's like you are breathing him in. The scent of his cologne spicy like cinnamon or spearmint, with an underlying tone of his own fragrance, something so primally Namjoon, that just the tiniest waft of it makes you feel faint.

When he finds whatever it was that he had been looking for, he pauses, inches a little closer to you, his entire front now pressed softly against your back. As he brings his hand back to himself, it grazes against your wrist then glides over your hand, lingers a little on your elbow, before it moves back to its owner.

His touch leaves fire behind in its wake, goosebumps rising over every inch of your skin and you bite your lower lip to stop any unwanted sounds from tumbling out.

It's when he is finally setting down the utensils that you allow yourself to breathe in fully, your chest aching and tight due to lack of oxygen, as you try to get your racing heart under control.

His voice rings across the kitchen as you hear him call you, to join him, and your reply comes in the form of a high pitched, "Yeah!"

Scrunching your nose at the glaringly obvious pitch change, you hope that he doesn't pick up on it. You aren't sure how much of this back and forth teasing you can take before you finally snap, but you have a feeling that the threshold isn't too far off.

You set the bowl of popcorn down on the centre table before you move to sit, your legs curling under you, as you throw a blanket over them to block the chilly night air. The open window allows in the cool breeze from outside, the subtle fragrance of wet mud and roses from your garden wafting in the living room along with it.

"Which movie?" Asks Namjoon as he takes the seat beside you, the cushion dipping under his weight as he slides himself under your shared blanket.

You bend to pick the bowl of popcorn before you hold it over the shared blanket and shrug, replying, "Surprise me."

You allow your eyes stray over to Namjoon. While he is busy picking a movie; you watch the way his brows furrow, that familiar jutted chin making an appearance as he concentrates on the task, his long post-shower hair falling in front of his eyes as messy, wet strands.

Your gaze snaps up to his eyes when you hear him snort, "Talk about ironic, Have you seen this movie before?" He asks with a tilt of his head towards the T.V, and you see the movie title, 'I'll Never Forget You,' a film by Roy Baker and you shake your head, the movie too classic for your usual taste.

Ever since you and Namjoon have started the tradition of watching a movie every night before bed, your repertoire of classic films has expanded, with him introducing you to many of his favourites, while you show him yours.

It's sweet, domestic, almost couply, and your heart tightens a little in your chest every time you realise that while the intimacy might seem real, it isn't the truth.

The inevitability of Namjoon going back to his time isn't lost on you either.

The movie starts, and you recline back onto your couch, the shared bowl of popcorn between you and Namjoon slowly growing lighter as the film progresses. Your fingers bump into each other; some accidentally, and some intentionally. The slide of your nails softly moving against his long, thin fingers, holding more of your attention than the movie.

Your fingers tangle as you both dig for the last few popcorns and you pretend it's not deliberate, but you can't deny that your heart races with the simple action.

The plot progresses, and your hands grow sweaty, your unease increasing as you realise just why Namjoon had called the movie ironic.

The plot revolves around a scientist, who goes back in time and takes the place of one of his ancestors. Fated to marry a woman called Kate, he slowly gets to know her, only to be more interested in her sister Helen. As he stumbles throughout the movie, making mistakes and saying things he shouldn't, dropping his knowledge of the future, Helen falls more and more in love with him.

You shift, uncomfortable and watch as he finally admits to Helen that he is from the future and shows her his basement laboratory, the similarity of the plot while not exact was still quite noticeable.

The end though is what leaves you frozen, your limbs feeling cold and unmoving, as your eyes take in the scene where the man goes back to his time and realises that when he left the past timeline, Helen's grief and sorrow, ate her inside until it finally became too much and took her life.

As the end credits roll, you stay frozen, your spine ramrod straight and your eyes unfocused and blurry, filled with tears that drip down to your cheeks.

You feel as Namjoon shifts to get up, but pauses when he sees you crying. You think you hear him call out your name, but your ears are ringing, and your head is buzzing, filled with far too many troubling thoughts.

Is that going to be me? Will my grief and sorrow cripple me too? You dread just the thought of him going back, how will you ever survive the reality?

Your body shudders, as a loud sob escapes you and you finally break down. Tears drip out of your eyes, leaving wet trails against the soft skin of your cheeks. You taste their saltiness on your lips, feel as your lungs burn due to lack of oxygen as shudder after shudder rack your body.

You hear Namjoon move, as he shifts closer to you and starts running his hands over your forearms, pulling you closer to him and you bury your face in the crook of his neck and let the tears wet his skin.

When another shudder racks your body, you try to take a breath in, your lungs clenching in on themselves, but you regret it instantly.

With every single broken inhale, you breathe more of Namjoon, his cologne, his very own essence, the scent a mixture of the wild and old books.

It's confusing and insane—and so painfully Namjoon. The duality of it much like its owner in the way that Namjoon would be the quietest, most focused person ever when he is working on something, but would turn goofy and clumsy the next second, would make you laugh so hard that your cheeks would hurt and you'd be left gasping for breath.

His presence is like a shot of heroin to your bloodstream, and you are afraid you might be addicted, maybe you are addicted. You must be because the thought of him not being there under the same roof, the same timeline kills you, makes you feel like clawing your heart out and throwing it away, so it would just finally stop hurting.

"Y/N, hey shush, it's a movie, it's okay, you are fine, shush, come here," Namjoon says and pulls you closer, and you suddenly want to scream, pull your hair out, throw a tantrum because doesn't he understand? Doesn't he get that it wasn't just a movie? That someday the scientist would be him and the heartbroken woman in love, you?

He runs his hand over your back, caresses your skin through the layer of your shirt, and you want to push him away, pull him closer. You want him to go away, want him to stay. You want to hold him close, keep him in your arms, house him in your heart so that you never lose him.

You bite your lip as a shudder racks through your body again, and sob out, "Why would you show m-me th-that?" Your words come out broken and in pieces at the end, and you bury your face deeper into his neck. Maybe if you push hard enough, you can push yourself inside him, and then you two can stay together forever.

You feel him tighten his arms around you as he brings you closer, his face coming to rest on the crown of your head, his chin rubbing small, slow circles on the top.

"I am sorry," He says, his voice is smooth—deep, and you feel as the words come rumbling out of his chest, feel the vibrations against your skin, and you clench your eyes closed, more tears slipping out.

"Hey shush, Y/N please don't cry, I am so sorry, I shouldn't have put it on, that was stupid of me, I—" Here he pauses, takes a breath in and you feel his chest moving against yours before he continues, "I should have known better."

You hear his apology, but it does nothing to soothe the burn in your chest because it's not like he has done anything to hurt you, all he did was show you a movie. It's your sentimental, stupid, lovesick heart that decided to take it personally.

"Can you look at me?" You hear him whisper close to your ear, and you tremble, your fingers gripping his shirt around his waist as you nod, the motion making your hair run against his chin and you feel as he shifts, drops a kiss on the crown of your head, his hands moving to rub over your arms.

He cradles your face softly, and his fingers softly caress your cheeks, wipe the tears away, before they make soft circles over your cheekbones. You melt at his touch, of course you do, because no matter what happens, regardless of how much you end up getting hurt at the end, the simple fact is that at this moment? Nestled between the strong, warm arms of the man that you are in love with, you'd choose the pain, the grief, the inevitable agony because at least you have him now. And maybe you are a little selfish—a little stupid, but you still don't want to push him away, not when you can have him now.

Eventually, your breaths start coming out a little clearer, your sobs no longer sending shudders down your spine, and you lay there drained. Tucked under Namjoons chin as he rocks you side to side in slow, gentle motions.

You smile against his neck because it reminds you so much of how your mom would calm you down when you were a child, and your heart squeezes a little in your chest at the realisation.

"Could you get me some water?" You mumble into the crook of Namjoons’ neck. Your words come out soft, and a little muffled but thankfully he understands them and moves to shift away from you, and you let him, moving back and bowing your head, as you wipe away the tear tracks and block your running nose.

'Great look Y/N. Real nice.'

Looking at your reflection in the glass of the centre-table, you wince when you see puffy, bloodshot eyes staring back at you.

The sound of a glass falling into the sink snaps you out of your thoughts, and you snort, Namjoon's clumsiness more endearing than anything else at this point.

"Joon, you good?"

"Yeah! uh, I'll be out in a minute, just stay there will you?"

"Will do!" And with that, you relax back into the cushion. The two of you had gotten the routine down pretty quick, while you were all for supporting each other, you had realised that your presence around him only increased his clumsiness further for some reason, which would then result into more broken dishes. And so, for the sake of both your crockery bill and Namjoons pride, you stay put.

As you shift to lay more comfortably on the couch, your eyes stray to your garden outside, being a writer wasn't exactly an office job. Most of your time was spent at home, usually in your balcony as you'd groan and painstakingly figure out plot details. So, you had grown your garden with a lot of care, much like anything else in your life. You took your time with it, cared and nurtured for the seeds until they finally bloomed to be the beautiful flowers that they were today.

You like taking your time with things, whether it's writing a book or forming friendships or even falling in love. You are patient, and you believe in taking the time to get to know other people, but with Namjoon, you are afraid instead of being too quick, you might be too late.

As you hear his feet pad across the house, towards you, your resolve strengthens.

The idea is crazy, sudden, not thought through at all, but you also know that if you give yourself any more time to think, you will cop-out. So, with your heart in your throat, you spin around and blurt, "I think I am in love with you, please don't go."

Looking back perhaps blurting out your undying love without any context whatsoever wasn't the smartest decision on your part.

You worry your bottom lip with your teeth as your eyes take in another broken glass and spilt water.

You force your eyes to not stray—to not travel up to the man who is standing in the middle of all the wreckage, surrounded by broken glass and spilt water. You don't know what the expression on his face is, what the thoughts whirring inside his head are, but at the moment you aren't sure if you want to know them either.

The sound of breaking glass had served as a wake up a call to you, whatever insane bravado that had led you to decide that confessing your feelings would be a good idea, sapping away with the loud sound and bringing you back to your senses.

Your fists clench when you hear Namjoon shift as he takes a step forward, in response you take two back.

"H-hey careful! There's glass all over the floor. You'll hurt yourself!" You squeak out, but Namjoon doesn't stop nor does he reply.

His feet pad closer to you, and the sound rings in the quiet of the room almost ominously.

You trip over your own feet in your haste to get off the couch and move away, nearly face-planting against the floor, but save yourself at the last second. When you push your head up, raking a hand through your hair and pushing the strands back, you realise that Namjoon is right there—in front of you.

"What did you just say?" He almost whispers, his voice coming out quiet and raspy—but to you? It feels loud, the whisper no different than if he had shouted it from the top of his lungs because you hear him loud and clear.

You just avert your gaze away and let the silence stretch on, did he not hear you? Why'd he shatter the glass then? And why doesn't he use a hearing aid if he's so selectively deaf?

"Y/N, look at me."

You don't, and instead, keep your gaze away as you move to side-step him, but before you can push past, his hands are down on your shoulders pushing you back into the wall.

You gasp, the breath knocking out of you when you feel your back hit the wall, the feel of his hands following close after, as one snakes around your waist while the other curves around your head, your hair bunching under his grip.

"Say it again." His voice, breathy and raspy breaks the stillness of the air around you, and you gulp as your gaze locks with his, the look in his eyes wild, almost feral.

His eyes are blown out and dark with lust, his lips parted as small puffs of his breath fall onto your lips, and you try your best not to shiver, try your best not to give away just how much he affects you.

When you still refuse to answer, his grip over your hair tightens, your head tilting back under the force, as his face inches closer.

Your eyes against your will fall to his lips—pink and full, and you unconsciously lick your own, wetting them as your teeth bury themselves into the soft flesh. His eyes follow the motion, and you think he groans a little deep in his chest, but when your eyes snap back up to his, they are looking into yours.

"Y/N, I am going to kiss you, push me away if you don't want me to," He whispers, as his hold over your hair grows softer, his other hand sliding up the side of your body, as both his hands tangle in the silky strands of your hair.

He inches closer as he closes the distance between the two of you, but despite his warning, you don't do anything and instead stay put, waiting, aching for him.

When his lips finally touch yours, you feel your hands rise without your accord as they slide over his torso. You feel the dips and curves of his chest muscles, sense his heart thudding under your touch, the warmth of his body heat curling around your skin, enveloping you and you push yourself closer, tangling your hands around the nape of his neck.

His lips are soft under yours, the touch slow, warm and sensual. He doesn't rush you and instead takes his time as his hands run over your back, caress the skin under before they pull you closer to him.

You're close, hairsbreadth close and there is no space between the two of you, your lips locked—your bodies touching each other, as your breaths mingle.

His lips leave yours, and you let out a soft huff as you twist to have them back on your own, but he pushes your head to the side, revealing the soft, smooth skin of your neck.

He exhales, warm breath hitting your skin, and you almost mewl out loud, goosebumps rising over the sensitive skin of your nape in response. He chuckles when you try to push your shoulder up before one of his hand shifts to hold your jaw softly, but with enough force to prevent you from moving.

The feel of his plush, plump lips on your neck leaves tingles running down your spine, and you can not help but shudder when those same lips part and close around your skin, sucking the flesh in. The moist, warm cavern of his mouth over your slightly cooler skin has you moaning out loud as your hands curl around his waist in pleasure.

His lips run over the skin of your neck—caressing, kissing and sucking the soft skin until it's left red and covered in a thin layer of his saliva. The much cooler air of the room hits your skin, and you tilt your head back; hit the wall behind softly as he kisses his way down your neck, to your chest.

His tongue leaves a wet, trail in its wake, and his nose dips under the depression of your collar bone before he breathes the faint smell of you in. His lips leave a soft peck there as he nuzzles the underside of your chin softly before your head is being pulled straight, your eyes meeting his dark, chocolate brown ones.

Now that you are closer and can look clearly, you realise there are flecks of hazel at the outer edges, the hazel and brown all swirling together to form a warm pool of tender, shimmering orbs.

This time you decide to take the lead, taking his hand in yours, you pull him to your room, him following behind as your fingers intertwine and the soft sound of his feet padding behind you rings in the quiet of the room.

As you slam the door to your room shut, you feel as Namjoons' hands again fall to your body, disentangling his fingers from yours, he glides them from your wrist to your elbows, forearms, then shoulders—your shirt bunching under his ministrations.

The feel of his touch is like a flame over your skin even through the layers of clothes, and you just tilt your head back, letting it fall on his shoulder, as you let him do what he pleases. His hands softly stroke over your waist, the motion slow and deliberate, but still over your tee and you arch, pushing your back into him as you try to feel more of his touch, more of him.

Namjoon takes the hint, drops a kiss onto your shoulder before his hands are under your knees and you are in his arms, bridal style, being carried over to your bed.

The mattress dips under your combined weight as Namjoon lays you down before he leans forward and kisses you. This time you meet him halfway, pushing and straining to take the lead as your tongue swipes across his lower lip asking for entrance, one he instantly grants. Tugging his hair strands softly, you hear him let out a groan from somewhere deep in his chest, before you are pulling him closer, your hands getting lost between the soft, long strands of his hair.

Your tongue glides over his, tangles and twists around as it pushes to lead. Strings of your shared saliva hang between the two of you when you lean back to rest and catch your breath, and you chuckle when you realise just how badly you had been holding yourself back for a while.

While you are catching your breath, Namjoon is busy getting rid of his clothes. Your hands itch to run over his chiselled chest, but you hold yourself back and appreciate the view for a second. In the dim light of the room, you look at Namjoons body and your breath hitches, as the realisation of just how fine he is, hits you all over again.

Long legs, thin waist, that rise to make way for wide shoulders and pectoral muscles to absolutely die for, not a single imperfection marred his smooth, tanned skin.

Every inch of him from his toes to the tip of his hair strands was perfect— or maybe you are just in love. Whatever the reason, you don't stop yourself, unabashedly raking an appreciative gaze over his body and let out a soft groan when he pulls his tee off of him, the action simple but incredibly hot to you in the moment.

‘‘Like what you see babygirl?” Namjoon smirks, now only in his boxers, as he gets down on his knees and leans over to unbutton your jeans, the button coming undone with a pop before he pushes the flap open and drops a kiss on the exposed skin of your navel.

You just humm, too wired with Namjoon so close to where you want, need him to be. Your exhales come out broken and your chest feels tight with anticipation.

You don't think anyone has ever made you feel this way before, you have barely even started, but for some reason, you can feel your wetness dripping out of you as the heat in your belly grows stronger.

A surprised squeak pushes out of you, and you arch off the bed, closing your legs when you realise Namjoon had pulled your panties along with your jeans and now you were naked, bare with nothing to hide just how aroused you were.

When your strayed eyes return back to Namjoons you find him standing there looking at you, you feel as his gaze rakes over you, slides over your skin like water and you blush, curl into yourself, a little self-conscious.

“You're the single most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Namjoon speaks, his voice soft and breathy, as his eyes find yours in the dim light, soft, glittering and brimming with affection. Looking into his eyes you feel reassured, confident in your own skin as you see how much you affect him and you push yourself up, sliding across the bed only stopping once you are at the edge.

With your hands on Namjoons waist, you push him back a few steps, getting down on your knees on the floor, you push your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and lookup. His gaze that was till now filled with nothing but affection and soft love for you was now once again growing dark, his chin jutting out, as his long, dark strands fell in front of his eyes, making him look like a dark, sinful dream.

One of his hands comes to your chin before it caresses the skin there and moves to the nape of your neck, sliding across your skin until it finally rests at the crown of your head—his touch leaving fire behind in its wake.

Still, with your eyes trained on his, you push the waistband down, the last piece of clothing on him, falling away under your hands with it.

His hand on your head tangles with your hair as he runs it through your strands, wrapping the ends around his hand like a yarn ball, and tugs.

Your neck arches from where it was inching closer to him before he tugs again, and you push yourself off of your knees and on your feet, as the tug becomes slightly painful. What you hadn’t accounted for before was how much you’d like that pain, the sting doing nothing more but arousing you further.

You try to take your tee off, but he tugs your hair again, and you let the ends drop, your eyes coming and finding him instead.

Your heart thuds and you wonder if he can hear it too. Your pulse racing, as your breaths come out more as soft pants than complete breaths. The foreplay, the tease, the promise of his touch has you feeling unbearably hot, and you feel as your wetness drips out of you and runs down your thigh.

“The shirt stays until I say otherwise.” Namjoon whispers before his lips are on you again. His hands sliding under your knees, as your legs go around his waist.

Picking you up, he lays you back on the bed before his lips leave yours and find purchase in the crook of your neck. His pillowy soft lips skim over your neck, leaving you breathless and you moan as they move down to your shoulder, his hands on your breasts kneading and squeezing the flesh.

When his lips finally fall to your breasts, you let out a broken moan, his mouth hot, wet and painfully good even through the thin layer of your tee. You internally thank your lucky stars that you had decided to forego your bra that day.

With only a thin, now wet piece of clothing between your sensitive bud and Namjoons mouth, the pleasure you feel makes your toes curl.

Your hands tangle in his strands, and his mouth moves over your shirt—biting, pulling and licking at the skin under.

Broken gasps and moans pour out of your mouth like a mantra, the feel of his other hand running down your side and stopping at your inner thigh, making you mewl as you ache for his touch.

Namjoon, however, has the patience of a saint, as even though you can feel how hard he is against your thigh, he doesn’t rush. Instead, taking his time as his lips rove over your breasts, kissing and sucking your skin under the tee raw.

You groan out in relief when his hands finally pull the ends of your tee over your head, and your skin feels the cool air of the room hit it, your nipples growing hard under the temperature shift.

When his lips finally do fall to your bare skin, it feels like heaven, your body so sensitive that, a simple tug on his side has you crashing into an orgasm—your back arching off the bed as a loud moan rips out of your body, waves of pleasure rushing through your bloodstream.

You hear Namjoon release your nipple with a 'pop' before he moves to slide further down your body, but you stop him.

Hands wrapped around his forearms, his muscles coiled and tight under your touch, you rasp out, “I want you, now.”

Your chest is still heaving from your last orgasm when you feel Namjoon position himself at your entrance, you moan when he bumps into you before he is sliding in and the moan turns into a loud groan.

Your legs cross behind his back as he drives into you and your walls clench, fluttering and squeezing him as your lips part, sighs and soft moans slipping out.

“Joon, oh god!"

You find his eyes in the dim-lit room, and you bring him closer, the hands on the nape of his neck pulling him to you, as you reach out to kiss him. The rush of affection and love that flows through your veins for the man above you almost makes you cry, the feel of his solid, warm body anchoring you to the reality of the moment. All your life all you had wanted was to be the one, someones forever after, you wanted the kind of love you dreamed of as a child, wrote about as an adult, and with Namjoon—with him? You think you might finally have found it.

His mouth is insistent on yours, parting your lips and dwelling in, licking and stroking every inch, sending wild tremors along your nerves as he becomes the only solid thing. Everything else around you falling apart, fading away until all you can feel is him.

Pulling back on a particularly deep thrust, Namjoon groans as your walls clench around him, pulling him in, every time he pulls back. You feel wet, warm and deliciously full as he thrusts in deep and hits your sweet spot, making your toes curl.

Moans and cries of his name fall off your lips like a prayer as he rocks into you and you feel the heat in your abdomen simmer, as an orgasm starts to build. Your hands grasp Namjoons back, and your nails scrape against the skin, making him growl out loud.

“Come for me baby, I’ve got you,” Namjoon whispers over your skin, his lips fluttering and forming the words over the juncture of your collarbone, leaving you with shivers running down your spine.

With a few more thrusts to your sweet spot, you are sent craning into your orgasm, your back arching as a scream rips out of you, and the world spins, as pure unadulterated euphoria flows through your veins.

Not too behind, Namjoon quickly follows with a loud groan, your name slipping past his lips, in a deep, guttural voice.

Your walls grip him tight, and you pull him closer into you as he comes, filling you up from inside, and you are left feeling full—sated.

As his orgasm rushes through him, the fall from the peak sending him reeling, he falls onto your chest, his face between your breasts and you run your hands through his hair, savour the moment, the feel of him still inside you, as close to you as anyone could ever physically be.

After a few seconds of catching his breath, he leans back a little to look at you, and you tilt your head up to meet him.

With only a few inches of space between the two of you, you take your time and look at each other, relish the closeness, let the reality set in. The silence stretches on, but it isn’t uncomfortable, if anything it’s nicer, like a warm hug, a space in time when you don’t need words because the touch of the other person is enough, more than enough.

“I love you.” You finally break the silence, your voice coming out low and a little hoarse, as your eyes gaze into his warm, chocolate brown ones. The very same eyes that you had looked into not too long ago and thought belonged to a stranger.

Now, you look into them and they look like coming home, the tiny little flecks of hazel at the edges which might go unseen by others, now so familiar to you .

That familiar close eyed smile of his that he has on now, as he hears you say that, the happy stretch of his full lips when he smiles, all of it fills you with so much love for him.

“I love you too.” Namjoon says, his deep, breathy voice forming the words that you had been longing to hear for some time now.

His eyes turn into two crescent moons when he sees you grin and a laugh spills out of him at seeing you get so happy after hearing his admission.

As you lay there, curled under him, you think you’ve finally got all that you had hoped for as a child, your own little perfect fairy tale. A house tucked away from the world, a garden full of roses, a job that you are passionate about, but most importantly, a man that you love—your own prince charming.

At that moment you feel like the two of you are infinite, the threads of your feelings for each other woven with your love—love that is far stronger than anything that time could wear and tear.

Cocooned under Namjoons warmth, with his arm wrapped tight against your waist, and your legs tangled with his, you think you finally understand why they say some infinities are bigger than other infinities.

Because even if you were galaxies apart, your soul would still always call out for Namjoon—would find him and then would tether itself to his forever, timelines and distances be damned.

Love ya, Thanks for reading!

—ditttiii ♡

489 notes · View notes

phyripo · 4 years

Note

33 with EstLiet? 👀

33. “You’re cute with glasses.”

Yeee! I’m so sorry that this took an actual century! What happened is: I wrote three separate stories for this prompt pretty quickly, didn’t like two of them and accidentally turned the third into a different pairing (but I did like it so I will post it in the near future), got discouraged, read the entirety of Return of the King in procrastination, and then I wrote this high fantasy... Thing. Honestly, I’m still not sure I’m satisfied and it’s very Out There considering the prompt but yeaH,, I hope you like it anyway :V

uhh so names are pretty straightforward but y’know, Tolys is Liet, Eduard is Est, Raivis is Lat, Erzsébet is Hun and Nadzeya is Bela c:

Finally, they have arrived in the southern Elven kingdom, and Tolys’s Elvish traveling companions have been whisked away by their kin immediately, expectedly. This has left him with only Raivis, who is sitting on a high table and looking around in wonder at the Elven building. His small legs swing out as he leans back on his hands.

“I knew we were traveling with an Elven Queen,” he says, “but this is all so incredible!”

Tolys nods. He could never have predicted that his search for his family’s long-lost heirlooms might lead him to find company in not only Raivis, who is most likely the first of his kind to travel so far south, but also in a party of three northern Elves seeking to join their kin in the newly reclaimed southern kingdom. Let alone could he have foreseen, of course, that one of them would actually be the Queen-in-exile.

“Everyone will be so jealous back home,” Raivis is now saying, as he inspects the fine, light clothes the Elves have gifted them. Although the lands remain yet war-torn, the Elves of the south have been more than generous to the Halfling and the Man. Tolys wagers that Erzsébet has been exaggerating their involvement in overcoming the obstacles on the way here. She acted as the Queen’s guard and became fond of Raivis in particular, having hardly met his kind before.

It's also difficult not to be fond of Raivis in general, Tolys thinks.

As approachable as Erzsébet was, with none of the expected Eleven superiority or contempt, so closed off and cool were Queen Nadzeya and the Elven clerk, Eduard. At least, when first they met. Both of them looked like northern Elves, tall and pale with hair of starlight and eyes like the lakes in their kingdom, and Tolys had been starstruck by their otherworldliness, thinking at first that Eduard must be a prince himself. However, he was merely a scribe, traveling along to record the Queen’s journey south, and he was, in fact, Erzsébet’s cousin.

“Do you think we’re allowed to leave?” Raivis asks, jumping the considerable height off the table so that his bare feet thud on the wooden floor. The buildings here have been rigged up by some ingenious engineering, or perhaps magic, between the jagged mountains and the unnaturally tall trees.

Many of the trees were felled over the past centuries, since the Elves were driven away far before Tolys was born, and more yet torn down in the battle to reclaim the land. It hadn’t been difficult to feel his companions’ sorrow as they entered their kingdom. Erzsébet had appeared particularly upset at the jagged wood, and Eduard had sung softly to the earth itself. New sprouts were already coming up.

Tolys imagines Raivis wants to take a look at the young trees himself—Halflings, that much he has learned, have a fondness for all growing things.

“We weren’t told to stay here, were we?”

Raivis shrugs, standing on his tiptoes to peer out of the window. His blond curls barely reach the edge. He gasps.

“Tolys, Nadzeya is coming over here!”

Raivis never quite warmed up to the Queen, which, in all honesty, Tolys doesn’t blame him for. She is so intimidatingly beautiful that it’s difficult to see past. It took him many weeks, and he attributes it to his upbringing more than anything.

Now, he stands and opens the door at her knock.

Unsure what the proper Elven greeting for a monarch is, he bows.

“Welcome, Your Majesty.”

Raivis follows his example, albeit with a stutter and clasping his hands together in what must be the way of the Halflings.

Nadzeya blinks, silent. Her eyelids are painted dark as ever—apparently a sign of mourning in the north, for family she lost in the battle for the south. Erzsébet had marked her body with intricate ink patterns in the southern way. Eduard had cut his hair short. He had, he told Tolys, lost his younger brother in the fight led by the southern Prince.

It’s still difficult to believe that he is related to Erzsébet. They look so little alike.

All of a sudden, Nadzeya laughs, just for a second as if startled into it. It definitely startles Tolys and Raivis in turn.

“Your—” Tolys starts. She shakes her head sharply.

“Oh, please, I’ve had enough of that for a few centuries. Eduard is looking for you, I think you’ll find he has important news.” She rolls her eyes. “The idiot.”

Tolys bristles a little on Eduard’s behalf, and Nadzeya snorts in the most un-royal manner. She isn’t wearing any kind of crown now, not even the silver circlet she wore to travel. Her hair is, in fact, completely unbound. He knows that is unusual for Elves. Maybe, it’s part of some sort of ceremony or ritual.

“Where can I find Eduard…” He bites his lip. It feels strange not to add an honorific. “My Lady?”

“You know what, even that’s too much.” Nadzeya’s expression is unreadable, as usual. “As for Eduard; he is, of course, in the library. We have some extensive genealogies preserved of important families of Men.”

“Ah,” Tolys breathes, now recognizing the amused spark in her eyes. “Yes, of course. Where…”

Gesturing, Nadzeya says, “That way, the building says library. I know you read Elvish.”

“Shall I come?” Raivis asks nervously, glancing up at the Queen. Tolys shakes his head.

“I’ll return shortly.”

As he leaves, he hears Nadzeya say something dry to the Halfling, and hopes he will be all right.

It seems odd for the Queen to be out like this, but then again, what does he really know about Elvish traditions? Let alone courtly ones? Perhaps, this is just how it goes around here.

It is a short walk to the library, and he meets no one on his way there. More Elves are expected to arrive over the coming year, to help restore the kingdom and make it the thriving realm it once was, but as of yet, very few are here.

Eduard is easy to spot. The Elf sits by a window, pale hair shimmering in the golden sunlight. He’s shielding a scroll from the sun, long fingers skimming over the parchment. With his other hand, he adjusts—

“I have never seen an Elf wear eyeglasses before,” Tolys finds himself saying.

Eduard starts, looking up at him through the round spectacles, pinched on his nose with golden a golden frame.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

At that, he smiles and shakes his head. He carefully rolls the scroll and slides it back into its casing.

“I don’t mind at all.” He adjusts the frames, smiling faintly. “It’s good to have them back. My handwriting is much better when I can see what I’m writing.”

Tolys takes a seat at the high desk across from his Elven friend, glancing down at the scroll’s tube. He bites down on a wry smile.

“That’s good. They look nice. You’re—you’re cute with glasses.”

“That…” Eduard is stunned silent, which is endearing, and obviously not thinking about the scroll at all, which is good. “Cute?”

“Hm.” Tolys bites his lip and leans his chin in his hand. “Like a young Halfling would be, I imagine.”

“I’ve never—do you know how old I am?”

Interested, Tolys leans forward. He actually does not know. It was enough to understand that he was the youngest in their little company. Raivis, despite appearances, is almost forty years old, a few years older than Tolys. Halflings age slowly. Elves, of course, hardly age at all.

“Two thousand two hundred and twenty-two years old, and you call me cute.” He sounds more amused than indignant. It’s quite a pleasant sound.

“That’s a nice number,” Tolys says absently, much more interested in the sparkle that has entered Eduard’s light eyes than the glasses itself.

“I suppose it is.” He glances away. Sighs, and laces his long, elegant fingers together in front of his chest. “I was injured during the first battle. It damaged my sight.”

“I apologize.”

“No need. Most Elves use charms to see when such injuries occur, but we passed through a human kingdom on the way north, where I was introduced to eyeglasses like these. I find that they’re much less straining.”

Tolys know the story of the Elven refugees well.

“The kingdom of Vilnius,” he whispers. He cannot help but look at the scroll again, the familiar crest on the case. If his father had known the Elves kept all those histories here, protected for centuries…

“Indeed.”

They study each other for a long while. Tolys knows he doesn’t look like much to an Elf, even after being given the opportunity to bathe in a natural hotspring and festooned with an outfit far too fine for the likes of him. He isn’t terribly tall, and his brown hair is always a mess, curling when he doesn’t want it to and getting in his face despite his best efforts. Eduard is… Well, he’s an Elf. While they were on the road, it was easy to imagine that they were friends, and perhaps they are, still. But Tolys has no illusions that it will be the same. That he will ever get the chance to address the profound trust he has in Eduard, the appreciation for his almost Mannish groundedness but Elven whims at the same time.

Especially not when Eduard, who’s possibly the smartest being Tolys has ever met, clearly know that Tolys has lied to him, if just by omission.

“I met Queen Saulė, as we fled north,” Eduard eventually says, voice soft. “They said she had eyes like the plains of her kingdom, but they reminded me of the forest I left behind.”

Tolys lowers his own eyes. He studies the elegant woodgrain of this desk, that had stood here for all that time. It must have been protected somehow, and it wouldn’t surprise him if Eduard himself had placed the guarding charms.

“I know you looked familiar.”

With a sigh, he meets Eduard’s eye.

“I am the first in a long time, my father has told me, to have her eyes.” He tucks his hair away. “He saw it as a sign, especially after the Elves went south. It’s an age for reclaiming, he said.”

“Maybe, he was right,” Eduard says, looking thoughtful. “When Vilnius fell and your people were exiled like mine, the north came to their aid. We weren’t many and couldn’t fight for the realm, but we have since preserved the symbols of Queen Saulė’s power. Your family’s power.”

“What?” Tolys blurts. In his shock, he nearly topples of his stool, and Eduard grasps his arm, fingers cool through his fine green tunic. He smiles.

“That is what your father wants you to find, isn’t it?”

Tolys nods, wide-eyed.

“My people will bring the Sunstaff south. You may take it, and we would send Elves with you to take Vilnius, if you wish.”

“That—no—but.” Tolys takes a very deep breath. “I’ve lied to you. I lied to the Queen. Will Nadzeya even—”

Eduard ducks his head, clearing his throat. The pointed tips of his ears flush.

“I lied,” Tolys repeats faintly. Raivis knew, because just wanted to help, but…

“Yes, you did, but it’s no matter.” Again, Eduard clears his throat, and he finally removes his hand from Tolys’s arm to adjust his eyeglasses. “Not when your lie was no greater than any of ours.”

“What do you mean?”

He keeps fiddling with his glasses. The gesture is endearing, strangely.

“I hope… I hope you can forgive us—me. It would be a terrible loss to lose your…” He meets Tolys’s gaze, his eyes like sea-glass, strong yet brittle and colored like a quiet tide. “Companionship.”

“Nadzeya isn’t the Queen, is she?”

“Nadzeya is a northern noble. Her brother and sister followed my brother as he rode out.”

“Your brother.”

“I tried to stop him, but he was so young, barely an adult when we left the south. I always knew he would be the one to lead the quest, and I think I always knew I would lose him for it.”

“Your brother led the Elves?” Tolys feels quite heavy as the understanding of what this means dawns on him. “Your brother was the Prince-in-exile.”

“He was.” He sighs. “And a stubborn fool, too.”

“But that means you…” He bites his lip. “Erzsébet is the Queen.”

“Indeed. We decided to travel incognito.”

There had been some skirmishes on the road, nasty traveling beasts and Men who always went for Nadzeya on her horse, attracted to her gown and jewels even if they weren’t aware she was the supposed Queen. Tolys had thought it seemed inadvisable to travel with such a small party, at least at first. Erzsébet, who not only had mourning inks but also warrior’s lines and scars across her body, could probably have fought all the enemies off by herself, especially because they never paid attention to her, but Tolys was glad to help, and Nadzeya defended herself admirably with an innate magic that hurt Tolys’s eyes and head whenever he tried to look at the crackling darkness.

More than before, he feels for Nadzeya, because her position in this was one where she could be killed, and she had evidently taken that risk willingly.

Eduard wasn’t much of a fighter, but he held his own, and so did Raivis, much to the Elves’ surprise. Tolys already knew Halflings were a hardy folk.

“But… Why put any of you in danger like that?” he asks. “Why not travel with the larger caravan, or pretend none of you were royalty?”

Eduard smiles wryly, pushing his short hair away from his handsome face.

“It was known the Queen would travel south—rumors have wings—and the larger caravan will also have an Elf pretend to be her. It was mainly Erzsébet’s idea to go swiftly, before the enemies gather larger groups.” He sighs. “I am sorry I couldn’t tell you. I don’t wish to lose your trust.”

Tolys reaches across the desk, although he refrains from touching the Elven clerk.

“You haven’t.”

And, really, it is easy to see how this was the best decision given the circumstances, similar to how he hid the nature of his own quest from the Elves. Eduard looks at his hand, the rough fingers so different to his own slender ones. With a curious frown, he touches them quickly.

“Then, I thank you, Tolys of Vilnius.”

“Thank you,” he breathes in return, gaze flicking to the scroll again.

“I would be honored to come with you, of course,” Eduard continues, adjusting his glasses again. “If you would have me.”

Tolys wasn’t lying, earlier. He looks younger with the spectacles. A little less ethereal, more like someone warm and trustworthy, as he truly is.

“I would be honored to share it with you, Eduard.” He curls his fingers, grazing Eduard’s warm palm.

For a while, they are both silent, gently touching across the desk. Eduard is smiling absently, those light eyes shimmering in the sunlight as it dims ever so slightly. Tolys cannot wait to show him his home; even though it will be next to nothing compared to this place, even in disrepair as the kingdom is, he will be proud to share it with the Elf.

“Oh!” Eduard says. “I had nearly forgotten. I promised Erzsébet to take you and Raivis to her. She would like to extend the official friendship of the Elves to both of your people.”

“I left Raivis with Nadzeya.” He blinks. “So she isn’t royalty at all?”

An amused little smirk crosses Eduard’s lips, and Tolys breathes out slowly, curling his fingers a little more.

“What is it?”

“If Erzsébet has any say in it, she will be.” Suddenly, he frowns, peering over his glasses. “You left Raivis with Nadzeya?”

“I’m certain he’ll be fine. He’s tough.”

Eduard looks dubious, but he stands and gestures for Tolys to follow him to the grand door of the library. It has turned dusky, and the light filters through leaves to tinge his pale hair gold and his eyes almost translucent as he stands in the arch of the doorway. There, he turns to Tolys, bowing a little to bring their faces level.

“Thank you,” he says, voice soft and Elven accent giving the words a musical lilt.

“For what?”

“Being here.” He touches Tolys’s upper arm, letting his long fingers linger. “Letting me know you.”

“Of course.”

The fingers slowly trail up to his shoulder, sliding across the smooth green fabric until the tips touch his clavicle. Tolys reaches his own hand up and covers Eduard’s with it. The Elf rests their foreheads together for a moment that feels like a promise.

Just then, they both hear Erzsébet’s distinctive laugh, echoing merrily over the carved walkways. Both of them straighten to see her coming their way, her face bright and an intricate crown of golden leaves resting on her dark hair.

“My friends!” she says, and is hauling Tolys into a hug before he can even greet her, let alone think of bowing. “I’m so glad to see our secret has not put a strain on your friendship.”

There is an emphasis on friendship that Tolys doesn’t imagine for a second is the product of her accent.

“It couldn’t have, when my own secrets are similar, Your…”

“Just call me Erzsébet. Eduard was right, then? We will be equals before long.” She smiles. “And I’m certain my cousin will be glad to help you, should you so desire.”

“Erzsébet,” Eduard says, sounding long-suffering and not at all like a Crown Prince, which he is and Tolys will be soon enough. His cheeks are getting red. Tolys didn’t know Elves blushed, but finds that he would like to see it more often. It is mesmerizing.

“There you are,” come Nadzeya’s dry tones from the direction of Tolys’s temporary home. He hears the distinctive tread of Raivis’s bare feet approaching behind her nearly inaudible footsteps, and when they come into view, the Halfling bow slightly towards Erzsébet.

“Your Majesty.”

“I tried to tell him Erzsébet would be fine,” Nadzeya informs the Queen, and Erzsébet laughs again.

“Come, we have much to talk about. Much to plan.” She gestures all of them along. Eduard touches Tolys’s wrist. Raivis catches his gaze, quirks his eyebrows and grins.

Tolys smiles back and runs his fingers along the back of Eduard’s hand. It appears the journey was worth it.

#scarlettlillies #quaestiones #estliet #Phyripo writes things #whatever this is #Hetalia #aph estonia #aph lithuania

17 notes · View notes

blu-joons · 5 years

Text

Married To Namjoon ~ BTS Headcanon

Your Wedding

Of course, the two of you had to get married at the beach, it was the perfect place for the two of you to tie the knot

You split the planning of it equally, Namjoon didn’t want all the pressure on your shoulders, he loved to chip in

It was exactly what the two of you had dreamed of, and luckily the weather was perfect for the occasion

You’d never seen Namjoon so soft, he struggled to hold back the tears for most of the day, overwhelmed by the occasion

“I just feel like I’m in a dream, look at you, like a real-life angel.”

You kept it quite low key, only those closest to you were in attendance

The whole occasion was very loved up, intimate and passionate, just as you’d hoped

He’d used all his practice with interviews to give the perfect speech making people laugh and cry

Who else could be his best men other than his six best friends?

They were incredible, paying back all the times Namjoon had helped them out when they were in trouble or abroad

“We arranged a little something just to prove to the two of you how much we love the both of you and how happy we are.”

The six of them climbed on stage and performed one of the songs Namjoon wrote when he first met you, but was too scared to show you

As the night drew in, the two of you snuck away for a few moments away at the beach, taking it all in

It was easily the best day of your life; nothing even came close

The next chapter of life was daunting, but you knew you’d get through it together

A few days were needed to come back down off the high that was your wedding, it took a while for it to feel real

The two of you were too wrapped up in each other, filled with love and adoration

One of your favourite things to do was look back at all the photos friends had sent you just to remember it all over again

“I wish I could just replay it all in my head, everything was just so perfect, I never want to forget a thing.”

“I know what you mean, I’d love to just get married everyday forever.”

Being Married To Each Other

It was a big relief knowing everything had gone seamlessly, you and Namjoon were perfectionists, nothing could go wrong on your big day

He also spent a few days away from the studio so you could enjoy the beginnings of married life with each other

“They’re going to be lost without you in that studio, it’ll be carnage.”

“I’m sure they’ll survive, they’re big enough and ugly enough to look after themselves.”

Most days the two of you would walk back along the beach, it had always been the haven for you both when things got tough

He loved to pretend you were doing it all over again, slow dancing with you as you watched the sun set

You kept finding little pieces of your wedding in the sand, for example, red petals from the roses you used in your bouquet

Every day you had to remind yourself you were a Kim; you were terrible at forgetting that your name had changed

A week to the day after your wedding you went on honeymoon whilst you were still in a blissful bubble

The bubble never really popped, the two of you had an incredible relationship, from the outside looking in, it was perfect

Your outfits were all hung up nicely in the back of your wardrobe as keepsakes

Namjoon’s favourite thing was introducing you as his wife, there was something assertive about doing it that always made him smile

You were his first love, and only love, which only made your marriage even more special

After your first month together, the boys sent you a video that had been recorded of their performance of Namjoon’s song

As well as that, they sent you a montage of all the photos they’d taken from your day

“Is that you crying when I walk down the aisle? Oh, Joon, that’s so cute.”

“No, I just have something in my eye, that’s all.”

He became more in touch with his emotions after your wedding, he didn’t feel like he had to pretend to be strong anymore

Naturally, children were quickly bought up by everyone, asking when the two of you would expand your family

Namjoon had always been honest about his dreams to become a dad, but he also wanted to spend quality time with his wife before he focussed on children

The two of you had been blessed with so many gifts and letters, from friends, family, and fans who just wanted to be a part of your day

Lots of fans sent you messages and gifts, you couldn’t believe the generosity of them all

He was also asked more about you interviews after your wedding as everyone realised how serious the two of you were

You’d never let rumours get to the two of you, but getting married certainly put them all to bed

Your families were around a lot more too, they’d always been close, knowing that the two of you were a match made in heaven

The spark was very much still alive for you both, with big gestures and little ones, keeping the other happy and excited

His priorities shifted, as much as he was still leader of BTS, more importantly, he was now a responsible husband

You noticed the difference too as he spent more time with you, or brought you to the studio more often

Slowly, your dreams and ambitions were being completed

Your Honeymoon

The main thing you wanted to do on your honeymoon was explore, which is why you went on a little road trip

You hired a camper van, which you had to drive, and took it around all your favourite European cities

When the two of you first got together you wrote a list of the places you wanted to go with each other, keeping it in your memory box

Culture was the most important thing for you both, you wanted to get a sense of the city you were in

It was incredible, you loved being able to spend the quality time with Namjoon without anyone interrupting

You’d park up and spend hours walking around, hand in hand, finding different stalls or attractions to visit

The two of you recorded a lot of your honeymoon too, making travel logs that you could look back on in the future

It was also a time for the two of you to think back to your wedding

“Any time we go to a beach, I always remember our first dance.”

“I always think of when you walked down the aisle, that was my favourite moment of the day

Your logs were a good way of keeping in touch with the boys too and making sure they were behaving

Namjoon took note of your favourite cities so he could try and arrange gigs there for the next tour

One thing you loved was meeting so many fans from around the continent who all supported your relationship

Namjoon had shown you parts of the world you’d never seen before, it was a dream come true to see so many places

You bought lots of souvenirs too, mainly for your family, and the boys so that they knew you’d been thinking of them

As with any holiday, time flew by, it ended far too quickly for the two of you

But the boys couldn’t wait to hear all about it as you relieved it all for them

“Tell us every small detail. How many times did Namjoon break something whilst you were travelling?”

Marital Issues

What was special about the two of you was the fact that you never argued with each other about anything

He’d used his practice at keeping the boys in line to stop himself from ever getting upset with you

The two of you were incredibly open and talked about everything, whatever was on your mind

Sure, there were times when you got on each other’s nerves, but it never escalated further than that

He was the calmest person in the world, it was impossible to ever make him mad

You’d tried a few times, just to see if you’d get a reaction, but he was always so diplomatic and reasonable

Married couples didn’t argue in his opinion, if you loved someone, you could never argue, love was perfect to him

You tended to get wound up more, but Namjoon would be quick to calm you down and encourage you to talk

If anything, the two of you would disagree about random bits of knowledge, or who was the smartest

The most common time you’d argue was playing board games or being in competition with each other

“You so just cheated, I watched you nudge your chess piece forward just then.”

“I think you’re seeing things jagi, I didn’t touch it, don’t get upset because I’m beating you!”

You were like big kids in that sense that your stubbornness got in your way

To most people it was crazy, but to you both, it was only natural to argue in a game

Looking To The Future

Namjoon had made no secret of his desire to be a father, it was the first dream he ever had growing up

He couldn’t wait to start a family with you, you were going to be the best mum in the world, he just knew it

Whilst his career was important, in the back of his mind, the thought of having children always lingered

“I don’t want to rush anything, when the time is right, pregnancy will happen.”

The two of you first bought a house away from the boys, even if somehow, they were still at your house every day after rehearsal

They weren’t willing to let their leader go just yet, who else was going to keep them on their toes?

Before children, he wanted to make sure that he was the best husband, taking care of you whenever you needed it

There was a comforting feeling about being married, Namjoon knew he was never going to be able to lose you now

A family was all that he’d ever wanted, and over time, those dreams were definitely becoming a reality

The Boys Take On Your Marriage

You ended up spending as much time with the boys as you did Namjoon some days, they absolutely adored you

Jungkook looked to you like a sister, just like he did with Namjoon, he’d turn to you for advice

“I know I can talk to the two of you about anything, something’s been playing on my mind, and I need your help

Taehyung loved to take candid photos of you both, saving them for presents on anniversaries and birthdays

“I hope you guys like what I’ve done, happy first wedding anniversary!”

Yoongi would always tell you embarrassing stories about Namjoon from before you met him when they lived together

You could always rely on Hobi to look after you and keep you safe if Namjoon wasn’t around for some reason

Jimin was your biggest cheerleader, he’d always be updating the fans and supporting the two of you in everything

Jin loved to have you around, his favourite hobby was cooking with you, because none of the other boys really could

At times it felt like you’d married seven boys, not one, but you wouldn’t have it any other way

They were just thrilled to see their leader so happy

---

Masterlist

561 notes · View notes

notimetoblog · 5 years

Text

Panic

Summary: Two little texts send your heart into a frenzy, and when the super soldier responsible for them doesn't reply, you just hope he’s still alive for him to hear exactly what you think of him.

A/N: Hi hi!!! here’s a one shot for you guys!! I haven't posted one of these in a while so I truly hope you enjoy it! when I saw the texts online I knew I just had to write a fic around them for our favorite brunette super soldier lol. Thanks so much for reading!!

Link are being rude so if you’d like to read more of my stories search “stories by notimetoblog”

You know panic.

A failed parachute? You’ve experienced it and survived it. You thought that panic was enough to fill a lifetime. What could bring on more panic than freefalling from thousands of feet in the air with no means to break your fall?

Surely nothing.

Well, that’s what you had believed until you, again, lived and survived a mission gone wrong. Stupidly, you’d admit, you had turned off your comms to focus on the task at hand. Of course, this meant you missed all five of Steve’s attempts to warn you of previously unnoticed threats. To your defense, Steve really should do less talking over those things. Sure, he was lovely but having him in your ear for hours at a time was enough to drive anybody to the extreme.

The panic you experienced that time drew your blood cold. The unnoticed threats were pretty easily spotted when they were pointing guns at your face, each of the four men staring back at you more than ready to end you. Your instincts took over after that and the next thing you knew, you were being walked into the Quinjet a more than upset Steve again filling your ear with endless strings of words you just couldn’t and didn’t want to make out.

That panic you knew how to deal with. You knew once safe you could sit back, relax, and unwind.

But this current panic was beyond you.

You hold your phone in your cold hands, staring at the messages on the home screen.

Your ringer went off every night because if anybody enjoyed sleep, it was you. But that meant that you would wake up to voicemails, missed calls, and texts that were just waiting for you to get your day started. Nothing of importance was ever sent to your phone anyway. If there was an emergency, Steve had other ways to communicate them to you, and you knew he very much enjoyed getting to ring the alarms he had set up throughout your apartment. It was his form of payback for all the little things you did to him throughout the day.

This morning, though, you had not woken up to your usual texts, but to only two texts that were enough to make you want to scream.

Buck: I need advice (3:46 am)

Buck: never mind i already did the stupid thing (6:51 am)

For almost two hours Bucky had thought about doing something so incredibly stupid even he felt the need to call it that.

He often prided himself in his genius ideas, and sure, at times they had gotten you out of trouble. More often than not, though, those ideas resorted to more unorthodox methods than your basic training had provided you with. Still, no matter how stupid those ideas were, he always called them his ‘genius hacks.’

That time he had literally shot himself in the foot to create a distraction? Genius hack!

The time he threw Sam out of a window to get his wings working again? Genius hack!

So, Bucky accepting his idea was stupid meant this was bad.

This was so bad.

Your fingers press his name on your phone; normally you would chuckle at the picture of Bucky attached to his info, but not today.

It was past 8 am, by this time he could be on his way to another country. He could be hurt. He could be dead.

A ring, and then five more, and no response.

“My god,” you say, jumping out of your bed throwing on whatever clothes you find laying around.

You’re a mess, a complete and total mess, and it only gets worse after every time Bucky doesn’t answer your call.

You: Bucky I swear if you’re dead ill find some way to kill you again! And if you’re not… pick up THE PHONE!!!!!

You had a soft spot for him; everyone was aware. Something in you both just seemed to click, but that did not mean you wouldn’t let him have it when he did something reckless.

He would simply lay on the charm in response, using those stupid big blue eyes of his to melt away your frustration.

“You’re cute when you get all worked up,” he’d say, a smile on his lips that made your heart beat just a little bit faster. The jerk knew very well how to get his way.

He was an idiot, but one that you couldn’t help but be drawn to.

But not right now. Oh no. Right now, he was just the biggest idiot on the planet for disappearing like this.

You call again, crossing your fingers he would pick up, but no luck.

“He better be dead,” you find yourself saying while you rummage through the bag you had thrown on your couch after getting home late last night to find your house keys.

“I don’t think you mean that,” a very much alive Bucky says as you open the door to your apartment.

“You think this is funny?” you ask, letting him hear every bit of the worry that was consuming you only seconds ago.

“Just a little,” he replies, scrunching his nose, something you’d typically find adorable. But not today. “Ok, ok, I’m sorry,” he amends, feeling your door closing right in front of his face, choosing to stuff his left arm to stop you from closing it all the way. “I should’ve answered your calls, but in my defense, I was a little busy doing something else.”

“What? The stupid thing you needed advice on. You’re on your own if you did something to Sam’s wings.”

“I could tell you a bit more about what I did, darling, if you’d let me in.”

“Don’t even try the whole ‘darling’ thing right now Barnes,” you scold him, “because it won’t work. You can’t just disappear like that.”

“I know,” his voice is soft, and you hate him for it. “But I can explain everything I promise. And I was only ‘missing’ for like 4 hours, most of which you were asleep for, so come on, sweetheart, let me in.”

You pierce your eyes at the pet name, making him chuckle.

“I said sweetheart, not darling,” he winks.

“It better be good, Barnes,” you reply with a groan, opening the door up for him all the way.

With a smile, he walks into your apartment, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t take him walking past you as an opportunity to scan him for injuries.

Your eyes rake past his back, down to his legs, looking for any sign of pain. Just looking out for anything you might need to patch up or any limping, of course, nothing more. But its harder to tell if he’s got any blood on him or anything else you should worry about.

He’s wearing a black t-shirt, dark jacket, and black denim jeans. If there’s anything on them, you can’t tell in his all-black outfit.

“I shouldn’t have called what I was thinking about stupid, really,” he began, causing your gaze to come back up to his face as he turns to look at you. “Because it’s not.”

“Another one of your genius hacks, huh,” you cross your arms wondering why you had even let yourself get so worked up from two little texts.

The answer was rather obvious, but still, it was better not to address it at the moment. It was better not to mess with a friendship that somehow managed to work despite both of your reckless attitudes.

“Not really,” he says, sitting down on the couch, hugging one of your throw pillows, a big fluffy white one. He would regret that later when he discovered how much it shed onto his dark jacket. But you’d take that as a tiny victory over him after the scare he gave you. “Had nothing to do with the job at all.”

“Then do enlighten me, Barnes,” you give him an eye roll, not ready to hear about whatever mess he had gotten himself into.

“Just call me Bucky, doll,” he says with a tiny pout, his eyes going wide- those stupid big blue eyes. “It means your mad at me when you call me Barnes, and if I’m honest, I don’t like the feeling.”

“I kinda am.”

“More relieved than mad, though, right? Cause I’m still alive.”

“Won’t be alive for much longer if you don’t talk.”

“Fine,” he laughs, and you curse yourself for finding it endearing, but it’s always lovely to hear him laugh. “It’s not something stupid, might be the smartest decision I’ve made in my life.”

“Oh my god,” you say in disbelief throwing another one of your pillows at him. “You jerk! What did you do to Sam?!”

“I didn’t do anything to him,” he says in between more laughs as he dodges everything you throw his way. “You need to stop that.”

In an instant, he’s up and has you backed up onto the door, hands pressed against your side.

“Sam is fine,” he says softly, now that he’s so close to you. “Probably still drooling.”

“Then what’d you do?”

“Well, I haven’t done it yet. That’s why I came here for.”

There was something new in his eyes. It was as if a new shade of blue swam in them, a shade that had never been seen before.

What on earth was he doing?

“You can let go of my hands now, Buck,” you say, trying your best to distract yourself from how close he was.

“Won't throw more pillows at me?”

“I ran out.”

“Breaks my heart that’s the only reason you won't throw them at me,” he chuckles, releasing his hold on your hands, partially, because for some reason he chooses to lace his fingers with yours.

And something in you screams because this may or may not be a dream you had a few nights ago- a dream you had pushed deep down, hoping it would never come back up again. And yet here it was.

“What’d you do?” you ask him again, hoping speaking through what you were feeling would be better than being drowned by it.

“I bought something,” he replies, his signature boyish grin on his lips but this time there’s something new; a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. “For you.”

“Really?” you pretend that those words did not just travel to your core and erupted into thousands of butterflies.

“See, it wasn’t stupid, really. It was a mistake to call it that, but I did need some advice because I’m not the best at this whole thing.”

“What thing?” you question, not missing how comfortable his hands feel around yours; how meant to be.

“Us.”

And there it was, the moment that had only been real in daydreams, the moment you absolutely knew would melt your heart.

“I bought you flowers,” he continues, letting his thumb drag slowly across the back of your hand. “They’re outside. I kinda panicked when you opened the door.”

“Flowers,” you hear yourself say, disbelief clear.

“I ran across the entire city, finding a place that opened early enough for me to get them as soon as possible. I ran into a shop owner around 6:30, she was only there that early to drop a few things, but I begged her to let me get something, anything. She must’ve felt bad because she let me inside.”

“You’ve been looking for flowers since 4 am?”

“I guess that part was stupid,” he laughs. “But I couldn’t wait! And I really started looking for places at 5.” There’s a tiny pause, and his face goes completely blank. “You like flowers, right?”

It’s really hard not to reach out and bring him closer when he’s looking like a lost little puppy, but you hold yourself back, enjoying the way his eyes have gone soft.

“I do,” you confirm, melting at the way his smile shines like a million stars.

Goodness, he was cute.

“And me? Do you like me?”

“Sometimes,” you fib, giggling when he pouts.

“Cause I like you a lot.”

Were you ever really mad at him, you wonder, because who on earth could ever be mad at the man in front of you? With those big blue beautiful eyes, that charming smile, and that soft touch.

“You do?” you tease, voice low and silky as you feel him getting closer and closer to you.

“So much, darling. There isn't anyone else who I like as much as you, to be honest. You’re the only one that makes me want to buy flowers at 5 am,” he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Nobody else I’d rather hold hands with,” a kiss to your cheek. “Nobody else I’d rather spend time with. I’m entirely yours, what can I say?”

And then it happens, his soft lips finally press onto yours, slowly parting them to deepen the kiss. His hands leave yours only to wrap his arms around your waist, and it’s as if you’ve done this before. Your hands find themselves running up along his arms to his shoulders, finally getting lost in his hair, following a trail that you somehow already know.

“Be my best girl?” he asks in a husky voice, eyes opening slowly, and your lips long to be on his again.

“Yes,” you say in a hushed tone, just for him.

He loosens his hold on you, and the look on his face is any indicator it pains him just as much as it hurts you.

“I should get your flowers,” he says, timidly looking behind you at the door. “I think I chose well.”

He steps outside only to come back a few seconds, no longer as proud of his choice as he had been.

The roses in his hands are barely holding it together, with only a few of the stems still holding up flowers. Those that still remain are all missing most of their petals.

“I thought they looked better,” he confesses, frowning when he looks at the bouquet again. “Guess they took a little beating while I worked up the courage to come here.”

“They’re perfect,” you say, taking them from his hands and bringing them close to your chest.

And they were. They were from him, from the man who had just confessed his feelings for you. The man that drove you equally crazy with worry and with love.

He was yours, and you were his.

That’s all that mattered.

The stupid things you both got yourself into were more fun together anyway.

“I love them,” you laugh. “They’re perfect.”

The morning had started with panic, but this right here, that peace you felt when he held you close, that was worth it all.

----

Bucky Tags :D (you guys are awesome!!)

@camillechan @just-add-butter @buckyisthepuresthuman @carry-on-my-fandom @creideamhgradochas @sixweekcure4dreams @verycoolveryunique @dugan365 @jitterbuck @buckysmusculararm @headinthe-fridge @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @hedwigthelegend @sappybarnes @coal000 @the-whitewolfie @natcad @winters-beauty @dixonsbugaboo @sawdustandsugar @silverbvcky @killjoynotes @agentpegcxrter @demonspawn2468 @buckysbeech @thefridgeismybestie @pinkfairyfluff @imaginecrushes @cauraphernelia @angieptt @fridolf-arach @nerdgirljen @bucky-is-a-hero-fightme @consttantina @titty-teetee @bfuckjames @crowleysqueenofhell @sebtrashcan-stan @jaamesbbarnes @heartssick @losemymemory @redstarstan @dracris33 @fuckthatfeeling @tamed-chaos @bringmetowonderland @mlehbleh @mawimey @delicatelyherdreams @buckyswinterchildren @jaysaku @stanclub @your-pixels-are-showing @thisismysecrethappyplace @who-the-heck-knows @polaroid-idiocity @plumsforbuckxx @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen @bambamwolf87 @ohhhotstan @ohhhotstan @whileinparis @sebbysstangirl @trashpanda-barnes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @lokilvrr @freyjawalker @sebbybarrnes @palaiasaurus64 @piensa-bonito @until-theend-oftheline @awkwardfangirl2014 @mywinterwolf @all1e23 @teamcap4bucky @wintersxsoul @prettyyoungtragedy @suz-123 @buckyofthemyscira @kentuckybarnes @tropicalcap @moonbeambucky @gamorazenn @sgtjbuccky @darlingholland @desibarnes @aryastarss @driftingtonystark @everythingbooknerd @unlikelygalaxygiver @nec-me-ire @hello-lucifer-here @sold-my-soul-in-2016 @whyugottabesorude @theoutlinez @books-movies-eternal @lionheo04

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic #stories by notimetoblog

1K notes · View notes

angrypedestrian · 4 years

Text

THE TIME IDIOTS EPISODE 510 TITLED “Wait what the fuck we’re already on 5x10???? And I have lost all concept of time” MY THOUGHTS:

Hope all you crazy cats and kittens are staying safe and health and in your HOUSES (if you can). I personally am doing

BAD

REAL REAL BAD

But anyways luckily my emotional support absurd time travel television program is here to give me a drop of that sweet sweet serotonin

Lita is already the greatest Legend to ever exist

also she will ten thousand percent grow up to play roller derby so really mick DOES get her

he SEES her

one day she’ll get that when she’s like 25

HELL YEAH LITA FORD AND THE RUNAWAYS

c’mon give us a runaways episode i want to see vancouver’s best 70s girl rock impersonators

Gary is very right, you ALL should have therapists

But also, Gary doesn’t live on the ship right? So like, it’s annoying to have the dog there, but like, it won’t....live there?

Zari v. Astra

yes

Charlie, I love you, but WHAT is that outfit

not good i’m so sorry maisie

These fuckin dollar store sunglass “””goggles”””

THE BAD CGI RETURNS

oh how i have missed truly terrible and atrocious cgi

Also literally every single person on this show says Behrad’s name differently, which honestly, is probably accurate to what he would get in real life, but like, can’t we just nail down a pronunciation here?

Oh thank god the cheap sunglasses saved them

Astra v. Charlie

yes

Oh yeah Astra u fucked up by getting involved with any of this nonsense

being the queen of hell is so much more preferable to this shit show

COULD USE YOUR VISION

GET IT

CAUSE SHE SEES THE FUTURE NOW

She’s just fucking Tiresias

oh and that cgi on her eyeballs is bad too

yeah putting the scarf on is a good idea to save the budget

HEY GUYS REMEMBER JAX AND STEIN AND RIP???

I do =( =( =(

This week’s Memorial Can Get It Award goes to Astra’s pantsuit

it is A+++++

HEY GUYS REMEMBER HOW NATE’S PHD IS IN LITERAL BULLSHIT BECAUSE HISTORICAL DEDUCTIVE REASONING (or WHATEVER he fucking calls it) IS JUST....STUDYING FUCKING HISTORY?

I DO

god can he just go back to being stupid because whenever they bring up his career I lose my fucking mind

zari AND astra

yes

Gary Jr. has a BOWTIE

i love gary jr.

GARY DO NOT PUT YOUR HAND DOWN THE TRASH COMPACTOR

well ava you could be wearing that outfit in 50 years, it seems highly likely

ava she’s the queen of hell like yeah she’s prob not the greatest dude

again, astra, you ARE the queen of hell like the suspicion is maybe a little warranted

even if you didn’t do it! you should have seen this coming

mick: my superpower is somehow not throwing myself out the airlock every single goddamn day

nate: he’s the best at it!

lita is a FANTASTIC teenager

zari v. astra REDUX

yes

sara: oh boy that doesn’t look good

sara: ha look. get it???

ava: you just said you were going murder us all?

sara: oh yeah my bad

so wait...whose room was this?

omg is this what they did with rip’s room?

lol

oh lita this investment advice has not aged well in light of the current situation

this actually is the smartest mick has ever been

OBVIOUSLY ZARI AND CHARLIE ARE IN CAHOOTS

(sexual cahoots)

oh no gary jr. has a HAT now

aaaaaaAAAHHHHHHHHHH

omg what if gary jr had been played by Beezlee

gary wheeling him around in a little wheelbarrow

asdfghjkl;’ the dog from hell!!!

asdadsfghjkl;ssfgdhjkl;gfdhjkl; oh NO

oh this is not a great look

oohhhhhhhhh this is bad

y’know maybe we just shouldn’t even try with the cgi anymore

also if y’all still had the brig set this wouldn’t be so uncomfortable

seriously, it still gets used enough, why not still have the original brig!!

tbh gary jr is a better name

oh gary, you are just, so stupid

AWWWWWWWWW LITA LIKES HER DAD

just go to roller derby lita you’ll like it i PROMISE

zari and astra....again?

YES

give in astra, let the homoeroticism wash over you like it does everyone else on this ship

NEXT WEEK: oh god everyone is going to be at just their absolute stupidest i am READY

#legends of tomorrow #legends of tomorrow spoilers #the time idiots #my thoughts as i have them

11 notes · View notes

imagines-dreams · 5 years

Text

A Good Name - Tim Drake Imagine

Rating: PG

Warnings: fluff and future, and a flustered Robin

Summary: As a part of Young Justice, you have seen a lot of weird things. But being called (Y/n) Drake was by far the weirdest thing. (Aka I read a fic that I can’t remember the name of where Impulse called reader Mrs. Grayson and I took inspo from that idea to make one for Tim! Someone, aka @despitealldoubts-blog found the fic so here it is! Future Mrs. G by @cait-writes-stuff inspired this!)

Word Count: 2785

“Stand ready,” Nightwing commanded.

The four of you readied yourselves as the unknown source or ball of electricity formed and dropped a transportation device of some kind. It dropped right onto the floor, smoking and whirring, and when smoke billowed out of it, someone jumped out.

“Ta da!” A boy, bright red hair, white and red outfit with a yellow visor. You didn’t recognize him from any database you’ve seen. Not a notable hero or villain. Maybe a hacker or inventor, from the looks of the machine. Could be a thief, an aspiring supervillain, or just a big fan of superheroes.

The alarm went off. “Intruder Alert. Intruder Alert.”

“Computer, lock down cave,” Nightwing said.

Gar tilted his head. “Well, I think we found our unknown energy impulse.”

“Impulse,” the stranger mulled it over. “That’s so crash! Catchy, dramatic, one word.” He appeared by Nightwing’s side. “Like Nightwing.”

A speedster!

“And Robin.”

To you, “And Knockout.”

To Gar, “And Beast Boy.” He blinked.”‘Well, that’s two words.” He talked even faster, and soon, he was trying to explore the cave to find things. With a laugh and a mock salute, he was gone.

“You three, take him down.”

“On it, Nightwing!” you responded. You cracked your knuckles and ran alongside Robin and Beast Boy. You caught him in a hallway and with a smirk, you punched the ground. It splintered under your strength. He wouldn’t be able to run.

And you were wrong. Impulse, whatever his name was, ran up the wall and over your head, back to safer and sturdier ground. You groaned. Nightwing was not going to be happy.

Robin sped out from the kitchen, just to trip on some dispelled tile.

You giggled. It was worth it.

Robin stared at you. “Nightwing’s gonna kill you.”

You shrugged. “Nah, I’m good. It’s nice to see you fall on your ass, Robin. Shouldn’t you have wings or something?”

“Guys, come back,” Nightwing said. “I’ve got him.”

Your jaw dropped. “How…” You shook your head.

Robin laughed and patted your shoulder. “Come on.”

As Impulse explained himself, you grew more and more confused. Time travel was theoretica, and no one could agree on what would happen if it was achieved. Does time travel work so that what you do in the past is actually what happened in the past, like time travel was meant to happen and was accounted for in a neat timeline. Or, was there different timelines, and if so, does the previous timeline disappear or does it become an alternate universe all on its own.

You pressed your fingers against your temples. This was just a tad too much.

“So,” Robin concluded, “you’re a tourist from the future.”

“Why look so surprised. Half the meat at Comic Con are from my era.”

Robin rubbed his chin, and you knew that face. He was doubting the information he got. Trying to find the tells of a lie.

You crossed your arms. “If you’re from the future, you should be able to prove it.”

“Ah, well, my identity is kinda a tell, if you know what I mean. Superspeed, the red and gold.” He smiled up at all of you. “I’m Bart Allen, grandson of Barry Allen. You know, the Flash, Barry Allen.”

“Noted.” Garfield smirked. “Not believed, but noted.”

“What’s not to believe? I’ve got it all! The speed, the amazing good looks.” Impulse’s eyes lit up. “Frankly, I can’t wait to meet him. You know, back when he was still in his prime and all.”

Nightwing sighed. “Well, Bart, coming all the way from the future, you must have worked up a thirst.” He brought a cup of water to the intruder. Tracker, no doubt.

“Thanks!”He sipped the water. “Oh! Ah, you’re trying to get my DNA!” he spat into the water. “That’s such a Dick Grayson move.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “How did…” He looked at his mentor, and Nightwing, or well Dick, just stared at him, trying to figure it out himself.

“Aha! See, I know things that only someone from the future with an amazing Flash legacy to carry would know.” He looked at each of you, and without pause, said, “Dick Grayson, (Y/n) and Tim Drake, Garfield Logan.”

You bit your tongue. That was not your name. Your name was (Y/n) (Y/l/n), not (Y/n) Drake. And Tim? As in Robin’s name was Tim. Tim Drake? Your eyes caught his, Tim’s, and thank god for Garfield, because he spoke before the two of you could stutter about what just happened.

“Your name’s Tim? And your is, uh, Dick?” Garfield cringed.

You smiled as much as you can, and with heat still blooming in your cheeks, you laughed. “Gar, your name is Garfield, like that cat who hates Mondays.”

“Hey!” Garfield poked your chest. “I don’t like Mondays. So, I take that as a compliment.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Tim agreed.

“See, thank you.”

Garfield groaned and covered his face. “No wonder you two got married.”

Just like that, Tim and you looked anywhere else but each other.

“Oops. Spoilers.” He shrugged. “The secret identity is so retro. You can call me anything. Impulse, Bart, Bart Impulse Allen. All’s crash.”

“He can’t actually be telling the truth,” Robin, Tim, insisted. “He can’t be from the future.”

Garfield leaned in close. “Tell us something we don’t know! Yet.” The boy smiled, so proud of himself. “So, when do I become leader? Or part of the Justice League! Or, hear me out, my reality show? Good answers only.”

“Sorry, BB. Never was the best at history. Plus, I shouldn’t say any more spoilers as to alter the timeline. I mean, now, Tim and (Y/n) might not get married and have Jack and Anna. Oh, god, we will all be feeling the mode.”

Jack and Anna. “Kids?” You gulped and looked to Tim. Sure enough, he was staring at you, too. There was something in his eyes, behind the mask, that screamed surprise and awe, and you weren’t sure how to take that. Tim was your best friend on the team. Maybe not your best friend ever, since he didn’t know your name and you didn’t know his until after Impulse, but still.

He was so amazing, really. Intelligent, strategic, hard-working. You still got surprised every time he actually wanted to spend time with you.

And then, this kid from the future is telling you that that guy, your best super friend and the smartest person on the team, falls in love with you? Has kids with you?

Then, Impulse escaped. Beast Boy went after him, and Tim was back to clearing his throat and forgetting all the information he had just received.

You sighed. “I’m gonna go train. And, uh, Nightwing?”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!” You pursed your lips. “Just, you know, some slightly chipped, broken, maybe possibly shattered tile in hallway B6.”

“Knockout-”

“Ok, bye!” You ran off to the gym. Nightwing had too much on his mind. He wouldn’t go after you just yet.

So, you took deep breaths. When you entered your small, personal gym, it came to life. The light turned on, and your playlist filled the air. You sighed. “Computer, I need you to search for Tim Drake.”

“On it, Knockout.”

As you worked out, you kept asking your room questions and pieced together bits of information.

“I need a list of billionaires who operate business at least once a month in Gotham,” you said, as you stared at the wall of holograms during your cooldown. “Cross reference the list with the list of people associated with Tim Drake.”

“The list consists of seven people.”

“Read them out, please.” You gulped down water and listened.

“Anthony Edwards, Roberta Stark, Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor-”

“Wait.” You stared at the profiles of these people. Seven people that were both associated with Gotham and Tim. Only one of them fit the bill of eccentric billionaire who takes in kids and fights crime with only a tight suit and fancy gadgets.

“Bruce Wayne,” you whispered. “Computer, pull up a picture of Batman next to Mr. Wayne.” Oh my god, how did no one figure it out sooner. They even had a similar physique. “Who are children that are associated with Mr. Wayne?”

“Dick Grayson-”

“Aka Nightwing.”

“-Barbara Gordon-”

You’d recognize that bright red hair anywhere. “Batgirl.”

“-Jason Todd-”

The old Robin.”

“-and Tim Drake.”

You gulped. Four kids, just like how there were four kids under Batman. Two of which were named by the kid from the future.

“Pull all of their pictures up, along with Nightwing, Batgirl, Robin three years ago and Robin now.” All of their physical profiles were similar. Even Jason’s and Robin’s. And Robin’s disappearance was near Jason Todd’s reported death. Robin’s reappearance matched the year Bruce and Tim’s dad, Jack Drake, were acquainted.

You stood back and laughed. “Wow.” You were sitting one of the biggest secrets in history. You knew who Batman was! The Batman! You knew who Robin was, who Nightwing was, who Batgirl was. You knew all of their secret identities.

“I knew you’d figure it out.”

“Robin!” Your computer hid all the files. “Find what out? Nothing to see here.”

“Mhm. Computer?”

“Yes, Robin?”

“Bring up the previous files.”

“Of course.”

You gasped. “Wait! No-” And all your files of the Batman and his associates appeared on the wall behind you. You shook your head. “Thanks, Computer.”

“You’re welcome, Knockout.”

You stared at your feet and joked, “I really should program Computer to detect sarcasm.” you turned to your data. “I still can’t believe no one knows. I mean, it’s obvious.” You pointed at Mr. Wayne. “This guy is one of the only billionaires who operates in Gotham weekly, and Batman is known to have multiple, custom made gadgets. Even if he made them himself, he’d need a lot of money to maintain that, so billionaire is in the description.

“Then, there’s the fact that Batman has many sidekicks or associates or what have you. So that means the the billionaire must be associated with kids, maybe even adopt them. And Mr. Wayne adopted two kids as his wards. The first one of the two being an orphaned trapeze artist who was adopted around the time that Robin showed up for the first time. And it helps that Robin was known to do amazing tricks and stunts when locking up criminals.”

With all the pictures and articles around you, you couldn’t help but wonder. “I mean, it’s obvious.”

Robin laughed. “To us, it is.”

You tilted your head. “Us?”

He nodded. “Computer, can search for a video with the keywords, ‘Grayson,’ and ‘quadruple somersault’?”

Two videos popped up, one of which was a small boy performing the very difficult trick.

“The second one. Now, Computer, bring up footage of Penguin and Robin about six years ago next to it, please.”

The two videos played at the same time, and you saw why Tim brought it up. The kid in the first video was a young trapeze artist, Dick Grayson. The second video had Robin perform the same difficult trick when he defeated Penguin.

You laughed. “That’s how you found out?”

“I saw Dick perform when I was a kid. I recognized it in this video, and when I thought I needed to, I approached Bruce.”

You blinked. “When you needed to?”

His shoulders dropped, and suddenly, you knew what Tim meant. Batman needed a Robin, and the only time he was without one was when Jason, the second Robin, died at the hands of the Joker. Tim sought out Mr. Wayne after that. “You don’t have to,” you said.

Tim smiled, but it was forced. “Thanks.”

You rubbed his shoulder. “You’e really smart for figuring that out at the age of what?” You looked at the Penguin’s video date. “Age of nine? Damn, Robin.”

“Yeah, I am smart,” he admitted. “I’m also smart enough to know you’re avoiding the topic we should really be talking about.”

Blood pooled into your cheeks. You took your hand off his shoulder and laughed. “What do you mean avoiding? I’m not avoiding anything.” You pointed out, “Plus, it could just mean I’m adopted or that we happen to have the same last name later on in the future or something.”

Tim raised his eyebrow. “Impulse said, ‘Have Jack and Anna’.”

“So?”

“So, use that smart brain of yours.”

You grimaced. “Are we really going to talk about it?”

“Yes, we are. We’re a team, (Y/n), and whatever happens, this” - he pointed at the two of you- “needs to stay in tact.” The superhero gulped. “I want it to stay in tact.”

You sighed. “Jack is your dad’s name, obviously, so the future he was talking about, well,” you laughed and pulled at your hair, “it means that we name a kid after your dad.”

“What do you think of Anna? Where’d that come from?”

You shrugged. “Could be anything.” You laughed. “All I thought was, ‘Wow, Anna Drake sounds like a good name.’” You shook your head. “Kinda ridiculous, huh?”

Tim was silent. Then, his cheeks turned red, and he turned away from you. You knew that look. He thought of something. He thought of something, and it was embarrassing enough that even the thought of of it made him blush.

“Nuh-uh.” It took two strides for you to be right in front of him. “No, you’re spitting it out. What is it?”

“Nothing!”

“Not according to those rosy red cheeks, Tim.” You pinched his cheek. “Come on, you can tell me.”

Tim shook his head and hit his own forehead. “It’s stupid.”

“Who cares?”

He sighed. “I thought, I was just gonna say, like, I don’t know.” He cleared his throat and glanced at you before looking at his boots. “I just, I think that (Y/n) Drake, it sounds like a good name, too.”

The smile you had so gleefully earned disappeared just like that. Not because you were embarrassed, although that was true. It wasn’t because you might marry Robin, aka Tim Drake, aka your best friend, or because you had been thinking of that name, your first name and his last name, for the past hour or two.

No, it was because he was right. (Y/n) Drake doesn’t sound bad.

“See!”

“Shut up.” You laughed and covered your face. “I don’t need this from you.”

“You asked for it!”

“I didn’t think you’d say that.” You exhaled a long and deep exhale and shook your head. You couldn’t let him do this to you. It didn’t matter that the two of you might be married later on. No, you had to get him back. You bit your lip and sauntered to him.

Tim’s eyes widened, and he froze. He stared at you, almost in awe of your newly found confidence, and even though your fingers shook, you couldn’t help but love the way he looked at you.

Your fingers brushed against his mask, and your eyes met his blue ones. When he didn’t do anything to stop you, you lifted the mask away from his face, and finally, his face was revealed to you.

You bit your lip and brushed his hair back. “You know, I don’t think Tim (Y/l/n) sounds too bad either.” You smiled up at him and played with one lock of hair that was out of place. “Goes well with this handsome face of yours.”

Tim gulped, and you could feel his heartbeat under his skin. It was frantic, but still, he didn’t move. Even when he sheeks got redder than yours, he didn’t move. He just smiled. “I, uh, I mean.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, you know, you being this close and playing with my, you know, hair and everything.” He gulped and looked down at his feet.

You giggled. “Run out of smoothness there, Robin?”

“Maybe,” he admitted.

Your cheeks hurt from smiling too much. You leaned your head on his chest. “It’s ok, that was all the smoothness I had.”

“All of it?”

“Yep.” You wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your chin on his chest. “No more smoothness from me. That was it. That was all of it.”

Tim smiled so softly and genuinely as he brushed your hair out of your face before resting them on your waist. “So no more smoothness from you?”

“Nope.”

“Not even on our first date?”

“Well, you got ask me that first?”

He laughed. “Ok then, Drake, what about a date?”

You hummed, as if in thought.

“Come on,” he pouted.

You laughed. “Yes, (Y/l/n), I’ll go on a date with you.”

477 notes · View notes

raysofcrosby · 5 years

Text

STEALING CINDERELLA

“𝘐𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘐’𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘐’𝘮 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢. 𝘙𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢.” – 𝘾𝙝𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝙒𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙨, 𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝘾𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙖

𝘨𝘪𝘧 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵 (𝘹)

𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥: yes | no

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨(𝘴): just pure, sweet and cheesy fluff

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 2,257

𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤: stealing cinderella by chuck wicks

𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦: so it’s pretty much almost wedding season which means hallmark is going ham with cheesy wedding movies, plus my best friend is getting married soon– aka why i’m in a wedding mood. so here’s a cute and short little fluff piece!! i full recommend listening to the song when reading, but to each their own! enjoy! :)

Carter took a deep breath and clasped his hands together as his feet tapped a little rhythm on the wooden floor of your parents living room. The butterflies grew each second that he was alone in the living room, waiting for your father to join him. You didn’t know that he was here, you actually thought that he was headed to Nolan's place to play poker with him and some of the boys. Instead, he came here to talk to your father to ask him a very important question; if he could marry his daughter.

When he had knocked on the door, your father was the one who greeted him instead of your mother, who must have been at the store. Carter had asked him if he could talk to him for a while, hoping that maybe his amount of nerves would give off a small hint that he was going to talk to him about your relationship and his desire to take it to the next step. Your dad had let Carter in the house and told him to just take a seat in the living room and that he’d be back shortly.

So there he was 5 minutes later, still sitting alone in the living room, his nerves eating him alive. When he finally got the nerves to look up from his hands, he looked to the left towards the fireplace and saw a ton of picture frames lined up with home decor on a ledge. He couldn’t bear to sit on the couch anymore and slowly stood up, walking over towards the fireplace to check out the pictures. The closer to the pictures he got, the more he began to realize who was in them.

He started to smile the moment he looked at the first picture of a younger you and your little sister dressed as Disney princesses in the backyard of your childhood home, on Halloween. Your cheeky smile was still the same smile you had to this day whenever you saw anything Disney. He always told you that you were such a kid at heart, in which you'd reply to him by sticking out your tongue and calling him a meanie. As he moved down the pictures, he saw a ton of milestones frozen in time of you and your younger sisters life. There was one of you riding your bike with your dad trailing not so far behind you. Another of you jumping on your bed wearing a little purple nightgown with a golden retriever puppy on it.

He kept moving down to pictures of you running through sprinklers as your very pregnant mom was standing there laughing at her goofy girl. He reached the end of the ledge, he leaned in a bit closer and picked up the second to last picture frame. It was a close up of you when you were around the age of 5 or 6, in a fourth of July themed outfit and smiling big at the camera. Your two front teeth were missing and you had popsicle stains all over her face as you held two half-eaten popsicles in both of your hands. The toddler image holding many resemblances of you even now, at 25 years old. It made him smile and he could feel his nerves start to ease like they always did when you were around; you were his other half.

“She lost her two front teeth eating that popsicle.” He turned around and saw your father standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room with two glasses of water in his hands. He walked over and handed Carter a glass, then turned his attention to the picture frames. He picked up the last one on the edge and held it in his hands, looking at it. “I know why you’re here Carter.”

Carter placed the picture frame that he was holding back, onto its spot and sucked in his lips. “You do?”

He nodded, not looking at him. “I do. I think I’ve known for quite some time. He took a deep breath and sighed. "I see the way you look at her, with pure love in your eyes like she’s the only thing in the room and that look hasn’t changed ever since you picked her up for that first date over her fall break her sophomore year of college.”

My eyes stayed on him, my mind in complete shock that he had said that. “I do sir, I really love (Y/N) so much. She’s my other half, she brings out the best in me and I honestly couldn’t imagine my life without her.”

He nodded and laughed to himself quietly as he took a drink of his water. “I prayed to God for someone like you to come into her life ever since she was a little girl. Someone who would always treat her right, respect her, never hold her back. A guy who’d push her to achieve her dreams and just love her like she’s the only girl in the world. The day she mentioned you asking her on a date, I'll admit...I was a little unsure. I was a professional athlete was son, so I knew the lifestyle," he took another sip of his drink, shaking his head. "But I had this feeling in my gut…and it was a good one. Then I met you and when (Y/N) came down the steps and I saw the look in your eyes…I knew God had answered my prayers.”

Carter smiled to himself, reminiscing on the day he finally mustered up the courage to ask you on a date. How Claude and Simmonds gave him a little girl advice on how to woo you, the most important being– 'don't ever listen to a word Nolan or TK give.' And while he took that to mind, he also knew that if it wasn't for the two best friends, then he never would have met you.

Travis had been hooking up with your college roommate, and it was a night at Ladder 15 where everything started. Carter had used his status as THAT rookie goalie for the Flyers to get into the bar, ignoring the fact that he was a year short of being welcomed into the bar legally. You had used a fake I.D. provided by your roommates' Senior brother who couldn't remember the hookup that it belonged to. You hadn't wanted to even go to the bar, preferring to stay in bed and watch ‘How To Get Away With Murder’, instead– but your roommate, Chelsea, begged you to come along since she was invited by her most recent catch off the market– Travis Konecny, of your hometown's own, Philadelphia Flyers.

Carter could still see the look on your face as your roommate dragged you over to where the group of hockey players and a few girls plucked from the crowd, stood in their own VIP booth. It's the very thing that drew him to you– how unbothered you looked by who they were and like him, wanted to be anywhere else but here. You'd caught him staring a few times, the first time you held eye contact with him for a few seconds before looking at the complimentary bottled beverages resting on a table to your right. The second time, he had looked away just as fast as your eyes locked in. You could've sworn you'd seen a little blush on his cheeks, but maybe it was the lightning.

Carter wasn't sure how to approach you. Sure, he could use the whole 'I'm a professional hockey player' card, but he had a gut feeling that maybe, it wouldn't have been the smartest move. Nolan had watched the last two awkward eye contacts, and swooped in next to Carter, handing him two untouched Corona's and said– "Dude, talk to her about her shirt," before shoving Carter into your direction– causing the third and final time the two of you made eye contact from across the booth.

Since Chelsea and sprung your trip to the bar on you so late, you had put on the nicest (and only clean) pair of high-waisted jeans you could find and kept on your Old Dominion concert tee that you'd added some spruced DIY to– making cute, and maybe very strategic cuts around the collar and back. While you thought that the shirt was too drab for the bar, Carter thought differently– he loved Old Dominion, and he was glad Nolan had pointed out the shirt, otherwise, he'd be stuck staring at you like a creeper from across the bar.

Which maybe could have been a good thing, since he couldn't bring himself to form any kind of coherent sentence to talk to you. As he felt the blush creep on his cheeks, he had shoved the corona into your chest and blurted out– "I like them."

God, he could still feel the way the nerves from embarrassment and from the way you smiled at him, electrifying his whole body. But you had laughed and then eased into a conversation– and the rest was history. All the face time calls when he was on roadies, the first time he gave you tickets to a game, sleeping over in your dorm or at his apartment, meeting your parents when he came to pick you up for a date, meeting his parents after a game, traveling back to his hometown for the summer, supporting him at the iihf worlds after his second pro season...moving in together– all of it, all five years of history had led to this moment right now. A moment, that when Carter thought back on hard enough, he knew was going to happen, no matter what.

“As weird as this sounds sir, the first time that I met (Y/N) I could tell that she was remarkable." Carter smiled, as the memories of that first night, flashed through his mind. "She's smart, strong-willed, passionate...a little stubborn, but to me she's perfect. And I can't thank you enough for raising her to be the beautiful young woman that she is today. She's...I just love her a lot." He saw a smile slowly appear on your father's face as his grip on the picture frame tightened a tad and his eyes squinted. “So I was wondering if I could have your blessing to marry (Y/N),” Carter said, swallowing back all of his fears and hoping that your father would look at him... at least once.

His heart ached the moment he saw your father's lips tighten, and for a moment he thought that he was going to say no. He whispered a million little prayers in his mind as he looked at your father. Your father then sighed as he looked up at the ceiling, and then for the first time since he answered the door, he looked at Carter with tears building in his eyes. “You have my blessing to marry my daughter. I couldn’t imagine her marrying any other man.” A wave of relief washed over Carter as he let out the breath that he was holding for what felt like forever, but was only for a few seconds. Your father placed the picture frame down and looked at the floor, then took one finger and wiped it across his eye, looking at him. “Just promise me you’ll take care of her for the rest of your lives.”

Carted nodded, excitement starting to build inside of him. “I promise sir.”

He smiled and nodded his head. “Alright, well I was about to head out to Home Depot to get some wood for the gazebo I’m making Betty for the Garden. She’s been hinting towards wanting one for months now and I just finished the blueprints. Would you like to tag along?”

“I’d love to. Maybe I could help you build it as well?” Carter asked, taking a long drink of his water.

“That’d be great Carter, thank you. Let me just grab my keys and wallet off of the kitchen counter and we can go.” He said, taking his empty glass and his own glass and walking into the kitchen.

Carter smiled, doing a little dance in his mind and pumping his fist in the air at the fact that he got your father’s blessing. He turned and looked at the picture frame your father had been holding the entire time, which was the last one of the ledge. A frame that Carter himself, hadn't gotten a chance to look at since your father had picked it up before he could. He looked towards the kitchen to see that your father wasn’t coming back yet and picked up the picture frame, looking at the picture inside it and seeing what he had his eyes glued on the entire conversation they had about you.

Then it hit him as to why your father couldn’t look at him when he had asked him for his blessing. How he had avoided even looking up at Carter in his own moment of reminiscence of your first meeting...and how he took in a sharp breath the moment Carter had mentioned how you were a beautiful young woman.

He still saw you as his baby girl. The little girl in this picture who always begged for the same bedtime story. Who would steal his shirts and ties and try to follow him out the door on his way to work because she ‘wanted to be like daddy.’ His little girl who wore her Cinderella dress 24/7, even to her first day of school. And Carter was the one who was whisking her away– and in your father's eyes, it was like Carter was taking you from him.

He was stealing Cinderella.

#carter hart #carter hart imagine #carter hart oneshot #nhl imagine #nhl writing #my writing

372 notes · View notes

blackevermore · 4 years

Text

x I had this idea of a human AU where all my boys went to highschool together. In this it wasn’t really a romance au or anything and I wouldn’t be there it would just be a high school drama about 8 (Not including All Might and Fat Gum) teenagers trying to make it to the next year without dying.

|| Meet the students ||

x William Wonka aka the Gordon Ramsay of cooking club #2 in the school

Age: 17

Really doesn’t understand why he has to let people into the club for it to be a club when him and Alastor are enough.

Once ran over a rock in his brand new car trying to park, was the laughing stock until he had Alastor handle it.

Has strong gay energy but no one is sure what he is except a very mean fashion disaster.

Him, Alastor, Nique, and Mettaton are known as the Toxic Four. They are the Heathers and Mean Girls but way better and more functional in friendship.

Has the best teeth anyone as ever seen

With that being said there is a rumor going around that he bits people that disagrees with him. (Alastor started it)

Is really hard on the members in his club because food is a craft

Has a crush on someone close to him but no one knows who but it may be the school’s drug dealer, who knows

x “Miach” Mettaton aka the main star of every event, ever

Age: 16 (1/2)

Boss Ass Bitch is his entrance song every morning.

He has a page in the school newspaper about staying fabulous and how to bring out your inner beauty.

Is the nice on in the Toxic Four

Really loves doing volunteer work with the elementary school

Has been caught making out with Dominique before a performance but they aren’t together

Doesn’t vib will with William but since he is a friend of a friend whatever

He does make them wear pink on Wednesdays

Don’t tell him secrets he can’t remember not to tell people

He plays dumb so William feels better but he is Nique’s life coach

x “Angel” Michelangelo aka the captain of the basketball team and art club ambassador

Age: 16

Soft baby who can’t keep his attention on anything except for his passions

The class clown but the teachers love him

He thinks Beyonce is overrated and would wish Nique didn’t play her everyday

He is gentle until it’s game day then move your fucking asses we got a game to win

Has lead his team to victory every year he has been apart of it

Is apart of the same volunteer team Miach is on and teaches kids the importance of keeping their creativity.

Wants to be a teacher

Him and Bryson are always getting into something but always manage to get out of trouble.

Made best friend jerseys that say “Blue Eye Slutz”

Wants to make his family proud of him since all his brother already went off to college and are doing amazing.

x Kurt Wagner aka the “should have been but isn’t” captain of the gymnastic club and theater kid

Age: 17

Transferred from Germany, took him a bit to adapt to his new school

Keeps getting Nique and Micah confused for each other because of their hair and makeup.

Gave up the title as captain of the gymnastic club because he couldn’t handle the responsibility. But the current captain always ask him for the help.

Really enjoys William’s cakes and is the one that has been stealing them.

Is the third wheel of Bryson and Angel and is just happy they let him hang out with them.

He loves getting the villian parts in the school plays bc he gets the best customs.

Has the best dance moves and everyone loves when he dances at functions.

Talks shit a lot of the time, but since no one but Alastor and Nique knows German he gets away with it.

He can be found in the library most of them time.

x “Bryson” Bumblebee aka the second in command of the basketball team and Angel’s best friend and member of the mechanics club

Age: 16

Is the class clown and the teachers do not love him.

is very artistic but doesn’t really express it because he wants Angel to be in the spotlight.

Will fix your car.....for a fee

Will hide your weed....for a fee

Will do a lot of shady mechanic shit......for a fee

American Sweetheart of the year award goes to Bryson

Is apart of a rugby team called “Autobots”

When Angel is busy with the art club Bryson takes over the bball team (which is a lot lately)

Is secretly crushing over Kurt and Angel but keeps it to himself because he loves his friendship more than anything else.

x Dominique Dalmatia aka head director of the drama/theatre club also head stylist for all school functions

Age: 17

No one has a nick, everyone is “darling” “baby” “sweetie” “doll”

Will change his clothes during the day, legit packs another outfit in the morning before heading to school

Is the richest kid in the school but no one cares

He drives a new care every week, he picks up Mettaton sometimes and they always roll in with style

Plays his music very loud

Always talks about his besties from another school and has a bad habit of comparing his new friends to them

Will come up to you in the middle of the hall to crew you out about wearing conflicting fabrics

But he is the nicest out of the Toxic Four and will help anyone and everyone

Is the cry baby of the group

Once had a break down over crewing because he didn’t want to keep crewing but had to

It wasn’t William that bit someone, it was Nique and Alastor knows

x Nathaniel Abcott aka the member of the culture and heritage club also the school drug dealer, #1 in the school and hated by William

Age: 18

Is very big on everyone respect other people’s cultures

Is the smartest in the room but you would have no idea because he is high off his ass and asleep all the time

Has an amazing singing voice and can play guitar, he is the kid that sits under the tree at lunch

Ladies man, Mens man, he doesn’t care come to daddy. The respected school hoe

Asks William to cook for him all the time and always gets rejected but not without making the younger boy blush

Doesn’t get along with Mettaton or Nique

He drives a motorcycle to school and like the dork he is, imagines himself as a greaser. He even has the comb switchblade.

Is a momma boy at heart and will make up an excuse of having to help his mother to get out of things.

His mom shows up to every event ever and she’s the school’s mom

Him and Bryson are weed buddies for life.

x Alastor Hazbin aka Wonka’s right and left hand man in the cooking club and director of the school newspaper and announcements

Age: 18

Nothing gets past him, the hallways are his ears, he knows everything about anyone and will blackmail the fuck out of you

Don’t touch him don’t touch him DON’T TOUCH HIM

His parents drive him to school everyday and he kisses his mother goodbye everyday

Thinks Williams sweet treats suck, not because they do but because he doesn’t like sweets.

Has put alcohol in William food to make the student body wasted as fuck so he could get a laugh out of it.

If you pay him he will travel to the rival schools and get the dirt on them and punish it in the school newspapers.

Computer geek and knows the ins and out of firewalls, proxies, vsps, tracking etc etc. He was the one that found out the two of the teachers were changing grades of student they didn’t like.

He runs this shit from the shadows, you think William is the brains wait till you get a taste of Al

Really enjoys his friends but if need be it for his own safety he will destroy them one by one.

Used to date Miach, was an agreeable breakup and never told anyone. Sometimes it slips up when Miach does something caring for Al but everyone brushes it off.

#my headcanos #my au #⛓️The Gang⛓️#wholesome au #Willy Wonka #Alastor Hazbin #kurt wagner #tf bumblebee #tmnt michelangelo #ut mettaton #disney villain recruiters

11 notes · View notes

thecomicsnexus · 5 years

Text

A Strong and Loving World

WATCHMEN #12 OCTOBER 1987 BY ALAN MOORE, DAVE GIBBONS AND JOHN HIGGINS

SYNOPSIS (FROM DC DATABASE)

Midnight, November 2, 1985.

Most of New York City has been devastated by the psychic trauma caused by the instant death of Ozymandias' "alien."

Dr. Manhattan and a heavily distraught Laurie arrive in the city too late as they tour the devastation. After they have seen enough, the two teleport away to the South Pole, to follow a trail of tachyon particles that Dr. Manhattan senses will lead to the source of the disturbance. Before they left, Laurie picks up a gun from the deceased Detective Steven Fine.

At Karnak, Ozymandias continues to detail his plan to Rorschach and a disbelieving Nite-Owl. He explains he cloned the brain of the dead psychic Robert Deschaines and having it augmented and programmed with horrible visions and concepts of aliens, so that the mental transmissions given off at its death would affect anyone around it who managed to survive the initial psychic blast. Thus forcing humanity to cast aside their petty enmities and focus on a common alien enemy. But to ensure this plan to work, Veidt necessarily eliminated anyone involved in his plan. Although Veidt admits he hasn't any ideas what he will do with Rorschach and Nite-Owl.

Manhattan and Laurie soon arrives to Karnak, where Manhattan confront Veidt. Veidt hinders Manhattan with a tachyon generator that interferes with Doctor Manhattan's ability to see the future, and then disintegrates him in an intrinsic field subtractor at the regrettable cost of Veidt's pet Bubastis. This act is witness by Laurie, who then shoots Veidt with Fine's gun. However, Veidt use his newfound, and untried, ability to catch the bullet. After subduing Laurie, Veidt begins to lecture the costumed heroes that their "obvious heroism" is redundant and that their failure to prevent "Earth's salvation" will usher a new era for humanity. But his speech is cut short when to Veidt's surprise, Manhattan restores himself. Before Manhattan could pass judgement on Veidt, the world's smartest man make one last trick by showing everyone news broadcasts of the aftermath of the disaster in New York, which has cost the lives of over two million people, which has prompt an end to hostilities between the U.S. and Soviet Union and calling for peaceful cooperation against Veidt's faked alien threat.

Veidt revels in his victory for bringing Earth into a "utopia" and convinces almost everyone present that exposing the truth would bring a permanent end to world peace. Manhattan, Laurie, and Dan reluctantly agree to concealing Veidt's truth. But Rorschach refuses to compromise with keeping the secret and proceed to leave despite Dan's pleas. Veidt is seemingly unconcerned of Rorschach being a "reliable witness" before retiring to meditate in his ornery and offering Dan and Laurie a stay in his home. Laurie and Dan found a private room to reflect on their decision and they settle down to make love.

Outside, Rorschach tries to start up his hoverbike but is stop by Manhattan. Rorschach takes off his mask, knowing that Veidt's new utopia is to be protected with the cost of his own life and prompts Manhattan to reluctantly disintegrate him. Manhattan walks back inside the retreat, where he finds Dan and Laurie asleep together and smiles at Laurie's newfound love and happiness and walks out of the room to meet Veidt. The two discuss about Veidt's well-intention reasons for ensuring world peace at the cost of millions of human lives. Veidt is surprise that Manhattan regained interest in human life, to which Manhattan suggests that he may "create some [human life]" in another galaxy that he will be travelling to. But before Manhattan could go, Veidt ask him if his plan worked out in the end. Manhattan smiles and enigmatically replies that "nothing ever ends." Veidt is left totally confuse by Manhattan's words and appears to be in doubt as to whether or not his plan was successful.

Sometime during Christmas, Laurie and Dan, who have assumed new identities, visit Sally Jupiter. Laurie tells Sally that she knows Edward Blake is her real father. She explains to her mother that she understands the complex relationship between Sally and Blake and that she has comes to terms with that. Laurie and Dan soon leaves while indicating that they would continue to adventure, although Laurie expressed the wish for a better superhero identity, a more protective leather outfit, a mask, and a firearm much like The Comedian.

In New York that which has been recovering from the disaster, the editor at New Frontiersman, Hector Godfrey, complains about having to pull a two-page column about Russia due to the new political climate. He asks his assistant Seymour to find some filler material from the "crank file", a collection of rejected submissions to the paper, to write. Sitting on top of the pile of discarded submissions is Rorschach's journal.

CRITICAL RECEPTION (FROM WIKIPEDIA)

Watchmen was first mentioned publicly in the 1985 Amazing Heroes Preview. When Moore and Gibbons turned in the first issue of their series to DC, Gibbons recalled, "What really clinched it [...] was [writer/artist] Howard Chaykin, who doesn't give praise lightly, and who came up and said, 'Dave what you've done on Watchmen is fuckin' A.'" Speaking in 1986, Moore said, "DC backed us all the way [...] and have been really supportive about even the most graphic excesses". To promote the series, DC Comics released a limited-edition badge ("button") display card set, featuring characters and images from the series. Ten thousand sets of the four badges, including a replica of the blood-stained smiley face badge worn by the Comedian in the story, were released and sold. Mayfair Games introduced a Watchmen module for its DC Heroes Role-playing Game series that was released before the series concluded. The module, which was endorsed by Moore, adds details to the series' backstory by portraying events that occurred in 1966.

Watchmen was published in single-issue form over the course of 1986 and 1987. The limited series was a commercial success, and its sales helped DC Comics briefly overtake its competitor Marvel Comics in the comic book direct market. The series' publishing schedule ran into delays because it was scheduled with three issues completed instead of the six editor Len Wein believed were necessary. Further delays were caused when later issues each took more than a month to complete. One contemporaneous report noted that although DC solicited issue #12 for publication in April 1987, it became apparent "it won't debut until July or August".

After the series concluded, the individual issues were collected and sold in trade paperback form. Along with Frank Miller's 1986 Batman: The Dark Knight Returns miniseries, Watchmen was marketed as a "graphic novel", a term that allowed DC and other publishers to sell similar comic book collections in a way that associated them with novels and dissociated them from comics. As a result of the publicity given to the books like the Watchmen trade in 1987, bookstore and public libraries began to devote special shelves to them. Subsequently, new comics series were commissioned on the basis of reprinting them in a collected form for these markets.

Watchmen received critical praise, both inside and outside of the comics industry. Time magazine, which noted that the series was "by common assent the best of breed" of the new wave of comics published at the time, praised Watchmen as "a superlative feat of imagination, combining sci-fi, political satire, knowing evocations of comics past and bold reworkings of current graphic formats into a dystopian mystery story". In 1988, Watchmen received a Hugo Award in the Other Forms category.

OWNERSHIP DISPUTES (FROM WIKIPEDIA)

Disagreements about the ownership of the story ultimately led Moore to sever ties with DC Comics. Not wanting to work under a work for hire arrangement, Moore and Gibbons had a reversion clause in their contract for Watchmen. Speaking at the 1985 San Diego Comic-Con, Moore said: "The way it works, if I understand it, is that DC owns it for the time they're publishing it, and then it reverts to Dave and me, so we can make all the money from the Slurpee cups." For Watchmen, Moore and Gibbons received eight percent of the series' earnings. Moore explained in 1986 that his understanding was that when "DC have not used the characters for a year, they're ours." Both Moore and Gibbons said DC paid them "a substantial amount of money" to retain the rights. Moore added, "So basically they're not ours, but if DC is working with the characters in our interests then they might as well be. On the other hand, if the characters have outlived their natural life span and DC doesn't want to do anything with them, then after a year we've got them and we can do what we want with them, which I'm perfectly happy with."

Moore said he left DC in 1989 due to the language in his contracts for Watchmen and his V for Vendetta series with artist David Lloyd. Moore felt the reversion clauses were ultimately meaningless because DC did not intend to let the publications go out of print. He told The New York Times in 2006, "I said, 'Fair enough,' [...] 'You have managed to successfully swindle me, and so I will never work for you again.'" In 2000, Moore publicly distanced himself from DC's plans for a 15th anniversary Watchmen hardcover release as well as a proposed line of action figures from DC Direct. While DC wanted to mend its relationship with the writer, Moore felt the company was not treating him fairly in regards to his America's Best Comics imprint (launched under the WildStorm comic imprint, which was bought by DC in 1998; Moore was promised no direct interference by DC as part of the arrangement). Moore added, "As far as I'm concerned, the 15th anniversary of Watchmen is purely a 15th Anniversary of when DC managed to take the Watchmen property from me and Dave [Gibbons]." Soon afterward, DC Direct cancelled the Watchmen action-figure line, despite the company having displayed prototypes at the 2000 San Diego Comic-Con International.

LEGACY (FROM WIKIPEDIA)

A critical and commercial success, Watchmen is highly regarded in the comics industry and is frequently considered by several critics and reviewers as comics' greatest series and graphic novel. In time, the series has also become one of the best-selling graphic novels ever published. Watchmen was the only graphic novel to appear on Time's 2005 "All-Time 100 Greatest Novels" list, where Time critic Lev Grossman described the story as "a heart-pounding, heartbreaking read and a watershed in the evolution of a young medium." It later appeared on Time's 2009 "Top 10 Graphic Novels" list, where Grossman further praised Watchmen, proclaiming "It’s way beyond cliché at this point to call Watchmen the greatest superhero comic ever written-slash-drawn. But it’s true." In 2008, Entertainment Weekly placed Watchmen at number 13 on its list of the best 50 novels printed in the last 25 years, describing it as "The greatest superhero story ever told and proof that comics are capable of smart, emotionally resonant narratives worthy of the label 'literature'." The Comics Journal, however, ranked Watchmen at number 91 on its list of the Top 100 English-language comics of the 20th century.

In Art of the Comic Book: An Aesthetic History, Robert Harvey wrote that, with Watchmen, Moore and Gibbons "had demonstrated as never before the capacity of the [comic book] medium to tell a sophisticated story that could be engineered only in comics". In his review of the Absolute Edition of the collection, Dave Itzkoff of The New York Times wrote that the dark legacy of Watchmen, "one that Moore almost certainly never intended, whose DNA is encoded in the increasingly black inks and bleak storylines that have become the essential elements of the contemporary superhero comic book," is "a domain he has largely ceded to writers and artists who share his fascination with brutality but not his interest in its consequences, his eagerness to tear down old boundaries but not his drive to find new ones." Alan Moore himself said his intentions with works like Marvelman and Watchmen were to liberate comics and open them up to new and fresh ideas, thus creating more diversity in the comics world by showing the industry what could be done with already existing concepts. Instead it had the opposite effect, causing the superhero comic to end up stuck in a "depressive ghetto of grimness and psychosis". In 2009, Lydia Millet of The Wall Street Journal contested that Watchmen was worthy of such acclaim, and wrote that while the series' "vividly drawn panels, moody colors and lush imagery make its popularity well-deserved, if disproportionate", that "it's simply bizarre to assert that, as an illustrated literary narrative, it rivals in artistic merit, say, masterpieces like Chris Ware's 'Acme Novelty Library' or almost any part of the witty and brilliant work of Edward Gorey".

Watchmen was one of the two comic books, alongside Batman: The Dark Knight Returns, that inspired designer Vincent Connare when he created the Comic Sans font.

In 2009, Brain Scan Studios released the parody Watchmensch, a comic in which writer Rich Johnston chronicled "the debate surrounding Watchmen, the original contracts, the current legal suits over the Fox contract".

In September 2016, Hasslein Books published Watching Time: The Unauthorized Watchmen Chronology, by author Rich Handley. The book provides a detailed history of the Watchmen franchise.

In December 2017, DC Entertainment published Watchmen: Annotated, a fully annotated black-and-white edition of the graphic novel, edited, with an introduction and notes by Leslie S. Klinger (who previously annotated Neil Gaiman's The Sandman for DC). The edition contains extensive materials from Alan Moore's original scripts and was written with the full collaboration of Dave Gibbons.

THE FILM

There are three versions of the Watchmen movie. The theatrical (that I watched several time at cinemas, including IMAX), a director’s cut (includes an extra half hour of movie) and the Ultimate Cut, which includes all the Black Freighter scenes.

I would recommend the theatrical version. I recently watched the ultimate version and the Black Freighter scenes do not work with the movie and also do not work with its altered ending. Hollis Mason’s death scene also feels even more disconnected to the story.

But even the theatrical version... I would say... I do not recommend you to watch it if you haven’t read the novel. The movie is a piece of beauty, visually, but the script feels a lot like they tried very hard to keep the original dialogues, and every time they change something you notice, because something feels out of place (even if you are watching it with fresh eyes).

REVIEW

What else can I add?

As a fan, I find it uneasy that only Gibbons can enjoy the credit for this story in all the adaptations, as Moore does not want to be mentioned in any of those (instead, they always say “co-created by Dave Gibbons”). It makes me feel dirty for buying the book a couple of times, and watching the movies (also V for Vendetta).

But beyond that, this is a piece of art, a very sophisticated piece of art. It’s what comics should aspire to be. Not every comic-book should... but I would love seeing something like this more often.

The series was made with great level of detail. To the point where you can spend minutes on pages or panels, finding things. In this last issue, the first look at New York, after the peace accord, is a whole new world full of details that tell you a story. This is why Watchmen is the perfect graphic novel, and has so much problem being adapted to other mediums or even having prequels and sequels. It was designed in a way that makes sense in these 12 issues of visual entertainment, where writing and art tell a complete story, but wouldn’t be the same if you had a novelization of it.

It was made for comic-books. You could do an adaptation to film with the same level of detail, but you wouldn’t be able to enjoy it, pausing to find all the details in every frame. Instead, they would have to find a new way of adapting this highly detailed and three-dimensional world.

I recommend buying the “Watchmen Annotated” edition as well, as a supplementary book to the regular one (or absolute, depending which version you have).

I give Watchmen a score of 10, and you should read it at least twice before you die.

#alan moore #dave gibbons #john higgins #dc comics #comics #review #1987 #modern age #doctor manhattan #rorschach #nite owl #silk spectre #ozymandias #bubastis #world war iii #new frontiersmen #vertigo comics

9 notes · View notes

starryeyedkoo · 5 years

Text

What We Left Behind - Kim Namjoon

Genre: childhood friends!au, very minor angst, fluff

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Warnings: slightly mature implications?? it’s barely anything but i’ll list it anyway

Word Count: 8.2k

You can’t seem to admit to yourself that letting Namjoon go was the wrong choice. That is, until you were forced to have dinner with his family after you hadn’t spoken to him since senior year of high school. Maybe that was just what you needed to change your mind.

you can find my masterlist by using the link in my bio :)

You saw your father’s truck, stacked tall with your dorm furniture, came to a halt in the little rear view mirror as you stood stretching your legs and pushing the driver side door of your car closed. You stood in front of your childhood home, where you would be returning to for the duration of summer vacation from college. You took a moment to take in the surroundings. It felt like it had been ages since you’d seen your quiet little town last summer, and as much as you enjoyed college, frustrating and tiresome as it may be, you missed feeling at home like this. Your mother called you to help bring your boxes inside and snapped you out of your thoughts.

Your serene feeling was short-lived however when you saw a familiar black car turn into the driveway of the house next door you had unconsciously been avoiding acknowledging. As soon as you noticed the tall figure exiting from the passenger seat—he still must not have gotten his license, you note— you circle around to the back of the truck to avoid seeing him. As you struggled to pick up a particularly heavy box, you heard your mother call out, and you allowed a groan to escape your lips.

“Namjoon! How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while!” she stopped in the middle of the driveway as you stayed where you were, watching her wait for a response from the boy in the driveway next door.

“Hello, Mrs. (L/N). Nice to see you again. I’m doing well, and you?” Only few would be able to see through the polite facade he was using in the moment and notice the tenseness in his voice. Unfortunately, you were one of them.

“I’m doing well, thank you.” There was a beat of silence and you swore you were going to combust from the second-hand embarrassment since you probably knew exactly what Namjoon would be thinking at the moment. Luckily, your mother continued quickly ended the conversation for the good of everyone, “Alright, well, I should continue helping unpack. We’ll see you tomorrow!”

You had just lifted the box once again as you heard the conversation coming to a close but dropped it with a loud clash as she finished her statement. Tomorrow? God, you hoped Namjoon had already gone inside by then. Your mother came rushing over to you with a concerned expression on her face. “(Y/N), are you alright?” she questions looking you up and down before crouching to take a look inside the box that had fallen to the ground. “I hope there was nothing that broke in there,” she mumbled to herself.

“It’s fine, mom. There was nothing important in there,” you spoke quickly enough for her to give you a questioning look. “What did you mean we’ll see him tomorrow?”

She gives a clueless look, but then she seems to understand what you were so frantically questioning about, “Ah, I forgot to tell you earlier. Mr. and Mrs. Kim invited us over for dinner tomorrow night. We haven’t seen each other in a while since you and Namjoon have been off to college, and we thought it would be nice for you guys to meet up again as well. We noticed that last summer you guys didn’t seem to hang out much like you used to.”

Because we didn’t want to see each other at all. You were frustrated, but you also knew you couldn’t blame her. You had never told her that the two of you had grown apart due to some external reasons, unfortunately, or that you completely stopped talking in senior year of high school. After all, how could you ever bring that up? That would only result in questions of why, when, how, and truthfully, you weren’t sure you knew the answer to all of those yourself.

You had finally emptied the truck and had all of your belongings moved into the house. You dropped down onto your bed and stared at the ceiling with a deep sigh, eyes focusing on the little glow-in-the-dark star stickers you had put up there when you were eight and had never bothered to take down.

Your eyes slowly drifted and scanned the room, and eventually, you found yourself looking to your window on the side of the house that faced Namjoon’s bedroom in his own house, which unfortunately had its own window placed almost exactly across from yours. You usually kept its curtains closed ever since you and Namjoon stopped talking, but someone must have opened them back up while you were away.

You had a flashlight pointed at Namjoon’s window as you looked at the little paper Namjoon had written out for you that he had graciously entitled ‘Morse Code for Dummies (Y/N).’ Being the little genius he was, he had the alphabet memorized within about ten minutes meanwhile you still couldn’t spell a word without the cheat sheet he made for you. Even at only nine years old, he was one of the smartest people you knew and you really admired him for that.

Since neither of you had your own cell phones and it was too late at night for your parents to let you stay out, even if it was just next door, this was often how you spent your nights. You would stay up late with your flashlights at your windows talking about anything and everything. Then in the morning, when you would see each other in person, you did the same thing. You two were inseparable.

You hadn’t even realized you were staring out the window across to his until you noticed a light turn on in his room. You quickly stood from your bed and closed your curtains once again. You weren’t even sure why you still tried so hard to hide from him anymore. You were both mature adults, surely you had no reason to be playing these childish games anymore. You kept your hold on the curtains and contemplated opening them back up in hopes of making yourself the bigger person, even though it didn’t seem he was actively avoiding you, but that fact could be ignored for your own sake of your view of your own maturity.

You were in your room finishing your Physics homework. Actually, finishing was definitely not the right word. You were struggling with your Physics homework because unfortunately science had never been your strong suit, but usually Namjoon was there to talk you through it and help you understand what your actual teacher couldn’t explain well enough. However, tonight, like many other nights in these recent times, he was occupied because of her. Because of Hyunjee. You hated to think of her that way, since she was most likely a very nice girl. Namjoon really liked her, and you trusted him and his judgement, but the only thought you had when you heard her name was that she was stealing your best friend from you. After all, he was always with her, and as you glanced to your window, you could see tonight was no exception.

You saw through Namjoon’s window that he was, in fact, with her. She had her arms wrapped around his neck and he had his hands on her waist. You suddenly felt a pang in your chest and you were sick to your stomach as she leaned her face closer to his, but then you forced yourself to look away. It all felt so wrong, seeing that through the window. Through you and Namjoon’s window. Through your window.

You kept your hands in place as you recalled that night, and slowly released the harsh grip you had on the curtain, deciding to leave it closed. No being the bigger person for today. As unreasonable as it may seem, you were still hurt.

Sleeping that night had not come easily, much to your dismay as an overworked and exhausted college student. The difficulty was no doubt due to your anxiety over dinner, which you were now readying yourself for. The day went by far too fast and it was already nearing time to go over, knock on the door, and be greeted by Mrs. Kim, pretending everything was just fine and you had not completely ruined your relationship with her son. You finished applying makeup and put on some jewelry to accessorize your outfit of a casual short dress and some sandals. You hoped it didn’t look like you were trying too hard because that was definitely not what you were doing. You definitely did not agonize for almost an hour over which you would wear of the many outfits you had tried on then discarded on the floor after deeming it unworthy, so much to the point until you had almost run out of options in your closet.

So maybe you did care, just a little. After all, this was the first time you would be seeing Namjoon properly since you two had stopped talking, and you were hoping to give off the impression that this dinner wasn’t even going to phase you, that you had matured.

“Come on, (Y/N). When are you going to grow up?” Namjoon questioned with what seemed almost like contempt in his voice. Your eyes widened in disbelief at his tone.

“Excuse me?”

He laughed in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re actually mad at me for this. (Y/N), it’s a window!”

“It’s not just a window, Namjoon. That’s our window!” you retorted, raising your voice.

You began to realize that this argument you started may have been a bit childish, and probably unnecessary, but hurt clouds judgement, and you were feeling a lot of hurt right now.

“Okay, well what do you expect me to do? Do you just want me to stay out of my room forever?”

“No! I just think you should close the curtains when you have your girlfriend over!” you whined.

“Well, you have your own curtains. Why don’t you close them?” he interrogated.

“Because I shouldn’t have to!” you subconsciously stomped your foot. Heat traveled up to your cheeks as you realize that you really did look like a toddler throwing a tantrum at the moment.

However, there was a hint of fondness that could be found in his eyes as he tried to suppress a chuckle at your behavior. “Alright, fine,” he digressed. “I’ll keep my curtains closed when Hyunjee comes over.” You breathed a sigh of relief at the fact that the argument did not last as long as you were beginning to think it would. Unfortunately you tensed up once again when he pushed the subject into a territory you were hoping to stay far away from, questioning softly, “But, (Y/N), why do you care so much?”

You couldn’t say. You never could. If you did, things would fall apart even faster than they already were, and yes, you were most definitely aware that things were going downhill for the two of you. Slowly but surely. However, you wouldn’t dare ever tell him what you yourself were trying to deny: that you had feelings for your best friend of your whole life, and that was the reason why it hurt so much to see another girl with Namjoon, because you wished you could be in her place.

“(Y/N), are you ready to go?” your mother questioned from your doorway, watching questionably after you just escaped from your daze while staring blankly in the mirror.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you mumbled and followed her out the front door.

The walk from your front door to theirs was simultaneously the most excruciatingly long and most terrifyingly fast walk you had taken in your life. Your mother rang the doorbell and you stood quietly, shrinking behind your father as you could see Mrs. Kim through the window, coming to open the gates of hell. “Hello!” she exclaimed, welcoming the three of you into her home, a place you knew all too well for your own liking. “Dinner is almost prepared. Have a seat at the table,” she gestured towards the kitchen, even though there was no need to. This place had been your second home only a few years ago.

You sat at one of the seats at the table next to your father and waited quietly. You were suddenly surprised by Namjoon’s younger sister, Kyungmin. You would often greet her when you came over to visit Namjoon, but since you hadn’t seen her in a while nor did she make efforts to contact you, she most likely knew at least a little bit about what happened between you and her older brother. “(Y/N)! It’s been so long!” she bubbled, extending her arms, forcing you to plaster a smile on your face and stand to give her a hug. If she was aware, she gave no hint of it. She suddenly scoffed. “What is Namjoon doing?” she murmured to herself. “I’ll make sure he knows you’re here,” she informed you, making her way up the stairs to Namjoon’s room where he was most likely hiding away for the same reasons as you.

After a few minutes, Namjoon reluctantly descended the stairs behind his sister. There were two seats left at the table, one of which was directly across from you. Kyungmin hurriedly sat in the other seat and you couldn’t help but notice the twitch of her lips as she restrained a smirk from appearing on her face. Namjoon began to protest, but with his father and your parents present, decided instead to just quietly take a seat across from you. You still hadn’t met his eyes.

As dinner went on, the younger ones at the table respectfully listened to the parents converse, or at least that’s what you tried to make it look like. Inreality, it was just too tense to say a word to each other. You noticed Kyungmin had been looking between you and Namjoon practically the entire time, and once the conversation became quiet, she took her turn to speak. “So, (Y/N), how’s college?” she questioned innocently, prompting you to speak for the first time of the evening. You felt all eyes on you, waiting for a response, even the brown irises that sat across from you.

“It’s going well. I’m studying psychology right now, although I’m still not sure if I will major in that or something else. I’m a bit uncertain at the moment, but for now, I am happy with how things are going.” Your lips pulled into a small smile as you finished. There was a beat of silence until your parents began speaking on behalf of you, knowing that you personally had nothing else you wanted to say.

It wasn’t that you really had no other comments to make. After all, you had once treated the Kim’s as your second family, so you could speak fairly easily with them. It was the horrible burning stare you sensed from the other side of the table that you felt every time you made a move or said a word. Namjoon, ever-observant, analyzed and most likely criticized everything you did.

All night, Namjoon stayed silent, or only gave unnecessarily shortened answers when directly addressed, and for some reason it drove you insane not knowing exactly what was going on inside his mind at the moment. This thought especially bothered you when you had a feeling he could still read you like an open book while you were simply left clueless.

You grabbed the books you needed for your next few classes from your locker, which just so happened to be far too many that weighed far too much. You swore high school would be your demise in one way or another at some point. As you held your tower of books in your hands and struggled to push your locker door closed with your foot, you were met on the other side by Namjoon leaning against the neighboring locker. You let out a sound somewhere in between a gasp and a shout, nearly dropping your lead-like pile of books. “You scared me!” you reprimanded him, letting out a deep sigh to finally regain your composure despite your embarrassment from your outburst in front of those judgmental seniors walking by.

“Sorry about that, (Y/N),” he chuckled. “I thought it might be funny—which it was—and also I’ve been meaning to stop by and check up on you recently, anyways.”

You hummed in response. “And why is that?”

He pushed himself off of the locker he leaned on and readjusted the strap of his book bag on his shoulder. “I don’t know. Something’s been off with you recently.”

Maybe because it was almost the end of Wednesday and this was the first time he had spoken to you personally all week, which is absolutely absurd in both of your best friend standards. “I don’t know why you think that,” you brushed him off, but you were unable to keep yourself from looking away.

“Aha! See? You’re lying.” He waved a finger at you and continued on with his spiel. “Unfortunately for you, (Y/N), you can’t fool me. I know you too well. I know you like the back of my hand.” He waved his hand in front of your face for emphasis. “So, tell me. What is it?”

You chose to say nothing. Your problems as of now weren’t exactly something you could discuss with him, considering he was one of the root causes of them. “Ah,” he said when he came to a realization, snapping his fingers at his brilliant breakthrough. “You must be really stressed from school, right? Midterms are coming up, after all. If you need help studying for something, then just let me know.”

Although he couldn’t be more wrong, you were relieved that he wouldn’t linger on the subject any longer. You gave a half-hearted fake chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “Yep, you got me. I haven’t stopped worrying about midterms.”

“See, (Y/N)? I’ll always know exactly what you’re thinking, no matter if you try to hide it or not,” he smiled smugly, putting his dimples on full display. His eyes travelled downward to where you were now uncomfortably shifting your books in your tired arms. “Oh,” his mouth forming an ‘o’ to imitate the sound, “do you want me to carry those for you?”

“No, you really don’t need—” Without even letting you answer, he slipped the books from your hands into his own hold. He looked back up to you with a warm smile and a quick nod, and told you to lead the way to your next class. This was the boy you missed: the boy who went out of his way for you, who, despite it sometimes being bothersome, worried incessantly about you, who simply made time for you. Now, he did all of that for someone else. He put someone else above you, and it hurt. A lot. And just as you thought you were finally accepting things for the way they were and moving on, he once again had you wrapped around his finger in a mere three minutes.

Quite abruptly, you stood and asked to be excused from the table to use the restroom. You needed some air. You definitely needed some space away from the harsh reality of the boy sitting before you. You left the dining room and went up the stairs, the walk through the house practically part of your muscle-memory.

The bathroom is the third door on the left, you thought to yourself. Even though you were well aware of this fact, you couldn’t stop your feet from coming to a halt in front of the second door on the left. Namjoon’s room. You weren’t looking to pry, of course, but your insatiable curiosity was peaked when you spotted a familiar photograph sitting on top of his desk through the small opening of his door. You bit your lip and looked down the hallway in apprehension knowing full well you shouldn’t do what you were about to do, but of course, you pushed open the door and crossed the threshold to get a closer look anyway.

Nostalgia overwhelmed your senses for a moment as you entered the familiar space. You scanned the walls to see posters of his favorite musicians still hung in their spots and numerous academic trophies and medals displayed across several shelves. On these same shelves, you noted his collection of albums had only continued to grow.

As you took a few steps closer to his desk, you could now clearly make out the two teenagers in the photo that lay on top of it. It was a picture of you and Namjoon standing together and smiling widely at your middle school graduation, his arm draped carelessly over your shoulder as you leaned your head on his. With that, you recalled the night after the ceremony.

You laid flat on your back on the floor of his bedroom and stared at the ceiling, eyebrows lacing together. Your summer had finally begun, but the only thought on your mind was the start of school again in a few months. This time, however, it was different. You were entering the world of high school, a place you had always feared. At least you would have Namjoon at your side through it all, and you knew that for a fact, but something still compelled you to ask him about it. “Namjoon,” you spoke softly. He hummed in acknowledgement before you continued. “Can you believe we’re going to be high school students soon?”

He quickly sat up from his sprawled out position on his bed with a look of pure excitement adorning his features. “I know! It’s about time, right?”

“You’re excited?” you questioned meekly, not understanding where in the world his enthusiasm could stem from.

“You’re not?”

You puffed out your cheeks in thought before slowly lifting yourself into a sitting position matching his. “Well, no,” you answered bluntly. “Aren’t you scared? Or at least worried?”

He slid from his place on the bed and rested his back against the post as he now sat level with you on his floor. “Maybe I should be, but I’m just not. After all, I know we have each other’s backs. We’ll always be there for each other, right?” he mused and let a reassuring grin spread across his face.

Contrasting to the hesitant nod you had given him when he asked you that all those years ago, you now shook your head, acknowledging the fact that just the opposite had happened. You two had left each other.

You carefully placed the picture back where you had found it as you noticed there was a shoe box full of pictures just like the one you had just seen. You carefully flipped through some of the pictures and you were reminded of so many vivid memories you had made no effort to keep in mind. The memories had just simply never gone away. As you were reminiscing over a picture of you and Namjoon dressed up as pirates one year for Halloween, you missed the creak of the floorboards just outside of Namjoon’s bedroom.

“What are you doing in here?” You were snapped out of your reflection at the boom of Namjoon’s unhappy voice. “Get out!” His lips were turned downward and his eyebrows laced together in anger. This was definitely not what you were expecting from the first actually spoken words between the two of you of the night.

You let the photograph slip from your fingers back onto the desk as you stared at him with wide eyes and opened your mouth to speak only to close it again. Both of you were at a standstill, but you eventually gained enough composure to form some words. “Namjoon, I—” You cut yourself off once again, however, since you truly did not know how to explain yourself to him. “I just... saw the pictures, and I guess I just wanted to get a closer look,” you reluctantly spoke.

He let out a deep and peeved sigh as he pushed his hair back from his face. “Why were these out?” you asked sheepishly, wondering if he really had been thinking about things of the past as much as you had in the last 24 hours, prompting him to reminisce with moments captured in a camera.

“It doesn’t matter,” he spoke quickly with frustration, shaking his head rapidly. “Please, just leave,” he yelled. Back in high school, you would never let him get away with shouting at you like that, even if you were best friends. Now that you’ve both grown, that fact has still not changed.

“Why are you being like this?” you snapped at him. “I’ve tried to be peaceful tonight, but you’re making it really hard to do that so far.” You crossed your arms over your chest and blamed him for the both of your behaviors tonight.

“Me? I haven’t done anything!” he spat in disbelief. Maybe he wasn’t completely wrong. Neither of you had done anything to each other all night, actually. “If anything, you’re the one that’s making everything hard considering that you’re the one that started everything back in high school.” Your understanding quickly turned into offense as he now turned the blame back to you.

“How was I the one to start everything?”

“You were the one that left! What happened to being there for each other? I was always there for you, but then you just decided I wasn’t worth your time anymore!” he exclaimed, revealing a plethora of hidden emotions while pointing an accusing finger at you.

“I left because you were with Hyunjee!” you confessed before you could even stop yourself. The room was left in complete silence, all noise from the others downstairs completely vanished along with your confidence. After you had both registered the words that you had just spoken, your faces morphed into that of surprise and confusion.

“What did me being with Hyunjee have to do with anything?” he questioned, voice considerably softer than it had been before. As soon as he says the words aloud, you finally realize that maybe all of this wasn’t his fault, at least not fully like you had always so ignorantly claimed to yourself. “(Y/N)?” he pushed his question once more out of curiosity. You really wished you hadn’t said what you did because now you weren’t sure how you would give him a proper answer without revealing the embarrassing truth that you had so hopelessly fallen for your best friend.

“It’s nothing,” you spewed quickly, unable to stop yourself from stuttering. You began to nervously wring your fingers as you felt his gaze still intently settled upon you. When he still said nothing to brush the topic aside, you finally cracked under the pressure and tried your best to give an explanation. “I just felt like she was stealing my best friend away from me, that’s all. You were always with her, and I didn’t want to be around while she was, so I just... stopped.”

Namjoon’s lips turned downwards. “Why would you do that? I said from the very beginning that I wouldn’t let her or anything else get between us.” Namjoon’s voice broke almost unnoticeably, but you had caught it and felt your heart sink a thousand miles a minute. “Did you not trust me?”

For the first time, you gained the courage to bring your eyes up to his where you immediately felt as if you were drowning within them. “Of course I trusted you!” you exclaimed hastily as you abruptly took a step forward, nearly tripping and falling flat on the desk chair. “It just hurt... to see you two together.”

You bit your lip in fearful anticipation as he slowly questioned, “Why?”

This was the moment the youthful version of yourself had always dreamed of. You would finally let your feelings be known to Namjoon. Except, this moment was not nearly as butterfly-inducing, spark-flying of a confession as you had envisioned. Instead, you were caught red-handed looking at his pictures in his bedroom, when all you ever wanted was to be each other’s.

“It hurt because I couldn’t be in her place,” you admitted weakly with a small shrug. You finally dragged your pupils from where they were focused on a loose thread of the old rug on his bedroom floor up to his deep, wonderful, and terrifying eyes. In that moment, with puzzlement etched across his entire face, you wanted sink into the floor, into the depths of the earth to never be seen again by him or anyone else. The same warm cocoa color of his eyes became dark and constricting as you began to panic, realizing the actual consequences of the words you had let leave your mouth. Your mouth opened and closed, silently and dumbly. Suddenly, your feet freed themselves from where they were glued to the ground and you hurriedly pushed past him, through his bedroom doorway.

You flew down the stairs, almost losing your footing just before reaching the final step. Already grabbing your coat and opening the front door, you gave a rushed and half-hearted goodbye to Namjoon’s parents and sister as you could hear Namjoon calling out for you and approaching from behind. Politeness be damned, you had to get out of there.

You slammed the door shut just before your old friend was able to reach you and you jogged through both of your yards to find sanctuary in your own home. You were almost positive that Namjoon had even tried to follow you outside, but you would never know; you didn’t even glance back to check. Instead, you immediately locked yourself in your bedroom, dreading the thought of getting scolded for your behavior towards the Kim’s, but even more so horrified at what you had just done and said in your old best friend’s bedroom.

The next morning, you had not even bothered to wake up at a reasonable time. Instead, you wanted to sleep for hours on end to hide away from the cruel world that you were forced to function in with parents downstairs who were most definitely ready to rake you over the coals for your horrible manners and a certain intimidatingly attractive boy that you knew so well, yet who felt like a stranger, just next door.

You didn’t bother to change out of your pajamas, so you made your way sluggishly down the stairs and made yourself a lazy bowl of cereal, hoping to avoid your parents for as a long as possible.

Unfortunately luck was not on your side as your mother came into the living room just as you sat down on the couch in front of the TV. “Well, look who’s finally awake. Is this how you live at college with those morning classes you’ve got?” she questioned in an almost joking way, much to your surprise.

You allowed a moment of silence, secretly fearing she would suddenly attack you with ‘why’s and ‘how could you’s about your behavior last night. When none of those questions came, only more silence, you decided to address it yourself. “You’re not mad?” you asked, letting yourself become hopeful. “I thought that you would be angry with how I acted last night.”

Your mother sighed and sat down beside you, resting her arm on the back of the couch to turn towards you. “You know, I was... But then I realized that something must have happened.” She spoke carefully as if she were walking on thin ice. “I know that’s not like you. Namjoon was acting the same way, and that’s not like him either. He went and disappeared into his room for the rest of the night, too.”

You bit your lip, wondering what Namjoon could have been thinking of you last night, or even what he could be thinking now. You hoped dearly that she wouldn’t want to know why all of this had happened, but of course, a mother always knows when something is wrong. “Is there something that happened last night that I should know about?” she questioned in the soft, caring way a mother does, but also with a hint of mischief, leaving you to assume she had the wrong idea.

You only shook your head and let out an exasperated chuckle. “No,” you assured her, completely lying through your teeth, “it’s not important.” Your hugged your knees to your chest and set your now empty cereal bowl onto the coffee table in front of you. Just as you picked up the TV remote and were about to turn it on, the doorbell of your front door had rung. Your mother quickly stood up and volunteered to answer it.

You placed the remote back down and instead listened to your mother greet the person on the other side of the door. The sound of the door creaking open was soon followed by your mother’s hospitable voice, “Namjoon! Hello!”

You quickly threw the blanket you were wrapped in across the room as you got up to peek your head around the wall to see your mother, but luckily you were blocked from Namjoon’s vision by the solid wood of the front door.

“Hello, Mrs. (L/N). I was wondering if I could speak with (Y/N) if she is available,” you heard him speak in his sweet, polite voice of honey that melted every bit of ice in your body. You still didn’t want to see him, though. Nope. Not at all.

Your mother casually peeked around the door to see you violently shaking your head to tell her that you were definitely not available to talk. She played it off as if you hadn’t been there by looking in the other direction as if looking around for you. She then turned back to him and gave an apologetic smile as she lied to him for you, “No, I’m sorry, Namjoon. I think she went to see some old friends from high school this morning. Maybe try coming back later, yeah?”

“Oh, I see.” Would it be too hopeful to think that you heard disappointment in his voice? Surely, there was absolutely no way he actually cared. “Well, thank you anyway.” They exchanged goodbyes and your mother shut the door as he began retreating back to his house.

She stopped and looked at you, placing a hand on her hip as you could only give a guilty smile. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?” she interrogated with a knowing look. You only gave her another violent shake of your head as you disappeared back around the corner and onto the cushions of the couch.

You were really hoping Namjoon wouldn’t take the offer to come back later to see you. If this was how it was going to be until it’s time to go back to college, it was going to be a long summer.

“Have you started packing yet?” your mothers asks above the clinking of the silverware against glass plates, previously the only sound while you and your parents ate dinner in silence. There had been some underlying tension there the whole summer that you weren’t sure of the cause of, but for some reason, it was especially apparent tonight.

“No, I’m going to do that now actually,” you stated as you wiped your mouth with a napkin and picked up your dinner plate to wash it off in the sink. It was Wednesday and you were going back to college on Saturday. You heard your mother speak from behind you as you placed it in the dishwasher.

“Please try to finish up by Friday. You have some goodbyes to say.” You furrowed your eyebrows at her as you turned to face her, but she said nothing else as she still had her back to you, finishing her dinner. You decided not to question her and instead ascended the stairs the great feat of packing all your things for another year of college.

After you got comfortable and put on some pajamas, you began by taking all of your clothes you wished to take from your closet off of their hangers and folding them up before putting them away in a bag. From the corner of your eye, you could see a light flashing through your window behind your curtains. You slowly made your way through the piles of shirts and pants and everything of the like scattered across your bedroom floor. You hesitantly pulled your curtains open to see a bright light shining straight back at you from the window across from yours. Suddenly the light went out and when your eyes finally got accustomed to the darkness in front of you, you saw Namjoon standing behind his bedroom window, holding a flashlight.

As soon as he knew he had your attention, which he assumed he did by the fact that you didn’t immediately close your curtains in his face, he began turning the flashlight on and off in different patterns. You, of course, recalled that it was Morse code. You recognized a little bit, however, you were definitely rusty, and the cheat sheet Namjoon made for you all those years ago was thrown away in the move before the first year of college. There were some letters you recognized, others you didn’t but you thought you understood enough to infer that he spelled out: Can we talk?

You grabbed a piece of paper and a marker from your desk and quickly scribbled down before raising it and letting him read, Why all of a sudden?

You saw a frown form upon his lips at your written message. He also grabbed a sheet and a marker to respond, holding it up against his window. No Morse code?

No. It was inefficient. You quickly wrote back.

You could see him let out a chuckle in the grin on his face and the shake of his shoulders as he wrote something on the other side of his paper.

But I thought that was our thing, he teased. He even drew a little frowny face to get his message across.

Despite how much you didn’t want to, you gave a weak laugh and slightly shook your head. He grabbed another piece of paper and began scrawling a new message for you and held it up for you to see.

Please come over. I wanna talk.

You hesitated for a moment, looking between him and any other possible place to look in your room. Suddenly you looked down at yourself, already dressed in your pajamas, ready to call it a night. Part of you was tempted to give him a ‘no’ by simply shutting your curtains and turning your light off. However, the rational side of you knew that things couldn’t be left like this as the both of you went back to college. So, without even bothering to change, you slipped on a sweatshirt and slid on a pair of sandals and braved the excruciatingly short walk to his house.

He was there, opening the front door for you before you even made it up the first porch step. “I’m glad you’re here,” he sighed. “I didn’t think you would actually come.”

“What, you thought I’d just pretend we didn’t have that cheesy cliche paper-at-the-windows conversation?” you attempted to joke.

“Well, you did avoid me all summer, so I didn’t think it was impossible,” he spoke bluntly causing you to clear your throat uncomfortably, the grin falling from your face. Although you had hoped it wouldn’t be as painfully obvious as he made it seem, you had a feeling he would see right through your efforts to “accidentally” never have any time to spare for him. You should have lost hope long before the many other strange scenarios you were forced into to avoid talking with him from the very beginning when you pretended to take a call, but ended up looking like an idiot and exposing yourself as a liar when you were visibly holding your cell phone upside down.

You could only give an awkward hum as a response since you had no actual planned out excuse for avoiding him like the plague for the past two months. Namjoon opened the door wider and awkwardly shuffled back a few steps, motioning with his head for you to come in. You reluctantly accepted his offer and took a few steps to join him inside his house, him closing the front door behind you. You took a look around you and noticed the house was completely silent except for the sound of he stairs creaking beneath Namjoon’s feet as he began to lead you to the second floor. “Are your parents here?” you questioned him, shoving your hands in your pockets while still searching the area of the house you could see.

Namjoon shook his head, “No, it’s just me at home tonight.” You hated yourself for how much your heart rate sped up after hearing this. It shouldn’t matter to you that it was only the two of you in the building. It doesn’t matter to you.

You gave a hum in response just as the two of you reached Namjoon’s bedroom. You looked around for a moment, completely at a loss for what to do next, but you soon opted for hesitantly taking a seat on the end of his neatly made-up bed. Namjoon coughed and scratched at the back of his neck. “You know, I leave for college again tomorrow.” You simply looked between him and the wall to the side of you, unsure of what type of response he was looking for, so he continued onto his main point. “I just wanted to talk before I left to, you know, clear some things up.”

You didn’t even bother trying to hide your dread for the conversation he was trying to start. “Look, I won’t make you explain exactly what you meant that night when you said… what you said, but I just wanted to have you here to talk. To make sure things are okay between us. I guess.”

“Why now? It’s not like things were okay before,” you countered, crossing your arms and looking away from him while letting out half of an awkward chuckle.

“I know,” he sighed. “Maybe we could just start over. I want my best friend back.” He looked around the room for a new topic of conversation while drying his anxiously clammy palms on his jeans. He finally finds his words and uses his voice while motioning all around him, “Look! It’s just like old times! It’s just the two of us here.” He made his way over to his bed and sat beside you, but he kept looking ahead instead of facing you. “Remember how good we had it then? We didn’t have to care about… basically anything, and we told each other everything here.”

The nostalgia laced in his voice made you reminisce without even realizing you were doing so. “Yeah. I’ll never forget that day you told me you wanted to make music instead of studying. I was completely shocked to say the least.”

He turned to you with a chuckle. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know. You were just Kim Namjoon, the perfect student. I was sure you had it all figured out.” You huffed out a breath of air, remembering all of the turmoil and decision-making you faced yourself when you were that age.

“No. I definitely did not have it all figured out. I still don’t,” he reflected out loud. “I’ll never forget that time you told me you still had to sleep with your teddy bear.”

You elbowed him in the ribcage, but still let a smile grow on your face. “Come on, I was like twelve.”

He stayed silent for a moment before slowly turning his head to you, a smug grin playing on his face. “Are you still the same way?”

“It doesn’t matter!” you shouted, even though you weren’t able to contain your giggles. Being here in this room with Namjoon teasing you and making you laugh, it really did feel like old times.

“Come on, there’s no need to be shy,” he continued to provoke you. “We used to tell each other all our secrets here after all,” he continued, his words suddenly softening.

You got a sudden and overwhelmingly terrifying burst of courage to finally tell him what you had been so afraid to say for so many years. “Can I tell you a secret now?” you requested so quietly, it could barely be considered even a whisper. Namjoon furrowed his eyebrows but nodded attentively to coax you to continue. “I never realized it until after you started dating Hyunjee, but I think every time we came up here, I always really wanted to kiss you.” You couldn’t even believe the words that came out of your mouth. In fact, you had just endured the slowest most painful embarrassment as the words spilled from your mouth, but for whatever reason, you didn’t stop yourself. You guessed it had something to do with the feeling of lightness on your shoulders once you finally breathed in after your horrifying yet relieving confession.

You couldn’t bear to meet his eyes and your face felt like it was much too hot to be healthy, but you had no idea of what to do next, so you simply sat, staring at your hands resting in your lap while pursing your lips in fear and anticipation. The deafening silence in the room was finally put to an end when Namjoon spoke just as quietly as you had before. “Can I tell you a secret, too?” You mustered up the courage to lift your eyes to see his face, only to be met with his profile adorned with a small smile and that dimple that you loved oh-so-much. “I think I wanted to do the same.”

Your lips parted in shock as he slowly shifted to look you in the eye. This was the most intense feeling you had ever experienced, trapped within his gaze, wanting nothing more than to make a move to ensure that all of this is real, not just another hopeless dream from when you had those moments as best friends that made you question if you were really something more.

Without any warning, both of you were within centimeters of each other and your heart was beating wildly because you had never seen yourself actually getting into this situation you had contemplated for so many years now. Your lips finally connected after an agonizing moment of hesitance coming from the both of you. Despite how you had always imagined before, there were no fireworks. Instead, it gave you a warm and light-headed feeling like everything in the world was right again and so much weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. You weren’t even sure where your sudden confidence came from, but, still staying connected in the kiss, you pushed him back onto his bed and took your place on his lap. His hands began to wander to your hips and you could feel a smirk growing on his lips still pressed against yours. “Namjoon! We’re home!” you could hear coming from the first floor followed by the slam of a door. You quickly leaned away and broke the kiss, causing Namjoon to groan in annoyance.

“Sorry, looks like we’ll have to wait until fall break to finish this.” You gave a smug grin while sympathetically patting his chest.

He rested his hands on your thighs as you still sat on his lap. He looked up to you giving a disheartened expression, sighing, “Ah, (Y/N), that’s so far away.”

“I can survive. Can’t you?” you mocked.

He was still visibly and audibly beyond frustrated. “Well, I guess I’ve already waited his long.” he concluded. You let out a small giggle, one that he eventually returned, before you let the smile disappear from your face.

You leaned down to lay your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso. “I really am gonna miss you.” You spoke in the direction of the wall beside him.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you before you felt Namjoon leave a soft kiss on the top of your head. “I always missed you.”

“Me too,” you whispered. “I never should have left us behind,” you said, letting a long-neglected tear threaten to run down your cheek, tightening your grip around his waist. You squeezed your eyes shut, terrified that once you opened them again, everything would be gone.

When you finally did open them again, however, you were still in each other’s arms, still laying on the bed of your special place, the place where you told each other everything, and on that night, it had finally fulfilled its purpose. He was still holding you, and you were still crying, though you weren’t sure why. You were still together, and you were happy.

192 notes · View notes