#(anyway like. always a question with adaptations. like i think they tried to tone down the class and gender stuff) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leviiattacks · 3 years

Note

May I request a Levi x Reader angst fic? Just barely any fluff, mostly angst going on lol. The reader is a traitor, formaly working for Marley, but betraying them in secret and putting their loyalty on Paradis. The reader is also a shifter and married to Levi for a couple of years. That love and care however is gone once readers identity is found. He truly despises them, insults them, maybe a bit violent with them, and outright tells them that they mean nothing to him anymore and hate them to bits. Readers punishment is to hand over her titan to Erwin, and they agree instantly, broken over everything, believing its all their fault. Once Erwin inherits Readers titan, he breaks down and screams, crying, because Reader was innocent the whole time. They never betrayed Paradis. Never killed anyone, never harmed anyone. They finaly know why they betrayed Marley, the abuse being to much for them, enough to just leave them behind for Paradis. Just... loving and caring as they all saw them. But now the damage is done. They wont come back, they're dead, believing that they died, hated and despised, with no one to mourn their death. Everyone regrets everything.

author note :: i was thinking of leaving this in my drafts but i already wrote it and may as well post it. it didn’t end up going the way i hoped but yeah i hope it’s ok anon. anyways ANGST. ANGST, ANGST. as always i love feed back :-) ⟹ all of the headings with the years are just meant to mean it’s a different moment from that year so those moments don’t happen right after each other i hope that makes sense!! word count :: 7.2k warnings :: canon typical violence, death

845, i.

Everything is falling in place when it shouldn't.

Sun never makes itself known in Liberio yet here it is shining down onto the bustling streets. You half expect for it to crash down and burn into the hundreds of civilians going about their daily business yet nothing of the sort happens. It's typical sunlight and you curse yourself silently for your sinister thoughts.

Secretly the voice at the back of your mind still whispers frantically but you don't wish to hear what it has to say. Instead you choose to drown it out with the sound of Zeke's voice. Finally deciding to pay attention to what it is he's been droning on about for the past ten minutes.

"Soon, soon, soon." He sighs dreamily looking a little delirious.

"Soon?"

Your question catches him off guard, he lightly shoves you with his elbow scoffing in annoyance.

"Did you sit here to not even listen to me?" He turns to take a sip of whisky and the hearty gulp he chugs shows his mild irritation. You assume he's been rambling on about Marley's plan to infiltrate Paradis. You have to admit that the idea of destroying those demons from the inside is amazingly well thought out. However it's all he's been able to discuss for the entire week now and frankly you're getting a little exhausted of it.

"I zoned out..." Quietly placing your glass back down onto the wooden counter you sigh closing your eyes. It's too early to be drinking and you don't trust Zeke enough to slip into ignorance and leave yourself vulnerable. Men are to not be trusted, especially Eldian men. The thought of Eldians triggers your flight of fight response, you want to shrivel up into a cocoon and never come out until the world is rid of the monsters. The lowest of the low, the dirt in between the crevices of Marleyan soldier's boots. That is what Eldian's are.

It's ironic coming from you, your entire family labelled as undesirable Eldians yourself but you, you know you're different. An honorary Marleyan is what you will become. What you are. The treacherous imps who are but an ocean away are the true evil.

Eyes flicking to Zeke he's lighting a cigar. Old habits die hard and he's yet to quit this self destructive custom of his. You couldn't care less if he chooses to cut his lifespan short by ten years, it's his own choice to make. A disgusting cowardly choice but it's a choice fit for an untamed man like him.

The Island Devils are said to be the bad apples but you can't help but stare at your fellow citizens from time to time and wonder what it is they could be hiding. If a demon slipped through the cracks you wouldn't be surprised. Sly in nature, persuasive in tone, that is how devils go about their daily lives alone The hymns they drilled into you all the way through elementary school echo and rebound in your mind.

Locking your bitter thoughts away you have to push yourself to not punt Zeke in the mouth when he teasingly blows a puff of hot smoke into your face.

Fingertips grazing with his he freezes at the sudden contact giving you the perfect opportunity to slip his cigar away and take it in between your lips. You allow for it to linger there but you aren't foolish enough to inhale its contents.

"Zeke, my dear friend. We shall soon be met with the fruits of our own labour but I assure you that discussing Marley's plan constantly will be of no benefit for you nor I."

The day you and Zeke had met had been at warrior training camp. Zeke was a miserable, unmotivated oaf. Always tripping and falling behind the rest of the warrior cadets. You felt rather bad for him, if you were born as unskilled as him you don't know what you would have made of yourself. Zeke, the only child of his parents ironically only ever ended up rising through the ranks after handing them over to the Marleyan government. His father and mother had been conspiring an escape plan but were executed immediately alongside their fellow team members once Zeke had outted them. Unexpectedly he was spared, the fact he turned on his own parents showed where his loyalties were. To his surprise, he was even allowed to continue his training with the other warriors - only this time everyone kept an increased distance away from him. The warriors weren't informed of what he had actually done but everyone had a gut feeling. Everyone apart from you stuck with that feeling. You thought strategically, If he were to become an enemy in the future you knew being close would come at your advantage.

The day you and Zeke had met your mother died, his mother passed away the same day. At least that's what he had told you.

The two of you bonded over the little things, told each other stories about your life at home. Reminisced about what it was you missed.

Then it all came crashing down the day Zeke confessed. The day he told you he killed his mother and father by handing them over to Marley. Your knees buckled underneath you, crashing the floor he tried to grab at you but you thrashed around in retaliation kicking and screaming not understanding why he did what he did. Yes, they were traitors but they were his parents and if the monster had the nerve to turn on the people who gave birth to him who's to say he wouldn't do the same to you or to Marley.

Zeke doesn't know it but ever since then you take the opportunity to sneak the occasional glance at him. Every single time you narrow your eyes in malice. If there's a man in Liberio who you don't trust in the slightest it's him, he must think the feud between the two of you from childhood has been put at rest but it hasn't.

Zeke takes another swig of his alcohol. On this occasion he downs it entirely slamming the glass down with vigour.

"ONE MORE GLASS BARTENDER!"

846, i.

Another day of extensive training is about to end, your back is layered in uncomfortable layers of sweat and the same can be said for your forehead. Kneeling down in the under layer of the forest you're hidden waiting to strike. Going up against the elites is nerve-wracking but you're sure you can pull it off so long as you stay calm during this game of hunters against prey.

It's simple enough if you can conceal yourself and stay out of sight. The robust trees that surround you act as decent enough camouflage and your green cape paired with them lets you veil yourself, keeping you further into the foreground, blending into the environment.

No one will be able to catch you if they can't see you.

All of a sudden your previous thoughts are thrown away when you sense something in the atmosphere has changed, the hissing of the wind behind you isn't natural.

Turning to your side you don't bother to cover up the sound of leaves rustling and branches cracking, your priority is slipping away fast enough to hide again, a tug can be felt at your cloak and your reaction time barely covers for you, your gear fastens itself to a low enough tree branch and the descent is mind numbing. Your breakfast churns in your stomach but you ignore the uneasy feeling, leaping and diving wherever you find a small enough gap. You believe you can outrun your huntsman.

That is until you sneak a glance back and your muscles nearly tense up in pure astonishment, you've been kicked in the teeth just by the man's presence. Captain, Levi slinks behind you weaving through the gaps with increasing speed, he's gaining momentum and all the while his face stays relaxed, this isn't even his full effort.

Terrified you dart upwards and then left, a corner comes into view - Levi should assume you've turned into it and so you rashly choose to dart back down. Much to your hard luck you find that his senses are well adapted, the direction of the wind is enough for him to trace your whereabouts.

The pursuit resumes, and he stays disturbingly relentless.

Arm shooting to the right you think perhaps making it look like you're aiming to fly somewhere else again will completely catch him off guard, he can't expect for you to pull the same trick twice.

Setting your plan into motion your finger pulls at the trigger but you startle when the cable doesn't come out, it's jammed. Panic seeps into you and to make matters worse your gas is running out.

Without warning you're thrust into the body of a nearby tree, the bark scrapes against you and scratches begin to form anywhere you've made contact with the jagged surface, you want to admit defeat but the warrior inside of you denies Levi the pleasure of seeing you beg. In its place you deliver a harsh kick to his thigh, you're aware he's injured it and you're certain there are no rules to say you can't play dirty. Your boots hammer against leg hard enough for him to give out and let go of your body, but then you realize you lost this game from the very moment your grapple hooks broke, you have nowhere to hold onto.

Before you can even let out a shriek of horror Levi's shot back to you, he frantically accelerates and by a miracle humanity's strongest is able to grab a hold of you again. This time you don't dig your heels into his leg and you allow for him to clutch you by the torso.

Within a minute the two of you descend towards the forest floor and Levi throws you into the dirt furiously.

"You could have died. Being foolhardy will only lead to an early death." He barks as he directs his blade towards your neck.

"Am I dead yet?" Whispering back your gaze isn't trained on the blade but right up at him.

His nostrils flare up, his hair sticks to his forehead haphazardly and the knuckles that hold his pointed blades are white in tangled dissatisfaction.

Grabbing you by the hips he flings you over his shoulder choosing to not continue with the confrontation.

"I know what you're up to." His voice is still rugged from the pursuit and it takes you a split second to register what he's said.

Your eyes widen and your breath hitches in your throat, no way, there's no way in hell he knows. He's sharp but he's not a mind reader.

Your position means he can't read your face seeing as you're facing his back, instantly steeling your features you let out a breathy laugh.

"And what may that be?" Silently you pray he's worded himself ambiguously to catch a slip up.

"Being gutsy, you think that makes you a good soldier. It doesn't."

Relief floods you. He doesn't know.

"Soldiers need to be brave." Your retort makes him grumble.

"If you die with no meaning by being reckless what's the purpose of being a soldier?" His question has you stopping and thinking on what the correct answer is.

Unable to think of an answer you ask another question.

"Are you saying your previous comrades died without meaning?"

"No. Their deaths fueled me slay more titans."

"So if I died back there who wou-" He swiftly cuts you off showing no inclination of wanting to hear what it is you have to say.

"I'll cut your tongue off if it's stupid." He clearly isn't serious about the threat but he does mean it when he warns you to not overstep.

Despite the consequences you say what's on your mind. "I just wanted to ask who would give my life meaning if I ever died. I don't have siblings and my parents died long ago."

Silence follows and the crunch of his boots against the muddy leaves tells you he probably doesn't wish to answer your question.

"Sorry-"

"I would. I would give meaning to your life." He says it with such ease you almost want to admire the enemy but you know he's said it because he feels he has to.

"You barely know me but I hope one day you can stop thinking everyone has to rely on you." You say it with taunting understanding.

Another bout of silence follows. Only this time the two of you feel warmly comforted, he doesn't understand how you've seen through his facade but it's easy for you to spot another liar.

846, ii.

Brows drawn back you observe your surroundings attempting to mask your scrutiny. The place is running amok with uncontrollable Eldian folk. The stench of unadulterated sin makes itself known but you seem to be the only person able to smell it. Eren bumps against the table you're sat at and your face twitches a little but you say nothing. You're yet to get used to these people's lack of manners.

At least that's how you force yourself to think. To be truthful, you don't quite understand what it is these people have done wrong. Ever since you've arrived you've been nitpicking at every single minor inconvenience or possible issue. A girl stole a potato and broke it into uneven pieces to share and you attempted to twist the story in your head to make her look like an unfair, greedy voracious demon but... you found yourself finding very little to actually be angry at. These people are essentially normal in every way of the word, they aren't demons and you can't help but feel yourself slip away from everything you once knew as reality. You're finding it difficult to believe what years of Marleyan education taught you, the hymns that were once drilled into your brain permanently are but a vague memory.

You feel disgustingly under-dressed and out of place, you don't belong here not when you're meant to hate these people, not when you're meant to despise them. You should be fighting the urge to shove their heads onto pitchforks or to skin them alive and feed them to pigs. Everyone back in Marley told you to control your impulses but now you're here and you've settled down even having the opportunity to converse with these individuals, share their pain, share their loss, share their suffering, you wonder why you have no impulses to control. Have they brainwashed you? Or is it that you're the real demon in this situation?

Fingers mingling with each other on your lap you sit hopelessly alone. Interacting with the so called enemy is much harder than you expect. Worry consistently bubbles in the pit of your stomach and every night is spent tossing and turning evaluating then reevaluating who the bad guy really is. At first the task of daily interaction isn't a big deal, you find it easy enough to approach members of the team and fake interest in their lives until the original plan falls through. You do become invested in your team members lives and stories that it comes to the point where you don't have to force yourself to smile at their jokes or to sympathize with their tales of grief. You become one of them and you swear you're meant to feel like a traitor but eerily you feel like you belong.

Nevertheless you try your best to stick with what you know. You're nothing like Zeke, you're loyal, capable, faithful and trustworthy. Never will you turn your back on Marley.

Rising to excuse yourself from dinner you think you've just about made it and escaped finally able to hide away in the confines of your bedroom but your lips form into a straight uncomfortable line at the feeling of someone's hand latching at your wrist. You're halfway down the hallway just a few more steps away from your bedroom. You hope it's one of the rookies.

"Oi, come here."

Head shooting backwards your eyes land on Levi, his dark curtains fall in front of his eyes - you note that he hasn't trimmed them as he usually does. Despite his size his grip is firm and your wrist squirms around a little trying to manoeuvre out of his bruising grasp. He seems to notice he's underestimated his strength once again and loosens his hold on you. Narrowed eyes analyse your anxious form, they're grey and in this lighting almost glow appearing silver. For a brief second your mouth is left ajar by the delicate but rough manner of his face.

"Everything Okay?" He doesn't typically seem to care very much about anyone, the question activates your senses and you're on full alert but the eye contact you make with him seconds later slows down the gears in your mind, they only whir and hum in anticipation completely coming to a halt.

"Yes, yes everything is okay." You're playing around with the hem of your shirt and you silently question when you were ever this nervous around anyone. You're a Marleyan soldier for heaven's sake not an unrestrained, unsupervised child left to play in a park.

Despite your clear inability to cushion and shield yourself from your Levi's stabbing gaze you attempt to appear as nonchalant as possible.

"I'll be going I just feel a little —" At first you had thought to fake you were ill but at the feeling of a sudden strike of pain you hold onto your stomach, the ache burns into your abdomen and without permission it travels higher up towards your ribs. "A little unwell." You manage to wheeze out. Hand placed onto a nearby cement wall your thought process is hasty speeding up by the second. Have they figured you out and had you poisoned? No, you barely ate anything today.

You hunch over feeling the bile crawl up your throat, on reflex you clamp your eyes shut not wishing to anger a superior by acting insolent and disposing of your dinner in the hallway. Shaky palms reach hesitantly for your lips and you force yourself to keep it in. Levi would commit a murder if you heaved and gagged letting it all out in front of him.

You motion towards the door trying to emphasize that you can handle yourself in the privacy of your room. Tears bite at the sides of your eyes and your vision is so blurred you can only make out the faint outline of the man who was just in front of you.

"Relax. I'll clean it." Your hair is brushed away from your face securely held back and you can't hold it in any longer, the acrid storm surges through your throat, you retch at the harsh sting it leaves behind. Breathing heavy, perturbed and anxious you gasp in all the air you can get.

"I knew you looked ill." His hands hold your jaw gently, the pads of his fingers are calloused but his touch remains soft. A tissue dabs at your mouth wiping away the excess untouched sick.

Just like the sick which surged through you less than a minute ago you feel something else entirely tear into you. You can't put a finger on it but it's dangerous for you to not feel contempt.

847, i.

Your heart accepts what your mind has been ignoring for months on end when Levi looks you square in the eyes after a heart wrenching expedition. The vacant look on his face is enough for the guilt to consume you whole but he doesn't know that. He doesn't know of your sins.

The wagon of corpses reeks of death and desperation. It's rotten and the smell is sickening. Forcibly you stop yourself from feeling any more grief. The despair isn't yours to go through.

Your first ever personal loss outside of the walls and you've learnt Paradis is not home to demons. Cheeks burning in mortification you can't formulate any thoughts on your own accord, instead they continuously emerge in bursts and finally a single thought sticks out from the rest - Are you aiding in the destruction of innocent human life?

The both of you are sat on guard duty with the corpses, half of the team has been wiped out in one sweep. Your trembling hands don't seem to want to steady any time soon and you sit there with your guilty conscience strangling you slowly, your airflow is getting shallower. Shorter, quicker breaths leave you. The imaginary gash in your chest is bottomless, and your lungs push and pull in a power struggle.

Levi's coarse hands abruptly hold onto yours and the floodgates open again, he doesn't know what you've done to him, done to his soldiers, done to his people. If he knew who you really were, would things be different?

"This was out of your control."

Do you tell him?

The question sits in your mind for a while until you shake your head. He takes it the wrong way and think you're responding to him.

"This was not your fault." For the first time in months you've heard his voice crack under pressure.

"Pe- Petra she- I could have taken one for the team and died instead of her." All that remains of your dear friend is her blood soaked cloak. Her body was one of the few that had to be hauled away earlier to decrease the carriage's load.

The fabric still smells of Petra, smells of honey and chamomile and the simple soap offered at the base, but it still smells of her.

Firm hands grab your shoulders and Levi's fingers dig sorely into your flesh.

"Don't."

"But I- I didn't contribute as much as her and she has family who are alive." Hiccuping you try to bare with the fact that you'll wake up tomorrow and not see her preparing breakfast for everyone else. You know you could have propelled her out of the way just in time if you hadn't been so taken aback by the entire situation.

"You were her comrade. She made the choice to die for you."

You want to reach out, sob into his chest and yell that you regret it all, scream and tell him about the secret you've been hiding. A sorry excuse of a comrade you are to let her die on the battlefield not knowing your true identity. The tears roll down your cheeks and Levi feels his heart constrict and squeeze as he comprehends the lack of regard you have for your life. "It should have been me." Is repeated over and over again, your eyes are raw and bloodshot, the vicious wind sinks its teeth into you.

"Then die."

"If you're willing for her life to have no meaning. Die." The words he spits out are as cutting as the bitter wind. He feels cheated and you're finally able to come to your senses.

He's faired much worse but you doubt he's ever acted out the way you have in front of another person. In this never-ending void of darkness locking away the dull ache caused by deafening loss is the best choice for everyone.

Much like the night you had been sick he takes a grip of your jaw and directs your face towards his, this time he's not as gentle as before but you conclude that it's because he's drained, completely exhausted from the battle. The eyes are the windows to the soul but Levi's window panes are shattered, completely crushed by the weight of the constant burden he has to carry.

"I'm sorry." You croak out the apology. He grits his teeth because he doesn't want you to apologize but he doesn't voice out his opinion. As a substitute he presses his arms against you, the terribly raw panic is murdering you. Levi's gruff voice is a mixture of faux irritation but mutual understanding.

"Cry." He allows for your head to loll against his shoulder.

As the dark envelopes both you and him the scent of the dead only becomes more and more pungent, recalling fond memories of Petra and the others you know your heart settles on a decision before your mind does. You're a two timing back stabbing traitor for this. What you hated Zeke for you have become yourself.

Disloyal, unfaithful and fickle.

That day you place your loyalties with Paradis.

847, ii.

Levi's wiping down one of the kitchen tables, you're kneeled on the floor scrubbing vigorously. The others have already given up, panting they've left using the excuse of fetching water from a nearby well. Your back aches but you find cleaning reassuring and somewhat of a decent distraction.

"Why do you like to clean?" You're used to Levi asking you abrupt questions by now, after all the two of you have been acquainted for well over a year now. Through that year he's learnt about you and you about him. When in the midst of what looks to be humanity's final year's, twelve simple months is enough to form a bond worth a decade.

"I'm not good at a lot but I am good at cleaning."

"You know that's not true idiot." The tone of his voice indicates that your answer doesn't please him.

"But I do think I'm good at cleaning? Maybe not as good as you but I am half decent."

"Not that. You're good at much more than half the people I've ever met." He sneers, his footsteps edge towards you. "Purely being a good person is a talent these days."

You suppress a flinch because you aren't a good person at all. Neither are you that middle ground between good and bad. Rough around the edges and uneven, you're shards of glass ready to slash and hack away at him if Marley somehow lures you back.

The confession, if you could even call it that catches you by surprise and anger fills you. You almost want for him to not trust you and call out your bluff. It's a little unnatural how badly you want for him to realize the truth.

Your head turns up to stare at the man who's a few steps away from you. "Or am I just good at acting genuine?"

You don't even mean to snap at him and you don't even realize you have until you see his eyes widen and mouth part in imperceptible surprise. Biting your tongue your attention is diverted back to the wooden floor. Driving your washcloth into the crevices and dips of the floorboards you ignore Levi's leather shoes which now stand right in front of you.

"Are you questioning my judgement of character?"

Be born in Marley, That's what you had done, trained to destroy people you thought to be devilish entities, foolishly chose to grow attached to the so called enemy. Your mind lingers onto a specific thought and you're deathly afraid to be thinking it in the first place but there's no more avoiding it.

Falling deeply in love with Levi is your worst mistake to date.

"What I did. It was out of my control." you reply, voice hard.

"Not disclosing what it was?" He asks.

Your silence is his answer. Kneeling down to where you are he disarms you, the washcloth is taken out of your hands and he places it onto a table.

"You are a good person." His voice is brusque and he states it like it's a fact, something you should know. Hot tears threaten to spill over, he's stupidly naive for not rethinking that opinion of his. Lips thinned and eyes watering you don't know how to feel.

"Levi. I'm sure you'd like to think that but I am not."

"You love the members of the corps unconditionally I can see it in the way you look at them."

"Sometimes you look a little sad when you stare." The last sentence he adds in has your pulse racing. He's right, you often feel miserable thinking about how everyone would react knowing who you really are.

"I'm not interested in bad people." He sounds distant saying such warm words and it takes a moment for them to actually sink in. You don't quite believe you've heard him correctly. The dread sinks to the bottom of your stomach and the feelings you've buried at the back of your mind hit you like a tsunami. The thought of him feeling the same way for you, is agonizing.

"Stop being ridiculous." The uncertainty is killing the both of you.

"Loving you is not ridiculous, if you don't feel the same way you can say that and I'll step away. We'll be back to normal."

"No, no, no. You don't get it. You're just saying that." Your voice quivers and the intensity of this new revelation is too large for you to cope with.

"Why would, you," He begins, voice just above a whisper, "ever think that way?"

"Why would you even look twice at me?" You reply.

"Because I worry for you."

"You worry for everyone."

"I worry for you the most."

Instead of letting you respond to him this time he carries on speaking.

"We both know we feel the same."

You already knew you were in love with Levi, you didn’t need for him to tell you. You knew you were in love when you tried to memorize his facial features, you knew you were in love when his laughter was the cause of your laughter, you knew you were in love when you threw yourself in front of that abnormal for him.

That's when you begin to understand what all his signals meant. You now knew why he'd let you stare so intently, you now knew why he laughed particularly hard when it was you who had made a joke, you now knew why he scolded you and nearly broke down at the sight of your injured arm after that specific expedition.

You know it. He knows it. You both know what this will lead to.

But you still lunge onto his lap, you still press your wobbly lips against his. You still choose to surrender yourself to him and he still reacts by taking a hold of your shaky hands which lay on his chest. He envelopes them in his warm grasp. Slowly but gradually the ice thaws and dissolves. Heartbreak, anguish and suffering when one of you loses the other will be the end of your romance, you're sure of it. Hell, the both of you are in the middle of a war but your heart flames up thinking of all of the possibilities.

Perhaps it'll play out the one way you wish for it not to.

Could your ending be in betrayal?

848, i.

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded hus-"

"Cut the crap and kiss me." Levi's crude interruption isn't appreciated by Erwin but everyone knows Levi doesn't care all that much for formalities and hates being in the spotlight for too long.

Gripping him by the collar of his suit your lips are a centimetre away, he stops you tightening the hold he has on your waist. His lips gently press against your collarbone and his breath meanders towards the shell of your ear.

"Swear you won't die on me."

Gulping you look away apprehensively. You know you can't promise that.

“Oi, I’m expecting an answer.” His voice flickers slightly.

Forefinger holding your chin up you see your soon to be husband close to tears, he valiantly blinks them away. Levi has never been one to make his pain public and your heart twists in your chest as you realize just how much of a hold his feelings for you have over him.

"I can't promise that, you know it'll only hurt more." The strange bitter taste in your mouth won't let you comply with his request and by measuring his reaction you see his eyes cloud in an unidentifiable emotion, you're sure it's nothing positive.

"We may not have a happy ending Levi but we'll always have a happy middle."

Levi scoffs in derision, he has to think your attempt at being meaningful is ridiculous.

You lean into him and it's all so heart-wrenchingly familiar yet foreign. His body sags comprehending that not everything will go the way he wants it to. One of you is guaranteed to leave first.

Hands finding purchase in the cloth of his white dress shirt Levi doesn't cringe at you creasing the fabric as he usually does. He allows for you to call the shots this time, your lips brush faintly against his before you nosedive into him. No resistance is felt and he replies almost immediately. Everyone applauds as his fingertips press into the back of your skull and you find that this is all incredibly hideous. The innate disloyalty you feel, you throwing your entire life away for this man but you find yourself not caring. To hell with that miserable life crammed with sin.

Levi smiles against your mouth, you assume you're meant to magically smile back but you can't make yourself. It's uncomfortable relishing in the undeserved happiness knowing it won't last forever.

The world you live in isn't ideal nor is it forgiving.

Momentary joy is all an antagonist can hope for.

849, i.

Jean can’t take his eyes off the newly weds.

You’re cooing into your Levi’s ear gently, his cheeks flush scarlet at the feeling of your hot breath against his skin and he scolds you for having the gall to rile him up in public.

Jean sniggers finding some sort of odd delight from the interaction - he’s never seen the Captain this content and at ease.

849, ii.

You don't know why you've dragged yourself out of bed just to stare at your husband's face but you have, despite the toll life has had on him he seems sound for once. His breathing peaceful yours is anything but that. When it's dark the weight becomes heavier, your skin tingles and your throat burns aching for release.

Eyes blurring your hands shake reaching out for him but you can't find the courage to make contact. Nothing will ever warrant plaguing him even more with your existence.

The memories become increasingly bitter.

"If we make it out of this alive we'll have children and they'll look just like you."

"I want them to look like you." had been your reply.

Levi winced not seeming to like the idea.

"No, I want them to look like you. You're beautiful."

How wrong he was for thinking that.

You, beautiful? He'd stab himself ten times over if he knew just who exactly he had said those words to.

850, i.

Zeke had betrayed you after finding out who you were to Levi but you half expected that he would tell him the truth at some point regardless of that fact.

Tear stains travel through the mud and grime on your face, Levi's eyes are indifferent as he twists his wedding ring off his finger flinging it into the surrounding rubble.

Without your permission he yanks your arm forwards intending to take your matching ring away but you hold on digging your heels into the dirt beneath you.

"You disgusting bitch. Give me it."

You scream, high and awful, he continues jerking at your arm the muscle throbs crying out for him to stop but he doesn't and no one steps in to put a halt to any of it. Levi having had enough grabs at your neck ruthlessly. In any other circumstance he'd be labelled callous or cruel but everyone on the battle field shares a similar empathy for their Captain. Neither they or Levi had expected your disloyalty.

"I said give me the ring if you know what's good for you." His fingers slide around your neck, his seemingly low words cling onto the little respect he has left for you.

"No." Your defiance has his eyes hardening in and posture tensing. "I'm not handing it over."

Levi says nothing, he only holds onto your throat tighter, if he really keeps at it your windpipe will be crushed in no time. You know he's holding out on purpose, he's still giving you a chance. He expects for you to stand your ground, say you never deceived Paradis, say something, anything to make him let go of you.

"Marrying you... It just happened somehow. I know it was selfish of me." He squeezes harder. "I know it was. I'm sorry Levi." Gasping and breathless you clench and unclench your fists finding it too difficult to explain.

Your mouth opens, you want to tell him you haven't seduced him like he thinks you have, tell him you dropped that plan of yours long ago but then you falter at the last second. It's typically hard to tell when Erwin's infuriated but it's painfully obvious when you make eye contact with him over Levi's trembling shoulders. It's enough to tell you to give up. Enough to tell you that you're beyond redemption, you've ran and hid long enough.

"Hand over your titan." Levi says nothing to Erwin's proposition, the hold he has on your neck loosens but his silence is sickening. It means he agrees.

This is fate's idea of a cruel joke.

But you agree, on the basis of one condition.

"Fine but-"

Levi cuts in, all regard for you devoid from his system.

"You're in no place to be making demands." He snarls, his patience quickly running thin.

However Erwin urges you to continue speaking taking you aback.

"If it's not too much maybe we can accommodate your final wish." Erwin had always been thoughtful in nature and you thank him for even bothering to show you a sliver of benevolence.

Everyone's looking, all eyes are on you. Some are blinking away tears, others are disgusted unable to stare at you for more than a few seconds at a time. Levi falls into the latter.

Brazen with not an ounce of shame you mention the ring again. "Let me keep it." Your left hand covers your right and underneath the flesh is the last symbol left of your union with Levi.

Whispers and murmurs orbit you, none of them are kind and Levi loses it.

His reflexes are paralyzing, he's back at it clawing your neck mercilessly but you don't scream or shriek as you did previously. You take it, you let him unload his frustration.

"Levi. Let it go for the sake of humanity." Erwin says pointedly. Irritation pricks him, he wants this over and done with and your rebelliousness doesn't look as if it'll be tamed any time soon unless you're given what you want.

Levi's face is crimson, the fresh blood from the expedition still steaming. "Y/N, I'll saw your arm off if I have to." But, you know he's already given into Erwin's orders when he throws you to the ground letting you crash and wheeze for breath.

850, ii.

Levi's been appointed to guard you for your final night alive. The room feels wistful as you think back wondering if the life you lived was respectable.

"Why did you stare at me when I slept? Did you think of killing me?" Half commanding and half pleading his voice cracks. He coughs attempting to cover it up.

You jolt not expecting the interaction at all and you're not the slightest bit surprised that he had seen you all those nights staring so deeply. He'd always been a light sleeper. You turn your head up hoping he's looking at you.

He isn't.

"I wanted our children to look like you. I think you're beautiful."

It's now his turn to recoil, only he does so in repulsion remembering the familiarity of those words. They had left his own lips not too long ago.

"I'd never have children with the likes of you." He sounds tense then.

You understand. No one would want to have children with someone as hated and as despicable as you.

"I know." You whisper faintly.

850, iii.

When Erwin's eyes glaze over unable to focus on anything in particular Levi assumes it's him growing used to the titan powers. What he doesn't expect is for his Commander to bang his head against the floor unrelenting screaming your name.

Pairs of hands move to stop him but he thrusts them aside wailing. Levi stresses trying to figure out what it is you could have done in the wake of your death.

But Erwin Smith. Courageous, brave Erwin Smith, who never cracked at loss of life for the sake of humanity, who always eloquently spoke to everyone around him at all times, finds himself slumping down to his knees and weeping for you.

The warm blood from his self inflicted assault still trickles down his nose, a tremor shakes through his entire body when he thinks of breaking the news to Levi.

The edge in Erwin’s voice grows dangerous.

"We made the wrong choice."

Erwin can't word it any better than that.

But Levi understands right away, he wishes he didn’t, he wishes he was ignorant enough not to.

Hange sticks an arm out aiming for his shoulder but he stumbles away nearly falling back into the floor not wanting to be touched by anyone.

He finds that he is not human enough to cry. It’s that or he’s not human at all without your presence.

854, i.

Levi has grown old without you, lived to see months and new seasons without you by his side. Over time his eyelids have become heavier, the corners of his mouth naturally droop and he remains perpetually somber.

Sometimes you visit him in his dreams, each time you make a silly comment about how his grey eye bags make him look like he’s been punched in the face. “Levi Ackerman, I swear if you don’t sleep soon!” You cushion the blow by whispering sweet nothings, reassuring him that you still think he’s beautiful.

Occasionally you add in that you don’t blame him for the past, but those conversations only last for a few seconds at a time.

“I don’t blame you.” It always starts off with the exact same phrase.

“I should have listened to you.” Levi’s tone is stern and uncompromising .

“Lev, I was never going to tell you to spare my life. You tried to listen to me, I could tell you wanted me to deny it.”

Levi refuses to answer you, he still thinks he’s at fault.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t think of that ring. He regrets throwing it away recklessly into the rubble.

Some day he’ll return to Shiganshina to find it. The idea sounds laughable but he has to find a reason to smile as he fights for his life.

That is what Levi thinks as two set’s of jaws snap shut onto his legs, a flurry of red surrounds him. His throat constricts at the feeling of his thighs being ripped away from the rest of him.

“I tried.” He whimpers to no one in particular, eyes blank and losing meaning.

“I know Levi, I know.” The same voice from his dreams soothes him.

“Do not despair. Find me again in another world.” The biting wind adds in.

Levi’s eyelids flutter shut unable to do much else.

He’s unsure if he has the courage to face you again in another lifetime.

2K notes · View notes

absolutelyfizzing · 3 years

Text

He can't hurt you anymore

Bucky x reader

Description - Reader is the barista that Bucky has befriended at his local coffee shop but he thinks you may be hiding something. Your boyfriend might not be as kind as he tries to come off as. One day Bucky investigates and intervenes. Takes place around TFATWS but the shield isn't a factor. After the events of Endgame. Its pretty platonic Buck x Reader but it's sort of implied that future romance is probably a thing.

Warnings - TW DOMESTIC ABUSE!!! This is a big part of the story, if this is triggering for you, DO NOT READ THIS!! If you are in a situation where you need help getting out of an abusing household please get help. also endgame spoilers! Theres some cussing as well and female pronouns are used.

Word count - 4700 ish?

A/N - I am writing this from how an abusive relationship was for ME, how I acted, and the ways that I felt. This is in no way a generalization of how these situations are for most people nor is it a romanticization of abuse. Please reach out to someone or even me if you need help or you want to talk about anything. Do not read this story if you will be harmed by reading this, PLEASE.

MASTERLIST

Bucky's favorite part of his day was when he went to get coffee from the small shop down the street from his apartment. He didn't have many places he liked to go outside of the small room that he often felt trapped him but he knew that it was good for him to get out and interact with people. His therapist had told him as much.

He really didn't even like the coffee that much, he found that it made him jittery, but he went just to say hi to you. He always got the same order and usually got there around the same time so sometimes you would even have his coffee ready just as he was walking in. When you did things like that it made his heart flutter. He liked you in a romantic way but you only ever lightly flirted. Not wanting to scare you away, he never pressed and he kept his conversation moderately friendly. He had noticed that sometimes you seemed off. More so than he would say might be caused by a bad day.

On these days your eyes would be flying around the room and your hands shaky. You normally had bags under your eyes and you might even have bruises around your body. He also noticed that on those days you would cover up more but he could catch a glimpse of a purple bruise on your arm under your sleeve when you moved.

As he walked into the shop, he saw that today would be one of those days. He had been going to the coffee shop that you were at for probably 6 months and he had never seen you this shaken up. You seemed to be fully zoned out as you automatically did the cleaning in front of you. He had to clear his throat a bit to get you to notice him and when he did he regretted it. You flinched and your shoulders tensed before looking over to him. You relaxed a bit and a wide smile appeared on your face. He could vaguely tell it seemed to be fake but it was one of the best fake smiles he had ever seen. He almost commented on it before he noticed the bruises on your neck and arm.

"You okay?" He questioned, eyebrow quirked and his tone lightly teasing. He guessed they might be from whoever you were sleeping with having been a bit rough, something that he wouldn't have judged you for anyway. When you tensed up a bit and drew your hand to your neck he saw the look of slight fear cross your eyes.

"Oh I'm fine!" You recovered, "Didn't have time to cover them up this morning." You smiled and put your arm back down. It looked like you were going with his guess that they were from your boyfriend but in a non threatening way. His smile lessened a bit and he got out his wallet.

"Well, you know the drill. Medium americano with cream and sugar please." He sighed and he put some money in your tip jar while winking at you. You blushed and nodded before turning around to get started on his order.

While you were turned around he heard the bell on the door ring signaling that someone had entered. He turned to see who it was only to be met with an unfamiliar face. This was a bit of a rare occurrence considering he came here so often and he knew almost all of the other people who walked in. This man was large and domineering. He didn't look abnormal in any way, just that his eyes didn't hold the kindness that Bucky searched for when meeting someone new. The man pushed past Bucky to stand at the counter and knocked on it loudly, trying to get your attention. When you turned, you looked like you saw a ghost.

James studied you carefully as the color slowly came back to your face and the large smile that didn't quite seem right was plastered on your face again.

"Hey, babe! Can I get you something?" you asked him kindly and James realized that this must be your boyfriend. He noticed the slight waver that was in your voice as you spoke to to man and the way that your hands began to shake a bit.

"No thanks, I just wanted to check on you to see how you were doing and to apologize again. I was just heading in to work." Your boyfriend smiled and you flinched for a moment before taking a deep breath, bracing yourself.

"No worries, I already told you I forgave you." You grinned, this one looking more like it reached your eyes. "Have a good day at work!" You chirped at him. His hand came to your cheek and James saw you flinch before the man leaned in to kiss you. As soon as he pulled away and left, you turned back to the drink you were making for Buck and your hands were unsteady.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" He tentatively asked. He didn't want to push but he had a bad feeling stuck in his stomach.

You turned to him, ready drink in hand, "I'm doing great, thank you for asking, James" You smiled and Bucky nearly swooned when you used his name. He adjusted his glove a bit and fidgeted with the sleeve on his metal arm, a habit he had when he was anxious.

"Do you mind if I drink it up here? I'd love to chat a bit." He did this pretty often. There was a seat next to the counter for employees that he would occupy on days where the shop wasn't too busy. You gazed at him and nodded enthusiastically.

"How are you now that you're all settled into the new place?" You asked gently and he smiled. He appreciated that you remembered details about him. It made him feel less crazy for having known so much about you.

"It's good! The bed still doesn't feel right and there are still boxes lying around but I cant seem to get myself to unpack all the way. If I didn't have this part of my day then I think I'd be bored out of my mind" He said. You blushed a bit and smiled. You always liked hearing about how he was doing, you worried about him. He had told you at some point that he was a veteran and that he had some issues adapting to his new life. You didn't bring it up often so as to not scare him off but you liked to check in when you could.

"You might want to start looking for something else to occupy your time then, I don't know how much longer I'm going to be here." You mumbled. You were still smiling a bit but your gaze had saddened.

"What do you mean? Are you leaving the city? Heading back home?" he questioned quickly. You had told him that you weren't originally from New York. You chuckled a bit at his panic.

"No, but might be moving in with my boyfriend, that guy who came in earlier." You explained but he still had a confused look on his face.

"Why does that mean you wont be working here?"

"Oh I don't know, he is trying to get me to quit while I'm figuring out life and stuff. Thinks I might be more helpful around the house and he has enough to support us both." you tried to explain but you knew the logic in your statement was flawed. The reality was that your boyfriend wanted you to be financially dependent on him but you were ignoring that as the bruises around your throat reminded you what happened to girlfriends who talked back. You looked into Bucky's eyes to find him staring sadly.

"You should be able to keep working if you want to." He sounded urgent and you laughed it off.

"You're just mad cause you won have an excuse to see your favorite barista anymore." As you turned back to the cleaning around the shop to do. It was a quiet morning so the silence was slightly deafening. You both didn't speak for a couple minutes before James broke the silence.

"Are you okay, Y/N?" he asked very lightly. Like he didn't want to scare you off. "I'm guessing your boyfriend left those marks and earlier when he came in-"

"It was an accident" You stated quickly. Urgently. Pleadingly. You still weren't looking at him but you had stopped cleaning. "He didn't mean to, he felt bad about it." You continued before turning to James. There were tears in your eyes and you tried to smile reassuringly.

"Those kinds of accidents shouldn't happen, Y/N" He muttered, trying not to make you feel attacked at all but also wanting to let you know that he knew something was wrong.

"It was my fault." You began.

"There is no way-"

"No it was. I messed something up and-and it was on me. James, you don't need to worry about me." Your voice was shaking a bit. "Please, don't worry about me." you were pleading. Your eyes were begging.

You both stood in silence for a moment before you began moving around. You didn't really have a task to be doing but you couldn't be still. You just couldn't be still.

"I am worried" he whispered and you felt the tears in your eyes threaten to fall. You knew you situation wasn't good but you didn't feel like there was anything you could do. And you were partially still convinced that your boyfriend didn't mean it, even though past experiences had already proved you wrong. You knew that after the 5th time, it wasn't accidental. But fear and guilt held you back. You were not an aggressive person. When he yelled at you he made you feel weak. You crumbled. You would never be able to escape.

You went through the rest of your shift in moderate silence. You worked when customers came in and when they left you would try to make yourself seem busy around the shop. James sat patiently, you knew he was gong to want to walk you back to your boyfriend's apartment. Your stomach clenched as you prayed that your boyfriend wouldn't be home.

After your shift you agreed to let James walk you home, you only lived a few blocks away. You didn't talk much and you felt guilty for creating that atmosphere. When you reached your building you stopped and turned to him.

"Thank you for walking me home." You smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow?" You asked and Bucky nodded.

When you turned to head into you building, he didn't leave. He waited. He knew something was wrong but he didn't want to create a mess for you if he didn't need to. He stood against the building before walking in behind someone who was entering. He made his way to the address he had caught on your key earlier and stopped about 3 floors down from yours. He wouldn't intervene unless you needed him and he could listen in from further away. One of the few times he was thankful for the super serum.

"Where have you been?" a growl sounded.

"I was just-"

"Your shift ended 30 minutes ago. Were you talking to that leather wearing asshole? Huh?" There was a yell. "Were you cheating on me, you bitch?!"

"No, babe, Bucky just walked me home, he was just being nice. The person taking over my shift was just a little-"

"He walked you home?" He screamed, "You're just whoring yourself out to anyone now, huh?"

At this point Bucky had heard enough but he noticed that the stairs were closed and the elevator was taking forever. He was hitting himself for not going up to your floor to be more prepared. His heart was pounding and he could feel his eyes watering.

"Babe, I'm sorry, he didn't mean anything by it, I promise-"

He heard a yelp and something making impact and he decided he was done waiting. He didn't know why the stairs were closed but it didn't matter. He broke the door to the stairwell open and he sprinted up them as fast as possible. It was easier to hear your whimpers as he got closer and he could still hear hitting.

When he made it to the door he didn't hesitate to break it in. When he entered the apartment he felt eyes on him. In the corner of your living room you were hunched in a corner, breathing heavily with tears streaming down your face and a fresh broken lip, your boyfriend leering over you with his fist clenched.

"Get the fuck away from her." Bucky felt himself growl. He didn't want to hurt this guy in front of you, knowing that would traumatize you more, but it was taking everything in him not to snap his neck right then.

"What the fuck are you gonna do?" Your boyfriend sneered, "You have no right to come in here and tell be how I'm supposed to deal with my girlfriend. Get the fuck out!" Your boyfriend had moved away from you and you took a bit of a breath. Bucky noticed the shaking of your body as you breathed and he saw red.

Before he really considered what he was doing Bucky was already moving toward the man in the middle of the room, his metal hand clenched. He moved to grab your boyfriend's arm and when he tried to block, going into the fight cocky, Bucky decided he would put him in his place. With what seemed to be minimal effort, Bucky turned the mans arm around and jammed his knee into his back. Once your boyfriend was on the floor, in less than 10 seconds, Bucky had his knee on his chest and his metal arm on his neck.

"You will never lay another finger on her again, you understand me? You're gonna go to fucking prison and you'll never be able to get near her again." Bucky growled at the man who was struggling futilely beneath him. He pressed on his neck harder and waited for his body to give out, holding long enough that he would be knocked out for at least a few minutes so he could get you out of there.

Bucky looked up at you and you were still shaking in the corner, seemingly still terrified. You looked so different from the girl he had come to know. Bucky realized that he might have just made you more scared of him but he knew it was worth it to get you out of the situation. You gulped and took a deep shaky breath before moving to stand up. Bucky moved to stand also to go over and help you but you immediately say back down.

"Hey, doll. I'm not gonna hurt you-" Bucky started but you cut him off.

"I know, I know I just..." You took another shallow breath and looked at the man Bucky was no longer holding down. He could get free and move toward you now if he were to wake up. Bucky understood your gaze sighed a bit, looking around the apartment he now realized probably belonged to your boyfriend. He then noticed the belt on your boyfriend and moved to take it off so he could tie him up with it. He heard you whimper and he made a guess as to why, his heart clenching once again. He quickly bound the large man's hands and attached him to a support beam in the middle of the room. He checked the bindings using larger movements than he needed to so that you would see they were tight from your spot across the room. Bucky then stood and slowly made his way near you. Instead of trying to get very close, he opted to sit against the wall about halfway between you and the man tied up in the room, trying to make sure that you didn't feel threatened by him and that you knew your boyfriend was no longer a threat.

"I'm gonna call a friend okay? You're okay now." Buck said gently to you and you nodded. Your eyes were watery as tears began to fall and you scooted a little closer to Bucky, still not sitting close enough to touch. Bucky made no move to push you. He instead just dialed the only person he could think of.

"Hey, Sam... You in town?.. I know but I need some help. I need the police here and if you could drive too that would be great. I got someone here I don't want going in a cop car... I know that's a lot to ask but I wouldn't be asking if it weren't serious... Please?.. That would be great if she's there." It seemed that the 'please' made the person on the other line agree. Bucky hung up and looked toward you. "Someone's on the way, okay? Do you need anything right now or need any medical help thats urgent?"He tried to be gentle but he couldn't hide the fear in his voice. If there was severe damage somewhere he needed to know now.

"N-no, it wasn't that bad. It's just my face and my ribs I guess but I've healed from worse." You mumbled, trying to be reassuring but then realizing that you may have made him feel worse. "I'm sorry" You mumbled as the tears began again.

"Whoa, what on earth are you sorry for?" Bucky asked as he felt his own eyes begin to water.

"Its just that-" you took a breath for a moment and tried to calm your shaking, "this isn't your job and I'm sorry that you have to deal with it and that I couldn't do it on my own." You cried a bit, Bucky barely being able to make out your words with how quietly you were speaking. He wasn't entirely sure how to help. He experimentally slid a hand along the floor toward you going very slowly so you could move or tell him to stop if you wanted. Instead you moved your hand and reached out so your fingers were touching on the floor. You still didn't move closer to him but the nonthreatening contact made you feel a bit better. He spoke up quietly.

"Y/N, I know this has been a really hard day for you and probably been rough for however long you've been with that asshole but you need to understand that this is not your fault. You did not make him do this to you and you did not deserve it. You will never be in a room alone with him again, okay?" He made decisive eye contact with you and you nodded a bit. "I am going to make sure that nothing happens to you now, I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you again." He sounded reassuring and you scooted just close enough that his hand was holding yours. He smiled lightly at you and you jumped as you heard a knock at the doorframe of the entrance where the door had been practically broken off its hinges.

You tensed up immediately and Bucky stood a bit protectively in front of you, letting go of your hand in the process. You saw a tall kind looking man at the doorway, his frame slightly hunched to make sure that he didn't startle you too much. You looked at him a bit fearfully and took a deep breath before glancing at Bucky and then smiling lightly at the man in the doorway. He watched you carefully as he stepped into the apartment.

"Hey there, my name is Sam, I'm just gonna get him out of here. There's a police car with his name on it downstairs. I brought someone with me who's going to help get you out of here to somewhere safe, okay?" He smiled at you as he moved toward the man tied up in the center of the room. As the bindings came off you skittered back toward the corner a bit and only eased once he was dragged out of the room. From the doorway came a redhead with bags under her eyes. She looked like she hadn't gotten good sleep in a while and you felt like you recognized her from somewhere.

"I'm Pepper, is it okay if I come in?" She looked nice and she had a motherly presence. You nodded and smiled a bit. Her gaze softened further and she walked slowly toward you and as she walked past Bucky she touched his arm lightly, conveying something that you didn't quite understand. "Can I help you up?" she asked as she stood in front of you, her hand reached out. You nodded and put your hand in hers, allowing her to pull you up. You felt the damage that had been done more clearly when you stood up, there was definitely something wrong with your ribs and your stomach. She carefully and slowly put an arm around your shoulders as she herded you out of the apartment. you looked back to where Bucky was standing and he smiled at you reassuringly but his eyes seemed sad. You let yourself be led to a car outside with a man that Pepper called "Happy" driving. She sat in the back with you and made casual one sided conversation to put you at ease.

Back at your apartment Bucky began to try to pack you a bag. He knew that Pepper would take good care of you and wouldn't let anything happen. He would meet you at the Avengers tower later, assuming you would be staying there until you felt comfortable living by yourself at your own apartment again. He moved through your ex's apartment with a critical gaze, noting holes in the wall and a gun in the corner. He presumed it was to protect against home intruders but he didn't doubt that it had been used to threaten you too. He found the bedroom and got to work getting some things that he thought you might want like a hoodie that looked like yours and some personal belongings that were clearly your possessions. He was trying very hard not to accidentally grab something that was your ex's and once he had a full bag he headed out. He saw Sam leaned against the wall outside your building and Bucky immediately got worried.

"Wheres-"

"He's already booked at the precinct, I've got my guys on it and he isn't going anywhere." Sam reassured, having known what Bucky was going to ask. They began walking to the tower, not wanting to get in a car and knowing that the walk wasn't going to be too long.

"Sorry I had to call you, I know you were probably busy. I just didn't know who else to ask." Bucky stated quietly.

"You did the right thing, Buck. You probably saved that girl's life back there." Sam smiled a bit at the man next to him and Bucky felt a smile tug at his mouth too.

They both made light conversation as they made their way back to the tower. When they did, Bucky took a deep breath. He hadn't been back here since right after Steve left. He hadn't seen Pepper in a long time either. He needed to talk to her when he got inside to thank her and to see if she was okay. He knew she probably didn't want to see him very much but she had still helped you when he asked.

Back at the tower you were finally cleared from the medical wing. You were still shaky but you were masking it pretty well and you were about back to where you functioned daily where you could fake smiles if you needed to. Pepper stayed by you the whole time and you met a little girl named Morgan who was very excited to tell you stories that put you at ease. Eventually Pepper led you to a room that she said you could use to sleep and shower in for now and that you could call the AI if you needed anything at all. You asked it to tell you when Bucky got back and it said it would. You also now knew that you recognized her as Iron Man's wife but you didn't mention it, knowing she had lost her husband semi-recently. You also recognized that Sam, who you had met earlier, was the Falcon. Then came the question of who was Bucky. You knew there was a James Barnes associated with the Avengers but you'd never seen him and you knew he had a metal arm, something that you weren't sure was part of Bucky. You showered and cried again in the shower but this time out of relief. You realized that you didn't have to go home to that awful man and that you were finally safe.

The AI, you thought you'd heard Pepper call it FRIDAY, let you know that Bucky was in the building along with Sam. You dressed in the clothes that pepper had given to you, a pair of sweats and a loose T-shirt, and left your room. You carefully padded down the hallway, prepared to ask FRIDAY where you were if you got lost. Instead you saw Bucky down a hallway carrying a bag that you recognized as your own. Now that you were a bit calmed down you knew what you had to do. You got closer to each other, Bucky smiling slightly, and he stopped so that he wouldn't get close to you if you didn't want him to. Instead you continued walking toward him until you got close enough that you could wrap your arms tightly around his waist. He stood in shock before dropping the bag and wrapping one of his arms around you tightly. You reached out to the other one and felt the hardness of it. You guessed then that he must be the winter soldier that you'd heard about but you continued to wrap it around yourself so that he was hugging you all the way. You took a deep breath and smiled slightly.

"Thank you, James." You murmured and you heard his heart pick up its pace. He tightened his arms around you and sighed.

"You’re welcome, doll" he accepted the thanks with a bit of apprehension but this wasn't the time to argue about whether or not thanks were needed. "I promise I'm not going to let anything happen to you again." He stated quietly and he was reassuring himself more than you. Your arms tightened around him more and he decided that he would protect you with all he had if you would let him.

441 notes · View notes

subwaysurf45 · 3 years

Text

Back Into the Swing of Things

summary: Bucky is finally stable and after your friendship turns into a relationship, Bucky asks you to teach him about the little things. (set around civil war)

words: 3355

warning: legit none just fluff!

pairing: bucky x reader

Masterlist

You were sat at the little desk in your room, your music was blasting through your headphones as you nodded your head to the beat. It was paperwork day, the worst day. For some reason it was a busy time or missions which meant mission reports, you liked to just bang them out all at once for one day every couple of weeks. Some people did them right after but the little notes you take in your journal allow you to wait a bit and then do five at once. The plate that used to have a sandwich was now empty, Bucky brought it by because he knew it was your day and if he stayed around you it would most likely lead to Bucky trying to pull you into bed for snuggles. He’d claim you’d look too cozy to be doing work, you'd wear one of his shirts and maybe some pants.

With a sigh you lean back in your chair, a couple pops coming for your back. “Four outta five…” you muttered to yourself as you took the papers and stacked them on the other reports. As you reached for the final one there was a knock on the door, “come in, Bucky.” You called over your shoulder.

“How’d you know it was me?” Bucky slipped through the doorway, he walked over and spun your chair around.

“Your knock is very polite,” was all you said. It was true, he’d knock loud enough to be heard but not too loud to seem demanding.

“Thanks…?” Bucky sat on the edge of your bed, “I wanted to ask you something,” Bucky looked to the floor.

“Talk to me,” You cheered and gave your full attention.

“I have a list of things in my notebook, just stuff I don't get- like understand. Would you mind helping and explaining some stuff?” His face was red and his eyes looked down, it was painfully obvious he was embarrassed.

“Sure,” You shrugged and Bucky smiled. He got up and went to get the book.

Debit Card Machine

Bucky was sitting across from you at a small diner, you went after rush hour to give yourself space and also Bucky doesn’t like crowded and loud spaces. Bucky had gotten a B.L.T. and you got something similar but you’d never been here before so you weren’t exactly sure what was in it- but it was good.

The waitress came by, the uniform was very retro like the rest of the place. It wasn’t way back to the 40’s more late 80’s early 90’s, Bucky had said he liked coming here because of the jukebox even though that was way past his time. He found it easier than an iphone, which was on his list of things to learn.

“Coffee or tea?” the lady asked.

“No, just the bill please,” You smiled at her, she nodded and walked away. Bucky got up and moved to sit beside you because he didn’t want to learn by looking at the thing upside down, the debit card itself was slightly conquered territory but he had the idea.

“And you said this was on your phone as well?” Bucky picked up the card and looked at it, his fingers running over the numbers that were lifted.

“You have to connect your card and all that to your phone so you just hover over the machine and it’ll pay.” You mimed the action of paying with your phone over nothing for Bucky to get the gist.

The machine showed up and you explained all the buttons, the waitress seemed confused because Bucky looked your age, she would have expected a guy to know how this works but she also kept her distance like most waitresses do.

“So you put your card in, the chip end goes in,” you showed. “Then you make sure the price matches the one on the receipt, if it does then you hit ‘ok’,” you did hit ‘ok’. “Then you have to tip, I personally go the percentage route so I’d click the far left button,” It made a sound when you did. “Now, depending on the service you can tip a different amount, I go fifteen percent as a baseline but she was really nice so I’ll tip twenty.” you typed it in, Bucky had a shocked face.

“Twenty dollars, that’s another meal!” He whispered, trying not to let the lady hear; she did.

“Twenty percent, our total goes from eighteen-tirty to twenty-forty five,” You showed the number again, then you clicked okay and proceeded to type in your four digit number. Bucky watched over your shoulder and tried to remember it all, when you were showing things at home he’d take notes and have a couple diagrams to remember it all but his notebook was no longer in sight. You glanced down after giving the machine back to see him rolling the book onto itself under the table, Bucky shoved it into his back pocket when you both got up to leave.

“Do you mind going over it again when we get home?” Bucky asked as he held your hand, the Avenger tower in sight.

“Of course,” you left a little kiss on his cheek.

Cooking Bacon

You didn’t remember reading this when you first went over the list. Granted, there was tons of stuff on Bucky’s list. It seemed he added it on later, like he watched Wanda cook and had a little idea to add. Either way, you both were in the kitchen in front of the stove. You both had aprons on, yours was a nice navy blue while Bucky’s read: ‘kiss the cook’. He wanted the navy one but then lost a game of rock, paper, scissors.

The pan was heating up on the stove, you had the lid ready beside it on the counter. Bucky seemed nervous because of the idea of the grease spitting out at him, he was starting to stand slightly behind you or away from the stove in an area he thought he wouldn’t get hit. “Alright,” you clapped your hands together after feeling over the pan to check the temperature. “We are gonna cook four pieces, so I’m gonna take them out of the package,” You were careful around the stove because Bucky seemed extremely nervous for you. He kept making little ‘peep’ing noises like he was about to say ‘watch out’ or something but decided against it, it was cute.

You put in two and then Bucky came over to put the others in, he was so leaned back he could barely get the bacon strips into the pan. On the last strip he haphazardly dropped it in, this caused the grease to spray back. A couple bits landed on your arm but a few more hit Bucky.

“Fuck!” He jumped back as you went to cover it quickly. The lid steamed up in seconds. Bucky was at the sink, washing his arm off. “Does it, like, burn through stuff?” His tone was so concerned but you couldn't help but laugh at the question.

“No, you’re safe,” you nodded. Bucky came back over and stood right behind you, his chin nestled on your shoulder as you waited a bit. His arms circled around your torso and he also watched the pan, he didn’t know what to look for per se, but he did it anyways. “This should be good,” you stepped forward which caused Bucky to let go. “We’re gonna lift the lid and start to flip them, alright?” You grabbed the tongs and clicked them a few times, it was a thing you always did.

“Let’s go,” Bucky’s voice wanted to sound excited but he was slightly scared.

You lifted the lid and stood off to the side, quickly but calmly you flipped the pieces over and then covered the lid. “So, we give that time, then we'll take the lid off and just move them around and flip them more, you can do that,” You smiled over your shoulder to see Bucky writing something down. It was cute how much he cared about the little things, you’d never been taught how to cook bacon or cooking in general, it was something you just found yourself doing.

Bucky took the tongs and went for it, he lifted the lid and went straight into flipping them. After he found they weren’t spitting back he seemed to loosen up, his shoulders rolled back and he seemed to find a comfortable position. He was looking over to you for any tips but you stood there with a smile on your face, he was actually doing a good job.

You got out a plate and paper towel, Bucky transferred the strips over. He watched you pat them down with a paper towel, this was something you adopted into your life because you weren’t the biggest fan of all the grease.

“This is a big part, so listen up,” Bucky looked over from eating one of his two pieces. “Write this down, never and I mean never pour this grease down the sink- ever.” Bucky had the piece of meat sticking out of his mouth as he scribbled it down, he hummed and nodded to let you know he got it. “There is a can under the sink, grab it for me, please?” You picked up the pan but stayed over the stove, Bucky came back with an open can. There was nothing in it except congealed grease, he seemed grossed out but you were used to it. “Dump it in here after it’s cool but not solidified, just don’t pour it down the sink.” You poured the stuff in and left it on the counter to cool off, Bucky finally bit down on the piece of bacon before handing over your two pieces.

“I think that went well,” Bucky nodded, he leaned against the counter with a tired sigh. You didn’t have to heart to make fun of him for being scared of the grease, he seemed proud of himself. So you just stood beside him and rested your head on his shoulder, “good job, Buck.”

Skin Care

Bucky was the type of boyfriend to sit in the bathroom and just watch you put on or take off your makeup, he was truly put under a trance when he would watch you. In the beginning he’d ask questions or ask what you were doing and why, but now he had watched you so much he’d pass you the tube of mascara as you finished on your brows.

Your skin had adapted to a long and specific routine, this was your time for about ten minutes before bed to fully unwind and have some quiet. You would rotate products and skip over some of the serums each night but there were the basics you were going to teach Bucky: Wash, tone, moisturize.

Before you went to the drug store you asked Bucky about his skin, he really had no idea what you were talking about and half the time he’d shrug it off. “I don’t pay attention to my skin,” was a common phrase. You lightly touched his face and felt his T-zone, he joked that sometimes if he opened his mouth really wide his skin would feel super tight and dry.

“So then you have dry skin,” you said. Thinking of the products to get him, Bucky didn’t have acne, it was more for cleaning the skin and keeping it healthy.

“I think,” Bucky really felt like a pain. He was trying to help you out so you could find good products but all he was giving was half answers, ‘ya, I guess’ or ‘I think so’.

But currently you both were standing in the bathroom, it was right before bed and Bucky adjusted his headband for about the hundredth time. He said it was too tight but you knew he was being a baby about it, his hair was also pulled back into a bun.

“We are gonna wash our face,” You showed how warm the water should be before splashing your face. Bucky copied right after, and awkwardly leaned forward to make sure water didn’t drip on the floor after while he waited for you to move on. “Now we are gonna wash our face, so take that bottle with the blue cap and put a bit in your hand. A little goes a long way,” You added and did the same, both faces in the bathroom were sudsy and ready. Bucky went in first to wash it off, his hands cupping under the tap and collecting as much water as he could before leaning right in to wash off his face. He did it twice.

“Pat dry?” He remembered you saying that before. His hands held the fresh towel, you hummed in response because your face was in water. Bucky patted and gently rubbed around, when you stood up you dried off as well. Both faces were damp, Bucky looked at the little water droplets running down your neck before turning back to the task at hand. “Toner- don't tell me, I know this one!” He grabbed your arm, “red cap?” His face lit up with joy as you nodded, “I got this!” He cockily laughed, he knew what he was doing.

Bucky took the little cotton round and drizzled some of the toner around on it, he passed one over to you before making one for himself. Bucky leaned in and got super close to the mirror, he watched intently as you rubbed your face. He copied, it was like the cotton pad was barely touching his face. The last thing he cleaned was his nose before pulling the cotton away, he scanned over the pad and saw the gross residue.

“Ew, that was on my face?” Bucky was enchanted by the pad, holding it super close to see the leftover dirt. You had already thrown away the pad, it made you giggle to see Bucky so hypnotized by literal oil and dirt.

“Moisturizer, final step for you,” You sang. “I like to pick it up with my knuckle, like this,” You unscrewed the lid and tapped your pointer finger knuckle to the opaque, soft cream. Bucky took his new one and did the same. He wiped it into the palm of the opposite hand, “rub it around, heat it up before putting it on,” He did just that. “You’re a pro, Buck!” You giggled as Bucky meticulously put it on. He was applying it upwards and spreading it evenly around, his fingers gently dancing across his face as the cream worked its way in.

“How do I look?” He turned to you.

“Like you’re glowing.”

“I feel like it,” Bucky laughed and looked back at the mirror. He tilted his head around to see how his skin would look under the light in the bathroom, he seemed to forget you were there and was completely in awe of what he did. Bucky brought his fingers to his face to feel around, the moisturizer had set and now his skin looked full and plump. The pads of his fingers gently tapped his cheeks and made the shimmer on his cheekbones move and twinkle.

“Alright, that’s enough admiring yourself,” you laughed and pushed him out of the way. Bucky stayed to watch you finish up your routine.

Record Player

As a way to say thanks for helping Bucky with over fifty niche things, Bucky decided to teach you how to properly use a record player.

This wasn’t any old player, this was Bucky’s player. No one was allowed to touch it without permission and even though you have never gotten the green light, you asked almost every week. This was one of the only things Bucky could really hold onto, when he touched the dark, stained wood he could almost see himself back in the 40’s; almost.

He once got really mad at the beginning of your friendship, you really didn’t know it was his, you just thought it was a talking piece. Bucky ended up yelling at you, he had just changed the needle and you were running your finger on it to see how small it was. Steve had ran in because Bucky was yelling- it was a whole ordeal that ended with Bucky not talking to you for three months.

But now there was trust and Bucky liked that after that little fiasco you didn’t even think to touch it, he could really trust you and now was a great time to show off his favourite thing. Bucky was all giddy to show his record player off to you, you were grabbing some water before he started and you noticed Bucky was using the cuff of his sleeve to wipe off a smudge before going back to inspect it.

“Alright, let’s start!” Bucky smiled. This man didn’t start with the parts and what they do, he started with the history of it all. Bucky pulled all the facts he knew about record players in general and the vintage one that was sitting in front of the both of you, his eyes seemed to light up with each new fact that popped into his mind. Part of you wanted to check your watch but you also had never seen this man get passionate over an object before, he could get passionate over people- you, Steve, Sam, etc. -but never over this. “Are you ready to play music?” He reached over into his bin and pulled a record you’ve never seen.

“Which one’s that?” You asked as Bucky pulled it out of it’s sleeve.

“It’s just a random one I picked up a week ago for this,” Bucky held the record the proper way. “Thumb on the center and index on the edge, don’t touch the actual grooves because the oils in your hands can clog them up,” Bucky moved his hand around to show you.

“Sorry, what do you mean you bought that record for this? And why does the needle look different?” you noticed the needle looked extremely worn, it looked great and new a couple days ago.

“Don’t worry,” Bucky dismissed it. “So now we are gonna place the record softly,” Bucky placed it down and turned back to you. He talked about the arm and the needle before showing you how to put it on manually and then with the little leaver, after showing them each way twice he stepped back and offered you a turn.

“Seems easy,” you mumbled and took the arm, you were doing it manually first. The movements were extremely soft and slow, when the needle made contact it took half a second before a really grainy sound came through the speakers. It sounded wrong but Bucky nodded, he applauded you for taking the needle off as well. Then you did it with the leaver, right when it was about to touch you thought it looked off so you nudged it a bit- bad idea. The needle didn’t even hit the record and part of the arm scratched the recessed vinyl. “Shit!” You yelled and ripped it off. Causing the record to scratch, the sound and the record itself, there was a shine to the edge. “Oh god! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to mess it all up- I really didn’t mean to break it- god, you must so ma- I’m sorry-” as you fumbled over yourself Bucky just started to laugh. “What?” you were about to cry because of the guilt.

“That was a sixties record and a needle that is five years old, you didn't do anything. I bought it because I knew this was bound to happen.” Bucky only laughed at your exasperated sigh, you fell into his hug like a child. “Poor baby,” he mockingly cooed, he found it so funny how you were screaming apologies at him even though it was painfully obvious it was a shit record and needle.

“That was scary, I think I need a nap after that…” you sighed.

Bucky threw you over his shoulder, “thinking the same thing, doll.

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reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

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How The Team Figure Out You’re Together

These are the first criminal minds drabbles i’ve ever written so please go easy on me! So these are ‘how the team figures out you’re together’ for: Hotch, Spencer, Morgan, and Emily.

Summary: With a team of profilers around, it’s only a matter of time until at least one of them figures out you’re together. This is how you give yourselves away.

Warnings: Some short and non-specific references to drugs and case-violence. Gender neutral reader in all cases except Emily’s (happy to adapt this if wanted!)

A/N: this is a new blog and i’m accepting requests so please feel free to fire any headcanon/drabble/fic requests my way :)

Hotch

With your jobs being what they are, there’s a need for a very clear boundary between professional and personal. So, at work he’s Hotch, Hotchner, sir. At home, he’s Aaron, babe, sir. It took some getting used to at first, there were some slips of the tongue at home when you’d shout “Hotch, dinner’s ready!” But, for the most part, you’d gotten pretty good at slipping into it with relative ease. To you, it’s kind of like they’re different people anyway. Stern leader Hotchner who barks commands is an entirely different person to deal with than Aaron who asked to borrow your pink fluffy socks while you watched a romcom last night (he said he had forgotten to do laundry, but you had your reservations about whether that was true, not that you blamed him).

It’s a Wednesday morning and you’re all sat on the jet, having been called out to a pretty gnarly case in Idaho.

Hotch is making himself a coffee when the plane jerks and you all go flying and he trips sideways and

You’re shouting “Aaron!” in a concerned tone before it even registers that it’s left your mouth

And Morgan’s looking at you with that shit-eating smirk on his face, quirking his eyebrow as if to say ‘Aaron? Did you just say Aaron?’

Hotch is more flustered than anything, he’d thankfully already set down the pot and the coffee he was holding wasn’t too hot so he’s just wiping himself off with napkins and trying to ignore the fact that Emily’s staring at him and his cheeks are a little more flushed than he’d like them to be

You try to play it off with a much more casual “Are you okay?”

He looks at you and nods, comes to sit back next to you but sits a little straighter in his seat and makes an exaggerated effort to talk to Dave

You and Aaron laugh about it when you get back to the hotel room together that night. He puts on an imitation of your voice and mimics the way you’d shouted his name, shaking his head, “You know if you’re going to react like that when I’m a cup of coffee that could be a problem in our line of work.”

You roll your eyes, “Well you’ve got a bullet proof vest for unsubs, I’m sure we can find something to protect your hands from the very real threat that is boiling water.”

He laughs, jostling you closer to him and kissing the top of your head, “So dutifully concerned. You got the worried spouse act nailed.”

“And on a plane full of profilers.”

“They won’t say anything.”

“No, luckily for you they respect you too much to mention it to you.”

They do mention it to him though. You manage to get past maybe another two weeks before you all go out for drinks together. Apparently, they had their suspicions, but your accidental ‘Aaron’ was all the confirmation they needed.

They’re all incredibly happy for you though. Which is nice, even if part of the reason they’re so happy is because it means they have something to tease you about.

Spencer

You and Spencer have been close ever since you joined, what with you both being the babies of the team. It bonded you together, that and the fact you got on really well.

He always comes to either you or J.J with problems, and lately he’s been leaning on you a lot more.

But nobody really thinks all that much of it, J.J’s just had Henry and Spencer probably doesn’t want to worry about bothering her with his problems. That’s what everyone chalks it down to.

Until you’re on a case that involves drugs. Spencer’s a little on edge throughout the case and you stay with him throughout. You bring him coffees and ask him questions to help keep him distracted, stay late with him so you can focus on narrowing down the letters that have been sent in by the unsub. You don’t know all that much about handwriting analysis but you play it off as just providing a second set of eyes. Spencer really appreciates that.

Like he really appreciates that. That you easily play off your concern for him as just you helping with the case. It’s said with such ease and so convincingly that he almost believes it and that takes the pressure off, makes him feel less like a burden.

He manages to keep himself together while you work the case. You keep a watchful eye on him, not suffocating him or hovering, just making sure he knows you’re close by.

And everybody thinks you’re just being a supportive friend, because J.J is there to lend a hand too.

It’s not until the end of the case, when the unsub has been caught, interviewed, everything is wrapped up, that he lets himself fall apart a little.

You’re headed back to the hotel room you and Emily have been sharing, when you come back to find Spencer stood outside of it.

He opens his mouth to speak but the words don’t come out.

“It’s okay,” you say, taking a step to close the gap between you, “Can I?”

He nods.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him just the right amount of tight. And he practically falls into your arms, clasping your body to his. His eyes squeeze shut and this look of contentment. The tension in his body releases for the first time in days. You have one hand resting on his back, holding close to you. The other is smoothing down the errant curls of his hair.

“I’m so proud of you Spence,” you murmur, “I’m so proud of you.”

Emily gets off the elevator and, yeah maybe it’s not such an unusual sight to see you embracing. Unusual for Spencer but after a difficult case like that it’s more than understandable.

No,it’s when he opens his eyes slightly that it clicks for her.

The safety he feels, the warmth, the trust, everything that’s conveyed in his eyes. It’s a look of a man who knows he’s home.

Morgan

You’re pretty sure that everybody on the team at least knows that Morgan has a crush on you.

He’s never really been very subtle about it in all honesty, he’s been incredibly protective of you since you joined, has gone out of his way to make you feel included and make you laugh and just take care of you however he could.

Somehow you were the only person who hadn’t realised how he felt about you.

And when that changed, after a particularly tough case when you leaned into him and he looked at you and you got a little too close and he kissed you and…

Well, after that, you did kind of see what he meant by “Not being sure how much more obvious he could be about it”

It’s after your fourth sleepover together that he says it, “Wanna ride into work together?”

“And people will think we’re coming in together becaaaause?”

Baby, everybody knows I’m crazy about you.”

“Yeah they know you’re crazy about me, I think I’ve done a little bit better a job keeping myself together.

He rolls his eyes, he knows you’re right and it equal parts irritates and impresses him that you’re the youngest of them all, have the least experience, and somehow have managed to act like nothing has even changed between you the past few weeks.

Even though it has, by a lot.

“Come on, please?”

You have to give in to him then because he looks at you so softly and with so much love. And you do want to put him out of his misery of having everybody at work thinking he’s pining for someone who doesn’t have any idea about it.

It’s just fun seeing how frustrated he gets at how well you’ve kept it together.

Luckily it’s just a day of being stuck at the office with paperwork, you only got back from a case two days ago and the serial killers of America seem to be allowing you one kindness.

Morgan has his arm around you from the moment you hop out of the car.

“I thought you wanted to tell the team?”

He chuckles, kissing the top of your head, “I want to tell everybody.”

But he’s happy, he’s smiling. So you let him steer you inside, with his arm around you. He greets absolutely everybody you pass whose name he knows, and one guy whose name you don’t know but he claims ‘either works in homicide or sex crimes and definitely spends way too long staring at your ass whenever he drops by.’

Emily, Rossi, and Spencer are all sat at their desks when you come in.

“Good morning,” He greets loudly, making sure to get their attention.

“Morgan!” You chastise him.

Emily grins when she looks up and spots you, “Well look who finally made his move.”

“Two weeks ago actually,” he corrects, “I just wasn’t allowed to show it off before now.”

“Even better, Hotch owes me 20 bucks.”

Emily

Neither you nor Emily are out at work. And that’s fine. Really, you like it better that the rest of the team doesn’t know this aspect of your business. If anything, it makes it easier. You two can head home from a night at the bar together, or share a hotel room, or grab breakfast together in the mornings without raising any suspicion at all. Heteronormativity has very few perks, but you’re willing to admit that’s one of them.

It’s a Saturday, J.J and Garcia are off out for drinks. They tried to convince you to go to girls night but this was a Saturday night off. You had your own girls night planned.

You told them you were busy with an old friend, and Emily said she had a date (technically hers wasn’t a lie).

Dinner and wine quickly evolved into kissing on the couch though.

“You’re so pretty,” she mumbles against your lips.

“You’re prettier,” you correct her.

Your hands tangle themselves in her hair, she shifts so that she’s basically sat on your lap. The kisses are more urgent now, deeper, passionate. Her hand is on the small of your back, pulling you closer to her.

And then you hear it.

“Emily we know you’re home! The lights are on! Come and drink with us!” Comes the shout of Penelope, from the front door.

“Yeah Emily, we have tequila!” J.J slurs in support.

Naturally, being semi-tipsy adult women, you decide the best plan is for you to hide. So you creep up the stairs, deciding the spare bedroom is the safest, hiding behind the door.

Emily answers, meaning to get rid of them but before she can even react, Garcia is on her. Arms flung around her while she wails drunkenly about how happy she is that Emily’s back from her date.

“Wait! Where is he! You have sex hair!” Garcia, annoyingly observant even when hammered, notes.

Emily’s so busy being smothered in Garcia’s hugs that she doesn’t even notice J.J making her way up the stairs.

And that’s how you come face to face with her.

“_____!” she exclaims, “Wait, why are you here? This isn’t the bathroom. Garcia, ____’s here!”

And there’s no real way to explain your way out of that one. Not between Emily’s tousled hair and the fact you are hidden away upstairs. You fabricate some excuse about coming over after Emily’s date and how you’d been planning to call them to ask them to join. They’re just drunk enough, and polite enough, that they don’t press it. You know they know.

Neither of you are really too bothered that they know. Half the reason you hadn’t bothered telling them was dealing with a whole sideshow about it.

And if thinking you really don’t want them knowing stops that from happening? Well, you can both live with that.

#spencer reid fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfic #reid x reader #hotch x reader #derek morgan fanfic #morgan x reader #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotch x reader #derek morgan x reader #hotchner x reader #criminal minds imagine #imagine criminal minds #criminal minds x you #imagine spencer reid #imagine aaron hotchner #imagine derek morgan #emily prentiss x reader #prentiss x reader #imagine emily prentiss

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fics-n-stuff · 3 years

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Home

Pairing: Kaz Brekker × Reader

Summary: Y/N and Kaz were once childhood friends, later reunited in the Barrel. After a business dealing went awry, Y/N has been in hiding for almost a year and the time apart has brought up a lot of feelings for Kaz.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: touch aversion, alcohol consumption

A/N: I haven't actually read SoC yet but I have done my research so I really hope I wrote Kaz accurately enough 🤞🏽 Let me know!! I left the reader gender neutral so all parties can enjoy 😁

Update: Pt 2 here!

You stared out of the window, watching the nightlife of the Barrel in full swing below you. It had been almost a year since you had been able to be a part of it all and, even though you had lived in Ketterdam all your life, you felt like an outsider now.

There was a knock on the door and you froze, head tilting to listen out for any threat. After a moment there was another knock, loud and heavy – certainly not the result of somebody’s knuckle hitting the wood. With a sigh, you stood up from the window ledge and crossed the room to the door.

Kaz was waiting on the other side, looking unamused as ever, and you waved him inside quickly and hurriedly shut the door behind him.

“I am one of three people that knock on your door, Y/N.” He said flatly, removing his hat and placing it atop your desk.

“I can’t be too careful, never know when someone might come sniffing around here.” You replied with a shrug. Kaz hummed shortly in acknowledgment before producing a small stack of envelopes from his coat. You snatched them from him eagerly, but careful to ensure that your fingers made no contact with his gloved ones.

“I’m getting tired of being your courier.”

“Well, I’m getting tired of being in hiding.” You huffed, leafing through your letters. “But I’d rather not walk around in a city where I’m actively being hunted.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten caught then.” Your head snapped towards Kaz at that, and you raised your eyebrows challengingly.

“I should slap you for that.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Kaz’s face remained largely unchanged but you could see the shine of amusement in his eyes.

You had first met Kaz as a child, while visiting family in the village where his family lived. He was a sweet child, and you had struck up a fast friendship in the few months you spent there. You had even written letters back and forth for a couple of years until one time you never got a reply.

When you met again years later, entirely by chance, Kaz was a changed person. Your family’s fortune had taken a steep downturn and you found yourself alone, living in a tiny room in a boarding house in the Barrel, when Kaz came across you pickpocketing outside the Crow Club. He had recognised you, but you hadn’t recognised him at first. Everything about him was so departed from the sweet boy that you had known as a child.

He refused to tell you what had happened to change him in this way. He never gave you a cause for the ruthless person he had become to climb the ranks of the Dregs and earn the name Dirtyhands, never even told you what had brought him to Ketterdam at all other than that his father had died. He never pushed you away though. Kept you at arms length, yes, but he never tried to dissuade you from sticking around.

The longer you knew him the more you realised that he wasn’t as cold as his demeanour portrayed. He was fiercely loyal, you could see it in the way that he was with his Crows, and you were certain that he would do anything to protect those he cared about most. You admired that about him.

“You don’t have to come, you know. You could send Inej with my letters, she already delivers me food.” You said, turning away at the realisation that you had been looking at each other in silence for a few seconds too long. You went to sit down, picking up the envelope from the top of the pile and pulling up the wax seal. Kaz didn’t respond for a long while. You tried to read your letter but found yourself distracted with anticipation of what he would say, if he said anything at all.

“I commend your commitment to your business.” He said finally, and you smiled at the compliment. “Eleven months trapped in this apartment and you’re still keeping up with it all.”

“Being in hiding is no excuse to get lazy. If anything, it gives me more of a reason to keep on top of things. Work keeps me sane and keeps coin in my pocket.”

“And how long do you intend to keep conducting your business through letters and underlings?”

“For as long as I have to, Kaz. You know that.” You answered with a quiet sigh, setting down the letter that you definitely hadn’t been reading and turning your head to face him again. You saw his jaw tense and the grip on his cane tighten, but you didn’t know what it meant. You were worried that somehow you had done or said something to upset him.

You had learned, in the few years since your reunion, that sometimes even the most seemingly innocuous things could put Kaz in a black mood. You had caught on quickly to the way that he avoided touch at all costs, and adapted your behaviour accordingly. He had still never told you why being touched triggered such a strong reaction in him, but he knew that you would always respect that fact.

It didn’t matter to you what traumas Kaz had suffered to create these traits in him, only that you knew how to navigate being in his space without violating his boundaries, because deep down you knew that Kaz was the most important person in your life. He took you in and offered you support when you needed it, given you structure and taught you skills to survive without even necessitating that you use those skills to serve his gang, all because of the friendship that you had shared as children. It didn’t matter how heartless people said the Bastard of the Barrel was, you knew that Kaz cared; perhaps not in the same way that you had come to care for him, but he did care.

“Maybe you should go, I’m sure you have work of your own to do.” You mumbled, your eyes drifting downwards anxiously. “And anyway, I have letters to read.”

“I could protect you.” He blurted. His voice was a little louder than usual, his tone less flat, and your brow furrowed in confusion and curiosity. “We could. The Crows, and the Dregs.”

“I don’t need your protection.”

“But you’d have it.”

You turned fully in your chair, straddling it with one leg either side of the backrest, and leant your forearms on the top of it. There was something in Kaz’s eyes that you’d never seen before and, although you prided yourself on being able to tell how Kaz was feeling and what he might be thinking about, you couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Do you know something that I don’t?” You questioned.

“Of course not.”

“Do you suddenly not trust my ability to keep myself safe?”

“Nothing like that, Y/N.”

“Then what?” You rested your chin on your arms, looking up at him expectantly. He held your gaze, but you could see the cogs turning in his brain as he calculated his next sentence. You were preparing for an argument to start, so you certainly didn’t expect the words that came from him next.

“I’m concerned about how long you’ve been alone here.” He answered. You blinked.

“Concerned?” Your voice cracked a little with your surprise, and Kaz clenched his jaw as he averted his eyes from you.

“I just thought that maybe all this time on your own might have had some affect on you. And I... hold a certain sense of responsibility.” His voice never wavered or faltered, other than the one pause there was no suggestion in his speech that the words held any significance to him, but you could see the tension in his shoulders and the tight grip that he maintained on his cane.

You narrowed your eyes, taking a moment to examine his face and his demeanour. Everything about him was wound tight, like he was making a particularly tricky deal rather than talking to a friend – you hoped that he considered you a friend – and though he was looking in your general direction you noted his avoidance of eye contact.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you were saying that you miss me, Mr Brekker.” You said, your mouth turning in a small smirk. You saw Kaz’s chest tighten as he silently took in a sharp breath, and you chuckled lightly. “I’m fine, Kaz. Inej visits often enough, and I’m happy to see you when you deliver my letters. I will say though, I miss drinking with your Crows.”

Truthfully, you did feel rather trapped in your tiny apartment. For almost a whole year your entire world had consisted of only three rooms, and even if you didn’t admit it you were going slightly mad. Not being able to leave was frustrating, and living your whole life in one room (because really, who spends that much of their day in the bathroom or kitchen?) made you feel like a caged animal.

He didn’t reply. He also didn’t move. You watched him, standing straight and stiff as ever in the middle of the room, for a few moments. Usually he would have said something or made a move to leave, so you knew that he was deep in thought about something. You slouched further down against the backrest of your chair.

“If you’re planning on sticking around then you should at least sit down.” You sighed. “I have some kvas, or whisky if you’d prefer.” Kaz shook his head no to the drink but made a move towards the window seat. You watched him cross the room and sit down, his grip remaining on his cane as he placed it between his knees. “What’s on your mind, Kaz?”

“It’s not important.”

“That can’t be true.”

“And why is that?” He questioned dully.

“Because you’re still here, with me, staring into space like you’re waiting for the wind to tell you a secret.” He looked at you then, and you could see a conflict swirling behind his eyes. You resisted the urge to furrow your brow in worry. He still didn’t say anything, and that didn’t do anything to ease your concern because Kaz Brekker was not often one to be at a loss for words. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes.” He murmured, his head nodding slightly.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” You asked softly. He looked into your eyes for a few seconds before turning his head away, clearly deciding not to answer. You were almost expecting him to get up and leave the apartment right then, remove himself from the uncomfortable situation like he had been known to do before, but he made no move to stand.

You stood instead, abruptly moving through to the tiny kitchen and pouring a glass of whisky for yourself. You took a long sip as you came back out into the living space, picking up a wooden staff on your way. You kept up your combat training while in hiding, though it wasn’t often that you got an opponent.

“Humour me, will you?” You smiled, spinning the staff in your hand and setting your drink down.

“There’s not much space in here.” Kaz commented.

“Then we’ll be careful. Get up and fight me, coward.” You goaded. He gave you an incredulous look but stood anyway, tossing his cane up and grabbing it at it’s middle as he came towards you. Your grin broadened, and you waited just until the was in your range before you swung at him.

Your staff collided with his cane, moved up just in time to block your attack, and he watched you with challenging amusement. You let him make the next attack, knocking his cane away when he swung it towards you.

You exchanged blows, each of you managing to block all of the other’s attacks but you were starting to corner him. It seemed like you were about to get the upper hand when he swiped his cane towards your middle, making you jump back, and before you could move to swing on him he had pushed the crow’s head handle into your chest, not so hard that it was painful but with enough force to knock you backwards.

You landed on the edge of your bed with a groan, letting the staff drop from your hand in defeat.

“No fair, your cane is basically an extension of your arm.” You grumbled. Kaz let out a short breath, the closest thing to a laugh that anyone could get from him.

“You picked the fight.” He shrugged, lowering his cane and righting it at his hip. “I could have told you that you wouldn’t win it.”

“Mean!” You exclaimed in exaggerated offense, sitting up. When you looked at Kaz his expression was soft, the worry behind his eyes seemingly eased, and you smiled. “I could beat you if it was hand to hand.”

“I don’t doubt that.” He replied, the almost compliment catching you by surprise once again.

It had been a while since you and Kaz had spent any significant amount of time together. He was a busy man, particularly so over the last few months it seemed, so other than his brief drop-ins to deliver your letters you hadn’t seen him. It was nice to have his company again, even if he was a little off.

“Do you remember those drawings of Ketterdam that I used to send you with my letters?” You questioned softly, tucking your knees up to your chest. “I used to walk around the city looking for spots to sketch. I’d spend hours sitting on the street with my pencils trying to get the picture perfect to show you what it was like. I think, now, you probably know the city better than I do.” You smiled wistfully, resting your head on your knees as you looked up at Kaz. You saw his Adam’s apple bob with a swallow.

“You miss it, don’t you?” He asked.

“Of course.”

“You could go out there, stop hiding. You know I would look out for you.”

“I can’t put that burden on you, Kaz.” You chuckled lightly. “Enough people want you dead already, you don’t need to be looking after me while I’m being actively hunted.”

“How long do you plan on staying locked in here then?”

“As long as it takes, we went through this earlier. I have a big deal coming up, with the money from that I’d be able to smooth over some edges and maybe I could come out of hiding in a few months.” You theorised. “I’d still have to watch over my shoulder all the time but it would be an improvement.” Kaz’s jaw tightened again, and he bristled with agitation.

You hugged your knees tighter, doubt and worry overcoming you. Was Kaz not okay with coming to see you here anymore? Was he trying to get you out of hiding to lighten the burden it had put on him, getting your letters delivered to the Crow Club and having to bring them to you? The thought of not being able to rely on his short visits was enough to fill your chest with a mixture of dread and guilt.

“Like I said before, you don’t have to keep coming if that’s the problem.” You added, hiding the dejection in your voice. “Inej can-"

“No.” He interrupted bluntly. You blinked, pressing your lips together in contemplation. Was he upset that Inej was bringing supplies for you? Or worse, had something happened to her? Was that what was bothering him so much tonight?

“Why not?”

“Because I-" He cut himself off. He took a step back as if regaining his balance, his gaze falling to the floor, and you watched him flex his fingers around his cane as he organised his words. “Do you remember how you got sick while you were visiting your family?”

“Kaz.” You murmured tentatively, craning your neck to try and get a better look at his face that was turned away from you. Kaz didn’t like to talk about the past. Even bringing up the letters that you sent each other had been pushing it, but for him to choose to talk about your childhood was something he had never done before. Still now, it looked like the mention of the past was making him nauseous as he moved to sit down in the window once again. Your curiosity was growing by the second.

“You got sick and you could hardly get out of bed for almost a fortnight.” He continued, dismissing your concern. “I went to visit you every day. I picked flowers for you to make you feel better, and your mother baked oatmeal cookies but I refused to have any unless you did because you weren’t eating enough.”

“I remember.” You nodded. “You never let my glass of water get empty. It was sweet. But why does it matter now?”

“I can’t... I can’t stop worrying about you. But unlike when we were kids, I can’t just walk up the street and check on you every day.”

You felt as if all the air had been knocked out of your lungs and for a second you genuinely wondered if you had made that up in your head. Kaz very rarely expressed any emotion – the mask he wore hardly ever slipped – but here he was telling you that he worried about you. For Kaz, that was practically him baring his soul for you to see.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” You said shakily. “I’ve been fine so far, haven’t I?”

“But what if you’re not fine for much longer? As long as you’re holed up here I can’t keep you safe, and I can’t come to check on you because if I come here too often people might notice. Honestly, it’s a miracle that they haven’t already.”

“I didn’t think you believed in miracles.” You mumbled. Kaz glanced up at you, and the vulnerability on his face was unlike anything you’d seen before. It struck you in the heart and made you feel a need to comfort him, to put him at ease. “I can take care of myself, Kaz. I promise."

He was silent for a moment, his gaze downcast once again, then he took a deep breath and spoke.

“I think I’ll take that drink now.”

You watched him for just a second before you got up, crossing over to your desk and picking up the glass of whiskey that you had left there. The glass was half full since you had admittedly poured a little too generously.

You held it out to Kaz, who reached for it without looking. Although you were careful to hold the glass at the very top, his gloved fingers still brushed slightly over yours as he took a hold of it. He immediately stiffened, and you were quick to pull your hand away, taking a step back to give him space. He downed the drink in one, his face scrunching just slightly at the burn it left in his throat as he set the glass down by his feet.

“I just want to be able to watch over you.” He said, his voice barely more than a whisper, and you could practically see how difficult it was for him to verbalise his feelings.

“I think... I understand what you mean, Kaz. But I’m safer staying here than being out there, even with the Dregs protecting me. You have to know that, right?”

Kaz pushed a peice of hair out of his face, his gloved hand smoothing over his head as he let out a long and quiet sigh. Finally, he looked up at you.

“I know.” He answered.

“I appreciate your concern though.” You smiled. “Honestly, I didn’t think you cared about me that much. Or, well, I knew you cared but I just didn’t think... nevermind.”

“You didn’t think what?” Kaz’s question made you pause, anxiety pooling in your chest as you contemplated coming clean about your feelings. You thought about lying, about keeping your secrets to yourself, but Kaz had been so sincere it only felt right to return his honesty. With a deep breath, you worked up the courage to finally tell him the truth.

“I didn’t think that you cared as much as I do.” You replied. The sentence hung in the air for a moment as you moved back to sit in your desk chair, heart pounding in your chest. “I’ve kind of found myself caring a lot, actually. I think it’s only fair, really. I mean, I kind of owe you my life and all so it makes sense that I care. That’s not to say that it’s sensible but it is at least understandable, I guess.”

You bit your lip to stop your rambling, dropping your head so that you didn’t have to look at Kaz. There was a long stretch of silence.

“I care more than I might show.” He spoke softly, much more softly than you think you’d ever heard his voice. When you looked up Kaz was gazing right back at you, your eyes locking and his stare going deep into your soul. He didn’t need to say more, that simple sentence and the look in his eyes were enough to tell you what he was confessing. A smile pulled at your lips.

“Be careful what you admit, Brekker, or I might think that you’re going soft.” You joked, and he shook his head lightly in amusement. You leaned forward with your elbows on your knees, letting go of the anxiety that had been coursing through you.

“I'm serious, Y/N."

“I know. You don’t make a habit of saying things that you don’t mean.” You nodded. You glanced up at the clock on your wall with a sigh. “You really should get going, it’s dangerous for us both for you to stay too long.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He muttered.

He stood after a moment, his hand flexing over the crow’s head handle of his cane. You reached back to pick his hat up from the desk, and he held a hand out for it, but instead of passing it to him you placed atop your own head. It was too big, and you had to push it back on your head so it didn’t slide over your face.

“You know, I rather like you without the hat.” You smiled.

“Is that so?”

“Yep. I can see your face better this way so I can tell when your emotions manage to break through.” Kaz’s lips quirked upwards a little as he took the hat from your head and put it on his own. You jutted your lip out in an exaggerated pout and he let out a huff that seemed suspiciously close to a laugh.

“Do you have any letters you need me to send out?”

“No, not this time.”

“Alright, then I’ll be on my way.” He gave a quick nod and turned towards the door. He had only taken a couple of steps when you twisted in your chair and called after him .

“Kaz.” He stopped and turned back to you. “I’m doing what I can to get out of this apartment, I promise.”

“That’s not something that you owe me, Y/N. It’s your freedom and your safety. But I await the day that you come waltzing into the Crow Club ready to make Jesper lose all the coin in his pocket.” He replied lightly, making you smile. “And if you need anything then I’m here, all you have to do is ask.”

“Thank you, not just for this but for everything. Everything that you’ve given me since that night outside the Crow Club. I might be dead if it weren’t for you.” You let sentiment out freely, finally feeling able to show your heart to Kaz now that you knew that your affections weren’t one sided. His expression softened, and he seemed to contemplate something deeply, before he took a single step back towards you and held out one gloved hand.

You hesitated, unsure if he was initiating what you were thinking, but he maintained eye contact. He gave a small nod, a mix of permission and encouragement, and you tentatively reached for his outstretched hand.

Kaz took in a deep breath when your hand made contact with his, and you watched him carefully ready to pull your hand away. After a moment he released the breath, wrapping his fingers lightly around yours and running his thumb over your knuckles.

“You’re the closest thing to home that I have.” He croaked. “I didn’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t.” You affirmed. Kaz released your hand, and you found yourself missing the feeling of the leather glove. He took a small step back, trying to hide the shake in his breathing.

“I’ll come back soon, as soon as it’s safe to.”

“Okay.” You smiled. “I’ll see you then.”

Kaz left the apartment without another word between you, he paused before closing the door after himself just to look at you for a moment longer. You watched out of the window to see him leave the building and start off through the street, a broad smile on your face.

#shadow and bone #six of crows #shadow and bone netflix #sab #sab netflix #soc #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker fic #kaz brekker oneshot #grishaverse #leigh bardugo #crooked kingdom #jesper fahey #inej ghafa #dirtyhands #bastard of the barrel

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odos-bucket · 3 years

Text

Bruce Being Super Protective of His Kids in Their Out-Of-Costume Lives Pt. 2 Re-Write

Basically this story with a little bit of extra angst injected in

Jason isn’t particularly well adapted to the kinds of social gatherings that Bruce’s position within the city demands they participate in. He attends his first event a few months into his stay at Wayne manor. He goes in fully expecting it to be terrible, and is not disappointed.

The old ladies trying to pinch his cheeks were something that Dick had warned him about. His tone had been light, like maybe it was something that he thought was funny, or was trying to think of as funny. But Jason doesn’t like to be touched, not by people he doesn’t know. He's only just starting to feel okay about casual physical affection from his new family. He doesn’t think Dick was trying to scare him exactly, but he accomplishes it anyway.

From the time the shindig begins he’s wound so tight he’s practically vibrating. He has no idea how he’s supposed to act at something like this. Things he’s never thought about before are suddenly tormenting him. He can’t figure out how to stand, or what he should be doing with his hands. He’s never been self conscious, but now he’s in this stupid room, wearing this stupid suit, surrounded by these stupid people, and it’s making him feel awkward.

The first time somebody tries to touch him he flinches away violently. He doesn’t mean to; it’s just what happens. It earns him a series of incredulous looks, from the man who had made the mistake of putting a hand on his shoulder, and a few other people in the vicinity.

Jason relocates himself quickly, not that one corner of the large room is really any better than any other.  The next time someone tries to touch him, it’s his face. He had already decided that he didn’t like the woman in question before it happened. Her voice is an annoying pitch. Her words are all condescending. And even before reaching out for him she had been standing way too close.

If the proximity hadn’t been enough to put him on high alert the patronizing way she spoke to him certainly would have done it.

When her fingers come to press against his chin- as if she wants to turn his head to examine him- he pushes her away. Again, he doesn’t mean to do it exactly. It’s an instinctive reaction (and a pretty reasonable one, he thinks).

This time, however, he gets more than a few suspicious stares. The movement itself had been subtle enough not to draw any attention he didn’t already have. But the woman replies with an outraged squawk, that suddenly brings dozens of eyes onto them, and sets Jason’s heart racing at a panicked pace.  He freezes. Being stared at had been pretty high on his list of things to avoid tonight. And now people are talking too.  “Why you little-“

“What happened?”

“Wayne’s little rat-“

“Did you just hit her?”

“Delinquent-“

“Did he just hit her?!”

The woman he shoved looks like she might be about to slap him, but he’s honestly less concerned about that than he is about the mix of curious and indignant bystanders drawing closer. They’re not surrounding him really, but it sure as hell feels like they’re trying to, and Jason’s had enough experiences being surrounded to know that it never leads to anything good. At the moment he’s having a hard time processing anything beyond the terrified impulse to lash out again, not to hurt anyone, just to get them away, so that maybe he can get away.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Oh god, Bruce. Jason’s not surprised the scene got his attention, but he’s a little startled to hear a much darker tone than his regular civilian voice.

Every muscle in his body that wasn't already tense tightens up, and heat flares at the back of his neck. He doesn't want to be in trouble. He doesn't even really know what being in trouble means in this new life yet, and he's been hoping to put off finding out as long as possible.

Bruce forces his way through the crowd. Some of the onlookers redirect their attention away as he approaches. A handful of voices from different directions make overlapping attempts to answer his question. Jason hears something about how he’s, “not as well behaved as your last stray,” but isn’t looking up in time to see how the comment makes Bruce bristle, and just feels the warm shame that he wishes it didn’t ignite in him.

Bruce reaches them in seconds, takes in the woman’s body language, and immediately drags her several feet back from Jason. When he speaks, he manages to sound like Batman (at least to Jason’s knowing ears), even without the voice modulator.

"You will never put your hands on my child again.”

Jason's not sure what he had been expecting Bruce to say, but that wasn't it, and hearing it gives him whiplash, makes his heart that had already been beating in his throat stutter to a halt.

“I didn-“ the woman begins. “Your urchin-“

“Did you touch him?” Bruce's voice is deceptively calm.

“I was only-“

“Yes or no.”

“I didn’t hurt him,” she scoffs.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

Jason wants to say that it doesn't matter, that it isn't a big deal, because really it shouldn't be. He shouldn't be afraid to be touched; it's just one more thing about him that so glaringly doesn't belong. But he's still not sure whether or not he's in trouble, and if he is then he's learned from experience that it's better to keep his mouth shut.

“Mr. Wayne, the kid attacked her. All she did was touch him.” One of the few onlookers who isn’t pretending not to be paying attention pipes in.  Bruce’s jaw grinds, as he looks slowly between the man who had spoken, and the woman.

“So you did touch him?”

“This is ridiculous!”

It's somehow the worst thing she could have possibly said. Jason already knows he's ridiculous. He can feel it with every fiber of his being, and the confirmation that everyone else can apparently see it too sparks a stinging sensation at the back of his throat.

“On that we’re agreed.” Bruce slips further into his regular public persona as he speaks, and Jason flinches slightly at his words.

Bruce looks over the remains of the audience they’d acquired, making pointed eye contact, silently subduing any conflict before it can arise. By the time he turns back to where the woman had been standing, she’s hurried away. The sparse handful of people still shooting them scandalized glares are at least a little easier to ignore.

Bruce approaches Jason, who forces himself to keep his eyes open and his gaze up.

He's getting ready to apologize. He hadn't wanted to embarrass Bruce, or to get him in trouble with whoever the hell those people had been- with his luck probably someone important. He doesn't want to be in trouble either, but he recognizes that that ship has probably sailed already. He just wishes he knew what kind of punishment to expect; he hasn't been here that long, and adult behavior is hard to predict.

“Are you okay?”

Jason blinks, and apparently it takes him longer than he thinks to process and respond to the question, because Bruce asks it again.

This time he nods, figuring it’d be pretty stupid for him not to be okay.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Bruce asks.

Jason knows that it's not really a question; he's already done enough damage for the night after all. He nods his head. He’s not totally sure how to get back to the manor from here- he still doesn’t know this part of town very well- but he’s sure he’ll be able to figure it out before Bruce wraps up here.

“Let’s get our coats.”

Jason looks up in surprise, but Bruce is already walking away.

Right. He guesses it makes more sense that they’d be leaving together. He's noticed that rich families like to keep any shows of conflict private. One of the consequences of which being that he still doesn’t know how the hell these people discipline their children.

He nods again, cheeks still burning with embarrassment.

They leave the party without further incident, catching a cab back to the manor.

Bruce observes Jason’s defensive body language as they slide into the backseat.

“Are you sure you’re okay, lad?” He asks slowly.

He receives a tight nod in reply, and sighs.

“Do you want to help me get a better picture of what happened in there?”

Because what he’s looking at isn’t okay. He’s seen his witty, outgoing child shut down like this before, and it usually means he’s scared. Bruce needs to know if he was spooked by something innocuous, or if he’s going to need to hurt someone.

Jason turns from being seemingly caught off guard by the question, to apparently desperate to answer it in the span of a second.

“I swear I didn’t hit her! It was just that she-“ He shakes his head, apparently deciding against whatever he’d been about to say. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? You’re not in trouble, Jason, not unless I’m really missing something here.”

That earns him a long suspicious look.

“I don’t like to be touched,” Jason grumbles after a minute.

“And people shouldn’t feel entitled to touch you.”

He learned pretty quickly when he first became a parent not to assume that adults would always respect children’s boundaries. And he knows that Jason has been hurt. He’s not sure exactly how, or by who, but the signs are all there. And he shouldn’t have to deal with being forcibly reminded of that by the carelessness of others; he’s a kid for god’s sake!

“Is that all-“ He stops himself from finishing the question. “People shouldn’t feel entitled to touch you,” he reiterates. “Can you tell me if anything else happened? If anyone hurt you, or threatened you?”

Jason starts to shake his head, but stops with his neck angled slightly toward Bruce.

“I thought she was gonna hit me,” he admits.

Bruce’s body tenses up. He had noticed that himself when he’d first entered the scene, and what he had read in her body language had made him see red.

“And then there were so many other people,” Jason continues. “And they were talking, and staring at me. It had me feeling kind of boxed in.”

“I’m so sorry, son.”

Jason looks a little startled up at him.

“Just to be clear,” he says slowly. “I’m not in trouble?”

“You’re not in trouble,” Bruce confirms. “I promise I will always do whatever I can to protect you from people like that.”

#batfamily #batfam #bruce wayne #jason todd #batdad #batman and robin #dc #my writing #dcu #batman #*John Mulaney voice* ''that's the same story twice''#i know #shh

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katsulia · 4 years

Note

Heyyy! Could you do "he offends you" with kuroo, Tsukishima and daichi? Thank uu!

He offends you - part3

featuring : Kuroo, Tsukishima

Atsumu and Kageyama version

a/n : I’m so sorry that I took soooooo long to answer this, but here it is ! Daichi version will come in another part with Oikawa’s one !

Kuroo

The exams were coming up fast and as they approached your stress only increased considerably. The dark circles were even more visible on your face and you could see the tiredness miles away. It was absolutely necessary to ensure good grades for this semester in order to hope to make up for the less honourable grades of the previous semester. The nights were long and at this point you could compete with the Hunchback of Notre-Dame and could easily win because of your slouched position upon your desk.

However, that didn't stop Kuroo from coming to visit you in your room. After more than two years of relationship he had learned to notice everything about you whether it was your way of making noise with your nails on any surface, cutting your fruit always very meticulously or your stubbornness. That's why he knew he had to intervene this weekend after having left you all week to your stubbornness to work in an unhealthy way. So at the end of the afternoon he appeared in your apartment with a bag full of your favorite sweets in his hand. Not surprisingly, he found you in your room, hunched over your desk with a multitude of documents and manuals scattered on it. Standing with his head in the doorway, he couldn't help smiling at your concentrated expression and your rather peculiar posture.

"Hey kitten, how's it going?" he whispered in the middle of your ear after putting the bag on your bed. His arms came around your body even though you didn't seem very responsive to his approaches.

"Hmm ... Tetsu wait, I need to focus on this chapter." You got out of his grip without even looking up from your notebook.

Obviously this was not to the liking of Kuroo who was getting more and more worried about your condition. Beyond the fact that he may have been in need of attention, he considered your stubbornness useless at this stage. The rhythm that you had adapted in the last few days was not at all productive and you deserved to take a break.

"You should take a quick pause chibi-chan" he tried one last time to talk some sense into you. His hand stroking your hair was meant to reassure you, but it only intensified your anxiety and irritation towards him.

"I really need to work on this course and get a good grade." You let out a long sigh at the end of your sentence because this debate with Kuroo was just wasting your time. "You let out a long sigh at the end of your sentence because this debate with Kuroo was just taking up your time.

Kuroo rolled his eyes, you were not even aware that it was counterproductive and you were too narrow-minded for him. "But what you're doing here is useless, you have to stagger your workload, otherwise your brain won't memorize anything and you know it. But once again you prefer to be stubborn when it harms you, that's not the way to get a good grade. »

He was certainly telling the truth and probably didn't mean to be rude, but that didn't stop his words from being a little too raw. Deep down you knew that he only wanted what was good for you, but at that moment you took it as a personal attack, especially since the pressure you were putting on yourself would soon make you explode. Having your boyfriend question your way of working was the last thing you needed. Subconsciously you clenched your fist around the pen you were holding and took a deep breath with your eyes closed to try to calm yourself down. But soon tears began to form and flow down your cheeks. Both on edge and totally vulnerable you didn't want to let Kuroo see you like this.

"Ok, I get it Tetsuro, but I remind you that not all of us are geniuses like you and some of us need to work. Which I'm trying to do, I'm sorry that I don't belong to the same world as you." Your tone was cold and dry which was rare for you. "Your tone was cold and dry which was rare for you. But it's true that the fact that Kuroo was pretty good academically didn't help the situation and you almost felt humiliated like a child being scolded by an adult. You would have liked to be like Kuroo and understand everything at first hand without having to spend hours in your lessons hoping for a decent grade, but this was not the case.

Kuroo, on the other hand, was petrified and didn't expect this at all. It had nothing to do with his abilities? He never thought he had offended you or even looked down on you. It's true that sometimes he liked to tease you about your dubious knowledge in chemistry but it never went any further. He felt extremely bad because he only made you feel worse when his goal was the opposite. But it wasn't a time for laments and regrets right now, you were the one who needed help. He turned your chair and lowered himself to your level to talk to you straight in the eyes.

"Kitten, I'm really sorry you feel that way. First of all, I'm not here to blame you or lecture you, but I know how hard you've worked and how you forgot to take care of yourself, so I wanted you to take a break. I assure you that it will do you good and that you will be ready to go back to work in better conditions. And I know this because I know you are determined and stubborn in the positive ways but sometimes you don't even pay attention to yourself anymore." His thumbs caressed your cheeks and dried your tears, and miraculously the feeling of his fingers on your skin instantly calmed you down. It was hard to look him straight in the eye, but it was clear that his gaze was only holding love for you. « And secondly, I'm not a genius. I'm just a nerd who spends all his time making chemical jokes, please don't ever devalue yourself over that again, okay?" Automatically you let a smile appear on your face, he was right he was a nerd first and foremost. Kuroo then smiled, happy to see you feeling better already. He dared to place a kiss on your forehead and his heart warmed up when he felt your hands clinging to his shirt.

"Come on, now we're watching Emily in Paris, and I've got your favorite snacks. And then I promise I'll help you study." You didn't even have time to say anything that Kuroo was already lifting you up on the way to your bed. And getting under the comforter cuddled to Kuroo was certainly not something you were going to say no to.

Tsukishima

Often after class you would stay in the library for a while and work on while Tsukishima finished training with the volleyball team. But today it wasn't in your plans, at least not since lunch.

You were discussing with Kiyoko and Yaichi about the progress of the semester and the growing complexity of homework. The girls were interested in your grades and how you were managing everything as if it was easy.

"If getting good grades means getting the same results as Kageyama and Hinata, then yes, you can ask Y/N for advice," you almost jolted at the voice of your boyfriend that was just behind you. Kageyama who was standing aside looked at him with daggers in his eyes yet Tsukishima remained totally indifferent. It was the girls who burst out laughing at this scene knowing full well that he was trying to prick the two boys who undoubtedly excelled on a volleyball court but much less when it came to bringing home good grades. Soon you joined them in your turn, as you could not hold your breath in front of a smoking Kageyama.

But even if you laughed at the core you took Tsukishima's remark very badly. You were used to your boyfriend's rather harsh words and knew that most of his coldness was deceptive, although this time you couldn't help being struck by his words. You felt humiliated worse than when you were in public. Did he really see you like that, a little silly around the edges? You liked to think that he didn't, after all he wasn't the kind of person to bother with people who didn't deserve his time. And that's not true, you were far from having castrophic results, and anyway, even that wouldn't change the fact that your intelligence was certainly not defined by your grades. Yet you were just thinking about it because you were rather proud of the results you were getting after the efforts you were making, and Tsukishima more than anyone else knew this because he himself was a witness to the work you were putting in. Until now you had always believed that he was proud of you even though he didn't show it so much because it wasn't in his nature, but right now you strongly doubted it.

That's why you didn't want to go home with him and have to endure any more nasty remarks from him. All the way home you just replayed what he had said and kept repeating his words over and over again. You know you shouldn't give it too much importance, but it was impossible to ignore his cold voice in your head. Your spirits had taken a hit and you just wanted to get into your comforter and move on. But suddenly your cell phone lit up with a new message from Tsukishima.

You went home early?

Your thumbs stayed up above your screen not knowing if you should answer or not. Was he surprised not to see you at the gym doors? Honestly, what did he expect? You hadn't even exchanged a word after lunch.

Yes

Fast and efficient. Even he would have answered like that. The message was simple and didn't say anything special.

Okay. Why?

I wanted to study so I wouldn't have the same grades as Kageyama and Hinata.

The second you sent the message you were already regretting it. Surely he was going to know that you were referring to the lunchtime and he was going to bother you even more with it. You would have been better off ignoring it and finding some other excuse he's never going to let you go with it again.

Read. No answer? Maybe it was better than one of his terrible comebacks that you absolutely didn't need right now. But yet it still affected you a little bit more, he really doesn't care, does he? Didn't he realize that sometimes it was too much and that a relationship shouldn't be like that? All these questions were running through your head while you were lying there in bed staring at the ceiling. You don't know how long you were in that position before a big blonde head barged into your room.

"Kei? What are you doing here? "Your face reflected your surprise and you immediately straightened up to see your boyfriend coming closer and closer to you.

"Your brother let me in and I knocked on the door but you didn't hear me." he stopped a few feet from your bed and stood staring at you. His face seemed neutral and unemotional, which wasn't really surprising.

"Uh ... Yes ... But that still doesn't explain why you're here? "You were stumbling over your words, which conveyed your anxiety and incomprehension about his unexpected presence.

"I spent the end of the day surrounded by idiots like Kageyama and Hinata. And I was hoping after that to go home with my girlfriend to recharge my batteries and finally be with someone who doesn't give me a headache. Except that today I'm the one who hurt her head. "Without even wanting to, your eyes softened and you already wanted to take him in your arms. But your brain was still resisting and thinking about what he had said earlier.

"Yet you thought I was on the same footing as your two teammates. "With your arms folded, you stared at Tsukishima, who couldn't help but sigh at your pout.

"But you know that if you were anything like them I would never hang out with you. I wouldn't want you to be my girlfriend. "You rolled your eyes, there was nothing romantic about it. But when he sat on your bed and intertwined your fingers you already had a slight smile on your face. Seeing that you weren't rejecting him, he moved closer to you and placed his head on your shoulder. "Sorry," he whispered softly. And if that wasn't enough for some of us it was more than enough for you, especially since you already knew that tomorrow he would take you to your favorite bubble tea and that it would last all week.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu writing #haikyuu x you #haikyuu scenarios #kuroo tetsuro imagine #kuroo imagine #kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo scenarios #kuroo tetsuro x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima scenarios #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei imagine

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kachuuyaa · 3 years

Text

##MELANCHOLY'S INTOXiCATiON — genshin impact

g.i, kaeya, fic? drabble?

1CHARACTER; KAEYA

2GENRE; fluff? i dunno

3INCLUDES; alcohol, kaeya being drunk, kaeya, reader being sick and tired Damn u just want to sleep, u playing the piano because youre a Good Friend 🤣💥😲⁉️😲

4AUTHOR’S NOTES ?! sometimes i want to hug kaeya sometimes i want to punch him 😘🤨 love him though he’s just an asshole sometimes your honor

5SYNOPSIS; was it intoxication that led them to you? They say you succumb to impulsiveness when you drink, but was it really impulsiveness when they showed up at your doorstep? In which, they stumble onto your house, inebriated and miserable. out of pity, (at least, that's what you say) you lay them on your couch and play a piano piece for them. Since when did you play the piano?

..WAS IT A HARD DAY FOR HIM? HE himself didn't know. Whatever it is, it ended up being one of those nights. his breathing unstable, head down low, fingers entangling a glass of the famous Death After Noon. His memories, however, are what he's trying to forget for the night (as always, but really, he wouldn't admit it.) but, much to his displeasure, while he was trying to drown his life away with his drinks, his memories decide to drown him in. Kaeya liked to call himself confident and exceptional, but with you, his confidence seemed to lessen. How dare you, he thinks, familiar yet in denial with these feelings, how dare you make me able to feel such things, he thinks again, he blames you, it's a daily thing for him now, whenever his emotions go haywire, when he looks at you and feels— nervous, at first, why would he feel nervous? He knew the answer already. Although Kaeya Alberich, ever the cunning liar, thinks—oh, no, he knows, that it's but a crush. Now, though? Oh, how you've swept said Cavalry Captain, he's absolutely smitten for you, and he wonders if you are too. He doesn't know, nor he doesn't care how many ounces he has drunk, but it seems enough for him to get sent out by his beloved brother. A scowl printed on the redhead's face, snatching his brother's cup when he was about to order— again. Seriously, when he's in love, (was that the right word to describe it, now?) he managed to get more annoying, that doesn't make him less irresistible. (at least, that's what he thinks.) Diluc only sighs, however, concern replacing his aloof demeanor. they weren't on the best of terms, per se— scratch that, they weren't on good terms. Have you ever seen Diluc without his scowl whenever his eyes land on Kaeya? "Go home, Kaeya." Diluc warns, but Kaeya only smiles, "Is dear brother worried for me?" He says, slurred— but his stepbrother was able to notice the slight tease on his tone. He clicked his tongue, turning away, to revel in the light the moon provided. It's almost like the sky, the gods, were mocking the cavalry captain. His periwinkle eye shines under the twilight, making his face a sight to those who noticed. He grunts, standing up from his seat, legs a bit wobbly due to the amount of drinking he had done. a few crack of his joints, he managed to stand up straight— for a few seconds, that is. He turns around, back to where his stepbrother was last seen, "See you soon, brother, goo— ah," he spoke, a pained click of his tongue was heard; he gained a headache. "Good night." He managed to voice out, stepping out of the tavern, footsteps uneven and vision blurred. He could only imagine a faint "take care of yourself, Kaeya." from Diluc.

A knock on your door, who could it be? At this hour, as well? [Name], ever the overthinker. Capable of replacing Kaeya's position on the Knights Of Favonius, do you think? You really did not have the energy to tend to anyone today. Although you really didn't do anything today, let's gloss over that. The moon— reminds you of that periwinkle eye that never seems to leave your figure. You weren't an idiot, you knew, but what you didn't know, was did he know that you know? He didn't, actually. He tried being subtle; he thought he was being subtle. He was described as observant, yet he still doesn't know that he's not being subtle; was it on purpose? You didn't know, and yet, you can't find yourself to care. You just needed confirmation. To be fair, when you dream about him and when he manages to have the key to your heart, does that mean you love him? Another knock, this time, louder. Letting out a 'tch' in frustration, you get up, walking to the door as slowly as possible. Was it cruel, to make the unexpected and definitely unwanted visitor wait for a while? To you, obviously not. You were about to sleep, for fucks' sake. Turning the doorknob, You were met with quite an unexpected sight. Kaeya, the man you were thinking about just a few moments ago, slumped on the wall near your door, clothes disheveled, lips stained with what you could make out as wine, hair tousled, some strands falling on his face, a slight blush on his cheeks— something you have never seen before, and his hands were placed on his forehead. He was heavily breathing and seemed to have put your attention on you when you oh so softly called out his name. "Hello, darling," the pet name rolled off his tongue before he could prevent it. Was this man trying to kill you? If he is, he's doing a damn good job. (just like he always is.) with his noticeable, yet unique eyes boring into your own, his features being illuminated, courtesy of the moonlight. Quickly snapping out of your thoughts, you turned to the man looking at you. "Why.." you made a circling motion with your pointer finger, to which Kaeya chuckled at. His voice, raspy, entered your ears and led you to the conclusion that he was, once again, drunk. "I think you have an idea, princess." He said, the pet name once again leaving his mouth. You could feel your face heating up, however, that was the least of your concerns. "Anyways.." He trailed off, cocking his head to the door, "Are you gonna let me in?" He really didn't want to entertain any questions relating to why he came to your house instead of his, (once again, he decides to blame it on his feelings-- on you) but he decides to play along; that's what he does best, no?

You reluctantly let him in, hearing a relieved ‘thank you’ from the blue-haired man. Contemplating whether to make him sleep on the couch or in the guest bedroom— did you even have one? You forgot the interior of your house due to how tired you are. Not that you were complaining, thinking makes your head hurt on nights like these. in the middle of your internal monologue, Kaeya made himself comfortable on your couch; a squeak was heard when he was shifting. You quickly shifted your gaze to the man who is now in front of you. Silence fills the canvas that is the sky and your living room. "Remove your accessories," You mumble, hoping that he would hear it. He flicked his head to you, smirking, "At least take me out for drinks," He teased, and you couldn't help but deadpan at him. Oh, you’re taking him out alright. With a sword. Although intoxicated, his teasing was still unrelenting. He obeyed you, either way, taking off his cape, (was it a cape? it looks like so.) and his pelt of fur, placing them carefully on the small coffee table in front of him. Then, his boots came off as well. "Enjoying the view, hm?" He cooed, locking his eyes with yours, and you let out an amused hum, unfazed by his antics. "Right," you really don't want to deal with this today. It's late at night, and this Cavalry Captain decided to barge into your doorstep. You didn't want to ask why, though, he'll tease you relentlessly while avoiding the topic. You grabbed some spare pillows and blankets from your other room. Internally clicking your tongue and cursing him out in your mind, you halted your footsteps when you saw him sleeping. His mouth was slightly agape and his legs were (long, was your first thought) bent so he could fit on your couch. Snickering to yourself, you gently lifted his head up to put the pillow below him, and a blanket on top of him. Thinking about it, you doubted the reason why he came here was to bring false hope. To make you believe that you actually had the chance to be with the Kaeya Alberich, the proclaimed bachelor of Mondstadt. You knew how many people would kill to be in your place right now, but that, you could care less about. Kaeya was unpredictable; you knew. You kept learning new things about him every day, but to others, it may seem that he could read you like the back of your hand. He wasn't wrong, nor was he right, but the things you do are sometimes predictable, some even more so than others. You surprise him, you really do; you could learn things and adapt to certain situations in a snap, and that was probably what allured him. You were attractive, it was obvious, it doesn't take a genius to see that, but what attracted him was the personality you never showed to people. It was a privilege to Kaeya, to him, at least. You sighed, walking towards your grand piano in the center of the living room, light reflecting from its material. You made sure your footsteps were soft so as not to disturb the man on your couch, and you sat down. A melody won't hurt, would it?

your fingers worked their way to the keyboard, and then, you play. Your fingers were like weavers— skilfully weaving a masterpiece and satisfying its client, and you— clearly you weren't going to fail such powerful pianists, now would you? You were painting a canvas using your fingers, pressing on its keys ever so gently; the music traveling with the wind. You had a natural talent for piano, it was obvious, you never had a hard time implementing piano pieces onto your head. Your fingers were single-handedly forming a story on their own on the piano, pressing onto its tiles and carefully playing each note. Kaeya, on the other hand, was never asleep. This was one of the moments where you never fail to surprise him. Piano? Since when were you able to play such an instrument? You never mentioned such a thing to him, nor to anyone he could recall. Could he say that this melody you were playing, just for him, made him fall even harder? It was a pit that he could never escape, he realized that. Maybe the reason why he was here was that he was looking for you. He knew that he loved you, he's not denying it anymore. Who knew that such a simple piece could impact someone's thoughts—

Kaeya's thoughts? Simple, because it was you who was playing it, you, the person who he has fallen in love with, who never fails to make his heart race even when you just spare a glance at him, and you, who has amazed him in more ways than one. He slept soundly to the tune of your melody, dreaming about you, and he wondered, are you dreaming about him too?

26052021 , © kachuuyaa | do not claim my work as your own.

not proofread.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #kaeya fluff #kaeya x reader #kaeya imagines #genshin impact kaeya x reader #kaeyagenshinimpact #fuck you kaeya #stop showing up to their house kaeya #confess now kaeya #dumbass kaeya

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

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Pleaseee do anything to do with Izuku and his huge amounts of strength. Like we know hes powerful asf I just want to hear about how this man will get a bit impatient and he uses 1% of his power and you get blown across the room- you finally realize that Izuku is holding back, and he could snap your neck if he really wanted to.

He’s too strong for his own good, isn’t he? And it’d only get worse when he’s a Pro, with the skill set proper hero and none of the self-restraint, especially when it comes to keeping his Darling in line. His methods aren’t exactly encouraging, but if he’s lucky, you’ll be too busy nursing a dozen broken bones to act out.

Title: Strength.

TW: Graphic Violence, Mentions of Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Touching, and Delusional Mindsets.

In his defense, Izuku had never claimed to be a gentle lover.

He wasn’t violent, either, not when you first got together, not when he was still a stuttering, blushing mess who could barely hold your hand without having to hide his face in your shoulder or make up an excuse to let go a little too early. For weeks, every touch was tentative, every kiss preluded by a flurry of nervous questions. By the time he finally calmed down and swallowed his nerves, you’d begun to wonder how he managed to fight villains without asking if they were ‘alright’ every fight minutes. He’d been afraid of hurting you, back then… or, you guess he’d never really been afraid. He’d been aware that he could, and that’d made him anxious, it’d made him hesitant. But, hesitance was a thing that wore off, with experience, and Izuku was good at adjusting. He was adaptive, and you were too relieved your boyfriend could finally put his arm around your waist to notice just how tight his grip could be, from time to time.

That was your mistake, you guess. You should’ve been more attentive.

You should’ve started paying attention when he started leaving bruises.

But, it was too late to regret that now. Izuku wasn’t your boyfriend, anymore, he was your captor, and you weren’t his playful, fragile partner, you were his stubborn, breakable captive, with too much will of your own and not nearly enough love for him. He hadn’t really accepted it, not yet, but that didn’t matter. It hadn’t since the moment he came home, exhausted and irritated and touchy, and since you’d been as reluctant to let him near you as you always were. Every window was locked, the front door serving as the host to half a dozen different deadbolts, but running was second-nature, by now, as was doing anything and everything you could to keep his fingertips from digging into your sides, to keep that monster away from you, even you knew it’d be useless, in the end.

But, there were things you could to do draw out the process, and that was why you were currently in a half-empty cabinet, your knees pulled into your chest and your back pressed against something hard and uneven and jagged. Hiding wasn’t preferable, but you only had so many options, and it was so, so much better than the alternative.

Izuku was never happy with your small shows of rebellion, but today, he seemed more disgruntled than he usually was. Even from across the apartment, you could hear him, his incoherent mumbling filling what little empty space there might’ve been, making it hard to think, making it hard to breathe, making it impossible not to wince when a door slammed or one of his steps was heavier than it should’ve been. You could hear him looking for you, but his search was half-hearted, at best, and he seemed to be caught between the urge to find you quickly, and the temptation to huff and mutter and stomp until you came out on your own, your head bowed and an apology already playing on your tongue. You didn’t know if he liked to feel strong, but you knew he loved it when you felt weak. Weak enough to let him act like your faultless, innocent, valiant hero, anyway.

“Baby,” He called out, finally choosing to be a little more proactive with his attempts to threaten you into submission. “C’mon, (Y/n), you know I didn’t mean to scare you. I was frustrated, I didn’t want to grab you, but you were trying to get away from me, and it’s been such a long day, and…” He trailed off, a heavy sigh following a moment of silence. “You know I’d never hurt you, right? Not unless you forced my hand. I spend all day fighting people who want me dead, I wouldn’t have a reason to make you hate me, too.”

He wouldn’t have a reason to. He doesn’t want to. Not he won’t, not he couldn’t, just that if he did, you’d be the one to blame. He could go one for hours, like that, trying to convince you that this was for your own good, that if there was a better solution, he’d stop at nothing to find it, but you were still the one being kept prisoner in your own home while he was free to do as he pleased, in the outside world. And, if you tried to reason with him, if you tried to explain that you could keep yourself safe from more than just domestic trivialities and boredom, it’d be his hand around your throat, and your lungs would be the ones left to scream. You couldn’t say he wanted to, but he certainly didn’t need to. He’d just rather listen to you gasping for air than speaking your mind, apparently.

“I know you can hear me, angel.” His voice was colder, now, more collected but no less hostile than it had been. You could hear his footsteps getting closer, growing louder as he moved onto the tiled floor of the kitchen. Reflexively, you curled into yourself, doing your best to limit what little sound your breathing created, but if he knew where you were hiding, he didn’t feel the need to put you out of your misery quickly, only going on in that smooth, empathetic tone he was so fond of. “There’s really no reason to be this stubborn. I love you, and you love me, and if you’d just see things from my perspective, you’d know why having someone warm and welcoming to come home to is so important to me.”

There was a slight pause. You stopped breathing completely as he took a step towards your chosen sanctuary.

“Or, maybe you wouldn’t,” He admitted. “You haven’t tried very hard to understand me, not since we moved in together.” Since he kidnapped you. Since you woke up, handcuffed to someone else’s bed while Izuku tried to explain why this was necessary. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you don’t love me at all, anymore.”

Another step. Something came to rest on the counter above you with a quiet thud.

“Honestly, I’m starting to think you’re too much of a brat to know what’s good for you.”

With that, he brought his fist down on the countertop, and you hardly had time to think before you were flinching back, elbow colliding with the cabinet wall and making the smallest, hollowest noise. So minor and so quiet that, for a moment, you thought Izuku might've missed it.

But, he hadn’t.

Izuku was always so observant, when it came to you.

In the space between one second and another, the cabinet door was thrown open, something hot and crushing latching on to your ankle, dragging you out of your hiding place and out onto the freezing, unforgiving floor, putting out on display for your oh-so-dedicated assailant. Izuku’s expression was neutral, devoid of everything but a narrowed gaze and thin, pursed lips, but his vice-grip was more than enough to express his anger, so tight, so oppressive, it felt like your bones might cave in underneath it, collapse into little more than dust and fragments and helplessness. It was awful. It was painful. Already, tears were building up in the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision, making the man above you into little more than a muddled image of tan skin dark eyes and ugly, ugly delusions.

And then, he squeezed.

His free hand came up, his palm pressing against your mouth and stifling your scream, but that did little to soften to blow, to stop something in your ankle from cracking as pressure turned into force, and force turned into fire, racing from your heel to your knee as you tried to kick, tried to writhe, tried to do anything that might lessen the pain. It was pointless. Izuku’s grip was stead-fast, keeping you grounded and forcing you to reach out, instead, your fingers soon tangled in his hair as you pulled at his scalp and pushed at his chest, an effort that only made you feel childish, that only made you feel weak. Yelling wasn’t an option, not when it was all you could do to bite your sobs into whimpers and bury your face in his shirt as you began to cry in earnest, pain and fear turning into something dark and desperate, even if his touch had never done anything to comfort you.

Still, Izuku tried. He didn’t pull you up, didn’t move to help you, but he wrapped an arm around your midriff as you lost the will to struggle and rubbed soft, delicate circles into your side, a gesture you didn’t doubt there’d be bruises for, tomorrow. “I’m sorry, I got carried away,” He started, the words whispered against the crook of your neck. “It’s just…”

There was a light, almost inaudible chuckle.

You wondered if you’d be able to claw his eyes out before he broke your hands.

“Accidents happen, right?”

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moonbeamsung · 4 years

Text

Serendipitous Synergy

“I can’t believe I got stuck with you, of all people, as a dance partner.”

“What? Scared I’ll steal the spotlight?”

“In your dreams, Lee.”

member: haechan

au: dance partner and rival!haechan x gn!reader

word count: 4.9k

genre: angst, suggestive, fluff

warnings: talk of insecurities and thoughts of self-doubt, a house party, stubborn reader, smug haechan, mentions of ‘sexual tension’ in the context of a dance, kissing, slight innuendos

author’s note: As a dancer myself, this idea came to me after we learned the choreography for Thriller in class one day! And yes I know Halloween was weeks ago but shhh. It’s my first time writing an enemies to lovers au, so I would greatly appreciate any feedback about things I can improve on in the future. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

network tags: @neo-constellations

“...You’ll be partnered with Haechan.”

The words of your instructor seem to swallow up the dance studio you’re standing in, echoing off of the walls with a piercing sound that makes your ears ache, your gut twist, and your blood boil.

This could not be happening.

Said boy seems just as averse to the idea as you are, the corners of his mouth downturned in displeasure.

Your teacher, however, continues to rattle off the rest of the pairs, some of them a little surprising but none nearly as unexpected as the two of you being put together.

Eyes narrowed and gazes sharp as daggers, both you and Haechan turn to stare each other down.

The standoff makes everyone else in the studio uneasy, and though the other dancers aren’t unaccustomed to your endless rivalry, they fear the potential hostility of your reactions. But to their astonishment, it never escalates beyond these stinging glares directed at one another. You’re surprisingly professional about it on the outside, not letting a single swear word slip out from between your lips, while he bites back a snarky insult.

On the inside, though, you’re a mess.

Haechan has been somewhat of an enemy of yours for as long as you can remember, though by no fault of his own. No matter what you did or how hard you tried, ever since you were both young students struggling to find your footing in the artistic world, he’s always been better than you. At everything.

If you managed to nail a double pirouette, he’d step right up and do a third like it was nothing. You finally got your split? He’s already had it for a month, at least. It just wasn’t fair. You both had started dancing at the same age, at the same time, with the same amount of experience: zero.

In all honesty, Haechan had done nothing wrong. The combination of poor timing and better luck had worked against him all those years ago to brew these bitter feelings inside of your heart, rising to the surface whenever you would set foot inside the familiar studio.

These constant sentiments of inferiority took their toll on you, making you fear being compared to him above anything else. It was childish, but you couldn’t stand to be reminded of feeling completely and utterly incompetent next to him. Whenever you performed, you were grateful for the large amount of other dancers occupying the stage, leaving little opportunity for the two of you to be noticed in conjunction with one another.

Now that it’s going to be just the two of you under the bright beams of light cascading down from the rafters, dancing in close proximity, this worry is at the forefront of your mind.

You would do anything to be able to go back to your first year at the studio, when you were young enough to recognize that his skills seemed to outweigh yours, but as a carefree child you remained largely unbothered by this fact. As you got older, it was like a switch inside of you flipped and made you extra aware of each and every thing that you did. Perhaps it was the heightened self-consciousness that puberty brought combined with the already stressful lifestyle of a dancer, but something changed one day, and it was all you could think about when you saw him.

Your internal doubts always translated into being eerily quiet during practice, asking a question to clarify the movements only when it was absolutely necessary. Even your teacher noticed a shift in how you danced. Your gestures and steps lacked their usual precision, and all the confidence you had built up for so long vanished into thin air.

Not sure how to interpret your sudden silence, Haechan took it upon himself to get a word out of you in whatever way that he could, with comments and jokes and even the occasional compliment on your technique. It hardly helped, though. In fact, your constant failure to respond to his attempts created a sort of resentment in him as well, one not generated by envy or insecurity, but simply by confusion and frustration.

During practice one afternoon, you had become so fed up with him trying to talk to you that you lashed out, pushing him away with surprising strength. “Just leave me alone!” You had shouted at Haechan, but you instantly regretted it when you saw the way his eyes welled up with shiny tears, full of hurt after his genuinely good intentions had been totally rejected by their unwilling recipient. Your guilt, however, failed to overpower your stubbornness.

This sent Haechan into his own spiral of the silent treatment before he started to channel his feelings into a similar bitterness. From that day forth, you each became the other’s arch-enemy, challenging one another in any way that you possibly could inside the studio and on the stage. Your instructor, choreographers, and fellow students quickly became tired of the implicit competition that always existed between you, but what on earth could they do to stop it?

At the present moment, they’re contemplating this exact idea, along with just why your teacher thought pairing you with each other would be a good idea. She had done it with the intention of putting a long overdue partnership into action and hopefully eliminating your immature rivalry. Selfishly, she’s also very eager to see how your mutual contempt translates into movement, inwardly predicting that the tension levels will be off the charts.

Not long after, you’re dismissed from practice for the day, but not without a warning look from Haechan. Against your better judgment, you join him by the doorway once everyone else has filed out of the studio.

He clearly called you over for a reason, but you cut him off without even waiting for him to speak.

“I can’t believe I got stuck with you, of all people, as a dance partner.”

Oh, so this is how you’re acting? Two can play at that game.

“What?” He snickers, “Scared I’ll steal the spotlight?”

“In your dreams, Lee,” you scoff, already tired of his taunting attitude.

“Anyway,” his voice is stern before doing a complete 180, now a bit more gentle, “If we’re going to be dancing together for the next few weeks, we might as well be on speaking terms, don’t you think?” The expression Haechan wears on his face is the softest you’ve seen it in a long time, which is definitely saying something.

“I suppose.” Answer short and tone abrasive, you huff a lousy excuse for a goodbye before marching out and into the hallway, but he’s faster than you. You spin around to shrug off his hand from your shoulder, and it gives him the chance to tell you one last thing.

“Look, if you’re going to be like that, it’s not going to make working together any easier. We’re not little kids anymore. You can go back to hating me once this is all over, but can we at least try to put our differences aside and just cooperate for once?”

You nearly split your lip as you bite down on it, holding back a burst of aggravation at the situation you’ve been put in. “Fine.”

You have no idea how you’re going to get through all the practices and all the shows while simultaneously dealing with the boy, but one thing’s for sure: you’re going to prove that you are just as skilled, and just as talented a dancer as he is.

The next time you see him is two days later, at your first rehearsal for this dance. Your studio has always had a Halloween-themed showcase, but it wasn’t until this year that you were old enough to finally be cast in a more exclusive number. The fact that you’re no longer a part of the large group routine, always performed to the same upbeat tune and with the same easy steps, is one of the few silver linings that your duet with Haechan presents.

Faces lined with fatigue and eyes still heavy with sleep, you both arrive at the studio in the morning, duffel bags in hand, the comfy slides on your feet dragging across the hallway carpet with every step. Loud music blares from inside the room, brightly lit despite the early hour. Beside you, Haechan instantly recognizes the tune to be Michael Jackson’s Thriller, and perks up a little at the sound. Too tired to poke fun at his near obsession with the singer, you let his little celebration of the choreographer’s song choice slide.

It’s not your usual instructor that’s going to be teaching you the movements to go along with the piece, which means you have the added challenge of adapting to a different set of preferences, expectations, and choreographing style.

It’s certainly a dance that’s unlike any you’ve ever learned before.

The rehearsal starts off well, and both of you quickly catch on to the basic steps that are somewhat like those of a waltz, except they have a more sinister feel to them in order to match the spooky time of year. Facing each other but standing on opposite sides of the room, you step forward, to the side, to the back and then to the side again. On each accented beat you throw your heads back sharply, mimicking the way the neck of an inhuman creature might snap under any sort of force.

In the next section of choreography, your gazes are supposed to meet once you tilt your heads downward, slowly this time, but it’s difficult to maintain eye contact with Haechan for more than a few seconds. Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t even hesitate to stalk towards you in this part of the dance, which calls for you to circle each other like a hungry predator and its timid prey. Maybe it’s the animalistic glint in his irises that throws off your balance and makes you stumble when you see it. Or maybe it’s the fact that your rivalry with him has been entirely disregarded at the moment, brain focused solely on absorbing all of the new information and ingraining the movements into your muscle memory, nothing else.

What frightens you even more than the things that go bump in the night is that all those years you spent... well, not hating, but strongly disliking him could go to waste. It usually takes a lot of time for you to get over things like this, and in a way, you feel like you would be disappointing yourself if you let all of the agonizing feelings of self-doubt go, just like that.

These thoughts swirl around in your mind as you listen to the choreographer’s next words.

“Okay, put your hand here.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, now you’re going to drag it across him, from there to there,” she directs you with a finger, “And then he’s going to pick you up in a scissor lift.”

You’ve never done one of those before, but with some helpful guidance, you begin to have a small bit of faith in yourself that you’re capable of pulling it off. The music starts and you go from the top all the way to the part you were just taught, taking a deep breath in preparation for what’s about to happen.

Just like you had been instructed moments ago, you step very close to Haechan, right behind him, actually, and place one hand on his shoulder as you trail the other across the front of his chest, fingernails scratching the skin underneath through the flimsy t-shirt he’s wearing. You step around to stand in front of him and continue the motion, peering at him with a hesitance that melts away and into an assertive gaze once you see the apprehension in his own eyes. His skin crawls a little, not out of fear but an odd satisfaction and excitement at the feeling of you so near and the sight of your eyes bright with so much determination and dominance, lingering touch tracing the base of his neck and stimulating his nerves from head to toe.

You yelp slightly at what he does next even though you knew it was coming, your self-assured exterior evaporating only moments after it appeared. Haechan turns around and sweeps you off of your feet to hold you in his arms. In the blink of an eye, he helps you hook one of your knees behind his head as he tosses you into the air with seemingly no effort whatsoever, flipping you around to face the other way and catching you immediately after. The complicated lift makes your heart leap to the front of your throat with exhilaration, and you mentally applaud yourself for succeeding on the first try.

Haechan finds it odd that you were so willing to do this lift in the first place, since trust is a key component of partner work in dance. He can’t explain it, and neither can you, quite honestly. A small part of him, however, is glad you didn’t object to the prospect of him being directly responsible for your safety for even the most instantaneous of moments.

“Alright, so for this next part, I’m sure you’re aware of that fact that Michael Jackson was famous for his pelvic—”

Okay, that’s enough, you’ve heard enough. Tuning out the conversation and whirling around to face away from the floor-to-ceiling mirror, you twiddle your thumbs while the choreographer teaches Haechan one of the iconic dance steps in Thriller, and your evident shyness at her unabashed explanation makes him smirk. Thankfully, she has a different set of movements prepared for you.

Since when are you ever shy around him, though?

You still can’t bring yourself to watch your reflections in the glass when you practice the new part together, since he gets so into the provocative motions. His eyes seem to taunt you with the smugness they hold, and you hate the way he’s testing you. You can’t stand it, you can’t stand him, you can’t stand those eyes for all the times they send a shiver down your spine, for all the times they come alive with a beast-like glow. Those eyes can go from soft and sympathetic at times, although the moments are rare, to something else entirely. His mocking stares make your stomach turn, reminding you of why you’ve felt this way about him for so long.

But you’re scared that a new and different feeling is developing inside of you, one that’s telling you he’s not so bad, that you should give him a chance. Haechan has noticed a similar one within himself, and he begins to regret the way he immaturely perpetuated your own resentment for so long.

Even if you do end up making amends eventually, he’s not sure he’ll be willing to abandon all of the playful glances and teasing remarks with flirtatious undertones he sends your way. Do you even notice these things? If your periodic blushing is any indication, then the answer is most definitely yes.

You spend another couple of hours under the choreographer’s direction, stopping only when you had been taught each and every step from the piece’s beginning until the end. Though a Halloween-inspired performance, there’s a surprisingly large amount of eerily romantic undertones within it. You don’t have enough fingers to count the number of times you ultimately caress some part of the other’s body in a forbidding manner, with locked eyes and threatening, fiery glares.

The two of you also have a second but more simple lift, in which you jump and Haechan catches you by the legs to pull your torso against his, while you cling to him tightly like a koala. He supports your weight fully, and never once does the possibility of falling cross your mind. It’s strange how your body is so trusting of him, much more so than your mind.

Towards the end of the song, the lyrics mention something about cuddling close together, the timing of your movements intentionally mirroring the words. Haechan walks in a circle, still carrying you in his arms, and unlike when you’re standing on your own two feet, he actually has to look up slightly to meet your gaze with his own. Something doesn’t feel quite right, though, both of you sensing that you should be putting more effort into the eye contact between you right now.

“No, no, no! Stop for a second.” Your choreographer looks frustrated.

“You have to look at each other like you really mean it,” she corrects. “Just imagine that you’re two lovers on Halloween night, clinging to each other for dear life as you’re being surrounded by every kind of monster imaginable.” Even Haechan flushes a deep red at the descriptive picture she paints in your minds, hoping to inspire you. “Try again, please.”

Putting every necessary emotion into your expressions, you both stare each other down as he lifts you up again, this time with a never-before-seen passion burning in your eyes that could only be described as crazed, lustful desire.

Haechan has always admired your skills, although internally these days, ever since he met you, especially your ability to easily adapt to the message or tone of a piece. Happiness, sadness, anger, whatever your instructor asked of you, you could embody the exact feeling on your face, not to mention in the way that you moved to the beat. Out of all of the scenarios your choreographer could have illustrated, this one is something he never would have expected you to be so ready for. He’s taken aback by how smoothly your facial expression transitions from sheepish to seductive in no time flat.

You wish you could say that you’re not flustered by how well he matches the look in your eyes with his own tantalizing gaze, but alas, that’s not the case.

It’s undoubtedly a dance with a more mature theme than either of you are used to, but you’re both such naturals at it that she compliments you once Haechan sets you back on the ground.

“That’s exactly what I want to see! Keep it up, you two. Are you sure you’ve never been in a piece with any sexual tension before?”

You’re glad you hadn’t quite taken a sip from your water bottle yet, because you definitely would’ve spit it out from pure shock and embarrassment at the bluntness of her remark. Haechan was not so lucky.

The two of you run through the dance almost endlessly, and by the end of your rehearsal your legs are threatening to give out at any moment. “Last time,” she alerts you, “And then you’re done for the day.”

A chorus of some minor corrections but mostly proud affirmations meets your ears as you practice the piece for the final time. “Other foot, Haechan... Strong arms! Good... And lift! That’s it...”

About to collapse from exhaustion and grimacing at the disgusting feeling of sweat on every inch of your skin, both of you thank the choreographer once she dismisses you.

“You two did a great job today, now go home and rest. You worked hard.”

Fishing your car keys out of your bag, you hear her packing up her things inside the studio before she exits the room and strides into the hallway, flipping the light switch and shutting the door behind her. “I’m going to recommend to your teacher that she should partner you up more often. I was really surprised by how well you collaborated.” She chuckles a little, “And to think she told me that you might not get along.”

Exchanging questioning looks, you both nod and smile at her before she makes her way down the hallway, leaving the building through the staff door.

“What was that all about?”

“No idea,” you reply to Haechan with nervousness in your voice, not sure if this is the right time to apologize for several years’ worth of constantly being at each other’s throats.

The moment passes before you can make a decision, and Haechan bids you farewell with a “See you around” over his shoulder. You can’t get the choreographer’s comment out of your mind as you drive home.

But she’s right: your chemistry with each other is unbelievable. Each time you practice this dance in front of them, the rest of your friends stand wide-eyed and open-mouthed at how you move in perfect unison, leaping and turning and touching at all the right moments. Your instructor is sure her jaw is on the floor. Sure, she was expecting something powerful, something fierce, but nothing like this.

The weeks leading up to the Halloween showcase are hectic, as they always are, filled with the rush of adrenaline and last-minute preparations being made, ensuring that everything would be ready for those long nights spent on waiting behind the curtains, moving amidst the stage fog, and dancing below the bright spotlights.

You think you’ve spoken to Haechan more in the past 4 days than you have in the past 4 years. He doesn’t know if it’s just his imagination, but it seems like you’ve gotten more comfortable performing with him as time has gone by. Maybe he should be paying more attention to the steps instead of the way you lean further into him as he clutches your form in his strong arms, torsos pressing into one another and the crevices of your bodies aligning with ease. Maybe he shouldn’t get distracted by the closeness of your lips to his forehead, by the distance that always seems to decrease each time you run through the dance. One day he’s sure he’ll feel their delicate curve against his skin, or maybe they’ll slip down a little to be more level with his. Either way, Haechan isn’t complaining.

The rehearsals that spill over from their scheduled time slots into the late hours of the night leave everyone in the show drowsy after the intense quantities of repeated exertion, running piece after piece over and over again until just standing up is a feat within itself.

And then, all of a sudden, it’s the day of the first show. Costumes have been tailored, makeup has been applied and hair has been done up with an ungodly amount of products and pins.

It can’t be much longer until it’s your turn to perform, so you’re not sure why you find yourself grabbing Haechan by the sleeve of his intentionally tattered shirt, meant to look like that of a zombie, and pulling him into a dark, secluded corner of the backstage area.

“We’re on in 5, what are y—”

“Can I apologize?”

He blinks a few times, processing the word he never thought he would hear leave your lips.

“For... huh?”

“Everything.” You’re thankful that the lighting is minimal back here, concealing the glistening water drops that are beginning to gather at the rims of your eyes.

Voice nearly breaking, you can’t articulate why it feels like the right time to say all of this. But here you are.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for so many years of unexplained anger and outbursts towards you, I’m sorry that I’ve been acting so immature even after all this time. I’m sorry for blaming you and making excuses to justify my actions and my feelings, I—”

You have more that you want to say but the words are no longer coming out, and maybe it’s because your throat feels like it’s burning from all of the emotion it just conveyed in the span of just a few seconds. Maybe it’s because you’ve somehow lost your voice even though you hadn’t been speaking above a whisper. But the most probable cause of them all, is this: maybe it’s because you’ve been rendered speechless by Haechan’s own apology that he delivers by messily crashing his mouth into yours, any further thoughts melting away against his soft lips.

For once, you don’t mind being cut off by him if it’s like this.

His heart begins to sink when you pull away after only a few seconds, but a small smile graces his features once again as you lean in so that your lips hover next to his ear.

“You better not mess up my makeup, Lee Haechan.”

“Donghyuck, actually.”

“What?” Quizzically, you arch an eyebrow.

“My name. My real name.”

“So why do y—”

“Shh, no time. Kiss now, talk later.”

You can’t argue with that. Not when he’s beholding you with a long-awaited forgiveness and a fondness long-concealed in his eyes. Not when the thrill of a time limit has your brains going a mile a minute, an electric buzz erupting over the expanse of your skin his hands are grasping.

You kiss him like it’s the only thing in the whole world that you know how to do. The setting is far from picturesque, with the tangled technical wires littering the floor at your feet and leftover stage equipment haphazardly leaning against the wall, but neither of you really care. Taking care not to snag the fabric of your costume, his fingers find purchase on your waist and his lips on the dip of your collarbone. At first they dotingly imprint fleeting pecks onto the rise and fall of the skin there, but when their pressure and his haste starts to escalate, you know you have to stop him before he starts something you can’t finish.

“Hyuck!” The abbreviation of his name makes his head snap up, bewildered but pleased.

“You can’t leave marks, I told you...” you trail off. “Hey, why are you smiling like that?”

“Please never call me anything else, ever.”

Donghyuck brings you in for one more kiss, well aware that a stagehand could turn the corner at any given moment. Drinking you in, he captures your lips between his, letting your body press his back into the wall behind him, and a few sharp inhales later, you break apart.

You fix his hair while he adjusts your clothes, and you’re just in time because a technician spots you and urgently gestures towards the stage. “You’re up!”

Positioning yourselves on opposite sides of the large performance space, the lights go down and you hear the rush of air from the heavy curtain opening as it glides past you. The thick artificial smoke partially obscures his form, but you can see his eyes clearly, nearly glowing in the darkness.

As the music starts, slow and quiet at first, you step to the rhythm just like you practiced. When a loud, electronic chord blares, you both pick up speed, launching into that waltz step you first learned many weeks earlier. For the first time ever, you’re able to look into his eyes.

Anyone could see that your movements complement each other effortlessly, but only your teacher picks up on the shift in mood after the countless times she’s seen you perform in the studio. Only she notices the shift in both of your gazes. You look... happy. Focused. Confident.

Donghyuck was able to bring you out of the shell you retreated into so long ago. You don’t feel subordinate as you’re dancing next to him, or being held in his arms. You move as equals, two parts of a whole.

When he picks you up, you can’t help but allow a small smile to stretch your lips. Donghyuck tries to remind you that you’re supposed to have lustful looks in your eyes by narrowing his own at you, but it’s no use. Your slight grin is contagious, and it ends up taking over his face as well.

You finish the piece smoothly, ending in a pose with your backs pressed together and hands clasped. Applause erupts from the audience, and a few cheers come from the rest of the performers waiting in the wings, shielded from the view of the crowd sitting in the seats below.

Needless to say, as you pass other dancers in the halls and receive countless congratulations and compliments, all you can think about is having Donghyuck’s lips on your skin again.

One long heart-to-heart and dozens, no, hundreds of kisses later, all is right with your world. It’s foreign territory to you both, not wanting to pounce on each other at every waking moment. But it’s something you’ll explore together, figuring out how to make up for lost time and just how to go about this newly-repaired relationship.

Exiting the empty dressing room, you take his hand in your own and head backstage once again to watch the rest of the showcase from the side, with your head leaning on his shoulder and his arm pulling you close.

At the party held for all the members of the show’s cast that night, it’s far too loud for your liking, and there’s no room to properly dance with Donghyuck. Despite you all being professional dancers-in-training, everyone else seems to have reverted to the mindset of your average high school student, thinking that jumping up and down repeatedly qualifies as dancing. You disagree, but whatever. It’s not important.

What is important, however, is the fact that the two of you would much rather escape the suffocating crowd of young adults. You would much rather slip out through the sliding glass door that leads to the house’s backyard, marveling at the fading sunset that melts into a deep blue night sky dotted with splashes of clustered lights. The stars are nature’s spotlights, shining down on you as Donghyuck takes you in his arms, one hand finding yours and the other resting on your side, somewhere between your hips and your waist.

Swaying in the silence with only the noises of the evening as your soundtrack, the boy that you would’ve sworn was the devil incarnate a month ago looks so angelic, so lovable. You can’t believe this is what you’ve been missing out on.

“So, should we start over?”

“Definitely.”

There’s no one else in this world you’d rather dance the night away with.

383 notes · View notes

renegadeontherunn · 3 years

Note

19 for the prompts if you haven’t receive it yet <3

of course jas my beloved!!!! thank you so much for the ask <3333

19. "You were supposed to be there." // from these prompts! // read it on ao3!

The Force is just as surprised as they are.

So when a flash of orange darts around the corner accompanied by two white blurs, Anakin and Obi-Wan don’t even get the chance to blink in appropriate surprise before they’re on the ground. A knock to Obi-Wan’s head and in the delay, his wrists are bound with Force suppressors. He half crumples when they make the fatal click, strength, peace, power smothered under frigid metal.

Ahsoka almost feels bad.

Almost.

The real pain comes after weeks in those horrible cuffs, the hole in your head, in the air, where your whole life used to reside growing sharper, hungrier, darker. But Obi-Wan will understand that soon enough. Just like she had.

“Ahsoka?”

It’s Anakin—isn’t it always?—and his voice is dripping with shock. One of the guards Ahsoka had taken with her on this little hunt, Cross, has Anakin’s arms wrenched behind his back, but the Force suppressors still dangle from his belt. Ahsoka is banking on Anakin’s confusion, his attachment, to keep him weak. She can’t take that same chance with Obi-Wan.

“Ahsoka you—you’re here.” His eyes are wide like a child’s, and Ahsoka can practically see all the things he wants to say crowding behind his tongue. “What’s going on? Are—are you alright?”

It’s been months since she’s seen either of them and when she’d trudged down the steps of the Temple this was certainly not how she’d expected their reunion to go. A small part of Ahsoka, the part that’s still the other one, grips her ribs and screams to be let out. To reach out to her Master, her brother, to slip back into the spot between him and Obi-Wan where she’d fit so well for years. Her throat grows tight. Ahsoka despises her. And so she leans harder on the Force like she’s been taught and hopes the voice—voices—will die out in agony. Starting with his.

“Ahsoka?”

Obi-Wan hasn’t spoken yet. Silence is a weapon too and Ahsoka doesn’t appreciate such chilling indifference. She remembers why she’s here. Not to talk or back down or weep. She’s here to kill.

She takes a soft step forward and almost like he knows what’s coming, Anakin starts struggling against the guard, trying to push himself to his feet, words tumbling out of his mouth. “Ahsoka, wait, wait, wait, what’s—what’s going on?” Thunder cracks low in the sky and it’s only then that Ahsoka notices the enormous hole blown out of the Temple hallway. Smoke blackens the night sky and shrieking sirens collide with the screaming Force. “Ahsoka?”

She can tell he’s trying to ignore the flashing gold of her eyes, but he can’t look past the blood-red beam of light that ignites from her saber. Ahsoka has never seen him more in denial, more heartbroken than he is kneeling before her now. Her ever-sure steps stutter and to compensate, she digs down into her rage. Anger keeps her strong, keeps her fighting, it shields her from the weakness that love or pity or regret will sink her to.

“Ahsoka, stop!” Her hand is already shaking on her lightsaber hilt. Ahsoka strikes Anakin across the face, her metal-laden fist cutting a line of blood down his cheek. She’s never preferred such hands-on combat, two lightsabers and her agility give the distance and speed she needs to fight, but rage—and it’s rage, she tells herself, not sorrow, not grief, not guilt—is weighing her down.

That’s fine. Power can be a million things and so can Ahsoka.

The need to adapt has been forced on her by the very people Anakin and Obi-Wan are trying to protect, and it’s always good to give back.

She realizes she’s still hitting him. Anakin’s face is awash in blood—Ahsoka doesn’t know what’s his and what’s from her own knuckles. She looks at the guard and he releases him. Anakin stumbles back and up, heads outstretched in front of him. He wipes his face, clearing as much of the blood as he can and his lightsaber is ignited a shaky breath later. Obi-Wan might be saying something at last, but it’s lost as Ahsoka bounds toward Anakin. She lets instinct and primal, brutal fury take over. Their sabers clash.

Later, when Ahsoka has cried and screamed and torn apart her new quarters on Coruscant, she won’t remember what happened. All of a sudden, she’s towering over Anakin, both their lightsabers gone. She’s mildly surprised when she realizes she was actually able to best him, then scolds herself for not having faith in her new teachings. A swift kick to Anakin’s ribs leaves him gasping, and Obi-Wan is definitely saying something, but Ahsoka knows she’s far from vindicated.

“Ahsoka, stop,” comes Anakin’s voice, strong as it is quiet. “Please. Listen.” His eyes are bright blue through the bruises, the blood, and Ahsoka has always folded first. She squeezes her eyes shut and stumbles away, tearing apart whatever vile emotions swarm her.

The Force is dark and stormy around her, suffocating, but powerful. It blocks out the pain, the grief, the failure Ahsoka feels, and she clings to it.

Anakin is standing, one hand clutching his ribs, when she looks up again. His hands are reaching for her. “I don’t know what happened, but whatever it is, we will fix it.”

Furious tears race down her face. “You can’t stop this!”

Ahsoka wants to scream. She wants to scream because this is hard, far harder than she’d expected. The Jedi are wrong, the Jedi are evil, she’s had more than enough experience to understand that. How many times has she heard their immeasurable list of crimes, how they abandoned their own principles and people, their own children. Words flicker through her memory. “The rift in the galaxy is not our fault.”

But Ahsoka has learned that it is.

Given the right circumstances, a little education, nudging (pressure—torture—part of her brain cries) by the right people (the wrong people—don’t you see, child?—this is all wrong) and here she is. And here they are.

And she has a score to settle.

Ahsoka grits her teeth, taloned nails cutting crescents in her palms.

There will be justice, there will be recompense, and by her hand.

She looks into the eyes of her old Master and it’s like looking into the past. There’s that sick feeling in her chest again and Ahsoka crushes it, pushing down until something shifts and then snaps, sharp shards of glass cleaving her ribcage.

Ahsoka raises one shaking arm and chokes him with the Force, his feet drifting off the ground, back pressed hard against the wall. Though she’s never done it herself, she’s seen it from Anakin plenty of times and Ahsoka now understands the fury he wields that’s always surprised her.

His hands scrabble against his throat, desperate stare pleading, trying to reach her.

Something burns her eyes. Her fist tightens. “You were supposed to be there!”

The words tear through her, ripping the already scarred air. Months of unsaid words choked back swell, clogging her throat, and she can barely breathe past the broken syllables. With another yell that scrapes her insides raw, she throws Anakin down on the other side of the room. They both gasp for breath. Obi-Wan has stopped talking.

Anakin pushes himself up on a shaking arm, eyes darting straight to Ahsoka’s crumbling facade. Salt stings her lips.

The guard—Ahsoka thinks his name is Double—shoves Obi-Wan down beside Anakin, and his bound hands immediately go to Anakin’s trembling shoulder. Mumbled questions fall from his tongue, panic twisting his tone. Anakin’s eyes never leave Ahsoka’s.

“You were supposed to be there.”

The words are quiet, rough, homesick notes barely speaking through her tears.

Obi-Wan’s head whips over his shoulder, grey eyes too hard to read, and Ahsoka decides he’s never looked at her with anything but ice.

Hell has frozen over and so have they.

Anakin is openly crying, his gaze melted into waves of sorrow meeting Ahsoka’s gold-eyed shore. Obi-Wan has always been a glacier. Icicles prick his cheeks.

Biting rage sears Ahsoka’s chest. She doesn’t care what it takes; she’ll burn this Temple to ash just to feel the thaw.

Injured as he is, angry as she is, Anakin is too easily thrown when Ahsoka coaxes the Force to her will. Obi-Wan reaches for him, helpless, his hands useless under those cuffs. Anakin flies back, his shoulder clipping the side of the hole in the wall, and he tumbles off the edge. Ahsoka rushes forward, for a moment scared she’s killed him, but his hand—his metal hand—is digging into the rim of the hole, just barely holding on. The metal creaks.

It’s not a far drop, not enough to kill him anyway, and Ahsoka doesn’t know if she’s disappointed or relieved. She tries to be disappointed. Rain beats down against his face, but his eyes are bright blue when they look up at her.

She sees his lips move, hears the faint notes of his voice—something like I’m sorry, something like please—but the clouds scream over whatever he’s trying to say. Ahsoka looks away. Something is on fire out there, even in the storm, and the horizon is darkened by smoke.

“Ahsoka.”

Her head automatically jerks down to meet his imploring gaze. That sorrow again, that guilt, worst of all, that hope. Both halves of her howl with the roaring rain.

“I’m here now.”

You were supposed to be there.

“I’m here.”

Ahsoka can’t tell what’s rain and what’s tears on Anakin’s face, can’t tell the same on her own. She looks behind her at Obi-Wan, for reasons she doesn’t bother to understand, and sees him struggling against the guard harder than ever. She wonders what he would do if he was free, almost calls for his release just to see.

But she has already spent too long here, made too many mistakes. The weak part of her has grown louder, and she needs time to smother it completely.

Ahsoka looks down at Anakin again, salty tears biting through her gritted teeth. She calls her lightsaber to her hand, hovering it just next to his face, barely searing the edge of his skin. The red glow makes him look dead already.

“I could do it.”

Then she tears herself away, turning into the shadowed warmth of the Dark Side.

It’s a disappointment, it’s a failure, it’s a relief drowned by wrath at having allowed these parts of her past to live. Obi-Wan shudders to his feet, bleary eyes panicked as he rushes to Anakin, Double and Cross now dutifully following Ahsoka out. There’s sounds of struggle, movement, shifting robes. Ahsoka can almost picture Obi-Wan’s strong grip, Anakin hauling himself back up into the Temple, hair sopping, water pooling down around them. It’ll stain the stone. If it survives that long.

By the time Anakin pulls trembling limbs up, his mind still shaking off frigid rain, raw betrayal, chilling hurt, Ahsoka is already gone.

#fiona speaks #HEHEHEHEHEHE #ALL I KNOW IS ANGST #thank you for the ask jas!!!!#i hope you like it!!!#this was very fun to write mwahahahaha #disaster lineage #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #proofreading this was just me going yikes....YIKES #ASDJKSDA;LASJK #my writing #answered #jas tag!#and thank you to katie for the guard name assistance akdjajfka very much appreciated!!#i’m not totally happy with this one but yeah!

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hardskz · 4 years

Text

bow down.

pairing — bang chan x genderneutral! reader

genre — modern royalty au, drama-ish, smut; sexual tension-ish, hand kink, brat tamer! chan, degradation, leg humping, humiliation

synopsis — you have eyes. prince bang chan is a whole snack. but you also have too high of an ego and can’t seem to accept that prince chan isn’t full of himself unlike the other dozen members of any royal family you’ve met before. alternatively, this is the disney channel movie ‘princess protection program’ but make it porn only.

note — this fic with a wc of 7k+ does not include any spoilers to the movie and you don’t even have to know what the movie is about you’ll get the gist as you read. ngl half of this is from one of my drafts from like 3 years ago and i never continued it so here i am turning it into filth hahahah (and i needed a fresh idea for brat tamer chan and hence why i think the sfw part is better written than the nsfw lmao) rip also pls accept this as the follower milestone gift and 1 year anniversary special :’)

“I’m pretty sure I asked for a puppy for my birthday — which was three months ago may I add — not for a new roommate?”

You look back and forth between Youngjae and the stranger sitting on the couch who is staring back at you with a curious expression. He looks around your age and you admit, his face isn’t the kind of face that makes you thank your parents that genetics did a decent job on you. It’s quite the opposite, actually.

His face is the type of face that makes you ask your parents why genetics didn’t do a better job on yours. Okay, you haven’t reached that stage of visual inferiority yet but that’s mainly because he is dressed in clothes that were trendy in the 15th century or something. The garments clinging to his skin look like a bad fusion of a suit (which college student wears a suit in their free time?) and the ridiculous costume the marching band at your former high school had worn whenever a football game was up. And those weird golden pins clipped on the blazer makes it seem as if he used to be in the marines or comes from a royal bloodline or—

Oh.

“Don’t mind my cousin, your Highness. (y/n)’s humor has always been questionable.” Youngjae sends you a glare before he puts on his sweetest smile — you know, the act he puts on whenever he tries to negotiate a bonus with his boss or woo his date — and opts to ignore your presence. “Anyway, since we are dealing with a more serious issue at hand than originally expected, we need to give you a makeover to—“

Before he gets to finish his sentence, you violently tug him away from the prince and despite Youngjae thrashing around and complaining, you manage to send the guest a forced smile and leave his vision. The moment you let go of Youngjae in the neighboring room, he readjusts his collar. “What? Couldn’t you have waited once I was done? Also, was it necessary to crinkle my collar this much?” he hisses but you get straight to the point.

“What is he doing here?”

“Uh, sitting on the couch?”

“That’s not what I mean.” you grit your teeth and land a punch on his arm. “What is he doing here?”

Youngjae looks over your shoulder, making sure that what he’s about to say next is only heard by you. “Prince Chan is,” he hesitates, unsure how to approach his topic. You know it’s taking up his last nerves to conclude a logical explanation as the tip of his tongue pokes out of the corner of his lips; a habit he has adapted ever since he stopped chewing on his bottom lip. “The predicament he’s in is worse than we expected. Well, his dad is partially at fault because he forgot to tell us this not-so-small critical detail that—“

“Youngjae, you’re rambling.”

“The point is.” he sighs and gives you a distressed look as if he already knows you’re not going to like the information at all. “We can’t send him to the family in Goyang, the place he was originally going to stay in. He’s one of the more extreme cases and the Board agreed that he had to live with one of the active combatants to ensure his safety.”

Silence engulfs the kitchen and you know he’s waiting for you to count two and two together.

“He’s going to live here,” you deadpan eventually and Youngjae nods in confirmation.

“I know you’re not very happy—“

“Not very happy is underwhelming.” You earn a flick against your forehead and yelp in pain as you over the spot he just hit. “Ow! I was just stating the truth!”

“Will you stop interrupting me? Geez. Yes, I know that you’re not happy at all. I know that you’re not a huge fan of the majority of our family working in this business. But please do me this one favor or so help me God— try to be nice to him for the next year.”

“He’s staying for a year?” you shriek and in the blink of an eye, Youngjae clamps your mouth shut.

“Can you keep it down?!” he whisper-yells, then retreats his hand and reverts to a conversational tone with a frown. “It’s just a year, okay? Y’know, just... say hi to him whenever you see him. Act civilized.”

You grimace as he stresses his last words like you didn’t know what human decency was. The longer you keep the petrified expression on your face, the more it turns into a staring contest between the two of you. Just as if you were each other’s reflection, you mimic his actions and vice versa. When Youngjae squints, you squint. When you shoot him a glare, he returns it. It all boils down to the final blink that Youngjae feints and you’re the first to look away.

“Okay fine! I’ll try to behave,” you mumble in defeat.

A satisfied smile makes its way on Youngjae’s lips. “It’s always nice negotiating with you.”

Being born into a family where the majority works for the royalty protection program (short: RPP or as you like to stylize it: argh-pee-pee), also known as the secret service for people with crowns on their heads, comes with many perks. In your eyes, this privilege comes with many, many downsides that aren’t worth the advantages. Sure, there is the one or other occasion where you can waltz around in fancy evening attire and attend an actual ball, but overall, it’s a pain in the ass.

Even though it’s prohibited to openly declare that you work for the RPP, the news always finds its way out. Usually, it takes approximately a week for pretty much half of the neighborhood to find out. And it certainly isn’t nice hearing whispers about your dad being that guy working for the program whenever you step out of your house, which is ultimately why you moved in with your cousin Youngjae. (Housing in your small town wasn’t really affordable for a dirt poor college student after all!)

Youngjae has always been your favorite cousin out of the... whatever number of cousins you have. But here’s the thing. He also works for the RPP.

However, somehow he managed to — and up to this day it still remains a mystery to you how on earth he did that — keep his job a secret. Especially with his tendency to dish out the worst kinds of secrets when he’s slightly tipsy. Frankly, you once considered printing out the image of a trophy for that remarkable feat.

With your dad and cousin both active in that business (because organization sounds too shady), it’s not the first time you meet a prince, so you already know how the entire thing works. The concept is quite simple; they get sent to a household but before they settle in and take on a fake identity until their circumstances have improved, they undergo a makeover. Most of the time, it ends up in the glow up you secretly crave but in Prince Chan’s case, you suppose he can’t get any more attractive.

Oh boy. You’re in for a ride.

You’re busy slicing bell peppers for the meal you were cooking when both your cousin and the prince enter the kitchen and Youngjae explicitly demands you to pay them attention. You don’t react immediately, but the moment he threatens to swipe the knife away from you, you perk up and set your desire to prepare your fried rice aside.

“(y/n), uh, hi? I’m Bang Chan and I’ll be your new housemate for a year. I hope we can get along.” Chan recites his introduction without any mistakes and earns a way too brotherly pat on the back from Youngjae, considering that they just met this morning. It’s truly amazing how fast Youngjae can get people to warm up to him.

Chan is stripped out of his weird clothes and instead, looks like he threw on the next best thing lying around in his room. Nonetheless, despite the seemingly little effort that was put into the outfit, it looks oddly good. The stylists didn’t seem to do much to his hair and just parted his bangs a little, so one could catch a slight glimpse of his forehead. It’s just a small detail, but you find yourself liking his current appearance much more appealing than before, though you’re pretty sure his clothes played a major part in your previous distaste.

“Remember Jihyo?” Youngjae interrupts your train of thought. “She’s Chan’s relative. And because I’m the genuine friend who loves to help her out, I decided to agree to this after she went down on her knees and begged me to let Chan live with us for a while—“

“I’m not interested in your blown up, fictional background stories, thank you very much.” you backtrack. “Wait. Did you say Jihyo? Seriously? Jihyo is his alibi?” Of course, you remember Jihyo. It’s quite difficult to forget her when Youngjae used to swoon about her at every hour of the day, back when they were a thing. Besides, she still stops by every few months.

“C’mon, you have to admit there is a similar vibe between them!”

You furrow your brows and inspect Chan a second time. Your gaze wanders back to Youngjae and then returns to Chan anew. It’s obvious that the latter is feeling as if he were up for auction and you can’t really blame him for feeling so uncomfortable. You’ve heard from a few friends that if looks could kill, you’d have the highest killing record.

There’s no similar vibe in your view, but for the sake of entertaining Youngjae’s thoughts: “He does seem similar to Jihyo.”

“Told ya. But back to more important matters,” Youngjae coughs and wraps his arm around your shoulder to pull you closer, but it somehow seems as if he’s opting to strangle you. “My duties are calling, so I won’t be back until late. You look like you could need some help with cooking, by the way. I’m sure Chan right here is willing to help you!”

“I’m almost done though—“ you choke when he tightens his embrace. By now, his arm is no longer hugging your shoulder, but rather crushing your throat.

“You look like you could need some help,” he repeats, this time with added urgency. “It’d be a great opportunity for you to bond since you’ll also share pretty much all classes at uni. Did you know, he has the same major as you! Besides, it’d be a very useful life experience for him if he helped you with cooking.”

“Of course, how fun!” you hiss, voice going an octave higher from the lack of oxygen. “I already said that I’m painfully delighted about that, so you can let me go now, Youngjae!”

A sneer and a jab in his arm later, Youngjae finally takes his leave. That nasty liar, leaving an hour earlier than his schedule stated. You know that silently cursing at him isn’t going to make your problems dissolve because that’d be a dream come true.

“Listen, let me get things straight.” you sigh, picking up the knife to resume chopping your vegetables. Youngjae may have ordered you to act civilized, but having eye contact with Chan when you’ve been starving for the past hour isn’t your priority. Food doesn’t make itself. “I don’t have any intention of getting close to you and I expect the same from you. Don’t step a foot into my room, don’t talk to me unless absolutely necessary, and don’t think I’ll run around and do your chores or cook your meals like one of your little servants. Just because you’re a prince doesn’t mean you’ll be treated like one under this roof.”

“We live in the 21st century, not the renaissance. Your idea of royal families is very dated.” Chan chuckles dryly.

“Baron Yoon Jeonghan from the seven islands is a stuck-up prick and out of touch with the world. It took him several visits to the slums, multiple voluntary hours at the kindergarten, and stripping him off his bank card to make him see reason,” you deadpan. Fuck Baron Jeonghan. Just thinking about your first and last encounter with that entitled douchebag almost makes you slice your finger instead of the bell pepper. “Duchess Yoo Shiah threw a hissy fit when she found out her clothes weren’t dry cleaned and bought from Zara instead of fucking Dior. The one who takes the cake when it comes to privilege is Princess Kim Min—”

“Everyone knows they are problematic,” Chan interjects. True, he has a point. There’s nobody out there who doesn’t know about Baron Jeonghan or Duchess Shiah but he’s also missing the entire point.

“And guess who gets stuck under the care of the RPP?” you raise a brow at him. He blanches at the realization as if he got struck with lightning. Perhaps you should give him more credit because he seems to own more brain cells than Baron Jeonghan. “Exactly. Everyone problematic.”

Chan’s jaw is clenched as he racks his brain to come up with a smart comeback. The sight of him stumbling on his words is nothing but pitiful, so you turn back to the cutting board and grab an onion to slice in half. “I’m not interested in your sob story, your Highness. I don’t care why you’re under the protection of the RPP. The only thing I care about is that you stay out of my business.”

“Chan is fine. No need for the title,” he sighs with a strain. “Perhaps I should’ve been more considerate with my first comment. Youngjae already told me about your… negative attitude towards the entire setup. It wasn’t my intention to anger you. Sorry.”

Well, that’s new. Out of the dozens of aristocrats you’ve met (and sadly also shared a house with back when you were 16 years old and still living with your dad), he’s the first to drop his title within five minutes for the sake of the disguise and apologize.

“We live under the same roof so we should get along with each other. If there’s something you need help with, just ask me, (y/n).”

“Thanks for the offer,” you reply nonchalantly because act civilized unless you want to suffer from a late-night sneak attack from Youngjae if he finds out. “But no thanks. I don’t need your help.”

You find yourself in need of help a few weeks later, right before the dreaded exam season.

“No. Forget it, Bam. I’m not going out clubbing with you tonight. In fact, I won’t do that anytime soon.” you let out an exasperated sigh as you try to break down to your friend that you prioritize your grades over his need of getting wasted.

“C’mon!” he whines so loudly that you have to put your phone farther away from your ear. “You’re not in that much stress yet! You have to make the most out of it before you drown in your exams.”

“Things are different for engineering students like, uh, me for example!” you hiss. “I fell behind and need to catch up. Ask Yugyeom or Changbin.”

“First of all, Yugyeom is always at the bar doing his job. And Changbin never picks up his phone. There’s nobody who’d dance with me!”

“You abandoned me at the bar for some chick the last time,” you deadpan. “I’m very sure you’ll find someone.”

Bambam finally gets the gist and gives up. “Fine then. Your loss. Have fun dying in numbers and variables instead of living in the moment. You’re going to regret it—”

You end the call and set your phone on mute before throwing it on the bed. Sometimes you wonder whether you were on drugs when you decided to major in engineering. The longer you stare at the jumble of numbers and letters — some of them in Greek too — the more you think your brain cells are decaying.

That’s how you find yourself in the kitchen, complaining at Youngjae’s expense and telling him how much you’d rather drown in bleach than subjecting yourself to Algebra II.

“You know there’s someone you can ask for help and he’s right here,” Youngjae drawls before chugging down the rest of his beer. If he’s going to be a victim to your temper tantrum about a major that you chose yourself, he might as well get a drink so he won’t go insane from your monologue about numbers and graphs and formulas he’s forgotten since he graduated from high school.

You gawk at him. “You? Are you hearing yourself? You almost failed maths. Twice!”

“Because I didn’t mean myself, dipshit,” he says blankly and his eyes flit over your shoulder, “Speaking of the devil. There comes the man of honor.”

You whip your head back to the door to see Chan enter confusedly. “Uh, did I interrupt something?”

“Yes.”

“No, we were just talking about you!”

You send Youngjae a death glare which he casually shrugs off. “(y/n) here is bitching about her Statistics I class and needs a tutor!”

“It’s actually Algebra II if you bothered to pay attention—”

“(y/n) needs a tutor!” Youngjae exclaims and nearly trips on his feet when he gets up from his chair. “Channie, I heard you’re good with numbers. Didn’t you get accepted into all Ivy Leagues in the States for all engineering programs?”

“You didn’t have to word it like that,” Chan laughs it off and nervously rubs the back of his head. He’s not denying it though.

“Obviously he would. He’s loaded and lives in a castle,” you mutter under your breath, but everyone catches it.

“Hey,” Youngjae warns. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s alright,” Chan says casually. “I just wanted to get myself a snack. But if you have some questions, don’t hesitate to knock on my door. The offer still stands, y’know.” He digs through the cabinet until he finds two packs of the strawberry flavored Pocky knockoff that is 1) apparently his favorite thing to eat and 2) half the price of the Pocky version. He gives Youngjae a thumbs up before he returns to his room.

The moment Chan is out of sight, Youngjae whips his head to you, nostrils flaring. All that’s missing is steam coming out of his ears and his face running red and then he looks like the impetuous brother in every kids cartoon ever. “Really? He’s been staying with us for how long now? Four weeks? Five? Yet you’re still acting as if he murdered you in your dreams or something.”

“I don’t like him,” you state coldly. Youngjae looks like he’s about to rip his hair out.

“Look, I get that you don’t like me being active in this field of work, and I get that you have some hatred against the royal families. But you know you signed up for this when you decided to move in with me.” Youngjae pauses to get a breather and pop a new beer bottle open. “Besides, Chan isn’t like Baron Jeonghan or Duchess Shiah. I have eyes, (y/n), and I’ve seen you two avoiding each other as much as possible. And he doesn’t just laze around — he does the fucking chores and cooks dinner too! Chan is good, (y/n).”

The last words make you snap. “Good? Are you fucking serious? Because that’s why the press in his kingdom is depicting him as a tyrant who cares more about building his sick harem instead of helping the poor. And wasn’t he diagnosed for having anger management issues?!”

All the color leaves Youngjae’s face. This is obviously something you shouldn’t know. While he’s scrambling for words, you take the chance to add, “Dunno why you’re protecting him when he’s making headlines as a prince who can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“Chan isn’t just a prince,” Youngjae says quietly. “He’s the crown prince.”

Your eyes widen at the confession. “What? Isn’t that even worse with that reputation he has?”

“It’s all propaganda,” he sighs and takes a swig, “The ministers are doing everything they can to finish him off. You see, Chan is the only child of the current king of the seven islands, and if he’s wiped out, it’ll be utter chaos. Chan’s smart and I admit, he used to have anger issues, but he’s worked on them. Though I guess he’s resorted to bottling up his feelings when push comes to pull. The point is, all the higher-ups don’t want him as their future king because they know that Chan is very much capable of pulling through with his own ideas and that doesn’t sit well with them. And a supposedly impulsive future king is the last thing anyone wants, hence why his people are eating up the news.”

“Oh.” you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. However, it’s not the first time you’ve heard such stories.

“Yeah. Oh,” Youngjae mocks, “If that’s the main reason why you don’t want to talk to him, now you know better. He might have power, but he’s not a monster. And for the record, he got into all Ivy Leagues and elite schools all over the world through his intelligence, not his status.”

Although you can see it in his eyes that Youngjae is done with the heated discussion, he’s still waiting for you to say something. You frown. “So… you think he’s a good tutor?”

“He’s your only shot.” Youngjae says nonchalantly, then adds with a warning tone, “But remember: Act. Civilized. Oh, and don’t tell him I told you about his circumstances. It’s supposed to be confidential information.”

You roll your eyes. How the fuck hasn’t Youngjae been busted yet?

Nonetheless, you’re trudging to Chan’s door a few minutes later, your fat binder of incomprehensible math formulas and (Greek) letter heavy in your arm. Chan opens the door with surprise etched on his face after you knocked, but it settles to warmth when you begrudgingly ask him to help you understand Algebra II.

“Sorry, it’s a little messy here,” he chuckles airily once he lets you in. It’s not messy per se, just a few clothes piled up in a corner of the room and some books and messily written notes lying on his bed. Still, it’s by far cleaner than the pig stall that is Youngjae’s room (and yours when you’re having a very bad day).

Chan clears his desk and drags his other chair to the table before plopping down on it. “So, what’s the problem?” Instead of answering, you just shove a sheet of paper up his face. “Y’know, you can talk to me. If this is about earlier, it’s really alright. I’m not mad or anything,” he says with the same friendly tone you’ve been hearing ever since he moved in, yet he still takes the sheet from you. You watch his brows scrunch together the more he reads on, and you can already see the question forming in his mind.

“(y/n), you do know this is the basis to understand—”

“I was absent when the professor covered it and everyone I asked couldn’t quite explain it to me,” you respond before he can finish speaking out his thoughts. “All my friends were like—” you gesture with your hands, “—you just do this and that and then hope your hunch is right. Before you say it, yes I know that I don’t get the material of one entire unit and the exam is two weeks away.”

“Then let’s not waste any time,” Chan says before grabbing his iPad. You stare at him blankly as he writes something on his tablet. The last thing you expected from him was to accept it and try to hammer as much of missing information as he can into your brain, but then again, you’ve never seen him backtrack whenever Youngjae asks him something. Speaking of Youngjae, perhaps he is right. Chan does seem to know what he’s talking about.

“You have to subtract X first, then replace it with Y,” he explains as he circles said letters in different colors. By now, you’ve leaned closer to him to get a better view on what he’s writing (his handwriting isn’t the worst you’ve ever had to decode; refer to Youngjae who you’ve internally awarded with the worst handwriting of the decade).

Chan is exceptionally good at explaining. You feel like you’ve figured out a secret of the world that not even Pythagoras found out as you slowly understand what on Earth you are supposed to calculate with the formula. Chan is patient, always asking if you got it or if you needed another clarification, and takes the time to draw colorful graphs to visualize the jumble of numbers. His voice is pleasing to the ear too, soft and gentle to the point where you’ve blurred everything out except Chan. Chan’s voice. Chan’s hand.

You didn’t mean to stare, but with him always adding something new every five seconds as he goes on with his monologue, you can’t help but do so. His fingers aren’t long — that’ll always be courtesy of Hyunjin from Subway and yes, his very pretty hands might be the sole reason you only insist on going to that one specific Subway at the intersection next to KFC — but just one glance at Chan’s hand and you know that he’s strong.

He’s barely applying pressure to the pen, but you can see the veins slightly protruding. Chan’s sleeves are pushed back and if you move your head a bit, you’re more than certain that veins are bulging out from his forearms too. However, you don’t muster up the courage to do that because Chan will definitely notice and the last thing you want on your platter is to tell him that you were too busy checking out his arms instead of listening to him talk about Algebra II.

Eventually, Chan sets the pen down to stretch his hand. He says something, but you don’t pick up what exactly. Not that it’d matter much anyway since you’re too busy admiring his hand—

“(y/n), you there? I called out your name several times but you didn’t react.” Chan’s breath hitches and surprise flashes in his eyes for a split second when his gaze meets yours. You don’t understand his hesitation, but then horror bubbles in you once you realize that his hand is firmly gripping your chin and keeping your head pointed at his direction. The very same hand you’ve been staring at for God knows how long.

“I’m good. Just a little tired, but I’m good,” you stutter, though it comes out very breathlessly as if you just finished a marathon.

“Tired?” Chan echoes, concern settling into his features. “You should’ve said so, then I would’ve stopped talking. You need something?”

Now that you think about it, you’ve never got a close look at Chan. Sure, he’s handsome, the countless pictures of Google prove that he’s also too photogenic for his own good (goddamnit, why didn’t your parents make you just as photogenic?) but in person, he’s something else. His lips are plush and look very inviting to kiss, and the lower your eyes wander, the more you see a toned chest hidden underneath that damn shit that hugs him in all the right places.

Fine, his hands aren’t the only attractive thing about him. Then again, he’s a prince.

“I said I’m good.” you snap out of your thoughts and finally gather enough control over your nerves to tear his hand away. “And I caught everything you said.” Of course, you know that’s a blatant lie and he knows so too from the way he’s looking at you. That is until he quirks a brow.

“Okay, then what did I say before I called you?”

Your mouth feels dry. It’s almost as if he knew the reason for your distress. “I caught everything relevant to this,” you mutter, suddenly finding his curtains much more interesting. What an interesting design, maybe you should get yourself new curtains too—

“Then you wouldn’t mind solving these questions, right? Just so I can make sure that you got everything down.”

“Sure,” you reply because that’s the only thing you could say without hurting your ego and straining your vocal cords. Chan doesn’t comment any further and looks for some practice questions before sliding the iPad to you. Already the first question makes your head spin in disdain. Numbers? Variables? Never heard of them.

Chan is watching you like a hawk as you fiddle with the pen, unable to write down anything that makes remote sense. Feeling his eyes on you makes you feel helpless and you shift around in your seat. “What are you staring at?” you glare at him once you give up for good, and you just hope that your look is as intimidating as you pictured in your head.

“You’re definitely exhausted. You’re shaking,” Chan points out. Your eyes widen as you stare down and realize that your thighs are shaking, and it’s then and there when you realize that you’re feeling hot. Seems like Chan doesn’t realize that because the worry written on his face is genuine. “You say the exam’s in two weeks right? We can stop for today and work on this tomorrow. That is if you still want my help.”

You nod and add in a tiny voice, “Yes, please.”

You’re too busy ignoring the heat building between your thighs to notice the borderline feral sound that leaves Chan.

“And here I thought you had quality bonding time.” Youngjae gives a disappointed look. “You’re acting even colder towards him than before your exam meltdown. Your prick level can only stoop down so low.”

You ended up getting tutor lessons from Chan every day before the dreaded day of judgment: the exam in Algebra II. You spent more hours in his room than on your own if you were completely honest, and the results were fruitful. While you did manage to pass the exam with a fairly high score, the price you had to pay was hell.

It’s almost as if Chan caught up on your hand fixation. Sometimes he twirled the pen in his fingers, sometimes it was the simple bracelet dangling on his wrist. Just when you thought he had you figured out, he asks you if you’re alright, visibly oblivious to his effect on you. Such duality in a person should be illegal, you conclude. If you die from whiplash, you know who the perpetrator is.

“You were the one who pretty much pressured me into asking him for help,” you drawl.

“I had good intentions only! You can’t keep up the I-hate-royal-families-blah-blah mentality the entire time!” Youngjae wails before stuffing a handful of chips in his mouth.

“Watch me.” You internally cringe at the loud crunching sounds he’s making and add vigorously, “And stop chewing so loudly.”

“You’ll get around or so help me God—” he groans when his phone buzzes. He doesn’t spare a glance at the caller ID because there’s only one person who has set his ringtone to the baby shark song specifically for when he’s calling. “I gotta go, Jinyoung’s being a bitch again. Don’t murder somebody. Thanks.” You only watch him shuffle for his bag and grab a handful of chips before he’s out the door. Groaning, you clean up the mess he’s made on the table.

Just as you’re done wiping the crumbs off the surface, Chan pads into the room.

“Hey, can we talk?”

“I established right at the beginning that you should only talk to me when absolutely necessary.” you scowl, trying to walk past him.

“Well, this is important,” he urges and blocks the doorway, effectively stopping you from fleeing. “And I do deserve one conversation with you after I helped you out.”

“You offered on your own. That’s not the same as asking for a favor.” You successfully push your way past him, but in the next moment, he spins you around and pins you against the wall.

“We’re going to talk, whether you like it or not.” The sudden coldness of his tone has shivers running down your spine. Chan holds your wrist in an iron grip and if he clutched on any tighter, you wouldn’t put it past him to break your bones. Out of options, you comply and give him a curt nod before he lets go and takes a step back.

“I don’t understand you, (y/n). I genuinely thought you would put your prejudices aside but instead, all I get are mixed signals from you.”

It’s your turn to gawk. “Me? Mixed signals? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you keep looking at me as if you want me to fuck your brains out.” If the color hasn’t drained from your face yet, it has now. Chan smiles wickedly at your horrified reaction but doesn’t stop there. “I’m talking about how you talk like you don’t want anything to do with me but act as if you’re begging for my attention.” He takes a step closer to you, and you wish you could morph with the wall. “I’m talking about how you keep staring at my hands and think I don’t notice it.” You wince when he rests his hands against the wall on each side of your face, leaning closer so that you can feel his breath on your lips. “So, you have a thing for my hands?” Bullseye.

“You’re so full of yourself. No wonder your ministers want to get rid of you,” you snap because you’d rather suffer from food poisoning than admitting that you want Chan’s fingers in you.

Something shifts within Chan. He gapes at you, clearly not expecting you to even know about the ministers. His demeanor darkens in a blink of an eye, and you feel like your legs are about to give up on you when you meet his eyes, black and feral.

“You’re playing with fire. Don’t anger me,” he warns, voice low and rough.

“So it’s true that you resorted to bottling up your feelings, your Highness?” you cock your head to the side. Chan clenches his jaw at the mention of his title, struggling to keep his anger in check. You laugh through your nose, then grab one of his hands and force it away from the wall. If he already knows that you’re thirsting after him, might as well go for it. “It’s funny how your ministers aren’t able to string you around like a puppet yet here you are, unable to do anything against a commoner. You know you have nice hands and you know my weakness and yet, you’re not using them on me.” He gulps when you fumble with his fingers.

And then he understands.

“Unless I misread the situation,” he says darkly, though you distinguish the slight tremor his voice carries. “Do you really want this? I’m not going to go easy on you.” Chan is dead serious, judging by the way he’s looking at you expectantly.

“The safe word is petunia.” You don’t take your eyes off him and add in a louder tone, “Now try me, do your worst.”

“You’re going to regret wanting me at my worst,” Chan growls and before you know it, he crashes his lips against yours. The kiss is anything but sweet, more of a clash of teeth and tongues and saliva dribbling down your chins, yet it leaves you boiling hot and wobbly on your feet. He presses you up against the wall and forces his leg between yours, the sudden contact making you hunch forward. You moan against his mouth when he tugs harshly on your hair, the sting making your nerves go haywire. In the meantime, your hands roam his upper body, blunt nails digging into his shoulders as you try to buck your hips against his leg. While he doesn’t budge, you manage to elicit a groan out of him.

When you pull away, you’re both gasping for air. Chan’s hair is disheveled from the way you’ve been pulling on them, lips pink and glossy. One look in his eyes is enough to make your heart stop beating. They’re dark and animalistic and set ablaze with unfiltered lust. You’re such in a daze from a simple kiss that you nearly stumble when Chan drags you to his room.

He manhandles you on his bed with ease before his lips latch on yours once more. You nearly sob when he rids you off your pants, putting pressure in all the right places to have you losing your mind. As you’re about to gain back some dominance in the kiss, he breaks it off. His fingers that were once ghosting over your underwear are now tracing patterns all over the material, making you spasm. “You’re such a brat, all bark but no bite. All it takes is one kiss and you’ve lost all your fight. Can you get any more pathetic?” he mocks as he focuses his fingertips directly on the wet patch of your underwear. Your eyes roll back as he rubs on the same spot, the broken moans leaving you eerily similar to cries. “Don’t tell me you’re about to come like this. How sensitive are you?”

“Am n-not—” you cut yourself off with a whimper when he lets the waistband snap against your skin.

“Yeah, you sure about that?” he grins and that’s when you break, feeling your high approaching at lightning speed.

“Don’t wanna come like this—”

“But I thought you’re not sensitive?” the satisfied grin just widens with every syllable that leaves his lips. “If you don’t want to come like this, all over your underwear, beg.”

Chan applies even more force to your sensitive spots, and you struggle to have a clear thought. The smirk he delivers is lethal, and you couldn’t be any more convinced that he’s the devil’s incarnate.

“I’ll do anything, please. Don’t let me come like this, that’s all I’m a-aah-asking for,” you weep, your blood nearly boiling at its climax, “I’ll even take a punishment!”

“Say my name,” he orders, fingers still drawing circles.

“Your—”

“My name, not my title.”

Your breath hitches as you finally realize what he’s aiming for. He wants you to remember that it’s him who’s reducing you into this illiterate mess. Him, the one you’ve been despising since before you even met. If you still had any ounce of dignity left, you’d try to fix the power imbalance until you’re left with no choice but to obey, but now you’re so close and the last thing you want to do is come with your pants on.

“Please, Chan,” your voice breaks towards the end and in an instant, he pulls away. As you’re letting you’re basking in the break from his brutal tempo, not too affected by how your upcoming orgasm is fading away, Chan observes you.

And then out of nowhere, he flips you on your stomach and delivers a hard smack to your ass that has you screaming into the pillows.

“You said you’d take any punishment too, right?” You twitch as he rubs the small of your back. You can already imagine the handprints on your ass he continued to slap you with such force that has you moving up the bed. The pain that’s going to haunt you for days. Before you know it, you try to arch your back to lift your ass, but then the bed shifts. “But if you really think I’m going to spank you as a punishment, then you’re really fucking dumb. As if I’ll use my hands on you when we both know you love my hands.”

With that, he drops himself on his chair, spreading his legs that you can see the prominent tent forming in his pants. He orders you over with a flick of his finger, and just as you get up from the bed, a new wave of horror flushes over you.

“Crawl.”

The look you send him is priceless. There’s no fucking way you can do it. It’s just a few meters, nothing you can’t handle, but he’s there sitting on his Ikea swivel chair as if it’s his throne made of gold, watching your every movement like a predator. And then there’s you, only in a shirt and underwear, being forced to go on all fours as if you were his fucking dog—

The difference in power display couldn’t get any more visible. He really is the fucking worst.

“You’d really do anything, huh…” he muses as you drop on your hands and knees and crawl to him, never looking up. It’s only when he beckons you to stand up that you look at him with nothing but rage and shame in your eyes. Chan has always been slightly terrified with your death stare but right now, he can’t take it seriously and it shows. It shows in the way he smiles lopsidedly, in the way his brows quirk in amusement. “Now hump my leg.”

Humiliation runs through your body all over. Your fists are clenched as he waits for you to act, even pats his thigh in case you didn’t get the memo. But oh you do, and his thigh does look inviting.

“Hump my leg like the brainless bitch you are. If you want my hands or my cock, you earn it first. Especially since you treated me like shit ever since I moved in.” The last sentence burns you badly because he has a point. But then there’s the prospect of his hands and dick that’s bulging out of his pants.

Pushing all thoughts away, you settle on his leg. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you tell yourself it’s all good and then you move. The first thrust knocks all air out of your lungs and you grab onto his shoulders for support. You didn’t even move that much, but Chan’s looking at you as if he’s about to fucking devour you and knowing that he is very much capable of moving you around, you’re starting to become overwhelmed.

Eventually, you lose yourself in the feeling of his rough jeans against your drenched underwear, humping on his thigh as your orgasm builds up. It’s silent, save for your pants, and the countless whimpers flying past your lips as your movements gradually become sloppier. You’re almost there and you know it. But so does Chan, and the moment he’s got it figured out, he lunges from your hips and forces you to pick up the pace.

“Oh no, you’re going to come,” he growls, ignoring your pleas and sobs. Adrenaline courses in your blood and you know it isn’t long until you fall apart. You try to make him stop, even put your hands on his, but you don’t have the energy to actively push him away.

“Chan, please— I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna come? Then fucking come on my thigh, (y/n),” he snaps, and then adds, “You hear that? You’re about to come from humping my thigh.”

Maybe it’s the realization that he’s right, maybe it’s the way he’s worded it. Either way, it’s the last straw to make you spasm as you come, soaking your underwear and even managing to make a mess out of his pants. Chan makes sure you ride through your orgasm, only stopping to move your hips once you’re all spent and resting your head on his shoulder. Your eyes are glassy, vision foggy, but the only thing you can envision clearly is Chan.

Chan jolts when your hand grazes over his bulge. You’re about to undo his pants, but he’s quick to stop you and restrict your hands behind your back.

“You think you deserve my cock? Dream on. As if I would fuck any commoner, especially those who don’t respect me,” he spits, and you flinch at his choice of words, clearly recalling that you used the exact same terms and he’s now using it against you. “You said you’d take any punishment. Well, guess what? This was just punishment number one.”

#yes the ending is rushed oops sue me #may consider part 2 so heads up #stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan smut #chan smut #smut.mine #dom!chan #sub!reader #crispy.txt

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teawaffles · 3 years

Text

There’s No Business Like Show Business: Chapter 2

The next day.

After finishing his work at the mansion, Bond headed to Whitechapel’s Leman Street, where Maya and her company normally held their rehearsals. [1]

Walking down the noisy street was not just Bond, but also three other employees of the Moriarty household. One of them was Fred Porlock.

“It would’ve been fine if only you came along, Fred…… But thanks for joining us anyway, you two.”

Bond directed that to Jack Renfield and Sebastian Moran, who were walking a little behind him.

As Fred was a master of disguise, Bond had asked him to contribute his opinion on the performance too when Jack and Moran decided to tag along. Now the four of them were on their way to the rehearsal — with Louis’ permission of course.

Jack roared with laughter.

“No, you don’t have to thank me. I’ve watched my fair share of theatre, so I thought I could help them out, even if it’s from an amateur’s perspective,” said the old butler, nodding as he reminisced about those good old days.

“You’re probably just after the young girls from the theatre company, aren’t you old man?” Moran said, half in disgust. “Bond said this Maya chairwoman is a dashing lady in her own right, so I came along to feast my eyes on—— Ow, that hurt!”

Jack had clapped Moran on the head, as a warning to not shoot his mouth off.

“The only one here chasing women is you. Really, you didn’t even finish your chores properly before coming here.”

“I did my part just fine. For once, I’m not skipping out on work.”

“Rubbish — I did a check before we left and found some cigarette butts in the hallway. Don’t you dare annoy Louis any further.”

“……W-Well, the more the merrier, right?”

“…………”

Listening to their usual argument at the back of the group, Bond smiled wryly, while Fred was silent.

Finally, they had reached their destination. Waiting in front of the theatre was Maya, and her little sister Mae.

“Mister Bond!”

“Hey, haven’t seen you since yesterday.”

Mae waved her arms up and down in excitement, while Bond greeted them with a smile.

“S—sorry. Normally, she would play with the other children near our place, but today she insisted on coming with me…… By the way, um, who might these, d—dignified gentlemen be?”

“Ah, they work at the same household as me. The short one here is Fred. The somewhat scary-looking one is Moran. And this dandy old gentleman is Mr Jack. If you’re alright with it, I thought you could use their input as well.”

As Bond introduced them, the three men also greeted their host. But Maya seemed a little perplexed.

“……Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come here in a big group,” Bond admitted, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“No, no.” Maya hurriedly waved her hands. “I—I’m really grateful to be able to, hear valuable feedback from, so many people. For now, let’s not stand here to talk, please come in……”

Maya guided them into the theatre, stooped in a self-abasing posture. Her faltering voice was much as the same as from their previous encounter, but today, nerves seemed to have crept in as well.

“She has a sort of shadow about her, but that has its own charm. Like the transient beauty of a young widow, don’t you think?”

“She’s pretty, for sure, but not really my type. More like the kind of woman who complicates things when you break up with her.”

“Um, sorry you two, but if you could just keep your voices down,” chided Bond, as Jack and Moran whispered about the chairwoman behind her back.

Right after the entrance was a cramped space. The box seats above them looked hastily constructed; in truth, the interior decorations made it seem more appropriate to call this place a playhouse, rather than a proper theatre.

But their guide had only praise. “The manager here is, a really nice person; whenever we say we want to practise, he’s always happy to lend it to us. There are performances held at night, so we can only use it during the day.”

“He trusts you, doesn’t he.”

Hearing her speak with such sincere gratitude, Bond was quietly impressed by her character. Perhaps her dark aura easily invited misunderstanding, but she was definitely genuine at heart.

“Speaking of which, Miss Maya, you said that you’re the director for this performance, but surely someone else is responsible for the sets and the arrangements at the other theatre during this time?”

“Another member is in charge of the sets, but the negotiations and the like, w—were handled by me. Even so, the manager of the larger theatre — a nobleman — had actually approached us to be the opening act for another company, and I just accepted his invitation.”

“Still, isn’t it great to be invited to perform on a bigger stage, even if it’s just as an opening act?”

“Yes; for people like us — a theatre company from the slums, we don’t have many chances to show the world what we can do, so everyone’s doing their very best.”

Saying that, Maya secretly clenched her fists. Surely the one working the hardest was none other than Maya herself.

There was no audience in the stalls, and on the stage were a number of men and women — likely the company members themselves — doing light warm-ups and vocal exercises. A few of the children he’d met yesterday were also frolicking about on stage.

One exceptionally tall man on the stage had noticed Bond and the others enter the hall, and spoke up.

“Oh, is that the rumoured theatre master?”

Moran whistled at this unusually grand title.

“Theatre master, eh. A fitting name considering your experience, Bond.”

“Fufu, I’m honoured.”

Bond accepted it with his innate courage and composure. Then, he went onto the stage with Maya, while the other three sat in the stalls at the far end, so as to not stand out and interfere with the rehearsal.

The company members each stopped what they were doing and lined up in wait.

“Everyone, this is Mr Bond, who will be watching our performance today,” introduced Maya.

Right then and there, her voice had become clearer and stronger. A little taken aback by the sudden change in her attitude, Bond took a quick look around the room.

“Hello to you all. I’m looking forward to what you have for me today,” he said solemnly, as he bowed.

“We’ll do our best!” The company members bowed their heads in unison.

From their greeting, Bond could feel the the quality of their bearing, and the strength of their cohesion. Not only that, the tension he himself once felt when he stood on stage came rushing back in waves.

He switched his frame of mind from that of a special agent, to that of an actor, and looked over Maya and her company with an earnest gaze.

“Well then, without further ado, please show me what you’ve got.”

“Yes!”

Even though his instructions had been given with no introductory remarks, they asked no unnecessary questions, and jumped straight into preparation. Even though they had only put up plays in cheap theatres, Maya’s company already displayed the high level of professionalism they had developed.

“Miss Maya, what’s the programme for today?” Bond asked, as he moved to the row of seats right in front of the stage.

Maya was also directing Mae and the other children to sit down. “We’re starting with ‘The Red Shoes’, followed by ‘The Little Mermaid’, and lastly, ‘The Little Match Girl’.”

“Hmm, fairytales, I see.”

The unexpected subject matter piqued his interest.

In a time when Shakespeare was all the rage, to perform children’s literature in a proper theatre, and a serious scripted play at that — now this was a bold move.

But as someone who liked to do things unconventionally, that was precisely why their play intrigued Bond. Yesterday’s playful rendition of “The Little Match Girl” was probably inspired by it as well.

Then, the tall man who noticed Bond earlier spoke up.

“Ain’t it interesting? Maya always makes sure to write plays that even us poor dumb folk understand. Today’s script is also entirely her work,” he said cheerfully.

“Weren’t you in charge of creating the play too? You should be able to write at least one decent line of dialogue.”

At the man’s self-satisfied tone, a woman beside him sighed. But he ignored her pointed comment and carried on.

“There were a bunch of people who’d always thought ‘Hamlet’ and ‘Macbeth’ and the like were plain boring; but after Maya broke them down into something easier to follow, they’ve gotten hooked onto Shakespeare.”

“Being able to interpret works in a way that everyone can understand…… A wonderful talent indeed.”

But if you were to put on a proper production of Shakespeare in an unregulated theatre like this, you would be caught by the censors. To avoid that, incorporating music and the like into their productions was a brilliant adaptation on their part.

Bond had said that last part out loud, and the man thanked him for his words of praise. The members of the company had shown their admiration for Maya, but the woman herself took in a deep breath, as if to hide her embarrassment.

In other words, in order to put on a play that everyone could follow, the answer she'd arrived at was “fairytales”. Although it may be the best choice given the short length of the opening act……

“I’m sitting next to Mister Bond!”

“Hey, no fair!”

Bond had been absorbed in thought about the contents of the play. Nearby, the children were scrambling for the best spots. Having won the seat to the left of Bond, Mae asked him a question.

“Mister Bond, do you like ‘fairy tales’?”

That pulled him out of his thought process for a moment, and Mae smiled.

“Yeah. I read them when I was a child.”

“I like them too, because Maya and the rest always read them in a fun way—”

“Me too!” The other children raised their hands and shouted. Reading stories aloud while acting out the roles was indeed a theatrical way of reading to children.

However, Mae immediately pouted in frustration.

“But I really hate that story.”

“……Why is that?”

“The little girl always looks so sad. I tried asking Maya to give it a happy ending, but she just said that we have to ‘respect the intent of the story’ and didn’t listen.”

Her words helped Bond discern the true nature of the incongruity he'd felt.

As Mae had said, all three stories had their protagonists fall into unfortunate circumstances and perish. It was true that many fairytales were cruel, but there were others with happy endings too. Was there some hidden intent behind these choices?

As Bond pondered the new question that surfaced in his mind, Mae leaned in towards him.

“Mister Bond, do you also think it’s important, what Maya said? No matter how sad a story is, can’t we make it happy on our own?”

She asked that question with clear eyes. Bond thought for a few seconds, before responding.

“It’s true that it’s important to understand the intention of the original story. If you change its contents haphazardly, the fans of the story would be upset. I think your sister is the type who would take that very seriously.”

Mae glanced down in disappointment at his level-headed answer, but Bond continued.

“However, if we were all afraid of criticism, then nothing new would ever be made. If you have something you really want to tell others, then I think it’s possible to add a new interpretation to a story. After all, one form of respect is to show the world how you would’ve done it.”

“……Oh I see!”

Mae brightened up, and Bond smiled. Her question was one that had always, and would continue to vex all interpreters of stories. But at the very least, he didn’t want to make a decision on which way was right.

Just as their conversation had come to an end, it seemed the preparations for the performance were now complete.

“Without further ado, let us begin.”

Standing on a platform, Maya gave a bow, and with that the curtain rose.

Footnotes:

[1] Leman Street is a little to the north-east of the Tower of London and St. Katharine Docks, and within walking distance of both.

T/N: Is this chapter some meta-level commentary on the series itself?! omg

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #forbidden games

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