#I wish I was at a place in recovery where I could just ignore comments | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

notiddygothgf · 1 year ago

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★ pairings: suguru geto x satoru gojo, satosugu

★ synopsis: Suguru Geto struggles with letting people in after leaving a three-year-long abusive relationship. Enter Satoru Gojo, the boy who doesn't seem to take no for an answer.

★ c.w.: slow burn, mutual pining, explicit sexual content, dub con elements, implied/referenced rape/non-con, mahito is a real abusive asshole, past relationship(s), past abuse, recovery, hurt, comfort, vent fic, based on my shitty ex, my therapist told me it'd be a good idea idk, im a good writer I swear, brought to u by the bch who wrote best friend's brother!choso, sexual tension, new love, fluff, angst, smutt, graphic, psychological trauma, theres a happy ending in here I swear, angst with a happy ending, psychological trauma, PTSD, idiots in love, sexy smut I swear.

★ a/n: NGL I kinda hate how this turned out. but! it had to be done! I had to get it out of the way. the way I think this is gonna work is past flashbacks first, present time next. it's gonna prob alternative between the two for a while. comment your thoughts! let me hear u! feel free to slander mahito... he plays the shitty ex.

★ w.c.; 3.4k

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𝐔 𝐍 𝐅 𝐎 𝐑 𝐓 𝐔 𝐍 𝐀 𝐓 𝐄 𝐀 𝐈 𝐋 𝐌 𝐄 𝐍 𝐓

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PROLOGUE

2019. MONTH UNKNOWN.

I WAS ONLY 12 YEARS OLD the first time I tried to kill myself. In retrospect, I can’t possibly imagine what could have been so important to little me that he firmly believed he would rather die than live without it. I wish I could say that I had a difficult life. That simply was not the case. I grew up with two loving parents and a kind brother, in a small town where every friend I’d ever had was within a mile of me at any given point in time. We weren’t rich, but we most certainly weren’t poor. I had everything a child could ask for and so much more.

Again, I wish that I could say I had a difficult life, but that simply was not the case.

It’s just that I’ve had these… thoughts for as long as I can remember. An unfortunate ailment, if you will. No matter what I did, there always seemed to be something missing. Something I felt I would spend my whole life searching for – or at least trying to supplement.

At 12 years old, I planned my first attempt.

It didn’t work.

So, now, faced with the unbearable burden of deciding what I was going to do for the rest of my life, I chose to pursue a childhood dream of mine. I wanted to go to school to become a doctor. I didn’t know what kind, per se, but I knew that I wanted to heal.

Maybe I thought, I don’t know… that if I healed enough people, I may have been rid of the ailment – healed, myself.

So I left my small town, enrolling in an academy 30 minutes away from the house. I got into their Healthcare program. Again, what more could a kid want?

Yet the void inside of me only grew larger, more ravenous. I lost touch with all of my small town friends – one by one. I had no one.

But I was pursuing my passion, right? Why wasn’t it enough?

It was in that godforsaken academy that I met him.

“Pick a card,” he asked me. His grey eyes were so sharp, even then. “Any card.”

I glanced down at the fanned-out deck in his pale hand, eyes crawling over the many different suits and shapes before eventually settling on an ace. I pulled the card out.

Ace of spades. I tried to memorize it. I also, coincidentally, tried my best to ignore the incessant thrum of my racing heartbeat against my veins, my arteries, my chest. He was sitting so close to me.

It was just the two of us in the hallway. Just me and him and the infinite space between us, the small gap between my right shoulder and his left.

I handed it back to him. “What are you doing?” I asked.

He slipped the card back into the deck without looking. He shuffled it once, twice, three times. Made a bridge with his hands and let the cards fall back into place. I watched with a remarkable sense of interest.

“Is this your card?” He tucked a stray blue hair behind his ear, producing a card.

I furrowed my brows, about to say something, when I noticed something off about the card. It was different. Where there once was a large blue spade, there now was a small, torn piece of lined paper taped to the surface. The gray lettering on the handwritten note read,

WILL U GO OUT W/ ME?

My eyes went as wide as saucers. My mouth lolled open, lips shaped around his cursed name, “Mahito, I…”

I thought of my parents. I thought of my religious father. What would he say? What would he say if he found out his 14-year-old son was a homosexual?

I thought of my parents, and I bit my lip, “I don’t know if I can… I don’t know. What if my dad finds out?”

Mahito tucked the deck of cards neatly into the pocket of his black cargo pants. His hoodie was rolled up to his elbows, revealing intricate stick-and-poke linework over his forearms. He shrugged, humming, “Who says he has to?”

The tardy bell rang. We were late for first period.

My mouth opened by itself again. At fourteen, I wasn’t so sure I was ready to lie to my father about something so serious. Not yet.

Seemingly sensing my hesitance, Mahito laid a hand on my stiff shoulder. “Hey,” he muttered softly. “Think about it. Give me your answer after school, yeah? We’ll meet here at 3:30.”

And then he slipped away with a quiet, ‘See ya’.

Without confirmation.

In his absence, I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat.

2019 February.

Mahito ran away from home two weeks into our relationship. Ran away without so much as a notice or a warning. Ran away and left me there to assume the worst. He didn’t live in the best area. Perhaps he was staying with a friend? If not, was he dead in a ditch somewhere?

There was no way to tell.

He could have at least told me, I had thought. Then again, would I have tried to stop him? Undoubtedly.

They issued a missing persons alert the day after he didn’t show up. I remember seeing the poster all over my social media, all over the streetlights and posts.

It didn’t seem real. Even as I held the missing poster in my trembling hand, I remember feeling numb. I remember feeling as if this were all some sort of cruel prank, that he would be back just in time for our after-school walk with a smile on his face.

But there he was, smiling up at me from the page in my hand.

MISSING PERSON: MAHITO

Height: 5’8

Weight: 150

Eye color: gray

Hair color: blue

Remarkable features: tattoos on arms

Last seen: February 14th.

I crumpled the piece of paper up, tossing it across my messy bedroom with a sigh. I hadn’t slept last night, and I wouldn’t have slept tonight either.

I sunk into myself, curled into a ball on my twin-sized mattress – the same one I’d had for as long as I could remember – and cried. I was utterly inconsolable. I cried until my voice was hoarse, until there were no more tears left to cry.

Until my phone buzzed.

I assumed it was another homework notification. I didn’t check. What did it matter? In my eyes, my world had stopped spinning. It had stopped the moment he ran away.

But it buzzed again, and again.

It was then that I realized I was getting a call. Begrudgingly, I picked my phone up off of the bed. I turned it over. The screen was lit up with the words ‘NO CALLER ID’.

I wanted to hang up. Desperately. Wanted to save myself a shred of peace and dignity and move on with my night – in hindsight, I probably should have just hung up when I had the chance. But, no, I felt something in my gut call out to me.

Against my better judgment, I answered, “Hello?”

The line crackled. “Suguru?”

Suguru.

My heart leapt up into my throat. With wide eyes, I answered again, “Who’s this?”

“Suguru, it’s me, Mahito,” He sighed with relief, like he hadn’t expected me to pick up. Truth be told, I hadn’t expected it either. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you sooner, my love. I’m calling you from a phone booth right now.”

My love. The nickname sounded like honey coming from his lips, but I knew it was laced with venom. Still, as would seem to be the trend, I was weak for it.

My eyes began to water again, somehow. “Where are you?”

I knew better than to call him ‘baby’. Not when my father was sleeping in the room next to mine.

“I can’t tell you that right now,” He answered. Of course, he couldn’t. There always seemed to be something he was hiding from me. I didn’t see it that way back then. “Look, I don’t have much time to talk, I–”

“I’ve been worried sick about you, Mahi,” I spoke again. I felt numb. So numb. “Please, just–”

“I stole ten grand from my mom,” He cut me off. “I’m running away from home. The abuse, it’s just– I can’t. I can’t, anymore.”

His mother was a real piece of shit. I knew that. She never wanted Mahito, not as a single mother. So she tried multiple times to be rid of him – beating him senseless with hangers and wires and even going so far as to attempt to poison him on his birthday.

Still, ten grand was a lot of money.

Stolen.

“I’m on the run from the cops, I– I think they’re trying to find me,” He panted into the microphone. “You can’t tell anyone, okay? You gotta lie for me.”

I felt sick. Sick to my fucking stomach.

“I’m sorry, I…” I trailed off, holding back vomit. “Hold on.”

I ran to the bathroom and promptly emptied the contents of my stomach into the sink. I had just eaten mac and cheese an hour or so ago, and the vomit was tinted yellow. I could still see a few noodles here and there, only partially digested.

It made me want to hurl again.

“You okay?” he asked me.

“Am I– No, I’m not fucking okay, Mahito! First, you run away without–” I had to swallow bile a second time. I felt it burn as it slid back down my throat. “You could have fucking warned me , or something, and now you’re calling me at eleven at night to tell me you’re fleeing the fucking cops?”

He paused. “I know,” he said. “I know, I’m sorry. You know I love you.”

And immediately, like some sort of magic trick, I felt my exterior soften. I didn’t even care that we were only a few weeks into our relationship. He was my first. It was like he knew the effect he had on me.

“Suguru,” he said again. “I love you.”

His words were like honey. I took a spoonful.

“I love you, too,” I sighed into the receiver.

“You’ll keep quiet about this for me, right?”

I was weak for him, as always.

“Okay,” I said.

I found myself sitting at my desk in the middle of the day, struggling to concentrate on the lesson. The classmates at my table – more like a group of desks placed together – were talking about the missing boy.

My missing boy.

They were talking to me, actually, but I had long since tuned them out. It was all a blur for me – a blur of faces and voices and words I didn’t want to hear.

“He’s a freak,” The boy across from me, Choso Kamo, remarked. “If I were you, I’d break things off before it’s too late.”

Choso’s critical words sent a sharp pang right through my rotten heart.

“Exactly,” My friend, Shoko, chimed in. She was a pretty thing, about a few inches shorter than me with brown hair up to her chin. She always looked so tired . I wonder if she recognized that I felt the same. “He’s got some serious issues. Guys like that rarely make for healthy relationships.”

Choso leaned in, leaned over the desk to offer more of his thoughts, “You can’t just ignore the fact that more people are catchin’ on, either. What if your dad finds out? You know he thinks that… kind of stuff is wrong.”

Choso was Shoko’s friend. He wasn’t homophobic. A little misguided, but he had the spirit. Hell if he weren’t a raging heterosexual, I might have even gone for him instead. He had that look I liked – sleepy, downturned, dark eyes framed by messy bangs. He never wore colors. He was content to make a statement in black. Black eyeliner, black shirt, black doc martens, black hair done up into two messy pigtails.

It was his signature look.

Our classmates didn’t take too kindly to ‘emos’ like him, though. He was an outcast. Hell, we all were. That’s why we sat together, after all.

The harsh opinions of my classmates threatened to erode my self assurance. I knew people were talking – people always talked. I knew the hushed whispers of my name as I walked past people and cliques in the mornings on my way to class weren’t a hallucination.

I knew I had to stand by my boyfriend. I knew I had to stand by Mahito, but the weight of their disapproval put a strain on my shoulders. Does anyone want to hear that their friends don’t approve of their partner?

Admittedly, he wasn’t a very good partner. He had demonstrated that much in the first few weeks of our relationship. I knew he wasn’t good for me, but, fuck, I wanted to try. I wanted to make things work so badly that I ached for it. Everyone else knew he wasn’t good for me, too.

But, fuck, was I naive to wish I could prove them all wrong?

In my eyes, he was only misunderstood. The ghosting, the red flags, the alarming behavior… I could see past it all because I loved him. My first love. No one understood him the way I did. How could I blame them for their concerns?

It didn’t matter how many voices I had in my ear telling me it was wrong. Soon, he would come home to me, and I would feel his skin against my cheek as I hugged him hello. That’s all that mattered.

How could that be wrong?

“It’s not wrong. How could it be?” I kept my gaze trained on my desk. My vision was blurry, unfocused. My mind felt numb and detached. I muttered. “I love him. He loves me, too. He told me he did.”

He did.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Choso and Shoko exchange a dubious look.

They didn’t understand him the way I did.

“He told me he loved me,” I repeated the words like a mantra, like a reminder to myself that I was fighting for something.

That as long as I was loved by him, I would be okay.

He called again that night. Earlier, this time, at nine o’clock.

I was in the shower at that time, curled up on the floor, sobbing into my arms. The water streamed past my shoulders, my arms, my nose. I glanced over at the screen through blurry eyes.

NO CALLER ID.

I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath.

Then, I let the call ring.

Current Day.

[12:13 PM]

[Automated]: you have 3 new messages. Play back?

[USER] Selected:

[NO] ...

... [View Inbox]

...

[ Last 6 Years ].

[REPLAY>>] Message from 'Blocked Number'.

Transcription:

" Suguru, this is me, Mahito. I don’t know if you can hear me or not– I don’t know if anyone can hear you or not, so please use headphones, or something, I don’t know. I just wanted to call and make sure you’re okay. I’m gonna try and call you later. Right now you seem to not be answering your phone for some reason. Doesn’t matter, though. I’m not in a really good place, right now, I’m… surrounded by a lot of people. So, um.. I just wanted to say that I love you, and I’ll call you a little bit later, okay? Bye– kisses…….”

[End of Transcription]

[Automated]: Would you like to play the next message?

[ Yes. ]

“ Suguru, is this– this is me, Mahito. Um.. I just wanted to say that I’m okay. Nothing has happened to me yet. I’m perfectly safe. I’m in a laundromat somewhere. And, uh, I said I love you… I don’t know why you’re not answering my calls… You know that I always try to text you whenever I can– and try to… call you, but… I don’t know, maybe you’re too depressed, or some shit. Maybe you’re mad at me. I understand. I– what I did was wrong, I… What I did was idiotic, and what I did was stupid, and shitty… And I understand if you’re mad at me and you don’t wanna answer my calls. So, yeah, I gues… I’ll try to call you again tomorrow.

If you’re hearing this voicemail, but you probably won’t, um… I just want you to know that I love you. And I’m trying to do my best just… to see you again. You like pizza, don’t you? How about we do a pizza date sometime, yeah? Somewhere around next week, maybe. Huh? How about that? Sounds cool, right? Yeah, yeah it does. Um, anyway, I… gotta… I gotta go. I have to… do some things. Uh… uh… at least I love you.

And, I– I might not have brought much with me, but I have the little stuffie that you gave me. It’s in my book bag. Not gonna take it out because people are gonna know what my things look like. I’m always gonna keep these memories close to my heart. I don’t care what anybody says. Even if I go to prison, I’m taking this shit with me. Alright? Um, I guess that’s it. And… last thing? I love you.

Please, answer me. If you’re calling, that means you actually care, but if you don’t, then… it’s fine. Don’t recall this number. I’m not gonna respond. This is just some random guy’s phone. Okay? Um… I love you, and please stay safe. Please don’t worry, I’m still alive. I miss you. Okay, bye, I love you.”

[End of Voicemails Received on February 18th, 2019].

[Automated]: Would you like to replay the messages?

[ No. ]

[ Delete ] > [ All messages from {Blocked Number}]

[Automated]: Are you sure?

[Yes]

[Automated]: Deleting all messages from {Blocked Number}.

THE WIND BLEW IN HEAVY from below, sending a plethora of leaves flying out in all directions. As I knelt down to test the current with my fingers, my boots sank deeper into the muddy riverside.

I sat on the bench in front of the riverbed. Wiping my fingers dry on the fabric of my denim jeans, I took a moment to take in my surroundings. The park was mostly empty, save for a few teenagers

The water always looked pretty this time of year. For a few moments, you stood there drinking in the sight of it.

In the present, I sat alone in front of the serene lake, surrounded by the picturesque beauty of nature. Lush green trees lined the shore, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. The scent of damp earth and the distant call of birds created a peaceful atmosphere, contrasting with the turmoil in my mind.

I watched as groups of carefree teenagers ran around, their laughter and joy a stark contrast to the heavy weight I carried in my heart. A deep sigh escaped my lips as I averted my gaze towards the shimmering water.

I wished for the water to possess the power to cleanse me, to wash away the burdens that weighed on my soul.

The sound of the water rushing past was almost deafening, drowning out the laughter of the teenagers. It consumed my thoughts, leaving me with an overwhelming feeling of dread and isolation. I yearned for the water to offer solace, as if it held the key to absolution and a fresh start, but it remained an unsettling reminder of my own inner turmoil.

I had a vision every time I came here for some peace of mind. It was the same vision every single time. It plagued me every time I found myself in front of the water. It was an image of me, standing at the water's edge, and then, with a deep sense of despair, throwing myself into it, sinking into the abyss and drowning.

As I sat there, the scenery around me seemed to blur, and the vision of my drowning self played on a loop in my mind, a relentless nightmare that I couldn't escape. The lake, which should have been a source of tranquility, had become a symbol of my pain and a relentless reminder of my inner struggles.

It seemed to call to me. I could almost hear the wind carry my name.

Suguru.

The water always looked pretty this time of year. I sat there watching it for a moment too long, wondering what it would feel like to be enveloped by the cold current, to feel it wash me away.

And, again, the sound of the current grew louder. Deafening. Consuming me.

a/n: l comment and lmk what u think pookiesss

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 2 years ago

Note

abuse , victim blaming

just need to vent, thank you

i hate hate HATE it when people being kind towards abuse survivors are called babying them. i hate hate HATE it when people tell survivors to fight back and say it's our own fault if we're stuck because we're unwilling to work towards our own freedom. i HATE it when they are praised and even proud of themselves for making us face the harsh truth. YOU DONT!!! i find it very very VERYYY victim blamey to even inisuate we are somehow in the wrong for what? not trying even harder to escape? i always feel insulted each time someone tell me to try to escape and "get out of my comfort zone". like, why did you assume i never tried to fight back or escape? why did you think i even have any comfort zone at all? i hate it even more when it comes to fellow abuse survivor who escaped on their own. like, okay??? just because you could finally escape doesnt mean everyone else can do it too??? do i understand that sometimes, there are no outsiders who can magically save us? of course i do! i've known since early age that nobody will side with me! do i desperately wish to be able to escape myself since nobody from outside would be able to or willing to help me! OF COURSE!!!! I'VE TRIED FOR YEARS!!! SO WHY THE ASSUMPTION THAT BECAUSE I'M STILL STUCK THEN CLEARLY I HAVEN'T TRIED HARD ENOUGH????!!!!

gods. i understand if people who never experience abuse say that. but fellow abuse survivors??? hello???? do you seriously think escaping abusive situation is just a matter of mindset change wtf. i know staying in an abusive situation is bad!!!! i know it's highly unlikely any outside party will help me!!! i also know that escaping will bring negative consequences because i have tried and experienced it myself!!! even if i do escape i dont even know where to go!!!! i will die either way!!! like holy shit just because my exterior personality is calm and friendly doesnt mean im just tolerating bullshit while denying reality wtf

Hi anon,

I hear you. Unfortunately there are a lot of people out there with backwards ideas about abuse survivors, and the rhetoric that they perpetuate is so hurtful and damaging to our recovery. It's frustrating to deal with people who are simply ignorant to how abuse actually works. By perpetuating victim-blaming in these ways, they are protecting abusers.

I think it's important to be reminded that you didn't deserve what happened, regardless of whether or not you fought back. You still deserve kindness and it's not your fault if you didn't fight back. The only person whose fault it is, is the person who caused the abuse in the first place (the abuser). Just because it may have taken you longer to leave, or because perhaps you're not out of it yet, doesn't make you weak or unworthy of love, kindness, and safety. You have been and are doing your best.

I also just want you to consider that these people, while they will unfortunately exist, they don't deserve your time, energy, and emotion. You are worth so much more than to give them space they don't deserve in your mind and heart. You know your truth, you know what really happened and how abuse really works, and they cannot take that away from you with their ignorance. It can be exhausting to challenge these kinds of people and the rhetoric they spout, especially because it hits you right in the trauma. So for your own mental health and self care, while it is important to acknowledge the effect these comments have on you, it's also important to, not let it go necessarily, but know that you're worth more than spending your energy and emotion arguing with ridiculous statements.

I hope I could help. Please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

#mod bun #trauma talks #tw abuse #tw emotional abuse

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simpz-art-stash · 3 years ago

Text

Late beginnings

Summary: Mac goes out for a drink, and happens upon some advice he takes into consideration about his skewered relationship with Wukong. Before finally taking some action to mend the long burnt bridge. (Author’s note: I barely did any beta reading for this so if it’s worded strangely that’s just how I write without the normal filter on. I’m country so HOWDY) Next Page ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- The night was late, but he didn’t care, he might as well have been nocturnal with the way his whole life revolved around the whole stereotype of shadows and shit. He’d walked into a bar he’d passed through a few times before, donning his human disguise of course beforehand, and walked in without sparing anyone else a glance. Before planting his rear in one of the stools seated at the front bar, ordering a drink to get the night started. “I’m really looking forward to seeing that new Monkey King movie with the trailer they just released. You saw it too right?? The whole style of the film is on par with their most recent game- OH, you think they’re gonna make a game of it?? I bet you they wiiiill!~” Ugh, great, just what he’d come here to avoid.

Mac’s eyes glanced to the blabbermouth boasting about whatever new movie was being made about his ex, to see two girls residing a ways down near the other end of the bar a few seats away from him. Both looking to have had a fair night themselves already if any of the cups and plates hanging around their spot was anything to go by. “Probably. I hope it’s better than last game that came out on the Brick 360, the bugs in that thing were gross to deal with.” Their friend commented back. Before looking down at their phone and claiming that it was getting late and that they had to go. “Yeah I’ll see ya Monday!” The chick waved their friend off a lazy farewell after they’d paid their bill before going back to their drink, now taking less tedious sips as the mood seemed to smooth out from their conversation prior. “I see someone’s a pretty big fan of that ol’ man.” Macaque piped up from where he sat, earning the attention of the stranger he’d directed his comment towards. “The Monkey King yeah?” Sparks danced in the chick’s eyes at the recognition of the name, before the stranger perked up and beamed a smile back at him, “You betcha! I’m a total nerd for that legend.” ‘A legend, hah.’ “S’the whole reason I moved to China in the first place.” She jabbed a thumb at her chest, “All the way from America!” Mac whistled, “That’s a pretty far leap to take, even for a legend. What, you hopin’ you’ll get the chance to see em’ or somethin’?” He sneered, taking his glass and lazily swirling it in his hand. “I wish!” She laughed, “Nah I mostly just moved here for work. If anything though it’s cuz a them for where I am now. I’d never even heard of him till about five years ago!” Mac blinked, lowering his drink from his lips, “You’re joking…”

“Not at all! No one hardly knows the story back home. Only reason I found out was cuz I just started gettin’ into anything monkey-related as a hobby.” She pointed at him, “Don’t laugh either, it’s a wildly popular standpoint to have these days online.” Mac quirked a brow at that, he’d hardly touched the internet these days save for whenever he needed some quick info on something he couldn’t find elsewhere. He held his hands up, “Hey I ain’t judging…” He smirked a little to betray the look that he totally was though. It was kinda funny how ironic it was him being there right then. She squinted at him, “Anyways...Yeah, I’d seen stuff of him online, but I’d never paid much attention to it up until recently.” “What made you change your mind?” Mac boredly probed, taking a sip. She simply shrugged, “I was in a dark headspace, guy made me laugh.” He paused, “Wait, seriously??” “I mean have you HEARD half the crazy shit he’s done??” ‘Babe I’ve LIVED through half the shit he’s done.’ “Like, literally, the guy is HILARIOUS. My favorite story out of them all being one where he literally tricked THREE taoist immortals into drinking his own piss!!” She burst out laughing while Mac choked on his drink a little, not having expected to hear that of all things. Sure he’d heard a few of the shenanigan’s his peaches had gotten up to throughout his journey to the west but he’d never heard that one before. Nor had he the patience to read through all that mess of context that had been published either. “Ahhh man, it still gets me…” The chick sighed with a few leftover laughs as she wiped a tear from her eye. “What about you? What’s your favorite story?” She asked. And suddenly Mac felt like he’d been put on the spot as he stared back at her. “Come ooon, surely there’s one that’s gotten your gut rolling.” She pried. ‘Plenty, but there ain’t no way in hell I’d tell a soul.’ “Bahh...there ain’t the first one that comes to mind that I’d like. Honestly I’m not even much of a fan.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Whaaat?? Aw come on! There’s tons of cool n’ funny stories!” “Heh..can’t imagine what you find so charming about a guy who’s too good for his own friends.” Mac spitefully twacked himself mentally for spewing something so personal like that out. Ugh, and he hadn’t even finished half his drink yet… The chick sitting to his left seemed to tilt her head a little before she squinted at him. Her silence being what brought his attention from his drink to her as he blinked back with a quirked brow. “What?” “Your eyes, they’re like raging storm clouds.” She pointed out. He blinked, not really sure how to feel about that. The only one who’d ever really pointed that out to him before was… “...So?” “Nothing!...” She shrugged, turning back away towards her own drink as if no conversation at all had happened between them. Whatever...he had his fill of shit to drink to either way. The night might’ve been late but he was just getting started. “He makes me laugh though.” She pointed out, earning her a glance. “All his stories n’ stuff. If there was ever a man I’d want, it’d be one who could always make me laugh.” “Hmph, not one for strength?” He took a long sip. Ignoring the bitterness of others fawning over someone he’d come to love before he’d gotten so popular. “Strength is fine n’ all, but it can only take a relationship so far..you gotta have more pieces to put in that crockpot of a relationship if you wanna make it taste good. Stuff like patience, honesty, a little bit of everything to help it all come together to make it juuuuust right.” “Hm…” “It can’t be all just you putting the stuff in there either, it’s gotta be a contribution from both gardens. Otherwise you’ll just barren your lands and be left with nothing to spare yourself or others in your life with.” She glanced at Mac, “Relationships are tricky like that, but they should always be a 50/50 split~” She winked. That...actually sounded like pretty sound advice. Something he’d heard a little here and there before but never so simply laid out. Though it made sense from his standpoint, fairness n’ all that. But he’d been that way with Wukong before and it had never worked out, all the bickering and such, so what had gone wrong? “Can I...ask you something?” Mac inquired. “Shoot.” “What’re your thoughts on..a relationship that seemed fine, but then the other changed so much that everything about it fell apart?” “Mmm...care to sprinkle in a lil more context?” The chick eyed him. Mac’s face scrunched up a little, no idea why he was asking some random mortal for relationship advice of all things. “Hey man. We’re both probably never gonna meet again after tonight, so if you’ve got skeletons in your closet, your best place to let em’ out is here. Bartenders are known for being the most well kept secret keepers in all the world after all~” She winked at the bartender in question who simply looked the other way with a look that might’ve suggested such a fact as truth. “Hm…” Ah screw it, “Alright alright…” He sighed and put his drink down, “There’s..someone. We used to be real close, we were strong together but then uh..shit got real and he had to go deal with it. But when he came back he uh, wasn’t the same as before, an I might’ve sorta assumed he was cheating on me so…so we kinda fell out.” The chick nodded, “Ahh..the classic misunderstanding of change and cheating, a tale as old as time.” She seemed to hum a moment before she turned from where she was seated, if not to hop down off her stool and plop down on the one right up next to him. “Uh-” “Shhh, lemme see those eyes.” She squinted, leaning in and staring deep into his. It’d would’ve been really unnerving if she hadn’t said anything about them before, now he was a lil put off that he might’ve been asking a witch of all things for advice… “Right. Well, at least you feel bad about it. So there’s that.” He blinked and his brows furrowed, “Wh- of course I feel bad about it, it was his fault-” He suddenly had a finger pressed to his lips. “Nope! Nooononono, you do not get to throw all the blame elsewhere like that sweetheart. There ain’t no way in hell you’re gettin’ a second chance with them if you keep that up.” She pulled her hands back. His face scrunched up and he found himself crossing his arms, if he had his tail out it would’ve been irritably swaying behind him right then at just how annoyed he was getting at this weird lady and her words. “Oh yeah? An what do you think’s best then huh?” “I dunno if you’d be up for that kinda challenge…” She idly fiddled with an imaginative piece of lint off her sleeve, which only seemed to irritate Mac further at the thought of him not being able to handle Wukong of all people. Like sure he’d gotten his ass handed to him before but he could still hold his own! “Try me.” The chick glanced back at him with a smirk, which caught him off guard for a second before he shot her a glare back. “Alright, but it’s definitely not gonna be as quick or easygoing of a recovery as you might hope it’ll be. Nor is there even a chance of you recovering it in the first place. But, you at least got that spark enough to try so who am I to deny?” ‘Hmpt, dam right I got a spark.’

“First of all, no more blaming, if you’re gonna tackle this properly, you gotta do yourselves a favor an quit it with the blame placing. Sure it’s easy, but it ain’t gonna get you nowhere but back to square one. It’s all in the past, the now is now. So push forward to fix it and put it behind you two so you can focus on the more important things.” “Easier said than done…” “Hey man, even if they don’t follow the same ruleset at first you could always work things out to make it one later on. I’m just tellin’ ya right now so you won’t just go diggin’ yourself a deeper hole.” Honestly at this point he was pretty much six feet down under, death to him would’ve been a mercy right then. “Fine…” He rolled his eyes. “Next up, apologizing…” -----------~----------- “I thought I told you to stay off my island.” Mac didn’t really glance back from where he stood high up on one of the breathtaking ledges that which Flower Fruit Mountain bolstered. His arms crossed, eyes sternly held against the leftover warmth of the late afternoon sun as it shifted the skies hues from blue to blood red. Hopefully that would be the only tinge of red the Mountain would see after today. “I know.” “What, no witty remark? Give me one good reason-” “I just wanted to talk.” Mac stated plainly. “Why the hell should I give you the chance?” “...” Mac wasn’t sure if he could come up with a good enough reason after the shitshow he’d caused him the last few centuries, most recent being his spat with him between MK. “I’m sorry.” That seemed to catch the king off guard, as he paused in his vicious glare to stare at the other. “Excuse me??” “I’m.Sorry.” Mac turned finally to Wukong, that look of fiery malice having softened immensely upon meeting their eyes. “I was wrong for what I did and I’m sorry.” Wukong’s face looked like it had had a stroke with how frozen in place it was, almost like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Hurting everyone around you just to get back at you, I was wrong for doing that. And I just wanted to apologize.” Mac’s face twisted a little, the words coming out a little rougher than he’d liked, but he’d managed to get three steps in so far… “If you think a few sorry’s are gonna be enough to make up for all that crap then you gotta nother’ thing comin Mac.” Wukong finally shook off the surprise and crossed his arms with a steely gaze. “Nah I know they ain’t worth shit with as long as it's been...which it’s been..a really, really long time come to think of it..nearly 3000 years…” Fucking yikes. “What’s your point?...” Wukong raised a brow at him. “My point is...my point..” What was his point? To make amends and hope they’d get back together? To go back to the way things were? That couldn’t be done with the way things were now. Wukong had a successor, a moral compass, a lotta shit that Mac didn’t. A lotta shit that he wanted but never could figure out how to get his own. His face scrunched up a little and he sighed, “I..just wanted to make things right.” “Oh-hoh? After so long you finally decided to admit you were at fault? Sorry Mac, but it’s waaaay too late for that.” Wukong huffed, “Honestly, this is probably just another one of your stupid tricks if anything. The old Macaque would never throw himself down like that.” “Well maybe I’ve changed!” Mac exclaimed suddenly, his temper flaring a bit as his eyes flashed lightning. “3000 years later? As if…” Wukong rolled his eyes and turned away, “You’ve still got that same look in your eyes you always do whenever we fight. Do me a favor and just keep away from the hot springs this time yeah? The last time you were here you sent a whole dam boulder over there and smashed half the pools.” He waved his hand dismissively. “And I happen to take my once a month bath’s very seriously.” Mac’s nostrils flared a little at just how flamboyant Wukong was acting towards him and his attempt to make amends. How he just saw his attempt as a joke and nothing more, it pissed him off. Wukong had changed and everyone had accepted him, well not everyone, but still, why couldn’t the same be for him? Had he really fooled himself into believing that there was a chance he and Wukong could be together again? His shoulders slumped a little. Of course, who was he kidding. A 3000 year old pit of grudges wasn’t about to just up and disappear at the wave of a white flag. This was Wukong, the same guy who still playfully pestered the gods and demons around him for past conflicts that had happened between them. -----------~----------- “But you can’t just go, ‘ooo I’m so sorry for what I did.’ Nah, you gotta follow the five steps.” The chick claimed. “Yeesh, this a learning course now?” Mac tilted his head to the side. “It is if you wanna make things right.” She claimed matter a factly. “The five steps have never failed me before and have worked wonders for any an all my relationships. Might not quite have the same range of effect you’re going for but it’ll at least be a good start.” “Heh, you got the guts to back up that case?” Mac sneered. “I will if you don’t manage to screw it up.” The chick pointed out. “The five steps go as follows.” - express sorrow (I’m sorry) - own guilt (I was wrong) - name specific wrongs (I did X) - name impact (I hurt you) “And finally...” -----------~----------- “What can I do to prove myself to you?” Macaque asked finally. “What can I do to at least make it to where we can..not fight anymore..and just talk?...” Wukong stood there for a long moment, his features unreadable as their silence was muffled by the wind bellowing between them both from being so high up. “You really are serious about this aren’t you?...” Wukong’s head shifted ever so slightly, but not enough to where Mac could get a reading on his emotions. “I’m tired of fighting and waiting and thinking that if enough time passes things’ll go back to the way they were...when they never will. Trying to hurt you isn’t gonna make the old you come back, no matter how many times you beat me down...It’ll never be the same.” Mac admitted finally. A quiet gust settled down between them, before Wukong seemed to let out a dry chuckle and shook his head. “Can’t believe it took me 3000 years to beat the sense into you.” He turned and looked back at the other, where he no longer held a look of seething hate, but more akin to that of the same tired look just as the one Mac wore. Mac felt a sliver of guilt wriggle its way into one of the cracks of his heart and he glanced away, pulling a hand back and scratching his head. “Yeah well...your kid hit me pretty hard last time, enough to knock it in place.” A small smile crept a little onto his face. “Hm~ He’s gettin’ pretty good at hittin’ stuff with that old stick.” Wukong’s eyes glinted a little at the appeal of how proud he was for MK having taken Mac out the way he did. A little over the top and flashy, just like him.” “He’s got a pretty strong master to thank for that…” Mac found himself yearning a little for that same glint to be reflected on his memory the same way as MK’s. Not that he couldn’t see himself holding the same appeal for MK the way Wukong did, kid was strong, just a lil desperate in some of the cracks that shaped his outline. Something Macaque found that was easy enough to take advantage of, and something Wukong held a blind eye to. “Hm.” Wukong’s reply pushed him out of those thoughts for the moment as they shared a brief look between one another. A glimmer of reconsideration flashing between the two before Wukong finally turned his head away to drink in the sunset before them. “One chance.” Mac felt his heart nearly stop at that answer. “I’ll give you one chance, but if you screw this up, don’t even think about showing your face to me again.” Wukong replied, “I mean it this time…” Mac swallowed a little and nodded. Anything, he’d be willing to do anything to gain back what little trust he could from Wukong. “Good...you can start making up for it by apologizing to MK.” Mac blinked and sputtered a little as Wukong turned away and began to make his way back down the mountain. A smile playing on his lips while Macaque groaned to the heavens about his next trial.

#shadowpeaches #LMK #lego monkie kid #my fics #Sun Wukong #Macaque #AND MEEEEE #BECAUSE I SAID SO #>:3c

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liptonsbabe · 4 years ago

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Chains of a family [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Grant! reader

Chapter 1,

Chapter 2,

Chapter 3,

Chapter 4,

Chapter 5,

Chapter 6

Summary: The Weasley family have traditions about marriage and Bill has to respect them if he truly wants the reader become his wife. In the attempt to respect his family wishes the weasleys have to visit reader’s grandparent Tim Grant who has a lot of things to say

Word count: 5K TOO LONG I’M SO SORRY

Warnings: none(?

A/N: Hey! part 6 of this thing. I’m so sorry to update this late but it was a complicated chapter and the longest so far. I’ll try to make small chapters from now on and the wedding is aproching, you guys!! i’m sooo excited to publish that part but we have to wait a little more for that.

So, as i’ve said in the last chapter, i changed some things from de canon like Bill being attacked by Grayback and such. it’s just for the plot of this series ok? hope you don’t mind guys.

Anyways, like always, english not my mother language so pls let me know if somethings wrong. Enjoy!

Chapter 6: Your life is not enough

You needed a couple of weeks to fully recover, even if it meant having Bill on your back every hour and taking you away from your duties with the Order. The mission that Remus Lupin gave you had to wait until further notice, all for William's excessive concern about your wounds

The task of keeping you away was complicated, more so when the Death Eater attacks had gained strength that no one expected. The members of the order spent twenty-four hours a day on watch with no time for breaks, even Bill went three days without sleep until you, still recovering , left the room and dragged him back with you regardless of his constant complaining. Molly supported you in the decision - thank god - telling her son not to worry that the rest of the Order would keep their eyes fully opened and he could rest comfortably next to you

The drastic change in Mrs. Weasley's behavior confused you because there was no reason for it, but the relief helped make your recovery quicker and less painful. The healer who you the morning after the accident with the Death Eaters took too long to close the wound as it was a curse wound and it needed a counter spell to heal properly, but not having one, he used other tactics and Dittany to help it heal. However, the help had come too late, and the scar was a throbbing fact that stung terribly when you made the slightest move. The healer said the burning and discomfort would go away with time, but the redness would stay forever. You thought that would be the last of your problems until you got your first glimpse of the result of the attack.

It was a disastrous thing, but it could have been much worse. You sighed as you looked at your disheveled image in the bathroom mirror. You had just taken a shower and Bill was still dressing in the bedroom. You took off the robe Ginny had given you a night before, watching the scar glisten across the valley of your breasts ending above your ribs. You sighed again, if you didn't consider yourself pretty before, at that moment you felt awful.

A new figure appeared in the reflection accompanied by a bright smile. William wore his white shirt tucked into his pants, his bow tie dangling from his collar and his suspenders placed perfectly flush against his shoulders. You smiled, looking at him through the mirror.

“Getting used to your dazzling new short hair?” You asked as you noticed Bill's nervous hand run over his head for the fifth time after the shower. Bill groaned, burying his face in your neck.

“I hate this style”

“And why did you cut it off, then?”

“Mom made me," he stated, tightening his hands around your waist, "She wants me to make a good impression, and for once I wanted to please her in something”

“Wow, your mom wanting to impress my family? That's new”

“Well, not every day you get to visit Lord Voldemort's brother," you gave him a bad look, smacking his hand, "Too soon for a joke, sorry”

You shook your head, escaping from Bill's embrace putting perfume behind your ear, on your wrists and neck. You gasped when a small drop of perfume touched your wound, reddening it. Your eyes lost in the scar again, knowing that even if your dress managed to cover most of it, the initial edges would be exposed like the body of a worm crawling through your clothes. Bill discovered your discontent. He hugged you again, running his fingertips over your sore skin as he kissed your bare shoulder. Maybe you couldn't see it, but for Bill you were perfect. Not just for the way you looked, but the beautiful heart that, even if he didn't deserve it, you had given him without any qualms. You deserved to be appreciated by the rest of the world, not just by him.

“I love you. You know that, don't you?”

“Even with the scar?”

“With the scar even more. It shows how brave you are and you should be proud of it. You saved Mad-Eye”

“The others will see it”

“It's their problem, not yours. You're still the most beautiful woman in this world.

You smiled, stroking the short hair of the man behind you.

“Not as much as that”

“You're right. I stand corrected. You are the most beautiful woman in both worlds”

“William...”

“I'll help you get dressed," he said, noticing that you were blushing up to your ears. William smiled without understanding why a sweet comment could make you blush, but not the fact that he was looking at you naked from the waist up. He picked up the dress hanging on the dresser reaching over to help it over your head pulling it down gently so as not to hurt you. Then, he zipped up your back leaving a wet kiss on your neck.

Bill's false calm didn't go unnoticed by you. As you smoothed the folds of your dress you noticed the trembling in his hands and the way his feet drummed on the floor. He was playing with the zipper of your dress pulling it up and down, trying to calm his nerves

“Bill, it's not necessary to do this”

“It is!” He replied looking up. You turned to him, crossing your arms around his neck, "I want to respect the traditions, to do things right. I want to show everyone that we mean business. It's just that...”

“My grandfather scares you?”

“What? No” You raised an eyebrow “Okay, maybe a little”

“You don't need to talk to him. He'll understand”

“I want to”

You gave in to Bill's pout. A few days ago, just after he asked you to marry him, Arthur Weasley spoke to his son asking him how he would go about keeping the traditions of the family. Bill didn't seem to understand what he was referring to when his father explained that the Weasleys used to always, always, visit the bride's parents' home right after the engagement to ask for their approval. Offerings were usually brought in a show of respect and the parents in question would respond by offering dinner for the guests. Bill's eyes widened, was that a real tradition?, he didn't know, “why didn't you ever tell me about it!” he questioned his father in a shout. Arthur knew about his son's untimely ignorance, returning the accusation, “Would that have made any difference on your desire to have her as your wife?” Bill didn't have to think too hard. “Of course not!” he shouted and his father laughed, patting him on the shoulder. His son was brave and would have asked for his bride's hand even from Voldemort himself. Bill was lucky tho cause he only had to talk to the old alchemist Tim Grant.

Your grandfather was the only one in the family who seemed to be neutral in the war caused by his brother, but above all he was the person who loved you most as you had both been banished from the Grants for standing up for your own convictions. Maybe Tim wasn’t an active member of either side, however, the blood connection with his brother Tom Riddle sent shivers down the spines of those around him. The man isolated himself in the Galapagos islands dangerously close to a volcano, where he was sure his brother wouldn’t dare to look for him. The Weasleys, hearing the story from your lips didn’t understand why.

You used a portkey to get to your grandfather's house. Arthur had communicated with Tim hours earlier and the two of them managed to establish a connection undetected for the ministry thanks to the old Grant's powerful magic and his skills as an alchemist. You couldn't hide your excitement at seeing your grandfather again, which encouraged Bill's eagerness to formally introduce himself to his next.... grandfather-in-law?

“Well then, but you don't have to worry. Grandpa is a very understanding man”

“Yeah, I'm sure he is”

“Bill Weasley, who knew talking to an old man would make you so nervous?”

“Very funny” he rolled his eyes, gluing his forehead to yours “I just want him to like me, (Y/N)”

“He likes everyone”

“That doesn't make me feel any better.”

“It will when you talk to him and see there's nothing to be afraid of” You stood on your tiptoes cause even with your high heels you couldn't reach his height. You kissed his cheek, snatching a warm smile from him “He's not like the rest of my family”

“I didn't mean to imply that, I'm sorry”

“It's all right, I know you didn't mean it. Now let's go downstairs, your mother must be going crazy”

“As if she wasn't already”

You slapped his arm as you descended the stairs. You didn't want Molly to hear them and relive her recently dissipated discontent with you

The rest of the family were already near the portkey with their arms full of baskets with offerings for your grandpa and the twins carrying some strange ornaments. Bill's sister Ginny greeted you with a smile, handing one of the baskets to her older brother. Molly and Arthur approached their children, both hanging on the opposite arm dressed in their best sunday clothes to make a good impression. You smiled without waiting for Bill's mother to smile back.

After the accident at Little Whinging Molly's rudeness disappeared. Not that she accepted you with open arms, but she stopped making bad comments and avoided looking at you in a bad way. Bill didn't know what Mad-Eye said to his mother that night when he told everyone how you had saved him knowing how much he owed you, but Bill didn't understand the size of the changing till he saw his mother offer you a piece of litchi pie the night after the attack when you were recovering from the wound. It was not that big of a deal really, but it had left you with a permanent smile on your face.

It was Molly herself who had taken the initiative to encourage Bill to fulfill the family tradition. If a Grant was going to come into their home as their son's wife then she should do it the way they knew. Her first piece of advice to her son was cutting his hair to a normal length. Bill was horrified by his mother's words cause he knew she was taking advantage of the moment to make him suffer with his precious mane. He did it anyway, because there wasn't anything in the world he wouldn't do for you

It was a drastic change, but it was worth it. Molly saw your eyes sparkle at the sight of her son so changed, with his hair cut short and his beard shaved. Your fingers danced over his face appreciating the effort Molly, not yet convinced of your influence at home, had made for you. Molly stifled a smile, unaware even to herself, that you were slowly beginning to win her heart.

You touched the shuttle at the same time falling precipitously in the sand and Harry helped you up with a smile. Then you walked straight appearing in front of a huge house that was sheltered by the foothills of the bubbling volcano on the other side of the island. The twins, like the rest of the family, let out an exclamation of astonishment as Ron, harried by the huge spiders hovering in the sand, ran for the door.

The smell of freshly cooked food escaped through the cracks in the door before it was opened. The twins' eyes widened as they recognized the delicious smell of cooked prawns and coconut sauce wafting over their heads. You knocked on the door three times, then stopped and resumed the knocking four more times. The Weasleys watched you, did you have a special code to communicate with each other?

"Come in" You gave way to them closing the door behind you and sealing it with an unknown spell. Bill waited for you at the threshold as his family was already making their way to the table where a very well dressed Tim Grant was waiting for them sitting in the main chair. Bill looked at him from his position, shaking “We still have time to run away” you joked “If you're not ready...”

“I am," he said confidently.

“Okay”

You both walked toward the dining room. Tim was greeting the rest of the family enthusiastically. Bill sighed. At least Tim seemed to get along with his parents, so that was good. They all filled a seat, with Tim occupying the head and Arthur the opposite end; Molly sat on Tim's right side and you sat on Mr. Weasley's right side. The twins, Ron, Harry and Ginny took the middle seats leaving Bill the only vacant spot on Tim's left side. Bill took a breath before taking the seat and receiving a curious look from the man.

“Ah, how wonderful is to have more people to fill the empty spaces! A table this big doesn't serve any purpose unless it's fully occupied, does it? That's what I always say!”

“Don't you usually get many visitors?” asked Molly, breaking the ice. Bill felt sweat trickle down his back. Tim guffawed, patting the back of Molly's hand on the table.

“I’m afraid so. I think that is cause I'm the only one crazy enough to live near an active volcano and my family's fame doesn't help me much either, I'm generally a lonely man. Most of the time it's frustrating, but I can deal with it. You are a big family from i can see, are they all yours, Arthur?”

“Only the redheads," he replied. You recognized in his tone of voice a slight pride “The other one is...”

“Harry Potter” Tim Grant's eyes sparkled with recognition. He looked at Harry with a smile, bowing his head to him in respect. Harry did the same “I know him. He's the guy who's been giving my brother headaches”

Tim's laughter echoed through the house being followed by the twins and you cleared your throat to get his attention. Tim spotted you from across the table waving his hand dismissively.

“Grandpa, please”

“A little joke to lighten the mood, my dear, oh, are these for me?” he questioned, bringing closer the baskets offered by the Weasleys resting on the table. Bill's basket was in front of him waiting to be properly delivered, so he stood up and did as he should. Tim Grant gladly received it, complimenting the selection they had made “What a cute boy, did you see him, dear,? he's gone red!”

You let out a chuckle, nodding at your grandfather's words. Bill's face was flushed as he returned to his spot and looked down at his hands. Tim guffawed again and banged the table.

“I appreciate the gifts, Arthur, I've never been part of a tradition like this before”

“It was important for my son and the rest of us to do it, to introduce ourselves properly”

“Sure! It's what a family with honor does. I'm not surprised. No, not at all. The Weasleys were in the book of the sacred twenty-eight for a long time until they were struck off the list. Tell me, that was quite a blow, wasn't it?”

“Not so much, my family has never cared about that sort of thing”

“Of course! It never did, I could see it up close. Did you know I was friends with your grandmother, Lysandra Yaxley?”

Arthur's eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Really. My family also once belonged to the most important pureblood families until I was born, of course. Lysandra and I became friends because her family also got kicked off the list when Cedrella, your mother, married your father Septimus Weasley. Even your grandfather Arcturus was removed from the Black family tree which was an embarrassment for him being that the ancestral Black family is too proud and such. Anyway, that's part of life, right? Creating new families, bringing people together...”

“Was your family always purebloods?” Fred asked. Tim shook his head

“It was. As I mentioned, before I made my appearance in this world”

“Why?”

Tim was suddenly silent. You scanned your grandfather's face waiting for an answer. Dinner plates flew in from the kitchen and positioned themselves at each guest's place setting while a huge chocolate fountain was set up in the center accompanied by a plate overflowing with assorted fruit. The baskets took a turn and took a place on your grandpa's shelves. Tim sighed, looking at the Weasleys asking to begin dinner.

“I’m the son of a witch, but not of a pure blood wizard”

“Don't you and Lord Voldemort share the same father?”

“Harry...”

”It's all right, Molly, I can answer that” Tim rubbed his chin, thinking “I understand your concern boy, being hide here doesn't make me ignorant to what's going on out there and I know better than anyone what you're going through. You need weapons against my brother and you do well. Tom is a big threat, a very big threat indeed. You're right, Tom and I don't share a father, but that doesn't make him any less my brother.

“I think we're straying from the subject that brought us here” mentioned Arthur feeling a sudden warmth. You supported him, but Tim continued to speak

“I was the son of Merope Gaunt and Aleister Grant. My father was a famous son, grandson and great-grandson of brilliant alchemists, and unsurprisingly he was one himself. Merope Gaunt was... a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin and a Parselmouth. She had a brother named Morfin and my grandfather was Sorvolo Gaunt. My parents met when the Gaunts had just moved to Little Hangleton after their exile and needed a place to stay. They became the owners of a squalor ridden shack on the edge of town and well, my father was a young alchemist who lived near the Gaunt abode”

You sipped from your wine glass as you listened to your grandfather speak. Never, even with the rest of the family, had he ever struck such a chord as he was doing with the Weasleys. The truth was that you didn't understand why he was telling them all that, however, you weren’t interested in interrupting the story as you knew your grandfather had a purpose with him.

“Those of us who are dedicated to alchemy have never enjoyed an enviable reputation because our transmutation abilities are mostly underestimated by the things that magic in general can produce and it makes a science like alchemy reserved for muggles in their attempt to approach the power that the wizards possess. Personally I think there is something right about that, precisely cause the transmutation in the Muggle world is divided into subjects they taught in schools like chemistry or physics, but alchemy goes beyond that, it’s a connection between the wizard and the spirituality that each one possesses...” the man's gaze was lost in a place at the table, pausing the story. Harry settled back on the seat waiting for him to continue “But it's very difficult to erase the deep-rooted ideas about it, so the best is ignore that and continue doing what we believe is right. Anyway, ah! I got off topic, didn't I? Okay, okay, well my parents ended up meeting and my father fell in love with my mother as fast as my socks get cold at night, but that infatuation wasn’t well regarded by my uncle and even less by my grandfather, of course, for the fame of the alchemists at the time”

“So what happened?” you asked. Tim smiled at you, taking a bite of the rye bread on his plate.

“My mother was treated worse than a house- elf by her father and Morfin, so she decided to run away with my father to France where he had several alchemist friends who could protect them. The Gaunts might have been exiled, but they were still dangerous and to be honest I think my father was terribly afraid of uncle Morfin. They eventually made it to France, but they encountered an infamous muggle who tried to hurt my mother”

Everyone stopped eating to pay attention to Tim as he drank his third glass of wine. You thought that your grandfather wouldn't even be able to stand up by the end of the night.

“He was known as Gilles De Rais. He was a sadistic muggle who tried to become a wizard even though he wasn't born a wizard and used my father to tell him secrets of alchemy. One night they were having a conversation when my father revealed him that there were certain amounts of gold in people's bodies. Gold is a very valuable component, as you already know, so the man's greed didn’t take long to show itself and he questioned my dad how it could be obtained. My father told him that the only way to obtain the gold was by draining the blood and dividing it with a very complicated procedure, however, the gold of an ordinary adult was quite scarce. The real wealth was in the blood of children of no more than ten years old because they possessed a great amount of gold and other components that could be transmuted into riches. The muggle did so, and when he learned that my mother was a real witch, he wanted to know if golden blood ran through her veins, which would make him richer than he already was. My father refused, and decided to leave the place before he hurt us, because they knew she was already pregnant. The muggle went mad and unleashed in him a fury that spread throughout France”

The Weasley twins chorused an astonished murmur as the others moved up to the table so as not to miss a word of the story. You sent a glance at Bill as he hadn't stopped sweating and going over his words all evening.

"They wanted to go back to Little Hangleton but my uncle and grandfather were still in a rage waiting to see them arrive, so my father sent my mother alone while he found another place to stay as he could not expose her to the cold streets of France while on standby, so they had no choice but to leave her with her family avoiding revealing my existence to them. Uncle Morfin didn’t want my mother back, but my grandfather convinced him because they needed someone to take care of the house and their needs. Time passed, my father didn’t come back and I was born in the garden of the house while my mother watered the plants”

“My birth was a surprise to everyone because my mother knew how to hide me well until my father's arrival but, as that didn't happen, I couldn't stand it any longer and made my triumphant appearance on my grandfather's favorite bushes. Uncle Morfin was furious and even tried to get rid of me immediately, but my mother clung to me like a lioness.

“Really?”

“Really," he replied with a broad smile, "I think a part of her was still holding on to my father showing up at some point and getting us out of there, but again that didn't happen. Mom had to endure her brother and father's abuse for me and that's a debt I can never repay”

The whole table fell silent, thinking. Dinner continued as a heavy thunderstorm rumbled overhead, accompanying old Tim Grant's story as if it were yesterday. The man paused to eat and the others did the same with no desire to miss a word. Harry's eyes sparkled in wonder and Mr. Weasley's strong hand on yours helped to soothe your fervent anguish.

“I guess that's what mothers do, isn't it? Anyway, the years passed and I had to live under uncle Morfin's shadow and at the mercy of his growing wrath. When I turned five I started helping the market men with their chores in exchange for a couple of pounds which we had to exchange later for galleons and sickles to survive for two weeks. Mom helped bring money into the house, but it wasn't enough. Then, at seven, the Dream Messengers showed up one night telling me I was required to study at the Uagadou magical college in Africa so I couldn't refuse”

“Wait, Uagadou takes students from the age of seven?”

“Oh I see," the man settled back in his chair, wiping the corners of his lips with a napkin as he stared at Ron, "I forgot that the rest of the magical schools aren't very well known around here, are they? Well, yes, some schools take in very young students as is the case with Uagadou or the Japanese school. It depends a lot on the traditions in each region i guess, because in the African school they select only descendants of alchemists or who have had at least someone in their bloodline whose spirituality helped them to become one. It wasn't all as easy as that, of course, because each student had to pass a test before having a permanent stay, but....

“What kind of test?” Harry questioned when dinner was over and they start dessert. The twins were the first to help themselves a piece of fruit, playing with the chocolate fountain in the center of the table.

“One that only wizards with alchemist ancestry could pass, Mr. Potter. I passed the test so I had no choice but to move to the castle immediately. I didn't want to leave my mother alone, but she convinced me to do it. Going to Uagadou was a great opportunity for me and for her cause it meant I could follow in my father's footsteps” Tim's face suddenly darkened as he pushed away the overflowing plate of fruit Molly offered him. He folded his hands on the table and thought for a long moment. The twins continued to play with the chocolate fountain but a fierce look from their mother made them stop. Then Tim Grant sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow with the handkerchief on his coat “I regret that decision to this day. I could have gone to Hogwarts like any other wizard, but I suppose my ambition got the better of me. Maybe... if I hadn't left Little Hangleton she never would have met Tom Riddle”

You tensed as you felt the pressure of Mr. Weasley's hand on yours a little too tightly. One glance at the others was enough to understand the dread the name struck their nerves. You even caught a glimpse of the hiss on Molly's lips and saw the sting in Harry's scar. Tim let out a chuckle, taking another drink from his wine glass.

“My brother’s father. I didn't hear from him until a couple of years later, when my mother wrote to me saying that uncle Morfin was in Azkaban and that my grandfather had died. She didn't give me many details, however, she did very vaguely mention the presence of a muggle who was quite striking to her. For better or worse, my mother was already forgetting my father, believing that he had abandoned her or, at worst, that he had dropped dead somewhere in France. I didn't believe the same, but it was logical that she got tired of waiting. I would never have grown tired, at least not having loved the way they did”

Your gaze rolled to meet Bill's eyes as he looked back at you. He smiled at you, causing you to blush. Then you both looked back at your grandpa who was sipping a new glass of wine.

“It was a couple more years before I stopped hearing from my family. Mom never wrote again and with uncle Morfin in Azkaban there was nothing that could be done. When I was eleven i returned to Little Hangleton only to find that my mother had married Tom Riddle, got pregnant and he had thrown her out on the street like a dog. She was left with nothing, unable to return to her father’s old house, and was forced to wander in the streets for months, until one rainy december night she went into labor in the middle of an alley. I helped her as much as I could, dragged her to the door of an orphanage where my mother no longer even had the strength to save the three of us. She had her wand in her hand, but she never used it. She gave up in front of me, the baby was born and asked me to name him after his father. She put him in my arms, the door of the orphanage opened, but mother had already died”

“Grandpa-”

“As you can understand, it's kind of hard for me to remember all that," Tim Grant's reddened eyes closed, choking back tears, "I was just a little kid taking care of a baby and I didn't do my best job of raising him. I was upset with my mother for a long time after she died, but I don't judge her now. After living an almost totally miserable life, my mother had no hope and not enough courage to make her want to keep trying, even for the sake of her newborn son. That decision had a considerably negative impact on Tom's psyche as he was growing up I suppose cause I had to go back to school and I couldn't take him with me, I would have! Of course I would have. I tried, but Tom wasn’t descended from any alchemist and there was nothing I could do about that. I tried, Merlin knows I did. I felt the need to leave him in that orphanage. I visited him whenever I could. For a year I went back and forth from continent to continent to see him, but that wasn't enough for Tom to grow up feeling loved. Orphanage life is hard, dear friends, we shouldn’t judge others too harshly, much less a lonely mother” Tim Grant's irritated eyes were fixed on Harry, reflecting deep pain “She was weakened by her long suffering and she never had Lily Evans’ courage. Everyone sacrifices for those they love in different ways, and my mother did it in her own way”

“Why didn't you ever talk about this?” you asked from across the table. Everyone looked at you “when dad asked you so-”

“Your father didn't need any more reasons to support Tom's follies” Tim shook his head “My brother is a very convincing person not only with his family members but with anyone who gets in the way of his plans. He has a very affiliated serpentine tongue, he inherited the gift of gab from our ancestors and your father grew up under his influence”

“We're very sorry for what you had to go through, Tim, but there's nothing that can be done about you-know-who and all that's left for us to do is to fight him”

“I understand, Arthur, but that doesn't stop me from blame myself. I did what I could, but an eleven-year-old can't take the place of his parents. When I graduated from school and wanted to take care of him Tom was already at Hogwarts and completely disappeared from everyone's eye," he lamented, scrunching his eyelids together, "That was the last time I saw him as the real Tom and not the ghastly grayish mass he is now”

The twins and Ron laughed at the comment and were immediately silenced by their father. Tim scrunched up his eyes, took a breath and let out a laugh looking around the room.

“Well, enough whining, that's not what you guys are here for, is it?” Bill, that had kept silent, denied when the man turned to see him, "What's done is done, and lamenting won't do any good, but I hope that what I've just told you will help you to see Tom's human side if he still has it, which I doubt it very much”

“Thank you, sir”

“You're welcome, Harry, dear, well? What was you wanted to tell me, my boy?”

Tim Grant turned his full body towards Bill, almost climbing up on the table fixing his huge opaque eyes on Bill's. Bill held his gaze noticing that the man was drunk since the beginning of the evening. He looked to you for help, but you were too busy watching Mrs. Weasley's reaction to hearing the reason for your visit.

“Come on, boy, don't be shy”

“I... well, I wanted to-”

“Oh, Arthur, your son is so cute!” he shouted as he squeezed Bill's cheeks. His brothers and Harry laughed and even Molly hid a mischievous smile by putting a piece of apricot in her mouth “Poor frightened boy. But, come on! I'm not going to make it harder for you, I know you're here to ask for my granddaughter's hand in marriage, aren't you?”

“Yes, that's right, sir”

“Well, that's a great gesture of you, but this is a job for (Y/N)’s parents”

“It is, but you understand that under such circumstances we couldn't pay a courtesy visit to the Death Eaters," Arthur interjected with an amused smile.

“Indeed”

“So...”.

“So..." repeated Tim. You sighed, "You love my granddaughter?

“Yes, sir”

“How much?”

“A lot”

“Are you going to protect her, take care of her, and love her?”

“With my life, sir”

“Your life is not enough for me, William” Tim smiled at him, tapping Bill's chin with one of his fingers “My granddaughter is still a Grant, descended from very powerful wizards. My hand will not tremble to revenge the suffering you put her through, am i being clear?”

“Y-yes, sir. Crystal clear”

“Good boy," he replied, patting his cheek. Then he turned to Molly, took her hand and kissed the back of it, giving her a beautiful smile. The woman blushed, but it didn't last long because the man turned to her husband and bowed his head in respect. Arthur pressed your hand on the table and also kissed the back of your hand, making a promise “Well, then. Arthur, your son has my blessing to marry my granddaughter”

Mr. Weasley raised his glass, offering it to Tim.

“Thank you, Tim. We promise to take care for (Y/N) as a member of our family”

“I hope so." The man rested his chin on his hands, watching the huge smile form on your lips and kissing Arthur's cheek. He turned to Molly lightly patting her shoulder offering her a sweet roll which she accepted with a giggle “It's nice to see you accepting my (Y/N) so well” Molly wrinkled her nose “Since who she is and coming from a family as complicated as ours...it was hard for me to believe that someone from the outside could fall in love with her someday. I always knew my little girl was different from everyone” Tim's brown irises clouded over. Molly fell silent “You could put her in a basket of rotten apples and she'd make them blossom, so I'm glad to hear you've taken her in as one of yours. Being a Grant is a very complicated task, i never had a problem with people speaking shit about me, i was never ashamed to be recognized as Lord Voldemort's brother, but my yoke should not fall on my granddaughter” Molly Weasley listened carefully “I have always been a faithful supporter of being judged individually and not by the others actions, that would be like punishing children for their parents mistakes, wouldn't it? That wouldn't be fair and it wouldn't make us any less guilty than my brother, isn't that what he’s doing? Punishing Muggle-born wizards just because they weren't born under Merlin's blessing? I like you, Molly, I know you understand.

A pain in her chest made her look down, embarrassed. But then Tim lifted her chin at just the right moment for her to catch the moment her son rose from his place to walk over to you and lock you in a breath-stealing hug. Arthur was at your side watching you and then his attention focused on his wife giving her a beaming smile, the kind she hadn't seen in a long time. Even the rest of their children had joined in the celebration and Harry rose to congratulate you while you and Bill happily sealed your engagement with a kiss. Tim moved Molly's chin towards him, their gazes colliding.

“Yes," Molly whispered, "I understand.

“Good” Tim let out a laugh, pulling away from Molly to toast. The woman watched you as she smiled thinly ”Then my story was useful somehow”

Tag list:

@purple-vodka-99

@vampirestrawberries

@accio-remus-lupin

@pennyllanne

#bill weasley #bill weasley imagine #bill weasley x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter cast #Harry Potter imagines #fred weasley imagines #domhnall gleeson #domhnall gleeson x reader #domhnall gleeson imagine #hogwarts

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gamerwoo · 4 years ago

Text

[Tales from the Pack] Joshua: Second Chance (Part Three)

Characters: Joshua x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, fluff, some fluffy angst too so it’s not really angst is it lmao

Word count: 1,988

Summary: After his mate died, Joshua always blamed himself and never wanted to imprint again. However, fate has other ideas when he meets you: a young, energetic werecoyote that’s quite the opposite of him. He insists he doesn’t want a new mate – nobody’s even sure if he’s ready for a new one – but he can’t ignore his instincts.

Previous | Next | Second Chance Masterlist

“Oh,” the girl beside you seemed surprised that your eyes opened, squinting against the light, “you’re awake. How do you feel?”

You only groaned in reply. You definitely didn’t feel as awful as you recalled, but you still didn’t feel good.

“We’ve cleaned the remaining wolfsbane from your system, so you should make a full recovery,” the girl told you, her voice soft and soothing.

She definitely didn’t look like she was from here. She had brown skin, round eyes, and long black hair that she kept clipped back away from her face. Had you seen her before when you were dying? No, you couldn’t tell. Your memories from then were too foggy.

Wait, you were dying. How were you alive?

You opened your mouth to speak, but your eyes finally adjusted enough where you could see the person laying on a cot behind the girl. His eyes were closed, and you couldn’t tell if he was passed out or sleeping, but you just felt very strongly toward him. Much stronger than you’d felt about anybody ever. He was absolutely beautiful, and all you wanted to do was walk the couple feet of space between your cot and his to stroke his hair and cheek.

You didn’t know why you felt so strongly about a stranger, but you also weren’t questioning it. You were a curious person, yes, but you tended to just roll with the punches.

The girl noticed your gaze had drifted behind her, and she chuckled, “Would you like to be closer? It’s better for mates to heal if they’re as close as possible, and he needs all the healing he can get.”

Mates? That wasn’t something you’d heard about before, but you could probably guess what it implied. Either way, your head was nodding before your brain could really think much about it.

The girl stood and moved her stool out of the way before wheeling your cot closer to his until they were pressed together. Your face was almost right next to his now, and you observed every single detail of him. You didn’t even know his name or anything about him, but your heart and your instincts already told you you’d do anything for him.

“They’re cute,” Minjee commented once she entered the room as her partner continued to stand by the doorway and watch the two of you.

Prajya hummed in reply, her hand finding Minjee’s, “I don’t think the girl knows anything about herself. I told her he’s her mate and she seemed a little clueless.”

“Well, she is young,” Minjee noted. “Maybe nobody’s told her about creatures like her.”

Prajya nodded slowly before turning her head to look at her partner, “Did things with the other wolf go well?”

Minjee nodded, “Perfect, actually. Sura’s just finishing a few minor things and getting him settled into a bed to recover. His brother and the girls are still waiting in the living room.”

“I should go see if they need anything,” Prajya decided, pressing a quick kiss to Minjee’s cheek before she left.

Minjee turned back to the two of you after her girlfriend had left, but saw that you weren’t awake anymore. Your eyes were closed, one of your hands resting on Joshua’s as he slept. Minjee smiled to herself, thinking both of you looked like you were doing better already.

Josh still wasn’t awake. Even Hansol had woken up before his older brother did. Wonwoo had already brought Soomin and Suvi back to the house, and Joshua still wasn’t awake. It worried Hansol that he was asleep for so long, but Minjee assured him it was just because he had exerted his power too much.

“Is he going to get it back...?” Hansol wondered, his yellow eyes warily watching Joshua sleep beside you.

“Yes, with time,” Minjee replied with a warm smile. “You really have nothing to worry about, Hansol. Besides, he has his mate with him, so the healing will be faster.”

“Yeah, if he isn’t stubborn about it,” he muttered to himself, the human girl unable to make out what he said.

That was something else that was worrying Hansol. Joshua already had a mate and lost her. Would he really be so open about a new mate? Even if he did use the remaining energy he had in him just to save you, he did that on pure instinct. It didn’t necessarily mean things would go smoothly when he’d wake up.

“Who is she, anyway?” Kyung wondered, nodding her head in your direction.

You were still sleeping beside him, your hand still in his. Neither of you had even moved, either, but Minjee also promised that was nothing to worry about.

“I’m not sure of her name,” Minjee sighed, “but my partners and I found her when we were out checking traps one night. My mate, Sura, knows where some of the werewolf hunters place traps regularly. He likes to patrol them and see if anyone was caught so we can help. We found her in one of them. Sura said she might be a werecoyote.”

“Werecoyote?” Hansol repeated.

The doctor nodded, “Yes. He noticed she doesn’t smell quite like werewolf, but she’s definitely something.”

The two mated wolves could admit they noticed the same thing but kept to themselves about it. They thought maybe it was just because of the wolfsbane.

The pair looked between the two of you. While Joshua seemed peaceful now, both Hansol and Kyung weren’t sure how he’d react when he woke up. They could practically already see the sour look on his face before grumbling something about not wanting a new mate. They hoped maybe they’d be wrong, but…

“What do you think she’ll do if he denies her?” Kyung wondered to her mate, unsure if you’d be as patient and understanding as Hansol. They didn’t know anything about you.

Hansol let out a quiet sigh, “I don’t know, but they’ll both just...eventually...” he didn’t even want to say it, but after a beat of silence, he quietly said, “die.”

“Werecoyotes are creatures I’ve never encountered,” Soomin hummed thoughtfully as she flipped through Beom’s book of creatures.

Once Wonwoo had returned home with her and Suvi, the youngest excitedly began talking about how Joshua had imprinted and saved his new mate. Meanwhile, the rest of the pack seemed shocked and almost horrified. They knew how Joshua was, and they knew he wouldn’t want another mate. What happened with Lilly messed him up pretty badly, but it also made him afraid of himself for a long time. He’d be too scared to be with someone else.

While Suvi was explaining what happened and the pack began spewing questions, Soomin was already looking through Beom’s stuff to find some answers.

“I think Beom had told me a story or two of werecoyotes, though,” Soomin continued.

“I met a few,” Yeji chimed in. “They didn’t really seem too different from you guys.”

“They’re not -- not really, other than some minor stuff,” Soomin said after finally reaching the page she was looking for. She scanned it over, using her finger to guide her eyes. “Overall, they’re essentially the same, just a little weaker -- smaller, not as strong, but they are a little quicker because of their smaller size. It makes them more agile.”

“Anyone can outrun that old man,” Jeonghan scoffed.

“Who’s the oldest, anyway?” Suvi asked.

“Nobody really knows anymore, but we just assume it’s Josh,” Jun shrugged. “Years start to blend together after a while.”

“Speaking of not knowing things,” Danbi spoke up as she looked around the packed living room, “where’s Soonyoung?”

“It’s nighttime, so he’s in town,” Jihoon sighed.

“I thought we were still being careful?”

“Since when does Soonyoung follow rules?” Seungcheol asked with a quirked brow.

Soomin cleared her throat to grab the pack’s attention and bring them back to the bigger matter at hand: you. Once they were paying attention again, she continued, “Werecoyotes have the same heightened senses, the same weaknesses, and the same instincts as werewolves. However, because they’re smaller and weaker, they recover slower and are more likely to die from things like silver bullets.”

“So Joshua’s new mate is essentially a hyperactive accident-prone child?” Wonwoo snorted.

Soomin frowned, finally looking up from the book to look at her mate, “That’s mean. And she may very well act mature. Just because they’re faster than werewolves doesn’t make them hyper.”

“You said werecoyotes are just werewolves, basically,” Jeonghan shrugged. “You’ve seen our pack.”

Seungcheol nodded, “Seokmin specifically.”

“Hey,” the young wolf whined.

“Let’s not judge her just yet,” Soomin sighed.

Jihoon raised his eyebrows, “You didn’t even meet her?”

“She was passed out,” Suvi was the one to explain. “Her and Joshua were sleeping beside each other when we left.”

“I wish I could be there when they wake up,” Seungkwan chuckled. “I’m sure that’ll be a mess.”

It wasn’t until the sun was about to peak over the horizon that Josh finally groaned and rubbed his eyes with one hand. The other felt warm with a light weight in it that kept him from moving it.

Wait…

The older wolf’s eyes opened before slowly looking to his left hand. He saw another hand in his and his eyes followed the arm up to the owner. He recognized your face. Not only did he remember what had happened as soon as he saw you, but he was bombarded with your face in his dreams -- well, more like nightmares. All he dreamt about was you and Lilly.

He wanted to snatch his hand away. He wanted to growl at you and wake you up and tell you to keep your hands to yourself. He wanted to yell at you to not touch him.

But he was too exhausted to do anything but lay there and glare at you with golden eyes.

“Oh, good,” a voice made him turn his head, “you’re finally awake.”

Joshua was briefly introduced to Prajya during his first check-up. She was a nice girl, but she had a little...bite to her. Josh liked her from the get go.

“See you’ve noticed your little friend,” Prajya chuckled. “You don’t seem too fond of her, though.”

His face scrunched up in almost disgust, “What is that?”

Prajya let out a snort at his reaction to his mate.

In your sleep, your nose wiggled a few times before you reached up to scratch it. Joshua rolled his eyes feeling his heart swell at how cute you seemed. He wanted his instincts to fuck off.

“I think you already know,” she replied in amusement.

“Who is she?” he asked.

The foreign girl just shrugged, “Beats me. We didn’t get a name from her or where she came from or anything.”

Unable to resist the curiosity, he slowly wondered, “...What happened to her?”

“Caught in a net that had barbs laced with wolfsbane,” she sighed as she leaned back against a wall and studied your face. “We were sure she was going to die until you showed up and--”

“Don’t,” he said sharply before dropping his tone to be only grumpy rather than angry, “mention it.”

Prajya just shrugged, “If you didn’t want it mentioned, you shouldn’t have done it. Kyung was right, you are a grumpy old man.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. Of course Kyung was gossiping with her old friends about him. The new alpha was a piece of work.

But she wasn’t really wrong, and even he knew that.

Prajya was silent as she watched Joshua watch you. It was clear that even though he openly showed his distaste for his new mate, his instincts were strong and hard to ignore. Even through the disgust and annoyance on his face, Prajya could see the love and adoration clear in his eyes.

The grumpy, old werewolf, and the young, carefree werecoyote. This would be interesting to see.

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kingofkingdom-archive · 4 years ago

Text

Your Wish Is My Command

Pairing: Maxwell Lord (WW84) X Fem!Reader

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love on my last story! I’m grateful for all the feedback and can’t wait to get back to anyone who’s replied or reblogged it or whateva. This one’s pretty different - Recovery was mainly plot with a bit of porn, this is... well, the opposite of that. ;) As always, heed the tags/warnings, and again there is no use of Y/N here.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only!)

Summary: You have a gift - a powerful, unique, dangerous gift, and King Maxwell wants to take full advantage.

You’ll let him.

Warnings: mostly smut, Maxwell being an absolute jackass (no redemption arc here folks), you encouraging and very much liking the jackassery, brief mention of abuse/trauma, greedy authoritarian behavior, kinda spoilers for ww84

Tags: semi-public sex, exhibitionism, royalty kink (?), unprotected sex, implied and/or inferred consent (i.e. not explicit but there), Maxwell’s POV (until very end), fingering, p-in-v sex, come marking

Word Count: 3.4k

"The messenger you requested, reporting back from the northern provinces, sire."

King Maxwell of the house Lord, sitting in the throne gifted to him by birthright, dismisses the servant with a wave of his hand. He's become quite irritated with the futility of his efforts concerning this matter, and therefore has little patience for further delay. The future of his lands, his wealth, his power, rests on the shoulders of these menial workers and the news they provide. It bears no repeating that should they continue to come up empty-handed, someone is going to lose their head.

He needs the girl, and then it will be sealed. He will crush all opposition and assert his dominance over the entire region, coast to coast.

The messenger, a boy no more than 15, scurries into the room. His hair is tousled under his cap, which he hastily removes in the presence of the king. He bows, deeply and with a flourish, before standing upright.

Max watches with disinterest, legs spread over the velvet seat and head resting on his fist. His rings dig into his temple.

"We believe we've found her, sire."

That grabs his attention. He sits forward, both hands gripping the arms of his throne.

"You believe you have? Have you or have you not?"

The boy swallows, growing pale. "We-we have, your majesty. It's just, uh, we-we can't p-p-prove it's her until she demonstrates the gift."

The king groans, rolling his eyes and rubbing a hand over his face. These people are impossible.

"Where is she, then? Have you at least brought her along?"

The boy nods frantically. "Yes, your majesty. She's been quartered in the guest wing, with two guards to watch her."

Immediately, Maxwell stands. Everyone in the room looks up at him, and he adjusts his sleeves. The boy is nearly trembling.

"Well, then take me to her," he orders, and the boy hesitates.

"Now!"

The messenger boy practically trips over his own feet in haste to correct his error. He sets a quick pace to the guest wing in order to account for the king's long strides, head bowed and arms stiff as he does so.

The room is located to the east of that which houses his throne, on the third floor, overlooking the orchards. Maxwell follows the boy, wooden-soled shoes echoing on the gleaming marble floors of his palace. Mirrors line each hallway, along with fine art ranging from rare vases to family portraits.

Maxwell sees the door as soon as they turn a corner, identifiable by the armored men who stand at either side of it. The boy stops and gestures to the door with a shaking hand.

"Just in here, y-"

"I can see that," the king barks, ignoring the boy completely. "You are dismissed."

He hears footsteps retreat quickly down the hall as he checks his appearance in a mirror. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkled seam in sight. The king sighs, smiling as he admires himself. He takes a moment before turning to the door, the door that hides behind it wealth and prosperity like nothing he's ever known.

The guards simply bow as he approaches them. Maxwell knocks twice on the door and pushes it open.

Inside there is a single room, with a bed and chest of drawers and a vanity. There is a balcony, with glass French doors, through which he can see the shape of a woman standing and looking out over the scenery.

She leans one hip against the stone railing, and as Maxwell walks forward he can see that she holds a goblet of wine in one hand. Her dress flows in the light summer breeze, and her hair is decorated in intricate braids, ribbon laced throughout.

The girl does not see him, yet. He stands in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, watching her.

"Is it true?" he asks, after he's looked his fill.

The young woman starts, a gasp escaping her lips. She turns to look towards the voice she has heard and startles again, seeing the king himself staring quite intently at her.

"Your majesty," she breathes, a smile ghosting across her lips. She bows deeply and then looks up at him, eyes bright and playful.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear. I've heard many... extraordinary things about you."

Maxwell is immediately taken with her. Not only is she quite beautiful, despite her pauper's clothing, but she is one of few who have not reacted to him with fear or malice. Most begin shaking when they see his face; she, however, seems quite happy to see him.

"Oh, sire, the pleasure is entirely mine," she responds, voice soft, like music to Max's ears. "What things could you have heard about someone as lowly as I?" Her words are humble, but he senses a hint of teasing in them - as though she knows exactly what he's heard, but just wants him to say it.

"You are rumored to possess a very unique skill, one that I am most interested in learning about." He plays along, because her elusiveness frustrates him much less when she's right in front of him.

The king is a very visual man.

He steps forward, fully onto the balcony now. She backs up until her back hits the railing, smile never leaving her face, even as the king crowds into her.

"I possess many skills which I would be happy to demonstrate to you," she says, and Max does not miss the meaning she intends to convey in those words. His eyes darken, his blood running hot at the thought of the many things she could give him. The things he could take from her willingly, without the hassle of a fight.

"It is said that you grant wishes," he murmurs, looking down at her. Max finds he quite likes this view, her looking up to her king. "One must only touch you and state their wish, and it will be so."

The girl chuckles, and daringly takes a sip of her wine. Maxwell grins, before reaching a hand up and grabbing the wine from her grasp. He tosses the liquid out over the ground below and carelessly throws the goblet over the edge to follow its contents.

The girl does not bat an eye.

"What you have heard," she mutters, eyes slipping down to his lips and back up again, "is true."

The king runs his hand up her side, settling at her ribs just beside her breast, savoring the way she shivers at his touch. His fingers splay out over the bare skin of her back, warm and soft and hinting at more.

He dips his head down so that his nose brushes against hers, mouths nearly touching.

"Is there a limit," he breathes, because he knows he must ask this, "to your generosity, my dear?"

The girl smiles, placing a hand on his bicep. Her small fingers feel divine against him, even there.

"No," she whispers back.

Maxwell hums, stroking his thumb idly along her warm, soft skin. He needs to confirm that she's telling the truth, as tempting as it is to believe her outright. The way she's looking at him... she'd let him do anything to her. The thought is as enticing as it is dangerous.

"I wish to find a raven's feather in my shirt pocket," he says, and then feels a slight breeze on the back of his neck.

The king reaches into his pocket, and his fingers brush against exactly the object he wished for. He pulls it out to show the girl. She smiles and runs a hand up to his shoulder, resting her wrist there. His loose linen shirt, which flutters lightly in the wind against his tanned skin, is perfect for a summer's day like this - and when he feels the warmth of her hand through it he thanks his past self for selecting it this morning.

"What a remarkable gift you have," he comments, and tucks the feather behind her ear.

An endearing blush rises to her cheeks, and though she ignores it, the king takes notice. "Thank you, your majesty."

At that moment, an idea forms in his mind. It's devious, downright lecherous and more the act of some tavern drunkard than a king, but she is sure to react well, if he's gauged her correctly.

"You said there's no limit on the wishes you can grant a single person?"

"Yes, sire. I did."

A smirk forms on the king's face. "Then I wish, my dear, for you to be naked."

The wind around them picks up again and the girl gasps. In the blink of an eye, her plain, beige dress has disappeared, leaving nothing behind. She is a vision, bare and beautiful in the midday light like this.

Maxwell is immediately hard. Not only is there a gorgeous, naked woman before him, but his absolute, unlimited power has just been confirmed and lies at his fingertips. He is unstoppable now, now that he has her.

The girl's hands fly up to grasp at his shoulders as his own trace over her curves. Her hips, her waist, her thighs - one of which he brings up to hook around his own hip - all of it is open and shimmering before him.

"They said - in my village, they said you are a monster," she says, though her words trail off into a moan as one of the king's hands finds her breast. He tugs at her nipple, squeezing and pulling at the supple flesh, drawing sweet sounds from her pink mouth.

"Is that so?"

She nods. "I would look at your portraits and - and think... I'd think, no... no man so handsome could be so evil."

The king laughs, dipping his head to lick at her neck. She tosses her head back, giving him full access to the elegant column of her throat.

"And even... even if you are what they said... I don't - I don't care."

Maxwell groans just as she says it, biting a bruise into the junction between her shoulder and neck. He trails bites and kisses down her collarbones, leaving his marks across her unblemished skin.

"I am," he murmurs into her ear, smoothing a hand over her stomach so that his middle finger comes to glide over the thick hair that covers her mound. He dips it into her folds, rubbing softly at the wet, slippery flesh there until she moans, high-pitched and needy. He grins, licking his tongue into the shell of her ear.

"I am a monster, my dear," he whispers. "Every vile thing they said about me is true. And... I wish to fill my personal vaults with triple the gold. I wish to increase my fleets tenfold, with loyal soldiers to match. I wish to never see you leave these palace grounds so long as I live."

The wind picks up considerably around them. The king presses a finger against her opening, hot and dripping for him, and slides it in. Her moans are heavenly, loud and unashamed as he violates her in the open, where anyone could look up and see them. Her cunt opens for his finger, the gold and precious jewels of his rings swallowed by her sweet embrace. Her hands grip at his neck while her leg draws him closer. He adds a second, and it enters just as easily.

The king begins to fuck her with his fingers, watching as the muscles in her stomach tense and her eyes go glassy with the feeling.

"I wish to never be challenged by anyone for the throne," he grunts out. The girl moans at his words, and he realizes that she likes it. Not just the way he's touching her, but that he's making his wishes as he does it. He grins at her, predatory, and cups her ass with the hand not currently knuckle-deep in her pussy. His fingers dig in, sharp and strong and unyielding, surely leaving bruises in their wake.

"You like granting my wishes, darling? You enjoy giving me power, worshipping your king?"

She nods, mouth half-open. "Yes, your majesty." Her voice is breathy, the sound of it nearly knocking him out with the way it draws blood from his brain to his cock.

Speaking of which.

Maxwell thrusts a third finger into her cunt, the stretch made easy by the slick leaking out of her profusely. She wails, hands scrabbling at his neck and shoulders and back and the collar of his shirt.

"Take me out," he orders, and she pauses to look at him, confused. "Take me out of my trousers, my dear. Feel how hard I am for you."

She gasps and her hands fly down to the button at the crotch of his pants. Quickly she fumbles it open, and his hard member pushes up into her palms. The girl gives the king's dick a squeeze, and he grits his teeth, moaning.

"I wish to claim all of the lands in the south as my own. I wish to have loyal subjects in every village and town, that no one may ever defy me again. I wish to have any traitors killed without question."

The girl's moans have increased again as she rubs and caresses his cock. Her hands disappear for a moment as she leans back, licking a long stripe from her wrist to fingertips, and returns to her task.

Maxwell groans, dropping his head forward to press his nose against her skin, breathing in. She smells faintly of lavender, a crop that grows abundantly in the north, sweet and fresh. His tongue darts out to lick away a drop of sweat that rolls down her collarbone. Her hands squeeze and pull at his cock, thumbing at the head and slit and dipping down to fondle his balls on every other stroke.

It feels positively exquisite, but he wants to put his dick to use elsewhere. Somewhere tighter, warmer, wetter.

The king removes his fingers, drawing a whine from the girl. The noise of it is obscene in itself, squelching and sticky as her cunt tries to cling to his fingers and the jewels that adorn them. He chuckles, lifts his head to meet her gaze, and brings his fingers up to his mouth and licks away her essence. She watches, rapt, as he makes sure to get every inch of the three digits that were inside her. The sight of it makes her keen, high pitched noises spilling out of her lips and eyes watering with desperation and need for him.

The king laughs, the taste of her on his tongue. Someday, he swears, he'll taste this sweet nectar straight from the source.

Now is not the time.

He brings his spit-soaked hand down to his red, throbbing cock, giving it a few strokes. His other hand slips up to grasp her waist. The girl lifts her leg further, resting her heel against his ass, helping him to guide his length into her.

"What else do you wish for, my king?" she asks, just as the head of his cock notches at her opening. With a grunt, Max pushes in.

Her words, combined with the feeling of her pussy stretched around his dick, causes his vision to blur and images to flash in his mind of what's now possible with her gift at his disposal. He pushes in further, drawing another moan from deep within her throat.

"I wish... I wish..."

"Your wildest fantasies, my king..." she urges, grip tightening on his neck and shoulder. "Anything is possible. What do you -- oh!"

As her words soak into his skin, he pushes in further and further, until his balls are nestled squarely at her ass. She's pushing him to take, rather than to give, unlike so many who surround him. It breathes fire into his veins, this woman who's encouraging him to do all the selfish, power-hungry things he'd do anyway, all while he fucks into her like this.

The king draws out and pushes back in in one smooth motion, stealing the breath from her lungs. He presses his lips against hers as he speaks, as he sets a rough pace, fucking her into the stone railing.

"I wish to never fall ill or suffer injury in battle. I wish to have the unwavering allegiance of every foreign leader, and that they will defer to me in all international affairs. I wish for my reign to be the longest this nation has ever seen. I wish to live longer than any other man, and I wish to have you here at my disposal for the entirety of my long life. I wish to never succumb to old age."

By now, the wind is tossing her hair and whistling around them, but Maxwell does not care. He's thrusting into her roughly, recklessly now, and all he can hear are her sweet, delicious moans. Her pussy clenches his cock just so, and he sees nearly sees stars at the feeling. Her tits bounce as he fucks into her, her nudity on full display but only to be taken advantage of by him.

Maxwell adjusts his grip on her waist and thigh, maneuvering her around so that now he's taking her from behind. She leans forward on the railing, looking out over the palace grounds.

"Isn't it beautiful, darling?" he breathes, gripping her ass cheeks now, pumping in and out with increased fervor. "Looking out onto your lands, as far as the eye can see..."

She merely responds with moans, punched out of her with each thrust, and Maxwell feels her cunt throb in a way that tells him her orgasm is imminent. He reaches a hand around and searches for her clit, knowing he finds it when she shouts out. He rubs a finger against the sensitive, pulsing nub until she comes apart, writing and screaming on his cock.

Max feels his own climax approaching, and just before he tips over the edge, he withdraws his cock. Taking himself in hand, he strokes a few times and cums directly onto her ass and lower back, marking her up with his potent, royal seed.

Chest heaving, the king runs his hands through his own semen as it cools on the girl's backside. He rubs it into her skin like a masseuse might a fragrant oil.

Maxwell steps back, admiring his conquest. The girl is still leaning against the railing, head bowed and naked as the day she was born.

"I wish for you to be my queen."

The words are a surprise even to him, though he's not shocked at his own impulsivity; that is a trait of his that has followed him from childhood onward.

The girl turns to look at him.

"You have to be touching me for it to work, sire." She doesn't sound angry with him, which is a relief, though he'd never show it.

"I know, my dearest. I wish it, but I won't compel you."

At that she turns to face him fully. She's got that fucked-out look on her face, to be sure, but now there's something else in her eyes.

"Are you asking me to marry you, King Maxwell?" Her smile is sly, something befitting a woman of much higher status than herself. It makes his cock twitch in a valiant effort to get hard again.

"I suppose so."

"In that case, my answer is yes," she says, and pulls him in by his shirt collar for a searing kiss.

The next morning, you wake up sore in an unfamiliar bed.

You look around for a moment, taking in the luxurious decor and faint smell of roses, until you remember where you are. Who you are, now.

Your head rests not on a pillow - something much warmer than that. It rises and falls softly, and then you realize there's a weight around your waist that feels distinctly like an arm. Lifting your head just slightly, you see the king himself asleep above you, face soft and youthful in rest.

As you lay your head down on his chest to fall back asleep, you can't help but think of the people back in your village. The horrors you endured at their hands once they learned of your gift. The nightmares you still have because of what they did.

You think of how much they suffer under the rule of the king - of your husband - and you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

308 notes · View notes

cafedanslanuit · 4 years ago

Text

Legend

♡ — personal favourites

☆ — fan favourites

♠ — nsfw

♫ — includes songs

Headcanons

RFA + Saeran - Dirty Dancing ♫ ♡

RFA + Saeran - MC wants to have her own business

RFA - MC is ten years older than them ♡

RFA - What goes through their mind when they’re cuddling? ☆

RFA + Vanderwood - Having a rebellious kid ♡

RFA - MC can’t sleep unless with them

RFA - A bubbly MC makes self-deprecating jokes as a coping mechanism ♡

RFA - MC that is bubbly, confident and never afraid to stand up for someone

Yoosung dragging MC back to bed because it’s raining

RFA + V - MC blasts music when she’s upset ♫

RFA + V + Saeran - MC with a passion for anime and drawing

RFA + V + Saeran - MC with a major in fashion

RFA + Saeran - Quarantine edition ♡

RFA + V + Saeran + Obey Me! brothers on a trip to the beach ♡ ☆

RFA - MC with a hand fetish

MC has Jumin trying commoner food

Zen + Jumin + Saeyoung - MC is selfconscious about being chubby and they make her feel better ♠ ♡

Jumin comforts MC about a guy who is texting her constantly and making her upset

RFA reacts to a MC that is called Elizabeth

RFA + V + Saeran - As Les Misérables songs ♫ ♡

Saeyoung messes with Yoosung’s phone to help him out

Saeyoung x MC - MC makes her own music

Latina!MC and Jumin get stuck with MC’s latino parents during quarantine ♡

RFA + Saeran - MC gets her wisdom teeth out ♡ ☆

RFA + V + Saeran - MC has a bad coping mechanism of punching her thighs (tw!)

Domestic Texts Series: Zen & MC || Saeran & MC ♡

RFA - MC is obsessed with Elizabeth the 3rd

RFA + V + Saeran with a MC that likes going to protests

RFA - MC grew up in really bad poverty

RFA + V + Saeran - They find out MC is only eighteen after everything that happened during their routes ☆

RFA - How do they calm MC when she’s anxious?

RFA - MC has dyslexia

RFA - MC with chronic pain

Royal AUs with Jumin, Zen and Yoosung

Love Language Event with Yoosung, Zen, Jumin, Saeyoung, Saeran and V

Happy New Year Event with Saeyoung, Saeran, Zen, V and Yoosung

Thirst Asks [+18]

[All Asks]

[Jumin] [Jihyun] [Yoosung]

Fanfiction

Mystic Messenger as failed love stories ♡

reminiscing about the characters and your failed love stories in an alternate universe

You get me ♡

What happens when you’ve finally found your prince charming, but he doesn’t seem to fit in your life anymore?

Bet you can’t leave me

Mystic Messenger Week 2020. “The first time she threatened to leave me, I felt like I was dying.”

Who are you?

Drabble prompt - Zen always sought recognition for his work. Lately, he’s been using other resource to achieve his goals.

Dance with me

Latina!MC tries to teach Zen to dance bachata.

Jealousy [Kinktober 2020 - Day 2] ♠

When Zen agreed to be MC's plus one at a fancy party, he never expected she would lock them both inside a bathroom in a fit of jealousy. The hunger in her eyes could only indicate she was about to remind him who he was with.

A plan gone wrong [Mysme Angst Week - Day 1]

You convinced Zen to stage a fake coffee date in order to give Jumin, your fiancé, a wake up call about how much he had been ignoring you lately. However, things don't go as planned.

i could buy you anything but i cannot buy you ♠ ♡

[kinktober 2021 - day fifteen: body worship] Zen had always had the need to be in control for a lot of years. (...) His guard may not be up as much as it did back then, but to this day Zen still takes a second look at any situation he’s in. He can’t let anything drive him away from his acting career so he always has to give his best and not take anything for granted.

You get me ♡

What happens when you’ve finally found your prince charming, but he doesn’t seem to fit in your life anymore?

I always wanted to marry rich

Jumin Han stood with his hand holding the doorknob, not believing what he had just heard. There was no way this was happening. Not days before his wedding. Not only that, days before he married who he thought was the love of his life. The one who he thought he could trust, the one that didn’t ask for anything but his love and attention.

Home

You are staying at Jaehee’s after Jumin did something that made you really angry. While staying there, you start feeling sick and end up at the hospital. What you first thought was nothing to worry about, quickly turns into a nightmare that could change your relationship.

Sweet Creature ♫ ♡

Jumin gets stuck in another country away from his wife due to the pandemic. He’s been having trouble falling asleep, so MC decides to tell him a bedtime story. A simple request ends up making Jumin open up about a small insecurity he had over his wife and his best friend.

If I could tell him ♫

Request: “can i request a jumin fic where MC has a crush on jumin but is very shy and so ends up talking with the other members more and then jumin confronts her about it and she accidentally confesses/he confesses.”

Animal I Have Become ♫

500 followers event. “So what if you can see the darkest side of me? No one will ever change this animal I have become. Help me believe it’s not the real me.”

Young God ♫ ♠

500 followers event. “He says: “Oh, baby girl, don’t get cut on my edges. I’m the king of everything, you know my tongue is a weapon. There’s a line on the clock that’s separating your thighs, if you wanna go to Heaven you should fuck me tonight.”

Crowded Room ♫ ♡ ☆

500 followers event. “Baby, it’s just me and you, just us two, even in a crowded room, baby it’s just me and you” - [SMAU Epilogue]

Dear Jumin ♡ ☆

What if after all the events that happened during Jumin’s route, he didn’t fall in love with MC?

A new life

When MC gets into a car accident, Jumin ends up with her medical records. He never thought he would find out about what happened to his wife six years ago.

You see me in my room, wish you were here right now [Kinktober 2020 - Day 12] ♠ ☆

Jumin Han clicks on a pop-up ad and gets stuck into a cam girl website. As he waits for someone to come to his penthouse and fix his laptop, he can't help but notice a young woman giggling as she read through he comment section. From that moment on, he's hooked. And he can't wait to see more of her.

Sometimes I think about Elizabeth [Mysme Angst Week - Day 3]

Jumin tries to deal with the grief of losing Elizabeth the 3rd.

A late night conversation

A late night conversation with Jumin takes another turn into a much better scenario. [Fix-it fic for Jumin's DLC. Set on Episode 3]

Seven Minutes in Heaven - Holidays Edition ♠

You’re home for the holidays and your friends invite you to a party. After a couple of drinks, one of them proposes playing seven minutes in heaven and makes everyone at the party leave an item of theirs in a small basket. When it’s finally your turn, you walk over and inspect the items before choosing the one that will decide your fate for the night.

A day off

For @/mysme-rbb event! You convince Jumin to take a small trip to the theme park. Taking into consideration it was the first time either of you had stepped foot in a place like that, it went exactly like expected.

you know i’m just a flight away (if you wanted you could take a private plane) ♠ ♡ ☆

[kinktober 2021 - day five: sex tape] Knowing Jumin is about to leave on yet another work trip, you suggest recording something for him to see while away. A little souvenir so he doesn't miss you too much- but now he's not sure he wants to leave at all.

Superstar ♫

500 followers event. “Before I met you, I pushed them all away / Soon as I kissed you, I wanted you to stay.”

What you always wanted

Mystic Messenger Week 2020. As MC’s anniversary with Saeyoung is approaching, she asks her friends of the RFA for advice on what present is the best one. After several recommendations, she decides on what she should give him. Her only hope is that he’ll be happy with her choice.

The Ghost Of You ♡ [ Vietnamese translation ]

A love story between a man with a mysterious job and a nurse during the Second World War. “And all the things that you never ever told me and all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me. Never coming home, never coming home.”

Loving You ☆

Drabble Prompt. “I am profoundly enchanted by the flowing complexity in you.” - John Keats

Discoveries [Kinktober 2020 - Day 27] ♠

After you find a transparent light blue dildo hidden in Saeyoung's room, the question hangs in the air. Why not trying it out together?

Lost on you [Mysme Angst Week - Day 2]

A discussion about how to handle Saeran's recovery turns into the worst fight Saeyoung and MC have ever had. Both of them bring back past memories that should have never been talked about, in a desperate try to prove their point, not noticing how much they're tearing their relationship apart.

Just like him [Mysme Angst Week - Day 7]

No one teaches you how to grief. Sometimes you just do whatever it helps the pain go away.

give me the stars

For @/gureishi’s event. A small piece to celebrate Saeyoung’s birthday. A late-night escapade for two young lovers.

Wildest Dreams ♫ ♡

500 followers event. Slightly NSFW. “He says no one has to know what we do, his hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room.”

Seven Minutes in Heaven - Holidays Edition ♠

Beautiful ♡

Jihyun has a couple of burn scars on his torso after the fire that took his mother’s life. You make sure you know he loves every part of him.

Wait for me

When the pandemic starts, MC gets stuck in another country, away from Saeran who was just starting his recovery. She tries to work a system with him so they can feel close even when they’re kilometres apart.

How ♫

500 followers event. “I’m asking for your help, I am going through hell, afraid nothing can save me but the sound of your voice.”

Vanilla ♠ ♡ ☆

NSFW. Saeran’s favourite place was between MC’s legs.

Apricity

Drabble Prompt. He never understood the reason behind this change (...). All he knew was that when winter came, he would start feeling tired out of nowhere and he would lose his appetite.

Gardening

Drabble Prompt. In which Saeyoung and MC break one of Saeran’s pot and they try to cover it up before he gets home.

All I’ve Ever Known ♡ ☆

Drabble Prompt. Saeran has some doubts before his wedding. Thankfully, you’re there to send all his worries away.

Not to be able to love

Drabble Prompt. He wants to love her, he does. But when you’ve been through that much, it gets hard to love and not need.

Four Seasons (15 chapters) ♠ ♡

Saeran’s After Ending. Saeran has finally found MC and is ectasic to finally be able to enjoy the good ending his tumultous life has reached. But with Saeyoung still missing and Mint Eye around, his happiness may have to wait a little more. Was love really capable to win against his inner demons or will he have to learn to fight for himself?

In another life [Mysme Angst Week - Day 4]

When MC knows her time is coming, she promises Saeran she will do whatever it takes to find him in another life. The only mistake was that she didn't expect to find him like that.

Our time

Saeran is saying his goodbyes but this time, you decide not to let him go. || Fix-it fic for Saeran's After Ending

even in the dark

For @/gureishi’s event. A small piece to celebrate Saeran’s birthday. Some days are better than others. But the people who love us stay through it all.

764 notes · View notes

captainsimagines · 4 years ago

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Two

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 2 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this chapter: brief reference/hint to past sexual assault.

Word Count: 7,500+

A/N: Thank you so much for your excitement about this series! I always smile when I read your comments. Sorry for such a long chapter, but it’s only ten parts and I gotta fit all somewhere lol

Unknown Location, 2015, 10:46pm

The tightness of the rope wrapped around your wrists was excruciating, each movement causing it to rub against the already damaged skin, leaving more angry, red marks. You whipped your head back and forth, anger and fear coursing through your veins as you stared your father down. You watched as he carefully maneuvered his way around the room, every back straightening as he walked past them, every gun cocked and pointed right at you. Your nose twitched up as he walked closer, inspecting the ropes tying your feet to the chair and so on. You accumulated all the spit you could and aimed it for his face, pride washing over you as it hit him perfectly. But as quickly as that pride built, it shattered, a stinging sensation on your cheek now overpowering any other sense.

“You cost me ten million.”

You bit back a laugh, careful not to let it slip as you did not want another beating. “I did what I had to do. You would have done the same!”

“Don’t tell me what I would have done!”

You flinched inwardly, your face still blushing with growing madness. If only you could loosen these bonds…

“You will know to not mess up again.”

And as your father left the room, the men lined up against the wall finally let their shoulders fall forward, their once blank faces now donning sadistic smiles.

The Compound, 2018, 2:07am

You sat up from your mound of pillows, kicking them to the side as well as the heavy blanket. Your ears rang impossibly loud, and it wasn’t until your feet touched your bedroom floor that you could hear yourself screaming. Your body was drenched in sweat, sliding easily on your wood floor as you kicked to escape the blanket.

Sharp knocks against your door startled you, sudden ‘please, don’t!’’s escaping your mouth. Hyperventilating was always tiring, you thought, and the air was now super cold as you sucked it into your lungs.

“Doll, please? I’m coming in.”

The light from the hallway blinded you so you lifted your arm up as a temporary shield.

“No, no! I’m good… I didn’t lose it. Please, trust me!”

“Y/N…”

You lowered your arm and stared at your nighttime intruder, instincts kicking in upon settling your teary eyes on him and causing you to groan in displeasure.

“Don’t look at me.”

“Y/N.”

“I said don’t look at me.”

Steve sighed in defeat and walked back to your door. You thought he was going to simply leave you be, letting you ride out this panic attack alone like all the others. But he shut the door and made his way over to your couch on the other side of the room, plopping himself down and leaning his sleepy head in his right hand. It had been six months since the world literally fell apart, an unknown feeling of terror that simply sat at the pit of stomachs eating away at whatever sanity its host still had, plaguing the world. Tiredness was second nature, never actually reducing its power no matter how much sleep one got. But leaving you here to suffer each individual thread being pulled from your remaining sanity, alone, wasn’t an option.

“Why are you staying?”

“I have nightmares, too. You aren’t that special.”

You rolled your eyes, hands now massaging your aching chest. “It wasn’t anything.”

“Y/N, you were screaming for help.”

“I scream for a lot of things.”

You figured Steve would succumb to his growing annoyance, but he stayed patient.

“Was it about…?”

You sighed and pulled yourself up to your feet, knees wobbly and thighs alerting you of the droplets of sweat that beaded down your legs. “No. I don’t dream about the snap.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You let out a rather angry sigh. You were now rubbing your eyes, cleaning them of the accumulation of hard mucus. “I seriously don’t want to talk about this particular incident.”

Steve huffed through his nose and you were ready to pounce on him to tear that beard from his face, but stopped when you saw his small smile and genuine empathy in his eyes. “Okay, I won’t push you.”

You just stared at him, eyes wide and confused. But you nodded slowly, eyes now diverting to the blanket below you.

“I’m just so fucking happy the snap took my father.”

Steve’s lifted his head quickly by your abrupt confession, eyebrows furrowed and lips frozen, as if wrapped around a lost word he couldn’t verbally address. He understood, but it shocked him nonetheless.

He ignored it, or at least chose to avoid an immediate discussion about it, and stood from your couch.

“Are you going to be okay?”

You wanted to throw him out. Him being across the room and near the wall was starting to trigger more flashbacks.

It’s Steve. It’s just Steve.

“Can you stay?”

Steve stumbled slightly in his step, clearly uncomfortable with your request. But he was a good man and when one of his teammates needed help, he would do whatever he could. And you were one of the only teammates he had left.

“Okay,” he said. But as he made his way back to the couch and away from you, sudden racks of itchiness stretched from your wrists to the middle of your chest. You stumbled from the bed, arms extended outward as if you were still shielding yourself from some incoming attack.

“No, no! Just…”

Steve watched your movements carefully, trying to discern between fear or awkwardness. He sighed and let you see his hands, turning them over in the air.

“It’s me. Tell me where you want me.”

You were in control. Just tell him where you want him.

“I’ll lay here,” you started, getting back into the right side of the bed and pulling the covers up to your hips. “You there, but upside down.”

Steve chuckled and followed your commands. You watched him walk, feeling the dip of your mattress as his heavy body lay down. You were grateful when his sock-covered feet touched your left side pillow, his chuckles gaining volume as he tried to get comfortable.

“Do I at least get a blanket?”

“Oh!” you leapt from the bed and to the closet. He listened to your soft pitter-patter as you shuffled across the cold floor, shutting his eyes to relish in the childish melody. You passed Steve two heavy blankets, mindful of the cold weather outside. Then you climbed back into bed, passing Steve a few pillows, and snuggling back into your own.

A few shifts of the blankets made you open your eyes again. Steve was not as stiff as you expected him to be - almost like he wanted to help you - and you mentally slapped yourself remembering that he would do this for Bucky.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

You took solace in the fact that he couldn’t see the tiny grin on your face. “Thank you.”

Steve smiled up at the ceiling, thankful that he could still help others even when he himself was falling apart. “You’re welcome.”

Present Day, 2025, 9:45am

If anyone were to truly study Steve, they would see he was starting to act his age. He enjoyed fluffy socks, tea instead of coffee, sketching in the secluded garden of the new compound - anything a man pushing a hundred would truly enjoy. And he found himself shaving less, watching every new movie released regardless of genre, and eating much more oatmeal than usual. He remembers how whenever Bucky had saved up just enough for them to splurge on items they never usually indulged in, oatmeal would always be his go to. It was still a common ‘peasant’ meal for the two young bachelors, but Bucky would heat it up with fresh milk he had bought that morning, added the fresh strawberries and dates that were in season, and sprinkled brown sugar - damn, Steve loved brown sugar - on top. Bucky would place the bowl in front of Steve, ignoring Steve’s constant blabbering about ‘Buck, we can’t afford this’, or ‘you don’t need to spend your hard-earned money on me, you jerk’. But he would quickly shut up once Bucky’s perfected oatmeal recipe landed on his eager tongue and filled his happy stomach. Regardless of those past memories of young roommates searching for loose change in their couch and more recent ones of two reunited best friends sharing looks of awe whenever they saw how much milk and brown sugar now costs, Steve was certain the old man in him was just barely emerging.

He definitely didn’t skip the irritated attitude phase every old man seemed to develop as the years passed, his resting facial expressions and movements starting to match those of his best friend. Grumpy, tired all the time regardless of the serum, and asking each other instead of the modern people around them how to work their phones. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed, or go on a jog, or watch a movie - anything - rather than having to give a briefing about something he hadn’t had to think about for seven years. And although he had the chance to use the stones before and didn’t, Steve couldn’t quite help wishing that he was transported back to his and Bucky’s old and crumbling apartment, fighting over that one knitted blanket Bucky had bought for the both of them with his last dime.

You seemed happier with your whole family situation after the snap, but he never wanted to ask. Whether you were putting on a brave face for him, he was rid of it momentarily only to be pushed into the chaos all over again. But this time was different because you were finally going to end it all. Finish what you had started all those years ago - then maybe Steve could take that afternoon nap he wanted.

“Talk to me. How are we doing this?”

Fury pulled up a screen with all the photos and biographies, essentially a powerpoint prepared by both you and Steve.

“I’ll do whatever you ask of me, sir. But I know my family and their schemes better than anyone,” you said. Fury knew this was true and the plan would ultimately be mapped out by you. His input was always welcome, but you knew the small details - their personalities, their weaknesses, their strengths, even the way they took their coffee. You even knew which of them sampled their product before sending it off on a cross-country road trip.

Steve stood beside the monitor, using this finger to change the screen. “So, we’re looking for our physical proof. A paper trail detailing land and their product, contacts, storage units, aliases - the works.”

You nodded at Fury and your teammates. “Exactly. The hardest things to obtain will most definitely be evidence about my father’s involvement. Proof he gave the orders and profited from them.”

“Your word isn’t enough?” Sam asked.

“No, not unless I throw myself under the bus as well. It’s his word against mine unless I can prove these things were all his doing,” you responded, taking a sip from your water.

The only other people in the briefing room besides Steve and Fury were Sam, Bucky and Scott. Everyone else would get a brief overview later on this week, but these three were specifically chosen by Fury to help aid you in the actual physical fight.

“The wedding is the perfect distraction,” Scott spoke. “Almost like this was made for a heist.”

Steve released a heavy sigh, his patience already wearing thin. “Not a heist.”

“Close enough,” Scott shrugged, gaining a grin from you across the table. He smiled at your reaction and sent you a wink.

“Agent, we have to go over the basics and any new information you can provide,” Fury encouraged.

You motioned toward Steve to bring up the photos on the monitor, “Let’s start with the basics.”

Steve took over for the first portion of your presentation. You didn’t mind - in fact, the more control he had in this would certainly help ease his mind and you definitely did not want a stressed out Steve Rogers accompanying you on a twelve hour road trip.

“Ernesto Vega, father of Y/N Y/L/N, born 1950 in Guadalajara, Mexico, but because of the snap, the 80 year old is still only 75.”

“Damn, your father is old!”

You laughed at Sam’s outburst, “Yup, and I got like ten half-siblings.”

Sam sat up straighter, “No way?”

“Way.”

“Daniel Seda,” Steve continued, his voice louder. “Vega’s second in command, born 1970, currently 55 years old. Took over as top commander after the snap, and according to Y/N he didn’t take it well when everyone was brought back.”

“Hmm, threatened to put another bullet in me,” you teased, pointing at your stomach where the scar underneath your shirt had already long healed. You could have sworn you heard Steve’s breath hitch, but even if it did, he had quickly covered it by swiping the monitor.

“But her father saw this as proof of loyalty. Because no matter how much he knows Y/N hates him, she still brought him back.”

You lifted your shoulders, arms in the air as if imitating the nonverbal form of ‘oh, well!’, and your thin smile caused your cheeks to pop out comically.

“So, Seda hates you?” Bucky asked, chuckles still vibrating in his chest from your previous childish movements.

You brushed your hand through the air, “Not the first man to hate me and not the last.”

Steve snickered. You could say that again.

“The wedding will be held at Vega’s personal and private ten-acre ranch in Northern California-”

“A lovely fall wedding!”

Steve bit his tongue, eyes never leaving the monitor. “Sure… and it’s perfect. He’s wanted and he’s going to be on U.S soil.”

You stood from your chair and grabbed the electronic marker from the desk. You circled the main points of entry plus the directions of secret exits hoping to emphasize the ‘private’ part of Steve’s statement. “And since it’s his most private getaway and no one would suspect he would hide important shit on said U.S soil, I’m about ninety-eight percent sure our proof is there.”

You pulled up the blueprints and marked a giant ‘X’ on the farthest corner room in the west end. It was your father’s office.

“Ninety-eight?” Sam asked, reviewing the printed blueprints himself.

You twirled the marker between your fingers, “My dad is clever. My other two percent is telling me there’s no evidence at all.”

Scott clutched his chest in relief, “Okay, at least one outweighs the other.”

You shared another laugh with the ‘regular-sized man’.

Steve continued listing the basics, all while Fury sat toward the edge of the long table reviewing the screen. “The other two big names in the drug game are Omar Ramirez and Marcus White. Ramirez runs most things from Mexico City to San Antonio, Texas and he’s probably the least evil of them all. White runs Europe, specifically Germany and England.”

You interjected, “Ramirez focuses on the product. He orders his men to focus on the business instead of the outside world - meaning, no unnecessary kills, no violence toward women and children, no killing cops or citizens. Just producing and transporting.”

Almost forgetting he was there, Fury’s voice somewhat startled you. “Vega has lost men to Ramirez, men who wanted a change in scenery.”

You nodded in confirmation, “They aren’t necessarily enemies but they’re no besties either.”

Sam rolled the blueprints back up and handed them to Bucky. “So, we’re taking them all down?”

“The big three. Plus Seda,” Steve declared, finally taking his first sip of water in what felt like forever. If he didn’t want anyone to know he was nervous about this mission, he was for sure failing.

You hummed, “Vega and Seda are also the only ones who know of Steve’s involvement.”

“How’d that happen?” Bucky asked.

“Because Steve only ‘transports’ my father’s product. Not the others. Steve’s role is essentially to green light the passages and is my main pull,” you clarified.

It was true - Steve didn’t do or touch anything. And you thought this best considering he was America’s golden boy - you couldn’t possibly bear real involvement from him. This wasn’t his world and never should have been but it was yours.

You dealt with people directly. You took out the snitches. You handled the product during inspections. You did it all - and not because you thought Steve was some fragile soul who couldn’t achieve the same results - but because you brought him into that mess during a time in his life when he definitely didn’t need it.

“But how did it happen?”

You shrugged, hoping your answer would suffice for the rest of the group as it never does for Steve. “When I first started out as a field agent, my father didn’t trust I was doing it for him. The more I promoted, the more suspicious he got. It wasn’t until we exposed SHIELD as half-HYDRA that he was done with me.”

Fury interjected once again, “So, Y/L/N here had to pull rank out of her ass.”

You snorted, “Thanks, Fury. That sounded nice.”

“I told them that I had the literal symbol of America by my side. That defeating HYDRA was only to get his friend back, not to save the world. Plus, I told them that HYDRA was targeting all of them. And once I could get proof - a forged recording made by Fury before he went into hiding - well, it was like the greatest example of submission.”

“Why didn’t you say Tony?”

That certainly was a question Steve always had and wanted answered. God, he really hoped you had said Tony.

“Because I got the literal symbol of America as a partner-in-crime. My father almost told me he loved me... almost.”

You sat back down in your chair, a tiny puff of air escaping your lips. “And that made Seda furious. I may hate my father, but Seda is the main threat to blowing this whole operation.”

If anything, you wanted your father deader than dirt, silenced by the one child he always regretted bringing into the world. He had tortured you in more ways than you thought possible.

“Now, I thought my dad was bad.”

You fell back onto the couch before retrieving your cup of coffee you had placed on the table. Nebula gave you a tiny chuckle in return.

“Yes, mine has eradicated half the universe. I win ‘worst father’.”

You sipped your coffee, trying and failing to block out the banter between Rocket and Tony as they discussed the location of the space stone. “You know, I wouldn’t have put it past him.”

Nebula chewed her dinner slowly, listening to you ramble on about anything that popped into your mind. She knew this was your coping mechanism - to just keep talking until someone shut you up. But she enjoyed it, really, because you spoke of topics that she didn’t quite understand or know about. She learned something new everyday simply by listening to you.

“I should have thanked Thanos for dusting his ass, though.”

Nebula stopped mid-chew, blank expression but the hint of a twitch in her lip visible.

“I’m joking.”

You had asked her once why Thanos had spared her and Tony when he snapped his fingers. But Nebula had no rational answer, only responding that he must have spared her out of last minute pity and Tony to live through the consequences. And the tiny voice inside your head knocked again, reminding you that ‘maybe this snap was overall a good thing - your father can’t hurt you anymore!’, but you shut it up as quickly as it came.

“So, how many planets are there in the universe, really?”

Fury began piling files in one folder, making sure to hand out the sheet with names and contact numbers of agents stationed close to the venue and your chosen hotel.

“We’ll get into mission specifics at a later date once Rogers and Y/L/N are settled and scope out the place. For now, study up on your targets and perfect your acting skills.”

You assumed you would only need one big suitcase for the trip, only packing essentials and extra shirts just in case. You rolled your clothes tightly, securing your signature perfume and some jewelry inside some sweaters. You hid identifiable items in the small compartments - your passport, journal, old SHIELD tag, driver’s license, etc. It was the paranoid side of you taking over, the possibility of having your cover blown likely and frightening. The amount of times you had ventured into the general vicinity of your father and his crew always proved safer than you expected. But there could always be that day he simply didn’t want you around anymore.

So, you prepared in the smallest and even cringiest ways possible - resorting to drafting letters for those you wanted to remember you after you had been taken out. You paused your packing to grab your spare journal. You spent a good hour writing. A letter to Wanda, to Bucky, to Peter, to Rhodey, to Sam. Some were shorter than others - others extending to over two pages. But your mind was racing with things you hoped they would never have to read, scattered thoughts and only hints of identifiable wit penned on paper.

You tucked the letters behind the fabric you had recently ripped open. You planned on duct-taping the rip, your eyes drifting back over to your journal. You tapped your foot rapidly for a few seconds, fingers twisting in anticipation, mind still clear enough to draft one more. You quickly picked the pen right back up, sitting on the edge of your bed and starting the letter you might regret later. But at that moment, with the horrible prospect of dying on this mission, you wrote.

‘Steve,

Believe when I say that I was so sure I would put a bullet in my father before he could. Whoops…’

You wrote and wrote until your handwriting grew sloppy at the edge of the paper, and signed it. You tucked the final letter into the hole and taped it shut. You really hoped you would be able to survive and burn those written words later.

A soft knock sounded from across the room and your bedroom door opened to reveal Steve, light blue dress shirt tucked into his jeans like the old man he truly was. You couldn’t help but grin at that, cursing your involuntary actions for this man.

“Hey.”

“You doing okay?” you asked, continuing to fold clothing into your suitcase. He leaned against your door, hesitant. Steve often wondered why and how he could go days, weeks - one time even a whole month - without speaking to or seeing you. He was an expert at one word answers by now, opting to always have someone else around whenever he seriously had to carry a conversation with you. But what struck him the most was that you didn’t seem to care anymore. He witnessed the change - hell, he was the one that caused it - but it was a change that he both wanted and didn’t. How was it so easy for you?

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” he responded and walked over to your couch to sit.

You cleared your throat, hoping to make this conversation the least awkward you could. “Because this was literally sprung on both of us after almost ten years of waiting.”

“I’m okay.”

You accepted his answer. He looked comfortable enough, shoulders relaxed and genuinely interested. There was a part of you that wanted to rush over and shake him, yell at him for being so clueless and fake at the same time. There was no possible way he was fully okay with everything - he hadn’t been himself since the snap, and when Natasha and Tony died, he was someone else entirely. You had brought it up with Bucky several times, but he assured you that Steve was just dealing with things his own way. That he was still a man out of time, they both were, and battle after battle could take its toll. And Bucky would hype their therapist up, that they were the reason he and Steve are able to walk in public without that constant voice warning of danger in the back of their heads, and that you should schedule a visit sometime. You always declined, asking him to call you if he truly needed another person to talk to. He would smile, taking you up on your offer whenever a day was particularly triggering.

“I’ve been waiting for this day since I was sixteen. Ten years really just flew by… considering.”

Steve nodded, “Is there anything I should know?”

You hummed, “If you mean things about my family, then I’ll just tell you on the way there or at the hotel.”

He chuckled and stood to lean against your bedpost. “No, I mean like, what should I pack just in case?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed at such an innocent question, “Um, comfy socks. It’s pretty cold in California in the winter. Gas money, it’s pretty fucking expensive, too.”

He smiled, “Good to know.”

The two of you packed in silence for several minutes. Steve helped you roll your clothes and gather your toiletries, even asking you if you wanted to bring your current toothbrush or the new one in your bottom drawer.

You knew you shouldn’t have spoken about the topic burning in your throat, but you felt like you had to say something. If you mentioned it during the mission, you risked a larger argument than the one you would get now. So you formulated your next sentence carefully, already bracing for impact as it slipped.

“Look, the elephant in the room should be addressed. Once my father’s dealt with, I have no reason to stay here.”

Steve clipped the belt over the top of your clothes, securing the items tightly. He seemed disoriented, your sudden proclamation startling him. “What do you mean? You did the work, you trained, you helped us literally save the world.”

You shrugged and kept your voice light, “Yeah, but I started this gig when I was sixteen. I didn’t join the Avengers until I was freshly in my twenties. I’ve literally known nothing else but fighting.”

Steve sat at the edge of your bed, furrowed eyebrows and all as he chose his next words. He felt both angry and sad, a mixture of feelings that he never quite grew accustomed to whenever he was around you. They ate away at him slowly, creeping into his brain to wrap around his common sense, his sense of self, the man he was before the snap.

“Are you saying you just need a break?”

“I think,” you shrugged, zipping the suitcase and tugging its weight off your bed and onto the floor.

“What about Wanda and Bucky?”

You scrunched your face in amused confusion, a playful smile resting on your lips, “I’m not falling off the face of the Earth, Steve. I’ll visit or something.”

“Or something.”

He stood and walked back to your couch, restless and even more stressed than he was before he entered your room.

“Steve, we lost so much. It’s been two years since we brought everyone back, but… it took its toll.”

He snapped his head up, “You don’t need to tell me about shit taking its toll.”

You felt like you stared at him for several minutes, anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach and traveling up your throat. That familiar lump constricting your airway as you forced yourself to swallow it and the forming tears. And once again, your mouth spoke before your mind could approve.

“Why didn’t you use the stones for yourself?”

Steve sat, shocked into silence temporarily. “What?”

“When you and Carol put the stones back - why didn’t you stay somewhere you really wanted to be?”

You remember watching him step onto the platform holding the briefcase of infinity stones and holding Mjollnir, - because of fucking course he could wield Mjollnir, he was a good man even if you were on his bad side - simply minding his own business and waiting for Carol to join him. You remember thinking he would return with a different story, only after he got some of that life Tony had always encouraged him to find, that he would go back to Peggy and live the life he always wanted. But as quickly as they disappeared into thousands of timelines did they reappear, Carol joyful and content while Steve trailed behind her. Your heart had pounded erratically, Bucky looking at you with wide eyes because yes, I thought he would do exactly what you were thinking, too.

“None of your business.”

“I’m not trying to pry-” you reasoned, but Steve stepped toward you with flushed cheeks and a cracked voice.

“But all you do is pry, pry, pry. God, do you ever just shut up?”

All you could hear behind the ringing of your ears were Steve’s quick breaths, slowing as each second passed and he realized what he had said. A moment of weakness, in his opinion, but still uncalled for.

“Pack some snacks for the road and get out of my room.”

Steve straightened his back, eyes practically yelling for you to look at him again, pleading for you to see the remorse swimming in them. But you just tugged your suitcase to the corner of your room, ignoring him completely. “Gladly.”

You and Steve were mature enough to keep your arguments at least a hundred miles away from any mission you were conducting or when around your friends. A quick quarrel in the morning was basically nonexistent a few hours later when the whole group suggested a board game or movie night. Although this impromptu road trip would be the slightest bit awkward, you two were smart enough to not compromise the mission.

And you had to drive as flying and airport security was too risky, especially with the amount of weapons attached to your body and in the trunk of that rented car.

“Call us when you hit the first checkpoint. After that, we’ll be monitoring your hotel check-in and any new ones, police reports filed throughout that week, anything that directly involves your stay,” Bucky said, handing you a burner phone.

You stepped forward to hug him. “Thank you, Bucky.”

He gave you a tight squeeze, releasing you slightly to whisper in your ear. “Try not to kill him for the next twelve hours, will ya?”

You pulled away and gave him your best grin, bumping your bracelet with his. “You know I can’t promise that, Bucky.”

He rolled his eyes, “You kill him, I kill you.”

“Ugh, don’t tease me.” Bucky almost burst out laughing from the fake, pornographic moan you let out because of his threat.

“No, but seriously - just… lay low, trust each other, and we’ll be there in the next few days.”

You slid the burner into your sweater pocket and patted it, checking if it was secure. You waved goodbye to Bucky and pulled the passenger door open. You blew him a kiss, red lipstick now on your fingers. “Can’t wait to see you!”

Bucky stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, an embarrassed but happy smile on his face. He caught the floating kiss mid-air. “Already miss you!”

“Stop, I’m blushing!” you teased, your left hand resting palm up on your forehead in an exaggerated manner.

“Go!”

You obliged, falling into the passenger seat and clicking your seatbelt.

Twenty minutes into the drive and Steve finally decided to speak.

“So, you and Bucky?”

You giggled, thumbs currently flying over your phone screen as you tried to beat your high score in some awful video game you discovered last week. “Yup, I got him wrapped around my finger.”

Steve’s hand fidgeted on the steering wheel, “Seriously?”

You closed out your video game, “No, Steve. It’s mindless flirting. He’s one of my best friends.”

“Ahh…” he nodded in understanding, a lazy smile resting on his face. He focused on both the road and you, your head leaning against the foggy window. “About earlier-”

“Don’t mention it,” you interrupted. The second you peaked through your heavy eyelids did you lock eyes with Steve, regret visible in them.

He continued, “I blew up at you and you didn’t deserve it.”

“Cool, you’re forgiven.”

“Y/N-”

You groaned quietly, but you weren’t getting angry. You were just tired from the day already and having to sit for twelve hours straight wasn’t going to help. So, you took the high road. “Look, it’s a twelve hour drive until our first stop. Let’s forget about it or else I promise you, I will jump out of this car when you push eighty.”

Steve couldn’t help the laugh that rumbled in his chest due to your absurd promise, but he accepted your answer.

“...Okay.”

By hour two, there was a restlessness between the both of you. No matter how much you extended your leg, the cramping wouldn’t go away. No matter how many times Steve would twist his neck to the side to get it to crack, it would just tighten again. So, against protocol but still on your best behavior, you and Steve made a couple stops along the way.

The first was a burger joint in the middle of buttfuck Ohio, you had commented, earning a choking sound from Steve as he tried to contain his laughter. It was a hole in the wall type of place, perfect for lying low and out of sight, and you had enjoyed your meal in the car. You listened to Steve’s playlist on low volume, stealing each other’s fries to simply piss the other off, and hit the road after your meal.

The second stop was around hour eight, and the sun was already starting to set. You desperately needed to use the bathroom and once you saw a tiny town that ‘looks so much like the town in Gilmore Girls!’, Steve pulled over and parked in a diner parking lot. Donning caps and ordering a coffee and a tea to go to seem less suspicious, you hurried from the diner and back to your car. You stopped dead in your tracks, eyeing a gazebo with a black miniature fence around it. You begged Steve to snap a photo, promising that this would be the only favor you ask of him for the next few hours, and went to hitch one leg over the metal fence. You settled yourself on top, hands gripping the railing and trying not to fall. You started to laugh uncontrollably as the fence started hurting your bottom, begging Steve to snap the photo quicker.

‘Take the damn picture, you big oaf!’

‘Well, then hold still!’

‘It’s hurting my ass!’

‘Smile!’

The third stop was the final one, somewhere in Iowa and deep in the forest. You complained about how Fury warned you of motels, that you would have to seek shelter elsewhere to avoid being recognized. You could easily blend in, but the mountain of muscle beside you would blow your cover. And you wanted to arrive in California undetected by the media.

Steve drove the car into a dark and secluded part of the forest, ground that seemed used by campers often and had an emergency phone and landline nearby. It was secret enough, so you parked the car and retrieved the blankets from the trunk.

“You taking the back?” Steve asked, jumping back into the car and rubbing his hands together because of the chilly weather. His face was flushed from just a few seconds out in the cool breeze, nose frozen and the tip red. He looked younger, you thought, somewhat resembling those renditions of Greeks in renaissance art.

“You’ve been driving all day. You should stretch your legs,” you answered, already wrapping the blanket up to your shoulders and securing it around your neck.

“You sure? We can alternate.”

You smiled, already feeling the effects of the warmth on your tired body, “I’m sure, Steve. Get some rest and I’ll drive in the morning.”

Steve exited the car after turning it off - sucks that you had to save the gas - and hopped into the backseat. He kicked off his shoes and lay across the connected seat, facing you. He could see the outline of your nose as you tilted your head slightly to the side, the blanket wrapped around your neck and hiding the real length of your hair. It resembled a bob cut by how half of it was hidden, and Steve thought that hairstyle would suit you.

Your personal phone rang, cutting through the comfortable silence and startling the both of you. You fumbled it in your hand and looked back at Steve, face falling as you showed him the name.

Seda.

“Answer it on the third ring.”

You did as Steve told you, answering the phone on the third ring and preparing your voice. He scrambled for the tape recorder, pressing ‘play’ as soon as he could.

“You rarely call me. To what do I owe the pleasure?” you answered.

His voice sounded hoarse over the phone, almost like he had just finished smoking a pack of cigarettes. “Are you attending?”

“My dear sister is getting married, Seda. Of course I’m going to embarrass her.”

He paused for a few moments, sounding like he was directing the people around him to finish something. But he responded to your answer in a serious tone. “I hope you’re being your usual sarcastic self and aren’t serious.”

You rolled your eyes and pointed at the phone, and Steve’s lips spread into a smile. “You’ve known me long enough to know, I hope.”

“Sadly.”

“I’m hurt,” you joked, voice still light and cheerful. Seda paused on the line again, the sound of papers rustling letting you know the line was still active.

“I need to know if the Captain is attending too.”

“He was invited,” you responded, laughing a little at the fact that Seda hadn’t known this information you were sure the rest of your family knew.

He chuckled, a slight whistle sound letting you know he was smoking another cigarette. “Mm, guess your family is finally meeting your lover, huh?”

The air in your mouth didn’t make it down to your lungs and you looked at Steve with equally wide eyes. But you didn’t stay fazed for long, responding to such an accusation with ease. “My lover, yes. I’m so damn giddy about that.”

Seda hummed in satisfaction, “Your father always told you to not get involved with the product. Scrambles your brains from thinking straight. But he applauds you on this one.”

You put a finger in your mouth and mimicked gagging, causing Steve to cover his mouth to muffle his laugh. “I’ve never mentioned the Captain as my lover before. Why is my father always right?”

You knew exactly what to say. The more backhanded praise you gave your father only fed into the truth and lies everyone knew - truth being you hated your father because of his power and the lie being that you were just as power hungry as him. As long everyone assumed you wanted this power, the more you had to act like you hated your father’s.

“He knows more than he lets on. You know that.”

“I know a lot of things.”

Seda continued, “No friends allowed, anyway. So, if the Captain isn’t your lover then… we may have problems. Is there a problem?”

You kept your voice at a steady volume, “I said I was with him, didn’t I? Have you seen the man?”

“Seen him, heard him speak. So righteous and dull. Not really your type.” Seda was growing impatient with the conversation, clearly angry that he hadn’t caught a slip or lie from you.

You scrunched your face in disgust, “Ew, don’t think you know my type.”

“Buck, ‘my type’ is back home with a warm chicken noodle soup in my lap and a couple of loose papers at my disposal,” Steve whined, trying to keep the same pace as his overly enthusiastic friend as he hurried down the sidewalk.

“She’s such a knockout, Steve! I’m sure she’ll love you.”

Steve couldn’t help but blush at Bucky’s kind words, the hype always repairing some parts of Steve’s broken self-esteem and reminding him of his worth. But it was his third date this month and rejection was starting to seem like his favorite sport. No matter what he did - offering a girl some peanuts, accidentally stepping on her (once!) feet while dancing, or simply not living up to Bucky’s gracious advertising - women just weren’t interested.

“You know that’s not true, Buck. Can’t we just have a quiet night in?”

Bucky stopped and guided them into the nearby alley, both to knock some sense into his friend and to give Steve a break from the tiny jog.

“Listen here, Steve. Any girl would be lucky to be with you-”

“Buck, we’ve been through this-”

“Let me finish,” Bucky shushed him, hands on Steve’s shoulders to steady both him and himself. “Any girl would be lucky to be with you. If this one doesn’t see you how I see you, then she’s just insane.”

Steve smirked, “Don’t insult the girl before I’ve even met her, jerk.”

Bucky smiled, his high cheeks pushing up to create crinkles by his eyes. “Trust me, pal. You just need to find a woman with as big of a mouth as you.”

Steve swatted his friend across his chest, laughs rumbling in both their chests and down the once quiet alleyway.

“What hotel are you staying at?” Seda quickly asked, ignoring your quip. You were done with this conversation as it was leading nowhere.

“Staying at one where no one can hear the Captain scramble my brains. Goodbye,” you replied, an annoyance in your tone that even Seda would believe as natural.

“See you soon.”

You let Seda end the call, a little power play you allowed him to have. God, it was gonna feel good to take him down.

Steve shifted in his seat, stopping the recorder in time for his question. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Why did your dad assume we were a couple?”

You gave him a tiny chuckle, pulling the blanket back over your shoulders and settling back into your seat. “I don’t know why that man says anything anymore. I guess they just expected it.”

“Why?”

No matter how many years passed, both awake or frozen, Steve never did quite understand the sexual appeal that lingered around his name. No matter how many times Bucky joked about it, no matter the amount of social media posts, no matter anything - he just didn’t seem to understand why people thought he was a ladies man.

You snuggled deeper into your blanket, scanning the outside woods one last time just in case. “You wouldn’t risk your reputation and status for me unless you were fucking me, I guess.”

“Crude.”

You turned your head to him and sighed, “They think I’m the whore of the family. It’s just too funny sometimes.”

Steve’s face fell, “I’m sorry about that.”

You shuffled in your blanket to pull your arm out and wave it in the air. “Used to it.”

Steve didn’t press further, deciding to lay back finally to find a cozier position. It was quiet for a few minutes, just breathing and slight motion disturbing the silence. You opened your eyes and stared at the moonlight hitting the steering wheel. By the sound of Steve’s breathing, you knew he wasn’t fully asleep yet. So you allowed yourself the smallest confession, a crack in the door Steve was figuratively standing outside of.

“My sister is his prized possession, though.”

Steve didn’t respond, but from the sound of the blanket moving you could tell he had turned to face you.

“Never knew why.”

Steve pondered your words for a long time, long after your breathing became slower and tiny snores left your mouth. He didn’t exactly know what to say or what to do. It wasn’t like you dropped top secret information on him or anything, but it made him wonder just why in the world your father hated you so much.

You had done everything asked of you. You were controlled, tortured mentally everyday, having to endure and make decisions that Steve knew you didn’t want any part of. Your father should be thanking you for keeping his business afloat, for expanding it, for roping Steve’s own name into that life. As he contemplated any rational reason for such hate, he heard your soft snore turn into an innocent purr, and he felt himself leaning more into a mutual understanding. It frightened him, gripping his reality by the throat, because Steve actually knew why. That innocence he saw with you, no doubt had presented itself to your father involuntarily and your father knew.

He knew you were good at heart.

Taglist: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise

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chaoticpuff17 · 4 years ago

Text

A Dangerous Game

part 11

Masterlist

Hello, my darlings! Don’t forget to let me know in the comments what member you would like featured in my next fic after A Dangerous Game is over! Love you all! --- your chaotic puff

Namjoon had promised good behavior would bring free reign of the house, what he hadn’t told her was that it wasn’t going to be put into immediate effect.

Everything had gone downhill during their first dinner in the dining room since the night of their second meeting.

“What do you mean go back to that room?” She asked putting her utensils down as she stared him down from across the table. “You promised.”

His eyes narrowed at her not liking the tone she’d taken with him. “You’ve been so good today, jagi. I would hate for you to ruin all that good work.” He warned continuing his meal though his grip on his own utensils had tightened.

They stared each other down. One was simmering with rage, and the other was waiting for any sort of slip up. The threat was clear as it hung in the air between them. Any wrong move on her part at this point would result in a full return to house arrest. She didn’t want to risk it, but by the same token she wanted nothing more than to fling a plate at his head. But she squashed that urge taking in a steady breath as she stood from her seat and smoothed out her skirt.

“And where are you going?” He asked curious as so what she was going to do.

“Back to my room!” She announced gracing him with a sharp smile one to rival even the most calculating of his grins.

He sighed setting down his utensils and standing from his seat as well. “I would appreciate if you would sit down, jagiya.”

“I’m afraid I’m a little tired. I think I’ll retire for the evening.” Every word was coated in a syrupy sweetness that was almost sickening. “Unless of course you have any objections?”

She knew full well that he couldn’t argue with that, not when he had so recently been the cause of her car crash. He was far too concerned with her health. Even if they both knew that she was lying, he would error on the side of caution and allow her to return to her room. He wouldn’t risk her fainting again. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the last time had shaken him. Seeing her crumple to the ground had caused his heart to stop for just a moment, and it wasn’t an experience he wished to repeat.

“Should I call for, Seokjin?” He asked moving over to her.

“No. I’ll be just fine with some rest. If you’ll excuse me?” She continued to smile that horribly sweet smile. It was an expression she had mastered under Marcus’ regime. It was bright and saccharine, but it never met her eyes. Those remained lifeless.

“I’ll walk you to your room.” He sighed again eyeing her carefully for any signs of real fatigue.

“There’s no need…”

“I’ll walk you to your room.” His voice held a note of finality that didn’t leave room for any more arguments so she acquiesced if only for the sake of their unsteady peace.

Once they reached her room she turned on her heal to face him with that smile again. He hated that smile. He would rather face her ire than that lifeless mask. It didn’t suit her.

“Goodnight, Namjoon.”

And before he could say anything, she had closed the door in his face.

The next morning dawned with a blanket of tension settling itself over the estate. Every member of staff knew something was wrong though no one dared to express that to the master of the house. But it was clear as they watched the frigid reception of their new madame during breakfast. Everyone had been excited for the madame’s recovery. So little had been seen of her over the course of her isolation, and they were all eager to see what kind of woman the madame was. But the tension between the two did not bode well to the other occupants of the house. A happy wife made for a happy household, and it was clear to everyone that the lady of the house was less than happy.

“Y/N….” Namjoon began sighing in frustration as he did. “This is ridiculous.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Namjoon had to clench his jaw and take a deep breath to stop himself from snapping at her. She had maintained the most infuriatingly blasé attitude all morning. She wasn’t rude. She wasn’t ignoring him. She was just politely detached remaining breezily above everything around her. It wouldn’t have been so bad, if only there hadn’t been that spark of something mischievous in her eye that told him she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Y/N.”

And there it was, that saccharine smile he detested so much on her. “Yes, Namjoon?”

“Don’t.” He snapped slamming his chopsticks down. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide behind that mask.” She quirked an eyebrow at him but didn’t say anything. “It doesn’t suit you, jagi.”

“There are a lot of things that don’t suit me. Being here just happens to be one of them.”

“Jagi,”

“You could rectify everything by just sending me home. That would suit me very well.”

“That isn’t going to happen.” He growled.

“You can’t blame a girl for trying.” She sighed setting aside her won utensils and taking a sip of her tea. “Do I actually get free reign today, or should I assume free reign really just means meals in the dining room and walks around the garden with you?”

He leaned back in his chair debating whether or not he should release her onto the estate. The stubborn set of her shoulders told him that she would only keep up her passive aggressiveness would only continue if he made that his definition of free reign, but he had his ways of keeping her just as firmly under watch around the estate as she was in her rooms.

“Of course you’ll be given free reign of the estate, jagi, but you will have to have a guard with you at all times. For you own safety, of course.” A small smirk pulled up the corners of his mouth as he watched the frown overtake her features.

“A guard? You never mentioned anything about a guard.”

“I have my fair share of enemies. It’s for your own safety. Jungkook will accompany you while I’m not with you.”

And just like that her mask of detachment melted away replaced with a look of utter disbelief. “A babysitter. You’re giving me a babysitter?”

“For your own good, jagi.”

“It’s either a guard returning to your room. What’s it going to be, jagi?” He asked allowing himself a smile. It wasn’t a deal she would refuse, and he knew that.

“Fine, a babysitter then.”

“Excellent! This is Jungkook.” He said motioning to a young man who had only just entered the room, and Y/N had to stop and do a double take.

He was young, so very young. While he was tall and broad, clearly very strong, he was still so young. She wanted to sweep him up and take him out of here, far from Namjoon and his whole sordid business. She had been young when she’d gotten involved in this mess of a world, and it pained her to see someone so young here. It didn’t help that he had wide doe eyes that screamed of a kind soul.

“Jungkook, this is, Mrs. Kim.” Namjoon introduced motioning to the woman who was still staring at the young man in shock.

“I’m not your wife.” She snapped at him before turning a far kinder eye on the young man. “You can call me, Y/N. It seems will be spending a lot of time together.” The last part was said with an annoyed glance in Namjoon’s direction.

“Mrs. Kim, will be fine.” Namjoon groused.

The poor boy was looking between the two of them with wide eyes unsure which of the two he should be listening to. Namjoon was his boss, but technically so was she. She was the lady of the house and would have far more contact with him on a day to day basis given his new job.

“You can call me whatever would make you the most comfortable.” She said gently, seeing the conflict on the poor boy’s face. “Okay?”

He nodded gracing her with a smile that was too infectious not to return. They’d get along fine, but he would be a hindrance to her scoping out the gardens for a path of escape. But she should have expected this. Namjoon was always a step ahead it seemed. She’d have to find a way around him. She’d have to play along for now.

“Well, as lovely as sitting her with you is, I think I’ll go explore. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had the time to see the house yet.” She smiled sarcasm layering each word as she stood from her chair. “Shall we, Jungkook?” She asked moving towards the door.

“Just a moment, jagi. There’s something I’d like to show you before you avoid me for the rest of the day.”

She paused turning to face him again. “I really don’t think that I can handle any more of your surprises. The overwhelming majority of them have been…” She stopped, searching for the right word. “Unpleasant for me. Besides you’re a very busy man. I’m sure you have work to do.”

“I’ll be working from home today, jagi.” He smirked watching her smile fall.

“How lovely.”

And at that, she had to admit defeat. There would be no avoiding him, not this time at least. She knew this was a probationary period. Namjoon didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, and she couldn’t really blame him for that, though it did make her life more difficult. She had a known history of betraying men in his position. She wouldn’t trust herself either if she was him, so she’d have to behave and avoid any suspicion of her plans of escape until Namjoon no longer suspected her of trying to do just that.

He stood up coming around the table to stand beside her, placing a firm hand on the small of her back. “Shall we, jagi.”

“If we have to.” She sighed reluctantly allowing him to guide her through the hallways with Jungkook trailing behind like an oversized shadow.

They stopped outside of a set of doors made from a dark wood, almost black, and glass, and she had to turn to him in confusion.

“You wanted to show me a room?”

“It’s a room for you, jagi.” Namjoon explained. “You can think of it as a private parlor.”

She stared up at him trying to decide if he was serious or not. But she couldn’t find anything in his face to signal that he was anything but serious. “The last time you gifted me a room wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience.”

He chuckled. “I think you’ll like this one much better.”

“You’re not planning on locking me in this one right?” It was unfortunately a rather real concern for her at this moment. She wasn’t sure what would set Namjoon off and have him send her back to her rooms for another stint of house arrest. “Because glass doors aren’t the most secure if that’s what you’re planning.”

“No. No one will be locking you in this room. It doesn’t have a lock, jagi.”

He opened the door revealing a small room the main focus of which was the shiny black baby grand situated within it bathed in the natural light that flooded the room from the windows that had a lovely view of the gardens. There were some comfortable looking chairs and an ottoman by the windows, and one wall was a set of shelves housing books and knick knacks. She hated to admit it, but she loved it.

“No one will bother you in this room without your permission.”

“Except you.” She pointed out dryly.

“Except me.” He agreed snaking an arm around her waist. “There is a library in the house of course, but these books are for you, for this room.”

She broke away from him her eyes fixed on the piano as she trailed her fingers across the keys. “How did you know I played piano? That couldn’t have been in the file.”

“I have my ways.” He grinned watching her take a seat at the bench. “When you get bored, you fidget, jagi.”

“You knew I played piano because I fidget sometimes?” She asked looking up at him in disbelief.

He picked up one of her hands delicately playing with her fingers. “You’ll move your fingers in a pattern, like you’re playing a song only you can hear.” He explained allowing her to pull her hand away. “Do you like it?”

She wanted to say no if only to wipe the stupid grin off his face, but the truth was she loved it. She missed the feel of the keys beneath her fingers, and it would give her something to do. Namjoon hadn’t allowed her a phone or a computer to keep her occupied, for good reason. He wasn’t stupid, but it left her with fewer distractions than she would have liked in the house. She was living like some sort of Victorian house wife only with nicer amenities.

“It’s a beautiful instrument.” It wasn’t exactly agreeing, but it wasn’t disagreeing either.She refused to give him the satisfaction. But she did love the piano.

“Is this a Bosendorfer?” She asked running a tentative finger over the name embossed above the keys in awe. “These cost a fortune.” She breathed out in disbelief, looking up at him with wide eyes. “It had to be $500,000, and that’s at the low end!”

She couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that the man had paid a small fortune for a piano. While it was a top of the line instrument, she never would have paid that much for an instrument. She had never even been this close to piano this expensive. It was utterly insane to spend that much on a piano.

“Only the best for you.” He smiled only to receive a swift smack across the arm from her.

“Are you insane? How could you spend a small fortune on a piano?” The look of absolute incredulity on her face clearly conveyed just how stupid she found him, found this. “You could have gotten a Yamaha for a tenth of the price, and it still would have been a perfectly good instrument.” Standing on by the door Jungkook had to choke back his shock. Never had he seen anyone scold his hyung in such a way, let alone dare to lay a hand on him, and Namjoon let her. “I’m not a concert pianist. I don’t need a piano that costs more than my life is worth.”

She raised a hand to smack him again, but Namjoon snatched her by the wrist, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Never,” He hissed anger pouring out of him in waves. “Never say that again. Do you understand me?”

part 12

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #namjoon #namjoon x reader #mafia namjoon #yandere namjoon #mafia #mafia au #rm #rm x reader #dark romance #a dangerous game #soft yandere #jeon jungkook

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

Note

I’m happy requests are open !! Could you write about Thanatos with a darling who keeps escaping death via dumb luck?

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, The only Gods worth going feral over are the Gods of Death. Thanatos, as the Deathiest God and an example of excellent personification, gets to bring out the most feral energy of all. It’s only fitting.

TW: Heights, Mentions of Death, Mentions of War and Non-Consensual Touching.

You were a coward.

You’d had more than enough time to come to terms with the title, and yet, you were never truly able to apply it to yourself. You’d been a soldier, once, brave and honorable and worth the years you were given, but that’d come to an end the moment you had your first taste of carnage, when you fled like a scared child and ran until your breath gave out, until the clash of swords and the screams of men were too far to cause guilt. You’d never really stopped running. You kept your distance from age, and all it’s cruel folds and realizations. Violence was a foreign concept, the sight of blood enough to earn a blind eye. Centries gave way, civilizations moved on, but you didn’t. The Fates passed over your name again and again, and you did little to remind them of your petty existence. You feared their gaze as much as you feared everything else.

As much as you feared him.

You didn’t try to avoid him, and your encounters were too frequent and too familiar for Thanatos to inspire terror, but you couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through your spine as black wings flashed across your vision, circling above your head as you narrowed your eyes, resisting the temptation to track his movements against the overcast background. Rather, you made your way to the edge of the rooftop, swinging your legs over the side and making yourself comfortable, attempting to push the steepness of the drop out of your mind. It wasn’t a skyscraper, but the ground was still leagues below. Even if the fall failed to kill you, it’d be an unpleasant recovery. You’d learned it was better to avoid hardship where you could.

As soon as you were settled, overlooking the city from your favorite vantage point, you closed your eyes, digging your nails into rough concrete and ignoring the ruffle of feathers, the gust of wind that threatened to send you flying. When it passed, you dared to glance to your side, only scanning over the tall, athletic figure of your companion for a second or two before turning your gaze back to the street below. He was a common sight, by now, but broad shoulders and dreadlocks did little to stir whatever fondness was left in your heart. “You don’t have to be so dramatic,” You started, knowing he wouldn’t fill the silence unless you made a move to. “I know you and all your little minions can appear wherever you’d like. You shouldn’t pretend it’s a chore to find me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He was grinning, softly, the hints of a real expression just barely pulling at his lips. You were used to it, honestly. If he wanted to grimace and glare his way through the next millennia, you weren’t going to stop him. You just wished he wouldn’t insist on doing so in your direction. “People will die, whether or not I’m present. It’s better to let them come to terms with it, before I interfere.” He pulled a knee to his chest, leaning on the appendage as his heel found footing on the rooftop’s edge. You nearly warned him about the height, about his instability, but you forced yourself to bite the comment back. The wings currently folded against his back gave him all the security he’d ever need. “Although, it seems a few of my appointments need an extra push before they’re willing to accept the inevitable. You can ask for special attention if you need it, my love.”

You didn’t indulge him, shaking your head with a sigh. “It’d be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?” You asked, letting Thanatos hum in response. “I never asked for this. I never wanted immortality. There’s probably someone out there who’d make something of it. A doctor, who’d be able to cure every disease known to man, or a great mind who’d reinvent life as we know it. Maybe they’d see it as a blessing. Maybe they’d be thankful for it.”

Another hum, this one accompanied by a hand on your shoulder, rubbing slow, measured circles into your skins. “And you’re not, (Y/n)?”

“It’s all I can do to get by,” You admitted, making a half-hearted attempt to bat his arm away. “The world’s so complicated, these days, so much bigger than it used to be. I need money I don’t have, and space, and so much time... I can’t believe I ever thought I could get anything done in less than a century. It’s not as… risky, as it used to be, but it just keeps going. I’d kill for a break, or just a decent night’s sleep. Anything but another day of everything.”

Thanatos didn’t keep his distance, this time You kept your eyes trained on your lap as he slotted himself against your side, an all-encompassing wing wrapping around your form, forming a blanket as comforting as a funeral shroud. His touch was soft, but his voice was sterile, apathetic. Fair, but harsh. Justified and judgemental. “You’re living on borrowed time. Anything you try to do will be difficult because you’re not meant to be doing it. All things die, even I’ll fade away, eventually. There’s only one thing you can do.” His smile pressed into your hair as he leaned against you, the chill of his skin seeping the heat from yours. “It’ll be painless. You’ve got nothing to fear. You’ll be with me, when it’s over. It’ll be peace.”

Your response was delayed, but your reluctance faded as quickly as your patience. You shoved him away, but there was little could do against his strength. Instead, you grit your teeth, curling your fingers into your palm in an attempt to control your rage. “It’ll be captivity,” You spat, your body going rigid as memories of bloodshed filled your mind, of armies and brutality and Thanatos, always Thanatos, chasing you like a predator attempting to catch his prey. He would never let you rest, never give you peace. He’d whisk you away to somewhere dark and cold and lonely, just like he’d tried to on the day you met, the day you went to war and every day after that. Maybe the Fates were doing you a favor, keeping you away from him, keeping you safe. Or, maybe, you’d just gotten lucky.

Maybe Thanatos hadn’t.

“You don’t want to help me.” Your voice was distant, small, but your words dripped with a venom you didn’t know you still had. All you could do was hope it made him understand. “All you’ve ever wanted to do is own me. Whatever sick obsession you have with me, I don’t want to be a part of it. I’m never going to give you what you want, even if I have to outlive the Gods to do it. I’m not going to be a prisoner.”

You moved to stand, but Thanatos held you in place, keeping you grounded as he sighed, his grin finally dissolving into little more than a disappointed frown. Pulling you closer, he brought you just near enough to push a light kiss into your temple, almost apologetic in its delicacy. “It hurts that you still don’t trust me. You’ve always been the stubborn type, but I never thought you’d bring me to this.” You opened your mouth, a question playing on your tongue, but you never got the chance to ask. Thanatos continued, before you could. “Have it your way, then.”

You didn’t feel his hand drop to the base of your spine, nor his wings pull away, standing on-guard behind him. You didn’t feel any of the build-up, just the sharp, strong shove, followed by a distinct separation. The fall only came a second later, freeing and fatal, before you began to plummet towards the ground.

Giving you just enough time to see as a wide, toothy grin spread across Thanatos’ lips, more genuine than any you’d ever seen him wear.

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ikleesfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Will you follow through if I fall for you?

Fandom : One Chicago Word count : 2,409 words Disclaimer

Previously on this fic : Part 1 🞂 Part 2 🞂 Part 3 🞂 Part 4 🞂 Part 5

Part 6

It's been a few days since your date night with Jay. It went much better than you expected. You knew from the start that Jay is a good guy and probably a sweet lover too. But after that night, you found out that there's more to him than his good look and easy-going attitude. Jay's gentleness soothes your insecurities. His understanding warms you from inside. It's hard to feel miserable when he's around. You cannot help but latch on to him.

You and Jay keep texting and calling each other every day, but you only got to meet him once since then. For a coffee date before he ran to work while you went for your PT session. His job doesn't leave a lot of spare time, so you relish all the time he spends with you.

You hear your phone rings when you have your lunch. There is a video call request from your best friend and work-mate, Alex. "Hey, you! I miss your stupid face!" you greet him.

"You know what's not stupid?" Alex ignores your greeting. "The new material I received this morning

He refers to an email you sent him last night. Instead of sleeping, you wrote some lines and tinkered some notes on your electric keyboard. It was still very rough, but you and Alex swap ideas all the time. They could be a bar of melodies or chord progressions. Or maybe a single line that you cannot get out of your head, even there's no context to it.

"Wanna work on it soon?" Alex proposes.

"Yeah, sure!" you easily agree.

"You know I'm gonna ask how you come up with that song idea, right?" Alex probes further. He got an idea about your sudden burst of inspiration, but you haven't told him anything yet so far.

"You can ask. I might not answer", you nonchalantly retort. "Are you asking now?"

"I would, but I just arrived at my parents' house for our weekly dinner", Alex turns his camera phone and shows you his family dining table. "Say hi to Y/N, Pop" He lets his parents know that you're on the phone.

"Hallo, Liefje" Alex's parents greet and wave at you. "I miss you, Y/N. How are you doing, darling?" Alex's mom squeals at you.

"I miss you guys too. I miss home," you utter mournfully.

"I saw your dad last week. He and your mom cannot wait to have you back home next month. As are we." Alex's dad informs you.

Your face gets even more upset. "I haven't told my parents yet, but it's gonna be another two months. It's not working out as good as they wanted"

Alex's parents let out a sympathetic noise. "Oh great, I still have two more months to hide all my chocolate from you" Alex teases you instead. He knows if he doesn't throw any humor here, you're going to weep. The family laughs at your offended look.

"Where's Sara?" you ask them when you didn't notice Alex's little sister on the table.

"She's getting ready for a date after dinner. Said they will go stargazing. Can you believe it?" Alex skeptically recounts to you.

"Hmm, that sounds romantic. Good for her." you hum your appreciation. Alex can see twinkles in your eyes.

"Of course, you thought it was charming", Alex sounds vexed.

"Why are you so grumpy about this? You have a hit song that compared someone's eyes with the moon", you remind him. "Last time I checked, that song already got more than 400 million streams on Spotify". Alex just grumbles incoherently, while you can hear his father's booming laugh in the background.

"Alex, would you please call your sister down for dinner?" Alex's mom orders him.

"Alright, ma. Gotta go, Y/N. I'll call you later when I'm back at the studio. Bye, sis!" Alex ends the call.

◢◤

Kelly Severide comes to your place in the evening after he finished his shift. He called you on your cell several times, but you didn't pick them up. He knocked on your door for a few minutes without answers. Worried that something bad happened to you, he uses his key to open your apartment door. You gave him a spare when you began your recovery from the incident. Since you got nobody in town except for the 51 Family, you thought at least one of them should have access to your place, in case you need help.

Kelly sees you sitting on your corner desk with headphones on. Your head is nodding to the beat you're working on. Relieved to know you okay, but feels a bit annoyed, Kelly taps your shoulder lightly. You jump in surprise, almost fall from your chair if Kelly doesn't hold you down.

"Kelly! What..! Why are you..??" your heart is still pounding in shock, makes you unable to finish your thoughts properly.

"I knocked! And called you many times! Neither you answered! I was afraid that you fell and unconscious so I used my key", Kelly exclaims.

You check your phone and see seven missed calls from Kelly. "Sorry, I left my phone on mute, somehow"

Kelly goes to raid your fridge and takes a bottle of apple juice. "Your fridge needs beers" he judges. "Go, get ready! We'll hang out at Molly's. Everyone misses you", Kelly orders you.

"I'm working, Kelly. Just because my work has no shifts, doesn't mean I can go anytime you want", protest you.

"You work for your best friend, who's in another continent right now. You can slack off for a bit" he dismisses your complaint.

"I'm making big progress here. My writing juice is flowing", you point at your laptop.

"One hour. I give you one hour to work. Then I'm hauling you out of here. In the meantime, I'm gonna order take out for us", Kelly decides.

You only mumble your disagreement, knowing that you're gonna lost the argument anyway. So you just put your headphones back on your head. However, Kelly pokes you again five minutes later, with his phone on hand, "Hey, do you want Thai or Greek? I'm in the mood for Greek right now", Kelly playfully asks you.

"Yeah, Greek is fine" you start to feel bothered.

He leaves to order the food while you're back to do your work. Ten minutes passed, Kelly drags a chair from the kitchen island to your side. He knocks on the table to catch your attention.

"Hey, I just remember, Brett said they saw you rescued somebody at the swimming pool last week. How did that happen?" he questions.

You let out a desperate sigh. "You're not going to let me work in peace, are you?"

Kelly just grins. "C'mon, we haven't hung out for a while. Lots of drama to share"

You save your work in defeat and then move to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. Kelly sits on the couch with legs resting on the coffee table. You place yourself next to Kelly.

"They extend my therapy for another month" you restlessly play with your bottle cap.

"Is it not going well?" Kelly asks in concern.

"I got cramps that day at the swimming pool. They worried I damaged something. So they prefer to be cautious" you fill him in.

"That's when you rescued Dr. Manning's son " Kelly tries to clarify.

"Well, I just pulled him out of the water. The pool guard was the one who helped him breathe" you shrug.

"You assisted. It still counts as a rescue", Kelly insists. "Bet if Dr. Manning knew, she would buy you drinks at Molly's forever"

"More like got invited to dinner at their place," you mutter.

"Hmm, that's probably true" Kelly pauses for a moment, thinking. "Wait, did you meet her?" he grills you.

"Yeah. And her fiancé. I came to the hospital to check on Owen. Then next thing I knew I'm having family dinner with Manning/Halstead clan", you convey to him.

Kelly's phone chirps interruptedly. "Food's here" He goes to pick up the food from the delivery guy. "Alright, let's eat then we can go to Molly's"

◢◤

Jay is nursing his first beer as he watches Will bottoms up his third glass of whiskey. Will called him earlier in the evening, claimed that he needs bro night out after a shitty day at Med. Jay's initial plan to have dinner with you got scrapped before he even asked.

"Maybe you need to pace yourself, Will", Jay suggests to him as Will signs to Otis for a refill.

"Yeah, Doc. Maybe you want to switch? We have a nice Dutch craft beer chilling here", Otis offers. But Will is still holding out his empty glass to him, silently demanding for more. "Okay then" sighs Otis as he fills the glass.

Jay hears the commotions at the other end of the bar. He recognizes some people from Firehouse 51 there. Christopher Hermann is cackling, while Matt Casey grins widely. They pay attention to someone that is sitting among the group, but he cannot see who because Severide is blocking his view.

Jay checks his phone while he finishes his beer. He received a text from you beforehand, told him that she's going out to meet her friends tonight. He texted back, wishing her to enjoy her night out, but got no replies. Will notices Jay's scrolling on his phone and asks, "Do you need to go back to work?"

"Nah, just checking my texts" Jay puts his phone back in his pocket. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Not in the slightest. But I still have to go to work tomorrow. If I wanna do better than today, I cannot do that with a hangover" Will sulks. "Hey Gabby, I would like to try that craft beer Otis suggested" he requests to Gabby who passes by.

"Would you like one as well, Jay?" Gabby offers him.

"Alright, why not.." Jay accepts the new bottle.

"Is this a new batch? Don't think I ever have it here before", comments Will after his first sip.

"Yeah! Just start to come in this month. It's a friend's favorite. She hooked us up with a supplier directly from The Netherlands. You like it?" Gabby enthusiastically claims.

"It's good. But still not Bourbon", Will pouts. Jay lets out a snort while Gabby snickers.

Jay looks around the bar as he savors his beer. He paused when he thought he saw you sitting among the 51 Gang. Will notices and looks in the same direction. "Is that Y/N?" asks Will.

Jay stands up for his seat, "I'm gonna go say hi to her"

◢◤

You feel a palm pressed to your back as you hear someone's saying from behind, "Didn't expect to see you here tonight"

You turn your back immediately as you realize whose voice it is, "Jay!" shout you excitedly. You open your arms to hug him. Jay lands a chaste kiss on your lips before hugs you back.

Kelly and Matt look at each other over your head with eyebrows raised. "Well, that's something I didn't expect" goads Kelly.

"Severide, Casey" Jay gives them an acknowledging nod with his hands stay on your hips.

"How do you know each other?" Matt asks curiously.

Jay opens his mouth to reply, but you hear Will's interruption, "You guys finally made it, huh?" Jay rolls his eyes at his brother.

"These guys have been sending heart-eyes at each other since they first met" Will tips off the 51 gang. "Which I arranged, by the way. But this result was unintentional"

"No, we're not!" you try to deny.

"I was there, Y/N, at your almost first kiss" Will divulges.

"Oh my god!" you hide your blushing face behind your palms. Jay smacks a kiss on the side of your head, amused while the group makes fun of you.

"I guess this happened after Y/N rescued Owen?" Sylvie asks to confirm.

"Ooooh yes, our next year candidate!" Hermann yells. The others just clap and whistle in response. You thud your head to the bar table, abashed.

"Hey, don't be embarrassed. We are proud of you" Casey remarks. "That said if you want to go to the academy..." he continues.

"Nuh-uh, I love my job, thank you very much" you quickly state.

You spend the rest of the night beside Jay, chatting and laughing with 51 Family and Halstead brothers until you let out a big yawn. "Tired?" Jay asks you softly.

You nod, "Beer always made me sleepy"

"Let me settle the tabs, then I'll take you home" Jay squeezes your shoulder as he stands up.

Kelly observes you and Jay throughout the night. When Jay left your side, he lowly speaks to you after making sure everyone else is busy conversing elsewhere. "So Jay Halstead is the one who got your juice's flowing, huh?"

"Kelly!" you slap his arm, agape.

"I mean your writing juice! You said it earlier!" Kelly yelps, but his smirk contradicts his words.

"You're the worst" you just shake your head.

Kelly's face turns serious for a moment, "Does he know about your situation?"

"What situation?" you try to sound innocent, but Kelly just gives you a look.

"Told him about the collapsing stage" you deflated.

"Have you told him that you're leaving in two months?" Kelly pushes.

"It's still too early. Who knows, Jay might end this soon", your voice sounds unsure.

"Don't think so. He looks quite smitten by you. Should probably tell him soon", Kelly disagrees.

"I'm happy right now, Kels. Can I just enjoy this for a while?" you start to lose patience with him.

"He deserves to know" Kelly persists.

You look down at the table, your fist is clenched in frustration. Jay comes back and notices the tense atmosphere. "Is everything okay?"

You reply with a forced smile, "Yeah, let's get out of here" then stand up from your seat and give Kelly a quick hug, "Thanks, Kels"

You move to say goodbye to the rest of the group, which takes a bit of time since everyone wants a hug or has something to tell you.

"C'mon guys, my boyfriend has waited long enough" you cry out when Sylvie and Gabby hold you back from going. The group guffaw even louder and playfully nudges Jay, who just beams brightly at you.

"Good night, guys!" you casually shout, finally getting away from the rest of the group, with Jay's hand in yours.

Next on this fic : Part 7

+x Taglist +x

@shipshipshipau @itsdesiree86 @thevelvetseries @annaallicce

#fanfiction #jay halstead x reader #original work #one chicago #one chicago fic #chicago pd fic #chicago pd tv #jay halstead fic #jay halstead imagine #kelly severide #will halstead #matt casey #gabriela dawson #sylvie brett #christopher hermann #otis zvonecek #wyftiiffy

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vampiresuns · 4 years ago

Text

Something Wicked This Way Comes | Prologue, Part 1

✴︎ SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES ✴︎

As Asra gets ready to leave again, Anatole handles two unexpected guests: one will alter his future plans, and the other will give him a headache. 2.7k words. For Anatole’s apprentice timeline, compliant with all the routes.

You can read the rest of Anatole’s apprentice timeline series here.

Asra was leaving. Again.

Anatole wasn’t thrilled about it, but him and Asra had had this conversation several times and Anatole trusted his friend and teacher enough to not enquire any further — or to enquire behind his back. He said he had his reasons, and Anatole would respect that. Besides, it’s not as if he minded being alone. Maybe he had at the beginning of his recovery, when the City was still too unknown and disorienting, too much happening in it at all times, Anatole himself barely there.

He had read somewhere that all traumatic injuries which resulted in memory loss were different. Annoying as they were, he was better at handling the by-products of whatever the hell it was that had happened to him. Somewhat. He wanted to think he was, that even though the migraines still lingered, he could handle the shop, himself, his magic (magic that had begun advancing towards places and forms Asra could only guide him towards, not teach him). He just wanted to be good enough at it all, and he supposed he’d have no one he’d felt comfortable asking for help to if Asra wasn’t around.

He sighed. it didn’t matter, well, it did, but he’d be able to handle it. He was sure Antu would gladly help.

“I’ll miss you.”

“You better miss me, Asra Alnazar. Though, must you really leave tonight?

“In the dead of a moonless night. The right time for the beginning of a journey.”

Anatole frowned; Asra was full of shit. “Is that a ritual thing? Or is it a poetic licence thing?”

The magician didn’t reply, changing the topic instead like he always did when Anatole guessed too close to the truth about things Asra did not have the means to explain to his pupil. Instead he gave him his tarot deck.

Anatole can’t remember a time Asra’s separated from it. Normally, when Asra’s gone and Anatole had to a do a reading he used his own deck. It used to belong to his aunt, his connection to it jumping to his tongue before Asra could ask him if he knew, or remembered, whom it had previously belonged to. His cards were different from Asra’s — they were quiet, they gave him analytical and interpretational leeway. Asra’s were... too alive.

He took the Deck as Asra handed it to him, looking at the cards. “You trust me with your deck?”

“I do, Nana, I’d trust you with anything.”

Anatole decided to ignore the charged nature of his words. He had discovered within the last six months he was often able to call for the intention behind people’s words, how they were feeling in the moment, or if they were being dishonest. While most of the time it was useful, sometimes it was wildly disconcerting, others exhausting, or inconvenient. Like right now.

He was witness to the in-between-the-lines of communication whether he wanted or not, being too much information to handle at times. When it was too much, it could feel from invading someone's privacy to being overstimulated.

Instead of asking Asra if he had done that on purpose, he said: “You think I’m ready to use it?”

“You know I can’t answer that for you.”

“I did it again, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay to need validation, Nana.”

Anatole knew that, in theory. Though he couldn’t deny Asra was right: he knew he still needed confirmation that he was doing things correctly, that he was doing a good job, that his efforts were meriting. Even when he had something completely figured out. Out of all the things Asra had thought Anatole would carry back from the dead, his tendency to overcompensate wasn’t one he’d accounted for.

Alright, that was a lie, he hadn’t accounted for Anatole’s entire personality to barrel through death to assert itself over the blank canvas of whom he had come back as. He should’ve foreseen Anatole to manage the impossible, twice.

“Do you think you’re ready?” Now it wasn’t the time to allow his anxieties to govern over his capacities. Breathing steadily twice, he managed to give Asra the debonair smile with an inquiring, raised eyebrow the magician adored to see on his face. He hated not knowing, and the only way of knowing was to ask.

Asra found himself smiling too. “Why don’t we ask the cards?”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

As Asra said his last goodbyes, a knock on the door interrupting them both, Anatole thought he ought to ask where had he gotten his feathered hat. Another time.

Anatole wasn’t surprised Asra had already left when he went to the front of the shop to get the door, having slipped he High Priestess and her foreboding messages back into the deck. She’d have to wait for whomever had decided ‘after-hours’ wasn’t a real shop-keeping concept. Customers, Anatole swore. He really couldn’t blame Asra for leaving now. He himself hated being delayed or interrupted when he was focusing on something, and while Asra wasn’t quite the same (or didn’t have the same reasons) it was the same outcome.

After-hours was the time he spent on himself and tonight he wanted to tackle his Zadithi. He had only just began picking it up again.

Again? That couldn’t be right.

A second, more impatient knock pulled him out of his thoughts. Anatole lunged forward to open the door, only to be met with Countess Satrinava, out of all people. He didn’t even know their shop had reached the Palace’s radar. For some reason he couldn’t pinpoint right then, he didn’t know if he liked it.

“Countess. Welcome to Moonstone & Jasmine how may I help—”

“Please,” she said, paying him little mind, “you must read the cards for me.”

Like he had said before, customers.

However, Anatole didn’t need to pick up on her words to notice the Countess was genuinely troubled by something, her comment on sleepless nights confirming his suspicion. So he decided to give her the benefit of doubt, instead of pinpointing the hour she decided to come at as a display of nobility’s entitlement.

The talk about his reputation was what shocked him the most, however. The temptation to dismiss her words as hyperbole was strong, but she sounded too honest — a by-product of her state of necessity, Anatole thought, people tended to be worse at lying under pressure (How did he know that?).

When the Countess mentioned Anatole looked different in a dream she had, he speaks as if something had possessed him, having no idea he would speak until he did. “Do you possess any sort of clairvoyance, your Highness? I have a cousin who—”

He stopped as a throb made its way through the back of his head. As far as he knew, he didn’t have any family, he didn’t have anyone but Asra and a dead Aunt, but saying he had a cousin felt right in a way he couldn’t ignore. He had never been very good at lying to himself. Once he knew something was true, it cemented itself in his head, unshakable. He preferred it that way: falsehoods, even if lasting, crumbled. When you built with what was true, you built steady.

This felt like the truth, but was it? Was it a wish, or was it a lost piece of whomever he had been before? In the before he couldn’t remember?

Pushing his thoughts away, he said: “Excuse me, Countess. I forgot myself.”

“No matter. I come with a proposal.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Come to the Palace, and be my guest for a short while. You will be afforded every luxury, of course. I ask only that you bring your skill… and the Arcana.”

His first thought was ‘no’. His second, ‘absolutely not’. He had things! Plans! The only luxury he wanted right now was to be allowed to fill his after work hours as he saw fit. But this was a customer. They could use the money for supplies, and something told him — something he couldn’t pay any attention to right now, something inside of him he could only trust — the Countess was indeed in trouble. The kind of toruble where if he refused to help right now, he’d end up in the Palace anyway.

Sometimes it is better to cooperate with the universe; he had heard that somewhere, or perhaps from someone he couldn’t remember. Perhaps he read it. One way or another, now was not the time to mourn his plans.

“It’ll be an honour.”

“I will alert the guards to expect you tomorrow, but before that...”

Of course, she had come with a tarot inquiry, so Anatole redirected her to the backroom where readings and private consultations were held, finding himself face to face with Asra’s cards again.

He’d have to get used to their liveliness, sooner or latter. Unlike his own card, these spoke to you completely at random, compelling you to deliver their message, so you never knew if you were doing the reading or if the cards themselves were. Anatole didn’t love it, if he was honest. Nothing to do with the cards, though. It had everything to do with having asked Asra why do his cards work like they do, and Asra not giving him an answer which had fully made sense to him.

He didn’t know what to make of the Countess as she talked to him about other times she had had her fortune read. His headache had moved from the back of his head to his temples. Familiar wasn’t the word for it, but she felt trustworthy, in an inconsequential sense. Like a coworker with good intentions but not enough turn out for his liking. He saw her out, opening the door for her, after her reading was done, still having not the faintest idea where on earth did he get such an impression from the Countess. He must’ve been reading too much, that was certainly it — too much politics before bed made Anatole a very imaginative man.

As Countess Satrinava left, Anatole wondered if he should’ve told her anything about fees, at least as a joke. He wasn’t sure she’d appreciate the joke.

He decided to brew something for his headache, worrying it might grow too big to sleep. Potions and brews had never been his strongest fort. He always needed to spend extra attention on them and their instructions, coming less organically than other forms of magic. Like languages. Languages were easy, even if messy sometimes. He still remembered one day, years ago, when he could speak nothing but a gibberish mess of Balkovian, Vesuvian and a very distant variation of Nopali.

Still, it would keep his mind away from all the reputation talk the Countess had brought with her. He wanted to be convinced she must’ve been thinking about his aunt — Paris, that’s all Asra had told him — but Paris had been dead for even before his accident, so maybe... He took a breath, he was overthinking his way into a migraine again so he went back to his brew.

He was missing enough of one ingredient, which meant he had to go to the Shop’s storage quarter, accessible only from outside and through the backdoor. As if anticipating his need, Antupillán, his familiar, fetched the keys for him and climbed onto his shoulder as Anatole made his way outside, looking for the sweet relief of willow tree bark. A victory which came at the price of getting his storage key stuck, fumbling for five minutes to unstuck it so he could go back inside.

With all ingredients in front of him he could finally make himself a headache remedy.

“Strange hours for a shop to keep,” said a muffled voice coming from somewhere, interrupting him.

If he got mugged, in his own house, he swore to everything he thought mattered in this world he’d spend the rest of his life finding whomever had come into his shop and making their lives miserable. He was sure no one had been around when he went retrieve the willow bark, Antu would’ve told him if there was someone. He was sure he had locked that door the moment he came in.

The thought that someone could’ve been staying in his own house, waiting for the right moment to strike made him sick, but mostly, angry. He knew he had a dagger somewhere in one of the drawers, if magic was not enough.

“Whomever it is, come out of where you are, and tell me what you want.”

“Behind you.” Anatole jumped back, giving himself more distance between this person, levelling a look to the red glasses the mask had for eye-sockets.

“So this is the witch’s lair… and who might you be?”

“Who’s asking?” He tried to sound as surefooted as possible, but the eye sockets of the mask were so vividly red, like a halo of auburn hair under the noon sun. His headache threatened to get stronger.

“I’m asking. I’d rather not do it again.”

The person lifted their hand, Anatole’s brain springing into action as it remembered the dagger was in the third drawer to the left. He lunged forward, he was quick with his feet he could just grab the dagger and protect himself with a shield if he—

Instead of grabbing him, the stranger threw the mask to the floor.

The flash of pain between his eyes, right where his nose begins was so intense it burned, making him wince. He patted the front table of the shop to hold onto something, fearing he will lose his balance and fall. He’s— he’s— he swears there’s a name on the tip of his tongue.

“As I suspected, shock, horror—”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s etched on your face! The gruesome reaction of facing the murderer himself. Fear not, I do not care about you, I only want information, so if you stop fooling around and tell me where is the witch.”

“The whomst?”

The man blinked, confused for a flash before he scowled again.

“Where is the witch?”

Something inside Anatole clicked. He was too tired to deal with any of this. If the intruder wanted to attack him, he would’ve done so already.

“Listen,” he said, barking back at this person who had interrupted his evening. “I have a migraine right now, so I will need you to be a little more specific. Secondly, you come into my shop, demanding things without exaplanation, manifesting behind me, and I do have to tell you, even with a migraine, I’m probably better with sharp things than you are so stand back and give me a bloody fucking second, alright?”

It wasn’t a lie. Anatole had always been good with blades. It worried Asra, for a reason he had never explained, but Anatole didn’t think it was a problem.

“You know, if you’re really feeling ill, I’m a medically trained professional—”

“Did you seriously just offer me medical help after you tried to intimidate me for information.”

“I—I, look you don’t look well… wait, did it work? Are you telling me where he is?”

“What? No, no it didn’t. There’s a lot of people who go by ‘he’ this City.”

“Not even the murderer part worked?”

Anatole shot him a death glare that made his uninvited guest look away. After finally retrieving that damn dagger, which he did just in case, he set himself to prepare his migraine remedy.

“You’re the guy who’s wanted for murdering the former Count, right?” He asked as he worked.

“Yes?”

“Wasn’t the guy a bit of an incompetent despot? Created a sanitary emergency and ran the city’s coffers dry? I’m neither of those things, nor I plan to rat you out before you try that line of intimidation, because I’m not a snitch. So please, if you could be specific.”

The intruder did not reply, instead he looked at Anatole like he was the weirdest person he had ever met. He shook himself from it. “The witch, I’m looking for him and I know he lives here...”

“Since you have no clue who I am, I will reckon you’re talking about Asra. He left. Don’t know when he’s coming back, don’t know where he went.”

“But if you don’t know, and I don’t know… why don’t you ask your magic cards?”

God, this man didn’t give up. Normally, Anatole would appreciate that, give him at least some credit as an interesting enemy to run into in the night, but right now? Right now he wanted him to go away. “Because the shop is closed.”

“That’s what the backroom there is for, right? Look, I’m already inside.”

Despite himself, Anatole couldn’t find it in himself to say no, so with a hesitant nod, he left his conoction on the counter and showed his night-time guest to the backroom, but he insisted on Anatole going first. He did, as he didn’t have time for plesantries, though he had to admit, for someone who just broke into his home, he was being very polite.

As he dropped himself into the reading chair, Antu climbed onto Anatole’s lap, sitting there, a comforting presence amid his very annoying evening. He had been his constant companion for almost two years. Antu came in one day unannounced and hadn’t left Anatole’s side since.

“Is that a Raccoon?” The stranger asked, with eyes wide open as he tried to pet him. Antu bit the air in front of him before he could come too close.

Not forgiven yet, Antu said at the stranger, though only Anatole could listen.

Anatole smiled to himself, making a mental note to give him extra grapes later. “His name is Antupillán.”

To Anatole’s surprise, the stranger pronounced the name perfectly. “What does it mean?”

“Not many people pronounce that correctly, look at you. People accent it wrong,” he paused, in all honesty Anatole didn’t know what it meant. Yet, once more, he found himself speaking without knowing what he was about to say. “A ‘pillán’ is a spirit, an embodiment. Antu means sun in Mapudungún, so Antupillán is the spirit of the sun.”

Anatole felt his stomach drop as he awaited for the migraine that would inevitably blotch his vision with black spots. However, it never came, the misplaced information settling into him like a homecoming he was not yet able to process.

As Anatole shuffled the deck, the stranger looked friendly, almost awkward in an endearing way.

“Go on. No need to be shy.”

“Says the man who refuses to give out his name. I need to know it for the ‘magic card reading’, you know?”

“Julian, you can call me Julian,” he said after some stammering and a scarlet blush on his cheeks. His eyes followed his movements as closely as they could, a nervous anticipation to them.

Anatole pulled Death. It was, in Asra’s deck, a particularly quiet card. The horse skull was quiet like someone who opened their mouth to speak, but couldn’t articulate any sound. He wondered if the card in his own Deck — Anatole’s Death major arcana was a moth person holding a mask and a scythe — could hold any answers, other than white noise. It was cheating, technically, but Julian called them ‘magic cards’, Anatole didn’t think he’d mind.

Before he could do anything, Julian laughed. “Death? That means nothing to me. Death cast her gaze upon this wretch and turned away! She has no interest in an abomination like me.”

"What? Julian this isn’t how—”

He stood up abruptly, his mouth seeming to run on automatic pilotwith fatalistic statements and Julian’s hunch that Asra would come back. Which he would, Anatole knew he would. Asra always came back.

Instead of Julian’s advice about seeking him out when Asra did come back, for ‘Anatole’s own good’, whatever that could mean from a fucking stranger, he thought he ought to have accepted the medical help. Perhaps that way, Julian would’ve left earlier and his headache would’ve been dealt with.

Later, as he laid in bed drifting to sleep, he thought Asra left that day not because it was best for a journey, but because he somehowknew all of this would happen and he didn’t want to deal with any of it.

40 notes · View notes

vv3nti · 4 years ago

Text

BIRD BOSS (part three)

[social media hybrid]

summary: y/n wants to rush her recovery process, putting her hero career on hold for what should have been a simple injury was devastating. she was ready to give. but the number two hero had an irresistible proposition. but he lands himself in a rocky situation as a crush develops on y/n; who quite frankly wants none of his shit. will hawks win her heart or will someone from her past steal it away?

warnings: language!!, angst, fluff, some ooc—sue me, CRACK, and LANGUAGE, pay no attention to timestaps, adult talk??? excuse the mistakes pls and ty

2.4k words

SERIES MASTERLIST

NO. NO. NO. NO. Your eyes widen as they fell upon your boss’ relaxed figure, chatting with your friends. What the hell was he doing here, and why did he look so casual among your peers? There was still time to make a run for the door; no one had even noticed you descend from the bathroom; feigning sickness didn’t sound like a bad idea right about now. This wasn’t the plan; Hawks was supposed to go home and meet you on sunday, not stay and mingle. He was ruining the atmosphere; people were gawking and staring at the pro, bringing unwanted attention to your table. Why would he think, showing up to a mediocre downtown club was a good idea? You didn’t have much time to dwell because Mina exposed your existent as she called you over. She smiled brightly, countering your set grimace. Keigo turned around slowly, a smirk decorated his lips and a glint in his eyes. He knew what he was doing; he found it quite amusing and rather eventful.

“Y/N! Look! It’s Hawks.” Mina gleamed, her drunken state failing to keep her excitement from bubbling over; she was practically bouncing off the floor. The time you told her you’d be working for the pro-hero, she went ballistic, bombarding you with a profound number of questions. Sure, the girl did have a special love for heroes but let’s not forget Hawks’ popularity due to his appearance, which granted him a few extra points in Mina’s book. It took a lot of self-restraint not to roll your eyes at your starstruck friend as you traveled to the booth.

“Yes, I see. What is he doing here?” you emphasized, turning to Hawks, the previous glare returning to your expression. If your eyes had mouths of their own, they would have told him to fuck off in a multitude of ways. You hoped he’d take the hint and leave you be, but to your luck, Keigo either didn’t notice or choose to ignore. You bet on the latter.

After a few seconds of your stare off, Keigo straightened his posture, flashing his pearly whites. “Hello, babybird.”

“Answer the damn question.” That earned you an elbow to the gut from Mina.

“Well, I know I told you to give me the bill on Sunday, but I thought it’d just be easier to take it straight from the source.” He scissored his centurion black card between his pointer and middle finger. He feigned surprise before reaching down on the table, grabbing a white iridescent clutch. “And you forgot this.” Hawks confessed, handing you the bag. You knew you didn’t take a purse to the gala, and you knew Hawks knew you didn’t take a flashy purse to the gala. So what the fuck was this expensive piece of material doing in your hands. “Consider it a thank you for showing up tonight; finding a last-minute date would have sucked.”

The explosive blond spoke up, all attention rushing his direction. “You gave her your card already; a simple verbal thanks would have done.” He snapped with a scowl. To say Bakugou had a distaste for the pro-hero would be an understatement, and he has zero hesitation voicing his dislike. It was painfully obvious Bakugou was envious of Hawks; number two hero, highly on almost all charts, and good looking, he had it all and at the mere age of twenty-three. In truth, you believe he looked up to the wing hero, but even if that were the case, her friend would never admit it.

Keigo took notice of the boy's irritated persona; he wasn’t a stranger to haters, but right now, he’d rather Bakugou not ruin the moment. Absent Mindlessly waving his hand around, Hawks remarked, “Well, maybe, I like to spoil my employees, Ground Zero.” The quick look of surprise on Bakugou’s face satisfied Hawks, as did Mina praising how sweet he was. “I’ve seen you on TV before; your quirk is just as explosive as your personality, too, huh?” He sassed, the snarky response earning a few giggles from your friends.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, grumbling incoherently as he sunk further into the plush seating. If this went on any longer, you swore you’d choke on the testosterone.

You turned towards the booth. “Hey, he’s only messing around with you, Katsuki. Just let it all out by order drinks, yeah?”

The smug expression vanished from Keigo’s face rather quickly, a confused one taking its place. You're on a first-name basis with this guy? He thought, though, he tried to mask his it as best he could when you focused your attention back on him.

“Listen, thank you for the drinks and this.” You lifted the clutch in your hand. “I appreciate it, but I-” The pink-haired girl to your left softly tugged your arm. The desperation in her eyes caused you to look away only to meet the begging stares the rest of the group bore into your figure. Guilt crept up your spine—no, you shouldn’t be feeling this way, but you didn’t want to disappoint your friends. So much for a night off.

You signed, dragging a hand down your face. “Fine, you can stay.”

The night progressed relatively smoothly; it was a surprise to you how well Hawks mixed with your friends. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves in his presence. Well, everyone except for Bakugou, who continued to sulk by himself. His sour attitude prompted you to a stand, reaching your open palm in his direction. Bakugou ignored your offer, but you were persistent and wouldn’t take no as an answer.

“Katsu, please.” A whine pulled from your throat, attracting the attention from the winged-hero talking with Momo, Kirishima, Denki, and Mina. “I want the legendary ‘Lord Explosion Murder’ mix, and you’re the only one who knows the order, c’mon.”

You squealed as Bakugou grumbled in agreeance; you clutched his wrist and started your departure to the bar. The rest of the table paused their conversation, watching you leave. Hawks didn’t remove his gaze until you were entirely out of sight; confusion racked through him again. He found himself wishing you talked about your personal life more because as he’s out with you now, he doesn’t seem to know anything about you.

“That’s the nicest Bakugou gets.” Denki laughed. “And I have to say I’m jealous. What a world, him not hating me.”

“Well, you should’ve snatched him up first,” Momo replied, giggling profoundly when the yellow-haired boy glared. Not that he would ever admit it, but when they first met, Denki had quite the crush on Bakugou. “And maybe he’d be your boyfriend, huh.”

Mina’s entire being jumped in her seat, eyes wide and lips pursed. She slapped Momo’s shoulder sharply, giving her a pointed look, one that a mother would give their child when they’re acting out in public. “Bakugou is not her boyfriend.”

“Maybe if he ever got around to confessing his feelings to L/N. It’s been years at this point.”

Oh, was this interesting? Hawks shouldn’t find this as intriguing as he did; this was his assistant, for fuck’s sake; he should be professional instead of indulging in this drama. But, hey, when has he ever been known to keep things traditional. Keigo deemed his attraction to you a given crush; isn’t it abound to happen to two people who work closely and spend a lot of time together? Right? Whatever the reason, he couldn’t seem to just enough. You’re a drug, and he’s addicted, obsessed, always wondering when he’ll get his next fix.

Mina rolled her widen eyes. The girl was far too biased to even indulge in the conversation, but she couldn’t help but peeve. Mina had her money on Hawks swooping into your life before Bakugou ever got over himself. “A girl can only wait so long.” She huffed, perking up as the explosive blond rounded the table. “Where’s Y/N?”

Bakugou mumbled something about you taking too long to order, causing the group to erupt loudly. He was never great showing his affection around other people, huh?

“You left her up there?”

“By herself?”

“What the hell, Bakubro?”

“What about the Lord Explosion Murder.”

“Dude!”

All noise ceased as Hawks stood up, his chair sliding back against the dark wood. “I’ll go check on her; I need a refill anyway.” The bass of the club drowned the sound of ice rattling against his glass.

You tapped your finger to the rhythm on the beat as you waited, watching the bartender move from person to person. Unfortunately, they were out of orange citrus syrup—to key ingredient to Bakugou’s said drink mix—so you had to find something else to get. You didn’t mind waiting, though. Reading the odd cocktail combinations was quite entertaining as long as you didn’t have to go back and face Hawks.

“Hey.” Keigo’s voice caused you to glance behind you. He leaned over your shoulder to place his glass on the bar, his warmth mixing with your own. Hawks was exceedingly close to your body; you were able to smell his spicy cologne as his front lightly grazed your side. You partially expected him to pull away, put some distance between your bodies but part of you knew he would test the waters. “What’re thinking?” he asked smoothly, eyes grazing the menu. “This sounds good.” Angel Wings was the name of the daiquiri, how cute.

You felt your cheeks begin to flush, this was too far, and you’re intoxicated. Keigo’s usual teasing comments and flirty gestures you could effortlessly ignore, but this was entirely different. There was no room to shuffle away from his figure, for someone occupied the space next to you. Why did he find so much pleasure messing with your head? Truthfully you aren’t surprised; this is what Hawks does; he reels girls in and leaves a trail of hearts in his wake. You’d witnessed it a handful of occasions. Angry, pained, desperate girls trying to either enter the agency building or spam your social media to reach the hero. You will not fall victim to his charms, but as you turn to the side, your eyes meeting his yellow ones, you felt your facade grasping for dear life.

A chillingly squeaky voice pulled you from your trance. “Can we please take a picture with you?” Two petite girls stood feet away, clutching phones in their shaking hands. “Sorry, we just have never had the chance to meet a pro.” You don’t think you’ve ever been so thankful for quirky drunk people.

On the opposite spectrums of things, Keigo internally cursed; he was so close. And although he had no clue what he was close too, it felt right. But thing one and thing two had to show up and spoil it. Before acknowledging the two, he turned back towards you only to see you’d moved away from his touch and started conversing with the bartender. Fuck. Despite his frustration, Hawks equipped his award-winning smile and accepted their request.

“Sorry bout’ that, babybird.” Keigo hummed sheepishly. He knew you dislike the alum of attention he attracts when performing mundane activities, and by the slight squint in your eyes, he figured the distaste settled in you once again.

“Hmm, here.” Your fingers grazed his own as you handed him a fresh drink. Of course, you knew his order. “I'm used to it, gotta take care of the fangirls.” The prior encounter was still fresh on your mind; you cursed yourself for allowing Hawks to get into your head like that. Your walls stood up pretty high, but tonight, he almost made it over the top for whatever reason.

“I'd much rather it be you be one of my fangirls.” And the teasing was back. Classic. “I could always make some exceptions for you, take a few pictures.” He suggested, lips curling into a sinister smirk.

You rolled your eyes, your head lolling to the side. A part of you wanted to play his game, ruffle his feathers a bit, but on the contrary, that would successfully add gasoline to the raging flames. You took a sip of your drink. “My friends really like you.”

Keigo couldn't say why, but the compliment made his heart flutter. He wanted acceptance from your peers. Made him feel like he was doing something right for once in his godforsaken life. Running into you was his golden ticket; Keigo never hesitated when it came to you; he’s always so sure. That’s one reason he keeps you around because as much as you invade his thoughts, you also focused his mind. “Not all of them.” Why would he bring him up? “What’s his problem, huh? Got a crush on you.” Keigo said teasingly, masking the sour taste in his voice.

A stream of air blew from the nose as you shook your head with a small smile. “Aha, no. Katsuki, he…” you trailed off, searching for the right words. The mood dampens. “He blames himself for what happened. He took it remarkably hard, so he’s kind of protective. But no, he does not have a ‘crush’ on me.”

Hawks wanted to ask more questions, he craved to fill the gaps, but he refrained. He wanted you to open up to him on your own will; although he was reasonably comfortable around you, Keigo knew you still put walls up around him. He respected it, but that didn’t mean he’d stop trying. “Either way, he has a major stick up his ass. Popularity charts are gonna be rough on him.”

“I know,” You want Bakugou to succeed as a hero; it’s all he's ever wanted. But his hostile disposition was going to hold him back. “You should teach him the rings,” You joked, partially.

“No can do, I'll be too busy teaching you, babybird.” Hawks was quite the optimist, but you figured he was just trying to make you feel better.

You looked down, stirring your drink. “Tch, whatever.”

“It's true; we’ll be an unstoppable duo!” Hawks beam, waving his hand in the air enthusiastically.

“If I take your offer.”

“Oh babybird,” Keigo paused, inhaling through his teeth. “You signed a contract. You're stuck with me for life and the afterlife.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.” With that, you left him standing at the bar. Not only did you want the last word, but you also wished to get back to your friends. This was their night, after all. “Hey, take care of your fan club before joining us.” You motioned to the group of people gawking at the winged pro.

taglist: @therealwalmartjesus @katzurras @noonewouldlisten25 @cathy8taffy

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overheardatthecontinental · 4 years ago

Text

Talk Now Complete

Over the last three months, I have dedicated a huge chunk of my limited free time to writing this piece. What started out as a possible kinktober one-shot was side-tabled as I realized it had potential to be an actual story. Now, twenty chapters and 103,723 words later I am thrilled to say that this installment is complete.

I’ve already begun a second installment of this series which will pick up at the start of John’s retirement. I’m hoping to have the first chapter out within the week.

Thank you so much to everybody who liked, commented, and supported me during this story and a huge thank you to @meetmeinthematinee for helping me edit and review this beast.

AO3 Talk Link

Chapter 20 Link

A new start.

That was what she had deemed it. For both of them.

John went around the city. Closing accounts. Transferring mountains of coins into actual money. Saying silent goodbyes to the places that had defined him for a lifetime. And stashing markers, money, and weapons. Just in case.

He hopes he will never have to use them.

And, while he does that, Helen packs up her house.

The decision to move in together came approximately two days after returning from Vermont. They’d wasted enough time, they both decided. “And, ” Helen had teased, “God forbid we decide to spend a night apart, I already know you’ll sneak in to watch me sleep. ”

Minx.

“I’m more than happy to sell my place.” He had told her.

“You’ve given up your entire life for me. ” She had argued, gently running her hand through his hair. “I’ll give up the house. Besides, if you think I’m giving up your hot tub, you’re fucking dreaming.”

And that had been that.

They’d driven to her house, stopping to pick up boxes and tape and bubble wrap, and started packing up.

She made some calls around the city, looking for charities to donate some of her furniture to. John’s bed, she had discovered, was far more comfortable than hers. And they didn’t need multiple dining room tables or sets of cookware or dishes.

John borrowed a truck from Aurelio and, with his and Marcus’ help, started dropping things off across the city.

In the remaining days of her “recovery”/vacation, they manage to empty most of her little house. And while their house (he will never get used to the sheer joy that fills him at that descriptor) is now a mess of boxes and suitcases, it has never felt more like home.

He laughs at the three boxes of shoes Helen has to unpack, only to have to dodge a high heel used as a projectile.

He revels in the way she unpacks her sweaters and dresses to hang across from his clothes.

He also takes a great deal of pleasure when he finds the small box, once hidden away in the back of her closet, containing a number of delightful little toys. He gets another shoe thrown at him as he practically begs for details.

Helen laughs and offers a private demonstration… once her books are shelved in the library. John scrambles to fulfill her every wish.

One of the benefits of Helen having her own practice was that she could really do whatever the hell she wanted. She had reached out to all her clients first thing on Monday to apologize for her absence, reporting that she had been the victim in a hit-and-run, leaving her in a coma for the better part of the week. While she was doing much better, she told them, she still needed another week for recovery.

Of course, the Underworld had bought out half the cops in the city. A quick call from John Wick and shit was being filed exactly how he demanded it to be. Doctor’s notes were forged, along with hospital ‘records.’ That part was easy.

What had been much more complicated, John discovered, was dealing with the missing person’s out on Helen and it throws his world off kilter, yet again.

Her family had been terrified. While Helen wasn’t exactly in constant contact with them, the police had reached out after a concerned associate of Helen’s reported her missing. Unable to contact her, her parents and sister had been in a frenzy.

Using the phone that John had paid for, insisting that he buy her a new one since it was his enemy who had destroyed hers, she reluctantly calls her mother.

“Mom, I am begging you, stay home. I’m fine.”

“We’ve been so worried!” John hears her mother sobbing on the other side of the line, “A hit-and-run, oh, sweetheart!”

And if that’s her mother’s reaction from a hit-and-run, John doesn’t want to know what her mother would do if she ever found out the truth.

Kidnapped, held hostage, marked for death…

The poor woman might have a heart attack.

“You’re still recovering! You need someone to take care of you!”

“I have someone taking care of me.” Helen had said, and at that moment, John had indeed been massaging her shoulders. His lips had twitched in response.

He was the one taking care of her.

He would be the one taking care of her forever.

It made him giddy to think about.

“Who?”

They hadn’t discussed labels. It all seemed sort of unnecessary after all they had been through. But when Helen makes the executive decision and says, “my boyfriend” John wonders if he’s the one having a heart attack with the way his own is beating so hard it feels like it might burst at any moment.

Boyfriend.

He’d never been a boyfriend before. He’d never had any interest in being a boyfriend before. A term he’d never imagined being applied to him but now that it was…

He was a boyfriend.

He was Helen’s boyfriend.

He’s filled with pride and affection and so much love he doesn’t know what to do. She leans into him, reaching up to where his hands have stopped massaging as he attempts to process her words. And because she’s Helen and she knows him better than he knows himself, she squeezes his hand.

Grounding him.

But, of course, her confession to her mother opens another avenue of questions. What boyfriend? How long have you been seeing each other? Why haven’t you mentioned him before?

To which Helen answers respectively his name is John. We met seven months ago. And because who I date and when I decide to share that information is my choice .

It’s another half an hour of questioning before Helen manages to talk her way off of the phone after wrangling a promise that her mother would not fly to New York. In return, Helen was to send her daily text updates on her health.

Her sister was another matter. Living only an hour away in Trenton, her sister insisted on driving up. It ended up working well, however. While he had testified without a single problem, John hadn’t had the time to meet with Tarasov.

So Wednesday, Helen agreed to meet her sister for lunch while John had gone to meet with a mob boss.

John arrives at Tarasov’s compound and, once again, finds himself subject to stares.

They had always been there. The Baba Yaga was the focal of fascination for a great many, but most had always tried to hide the attention they paid to the man, the monster. But since Helen’s existence had been made known, he’s found himself front and center everywhere he goes.

And it had only become worse after being questioned by the High Table on the DeLuca’s and their involvement. While John had repeatedly stated he would not answer questions regarding his relationship with Helen, it didn’t stop the questions from coming.

During the trial and afterwards, members of the High Table had tried to push. John had given them nothing.

John is silent as he walks up to Viggo’s office.

The last tie to sever.

While Abram was scared enough of John Wick to let him go without a fight, John was certain that Viggo’s ambition would rise to the occasion.

After all, hadn’t John Wick done the impossible? He had brought down Syndicate and saved the girl with every odd stacked against him.

And now Viggo wanted a piece of that.

The impossible.

And John will do it. Of course, he will do anything if it means being released.

Retirement is so close he can taste it as he steps into the familiar office, closing the door behind him.

Viggo Tarasov sits at his desk, setting his paper aside as John takes a seat in front of him.

“John.” Viggo greets, “I was surprised to hear from you.”

John inclines his head. Viggo was full of shit.

Lorenzo had shared with his children that he had released John Wick of his contract following the trial. The rest of the Underworld knew by sundown. John was certain that Viggo was well aware of John’s intentions in this meeting.

“I’m retiring.” John says, truly not in the mood for games.

Viggo nods in response to the news, clearly expecting John’s announcement. “Very few people retire from our world.”

“Because most are dead long before they reach my age.”

“I’m older than you.”

“You have a desk job.” John points out, aware that his status is the only reason he can get away with saying such things to Viggo Tarasov.

Viggo waves a hand vaguely, “You’ve never had interest in a desk job.”

“Nor do I now. However, I still intend to live a while longer. In peace.”

“Peace.” Viggo says, testing the word on his tongue, “That must be a foreign concept to a man like you.”

A year ago, John would have agreed with him.

Hell, eight months ago, John would have agreed with him.

And while his experiences were still limited, he already had a glimpse of peace. In the weekly visits he had paid to Helen’s office. In the quiet of the night as he meditated to each and every intake and exhale of breath.

Now, John knew peace in the moments before his alarm went off and he held Helen close to him. He knew peace in the way she wrapped herself around him as he made her coffee. He knew peace in the way her head rested on his shoulder or in the soft flips of pages as Helen read by his side. He knew peace in the moments where she held him.

“I’m aware you hold my contract,” John says, ignoring Viggo’s comment. “I am more than willing to buy it out.”

A longshot, John knew.

Viggo tilts his head to the side, like he’s considering it. Yet John knows, from that single action, that Viggo already has something in mind. Something he wants done that only John Wick can manage. John just fucking wishes he’d get to the point instead of treating this like a game.

“At this time, your contract is not for sale.” Viggo says, “However, there is a task I have in mind. A bit… difficult, to say the least. But, should you complete this for me, I would be more than willing to release you from your contract.”

There it is.

“What do you have in mind?”

“It’s a bit of an impossible task…”

…

When John arrives home and he’s relieved to find Helen’s car parked out front. He makes a mental note to install a garage opener in her car as soon as possible.

John quickly goes inside, not wasting any time. The desire to set eyes on her is overwhelming and he wonders how he managed to only see her at night for months on end.

He’s not certain he can ever again go longer than hours without seeing her, touching her.

Helen has become an addiction.

When he doesn’t find her in the living room or the kitchen, he goes upstairs. Sure enough, she is in the library, kneeling in front of a bookcase as her fingers trace over the spines.

“How was lunch?” He asks and Helen’s lips twitch.

With anyone else, he might have scared them. Even in his own home, he tends to walk lightly so as not to be noticed. But she’s always had that sixth sense about him. It brings him an absurd amount of happiness to know that she understands and sees him.

“It was fine.” She reaches a hand up. John takes it and helps tug her back to her feet. “Got a bit of the third degree but I suppose I can’t blame her for being curious, all things considered.”

On tiptoes, she gives him a quick kiss. “How was Tarasov?”

“As expected,” John says.

Helen hums as she looks him over, “Indirect answer.”

“It could be worse.” John tries again.

“Now you’re being evasive.”

She had warned him life would be like this. She’s spent the better part of her life learning to read people and despite being an enigma to most of the world, John Wick is an open book to Helen.

He can’t bring himself to be upset when they both knew this was exactly how it was going to be.

“He wants me to complete a rather difficult task.”

“How dangerous is this going to be?” She asks, folding her arms over her stomach.

She did that when she was worried, John had noticed. He hates that it’s him causing her such stress but comforts himself with the fact that this will be the last time.

“Fairly.” Helen’s face is that unique mix of impassive and empathetic that he was used to seeing in her office. He steps forward, catching her chin in his hand and drawing up her face. “I’ll be fine.” He promises.

She gives him a small smile and nods. She’s scared, he knows. And he is too. He’s never had so much to lose.

“What does he want?”

He wants to shake his head and tell her not to worry about it. But he knows exactly how that conversation will go if he tries.

“There are a few rival Russian gangs that Viggo wants control of.”

“A few?” Her brows shoot up.

Maybe he should have phrased that better.

While he’s unsurprised by Viggo’s demands given the opportunity to manipulate the Baba Yaga, Helen worries. She used to joke that it was her job to worry—that he paid her good money for such. And he would smile and promise to see her next week.

But things had changed so much since DeLuca.

She understood a little bit more just what John was capable of. In the moments when she had been in DeLuca’s grasp, John had learned a bit more of what he was capable of.

But in understanding that, she grew more worried. When it came to her, they both knew that he was capable of anything .

And that made him reckless, to a degree.

“It goes both ways, John.” She told him when he had first explained what it would take to actually retire, what he might need to do to be released by the Tarasov’s. “You worry about me constantly, but I worry about you too. Do you really think I would be okay if something happened to you?”

“You could move on.” He had replied, “I know you would hurt, but you could go on living your life.”

“For one of the smartest people I know, you’re an idiot, John. I would be devastated if something happened to you, if I lost you.”

“It’s different.”

“Like hell it is. Do you know how many nights I used to lie awake until you would get to my house because I was so paranoid, so scared that something would happen to you?” Helen had shaken her head, “Or that I used to spend my Friday’s in an anxious blur, terrified that one day you just weren’t going to show up. That you’d just… be gone.”

“It’s different. ” John had maintained, “ Hels, you’re—you’re all I have.”

And that was just a fact. Without him, Helen would have her family, her friends, her work.

But without her… what would he be?

“It will be fine.” He promises, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair back from where it had fallen in her face. It assures him that she is real and safe when his thoughts start to overwhelm him, “This is more of a point-and-shoot kind of gig. Just with a lot of moving targets.”

An impossible number of moving targets. He forgoes saying as much, still trying to formulate a plan in his mind on how he’s going to pull this off.

“Is there a timeline?”

Technically, no. Viggo hadn’t given him any sort of indication of when he wanted it completed, but John was strongly in favor of doing it as quickly as possible. The sooner the task was completed, the sooner he was free.

And, oh, what a thought that was.

“Friday.” He answers aloud. Two days away. It would give him the time to prepare, because once he started, he could not stop until he was done.

She nods, leaning her head against his hand.

He hates that he is responsible for making her worry. John pulls her into a hug, wrapping her in his arms securely.

“Come on,” he kisses the top of her head, “Let’s go pack some more of your books to bring over.”

She brightens visibly at that and they make another trip to her house.

While Helen desperately needs the distraction, John realizes it’s just as beneficial for him. It reassures him, just as her touch does, that she’s real. That this is actually happening and not just some coma dream, which he felt might be more realistic.

They spend Thursday much the same way. While he’s tried to tempt Helen to take another week of vacation, she only shakes her head and says, “It wouldn’t be fair to my clients .”

Marcus comes over to help.

“Helen, if he’s blackmailing you into moving in with him, I can get you help. Blink once.”

The older assassin dodges multiple projectiles from multiple directions, laughing all the while.

“I’m serious! You can do better!”

It’s a joke, and John knows that, but he still appreciates the extra affection she shows him. Like she knows that John still lays awake at night, wondering if he was good enough for her. But she slips under his arm, resting against his chest while she shoots back, “Forgive me for not taking advice from a man who’s still in a committed relationship with his daddy issues.”

He makes a sound of pain even as he grins, “Low blow, Kingston.”

“Come at my man, I’ll come for your life.”

My man echoes around in John’s head for hours after that and Marcus’ teasing was soon forgotten.

After that declaration, his hands, which were impossibly steady when aiming a gun or striking a blow, were shaky. He had to talk himself through wrapping up her décor so as not to break it.

They loaded up the borrowed truck, driven by Marcus, as well as stuffing her SUV full.

“Hope you don’t change your mind about him, because I am not doing this again.” Marcus complains after he and John manage to get her loveseat into the back of the pickup.

“I’m not concerned.” She says and the conviction in her words and her tone leaves John all the more in love with her.

Good , he thinks. He is no longer strong enough to let her go.

John watches with fascination and awe as he hears a dog bark and watches as her eyes light up. An older man approaches with a golden retriever pulling on its leash trying to reach Helen. He recognizes the dog from the neighborhood, having seen it be taken outside late at night from a few houses over.

The dog breaks free of the owner, tearing the leash from his hand, bolting towards Helen.

Grinning, Helen drops down low and braces for the contact. “Hey, Buddy.” She says, scratching the pup behind the ears as the dog pants excitedly.

“Sorry, Helen!”

“No worries,” She calls back to the owner, “You know I’m always down for a Buddy-snuggle.”

Marcus snorts and mutters to John, “How easily you can be replaced.”

John rolls his eyes, smiling all the while as she coos to the dog lovingly. He thinks back to the first time she met, showing him pictures of her favorite dogs. He had been almost surprised that she didn’t have one of her own.

With a final pet to the stop of Buddy’s head, she sends him back over to the owner with a wave, before climbing back to her feet.

A part of him was reluctant to share her but he could imagine, maybe somewhere down the line, getting a dog with Helen. He thinks she would like that, the potential images flipping through his head and filling him with an unexpected warmth.

“Should have guessed you were a dog person,” Marcus says.

“Always have been.” She replies, slipping back under John’s arms. Even with moving furniture and boxes, it’s still cold outside. He tucks his chin to her head and wraps his arms around her.

“Makes sense given your choice in partner.”

She throws Marcus a look, but he holds up his hands defensively.

“Not like that! No need to bring my daddy issues into this. Just meant he’s got some of those qualities. Unwavering loyalty, literally the definition of a dog with a bone when it comes to you. Protective, but a little bit stupid.”

“Thanks, Marcus.” John says, rolling his eyes yet again.

“I prefer dogs to people, anyway.” Helen says, patting his arm. “Far less complicated. They don’t make muddles out of things the way we do. And they’re far less self-interested.”

“All this, coming from the only one of us who works with humans for a living.”

She grins at that, “It’s why I can say, without a doubt, that dogs are better than people.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be hyper-empathic to the human experience?”

“I can be. And there is a lot about said human experience that I admire,” Helen says, “We’re an incredibly resilient species. The mind can handle just about anything, which is remarkable when you think about it. And we’ve worked to build societies based on mutual respect and social currency. There’s drama and endless uphill battles, struggles and triumphs, and a capacity for healing unseen in any other creatures,” She shrugs, “But there’s something to be said for just living . Simply, at that.”

He feels his arms tightening around her as he presses a kiss to her head.

He loves her more than he’ll ever be able to express. Helen leans to the side so her face is just below his and kisses him once more.

“I’m going to finish with my room.” She tells him and slips out of his arms. He watches as she walks back into the house.

She’s giving it up for him. Her home, her space.

It’s still so surreal.

“She’s incredible.” Marcus says softly.

“I don’t deserve her.”

“No, you don’t.” His friend smiles, “Luckily, she loves you anyway.”

It was strange to think that they had only declared their love for each other a week ago. A single week of verbally and physically expressing their love for one another.

It simultaneously felt like an eternity and no time at all.

John heads back into the house, following her path to her bedroom. Her clothes and jewelry had already been packed but her furniture, along with a handful of other things, was left behind. She had washed her sheets earlier and was packing them in a box marked donations .

He takes one end of the sheet and helps her start to fold the next.

The question pours from him before he can even think about it.

“Would you like a dog?” John asks, “You know, someday?”

She steps forward, collecting the sheet, an eyebrow raised in surprise. “Would you want a dog?”

John shrugs, truly uncaring. “I like dogs.”

“But there’s a difference between liking dogs and wanting a dog. Would you actually want to have a pet? In your perfectly kept, immaculate house?”

He feels like he shouldn’t say I want whatever you want because he doesn’t want to burden her with all the decisions, but truthfully, the only thing in life he wants is to make her happy. The little details don’t matter to him so much as giving her the opportunity to smile.

“I wouldn’t mind either way,” he says as she folds it one last time and places it in the box with the others, “And the house is immaculate because I barely spend time there.”

She considers it for a moment, and he feels his heart flutter with the twitch of her lips. “Yeah. Someday. Maybe we adopt an older dog. I’ve always had a soft spot for the rejects.”

“Makes sense.” John teases and she rolls her eyes.

“I swear, John Wick, if you make another orphan joke…”

He grins, stepping into her space. He catches her face in his hands and draws her in for a kiss.

Her soft lips yield to him and he will never understand what he has done to deserve such grace. But he swears to himself that he will never take for granted her presence or her touch or her love.

This is happiness. It’s also only the beginning.

…

Friday comes, as it must.

John had wondered if he would feel nervous or anxious for his final mission, his last task. Instead, he wakes up feeling eerily calm.

He’s never been so grateful for something to end. But then, he’s never had a beginning to look forward to.

Helen, he finds, is far more nervous than he is.

“Should you be resting?” She asks as he takes down some of his own books so he can move the shelves around. He wouldn’t be leaving until sunset, much preferring to use the cover of darkness to hide his presence.

“I’ll be fine.” He assures her. He’s gone on countless missions without sleeping or after only getting a few hours here and there to keep him going. Truthfully, having slept a full eight hours the night before is more than he usually gets.

But he knows it’s not enough to stop her from worrying so John distracts her. First with planning out their new library. When that didn’t hold her attention enough, he switched to distracting her with his body.

A sacrifice he was more than willing to make.

He fucked her in the library before carrying her to the bedroom to take her again. And Helen was insatiable, much to his delight. But fucking her to the point of exhaustion took far more out of him than he anticipated.

By the time she’s finally too tired to carry on, John finds himself closing his eyes and resting his head in the crook of her neck.

Her fingers trace the back of his neck as she whispers, “Gotcha.”

She really is brilliant, he thinks, as John finds himself manipulated into napping.

He wakes up feeling far more rested and newly motivated to go out and come back home. To never be forced to leave her side again, so long as they both lived.

It’s all so close.

Helen runs her hand over his hair.

“Thank you for making me sleep.” He teases softly.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Liar.”

Helen grins at that, leaning forward to kiss him.

This , he thinks, this is what waits for him on the other side of the night.

It motivates him anew.

John showers and dresses. His traditional three-piece, he hopes to never wear again. For her sake, he leaves the tie on the bureau.

John slips a small gun into his ankle holster, a knife into his sock. He chooses his weapons carefully as he prepares for the night ahead of him.

One last time.

Leaving is so very different than it had always been. Rather than heading straight from his room to his car, he detours to find his partner. To see her, to kiss her before he goes.

He can hear conversation flowing from the kitchen as he reaches the bottom of the stairs and blinks in surprise.

Marcus.

He slips into the kitchen and watches as Helen rummages around in the fridge before pulling out and handing Marcus a beer.

Marcus, he thinks, is probably the person he would miss the most. One of his oldest friends. One of the first people he ever learned to trust.

Someone he would soon have to say goodbye to, along with everyone else.

A large brown paper bag sits in front of him on the kitchen counter.

“Marcus.” John greets as he steps into the kitchen.

“John.” Marcus uses the edge of the counter to pry the bottle cap off. “Everything in place?”

John nods. He had weapons stored around the city and Santino would be assisting. John had been reluctant to make a deal with the mafioso when he was so close to retirement but there were too many moving parts for what Tarasov had asked for John to accomplish it alone.

Santino swore, so long as John stayed out of the Underworld, he would not use the marker John had promised him. But, should he ever step foot back, he was fair game.

He almost felt bad for Santino. He would never go back to that life. Not while he had Helen.

“Didn’t know you were coming over.” John comments, watching as Helen opens a bottle of wine for herself.

“Somebody’s got to keep your girl from losing her mind.”

“It’s an important job.” Helen jokes, smiling up at John. “I was afraid I was going to go stir-crazy waiting here at home.”

He can understand that. He had nearly gone insane in hours after she had been kidnapped.

John holds open an arm for her, and she wraps around him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What are you two going to do?” He asks.

“Marcus brought Thai food,” she gestures to the paper bag, “And we’re going to get drunk then watch and score kung-fu movies bloodlust, technique, and general sexiness.”

John smiles down at Helen, wondering how he ever managed to make it day to day without her. “Sounds like fun.”

“We’re starting with Enter the Dragon. Which I’m going to go get set up.” Helen stands on tiptoes and gives John a quick kiss, before grabbing her wine glass and heading to the living room.

“Last mission.” Marcus says.

John nods again, “It is.”

“How do you feel?”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Helen.” John jokes, thinking of all the times his girlfriend had asked him that very same question, “But I feel ready.”

“Nervous?”

“Not even a little.”

“Good.” Marcus glances to where she had exited, “I worried in the beginning. That you weren’t thinking clearly; that she didn’t have what it takes to be involved with an assassin. I’m glad I was wrong on both counts.”

John looks down because he really doesn’t know how to have this conversation. He’d said his goodbyes to Sofia, to Winston, to Charon. To the few members of the Underworld that mattered to him. But this is one he just doesn’t know how to say.

Marcus has had his back for two decades. He’d been his friend and confidant. The only person on the planet John had felt he could trust Helen to when his life fell apart. The man who, even now, was devoting his time to helping Helen.

“We know the rules,” Marcus says quietly, “That after tonight… we go our separate ways…”

“I wish it didn’t have to be like that.” John says just as softly.

He’s told Helen, explained it to her.

She had been angry, at first. That John was being forced to give up his friends along with everything else. That the Underworld was so unwavering and rigid with their rules and expectations. Then, she had been sad. Then guilty.

She promised she would love him whether he left the Underworld or not and he believed her. But the life he wanted… it was for both of them. And it didn’t involve looking over their shoulders every moment of every day. He wanted to take her to dinner and not worry that the man two tables over was packing. To go to the farmer’s market without wondering if someone was going to attack.

He told her again and again that this was his decision. That he was the one deciding to part ways in order to have the life that he wanted.

And he has no regrets.

There was nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for that life.

“Me too. But… you’re making the right choice, John.” Marcus assures him. “And I know that we won’t be able to go get a beer or hang out but write to me now and then. Send me the announcement if you ever convince that beautiful woman to marry you.”

John nods, “I will.”

“Good.”

And maybe it’s because it’s goodbye, or maybe Helen has made him completely soft, but John walks across the room and hugs his friend.

“Thank you. For everything.”

Marcus nods, “Just… live well. Take care of each other.”

“We will.”

They part and John leaves Marcus to sort through the takeout he had brought with him. John follows Helen into the living room. She is using the remote to type in a password, standing barefoot in the middle of the sunken section.

John takes the two steps down. Helen glances up as he does. He watches her swallow.

“Time to go?” She asks softly and he nods.

She tosses the remote to the side and throws her arms around him. Her grip is impossibly tight, but he doesn’t mind. He’s never felt more loved than when her arms are around him.

“You’ll be careful out there?” her voice breaks a bit as she asks the same question, she asked every single week before he left the safety of her office. Right before John went out to venture into the Underworld.

“I promise.” He kisses the top of her head.

She breathes a soft sigh of relief. Helen leans back, looking up at him even if she doesn’t release her arms. “Because if you’re not back by morning, I’m coming after you.”

“I’ll be back.”

Partially because there was no way in Hell he was ever letting her become involved with the Underworld again but mostly because she was his home. The only one he had ever known.

John catches her jaw in his hand and angles her face upward and teases, “It will be over soon. This time next week, you’ll be so annoyed with me, you’ll be wishing you could send me back.”

“Never.” She says even as she smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He kisses her lips, giving himself a moment to be completely consumed by her. To memorize, once more, her smell and touch and taste. He’ll take her with him everywhere he goes and hold on to the memory to guide him back home.

With a final, soft kiss on lips he releases her. To leave her side one last time. He walks back up the steps to the leveled floor. He reaches out for the handle to the garage door.

“John?” She says and he glances back, “Come home to me.”

His lips twitch as he opens the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With the morning comes their promise of forever.

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