#Lucky For You Though I Am Going To Be Very Gracious And Clean Up After Whatever Dumb Shit You Are About To Pull With This Game

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 169

this is it, the dynamic

[btsmutimagines]

Our Future

Look, I suck at titles, y’all and I’m a day late ffs but happy birthday Kookie 

Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 7.5K (I really need to stop)

Grey skies arched above you as you walked home, kicking a small pebble along with you until it got caught between a crack in the sidewalk.

You audibly sigh, enjoying yourself as you kicked it further and further each time. It was almost like you were that pebble, your life seeming to be pushed by something until it stops.

You were stuck, just like your little pebble.

You finally reached your house, unlocking the front door and noticing the familiar shoes. They were shined up and as uninvited as usual but their owner paid no mind to what you thought, clearly.

The back of your father’s head greeted you as you stepped into the living room and he put down the newspaper he was reading.

You brace yourself, knowing he came to talk to you about something. He never really looked for a conversation, just a breathing punching bag.

“Hello, father.”

“I expected you to be home sooner.”

“I hadn’t expected any guests.”

“Maybe if you answered my phone calls once in a while.”

“You don’t pick up when I call back.”

“I’ve been busy, Y/N.” When are you not? You silently retorted in your mind.

“What did you need to say, father?”

“I’d like you to come to dinner with me tomorrow night.”

“I rather not.”

“Tell me why? Is there something unpleasant about a father and daughter enjoying a nice dinner together?”

“When have we ever done anything ‘nice’, father?” He cocked an eyebrow, he knew damn well that your relationship was far from any loving familial ties.

If you had it your way, he won’t ever know where to find you.

“The Blanche, seven o’clock. I’ll have Hyunjin pick you up.” He adjusted his tie, standing up to walk away and you clenched your fists.

You wanted to yell, at least tell him off for coming over uninvited to force you into some weird dinner. But you merely stood as he brushed past you, you standing in your spot until you heard your front door shut.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ─── 

This morning, you found a box with a card attached in front of your door.

You could tell from the intricate design on the card, it was from your father. Inside was a gorgeous red dress, the off-shoulder design along with the leg slit satisfying your tastes.

You held up the dress, looking in the full-length mirror and imagining yourself in it.

“As if he would know what I liked.” You scoffed to yourself, pulling the dress back on your bed. He probably just sent off one of his servants to find something for you.

Even so, what would be so important that he would send you something to wear? You were his well-kept secret, him wanting you to keep yourself hidden from his life for appearances.

He couldn’t afford to be distracted, he said. In exchange for you disappearing from his life, he sends a weekly allowance that you’ve been saving in a separate account.

Maybe one day when you’re finished, you can pack up your things and truly disappear. Nothing was tying you down to this city anyways.

Bzzt.

You heard your phone vibrate, a text notification appearing on the screen.

Incoming in 5, 4, 3, 2…

“One!” You heard your friend, Yeseul entering your apartment and you put to the dress back into its box hastily.

“Where are you?”

“Bedroom.” She wandered in, quickly embracing you in a hug and you stood still. You’ve been friends since freshman year, Yeseul being the only one who put up with you.

You didn’t mind hanging out with her but you didn’t put your eggs into her basket yet.

Memories of your ‘friends’ asking you to hang out, racking up a huge bill and then making excuses to leave you to pay each time. Your dad even got on your case, interrogating why you spent so much each week. He cut you off, only giving you enough for lunch and your so-called friends were suddenly too busy for you.

How naïve.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Zoning out, burning imaginary holes into the last thing you looked at. You know, the usual.”

“I was just thinking, Seul.”

“Well stop that, we got other things to do.”

“We? What are you roping me into now?”

“Why do you say that like I only get you into trouble?”

“Because you do.” You deadpanned, you haven’t forgotten the time she thought it was a good idea to stay for after-hours when there’s a curfew in place. You had to dip into the savings to pay off the ticket you got.

“It’s harmless fun, Y/N.”

“That citation definitely harmed my savings.” You muttered.

“Anyways, listen. You and me, dancing and drinking at Hoseok’s party tonight. Sounds like a dream, right?”

“A nightmare, actually.”

“Come on, Hoseok was gracious enough to invite me with a plus one, meaning you.”

“I have to pass.”

“Why?”

“I have plans. Dinner plans, actually.”

“Who’s the mystery man? He must be worth your time since you’re passing up an offer from me.” She knows damn well you would pass up any party with or without plans.

“That’s not important. I just don’t think I can miss this dinner. Sorry.”

“So secretive. I expect no less though.”

“I’ll tell you about it later.”

“It’s fine, Y/N. I’ll take enough shots for both of us.”

“Remember to drink water in between and eat something too.”

“Okay.” She pursed her lips, leaving your apartment right after and you sat on your bed. You shook off the tension, checking the time and preparing yourself for this dinner.

Whatever it’s about, you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it.

You were adjusting your necklace when you hear a knock at your door. Opening the door revealed Hyunjin, one of your father’s drivers. He was newer than the others but devoted to your father like the others.

“Miss Y/N?”

“Y/N is fine. Take me to where I need to go, please.”

“As you wish, Y/N.” You took his arm, locking your door behind you and followed him to the car. The unease settled in when he started driving, part of you that you just went to that party with Yeseul.

Maybe she wouldn’t make that pointed comment and you would send your father a message.

Alas, here you are, walking into the Blanche like the little good girl he expected you to be. Wearing the dress he picked for you, even putting in the useless effort of making yourself presentable to only be met with him scowling at his phone.

“Hello to you too.”

“Ah, so you did come. Glad to see you have the decency to clean yourself up.”

“I rather you tell me why am I here instead of having this conversation with you.”

“First, sit.”

“I don’t plan on staying.”

“Then, change your plan. I have very important people that you have to meet arriving soon and it would be rude to stand there as you are.” You grit your teeth, sitting across from your father and crossing your arms.

A waiter braved his way to your table, filling up your water glass while you shot daggers at your father. Bastard didn’t even have the decency to even hint at who these ‘very important people’ are and why it should somehow matter to you?

You thought the deal was you wouldn’t even say your father’s name in passing and he could live his life freely. No burden of you.

“Ah, Younghee.” Your father got up, making you turn your head to look at a woman who was walking towards your table.

God, was he going to tell you that he was marrying this woman? Why would you even care if he gets remarried?

“I’m terribly late again, aren’t I?”

“Hardly. Is he here as well?” He? Was there a man accompanying her? Her son?

“Of course, he’s an important part of this conversation.”

“That is right. Oh, I almost forgot, this is Y/N, Younghee.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“How polite. Ah, you’re more beautiful than I thought.”

“Thank you very much.” Currently wishing the ground would swallow you whole, right about now. At least before this other guest shows up.

“Oh, Jungkook, darling, over here.” She waved someone over you, this time you stared forward. You froze as this man took a seat next to you. Fuck, you should have ditched when you still had the chance.

“Pardon my mother and I’s tardiness, sir.”

“It’s quite alright, Jungkook. All that matters is that we are all here now. Before we start, we should actually order something. Breadsticks will not get me through the night, I’m afraid.” This fucker is just going to keep dancing around the real topic for as long as he can-

“Um, I’m Jungkook. Y/N, I presume.” You looked at the man, quietly taken aback by how attractive he was. His hair was slightly parted, each hair perfectly in place. His shaped jaw highlighted his face, his pink lips were a perfect hue and he was just… perfect. But he was going to be your stepbrother, right? You shouldn’t even look at him in any other way.

“You would be right, Jungkook.”

“See, they’re already getting along.” You wanted to roll your eyes, all you did was introduce yourselves.

The waiter took your order, you quietly tapping your foot while your father acted jovial with his two guests. You only answered when addressed, quiet otherwise and hoping your food would arrive soon.

“So, Jungkook, your mother says you’re a game developer.”

“Yes, sir. Currently developing a sequel to one of my first projects.”

“My Jungkookie’s project has sold almost one billion copies globally. I’m lucky to have such a successful son.”

“Mother.”

“That’s impressive, right, Y/N?”

“Yeah, sure.” You were more interested in swirling the rich wine that sat in the glass you held in your right hand than whatever this conversation was about.

“Y/N’s in university, right? I’ve heard from your father that you have multiple companies scouting you.”

“That’s really cool.”

“Yup.” You said, taking a large swig and placing your glass on the table.

“Alright, enough of the small talk. Why are we really here?”

“Forgive her, Younghee, I’m afraid alcohol tends to loosen her lips. But I don’t mind cutting the chase.”

“It’s quite alright, I’m sure she wants to relax. After all, to be married so young in this day and age is a rarity.”

Married?

“Wait, excuse me. Who’s getting married?”

“You and Jungkook are getting married. Engaged for now.”

“Are you joking? This is a joke, right?”

“Had you not tell her? This is a lot to load on the child.”

“She could have seen it coming.”

“You’re too mean.” You got up, walking away from the table as you glared at your father. Of course, he would pull some shit like this with you now and then he has to remind you that he was in control.

“Y/N!” You didn’t look back, not caring about who was following you.

“Y/N, please.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“I can’t. Not when you’re like this.” You stopped, turning around to face Jungkook. He loosened his tie, his coat over his shoulder as he caught his breath.

“You know you walk fast in heels.”

“Why did you follow me anyways? Did your mom send you?”

“I came on my own. Your dad made some excuse about you being drinker than he thought, and my mom just accepted it. I figured it was more than that.”

“Even if it was, it’s none of your business.”

“Hard to say when we’re engaged now, Y/N.”

“I don’t want to get married to you, Jungkook.” He looked down, running his hand through his hair.

“Are you really okay with this, having everything in your life dictated by someone else? Don’t you want to know what it’s like to choose?”

“All I ask is that you give me a chance.”

“Jungkook.” How strong is his mother’s hold on him?

“I know that this is probably the worst thing that could happen to you, being forced to be stuck with someone like me but I want to show you who I am. Show you that I’m someone that you can fall in love with. If we don’t work, I’ll break the engagement myself.” You looked at him, his hand clasped together as he pleaded with you.

He looked so sincere, something in his eyes made you feel like he meant it.

“I’m holding you to that.” You replied, looking away from him and he pulled you into a sudden huh. Your body stiffened, not expecting the sudden skinship. He felt warm, the scent of his cologne making it hard to think of a better adjective.

“Thank you.”

“You’d be welcome if you let me go.” You blurted, not wanting to linger around him any longer.

“Sorry. Got a little too excited.” He cleared his throat, you avoid his eyes while you fiddled with your dress.

“Can I take you home?”

“If you’re okay with a few blocks.”

“Why not call a taxi?”

“Easier to walk.” You asserted, beginning to walk in the direction of your apartment and Jungkook could only follow you.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

 You made it home, Jungkook awkwardly bidding you goodbye while you muttered a good night before slipping inside. Thankfully, you had classes to distract you but all you could think about how your dad decided to basically sell you off for his best interests. Someone like Jungkook probably had a monopoly on the gaming industry and your father wanted to venture into technology.

Regardless of how good looking he was, how successful he is, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was mainly your father’s and his mother’s influence that is driving him. How long can he put up this earnest act?

Give me a chance.

“Ugh.” You groaned, his words repeating in your head and you felt someone poking at your head.

“Quit it.”

“It’s only Monday.”

“That’s part of the problem, Seul.” You looked up to see her sitting next to you, she didn’t seem upset anymore.

“Then what is it? Mystery date was a dud?”

“Something like that.” More like mystery fiancé.

“What happened?” You came up with a lie, telling her that your father arranged your marriage overnight would result in questions you didn’t want to answer.

“I agreed to a second date and I’m not sure if I’m still up for it since we didn’t start on the right foot.”

“What do you like about him?”

“He’s loyal to a fault, he puts in the effort, ambitious…”

“Sounds like things you put on a resume.”

“It wasn’t the best first date.”

“But you said yes to a second one.”

“But he said some sweet things when he did. It sounded like something out of a drama.”

“Aw, he melted your heart a bit, didn’t he?”

“Shut up.” You snapped, embarrassed that you admitted that part of what he said actually affected you.

“I think you should give it a shot since you saw something in him. Plus, you could always dump him if he’s not what he seems.”

“I guess, you’re right this time.”

“What do you mean ‘this time’? Aren’t I always right?”

“You wish.” She nudged you, you were laughing in response.

After your talk with Yeseul, you felt better about the bombshell. But you figured you would have some time before you would see Jungkook. Not him standing outside of your apartment building with his hands in his pockets.

He looked formal, wearing a waistcoat with a dress shirt. You could see gloves covering his hands and you cursed yourself for immediately thinking of how hot he looked.

“Y/N.”

“At my pace, my ass.” You muttered as you tried to pretend that you couldn’t know him, but he started to jog towards you. The two of you ran in the opposite direction of your apartment until he caught you, your back pressed against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Caught you. Part of me is starting to think you like the chase.”

“I like space, which you’re invading.”

“Right, no hugs. But can we talk face to face?” He let go and you obliged to his request, currently giving him a hard stare.

“I really came because I don’t have your number, can’t give our relationship an honest try without each other’s number.” You gulped, even the word ‘relationship’ made you feel weird. He was right, you thought to yourself, you had to give this an honest try, so you could properly reject him and break it cleanly.

After all, how could you fall for someone like him?

“Y/N?”

“Huh?”

“Having daydreams about me?”

“Ha, you wish, Jeon.” You started to walk back in the direction of your house, not wanting to stay out for long.

“Not even my first name, I thought we were closer than that.”

“You have to work for it.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.” How do you say things like that so casually, ugh? You pulled out your phone, handing it over to him to enter his number before he turned it over.

“Kookie?”

“It’s cuter hearing you actually saying it out loud.”

“I’m literally never saying that again.”

“Aw, come on Y/N, I can make up a cute nickname for you too.”

“Please don’t.”

“You seem like a sugar plum.”

“What kind of nickname is that? Sugarplum? I don’t even know what that is.”

“Have you never tried them?”

“I think your terrible nickname counts as a deterrent.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to be compared to a candy?”

“It’s not exactly something I want to hear, to be honest.”

“I promise to come up with something better.”

“A promise I wish you can’t keep.”

“I’m not giving up.”

“This is a weird hill you want to die on but by all means, go ahead.”

“At least it’s earned me a smile today.”

“You talk like the main lead in a romance drama. Just awfully cheesy.”

“I hope you’re not lactose intolerant.”

“Seriously, stop it.” You reach your apartment, the two of you talking while walking up flights of stairs until you were at your door.

“Time flies, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

“I wish it would stop, kind of liked talking to you.”

“Mhm.”

“Ouch, you didn’t feel the same. I thought we had a good chat.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Can’t play all my cards, can I?” You unlocked your door, letting yourself in but leaving it open enough that you could still see him.

“If this is a game, hope you don’t mind losing. I play to win, Y/N.”

“We’ll see about that. Good night.”

“Night, Y/N.” You shut your door, walking into your bedroom and plopping on the bed.

I play to win, Y/N. Not on my watch, Jungkook.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“If you stare at your phone that hard, you might actually shoot laser beams at it.”

It’s been two weeks since you and Jungkook had met, the man semi occupied your thoughts. He kept his distance, probably leaving the ball in your court in terms of whether you wanted to talk to him or not.

And you hate to admit it but you did want to talk to him at least.

“Har har.”

“Is Mystery Date on your mind again? Did you have your second date?”

“I guess you could say so, it went so much smoother like I could say anything, he would know what to say back. It was nice.” God, you sounded like a high schooler in their first relationship. And you can’t even see you and Jungkook beyond acquaintances.

“So, he wasn’t a waste of time but what’s wrong now?”

“I don’t know what to text him.”

“Wait, you weren’t already texting?”

“I met him off Tinder and he wanted to delete the app so we exchanged numbers.” You lied coolly, Yeseul humming in response.

“What are you hoping this message sends to him? Not literal, like do you want him to be more enticed by you or like you’re playing a hot and cold thing with him.”

“Just that I’m open to texting.”

“Oh. You’re not ready for sexting anyways.”

“What?”

“Just send him a simple ‘hey’.”

“Isn’t that too simple?”

“But you’re just opening a conversation, you don’t need much.”

“Are you sure?”

“Y/N, do it before I do it myself.”

“Okay, okay.” You murmured, typing it out and hitting send. He must have seen it, the familiar three dots appearing on your screen before his message came.

I didn’t think you would actually text me, I was preparing to camp out your apartment door.

I would totally call apartment security if you did.

So mean, honey bun.

Honeybun? I think you should retire from this nickname thing, it was funny the first time and now it’s just sad.

No good, huh? I have gotten plenty more to try out.

I swear I’m going to block you if you do.

Fine, I won’t try them out here. But believe me when I say that I’m going to have the perfect nickname for you and you’re going to love me for it

Sure, Jeon.

You do realize my name is actually Jeon Jungkook, not Jeon?

I am aware

Man, you play hard to get on the hardest mode, but I’m not giving up. I’m going to capture your heart.

“Oh my gosh, he’s going to ‘capture your heart’. He found your weakness, sappy lines.”

“They are not my weakness.”

“Please, all I have to say is ‘Don’t let go-”

“It’s too soon, Yeseul. Okay, too soon.”

“Are you sniffling?”

“Shut it.”

Great, you got my friend in on your corny lines

Aw, you talked about me to your friends? Can’t keep us a secret, babe? ;)

I rather keep it a secret but I need advice.

Advice?

Yeah, how to deal with such a shameless man.

Hey, I have some shame. It take a lot of confidence to talk to a girl like you, I feel like you can see through me

So, you know to not waste my time.

Time with me is always worth it, trust me.

Mhm

Somehow that hurt more than when you do that in person.

Hey, Y/N, I’m really happy you texted me but I gotta go? Talk to me later or something.

Don’t play too hard

That’s literally my job, Y/N but seriously bye J

“He sounds cute.”

“He’s something else, really.”

“I know you like to keep people at an arm's length but it really looks like he wants to be centimetres apart if you catch my drift.”

“We’ve been out twice, I’m not going to sleep with him.”

“Is he hot?”

“Objectively.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

“I’m going to tell you to bag him.”

“You’re nuts.”

“No, it’s been two weeks since you met, he seems pretty decent and he’s objectively hot, whatever that means.”

“I still need to get to know him.”

“Just take him for a test drive.“

“Yeseul!”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

You were scrolling through your twitter feed, reading some thread exposing another influencer when you heard a knock on your door.

“Coming.” You said, walking over and opening it to Jungkook.

He lost the business attire, wearing a simple black shirt and jeans. Fine, so it wasn’t the suits that made him look so hot.

“Wow.”

“Is there a reason you showed up on this fine Saturday?”

“Because I want to take you out. Plus I got to see you in shorts.”

“My eyes are up here, Jeon.”

“Wait, let me admire them a bit longer.” You were about to swing the door shut when he stopped the door.

“I was just joking, Y/N. But would you like to go out with me?”

“You don’t mean like a date, do you?”

“Whatever you want it to be.”

“Then we can hang out, Jungkook.”

“You said my name.”

“Did I? Must have been a slip of the tongue, Jeon.”

“Shoot, I should have enjoyed it while it lasted.”

“You can wait in the living room. Touch anything and I’ll have your head.”

“You’re joking, right?” You smiled in response.

“Oh.”

“So where are we going?”

“Somewhere fun, casual.”

“How descriptive.”

“It’s no fun if I tell you everything. You’ll know when we get there.”

“Of course I would because we would already be there.”

“Just get changed, Y/N.”

“Bossy.” You teased, going into your bedroom to change.

Should I dress up for him? But the most we are is friends and since when did friends have to impress each other? Gosh, why are you even thinking about this? Just toss something together!

You put on a crop top and some shorts, joining Jungkook in the living room after brushing your hair.

“Let’s go.” You clapped your hands together, getting Jungkook’s attention and walking towards the front door.

You thought you heard Jungkook mutter under his breath, making you quietly smirk before turning to look at him.

“Is something the matter?”

“Of course not. After you.” The two of you opted for the elevator, you listening to Jungkook hum melodically. He led you to his car, opening the door for you and you sat with a quiet ‘thank you’.

“Are you really not going to tell me?”

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s a building in this city.”

“I see you can be mean too.”

“Taste of your own medicine. A bit bitter, isn’t it?”

“You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?”

“A bit.”

“Hmph.”

“Sounds more cute than angry.”

“You’re a strange man.”

“Only to you, Y/N. Mother says I’m the most perfect person in the world, you’re a close second though.” You rolled your eyes, you’re surprised he went so long without mentioning his mother and chose now to bring her up.

“Of course she does. You’re her baby boy.”

“Oh shit, forgot about your father.”

“Let’s keep him forgotten.”

“Alright.”

“I’m surprised you know how to drive.”

“What a weird comment. Why wouldn’t I know?”

“You seemed like the type to have drivers, mommy won’t want her baby to get into an accident.”

“I’m not that much of a momma’s boy. I have a motorcycle license, I’ll have you know.”

“You? On a motorcycle?”

“I was 18 and feeling rebellious. It explains the earrings too.”

“They suit you actually.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, I have to see you on a bike.”

“Depends, will you take a ride with me?”

“You just want an excuse to get me to hug you, don’t you?”

“Damn, nothing gets past you. But I miss the night rides and it’s nicer with company.”

“I might take you up on that.”

“I guess I better dust off the old bike, then.”

“It’s not a date, remember that.”

“I know, I know.” He pulled into a parking lot, smoothly reversing into a spot before the two of you getting out.

“This way.” You followed him, the sign a dead giveaway and you smiled.

“I could have guessed that you would pick an arcade.”

“It’s fun and casual.”

“Hey, Ms. Han.”

“Oh, Jungkook honey, you came! Who is this lovely woman? Your girlfriend?”

“No, she’s just a friend, Ms. Han.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Y/N.” You bowed to her and she waved her hands.

“No need to be so formal, a friend of Jungkookie is a friend of mine. This rascal has been coming to this arcade for years, even skipping classes to beat the high scores on most of these machines.”

“Is that so? What a bad boy.”

“Hey, don’t gang up on me. I still did well, didn’t I, Ms. Han?”

“With the skin of your teeth. You’re lucky you were a talented kid, now a big name game developer.”

“I’m still the same Jungkook.”

“You are the reason I still have banana milk in my fridge.”

“My favourite. Thank you, Ms. Han.”

“Ah, you.” Jungkook cheekily smiles before laughing, soon enough the three of you were. You took a seat at a machine, Jungkook sitting next to you and playing.

“Wanna make a bet?”

“Depends, what do I win?”

“Your most embarrassing baby photo.”

“Blackmail material, huh? Won’t put it past you.”

“Humour me with what you think you’ll win.”

“You let me take you out on a real date.”

“Aiming high, aren’t you?”

“Of course, the greater the risk, the greater the reward. You in?”

“Better be ready to hand that picture over tomorrow.”

“Don’t count on it, babe.” There’s the damned nickname, hearing it in person has the same effect as it does typed out. You didn’t let it seem obvious, focusing on the machine and the two of you playing a single round.

“I win. I can’t wait to get my hands on the sweet blackmail material.”

“Sure, after our date.”

“That isn’t part of the deal.”

“Check the scores again, Y/N.” You looked at the two screens, Jungkook putting his arm around your shoulder with a smile on his face.

10660 to 1066…5. He beat you by 5 points.

“How.”

“I’ve been playing since high school, I think I’m losing my touch. I have the high score on this game, I think.”

“I want a rematch.”

“If that’s what you want.” You tried different combos, putting all your focus on your character and finishing with a better score than the first time.

“Beat you by 10, this time.”

“Are you cheating?”

“I think it’s a classic case of sore loseritis.”

“I am not a sore loser, just can’t wrap my head around you beating me.”

“Well, I am a game developer. If I were horrible at games, that would be ironic.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“Wait here, I’ll get you some banana milk.” You frowned at him, watching him go into the back and Ms. Han hit you with a rag.

“He looks really happy with you.”

“I think he just likes winning games.”

“This is a different kind of happy, the smile on his face looks different than when he sees me coming into the arcade with a carton of banana milk or hearing about how the neighbourhood kids talked about his game.”

“It’s like he’s in love. Just like that girl he used to talk about in high school.”

“Jungkook had a crush?”

“But he has you now. Keep your eye on him for me, will you Y/N?”

“I-”

“Ms. Han, you’re running low on banana milk.”

“Ya, you punk, you should supply your own.”

“I promise I’ll buy some next time. Y/N, here.” He handed you a bottle, the straw already inserted and you took a sip. It was really sweet, you never thought he would like something like this.

“Can we book a karaoke room?”

“For how long?”

“An hour.”

“Jungkook.”

“I want to hang out with you a bit longer.” That innocent comment led to the two of you singing the opening to Naruto three times and you two belting Unravel on the top of your lungs.

You took a seat, tired and Jungkook sang on his own. He had such a pretty voice, each note sounding perfect in your ears. Is there anything he can’t do?

“One more song?”

“You’re totally going to lose your voice.”

“I’m dedicating this song to you, Y/N.”

“Oh my god.” You covered your face, laughing as he dramatically pointed at you and he entered the code.

The gentle piano played through the speakers and he kept his eyes on the screen as he sang. It was a simple love ballad, it felt like he was truly saying these words to you.

“Are you crying?”

“Shut up, that was beautiful you ass.”

“I’m not sure whether to be offended or flattered.”

“It’s a compliment, you jerk.”

“Okay… let’s take you home.”

You followed him out to his car, going back to your apartment.

“Are we really going on a date?”

“Why? Can’t wait?”

“I rather not.”

“But we had so much fun today.”

“But it wasn’t a date.”

“I know. But it was a test run for our real date.”

“You planned this out, didn’t you?”

“No comment.”

“I can admire the sneakiness.”

“I planned the whole thing, except for the little chat between you and Ms. Han.”

“Did you eavesdrop?”

“No, I thought she would say something embarrassing that I rather not relive.”

“Really, not even the girl you had a crush on?”

“She didn’t tell you her name, did she?”

“No, but now I’m curious. A girl that got your attention, wonder what she was like? Could she be the reason you got all rebellious?”

“Hey, save these questions for our date.”

“You’re serious about that?”

“Of course. Let me walk you up.” He locked his doors behind the two of you, taking you up to your floor while talking with you more.

“Just what I wanted to see.” You looked at your father standing out of your apartment, Jungkook stopping behind you. He smirked at the two of you, your blood boiling as he adjusted his cuff links.

“Why are you here?”

“Is there something unusual about a father caring about his only daughter?”

“You? Care about me? When did that start? When I became an asset to you to use?”

“Watch your words, girl. Do you realize who you’re speaking to?”

“A deadbeat father who chose money over me.”

“You-” You shut your eyes, knowing what should come next but it didn’t. Opening your eyes, you saw Jungkook holding your father’s arm and he let go.

“Remember this, Y/N, your life was never yours. Never.” He spat, walking off and Jungkook turned to you.

“He’s done that before, hasn’t he?”

“I push his buttons a lot, don’t I?”

“You don’t have to tell me but I won’t let him get away with it anymore. Okay?” You let him hug this time, holding onto a piece of his shirt for a moment. He didn’t make you say it, thankfully but he knew what your father truly was at least.  

His hand patted your hair, the soft gesture melting your heart a bit. Your mother used to do the same thing when you were scared at night before you’d fall asleep she would say these words:

“I’ll protect you.”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

 Yeseul came over, tossing dresses in your direction and currently spazzing while you dodged.

“Oh my god, how come you have like nothing to wear?”

“We’re standing in like a hill of my clothes right now.”

“And yet you still have nothing to wear.”

“Maybe I should get a raincheck.”

“Oh hell no, I can finally meet this mystery man tonight and you can’t take that away from me.”

“Yeseul, calm down.”

“I am calm.” So not calm. You sighed, just fishing through the clothes that Yeseul chucked and finding a simple little black dress.

“That is it. Simple, chic and elegant. My tossing abilities have never failed me.” You rolled your eyes, knowing better than to argue with Yeseul about her not noticing it when she initially tossed it at you but there was no point being a dead horse.

After putting on the dress and Yeseul becoming an impromptu hair and makeup artist, you waited for Jungkook.

You heard him knock and Yeseul sprinted to the door before you could make three steps.

“Oh my god, he’s hotter than I imagined.”

“You must be Yeseul.”

“So you have talked about me.”

“Yeah, just the usual, you being annoying and slightly overbearing. Everyday things.”

“Sometimes I wonder how Jungkook managed to get through 2 months of you without even thinking he needs a break.”

“I think about it every day, try me.”

“Oh yeah, you can start right now.”

“Oh no, missy, and pass up on this date when you’ve dressed up so beautifully? I’d would have to be locked up in an asylum.”

“I told you you looked hot.” Yeseul boasted.

“Hush.”

“Now, I’m stealing Y/N for the night. Not sure if I’ll get her back by morning.”

“By all means, take her.”

“Gee, Yeseul, some friend you are.”

“Have fun, lovebirds.”  She rushed you both out, giving you a thumbs up and wink. You cocked an eyebrow, Jungkook leading you away and you were met with a midnight blue motorcycle.

“You weren’t joking.”

“I’d never joke about my Harley. Come on.” You took the helmet from him, placing it on your head and sitting behind him.

“Trust me and hold on.” You listen to the bike roaring to life before purring as he began to ride. He weaved through traffic carefully, probably because of you and parked at a restaurant.

“Can I..um…hold your hand?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, Jungkook quietly lacing his fingers between yours and leading you into the restaurant.

“Reservation for Mr. Jeon.”

“Right this way, sir.” The host led you to your table, an intimate booth with virtually no one in sight.

“A waiter will be with your shortly to take your orders.” He said, walking away and leaving you with Jungkook.

“Are you nervous?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to look this beautiful, it’s kind of distracting.”

“Should I be offended or flattered?”

“You’re beautiful.”

“You’re pretty handsome, I guess.”

“Compliments with you are like pulling teeth.”

“At least you know how much I mean it when I say one due to their rarity.”

“Point taken. But I’m going to keep telling you how beautiful you are until it sticks.”

“You might give me a big head.”

“Even so, you would be beautiful.”

“Charmer.”

“I aim to please, babe. Since you like it when I call you that.”

“When did I-”

“Didn’t think I would notice how you gulp anytime I said it and you look to your left?”

“Okay, that’s weird for you to notice.”

“It’s because I’m always looking at you. It’s hard to keep my eyes off you.”

“Sap.”

“But you drink it up like syrup.”

“Doesn’t make it any less sappy.”

“Fair enough.” The waiter came by, the two of you placing your orders and once again were left to each other.

“What was your childhood like?”

“Always with the hard questions, Y/N. Dad was busy expanding his empire and legacy, Mom took care of me and my older brother. My older brother started working for our dad, spending more time with the company then getting married and putting any other free time into his wife.”

“It was me and mom for a while, but my dad would come back to remind me that I was his son and he’s the one calling the shots.”

“I remember the day I ran off after turning 18, spending countless nights mindlessly riding through cities, spending nights in bars and crashing at random people’s houses to get by. My mother came for me with two men to drag me back home, my father was gone. Fucked off to god knows where.”

“Mom was lonely and so was I, so we lived together. I put my time into game development, being one of the lucky ones to hit big with my first project and here am I.”

“I guess a power-hungry father is a trope we share.”

“You’re right.”

“But you’re conveniently forgetting this mystery crush from high school.”

“She was so carefree, always doing what she wanted but never in the way of others. Like a bird. She flew away, out of my life for years.”

“Do you know what happened to her?”

“I.. don’t, could only guess she’s happy now.”

“I’m surprised your crush wasn’t a video game character.”

“Lara Croft is still my number one.”

“I see, that’s why you like shorts so much.”

“It was an awakening.” You tittered, he’s such a goofball.

“Your turn.”

“It was just me, my father and mom. My mom died in my first year of middle school, dad starts nosediving into work and I had to raise myself. Dad came home one day and told me that we shouldn’t be associated with each other anymore. Sent me away after high school and occasionally pops in to make me feel like I’m nothing without him.”

“You’re more than what he could ever be. He’s just a grumpy piece of shit.”

“It’s nice to hear someone else finally say it.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” He reached for your hand, his thumb stroking the back of your palm.

“Yeah.” He caught your eyes, the two of you having a quiet conversation through eye contact. You didn’t know what to say next until Jungkook started to wiggle his eyebrows at you.

“God.” You started to laugh, breaking eye contact.

“I win.”

“When was this a competition?”

“Since I said it was.”

“Is everything a game to you?”

“Not when it comes to like… serious stuff.”

“How profound, Jungkook.”

“I should be a philosopher.” You shook your head, him chuckling to himself. The waiter came around with your food, appreciating the arrangement before taking a bite.

It was silent yet comfortable. The quite clatter for utensils against dishes left you to think about this moment in time.

You would have never thought that you would be able to sit across Jungkook, being about to joke around with each other and just feel happy in each other’s company.

Didn’t think that you’d find yourself talking every day, hanging out whenever you were free, sometimes even missing him- Wait, when did things become so different?

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s just you got a little something on your cheek.” You took a napkin, gently wiping his cheek before he could. He watched you, those brown eyes drinking the sight of you and you felt like you were drowning.

His hand came to cover yourself when you were about to pull away. Your face grew hot, his large hand clasped over yours against his cheek while he gazed into your eyes. You were slowly becoming his leading lady and you hadn’t even realized it until now.

“I like you.”

“What?”

“I like you, Y/N. Not because of our parents, but because I got to see parts of you that I didn’t know existed. You’re witty, competitive, smart, beautiful, everything I could ever want and need.”

“Jungkook.”

“Tell me I’m not crazy for feeling like this, that I’m not the only one.”

“You’re not crazy.”

“But how do you feel about me?”

“Promise me you won’t grow a big head.”

“I won’t grow a big head all of a sudden.”

“I think you’re different from who I thought you were.”

“Good different?”

“Good different. Maybe more than that.”

“I’ll take it.”

 ───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

 You took off your helmet, fixing your hair and Jungkook getting off after shutting his bike off.

“You totally rode slower this time.”

“It’s the only time you’ll hold me.”

“That’s because…you’re the affectionate one.”

“And I’ve been deprived, you know.”

“You have my permission now.” He took a step closer to you, his hand gently smoothing over a strand of your hair before tucking it behind your ear. His hand swiftly moved to hold your cheek before he looked into your eyes.

“I want to kiss you so badly.”

“Please do.” You breathed mindlessly before he leaned in.

He was gentle, your kiss barely touching before you pulled on his tie to reel him closer. Your mind was racing faster than your heart, the softness of his lips blocking out any other thought beside Jungkook.

He tasted like the champagne you two shared, the sweet taste more intoxicating than the actual alcohol. You melted, him wrapping an arm around your waist and temporarily breaking your kiss.

You dived back in, not wanting to let go the feeling his lips gave you. It hadn’t occurred to you that you were waiting for this for so long, holding back for what?

You pulled away, needing to breath and he held you close. His heart was pounding as hard as you was while you quietly listened against his chest.

“Give me your hand.”

“Now, close your eyes.”

“You’re getting bossy, you know.”

“Sometimes I like to wear pants, you know.”

“Don’t get used to it. I like control.”

“Then I’m all yours. Open them.” You looked your hand, seeing a ring on your ring finger.

It was a silver band with red heart crystals embedded around it.

“It’s just a promise ring. A promise that I’ll be by your side… as your boyfriend.”

“Jungkook.”

“Will you be my girl?”

“Of course, I will, Kookie.”

[gojology]

Escape From Reality.

The Request:

pairing : yuuji itadori x stressed! fem s/o reader warnings : mentions of death, cursing, didn’t re-read, INCREDIBLY RUSHED. wordcount : 2333 a/n : sorry anon, this has been sitting at the very bottom of my requests and i feel really bad. regardless, i hope you still like this. i’m not familiar with yuuji’s character as i am with gojo but i hope this still does you justice. this is also really rushed, since i’m leaving for a trip tomorrow.

    Constant twisting and turning, the fight replaying in your head. You couldn’t relax, no, the events from a few days ago had been keeping you awake for who knows how long. Eyes bloodshot, strained from being kept open all day, yet you couldn’t close them. You had paid no thought to anyone gracious enough to give you attention, instead spending most of your time to yourself in your room.      Your curtains were kept shut, and a steadily growing mountain of tissues was getting taller and taller. The room was completely black, and only filled with your sniffling. To be quite honest, you didn’t know why you were crying. You won the fight, sure, but you felt so useless and insignificant compared to the likes of your peers.     You knew your role, but it was horrifying. Fighting curses wasn’t something new to you, you grew to enjoy it as a sport of some sorts, but this fight left some sort of mental scar on you. Images of the curse controlling humans like they were puppets on strings, and you had to kill every. single. last. one.      They looked so human, so scared of what was happening to them, their shocked faces eventually growing into solemn, dark ones. While Megumi and Nobara were off on their own mission, you had been left with Yuuji to kill the curse, perhaps it was a stroke of unluckiness, but you had been instructed to kill something you swore you wouldn’t kill; humans.      You knew your boyfriend, Yuuji was taken aback too, his carefree happy-go-lucky personality evaporating into thin air, instead replaced with a neutral face. You didn’t have the power to conceal your tears like he did though, even just a few minutes away from the battlefield, you let them flow free, but you did the job anyways. You saw him stare at you, worry evident on his features from the corner of your eyes.     Laying back down on your bed, you sniffled, dabbing at your eyes. You felt like a killer, something inhumane. Lost in your thoughts, you stared at your ceiling and thought of better days or random scenarios.      Knock. Knock. Knock.      The knocking was quiet at first, calm, and you figured it was Nobara willing to help you, she had done it a few times before when you came back from traumatic missions. You found it hard to relate to her though, and even though you appreciated her keeping you in her thoughts, you just didn’t want any contact right now.      The knocking grew more aggressive, and you knew that wasn’t Nobara. Nobara was kind when she was trying to help someone, putting her usual sassy behavior aside to comfort them. You knew she wasn’t going to rapidly knock at your door, in fact she would’ve left by now.       “Who is it?” you mumbled, lifting your covers up and sliding into the warmth, hiding most of your face with the blanket. The only thing that was out were your eyes.      “Uhhh... Yuuji? Your boyfriend?” a voice nervously croaked, muffled. “The door’s locked, but I came here to give you some sweets! Gojo-Senpai brought them earlier for everyone to share, and I grabbed some flavors for you that I thought you’d like.”       You shot back up, candy didn’t sound that bad right now.      “Come in.” you respond, shuffling around with the tiny amount of time you had left to make your room look just a bit more presentable.      “The door’s locked.” you heard him stifle a laugh pathetically, you could hear it from your bed.      “Shit! That’s my fault.” fast-walking towards the door, you stumbled. Dirty clothes were strewn about, a mix of empty snack bags also in the mess. It would be impossible to clean this all up in just 5 minutes without Yuuji growing suspicious. Taking a deep breath in, you threw the laundry you could find closest to you into the laundry basket. You didn’t want the love of your life seeing you like this.     You didn’t have enough time to fix your hair, and it seems Yuuji reads your mind. “Don’t worry about how you look, by the way. Actually, lovebug, don’t worry about anything okay? Just open the door.” he says it with a mixture of doubt and  anxiety.      You feel your expression soften, this was one of the things you loved about Itadori Yuuji. He was mild, he knew when to joke or not, and this time it seemed like he was keen on making you happy. Reaching out to unlock the door knob, you pause, still worried about how ugly you might look, but you open the door anyways.       And there stood Itadori Yuuji, dumbly looking at you, a pile of wrapped candies cupped in the palm of his hands. Once it seems to register through your mind that you standing in front of him, he tosses the candy aside, the colorful wrappers raining down on the both of you, and hugs you.       It’s a deep bear hug, and your arms loosely wrap around his too, steadily getting tighter and tighter as you realize how much you truly missed this. Head snuggling deep into his shoulder and breathing in his scent. So friendly and inviting, you stay in his embrace for a few more seconds, and your mind is finally at ease for just a little.       “Hey there, sweetie.” he finally says, lifting his head up after what seemed like eons, a small smile on his lips. He looks so cheerful, leaning in and kissing the top of your forehead before pulling back, studying your face.        You feel utterly self conscious, pushing his face back with your hand.        “Hey. I’m kind of crusty and I haven’t washed my face in a while-”        Yuuji doesn’t give you another second to finish, instead smothering your face with even more kisses, and your skin heats up as soon as the first sloppy chaste puppy kiss is placed.        “Fuck, I mean, fudge. What are you talking about (Y/N)?!” he looks at you like you’re a giant spider, concerned. “You’ve gotta be blind.”        “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”         You swallow a squeal, instead giving him a small smile, something that you hadn’t done in days. It feels so good to see him again.         “Hey- get back in bed, okay? I’ll be back in a jiffy, I’ve gotta pick all these candies up.” Yuuji kisses the tip of your nose again, using his fingers to pull at your cheeks. It’s been a while since you’ve seen his smile, and you realized just how quickly you had forgotten that his eyes almost closed when he smiled, simply because of how big and toothy it was.        “Yeah. Okay.” you say, before turning your back on him, you look down, and he’s looking back at you, knees on the floor. One hand is already half filled with the candies, and he gives you yet another shit-eating grin, flashing a quick thumbs up before continuing to pick up the wrappers. You giggle, you suddenly felt so bubbly.        Immediately leaping into your bed, you watch him, feet swaying in the air picking up the candies. Yuuji’s muttering under his breath about God knows what, and only then do you realize how lucky you were to have him.        Not long after, he skips over to your bed, closing the door behind him, hopping on one leg and taking his beaten up shoes off. Humming a tune, his fingers flicked on the light switch, you note how he looks so genuinely happy. Setting the candies down onto the blankets, he glances at you with these sort of stone cold serious eyes, as if he meant business.       Those feelings return back again. What’s with the stare?       “Hey. (Y/N).” he places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, rubbing your skin, goose bumps suddenly covering your skin. “I know I was only here to give you candies- and it’s true I was, I’m actually really concerned about you.” Yuuji too crawls onto your bed.       “Get nice and comfy okay? Here.” he digs into his pajama pockets, and pulls out a pre-packaged kikufuku mochi. “I know Gojo-sensei says no sweets after bedtime, but I sneaked one for you from his office because I thought It’d make you feel better.”        You take it without another word. The thought was nice, after all.       “Have you eaten, princess?” he breathes, placing a hand onto your forehead. “You seem really warm, do you need any water?”        He was suddenly so serious, you don’t how to respond. At first you look at him, hoping your eyes tell him all he needs to know, but he looks unblinkingly back, and it seems like he wants an answer, stat.        “No. I haven’t. Water wouldn’t be bad.” you answer, looking down at your lap. Why did it feel like you disappointed him?        “I’ll ask Gojo-sensei to maybe order takeout, It’s not that late. Do you have any water in your room? I don’t want to leave you right now.”        Something about this conversation was awkward, and you didn’t like it.        “Yeah, I don’t know where though.”        “That’s okay, snugglekins. I’ll retrieve them! Don’t you worry.” he rubs your hair so gently, it’s like the hand isn’t even there.        “The room is really messy-”        Yuuji looks at you, a bit annoyed, which you guess was justifiable, but still acting friendly. “I know, but all that matters to me right now is you, not you’re room.” he’s crawling on the ground now.      “You’re acting too serious.” you cheekily retort back mindlessly, covering your mouth as you do so.        “I know I am, but when my girlfriend is thinking and acting like this, I need to make sure you feel better.” he tosses you a water bottle, and you nod your thanks, the crinkling music to your ears. You twist the cap off, and take a long swig out. The liquid was refreshingly cold.      “No candy until you tell me what’s going on, okay? If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay, but just... Tell me what I can do to make you feel better. I hate seeing you sad.”      “Are you my dad or something?” you joke, but he squints at you, not cracking a single smile.        Then, he draws out a long, “Ohhhhhhhhhh!” for a second, eyes widening before stroking his chin, like one of those wide grandpas with the long beards you see in those Chinese dramas.       He splutters for a split second, before coughing. “Well, I am merely a wise old man. I must offer you my intellect... And I’m slightly forgetful, so you know- jokes don’t occur to me very well.” he even said it in an old man voice.        “That was horrible.” is all you state. You silently appreciate his stupid humor, even in what seemed to be a serious situation.       “Thanks!” he chirps. Then he hops back into the bed, he too slipping under the comforting blankets. “Now, tell me, what’s on your mind?’        “Nothing.” you say sheepishly.       “Stop lying to meee, come on. No judging.” his fingers weave into yours, and your breath hitches.        “Promise?”        “Promise.” his fingers tighten around yours as he says this.        Taking a deep breath in, you straighten, leaning yourself against his shoulder, and Yuuji doesn’t move, adjusting to the newfound weight.         Tears start forming as soon as you open your mouth to speak. “I just really hated how I had to- you know. Kill... Humans. A-and, It’s just that I feel really.... Guilty?” you phrase it like a question almost, and you take a shuddering deep breath in, it was going all out or never.         He nods his head, and you take this as a sign to continue. “I just... I feel so useless.. I feel like you didn’t even c-care? A-and..” tears start railing down your cheeks, and you blink like it’s the last think you have to do. “Fuck. Fuck this. I hate this. I hate being so s-soft, and so weak. Why can’t I be like you, or Nobara, or Megumi?”         His thumbs brush your tears away, and he looks at you, so gently and kindly it’s like the wind is touching you. Genuine eyes made you feel so comforted and safe. Like he wouldn’t judge you for a damn thing you’d say.         “You’re wrong.” he says, finally speaking.         You cock your head, as a way of coaxing him to continue.         You feel his chest expand, and fall again, taking in a deep breath. “I did care. I hated the thought of calling people like that, but honey-” he looks down at your face, and he can just tell you’re interested. “These people were put in so much misery, of course we had to kill them. They were in pain, and being used as puppets.”         “But they looked just like a human, and... They even had, you know... Their own, uh, unique voices. And the things they said..” more tears started rapidly falling.         “Hey.” he puts a hard grasp onto your arm when you try to wipe them away. “Stop. You have to constantly remind yourself, these people were being controlled and put through so much excruciating pain. It’s so hard, and it was even harder not to break down and cry in front of you. But we did it together anyways, and we need to get out of this stronger, okay? The missions later on will be even harder, and I want to work alongside you- not just protect you”         The last sentence punched you right in the gut, it felt so right hearing it come out of his mouth, and you start full on sobbing, rubbing your wet face into his t-shirt, your tears seeping into the fabric. You’re full aware he probably needs to change, but you don’t care. You truly missed him, even though it had only been a few days.         “Fuck. I love you.” you croaked, giving him a sloppy, even wetter peck on the check.        “I love you too, princess.”        He really was your escape from the reality of being a Jujutsu sorcerer.      

[oftenderweapons]

Papa Noël — Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 7.0k

Genre: fluff, smut, engaged rmxr, idol!AU

Rating: 18+

Hello bunnies! Merry Christmas to all of you. I wish you all the best ✨💜

I had to write this thingie because I’m selfish and I had this sort of unholy vision that told me, “you must do it”. And so I did this. 

This fic is set on Namjoon and Vixen’s first Christmas together. The two are engaged (you’ll read about that sooner or later). Unfortunately, Vixen had to attend a dinner party at which she couldn’t bring Namjoon (their relationship is still very, very private, and even her parents don’t know who she’s dating, plus they respect her privacy). Namjoon spends the night with his friends, but decides to head back home and wait for Vixen — who is unforturnately late. As soon as she arrives, he is quite eager to warm her up and let her unwrap her Christmas gift. But he’d much rather unwrap her first.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: I’ll be on the naughty list forever after writing this. Swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, DDLG dynamics/daaddy kink, dirty talking, striptease, lingerie fetish, light foot fetish, very lowkey roleplay, sex toy (glass dildo), oral fixation, masturbation (female receiving) light bondage (satin bow), spanking (with rings... ahem), thigh riding, cum play and cum eating, mentions of oral sex (male receiving), a very emotional proposal, mentions of unprotected sex (never ever ever do that unless you’re 10000% sure BOTH YOU AND YOUR PARTNER(S) ARE CLEAN)

Suggested playlist: I Just Melt - Sabrina Claudio // Short Red Silk Lingerie - Sabrina Claudio // Santa Baby - Ariana Grande, Liz Gillies // I’ll Be Home For Christmas - Demi Lovato // Wishlist - Alaina Castillo

In case you need it, here is my masterlist :)

Enjoy!!! 

————————————————

Papa Noël (French) — Santa Claus, en. [Daddy Christmas, lit.]

Namjoon sat on the sofa, his naked foot tapping against the plush carpet. For a second he considered what the actual fuck he was doing in his own living room dressed like that, making an absolute fool of himself. 

Then he remembered the party your firm had organised for Christmas Eve, and the fact that he couldn’t have attended with you. 

He hadn’t asked you to stay home, especially since your mother and father were going to attend too, and your boss and them had been friends for a very long time. 

Obediently, you had followed your father’s will, you had put on your delicious blue velvet dress and you had made sure Namjoon saw you secure the little clip of your suspender belt to your stockings. 

“I won’t be out late.” You had told him as he knelt and secured the small straps of your stilettos around your ankles. 

“I’m a bit mad you’re going to be out, all dolled up, without me.” 

“There’s a ring on my finger, Joonie.” You said. 

“A ring and no fiancé. How inconvenient,” He murmured, letting his palms climb up the back of your thighs, until they met the naked skin above the elastic band of your stockings. “Aren’t they going to ask questions?” He asked, letting his long middle finger slide against the soft satin of your panties. 

“No.” You said. “They know I’m in a relationship. They know I’ll tell them when I deem it appropriate.”

He moved his hand away from your slit, gripping your asscheeks. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“No.” You replied, dry, determined. Damn his paranoia. “You know there’s nothing I want to do more than use you as my toy boy, my future trophy husband.”

He grinned and sunk his nails into your flesh. “I’m just trying to keep you from rumors, my love.” You replied. “Not all the people in there are as discreet as I am.” You cupped his face. “And it’s not like I’m leaving you all alone.”

He nuzzled his face against your lap. “Jin and Angel are coming over at Yoongi and Kitten’s. I was invited,” Namjoon explained, taking his hands out of your skirt. 

“I’m glad I’m leaving you in good hands.” 

“It’s our first Christmas together.” He sulked.

“You’ll have me all for yourself tomorrow.” You combed his hair affectionately. “You’re lucky my family doesn’t take this Christmas thing seriously.”

“Will I get breakfast in bed?” He asked, raising to his feet and dwarfing you. 

You studied his figure with your eyes, observing his cream turtleneck that made his skin tone look like molten caramel, the expensive cashmere so soft under your palms, and then the light brown slacks, the shape of his cock so delicious that you couldn’t hold yourself back from tracing it with the tip of your index finger.

“Will I get breakfast in bed?” You asked, taunting him. 

“I don’t think it’s good for my babygirl to have her favourite candy cane first thing in the morning.” He replied, raising an eyebrow and catching your wrist. “I wouldn’t be a responsible daddy.”

“Come on, it’s Christmas.” You replied, whining a little and stretching to reach his mouth. 

He grinned as he saw you struggle, his dimple appearing as you kept pushing yourself on the tip of your toes, trying to touch his lips with yours. His nose scrunched and his eyes shrinked to heated slits as he bent his head down, allowing you access before he tightened his hands on your waist and picked you up, lifting you a few inches from the ground while you tightened your arms around his neck. 

“I’ll think about it.” He murmured on your lips. 

“Please.” You hummed quietly. 

His hand slipped down to your ass and squeezed it. “Maybe.”

You pouted and parted from him. “Then I think I might stay out late. Stay at my parents for the night. Mother always arranges beautiful brunches when I stay there. And Magdalene could enjoy me visiting her. You know, our governess. She raised me.” You said, fixing your dress and wearing your faux fur. 

“Come home. Eleven forty-five. No later.” He said, wrapping a forearm around your hips and spinning you around; you stumbled a little on your heels with the whole motion and the way he joined his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. “I’ve got gifts to deliver.” He said, parting from you and fixing your lipstick. 

“I’ll try.” You said, checking your watch and realising that probably your parents had already sent their driver to get you. 

“I have to go.” You murmured, cupping his cheek. “You know there's nothing I wanted more than spending the evening with you.”

“I know. I’ll wait for you.” He said, fixing a small lock of your hair behind your ear.

He accompanied you to the front door and opened it for you. “Have a nice evening, love.”

“You too.” You replied, completely charmed as he set you free like a delicate, gracious butterfly. 

————————————————

He started getting worried when he realised you were half an hour late. Then forty-five minutes. At midnight thirty-three, he heard some noise at the front door. 

There you were, legs wobbly, giggling at the phone. “I’m home. Yeah. Love you too. Stay warm.” You said softly, and then squealed. “No, I won’t choke on my boyfriend’s enormous dick. I’m super late. He’ll kill me.” Another pause. “No, he won’t kill me with his colossal cock. Stop talking about my fiancé’s cock, you slut!” You erupted in a bubbly laugh.

Namjoon felt his disappointment disappear, just slightly. 

“You could always go choke on Taehyung.” Pause. “Stop rubbing that on my face. I am TINY! It’s not my fault.”

Namjoon heard your snort-laugh. The one you used only with your closest people. He realised you were on the phone with Lace. He relaxed even more. “Gotta blast. Love you. Merry Christmas, you hoe.”

You giggled again as he heard you try to take off your shoes before you lost your balance, leaning on the wall. You hissed and cursed at the shoes. He heard the sound of you taking off your coat. And then you appeared, beautiful, so innocent, standing in the soft light of the Christmas Tree. 

And there he was. Sitting on the sofa. Legs parted wide. Shirtless. Barefoot. In a pair of red satin loose sweatpants with white furry hems at the ankles. And a Christmas hat. 

You swooned. 

“You’re late, little fox.” He said, pinning his forearms to his thighs and leaning forward. 

“I stayed out with Taehyung and Lace. We wanted to call you but I didn’t want to interrupt your previous arrangements.”

Namjoon licked his lips and bit his lower one, rubbing his index finger against his chin. “Jin and Angel kept making sex puns about chimneys and gifts and whatnots. Yoongi literally licked whipped cream off Kitten’s finger.” Namjoon exhaled. “It was painful. To say the least.”

You chuckled as discreetly as you could. 

“Is it funny, Vixen?” He asked, tipping his head back. “You’re forty-five minutes late.”

You sucked your lips past your teeth, lowering your head. “Tae and Lace were at the party. We left for a quick drink. We lost sense of time a little.” You said, flustered.

“I was here, waiting for you and you were out with your best friend and her boyfriend, my friend.” He said, crossing his arms and cocking his head to the side. “Are you listening?”

“Yes. Of course. I’m sorry.”

No, you weren’t. You were staring at his biceps, flexing, his chest expanding with ample breaths, his pectorals twitching. The mole on his chest. The path that it drew up the tendon of his neck, joining the other little mole near his collarbone, all the way up to the one below his plump lip. And the way his skin glimmered deliciously at the delicate lights of the Christmas Tree. You were ready to ask him a picture.

In your uterus was currently burning a blue hypergiant star. Just to clarify, 37 times hotter than the Sun. 

“You’re not listening.” He said, snickering. “I can see it.”

“I tried though.” You said shyly, pouting. 

He smiled and laid against the back of the sofa. “Come here.”

You blinked a couple times, rubbing your hand against your sternum, worried, biting your lip and playing coy. “Can I take off my dress first?”

“Of course, babygirl.” He said, propping his elbows on the pillow behind his back. 

You saw his chest stretch and oh’ed at the vision, making him giggle. “Come on, babe.”

You frowned and felt your ankles wobble as you undid the zipper at your side, bending down to lift your dress up from the lower hem, slipping it off from over your head. 

It took you a while to orient yourself on your way out of your dress, but as soon as you were free, you placed it down folding it neatly over the coffee table, where you noticed a small package wrapped in red paper and a big ribbon. 

“Is that mine?” You asked, batting your lashes at Namjoon. 

“Yes, darling.” He said, his eyes skimming your entire form. “Are you tipsy?” He asked, worried.

“A teensy, tiny bit.” You said. “Literally one glass of champagne, a spoonful of punch and a glass of wine with Tae and Lace. Nothing more.” You said, easing his nerves. He didn’t like when you drank — only because you’re a lightweight and he doesn’t want you to get sick.

He smiled softly as you listed the drinks. “It’s okay, buttercup. I’m not trying to control you. Just making sure that you can take me.” 

You bit your lower lip, nodding. 

“You look delicious, sugardoll.” He said, now finally focusing on your attire.

You smiled cutely and fixed your hair. “You like it?”

“I do, babylove.” He said. “Let me see it from up close.”

You walked closer to him, standing in between his legs. 

“Come on, give me a little twirl.” He said, placing his hand on your waist and helping you make a small, slow spin. You still had your heels on, after all. Just the way he liked it. 

“Let’s take off the big girl shoes, yes? That way you can be all tiny and barefoot for daddy.” He said, finding your wrists and placing your palms on his naked shoulders.

His skin was so hot. To the touch too. 

“Give me your foot, baby.” He said, looking up at you. 

You felt like crying. In the best way possible. 

You complied and his big fingers struggled a little with the small clasp before he managed to free it. 

The other shoe was easier. He diligently placed the stilettos out of the way, by the side of the sofa. “Next these.” He said, laying his hand on the back of your thigh and placing your foot between his legs, so close to his cock, currently laying across his lap, half mast towards his left hip. You noticed he still had a set of rings on, including the one shaped like a thick bear head, which he had bought in honour of the nickname you had assigned him.

He fought with the clip of the suspender belt, vaguely knowing that he should look for a small clasp on the upper elastic band of the stockings, but not knowing how to undo them. He still had a lot to learn, he realised. 

Your spindly fingers assisted him, showing the procedure. “There’s a rubber nub, inside. It grips the stocking and blocks it inside the metal frame, on the outside. You just need to slide the nub out of the frame.” You explained, showing him. 

He observed the movement of your fingers, the suspender strap snapping free. 

“There are other three. You can practice.” You smiled gently. 

He looked at your sweet face, at your eyes glittering in the Christmas lights. He was completely in love. Enchanted. Head over heels. 

He turned his eyes down, looking once more at the suspender strap on the other thigh, caressing your naked skin with the back of his index and middle fingers before hooking them under the fabric of your stocking, spotting a flat rubber surface. That must be the back of the nub. With his thumb, on the outer side, he spotted the nub, hooked in the small metal frame, covered in nylon. He slid it upwards and felt the strap snap. 

“Just like that, daddy.” You said, removing his hat with a smile and caressing his hair. So soft. It smelled like cedarwood, vetiver and patchouli. It smelled like safety, home, reassurance. Passion. Unconditional love. 

You led his hand to the back of your thigh and he percurred the length of the elastic strap to the hem of your stocking. 

You exhaled and closed your eyes as you felt his fingers on your nude leg. 

With the left side undone, he placed your leg down and picked up the other, laying it directly on his lap, where you felt his hardening sex under the sole of your foot. “Don’t press down, babygirl.” He said, making a quick work of the last clasp before looking up at you. 

“Good boy. Quick learner.” You said, caressing his face.

He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek into your palm. His hands flew to your waist and held you there as he scooted closer to the edge of the sofa, coincidentally pushing his cock into your foot. 

However, his focus wasn’t there. His target was your inner thigh, which he licked elegantly, suavely, before moving his mouth along you leg, gripping the hem of your left stocking with his teeth and slowly pulling at it, making the nylon roll down your leg, until it reached your calf. You lifted your leg for him, bringing your ankle and then your foot close to his mouth. He laid back against the sofa, the black sheer stocking dangling from his mouth as he stared at you and cocked an eyebrow teasingly. 

You giggled and squealed at the vision. 

“I hope my feet don’t smell.” You chuckled. 

He pouted. “You never really smell.” He said after letting the garment fall from his mouth. “Really. Your sweat never smells.” He said accompanying your leg down and picking up the other. “And I’ve made you sweat a lot. I would know.”

Again he grabbed your stocking with his teeth, tugging it harder this time, since it looked stuck to your skin. With your assistance, he pulled it all the way down, this time letting it fall straight away to place a kiss on the curve of your foot.

“You’ve got the prettiest little footsies.” He murmured. “They’re babylike. So soft. So small.”

“It’s your feet being exceedingly big. I’m medium sized.” You replied, placing both your feet on the floor.  

“Wow.” He said, staring at you. Now he had time to study the deep red silk slip you had been wearing under your dress, with its delicate white lace applications on your chest and on the lower hem. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

You giggled, embarrassed before pulling a cocky move, slipping your hands under the silk gown and hooking your thumbs into the sides of your thong, wiggling your hips as you pulled it down and bent to Namjoon’s waist, tucking the accessory into the waistband of his sweatpants. 

“Now you’re the luckiest.” You said, grinning at him mischievously. 

He simply raised his eyebrows, mouth wide, perfectly still for a couple seconds before he leaned his head to the side, looking away, his lips curling up in the smallest smile, making eye contact with you and shaking his head. 

“Don’t think I forgot you being forty-eight minutes late.” He said, leaning forward as you placed your foot on his knee, parting your legs just enough to let him sniff at your wetness. 

“But Santa, dearest, I’ve been a good girl all year.” You said, placing your foot down again and pressing your hands to your lap, bending one knee slightly and letting your body twist a little, side to side. 

You looked like the sweetest, cutest little girl in Namjoon eyes, playing coy, acting shy, feigning innocence and conquering him with all your little charms. 

“And you’ve already brought me my gift. Wouldn’t it be cruel to take it away?” You asked, furrowing your brow and pushing your lower lip forward in the most adorable expression.

“Take your gift, then, darling.”

Your face sparked up, and you turned quickly, bending over to snatch your package. 

Of course Namjoon, with predatorial reflexes, leaned forward to sink his teeth into the round curve of your ass. 

You squealed and stood quickly, a bit surprised. “Joon!”

He simply wrapped his arms around you middle and placed you across his lap, making you sit there, your bent knee offering him the magnificent curve of your hip as he began rubbing the side of your leg. 

For a moment, your eyes closed and you snuggled into his warm, strong chest. “I’m sorry, I used your lotion.”

You sniffed him and melted, rubbing the side of your face against his shoulder. 

“You’re so… mhhhh.” You moaned, speechless.

His chest rumbled with a deep, silent laugh. “You like it, babylove.”

“I love you.” You replied, looking him in the eye.

He kissed your forehead sweetly. “I know, babylove. Open you gift, princess.”

You kissed him on the cheek, his dimple making a brief apparition before you focused on the ribbon, tugging at it gently, using your nails to undo the knots. 

“It’s Lace’s doing. The package.” You said, noticing the small details she always inserted on her special orders from the atelier. You had seen her fabricate the small treasures yourself. 

Namjoon snorted in surprise. “It is.”

“Is it lingerie?” You asked, beaming up and looking at him.

“No, Vixen, open your present.” He said, slightly frustrated as you took your time. Sometimes dealing with you could be a true test of patience for him. Still, he loved you more than everything. And dealing with a brat like you required patience. His best assets in taming you were patience, brains and ruthless gentleness. The more you lost your cool, the more he became icy in his stubbornness and determination. 

Your brow creased with curiosity as you ripped off the paper. The box underneath was plain white leather, designed like a jewellery box, but more curious, especially once you spotted the double crosses on the lid. 

Could it be…?

You looked at Namjoon and lifted the lid. 

Inside, the case was covered in black silk, and right there, laying on a small pillow,  you saw the fanciest, most elaborate toy you had ever set your sight on. 

“You like it, sugardoll?” He asked, pressing a kiss to your temple, looking at your face, studying your expression and trying to read your reaction. 

“Daddy?” You asked, turning to him, tilting your head to look at him properly. 

“Yes, doll?”

“Why was there Lace’s signature package on it?”

“I had it commissioned through her. She knows the artist.” He explained. “She made the package since I’m helpless at those.”

“You had it commissioned?” You asked, eyes wide in amusement.

“For you, yes. A candy cane for my sugar doll.” He explained, moving your hair out of your face. 

“Thank you, daddy.” You replied, politely and gratefully. 

“It’s okay, my love.” He said, his hand still rubbing your outer thigh while his free palm moved to your neck, his index finger moving your chin towards him, his lips landing on yours chastely. 

“It’s really, really pretty.” You said, moving your stare back to the box. 

“It was made for my pretty girl.” He said, running his nose against your cheekbone. “Would you like to try it?” 

You nodded.

He grinned. “Then I want you over my knees, little vixen.”

Obeying, you kneeled on the floor, the sofa low just enough that Namjoon’s thighs didn’t press painfully against your belly. 

“Are your knees safe, babygirl?” He asked, turning your face towards his. 

“Yes, daddy.” You replied obediently. 

“Good girl.” He praised you, taking the case from your hands and gripping the toy in his palm. 

He tried to relax and keep his erection from becoming too much of a bother. That could and would wait.

Placing the case down, he moved the toy in front of your lips. “You know what to do, little fox.” He said. 

Just like that, without even needing his command, you lolled your tongue out, covering the glass candy cane-shaped dildo in your drool with long, wide licks. A string of saliva fell on his clothed thigh while he observed the quick work of your tongue lapping at the tip shaped just like that of an actual cock. 

“You look so lovely, my little fox.” He said, caressing your hair off your face, fixing the mother of pearl hair-comb that held back your long locks from your face, holding it with two fingers, so delicately, trying not to break it as he pushed it back into your hair. “I can only imagine how many people were drooling for you tonight.”

You looked at him while he rubbed the tip of the toy against your mouth, your lips naturally parting and wrapping around the glass, becoming even fuller and plumper. 

He could barely resist himself as he looked at you, laying there, with your wide, innocent eyes, your lashes fluttering like feathery little wings, and your mouth, so dirty and sinful and absolutely lascivious. 

He yet had to understand your pure-depraved ratio. It was something he felt but couldn’t explain. 

And most of the time it was not one, nor the other that set him off, but rather the combination and absolute divergence of the two.

You bobbed your head slightly, still staring at him, and for a second he thought ‘what if it were not a toy, what if it were another man? What if i were holding him while she took him in her mouth, and she kept her eyes on me?’

You saw his nostrils flare, his chest expand, his whole posture becoming even more magnificent. 

You pulled the toy off your mouth. You bit your lip. “What are you thinking?”

“If it was another man in your mouth.” He admitted, caressing your ass through your silk slip, the smoothness of the fabric making the weight of his hand glide freely on your lower back before he lifted up the garment, exposing the curve of your ass, your slick folds. 

He massaged your naked skin, extremely glad that he was wearing rings only on one hand.

“I don’t want that.” You said, as soon as he made eye-contact with you. 

“What, Vixen?”

“I don’t want another man. Ever.” You said, and it wasn’t a praise, it wasn’t a lure, and it wasn’t flattery. “I only want you.” You said, your hand wrapping around his ankle as it was the only part that you could hold on to, his hands busy and your palms too small for his thighs and calves. 

He rubbed your ass a couple times. “Daddy would never allow anyone else, babylove.” His hand cupped your heat, his palm laying on the seam of your butt while his middle finger found your clit easily. He felt your wetness spread over his middle finger, coating it as he drew it between your labia. “You and I have something special, little fox. It’s only ours.” He kissed the top of your head. “You trust daddy?” He asked, his expression warm as he addressed you. 

“Yes, daddy.”

“Daddy will slip his finger in now, babylove. Would you like that?”

You nodded, again, “Yes, daddy.”

Slowly he drew his middle finger inside, one knuckle at a time. 

You purred as you felt him draw out slightly and turn his wrist, his digit finding your cervix and drawing its outlines. 

“Joonie...” You murmured, opening your mouth and stretching your neck to reach the toy. 

He toyed with you, placing it before your mouth and pulling it away just as your lips skimmed the material, repeating the taunt a few times, grinning as you turned and glared at him. 

“What the— Oh! Fu—!”

You said, ready to scold him but changing your mind as he added a finger inside, Shutting your mouth mid-swear. 

He thrusted his fingers hard. “I have told you many, many times, that when you’re naked in front of me you must never, ever swear, little one.” And he punctuated each word with a crook of his fingers, adding another as he murmured, very slowly, ‘little one’. 

You whined around the dildo, frowning as you writhed over his knees. 

“What do you say, Vixen?” He said, removing the toy. 

“Sorry, daddy.”

“Good girl.” He replied. “Do you think you’re stretched out enough for your toy, babygirl?” He asked, massaging his fingers slowly and delicately inside you. 

You nodded eagerly. “I want it, please daddy.”

“Such a polite little thing.” He cooed, removing his fingers, letting them hover over your ass, while he teased the glass tip over your slit, rubbing it up and down, letting the first inch in. 

“Oh, Joon—”

“Easy, darling.” He said, rubbing his thumb against your tailbone, keeping his wet fingers off your skin, trying to keep you as clean as possible while also trying to comfort you. 

“It’s big.” You said, digging your nails into his ankle. 

“It’s not that big, Vixen.” He said caressing your spine and letting the dildo sink into your heat while you hummed, focusing on every ridge of the toy, the spiraling swirls imitating the candy cane giving you a completely new sensation. 

Namjoon bent down to place a small kiss on the mole on your asscheek, sinking his teeth around it. “You have the most incredible butt in the whole universe, little thing.” He said, placing another small kiss on it. “So damn beautiful.”

“Daddy...” You cried out once he fed all of the shaft into you, leaving only the handle to hang out. 

“Careful now, baby fox.” He said as he gave the toy a slow twist, just like he had with his wrist before, twisting the hook of the handle toward your front, letting it brush against your clit. 

“Oh my god, Joon.” You whispered. 

“Relax, baby.” He cooed, raising his upper body and bringing his forehead to your temple. Next he brought his wet fingers to your lips. 

It felt obvious for you to open your mouth and let him place his fingers on your tongue. 

“Can you taste how sweet you are, ____? How fucking sweet your cunt tastes?” He asked. You let your tongue slither and slide through every crevasse between his fingers, where your taste hid best, and then you set your target on simply sucking, making sure that his fingers came out clean, only drenched in your drool. 

“I can never part from it.” He murmured, choosing that moment to take his digits away and turn your face so his tongue could caress your lower lip and entangle with yours, trying to steal the taste of you from your mouth. 

“I’m never letting another man have your mouth. Taste your sweet, precious pussy. Feel how fucking good it feels to move inside your tiny body. My pretty doll.” He praised you and reassured you possessively, his thumb rubbing your lips. 

“Daddy?” You called innocently.

“Yes, baby.” He replied, dragging his slippery fingers against your ass seducingly. 

“Would you please spank me?” You asked, batting your eyelashes at him. 

He raised his eyebrows before he wore a lopsided smirk that made his dimple pop up. “You’d like me to?” He asked, his voice decisively happy. 

“If you want to?” You replied, crossing your arms over his thigh and laying your head there. 

“Shall we go for sixteen, babe?” He asked, considering that he wanted to simply arouse you before he moved on to his actual goal. 

“Okay.” You replied, knowing that you could do better, but acting smart and restraining yourself from wanting more, not knowing how it would feel like with the toy.

“Count them for me?” He asked, patting your head, moving your hair aside. 

You nodded obediently before he lifted his hand, your eyes shutting, waiting for him to hit you, just before you felt his hand land on you softly, his stomach moving with a silent laugh after he tricked you. 

You pouted and looked at him and just like that he delivered the first smack, making you howl, your inner muscles clenching and moving the dildo just enough for it to tickle your clit.

He kept touching your hair as his hand pressed the toy into you. 

“One.” He said, pinching your ass, inviting you to count. 

He went on blow after blow, your ass slowly losing sensitivity to the rough impact of his thick rings on your skin. He got rougher at around smack four, when usually he gave you a bit more time before actually going at it hard. Anyway, a small part of your brain, not commanded by arousal and pain, understood and related to his urgency, especially considering how long he hasn’t been acting on the rock-hard cock begging for attention inside his sweats. At hit number nine, you realised his pattern, and how religiously he was sticking to it: smaking your ass, rubbing it for ten seconds, pressing the toy back into you after your inner muscles had pushed it out with the sudden stimulation of his spanks. And repeat

From number twelve, he went all out, trying to give it to you exactly the way you want it and need it. Harsh, merciless, torturously good. 

“Sixteen,” you called, exhausted as he fixed the toy inside, your ass burning under his touch, his other hand laying on your head, caressing it like you were nothing short of his pet. 

“Are you okay, babylove?” He called, bending to your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. 

“Yes, just...” You took your time. “It burns a tiny, tiny bit.” You said, trying not to worry him. 

And still he freaked out. “Okay, would you like your cooling gel? Cold pack? I tried to go easy but a—” 

“Stop worrying, big bear. I’m okay.” You said, patting his leg in a reassuring way. “But there’s something bothering me a little...”

“What is it, babe?” He asked, cupping your cheek, ready to reassure you. 

“What if instead of running away to grab my lotion, you just stayed here and used that fancy candy cane to make me cum?” You said. “I’m so close, I just need you to touch my clit a little, please, daddy!” You tried to convince him. 

Your hand stretched back, spreading over his beautiful chest and sliding down towards his crotch. 

Lovingly, he caught your hand in his, stopping it over his chest. “Anything you want, precious.”

He kept your hands trapped to his chest, keeping it still and grinning at you mischievously once you tried to slide it down toward his abs. However, the other one moved to your ass, his upper body leaning on it as he blew cold air on it. “I’m gonna twist it around,” he said, placing his hand on the handle and pulling it out just enough to turn the handle toward your ass. He brought your hand down, catching the other one too and placing them on your back, putting your wrists together, quickly grabbing the red satin ribbon you had unwrapped from your Christmas gift. 

“I’m simply going to tie it up like shoelaces, Vixen. No fancy business, I promise, but don’t tug at it. Do you understand, baby fox?”

“Yes, daddy.” You replied, staying still as you felt the delicate material against your wrists, his fingers making a quick bow out of the ribbon. 

“Is it okay, ____?” He asked, his voice telling you that it was Namjoon and not daddy talking to you. 

“Yup, all good.” You said simply. 

“Perfect. I just want you to cum as soon as possible, Vixen.” He said, getting to work between your legs. “Like this?” He asked, placing his digit at the apex of your labia, but needing your guidance in finding your clit. 

“Just a bit to the left.” You said. “My left.” You added, and he followed with microscopical movements, knowing he had found the right spot when he slid a tiny fraction downwards and you mewled his name, squealing. 

“There it is,” he said, wrapping his free hand around the handle of the dildo and thrusting with small movements inside you, making sure that you were still wet and that he didn’t hurt you. 

“Keep going with both.” You said, your brow furrowing. “I need...”

“Need to make it wet, sorry baby.” He said, moving his finger away from your clit and putting it in his mouth, tempted to slide it in with the toy, but too worried about messing up your climax. He immediately found your clit again, toying around it a little before finding the spot that made you tug at your wrists and arch your back, your hips starting to move on their own accord. 

“Like that, Vixen. Take what you need, baby.” He said, his arm a bit uncomfortable at the angle as he thrusted the toy inside you; nevertheless, he kept going, determined on seeing you come undone. 

Which happened, finally. Your mouth opened in a strangled cry before you pressed it to his clothed thigh, suppressing a scream. 

“That’s it, baby fox. Feels good?” He asked just as you writhed, trying to escape from his digit on your clit, quickly pushing you into overstimulation. 

“Too good.” You replied, turning your head to the side. “Stop, please.”

“You know the word, Vixen. ‘Stop’ ain’t getting you nowhere.” He said, feeling his dick twitch as you begged. 

“Mint.” You spoke softly into his leg, escaping his wicked ministrations. 

His hand moved away from your sensitive spot. 

“I want you.” You murmured. “I’m close, but I want to be near you.” You looked at him with your eyes barely open, your breath wild, your heartbeat wild against his leg. “Not like this.” You called, wiggling your fingers. 

He tugged the toy out, placing it on top of the ripped paper of the package not to mess the sofa, then pushed it out of the way. His fingers tugged at one of the strings, careful not to jam the knot. Soon your wrists were free and he helped you on your knees, raising your torso. 

“Easy, love.” He said, twining your fingers together as you stood up, making sure that you didn’t get dizzy by standing up too fast. 

Soon one of his hands let go of yours, his forearm wrapping behind your back and pulling you into him, making you kneel on the sofa. “Straddle my thigh, babygirl.” He said with a low, rumbling timbre. 

“Gonna mess your fancy Santa slacks.” You said, smiling confusedly. 

“We can wash them for next year.” He replied, his skin burning as your front connected with his. He pressed your hand into his, against his chest, pulling you closer as your wetness connected with his strong thigh. 

“I’m already close.” You said, nuzzling into his neck, under his jaw, kissing the small mole. 

“Really, uh?” 

“You stopped when I was on the edge, before, after the first.” You said, parting from his throat and looking for his lips with your eyes closed, your hips already rolling back and forth on him. 

“You’re a vision, babe.” He said, hitching your slip dress up, so he could look at your mound, at your hips, riding him as you ruthlessly chased your pleasure. “You were close close, uh?”

You nodded, sucking his lower lip into your mouth, his left hand sprawled over your left asscheek, gripping it and helping you ride him. 

“Yes,” you sibilated as you felt his nails sink into you. You arched your back even more, your movements turning into small circles once you felt his quadricep flex, your clit connecting fully with the satin of his trousers. “So good. I need— I love your thighs.” You said, rambling helplessly as your free hand went into his hair, tugging it gently and letting your fingers slide down, with a delicate scratch of your nails, running around his neck and jaw and touching his cheek, parting your face enough to look him in the eye, waiting a few seconds for your gaze to focus on him. 

“Mhmh,” he said, smirking, helping you quicken your pace. “I love you, babe.”

You nodded and tipped your head back, pleasure rolling down your spine, pooling at your core. 

With your throat right in front of his face, Namjoon bent forward, his lips zeroing in on the point where he could feel your pulse and focusing there, sucking and nibbling at your skin while your mouth opened in a whine that quickly turned into a thin mewl. His nails clawed at your ass, squeezing it tighter now that you were deep into your high.

He kept his mouth at your neck, a deep bruise blooming on your skin, parting from you only when he felt your hips slow down and halt. 

“It was the prettiest sound you’ve ever made on top of me.” He said, bringing your joined hands to his lips and kissing yours, his other hand letting go of you, soothing the skin he had manhandled so thoroughly. 

Your hand toyed with the messy locks of his hair before sliding down to his front, touching his skin feverishly while he hugged you to him.

You were tempted to stay in the warmth of his embrace as you kissed the skin of his pectorals. 

“I have a Christmas gift too.” You murmured, trying to untuck his face from your loose, wild hair. 

“Stay here. Ride me.” He said, his forearm flexing and squeezing you to his front. 

“Want you to open it first.” You said, nipping at his nipple, which convinced him to let you go. 

You quickly stood up and took a couple steps toward the Christmas tree, dipping your arm in and wincing as you felt the small synthetic needles prickle your arm. 

“You hid it in there?”

You looked at him and nodded, feeling for a small box with your fingers, cheering once you found it. 

You retracted your arm as quick as possible and sauntered towards him. 

“I didn’t do a nice package,” you explained, embarrassed. 

“What…?” He said as you kneeled between his parted legs. 

“We said stuff. On our trip.” You said, remembering your quick getaway. “But it was mostly you who did the talking.” You continued, looking down. “Now it’s my turn to speak.” Your eyes met his. “I’m gonna make an honest man out of you, someday.”

His lips turned into an ear-to-ear grin, 

“I’m gonna love you as much as my small body allows, and my heart will stop the day I stop loving you. I’m gonna give you a home.” You said, getting emotional as you saw a tear slide down his cheek. “And I’m gonna give you children.” You stretched to dry the small silvery droplet rolling down his face. “I’m gonna make a dad of you.” You said, parting from his face only long enough to open the small box. “But first I will introduce you to my parents.” You said. “My fun relatives and my boring ones too.” You looked at the thick dark wooden band lined in black tungsten. “All my annoying colleagues.” You arched your brows. “And the ones I like much better.” You broke down as you imagined what would come next. “I’d walk down the isle dressed in white for you.”

“Yes.” He said, not even letting you finish. “Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes, ____.” He was crying shamelessly by now, sliding down to the floor and hugging you to his chest. 

“I’d walk through hell with you. Hell would feel like heaven with you.” You said, sobbing. “And heaven would feel like hell without you. Marry me, Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby.” He said, kissing your forehead and your lips with both your faces wet with tears. “Put that damn ring on me, princess.” He said, parting from you and giving you his right hand. 

Completely excited, your hands trembled as you extracted the wide wooden band, put down the box and placed your hand under his, your forefinger and thumb sliding the ring into his finger. 

“You’re shaking, little fox.” He said, hugging you to himself, his eyes studying the ring as you disappeared into his chest, his chin propped on top of your head as his eyes perused the dark wood, protected by a thick layer of lacquer.

“I mentioned to my parents that I’d like to introduce you to them.” You said, shyly. “In January. As soon as you’re done with the shows and everything. I told them I would like to have dinner, all together.” You said, looking up at him. “We didn’t like… Choose a date or anything. I told them we could have dinner, a weekend or another.”

“I’d be honoured.” He said, smiling at you gently. 

You stared at him in silence for a couple seconds. 

He closed his eyes, steadying himself for what you were about to say, knowing that it would very likely be something completely inappropriate. That’s how you deal with stress. 

You licked your lips and giggled at his expression. You knew it so well. 

“Is it the wrong moment to say I want my fiancé to ram my stomach with his huge, thick, enormous and delicious cock?”

“You’re fucking filthy and adorable. Up,” He said, holding you by the waist as he helped you stand up and climb his body. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck and he held you up with his forearm while his hand dipped into his sweatpants. You mouthed at his jaw. “Please...” 

He groaned as he entered you slowly, making you slide down and onto him. 

“Feels perfect...” You whimpered as he held you still, breathing through his teeth. 

“It will feel even more perfect while I fuck my fiancée stupid on our bed.” He said, making his way to your room. “Merry Christmas, babe.”

“Is Santa gonna cum in my chimney?” You asked with an amused expression. 

He shook his head in disbelief and then wore a small smile. “Gonna stuff you like a stocking.” 

You squealed and giggled, “Merry Christmas, indeed.” 

[desdemonafictional]

TFA Fantasy WIP

Sentinel Prime, His Imperial Benevolence, The Auspicious and Holy Oneself, Emperor in Perpetua, entered the little farming villa like a spoiled brat waltzing into a tent of freaks. He cast his smugly disinterested eye over every dusty window and dinged up bit of furniture alike, observing the lack of bustling servants or fine hangings brought out for his arrival.

Optimus ground his jaw quietly.

“We apologize for the austerity,” he said, still standing stiffly at the door where Sentinel had shoulder-shoved past him to get inside. “The Orion House doesn’t have… much staff. I’m afraid we can’t receive you with all the honors due to a Prime.”

“Oh please,” Sentinel said, “don’t trouble yourself with a formal reception. I’ll just consider this a hunting party, how about that? Like old times, eh, Optimus?”

Bumblebee inched sidelong along the wall, leant sideways, and out the side of his mouth he said, “Y’all two know each other?”

The high ceilings of the Orion were indeed not dissimilar from the hunting lodges they had stayed in together from time to time, as junior officers in the Primal Guard. The air conditioning out here in the countryside was rudimentary, and the summers burned hot under the watchful stare of Hadeen, especially with so many bodies crowded into a single house putting off their own mechanical heat. It was, however, a manor house and not a hunting lodge. It was Optimus’ manor now, in fact, ever since he had been relegated here seven vorn earlier.

“Shall we make a room ready for you, your Benevolence?” Optimus said, ignoring the yellow car prodding at his side.

Sentinel gave the place a judgemental once over and said, “Just the one night, I think. We mustn’t trespass on your… hospitality.”

And with that, the rest of his retinue came sweeping in. Chamber attendants with berth dressings, a chef and cooks, secretaries—the Orion filled up immediately, bursting to its seams with activity. Optimus glanced through the window, and noted that out in the front of the house Sentinel’s guard was already setting up silk tents and laying camp with military efficiency.

“Bumblebee,” Optimus said, “why don’t you show the Prime’s bots where they can set his fixings for the night?”

“Uh,” Bumblebee said, “um, right—just this way, gentlemechs! You’re in good hands with me, I know everything there is to know about the Orion! Hey, stripes, you single—?”

Sentinel fell back to stand beside Optimus, not looking at him, in a parody of casual camaraderie.

“So I guess the pipsqueak isn’t your sweetspark,” Sentinel smirked. “That or you’ve developed a thing for being cuckolded?”

“I’m still single,” Optimus said. “I don’t have any sweetsparks.”

“What, not even that bulky hulk I saw out back?” Sentinel asked, grinning unpleasantly. “I bet he’s easy, rubes like that always are.”

Optimus squeezed his fist open and closed at his side, bruisingly tight, but discreetly. Sentinel was the Prime, and the Prime could say whatever nasty, petty thing he liked.

“Bulkhead is a brilliant engineer,” Optimus said, in an only slightly repressive tone. “He single-handedly designed the new extractors for the crystal fields, and the harvest is coming at 21% increased efficiency this vorn.”

“Whatever, farmer stuff,” Sentinel said. “I don’t give a scrap about that. You’re really still single? Seven vorns that you’ve been out here, and you haven’t even picked up some knobkneed crop duster for a tumble? Don’t tell me you’re still holding out for a conjunx.”

Optimus didn’t bother to point out that he’d been in mourning for most of that time, like Sentinel would have been, if he hadn’t been selected by the Matrix not one vorn after the hunting accident that took Elita from them both. Primes weren’t encouraged to mourn the loved ones from their previous lives. Just the angry edge to Sentinel’s bitter humor proved that he was still mourning, in his own way, and probably the empire would have been better off if he’d been allowed to deal with it on his own terms before being thrust into the mantle of Imperial Personage.

Optimus missed the friends they had been, before the bitterness.

“You know no decent court mech will have anything to do with a relegated bumpkin Count,” Sentinel pointed out. “Conjunxing is not in your future, Optimus. You’d be lucky to take an amica, like the peasants do.”

“There’s nothing wrong with taking an amica,” Optimus replied.

“Yeah, not for peasants and destitute washouts,” Sentinel said. “Hey, maybe you could be somebody’s subordinate conjunx, how about that? Not that you’d have any luck tempting a courtier away from Iacon with this…” he grimaced at the high ceilings and bare walls, “cabin in the mud.”

“Are you done?” Optimus asked, a little too forwardly for good manners.

“Watch it,” Sentinel said, narrowing his eyes. “If you’re not properly gracious, I’ll reconsider calling you back to court.”

“Re-?” Optimus skipped a pump beat. “Reconsider?”

Sentinel smirked again, this time with less humor and more coldness, and patted Optimus on the shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he said. “I could use more allies in the capitol. And you would be an ally for me, wouldn’t you, Optimus?”

The fragile shoot of hope withered all at once. Whatever Sentinel wanted him back at court for, it wouldn’t be out of the goodness of his spark. He still hated Optimus too much; any gratitude would be a yolk around Optimus’ neck for the rest of their lives.

“Yes, of course,” said Optimus. “I am at the service of the Primacy, as ever.”

“I thought you would be,” Sentinel said, and his smirk turned keen, and then he said: “Alright, show us where we can do some freshening up around here. You have body servants around this slaghole? I need a deep polish before dinner.”

--

His Imperial Benevolence came out of the shower quite a long time later, which was fortunate for his cooks, who had hastily taken over Optimus’ kitchen and were rushing to fill it with servable fuel. Optimus had quietly pulled his own kitchen staff—all two of them—away to help clean the place up a little more for guests. Sentinel’s cooks had ransacked the house’s pantry, pulling long spools of brass and bricks of gold onto every counter, vials of soluble compounds, crystals, seasonings. The cooks kept clicking their tongues at the spread. Optimus had the feeling that he was being Disapproved of.

In the house there were two cooks, one body servant, a housekeeper, Optimus, and the engineer (Bulkhead) who was out overseeing an upgrade to the manor rain pumps this month. The house had been on the empty side, before Sentinel, and now it was crammed full in every room with someone doing something. The change was a little bit dizzying. Bumblebee seemed to be loving it, though.

“Don’t make me clean,” he was whining, a squeegee dripping unhelpfully in his hand. “I want to go out and see the soldiers, let me go out and see if the soldiers need anything.”

Optimus pressed his lips together. “If you go out there now, I won’t see you again until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay, so? Sentinel’s cooks got it covered, you don’t need me.”

Optimus wondered if there was a polite way to say “I’m more worried one of them will lean you over his saddle bag without waiting for permission.” Bulkhead might or might not be easy, it wasn’t Optimus’s place to guess, but he had a distinct feeling Bumblebee would be.

“Just go get the place settings out,” Optimus told him, “when that’s done you can gossip with anybody in the house, but don’t go outside. I might need you.”

Bumblebee thwapped his cleaning cloth against his thigh and grumbled all the way out of the room. Optimus gave it depressingly low odds that he’d be obeyed the whole night, but, well, he’d done his best. He didn’t have time to be monitoring his staff all night, not when Sentinel was lurking about the place.

Besides, what were the chances Bumblebee could even bud new sparks? Less than thirty percent of the population could do it, under the best circumstances.

There was a shout from the direction of the baths, and Optimus whirled in time to see servants roiling away from the exclamation like insecticons in a disturbed hive. He pushed his way through the aimless anxiety and then—with a deep vent to pre-emptively cool himself—let himself into the washroom, where solvent was splattered all over the floor and Sentinel was splattered across the chest with globs of polish.

“My Prime,” Optimus said, leaning his hip against the wall. He didn’t smirk. He thought about it though.

Sentinel whirled, steam all but blowing out his vents. “One of your bumbling idiots broke my washkit!” He jabbed his finger at a very complicated looking fold-out case, enameled with blue and white and utterly smashed across the floor between himself and the body servant.

“I—” the servant said, “Optimus—your Courtesy—I was setting it out for the Prime, but one of the containers was—”

“Your idiot threw it at me!”

“One of the containers—there was a springloaded compartment and—”

“And it bit you like a needle-mouthed pit beast?” Sentinel mocked, furiously. “That case was one of a kind! My concubine made that for me!”

Optimus glazed at the poor smashed object. It certainly did look one of a kind, with that complicated enameling out the outside, the nested compartments all conjoined in different ways, like a puzzle box.

“Ugh,” Sentinel said, and glared down at his abdomen. “And you got them mixed up too, look at this, my paint is peeling, everyone knows you’re not supposed to mix cosmetic chemicals.”

Actually, it was peeling. Kind of bubbling too. That was alarming enough that Optimus pushed off the wall and went to fetch a dry cloth and a jar of water from the cabinet. Plain water was usually safe to mix with chemicals, whereas solvent was… not.

“Now I need to fix my paint too,” Sentinel seethed. “I wanted to go hunting tonight! I won’t have time to go hunting once we reach the border, it’ll be nothing but handshaking and touring the facilities!”

“I’m sure we can get your paint patched with plenty of time for dinner,” Optimus said, and sat Sentinel down at the edge of the great sunken oil pit (empty, as it usually was, the budget for hot oil being very slim at Orion House). He knelt down and dragged the broken kit back towards himself, fishing through the wreckage until he came up with the little jar of touch up paint in Sentinel’s classic blue.

“Um, my lord count,” the servant said, from somewhere behind Optimus.

“Don’t worry about it,” Optimus said, without looking back, “I’ll take it from here. You go help the others with dinner.”

“And get my hunting kit out more carefully this time!” Sentinel shouted after him, leaning so far forward that Optimus had to tilt his head out of the way to avoid bonking his Prime’s chassis.

Gently, Optimus pressed a palm to Sentinel’s chest and pushed him back into his seat. Sentinel slouched back into the bench seat, letting his elbows hang over the empty tub behind him. He eyed Optimus, his face tilted away at an angle that seemed half suspicious, half uncomfortable.

“You know you’re a Count now, not a cadet,” Sentinel said. “Below your station to be scrubbing and polishing anybody, even the Prime.”

Optimus’s half smile was more irony than humor. He wasn’t about to leave poor Screwshine alone with Sentinel, after that fit of temper. He focused on lathering up the powder paint and paint-thinner into something he could work with.

Sentinel let Optimus push his leg out of the way to get a better angle at the stripped plating, but his sidelong gaze didn’t ease up. “Not angling for a spot in the Primal Harem, are you?”

Optimus nearly shuddered at the thought. What a nightmare, locked up in the harem with a mech who hated him for the rest of his functioning. No amount of luxury or status was worth that. “No, my Prime. Definitely not. I just wasn’t going to let you keep terrorizing my servant all night.”

Sentinel scowled, but he also relaxed. “I wouldn’t have to yell at your staff if they weren’t a bunch of incompetent ninnies.”

“You’re the Prime,” Optimus said, fixing his frown firmly on the paint, and not on Sentinel’s face. “You’re meant to comport yourself with more grace than that.”

“Hah,” Sentinel said, and his face twisted into an even darker configuration, “what would a washout coward like you know about any of it, anyway.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the smooth soft sound of paint applique. Eventually, Sentinel snapped, “Hand me that pill case, the pink one, it’s down in the slag pile.”

Optimus was reluctant to pause, thinking of the quick drying paint, but obeyed after only a second’s hesitation. He dug it out and handed it up, considering the esoteric pink inscriptions in the white enamel. White was the color of philosophy. Pink was the color of life. When Sentinel shook out a couple of the little capsules, in the moment before clapping them to his mouth and swallowing, their insides sloshed with a viscous magenta sludge.

“What… are those?” Optimus asked, feeling a little sick just from looking at the things.

“Mm?” Sentinel knocked back a quick swig of something from his subspace pocket and then coughed, wiping his mouth absently with the back of his hand. “Oh. Prima Materia. Divine Oneness philosophy is all the rage in Iacon right now. Guess you wouldn’t know about that out here in the boonies.”

Optimus frowned and wracked his memory storage. “An alchemical elixir?”

“Yeah,” Sentinel said, and tucked the little pill case back into his subspace pocket. “Couple a day, supposed to make you live forever. When the old chancellor came down with Zero Point Crytosis last orn, the court was hysterical. I don’t say this very often, but every once in a while, I miss soldiers.”

Optimus made a face at the idea of taking those goop capsules twice a day. “You sure that stuff is safe?”

“Please,” Sentinel said, “I’m the Prime. My alchemists aren’t grabbing any old dirt off the back of a truck and calling it gold. Anyway, one of my concubines is a chemist, and a damn good one for all she needs the smart mouth knocked off of her. She mixed the slag herself.”

Optimus continued to regard it doubtfully.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Slashers x Reader(Mostly Chucky and Michael) || Oneshot

Title: Sometimes Its Best Not To Decide //or// She Will Always Unlock The Door

Notes: 

Chucky is in human form here. 

This is a strange ass AU where all the Slashers live in the same time(Including billy and Stu) that caters to my needs to write this shot. 

Plot: 

You want a normal life, but you will always let the dark in. Even if you don't want it. 

Warnings: Swearing, mention of blood? mention of Sawyers?

~~~

It’s been months since I last saw them, so I figured I was okay. I could do this; I could take that last step into a normal life. My final, best chapter.

So, I took the plunge, the risk. I said yes to a nice boy, with glasses who wears a tie at the coffee shop and paid for my drink for me in the morning, and we went out earlier this evening. Everything went great, it was like a fairytale, compared to how the rest of my life has been.

When we nearly kissed is when things went downhill.

As soon as his nose brushed on mine, feather light and not heated at all - nice, -, that’s when the loud, barking knocks on my front door started. 

And I knew immediately who it had to be of course, but I still hoped it was just a really, really enthusiastic salesperson.

At 11 at night.

Of course, I was right initially, and the minute I opened that door all hell broke loose. Michael’s brought in from the rain, getting puddles of blood and water all over my damn floor and Chucky drops him on my perfect cream coloured couch. “What the hell happened to him??” I’m asking, hyper aware that he’s injured but Danial is still standing right there by the kitchen doorway, adorably confused. I round on Chucky, who doesn’t seem as concerned as he should be, seeing the situation. “What do you want??”

“Well, I tried to put him down when I found him but then he threw a fucking handful of mud in my face,” He wipes some of what’s left of the mud, off his face. “And kept trying to come here so I came along.”

“Why??” I wouldn’t have stopped the rude lilt to my tone just then if I could have. He just looks amused, at my anguish though and turns back to the bleeding murderer on my couch, which is turning red. I glance at Danial, fearing his reaction, then turn back pleadingly to Chucky. As if him and Michael leaving now will make things easier at all for my poor, now self-destructing ‘normal life’. “Can’t you just leave? Michael will be fine- Michael you’ll be fine. You always are. Take off the mask and go to Hospital- Chucky. I’m on a date.” I clasp my hands together and try to ignore the pinging guilt in my gut for trying to get rid of them, when I know Michaels in pain. But I told them, I can’t be a part of this anymore! I don’t want it; I don’t want his life!

“Aww, doll, you’re gonna abandon him in a time of need? Here I thought you were the good one.”

“Fuck you!” I am the good one, which is why I don’t want anything to do with this. First it’s Michael and Chucky, then I start getting dreams again, and Jason thinks its okay to come over when he’s lonely, I’ll get phone calls from Billy, and then I’ll have the whole fucking Sawyer clan in my home. As much as it hurts, and has downsides like leaving my friends, I cannot be connected to this anymore. I can’t say it enough! I want a normal life! And they know that! “Get out, get out of my house. And make sure to tell Drayton on your travels that this is not a stowaway home and to stop sending me letters with money, I don’t care how much he can pay me.” I put a hand on Chucky’s back and attempt to push him out of the house. I nearly succeed because he’s letting me by some miracle until he turns out of my clutches and back into the living room. Damnit!

I watch, hopelessly as he plops himself down in an armchair. And turns… to… Danial. “So, you’re the new toy?”

“U-Um, sorry? I-s that Michael Myers? Are you- “

“Charles Lee Ray, nice to meet you. Y/N tell you we’re old buddies?” A devious smirk reaches his lips, and he really is a concerning picture right then. With wild hair and a muddy coat. Oh crap, he’s getting mud on my armchair.  “No, I guess she wouldn’t. Too much of a priss to be connected to me.” A second passes and Chucky raises his eyebrows like he just remembered something. “Oh! Have you heard of Fredrick Krueger? He was on the news some years back, she’s pals with him to-“To stop him from talking, I grab a pillow and viciously hit him in the face with it.

Then I kneel down and put it under Michaels head, carefully. I guess there’s no getting rid of them now, the damage is done.

Danial looks to me, looking horrified myself even compared to his pale face. Quickly, I go towards him and try to explain. “I knew him as a kid, I don’t hurt people Danial- “What else can I say? Its best to be straight to the point and focused then to jabber on. I’ve done this all before.

Slowly, he nods. As if he understands. But he doesn’t look at my face, just the floor and occasionally he glances at either Michael or Chucky. “I think I need to go home, Y/N. I, I’m sorry.”

“No, I am.” I sigh, with a severely heavy heart as he walks past me knelt on the floor by the infamous Michael Myers, and leaves. As soon as the door shuts and the sound of rain is muffled, I turn furiously to Chucky. “You should be sorry, too.”

He levels with me, eyes going dark and smirk twisting into a dangerous grimace. “Look, Y/N, you let us in- “

“You pushed your way in! -“

“Irrelevant. You knew who would be at the door, more or less. You knew it would be one of us at least. You can try to pretend to be Plain Jane all you like, but when the wolf comes knocking on your door, you will always open it for him. Your soul is slate grey, get the fuck over it.”

I can’t agree with that because that life, is not what I want. But I can’t disagree either because the simple fact that Michaels hair between my fingers, as I comfort him mask-less makes me feel warm inside. Comfortable, in the right place.

While I get up and grab the medical kit, Chucky pulls out a cigarette and a lighter and lights up, and Michael shifts on the couch tiredly. “I didn’t come up with the Plain Jane thing, by the way. That was Ghostface boy.”

“So, this has been a topic of conversation??” I ask, sternly, half a decibel from vicious really. He chuckles, and nods, causing me to sigh heavily and start looking for Michael’s wound. Really, it could be anywhere. His outfits ripped up in places and there’s blood everywhere. Probably not all his, but it’s still very confusing.

He blows tobacco smoke into my living room. “Hehe, yep.” I find the wound and clear the area, to start cleaning it. Its on Michaels side, as if someone took a machete Jason style and wacked him right in the side with it. Not too deep, though. He’s just lost a lot of blood. I get a roll of toilet paper and get to work cleaning the area. It smells terrible. I don’t think people talk about the smell, enough. It really is rank. At least for me. So metallic, and totally unbreathable.

Quietly, I excuse my actions to them both. “I just don’t think, that because I love you,” And, by that, I mean all of them. Someone had to in this life and I guess that’s me, despite everything they’ve done. That’s what I tell myself. “That I should be taken away from my life, because of it.”

“But, there’s a part of you that loves it. The chaos and danger. Every good girl does, and yours grows every time one of us contacts you.”

“How dare you be so deep.” I half joke, carefully cleaning closer to the gash so Michael won’t move. When I’m done with that, I throw the tissues indifferently to the floor, where Chucky already tread mud. Its not like it can get any worse. Not wanting to talk about this anymore, I start sewing up Michael, feigning the fact that I need to concentrate. I know Chucky knows that, at this point, I don’t need to concentrate when doing this -I’ve stitched him and the rest up enough times to do it with my eyes closed,- but he grants me a few minutes of silence, thank goodness.

When I finish, I wipe the area quickly, but carefully to get every possibly infected spot with a medical wipe and get up. “Michael, you should be okay in the morning. I mean, I would recommend to anyone but you that you should rest for a few more days, but I know you wont. So, I’m just putting that idea out there at this point.” Wiping blood off my hands and onto my jeans -date jeans!!- I turn tiredly to Chucky who’s just quietly chain smoking away on the chair. “Are you gonna stay tonight? Cuz if you are, you’re taking a shower. You already owe me 15 bucks to get the mud out of that chair.”

“A gracious offer, but I got a hiding place for tonight.” He aims a dirty smirk at me then, hinting at something about his new hiding place that I really don’t want to think too hard about, and then pushes off the chair. He walks on by me, but before he can pass, he stops and turns to me one last time. “Think about what I said, Y/N. You’re lucky you get to live both worlds- even with us crashing into this one too often. If it were up to just Michael or Jason, or even Freddy, and definitely those crazy hick Sawyers, you wouldn’t see normal life again. You’d be kept in a basement, or a coma. Be happy with what you have, because we love you too. But not enough to respect your freedom if you go too far.” He looks down at me carefully through his hair. “Got it?”

Same old threats… “Yeah, I got it.” … But they’re getting closer to being real, I know that. Not all the love and care in the world could change their inability to handle loss without a fight. And if it came to a fight, I would most definitely lose.

A few minutes after he leaves, I check on Michael again and find he’s sleeping peacefully on the couch. If I was honest with myself, I like him there. I like having him around- I like having them all around. A musty old forest zombie isn’t so scary when you come to feel safe with him around, and nightmares aren’t so bad when they include mostly bad puns and dad jokes. Just like a crazy, possibly incestuous, definitely cannibalistic and slightly off the hanger family isn’t unbearable when they leave aside a plate of veggies just for you because they know you won’t eat human.

I love them, and I want them around. And if I was honest with Chucky, I would agree that I couldn’t survive without the splash of danger and extraordinary in my life. But I won’t, because if I do then I’m locked in, but then again if I say it isn’t true then I’m lying to myself. And he might leave and take the rest with him. So, sometimes it’s best not to decide.

Finally, I turn off the light and whisper goodnight to Michael and go to bed.

[chemiste]

Foresight ~ ch. 2

A/N : hello hi howdy, here’s ch. 2, let me know what y’all think!!

ch. 1

All you could do was weakly nod and follow the large mass of muscle through the crowd with Maggie attached to your arm. He swiped his keycard on a door and led you through a hallway, where you heard voices becoming louder and louder.

Fuck me.

Maggie gave you a reassuring squeeze as the guard knocked and then opened the door, pushing both of you inside and closing it. 

There they were, the band members all scattered on different chairs, a few others in all-black outfits with clipboards and headsets, and then, Harry Styles, sparkly jacket discarded on the chair next to him in the dressing room and stressfully running his hands through his sweaty hair. All his rings were placed on the table as though they had continuously snagged his hair and he got frustrated.

The room seemed to go dead silent when you entered.

Then, Harry spoke.

“How in the world did you know those songs.” 

You swallowed, “I’m so sorry I—“ the whole room erupted with loud shouts, people whipping out laptops and typing faster than you’d every seen before.

A large man came storming up to you, “Where did you leak it, or where did you find it? These songs are worth a lot more than you miss, so I suggest you speak very quickly so this doesn’t cause more of a problem than it is right now.”

You opened your mouth to continue, but was cut off by a scream across the room, “—what do you mean you can’t find the leaked file?! There has to be one! Look again!” 

You tried to butt in, “Please this is all a misunderstanding—“ “Just tell us which server you found the songs on!” “Please sir I—“ “Enough with the babbling! Just tell me—“

A large smack quieted the room, you turned around to see Maggie with the door handle in her hand. She must have slammed the door open and shut.

“Will you please let her speak?” She huffed. You had never been prouder to have Maggie as your friend.

You turned back to all the awaiting people squirming in their spots. 

 “There is no leak whatsoever anywhere online or physical.” 

A few people let out breaths of relief, but Harry spoke up again, this time walking closer toward you.

“But how did you know the songs?” You rubbed the back of your neck and squeezed your eyes shut, “This is going to sound ridiculous but, I’m psychic.”

A couple scoffs were let out and the man that had been previously screaming in your face said, “And you think we’re supposed to believe that?”

 “She’s telling the truth,” Maggie spoke up, “She’s been able to know things before others do all her life.”

“Prove it.” You and Harry spoke at the same time. You looked him dead in the eye as he continued, “How am I supposed to be 1000 percent certain you’re telling the full truth?” You said at the exact same time he did.

Now people were intrigued, “As I have your attention, I’d like you to know that I’m very sorry about the whole songs thing. It’s just sometimes I say things subconsciously and can’t register if I should know it already or not—plus the vodka I’d been drinking before didn’t help either.”

You continued, “I only know the songs because the melody had been stuck in my head recently and I guess maybe down the line your fans will figure out your blanks in the song. I only sang ‘tasted’ and ‘ride it’ because I can only predict that’s what they’re going to come up with soon. And apparently, they sing it for you since you don’t.” 

Harry’s manager, whose badge read, AZOFF, clapped him on the shoulder with a grin hanging off his face, “Man Styles, your fans are really something.”

That seemed to release the tension in the room. Mr. Azoff told everyone the crisis was averted and people scattered from the room except the band. “I’ll catch you tomorrow Harry, good show tonight.” His manager said as he left the room.

Once the door shut, a dark-haired woman came bounding over to you, “Hey Sarah.” You smiled at her and she seemed to be in awe, “You’re like a superhero!” You scrunched your nose at her declaration, “I don’t think of it that way, more like lucky guesses.” “Lucky guesses! Psh! You knew the George Michael bit of Anna, and we just put that in. You are magical.” Mitch exclaimed for his seat on the couch.

“So now what?” Maggie asked, sitting on the edge of the couch. You looked back to the British rockstar, he smiled and dramatically put his hand out to you.

Hesitantly, you slid your hand into his. “Ms.—” “Y/N” “—Ms. Y/N, will you do me the gracious honor of accepting my apology for believing something so terrible of you.” 

A couple snickers were heard from the band, and Maggie as well. You rolled your eyes at his tactics, for a super celebrity, he’s still a huge dork. “Of course I will, I totally understand what a disaster it would be to have something leaked.”

Click!

You both turned your heads to the door, where a woman with a camera stood taking a picture of your hands together. “Hey, are you the psychic people are chatting about?” 

You let go of Harry’s hand as she snapped another picture, “Yes I am, my name is Y/N.”

The photographer came inside the door and slung the camera strap over her shoulder. “Lovely to meet you, but Harry and co, its time for the post-concert shot and I want to do it on the stage before they shut down the lights.”

 Harry’s head perked up at her request and the band members got up to leave. He slipped his rings back on quickly as well before exiting.

Maggie got up from the couch and everyone headed out back to the stage. You both wandered behind them, not really know if you could leave or not. “What are we supposed to do now?” She whispered. 

You shrugged your shoulders as you walked to the side of the stage and watched the talented musicians link up to take a farewell photo. It made you smile, they each seemed truly happy in each other’s company.

As everyone left the stage to finally retire to their respective rooms for the night, Harry walked over to you, with a bit of strut in his step?

“Did you wan’ a photo or somthin’?” He asked with a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes at the narcissism, “I’ve already got a picture of you to post on my phone, thanks though.”

Now it was your turn to wear a cheeky smile, the man seemed taken back by your denial and Mags, on the other hand, was beyond herself with disbelief. 

“Well, if you’re not gonna take a picture with him, I sure as hell am!” Shoving her phone into your hand, she pulled the much taller man in for a hug and smiled at the camera. 

Click!

You smiled at the picture and gave the two a thumbs up. You glanced at the time and your eyes went wide. “Oh god, Mags we gotta go! It’s almost 12am.” You put your hand out to shake his, “It was great to meet you but we have to leave, got a train to catch early in the morning.” 

“Where are you girls headed off to?”

Maggie gave a little dance, “Paris baby! I’m so fucking excited to see the Eiffel tower again!” Both of you chuckled at her response. He turned to look back at you, “What a coincidence, I’ll be performing there the night after tomorrow. Are you sure you’re not following me?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble superstar, but that’s not the case. This is our spring break trip and miraculously Maggie’s father got last minute tickets from a colleague that couldn’t use them. That’s why we’re here right now.”

“It was lovely seeing you perform, you really know how to use a stage.” You continued. “Yeah! You really did look like sex during Caroli—” 

Shit, maybe Maggie isn’t as sober as I hoped, you thought as you immediately put your hand over her mouth. 

“Ha ha, um, so ya on that note, we’re gonna go. Bye Harry.” He chuckled as you pulled Maggie away who now realized what she had spilled out.

“Bye Y/N.”

Ding!

It was already 1am and Harry had just settled into bed for the night, he grabbed his phone that had lit up from the notification.

1 New Email : Hélène Pambrun

Harry opened the email Hélène sent him.

Hey, I edited this picture and thought you might like it, maybe something to post. Only if you want to though.

Night.

Attached-JPEG.

Harry click the attachment and smiled.

Then posted it.

“Okay, the timer is a go!” 

Maggie ran back over to where you were next to the ledge of the bridge, her ponytail bouncing with each step.

 Paris was beautiful at night, and even more so, the Eiffel Tower that was lit up in front of you. You both faced the iconic monument and waited a second for the timer to take the photo.

Click!

Mags went over to grab your phone, “It’s perfect, we are such fashion icons. Even Anna Wintour would be proud.”

You looped your arm with Maggie’s and you headed off to site see some more. You posted the picture while you window-shopped, stopping a couple times to look at certain items before venturing on. 

“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow Mags?” You asked as you both entered the hotel lobby, finished with your escapades. 

 “Well, we should see if the Louvre will even be a possibility—“ “It won’t be.” “—oh, too many tourists tomorrow?” She questioned. 

“No, a child will throw up on the entry door and close it down for a couple hours for cleaning.” You answered, swiping the key into your hotel door.

 Maggie toed her shoes off and opened the bathroom door, “It’s great traveling with someone that knows if things could go to shit or not.” You cracked a smile and went to sit down on your bed opposite hers. 

As you changed into pjs, your phone started blowing up with so many notifications that it was slowly moving off the nightstand. 

“Woo’s cawling yoow at tis time?” Maggie asked with a mouth full of toothpaste. 

“They’re not calls,” you answered, picking up your phone. 

“It’s notifications on Instagram.” 

“Huh?” Maggie came over and sat down to read over your shoulder.

Hundreds of comments rolled in on your phone, you checked Instagram and gasped. 

“Maggie I have about 3000 new followers what’s going on?” The brunette leaped up to grab her phone and scroll through with you.

“Oh my god, Y/N, it looks like there are videos of you singing at the show going viral!” “What! Why did I not see this beforehand?!”

“I don’t know but these speculators are growing in size, should we contact the Harry Style’s headquarters account? People are already coming up with crazy theories and I’ve only been to one fan account.”

You watched with wide eyes as more people filled your Instagram posts with comments and questions, “Do I go on private?!” 

“No!” Maggie nearly shouted, “You can’t do anything that would raise suspicions even more, people already have screenshots of your posts it wouldn’t matter anyway.” Email coming through!

Huh?

Ding! Ding!

1 New Email: Jeffery Azoff

“Mags, I just got an email from Harry’s manager.” 

You said with a shaky voice, “What are you waiting around for, open it!” 

You clicked the message.

Dear Ms. L/N

Due to a social media outbreak, I would like to meet with you tomorrow before the concert to discuss how to further proceed in light of recent events. Please come by at 1pm, attached is the pass to show security and address of the arena.

Jeffery Azoff

“He wants me to come by before the Paris show! To talk about what’s happening.” She nodded approvingly, “See, the professionals will handle it. Y/N don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

There you were, 1pm sharp with Maggie by your side as you showed the electronic pass to the guard at the door of the center.

You had to squeeze through the line of already awaiting fans which made you feel really guilty as you felt their envious stares on the back of your head as the guard like you in. 

You opted to wear something that was not your Ramones t-shirt and funny enough, you seemed to see an increase in that particular band attire as you made your way through the crowd.

You had on your trusty high waisted blue jeans and a thin black semi turtle neck with shiny black booties for height. Maggie dressed down as well, going with a long sleeve red dress and brown thigh highs. 

Once you both wove your way through the maze that was the backstage, you arrived at B34, the room Mr. Azoff asked you to meet him.

Here goes nothing.

You opened the door and were greeted with Jeff, a few other crew members and—

“ ‘ello Y/N, a pleasure to see yeh again.” 

Harry Styles sat in a chair at the table in sweats and a pink sweatshirt that said ‘fuck I’m cute’ in cursive.

“Come please seat down, we don’t have that much time and I would like to patch things up quickly before the show so that Harry here doesn’t get bombard with shouts about our lovely Ramones Girl.” His manager said.

Well, that made you blush a dark shade of red, you sat down and Maggie sat next to you on the right, giving your hand a quick squeeze before pulling away.

Mr. Azoff rested his head on his arm that was propped up on the table, “So not to beat around the bush, the stats for this ‘new story’ are growing and quickly, E!News has already tweeted out the #ramonesgirl this morning and Teen Vogue liked a post on one of harry’s more dedicated fan pages stylesinlove that has pretty clear video and audio of seeing you and your singing.” 

He pushed the computer toward you, “These are a couple of postings you could put up on your feed if you’d like to clear up confusion or,” he paused for a moment and you leaned forward into his hesitation.

“Or what?” You simply asked, curious beyond belief.

“You could simply tour with Harry for a few more shows and make a comment or two for some fan pages that you’ve just been a fantastic friend of Harry’s for a while and already knew the songs since he had shared them with you beforehand.” 

You turned to Harry would hadn’t spoken up the whole time, “And you’re okay with that? It’s kind of a big deal to say I’m one of the people you shared unreleased music with.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, “I mean, can’t very well tell them you’re a psychic, can we? That would be hard to explain to the press.”

You leaned back into the chair with the realization that this seemed to be the only way unless you wanted to show the world your sorta abilities.

What about Maggie?

“What do you think?” You turned to your friend.

She put her arms behind her head and smiled, “hey, I’ve got to go back to uni two days but honestly Y/N you could just transfer the two classes you’re taking to online and have a blast with Mr. Worldwide over here.” 

She gestured to Harry who was smiling into his hand, “I think it’s an opportunity you should not pass up. But you better call me every once in a while okay?!”

You took a deep breath and turned to Jeff.

 “I’m in.”

ch. 3

telephone hour for this chapter

foresight masterlist

<3

[pinehutch]

There’s a lot of words behind the cut, about light and breezy Saturday night topics like history, family, aging, illness, loss. Here’s a bit about the shape I’m in, if you will.

Here is a list of things I have inherited from my father:

My complexion and colouring;

My emotionality;

Some (watered-down) impulsiveness;

A knack for numbers;

A tendency towards inflammatory conditions;

My love of a good horn section.  

Here is a list of things that were not inherited from my father:

Unsubstantiated and overwhelming confidence (I don’t have that);

Most everything else. 

This likely worked out as well as it could have. I’ve been lucky or determined or cared for in the right ways to learn how to live with or even love those pieces of myself. I’m grateful for the work that I’ve put in to being kinder, more compassionate, better able to identify and work with my emotions (even if I’m not perfect at it). If I am practicing that compassion with myself, I even like many things about me, sometimes. Very few people really raise themselves, and I certainly didn’t, but I let my curiosity raise me, and my friends, and books, and the other adults around me, and my own sense of reason.

The point is: here I am, and all of the ways that I’m not like my father are how I’ve found myself, over the last two weeks, as the adult in charge of keeping track of his decline.

My dad just turned 70 last year. He’d quit smoking, and been able to manage his diabetes with dietary approaches only. He’s a much different older adult than he was in his youth and middle age, and after retirement he spent a great deal of his free time with his second family, and his friends and neighbours, his community, his dog. Over the last year he’s had a series of severe and concurrent health problems that have put him in the hospital twice now, since January. I have tabs open on anorexia of aging, in-home nursing, and DIY will options for Canadians who can’t get to a lawyer.

His second hospital stay started almost two weeks ago, and my ability to be patient and steady and to deal with complex information (work skills, all) have meant that the family contact role has switched from my dad’s wife, or his step-daughter, to me. I woke up this morning to a 6:15 am call from the hospital; the nurse was gracious enough to start with “he’s okay, we just have a policy that...”.

They still tell me that they expect he will be going home from this in-patient stay. He’s open to having a nurse in once he’s home, which he wasn’t after the last stay. We’re having these conversations every couple of days, when he has the energy (and even then he mixes up words, and forgets himself mid-sentence, and he tells me he loves me more than he has ever said it before). I haven’t figured the discharge out yet: I’m in a high-risk group for COVID, and going to the hospital seems like something I shouldn’t do. (”Going to the hospital” is actually impossible right now under most circumstances: our hospitals are closed to visitors, except on compassionate grounds.)

When he’s out, it will be me trying to make room for him in the system, trying to keep things clear and organized so that he can get to Point B, and then the Point C, and ultimately to Point Maybe-He-Gets-Some-Potentially-Life-Sustaining-Treatment-Sometime-Soon. He’ll die, of course, but maybe he’ll have some of his quality of life back, for six months or a couple of years or five.

My dad’s people are long-lived. His father was 84, and ‘young’ when he passed, by family standards. His mom was 93. I thought I would have another five years, or ten, before this became part of my reality. There is a calm but firm and resonant voice inside my head telling me that I’m not cut out for caregiving. Those are both foolish thoughts, ungrounded.

He and I aren’t what anyone would call close. I moved out the same year he did, and I don’t think I’ve ever lived more than a thirty minute walk from his house, but we’ve spoken maybe three or four times a year for the last twenty years. In a good year. There’s no one, single reason - there are things that have happened in those twenty years, and in the 18 before that, but no one thing, no insurmountable betrayal or whatever. When I talk to people about my dad I say ‘we’re not close - not for any reason, just kind of a casual estrangement’ because to say anything else is to think about how shared experience is not always enough to make a familial bond.

Except here we are, and he will probably go home, and I will have to get him to doctor’s appointments (and try not to feel too guilty about being worried I’ll catch something), and maybe he’ll get better, and maybe he won’t, and I will have to tell the impulse inside me that says “you need to prove to his second family that you are working hard to save his life and dignity” to please be quiet, I’m trying to get things done.

So here has been my quarantine: I have not made sourdough starter. I have not written a poem a day, or even a week. I haven’t started seeds for the planters (though I did clean them up today), I haven’t found the perfect at-home exercise routine yet, I haven’t recorded myself reading fairy tales to all of you, I haven’t pulled out the cyanotype supplies, or gotten to the to-be-read list, or chipped away at the Netflix queue, or played any of the short list of games I’ve been meaning to play for years. I have been on the phone, and writing long texts to the family-of-his-youth and the family-of-his-older-age, and talking to the doctors’ offices, and to the hospital, and I’ve been working from home, and just kind of getting by. (I’m fortunate that I have the kind of job that I can do from home, and to work with people who will understand why I’m not wearing mascara anymore.)

A lot of my childhood was spent going to and from a house in the woods that my parents built. The house got bigger with time, and there was a winter where we had more floor space than furniture, and my dad would play his records and we’d dance in the living room, my mom and dad, my brother and I. There were a few that my parents could agree on, and The Band was always one.

A few years later I remember that my mom was away for work and my dad and his best friend, went to see The Band (or an iteration of it) for a Last Waltz performance at a localish venue. He came home at three in the morning, stoned and tipsy and happy, having driven an hour on country roads in the dark. He was the primary income and had two children. My childhood best friend and I were curled up in the double bed in the guest room, and we laughed at him when he walked by singing. “It was - festive,” he said, and we, worldly and all of thirteen years old thought that was the funniest thing ever said.

I’m not sure where to go from here - I was raised in such a way that the admonishments I feared were “careless” and “irresponsible” and “too sensitive,” and now I think I’m being called upon because I can be careful with the details, can be overwhelmingly “responsible,” and I’m sure I’m going to get told off for not emoting enough while I’m going through the next steps with dad. We all make ourselves up, over and over again, until we stop. 

[cake-writes]

In Your Atmosphere (Part One)

Pairings: Steve x Reader & platonic Bucky x Reader (mostly)

Warnings: PTSD / Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, Panic Attacks, Mental Health Issues, Survivor Guilt, Eventual Smut 18+

Summary: The first time you met Steve Rogers, he kissed the hell out of you. It wasn't the first time he met you.

---

Quiet.

That was the first thing you noticed about the new Avengers facility. It was a stark contrast to the Tower you'd visited a handful of times before whilst on official SHIELD business. There, you could easily hear the sounds of peak hour traffic and the endless police sirens, too, even ninety floors down - but here, there was nothing of the sort. It paled in comparison to the familiar city sounds of Washington DC, the ones you'd grown used to whilst working at the Triskelion. The paper-thin walls of your small inner-city apartment had done nothing to dull the noise, not like here, where you could just barely hear the spring birds chirping.

Upstate New York was quite rural, not urban like you were used to. Unfortunately, you'd have to get used to it, because as of today, this quiet place would be your new home.

You hated the quiet.

To say that it was a pain in the ass was an understatement.

Late last year, it had become public knowledge that SHIELD was compromised. You'd known for much longer. Even after the incriminating files were uploaded to the web, you remained steadfast in your mission to gather further intel on Hydra.

Then, a couple of days ago, you'd been caught putting your nose where it didn't belong. You had very narrowly escaped with your life and as a result, you found yourself having to get off the grid.

Tony Stark was ever the gracious host, offering up the compound while you regained your bearings and continued your investigation into what little of Hydra remained. Birds of a feather, and all that.

What made the whole ordeal even more jarring, though, was that you'd only previously met a couple of them, the Avengers, and now you were settling into their home. While you were familiar with Director Fury (wherever he was nowadays), Black Widow, and Hawkeye - because they worked with you at SHIELD; and Tony of course, too, because you often met with him in Agent Coulson's stead - the rest you'd only ever seen in photos.

The soft sound of your suitcase's plastic wheels rolling along the tile echoed off the tall ceilings as you followed Tony through the compound on a tour. You hadn't been able to bring much, just some clothes, toiletries, and a couple of sentimental items. That was all that would fit on the back of the motorcycle you'd been forced to hotwire. After all, a car wouldn't have been ideal if you had to get away in a pinch. All things considered, you were lucky to have made it here in one piece.

The final stop on the tour was your new bedroom. There were a lot of those here: enough for the Avengers, of course, and then at least triple that amount for other staff and for guests. You weren't sure which category you fell under.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this," you said finally, coming to a stop behind Tony as he opened the bedroom door for you.

Tony laughed at that. "Don't worry about it, kid. Make yourself at home."

You gave him a smile and, when he gestured for you to go in, you stepped inside the corner suite.

The walls were a warm, welcoming combination of wood and plaster, and the room's large windows stretched from the floor to the ceiling, situated directly next to the closet and ensuite and catty-cornered from the doorway. They offered a beautiful panoramic view of the lush green grass on the training grounds, the dense forest bordering the compound, and the sparkling lake beyond. You'd been all sorts of places in your line of work, but this simple view was just as breathtaking.

On the same wall as the entryway was a large queen-sized bed made of honeyed oak. Its plush mattress was decked out in soft grey and white bedding, along with a few matching throw pillows. Two wooden side tables sat on either side of the bed, with a modern lamp placed on each; and a large flat-screen TV was mounted to the opposite wall. There was also a small chair, which you would very likely use for your suitcase.

"Thank you," you told him gratefully. "You're a lifesaver. Literally."

"That's enough of that, now," Tony chided as he made his exit. "I'll let you get settled. Just pop downstairs when you're ready to meet the team."

You nodded, and Tony shut the door behind him, allowing you to acclimate to your new home.

---

An hour later, after you unpacked your belongings, showered in the adjoining en-suite, and changed into fresh clothing - a plain tee shirt and skinny jeans - you made your way downstairs to the combined kitchen and living area. Before you even got there, you could hear lively conversation between a handful of people, four of them from the sounds of it. The facility already seemed much less sterile with the friendly banter spilling into the halls.

When you stepped into the room, you found that you were wrong. There were five of them, not four.

Natasha was the first to notice you. She was in the kitchen, fixing herself some kind of healthy smoothie. Beside her on the kitchen counter was a bag of spinach and a chopping board full of fruit. When she gave you a nod and flashed a quick smile, you did the same in response. You'd been good friends for a couple of years, now, and once upon a time the two of you used to go out drinking pretty frequently upon returning from the missions you went on together. She'd seen you sloppy drunk more times than you could count, but you'd never even seen her tipsy. She was Russian. You were a lightweight.

Your eyes moved from her to Tony, who looked comfortable and smug as always. He was sitting in a brown leather chair with his feet up on the coffee table, a glass of whiskey in hand, chatting animatedly with Vision about some type of advanced science or engineering or... something. You didn't really understand any of it. What you did gather was that it had to do with the mission they'd just returned from.

Stretched out on the sofa was Wanda, with her feet in Vision's lap. That was certainly a bizarre sight. They were both dressed so casually compared to the uniforms you'd seen them in; particularly Vision, considering he wasn't human but his sweater and button-down shirt were distinctly so. The funniest part of it all was that Wanda was scrolling through her Insta feed in boredom. You totally understood.

The last person you spotted was the unmistakable silhouette of Captain Steve Rogers. His back was turned toward you and the rest of the room as he looked out the large windows toward the lake, deep in thought. That was a strange sight, too, for you'd never seen Captain America in civilian clothing, let alone such a form-fitting white tee shirt and grey sweatpants like he currently wore. God, he really did have a fantastic ass. You'd always thought so from the photos you'd seen, but seeing it in real life was an entirely different animal altogether.

"There she is," Tony said with a grin, pulling you out of your reverie as his companions turned to look at you.

"Here I am," you responded awkwardly, doubting that most of them even knew who you were.

Tony introduced you to them one by one. Wanda was first; she gave you a smile and waved a little, but aside from that she didn't budge an inch. She seemed only a couple of years younger than you, which was kind of nice because you might be able to chat with her about normal girly things. You had an Insta, too, and as you offered her your handle - not that you really expected her to actually follow you, but she did! - Vision gently moved Wanda's feet to the side so that he could stand and greet you properly.

"It's a pleasure, Agent," Vision told you, and you shook his hand cheerfully. He was much kinder than you thought he would be.

"Come on, Cap," Tony called over his shoulder, sounding exasperated. "Don't be rude."

"Come off it, Tony," Steve grumbled in annoyance, which came as a bit of a surprise. Then again, it wasn't exactly a secret that he and Tony didn't get along sometimes. He took a few steps back to the group, but when his clear blue eyes finally met yours, he froze in place.

"Captain…?" you ventured hesitantly.

The way he was looking at you, almost mystified, made you blush and when he said your nickname, just once, your brows furrowed in confusion. Tony hadn't had a chance to give anyone your nickname, yet, let alone your actual name. How could he have known that? You'd never met him before.

Then Steve closed the distance in four quick, long strides and, before you could react, his lips were hot on yours.

You were too stunned to react at first. His lips were soft, but his kisses weren't, nor were his hands as they snaked around your waist to pull your body flush against him. You couldn't hold back the muffled gasp that escaped you at the feeling of his strong chest pressed firmly against your breasts and you felt like a ragdoll in his muscular arms, loving how easily he was able to move you in whatever way he liked. His temperature ran much hotter than yours, so much that you could feel the heat radiating off of him through the thin fabric of your shirt. God, and the smell of him was intoxicating; he smelled clean, like soap and fresh laundry along with something so distinctly him that you lost yourself in it. When you responded to his kiss in kind, you quickly found yourself breathless, needy, and desperate, your heart pounding fiercely against your ribcage.

That was when Tony's cat calls resonated in your brain, and you suddenly realized what was happening. You roughly shoved your palms against Steve's chest, hoping he would stop and also wishing that he wouldn't. Considering his strength, you knew that he could have just ignored you - but he didn't. He immediately let you go, and you instantly regretted the loss of his body against yours.

What a mess.

Your breath came out in harsh, shaky pants as you brought your fingers to your swollen lips, staring at him with a delicate mixture of awe, indignation, and fear.

Captain America was a pervert. Your rose-tinted image of him was steadily crashing and burning into a million pieces.

"What the hell,"  you spat hoarsely, "was that?"

It was in that moment that the good Captain finally seemed to regain his senses. All the eyes in the room were on him, silently judging him - except Tony, who was laughing his head off - but the only ones he cared about were yours. And yours, well, your eyes and your judgement were the worst of all. With one look, he could tell you already despised him.

The worst part was that he couldn't even explain it to you. Well, he could, technically, but there would be grave consequences.

Steve held his hands up in front of him in a show of surrender. "Wish I could explain, doll," he grimaced at the casual address when it slipped off his tongue so easily, "but I can't."

He didn't miss the way your jaw tensed at his non-answer. He knew you - well, not this version of you, but he still knew how you would react. You were teetering on the fine line between slapping the hell out of him and storming out of the room. Either reaction would embarrass you, and he didn't want that.  

"What I can do is apologize," he spoke carefully, like you were a cornered animal, "and I'm sorry, Agent. It won't happen again."

You crossed your arms in front of yourself, biting the inside of your cheek. He certainly looked apologetic enough, but you weren't sure if he really meant it and, worse still, if you could even trust him at all. He was Captain America, leader of the Avengers. Even Natasha trusted him. Surely that meant he was trustworthy, but what man in his right mind kissed a girl like that before he even said two words to her?

When Tony's laughter had died down, you weren't sure, but you could feel all eyes on the room fixed upon you, now, and you shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny. You glanced over at Natasha for help and, upon seeing her amused look, you finally remembered your training. The best course of action here would be diplomacy.

"Okay." You offered a perfectly calculated shrug and casually held your hand out to him for a handshake. "Well, whatever. It's good to meet you, Captain."

Steve could feel the trembling of your small hand in his grasp. He shook it once, and then he let it go.

You could immediately tell that he'd figured you out, that you were putting on a brave facade. Whether you were afraid of him or of your body's reaction to him, you didn't know, but you wouldn't let it show. Not in front of the others. Not in front of Tony. Not when he was being such a gracious host.

"Well, that was awkward," you said with a nervous laugh in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

Fortunately, it worked, and soon enough the conversation began to flow freely again. Tony and Vision continued discussing their science, the kind that was way above your paygrade, while Natasha finished adding ingredients to her smoothie. Wanda had since stopped laying down, instead she sat in the middle of the sofa which allowed you to take a seat next to her. She showed you her Insta feed while she scrolled through it, and the two of you chatted about the new makeup releases that appeared as she scrolled further and further down. Every now and then, she gave you a sly grin, which you did your best to ignore. You definitely hadn't heard the last of it yet.

You were keenly aware of him, though, even as you tried to forget about the way your heart was racing. Your body was still thrumming with excitement from the encounter, heat pooling in between your legs, and you risked a glance at him. His cheeks were slightly flushed as he talked to Natasha about something you couldn't hear, her blender whirring loudly over their voices. You knew it was being used as some type of cover, but you still tried - and failed - not to pay attention.

Then your eyes met his for the briefest of seconds, and you quickly looked away.

---

After a few distracted minutes, your phone buzzed, and you quietly excused yourself from Wanda to pull it out of your pocket. Natasha had sent you a text.

You shot Natasha a look and she grinned at you, to which you rolled your eyes. It looked like Steve had left her to her smoothie, and you quickly scanned around the room only to discover that he was nowhere to be found. He must have slipped away sometime while you were blatantly ignoring him.

Well, that was kind of disappointing, but you didn't let it show. Instead, you responded to her text with righteous indignation.

Then she sent you a picture of what had just happened, a very clear photo of Captain America kissing the living daylights out of you. God, you knew how well he could kiss, now, but seeing your reaction to it on the small screen was even worse.

When had he even leaned you back? You weren't parallel to the floor or anything, like in the movies, but he had definitely leaned you back, forcing your body to rely on him. Perhaps 'forcing' was too strong a word, because you hadn't been forced at all - quite the opposite. One of his muscular arms was around your waist, and with the other he splayed his large palm over the middle of your back, holding you securely against him so that you didn't fall. Your fingers, meanwhile, were threading through his blonde hair, pulling him impossibly closer. It wasn't hard to see the shared desperation between the two of you, a desperation you'd never felt before.

Feeling embarrassed, you huffed and hovered your fingertip over the 'delete' button. Natasha had a point, though, and you just couldn't bring yourself to delete it. She was right. You did love it.

That was going to be a problem.

---

Part Two / Master List

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence, chapter 16

Summary:  After Xehanort's death, Demyx finds himself unexpectedly human in Radiant Garden. With nothing but fragments of his past and a cryptic statement from Xemnas, he's left to figure out who he is. When Ienzo asks for his help with a project, the two find common ground, but the trauma and secrets in both of their pasts could tear it apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post-KH3 canon compliant

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

----

Excerpt of an audio recording from device 5.875.32.852 (admin is registered as EVEN [surname REDACTED]. Transcription programs recognize the speaking voice of the admin as well as one other distinct voice. Transcription errors due to colloquialisms, slang, accent, muffled speech, etc. are acknowledged and will be used in further evolutions of this program.

Recording commences at 16:03.

--I hope you do not mind that I am recording this. I assure you any we can redact any exceedingly personal information. This is for my edification only. I would never dream of letting it fall into unsavory hands.

--Uh. Sure.

--Can you state your name and age in its entirety?

--Yeah. I’m [birth name and surname REDACTED]. I still go by Demyx. I’m twenty-two.

--That’s your name? That’s not what I thought.

--Yeah, well. It seems like I’m full of surprises. I don’t care who knows it, but it doesn’t seem to fit right anymore. You know?

--I suppose. So. Can you tell me what you remember, as far back as you can, as comfortably as you can?

--I’ll try.

----

These memories don’t feel like mine.

It’s weird. I guess it’s more like I’m reading a book, or watching a movie.

“It” started, if by it you mean all this Keyblade crap, when I was five. I was my parents’ only kid. We were broke. Like, squatting and going to soup kitchens broke. There were the early days, when the Foretellers--the five chosen ones or whatever--were just building their unions and preaching about their ideas in the plaza. I’m honestly not sure if they were the first wielders, but they were definitely the ones that made it a thing, That promised this as the way to seek the light.

Heartless started coming--from the future, or so they said in the square. We needed a way to defend ourselves. So they started testing people for worthiness. Kids were always easier. Less corrupt. More full of light.

More manipulable.

They said they would take the kids from more troubled circumstances, and give them what they needed to survive. In my parents’ eyes, food and a place to live. The luckier ones could stay at home. So that caused a big influx of poor people sending their kids in to be tested and trained. While some of the better off ones saw it as a sign of honor, everyone else wanted to keep their kids safe. Even the ones with Keyblades were dying.

My parents figured Heartless were better than me starving to death. So they sent me, by myself, for the test.

The older ones could pick their unions, but the real little ones like me they chose a more “organic” approach. They take you inside, and there the Foretellers are with a little table of five toys. Apparently picking one shows some intrinsic quality they’re looking for, or whatever. I got chosen to be in Ursus. And just like that, my mom and dad hugged me goodbye and left me there.

It was hard. Physically, mentally. I missed my parents. The training was grueling, and it hurt. But whenever I would cry or get upset either Master Aced or one of the older kids would tell me to be quiet. Because I was lucky. And I had a chance to be something.

But you see, Even, it doesn’t matter how lucky I was. I was still getting razzed by Heartless, getting thrown in and out of time to these worlds, getting reprimanded for bunging off quests or not getting enough lux. I got kicked out of a few parties for that. Making friends wasn’t so easy when I got a reputation for being a crybaby and a coward, even though I was six or seven.

I still tried to see my parents when I got a chance. They moved around a lot. Dad tried to get steady work a few times, but I think he had some kind of mental illness or something, and he could never be on time, or do what he was told, or get out of bed, so they lost their apartments a lot. Mom was a street musician, and she took in students sometimes, but it wasn’t enough money.

She taught me, too.

Compared to Keyblade stuff, music was so easy. I was so good at it. Knowing I wasn’t terrible at everything gave me strength to go on. I had a way to take all the bad feelings, all the nightmares, and make something beautiful out of it.

I tried to quit the union.

You wouldn’t believe the telling off Master Aced gave me. “Why was I ashamed of my heritage”. “Why wasn’t I doing my part.” “What did I think I would become otherwise, I came from the gutter.” It was devastating. Without the Keyblade, they said, I was worthless. I didn’t want to believe that was true.

As the years passed, and this all kept happening, I tried to study music on the side. That’s when I started keeping the diary. I wrote these weird avant-garde compositions, but that wasn’t enough to salve the pain. So I wrote how I felt, and if anybody found it, I’d just say it was nonsense. But nobody did, though. During that time the tensions between the unions started to grow, mostly over who was getting the most light. Kids were fighting in the streets. Killing each other’s Chirithys--that’s how I lost mine. Even the most legendary parties fell apart. People were still dying.

One of these days, when I was almost seventeen, I was going back to the dorms after another quest. Master Ava--Vulpes’s leader--stopped me. She said she’d heard about me, and I braced myself for another lecture like the ones Aced liked to give. But it was my focus on the bigger picture of my life she liked, she said. She wanted me to join a special union she was building.

The Dandelions.

The reason she built this union was because she feared there would soon be war between the others, and that war would escalate to apocalyptic proportions. Remember, we’d all been training for years at that point, we all had way overpowered magic--even me. But because we had no foresight as to anything other than collecting lux, nobody could see the consequences of fighting.

She was going to take this special union, and she was going to teach us how to escape this world altogether, just to make sure somebody survived.

I know you’re probably dying to know how we did it, but I honestly can’t remember. It was some kind of spell, for sure. I know that each of us cast it, and we were all supposed to go together. But it’s one of those things too slippery and powerful to hold onto for long. Not to mention, this travel was supposed to wipe our memories of the trauma and give us a fresh start. So she said.

The war started earlier than expected. The only reason I went to the battle was to find the other Dandelions so we could leave. But I’m not sure if I missed a memo or something. They were gone. Then again, there were so many bodies that had been just so completely fucking destroyed that they could have been some of these people.

…

…

…

[Audio muffled or indiscernible; external knowledge of social cues suggests emotional distress.]

People were just fucking killing each other. They… they tried to kill me, too. I remember Keyblades hitting my armor and I panicked. And I guess instinctively I cast the spell and got out. Got somewhere, or I guess some when is the better word. I ended up in the same place, just later, surrounded by all these rusting Keyblades, my memories completely cleaved and running through my fingers like sand. I remember that, feeling it all drain away like a dream.

That’s when Xemnas found me. When things started to hurt. The shock and the armor made it hard to tell, but someone had stabbed me clean through the chest.

He was nice to me, too. He said he’d been waiting for me and that I was going to be okay. He could give me purpose. My wounds would heal.

I died, and Demyx was born. Memory-free.

You know the rest.

End recording, duration--25:17.

----

“Goodness gracious. ” Like a child listening to their favorite story, he’d been leaning forward attentively. He’d even started recording it on his gummiphone, which Demyx initially felt was a violation of his privacy. But considering how close-lipped Vexen had always been about his experiments, he knew, if anything, his words would be safe in Even’s hands. “This is a window into our history.”

“Yours, maybe.”

“You simply must tell me more about these Foretellers. How is this organization structured? What was their training regimen like? Who was their leader--did they have a leader?”

“It's a lot to talk about." His throat was dry from talking for so long.

Even exhaled. He paused the recording. “I suppose you’re right. Of course you must be very tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I would say so.”

A beat of silence.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” Even said. “I realize… it is not easy. Especially given our past relationship.”

“Like you said. Forgiveness.”

He nodded once, curtly. “Would you like something to help you sleep?”

“I think I’ll be okay. But thanks.”

“Well. Don’t get too used to it.”

Demyx looked at him. He didn’t know how else to be kind, Demyx realized. It must take immense effort. “Wake me up if anything changes with Ienzo,” he said. “Please.”

“You can be sure of it.”

----

The next several days, he felt utterly hollow. Demyx slept a lot. This was a sort of mental exhaustion. He was afraid to stray too far away from Ienzo’s side, but his condition remained unchanged. Guilt clung to him. He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself. He cleaned his room, which took all of ten minutes considering his lack of possessions. Did laundry. Found a couple books to read which weren’t half bad. It was a toxic combination of boredom and stagnation. At the end of the first week of this, Dilan asked him to come play cards.

“I figure you could use a bit of a diversion,” he said. He offered a smile.

“I guess I’m being pretty pathetic, huh,” Demyx said. He forced a laugh.

“Given the circumstances? No. But wallowing must be horrifically boring.”

Dilan’s quarters were even smaller than Even’s. He and Aeleus shared a sitting room and kitchenette. A faint smell of garlic lingered in the room, along with something like eucalyptus. He had a small herb garden, each one meticulously cared for. Near this was a pile of puzzle boxes.

Dilan took out a pack of cards. Demyx sat gingerly on the couch. It was less stern than the other furniture, a bit more comfortable, a soft velor that felt good to touch. He was becoming increasingly reliant on the tactile to stay grounded. He didn’t know if this was one of his myriad issues, or an effect of being overwhelmed.

Dilan crossed to a small glass cabinet. “Would you like a drink?”

“God. Yes.”

He poured them each a few fingers of whiskey into small crystal glasses. It burned when Demyx sipped it, but he liked it. “What shall we play? It’s a shame we’ve no third. I’d rather have liked to play Blackjack.”

“It’s not like I have anything to bet.”

“Too, too true.”

They settled on Hearts. Demyx didn’t know what to say to Dilan. After winning the first game, Dilan got them another drink.

“I’m not sure how I feel about your newfound reticence,” Dilan said. “It’s so odd, to see how humanity has changed you youth.”

“How so?”

“You were hardly ever so reserved. Ienzo was never so friendly. You should have heard him, chattering away to Sora. ...I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t bother me. To hear his name. Either of them, I mean.” He felt only a shadow of the ping of anxiety he got when thinking about Sora. Of course, knowing what he knew now, it made sense that Sora’d had to strike him down. Psychically, there were bigger fish to fry.

“You’ve got a focus to you. An intensity. It’s like you’re more present.”

“I don’t feel very present.”

“Well. We’ve all received some shocks recently.”

The alcohol was making him warm and a little dizzy. Demyx wasn’t sure whether or not he liked the sensation. He slipped off his shoes and pulled his feet up under him. “Why did you become an apprentice?”

Dilan thought for a moment, shuffled his cards, and then drank down the remainder of his whiskey in one swallow. “Why indeed,” he muttered. “I was only a boy at the time, a bit younger than yourself. I needed something to do with my life. I’d always liked creating things. Building things. Ansem had passed some initiatives to make Radiant Garden a haven for the sciences. I applied to study engineering under him, and was accepted.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He chuckled. “Why did you choose to become a Keyblade wielder?”

“I didn’t,” Demyx said. “It chose me. I was poor. Being a wielder was pretty much the only way to survive.”

“I abhor such economies,” Dilan said sourly. “I cannot understand how some leaders will let their charges suffer for basic human rights.”

“I can’t really have a realized perspective of it. I was still a kid when I left.”

“What will you do now?”

“What will I… do?” Demyx repeated numbly. “Frankly, I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

“You and I both.”

He continued to pet the velor. He was feeling dizzier still, and heavy. “I want to be with Ienzo,” he said. “And I want to make friends. Real ones. But I don’t know where I’d fit.”

“What’s that old adage? “Be yourself?””

“Hasn’t exactly worked in the past.”

“It is a theory of mine that becoming a Nobody worsens one’s flaws and insecurities.” Dilan poured them another drink. “Our personalities devolved and repelled. Fed by darkness. Take your time. Be honest. That’s all.”

Demyx picked up the crystal cup and swirled the amber liquid around a little. “I guess.”

“What about that guitar of yours?”

“Sitar?”

“Yes. That.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’ll find out.”

---

The next day, it sleeted. The echo of the splotches of snow piling up outside was audible within the confines of the castle. Demyx went to the library, armed with a cup of coffee. He lit a fire in the hearth. Once it was large enough to tend to itself, he sat down cross legged in front of it.

For some reason he was nervous. This was akin to stage fright. He’d much rather be worthy of Arpeggio than the stupid Keyblade.

Demyx held out his hands and pulled from within. The Keyblade appeared. He sighed. “I don’t want you,” he muttered. Let it disappear. He remembered the way the sitar had felt, the perfect weight of it, the smooth varnished wood.

Keyblade again. Demyx had to resist the urge to just toss the damn thing. He stared down at it. Traced the smooth shaft, twisted the links of the chain.

“Please,” he said to it. “I don’t want to fight. I just want--”

Not to be an idiot talking to an inanimate object?

Vanishing. Reappearing. It didn’t matter how long he thought about his Nobody memories, of all the music he’d ever made with Arpeggio. Of the fights or occasionally lack thereof.

“Are you mad at me?” Demyx asked out loud. “I didn’t ask for this to all happen.”

Hadn’t he?

Oh, we do too have hearts. Don’t be mad.

“Shut up,” he hissed at himself.

The fire popped as a log settled, startling him.

“Is it because I’m not him anymore?” he continued. “I’m still the sa-- no. I’m not.”

Demyx lay back on the plush carpet.

Remembering death was not easy. Doubly hard now that he knew it wasn’t the first time he’d been slain with Keyblades. Some of them were sharp, most blunt. You’d crush your ribs before you drew blood. Which was what happened. He rested his palm on the spot were the scars were.

Sora, Donald, Goofy. So much rage. Realization that this was a murder-suicide. He was able to pin Sora twice before the pain was too much. Before fading. Before waking up. Before Braig, with a soft smile, and a boy with silver hair, and a hot stab to the chest. What would have happened, really, if he hadn’t been turned into a vessel? What would he have done? Run away? Spent his life friendless, unloved and alone?

Without Ienzo?

He needed connections. Without them he could never hope to be whole--at least, figuratively. He had to do better. To be better. But how? Fancy displays of heroism were functionally worthless if there was no real intent behind them.

Demyx stood. Despite it all, he sort of had an idea.

----

The winter coat he had was warm enough, but it was not quite waterproof, and by the time he’d waded through the slop he was damp and chilly. When he reached the door of the committee’s headquarters, though, a knot of anxiety overrode his physical discomfort. Demyx stood for several moments at the door as wet snow piled on his hat, unsure of what to say. Several times he reached up to knock and withdrew his hand. He had barely placed his palm on the doorknob before it opened of its own accord.

“‘Could’ve finished War and Peace in the time it took you to make up your mind,” a middle-aged blond man said gruffly. “Come on in, kid.” He was smoking a cigarette, and its smell mixed with the ambient woodsmoke. “Don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Cid.” He offered his hand. “Saw you unconscious, but I don’t think you remember that.”

“Not--exactly--” Demyx shook his hand.

“Let me take your jacket before you get snow everywhere.” He took the wet garments and hung them on a coat rack.

“It’s warm in here,” Demyx said, half in wonder. He was so used to the drafty castle that he’d forgotten what adequate heating felt like.

Cid raised an eyebrow. “‘Course it is.”

“It’s, um, the castle. Heating’s not very good.”

“I imagine it wouldn’t be.”

A beat passed. Demyx felt his anxiety rising and floundered for things to say.

“I’m guessing you’re here for Aerith?” Cid asked. He stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray.

“Well. Sort of. I want to help.”

“With what,” he said blankly.

“Anything. I mean I--” Demyx could feel himself turning red.

“In the middle of winter?”

He bit his lip and looked down.

Cid chuckled. “I’m messing with you, kid. We’re always happy to have an extra pair of hands. Any of ya’ll got a sense of humor over there?”

“Let’s just say it’s been a tough week,” Demyx said.

“I’ll say. Weather’s been driving us mad. I finally kicked out Yuffie and Leon to get some peace and quiet.”

“...Er. Sorry about that.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure one or both of them will be back soon. They know a bit more about the operations stuff than I do. Why don’t you have a seat?”

Demyx perched in one of the folding chairs. Cid sat back down at a computer and began absently writing code. He wondered if he should say something. Anything. Ask questions. He kept his hands knotted in his lap.

A door he hadn’t noticed previously opened, and out came Aerith, drying her hands on a towel. “Demyx? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Fine--well, enough. I’m here to help.”

She crossed over a plant on the table and cut off a few of its leaves. “Can’t do a whole lot in the winter other than plan, unfortunately.”

“What are you doing with those?”

“Making medicine.” She nodded her head towards the other room. “Want to see?”

He followed her. It was a small, narrow room, with a cot up against one wall. The other wall was lined with cabinets and some counter space. A few different types of dried leaves and blooms were stuffed in the myriad little drawers. She took the leaves, scattered them into mortar. To Demyx, the mix looked like a salad more than a medicine. She crushed it down, whispered a spell, and then with an odd little device began packing it into capsules. “Pectin,” she explained. “Goes down easier than the raw leaves. And doesn’t get stuck in your throat.”  She held up the tiny pill so he could see.

“What does it do?” Demyx asked.

“Cold cure,” she said simply. “We need lots of it this time of year. And colds always change. I’m forever tweaking it.”

A memory he hadn’t fully process washed in. He’d never been the best fighter in any of his parties, often left to provide background support. The spells then he’d used had been barbaric in comparison, but at least it kept people alive.

“When did you learn how to do all this stuff?” he asked. He was feeling odd.

“Oh, ever since I was a kid,” she said. “My mom and grandma before me were healers. They sorta taught me what I know now. And I’m also teaching myself.”

“Do you think it’s possible for someone else to learn?”

She crushed more herbs. “I’m sure it is. It’s magic like anything else.”

“What about--say--me?”

Aerith turned slightly. She appraised him.

“I’ve been wanting to help people and I don’t know how. You saved me. You saved Ienzo. I can’t do science, and I’m not a good fighter. But I have a good memory.” He considered the irony of that statement. But he’d always been good at memorizing.

“It’s a long road. This isn’t something you can do halfway. People’s lives could be at stake. But you know that.” She smiled a little. Tapped her forehead. “You’ve been through a lot in your life. Seen a lot of suffering.”

“Haven’t we all,” he said dryly.

“That’s… right.” She dusted off her hands. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, or believe you can do it. But you’ve gotta have a certain kind of tenacity. An ingenuity. Tell you what. Why don’t you read some base healing theory? There’s no way Ansem doesn’t have books about it. If that doesn’t send you running for the hills, we can talk.” She winked.

Demyx nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“Good luck.”

He stood.

“Was that the answer you needed?” she asked.

“I think it was.”

----

A week or so passed. He tried to do what Aerith said, and study. But Demyx had never been the most studious, and almost everything he learned sans the very basics he’d learned in the field. He spent these minutes and hours alternating between the text and the dictionary. Why were academics such bad writers?

Sometimes he studied near Ienzo, sometimes he didn’t. Ienzo slept and slept and slept. Demyx could feel the utter lack of presence like a missing tooth. Honestly, being around him and not being able to talk to him was nearly painful.

During one of these marathon reading sessions, Even came in to check Ienzo’s vitals, as he did several times each day. “EKG activity is still fairly limited. But improving. He must be dreaming.”

“About what?” Demyx asked.

“I’ve no idea. ...What is that?” He reached town and felt at Demyx’s temperature. “Are you quite alright?”

Demyx sighed, marked his place in the book, and shut it. “I’m studying. Sue me.”

“But why?”

He drummed his fingers on the desk. “You’re just going to make fun of me.”

“I will… not,” Even said with great restraint.

Demyx raised an eyebrow.

“I must admit I am still getting used to the new you. Tell me. I will withhold judgement.”

“I’m thinking of learning to heal. Like. The magic.” He braced himself.

Even didn’t laugh. “Really? Why is that?”

“I want to help people. And this seems like something I can actually do.” He sighed. “I hate feeling helpless. If I can help someone not feel that way, it’d be nice. You know.”

“I admit I never put much stock in such magic initially. But seeing how that woman has cared for the two of you, I’m starting to change my mind.”

“Do you think I can do it?”

Even considered this. “You had a fairly potent magical ability in the Organization. I don’t see why not.”

“You don’t think I’m too stupid?”

He scowled. “I find it stupid that you hold my opinion in such high esteem.” Then, softening. “As you said. You’re not a scientist. But that really has little to do with practical intelligence.” He picked up the tome. “I’d be glad to help you, should you so want it. These aren’t exactly light reading. It’d be convenient to have another pair of hands.” He picked up another bag of saline. “Well. If you’re so interested, I might as well teach you how to do this much.” He showed Demyx how to change the IV and how to take base vitals. “I’m hoping we won’t need to do this for too much longer. But that’s all up to him.” Even patted Ienzo’s head.

“I miss him.” He felt tears in his eyes.

“As do I,” Even said softly. “Come. Are you hungry?”

---

The more Demyx studied, the more his memories became clearer. In those first shocked days, it had been hard to focus on any memory for very long. Now, not so much.

He’d been a healer then, but not a very good one. He’d still been a coward. More than once someone had gotten egregiously hurt because he hadn’t been willing to step up. He’d been kicked out of multiple parties that way.

He didn’t want to be a coward. It was time to be mature; a grown up. Deal with grown up things in a grown up way. Don’t run. Face it. The hurt will be over that much faster.

For the first time, he tried to summon the Keyblade because he wanted to. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead of cool metal, there was warm, varnished wood. Familiar. Well-worn. He held the sitar tenderly. Cried a bit out of relief.

He was still, despite it all, himself.

[residentanchor]

The Seeds We Sow Ch. 6

<<Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Patton promised Prince Logan he wouldn’t wander off on the one full day he was at the castle... Word count: 8064 Warning: depictions of violence and death.

Patton had stayed by Logan's side for the remainder of the day upon his arrival, curiously walking around the castle in awe as he was led about. Logan kept away from the library but that hadn't stopped Patton's quiet laughter every time someone came up and greeted him, happy to see him without a book in his hand. Despite everything going on, the prince was determined Patton was not to leave his side until they left, knowing his sudden disappearance could seem suspicious and wasn't willing to risk Patton being discovered.

While Patton thoroughly enjoyed Logan's cautiousness, he thought he was being a bit silly. Rumors of Logan hiring someone magical at the castle was never confirmed and no one knew where they had worked if it was even true. They kept Patton's past secret so there was no way of anyone recognizing Patton or knowing what he was capable of.

Of course, Logan was adjusting his shirt and making sure he was presentable while Patton watched curiously from the side of the bed. "Why can't I go with you?"

Logan sighed and turned to Patton, finding his appearance acceptable. "Patton, I have dinner with King Asher and Prince Roman every evening, it would be very informal and rude of me to bring a guest. You will be brought to a room and your dinner will be brought to you. You'll be fine on your own if you do not wander off."

Patton huffed and leaned back, propping himself up on his hands. "They won't know by just looking at me, Logan. I'm smarter than that. I want to meet Roman!"

"I know, but I'm not willing to risk it." Logan walked over to the bed and Patton sat up once more. "They have a way of checking no one who works here has magic and I haven't figured out how yet. Until then, I plan on keeping you out of sight."

"Fine, I'll be good." Patton frowned and looked away. "Sounds boring, though."

There was a brisk knock on the door and Logan turned to answer it. "You can have plenty of adventures when we return back home. We just have tomorrow and we depart the day after." Logan tugged on the door handle and opened it, jumping in surprise. "Prince Roman! What an unexpected surprise."

Roman just gave his signature smirk as he answered, "Yes well I hear you have a guest! Your servant will show them to their room as we go have dinner. Unless they would like to join us?"

Logan watched Roman not so subtly peer over his shoulder as he stood taller and raised an arm to block his view. "I appreciate it but they can simply have their dinner brought to their room if you would be so kind."

Roman leaned back and crossed his arms, smiling brighter. "Now, Logan. I'm sure they could decline my offer themselves if they so wish! No need to speak for them." He leaned in a bit and watched Logan with suspicion. "It's almost as if you're hiding them from me."

"Oh, I wonder why I would do something like that," Logan muttered, playfully glaring down the other prince.

Logan felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, revealing Patton's smiling face up at the two. "Well, he does have a point. I should at least decline the offer myself, it would only be proper." Logan reluctantly took a step back and watched Patton carefully before looking over at Roman, trying to hide his worry. "It's an honor to meet you, Prince Roman." Patton gave a formal bow to the other prince. "I apologize for the abrasive behavior Prince Logan tends to have toward others he has just met." Patton stood up tall as Logan lifted his glasses up and rubbed his eyes at Patton's statement. "I hope he has been treating you fairly well."

Roman looked over at Logan who shifted his spectacles and looked at the other unamused. He smirked and covered his mouth as his shoulders shook with laughter. Roman tried to hide it behind a fake cough and smiled at Patton, reaching out a hand. "Well, I certainly see why Logan has tried hiding you from me." He took Patton's hand and pulled it up, giving it a soft kiss in greeting. "You are simply enchanting, and honestly quite stunning."

Patton giggled at that, smiling brighter. "Oh my, thank you, your majesty."

"Please, just Roman would do. Would you honor me by joining us for dinner? I absolutely insist." Patton carefully retreated his hand and looked over at Logan. "Unless there's something your not telling me?"

Logan jumped at the statement and flushed a bit. "No, of course not, I was just-"

Patton's laughter cut him off and they both turned and looked at him. "Poor Logan is just worried because I'm pretty tired from my travels." He turned and looked up at Roman and bowed his head. "I'm afraid I will have to decline. However, if it truly upsets you, I'd be more than happy to join you tomorrow evening."

Logan seemed to ease a bit at that and Roman looked up at him and smirked. "I see, I think I'm beginning to understand. Well, if you could at least honor me with your name, I'll make sure you are taken to your quarters to get some food and rest."

"My name is Patton."

"Well then, Patton." Roman leaned in close, stopping just by Patton's ear. "I do hope Logan takes good care of you." He whispered before he pulled away, meeting Logan's eyes as he folded his hands behind his back. "Reggie, make sure Patton is brought to his room and fed before returning to the dining hall." He turned and started walking down the hallway. "Come, Logan! We shan't keep my father waiting longer!"

Reginald took a step to the side and instructed Logan's servant Henry properly. Henry nodded in understanding before he took a step closer and motioned for Patton to follow. Patton waved at Logan and started down the hall before the other prince turned the opposite way. Logan kept his pace right behind Roman's and remained quiet the entire walk. As soon as the dining room doors were within view, Roman stopped and turned to Logan.

"Is there something the matter, Roman?" Logan asked.

Roman shook his head. "No, just curious as to why you haven't asked what I told Patton. That confident he will tell you, hmm?"

Logan scoffed and walked past toward the dining hall. "I'm sure it wasn't important."

"Are you even aware of your feelings?" Logan stopped walking but did not turn around. "So protective of some random civilian, I'm quite surprised."

"I am more than aware of my fondness for Patton." Logan turned and glared at Roman. "Do not consider that a weakness, Patton is fully capable of taking care of himself. It would not be wise to upset me either."

Roman smiled and shook his head. "Yes, I get it. No flirting with Patton. Now I understand why my advances had no effect on you."

Roman entered the dining hall as Logan's face grew red and he fought to form his words. "No, that's not... why... Augh, you are insufferable."

---

While Patton had declined the offer for Logan, he was truly tired from his travels. Shortly after eating and cleaning himself off, Patton had fallen asleep almost immediately in the comfortable bed provided for him. This was not as nice as Logan's own room but it was certainly nicer than he was used to.

Though, Patton was always an early riser and the sweet allure of the bed when he woke did nothing to stop him from diving head first into the day. He knew he would have to get dressed and work quickly before Logan realized he was breaking the one rule the other put upon him. He knew Logan didn't want him wandering off but he also knew Logan and Roman had one last meeting today before they left the next morning. Shortly after breakfast was served early at his request, Patton ate quickly and left his room, not surprised he was left to his own devices.

Making his way through the halls, Patton knew he would find what he was looking for sooner or later. After running to a guard, he politely introduced himself and asked for directions to the castle's medical wing, wanting to meet up with the physician here. Lucky for him, it didn't seem suspicious for him to want to talk to those in the same field of work.

When Patton entered the room, he was greeted by an elderly woman running around, not noticing he was there. He took a step back and knocked on the door to announce himself. The woman looked up and smiled, running over.

"What seems to be the problem dear?" She eyed Patton up and down. "No visible injuries, do you have a fever?" She reached up and grabbed his face carefully, moving a hand to his forehead. "No, not that." She pulled back and watched him carefully. "Well, speak up! Can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

Patton smiled at the elderly woman who watched him with concern. "No, I'm sorry. I'm perfectly fine! Actually, I work for Prince Logan and--"

"Oh goodness!" She jumped and took a step back. "Is he fairing alright?"

"Yes, he was fine the last I saw him." The woman relaxed and looked confused. "He sent a letter, saying someone had come to him with a concern. I was just wondering if I could talk to you about that a bit? If it wasn't any trouble."

"Oh goodness, gracious!" The woman jumped and her face grew red. "I'm so embarrassed! That was me, dearie, I'm the one who talked to him about that poor child. He must have sent a letter immediately for you to even be here!" She glanced back at a closed door before turning her attention back to Patton. "The name is Mary, dear."

The woman stepped out of the way and waved him in. Patton nodded in thanks as his eyes observed the room. It was much like his in a lot of ways but missing a few staple things Patton kept on hand. "So I was hoping you could elaborate a bit more on what you are concerned with?"

The woman sighed and ran into a doorway, peering in carefully before pulling back. "I'm afraid I only know what I've overheard. The boy stops in early morning some days when he is feeling a bit worse than normal. I'm a maid, not much of a medicine woman. I don't know much else besides that, I just help clean when I can. Old enough to have picked up a few things while the lady rests but not much more." She walked over to Patton and took his hands in hers. "Look, I'm sorry you came all this way but we won't be much help. The missus doesn't share private information and she'll be rather upset when she wakes up and your here asking questions."

Patton nodded and his shoulders fell a bit. "Of course. I'm sorry I can't be of much help, then."

The elderly woman's hands shook as she stared up at Patton. After a moment of silence, she leaned in closer. "That boy has a small garden just outside of town. Learned what he could to take care of himself. I know he's going there today, you might catch him if you hurry. His name's Virgil, a young lad your age." She leaned back and pulled a hand away to motion to her face. "Lad hides that precious face of his away behind his hair, you would miss him if you're not careful. I do hope you catch him, I worry about him going out all alone."

Patton nodded and smiled, shaking her hand that still held his. "Thank you. I can't promise anything but I'll try my best. I think I just need a moment to talk to him."

With a silent farewell, Patton quietly left the medical wing and slipped out into the castle halls. He looked around and found the fastest way to the front, hoping if this 'Virgil' hadn't left he had time to catch him. It was still early as the castle was still just starting to bustle with life. Patton nodded and announced to a guard he wished to explore the town on his only day here, informing them he would be returning later. After a nod, he ran off into the town happily to investigate.

The town had more life than he had expected at that hour as everyone in the streets seemed to have something to do. Street vendors grabbed his attention as he inspected nearby booths, most of them only selling food at such an hour. The whole center of town smelled of fresh bread as people rushed by, knowing exactly where they were going. Patton spun around swept up in it all and not paying attention to where he was going. He turned and tripped over his foot, stumbling into a stranger walking by and Patton fell back and stumbled into his path. The other's reflexes kicked in quickly as he reached up and grabbed Patton, holding him up and making sure he was steady. "Woah, sorry about that!" He smiled and dusted himself off. "Got a bit caught up in the sights, seems like I'm out of sorts a bit."

"Yeah, it happens." He tried to take a step to the side and Patton followed. "Sorry, excuse me."

"Of course, my bad! Oh, before you go, would you happen to know anyone nearby that works at the castle?" Patton blinked up at the stranger who watched him carefully. "See, I'm actually here visiting but I forgot to ask something and I don't want to overstep my boundaries!"

The man shifted uncomfortably and looked over his shoulder at the crowd. After scanning it he seemed to not find what he was looking for and let out a small sigh. "I mean, I don't think I can help, but I do... I mean..." He rubbed his arm uncomfortably. "I could show you someone you could talk to maybe?"

Patton perked up at those words, inspecting the man quickly. He fit the description Patton was given and he was starting to become sure this may be the one he was looking for. "Oh, no that's perfect! I just want to know if it's okay to explore the forest? I'm a physician and a bit of an herbalist and I wanted to check out the flora here but in my excitement, I kind of ran off alone."

He smirked a bit and nodded his head. "Yeah, it should be fine. I don't recommend going in too far in all alone, though."

"Oh, darn." Patton huffed a bit and turned back to the castle. "I kind of promised Lo I wouldn't leave. I maybe sort of snuck out? If I go back now I won't be able to leave again!" He turned back to the stranger and smiled up at him. "Actually, this lovely older woman told me someone was probably going out to the forest today and I was hoping to catch him. Do you know anyone named Virgil?"

The stranger jumped and blinked down at him. "W-who told you that?"

"Oh, she was this lovely older woman!" Patton moved his hands up. "About this tall? I believe her name was Mary but I could be wrong!" Patton watched the stranger sigh and cover his face with both his hands. "Hey, are you okay?"

His hands fell and he adjusted his hood. "Look, my name is Virgil and I'm headed out to the woods, but I don't know if you can really come with."

"Oh, I'll keep out of the way!" Patton smiled, holding up his hands in a pleading look. "Lo, and I leave tomorrow and this is my only chance!"

Virgil bit his lip as he tried to stay determined but his face fell as he sighed and gave in. "Fine, but stick close. When I get to where I'm going you'll need to keep your distance."

Nodding, Patton started bouncing up and down in excitement. "Oh, yay! This will be so much fun!" He held out a hand for Virgil. "My name is Patton!"

Virgil watched his hand closely before reaching out and giving it a quick shake, pulling his hand away quickly. "We need to go, I have to be back by a certain time if I want to get everything done today."

Patton followed Virgil excitedly, following him out of the town. Once they reached the path leading to the forest, Patton made sure they were alone before bouncing up to the other. "So, Virgil! Must have been fate that led me to you since you were the one I was looking for! I got distracted and still managed to bump into you."

Virgil snorted out a quick laugh. "Don't know if it was fate but you did get rather lucky." Virgil glanced over at Patton. "So why did that nosy old bat mention me anyway?"

Patton gasped and covered his mouth in shock. "That's not very nice! She was just concerned about you. Something about maybe not feeling up to going out alone?" Virgil almost seemed to growl at that, his pace picking up a bit more. "Sorry, was that bad? I'm sure she was just concerned!"

"I'm fine, she should keep her nose out of my business." Virgil reached up, the increased speed making his hood bounce around a bit. "I told her I'm fine!"

Patton jogged up and met up with him, Virgil slowing down once he had. "I'm sure she just wanted to make sure you were alright. You're still helping me out too." Virgil didn't answer and Patton weighed his options before speaking once more. "What would make her think you weren't up for it? You seem perfectly healthy."

"I'm fine, don't worry about it." Patton looked up at Virgil and decided to not press it any further.

Once they had entered the forest, Virgil suddenly seemed more at ease. He took a slow breath and relaxed, weaving through the trees with ease. Patton glanced around and recognized a lot of familiar plants he had seen before. He reached into his bag and pulled out his journal, flipping through carefully as they walked through. The noise distracted Virgil who continued walking after a curious glance.

They passed a small creek when Patton suddenly gasped, racing ahead and staring at a green bush on the path. "Oh my goodness, look at this!" Patton kneeled down as he flipped through his journal before stopping. He pulled a small part of the plant off and matched it to his book. "This doesn't grow back home, our old plant died after a bad storm. I have to bring this back!" Patton looked up at Virgil with a bright smile. "Would that be alright?"

Virgil looked at the bush curiously for a moment. "That's bo-uh... bo... buckthorn! Right?" Patton nodded and turned back to the plant. "That's practically a weed around here, go right ahead."

Patton was practically giddy as he pulled out gloves and a cloth bag, reaching down and digging out a bit of the root of the plant with a small trowel. He sat back up, partially covered in dirt and a few leaves stuck in his hair. He placed it in the pouch and tied it shut, standing up and holding it as if it were a treasure. "Oh, I'm so excited! I can't wait to tell Lo about this! It grows near water like that creek so I'll have to keep it to the side, maybe move something out of the way?" Patton muttered quietly as he talked to himself.

Virgil watched Patton hold the pouch closed and remove his gloves, hardly bothering to shake them of dirt before putting them away. Virgil chuckled and shook his head, gaining Patton's attention. He reached over and pulled out a lead, brow raised in amusement. Patton simply ran a hand through his locks, obviously used to the behavior. "You certainly are one for plants, huh?"

"Well of course! It's my job! It's not an uncommon plant but there aren't any to replant back home closer for me to use so might as well get it while I'm here!" Patton placed the cloth pouch into his bag. "If I take care of it I should manage to keep it alive before we get home."

"If you manage to keep that alive for more than a day like that, I'll be impressed." Virgil walked onward, deeper into the forest, completely missing Patton place a small enchant on the bagged plant to keep it alive. "Come on, it's still a bit further in."

Patton raced ahead, falling into step with the other. "Where are you headed?"

"There's this small garden I have hidden in the forest. The darned plant wouldn't take anywhere else but seems to love this one spot." Virgil huffed, seemingly a bit annoyed. "It's a pain but it's worked so far. I've asked everyone but the conditions are so specific that I'm not really willing to risk moving it somewhere else anymore."

Patton nodded and held his journal closer as he walked. "What kind of plant is it?" Virgil muttered something under his breath almost silently. "I'm sorry?"

"I don't quite know, exactly." Patton was shocked at that.

"W-well, what do you use it for if you don't know what it is?"

Virgil fell silent before looking down at Patton. Once their eyes met, Virgil quickly looked away almost embarrassed. "Look, I know what it can do and I'm sure someone's discovered it before I have, so I'm sure of the actual name but..." Patton perked up at the news of an almost unknown plant and kept quiet. Virgil chose to walk ahead, not bothering to finish his sentence.

They walked a bit more, Virgil helping Patton through the rougher areas and waiting patiently as he stopped and inspected a few more plants along the way. The small talk wasn't much, but Virgil seemed more at ease around Patton as he talked about all sorts of plant life. Virgil actually knew a fairly large amount himself but seemed to be terrible at naming them properly. Surely enough, Virgil suddenly stopped and looked around before looking down at Patton.

Patton smiled up at his silent escort. "Is everything alright?" He asked.

Virgil nodded and looked away before reaching up to a rather tall plant. "Promise to keep this secret? I know I won't be able to hide it from you, you're just a bit too curious." He looked over at Patton who nodded eagerly, eyes alight as he held his journal to his chest. "Thank you."

Virgil stepped through the large plant, trying not to get caught on any branches. Once he made it through, he seemed to have vanished as the bush formed back to its original form. Slowly, Pat reached forward and parted some of the branches, only to be met with more greenery. He braced himself and shut his eyes, marching through the plant and fighting with every tug he met along the way.

Very quickly, Patton was once more stumbling forward and being caught by Virgil before he fell. He slowly looked up and smiled, nodding a quick thanks to the other.

Patton turned and silently gasped at the tall towering purple and violet flowers before him. They stood at about half his height but their color stuck out like a sore thumb. They were gorgeous, but Patton felt a bit disappointed at the sight. "I... feel like I've seen these before."

Virgil chuckled and pulled out a small bag and gloves for himself, his a bit longer and more protective than the ones Patton had. "I can guarantee that you have not seen these before."

Flipping through his book, Patton stopped once he saw an old colored sketch of the same exact flowers in his book, quickly reading the section of it and jumping in shock. "Virgil! It's right here and it says these are poisonous!" Patton looked down as Virgil dug a bit with his hands, tugging at the base of the plant. "Virgil!"

He leaned back on his knees and turned to Patton. "Do you mind if I borrow that little shovel of yours? It'll come in handy for this."

Patton stomped his foot and held out his book, pointing to the page. "Look, it says right here! Picture and all, these are poisonous!"

Virgil rolled his eyes and held out his hand. "I'm not an idiot, just trust that I know what I'm doing. Now, could I please borrow that trowel?"

They had a small staredown, Patton puffing out his cheeks and Virgil smiling, almost amused. Suddenly, Patton let out a breath and deflated, reaching into his bag and pulling out the tool Virgil requested. The other turned and began digging, the flowers shaking as he tore at the roots. Virgil cried out happily and pulled back, holding up the roots to the plant, except...

"That doesn't look right!" Patton reached in and pulled out his own gloves, quickly putting them on and reaching for the roots. "They're thick and almost... bright blood red!" Virgil handed over the plant as Patton carefully inspected it, twirling it in his fingers.

"The plant is normally just regular Digitalis, but I call this version Dragon claws since they almost spread out and arch like a claw and they're so red." Virgil reached out and grabbed the root before quickly bagging it and reaching for more.

"You sound like Logan! It's just foxglove." Patton leaned in a bit more carefully. "Is it any more dangerous than normal?"

Virgil leaned back, a bigger chunk in hand with a smile on his face. "It is what it is, but boil some of this like a tea and the positive effects can outweigh the negative." He stuck it in the pouch and then wrapped it in cloth before carefully placing it in his small bag. Virgil carefully removed the gloves, the fingers turning inside-out as he did. "Just have to be careful, just touching the stuff can irritate you."

Patton removed his own gloves and stepped away from the pretty flowers. "I don't get it, what positive effects does this one have? Why is it red? I've never seen that before." Patton reached down and started writing notes in his journal on the side, lining it with question marks as he did. "I'll have to investigate that when we get back to the castle."

Virgil headed toward the bush that leads to their hidden exit. "I already told you, there's none at the castle, and I need this. Sorry, I'm not willing to share. Getting ahold of this stuff let alone letting it grow was a massive pain."

Patton tucked his journal away and headed over to Virgil. "Oh, not your castle, mine! I work in one back home."

Virgil froze and his hand fell off of the bush, taking a step back. "You what?" He blinked and his eyes widened. "Wait, did you say Logan earlier? As in Prince Logan?"

"Yeah!" Patton smiled up at him. "Lo, and I are pretty close! Why? Is something wrong?"

Virgil turned and looked at the weird faux foxglove plants and then back at Patton. "Was this- did... Did you even meet Mary?" He seemed to turn from shock to anger. "Did you trick me into bringing you out here?"

"What? No!" Patton frowned and held up his hands in defense. "I would never! I promised to keep this all secret and I will!" Patton frowned and lowered his hands slowly. "I honestly wanted to try and figure out why your symptoms sounded like you were being poisoned but now I see you're purposefully doing it. I can't imagine why, though."

Virgil's glare lessened and he turned away. "Look, it doesn't matter. The fact is that this stuff is helping keep me alive, that's all you need to know. So what if it's technically a poison? The way I take it, I'm fine."

"Wha-no! No, you're not fine! You're poisoning yourself! What are the benefits of keeping yourself alive if you hardly are alive to live it?" Virgil ignored Patton and quickly made his exit through the brush. "Hey!"

Patton dived through the leaves and emerged through the other side, almost running into Virgil's back as he stood there. "Look." He whispered. "I'd rather be almost dead than actually dead."

Patton reached up and rested his hand on Virgil's shoulder. "Is it... do you have magic?"

The word seemed to burn Virgil as he spun around and stepped away, surprised and frightened. "No! No, never! Don't accuse someone of that, it's a death sentence!"

Patton froze and looked around. They were deep in the woods and completely alone. Patton closed his eyes and took a slow breath, opening them and holding up a hand. He concentrated before his eyes flashed a golden color, a small light forming in the palm of his hand.

Virgil wasted no time, racing up and grabbing his hand, diffusing the magic before it could form. "Did you not hear me?!" He hissed angrily, glaring down at the other. "If King Asher even thought you could perform magic, you would be dead in an instant! Your precious prince wouldn't even be able to save you!"

Patton frowned and nodded, staring down at his feet. "Sorry, but... I just don't get it! Magic can be bad, but it can do so much good too!"

Virgil groaned to himself and pulled his hands away. "Patton, it's not..." Virgil spoke with a much softer tone, almost as if he were speaking to a child. "King Asher suffers from one of the worst illnesses in the world and there is no real cure." Patton looked up at Virgil who stared off in a daze. "He has a broken heart. He chooses to grieve by taking his frustration out on magic since it played a part in the tragedy."

Patton licked his lips, suddenly finding his mouth to be completely dry. "Lo thinks maybe Roman would understand and change his mind."

Virgil chuckled and shook his head. "I doubt it. The king has raised Roman to be filled with the same hatred, I'm sure he'll be just the same."

"He's not his father, you know," Patton whispered, almost afraid to speak the words. "You are not the actions of your parents."

Patton wasn't sure if his words encouraged the other or upset him, but he watched Virgil nod and wipe his eyes, turning away. "Maybe your right, who knows? Come on, we should head back."

---

Patton was greeted at the entrance by a different guard that morning who informed him that Prince Logan was expecting him. Patton laughed sheepishly, embarrassed he was caught. Virgil was nice enough to offer to lead him to Logan's room before running off. Despite all protests, Virgil started to grow to like Patton and wanted to just see him leave the castle safe the next day.

They were approaching the door when they heard a noise on the other side of Logan's room. Suddenly, the door fell and Prince Roman stumbled back, falling flat along with. Virgil panicked and raced forward, quickly helping up the prince and checking for injuries. Another servant ran up next to Patton and she covered her mouth in shock.

"You again," Roman muttered as he dusted himself off. "Trying to play hero?"

"No, sire." Virgil bowed his head and diverted his eyes. "I was informed Prince Logan wished to see Patton and I simply was escorting him here."

Roman looked over and saw Patton standing on the side, still covered in a bit of dirt but looking a bit concerned at the scene before him. "Ah, Patton! Well, looks like you had a bit of fun, hmm?" He stepped off of the broken door and glared down at it as if it had broken purposely on him. "Well, I know Logan has been going mad not knowing where you've been."

Logan peered out of the room and over at the others, jumping over the door and almost sprinting to meet them. "Patton!" He stopped and blinked up at Roman as he approached, clearing his throat and gathering himself. "I'm glad to see you're alright."

Roman gave a big hearty pat on the back to Logan as he laughed. "He's been concerned all day, pretending he wasn't wracked with worry. Quite amusing I may add. Now if I could only gain the worry of such a man myself."

Patton noticed Virgil behind Roman roll his eyes unamused and smirked a bit. "Sorry! I wanted to go see the forest and Virgil here was free this morning!"

Roman turned and looked at Virgil with a smirk. "Well, once again I am rather impressed with you. I do wish you told someone more than the castle guard at the front gate, though."

Virgil bowed quickly at the statement. "I'm terribly sorry, I caught up with him in town running errands and was unaware he was asked to stay within the walls."

"Don't bother apologizing." Logan sighed and turned to Patton. "He's stubborn and his pleading eyes could bring an army to their knees, you were defenseless against him." Virgil stood up and hid his laughter behind a quick cough.

"Well, do you have a moment?" Prince Roman intervened. "Do you know who could fix this door?" He waved to the hunk of wood on the floor that caused him to fall.

Virgil turned and inspected the door, looking at the hinges and nodding. "It's a simple fix, really. I can have it done before Prince Logan turns in for the night." Virgil turned and glared over at the servant that had been silent next to Patton. "Morgan."

The young woman jumped and tried to smile. "Y-yes, sir?"

"I'm not-nevermind." Virgil crossed his arms as he stared her down. "You'll keep watch and not touch anything while I get the materials to fix this, alright?"

She nodded and gave a quick curtsy before walking through the group and standing in the doorway. "Yes, of course."

"Aww, come on Virge!" Patton cried out suddenly. "No need to be so harsh on her."

Virgil looked over at Patton a bit confused. "Virge?" Patton shrugged and gave a small smile. "Well, Morgan here is new and under my training. She knows why I'm placing her here, correct?"

The young woman nodded and smiled up at Patton. "It's fine! Virgil has been rather sweet and understanding, truthfully."

"Nice won't get you to learn all the time." He muttered to her. "I'll go get what I need and return shortly."

"Okay, by Virgil!" Patton waved as the other smiled and ducked his head before quickly retreating. "He's so sweet if not a bit shy." Patton turned to Logan and his smile fell a bit. "Oh."

"Yes, Patton. Oh." Logan crossed his arms and stared him down. "I thought I asked you to stay here?"

"Technically you asked me to stay by your side, but you had that meeting and that sounded boring." Patton frowned at him, giving him his wide-eyed look. "I'm sorry, Lo. I didn't mean to worry you."

"Oh goodness," Roman muttered, turning his head away. "I see what you mean about the eyes, they're dangerous!"

"What about my eyes?" Patton tilted his head, completely unaware. Logan groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. "You okay, Logan?"

"I'm fine, Patton. Just, please... stay with me for the remainder of the day?"

"Okay, I promise this time I will." Patton smiled brightly, shifting his bag on his shoulder. "I got to see some cool plants too! I can't wait to show you later!"

"Did you find any for luck?" Roman asked, fixing his hair. "Everywhere I go it seems bad luck follows. First, those books in the library, then these drapes got caught on something, a small fire, now that darn door! It's like everything is hexed to break around me lately!"

Logan and Patton shared a quick look. "Is that possible?" Logan asked carefully.

Roman threw back his head and barked out a laugh. "Not in this castle it's not! Anyone officially working here is made sure they pass a test that would show if they had or used magic."

"Wow, y-you can do that?" Patton smiled through his slight slip up. "I didn't think it was possible."

"Well, we found a way. No one in these walls has magic or trust me, we'd know." Roman turned and walked down the hall. "Now, come! No need to stand around in this hall all day. You can get prepared for dinner in my quarters."

Logan bit his lip and prevented a groan from escaping. "Wonderful, thank you, Roman. How terribly kind." Logan's tone dripped with sarcasm but Roman chose to ignore every bit of it.

Surprisingly, they both managed to clean up and get changed for dinner, though mostly Patton since he was covered in dirt. All the while, Roman's flirting and advances seemed to have ceased, despite Logan's suspicions on the matter. Any time he even hinted at it, Roman turned from him and started talking to Patton, but just about what he did or knew. Logan wasn't certain but he was pretty sure the innocent questions weren't considered flirting so he let it be.

When dinner came around, Patton was both excited and nervous to meet the king. Roman had mentioned that Logan had a sudden visitor and King Asher was immediately interested in meeting the young man. Though, Patton fussed with his clothes a bit, more used to wearing scratchy fabric he rolled around the ground in and not nice, soft fabrics he wore now. Logan kept stopping him from fidgeting but Patton just couldn't help himself. Roman just chuckled at them when they bickered but otherwise kept to himself.

They entered the dining room and Patton was immediately taken back by the amount of food. He hesitated as a servant pushed in his chair before looking over at the head of the table. The king was just sitting as a glass of wine was poured for him. Picking it up, he raised it to the others with a smile. "Well, nice of you to join us tonight. What was your name? Pat?"

"P-patton!"

"Ah, yes. Patton! Seems you gave Logan here quite the scare with your disappearance." The king took a swig from his goblet, ignoring Logan's immediate dismissal of the comment. "Well, I sure hope your short stay has been satisfactory?"

"Oh, yes! It's been lovely, and so has everyone I've seen!" Patton smiled over at Roman. "The castle is much different from home too. It's so gorgeous, it's a shame we have to leave at sunrise."

"Ahh, but the sunrise from the front wall is the best in all the lands!" Roman almost mockingly swooned at his own words. "That will be quite a sight to see as you are sent off."

The conversation kept steady throughout dinner, Patton only being asked a few more questions about his work before Logan took over the conversation about politics. As mundane as it sounded, Roman got roped right into it, going on about what they had apparently talked about that afternoon.

Patton watched Virgil and the new servant Morgan slip in silently during dinner, almost unnoticed. Virgil met up with Reginald and leaned in close, whispering quietly. When he leaned back, Reggie nodded and waved them off. Morgan kept her head down as Virgil waved her silently along. He looked up and met eyes with Patton suddenly, giving a small smirk but otherwise pretending he wasn't there.

"Well, no need to get ahead of yourselves, boys!" King Asher called out, dragging Patton's attention back into the conversation. "I'm glad you are excited about all these ideas but I'm not sure you're quite ready to lead. That goes to both of you."

Roman dramatically rolled his eyes. "Father, I'm sure I can handle more than you let me! How am I to learn if you baby me the entire time? One day I will have to rule on my own."

"Exactly," Asher called out, growing serious. "You will have to rule without my guidance and what you choose to do will affect everyone that is a part of this kingdom. Your decisions are too brash and eager. You need to be completely thorough with everything you do." King Asher turned to Logan. "Especially you, young man. I don't know what your father was thinking, hiring a sorcerer and keeping it within your walls."

"What?" Roman perked up, staring at Logan in shock. "You have one working for you?"

"Whether or not that rumor is true matters not. As I understand your adverse desire to work with anyone of the magical sort, you must understand why I am more accepting of it."

King Asher brought his cup to his mouth and threw his head back, finishing it quickly. "Yes, of course." He slammed it down on the table before him. "One tricked you into believing it was good. How ignorant of you."

Patton's hands balled into fists as he smiled, unsure of where the conversation was leading. "I-i'm sorry. I heard it was a young boy who broke into the castle and risked his life to heal Prince Logan who was on his deathbed." Patton's unsure smile wavered a bit at his own words.

The king scoffed and watched his cup be refilled. "Yes, a small child happened to slip past your pathetic defenses and cure the plague he probably cast on the prince himself to win your favor."

"I'm not sure about that," Logan spoke up, keeping his attention on his food, though everyone had stopped eating at this point. "They were caught before they managed to leave and were thrown into the dungeon with a scheduled execution." Patton bit his tongue at the memory. "They were only released after they apologized for failing to save me, having believed I had perished. It was only when they were already at the stalks that the truth was revealed. My father was thorough in his decision. He truly was there to help save me and accepted his fate when he believed he had failed."

The king sneered and drank a bit more as Roman looked between the other two royals. "I-i'm sorry... Father, you had never told me that. I knew Logan was sick when we were younger but you said we sent a physician and he improved."

"Not at all, no one had managed to heal me. It took the son of a sorcerer to gain the courage to do anything. I would be dead now otherwise."

"Ha!" King Asher sneered over at Logan. "All stories. That boy probably was trying to lay a curse on you."

"Wait, but you just said that he probably planted the curse himself the first time," Roman asked, watching his father closely. He seemed unsure and confused, looking back at the other two across the table.

"Of course the little brat did! Magic is no good!"

"Well, which is it then, father?" The king turned to his son. "I'm just trying to understand but none of this makes sense."

Patton looked over at Logan who was watching Roman quite carefully. Logan looked almost hopeful as the young prince finally stood up and challenged his father for the truth. Certainly not anywhere near close to accepting magic but much closer than they were a week ago.

The dining hall doors flew open and a guard from the outside fell in onto the floor with a cry. The man dressed in rags stood before them turned to the approaching guardsmen and shouted in anger. He raised his arms as they started to glow, magic being brought forth. A sorcerer. He turned and reached out toward the sword of the approaching guard. His eyes almost seemed to glow as he elbowed the guard and threw his other arm to the side. The sword fell out of the guard's hand and flew toward another one approaching, piercing him in the stomach as he fell forward.

Before Patton even understood what was happening, Logan launched out of his seat and pulled Patton up with him, both their chairs scuffing against the ground. "Patton, we need to go!"

Logan gripped under Patton's arm tighter as he pulled, Patton's eyes never leaving the attacking sorcerer. He stumbled backward and broke eye contact with the battle, turning and looking at Logan who seemed panicked as he looked around. Patton looked over and saw King Asher at the head of the table, demanding the sorcerer be stopped at any cost. Roman was standing, a sword in his hand as he glared down and was prepared to fight, though Patton was unsure where the weapon came from in the first place.

"This way!" Patton and Logan stopped as Virgil appeared, pulling a tapestry to the side and revealing a door. "Quickly!" He frantically waved them over, keeping an eye on the mayhem behind them.

Patton turned back toward the others. "Roman! Your majesty!" Both royals either ignored the call or didn't hear him, the sorcerer suddenly jumping up on the table and kicking the silverware out of his way, marching toward the king.

"Patton, we have to go!" Patton refused to look away and shook his head. Logan reached over and grabbed Patton's arm once more. "Patton, please!"

"We can't leave them, Lo!" Another guard tried attacking the sorcerer and was quickly brought down. Patton's mind raced as he flexed his fingers anxiously. "I'm not leaving them!"

"I'm not letting you get killed!" Logan spun Patton around and stared down at them. "Trust them, they have to know what they're doing! We are getting to safety, now!"

A loud and familiar cry brought their attention back as they saw the sorcerer lower his hands from Roman's direction. Roman was falling backward, someone on top of him and in direct line of the magic that shot out of the sorcerer's hands. Not hesitating another moment, the man turned toward the king who watched his son fall from the attack in fear, raising a hand and launching another burst of energy.

"No!" The sorcerer was suddenly flying across the table as someone marched forward, proud and tall. "I will not let you hurt anyone else!" They jumped up on the table as the other sorcerer stood up, staring each other down.

"Morgan?" Patton muttered, watching the new servant in training fire magic at the attacking sorcerer.

"Patton." At the broken sound of his voice, Patton turned and watched Logan once more, shaking where he stood. "Please..."

Logan looked scared and near tears, body shaking but not leaving without him. Virgil still held open the escape but seemed too surprised at what was happening to pay any attention to them. "Okay," Patton whispered, nodding. "Let's go."

Logan let out a sob of joy and relief as Patton tugged on his arm this time, racing through the door. As they passed, Virgil turned and looked at them with a grim look on his face. He turned and looked at the battle once more before biting his lip and shaking his head. "Go down the hall, third door on your left." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a key, holding it up. "Lock yourselves in, okay? I'll be there once it's safe."

"Virgil, you have to-" Patton tried to speak but the key was suddenly thrust into his face.

"My job is to the throne here. Get yourselves to safety, please."

Patton could still feel Logan shaking in his hand as Virgil looked at him with pleading eyes. He sighed and grabbed the key. "Third door, got it." Virgil turned to run into the chaos once more. "Don't die, Virgil! Please!"

Patton turned and looked at the fighting, the guards swarming the table and cutting everything out of his view. Patton saw Logan and nodded before they ran down the hall, away from the battle and into safety. Chapter 7>>

[dazaran]

title: caffeine smokescreen ship: tsujimura mizuki/higuchi ichiyou ( ft background KyoAya ) rating: G AO3 link: here!

day four of rarepair week - prompt : coffee / masks.

Every day before work, Tsujimura buys herself some coffee in a coffee shop on route to Ayatsuji Yukito’s detective agency. What she gets depends on her mood, as she’s deemed that different drinks taste better in certain situations. When she’s bummed out, it’s a latte; when she’s irritated, it’s black coffee with two creams; when she’s happy, it’s a caramel mocha with whipped cream on top.

When it’s just an average day, her coffee is a french vanilla coffee with a shot of caramel - which is what it is today, as she wants to wish and hope it will be a good day despite how her week has been going so far.

Ayatsuji-sensei had snuck out the house 3 times this week, disappeared on his own once on a case... And yet, the request to execute him was still somehow denied. Tsujimura wasn't sure if that meant he was just that important or that the world itself decided he was nigh impossible to kill. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

A sigh slips her lips after she receives her coffee from the barista, offering a polite bow of her head as she turns to leave the coffee shop. Before she can reach for the handle, it swings open, knocking it out of her hand and causing it to spill at her feet. The suddenness of it makes her jump back with a small shout, half relieved that none of it had spilled onto her new heels.

Crap, her fresh coffee...

“Oh, I'm so so sorry-” a feminine voice says just as Tsujimura kneels down to pick up the Styrofoam cup and its plastic lid.

“No, it's alright, I wasn't watching where I was-” Tsujimura lifts her head then, as she notices the stranger has also knelt down in front of her to help with a collection of napkins in hand.

And then, she freezes - as if the beautiful sky blue eyes that stare back at her have paralyzed her from head to toe, she forgets how to speak. It's a woman with blonde hair tied up in a bun, dressed in a form fitting suit much like her own. She doesn’t wear any gloves, and Tsujimura feels a sliver of disappointment she can’t feel how soft her hand is when they touch momentarily. There’s a clear coat of nail polish on the woman’s nails - they’re clean and well taken care of.

“I was...” What was she saying again?

“... Going?” the blonde woman finishes, tilting her head innocently.

“Y-Yes! That! I’m sorry,” Internally, Tsujimura chides herself for how foolish she sounds. “None of it spilled on you, I hope? It was freshly made...”

“Oh, no, I’m fine.” the woman assures with a laugh as they both stand to their feet, rubbing at her neck. “Would it be alright if I bought you a new coffee? I feel a bit responsible for it, after all.”

“Eh? Are you certain? I mean it’s really alright-”

“Really, it’s okay! Actually, please let me. I’d feel awful if you were to start your day like this.”

She’s so beautiful and polite oh God-

Tsujimura quickly gathers herself, nodding with a gracious smile as she offers a hand to the woman. “Then, I suppose I’ll humbly accept your offer. Ah, my name is Tsujimura Mizuki... You are?”

The blonde woman smiles, accepting her hand and gripping it firmly. “Higuchi Ichiyou. It’s nice to meet you, Tsujimura-san.”

Tsujimura reaches the Ayatsuji Detective Office in a very obvious good mood to the point she’s glowing, and even Ayatsuji looks up from his newspaper when she walks in. Usually, this would be the part where she starts talking to him or he gives an order for his usual coffee, but the young woman instead immediately makes her way to the kitchen to start on her own accord. The detective tilts his head, folding his newspaper as he listens to the sound of cups clinking against the counter, water running, and most glaringly - Tsujimura was humming a tune while making his coffee.

It’s a strange situation when it’s Tsujimura of all people, who takes her job and it’s daily schedule very seriously. It’s enough to warrant the blonde to stand to his feet and make his way to the entrance of the kitchen where he leans against the door frame with his arms folded.

He says nothing, as if waiting for her to notice him, all the while studying her as she works the coffee machine. On the counter is a cup from the coffee shop she always visits before work, as it’s on the route she takes every so often. He leans just a little more to one side, noticing some writing on the side of the cup, as he can tell right away it’s certainly not her handwriting.

It’s a number, not her own. Someone else wrote it.

The rest of the puzzle is quickly put together, and soon the man makes his way across the kitchen to pick up the cup. Tsujimura doesn’t even notice until he starts to read off the name written there, “Higuchi Ichiyou, huh.”

Tsujimura reacts then, jumping a good inch into the air before spinning to face him. “S-Sensei! Don’t touch another’s things without permission!” she shouts, taking the cup out of his gloved hand and gripping it with both hands to cover the writing.

“Big words, coming from the woman in my house.” Ayatsuji counters flatly, unperturbed. “Congratulations on being courted.”

“I wasn’t...!”

“Weren’t you?”

Tsujimura’s face begins to heat, and quickly, she looks away. “I-If I was...” Was she? Is that why Higuchi had put her number on there? Well, she had asked to meet her for coffee again, but was that just as a friend or - Ahh, he wasn’t helping at all! “If I was, I - I mean -”

“As I said, congratulations. It’s high time you put some interest into something other than babysitting me.”

“I have other interests!”

“Excluding your fanaticism over spy memorabilia and being an amateur detective.”

... Other than that, she just had her ability to make good coffee, so naturally, Tsujimura has nothing to say to argue against him. Instead, she sighs, walking around him to head out the room. “Your coffee is on the counter, sensei.” she says, all the while holding her cup as if it's the most precious thing in the world.

Higuchi gives a stare down at her cellphone she’s clenching tightly in her hand, brows furrowed and lips puckered. She sighs, moving to tuck it back into her pocket, then seems to decide against doing so and paces around while holding it instead.

“Starin’ at the thing isn’t gonna make things go along any faster, Higuchi-san.”

Higuchi squeaks, turning her head to look at the person speaking to her - It’s Tachihara, giving her an innocent stare with his arms folded over his chest. “Tachihara... How long have you been watching?”

Tachihara waves a hand dismissively. “Long enough. Didja meet someone recently?” Though he doesn’t say it, the young man thinks that it’s probably a good thing she’s finally started to move on from her hyper-infatuation on Akutagawa of all people.

“Oh, well...” Higuchi blushes, busying herself by tucking some hair behind her ear. “Something... like that.”

Her company raises a brow, studying her curiously for a moment before he closes in and presses uncomfortably close to her face. Higuchi can’t help but lean back a bit, unsure of how to react. Just what was he doing...?

Tachihara eventually snaps his fingers, pointing a finger at her. “You made the first move, eh? That’s why you’re pacing around with your phone.”

“Is it that obvious...?!”

“A little,” the brunet grins pridefully and rests his hands on his hips. “The Black Lizard has worked with ya long enough to know how you act, Higuchi-san. Anyway, that’s pretty bold of ya! Who knew Higuchi Ichiyou had it in her to make the first move.”

“I am perfectly capable!” the blonde counters, offended.

Silence ensues. Tachihara stares at her, and something on his face seems to scream ‘then why didn’t you approach Akutagawa?’. She eventually looks away, clearing her throat in some attempt to regain her composure.

“Akutagawa-senpai... isn’t interested in me in that manner. I’ve known for a long time. Somewhere along the line, my feelings became more admiration than anything. We’re... better off that way.”

“Well... It’s good that ya realized it. We were starting to worry you were seriously fucked in the head or something, to like a rude ass like him.”

“Just because I’m not interested in him anymore doesn’t mean you should insult him like that.” Dedicated to a fault, as always.

“Ahh. Right, my bad.” Even though he says this, Tachihara still rolls his eyes briefly. “In any case, who’s the lucky person?”

Higuchi presses her phone to her chest, and Tachihara swears he sees stars in her eyes. “Tsujimura Mizuki-san... She's so awfully pretty, we knocked right into each other. I bought her a new coffee and wrote my number on the cup - was it too much? Do you think she dislikes it? Is she not interested in women? I never thought of that, a-ahhhh...!!”

Tachihara inches back, lifting a hand meekly to try and calm her down. (Geez, this lady thinks too much.) “Look, don't go overthinkin’ or anything. I'm sure if she wasn't, she would’ve made it obvious when you wrote on her cup.”

“Really?”

“... Uh. Yeah - probably? I mean I don't have any girl friends aside from you but y’know.”

Right, he doesn’t know Gin is a girl yet. Well, she’s just going to let that be for now -

Just when she wants to say something else, Higuchi’s phone rings, and she squeezes it so hard that it pops out of her hand. She squeaks, fumbling to catch it before it hits the ground and exhaling when it’s secure. There’s a brief nervous stare exchanged between them before the blonde woman struts off a few feet away, taking in a deep breath before answering the phone.

“This is Higuchi.”

Tachihara watches from afar in mild interest, arms crossed over his chest. Higuchi has always been an expressive one, now that he thinks about it. Though the worst actor he’s ever seen, her transparency can be pretty endearing when their lives aren’t on the line for once.

“Oh, yes! Of course! I would love that!” Happiness is nearly dripping off every word Higuchi speaks, a smile spreading across her face to the point it hurts. “This Sunday at 1 - at the same place? I'm looking forward to it, Tsujimura-san!”

After about another minute, Higuchi hangs up, and spins around to face her company with glittering eyes. “She asked me out for coffee! This is great, isn't it?!”

Tachihara laughs. “It sure is! I'm happy for ya, Higuchi-san.” he says, turning with a friendly wave. “Though, we both oughta get back to -”

His words are cut off when the young woman grips at his jacket, suddenly giving a pleading look. Oh, what now?

“Tachihara-san... I haven't been on a date before.”

“... Eh?”

Was this girl really going to be alright?

A high pitched, embarrassed whine slips Tsujimura’s lips as she sinks into the diner booth she’s sitting in, pressing both hands against her face. Across from her, Ayatsuji is casually cutting into a stack of fresh pancakes as if he doesn’t have a care in the world - or more accurately, he couldn’t even find the ability to care to begin with.

“I really did it... I really called and asked her out, ahhh...”

“Congratulations. You’re moving up in the world as a human being.”

Tsujimura lowers her hands onto the table, huffing at her teacher. She contemplates giving a snarky remark, but decides against it, instead wrapping her gloves hands around the coffee she had ordered. Her brows furrow, expression troubled. “Er... Sensei?”

Ayatsuji grunts in acknowledgment while chewing on his pancakes.

“Do you have any tips on going on a date? I - I’ve never been on one...” She’s a bit embarrassed to admit it, but during college, Tsujimura was the studious type. While she certainly had friends and went out every so often, no one had approached her about going on a date of all things. Her former reserved self had come back to haunt her after all, huh?

“Why are you asking me? You’ve read my file and have it memorized by heart.” Ayatsuji sets down his fork to pick up his own cup of coffee, taking a sip. He scrunches his nose, no doubt seeming to be dissatisfied with coffee that isn’t his assistant’s. “No family, no friends, no significant relationships to be had.”

“And - what about Kyogoku-san?”

Ayatsuji freezes after stabbing a piece of pancake. “... What we have would not be considered a normal relationship to someone like you.”

Tsujimura frowns. “Don't you love him?”

“Unfortunately. But equally so, I desire to kill him. That emotion is not fabricated, nor his desire to torment and agitate me. I love him, I cannot be without him, but we are destined to fight and go against each other be it out of our own stubbornness or occupation.” the blonde exhales, lifting his fork. “Such a thing is strenuous on the heart. If that sort of thing ever happens for you, I would suggest you run in the other direction. That is my advice to you. Other than that, merely do what you feel is right.”

“I-I see...”

He's cryptic and ominous as usual. Tsujimura exhales, lifting her cup to drink her coffee. Oh well - she doesn’t need to worry. That sort of thing won't happen with her and Higuchi, she's sure.

Sunday comes, and Tsujimura is an hour early completely out of anxiety and nervousness. She’s standing outside on the sidewalk under the forest green veranda, fixing her bangs while staring into her reflection of the cafe’s window. She’s not wearing her usual suit because it’s her day off, so she’s wearing a teal blouse to match the scarf around her neck and white dress pants. Her heels are pastel pink, to accent the subtle pink outlining the sleeves and neck of her shirt.

Is she overdressed? What if Higuchi didn’t like her sense of style? Urgh, she wishes that Ayatsuji was more help than telling her to do what she felt was right! She was second guessing absolutely everything in this moment! Maybe she should just call this whole thing off, apologize for being so selfish and -

“Tsujimura... san?”

Tsujimura’s racing thoughts are interrupted by a familiar voice, and she pivots on a heel faster than she can even think. “Higuchi-san!”

Higuchi blinks owlishly, tilting her head to one side. She’s wearing a ruffled hem dress shirt that is wine red - it matches seamlessly with her eyes, Tsujimura thinks - with black capris and black heels. Her bangs are kept out of her face with endearingly child-like berets, plastic cherries attached to them. “Did I get the time wrong?”

She’s so cute - She’s so awfully cute, as if she’s the personification of sunshine -

“Tsujimura-san?”

“Oh! No no no!” the agent waves her hands, smiling nervously. “No, I actually wanted to be here early... I guess we had the same thing in mind.” Honestly, that makes her a little relieved when she thinks about it that way.

“It seems that way.” Higuchi gives a small smile, and soon lowers her gaze to the sidewalk while she tucks a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Uhm, I’m sorry if I look strange... I’ve never been on a date before, so my little sister and a friend helped me with my wardrobe...”

Huh? She’s never been on a date either? Someone as pretty and polite as her?

Tsujimura is genuinely taken aback, but when Higuchi hesitantly lifts her gaze to meet the agent’s, she’s quick to react and grasp one of Higuchi’s hands and cover it with both of her own with a bit too much eagerness. “No, it’s alright! Very alright! I’ve actually never been on one either!”

“Eh? But you’re so beautiful, I would have thought...”

Then, silence. Both of them freeze up, blushing a vibrant red and avoiding each other’s gaze, yet neither of them pull away from where Tsujimura is still holding Higuchi’s hand. (She’s learned her lesson from before, so today, she’s not wearing her gloves. Higuchi’s hands are just as soft as she expected, warm to the touch.)

Not wanting to make things awkward, Tsujimura quickly pulls her hands away from Higuchi’s and begins to laugh nervously. “Uh - anyway...! So, coffee?”

“Oh - yes! Coffee, right...”

The two of then turn to head towards the entrance of the cafe. Tsujimura holds the door for Higuchi who bows her head in thanks, and the agent feels as if her heart is soaring past the clouds above as they both order their favorite coffee and find an unoccupied booth near a window.

They never even glance outside, completely swallowed by each other’s gaze as they talk.

Tsujimura doesn't know if there's a right way to be in love, but she knows that what she grows to feel for Higuchi is certainly that. Every time a date comes to an end, they're both eager to plan the next one together. She doesn't know if they’re going too fast as weeks, then months pass, but she can't deny the rapid beat of her heart and the way her face heats at the thought of being near Higuchi Ichiyou.

She wants to learn more about Higuchi - everything about her.

In the weeks that have passed, Tsujimura has learned a lot: Higuchi lives alone with a responsible little sister, and Higuchi is a businesswoman dealing in Yokohama’s shipping industry. When Higuchi is embarrassed, she turns her head away, then glances back at you through the curtain she's made of blonde hair. She's considerate, someone who loves to listen, and seems to forget to respond until you gesture for her to. She's everything Tsujimura didn't know she wanted in a person, and the agent didn't want to lose it.

Inexperienced as she is, she knows that she’s in love with Higuchi. That’s why the drive back to the blonde’s apartment to drop her off after their most recent date makes her so anxious, causing her hands to grip at her steering wheel a bit too tightly. She doesn’t want to seem any different than usual, as if she’s out of sorts or she didn’t enjoy their time together - because she did, she always does - but the thoughts on her mind are slowly but surely leaking out into her bodily expression.

“I didn’t know they had a museum for that sort of thing.” Higuchi says, breaking the silence between them. She turns to look at Tsujimura, smiling warmly. “You really like spy memorabilia, don’t you, Tsujimura?”

Tsujimura is glad she’s at a red light right now, because her instinctive response is to turn her head to face her company with a broad smile. “It was cool, wasn’t it?! I’ve always wanted to go see the North Korean spy ship Yokohama’s Coast Guard Museum has on display! Work keeps me so busy, but I convinced senpai to give me the day off so I could see it with you!” She freezes, realizing how emphatic her response was and looking back at the road with an embarrassed clear of her throat. “A-And my car is the same model as James Bond’s in a recent film...”

Higuchi covers her mouth with a giggle. “It’s not a bad thing - I’m just saying that I think it’s good you’re so passionate about something.”

“Ah... haha...” Tsujimura grips harder at the steering wheel as the light turns green, and she presses down on the gas to continue down the road. “You think so...?”

“I’m a bit envious, really. I don’t think I have any worthwhile hobbies outside of my work...”

“... Is that so...”

“Oh - but it doesn’t bother me. I like being able to help my coworkers and senpai. I like to be useful.”

Tsujimura understands the sentiment completely. The feeling of wanting to be useful to your superiors and show your skill to those you admire was something she beared as well, always doing her hardest to impress Ayatsuji, always doing her best so Sakaguchi-senpai would commend her efforts. She wonders who it is that Higuchi tries to impress...

Higuchi hadn’t said much about her job outside of the fact she had a senpai she admired, and her boss was an extremely strict yet seemingly innocent man. It didn’t give much insight into her life or what it was like, but learning such a thing when Tsujimura could not talk about her own private life either - Well, it’d be a hypocritical thing to do, so she never felt it would have been polite to ask.

When they finally get to Higuchi’s apartment complex, Tsujimura walks Higuchi up to her door. It’s late at night, and she’s a worrier. Higuchi luckily doesn’t mind, and seems to even enjoy the last few minutes spent together before she goes into her apartment.

“Tonight was really fun, Tsujimura.” Higuchi says when they reach her apartment door. She turns to face the agent, smiling politely, nervously. “Thank you... for inviting me out.”

She’s beautiful, really.

“Oh - it’s okay - t-thank you for agreeing to come with me...” I asked for the time off just for you, after all.

The blonde grabs the handle of her door and opens it. The smell of what Tsujimura assumes to be curry wafts into the hall, no doubt having been made by the younger sister Higuchi tells her about. She says nothing, staring at Higuchi’s back -

And before she knows it, she’s grabbing at the other woman’s wrist, pulling her back into the hallway.

“Eh - Tsujimura-sa-”

Higuchi can’t finish her words before she feels Tsujimura’s lips press against hers. They’re soft and warm, and she can feel a small chill against her lips when Tsujimura pulls away, no doubt from her lipgloss. Absolute shock finds its way onto Higuchi’s face, eyes blinking widely into Tsujimura’s burning red face.

“Ichiyou, I love you.” Despite the pounding of her heart, the redness of her face, and the nervous grip on Higuchi’s hand, she manages to say it without stumbling over her words. “I love you, so I... I want to be with you. Can I be with you, as your girlfriend?”

Ahhhh, she said it! She really said it - the ‘g’ word!

For a few agonizing seconds, there’s nothing but silence. Higuchi is still staring in shock, but soon, her expression relaxes into embarrassment - then, a smile so happy it’s as if the sun itself dulls in comparison. “I’ve been hoping for you to ask that, Mizuki... I want to be with you too.”

When the next day comes and she has to get ready for work, Tsujimura has to look at her cellphone to make sure the night before wasn’t a dream. When she sees Higuchi’s number - her name having been changed to ‘Ichiyou’ with a heart next to it - and a text message before bed saying ‘I love you’, her heart is fluttering all over again as she puts a familiar cherry barrette in her hair. It was real. It happened. She and Higuchi Ichiyou were really dating!!

She’s humming all the way to the coffee shop to buy her coffee, all the way to Ayatsuji’s office as she steps inside without even remembering to use her catchphrase at the door beforehand. Ayatsuji isn’t in his office this time, but the smell of lavender in the air is enough to give his presence away - he’s in the kitchen.

She sees Ayatsuji first with one leg crossed over the other and a teacup from his china cabinet. When she gets to the doorway, she notices an older man with grey hair wearing a tattered kimono, holding a matching cup in a gloved hand.

“Good morning, sensei! Kyogoku-san! It’s a great day today!”

“Ah, Tsujimura-kun. My report is already finished and on my desk.”

“Understood, I’ll proofread it and send it to Sakaguchi-senpai!”

And then, her head disappears out of the door. The sound of her heels against the wooden floor echoes as she goes into Ayatsuji’s office where her laptop is usually always sitting, waiting to be used.

Ayatsuji is silent, staring at the doorway. He arches a brow minutely, then sets his tea down with a scoff. “... She acknowledges your presence, but is too blinded by the stars in her eyes to actually realize the gravity of it. Honestly, that foolish girl.”

Kyogoku laughs heartily, smiling delicately over the rim of his tea. “Young ones in love are so endearing. To have the ability to put all your love and dedication into another person - that is what we call ‘hope for humanity’. Why, I certainly remember a time when you acted such a way towards me-”

“Be quiet. I can remember no such thing.”

“Well, we were both more carefree then. We don't have such a luxury anymore. That is the fate of any human, haha.”

The words make Ayatsuji fall into pensive silence, tracing the edge if his cup’s matching plate. He has a feeling - and his feelings are unfortunately accurate - that Tsujimura’s happiness may be given its fair share of hardship.

“In any case,” Kyogoku continues, quickly bored with the silence. “Her scarf is missing.”

“She's also wearing a childish barrette. Most likely from the woman she’s seeing. Couples do that nowadays - trading clothing and accessories.”

An amused hum ensues. “Shall I give you my scarf?”

“Choke yourself with it instead, fool.”

There’s a small bounce in Higuchi’s step as she walks through the office room, setting down a book full of files on a nearby desk. Phew... the last of the paperwork. It’s her least favorite thing about her job, but the rest of those she worked with were always out in the field, and she... Well, she knew she wasn’t suited for this job, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to work as hard as possible at it either.

She feels that maybe, just maybe, she’s gained some sudden enthusiasm for her work through Tsujimura’s love for her job, no matter how difficult.

At the thought, the blonde lifts a hand, touching the scarf around her neck with a smile. The warmth of the fabric makes her heart beat just a bit faster, feeling as if her girlfriend is right there next to her. (Girlfriend - she loves that word.) With a small giggle to herself, Higuchi leaves the room and begins to walk back the way she had came.

Further down the hall, there’s the familiar silhouette of Chuuya. His hands are in his pockets, and he gives out a bored yawn as the distance between them grows smaller and smaller. When they get within a few feet of each other, Chuuya stops, giving a raise of his brows at his coworker.

“Higuchi, that scarf you're wearing...”

Higuchi stops when her name is spoken, then lights up at the mention, pinching at the fabric of the item. “Oh! It's cute, isn't it? My girlfriend let me wear her favorite scarf, hehe~”

“Girlfriend?”

“Yes! Well, as of last night... We thought it’d be fun to give each other one of our own accessories to celebrate today.”

Chuuya is oddly unresponsive, staring at her scarf. There's a strange seriousness in his gaze that makes Higuchi pause and tilt her head.

“Is there something wrong, Chuuya-san...?”

There's a moment of hesitation, as if the executive contemplates saying something, but he doesn't. Instead, he turns his head away. “... No. I was just thinking it's a high class brand. Just make sure you give it back in one piece - I’m happy for you, Higuchi.”

He walks off, but Higuchi can’t help but give a confused stare at his back.

Just what was the reason for that stare, she wonders...

It’s dark and the ground is wet with puddles from the evening rain. Overhead, the moon is shining down on the city of Yokohama, and the distant sound of traffic can be heard. Tsujimura sits in the shadows of some storage boxes at the port, feels comfort and at home in them, if only because she knows her ability is related to controlling shadows.

From the earpiece she’s wearing, Ango’s voice buzzes to life. “Tsujimura-kun, be careful. My subordinates just informed me some of the targets are coming in your director.”

Tsujimura grips tighter at the gun in her hand, shaking away her nerves. I’ll be alright, I’m an agent, after all. “Understood. What are your orders, senpai?”

It wasn’t often that Tsujimura was brought into the field in such a manner with Ango. Usually, she was doing her usual job, which was watching over Ayatsuji and making sure he was kept on a leash - however long it was, as he did whatever he wanted... It was fun being a detective’s assistant, but the work that came with following Ango’s orders in the dark had a certain thrill to it she both loved and feared.

She wanted to be an agent worth her salt and could hold her own against allies and enemies alike. This was her chance to prove herself - to Ango, and herself.

“Do not engage unless they notice you. This is their territory, after all.”

Yes. That’s right. This was the Port Mafia’s territory, the night was their time to shine like the moon in the sky overhead. Taking a step into the moonlight just out of reach in front of her was the same as asking for a death sentence, delivered by a rain of bullets that would make her body dance like a puppet on strings until she was nothing but a pile of flesh at their feet.

That’s what the Port Mafia is like, they are people who live in a world of blood and darkness.

Even to this day, years after having met that informant from the Port Mafia, she remembered how he smelt of blood - he was a true mafia, straight down to his brand name clothes. His red hair blending in with the sunset is still burned into her mind, and the words she said to him that day. If she could have even an ounce of that power and confidence, then surely...

The sound of footsteps nearing her pulls Tsujimura out of her thoughts. From the sound of it, they’re heels... A woman member of the Port Mafia?

There’s a moment of silence. The footsteps cease, too close for comfort. Tsujimura purses her lips, holding her breath while slowly but surely lifting her gun from where it was pointed down at the ground. Instinct tells her she’s already been found, they’re just trying to gain the element of surprise - she has no choice but to engage. With a final breathe, she jumps out of the shadows, arms lifting to point her gun in the direction of her hunter, and in turn she hears the same familiar click of a gun.

However, when their eyes meet, something in the depths of Tsujimura’s soul seems to shatter from the shock at the sight before her.

“... Eh...?”

A woman with blonde hair. Red eyes. Around her neck, there’s a familiar teal scarf. No no no, this can’t be happening - She hopes this is one hilarious prank, some nightmare from the depths of her heart, but when the woman speaks, there’s no denying who she is.

“Mizuki...”

“Ichi...you...”

The agent’s grip on her gun tightens to the point her knuckles are surely white underneath her gloves. It takes every inch of willpower in her body not to start shaking in front of Higuchi. She can’t show any weakness, not to... a Port Mafia...

The thought in itself makes her inhale sharply, painfully. “Ichiyou - why...?”

Higuchi seems equally stunned and speechless, only opening her mouth and closing it like a fish out of water.

Were you lying to me this entire time? Were you only getting close to me because of who I work for? We’re both liars. We were both wearing masks the entire time. How much of it was real?

Higuchi lowers her gun first, holding out her free hand. “Mizuki -”

Before she can finish her sentence, men from Tsujimura’s right yell out something incoherent, beginning to fire away using a machine gun in the agent's direction. Tsujimura quickly dodges, firing a few shots in their direction to send them hiding behind the nearest cover, the shadows directly behind her seeming to shudder to life.

“Mizuki! Wait!”

Tsujimura doesn’t listen. She blocks out the familiar voice saying her given name, pointing a gloved hand in the direction of her attackers. Special ability ----- “Yesterday’s Shadow Tag!”

Out the corner of her eye, some shadows move, fly past her and cause a gust of air that makes her ponytail sway. She doesn’t wait to watch, already spinning on her heels to run away. She hears the shouts of men shouting, more bullets, but none of them reach her as she disappears into the darkness.

She feels no comfort in the shadows this time when they consume her.

She feels no comfort in anything at all.

Tsujimura doesn’t sleep that night, nor does she remember much of it after meeting up again with Ango and his subordinates. It’s all a complete blur, her whole body felt numb to the point that words didn’t completely reach her. Ango seemed to tell something was off and told her just to forget about it and allow them to deal with the rest, so she just went home.

She went home to her empty apartment, and screamed at the top of her lungs into the nearest pillow on her bed. She cried, yelled, sobbed. There was no hand atop her head to comfort her, and it’s in times like then she wishes her mother was still alive to run her fingers through Tsujimura’s hair and give her the motherly advice she could so desperately need.

The advice she had actually been given by someone, it could be used now.

It weighs down on her mind the entire night that she barely sleeps, coming to Ayatsuji Yukito’s detective office a bit too early with the most depressing look on her face and bags under her eyes. She doesn’t even greet the detective when she enters the front door and takes a seat on the couch near his desk. She can feel Ayatsuji eyeing her from where he’s standing on the other side of the room, returning a book he had been reading.

His gaze is too heavy. She feels as if his eyes in itself are saying ‘I told you so, I warned you’ - so she breaks.

Her face falls into her hands and she sobs.

“Sensei... sometimes I wish you were wrong with your deductions.”

Ayatsuji does not answer. The only sound in the room is Tsujimura’s crying, which attractions the attention of his two cats that near her and jump onto the couch next to her. She doesn’t move her hands away from her face to pay attention to them, merely sniffling and crying into her hands.

Finally, she hears footsteps nearing her, and soon enough she can see the tips of Ayatsuji’s boots from where he’s standing before her. “Raise your head, Agent Tsujimura.”

The seriousness in his voice makes her wince, but the way he refers to her compels her to listen - as if not doing so would be denying her occupation as a special agent of the government. There are tear stains against her cheeks, and she’s sure that if she had found the energy to put on her make-up, it would be in absolute shambles. Ayatsuji kneels down in front of her, taking a handkerchief from the inside of his vest and pressing it against her cheek hard enough for her to get the message and take it into her hand herself.

“Calm down. Wipe your tears, blow your nose, then talk to me.”

Somehow... his indifference is calming. Tsujimura merely nods in silence, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief and blowing her nose loudly into the fabric. It takes her about a minute to clean herself up, and she takes a deep breath before speaking, “Ichiyou... is a member of the Port Mafia.” she says, voice cracking on the final word. “I- I don’t... What should I be feeling, sensei? I feel like I suddenly don’t know what to do, or if the past few months of us being together have meant really anything...”

“I can’t tell you how to feel. Quite the contrary, you’re already feeling what is appropriate for such a situation.” Ayatsuji answers coolly. “But, I doubt you’re the only one feeling this way right now. After all, both of you hid something from each other. An agent for the government and a member of the Port Mafia both have masks they’re required to wear. If you want my assessment, then I’ll give it - that woman was not under orders to be with you. Quite frankly, you and I hold no importance or significance to the Port Mafia. We hold the same significance a pebble would on the side of the road.”

He’s pessimistic as always, doesn’t mince his words, and attacks the heart of the matter from the very beginning. The layer of coolness that exudes from his voice settles on her skin, and somehow, it’s calming. It settles her heart just a bit.

“As for what to do... Well, you already know, deep down.”

If that sort of thing ever happens for you, I would suggest you run in the other direction.

... Is that what he’s trying to tell her? To run away? To let everything die away because of how things had changed, without speaking of it with Higuchi or saying a word to each other ever again? That hurt more than the idea of having to face the blonde woman face to face again. She couldn’t - she just couldn’t do it.

Her brows furrow slightly, thinking on their conversation months back, when she had just met the Port Mafia member in question. She remembers bringing up Kyogoku, how Ayatsuji had said that their relationship was not ‘normal’ - they loved each other, but they were enemies who fought to the death at every opportunity. It wasn’t normal because they were enemies...How was this any different?

“I...I’m not going to.”

Ayatsuji arches a brow. “Speak up, I can’t hear what you’re saying.”

“I said -” Tsujimura stands to her feet, curling both her hands into fists while gripping the handkerchief tightly. “I’m not going to run away! Even if it ended up like this, even if I’m scared to know the truth, I still love her! It doesn’t matter where she works! I want to protect her! I don’t want to take your advice - e-even if I admire you a lot!”

“Fool. That’s what you’re focusing on from my advice?”

“E-Eh?”

Ayatsuji crosses his arms over his chest. “I said ‘merely do what you feel is right’.”

Lavender eyes blink once, twice. It’s as if all the tension in her body has left suddenly. “What I feel is right...?”

“Yes. Right for you, not right as in what is the ‘just’ course of action.” the man scoffs, waving a gloved hand dismissively. “After all, someone like me has no right to talk about what is just or isn’t - but it’s completely my right to decide what I feel is best for me. For me, that is my exhausting relationship with Kyogoku. For you, whatever it is depends completely on your actions and choices.”

“Sensei...”

Ayatsuji gives the smallest of smiles, nodding towards the door. “You have something to be doing, don’t you?”

“But work...”

“I’m not going to be pulling a disappearing act any time soon. Just go.”

Tsujimura stares up at her teacher for a moment, then inhales to steel herself. With only a determined nod, she quickly makes her way out the front door.

In the distance, the sun is on the horizon. The night sky is slowly but surely being burned away by the rays of sunshine, leaving a distinct mix of red and lavender. Red, like Higuchi’s eyes. Lavender, like Tsujimura’s - hah, how picturesque such a comparison is. The thought makes the blonde laugh bitterly, painfully, while staring out across Yokohama bay. The Mafia had successfully driven off the government lackies attempting to interrupt their trade deal with some new allies overseas, but she wonders... At what cost?

“Yesterday’s Shadow Tag!”

She even used her ability against me... I didn’t even know she had one.

Higuchi unties the scarf around her neck, holding it out in front of her. Just looking at it and thinking of Tsujimura makes her want to start crying, but a voice from behind calling out to her is the only thing that keeps it at bay.

“Higuchi.”

Higuchi blinks away the stinging sensation in her eyes as she turns around, watching as her superior, Chuuya, approaches her.

“Chuuya-san... You’re here to check the supplies and report back to the boss, aren’t you?”

“I’ve got my subordinates working on the first part. Word from some of the lackies is that you froze up against an agent last night.”

Higuchi lowers her head to look down at her scarf, gripping it tightly. “Ah, that is...”

Her sentence goes absolutely nowhere, swallowed up by the waves in the background. Chuuya stares at her for a moment, then soon releases a heavy sigh. “That girl probably doesn’t hate you, Higuchi. She’s got a good heart - probably too good to be working for those rats in the government.”

The young woman blinks in surprise, gawking at Chuuya. “You knew-? How?”

Chuuya pulls a gloved hand out of a pocket to point at the scarf in her hand. “Some time ago, the boss had me as an informant for the government. The person waiting for me was that girl, and she was wearing that same scarf. It’s a rare brand ‘cause she’s got high class taste, so I wouldn’t forget it.”

Somehow, all of a sudden, Higuchi feels smaller. “You didn’t tell the boss despite knowing...?”

“That girl isn’t high up enough on the food chain to gain anything from. She’s not even suited for her job with a heart like that - a lot like you. But she stays anyway, stubborn as all hell.”

That is truly Tsujimura Mizuki in a nutshell, Higuchi thinks. She’s the most stubborn person in the world, empathetic, and always looking forward towards her goals. That was one of the many things she loved about her girlfriend... if she could still call the agent that, at least.

Chuuya shifts his weight onto a foot, then glances off to his left. He breathes out an amused scoff. “I’ve gotta get going and finish up, but I’ll leave you to tend to your business. I’ll only say this once, so don’t forget it: love who you love while you can. Who gives a shit if your lives are different as all hell? That’s what pulls people to each other.”

Well, that was a sudden, heartfelt piece of advice.

“I... Thank you, but where is that coming from...?”

The executive points. Higuchi’s eyes follow, and down the long, empty pier, she sees a familiar head of teal green hair running towards her.

Mizuki...?

“I’m off now. Take care, Higuchi. Give super spy my regards too.” Chuuya says, turning as he begins to walk off.

Higuchi doesn’t give him an answer, instead taking off into a run down the empty pier towards the agent. It feels as if it takes forever, but at the same time it’s so worth it when she and Tsujimura nearly tackle each other while hugging each other on the pier and stumble in the process. The agent has her in a vicegrip, and Higuchi has fingers twisted into the fabric of Tsujimura’s shirt. The two of them seem to relax in each other’s arms after a few moments, inhaling the remnants of each other’s perfume, then pulling away while holding onto the other’s hands.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you things about me because I’m a special agent.” I’m your enemy.

Higuchi shakes her head, tearing up with a smile. “It’s fine. I’m sorry too. I didn’t tell you things about me because I work for a criminal organization.” You're my enemy .

“Even so, I still love you.” Tsujimura brings Higuchi’s hand to her lips, kissing the blonde’s palm softly. “I love you, I want to know about the rest of you, no matter the cost... No matter what happens. I-I want to make this work, however dysfunctional, and be with you.”

The honesty in her words makes Higuchi tremble. She inhales, cupping Tsujimura’s face to bring her closer into a kiss - chaste, yet meaningful. Their noses are touching, both of them are smiling.

“It’s early. Come back home with me to my place to get some sleep. I want to tell you everything this time. Though it’s probably ugly... at the end of it all, I hope you’ll still love me, Mizuki.”

Tsujimura smiles. Higuchi still reminds her of sunshine - that’s how the agent knows that what she feels is love, that despite the differences in their lives, that love won’t change. “I know without a doubt in my mind I will, Ichiyou. My job isn't exactly normal either, so it might seem very funny to you... but I hope you'll love me all the same.”

[myrish-lace-love]

Can you write something where all the Targs are still alive and The Starks come to court, and Aerys is a total creep to Sansa, so Jon comforts her in the gardens later??

@letjonsnownap here’s your fic drabble that somehow turned into a 5k story!

***

Jon Targaryen was not meant for Sansa Stark.

Rhaegar had arranged for Lady Stark to travel to King’s Landing. She was to be presented as a candidate for betrothal to Aegon. Sansa’s mother and father would accompany her.

The castle’s hallways buzzed the day the Starks arrived. Jon stood next to Viserys and Aegon, the Iron Throne looming behind them.

Jon had grown accustomed to attractive girls appearing at court. Margaery Tyrell, the “Rose of Highgarden,” had shocked the throne room last month with her scandalous attire.

But Sansa Stark took Jon’s breath away when the crowd parted to give her passage.

Sansa was beautiful, poised, graceful in her lavender gown. She curtsied to the court. The lords and ladies looking down from the balcony murmured as she stood.

Rhaegar welcomed her. King Aerys had “fallen ill”, as he did more and more often these days before highborn families came to King’s Landing. Rhaegar had decided that a raving, drooling king did not inspire confidence in the realm, and had deftly sequestered Aerys in his rooms.

“It is an honor to meet you, Lady Sansa. You must dine with us tonight. We’ve prepared a feast in your honor.”

Jon bit back his frustration. The Starks had traveled far, but Rhaegar wouldn’t give them a single night to recover from their journey.  That was his father’s way. If Rhaegar was ready to drink and dance, the court would follow suit, and entertain him.

***

The great hall was transformed that evening. Candlelight illuminated the room. The dining tables were heaped with golden dishes. Musicians were stationed in the corners, making sure there would be a “merry mood,” as Jon’s father liked to say. The dance floor was polished to a shine.

Jon resisted the urge to scratch the black wool on his arm. The Targaryens at the high table were dressed in their most expensive black and red finery. Rhaegar had forbidden members of the court from wearing House Targaryen’s colors, so the royal family would stand out “like jewels in a setting.”

Jon rather thought they looked like a slightly ridiculous small army, especially because Daenerys and Rhaenys were visiting Dorne.

Aegon was the picture of courtesy when the evening began. He briefly lavished attention on Sansa, kissing her hand, telling her how lovely she looked. He danced with her only a few times, though, before he got well into his cups. Jon sighed. He’d seen this before, and he was sure he’d see it again. Aegon found the girl dull, and had dismissed her.

Sansa resumed her seat next to her father. She seemed withdrawn, thought you had to look closely to see it. Jon’s heart went out to her.

“Gods, stop mooning,” Viserys hissed into his ear. Jon could smell the wine on his breath. “Go talk to her. I’m sure Rhaegar won’t mind. You’re her cousin. Family bonds and all that.”

Jon glanced over at his father.

Read more below or continue on AO3

Rhaegar was regal as ever, his silver hair the envy of men and women alike. He was charming his dinner companions, eliciting laughter. Even so, his movements were clipped, and he ate less than usual. Jon caught him avoiding Ned Stark’s glowering countenance.

There was no love lost between Rhaegar and Ned Stark. Lyanna Stark had loved Rhaegar, and wed him with Elia’s blessing. Jon had always wondered whether that blessing was freely given, but it wasn’t his place to ask.

Ned had been by Lyanna’s side when she died in the birthing bed. He and Rhaegar had almost come to blows. Howland Reed had reportedly pried them apart, as Jon cried in his wet nurse’s arms.

Jon suspected neither Rhaegar nor Ned had forgiven him for Lyanna’s death.

He hadn’t forgiven himself.

“I swear you’re spoiling this wine with your brooding.” Viserys wrinkled his nose at his goblet. “Dornish swill. Bitter on the tongue.”

Hasn’t stopped you from drinking your weight in it, Jon thought, but he kept silent.

“Go, or I’ll kick you onto the floor myself.” Viserys’s eyes were bloodshot.

“I’d like to see you try,” Jon said evenly. Viserys shrank back in his chair. He knew Jon could crush him in the training yard.

Jon still took Viserys’s advice. All the princes would dance with Sansa in turn tonight, after all. Jon wondered if Viserys would be able to stay on his feet.

Jon had been dreading this moment. He was a terrible dancer, enough that a crowd gathered to titter and point when he took a girl in his arms.

He’d stepped on Margaery Tyrell’s feet last month, hard enough for her to suck in a breath. She’d waived away his apologies, but hadn’t gone near him after that. And why would she? Aegon had fawned over her for weeks, ensnared by her low-cut attire and melodious laugh.

Sansa’s blue silk dress was modest, almost old-fashioned compared to Margaery’s green and gold gowns. But she still looked stunning to Jon. Her cheeks were pale, and her eyes were downcast when he came to her table.

Jon first bowed to Lord and Lady Stark. His uncle’s eyes were impossible to read. I’m sorry, Jon wished he could say. I know how much you loved my mother. I’m sorry she brought me into the world only to depart herself.

But the words stuck in his throat, and they would never be enough.

Ned Stark bowed in return, and kept his silence. Jon’s stomach churned, but he moved on to Sansa. She set down her fork and curtsied. Jon’s heart started to pound. Her beauty drove his dark thoughts clean away.

“My Prince.” Sansa bowed her head.

Her hair’s like fire, like autumn leaves, like copper in this candlelight, Jon thought.

He realized he hadn’t spoken for a full minute. Gods, she was going to think he was doing this only out of duty, that he found her disappointing as well.

“L-Lady Sansa.” His stutter was back. He’d hoped he’d left that behind years ago, after Aerys practically beat it out of him. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

“Of course, my prince, the honor would be mine,” she said smoothly. She stepped lightly onto the dance floor, and Jon took her in his arms. She was suddenly close, so close he got lost in her blue eyes, as blue as the summer sky…

Sansa swallowed, and Jon didn’t need Viserys to know he should kick himself. Talk, you idiot, start moving, make her comfortable. They began to dance.

“Forgive me, my lady.” Aegon would have told her how beautiful her eyes were, but Jon did not have his brother’s gift for flattery. “I only – you look tired, I’m sorry my father insisted on this feast so soon.”

Sansa tilted her head. Come up with something to compliment her on. Gods, you should have been born a blacksmith.

“Your hair is red,” he blurted, then flushed. “I-I didn’t mean…you are…” He managed to step on her gown. Jon wished he could hang his head. “I am sorry my lady. I’m a terrible dancer, and not very adept at-“

“Talking to girls?” Sansa was smiling, somehow, despite his miserable efforts. She’d recovered from his misstep instantly, and pulled him back into the dance.

“Yes. Talking in general, really. I beg your pardon for being such a poor partner.”

They were in the center of the dance floor, and other couples were far enough away that they could converse without being heard. The Targaryen court gave princes a wide berth. Aegon and Viserys were known for stealing kisses from their partners, and the lords and ladies knew how to ignore that behavior.

No worries there, Jon thought. I’ll be lucky if I don’t topple her over.

“You are a wonderful partner, your highness.”

They were the right words, said at the right time, and Jon was sure she did not mean them.

“It’s kind of you to say so, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa bit her lip. “You truly are, Prince Jon. You haven’t told me once how beautiful I am, or how well I dance, or all the other words men murmur while they…”

They undress you with their eyes, Jon thought. He’d seen his brothers and his father – even his loathsome grandfather, who’d been propped up in a chair – stare at her greedily throughout the night.

Jon spun Sansa around successfully, for a small miracle. Her cheeks had more color when she faced him again.

The music slowed. Right on cue, the men drew their partners closer. Jon panicked, but Sansa put her hand higher on his shoulder. Jon’s mouth was dry as his hand settled on her waist.

Sansa danced with him in silence for several minutes. Jon began to relax. The quiet felt almost comfortable, though he was still keenly aware of how near Sansa was. He caught the scent of her lavender perfume.

Sansa’s eyes were lively when she spoke again.

“I’m…I’m grateful, Prince Jon. You’re gracious. I am tired, and we did travel a long way. It’s kind of you to notice.” She smiled again. “And my hair is red, after all.”

Jon knew then that he’d do anything, anything in his power, to keep her happy, to see that wonderful smile.

Careful, he thought, she’s not meant for you, she’s here for Aegon.

But she was warm and sweet in his arms, as they chatted about her journey, and his family. His stutter melted away. She laughed when he confided that he thought his family’s garb was preposterous.

Then he ruined it. He asked Sansa about Winterfell before he could stop himself.

“What is it, my prince? Are you well?” Sansa’s brow was furrowed.

He faltered, then decided to tell her the truth. “I shouldn’t have asked, my lady. About Winterfell. About your home.”

“Why not? You aren’t the only one with tales of irksome brothers. I have some of my own.” She squeezed his hand playfully, and he gave her a small smile.

“M-my mother. I did not…” How could he explain it? He’d never been to Winterfell, not once. He suspected the castle’s doors would slam shut of their own accord if he tried.

A wild and wonderful woman had left Winterfell, and never returned, and he was the cause.

Sansa’s gaze was soft. “My family does not blame you, my prince. My father does not hold you responsible for her death. You were only a babe. Is that why you haven’t accepted our invitations to come to the North? Because of Lyanna?”

Jon sighed. “Yes, my lady.”

“Forgive me for being bold, your highness, but most in Winterfell would welcome you. There are many who would like to meet Lyanna’s son. You look so much like her.”

Jon was startled. Lyanna was a famous beauty. Jon was plain, a poor excuse for a Targaryen. His eyes were grey, not sparkling amethysts. His hair did not shine like molten silver.

“Prince Jon?”

He’d done it again, fallen silent. “I’m sorry, Lady Sansa.”

“You apologize a great deal for a prince,” she teased.

“Well, I do have cause,” he said, and realized he was teasing too. Tonight was full of firsts. ”I know my mother was beautiful, but I am not. It is hard to imagine I look like her. There are no songs sung about men with black hair.”

“There could be,” Sansa said. Her eyes were dreamy. She does love songs, Jon thought, the court gossip had been right.

The music shifted. They were likely starting a new dance. He should escort Sansa back to her family. But she held tight to his shoulder, and it was blissful to hold her, to sway with in the candlelight.  

“Dark as a raven’s wing,” she said. “Black as the night sky.”

Jon grinned. “There are few who admire the night sky.”

“I do,” Sansa said. “The stars, in the North, they’re bright and beautiful, scattered like diamonds in the dark. I miss them. I miss the black of the night sky, because it lets me see the stars.”

Jon’s breath caught in his throat. She was lovely, and lonely, and he was almost in love with her already.

“I would show you the stars here, my lady, if you wished it.” Sansa nodded, sweetly, and Jon was soaring, flying.

Until he came crashing back down to earth. He winced.

“Except I can’t, there are too many clouds in King’s Landing, we never see them, I’m sorry, I did not want to make a promise I cannot keep, e-especially to you, my lady, I beg your pardon, I should have remembered, I-“

Sansa laughed. “Then you must come North, so you can see them there. Would you consider it, my prince? Only if you so desired, of course.” She lowered her eyes.

“I would, my lady,” he said gently. “I would, and gladly.” He didn’t know how to thank her, for easing his pain, for placing a trip North within his reach. For restoring part of his family to him.

Then Viserys rapped painfully on his shoulder. “Step aside, nephew, you’ve monopolized this Northern flower long enough.”

If Viserys’s breath had smelled of wine before, it reeked now. “Four dances with one partner would bore any girl, Jon, especially one so talented as our beautiful guest.”

There was nothing for it but to yield Sansa to Viserys. Jon bowed. “Thank you, my lady, for indulging me. I did not mean to take up so much of your time.”

Sansa curtsied. “The pleasure was mine, your highness. I am grateful for your courtesy.” They were slotted back into their respective roles, and that heady closeness Jon felt, when she’d talked to him of the stars, and Winterfell, was whisked away.

He left the dance floor as Viserys started in on Sansa. “The blue of your eyes is remarkable, my lady, I’ve been unable to keep myself from staring at you all night. You are an exquisite dancer as well…”

Everything she doesn’t want to hear, Jon thought. At least he’d had the chance to talk to her. At least he’d made her laugh. He tucked those precious moments away. Given the rules of court, it was unlikely he’d spend time with her again.

He thought of her laughter, of her love of the stars, as he drifted off to sleep.

***

Jon woke to a castle in chaos. He gathered the news in fits and starts. A torn dress, a scream in the night. Ned Stark, a man of even temper, barking orders, demanding the Stark family leave.

Aerys, Jon thought. Aerys, and Sansa. His grandfather’s…liberties with women who came to King’s Landing were legendary, and Sansa Stark was a new highborn girl at court.

Jon soon learned he was right. Rhaegar summoned Jon to his chambers early. Aegon and Viserys were already there, in their dressing gowns.

His father paced the large room, skimming his fingers along the tapestries on the walls. Dragon battles, wrought in fine detail, hung everywhere.

“Sit.” Rhaegar snapped his fingers at a chair. Jon sat, heavily.

Rhaegar was white as a sheet, apart from two dots of red high on his cheekbones. Whatever had transpired, it involved a threat to the family. Nothing else would drive Rhaegar into this bad humor.

Rhaegar took a deep breath. “You must handle this Jon, and handle it now. There was a scream in the middle of the night, Lady Sansa’s dress was ripped, and she ran from Aerys’s door.”

Jon’s blood began to boil. “Is she hurt? Is she all right? What happened?”

“Oh calm down, brother.” Aegon rolled his eyes. “He didn’t hurt her, not really.”

Viserys chimed in. “Her virtue’s intact, if that’s what you’re on about, she’s not spoiled or anything, he didn’t even pull her into the bedroom. Just grabbed her in the hall,” he scoffed.

“And tore her dress, and terrified her, enough that she screamed!” Jon was fuming.

“Silence!” Rhaegar roared. All three fell quiet. “It’s true this is likely overblown. But Ned Stark’s up in arms, demanding that the Starks leave now.”

Aegon sneered. “Fine, let them go. Who cares? She’s only a girl.”

Rhaegar gritted his teeth. “Pay attention. She might be only a girl, but she’s Ned Stark’s daughter, and the key to the North. We must preserve our relationship with the Starks. They are loyal to their own, and may take Lady Sansa’s tales as true. We must stop the damage, and stop it quickly.”

Rhaegar turned to Jon. “You share blood ties with her-“

“And danced with her for an hour last night,” Viserys muttered.

Rhaegar pressed his lips into a thin line. “That was a grievous error, Jon, but it may help us now. Talk to her. Convince her she’s exaggerating. By the time you’re done, I want her pliant, and ready to forget this ever happened. Sansa will then talk to her father, and get us out of this mess.”

Jon stood. He was shaking with rage. “You know it’s true, father. You know what grandfather’s capable of. And yet you want me to lie to her?”

“Precisely,” Rhaegar said. “That is precisely what I am ordering you to do. Go. I’m told she’s in the godswood praying. Go, and mend this rift.”

***

Jon took deep breaths as he walked to the godswood. The grove of trees was in the middle of the gardens at King’s Landing. The grounds were well-groomed, with marble fountains and benches strategically placed so that visitors could rest. Jon ignored the flowers, the climbing vines, the chirping birds. He had to get to Sansa. He had to help her.

But he stopped short at the edge of the dark grove. He’d prayed here, more than once. He felt a connection to the North when he did, a link to a place he’d never seen.

Jom willed his pulse to slow. His anger was not what she needed. But what did she need? Was he truly supposed to disturb her at prayer?

Sansa emerged from the grove while he was still dithering. Her grey dress skimmed her ankles, and had a simple, high neckline. A younger girl’s dress, Jon thought, one she’s outgrown.

Because his grandfather had destroyed her other dress.

Because, maybe, she felt she needed to dress modestly to stay safe.

“Prince Jon.” Sansa’s eyes were red-rimmed, but she curtsied swiftly.

“Lady Sansa,” Jon said, and bowed. They were far away from the ease and warmth of their dance.

“I presume you have heard the news, my prince.” She twisted her hands together. “I am sorry for the shame I caused your family.”

Jon’s anger rose up again. He would not follow his father’s orders. Not when Sansa was in pain, and frightened. Let the consequences fall on him. “Our grandfather shamed our family, Lady Sansa. I wish I could undo what he’s done. He is to blame, not you.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. A ghost of a smile played at the corner of her lips. Jon was relieved to see her spirits lift.

“What is it my lady?”

“You seemed so fearsome just now, my prince. Like a…like a dragon.”

“I only want to keep you safe, my lady,” he said gently. Safe, and happy, and cherished, he thought. He longed to hold her.  But he would not take a single liberty, not after his family’s mistreatment.

“I���may I ask you a favor, my prince?”

“Anything, Lady Sansa,” he said instantly.

Another small smile. “You make promises quickly, your highness.”

How could he make her understand, without scaring her, or overwhelming her? How could he express the swelling of his heart when she stood before him?

“Anything,” he said softly. “If it is in my power to grant it, it will be yours. I swear it.”

She flushed. “I would be grateful if you would escort me back to my chambers. The gardens…”

Are full of prying eyes, Jon thought.

“Of course, my lady.” But Jon froze. Should he offer his arm? Perhaps she wanted to walk next to him, without touching him. Then Sansa lifted her chin, and held out her arm.

Jon swallowed. “Are you sure, Lady Sansa? I would understand, if you never wanted to touch a Targaryen again.”

Sansa’s eyes softened. “You are kind, my prince. And you are right, I would not trust anyone in your family. Except you. I expect you were sent here to appease me, convince me my memories of last night were false. So that the Starks would maintain relations with your family. Were you?”

Jon was impressed. Court politics came more easily to her than they did to him. He would not lie to her.

“I was. But I know my grandfather, and I believe your story. If Aerys drives a rift between our families, then my family deserves it. You should not pay the price for his cruelty.”

Sansa took a step towards him. He marveled at how much bravery it took, to step closer to a Targaryen after one had hurt her.

“Someone always pays the price,” she said softly. “Will it be you, my prince? Will your father be angry? I do not want you to suffer on my account.”

“I would suffer gladly on your account, my lady. I want to keep you from harm, to protect you, see that you are safe, always.” The words poured out before Jon could stop them. They were too much, too dangerous. He did not want Sansa to think he was trying to take advantage.

Sansa said nothing, only tucked her arm in his, and smiled.

They encountered members of the household as soon as they left the godswood. Many shot Sansa surreptitious disapproving glances. Sansa withdrew further into herself with each stare. Jon wanted to snap at servants and lords alike. She did not shame us. She is not to blame.

They arrived at Sansa’s chambers all too soon. Jon wanted to stay, to talk with her, soothe her, hold her hand. Instead he released her arm, and bowed. “I will take my leave of you, my lady.”

Sansa paused at the door. She seemed to be working up the courage to speak. Finally she turned to him.

“Did you mean it? Earlier, about granting favors? That you’d do anything in your power?” She was gripping the door handle tightly.

Jon spoke evenly. He made sure she met his gaze. “I do not make promises lightly. Yes, Lady Sansa, I meant it then, and I still do.”

She blushed. “I would – I would like to hold your hand, your – my prince.” She stumbled over the words.

Jon could not think of a request that would be easier to grant. He reached out wordlessly, and let her take his hand. His heart raced when she laced her fingers with his.

Many court women had taken his hand over the years, in an effort to charm him. They’d stroke his palm or hold on too tightly.

But he and Lady Sansa were both asking and offering freely. She smiled at him, and Jon’s breath caught at the beauty of it. “May I ask something of you my lady? O-Only if it is something you want too, I do not mean to, I would never-“

Sansa squeezed his hand gently. “I know, my prince. I know you would not harm or force me.”

“May I kiss your hand?”

Aegon and Viserys would be dying of laughter if they could see him, blushing like a maid, asking permission to kiss a northern girl’s hand. He could hear them now, just do it, you’re the prince, she’s only a girl. They’d have grabbed her hand without blinking.

That was the problem. The rot at the core of his family. They took and took and took, heedless of the consequences.

Sansa flushed and nodded. Jon’s heart lifted. He brushed his lips over her knuckles and had to close his eyes briefly at the thrill of it.

“I would ask something else of you, your highness.” Sansa’s voice was lighter, and the tension was gone from her shoulders.

“Anything, my lady.” Always.

“I would like to say goodbye to you once more before we go.” She hesitated “That may be difficult, your family might-“

“I will arrange it. Do not concern yourself with my family.” In truth Jon wasn’t sure how he’d manage his family, or the Starks, but he would, by the gods, he’d surmount any obstacle, fight any battle.

“Thank you, my prince,” Sansa said, and curtsied before she entered her rooms.

Jon stood by her doorway for a long time, ruminating, before he finally understood the wish in his heart. He wanted to court her, to see if he could win her hand. Which meant he had two large battles to fight, before the day was over.

***

Rhaegar was not blind. He saw that Jon, of all people, was courting Sansa.

Most likely by accident, Rhaegar mused. Jon had made her laugh when they danced. She’d blushed prettily when they’d dallied by her chambers, according to reports.

He sighed. Well, there was more than one way to mend a rift between houses. The Highgarden girl. Margaery, was a better match for Aegon anyway. The North was a dreary, cold country. Perhaps it was best for his brooding, moody son. And Sansa would be key to securing the North’s loyalty.

A restless kingdom best left alone, Rhaegar thought, before he summoned Jon to his chambers.

He chastised him for his disobedience, and listened with faint amusement as Jon raged about injustice and harm. When Jon had calmed down enough to ask permission to seek Sansa’s hand, Rhaegar waived his hand loftily and granted it.

He smirked as Jon left. How his son would secure Ned Stark’s permission was another matter entirely.

***

Jon trembled as he walked to Ned Stark’s chambers. He had no idea how this would go.

I killed your sister, my grandfather assaulted your daughter, may I court Sansa?

Gods give me strength, he thought as he knocked on the door. He held on tight to the memory of the light in Sansa’s blue eyes.

Ned Stark opened the door in a blaze of fury. Half-packed trunks were strewn around the room. His face was red, and his hand gripped Ice’s pommel.

“Did Rhaegar send you? Too cowardly to do his own dirty work? Are you here to pay me off? You may be my nephew, but if you offer me gold from that dragon’s hoard to fix what you’ve done to Sansa, as if she was a draft horse, I will strike you down where you stand.”

Jon’s throat closed. Ned Stark was a man of his word, and Jon did not doubt for an instant that he’d wield Ice to separate Jon’s head from his shoulders.

“Father wait, please, wait, don’t hurt him.” Sansa was suddenly by Jon’s side.

“Sansa?” Ned’s grip on Ice relaxed. “Why are you here? Go, finish packing, we leave tomorrow.”

Sansa ducked her head. “I know, father. I only came because I thought Jon might try to speak to you. He’s here to ask if he can bid me farewell before we go.”

Jon groaned inwardly. He was here to ask a great deal more than that.

Sansa persisted. “Please father, let him, I…” She looked over at Jon and for a moment the rest of Jon’s world vanished. It was just the two of them, gazing into each other’s eyes.

Ned cleared his throat. “Very well, Jon, say what you came here to say. I’ll hear you, for Sansa’s sake.”

Jon steadied himself. “I did not come with gold, Lord Stark. What my grandfather did to Sansa cannot be excused, or paid for. He hurt her, and he shamed our family. I am sorry for it, though I know how little my apology is worth.”

Sansa broke in. “Jon was supposed to force me, father, wear me down until I agreed that nothing had happened. But he didn’t,” she added quickly, as Ned’s grip on Ice tightened again. “He didn’t, father, he apologized, he was kind to me, he saw me safely to my chambers.”

She moved closer to Ned. “It’s Jon who’ll pay the price, father. Rhaegar will be furious, and will take his anger out on Jon.” She glanced at Jon. “And Jon would bear that burden, for me.”

The corner of Ned’s mouth quirked. “Sansa, did you plan on speaking for Jon all day? Let the boy talk.”

At least Ned’s face was a lighter shade of red, Jon thought. He screwed up his courage. He’d have to overcome his shyness, to ask to court Sansa while she stood right next to him.

“Lady Sansa is right. I did come to ask if I could bid her farewell once more. But I also came to ask y-your permission to court her. I care for her, my lord. She’s dear to me, and I swear to you that I would protect her.”

Ned looked from Jon to Sansa and back again. He ran a hand over his face. “Seems to me you’ve started already. Sansa, is this what you want? You do not need to agree. You do not need to appease these Targaryen princes.”

Sansa gave her father a shy smile. “I know. But yes, it is.” She slipped her hand into Jon’s. “It would please me greatly, father, if you said yes.”  

Ned sighed. “Very well,” he grumbled. “You have my permission. We’ve made a right mess of this visit. But if he makes you smile, then perhaps it was worth the trip.”

He pointed a finger at Jon.  “Don’t think I missed you two laughing on the dance floor either. I’m not entirely surprised by the request. But I would not have granted it, if Sansa hadn’t come to your defense.”

“Then I am grateful beyond measure that she was here,” Jon said, and squeezed Sansa’s hand gently.

***

All the lords and ladies were packed into the courtyard, to watch the Starks take their leave. Jon heard muttered bets about whether Ned Stark would challenge Rhaegar to a duel.

He glimpsed Sansa’s red hair, and wished he could run to her. Instead he walked at a stately pace, to take his place in the retinue. In the end, Rhaegar and Ned Stark had agreed to the traditional departure ceremony, rather than having the Starks barrel out of King’s Landing, as Ned had originally intended. Jon stood in the family line, doing his best not to fidget, waiting eagerly to see Sansa again. There was a small flicker of fear at the back of his mind. Courting involved writing, and Jon was no poet. He worried Sansa might be disappointed by his first few letters, and might never write back.

Aegon stepped on his foot discreetly. “Stop slouching, Jon. Do your best not to look glum.”

Jon sighed, and stood up straighter. He did his best to treat Lord and Lady Stark with deference when they said their goodbyes. Then Sansa was before him, clad in a dove grey cloak. Jon wanted to wrap his arms around her, to beg her to stay with him. But he could not do either, until he won her hand.

“Farewell, your highness. Thank you for your hospitality.” She curtsied low, but slipped on the ground. Jon caught her.

“I apologize, my prince, how clumsy of me.” Sansa pressed a small scroll into his palm. The movement was hidden by her cloak.  Jon’s heart raced.

“Is all well, Lady Sansa? Were you hurt?” Jon raised her to her feet again.

“Not at all, thanks to you,” she said, and smiled.

Jon swallowed. I love you. I want to marry you. I’ll ache for you when you’re gone.

“Farewell, Lady Sansa. It was an honor to meet you,” he said.

Sansa was whisked into a coach, and the Targaryen court had never felt emptier.

***

Jon lit a candle in his chambers that evening, and unrolled Sansa’s scroll. A poem, he thought, she’s written a poem. He traced his fingers over the flowing script.  

I met a dragon as fierce as night

With eyes as grey as the summer sea.

He bore a maiden on his back

And carried her to safety.

Bold, for Sansa to have done such a thing. But she’d done it wisely, slipped the paper into his hand discreetly. As a result it was a secret he could keep, just for him.  He glowed as he read the poem, over and over. He smiled.

A dragon fierce as night.

He took out his inkpot and quill, and dug a scrap of parchment from his desk. He’d never written a poem in his life, but he’d try, for her. He closed his eyes, and summoned up his memories of Sansa Stark.

The rest was easy.

I met a maiden brave and beautiful

Who triumphed in a dragon’s den.

She touched the heart of a shy prince

And gave him back his home.

[eternalstereksecretsanta]

A Christmas Surprise

@hale-of-stiles-heart | AO3 | I hope you like it! I got the image of Derek in a Santa suit into my head and I couldn’t stop myself!

Lydia drags Stiles to the mall to give him her present. Derek is not amused.

“Oh my god, whyyyyyyyy,” Stiles whined. He stood in his doorway, hitching up the pajama pants slung low on his hips beneath an oversized t-shirt hanging to mid-thigh. His bed-hair was pushed to one side and he still had pillow-creases on his cheek. Normally, Stiles wouldn’t let anyone see him like this, outside maybe Scott, but pounding on his front door at nine AM the first day of Christmas break from college meant that whoever was knocking got what they got.

Of course, that person knocking happened to be Lydia Martin, ex-love of Stiles’s life and current best-friend (Scott had transcended best friend rank after all. He and Stiles were brothers.) Upon seeing the red-haired goddess, Stiles had immediately regretted his getting out of bed, because now he had to fulfill the promise he’d made to her to accompany her to the Beacon Hills mall…a week before Christmas. Stiles groaned at the idea.

“Because you need to shop for presents,” Lydia replied, pushing her way past Stiles into his house, “and I need someone to go with me to prevent me from overspending.”

Stiles snorted. “Like I can actually stop you from doing anything,” he said.

“Hmmmm,” Lydia hummed, tapping her chin, then shrugged. “You’re still coming with me. Now go get dressed!”

Stiles groaned again, slumping his shoulders and trudging up the stairs. He knew there was no way he was getting out of this, but that didn’t stop him from being petulant.

“And don’t drag your feet! If you’re not back down here in fifteen minutes, I’m coming up there and I will make you regret it.” Lydia called up after him.

Stiles smirked at how well she knew him. He also picked up the pace, knowing that her threat was absolutely something she would follow up on. (He still had the scars from last time. They were totally mental scars, but they were definitely there!)

Stiles quickly brushed his teeth, threw on some clean clothes and ran a comb through his hair, before jumping down the stairs to slip on his shoes.

“Fourteen minutes and fifty-seven seconds” Lydia said, looking at her stylish watch.

Stiles smiled, toeing on his shoes and quickly doing up the laces. “I’m nothing if not punctual.”

Lydia smacked him in the back of the head as he stood up from tying his shoes. “If you were punctual,” she said, “you would have been ready to go at nine instead of making me wait. Now let’s go.”

Stiles rubbed the spot where she’s hit him, and glared at the back of her head as she opened the front door. He quickly grabbed his red hoodie and his keys and followed her out the door.

At least they got to drive to the mall in the beamer, Stiles thought to himself as he got into Lydia’s luxury car.

The ride to the mall took maybe ten minutes, but finding parking took at least twice that. Mainly because Lydia refused to park in just any parking spot. “If you think I’m letting my car get scratched for your convenience, you are seriously mistaken,” she responded to Stiles’s grumbled complaints.

When they finally had the perfect parking spot, Lydia led Stiles by the arm into the hell that was the mall at Christmas. Stiles could only feel like he was being dragged to his doom.

Inside, the mall was a riot of shoppers, children, Christmas music, and strings of lights and decorations. It was extremely overwhelming. Even Lydia had to take a moment to stop and get her bearings.

Taking a deep breath, Lydia narrowed her eyes as she settled into business mode. “All right, first stop, Michael Kors.”

Stiles groaned, but let himself be led on.

***

Around three o’clock, Stiles had to throw in the towel. Now he knew why Lydia had insisted they start early. They had only managed to make it through five stores in as many hours, most of that time had been spent waiting in line for cashiers. At least he’d managed to find a warm flannel robe for his dad, a drone batwing for Scott, and a couple books for Lydia and Mrs. McCall. He’d gotten caught staring at a leather jacket by Lydia, but she was gracious enough not to comment, dragging Stiles to the next store wordlessly.

Stiles groaned as he dropped into a chair in the food court. The collection of his own shopping bags and the ones Lydia had forced him to carry crashed to the ground around him. He didn’t know how those retail workers did it on their feet all day. Five hours and he already knew he was going to have sore feet for a week.

Lydia sat more primly in the seat across from him, though she did remove her shoe and begin rubbing her foot.

“Whyyyyyyy,” Stiles whined for probably the 50th time, wondering if he could get away with taking off his own shoes then deciding he didn’t have the energy to bend back down to re-tie them. He dropped his head down to the table on top of his folded arms.

Lydia chuckled. “You’ll be happy to know that I have finished my shopping for the day,” she said.

Stiles’s head snapped up in surprise. “So you mean we can go home?” he asked hopefully.

“Not quite,” Lydia answered.

Stiles groaned again, his face falling.

“Hush,” Lydia admonished, “I’m doing this for you.”

Stiles screwed his face up in confusion. “What are you talking about? I got the last of my gifts at Books-A-Million!”

Lydia just smiled. “But not my gift to you.”

Stiles cocked his head slightly. “What the hell does that mean?”

But Lydia ignored the question. Smiling sweetly, she asked, “are you able to stand back up?”

Stiles’s fatigue was forgotten in his curiosity. He pulled himself into a standing position and stretched backwards, popping his back in the process. “Let’s do this!”

Lydia shook her head ruefully, standing herself. “Don’t forget my bags!” Lydia scolded.

Stiles rolled his eyes as he bent back down to gather the pile of bags. He groaned as he stood back up with his load of Lydia’s purchases.

Lydia led the way from the food court, down the escalator, and through the crowds. After a few minutes, she stopped and turned to Stiles. “Here we are!” She said brightly, gesturing behind her.

Stiles looked around her in confusion. She had stopped in front of the “take a picture with Santa” area they set up in the middle of the mall every year. Stiles squinted at Lydia in confusion.

“Why are we here?” He asked.

“This is your Christmas present,” she replied cooly, “You’re gonna go sit in Santa’s lap!”

Stiles stared at her, unbelieving. “What?” he deadpanned

Lydia gave him a Cheshire cat smile, and pulled Stiles to stand up next to her at the velvet ropes that outlined the area. The gleam in her eyes meant that Stiles had pretty much no choice in the matter, and Stiles felt himself begin to panic.

“Lydia, I am not going to go sit in Santa’s lap, okay,” he began hysterically, “This is clearly here for kids and I would totally make that poor man uncomfortable not to mention probably be kicked out of the mall and…oh, great, now Santa’s staring at us. Well, glaring more like it. He probably has people try and do this all the time, I mean, look at how his biceps are straining the sleeves on that suit and…oh, wow, Santa is really glaring at me now, he’s got like angry death eyebrows happening and…Holy shit, that’s Derek!”

The man in question was definitely giving his best angry scowl at Stiles and Lydia. Stiles seemed to have lost the ability to think for a moment and merely waved. Derek didn’t wave back, turning his attention toward the little kid who was climbing the stairs up to where Derek sat, his expression melting into one that was both kind and jolly. He reached down and plucked the child up from the stairs, settling them in his lap and began having a private conversation with them, chortling and smiling sweetly.

“Guh,” Stiles uttered, unable to form coherent words.

Derek’s eyes flashed to Stiles’s for a moment, before returning to the child in his lap.

Lydia took that moment to press her fingers to Stiles’s chin, closing his gaping mouth.

“So now are you going to get in line?” She asked. Stiles nodded, keeping his eyes on the way Derek was smiling and laughing with the kid. Suddenly years of repressed feelings were overwhelming him and he didn’t know what to try and process first, the idea of Derek in a Santa suit, or the image of Derek playing with kids.

Lydia dragged him zombie-like to the end of the line. There were only two kids in front of them, most of the other people supposedly having already gotten their pictures in this close to Christmas. Stiles was snapped out of his stupor at the thought that very soon, in like, minutes, he would be sitting in the lap of the man who had awakened gay feelings in him. Stiles tore his eyes from Derek and glared at Lydia.

“Why are you doing this?” he angry-whispered at her.

“Because,” she said, rolling her eyes, “You and I both know that you will never let yourself have a chance with anyone else unless you get Derek out of your system. Besides,” Lydia leaned in, her voice barely a whisper, “I have it on good authority that you might not be so one-sided in your pining.”

Stiles looked up at Derek, then back a Lydia, “What? You can’t be serious! There’s no way…”

“Stiles, listen to me,” Lydia interrupted, “I know high school left you feeling like you were undesirable, but I am going to tell you once and once only that you are both attractive and clever, and any person in their right mind would be lucky to have you. Just because some idiot in a small town high school didn’t fall madly in love with you doesn’t mean that you’re some sort of ugly leper. You, Stiles Stilinski, are hot stuff and you need to realize that.”

Stiles stood baffled for a moment. “Lydia…” he whispered.

She smiled and shook her head. “You’re my best friend, Stiles. I can’t let you go on like this. You need to tell Derek how you feel.”

Stiles stared back at her. “What if he says he doesn’t feel the same way?” His voice was shaking.

“Then you move on.” Lydia said, “it’ll hurt, but you’ll get over it. And you’ll still have your friends.”

Stiles couldn’t speak for a moment. He held Lydia’s gaze, thinking about how much things had changed since high school. He looked up to where Derek was talking to another child, remembering all the tension between the two of them. They’d spent so long dancing around each other, eventually forging a friendship after years of fighting side by side. The idea that they could have more sent butterflies stirring in his stomach.

Lydia took the bags from Stiles’s hands, having to tug just a little bit to get his hands to unclench.

“Lydia, I’m scared,” Stiles said, staring at Derek, who was waving goodbye to the kid who had been in his lap.

“Scary things are often the ones most worth doing,” Lydia said.

Stiles turned and smiled ruefully at her.

“Next!” The guy dressed as an elf called, causing Stiles to jerk his head around. The elf looked Stiles up and down, a sneer on his face.

Stiles rolled his eyes at the jerk, then turned his gaze to Derek, catching his glare, and pushed past the elf.

“Hey, you’re supposed to have kids!” The guy called out behind him.

“Give them a few years,” Stiles heard Lydia say. He smiled, pulling back his shoulders and putting on all the false bravado he could.

Stiles strode bravely up the stairs, planting himself in front of Derek.

“So, Santa, do I just plop myself in your lap?” Stiles joked, “it’s been a few years since I’ve done this.”

“Stiles…” Derek growled.

“Oh, come on, Sourwolf, have a little fun!” Stiles turned and situated himself on Derek’s knee, twisting a little back and forth to get comfortable and throwing his arm around Derek’s shoulders.

Derek glared up at Stiles, his eyebrows (powdered! As if that would hide them!) scrunched together in the middle. His normally plump lips were mostly hidden by the fake white beard.

“What the hell are you doing, Stiles?” Derek asked.

“Well, I was shopping with Lydia, and she reminded me that I hadn’t told Santa what I want for Christmas yet.” Stiles replied, unable to stop the shit-eating grin from splitting his face.

Derek stared balefully up at him.

“Well, come on, aren’t you going to ask me if I’ve been a good boy this year?” Stiles chided.

Derek huffed, then stared up a Stiles for a few moments. “Look, Stiles, if you’re just here to make fun of me, can you do it later? There are kids who want to talk to Santa, and they still believe in good things.”

Stiles heart broke a little at that. “Der, I…” he started, then swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. “I’m not just here to make fun of you. I…I wanted to ask you…”

Derek looked so vulnerable, almost scared, that Stiles almost couldn’t finish, but he knew that if he stopped now, he’d never get another chance.

“I wanted to ask you…what you’re doing for Christmas?” Stiles asked.

Derek blinked up at Stiles. “Well, I’m, uh…well, I was gonna skype with Cora.”

“Yeah, and then what else?” Stiles pressed on.

Derek shook his head, “that’s it.”

Stiles nodded, “Well, would you want to spend Christmas with me, then?”

Derek’s eyes widened. “Stiles…”

Stiles could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “My dad is gonna be working Christmas Day and Scott and his mom went to visit family down in San Diego, so it’ll just be me by myself and…” Stiles faltered, but saw the hope in Derek’s eyes and pressed on, “…and I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend Christmas with than you, Derek Hale.”

Derek eyes searched Stiles for any hint of falsehood, though Stiles knew he could hear the truth of his heartbeat. After a few heart wrenching moments, Derek surged up, catching Stiles’s mouth with his own in a sweet kiss.

The kiss lasted only moment, but Stiles felt it all the way down to his toes. When Derek pulled back, he had a smile on his face. Stiles couldn’t stop himself from tasting his lips. “So…is that a yes?” Stiles asked breathlessly.

Derek nodded. “I would love to, Stiles.”

Stiles smiled widely, “Great. I…I’ll text you?”

Derek nodded.

“Hey, you two, over here!”

Derek and Stiles turned to took at Lydia, who was holding up her phone to take the picture. Stiles couldn’t wipe the grin off his face, no matter what he did.

After snapping a couple pictures, she gave them a thumbs up.

Derek snaked he arm around Stiles waist and gave him a squeeze, tentative as it was. Stiles looked back at Derek’s face and did the same around his shoulders.

“When do you get off tonight?” Stiles asked, feeling bold.

“Eight,” Derek replied.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Stiles asked.

“That depends, are you?” Derek replied.

Stiles smiled. “How about you text me and we figure it out from there?”

Derek smiled back. “Okay.”

Lydia cleared her throat from across the way.

Stiles took his cue and stood up. “Merry Christmas, Santa,” he said, stepping off the stairs.

“Merry Christmas, Stiles,” Derek called after him.

Stiles practically floated away from chair, walking over to where Lydia waited for him.

“So, how did it go?” Lydia asked, “did my present turn out like I hoped?”

Stiles smiled at her, then shook his head. “Oh, I don’t know about your present,” Stiles glanced up at Derek, who was picking up the next kid in line. “But I think I will definitely be getting the best present ever from Santa this Christmas.”

Derek’s face reddened and his eyes flashed to Stiles momentarily, indicating that he had been listening in on their conversation.

Stiles just smiled at him, suddenly very excited for what might be coming in the new year.

[wolfgangisdead]

Love, loss, and Hot Wannabe Tall Guys

Fandom Far Cry 4

Pairing Pagan Min x Original Character

Words 1987

Rating Teen

Warning Pagan Min being Pagan Min, potential ooc Pagan Min

-

CHAPTER ONE

“Again, terribly sorry for what happened. This is more what I had in mind.” 

Esha looked at the man to her left as he spoke, but her gaze trailed down the table to his guest of honor. He looked like a child with the look of confusion on his face, but she was certain he was fairly young regardless. 

“So, fresh start. Introductions. Ajay Ghale, our guest of honor; Paul, our very gracious host; Esha, my dearest friend, and her daughter, Abha. And the little monkey who’s name I still do not know.” He gestured around the table as he went, stopping when Abha reached out from her highchair to grab at his hand. “And I, of course, am Pagan Min.”

Ajay looked at him, clearly not knowing who this Pagan was. 

“You really don’t remember me, do you? Your mother, she never spoke of me, never mentioned me?” He looked sad for a moment before he waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, we’ll change all of that. Paul, I need cash.”

Esha looked at him, curious as to what he had planned, but knew better than to question a man like Pagan Min. 

“Uh, how much do you need?” Paul took out his wallet, looking through it. 

“All of it. Thank you, here we are.” He held a Kyrati rupee in his hand, next to his head. When there was no reaction from Ajay, he chose another rupee. “All right, how about this, with the smile?”

It took one other rupee for Ajay to come up with a reasonable reaction. 

“That’s you.” He murmured, the first thing he most likely said since coming here.

“That’s me.” Pagan agreed, turning the rupee to look at it, a small sigh leaving his lips. “Though, I’m not so sure anymore.”

He set the money down before turning to the urn, opening it. “Now your mother, your mother on the hand, she understood me. She knew me in a way that no one ever did.” He sighed, tilting the ash as he dipped a finger in, bringing it to his lips for a taste. “Mm. That brings me back.”

He set the lid of the urn down, holding the urn with a fond gaze. “The last time I saw Ishwari was years ago. She told me she loved me. Women, they can do that. They can tell you they love you in the moment and mean it, men on the other hand? No, men only really love you in hindsight. When too much distance has built up -” he set the urn down “- So when your mother decided to flee to the United States with you on her hip, I couldn’t help but blame myself.”

Esha watched as the king stood, crab fork in hand as he approached Ajay’s friend, knowing full well what was going to happen. 

“Pagan, careful.” She warned, gaze drifting to the baby that was watching him with wide eyes. 

“Then I realized it, it’s not me. No. It was the fucking Golden Path.” He only offered Esha a small smile showing he understood what she was warning him about as he walked behind Ajay’s friend. He slammed his head into the plate, stabbing him in the neck with the fork. “Those fucking terrorists, they ruin everything. Like dinner. Did no one ever teach you that it’s rude to text at the table?”

Abha giggled clapping her hands at the sudden movement, having been too young and innocent to know that she should not be giggling at this.  

“Let’s see here. Give me the phone.” He whacked the man’s arm until he moved it. “Really guys? We’re not checking for these anymore? Ah, “I’m with Ajay Ghale.” You’ll love this part. “Help.” A text, for help. You don’t text for help, you cry for help. So, come on, you’re going to cry for help.”

Esha cleared her throat. “Pagan, enough. You wouldn’t want to scare Abha, would you?”

“I…” He furrowed his brow before yanking the fork out. “I suppose not, you’re right. You’ll have to forgive me Ajay, Esha truly is my better half. She keeps me quite grounded. Paul, take this little monkey and see what he knows.”

Paul stood and grabbed the monkey, leaving the room with him in his hold. 

Esha smiled respectfully, but squirmed under the attention she was being given. “It’s nothing, nothing at all. I’m only doing what I do best.” She shrunk in her seat, hoping the attention would go elsewhere.

Pagan’s phone rang and he slowly made his way out, telling him to stay and enjoy the crab rangoon. 

Ajay turned to grab the urn, quickly closing it. “Is he always…. like that?”

“Hm? Like what? Oh… well, if you mean the fork, usually yes. He’s very temperamental, but he is not without his kindness. I wouldn’t think too much on his behavior, Ajay. He’s…. reaccustoming himself to having more people around.” Esha lifted a crab rangoon off of her plate, waving it around like a bird in front of Abha. “You’ll learn to get used to it, if you decide to stay a little while longer after returning your mother to Lakshmana.” 

“Who...who was Lakshmana? She never spoke of her, and when she did, it was pretty vague.” He cleared his throat, looking down at the urn.

Esha frowned, looking at Abha. “She was Ishwari and Pagan’s daughter, his pride and joy. You could tell when he had seen Lakshmana just by the smile on his face. She was to turn two, but she was killed.” She was uneasy to even tell him this and it showed as she nervously shoved food into her mouth to avoid saying anything more. “Listen, it was his daughter. If you want to know more, it must come from him. I’m merely just his friend.”

Ajay looked at her, but said nothing more as he sat in silence, choosing the option to enjoy the crab rangoon. 

“Is Abha his?” Innocent question enough. 

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, no. Though he does adore her, it is for some other reason. Her father abandoned us the moment he laid eyes on her and saw that her skin was light. Accused me of adultery and ruined my reputation. I was lucky enough to have met Pagan when I did, if not for him I’m sure Abha and I would’ve died.” She smiled down at her daughter, squishing her chubby cheeks. “It’s cute that you think she’s his, though. It’s sweet.”

He flushed, looking down and was going to say something else before Pagan returned, a joyous smile on his face as he sauntered in. 

“Did you enjoy the crab rangoon?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but was caught off from saying more when screaming echoed through the halls. “Ah, you will have to forgive that. Someone isn’t cooperating as well as they should.”

Abha gurgled and slammed her hands on the trey of the highchair, squeals leaving her lips as she watched Pagan return and take his seat beside her. 

“Let us finish our meal, shall we?” He clasped his hands together, smiling. “Anything interesting happen while I was gone, hm?”

“Just small talk about Abha, nothing much.” Esha chirped, omitting the sensitive topic of Lakshmana. “Yuma will be coming in later. She wants to talk to you about something, but she never said what.”

“Probably for the best, you know. Wouldn’t want dear Abha getting caught in the crossfires of my business, no?” He chuckled, a dangerous, warning tone to his voice. “Now, it would be a waste to let this food grow cold. Let’s celebrate Ajay Ghale’s return to Kyrat!”

Esha furrowed her eyebrows at his words, knowing full well he’d never let any harm come to Abha, not if he could help it. She ate in silence as Pagan rambled on to Ajay with some interruptions from Abha every now and again.

When the meal was over, however, he had a help lead Ajay to his room. Pagan remained with Esha who was thoroughly savoring the food as she shared the crab rangoon filling with Abha.

“I trust that you will ensure you will make sure he doesn’t stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.” He murmured quietly, lifting Abha from her chair and into his lap. “We don’t want him joing that fucking Golden Path now do we? No, we don’t.”

Esha smiled softly at him. “Only if you teach me how to fight. It’ll be much safer if you do, and you can still keep some guards with you, or stationed at posts.” She retorted, watching him. “She loves you, you know. I think she’d love you even more if you taught me how to fight.”

“Ah, well, I suppose doing so wouldn’t be too difficult. Ajay could accompany us.” He hummed, although there was some doubt in his mind. “It could be a bonding moment for us all!”

“A bonding moment of shooting things?” She raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Yes! We can tear shit up!” He nodded, standing as he bounced Abha in the air. “Wouldn’t that be fun, Abha? Yes, yes it would. You’d have so much fun, wouldn’t you?”

“She’s a baby, Pagan Min. You will not introduce her to guns, or killing people. It’s bad enough you stab people in front of her.” She scolded, a frown on her face. 

“It’s never too early. She must learn to fend off all the boys that may like her in the future, you know.” He handed Abha over to Esha with a cry of disapproval coming from the baby. 

Esha narrowed her eyes at him as she set Abha on her hip. “You’re insane, Pagan. Absolutely insane. She is a baby! Teaching her to stab things is bad parenting! You have to teach her to fight with her hands!”

“She will be a perfectly capable young girl if she is anything like her mother. Of course, she is much too young now, perhaps when she is able to keep herself upright, then.” He tutted before smiling at Esha. 

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Pagan. You should know this by now.” She tsked and patted his arm. “I’ve got to go into town later, so I trust that Abha will be safe with you. Again, do not do anything too terrible in front of her. If I find out you did, I will hurt you.”

“Oh, feisty. I like it.” He quipped, a smirk playing at his lips. 

She looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Thank you for the meal, My King. I’ve got work to do now, so you know where to find me if you need me.”

Esha didn’t wait much longer for any reaction from him and left the room, heading towards her room to begin working. She wasn’t like any other member of Pagan’s so called “court,” as she more often than not did the little things like sewing or repairing clothes. She was pretty handy with a needle, and took to cleaning and repairing any clothing Pagan sought fit. Sometimes she would even craft new outfits for him, such as the pink jacket he had worn at the meal with Ajay. It was difficult, but that was fine with her.

She was repairing one of his coats that had been torn, although it was a lot more than a tear. He was very clearly getting into a few more squabbles with the guards, as the bloodstains were quite…. pronounced. 

“He is such a messy man, isn’t he, Abha?” She turned to look at her daughter standing in the crib. “Nothing I’m not used to with a messy eater like you!” 

Abha squealed, as if disapproving of her words. 

Esha sighed, a small frown on her face. “Maybe one day Kyrat will be safe enough for you to go out and have fun. Maybe.”

[lolcat76]

Prompt: Regina and Snow have a fight. David and Robin plot ways to help them make up.

What was supposed to bea pleasant family dinner was rapidly escalating into World War 3, and allover a crappy reproduction of a forest painting. Not that he’d admit that itwas crappy, because apparently that opinion had already been read loud andclear, but…it wasn’t good. It was charming, and bright and colorful in its ownway, but…it wasn’t good.

Still, it reminded Snowof Regina, and she bought it for no other reason than to give a gift to herstepmother, and maybe Regina could have been just a little bit more gracious.

And maybe, the nextWednesday when Snow and David brought Neal over for dinner, Regina might not havehad the painting – edited with magicand stripped of color, barely recognizable from the week before – hanging inthe dining room.

Maybe if she’d justburied it in a closet, the night wouldn’t have ended with a pie thrown againstthe wall. Later, when David and Robin were perched on barstools at the RabbitHole, neither of them could agree on who exactly threw the pie.

“You know, I’ve had lotsof bad nights with Regina. Even when she tried to break up our wedding, atleast we still managed to have a good party afterward,” David mumbled into hisbeer.

Robin had had a few badnights with Regina too, but since none of them involved death threats, he justhummed in response and sipped his own pint. He wanted to be part of Regina’sfamily, but common sense told him to stay out of this particular drama.

“It’s just…” Davidtrailed off, his attention caught by an order of soft pretzels being pusheddown the bar. He was a good lad, David, but he was a pretty simple guy. Robinhad no doubt that the secret to his blissful marriage was a woman who liked tocook, and, if Emma’s horrified tales of living in the loft were to be believed,liked to…make tacos. Food and sex, and he was happy.

Since Robin was fairlysure nobody in the bar tonight was going to make tacos with David, least of allhim, he crooked a finger to the bartender and pointed at the plate of pretzels.Might as well get the man some food, since Robin had neither cash nor creditcard to pay their tab. So far, he’d managed to drink for free based on the goodwill of his mates,and David was well on his way to being a melancholy drunk who wouldn’t remembercharging a night out tomorrow.

(Upside of living inStorybrooke – after 28 years, nearly everyone had an ongoing tab at the localpub. Downside of living in a town with a magical barrier to exit – even if hewanted to escape opening his own bar tab, he couldn’t go far.)

“It’s just what?” heasked, after David had been sufficiently stuffed with pretzels and Robin hadordered another round.

“I thought everythingwould be great, once Snow and Regina started acting like a family.”

Robin snorted. “Clearly,you’ve never met my family. My father and I hate each other, and my olderbrother tried to smother me in my sleep for a good three years when we werekids.”

“Yeah, but you grew outof that, right? I mean, Snow and Regina are adults,” debatable, Robin thought, given present evidence to the contrary, “andthey still make each other crazy.”

“It’s just a painting,”Robin said. “It’s hardly the lost treasures of the kingdom.”

“It’s not the painting,not really. Snow thinks Regina thinks she’s got no style, and it makes herinsecure.”

Robin looked down at hisown wardrobe. Jeans, a t-shirt, and a hoodie that had seen better days. “I’mpretty sure Regina thinks I’ve got no style either, mate, but it doesn’t worryme.”

“You don’t have anystyle,” David agreed. “But Regina does, and Snow wants to be just like her.Same as she did when she was a kid.”

Regina would laughherself into a coma if Robin told her that Snow wanted to be just like her, buthe knew a little bit about that kind of hero worship. He felt the same abouthis older brother, right down to trying to smother his younger repeatedly whenhe arrived.

“I’ll talk to her,”Robin reassured David over the last pretzel.

“After another round,”David said. “If you go home now, you’re going to have to clean up that pie.”

Robin clapped his friend on the back. “Hate to break it to you, I’mgoing to have to clean up that pie no matter when I get home.”

***

Regina was still fumingwhen he came downstairs the next morning, taking out her wrath by scrubbing thealready spotless countertops in the kitchen.

“Not feeling better, Isee.”

She slapped down thesponge and glared at him. No, not feeling better at all. “Do you want to talkabout it?” he asked.

“What’s there to talkabout? Snow is a spoiled child who makes lousy apple pie,” she huffed.

“That’s hardly reasonenough to throw it against the wall,” he pointed out, but not before checkingthat she had nothing at arm’s reach to throw at him.

The wet sponge hit theside of his head with a soggy thwack.He wiped the suds off his face, trying like hell to fight off a grin. “You mayhave a lousy temper, Regina, but you do have excellent aim.”

She crossed her armsover her chest, a flush spreading over her cheeks as she worked herself up intoa full temper. “I did nothing wrong. Good manners dictate that in giving agift, you relinquish all rights to the gift’s use. It’s not my fault her stupidpainting was ugly.”

“No, but it is yourfault that saying things like that means that you think less of her.”

“I didn’t say that!” Heraised an eyebrow, and she looked down at her hands and began picking at hernails. “Not in those words.”

“I hate to point out theobvious, love, but even when you don’t speak, you manage to get your pointacross rather well.”

She huffed. “What am Isupposed to do? Apologize?”

He clutched at the neckof his t-shirt. Regina, apologize? “God, no! Not that!”

Fortunately, shechuckled at his dramatic response. Her shoulders slumped a bit, and her armsshifted so that she was wrapping them around her waist. “I suppose I couldapologize.”

He wasn’t overlyconfident that her apology would make things better. Regina had many talents,but admitting she was wrong wasn’t exactly one of them. “Maybe you could returnthe favor?”

“You mean, give her backthe painting?” Her expression brightened. “I can certainly do that.”

He sighed. “No, I meangive her a gift. Only, this time, give her something that she would like. Notsomething that you would like.”

“But I have bettertaste.”

Lord, no wonder Snow wasinsecure. “It’s not about taste, Regina. You buy Henry gifts all the time – you’drather he read the classics, but he has a stack of comic books in his room thatyou bought him because you know he likes them. Hell, you even bought me six differentt-shirts in the same color because you know I like it. Why not do the same forher? Why not stop trying to mother her into the person you want her to be, and giveher something that shows you like her for who she is?”

Regina blinked insurprise. “I do like her for who she is. Most of the time.”

“Then show her. It’s that simple.”

***

A week later, theyknocked on the door of the loft, Henry in tow and Regina’s arms full with apaper-wrapped package. Even though the two women hadn’t spoken since the pie-throwingincident, Wednesday nights were for family dinners.

The smell of tacoswafted through the hallway. David must be hedging his bets, Robin thought witha smile.

Snow opened the door,stony-faced but clearly trying to be gracious. “Here,” Regina said as sheunceremoniously thrust the package into Snow’s hands. “It’s a gift. For you.”

“Thanks?” Snow laid thepackage on the dining room table. She slid her finger along the tape holdingthe wrapping together and gently pulled back the paper, uncovering a brightwatercolor of the Troll Bridge.

“I know you like thatspot,” Regina said. “And…I thought you’d like this. It’s colorful. Pretty,even.”

“It is pretty,” Snowbreathed. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Regina shrugged. “You’rewelcome.”

“I’d like to hang thisup in my room at school, if you don’t mind?”

“You want to hang apainting of where you went to bang your married boyfriend in your classroom?!”

Robin poked Regina,maybe a little harder than necessary, with his elbow. “Remember, you don’t getto decide what she does with the gift!” he hissed.

“If it would make youhappy,” Regina said through gritted teeth, “I’d be flattered if you hung it inyour classroom.”

“It would make me very happy.”Snow threw her arms around Regina and hugged her so tightly that Robin was alittle afraid she’d cause a collapsed lung. “So very happy.”

“Women,” Davidwhispered. He held out a bottle of beer to Robin, which he gratefully accepted.“You’ll be glad to know that dessert tonight is cookies.”

Much easier to clean up,in case things went upside down again. David was always a lucky bastard. Heclinked the neck of his bottle against David’s. “To family dinners,” he said.

“To family,” Davidagreed.

Family, indeed.