#all y'all should watch grand blue | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

winxanity-ii · 11 months ago

Text

REVELATION'S EDGE

ship: simon basset x fem!sister!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 3.6k a/n: Had to dive deep into the emotional turmoil for this one! Simon's story really hits a nerve for me and wholeheartedly believe Daphne should have had consequences for what she did, but I digress. Can't wait to hear what y'all think!

★·.·´🇧‌🇷‌🇮‌🇩‌🇬‌🇪‌🇷‌🇹‌🇴‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You lived in luxury your entire life, born into a world where wealth was as normal as the air you breathed.

Your family, known for its long history and great wealth, always moved in the highest circles of society. Aristocrats, nobles, politicians—they all knew your family's name as symbols of power and prestige.

The grand estate you called home was a symbol of generations of success. Its big gardens were always kept perfect, and the detailed, fancy architecture showed a legacy built carefully over the years.

Every corner of the estate felt like a part of history, reminding you of your family's lasting influence.

Every hallway you walked down was filled with history, as if the footsteps of those who came before echoed along with yours.

From the moment you were born, your life was set in a backdrop of fancy rooms and whispered secrets.

Your childhood was like a colorful, rich tapestry—filled with private tutors, elegant parties under sparkling chandeliers, and summers spent in grand villas overlooking the endless blue sea.

Your earliest memories were of people fixing your clothes to perfection, polite nods at gatherings, and the smell of roses always in the air from the beautiful gardens outside.

Yet even with all this luxury, you found yourself wanting more. Behind the fancy smiles and fake conversations of high society, you longed for something real—something that wasn't covered in velvet and gold.

You wanted to see the world beyond the polished staircases and perfect lawns, to find out what was behind the curtain of perfection that had always been pulled over your life.

Your father understood your curiosity. He noticed your distant looks during social events, the way you seemed to want something else when you thought no one was watching.

Seeing your dislike for the superficial life around you, he decided to give you something special. He had a room made just for you—a sanctuary, a quiet place where you could get away from the endless politics and shallow conversations that filled the rest of the house.

Now, you sat in that very room, remembering how it came to be. It always gave you a deep sense of comfort.

The room was spacious, with high ceilings that made it feel open and free, yet cozy enough to be a perfect retreat. The warm, welcoming feel of the room wrapped around you like a familiar hug. The walls were covered with bookshelves, filled with books you had collected throughout your life.

It was a collection that had grown with you—from the fun stories you loved as a child to the deep, philosophical works you studied. Each book had its own story.

Many of these books were gifts from faraway places, collected during family travels or brought by guests who stayed at the estate.

You remember the feeling of unwrapping a beautifully bound book, the crispness of its new pages, the promise of a new adventure. Some books were finds from your own explorations—rare books discovered in little shops hidden in the city—each one handpicked and cherished, with worn edges from your constant reading.

In the far corner of the room, large bay windows stretched from floor to ceiling, showing a beautiful view of the estate’s gardens. Through them, you could see the carefully trimmed hedges, the colorful flowers in full bloom, and the old oak trees standing tall. The windows were made to capture the natural light of the day, filling the room with a soft, golden glow.

On bright mornings, the sunlight warmed the floor, inviting you to stay a while. Sheer curtains hung gently, softly moving with the breeze that came in, carrying the scent of jasmine and fresh earth.

Your rocking chair sat in the middle of this peaceful space—a big, comfy chair, almost like a throne, covered with the softest blankets and pillows.

You couldn't count the hours you spent there, curled up, letting the chair rock gently while you read. It was your favorite place—a place where you could leave behind all the expectations, the responsibilities of your family name, and get lost in the pages of your books.

Here, you fought dragons, sailed across oceans, and discovered new lands.

Here, you loved, lost, and lived a thousand different lives, all while the real world moved on outside those windows.

The room was your haven—a place where you could finally breathe freely and be yourself. No grand halls, no watchful eyes, no heavy legacy—just you, the soft sound of turning pages, and the warm glow of sunlight, reminding you that there was beauty in simplicity too.

To your left, Kira, your personal maid, was a constant presence. Her Blasian heritage gave her a unique beauty, with reddish-dark auburn hair that cascaded in gentle waves down her back. Her light brown eyes were expressive, often reflecting her mood before she even spoke.

Her skin was a rich dark brown, sprinkled with freckles that added to her distinctive appearance. Tall and slender, she moved with a grace that belied her underlying strength, and her voice, airy yet slightly scratchy, filled the room with a comforting familiarity.

As she knitted you a pair of winter gloves, Kira spoke up, her tone carrying her characteristic brashness mixed with a hint of humor. "You wouldn't believe the latest rumor I heard from the market," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Apparently, Lady Edith was caught in a rather compromising situation with the Duchess of Wohrmans. It seems high society isn't as prim and proper as they pretend to be."

You couldn't help but chuckle at her comment, appreciating her candidness and the way she always managed to bring a slice of the outside world into your sheltered life. "Kira, you do realize that half of these rumors are probably just wild tales, right?"

Kira looked up from her knitting, a sly smile on her face. "Oh, of course. But it's always fun to speculate, isn't it? Besides, it's the only entertainment we get around here, given how these snobby lords and ladies turn their noses up at everything."

Her brash temperament, so carefully controlled yet so openly shared with you behind closed doors, was a refreshing contrast to the often stifling decorum of high society. Her rants about the various characters you both encountered were a source of much-needed levity in your life.

But in truth, Kira was more than just a maid; she was a confidant, fiercely loyal, and the only one who heard your true thoughts about the high society you navigated.

The tranquility of the room shattered when the doors slammed open, the sudden noise breaking the delicate calm that hung in the air.

You looked up, startled, to see Simon, your older brother, standing there.

Simon's visits were always a highlight for you, especially given the circumstances of your life. Your father's dying wish was that you reside in the family home until you were eligible to wed.

At nearly nineteen years old, you were yet to experience the onset of your period, a traditional marker of marriage eligibility in your society. This delay had kept you bound to the family estate, and though you often found the confines of this life stifling, Simon's infrequent but cherished visits were what made it bearable.

Ten years your senior, Simon was your half-brother, sharing the same father but born of a different mother. The tragic fate that befell your mother during childbirth mirrored the loss Simon experienced with his own mother, creating a bond of understanding, of shared grief between you two that had only grown deeper over the years.

As Simon stepped into the room, his presence filled the space like it always did, but today, something was different.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement—he was your lifeline to the world outside these walls, and you were eager to hear the latest news and gossip from town.

The last you had heard, he had attended the 1813 social season hosted by Lady Danbury, a significant event in high society, and you were curious to hear every detail.

"Simon!" you exclaimed, rising quickly from your chair, a wide smile lighting up your features. "I didn't expect to see you so soon. Tell me everything. How was the social season? Any interesting gossip, brother?"

But something about Simon's expression gave you pause. He always had a commanding presence, his handsome features often drawing admiring glances—his skin, a deep, rich brown, perfectly complemented by his neatly styled black hair.

His eyes, usually bright and full of life, a striking contrast against his complexion, were different today. They were dim, devoid of their usual spark, and you noticed a wetness behind them that most others might miss. This ability to read him so well came from a lifetime of shared secrets and experiences.

Your smile faltered; the initial joy at seeing him now replaced with concern. His face was stony, but those eyes—they betrayed the turmoil within.

Quickly, you gestured for Kira, your trusted maid, to leave, understanding immediately that whatever Simon was about to share required privacy. As she slipped out, you felt a knot of worry forming in your stomach, tightening with each passing second.

Simon shuffled over, his steps lacking their usual confident stride, his shoulders hunched in a way that made him look smaller, almost like a child seeking comfort. His vulnerability struck you hard, and in almost a whisper, laden with concern, you called out, "Brother… are you alright?"

Suddenly, Simon's composure broke. His sobs echoed through the room, each one more heartbreaking than the last. The sound was raw, and it cut right through you.

Without a second thought, you rushed forward and pulled him into an embrace, feeling his body shake against yours. "It's okay, Simon. I'm here," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you cradled him, your own eyes filling with tears.

You had never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so broken. It stirred something primal within you—a fierce protectiveness, an ache in your heart that made you want to destroy whatever it was that hurt him.

The two of you stood there for a while, locked in that embrace, the room filled with nothing but the sound of his sobs and your gentle shushing.

Eventually, Simon's sobs subsided, and you pulled away just enough to look at his face. Gently, you lifted his chin with your hand and used a soft handkerchief to wipe away his tears. "Brother, what's wrong? Did something happen? You're scaring me," you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady, though inside you were anything but calm.

Simon looked at you, his eyes full of anguish, the storm of emotions swirling there almost too much for you to bear. He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice barely above a whisper. "Before I say anything… please promise me you won't do anything rash." His words sent a chill down your spine.

Perplexed but too concerned to argue, you nodded slowly. "I promise."

Simon took a deep breath, as if trying to steel himself for what he was about to say. "It's… Daphne," he finally admitted, his voice breaking on the name, a fragile whisper that left you cold.

Your heart skipped a beat, confusion and fear swirling inside you. "Daphne?" you repeated, your voice trembling. "What about her?"

He looked away, unable to meet your eyes, his expression one of shame. "She… forced me into… into having a child with her."

The words hit you like a physical blow. For a moment, the world around you blurred, and you couldn’t breathe. "Daphne… she… she what?" you managed to choke out, your voice barely a whisper.

Simon gripped your hands, his own trembling as he tried to ground you. "____, please. You promised. Just listen to me."

"Promised!?" you repeated, your voice rising in disbelief, your emotions starting to boil over. "How dare you ask for calm when I've just learned that… that she…"

"____, please."

But you couldn't hold it in any longer. "…raped my brother!?" The word came out like venom, filled with fury and disbelief, your chest heaving as you tried to make sense of it.

Simon visibly flinched at the word, his eyes closing briefly as if to ward off the pain it brought. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a silent plea, but you were too incensed to care. "It's sickening, Simon! She knew you didn't want children. You told her, and yet, she still…"

"____, I know," Simon said, his voice cracking. "I know, but please, don't do anything… don't make it worse."

You finally quieted down, the weight of the situation sinking in, the rage simmering under your skin. "She doesn't deserve you, Simon. She never did."

Through his tears, Simon looked at you, begging again. "Please, don't do anything rash."

You gave a non-committal nod, your mind already racing with thoughts of retribution. How could she do this to him? Your heart ached at Simon's vulnerability, but your anger towards Daphne burned fiercely. "How can she live with herself after doing this to you?"

Simon shook his head, lost in his own turmoil. "I don't know. I just…"

Realizing he needed comfort more than anything, you softened. "Alright, Simon. Let's just… let's just sit for a while."

You called for Kira, giving her a specific look that she immediately understood. "Bring us the Night's Whisper tea, please."

Kira nodded and slipped away.

Night's Whisper was a special blend you had created for your insomnia, known only to you and Kira; its calming effect was exactly what Simon needed now.

As she left to prepare the tea, you turned back to your brother, who sat beside you, his frame shaking slightly from the weight of his emotions.

"Brother," you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's always been you comforting me… It feels strange, being on this side."

Simon offered a weak smile, a ghost of his usual charm. "Yeah, roles reversed, huh?"

You sat together in silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on you both. When Kira returned with the tea, the delicate aroma of Night’s Whisper filled the room, offering a brief respite from the heaviness of your conversation.

As you both sipped the tea, you gently probed, "Simon, tell me… how did it all start? That night with Daphne?"

He took a deep breath, his voice a wistful whisper. "It was a normal night, just like any other. We were both getting ready for bed; the house quiet around us…"

Simon's words transported you to that night, his narrative painting a vivid picture. "I remember the coolness of the sheets, the dim light from the hallway spilling into the room. We talked a bit, just mundane things… nothing out of the ordinary…" His voice trailed off, each word heavy with regret and betrayal. His normally animated face was now a mask of sorrow.

You reached out, placing a comforting hand over his.

The tea worked its subtle magic, and you watched as Simon's eyelids began to droop, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll. For him, it was enough to gently lull him into a much-needed sleep in the comfort of your chair.

You stayed with him, a silent guardian, as he drifted off, his breathing evening out until he was finally at peace.

Once you were sure Simon was asleep, you pressed a tender kiss on his forehead. Turning to Kira, your voice was firm, your eyes blazing with determination. "Get my horse ready."

As you rode through the countryside on your favorite horse, the wind whipped through your unraveling braids, your focus laser-sharp on reaching Simon's home.

You cared little for the dirt staining your clothes or the disarray of your hair; all that mattered now was confronting Daphne.

Arriving at the house, you bypassed the maid at the door, your steps swift and resolute. The common room was filled with light laughter, the sound of high society oblivious to the darkness lurking just beneath.

Daphne sat elegantly, her strawberry-blonde hair styled impeccably, her light skin glowing in the candlelight. Beside her were Penelope Featherington and another highborn lady; their conversation filled with hopeful whispers of pregnancies and futures.

You had only heard of Daphne through gossip and Simon's reluctant admissions of their "arrangement." An arrangement that now revealed its ugly truth.

Your steps were purposeful as you approached her, the room falling silent as you called her a "harlot," your hand connecting sharply with her cheek. The sound echoed, cutting through the air and drawing gasps from the women around.

Daphne recoiled, her hand flying to her face, her expression one of shock and indignation. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling between anger and confusion.

"You know exactly why I'm here," you said, your voice cold, vibrating with barely contained rage.

Her confusion deepened, and she shook her head, as if trying to shake away a bad dream. "I have no idea what you're talking about. How dare you assault me in my own home?"

"You've done far worse in this very house," you retorted, your eyes boring into hers, unyielding. "What you did to my brother…"

Daphne’s expression shifted, realization dawning slowly, her face paling as she finally comprehended why you were here. "Oh, this is about Simon?" she said, her voice tinged with a sneer, though there's a flicker of fear in her eyes. “He lied to me. He said he couldn't have children.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. "He never said he couldn't. He said he wouldn't. There's a difference, Daphne. Still, a misunderstanding on your part doesn't justify what you did."

Daphne's defiance was palpable as she straightened up, her chin lifting. "I did what was right. He needed to continue his lineage. It's what anyone in our position would do."

"Please!" you hissed, your voice dripping with distaste. "Don't lump me with the likes of you!" Your anger boiled over, and you took a step closer. "You had no right to take advantage of him! If you were confused, you should have talked to him, not… not violate his trust and his body!"

Penelope and the other woman watched, stunned into silence, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

"You're twisting the situation," Daphne argued, her voice faltering slightly as she tried to regain her composure. "Simon is my husband. It's my duty to—"

"Duty?" you cut her off, stepping even closer, your presence now towering over her. "Your duty doesn't include rape, Daphne."

She tried to meet your gaze, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, her bravado beginning to crumble. "R-Rape?" she stammered, the word barely leaving her lips. "You're overreacting. It's not like… not like I—"

"Not like what?" you snapped, grabbing her chin, forcing her to look into your eyes. "Not like you betrayed him? A violation of the deepest kind?"

Daphne's eyes widened as she gazed into yours, and for a moment, she saw Simon in you—the same eyes, the same intensity. The resemblance was uncanny, and it shook her to her core, the reality of her actions hitting her in a way that words alone never could.

"Stay away from my brother," you commanded, your voice low and dangerous. "If you ever try to come near him again, or even attempt to justify your heinous crime one more time, you'll have to deal with me. And to the Gods above, that's a threat you don't want to test."

Releasing her chin, you straightened up, your gaze sharp and unyielding. The room, once filled with light-hearted chatter, was now heavy with the weight of unsaid truths and unveiled secrets.

Daphne sat there, her face a mix of shock and realization, the reality of what she had done finally starting to sink in.

You took a moment to smooth out your dress, restoring some semblance of poise to your disheveled appearance.

Turning to the other women in the room, you locked eyes with Penelope Featherington, her face a picture of shock and fascination. Beside her sat Lady Clarissa, a minor yet prominent figure in your social circle, known for her penchant for gossip and extravagant hats.

With a flourish of mock politeness, you offered them a sweet, yet blatantly sarcastic smile, executing a curtsey with exaggerated grace. "Ladies," you said, your voice laced with faux cheerfulness, echoing with underlying scorn.

Penelope seemed at a loss for words; her usual observant nature momentarily stilled.

Lady Clarissa, on the other hand, looked utterly bewildered, her eyes darting between you and Daphne, trying to grasp the full scope of the scandal unfolding before her.

Straightening up, you held their stunned gazes for a moment longer, letting the impact of your actions resonate.

Then, without another word, you turned on your heel and strode out of the room. Each step was measured and deliberate, echoing with the resolve of someone who had fiercely defended a loved one.

As you left, the room remained in stunned silence, the ladies left to ponder the events that had just unfolded.

Your heart was heavy with the burden of what you had to do, but it was buoyed by the knowledge that you had done what was necessary to protect Simon.

The walls of the grand house seemed to close in on you as you made your way out, the echoes of high society's hollow pretenses fading behind you, your mind now set on whatever came next—and the promise you'd made to protect your brother at all costs.

A/N: lololo i hope you guys enjoyed, my bby simon deserved more frfr 🥹❤️❤️

#xani-writes: simon basset fics #simon basset #bridgerton #saltfic #siblings #simon x reader #bridgerton insert #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton #colin bridgerton #x reader

60 notes · View notes

stars-and-darkness · 10 months ago

Text

WIP WEDNESDAY!!!

week #17

y'all didn't think you'd seen the last of me, did you?

more amnesia au bc if don't put some effort into it alicia is going to hurt me. so here's some background:

She only feels eyes on her a moment later. Klaus has a way of moving that’s deathly silent, no matter the terrain. It’s no wonder she didn’t hear him approach.

“What?” she asks, perhaps more sharply than he deserves. She feels a stab of guilt in her chest.

“Nothing,” he says, turning on his heel to walk away.

He’s already a few steps away when a “Wait!” tears out of Liz’s throat.

Klaus pauses, and casts a look over his shoulder, one eyebrow quirked up in question. His hands slide into his pockets. “Yes?”

She’s not sure, actually. She’s never been sure when it came to him.

One day, Caroline is working a job she doesn’t particularly enjoy in the big city, the next she’s calling Liz to tell that there is more supernatural mess on the horizon, the next that the supernatural mess is solved, and also that she’s having dinner with Klaus, the Klaus, the one they’re both acquainted with better than Liz had ever wished to be. That first dinner was not a date, Caroline had insisted then and she still insists now, nor had the second or the fifth or the thirteenth.

The fourteenth, as she understands it, hadn’t started out as one, but that’s what it turned into and then weeks later Liz had received a call telling her that Caroline had taken a week off work to visit her … Klaus’s kingdom in Louisiana, and would she mind terribly if they were to make a stop in Mystic Falls, after all, she hadn’t seen Liz in so long.

Liz had missed her daughter and was quite eager to see her, of course. It’s the addition of the millennium-old children’s bedtime story given flesh that she objected to.

Said millennium-old children’s bedtime story looked no different than he had the last time Liz had seen him, which should not have been as surprising as it was with someone with a vampire daughter. He’d been unfailingly polite and too-charming, as if that would be enough to make her forget. He’d been polite when he requested—ordered, because it’s not as if she could have refused—entry into her house the first time, too.

Just seeing him step over the threshold casually, invitation acquired years ago, was enough to have her blood run cold with icy rage no amount of dimples or twinkling blue eyes or compliments could melt.

She’d been convinced that it would all end in heartbreak, as she had been when Elena Gilbert switched the Salvatore on her arm.

But then Elena and Damon got married and they seem to be happy, and a few weeks ago her daughter called again, this time from this grand and ancient house rather than a one-bedroom apartment in a high-rise, and announced her engagement.

Maybe it will end in heartbreak, she decides, though not the kind she’d anticipated back then.

Liz grits her teeth together. “I’m sorry,” she forces out. “That was rude.”

It may be the first time she’s ever apologised to him, ever.

He cocks his head to the side, and then his mouth stretches in a grin she also finds familiar from the months he’d spent in Mystic Falls.

Terrible tragedy, isn’t it … and so young … and her poor, poor son. He’d been wearing that grin when he spoke of Carol’s death, wicked as if he didn’t care if anyone knew that he had been the one to hold her head under. Poor boy, all alone. And just yesterday, he’d been on top of the world. Fortunae rota, no?

“Why,” he drawls now, bringing her to reality, “are you going soft on me?”

Liz had watched him hold court, nails digging into the soft skin of her palm. The gleam in his eyes had sent shivers down her spine. Later, she’d dubbed it insanity.

Liz feels her face harden and her lip curl. Maybe she likes him more like this, when the pretences are off, when he’s not simpering and trying to charm his way into her good graces. “Not a chance.”

He turns fully at last and grins, stepping forward. The winter sun glints off his hair, turning the curls into gold. “Good.”

And then he flashes off, leaving her alone.

#tvd #klaroline wip wed #ella originals #amnesia au

21 notes · View notes

umhuhwellthen · 2 years ago

Text

JUST WATCHED THE S2 FINALE OF TMNT 2K12 AND

DONNIE WHERE'D YOU GET NUCLEAR WASTE????? WHERE WERE U KEEPING IT AND THE MECH???? CAN APRIL HAVE HER DAD FOR 5 FUCKIN MINUTES???? HOW THE HELL DID KRANG SUBPRIME GET SO GOOD AT IMITATING TEEN GIRL???? AHHHHHH COMA ARC/FARM ARC INCOMING FUCK

OH ALMSOT FORGOT MY FAV FIGHT SCENE BETWEEN SHREDDER AND SPLINTER SO FAR??? MAN'S STARTED HISSING AND FUCKIN BITING THATS HIS BOY!!! HIS SON YOU FUCK GET FUCKED STOP HURTIHG HIS FICKIN KIDSSSS SPLINTER WENT APESHIT YESSSSSS GO FOR THE FACE YESS TEAR HIS THROAT OUT MAIMING KILLING CLAWING AND BITING

ah so this is one of the legendary multiple times splinter died

Miscellaneous thoughts on my watchthrough:

Also skipped episodes becasue of Donnie being..."enamored" with April like bruhhhh they way they wrote it....why

Did not know Casey was introduced s2, also why such the huge fuckin gap, did they not want him to have look same as Donnie???? Like just put the gap in a different place also are his teeth yellow?????in one of the zoom ins when they were group hugging April compared to her and Donnie's his were tinted????? Like damn y'all are cruel to the humans when you design them like the Hamatos and mutants get all the love in design but fuck everybody else

Also don't recommend binge watching the series because the back of your head will always be like damn those kids cannot catch a break just whammy after whammy,like they'll get a week or two(at best!!! Mostly maybe a day or two if at all!!!)of nothing much happening, maybe fighting lowtier grunts but that's it, but a week or two is just 7-14 days which is not a lot in the grand scheme of things

Also Leo stop trying to kys challenge pls and thx 🙏those eps with him remembering splinters words of complete the mission no matter what/who the cost like sir/ma'am??????

Also was sit just me but in the ep 'into dimension x ' was Mikey's voice deeper??? Like for a lil bit??? See why the head canon of it not being months but years is popular also people always mention holy shit kraang skin helmet but what about kraang limbs lasso? Kraang arms armbands? Motherfucker made them into pelts holy shit

Speaking of Mikey I thought the hidden blade in his nunchunks was something added??? Like an upgrade after a fight?? But no he always had it??? God no wonder y'all say these version of the turtles are down for murder yeah after seeing s1/2 they deserve it I love them so much this is why you should(not) give teenagers dangerous ninja skills and weapons

Blue eyes same shade as mask seriously??? I thought it was a darker shade but fanart tricked me, brown eyes Leo supremacy indeed

Once I finish space arc I'm gonna draw half-kraang April because she deserves spooky eyes and sharp teeth she's a little bug eyed freak/affectionate anime girl proportions tiny nose

May add more as I go along

#tmnt #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt 2012 #ay speaka #people who hate 12 splinter....did you watch the same fuckin show #he's a good fukin dad he just words things wrong sometime or is emotionally constipated but what dad fuckin isn't even without being raised #liek he was and the trauma he has #i was already a 12 splinter defender but like y'all i get why people are aggro about it now #long post #i think #12 splinter #12 leo #12 Leonardo #12 mikey #12 michaelangelo

24 notes · View notes

badbirchenergy · 1 year ago

Text

The attention Peaches is getting does little to break her reverie, causing her trainer to fill in the gaps rather frankly. "She's– a damn card, I can tell ya that much." Truthfully, she's far more than that: operating at a level of strength that exceeds convention, this is no Slaking to fool around with. The flicker of a wicked grin flashes across May's lips, however, when considering the potential here for a future battle—and a real opportunity to turn Gold into a believer. "I'd be worried for good ol' Claude, honestly."

It isn't long before the man's accompanying monsters join the growing entourage, each one receiving a warm greeting from the Hoennite. "Nice t'meet all of y'all, too—play nice, 'k?" This is primarily directed towards Balthazar and Gold's ferocious-looking Charmeleon, the two in the middle of a stand-off of sorts. May marvels at the fire type's sheen, returning their chirp with one of her own; her eyes then dart to Balthazar who'd been looking earnestly in her direction, the startle of her glare causing him to scamper away from the group.

"Rascal..." From pure habit, May extends an arm to scritch behind the Persian's ear, earning herself a rumbling purr. She isn't surprised the formidable cat-like beast has warmed up to her, and so quickly; the Hoennite has always displayed an almost feline instinct, something her mother, June, first noted during her daughter's early developmental stages. Agile, independent, inquisitive...

Not unlike the beasts that ruled over the rainforests back home.

"A beautiful crew ya got here—everybody seems t'be in tip-top shape! All healthy, and happy," she issues another small wave towards the Bellossom, her own Absol perking up and sauntering to inspect the sprite-like grass type closer. His head hangs low as he continues moseying forth with a bashfulness about him, unassuming in his careful approach.

As the dynamics outside of Mossui's community center shift, the appearance of two Champions seems to have stolen the attention of those still busying about at this hour. Whispers from passing pedestrians greet May's ears, many expressing starstruck intrigue and shameless curiosity. Though her presence in the public sphere had been nonexistent during her absence from duty, May had become a household name long before even securing Ever Grande's Championship title. Such attention should be easily digestible by now, all things considered.

Though most wouldn't expect, from outer appearances, that May would possess any sort of humility. As it'd be, the reverse is truer to her soul—even after achieving so much, having millions of fans across the globe feels excessive to her, and something far too outlandish to be tethered to her now-reality.

Thoughts that are neither here nor there, she concludes for the time being, as her feet take towards a booth not far from the lobby's main entrance. The convenience of the location allows her to keep eyes on the mingling Pokemon: as gracious as the villagers have been, any friendly fire that might erupt between the monsters socializing could end with the entire village being reduced to ash.

All it'd take is for someone to bump into Peaches as she's resting. A shiver travels up May's spine, watching as The "Lazy" Pokemon begins to doze off while rolling onto her back.

Thankfully the eatery's menu is straight-forward enough, its delicacies not unlike cuisine found throughout Hoenn, Johto, and their neighboring regions. After reviewing her options, May's order is made with a quickness:

"'Scuse me, hey, can I grab uhhm– eight orders of the Kitakami Fried Noodles? Four of the Candy Razz Berry sticks, too, and... ooh, four of the Alola Blue Shaved Ices? So glad y'all carry that brand of syrup here." May fiddles within her Wailmer-shaped coin purse, tattered and worn after having adventured alongside her for so long, while trading glances back between the roaming party members. Handing over foreign currency that had been exchanged at customs prior to arrival, the Champion shimmies to the side so those in line could step up to order as well.

"Don't think this is all for me, aight... Peaches is gonna inhale five of these noodle meals down in two seconds flat." Salem would nibble at one meal, though the Candy Razz Berries would suit his palate more so; its candy shell, as familiar as May is with its ingredients, is safe for certain Pokemon, as is the syrup drizzled over the shaved ices being prepared behind the storefront's street-facing window.

For Balthazar, May rummages within her knapsack haphazardly before emitting a sigh. 'Good', she takes inventory briefly, 'still gotta lot of the mix that I made with Roxanne left. Should be enough to last th' trip.' Volcanic rocks broken and cut with limestone and traces of raw gems—a world-class concoction crafted through May and the Rustboro Gym Leader's joint efforts, to provide all the necessary nutrition a Sableye would need when out of their dark, cold element.

Her last party member, Wilma, will have to be taken somewhere isolated later for her feeding. May's come to realize her newest partner isn't as fond of noodles and sweets as she is for flesh, blood, and entrails.

Gold dutifully follows May back outside, noting how quickly night has started to fall. His eyes drift to the nesting Hoothoot and its enough to make him smile; it reminds him so much of his own hometown of New Bark, or maybe Violet City. The other bug types beyond the village's boundaries were just as much reminders, too. Even so, for once Gold didn't neccesarily pine to the extent he wanted to be home.

He had to thank May for that, honestly.

"They don't, I imagine." He replies to her with a smile. That wasn't always true, mind, but it generally held true. The idea of all-night food places would likely be foreign here, at least for a while longer.

He almost doesn't notice she's stopped and withdrawn three Pokeballs before they're launched into the air, disgorging their respective monsters. Gold doesn't recognize them individually, but at least he does recognize their species. All of them, he can tell from a glance, are incredibly well trained (as is expected) but its the Slaking that draws his interest the most.

At least she would if the Sableye wasn't running circles around him. Gold laughs softly and gently reaches down to greet the excitable goblin. "Hello to you too." He murmurs, before he looks back to May.

"They are all exactly what I expect of you, and I am glad to meet them. Frankly, I could hardly imagine any of your Pokemon being 'domesticated'" He chuckles playfully, before his eyes drift to the massive lazy creature again. "I have heard a lot of stories about Slaking, and how difficult they can be to work with to any degree. Most trainers don't bother, but I'm fairly sure she'd have no trouble matching fists with Claude in a good day."

He's a little intimidated, in truth. Not by the Slaking herself, but by what it represents. May took a Pokemon that manages to be lazier than a Snorlax, even in battle, and raised it to its absolute peak of power - which was amongst the highest in the world. He'd heard even more intimidating tales about trainers who'd utilized certain attacks in double battles to remove a Slaking's slothful nature and allow it to go all out at all times, but he didn't ask. He didn't want to give her ideas.

Ah, manners.

Gold plucks his own Pokeballs free and tosses them into the air for his own trio to join the gathering.

Soushi's big for a Charmeleon; eye height with either of the humans and all lean and predatory muscle. The air around them gets hotter as her firey tail sways back and forth, her gaze snapping to the little hectic Sableye running about like a madman. He moves like a meal, and Gold has to gently click his fingers to break her focus. She looks back to May and chrips a greeting.

The Bellossom, ever the social butterfly, hops over to May and greets her excitedly before waddling off to say hello to all of the new Pokemon, too, even circling around to say hello to Peaches. He was, as one would say, a social butterfree and then some.

Admetus, meanwhile, yawns and stretches the moment he's free from the ball's confines. He's huge for a Persian, easily the size of a Pyroar or one of the larger felines. He takes a moment to preen himself before he looks to May and, languidly, approaches to rub down one side of her leg, circle, and down the other with a contented purr.

That makes Gold blink.

"Soushi, Rui, and Admetus respectively." Gold smiles. "-- Admetus usually isn't nearly so social with strangers. He likes you."

Its no wonder. Hell; most of the time Gold has to worry whether or not the Persian will decide to be irritable with those he doesn't know. Still, the talk of food makes everyone perk up.

"I'm sure it will do. Everything here will no doubt be made by hand, whatever they may serve."

#;🌺pokénavigator [threads]#allthingsglittergold #TY FOR the patience c'': sorry bout that wait!#we back!! and hungry oml

18 notes · View notes

stickers-on-a-laptop · 2 years ago

Text

grand blue ruined my life because i cannot look at clasped hands without going ¡VAMOS!

#all y'all should watch grand blue #it has the two kiryuus of toku (aka kiryuu sento/kiryuu daigo aka krbuild/kyoryured aka inukai atsuhiro/ryusei ryo)#date akira of ooo #and an ex-aid movie villain #all of them get. very naked.#what's a plot?

1 note · View note

libraford · 4 years ago

Text

The short version: We had a serial thief at the flower shop. She’s retired recently and I think that due to Covid she really means it this time.

The long version? hoooo boy, here we go.

This story, and others, are viewable on Tablo

There are rules and there are rules.

In dealing with shoplifting in retail, there are rules on how one engages with a thief. The handbook, if there were one, would consist of a single word.

Don't.

Don't pursue, don't interrogate, don't accuse. Let them take the merchandise, let them get away. Let them return the Cricut machine for an equivalent amount on a gift card to be exchanged once again for drugs.

Let them.

There is no handbook on how to handle Flower Thieves. Prior to working in a flower shop, I never thought that this was a problem.

Life is surprising.

I'm sure some of you have figured that out by now.

The Flower Thief is notorious, and she has a system. There are days when you simply know that she's going to be in.

"Break the heads off the flowers before you throw them away," Grandpa will say. "She's going to be here tonight, I think."

And sure enough, she would be. At 6:45, a quarter til we close- the Thief would announce her arrival. Loudly.

"Heeeeey, baaaaaaby!"

The very first time I encountered the Flower Thief, she came in through the back door.

"Oh Hiiiii, Darlin'- ain't seen your face around here: you must be NEW! I'm Wren, you know- like the bird? Well, Kyle and I have an agreement that I come and work for y'all sometimes. You should take out this trash, it stinks to high heaven. Anyways, nice talkin' to ya, see ya later."

I may only be a little bit psychic, but I've spent enough time around liars to know insincerity when I see it. Kyle, at the time, was the manager of our store and I have it on record that he's tried to throw her out of the building once or twice.

While I was taking out the trash, her pile of purchase became so tall it towered over her. I watched Clark massively undercharge her for the sake of getting her to go away.

She has a pattern.

She comes in during the design classes because she knows that when there's twenty people in the store, there's not enough people to watch her and make sure she's not stealing. "There's a class today," she asks as if it's not literally every Tuesday. "Don't worry I know you all wanna get out of here on time."

The Flower Thief announces her presence in a grand way and then makes her way to the back to grab a trash bag or an empty box and then proceeds to bury any spare parts she finds in the cooler in the trash bag, hiding them under the things that she's actually buying.

After that, she checks the garbage cans for things we might have thrown away that will last another three days and stuffs them underneath her other ill-gotten goods.

Just when you think she's finished, she'll go through her pile of flowers and say: "You know what? I don't need this eucalyptus." And she'll go back into the cooler with it, stuff it in her purse, and walk back to the register.

And when she's all done being sneaky, she asks one of us to come ring her out.

This is the part that no one wants to do. Because ringing out the Flower Thief means haggling with the Flower Thief.

"Oh baaby, you know I don't pay those prices."

"Oh baaaby, I only pay $19 for roses."

"Oh baaaaaaaaaby, those carnations were on special."

She'll talk you down to under $100 with a sob story:

"Oh baaaaby, you know I'm donating this spray to the family. It's for that woman you know- you know the one. She got herself murdered a couple nights ago? Two children and she was pregnant too! Pregnant! Can you believe it? Who murders someone with child? What's the world coming to? So I need a good discount to make sure we treat this family right because they got a looooong road ahead of them."

"Oh baaaaaaby, you know this one's for that car crash over on Cleveland Avenue? I hear he was taking care of his dying father himself, so it's such a shame for him to go first like that."

"Oh baaaaaaaaaaaaaaby, this is for that little boy that shot himself, isn't that sad?"

Thank you, Sister Mary Loquacious.

And you nod because you don't want to come off as an uncaring sociopath. And while you're nodding and adjusting the price for her sad, sad consequence and mulling over how good she is for donating to these people in their time of need, she steals some greens from the trash can and sticks them in her bag.

She hands you crisp $100 bills. You check them and she makes jokes about how she printed them this morning. They're legit. Counterfeiting isn't why she went to prison.

What she went to prison for was drug trafficking.

"Do you need some help," you ask, trying to be a good citizen.

"Oh no, I got it," she insists. "I'll make it in two trips. I'm stronger than I look!"

And don't you dare get caught looking to see what she put in the bag or she will give you one hell of a lecture.

By the time all of this has passed, the class will be over and there will two minutes left in the work day. She's spent thirty-seven minutes in the store. Your register is unbalanced because now you don't have enough small bills to balance it and only have one $100 bill to get you through tomorrow.

And that's why there are rules.

On occasion, a new person will break the rules not knowing that there's rules. One such occasion was when Clair decided to be helpful.

"You know what? I don't need this eucalyptus," Wren said.

"Oh! I'll put it back for you," Clair suggested. And before Wren could protest, it was out of Wren's hands and nowhere near her purse.

It was mentioned to Sage, who only worked for us one summer, that Wren had failed to pay for something and she immediately chased her out into the street.

Wren drives very fast.

If you cross her too many times, she'll make sure you never forget it. One day, she stomped her way in through the front door, angry.

"You ain't treated me better than a damn THIEF," screamed the Flower Thief.

Grandpa, who was helping Blue make a wedding bouquet at the time, departed from the desk. "Beg pardon?"

"A thief! You been treating me like a thief ever since they made you manager and I'm sick of it! I see you bringing in your henchmen, following me in the cooler, chasing me down the street. Treat me with some damn respect."

Words were exchanged. They were not kind. We thought we'd seen the end of her.

But she was back one week later, doing the same damn thing.

So now there are rules.

If you make something and there's an excess of flowers left over from the pack, you have to make something out of the leftovers or she'll pick through them and stuff them in her bag.

If you cannot make something out of them, you must throw them out.

If you throw them out, you must break the heads off first.

The trash cans must be emptied every night before 5:00.

We do not keep trash bags in plain sight.

Break down all empty boxes, or she will use them in place of trash bags.

Do not leave any food or drink where she can find it.

Do not leave any half-used rolls of floral tape where she can find it.

Do not let her know anything about you- lest she use it against you.

If you speak of a Thief, you summon a Thief- speak quietly, and never her name or you invite trouble.

The basic rules one makes when dealing with pests. Or fairy-folk.

There are rules and there are rules and there are rules.

If you want to keep a pest away, you make these sorts of rules. But if you want to get rid of a pest indefinitely, you have to remove their food source. And Wren's food source was her discount.

You start exercising your right to say 'no' to a customer in small ways.

She saw a bunch of carnations in the trash and said:

"Oh baby, these are still good! I'll take them off your hands for you!"

"They've been sitting without water for hours."

"They're still good!"

"They were out in the sun."

"Oh baby, I've been working with flowers for 40 years and I know that these will still be fine for a couple of days!" She picks a bunch of them out of the trash and shoves it in my face. "See, it's still stiff- it's still good!"

"Okay," I said. And before I could stop myself: "Full price."

Her eyes just about popped out of her skull. If it were just a little bit colder, I would have been able to see steam coming out of her ears.

We stared at each other for about a minute, waiting for the other to flinch. She took the bunch away from my face and threw them back into the trash. While she was in the cooler, I took the liberty of snapping the heads off of them and burying them further into the garbage.

And so began a war between the flower shop and the Flower Thief.

She came in: every single night. And each night, she got me.

Again.

"Oh no, baby! These carns are supposed to be 39 cents a stem. I can bring up the email."

"Sure." She brings up the email. "I see that they are 39 cents but... this was for Saturday."

"Yea, and I bought those carns on Saturday and you charged me full price!"

"Saturday."

"Yeah."

"You didn't buy these on Saturday. You bought them Friday."

"Well I didn't know that they'd be on sale, so I need them for that price because I didn't know they'd be on sale."

"The sales are one-day only. I can't adjust a sale from Friday to reflect Saturday's sale... on Sunday."

She made a noise that reminds me somewhat of a cement mixer.

And again.

"I got a bad banner last time, can you print me a new one?" She shows me the banner in question. It's white. The 't' and the 'h' in 'mother' ran together.

"Sure."

"Okay, I need it to say 'Beloved Mother' and I want it in pink."

"Sure."

I print it. I ring her up $5.

"Oh baaaaaaby, no, that one should be free."

"Grandpa said- banners start at $5."

"Oh, but you sold me a bad one last time."

"We haven't sold you a banner in three weeks. How long have y'all had that body sitting in your cooler?"

She grumbled, and paid.

And again.

"I swear you been workin' every night this week! You must be tired," she said, nerves plain in her voice. "When do you get a day off?"

"When the work is done."

"That ain't what I'm askin'. When's your next day off, baby?"

"I stop working when the work is done, Wren."

She narrows her eyes, which is a fun change from them bugging out of her skull like a fruit fly. "You don't ever get any days off?"

"When the work stops, I rest."

And again.

"I'll be in and out, I know y'all want to get out of here on time," she said- announcing her presence to the entire class. She piled her stuff across the register counter and Grandpa began ringing her up.

"Oh baby..."

"No. We're doing away with the discounts."

There are twenty people in the workshop for the class and Grandpa doesn't want to make a scene. She pulls her into the back, and I choose to make my instructions louder to mask the sound of them yelling.

"So you're going to take your hypericum berries and you're going to cut the stem to about ten inches-"

"How can you do this to me?"

"And you're going to slowly fill the vase with these berries to kind of set the shape of the arrangement."

"After all these years and this is how you treat me?"

"Fun fact- you might know hypericum berries as their more common name: St John's Wort! St. John's Wort has been used as a medication for depression prior to modern medicine." You see- I, too, have taken notes from the Chattering Order.

"You can't do this to me," Wren said, stamping her feet like a toddler.

"But I wouldn't recommend eating them. However, they do smell somewhat like baked brown sugar."

Stamp, stamp, stamp.

Wren threw herself into the cooler and began putting a bulk of her flowers back.

"This is robbery," I heard her say to Grandpa at the register.

"Is it now?"

And again.

She came in and immediately reached for a half-empty box of oasis bricks (the green sponge material that we use to hold flowers.) She said few words to me, few at all. She talked to Carrie about how she was going out to the country for awhile, to take care of her nephew's property. She needed to stock up. And oh- don't worry about it, she knows what she's doing. She's part of The Family.

She is in no manner of speaking, a member of The Family that owns this shop. Not even a third cousin.

I saw her beeline for a rose I'd set in the trash. I picked it up, opened my mouth, and bit the head off of it. She stood in the middle of the workshop, absolutely stunned.

Rose petals have the vague texture of arugula, by the way. Slightly sweeter, though. Tough to swallow in one go.

She ran back into the cooler and didn't talk to me.

I began taking down numbers.

27 bricks of oasis. One pack of roses. Ten calla lilies. 1/2 pack of assorted greens.

I punched the numbers in to the register. As if sensing something was amiss, she emerged from the cooler.

"$54? What do I have that's $54?"

"The oasis. They're $2 each."

"Oh no baaaaaby, they're $1."

"I can text Grandpa and ask her."

"... that won't be necessary. Why are you charging me $22.50 for roses? You know my prices by now!"

"22.50 is the price for a pack of roses."

"22.50 is everybody prices."

"Welcome to 'everybody.'"

"I ain't paid a price increase in 7 years!"

"The price of milk went up, Wren. So does everything else."

She was seeing red, I knew it. There's a vein in her forehead that pops out when she's angry and it's the same shape as the river that runs through my home town. She sized me up, as if wondering if she could take me.

I'm 256 pounds of 4H beef, and I have a knife. Try me.

"I'm gonna call Kyle on this."

"Do it." A lifetime of retail has made me immune to 'I'd like to speak to the manager.'

She grumbled and put things back. Carrie offered to watch her, I held up my hand.

"Can you do something for me on these carns? They're the last pack in there and they're lookin' kinda ratty."

"9.50."

"9.50's the regular price."

"Regular price is $14."

"No it ain't."

"Is today. You're taking our last pack and we need those for funerals."

She put them back.

She gave me a credit card. It seemed fake, but it ran. Every time I see here, she's got a different card. Did she print this one this morning, too? At least she stopped trying to sell me on Bitcoin. As you can see, it made her incredibly wealthy.

She gathered her things and left. "Guess I'm getting the rest of my flowers from KROGER!"

There are things you want to say. Like... I hope they enjoy your company just as much as we do. Or: Haven't graced them with your presence in awhile, huh? But at the time, it was better just to watch her leave with her minuscule bunch of flowers. I get a choice in where I loan my voice.

Not here.

Is it over? Nah. She'll be back for another round. But one day she'll finally retire in the way that she's always threatened to. And then? Then it can be as over as it ever will be.

It is shocking to come from a history of retail, where you're not allowed to even hint at the idea of a customer being wrong, where you have to override every single price change to get the scores up, where you have to just let them steal your things and pull the wool over your eyes...

... to flat-out telling someone 'no.'

"No."

It's such a great word.

There are rules and there are rules.

And there are thieves that the rules are made for.

And there are words like 'no.'

And all those things are magic in very human ways.

7K notes · View notes

aribeez · 3 years ago

Text

Beautiful

read pt two here

pairing: thoma x fem!reader

theme(s): SFW, fake dating, angst

synopsis: wanting to get your mother off your back, and thoma wanting to get ayato off his, you team up together despite your natural distaste for one another.

warnings: tsundere reader (kind of? just a little bit), thoma lore, inazuma archon quest lore, NOT PROOFREAD

tags: mentions/appearances from ayato and ayaka

notes: okay this isn't thoma's exact personality but idc it's hard to write angst for someone so sweet. also y'all i be lowkey down bad for thoma like he was the first genshin guy i fell in love with ight let's write some angst<3

✧

"How long has it been?" Ayato sips his tea slowly, watching Thoma out of the corner of his eye, a devious smirk subtly wearing itself on his face.

"Hm?" Thoma looks back at the blue-haired man, bringing his duster down from the ceiling. "How long has what been?"

"Since you've been in a relationship."

Thoma raises a skeptical eyebrow at his superior. "My lord, I'll have to reject you if that's what you're getting at."

Ayato lets out a light-hearted laugh. "Now, now. You know I don't mean me."

Thoma stops in his tracks for a second. "Lady Ayaka?" His jaw drops. "Archons, Ayato. No-"

"No, no. Not her either." Ayato interrupts, clearly enjoying Thoma's frustration.

"I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at then." Thoma turns around nonchalantly, continuing his cleaning duties.

"Hmm..." Ayato gently sets down his tea cup, crossing his legs on the grand chair he sat upon as he brought his hands together deviously. "My dear Thoma, I feel as though you're... How should I say this... Wasting your life away here."

"My lord, I chose to stay here. It is my duty to be there for you and Lady Ayaka."

"And that you have done so well, but Thoma, it would make me the happiest if you found some joy in your life other than cleaning up after us."

Thoma has never really been that into relationships. Sure, a lot of people all over Inazuma flirt with him, but he's never pursued anything. He's much too busy working for the Kamisato Clan.

But Thoma was also terrified of Ayato, and disappointing him would only bring fear. If bringing home a nice girl a few times was all it took to make Ayato happy, he'd do it.

"I don't really know that many people outside of work." Thoma admits. "I mean, yes I know people and people know me, but my list of friends are cut short after you and Milady."

Ayato tsks as he shakes his head in disappointment. "That will not do." He stands up, checking the clock, sighing at the time. "It seems I have some work to attend to. When I return in the coming weeks, I expect a partner. Understood?"

Thoma gulps nervously, nodding.

"Good." Ayato smiles, before leaving.

Thoma lets out a sigh of relief, thanking the Archons that Ayato is always busy. He was afraid he'd make him eat something weird if he stayed too long.

A girlfriend? Thoma really did not want to date, but then again, disappointing Lord Ayato made his stomach flip, and not in a good way. Who could he even start to pursue?

There was Yoimiya, the firework girl. Thoma quickly shook his head to that thought. He kind of thought of himself like a big brother to her, so that would be way too weird.

Kujou Sara was another single woman in Inazuma, but her moral alignment to the Shogun made Thoma quickly scratch that thought away.

Sangonomiya Kokomi was very pretty indeed, but Thoma didn't even know her personally, plus she's a Divine Priestess. So that was a no go.

Thoma sighs as he made his way to the kitchen. Washing the dishes always helped him think just a little bit harder. Who could he choose? Who would even choose him?

"No, I cannot sell you this at a lower price." You were at the brink of yelling. Everyday without fail, the Kamisato Clan's housekeeper tries to haggle your prices down. It usually works for most businesses here, but you see right through this man's charm. You hated how he can just flaunt his looks and flirt to get what he wants.

"Oh? But it's for the Yashiro Commission! Okay. How about this: If you give it to me for just a tiny bit less, I'll take you out to dinner! How does that sound?" Thoma smiles, leaning on the register desk.

You simply stared in awe at the man. In awe that he really just tried to do that to you. "You know, I was just talking to the other businesses here, and you claim to take them to dinner as well, yet no one has ever seemed to dine with you." You raise an eyebrow.

Thoma's face lightly flushes red and he laughs nervously. "I just haven't had the time. I keep my promises, though."

"Yet no proof of it, except when it comes to your precious Kamisato Clan."

Thoma's playful expression quickly turned serious, and a darkness suddenly dawned on you. You gulp nervously as you watch his eyes dull right at you. "Do not dare talk ill of the Kamisato Clan." Thoma warns.

You were not about to be intimidated by some blond maid. "Or what? " You lean in to Thoma's face, to the point where you could feel his breath hit your skin. "What are you going to do about it?"

Thoma stops, staring right into your eyes. You want to look down, you found eye contact to be rather uncomfortable, and you felt yourself succumb to his gaze. You turn away, face red.

You hear a light-hearted chuckle escape Thoma's mouth. "See, you can't resist me."

You want to punch him.

"You think very highly of yourself, don't you?"

"No, but I think highly of the Yashiro Commission, and you should too."

You roll your eyes. "I don't care who you are, if I lower my prices for you, then I have to lower them for every commissioner out there!" You scoff. "You can pay full price or leave."

Thoma sucks his bottom lip in, lost in thought for a second. "Okay, no dinner. That's fine! I understand no means no. Is there anything else I can offer?"

He was doing the most.

You couldn't wrap your head around the fact that the wealthy Yashiro Commission couldn't afford full price at your store when most commoners can.

"No."

Thoma's soft smile falls. "I see."

"What is so hard to understand? I need to make a profit, and I especially wouldn't give a discount to the Tri-Commission."

Thoma's face perks up, looking like he just solved the equation to a hard math problem. Confusion arose on your face. "Oh, I see now." He smirks.

"What?"

"You're in opposition to the Shogunate."

You seal your lips shut, becoming redder in the face. This is not something you like to admit, especially after Inazuma has turned a new leaf over by abolishing the Vision Hunt Decree. Still, the way the Shogun let vision holders deplete away by taking away their ambition was not in your moral alignment. How can you call yourself an Archon yet destroy the people you serve?

Thoma put a hand to his forehead, laughing at how oblivious he was to the situation. "This makes so much more sense! You know, I fought the Raiden Shogun a while back."

Looking at him a little more intently, your eyes widen at the realization. He threw a spear at the Raiden Shogun! It was the talk of the town, though you weren't there, so you never really knew who the pyro man was. "Thoma." Was all you said, no other words forming.

"Yup, that's me!" Thoma smiles, pretty proud to be making a name for himself that's not 'housekeeper'. He looked at your shocked expression, anxiety suddenly building inside him. "I'm not a violent person! Oh, please don't take it that way!" He slightly panicked. "I was helping the traveller from afar."

"I..." Stunned was the only way you could describe your feelings. You were always in awe of the man who stood up to the Archon of eternity, wishing you had the strength to do the same. "I don't think you're a violent person." You mumble, looking down.

"Oh... Well that's good! I guess I shouldn't be so proud of my experience with the Shogun." He nervously laughed. Feeling the shift in demeanor, Thoma sighs in defeat. "But this conversation isn't about my fight with the Shogun, it's about you declining my offer. Fair enough."

You stay silent, not meeting the face of the man in front of you. What were you supposed to think anymore? The man you daydreamed of meeting for so long is actually just a haggler.

Thoma sighs once again, collecting his belongings. "Well, have a good day." And with that, he made his way back to the Kamisato Estate.

"Y/N? Who was that nice boy outside?" Your mother asks, turning the pages of her book, though not paying attention to the content inside.

"The housekeeper?" You question.

Your mother has been dropping slight hints for the past few months since your birthday that you should maybe start looking for a partner. However, you were a very independent person. Someone by your side will only slow you down.

"Ah, but he's not just a housekeeper. He's the 'fixer'." Your mother smiles. "He was out there for a while, did he buy something?"

You silently groan, knowing where she was going with this. "No, he asked for a discount and when I declined he left." You said bluntly. "Nothing else."

"Well, you should have given the nice man a discount."

You felt a fire inside you. So much has gone wrong today, and the last thing you needed was your mother on your case. "What would it take to get you off my back?!" You yell, biting your lower lip to hold yourself back from crying.

"Oh, now don't be so dramatic, Y/N." Your mother sighs, frustrated. "I'm just saying, you're not getting any younger." She sets her book down on the table a little hard than normal.

"What if I don't want to get married?" You fought back.

"Please, you've been dreaming of a wedding since you were five."

You stayed silent, letting the anger bubble inside you. Not wanting to say anything you'd regret, you stomped to your room, slamming the door shut.

It's been the same conversation every week!

'Who is that nice boy, Y/N?'

'Did you see the neighbor's son is single?'

'That man was perfectly fine! Why reject him?'

You scream into your pillow very loudly. It felt good to get all your frustrations out, though this alone would not stop your mom from being a burden in your life.

Laying flat on your back, hugging your pillow tight, you stared at the ceiling in your room.

What would it take for your mother to back off?

After a few moments of sulking and self-depreciating thoughts, an idea popped into your mind. Albeit, a very bad idea, but an idea none-the-less. Hopped up on adrenaline, you were determined to turn your life around.

You just hope he says yes...

You wanted to throw up. No way did you really think you could do this!

Standing in front of the Kamisato Estate, a bunch of guards from the Yashiro Commission were standing on the premise, keeping unwanted people in or out. How were you even supposed to get inside?

No, you are determined. You have to ask. You made your way to one of the guards, wobbling slightly from anxiety. Your legs feel like jelly. You never talked to a person of authority before on your own accord.

"Umm- Excuse me," You start, clutching your jacket close to your chest.

"Name." Was all the guard said, expressionless.

"Name?" You question. "Umm... Y/N."

The guard raises an eyebrow at you. "You don't seem to have an appointment with Lady Ayaka or Lord Ayato."

"O-Oh, I'm not here to see them. I'm here to see Thoma."

"Thoma?" The guard looks over at another guard questioningly, who only shrugs in response. "Ma'am, who is Thoma?"

Panic fills your being. Did you get it wrong? Does Thoma not work here? "I-I believe he's the housekeeper..." You stutter out, looking down at your feet. You feel like an idiot.

"The housekeeper? You're here to see a worker?" The guard slightly chuckles. “Go home, kid. Just wait till he gets off work."

You breathe out slowly, attempting to gather yourself. You can do this. "Sir, I believe he actually lives here."

"Ma'am, I think it's best if you just go home." The guard lowers his eyes, his piercing gaze going right through you.

You gulp in fear. "I-If I could just see him for a second, you can even call him out here!" You laugh nervously, clearly uncomfortable.

Suddenly, a few more guards made their way closer to you , weapons gripped in their hands. You step away slowly, a tear pricking your eyes.

Nope, absolutely not worth it anymore.

"Hey!" A voice yells, stopping you in your tracks from running away. You look over and see a mop of blond hair march right to the front of the estate. "What's going on here?"

"Lady Ayaka's personal assistant?" The guard lowers his weapon. "This nobody is trying to trespass!"

Thoma looks over at you, and his mouth gapes open in shock. "Uhh..." He has no words. What are you doing here? He clears his throat, turning back to the guard. "Well, what does she want?"

"Says she's here to see a 'Thoma'."

Thoma sharply sucks in his cheeks in annoyance. "I'm Thoma."

"I- Huh?" The guard's face turns red. Embarrassed, he looks away.

Thoma sighs, chuckling a little at how ridiculous this whole situation is. "She is not a threat, let her in."

Suddenly, all the guards move away, clearing a path for you. Noticing your shaken figure, Thoma walks up to you himself. "You're the shop girl."

You nod. "Yes- I umm... Came to see you."

"Why?" He asks, giving you a questioning looks.

"Can we umm... Talk inside?" You ask quietly, still in shock by the whole ordeal.

Nodding his head, he leads you inside the estate. You widen your eyes in awe at how luxurious the inside is. Rimmed with gold, the walls and floors are spotless filled with expensive, traditional clothing hung up as decoration. You gulp at how ordinary you look compared to everything around you.

"So, shop girl. Do you have a name?" Thoma started, interrupting your trance.

"Y/N."

"Y/N? That's not an Inazumin name..." Thoma thinks for a moment. "Mondstadt?"

You nod sheepishly. "Yes, we moved here when I was very little though, so I don't remember much of it."

Thoma wore a sad smile, which caught you off guard.

"Are you okay?"

"Huh?" Thoma shakes his head, coughing nervously. "Y-Yes, I'm fine..." His usual, confident smile appears again. "So, what brings you here? Care to renegotiate our deal?"

You bite your lower lip nervously. "Actually... I'm here for something else."

Thoma lifts an eyebrow in confusion, yet curiosity fills him. "Something else? Do you need something from the Kamisatos?"

"No." You shake your head. "I need something from you... But you have to hear me out completely before you judge me."

Thoma opens his mouth to speak once more, but shuts it very quickly, only nodding in response.

You breathe out heavily. "Okay. I need to date you."

Thoma's eyes widen, his body temperature increasing, which is very apparent on his face. "D-Date me?" He stutters.

"Shh!" You furrow your brows. "I said you need to hear me out."

Thoma nods, his face still wearing the same color as a tomato.

"Now, let me get one thing straight: I don't really care for you. You're pretty unaware of your surroundings and you work for a system I don't approve of. However, my mother likes you, actually, every person in the city likes you! So you need to help me."

Thoma didn't know what to say. This was such an odd occurrence that nothing in his vocabulary could truly convey what he was feeling.

"Help you?" He finally spoke after what seemed like ages of trying to think of the right words. "Excuse my confusion, but you just stated you don't really like me." He laughed nervously.

Your face turns red. You were so caught up in the moment, you didn't mean to be rude, but people like him really do infuriate you sometimes! It's like he's handed everything because he has good looks. "I don't. But I have a proposal. I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend to get my mother off my back."

Thoma stares dumbfounded. "Your mother?"

"Yes. My mother. She constantly pesters me about having a partner, but I don't want one. If I pretend to have one though, she's off my back and I can still live a single, care-free life behind the scenes."

"Okay... And what do I get out of this arrangement?"

"That's easy." You smile. "75 percent off discount to my whole shop forever."

Thoma didn't have the heart to tell you that selling himself off as a fake boyfriend was going to cost more than a discount at one shop, but he quickly thought of Ayato and his promise to have a partner. This was it, the perfect opportunity to please Ayato without any strings attached to the girl!

He wouldn't want to be in a real relationship with you anyways, you're cold and a tad pessimistic, unlike himself.

Thoma thought for a few moments, the anticipation making your stomach churn. "Hmm..." He starts. "Okay, sure. I'll help you. But I need to add one thing to our arrangement."

"Depends, what is it?"

"You need to have dinner with me in two weeks."

Walking around Ritou with Thoma was pretty surreal. Everyone was staring at you guys. You never had this much attention put on you, but since everyone knows Thoma, it was like you were a celebrity. You didn't really like the attention, but you did like how everyone was suddenly really nice to you. Not that anyone was ever mean to you per-say, but now they were overtly kind to you and your 'boyfriend'.

You closed your shop today so you and Thoma could discuss your plan of action.

"So, your mom... Is she really that overbearing?" Thoma asks, trying to make any conversation.

You decided that to make this "relationship" as real as possible, your mom has to come to you about your "boyfriend". So, to do that, you had to go out in public with him. Thankfully, he had a little time off today.

"Yes." You groan. "It's really annoying."

"Well, why are you so opposed to a partner?"

"Why are you?"

Thoma freezes. He walked right into that one. "Fair." Was all he said.

A few awkward moments pass. Silence. You purse your lips together. "Fine. I don't want a partner because I've never had one before. I only know how to be single. It's stupid but... It's the only way I know, and I don't like change." You admit, frowning a bit to yourself.

Thoma frowns at your sulking expression. He didn't know you very well, but he was known as the fixer, and with that, he was to help everybody, even if they didn't like him back.

He places a hand on your shoulder, and you look up at his caring face. "I promise I will help you as much as I can, I swear by it."

You felt your heart thump a little, and quickly shove his hand off your shoulder. "T-Thanks..." You blush, pouting your lip a little bit. "So, Thoma. Interesting name. That's not Inazumin either." You stray away from the previous conversation.

"Good eye." Thoma smiles. "My mom is from Mondstadt, dad from Inazuma. I'm from Mond, actually."

Your eyes widen. "Really? I've haven't met many people from there. So that's how you knew my name origin?"

"Yup." Thoma beams. "I really miss it, sometimes. I especially miss the freedom it brought..."

"Well, why did you move here?" You thought it a simple question, but by the look of Thoma's face, you realize this was a pretty touchy subject.

"That's... a conversation for another day." Thoma looks down, a sulking expression prevalent.

You quickly try to change the subject. "Umm... What's this dinner I'm apparently attending?"

"Oh! Uhh..." Thoma scratches the back of his head nervously. "I haven't been completely honest with you..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You tense up.

"No, it's nothing bad, it's just my intentions with this arrangement are not purely for sales."

You widen your eyes. "You're not falling for me already, are you?"

"Archons no," Thoma rolls his eyes playfully. "But my boss, Lord Ayato, feels as though I needed to 'live my life a little', so I promised him I'd get a partner in the coming weeks..."

"Ohh," You smirk. "So you're using me just as much as I'm using you."

"Basically, though I don't like to think of it as 'using', it's a mutual agreement."

"Of course. So I'm attending a dinner with the head of the Yashiro Commission? Lovely." You say sarcastically.

"I know you don't like the tri-commission, but Milady and my Lord are very kind and humble people, you'll see."

"It's not them I'm worried about, it's their morals."

"They don't exactly like the Shogun either, y'know.” Thoma points out.

"Maybe so, but they work for a system that worships her. You do too, despite your personal views of her."

Thoma looks down. This was not a fight he’s going to win. Keeping quiet, you walked through Ritou for a pretty uneventful rest of your day.

After many days of slowly accustoming yourselves to life as a 'couple', word finally caught wind to your mother. This was exactly what had to happen to look as real as possible, she had to come to you with it.

Planning this took work. You spent a lot of time with Thoma for people to notice that you two were more than just friends, so with that, you had to go on dates with him.

You were ashamed to admit you did not hate the dates. The dates he planned were dates you probably would have planned yourself. Was he looking in your head? You wouldn't be surprise if he could read minds.

He took you out to get some street food one day, you walked around Inazuma City another day, and you also fed some dogs whenever you had time with him! You had to admit, it was pretty cute how all the stray dogs knew Thoma.

"Hey look! I told you they would warm up to you!" He grinned enthusiastically as he watched a dog lick your hand.

You almost gushed at how amazing he was with animals.

Almost.

When night fell, and the shops began to close, he would walk you back to your house in fear of the Nobushi attacking you.

You had to tell yourself he would do this for any person, not just you.

How ecstatic your mother was that you were dating such a nice, well-rounded man. You should have won an award for how well you acted!

Of course, she wanted to meet him. Begin phase two of your plan, finally.

Dragging Thoma out of the Estate was probably the hardest part of the whole operation. "Thoma! You said yourself Ayaka is letting you go!" You groan.

"I have a job, Y/N! I can't just leave!" Thoma grunts, not budging as you attempted to pull his arm out the door.

"Stop being so difficult!" You catch your breath. He was a lot stronger than he looks.

"Thoma?" You both turn your heads to the whimsical voice ahead.

"Lady Ayaka." Thoma breaths out. "I promise I'm not bailing on my work." He quickly tries to explain.

Being here so frequently the past week to meet up with Thoma to plan, you have already met the famous Ayaka. Not many have the privilege of even seeing the Shirasagi Himegimi in person, so you of course were respectful to her face.

"Now Thoma," She starts, a gentle smile wearing her seemingly perfect face. "You know you may leave whenever you choose. I am not helpless you know."

You place your hands on your hips in an 'I-told-you-so' manner.

After quite a lot of back and forth, you finally were able to drag Thoma to your house to meet your mother.

It took a lot of calming down on your end. You were just hoping he had the acting skills to back him up on his pretend feelings for you. After all, this is a huge step in your plan.

Upon reaching the house, your mother would not stop with the coddling. She gave Thoma the biggest hug she could muster up, and brought fresh tea and other snacks as she laughed at all his jokes.

You couldn't believe it, he's really doing it! He was laughing it up with your mother as he told the many stories of his experiences in Inazuma, and she listened very attentively.

You were not aware of just how much Thoma does, it seems as though haggling down prices is only a very small percentage of his job, and that his true occupation should be that of a detective. He seems to be doing a lot of the Yashiro Commission's dirty work as well as being a housekeeper and Ayaka's assistant.

Do they not give this man a break? He's probably so tired. You almost felt bad dragging him out here. He seems really busy.

A sudden pang of guilt hit you. Imagine how much work he has to make up just because he's here with you!

"Well Mom, we have to go." You quickly exclaim, grabbing Thoma's hand quite suddenly.

"W-We do?" Thoma stammers as he was pulled out of his seat.

"Yes." You made your way out the door, pulling Thoma right behind you as your mother followed.

"I'm sorry we must leave so abruptly." He starts, still confused over your sudden switch in mood. "I had a lovely time.

"Oh, it's okay!" your mother waves her hand off. "Go have fun! It was lovely meeting you, Thoma. I hope to see you soon!"

"Yup, bye!" You quickly say, cutting Thoma off before leaving your house in a hurry.

"Hey, what was that all about?" Thoma finally asks when you guys were far enough away from your house. "Did I do something wrong?"

"I'm sorry, okay?" You quickly say, a little frustrated with yourself, though your expression reads as angry to anyone else who witnesses it.

"Sorry?" He cocks his head in confusion. "For what?"

"I didn't know you were so busy. I-I..." You groan to yourself, unable to get the words out. "I just feel bad, okay?"

Thoma softens his expression, understanding what is happening here.

"It's getting late anyways..." You mumble. "You should go back-"

"Come with me." Thoma interrupts.

You stare at him, puzzled. "Come with you?"

"I want to show you something." He gently holds his hand out to your figure, waiting for you to reach it.

You gulp nervously, staring at his hand. "You know, you don't have to act right now. No one is around."

"Who says I'm acting?" He gazes at you with helpless eyes, pushing his hand out further. "Please?"

You cautiously place your hand atop his, blushing deeply as he wrapped his large hand around yours.

He smiles. "It's not far."

After a few minutes of walking, Thoma lets go of your hand. "We're here." He beams.

You stare at your surroundings. You're atop a small hill you've never been to before, though nothing seems very special about this place. You spin around to get a full picture of the view, yet you're not sure why he brought you here.

"Thoma, this is very... Uhh... Cute. But why did you bring me here?" You feel bad acting so aloof towards this place, but it was just a hill. What was so special about it?

You hear him chuckle at your words. "I know it's nothing much, but I don't come here for the view." You notice a small flower in his hand, one you have never seen before. "Do you know what this is?"

You shake your head. "I mean, it's a flower, but not one I know of."

"This is a dandelion." He walks closer to you so you can see the flower more in detail. "This is a flower only grown in Mondstadt, and for some reason, there are a few on this tiny hill as well."

You widen your eyes in awe. "How is that possible?"

Thoma shrugs. "I don't know why they grow in this area, but they do. I come here when I'm feeling homesick."

Your mind quickly brings you back to only a week ago when he brought up his upbringing. "You're from Mondstadt."

Thoma nods, a sorrow expression on his face. "Yes. I came here when I was 12, but the trip was brutal. The ship I was on overturned, and I fell unconscious into the water. I was stranded on a beach, and was homeless until Kamisato Ayato took me in."

You felt tears sting your eyes, shocked at what you just heard. How you have completely misjudged this man. "Why did you come here in the first place?" You ask softly, hoping he'd finally tell you.

"Oh," Thoma chuckles slightly. "It's pretty stupid but... I wanted to find my dad and give him some dandelion wine. I was afraid he missed the beverage of Mond."

Without warning, you uncharacteristically wrapped your arms around Thoma's waist, causing his breath to hitch and his footing to become slightly lost.

"Thoma," You cried quietly. "I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry you went through that."

Taken aback, Thoma didn't know what to do. You've never really shown any physical affection, and he honestly wasn't sure how sincere you were being. The thing that convinced him the most though were your tears. He didn't know you were capable of crying, in all honesty.

He gently wraps his arms around you, bending down so his head was atop yours as you sobbed into his chest.

"Don't cry..." He delicately rubs your back soothingly. "I'm okay, it's really fine."

You slowly let go, feeling a little embarrassed at your sudden outburst. "Sorry..." you say sheepishly. "I-I don't know what came over me." You admit.

"It's okay," Thoma is a bit confused as well. He assumed you didn't care about him at all, but the thought of your arms around him made his face blush feverishly. "I- Umm." Not knowing how to approach this new vibe between the two of you, he grabs your hand, setting the dandelion flower inside it. "I usually never pick them, and I know you don't remember Mond very well, but I want you to experience a sliver of your land."

You feel your hand tingle as Thoma takes it, and you purse your lips as to not reveal any expression. "Thank you." you whisper softly, staring at the flower.

"Blow on it." Thoma encourages. "Trust me."

You bring the flower up to your lips, the little white puffs atop it tickling your nose. Gently you blow on flower, and watch as the seeds spread all around you as the wind blew.

You gasp in awe as you stare at the Dandelion seeds being whisked away. "Amazing!" You exclaim. "They're so beautiful!"

Thoma stares at you, and swears his heart beat developed palpitations. He gushes at your amazement towards such an ordinary object, and feels his palms get a little sweaty. "Yeah..." Thoma smiles, his eyes not leaving you. "Beautiful.”

pt 2 coming soon, and trust me, there will be so much angst

#the loml #omg #love him sm #thoma #thoma genshin #thoma genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact #thoma x reader #thoma genshin x reader #genshin x reader #genshin thoma

146 notes · View notes

ragingbookdragon · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 6

Batfamily x Batsis Story

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst Tags!: @itsnottilly @cloudyskylines @starflyer-104 @iwillstaywiththemforever @justine-en @weirdgirlfromtx @notsostraightweeb @candlestudy @willowoo @peterxwade24 @the-atlantic-french-fry @bad-bouquet-of-emotions @vvipgot7be @pure-princess-97 @atomicsoulhumanspy @foreverthefloor @natatawa-ako (I discounted the names of those whose blogs I couldn't tag! Y'all gotta get that figured out on your end!)

Author's Note: And here we are with the long awaited PT. 6 after like...five days of hiatus. FLASHBACK TIME. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

The silver doors closed in his face and Wally couldn’t find it in himself to turn around and face the family behind. She wasn’t wrong for being upset and hostile, but something deep down inside naively assumed there would’ve been a teary reunion at the end of the night.

He hung his head and sighed heavily, turning around to pay the piper. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I thought…I thought I could—”

“How could you keep this from us!” Dick interrupted, angrily thrusting the letter towards Bruce. “We could’ve done more to find her! Released some statement about this! Told her earlier that she was wrong!”

Bruce’s face still held that indomitable impassivity as he responded calmly, “Dick, it would’ve caused more problems for us all if we’d released something pertaining to the information on the letter.”

“And making up some bullshit about (Y/N) fucking off to Europe was the betteroption?” Jason retorted, pointing at his father as he accused, “All those letters and pictures she supposedly sent were bullshit too, weren’t they?” He scoffed. “Of course they were. She’s been living here for the last three years.”

Tim, who’d been silent as his brothers delivered their harsh criticisms, murmured, “Bruce has a point guys.”

“Seriously?” Jason replied, eyes wide in shock. “You’re defending this?”

“Putting out the information in the letter would’ve made it seem like Bruce was irresponsible and inattentive to us.”

“But we—”

“Jason, Child Services would’ve conducted investigations into the manor.” Tim leveled him with a serious expression. “They could’ve taken me and Damian if they found things not to their likings.”

Jason went silent in agreement, but his pursed lips told Tim that he didn’t like it, and the rest of them matched the stillness.

Wally collapsed into the seat beside Dick. “I’m sorry, Dick,” he murmured remorsefully. “I thought I could help fix things.”

Dick was silent for a long time, then he sighed and shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Wally. You did the best you could.” He turned his blue eyes onto the speedster. “If anything, it was ours for cornering her.” He rubbed his temples. “I should’ve listened to you the first time when you told me to meet in Central instead of doing…this. She might’ve felt less threatened if we hadn’t ganged up on her.”

Wally looked away, the memory of (Y/N)’s disappearance still fresh in his mind and replaying as if it was still happening.

***

He could count on one hand how many times things had actually unnerved him to his core, and this one by far topped every instance of dread filled panic. And it certainly wasn’t the ecstatic atmosphere of Wayne-Family-Pizza-Fridays that was drilling him so hard—it was the confession that kept slipping onto his tongue, forcing him to swallow it down to avoid ruining everything.

“Wally, you good?”

His eyes darted to Jason’s, who were uncharacteristically concerned, and he gave a tight smile. “Yeah man, just chilling.”

Jason snorted. “You look like you’ve got a stick up your a—your butt,” he finished when Alfred’s glare hit him.

“Sorry, just thinking about some things.” He took a piece of pizza from one of the boxes, handing it to Cass who silently held her plate out, then proceeded to get himself one. “Don’t let me stop the story,” he quipped, and Jason shook his head, but went back into some story about kicking Two-Face’s ass the other night.

Maybe he should tell Dick later? Wouldn’t that be better than telling the whole family? A frown etched onto his face as he chewed, but it all tasted bitter. (Y/N) didn’t want to be found and she seemed pretty adamant about it as well. Maybe she was right? Maybe they did ignore her a lot. Bruce doesn’t exactly have the best track record of keeping up with all his kids, I mean look at Jason. And then everybody else gets sidetracked in their own lives and things just get forgotten along the way. Was she one of those things? Their own sister? No, they couldn’t—

Laughter exploded across the table, Cass pressing her face into Tim’s arm to stifle her giggles, Stephanie cackling at Tim for snorting soda out of his nose, and that just set everyone off again. Dick and Damian pointing at Tim while their faces turned red from laughing so hard, Jason was crying at that point, and surprisingly, Barbara and Bruce had their heads in their hands. The only one not laughing was Wally.

“I know where (Y/N) is.” He blurted and the table went dead quiet as everyone stared at him.

For a full minute, no one said a word.

“What did you just say?” Dick asked and Wally swallowed, looking at him.

“I…I know where (Y/N) is.” He looked at Bruce and that weighted stare made the words fall right out of his mouth. “She’s been living in Central under the alias Melisandre Hale. Has been for the last three years.”

“What,” Dick started, but shook his head like he couldn’t comprehend. “What are you talking about, Wally? (Y/N)’s in Italy.”

Wally shook his head. “No, Dick, she’s not. And she never was. She left three years ago and has been living a completely different life up until now.”

“Until now?” Jason repeated. “What do you mean until now?”

“Dick and the other Titans came to hang out in Central two months ago and Melisan—(Y/N)mentioned herself. Rather curiously I might add.” He shrugged. “Now that I think about it, that was her way of dipping a toe into the water to see the ripples. To see where she was in the grand scheme of things.”

His eyes drifted to Dick’s. “When I showed you her picture you offhandedly commented on how similar they looked to one another and that night—”

“You went to confront her,” Dick finished, eyes flashing, and Wally wasn’t sure if it was from anger or sadness or some other heavy emotion the eldest brother was feeling about his baby sister. “…How’d she react when you did?”

Wally sighed, slouching in the hardwood chair. “Not in the positive, Dick.” He glanced at Bruce. “She doesn’t want to be found. And she certainly doesn’t want to be met by anyone. Especially…especially anyone here.”

“(Y/N)’s our sister,” Tim retorted. “What do you mean she doesn’t want to meet us?” he was already rising from his seat and that seemed to spark every brother to do so.

Wally’s hand shot out, wrapping around Dick’s wrist. “Dick, I’m being serious. Don’t corner her. Let me handle this.”

Dick tried to pull away, but he held tight. “You will handle this. We’ll all handle it together.”

“You don’t understand, Dick. If you want this to play out the way you’re planning, you need to come to Central alone with me.” He gazed at the others. “We need Dick to do this himself and then we can see about bringing her back here.”

Jason scowled. “With all due respect Wally, she’s our sister. Not yours.”

And with that, Dick pulled away firmly and Wally watched as the lot headed for the cave, the young women and Bruce still seated at the dinner table. He groaned and put his head in his hands, knowing this was going to come back to bite him in the ass.

“Wally,” someone said quietly. “Is she okay?”

He looked up, meeting Bruce’s eyes. His mouth opened, ready to lie, but he sighed and shook his head. “No,” he answered honestly. “(Y/N) isn’t the shy girl I remember. Especially when I confronted her. She was…cold and indifferent.” His mouth drew into a taut line and he stared at Bruce. “This isn’t going to end well, isn’t it?”

Bruce wiped his mouth on the napkin in his lap then stood from his seat, pushing in the chair behind him. “No, Wally. No, it’s not.”

***

He shook the memory away and instead of looking at any of the brothers, he looked at Bruce. “So, what do we do now?”

“We go find her and bring her back to Gotham, that’s what we do,” Jason griped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No,” Bruce said firmly. “If (Y/N) wants to stay here, then we’ll let her.”

“WHAT?!” all three of the boys around him shouted in unison, their eyes practically bulging out of their heads.

He merely looked on. “We’ll wait for her to meet us halfway.”

“And what if she tries to leave again?” Dick questioned angrily and Bruce turned his slate gray eyes to him.

“We’ll know.”

“How?” Tim asked. “If she left the first time, what’s stopping her from leaving again?”

Wally cleared his throat and if he were a lesser man, he would’ve cowered under their withering glares as he admitted, “Actually, I tagged (Y/N) with a bug.”

“You did what?” Jason questioned, brows furrowing.

“I tagged a pocket in her purse with a bug when she wasn’t paying attention earlier in the car.”

“And you’re sure she won’t just throw that purse away? She left the house with money and a suitcase of necessities. A purse doesn’t seem that way.”

Wally snorted and crossed his arms. “(Y/N)’s purse is a Givenchy black bag that she found at a thrift store for thirty dollars. She might be a different person after living on minimum wage, but deep down she’s still a billionaire’s daughter who can’t help but love expensive things.” He grinned rather cockily. “She’s not going to get rid of a two-thousand-dollar purse she found for thirty. Even if she throws away everything else she’s got.”

He shifted his gaze to Bruce. “I think waiting for her is a good option, but you might want to do something more.”

“Like what?” Tim asked.

Wally shrugged. “Write her personal letters. The semester ends in three months and she won’t leave before it does, or she’ll have to pay those classes off.” He stared them down. “You’ve got three months to wear her down into staying on grid before she goes off again.” His eyes hardened. “And you know as well as I that if she goes off…we won’t find her ever again.”

588 notes · View notes

starsinmylatte · 3 years ago

Text

Tease (2/2)

Our beloved reader was fed up with the lack of attention from a certain Grand Admiral. To force his hand, she decided to send some pictures to tempt him while he was away, but things didn't quite go as they were planned. Now, we see the aftermath of those events.

Tease (1/2) link here in case you haven't read it!!

Pairing: Grand Admiral Thrawn x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only) Minors DNI

Tags/warnings (for part 1): lingerie, m@sturbation, dom/sub relationship, y'all this is filth, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex (please practice safe sex irl), authority kink

Word count: 4k (I got a little... ok, a lot... carried away)

bat in’a- beautiful one

ch'eo ch'itiseb- my sweet

ch’eo vir- my dear

cseo cssah bat- so very beautiful

cseo ch’itrico- so hungry

cseo tsaco- so tight

You had known that you were in trouble, but you realized the true extent of how completely and utterly kriffed you were on the morning Thrawn returned to the Chimaera.

Clue number one: he didn’t spare you as much as a single glance when he entered the bridge. Usually, Thrawn would make a point to have at least one small moment of inconspicuous eye contact as a greeting, but not today. Today he didn’t spare so much as a glance in your general direction.

The second clue was far more direct; a simple note sent through the encrypted channel.

Wear it tonight.

Some small part of you hoped the video would finally push the calm, distinguished Grand Admiral over the edge. He was always a generous lover, that being somewhat of a massive understatement, but you could tell he was holding something back. During your most intimate moments, you could see it. Something sharp, dark, and glittering rose to the surface, and Thrawn pushed it away every time.

What would Thrawn be like if he fully let go? That thought sent delicious shivers down your spine, and his final audio message played on repeat in your head.

“Ch’eo ch’itiseb, you know you really shouldn’t tease me like this.”

Thrawn’s voice was normally a seductive purr, but that audio message…. It embodied the dark edge of him you had been longing to experience.

You felt your core clench as you desperately tried to re-focus on the screen in front of you, but an all-too-familiar presence suddenly appeared behind you. All of your racing thoughts screeched to a halt as that same smooth voice you were fantasizing about was now whispering in your ear. “Bat in’a….”

Thrawn’s warm breath was caressing your neck, raising goosebumps, and sending a chill down your spine. Your breath hitched almost imperceptively as he continued, “I see your gift fit you well; it certainly does seem like you enjoyed it.”

Your lover’s reflection was showcased on the darkened computer screen you were so intently studying. His eyes were half-lidded and blazing with barely contained desire. The knowledge that all the bridge officers were obliviously going about their duties while the most powerful man on the ship was leaned over and whispering sinful things in your ear was almost too much to handle. You had no choice but to blush and avert your gaze so you could keep some shreds of your dignity intact.

“Y… Yes, Grand Admiral. I did.” You may have been flustered, but you were feeling coy enough to tease him slightly. A “yes, sir” would have been sufficient, but you knew full well what Thrawn felt when you called him by his full title.

As if on cue, a growl so quiet and low you barely heard it emanated from the man behind you. Thrawn’s usual soft tone sharpened; the mysterious darkness resurfaced, and his perfect Imperial presentation cracked in half. The accent he worked so hard to conceal, the same one you loved to tease out of him, now marred his words. “Careful, Commander, if you want to be able to walk tomorrow, I suggest you close that pretty little mouth.”

Your mouth shut so fast on reflex that your teeth clacked together. His tone was utterly predatory; Thrawn, usually so prim and composed, sounded like he was moments away from ordering everyone off the bridge so he could fuck you now. But, stars, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t fantasizing about it now.

Your naked body flushed with desire, pressed up against the icy cold transparisteel of the viewport, and presented to the galaxy by your lover. Thrawn commanding your body as masterfully as he does his flagship, pushing you right up to the edge of completion before withdrawing, edging you over and over again until you can barely stand on your own. His muscular body pinning you in place against the wall, hell-bent on making you rely only on him for support, as he fucks you mercilessly from behind. Thrawn’s thick, ridged cock splitting you open and hitting spots so deep you see new stars appear in the galaxy with every thrust. The curved transparisteel to your side showing a perfect reflection of your bodies intertwining as Thrawn pulls your head aside to kiss and nip at your neck……..

Your blush turned at least three shades deeper as you shoved the thoughts aside. Thank the stars that most of the officers were gathered around a terminal on the other side of the bridge, or they would undoubtedly know exactly what was occurring between the Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy and his Commander.

Like flipping a switch, Thrawn’s cool, Imperial tone resurfaced in an instant. “Apologies, ch’eo ch’itiseb, I have distracted you from your duties for too long.

Wordlessly, you watched him straighten, pick an invisible speck of lint off his already pristine jacket, and resume his usual impassive expression. The blue bastard had the nerve to walk away and leave you flustered in the middle of the command bridge as if nothing had even happened. As he walked away, you saw the barest hint of a smirk ghost across his face. He wasn’t sorry at all.

-----------

The rest of the day crawled by. Thrawn obviously had some plan for the evening, but not knowing the details meant the suspense was absolutely eating you alive. You managed to slog through the rest of your day without any major inconveniences, but as soon as it ended, you nearly ran to your quarters to prepare.

After showering and letting your hair dry, you turned your attention to what you would wear. Of course, Thrawn’s request that you wear the lacy, red set was a given, but you couldn’t exactly walk down the hallways of the Chimaera in that. You decided that it would be best for your trip to Thrawn’s office to seem like it was purely one of the extra duties you were finishing. You put on one of your looser fitting uniforms, hoping to hide the lines of the lingerie, and tied your hair back into its usual bun before leaving.

When you finally arrived at Thrawn’s office, the door slid open with a cool hiss of hydraulics as soon as you reached for your comm. You laughed softly to yourself. Well, he was definitely anticipating my arrival.

As you stepped through the door, you saw Thrawn’s back as he leaned over his desk. He seemed to be watching something quite intently, and as you kept walking forward, you began to hear hints of quiet audio. Before you reached his side, Thrawn paused what he was watching and turned his head to acknowledge you. A dangerous smile played across his lips, “Commander, I was hoping you’d be here soon. You are just in time for my favorite part.”

You raised an eyebrow and shot him a questioning glance, “What… what do you mean?”

His smile widened enough to show off his pointed teeth, “I do believe you should know exactly what I’m referring to because you played a starring role in it, ch'eo ch'itiseb.”

At that moment, you felt your soul leave your body. Kriffing sith hells, he saved it.

You didn’t think it was possible for his smug smile to get any bigger, but it did. “Oh, bat in’a, of course, I would save something so… artfully done.”

Thrawn stepped aside, and you were greeted by a projection of your video displayed between the other holos of priceless artwork on his desk. It was stopped at a very particular moment; you reclined on his bed with your legs spread open. One hand rested on your thigh, and the other was settled on your chest.

You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could, Thrawn hit a button, and the video continued to play. Breathlessly, you watched as your head lolled to the side, and Thrawn’s name left your lips in a broken moan. One of your hands pushed the lace aside to slip two fingers deep inside your cunt, and the other rolled a peaked nipple between your fingers.

A pang of lust immediately overcame any embarrassment you felt in the moment as you realized exactly what Thrawn must’ve felt when watching the video. Even though you had intended for the circumstance to be slightly different, it must’ve absolutely killed him to be away from you for that night and the several days following it.

Before you could react, Thrawn had closed the remaining distance and pinned your back against the wall. He leaned in to lavish his attention on the shell of your ear and whispered, “Naughty little thing….. teasing a Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy like that. I could’ve canceled the trip to come back and fuck you, but then I would have been giving in. You obviously need to learn a lesson in patience.”

One of his powerful hands pulled your wrists above your head and roughly pinned them to the wall. A gasp fell from your open lips and your legs involuntarily clenched together as your cunt throbbed with desire. Watching the video had already lit a familiar fire in you, but now you could feel your arousal beginning to soak the thin, lacy material of your panties. Thrawn’s already wicked smile turned feral, and he forced his thigh between your legs. He grabbed your jaw and tilted your face up to look at him.

“Ch'eo ch'itiseb,” he cooed, “you don’t get any relief quite yet. You were so eager to tease me with that video, but now it’s my turn. Tonight, I get to take my time with you.”

As if to prove his point, Thrawn flexed and shifted his muscular thigh, so a hard ridge of muscle lined up perfectly with your clit. “It’s what you deserve, after all, for trying to tease me. You looked drunk with your own imagined power, writhing in my bed and begging for me…..”

All you could do was whimper at his sinful words as he tilted your face to the side again. You let out a low groan as Thrawn pulled the collar of your uniform aside and lavished all of his attention at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, taking turns sucking and kissing until he had left a noticeable mark. He hummed in approval at his work before trailing a line of kisses up the column of your neck, only to immediately double back and follow the line with his tongue.

Thrawn was the definition of commanding as he gazed down on you, already keening from his touch. He clicked his tongue in a mockingly disapproving manner as he moved his hand to trace the outline of the hickey. “Such a needy little whore for me. Maybe I should mark you up, so everyone knows you’re taken.”

He trailed a long, graceful finger up the side of your neck as if deciding exactly where to claim you next before stopping at the tender pulse point below your jaw. “I think here, to start.”

Another breathless whimper left your mouth as you tried to grind against his thigh, searching desperately for any purchase you could find, but Thrawn just pushed you harder into the wall, leaving you unable to move at all. “A visible mark on a pretty thing like you will have the whole ship wondering who owns this precious cunt.”

Thrawn paused to capture your lips in an all-consuming kiss that further ignited the flame burning deep in your core. By now, your panties were completely soaked through; arousal was beginning to trail down your leg, and your lover hadn’t even taken your clothes off yet.

The barest hint of the friction you were desperate for and his sinful words made you melt further into his embrace as you made another futile attempt to grind against his thigh. “P-Please… Thrawn... I need you to touch me. Take my clothes off. Anything.”

His silken voice was infuriatingly smooth, and it was apparent Thrawn was enjoying his revenge. “Well, bat in’a, you begged so sweetly for me, and now here I am. You’re going to get everything you asked for, but I decide how much you get and when to give it. Maybe my little dove will know better than to tease me after her own lesson in patience is completed.”

Thrawn swiftly stepped backward, and your knees crumpled at the sudden lack of support. He reached out and gracefully caught you; one of his strong arms wrapped around your waist, and you felt the other behind your knees. Before you even fully realized it, your lover had quite literally swept you off your feet and was carrying you towards his private quarters. Thrawn’s burning eyes met your lust-addled gaze, and his smug smile returned, “Already weak at the knees for me, ch’eo vir?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but at that moment, your back hit the silken black sheets of his bed. If the unexpected fall hadn’t taken your breath away, the sight of Thrawn’s powerful form leaning over you absolutely would’ve. Even fully clothed, you could see the hard lines of his muscles shift and move beneath his uniform. His arousal was becoming more apparent by the second as his thick cock strained against the fabric of his pants. You wanted to feel its heavy weight in your mouth so badly you had to bite your bottom lip to stifle a moan.

Thrawn curled his long fingers beneath your chin and traced his thumb over your plush lips, “Open your pretty little mouth for me; I want to hear every single sweet sound you make tonight.”

When you complied, he slipped the calloused digit inside to rest on top of your tongue. You met his gaze again as you licked up the underside of his thumb before briefly closing your mouth to suck on it.

Thrawn let out a groan that trailed off into a low growl. Removing his thumb, he leaned down for another kiss. The first brush of his lips was almost reverent in its gentleness, but that soon gave way to searing passion. Thrawn’s hunger for you seemed to grow as his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, seeking permission to deepen your embrace. You yielded to him completely, hands reaching to cup Thrawn’s face as his soft, breathy moans mixed with your own until he pulled away.

“Thrawn…..” you protested at the sudden loss of contact.

“You would do well to remember that tonight is about you learning patience,” he admonished as his fingers sought the closure of your uniform. “For now, I wish to see you.”

The air in his bedroom seemed to fill with electricity as he slowly undid your uniform jacket. Every so often, his fingers would barely graze your skin as they worked away at the fastenings, raising goosebumps and sending a thrill down your spine at the anticipation of each touch.

As soon as the last clasp fell open, Thrawn leaned back to admire you. “Look at you….” his tone of voice was reverent as he trailed his fingers across your décolletage, “cseo cssah bat.”

You arched into his touch, encouraging him to remove the rest of your uniform. Thrawn tossed the clothing unceremoniously to the side and pulled the pins from your hair, letting it fall and frame your face. One of his hands reached down to tangle itself in your hair. “You look just like you did in the video,” he cooed, “tell me, are you as hungry for my touch now?”

“Yesyes, please, Thrawn. Please touch me,” you pleaded.

His red eyes blazed at the desire in your voice, “remove my clothes, then.”

You eagerly started to unfasten his white uniform shirt, drawing a short chuckle from the normally reserved Chiss. “Cseo ch’itrico...”

Each exposed inch of Thrawn’s beautiful skin spurred the movement of your hands until his jacket lay open and his muscular chest was on full display. Now, it was finally your turn to touch him. Your fingers trailed hungrily down the center of his chest over hard lines of muscle and old scars to hook into the waistband of his pants. Finally, he shrugged the jacket off and threw it to the side to join the growing pile of clothes.

In one fluid motion, Thrawn pulled you up and into his lap. Being this close to him was absolutely intoxicating; the chill of his quarters combined with the warmth of his body and his deep, masculine scent was enough to send your head reeling. His hands continued their previous mission, trailing over your body, studying you as he would any of the priceless art pieces he was so fond of. They paid special attention to your breasts, rubbing your peaked nipples through the fabric. You couldn’t help but whimper at the delicious sensation, “mmmmhThrawn…..”

“Does that feel good?” he murmured into your ear before rolling his hips upwards, driving his erection against your core. You cried out in pleasure as he leaned forward to press a searing kiss on the soft swell of your breast. Your hands sought purchase in his hair as he bit the tender spot before soothing the sting with his tongue, leaving yet another mark on you.

Thrawn’s hand trailed down to drag two fingers over your clothed cunt, growling in approval as he discovered the thin garment was already completely soaked. He moved the strip of lace aside and repeated the movement before circling your clit, drawing more desperate cries from you. All the teasing combined with the anticipation from earlier already had you nearing your first orgasm. Then, without warning, Thrawn thrust two fingers deep inside, and you shattered with his name on your lips.

He let out his own moan at the sensation of your cunt milking his fingers as he fucked you through your orgasm. “Needy little thing, how many times are you going to cum for me tonight?”

Thrawn held his fingers up for you to see. Stars, your arousal was dripping down them. “Commander, you made a mess. It’s only proper you should clean up after yourself.” The mock-disapproval was back in his voice as he pressed them to your lips.

Your cheeks flushed at his words as you took the fingers into your mouth and sucked them clean. Thrawn leaned in for another kiss, “Don’t worry, I’ll have my own taste soon enough.”

He laid you back down and moved to kneel at the base of the bed, pulling your hips to the edge. You slid easily through the silken sheets, grasping them for stability as you felt Thrawn’s hot breath on the inside of your thigh. Once again, he languidly pressed open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin before sucking deep bruises into the tender flesh, murmuring quiet praises in Cheunh between each one. The kisses trailed higher and higher until his mouth was pressed intently against your soaked core.

He gently sucked at your clit before sliding his tongue in to taste you. Your grip on the sheets tightened as he devoured you like a starving man, drinking you in and bring you closer and closer to ruin as he held your hips in an iron grip. You ground against his mouth, desperately chasing your second orgasm as he returned to sucking your clit. He let out a low growl of approval at your desperation, and the vibrating sensation on his lips pushed you screaming over the edge.

Again, Thrawn fucked you through your orgasm before raising his face to look you in the eyes. The calm, composed Grand Admiral was long gone. Pieces of his dark hair had fallen into his face, which shined with your arousal. His red eyes were half-lidded but smoldering with unrestrained lust. “You’ll give me another,” he demanded, returning his attention to your cunt.

For the second time that night, he pushed two fingers deep inside, seeking the spongy spot that would turn you into even more of an incoherent mess. You whined at the feeling of overstimulation, but you were just as hungry for him as he was for you. Thrawn moved back up to ravish your neck with more kisses while he slipped a third finger inside. The wet sounds they made would have been deeply embarrassing to you under any other circumstance, but the noises only encouraged your lover. “Tell me, ch’eo ch’itiseb, were you this wet when it was your own fingers inside of you?”

He gave a particularly rough thrust and grinned wickedly, “I don’t recall your cunt being this musical in the video.”

You were in such a blissful, fucked-out state that it was nearly impossible to form any words, but somehow you managed to speak, “Thrawnnnnn…. pleasepleaseplease…... need you inside me now.”

It was altogether too much. You came hard, soaking the sheets underneath you and drawing a pleased growl from Thrawn.

This time, he withdrew his fingers immediately, leaving your cunt spasming in his absence. Again, you protested weakly, but the sight of him finally removing his pants immediately stopped your complaints. It was a sight you’d never tire of, one you could appreciate even when you were this far gone. Thrawn was breathtaking; his lithe, muscular body had been sculpted from a lifetime of training and discipline. His cock was equally beautiful, large and thick, with pronounced ridges running along the side. He looked like a figure from one of his paintings as he walked towards you, a god of war hell-bent on making you his greatest conquest.

All need for words was long gone as he returned to the bed. Thrawn was as desperate as you; he ripped through the thin, lacy material in his way and trailed his cock along your slit, coating it with your combined arousal. He entered you in one swift movement, and the word fell away. You felt the delicious stretch of him, teasing the line between pleasure and pain as he began to fuck you at a relentless pace. With each snap of hips, yours rose to match the pace, and you saw stars. Thrawn tangled his hands in your hair and pulled you into an all-consuming kiss. He greedily captured each moan, every sigh that fell from your lips. Your fourth orgasm was quickly on the way, and you could tell that your lover wasn’t far behind.

All of the earlier teasings seemed to have affected him as much as they affected you. Thrawn pulled your hips upwards, and the new angle sent him deeper and deeper with each thrust. You felt this tip of his cock hit so incredibly far inside that it sent you reeling as the sound of your lovemaking filled the room. The lingering pleasures from all your previous orgasms were piling on top of each other, driving you closer and closer to a final climax that you were sure would leave you unable to walk tomorrow. Thrawn locked his gaze with yours, watching tears of pleasure run down your face. “So… close….. I can feel you, cseo tsaco -so tight- around me. Cum for me once more,” he commanded with the barest hint of desperation in his voice.

That was all the encouragement you needed before the most intense orgasm of your entire life swept over you. You bit down hard on the juncture of Thrawn’s neck and shoulder to keep from screaming his name loudly enough to tell the entire crew of the Chimaera exactly what was happening. He exhaled sharply as he continued to ride out your orgasm, but the feeling of your cunt greedily clenching around his cock was too much. Thrawn came with a groan, coating your walls with his seed as his pace slowed to a halt.

Your spent bodies fell on the bed together in the afterglow. Thrawn remained inside of you, and you enjoyed the closeness as you felt him soften. He pulled you into a tight embrace, placing a tender kiss on your temple as he softly smiled. “I missed you too, bat in’a.”

Tagging some friends: @pala-din-djarin @handbaskethell @mittheresabosen @pretty-with-andorian-shingles @bluecynadi @ele-millennial-weirdo @mysticalgalaxysalad @rebelpitstop @jedi-mando @tibbietibbs @rexsjaigeyes @anna-the-godkiller @erinsusername @myevilmouse

#thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitt'raw'nuruodo #thrawn fanfiction #thrawn x reader #thrawn x female!reader #thrawn x fem!reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x f!reader

186 notes · View notes

eroselless · 4 years ago

Text

hopelessly devoted [1]

Pairing : Sebastian Stan x reader│regency au

Summary : When Y/N Brighton finds herself suddenly married to a strange older man, she thinks her life is completely derailed. Wha happens when she starts to get close to him?

Warnings : slow burn, age gap, fluff, a tad bit of angst, a little injury but not much Word Count : 3.6k

Notes : I'm sorry it took so long for me to get this out! I hope y'all like it! I rewrote it twice just so I could get it as perfect as I could. Constructive criticism is very much appreciated! I didn't expect to be writing a Part 2 BUT it should be up very soon :)

Also let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

here's what I listened to while I wrote :)

find part 2 here!

As a young child, Y/N Brighton had imagined that she would have the most lavish of weddings. She had imagined walking down the aisle in the arms of her father, smiling at relatives as they watched her join her husband to be. She had hoped for a grand exchange of vows with him, ones that would leave the crowd in tears. She had even hoped for a choir to sing her in and hoped for petals to be showered on her and her beau as they left the chapel for their extravagant and much needed honeymoon. What she hadn’t imagined was this.

Y/N slowly walked down the aisle, with no one by her side. The chapel she was in was dark and the seats, instead of being filled with family, stood empty. There were no flowers in sight and the mood in the room was of sadness and melancholy. Her hands were clasped around nothing, a bouquet she had desired being absent. She quietly stood still in front of the man she was to marry, seeing but a stranger and not someone she had grown to love.

Viscount Brighton was a man of many flaws, just as any other human being. He loved to drink, he loved to smoke but most of all he loved to gamble. Many times he had won money, bringing it home to spend on his daughter and wife but many more times, he had lost and come home significantly more empty handed than he had been when he left. Viscountess Brighton had found herself one night, sitting in the seat of her husband’s desk. It felt as if smoke was steaming out of her ears as frustration built up inside of her. In front of her, there were piles of paper and in her hands she clutched the newest additions of the pile. There were bills upon bills upon bills, her eyes nearly popping out of her head as she added up the amount of money that her husband owed. What they had left in their accounts was almost nothing. Even the dowry belonging to their only daughter was gone.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, as if to stop the tears from flowing out.

“What have you done?” She seethed at her husband, who stood guilt ridden at the door of his own office.

“No w-worries dearest,” he began. “We can always sell a few things and we’ll be fine!” If looks could kill, the poor man would have been 6 feet deep in the ground.

“With the amount of money we have due, we’ll have to sell the house and everything in it!” The viscountess cried. Shaking her head, she dropped the pieces of paper on the desk and stormed out.

“How could you?” She asked once they were laying in bed. The lights were blown out as they both lay with their backs to the other. He could not answer her question. How could he? That’s the thing, he didn’t. He clutched onto the sheets of the bed as tears threatened to spill from his eyes, the guilt was beginning to feel heavy on his chest. He prayed for a miracle, he prayed for someone to come pull them out of the hole he had pushed his family into.

Y/N didn’t really know why there had been visits from a stranger to her house. She had been introduced to him briefly. His eyes were electric blue and he had a beard that was full but not too big or fluffy. His hair was a beautiful shade of brown and was always brushed to perfection. He always gave her tight lipped smiles and there was an eery feeling of pity behind each one. She couldn't help but feel attracted to him, despite him being almost the same age as her father. It was a little innocent crush. It didn’t really mean anything.

Lord Sebastian Stan was in search of a wife. He was the most eligible bachelor on the market, though he was quite older than most of the girls in age of marriage. He had never really planned to marry. He had gotten close many times but had never found the right woman to fill the seemingly gaping hole in his heart. If it hadn’t been for a trip to his native Romania, he wouldn’t have bothered to begin a search. He had gone to visit his grandmother, she was very much expecting he would finally have a maiden at his side. She had explained that if he didn’t marry, there was a possibility that his title and home would be stripped from him. He remembered how he panicked, not so much for the loss of his title but where would he go without his home? Where would he live then? It was as if fate was on his side when he had run into the hysterical Viscount Brighton. The poor man was desperate, searching for anything that would help him with the sinking boat he found himself on. Sebastian didn’t jump at the deal immediately. He couldn’t help but feel for the young girl who was essentially being sold away. But after much thought, he spoke to the older man and agreed to marry his daughter.

“Lord Stan has agreed on marrying you.” The viscount said to Y/N. It had been days after the agreement was finally settled.

“He needs a bride in order to keep his estate and seeing as how you are in the age of marriage, he has agreed to marry you even though you are without a dowry.” Her mother said, trying to be gentle with the words she said to her daughter.

Y/N simply looked at them with tears in her eyes. They had sat her down in the office where her mother had been sitting only a few nights ago.

“He said he will help the family with whatever we need in exchange for your hand in marriage.”

And that was that. Now Y/N found herself standing face to face to Sebastian as he whispered the words of I do. She watched as he stood there expressionless, staring down at the floor. His eyebrows were furrowed, as the priest recited the marital words to her. She was so caught up in his features that she almost missed her cue to agree to the marriage and echo him with the words of I do. Each slipped on a simple wedding band on their ring finger. There was a sigh of relief ringing out behind her as her family officially joined with him. Now they would not have to live out on the street, they were saved.

The ride to Sebastian’s estate was quiet. The only sound that was heard was the crunch of carriage’s wheel on the ground and the subtle sound of the pairs breathing. As she had expected, there was no celebration of the marriage after the ceremony, no shower of wedding rice or petals on them. There was only the silent signing of papers and the quiet goodbyes from her family. Here Y/N took the time to really look at him. He had a slight crease etched between his eyebrows. He had a mole on the left side of his forehead and his lashes didn’t quite curl up but still had a slight wisp to them. His eyes looked darker, they were like the deep colour of the ocean. They were a pool that, in a different circumstance, she would be more than willing to swim in.

“We don’t have to lay together,” Sebastian began, breaking the silence along with her long stare. “We each have our own rooms, so you don’t have to worry about anything. The maids will have everything ready by the time we get home.” Y/N nodded, taking in the information. Part of her knew he wouldn’t force her to consummate the wedding, he didn’t seem like that type of person but part of her still wanted the chance to sleep next to him, to get to know the person she was to spend the rest of her life with.

They soon arrived. The night was warm and the stars shone brightly above them. If they had wanted, a stroll through his vast gardens wouldn't have been a very romantic way to start the night. The mansion was lit up from the inside and Y/N couldn't help but find herself in awe of it. They had come through a gate and down a long road in order to reach the house. It had three towers with the rest of the building having been built around them. There was a grand balcony right above the main entrance. It was all very green, trees and bushes surrounding the mansion.

“Welcome Home, Lord and Lady Stan” The head housekeeper said, ushering them in from the night. Many of the staff stood on the stairs leading up to the front doors of the home. They kindly nodded at them as they slowly walked in. Y/N was shown to her room, just across the hall from Sebastian’s.

“If you need anything, don’t be scared to give us a shout.” The housekeeper told Y/N. Sebastian had followed behind, making his way to his room. He nodded politely in her direction before he slipped through his door, closing it behind him.

Y/N stood there for a second before letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. She made her way into her room. It was big. Bigger than the one at her family home. The walls were a pale blue and the room had golden accents, with more variations of blue scattered around. There was a small table on one side of the room with a single armchair. On the table was the most elegant and beautiful tea set she had ever seen. When she went to grab it, it was warm. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat down. She blew on it as steam came up from the cup. She stared at the wall just above her large bed, reflecting once again on how fast the days changed.

It took her a while to acclimate. Sebastian had mostly left her to her own devices, leaving her to roam around the mansion alone. She would get lost every once in a while, asking maids to help her find her way back to her room. She wasn’t prohibited from going anywhere, Sebastian had made that clear to her. This was her home now and he wasn’t going to keep anything from her. She ate breakfast with him every morning, sitting across from him at a long dinner table. He would always mumble a quiet good morning, taking her hand and gently pressing a kiss to it. He couldn't bring himself to ever look into her eyes.

One afternoon, she stumbled upon the library. As a little girl, she would spend her time reading the day away. She never tired of the smell of old books. Her eyes widened when she pushed open the double doors of the library. She hadn't ever seen such a grand collection. There were many many rows of shelves and a flight of stairs that led to a landing where she could sit, surrounded by a few more shelves and a grand window. She spent the next hours exploring the rows, climbing high onto the ladders to reach the books on the highest shelves. She took her time, taking deep breaths and inhaling the comforting smell of the pages. She didn’t recognize many of the books, a lot of them being in Romanian or French. She delicately dragged her fingers on the spines of the books, careful when pulling them out to examine them.

She was searching the shelves for something familiar, when a book caught her eye. The title on the spine was one that she had heard of before but couldn’t quite remember what the story was about. It was high up, too high for her to reach on her own. She looked around the library, seeing if there was anyone that could help her reach the book. She sighed as she realized she was completely alone and would have to climb the ladder that was placed on a set of railings on the front of the shelves. She huffed as she hiked her dress up as much as she could, sticking her feet out to climb onto the first rung of the ladder. She grabbed on tight as she ascended higher and higher. She heaved slightly as she reached the right shelf, only to realize that the book was just barely within her reach. She frowned, trying to pull the book out with the tips of her fingers. Feeling her fingers slip slightly, she moved to the edge of the rung she stood on. A loud creek sounded through the library as she started to feel the ladder tip to the side. Finally grabbing the book, she tried to push herself back onto the ladder, only to jerk farther away from the wall. She felt her feet slip from under her, a panicked squeal coming from her lips. Her eyes squeezed shut as she waited for her body to fall and hit the ground with a painful thud.

Sebastian sat at his desk, looking through his small collection of books, in search for one in particular. His head was full of thoughts, not a single instance of silence. He had also needed time to acclimate to his new housemate. He tried his best to interact with her and to be civil but part of him felt like he was doing it all wrong. He remembered when he had first seen her, roaming her old home. He remembered the cream coloured dress she wore when her father first introduced them, before she was told of her fate. She seemed happier. He tried to make her happy but no matter what he instructed her handmaiden to give her, she still didn’t seem as joyful as she used to be.

In a way, he understood her. She was now living in a house with a strange man that she had only known for a very short time. She had left behind her family and her friends and with no official duties, she spent most of her time by herself. She was alone. He had tried to be husbandly, eating meals with her and bringing her along for strolls in the garden but still even then, she would not come out of her shell.

Over the weeks, he had grown used to hearing her steps through the halls. He had learned to enjoy the little songs she hummed when she accompanied him on walks in the garden. He had started to pick up on her small habits. She would always put her pinky finger under her glass before placing it on the table. She would tug at her left earlobe when she was in deep thought or when she was reading. He usually found himself scolding himself when he watched her walk about the mansion. He couldn’t help but feel like a villain who took any plans for her future away.

He resigned his search, deciding to make his way down to the library. He was in for a long hunt. He walked the empty halls, the only sounds being the clicks of his shoes against the stone floors. He came upon the doors of the library to find them open and saw his wife begin to climb on the many ladders in the library.

He watched as she began to shuffle to the edge of the ladder. Knowing fully well how this would end, he made his way up to her. His heart began to race as the ladder began to creak and tip. With a few long strides, he was at her side. He heard as she held her breath, waiting for the floor to come at her. He grunted as he slid under her, managing to catch her before she collided with the wooden floors.

Before this, he had never touched her before. He hadn’t really taken the time to look at her face. The skin of her bare arms felt smooth against his, the fullness of it feeling soothing. Her chest was heaving, just as his. The adrenaline was coursing fast through their veins. His eyes wandered her face, taking in each freckle and scar. He even noted the lone eyelash that lay on her cheek.

“Sebastian,” She cried, completely surprised. She pulled herself to her feet and out of his arms. She still held tightly to the book in her hand. Sebastian’s hand lingered on her shoulder, a small sign of affection. He looked over her, checking for any afflictions.

“Are you alright?” he asked her. She nodded, catching her breath. She had placed one hand on the shelf, wincing slightly. Her knuckle had bruised, hitting it on the ladder as she fell. Sebastian pulled it from the shelf, cradling it gently.

“You must be more careful,” he warned. She felt her stomach flutter as he stretched her fingers out in his hand. It almost felt like what she was doing was wrong, forbidden.

“I know, I’m sorry.” She mumbled.

“Let’s get you some ice for your hand.” He said and led her to the kitchens. It was only when he sat her down that she realized how dark it had turned outside. It was nearly nightfall. How long had she been in the library? She pulled a face when she felt the coolness of the ice hit her skin. Sebastian was kneeling in front of her, tending at her hand. She watched as he masterfully soothed her wound, even though her pain was almost gone.

“Thank you,” She told him when he looked up at her. “For everything.”

She said everything and she really meant it. Even though she didn’t have the life she expected, her family was being taken care of and that’s really what mattered. He nodded, smiling briefly before standing up. He held his hand out towards her, helping her up to her feet. They then walked up the stairs to their rooms. Stopping, Y/N turned around before opening her door.

“Sebastian” She called out to him, hand on her doorknob. He turned back to her. “Goodnight.” He smiled, his teeth coming into view.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

They were to attend their first party together. The most elite were going to be in attendance, most of which Sebastian knew. They rode in the carriage in almost complete silence and then proceeded to walk in together. When she let go of his arm, he hadn’t exactly expected her to go to the big group of ladies that stood ion the far side of the room. It had seemed like she recognized some of the ladies waiting there. He stood at the entrance of the ballroom, watching as she interacted with them. She was laughing and smiling. Something he didn’t see often. He admired how the dress she wore clung to her frame. It was a gown he had tailored just for her, and now he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her. Ever since the incident in the library, he couldn't get her out of his head. Something was blooming in the back of his mind. As music started to play, couples started to make their way to the dance floor.

Y/N watched as the girls from her old friend group excused themselves to dance with their husbands and fiancées. For s second, she had felt like she was still living her old life. She had caught up with her friends for a couple of minutes, the feeling of happiness returning and the sound of laughter escaping her. She wasn’t ungrateful for the grand favour Sebastian was doing in helping her family in return for her hand. She really wasn’t but she felt lonely and as her friends took their leave into the arms of their lovers, she felt the loneliness settle back into her bones. From across the room, her eyes met Sebastian’s. His eyes were more blue than ever. They sent chills down her spine. With a nod, he signalled to her. They met at the edge of the dance floor, joining the rest of the dancers. The tempo of the music was slower and the people around them were moving slowly to the same beat.

Y/N felt her breath hitch in the back of her throat as she locked eyes once again with Sebastian as they danced around each other. She couldn’t put her finger on whatever was growing in the air around them. The movements in the dance had them inches away from each other, never touching but always close. They twirled around the dance floor for what seemed like hours, narrowly missing each other. As songs came and went, Y/N found herself smiling and making jests at her distant husband. It felt like progress from where they had been just nights before.

For a single moment, time felt like it had slowed. Sebastian felt his heart race as he gave Y/N a last twirl and brought her to his chest. She looked up at him with sparkles in her eyes, a smile adorning her face. Many times he had stopped to admire her face but here under the chandelier, surrounded by music he felt like the luckiest man in the world. He felt himself lean down, just barely brushing his lips over hers. But then as quick as their moment had begun, it ended. He felt a bubble pop inside his head as he pulled away from her. Guilt had filled his mind once again as he grumbled and motioned her that it was time to leave. Y/N watched in disbelief as he stormed out of the room and out to the carriages. He had been so close and now he felt miles away.

tags: @lharrietg @carleywhittaker @tonystankschild@headheartbellarke @baebee35 @lady-loki-ren

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine

259 notes · View notes

gralunaisland · 3 years ago

Text

A Veritable Essay in Response to a Pro Gr///uvian Argument

Because I hate myself and love bashing gr///via, I forced myself to look up “why gruvia is a good ship” (heretical, I know) to find some points made by pro-gr//vians on why they think it’s a good ship, because I sure can’t think of any on my own. This is a post I’ve happened upon, posted below for your viewing displeasure. I shall attempt to dissect each point in this person’s post below the picture.

Here goes nothing.

However, fair warning, this is a doozy. You might need a break during this read because of its length. I'd hope people could finish though so I can see what y'all think!

The "forced anime relationship/ not real life” point

- So this point.

Does Anon (anonymous poster) not realize that a “forced relationship” doesn’t mean that Mashima had a gun put up to his head to force him to write gr//uviugly as canon, it means that the relationship is a product of poor writing?

I don’t know how many times I can rehash just how poor this ship has been written, but I shall do it as many times as I need to I suppose.

Here we go, a lightning round:

Obsession and idolatry are not healthy to either partner. juvia is selfish and insane. Stalking and gaslighting should NOT be fetishized. Gray’s wishes are ignored. What they have is not true love since it's the product of gaslighting, manipulation, abuse, and ego.

Those are only a fraction of the reasons why it’s a disgusting ship, but I shall leave it as that for now because we have lots to talk about. All these reasons (and more) are why this ship is the product of poor writing and therefore is a forced relationship.

All throughout the anime (which I shall use for reference because I never read the manga) Gray shows disgust for juvia, at the very least for her actions. Any hint of affection he displays for her is merely because she’s a fellow member of Fairy Tail, and therefore he treats her accordingly. However, he displays the discomfort he feels from her actions clearly, freaking out every time she gets in his personal space and even going so far as to call her “CREEPY” during the Grand Magic Games. I don’t have the brain capacity to provide all the times he rejects her right now, but if you don’t believe there are many, I believe you and I watched different shows because 80% of their interactions from the beginning were with her lusting over him and him cringing.

All this to say, this is the norm for almost the entirety of the show.

(It should be noted that I have only watched up to after the disbandment of the guild and a few episodes of the last season, the Avatar arc, anyway, and that was enough to see the part about the juvia and Gray sharing a house. I do know, however, about the gr///uviugh garbage that takes place in the 100 Years Quest, and I remember hearing some about Gray and juvia being in a situation where they have to kill the other that results in juvia having a scar.)

Anyway, all the affection that Gray gets for juvia is super rushed and out of the blue after the Tartarous arc. she had done nothing out of the ordinary for Gray.

Risked her life to save his? As if Erza and Natsu and many other people haven’t done that already.

Always been there for him? Well, that is literally the creed of the Fairy Tail family, although unlike them, she has dirty motives for doing so.

All this to say again, the huge switch from being grossed out by her to becoming affectionate is insanely sudden and jarring. Any relationship written like that is poor writing, to have it one way the whole time and then to flip it on its head out of the blue.

And of course the apparent reason for this polarized shift is because juvia sacrificed her life for Gray, as I’ve said. But what’s the difference between her and any of his other friends being prepared to die for him?

It’s that from the beginning, juvia has been declaring her absolute love for him.

That is the only difference.

He proclaims that he will take her affections seriously for once not because he suddenly likes her, but because he feels obligated, indebted, bound to return her affections because otherwise he feels like he’s disregarded her emotions, like he owes her since he “hasn’t given her anything in return even though she’s signed her life away to him”.

Let me tell you this. That’s a big no-no. Just because your stalker and abuser throws their life away for you does NOT mean you have to suddenly return their feelings. They never cared about your feelings—otherwise they wouldn’t be stalking or emotionally and physically abusing you in the first place!

Otherwise, in Gray's manipulated, traumatized mind, she threw her life away “for nothing in return”. Think about it. Gray never said "I'll take your feelings seriously" to anyoneeee else who had sacrificed or was about to sacrifice their lives for him. The only reason he told juvia that was because she had basically bargained her life away for his devotion. she already had her cards on the table- she already let Gray know what she wanted- with her open declarations of love, and all she needed was for Gray to feel compelled to throw his hat in the ring.

In other words, the reason why Gray wouldn't promise to take the feelings of someone like Ur or Ultear seriously, both ladies who also sacrificed themselves for Gray, is simply because they had never told him that they loved him and wanted him romantically.

Yes, that is very obvious, but again, think about it. Gray would never have told juvia that he would try to love her if she had never pounded it into his brain that she loved him. It is that very fact that shows how Gray doesn't love juvia because of how special she is and how much better she is than the other women who've done the same thing, it is literally only because she already let him know that she lusted after him, and that is the only reason that makes her different.

You might say, “well it’s not like that was her reasoning for killing herself! she was just being selfless!”

To that I say well obviously she was being selfless because she has no sense of self outside of Gray in the first place. her life doesn’t matter to her so it’s no big deal, all that matters is Gray. she doesn’t exist without Gray.

And secondly, that may have not been her conscious goal, but if she had really wanted Gray to fall in love with her organically, naturally, for her as a person and not because of the one thing she did for him, then she would A, not stalk and harass him and would listen to him when he says NO (consent, people! It’s important!), and B, she wouldn’t feel good about Gray returning her love just because he feels indebted to her.

But nope.

she’s just happy Gray-sama is finally not rejecting her disgusting advances anymore.

In any case, that’s never a good start/factor of a relationship anyway, with one side madly and blindly obsessed with the other and with the other side being in the relationship ONLY because of an overwhelming sense of guilt and debt and duty to the other.

- I know this was supposed to be tacked on with the first question, but like what even is this, “it’s anime, not real life”.

Well... obviously???

Who said just because it’s anime and therefore not real life (again, isn’t that obvious?) it gets a pass at being poorly written and just plain terrible? (That doesn't even make sense- there's no script for real life anyway!) Those of us who actually appreciate character depth and chemistry would certainly not give it a pass.

Now, whether you support NaLu or not, I shall use an aspect of it as an example. Their ship has at least some character depth because Natsu has saved Lucy many times, especially that first time when she was almost kidnapped in the first episode, and he introduced her to the guild of her dreams and, most importantly, to the family she loves today. Of course he would be important to her. From the beginning, Natsu was special to Lucy, but the most important thing to note is that it wasn't romantic from the get-go. He annoys and exasperates her all the time, and she initially just viewed him as a weirdo. As for Natsu’s feelings for Lucy, he instantly clicks with her like any other person in FT, but it’s only after Natsu witnesses more of Lucy’s love for FT and its members does he start to treat her a little bit differently. Love for friends is of utmost importance to him, so it makes sense that he’d notice her in his dense way because she loves FT more than many. With him, it’s hard to tell when he’s acting differently because he’s so friendly with everyone, but an example is him acting bummed during that Rainbow Cherry Blossom festival. If he thought of everyone as equal in importance, he wouldn’t really mind one person not being there and would soon forget himself in the merriment. Obviously, we know that’s not what happens.

With all this, we see at least some development and depth. The chemistry is easy to see as well because they’re always bickering good-naturally or palling around with Happy tagging along. Honestly, Natsu's side could definitely use some more growth in terms of the ship because Natsu still doesn't treat her all that much different from other people from what I've seen, but my point is that there's a least some development in leading up to the ship. ALL THIS TO SAY (sorry for saying that so often), NaLu is an example of, while far from perfect, at least a start to a non-forced relationship.

In anime, no less. -__-

See, no excuses for poor writing. It doesn’t have to be a true story to be a good one. Before anything, they’re best buds, and I think that is the key point to this.

They did not start off as romantically inclined.

Aside from like all of 10 minutes after juvia initially met Gray, she has obsessed romantically over him for the whole time she's known Gray. juvia literally cannot be more obsessed with him, and that means there was no room for romantic development except from one side, i.e. Gray's. He could do no wrong in her eyes, and she needed to have him all to herself. Just because he was kind to her once, she believed she owned him.

Those are all major red flags.

Some might protest that it was simply love at first sight, even though none of that sounds like love, and is in fact not love, but even if it was love at first sight, in terms of a relationship, it's still not a good beginning. she "loved" him for having basic human decency and even swooned for him just from looking at him, so it was all surface level attraction anyway. We don't get to see any natural development of feelings and loyalty between the two because one is already there and has always been there, and the other has to be pressured there because, again, the other one is already there. There isn't any organic falling in love from either side.

The “blame it on the storyline etc.” point

- I don’t think Anon realizes that that’s what anti-gruvians are doing essentially. It’s really what any person who has a problem with any piece of fiction that someone makes is doing…

Yes, we hate the character juvia and her interactions with Gray, but it’s not like she’s a real person.

We realize this because we’re not insane.

Mashima is obviously the true culprit regarding her bad character, but I mean... We can claim that in one sentence with no real meaning.

“I blame Mashima for writing juvia as a bad character."

Okaaay, then how is she portrayed as a bad character?

“Well, she’s a stalker and an abuser etc. etc.”

Even though it was the author’s will that made a character the way they are, which is how it works, by the way, we still have to scrutinize that character’s actions as if they had their own agency in order to properly judge a character’s goodness/quality.

Okay, anon, we blame it on the storyline, on the author. Does that mean she’s free of critiques, that we cannot dislike her as a character?

Nope, because if you believe that, no one can have opinions on anything people write, because just as there are reasons why we dislike characters, there are also reasons why we like characters. No one asks “does the fact that Mashima is the one making juvia act the way she does mean we cannot like her?”, and you certainly wouldn’t say “I blame Mashima for making juvia likeable”. It adds nothing to the conversation to shift the blame to the author. It doesn’t make juvia any more likeable because guess what, she’s still the same character no matter if we blame her or Mashima, and therefore she’s still unlikeable. I feel like I could've articulated this better but it's 2 AM, so if anyone is confused, just send an ask or comment.

The "juvia is a perfect character” point

- I kinda hate that these words have to be uttered on my page. It is no exaggeration that she is the single most hated anime character I’ve ever watched in my life. ANYWAY. Saying that juvia has had the most character development out of any of the FT characters is such an astonishing thing to say. Sure, she goes from doom and gloom to cheery and obsessing over Gray, but rather than that being character development, it was really just a plain 180. Nothing developed, it was just poof, juvia's crazy about Gray.

Gray did nothing and said nothing to her in their first fight than what a decent person would do, though to be fair, her whole life hadn’t been filled with decent people. Even if he was the first one to be kind to her, the fact that she threw everything away to turn into one giggly stalking obsessive fan-girl for Gray is insanely creepy and concerning and cannot be described as good character development.

It took the span of, what, 2 episodes, for her to change?

she has had some nice moments, like where she opens her heart to Lucy in the Tower of Heaven, or when she saves Cana by sacrificing herself in the Battle for FT (both of which I have problems with anyway), but she is the opposite of consistent with those instances. Instances of her being a good, kind member of FT to people other than Gray are few and far, far between. A few instances of her being ridiculous and unkind just off the top of my head are her trying to drown Lucy by making her air bubble smaller, her wishing harm on her fellow Grand Magic Games FT people so she could fight alongside Gray, her lying to her guildmates that she’s worried and wants to go find Wendy on Tenrou Island when she really just wants to find Gray, her throwing the Grand Magic Games (even though it’s extremely important to all the other members to make amends for all the humiliation and grief the FT members who didn’t get the 7 year skip had to go through with losing all their best members) because she’s too obsessed w Gray, and how about her deliberately ignoring Gray’s rejection at the Ball in the palace.

she looks like a pretty stuck, one-track-minded character to me. she only joined FT because of Gray after all, and although she’s sometimes nice, she would obviously follow Gray wherever he went, even if that meant leaving FT. Unlike Lucy, who searched endlessly for her former guildmates after the guild disbanded, juvia merely followed Gray off and had the time of her life barging into his house and living with him. she didn’t care at all that the guild had disbanded, so long as she had Gray.

That brings me to next part about how she’s apparently “had the most character growth”. My next point is a great point made in an @absolutezerotolerance post, but basically they posted a picture of juvia when we are first introduced to the she-devil, as the Rain-Woman (who was so much better than the fan-girl juvia we unfortunately are stuck with) and a picture of juvia in the rain after being abandoned by Gray after the disbanding of the guild. Same girl, surrounded by rain and gloom, practically dead to the world, and being in a self-induced sickness no less. she remains near dead until being reunited w Gray.

Now tell me.

If a character only experiences character growth after attaching themselves to another character, and more than that, if you take that attached character away, they revert to their old self (and an even worse form of their old self on top of that), would ANYONE call that character development???

NO!

Development is when the character develops for themselves. That is not to say another person cannot help you grow, but to be so dependent on them to maintain your development means you have not developed and are just leeching off that person. This type of person changes only for that person, not because it’s good for you or that person or anyone else, and they have therefore not grown at all.

What's more, her so-called “growth” isn’t growth at all, it’s just different because she’s not a better person after turning into Gray’s groupie. she’s just now suddenly intrusive and insane and manipulative when before she'd just been depressed and depressing.

The "Natsu's had the same personality throughout the anime" point

- If you’re trying to prove juvia’s growth just by putting other characters down, that’s not much of an argument. This, however, might be indirectly Anon's best point. I will admit, like they said, Natsu’s character development isn’t that great. I think that's a product of the nature of his role in the story though. He’s kind of already your standard perfect MC. His ideals are steadfast, he’s fiercely loyal, and he will do anything to protect his friends.

I will agree with Anon that his “personality” stayed the same, though I think when they said that, they revealed that by character growth, they just meant personality change, which juvia did most definitely. Personality does not equal character growth however, especially when your personality takes a turn for the worse. To do such a 180 as she did so easily and quickly just shows she had no solid character to begin with.

Anyway, in regards to Natsu’s development, I’ll say a big thing he has over juvia is that he’s already a good person, someone who will beat sense into you if you’re wrong like with Jellal, and someone who will not kill an innocent man just because of what he might do in the future like with Rogue. juvia is just generally not a “good person” nor “selfless” unless it has to do with Gray (and even then, her “goodness” and “selflessness” is EXTREMELY debatable). That is not consistent character, nor is it commendable.

For Lucy, I think she discovered what it meant to love others, considering that fact that after her mom died, she didn’t have much love given to her. While mostly silly at first, she became to realize the true bond of friendship, well-displayed in the Phantom Lord arc. She learned she was not alone and could rely on others. She sacrifices her body and pride to save Bisca’s little daughter, a girl that Lucy isn’t super familiar with like she is with her team, in the GMG against Flair.

juvia would definitely do that kind of thing... if it were for Gray. juvia did do it once for Cana, but after Tenrou, she became one-track minded again. Also, I have problems with that Cana sacrifice thing for several reasons, but this is long enough as it is. (If you want to learn why, I made a post about it here.)

As a general note, I will say I don’t think Mashima does well with character development. I think Erza’s had some great strides at least once with the whole armor thing. After that, the "no armor" thing has just basically been her go-to OP mode which doesn't make much sense. Gajeel is definitely fighting for good now, as well as many enemies in Fairy Tail's world. But a lot of the characters seem a bit stagnant to some degree. With juvia however, I will say that I just don’t think she’s really changed, and her personality change isn’t even a good thing.

- Continuing on, about the "comparing to juvia" section of the point, I feel like Anon accidentally proved us right about gr///via.

Yes, you're right, Anon, juvia had been in Phantom Lord for a while, and then she went on to try to join Fairy Tail for the sole reason of her "sense of attraction" to Gray.

I really don't see your point.

Is that supposed to show any kind of character development on her part? Anon does realize that this switching of guilds is actually on par with her almost nonexistent character, right? she joined Phantom Lord ONLY because they were the first to act like they wanted her, so she would do anything for them blindly, disregarding the fact that her guild was hurting another guild for no reason besides jealousy, rivalry, and greed, not to mention almost killing all of them with the Jupiter cannon (and especially Makarov with the magic-sucky-suck move), and trying to kidnap a girl.

Just goes to show how blindly she'll follow anyone who shows her an inkling of kindness back in her early days (because subsequently, people are kind to her like Lucy, and yet she treats them like dirt because of her delusion that she owns Gray).

Then Gray was nice to her, and she imprinted on him harder than a baby chicken. That being her sole reason to join Fairy Tail shows that she didn't suddenly get a change of heart to try to make amends and become a good person, like a good plot development of her character would be, she actually just joined, disregarding the bad things she did to Fairy Tail, dumping her old guild mates except Gajeel as an after thought, because of her addiction to all things "Gray-sama".

Are we supposed to pretend like that's a good thing? A good thing for Fairy Tail? Or a good thing in terms of character growth? It really was neither. Something I hadn't thought of before is that although juvia was the reason Lucy got kidnapped, literally drowned her until she passed out, instead of trying to make amends with Lucy, even do so little as to apologize, she harasses her whenever she's in Gray's presence. The mean-spiritedness of that just shocks me.

How awful of a person do you have to be to be an absolute a-hole over a delusional romantic interest to someone you hurt so badly?

[This reminds me of Kazutora in Tokyo Revengers. (Spoiler warning!) He killed Shinichiro, Mikey's brother, while trying to steal a bike for him, and in order to make it make sense, he lost his mind and blamed Mikey for his own actions, when he was the one who was wronged by Kazutora and lost his fricking brother. Yes, Kazutora tries to redeem himself, and I can sort of understand it since it was clear that he was mentally unstable and unwell, but even so, during that period, I hated Kazutora. He did the same exact disgustingly toxic thing juvia does: create a victim and then blame and harass that victim.

And yet unlike Kazutora, juvia never completely comes out of her stupor. she never begs Lucy or Fairy Tail, or most importantly of all, Gray for forgiveness. she never acknowledges that what she does is utterly immoral and wrong. And that makes her infinitely worse.]

And yet Anon has the gall to use the only defense pro-gr///vians have addressing her terrible treatment of other women in Fairy Tail, that "it's only comedy".

Of course, thanks to the nature of comedy, this seems like an impenetrable defense since comedy is subjective. All they have to do is claim they find it funny, and therefore they are justified in liking the way she treats women whom she views as romantic rivals. While the subjectivity of comedy may be true, I believe there exists humor that just shouldn't be found funny on a moral standpoint. I'd rather not give examples because then it can get very dark, but if you imagine the worst things that happen on this Earth, there are plenty of things that no one should make light of.

Continuing to elaborate on why I personally don't think her actions are joke-material, I firstly want to say I have never found her fits of fury and passion funny. Even before I shipped Gray with someone else, even when I was a 12-year-old watching this show for the first time almost a decade ago, juvia's disgusting behavior perturbed me to no end. I hated seeing her on-screen at all. Seeing her hate Lucy rubbed me the wrong way- Lucy, who is just genuinely trying to be everyone's friend in the guild, considering how she considers them her family, maybe more than most of them do. Fairy Tail is her life, and for juvia to join it just for Gray and to hate Lucy just because Gray had the audacity to say he'd die to save Lucy from her clutches, when he owed nothing to juvia because they had literally just met, the attraction was one-sided, and they were MOST CERTAINLY not dating.

I mean, look at juvia's level of maturity when Gray said that in the Phantom Lord arc. she was allll prepared to step aside, abandon her guild's goals just because "ice boy hawt" and decidedly not because she was trying to do the right thing, but as soon as Gray shows his passion for protecting his guild mates, she freaks, yelling that Lucy, whom she's never really met before besides the time she KIDNAPPED HER, "cannot be allowed to live", and then proceeds to try to boil Gray alive.

I am struggling to see how that's funny.

That's just immaturity and insanity, and I would say downright evil. Lucy had done nothing to juvia, yet she was prepared to kill both Gray and Lucy even though her guild was the one that was in the wrong in the first place.

It is insulting to say that juvia is still a good person even after doing those kinds of things "for comedy's sake". Regardless if it is over-the-top to make it funny to some people, they are still actions she took very seriously. I find no fault in judging her on those actions as if she meant them, because she does. Never once does she laugh it off whenever she called Lucy a blonde bimbo or said she'd kill her, or when she suspected Lisanna for going after Gray when she offered to help her in the S Class Trials etc. etc., nor does anyone else laugh it off. The receiving end or the onlookers of the harassment are always uncomfortable and put off by her behavior. (Yet of course they somehow still all support juvia in her manic quest for "Gray-sama's" affection. I don't know, man, what can I say? Terrible writing and absolutely despicable behavior by Gray’s guild mates.)

- However, I shall say this on the "it's just comedy" front that so many pro-gr///viughs protest about juvia's overexaggerated obsession with Gray. Just like how I don't find Mest/Doranbolt's pedophilic tendencies/implications towards Wendy funny or cute in the slightest, so also do I not find someone who stalks, who creeps, who lashes out at innocent people, who creates out-of-character delusions of you, who creates a loofa made of your face and uses that same loofa to wash her privates and finds pleasure in it, who forcefully intrudes and lives with you while also trying to sleep with you in your own bed even though you say no, who gaslights, who manipulates, who doesn't take no for an answer, who doesn't ask for consent to touch you and say sexual or romantic things you don't want to hear, who assumes she owns you when nothing you've done suggested that you wanted that and in fact told her the opposite, to be funny in the slightest.

The fact that she's a woman makes many people find it harmless and comical, but as many before me have said, switch the genders and people would label a male juvia as a filthy pervert who doesn't respect a woman's consent. Why is she not viewed as a filthy pervert who doesn't respect a man's consent? That is literally what she is, and I am still to this day unsure how people find that perverse and r*pey behavior humorful... But I suppose there's no helping that if you truly do find it that way I suppose.

The "hating juvia bc she's obsessed with Gray and give me input on Lucy" point

- With this point, I was almost at a loss for words. Not because Anon had stumped me, but because of the ridiculousness of the argument.

Why can't pro-gr//vians just give a darn argument for their ship without putting other characters WHO ARE NOT RELATED TO THE SHIP down?? That doesn't make your argument stronger, it makes it more easily destroyed. Instead of providing a rebuttal for why juvia's obsession with Gray is a bad thing, Anon proceeded to COMPLETELY DUCK AROUND THE POINT and attack Lucy?? Even if you don't like Lucy, that leap in logic makes no sense.

You can just ask yourself:

"Okay, so I don't like Lucy, but what does that have to do with gr///via??"

(Personally I like Lucy, but it changes nothing whether you do or not because she is just not related to the argument for gr///uviugh at all.)

The answer to that question is it has nothing to do with that ship whatsoever. Anon just started hating on Lucy for crying a lot over the course of the show for no good reason. Not only that, Anon exaggerated their hyperbole to "she cries every episode" and "ngl 99% of the show was her crying".

I'm sorry, I think you are completely out of line with that comment, not because I'm a fan of Lucy, but because that statement is ONE, verifiably untrue (do I even need to prove that? Like seriously, she was not crying every single episode and no, Fairy Tail wasn't 99% Lucy crying and 1% gr///uviugh. Who would watch that?), and TWO, does nothing to prove why juvia's obsession is a "good thing."

Plus, crying harms no one. Even if you find it kind of annoying to see a lot, are you going to fault someone who cries at truly sad moments? She's never crying for no reason. Plus, almost every main character has cried at least several times in the manga. It just gives the situations our heroes find themselves in depth and meaning.

Anyway, crying shows Lucy cares that much about her guildmates, who were her family when her own family crumbled; crying shows how deep and expansive her heart is for others. She empathizes and loves deeply, and to say that's a bad thing is quite heartless. But see, where her crying harms no one, (crying is not abuse, and I have no idea how Anon is claiming someone's crying to be on par with someone's stalking), juvia's obsession harms Gray quite deeply. Again, no consent and no regard for his feelings, plus all the manipulation she enacts on him to make him think he loves her.

juvia's distrust of all women also harms her relationship with them, and the fact that her bullying did nothing to harm her relations w the guild is another example of Mashima's poor writing. her obsession harms herself, as she brings herself to the point of death from sickness when Gray disappears. So much harm. Again, this particular "point" made by anon just might be the worst one they have made here.

The "I'm in the mood to drop this" statement

- I am not surprised at all that you are, because you have made no good argument for the ship. I applaud the effort, however.

The "I hated the anime but watched it bc of juvia's personality and therefore I am biased" point

- I have no qualms w you wanting to watch an anime for just one character. I am glad you acknowledge that you are biased. MY PROBLEM IS is that while you say this, you still have said nothing to back up why her personality is good in the first place. You can't just say "sometimes people just favor one character over the other and that's normal" in the context of an argument, as that is not an argument for why she is likable.

Yes, in the end, I am not trying to convince this person to hate juvia. We all have opinions that are very hard to change. However, I am picking apart her character bit by bit to show why I do not think she is likable, and Anon is there trying to defend why she's likable and the best character by putting down other characters, by saying "I like her personality" when Anon would have to further clarify what about her personality is likeable, by saying she has more character growth than others when that is objectively false whether you like her or not, and by saying "I just like her more and that's normal".

The entire post made by Anon is a non-argument.

The "I don't see why you have to make a thread bashing a character" point

- Just like how you are able to make a whole post defending a character, so can people make posts bashing a character. It goes both ways, Anon. Since we are all entitled to our opinions, it's just something we can do. If we are frustrated with a character, why not rant about it on the internet? You say "you could make a thread bashing Lucy, but you don't because you're not childish", but seriously, Anon. Half your argument in response to why juvia's obsession is a bad thing is that Lucy sucks, so I have no idea why you think bashing a character is childish.

You are literally as childish if you really think ranting on a character is childish, according to your own definition of childish, Anon.

Just like how you love juvia so much and are allowed to expound on her good attributes (*cough cough* there are none) on the internet, so too can someone hate on her just as much. The internet is and has never been a place where you can only say positive things about people or things. If it were, it would be a place even more filled with lies because not everything has good sides to it.

Other people on the internet owe you nothing. They don't have to hide their opinions just because you love a character. Don't believe the world revolves around your opinions, and especially don't think you're somehow above it all when you literally kept bashing a character yourself. (By the way, I do not find bashing a character to be childish, nor do I find praising a character to be childish.)

Have some self-awareness.

Disclaimer

Yes, in the end, who really cares whom you like? It's all fictional characters, (although I believe popular media affects real life) and this argument was more for fun than any real attempt at changing people's minds. No essay on Tumblr will probably ever change a pro-gr//uviuggo's mind, and that's okay. We'll all live. Won't stop me from bashing her though >:3

Closing Notes:

Well, I think I have covered every base. I hope this all made sense. To be honest, I was planning on cutting this up into several posts considering how behemoth this post is, but then I thought people might not see my response to every point given so I just left it as one mega-post. I am sorry for the length; I hope some of y'all survived.

If any of you think I made a bad point, have any questions, or if you would like me to go more in depth on anything, please feel free to comment or send me an ask. I have my asks on so I hope that is working; like I said before on my blog, I am very new to Tumblr. Thank you for your time! Have a wonderful day.

#anti gruvia #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #gray fullbuster #gray deserves better #pro-gray fullbuster #ft #defend gray fullbuster #defend Lucy heartfilia #fairy tail discourse #anti juvia #anti juvia loxar #anti juvia lockser #fairy tail #anti gray x juvia #gralunaessay #gruviugh #gruvia can burn #gruvia sucks

60 notes · View notes

dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years ago

Text

Steve Rogers, The Man On Fire

Hey y'all, as Pride month draws to a close I would like to post this fic. It's been in my drafts for a month and I finally today found the motivation to finish it. This is special to me for many reasons, one of which being that I'm proudly a part of this community. Some of the anger written in is my own. I think a lot of people will resonate with it. I really hope you all enjoy this and happy Pride Month <3

This was based loosely off a headcannon and once I re-find it I will credit!

Synopsis: Steve is freshly thawed, queer, and pissed | A.k.a. Steve's experience in 21st Century America

Characters: Steve Rogers, Mentions of Bucky Barnes, (loosely a Stucky fic but Steve thinks he's dead here)

Warnings: Angst but not bad, Steve Rogers being volatile and chaotic (we love), poorly written accents (I literally read this with an accent in my head), literally a 2k monologue

Word count: 5.1k

Steve Rogers came out of the ice angry.

No— not angry— Steve Rogers came out of the ice fuckin’ furious.

He came out of the ice with his hands curled into two fists, with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were liable to snap, and with a bone to pick with every damn reporter and historian and too loud opinion on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He came out simmering— no, erupting— like the serum in his blood couldn’t keep his body from hibernation all those years ago but it sure as hell won’t keep him from setting the entirety of New York on fire now. He’ll burn it all down if he has to and rebuild it the way he remembers it— the way Bucky would have remembered it— and at the end of it all no one— not the bigots or deniers or the homophobes that seem to be the only thing that came with him from the forties— will be able to say that Captain America can’t love whoever he wants.

No one will be able to say that Steve Rogers didn’t love James “Bucky” “the man I’ve loved since twelve years old” Barnes with everything he had and then some.

No one.

So he starts with the museums in Washington— because sure it isn’t New York but where else would a relic like himself belong more?

He still has hope when he enters the building. They didn’t make them like this when he was a kid— they had science fairs in the town hall and culture fairs in the backstreets near the docks but never anything this grand. No tall marble pillars or enough stairs to make him wonder if he would have been able to climb to the top when he was half the size he is now. It’s strange. It’s kind of wonderful. Yeah, the Smithsonian museums make Steve Rogers feel small for the first time in a very long time and that gives him hope.

That hope doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s wandering through the halls, following the signs that say Captain America: The First Avenger— what the hell is an Avenger? Is that what they’re calling soldiers these days? Now he feels small and old.

Turning the corner is like landing on another planet, one devoted entirely to him. His picture is everywhere he looks, his name is in lights, even his damn uniform has been replicated and presented on a little stage and he hates it. The rage is back, sparking at his fingers— he’s a match and lucky for everyone this building is made of stone because if it wasn’t he’s sure it would be reduced to nothing but ash by now.

It only worsens as he begins reading through the plaques and the paragraphs flashing across screens on the walls— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. The more he reads, though, the more he wonders if the stone is really, truly safe from the fire in his blood. He doesn’t think it is.

He surely isn’t at least— he feels like he’s going to explode. This isn’t him— none of this is him. War hero. Martyr. Golden boy. He has to stop reading that plaque— clearly no one did their research. Clearly no one dug up his medical files— or his police records. Brawls at the pub, disorderly conduct behind Mr. De Luca’s sandwich shop, public nudity at the beach that one time— thank you Bucky for the best night of his god damn life. Golden boy— ha.

Golden nobody with the black eye and broken hand is more like it.

For a moment he thinks he’s fine— he thinks it can’t get worse than this. Then he gets to the early life section and for an even longer moment his tongue tastes like gunpowder.

Steven Grant Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his friend James Buchanan Barnes—

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence— not when they already got the most important part wrong. Friend. Friend? No, no, no. No! There are a million words in the english language that Steve could use to describe Bucky and ‘friend’ will never be the first one.

How about best friend?

How about partner in crime?

How about soulmate who loved Steve so much that every night for the past forty-eight days since he woke up in an era that Bucky doesn’t exist in he’s cried himself to sleep with the same cherry cola taste of his ‘friend’ on his tongue.

It’s the final straw— Steve loses it.

“Anyone got a marker?”

The museum is quiet before he speaks but when his voice— steadily rising and taking on that New York headiness that his troops used to jazz him about— cuts through the exhibit— his fuckin’ exhibit— it’s silent. It’s dead, almost as dead as Buck— Nobody dares move a muscle as he rips his ball cap off his head and throws it at the statue of himself. Everyone knows who he is— everyone is going to know who he is so help him god.

“I said—” he tries again— “does anyone have a marker?”

It takes a moment for the people around him to pick their jaws up off the floor and he allows them that moment with a smug grin starting to tug on the corners of his lips. Finally— they’re starting to get it.

He’s not a hero; he’s a supernova of every scrawny, queer kid who’s ever gotten beaten to a pulp for kissing who they want.

Maybe then it’s fitting that the marker— when it’s finally produced and placed in his waiting palm— comes from a teenage girl with a shaved head and a blue, pink, and purple denim jacket and a busted lip. She doesn’t say much— only a mumbled here you go— but her eyes say everything that her words don’t. Give em’ hell, Cap. For the first time since waking up he flashes a genuine grin back— yeah, this one’s for you kid.

Steve wastes no time uncapping the sharpie— he’ll look that one up later— and scratching out the error. The blasphemy to his unholy name. It takes him a little longer to decide what to write in its place. There are a million words, sure, but somehow none of them feel right at this moment. None of them are enough. That’s something he’ll have to come to terms with later, though— how much nothing feels like enough anymore without Bucky.

Finally Steve settles on a word and he scribbles it as neatly as he can given the fact that he hasn’t had to write anything in eighty years. When he takes a step back, feeling alive for the first time since waking up, he beckons over the girl with the shaved head and points to the place where he’s taken it upon himself to correct history.

“Hey kid, why don’t you go ahead and read that outloud for everyone here.”

He allows another moment— this time because she deserves the time it takes for her eyes to light up and the smile to stretch across her bruised mouth.

Steve laughs— a rusted, croaky laugh; another first in forever— when her head whips around, facing him as she loudly proclaims: “It says boyfriend. Steve Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his boyfriend Bucky Barnes!”

“Damn right I did—” he mutters to the kid before taking a step towards the crowd of gaping mouths. “Did you all hear that? Don’t worry if ya’ didn’t— I’ll say it one more time. Boyfriend. Bucky was my boyfriend and if he was here today he would be my husband. If any of you have a problem with that then feel free to take it up with me. I took on half of Brooklyn for that man and I’ll do it again.”

When no one says anything Steve nods, turning to hand the girl back her marker and to thank her— he may be angry but he hasn’t lost all his manners— but when he looks at her she doesn’t look back. Instead she takes the same step forward that he had, one of her hands balled into a tiny, shaking fist at her side and the other wrapped around a cell phone that’s pointed towards the crowd. He doesn’t understand the mechanics but he thinks she’s recording.

“You hear that?” She parrots the super soldier with a wavering but fierce voice. “Captain America likes men! And none of you can deny it!”

This time it’s his mouth that drops, watching as she shakily turns the camera off and spins back around. Before Steve can say anything, though, she’s talking again, this time hastier, and he can’t help but think that she sounds so much like him. All flushed and scrawny and pissed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll delete the recording if you want but, I jus’ know these bigots are gonna’ try and cover everything up and that would be a fuckin’ shame. I don’t know if you know how many kids need to hear this. I did— and I think they should too. Only if you want, of course.”

He doesn’t answer right away— he can’t. It’s like looking at himself at fifteen. Suddenly he’s back again, his feet hanging in the water as his boyfriend paces behind him, asking if he’s ready to have him look at his knuckles yet. He didn’t get that many good punches in— the scrapes are mostly from the pavement— but Buck always worries too much so it doesn’t matter. The protective idiot.

Steve shakes his head, blinking away the sunset lingering behind his eyes. “Bucky woulda’ loved you, kid.”

The next time he loses it— the next time he turns into more flame than man— is after he saves the city he’s been trying to burn down for three months.

It isn’t long after that day in the museum when Nick Fury decides it would be best for everyone if Steve goes back into the field. Of course, no one really asks him what he wants— they pretty much just shove a new suit into his hands and tell him to get training, Captain— but what else is new?

No one really comments on his outburst besides that either. Can you really call it an outburst when you’re just trying to reclaim the parts of you that have been stolen? Sure, the press gets a hold of the story and, true to what the kid had said, tries to twist it into something more digestible, but no one actually addresses it up with Steve. Apparently when someone saves the world as good as he does no one cares that they kiss men.

Or that they don’t wanna’ to actually save the world anymore.

See, in those three months— between the training and training and even more training that Steve Rogers begrudgingly obliges— he has time to catch up on the world. More importantly, he has time to catch up on what the world thinks of him. He scours a plethora of documentaries, scholarly essays, and whole books of information about his time as Captain America. Well— his time as Captain America when it mattered. In all his scouring he learns one thing: everything written about him is wrong.

It’s all so fuckin’ wrong.

Just why the hell would he want to save a world so bent on destroying who he is?

The Smithsonian exhibition was nothing compared to what’s been written in the eighty years he spent in the ice. Better yet, nothing compared to what hasn’t been written about him. They’ve taken an eraser to every part of his life that doesn’t fit with the golden image that they constructed for him. A.k.a. every part that matters. His relationship, his past, every little thing that made him supposedly perfect for the role he was given. Gone. Erskine told him he was a good man— apparently he was the only one who thought so.

Apparently being a good man isn’t good enough.

They only wanted the perfect soldier. Yeah, well, they had one and they fucked him over too. Don’t even get him started on what they did to Bucky— Steve doesn’t want to think about what Winnifred— Winnie for short— Barnes would do if she saw the history books erasing her baby’s Jewish roots. Or his relationship. It wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for damn sure. If ever there was someone more protective than Bucky it would have been his mother. Not that there’s a damn note about her in anything either though.

Maybe that’s the final straw that does him in this time— watching the place that Mrs. Barnes loved more than almost anything else in the world crumble, while also knowing that the world no longer gives a shit about the two people she loved more.

“Mr. Rogers, this is where you grew up, is it not? Is there anything you would like to say about what took place here in your home city today?”

Maybe he pretends not to hear the last part— maybe he really does only hear up until where the reporter asks him if there is anything he wants to say. He’s been around quite his fair share of explosions; it would make sense that his hearing is a little off. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore, though.

Scratch that— he definitely doesn’t care anymore.

And why the fuck should he? He does have something to say and propriety be damned he’s going to say it.

Steve stares into the crowd of faceless reporters and flashing cameras with a scowl on his grimey face. Around him stand the other Avengers— his ‘team’. The last time he had a team the historians screwed up the history for every single member. Dugan, Morita, Falsworth, Jones, Dernier, Sawyer, Juniper, Pinkerton. Barnes. All of them were brave men with families and sacrifices and all of them were treated like jokes by ‘reporters’ just like the ones in front of him now. He really doubts there’s a difference between old and new journalism.

The only difference is that now he’s here and this time he’s not going to let them write anything but the damn truth.

“It is—” Steve muses, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead— “I’m surprised you know that though.”

The reporter cocks his head, clearly confused, and it makes the super soldier’s blood boil. “Come again, sir?”

“I said I’m surprised you know where I was born, kid.” This time when he says the word— kid— it’s derogatory. “Ya’ know, considering how you all seem to know nothing about me otherwise.”

Steve almost smiles at the way the crowd tenses. He actually would if it weren’t for the white hot rage coursing through his veins, mingling with the last of the adrenaline leftover in his system. It gives him an extra kick— not that he needs it. Even when he was just a runt from the wrong side of the tracks he needed nothing more than an offhand comment to raise his fists. Fighting to Steve Rogers has always been intoxicating— the aftershocks of winning the battle just makes it more thrilling now.

Who knew, right?

“Sir I asked—” The reporter sputters and Steve simply holds a hand up, silencing him before he can start again.

“Yeah I know what you asked, alright. You want me to talk about the battle here in New York today and how I am more than happy to have risked my life to save it. But I can’t do that, kid. Because I didn’t save it for you. I didn’t save it for any of you.”

Steve feels his team tense— maybe were it any other time he would stop talking. He would just leave it, let the issue go, because Bucky would tell him too. They aren’t worth it, bruiser, he would say, they aren’t worth your blood. Maybe he would listen to his boyfriend because usually he was right. Bucky was always right. So yeah, maybe he would list—

Who is he kidding; he knows he wouldn’t.

Not then and certainly not now— not when Bucky isn’t here to defend himself against everything Steve has been reading about. That’s exactly why he doesn’t stop talking. Someone has to defend him and who better of a person than him? So, yeah, he keeps going, even when he hears footsteps behind him.

“You wanna’ know who I did save it for? James Barnes, that’s who I saved it for! You see, just around that corner there is a bookstore. Rickley Books. That was my boyfriend's favourite bookstore. You know, the man who gave his life to stop a train in Austria from reaching the enemies? Yeah that was him. That train was filled with supplies. Had it reached their headquarters, who knows if we’d be standing here today. If there would be a New York at all. Not that you would know that. But who cares about that dead sergeant from the 107th, right? There’s plenty just like him.”

Steve shrugs nonchalantly— a move he picked up from the very man he’s speaking about— but he spits his words at the reporters with enough venom to cancel out any peace that the action brings. That’s his own move.

He keeps going. “You know who else I saved it for? His mother. Yeah, his mother Winnie Barnes. Wonderful lady. She used to run a soup kitchen a couple blocks from here. Kept the rift raft like myself from going hungry most nights— I was a brawler, you know.”

A couple of reporters in the crowd laugh at that and Steve flinches, his vision tinting red as he cranes his neck, seeking them out.

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you? You think I’m joking? I’m not. You ever been backed into a corner, son? Had people hurl slurs at you that I can’t even repeat today? Ever been beaten up for loving your best friend? No, I bet you haven’t. You weren’t a queer kid in the thirties. That’s hard— that’s borderline impossible actually. I only made it because of people like Winnie Barnes. That woman was a saint but nobody talks about her either.”

Steve has to take a deep breath, clearing the rasp in his voice that rises as he dwells on the woman he called his second mother for so long. She wasn’t just a saint, she was an angel. He can’t cry here though, not now. Not even as his throat begins to tighten.

“Winnie was the type of lady who didn’t let anyone walk over the little people. She used to sit me down and say Stevie you gotta’ fight for what you want because ain’t nobody gonna’ give it to you. She told me that I shouldn’t have to but that there were going to be people who would try to tear me down just for being me. And she was right— just like her son— because that was the era, you know? But now, here in the twenty-first century, you’re all still trying to tear us down.”

A hand lands on his shoulder, small fingers tugging at where his suit has begun to tear. Natasha Romanoff. He meets her gaze quickly, neck craning to stare down the red head, and in the few seconds their eyes meet it’s like Bucky is next to him. Somehow the blue in her irises catches the falling sun just like his used to. Steve can hear the gruff of his voice in the depths of his mind. Back down, bruiser. The sentiment is echoed across Nat’s face.

Steve shakes her hand off him, turning back to the reporters— don’t they know that he can’t?

“You all say you care about me, huh? That I’m a hero? You know nothing about me— you don’t want to. Before I was a soldier I was a kid. A queer kid. I said that already but let me repeat it. Queer. Did you write that down? None of you certainly did before. That’s how I know that you don’t care— because in an age where being queer is infinitely more accepted you still don’t bother to write it down.”

He pauses for another breath, shutting his eyes against the blinking red lights of the cameras. They’re like little demons, always watching his every move. Recording. Everything’s always recorded these days. Will he ever be used to that? Bucky was the technology guy, not him. Not then and not now.

When Steve picks up again— eyes open and shoulders freshly straight— it’s on a new note— a clear note.

“You don’t care about me— you certainly don’t care about the real heroes of the war because if you did you wouldn’t erase our history. Do you know how much it would have meant to Bucky to see our relationship accepted? The man who died for you? How much it would’ve meant to his mother? You can’t just pick which of our stories and our sacrifices are worthy and which aren't.”

He hasn’t spoken this much since he’s woken up, not all at once at least. Maybe he should have, though— maybe if he had then he wouldn’t feel like ripping the heads off everyone in front of him right now. Call it fight or flight. Call it revenge. Hell, call it whatever you’d like because it doesn’t really matter. Either way he feels like a kid again— again— backed into a corner behind the deli with his fists up and his teeth bared.

He feels feral again.

“So now you just want me to save the world like I did— like Bucky did— all those years ago— or maybe jus’ New York— as if that’s any better— and you don’t even bother to write a proper article about me? Hell, I never even asked for an article, let alone a whole exhibit! I’m just a soldier— and before that I was just a kid. If there’s never another article written about me I’ll be grateful. But now that I’m here, standing in front of you, I’ll say this—”

Just as Steve’s voice is cresting into a shout that would no doubt be heard regardless of whether or not the microphones were in front of him, Natasha tries one more time, her fingers slipping between his.

Her voice is a dull buzz compared to his, only reaching his ears by sheer will. “C’mon Stevie— we gotta’ go now.”

Like before he’s stunned but this time instead of seeing Buck— instead of hearing him in his head— he hears Winnie.

You fought good, honey. You fought good for us. You can rest now.

It’s jarring and it’s not lost on him the handful of awkward seconds that it takes for him to respond. That’s just the effect Winnie had on people though— still has, apparently. Steve shakes his head— I know, mama. But I gotta’ finish this fight.

“No, Nat— I’ve got to say this.” Steve mumbles— voice just beginning to waver despite how hard he clenches his jaw— before sneering at the crowd one last time.

“If I ever read an article from any of you that discredits Bucky Barnes, our relationship, or myself just know that I’ll come for you. I’ll come for this city. Don’t you ever forget who I saved it for. James Barnes, Winnie Barnes, and every queer kid who’s ever felt erased because of people like you. The bigots in the forties couldn’t stop me. The Nazis couldn’t stop me. Not even the Atlantic Ocean could stop me. So don’t think for a second that any of you could either. Have a good day.”

With that Captain America turns, marching off the impromptu stage and beginning the trek back to his apartment. He doesn’t bother looking at his team as he passes them— he can imagine their stunned faces well enough on his own. No doubt he’ll be getting another assignment from Fury soon enough to make up for this ‘outburst’ too. Still, he feels a little bit better. There’s an ache in his shoulder, and one under his ribs too, but he still smiles as he passes Rickman and Sons Books. That must mean something good.

The last time Steve Rogers burns he doesn’t burn the way he’s expecting to— he doesn’t vandalize his own name or blow up at a reporter. No, the third time— the final time— that Steve Rogers burns it’s with nostalgia— and with a damn good cup of coffee in his hand.

“I had no idea this place was even here.” The girl across from Steve muses, tiny hands shifting the steaming cup back and forth.

Her name is Ellie, he learned that back at the museum after asking for a copy of the video she took. He barely knew how to use his phone back then, let alone his email— hell, both still confuse him more often than not— but she had been patient. A little awestruck and a little riled up too but he took it in stride— easily. It’s not hard being nice to the spitting image of him.

“I’m glad I’m good for something other than making the news.” Steve chuckles and this time he means it— there’s no malice or ill intent, only humor. “O’Malley’s ‘s been here longer than I have. Looked a little different then—” he takes a moment to let his eyes wander the old coffee shop and it’s new appliances— a moment to feel his age catch up to him— “but I guess I did too.”

Ellie’s laughter joins in there and it’s strange— strange that he hasn’t laughed with another person in seven, almost eight, months; strange that her laughs sound so much like Bucky’s when they were younger; strange that Bucky isn’t here to hear. Here to laugh, too. Because he would have.

He would have called Steve an old man, would have wrapped his arm around his shoulders, would have asked— no, demanded— that Ellie try the plum cobbler. They always made the best cobbler. Bucky always had the best laugh. All grit and breath and him. Steve feels warm just thinking about it.

“Well thanks for letting me in on the secret, I’ll make sure to guard it carefully.” She even has Bucky’s warm sarcasm.

Maybe it’s not so much like looking in a mirror as it is looking at what he wishes he and his boyfriend could have been back then.

“And thanks for letting me interview you—” Ellie continues, setting the cup down but not before nodding at it, her eyes wide— “wow. You weren’t kidding about the joe, huh? Anyway— thanks for scheduling this. I know you’re probably super busy— and that there are more well established people you could have gone to.”

Steve sets his own mug down too— if he hadn’t there’s a possibility it would be more puddle than porcelain. “Well established means nothin’, kid. Not when you don’t have heart. They’re parasites, all of ‘em. The press couldn’t care less about me.”

Ellie nods, lifting the lid of her laptop. It’s a little bit dented and slathered in stickers, not quite the newest model— he would know, he has the newest one and it’s still sitting in his apartment in the box. Yet another testament to how little the people around him truly know him.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, can I get you a side of classism with that commercialism?”

Now she sounds like Winnie too.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

She shrugs, tilting her head, a lopsided grin glued to her face. “Once or twice— I never know if they mean it or if they just want me to shut up. I never do so I guess we’ll never know.”

Steve sputters out another laugh because; “I guess we’re the same then— never give them a moment, kid. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He pauses— again— he supposes it’s going to be a day of pausing— he supposes it’s about time he pauses— before adding, “Bucky would’ve scolded me for saying that.”

Ellie’s fingers, swift and deft over the machine— Steve hadn’t even seen her begin to type— pause too as her smile softens. “What would he have said instead?”

Her question shouldn’t catch off guard— this is why he asked her to meet him; to finally, properly write his story— their story. Still he pauses— Steve’s empty hands feel hot, his shoulders warm; bare— what would he have said? It doesn’t take long to hear his boyfriend’s voice, not there but somehow loud in his ear all the same.

Just relax— they aren’t worth it. It’s too nice out to care about anything but the water— are you coming in or not? Summer doesn’t last forever, you know?

It’s impossible but Steve can feel the sun on his back and on his ears again, like he’s there— like he’s back, sixteen and on fire. Those were the days where everything made him cold. The days where his skin burned no matter the season but especially in August which was when the ocean was warm enough to swim in. It never stopped him from joining Buck— nothing could have stopped him. His cheeks warm, too, at the thought.

Steve blinks, his own smile— perhaps a little lopsided in it’s own right— shaping over his mouth. “He would have told you to relax— and to try the plum cobbler. It’s fantastic.”

With another giggle— and a reiterated comment— has anyone ever told you you’re funny, Steve?— they fall into a conversation, just a kid and a relic, about life. It’s not an easy conversation— but then again those kinds never are. It’s real, though, and unedited. Unfiltered. Just the way Erskine and Winnie and Bucky would have liked it— the only way Steve wants it. It’s not perfect but, hell, Steve has never been perfect.

He’s never wanted to be.

Maybe Steve doesn’t know everything his boyfriend would say— and maybe he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t blow up once or twice after today— but he can confidently say that he gave Brooklyn a run for her money— twice— and lived to tell the tale. He can say then when it mattered, he burned. That he still burns. That he will until he doesn’t— until he’s extinguished.

But, hey, though Summer doesn’t last forever, not even the Atlantic could extinguish the flame that is Steve Rogers.

That’s what he writes— in Sharpie— on the card he writes to Ellie— the one attached to the computer he knows he’ll never use.

#Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Stucky #steve x bucky #Queer!steve rogers #Queer!Steve #Queer!Bucky #Queer!Bucky Barnes #Captain America #pride month #Steve angst #steve fluff #Marvel cinematic universe #Mcu #mcu fic #steve fic

64 notes · View notes

east-germany · 3 years ago

Text

Well kids, I'm headed out west tomorrow and should be back in a week. I left some cold beers in the fridge for y'all and this entirely sfw rightist unity fic that's more a look into my very soul than a fic to bide your time.

"Nazi what on earth do you mean the gas station has a bowling alley inside of it?"

"Did I fucking stutter? Gas. Station. Bowling. Alley."

"There's no way! Did you take a hit off my key or something?"

"No no, just get your ass over here c'mon."

Ancap was currently sitting on the couch in a fairly nice motel room. They'd just gotten in from a brutal 14 hour drive, and all the other man wanted to do was snort a line and have some dinner. The room was decorated fairly cozily, seeming almost like a facsimile of a better life than a motel some ways away from the interstate in the middle of the desert.

Most of it had a laminated wood flooring somewhere between caramel and dust colored. The walls looked like they'd been done with a can of marshmallow fluff, swirling white stucco clouds decorated the entire room. Several metal lizard cutouts and some cowboy themed pieces served as decor.

There was one bathroom, a retro avocado green with a window looking out to the desert scrub-brush dotting the back alley and the grey concrete wall of the gas station and apparent bowling alley. There were two bedrooms, both a white linens, white walls kind of affair. There was a table next to the couch with the region's newspaper thrown on it, and of course a king James bible in each bedroom. A feature Ancapistan's Cygnus motel lacked.

And Nazi was standing at the entryway of the metal door, jingle jangling his car keys with anticipation.

"Nazi my dear I was expecting you to come back with some burgers not an invitation to bowl? It's nearly five in the evening can't this wait until tomorrow?"

"Fine, come see what food they have I don't know what you like." The other man sighed, turned off the TV which was currently tuned to the agricultural channel and got up. A riveting program about potato harvesting. The two men walked the short distance thru concrete sidewalk and desert gravel to the gas station. And sure enough, that bad boy has some bowling lanes in it.

It kinda reeked of a certain kind of pathetic despair if you lingered on it too long but they weren't doing that.

They were more interested in whatever cellophane wrapped shit they could pass off as dinner. Ancap had taken the liberty of packing his own dinner like a weapons grade neurotic animal who would die without access to imported wine, but he'd humor Nazi anyways.

Nazi grabbed a hot pink mountain dew and a handful of rainbow sour candy. A fine dinner. He went to the cashier who looked just absolutely dead in the eyes. Ancap was standing absentmindedly in-front of the fruit juice door of the big row of refrigerator doors.

"An! Get your ass over here!"

That was his cue to leave. He was glad he'd kept his sunglasses on, the whole gas station half of the store was lit up with those signature harsh fluorescent that shone pure white onto every gleaming snack cake wrapper and lotto ticket.

The two made it back to their room. The sun was bearing a water color sunset onto the landscape, the soft oranges and purples and pinks and soft baby blues would soon be dissolved into a deep dark endless night. Out here you could see all the constellations, watch Orion begin his decent back into the southern hemisphere, watch the meteor showers pepper the night sky, see how the stars moved like you always heard they did.

"Oh my fucking god Naz, are you drinking that shit?"

"Everything reminds me of him."

Nazi had put the candy in a bowl, and poured the soda on top of it. The sugary coating and food coloring were dissolving fast and the entire bowl looked like a five year old had decided he was going to eat a bowl of just colors for dinner.

"I need to get into the cooler, Nazi if you have a moment."

"Alright." He got up and the two made their way to the car.

It was a well worn grand Cherokee, white with gold accents. The brown leather seats were cracked but comfortable and the stereo was held in place with sheet metal screws. He popped the trunk and the pneumatic lifts helped the door go up with a whir. Nazi popped open the cooler and stopped.

"Who the fuck put grapes and wine in here?"

"I did, you think I'd eat any of the swill you do? For goodness sake Nazi who do you think I am?"

The sun had set and it was getting cold fast. Nazi and Ancap could almost see their breath.

"Here, have a pear you vitamin-less heathen, no wonder you act like that you probably have some kind of deficiency."

"Just call me a slur like a normal person oh my god Ancap."

They trekked the short walk over the cracked concrete and sagebrush. The door was closed and the curtains were drawn.

"Y'know the Romans liked pears? I think they'd eat them chilled or like baked into some kinda dish."

"Looks like your history knowledge is good for something after all!"

Nazi ate the pear, core and all directly over the sink.

"Nazi, have you ever had a pear before?"

"Yea, the core is where the flavor is hiding."

"Nazi my dear I don't think that's how it works."

"Shut the hell up and eat your goddamn tscharchruschtey board."

"It's pronounced 'charcuterie'"

"Shut the fuck up we don't speak french in this house."

Nazi finished his horrible candy slime and took a seat next to Ancap on the couch. Ancap moved closer to the other man until he was laying with his head on his lap. A well manicured hand with one green grape was extended and Nazi took it gently in his teeth.

"Like feeding a wild animal!"

"I'll bite the hand that feeds me." His bottom jaw was grabbed.

"You'd never! You love me too much to hurt me like that."

Ancap grinned.

"My love isn't soft it's a thousand gnashing jaws and the satisfaction of a panther sinking its fangs into the throat of those who've wronged it."

Ancap laughed softly. "You're so funny! My love is like a snake getting its prey then, all encompassing!"

"But where are your fangs?"

"I don't need them."

"And yet you still have them, see you can't escape your true nature."

"Nazi, we're ideologies not wild animals."

"Then why do I feel so goddamn feral? Like some kind of bad dog who's bitten one too many people! I feel bad when people get too close to me in my life because it never ever ends well, I feel sorry for people who know me because it's like sticking your head into the open jaws of a panther and asking it to love you. All the panther knows is blood. Nothing ever ends well for me."

"Maybe some people don't mind being utterly destroyed if you're the one doing the destruction. Maybe some people think the thrill of the open jaw and the darkness that dwells within you is enticing! Maybe you need to stop over analyzing yourself and go to bed!"

"Maybe you're right."

Nazi pushed Ancap off his lap went to the room on the left and shut the door. Ancap immediately missed the touch of the other man. He sat up, turned the TV off and followed after him. He knocked on the door.

"Hello?"

"Nazi I'm ready for bed too!"

"Your luggage should be in the car?"

"No, I brought it in I want to,"

Ancap paused as he thought of a reason why he wanted to crawl into bed and be held by the other man.

"Huddle for warmth?"

"Hey Ancap," The door was opened. "What the fuck? Just say you need a hug or something man what on earth is wrong with you?"

"You're soft and warm and I like hearing you talk about how violent and fucked up you are. I don't mind if this eventually ends in blood, being held in the jaws of a panther is still being held, even if for only a little while."

He paused and looked at Nazi.

"Besides, you and Homonat manage to make it work!"

"That's because we're both panthers, and can respect that in one another, You're like a snake that will get caught up in all the points of my teeth."

"You said it yourself, even snakes have fangs."

"Alright alright fine. Come hold me."

"Alright you little edge-lord, you're so pretentious sometimes Nazi!"

Ancap grinned. "Ooh the big bad panther is gonna rip my face off if I pet it ooo! We're just people Nazi."

The personification of the third Reich held open the door to invite Ancap in.

"Don't refer to me as a person please, you know I'm not human."

"Well your body is!"

"This is my vassal. C'mon you can respect Anarkitty."

"Alright, alright. But we need a little humanity in ourselves to keep us from going absolutely awol!"

"I lost mine a long, long time ago."

"You really do need to be held huh."

"Yea." He spoke the last line softly.

Ancap changed into some socks, his boxers and a bathrobe while Nazi looked out the window. The amber street lights hardly made a dent in the all encompassing darkness, casting the patch of desert gravel in a halo of warm orange light.

"Alright, I'm ready." Nazi was sporting fleecy black pajama bottoms, and a Slayer hoodie with a big eagle on the front.

The two piled into the bed and got under the covers. Ancap kicked his robe off and found himself enveloped in darkness. The lights had been turned off and all that shone through the blinds was that same amber warmth. Nazi held the other man tightly. He was comfy and warm and smelled like sleep. The two drifted off into a dark deep sleep. Well, almost. Nazi woke up periodically in a panic, forgetting where he was and what he was doing. Every time this happened he'd simply bury his face in the chest of the other man in bed.

Then it didn't really matter where he was he just knew he was somewhere where another man cared for him. Morning came like an invasive species, the sun busting them out of their sleep. Nazi did not want to get out of bed.

"Naz, I'm not your little boyfriend let me go."

He was held tighter.

"Homofash?" He was still half asleep.

"No, I gotta shower so we can go bowling remember?"

Nazi let the other man go and sat upright.

"You think about him that much?"

"No fuckoff where's the coffee."

Nazi tended to get a bit homicidal if he wasn't caffeinated within fifteen seconds of waking up, five if his little boyfriend wasn't next to him, and three if he was in another part of the world. And those three seconds had come to an end.

"Try the continental breakfast lobby?"

"I'm gonna try shoving my goddamn foot up your fucking ass if there isn't any coffee."

"Just go get some from the gas station?"

Nazi tried to quell his rage as he got dressed. He put on blue boxers, black socks, black jeans, black jackboots and a black German metal t shirt. Topped it off with his iron cross, ss rings and crusher cap, he was ready to make today his little bitch. He looped exactly thirty two inches of chain around his belt loops. The grey belt with a silver buckle was army surplus.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and was immediately assaulted the second he gout out the front door.

The sun was too bright the temperature was too cold the people talking in the lobby were too loud the birds wouldn't stop their racket, the trucks rumbled past the motel with a drawn out ungodly sound, the airplane sounded too annoying in the sky and the nice lady at the front desk telling him the breakfast times was going to get a switchblade to the throat if she wouldn't stop yapping about the food. He didn't eat breakfast, he never ate lunch, all he really ate was dinner. And all the black coffee he could stomach. He found the coffee, and took a stance in the coffee area. The cup was too hot, the people too loud the local weather was obnoxious and his entire mouth was about to get severely burned from the too hot coffee. He sat down. His body was too clunky and soft in all the wrong spots, his clothes didn't fit, the sun was shining in like an interrogation light and the salt grains spilled on the table from the last patron were mocking him, he just knew it. He sat there, on the verge of snapping. Ancap came into the room. He was overdressed in a three piece suit and that stupid little hat he always wore. He watched Ancap grab a bowl, rotate the cereal dispenser to give him some captain crunch, grabbed an apple and a little carton of cow milk. Two percent, whatever that meant. Nazi wasn't one for animal products. The entire affair was almost ear splitting levels of loud, the cereal hitting the bowl and the bowl hitting the metal spoon and the spoon hitting his mouth and Nazi was about to start hitting his head against the table.

"Nazi oh my god are you alright?"

Every single sound, physical sensation, change in temperature and thought cut through his core like an incessantly loud power tool being ran.

"Here look Naz your coffee's cooled off now have some."

Nazi just nodded, if he spoke he was going to scream. He took a sip, and then another and eventually chugged half of it down. Oh, that was better. The morning light streamed in like a pleasant warmth, the sounds of the TV and the people and their utensils and the waffle maker beeping all sounded like a soothing background harmony.

His mild headache had subsided and his body felt less awkward. Ancap looked very handsome, his hat matched his jawline which had a nice amount of a beard on it.

Everything was wonderful and he loved humanity and he loved his friends and he loved his lovers and the whole world was a wonderful place to be and it was good to be alive.

"There's my beloved little fascist!"

Ancap grinned.

"So how about some bowling?"

"Place doesn't open till 11. You said you'd found some petroglyphs?"

"Mmhm! A place just a few minutes down the road actually!"

"Alright I'm there!" He stood up.

"Have some more coffee, I've hardly touched my cereal!"

The colors were dying the milk a nuclear tie dye sludge.

"Do you need to grab some fruit or anything? I don't think candy and chips are really a good meal."

"I can and will live off of french fries don't try me."

"Alright, alright, but don't forget your body is human and needs to be taken care of."

"Oh stop reminding me." The two finished up their breakfasts, with Ancap grabbing a blueberry muffin and a pear for later.

Nazi topped off his coffee, and the two went back to their room to grab their gear for the day. Wallet, phone, pocket knife, Nazi was ready to go. Ancap put a vial of coke around his neck and the two piled into the jeep. Nazi cranked it up while Ancap decided to put the muffin and pear in the cooler.

He opened the door and Nazi plugged a usb key into the port and pressed the buttons to get to the song to start his day off right. Fascist Jock Itch by Skinny Puppy. His fellow authright EcoFascism had turned him onto the band, he liked them for their animal activism messages, Nazi just liked songs about him.

The bass made the whole car shake it was cranked up so loud, but that was a standard affair with Nazi behind the wheel. They peeled out of the parking lot and a few agonizingly slow stoplights later and the town became a distant speck in the rear view mirror.

"Yea you just continue on this road until you see the park sign, you're a smart boy you'll find it."

"Alright." The music blasted and the car put a healthy amount of miles on the speedometer.

The landscape was all desert scrub-lands, herds of longhorns and road killed deer that slicked the pavement with blood dotted the landscape. Nazi passed a transfer truck, and made his way down south. The next song was Dig it by Skinny Puppy. Ancap kindly ignored the harsh vocals that went something like 'dig it, dig it, execute economic slave." They pulled into the dirt lot that served as a parking lot and popped out of the jeep.

They made their way on a tan-ish brown gravel path to admire the petroglyphs. They were carved into the steep face of the cliff surrounded by native bushes and dried up succulents.

"Oh my god An we should have brought Anprim he'd fucking lose it!"

"And spoil our time together?" Nazi froze, and realized that while he most definitely considered this a date with Ancap, he wasn't sure the other man felt the same.

"Oh, are we on a date?" Nazi paused.

The sun beat down weakly on the two men, the desert hadn't fully warmed up like it did in the summer, they were still in the bowls of late winter. Nazi looked up and squinted from the light.

"I mean, yea? Like why do you think I didn't say no to you coming into bed with me?"

"You're such a touch starved miserable bastard I figured you needed all the hugs you can get, is that why you've been so nice to me?"

"Can I please have another hug?" Ancap walked over and brought the other man into an embrace.

"You always call me 'dear' and 'my love' and stuff I kinda thought you meant it in like a gay way."

"I do now, my love! Oh but what about-"

Nazi had his answer locked and loaded before Ancap could finish the sentence. "I'm poly."

"Welcome to the club." The two men grinned and Ancap leaned in to kiss him. Nazi froze.

"I'm sorry I didn't-"

"No, no do it again." Ancap leaned in to kiss him and Nazi kissed him back.

"Where should we go to next on our daaaate?"

"The national parks always have nice museums, how about one of those?"

"You mean to tell me your interested in history that isn't stained with fascism?"

"It's not a stain, and of course it's very interesting."

"Snap a pic for Anprim?"

"He can't look at my phone he'll smash it remember?"

"Oh, right." The two laughed and made their way back to the car. They stopped at another gas station. Nazi had a small internal revelation at the scale of the world.

All these gas stations were stocked almost identically all across the land, they'd seen five in their short excursion, the industrial scale needed to maintain such an infrastructure was mind boggling. The world seemed more like the maw of some great and terrible animal than a planet at times, who on earth bought all these products and had such a demand for them? But anyways, he picked up an energy drink and headed back to the car.

#teddy.txt #centricide #jreg #rightist unity

9 notes · View notes

poppinisperfection · 4 years ago

Text

Cool. || Peter Maximoff x Reader pt. 1 ||

Peter Maximoff x fem!human!Reader

(Y/n) is history teacher.

Requested.

Word Count: 3543

Notes: Peter acts a little strange in this, he's not being cold on purpose - so keep that in mind. Let's all presume (Y/n) is an independent woman who doesn't let an aloof guy ruin her day 💫 it's more of an introduction, so sorry if that dissapoints y'all. I hope you enjoy this extremely long piece of writing, let me know what you think. Requests are open 🙌

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @scorpionchild81

Masterlist

I flicked the indicator, as it clicked rhythmically and signaled my next turn. Grasping the steering wheel tightly, I wondered whether the direction I was heading in was the right one. My eyes drifted down to the small business card that was beginning to wrinkle from the amount of times it had been read and re-read.

‘Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

407 Graymalkin Lane, Salem Center, Westchester County, New York’

With a deep breath, I pushed my foot gently on the accelerator and turned the wheel - solidifying my decision. I drove down the graveled driveway as the evening sun pierced through the acres of fields and forests that dotted the landscape. This place was unlike any school I had ever seen. I had taught at various institutions of all kinds during my training, but something about this place was like something out of a fairytale or Jane Austen novel.

The old academic building grew closer as I prepared to slow down my vehicle and stop at the entrance. I peered around, trying to see if there was any places dedicated for me to park; but as far as I could tell, this was the only appropriate place for me to stop.

I pulled out my key and felt the car’s engine fade to silence. I didn’t notice how comforting the gentle grumbles of the vehicle had been until they were gone. Now, all that was left was my mind and the thousand worries that crashed around inside it. I'm not a mutant, but I often wonder if being anxious about everything is some sort of weird useless mutation that I unfortunately had.

Before I could become consumed by my menial fears, the vintage wooden doors opened up as if on cue. A man in a chair wheeled out as his familiar face smiled at me, and I was honestly quite awe-struck by his sudden appearance. I had spoken to Professor Charles Xavier on the phone before (for the job interview), and I had watched him on television a few times, but something about actually being near him was so incredible. This man changed the lives of so many people, possibly even the world.

I took a deep breath in and returned the kind smile, opening my car door and placing my feet onto the ground - the gravel crunching underfoot.

"Professor Xavier, it's so good to meet you." I spoke nervously, unsure of what I should do with my posture. Should I shake his hand? Should I high-five him? Should I bow? Okay maybe those last two were a bit far-fetched...

"The pleasure is all mine, (Y/n)." A voice rang through my head, as if it were my own thoughts speaking to me. But I recognized the voice, a smooth English accent that belonged to the world's most famous telepath.

"Incredible..." I breathed. Some might find it intrusive or freaky, but I was quite honored and honestly dazzled by his abilities. A figure appeared behind the wheelchair-bound man, distracting me from my child-like awe.

"Don't be a such a show-off, Charles." my attention turned to a tall man wearing a pair of glasses and a smart checkered shirt. "Good Evening, I'm Hank McCoy." he piped up cheerily, holding out his hand for me to shake. I absentmindedly took it, a bit starstruck by the world-renowned engineer, scientist, blue-furry man, and genius.

"(Y/n) (L/n)." I eventually spoke up, causing Hank to raise an eyebrow at my words.

“’(L/n)’? You're the new history teacher?" I nodded at his question, "Oh wow, you came so highly recommend that I presumed you'd be a bit more... experienced?" he chose his words carefully as to not offend. I know that most people picture an old greying woman who wears outdated fashion when they think of a history teacher...

"Oh, I'm young, I know." I explained with a bashful chuckle.

“Hank, you of all people should know greatness is not defined by age.” Charles turned to his colleague.

“I read that you graduated Harvard at 16.” I blurted out.

“15, actually.” McCoy mumbled humbly. Xavier gave a satisfied smile as his point was proven.

“(Y/n) here was top of her class, and I have no doubt that she’ll be a wonderful addition to the school.” the wise mutant stated, assuring Hank and giving me a boost of confidence. “Come inside, Hank can carry your bags for you, won’t you?” the professor inquired cheekily as McCoy threw him a look of slight distain.

“Somedays I wish I wasn’t born with super-strength...” the academic man shook his head - the comment laced with light-hearted sarcasm - before heading to my car and pulling out my two bags, not even giving me a chance to politely object to the offer.

“Ignore him, he’s just grumpy because he’s not on the mission.” Professor Xavier chuckled, turning his wheelchair around and beckoning for me to follow him inside.

“I only trust myself to pilot that beauty.” Hank mentioned wistfully, probably referring to his famous aeronautical creation.

“’The mission’?” I questioned with intrigue, trailing behind him and entering the grand entrance.

“The X-Men are on a routine escort mission for the President at the moment,” my attention turned away from the antique décor as I choked on my breath slightly at his words. Of course I had heard of the famous troop of mutant heroes, but it just suddenly became so real. I was living where the X-Men lived. You know, the same X-Men that saved the world from complete destruction. “I was hoping they’d be here to show you around - but duty calls.” Charles finished.

“Oh of... of course, duty...” I managed to mutter out eventually, earning a slight laugh from the Professor. He didn’t need to be a telepath to read my mind right now. I was so obviously astonished at the whole situation. I couldn’t believe that I was finally here, after months of thinking, considering, and second-guessing. I knew it was a risk, and I couldn’t even return to my parents if it failed.

Let’s just say that my folks weren’t very supportive of my decision to teach at a 'mutant mansion', as they would call it. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was bravery; but I ignored their advice and became determined to come to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngers. Now it was my only chance, since my family won't be welcoming me back anytime soon.

I followed Charles around, as he showed me all the rooms and explained some of the history as Hank make the odd comment or interjection. Most notably that the house was actually only a few years old, owing to the fact that the school had been blown up and rebuild a year ago. That was a fact that I could’ve gone without knowing. All I could do was hope that it didn’t blow up again, or at least not when I was around anyway.

"Your classroom will be right next to the library," Xavier motioned towards a pair of wooden doors that lay open for students to walk freely into, "and feel free to check out any of the books as well - I have a few secret shelves for teachers, with some unregulated research papers on pre-20th century mutations, if that sounds interesting to you?" he added with a playful smile, as I nodded my head in admiration. This place sounded like an absolute dream, and I've only been here for less than an hour.

-------

As we strolled (and wheeled) down the wooden hallways, I noticed the students disappear one by one. By the looks of it, the early night had truly set in, and the majority of children were either in their rooms studying or hanging out in a common area.

"I suppose there's nothing more we can show you until the class starts tomorrow morning, I was really hoping that the team would be back by now..." Xavier gave a short sigh and furrowed his brows slightly, "But I suppose I've prolonged your tour as long as I could. Perhaps Hank, you could show (Y/n) to her room and she can rest in preparation for tomorrow." his smile returned as he asked his colleague for another favor. McCoy nodded his head and gave me a polite smile, still carrying around my bags from earlier. Maybe he didn't anticipate the Professor giving such an expansive and detailed tour of the mansion, so the bags must've been getting burdensome at this stage.

The spectacle-wearing teacher walked ahead of me and strolled towards the grand staircase that lead to the upstairs area (which we had previously travelled to earlier, but it's mainly bedrooms that we couldn't intrude into). I trailed my fingers along the carved bannister of the staircase, admiring the craftsmanship. Considering the school had been blown apart; this place looked as though it was straight out of a historical drama. The Professor could've went for a more modern update, like the ones you see in magazines and government buildings - but something about the simplicity of 1980s architecture just seemed cold and clinical. I'm glad they kept the historical charm alive.

"So you're really not, well, you know..." Hank broke me out of my daydreaming as he turned his head slightly and paused at the top of the steps. It took me a second to register what he was asking, but then it hit me.

"A mutant? Oh," I gave a meek smile before answering, "No I'm just a regular 'homosapien', completely boring." my sentence ended with a light chuckle at my own expense.

"Then you'll be the first non-mutant teacher here, you're making history." McCoy replied with zest as he began to walk down the hallway again.

"I thought I was supposed to teach history, not make it." I chirped from behind him, earning a snort and chuckle from the nerdy fellow (I know, I know - I'm a superb comedian).

As we passed by the student rooms, I could hear the various sounds emerging from behind their doors. One was gossiping loudly to their friends, another was blasting ABBA and singing along, and I could've swore that I heard some quiet sobs escaping through the keyhole of one door. My face fell into a frown as we passed by, and Hank paused slightly, before turning to me.

"That's Sophie Smith's room, she's homesick a lot." he whispered to me, his features showing concern. "You might have her for a class, so maybe keep an eye out if she's struggling." Hank suggested, as my heart went out for this student. I gave him a nod before we continued on our neverending journey towards my room.

Eventually, we stopped at the end of a corridor and my guide dropped my bags carefully on the wooden flooring. He twisted the door knob with one hand, and I watched as the door opened and revealed my bedroom.

"’Home sweet home’, as the saying goes." Hank uttered with a light tone. I stepped into the room and took my bags from the floor, carrying them in with me.

"It's so..." I breathed, observing the room.

"I know, we were supposed to get the curtains changed last month, but there was a mix-up and it's been dela-" he tried to explain, but I cut him off.

"Oh no! I was going to say, 'It's so perfect'." I clarified, brushing off his embarrassment at the state of the curtains (which were beautiful anyway). I stepped forward and placed my bags at the end of the bed while gazing at the beautiful room. This place was growing on me more and more with each minute that passed.

“I’ll let you get settled in for the night then, there’s a copy of your timetable on your desk - it has all the information you’ll need for classes and etcetera.” Hank gestured to the neat pile of paper sheets on the wooden desk, “There’s always food in the kitchen, feel free to eat whenever and whatever you want.” he added, as my attention turned to my empty stomach. I will definitely be visiting the kitchen after I get settled in.

“Thank you, for everything.” I beamed, unable to truly express my gratitude. He returned the smile and nodded, before shutting the door and returning to his business. As soon as his footsteps disappeared, I fell flat on the quilted bedsheets and sprawled out, giving out a pent up sigh. It was the kind of sigh that released anxiety and replaced it with assurance. From the looks of it, things were going to be alright - and there was nothing more satisfying that knowing you made the right decision.

My brief escape into my feelings was cut short, as my stomach audibly warned me that it was running low on fuel. I turned my head and looked over to the beside alarm clock, reading the time; ‘8:24p.m.’

“Hmm,” I mused as I considered my options, “I should probably read you first...” my eyes drifted to the timetable that sat untouched on the desk. My belly did not agree with this decision, as it grumbled once more. “Okay, alright... yeesh.” I placed a hand against my abdomen, trying to settle the noise. “Food first, read later.” I threw my legs over the side of the bed and resolved to make my way towards the school’s kitchen.

-------

Finding the kitchen was no problem, as the Professor showed it to me at least three times earlier. I guess he really was trying to stretch that tour out as much as possible. A few of the older students who were hanging around glanced at me as I entered the room. I couldn’t tell if they knew I was a teacher, or if they just thought I was a new student; either way, they didn’t stick around to find out. The group of teenagers grabbed their snacks and left the room once their privacy was interrupted. Honestly, I just think they were gossiping about some pop music band and didn’t want a stranger listening - so I didn’t mind their swift exit. It left me with some privacy as well, which was nice.

I noticed a small radio sitting in the window sill, and decided to switch it on to break the silence. A static noise rang out as I extended the antenna and turned the knob carefully. Soon a voice grew clearer, and I had reached a station playing something. I just let the song play out, since I didn’t want to bother with searching the airwaves for something else.

I stepped over to the pantry and surveyed the contents carefully. I was starving, but I couldn’t figure out what for. I picked up a loaf of bread and placed it on the counter, deciding it would have to be a PB & Jelly sandwich. Grabbing a plate, I began to craft my makeshift dinner. Absentmindedly, my head began to sway gently to the tune that played through the tinny radio speaker. It was one of those cheesy love songs that are always playing these days. There was something so catchy about those songs, and instinctively I began to mouth the words and drift into an MTV daydream.

My brief escape from reality faded away as I noticed a clinking noise coming from the glass and cutlery. It was almost like an earthquake, but I knew that New York was unlikely to experience that kind of disaster (well I hoped so, at least).

A bright light shone outside the window, and I stepped closer to peer out. The basketball court had opened up and revealed a massive basement beneath it. A few seconds later, a black jet descended gracefully from the dark sky and lowered itself underground while the whole mansion trembled with the power it created. I swiftly grabbed the jam jar as it almost slipped off the edge of the counter, and stared in awe.

“So that’s where they keep it...” I breathed out as the basketball court returned to its normal state, as if nothing had happened. I stood in wonder for a few seconds, still holding the jar tightly in my hands. That was probably the most of the X-Men I’d be seeing tonight. I’m no expert on presidential mission debriefing, but I presumed the team of elite heroes wouldn’t be mingling with the common folk upstairs for at least an hou-

“Ugh, this song’s a real bummer.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin as a voice suddenly quipped from beside me. My attention hastily turned to a combat uniformed young man - quickly flicking through the radio stations. I stared at him, half confused and half terrified of his sudden appearance. Slowly I began to recognize his features; silvery hair, aloof attitude, and of course, the recognisable X-Men uniform.

“Hey - you’re that guy...” I tilted my head slightly as I spoke without thinking. In a split second, he appeared at the fridge wearing an entirely new outfit, this time more casual. The music had changed to something more rock-y and alternative, matching his aesthetic. I was almost certain of it. I couldn’t remember his name, but I’ve definitely seen him with the X-Men on the news. I was almost certain of it.

“Nah, you’re thinking of a different guy.” he responded without second thought, while lifting out a can of some kind of soda. I felt my mouth contort in confusion, bemused by his comment.

“I...” my thoughts paused to phrase my words correctly, “You were just wearing an X-Men uniform, you’ve got to be him.” I managed to retort, causing the confident fellow to raise an eyebrow. With the blink of an eye, he had disappeared from my sight again.

“So, you don’t even know his name - and you’re convinced he’s me?” the silver-haired guy stated nonchalantly from behind me as he sipped on his drink. I gasped and grabbed my chest in surprise, not expecting him to sneak up behind me like that. I gave a sigh and prepared to answer the question.

“I know, I’m sorry.” I closed my eyes and wracked my brain for a moment, “Peter, right?” I sighed, finally recalling the speedy mutant’s name. I looked up at him and expected some sort of witty remark. Instead, he just stared at me for a few seconds. I avoided his gaze awkwardly and looked down at the jam jar that still sat in my hands. Clearing my throat, I placed it carefully onto the counter beside me - trying to distract from his sudden silence.

“Oh.” I mumbled at the change of topic, “I am. Only arrived here a few hours ago. The Professor showed me around earlier, with Hank, I saw all the classrooms and it was really quite-” I harped on, “I'm sorry, I'm rambling..." my voice lowered, as I watched the casual fellow open up a bag of pretzels and munch on them absentmindedly. He gave a soft chuckle at my apology.

“So, you’re new here?” for the third time, he appeared in a different location, leaving me to turn around one more time. He faced away from me, opening a drawer and surveying its content silently.

"Cool." he replied simply, placing a few more pretzels into his mouth.

"Cool." I repeated gently, trying to decipher his aloofness. This 'Peter' was blunt, distant, and almost cold. It was as if I had offended him somehow. I stared at my surroundings for a brief moment, before deciding to get off of the wrong foot.

"I'm sorry if I was rude earlier; or was it that I couldn't remember your name?" I tried to find the reason for his indifference, wringing my hands with nerves. Peter raised an eyebrow and scowled slightly at my question.

"Rude?" he asked with a shocked tone.

"Yeah, I thought I offended you?" I explained.

"Nah, nah, we're good." he shrugged my theory off and zoomed over to the bin, throwing the crumpled wrapper in it. "I gotta go now, X-Men stuff." Peter turned to me and excused himself. I gave a soft 'oh' in surprise, and held out my hand for him to shake (just a teacher habit, I guess).

"Nice to meet you anyway, Peter." I smiled at him. The silvery guy just stared at my hand and then looked back up to me - but for some reason, avoided my eyes.

"Cool." he said again, before disappearing from sight; leaving me standing there, alone, holding my hand out for no one. Slowly I lowered my wrist and cleared my throat.

"Cool..." I said to myself, still entirely confused by the interaction. My attention quickly turned to the change in music. The radio suddenly shifted from the grungy tunes, back to the end of love ballad that I was listening to earlier. He must've changed it back. I tilted my head and stared at the little radio in the window, listening and thinking.

Maybe he wasn't as cold as I thought. Maybe I'll try and get a better conversation from that silver-haired boy tomorrow. Maybe I'll get that handshake from him. Maybe.

Still, the only thing that matters right now is that I eat that PB&J sandwich.

-------

56 notes · View notes

jimlingss · 4 years ago

Text

Game of Temptation

➜ Words: 16k

➜ Genres: 60% Smut, 35% Angst, 5% Fluff, Succubus!AU

➜ Summary: As a succubus, your beauty is unrivaled and shaped to tempt mortals. But it's still hard to resist Taehyung, and there's little you can do once you've been coerced to do his bidding for him. This time, you find yourself entering the affluent Kim Household as a housemaid. And these poor humans don't know your intentions are far from being angelic.

➜ Warning: seduction, sex, homewrecking, infidelity, daddy kink, creampie, etc. There were no morals in the making of this fic. I do not subscribe to my characters’ beliefs, y'all. It's just some crazy fiction. Reader discretion advised.

It’s your chance to have a little fun, peach. The four wheels of the luggage roll against the smooth pavement, over the cracks and up the massive driveway. The sweltering sun isn’t a bother when the feeling of flames licking against your cheeks is such a familiarity. Yet, you still feel disgruntled as Taehyung’s words ring inside your head. I know you want to try your hand at it. And you’ve been telling me how much you want a little subordinate of your own. You could do whatever you want with them. There are no rules. He’s a bastard. If it wasn’t for you being so wrapped around his finger and dancing in the palm of his hand, you would never do something this ridiculous. But it’s not like you have much of a choice. Taehyung’s words of persuasion act like you do have a choice when in reality, he mocks. Yet, in spite of what you might really think, you continue on your way, lugging your heavy baggage up the stairs and steadying your breath. Feeling a sense of calmness, the pad of your index finger presses the doorbell. You listen to how the sound echoes inside the enormous manor. There’s shouting, footsteps, and a second later, the door swings open. There’s a plump woman with an apron tied over her body, her gray streaked hair pulled back into a bun. She’s out of breath as she is fatigued even though it’s only eight in the morning. But she still greets you with a smile that spreads into her chubby cheeks. “Hello! You must be the new live-in nanny and housemaid! Come in, come in. Don’t just stand out here! It’s so cold!” She helps drag in your luggage. The large foyer opens up to a grand staircase, two archways on both sides that allow you to peek into the chandeliered and golden curtain rooms. There’s antique china in a display case and vases on tables — more to paint a picture of wealth than for any actual purpose. But while one would expect a quiet and proper home, there’s chaos instead. Feet rumbling from upstairs. Sharp laughter and exhausted sighs. Noises of shouting and screaming. “You’re younger than I expected. What’s your name?” “Y/N, madam.” “Oh, I’m not the madam,” the woman giggles at the thought and bats the air with her hand. “The madam isn’t as old as I am. I’m the Kim’s housekeeper, Ms. Yoo. We’ll be working close together. Have you eaten yet? The trip must’ve been long and tiring. Would you like to rest?” The corner of your lips quirk. “I’m alright, thank you.” “I’ll give you a tour around then. The faster you can become accustomed to this home, the faster you can help out.” You nod, but before she can get in another word, there’s thundering stomps down the stairs. A boy’s face pokes through the banisters and he gives a toothless grin. Not more than five years old, he wears a blue, collared shirt and khaki shorts, one foot with a sock and the other without — he’s no doubt a spoiled, little brat. The kid makes a ruckus while running down the rest of the steps, jumping from the last three and he comes up to you, eyes wide and sparkling as he looks up. “Who’re you?” You lower yourself and offer a soft smile. “I’m going to be your daddy and mommy’s new little helper. We’re going to have lots of fun from now on.” “Jaesun! Jaesun, get back here! What did I say about slamming your bedroom door?!” A frail woman with grating vocal cords comes down the stairs as well. Her chest is rising and falling, evidently winded from her son but her eyes visibly light up when she sees you. “You must be Y/N, aren’t you?” She’s a pretty woman with few wrinkles even in her forties, dressed cleanly in a rosy blouse and white skirt. But her dark circles ruin the pristine image. “Yes, I am, madam.” She shakes your hand vigorously. She looks at you like you’re her guardian angel. An irony that tickles your senses. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re finally here. I’m Kim Yijin, my husband is Kim Namjoon, but we should head to the kitchen to talk. There’s not much time left.” The housekeeper smiles. “Yes, I was about to show her the way.” “Let’s go, Jaesun.” You offer your hand to the boy and he happily takes it, something that Yijin doesn’t miss and even grins at. The kitchen is twice the size of the foyer, two stove sets and two refrigerators side by side. The counter space is enough to stretch your entire body across and you can only marvel at the surroundings. “I hope you don’t get too overwhelmed,” Yijin says as she turns to get her coffee started and Ms. Yoo sets out breakfast for Jaesun at the table. “But I should tell you now before I forget to. My family eats a gluten-free diet. Our Jaesun is lactose and tolerant, so he’s only to have soy milk and calcium-fortified orange juice. My daughter has poor digestion, so try to avoid whole-grains when you’re preparing the meals.” She stops for a second, lamenting, “and she has such bad skin these days, so avoid milk and anything bad, like instant noodles, even if she begs for it. The girl doesn’t know what’s good and bad for her.” With her steaming coffee cup in hand, Yijin waltzes around the kitchen, forcing you to follow her whims. “Make sure the kids have at least three servings of fruits and vegetables. My husband doesn’t like eggs and Jaesun isn’t supposed to have candy. Also, this is less important, but I really like fried foods that aren’t too oily, so if you have anything you can make…” The corners of your lips lift. “I have a fried chicken recipe.” “I like you already.” She snaps her fingers, smile brightening. She looks over to the older lady, calling out to her, “Ms. Yoo, I can get breakfast ready for today. Would you like to continue showing Y/N around?” “Yes, I will.” Even when you could tell from the outside, the house is grand. It’s a closed concept, full of mahogany wood panels, twisting halls, oak doors and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. It looks like a place Taehyung would enjoy. “Every day, we meal prep breakfast, lunch and dinner. Typically only the master of the house is here for lunch, so we have to watch our portions. He works a lot from home. Oh, his younger brother is also living here for some time. He’s an editor, so he’s quite busy. I tend to deliver his meal to his room if he doesn’t come down for dinner.�� You nod, entering the living room. There’s a giant family photo above the mantel that looks all too artificial — stiff smiles and pressed clothes with a white background. But the space is warmed with cedar bookshelves, a coffee table to match and perfectly positions cushion chairs. In one of them is a sleepy man with dark hair, sipping on a mug as he reads the newspaper. He looks up at you, features more tender than expected. “Hello.” You dip your head to the so-called younger brother, keeping your voice soft-spoken. “Mr. Kim, this is our new helper,” the housekeeper introduces. “Yes.” His voice is also surprisingly husky. “I’m Yoongi. It’s nice to meet you.” The two of you stare at one another until you dip your head as Mrs. Yoo keeps going and you leave the room, walking upstairs. “We dust every day and clean the kitchen each night. Every other day, we do laundry and vacuum the rooms. The living space and foyer get especially dirty, so we have to stay vigilant. If your back ever aches from hunching over so much, tell me and I’ll give you some cream and heated pads.” A door down the hall shuts and there’s an audible sigh. What follows are footsteps and a teenage girl in an ironed school uniform, backpack on her back. Her black hair is sleek, ending at her waist and in spite of puffy cheeks, her eyes are cat-like. “Good morning, Sohee. Sleep well?” “I guess.” As her pupils dart from the housekeeper to you, her steps slow and she halts altogether. You lock your gaze with her and smile. “Hello. I’m the new housemaid, Y/N.” You extend your arm, but she dwells — staring like a deer in headlights. It takes a moment for Sohee to come to her senses and she shakes your hand while brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She timidly murmurs, “O-oh. Nice to meet you.” “Sohee!” There’s a sudden screech of her name from downstairs, grating to the ears. Immediately, the young girl deflates. “Coming!” she shouts back to her mom with a groan, rolling her eyes before running down the stairs. The housekeeper smiles sympathetically. “Sohee’s going through a bit of a growth spurt, so she’s been a bit sensitive lately.” You nod and she continues, “We clean the bathrooms once a week and once a month, we wash the carpets. Your room is just this way.” Down the corridor is a small mahogany door. But there’s grandiose double doors with golden handles right where the hall begins from the open area. And your strides reduce. You linger from curiosity and peer through the crack with an eye. Vaguely, you’re able to make out bookshelves and an imposing desk. More importantly, there’s someone seated in the leather seat behind it. Mrs. Yoo notices. “Oh, that’s master Kim’s office, but there’s no need to bother him right now.” Your body moves a little too late. While you’re still peeping through, the man behind the desk raises his head. Your eyes meet, but you leave before either of you can get a good look at each other. The room you’re given is a meager space — more like a closet compared to the rest of the house. You hold in your scoff, looking around at the single bed. The empty desk. The tiny window with dead bugs on the sill. The wooden chair with splinters sticking out of it. It looks like antiques shoved in a shed. Not even Taehyung treats you this poorly. “The bathroom is across from your room, so it’s rather convenient!” You set your luggage down. “Also, you’ll be watching Jaesun when he comes home from kindergarten. You’ll wash him and put him to bed as well. I’ll help you out until you get the hang of things, so don’t worry too much.” You wonder if the old lady ever shuts up, but you keep your voice soft-spoken and your demeanour timid. “Thank you.” “It’s not an issue.” Ms. Yoo pats your shoulder. “Oh, you can get settled a little later on. We should help the madam with breakfast. She doesn’t cook very well.” It’s possible to get lost in this abyss of a house. There are endless halls and pompous rooms. You don’t understand the purpose of having a large music room next to a drawing room, but you suppose with this much money, it’s fun to throw it into a blazing fire. The housekeeper continues yapping away as you make it back downstairs. But on your way, you catch a different individual standing in the foyer. Someone in a black suit with doe eyes, boyish features that draw you in. He seems surprised to see you too. “Ah, Jungkook! Have you eaten yet? Would you like a coffee?” “I’m fine, Ms. Yoo.” He has a cute smile full of teeth and his eyes flicker to you. “This is...?” “Oh, it’s the new helper I was telling you about. Y/N, this is Jungkook, Mr. Kim’s personal chauffeur. He’s been working with this family for almost as long as I’ve been here.” “Not that long,” Jungkook retorts mischievously. “I only started here a few years ago after I finished school.” “Only? Oh my. Feels like you started here thirty years ago like I did! Time goes by so fast!” “Only when you’re having fun.” Jungkook grins and then redirects his attention towards you, clearing his throat. “I-It’s nice to meet you.” “Likewise.” You shake his hand and dip your head with a tiny smile. He averts his vision too, becoming shy. Yet, when you lift your head, your eyes meet each other’s. You can feel the way his hand is getting sweaty, but you let it linger for a longer amount of time than necessary. Until you’re the one to let go. He’s too cute. You catch the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. The tension between the pair of you is only broken when a voice coughs from the top of the staircase and Jungkook breaks apart from you, taking a step back. You look up at the master, Kim Namjoon. A man in his forties, tall with a commanding aura. His hair is styled neatly, thick glasses sitting on his face, sharply dressed in a tailored suit. Everything about him screams of new money. “Good morning, Mr. Kim.” He hums at the housekeeper. “Good morning, Ms. Yoo. This must be the new helper. It’s nice to meet you.” The man comes down and visibly inspects you, as if trying to figure you out and only looks away when he’s satisfied. “I hope you’ll do a good job.” “Yes, sir.” “Are you going already, daddy?” Sohee comes from the kitchen, crestfallen. The volume of her voice is quiet and tapers off, “You’re not going to have breakfast with us...?” “I don’t have time today.” The words tumble out and he looks at his phone. Ms. Yoo opens the door as he answers a call outside. You look over at Sohee who’s become dejected. Her shoulders have slumped and her hair falls in front of her face. She pouts and tries to hide it. But Jungkook smiles softly and ruffles her hair. “Don’t be so sad. I’ll have breakfast with you tomorrow, okay?” “Really?” Sohee looks up at him, eyes gradually brightening and her cheeks becoming rosy. He nods. “I’ll make sure to come early.” “I’ll have to cook more eggs then,” the housekeeper chortles and Jungkook grins until his eyes travel to you. The glance turns into a gaze and neither of you speak until Ms. Yoo turns. “Come on, Y/N! We can’t dawdle all day now.” “Yes,” you murmur and follow after her, all too aware of Jungkook’s stare on your backside as Sohee still talks without him really listening. Once you turn the corner, the older woman pauses and your brow cocks. “Is….there something the matter?” She smiles endearingly at you and shakes her head. “No, nothing’s wrong. You’re just very beautiful, that’s all.”

The house is chaotic. Before going to bed, Ms. Yoo gave you one piece of furniture to add to the sad collection — an alarm clock. And it blares with red digits reading that it’s five in the morning. Lugging yourself up, you’re bombarded with chores. From laundry to wiping down windows and making the bed. “Excuse me.” You knock against the door and there’s a muffled ‘come in’. Yoongi sits at his desk with a stack of papers in front of him and a red pen in his hand. His room is similar to yours, cramped and modest, but with a larger window and mattress, and a proper wardrobe and closet. The man in his pajamas doesn’t look at you. “You can leave it there,” he mumbles and you set his tray of breakfast food on his nightstand. Your eyes linger on his slouching form. But he never turns around, so you leave. The noise and bickering from the kitchen can already be heard from the stair landing. The stove top fan is blasted while Ms. Yoo fries eggs, Jaesun sitting at the table with his legs swinging and spitting his cereal all over the place as he plays make-belief with his robot, but most of all— “Why won’t you let me go?” Sohee is standing by her mother, exasperation and the furrow of her brows ruining her otherwise innocent exterior. “It’s only Yeeun’s house! And you already know her mom!” “I already said that she isn’t a good influence on you!” “We’re only studying! I don’t get why you don’t like her!” “Her family is lower than ours.” Yijin forces herself to become calmer and feeds Jaesun a spoonful of yogurt as he plays. She glances at her daughter after a moment. “If you know what’s good for you, you’d become friends with Lee Sunmi. At least they have something to offer us. And are you going to eat that bagel? It’s filled with cream cheese. We have to watch your weight, remember?” “Why are you always picking on me?” The girl drops her choice of breakfast and cries, “What about Jaesun?!” “Are you going to compare yourself to your brother?” She gives her an astonished look full of disbelief, tinged with disappointment. “He’s only five.” Sohee is frustrated to no end. “I hate you all!” She screams and stomps away as you resume slicing the strawberries, eyes lifting every so often. You watch as Jungkook enters the kitchen at the same time Sohee’s leaving. She pauses for a second but then pushes past him. Her mother screams after her. “Sohee! Are you not going to eat at all?! That girl! So rude.” In the meanwhile, Ms. Yoo reads the expression on your face and smiles. “Don’t worry. They never argue for too long.” “Shouldn’t we at least say something?” She shakes her head. “I’ve tried to get involved a few times, but it never helped much. Better to keep quiet. Every family argues.” The housekeeper finishes up in the kitchen while Yijin settles down and sips on her coffee as she scrolls through her phone. She asks for a plate of fruits from Ms. Yoo and at the same time, you notice Jaesun scooping his cereal and purposely spilling it on the ground. No one notices. It sloshes into a pile. You hold in your cusses and grab a rag. The five year old realizes he’s been caught in the act and grins like a little shit. You get on the floor, scrubbing the mess. But the moment the floorboards are back to brown again, there’s another splatter of milk by your hand and a spoonful of cereal flakes that follow. It splashes on your hair and apron and you raise your head to find the little shit plastered with a ginormous smile. “Done eatin’!” He announces, scooting back his chair before running off in giggles. May Satan have mercy on the child before you tear his limbs apart. The minute you’re finished scrubbing the floor and clearing the table, you go off to find the brat. Because god forbid there’s a scratch on him. You find him in the hallway between the laundry room and garage. “What do you think you’re doing?!” There’s a bright red crayon in his tight fist. And he’s scribbling all across the wall while laughing at a piercing volume. At the sight of you, Jaesun draws a line as hard as he can until his knuckles are white, bits of wax are sprinkling and the crayon is a half the size it used to be. The kid runs away before you can snatch him. Much to your dismay, Ms. Yoo merely smiles in endearment when you tell her. “Kids like to have so much fun, don’t they? I remember when my son was at that age, he was such a troublemaker too. But it’s nothing a little baking soda can’t fix!” You end up on your knees, scrubbing the wall with a damp rag dipped in the white powder. You’re humiliating and exhausted. Taehyung was wrong — there’s nothing fun about this whatsoever. You swear to God you’re going to murder someone. “How are you doing?” You look up, discovering doe eyes and pink lips quirked at you. Jungkook is dressed in his suit that’s a bit too big for him, hands dug into the pants pockets as he glances at the wall. You smile at him, brushing away the strand of your hair that came loose from your bun. It’s not too bad of a time to be sweating. To allow the beads to roll down the nape of your neck. “It’s tiresome, but nothing I can’t do.” “I’m assuming this is Jaesun’s little artwork project.” “Who else could it be?” Jungkook grins boyishly. “Once he decided to paint the inside the car using the leather seats as his canvas.” “Why don’t they ever discipline him?” you ask genuinely, tilting your head up at him and he matches the playful glint in your eyes before shrugging. “Probably because he’s the youngest and the only son, so it’s natural they spoil him.” “But this is a bit much, isn’t it?” You shake your head, voice pitching upwards into a whine. The irritation was leaking through the facade you’ve created, but all it does is make Jungkook’s grin widen. “It is. You know—” “Y/N!” There’s a call of your name in a screeching voice. “Can you come here for a second?” “Yes!” For the most part, the crayon is taken off and you breathe a sigh of relief. You look over to Jungkook as a tiny smile appears on your features. “See you.” “Y-Yeah.” His eyes linger on you as you leave. “I’m about to be late for work, so can you please bring this up to my husband?” Yijin hands you a wooden tray with a tall glass of some sort of sludgy green liquid filled to the rim. The drink stinks of kale and lettuce. You wonder if she’s trying to poison him. “He hasn’t gotten anything to eat yet and I’m worried. That man never takes care of himself properly. Oh, and I’d really appreciate it if you could Jaesun dressed. Don’t know where he’s run off to.” You nod and balance the drink up the stairs before coming to the familiar grandiose doors. You knock timidly. There’s a disgruntled noise of acknowledgment, one that signifies he’s inside but preoccupied. Still, you push the parted doors open and come forward with the tray. Namjoon never looks up at you, busy studying the files of documents. The room is warmer than expected, oaks and mahogany, paintings and bookshelves, a large desk that reminds you of a judge’s bench — imposing, commanding. Not unlike him. There’s a fireplace, two leather sofas facing each other and a coffee table in between, and above the mantle is another family portrait that exudes a kind of stiff perfection. You place the glass down on his disorganized desk, eyes peering up at the man. As you retract your arm, your skin brushes against a stack of papers and they’re knocked to the ground. He whips his head over, brow cocked. “I’m so sorry, sir,” you whimper. As you frantically pick them up, you bend over in front of him. “It’s fine.” You feel his eyes linger on your rounded behind before he looks at his document again. You mask a smirk. Namjoon mutters from the corner of his mouth, “Where are you from?” You purposely pause so he directs his attention to you again. “I grew up in the countryside not far from here, sir.” You hold the tray to your stomach, presenting a timid disposition as if his gaze weighs heavily on you. “And what did you do before you took this job?” “I was in university, sir, but I’m taking a break to save some money.” The man gives a pleasant nod. “What was your major?” “Education, sir.” You divert your vision elsewhere, but a sweet smile pulls on your lips. “I would love to become a teacher someday.” He hums in approval, “I could see you doing that.” “Daddy?” The conversation is interrupted by Sohee at the door. She’s dressed in her school uniform, but is nowhere near ready to step into a classroom with the way she’s teary-eyed and her voice croaks with a lump in her throat. “Mom’s not letting me study with Yeeun!” Namjoon exhales exhaustingly. He sits back in his leather chair, looking at the ceiling. Sohee’s eyes stings at how she’s evidently annoying her father. But you don’t dwell, bowing your head and dismissing yourself. // You would’ve never picked up this job unless you had to. Not even for the useless money. You detest education. Never did well, never had fun, never got along with anyone. Be a teacher? You could scoff ten times over. You hate children. You hate kids. They’re absolute brats. Noisy at their best and tormentors at their worst. There’s only a few perks to this job. Like right now. “I’m glad to be of service,” Jungkook breathlessly laughs. His hot breath ghosts along your cheek while your legs wrap and lock around his waist. A comfortable darkness surrounds you. The moonlight cascades through the small window, enough that you can see his handsome profile. And the slick, obscene sounds are covered by the dryer machine still rumbling underneath you. It has the last load of towels the housekeeper wanted to get done tonight — and it’s also helping Jungkook release his load into you. The vibrations of the dryer flow through your body, adding to his raw strokes and the moans choking out of you. It didn’t take much to convince him to sneak away. The one-dimensional family is completely oblivious too, sleeping upstairs in their warm beds. You’re tempted to whine Jungkook’s name louder and make one of them investigate. You wonder what the look on their face would be if they found their little maid and chauffeur fucking in the laundry room. Jungkook tugs down your dress further and gently noses your hardened nipple before his mouth travels upwards to the juncture of your neck. You feel his lips suck into your soft skin, but the fingers sunk into his dark hair tightens and you pull his head back. He gives a throaty groan, half-lidded eyes pinned on your face. You writhe against his hard chest every time his thick cock drags out of your walls. He’s bigger than you expected. Eager too. Jungkook is a healthy and young one, hips and strokes fluid albeit a bit fast and excited. You can tell he likes you a lot. “I-I would’ve never guessed you hated kids.” The boy watches how his cock enters you and disappears. Your pussy clenches around him and he sweats at his hairline, trying to hold back from cumming so soon. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you sing-song cutely and roughly pull him in by his shoulders, batting your lashes. “Can you kiss me, please, Jungkookie?” He nods enthusiastically and leans in to nose your cheek. Then, he tilts his head and your mouth meets his. Your lips immediately part to welcome him deeper and his hands force your thighs farther apart, fingers digging into your flesh. Jungkook’s tongue licks into your hot mouth, making you moan. Yet, the kiss is somehow sweet. Much too pure for someone like you. The two of you break apart, lips wet with his spit. “I-I’m close.” Jungkook’s strokes start to lose their rhythm. They become frantic. Frenzied. He can feel the shaking of the dryer jumping beneath you, how tight and wet you are around him. You watch him through hooded eyes, tempted to coo at him and tell him that he can do it — encourage him that he can release his load right into your womb. But not wanting to ruin his fun moment, you instead squeeze as tight as you can. Jungkook groans, hips jerking and he plunges deep inside your cunt to cum. He gives two more thrusts. His entire body trembles and he realizes you’re still unfinished. Even with half a mind, he has the courtesy to lick his thumb and rub at your clit. You writhe with moans of his name, holding him close and a few seconds later, you get to where you want to be. As you come down from your high, you pet him. “Good boy. Thanks for that.” “Y-You’re so pretty.” “Am I?” you hum and he nods madly. Jungkook’s sticky breath heaves, chest rising and falling and you wrap your arms possessively around his shoulders. Whining incoherently, he understands that you’re pleading for another kiss. He happily obliges and you angle your head to deepen it. The kiss is lazier. Languid. Giving you a chance to taste him properly. Jungkook starts to groan when you don’t pull away after thirty seconds. He tries to part, losing oxygen. But you keep him in your tight grip. And you inhale. It’s delicious. It fills you with a sense of euphoria, making goosebumps raise all over the back of your arms. It’s been a while since you’ve had a soul for yourself. And as it leaves his body, you feel him go limp around you. Jungkook falls to the tiled floor, leaving a sopping mess at your center. “Would you look at that?” A deep timbre sounds. He appears, manifesting himself across from you with the corpse in between. The corner of his thin lip is curled as if he’s impressed. His blonde hair looks white in the milky moonlight and the darkness causes his piercing brown eyes to glow. “Not too bad, peach.” “It’s so easy, it’s not even fun.” You hop down from the dryer machine. Taehyung’s devilish smirk grows. “That’s because you’re so naturally enticing.” You roll your eyes. He comes close, large hands lifting to cradle your cheeks. Taehyung kisses you without much warning — not that you need it — and he licks into your mouth, inhaling deep. He retrieves the soul you took, taking it right from your parted lips. The two of you part and the thin strand of saliva breaks. Taehyung boops your nose. “I always knew my succubus was a talented one.” You scoff. “Don’t act like you came here to praise me. You just wanted to collect the soul.” “Can’t I come here for both?” He lolls his head, another smirk gracing his perfect visage that’s been sculpted by porcelain angel tears. “But it looks like you don’t need my help, so I’ll be on my way.” Taehyung winks and takes the discarded body on the ground, disappearing with it. He vanishes as quickly as he came. After he’s gone, you dip your hand between your messy legs. It’s the last remnants of Jungkook and it’s salty on your palette when you lick your fingers. // The mattress is soft against your knees. It cushions and molds against you each time you push down. But still, your wrists strain against the hardened muscles and knots. Yijin hums, a pleased smile on her face. “A little harder please. And oh, up there. Yes, yes. That’s the spot.” You continue to massage her, making sure to knead your thumbs into the sweet spots. The madam of the house moans in satisfaction. If she wasn’t so annoying and if her soul wasn’t so bland to you — you would’ve taken it long ago. But well, she might be fun to have around a little longer when you start messing with her family more. “You’re good,” she hums. “Where did you learn?” “Here and there. My grandma had a lot of sore muscles, so naturally, I kind of picked it up.” In reality, Taehyung makes you rub his shoulders all the time. She looks like she’s enjoying herself, head placed to the side, eyes closed and the corners of her mouth raises. She’s melting under your touch. But even when she’s this relaxed, she still manages to yap. “It’s been so long since I’ve been treated like this at home. I used to go to the spa often but there’s nothing like a home massage,” Yijin mumbles, “Namjoon used to do it for me all the time before we had kids and then he got busy with work, and well, it’s the reason we have this big house.” She flips her head to the other side and you rub between her shoulder blades. “I used to be as pretty as you are.” You keep your voice quiet and meek. “Pardon? You’re still pretty, madam.” “You don’t need to flatter me.” “But it’s true…?” Your voice pitches upwards as if you’re incredulous as to how she could think otherwise. “You have a maternal aura about you that I don’t have and you’re an established professional. Women can only dream of having that.” Peering at her, you catch the way her smile sweetens. At the same time, her husband enters the bedroom. Sighing and pulling off his tie, he places his briefcase down and moves to the minibar. Namjoon pours himself a glass of whisky and collapses into the white armchair beside the modern standing lamp, thighs spread wide and rather inviting. You look up at him, lashes fluttering in curiosity. “What’s wrong?” Yijin opens one eye, clearly catching how stressed Namjoon is. “I found that damn punk’s resignation letter on my desk. He’s gone.” He lifts his glass, taking a long sip of the amber liquid and letting the glass rest between his fingertips. “Who?” “Jungkook.” “What?” Both of Yijin’s eyes peel back, pupils widening in shock. “How could that brat leave without warning?” “I don’t know.” Namjoon looks to the whiskey, exhaling yet again. “After years of working for us, he upped and disappeared. I guess workers are always like that. Sohee’s been crying and throwing a tantrum. But anyway, I need to hire someone new. I don’t know who’s going to work this far from the city though.” You continue rubbing Yijin’s back and you feel Namjoon’s gaze traveling to you from his place on the armchair. From the profile of your face, the nape of your neck, to the skin of your thighs that’s exposed from your dress being hiked up so you’re able to kneel on his mattress. Yijin makes a noise. “Well, there’s nothing we can do. Do you want a massage too? Y/N’s really amazing.” Namjoon looks away, tearing his eyes from you. “No. I’m fine. I only need to rest a bit before I have to go back to work.” His wife opens her eyes again and this time, she gets up. You lean back, allowing her to do so. “Oh my goodness! Your associate is coming for dinner tonight, isn’t he? I almost forgot!” She snaps her fingers and looks at you. “Can you please draw me a bath, Y/N? I have to look presentable.” // The business associate is Taehyung. You couldn’t roll your eyes any harder when you see the blonde seated on the leather sofa as if he owns the place, suit and tie crisp, shoes polished. You don’t know what he’s doing or how he even set himself in their lives, but you suppose you had planted yourself in this household in dubious ways too — with his help, of course. So you don’t question it too much. “I must say, this house is much more beautiful than I thought it was going to be.” “That’s all thanks to my wife,” Namjoon chuckles, hands clasped together. “She has a better sense of aesthetics than I do.” Yijin smiles. She’s dressed in another one of her rosy blouses and white skirts, polished without a hair out of place — to both play the role of the perfect wife and appeal to the handsome stranger. “Thank you. I wanted to be an interior designer a long time ago, so it was really fun to try my hand at it even if it’s not much.” “Nonsense. It’s wonderful. Do you still want to be an interior designer now? You certainly have the skills for it.” “Oh, no.” She bats the air with her hand. “I lost the dream when I got married and had kids. Plus, I don’t think I could ever work for anyone. It doesn’t really suit me.” “Ah.” Taehyung leans back, all too comfortable as he is playful. “You prefer reaping the benefits of your husband and enjoying yourself? Can’t say I blame you.” The corner of Namjoon’s mouth tilts while you approach with a bottle of wine, setting the crystal glasses down for them. “You know how women are.” “On the contrary, they’re the more intelligent ones for letting us do all the work while they take pleasure,” Taehyung says, causing the other man to laugh and agree. You round the table to pour him a glass of wine and Taehyung looks at you with that infamous smirk, but you try to not make eye contact for long. “Thank you.” You dip your head wordlessly. “Oh yes.” Yijin perks up. “Thank you for recommending the company that you did. If not, we wouldn’t have been able to hire Y/N.” “It’s not a problem at all. I’m always happy to help.” He smiles, taking the stem of the wine glass and rotating it to slosh the ruby liquid inside. “I take it she’s a good addition to the house?” “Yes, she is.” Taehyung exhales through his nostrils, lips adorned with a devilish smile. “I’m glad.” You return to the kitchen unscathed, but damning Taehyung in your head for messing with your game. Though your irritation can’t last for long when Ms. Yoo hands you a wooden tray heavy with bowls and dishes. “Can you bring this up to the master’s younger brother? He’ll be having dinner in his room today.” “Okay.” You knock on the door. There’s a pause and after a moment, you open it. Yoongi is in the same spot he was this morning, crouched over his desk with a red pen in hand, papers in front of him and round reading glasses perched on his nose. The curtains are drawn but the glow of the lamp gives him enough luminescence to work. “You can leave it over there,” he mumbles and you place it on the usual spot. The man never raises his head or pays any attention to you. Your brow cocks and you take the tall glass, deciding to bring it to him. “Here’s some water, sir.” And you purposely waver. The liquid sloshing on the sides and unceremoniously spills onto his lap. Yoongi jolts, arms lifting to save his papers while you sharply gasp. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry!” You fall onto your knees and begin dabbing all over his lap and crotch with your apron. Yet your antics doesn’t last for a few seconds before he’s brushing your hand away. “It’s fine. It’s just water.” You peer up at him through your lashes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kim.” “I told you to leave it over there,” he grunts, casting a measly glance at you. “But it’s fine. If you have nothing else to do, please leave. I have a lot of work to get done.” You rise to your feet and exit. He’s a harder one to crack. Those little tactics might not be enough, but you’ll get there soon enough. You’re certain of it. “Y/N?” There’s a strangled whimper and you turn around in the dark corridor to see Sohee emerge from her room. The area underneath her eyes are reddened, nose raw. Her whole body trembles as she sniffles. The girl looks small and vulnerable, almost like a puppy. “Is there something wrong?” you ask gently, akin to a mother cooing at her child. Sohee’s eyes flicker up to you. “Did...Jungkook ever tell you anything before he left?” You shake your head. “No. We were never that close. I’ve only spoken to him a few times.” She nods. There’s a beat of silence and you lift your hand to caress her hair. The girl is startled but then eases, even leaning into your tender touch. You draw your fingers through her long, straight strands, petting her gently. “I’m sure he left for good reason. Maybe something happened or it was a family emergency. He was always close to you, right?” Sohee nods again while choked cries come from her. “W-We were family.” You embrace her, patting her back and she leans on your chest. “You’re not alone, Sohee. You have me now and I won’t ever leave like Jungkook did.” She squeezes you back. But the moment is shattered by a grating voice of her mother. “Sohee! Where are you?! Get down here and greet your dad’s friend!” Her jaw clamps. She parts from you, rubbing her eyes. You watch her go and she turns around to look at you. You smile at her. // “Your maid outfit’s cute.” He appears. A creeping shadow casted against the wall first, then flesh that stitches into the room. You’re resting on your bed, leaning against the headboard and filing your nails one at a time — the yellow glow of the desk lamp giving you barely enough light. “I didn’t get a good look last time.” “What are you doing, Taehyung?” You blow against your index finger and finally ascend your gaze. “Just having a little fun,” he chimes and muses that— “You’re taking a lot longer than usual.” “Well, I’m just having some fun.” Taehyung scoffs. “Don’t take too long.” “You shouldn’t act like you’re busy when you’re not,” you bite back without missing a beat. His brow cocks, smirk playing on his lips. “I think it’s been too long since I’ve disciplined you.” Before you can react, he ambushes and pins you flat onto the bed. Taehyung hovers over you with a glint in his eyes, heavy body on top of yours, hips pressed together. He holds your wrists above your head, preventing you from squirming. But you make no attempts to do so, simply glaring at him like a petulant child. You’re neither surprised nor caught off guard. Taehyung always likes to be the one on top, in a literal and figurative sense. And truth be told, you don’t particularly mind. His pink lips are curled and he leans down to your neck. He starts to suck into your skin, rough enough to break through and your pathetic cries only spur him on. Making him smirk against you. But your fingers find their way into his hair and you yank his head back. Flesh coated in his saliva, a giant purple bruise is left blooming on your supple skin as the redness fades. “I told you no marks.” “You’re going to need it, peach,” he says with a mischievous grin and then vanishes. You’re left rolling your eyes. // The grandiose double doors have never been intimidating. Even when Ms. Yoo has warned you on your first day to not disturb the master working and to not approach unless necessary. As much of a brat as the five year old is, even he doesn’t come close to his father’s office. But to you, those doors have always signified that a very fun game is waiting behind them. Your knuckles rap against the wooden surface and you pull the golden handles without waiting for confirmation. Kim Namjoon’s seated in his leather chair behind the imposing desk, eyes flickering upwards and you smile, holding your tray higher. “It’s fruit, sir.” “That isn’t necessary,” he says and you feign dejection, downcast eyes, shoulder slumping. He swallows hard and then beckons you over. “You can bring it here.” You come forward and place the plate on a single empty spot on the desk not coated in file folders. You’re close enough that he catches a whiff of your scent and the hickey on your neck. A scoff spills from Namjoon’s chest. “You’re doing a lot of unnecessary things in my home,” he comments offhandedly, perhaps not for your ears to hear. It’s passive aggressive and you mask your smile. Namjoon looks at you. “I would prefer if you would work properly and complete your duties without doing much else.” You feign confusion. Wide-eyed blinking. Lashes batting. As if giving you the reason for his mention, his eyes linger at the hickey. In a delayed manner, your hand raises to the juncture of your neck, covering the spot Taehyung made like that alone could remove it. And then, you immediately drop to the ground on your knees. “I-I’m so sorry, sir. It...it wasn’t my fault,” you cry out, searching the floor as the volume of your voice becomes timid and shy. It isn’t hard to come up with an excuse. “J-Jungkook did it. I didn’t know what he was doing, but he cornered me in the laundry room and I..told him to stop...but…” He slams his desk. Hand curled into a tight fist. Making the pens on the surface jump. It’s startling and you look up at him, viewing just how upset he is. “He left the next morning and hasn’t been back…” “So that’s why he left. Why didn’t you tell me?” Namjoon stares at you in distress. “This is very serious.” You shake your head. “I was afraid of saying anything. I know Jungkook’s been here longer than I have, so I didn’t think anyone would believe me and I can’t lose this job, sir.” Your head tilts to look up at him, eyes gleaming through your lashes, lips pouted, still on your knees. “I’m sorry.” The man sighs. “There’s no reason to apologize. If he ever comes back, I’ll call the police immediately. No one in this household should ever feel unsafe. I’ll promise you that.” You nod and he helps pull you up by your arm. You stagger upwards and on weakened knees, you stumble. With agile skills Taehyung would be proud of, you land on the man’s lap. Perched on his spread thighs, your legs placed along one side, and hands securely on his shoulders. Namjoon’s steadied you as well with his own palms sprawled on the small of your waist. And your parted lips are gasping mere millimeters away from his. It’s an intimate moment. One where your gazes lock. One where you make sure lasts three seconds to imprint into his mind. And then true to the character you’ve created, you pull yourself away. You grab your chair and dip your head. “I’m so sorry, sir.” Before the master of the house can get another word out, you run out the room. The minute you’re outside, you run into Yoongi. Passing by, he cocks a brow at the way you frantically shut the doors and your breathing is laboured as if you ran a marathon. “Something wrong?” Your head shakes and you devilishly smile at him. “It’s nothing at all.” // It’s a game with these mortal men. You know they want you — that they helplessly dream about you at night. Your words, your lips, you crawling over to them and doing whatever they ask. Showing what reality could be. But the more you let them peek without giving it to them, the deeper they fall into your trap of honey. “What do you think?” You place the papers down, a tender smile placed on your features. “Shouldn’t you ask your uncle who’s an editor to look over your essay instead of me?” Sohee playfully sulks. “Yeah, but he’s always busy. I don’t want to bother him.” “You made a few errors here and the conclusion isn’t as strong as the introduction. I think you should expand on this point into one or two more sentences. But overall it’s very well written, Sohee. You might even have a knack for writing.” The girl nods with a grin and when you stroke her hair while telling her how proud you are, she looks up at you and leans into your touch. Ms. Yoo enters the dining room, endeared at the sight of you and Sohee sitting together at the table and working on her homework. She’s reluctant to interrupt but does so anyways. “Y/N, the master is calling for you.” The housekeeper never tells you for what purpose, but you have an inkling sprouted from your intuition. Swiftly, you leave and Ms. Yoo takes your place as Sohee continues on other assignments she’s able to do on her own. The pair of them are equally unsuspecting. It’s evening and long after dinner. The sun is dipping over the horizon, crimson shades fuzzy in the sky. Everyone is preoccupied and there’s no real reason why he should be calling you. But you don’t hesitate. Your knuckles rap against the grandiose doors. There’s a pause and you push it open. Inside, there’s a fire roaring in the fireplace — above the mantle is the family portrait — and the man is standing and staring at the flickering flames. His face casted by the warm glow and he’s nursing a glass of whiskey. Namjoon raises his head as you push the door back to where it was, leaving it slightly parted. “Good evening.” “Is there something wrong, sir?” He shakes his head. “Not at all. I’ve just been thinking and I...realized I haven’t been as kind to you as I should’ve been. It didn’t occur to me that this wasn’t a safe place for you and I want to change that. I don’t want anyone in this house to be afraid.” You know he’s referring to what you’ve accused Jungkook of doing and promptly you close the distance. Your steps are slow as your hips sway and you look at him through lidded eyes. “Sir.” You keep your voice low. “This has always been a safe place to me, because I know you’re here.” Your eyes locked into one another and a tense silence lingers. Finally, Namjoon swallows hard and diverts his vision. “Would you like a drink?” “I-Is that allowed, sir?” “I’ll allow it.” The suited man smiles and moves to sit on his dark leather couch. There are two couches facing one another by the fireplace with a coffee table in between, opposite of his desk and the bookshelves. A once private sanctuary meant for no one but him, yet you have an exclusive invitation. His thighs spread as he gets comfortable and he reaches for the fancy bottle of whiskey. Namjoon pours a glass of the amber liquid. It sloshes on the side and he extends his arm. You take it nervously as if you’ve never drank much before. “You don’t have to drink it all if you don’t want to.” “It’s not that.” You smile at him through your lashes. “I’m just wondering how expensive it is.” Namjoon scoffs lightly, but not out of malice or annoyance. It’s from endearment. “You don’t need to worry about that.” The rim of the glass is placed between your plush lips and you take a sip. It’s bitter, but slides smoothly down. He watches you and in the meanwhile, your eyes flicker away from him. Something catches your attention on a mahogany bookshelf, so you cross the room. You allow your knees to brush against his, the loose strands of your hair nearly skimming along his nose. Namjoon clears his throat, holding the crystal glass casually between his fingertips. “Can I ask what kind of perfume you use?” You twist around with another easy smile. “I don’t really use any, sir.” Bending over in his line of vision, you look at his stacks of books and other knick-knacks on his shelf. “You have chess?” “I do.” He places his glass down. “Do you want to play?” You turn around with another coy smile. “Can we really?” The darkness of the room thickens, fire crackling and sputtering in the background. The glow is dim against your profiles and casts your shadows along the wall. The game of chess has been set on the small table. You tell him you barely know how to play to which he replied he’d go easy on you. A few minutes have passed and you’ve moved a few pawns around. Yet, it’s intimate and quiet as if the room is hidden away from the rest of the house. Something you’re sure isn’t too far off. “Are you alright, sir?” you ask in a husky murmur, pupils flickering up to him as he’s mid-way from taking another sip of his whisky. “You seemed pretty stressed a few days ago.” Namjoon leans back into the seat. It sinks underneath his weight. His thighs are spread as you hold your knight, still debating on where to place it on the board. “I still am, but it's just the usual business stress.” “Your wife worries a lot.” You place the chess piece down and he leans forward again, capturing your pawn with one smooth move of his rook. “You don’t need to try to make me feel better. I know she doesn’t care.” “That’s not true,” you refute half-heartedly. “Why do you feel that way?” “It’s obvious,” he mumbles and takes another pawn of yours when you move it. “My wife is more preoccupied with using my credit card and all she does all day is nag which makes it worse.” You move your bishop across the board. “Because of her, we have to have two live-in maids in the house at all times,” Namjoon continues. The liquor makes it easy for him to relax and let the truth spill. He’s defenseless. “Sohee doesn’t get along with her at all and Jaesun isn’t disciplined whatsoever. Sometimes I wonder why my family is like this and where it went wrong.” The older man exhales and slides his king forward. He waits for your next move, but you don’t go. Your gaze is pinned on him and his eyes travel upwards to connect with yours. “It doesn’t need to be that way, sir,” you whisper. It’s your moment. You can feel it. And you disregard the game in favour of crawling towards him. The chess pieces knock over, some to the table and the others collide to the ground. He has no idea you were two moves away from checkmate. In seconds, you straddle his thighs. Namjoon’s at a loss, arms not yet touching you, but hands never pushing you off of him. His eyes have gone hazy. He’s completely entranced by you, bewitched under your spell. Vulnerable to your seduction and the wicked temptation you offer. “What are you doing?” His breath laboured and he tries to muster sternness to no avail, as if you shouldn’t entice him with such a dangerous game. The corner of your lip pulls into a devilish smile. “I’m doing to fulfill every single one of your fantasies, daddy.” And you kiss him. Slotting your soft lips against his chapped ones, letting them move gently. It’s a brief moment before Namjoon surges forward like a man possessed. Namjoon’s hands grab your ass and he pushes you forward until you’re sitting directly sitting above his crotch. You whimper, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. His brows furrow, mouth parting from the pain and you steal the chance to deepen the kiss. He struggles for control but you ultimately give it to him, feigning submission. It’s too easy. You roll your hips over his hardened crotch, feeling how your panties stick to your slick folds, and he grabs hold of your waist. The pair of you break away from the kiss with your arms wrapped possessively around his shoulders. “God, you knew what you were doing this entire time, weren’t you?” Namjoon’s chest heaves against yours. “Every time you fucking bent over. Every time you tried to play coy. Such a goddamn tease.” His fingers rub over your wet lips then down to your neck and collarbones. His hands travel to the low collar of your dress and then he tears it. The fabric rips against the threads and you whine in shock. But Namjoon never halts, undoing your bra and tossing it aside. He grabs a handful of your soft breast and pinches your nipples roughly until the bud hardens against the pad of his fingers. You sob out as he watches you through lidded eyes, mesmerized by the way your expression contorts into pleasure. “I can see why Jeon liked you so much.” “But I didn’t want him to touch me, daddy.” You pout at him. The thin layer of your panties and his slacks prevents you from feeling it completely, but it’s still dry fucking. “I-I only wanted you.” “And you’re going to have me,” the man grunts and pulls aside the skirt of your uniform. His hand dips past your thin, white underwear and his fingers feel against your folds. “Fuck,” he hotly exhales, “you’re soaked. Do you really want me that badly?” “Yes, daddy.” Without warning, Namjoon’s index and middle finger plunges into your cunt until he’s knuckle deep. You cry out, hugging him tighter to you and he pants, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Your cunt is so tight.” You squeeze around his prodding fingers. “Tighter than your wife’s?” Before he can answer, you kiss him again. Your sticky tongues interlace, sloppy and obscene. You taste his spit at the back of your throat — and it’s just the way you like it. The kiss lasts long enough that you can swallow his groan and you pull off his suit jacket. The rest of your dress pools around your hips. It becomes frantic after that, breaking apart just to rid of your clothes. He tosses your ruined underwear aside, but keeps the rest of his own attire on. It’s some kind of power play as if you should be the only one naked and vulnerable. Yet he’s oblivious to how you have him wrapped around your finger. “Tell daddy.” The older man’s hand wraps around your throat gently. “Have you ever been fucked properly before?” His slacks have been tugged down enough that his cock has sprung free and his other hand grips the base of it. The reddened tip leaks with a bead of precum and you eye how big he really is. It’s more than Jungkook’s but less than Taehyung’s. You shake your head and lie. “No.” Namjoon cusses. “Is that okay?” you timidly whimper and he smirks. “More than okay, baby. It won’t hurt too bad.” He guides his shaft to your pulsing cunt and runs the head of his cock along the collected wetness that has stained his pants and dripped to his leather couch. Both of you lower your heads, watching as he starts pushing through your folds. Immediately, your fingers tighten on his shoulders, wrinkling his expensive white shirt that was ironed by his wife. Namjoon shushes you. “Relax. It’s okay.” “I-It’s too much, daddy,” you complain in a pitched voice. “It’s too big.” His jaw ticks, fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of your parted thighs. “You can take it.” You nod and sink down on him slowly, making sure to draw it out as long as you can. And Namjoon’s head falls back. He groans and makes it balls deep inside of you. You make sure to tremble and squeeze around him, keeping his cock at a vice grip. “Is this okay?” “Uh-huh, sweetheart. It’s great.” With his eyes closed, he misses your smirk. You begin to fuck yourself onto him, feeling the pull and thrust of his big shaft dragging along your wet walls. The way your cunt stretches deliciously. Namjoon meets you half-way, hips thrusting upwards while you rock yourself against him. Your nipples are hardened and your breasts bounce in front of him. Tying the sight all together, you reach behind and pull the pins from your hair, letting it cascade down. You know it must be a sight for sore eyes. While you’ve never flaunted your appearance, you know you’ve been subtly altered to lure mortal men in. Your face and body are the accumulation of their fantasies. And it’s effortless to tempt them. To captivate their attention with a simple smile. You’ve looked at yourself enough times in the mirror to know that you aren't shabby too. “Daddy, it f-feels...so good,” the words are choked out of you, sobbed as you bat your lashes. Jungkook, the poor boy, was much more eager and sweeter. But with Namjoon, his experience is evident in his strokes. He’s rougher with the way he squeezes your ass until a handprint is left. There’s less regard with how he treats you, as if you’re just a pretty placeholder merely giving pleasure. His hard thrusts against your cervix would hurt if not for how the pleasure overtakes you. “You have to pull out, daddy,” you stutter. “I-I can’t get pregnant.” Your kind can’t carry children from mortals but he doesn’t need to know that. “I’ll do whatever I want,” Namjoon grunts, jaw clamped and brows furrowed. He sweats at his hairline. “I’ll cum where I want.” You give a loud and exasperated moan that you hope he enjoys. “B-But it’s not right.” “Shush. I’ll take care of you.” You squeeze around him again, hands tight on his shoulders. Namjoon’s eyes are shut as he revels in the feeling of you rocking against him and you smirk, looking down at him. At how pathetic he’s gotten. Just sitting on his lap and giving a simple kiss was enough to reduce him to this mess. From an established mogul in his forties into a helpless, hormonal teenage boy. In a few minutes, he’s thrown away years of marriage and loyalty for his wife for some maid’s cunt. A measly housemaid who’s supposed to be only a few years older than his own daughter. Taehyung was right — this is fun. At the same time, Sohee walks up the stairs while humming, hugging her textbooks to her body. She beelines straight to your room at the end of the other hall, wanting to show off how she’s finished everything and secretly hoping that you’ll gently stroke her hair like you always do. But as she passes by her father’s office, her ears catch a high-pitched whine. She stops. On sheer instincts, her head swivels over. And through the crack, she finds her dad’s backside. She sees the way you’re on top of him, naked, riding her father. Your eyes flicker to her through the gap. She gasps. Sohee backs away into the darkness. She turns around, a thick lump forming in her throat, her brows knitted together. But she doesn’t watch where she’s going and her mother meets her in the corridor. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be in bed, Sohee.” Yijin’s voice is grating to the ears and she frowns at her daughter’s disposition. The way her downcast head and eyes search the ground. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. “What’s wrong with you?” She doesn’t mean to — but Sohee’s eyes incidentally travel back to the grandiose double doors. And Yijin follows her line of sight. // “I can’t believe you’ve done this!” Her screeches fill the manor. It’s always been noisy, but never solely because of an individual and certainly never at this ear screeching pitch. “How could you do this to me?!” Yijin’s absolutely deranged. She’s throwing a fuss early morning after what she saw last night and retreated to her bedroom. She waited for him to return. Yet Namjoon never came to join her. Now she stands at the foyer with a suitcase that Ms. Yoo packed, but she has no plans of leaving. Instead, she’s tossing porcelain vases on the ground and tugging the tablecloth off of the table. The display case is open and fragments of antiquities litter the marble floor. Jaesun is crying hysterically at the staircase while rubbing his eyes with two tight fists. Sohee remains silent, standing at the top and looking down at her mother. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” The woman shrieks at Namjoon who stands there motionlessly, expression blank and impassive. It doesn’t seem like she’ll be satisfied until she gets a remorseful reaction from him or tears this entire house apart. Either of which you’d be amused to see. “You selfish bastard!” Although this was entertaining in itself. You’ve never seen her like this before. The once polished and poised woman has been diminished to this vengeful bitch that’s about to pop a vein — a version of herself that you always knew was hidden deep inside. Ms. Yoo is the only one who comes forward and tries to put a stop to it. “Please, madam. Don’t do this,” she pleads softly, tears streaking down her own face. Jaesun weeps. “Mommy!” “Madam, please,” Ms. Yoo begs as if she’s trying to placate a child throwing a temper tantrum. “You’re only going to hurt yourself.” “You can’t do this to me, Namjoon!” Yijin’s hair is all in front of her face in a tangled mess. Her dress is wrinkled and she’s bare feet. Crazed — just like her husband was last night….except in different contexts. Ms. Yoo starts to guide her away from the foyer to the front door, dragging the suitcase with her. “Even if you divorce me, I could still get the house! Get our kids! Namjoon! Fuckin— Namjoon!” Ms. Yoo pulls her out the door while crying and Yijin collapses at the steps as violent sobs wrack through her. The housekeeper sets the suitcase outside and looks down, hesitating. Namjoon deadpans, “Close the door, Ms. Yoo.” She shuts it. Fists bang against the surface for a moment before it stops, being replaced by the noise of wails. Instantly, Sohee runs upstairs, disappearing from sight. Namjoon turns away. Ms. Yoo sighs, taking Jaesun’s hand and comforting him. The only other person is Yoongi. His gaze is darkened and he leans against the wall with arms crossed. You turn and his eyes pierce into yours. But wordlessly, you bow your head to him and go on about your day. // The house is finally quiet. Just the way you like it. But it brews with a sort of intensity, a tension that doesn’t let you breathe easy. It was the calm before the final storm and your guard wasn’t going to be put down just yet. You knock against Sohee’s bedroom door and after hearing no protests, you open it. She’s laying on her bed, covers over her head, having skipped school today which no one blamed her for. You clear your throat, speaking gently as if you were cooing a puppy, “You didn’t have any breakfast, so I brought you hot chocolate, Sohee. I’ll leave it on your nightstand.” The mug is placed down and as you turn away, the sound of rustling slows your steps. She’s come up for air, hair in a disarray and covering her face, and she calls for you, “Y/N.” “Hmm?” “Are…..” She hesitates and you take the invitation to sit at the edge of her bed. The girl looks up at you after a moment. “Are you going to become my new mom?” The pause is purposeful. It makes it seem as if you’re considering it. Makes it seem as if you’re staring at her because you’re wholeheartedly endeared by her. And that nothing else matters. To top it off, your arms reach out and you hug her. Sohee is vulnerable, small against you and she eases in your secure embrace, allowing you to hold her. You even run your fingers through her hair, caressing her gently and she softly sighs, relishing in the comfort she never received from her own mother. In a lot of ways, you share many similarities with her. “I’m sorry, Sohee,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean you to see that. For all this to happen. I adore you and if you want me to be your new mom, I will, but it’ll be a decision made with you.” She nods against your shoulder and the corner of your mouth pulls into a subtle smirk. To think she would ask such a question merely hours after her biological mother was booted out the house is both astounding and unsurprising. It’s partly from her poor relationship with the woman and how she was charmed by you moments after your first encounter. A kind of love at first sight. Not unlike how most men succumb to your allure — yet differing from lust. Instead, Sohee has developed a familial affection towards you. But not everyone is as welcome as she is to the new change. “Did you have anything to do with this?” Yoongi asks you. A surprise that he’s stepped out of his bedroom for some sunlight. Or perhaps to find answers. You hum, continuing to place the stack of books back onto the shelf in the living room. “Maybe.” His cat-like eyes are focused, pierced into you with a kind of intensity that would make anyone sweat. But you aren’t anyone. “What are your plans? Is it the inheritance? The status? Namjoon’s money—” “Neither.” Finished with your task, you move to the kitchen. But Yoongi blocks the doorway, leaning against it and never moving away. You stop, allowing your bodies to press together, testing as to who will give in first. Yet, he never once yields. Wavers. You’re close enough that he can feel your hot breath against his skin and as his jaw clamps, your pupils flicker down to his pouty mouth. Against his own will, his eyes mimic yours. They follow to your own lips. And you smirk. It’s a heated moment and then you brush away from the sharp-witted man. // For a short while, there’s a mirage that the game has several winners. But the instant gratification comes with consequences and there is only one ultimate victor. “I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t work in these conditions. With the madam gone, it’s just too hard for me. I…” Ms. Yoo shakes her head tearfully, a wrinkled hand placed over her chest where her heart is. “I’ve spent decades working in this house, master Kim, and I think it’s time I retire and spend some time with my grandchildren.” Namjoon stares out the window, unable to work, unable to move. His frustration overwhelms him. “I won’t force you to stay, Ms. Yoo. Sohee and Jaesun will miss you, but you’ve done a lot for my family and I. We couldn’t thank you enough for your dedication and hard work over the years.” He is calm and she bows her head before retreating. You catch her in the corridor and she takes your hands, squeezing them and wishing you the best of luck with a sweet smile. After Ms. Yoo leaves, you wipe your hands against your collared dress. You knock on the grandiose doors. “Get out.” Disregarding his command, you enter anyway. Namjoon is disgruntled, seated behind his desk in his leather chair, a finished glass of whiskey discarded on the side. His hands are clasped together, elbows propped on the surface and he leans his head on his fingers. “What don’t you understand? Leave!” But you approach him until you can press your hands on the edge of his desk and lean forward. The once powerful man established in his wealth looks up at you, dark circles deepening, the wrinkle between his brows made permanent. He stares at you as if you’re a fearsome curse, a bothersome pest, a fiend. And you have to resist the delicious smirk that tickles your lips. “You did this to me,” he mutters, simmering in animosity. “You destroyed me.” You round the oak furniture and plop down onto his lap. Before he can shove you off, you grab his hair from the back of his head, letting the strands thread through your fingers, and you pull. He groans, chin lifting up. “You were the one who made the decision,” you tell him. “It’s you who became weak. You thought about me and even now, you still want me.” The edge of your mouth tilts and you watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat before you lean in, whispering in his ear, “You can’t stop thinking about me, can you, Namjoon?” “You’re a vixen.” “Oh, I’m much more than that.” You end up sinking to your knees and taking him to the back of your throat. He cums there, the taste salty and consistency thick — a kind of bitterness that you’ve learnt to find savoury. And Namjoon cums again in your tight cunt when you’re bent over his desk and he’s pounding into you, fucking you hard enough to feel his anger and for your ass to bruise against his pelvis. “N-Namjoon, it feels so good.” “Shut the fuck up, slut.” He sweats at his hairline, holding your hips and jostling you around as he chases his own release. You look across the room to the family portrait above the mantle and smirk to yourself. “I-I’ll spank your cunt again.” He couldn’t even scold you. He couldn’t blame you for ruining his marriage. You have him wrapped around your finger. // The photograph captured a moment of Namjoon holding newborn Jaesun, Yijin smiling with her arm looped around Sohee who was only eleven at the time. They’re in front of the house with Ms. Yoo beside them wearing a grin. She remembers that day, the family barbecue outside, the laughter and joyous atmosphere. Yet now, Ms. Yoo only sighs to herself and packs the framed picture into her duffle bag. “You’re still here?” Your voice nearly startles the old woman to death. She jumps and turns around, finding you at the doorway. “Yes, I was just finishing up. I didn’t realize I had so many belongings. I guess this is what thirty years gives you.” Ms. Yoo takes a gander around the room, what was her home, then to you. She never once notices Namjoon’s cum dripping down your thigh from your messy and puffed center that still delightfully aches. “I’m going to miss this place.” “Or you could always stay.” Not wanting to waste any more time, you take three strides and your mouth presses against hers. The older woman is shocked, eyes widened at your kiss, but you inhale. She goes limp against you. Her soul taken right from her. And Ms. Yoo collapses to the ground. You shudder at the taste, at how your guts coil inwards. It’s terribly bland. Her soul isn’t half of what it takes to satisfy you. Not like you’re surprised. As a succubus who’s meant to entice mortal men, male souls are the desirable ones. You wait for Taehyung to come pick up the corpse, but he never shows up and you curse him. He always finds a way to show his face and steal the good souls away from you, satisfying his own appetite and leaving the scraps left for you. But when it comes to souls that are bland to you and therefore bland to him, suddenly he has no business manifesting himself. You kick Ms. Yoo’s lifeless body and having no other options, you roll her heavy body with the rectangular carpet. You start sweating as you heave her up. But with enough effort, you manage to stuff her in the closet and shut the doors. Someone will deal with that later. // It’s amusing. Namjoon does everything within his power to act like nothing’s changed. That nothing’s happened and he isn’t missing his wife or housekeeper in his home. He grabs onto any semblance of normalcy, perhaps to cope with the changes of the past twenty four hours. He calls for dinner to be set at the usual time and you’re thankful Ms. Yoo made sure the fridge was stocked up before she was to leave. All you do is slap the container food into bowls and heat them in the microwave before setting the table as you usually do. The entire family gathers around the table — Sohee, Jaesun, Namjoon and even Yoongi. “Y/N will be joining us for dinner,” Namjoon suddenly announces as you set down the last bowl. Your brow raises and Yoongi’s eyes round but no one questions it. Not even Jaesun who often throws tantrums. The kid merely pouts. Never once lifting his spoon of rice into his mouth, putting on a defiant act, but you don’t care. If the brat wants to starve, he can starve. You sit down beside Namjoon, across from Yoongi and diagonal to Sohee. It’s tense at the table, the silence suffocating those around it. But you settle in comfortably and even pass some side dishes directly into Sohee’s bowl that you know she likes. Her eyes flicker up to you and a tiny smile tugs on her face. “Thank you.” Namjoon clears his throat and looks to his brother. “You were working on editing a science textbook, right?” “Biology,” Yoongi answers shortly. “For grade eight students.” “And how is that coming along?” They continue their conversation, making some small talk and you chew in your cheek while your foot lifts underneath the table. Your leg stretches and it grazes along the leg of the man across from you. Yoongi immediately freezes. His brown eyes pool close to black and he glares. But you don’t let up, stroking the inside of his leg as you eat and look away from him. Yoongi pushes away. You scoot yourself forward. He tries not to draw attention to himself. Asked another question, he gives half a mind to responding. Your toes slowly travel up to his thighs and then they tickle and twitch against his crotch. Yoongi’s breath staccatos. No one knows that you’re playing footsies with Yoongi underneath the table. That you can feel the way he hardens against his sweatpants. “What game do you think you’re playing?!” he harshly whispers after dinner when the two of you are away from the others. Yoongi corners you, his good looks sadly marred by his twisted expression. You blink, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?” But the little act doesn’t faze him. You knew it wouldn’t work the second you met the man. “I know you have something to do with Yijin leaving.” “I didn’t do anything, Yoongi.” You grab his shoulders, pulling him closer until his body is pressed against yours and you grin, breath skimming along his neck. “The dominoes were already in place long before I came here. You know that too. I just needed to give it a little push,” you exhale the word and he can’t stop himself from swallowing hard. From staring at you. He eventually musters enough self-control to push you away and leave. You turn the corner, the darkness enveloping the corridor and bringing a sort of eeriness. But it might just be from Taehyung who you find leaning against the wall. His arms are crossed and he’s smirking. “Aren’t you having a little too much fun, peach?” “This is the best part.” You loll your head to one side. “Sometimes playing with your food before you eat it makes it much more appetizing.” He laughs, chuckling from his chest and the sound tinkles. “I taught you well.” Taehyung pushes himself off the surface and as he passes by you, he taps your butt. He disappears seconds later, leaving you on your lonesome to keep playing. // Everything is falling into place. It’s like you’re playing chess without an opponent, simply arranging your pawns as you’d like on the board. But because of how effortless and simple it is, it’s easy to get bored. One day you’re waking up to a blaring alarm clock and slaving after the whims of humans as their servant and the next, you wake beside Namjoon in the master bedroom, having taken the madam’s place. You slept on her sheets, on her pillow, beside her husband. There’s nothing fun about it anymore once you’ve won. You roll over to straddle Namjoon’s hips, placing his morning wood right under your center. He’s shaken awake by the movement and groans, rough hands instinctively coming to grab your ass. “W-What time is it?” his voice is still thick with sleep and you smile devilishly, rubbing your clit through your silk slip that barely covers your nipples. Your pink cunt is still swollen from last night’s endeavours, but you think one last one ought to be enough. You won’t miss his cock after this. “You were dreaming about me, weren’t you, Namjoon?” you whisper and before he can respond, your hands reach out, wrapping around his neck. He’s completely at your mercy. The man slowly blinks awake, coming to consciousness and a staggering exhale leaves his mouth as you position the bulborous head of his shaft to your folds. He mumbles something about how insatiable you are and lightly chuckles. But Namjoon should consider himself lucky. It’s not often you let the same human fuck you three times. He pounds into you, hips lifting off the mattress. The stretch of your pussy is rather pleasing, but with the repetitiveness, your mind wanders and your hands around his neck tighten. You cut off Namjoon’s airway and his eyes slam shut with a loud groan. You can practically feel his cock twitch inside of you. Unfortunately, the man loses it all too soon. It’s a bit amateurish for someone as experienced and punishing as he is, but you don’t blame him. Well...only a little as you lean down and capture your mouth with Namjoon’s before inhaling sharply. Out of the three times you spread your legs for him and the numerous times you let his cum leak out of your pussy and drip down your thighs, he only made you cum once. It’s kind of sad. Selfish. Once you’re done with him, he falls back. You hum to yourself as you climb off the man’s used dick and move to the vanity across the luxurious bedroom. You freshen up and pin up your hair, allowing a few strands to frame your face. After you’re satisfied, you grab Yijin’s shawl to cover your top half and you stride down the hall to Yoongi’s door. He’s at his desk as usual, red pen in hand, crouched over a stack of papers. But the curtains aren’t drawn, allowing the bright sunlight through his modest room. “Mornin’.” He turns around, brow raised, eyeing how you’re leaning against the door frame, casually greeting him in spite of being dressed in a measly scrap of fabric. “What are you doing?” You quirk your head. “Something we should’ve done a long time ago.” “And what is that?” “Hmmm, I think you know, Yoongi.” You flick a piece of dirt from underneath your fingernail. “Let’s not drag this on for any longer than we have to.” You stay ambiguous and he maintains an impassive expression. But his stoicness has no effect to deter you when you smile and approach him slowly. “You know, I was once like you. Complacent. Quiet. A little like Sohee too, maybe even more naive than she is right now.” “Once?” “A long time ago,” you hum. “I was going to get married to a bad, bad man until I became liberated.” You come close enough to grab a fistful of his hair at the back of his head. His head tilts upwards when you tug, powerless to your enchantment. “It’s okay to give in, Yoongi,” you whisper against his skin. “It’s okay to be selfish and indulgent. You’ve done so well up to now.” “What makes you think I’ll sleep with my brother’s mistress?” he asks in a harsher tone. “The whore that ruined his entire family.” You laugh. “That’s not very nice.” “But isn’t it the truth?” “It is. But I’m supposed to be irresistible to men. Your restraint is impressive, Yoongi, but it’s only natural that you give into your primitive needs or at least be honest with yourself. You dream about me, don’t you?” The ongoing silence makes your grin widen and your eyes glimmer in the morning sunlight. “You’ve fantasized about me a lot. You want me.” You lower yourself, hooded eyes connected with his. Your hair is messy, yet not in a disoriented way from sleeping. Yoongi smell it on you too — the sweat and musty scent. “You fucked my brother.” “And I can fuck you too.” You surge forward, capturing his mouth with your own. It’s different. Languid with the soft caresses of tongue, his lips not chapped but puffy. The kiss is slow and lazy. Not eager like Jungkook but not as rough as Namjoon. Yoongi sighs, savouring and truly enjoying it, and it’s something you lean into. You match his speed and rhythm and once you pull away, his eyes are hazy. Yoongi pants, swallowing hard. “Who...are you?” “Secret,” you sing-song and pull him towards you. The two of you nearly fall to the floor, though his bed is close enough in his small room that you collide against the mattress. The man hovers over you and you hold his arms in a vice grip. Cocking your head to the side, you giggle. “This is fun, isn’t it?” “You’re a heathen.” “Not quite, but close enough.” You grin and kiss him again. It feels good to. Not long after that, you’re beneath him and he’s bare, quiet without a single moan. His cock draws deep into you leisurely, languid rolls that’s not necessarily chasing for an end but relishing in the pleasure. “I was never going to fuck you,” Yoongi murmurs. “Even if I wanted to.” You pout. “Why not?” “Because I have dignity and respect for myself.” You scoff. “Guess you lost all that.” “No. I still do.” His voice is husky around the edges. “But if I give you what you want, maybe I’ll understand your intentions better.” The corner of your mouth curls and your hips lift to meet Yoongi’s. You squeeze around him just to tease. “And what do you think my intentions are?” “I-I still don’t know yet.” He sweats, hips sped up and then keeps a constant rhythm. “Why do you do the things that you do? Why did you try to tear this house apart? Gain Sohee’s favour.” Yoongi’s brown eyes pierce into you. He’s a perceptive man. “You don’t love Namjoon. I don’t think you loved Jungkook either.” “Jungkook?” “He would’ve never left like that out of his own free will.” “You’re smart,” you coo affectionately and run your hands through his fluffy hair. It’s such a shame he’s just a mortal. “I promise you’ll know by the end of this, Yoongi.” Another minute passes and Yoongi pulls out. You watch as he pumps himself thrice and finishes on your stomach with a quiet grunt, cum painting all over your flesh. You’re about to grab his shoulder to kiss him, but he parts your thighs and lowers himself. His mouth attaches to your cunt, forcing his wet tongue inside your used hole and he eats you out, licking at the juices that leak out of you. But he remains meticulous and careful, drawing unrestrained moans from your lungs. “S-So good…” Yoongi works you up until you feel hot all over your body and your hands have sunk into his head of hair, threading through the strands. As if that wasn’t enough, he sucks on your clit and inserts his index into your walls. He sinks deep and curls the finger against the perfect spot. Your back arches and you cum all over his tongue. He lets you ride it out against the stiff muscle and his plush lips before he’s lifting himself up, revealing all of your slick that’s coated his mouth and chin. “Thank you,” you pant, chest heaving. You gaze at Yoongi with heavy lids and you sit up. “I’ll give you the answer to your questions. Who I am. Why I’m here.” You cradle his cheeks in your palms and you lean forward. Yoongi’s eyes droop and he kisses you back, softly and deeply. You keep it slow too, savouring the taste of yourself on his palette and then, when the moment is right, you inhale. His lids open slightly, feeling himself weaken. Yoongi’s not sure if it’s from exhaustion, but as your kiss continues, his surroundings blurs more. He groans at the back of his throat, wanting to pull away, but without having the strength to. The world around him darkens. His consciousness lasts three seconds afterwards. Enough to realize you’re a monster. Yoongi’s body falls back onto the mattress. His soul has been consumed by you and as tasty as it was, you’re a bit regretful. You pull the plush blanket up to give him some modesty and you ruffle your fingers through his bangs. “Truthfully, I liked you the best in this house.” The sadness lasts another second before you’re humming and climbing off the bed. The job is finally done and you roll your shoulders, walking out the room. As you do so, your exterior finally sheds of your human disguise into your true form. While your face remains the same, your lips redden and your hair becomes luscious and longer, draping your backside. The white, silk slip morphs to a dress in the blinding shade of crimson. It hugs your body, from the dip of your waist to the swell of your breasts. And at the crown of your head, two small horns manifest. Downstairs, Taehyung is standing on the porch. He turns as you join his side and smirks. “About time you finished, peach.” He’s been watching Jaesun. The five year old is running around the backyard underneath the sun and flinging around the toys his wealthy parents got for him. He’s completely oblivious to the situation and unquestioning to Taehyung’s presence. Taehyung is the tamer of all brats after all. “Didn’t you say I could take my time to have fun?” “I think you’ve been having too much fun.” The corner of your reddened lips pull. “I don’t think so.” “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself though.” He lolls his head over and grabs a hold of your chin. Taehyung leans himself down to your height and comes forward for an invasive kiss. Without warning, he licks into your mouth and you moan helplessly, completely at his mercy. Taehyung’s tongue is sticky as he tastes you, calm yet impatient. It’s a pleasant kind of intimacy as he steals your breath. But when he starts to inhale deep, you bite him. Taehyung pulls back with a grin, the bottom of his lip split slightly. You pout. “You should at least give me some. I worked hard for those souls, you know.” He gives you a look. “Did you really?” “More work than usual,” you bite back. A black cat mewls at Jaesun. The kid swivels his head over, fascination growing as the feline hops from the fence to the grass gracefully as if inviting him to play. The cat has a short but luscious coat and its tail curls, green eyes wide. Jaesun instantly drops the ball he’s holding. His greedy hands extend and he follows the cat behind some bushes. There’s a flash of bright light and Jimin stretches himself out from his feline form. He cracks his bones and leans over, interrupting your conversation. “Thanks for the kid, Tae.” Taehyung waves. “No problem, Chim.”

Sohee wakes up to a silent house. There’s a strangeness in the air, a certain uneasy feeling in her body, but she dresses herself and continues her morning. It’s when the peace is ongoing that she searches for people, for her father first. She screams when she discovers Namjoon on the bed lifeless. No matter how much she shakes him or calls out his name, he never moves or twitches. He doesn’t breathe. The girl cries and runs to her uncle for help. But he, too, isn’t sleeping and isn’t resting like he appears to be. The man’s skin has gone cold, eyes shut tight, his lips pale. She cups a hand over her mouth, silencing a sob in the eerie house and she stumbles down the steps. There’s only one person left. One person to help her. And she sees you through the back door on the porch. Standing next to a tall man. Sohee’s confusion stops her tears while hiccups continue to wrack through her body. “W-Who are you?” The two of you turn at the sound of her voice. Taehyung grins. “Oh. Nice to see you again, little girl. Remember me?” Sohee’s eyes are swollen, cheeks stained with saltwater. Her body trembles as she grips the door frame. You coo at her, stepping forward with your arms open but she flinches. “W-What did you do to them?” You sigh, arms dropping to your side, yet your voice remains tender. “They got what they deserved, Sohee.” “W-W...h..at?” “They succumbed to their primitive desires and suffered the punishment for it.” “This is what you wanted, didn’t you?” Taehyung’s brow cocks and he smiles at her. “You were the one who summoned me here in the first place.” Confusion is marked across her visage — brows furrowed, mouth lopsided. But it was Sohee that called out to you and Taehyung. She was the one who began your assignment. She was the one who invited the pair of you into her home. Practically opened the door and ushered you in desperately. “All those nights of prayer, did you really think God would grant you such evil wishes to get rid of your family? You were praying to the devil, little girl.” Incubi and succubi like you and Taehyung need invitations to enter an abode. Yet Sohee handed the both of you that on a silver platter. Taehyung might’ve assigned the task to you, but it was a win-win. Not only could you grant her wish, but you could reap all the benefits by stealing the souls of her family members and indulging in their lust. “All those nights of wishing your mother would get hit by a car. That your brother would cease to exist. That your father would fail his business….” It was a victory from the start. You give Sohee a moment since it looks like she needs it. It’s understandably shocking. You were once in her position after all and just as surprised. But the realization seems to sink into her with the way her eyes widen. “I-I didn’t know this is what would happen!” “You wanted an escape from your life,” you say to her in excitement. There was one more benefit to this ordeal too — just as Taehyung has you, Sohee will become yours. “This is it, sweetheart.” If you didn’t know you would get such an endearing subordinate from all this, you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of it all. But ‘subordinate’ and ‘underling’ are such unpleasant words Taehyung uses. Sohee’s more like a little puppy for you to love, mentor and show around. “Come with us.” You extend your hand, palm open to the sky. “We came all the way here for you.” Sohee looks at both you and him, brows furrowed, hesitation evident. “What will happen to me?” “You want to be like me, don’t you?” You smile at her along with Taehyung who remains patient. “I’ll take care of you and so will Taehyung. What else does this place have to offer you?” This is the true game of temptation. No one is ever forced into making a deal with the devil. It’s a choice. And one she takes. The girl lifts her arm, taking your hand. A bigger smile pulls on your features. And just like that, the three of you vanish together.

952 notes · View notes