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questioned-quetzalcoatl · 2 years ago

Text

Call me Satan, darling. Part 6

Rating: T

Parings: New Zealand/Tonga (Hetalia)

Characters: New Zealand, Tonga, Philippines, Finland, Denmark, others mentioned

Variation: Demon/Human AU

Summary: When Kainga, an exchange student from Tonga, travels to New Zealand for his studies, he expects all to go well. It does. All except getting hit by a car by Satan himself, who also happens to be his seductive roommate. Kainga finds himself slowly falling for the devil after his declaration of love. Because nothing truly says ‘I love you’ more than being run off the road by a rusty old Ute. Also available on AO3 and WATTPAD!

Contents: [Chapter 1]

[Chapter 2]

[Chapter 3]

[Chapter 4]

[Chapter 5]

[Chapter 6]

[Chapter 7]

[Chapter 8]

[Chapter 9]

[[Slight NSFW warning for this chapter at the end! It's fairly quick and adds literally nothing so feel free to skip.]]

AN: Hello friends! We're more than half-way through this fic! (Give or take a few chapters I'm sure sure how much I want to write ;v;) This is my biggest fic yet so thank you to all you wonderful readers enjoying my work. I plan to have another fic and make this a series but I'll see how much willpower and time I have to do that. But I have some ideas I'd really like to expand on and maybe a bit of lore for this au!!! I'll leave it open, my sleep schedule is practically non-existent anyways. qwq

This is where the story starts to get on track a little. Apologies if it's been a little slow running up until now. Thank you for having patience with me!! uvu;

Some extra characters in this chapter! Here are their names incase anyone gets confused!

Densen - Denmark Piri - Philippines Tino - Finland And of course James - New Zealand Kainga - Tonga

---

Months had passed and it had been an unnerving amount of time since Kainga had last seen the King of Hell. He was out of his crutches; now walking freely with a thin cast around his right foot and lower leg just for safety reasons, however it felt more like a thick sock than anything.

These months had been very peaceful, spending most of his time at the University library. The cross sat heavily on his chest like a holy restraining order as he wandered through rows of book shelves, Kainga lightly running his fingers across the covered spines. Volumes crammed the shelves, all sizes and colors. The oldest ones sat on the highest shelf, out of reach of the younger student’s sticky hands. Scripted gold lettering, faint as breath, could still be seen along the spines. One can drown in the ocean of tranquility; the whole aura of space is as peaceful as nature. Long stretching room full of piles of information captured in the pages is truly mesmerizing. Kainga loved to read, a great library like this was his paradise. Trailing his fingertips along to try and find the book he was looking for, amazingly keeping his balance while holding another heavy stack of books in his other hand as well as his laptop. Reading glasses placed comfortably on the bridge of his nose, scanning for the book he needed.

He didn't know how long he was looking in the maze of the Literature section but he was far from the main corridors where the light hit the books at the front. It was as if the back rows laid untouched like a still creature, encouraging those brave enough to find the knowledge it held in the dim light of its lair. Nothing can ever replace the authenticity and reliability one gets from a library, Kainga enjoyed nothing more.

A thought lingered in the back of his mind however as he took another book from the shelf, a lot like a broken track record. With every turn around a bend he half expected James's stupid face and badly worn suit to appear. To start constantly bothering him and calling him stupid pet names as if they were just your average couple. Kainga noticed that James hadn't made an appearance since he started wearing the cross around his neck. He wasn't sure if that was the case, but the thing unbelievably heavy. Or perhaps that was just the guilt he had which was weighing him down. The fact he even felt guilty was enough to make himself angry. Why on earth did he feel guilty? He murmured to himself under the hiss of a breath as he caught sight of a book by James Johonnot. It seemed that wretched devil was everywhere now, tormenting him subtly to his breaking point.

"God why does it have to be him? I swear everywhere I look it's just James! Bloody James. James. Jame-"

There's a loud bang like a gunshot next to where he was stood. A loud slur of profanity swallowed up by the dreaded and familiar red tinted smoke and the solid sound of a body dropping to the floor, followed by a loud groan of pain.

Kainga didn't exactly scream but he's not exactly quiet either. It's more of a distressed strain of a yelp as he dropped the pile of books and his laptop out of fright. Papers flying in various directions. Typical. The library floor goes even more quiet for a second with other students wondering what on earth made that noise. Kainga is quick to quiet himself by holding his palm against his mouth to stop the burning embarrassment of the grueling stares through the book shelves, ones he could not see but knew were there. There's silence before a soft ray of whispers under their breaths that turns back to average study chatter. Kainga let out a breathless heave and looked down at James who had now sat up and was rubbing his head.

"James?! Where the hell did you come from?!" He snapped angrily at him, going to pick up his books. James shot him a just as confused look and handed him a book.

"What do you mean by that?! You're the one who summoned me! Maybe a simple 'Hello' or I don't know even a 'How are you today James?' would be nice after you just dragged me from where I was comfortably sat!" He snapped back at him, standing up and brushing some kind of crumbs off of his suit. Kainga stared up at him, taking the book from his devilish grip.

"Summon you? I didn't summon you! At least I didn't mean to!"

James sighed.

"Do you not know how to summon a demon?! Have you seen any of the movies?! You say the name three times!" he expressed in disbelief.

"Yeah I have! It's Hollywood bullshit, I didn't know it actually worked! Besides it's not like I wanted you to come here anyways you're like a bull in a china store!"

"So you've been avoiding me?"

"Well...yes? But no...I...It's complicated...wait I never said that?"

"Well that indicates it..." James pointed rather accusingly at the crucifix draped over his shoulders. That just made Kainga feel worse, due to his tone he was clearly upset about it. He swallowed thickly as the cross got heavier. James continued on. "I just wanted to come and see you, you've been really hard to find. After all you chose to hide yourself in the biggest and most comprehensive University in the country."

"I haven't been hiding from you James. I've just been trying to focus on the reason I'm actually here. This is my only chance of a good education!" he stacked the pile of books back into his arm. There was one left, a large leather cover laying face down on the carpet. James looked at it and bent down to pick it up for him.

"Well we can arrange times! I know you're probably mad at me for the other date but I was hoping we coul- OW SHIT!!!"

James was instantly cut off as soon as his fingers came into contact with the book, picking it up before dropping it like a hot ember. A loud sizzling noise like he was physically burnt by it. Kainga looked at him in shock, smelling the awful odor of burnt flesh. James stood hunched, cradling his burnt fingers.

"J-James?! What happened are you alrigh-" he cut himself off and stared down at the book. James had managed to flip it back over when he dropped it. The gold text on the front read out what Kainga had feared the most.

The Holy Bible.

Both Kainga and James stared down at it. Kainga bit his lip. Shit. Shit. SHIT! He forgot he had picked that up. It was really a bad look for him. He stood with his heart pounding as he scrambled to pick it up. Half of the back cover had been burnt off and some of the back pages were hanging on by the thread of the inner spine. What was a few seconds seemed like forever as they both stood in a deep silence. Kainga finally mustered up courage to explain himself, he could clearly tell James was beyond angry at him.

"James..."

"Y'know what. I'll just go."

"What?! No it's not like that! I promise! James I'm studying Literatur-."

"Kainga. I said I'm going. You clearly don't fucking want me here so what's the bloody point? First the cross now this?!" he pointed accusingly at him, snarling almost. Kainga flinched, smacking his pointing hand away.

"For godsakes just let me explain myself! You're so fucking selfish you know! If you wanna go then leave, fuck off! I don't care!"

James's face contorted into a more saddened expression. Oh god here comes that fucking guilt again.

"You don't...?"

Kainga went quiet for a while. Nervously shuffling around with his blood running colder every second he was in his presence. Second guessing himself as he always seemed to do when James had something to do with it. James's raging flame of anger had seemed to be extinguished when the Tongan didn't answer him. Kainga could practically hear the sizzle, see the smoke arise, see the darkness flee from his eyes. He frowned.

"I do. James. But you can't keep going on like this."

"Like what?"

"Appearing out of nowhere at the worst times. Maybe I don't want to stop seeing you but maybe there's times I need for myself."

"Are you mad at me about the date?"

"The date has nothing to do with this. I actually had a rather decent time. I realized I forgot to thank you...so...thank you, James."

James chuffed and shrugged a little, placing his hands in either pocket. He couldn't help but grin moronically, blushing like he was rather proud of himself.

"It's...really no problem. I also had a good time..." James hesitated, glancing surreptitiously down at Kainga, a sly sheepishness coating over his face. "Would you like to go on another one maybeee...?"

His answer was clear no matter how hard you looked, he was basically as readable as the books he held. The devils hopeful grin coaxed with the fact it was a tender moment between the two. Not one that involved any kind of Ute or stink of fish but one Kainga found himself not wanting to ring the New Zealander's neck for once.

"Maybe I will, James. But not now, I have exams. Give me a week or two. We can arrange something then."

James smiled brightly at him, like his face illuminated with delightfulness despite how idiotic he may have looked. Kainga could've kissed him, frankly a part of him wanted to. Half out of curiosity but his hands were full. So he bid James goodbye and took off to the main study hall in the library. He looked back just once and James was gone. Like he had retreated into the subdued shadows of the back rows of shelves like a ghost.

---

Back studying at his desk had become the norm for Kainga. Despite most of the students walking around, it was surprisingly quiet. A very peaceful aroma where Kainga had surrounded himself with his small group of friends he'd met on campus. One in particular he'd become very close friends with was a Filipino student, Piri. Sure he liked the other people in their small group but Piri was the one he trusted the most. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to spill his whole Satan situation to him, having to make up a excuse for his random disappearance. After a small while of studying, Piri spoke up, taking off his headphones and resting them beside him.

"These exams are really making me tired Kai...I've got yet another one to sit through tomorrow."

Kainga looked over at him.

"Really? Didn't you just sit one?"

"Yeah, last week. No rest for us Physiology students, it's hard to keep on top of everything." Piri bit his lip, looking back down at his work. "Oh. That's what I wanted to ask you. Densen is busy with his exams right now, could I borrow your library card? I left mine back at the flat." He asked, starting to pack his laptop back into his bag as well as his other supplies. Kainga smiled.

"Of course. I hardly ever use it anyways." he fumbled around with his lanyard for a bit, unhooking it and handing the Filipino the library card. "How is Densen by the way? It's been a while since I've seen him."

Piri took the card and thanked him. "Densen? Oh yeah he's been very busy. Hey I'll see if he's free this afternoon, Tino as well. We can go down to the University café down near campus. That is if you're not busy..."

Kainga pondered the idea for a bit. Maybe a moment with just his friends would take his mind off a few things. Specifically off James. Especially off James. He looked around the library, as if someone was watching him make this decision. James wasn't still watching him was he?

Piri looked at him oddly.

"Kai? Is everything alright?"

Kainga snapped back to him like he was awoken from a daydream.

"Oh! Right sorry...yeah I'll be there! What time should I be there?"

Piri thought for a while.

"Meet us down there at two. I'll ask everyone now in advance."

Kainga stood up to follow Piri to the printer to help him with his printing and to get his card back when he was finished. He had some assignments to print off too. He doesn't notice he's left his things in the library, he also doesn't notice James watching his spot from afar.

James wasn't peculiarly fond of his friends. Not like he'd met them personally, but he didn't like the fact they were around HIS queen. He didn't like Piri being around Kainga, or the fact Densen made the Tongan blush on occasion. Which made his possessive blood boil whenever he saw it. That was HIS job, not some mortals. He snarled a little even at the very thought of it. James slumped over to his work space, half hidden under his desk. He started to rummage through his work. What on earth was more important than him? Some papers? He scoffed at a few hand-written essays.

James was flicking through his files. Hardly anything of interest to him.

It was all going well.

That's when he smelt the burning.

He sniffed, catching the scent of the small fire that has started at the spade of his tail. Like flint to steel his tail must've caught on the wooden surface of one of the desk legs, causing it to catch alight. Shit. Shit. Shit!

James sprang up from the desk, grabbing Kainga's stuff in a messy pile in his arms. The smoke started to rise and the smell got more pungent. James began to panic, holding up the Tongan's things as he desperately attempted to put out the growing flames, only succeeding in making it spread across the carpet. He'd garnered the attention of other students. A panic spread faster than the fire.

First a scream. Then more screams.

Then the fire alarm. The loud ringing that echoed across the building, deafening anyone who'd come to enjoy their peace in the library.

Then rain.

Most of the students had evacuated the building by now. Only James remained. Still holding Kainga's stuff. Face to face with a drenched and murderous Kainga, standing in front of him as he scowled at the Devil twice his size. James felt himself shrink a little. The fire alarm continued to blare across the campus grounds, the fire itself had been put out.

James very sheepishly looks away from him as Kainga's stare bares into his skin like a laser of disappointment and anger, almost in disbelief. His stare was the personification of nails on a chalkboard, or a fork being scrapped onto a plate. He's rather surprised he can even feel how angry he was, considering half of Kainga's face was covered by his dark curly and now very wet hair. He pushed some back out of his eyes, making a wet squelching noise as he wiped the rest of the water off his face.

"I uhh...got your stuff...Managed to save your laptop and most of the books. Erm... Some of yer papers set on fire but I got what I could." James murmured quietly handing him the pile of his things wrapped in his black coat. "It should be somewhat dry too."

The rain and alarm finally stopped as they were both left extremely damp. Kainga's whole body dripping with it.

"You set the library on fire." Kainga hissed angrily.

"Almost. Set it on fire." he corrected him. "And I DID save your stuff."

Kainga grumbled, snatching his things off of James. His glare didn't lessen as he shoved the things in his bag, handing him back his coat.

"Thanks."

James whimpered a little, knowing too well he was very much in the wrong. Kainga could kiss him, despite how angry he was at him, he did save his stuff. The fact James's hurt expression showed the Devil knew he was wrong, it almost made him seem human. Kainga started to give more human qualities to him, he did look the part at least. Perhaps it was an accident, maybe he'd never know. But in that moment to grabbed James's tie and wrapped it around his wrist. Yanking James down towards him, this accompanied with the fact Kainga still had to stand on his tippy toes to even get anywhere near his stupid face, that was caught completely off guard.

What Kainga intended to be a peck ended up going south as their lips met somewhere in the middle. James's eyes widened in shock, wasting no time in wrapping his arms around his waist. He didn't mind the neck crane to reach him. Kainga instantly starting to regret his decision when James pulled him in just a little bit closer to his body. He aborted mission, quickly pulling away while heavily flushed. His hand resting on James's chest. God he was an idiot. Regardless, he'd just kissed the Devil. Surprisingly, it wasn't even bad. Once Kainga pulled away he gasped for air like he was having a heart attack, James of course wouldn't know any different as there was hardly any space between them. Must've been the burning sensation his rough lips gave him. He softly stopped panting and looked back up at him. It was clear James was forgiven by the downright goofy grin James possessed on his face; Kainga only catching a glimpse of it when he pulled away.

"I'm sorry about that..." James finally apologized, lifting the weight from his voice.

Kainga sighed, throwing his bag back over his shoulder, his gaze had softened as he looked back at James.

"Thank you for apologizing, James. I'll...see you soon."

James was far too giddy about the fact they just kissed. As well as the fact he didn't initiate it. Kainga smiled gently, giving his cheek another kiss as he walked by him, somewhat reluctantly but it felt nice.

"See you soon~" James swooned after him.

Kainga laughed.

---

There was a shuffle of the burnt paper as Kainga sprawled the parchments out on the table. All their edges and sides lightly burnt as the bits of paper crumbled off the cinder. He nervously wiped some of the embers off of the café table. Densen gave him a strange look from the other side as he sipped his coffee.

"So your work just...caught on fire? Just like that?"

Kainga looked at him almost suspiciously, sighing before shuffling the paper back into a neat pile by thumping them onto the table.

"Well yes, I suppose so. I think I sat next to a electrical outlet. Must've just short circuited or something."

Kainga was basically forced to come up with a lie to draw his friends away from the fact his Satanic, somewhat boyfriend had just set his work on fire. He clenched his teeth, nervously squirming in his seat. He prayed to whatever God there was that Densen wasn't fully aware of how electrical fires are caused. For now he just gave him a very incredulous look as he audibly swallowed. Luckily his story flew right over the Dane's head. Kainga sighed, his breath thickly lined with fear as he picked up the cup of tea he'd ordered. Unbeknownst to him, Densen was the least of his worries. He could only imagine the look on their faces when he told them he was dating the guy who put him in crutches the first time they met.

Unfortunately, Kainga was not very good at hiding secrets from people. Everything around him crashed when Piri came up to their table, ushering the words:

"Was that your boyfriend?"

Kainga instantly spat out his tea all over Densen. Choking on the hot liquid as he erupts in fits of coughs and splutters, trying to save what little of his tea he managed to keep in his cup. Densen sighed and started to wipe the tea off his face with a nearby napkin. Kainga gulped.

"Sorry..."

Densen merely huffed, cleaning himself completely and throwing the tea soaked napkin to the side. Piri with his other friend, Tino, behind him, excitedly sat down next to Kainga. Half pushing the poor Tongan against the wall as he slid up next to him. Piri's face glimmered with excitement at him, saying no words yet Kainga dreaded what he'd just seen. He knew what he'd seen and that made him want to curl up and die right there. Densen looked at them all oddly.

"Who's boyfriend?" The Dane questioned the trio all at once.

Tino chirped in, his mouth full of a chocolate roll. "Kainga's boyfriend! Piri saw him kissing someone in the library! After the fire alarm went off."

Densen's mouth gaped as he stared at Kainga. "HE WHAT?!"

Kainga attempted to hide his face by holding his forehead. He supposed it wouldn't be long until his group caught onto him. He'd gathered all of their stares over the table as he quietly sipped on the rest of his tea, stalling on what to say.

"You didn't answer my question. Are you dating someone and keeping it from the group?" Piri asked him, getting impossibly close to his personal bubble. In fact, it was non existent at this point. It'd popped as soon as the Filipino opened his mouth.

Kainga wouldn't lie to himself, as much as he wanted to throw the rest of his hot tea into Piri's face in order to stop him from the influx of invasive questions he knew he was about to throw onto him. He knew he wasn't going to stop hounding him for details about his mysterious lover.

"Well...yes. Sort of. It's complicated. Very complicated."

"Oh?" Piri's eyes were so wide, Kainga could barely see past them. The stares of his friends made Kainga shrink a little into his merino sweater. He swallowed and continued.

"You know...the first time we all met I was in crutches? I told you all I'd been hit by a car. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah I do. What about it?"

"Well." Kainga paused, almost for dramatic effect. It was mainly to calm his nerves, keeping his friends on edge. "I'm kind of dating, well not really dating. More like seeing. I'm seeing the guy that....ran me over."

Suddenly silence.

Kainga could practically hear all of their reactions echoing off of their faces. His eyes scrunched up tightly before they opened slightly to see three overly astonished faces glaring at him. The sounds of the café around them being the only sound to be heard as Kainga felt the overbearing sense of dread that washed over him once more.

Piri was the most awestruck one.

"You're...dating the guy that almost killed you?!"

"Yeah and get this. The nutjob thinks he's Satan."

Kainga was really treading on eggshells. Careful with his predetermined wording to not spill that James was ACTUALLY Satan. Piri sits back, his jaw basically on the floor at this point. Like his soul had left his body.

Tino took it as an opportunity to speak up.

"You have very questionable taste in your men..."

"Tino, not now." Densen mumbles hotly to the Finnish boy next to Piri. Kainga wasn't going to keep this secret intact, looking at them all as he finished his tea. Densen's coffee had gone cold beside him. All of their concerned and shocked expressions made Kainga groan, perhaps it was worse than he imagined. It also made him double take his entire relationship with James at this point. Was he really insane for going through with this? Again with the second guessing.

Kainga barely escaped that conversation. He found himself repeating himself with all the questions Piri, Densen and Tino shot at him like a gun. They just kept coming. Barely giving them half the story, they were mainly beyond themselves with him. It was mainly Piri to hound him with questions until he was on the floor crying. What made it worse was he walked home with him as they lived in the same apartment building on campus. They usually walked home together, watching the viridescent trees that lined the Campus streets shrivel up and crisp into their autumn bloom.

Misty dew covers the entire surface of the field as they pass, Auckland almost transformed from it's burning Summers to it's cooler Autumns. Autumn slowly weaves its way in and leaves a stain of brilliant color in its wake. Kainga and Piri stepped on the ground that was covered with a blanket of colorful leaves that had fallen from the trees like snow, leaving some branches almost bare. Various other trees possessing vibrant sunset like colored leaves that dangled from their branches like giant hanging bats. The dead leaves crunching below them and the significantly cooler air around them really made it feel like Autumn. On this autumn day the foliage above could be his infinite dreams of scarlet and gold, playful in the soft light, colors ignited for all who care to see. They are the candles of the daylight, these trees that bring their art to their world, their branches taking root in the sky.

Kainga adjusted his scarf as Piri was rambling on about something. Frankly the Tongan had stopped listening a while ago.

"Kai?! Hey are you even listening to me?!"

"What? Oh yeah I am. Sorry just lost in thought."

"You're thinking about that Satan guy aren't you?"

Kainga shot him a dismayed look from the judgmental side-eye he gave him. Giving his now red hued nose a rub before nestling it into his scarf.

"No. In fact he's the last thing I want to think about. He infuriates me."

"If he infuriates you why do you date him?"

"Piri I ask myself that everyday..." he laughed lightly. "I'm not here to fuck spiders, or devils for that matter. I just want to get my education, then go home."

Piri frowned a little. "So you're not staying here?"

Kainga shook his head.

"I don't need to. Once I graduate this will be all over and I can go back home. That's my plan and I'm gonna stick to it."

"What about your whole dating Satan situation? Are you going to break it off with him?"

Kainga goes quiet for a while after reaching the front door of his apartment building. He could feel the warmth of the indoor heater from inside as he shuffled around in his coat pocket for his keys.

"He's not actually Satan. The dumbass just claims to be him..." He announced through rather gritted teeth. "...and frankly I'm still thinking about it. He's insane yes, but give him time and he's a genuinely nice guy. Or somewhat at least. I'll just see where it goes and pray I don't become some human sacrifice." he snorted a little and pulled out his keys at last. "You coming inside?"

Piri shrugged.

"Nah sorry. I've got another lecture. I'm taking a photography course, on top of all my Physiology. Told you I can hardly catch a break!" Piri smiled sweetly at him before pausing, his smile drooping a little at the corners of his mouth. "Just be careful would you?"

Kainga looked at him oddly. Why would he say that? Surely James wouldn't hurt him. Or at least hurt him that much...

"What do you mean by that?"

"That guy you're dating. He seems...odd...just be careful around him. I'm only looking out for you." Piri said, his demeanor coming off as very serious now. Kainga shifted nervously.

"Y-yeah...I will. Don't worry about me." he expressed in an attempt to draw away his friends concern. They said their goodbyes and Piri was off back down the road into campus. Kainga was left to stand there for a while. His faint breath drifted out from the wooly fabric of his scarf. As he headed inside, his mind started to spin. He even got a little dizzy as he reached the stairs up to his apartment. It was a voice. James's voice. Hushed yet cold. Hungrily husk in the way it drawls in his mind like a broken record. The crucifix getting so heavy it felt like he was carrying a boulder around his neck. Like his body would just collapse and fall straight through the stairs into the fiery pits of Hell awaiting him. He staggered, feeling like his throat was about to rip out of his neck as if some dark creature of Hell was shredding him to pieces. Gnarling, thrashing blades that looked like the creatures teeth until he saw red. Like something was tearing away at his very existence. His humanity.

A panic attack.

The same few words James ushered to him on loop. Almost demanding.

"You trust me...don't you?"

---

James, surprisingly enough, does leave Kainga alone for another long period of time. For about a week or so. After Kaingas panic attack on the stairs, his mind would replay that same scene. A reoccurring dream he'd been having, the one he was currently having now. That same creature. It wasn't human. In fact far from it. It was a horrible looking beast. The exoskeleton of a large hound with dark red flesh wrapped around it's bones as if it'd grown on top of a corpse-like fungi. The creature had no eyes, just oozing muscles that'd contorted around its face and long grueling snout. Large carnivorous teeth that protruded from its mouth like large stalagmites in a cave, they lined the entire jaw of the creature, so much so that it was constantly salivating and looked as if it wasn't able to even close it's mouth.

It was the thing of nightmares. No matter how far or fast Kainga ran, he was running into nothing. No light at the end of the tunnel. Nothing. Surrounding darkness with a vague splash of thinly lined water below him. The hellish flesh creature chasing behind him, getting closer and closer. Attempting to swipe at him with the one obtruded claw that stuck out as longer than the rest. It'd always go for his heel, slicing at it until Kainga could run no more, his heel bleeding out as he was rendered unable to run away from it.

He'd scramble away. He'd scream until he choked as the creature devoured him. Slashing and gnawing at him with a horrendous low growl and snarl. His breath stolen away from the screaming and crying from the insufferable pain as the creature engulfed his flesh that was torn from his body like a piece of cooked meat. That awful feeling like he was falling yet his body remained in the same place.

Then a faint image, blurred almost beyond recognition to the naked eye, the eye that didn't know what the devil himself looked like. But he sure did. James reaching out to him. To help him? To grab him? Kainga still wasn't sure himself, he just knew it was James standing above him. He went to reach for him like he was his safety. Oh what a foolish mistake of a desperate man. Kainga's fingers barely scrapping the ashes atop of James's burning fingertips...

So close...

Everything went black.

A voice. James's voice. Called out and echoed in Kainga's blindness and pain...

"You trust me...don't you?"

Kainga woke as he did normally. Panting and damp with sweat, he'd awake screaming in pain, only to find the pain wasn't even there. It was as if the pain retreated from his body as soon as he awoke. It'd felt so real. Kainga wasn't even convinced it was a dream at this point. Some kind of sick hallucination or sleep paralysis caused by stress or James. No. James WAS his stress. He sat up right in his bed, sweating and heaving like he'd just run a marathon. His baggy shirt that he slept in was now drenched and saturated with his sweat that seeped through the fabric.

He grumbled under his breath, starting to wipe the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. He was dazed. What time was it? The sunlight of the morning gently caressed the edges of his curtains, giving his room a light amber hue. This morning he didn't smell the usual crispness of the morning, instead he smelt something cooking. Odd. Someone was cooking food. He hears a whistle of a song, one he can't quite make out, it was strangely familiar. He sleepily stumbled out of his room, resting against the doorframe to see who had stolen the use of his own kitchen from him. He pauses. His heart dropping a little.

"James?"

James turns around from the stove and smiles, holding up a spatula. Kainga is beyond confused now. "It's a...reasonable time. What are you doing here?"

"Making ya breakfast!" he chirped happily as Kainga walked over to him curiously. He had to hold back gagging at what he saw in the stove pan below him, the one James was holding and cooking was he assumed to be his meal on. Unless by some god-sent miracle his food was in another pan. The Tongan was probably dead to God by now.

"That's not breakfast, that's salmonella." Kainga mumbled and gestured at burnt scrambled eggs and what looked like a charred hash brown, scorched beyond revival. No wonder it smelt so burnt. He looked over at the table top, two cups of tea lay waiting. Kainga had never felt so domestic, relationship wise. If it wasn't for the food poisoning James was cooking up, it was very nice to say the least.

James nudged him playfully and watched him walk over to the table. "Whatever. Food is food. It's better than that long looking stuff you constantly eat."

"You mean my instant ramen? I'm a student. It gets me through. Plus it's cheap and I still don't have a job." Kainga smiled gently at him before sitting down at the table with a blanket he'd stolen from the apartment reception. He curled himself up and nursed the cup in his hands. It wasn't even cold, just warm enough to be drinkable. How long had James been here? He was very tempted to question him about the dreams he'd been having. But Satan would most likely just boast in his face about how Kainga was dreaming about him and ramble about how they were 'meant to be' again. He brought the tea up to his lips, the warm liquid bringing him back to life.

James interrupts his tranquility once again with a plate placed in front of Kainga. A breakfast of scrambled eggs that looked like a mush of wet cardboard atop a piece of toast that looked like a shaped out lump of charcoal. The only thing that wasn't burnt was the bacon, which would've been the only thing safe to eat even if it was burnt. The whole plate of food seemed to be radiating like it was a romantic breakfast in Chernobyl. Kainga audibly gulped.

"You...made all this yourself huh?" He weakly picked at the bacon that was in the shape of a love heart on the side of his plate. How, dare he say cute.

James perked up and looked at him with a mouthful of his own scrambled cardboard mush. His eyes bright like a child on Christmas morning.

"Yeah I did...~ how could you tell?"

"L-lucky guess..." He gave the biblical creature sat opposite him a rather gauche smile. He just sits and drinks his tea before even thinking about starting on his poison infected breakfast. Despite his lack of skills in gastronomy or basic cooking for that matter, it seemed James meant well. The way he dinkily smiled like a moron without a care in the world, Kainga couldn't help but wonder what was even going on inside his head. If there was anything going on inside his head. This was ridiculous; he wasn’t falling for Satan, was he? The guy was as far from prince charming as one could get and yet he was nowhere near as idiotic as he had been.

James finished up his plate of food before pushing it to the side, bringing his chair closer to the table as if he was about to interrogate him. Kainga managed to barely swallow down the mush of eggs, looking up at him with a lump welling up in his throat. Oh thank God, a reason to stop eating. He put his utensils down to listen to what the King of Hell had to say for himself.

"So, will you be busy today?”

“I handed that paper in last week and I have no current assignments, why do you ask?”

“We’re going on another date.”

“Another thing at a reasonable time, wow James I’m impressed.” He drawls, laughing a little at how proud James looks because he thinks he’s impressed him. Satan wasn’t supposed to be this endearing; Satan was supposed to be a dickhead. Then again, he supposes James more or less was one to begin with. It seemed with every word that James spoke he was becoming less demon. His human side was showing like he was gaining back a humanity that was lost long ago.

"Well, I've got some kingly duties back in Hell to attend to, but I can pick you up later in the afternoon." he chuffs proudly at referring to himself as 'Kingly'. "What time suits you best?"

Kainga hesitantly pushed his plate to the side. "A time? You're asking ME what time I want?" he asked, bewildered.

James just nodded quickly, smiling at him. Kainga was beyond suspicious yet somewhat amazed at him not being a arrogant fucking prick for once. He didn't keep his hopes high however.

"Umm...well it depends where you're taking me..."

"Oh. Well it's a surprise...~" James winks at him and leans back in his chair, holding his mug of tea in his hands and heating it up with his self-heating palms.

"Well. I need to get some shopping in first. Maybe about 1 or 2 I suppose? It shouldn't take that long. Plus I need to get ready."

"Ahh make yerself look pretty for me huh?~"

There it was. Back to the usual James. Kainga's stare hardened, yet he blushed at his sentiment, rather heavily. He frowns in bemusement and looks away from him.

"No. It's so I don't go out in public looking like I just got dragged through a dumpster."

"Oh please, you don't look like a dumpster. You didn't last time!"

"If that's a complement from you then I'm flattered." He murmured sarcastically. Grinning at James's expression dimming from prideful to confused. He finished his tea, placing the cup beside him.

James took that as an opportunity to switch the conversation back to the date.

"So, I'll come and pick you up at 1? I'll knock this time."

Kainga hummed and squinted at him. Why was be being awfully nice to him? Perhaps he had other intentions, or had changed his original ploy. Either way he was doubtful. He hated to admit it, but he liked this James. His cooking was unsatisfactory but he kept telling himself that James meant well above all. He smiled tenderly.

"Yeah. That sounds good. Thank you James."

James winks at him, taking their plates as he brushes past Kainga and with that he disappears. Kainga was left feeing oddly flattered, Lord only knows why he felt like that. He felt tingly and warm, the pits of his stomach churning in a flustered manner. Like he'd ate something bad but it felt amazing. He grimaced. It was probably that food that James had served up to him. He didn't feel sick however, it was a strange feeling. Like James had endeared him. Like he was starting to like him. Kainga instantly shook the thought away as he stood up sharply. What was this. Maybe it'll pass. He hoped it would pass. As the kettle boiled on the countertop, as Kainga poured the hot water into his mug and watched it brew with the teabag. The feeling didn't pass. He bit his lip as he kept pouring the boiled water, making it overflow while Kainga stood there, not noticing. His consciousness completely out of it.

Shit...

He was in love with the Devil.

---

Funny how much time can pass when you genuinely are looking forward to something. With his errands completed, Kainga stumbled through the door holding three large paper bags full of groceries. He heaved himself and the abnormally heavy bags into his apartment, dropping a can of baked beans beside him. He audibly groaned as he hefted the bags onto the table, practically gasping for air. Maybe he should buy a car. Who was he kidding he didn't even have his drivers license and frankly after his experiences, he'd rather stay far away from them all together. Maybe a bus card would be better. After a breather he started to unpack the shopping, his coat hung on the back of his chair.

Once he finished unpacking it was nearing 1'o clock already so he went to start getting ready. Although he didn't like to admit it, he was rather excited about where James would take him. Sure he took him to a greasy Fish and Chip shack in Wellington before but surely James would have some new found knowledge of reasonable places to take someone on a nice date. Maybe a romantic breakfast in Paris or running across rooftops as the night set in, the Eiffel Tower illuminating the city. Or something more thrilling, gambling in Las Vegas, even a skyline dinner overlooking New York or somewhere mountainous and beautiful like Queenstown. The possibilities were limitless, he'd be lying to himself if he said this wasn't the most excited he had been for something in a while.

He quickly got ready, throwing on a white long sleeved shirt with a button-down collar to fit in a striped dark blue tie that was fastened tightly against his neck. Autumn or Spring are unpredictable so he put on a basic V-neck blue sweater overtop, bringing his collar out so the top of the tie knot was still visible. Finally navy trousers and polished leather black shoes and socks. He liked to dress smart, yet he still looked causal as he didn't know where he was going to end up. Standing in front of the mirror he puffed out his chest with pride, his blood running with excitement as the clock hits 1.

James arrives at 1'o clock like he stated, his presence announced with a knock on the door in a sweet rhythmic tone. Kainga had just finished giving his hair one last curl before he stands up to open the door for him. If he’s honest with himself, he’s flattered that the other was doing as he’d requested, something as simple as just being on time. He opens the door to find James standing there in his same causal suit he'd worn last time, however the bright red tie was missing as he was just wearing a black cuffed long sleeved Plaid shirt with a belt and pants. In his grasp was a bouquet of Heilala flowers. Vermilion cherry red flowers that sprouted magnificent Hibiscus flowers in full bloom, displaying a shade of vivid cerise of pinks to reds. Tonga's national flower.

James's smile was so cheesy it could make you lactose intolerant.

Kainga was amazed. Quite like nothing he'd experienced or expected. He stood in the doorway with his mouth agape at the sight of him. Had he really gone out of his way to buy him these particular flowers? James quite audibly cleared his throat.

"G'day smuckaroo~"

Kainga raised a brow at him.

"Smuckaroo?"

"In me defense you gave me, what, a few hours to come up with a new nickname." James jokingly complained. Kainga laughed.

"To be fair, I don't mind it. Also you didn't say much about today so I didn't know what to- WEAR-!"

Kainga was interrupted by James shoving the flowers into his chest, some of the buds hitting his face making him jump a little. His sentence was muffled after getting a face full of flowers.

"T-these are for you!!! I wasn't sure what flowers you liked so I got you these because they're Heilala and they're your countries national flowers and whatnot!" He spoke quickly as if he was embarrassed by his sweet gesture. Like the Devil giving out flowers made him seem weak or soft but he knew that he'd only do this for one person and one person only.

Kainga's cheeks burned up vividly as he took them from James's large hands, admiring them. His hands wrapped around the base of the bouquet, tied up neatly with a silk red ribbon.

"O-oh? You got me flowers? Ah...wow James. They're very beautiful. Remind me of home..." he held them close to his chest until his face was as red as the petals. How sweet of James. He smiled fondly. "I'll go put them in some water and be right out okay?" He uttered before walking back inside and placing the flowers in a large vase on his table. Leaving James out in the apartment corridor to feel even more proud of himself, sub-consciously feeding his probably massive ego. He did a excited little air fist bump to congratulate himself as he waited.

Kainga came back out to the dingy corridor a little while later, locking up his flat door before turning back to James.

"Right. Thank you for waiting." Kainga pockets his key heavy keychain, eyeing further down James's suit. That's when he realizes the gumboots he's wearing. Right. New Zealander. He wasn't even surprised at this point. A fancy clean suit topped off with a pair of muddied gumboots. Maybe the Devil doesn't wear Prada, no. The Devil wears gumboots. Kainga doesn't mention it, he simply retorted his gaze back at James's punchable stupid face and gave him a rather pointed look. "So...where exactly ARE we heading today?"

James grinned. "I told you, it's a surprise! I'm sure you'll like it though!~" He held out his hand for Kainga to hold on to, which he does. Kainga takes his hand. He knew the drill. Teleportation with a danger of being ripped in half. How romantic. James takes it a step further however, wrapping his arm around Kainga's waist. Before he even had time to react James snapped his fingers. That pull at the pit of his stomach like his intestines were being unraveled out of his body washes over him, James falling through fast winds like the world was turning upside-down. His breath taken from him by the high velocity winds, allowing him no room to scream. He accepts his fate and clings onto James for dear life until they finally drop to the floor.

There's was a ringing in his ear, a loud one. He became dizzy but not as much as before, his whole body felt translucent as the cold winds died around them. Kainga still clung onto James as he came back to his senses. His hearing came first as his ears popped. There are noises. People in a fairly populated area, what sounded like some children with their families. The ringing of a cellphone. It was definitely an outdoor environment. Kainga looked up, finally realizing where they were once his eyes caught sight of their surroundings.

"A-a...zoo?"

"Yeah! Auckland zoo darlin'!!! You're studying Zoology as well as Literature ain't ya? And yer file says you like animals so I brought you to the best zoo in the country!"

Kainga gently let go of James and rubbed his eyes. Examining the sight of the less populated zoo before giving James a thrilled look.

"James I...wow. Oh shit this is amazing...really!" The Tongan's whole aura seems to brighten as he got happier. Kainga quickly grabbed James's hand, wasting no time at all he hurriedly dragged James to see the animals. James tripped and laughed it off as he followed this new side of Kainga.

They paced along the well packed paths and jarred fences around the zoo. Dense jungle leaves against the bamboo thickets blurred in their line of sight as Kainga hurried to see everything yet keeping his well structured plan that he bored James with along the way. Every pathway curving along the enclosures of incredible and exotic beasts, the zoo sectioned off into certain areas based on country or continent. The exotic breeds from all over the world left him breathless, watching the different colors of each species and how they fly across the perfect replica of their natural habitat was an enthralling experience. All the animals make him feel like they have entered the incredible depths of Amazon jungle. The atmosphere and the cage designs seemed as real as nature itself.

Kainga stops by the South American exhibit to admire the vibrant and vivid colors of the parrots. What surprised him the most was that it was an open enclosure, meaning the parrots could fly around an open space where tourists walked through as they pleased. An eye-catching Blue and Gold Macaw perched on a high branch just above Kainga. James smiled as Kainga giggled at the bird, softly petting it's beautifully preened feathers.

"I take it you like birds the most then huh?" James mentions as the bird puffed out its feathers in a sign of enjoyment. Another Macaw came up behind James and curiously pecked at a folded up map he's holding, making James jump and swatting harmlessly at the cheeky bird. It flapped it's wings and squawked at him rather loudly, James was holding back the urge to squawk back at it.

"Avians have always been my favorite. There's something so magnificent about them. I adore all the tropical species, especially the ones back home."

The Macaw took flight from beside him and landed back on it's perch high in the tropical lush trees that shaded the entire area. Kainga watched it fly away with awe before noticing a keeper in a red polo shirt and microphone preforming with the dazzling birds. Kainga was transfixed by the colors of the large parrots and they spun and shimmered against the light that cut through the trees. The keeper spoke to the gathering crowd of visitors. Kainga was about to ask if they wanted to go and watch before his arm was grabbed and dragged away by James. He made a disgruntled yelp but followed, James making an excitable claim about seeing the "Ripper crocodiles they had here!" Going against Kainga's structured plan of the date.

"James?! I thought we were seeing the elephants next?"

"Are yer serious?" James asked with a grin, looking over his shoulder at him. "Do we need to plan everything?"

"Yes, James. I am serious. Zoo going is a serious business." Kainga retorted with a straight face. He couldn't hold it and let a small laugh escape. "At least a general direction will do, so we don't waste time going all over the place in zigzags."

James rolled his eyes and scoffed. "C'mon. Live a little would ya?! We got all afternoon here and frankly I'd rather spend it looking at giant man-eating lizards!" He exclaimed that like there was nothing more romantic than seeing a 500 kilogram or so prehistoric beast rip apart a raw chicken or a full leg of a cow. After the dreams Kainga had been having, he might as well be sick to his stomach even thinking about it.

"Well if you want to see the crocodiles, we're going the wrong way. You're holding the map upside down James."

---

The date goes, dare he say perfectly. They explored every area of the zoo as the evening started to set in, Kainga made sure that he saw everything no matter the animal or enclosure. James occasionally boasting about how he created some of these animals, ever so causally. Mainly the dangerous, venomous creatures that could kill you within seconds. They'd seen everything from swinging monkey's to large carnivorous cats like lions and tigers. Kainga stood on his tippy toes and leaned over the railing to get a view of each one. Running his fingers along the glass at the Orangutan exhibit and watching in awe as they swung around their enclosure with remarkable balance. There was only one area left. The one James was most excited about showing Kainga that he'd saved until last. The area at the very back of the zoo past the frigid penguin and seal enclosure.

Most tourists start to vacate the zoo as darkness rears its head over the blue skies, creating a symphony of crimson and orange tinges that form the sunset. James lead Kainga deeper as the thicket around them seem to darken too, becoming more native to the New Zealand bush with deep green ferns beginning to line the wooden boardwalk. With all of the crowds gone, Kainga was met with the sounds of the zoo. A distant river rushing and what sounded like a waterfall against native bird song that echoed from the canopy. A lot of it too.

"Oh? James where are we?" Kainga asked him in a hasty whisper, like they weren't supposed to be here.

"Yer said ya liked birds right?"

"Yes. I did..."

"Well we're in the New Zealand bird section. It's a giant aviary full of native birds. There's a look-out at the top too! C'mon!"

They came to a small gate that was the entrance to the whole massive exhibit. An entire enclosed jungle inside of it, the whole aviary like a hidden paradise that mimicked the natural beauty of the New Zealand forest like it was sliced right from one. James dragged Kainga through rather roughly, making the Tongan yell at him.

Dusk stained the glistening foliage with shadow and murk. As nightfall descended, the sounds of the jungle began to ebb. Uncertainty hung in the warm, wet air as the creatures began to prepare for the long stretch of darkness. Kainga trailed James as they walked through, the sound of his shoes hitting the damp mossy trail, that switched from gravelly dirt to a boardwalk that took them higher into the dense undergrowth. He caught sight of a small stream that trickled down the rocky surface next to the boardwalk, eventually leading to a waterfall that glistened in the little light that was emitted as the canopy covered what little of the days light was left. Causing bright dashes of color around the forest. The hurried flapping of bird wings as curious Fantails perched themselves along the trees next to the track, dancing and swaying their black and white tail feathers as they twirled around the couple. Perhaps hoping to get a closer look with their eccentric chirping. James stopped to let Kainga watch them.

Finally they made it up the wooden stairs to a large balcony, looking over the whole of the aviary like a king looked over his kingdom. Kainga instantly went to the end of the deck and looked over the lush canopy below. Various leaves rustled with signs of life within them, an array of bird song sang out like a choir. Not in sync but beautiful nonetheless. Kainga watched in wonderment at the sight, he crossed his arms and rested them on the wooden railing. He gazed out.

"Oh James...it's beautiful. Really. This is wonderful." He addressed him as he saw James come and lean on the fence next to him in his peripheral vision. His smile was warm and bright.

"I knew you'd like it. Rather peaceful up here isn't it." James watched Kainga smile as he watched out. The way it made him feel was different. Kainga's smile was captivating him. So much so that he'd rather watch him smile subtly than watch the setting sun over the forest. Kainga did notice. When it came to James he wasn't really subtle. About anything. He found it charming. The simple fact that James was watching him smile, made him smile more.

It was a short while of tranquility before it was broken by the real reason they were up here. Birds started to appear from their hides once the pair were stationary. First a Tīeke flapped beside Kainga's arm, making its way to the various fruits on the bird feeder beside them. It's black and brown pigment almost blended in with the damp wood. It wasn't long before more birds came to feed. A pair of curious Kākās perched on the thick branches, alongside a dazzling Wood Pigeon that was sat preening its verdant feathers.

They soon had a collection of native birds surrounding them. Rainbow lorikeets showing off their flamboyant bright colored feathers as they began to feed as well. Various smaller finches and Fantails got closer to Kainga's hands, flying close to him so much so that he could feel the air being beaten off their small wings. They danced around them like a scripted ballet performance in the air. Some brave Gouldian finches even perching on Kainga's palm and fingers chirping at him like they were telling him the latest gossip. Kainga laughed with the light tickling of their small claws on his skin before watching them fly to the bird feeder beside him. He turns his attention back to James, now only realizing how close they were together.

"Hey James?"

James paused to give him a bit of a weird look. Kainga more focused on the flashy Wood Pigeon now so James shrugs it off.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me about yourself."

Kainga finally speaks up about the important questions in their relationship. If they were going to move further that is. And the truth is, he really didn't know all that much about James. Other than the fact we was as dumb as a pile of bricks.

"You...want to know about me?"

Kainga gulps as he fears he's struck a nerve within the Devil beside him with James's sudden tense. To his surprise. James just smiles, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah. I do."

"Well there really isn't much to say. Or to know really," The New Zealander replies. ",I was born in heaven as an angel, given the name Lucifer by birth. Ever since eyes were laid upon me I was the favorite of the Archangels. I was incredibly good looking I must say..." he laughed before pausing. Almost sadly. "And. As the story goes. I was God's favorite."

Kainga almost feels pity for him as James gives him a saddened side glance. James kept going as Kainga rested his head on his shoulder gently.

"According to the other angels, I became so impressed with my own beauty, intelligence and power that I started to desire more. I was greedy. I wanted the honor and glory that belonged to God and God alone. Even though he loved me like his own. I was young and stupid. I felt like I could do more, be more than who I was. As my version goes, I was the one who asked for a pay rise and got kicked out of Heaven." Even though James laughed, it seemed he was just joking to cover up the pain in his voice at the retelling.

"The sin that corrupted me was self-generated pride. I fought them off until I was on the edge of Heaven."

"Fought who?"

"The other angels. They started to tear at my wings, they ripped 'em right off my body. War broke out in Heaven. God did nothing to stop them. I had my reasons. I had my rights! But this all perfect all loving all forgiving God couldn't find it in himself to love me again, nevermind forgive me. Sometimes I ask myself if he still loves me like he did before. My revolt was unsuccessful and I was kicked out of heaven and fell to plummet to the underworld. I no longer deserved my place in Heaven and I was replaced. It's only for the stuck up snobs that prefer a perfect boring good life anyways. With that, I started to build Hell with my own two hands. I lifted it from the dirt and dust and created a haven for the imperfect to thrive. So expectations of a superior God wouldn't constantly force them to be something they're not. Despite what those God manipulated mortals wrote in that fucking book, Hell is not what it seems."

James's breath is hasty before he finishes up, leaving him rather silent. Kainga softly takes his hand, unsure of what even to say. James's hand grips his as Kainga ushered. "I'm sorry..." Maybe he shouldn't of asked.

"It's....It's okay. I've learned from it, I'm now King of Hell and get to bully the absolute shit out of Catholics. In all honesty I'd rather be Satan or James than Lucifer."

"Do you, not like being called Lucifer?"

James shook his head. "No. Lucifer was an angel. Lucifer was Gods favorite. I'm not him anymore."

"In all visual depictions of Satan I've seen, you've always had wings. Why don't you have any now?"

"Well, they were torn from me body. Some presume I got new wings but I didn't. Perhaps it was the final punishment, so I couldn't fly back up to the golden gates of Heaven. I've still got little stubs from where they used to be though. Wanna touch 'em?!"

"What?! Fuck no!"

"Oh c'mon! Sometimes they get a little juicy-"

"JAMES FUCK OFF-"

The mood is quickly lightened again as Kainga ducked under the playful swipe James threw at him in an attempt to catch him. The Tongan avoiding touching those wing stubs like the plague, laughing all the while he's slowly backed against the railing. James eventually caught him by his hips. Kainga expected him to tell him to touch it again, but he did something a lot more surprising. James holds his hips and kisses him instead. No crucifix to burn his lips this time. The only heat coming from his mouth was the passionate intertwining of their lips as Kainga kissed him back. It only grew deeper as Kainga moved his hands from his chest to wrap his arms around his neck. He doesn't notice the hands under his shirt until they start to softly knead at the skin above his waist. There's no room to separate them anymore. Not with James's warm hands touching further up the sides of his body. He almost forgets that they're in a public place. He almost forgets that he's making out with Satan.

Kainga barely noticed a thing. He thought the tug at his stomach was just butterflies. You can imagine his shock when the foundations of his balance crumble and he lands on his back against the sheets of a bed. He opened his mouth to say something, most likely profanity before James cuts him off and the kissing resumes. That familiar glow of the curtains behind James. Shit. They were back at his apartment. In his bed.

James is surprisingly gentle with him. As gentle as the Devil could be at least. The burning sensation of his lips travels down his neck and shoulders, allowing Kainga to gasp out for breath. He started to remove his clothes like one would undress a doll, his mouth always pressed against some form of his flesh. Kainga spluttered slightly as lewd noises started to spill from his lips as James is not too hasty, nor too rough with him once he finally intensified his movements. Bite marks are left stinging on his collar bone as James builds up his release, matching the scratch marks Kainga left on his back. He was right about the stubs where his wings once were. Kainga was too out of it to notice, squirming below him before there's a pause and sweet relief. Everything seemed to burn.

So. That was sex huh? Before that encounter he'd seen sex as overrated and bland. Before that encounter he was a virgin.

He just had his first time with Satan. Fucking. Satan.

#fic: call me satan darling #aph new zealand #hetalia #hws new zealand #zeaonga #aph tonga #hetalia oc #hws tonga #ao3 fanfic #aph #my mental health is in shambles #help #aph denmark #hws denmark #aph finland #hws finland #aph philippines #hws philippines

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peach-pops · 4 years ago

Text

Amorentia || Kuroo Tetsurō

summary: amorentia has a different scent or aroma for anyone who smells it and the potion, if done correctly, can remind the user of things or more specifically someone they find most attractive, even if the said person is oblivious in their attraction.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: none

authors note: i dont know why i always end up writing for kuroo but this dude just speaks to me on an inspirational level ya know? kuroo is a ravenclaw in this but the reader is gn and i didn’t specify what house the reader is in to make it a bit more inclusive. credits to @rhymewithrachel for the picture of kuroo which you can find here and pls check out their page for more amazing art! also i def feel like i’ve written the last few lines on like another piece i’ve done but oh well if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it

The library was eerily still for a Thursday morning but you relished in how quiet it was. You had found the perfect sweet spot; not too late where you would forget breakfast but early enough to where you would avoid the morning rush of students who would try to find a quiet spot to study.

The lowly lit lanterns were useless since the sun was beginning to peak its way through the windowpane behind you and the small semblance of light drew your attention to the dust that was floating lazily in the air.

Even though there were hardly any students around you, you felt as though you were tucked away from the world as you spread your legs out against the leather couch with a Magic Potions: Basic for Beginners textbook settled in your lap. Besides the ever so often sound of a few students rustling their papers, it was truly peaceful.

“ Good morning beautiful, mind if I join you?”

Bloody hell.

You looked up from your textbook to see Kuroo standing over by your legs that were neatly crossed over each other. You would be lying if you said you weren’t slightly taken aback by seeing him so early in the morning but even if he did manage to wake up on time for class, his hair was still a disheveled mess from his horrid bedhead.

“ You’re up early,” You replied normally as you turned your attention back to your book,” by the way, your tie is crooked, might want to fix that, yeah?”

You and Kuroo were both in the same year but you two didn’t officially get acquainted until your fourth year when he had “accidentally” spilled butterbeer all over you and then attempted to wipe it off with his bare hand.

“ Shit, I-I am so sorry! Let me just-”

“ Can you stop feeling me up and get me a napkin instead, you creep?”

“ A creep? I’m nothing short of a gentleman- speaking of which, are you dating anyone by chance?”

“ Are you joking? As if I would be under the accompaniment of a clumsy Ravenclaw like yourself.”

Your vow was fully ignored and by some weird alignment of the planets, you two had been inseparable since. Of course, Kuroo still spent his time over the past two years trying to woe you in some way and while you used to find yourself flustered over his charm, you managed to get used to the constant flirting between the two of you.

Who were you kidding, the flirting was mostly one-sided unless you weren’t exhausted trying to think of witty comebacks to try and get him stumbling over his words like the first time you two met.

However, you weren’t blind. You were bold enough to admit to yourself that over the years, Kuroo got progressively wittier, taller, and yes, possibly more attractive. You would never admit it out loud but there was a slight possibility you were starting to see him in a different light.

Nonetheless, you figured feelings like those would just come and go, and surely you didn’t actually have feelings for him.

Kuroo looked down at his tie and shrugged nonchalantly before fixing it,” I was tossing and turning all night, poor Akaashi had to sleep in the common room because I was keeping him up too. Quidditch tryouts are this afternoon and I’m hoping we can get a strong team together so we can keep up our legacy.”

“ First-year as captain and you’re already nervous,” You clicked your tongue against your teeth as you took another bite of your raspberry scone, utilizing the silence between the two of you as you finished chewing,” hopefully Ravenclaw will get some wins this year. You know, for your own sake and my sanity.”

“ Okay ouch, first of all, you know you’re not supposed to eat in the library it’s forbidden,” Kuroo crossed his arms playfully over his chest as you only hummed in response,” and second of all, maybe if I had someone special cheering me on, I would do immensely better.”

You knew he was only being smug since you always showed up to his games but nothing was more entertaining than watching Kuroo practically gush over Quidditch only for you to act somewhat disinterested.

“ Aw, do you want me to show up with some blue and bronze paint over my face? Maybe even bring a poster with your name on it with little hearts decorated on the border because I have sooo much free time on my hands?” You teased as you played with your hair while pouting back up at him, relishing in the way he shifted from side to side,” honestly Kuroo, you know I have better things to do than to watch you fly around like a lunatic.”

Kuroo smirked to himself but said nothing to retaliate as he offered his hands to help you out of your seat once he saw the time,” Come on, you know Slughorn will throw another fit if we’re late again and by the looks of it, you can’t afford falling behind.”

For a moment, you thought that maybe you had gone too far. His response was almost disappointing in contrast to how he would usually retort with something wittier of the sort but it was out of your control now.

You closed your textbook and grabbed Kuroo’s hands so he could help you off the leather couch but once he got you up to your feet, his strong grip on your hands didn’t release.

Your chests were almost touching and the distance between you two was so small, you could distinctively smell his signature vanilla aftershave that he put on every morning. You looked down at your hands that were fitted perfectly against his as Kuroo leaned down close to your ear, his breath tickling your neck.

“ Don’t act so coy, Y/N. I know you would love nothing more than to wear my jersey so that everyone else could know you like me.”

You could feel the heat rise from your chest to your ears as you slipped your hands out from his to hold your textbook to your chest, as if it would cool you down. You fiddled with the spine of the textbook as a distraction as Kuroo smiled back innocently at you to give you time to compose yourself.

“ D-Don’t say things like that, you’re my friend and that’s all,” You stammered as you slapped his shoulder to make the tension less thick,” and wipe that grin off your face, you look like an idiot!”

Kuroo laughed, easing whatever tension was left in the air as he bumped your shoulder with his, “ Fine, fine, I’ll stop but only because you’re my special friend.”

“ You’re the worst.”

“ And you love it.”

“ Are you sure we’re doing this right?” You asked Kuroo as he sprinkled in the powdered moonstone while you stirred the concoction slowly.

You surveyed the room as you watched your fellow classmates fail miserably at the assignment at hand, some being greeted with thick clouds of smoke while others potions just combusted into flames.

You flinched at the sound of shrieking and looked up to see Sugawara and Daichi backing away from their cauldron as a mass of black tar started to slither out towards them. Slughorn had warned everyone that this potion was tricky to master but you didn’t think it would be this difficult and as time passed, the more anxious you grew.

Kuroo, as unbothered as ever, looked down at the instructions for a moment before turning his attention back at the cauldron,” Yep, triple checked it and everything. You sure are nervous today.”

“ I’m always nervous during this class, you know I’m awful at potions. Plus look what happened to Oikawa, he’s in the hospital wing because of this lab.”

“ He’ll be fine, the flames weren’t too high, he probably just lost an eyebrow,” Kuroo teased, trying to keep your mind at bay,” are you sure you’re not nervous because we’re concocting Amorentia?”

You continued to stir the mixture carefully as you only scoffed,” Why would I be nervous of a silly little love potion?”

“ First off, Amorentia is one of the most powerful love potions in existence so show some respect,” Kuroo said as you only rolled your eyes back at him,” And second of all, maybe you’re nervous because this will finally prove that you have feelings for me.”

“ Knock it off before I send you to the hospital wing nerd,” You replied hastily as Kuroo put his hands up in defense,” Are you sure you’re not the nervous one? You’ve been acting weird since class has started...like more mouthy than usual.”

If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve gone the whole lesson completely oblivious to Kuroo’s nervous tics, but after years of being friends, you knew better than to pass them off as normal tendencies.

Kuroo rubbed the corner of the textbook page between his fingers as his eyes read the directions over again to try and ground himself in his thoughts. He had re-read the same step of the last instruction for the past couple of minutes to look occupied but his facade was starting to fall apart.

“ If you paid more attention to the assignment instead of me, maybe you would pass the class, huh?” Kuroo smirked to try and ease your mind but the action only made you feel more annoyed.

“ Enough with this back and forth, are we almost done? You’ve been reading the last step for a while now, is it that hard or are you just stupid today?” You nudged Kuroo out of the way and bent your body over the table to read the last step, wanting nothing more than to get this class over with.

Kuroo watched as you began to stir the concoction slowly, his eyes trained on the top of the cauldron to watch for any sign of steam.

“ What color are the spirals supposed to be?” You asked as a dark, pink-colored steam started to slowly rise from the mixture,” did he say pink was right or purple? Maybe red I don’t even remember.”

Kuroo carefully leaned closer beside you to get a better look at the steam,”Looks right to me. You smell anything?”

“ The only thing I can smell is that god awful aftershave of yours so back up.”

You leaned your forearms on the table and took in a deep breath of the potion. Almost instantly, you felt a comforting warmth spread throughout your body that started in your chest and moved all the way down to your head and toes. You felt your body completely relax and it felt almost similar to the feeling of submerging yourself into a hot bath after a long day.

It would make absolutely no sense to describe the scents as something so oddly familiar and distinct while not being obvious at all yet that was where your headspace was as you tried to identify the scents.

Almost immediately, once you pinpointed one scent, the rest came flooding in one after another,” I smell something like cinder-a burning logfire...and....I know what this is it’s kinda like- oh, broomstick polish!”

You took into another deep breath to try and identify the last scent but you couldn’t put a name to the scent which only made you more frustrated.

“ Kuroo, can you help me? I can’t figure out the last scent,” You sighed as Kuroo closed his eyes to take a turn, even though he could already pinpoint a few scents from his spot,” do you smell the logfire too?”

Kuroo only smiled to himself as he felt the warmth spread across his body before shaking his head,” That’s not how it works. Our scents would be different for example, I smell…freshly clean linen, old parchment paper, and… butterbeer froth.”

Once the words left Kuroo’s mouth, he opened his eyes and turned to you to read your reaction. He looked for something, anything behind those eyes of yours to watch it all click in your head but as usual, you were completely oblivious to the huge hint he had given you.

“ Lucky you, I wish I could smell what you can- this is harder than I thought,” You pouted as you noticed some of your other classmates were getting distracted by you and Kuroo’s Amortentia,” maybe we did this wrong.”

“ We did it right, don’t worry,” Kuroo cleared his throat as he gave you a nudge with his shoulder which only made you nudge him back even harder,” maybe you should try again, think really hard. Try to see where you recognize the scent instead of what it is.”

You closed your eyes and just like before, the same warm sensation flooded your body but this time, you could feel yourself leaning closer and closer to the cauldron, almost as if the potion was pulling you in deeper.

“ Burning logfire, broomstick polish and…” You took in another deep breath but you were only meet with more frustration,” for the last time, can you give me some space, Kuroo? I swear all I can smell is your-.”

You opened your eyes and practically pulled yourself away from the table once an unsettling realization had started to develop quickly in your mind. You knew exactly what the scent was but there was that lingering sensation in your mind that still tried to convince itself that for once, maybe you were wrong.

Kuroo let out a breathy laugh as the back of your neck and ears began to grow hot,” Something the matter-”

Without thinking, you grabbed Kuroo’s collar and pulled him down to your eye level. Kuroo’s face started to grow red as you brushed your nose against the side of his neck to get a better smell. You had to be going crazy, there was no way- it all had to be a trick.

“ Are you sure we did this right? You’re absolutely positive?” You asked softly as you let go of his collar.

Kuroo smoothed out his collar and nodded as he looked back at the cauldron,”I’m absolutely positive- why are you freaking out?”

Because I smell your stupid vanilla aftershave.

“ I’m not freaking out,” You lied through your teeth as you turned your attention to Slughorn as he dismissed the class for the day,” You know what, I’m actually not feeling well- Can you clean up for me? I’m feeling a little lightheaded.”

“Y/N-”

“ I’ll see you around,” You gathered your things quickly but as you reached for your potions book, Kuroo snatched it off the table and held it behind his back,”enough Kuroo, give it back.”

“ Clean linen, parchment, and butterbeer froth,” Kuroo listed as you tried to grab your book from behind his back but Kuroo was quick to hold it above his head,”did you hear me?”

You looked up at how high he was holding your textbook and as embarrassing as it was, you decided to hold on to the little dignity you had left and not jump up and down for it.

“ Yes I heard you but I don’t care.”

“ You do care and you’re not listening to me. I smelled clean linen, parchment paper, and butterbeer froth so now it’s your turn, what did you smell?” Kuroo asked, this time a bit louder. It was obvious in the way he was enunciating his words that he was trying to lead you down a certain conversation but you were slow to pick up on it.

You didn’t want to tell him, all you wanted to do was go back to bed and pretend as though this day had never happened. The idea that all this time you actually had real feelings for Kuroo only made you feel flustered.

It wasn’t that you were ashamed of liking someone like him but for years, you had convinced him and seemingly everyone else that you would never have feelings for Kuroo. In reality, you couldn’t have been more wrong.

“ Do we have to do this right now?” You asked softly as you nodded over to Slughorn who was dusting the corners of his desk but it was obvious he was eavesdropping on the conversation.

Without missing a beat, Kuroo nodded and lowered your textbook back down to hand it to you.

“ You’re right, we should discuss this someplace quiet and private, how does dinner sound?”

You shook your head at the boy as you tried to grab your textbook from him but you couldn’t pry it off his strong grip,“ Quit flirting with me, now isn’t the time.”

Kuroo couldn’t take it anymore; the years of endlessly flirting and being ignored was taking a toll on his pride and he couldn’t stand it. He knew you were prideful but this was on a whole different level.

“ Now is the perfect time since now I know you like me after all.”

“ How- I do not-”

“ You’re a terrible liar Y/N, the aftershave was a dead giveaway and I don’t know whether or not I’m more hurt by the fact that you’re too embarrassed to admit you like me or that you think my aftershave is god awful,” Kuroo said as he loosened his grip on the book so you could take it from his hands,” aren’t you tired of pretending you don’t have feelings for me?”

You carefully took back your textbook as if it was a fragile vase and held it close to your chest as if you were shielding your heart.

“ For the record, I don’t think it’s god awful, I just think you put on way too much,” You mumbled as Kuroo stood up straighter,” and I’m not tired of pretending, maybe I don’t like you or maybe I do have feelings for you.”

“ But maybe you like me more than you dislike me, am I right?”

You opened your mouth but quickly closed it after thinking his words over for a moment,“Emphasis on maybe...but don’t let it get to your head. You get one date so don’t ruin it.”

Even though it wasn’t the confession Kuroo wanted, it was the only confirmation he needed to hear from you to let him know that the feelings were mutual.

Kuroo couldn’t help but wear a huge goofy smile on his face as he collected his things and followed your lead as you both started to walk out the classroom. You and Kuroo politely nodded and said goodbye to Slughorn, who was pretending to read the textbooks along the shelves.

Once you two left the classroom, Kuroo’s hand slide down beside yours and started to play with your fingers carefully. Your hand recoiled from the feeling but once you made sure the hallway was clear of any onlookers, you let your hand slide back down and let his fingers intertwine with yours.

“ You know, I knew you really liked me, I called it since day one-”

“ Okay, that’s enough Kuroo.”

“ You said and I quote,’As if I would be under the accompaniment of a clumsy Ravenclaw like yourself’ and look at you now, holding hands with one!”

You shook your head at him and wondered to yourself if this is how things would be now yet you still couldn’t bring yourself to hide the small smile on your face,”You’re the worst.”

Kuroo squeezed your hand in his and shared the same lovey-dovey grin on his face,” and you love it.”

taglist: @goopyartiste, @sugas-sweetheart, @kirislut, @estridries, @hannahalanib1, @art0saurus, @shoutamajiki, @yee-harr, @animatedarchives

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu hogwarts au #haikyuu hogwarts #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo scenario #nekoma x reader #nekoma hogwarts #kuroo headcanon #kuroo imagine #kuroo tetsuro headcanon #kuroo tetsuro scenario #tetsuro kuroo x reader #tetsuro kuroo scenario #tetsuro kuroo headcanon

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tinyarmedtrex · 4 years ago

Note

18+4+7 Reddie? 💖

“Omg is that Richie Tozier?”

“Is it?!!?”

“Omg it is!”

“RICHIE!”

Richie cringed as he heard the chorus of voices behind him. He knew that leaving his hotel was risky and he’d been spotted within the first five minutes. He heard more voices calling for him but ignored them, instead pulling his collar high and walking faster. Normally he would stop and sign autographs but he was supposed to be incognito. He was on location for filming a small cameo for a film, one that people weren’t supposed to know he was in, so stopping for selfies and autographs wasn’t a good idea.

Too bad the growing crowd didn’t get the memo. They continued to follow him as he hurried down the busy street. Damn his determined fans. For years, Richie had flown under the radar until recently when he’d had a starring role in a streaming show where he played a flamboyant demon who was clearly in love with a disgruntled angel. The show had been a runaway hit and he hadn’t had a moment’s peace since. Mostly it was fun, he loved the excitement and hearing how much people loved the show but there were times like this he missed being unknown.

Trying to think quickly he turned a corner and ducked into a bookstore, hoping that they wouldn’t see him. Barely looking up he hurried to the back of the store, intent on hiding in the historicals. At least until he turned a corner and ran face first into something.

“What the hell!”

Or someone.

Richie looked down, seeing a man sprawled on the ground, a smashed mug next to him and coffee already staining his shirt.

Shit.

“Ah man, I’m sorry I-” Richie reached down to help him but the guy just glowered at him, getting up on his own. Despite the death glare he was getting Richie couldn’t look away. He was cute, like ‘holy crap are you a figment of my sleep deprived imagination?’ cute. And also angry, very angry. Somehow that only made him more attractive. Richie tucked that fact away to discuss with his therapist at a later date.

“You broke my favorite mug. And ruined my favorite shirt.” The guy said, frowning as the coffee dripped off him.

“I’ll buy you a new one. Or ten.” Richie quickly offered. “Or get it cleaned? Just take it off, I’ll bring it to the cleaners right now.”

The man looked up at him and Richie waited for the recognition, for him to act differently like everyone always did.

“I’m not stripping in front of a stranger.” The man said, shaking his head. Richie breathed a sign of relief, maybe the guy wasn’t a fan of fantasy streaming shows. “You can clean up the spill while I change though.” He waited for Richie to nod then disappeared, returning a minute later with a rag.

“It’s the least I can do.” Richie said.

The man’s face said, ‘yes, exactly.’

“I’ll be right back.” He said as Richie bent down, sopping up the coffee and picking up the broken pieces.

True to his word the man returned quickly, wearing a new shirt but still looking annoyed. “I hope that didn’t ruin any books.” He said, bending near Richie and inspecting the spines.

“I’ll pay for it.” Richie said, lifting his head to stare at the man again. His fingers traced the spines with obvious love and Richie’s stomach fell. This was a terrible start. “Anything that’s ruined.” He promised.

The guy met Richie’s eyes, looking skeptical. “Did you bother to pay attention to what aisle you were in?”

Richie had to admit he hadn’t, he’d been focused on escaping the crowd. The guy pointed up to a small sign- First Editions and Signed copies. Of course.

“It doesn’t matter. It was still my fault. I didn’t look. And I’ve been meaning to grow my book collection. This is as good a reason as any.”

The guy bit his bottom lip, making him even more attractive. God Richie had managed to piss off the cutest guy in the bay area.

Finally he nodded. “Fine, let’s get this cleaned up and then we’ll assess the damage.”

Richie nodded, relieved, and reached for a piece of mug at the same time the guy did, their hands brushing. Richie hoped he wasn’t imagining the blush that crept up the man’s neck.

“What’s your name?” He asked, deciding that he probably couldn’t make this worse. “For when I write out that big check.”

For the first time in their short interaction the guy smiled. “I don’t take checks.” Richie shrugged and he continued. “You really didn’t pay attention.” Richie shook his head and the man pointed behind him. There was a big sign that read ‘Eddie’s Eclectic & Rare Books- now open!’

“Eddie?” Richie confirmed and the guy nodded. “I’m Richie.”

“Nice to meet you.” Eddie stood, taking the dirty rags and broken mugs with him. Together they grabbed all the books that may have been stained, taking them to the front desk.

“Did you just open?” Richie asked, leaning on the desk while Eddie examined the books, carefully thumbing through the pages.

He nodded. “A post divorce gift to myself. I left the stock market and opened this place.” He smiled as he looked around the shop. Richie could see the obvious pride in his eyes and he fell even more for the guy.

“How’s business?”

Eddie shrugged. “My first customer of the day is only buying things because he’s a klutz.” Eddie replied, glancing at Richie and smiling softly. “No one buys books anymore.”

Richie wanted to buy the whole store, just to see Eddie smile again.

They chatted while Eddie cleaned the books, separating them into two piles. When he was done Eddie ran a finger down the spines. “I can’t ask you to buy all these. One is a limited edition print of Hellraiser. It’s too expensive.”

“I want it. I need more Clive Barker in my life.” Richie said, taking out his credit card. Eddie hesitated only a second before taking it, ringing up the books and putting them in a box for Richie.

“You’ll need to sign this. And maybe leave your number, in case I see that others have damage.” Eddie said, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Richie scrawled his name and number down, handing back the receipt. Then he looked at Eddie, reluctant to leave. He couldn’t believe that he’d made it through this interaction unrecognized. “You really had no idea, did you?”

“About what?” Eddie asked.

Richie debated telling him, wondering if he was being dishonest if he didn’t. But he didn’t want to risk ruining this, not yet.

He decided to shoot his shot. “What if I tell you tonight? I can pick you up at seven.”

The small smile grew on Eddie’s face and he nodded. “I’d love that.”

Richie could barely contain his own smile as he grabbed the box of books, leaving with one final look back at Eddie. The man was already bent over the counter, chewing on his bottom lip as he look at his books. Richie couldn’t wait for 7pm.

@trashmouthtozierr @wheezyeds @constantreaderfool @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @moonlightrichie @lifesucksheres20bucks @thorn-harvester-ven @eddiefuckinkaspbrak @andaleduardo @xandertheundead @s-s-georgie @s-onora @spirited-marvel @roobarrtrashmouth @njess04 @gczebos @kasp-brakz @sourmoist @playing-jim @princesass-theresa @theandrewhurley @mimiharu @kaspbrak-tozier-reddie @no-she-wasnt-reddie @oldguybones @sloppybitxch @lumiereandcogsworth @sedanleystanley @kaspbrak-king @ticomat @hadererer @da-damned @purplepoisonedgem @sparklingrainbowdragon @richietoaster @sxndythinkstoomuch @overcastedhills

#reddie #me?#throwing in a good omens reference?#its more likely than you think #I like this baby #its soft #tinyarmedtwrites #hichie

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yanderecandystore · 4 years ago

Note

yan! ceo with a robot assistant s/o? if you’re not doin the ceo anymore then anyone else is fine >v<

The thing about the CEO character is that I… Well, I technically don't have one 👉🏻👈🏻.

I mean, I have one, but- I didn't know if I wanted to make her official, so I didn't introduced her, so…

Maybe this is the best time to properly introduce her (because I don't have a male counterpart yet, so I'll do her first).

TW/Tags: We're going into the interesting land of probably pastel/ownership kink!! // people lying a lot!!// There are hints of LGBT identity and LGBT phobia/ignorance // family issues // Thicc tower woman but I didn't mention her physic enough ;-; but imagine her being really tall // naivety coming from the reader and simping hard coming from the CEO // low-key, CEO being rude.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Happy lies [Yandere!CEO Oc x A.I!Reader - Fanfiction]:

Ingrid Bright. A name that just by saying can send shivers down everyone's spine. All members of the Bright family were known for being ruthless, but Ingrid was indeed something else.

A woman of power, a woman of pride, a woman of determination.

A woman of mysteries.

She was known for being a merciless business woman. A person that wouldn't let the feelings of her co-workers overcome her own destination towards glory. She was ruthless, but it was clear that her path would lead her company to greater heights.

Her attitude wasn't the most pleasant or supportive, but if it wasn't for her lead, her family's company would probably die sooner than her predecessors anticipated.

It has been passed from father to son since the founder of the corporation. From a small inventor building steam machines, to one of the most powerful corporations in technology and science. Although their research is mostly done privately, their technology is shared worldwide, even if their products are… A bit too expensive.

You think that because of such high prices, and the consumers being only the 1% of the population, the corporation was starting to fall. Ingrid's father tried to make changes to the company that sadly, went unnoticed.

It was Ingrid who changed their usual business practices drastically, which although not being perfect, helped the company get to the right tracks to a better future.

Ingrid had saved her family's company, but in the process of being passed down from "father to son", Ingrid had separated herself entirely from her dad.

Not many people really understand what happened, but Ms. Bright had a terrible argument with her father, that caused the two to cut communication.

Ms. Bright still wears the name Bright proudly. It could be either for the meaning of it, or for her strong connection with her family.

You don't really know if it's true, but, you are 65% certain that Ms. Bright may miss her father in some way or another, and keeping the name not only honors her family's achievements and predecessors, but also keeps her being at least a little closer to her father.

Not that she would ever tell you the reason why, you're only left to speculate.

"And who am I in the story?" You may be thinking. Well, you're a hand built assistant android with the latest a.i, created to serve Ms. Bright.

And also, a gift, from Mrs. Bright to his only daughter.

You see, Ingrid has trouble communicating. She can be a little rude when in reality she means well. Although, you have to admit that even if you worked for her for five years now, she is really, really scary.

"- You're an overly glorified doll, an a.i that man built to assist me when every other person around me is absolutely incompetent." She told you as she was walking really, really fast to her office. You tried following her pace but it was really hard for you to go just as fast as her.

"- You're supposed to do the tasks that I order you to do, yet you went out of your way once again." She was scolding you because of an incident that occurred a couple of seconds ago. You're beautifully designed, perfect for being a social android capable of resolving simple tasks. But you weren't built for holding weight.

"- I-I'm sorry Ms. Bright-!" You tried helping a couple of manual workers that were rebuilding one of the rooms. They were holding really heavy stuff that although it was natural to them, it made your arms disattached and one of your legs break from trying to support your whole body and the extra weight.

You can't help but feel intimidated under her gaze, but you know that… Deep down, behind that rough exterior there is a person that doesn't want you to get hurt.

"- This is the eight time you do this and I can't stand that pompous prick! There is no way in hell I'll let that guy touch you again." She was talking about one of the robot engineers inside the building. You think his name was Mack, you're not sure.

Funny isn't it? You've been in his office seven times and you still don't remember his name! But you remember him being pretty funny.

"- Why won't you let Mack fix me?" You asked genuinely confused. Your naivety is adorable, but dear Lord, how infuriating it is!

"- That prick gives me some really odd glances, and besides, he's annoying." Ingrid entered her office pulling you in and closing the door. It's been such a busy day today, can't a woman enjoy her birthday in peace?

Ingrid was only being half honest. Yes, she finds Mack to be annoying, but the true reason why she hates him is because of the smug face he makes every time you two enter his office.

He knows there is something a little different from the way Ingrid treats you from the rest of the "underlings".

"- So, who will fix me?" She sits you down on the couch, as she storms around the room trying to remember all of the things she needs to resolve today.

"- I'll fix you up when I get back, I just need to- Argh, God, [Y/N] have you seen my phone?" She was crouching down to look under her desk.

"- It's, right in front of you, Ms. Bright." Her hand was right by the phone's side, yet she was so stressed out that she didn't seem to notice how close her phone was.

"- Unh? Oh." She is always in a hurry, especially on her birthday. You wish she could sit down and relax a bit, couldn't she just, don't work on her birthday? You think she should be able to stay at home at least one day.

While looking at all her notifications she reread all of the tasks you had to complete today. She decided that she'll first have her meeting with some executives and then she'll come back to fix you. She isn't really skilled in fixing robots but it'll have to do.

There is no way she is going to see that smug face today. And no way is she going to let that bastard's greasy hands touch you.

Oh, that rat gets too comfortable touching you. You're not only a fragile device but you're also property of Ingrid Bright, he is supposed to repair you whenever you're broken, not make fun of the CEO while she is right there! The audacity of this man to not only make fun of his boss in her presence, but also make jokes for you to laugh at.

"- [Y/N], when I come back I'll fix you, or maybe call someone else to do it, I don't know yet, but either way stay still. I'm probably going to take four to five hours to come back, so feel free to use the computer or read a book if you're bored." She was getting ready for her reunion, as she continued to walk in circles around the room trying to find some papers she was supposed to take to the reunion.

"- I can review some data in the computer, and probably fix some documents that need to get revised-" You wanted to be useful and try to continue your work. You feel that if you just stay in the room waiting for her to come back, you won't be really helping her like you're supposed to.

"- No, no, please, stay right there. You don't need to do your tasks today." She had cut you off stating that you shouldn't be moving so much. Your parts are almost falling down, and she still doesn't know how she'll fix you.

"- But!-" You tried to reason, but your boss was way too much of a hot head.

"- I'll be back, okay." She said as she closed the door.

Well. Guess is nap time! Or, restore energy time, I guess?

But before you managed to shut down, you heard a couple of knocks on the door.

"- I'm coming." You said hoping the person on the other side would hear it. You don't remember if anyone was going to visit Ms. Bright today, but you didn't want to keep the person waiting too long.

You tried to maneuver yourself to the door, as having one broken leg and both arms falling apart wasn't really easy.

"- Ms. Bright is having a meeting now, but I'm sure she can contact you later!" You warned the stranger, thinking that maybe they wanted something from Ms. Bright.

"- Can I help you- Oh!" You finally managed to open the door but there was no one on the other side. Only a box with flowers on top.

"- Pink lilies, yellow orchids and white roses, what a strange combination." You thought out loud. You're aware of how often Ms. Bright gains gifts from secret admirers, but never one so unusual and especially on her birthday.

Everyone knows she hates roses. You wonder if there is any card saying who is the sender.

You go back to the couch, with the bouquet in one hand, and the other one dragging the box to the couch, as you can't really pick it up. You try finding a gift card or any form of hint of who the sender is.

You found one! But… It's with the Bright Vision Corp symbol on it, and is saying that is from Mrs. Bright to Mrs.-…

Oh.

Oh, you know who sent this.

"- Mrs. Bright… You're really stubborn..." Ingrid's father always sends her a gift on her birthday, mostly flowers, with a gift card with his number.

Now that you think about it, maybe the flowers that were chosen aren't so unusual, maybe they mean something. Normally he would send hyacinths. A full bouquet of only hyacinths.

They were gorgeous, but…

Every single gift card contained his name, and Ms. Bright 's old name, and she really doesn't want to be referred to with that name. She had told him the other times he sent these how she feels about it, yet, the old man doesn't seem to comprehend his own daughters feelings.

Is it because of ignorance? Is it because of spite? Is it because he doesn't care? Is it because he doesn't know any better?

Which one? You personally don't know. And Ingrid, doesn't care.

The first time he sent her this gift, she called him, but things didn't really work out.

She doesn't want to interact with him anymore, and so she burns his gifts. You asked her why, but, she just doesn't want to have him in her life anymore.

He is living his life in the countryside with his wife, living a traditional and simpler lifestyle that he always wanted. While Ingrid is living her best life really distant from them, in this big city full of lights.

Even if that means missing them sometimes.

You respect Ms. Bright privacy, so you haven't continued asking her about her decisions. This bouquet is so pretty though, it would be a shame to burn such beautiful flowers.

"- I think… Maybe she should keep this…"

You look at the box that came with the flowers. Well, "with the flowers", as looking at the box more carefully you can see that it wasn't her dad that had sent the box to her, but rather it was something she had ordered online.

"- Oh, I can't believe it is here!" Honestly, this one box has taken three weeks to find its way to the company, what the hell it's inside? The curiosity of seeing her buy this but never tell you what it was, was eating you up inside.

She was being so mysterious about this, she didn't even let you use her computer. She probably thought you were going to see her history and see what she brought (and yes, you would).

"- It's probably another fancy imported dress. Or maybe it's one of those cute japanese trinkets!" You thought about picking up the box, but your arms would probably break if you tried.

"- Sigh, actually, it may be another piece of equipment for her office, like her last birthday." You sighed out loud once again, remembering how her least birthday was incredibly boring, even to you, and you don't really understand what birthdays are!

You get a little bit, it's a special date that commemorates the birth of a human being. They receive gifts and get a happy birthday party, and everyone says "happy birthday!"...

Okay, maybe you want someone to say happy birthday to you, but that is beside the point.

"- She probably have brought new computer just so she can keep being a workaholic and get stressed out every five seconds!" You probably shouldn't be ranting so loudly, but still! It 's her birthday! She shouldn't be buying things that are for her job, she should be focusing on buying stuff that makes her happy!

Actually, maybe you… Should give her something-

"- I'm back-" Oh dearest, that was kinda fast-

You throw the gift card aside, as you have thought about a really dumb but possibly great idea.

"- [Y/N], I- [Y/N]?!? What happened to your arm?!?" She started talking with a calm and almost soothing voice until she noticed that one of your arms has started to actually fall apart from your body.

"- Uhn, nothing much." I mean, to you is nothing, really, it's just inconvenient.

"- Oh dear… Pfft, Jesus you really are a handful." She is in an oddly playful mood, which is perfect actually! This is probably the first time she doesn't sound so terribly stressed.

"- Has everything gone well in the meeting?" You ask, while you follow with your eyes her moviments. She is hyperventilating from doing so much stuff and going around the place at full speed. (Although she just… Walks really fast).

"- Well, yes, you know the usual, a bunch of old people saying this, saying that-" She starts going in detail, but she doesn't really care about the meeting. She is tired and all that she wants is to take a bath.

She lays down on the other couch across from you and goes on her rant about her day, it's honestly kinda funny how she lets herself be more comfortable with you. She doesn't like shoving her problems down on anyone's throat but she is glad you're listening.

She can feel your soft gaze on her form. It's honestly comforting. Throughout the day she poses as an absolute untouchable goddess, and everyone, even you, looks at her like she is absolutely terrifying. And, yes she knows, and yes, she… Kinda likes it.

Don't get her wrong, it is not like she is going to come out of your bed and grab your foot at night. She just feels a little stronger knowing people see her as untouchable. She doesn't feel like she is, though.

And when it comes to you, is… it is different. It's weird… She likes how you look scared, but also look so relaxed around her.

How casual you act, and how affectionate your gaze feels.

She turns her head to look at you, to confirm her thoughts but-

"- Oh… Don't tell me." Flowers. Flowers again. She has two intuitions about what those flowers are. None of them are of her interest.

"- Oh- Oh, wait! These are…" Oh dear, are you really going to continue with this plan? You want to see her happy but- Something feels wrong about this plan, something feels wrong about lying…

"- These are from who, [Y/N]?" She was getting impatient, not because of your delay, but mostly because she couldn't stand the thought of her old man sending her flowers again.

She feels weak, every time he sends her these gifts. She feels like she is going to break down and… Call him again.

And if it is an admirer, well, there goes 60 dollars worth of flowers down the drain, because she is burning them. Such a shame, really.

"- It's, I- I brought this! Happy birthday!" You screamed, because your system couldn't take the heating coming from your processor. Why does it take you so much effort to just lie? And is not like it's a big-big lie, it's just a small lie?!?

"- Ah- I, what?" All of that anger, all of those intuitions, all of those plans to burn the hell of these flowers, went completely out of the window.

She is completely lost. She can't understand what, why, when, and how?? You don't even have money, how would you buy it??

"- Oh, [Y/N], you… You really don't follow my instructions, do you?" She joked as she started to tear up- Wait, no!

"- No! Please don't cry!! I'm sorry for going against your orders I just- I-I really wanted to give you something special!!" You didn't want to make her sad, why does everything that you do have the opposite effect??

"- N-No, dummy, I'm not sad because of you. I'm happy because of you." You never gave her something like this, she didn't think it was possible for you to give her something like this. They're beautiful. They're so precious.

You're so precious.

But why roses, though? Oh well, who cares!

"- Thank you so much, [Y/N]." She had approached you, taking the flowers and holding one of your hands.

She was towering over you which was making it really hard for you two to meet each other's eyes, so she crouched down to your level.

You're really broken down, she is sweaty and tired, but none of these things matters to her. This really feels like one of those special moments.

Well… Mostly to her. You're so naive, you just feel like you gave your best friend a nice gift!

Like a cat giving their owners a prey they have hunted down. You're proud of making her happy!

Oh, but things are never really so sweet, are they?

"- [Y/N], I have something- Oh, speaking of the devil, right?" She didn't finish her sentence as she noticed the box at your side.

' This day has gone from good to better!'

"- [Y/N], I also have a gift for you."

"- But I don't have a birthday-"

"- Today is your birthday, I mean, you were activated for the first time on my birthday. So, this kinda means that we share a birthday." She is talking with her normal soothing voice, but the slight tone of happiness that came with it didn't go unnoticed.

Just like your face brightening up at the news.

' It's my birthday?!!?!' You thought.

Ingrid opened the box, absolutely excited to see your face. She took your birthday gift from inside.

"- Take a look! What do you think?" She said holding an outfit that was inside the box.

Well, you were right in a way, it was an expensive imported outfit. But… You don't know, there is something different about this outfit.

It's not as fancy and modern as Ms. Bright, but it wasn't like your "futuristic" uniform. Your uniform was minimalist and grey and white, yet the outfit was- Uhn… What's the name?

Pastel! Pastel with laces! That's the name you were looking for!

It was... cute! You it's definitely more colorful than your uniform. You're just happy you have received your first ever birthday gift, and that you don't have to wear only grey uniforms.

But wasn't the outfit a little short? A little too reveling?

Inside the box there were a couple more clothes inside. All had the same theme.

"- Well, I guess now I have matching outfits!" You joked with Ingrid, not really getting the whole picture just yet.

"- Ms. Bright, I'm really thankful for your gifts! I'm so happy that-" She interrupted you by putting a finger on your mouth.

"- Call me Ingrid, [Y/N]."

"- Oh, sure!" You said, registering the new rule.

"- …" She keeps staring at you tho. Waiting for a better response.

"- Ingrid…?" You said half asking as you didn't know exactly what she was waiting for, but after seeing the satisfaction on her face, you understood that you did right regardless.

She moved away and started packing her stuff, she was planning on going back to her house.

"- It's really late now, maybe when we get home I can repair you in peace." She said.

"- But… I always stay inside the office, don't I?" You asked, genuinely confused. She didn't need to go out of her way to fix you, you could just wait until tomorrow.

"- You used to. Come on, I'll bring you home." She picks you up. You aren't as heavy, the only thing causing some weight to be pulled down is your arms falling off. She was so excited!

"- Oh, well, I guess we'll be back in the morning right?" You asked her, and once again, you showed how naive you truly were.

"- Uhn, no, you won't be coming back. I will." She said bluntly.

"- Wait, what do -"

"- You won't be coming to work anymore, [Y/N]. You're staying inside my house."

"- But Ingrid-"

"- You aren't really the "corporation's property", so there isn't any problem of me bringing something that is mine to my house." She is rushing her pace so she can get to her car faster. God, she can't wait to throw herself on her bed.

"- Ah-" You were coming up with a hundred questions. But she decided to interrupt you so she can try and explain to you.

"- Look, before you make any more questions, let me clarify the situation. You are my android assistant right?" She does sound a little pissed, even she can tell, but please don't interpret it as she being mad at you.

I mean, she is just a little bit, but it is not your fault, you're just scared of the sudden turn of events!

You nod to her, feeling more and more confused and scared. But why would you be scared? You shouldn't be scared! Ingrid is your friend, and she is also your boss.

And she is also your owner.

"- So, I… I'm going to need you to stay inside my house from now on. You'll help me with my housework from now on. I don't need your services inside the corporation anymore."

' But I still need you in my life. As cheesy as that sounds.' She thought.

"- Oh, well, I'm glad I'm still of service!" She can't blame you for having a narrow-minded mentality. You were built to serve. Just that.

But, she does need you in her life. Her personal life. It's a complete mess after all, so she isn't completely lying.

Of course she won't let you do too much work. But she knows that throwing a new environment and new concepts to you all in one night can be pretty heavy. Can't have you steaming up and exploding on her, right?

All that matters is that you're happy, she is happy, and you're both hiding the truth.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

#yandere #sheep stuff #yandere x reader #sheep's stuff #yandere oc fanfiction #yandere fanfiction #yandere oc #yandere ceo #yandere ceo x reader #yandere ceo x robot reader #yandere ceo fanfiction #special delivery request #special delivery fanfictions #unofficial oc #but who knows 👀

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mxndoscyarika · 4 years ago

Text

Folklore series: cardigan (Marcus Pike x fem!reader)

Author’s note: Whaaat? Two pieces of writing posted on two consecutive days? Yep, that’s what happens when I have Feelings 😭 I know you guys loved the Marcus fic, so I thought I’d slip a little bit of our favorite FBI agent into this series 👀 Keep in mind that most of these stories will be separate entities; they’re not in the same universe! I hope you guys like itttt ❤️

Summary: You and Marcus fit together like puzzle pieces; taken apart, jumbled up in life, but ultimately reunited.

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

< previous song | next song >

Warning(s): prom, breakups, mention of Lisbon

Song: cardigan by Taylor Swift (Folklore)

---A friend to all is a friend to none

Chase two girls, lose the one

When you are young they assume you know nothing---

“Y/N? Can I ask you something?”

You looked up from your book at your best friend, Marcus. “Yeah, what do you need?”

He sat down, wringing his hands. Smiling bashfully, he said quietly, “It, uh, has to do with prom.”

At that, you felt heat rise to your cheeks. Looking away, you responded, “What about it?”

“There’s this girl I’ve been meaning to ask to go with me…” Your heart raced in your chest. Although you never made a big deal out of your high school’s prom, deep down you wanted to go. Or at least to be asked. To be thought of for such an important milestone in the American lifestyle.

Marcus was your best friend—and a guy, no less—so part of you wished that he’d pick you. That he’d bring you flowers and a poster asking you to be his date to the prom. To a night full of dancing and dressing up and simply having fun.

It was safe to say that you thought of him as more than just a friend. There was just something about you and him that fit together so well, like your favorite cardigan that you’d worn over and over until you couldn’t wear it in public anymore.

“I was thinking of asking Ashley to be my date,” he started, a blush on his cheeks. You wished it was for you. “Do you think I have a chance? How should I ask her?”

Trying to hide your disappointment, you forced yourself to smile for him. Of course it wouldn’t be you. Why would it, when he could have any girl he wanted? He was thoughtful, smart, exceedingly polite, and just….everything. Your childhood summers, weekends filled with games of hide-and-seek. “You should do whatever you think is best, Marcus. She’s a lucky girl, to have you asking her out.”

“But how, exactly?” he asked. Your knees touched as he turned towards you. “I want to make her feel special, even if she says no.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. Frankly, you barely knew her. She wasn’t in any of your classes, only Marcus’s. Which also meant everything you knew was told to you by him. “It depends on what she likes. Some girls want flowers and a poster, others might want to be serenaded or surprised at home.”

“Well, what about you?” he wondered, nudging you with his elbow. “How would Y/N L/N like to be asked to prom?”

Your heart clenched at his soft voice. If only he knew. “Honestly? It wouldn’t matter if it was someone I wanted to go with.” Realizing you might’ve just invited him to ask more questions about your prom journey, you added, “But flowers would be nice. Especially if they were my favorite. But I guess only you would know what they are.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “Well, I’m sure someone will get you flowers. Anyone would be lucky to be your date.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” you muttered, playing with a stray thread on your shirt.

If anyone would be lucky to take you to prom, why wasn’t Marcus asking you to be his date?

It was summer when your heart was broken.

“I just don’t understand.”

Marcus held you close and laid back against the pillows, his hands slipping under your sweatshirt to rub your back. The warmth of his embrace and the soft murmur of his voice was enough to soothe your sobs into hiccups. Squeezing your eyes shut, you hugged him tighter and buried your face against his neck.

“That guy is an idiot,” he said, his hand resting against your lower back. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on. And you know what? He doesn’t deserve to know.”

You’d thought everything was going well. He’d been so nice, so accepting. Your parents loved him, though you knew they preferred your best friend.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” you contemplated, your hands gripping the back of his shirt. The cotton fabric was soft beneath your fingertips. “We’re going off to college in a few months anyways. It would’ve ended sooner or later.”

“Not necessarily,” Marcus murmured. “Relationships can survive through a distance if the two people love each other enough to put in the work.” His eyes lit up as he thought of something. “Can you sit up for a second? I think I know something that will help you feel better.”

Wordlessly, you pushed yourself into a sitting position. You watched as your best friend in the entire world slid off your bed and slid your closet door open. If he were anyone else, you’d tell them to stop. But this was your Marcus, your best friend. You’d let him do anything.

“Where is it?” he muttered to himself as he sorted through your hanging clothes. Just as he turned to ask you, he spotted the worn fabric in a pile under your bed, the edge sticking out just enough to be noticed. “Ah, there it is.”

Plucking the old cardigan from its spot on the floor, he said, “This should do the trick.”

You couldn’t help giving him a little smile as he draped it around your shoulders before sliding back onto the bed and pulling you into his arms. For a moment, as you laid your head on his chest, you let yourself imagine an alternate reality where you and he were together.

“Thank you.”

---

“Sorry,” you muttered as you squeezed past the lady and her shopping cart that was in the middle of the aisle. Ignoring the annoyed look she gave you, you walked out towards the checkout lines.

You heard a breathy, familiar laugh, making you stop as you placed your groceries on the conveyor belt. It had been years since you heard that laugh. But as you looked around you, there was no sign of him.

Eventually, you and Marcus had split up to go to college, promising to stay in touch. Despite your best efforts, school, relationships, and work took over every aspect of your lives, leaving little room to catch up. Sure, you saw each other’s posts on Facebook, but it wasn’t the same.

Not that it should’ve mattered. People can change and fall out of friendships, you tried to convince yourself. You certainly didn’t stay in touch with some of your friends from college, why should you expect Marcus to make you an exception?

Last you heard, he’d been dating a coworker: Teresa Lisbon. Unable to stop yourself, you’d searched up her profile on Facebook, scrolling through her posts.

They seemed happy. And you were happy for him.

At least one of you was getting a happy ending.

Throughout college and the time after graduating, you’d tried to squash your feelings for him with other relationships. But no matter how nice the person was, they never made you feel as warm and safe as Marcus did. They didn’t understand your quirky habits and didn’t know how to care for you when the weight of existence crushed you. They didn’t know you had a favorite piece of clothing that you kept perpetually stowed away in a box with your high school graduation gown and cap.

They weren’t Marcus.

Part of you wished you had told him about your feelings before he’d left, just so you could have some peace of mind. Nothing would’ve changed; you still would’ve parted ways and gone down your separate paths, but you wondered if anything could have changed. Would he have told you he felt the same? That he cherished those weekends just as much as you did?

As you pulled up to your parent’s house, you noticed an unfamiliar car parked on the driveway. You frowned. Your parents hadn’t told you they were inviting people over.

There was a man standing at the front door talking to your parents, his baritone voice sending shivers down your spine. He was dressed in a suit and had his hands in his pockets, head dipped slightly.

“Oh, Y/N! You’re back already?” your mom asked, smiling. She held out her hands for the bags as you slipped past the man.

Passing them to her, you replied, “Traffic wasn’t too bad and I remembered where everything was. It hasn’t been that long since I’ve been here.”

“Y/N?”

You froze, still facing towards the inside of the house. It couldn’t be him. He was working for the government and had a fiancee. Why would he come home without her? Without Lisbon?

A part of you wanted to cry as you turned to look at Marcus. Your parents took that as their signal to leave, letting you and Marcus navigate the situation on your own. As a team.

“Marcus,” you greeted, smiling softly. Crossing your arms, you asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, chuckling softly. His eyes still twinkled when he laughed, though now the corners crinkled adorably. Although years had passed, and now he bore a scruffy beard, he still looked as handsome as ever. Softly, he said, “It’s been a long time.”

Nodding, you replied, “Yeah, it has been.” You gestured towards him. “I mean, look at you. You’re wearing a suit and tie, you grew a beard, are engaged...A lot of things have changed.”

The smile on his face faded when you mentioned his engagement. “Actually, I’m not engaged anymore.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh...I didn’t know-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassured, shaking his head. Though by the way his voice dropped and his eyes glistened, you knew he was still hurting. “It just...wasn’t meant to be.”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. As if you were moving on instinct, you stepped towards him and pulled him into a hug. A wave of emotions crashed over you as his scent of sandalwood and musk enveloped you. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, as if you’d never left each other. “Do you want to come in?”

“Would you mind?” he asked, his voice like velvet.

Slipping your hands into his, you tugged him into the house. “You’re always welcome, Marcus.”

---And when I felt like I was an old cardigan

Under someone’s bed

You put me on and said I was your favorite---

Tagging:

Permanent taglist: @cinewhore @randomness501 @pedropascalisadilf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @catfishingmorales @halfwaythereroyal @fioccodineveautunnale @talesfromtheguild @tortles @ladamari68 @theokatcov @snivellusim @starryluce @inked-poet @this-cat-is-dea @shewritesandplants @chews-erotically @thefandomimagines @emesispo @mindless--ramblings

Folklore series taglist: @cryptkeepersoul...and @agentpike, because I feel like it would be illegal to NOT tag the biggest Marcus stan of all 😂

Let me know if you’d like to be added to either taglist!

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #agent pike x reader #agent pike #the mentalist #Pedro pascal #Pedro Pascal x reader #my writing

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queenbirbs · 4 years ago

Text

surrender | Edward Mortemer x f!MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x Elena McTavish

Word count: 7.5k+

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: N*FW

AN: In the words of Kacey Musgraves: I’m alright with a slow burn. But when you want to speed it up a little, that’s what fics are for, right? Takes place pre-chapter nine and also kind of skirts around the very end of chapter eight.

**Re-post due to my dumb ass trying to edit the original on mobile and it wiped the whole damn thing. Cool. Cool cool cool.

“Good evening, Miss McTavish?”

The words aren’t so much of a greeting as a question. It’s silly, then, that her breath catches a little. She hides it with a stretch, raising her arm above her head and letting out a throaty noise of content when her spine lengthens. Dropping back onto her heels, she watches Edward finish his ascent up to the crow’s nest where she stands watch.

“Nothing but sea and sky,” Elena replies.

“Aye, should be more of the same on through ‘til morning.”

He settles at his preferred spot, just a few feet from her. She wouldn’t be surprised if his boots have worn divots into the wood from the amount of time he spends up here.

“I’m no Al Roker, but I’d say the nice weather will continue. The sunset was as gorgeous as ever.” She tips her head to the side and bites down on her lip, trying to pull a script line from her memory. “What’s that saying, ‘red sky at night, sailor’s delight’?”

“Al Roker?” he repeats the name, his brow furrowed.

“He’s... a person who predicts the weather. Sort of.”

Edward’s gaze flickers from the sea to her, and then back again, huffing out a short laugh.

“It seems that you speak another language, sometimes.”

“Comes with the territory, I suppose.” Elena shrugs. “What with being a twenty-first century transplant and all.”

She doesn’t miss the quick search he does of the ship below, looking out for any wayward pirates with curious ears, but she knows, just as well as he does, that most everyone is tucked away in the galley below deck. The only other soul around is Maggie back at the helm, who makes a show of feigning interest towards the starboard to give them more privacy.

“I hope you don’t find me rude, that I still don’t know what to make of your… claims.”

“No offense taken,” she assures with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “I thought about what I would do if someone suddenly appeared in my house, claiming they were from your time.”

“And what would you do?”

“Call the cops and then threaten to sick my dog on them.”

“The dog wearing the life preserver?” he lifts a single eyebrow at her, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “Aye, a truly terrifying sight to be sure.”

“Was that a joke?” she asks, her eyes wide as she makes a show of looking him over.

“You didn’t care for the one about falling in battle, so I thought I’d try out another.”

“Not bad. But I wouldn’t give up your day job quite yet.”

Edward hums his agreement and turns his sights on the ocean before them. Elena understands why he enjoys being up here -- she likens him to a king, high in his tower, or a lion, perched atop his rock; all the world is an oyster from such a height.

Tipping her head up, she takes in the night sky’s view. With little to no light pollution, especially this far out at sea, the stars come out in droves. The Milky Way is a cloudy, violet river that commandeers the horizon. It’s almost dizzying, the amount of stars visible, layers upon layers of them blooming across the sky. Elena’s never seen anything like it. Even when she and her sister would skip their Friday classes, drive up to the nearby state park, and spend the weekend up there, pretending they knew how to camp.

She thinks of the text on her phone from Gabby and the plans they were in the process of making for her to come visit Elena in Los Angeles. When she dropped out of college to follow her dream, the few family she remained in contact with ceased their feeble attempts at communication. When she made it to LA (or, rather, to the one-room hovel she could barely afford), Gabby was the only person on the other end of the line, trying her best to cheer her up. The pang of loss strikes her hard, somewhere behind her ribs. Other than her sudden departure from the set, Gabby might be one of the only people that notices her disappearance -- which is kind of sad, when Elena thinks about it, given that her sister still lives back in Austin.

That thought launches a thousand others. How long has she been gone? Is time moving at the same speed in the future? Is she even going to make it back home?

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Edward’s voice jolts her from her thoughts.

“Yeah,” she agrees, clearing her throat of the emotions that clog it. The railing is steady below her hands; she clings to it, trying to ground herself as best she can.

“Tis... not the same, where you’re from?”

“Where I live, it’s hard to see this many. I feel like if I could get a little bit higher, I could almost touch them.”

Edward looks back to the east, where the moon hangs low in the sky.

“I don’t see why not,” he murmurs, making a show of leaning close to continue, “if what you say about the moon is true.”

“The stars are a lot farther. And the moon isn’t exactly suitable to live on. At least, not right now. Or,” she pauses, her lips twisting into a grimace, “well, not in my time, it’s not.”

“I’m glad, then, that I’ve made the sea my home.”

If his words are tinged with melancholy, Elena doesn’t mention it. Though she could encourage him to elaborate, she doesn’t want to ruin this peaceful moment. The thought brings with it the memory of their afternoon swim: of his arm wrapped tight around her waist, of the hungry look in his eyes as he took his fill, of the ache in her chest when their moment was broken by the need to surface.

The crystal-clear, turquoise water of the cove brought its own reminder of the summer before her sophomore year of college. It was Gabby’s idea to use their open water diving certifications for something other than taking up space in their wallets. Having spent so much time after her gender affirming surgery entertaining herself with shipwreck documentaries, she booked the trip to the Florida Keys, flights and all, before informing Elena -- in typical Gabby fashion.

“I would never get tired of the views, that’s for sure,” Elena sighs. “Or the constant opportunity to explore whatever island I sailed upon. Like that tiny island we stopped at, I would love to dive there, spend some time exploring underwater.”

Glancing over, she spots Edward’s furrowed brow; she sifts through what little historical knowledge she has of diving. Have those weird, space-age looking suits even been invented yet?

“Sometimes, Miss McTavish, I wonder if I have not happened upon a selkie, with the things you claim.”

“Selkie?” she repeats, rolling the word around in her head, but recognition never comes.

“Aye, a creature of myth, though some people believe they do exist. My mother used to tell me stories when I was little, of the women who came from the sea. Once they reach dry land, they shed their seal skin and transform into a human.”

“So... kinda like a mermaid?”

Edward tips his head in consideration. “In a way. But selkies are usually considered to be gentler. Unless their seal skin is stolen, they favor their time spent among humans. And, when they tire of us, they return to their skin and resume their life under the sea.”

“That sounds sad, in a way. But I promise I went down in a diving suit, not a seal skin.”

“I’ve heard rumors coming out of England, of a man who salvaged sunken ships by trapping himself inside of a barrel. I assume that is not what ye mean, though.”

“No, not in a barrel,” she grins, pulling her phone from her pocket. “I can show you, though, if you’d like to see.”

“Ah, the black box of witchery.”

He moves closer as he speaks, though, clearly interested in taking another look at it. If he was truly frightened of it, she supposes, he could just lob it into the sea. Her grip tightens on the phone at the thought.

Navigating to her photos, she taps at the folder (embarrassingly titled we’re in miami bitch!!) and turns the phone so the images can expand into greater detail.

“Some of these I took with a disposable camera, so they aren’t the best,” she laments, swiping her thumb across the screen every few seconds. “But my sister -- she has this fancy underwater housing, so her pictures are nice and clear. I would message her for more, but I don’t think Verizon has that great of service.”

She can’t help but chuckle at her own bad joke. Edward, it seems, couldn’t care less -- entranced as he is by the colorful images of the coral reefs and the sponges sprouting from the USS Spiegel Grove’s rusted frame.

“These paintings are exquisite.”

“Pictures,” she corrects.

“You say that as if I’m to know what it means,” he counters.

She swipes to a selfie her sister had taken, the image capturing little else but their masks and the blue world around them. The next photo is better: a full-body shot of Elena in her wetsuit and gear, a cloud of bubbles floating above her head. “I suppose this explains you being such a strong swimmer, when you jumped in after Ginny.”

She shrugs at the veiled compliment and returns the phone to her pocket, avoiding his intense look that she can feel burning into the side of her head.

“Well, swimming in thirty-foot waves is a bit different from the calm waters of Key Largo, but thanks.”

Edward reaches down and skims two fingers under her chin. He tips her head up to meet his gaze, his dark eyes flashing with certainty.

“Make no mistake, though: I am to see that you do not perform such a stunt again.”

Elena knocks his hand away; irritation bubbles up inside her, heating her cheeks and neck.

“I wasn’t performing. I’m not the Wonder Twins. And I’d do it again, if Ginny or anyone else went overboard. Even for you.”

His expression sharpens, his mouth twisting into a frown. She crosses her arms across her chest and serves him a look right back. Whatever he’s about to say, she cuts off as she continues, “Just because I haven’t been sailing the high seas or… or crossed swords with some real buccaneers as long as you all have been doesn’t mean I’m not capable. I fought Robert and won -- I even got his fancy-schmancy sword -- and I sailed our ship through a storm, didn’t I? You need to learn to trust me and-- and… why are you smiling?”

The irritation fades from his face in one fell swoop, there and then gone, replaced by a soft smile that he seems to reserve only for her.

“Something you said, Miss McTavish.”

“I said a lot of things,” she points out. Despite the opening she leaves dangling for him, he doesn’t elaborate. She’s not sure why she expected him to; the man is stubborn to a fault. “Okay, fine. You can keep your charming and mysterious act. You certainly have it down pat.”

“As you do with your… turns of phrase.”

The tension between them cools, aided by the winds that blow towards them from the north. Elena settles at his side once more, the railing at her back. He gives a cursory glance over the horizon.

“You know,” she says, “I realized today that I never said thank you.”

“For what?” he returns his sights to her, curiosity warming his eyes.

“For getting me the hell off the Admiral’s ship. I knew he wasn’t a stand-up guy when he shot one of his own men, but knowing what I know now, I’m especially grateful.” She reaches out to touch his wrist, squeezing it for a long beat. Edward brings his other hand up and covers hers. “I know you took a risk, not knowing if I was a navy spy, but you brought me aboard anyway.”

“Even when we made you stand trial to prove such innocence?”

“Do you think I would’ve been given such a chance on his ship?” she asks, her tone thick with sarcasm.

“No, I do not.” Edward’s face darkens for a moment. “A man capable of such depravities would have treated you… terribly, no doubt.”

“Hey, like I said: white dude of high rank in the eighteenth century? He’s got about a two percent chance of not being an awful person.”

“You--” Edward pauses, lowering his voice as he continues, “are things… different, in your time?”

Elena bites at her lip, wondering how much she should divulge about the twenty-first century. Hope works much better if the outcome is still uncertain, and she doesn’t want to dash any he has for his own future.

“Different, sure, but also very much the same. There’s a famous expression: ‘those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.’ It’s -- let’s just say it’s been accurate more than once or twice.”

“I’ve never heard of such a phrase, but I understand its meaning rather well.”

“And, hey, that’s the second time now that you’ve referred to my ‘situation,’” she marks the term with air quotes. “Does that mean you believe me?”

Edward makes a show of heaving out a sigh. “I am making a valiant effort to do so. Your box certainly helps your case. It -- all of it -- ‘tis still rather wonderful and strange, though.”

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Edward, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“You’ve read Hamlet?”

“I’m an actor by trade. Of course I’ve read it. And by read it, I mean that Shakespeare’s works were forced on me in every English class in school.”

That gets an exasperated chuckle out of him. She can’t help the smile that forms; she really enjoys the sound of his laughter. For as much as he tries to play up the stoic, unfeeling pirate captain, he seems to lose the battle whenever she’s around. “It’s all right, you know, if you don’t believe me. I know this is kinda crazy.”

The humor on his face is there one second and then gone the next.

“’Tis… not that.”

“Then what is it?”

No answer comes.

“Charlie was right,” she teases, knocking her elbow into his. “You’re really not great at changing the subject.”

That gets her a snort of amusement, but nothing more. Before she can prod, a cold gust of wind sings through the rigging, whipping up past them and sending her hair into disarray. Despite the residual heat of the sun-warmed railing, Elena can’t help but shiver, and hugs herself to conserve what little heat she can. Edward wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close, his hand running up and down her back with gentle strokes. Her heartbeat quickens at the gesture, now familiar since he helped pull her up out of the raging waters.

“I apologize, Miss McTavish. I shouldn’t have kept you up here so long. You should go down to the galley -- you missed dinner, after all, while on watch. Can’t have you on a chameleon diet. And you’ll be much warmer down there.”

Elena shakes her head and reaches up, placing a hand on the warm plane of his chest where his shirt parts. His breath catches under her palm.

“No, I’m alright. I’m glad you were the next on lookout duty, actually. I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you really think the Admiral cares about getting his property back?” Edward’s body tenses under her touch; she shoves down the wiry ball of nerves in her stomach at the movement. “That lieutenant I ran into, he didn’t mention anything about--”

“Need I remind you of what I promised on our walk from the mayor’s estate?” he interrupts.

Confusion sweeps through her. Elena quirks her head to the side, trying to connect the dots between that conversation and her current fears. “You are no man’s property,” he spits, his voice gone rough from obvious fury. “And for as long as you are here, you are under my protection.”

The wave of realization hits her.

“I was, uh, talking about the compass.”

“Ah.” He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out. The hard line of his shoulders softens. “I… see.”

“But it was interesting, to say the least, to see you puff up like that. I’m sure it would make any other lass swoon. I mean,” she lifts her hand from his chest and holds her thumb and pointer finger inches apart, “I was this close.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “Aye, I’d pay top coin to see you swoon.”

“I can think of a few things you could do to make that happen,” she teases.

Edward takes her hand in his and drops a kiss to her knuckles. Before that familiar swell of longing in her chest can rise, though, he shakes his head.

“I will not risk it.”

“You would sail your ship into every storm across the Caribbean, but this,” Elena glances down to their entwined hands, “you won’t take a chance on?”

“That should tell you how serious I am.”

“I can’t follow your line of thinking, Edward. Do you think the Admiral will suddenly know? That he’s some omniscient god, overseeing all that goes on?”

“People are fond of gossip.”

“Who? What people? Because if it’s the crew, I trust them with my life, just like you do, and I don’t--”

“Not them. But anywhere we’d go, we’d have eyes on us -- eyes that could report back to the Admiral. And if we were -- there would be no world where I wouldn’t want to have you by my side.”

“But we--”

“Jealousy is a hideous trait to have, but I’m afraid I would not be able to stop it from affecting my actions. I’ve seen the people at port, the way they flirt with you.” Edward frowns at the dark sea ahead. “You don’t think I wouldn’t challenge anyone who tried to -- to woo you? I would not be able to stand idle while--”

Elena barks out the short laugh she’s been holding in. “What is so humorous?”

“Because you already do all that.”

Self-awareness rushes in like the tide, flooding his brain. His jaw goes slack, as does his hand in hers, before he collects himself. Elena feels pinned under those eyes of his. She watches them drop down to her lips before returning to her gaze.

“May I?”

“You really have to ask?”

“Aye, of course.”

He starts to say more -- probably a long-winded explanation about his gentlemanly values -- but she’s waited too long for this to be delayed another second. Elena leans up and silences him with a kiss. He doesn’t turn and flee, like she expects; when he breaks the kiss for air, she gets but a second to collect her own breath before his lips return to hers. She hums her encouragement when he lets go of her hand to sink his fingers into the loose wave of her hair.

His lips, cold from the ocean breeze, warm under hers. Elena finds that his kisses are exactly like him: brash, and quick, and intoxicating, with the slightest hint of steel. When she draws her tongue against him, she can taste spiced rum and saltwater. He growls from the deep well of his throat when she bites down on his heavy, bottom lip. His arm cinches tight around her waist and hauls her against him; their bodies meet in a delicious roll of pressure.

“Miss -- Miss McTavish--”

“Elena,” she corrects, her hand skating up his back, searching for purchase so she can drag him closer.

“Elena.”

His breath is hot against her skin where his lips trace the line of her jaw. The world dips and sways suddenly, the railing digging into her back. She clings to him when the sensation of weightlessness shoots up her spine.

It takes her a moment to register that it's only the ship underneath them, crossing over a rough wave. Concerned that she’ll end up pitching over to the deck eighty feet below, he picks her up and spins until her back meets the mast. Elena reaches for the lapels of his coat, but he’s faster, and snatches her hands in one of his and pins them above her head.

“I have dreamed of this,” he murmurs, skimming the pads of his callused fingers along her throat, his mouth trailing behind with fervent, open-mouthed kisses.

She swallows back the moan that wants to form. A shiver dances under her skin, now damp from his attention.

“I have too,” she admits with a sigh. “Except mine deserve an NC-17 rating.”

“You know I don’t understand what that--”

“I certainly fuckin’ can!” someone shouts from below.

The wonderful spell they’ve found themselves under shatters. The voice might as well have been a gunshot, with the way Edward leaps back from her. Elena mourns the loss of his mouth on her as she adjusts her waistcoat and smooths down her hair.

Flipping and tumbling their way across the deck, Ada and Ax continue their argument about who can reach the top of the main mast first. Charlie, Jonas, and Ginny trail behind them, wagering their bets. Maggie’s thick accent carries across the ship, telling them off for circusing about, and ordering them to stay away from the rigging.

It’s not as if their tryst could have continued much longer, Elena considers, given that the crow’s nest wasn’t exactly a secluded spot. The twins make a good show of pouting, but eventually head for their quarters, Ginny giggling as Ax twirls her round.

“Maggie deserves a raise,” Elena tells him.

“Because she knows how dangerous ‘tis for them to be climbing about with no light?”

“Because she knows they would’ve caught us up here, making out like a pair of horny teenagers.”

“Ah. You--” his hand lifts in an aborted move towards her before he redirects it through his tousled hair. “--you should get down to the galley. I’m sure Henry is waiting on you, by now.”

“Okay,” she says, because it’s the only thing to say. Swinging down onto the rope ladder, Elena starts to descend but pauses, peeking over the railing to catch his eye. “But don’t think this conversation between us is over.”

“Aye.” A wry grin flickers across his face. “I know much better than to assume that.”

Edward is right -- about the food, at least.

When she makes it down to the galley, Henry sits her down with a covered plate. Well, as covered as it can be with the dirty rag he’s thrown over it. She’s learned not to make a fuss, though, especially to the man cooking the food.

“Thanks for keeping it warm for me.”

“Took ye long enough,” Henry huffs, but makes a show of looking over his shoulder at her. His face, streaked with ash that he sifts with a makeshift poker, makes it easier to spot his sly grin. “Find somethin’ interestin’ up there, hmm?”

“I was distracted by the view.” Which is the truth, although she doesn’t include that Edward’s lips were part of said view.

“Nothin’ beats a clear night at sea, to be sure.” Swinging the stove door shut with a satisfied grunt, he jerks his chin towards a small barrel on the nearby shelf. “Charlie made some punch, if ye want more’n water to wash yer food down.”

She shakes her head; she’d made the mistake once of drinking their ‘punch.’ It put the jungle juice she drank back at college parties to shame. Charlie now called it Caribbean moonshine, thanks to Elena and her fiery round of swearing after taking a sip.

With the comforting noise of Henry’s humming as he cleans up, she takes a seat on the tin-lined floor and eats her dinner. Not for the first time, she notes Maggie’s touch in the confined space. Fitted across the shelves are iron bars to keep the contents from taking a tumble in rough waters. Tied round the necks of bottles with twine, scraps of parchment label each oil and spice in her spidery handwriting.

“I worked up a new dessert for ye to try, if ye’d like.” He produces a bowl of something that might come out the other end of her garbage disposal back home. Elena inspects the concoction with interest. “I boiled some hard tack in a little bit o’ rum and brown sugar, and then boiled mangoes with some sugar to mix in with it.”

“Ooh, like a compote?”

“Aye, sorta.”

In another world, three hundred some-odd years in the future, she could easily imagine Henry with a cafe or food truck, selling ‘deconstructed desserts’ and other kitschy items. Scooping up a sample, she’s surprised at the delicious flavor of it. The enjoyment on her face must be obvious, because a grin appears behind the ash. “Good, init?”

“Really good! Except, and this is going to sound weird, but maybe add a pinch of lime juice? I think it would really bring out the sweetness of the mango more.”

“Yer right, lass. That might do. And then maybe I can finally get the others to try it.”

“I’ll vouch for you,” she promises after sampling another portion. “Unless I die of food-poisoning tonight, and then you’re shit outta luck.”

Henry shakes his head and huffs out a laugh. “Edward’d have my head first.”

“Did he at least try it?”

“I doubt he would’ve, if he’d come down for dinner at all. Too busy broodin’ in his cabin, I suspect.”

Elena hands off her empty plate when he motions for it. Curiosity, instead of hunger, gnaws at her insides.

“Can I take this with me?” she gestures to the bowl in her hands.

“Aye, have the rest of it -- and see if ye can convince the cap’n to get in a few bites, hmm?”

She doesn’t bother asking him how he knows where she’s going; the rest of the crew isn’t as blind as Edward claims them to be. “But if ye break it, yer buyin’ me a new one.”

“Deal. Thanks, Henry!”

Elena climbs up to the deck carrying her pilfered bowl.

From where she’s manning the wheel, Charlie throws her a two-fingered salute from the bridge. High overhead, Jonas wishes her goodnight from his post in the crow’s nest. Grateful that she won’t have to try holding onto the bowl while climbing up the rope ladder, she continues on towards the stern.

“What can I do for you, Miss McTavish?” Edward asks before his door is fully open.

“How’d you know it was me?”

He shoots her a deadpan look. Moving aside to allow her entry, he shuts the door behind her.

“No one else would dare bother a captain’s sleep, lest there was an emergency.”

“Henry told me you skipped dinner, so I brought you something to eat.” Elena gestures to the bowl in her hand. Stepping close to give it a thorough once-over, Edward grimaces.

“I will take my chances with starvation.”

“Hey,” she scolds, “it isn’t that bad.”

He does a double-take between her and the food. “You ate it?”

“In college, I once ate stale Wheat Thins drizzled with an expired bottle of honey mustard. And before you say anything,” she holds up a hand to stop the statement she knows is coming, “I know you don’t know what either of those are, but trust me: it was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“And this bowl of slop is better than that?”

“If it weren’t, would I be forcing you to eat it?”

He mutters something under his breath, too faint for her to catch, but seems to concede. After a brief hesitation, he takes the bowl and spoon she offers him and shovels in a mouthful of the mixture. His eyebrows pinch down at the initial taste, and then lift in bewilderment.

“Not bad, right?”

“Not… horrible, no.” He sounds just as surprised as he looks. “This is one dessert of Henry’s that I may live to tell the tale of.”

“Good. But that’s not the only reason I came.”

“Aye, would it have anything to do with continuing our conversation from earlier?”

“All that time, Robert was accusing me of being a witch, but here you are, able to read minds.”

Edward gives a soft snort at that, collapsing into his chair. The desk in front of him is littered with maps and parchments and various trinkets. Elena crosses the room and comes round the side of the desk, taking in the starry view from the windows. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches the spoon swirl round and round in the gruel as he assesses her.

“Ye would’ve been a good jester, Miss McTavish, in a previous life.”

“It’s just us,” she murmurs. “You can drop the surname.”

“No, I can’t.” The grief in his voice is as clear as a bell. “In another life, yes, but here--”

“--here,” she interrupts, turning at the waist to study him, “in your cabin, alone. Not even then?”

Edward sets the bowl down onto the desk and glares at the floorboards. “We can’t let our emotions cloud our judgement.”

Folding her arms across her chest, she lifts a single brow at his attempt to backtrack.

“Says the man hell-bent on playing cat-and-mouse with an enemy to exact revenge on him for something he clearly feels guilty about? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

His gaze shoots up to her, those dark eyes of his flashing in the candlelight. “That phrase I indeed do know.”

“Then you should know that you can’t kiss me like the world is ending, and then shoe-horn me back into a neat, little box, Captain Mortemer.” Elena doesn’t see it coming, she’ll admit that. She’s too busy ranting at the starry night, too pissed off with the man beside her, too afraid she’ll lose the runaway train of her thoughts if she focuses on him and sees all the emotions he claims to be above, all that longing and heartache and desire, painted across his face. “Since you’re so insistent on using surnames to avoid--”

In the second it takes her to draw a breath, Edward surges out of his chair and crosses to her. In the next, his lips are on hers. That passion she saw the mere beginnings of up in the crow’s nest roars with intensity. He cups her cheek and tilts her head just so, deepening the kiss; she can taste the mango’s sweetness on his tongue.

All at once, he pulls away. She mourns the loss of him with a quiet moan.

“My -- my apologies. I’m--”

Before he can worry himself into the ground with another fit of propriety, Elena holds up a finger to his lips.

“Stop being so polite and kiss me again.”

That familiar grin breaks free, lighting up his face with a naked delight that sends her heart racing.

“As you command.”

His mouth claims hers again. A muscled arm circles her waist, one hand splaying wide across her back to pull her close. She comes easily, readily into his embrace. His shirt twists in her hand where she holds on for dear life, parting for a quick breath of air, before diving back in. His other hand strokes a molten path up from her waist, brushing over the beaded point of her nipple. The moan she releases is louder this time, wanting more than anything for him to do it again.

For all his faults, he’s no fool. Sure, he takes his sweet time with it, dragging his fingertips along her collarbone and up into her hair to push the blonde curtain back, but he eventually makes his way back down. Cupping her breast, his thumb rubs circles against her -- even through the layers of lace and cotton, Elena’s breath catches at the immediate flare of pleasure.

Emboldened by her response, Edward backs her up against the cool, glass panes, his mouth leaving hers to suckle at her throat. Elena tips her head back, her lips parting as his stubble prickles against her skin. His thumb works steadily over her and she’s dizzy with the primal need to have him.

Braced by the window behind her, she hooks a leg up and around his ass. He needs no more encouragement to invade the space she’s created, his hips rocking tentatively against hers. Frustrated with the buffer of all her layers, Edward retreats to the buckle at her waist, his eyes searching hers.

“May I?”

Elena swallows to free the words from her throat, but they won’t come; instead, she nods her permission. The belt hits the floor with a thwack. Her waistcoat comes next, which she tosses off with a flourish. Edward captures her hands and tugs off her gloves. Spotting the gleam in his eye, Elena distracts him with a roll of her hips and frees her hands, chuckling when he mutters a curse at her.

“You’re a cunning lass.”

“I can’t wait around for you to strip me of my garments.” Her fingers making quick work of the corset’s laces. “Besides,” she drawls, “between the two of us, I’m probably the one with more experience taking off a lady’s corset.”

His eyebrow raises in response to her claim. The image of her and another tangled together plagues him; his jaw clenches tight at the thought.

“That may be so,” he growls, reaching down for his own shirt and tearing it off, “but it won’t be their names you’ll be calling soon enough.”

Her blood flash boils at the promise. She grabs the hem of her blouse and yanks it up over her head.

“Jealousy is a good look on you,” she teases, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingernail.

Seizing her hand, he laces their fingers together and presses a kiss to her wrist. Goosebumps raise across her skin as his mouth trails from the tendons in her forearm to the curve of her shoulder. Nudging her bra strap down, Edward continues his trek to the rosy flush blooming across her chest.

Not one to play the passive participant, Elena cards a hand through his shoulder-length locks and nudges him down. He takes the cue and moves further south; she whimpers at the wet heat of his mouth closing over the lace of her bra.

“God, stop teasing and--” her gasp echoes across the cabin at the sharp bite of his teeth closing around her nipple. His tongue darts out, soothing any hurt, and turns to lave at her other breast.

Once she regains motor control, Elena unlatches her bra and flings it to what might possibly be the furthest reaches of the universe -- she doesn’t care, as long as Edward will keep doing wondrous things to her with that mouth of his.

“Miss McTavish,” he rumbles, tilting his head to run his stubble along her naked flesh, enjoying the ragged, little noises she makes. “You are well on your way to looking thoroughly ravished.”

Her wandering hand smooths over the tight curve of his ass and grabs hold. She smirks as he bucks up into her.

“Then get on with it, Captain.”

Deft fingers pop the button on her pants and dip down below the waistband. Elena stretches up and rests her bare shoulders against the glass, tipping her hips up to encourage his exploration. She cries out when he slides two fingers inside of her. He gives her a moment to adjust to the intrusion, nuzzling the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.

“I’ve long wondered,” he murmurs, his tongue skimming across the salty sweat of her skin, “what you taste like.”

At the sudden loss of his hand, Elena opens her eyes to tell him off for his teasing -- but her throat goes dry when he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean. It’s a long moment before her world centers on its axis once more for her to ask.

“How do I taste?”

“Decadent,” he growls.

Crowding against her, he props himself up with one hand spread wide against the window above her head, while his other draws a wet trail down her belly. A short grunt of pleasure sounds from both of them when he slips back inside her.

Elena reaches a shaky hand up to hook around his arm, her nails digging into the muscles there. Arousal clogs her veins like molasses -- slow and syrupy and sinfully sweet. The movement of her hips turns clumsy and erratic. Sweat beads across her forehead as his fingers work her open, the heel of his hand circling her with delicious pressure.

“Edward -- fuck, I--” she cries out.

“Will you come for me?” he asks, his gaze snapping to hers. Desire clouds his eyes, the brown irises eclipsed by the black of his pupils.

“Please--” he cuts off her begging with a kiss.

“Will you?”

“Yes,” she answers with a gasp.

Covering his hand with her own to guide him exactly where she likes, she stretches up for another kiss and grinds down against his hand. The heat inside of her reaches its critical point, flaring to life and scorching through her bloodstream. Clenching tight around him, her hips convulse as she rides out the quake of her orgasm.

Edward slides his fingers out, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head when she whines with oversensitivity. He brings her into his arms, smoothing a hand over her hair as her body shudders with the last of its tremors.

“Fuck,” she sighs, a delirious sort of giggle bubbling up. “Well, how do I look now?”

“Exquisite.”

Leaning down, he captures her lips with a kiss. She blames the blush from her recent orgasm.

“I think it’s my turn, then, to ravish you.”

“We don’t have to--”

Elena silences his gallant protest with a heady kiss, raking one hand through his hair. Her other runs along his side, where she hooks two fingers into his waistband and yanks him closer. Continuing down, she runs the flat of her palm against the obvious sign of his arousal. Edward groans into her mouth; he ropes an arm around her waist and carries her to the desk. With a wide sweep of his arm, he knocks documents and equipment to the floor before depositing her atop it.

“Careful!”

He jerks back at her yelp, casting a worried eye over her form. “Have I harmed you?”

“No, no -- I promised Henry I wouldn’t break his bowl.”

Edward rolls his eyes and grabs the dinnerware before she can reach for it, then tosses it to the floor.

“I will buy him a new one when we stop at the next-- why are you laughing?”

Elena shakes her head at him, avoiding any explanation by dragging his mouth back onto hers. It’s a rather effective technique, as she’s finding out tonight. Their remaining clothes join the messy pile on the floor. Edward huffs a laugh at her threat of injury if he rips her underwear, but seems to heed her words and takes care to drop them onto the desk. Moving into the space between her thighs, he grabs two handfuls of her ass and drags her closer. The soft giggle that sounds from her delights him; he leans down and savors the taste of it on her lips.

Elena’s hand wanders over his stomach and down the trail of coarse hair to take hold of him. He thrusts into her touch with a grunt, choking on an inhale when she twists her wrist on the next upstroke.

“May I have you?” he manages to rasp.

“You may,” she purrs, and guides him to her entrance.

With a surge of his hips, he plunges into the slick heat of her. At her gasp of encouragement, he slips out and then back inside, grinding his teeth against the clench of her. Pleasure is a ripple on the surface, building into a wave that banks higher and higher as they move together. The world outside slips from its perch, losing what little control it has over the confines of the cabin. There is only the two of them, lost in the frantic rocking of their bodies.

A shameless staccato of moans falls from her lips as he fucks her. Edward wraps a fist around a length of hair and pulls her head back, exposing the long line of her throat; he nips at her pulse point and then at her bottom lip, swallowing her cries of pleasure.

“If you shout any louder, the whole ocean’ll hear you,” he playfully scolds.

Spotting her opening, Elena tightens her legs around his hips and digs her heels into his lower back. Retaliation sings its sweet tune as she jerks him forward on top of her, the both of them crashing back onto the desk.

“Don’t underestimate me.”

“Nay, I would never.”

Edward props himself up with one hand next to her head, his other clamped firmly around her thigh as he drives into her, the angle somehow that much sweeter. “God, but yer a pretty sight, spread underneath me.”

It’s impossible -- that she’s here, that the desk underneath her is scattered with papers that would be considered treasure in her time, would be framed in a museum and ogled by historians. A quill digs into her spine and she’s certain they’ve spilled a pot of ink, but Elena can’t find it in herself to care. If she’s lost in time, then at least she has Edward to guide her through it; her beacon of light, keeping her adrift, illuminating her way through the confusing, treacherous world she’s been transported to.

“Elena,” he gasps, his chest gleaming with sweat in the candlelight. “Elena.”

His hold slips from her thigh and down to where they’re joined, rubbing quick circles against her bundle of nerves. Whatever he’s asking of her, she gladly surrenders. The wave of her climax rushes over her, flooding her veins and drowning her with euphoria.

The sight of her lost in the throes of pleasure is an anchor; he sinks.

Edward curses with his release, collapsing beside her onto the desk. Their sweat-slick bodies heave as they catch their breath. Something catches flame in Elena’s chest and simmers there when he folds her into his embrace, his palm cradling her head against his chest. His heart thunders against her temple.

She sees no better time than now, lying naked in his arms.

“I have a question.”

He hums with what little strength he can gather for her to continue.

“When we were up in the crow’s nest, after discussing our love of Shakespeare--”

“--as I recall,” he interjects, “I am the only one who willingly read his works.”

Elena makes a waving motion with her hand, which would prove more effective if his fingers weren’t laced with hers.

“Whatever. What I want to know is, when I said that it was okay if you didn’t believe me, why that made you…?”

“Disquieted?” he finishes for her.

“Yeah.”

She can feel the weight of the sigh that empties out of him.

“Because I do believe you. Your mannerisms, your accent, your magic box with its…?”

“Pictures.”

“Pictures, aye. Everything about you should not fit here. But it does, you do. You’ve adapted remarkably well, given what’s happened to you. You are a strong woman, Elena.”

“I would blush, but I’m too tired from our activities.”

He brushes a kiss against the crown of her head and huffs out a laugh.

“Yet, despite how well you’ve adapted, I know that this is not your home. Your true home, that is. I promise you, once we stop the Admiral, I will do everything in my power to send you back home. But, I confess, I will be… terribly upset to see you go.”

Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes; she shuts them against the fading candlelight.

“Me too.”

His palm skims up and down the soft skin of her back, marred here and there by the cuts and scrapes from life aboard his ship.

“Stay.”

For a terrifying moment, Elena isn’t sure what he means -- and is terrified all the more that she isn’t sure if she wants to return home, at least not so soon. Realizing that he’s probably (hopefully) meaning for the night, she musters up a reply.

“The crew will talk.”

Edward scoffs. “They do little else.”

Her shoulders shake from her smothered laughter.

“Is this what passes for pillow talk in the eighteenth century?” she wonders aloud, making a show of stretching and enjoying the noise of interest he makes. “But yeah, okay, I’ll stay. I might even make it worth your while.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

References: an LMFAO song (it was between theirs or Will Smith’s “Miami,” but MC skews younger to me, so I went with the former), a line from Peter Pan, the ‘those who forget history are doomed to repeat it’ is actually a misquote, but I consider it enough of a ref to list it here. There’s a few slang terms from 17th/18th century and various pirate research sprinkled throughout. The USS Spiegel Grove is a real artificial reef, located off the shore of Key Largo. You can dive it with an OWD certification, though it’s recommended to have an AOWD to properly explore it. ~~the more you know~~

Thanks for reading!

#edward x mc #edward mortemer #distant shores #edward x f!mc #playchoices #f: surrender #Kaila writes things #choices

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thenightgazer · 5 years ago

Text

A Dead Body Revenges No Injuries

It should’ve been another good time for Vergil and Lyra to read some books at The Literarium, but one of the guests is suddenly dead. The devil and the librarian must team up to find the truth, since the dead can’t tell tales and its body can’t revenge the injustice.

“He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of him at every pore.”

-Sigmund Freud

Someone’s dead, and it wasn’t Vergil’s fault.

It’s Spring. It should’ve been the season of rebirth. It should’ve been a divine moment to be cherished, when the embroidery of colourful plants and calming breeze comes to life again. Everything blooms after enduring from winter for so long. A new beginning has come.

It was meant to be beautiful.

Everyone who strives after gain in the perishable world will necessarily come to regret it, at the time of separation and the moment of non-being.

The line from The Epistle of Forgiveness sums everything he had gained from his pursuit of power and it craved agonizingly in his heart. Weeks after learning and contemplating about what it means to forgive himself, Vergil finished his reading of the eschatological literature book and now it’s safely stored in his private bookshelf at his bedroom. It relieves him how easy to let go of his nightmares and it gives him a better sleep without the fear of any illusion anymore.

I’m intrigued by what a book and a little of miracle can do to a sinner like me.

It’s hard for him to think about book and miracle without thinking about Lyra.

Like a carousel, the thought about the witty librarian spins around Vergil’s head and that annoy him in the most unique way. He should’ve hate it, for that makes him oftenly distracted. If his head was a mind palace, Lyra would be the random variable that always pop out from nowhere in every thought that Vergil tried to focus on.

Yet he chooses to be here now—sitting on his usual corner at The Literarium and reading Lyra’s another recommendation; Beowulf. That remind him of the demon he once fought years ago with the same name. Such a disgrace for this masterpiece became the name of a filthy demon, he thinks. Beowulf was on Vergil’s reading list since he was a boy, but he never had a chance to fulfill his list until now. There’s a gleeful sensation everytime he reads the passages, feeling his inner child deep down inside him exclaiming in victory.

The hybrid glances at the woman who sits across him. Vergil has recommended Lyra to read The Turn of The Screw, since she’s fond of horror and mystery. He marginally surprises that there’s still people who hasn’t read this illustrious work of Henry James, even the bookish Lyra. The librarian’s eyes scan through the page seriously, examining every words. She has been quiet since 20 minutes ago without moving or even glancing at anything.

This view isn’t too bad, Vergil quietly grins.

He turns his focus back at his reading.

Beowulf is the oldest and longest epic poem with more 3000 lines long, written by an anonymous in Old English. Nobody knows for certain when the poem was first composed, but some scholars have suggested that the manuscript was made in the early 11th century, which makes the manuscript approximately 1000 years old. It exploits the tale of Beowulf and his battles with a monster and a dragon which was guarding a hoard of treasure. Basically a poem of hero who seeks for glory, Lyra said to him. That confuses him since Vergil doesn’t want to seek any glory at all, yet the librarian picked the book for him.

“I once defeated a demon named Beowulf,” Vergil says. “It was too easy.”

Lyra nods slowly without breaking her gaze from the book, “When?”

“Years ago, when I raised Temen-ni-gru. It was one of the demons that guarded the tower.”

“Uh-uh…” Lyra nods again. “Was the demon… look heroic like the fictional Beowulf?”

“Not at all. Too noisy. But I acquired a strong Devil Arm from its corpse. It wasn’t in my possession again since I jumped to Underworld.”

After a moment of awkward silence, Lyra mutters, “Oh, sad.”

Vergil holds himself to not rip off the book that steal the focus of his dear friend by bringing his cup to the receptionist table to refill his coffee. Since the end of winter, Mr Steiner gave a new instruction for the guest to refill their own cup at the receptionist table. We don’t want to intrude the guests when they read. Privacy matters, Lyra said. Though Vergil can’t comprehend why Mr Steiner didn’t give that policy since the first time he decided to serve free coffee. He nods to Nate, who gives him a friendly wave behind the table as he speaks on his phone. Vergil doesn’t have many interactions with him, but he tolerates Nate’s existence since the young man never get Vergil on his nerves.

When Vergil turns his back after get his refill, he almost bumps to two women who just entered the library.

“Sorry!” a woman in floral dress cheerfully apologises to him without giving Vergil a chance to reply. The other one who wears white dress and looks fragile smiles at him as an apology. They immediately join a blonde woman who sits at the Fiction reading section. They greet and hug each other like old friends, then starts chattering. The hybrid rolls his eyes at that sight and continue to walks to his corner, only to find that Lyra still fixates on her book.

I’m literally going to rip off that damn book.

“These people…” she murmurs suddenly.

“?”

“… are idiot.”

What?

“Why do they always following and calling the ghost around?” Lyra complains. “Like, I don’t get why people shout ‘Hello?’ everytime they see something.”

“Curiousity can be infuriating sometimes.” Vergil silently grins while opening the pages Beowulf again. He peeks over his book to see Lyra’s reaction—she glares at him like she realizes Vergil is being sarcastic to her own habit of curiousity.

They continue to read in peace. The doorbell rings, a sign that there’s another guest entering the library. When Vergil hears giggles and babbles from the women at Fiction, he knows that the new guest is their friend. Their steps are a little bit too loud for his enhanced ears, but thankfully it’s soon over as the women go to take their seats and lower their voices.

Once again, all is well, at least for the next five minutes.

Because now Vergil catches coughing sound from the Fiction section.

The sound is getting worse until Vergil has to look up to see who interferes his seclusion. It’s the same floral-dressed woman who apologised to him earlier. The woman excuses herself to the toilet. Even with Vergil’s enhanced senses, he can hear the cough turns into vomit.

“You might want to ask your customer if she’s alright,” Vergil grumbles.

Lyra put down her book and glances at the toilet, “I should never let Nate to brew the coffee again.”

She leaves her chair as the woman comes out from the toilet, still coughing. Her breath is rougher as she grabs her chest hard, like she’s suffocating.

“Clarissa? What happened?” the blonde woman approaches her and tries to lead her back to her seat.

“I’ll get water.” Lyra hurries herself to the office after exchanging words with Nate to look after the woman, Clarissa.

“Is she alright?” Nate asks panicly after spotting rashes on Clarissa’s skin.

“Of course she’s not!”

“Did she eat something weird before she came here?”

“Do I look like I know?!”

But Clarissa never make it to her seat. She collapses.

The scream gets louder as Vergil immediately stands up to approach the crowd. The woman’s friends are too scared to even touch their poor friend. Clarissa’s face turns blue as her body convules greatly.

Cardiac arrest?

There’s a sound of broken cup. “Clarissa!!”

Before everyone could even make any movement, the tremble stops. The woman’s eyes dilate before it stops moving again.

Vergil can sense the life is leaving her body.

“OH GOD WHAT’S HAPPENING?”

“Someone help her please!”

“Call the cop! Now!”

Police?

But Vergil’s suspicion elapses as he spots Lyra.

In the middle of the tragedy, tears, screams and panic, he watches Lyra who’s standing not too far from the crowd. She brings a glass of water on her right hand, yet something’s off.

The hybrid’s direct experience with human emotions might not quite much, but he knows something about human emotion in hysteria. These people are in panic situation, they’re all consume with sadness and can’t even think clearly. All those emotions can affect human’s body. Panic can cause tremor to their body. Sadness can cause their tears stream down on their faces. Disgust and disbelief can make them feel nauseous.

But the librarian stands still. The hysteria affects nothing to her. The water in the glass doesn’t move, not in the slightest.

For a human, her calmness on this situation is… disturbing.

Vergil tries to deny the chill in his spine when he brushes off Lyra’s emotionless reaction from his head.

The ambulance and police are already in the library. Nate flips the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Close’. The library is supposed to be a peaceful palace, but today it turns to be a nightmare for him. He has been a librarian in The Literarium for years, but he never imagined that someday he’ll see a guest die in front of him. This is shocking, of course. They’re already send Clarissa’s corpse to the morgue to be examined. Polices are busy doing investigation and asking witnesses. This fuss makes Nate almost having a nervous breakdown.

“Hey, Lyra,” he calls Lyra who’s standing beside him. “What did the cop ask you?”

She shrugs, “Standard things like where was I when it happened, how was the victim’s state before she collapsed.”

“They asked me the same thing. Man, I feel like we’re in some kinda crime movies.”

“Ah, they also asked me who made the coffee.”

“What?”

“I said it was you. Didn’t they ask you about the coffee?”

“Not a word! God, they’ll suspect me!”

“Relax, Nate. We drank from the same coffee pot and we’re alive. If there’s someone to blame, it must be her friends.”

Nate lets out a relief sigh, “You’re right. Anyway, is it okay with your friend? He looks like he will kill the cop who interrogates him.”

“To be fair, he always look like he wants to kill someone.”

“Yeah that. To be honest, your boyfriend scares the hell out of me.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“No shit!”

“What?”

“Dammit Lyra! Don’t you notice the way he look at you all this time?!”

“Don’t talk out loud next to my ear, Nate. You’ll lower my IQ. And no, we’re friends. He already has a son.”

“So what? Did he tell you he has a wife?”

“… as far as I can remember, no.”

“Then you are more than legal to be his girlfriend!”

Lyra gives him a disbelief look, “Shame on you, Nathaniel Steiner. Your father took a long holiday and entrusted you this library, yet you’re gossiping in the middle of someone’s death!”

“So what?! Honestly, I have a good feeling about this. Imagine this case spread to the whole city, it will attract more guests to come! And don’t try to change the subject!”

It’s no use for Lyra to reply Nate’s babble. She rolls her eyes in boredom, leaning herself on the wall. A smile curve on her lips when she sees Vergil’s interrogation is done as the hybrid approaches her. She can tell he’s in his cranky mood—the crease on his forehead crumples and he looks like he’s ready to use his sword anytime to stab anyone.

“Bad day, isn’t it?” Lyra greets him.

“You bet it is.”

“Did you tell them that you’re a devil hunter?” Lyra whispers after Nate excuses himself and gives Lyra a mischievous wink.

“Of course not,” the half-devil grunts. “I told them that I’m a delivery man. That’s the safest fake occupation for mercenaries, since any higher and crucial occupation requires too much further identification.”

Lyra bursts in laugh, “I pity that police. He seems scared to even look at you.”

“That I didn’t beheaded him should tell my effort to spare his life.”

“Well… that’d be more corpse to clean.”

Vergil has to admit that he’s confused with Lyra’s drastic mannerism. The woman who stands beside him is the Lyra he knows all this time, unlike the woman who stood still with soulless face an hour ago. Was she just shock to see a corpse in front of her? But she looks calm and even unbothered with the fact that there’s someone died in the library. Since Vergil is a hybrid, he can easily sense people or demon’s anatomy and micro expression better than normal human. It almost impossible to fool him. Yet with Lyra, it’s useless.

From the tail of his eyes, he quietly observes her saying something about the polices and the women.

“They’re weird,” she comments. “What’s the use of calling police? Shouldn’t they call ambulance first instead?”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about.”

“Really? But seriously, I was going to call ambulance before she shouted. I think it’s the first thing to do if you find someone who suddenly collapse.”

“Unless it wasn’t an accident.”

“… could it be murder?”

“Probably.”

Vergil can use his supersenses and his prodigious knowledges to find the perpetrator, but he’s not in the position to easily do the investigation. He’s son of Sparda, older twin brother of Dante the infamous Legendary Devil Hunter. Any reckless movement can reveal Vergil’s true identity. While Dante is proud of his reputation all over the world, Vergil doesn’t share the same excitement. He prefers to keep on low profile, invisible from public. Clearly, going to and fro to investigate won’t be his best choice at the moment.

“You could just go, you know, the moment they called police,” Lyra says. “You said you don’t want anyone knows that you’re a son of… that war hero.”

“And that I am.”

“Why are you still here then?”

“Can’t let a friend facing adversity on her own.”

“All I need to do is just cooperating and let the police do the hard work. It isn’t really an adversity.”

“Call it what you want. I know you’re aware of the anomality in this case.”

Lyra giggles, “You got me there.”

The hybrid sighs and cross his hands on the chest, “From what I can sense through those women, I have my own hunch.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“I think one of them has something to do with Clarissa Watson’s death. All of them are anxious and terrified, but their behaviors are unusual, like they keep something from the police.”

Lyra watches the three women; The blonde woman is the one who shouted to call the police. Her face shows a great grief, but surprisingly her behavior is unnaturally calm. While the woman in white dress is constantly crying since Clarissa’s death. The last woman, who has red hair and looks older than the other women, is the one who seemingly the most normal between them. She cries, but still manages to calming the other two women.

“Miss Martha Ventham,” Lyra points the blonde woman. “Mrs Holly Smith,” her fingers points the red-haired woman who Vergil assumes is the one who comes late, because he hasn’t seen that woman before. Then Lyra turns her finger to the woman in white dress. “And that’s Miss Elena Roberts.”

“How did you know their names?”

“I’m a librarian, Vergil. I have records of everyone who visited this library.”

“Or maybe you were eavesdropping when they were interrogated.”

Vergil doesn’t even have to look at Lyra’s mischievous smirk to see that his words are all true. “Typical.”

“Tell me Vergil, can hybrids die because of poison?”

“No. Our bodies have demonic immune to any kind of viruses, bacterias, and poisons. In a huge amount, we can still get hurt by the pathogen and poison, but it won’t critically damage us. We would heal eventually.”

“So… hypothetically speaking, poison won’t have effect on you.”

“True. But I presume your insane idea of having me drink Clarissa Watson’s coffee to make sure whether it’s poisoned or not isn’t really hypothetical for you, am I right?”

“I… haven’t even say a word—but yes! It takes time for the police to decide whether this is accident or murder. Look, they haven’t sent the forensic team.”

“… you’re right. It’ll take too much time to wait for the forensic team, if this is really a murder.”

“So, let’s split up, shall we? You go collect some evidences. Let me do the most difficult part.”

“Which is?”

Lyra glances at the group of grieving women. “Socializing, of course.”

It’s quite hard to tip toe and get away from the sight of the police, but Vergil has a practical idea. He leans his back on the wall, pretending to be bored, while quietly sends his doppelganger to investigate the crime scene. He measures his energy to make the doppelganger as transparent as possible to be unnoticed. With this, he doesn’t have to be directly hanging around the crime scene and catching any attentions.

From his doppelganger, he can see the Fiction section is already empty from officers, but they keep the place as it is for now to be further examined by the forensic team. Vergil’s doppelganger passes through the police line and spots three cups of coffee on the table, along with four books beside each coffees. One cup is shattered under the table, leaving stains of the coffee on the floor. He remembers the woman in the white dress, Elena Roberts, dropped the cup out of shock. That remind him of Elena’s dramatic behavior—she can’t stop crying and sobbing to the point Vergil finds it unusual. It looks like she’s very close with Clarissa, since she takes Clarissa’s death like the end of the world.

His focus turns to the cups on the round table with four chairs. Vergil remembers their seat positions. Clarissa was sitting between Elena and Martha Ventham. That makes it almost impossible for Holly Smith to do anything suspicious, since her seat was right in front of Clarissa’s. But that doesn’t mean she’s free from suspicion. She was the latest person to join the group. The doppelganger shadowy fingers touch the books on the table; Pride and Prejudice on Holly’s side, The Language and Poetry of Flowers on Clarissa’s, The Great Gatsby on Elena’s, and I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings on Martha’s. There are no sign of unusal things from the books. No dust, no stain or anything, but it’s important for Vergil to take notes at everything because it can be useful.

Now the coffee. Aside from the broken cup, the other cups are all half-emptied. Poison might have no effect on him, but he has a profound knowledge of toxicology and can recognize it if there’s any poison in the cups. He examines the cups, even the broken one, but find nothing unusual. If there’s poison inside the coffee, even the doppelganger can smell it.

But why did Martha Ventham insisted to call the police?

Thinking the crime scene is clear, Vergil almost send off the doppelganger to spy the police before he catches Nate stares at the doppelganger dreadly. His eyes and mouth are wide open as if he sees a ghost. Technically, the doppelganger is a spectral created from Vergil’s demonic power. From human eyes, it could be seen as a ghost.

Poor man will never forget this haunting moment.

Nate holds his breath and fasten his steps away after the doppelganger vanishes.

Vergil grins in amusement. It’s funny to see people afraid of something they don’t understand yet.

“Clarissa was a good person. The kindest one. I’ve never thought…” Holly Smith sighs as her teary eyes meet Lyra’s. “I just can’t believe…”

“Did she have a heart problem?” Lyra asks, wrapping Holly’s hand with her own hand. “The way she collapsed, I think she—you know…”

“She had mild arrhythmia. Usually it’s not dangerous. I don’t know, she was just fine—completely fine before it happened. She still laughed with us. But then she said she had a sudden headache and nausea. I thought she would be okay after she vomited but…”

“Poor lady… did she take her medicine today?”

“I don’t know. I just saw her drinking her coffee. I know because I sat right in front of her. She usually took digoxin to stabilized her heartbeat. I guess she forgot to take her medicine or she had too much dose of it, who knows…”

“I see… that must be horrible,” Lyra mutters sympathetically. “How long have you known Miss Watson?”

“About three years. She was my wedding’s florist. She was all lovely and kind. Her customers adore her. It’s hard to dislike such a person.”

“It must be hard for you and your friends.”

“Of course… but I can’t imagine how Elena’s and Martha’s feelings… they were close with Clarissa since high school.”

Well, that’s new. “The police said you were the last one to join the group.”

“Yes, I need to check my husband first before I came here. He got lung cancer and need to be hospitalized.”

“When you arrived, did you see anything unusual from your friends?”

“Unusual…? No, no. At first I didn’t see them because I took my coffee first, then I spotted their bags and cups on the Fiction section, so I put my coffee and my bag there and searched them between the shelves. I found Clarissa and joined her to browse a book.”

Holly lowers her voice. “I have to say… I—I don’t how to put it into words… but Clarissa told me that she had an argument with Elena before they came here. She didn’t exactly tell me the details and I didn’t ask her further because they seemed to have resolved their problem. It must be hard for Elena to take this matter. I can understand why she cries like that, you know, you fought with your best friend and a minute later you found out she’s dead.”

The librarian nods. “Your voice is getting sore, Mrs Smith. I’ll get you water.”

“Thank you.”

Lyra walks to the office, quickly pour water inside three glasses. She contemplates on Holly’s words. She had arrhythmia. Could that be the main cause of the death? But arrhythmia is generally not too dangerous as long as the patient regularly takes their medicine in appropriate dose as prescribed by doctor. Perhaps she took too much of it? Or maybe one of them intentionally gave the wrong dose? Since the police hasn’t declare the result of the autopsy yet, it will be difficult to find out the true cause of Clarissa’s death.

Lyra lifts the tray and passes Vergil, giving him an understanding smile. The hybrid gives her a sly smirk in return. Lyra spots a subtle of his demonic power around the police. It seems that Vergil uses his doppelganger to eavesdrop the police. And he called me typical? That sly devil.

“Here you go, Mrs Smith.” Lyra gives Holly Smith a glass of water.

“Thank you. You’re so kind.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lyra excuses herself and approaches the other two women who sit a bit far from Holly Smith. Elena Roberts is still crying, leaning her head on Martha Ventham’s shoulder. Lyra presents the water on the table in front of them and take a seat beside Martha.

“My condolences for your loss,” Lyra says.

“Thank you,” Martha sobs. “We’re sorry for causing commotion here.”

“It’s alright.”

Elena drinks the water almost hurriedly before she sobs again. “I-I can’t b-believe—Clarissa was just fine when we were heading here—we knew this library from internet and we thought it would be nice if the four of us v-visit—“

“I know, dear, I know.” Martha pats Elena’s shoulder.

“I—I need to get out for a while. I can’t stand it—“

“Of course, Miss Roberts.” Lyra answers politely.

Martha helps her friend to stand up as she and Lyra watch her walks shakily outside the library and closes the door abruptly.

“Elena is always the most sensitive between us,” Martha explains as she wipes her teary eyes with handkerchief. “She can cry almost all the time if something touches her heart deeply.”

Lyra nods in understanding, “I can understand her feeling.”

“All of this… is just… unexpected. We were here to having fun. I came early because I was too excited to meet my friends again. Clearly I never expected to see my best friend died in front of me. She didn’t deserve any of this.”

“Did she show any kind of sickness before she collapsed?”

“No. Not at all. As I said, I came here first, then we browsed the book together. About ten minutes later, Holly joined us. Nothing happened before Clarissa suddenly coughed and… you know the rest of the story.”

“Mrs Smith told me that Miss Watson was a florist.”

“Ah, yes! She was a proficient florist. She had a flower shop at Carrington Street. She loved flowers as it was her own soul. Since our graduation from high school, she always wanted to be a florist.”

“By the way, Miss Ventham, I need your opinion, since you think there’s something wrong with this case.”

Martha’s eyes are narrowed, “What do you mean I think there’s something wrong with this?”

“You shouted to call the police. Then you must know that something’s off. Otherwise, you would call the ambulance first instead of police.”

Martha gulps as she straighten her back. It’s obvious that she knows something. She scans through the room, making sure that no one will hear them before she whispers to Lyra, “It’s personal. I can’t tell the cop because Clarissa made me promised that I won’t tell everyone. But I feel like I have to call them, see if they found something suspicious from her death.”

Lyra nods as she wraps her hand on Martha’s, giving her reassurance, “I know that promise is a sacred thing. It just… I’m afraid police will get suspicious to you, Miss Ventham. Everyone has already witnessed that you’re the one who shouted to call the police. And to be very honest, that’s a rather suspicious thing to do. The police might have come to their conclusion that you have something to do with Miss Watson’s death.”

“For the love of God, no!” Martha’s whisper sounds desperate. “I won’t ever hurt my best friend! Nonsense!”

“Then you must tell your own story about this… a small thing to help the police to finish this case, and who knows it might help you free your worries.”

Martha considers Lyra’s words seriously. She closes her face with her palms, feeling extremely drained and frustrated. She takes a deep breath and murmurs, “Clarissa said she was blackmailed.”

“Blimey!”

“A week ago, she asked me to come to her house. She sounded terrified. She told me there was a bouquet of dark crimson roses at the front door of the house. I saw the bouquet; it was so dark that it almost like black roses. You know, in the language of flowers, black rose means—“

“Death.”

Martha slowly nods, “Exactly. I was going to tell Elena and Holly, but Elena was still in grief because she recently had miscarriage and Holly’s husband is hospitalized. Besides, Clarissa made me promised to not telling this to anyone. After the day she received the bouquet, nothing happened until today. I wish… I wish I could prevent her death. This madness drives me mad to think that Holly might be the one who threatened her, because she has a garden of roses at her house and she was jealous for Clarissa’s attention to her husband when she visited him at the hospital. But Clarissa was always kind to everyone! I know it was just a blinded accusation. It just a crazy thought in crazy situation. Holly is my friend. I should’ve never pointed my finger at her.”

She wipes her eyes again, “I’m sorry. I think you’re right. I should tell the police about this. It’s no use anymore to keep it as secret. At least this is the only thing I can do to help Clarissa.”

“I hope your testimony will help to finish this case.”

“Thank you. Anyway, would you do me a favour to look after Elena while I talk to the cop? She can’t be let alone or she would making scene.”

“Sure thing, Miss Ventham.”

“Thank you so much.”

Lyra’s eyes follow Martha’s steps as she heads out from the library. She suspects the police will change their direction of the investigation after they hear Martha’s explanation. She watches Nate gives a cigarette to Elena Roberts as they smoke together.

“Nate!” Lyra greets her co-worker. “I was looking for you!”

Nate blows the smoke out from his mouth, “I need to evacuate myself outta that hellish building.”

“Why so?”

“I saw a ghost! A real ghost!”

Lyra snorts. He must’ve seen Vergil’s doppelganger. “Nate, you work with your father for almost your entire life at this library. I work here for only two years, and I never saw any ghosts.”

“Ouch, that hurts! You don’t believe me, right? Then wait for your turn to be haunted by that frigging transparent ghost.”

“You’re exhausted, Nate. Relax.” Lyra approaches Elena Roberts who says nothing since Lyra’s arrival. “Miss Roberts? Are you alright? Your friends are waiting for you.”

Elena Roberts looks weary as she lets the smoke out from her mouth. Her makeup looks messy. It must be a horrific burden for her, to had miscarriage and the death of her best friend all of sudden.

“I-I’m sorry…” she sobs. “This is too much for me…”

“I understand.”

“I’m sorry… I broke the cup.” She mutters and wipe her tears. “I don’t know what to do. I saw her and—and I still can’t believe it!”

“It’s fine, Missy. A cup is replaceable.” Nate tries to cheer her up.

“I regret that I had a fight with her before we went to this library. But it was all over. We apologized and we made fun of our earlier argument. Everything came back to normal. It was all fine.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. I heard from the police you had miscarriage, and now your friend…”

Nate coughes as he drops his cigarette, “—dammit! I’m so sorry, Missy. Couldn’t imagine how hard it’s all for you.”

Elena nods and gives him a weak smile, “Thank you. It was just a month ago, and now my friend died in front of me. I must be cursed!”

“I believe it just an unfortunate event.” Lyra says.

“Then why do these miserable things happened to me? They all left me—my baby, my fiancé, my best friend! She was just fine when I picked her up, even when we arrived and browsing books along with Martha before Holly joined us. Then after she drank the fucking coffee—for Christ’s sake!”

Lyra and Nate exchange a pitiful look.

Elena begins to tremble again and panicly holds Lyra’s hand. “Martha brought us our coffee because she came here first. My heart tells me it was her doing. Who knows she put something to our cups? Clarissa told me that Martha borrowed a large amount of money from her to pay Martha’s rent, but she hasn’t pay it while Clarissa needed her money to return. Yet Martha scolded her for being arrogant and heartless! I know it must be Martha! That greedy, ungrateful bit—!”

“Whoa, whoa, Missy! Calm yourself down! You’re not serious with your words, right? It’s your friend we’re talking about!” Nate cuts the accusation.

Elena starts to sob again. “Oh God… what have I done?”

Nate gives her a cigarette again to calm herself down. Lyra decides to leave them alone because it seems like she has all the necessary informations from the women. She enters the library and walks to the Rare section where Vergil is already waiting for her.

“The forensic team comes to take samples on the crime scene,” Vergil says. “Because they found out cardiac glycosides inside Clarissa Watson’s blood, and they assume it could be murder.”

“According to Mrs Smith, Miss Watson had arrhythmia. It explains why her blood contained cardiac glycoside. She took digoxin regularly.”

“That I know. But they also found a large amount of some glycosides from convallaria majalis plant inside her blood.”

“Convalla—you mean that lily of the valley flower?“

“Correct. All parts of the plant contains at least 38 known cardiac glycosides. Convallaria has been used to treat congestive heart failure and some types of arrhythmias. However, the safe amount of lily of the valley is still debatable and if ingested in uncontrolled dosages, the effects on the human heart can be catastrophic.”

“So... if combined with digoxin...”

“It will cause more irregular heartbeats and increase the side effects of those glycosides. And there’s more than that. The plant contains non-protein amino acid called Azetidine-2-carboxylic acid. It’s incredibly toxic to humans even in small doses. Misincorporation of that acid into humans proteins can alter collagen, keratin, hemoglobin, and protein folding. Basically it changes human body function on a molecular level.”

“... that’s a terrible way to die.” Lyra contemplates. “Miss Watson was a florist. She must had a bunch of lily of the valley at her shop. It could explain why there’s convallatoxin inside her blood. But I think it’s impossible for a florist to do reckless thing such as intentionally consume lily of the valley.”

“Then it leads us to one conclusion; someone intentionally poisoned her. This person knows her illness and the medication she was taking regularly. But that’s the problem. I found nothing in Watson’s cup. It’s just a coffee.”

“Oh, bugger!”

“Miss Lyra Clayton?”

Lyra looks up to see the man who calls her. It looks like the man is from the forensic team, “Yes?”

“I’d like to ask your permission to collect the coffee cups as the evidence to be examined.”

Lyra smiles politely, “Of course.”

The officer hurries himself to join his team to the crime scene.

“Clayton,” Vergil emphasizes. “All these months, you never told me your surname.”

“Is that important now?”

The hybrid shrugs, “At least you could tell me.”

He looks adorable when he’s sulking like that. “Alright then. My name is Lyra Clayton. Nice to meet you.”

“I didn’t ask you to re-introduce yourself.”

“Well, I’m just emphasizing my name to you.”

“… I prefer your first way to introduce yourself.”

“With a riddle? For real? I thought you hate riddles!”

“It just seems natural,” Vergil looks away. “I just… I don’t like the idea of not knowing you entirely.”

“…”

“Nevermind,” he blurts. “Now tell me what you find from those women.”

She tells him everything, from Clarissa’s illness to the women’s personal problems and accusations to each other. Vergil keeps silent throughout the librarian’s explanation. He almost think that maybe this was a mere accident, that maybe Clarissa Watson accidentally consumed lily of the valley. But that sounds forced and too… incidental. The timing, the place, the blackmail that Clarissa received a week ago, the mental condition of Clarissa’s friends… It just not right.

Vergil recalls his memories of the broken cup. He didn’t taste the coffee—of course it’s humiliating to lick the coffee stain on the floor. He’s not a mindless animal. Yet he believes he saw something. Not unusual, but quite noticeable and looks completely normal.

“… none of them wear red lipstick.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I think it’s normal for women to wear lipstick.”

“Sure. It’s normal. I wear it sometimes too. What is it, Vergil?”

“It just… strange.”

“Why so?”

“The broken cup. There’s a red lipstick mark on it. I remember Clarissa Watson wore red lipstick. That makes it possible to someone to switch their own cup with Watson’s cup without raising any suspicion. Each of them are not always sit still to read, sometimes they searched for a book at another section or refill their cups. And when Watson collapsed, they switched back the cups and dropped it on purpose; to erase the suspicion.”

“But the police must’ve found the poison container already when they searched their belongings.”

“… you’re right.”

“But I agree with you. They all are suspect now. But first, we need to find the container. That’s the only way to find out the true killer. They have motives. Money problem, jealousy, and the unknown argument… Their accusations towards each other are not reliable.”

“All of them had a chance to put the poison. We need to look closer to their motives and the remaining evidences.”

Vergil sighs frustratedly and turns his head to the group of women. The case shows the light at the end of the tunnel, but they haven’t reach its end. They need to find the evidence; the poison container, if it really existed. The container must be still with one of them. But what could it be? Who brought it?

“The necklace.” Lyra murmurs.

“Pardon?”

“The necklace is gone. See?”

Ah.

Foolishness, Vergil. How could you miss that?

MURDER IN THE LIBRARY

Clarissa Watson (35), a florist and owner of Persephone Flower Shop died after collapsing at The Literarium, a small local library at Michelangelo Street on 11 March. The police declared that Watson’s death was caused by lily of the valley (convallaria majalis) poisoning. The library served free coffee and the cardiac glycosides from the lily of the valley flower was found inside Watson’s cup. According to the police, Watson had arrhythmia and she had to take digoxin regularly. With the digoxin combined with convallatoxin, both cardiac glycosides lead her to death. It was revealed that her friend, Elena Roberts (35) was the one who poured the poison inside Watson’s coffee. To cover her action, she dropped Watson’s cup that she switched earlier to erase the evidence when Watson collapsed.

At first, Roberts objected that she was too panic and can’t think clearly while dropping Watson’s cup, thinking it was her own cup. She also claimed she didn’t possess the poison. It was revealed that Roberts’s fingerprints are also appeared on the broken cup. The police also found Robert’s necklace from her clothes. The necklace contained residue of liquid convallaria majalis inside its removable tube-shaped pendant.

According to another of Watson’s friends who were present at the moment, Martha Ventham (35) and Holly Smith (37), Roberts was depressed because of her recent miscarriage. Roberts herself finally admitted that she thought Watson took part of her miscarriage by giving her chamomile and ginger tea when she visited Watson’s house three weeks ago. Roberts didn’t know she was pregnant until the miscarriage happened. She claimed she was devastated and it was hard for her to not blame Watson for the miscarriage. She put a bouquet of dark crimson roses at Watson’s house a week before this tragedy happened as a threat that she could never forget Watson’s mistake. Ventham confirmed this statement since she saw the bouquet when Watson told her about the blackmail, but she never thought that it was Roberts who sent it.

“Clarissa made me promised to shut my mouth about it,” Ventham stated. “But when she collapsed, I remember that bouquet and I couldn’t help myself to not call the police. Something’s wrong, and I have to find the truth for Clarissa’s sake”. Smith also confirmed that Watson and Roberts had an argument before their arrival at the library. It was then revealed that Roberts confronted Watson about the miscarriage, but Watson denied it.

Roberts said that the idea of murder just popped on her head since two weeks ago and she chose lily of the valley because it was Watson’s favourite flower.

“Lily of the valley means return of happiness” Roberts stated. “I know because Clarissa told me that. I thought with her death by her own favourite flower, it would return my happiness after I lost my baby, but I can only feel nothing. I lost everything, and maybe I deserve that.”

12 March, 02:00 pm

Lyra closes the newspaper and turns her eyes to Vergil, who continues to read Beowulf, “Do chamomile really can cause miscarriage?”

The hybrid grumbles, “Do I look like I’m capable to answer that?”

“You know, it’s rude to answer question with question.”

Vergil grunts. “All I know about miscarriage that it could happened by many factors. Too much chamomile might trigger the miscarriage, but that’s not always the case.”

Lyra nods slowly as she puts the newspaper down and picks up The Turn of The Screw. “At least that explains Miss Roberts’s over-dramatic reaction. I guess she feels guilty after murdering her friend, realizing that it was all to late and she can’t redo everything. But we can never really blame her frustration. She wasn’t in the right state of mind.”

“It is always better to avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning,” Vergil recites the line from Beowulf. “It’s strange what human could do in devastation.”

“Yeah, such as stabbing themselves with a magic sword and split them into two different beings.”

Lyra laughs when Vergil gives her his usual deadly glare.

“Well, at least we have more customers thanks to Miss Roberts,” Lyra chuckles as she observes the guests. “Nate was right about that. Though Mr Steiner stopped giving free coffee. No more murder in the library, he said.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“You don’t look happy.”

“I don’t have to smile like Joker to tell you that I’m happy.”

“You’re funny guy, you know that?”

“Don’t call me funny.”

“And you’re the best partner in crime!”

“Silence.”

Even though Vergil dismisses her words harshly, Lyra still can see the subtle warm smile on Vergil’s lips. She flips the page of The Turn of The Screw and tell herself to finish the book today. There’s a long pause before she realizes that Vergil stares at her with unreadable expression. Uncomfortable with that kind of gaze, Lyra chuckles, “You know it’s rude to stare, right?”

“Pardon me. I was just trying to recall.”

“Of what?”

“Remind me again, what did exactly you tell the police once we found out the disappearance of Elena Roberts’ necklace?”

“Well… as we agreed, I told the police that Miss Roberts’ necklace could be the evidence they’ve looked for. As we know, the necklace has a tube pendant which could contains approximately 1-2 ml of liquid inside it. It was odd that she suddenly removed the necklace out of the blue, for we know she wore it since her arrival here with Miss Watson. It was a gamble, but the police confirmed that the tube contained residue of convallatoxin. It was easy for Miss Roberts to pour the poison inside Miss Watson’s cup and quickly removed the necklace right before she joined them to browse the books. We know that Mrs Smith might have turned to be the suspect since she was the latest to join the group, so she didn’t have any chance to witness Miss Roberts’ position before her arrival and she sat at her chair first to put her coffee on the table before she joined her group.”

“And Martha Ventham had witnessed that Holly Smith has a garden of roses at her house, which could indicated that she was the one who brought the bouquet of dark crimson roses as a threat to Clarissa Watson.”

“Correct. That strengthen Miss Roberts’ alibi.”

“So all the pieces of puzzle was collected,” Vergil leans forward and taps his fingers on the table. “But there’s a major plot hole.”

Lyra tilts her head, “And what is that?”

Vergil deeply gazes at Lyra’s eyes, his voice is almost gentle. “How did you know that Elena Roberts wore the necklace since the first of her arrival?”

Vergil has read too much micro-expressions and even if just a slightest, he can senses a fight-or-flight instinct from the librarian as her face turns pale and her eyes dilate before she quickly collects her self-control and pretending to be confused with Vergil’s question.

“Because I saw it. Don’t we all, Vergil?”

“I saw the necklace because she and Clarissa Watson almost bumped at me near the receptionist table. When the murder happened, the necklace was already gone. You were reading seriously all the time before you stood up to get some water for Clarissa Watson when she vomited at the toilet. That means Elena Roberts had already poured the poison before that moment happened and she already hid her necklace. Panic and sadness consumed them all and that made them unaware of menial thing like a necklace.” Vergil stops his finger’s movement. “In conclusion, Lyra, you never saw the necklace. But somehow you recognized the disappearance of the necklace. How did you know that?”

“I… asked her friends, of course.”

“That would be invalid, because they must’ve suspected it too and would immediately confronted her about the necklace, or at least they would report it to the police. But no, they all gathered up and crying for the loss of their best friend.”

That statement edges Lyra to her loss. She sighs deeply in defeat, looking around her like she’s making sure that no one heard their conversation. She slowly bites her lips and looking at Vergil’s eyes, seriously considering something.

The hybrid knows this is the time he finally get his answer for his long unsettling feeling to Lyra. He waits patiently all these months to find out, even hoping for Lyra to tell him in person. When he said that he dislikes to not knowing anything about her yesterday, he means it and deep down he wishes Lyra to understand it. It’s obvious that he likes her a little too much, but there’s still a border between them that he finds it hard to completely trust her.

I want to trust you.

“Stardust,” he lowers his voice. “You accept me for who I really am. You consider me as your friend despite my flaws. Please understand that I intend to do so to you.”

The feeling of grateful and relief fill his heart when Lyra finally nods in agreement at him. Her smile blooms again, now it’s brighter and sincere than her first fake smile. She still has her own doubt, but finally she takes a deep breath and grins.

“You’re right, it’s not fair. You told me everything and I’ll return the favor. I believe you can keep it a secret.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

She giggles.

“My head is full of ghosts,” Lyra says. “It’s a metaphor, because it sounds like whispers, then it turns into pictures.”

What’s she talking about?

“I don’t remember since when I possess this, nor how I acquired it. It just happened automatically. It’s… mostly frustrating. It mentally drains me, to know things I should not and never want to know. At least before I met you. Whenever you’re around me, it’s always stop. It goes normal just like everyone else doing. You don’t know how relieved I am to be with you. You stop the ghosts.”

“I am honoured,” Vergil says. “But I’m afraid I still don’t follow—”

“I can’t read your mind, Vergil.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s the thing, because I always can read everyone’s mind, whether it’s humans or demons. But not you, and not when you’re around me. It seems like your presence disables my ability. But yesterday, when I touched those women’s hands, I realized that I still able to read mind when you’re around if I touch them. Now you know how I recognized Miss Roberts’ necklace, as well as the fact I know that she’s the killer all along. But I can’t just tell you all informations I acquired from her head. That’s why I have to discuss it with you. To guide you to the answer.”

Ah. The realization comes to Vergil’s head. She’s a telepath.

The librarian touches Vergil’s hand and grab it softly. It surprises him and he almost pull his hand off, but he restrains himself. He won’t lose to his own fear of physical contacts.

Slowly, she releases Vergil’s hand. “Yet… even if I touch you like this, I still see nothing. I wonder if it’s Sparda’s protection on you. I don’t dare forcing myself to look inside your head. I fear that would make you aware of my ability. Besides, I respect your privacy. I see too much. That’s why I like it when you’re with me. You give me solitude.”

I was wrong all this time. The voidness that Vergil always see whenever he watches Lyra’s eyes is the burden of the eyes that see too much. The eyes that exhausted and always wander to find peace and calmness. Sometimes it’s hard to see the truth behind the unfamiliar eyes, especially the eyes like hers. But now he understands the meaning of it. Vergil knows that knowledge can be a curse—she suffers silently with her ability to read mind.

“Thank you for your honesty,” he states. “You should’ve tell me earlier.”

“I thought it would make you uncomfortable.”

Nonsense. Of course I won’t feel uncomfortable whenever I’m with you.

“Will you try to read my mind again?” he asks.

“I told you already, I can’t. I’ve tried.”

Vergil reaches out his hand, “Just try it. I will allow you to read what’s on my mind at the moment.”

Lyra grabs his hand and trying to focus on Vergil’s head instead of his icy, alluring eyes. At first she gets nothing, just a static darkness, then she sees some blurry images that she can’t perceived. It seems that whatever protection in Vergil’s mind, it will endure itself if Vergil allows it, but although Lyra tries her best to clear her vision, the pictures are getting hazy, in fact, the more she tries to break Vergil’s mind, the darker it goes.

Then she hears it. It’s not quite like Vergil’s voice, more like a brainwave, but she can clearly interprets the meaning, and that makes her smile gets wider as she realizes that Vergil also awares of her presence inside his mind.

‘Our minds are connected!’ she exclaims.

Vergil still tries to adjust the new experience, ‘This is… curious. Have you done this before?’

‘No. This is the first time. Must be enchanced by the power of Sparda, eh?’

‘Could be.’

‘This is wicked!’

‘Even without opening your mouth, you’re still a chatterbox.’

‘And you’re still a grumpy devil.’

A sudden thought comes up from Vergil’s mind, but he hastily holds himself before Lyra could interpret it. That breaks their mind connection. He seems flustered, gripping his book tightly. Knowing that Vergil hides something, Lyra eyes the hybrid in front of her in a playful manner.

“You know no one can hear us, Vergil.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Then you know I won’t tell it out loud, whatever thought you just hold before. I’m the only one who can hear you.”

“That’s precisely why I won’t tell you.”

Lyra shrugs and pick up her book again. For a moment they don’t talk to each other. But when Lyra almost finishes her book, her head jolts a little as she receives a thought from Vergil.

‘Places among the stars,

Soft gardens near the sun,

Keep your distant beauty;

Shed no beams upon my weak heart.

Since she is here

In a place of blackness,

Not your golden days

Nor your silver nights

Can call me to you.

Since she is here

In a place of blackness,

Here I stay and wait.’

Vergil gives her a quick glance and small grin after Lyra nods to him as a confirmation that she gets what he thinks. She knows that Vergil has a hard time to uttering his feelings and prefers to recite poems as his odd way to express whatever inside his mind and his heart. She knows that the poem isn’t exactly what Vergil wanted to tell her earlier, but she knows that this is the other way to tell her his intention. It’s still too subtle for her, but the poem warms her heart. It’s like a promise that Vergil will keep her secret and he accepts her the way she is, not even asking how could she possesses such a power, for Lyra is just a human.

Because Vergil will wait for her, and perhaps Lyra should never underestimate his patience.

‘Thank you, Vergil.’

List of recited poems and quotes

Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis by Sigmund Freud

The Epistle of Forgiveness by Al Ma’arri

Beowulf by Anonymous

Places Among The Stars by Stephen Crane

The title of this story was quoted from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell by William Blake

Tagging @drusoona @queenmuzz @shiranyaaww @harlot-of-oblivion @andieperrie18 @lovemadnessharleyquinn @rubixa-seraph

Ao3 | Masterlist

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xxbyimm · 5 years ago

Text

Confession - Fíli x reader

So here’s my Fili fic of the day! It spiraled out of control (as usual) and suddenly it became much longer than intended it to be. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy my FIRST EVER FÍLI FIC!

xoxo

Confession

Summary: Reader has developed feelings for the eldest prince of Durin’s folk and has no idea how to handle it.

Tags: @theincaprincess @fizzyxcustard @soradragon Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from my taglist!

Warnings: Mild swearing. A bit of tension and kissing, nothing too explicit.

‘YOU INSUFFERABLE DWARF!’

Your voice echoed through the valley. A few birds nearby were startled by your tirade and they flew away, squawking indignantly. Normally you would have thought twice about destroying the peace and quietness of a beautiful place like Rivendell, but today you couldn’t care less. You huffed and trashed the delicate foliage, frantically searching for a path that would take you as far as possible from that unmannered, hateful prince. You did not tolerate anyone belittling you after a day full of running and fearing for your life. Especially not while you were having an argument with a certain stupid dwarven leader who refused to see things your way too. The eldest spawn of Dís had NO right to contradict you like that in front of the whole company!

Oh, how you hated the golden prince. You hated how fine he looked, even after almost being cooked by trolls and chased down by a pack of orcs. You hated his golden manes, the way his hair shone in the setting sun… And how his braids moved when he was tilting that ridiculously handsome head of his. How his mustache braids rocked as he was telling a story with an intricate precision only he could muster.

Ugh. You had a thing for males with long hair and beards. When you took a quick look at your handful of exes, the fact that all of them had long locks and at least some facial hair was abundantly clear.

No wonder that you found yourself swooning over the golden manes of a certain prince. He just possessed two desirable features that made your abdomen churn every time he was near. Evolutionary need, it was. Nothing less, nothing more.

The forest around you grew more dense, making it hard for you to move on. Angrily you paused, got out your knife and started clearing anything that was in the way. With each strike, you imagined stabbing Fíli in his ridiculously handsome face. You hated him. You hated the way he laughed, that light-hearted almost blessed sound that soothed your ears after bearing Thorin’s growling demands all day. How those serene, blue eyes observed EVERYTHING around him, and the way they could flash when the prince was slowly losing his temper. You hated how he and his brother Kíli were sometimes acting like two immature dwarflings, pulling pranks on everyone in the company. He was an idiot, and a smug one too.

Finally you reached a large clearing where you stopped to catch your breath. It was a quiet, peaceful spot, with long, soft looking grass that seemed excellent to nap in and delicate flowers in a variety of colors. The only sound you heard was the rushing of leaves in the wind. The beauty of this place was striking and it made you feel a little ashamed of your recent rage.

It hadn’t been the valley’s fault that you had a fallout with Thorin, nor had it really been Fíli’s doing. To be fair he had made it worse by his comment, but after a day like this… Could you really blame him for making a error in his judgement?<i>‘Yes.’</i> A little voice inside you murmured vividly. <i>‘He hurt me. I hate him with the fire of a thousand suns!’</i>

You heaved a weary sigh and settled against one of the trees in the soft grass, the exhaustion from the whole day finally getting the better of you. The anger that had pumped through your veins moments ago still lingered under the surface, but the demand of your body to rest was stronger. Your feet were sore, your legs hurt and your head was spinning. All you wanted was to close your eyes and take a moment to relax. Just a moment…

‘Y/N?’ Fíli’s voice startled you and your eyes flung open. He was standing no more than ten feet away from you, the expression on his face worried. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked while coming closer. ‘We were worried about you. You’ve been gone for hours.’ ‘I’m fine.’ You croaked, still a little sleepy.

Ugh. Now he also dared to disturb you in your sleep. Who did he think he was? You blinked slowly and groaned when Fíli’s physique came closer into view. He had taken off his coat and was wearing a dark brown tunic and trousers, and heavy boots. Above the v-neckline of his tunic you could see some blond chest hair.

A soft hand on your shoulder sent pleasant shivers down your spine, but then you remembered the heated argument with Thorin and how the prince had taken his uncle’s side. It was enough to make your blood boil again.

‘Do. Not. Touch. Me.’ you warned in a low hiss. ‘I’m sorry.’ Fíli said, as he quickly withdrew his hand. ‘I should have asked first, please forgive me.’ ‘Yeah, you should!’ You snarled.

A small part of you hoped that your offensive attitude was enough to drive him away, but Fíli merely walked a few paces back and sat down on the long grass. You felt that knowing gaze of his burning through your soul, but you refused to give him even as much as a glance and stared into the distance. The silence felt less pleasant now and you slowly became very aware of yourself. You shuffled awkwardly in your spot.

‘Am I the reason you stomped off into the valley?’ he softly inquired after a few minutes. ‘Why would you possibly have anything to do with my actions?’ you scoffed. ‘Even if I wasn’t even part of that reason, I would like to apologize.’ Fíli told you. ‘We had a rough day as it is and when uncle Thorin refused to cut you some slack, I only made it worse.’ ‘Made it worse?’ you retaliated. ‘That’s an understatement! You made a fool out of me against the WHOLE COMPANY! Oh, and did I forget to mention those FEW POINTY EARS IN THE DISTANCE?’ ‘I’m so sorry, Y/N.’ the prince pressed again. ‘It was not my intention to hurt you. Is there anything I can do to make it right?’

That was another thing you hated about him. His chivalrous behavior towards you. You didn’t want a special treatment and sure as hell did not need one.

But still… You looked in his direction. Fíli was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the clearing. The daylight was already fading, but the last sunrays shone upon his golden manes. Your heart skipped a beat as you got to watch his hair radiating the warm, golden light of the sun. The silver beads on the ends of his braids were a wonderful contrast. Your fingers curled up in your lap. How would it feel to grasp those braids, to feel the cold metal under your heated skin?

And as he sat there in the clearing, this gentle and kind dwarf, this king in the making watching you patiently, a daunting realization hit you. The anger that had resided in your chest faded away, leaving a burning ache that burned through your body.

Well, fuck.

How could you have missed this? After all those years you had spent mending your broken heart, you had forgotten how it felt like. You had told yourself over and over that you were unfit to love, that the long history of unrequited loves and bad relationships were your fault. Maybe you did not deserve it, or it just wasn’t in the books for you. It didn’t matter. You had walled the soft side of you up under this defensive, angry demeanor and that had always protected you from people coming too close.

Sure. It was lonely, but so much more effective.. You preferred it that way, safe and hidden from the rest of the world.

Until this prince came into your life and smashed your carefully built walls without even trying. The painful truth was that you didn’t hate Fíli at all, you just wished you could. You weren’t mad at him, you were mad at yourself for letting your guard down. It only had taken a few weeks to fall head over heels for him. You loved this trained fighter, this valiant prince and you had no idea if he loved you back. It was like someone held your heart in his hands all over again, just moments before crushing it. You were terrified.

‘No.’ you finally whispered, not trusting your voice. ‘Why do I have the feeling this is about more than what happened today?’ he murmured. You shrugged while looking at your feet. Tears welled in your eyes, but you quickly rubbed them away with your sleeve. ‘Y/N.’ he pleaded. ‘Can I come closer?’ ‘If you must.’ you mumbled. He heaved a weary sigh. ‘Yes, I must. You’re clearly hurting.’ ‘Fine.’

You allowed him to sit next to you and even shuffled a bit so he could settle against your tree trunk comfortably.

‘Can I ask you something?’ he inquired. ‘Okay.’ ‘Are you always this tensed?’ he asked quietly. ‘You seem angry all the time, and I couldn’t help but develop this feeling that from the whole company, I seem to tick you off the most.’ You lift up your head to meet his gaze. His bright blue eyes were fixate at your E/C ones, as if he was sure he could find his answer there. ‘I’d like to know what I have done that offended you.’ Fíli whispered. ‘I need to.’ ‘Oh.’ You stammered. ‘No, it’s not you. It’s me. I’m… I’m…’ ‘Please speak truthfully, Y/N.’ ‘I don’t hate you.’ You told him. ‘I wish I did. I…’

You could not bear to look at him any longer. You shifted your gaze towards your hands, analyzing the current state of your nails.

‘During my life, I have built up these walls.’ You finally began. ‘People have broken my trust, my heart. I have found safety in hiding away my true self under this angry attitude, and I’d like it to keep it that way.’ ‘That must be lonely.’ You grimaced. ‘But so much more effective.’ ‘But lonely.’ Fíli objected again. ‘Perhaps.’ You gave in. ‘When you’re left with a pile of dust that used to be your heart, you’ll doubt if you’re ever going to be able to love again.

The rough bark of the tree was starting to hurt your back and you moved a little. The silence hung heavily in the air and you anxiously licked your lips. Your heart was pounding in your chest. The sound was so fucking loud, that Fíli probably would be able to hear it. Heck, make that whole Rivendell. You were inclined to walk away and dodge this whole conversation, but you knew you had to stay put and sit this one through. You just had to keep on breathing, that was the key.

‘But then there you were.’ You confessed. ‘Shamelessly breaking apart those walls I’ve spent years building and suddenly find myself falling hard for you. But at the same time I’m terrified that once I show you my true self, you’ll hurt me.’ ‘So you lash out.’ Fíli concluded gently. ‘Yes.’ You said, a wry smile displayed on your face. ‘I lash out. And I get that you do not love me back and that’s fine. I’m not relationship material anyway.’

There. You said it. Now he only had to tell you he did not return your feelings, and the whole situation would be over. You tried to get up on your feet again, but after sitting down for quite some time, your knees where wobbly and you lost your balance. You fell backwards, landing on his lap.

His skilled hands broke your fall, grabbing your hips to steady you against his own body. Oh god, he was so close. His arms slid around your waist, his scent enfolding you like a blanket. Your thoughts got slurred as all your attention was directed to the places where the two of you touched. Your mouth eventually found a single world, which you breathed out shakily.

‘Sorry.’

Neither of you moved. His arms were wrapped around you, hands laid still against your sides, sending pulsating shocks up your spine. Your backside was still pressed against his chest and the places where you touched your skin was on fire.

‘Y/N.’ Fíli finally spoke, his voice sounding a little hoarse. ‘Yes.’ You moaned. ‘Look at me.’

Ever so slowly you turned until your E/C eyes met his again. But where you had expected to see compassion, pity even, you only discovered admiration, laced with an hint of desire.

‘Mahal knows you are everything I have ever wanted in a woman.’ Fíli declared. ‘But I didn’t know if you returned my feelings.’ ‘But I am bad news, Fíli.’ You reasoned. ‘I am the sum of failed romances and broken hearts.’

But the prince merely shook his head.

‘I’m a lucky bastard because of that, am I not?’ He concluded with a smile. ‘That’s not funny!’ you hissed. ‘I’m deadly serious about this!’ ‘So am I.’ he said. ‘You were meant to be with me, that’s why it didn’t work out before.’ ‘I don’t believe in fate.’ You growled. ‘I choose my own path.’ ‘Then make the choice..’ He dared. ‘Kiss me. Or walk away.’ ‘Are you mocking me?’ ‘I would never.’ The prince replied, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. ‘I’m simply giving you a choice.’ ‘Much of a choice I got when you’re holding me.’ You pointed out. ‘Fine.’ Fíli let you go and raised his hands in the air. ‘Then go.’ ‘Really?’ Fíli shrugged, a small smile painted on his lips. ‘As I said: your choice.’ You narrowed your eyes, still not sure if he was mocking you or not. ‘But if I walk away, you can’t make it up to me.’ The prince chuckled. ‘That’s true, my lady.’ ‘If you say my lady to me again, I’ll make you suffer for it.’ You cautioned. He smirked. ‘Makes me wonder what you’ll do…’

But before he could tease you any further, you rushed forward and caught him in a hungry kiss. He groaned into your mouth as your surge of passion spread like wildfire. Hips were grinding, hands wandering. Your fingers clawed through his golden hair, finding the silver beads in his manes and pulling on his braids. As Fíli deepened the kiss, the bristle hairs of his beard were scratching the delicate skin of your face, setting it on fire. You hissed as the cold metal of the beads in his mustache braids soothed the burns. The prince’s arms slipped around your waist, his hands grabbing the soft flesh of your hips. A moan escaped him when you pushed yourself against his arousal, the sound sending waves of pleasure through your body.

It was not enough, yet too much. You weren’t ready to lose yourself completely. With all your control you broke the kiss and sat back like a panting mess. Fíli was watching you intently, the fire in his blue eyes undeniable. A naughty smirk was displayed on his lips, inviting you to repeat what just happened.

‘I’m sorry.’ You blurted out while retreating further on his lap, still panting. ‘What for?’ Fíli teased with a sigh. A giggle escaped you. ‘This explosion. It’s just that I have wanted to do this for ages.’ ‘Don’t be.’ The prince assured you as he pulled you closer once more. ‘I feel exactly the same…’

#the hobbit #fíli #fili #fili x reader #fili x you #fili appreciation week #xxbyimm writes #fili fic #fili fanfiction

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torendheavenandearth · 4 years ago

Text

2.3

“There comes a time when thou must take up responsibility. Thine responsiblity is a broken sword, a battered shield, a melted helmet. This responsibility shalt shield thee all they days against all unworthy opponents, upon those that should challenge your ideals and will. Verily: only those with sharper beliefs will cut thee. Therefore, sharpen the blade of thy truth, repair the shield of thy faith, and reforge the helmet of thy passion, for only through those canst thou survive in this hollowed dream, this fantasy regurgitated from the mind of the All-Loving Christ, which thou didst make weep.” - From Ang Mga Kanta (The Psalms) from the book Ang Pangatlong Bibliya (The Blasphemous Third Bible of Heresies).

▼

Angela is awakened by the crows of roosters: an all too familiar waking call. She opens her eyes and almost jumps out of bed to prepare for school, until she remembers that she’s in another world, in another universe, which has demons and monsters and angels that want to kill you.

She sighs. Hoping it was a dream was wishful thinking, she mutters. Angela writhes about in her bed and rubs her eyes. Eventually she pushes herself up to sit, just as Ang Nilapastangan walks in with a simple cloth wrapped around her.

Angela blinks at first, and then looks away, abashed. She can’t help but notice all the tattoos and scars that line her body, like intricate latticework or a net of tree-roots keeping her together.

Ang Nilapastangan doesn’t miss a beat, though. She continues and grabs a few of the clothes that have been folded and stacked neatly on a nearby table and changes behind a few bamboo panels.

Angela sighs. She could use a bath. She rises and looks around, and sees the drying cloth for bathing. Large enough for her, but then again she isn’t exactly tall to begin with.

She goes out and sees that there are other men and women already going about whatever they were supposed to do for the day. Some struck out with bows and arrows at the ready, seemingly going out to hunt. Others were also readying weapons, although they brought with them large rattan bags.

Angela sees Jaime. “Good morning.”

Without looking at her, Jaime says: “You should get out to the river if you want to bathe. There’s a section further east that has a bunch of boulders that you can safely hide behind.”

Angela sighs and nods. “Thanks.” She curses that she doesn’t have any shampoo or soap. She’ll only be able to rinse. Then again, it is a luxury she can’t afford right now.

“Where are you going?” asks Angela, walking up to Jaime.

“Another expedition,” says Jaime. “Another resource run. Looking for survivors, maybe, and then grabbing as much leftover stuff as we can. There’s some fresh bread in the panaderya there.”

“Angela, go wash yourself, quick.” It’s Ang Nilapastangan, her voice booming from behind. “Jaime, how long before your team leaves?”

Jaime shrugs. “Tito Adlay is still prepping, so we have some time. Why?”

“Good. Angela and I need to get into the barangay. I’m looking for an Albularyo.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.

“She’s the only one I can trust with spiritual excisions,” says Ang Nilapastangan. She puts a hand on her hip and raises an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?” Angela notices that Ang Nilapastangan is now wearing a simple baro that slightly reveals her midriff, making it look like she’s wearing some kind of traditional crop top, and then balloon pants. Angela wanted the balloon pants. Instead she’s stuck with some more saya.

“No,” Jaime says, crossing his arms. He’s tall, taller than Ang Nilapastangan, so he’s looking down at her. “It’s just dangerous and… the albularyo lives in the forest past the barangay. It’s going to be risky.”

“We’ll manage.”

Jaime nods. “I’ll point you in the right direction. We’ll wait for you.” And with that, Jaime turns and walks to the rest of his team.

Angela sighs. She reaches up and touches her horns. “Right. These.”

“Go get washed up.”

▼

Angela manages to wash herself in the privacy of two boulders blocking the view. While she was washing she kept looking behind her to see if some kind of monster would pop out, like a horror movie, but nothing ever did. In the tranquility of the scene, with the river rushing through the thick stone, it was almost calming. Behind her rose the edifice that was the mountain--the name of which she wasn’t sure of yet--while she was washing. The trees were swaying in the temperate breeze. That moment of peace… she cherished.

It didn’t last long, unfortunately.

As she washed, she noticed that she still wore the anting-anting that Makabintang had given her. She sighed. Poor Makabintang. She quite literally barely knew him.

Now she’s washed up and fresh, wearing a long baro that reaches her thighs and a saya underneath that. She’d been given some nice wooden tsinelas, wooden sandals, that she could use to walk more or less safely over earthen ground.

She walks out of the house and over to where Ang Nilapastangan and Jaime and the rest are waiting. “Do you have a spare bolo we can borrow?” asks Ang Nilapastangan.

Adlay grins. “Why? I thought you were the Swordbreaker?”

Ang Nilapastangan nods. “I am. Now do you have one? It’s no worry if you don’t.”

Damian rolls his eyes at Adlay, neighs. “Yes, we do, po ma’am. Although we only have one po. Our apologies.”

‘“It’s okay. It’s mostly for Angela.”

Jaime looks over Ang Nilapastangan’s shoulder as Angela approaches. “You know how to fight with a bolo?”

Angela shrugs. “Not really. I have some practice but I doubt it’s applicable.”

Damian gives a spare bolo to Ang Nilapastangan. “Thank you,” she says, and then turns and gives it to Angela. “Since we don’t have the weapon Makabintang gave you anymore, you’ll have to make do with this for now. I’ll teach you some practical techniques before we get into true violence.”

Angela takes the bolo and ties it to her waist. “Got it. So, we’re getting the bug taken off of me?”

“Hopefully, with albularyo’s help. That branding will be a huge problem.”

“Let’s go,” says Adlay, after finishing strapping a last piece of equipment to himself. The three of them all are fully equipped. Damian is wearing a piece of kalabaw-hide armor over a chain shirt, and wields a bow and arrow. Jaime is wearing a simple shirt and pants getup but has a kalasag and a bangkaw on both hands. Adlay is bringing a luthang, a kind of musket, along with a kalasag of his own, and is wearing kalabaw-hide armor, although he wears a threaded abaca undershirt instead of a chain shirt.

“Wait, one last thing,” says Ang Nilapastangan. She asks for cotton-padded armor, which they apparently have. Angela sees that it is slightly bulky when Damian brings it out, but it is made of beautiful and colorful fabric. Ang Nilapastangan tells her to wear it over her anting-anting so that she is protected from most harm. She agrees, and puts it on. It’s a bit stifling, and she wonders if she was expecting it to be hotter, but it actually isn’t that bad. She puts up with it, lets it protect her.

“All right,” says Adlay. “Let’s ride.”

▼

They all get on their horses and ride away. Jaime and Adlay share a single horse, Damian follows with a smaller horse, and Angela and Ang Nilapastangan follow Jaime and Adlay back into the barangay. On both sides, Angela sees, now in clear daylight, that the fields have been ravaged and the rice left unharvested. She frowns at it. She wonders if there are any amalanhig that would have the humor of ambushing them right then and there.

As they near the barangay, from this entry point, Angela notices how abnormal the barangay actually looks. It’s too quiet, it’s too… dead. She knows how towns should look, even in places like these. There’s no bustle of people, no mooing or anything. Probably the most jarring thing is how no roosters are crowing. An impoosibility.

What’s even weirder to Angela is how it doesn’t look like it’s been ravaged or anything. It just looks like it’s… dead. Or has been sleeping for a really long time. Nothing is coming out of it, and a prickling sense of dread spider-climbs up Angela’s spine as she thinks what really has happened in the barangay. What strange sorcery has risen from the cursed earth of the town?

Thankfully, there are none. They ride into the barangay more or less safey. “We have all day to gain resources,” says Adlay, turning to Ang Nilapastangan as they slow the pace of the horses to a trot. “We’ve already assigned roles. You can go and do whatever you need to do, po. If you can bring back any useful thing that can still be used, that would be greatly useful.”

Ang Nilapastangan nods. She turns to Jaime. “Tell us where the albularyo is.”

Jaime nods. He brings the horse to a canter, and both Angela and Ang Nilapastangan follow after him. In the morning sun rays, Angela finds shadows cast upon the houses, both those that are bamboo-stilt as well as those that are bahay-na-bato. She sees shadows where there is none. She sees eyes peeking out from the gaps between doors left unclosed. She sees whispers whistling through the wind chimes that hang from some of the houses. She sees children playing under bamboo stilt houses, where the carcasses of dead pigs and chicken rot.

Jaime stops them when they come across a corpse in the middle of the road. It is unmoving, bent in unnatural angles, and stands like a black blot in the sun-bleached earth.

Ang Nilapastangan raises an eyebrow. She lifts her finger. “No,” says Jaime. “Stay back.”

“What’s he going to do?” asks Angela, but none of them answer. Jaime brings out a matchstick and lights it against one of the bamboo ladders, and then tosses the lit match to the corpse. It catches fire and it doesn’t do anything. It simply lays there, burning. A horrible stench wafts from it.

“Come on,” says Jaime, and canters his horse quickly around it so that their horses don’t have to linger and be scared. It works, for the most part. Their horses flail about when they have to come near it.

Eventually they canter out into an area that opens up again into the road. Nothing but trees on this side, however. Jaime points up the path. “Follow the path, and you’ll find a simple house. That’s where the albularyo stays.”

Ang Nilapastangan nods and thanks him. Jaime tells them to stay safe in the name of the Ninuno, and Ang Nilapastangan returns the greeting, grateful. They don’t tarry: they ride up the road and follow it.

Here, birds don’t chirp. It is an eerie silence--as if to say a silent song is the only fitting dirge for a world such as this. The wind rustles against the leaves of the trees, sending them swirling to the ground, but even that has a sad melody.

They encounter almost no further problems in the road, and Angela was half-expecting it, due to all the excitement that has happened so far. “So, Nila,” says Angela as their horses canter up the road. The silence is choking, and Angela feels too stifled. “You’re going to teach me a martial art?”

Ang Nilapastangan nods.

“Then, what kind of martial art is it? Is it like the one you’ve been doing? Dropkicks and names that appear in the air?”

Ang Nilapastangan shakes her head. “I’ll be teaching you a simple style, one that is not too hard to master but will surely help you survive whatever tribulation or trouble you’ll have to face ahead. It’s a well-rounded style, giving you ample defense and strong offense, built to adapt to any situation, whether you have a weapon or not.”

‘“What’s it called?”

“Skirmishing Kalis,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “Sometimes also known as the Skirmish-Armor Style. It’s the bedrock for many other styles. If you ever decide to learn other Martial Arts, perhaps one of the more complex ones, then Skirmishing Kalis will give you good fundamentals.”

“Huh. Thanks, Nila.” They move on a few more moments without noise, and Angela decides to fill it in again, mostly to ignore her from the growing devil-anxiety in the back of her neck. “So, you’re a Karanduun, huh? Whatever that means?”

“I’m sure Jaime has told you.” She canters a good few feet ahead of her, so Angela is unable to see her face.

“Well, yeah. Why didn’t you tell me, though?”

“There was no need to.”

“Seems like you’ve had quite an exciting life.”

Ang Nilapastangan doesn’t answer.

Angela looks for other subjects to fill the void in, but as she finds one--”why did she change her looks to a demonic visage?”--Ang Nilapastangan looks up and sees, upon a small hill surrounded by a quaint little garden of flowers and other herbs, a simple house. It’s a bamboo stilt house as well, with seemingly two large annexes, making it look like an L.

“I suppose that is the house,” says Ang Nilapastangan, and Angela can smell the hint of relief in her voice. Angela smiles at that.

“It looks like the barangay,” says Angela as they slow their horses to a trot and get off right at the base of a hill. They tie their horses to some trees. “Dead.”

“Well,” Ang Nilapastangan stares at it for a bit more. “Let’s hope not.” They trudge up the path and up to the bamboo ladder, leading to a small elevated porch. Vexingly, one thing they both notice are the corpses that lie around the area, some of them stacked on top of each other, others simply laying there, fresh and strewn. More amalanhig? wonders Angela.

Ang Nilapastangan knocks on the bamboo door.

No answer, at first.

Eyebrows furrowed, Angela looks up at Ang Nilapastangan, but she doesn’t look back. After a few seconds pass, Ang Nilapastangan knocks again. When she gets another silent response, she raises her voice.

“Hello? Is anyone in there, po?”

No answer. Angela finds it funny now, seeing Ang Nilapastangan saying “po”. She’s like a superhero, she didn’t need to say that. But Angela appreciated the politeness.

No response again, though. “We just have a few questions we need to ask, and then we’ll be off and well. We’re sorry for intruding po!”

There’s a shuffle within the house. Angela feels it--the floor of the porch is the same floor as the insides of the house, after all. After a few seconds, the door opens, just a creak, and then a voice. “What is it you need?” No head, no mouth, no person. Just a voice.

Angela was expecting an older sounding woman. She’s heard tales of albularyo back at home, even if she’s lived most of her life in the Metro. Men and women with knowledge of medicinal herbs, powerful spiritual healers that could heal some sicknesses that even doctors could not handle. Exorcizer of demons other times, and usually also good at sorcery, or whatever sorcery meant in their respective probinsyas. They were revered and depended on in communities that didn’t have clinics or healthcare, because the Philippine Government doesn’t really care for the wellbeing of its people.

So here, hearing a young girl talking is kind of jarring when Angela’s been conditioned most of her life to expect some kind of lanky old man or heaving, creaking old woman.

It seems like Ang Nilapastangan has the same thoughts, because the first thing she says is: “Hello there. Is your, ah, mother home?”

The peeking eyes pause for a bit, and then she closes the door and says. “I’m sorry, my mother is not at home right now.”

Angela looks up at Ang Nilapastangan, who crosses her arms across her chest. “Where is she? I was told that the albularyo would be here.”

“I am the albularyo,” says the little girl.

Ang Nilapastangan raises an eyebrow. “Well, okay. Great albularyo, will you tell us where your mother has gone?”

There’s another silence before she speaks again. “She’s gone into the barangay, to look for the Aswang that caused the outbreak of maranhig.”

Angela’s eyes widen and she looks up at Ang Nilapastangan. The wind turns colder. “When did she leave?”

“Just two nights ago,” the girl replies. “She’ll be back.”

Ang Nilapastangan nods. “I don’t doubt that, at least. What’s your name?”

“Samanta,” says the girl, and nothing more.

Ang Nilapastangan sighs and says, “All right then, Samanta. We’ll go into the barangay and if we can help your mother. Stay here until then, okay?”

There’s a short silence on the other side. Samata says: “Hey, if you have any albularyo services you need help with, I can probably do it. If you need it soon, at least.”

Ang Nilapastangan turns to Angela, raising an eyebrow. “Can you do a spiritual excision?”

There’s a short silence, before she says. “It will be better if you get my mother for that. I can try, but I haven’t attempted yet.”

“Then it’s best we go get your mother. We can’t afford to mess up the excision for this one.”

She’s greeted back by silence. Ang Nilapastangan simply nods. “We’ll retrun to you when we have your mother. Be safe, okay?”

“I am,” she says. Angela turns around again and looks at the corpses strewn about, haphazardly, as if some invisible god started stacking them on top of each other and gave up halfway through.

“All right then.” Ang Nilapastangan turns around and gestures for Angela and her to ride back home.

▼

“It seems she’s been fending them off on her own for a while now,” says Ang Nilapastangan as they near the entry back into the barangay. “She must have some sort of skill to manage that, at least. Or great knowledge.”

“I dunno, she sounded like one of my classmates or something.”

Ang Nilapastangan turns to her and raises an eyebrow. “And that means?”

“Like, she’s a high schooler, then.” Angela bit her tongue. “Okay you have to remember that I’m pretty stupid so what I just said is also pretty stupid.”

“I know.”

Angela frowns and pouts, but she doesn’t say anything more.

They ride into the town. The tropical sun bears down upon them, even as a cold wind refreshes them. Thankfully the cloth of their clothings is light and thin, made for climes such as this. “Now where could that albularyo have gone off to?”

“You knew her?” asks Angela.

Ang Nilapastangan nods. “Albularyo Gumamela, her name was,” she says. “She used to help me back when I was just settling in after the Hagdanan. She would treat my wounds, heal me, and offer protection. She would grant me wards that would throw off the dogs that would seek after me. She would teach me how to perfect Hiyang, Oneness with Nature. She was a great teacher, one that stuck by me through thick and thin.”

“She must mean a lot to you.”

Ang Nilapastangan nods. “She and Makabintang are the only two people I can trust. Well, were.”

Angela bites the inside of her cheek. “We’ll find her, trust me.”

Ang Nilapastangan nods. As they enter into the barangay, she gets off at a junction. To their left is a road that continues on to the plaza, but standing from here Angela can see that they’ve piled on furniture and wood to somewhat barricade the plaza off. “Huh.”

“I can see it,” Ang Nilapastangan says. “The’re blocking off the plaza.”

“Why?”

“The source, whatever it is, might be coming from there. Or there might be a large number of corpses there and they barricaded it off so that they won’t get out every night. It’s a nice thought.”

“Why don’t the amalanhig invade other barangay?” asks Angela as Ang Nilapastangan walks over to the middle of the dirt road.

“The amalanhig cannot go too far from who summoned them, if they were summoned.”

“If?”

Ang Nilapastangan nods. “Naturally born amalanhig can come up as well, but they’re rare, and usually only happens due to residue of dark sorceries or dark passions.” She sits down on her knees in the middle of the road and puts both hands on the ground.

“What… are you doing?”

Ang Nilapastangan closes her eyes, and hums a soft tune. As she does, Angela can’t help but feel like looking through Ang Nilapastangan, as if she’s vanishing, even though she knows that she’s right there.

Angela shuts up and lets Ang Nilapastangan do whatever it is she’s doing. When she exhales, there’s a subtle, silent recognition. Recognition of what? Angela isn’t quite sure.

“I can still feel her Gahum,” says Ang Nilapastangan, still in that position. “She’s somewhere here. But it’s fuzzy. Her Gahum is being blocked by something else. By some strange sorcery.”

“Gahum?” asks Angela, tilting her head to one side in confusion. “God, all these terms.”

“Gahum. You’ve probably heard us use it before already. It’s the spiritual power that emanates from within every souled being. Everything has Gahum, but mostly only mortals and immortals such as diwata and bathala have Gahum that burns through our skin. The color of our soul.” As she says that, her fingertips sizzle with a bright, searing crimson.

“That’s your Gahum?” Angela knows now, that all those displays of power when Ang Nilapastangan was enveloped in that burning crimson light, is due to her using her Gahum. Her spiritual power shining through.

Ang Nilapastangan. “The light burning through is Usbong. If it gets strong enough, strange things happen. But we shouldn’t talk about that yet.”

The travel, Angela notices, has taken them most of the day. It’s afternoon now. She’s hungry. “We should get back,” says Angela. “I’m hungry.”

Ang Nilapastangan smirks. “Take the horse and go back. I’m going to try and see what’s ove the barricade.”

Angela rubs her face. “You’re fucking crazy.”

Ang Nilapastangan doesn’t respond. She stands up, lets the burning of her Usbong fade away, and she ties her horse to a nearby bamboo post. She turns around to walk away, stops, and then goes into the house that the post she tied her horse to supported. She finds no corpse in there, and then goes out.

“I’ll be quick. Before twilight hits so that the amalanhig don’t get to Stella.”

“Stella?”

Ang Nilapastangan nods, gesturing to the horse. With that, she takes off, walking down the dirt road towards the barricade.

Angela sighs, rubbing her eyes. Somehow, she feels safer if she’s with Ang Nilapastangan. Especially knowing now that she’s some kind of superhero here.

So, with that in mind, she ties her horse next to Stella and says, “Stay here and keep quiet, okay? Uh… Donnie?”

The horse, now Donnie, neighs. She pets him once, before turning and running after Ang Nilapastangan.

Table of Contents.

#karanduun #outbreak #2.3

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sunkissedpages · 6 years ago

Text

Sun Kissed || Harrison Osterfield x Reader

a/n: basically this is super self-indulgent smut inspired by me sunburning my own ass on vacation and wishing that I had haz to take care of me

Summary: more like sunburned. On vacation with Harrison you lay out on the beach for a little too long, making for a very interesting night.

What I listened to while writing: um... definitely not Harrison’s sex playlist lol of course not... what sex playlist

Warnings: swearing, smut

Word Count: 1.8k

Masterlist

The sun was absolutely blinding and even though you were wearing sunglasses you couldn’t see anything. You knew your boyfriend was still stretched out in a lounge chair under the umbrella behind you, though, because you could hear him humming along to the music streaming from his phone, and that was all that mattered.

Last time you’d been able to see him he had been hiding a copy of his new script behind a book and feigning reading. The two of you had agreed to a no work on vacation rule, and he’d been the first to break it, but you could tell he was just so excited about his new project that you let it slide.

It was your first vacation with Harrison, and so far it had been wonderful. You’d checked in yesterday and done a little bit of the touristy thing, but today you were content to lie on the beach for hours with no intention of moving.

The sound of the crashing waves had lulled you to sleep a couple of times already, and you knew Haz would make fun of you for it later, but with the salty breeze and warm sand beneath you, you couldn’t help it.

The water was spotted with some swimmers and surfers, but the beach itself wasn’t very crowded. You and Harrison had planned your trip so that you’d just miss the spring break rush so everything could be a little more peaceful, and so far it had worked out in your favor. Not only was everything cheaper, but everywhere you’d gone was relatively empty.

You were pulled out of your half asleep state when Harrison’s humming stopped. You opened your eyes and tried to blink away the spots dancing at the edges of your vision when a heavy weight dropped on top of you. You smirked as familiar lips planted a kiss to your cheek and tried to squirm away, but Harrison had you pinned.

“Almost ready to go back up to the room, love?” he murmured in your ear.

You nodded, and managed to twist your body underneath Haz to look up at him. Your eyes finally adjusted and you grinned lazily at the sight before you, admiring his fair hair framed by the golden sunset behind him, his crystal colored eyes that were currently piercing yours, the faint freckles starting to show on his cheeks from the sun. You considered yourself lucky that you didn’t even need to leave home to see such a beautiful view.

You hadn’t been keeping track of the time, but now that you saw the sun setting over the water you realized how long you and Harrison had been sitting out there.

“Are you hungry? Let’s get something to eat, darling.”

“I could eat.”

“So could I,” he whispered breathily, sending a shiver down your spine despite the heat.

You’d been teasing each other with the cliches all day: being a little more thorough than necessary with rubbing sunscreen on each other, you untying the back of your bikini to sunbathe, Harrison running into the water for point two seconds just so you could see him soaking wet and admire the way the water glistened on his body. You were on vacation, and the hotel room was beautiful. It had tub on the balcony and a breathtaking view of the blue-roofed villas cascading down the cliffs that led right to the water.

However, the bed had yet to be broken in, both of you had been exhausted after exploring Akrotiri and Pyrgos, but it was something you planned to remedy tonight.

You followed Haz up to the room where you both got ready for dinner at a restaurant a friend had recommended to you. You wore a short, white, linen dress and Harrison wore a similar white button-up that he left the top buttons undone on, so that he could show off his new tan.

Dinner was much like the afternoon. The details were blurry, but there was a lot of alcohol and a lot of back and forth. By sheer luck the host had seated you at a tiny booth in the back of the restaurant where you could still see the cliffs, but also sit smushed next to each other. Harrison kept one hand on your knee throughout the meal, and if asked later, he would deny moving it any further up, but you recounted the events very differently. At one point, your lips were moving in a whisper against his ear and the base of his neck and you swore Harrison’s grip on your leg got so tight you thought you might lose circulation.

“You want dessert, love?” he asked when the waiter approached your table with the shiny silver menus.

“I’m good,” you managed to say, slowly, but steadily. “You?”

“What I want isn’t on the menu,” he replied in the same tone, looking directly into your eyes, ignoring how the waiter in front of your table pursed his lips.

He’d probably heard that line a thousand times, especially working in a vacation spot like this. His eyes screamed ‘just fucking say you want to eat her out and go’ but for what it was worth, the line worked on you.

“So I’ll bring the check then?” he asked when neither of you addressed him.

“Oh, yes please,” Harrison said as if remembering he was still standing there. “Thanks, mate.”

After fumbling with the key and stumbling into the room, you were beyond ready to be fucked senseless when Harrison slapped your ass cheekily, making you cry out in pain.

“Ow, Haz,” you bit out, putting your hand where his had just been.

His face contorted with concern. “I’m so sorry, y/n! I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay,” you said, smoothing your dress out over your body.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

He leaned back against the dresser, arms crossed, watching you with pain in his eyes. You knew how bad he felt about hurting you, but it wasn’t that big of a deal, and it had been an accident. Usually, there was pain mixed with pleasure, but this time was different. You could still feel the sting on your skin. Hesitantly, you lifted the edge of your dress and saw the unmistakable tint of a sunburn all down the back of your legs, complete with a still fading mark of a hand print on your ass.

Harrison gasped. “Y/n.”

“What the fuck?”

“Love, I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” he apologized again.

“Neither did I,” you groaned, squinting your eyes down at your body.

“You put on sunscreen didn’t you?” he asked and you had to bite your tongue before you snapped at him.

“Of course I did!”

“Did you reapply?”

“Yeah, once I think.”

He didn’t say anything, but you knew he was judging you. “Here, I think we have some aloe,” Haz said and disappeared into the bathroom.

“I can’t believe I was the one to get sunburned,” you scoffed, mostly to yourself. Harrison was the palest person you knew, but to be fair he had spent all day under the umbrella and you had been laying out in the sun.

“Cruel irony,” he called back and you couldn’t help but smile.

He emerged moments later with the signature bottle of green gel in hand.

“Take your dress off, darling,” he instructed and carefully helped you lift your dress over your head, careful not to let the fabric touch your body.

You were completely naked now. The dress hadn’t required a bra, and you had ‘conveniently forgotten’ to wear panties with it as a surprise for Harrison, which was now just a reminder of what could have been.

With a sigh, you threw yourself onto the bed on your stomach, only smiling when you heard Harrison’s little chuckle from behind you. You felt the weight shift on the bed as he climbed up next to you and sat cross legged beside you. He pushed some of the hair out of your face with a soft grin and popped the cap on the bottle of aloe.

You could tell he was trying his best not to come off as deflated, but you were disappointed too, and you understood. You had been so looking forward to getting good dick, and now, you not only looked like a tomato, but every time you moved pain rippled through your body.

“This might be a bit cold,” Haz said as a disclaimer before rubbing the first bit of aloe onto your skin.

You sighed with relief as the gel instantly cooled your skin on impact. Harrison was careful to rub it in gently, applying just enough so you wouldn’t be sticky later. He started with your calves and worked his way up, and you began to feel progressively better.

Once he reached your thighs you fought the urge to clench them together. You knew it wasn’t the time, but your body didn’t, and Harrison’s fingers on your inner thighs was basically code for it. All of the feelings from the beginning of the night came rushing back and his fingers were just so close to where you wanted them. You had to actively fight the urge to moan.

“Fuck, y/n,” he cleared his throat awkwardly as he continued to massage aloe onto your ass. “Are you, uh, wet?”

You only nodded in response, still not trusting yourself to open your mouth.

“Do you want me to...” he trailed off, but you got the idea.

“God yes,” you sighed out and let the tension evaporate from your body as you felt Harrison’s fingers work their way back down to your thighs, right where they had been. He was just about to give you what you wanted when you stopped him. “Wait,” you said, grabbing his wrist and he froze, afraid he had done something wrong. “Use your other hand,” you held up his right hand, covered with green goo for him to see. “I have a feeling aloe in my vagina won’t end well.”

He laughed and leaned down to kiss you. “Of course, whatever you want, love.”

He resumed his ministrations again, continuing to rub aloe on your body with his right hand while he began to work two fingers from his left inside of you. You moaned out, louder than expected at the combined relief from the gel and the pleasure of his fingers inside you.

“Feel good?”

“So good, Haz, baby,” you breathed.

“Let me hear you,” he encouraged, inserting another finger. You gasped in response and felt your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Fuck, darling, you’re so good for me,” Haz praised eliciting another moan from you.

You felt yourself getting closer and closer, teetering on the edge, but it wasn’t quite enough. “Haz,” you pleaded and looked back at him, catching him licking his lips, eyes filled with lust in the dim lighting, making you swear. “Fuck, Haz, please.”

“Hm?” he asked, ripping his attention from between your legs and meeting your eyes.

“Fuck, Haz, I need more,” you gasped. “I need you.”

“Don’t worry, love,” he said in a raspy voice with a glint in his eye and a smirk pulling at his lips, “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

ah this was fun to write!! also I didn’t go too in depth about what he sunburn looks like because...well, it’s different for everyone. like it’s a fucking tossup whether I’ll get sunburned or not because I’m happa and the white part of me and the hawaiian part of me are constantly at war over whether I’ll get sunburned or not. anyway, hope you guys enjoyed this!! lmk what you think I always appreciate feedback!

Forever Tags: @mischiefmanaged49 @bookingbee @cloverrover @perhaps-he-schnapped @captainbuckyy @awkwardfangirl2014 @the-queen-procrastinator @tastingthestarz @sleepybesson @everythingbooknerd @sunshine96love @bitchymathematician @livingincompletesilence @melsbooktrash @swim-deep-or-die @fizzy828 @spider-slutt @theamuz also thank u v much @tominhoodies and @summernykole for helping me with this!!

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#harrison osterfield #haz #haz osterfield #harrison osterfeild x reader #harrison osterfeild imagine #haz x reader #harrison osterfield smut #harrison osterfield blurb

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taendrils · 6 years ago

Text

the heartbeat challenge | 1

― ❝things never work in your favour when you run out of fucks to give, and right when you do heaven seems to throw the seed of evil right into your arms, or more precisely on the corridor to your college dorm. you swore an oath to hate the XY population, blood and pinkies and everything- but namjoon, the shy brunet helping you with your sister’s wedding has always been a man of science- and he seems to love testing just how much he can make you tick.❞

• pairing: namjoon/female reader • genre: fluff, comedy, a college rom-com, semi-wedding planner a.u • warnings: slow burn, swearing, mentions of sexism and unhealthy dynamics in literature • wordcount: 16k words

a/n: this fic contains satire interpretation of a ‘man-hating’ oc. oh and a very cute namjoon. also this is my longest fic/series thing up to date. cheers and let’s enjoy.

“And a toast to the young couple!”

The people sprawled across the joined tables cheered, the sound of champagne glasses clinking and the sound of friends laughing in delight pleasant to your ears. Few things in life could beat the sensation of hearing nothing but sounds of happiness around, and you took it all in–letting your head fall back and closing your eyes, barely keeping yourself from raising your arms in the air. Between the winter midterms and the inter-semestrial break filled with nothing but volunteer work where you’d encounter children screaming on schedule and coming home to find your love interest–a.k.a the latest lesson chapters all spread out on the kitchen table–at last, you could say that you felt relaxed. One moment ready for the history books where this sort of happiness surrounded you, and one you deserved for sure.

Maybe you deserved it because the earrings you had been wearing for the past five hours insisted on pulling your entire earlobe off or at least fight for their custody, and some part of your knee still stung as a reminder to never rush with blades on your legs again. Especially at eight in the morning when a hyper Yuna who resembled the children you interacted with more than enough swayed into your room like a fairy of adult representatives–clipboard in hand and face lacking any concern. She resembled her corporate supervisors down to the hem of her tailored coat, ready to check every item that met the standards from her list and glare at anything else that didn’t. For her, it sounded like the perfect plan.

For you? Not so much.

She started out with your room, sending daggers to the dust on your nightstand before shifting her eyes to you. Or what was supposed to be you, hidden between three pairs of pants and a nest of messy hair, suitcase left open in the carpet’s middle and the rest of the clothes thrown out at random. A fallen soldier with hopes as high as the sky, but nowhere near ready to get struck with by the chains of femininity and requirement to socialize.

You know, like she didn’t tell you about her engagement party a whopping two days ago, as you were in combat to recover the countless days of sleep that you lost this semester in like, eight hours.

At first, living a quarter of your life with sleep deprivation, you thought you were imagining things, or you made unintentional contact with the spirit world in your attempts at meditation and regaining the self you lost as the years of education progressed. But no, here she was, diamond sparkling in artificial light like a laser pointed towards a jail sentence, focused on you. You didn’t dare to open your eyes, fear tap dancing as it travelled in slow motions across your spine at the chance that said light could hit you right in the pupil.

Spineless as you were, you allowed her to drag you along to whatever beauty rituals were going on in the household, passing a tray of cookies that you could blame on Minho’s choices for sure. Maybe the date too, with his impatience and competitive streak coming together to create the best party in the shortest time. To be honest, you had no idea about any of their whereabouts. And hours later, between passive-aggressive calls, Hyoyeon arguing with staff as she watched last night’s MMA match, and a bright-eyed Minho swatching tissues to figure out the best colour coordination, you found yourself at a much bigger location, with everything that you dreaded next to you.

Namely, men.

Sure, you enjoyed making people happy and an enjoying an easygoing atmosphere; you were a firm believer (or someone who strived to be) in a life without worries, and thus every moment spent smiling brought you a hair closer to your goal. But men were... well. You’d leave that for them to explain.

Now, confronting the statement, people might think that you suffered from an attention-starving syndrome. Did you? Perhaps. The possibility was out there, far away, like your toleration for the male sex, but a self-grasp told you that your hate did not arise out of being ignored. Not that you were Miss Popularity ever or had friends more than you could count on your toes all high school. One could say, you did well enough to float in the middle of the spectrum–you were not demonized for not appealing to them, but neither did you get a confession or even guys from your parallel classes sliding into your Facebook messages using the classic ‘sup’. Oh, the tragedy of missing so much in life.

In fact, if you take time to think about it, that’s been your signature in most of your endeavours. Existing in the middle of any crowd. From a family standpoint, you weren’t able to shine like your sisters–Yuna being a signed model, recognised for her kindness and charming personality and Hyoyeon resembling the movie-version of a female badass–a no-nonsense boxing trainer. Each of them challenged the norms in their own way, subverting femininity or straight up refusing to conform to it and then... there was you.

That Feminist. Loud and a little annoying. Struggling with both.

The fact that they had settled and formed their own lives and routines while you skated on dry land through college didn’t help either. When you hung out with them, the reminder made you cower a little, fold yourself back into the shell you developed in your younger years from the lack of stability you experienced. You heard a lot about their boyfriends too– fiance and boyfriend, and from what you collected Minho seemed nice enough for a model, not to mention Hyoyeon’s doctor boyfriend, and you learnt to put up with them. Somehow.

However, you weren’t familiar with the faces to your right at the linear table, making it impossible to prevent having your mouth glued shut the entire time the photographer told each of you to smile and blinding you with the lights. Because here was the thing.

You had a blank face. A resting bitch face, like some said, or a woman not smiling face, as you liked to call it. You wanted to express your excitement, you really did, but the thought that your sister would soon be trapped close to forever in a relationship that could only be broken off if she gave her car, or worse–her TV screen held onto the corners of your mouth just like those damn earrings. Hence why, instead of expressing unfiltered joy over Yuna’s engagement, this time official, ring and fancy place rented, you looked like the personification of a rocking chair. Giving occasional nods as if you absorbed all information regarding next week’s weather.

Shame on them for dolling you up like this, hair parted, pretty braids tight on your scalp and orange dress making you look like a fairy. A fairy protecting the pumpkins and other agricultural crops, puffy sleeves moving like waves with your every movement and pleated fabric brushing over smooth thighs. Thighs you gave your blood, sweat and tears to.

Did you deserve to sit next to a man, all beautiful like this? What wrong have you done?

Since you were a child, you gained knowledge about the prices one had to pay to achieve happiness, and to restore the balance, with the peaceful music in the background and smiles in harmony to match it to your left, red wine you had been eyeing all evening on the other side, came the existence of the man. A tall gentleman with hair gel that spread to his brain, and whose arms were too big to stay by his sides, hence why he was taking up all the space on the table and separating you from your one true love. What was left to do, you pouted, interact with him and get into a potential discussion of how you can correct flabby arms, or risk your joints by stretching all across the table so you’d snatch the other one?

Not in the mood for a gym discussion in a trying time, you got up and used the remaining flexibility skills you had to bend across three welcoming faces. The liquid was so close now, its proximity tempting you and charming you into a trance. You wanted to experience this intimate moment, and to assure no one would pay attention to it– having you adverting your eyes to the table parallel to yours... making contact with your greatest enemies.

Your sister, with Minho and his mother who lit up at the sight of you. “Here she is, our youngest!”

She was a nice woman, short perm smoothing over the ends of her cheekbones. A figure that stood up to her son’s forearm, gentle and caring. As a general rule, you loved being in her presence, but you were already sensing the wrinkles forming as your eyes almost screwed shut with how hard you tried to raise the corners of your mouth. Not like you minded one bit, only one part of you wishing to avoid witnessing the impending disaster of interacting with her at social events.

Getting back into a normal position, you let your hand drop off the bottle, fingers longing for the coldness and bowed right as she averted her gaze to the chair you had been sitting on, then to the unknown guest. “And this must be your date?”

Your eyes widened, reaching to touch her only to have your hands freeze midway. “Oh, no, no way–I don’t have a date.”

“How come? Look at you, you’ve filled out so well,” she smiled as she squeezed the extra weight on your hips. To admit, the praise added a few points to your self-esteem meter, but it was no match to the aggravation you experienced in her presence because she had to ask about the other set of chromosomes at each meeting. It was part of the old lady gossip: asking about graduation, when you will get a job, oh and also if you’re not married by twenty-two when are you picking up a man so they can open another question folder. The one branded with a guaranteed approval stamp, none other than ‘when will you have grandkids’.

Insistent question marks to follow it soon after despite you not being related.

“I came to celebrate these two. I’m not looking for one right now,” you said, hoping your tone sounded polite in the least bit. Being accustomed to old ladies, who made up in curiosity for all they lost in height was a full-time job you never stopped learning from.

“Are you staying celibate? Waiting to save yourself for ‘the one’?” she inquired further. Here we go.

“Yeah, course she is.” Minho puffed, letting out a laugh. “For the One Lord Jesus Christ, you mean.”

“Amen. I will find my way, I’m sure,” you took a step back, attempting to return to your chair.“This family needed a cat lady anyway. You guys will be beautiful at 35 and all that, and I’ll be having my wrinkles illuminated by the laptop screen.”

“Coding?” Yuna supplied.

You took it as one of the instances to use your fake smile.“That’s plan A. If it fails, I’ll resort to the worse: write fanfiction in various locations.” Plan B was always ‘Embarrass yourself to the point they don’t talk to you out of their own will’. And get money.

“Oh, come on–”

“I could be in your basement and you won’t know it because Arnold Augustine the Third keeps wailing from the milk temperature.” you leaned your head forward, mimicking the way you sat while you typed on the keyboard, “Clickety clickety clickety clack, clickety clickety clack clack.”

“There is no way I would name our kid that.”

You pursed your lips. “Well, tell your fiance here who made me create an Instagram page to ‘keep the name’.”

His mother stood there with a tight-lipped mouth, the kind of expression others had when you weren’t close enough for them to get the joke, giving back the same forced politeness you gave a minute ago.“I can always introduce you to somebody, child.”

Minho tapped the beautiful girl four seats from you, whispering to her as she passed him the wine, and sometimes you envied him and Yuna for being so in-sync because the next second she was holding out a glass to you as he poured away the bottle’s contents. The drink matched the shade of her velvet floor-length gown, you noted, and if you thought you resembled a fairy of autumn, she was the season’s goddess.

“She’s enjoying herself enough, trust me,” her fiancé added as she passed you the glass. “I think we should check on uncle as well, don’t you love?”

Releasing a breath you’ve been holding for the entire meeting, you sat down, finally pouring the entire glass in your throat in one go, pose relaxing soon after. However, something bothered you–the feeling from this morning still lingered on your legs, little droplets of blood making your knee itch until you found a chair corner to relieve the sensation. Your knee moved farther, knocking into something solid. More accurate description provided, knocked into a muscled thigh fighting to rip out of a blue suit.

“Don’t have a date, huh?” the man grinned as he rubbed his leg against yours. Interpreting your gesture as romantic, movie flirting? Oh God. “Youngho, I’m a bodybuilder.”

A tab opened in your head to search for the profession: male thot job #1.

“Oh no, no no. No, thank you. I am here for the wine,” you explained, “I have a boyfriend.”

Yes, the wine. And the side piece was mango chicken.

“A lady shouldn’t drink so much. It’s not good for you,” he gave you a gentle smile, and you laced yours with the gentlest of ironies as you replied.

“A gentleman shouldn’t give unsolicited advice to strangers.”

He turned back to his plate, and you added another face to the history of guys who disappointed you on the first meeting, struggling to make space on your brain’s list.

Starting with your first crush, a basketball player who acted so nice with you and even pretended to know half the math you did to get close to you and work together. The joy was he seemed quicker to make fun of you for your moustache to his friends whenever they questioned your closeness. Second one, same field but a smaller ball to throw around, as sweet as they come, got bored with your dynamic when he met another girl who liked trap and Rammstein. The third one didn’t even know you existed–not that you were doing much to attract his attention either as you spent half your time staring at his hands and vintage shoes.

Then you considered the what ifs. If you wracked your brain enough, you could still remember the second date you went to at seventeen, eyes holding onto the remaining flicker of hope. Immersed into the memory, you recalled the way your pompadour partner, beer in hand, gave a detailed explanation not of your beauty, but of how much he hated communism and ‘feminazis’. After that, you lost count of the large-shouldered figures passing your life and focused your curiosity on said feminazis. Cool girls that, like you, realized long ago how the key to feminism didn’t have to do with hating men but happened to support the cause.

Attention syndromes aside, you didn’t lack ‘experience’ either. Didn’t even know what people considered experience. You kissed a lot of boys in truth or dares when you were fourteen (and man did you think you were doing something). Also, you were good at faking interest for dares when all you wanted to do was kiss them. Who would have thought you’d end up with a profound dread for the male sex? A good portion of the population who interacted with guys over sixteen, it clicked to you. After your discovery, you wished you could form a society made up of girls that were unfortunate enough to be attracted to those they hated. Yes, we exist, you wanted to say.

A capital flaw that turned you off beyond belief (not that they ever turned you on in the fun way beyond your bedroom and in the outside world) was their lack of dependability, besides opening their mouth. Your high school best friend, Yoongi, you remembered him as one of the most kind-hearted people that you knew. You could have almost said him alone showing this much humanity had been enough to clean the stains of his gender’s reputation, and yet. There’d always been that one little detail that proved to you that Yoongi was indeed a man.

Case in point: the one time in senior year in which you needed a photocopy for your album that required you to search half a town for. It went well, except for the fact that between seven bus stations you still weren’t sure whether they had the machine for it. And Yoongi being a few steps away from the store couldn’t bother to ask about it on the premise of ‘being sick’. Also, who could forget your high school sweetheart, Jungkook, your athlete deskmate who called a lovesick you for the first time during a presentation to ask you whether you’d join his clan in Dragon City.

Spoiler: they didn’t do photocopies there. But at least you contributed to the pay of bus drivers as you succumbed to breeding dragons ready for war.

The realisation came in at a much later time. Although the crushes came and fleeted and you had a greater chance than others at being smitten from the first three conversations with anyone, there was a territory you hadn’t adventured into. No longer did you bother to explain the heavier reasons, the tear-jerkers and mood ruiners. At the time you’d choose to go with the simple alternative.

You had never cared for a man, and you never planned to.

The standards raised. You became mature; you hated men. And nothing could have convinced you otherwise.

At least the free booze on table five distracted you from it.

So, about The Feminist.

The roots of this reputations had been foreign to you since you didn’t talk to many people outside of your dorm or classes. Even while volunteering, you kept it with the three friends you went there with, not making an effort to be social more than that. On the occasion, you’d act out to pull the laughs out of your friends and didn’t bother to scan the people watching, therefore it became a mystery to you how your first impression switched between a clown and the aluminium tinfoil hat.

You had your fair shares of conversations with frat boys in your freshman year when you were a small bundle of hate. Even then, as you expressed your opinions they twisted your words, mocked you as you kept to politeness while conversing. ‘I thought you didn’t like men’, they’d say with a smug face, carrying on with expressions which made you sneer. From the other side, your tinfoil sons and daughters, you heard about your supposed plans to go to Law School only to get into the government and implement liberalism and laws to limit their rights.

Well, they had the spirit but messed it up at the end. Not wrong but not true either. Sounded like another back-up plan in case it went wrong with computers. You ended up being a famous case in the ethics classes you took before you decided on coding, all gritted teeth and ready to eat guys who substituted a personality with monotonous voices and wearing glasses. Despite the events which to this day made you more reluctant to express yourself, you still frequented some classes related to the humanities field: you remained in gender studies and literature.

One of which you were currently sitting in, on the edge for the last hour due to today’s theme of discussing novels of experience. Ten minutes left and your wings would be free, with no hint of annoyance or anger for the entire day. An achievement uncommon for a lesson requiring creativity and freedom of belief, which you loved expressing but avoided hearing.

Creativity had its perks and downsides. One of them was that everyone was allowed to manifest it in one way or another, which left space for questionable fiction not only to be created but to be discussed and theorized over in academic circles. Such example you didn’t want to experience again had been the latest reading assignment, one of the choices for today’s topic. Most of your classmates who chose to present had ventured into other choices, letting you live and catering to your neurons. Until you heard the incantation.

“Based on a definitory experience in 1929, the book which puts to light the tragic heroine bearing the same name explores the idea of retrospection, of relieving a love whose absence leaves the individual…”

Leaves them blessed that they didn’t read such bullshit. You rolled your eyes, remembering the read you got through during winter break, the slowest 120 pages of your life. A tint of sadness seeped through the anger building in your loins, threatening to overflow. The rest of the emotions you learned in high school psychology came to you in their order. Starting with the disgust you felt at the author’s description of the young girl which were both infantilizing and barbaric, marking her bright presence and sense of spirituality as below him. The little fucking intellectual who sat and beat his dick to how he was the sole individual on Earth capable of self-reflection.

In the beginning, the first state to follow had been surprise. Surprise that no one thought to leave that man in a ditch after a drunk night and use his manuscript as toilet paper. With your eyes closing the night you read, in its steps happiness followed, now that it was over and you could go sleep and never check it again.

Lastly, fear. You understood and if you had to name a positive about the story would be the accurate portrayal of subjectivity, of how one would misinterpret based on their thought process and obsession with another person. Fiction had the qualms of exploring said concepts but to you, the way people related and discussed them based on reality’s moral system mattered most. You feared that people would take this toxic relationship and call it a love story and you feared the backlash following your disagreement.

“The subjective perspective of the events makes the impossible love even more painful for the protagonist as he is forced to separate from the young girl, ‘woman and child’, who ends up succumbing to his infatuation and wishes to give herself completely to him with the symbols of spirituality around them bearing as witnesses. A powerful interior conflict can be observed…”

The impossible love. Romeo and Juliet were shaking in their boots at the love of an unempathetic protagonist and a girl too young to know what love meant. You’d think the asshole had an interior conflict since he was stepping over any moral compass known to man.

“…, this way, an authentic and vulnerable experience is captured by the author. It is a story of irremediability, of a consuming love which young people aspire to experience and live for.”

Breathe through your nose, lips pursed to even out your inhales. Once again, the mere mention affected you more than it should’ve, and your mouth won the race over your self-control.

“I disagree.” You didn’t wait for the professor to call your name. Not anymore.“It makes no sense to brand the book as a love story or something a teenager should strive for because of the male character’s actions and his view of her throughout the story. A novel of experience? Certainly. The subjectivity and the protagonists’ reflective notes throughout the narrations guarantee it.”

“Well–” your classmate cut in, but you gave no sign of stopping.

“But she is described as ugly and barbaric, below him despite her high education and extensive poetry knowledge and changed from virgin to whore as she gives into him. These thoughts do not disappear even after he ‘falls in love’ and starts to feel whole next to her because of his supposed superiority. This is not a tragedy, separating them was mandatory to protect her.”

You let your head drop, pursing your lips as you waited for the counter argument. At the silence, the professor took to watching you, pondering over the answer.“I think you should reflect on the mentality of the 30s. During that time, it could’ve been considered as such.”

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t stop the slight tremor of your tone and the voice that raised another octave. “Are we still living in the 30s? Why are we perpetuating the same mentality, why are we letting it slip with this excuse?”

The professor’s gaze alternated between you and the clock pointing towards the end of the class, “We should leave this discussion for the next time.”

The whispers increased. From behind you, a girl spoke. “Here she goes again with this extreme stuff. I swear, I’m a feminist too but she is exaggerating.”

You were familiar with the type. The one to laugh at your jokes and watch with undivided attention whenever you wanted to lighten up the mood by making a fool of yourself. Several times you heard them laugh at jokes made at the expense of women, several times you were shut down when you stood against it, the moment you call it out you get called a sensitive extremist.

And it wasn’t always bad since men’s voices were an echo chamber to you or radio noise at best, yet the women. The pressure put on women like you by other women suffocated you, settling over your windpipe no matter what you replied. Those were the most frequent case when it came to the rising of your doubts. Chest heavy, you chose not to retaliate, storming out as soon as you collected your things, hoping that time alone would help you solve the issue within yourself.

“Hey, wait–” you snapped your head to the sound, wild eyes contrasting the touch of calamity in his. “I–”

The guy got out of class, hurrying after you. Even a buffoon would see the correlation.“Has the professor said anything?”

He paused in his tracks, taken off guard by the question. “No, that's not it. I wanted to tell you–”

Emotions weren’t your best feature, and you had a few arguments with them here and there. They would threaten you, you’d fight back, they’d reach for cat videos or a thing you did ten years ago and you’d shut up. And isolate.

Which was what you were planning to do right now, if not for Beanie Boy over there testing–wait. You’re sure you’ve seen this guy outside of literature.

“You're in my gender studies class, aren't you?” you pushed, remembering the denim jacket and beanie from a row in front of you, a classic colour combination. Besides that, who could forget the impression he left from the first day, starting off his speech with: I'm tired of his story, It's time I listen to hers. Girls cooing, an unusual image present in your lectures and a few giggling over the shy gestures following. That you remembered.

The tangled letters of his name stayed foreign to you, more concerned with paying attention and learning, and so did his motif to look for you. From what you gathered, he was a unique individual, popular for his Instagram outfit shots and scenery captures. An apparent style whose amalgam of characteristics you didn't recall seeing in recent lectures.

You tilted your head, hand falling to your hip. “Do you want the notes, is that it?”

His mouth gaped, dimples growing to see the light. “Oh, thank you for offering–”

“Then it’s settled. Come to the dorms on Floor One by Thursday, I’ll be there then,” you said with the solemnity and suspicion of a drug dealer, quick to turn around and walk away. More than ever at this hour needed the space to calm your nerves and collect yourself enough so you could pay attention to the next classes.

Still, were you so cheap now that you’d hand out your notes to anyone now to get rid of them? Information is the way to life, and yet you traded it just to get away from it.

Classic.

Five days later fate found you in yet another tricky situation. For as long as you’d live in the campus dorms, you were to never experience peace or any tranquillity. Be it you were cursed or stamped with bad luck at birth, the fact had been internalized long ago, along with your animosity for the object you have lost once again. There was no other way. You pressed the door’s handle, tempted to give up and bang your head against it so you had a way out of this situation.

At least you weren’t completely hopeless.

Once pulled out of said thoughts, you felt around for the phone in your jeans, battling with the sleeves of your fur coat to retrieve it so you could dial Yujin, “Hey, any chance you’re around? I lost the key again and I can’t face Mrs. Choi for the third time this month. Can you please go instead of me?”

Past desires loomed over you once again as you registered your roommate’s words: she didn’t think you’d be home this early, so she locked the door till she returned from the library. Your schedule followed: meet up with your girlfriends and revise the material for next week’s finals as you ranted on the side, but you didn’t have access to it. Duh.

A possibility that not everything is out to get you manifested as you heard steps on the hallway, and you took it as your saving grace… until you checked who it was. A perfect candidate for directing your frustrations to. The Man of the Hour. The most recent addition to your database, who said nothing about the missing material. You were friends on Facebook, for fuck’s sake, did he not care enough to ask for your room number? Did he have other resources to access your personal information, you questioned, frantic in your thoughts which made you turn around, determined to find the answers.

You marched up to him, cutting off his chances at avoidance. “You!”

He pointed to himself, mouth agape.

“You made me wait for so long, and you didn’t show up,” you chastised, wincing a little at how your neck cracked when you stared up at him. “I even organised my papers for you.”

A hand came up to scratch at his own.“Uhh, I appreciate it… but I-I’m not here for that.”

“So, guess it’s for another time? How long will this take?”

Your patience was running thin more with each meeting, though you remained careful in front of the man. Given your current moods and schedule, you didn’t have the chance to rage about education- and a part of you didn’t want to either. The more you saw him, the more you took your time to observe him, along with his gestures, both of which made you reconsider your opinion of him. Such as no matter how tall and imposing he was, he never looked you in the eye.

Not to mention how you were locked outside your room so you stood no chance to even touch said cellulose, thus you had close to no right to be angry.

“I... This is my room. I moved to 113 at the beginning of the semester.” His gaze once again, drifted elsewhere, studying the hall and reverted back to your shoulders, to the soft curve of your jaw.

“Did I not see you before? Ever?”Were you that absent and disconnected from your surroundings?

“Well, uh… you must’ve seen a lot of these.” He bent to touch the ground before getting on his tiptoes to raise his arm as high as he could, and an image of huge beige coats and white sneakers popped into your mind. The assumptions you made led you to the face your roommate told you about, Kim Seokjin, a pure aphrodisiac senior from art history. You mistook Beanie Boy for him, you thought, coming back at the right time to watch the former grin bashfully at his joke. He surely caught you smiling, for he continues his newfound rambling. “Yeah, Hoseok says he won’t get down in the club with Vincent Van Gogh, so I switched on the coats. Sorry for confusing you.”

“So that’s what he’s been doing instead of practising at 5 AM,” you said, shivering as you remembered the way his steps brought more complaints in your sophomore year than the last generation combined. “You get used to the sound after a while. It worked wonders during exam season, I didn’t fall asleep one night.”

“It’s the same thing, he just has more audience now.”

You chuckled, police sirens going off in your head at the realisation that you were enjoying this, a little too much. With suspicion creeping up behind you and a sense of urgency to cleanse yourself through group conversation, the need to end the conversation throbbed in your veins. “Well, thanks for that. See you!”

You felt bad for leaving like that, but a complaint appointment and anxiety generated from the possibility that he will ask you to bring them now were already keeping you locked towards your destination: the lounge.

“I heard there was an emergency,” you sat down on the couch as you bid hello to the group of girls, books, notes and flashcards scattered on the table and their laps. You recognised them as the girls from your floor, a few doors away from you, with whom you spent a good majority of your time at the beginning of freshman year before drifting apart, each focused on your own majors and forming groups there. Besides Sojung, your close friend you plopped next to, you’d see them on occasion and spend your time with them pretending to study and trying out nearby cafes.

“Yes, we ran here as soon as we heard about your struggle,” she said, expression serious as she petted your head. Not long after, her grin grew in time with yours diminishing, satisfied at how she stole your joke out in the open like this. Despite your opposite attitudes, Sojung’s deadpan humour was never far from your dramatic one and many times she was quick to outwit you. She already knew about the events at the party, having them narrated in an incoherent string of texts, followed by the conclusion that you were in need of pleasant company.

“You mean girl,” you pouted, “and to think I came all the way here to support you.”

The girl rolled her eyes, going back to her study material, forehead crease a little too obvious, and you welcomed the challenge to make her laugh.

“These exams shouldn’t exist. They’re stressing you out too much,” you complained, wishing you could do more when the light bulb flickered in your head. “I’ll change my major. I’ll get my diploma in being a wall so I can protect every girl from these assholes. See what they do then.” Catching a glimpse of the corners of her mouth rising, you pondered the occupation: not a bad idea at all if you considered it.

“This is hell. Don’t you have things to revise too, girl?” Seungyeon, the criminology major and girl you wish you could be, said. Serious yet sociable, a go-getter with elevated thoughts said at the right time, she was as close to a college model you had.

“It’s a few brackets and logic commands. Not a lot to grasp. Either it works, or it doesn’t.” If you had lived in a world of your own wishful thinking and didn’t stress out over these two months in advance, yes. Studying and trying out the material at midnight became incorporated into your routine, allowing yourself a two-day break every week. In spite of it, you were glad you didn’t have to memorize entire textbooks and that your field allowed for skill practice, adding the literature classes you partook in to exercise your creativity and widen your perspectives.

“Plus, I’m here to listen to any of you who needs help, since my girl here has other plans,” you said, tone honey-like as you encouraged your proposal. You were aware at that not many of them were bold enough to ask for help first due to fear of inconveniencing others, making you cautious in approaching the subject and with enough luck catching some friends. You didn’t know Seungyeon that well on a personal level, but you were striving towards having more people as ambitious as her, what was a little sugar coating? And as expected, she grinned at you, getting up to hand you her portfolio, all written in cursive black ink.

“Can you quiz me on these terms?” You nodded, brows furrowing at the thesaurus language.

Close to thirty minutes later, coat discarded and your head spinning from the new information, your hand froze on the foiled page as your phone started buzzing in your back pocket.“Pits of hell, main demon speaking.”

“Please stop doing this whenever you’re answering me in public.”

“There’s a price to pay if you’re making me participate in a phone call.” you smiled, delighted by Yuna’s whiny tone, already picturing her desperate eye roll. “No, it’s ok. Keep going.”

“I talked to the receptionist and he said they can rent us the place March 30th. Some TV broadcast will host a reality series there from the fifth onward.”

Blood drained from your face.“T-that’s. In two months,” you stammered, shoulders already slumped at different heights from the stress building and slapping each bone at varying times. “Why not April first so you can say psych? Please…”

“Minho thought it’d be funny too. He has a spring collection in Portugal on the third.”

“What kind of thing is he modelling on your wedding week? Lord.”

“Tuxes.”

“Forget I asked,” you said through your teeth as your nails dug into the cover of Sojung’s manual, threatening to fold the piece and rip its remains. “And you want me to do what? Mhm… A few errands, right, close family wedding. Thank fuck for that at least. Sure, I don’t have anything else. Yes, I’m serious. Love you. Ok bye.”

Shifting your eyes to the group, you stared each of them in their pupil with solemnity as your body slumped on the couch till it met the criteria of a shapeless blob. “I’m doomed,” a sigh left your lips as your hand travelled to meet Sojung’s, craving physical affection in this time of need. Might as well get it from a pretty girl. “Here’s my end, cheers. Please raise a drink in my memory next time you go out.”

The girl cooed at your dramatics and squeezed your hand, reaching to caress your cheek and pull your head to her shoulder. She was not the one with words, but she never minded offering you physical comfort to remind of her support. Your eyes closed by themselves, wishing to drape yourself over her long legs and hide your face in her neck, a place where no responsibility could haunt you as you were hidden by her styled hair and comforting arms. In your crisis, you thanked heaven for women’s existence and for your luck to be surrounded by so many of them before you continued.

“She wants me to help with the wedding and I-I don’t know anything about this shit. I’m not good at the whole aesthetic thing.”

And a little part of your heart broke, the truth of your statement ringing in your ears. Although you learnt how to be confident in your abilities as you grew out of teenage years, you still had more to go through until you were comfortable with the unknown. Enthusiastic willingness existed, but it wasn’t always enough, and it hurt to be aware of it once again, having your stomach throb from the fear of disappointing or ruining things with your input.

“But you have style,” the girl added. “I love those tennis skirts you wear.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know about colour coordination, or materials, hell I don’t even know what a chiffon is...”

“Then why offer to do this?”

“Cause she’s busy you know,” you peeked at the biology book in her lap (the one you threatened to snap mere moments ago), thinking about how great it would be to exist as a paramecium.“She has a career and all while I’m here considering majoring in being a wall. And I don’t want her to carry such a burden alone.”

“You have time to learn. And if not, I know someone who can help with that. Namjoon is amazing with these things. I’ll talk to him, okay?”

“Hi, I hope I’m not interrupting anything-“

A part of your brain lit up in recognition, but you ignored it, not bothering to look- too busy wallowing in your misery to be bothered with chats.

Sojung moved, making your head snap off her shoulder and have you grasp your surroundings–to be specific, their new addition to it: Beanie Boy from Gender Studies, sat on the folding chair with a stack of books in his lap. “Namjoon, you’re here, I have to ask–”

Time ticked as gears turned into your brain, throwing the information in every angle until you processed it. You nodded, mouth agape, thinking what you should put inside a conditional command to make this situation look better, hopeful as you were. It ended up something like this:

if (disasterhappens) { pleasedont(); }

Squeezed between the timeline of a Data Structures course and the unforgiving cold, you stepped out of the bus the same pace as Namjoon, whose name you picked after your last encounter. In your classroom, he’d often remain quiet, thus your conscience didn’t feel too bad about making an excuse for your pea-sized memory. Faces were easy to memorize, but God forbid, hold on to a name and your brain threatened explosion. This time, true to his word, he ditched the coat, going for a padded jacket.

It worried you the slightest, as it had him open to the attacks of the weather, but you kept it to yourself.

“What are we doing?”

“They got most of the stuff done, so I don’t have to bother with calligraphers and shit to send out invitations or find photographers, we picked the dress three months ago... it should be easy.” You flicked open the cover of your pocketbook, proud of the doodles you managed between the tasks. “I have to rent the tablecloths, organise the seating positions, order the flowers, argue with the guy at the venue, other useless stuff, then- oh! Get the cake- that’s her taking pity on me for sure.”

“Do you have any specifics? If not, we can work something out. I know what women like.”

You squinted in suspicion, tone rich with all the certainty you had the ability to muster. “I bet you do.“

His eyes widened, “No, I didn’t mean it like that-”

Keeping your mouth shut for the first time in your life, you stood to realise he was helping you; he didn’t look like he signed the petition to buy you a tinfoil hat. By law, you were obliged to restrain the second nature which leaned towards hostility- for men. The notion made you sigh, wishing for a way to tell him it was fine without it becoming weird or turning into a race for apologising. “Either way, I have no escape. Might as well drag someone to hell with me.”

Namjoon said nothing, stirring and adding salt to the soup of guilt you were harbouring for the last minute which boiled in your gut and threatened to overflow.

“Schedule comes as planned: be back at the station by 4 to take the 4:03 bus. That’s a 15-minute ride till we get to Yuna’s house where we’ll drop these, and from there it’s a 30-minute walk to the building.” With that, you sprung into action.

“You got this figured out, huh?” his voice rang with a tint of impress you picked up on.

Your lips pursed to suppress a smile as your pace slowed, “I mean, of course I do.” It was little before you changed your mind, thoughts running wild between your responsibilities and morals because of them battling out. The whirlwind made you move with more speed, your words almost matching the fastness of your legs.

“Thanks for coming with me and stuff. This will be a piece of cake, but still.” you shrugged, a little awkward to be running errands with a guy at 3:15 PM like one of those middle-aged couples. Hence why you resorted to Conversation 101, mastering it in time to deal with such an unfamiliar situation. Truth be told, your wished for a method to express your gratefulness now that he doubled it by he was accompanying you in the time between classes, a holy period marked by relaxation– not picking out from thirty shades of silk red.

However, by itself, the ‘thanks’ had remained stuck in your throat, in need of an extra push to make it sound nonchalant instead of a word of relief which decreased the anxiety blood levels.

He didn’t seem to mind. Namjoon walked behind you without struggle due to your bulldozer walk, eyes fixed on his steps and hands in his pockets. “Yeah, it’s no problem. I’m happy to help.” You turned your head to look back at him, a pursed smile lingering on your features making you repeat the action every five seconds. Turn, stare, square up with your facial muscles.

“You must really want those notes, huh? Is the class that important?” you joked as the two of you approached the store, hand reaching out to open the door with Namjoon trailing close.

“Well, I-” Namjoon paused, startled when your feet came to a halt at the doorstep, body spinning to make eye contact with him. The grip you had on the door handle twitched as you watched him come closer and closer, releasing right as he was about to step inside. In a perfect impersonation of an ostrich, his head pulled back as the door closed in seeming slow motion, reminding you of how much of a bad fanfiction your life was every time you went outside.

His widened eyes bordering on mania met yours through the glass, breaths living him as if he was trying to deflate and disappear from you as soon as possible. You gasped and bowed your head, moving to open the door, tugging it towards you with no result before his hand enveloped the handle, yanking it open. The force sent you aiming towards the pavement before strong fingers gripped your forearm and pulled you straight.

Straight into him.

Your mouth gaped, arms flying out to his biceps to push him away from you and save yourself out of this situation–that’s what you were planning. Instead, you froze, fingers still gripping the muscles because, despite the accident, you were touching him. A man.

The best part was that Namjoon seemed as frozen as you felt, his gaze busy tracing every feature, never leaving your face. Your heartbeat became more erratic by the second as embarrassment crept upon your cheeks, but you were not the bitch without prior experience to trainwrecks like this- after all, you made codes. Thus, you laughed and tightened your grip, slowly shaking him before the pace increased. “We have to be very precise! Do you understand me? This is for a far greater cause, we need to pay attention to every shade and detail, point blank-”

“Period. I wouldn’t have been here if I didn’t know,” the words come out gentle as he tilts his head, fingers trailing forward to pet your shoulder before distancing himself. He gave a curt nod, signalling for you to move, and if this was any other time you would’ve protested, you took it as an opening to flee.

“Yes, of course,” you mutter as you walk through the variety of fabrics. Yeet. The notes app on your phone came in handy now, as you had an excuse to focus on anything but him. Most of the instructions were clear, silk fabric, ask for the rented option because buying requires to iron them and none of you knew how to use a household object like that, stick to the theme and pick-

“Apple red?” you said out loud to the cloned shelves adorning the entire store, each inclined in a different way for aesthetic purposes, or to make your life difficult. “She’s so pretentious. What even is that, they all look like fucking red.”

“Couldn’t a professional do this?” Namjoon inquires from beside you, scrutinizing the interior design before settling on a banner painted on the wall. “Live laugh love. Very suburban.”

“Dunno, maybe this way they thought they could get away with spending less money. Not like they’re lacking any, goddamn family-oriented capitalists.” you rambled, being used to inserting dramatic lines in your speech with your girlfriends. Nevertheless, this territory had boundaries on pending left to be established. From your knowledge, guys weren’t used to interacting with language innovationists, so you had to sweeten the deal a little to avoid feelings of inferiority. “They could’ve counted on me finding a hero since men and all are sooo good with details.”

You sighed. Way to go, sarcasm.

Namjoon only chuckled, continuing to study the store’s organisation system. “I’ll go look for what we need, and we’ll get back in 10 minutes to compare. Hope that’s okay.” He dashed by you, your brows furrowing before realising it was time to roll, stomping away to browse through foldings.

After forgoing the opportunity to give up halfway, you returned to him with six different shades, raising each hand to present it to him, starting with the first option at hand, a deeper shade of red.“I think I found it. How’s this?”

Namjoon licked his lips.“Uh, well, it looks a little-”

“A little what? It’s red.” you pointed with your head as if it was obvious before lifting the others up. “All of these are red.”

“That is wine red,” he explained as he scratched the back of his neck. “We should pay more attention to details if we want to do a good job.”

Your left eye twitched. Namjoon had been kind to you (human standards, not male ones) in the time you spent together. Guaranteed, his timing was off during most of your meetings and in objective standards, he did nothing wrong, but your conscience didn’t enjoy subtle reprimanding. In fact, she felt threatened, ready to have you bring out the big guns. You had some logic and attention to detail too in any state of tiredness; it was a matter of whether it wanted to be exercised.

Despite your lack of knowledge in colour theory, blamed on your monochromatic wardrobe, at first sight, it looked like apple to you! Yet, determination rose in your chest and now the world shed new light upon your sight- you would pick the best goddamn apple colour in this store.

He did nothing wrong. Still, you weren’t at fault either because your competitiveness flared over the most useless reasons.

“Huh, seems like I’ve been eating the wrong apples.” You wanted to drop the fabric onto the floor for dramatic effect, yet your common sense stopped you, too worried about the workers that would have to clean up after the two of you. “How about this one?”

“That’s burgundy.”

“How do you even know those?”

“My mother has that hair colour… Every lady over forty in our neighbourhood uses that.” Chin tucked, he looked down at his pile to avoid your gaze. “I think this is more accurate.”

You inspected the piece with the attention of a fine painter, ready to create your own Starry Night with tablecloths and future flowers.

“Looks like candy. That apple’s full of chemicals. Yuna only likes organic, farm stuff,” you chirped out of pure pettiness, and Namjoon must have sensed it, because his pose turned frigid, glare with raised eyebrows aimed like an arrow towards you. “I’m sure this one is right-”

“That’s crimson,” his voice interjected. “There’s no way this is good for a wedding unless we’re talking the Red one.”

Both of your tones grew sassier and the man you sassed at the end of your course morphed into a reflection of yourself. Nice but ready to cut if you’d open your mouth in the next three seconds. Bad for both of your sakes, you had no qualms about passing whatever limit because you were the tear in the system–for fuck’s sake, you made the system. “Lucky for me, I have no idea what that is. I don’t watch hipster shows.”

Let out a sound similar to a laugh meant to be suppressed yet it escaped anyway. “That’s the farthest thing possible from hipster.”

“Fine, I’m not supposed to care about those anyway.”

A passive-aggressive smile. “Yes, we should go back to our task and try to solve the problem.”

Another one. “There’s no problem, I’ll look for more and then we’ll go on our way.”

“Of course,” Padded boy retaliated before sitting in front of another shelf. “This?”

“It’s blinding my eyes. It’s not gonna match. She also wants freesias, let’s just find something similar,” you said as you dug through the packages on the bottom shelves. “Ha, how about this?”

“It... “ He tilted his head, letting out a deep exhale, “it looks good.”

“Yeah! Let’s go!” You clutched the fabric to your chest, ecstatic to leave colour combination to the experts and never return again.

With crossed arms and hostility radiating off him, Namjoon, the image of attention to detail, looked as if he was about to launch into a rant about nihilism and why shit like this shouldn’t matter at your smallest gesture. You mastered the same fixed stare, as your friends told you several times and you focused on the floral details at the empty cashier’s spot, scared of what might happen if each of you directed it towards the other.

“Hello, how can I help you?” Both your heads snapped to a man in overalls, flower crown resting on top of his head and grin beaming on his features- until he saw the both of you glaring at him, “Oh. I apologise for the delay.”

You broke out of your trance, gesturing at the packaged cloth. “We’d like to rent uh… ten of these.”

The man returned with your fulfilled request and you hurried to get a hold after swiping on Minho’s smiley-face covered credit card. You gave an awkward smile which you hoped he saw before switching to Namjoon, who was a bit difficult to interact with due to the messy way you were holding the items.

“I’ll hold them myself. Help me out with the door,” you muttered from under the mountain of fabric, feeling a little self-conscious of being this authoritative in a fabrics store.“If you want to.”

“It won’t move. Hold on.” From outside, he clutched the handle and pulled it back with his entire body, leaning half-suspended in the air. His leg, like a whip from God, stretched out over the pavement in pointé position to reach the other door and fight to push it as you squeezed through the minimal space.

Ignoring Namjoon still stretched out trying to open doors for you, you checked your hand watch, the image making you gasp.“Oh no! It’s 4:10 p.m.” You turned to him, eyes wild and devoid of any humanity as he got into standing position at last.

“We had to be at the bus station at 4! The next bus is in 6 minutes and it’s going to take us 15 minutes to get there and I can’t afford a taxi.” You sprinted with the most speed, but after an entire fifteen seconds on the clock your feet planted on the ground, hands on your knees and throat constricting as you struggled for air.

“Why do I never do cardio I-” you panted to no one in particular as Namjoon’s figure passed you, increasing the distance with controlled steps. “Oh fuck. Hold on. Wait!”

Your body did its best to maintain your equilibrium as you chased after him, tablecloths in hand.“How on Earth are you moving this fast-”

With a gaze at his wit’s end, he waited till you advanced to him before snatching the packed items from you and digging through his back pocket to get his wallet out. “Hold this and pay,” he said as he intertwined his arm with yours, hitting the acceleration button full force without warning, “There’s no time for little legs.”

Once again, your heart joined the marathon.“Hey–wait! Wait, I didn’t plan a sprint in this, my hair’s going to be ruined!” The wind’s presence smacked you at once too, even air attacking as you tried and failed to keep up with his pace. Thus, all left to do was whine about it. “Move slower! My hair, I–I can’t let people know I’m ugly–hey!”

“Spill.”

“Quite interesting that you assumed I’d have anything to complain about when I never did it in my life.”

Sojung quirked her eyebrow, pausing her scrolling to turn her head and judge you properly, to which you pursed your lips- fighting hard to not burst into laughter and blow your cover.

With the aid of a motivational discourse about the balance between studying and having fun (the most you can have in said weather), you managed to bribe her into watching a movie as long as you made the sweet tea and let her pick. A problematic duo, Sojung and these choices, since she had a torturing streak going against your brain cells, but you followed her rules, ready to rumble by immersing yourself into whatever character you deemed the dumbest. Now, warm cup in hand, there you stood, squeezed to her side due to the bed’s size, looking like her disciple, or at least a very starry-eyed novice.

How else were you supposed to be, as you were cuddling with an objective image of temptation under the blankets, bare feet ducking under hers to steal her warmth? A woman who radiated daintiness without effort, the tips of her hair still wavy from Saturday’s party enough to create the aura of an Aphrodite of Science who pulled you in, who charmed you into wanting to feed her grapes and braid her hair.

“You haven’t talked about it in days. I’m worried,” she stated as if you broke our friendship code by avoiding the wedding topic, which you thought you were doing a pretty good job on. Yesterday you even stuck to the manners code while convincing the photographer not to reschedule, reminding him with the required politeness of who he was dealing with. Your sister didn’t like to flaunt her status and neither did you with yours (whether you had one was arguable), yet you never minded reminding people who she was in case she got too humble.“You’re not like that.”

“Fine, don't look at me like this- there’s a reason why I should’ve said no. I made a fool out of myself.” your friend nodded, giving you the gesture for ‘go-ahead, confess your sins’. “So we got to the store, I walked first right, cause you know how I move, and I opened the door and you know I’m not an animal so I wanted to hold the door open for him but-”

“But he’s a man.”

“Yeah and I can’t-” you closed your mouth, opting for indecipherable gestures with your free hand, “fraternize with the enemy, for lack of a better word. And I almost hit him with the door.”

With a temporary interest, you watched as the beginning credits for whatever movie Sojung picked. This way you could postpone the pain a little. Deep breaths.

“I didn't know how he is with these things, I- we argued a lot. Over tablecloths.”

“Of course. Like me and Mino when we had to do that project together. The cells we had to analyze looked like cones to me but he insisted they're joints.”

You laughed, a full sound that came with you shaking your head, “The bar is on the fucking ground, God.”

“Mhm, but I'm sure Namjoon wasn't like that. He's very immaculate and detail-oriented with his work, not thinking about joints,” she emphasised on the last words. “He’s an alright guy. A little passive-aggressive sometimes but he'll get over it.”

“Yeah, he’s-” you sputtered, an adequate definition of Namjoon still foreign to you. Good would raise suspicions, not bad would have Sojung urge you into detailing. “Bearable.”

She gave you a look you couldn’t decipher. “Right. And his Insta shots are cute. You should follow him.”

You sighed, reaching into your pocket to retrieve your phone and obey her request. After a search lasting less than a few minutes, you caught sight of familiar fashion popping into your recommended. You clicked on the profile, pictures of animals and outfits for the day welcoming you, his trademark coats fitting perfect with his long legs.

Compared to the rest of his feed, his fifth picture was a close-up one, with him sitting on the ground, a deer on each of his side. At the display taken from a Disney picturesque, there it was: guilt drowning you again, this time sour edition. Why were you like this.

Granted, despite your differences and mutual pettiness, he tried to be patient for as long as he could-bless his heart- while you started out colder and less optimistic than usual and let your attitude get the best of you. Grumpiness was not a trait of yours, it was by chance you let it take the wheel again as you pressed the follow button. Bold of you to think he’d notice with his 1.3k mark, coming from the girl with 70 followers and three pics of you smiling.

Cuddled up to your friend, you settled on forgoing this matter, focusing on the movie and hoping the guilt soup would simmer down. Later swearing as your insides turned to mush, you buried your head in the pillow, groaning as you re-imagined the scene with the male lead trespassing for the girl- risking fines for plucking the rose and jumping back the same gate with no effort. A hundred other similar scene to this one came back to you, and yet your reaction was impossible to control- half-way between an eye roll and batting your eyelashes, brain alternating between commands. Old, young, there were reasons cliches were cliches, and the public's feelings were what made them popular from the start.

This love was the exact movie love which would never be possible in real life, where the oh-so-young hero gave roses and heart attacks to an innocent girl having no prior experience with motorcycles. Thus, you didn’t bother to fight against indulging a little in whatever trope the movie was displaying. It mixed the leather jacket and typical bad boy vehicles with a retro type of romance.

“Why do you always insist on this kind of movies?” you asked, pleading with your girl to cease these activities but also hinting to her you wouldn't mind another one. Especially for this week, a time where love and capitalism went one on one. Valentine’s day was a sensitive topic for you, anti-capitalist and all, but you were aware of the loneliness some friends of your experienced. Hence why ever since you were a freshman, you bought envelopes and red paper, brought your trusted heart stapler and got to work. You had close to no criteria for your choices: close friends, people you had pleasant interactions with, girls under stressful situations. Random people on hallways who made you smile and later got a letter with a lollipop and your attempts at a cursive: ‘Someone’s thinking of you! Please buy chocolate on sale this year!’

“Wanted to get us in the mood.” She winked at you as her hand found yours under the blanket, laptop propped on her legs, “It’s fun seeing you squirm.”

“Come on, men in real life are not like that. There’s not one dude out there who will be this attentive to you, and if he does he's gonna get you in debt. You'll have to bail him out of jail.”

Sojung shrugged, yellow turtleneck brushing adorably against her chin. You didn’t know what offended you more: her silence or how cute she looked without even trying - making it impossible to stay fake-mad at her.

“My judgement’s been rotten, but if I said one fair thing in this world is that one.” An accusing finger was pointed at her, “You should agree. I haven’t seen you talk to any of the guys in your classes outside of school.”

Sojung took one long glance at you, taking her time to answer. “I guess I’m too busy right now.”

Your brows furrowed, “Yeah… college’s a bitch. But this time it’s doing you something good, right?”

“Eh. Another one?” she asked, seconds away from your definite yes.

After two more hours of cringing and containing your cooing, you remembered today’s goals: find Namjoon and consult him about the next weeks’ schedules, establish a proper plan. Of minimal interaction, if possible- in which both of you secured efficiency and less trivial arguing. You shook your head, finding the thought’s beginning ridiculous- going to his room, seeing him to tell him you didn’t want to see him.

Wasn’t a complete truth either.

Sense of responsibility and need for order aside, this was a bad idea. You didn’t check in with him, part hesitation part not having his number and being too awkward to write to him on Facebook (you were friends, you checked). Yet, you stood at his door, fist hanging in the air.

Three raps, a deep breath to calm your nerves- what nerves? Why would you experience that? You could do this. You knocked on doors before, thank God.

With newfound confidence, you smacked said door with all you had, positive that Namjoon would hear and you’d have no way out of it then. Bag on your shoulder, you fiddled with the letter hidden behind your back, hoping the glue dried enough not to move the heart from its middle. Earlier today, as you were bracing yourself for your mission, you saw Hoseok heading for practice. It eased you a bit, doing this in front of Namjoon alone.

The door opened and your mouth curled to the sound of it rattling from its hinges, “Hi, are you busy?”

Namjoon, in all of his bear pyjamas and bedhead glory, eyes round and wide stared at you with uncertainty. “I’m… not doing much. You can come in.”

“Were you sleeping? Sorry I didn’t say anything, I don’t have your number and-”

“No, no, we can solve that. I-” he paused, seeming to struggle, “That’s how I sit when I don’t study or go outside.”

Following after him, you watched as he sat back on his bed, same lotus position and brought his legs closer together to make space for you. Soon, he must have realized his mistake, tips of his ears turning red as his gaze moved back to you. “I mean! You can sit in Hobi’s bed. I’ll-” He rolled out of his bed, crouching next to his roommate’s bed so he was next to you, “yeah.”

“I don’t want to take away too much of your time-”

“I don’t mind.” He licked his lips, head dropping down, “Well, not that much. Please continue.”

You bent to show him what you’ve been working on- a logical scheme to ensure productivity without spending too long on a destination, tying together similar events. One which you ended up doodling on for illustration, marking the points where you might have trouble later and the way to approach them. “This is the battle plan. Minimum effort, maximum fun. I fucking hope.”

“Cute,” Namjoon said, a close-mouthed smile on, and you were right in the radius to get a glimpse at the true depth of his dimple. Oh. You pouted, mouth opening and closing as you tried to form a coherent thought at his words. You were not cute. “I mean the sketch.”

Chest deflated, you pursed your lips at the geometric owl you drew, not pausing to catch the amused glint in his eyes or how his grin was growing. “Ok, first destination. So I searched for Google reviews, right, and the guy at the venue is a total asshole.”

“What’s the plan then?”

You breathed out, “I was… I was hoping that you can help with this one. I, err, struggle with being diplomatic around guys.”

He nodded, signature dimple popping out again.“Sometimes.”

Your mouth gaped in mock offense before you caught his gaze again. You cursed under your breath, looking down at your chest in indignation then switching to his desk chair. It resembled the one in the lounge to the point it was suspicious–making you squint at the offensive object, recalling the image of Namjoon last sat on when he was pulled into this mess.

“…And I’d appreciate you giving me some tips maybe, on how to deal with the guy. I’m desperate.” The option of going there and listing everything you and your family wanted without a compromise was tempting, but there were several warning bells pointing towards the opposite result.

“To begin, don’t judge his colour combination outfits.” He chuckled, lifting your mood a little. “Be assertive, but don’t make him feel out of control. Bring your demands in as suggestions.”

“Look intimidating but polite,” he said softly. “You already have half the part down.”

You puffed, “I breathed.”

“Doesn’t matter if the situation seems bad, don’t bend down to whatever he may tell.” He extended his palm towards you, and you gave him the sheet. “You think he stands a chance against these?”

“I was planning on that, but-” But it was difficult for you to do these without becoming snappy, without attempting to have the fucker trip with the power of your glare. Your voice died down in your throat as you stared at the bullet point tasks again.

Check in, talk about catering options and suggest food for their catering team to serve, confirm the guest list and the number of hours spent. Return a month later to assign the seats and assist the decoration process in case there was any need for changes. All that came as an obstacle was the man. The little devil impersonator you head so much about on hidden google reviews.

If you lost your cool it meant sabotaging one of the most important tasks of the entire scheme, which would guarantee a disaster in case you messed up. Here you were, with a possibility of rivalling Cinderella and getting expensive shoes stuck on stairs, only you’d lose the entire place instead of the shoe. It wasn’t like you could hold a wedding under your local drawbridge either-why did Yuna leave this on you? Why not pick Hyoyeon or Minho? Was this the time for you to develop a diplomatic streak?

Namjoon interrupted your impending existential crisis, “I’m free this weekend.”

Using the rational side of your brain, you submitted to his request, crossing off your earlier decisions. No interaction my ass, you thought. “Fine. I’ll pick you up on Sunday.”

As he meant to return your plan, you got up. “Actually, that is for you. And also this.” You pulled out the blue envelope, heart left intact to seal it.

“Oh?”

A rush of panic hit your gut from how he was looking at you, expecting you to go on. Did he want you to spell it out? God, no, you–“…found it at the door.”

As he got a hold of it, he let out a fake gasp; yet you weren’t so sure about the excitement which came across real, urging you to check the letter again for things you might have missed.

“Woah, it's right in the middle! Very sharp with the details,” the man tilted his head, not giving you any time to breathe. Like he was testing your reaction.

You tried to keep any tint of emotions at bay despite your body naturally adopting a more confident pose at the praise.“Mhm, agreed.”

“This is very thoughtful. I should thank the person when I see them. Even though it came four days earlier,” he said, biting his lip.

“Yeah-”

“Must have messed up the date.”

“Hey!” You paused, mouth closing shut. “Who cares? They made an effort.”

“You’re right, I’ll make sure to let them know.” He nodded with solemnity. “Was that it?” he asked and ended up mimicking your previous gesture, not meaning to come out like that.

“Uh, I have to go anyways.” You laughed to try and mask how startled you were. “I’ll… see you in a few days. Have a good one?”

I’ll try, he wanted to say, but instead he nodded, following you to the exit.

After you found the most bizarre way to ask for his number again, he meant to return to studying, thoughts of his appearance forgotten now that you left. He didn’t do much else since he woke up, neither he could say he expected anything to happen today, and he was long accommodated to the sturdiness of his chair to be bothered by sitting there for hours.

Settling on his usual space, he placed the papers you gave him under his stationery, focusing to remember the line he remained at. Though, it was no easy task, the little heart and doodles pulling on his attention and disregarding his work ethic. Damn them.

Before he registered his actions, Namjoon grabbed the papers again, taking in every piece of information laid on the battle notes he started out with. One thing that stood out to him was the contrast between your big personality, which appeared effortless to him, and your writing. He sort of expected messier handwriting taking up space on the sheet, similar to the way you acted each day.

Meeting you didn’t happen often, but he was neither blind nor deaf, he heard the degree of familiarity you used in speech even with teachers, had seen you in passing comforting people from the same dorm. He felt like a witness to some of your antics by the vividness Sojung described them with, complaining that kids at the volunteering centre would spend more time with you, attacking you with kisses to as you screeched and swore revenge.

Your writing was smaller and much more organized, taking up half the A5 paper you gave him. He didn’t know why he was even thinking about this, or why he felt like he found something new about you through it. Next came the letter, which contained a heart-shaped lollipop and a note attached to it, this time written in cursive but bearing the same letter size.

He chuckled as he read. Chocolate on sale. Ha, he bought that February second.

Some of the regrets for your experience together washed away as he spent more time re-reading, an impulse having him reach towards his stationery and take the scissors, cutting your schedule plan in half. You, in particular, were not the main cause for said emotions, he knew that much. Often he had a hard time telling people no, wishing to help as much as he could even if it came at his expense and a disappointed look from his friends who pleaded with him to listen, to stop caring so much about other people’s situations and turn his attention to him. Be selfish, take a break, practice self-care or whatever he wanted to call it, they told him. Look at you for once.

He still struggled with that. This time, like many others, his conscience was telling him he’s doing the right thing, but there was a slight change. Something pleasant stirring up in his loins, a level of contentment with his decision to accept. He could at last witness you rip that fucker to shreds.

The anatomy book was still open, but for the time being, he had no motivation to continue studying. He wanted to prevent losing your indications too, so he put the paper inside the book before closing it, only image available being the freesia you drew next to the first circle. No more information for now, he thought. After all, he could research plenty in his surroundings for the current chapter.

The cardiovascular system.

Based on your poor approximations, it had been more than a week since your last encounter with Namjoon, and a part of you wanted to scream because you had kept a lot of secrets in during this time. There was no date from when you began classifying your life as before and after Namjoon, but as the timeline stretched out you started talking to him more and more. To the point where you’d have inner monologues about it and whether you were doing the right thing, like the case in point.

You forgot about yourself on several occasions, swimming in special mathematics and the burden of college life which nearly drowned your optimism alongside that of your friends’. Yet, to your surprise, at least twice a day you’d find a lifeboat to lean onto which came in a package with a hose to swallow the water. Weird metaphors aside, in other words, you and Namjoon started texting a few days after he gave you his number and you managed to deliver the notes. And not just one phrase here and there, but multiple messages that had you debating food choices, new courses and the density of your literature teacher.

It turned into a habit, checking your notifications between classes because of him. Those close to you knew you preferred real-life communication to texting and made efforts to hang out as much as possible, so your phone hardly buzzed most of the time.

With the exception of him, of course. You discovered hidden opinions with the help of your flair for complaining and progressed on the stages of your friendship enough to be comfortable with the idea of him helping you. Well, calling it a friendship could’ve been a stretch, but development is development. Difficulties still arose in the eye contact department, but you discovered he opens up far more when he didn’t have to face you. Were you scary like that? He even followed you back on Instagram before liking all of your pictures, it mustn’t be the case.

Though, you couldn’t be the one to talk, because you ended up seeing him in passing once and got an existential crisis from waving at him, unsure whether you were at the stage for it or not yet. Ready to duck into a bush and never speak again, your eyes widened as you spotted him waving back and smiling, pointing at you to whoever he was with. Even bigger was the shock coming from him walking towards you and striking a conversation, asking you about your studies and the week you had. He was the same as always, shy grin on and ears listening with diligence as you fumbled for words and gaped like a fish at his interest in your well-being.

It was hard to hate him. There, you said it. Hard to despise a person of his type when all he did was-

Ping!

Driven by habit alone, you wet your lips as you unlocked your phone, thankful for the distraction of the thoughts causing you to be distracted in the first place.

[beanie boy] 8:50 a.m: you know, if that photographer keeps being an asshole, i got this friend that can replace him real quick [beanie boy] 8:50 a.m: his style is a little more middle-aged art teacher than mine, so it might be hard to accept him but he’s great [beanie boy] 8:51 a.m: promise?

The corner of your mouth curled, recalling the recent discussions of the guy throwing a fit because Yuna wanted a shot near the lake outside of the ceremonies, followed by one at the central park and how she went on to pay his fuel to shut him up. You didn’t even realise the lecture was close to finishing, and from what you heard, Thursdays around this time they’d let him go a few minutes early. According to calculations, he must’ve been texting you right as he got out of class.

[you] 8:52 a.m: you have ties in the photographer industry? [you] 8:52 a.m: is tht why you know so much colour theory…,, Damn

Where did he have ties though, it occurred to you. What was his major? During the time you spent talking, you felt like you knew a lot of trivial information about Namjoon that most of his classmates didn’t, but the origins of his passions stayed foreign to you. The notes app in your head updated with the urge to find out about it.

[beanie boy] 8:54 a.m: i held his light in the art museum as he was developing pics. We bonded then

You furrowed your brows, thoughts that Namjoon might have more titles around the campus except for the one you gave him foreign to your conscience. To this photography guy, he was light Boy, who helped him through hard times- was it his thing? Help random people, make them feel special and then never meet with them again?

[beanie boy] 8:54 a.m: his art is also weirdly motivational. Idk what it is about dog paws and noses that moves me to tears but it’s very helpful when i have a hard time [beanie boy] 8:55 a.m: are we on for today?

[you] 8:58 a.m: yes i hope so

He told you he didn’t have plans for the upcoming week starting today, and the venue devil reserved your discussion for the same days. Still, a part of you grew anxious from his lack of reply and agreement as you moved to the next class. Scurrying for your phone, you began typing again.

[you] 9:09 a.m: i mean, it’s ok if we don't Do it now. [you] 9:10 a.m: there’s still time. Idc

You put your trust in one man and look what happened. He hated you. He wanted to ditch you-

[beanie boy] 9:14 a.m: what? yes i want us to go today [beanie boy] 9:15 a.m: for the record, i ignored a ppt presentation to answer this [beanie boy] 9:15 a.m: and ouch, that’s cold. you really hurt me this time. [beanie boy is typing…]

[beanie boy] 9:19 a.m: maybe you can make it up to me with some tea later?

Your breath hitched as you read the notification on your phone. Too dangerous out there to open it.

[beanie boy] 9:19 a.m: heard it’s good for the soul

Yeah, the fucking soul alright. Glad he was preoccupied with his as he was toying with yours. Half pettiness half need to pay attention to your surroundings, you put your phone back in your pocket, ready to concentrate on your lecture.

Immersed in the new information and ways to solve presented to you, you forgot about your feelings regarding the matter and came back more energized and ready to take on the day. The day in which--oh no.

[you] 11:23 a.m: we’ll see about that [you] 11:25 a.m: meet me in front of the art building in three hours?

You didn’t mean to come out mysterious or cold, but now that it was done you were starting to embrace it, showing how much of a layered person you were. Bet photo guy didn’t keep him on his toes like this.

Bet photo man didn’t have to wait in front of a building looking like a sheep lost from the herd, no shepherd in sight to calm your nerves. Its new-age design and uneven blocks brought all the space for doubt to slither into your heart, no answer from Namjoon as of yet. You were hoping for the best, self-esteem steeling itself for you to erase the idea of him ditching you.

A hand fell to your shoulder, his face leaning into your range of sight and you let out the breath you were holding. “Hey, sorry I’m late. The professor wouldn’t let me go.”

You didn’t bother to turn to him, pout ever present as you rubbed your shoulder to get a bit of warmth. The wind was ruthless. “Wouldn’t want to keep such an artefact from discovery. Bet they had a lot to say.”

He still hadn’t let go of you, fingers instead tightening on your shoulder and bringing you closer to him, continuing to rub your grey jacket. You took a peek at him and he paused, cheeks puffed before he burst into laughter, making you look at him in wonder.

As he came back from it, his grin was still present, wide and shiny and rivalling the sun. The kind of expression that’s overwhelming, that makes your eyes crinkle and your mind foggy. It’s merciless in the way it lets the feeling seep through, surrounds with the sensation of allowing your defences to drop. It pulls you in and caresses your thoughts into melting, urging you to enjoy the moment. An endearment which is too familiar to you, but which had never risen from your essence and left drops of warmth and honeysuckle in its path.

Then, as an offence against your well-being, he said, ‘I’m glad you think so’, pulling you out of your daze.

You shook your head. This couldn’t be happening.

“Are we taking the bus this time too?” he said as he resumed to his usual distance.

“Uhh… that’s the plan.”

“Great! Let’s go!” he raised his eyebrows, challenging you with his power walk once again. The chances of you wearing the crown for the fastest walk were slim now that you had met Namjoon.

You didn’t even register the walk to the station, too preoccupied in trying to keep up with him and answer his questions about the guy at the venue as he was blurting out random ‘what an asshole’s. Paying for the ticket and squeezing between a swarm of people came as a blur as well until you were forced into Namjoon’s personal space, close enough to smell the wavering scent of his fabric softener. His gaze turned to you, face getting closer and making your eyes widen.

Namjoon opened his mouth to apologise, but you cut him off by reaching out and plugging one of the earbuds he removed to hear you back into his ear. With that, you turned around so your back was facing him, letting out a deep breath to even your heart rate. You didn’t remember crowded places having such an effect on you, though you supposed crowding anxiety developed at any age.

“How do you feel?”

“Focused,” you said. “I’m estimating the chance I’ll fail this.”

“Failure will never overtake you if your determination to succeed is strong enough.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Namjoon seemed to switch back to his shy persona, avoiding your gaze before his head snapped back to meet your eyes. “Just something to remember. Quotes like that usually calm my thoughts.”

It did make you calmer, just because you imagined Namjoon with his own suburban quote room. Maybe he was the type to read the quotes and meditate after, do a little yoga? Stretch those long legs and kicking other planets while he was at it? “Oh… thank you? Do you read them often?”

He nodded as he brought his cap down, bravery vanishing as the both of you entered the venue.

You grasped the modern twist that brought so many people in, that created a ballroom atmosphere even with the ordinary white curtains closed shut. Lines bloomed from the root of a crystal chandelier and served to separate the rose tones in pleasant shapes. Near their end, they were pulled from their seams and moulded to create another rose-gold halo, which reflected the light of the diamonds and poured right onto the glass-like floor. The thought that you’d be spending at least a day uninterrupted here was thrilling–it made you hide your hands behind your back, intertwine your fingers so you wouldn’t slip and touch.

If the place lured you into letting loose, the three-piece tailored to fit his frame posed a tightness to the chest area of the man waiting in the corner encouraged everything but. He surged forward with power stance and introduced himself to both of you, reaching out to shake Namjoon’s hand. You quirked an eyebrow as you exchanged names, sharing a confused look with him. Following his gestures, you studied both of their reactions with a careful eye as they shook hands, comforted by Namjoon’s lost gaze. At last, he moved to you, and you gripped with the biggest force your noodle arms could handle.

“Our pleasure.”

“We have provided a full course dinner with traditional dessert and listed our vegetarian options in the e-mail we sent. Our in-house catering accepts suggestions up to 10 days before the due date. You can only choose to switch a meal with another one that is available on our list.”

He led the two of you on a tour of the place, explaining the back door exits and pointing to the emergency pans plastered on the main hall. Alright. Positivity. It wasn’t so bad, Breast Man over there might’ve stored some sense of organization and compassion in those gigantic tits–

“The team will be available from the start of your appointment and continue till the end of the day. Anything after midnight will have to be covered by your service or paid for a fee.”

Your face fell.

“I–I don’t understand, if we paid for the entire day then how do they need to pay again?”

He beamed. “Nothing has been covered for the 31st.” Caught you without a reply and continued,

“The only thing ensured from one to seven a.m are the accommodations for the guests coming from abroad which will take place at our partners from Novotel.”

For fuck’s sake, were you about to argue with this asshole over the hours in a day?

“We reserve a full day of preparations, and it is recommended you visit during the week for a check. The rest, in case you want to you can reserve a date to establish the final changes to the menu, decoration, and other services that our team has covered.”

How you wished for the chandelier to drop down and split the earth so you’d never have to face this man again.

Despite the circumstances being turned against you and your temporary fluster, you tried to collect your thoughts enough to formulate an answer. In the corner of your eye, you saw Namjoon tensing. “Of course. I have some right now Regarding the main-course. Swipe the vegetables for carrot puree and add caramel soy sauce. And we’d like–”

And then the head gears that caught up to you made you notice how he was doing nothing but stroll around like a pompous poodle, not paying any attention to you. Did he insist on meeting so he could stay here and attempt to intimidate you? Very funny, how you’ll show him–

The suggestions. Right.

Or not.

“We provide–”

“Sir, with all due respect–” The rest of your cognitive functions not responsible for speech lounged to watch another episode of your embarrassment. “Having a set schedule for the guests is impractical since each plane has its own set-off time. Leaving them with no place to stay for possible hours on end is impolite, and I… I think that it’s not an image your business strives to have…” Your confidence was leaving you like your last hope, but by his face you were making some points. Namjoon remained quiet next to you, nodding on occasion and making little sounds to support your words. Being a beginner in the art of scamming, neither of you could find a strong enough argument for all of his schemes, but you remained tough, defending Yuna’s choices in front of this food and muscle growth connoisseur.

Annoyed from your end and sure to have picked on your guard dog behaviours, tight suit ended up noting the food changes and finalised the details for your next meeting, part of him left unsatisfied, from the way he was watching you and Namjoon. Maybe it was the chest. Then, as if struck with a revelation that will make his horns show at last, he smirked down at you.

“Business aside, it’s a little early to get married, don’t you think?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, body stiffening as you processed his words. You were doing your best, but the feeling was already weighing upon your chest at the mention of doubt regarding the couple. This guy. “Sure, a little early for me to–”

Without a word, you felt Namjoon’s pinky lock with yours before gripping your entire hand and enclosing it in its own. You stopped in your tracks, struggling to think of something else. “to… make a decision, but for them, it’s not. They love each other a lot. They’ll be so happy to be married.” You nodded to yourself, 100% sure of what you were saying as you squeezed Namjoon’s hand unconsciously.

With that, you got out of the situation in one piece, arrangement still intact but with a neon purple bruise to your ego. Devil man made you promise you’d call and schedule another meeting, this time with the staff for decoration as he seemed to milk the last seconds of his scammer persona.

As he was all jittery, you waited for him to release his grip, but, to your surprise, you found yourself pulled further from the building.

“I apologise,” Namjoon whispered, his hand hanging onto your open one.

“Huh?”

“That guy, ugh–he’s very good at making people lose their temper. That was ridiculous.” He puffed, at the limit of frustration and something you couldn’t decipher.“I didn’t know what to say or if you wanted me to say anything. I don’t know, I guess–I didn’t want to discredit you. Not in front of him. Not e-”

He switched to your still intertwined fingers and watched as the tips of your fingers dragged against his. You let them drop back to your sides as you watched his, curling around his denim pocket. You never looked at him, too focused on trying to pick each line running through your head to notice him getting lost in the distance between your hands.

“Namjoon?”

The words died on the tip of his tongue. “Mmm?”

“How was I?”

“Uh…You were fine, got a little carried away at the end. But that’s–we need to talk about–”

You shushed him, a rush of motivation hitting you. Blame it on sparkly eyes, your lack of care for yourself, the moon, Mercury in Retrograde. You were thirsty, and you were going to do something about it. Or that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“Forget it. Let’s go get that tea.”

a/n: and part 1 done! feedback means the world to me and i’ve been working on this for like two months so pleathe tell me ur thoughts! peace! its gonna get spicier in the next parts but we had 2 establish some ground...ehehe ;) thx to miss liana @yuengi for being the sexiest wife n beta possibol.!!!

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