#and loathe to simply fire him. considering the time and place in which this was made‚ the temptation may have been to produce a satirical

[weskie]

What You Deserve (Albert Wesker x afab!Reader)

18+ | 2700 words, salacious use of tentacles, post re5 wesker, one of those things that was meant to be sweet but became nasty, amab!reader version here | Fic Directory

You've taken such good care of him. Isn't it time he rewards you? Be careful though. Some things are still a little… new.

You were something else.  Frankly you always have been, but now more than ever.

Despite waves of self loathing and rampant depression of which he would never confess, Wesker’s recovery has been as smooth as you could make it.  Pain medication kept most of the lingering aches away and Uroboros had ensured he lived to see another day.  Other than a weakened body riddled with scar tissue from his little dunk in the fires of the Earth, he couldn’t complain terribly much.

Even after his fusion with Uroboros, Wesker was still a mere man unable to escape the more… basic urges.  He’s always considered arousal to be like an itch.  Sure he could scratch it, but he could also ignore it and let it go away.  He often chose the latter, but, with little else to occupy him besides literature or your company, such a choice became significantly more difficult.

You notice his state quickly, though you say nothing of the tented blanket that only seems to continue rising the more he tries to ignore it.  You simply take his hand and squeeze, occupied with your laptop while Wesker rereads the same line of his book over and over again in a poor attempt to settle down.  When he tips his head back against the mountain of pillows he’s propped against, you give him a knowing look.

“Want some help?”  You ask, thumb brushing against his knuckles.

Does he?  He did go waist deep in lava. Thus far, it had seemed Uroboros took care to heal his nerves in all other places, and he’s never noticed a lack of sensation in the times where he’s had to touch himself to bathe, but what if he can’t feel enough to… perform well for you?  Was it even the full act of sex that you were offering or simply assistance in relieving him?

Perhaps the uncertainty was written across his face because you turn to face him, hand rising to stroke his cheek and trail into his unstyled hair.  Your touch spurs another aching pulse between his legs.  “Only if you want to,” you say sweetly. 

He pretends to consider your offer, but his answer was yes the very moment you spoke.  The second your thumb brushes his lip, he’s tugging you onto his lap.  He swallows your protests with ease, groaning weakly into the kiss.  Wesker knows you’re afraid to put your weight down on him, still so worried about agitating his aches and pains.  He has half a mind to grip your hips and help you grind against him, but you’re taking charge before he can.

“Let me,” you murmur, lips trailing down his neck.  You halt at the collar of his sleep shirt, moving away only to help him pull it over his head.  Your hands land on his sides, smoothing up and down slowly, stroking reverently at the juxtaposition of softness and patches of scarring.  Each motion brings you closer and closer to his chest until you’re kneading his pectorals, thumbs brushing against rosy buds in such a way that leaves him panting.

It really has been a while… the throb of his cock confirms it.  He has half a mind to just tear at your clothes and rush you to take him, but you seem to sense his impatience just as easily as you’d noticed his need.  “M’gonna take care of you,” you whisper sweetly, palms coaxing him to rest fully against the pillows. “You deserve it.” You slip so easily down his body, blanket falling away to reveal black boxer briefs that have clearly garnered a little wet spot from such light teasing.  “Just relax.  Shut your eyes, sweetheart.”

He does as you say, releasing a shuddering breath in anticipation for what’s to come.  It turns to a gasp the second your tongue laves the dip of his hips.  Your hands steady him with gentle pressure, shirking their duty when you decide to skim your nails over ticklish flesh and wring a breathy giggle from him.

He can feel your smile as you kiss further down, sensation dulling when your peppered love finds its way to the band of his underwear, renewing once more when you peck sweetly at his inner thighs.  Wesker’s hips seek you of their own accord and he’s lucky enough to feel at least one press of your lips to his covered length before you make your way back up.  He practically bucks into your grasp when you take hold of him. 

“Seems like everything's in working order,” you coo playfully in his ear.  

Wesker finds his lower lip to gnaw on while you stroke him slowly.  His hands paw at your clothes, eagerly trying to expose you.  His eyes flutter open, pupils blown wide around distorted hues of red and blue still vying for dominance over one another.  He’s just about got your shirt off when that hand of yours dives beneath his waistband, milking the most humiliating whine from him imaginable.

What's wrong with him? Why is he so… desperate? 

His hands leave you to shimmy out of his underwear, hissing at the cool air and the mere sight of your hand around his weeping cock.  He turns back to you, keening into a kiss as he tries once more to tug at your clothes.  He hoists your leg over his hip, palm smoothing to take a greedy handful of your rear, playing with your flesh as you’d done with him.  Everything about you is bliss itself, from your slow, torturous strokes to his cock to the slide of your tongue against his.  You should be bare against him, skin to skin, letting him feel every inch of you. He needs it. He needs you. 

Suddenly, a humming laugh escapes you, reverberating against his tongue before you break away.  “Again, huh?”  You breathe.  

Again… yes. 

Once more, tendrils have wound their way around you to do his bidding, but this time for more… salacious reasons.  Each one wriggles under your clothes in some way or another.  You aid them in their quest to strip you, tugging your shirt and pants away with ease while the masses slither just as eagerly as his hands explore.

It’s so cute how you squirm for him.  It’s as if the tables have been turned oh so perfectly, leaving you just as red in the face as you’d made him.  He may not have his full strength yet, but this?  This more than makes up for it.  One tentacle coils at your waist, holding you perfectly in place as the others find themselves far more… occupied.  Your giggles turn to breathy moans, each one sung perfectly for him.  You’re like an instrument only he can play, your pleasure a melody only he can create.

“W-Wo– Ah!”  You gasp, head lolling to the side the very second one of those slimy appendages creeps between your legs.  Your first instinct is to clench your thighs together, though you don’t get very far with having been straddling him.  The tip of it swipes your clit, making you buck and whine.  “Al!”

Tantalizing was… not a strong enough word for the sight before him.  These appendages have always carried a degree of wetness, some leaky black ooze that only ever left a small mess, but now?  Oh, now they leave clear glistening trails along your flesh that make his cock utterly ache.  It’s as if he’s painting you with his own arousal, picture perfect and drenched in his love just like you should be.  The tentacles trail over where he wants to see you marked most: your chest, your neck… all the way down to your pretty little pussy.

“Al, I–” You try, but you’re whimpering as more slithering lengths join in to curl around your thighs.  He didn’t even have to lift a finger…  There’s so many things he could do with you.  He could lift you, surely, to his face.  Slide his tongue that’s been so starved for you between your sopping folds.  Or he could lower you onto his cock right now.  Forget effort; you wouldn’t have to do a thing.  He could simply maneuver you accordingly, bounce you up and down with their grip on your body until you were both fucked senseless.  Or…

Wesker’s chest rises and falls with each open mouthed breath, watching with wide eyes as three smaller tendrils approach your cunt.  You squirm, but you show no sign for him to stop even as they alternate swiping along your slit.

“I-I thought– mm!”  You try, words as shaky as your trembling body. “T-Thought I was gonna t-take care of you instead…”  

“You are…” he breathes, utterly hypnotized as more tentacles join the fray and suddenly, without warning, you’re spread completely for him, slithering lengths taking your legs while smaller ones part your drenched pussy lips.  You’ve been put on exhibit, and oh… how you writhe and keen under his sopping touches.  All Wesker can do is simply lie there, cock torturously hard at the sight of you like this.  He dares not touch himself; he dares not even imagine it lest one of those lengths creep to coil around it to satisfy the urge.

“A-Albert– ngh!”  Every cry you make fuels whatever hidden desires lurk below the surface of his mind.  Nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for the sight of an extra thick tentacle slinking along your leg, coiling up and up until it presses at your entrance.  “O-Oh my god!”  You mewl, head falling back.  “I don’t– I don’t think I can– that’s too big… Al, I don’t think I can– Ah!”

Exhilaration runs down his spine as though every nerve in his body fired at once.  Watching it press into you, seeing every ounce of slick drip from its effort to wriggle inside as you keen and mewl and cry out his name over and over again as if to pray to him…  Wesker licks his lips, panting heavily, fighting to keep control despite that knot in his gut threatening to give at any moment.  His fists bite into the sheets, threads popping as they give way to his strength.  

“O-Oh g-god,” you sob, barely audible over wet squelches.  “P-Please… Al, p-please!”

“I…” he tries, but he has no words.  Nothing in the world could possibly explain this– why it was happening, why he was allowing it, why… why he fucking loves it.  

But he does know why, deep down.  Past that layer of perfect prudence and discipline lies the truth.  You deserve this.  You deserve every ounce of pleasure he can stuff into you.  For all that you’ve done for him… you deserve everything. 

You cry out over and over again as the thickness fucks in and out of you, slick drizzling from your cunt down your ass and onto the bed.  It soaks his hips and cock, oozing off to coat the sheets and surely seep down into what was now a ruined mattress.  But he doesn’t care.  Not one bit.

The tentacles wriggle all over you, slithering and rubbing against tender flesh, restraining the intense trembling of your legs as you dangle helplessly.  He can practically hear it hitting the depths of your cunt, each noisy, wet thrust coupled with your sweet songs a promise of your never ending pleasure.  And oh… you deserve it.  You deserve all that he can possibly give you.  You were there for everything.  The good, the bad, the horrifying…  Every part of him is yours, which means you get this, too.  

The first time you cry out his name is perfection in and of itself.   You come undone so beautifully.  He has to grasp his cock and squeeze the base damn near to the point of harming himself just to keep from blowing his load right then and there.  Watching you practically seize in his slithery grasp, hearing you gag and gurgle on one that had slipped between your lips, knowing you’re so fucked out of your mind that you could do little else than suckle its length as if it were his cock… 

Even then, it’s like he can feel it.  The sensation is dull, but it is there.  Your lazy tongue, the clench of your throat, the warmth of your breath, the throbbing quiver of your cunt– it’s all fucking there, and it’s all for him.  You belong to him.  You’ve shown him so many times, over and over again that he has you, heart, mind, body, and soul.

“That’s it, dearheart…” he coos, shaky voice barely more than a murmur.  “You’re– you’re doing so perfect… You’re taking me so well.”

He feels you clench up again, walls trembling as you approach your next release.  You always did like when he’d purr such things in your ear.  It warms his heart in the strangest way to see it work just the same now.  

“O-One more for me.”  Wesker rasps brokenly, heavy breaths leaving him as he watches with an unyielding gaze.  He will not miss a second of this.  “It feels good, doesn’t it…? I can feel it too.”  He wants nothing more than to hear you come undone for him once more.  As if understanding his thoughts, the appendage in your mouth slips free, prompting you to gasp and choke desperately for air.  

You moan nonstop as if it were the only sound left that you could make.  It’s like you’ve been robbed entirely of higher thought and fell into a mindless state, one that could only comprehend the thickness ramming in and out of your cunt.  Your sweet noises pitch up more and more with every passing second, signaling your next climax is near.

Wesker wills the tentacles to tilt you upright, the big one still fucking into you despite the position shift, and you whine weakly at the change.  “Come for me, my sweet.” He commands, rising from his position to cup your cheeks between his hands.  As if fully understanding his order, you do exactly that, falling apart with a breathless scream cut off by the thick length slipping from your cunt while the others force you down onto his cock.  “Oh, god!”  He roars, face falling into the crook of your neck to muffle his own cries as his release hits him like a lightning bolt, coating your ooze slicked walls with his seed in heavy spurts.  

Albert’s eyes are clenched shut, but he swears his vision has gone white.  There’s nothing.  Nothing at all is left in this world except for your limp form in his hold and the heat of your flesh between his teeth.  Even when the oxygen in his lungs has gone stale, he still forgets to breathe.  It’s your trembling fingers curling at his nape that remind him he’s even still alive.

The two of you remain like that for some time, long enough that his legs go stiff and each slithering length once wrapped around your body retreats back into him.  You’re both covered in ooze, but he can’t find it in himself to care.  Not yet, at least.

You’re limp in his grasp, but he can tell you’re awake from the occasional scritch to the base of his neck or breath fanning against his skin.

“I… apologize.” He eventually murmurs.  It’s all he can think to say.  Certainly, you both would be having quite the conversation about this eventually.  But, for now, this much is due.  “For… having lost control.”  It isn’t even an exaggeration.  At some point, all thought went out the door.  There was only the two of you and every salacious desire he couldn’t suppress. 

He needs to become better at that.  

“Mm,” you hum weakly, fingers threading through his hair the way they always do in the afterglow.  “You’re full of surprises…”  There’s a hint of amusement in your voice.  That good natured softness with which you’ve always treated him.  “We gotta… mm, when my legs work again… it’s shower time.”

He couldn’t agree more.  For now though, he means to simply hold you, still buried within your heat.  You feel like home.  What luck to have found you…

And what bliss to know you’ll stay.

[avid-adoxography]

🍎, 🥭, 🍈, and 🫛 for any f/o of your choosing!! 🩷🩷

Hi bestieee! 💜 I think I'm gonna do these for Lord Kardok, it's been a hot minute since I've talked about my warlord husband <3c

🍎 - what’s your f/o’s favorite drink? any drink, alcoholic or non alcoholic!

Scottish wee heavy ale, hands down.

He loves a full body, strong beer at any time of the day (and night), especially on the few occasions when he can sit by the fire to whittle.

It reminds him of home. The only rare good parts of it, at least.

🥭 - did your f/o have stuffed animals growing up? do they still have stuffed animals? do they have a favorite?

No, simply because playing with them was seen as something weak and feminine, absolutely unfit for a future warrior.

He did, however, had a small wooden sea serpent figurine with runes carved along its body that his grandmother gave his mother (and later passed to him) as Nafnfest (name-fastening gift) for his Ausa Vatni (“sprinkling of water", a naming and accepted right after birth ceremony).

🍈 - does your f/o believe in fate? do they think everything is preplanned out by the universe or a higher power, or do they think that the idea of fate is bogus? why?

Fate is the highest power in the universe according to Lord Kardok's Viking faith. Men’s lives were shaped by Fate, the gods are subject to Fate, even the world itself has a fate which it could not escape.

Yet his strong belief in Fate in no way suggests that he believes men possess no free will, or could not in some ways affect their own destinies. As the Norne weave the Fate of all, Bhaltair believes life is an evolving, ever changing pattern that is constantly in the process of creation.

Unfortunately, he also thinks each individual’s place in the overall weaving of Fate is determined by the placement in the evolving pattern of the threads of the lives of his parents and ancestors who preceded him, which puts him in quite a bad space considering his father, who has exiled him calling him a Nithing, one who was not even considered a man because he so lacked honor, because of his supposed betrayal against his family and swore to kill him if he ever dared to return home.

Alas, acceptance of whatever unexpected twists and turns of Fate might bring to one’s life, courage in the face of adversity and even death, and conducting oneself with loyalty and integrity is something he has been taught and which he respects despite it all.

So the cycle continues...

🫛 - how does your f/o feel about pet names or nicknames? do they like them? hate them? what are their favorites and least favorites to be called and to use?

Lord Kardok isn’t exactly the type to come up with pet names, for he's a man of action rather than words.

Given the above, he’d rather just call [undone] with some more usual terms of endearment, like Mo ghaol (my love) or Mo leannan (my sweetheart). He might call her Elskan/Elskan mín (my love) too if he's particularly in the mood to be romantic, but that's about it.

On the receiving hand, however... He's mostly fine with whatever [undone] decides to call him, the only exception being the "Angry Pony" thing she sometimes hits him with when he's acting particularly insufferable.

Also, one might also expect him to loathe the whole "I could eat a horse" joke, but with your wife being able to turn into a dragon and all, well... It actually makes him lose his composure in a way he would never admit even under torture (if you get what I mean *wink wink*), but don't tell him I've said it teehee~.

infodumping ask game

[fuckzachariah]

The world came to a standstill when Alex's door clicked to a close behind him. He stalled for several seconds, as though his shoes had been laden with sedimentary rock; a conscious effort occurred in which he felt the weight of his leaving now beginning to descend upon him, and he elected to ignore it. Like standing on a shore and watching in terse horror as a tsunami so high he couldn’t make out the hilt of gains on the land, it should’ve been inevitable that he died on impact. Instead, he left his body. He turned off and became inhuman. Zach looked up at the ceiling, eyes unfocussing on the domed light, and felt entirely nothing. Then he left her building.

When one operates entirely by survival, several things begin to fall away from what once could’ve been labeled a ‘life’. Zach slept, showered, drank, bumped coke to wake himself up, worked out in his basement until he could pass out, ate what he needed in order to remain conscious, then drank until he fell asleep. Companionship, familial relationships, outings, and joy were no longer necessary in order to exist. His phone remained off. By day two, Amanda sent the police to his house for a wellness check. He came to his front gate only to inform them of his status as ‘alive’, then retreated back inside. If he allowed himself to edge anywhere close to sober, thoughts began occurring in a monstrous slew in which he considered hurting people or himself in too aggressive of a manner that he was forced to instantly silence them with more liquor. Another pill. A moon eclipsed over his psyche, and the coldness of the ever-evening was welcome. In the cold, a body goes numb. He liked the numbness.

In the nothing, there was some room for hope. He thought that once his body told him he’s ready to behave differently, he would. But until then, this was suiting him just fine. The one thought he could not stop, sober or not, was the thought of his impending sibling’s birth. In fact, the very thing that had sent him over the edge now provided him with the only facet of his life that didn’t make him want to violently end it. Zach had always known and lived in fear of the reality that he would be left with no reason to try if he were to ever lose Alex. His desire to remain in his physical body would entirely dissipate. Saving this child was now all he had left - taking away Laurie’s last line of contact to him was all he could cling to. Zach stood in his vast yard, surrounded by his palace high up in Beverly Hills, overlooking the rotted kingdom that loathed him so viciously. He wore only a low-hanging pair of wide jeans he would usually hold in place with a belt, and the golden glow of a late afternoon sun. He was a beacon of hatred. He drank dark liquor directly from the bottle and, when it was done, hurled the thing at California itself. He watched it shatter on her horizon. He felt nothing. He went back inside.

On the fourth day, the sun had set once again, but Zach had only recently awoken from his sleep. He wasn’t entirely sure of the day; the passage of time eluded him, and when he dropped off into his slumbers varied from day to day. Sometimes the sun blazed and the songbirds shook high tree leaves, other times the sun had barely bowed its head when he took his rest. Following any schedule but when he felt he could and could not pass out was no longer relevant to him. Zach was barely out of his mandatory sanity shower when his doorbell lit up like a fire alarm. He expected this to happen at one point or another; perhaps Amanda, or Ryan, maybe even Kylie demanding more than simply a sign of life from him. It didn’t concern him beyond mild irritation; they would only have to see him once to send them on their way. He approached the security camera panel and squinted at the bobbing head of dark hair on the bottom inch of the screen, barely tall enough for their forehead to encroach the visibility limitations. Zach, unwilling to reveal he was at home, did nothing. He did not speak over the intercom or unlock the gate; he just waited. Patience had become somewhat of a skill in all his forced silence.

Then the head of hair began pacing, restless, trodding far enough from the camera that her face came into clarity. She seemed to be leaving, and she also seemed to be crying. He pressed the button to unlock the gates, and the buzzing sound stopped her in her tracks. She turned, doe eyes both devastated and anticipatory. Eventually, she found the camera. “Zach?” Sarah asked curiously, rolling onto her tiptoes as though she might be able to reverse the function of a camera lens. He spoke aloud for the first time in four days as he pressed down on the intercom button: “Come up.”

As Sarah brought her car the way up from his gate to his front door, Zach was afforded the time to quickly dress. Wet patches on his back and shoulder bled through his white t-shirt. He was barely afforded the time, however, to consider the reason for her visit, though he could take a pretty accurate stab in the dark. He could only figure his own excuse for letting her in when he hadn’t allowed anyone else the pleasure was that, the likelihood was, they found themselves in an alarmingly similar position. She was perhaps the only soul on Earth that could relate to what he was feeling, aside from Alex herself, who was now out of bounds. He blinked at his own reflection, turned his head toward the setting sun seeping in through his bedroom window, and detachedly observed the miracle of his own appearance. Despite the abuse of his own body, he understood what it was about his face that seemed to so easily bring people to their knees. He hadn’t dulled those qualities just yet.

He looked tired, yes, and perhaps a touch thinner than usual. But this only served to more severely sharpen the bones in his face and give way to the still in-tact muscle once cushioned by a healthy layer of fat beneath the skin on his body. He cocked his head and peeled his shirt up from his waistband, revealing the fraught but defined ridges of his stomach. He dropped it again, continuing to feel very little, though the eventual knock at his front door stirred something in him. If Sarah was here for the reason he assumed she was, following from their drunken, high conversation in the corner of the club only few days prior, then there was reason to believe he would be coaxed into feeling something for the first time since that night. It was the only way in which he saw it feasible to allow it at all; any random girl would only depress him, as they wouldn’t be her and he would feel next to numbness at their willingness to have him. Aubrey would only serve to make him angry, resentful. Sarah - at least there were stakes there, something to teeter the interaction in the direction of excitement without a crashing comedown in its wake.

Zach opened the front door for the first time since he’d closed it something like four nights ago. Sarah stood, visibly unsure of herself, face haloed by the dying sunlight. “Hi,” she said meekly. “Sorry to just show up like this. Your phone wasn’t even ringing when I tried it.” She made no move to enter. He eyed her curiously, sensing the shift in their dynamic with barely a word uttered. Like seeing each other for the first time. He stepped aside, then paused. “Unless you were planning on talking in the doorway.” She shook her head and let herself inside, looking up at the high ceilings of the lobby as though she’d never entered his home before. She had been here hundreds of times. But never alone, not until now. Anxious energy bounced off of her and she hugged her faux fur coat tight to her body. He wasn’t exactly willing to jump through accommodating hoops, or play the good host. He simply wanted to see what she’d do if left alone. He closed and locked the front door behind her and headed for the main living area, eyes pricking and plucking her apart as he went. He wondered where she’d come from; she was clearly dressed in anticipation of a night out. Her petite stature was propped up in tall heels with a dress barely poking out from beneath her large coat. Her dark head of sleek hair was almost buried in the thing, too, but from what he now saw of her face, she was done up to the nines.

At first, she didn’t follow him. He was unfazed by this. Without calling after her, he made up two drinks on the bar top and stood with his own in hand, waiting. Her footsteps echoed as she finally made the decision to enter after him. She stood a safe distance away, and he cocked his head in anticipation. The movement prompted a shaky breath from her. “We were getting ready to go out… I know what I said to you last. It seemed like I was going to leave him - and I was - but then…” Zach silently slid the extra glass along the countertop to invite her closer, and she looked at it, but didn’t move. “Then I was sober, and I just couldn’t do it." She hung her head, ashamed of her inaction. "Anyway, tonight-” her voice broke, but she didn’t cry. “He left the room for a second, and I don’t know why I did it. I've never done this, the whole time we’ve been together, but I looked at his phone. And then I saw…” Something clicked into place, and Zach realized he was already anticipating what she might say before she even said it. Because her sadness wasn’t only for herself, it was for him, too.

He had steeled himself too expertly. “Go on,” he encouraged, present but deadpan. His own ability to detach himself from the otherwise untethered rage he would’ve flown into at any other time in his life surprised even him. “I saw some texts. From Alex. A few nights ago… I don’t know why it’s worse this time. She’s just so beautiful and we both know her too well - and it wasn’t just me, it was you. He did it to us both. It felt like too much of a deviation - or maybe just too fucking much, for once.” Maybe it would hit him one day. Right now, he just didn't give a fuck. Zach took a sip from his drink. He was barely buzzed at all. Sarah standing there, small and shivering in her ridiculously large coat in his living room, was enough to distract from all the rest without having to sink into his vices like usual. He so frequently forgot that among his list of vices, sex was one of them, not an exception that absolved him of the others. He set his glass down on the bar top and stood up straighter, taking several steps closer, though a decent distance still persisted between them. “Alright. So then, what? Did you come here to tell me that, or did you come here for something else?” His agency alarmed her. She erected herself, meeting his eyes squarely for the first time since her arrival. “Something else,” she admitted, her voice quiet but steadfast.

A quiver came to life in his abdomen; Zach had never really been used before. He was sure he would despise it if not for this specific circumstance - Sarah wanted to utilize him both as the perfectly crafted weapon to wield against Luke, to deliver the most fatal blow she possibly could, and to satiate a sordid curiosity in which neither had ever breached until now. Sarah was nothing like the girls he had always lusted after. She was not a fighter, she was not a challenge for him. He moved too quickly, and she flinched. To get inside her head, get between her legs; it would be brand new. “Are you sober?” he found himself asking. She nodded her head. “Do you want to be?” She hesitated, looked at the floor, at the bar where her neglected drink sweated, then at Zach. The pertinence of his question, especially considering the shared history between the two of them with over-usage, was rife in the air. Her uncertain gaze floated to the lazy drag of his waistband on his hips, that slip of exposed hipbone flashing at her, then she nodded again. “Yes.”

“Then come here,” he said simply. The demand seemed to make her jump. His svelte eyes called to her, asking her to cross a line she would never return from. She answered, walking toward him until she came to a stop only inches away. Her nose flared with a sharp breath as she looked up at him, craning her neck to do so. “Now what?” she mumbled. Zach allowed his body to respond as it would; compliance, such ready compliance, was foreign to him. He thought, then, maybe foreign was exactly what he needed. “Take your coat off.” She did as she was told, sliding the hulking garment from her slight shoulders, down her arms, then dropping it on the arm of the sofa beside them. Beneath it, she donned a tight black dress, and in lieu of sleeves there was only a choker hugging her slight neck. He hooked a finger beneath it and tugged lightly, urging her a step closer, and she swallowed a small gasp. He eyed her, and though she tinged pink under his gaze, she didn’t shy away from it. “Are you nervous?” he asked. She nodded imperceptibly. His finger left her choker to trace the pounding vein in her neck. “Answer me.” Sarah swallowed. “Yes.” He smiled then, and Sarah felt it swill like silken poison in her gut, slipping down between her clenched thighs. “Good.”

Zach’s imposing figure stood over her. His silence spoke volumes, and Alex could feel the weight of the moment settling around them. It was as if time itself had slowed down, allowing them to savor every detail of this encounter. His gaze, intense and searching, seemed to etch the contours of her face into his memory. In response, Alex mirrored his contemplative demeanor, absorbing the sight of him as if to engrave it into her own recollections. It seemed as if there was an unspoken acknowledgement between them, a possibility that it could be their last shared moment. Feeling a lump forming in her throat, Alex struggled to maintain composure. She shifted her gaze away, her vulnerability threatening to betray the façade she tried to uphold. Her eyes stung, feeling the tears begin to build along her lash line. In an attempt to ground herself, she reached for the familiarity of her diamond earring, it’s cool touch serving as a physical anchor to Earth.

Her understanding ran deep. Alex never once considered that there would be an ending to their story either. In the beginning, she had resisted, putting up a formidable fight against the irresistible force that continued to draw them together. As time unfolded, the magnetic pull proved stronger than she could ever imagine, a force that defied explanation but seemed to dictate the course of their relationship. Passion defined every aspect of it, each moment between them bursting at the seams with its intensity. The way they loved, the way they fought, the way they fucked. It was a wildfire, consuming everything in its path with an unrelenting heat. The dichotomy of their relationship was as perplexing as it was undeniable. Though passionate, a toxicity existed which left them both entangled and estranged at the same time. On one hand, there was an innate understanding between them that surpassed any connection they had with others. They could reach other’s thoughts, finish each other’s sentences, and anticipate the other’s next move.

It was a level of comprehension that went beyond words. Yet, they were caught in a perpetual cycle of misunderstanding, a series of frequently crossed wires. What one intended to convey often got lost in translation, leading to conflicts that felt unavoidable. It was as if the very intensity that bound them also created a turbulent undercurrent of confusion. Like right now. Zach was frustrated, insisting that her interpretation was flawed, that the nuances of his intentions were not accurately perceived. Alex remained steadfast, however, unwilling to yield to an alternative perspective. Why hadn’t he just said that then? The gap between their interpretations widened, leaving them on opposite sides of a divide that continued to grow. Alex revisited that fateful night, the crossroads where she had been willing to take a risk in the name of love. Would it have hurt to try knowing that this is where they ended up? Alex fought to contain the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

With each controlled inhale, she attempted to slow the stream of tears that welled up, at least until he left the apartment. Her head remained bowed, a shield around her, unwilling to meet his gaze. As he made his way out, a muttered comment reached her ears. She was confused. The revelation that her father had indeed followed through on his threat to cut her off shook her to the core. It was inconceivable. Zach, with no ulterior motive, had laid bare the truth – he had been the one shouldering the responsibility of providing her with a roof over her head. As the door closed behind him, the finality of the situation engulfed Alex, and the floodgates burst open. Naomi raced to Alex’s side. With a comforting urgency, she wrapped her arms around Alex’s slight figure, providing a refuge for the storm of emotions. Naomi whispered reassuring words into Alex’s hair, rocking her back and forth. Alex found it difficult to believe that everything would be truly okay. Her world had shifted, and she struggled to envision a path forward that didn’t seem fraught with challenges and heartache.

A familiar cloud of doom, an unwelcome companion in Alex’s life, reappeared once again. It whispered insidious thoughts, feeding her insecurities and amplifying her self-doubt. It insinuated that she was a bad person. The weight of her mistakes, real or imagined, pressed upon her, and she found herself sinking into the abyss of self-condemnation. It fueled her anxiety, convincing her that if he didn’t already hate her, she could certainly find reasons for him to. She would wait for Naomi to be safely ensconced in her sleep before she executed her plan. Alex’s fragility was at the forefront of her mind. There was no way that she wouldn’t try to intervene and try talk her friend out of making another mistake.

As the early morning hours settled in, Alex’s patience reached its limit, and she took a bold step. With a determined resolve, she composed a text message, reaching out to the least likely suitor. The code to her apartment was shared, a silent invitation that would shape the course of the night. Alex retreated into her bedroom, a sanctuary for her unfolding decisions, and she reached for a pill, splitting it in half. The bitter taste mingled with the sip of champagne straight from the bottle. This was intentional. Alex took ownership of the choices she was making, understanding the consequences that would follow. The plan, fraught with darkness, was a conscious one. No one else to blame but herself. In the quiet confines of her room, Alex prepared to embrace the numbing effects of the substances, another intentional choice that would allow her to be dazed during the encounter that loomed. To no surprise, her suitor accepted the invitation, entering her bedroom as only a shadow.

It began in the doorway. Alex met him with a forwardness that nearly caught him off guard, rising to the tips of her toes to close the distance between them. Her hands sought the sharp contours of his face, guiding him into a slow, intoxicating kiss. The taste of champagne lingered on her tongue, and the scent of her Baccarat Rouge perfume infiltrated his senses. It was a moment reminiscent of a night in the past, the powder room in Zach’s home, but with the promise of much more. He responded in kind by wrapping his hands around the back of thighs, lifting her up into his arms. A low groan of anticipation escaped him as it all settled him. His heart pounded in his chest, echoing the intensity of the desire that coursed through him. He found himself eager to explore the depths of Zach’s obsession, wondering how she might feel wrapped around him.

Luke guided Alex towards the edge of the bed, his knees knocking gently against the mattress. With a careful descent, he lowered her down, placing her onto her back. The room was bathed in a subtle glow, the only illumination being a hint of moonlight filtering through her windows. The ethereal light cascaded down, revealing the curves of Alex’s petite frame. Clad in nothing but a pink slip, now gathered around her waist, she lay there, an embodiment of pure sex and desire. Her eyes were fixed on him as he absorbed the moment. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. He finally had Zach by the throat. Alex found her mind blank, devoid of any waves of guilt, shame, or sadness that should have accompanied the moment and surrendered to the raw, instinctual impulses of her body instead. Luke dropped to his knees, gentle yet determined, as he parted Alex’s thighs. He sighed, immediately feeling himself swell at the sight. He leaned inward, trailing his middle finger languidly from top to bottom, gathering the evidence of her arousal on his single digit.

His mouth was watering. He nudged it against her entrance, feeling the resistance of her tight, tufted walls. “Fuck,” he crooned softly, allowing the syllables to drag against his tongue. He understood now. He would have been sick without her too. He looked up at Alex, observing her subtle reactions. The way she bit her lip, resisting the urge to succumb to the pleasure he provided. Luke felt his mission taking shape within him. He was set on proving he could be better. Tonight, he would make sure that Alex remembered, and that had the opportunity to craft a narrative that could be wielded against Zach. With little warning, Luke fit two of his fingers inside of her, kinking them upward in order to press against her sensitive flesh. It was the first response he received from her, a delicious moan that floated toward the ceiling and he smiled. “God nYou’re so fucking tight, Alex…”

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

You said in another post you don’t believe the Knights of Walpurgis (aka Death Eaters 1.0) were all that plausible. Why is that?

Oof, this is a larger ask than I think you intend that gets into a lot of controversial things. Though, I suppose that’s what this blog has become.

Remember when I just talked about my weird fanfiction? Remember those days? I remember those days.

I guess to start out we need to go at a high level and acknowledge a few things.

For all we know about Tom Riddle’s life we know very little that came from himself. Most of what we know came to us via The Halfblood Prince, in Dumbledore’s lessons to Harry.

Think what you will about Dumbledore, benign or evil, but we can all acknowledge that the man had a clear goal and agenda in Halfblood Prince. Dumbledore was facing his imminent death, suddenly he no longer was looking at years but a few months to accomplish everything he needed to. He knows Harry is a horcrux, knows he himself no longer has time to hunt down Tom’s horcruxes himself, and instead must leave all his work to Severus and, partly, to Harry Potter.

Specifically, he has to groom Harry for suicide.

By the time Severus relays the truth to Harry (never mind that this very nearly didn’t happen in canon and what would Dumbledore do then) Harry must be prepared to sacrifice his own life to stop Voldemort. That, or Severus will have to murder the shit out of him, and that was probably plan B but Dumbledore would prefer it if Harry went along willingly so that the whole thing’s a little less shady. Dumbledore’s not murdering children if the children murder themselves!

This means, in part, convincing Harry that Voldemort is such a monstrous evil that his presence on this earth cannot be tolerated. Voldemort cannot be allowed to survive, even if Harry’s death does not guarantee Voldemort’s destruction, Harry must do it because Voldemort is that bad. There must be no hope, no recourse, and the only action Harry can take is martyrdom. 

And so, that is essentially what Dumbledore does. 

He gives Harry a series of lessons, hand selecting memories of Tom Riddle’s past (often shockingly innocuous), and then narrates them to tell Harry exactly why Tom Riddle is so evil today. The flimsy excuse of Harry wheedling information out of Slughorn is nice, but not necessary, as Dumbledore has no reason to believe this memory contains information he himself doesn’t already know (indeed, that Tom actually did make six horcruxes as he told Slughorn is a very strange coincidence as we rarely end up doing what we thought or being where we thought we would when we were sixteen). 

Per Dumbledore, Tom Riddle was born evil by his very conception, is doomed to be a lowly miserable creature, and that murdering him is effectively putting him out of his misery.

Right, how does this relate to this post?

Well, neverminding what JKR says outside of canon, we learn about the Knights of Walpurgis/Tom’s schoolboy syncophants from Dumbledore. Per Dumbledore, Tom Riddle, while a highly respected and charming student was Evil McEvil who had junior cultists galore. So, you see Harry, the man must die (ergo you must kill yourself).

However, this is frankly ridiculous and not in any way believable.

First, the Hogwarts era when Tom’s in school.

Personally, I believe Tom was regarded 100% as muggleborn. Tom went into Hogwarts with the last name Riddle coming from the muggle world. When he gets sorted into Slytherin he can point to know family members at all (and even if he could would, at best, be considered a low class halfblood). Tom doesn’t know the significance of parseltongue and likely tells no one (I’ll get into this in a few paragraphs). Tom may insist that he could be a halfblood, he knows nothing of his father, but given his origins he himself probably believes he’s muggleborn until he stumbles across the hereditary nature of parseltongue.

Regardless, Tom is impoverished, comes from lower class muggle London, has the last name Riddle, no relatives to vouch for him, and you want me to think that the purebloods sign up to be his cult members?

Even though Tom is terrifyingly talented and brilliant, he will be fighting for respect every inch of the way. At best, I see the Slytherin’s tolerating his presence. Riddle’s tolerable, for a muggleborn, it’s a shame that he has such dirty blood but they’ll admit he’s a talented sort.

However, as soon as he’s out of Hogwarts they’ll drop him like it’s hot.

This is evidenced by a few things. Upon graduation, Tom Riddle struggles to secure employment. He tries for the Defense position but is unvested and a recent graduate, and so is rejected (and when he later tries again Dumbledore laughs in his place and says, “Bitch please, I will never hire you, I just accepted your application so I could spend this interview laughing in your face!”) He does not enter the ministry, which would likely have been far more beneficial to getting him a leg up in society.

No, Tom instead secures employment as a clerk and purchaser at Borgin and Burke’s the wizarding world’s shadiest pawn shop equivalent where he spends his time miserably wooing older women so they’ll sell him their fine goods. Dumbledore tries to convince us this was Tom’s plan, that he somehow knew about the locket beforehand, but this is bullshit. How the hell would Tom know that the heirloom undoubtedly locked away under safe and key had been sold to Borgin and Burkes? And even if he did, why would Tom take up this miserable position doing nothing he wanted to do? 

Whatever minions Tom is supposed to have, whatever friends, they dropped him completely, pretended they never knew him, and did nothing to secure Tom’s future.

Now, back to the parseltongue bit since I made a promise. I believe Tom told no one. Had Tom told the Slytherins he was the Heir of Slytherin, this would have spread like wild fire not only across the house but the school. All the staff would remember Tom as Tom Slytherin, Tom would likely have changed his name, and frankly Tom probably would have been able to get into the ministry with a name like that. Tom Riddle’s life would have looked very different.

More, had the Chamber of Secrets episode happened in a world where Tom proves his heritage, he would have immediately been caught. Someone in Slytherin, even if only a few dormmates knew, would have narked on him. Someone would have been jealous, scared, etc. and would have turned him easily over to the authorities. A secret like that simply cannot be kept, it would spread, and there would be no needing to frame Hagrid and none of Tom getting off. 

More, I always got the feeling very few knew that Voldemort had once been Tom Riddle. First, it would make recruiting very difficult. Voldemort is the mysterious, beautiful, heir of Slytherin who has come back from abroad to save their country. Tom Riddle is a dirt poor mudblood who comes from decades of incest and squalor.

Given the wizarding world at large does not know who Tom Riddle is (proved by The Chamber of Secrets) I would suspect the vast majority of Death Eaters and Order members didn’t either. Dumbledore was the one who pieced it together thanks, in part, to a ten-year-old Tom Riddle confessing his parseltongue abilities.

If Tom Riddle had told most people he was a parseltongue, far more would have made the connection, it would be common knowledge. Which means, of course, Tom Riddle has no ability to prove his heritage and is thus muggleborn swine.

More, I think Tom wouldn’t want Tom Riddle to be associated with Voldemort. When he becomes Voldemort, he will transcend his lackluster origins and become far more than an ordinary, mortal, man. He will leave the name Riddle behind and no one will remember that boy. He will eclipse his past.

Not to mention, that if Tom gave them the excuse of his heritage, it means giving himself the easy way out in Hogwarts. They won’t be forced to acknowledge him, acknowledge that he’s better than them despite his roots, but instead given the easy excuse of “oh, it’s because he’s the heir of Slytherin, duh”. And I think Tom would loathe the idea of that.

Tom wanting to eradicate the memory of Tom Riddle is especially why I think Voldemort came out of nowhere in the 70′s.

Tom doesn’t want to be recognized as Tom, he wants to be mysterious and originless, to give the purebloods everything they want to believe in. If it’s people he went to school with, they’ll recognize him, he’ll be just an ordinary mortal to them. If it’s their young, stupid, children well then he has a real chance. 

Voldemort is a figure of myth, something that appears to come out of legend itself, the savior of his country.

He cannot have origin let alone Tom Riddle’s. 

Not to mention the idea that multiple people waited on Tom Riddle for generations, even for decades where we know he went abroad and travelled the world, is utterly ridiculous. Why would they ever do this? What do they even gain from this? And why would it take so long to take over this ridiculously incompetent country THAT ALL OF TOM’S RECRUITS ARE PRACTICALLY SET TO CONTROL (the beauty of the Death Eaters is that they form a good chunk of the Wizengamot, and in using them, Tom Riddle effectively destroys the country from the inside out, which I believe was his true goal the entire time). 

If Tom Riddle is so terrible, so horrifyingly competent, then it can’t have taken him fifty years of constant work to topple the country. 

So, yeah, there were no Death Eaters 1.0.

[faulty-writes]

[ I am here...to say I got inspired to write a Toshinori/All Might holiday-themed piece. I hope you enjoy it, this idea was also inspired by an EraserMight fan manga and a crystal jewelry necklace I saw. Please note: All Might is younger in this piece. ]

[ Being quirkless was one thing, but as of late you had been desperate to find a job at a pro hero agency. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like luck is on your side until you meet the secretary of the newest popular hero, All Might. Of course, you never expected to be offered a job by the hero himself and so close to the holiday as well. ] 

Growing up, it was hard not to feel different when everyone around you had something that made them special. That something was, of course, a quirk. That small but overwhelming element seemed to separate you from the rest of society and you were beginning to loathe the discrimination you faced.

That is, how others seemed to act as if they were superior to you simply because they had something you lacked. You had experienced this type of bias since you were but a child and eventually realized this was the route of your introverted and antisocial behavior.  

You preferred spending time by yourself, avoiding any potential friend-making as normal children would in favor of focusing on your studies. After all, it was hard to find someone that would look past the fact that you didn’t have a quirk and this was something you had long since accepted.

Yet, that didn’t stop you from setting your future goal to work within one of the many pro-hero agencies littered around Japan. You had somewhat of a petty desire to show others that even without a quirk, you could still be involved in work that was directly related to it.

When the time finally came for you to enroll in college and study business management, you came to the sad conclusion that you were simply meant to be alone. Which, in a sense was okay considering you would never actually find someone whose quirk ego didn’t get in the way of being your friend.

At least, that’s what you had believed. Shortly after graduating and beginning your search for a worthy job, you managed to meet a young man named Toshinori Yagi. At first, you thought it strange that such a man was the secretary to the popular hero, All Might.

The one people bragged would be the next number one hero. This was due to the fact that despite only being an official hero for but a few short years, he was making his way up the hero board fast. While you weren’t much for admiring heroes, All Might, in particular, caught your eye.

You were almost ashamed to admit that his agency was one of the few you’d favor working in and ironically that’s how you met Toshinori in the first place. Both of you were on your way to the All Might agency, but you had walked into him by mistake due to the fact you were too busy looking at your phone.

But in your defense, you were searching the internet in an effort to try and find answers to the rumors that were floating around about the All Might agency. More specifically that certain positions had recently opened due to a few firings and despite not knowing if these rumors were true or false.

You decided to try your luck, even if that meant you’d either walk out of the agency a laughing stock or get a job only to discover you were stuck answering phones or handling stacks of paperwork. But you immediately changed your mind about the whole thing when you learned of Toshinori’s occupation.

Mostly because you thought it would be too awkward working at the same agency as someone you had just met and yes, maybe that was a silly excuse. But it’s the one you decided to go with. Of course, you initially expected never to see or talk to Toshinori after you two had bid each other goodbye or tried to.

He took you by surprise at the last second when he asked if you’d like to join him for lunch. His reasoning being that he wanted to make up for the fact he believed he walked into you and despite wanting to say no, you found yourself agreeing.

Part of you was glad you did, considering that the conversation between yourself and Toshinori flowed easily. In fact, it almost seemed like a dream. Especially when you two bid goodbye for the second time and he kissed the back of your hand with the hopes you’d meet again.

You almost regretted telling him that you were looking for a job, but unlike the treatment you were used to receiving. He didn’t make fun of you, though he also didn’t bring it back up in your conversation which you understood. There was only so much someone could do for you.

Well, that and you wouldn’t be seeing him again, right? Yet again, you seemed to prove your assumptions wrong a few weeks later when you were on your way to another job interview. However, you stopped short when you noticed a crowd forming and flashing police lights.

It was certainly a sight to take in considering the joyful holiday decorations that hung along the telephone poles accompanied by the lights that ran along the buildings and display windows. Your breath continued to evaporate into the air as you walked up to one of the many people that were shouting praise about All Might.

“Hey, what happened?” you asked curiously as you reached up to adjust your scarf, tucking it back into the slightly puffy winter jacket you wore. You were a little disappointed you didn’t guess that All Might had saved the day, but you did learn it was just from a group of petty jewel thieves.

“Oh,” you knew you didn’t sound too interested, but from what you knew All Might had just returned from America a few days prior and you could only imagine how many fans he had now. The thought made you crack a smile. “He doesn’t give himself a break, does he?” you muttered to yourself.

You crossed your arms and leaned against the nearby brick wall. Silently trying to figure out if there was a way for you to navigate through the crowd and past the authority figures. However, when you watched them begin to put up yellow tape around the scene, indicating the street would be closed off.

A frustrated sigh escaped you. “Seriously!?” you exclaimed as you gestured to the scene with your hand, catching a few curious glances but nobody said anything to you. Another sigh escaped as you brought your hand up to clasp your forehead, feeling the anger begin to boil in your stomach.

“This had to happen today, of all days?!” you hissed out and yes, you knew it wasn’t All Might’s fault this had happened. Yes, there was another route you could take. But it would make you late and being late to a job interview was one of the worst first impressions you could make.

A low growl rumbled in your throat before you dragged your hand down your face, wanting to scream out and fuss before a familiar voice broke through the air. “Y/n!” you jumped and instantly turned on your feet, your hair ruffling in the cold breeze as your eyes settled on Toshinori.

He looked like he did the last time you saw him, dressed in that same suit and all. However, he also looked a little sweaty and his tie was askew as if he barely had any time to fix it before leaving or heading to wherever. “Uh…” you raised your eyebrow as your attention finally shifted to his face. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot me,” he stated as those two tufts of blond hair bounced against his cheeks which only seemed to bring your attention to the rest of his hair which spanned out into messy ends. Yet, somehow he made it work. “I…” you glanced back and forth, feeling a little awkward.

“I mean…I…” you looked down and reached one hand up to rub the back of your head. “Huh?” Toshinori seemed to notice your hesitance and took a step forward, gently reaching his hand out to place on your shoulder. “You alright?” he questioned.

“Uh,” you allowed your mouth to hang open and glanced at his hand still resting on your shoulder. Maybe it was the fact you were so unused to physical touch, but you couldn’t help the way your cheeks lit up and Toshinori noticed the soft red hue that colored them.

He wondered for a moment if you were merely shy, but quickly dismissed that thought when he noticed the frown that came to your face and the way you glanced away from him. “I was on my way to another job interview and…” you gestured behind you to the still busy crime scene.

Toshinori looked up, feeling slightly guilty considering he didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. But he quickly reminded himself you didn’t know of his alias, that he was actually the hero that was quickly catching everyone’s eye. The one and only All Might.

“I’m going to be late now,” you finished as you looked to the ground, feeling like nothing short of a failure. “What!?” Toshinori grasped your shoulders and began to shake you. “You had a job interview? Was it that important? Can I help you get there!?” he exclaimed, clearly distressed over your situation.

Despite your vision being slightly blurry thanks to Toshinori, you reached up to grab his arms. Squeezing them as tightly as you could to signal him to stop and he seemed to get the hint. “Huh?” his arms came to a pause, finally giving you a rest. But you couldn’t help but glare at him through your messy curls.

“Heh,” he gave an awkward smile and reached up to run his hand through your hair in an attempt to fix it. All while trying to ignore your continued glare, despite the fact you weren’t actually mad at him. Maybe just annoyed. Actually, this whole situation was annoying.

You turned your head causing Toshinori to flinch. “Huh?” he blinked as he then watched you cross your arms. He worried for a moment if you were angry with him and yes, you did feel angry. But it all came out in a sigh before you brought your hands up to your face, you felt like crying.

It was nice of Toshinori to offer to help you get there, but maybe this was just a sign you weren’t meant to work in an agency, to begin with.  “Mm…” he frowned, his inner-hero calling out to him to comfort you even if it didn’t seem like you wanted such a thing right now.

He stepped forward and once again laid his hands on your shoulders. “Hm?” you lowered your own hands, but that frown still remained on your face. However, you couldn’t help but lean into Toshinori’s embrace and he offered you a smile. “Why don’t you have lunch with me?” he questioned.

As expected, he watched a surprising expression wash over your face. “A-Again?” you found it hard to believe that he wanted to spend more time with you and yet another part of you couldn’t help but wonder. ‘Is this what you call friendship?’ even though it did bring you an unfamiliar sense of happiness. 

Which only seemed to increase when he nodded and reached down to take your hand, gently cradling it in his own. “Y/n,” he said in a gentle voice, “I really like you, so why not spend time with you?” your jaw fell open and you weren’t sure if he was lying or telling the truth.

You had only just met, how could he possibly like you that much? You glanced away, allowing several taunting thoughts from the past to fill your head. Your lip quivered forcing you to sink your teeth into it, Toshinori blinked and continued to take note of your rather odd behavior.

“Y/n, are you-” before he could finish, you interrupted him. “Why would you want to spend time with someone who doesn’t have a quirk?” you mumbled, anger dripping from every word you spoke. It was Toshinori’s turn to look surprised and though you didn’t see it, a look of hurt spread across his face.

You felt him release your hand and place it back on your shoulder, then you let out a small yelp as you were pulled against him. His musky scent filled your nostrils, forcing you to tilt your head to look at him. However, you were surprised to see that sad expression of his. Was he upset at you or because of you?

Either way, it made your heart sink especially when you saw those normally bright blue eyes of his become dull. “Hm?!” you took a step back when he reached over to gently cup your cheek. You felt your body stiffen at the contact, but didn’t say anything as Toshinori looked like he wanted to say something first.

“I…don’t have a quirk either,” he confessed, though he was telling a small white lie. While he had originally been born without a quirk, he was blessed to be given one by a wonderful woman he still looked up to despite the fact she had lost her fight against evil. Yet he continued to keep her memory alive.

That is, he always used her as his source of inspiration. One that helped him continue to choose good and fight for the justice of the innocent. Still, he did take some amusement in the way your jaw dropped in disbelief. “You…you don’t have a quirk?” How could that be?

How did he capture All Might’s attention if he didn’t have a quirk? How could he have gotten a job at All Might’s agency if he didn’t have a quirk? So many questions entered your mind and yet, you knew only a few would get answered. Toshinori watched as your face twisted with confusion.

Unable to stop the small amount of laughter that slipped past his lips which caught your attention and you gave him a small glare. “Apologies,” he said in between his laughter before he nodded. “Even without a quirk, we are valuable, right?” you blinked, unsure of how to respond.

So many negative thoughts continued to pass through your mind and you opened your mouth, wanting to let them all out. But Toshinori seemed to know what was about to happen and reached down to take your hand yet again, allowing his thumb to stroke across your knuckles.

“Lunch?” he asked again causing a sigh to pass your lips, did you really have a choice? Despite that sinking feeling in your chest, you allowed Toshinori to walk you to the restaurant of his choosing. It wasn’t much, just a locally owned business with good seating, private rooms, and a generous amount of food.

You placed your elbow on the table, holding your chin in the palm of your hand as you glanced off into the distance. Ignoring the sweet and savory scent of the various plates in front of you. Toshinori had insisted he order for you, and honestly, you could care less about food at the moment.

“So,” he said as he too propped his elbow on the table, allowing his cheek to rest against the palm of his hand. “How is your job search going? A few weeks ago, you told me that you had been looking to work in an agency,” you blinked before lifting your head and lowering your elbow.  

Your glance hovered on Toshinori a moment before turning to the glass of cold tea in front of you. “It’s going okay, yeah…” not exactly a detailed answer, but you didn’t feel like talking about your career dreams at the moment. Instead, you reached out and took a few sips of your beverage.

Your gaze continued to avert his as you pulled your lips away from the rim of the glass, letting out a sigh before placing it back on the table. Your fingers still remained wrapped around it, twitching slightly. “Maybe I’m just not suited for an agency job,” you finally confessed.

It was disheartening to know that despite how much time you had dedicated to your business studies, it was utterly worthless due to the fact you could never find a job. So much for Christmas miracles and holiday spirit. “Hm?” Toshinori blinked and leaned over the table.

“Aw, come on. Don’t talk like that, I’m sure something will come up,” he said, though he still felt a small weight of guilt in his heart. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have missed that interview in the first place. “Mm...” you muttered in response as you finally turned your glance back on him.

It was almost odd, the instant connection you two seemed to have from the start and yet, you couldn’t help but want to argue with him. “Like what?” you asked, your voice a little flat before you reached over to grab your chopsticks. Might as well eat, Toshinori technically ordered this food for you.

It would be rude not to express your gratitude, despite not feeling grateful for anything at the moment. The fact you didn’t have much of an appetite didn’t help either. Regardless, you brought a piece of food to your mouth and took a small bite, all while trying to ignore the weight of his stare.

He frowned as he watched you, knowing that he had to do something. “Hey,” he perked up when you spoke, “everyone…seems to admire All Might, right?” the question made him knit his eyebrows together. Why were you asking that? Actually, he didn’t know what you thought of All Might or if you were a fan.  

You noticed his expression and scoffed before poking at your food causing Toshinori’s eyes to glance down before once again settling on you. A moment of silence passed between the two of you before you decided to speak once again, still playing with your food.

“All Might is the hero everyone is talking about now, the one everyone wants to be. He’s the most popular graduate of Yuuei within the recent years,” his eyes narrowed, but he remained silent as he wanted to hear where you were going with this. Though everything you had spoken was true so far.

He was one of the most popular graduates of Yuuei, not because he wanted to be. But he had pushed himself to surpass all his goals and be someone that he could be proud of and that others could look up to. That wasn’t such a bad thing, was it?

“He inspires so many people, but it’s those people that may rise up and try to challenge him. Like they did today if it wasn’t for All Might inspiring people to challenge his justice then maybe…” you paused, sucking your lip into your mouth for a moment.

Toshinori sensed your hesitance and noticed how your eyes narrowed when you looked at him. Almost as if you knew his secret. “Maybe I wouldn't have missed my interview…and maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference even if I didn’t, but All Might just-” he interrupted you.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice deep and you could sense the warning tone within it. You expected him to say more, to defend All Might’s honor and end your lunch right then and there. But instead, he tilted his head down and scratched the side of his temple.

“You…don’t think All Might is a bad influence, do you?” he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous to hear the answer. However, you merely raised your eyebrow. “Huh?” you tilted your head to one side. “I’m only being honest,” you replied as you somewhat forced yourself to take another bite of food.

Toshinori frowned and brought his hand up to his mouth, his eyes moving back and forth before he asked. “Do you…hate All Might?” he could partially understand if you did being quirkless and having to watch someone get praised for their quirk and heroic deeds might cause some jealousy.

But if you hated him because of this small mishap, that didn’t make much sense. You flinched, and mistakenly dropped your chopsticks which hit the rim of your plate and proceeded to fall to the floor. “Oh!” you reached out, grasping the edge of the table as you leaned to one side.

Staring at your chopsticks which were now covered in dirt, hair, and God knows what else. You slowly closed your jaw before you sighed for what felt like the hundredth time today. You shook your head before bringing your hands up, allowing your fingertips to thread through your hair.

Toshinori leaned back in his seat, somewhat shocked at how you managed to drop your chopsticks on the floor. “Hey,” he said as he grabbed his own and held them out to you. “We can share my chopsticks if you like,” you shook your head, the offer was sweet but you knew it wouldn’t cheer you up.

Your hands then dropped to your lap and yet another sigh came. “How could I…hate All Might?” you gave a sad chuckle as you reached up to wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. “I’d really like it if he appeared to give me a new pair of chopsticks right about now,” maybe you were being too emotional.

But nobody could blame you, right? Maybe you could just ask the hostess for another pair of chopsticks, as awkward as that would be. “Besides,” you said as you rose from your seat, effectively catching Toshinori’s attention. “His secretary seems quite fond of me,” you teased with a small smirk which was somewhat uncharacteristic of you.

However, you did enjoy the way your words caused his jaw to drop. Taking such a thing as a silent victory. “Y/n!” he exclaimed excitedly as he stood up and proceeded to take one of your hands. He oddly seemed to enjoy holding your hand one way or another.

Toshinori opened his mouth, wanting to say something else only to be interrupted by his cell phone with an ‘I am here!’ All Might style ringtone. “Eh?” his expression dropped and he reached into his pocket to fetch his phone, taking a moment to see who was calling.

“Oh, excuse me,” he said as he stepped away from you. “Um…sure,” weird, you thought Toshinori would be the type of guy to turn off his cell phone when having lunch with someone. Then again, if he was All Might’s secretary you understood why he would need his phone on at all times.

“Hm, I see. I’ll be right there,” Toshinori said before hanging up and turning back to face you. Though he looked rather sad which concerned you. “What’s the matter? Is everything alright?” you questioned and watched as he reached up to rub the back of his head. “Yeah just,” he cradled the phone to his chest.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I have to go,” he said as he slipped his phone back into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Here,” he said, holding up a rather generous amount of yen. “My treat today as an apology for your missed interview,” he said before he rounded the table and began to walk away.

You turned, watching as he waved you goodbye and you hesitantly returned the gesture. But you couldn’t help but wonder why he had to leave in such a hurry and if it had anything to do with All Might. You sighed as you turned back and stared at the now-empty seat across from you.

Once again, you propped your elbow onto the table and reached over to take the chopsticks he left behind. ‘Guess I should be used to being alone,’ you thought as you gently tapped the ends of the sticks together before going to pick up another piece of food.

Toshinori looked back as he walked away from you, another frown present on his lips before he quickly ducked into an alleyway. It was a little silly, having to do all these precautions just to avoid everyone knowing your real identity. Still, he could feel himself transform into his alias, All Might.

His muscles expanded to impossible size and his stature grew at least twice his normal size. His messy tufts that were previously hanging in his face now stood tall and he radiated with power. Pressing one hand against his hip, he raised his opposite one and pointed one abnormally large finger into the air.

“Now I’m off to save the day!” he declared before carelessly kicking off the ground. With the city now below him, he couldn’t help but smile as he allowed himself to descend through the air. The rush of wind ruffling his clothes and the adrenaline already pumping through his veins.

Though in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but allow his thoughts to drift to you. Perhaps, by chance, he could track you down. He was aware of the building you lived in due to him escorting you there on the day you met. “Hm...” he cupped his chin as he landed on the ground once more. Then again he did have contacts he could ask to track you, as extreme as that sounded. On the other hand, it could be viewed as his continued efforts to keep you safe. That was his job as a hero after all. The following day, you decided to take a break from your job search.

Considering the days were ticking down closer to the holiday and most agencies would be closed with the exception of the handful of pro heroes that signed up to watch for criminal activity through the holiday. Still, you decided to take your mind off things and woke up early in the morning.

The sun was just beginning to rise and it was almost strange to see the roads and sidewalks so empty apart from the few businesses that needed to clean and organize before opening to the public. The trees were bare, the leaves that once made them vibrant laying scattered along the ground.

You reached up, pulling your scarf closer to shield your nose and mouth from the cold bitter air. Still, it was nice to go on a walk and hear the sound of the distant birds chirping in the background especially the further you got away from the city.

Still, you did admire the view of the sun reflecting off the dark tinted windows of the various buildings. It was almost a calming sight, but not enough to completely distract you away from the reason you were trying to get away from the city in the first place.

You continued on, hearing the leaves and twigs break underneath your feet before you stepped onto a small wooden bridge that overlooked a running stream. You paused as you neared the middle and walked over to the metal railing that curved with the shape of it.

You glanced over, seeing your rather tired-looking reflection in the water before you folded your arms across the railing. You pressed one hand on top of the other and leaned over to press your chin against them. Continuing to listen to the gentle sounds of the water below as you stared off into the distance.

However, such was soon ruined when you heard something crash behind you causing you to stumble. Your hands desperately grasped onto the railing as you tripped over your own feet trying to turn around. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as your eyes fixated on the source of the noise.

Expecting the worst but instead, what you saw took you completely by surprise. You blinked as you watched the large man slowly stand on his feet. "All…All Might?" you spoke in disbelief, allowing your eyes to linger at the now indented ground beneath his feet.

His hands were folded and knuckles pressed against his rather large hips. He tilted his head back, giving a hearty laugh that somehow made your already racing heart skip a beat. What was he doing here? Was this a trick? Had you fallen and hit your head on a rock?

That laughter seemed to echo through the forest, effectively killing the silence you were previously enjoying and overpowering the sound of the stream. You allowed one hand to continue holding onto the cold metal railing while your other pressed against your chest.

He finally stopped laughing after a few seconds and brought two fingers to his forehead, giving you some type of odd salute. “Yes, I am here!” he declared before he proceeded to walk over to you. “Uh…” your natural instinct was to take a step back especially as you become engulfed in his shadow.

He then leaned over, resting his arms against the opposite railing in front of you. It was slightly surprising the metal structure didn’t break underneath his weight. Your eyebrows knit together, still rather confused as to why All Might of all people had landed in the same forested area you were in.

You partly wondered in the back of your head if Toshinori had anything to do with this, after all you still thought it strange that you just happened to “run into” him right after All Might had taken care of some low-grade villains. But now his boss, the pro hero himself just so happened to find you by chance?

Something didn’t seem right, but you had no reason to suspect All Might of any ill intentions. “Y/n, is it?” he questioned and while your suspicion only seemed to grow you asked, “How…how did you know my name?” while ignoring the knots that continued to tangle your stomach up.

“Ah yes!” he exclaimed and you were beginning to wonder if All Might just favored speaking loudly and if so, you further wondered how his agency or anyone in close proximity to him handled being around him for an extended amount of time.

“Young Toshinori told me of you!” he said as he leaned back up and pointed his large index finger at you. “Yagi-san told you a-about…” you trailed off, feeling how your cheeks burned at the thought of Toshinori speaking about you to anyone. After all, you had only known each other for a short time.

Then again it was almost flattering that he spoke fondly about you or at least you hoped it was fondly. All Might nodded. “Yes, he seems to have taken quite the liking to you,” he shared before letting out another hearty laugh which was slowly causing you to grow annoyed.

But you kept quiet and waited for him to continue speaking. Though he looked slightly troubled by the fact you didn’t say anything in regard to Toshinori liking you, though your cheeks were still slightly flushed so perhaps he could take that as a sign you felt a similar way?

His smile faded and he turned his head. Bringing his hand up to his mouth, he cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps I should share more,’ he thought before lowering his hand once more. “He spoke of the trouble you have faced and I believe I have a solution!” he declared before he struck a pose.

It was natural for your eyes to trace every curve of those muscles, but they didn’t initially impress you. “Hm?” a solution? What could he possibly do or say to make your troubles better besides giving you recommendations for agencies you could work in?

Still, you found yourself leaning forward, grasping onto the railing where All Might’s arms were previously laying. “You do? What is it?” hell at this point you’d be willing to do just about anything as long as you got a job. All Might blinked, surprised by your sudden eagerness.

“Glad to see I have your attention, young Y/n!” and he hoped that he’d get to see the happiness in your eyes after he spoke his next set of words. “Toshinori put in the good word with me and after some mighty thought. I have decided to offer you-” he suddenly moved, once again pointing at you.

However, you flinched back, staring at the large appendage before he continued speaking. “A job at my agency,” he declared as he leaned back and spread his arms to the sides. Your jaw dropped and a grunt-like noise vibrated in your throat. All Might, of course, noticed this.

He was a tad confused, he thought you would be happy. After all, you had been working hard to find an agency job and he didn’t want you to give up on your dreams. But your current reaction said otherwise. He frowned and reached up to scratch the back of his head. “Um…” what should he even say?

He cleared his throat once more before leaning over and raising his hand. “Is something wrong, young Y/n? I was more than certain you’d be-” you hadn’t purposely meant to interrupt All Might. But regardless, you blurted out, “No, no, no, no!” repeatedly while shaking your head back and forth.

Somewhat startling the hero and causing him to lean back and raise his eyebrow in curiosity. “Uh! I mean…” you paused, feeling your cheeks begin to flush due to the embarrassment you felt. “I…” you let out a sigh and brought your hand up to cup your forehead.

“Sorry, just…” you lowered your hand, glancing away from All Might who despite popular belief, was feeling rather nervous at the moment. He wanted you to accept his offer, but it appeared as though you weren’t exactly thrilled with it. “I wasn’t expecting you to say that,” your eyes settled on him once more.

You then took a step forward but a soft gasp came when you accidentally walked into the railing that separated you from All Might. “Oh…” you glanced back and forth before shaking your head. “Did…Yagi-san ask you to do this?” you questioned before bringing your hands up to your chest.

It’s not that you didn’t appreciate the help. But you would have rather earned a rightful position in someone’s agency, especially All Might’s. Then again would it be rude not to accept the position and acknowledge Toshinori’s efforts? “Hm?” All Might tilted his head.

“Well,” he scratched the side of his temple, allowing a nervous chuckle to leave his lips. “As I said, he put in the good word for you! Surely you would be a worthy addition to my agency!” he exclaimed with a large smile and it was almost amusing to see his cape dramatically flapping in the wind behind him.

He hoped that his explanation would finally put to rest your minor suspicion. “Huh?” you blinked, this is certainly not how you pictured All Might acting though you supposed he would act differently in front of cameras. He had to show the world his best and most professional side.

But when the cameras weren’t rolling. He could, in a sense, be himself. Though if this was himself, it was quite odd that he seemed playful and more enthusiastic than you could bear. Well, maybe you could use that enthusiasm in your life.

“Well…” you looked down, the dull sounds of the stream reaching your ears again. You almost felt like you had no choice. Taking a deep breath, you slowly glanced back up at All Might who, unknown to you, was standing there anxiously awaiting your answer.

“If you mean it, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try,” a cry then left your lips as All Might jolted forward and effortlessly lifted you up. Your legs curled up to your chest instinctively and you reached down, grasping onto his large forearms. You were partly thankful he was holding you up by your underarms.

Then came his laugh once again, that deep happy chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine. “Excellent! I can have Toshinori help you fill out the paperwork today,” he said as he proceeded to lift you over the railing and place you on the ground in front of him.

Your heart continued to race inside your chest and you hoped he didn’t notice the red-tinted color of your cheeks. “How does that sound!?” he exclaimed yet again, making you flinch. You then began fidgeting with your hands which were pressed up against your chest and your eyes were focused on the ground.

“Huh?” that’s when you noticed the sun was growing bright, casting its warm radiant glow across Japan. Just how long had you been talking to All Might? “Uh…” you gave a nod, and yet again heard the hero give a laugh before his hand grasped your shoulder.

You took note of the way he was smiling at you which yet again caused you to flush, though your cheeks were already tinted red. “Y-Yeah…uh, sounds fine!” you stuttered out, feeling your embarrassment continue to consume you. This had to be one of the most awkward interactions you had with a hero yet.

“Wonderful!” All Might said before turning on his feet causing you to stumble back when his cape hit you by mistake. However, he seemed rather oblivious to this as he walked forward, creating enough distance to ensure he wouldn’t hurt you when he took off into the sky.

He then turned to look over his shoulder at you. “I’ll have Toshinori pick you up at your home, say around 9 o’clock?” he questioned and for a moment you wondered how All Might knew that Toshinori knew where you lived. Did you tell him?

You couldn’t exactly recall, but he could have memorized your apartment building from the day you met. You did recall he asked if he could walk you there, still, it was a little odd. Once again, you found yourself at a loss for words and simply nodded.

“I look forward to seeing you in my agency, young Y/n!” he stated before disappearing into the air, leaving behind a harsh backlash of wind that nearly knocked you off your feet. You stumbled a bit before you reached up, brushing your hair out of your face and readjusting your shirt.

Your head then tilted up, trying to spot All Might but it seemed he moved too quickly. “Mm,” you frowned before reaching into your pocket for your phone. “9 o’clock, huh?” you frowned as you looked at the screen, yeah there was still plenty of time for you to get ready but you’d need to get back home quick.

You almost didn’t want to leave the quiet surroundings of the forest, but nonetheless started for the city once more. After a good shower, you changed into your best business clothes and proceeded to wait for Toshinori outside of your building.

Though you curiously kept checking your phone for the time and when 9 o’clock came, you heard a car horn. “Huh?” you lowered your phone, seeing a rather impressive limousine before you. It looked polished and the surface of it sparkled as if it had just been washed.

However, you were quickly distracted from that when you heard Toshinori call your name. Your head immediately turned and you saw him standing behind the door of the limousine. One foot was pressed against the sidewalk while his other leg remained inside the vehicle.

He wore a bright smile and signaled you to approach which you did with some minor hesitation after slipping your phone back into your pocket. “What’s with the limousine?” you questioned, receiving a chuckle from him. “All Might insisted,” he replied before his smile faded.

“Do you…not like it?” he questioned, once again seeming to act shy as he pressed his hand against his mouth. “What?” unlike before, you seemed to control the “No, no, no” coming out of your mouth. “I-It’s fine, I just…” you allowed an awkward chuckle to leave your mouth.

“I wasn’t expecting it to be a limo, that’s all,” you replied and your explanation seemed to lessen Toshinori’s anxiety. “Heh, well All Might said you accepted his offer. I thought we could take a nice ride and fill out the paperwork together,” he said, and a part of him was actually relieved he had gotten this far.

But there was that certain worry you’d eventually find out who he really was and yet, he found that was a risk he was willing to take. Being a hero made him happy, but not as much as your company. Which sounded strange, but out of everyone he had met. There was just something about you he favored.

A ride and paperwork? That was a new one, still, you couldn’t refuse and shrugged before climbing into the limousine. Toshinori crawled in after you and shut the door as you glanced around the interior with a dropped jaw. Obviously, the first thing you took note of was the amount of space it had.

The second thing was the row of seats that ran along the opposite side of the passenger door. There was also a small table with various drinks concealed in glass bottles. “Oh!” you fell back onto the leather seat when the vehicle started moving. “Careful,” Toshinori said as he draped his arm around you.

“Wouldn’t want you to get hurt,” you blinked at him before slowly nodding, trying to ignore the way your heart picked up speed. However, it didn’t last long as he leaned away and you heard the soft rustling of papers. You leaned over, trying to look at what Toshinori was fiddling with.

However, you got your answer when he turned around and your eyes immediately shifted to the pile of papers he held. The sight only made you groan but Toshinori smiled and placed the stack between himself and you before reaching into his pocket to get his pen.

A soft click sounded before he looked at you. “Let’s start with the easy paperwork first,” he suggested, though that didn’t make you anymore willing to begin and for a moment, you realized why it was such a hassle to get a job in the first place.

Despite Toshinori filling out the paperwork for you, the feeling of exhaustion still overwhelmed you to the point where you were slumping in your seat. “Oh, there’s one more thing,” he said, making you groan as you turned your head to look at him. The stack of papers was smaller, but that meant very little to you at the moment.

Toshinori straightened out the small pile by gently tapping it against his knee before he looked at you. “In the spirit of the holidays, the agency is having a secret santa,” you perked up. “Secret santa?” That's kind of weird, you didn’t imagine many businesses or agencies participating in something like that.

He brought his shoulders up and you noticed the frown across his face and the way he glanced away from you. “But…” you pushed your hand against the seat, slightly invading Toshinori’s space. “What?” you finished and watched as he slowly fixated his eyes back on you.

“Everyone participating has been matched up already,” he expected you to be disappointed and you were…a little. “Oh…” you replied before allowing yourself to fall back against the seat. “Mm…” Toshinori glanced away again, technically his alias All Might hadn’t been matched up with anyone.

Then again, he couldn’t exactly play favorites, and All Might had already given gifts to his employees then again…if you were going to be a new employee he had to welcome you somehow. “Hm…” he brought his hand up, watching as you turned your head to glance out the darkened window.

Seeing your own reflection just like you had earlier in the day, you still looked tired but the only difference now was that Toshinori was with you and from the way he was grasping his chin. He seemed to be in deep thought about something.

You partly hoped it wasn’t him overthinking the fact that you could have possibly wanted to be part of the secret santa gift exchange. “Excuse me, Y/n,” he said, causing your head to turn. “Huh?” you replied, but he seemed to ignore you for the moment as he suddenly got up.

You tilted your head and watched as he walked to the small rectangular window that was directly behind the driver. He then pressed a small button and you watched as the window rolled down. “Hm...” it looked like he was telling the driver something and despite not knowing exactly what that something was.

You got a hint when the limousine suddenly turned causing your body to jerk to one side. Had Toshinori changed the current route you were on? “Is something wrong?” you questioned and watched as he shook his head. “Everything’s alright,” he said as he took the seat next to you once more.

Though you only grew confused by his behavior and the way he glanced away from you. “We’re heading to the All Might agency,” he said, almost making you jump in your seat. “The agency? Why?” you questioned, but he kept quiet and instead glanced at the papers he still held in his hand.

Seeming to count them before he tucked them underneath his leg and reached over to press the window button. Allowing it to open just enough for him to look out of it, his hair whipped around as he narrowed his eyes on the rather large building ahead.  

He then rolled the window back up and turned to you. “I’ll finish the rest of the paperwork, everything is set up for you. Just ask the front desk receptionist to direct you,” he said and you were a bit baffled by his sudden change in behavior.

You pressed your hands against the seat and leaned forward, parting your lips to speak but nothing came out. You already asked if everything was alright and you knew from experience that Toshinori acted strange just before he had to run off somewhere.

Still, you couldn’t help but frown and once again slumped in your seat, crossing your arms. “Fine,” you replied, trying to ease the awkward tension in the air. But in actuality, you only seemed to make it worse and Toshinori looked at you with a sad expression before the limousine pulled over.

You turned when you heard him open the door and somewhat struggle to get out of the vehicle. But at least he held the door open for you and with some hesitation, you crawled out. Smoothing out the front of your outfit before you glanced up, the sight of the All Might agency taking your breath away.

It was a tall building with several windows and a large illuminated sign which more than likely caught everyone’s attention. You stood there with your jaw hanging open before you felt Toshinori walk behind you. “Hm?” you turned, watching him climb back into the limousine.

“Wait, where are you going?” you questioned and he paused. “I…have to take care of something for All Might, I’ll be back later,” he assured and hoped you remembered the instructions he gave you. However, you couldn’t help but feel a tad upset. Still, you tried to push that feeling down.

After all, Toshinori had a lot of work to do and maybe it wasn’t right trying to take up all of his time. Yet, you couldn’t help but latch onto your lip as you took a step away from the curb. “Oh,” you replied as you pressed one hand to your chest, glancing away from him.

This caused him to frown. “I’ll be back later,” he repeated in a soft voice, hoping to lift your spirits. If you only knew how badly he wanted to stay by your side you would never distance yourself from him again. However, you only nodded and turned to slowly walk towards the agency.

He watched as you pushed open the front doors and walked inside. A sigh then escaped him before he climbed back into the limousine which began to pull away from the curb. He turned to look at the small pile of paperwork and laid his hand on top of it, yes he did say he’d fill it out for you.

But it could wait, right now he needed to figure out what possible gift he could buy you. He brought his hand up to his chin, tapping it mindlessly with one finger. It needed to be something meaningful, something to show just how much he cared for you.

In the days that followed, you seemed to fall into your new job with ease. Your coworkers were friendly enough and helped you with whatever you needed. But your job mainly consisted of reviewing paperwork, specifically the criminal incident reports.

You had to make sure each and every report had All Might’s signature in addition to ensuring everything was spelled and labeled correctly. But it came to your attention that you hadn’t seen Toshinori or All Might in your short few days of working at the agency. You assumed they were both busy.

At least that’s the impression you got from asking around a bit, it was a tad shocking that most of your coworkers only saw either or party once or twice a month which raised some questions. If Toshinori was that busy, then why did he make time for you? All Might was a hero, that you understood.

In a way, he was always working and when he wasn’t he was ready to leap into action when needed. Still, it was a little boring and dull around the office by the week of the big holiday. In fact, there were only a few other workers besides yourself in the building which meant it was eerily quiet.

This along with the holiday music that echoed through the halls wasn’t the best combination. But you managed to work through it regardless, finding that it didn’t bother you as much as hearing what everyone had gotten from their secret santa. In fact, you couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.

You were used to being left out, isolated from everyone else because you lacked a quirk. Now you just lacked timing and you knew eventually that someone at the agency would find out you were quirkless and then the discrimination would start all over again.

But at least you didn’t have to see anyone until after the holiday or so you thought. Seems All Might was one of the many heroes volunteering to work through the holiday, and you understood why. But what you didn’t understand is why he decided to leave a note on your desk requesting you to work overtime.

Well, perhaps overtime wasn’t the correct word. Rather, the note instructed that you’d be working through the holiday and you imagined that was only to stop the paperwork from backing up. Sure, it meant extra money for you but it was still disappointing all the same.

Weren’t there special workers that took care of any slack for the agencies so the employees could enjoy the holiday off? Then again, you didn’t really have anyone to celebrate it with. But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t silently protest this injustice.

So with some minor anger, you awoke on the day of the big holiday and slowly got ready for your more than likely boring day at the completely empty All Might agency while everyone else was at home celebrating and opening presents with their family.

You couldn’t help but groan at the thought of presents as you slumped down in your chair, once again the thought of secret santa came to mind followed by the thought of Toshinori. “Mm…” you propped your elbows on top of your desk and cradled the sides of your face in your palms.

Allowing one of your feet to kick the underside of your desk and listened as the sound echoed through the otherwise silent building. Your eyes glanced at the large stack of paperwork, still waiting for your review. You expected such a thing from All Might, he worked quickly and easily triumphed over villains.

You let out a sigh and curiously reached over, grabbing the first paper on top of the stack and glanced over it quickly. “Guess I better get started,” you said before turning to look at the digital clock that hung on the wall then back to the papers. Then you sighed. “This may take a while,” you muttered.

But regardless, you got to work. The silence seemed to work to your advantage and helped your concentration as you went through paper after paper. Easily working your way through half of the pile before you decided to take a break.

Despite your office being on the third floor, All Might seemed to be generous when it came to the construction of his agency and each floor had a small break room with the exception of his office or so you heard. You hadn’t actually seen it, but you imagined it was luxurious.

Your momentary thoughts were interrupted when Toshinori suddenly came to mind. Was it silly to say that you missed him? He seemed so busy on a regular day, you could only imagine what it was like around this time of the year for him. You slowly rose from your chair, feeling a slight discomfort run down your backside.

‘Maybe I should invest in a seat cushion’ you thought as you walked down the hallway to the break room, hearing the floor creak underneath your feet acting as a reminder of just how quiet it was. “Mm,” you tried not to let the silence get to you and turned the corner into the break room.

You had your hopes that a cup of tea might ease the minor anxiety you felt. Searching through the cabinets, you managed to find a clean mug and proceeded to fill the machine with water before pouring the green tea into the mug. You then placed it on the drip tray underneath the machine.

The hot water would take a minute or two to come to a boil, not that you minded. You placed your hands on the counter, fingers eagerly tapping against it. When the water finally came out with a loud hiss, you watched as it filled up your mug.

The slightly musky scent of tea reached your nostrils and you grabbed one of the plastic stirrers located next to the machine and proceeded to mix the contents of your mug. However, the machine hissed once again and seconds later you felt a small dribble of hot water hit your hand.

You ignored the minor discomfort and continued to stir the tea, somewhat eager to get absorbed in your paperwork once more. You didn’t want to think about family, presents, secret santa, Toshinori or even All Might himself. You just wanted to get through the workday, go home, and sleep the rest of the holiday off.

Your hand came to a stop and you proceeded to throw the stirrer into the trash. “Mm…” carefully grasping the mug, you brought it up to your mouth and blew on it a few times before trying to take a sip. However, you ended up jumping when you heard a noise.

The freshly brewed tea spilled over the edges of the mug and onto your hands, you fought the urge not to drop it as you didn’t feel like picking up shattered glass at the moment. You managed to lean over and place the mug onto the counter before you frantically waved your hands through the air, trying to cool your now irritated skin.

“Damn it!” you quickly ran over to the sink and turned on the cool water. Allowing it to run over your hands for a minute or two as you glanced at the ceiling. That noise came again, this time it sounded like a series of thuds, almost as if someone were moving furniture around.

You knew it was coming from one of the floors above you and despite feeling a little scared. You couldn’t help but wonder who or what was making that noise and if you should investigate it. You didn’t have a quirk, so you were already at a disadvantage.

Especially if the source of that noise wasn’t another employee of the All Might agency. In addition, you didn’t remember hearing anyone walk through the floor you were working on. Hell, you hadn’t even heard the elevator. So how was it possible that someone got into the building?

Did they climb through an open window? It all sounded ridiculous you knew, but either way you felt like you had to do something, despite being anything but a hero. You looked down at your hands, wincing slightly at the still red skin and you could feel the way it stung.

You allowed your fingers to graze the skin of your opposite hand, noting that it felt warm to the touch. “Mm...” you frowned before lowering your hand. However, you flinched seconds later when another noise came and you turned your head to look at the ceiling again.

A small amount of fear washed over you. But for one reason or another, the thought of Toshinori entered your mind and you couldn’t help but ask if he would be acting this way. The answer was no. In fact, he’d probably march to the source of the noise if it meant keeping others safe.

You took a deep breath and quickly ran out of the break room. Resisting the urge to head straight for the stairs so you could run down to the lobby and out the door. Instead, you went to the nearest elevator with your heart still pounding in your chest.

Reaching out a shaky hand for the button, you took a step back when you heard the familiar mechanical whirling before the doors opened seconds later. You took a step forward, glancing around before stepping inside. The doors closed once more, leaving you to stare at your reflection against the metal surface.

You glanced at the button panel on the right side of the wall. ‘So many floors,’ you thought before reaching over, allowing your finger to hover over each button for a moment before you looked at the large one that was placed above them. The one that led to All Might’s office.

You didn’t know where the initial noise had come from, but the temptation to see his office seemed to slowly corrupt your mind. ’Well…maybe a small look wouldn’t hurt…then I can investigate the noise,’ you thought as you pushed the button and watched it light up yellow. Then something you didn’t expect happened. 

‘I am here! I am here! I am here!’ echoed through the elevator speakers causing you to stumble back into the wall. Your hands reached back, grasping onto the single metal bar that ran along the back of the elevator just before it started to move.

You almost lost your footing and felt your back hit the top of the bar you were desperately holding. A grunt escaped as you managed to pull yourself back up, your eyes then focused on the small panel above the elevator doors. Watching as it lit up each floor number you passed and halted only when you finally reached the top.  The doors opened and you cautiously stepped forward, poking your head out only to have a gasp leave your mouth. Your hand came up to your chest as you took in the very spacious looking floor. The carpet appeared crisp and clean and the furniture looked polished. You continued to step out of the elevator and your eyes shifted to Toshinori’s desk which looked organized and well kept. But you couldn’t resist picking up the name tag that lay across the top of it and traced the letters of his name with your thumb before placing it back where it belonged. 

“Oh…” you walked over to the windows which overlooked the city. The flashing lights and festive displays caught your eye and you found yourself staring in awe as you pressed your hands against the glass. You were almost disappointed it wasn’t snowing, but you were still smiling. 

That is until another noise came, making you jump back. Your head immediately turned, your eyes landing on the source of said noise which just so happened to be whoever or whatever was on the other side of All Might’s office door. 

Your feet suddenly felt heavy as if they were frozen to the ground and your legs were slightly shaking. Were you afraid? Maybe a little. Your anxiety-ridden thoughts seemed to consume you, thinking of the absolute worst scenario you could be greeted with on the other side of that door. 

Still, you tiptoed over and hesitantly reached for the handle despite not knowing if the door itself was locked or unlocked. Regardless, your fingers wrapped around it and slowly pushed it open. “Hm?” Toshinori or as he looked now, All Might was standing in front of a large window. 

Still dressed in his hero suit which was decorated with hues of blue, red, and white. His silver belt added a few touches of yellow. His bright almost pastel blue cape lightly swayed as he turned to look over his shoulder. “Ah, Y/n!” he announced as he flashed you a smile, almost as if he expected you to come and he did. 

Rather he planned the whole thing, knowing you would be alone in the building. But he didn’t want to make it obvious that he wanted to speak to you so why not lore you to him? You blinked and leaned over, glancing around the room. 

Your eyes caught sight of his oversized and polished desk with the most comfortable-looking office chair you had ever seen. There was a fish tank located to the right of his desk and a bookshelf to the left. Off to the side was a mini-fridge and you couldn’t help being a little curious as to what was inside it. 

Your attention turned back to All Might who hadn’t averted his gaze from you and still had that bright smile on his face. Your eyes traced those pearly whites before looking into his eyes, it was funny they almost reminded you of the shade of blue Toshinori’s eyes were. 

“Uh…” you trailed off, feeling rather awkward. “S-Sorry!” you blurted out before bowing, catching All Might off guard. This certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. Still, he tried to push past the awkward tension and raised his hand in the air. “Think nothing of it, young Y/n!” he replied with a hearty laugh. 

“Is there something troubling you? Is it the paperwork?” he questioned as he approached you. “Huh?” leaning back up, you couldn’t help but look at him with a still flushed but confused face. “I…uh…” you wanted to take a step back, but All Might’s hand reaching over to take hold of your shoulder prevented you from doing such a thing.

You tried to ignore the tingles that his touch brought and shook your head. “I…just…um, h-heard a noise,” All Might tilted his head. “A noise?” he repeated, playing dumb for the moment as you nodded. “Hm, I see,” he replied as he reached up to grasp his chin with his free hand.

Trying to resist the laugh that threatened to pass his lips. “Apologies!” he suddenly exclaimed, lifting the hand that was on your shoulder up to his forehead which was tilted back as he let out a laugh. “...what?” you muttered under your breath.

The longer you spent around All Might the more you were beginning to see that odd almost childish personality of his. As his laughter died down, he glanced at you before walking over to his desk. “Uh...” you stood there, folding your hands behind your back. Feeling rather awkward as the seconds passed.

“That must have been me! I was having quite some trouble…” he trailed off as he laid his hand on his desk and leaned over to grab something from what appeared to be either a bottom drawer or underneath the desk itself. Once again you found yourself being rather surprised something didn’t break under his weight.

“Wrapping this!” he declared, holding up a small box that looked to be wrapped in red and yellow paper and topped off with a blue bow. You blinked, was that a present? He noticed the way you were staring and proceeded to clear his throat as he approached you once more.

“Young Toshinori also informed me of your quirkless status and the secret santa exchange you have missed!” you opened your mouth to reply, but quickly closed it. Feeling a small amount of anger fill you, why did Toshinori share the fact you were quirkless with All Might of all people!?

“Mm...” you clenched your jaw, balling your hands into fists. However, you were momentarily distracted from your anger when All Might lowered himself onto one knee in front of you. “Huh?” you took half a step back and wanted to ask what he was doing, but he once again laid his hand on your shoulder.

His other hand is still holding the small gift. “But!” he exclaimed and you could practically feel the vibrations from his voice echo through the room. “I am here to say that you are not forgotten, Y/n,” his words yet again seemed to make your heart race and that familiar heat rush to your cheeks.

“I…uh…t-thank you?” Despite the silent threat going through your head revolving around finding Toshinori and wringing his neck for exposing your quirkless status so easily and behind your back. Once again All Might seemed to distract you away from your thoughts.

“While you lack a quirk, there is something you must know!” he took his hand off your shoulder and held up one finger. “A quirk certainly makes a difference, but it is the hero inside that is important!” he said before folding his hand into a fist and slamming it against his chest, making you flinch.

“Huh?” All Might noticed this and gave a crooked frown. “Did I scare you?” he questioned before letting out another laugh which had you confused once more. ‘The hero inside?’ you repeated silently in your head, and yes his words were sweet. But you weren’t entirely sure what they meant.

In fact, part of you wondered just how in-depth Toshinori spoke of you, from what you gathered he spilled every bit of information he currently had on you to All Might. The rising popular hero, the one with an incredible quirk that no one could possibly match up to. The one who...didn’t look down on you?

Was he just being nice or trying to raise your confidence? Honestly, you were feeling a wave of mixed emotions and yet, you assumed no one could actually understand what it meant to be completely powerless. But then again, All Might did seem to be sincere when it came to well...just about everything.

You grumbled, raising your eyebrow as you looked at him with clear suspicion. “You...really mean that?” your voice was soft and you couldn’t help the way your lip quivered. Of course, All Might noticed this and frowned. He wasn’t much for words, was he? At least they didn’t seem to work on you.

“Hm...” he glanced away, thinking of what else he could do to prove his words were true. Well, you didn’t seem to reject it when he made subtle affectionate gestures towards you. So perhaps he could try that. He glanced back at you before reaching out to gently cup your cheek.

Your eyes widened before you felt his thumb gently graze along your cheekbone. There was a silent moment between the two of you before All Might stood on his feet once more, towering over you and casting you in his shadow yet again.

You almost hated the fact that your cheeks were flushed, the warmth radiating from them causing you to sweat a little. He was quite satisfied his simple action had worked and presented the small wrapped-up gift to you once more. Holding it out for you to take despite giving no verbal instruction to do so.

But the way he inched his hand closer to you silently indicated he wanted you to do just that. So you did...hesitantly and inspected the colorful paper and bow. You then looked at All Might and flinched when you noticed he had decided to crouch down and place his hands on top of his knees.

A smile still painted his face as he couldn’t wait to see your reaction when you opened your gift. It was small but had a mighty meaning to it and he had his hopes it would continue to boost your self-confidence. “Uh, heh,” you gave an awkward smile before carefully ripping off the wrapping paper.

“Hm?” you blinked when saw a completely white box, it had no writing nor any name on it. Your eyebrows knitted together before you slowly opened it. “Huh?” you glanced at what lay inside. A single necklace on a silver chain with what looked to be a circular yellow gemstone and an All Might charm next to it.

“Do you like it!?” he questioned, nearly causing you to drop the box. “Careful now, I spent quite some time deciding what type of gift you deserved,” he said as he reached over, gently sandwiching your unsteady hands and necklace between his own.

“May I put it on you?” he questioned, and once again you felt your cheeks begin to flush. “P-Put it on?” you repeated and for a moment, he was afraid you were going to reject his offer. But instead, he watched as you nodded. “If…you want,” after all, how many actually got a chance like this?

All Might grinned happily yet again and pulled back his hands, taking the box containing the necklace with him. He carefully pulled it from the soft cushion holding it in place and fumbled somewhat trying to unhook the back of it. You smirked at the sight before turning around.

Once again trying to ignore the way your heart raced as his hands brushed the sides of your hair and his fingers grazed your neck before he struggled with the latch of the necklace once more. But after a few moments, you heard the soft, ‘click’ and you reached up to allow your fingers to brush over the cool metal.

You then turned around, almost wanting to ask if there was a mirror so you could see how the necklace looked on you. But instead, you asked. “Why…did you buy this for me?” it was an innocent question, or so you hoped. Your question was responded to with a laugh before All Might stood up with his hands on his hips.

“To remind you that no matter what, with or without a quirk. You will always be small but mighty!” he declared as he raised his arms above his head. “Do not give up on yourself, Y/n. You are a strong hero all the same. Says I, All Might!” He proceeded to strike a pose with one arm curled up and knuckles pressing against his forehead.

His other arm remained outstretched with his palm facing downward and fingers pressed together. You stared wide-eyed at this display, your mouth hanging open and your brain still trying to process his words. You felt your throat tighten and your eyes begin to water.

“Hm?” All Might noticed this and immediately dropped his posture and instead, quickly knelt in front of you. His hands on your shoulders as he watched tears begin to stream down your face. “Does the gift upset you!?” he questioned frantically, his fingers tightening their grip on you.

But you shook your head and reached up to wipe a few tears away. “Then what is it?” he questioned, growing confused when you began to smile. “No one has ever told me that before, it just…means a lot,” you explained in a soft voice as yet more tears began to slide down your cheeks.

“Thank you, All Might. Please tell Toshinori I said thank you too,” you really hoped you’d see him again soon. He blinked a few times before laughing. “I see, I’m quite glad you like it!” he said as he reached back to grasp his cape and gently used it to wipe your watery eyes.

You appreciated it, especially considering his cape felt soft and certainly acted absorbent enough to dry your eyes. “I…don’t know what to get you now,” you said softly, once again causing the pro hero to laugh. “Do not worry about me, I have already gotten my gift!” he stated before standing on his feet.

He then turned and resumed his position in front of the window. Hands behind his back as he appeared to be looking at the city below. “That being said, perhaps you should leave for the day,” you took a step back. “Huh?” you’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t sink in your chest.  

“You’re telling me to go home?” you questioned and watched as he turned to look at you from over his shoulder, giving a nod. “B-But…” you stuttered and he raised his hand in the air. “It’s alright, it was unfair to ask you to spend the holiday working. I can finish any paperwork!” he said confidently, though you couldn’t help but feel some anger.

You were ordered to come in and now you were being ordered to leave? What sense did that make? “I’ll have young Toshinori call you, I’m sure he’s quite eager to spend what remains of the holiday with you,” those words made you perk up and your jaw slightly dropped.

“S-Spend…with…b-but what about you?” it wouldn’t feel right spending time with Toshinori when you knew All Might was alone on the holiday. He couldn’t help the smile that came to his face, though he knew you didn’t know he was also Toshinori. It was sweet to hear your concern. 

“I will be alright! There is plenty to keep me busy and I must keep an eye open for any villains that may cause trouble,” he assured before turning around, fully facing you. He then proceeded to walk over to you, leaning over to be at eye level with you.

“I will be fine,” he reassured you yet again. “Go have fun and be merry, as the saying goes!” he said, shooing you away with his hand. Still, you wore a frown and reached up to clasp the charms of your necklace. Even so, you found yourself walking to the door. But you came to a pause and placed your opposite hand on the door frame.

“I hope you have a good holiday All Might and…thanks for the gift,” you said, not bothering to turn around. “Happy holidays, Y/n,” he said quietly before watching you walk out of his office with a sulk and shut the door behind you. He waited until he heard the elevator come before he consciously deactivated his quirk.Allowing his body to shrink in size, becoming his true self Toshinori Yagi. But he couldn’t help but smile, this overwhelming feeling of happiness making his heart flutter in his chest. You had liked his gift and he certainly hoped he could see you wearing it around the office. But he needed to hurry now, especially if he was going to spend the rest of the holiday with you. Who knows, maybe he could catch you under the mistletoe tonight.                                   

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Terribly Confounding

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader Rating: T Notes: Based off of this ask that I got and went way overboard with. Point of view switches between Sherlock and the Reader. Also gigglemug is Victorian slang for someone that smiles all the time. Length: 6.2K Warnings: Angst; fluff; Sherlock Being Sherlock™ Summary: One of the articles that you’d read had claimed that Sherlock could size up a person in a minute. You couldn’t help but wonder what on earth he’d managed to ascertain about you. 

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Mycroft used to try to introduce him to eligible women all the time, but had stopped being so forthright when Sherlock had done nothing but openly disapprove of both the idea of being married and the women that Mycroft introduced him to. After a dozen or so attempts, Mycroft took more care to couch his suggestions, and was more selective with the women that he brought forward as potential matches.

--

Terribly confounding. A swath of robberies had taken place among some of London’s wealthiest businessmen. Servants had been fired, brought up on charges, but not a single piece of missing goods had been recovered. While Sherlock had been approached by a number of them to reclaim necklaces, rings, silverware, he had yet to respond to a single inquiry. Accepting one would bring on a deluge of irritation from those that had reached out to him and hadn’t received a response; refusing any and all would bring on an offer of raised rates, as well as an equally unwelcome letter from Mycroft asking for a favor toward a someone that he was trying to curry favor with. One particularly large robbery had been perpetrated only the night before, at the home of Mr. Enoch Mulvohill. It had been written up in the papers; the police had taken a report. Sherlock had met the man once, had found him pretentious and proud, if not a fair bit underhanded. He hadn’t liked Sherlock, either. But the man had not fired a single servant as a result of this theft; he hadn’t raised the alarm. It was for this reason that Lestrade had called Sherlock in. An entire set of silverware, an antique clock, a purple garnet brooch, a ruby and diamond necklace, and a seed pearl and diamond ring were all that had gone missing. Not a single charge laid, not a single alarm raised. There was something terribly confounding about Enoch Mulvohill. “Sherlock, are you listening to me?” Mycroft glared at his brother. Sherlock glanced away from the article he’d been scanning about the incident, considering what Lestrade had told him about it all that very morning. “Just,” He nodded. Mycroft sighed. “I know how you loathe the prospect of marriage--” Sherlock was careful not to roll his eyes. Ah. Mycroft was back on that tack. “But this particular situation is one of great advantage. The girl is the only daughter of a very rich gentleman,” As if such matters were of any interest at all to Sherlock, “And I have been told that Ms. Mulvohill is not … Unintelligent.” Sherlock stilled, lifting his eyes from his paper again. “... I’ll meet her,” He said after a moment. “You will?” “Yes.” “Why?” Sherlock folded the paper, turning to look at Mycroft fully and finding his glare replaced with a look of great confusion. “I’ve heard of Ms. Mulvohill’s wit,” He fibbed, “I should be interested to see if there is any truth in it.” That was fabricated entirely; he had no idea Mulvohill even had a daughter. Mycroft hesitated before giving a single nod. “I’ll make the arrangements.” -- “He’s supposed to be very handsome.” You tried to muster a smile. Luella, your maid, was much more excited at the prospect of your suitor than you were. It seemed awfully old-fashioned, a man coming over to meet you this way. All of you friends had met their suitors and husbands at balls or dinner parties. But your mother had been very particular about the men that had come to call on you, and had deemed none of them suitable (which was quite alright with you as you’d been none too fond of any of them). However, when your eldest brother Thaddeus had told you that his old school chum, Mycroft Holmes, would be coming by for a visit, you hadn’t the faintest idea that it would lead to Mycroft bringing by his younger brother for you to meet - and potentially marry. You’d heard a lot about Sherlock Holmes, had read his name in the papers (which your other brother, Phineas, often snuck you - your mother didn’t like you reading the paper; she was worried that it would put ‘dangerous thoughts’ in your head and ‘expose you to the evils of the world’); you knew that he was a detective. And maybe Luella was right, maybe he was attractive. The sketches that were done in the paper were not...Unflattering. 

“There now,” Luella sighed, looking at your reflection in the mirror, “I’d say you’re quite ready for the day.” She gave you a bright smile, and you did your best to return it.

-- 

He was staring at you. A lot. Was that good? Or rather… Well, was that focus that he was fixing you with or was he simply frowning? It was quite difficult to discern what exactly was going on in Sherlock Holmes’ head when he was saying so little; Mycroft had done most of the speaking that afternoon. You didn’t particularly like Mycroft. You’d met him exactly twice, and both times, he’d been incredibly rude. He’d seemed to manage to do it without realizing it, though. Sherlock was still staring. You glanced at him before averting your eyes. One of the articles that you’d read had claimed that Sherlock could size up a person in a minute. You couldn’t help but wonder what on earth he’d managed to ascertain about you; you’d hardly said more than five words since you’d entered the room. -- You seemed a church mouse to him. You’d entered the room, curtsied, murmured a greeting, and then sat down beside your brother Thaddeus. That hardly concerned Sherlock, frankly. What he was more interested in was the discussion that Thaddeus and Mycroft were having about Enoch’s stolen items. He was careful to set his eyes on you, however. Your hands were folded in your lap, and your eyes set on them, though you’d glanced at him twice now; your dress was pristine, as were your shoes. Clearly you’d yet to leave the house that day, though Sherlock had a hunch that you wouldn’t be undertaking such a trip at all. It was already quite late in the afternoon. You’d have to dress for dinner soon, surely. “A damn shame-- Oh! Quite sorry, Miss Mulvohill,” Mycroft hurried to correct himself, turning to you. Sherlock watched as you glanced at his brother and gave him a small nod before Mycroft turned back to Thaddeus. Mycroft didn’t catch the way you rolled your eyes, but Sherlock did. His lips quirked into a small smile. A smile that you didn’t see. “Well?” Mycroft asked as he and Sherlock strode away from the Mulvohill home. ‘Well’, as if Sherlock could really have any opinion on you, as if he could be flushed with love for a woman that hardly spoken. Instead he declared, “I like her.” Mycroft had his suspicions, of course. He pressed Sherlock for his reasons, what he saw in you, and Sherlock was able to draw his answers from what he did see: your respectfulness, your quiet grace, your clean appearance, which showed a certain pride in yourself. “She hardly said a word. You said you were curious about her wit,” Mycroft reminded him. “Oh, she showed her wit, in a way,” Sherlock thought back to the roll of your eyes. Mycroft hesitated before shaking his head, “I will never presume to understand the workings of your mind or heart, brother. I will reach out to her father--” “Better yet, let me,” Sherlock interrupted Mycroft, “If I’m to marry this woman, I ought to go to her father myself.” “Very well.” But Sherlock would reach out to Lestrade, first. The game was afoot. 

--

It wasn’t the proposal of your dreams. For one thing, your mother had already told you that your father had consented and given the marriage his blessing, and that your father’s consent and blessing meant that the deal was as good as done. The deal. Not that your happiness was in hand, but that the deal was as good as done. Sherlock Holmes had come in, handed you a box with an engagement ring, and given you a firm nod before bidding you a good day. Your new fiancé hadn’t even stayed to see if the ring fit. You sat at your vanity, eyeing the gleaming solitaire diamond on the gold band. You weren’t naïve; you’d always assumed that your marriage would come with some feelings of trepidation. But you’d hoped that you would at least know the man a little better. You’d hardly even spoken to him- and he'd had the chance to stay and speak with you, to propose properly, but he had chosen not to. You just couldn’t imagine what it was that your father and mother had seen in Sherlock that they hadn’t seen in your previous suitors. He’d certainly spent less time with you than the others; you doubted he had made a good impression on Thaddeus, who had likely been consulted on the matter. Of course they’d go out of the way to consult your brother and not you, who would ultimately have to marry Sherlock.

You sighed, shutting the ring box. You hadn’t tried the ring on yet; you hadn’t even taken it out of the box. All of your friends had perfectly darling stories about how they'd been proposed to. How could you bear to tell them about your own? 

Yes, he handed me the box, nodded, and left. It was quite sweet. 

--

If this was any indication of how your future marriage was going to be, you were almost entirely certain that your life would be dull, and very, very quiet. For the first time since your somewhat untraditional engagement, Sherlock had come to visit you. You’d written to him once to try and get to know him better; he hadn’t answered that letter. You’d asked him a couple of questions since he’d arrived, and he’d answered with simple, one-word answers. He had asked you a few questions, but they’d all been about your father. You’d spent the last week convincing yourself that perhaps this wouldn’t be all that bad, that Mr. Holmes may just be shy, and may need some time to warm up to you. Surely there was something that he had seen and liked about you if he’d chosen to propose. Your father’s wealth aside, he couldn’t find you wholly repugnant if he was choosing to spend the rest of his life with you. But now, well. Now you were just running out of patience. “-- Are you listening, dear?” You turned your head sharply to look at Sherlock at the use of that pet name. Who on earth did he think he was, calling you that after how he’d dared to act? “I thought that might catch your attention,” He hummed, turning back to the small bookshelf by your usual chair in the sitting room. You felt your stomach twist into knots at his condescension. “I asked you what you thought of your father,” He added, plucking one of your books up. Your irritation flared. It was your favorite-- and why was he touching your things? You stood, crossing the room. “My father is an unfeeling and self-involved man,” You answered. Sherlock turned to look at you, brows rising. “You have no love for him,” He observed. “Well, it’s difficult to have any love or respect for a man that would marry me off to the likes of you,” You took the book from Sherlock’s hands, snapping it shut and tucking it back into its place. You looked up to find Sherlock’s eyes travelling your face, a single brow raised. “... You’re not wearing your ring,” He pointed out. He was right, you weren’t. You’d hardly looked at the damn thing since he gave it to you. “Oh, is that what was in that thing you handed me?” You feigned ignorance, folding your arms across your chest, “I meant to look, but it slipped my mind.” 

Sherlock’s expression darkened just a touch. “Well, perhaps you’ll find time somewhere in your busy schedule of nattering and needlepoint to give it a look sometime soon.” Your eyes widened for just a moment, and your face grew hot at the smug curl of Sherlock’s lip. “Of course,” You answered coolly, “I’ll happily give it a glance once you’ve gone.” “Am I to be leaving?” “I think that may be for the best, Mr. Holmes.” “But we’re just getting acquainted.” “It’s a wonder you’ve gone out of your way to propose to me when I’m certain you could have ascertained the information you wanted about my father from his doctor, his barber, and any number of gentlemen at his club, of which your brother is a member.”

“What makes you think I’m particularly interested in your father? Perhaps I was merely trying to better understand the family that raised my future wife.” “Well, then, what questions have you about my mother?” You allowed Sherlock only a half-second before tacking on, “Of course, you’ll have some about Thaddeus and Phineas as well.” “Of course.” “Go on, then.” “Where was your mother the night of the 17th?” The 17th? The night of the robbery? 

“Interesting that you’ve questioned her location and not her character.” “Interesting that you’ve deflected rather than answer me.” “She and I were both at the McKerras’ ball.” “And your brothers?” “They were there as well.” “Why not mention that along with yourself and your mother?” “Because you didn’t ask about them.” “And your father?” “Perhaps you’d best ask your brother that. He knows very well where my father was. Now, if you have no more questions, then I’ll bid you a good day, darling,” You drew the endearment out before you turned on your heel and stormed out of the room. --

Sherlock watched you go, brow raised. You were quite… Sharp. Quick. Irritatingly so. His first impressions were rarely wrong, but he had been quite misinformed in your case. A church mouse, he’d thought. No indeed -- a lioness may’ve been more suited to your spirit. Lioness or not, you were infuriating, and prideful. Had you really not looked at the ring? The shop assistant had reassured him that you’d like it. No matter. This engagement was a sham - the sooner he pried answers about Enoch Mulvohill out of you, the better. And Mycroft, what did he know about Mulvohill’s whereabouts the evening of the robbery? 

-- “Well he’s quite the gigglemug, isn’t he?” You hid your smile at your best friend’s scathing question behind your fan. Alice Teague was your dearest confidant. She’d been married the year before (to a man who she had the fortune of actually loving and knowing beforehand - some people had all the luck). Your family had arranged a small dinner to announce your engagement to your closest family and friends. Your family was in attendance, as well as Alice and her husband; Sherlock, Mycroft, and his younger sister, Enola, were all there as well. You’d only gotten to speak to Enola for a few moments, but you quite liked her. She seemed very unlike her brothers. But there was also an air of apology about her - about what, you hadn’t been able to ascertain; perhaps she simply knew what a brute her brother could be and pitied the fact that you’d be married to him. You had to admit that Sherlock looked quite nice in his eveningwear. He’d looked quite nice when you’d argued with him a few days prior as well, but you’d been a little more focused on the argument at the time. “He’s quite the busybody, as well,” Alice added, “He’s been speaking to your father and brothers all evening.” “Yes,” You sighed, “He’s quite enamored with Father.” “Oh, come now,” Alice nudged your elbow with her own, “He’s got to cozy up to him some, he is taking you away from him. You are your father’s only daughter, it’ll be difficult for him.” “This will not be difficult for my father. As mother tells it, he gave me to the man in the course of an hour-long conversation for a ‘lighter dowry than expected’. My father wants me out of the house as soon as possible. I’m a disgrace as it is, making it through three seasons unmarried.” “What’s that, dear?” In your discussion with Alice, you hadn’t noticed Sherlock breaking away from your father and walking over to you. You slapped a sweet smile onto your face, returning, “Nothing, darling.” It was Alice’s turn to hide her knowing smile behind her fan. 

--

The more time you spent in Sherlock Holmes’ company, the more you were certain you loathed him. He was nosy, had a habit of rifling through your things, asking questions without any care or tact. You were obliged to see him; you’d faked a headache to avoid him once and had gotten a scolding from your mother, the likes of which you hadn’t had since you were a child. Luella actually grimaced when she came to tell you that Sherlock had arrived these days. When you came into the sitting room, you found Sherlock at your bookcase again. He’d taken to lingering near there. You couldn’t help but wonder if did so deliberately, knowing how it irritated you when he touched your things. Rather than walk across the room and whatever book it was out his hands this time, you stayed by the door, watching him for a moment. You couldn’t help but try and consider the man’s motives. Was it money? Surely it had to be something along those lines. Perhaps the detective business wasn’t particularly lucrative; perhaps Mycroft wasn’t willing to help him when things were difficult. Your father may’ve lowered your dowry price, but Phineas had still told you what Sherlock would receive; it was nothing to laugh at. You glanced down at the engagement ring on your finger. You hadn’t bothered with gloves - which, in any other circumstance, would be an absolute scandal, but this man was technically to be your husband. He was permitted to be alone with you, to touch your hand, or kiss you, should the urge ever arise. Not that Sherlock had ever given you any indication that he had any interest in any of those things, of course, or you, really. Something in your chest twisted when you saw him now. It wasn’t anxiety, or anger, it was… Hurt. A sort of hurt that didn’t make you want to curl up and cry, but the kind that sat with you through the day, through your ‘nattering and needlepoint’, as Sherlock had scathingly put it once before. It swirled about you as your mother reminded you of what wedding preparations remained; it sat with you and Alice when you had tea together, so much its own presence that it practically had its own seat, its own saucer, its own cup. Sherlock glanced back toward the door once, and then again when he spotted you. “There you are,” He said, turning back down to the book. “Here I am,” You confirmed with a sigh, finally venturing deeper into the room. You felt Sherlock's gaze follow you as you settled down in an armchair by the fireplace. 

-- 

As much as he’d tried not to absorb them, Sherlock was quite attuned to your moods now. You weren’t the type to pout and give hints, to try and make someone tease out what was bothering you. No, you seemed to prefer to dwell on your troubles in silence. Initially, that suited him quite well; he was able to ply you for answers about your father, and he had ignored whatever little thing it was that was smoothing your face into a neutral set. But now, after weeks in your company, he found that he preferred that little spark that you got in your eye when the two of you were bickering. He even preferred it when you smiled, though the only smiles he’d ever been graced with were scathing. He’d seen you smile sincerely, once or twice, but never at him; they’d been directed at Enola, or at your friend Alice. Sherlock hadn’t meant to spend so much time with you or in your company to know precisely what your frowns, glares, scoffs, sighs, or rare smiles meant. He’d assumed that this case would come into focus once he spent more time in Enoch Mulvohill’s presence. There had been a number of thefts since he’d taken the case on for Lestrade, and he’d been to a number of the homes as a result of engagement festivities and visits. Rather than gaining insights into the case, Sherlock had been able to gather information about you, such as your dislike for your family - well, for your parents, at least. You had affection for your brothers. Thaddeus was a voice of reason for you, a guiding hand where your father had left you rudderless; Phineas offered you knowledge through books, pamphlets, newspapers. Sherlock had found a number of pamphlets tucked away in your books, and while he’d always meant to ask you about them, the two of you always fell into some argument before he could.

Sherlock watched you for a few moments, taking your countenance, your lack of gloves, where your engagement ring sat on your finger. You’d taken to wearing it daily, like some sparkling sackcloth and ashes, a public penance for being a woman in your position. Enola disapproved of his tactics regarding this case, and had told him as much twice over. He’d reminded her of the time she pretended to be his assistant, but she’d argued that that was entirely different. “When the case is over,” Enola had told him after the engagement dinner, “You will be celebrated. She will be ruined.” He had thought that Enola was being a touch dramatic. Surely you wouldn’t be ruined. He’d never touched you or acted in any way that could be deemed untoward. Your reputation would surely remain intact. Sherlock watched you still, even as you turned your eyes up at him, to take in his look and the book in his hands. -- 

“You’re awfully quiet today,” You said after a few moments. “I’m thinking.” “Yes, I’ve heard that you do that.” You saw Sherlock’s eyes narrow slightly as he snapped the book shut and replaced it on the wrong shelf. Excellent. You’d have to rearrange those later. “May I ask you what’s put you in such a lovely mood this morning?” “Only your company, Mr. Holmes.” He let out a humorless little laugh, one that grated at your nerves. “I understand why you’ve yet to be married, Ms. Mulvohill. You’re quite the rose - bright, alluring petals, but riddled from stem to root with thorns.” 

You clenched your hands, ignoring the feeling of the band of your engagement ring tightening as you did. “And I understand why you are not married, as low as you are,” You retorted. “I take it that that is some comment on my social status, Ms. Mulvohill.” You rose from your seat. “No, Mr. Holmes, it is a comment on your character. You may be a clever man, and you may make an excellent outward show to my father -- and that may be all that you care for, but you seem to have forgotten that you’ve gained me in the deal that you made with him. I do not expect you to grow to love me, as I’m quite certain you’re incapable of feeling that for anyone but yourself, but I had expected you to at least make a decent showing of getting to know me, as I tried you--” “You--” “No!” You snapped, “I am not through, Mr. Holmes. I did try, at the beginning. I wrote to you, I tried to understand you, but you’ve chosen to shield yourself -- for reasons that I cannot begin to comprehend. You’ve been nothing but unknowable and unmoveable from the first.” Sherlock watched you for a long moment before he lowered his eyes to the bookshelf. “... I am working with Scotland Yard to investigate the robberies that have been perpetrated against your set and your family.” It was said so quietly that you almost didn’t hear it. Shock curled around the hurt that had made a home in your chest and squeezed at it until it was choking. “I beg your pardon?” You managed after a moment. “Your father’s circumstances were most suspicious, and I…” He lifted his head from your books to meet your eyes again, “I made a choice.” A choice. He couldn’t have just befriended one of your brothers? You were careful to hold his gaze and not to recoil, to fold in on yourself, or to run and hide as you suddenly wished to do. “...You were using this engagement as a ruse to get closer to my father because you suspect him,” You clarified. “Yes.” You nodded a little. “Then you’re less than half of the man I thought you were.” You tugged the engagement ring off and tossed it at his feet before striding out of the room. 

-- 

Damn and blast it, why had he told you? You were sure to tell one of your brothers, and they were sure to tell your father. Sherlock left the Mulvohill home flustered and in a huff. He had considered leaving the engagement ring behind, on the mantle, but such an action could invite suspicion - your mother returning it to you, asking why it was where it was. He would have to work, and quickly - gather the insights he had, use the invitations remaining to try and solve the case before you told everyone what was going on. He wouldn’t have much time.

-- “You’ve a letter.” One glance at it confirmed that it was from you, your home. “Throw it away.” “Sherlock,” Enola frowned, looking down at your letter, “What if it’s something useful?” “It won’t be. Throw it away.” Enola ignored him, and he rolled his eyes at the sound of the envelope being ripped open. “...Sherlock.” “I’m not in the mood, Enola.” “No, Sherlock… You need to look at this.” -- Eight. Eight additional robberies that had never been reported to the police that you’d known of and never told anyone about. They’d been perpetrated against Alice Teague, a few of your other friends, and another two against your father, at your country estate. He hadn’t reported them, as they’d been quite small. Your mother had insisted on reporting the robbery in London. You’d taken pen to paper, listed off the items and dates to the best of your recollection, and done so to get Sherlock out of your life as quickly as possible. The sooner he solved the case, the sooner this ruse could end. 

-- 

“Where is that sweet, ever-smiling fiancé of yours?” Alice asked as she settled on the settee beside you. You’d arrived at the Blakely’s dinner party alone, had made no mention of Sherlock, and was quite hoping you’d be able to get away without talking about him that evening. “Oh… He’s--” “Incredibly sorry that he’s late,” Sherlock’s voice cut over yours and Alice’s. You turned to see Sherlock smiling down at the two of you. You lowered your eyes, turning away from him as he and Alice greeted one another properly. “May I borrow you, dear?” He asked. “No,” You answered flatly. Alice’s brows rose. “It’s quite important,” Sherlock pressed. You sighed heavily before you excused yourself, rising off of the settee and following Sherlock out of the room. He took hold of your hand, hurrying you down the hall and into a study. He didn’t say anything as you tugged your hand out of his; he was more set on making sure there was no one else there. “What on earth are you doing here?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest. “I’m quite certain the robber is here tonight,” He said, turning back to you, “But I need your help.” “Why would I help you?” “Because the sooner you do, the sooner you’ll never have to see me again.” Well, that was tempting. 

--

Sherlock had managed to keep it quiet. Well, quiet enough. Enoch Mulvohill was no longer the primary suspect, but rather quite complacent in a plot perpetrated by one Mr. Larkin Teague. Your eyes had widened when he told you; he had assumed that you would tell him off, that you would insist that your father was blameless and that you knew Larkin well, that he could never be the man Sherlock was looking for. What had, instead, come out of your mouth was, “Alice will be devastated.” 

For all of your rage and anger toward him the day before, all that had settled over your features in that moment was concern for your friend. And in that moment, Sherlock found himself quite taken with you. He nodded, dislodging the thought in favor of the matter at hand. “The Blakelys are quite known for the jewels that they acquired during their last trip to the continent, are they not?” He asked. “They are, yes. What can I do?” “Keep everyone in the parlor. If you see Larkin leave, do not raise the alarm. I have police from Scotland Yard surrounding the house and waiting for Larkin.” He watched you nod and take a deep breath. “Alright.” You left him without further instruction or another word. 

--

The night’s end found you comforting a weeping Alice; your mother seemed too stunned to cry, and you were certain she’d never dare let herself show that sort of emotion in front of you, anyway. You stayed at Alice’s that night; you didn’t see Sherlock after you spoke to him in the study; you didn’t care to. You were quite certain that you’d be happy to never see Sherlock Holmes again. -- “Mr. Holmes is in the parlor-- Though I cannot think why,” Luellla told you. You frowned. You couldn’t think why, either. You hadn’t seen the engagement ring since you’d thrown it to him, so he couldn’t possibly look for its return; all of your family’s missing items had been returned to you, as well as the other families that had lost items. Sherlock’s case and your engagement had been written up in the papers. It had been positioned that you had been in on the plot, working with Sherlock to help crack the case from the start, and a wave of suitors had followed once the story and the engagement had officially broken. “Thank you, Luella,” You gave her a small smile, “Please tell him I’ll be down in a few moments.” “Yes, ma’am.” You watched her go before you turned back to the mirror and looked yourself over. You’d seen neither hide nor hair of Sherlock since that night at the Blakely’s home. He hadn’t reached out to you through a letter or an invitation (though Thaddeus had received precisely two letters of apology from Mycroft, and you one from Enola). You really couldn’t imagine what the man could possibly want from you now. -- Sherlock was at your bookcase again. It seemed to be his customary place. You cleared your throat as you entered the room, but he didn’t bother to look away from whatever it was that he was looking at. “I did always wonder about this,” he said, holding up one of the many pamphlets that you kept hidden. It was one on fforeign trade that Phineas had brought you from father’s office. Your eyes widened, and you darted forward, snatching it from him and smoothing out a wrinkle in it. You glanced up at Sherlock to find him smiling at you, amused. “What would a businessman’s daughter want with a pamphlet from The Mercantile Guardian Office?” He added. “Phineas brought it to me so that I could better understand how father operates his business, and what he could be doing differently.” “Of his own volition?” “I asked him to.”  You glanced up at Sherlock before you took the book from his hands and tucked the pamphlet safely away again. “What are you doing here?” You asked, stepping between him and the bookshelf to put it away. You’d never bothered to get this close to him while the two of you had been engaged, but now that he had been clear about his intentions, you didn’t see any reason to shield yourself from him. He hadn’t told anyone about any of the pamphlets that he’d clearly found, you were certain he wouldn’t now. “...I wanted to speak with you.” “What about?” You turned around to face him and found him close by, still. Gigglemug, liar, or no, Sherlock Holmes was quite nice to look at. And if you didn’t know any better, there was a touch of remorse in his handsome features. “I should have been clear about my intentions from the first,” He said quietly, leaning against the arm of the armchair behind himself, “I… I was not considering your side of this when I undertook this case with such an approach. It was shortsighted and unfair of me to prey on your feelings in such a way. I apologize, Ms. Mulvohill. It was, indeed, quite low of me.” You were taken aback for a moment. You certainly hadn’t expected that. “I accept your apology.” Sherlock gave a nod of thanks before adding, “I also wanted to thank you for assisting me the evening of  the Teague arrest. It went off without a hitch, and I would not have been able to do so had there been people wandering the house. I couldn’t have done it without your help.” Criminy, you weren’t anticipating that, either. “Well, your...Particular method aside, I’m glad that you were able to undertake and solve the case. Many of my friends and my family are grateful to you, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock chuckled, nodding a little. “I was happy to assist.” He watched you for a moment, and you watched him in turn. For the first time in all of your acquaintance, you didn’t have the urge to look away from him. “Am I to understand that congratulations are in order yet?” He asked. You raised a brow. “Excuse me?” “My brother tells me that you’d… Had quite a number of suitors since our parting.” “Well, your brother is something of a gossip. But, no, no ‘congratulations’, as you’ve put it. I think I should like to actually talk to someone before I become engaged to them this time.” Sherlock smiled, and you felt your stomach fluttering, and your own lips pulling to mirror it. 

-- 

You were smiling - really smiling - at him, because of him. Sherlock needed to see that again, and again, and again, and again. “I must be off,”  He said, glancing at the clock, “But… Might I call on you tomorrow?” Your brow furrowed at the question, and you asked him, “Whatever for?” “Well, so that we might actually talk before I speak to Thaddeus about you.” He watched you take that in, the narrowing of your eyes, the slight parting of your lips, the hesitation - and damn the hesitation, but that was his own fault. It was his own fault you didn’t trust him, it was his own fault that he’d lost you, and his own fault that he’d have to win your trust back. He’d work for it, though. He’d find a way to come by every day, if you wanted him. The ring that you’d thrown at him had been burning a whole in his pocket since you’d tossed it at his feet, and he was itching to do this properly, to slide it onto your finger and look you in the eye. “...Tomorrow should suit fine,” You finally answered him. He felt a burst of warmth in his chest at your answer, and he grinned. He glanced back toward the door. No one had been by to disturb the two of you; perhaps it was their habit, the two of you had had the right to be left alone when you were engaged, but now that that had ended, the two of you technically shouldn’t have been. Sherlock straightened and stepped closer to you. You were watching him like he was a living puzzle, a walking mystery. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I will be back tomorrow, then, Ms. Mulvohill,” He murmured as he leaned away. 

--

“I will see you then, Mr. Holmes,” You answered in your steadiest voice. You watched Sherlock leave the room, smiled as he turned back to look at you before he disappeared from the study. As soon as you were certain he was gone, you raised your fingers to brush where his lips had lingered briefly.

Sherlock Holmes was coming back to see you, simply for you. He planned on asking for your hand again, not for a case, but because he wanted it.

Sherlock Holmes wanted to marry you.

Terribly confounding.

[menodoramoon]

'It is just nature,' they say. Though, the thought of it isn't very comforting. To admit that it was just nature meant, in some ways, admitting that Moon had lost control. Is that what happened? Yes. Obviously. She'd lost control of her magic and had allowed it to spark and run away, plumes and blooms of fire erupting into the room.

But before that, it was her lost temper which had her summoning it in the first place.

There wasn't any logic to the action besides the desperate need for her to push him away.

They may not blame her for it, but she blames herself.

As a Countess of Mjaunie, Menodora's magic was meant to be tightly disciplined. Beyond that, Menodora herself was meant to always be in control. Her thoughts, her emotions, her impulses -- that was one of her biggest flaws in the eyes of The Commission. She cared far too much about things that didn't matter.

Runaway magic often left Menodora feeling dizzy and drained…

Her feelings threaten to runaway again as Tófi guides her to their kitchen, hand on her shoulder, lightly grazing it. It's familiar, and she wants for it to be comforting. How things stand… it's simply familiar. Tófi's presence in her life has never been consistent, but somehow, it's always been constant. Physically, perhaps not. But the memory of them, the ghost of them and their actions… those linger. They linger across every plane they've touched.

Menodora notices that Tófi doesn't exactly answer her question, but she doesn't begrudge them for it. If anything, she looks on, knowing it's not an easy question to answer. As logical as each of them believe they are, the contradictions in their actions make their failings all too apparent.

'Wait a second,' they say, leaving her for a moment. Menodora leans on the counter instead, watching Tófi's actions. Perhaps too closely. They'd offered ibuprofen. That's all. It's confusing to Moon, the different steps they take towards and away from each other. For all the reasons that Tófi might have to harm her, she can't bring herself to even consider the idea that they'd harm her now. Especially under the guise of offering her ibuprofen.

They hand her the capsule and a glass.

Menodora stares at both of them for a moment too long before ingesting the pill and downing the water, thoughts in her mind sparking off as she did. Little fears and doubts popping in her head, mixing and mingling with the small, airy lights she swears she can see behind her closed eyes.

She doesn't know how long she spends just leaning against the counter, trying to center herself. Trying to center herself and distract herself from the pain that's pulsing in her wrists, just under the skin. She needs to glamour her hands again, but she doesn't think she could even summon a guiding mote of light in this moment.

It's like there's a hollowness in her body where her magic should be. She wonders for a moment if the dark spell is eating at her, but that would be silly, wouldn't it? If anything, it would have to be guilt that's devouring her slowly. The dark spell can't do that...

The dark purple pulses once more before quieting...

It's not until they speak that she realizes they've taken the glass from her.

It's not until a moment later that she registers what it is that Tófi had said.

She opens her eyes, surprised from her distractedness.

Tófi's stepped closer to her and Menodora can only look up at them, disbelieving. Her eyes are wide and mildly bewildered. They're offering to carry her?

It takes a try or two for her to even manage words.

"My dear," Menodora starts to say with an attempt at humor, though she can hear the tiredness in her voice as she speaks and she loathes it, "the last time -- even if in a dream -- you carried me, I attempted to claw your eye out. I really don't think…" She trails off-- registering the other bit of what they'd said.

'I will guide you to bed'

She can feel a certain heat rise to her face. That was definitely the more pressing of the two statements. That definitely should have been the priority… Menodora knows they don't mean it in any particular way, and yet, they can't help but feel a certain number of rules would be broken just for accepting the offer.

Another dream comes to mind. Where such a thing might have not only been acceptable, but encouraged. A light kiss and--- Menodora, stop.

There's not exactly a tactful way to go about saying so, though. This break in decorum, should she allow it. And, what, she reminds them the difference between the two of them? Of Monster and, for the most part, Human? Of Dark Prince and Light Countess? The Civilized Monster and the Merciful Pseudo-Monarch? No…

That's a different sort of headache altogether.

Instead, Menodora glances towards the torn and scorched fabric at Tófi's shoulder. Her dagger would have burnt but also cauterized… that was a strange sort of affect only her magic had. Not her solid constructs, only her blades. She could summon daggers and swords of light, but near all of them had the same issues. They all felt just unstable enough, like there was too much fire to the aether. It burned as it pierced, reversing damage in some ways that Menodora had or hadn't meant to cause.

Unfortunately, it always seemed perfectly suited to the type of monster that Tófi was. She wants to believe that they couldn't have healed by now, the way her blade sunk into their shoulder. Yet, against that want, she knows they have…

Another slight ringing. Spreading to her ears...

"You really don't have to, Tófi," Menodora starts, shaking her head, conscious and aware of the dried blood on the other's shirt. "I'll be fine. Please don't strain yourself. I apologize. Please, I hadn't meant to impose."

It's all she ever seemed to do, isn't it? And look who paid that price...

She didn't need him to take pity on her. Especially after they had just called her pitiable. But her face stung and her head spun and she just... just, just just...

"I'll be okay. Really. I've stabbed you and you're the one offering me Ibuprofen. That hardly seems fair, now does it?"

@ofseptarsis

genfødte sandheder || Tófi & Moon

[no--envies]

Nightless City – An analysis of Wei Wuxian’s accountability

I’ve come across several takes about the bloodbath of Nightless City that don’t really sit well with me. Some people say Wei Wuxian is totally to blame, others that he’s totally blameless, and I personally disagree with both. I think that, like in many other events in the novel, what really happened is more complex.

(All the translations are by Exiled Rebels Scanlations)

First of all, the text shows us that Wei Wuxian wasn’t completely clear-headed even before going to Nightless City, which is normal considering what he was going through. His whole world had crumbled in just a few hours. Everything he’d done until that moment – the sacrifices he had made for what he believed was right – appeared to be for nothing. He ended up hurting the people most dear to him, and he couldn’t even protect those he had wanted to protect. When he could move again after the three days he spent in the cave immobilized by Wen Qing’s needle, for a while he didn’t even know what to do or where to go.

After he got down the mountain, he stood amid the bushes, catching his breath. Bent down, he propped his hands against his knees for a long while before he stood up straight again. Yet, looking at the wild grasses that covered many of the mountain paths, he didn’t know where to go.

Burial Mound—he’d just gone down from there.

Lotus Pier—he hadn’t been back in over a year.

Koi Tower? Three days had passed already. If he went now, it was likely that Wen Qing’s corpse and Wen Ning’s ashes were the only things left.

He stood blankly. Suddenly, he felt that the world had no place for him, despite how large it was. He didn’t know what to do either.

(Chapter 77)

It’s rare to see Wei Wuxian so utterly lost and miserable. What happened was too much for even someone like him – who always tends to look at the bright side of any situation – to be able to deal with it. Since he doesn’t know where else to go, he decides to go to Koi Tower to retrieve the Wen siblings’ ashes, but he doesn’t manage to do anything before he’s discovered and forced to flee. He wanders without purpose for a long time until he arrives at a city gate where he hears a group of cultivators talking about him with contempt, which triggers his anger.

The longer Wei WuXian listened, the colder his expression grew.

He should’ve understood long ago. No matter what he did, not a single good word would come out of these people’s mouths. When he won, others feared; when he lost, others rejoiced.

He was cultivating the crooked path either way, so what exactly did the years of persistence mean? What exactly were they for?

However, the colder his eyes were, the brighter the raging fire within his heart burned.

(Chapter 77)

We see him come to a very bitter realization: no matter his noble intentions and moral integrity, everyone has already made up their mind about him, he would be made into a villain no matter what he does. Before what happened at Qiongqi Path he had managed to keep a positive mindset, since he was doing fine in the Burial Mounds with the Wen remnants. It wasn’t an easy life, but they were safe, they didn’t starve and Wei Wuxian was free to focus on his research and inventions in peace, creating the Compass of Evil and the Spirit-Attraction Flag. He missed his family, but he also found another one. He had people who loved him and valued him, and whom he loved and valued in turn. All in all, he was content. He thought that as long as he didn’t actively seek trouble, the world would leave him alone. But he was wrong. Jin Zixun ambushed him accusing him of something he didn’t do, and everything spiraled down so quickly he couldn’t do anything to prevent it, until he lost control of his demonic cultivation and killed Jin Zixuan.

In this moment, Wei Wuxian feels completely alone. The Wen siblings are gone, his beloved shijie might hate him for killing her husband and the cultivation world as a whole can’t wait to besiege him. If it had been another time, he wouldn’t have beaten up those random cultivators. It’s not like it was the first time he heard awful rumors about himself. The fact that he reacts so violently here says a lot about the state of mind he’s in. Wei Wuxian is clearly looking for a way to vent his anger, so he takes it out on the cultivators who are speaking ill of him. His rage is justified: not only were they saying malicious things about him without even knowing the full story, but they were doing it cowardly behind his back. However, his reaction is somewhat disproportionate to their offense: one of them gets kicked in the face until he passes out from the pain, while another gets his legs broken for daring to speak up. Although he doesn’t kill them, he does terrorize them and in the end he leaves them there immobilized by the spirits he had summoned (if Lan Wangji hadn’t been looking for Wei Wuxian, who knows how long they would have had to wait to be freed).

After this, Wei Wuxian sees the announcement of the pledge conference and goes to Nightless City. I’ve seen people argue that he was only trying to protect the Wen remnants and that the people who were there had already pledged to kill him, so it was self-defense. But is it really the case? Personally, I don’t think what he did was self-defense. Sure, he tried to discuss first and didn’t attack until he was attacked, but defending himself and the Wen remnants wasn’t the main reason he was there in the first place.

The crowd flung curses at him, but Wei WuXian accepted all of them.

Anger was the only thing that could suppress the other feelings within his heart.

(Chapter 78)

All of his pain, desperation and guilt were too much to handle at once, so he tried to suppress them all with anger, and directed that anger at the people who hated him. Wei Wuxian didn’t go to the pledge conference to try to prevent the siege from happening (since he thought it wouldn’t change anything anyway) or to weaken the Sects’ forces. He went there to vent his anger and frustration. Wei Wuxian is not clear-headed here, as highlighted by this passage:

Wei WuXian spun around to dodge the attack and laughed, “Fine, fine. I knew since the start that we’d have to fight a real fight like this one sooner or later. You’ve always found me disagreeable no matter what. Come on!”

Hearing this, Lan WangJi’s movements paused, “Wei Ying!”

Although he shouted the words, any sane person would be able to tell that Lan WangJi’s voice was clearly shaking. However, right now, Wei WuXian had already lost his judgement. He was already half-mad, half-unconscious. All evil was being augmented by him. He felt that everyone loathed him and he loathed everyone as well. He wouldn’t be scared no matter who came at him. It wouldn’t matter no matter who came at him. It was all the same anyway.

(Chapter 78)

In this moment Wei Wuxian believes everyone hates him and there’s no use trying to convince them otherwise – there’s no use trying to reason with them in a diplomatic way because no matter what he says or does, his words will be twisted to fit the opinions of the crowd. He almost welcomes the attack because this way he can attack them back and vent all his pent-up anger. Wei Wuxian is not behaving like his usual self here. He can’t see Lan Wangji isn’t trying to hurt him because his mind is not lucid. This is why he loses control of his demonic cultivation for the second time, injuring Jiang Yanli.

His shijie is the only one who manages to calm him down a little despite his chaotic state of mind. He manages to stop the corpses from attacking everyone and waits for her to tell him what she thinks of him, if she forgives him or not. However, she dies to save his life before being able to say anything, and the whole situation becomes simply too much for him to bear. All of his emotions crush him at once, so in his already half-unconscious state he activates the Tiger Seal, effectively erasing any chance he might have had to redeem himself in the eyes of society.

The point of this analysis isn’t to blame or absolve Wei Wuxian. It’s very easy to empathize with his anguish in these scenes. What he was going through was incredibly stressful and the root cause (the ambush at Qiongqi Path) wasn’t his fault. Even Lan Wangji says he can neither condemn nor justify his actions, but he’s willing to face all the consequences with him anyway.

I told [Wangji] when I went to see him, Young Master Wei had already made a grave mistake, there was no use augmenting it. But he said… that he could not say with certainty whether what you did was right or wrong, but no matter what, he was willing to be responsible for all of the consequences alongside you.

(Chapter 99)

Wei Wuxian isn’t blameless for what happened at Nightless City. I don’t think he’s proud of what he did and all the people he killed, either. The fact that he destroyed the Tiger Seal after returning to the Burial Mounds is quite telling. He definitely didn’t act in the most rational and clear-headed way, which resulted in a lot of people – including his shijie – to lose their lives, but the point of all this is that Wei Wuxian is human. He makes mistakes because no one is infallible, no matter how heroic, selfless and virtuous. Not even he can be totally immune to all the criticism and accusasions, even though he often acts like he is. Wei Wuxian is a fundamentally positive person, so most of the time he can ignore the bad things that happen to him and focus on the good, but this time his situation was simply too extreme for anyone to be able to stand it.

[bluerose5]

A Night Out

Word Count: 3,807

Note: Started this after finding out about @hanarinhightown 's birthday, totally didn't take advantage of the occasion to write Kryterius, so consider this a late birthday gift now that I've actually finished it! Sorry it's so long! It got out of hand. 😅 Also, inspired by my hc posts from the other day, along with @yellingaboutmasseffect 's amazing additions. ❤

If there was one thing that Saren loathed above all else, it was social gatherings.

For some reason, that still seemed to surprise others to this day, despite the fact that he had always been more of a loner. He kept to himself, operated on his own, and got results. That worked best for him. Having a squad —having a team— rely on him was never in the plan.

While most turians found solace in a cohesive unit, Saren was an oddity in that regard.

Until Nihlus, that is.

It was strange. Saren never thought that he would wind up mentoring a future Spectre, let alone grow fond of that very same person.

Whatever Nihlus decided, Saren was certain that he would make an exceptional agent, regardless of whether or not they'll be working together.

He might even surpass Saren himself.

Not that Saren would tell him that. Nihlus' ego was large enough without adding any fuel to the fire.

Still, Saren had to admit that it's been nice having a partner to fight side-by-side with, and a competent one at that.

"What are you staring at?"

Well, speak of the devil...

Saren turned to Nihlus with a sharp gaze, taking in the sight of him from head to toe. Unlike Saren's black ensemble, he was clad in a purple suit, complete with a silver and gold trim. He had small, decorative chains draped over his fringe, interlaced with various shades of purple gems.

Breathtaking, or so Saren thought.

It wasn’t often that he got the chance to see Nihlus all dressed up.

"Now that you're here?" Saren infused his voice with a warm trill of appreciation. "It's not too hard to guess."

"Hmm..." Nihlus hummed low, slowly scoping out the place for any immediate threats. "Who knew that the infamous Saren Arterius could be such a flatterer?" His eyes soon trailed back to his companion for the evening, lingering on his frame, which was shrouded in snug robes of black. "You clean up well, fidus."

Saren cast him a skeptical glance.

Fidus. A trustworthy companion. Which, among turians, implied a certain degree of intimacy all on its own.

Saren never thought himself to be "trustworthy" in any capacity, but he didn't argue.

Before he could respond, a voice called out from nearby.

"Saren!"

A hand came down upon his shoulder, causing him to instantly brace for an attack. Luckily for the owner of said hand, he just so happened to be Saren's boss, so he got to keep the appendage this time.

Nodding amicably, Saren greeted him, "Councilor Sparatus."

Nihlus reached out then and smoothly dislodged the Counilor's hand in order to take it in his own.

"Good to see you, Councilor!" Nihlus announced, his pupils thinned into slits. "Thank you again for inviting us. What a pleasant evening."

Yes, because these C-Sec "charity events" were always the highlight of Saren's day. There was nothing quite like being among the galaxy's most illustrious elite.

Along with their most dangerous, but that was mostly behind closed doors.

Sparatus kept their handshake brief before it ventured into the realm of uncomfortable, his smile now strained.

"Well, you know me, Nihlus," Sparatus said, spreading his arms out in a grand gesture. "Always happy to have my top agents around."

"Yeah," Nihlus deadpanned, "because it wouldn't be a real party without the Council taking the chance to show off their toy soldiers."

Saren shot him a warning glance, but Sparatus simply laughed it off.

"Touché." He raised his glass of champagne to them. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go mingle with the other guests. Do try and enjoy yourselves, gentlemen."

With that, he departed just as quickly as he arrived, all charming smiles and witty remarks.

A completely different man compared to when the Council was in session.

Then again, there was no telling how much he already had to drink.

Once he was out of earshot, Saren turned on Nihlus.

"Why did I let you talk me into this?" he sighed. "We could have gone down to our usual spot in the wards, but no... We have to make nice with the rich and powerful."

Nihlus' mandibles clamped down tight.

"I wanted to try a change of pace," he said, uncharacteristically hesitant. "I mean, we're in between missions, we were already in the neighborhood, and—" He paused to stop a waiter that was passing by, scooping up their dextro-designated tray. "Free food!"

They both took a single look at the array of foods, only to grimace at the meager selection.

"Is that supposed to look appetizing?" Saren asked, remembering perfectly well why he stopped going to these types of events.

On the tray were tiny, cubed portions of meat. Some of the other species called them "finger foods."

Saren called them what they were.

Scraps.

They weren't even cut right, the meat's lines jagged and uneven. It was sloppy work, done by somebody who didn't even care that they were practically serving trash to their guests.

It wasn't just the food, though. It was everything.

Sparatus might be willing to settle for mediocrity for the sake of fostering better relations with the aliens, but that didn't mean that Saren had to.

Or Nihlus, for that matter.

Saren never understood the urge to change who they are to accommodate others, to make strangers more comfortable at the expense of altering turian customs.

Suddenly, the rise and fall of noise was too much for Saren. The crowd grated at his nerves, wearing them down to the core.

Sensing his growing tension, Nihlus passed the tray off onto another waiter, exchanging it for a couple of drinks instead. Handing one to Saren, they clinked their glasses together before downing them in one go.

At least the liquor wasn't half-bad.

With a shake of his head, Nihlus grunted, managing an apologetic smile.

"Supernova?"

Saren nodded, beyond grateful to finally leave.

"Supernova."

Weaving their way through the crowd, they made their great escape, brushing off all greetings with a fake smile and a half-assed excuse.

Taking a cab down into the wards, they strolled through a strip of storefronts together. The occasional restaurant or two broke up the endless monotony, but Saren let Nihlus drag him along for a little bit of window shopping.

Dressed up the way they were, they attracted more than their own fair share of attention. Of course, in their line of work, more attention was usually a bad thing, but Saren ignored his discomfort for now in favor of spending time with Nihlus.

"You know," Nihlus said, browsing the wares at a cybernetics store, "I hope that I didn't completely ruin your evening."

Saren huffed at him.

"Stop being ridiculous," he said. "You didn't ruin anything."

"You sure? Because I thought a party like that would be more your speed."

"I'm uncertain whether or not I should take offense to that."

"Oh, come on," Nihlus chided, elbowing him playfully in the side. "You have to admit, you're kind of snobbish."

"Seriously?" Was that what he thought of him? "I'm snobbish?"

"In a sense, I guess."

"If this is an attempt at impressing me, then you're doing a wonderful job, by the way."

His mandibles briefly flared in amusement, fluttering before they settled back down.

Nihlus shifted closer to his side as they walked.

"Maybe I just don't know you as well as I think I do," he said.

"Perhaps," Saren replied, cryptic as ever. "But consider this, if I truly am 'snobbish,' then I'm not the type of snob that would be caught dead with the likes of that crowd. I actually have standards."

"Right. How silly of me to group you in with the galaxy's rich and famous."

"You're forgiven." Saren wrinkled his nose. "All they do is put on airs for each other and kiss each other’s asses. I don't have the time nor the patience for it. Plus, there's C-Sec." He gave an exaggerated shudder. "I was tempted to stay, only to make sure the Council wasn't assassinated on their watch. Events like those are prime hunting grounds for assassins."

"Hopefully their guards are competent enough to keep the Councilors alive for one night."

"You have more faith than I do." But there was something that Saren couldn't get out of his mind. "Speaking of Councilors..."

"Uh-oh, am I in trouble?"

"For mouthing off to Sparatus? No." Saren shrugged. "I'm just wondering why you did it in the first place."

"As if the reason wasn't obvious enough."

Saren stopped mid-stride, Nihlus skidding to a halt beside him.

"So this was because he touched me."

Not a question but a statement.

Nihlus averted his eyes.

For a moment, there was silence, then it all came spilling out.

"We're not humans or asari," Nihlus said, his voice low yet heated. Like a simmering pot threatening to boil over. "We don't go around, eating each other’s faces off in public. He touched you, and he might as well have shouted out in the middle of the Presidium that you've fucked."

"But we have," Saren said, stuck in this strange grey area between amusement and disbelief. It had been a one night stand and nothing more, nothing serious. It was back when they were both newcomers to the Citadel, always butting heads. Back before Sparatus was even appointed Councilor. Before he entered a politically-driven marriage and started parading around with his mistress. "I've told you that before, though."

"I know, I know." Nihlus clenched his jaw, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sorry, I'm being ridiculous, aren’t I?"

"Spirits, Nihlus, and you call me dramatic. You're jealous," Saren stated. "Not that big of an offense, all things considered. Kind of flattering, actually."

Nihlus scoffed. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, just don't go overboard with it. There's a fine line between being jealous and being a possessive asshole."

"Noted."

"Now, come on." Saren offered him his hand, taking him by surprise. "You promised me a night to remember, Kryik, and I intend on seeing it through."

"Tsk." Nihlus rolled his eyes. "You're always so damn bossy."

Yet he still took Saren's hand in his, so being bossed around by the older turian must not have bothered him too much.

Together, they walked hand-in-hand into Supernova. The cozy lounge offered food, drinks, music, and dancing. They catered to all races, but it was mostly populated by turians, owned by a retired general and her wife.

Which is exactly why it didn't really come as a surprise when they received more than a few questioning glances, some lingering more than others.

"They're staring pretty hard," Nihlus said, leading Saren off to an empty table. "And to think, we've actually been on our best behavior tonight."

"Some of us, anyways," Saren replied. "The real question is, are they staring because we're overdressed for a place like this, or are they staring because we're making a pretty loud statement here?"

He brought their interlocked hands up between them for emphasis.

Nihlus' bright green eyes flashed mischievously.

"I could always wrap my arm around your waist while we're snuggled up in the booth together. Bet that would really get people talking then."

Saren could already hear it now.

Shaking his head at his partner's antics, Saren slid into the booth, releasing his hand for a brief moment. Nihlus slid in on the side opposite of him, hooking their legs together underneath the table the instant he settled in.

Very subtle.

"Don't push your luck," Saren warned, unable to keep the playful edge out of his voice. Ignoring the knowing grin Nihlus sent his way, Saren took the designated datapads off the table, scrolling through their menu options. He nearly groaned in delight, his mouth already watering at the vast selection. "See? Now, this is real food."

Even Nihlus gave an impressed whistle. Unlike most other places, Supernova's dextro-friendly menu was one of the most extensive on the Citadel, if not the most extensive. They served turian classics from all over, whether it be recipes from Palaven, their colonies, or the Citadel itself.

Just not the "finger food" kind of recipes. Authentic meals, which were filling all on their own.

"I feel like every time we visit this place, they have more and more to choose from," Nihlus said, selecting the options for his food and drink. "I wonder how they managed to secure such a steady supply chain. Some of these recipes are even more high-end than the 'turian-inspired' food you can find on the Presidium."

As soon as he mentioned supply chains, Saren turned his gaze elsewhere, unable to meet his eyes as Nihlus rambled on. He reached out to the middle of the table, where several neatly-folded napkins were stacked up near a bowl.

Nihlus narrowed his eyes at Saren when he didn't immediately respond. He tried to duck his head to catch Saren's eye, but Saren was intensely focused on the task at hand.

"Say, Saren, you wouldn't happen to know anything about their supply chains, would you?" Nihlus asked.

"Why would I know about something like that?" Saren huffed.

Inside the bowl, warm water constantly circulated, mixed in with a popular hand cleanser used before turian meals. Taking one of the napkins in hand, Saren dipped it into the water's currents, then set to work on cleaning his hands and talons.

Shrugging in response to his question, Nihlus watched the meticulous, almost ritualistic way in which Saren prepared for his meal.

Soon enough, he joined in.

"Call it a hunch," Nihlus chuckled.

He started cleaning his palms first, scrubbing around in slow, even circles. Saren watched him closely, oddly transfixed by the sight.

Clearing his throat, he grumbled, "I might have an arrangement set up with the owners."

"Really?"

Nihlus cleaned carefully between each finger. Once he was satisfied with the results, he moved on to his wrists.

Saren's mind drifted back to Nihlus' earlier comment, wondering what it would be like to have those hands upon his waist in any capacity, strong and sure.

He felt the hide around his neck heating up, undoubtedly warm to the touch.

"I pull some strings every now and then to secure them their requested supplies, and well..." He gestured vaguely with a wave of his hand. "They offer me free food and drinks."

"Using your 'Spectre Authority' as a meal ticket, Arterius?"

"It might as well be put to some good use," Saren snorted. "I'd die of starvation waiting for the Council to actually pay me a decent salary."

"The cost of working in the shadows, am I right?"

Setting their first napkins aside, they both reached forward at the same time. Their fingers brushed, but neither commented on it.

Instead, Nihlus retracted his hand a little, enough so that Saren was free to take a second napkin, meant specifically for one's talons. Once he had his, Nihlus grabbed one for himself, dipping it into the water before cleaning.

"Sorry if I'm a little sloppy with this," Nihlus said, wiping off his talons with a pointed flair. "You didn't give me enough time to sharpen my talons."

A complaint that Saren often made when Nihlus would show up to his place uninvited, beer and takeout containers in hand.

"Yet yours look great enough to rival mine," Saren complimented.

"Really?"

"No," Saren answered, his tone dry. "Not even close, but they still look amazing, all thanks to my help, of course."

"Cocky bastard," Nihlus laughed, right as their meal arrived. They thanked the waiter, Nihlus taking a swig of his drink before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Saren wrinkled his nose in disdain, which only earned another laugh from his companion. "Oh, don't give me that look."

"Have some class, Nihlus," Saren taunted, feigning a nasally high-pitched voice that made them both wince.

"Oh, please." Nihlus lowered his voice to the point where it was more ridiculous than enticing. "You like it when I get dirty."

Saren nearly choked on his drink in an attempt to maintain his composure. Bits of laughter somehow slipped through, saturating his dual tones with an undeniable tremor.

"You're impossible," Saren snorted, but he didn't deny the claim, silly as it was. There was something refreshing about Nihlus' carefree attitude, something about the contrast between the two that kept drawing Saren back in. "I can only hope that the next time you're at my place, you won't make me hold you down just to buff your fringe."

"Where would be the fun in that?"

Shaking his head at him, Saren delicately took a piece of fish between the claws of one hand. With a flash of a talon, he sliced through the flaky flesh with ease. The first cut, he reached out to place onto Nihlus' plate. The second, he took for himself, letting the smooth, salty flavor linger on his tongue before he tipped his head back.

He let gravity do its job, swallowing deeply before he washed it down with a sip of his drink.

He eyed the second, much smaller bowl that was set up on the table, filled to the brim with a colorful assortment of rocks. They were sharp and gritty, probably covered in flavoring to make them easier on the palate.

Figuring that he might as well get it over with, Saren took a small handful and tossed them back.

Nihlus chuckled at his pinched-up expression.

"Better than getting indigestion because you didn't chew up your food," Nihlus reminded him.

He rushed through carving out his own chunk of meat. Saren clamped his mandibles down into place, narrowing his eyes at the jagged, uneven edges.

"Now you're just being a little shit," Saren grumbled.

Nihlus flared his mandibles out into a smile.

When he reached out to place the portion of his food onto Saren's plate, Saren's hand darted out, wrapping firmly around his wrist.

At first, Saren was going to scold him, to tell him to take that piece for himself.

Instead, what ended up happening surprised them both.

Saren leaned in without a second thought and took the slice of meat between his mouth plates. Nihlus' eyes grew comically wide, and Saren bolted upright at the same time that Nihlus snatched his hand back across the table.

Not once did he look away from Saren, though.

Tipping his head back, Saren swallowed with a sharp snap of his teeth, clearing his throat in embarrassment.

"Sorry," he mumbled, sighing at his own stupidity.

It wasn't as if Nihlus hadn't tried to feed him in the past. Nihlus was more casual like that, willing to feed anyone and everyone around him.

For Saren, the action of feeding and being fed was a bit more intimate. Nihlus never questioned it. He never forced the issue. They simply exchanged bits and pieces of their own food, and that was their way of sharing, of both providing for one another and being provided for.

Saren hadn't actually been fed by anyone since Desolas, and that certainly had a different dynamic than whatever the hell he had going on with Nihlus.

Thankfully, Nihlus didn't seem upset by this turn of events, just confused.

Frankly, Saren was too.

The next slice Nihlus made was a perfectly clean cut, which he promptly stuffed his face with.

They continued to eat in silence, eventually finding their flow again as they eased back into their usual conversations.

Once they were finished, Nihlus paid through the table's virtual interface, tipping the waiter for all their help.

"Ready to go?" Nihlus asked, reaching out to take Saren's hand in his own. "Or do you feel like going out on the dance floor for a bit?"

"Do I look like the dancing type?" Saren asked.

He allowed Nihlus to clean his hands, quickly returning the favor once he was done.

Only, Saren didn't let go after he finished. Even more surprising, he realized that he didn't want to let go.

Nihlus didn't move a muscle.

"With the right partner, perhaps."

Saren voiced what they were both thinking. "That partner being you?"

Nihlus regarded him with a hesitant look.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

When Nihlus said nothing further, Saren got to his feet, hoping that he didn't regret this.

"Come on," he said, offering his hand out to Nihlus.

Nihlus blinked owlishly in response, eyeing his hand like it was a snake poised to strike.

"You're serious?"

"I am."

It took him a moment to think it over, but he eventually reached out and accepted the offer, standing up from the table as well.

"Might as well take advantage of the opportunity while I have you all dressed up," Nihlus whispered.

"Smart man."

They turned to make their way to the dance floor, only to bump into another couple.

"Excuse us." One of the turians jolted at the sound of Saren's voice, causing the latter to squint at him questioningly. "Wait, Councilor?" The turian in question quickly shushed him, clad in a ridiculous disguise, complete with a hooded outfit and cheesy sunglasses. "What are you wearing?"

"I believe that is what the humans call a 'wardrobe malfunction.'"

Nihlus snapped a picture on his omni-tool, earning a glare from their boss.

Before things could escalate any further, Saren shoved Nihlus in the opposite direction.

"Anyways," Saren said, "nice seeing you around. Enjoy your evening." He nodded at the woman at his side, who looked bewildered —and chagrined— beyond all reason. Must be his mistress then. "You too, miss."

Dragging Nihlus away, the younger Spectre was busy tapping away on his omni-tool.

"As much as you hate humans, we have to give them credit for one thing," Nihlus stated. "They sure did spearhead the social media movement on the extranet when they arrived on the scene."

"What are you doi—"

"Anonymous account," Nihlus explained. "Fake alias. Uploading that picture of our favorite Councilor, slumming it down in the wards with the likes of us. Can't blame him really. This place is amazing."

"You're a menace," Saren snickered. "If I get fired, I know who to blame."

Nihlus raised his voice in pitch as he typed out his post.

"'Spirits! Is that the turian Councilor at Supernova? I wonder if he's a regular...' Shocked face. Heart emoji. Heart emoji. Send."

"Such an ass." Yet Saren said it so affectionately. He gave Nihlus a playful nudge in the side. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"After we get that dance in, want to head back to my place?"

"That depends."

"On...?" Saren trailed off, hoping that he would fill in the blanks.

"Can we stream the latest Blasto movie?"

"I'll do you one better, and we'll pirate it."

A man after Nihlus' heart.

"In that case—" Nihlus wrapped his arm around him, pulling him in close to his side. "There's no place that I'd rather be."

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Hey,

I don’t remember who I sent my ask to, you or @therealvinelle and with your blogs getting deactivated I figured I’d send it again just in case.

So, Jacob hasn’t imprinted on Renesmee right? Does that mean he can imprint on someone else? Like assuming there is someone out there who’d be a match when Jacob might come across her if she comes over to his reservation to visit someone or something like that, do you think he could imprint? Is imprinting stronger than Renesmee’s gift? Maybe since the danger of her getting killed has passed since Jacob is over Bella and they’re friends again and the pack now knows that Renesmee is safe and not a monster, Renesmee’s gift might stop working overtime for Jacob? If we assume imprinting happens, what would be the fallout of this? How does everyone the pack, the Cullens deal with it?

Well, I'm here now, so I guess I get to it first.

The post anon's referring to. Specifically, the theory that Renesmee has a gift and that Jacob's imprint on her is artificial.

With that, let's break it down.

Can Jacob Imprint On Someone Else?

Unclear. For a few reasons at that.

One, this depends on how exactly that gift of Renesmee's works. If she got neurons in Jake's head to fire, if he had any sort of a physical reaction, then the imprinting chemicals may have gone off and for all it's artificial it's still imprinting. This is Jacob on imprint, and so far as we know there's no going back from that once it's happened. You imprint for life.

More than that, imprinting is supposed to have been a very rare phenomenon. Likely, Billy's on the money, and it triggers to pass down the gene in times of dire circumstances. This is why Sam imprints on Emily vs. Leah (who soon becomes a warrior with an interrupted menstrual cycle) and why every imprint we see is within not only the tribe but known shape shifting bloodlines.

If Jake's going to imprint, it's probably would have been someone in the tribe that could help preserve the bloodline and ensure the next generation of shapeshifters.

Well, most of those bloodlines seem to have been paired off for the moment, so even had Jake not imprinted on Renesmee, he'd probably dodge a bullet and not imprint. Especially considering he had not done so already.

Not every wolf in the tribe is going to imprint. Jake could have been one of them.

Is Renesmee Out of Danger?

No.

Jake and Bella's rekindled friendship is based entirely upon his being a thrall in love with her daughter. This is the only thing that now binds them together in any way. It's also the reason Bella's so willing to accept the imprint in the first place despite her reservations: it means she keeps Jake in her life.

Jake, prior to imprinting, sees vampires as demons. He sees them as walking, talking, soulless monstrosities. He's impressed that Alice has enough sentience to even hold a basic conversation.

Jake loathes vampires with his entire being and was seconds away from the murder of Renesmee after her birth.

If the imprint is gone, then it's all over. All that good feeling, all that rekindled friendship, everything that was based off of nothing but an imprint is gone. Worse, Jake awakens to a world in which he has compromised everything he ever believed in, potentially for years, to play house with demons. And Bella did not even have the decency to put him out of his misery like a true warrior. So that she could pretend nothing had changed, that she could have Edward and Jake too, just like she always wanted.

Bella used him, and as for Renesmee, well--she stole everything from him.

I imagine Jake would quite easily pick up where he left off. He'd murder Renesmee and, if he got the opportunity, murder Bella the vampire.

The Imprint Happens

Bella is devastated.

Jake is leaving the Cullens, no ifs or buts, and likely packs his bags in the middle of the night and takes off without a word. This new person is his gravity now, the center of his everything, there's no thought to spare with the demons he's been living with for however long.

So, at first there's confusion. Has anyone seen or heard from Jake? Bella especially is a mess, her world is falling apart. And then they find out, probably Leah (poor Leah) has to tell them: Jake... imprinted. Again. On someone else.

The Cullens are very confused and ask how this is possible. They thought it was a one time deal.

Leah... doesn't know. Leah decides to leave it at that, tells the Cullens that now that Jake is heading back to the reservation that she and Seth are leaving too.

The treaty's still on, they have the Cullen's number, but please. Never come back.

The wolves are officially out of the Cullens lives. No further contact is expected between them except in case of dire emergency: i.e. La Push/Forks is overwhelmed by a vampire army and simply do not have the numbers.

Jake is gone.

Bella implodes. She desperately tries to reach out to Jake, Jake does not return her calls, appears to have blocked her number. Bella is tormented as now her best friend is gone again and she has to face the truth: that he only stayed because of the imprint and she used that.

Bella falls into a deep depression.

As for Renesmee, she thinks this is all quite grand. Finally, Jake is gone and never coming back. Renesmee throws a goddamn fiesta. This disturbs the Cullens greatly as it means that things were not... as pleasant as they had once appeared to be.

The other Cullens aren't quite sure how to take this. They choose to be grateful that they will not, in fact, be watching Jake and Renesmee's wedding. Except for Edward, who despairs that he has lost a son-in-law (Carlisle chooses not to hear that).

As for the tribe, they're a mess.

This isn't supposed to happen. No one has done this before. There's deep discussions for a while but eventually they shrug their shoulders and decide it's for the best.

For Billy, this is a miracle. He feels bad for Charlie, of course, whose daughter is now a demon and who has a... granddaughter... of sorts. There's no helping that, and he wished he could have done something more, but his son is no longer entangled with demons.

Jake is free, is back home, and has imprinted on someone who's not a demon. Of course, Billy probably privately wishes that Jake had not imprinted at all, but at least this one's human.

This is the closest thing to a happy ending Billy's going to get.

As for Jake, well, he's imprinted. He's still not a person. He is imprint.

[weskie]

What You Deserve (Albert Wesker x amab!Reader)

18+ | 2700 words, salacious use of tentacles, post re5 wesker, one of those things that was meant to be sweet but became nasty, afab!reader version here | Fic Directory

You've taken such good care of him. Isn't it time he rewards you? Be careful though. Some things are still a little… new.

You were something else.  Frankly you always have been, but now more than ever.

 Despite waves of self loathing and rampant depression of which he would never confess, Wesker’s recovery has been as smooth as you could make it.  Pain medication kept most of the lingering aches away and Uroboros had ensured he lived to see another day.  Other than a weakened body riddled with scar tissue from his little dunk in the fires of the Earth, he couldn’t complain terribly much.

Even after his fusion with Uroboros, Wesker was still a mere man unable to escape the more… basic urges.  He’s always considered arousal to be like an itch.  Sure he could scratch it, but he could also ignore it and let it go away.  He often chose the latter, but, with little else to occupy him besides literature or your company, such a choice became significantly more difficult.

You notice his state quickly, though you say nothing of the tented blanket that only seems to continue rising the more he tries to ignore it.  You simply take his hand and squeeze, occupied with your laptop while Wesker rereads the same line of his book over and over again in a poor attempt to settle down.  When he tips his head back against the mountain of pillows he’s propped against, you give him a knowing look.

“Want some help?”  You ask, thumb brushing against his knuckles.

Does he?  He did go waist deep in lava. Thus far, it had seemed Uroboros took care to heal his nerves in all other places, and he’s never noticed a lack of sensation in the times where he’s had to touch himself to bathe, but what if he can’t feel enough to… perform well for you?  Was it even the full act of sex that you were offering or simply assistance in relieving him?

Perhaps the uncertainty was written across his face because you turn to face him, hand rising to stroke his cheek and trail into his unstyled hair.  Your touch spurs another aching pulse between his legs.  “Only if you want to,” you say sweetly. 

He pretends to consider your offer, but his answer was yes the very moment you spoke.  The second your thumb brushes his lip, he’s tugging you onto his lap.  He swallows your protests with ease, groaning weakly into the kiss.  Wesker knows you’re afraid to put your weight down on him, still so worried about agitating his aches and pains.  He has half a mind to grip your hips and help you grind against him, but you’re taking charge before he can.

“Let me,” you murmur, lips trailing down his neck.  You halt at the collar of his sleep shirt, moving away only to help him pull it over his head.  Your hands land on his sides, smoothing up and down slowly, stroking reverently at the juxtaposition of softness and patches of scarring.  Each motion brings you closer and closer to his chest until you’re kneading his pectorals, thumbs brushing against rosy buds in such a way that leaves him panting.

It really has been a while… the throb of his cock confirms it.  He has half a mind to just tear at your clothes and rush you to take him, but you seem to sense his impatience just as easily as you’d noticed his need.  “M’gonna take care of you,” you whisper sweetly, palms coaxing him to rest fully against the pillows. “You deserve it.” You slip so easily down his body, blanket falling away to reveal black boxer briefs that have clearly garnered a little wet spot from such light teasing.  “Just relax.  Shut your eyes, sweetheart.”

He does as you say, releasing a shuddering breath in anticipation for what’s to come.  It turns to a gasp the second your tongue laves the dip of his hips.  Your hands steady him with gentle pressure, shirking their duty when you decide to skim your nails over ticklish flesh and wring a breathy giggle from him.

He can feel your smile as you kiss further down, sensation dulling when your peppered love finds its way to the band of his underwear, renewing once more when you peck sweetly at his inner thighs.  Wesker’s hips seek you of their own accord and he’s lucky enough to feel at least one press of your lips to his covered length before you make your way back up.  He practically bucks into your grasp when you take hold of him. 

“Seems like everything's in working order,” you coo playfully in his ear.  

Wesker finds his lower lip to gnaw on while you stroke him slowly.  His hands paw at your clothes, eagerly trying to expose you.  His eyes flutter open, pupils blown wide around distorted hues of red and blue still vying for dominance over one another.  He’s just about got your shirt off when that hand of yours dives beneath his waistband, milking the most humiliating whine from him imaginable.

What's wrong with him? Why is he so… desperate? 

His hands leave you to shimmy out of his underwear, hissing at the cool air and the mere sight of your hand around his weeping cock.  He turns back to you, keening into a kiss as he tries once more to tug at your clothes.  He hoists your leg over his hip, palm smoothing to take a greedy handful of your rear, playing with your flesh as you’d done with him.  Everything about you is bliss itself, from your slow, torturous strokes to his cock to the slide of your tongue against his.  You should be bare against him, skin to skin, letting him feel every inch of you. He needs it. He needs you. 

Suddenly, a humming laugh escapes you, reverberating against his tongue before you break away.  “Again, huh?”  You breathe.  

Again… yes. 

Once more, tendrils have wound their way around you to do his bidding, but this time for more… salacious reasons.  Each one wriggles under your clothes in some way or another.  You aid them in their quest to strip you, tugging your shirt and pants away with ease while the masses slither just as eagerly as his hands explore.

It’s so cute how you squirm for him.  It’s as if the tables have been turned oh so perfectly, leaving you just as red in the face as you’d made him.  He may not have his full strength yet, but this?  This more than makes up for it.  One tentacle coils at your waist, holding you perfectly in place as the others find themselves far more… occupied.  Your giggles turn to breathy moans, each one sung perfectly for him.  You’re like an instrument only he can play, your pleasure a melody only he can create.

“W-Wo– Ah!”  You gasp, head lolling to the side the very second one of those slimy appendages creeps between your legs.  Your first instinct is to clench your thighs together, though you don’t get very far with having been straddling him. The tip of it ghosts over the length of your cock, making you buck and whine.  “Al!” 

Tantalizing was… not a strong enough word for the sight before him.  These appendages have always carried a degree of wetness, some leaky black ooze that only ever left a small mess, but now?  Oh, now they leave clear glistening trails along your flesh that make his cock utterly ache.  It’s as if he’s painting you with his own arousal, picture perfect and drenched in his love just like you should be.  The tentacles trail over where he wants to see you marked most: your chest, your neck… all the way down to your twitching shaft. 

“Al, I–” You try, but you’re whimpering as more slithering lengths join in to curl around your thighs.  He didn’t even have to lift a finger…  There’s so many things he could do with you.  He could lift you, surely, to his face.  Slide his tongue that’s been so starved for you from base to tip and wrap his lips around the head of you, suckling away at your dribbles of arousal.   Or he could lower you onto his cock right now.  Forget effort; you wouldn’t have to do a thing.  He could simply maneuver you accordingly, bounce you up and down with their grip on your body until you were both fucked senseless.  Or…

Wesker’s chest rises and falls with each open mouthed breath, watching with wide eyes as three smaller tendrils approach your hole.  You squirm, but you show no sign for him to stop even as they alternate swiping along your opening.

“I-I thought– mm!”  You try, words as shaky as your trembling body. “T-Thought I was gonna t-take care of you instead…”  

“You are…” he breathes, utterly hypnotized as more tentacles join the fray and suddenly, without warning, you’re spread completely for him, slithering lengths taking your legs while smaller ones find their way to your rear, baring your hole to him.  You’ve been put on exhibit, and oh… how you writhe and keen under his sopping touches.  All Wesker can do is simply lie there, cock torturously hard at the sight of you like this.  He dares not touch himself; he dares not even imagine it lest one of those lengths creep to coil around it to satisfy the urge.

“A-Albert– ngh!”  Every cry you make fuels whatever hidden desires lurk below the surface of his mind.  Nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for the sight of an extra thick tentacle slinking along your leg, coiling up and up until it presses at your entrance.  “O-Oh my god!”  You mewl, head falling back.  “I don’t– I don’t think I can– that’s too big… Al, I don’t think I can– Ah!”

Exhilaration runs down his spine as though every nerve in his body fired at once.  Watching it press into you, seeing every ounce of slick drip from its effort to wriggle inside as you keen and mewl and cry out his name over and over again as if to pray to him…  Wesker licks his lips, panting heavily, fighting to keep control despite that knot in his gut threatening to give at any moment.  His fists bite into the sheets, threads popping as they give way to his strength.  

“O-Oh g-god,” you sob, barely audible over wet squelches.  “P-Please… Al, p-please!”

“I…” he tries, but he has no words.  Nothing in the world could possibly explain this– why it was happening, why he was allowing it, why… why he fucking loves it.  

But he does know why, deep down.  Past that layer of perfect prudence and discipline lies the truth.  You deserve this.  You deserve every ounce of pleasure he can stuff into you.  For all that you’ve done for him… you deserve everything. 

You cry out over and over again as the thickness fucks in and out of you, slick drizzling from your ass onto the bed.  It soaks his hips and cock, oozing off to coat the sheets and surely seep down into what was now a ruined mattress.  But he doesn’t care.  Not one bit.

The tentacles wriggle all over you, slithering and rubbing against tender flesh, restraining the intense trembling of your legs as you dangle helplessly.  He can practically hear it hitting the depths of you, each noisy, wet thrust coupled with your sweet songs a promise of your never ending pleasure.  And oh… you deserve it.  You deserve all that he can possibly give you.  You were there for everything.  The good, the bad, the horrifying…  Every part of him is yours, which means you get this, too.  

The first time you cry out his name is perfection in and of itself.   You come undone so beautifully, cock spurting your release onto his chest.  He has to grasp himself and squeeze the base damn near to the point of pain just to keep from blowing his load right then and there.  Watching you practically seize in his slithery grasp, hearing you gag and gurgle on one that had slipped between your lips, knowing you’re so fucked out of your mind that you could do little else than suckle its length as if it were his cock… 

Even then, it’s like he can feel it.  The sensation is dull, but it is there.  Your lazy tongue, the clench of your throat, the warmth of your breath, the throbbing quiver of your walls– it’s all fucking there, and it’s all for him.  You belong to him.  You’ve shown him so many times, over and over again that he has you, heart, mind, body, and soul.

“That’s it, dearheart…” he coos, shaky voice barely more than a murmur.  “You’re– you’re doing so perfect… You’re taking me so well.”

He feels you clench up again, walls trembling as you approach your next release.  You always did like when he’d purr such things in your ear.  It warms his heart in the strangest way to see it work just the same now.  

“O-One more for me.”  Wesker rasps brokenly, heavy breaths leaving him as he watches with an unyielding gaze.  He will not miss a second of this.  “It feels good, doesn’t it…? I can feel it too.”  He wants nothing more than to hear you come undone for him once more.  As if understanding his thoughts, the appendage in your mouth slips free, prompting you to gasp and choke desperately for air.  

You moan nonstop as if it were the only sound left that you could make.  It’s like you’ve been robbed entirely of higher thought and fell into a mindless state, one that could only comprehend the thickness ramming in and out of your hole.  Your sweet noises pitch up more and more with every passing second, signaling your next climax is near.

Wesker wills the tentacles to tilt you upright, the big one still fucking into you despite the position shift, and you whine weakly at the change.  “Come for me, my sweet.” He commands, rising from his position to cup your cheeks between his hands.  As if fully understanding his order, you do exactly that, falling apart with a breathless scream cut off by the thick length slipping from your ass while the others force you down onto his cock.  “Oh, god!”  He roars, face falling into the crook of your neck to muffle his own cries as his release hits him like a lightning bolt, coating your ooze slicked walls with his seed in heavy spurts.  

Albert’s eyes are clenched shut, but he swears his vision has gone white.  There’s nothing.  Nothing at all is left in this world except for your limp form in his hold and the heat of your flesh between his teeth.  Even when the oxygen in his lungs has gone stale, he still forgets to breathe.  It’s your trembling fingers curling at his nape that remind him he’s even still alive.

The two of you remain like that for some time, long enough that his legs go stiff and each slithering length once wrapped around your body retreats back into him.  You’re both covered in ooze, but he can’t find it in himself to care.  Not yet, at least.

You’re limp in his grasp, but he can tell you’re awake from the occasional scritch to the base of his neck or breath fanning against his skin.

“I… apologize.” He eventually murmurs.  It’s all he can think to say.  Certainly, you both would be having quite the conversation about this eventually.  But, for now, this much is due.  “For… having lost control.”  It isn’t even an exaggeration.  At some point, all thought went out the door.  There was only the two of you and every salacious desire he couldn’t suppress. 

He needs to become better at that.  

“Mm,” you hum weakly, fingers threading through his hair the way they always do in the afterglow.  “You’re full of surprises…”  There’s a hint of amusement in your voice.  That good natured softness with which you’ve always treated him.  “We gotta… mm, when my legs work again… it’s shower time.”

He couldn’t agree more.  For now though, he means to simply hold you, still buried within your heat.  You feel like home.  What luck to have found you…

And what bliss to know you’ll stay.

[fanmoose12]

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 10/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Сhapter 9

“Come with me, I’ll show it to you.”

Levi glared at the girl, feeling his eye twitch.

That girl, Ymir, he didn’t like her. She seemed cocky, overly confident and just, plain annoying. She also tried to shoot him and Hange. And she had interrupted their argument, which could have resulted in… some kind of consensus. Perhaps, even reconciliation. A revelation of some sorts. But now they were back to square one, and Hange returned to giving him long, mistrustful look.

And the fault, in Levi’s opinion, lied entirely on that irritating girl.

Levi didn’t like her, he didn’t trust her and he was adamantly against her becoming a part of their team.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t the one calling the shots. Hange was and she was very much pro Ymir becoming a part of their team. And there was nothing he could do about it, except grit his teeth and put on the fiercest of his scowls.

“Where are you taking us?” he caught up with Ymir in a few, swift strides, reaching her and shoving the door she was going to open closed. Levi now stood right beside her, breathing down her neck. Her neck was all he could reach, because, to make matters even worse, the girl was also tall as a fucking tree.

That meant that she could easily look down on him, and that’s exactly what she did, as she stopped and turned around.

“My place,” she answered flippantly.

“Your place?” Hange blinked a couple of times, her mouth slightly open. The expression was endearing, but then again, there was little Levi didn’t find endearing about Hange. Focus, he told himself, forcing his attention back on the conversation. “So this apartment…”

“Oh hell no,” Ymir cringed. “I don’t live in this shithole. I used to live there, but now I simply give that address for the rich assholes I work for. In case some of them actually have heart and decide to pay the poor girl who lives in a basement more.”

“So you use that apartment to scam people?” he couldn’t help his accusing tone. The idea was smart, yes, and Levi was the first person to agree that rich people deserved to have their money taken away, but he was also petty and looking for a reason to dislike the girl even more.

He thought, even hoped that his biting remark would shame Ymir. But all he got in response was an elbow in his side from Hange, and a vicious, “And you’re any different?”

It wasn’t precisely shame that cursed through him after Hange’s words, but it was something similar, close to remorse.

“Who are you, by the way?” her greenish eyes bored into his, as Ymir loomed over him, hands on her hips. “I don’t remember seeing your detective’s badge.”

“Because I don’t have it,” craning his head upwards to scowl at the girl was starting to aggravate his neck muscles just a bit too much, but Levi didn’t allow this little nuisance to break his focus. “As for who I am… you can call me Levi.”

“I can call you Levi? Well, thank you for your kindness.” Ymir cackled, rather loudly. Levi winced at the volume and clenched his fists at the expression of pure mockery on her face. “But I need to know your full name.”

Levi refused to back down or reveal himself so easily. Especially, since… “You didn’t tell us your full name either.”

“Ymir is all I have,” she answered, crossing arms on her chest. In an instant, all signs of mischief were gone from her expression. Now she was staring at Levi levelly, her face guarded and strict. “Orphans don’t have the pleasure of receiving a surname.”

“Oh.”

The soft, quiet sound came from Hange. Levi didn’t need to look away from Ymir to see that Hange was looking at the girl with mix of sadness and compassion. As ready as he was to loathe the insolent brat, he was feeling something similar, a painful clench of his heart that reminded him of his biggest weakness – his unreasoned kindness and desire to help the ones who need it.

Recently, his kindness led him to a fist-fight in the bar. Levi could only guess where this fault of his would bring him this time.

“I don’t need your pity,” Ymir huffed, seeing the sudden change in Levi’s eyes. “What I need is your full name.”

God, she was so tenacious, like a piranha that had latched itself on his leg. He sighed, surrendering to his fate. It seemed like he had no other choice. So keeping his eyes firmly locked on Ymir's, he said, “I’m Levi. Levi Ackerman.”

As soon as these words had left his mouth, Levi found himself pressed against the front door with Ymir once again looming over him. With movement almost too quick for him to catch, Ymir had taken a knife out of the inside pocket of her leather jacket. Now that very same knife was held tightly in her hand, and its edge was pressed threateningly to his stomach.

Hell, how many weapons she had on her?

“Ackerman?” she hissed, her green eyes shooting fire. The knife moved an inch closer to him. “The same Ackerman that had kidnapped Historia?”

It took him a moment too long to get his wits back. He wasn’t threatened with a knife every day of his life, after all. And, by the time, his composure had returned and he was ready to retaliate, Hange decided to take matters in her hands.

Quite literally.

She took Ymir’s wrist and squeezed it tightly, eliciting a pained groan from her. The hold she had on the knife loosened, and it fell down with a resounding sound, barely missing the toe of Levi’s boot.

“We don’t do violence here,” Hange said, her voice tight. “And no, he isn’t the same Ackerman. His uncle is the one who had taken Historia.”

“So you knew about this!” yanking her wrist out of Hange’s hold and cradling it protectively to her chest, Ymir shifted her gaze, turning her anger on her.

“I did,” Hange confirmed. “But Levi knows nothing about his uncle’s crimes.”

Levi stared at Hange wide-eyed, not quite believing what was happening right in front of his eyes. Hange was defending him? She had just protected him from Ymir?

He wasn’t the only who was openly gaping at her, Ymir seemed to have troubles believing Hange was serious as well.

“So you trust him? You, a police officer, trust him?”

“Maybe, trust is not quite the right word,” Hange chuckled, her serious demeanor shifting to present a bashful grin. “But I believe him,” despite the relaxed expression, her voice was filled with conviction. She did believe him, Levi realized, Hange wasn’t simply putting on a show. The revelation caught him off guard. It also made him recall their recent argument. Perhaps, not everything was lost? “We may be chasing different goals, but I believe it will lead to the same outcome.”

“And if working with me goes against all of your morals,” Levi cut in, reverting Ymir’s attention to himself. “Then we should go our separate ways. The tensions,” he chanced a glanced at Hange, surprised to find that she was actually looking back at him. “Are already high. We don’t need any more infighting.”

Ymir considered them both for a moment, her gaze switching from Levi to Hange. Worrying her lip between her teeth, she appeared deep in thought.

“Fine,” she conceded at last. “It seems like I have no choice but to work with you.”

“Want to save Historia that much, eh?” Hange wiggled her eyebrows in an obscenely ridiculous way. Levi couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Ymir seemed to have the same reaction to her antics.

“I owe her. She's in this mess because of me,” she explained, rather gruffly. “And,” a smirk pulled on her lips, reminding Levi that Ymir was an irritating brat who had attempted to shot him, and then had the gall to threaten him with a knife. “She is also extremely cute.”

“Ah, she’s adorable like a princess!” Hange agreed with a wide smile. Despite Ymir being nothing short of nuisance just a minute ago, Hange had now her arm wrapped around the girl’s shoulders, talking with her animatedly.

The two of them walked out of the apartment together, still whispering amongst each other. They seemed to be best friends already, which left Levi feeling oddly neglected.

Gods, just how bad did he have it for Hange?

However, he wasn’t feeling abandoned for too long. As soon as they exited the apartment complex, and Ymir started leading them to the aforementioned her place, Hange left her side and fell in step with Levi.

“Hey,” she started, keeping her eyes locked on the horizon. It showed a pretty sight of the setting sun and the warm glow it emanated, but Hange didn’t seem too interested in watching the light reflected in the windows. She simply appeared determined not to meet his eyes. “During your little clash with Ymir… she didn’t hurt you or something?”

Was it his wishful thinking, or did he actually hear hints of concern in her voice? Whatever it was, it sent an exciting pulse through his heart.

“I’m fine. You intervened just in time. By the way… thanks for that.”

Levi cringed at his own awkwardness. He usually wasn’t that clumsy, clumsiness was a big no in his line of work, but Hange excelled at bringing out that part of him. She made him feel so many contrasting emotions that it was hard to navigate through all of them. Sometimes he felt like he was lost in it, blindly stumbling through the workings of his own heart.

“Well, I couldn’t allow our only way to get to Kenny Ackerman get stabbed, could I?”

Of course, Hange was thinking about the case. That was understandable, logical, expected. And whatever concern he had caught in her voice, it was probably directly related to their case.

Their case, he had to focus on it.

You’re here for Kenny, he reminded himself for the nth time. Kenny, not Hange and the weird feeling she provoked in him.

Kenny, Kenny, Kenny, he kept repeating to himself like a mantra. But with Hange still so close to him, his focus was gradually slipping.

Thankfully, Ymir provided an excellent distraction when she stopped them in front of the shadiest bar Levi had ever laid his eyes on. And, considering the fact that he had grown up in the slams and had just returned from the city, where he himself was working in a shady bar with an awful boss, that was saying a lot.

“That’s your place?” he asked in his most unimpressed voice. “You live in a bar?”

“I work at the bar. And I live right above it. And since my shift starts in less than half an hour,” Ymir shrugged. “I decided to mix business with pleasure.”

“Works for me,” Hange hummed, pushing past Levi to get to the entrance. “What floor your apartment is?”

“Third, the first one on the left.”

“Are you even allowed to work at the bar?” Levi looked critically at Ymir. “I thought you were a teenager.”

“Are you allowed to drink?” Ymir easily parried. “I thought you were a kid.”

Brats and their loud mouths, there was nothing that irritated Levi more. Listening to Ymir’s cackling, he could only grit his teeth. His scowl darkened even more, when he saw Hange high-fiving the insolent girl.

“I’m glad you’re starting to get along,” she chuckled, patting Levi and Ymir on their shoulders. “But let’s move on, there is a girl that needs to be saved.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Ymir mumbled, leading them upstairs.

___

Ymir’s apartment turned out to be a kitchen and a single room that simultaneously served as a bedroom, a study and a living room. In the center stood an old dusty couch with clothes thrown all around it, next to it was a rickety coffee table with a laptop on it, and on the opposite wall, there was…

Wow. So Ymir was that serious about finding Historia?

The wall was covered with newspapers clippings and photos. And the center of it all was the photo of Historia, with various strings attached to it.

“So…” Hange awkwardly shuffled to take a better look at it. “Care to explain all of it?”

“Sure,” Ymir nodded. “But it might take a while. Do you want something to drink?”

“Do you have tea?” Levi asked, subconsciously knowing the answer already.

“Nope, only beer.”

“I’ll have a beer, please,” Hange smiled, and then, to Levi’s horror, she took out the fucking notebook. He was getting sick of it.

Ymir returned from the kitchen, holding three bottles of beer. She handed one to Hange, then turned to Levi, looking him up and down. Levi didn’t like where this was going.

“Do you have an ID, sir?” she asked in the most mocking, annoying voice Levi had ever heard. And he thought that Kenny was the most irritating person in this world. Ymir was proving him seriously wrong.

And Hange’s delighted laugher wasn’t making him feel any better.

“Fuck off,” he snapped, snatching the bottle from her.

“Alright, let’s start,” Ymir waited for Hange to settle on a couch. Then she opened her bottle and pointed it at the photo of Historia. “So you know that Krista Lenz isn’t her real name, yes?”

“Yep,” Hange confirmed.

“And that her father,” Ymir trailed the bottle to the side, following the string to the photo of middle-aged man. “Is Rod Reiss.”

“We… recently found about it.”

“And since an Ackerman is sitting right next to you, I’m assuming you know about Kenny Ackerman as well?”

Before nodding, Hange stole a quick glance at Levi. She turned away before Levi could decipher the meaning of it.

“And you really don’t know where he is?” Ymir directed her question at Levi. “Isn’t he your uncle or something?”

“He is my uncle.” Levi stared at the wall, fixing his eyes on the place where Kenny’s photo should have been. But, apparently, Ymir couldn’t find it, so instead there was a white square with his name written on it. Still, the fact that she managed to find that much information was already an astonishing achievement. It actually made Levi curious… “Where did you get his name?”

As far as Levi was aware, Kenny was obsessively secretive. He might appear carefree and careless, but that was just a façade. He wouldn’t survive for as long as he did if he hadn’t shrouded his identity in the thick fog of secret. The only mistake of his that Levi could remember was his fuck up with Traute, and she was probably already dealt with, in one way or another. So how did a girl find out about him?

“It wasn’t all that hard,” Ymir flippantly admitted. “I was spying on Reiss, and I once saw him talk with Ackerman. It didn’t take a genius to realize everything else. By the way,” she levelled Levi with a hard look. “Thanks for killing my boss. Because of that, I had to return to working at this shitty bar.”

Levi shrugged. He could say that technically he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger and killed that guy. But Ymir didn’t seem too interested in technicalities.

“If you know about Kenny,” Hange began, biting at her pen. “Then do you know why he had taken Historia?”

Ymir shook her head, shuttering Levi’s hope to easily find the answer to the question ‘what the fuck was Kenny doing’. “I guess he had some fallout with Reiss and decided to use Historia as a leverae. And that brings me to my next point,” the beer bottle travelled upwards, to the photo of a young woman with long black hair. “What do you know about Frieda Reiss?”

“Not much,” Hange admitted after studying the photo for a several moments. “She is Reiss’ eldest daughter, isn’t she? And she’s an aspiring artist, if the memory serves me right.”

“Well, you already know more than I expected. Yes, Frieda is Reiss’ daughter, which makes her Historia’s half-sister.”

“And that’s important how?” Levi asked, smoothly standing up in guise of taking a closer look at Ymir’s crazy wall.

He walked up to it, squinted at the various scribblings, and then moved closer to the desk that stood by the window. He leaned against it, pretending to listen to Ymir and Hange’s conversation.

“Out of all of Reiss’ family, Frieda is the only who gives a damn about Historia. If we want to find out about Historia’s whereabouts, she’s our best bet.”

“You think she knows something?” Hange moved slightly forward, in an attempt to take a closer look at the wall and Frieda’s photo on it. “You talked with her?”

Ymir scrunched her nose, making an extremely displeased face. She took a large swing from the bottle, cringing slightly at the bitter taste. “She doesn’t want to talk with me. We had an argument of sorts.”

“An argument…” Hange frowned. “About what?”

While Ymir was busy forming an adequate explanation, Levi discreetly opened the top drawer of her desk.

Once a thief, forever a thief, that was what Hange had told him? No point in going against his own nature then, Levi thought, as he flipped through the contents of the drawer. Inside there were photos, a lot of photos. A dozen, if not even more. They varied in foreshortening, angle, color palette. And yet the subject remained the same.

It was Historia.

There was a picture of Historia from across the street, enjoying a book inside the café. And a picture of Historia, sitting on a bench in the park and eating an ice-cream. There was Historia smiling, Historia frowning, Historia laughing, Historia… oh. So Ymir got that close to the girl she was supposed to be spying on?

Hiding the picture of two girls kissing, Levi closed the drawer and returned his attention to the conversation on hand.

“I already told you Frieda cares about Historia. And when she found out that I was spying on her father, and, subsequently on Historia too, well,” Ymir ran a hand through her hair. “Let’s just say she wasn’t too happy about it.”

“But?” Hange prompted, notebook clenched tightly in her hand. “You think that Frieda knows something?”

“Reiss definitely knows something, I’m sure Ackerman has contacted him with some kind of ransom note.”

“And Reiss didn’t go to the police, because he doesn’t want the world to know about his connection to Historia.”

“Exactly,” Ymir confirmed. “And if there was actually some communication between him and Ackerman, Frieda is the only who knows about it. She’s in on everything her father is doing.”

“But she’s the daughter of an influential politician and she’s a famous artist,” Hange bit at her thumb, her frown deepening. “How the heck we can get her to talk? Especially if her father doesn’t want to involve the police.”

Ymir grinned. “I’m glad you asked.”

Oh no. Levi didn’t like that smile or that tone. An awful offer was going to be made to them. Or, even worse, that would be a demand.

With his stomach sinking, he sighed and prepared for the worst.

Ymir took a step to the side, revealing the last part of puzzle. It was a clipping from a newspaper article that talked about… Levi squinted… an upcoming gala that was going to be held at the Reiss’ mansion. Great.

“Frieda is the one who organizes the gala and she is the one who will be hosting it,” Ymir explained. “Her father won’t be here, and that will give you an opportunity to get closer to her.”

“But won’t there be a security? How can we get in?” Hange asked. “And how will we convince her to share the information with us?”

“I can obtain two tickets for you. As for convincing Frieda… I don’t think she’ll need much of it. She wants to save her sister, just say you’re from police and she’ll probably share everything she knows.”

“And what if she doesn’t want to talk to us? What if she orders the guards to throw us out? Too many unknowns for this to effectively work out. I say the plan is too risky,” Levi concluded, crossing hands on his chest.

“But we don’t really lose anything,” Hange countered. “It’s a gamble.”

“It’s a waste of time.” Levi argued.

“It won’t be a waste of time with you,” Ymir said. “If you don’t succeed with talking to Frieda, then…” she wiggled her eyebrows, looking at Levi.

Hange shot up to her feet. “Oh no. No, no, no. No! I can’t allow you to break inside and snoop around. It’s Reiss’ mansion! If we get caught, I’ll get skinned alive.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Hange,” Levi rolled his eyes. Now that Ymir mentioned the idea of snooping around, he liked the plan a lot more. “We’ve already broken into someone’s apartment, and nothing bad happened.”

“We almost got shot at,” Hange reminded him through the gritted teeth.

“Then don’t get caught,” Ymir advised. “Ackermans were never caught, right? And you have Ackerman with you. I’m sure,” there it was again, that tiny, irritating smirk. “He’ll do his best to protect you.”

“Fine,” Hange ruffled her hair, looking absolutely frantic. She lifted the bottle of beer to her lips, downing half of it in one go. “Fine, fine, we’ll do it your way. But… I don’t know what to wear to this kind of event.”

“Don’t worry,” Ymir gave her a thorough once-over, going from the head to toe and focusing on Hange’s long legs, thin waist and broad shoulders. She licked her lips. “I’ll find something for you.”

“And me?” Levi asked, glaring at the girl who was ogling Hange so shamelessly. “Do you have something for me?”

“You’re a legendary thief,” Ymir scoffed, barely sparing him a glance. “Steal a suit for yourself or something.”

Fuck, how he hated the annoying brats. There was nothing worse than them.

“If we have planned everything out,” Ymir finished her beer and threw the bottle in the trashcan that, to Levi’s disgust, was already overwhelmed with bottles and empty pizza boxes. “Then I need to go. My shift starts in just few minutes. If you need something else, you can use my laptop. There is a rough blueprint of Reiss’ mansion there.”

“How did you manage to get inside?” Hange said, already taking the laptop in her hands.

Ymir winked, the insufferable smirk returning. “Let’s just say that I’m excellent at getting inside ladies' private chambers.”

The horrible innuendo was bad enough on its own, but Hange’s loud laughter made it much, much worse. Levi could only roll his eyes and scoff, apparently, he was destined to be surrounded by annoying people with terrible jokes.

Well, at least, Hange didn’t look so tense anymore. Perhaps, Ymir’s presence was a buffer between the tensions that had been rising all day. If so, Levi was glad to have the girl around, despite tasteless innuendos and all.

“There is left over pizza in the refrigerator and there is booze under the counter if you need it.”

“And you?” Hange turned to Levi. “I can’t exactly let you go home, but…”

“He can go with me,” Ymir offered. “I’ll pour him a drink, keep an eye so he won’t sneak away.”

Spend the evening with Hange or with the brat who would probably continue to mercilessly mock him, Levi knew what option he would choose, but… he wasn’t the one calling the shots.

Hange was.

“Excellent!” she gave Ymir thumbs up and a brilliant smile. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

With that Ymir grabbed him by the elbow and started dragging him downstairs. Levi could only sigh and surrender.

___

“So,” Ymir poured a shot of whiskey and handed it to him, leaning against the counter and studying his face. The unnatural dark red lighting of the bar made her look even more imposing. The irritating smirk was already in place, playing on her thin lips. “What is happening between you and detective badass?”

Color rushed to his cheeks, and Levi thanked the lighting for hiding the unfortunate reaction.

“Nothing,” he mumbled into his drink.

“Nothing? So what about that argument I’ve overheard and the two of you rolling around on the floor of my apartment? You call that nothing?”

“Eavesdropping is bad,” Levi said, but, despite the biting tone, he lowered his head even further down. That was a topic he really didn’t want to discuss. Especially, with a girl he met just an hour ago. “And we weren’t rolling around, I saved Hange from getting shot.”

“I dig up dirty secrets for a living. Eavesdropping is my job. And you could have just shoved her aside, not jump onto her, you know?”

“Shut up,” he put the glass of whiskey up to his lips, finishing it in one large gulp. The bitter, burning liquid travelled down his throat, making him shiver. He pushed the glass back to Ymir. “Another one.”

“Ah ah,” she wiggled her finger. “I won’t let you have another drink until you tell me what the heck is going between you two.”

“Why are so interested in it?”

Ymir looked around the bar. There was just a couple of customers inside, all of them slowly nursing their drinks and seemingly uninterested in ordering something else. As her eyes shifted from one corner to another, Ymir shrugged. “It’s a slow night. And I have a feeling something juicy has transpired.”

“Alright, I’ll tell,” after all, what the heck he was losing? His dignity? He bid goodbye to it a long time ago. Besides, there was something he wanted to get out of Ymir as well. “But in exchange you’ll tell me what happened between you and Historia.”

“Nothing,” was probably what Ymir wanted to exclaim. Her widened eyes and scandalized expression were definitely screaming that. But Levi raised a hand before she could even start denying his claim.

“I found the pictures inside your desk.”

If he thought that Ymir’s face showed disbelief and anger before, now there was pure rage. “Going through other people’s stuff is bad,” she hissed, her eyes narrowed into slits.

“I’m a thief,” Levi graciously accepted the drink she prepared to him. “Going through other people’s stuff is my job.”

“Has anyone told you how irritating you are?”

“Has anyone told you?”

Looming over him with hands on her hips, Ymir stared down at him. Levi stared back, putting the darkest of his glares.

Ymir was the first one to surrender, breaking the eye contact with a low chuckle. “Alright, alright, we’re both assholes.”

“That we are,” he agreed, taking another sip from his glass. He put it back down softly, the ice cubes clinking together. “So what’s the deal between you and Historia?”

Ymir took a deep sigh and grabbed the closest glass to her, starting to mindlessly clean it with a rag. The silence stretched, the sounds of tense rubbing of the glass taking over. Levi wanted to repeat his question, but then— Ymir finally gathered enough courage to start talking.

“So you already know that I was supposed to spy on Historia. Reiss had an enemy in the parliament that wanted to expose his secret daughter, and, well,” she shook her head and laughed, the sound devoid of mirth but filled with bitterness. “Whatever pays the bills, right? So I found that girl, took a few photos and then I was asked to bring a DNA sample, to make sure that she really is Reiss’ daughter and it isn’t just a rumor, created by his former maid. I broke inside her room at campus, took a hair out of the hairbrush, and I was already leaving when some clumsy idiot bumped into me and I fell down the stairs. And that how I actually met Historia. Unaware that moments ago I was looking through her things, she brought me to her room and forcefully bandaged my sprained ankle.”

“And that’s it? You literally fell for her?” the story made him chuckle. It also made him remember a similar story – a story about bumping into someone on the street, about falling in more ways than just one.

“Well, Historia made sure to call and text me every day for the entirety of three weeks, because she read somewhere that it takes three weeks for the ankle sprain to heal completely. She also personally checked up on me a couple of times, although I’m not even sure if my ankle was actually sprained. But,” Ymir rubbed the back of her neck, and, perhaps, it was the treacherous lightning, but it looked like she was blushing. “I couldn’t exactly say no to a cute girl like this, you know?”

“And? Did she find out who you actually are?”

“No. But her sister did. I don’t know if Historia knows who Frieda truly is, and I don’t know why Frieda is so obsessed with her, but she found me and threatened to use her father’s connections to throw me in jail. I grew up on a street, so there was a lot of illegal stuff I did, and… I couldn’t exactly risk it. I wanted to sneak into Historia’s dorm, you know, have, at least some kind of a goodbye… but when I got inside, she wasn’t there. The next day I found that she was kidnapped.”

Silence fell over them. What was there to say? Tell that he felt sorry for her? That he knew just how shitty she was feeling right now?

Nothing he could say would make Ymir feel better.

“What about you then? What did you do to make our fierce detective glare at you so much?”

“She was the lead detective investigating out heists. And…”

“Ohh,” Ymir sounded intrigued. “So you seduced her? To get the information out of her? But then fell for her along the way?”

“No. I just fell. Bumped into four-eyes on the street and dropped all of my groceries, so she decided to make it up for me. It kinda went up from there.”

“Oh,” the interest disappeared from her voice completely. “And what happened next?”

“And then she got really close to catching us, and I decided to run away, and then my uncle shot her, and then,” Levi spat bitterly, drowning his misery with another mouthful of whiskey. “And then her boss found out who I really am and I left before I could bid her an actual goodbye. I moved to another part of the world, found myself a job, in a bar, if you would believe me, and then Hange found me and demanded I come back to help her catch my uncle.”

“Ow, that’s rough, dude.” Ymir refilled his glass. “Did you the two of you at least bang?”

“What!” Levi was sure his face was as a tomato. He glared fiercely at the girl, desperately trying to mask his embarrassment and save at least some remnants of his dignity.

“Don’t deny that you haven’t thought about it,” she taunted, grinning wildly, victoriously, like a predator who had just stumbled upon an easy prey. Fucking piranha. “Those long legs and wide shoulders, I bet she has abs too, and have you seen that ass, I’d—”

“Shut up,” Levi growled, closing his eyes to get that image of Hange out of his head. Hange did have a very nice body, he’d have to be blind not to see that, but that’s— that wasn’t the reason why he liked her, and even if he did think about her in that way – which, of course, he absolutely didn’t – Ymir was still the last person on Earth he’d like to discuss that with. Well, maybe, Kenny was the last person he’d discuss that with, but Ymir was definitely near the bottom of that list as well. “I’ve never, ever, thought about me and Hange in that way.”

“Well, well, someone is repressed,” Ymir didn’t take mercy on him, her voice becoming even more aggravating. “It’s not heathy for a man your age, you know? You need to learn how to relax, for example, you can sit in the dark room, think long and hard about hot detectives, imagine Hange arresting you, handcuffing you and then—”

Jesus Christ. Levi didn’t think it was possible for his cheeks to feel that hot. They were just as hot as—

Fuck, even his subconscious was working against him.

Ymir was laughing openly now, doubled over the counter and heaving breathlessly. “Man, you should have seen your face, it’s so easy to mess with you.”

“You’re a nuisance, I can’t even begin to understand how your Historia could have fallen for you.”

“The same applies to you, midget. How could someone as hot as detective Hange end up with a crush on you of all people?”

“Hange is too trustworthy and open,” Levi shrugged.

“And Historia is too kind and naïve.” Ymir agreed with a smile that looked too soft on the face of the girl who just minutes ago was mocking him mercilessly. “So what, it was their shortcomings that let us meet them?”

“Or it was fate. Or just dumb luck.”

Ymir grabbed a glass from the behind her, poured whiskey in it and raised it up. “To their shortcomings then. Or fate and dumb luck.”

Levi chuckled, as he brought his glass to hers. Yeah, he could drink for that.

Their glasses clinked, and Ymir’s expression changed, ever so slightly. The grin was still there, but it wasn’t as annoying as it was before. Now, it almost looked friendly. Levi felt his own lips curl up in a smile. Brats, perhaps, they weren’t that terrible after all.

“I’ll go out for a smoke,” he told Ymir, patting his jacket for a cigarette pack. “If four-eyes shows up…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell her that you just went out, don’t worry. I’m not that much of a nuisance,” she winked at him, following this gesture with another fit of boisterous laughter.

Levi rolled his eyes at the display and hurried to the exit.

He breathed a deep sigh of relief when the chill, night air greeted him. The bars usually didn’t smell all that great, and this one wasn’t an exception. The stench of brewery and the general stuffiness of these places were the main reason why Levi preferred to drink at home. He was never one for the company anyway, and his general disgust of bars only added to his alienation.

Besides, he had a long, long day after a long and tiring flight. It was the first time he was left alone ever since he had walked off the plane, and Levi decided to relish that moment, however short it may be.

He lighted up the cigarette and put it to his lips, deeply inhaling the fresh minty smoke.

Fuck… what a day. And it wasn’t even finished yet.

Levi wondered what was going to happen next, was Hange serious about keeping watch on him? If so, how was she planning to go about it? Make him stay at her apartment? The idea wasn’t exactly opposing to him, especially after seeing the mess that Kenny made of their place.

And, Kenny, what a bastard. Couldn’t he at least try to make looking for him easier? It was just one day, and Levi was positively spent. He felt like he could sleep for millennia.

And tomorrow was not going to be any better, with this whole gala shit. He’d be lucky if next evening wouldn’t end up with him sent in prison by Reiss.

However, he wasn’t going to be the only one taking that risk. Hange was going with him, and if she was caught, she could very well lose her job. If that possibility didn’t scare Hange, he wouldn’t let it scare him as well.

Still… a lot of things could go wrong tomorrow. He had to be ready to tackle at least some of them.

With another weary sigh, Levi took another drag of the cigarette, hoping the tobacco would provide a small amount of comfort. Coupled with all the whiskey he had drunk, the cigarette was doing its job fairly well until—

Until the front door of the bar had opened and Hange had walked out, her eyes immediately zooning in on him.

“Levi!”

She called him Levi, not Ackerman, and she did so with a wide, genuinely happy smile instead of an angry glare. She leaned against the wall next to him, bumping their shoulders merrily, and Levi was ready to triumph but then he caught the stench coming from Hange and saw her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils.

So she was drunk. Excellent, just what he needed to end that already horrible day.

“Hange,” he pinched the bridge of his, setting the cigarette aside. Perhaps, he just imagined it. Perhaps, Hange wasn’t actually drunk and her behavior had a completely logical explanation. “Hange, are you alright?”

“Um, sure,” she blinked sleepily, pressing closer to him. She was just a breath away of leaning fully against him. Feeling his heart pound in his chest, Levi tried to stay as still as possible, keeping the contact between them as minimal as he could. His mind decided to suddenly remind him of every stupid thing Ymir had told to him today. Levi never felt so betrayed by his own subconscious. “I’m just tired and a little hungry, and I think I had too much of the rum I found under the counter in Ymir’s apartment.”

And before Levi could react, before he could, maybe, scold Hange for this act of recklessness, she kicked the ground underneath him once again.

“Hey, can I have it?” she pointed to his cigarette, already reaching to it.

Moving the hand with cigarette away from Hange, Levi hesitated. On one hand, smoking could make her feel that much worse, on the other, she could just as well start arguing with him, and that was the last thing he needed today. So he settled on a middle ground.

“You can have one drag,” he allowed, handing her a cigarette.

But Hange didn’t take the cigarette from his hand. Instead, she slightly opened her mouth, as though in invitation.

Fucking hell. Was drunk Hange always like this?

Slowly, doing his best to ignore the trembling in his hands, he lifted the cigarette to her lips. Hange closed her mouth around it, her eyes fluttered shut as she started to inhale the smoke.

Levi watched her, completely transfixed, he never thought that someone could be that attractive while smoking, but here he was…

He was standing close to Hange, so close that he could see every individual eyelash, a small mole at the side of her cheek, the barely visible freckles on her nose, the little scar on her forehead. Her face was illuminated by the blue flickering sign with the name of the bar. The unnatural lighting made her seem even more surreal.

“Fuck!”

The illusion was broken abruptly, when Hange pushed him away and doubled down, coughing fit wracking through her body.

“Shit!” she croaked, in between the coughs. “I didn’t know that thing would be so strong, it’s so—”

“Wait.” Levi was so confused. “You’ve never smoked before?”

“No.”

God, what an insufferable person.

“Then why the hell you’ve asked for my cigarette?”

“Don’t know!” Hange straightened up, spreading her hands. The frantic motion made her stagger. Levi caught her by the elbow before she fell. “I just thought it would feel good. But it didn’t!”

“Idiot.” Levi scoffed. He winced when he realized that there was too much fondness in his tone.

“I’m just tired,” Hange sighed, dropping her shoulders and bending her knees to slide lower off the wall. “I deserve a break, don’t I? I didn’t have one in so long…”

Levi felt like he knew the answer to his question already. Yet, he still asked. “When was the last time you took a break?”

“When you left. As soon as I was discharged from the hospital, I threw myself into my work.”

Ouch. That was probably his fault.

He was contemplating what answer wouldn’t make him sound like an asshole while simultaneously keeping in secret just how much he had missed her during all the months he was gone, when he felt something warm touch his cheek.

He lifted his eyes from the grey, cracked asphalt and—

Cigarette fell from between his fingers.

Hange was closer than she was before, and her palm was resting on his cheek, absentmindedly caressing his skin.

“That thing���” with a feather light touch of her thumb, she traced the already healing cut on his cheek. “Where did you get this?”

“This…” fuck, why Hange’s proximity made it so hard for him to think? His thoughts were sluggish as ever, the neurons reacting with the pace as slow as it was humanly possible. With more effort than he was willing to admit, Levi forced himself to focus. “Would you believe it if I say that I received this thing while defending three teenagers from the local gangsters?”

Hange chuckled, the sound seemed warm enough to shield Levi even from the harshest winds of winter. “That depends… would you believe that, despite everything, a part of me is actually glad that you came back?”

Oh. Levi drew a sharp breath. Whatever he had expected Hange to say, this wasn’t it.

But Hange was drunk, he reminded himself. Hange was drunk and chances were she probably wouldn’t remember this conversation at all. He could take some of the weight off his chest and, perhaps, Hange would be none the wiser.

So he laid his hand on top of Hange’s, and said, “Only if you would believe that I wish I didn’t hurt you. That was never my intention. And I also wish we could have gone on that skating rink date you’ve promised me.”

He expected Hange to lash out. He expected her to push him away and start calling him names. He expected literally anything else but not for Hange starting to recite Shakespeare.

“Oh Romeo, Romeo!” with all the dramatics of the drunken person, she fell against him, a hand flying to her forehead. “Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name!”

“Four-eyes?”

“Sorry,” she laughed, covering her mouth with a hand. Her head laying on his shoulder, she looked up, her eyes sparkling. “It just… It kinda fits, don’t you think? You know if you weren’t Montecchi and I wasn’t Capuletti, perhaps then…”

Perhaps. And, oh, how Levi wished that ‘perhaps’ turned into ‘possibly’ and into actual truth. But— they were who they were, for the better or worse.

And entertaining what ifs would only make both of them more miserable. So before he did something stupid, like press his lips to Hange and taste that horrible rum she was drinking, Levi decided to change the course and the mood of their conversation. He playfully flicked her forehead and pushed her away from him. “I didn’t know that police officers could recite Shakespeare from the top of their head.”

“No one believes me,” Hange whispered with a naughty smile. “But I was a member of the drama club in high school.”

“Did you play Juliette?”

“No, I was Romeo, but,” she winked. “I had a very pretty Juliette.”

“Of course, you had,” Levi had no doubts about it. He did, however, have a regret that he wasn’t there to witness it. Watch lanky teenage Hange jump around the stage, shouting about her love to Juliet and hatred of Capuletti in the most melodramatic fashion possible? What was better than it? “Now, c’mon,” he gently pushed her forward, making sure she didn’t stumble and fall. “Let’s go inside, it’s getting cold.”

“Yeah, let’s—”

Levi’s hand was hovering above her shoulder, but when Hange touched the side of her face and started to slowly crane towards the ground, he had to wrap his fingers firmly around her elbow. With eyes widening in fear, he watched how Hange’s eyes rolled back into her head and she fell limply against his side.

“Hange!” he shook her, but received no answer. His blood started to rapidly turn into ice. “Hange,” he called again, more softly. She didn’t even stir.

Fuck, was she drunk enough to black out? Or did she faint because of the fatigue? Or was it the combination of the two?

Whatever was the case, but he had to, at least, bring Hange back inside the bar. Keeping his hand on her waist, Levi carefully opened the front door and stumbled inside.

All eyes were on him as soon as he walked in. And no one’s stare was as surprised as Ymir’s.

“What the fuck did you do to her?”

“Your fucking fault,” he gritted through his teeth, as he approached the bar counter and pushed Hange on one of the chairs. “She drank too much while she was working.”

“Shit. And what are you going to do now?”

He didn’t have a lot of options. He could let Hange stay with Ymir, he could let Hange crush at his place, or… he could bring her to her own apartment.

The third option was probably the one Hange would be most comfortable with, but there was a tiny problem with it – he didn’t know where she lived.

“She left her bag here while she went outside to find you,” Ymir said, producing the said bag from behind the counter. “Her phone was blowing out all this time, maybe, you should call back? Perhaps, a friend will come to pick her up?”

Levi swallowed. He had a feeling that he knew what friend was calling Hange so insistently. With dread settling in, he took the bag from Ymir’s hands and fished out the phone.

The screen lighted up, showing five missed calls from – surprise, surprise - Erwin.

Fuck, just as he had expected. Just what he was fearful of.

With his insides twisting in a knot, Levi stared at Erwin’s photo, at his relaxed and smiling face. Levi remembered him a little differently. He remembered him as cunning, ruthless and calculating. Their encounter at the precinct was still fresh in Levi’s mind. His words, spoken quietly but with so much authority, were still ringing in his ears.

Leave this city, Levi Ackerman, and don't come back. Stop toying with Hange's feelings and don’t you dare contact her ever again.

As it was evident from the photo Hange chose for him, she saw a very different version of Erwin Smith. She saw him as her caring and kind boss. Levi doubted that Erwin would show the same side of himself to him.

“Would you like to make that call?” he handed the phone to Ymir.

She pushed it back with a short laugh. “I have a feeling that her friend is cop, so, no, I’m not very eager to become his acquaintance.”

Shit. So he had to do it. Fuck, Levi didn’t want to. He really, really didn’t want to.

But he had to do it, for Hange.

That last thought gave him enough courage to unlock the phone and dial the number. He closed his eyes tightly as soon as he did, his stomach was falling lower and lower with each passing beep.

On the third one, his call was answered.

“Hange?” well, now his voice definitely didn’t sound as cold and strict as it did during their last conversation. Right now, Captain Erwin Smith sounded almost frantic. “Hange, where are you? Why didn’t you pick up? I’ve been calling you—”

“Erm,” Levi cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Honestly, he’d rather take on ten more gangsters from Signapore, or have his leg ripped out than continue this conversation. “It’s not Hange.”

“Ackerman.” And there it was, that cold, emotionless tone. Awesome. But now… there was more urgency to it. And much more anger. “Where is Hange? What did you do to her? If you laid even a finger—”

“Jesus, calm the fuck down. Hange is fine.” Except that she wasn’t. Her eyes were still closed as she sat slumped in a chair. “She just… tired herself out. I need you to come and take her home.”

There was a pause, a silence that lasted for a long, long moment. Erwin was probably contemplating if he should trust him or not. At last, he said, “Send me your location.”

He ended the call immediately.

A little shaken after the encounter, Levi thought about his next move, should he wait for Erwin or—

“I would advise against it,” Ymir said, unusually serious. “From what I’ve heard just now, the guy hates your guts. Don’t aggravate the situation any further and don’t make him look for you around the city. He won’t be happy when he finds you.”

Yeah, Levi thought so too.

“Pour me another glass,” he asked, his tone almost pleading. And here he was worrying about tomorrow… and now he could very well find himself sitting behind bars in the next hour.

___

Erwin arrived not even ten minutes later, walking into the bar like he owned the damn place. Last time Levi saw him, he was wearing police uniform, complete with white shirt and dark jacket. Now he was dressed in an unbuttoned coat and grey sweatpants, a combination, which would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. Somehow, Erwin still managed to look formidable.

His eyes were the same icy cold color as Levi had remembered, but, because he was watching him so closely, he could notice the hint of concern that appeared, when Erwin’s gaze landed on Hange.

He crossed the bar in a few short strides, standing protectively over her. He shook her shoulder, then, with more trepidation than Levi would have expected from him, he checked her pulse. The sigh that escaped him was filled with relief, but when Erwin turned to face Levi, none of it was reflected on his face.

“What had happened?”

His voice was quiet, controlled. Even so, the anger was slipping through. Levi suppressed a shiver. He would not let this man intimidate him.

“She exhausted herself to the point of collapsing. Someone must have pushed too much work on her.”

Perhaps, his words were unjust, after all, Levi knew how much Erwin cared about Hange. And he knew that the man did his best to protect her from the burdens of their work. But Erwin didn’t like Levi, and while it was more than understandable, the feeling was also more than mutual.

However, Erwin didn’t seem offended or outraged. He seemed to disregard Levi’s presence completely.

“How much do I have to pay?” he asked Ymir, keeping his hand on Hange’s shoulder.

“It’s on the house,” Ymir replied, almost frantically. If Levi hadn’t been mocked by this girl for the entirety of the evening, he’d say that she looked scared. Even so, it was hard to deny that she certainly was cautious.

“Thank you,” Erwin nodded, “And sorry for the troubles. I’ll take her home now. And you,” he pointed with his chin at Levi. “You’re going with me.”

Levi gulped, but didn’t try to argue. Firstly, he didn’t want to start a scene. And secondly, he wasn’t sure that whatever scene he’d cause, he’d come out of it as a winner.

“Good luck, dude,” Ymir whispered to him. She almost sounded sincere. Did it mean he looked that pathetic?

He reached out to Hange, but one freezing look from Erwin, and Levi pulled his hand back, curling it into a fist.

Fuck, he hoped Hange lived somewhere nearby. Otherwise, one hell of a drive was waiting for him.

Erwin scooped Hange into his arms, effortlessly lifting her up. Her head rolled to his shoulder, nose fitting into the crook of his neck.

In his giant arms, Hange seemed so small, almost vulnerable. As he watched Erwin carry her outside, Levi felt sudden, completely illogical pang of jealousy.

Fuck, now he was just going crazy.

Erwin led him out to the parking lot, where a black sedan was parked.

Levi wanted to help him open the door, but apparently Erwin needed only one hand to hold Hange. As the door to the back seat was opened, he placed her inside, careful not to bump her into anything.

Just before Levi could slide into the backseat beside Hange, pull her head onto his lap, maybe stroke her hair… Erwin faced him once again, his strong jaw clenched and his mouth set in a firm line. “Take the passenger seat.”

Again, Levi complied without another a single complain. The situation was already tense, after all.

As he lowered himself into a passenger seat, Levi felt like his stomach was filled with heavy rocks. As he pulled the seatbelt over his chest, he felt like it was growing tighter with every breath he took.

A moment later, Erwin sat down too, sliding into the driver’s seat and igniting the car. He rode out of the parking lot wordlessly. He continued to drive in the utter silence.

In his life, Levi had enough moments that made his throat seize with worry. He was a criminal, a thief, and their heists didn’t always go according to the plan. But never before he had felt so… on edge. He felt like was standing on the top of the skyscraper, his feet dangerously close to verge of it. A sudden gush of wind, a single uneven breath could send him flying down.

So Levi sat tight, his hands curled into fists at his lap. He stared right ahead, afraid to suddenly meet Erwin’s gaze. He was breathing as quietly as possible, not wanting to upset the fragile balance.

But the balance was ruined, destroyed completely, without a hope of salvation, when they heard a sharp gasp coming from the backseat.

Hange’s head appeared in the space between two front seats a second later. Her eyes were shifting from Levi to Erwin, the gears in her head turning so quickly, Levi could almost hear their movements.

The realization came to her way too swiftly, cruel in its suddenness.

“Fuck,” she took off her glasses, rubbing her eyes with a pained expression. “Erwin, listen, I can explain—”

“You will,” he said, meeting her eyes in the rear view mirror. “After I get you home.”

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, and if Levi thought that the silence was tense and pressing before, this one opened a whole new level. At least, now it wasn’t as quiet as before, because Hange kept shifting in her seat. Levi could practically feel her eyes bore into the back of his head. He would have snapped, would have told her to quit staring like a weirdo, if her unnaturally calm boss wasn’t sitting right next to him.

When Erwin parked the car next to the apartment complex where Hange was evidently living, Levi breathed out a loud sigh of relief. Fuck, it felt like he was holding in a dump for the entirety of the fifteen-minute trip.

Growing up without mother, having only Kenny as a guardian, Levi’s childhood was very different from the other kids. He never shared his classmates’ interests, never went to parties and football matches, preferring to stay at home and help his uncle get ready for his next heist. He never actually had the pleasure to experience the scenario of asking someone on a date. He also never knew the humiliation and shame one would feel if their date was interrupted by his crush’s father. Of course, he and Hange weren’t on a date, and Erwin wasn’t her father, but as the three of them were standing in the elevator, waiting for it to stop at the fourteenth floor, Levi was as worried and mortified as a teenager who got their date ruined.

When they exited the elevator, Hange took the lead, walking towards her apartment with her head lowered and shoulders slumped.

She reached the door and unlocked it, letting them enter first.

“I didn’t expect guests,” chuckling so awkwardly that Levi cringed, she turned the light on, basking her apartment in a faint orange light. “So sorry for the mess.”

Levi would have snort and say that he wasn’t expecting anything else, or he would have scrunch his nose at the amount of clatter that he saw on the coffee table in the living room. However, the presence of Erwin wasn’t exactly making him feel playful.

Hange was either still drunk or the exhaustion was still having its effect on her, but as she walked further into the apartment, she was slightly staggering.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Erwin said, his voice gentler than Levi had ever heard it. With a hand on the small of her back, he guided Hange towards the closed door, where, as Levi guessed, her bedroom was. “You stay here,” he told Levi.

Levi barely resisted the urge to scoff. What, Erwin thought that he was stupid or daring enough to follow? He was certainly not.

After the door after Hange and Erwin closed, Levi continued standing awkwardly in the hallway for another moment. He could faintly hear their voices coming from another room, but they were too quiet for him to understand what the conversation was about.

Ignoring the urge to come closer and eavesdrop, Levi decided to take a look around the apartment.

It was messy – just as Hange had said. Books and papers were scattered around, the coffee table had a a large stain on it, and the couch was peppered with crumbs. But that wasn’t what interested Levi. He was much more interested in learning what her apartment was hiding beyond filth and trash.

Firstly, he headed to the large bookshelf in the living room. As he had expected, there were lots of textbooks there – books on criminology, forensic science, crime prevention and even sociology. The presence of fiction books wasn’t surprising, but the amount of them certainly was. Apparently, the workaholic detective Hange Zoe was also an avid book worm. His lips curling up, he stored that small piece of trivia to the part of his mind that was dedicated to everything he found endearing about Hange.

Next to the books stood a couple of picture frames. One of them showed Hange, squished between two men – Erwin and her other blonde friend, Mike. All three of them were smiling, happy and younger than they were now.

The second photo was of Hange and two adults – her parents, Levi presumed. If the previous photo pictured Hange who was only a couple of years younger, this one showed a much, much younger version. She was barely a teenager there – clad in overalls, with skinned knee, duct-taped glasses and wearing a bright, joyful smile.

Looking at that smile, Levi couldn’t help but smile back.

His mind exhausted and overwhelmed with the events of this day, it started to wander. Levi tried to imagine what would have happened, how different his life could be if Hange had befriended him when they were kids. Would his life be different, though? Or would his upbringing and unfortunate circumstances still bring him where he was now?

There was no way to find out, and that’s why there was no reason to ponder on it.

His curiosity drove him to his next stop, kitchen. He was just about to find out what the great detective Zoe preferred to stash in her refrigerator, when the door of the bedroom opened and closed. Levi heard the sound of heavy footsteps that got closer and closer.

And just like that, his good mood was gone. Just like that, he was on the edge of the skyscraper once again.

When Levi mastered the courage to turn around, Erwin stood at the other side of the small kitchen, hands crossed on his chest. Even in sweatpants and worn-out t-shirt, he still looked as commanding as ever.

“I told you to leave, and never come back. I gave you a chance to escape. Why didn’t you take it?”

Why didn’t he take it? Didn’t Erwin already know his reason?

“I’m sure Hange has explained everything to you.”

“She has.”

And what, Erwin didn’t find her reasoning sufficient enough? Fuck, the blonde bastard pissed him off so much.

“I came because I need to find my uncle and learn what the fuck has happened while I was gone.” Levi said, his anger barely constrained. “My return to the city has nothing to do with Hange or with you.”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie, he did come to look for Kenny. The fact that his and Hange’s goals aligned was a mere coincidence.

“If you have problem with us working together, then go and talk it out with Hange, explain why exactly you don’t trust her judgement. Just don’t pour all of your bullshit on me.”

“I trust her judgement,” in the semi-darkness of the kitchen, Erwin’s eyes flashed brightly, like a lightening during a storm. “I just don’t trust you.”

His anger growing, Levi already had a vicious enough retort, ready to spill out of his mouth. But just before he started talking, Erwin continued, interrupting his tirade. “Hange told me you had helped a lot today,” he tilted his head slightly to the side, considering Levi. “She said that this case can’t be solved without you. And while, I have my doubts about it, it seems that Hange has none. I don’t know what the hell she sees in you, but she trusts you and believes in you. And as I’ve said, I trust her.”

Hange… trusted him? Trusted him enough to tell her boss about it? Did she tell him about it? Or was it Erwin’s own assumption? If so, then, surely, Erwin was mistaken, surely, he got the wrong impression. Could he, though? Could a man as cunning and smart as him misjudge his own friend?

Levi forced these thoughts away, they were pointless and confusing. Right now, he had a more pressing question.

“So now what? You’ll let the two of us continue investigation?”

“I will,” Erwin nodded. “But if you hurt Hange in any way…”

Scoffing, Levi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I got it, you’ll hurt me.”

Erwin’s lips curled up in a smile that was devilish enough to send shivers down Levi’s spine. “In more ways than just one, Ackerman.”

But the moment passed, and the chilly expression was gone. “Hange is asleep,” Erwin said, pushing the hair back from his face. Up until this moment, Levi failed to take notice just how disheveled the other man looked. Was he that worried about Hange that he forgot to fix his less than immaculate appearance? “She told me that you can spend the night here.”

“Will you be watching over me all night then?” Levi asked, his voice still gruff, but not as biting as it was before.

“No,” shockingly, but Erwin sounded more at ease as well. “I entrust this investigation solely in Hange’s hands. She’ll be responsible for the end result and she’s responsible for you. Meanwhile, I need to catch some sleep as well.”

With that, Erwin turned around, walking out of the kitchen and heading in the direction of the front door. Reluctantly, Levi followed after him, cautiously watching him put on his boots and coat. Erwin’s hand was on the doorknob, when he twisted his face to the side, meeting Levi’s eyes.

“I’m giving you a second chance, Ackerman. Fuck this up and I’ll come for you.”

Levi nodded, expecting nothing less. From now on, he had to be more careful, he was sure that Erwin’s watchful eye would be following him everywhere. Just another complication to the already complicated case.

As soon as Erwin left, Levi walked into the living room, falling down on a couch. The couch was dusty, his clothes were filthy from rolling around on the floor in Ymir’s apartment, but he was too exhausted to go to shower, and he had no clothes he could change in, anyway.

Sleep was calling to him, more insistently with each passing moment. But before he closed his eyes and let himself succumb to the darkness completely, Levi pulled a phone out of his pocket. He came here to find Kenny, he hoped he would receive a clue about his whereabouts while searching their apartment. He found nothing there, but perhaps…

He dialed Kenny’s number.

One beep, two beeps, three, four…

Levi kept listening to the mechanic, measured sound until the call was disconnected. So, Kenny wasn’t picking up. Levi was disappointed, but not surprised.

He saw no reason in trying to call him once again and put his phone on a coffee table next to the couch. His eyes were already fluttering shut, when a loud vibration jolted him out of his semi-sleepy state.

Levi jumped a little, reaching out to his phone. He unlocked it, staring at the notifications with wide eyes.

He received three messages. From unknown number.

He hurried to open them.

Don’t go poking your nose into this wasp nest, Levi

And tell that detective of yours to quit either

Stop chasing after me. Leave before it’s not too late

With his fingers trembling so much his phone almost fell down, Levi dialed that number. The call went straight into voicemail.

“Fuck!” he threw the phone back onto the table, with more force than was necessary. Fucking Kenny and the games he was playing. Hadn’t he said that he trusted him? Evidently, he didn’t trust Levi enough to let him help with whatever shit he had involved himself.

Well, whether he wanted Levi to help him or not, it didn’t matter. Levi was coming after him. And he wouldn’t let Kenny’s lame threats stop him. Nothing would stop him, not until Levi found out what the fuck happened to his uncle.

Hold on for me, Kenny, he thought, on the verge of sleep, I’m coming for you.

[wallwriterstuff]

Get It? ‘Cause Your Old? ||Felix Volturi x Reader||

Warnings: A bit of swearing, some mild angst and mentions of insecurity. 

Words: 2728

Summary: Felix is very touchy about his age, so how is the reader going to show him it really doesn’t matter to them?

Since meeting your mate you had gotten to know him rather well, quirks and all. Felix was a summer baby. He liked to swim in his spare time. He had degrees in graphic design, architectural design and electrical engineering, because (though he had learned since becoming immortal) he still found reading and writing quite difficult and preferred more creative subjects he could use his hands for. He loved the smell of lilacs, but hated the colour purple after coming across Barney the Dinosaur once in a shopping mall where the toy store had a character visit occurring. Your absolute favourite fact about your mate was his age however, and it was your favourite fact because you didn’t really know it.

“Are you kidding me? The Romans! Felix you’re not just old you’re ancient!”

“And you are obnoxious, shortness.”

Felix did not find this fact as amusing as you did.

You had begged and pleaded to figure out when his birthday was, determined to see if you could make one of those Happy Birthday banners where the number was replaced with question marks. He had refused to tell you with a knowing gleam in his eye, his expression stern. He’d found rather creative ways to shut you up. In fact, it had become a habit you realised, that every time you brought up the topic he found some way to silence you.

“I just don’t understand! I don’t want to do anything mean, I just want to make sure he has a good birthday! I mean, you lot never celebrate anything. Who do I have to kill to get some balloons around here?” You huffed, resting your elbows on your knees and dropping your chin into your hands. Since the Guard were away on a mission you had been left alone in the castle for the past three days, the secretaries too temporary for you to seek comfort in and the other vampires too aloof to consider human company any company at all. Santiago was the only exception to this rule, as he trained with Felix often and therefore ended up spending a lot of time with you as a by product of your presence in the training room. You never really saw anything per say since they moved so fast but occasionally, they slowed down to practice techniques and gave you a good view of the complex moves your mate could manage.

“You have to realise that we don’t really place the same value on birthdays as you do,” Santiago reminded you, “To some of us, we’ve had so many they’ve simply lost meaning, for others they are reminders of things we would like to forget.” Your brows furrowed. Who would want to forget their own birthday? Birthdays were so much fun! You spent them with friends and family eating good food and doing things you loved...

“You want to forget your own birthday?” you asked, the confusion evident in your voice. Santiago tilted his head.

“You forget most of us were born when your birth status dictated your lot in life. Some of us were born poor and we lost loved ones young, others of us were forced to marry young.” He pointed out. It was definitely food for thought. Felix had been born a really long time ago and you really had no gauge as to what life might have been like for him as a human; hell, you weren’t even sure Felix remembered what his life had been like. Santiago chuckled, clearly following your line of thought, and you couldn’t help but stick your tongue out at him.

When Felix returned to your side two days later you were quieter than usual. You couldn’t bring yourself to just forget about your conversation with Santiago. If Felix noticed he didn’t say anything but there was an increased amount of physical affection that let you know, in his own silent way, he wasn’t sure what was wrong with you but he wanted you to feel better. Simple things like a squeeze of your hand here and there or a tender brushing of a hand along your hair. It took you almost another week before you cracked.

“Why won’t you tell me your birthday?” you asked, curled into his side as you watched a movie together one evening. Felix tensed ever so slightly.

“Is that what you’ve been moping about the place for? Really?” he sounded both incredulous and exasperated, like he wished you’d drop the topic and couldn’t believe you hadn’t. Your tenacity was something he did want to admire but by god did you obsess over the most trivial things. Bobbing your head you sat up, frowning slightly.

“I was talking to Santiago about it and he said that maybe-“

“You shouldn’t have bothered speaking to any about it. It’s not worth wasting your time over.” Felix said firmly. You recoiled at that, not expecting his tone to be quite so sharp. Maybe Santiago was right and Felix didn’t enjoy remembering his birthday, but if that was the case all he needed to do was say! He didn’t need to get snappy about it. You sat up, turning your gaze away from Felix and towards the fire in the hearth.

“It’s my time, I’ll waste it how I like.” You muttered.

“I didn’t bargain to give you more time as a human for such trivial things, you wanted to finish your degree remember? I don’t see much work going towards that recently since your brain is so occupied by the unimportant.” Felix’s comment was almost snide, and you couldn’t help the hurt that ripped through you. You immediately scooted away from him, pushing up off of the sofa and moving to grab your bookbag. Felix sighed. “Now where are you going?” he asked.

“The library, I’ll sleep there to since I’m wasting so much time elsewhere.” You bit back.

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Felix huffed, flitting to stand in front of you, “This isn’t something we need to argue about, let’s just – Y/N!” you pushed past him and made for the door, determined that he wouldn’t see the tears welling in your eyes. You knew he hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but his words had implied just how worthless your humanity was to him. You had thought there were perhaps things about your human self he enjoyed; he commented on your warmth when he held you often, and how quiet the room would be without your heartbeat. Was this really the only reason you were as you were? Your education was the only reason he cared about your humanity? You had hoped at least one of your qualities would take the top spot on the list of ‘Top 10 Things to Love About Y/N’!

Felix didn’t follow you, and you didn’t bother to return to your room either, your stubbornness winning out as you did exactly what you said you would. It was Alec who found you, curled up on your side on the sofa in front of the fire. It was the only thing keeping you warm considering you had forgotten a jacket or blanket of any kind but your pride wouldn’t let you go back for one.

“I’m almost certain Felix has a bed in his room that is more than suitable to sleep in.” Alec quipped. You scowled at him, irritated by your inability to get a proper nights rest and the fact Felix had just let you walk away from such a stupid argument. He’d not come to find you either, though you hadn’t exactly gone to find him either.

“We’re fighting.” You grumbled. Alec’s head tilted.

“About what exactly?” he asked.

“Stupid stuff.” You curled up tighter with a shiver. Alec snorted.

“So your resolution is to freeze in the library all night? Are humans selectively stupid?” he wondered.

“Not you to!” you complained, “There’s nothing wrong with being human!”

“Ah, and we get to the crux of the problem.” He chuckled, leafing through the books to decide which he wanted to read tonight. Your scowl only darkened. It was no secret that your humanity was not favoured among the residents of Volterra and you really couldn’t be bothered for another argument with the witch twin about the perks of remaining mortal.

“If you’re here you’re not in your room, right?” you asked. Alec faced you with the most dead-eyed stare you’d ever seen, and if you hadn’t known the boy any better you might have feared for your life in that moment.

“An astute observation, allow me to counter. If I return to my room and find you in it, I’ll show you exactly why it doesn’t pay to be human here.” He promised. You all but ran from the room, leaving your book bag behind as collateral damage, and Felix welcomed you back silently with nothing more than a nod. You ignored him in favour of getting ready for bed, grateful for the warm covers and completely unaware of the way the giant pressed a feather light kiss to your head as you slept with a mumbled apology his pride wouldn’t let you hear.  

It had been almost a month since the day you had met when you were hit by the brainwave that seemed to just…solve everything. It had been purely accidental. You had gone shopping, in need of some new socks, when you saw them. They were nothing spectacular, just plain black with some little green dinosaurs all over them, but the moment you had thought of what a funny little present they would be for your ancient-ass mate you had realised that they could be a birthday present.

Who said Felix needed to tell you his actual birthday? Your stupid fight a few days ago was still causing tension and it needed to be resolved; since the big dummy didn’t want to back down it seemed you (as loathe as you were to do so) would have to. You had everything you needed by the time you arrived back at the castle, completely forgetting what you had gone out for originally of course, and hurried back to your room to prepare your surprise for him. You had had helium balloons pumped up that said Happy Birthday on the side, but you crossed out the birth part and scribbled in sharpie beneath the printed message so the balloon read Happy Birthday we met instead. You had snagged an anniversary banner and some wrapping paper of course for his socks, including a card and some cake for yourself.

You just had to wait for your mate to finish his guard duty for the day.

With your slice of cake in hand, you had curled up on the sofa to eat it and watch some old reruns of your favourite sci-fi shows while you waited, not daring to look up and see his reaction when you finally heard the door open. There was a very long moment of silence where you dared not even swallow before he finally spoke.

“Happy day we met?” he questioned finally. He stood just in front of the door, his eyebrows raised and impressive arms folded. You merely nodded once and held out your present to him in silence. His eyes betrayed his surprise but he didn’t comment on it as he came to sit beside you. He went to open the envelope attached to the colourful paper and you reached out to stop him.

“Present first.” You insisted. Felix’s eyes rolled but he obeyed, tearing away the paper to reveal his dinosaur socks. There was a pregnant pause as he digested the meaning.

“Really?”

“Just open the damn card next.” You huffed. Neither you nor your mate were very good at speaking about how you felt, but writing…well that you could do. Felix took his time, and you knew better than to interrupt him since it took him so much effort to read simple things. You suspected he had never been taught as a human and was probably dyslexic, so when he turned and the Volturi tried to teach him to read he very much struggle; it was less learning and more remembering what words were supposed to look like, and since those words looked wrong reading was not his most favourite thing to do. The silence stretched and you wondered if perhaps you’d written too much in your card, but just as you were about to speak up Felix disappeared from your sight. Your jaw dropped, your eyes bugging slightly. What the hell did that mean? Was that an outright rejection? Did he still not get what you were trying to do?

“Y/N.” his voice was soft behind you, and you turned to find him down on one knee with a velvet box in hand. Your eyes widened and you scrambled to your feet with a dry mouth.

“Whoa whoa whoa Felix I know I just wrote the L word and all but a ring is-“

“Just open it you idiot.” He smiled slightly as you swallowed past the lump in your throat and hesitantly reached for the box. There was a beautiful silver band inside, very plain, but there was an infinity symbol intwined around it that was studded with tiny diamonds that glistened in the light the same way his skin did. Your eyes widened. It was gorgeous, and after the way you’d treated him it felt entirely undeserved.

“Felix…” you trailed off.

“I had it inscribed.” He told you. You very gently pulled the promise ring from its cushion and tilted it till you could see the word he’d had painstakingly etched into the metal.

Forever.

Felix stood till he was towering over you once more, his touch tender and soft as he carefully slid the ring on to your middle finger. His brows were somewhat furrowed, and he didn’t meet your eyes, but he didn’t let go of your hands either.

“Are you still mad at me?” you asked. Felix sighed.

“I was foolish to ever argue with you to being with, neither of us put forward our arguments clearly enough to see there was nothing to argue about.” he admitted, thumb stroking over your knuckles.

“I’m sorry for being so stubborn, I just wanted to celebrate you…you’re kind of cool so…” you stumbled over your words, blushing slightly. Felix chuckled, his free hand moving up to trace your blush with the backs of his knuckles. You leaned into his touch, understanding the gesture as a silent moment of appreciation for you. While he leaned in to kiss the top of your head, you gazed down adoringly at your ring.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive, I should have told you outright. I really don’t know my birthday since we didn’t have calendars, but I lived as a slave. Every year I prayed to my Gods to deliver me from my servitude, and with every winter that passed I remained a slave.” Felix confessed quietly. You pulled him into a tight hug, burying your face in his chest. It was really no wonder Felix had gotten so defensive, they were not the best memories to have, fuzzy or not.

“I’m sorry,” You mumbled, “I don’t care how old you are, and I won’t bug you about your birthday anymore, I just…wanted you to know how much you meant to me.” His chuckle vibrated through your skull.

“There will be plenty of anniversaries for us to come, shortness. I never meant to hurt you by implying I didn’t care for your human self. There are many things about you I will miss when you turn, but the sooner you do the sooner I can start forever with you…patience has never been my strong suit.” He tilted your chin upward, red eyes boring into yours as his lips inched closer.

“Truce?” you whispered. He hummed in agreement, thoroughly distracted by the way he moulded his mouth to yours in a slow, sweet kiss. With forever at your fingertips you would find plenty of way to celebrate your mate, but for now you would carry on into this blissful little part of your promised forever, savouring the little ways you were learning to love the dinosaur that had decided out of all those he’d met over centuries of existence, you were the one he wanted to keep at his side.  

[my-writings-and-musings]

Could you perhaps do Rung's Cyclonus', Tailgate's and First Aid's reaction to their human S/O being trapped in the same room as Rung and Whirl while Fort Max he has his psychotic episode? And Fort Max isn't exactly gentle with them either so

Couple of broken ribs there at least

I love how you guys are so invested in this situation and all the potential prompts because it miiiiight just be from one of my favorite issues of MTMTE... Changing canon for all of these in that Rung emerges from this whole situation with his head intact.

Rung

·He's accustomed to the risks inherent to his profession, and despite his tiny size compared to his larger patients he's more than capable of handling himself in most crisis situations, you knew that the moment you heard that one of his more recent positions involved treating the Wreckers. But when Fortress Maximus burst in to his office, clearly in the fog of an agonizing psychotic episode, he felt fear like he hadn't in ages. His terror isn't for him however. You were preparing to head out so Whirl could have his appointment, your smile as casual as could be as you bid him goodbye from the doorway, when you were snatched up by the colossal Autobot forcing his way inside. Just seeing your fragile organic body in that gigantic fist... Whirl had been unable to stop him before being stabbed to the floor, and he'd been equally incapable of doing anything to save you as he was pinned to a chair with a few errant pieces of warped metal.

·With what Max endured, he knows the hulking mech is suffering from pain he hasn't even begun to acknowledge, but that doesn't make it any easier for him to stay calm and proffesional as you're held firmly in his grasp. Words can't begin to describe how badly he wants to ask for you to be released, even if only to be set down on an available surface so you can breathe, as his sharp audials can pick up every tiny gasp from your struggling body. Yet he doesn't dare to risk upsetting the mech and potentially spurring him to squeeze. His always in control temper is almost able to break loose as Whirl antagonizes Max with you in such a vulnerable position, but he settles for broadcasting audio from his thumb's recorder to the camera he spots on the ceiling. All he can do is hope the bots watching are planning a rescue in short order...

·Things go south quickly when Maximus realizes his demands aren't being heeded, and of all those in the room it's you that pays the highest price. His thumb being torn off hardly compares to his agony watching you be held aloft as a warning and squeezed, your hoarse cry of agony wheezing out into a whisper as your bones audibly crack. Max actually seems horrified for a moment, particularly as you cough up crimson, but he doesn't end the ordeal. Clearly guilty but not deterred, he only lays your tiny body on a nearby surface as he returns to his demands. Nothing had ever hurt more than the agonized little coughs you emitted as you lay so perilously still... It had been enough to compel him to try the worst thing one can do in a hostage situation, ask something of the captor, even if it's little more than weak pleading for only your release.

·He has no way to describe how badly he wishes he could tear himself from his bonds, but when the footage of Overlord is projected on the wall and Maximus collapses under the weight of his trauma, he still finds the softness in his spark to lean forth and comfort the weeping giant with an embrace. While he'd hear later there were plans for taking a shot through one of the many windows, the presence of your tiny body had made it impossible, and thus he had the freedom to end the situation on peaceful terms. Fort Max had been gently led to a guarded room for solitary confinement, Whirl had been proffesionally extracted from his impalement, and you had been rushed to the medical bay while he was still being unstuck from the chair... He hadn't even cared about his missing digit when he'd been told you were being taken to a private room for emergency treatment, from which the medics had refused him entry due to the intensity of your injuries.

·When he'd finally seen you afterwards it had almost broken his spark. You had looked so unlike yourself; frail, lifeless, and connected to a number of life saving machines that beeped and hummed to keep you stable. It didn't matter that you'd be fine, the suffering you had endured already and would face while recovering was enough to overwhelm him with guilt, as he blames himself for the whole ordeal. He hadn't seen the potential for Maximus to suffer a break, and hadn't even been able to talk him down, resulting in suffering for you and so many others. Though he's encouraged and comforted by his friends, he keeps a tireless vigil at your bedside until you wake, occasionally brushing a digit against your tiny hand to provide some reassurance that he's here and watching over you.

·When you do wake up, he's the first thing you see, his gentle smile looking down at you while he welcomes you back to the waking world. The guilt behind his lenses is even more apparent than the pain in every part of your body. Initially he's steadfast in denying he has any such inclinations. All he wants to focus on is your recovery, and making certain you're not traumatized by what you've experienced, he says and insists in a way you know is merely half true. Only when you've recovered enough strength to pressure him does he break, expressing his boundless guilt at having failed you in such a high stakes situation, which he shouldn't even have allowed to happen in the first place. Your reassurance that the only one to blame for the ordeal is the mech who tortured Fort Max brings a measure of perspective, but it's the feeling of your hand in his that solidifies the sense of comfort, your total lack of blame allowing him to turn some of his boundless forgiveness inward. You made it, everyone had made it, and the two of you could bask in the wonder of that simple victory together. That was enough for now.

Cyclonus

·It takes a full legion of bots to hold him back when news of the situation reaches him. You'd been near Rung's office when Fortress Maximus had apparently grabbed you in his rush, and he cares little for calm or strategy when the full weight of the situation is explained to him. The only two other bots in there with you are Rung and Whirl, meaning that you're not only without protection, you're in the middle of a powder keg. He's only prevented from overpowering the barricade when a firm reminder gets him to see the need for caution; all Max need do is bat you aside with his hand and you'll die, which makes your survival unlikely in the event of any altercation. Such painful logic reigns him in to a simmering silence. Joining the main team on the bridge, mostly so he won't try another break in, he's left to watch everything play out on the security feed.

·He only has optics for you as he stands silently by. Though his motionless self could be mistaken for a glowering statue, any bot who looked closer would see the rage boiling in his glare, and how his claws twitched every time there was sudden movement on the screen, which was often due to Whirl gesticulating and Maximus pacing with his weapon ready to fire. Like a hawk ready to dive, he keeps track of it all. You're the center of his focus of course, but he needs to be ready the nanosecond you need him, and that means knowing the terrain to plot out potential rescue missions. Ten minutes into the ordeal he already has fifty or so plans to remove you from just as many scenarios that might play out. While he's initially fine letting the commanding officers take control for the sake of a unified front, that quickly ends when he sees that no effort is being made to storm the room in order to ensure there are no casualties, a goal he hardly agrees with.

·For all of his efforts he fails to hide how incredibly worried he is for you in this situation. Though he snaps the instant someone tries to reassure him, declaring that he has no undue concern but merely wants them to consider the delicate nature of organics, he convinces no one. As he watches Rung lose his thumb, his claws dig so deeply into his crossed arms that they bleed. The lack of audio which follows only makes his worrying turn to nauseous panic. Watching your impossibly tiny form sit tensely on a table brings up a deep buried bit of self loathing, an internal voice taunting him for putting his spark on the line for something so weak, but he crushes its efforts by thinking back to the happiness you've given him. You aren't weak, he's seen the strength of your spirit time and again, your body is simply fragile... As if to cruelly make his point, Fort Max picks you up in a sudden rage, holding you aloft as he roars threats none of them can hear before he squeezes.

·The sight simultaneously breaks his spark and flips a switch inside of him. Ultra Magnus himself is an insignificant obstacle as he does what he should have when this whole thing began; run to your rescue. Cries for him to stop go unheeded, and thankfully for the sake of saving time most are smart enough to get out of his way. As fast as he is, the room you're held in is a fair distance from where he was, and thus there's an agonizing amount of limbo he has to endure on the way there. Even through the dull camera feed he could see how you'd spasmed in Maximus's grasp, and the way your face had contorted in absolute agony... It hurt in a way he wasn't ready to comprehend. There's no way for him to know if you're even still alive, but as unthinkable as losing you may be, he's well aware of what will happen if he arrives to find you lifeless behind the blockaded doors. Hopefully for Fort Max it won't come to that.

·There's a sobering dose of bewilderment when he arrives to see the doors opening of their own accord, but that hardly delays him for long, and he barrels forward to discover a hostage situation that's been settled for precious few moments. Ignoring anything and everyone else, he grabs your tiny self and runs, silent as he's informed through comm that Maximus has surrendered and the medics are ready in the medbay. Unable to be grateful at the sight of you so damaged, he holds you closely but gingerly as if he might break you further, willing your ragged breaths to keep coming unaided for just a little longer. One of his last thoughts as he arrives at the medical bay and the medics take you away is how small your body is in his claws, which somehow makes what's been done all the more agonizing. What reason would any member of his species have to hurt something so incapable of fighting back? As he waits in the common area for news of your condition the question almost mocks him with his own history of misdeeds...

·Seeing you after the surgery does nothing to quell his conscience. Though he's told you'll live, it's difficult to restrain the urge to execute violent revenge on your attacker, and only his greater need to ensure your safety prevents him from doing so. The vigil he keeps over you is tireless and appears stoic to others, but when he's certain you're alone his demeanor is soft and caring, his digits gently adjusting your blankets or brushing errant strands of hair from your face as he waits for you to regain your strength. You awaken slowly and peacefully to the sound of a regal baritone singing a soft song in a language you don't recognize. A familiar thumb brushes your face as you open your eyes, the gigantic claw that greets you not intimidating in the slightest as you behold the faintest hint of a smile on a face otherwise wrought with pain. He's barely able to contain his guilt as he relays his ineffectiveness during your capture, but his gratitude to see you alive is equally obvious in the way he relaxes as you lay your hand in his palm. Weak as you may be, you reveal that you were still conscious when he took you to the medical bay, and how his protective grasp around you had allowed you to believe everything would be okay. The news has a profound effect on him. To hear that he brought peace to you even once, in a manner similiar to what you do each and every day, is beyond anything he could ever imagine. It's enough to make him content just to enjoy the simple gratitude of having you back.

Tailgate

·When he's informed that you're being held hostage he nearly has a panic attack, and when the details of who you're with are relayed only his drive to protect you prevents full on fainting. Through his panicking he's able to convince the commanding bots to let him in the crisis room, if only because not knowing what's going on behind the heavy doors simply tears him apart in a way he can't endure. Knowing what you mean to each other, he's allowed in, and his little visor locks onto your image on the screen without hesitation. Nothing beyond your somewhat blurry face exists in his mind. Small hands clasp as they usually would to hold yours, but the emptiness due to your absence makes him feel pain instead of any kind of comfort, something he doesn't know how to process as he watches you with sad intensity.

·From the moment Maximus makes his first demand he's pushing for your rescue and advocating giving whatever Max wants to facilitate your release. Though he knows that isn't possible, the helplessness of being stuck on the sidelines makes him desperate enough to want Rodimus to give it a try. That sense of powerlessness is exacerbated by the sight of you being held up in the giant's fist. He's woken up after six million years to find someone he adores, and he's going to lose them like this, after so little time together? It's not fair to anyone, but especially you! Rage boils over in his spark as the injustice of it all tempts him to consider charging in himself. All you ever did to Fort Max was be nice, and this is what he does in return? Knowing the bot is suffering a psychotic episode does nothing to quell his anger.

·With nothing good happening on the screen, he tries to recall all the happy moments you've enjoyed together to keep himself calm, replaying the fun movie nights and dates at Swerve's that showed him how wonderful life could be... But the strategy does little to help with his traitorous optics constantly flipping back to the video feed. Nothing has changed each time, but he still can't help looking in some desperate hope that Fort Max will realize you are innocent and either let you go or end this entire ordeal. In his frustration he snaps at the commanding bots for not doing something, and their continued lack of action angers him almost as much as their reassurances. Don't they know how important you are to him?! How you made everything better and that losing you might destroy him?! He's on the verge of a kind of furious panic attack when the situation on the screen goes south dramatically fast.

·Being a small bot means he knows how terrifying it is to be grabbed and pinned by larger Cybertronians, but he can't even begin to imagine how afraid you must be when Fort Max swipes you up far more aggressively than before after an argument none of them can hear breaks out. You're endlessly brave as always, resisting the urge to scream despite the fear and pain visible on your expression, but his worrying turns to a near breakdown when you're held up high and squeezed. The spasm that passes through you is so great he can practically hear the crack of your little bones despite the lack of sound coming through. Resisting the urge to be sick, he grabs onto Rodimus and demands that action be taken before he's forced to do something himself, and despite his tiny size his tone is determined enough to give every present bot pause. By convenient timing that moment is concurrent with Rewind finally getting into position and projecting horrifying images of Overlord into the room, debilitating the hulking Autobot and leaving him helpless whilst Rung talks him down. With you lying motionless in the line of fire Rodimus makes the call to quickly but peacefully have security forces take the room.

·Tailgate is tearing down the hallways before anyone can say another word, desperate to see you as soon as he can if there's still time. The distance between the command center and Rung's office means that he takes some time to arrive, and while he's a quivering mess of panic by then it's only made worse when he hears you're already in the medical bay and receiving emergency care, as your injuries are potentially fatal. Between exhaustion and grief he briefly loses consciousness, but when he awakens in the medical bay he has to be kept from leaping off the berth to aid you. Hearing that you've been stabilized gives him some level of peace, but he still pushes to see you as soon as he can, and no number of visitors can distract him from the agony of waiting, leading to him absolutely jumping when he's told he can see you... Though he finds no comfort in finally beholding your broken body on the medical slab. Still, he takes a dutiful place by your side and whispers idle conversation in a tireless watch that breaks only when he's forced into brief naps by sheer exhaustion.

·Your slow return to consciousness is greatly sped up when, in a rather natural gesture, you squeeze the familiar presence in your hand and get a loud squeak of surprise as a result. A blue visor brimming with tears welcomes you back to wakefulness, but the babbling that pours from the minibot is so emotional you hardly catch even a word at first, and your aching ribs make it almost impossible to speak loudly enough to get his attention. Once he finally gathers himself enough to speak clearly and relay the situation, he's despondent about his nonexistent role in your rescue, something you have to reassure him isn't his fault in the slightest. Weakly but with a smile, you reassure him that thinking about him was the only thing that kept you calm. He tears up again, but this time in a kind of relieved happiness, his helm gently leaning forward to nuzzle you with soft buzzes of affection. Knowing he was able to help in some small way... there's still a lot of healing to be done, but he's determined to stand tall by your side through it all, because you've reminded him that he's strong enough to hold others up.

First Aid

·As a medic, he's usually one of the first bots informed when something goes wrong, to get him ready for a potential influx of patients if nothing else. But this time he's contacted because he's an affected party, and his ever present ability to stay calm is put to a whole new kind of test. Though he manages to keep the panic on the inside, it's raging like an inferno in his spark as he's escorted to the crisis room, his imagination keeping him fully stocked on all the potential ways you could be hurt. Considering Maximus grabbed you in a rush to drag you into the situation, it's not at all unlikely you're already injured. Watching the grainy footage of you in the company of your less than ideal fellow hostages has his processor simmering with terrible possibilities. The reports from the medical bay regarding the rampage victims leave little doubt; Maximus is as powerful as he is unhinged.

·His optics are locked on the screen the instant he manages to gather himself. Every movement, every action and once the audio starts coming through every word is analyzed. Between searching for a solution and ensuring you're okay his thoughts are absolutely racing. There has to be a way to get you out safely, and the moment you're freed as you will be he'll need to be ready for any potential injuries. Losing you isn't an option. In the short few months since meeting you he's become so very close to you, closer than he's ever been to anyone, and in that brief amount of time he's already realized he wants to be with you always. You make him feel worthy, which is perhaps why this helplessness is so incredibly agonizing. For the first time since your relationship began he's feeling that certainty of his incompetence once more.

·The pain of his own self depreciation is offset by simmering anger at his commander's inability to resolve the situation. Deep down he's experienced enough to know they can hardly be expected to control a situation so volatile, but that logic hardly has an impact on his passionate need for action. It only gets worse as things in the room deteriorate. Whirl is hardly staying still to prevent further injury from his impalement, and while Rung covers his bleeding hand to prevent further energon loss, the casual way Max ripped off his thumb makes it clear he has no qualms about violence. An unyielding imagination fills his processor with terrible thoughts about what that same strength could do to your tiny body. Grisly images flash before his optics and drive him to try begging for action once more, though it appears too late as you're suddenly snatched up in a gigantic hand.

·The universe stops moving as you're squeezed with what he knows is too much force for your body to safely handle. The lack of sound doesn't stop him from identifying that you've undoubtedly broken bones, and in fact his hyperactive processor is already trying to work out what damage has been done. Crushed ribs, snapped clavicles, perhaps a fractured humerus, and then there were your softer organs and tissues... The blood on your lips as Maximus lays you down on the table makes it clear something important has been injured that needs immediate medical care. Demanding that a rescue be launched for your sake, he's given a rare bit of luck in the form of two minibots on rivet duty. The specifics of the operation are a blur he can't bring himself to care about, even as the gory footage of Overlord covers the wall, as your limp form is all that exists in his perception. Attempts to count your very breaths only end when the situation is reclassified as under control and he's moving before anyone can say another word.

·Immediate communication with the other medics keeps him in the loop, so he knows you've been extracted the moment it happens, and he plots his course to intercept the team that recovered you even before they reach the medical bay. A random bot on the security detail has you cradled in careful but uncertain hands when he arrives, and is more than willing to hand over the tiny body to someone who actually knows what they're doing. First Aid feels his processor split between his medical training and his personal feelings for you, with the former a calculated source of experienced reason and the latter a maelstrom of agonized panic. Though he's more than able to keep the proper half in charge, he's unable to prevent his emotions from tearing into him as he gets you to the medical bay, where Ratchet and Ambulon have already prepared for emergency procedures. His CMO is adamant on his involvement being voluntary, emphasizing that he knows all too well how hard it is to operate on those you care about, and that he can focus on their other patients if this will be too difficult. First Aid replies that he's grateful for the offer but unwilling to choose anything that doesn't mean giving his all to save you.

·Stabilizing you is a team effort only made possible by the research each medic did in advance on your species, and while he's grateful he took the time to prepare for something such as this, he'll never regret anything more than having to use that knowledge. Waiting for you to wake is harder than it's ever been for any of his past patients. As a medic he has work to keep him busy, but he constantly finds excuses to check in on you, and every spare moment is spent by your side. He checks reports, takes his meals, and even rests all at your bedside. By great fortune he's present when you finally wake up, and you've barely opened your eyes by the time he's checking you over. A worried expression is the first thing you comprehend as a gentle voice asks if you have any sedentary pain. Somehow it's a relief to have your worried medbot be the first thing you see, but you quickly put together this isn't just his usual level of concern, and that there's active remorse in his features. Firm insistence is required to get him to confess; for all of his analytical skills, he couldn't think of a way to resolve the situation to save you. It seems to surprise him when you bring up that he's literally one of the bots that saved your life. An attempt to deflect on the grounds that being a medic is just his job is stopped by himself at your look of silent pleading, and he remembers in an instant how much faith you have in him. Even if he doesn't always feel worthy of that admiration, he knows there must be something to it if it's coming from one such as yourself. That simple reaffirming of his abilities lets him focus on the miracle of having you here with him, and he begins gently and lovingly fussing over you as he always does, bringing the smile back to your face that he so adores.

[randombtsprincessa]

Blackthorn Creek

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Park Jimin x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 24.1k

Genre: Beauty and the Beast AU! Fantasy, Angst, Fluff, Smut!

Rating: NC-17 ranging till 18+ during the last scene, just to be safe.

Warning: Curses, magic, violence, conspiracy for treason, heavy insecurities, imprisonment of sorts, animal attacks, description of blood and injuries, mob mentality, invasion, stabbing, falling from heights, death, marital sex, first time, kissing, fingering, unprotected sex (be careful folksies!) And a whole lotta cheese cause it’s Jimin and I love him.

A/N: The following work is part of the Twisted Fairtytales: Members in Distress for @ksmutclub​ I had the idea for this story sitting in my WIPS and thankfully, the project came at the perfect moment! I hope you all like it as much as I loved writing it! 

A major thank you and a glomping hug to @cuziloveyou7​ and my amazing best friend for all their support for the fic!

The night was chill.

Pale, gossamer links of snow knitted across the glass of the castle, the granite of the stairs seeping the cold through to the skin.

A light chatter was interrupted when the front doors thudded – once, twice and then another time.

It was late, after all; much too late for any visitors, too rude for guests to show up…

The King, a benign man, stood from his seat near the fire, guards surrounding their liege. The Queen looked up at her husband, worried but the King patted her shoulder, beckoning for the doors to be opened.

It would be rude to leave the doors barred too, of course. It could be someone in need.

He watched, curious, as his Maitre D’, Seokjin, walked slowly to the doors. His arms flung the heavy oaken doors open, a flourish to his actions.

“Welcome,” Jin spoke in his exaggerated voice, “to the Castle of Blackthorn Creek. To what do we owe the pleasure, and to whom, may I ask?”

There was silence, much too thick, much too tense to be someone in need, to be a friendly visitor.

“I am here, to see your King. Bring me to him.”

Seokjin stuttered in his vigor, an unnerved stance taking him over as he glanced back to the royal couple, a question to his eyes.

The King cast an eye to his right corner, where his trusted advisor sat, his shoulders visibly tight. Namjoon cleared his throat, a warning sound. “I will see him.” The King said instead, knowing it would be better to see what the stranger wanted.

His guards circled him, his wife remaining behind as he approached and stood behind Seokjin.

“You are in the presence of our Lord and King.” The man announced, drawing away with a stiff bow – unlike any he had performed before.

The King stepped forward, and looked at the man who stood at his doorstep. The man, in turn raised his head, allowing for the dark hood atop his head to fall back. His head was cast in shadows, the whites of the eyes visible as he spoke.

“Your Majesty, I have come from far lands for the pleasure of your company.”

“Consider the pleasure ours, please do come in. What can we do for you?” The King waved a hand, dismissing the surrounding guards as the stranger tilted his head, walking in with his head still held high. He stopped right inside the threshold, as the inmates of the house gazed with wonder and some horror at his visage.

His head was shaven, dark marks etched into the near blue-white skin of his face. His arms bore similar marks, sheathed in crimson robes that were certainly not the fashion of those times.

“Well,” The King pressed.

The stranger slowly blinked his unnerving eyes, a flash of green lighting them. “I hear tales of your kingdom, your generous reign in my homelands. I must say I am not disappointed.”

He finally turned his head to where the Queen sat. “I also hear tales of a beautiful daughter. Your little Princess,”

There was a ringing silence. Guards shifted in their positions, Namjoon and Seokjin drew closer to the Queen and the King froze. To all but the mysterious stranger’s eyes unknown, a small figure crouched at her mother’s skirts, face turned curious to the sudden tension in the air.

“What do you want?” It was the Queen who spoke. Her crown glinted in the firelight, her body clenched on her chair. The stranger didn’t look at her when he answered the question.

“I come with a proposal. I offer my hand in marriage with the Princess.”

There was another pause, albeit much less tense as movement started.

“Preposterous; she is but a child.” This came from Namjoon.

“I am willing to wait.” The stranger said coolly.

“Then you will be waiting forever. I will not give my child to any godforsaken man who happens across my door and throws around absurd ideas. You will never have my daughter.”

“I will be a good husband, and a good king.”

“My Liege; do we have permission to draw arms?” The guard closest to the King asked, his hand already drawing closer to his sheathed sword.

“Nay, no bloodshed; just throw this madman out to the snow.” The King spat, his cloak whirling as he turned to go back to his family.

Behind him, his men converged, arms raised to push the stranger out the palace gates.

Time seemed to slow as the men gathered around his form, which had straightened to as tall as he could get.

“You’ll find you’ve made something of a mistake…Your Majesties.”

A cruel smile curled his lips, hands cupping near his stomach. His large sleeves gave way, revealing the etched marks and even as they pulse green, his form erupted in green light, exploding out till it engulfed the entire estate.

The King buckled, his arms wrapping around his wife and child as the men began to shout, and darting away from whatever it was the demon man unleashed.

“Hear me, O great King; for your impudence, I place your most beloved under this curse. You will be reduced to nothing but a fixture; your entire household will be mere pawns to be used by commoners. And your daughter,” The smirk widened, finding the small girl who still hid, now visible to everyone as their horrified gazes found the young princess.

“Your daughter will be left all alone. Her beauty will now be gone, her temperament destroyed. She will be feared, loathed, a monstrosity that will live with your enchantment.”

“She is a child! You are hurting a child!” Finally, an anguished wail escaped the Queen but the wizards over spoke her, drowning her words.

“At the age of twenty and three, she will be rendered thus permanently. Not a thing but the truest of love can rescue her and break my curse. Only the one who will look past her form will win that honor.”

The light faded with the man’s silhouette, the only thing that remained in the blazing glimmer of the settling curse. Movement ceased, the fire died into its embers…

“You will soon find that I am the only man who is merciful and worthy enough.”

These last words echoes in the halls, sealing through the stone and glass until another sound replaced it.

The screams of a terrified little girl…

Time seemed to flow like water after the screams died.

Nobody took courage to go up to the Palace, find their rulers…the town forgot they even had rulers. Administration moved into common hands, spread to the citizens and the legend of the lost royal family became a ghost story.

The path to Blackthorn Creek remained abandoned, silent, and derelict.

In the town of course, the ghost story didn’t matter. Life had moved on, become busy, become full of bustle.

Park Jimin threw the doors of his father’s work room open, sticking his head in to check once on the aging man.

“Father, I’m out to the baker’s. Shall I bring back something?”

There was no answer from his father, just a distant sigh that said there was nothing that could be brought back that would satisfy him.

Jimin drew back, unable to curb his rising disappointment. There was something in the slump of his father’s shoulders, ever since they’d moved into the developing town of Blackthorn Creek that, as much as the exuberant Jimin tried, he simply couldn’t shake.

Perhaps, it was his mother’s death that took their house and worldly belongings. Perhaps it was the sinking of his father’s patent ship, causing such debt that there was no hope to pay it back with nothing to put up for interest.

The Park family had to relocate from their luxury in France to the eastern countryside, to this small place. It had taken all the merry from his father’s life.

Jimin, however, worked hard to keep his spirits up. This was a setback yes, but his father was a genius. He was sure to come up with another pitch that would work out. And even if he didn’t; well, Jimin would always be there to take care of his beloved father.

A basket in hand, Jimin cocked his hat, setting out for the day.

The town, as small as it was, was full of life around midday. The market bustled, the streets running with people and the pub was always open, till as late as it could get.

But even through the color, there were shades of grey. The cheerful Creek had one mighty legend; one of the local royals’ disappearance. There was a long winded street that was barred from the public, leading up to a small hill, behind which there was said to be the palace.

He had taken these myths with a small smile, aimed at the person trying to call for his attention with these stories.

But even he had to admit, such tales of mystique piqued his fancy in the most delightful way. France had been exciting, especially for a young man such as himself. Plucking him out and placing him in a much smaller world where things were…stagnant, did cause something of a blow to his vigor.

Jimin stopped, contemplating the bookshop that lay just at the edge of the forbidden path. He had a few books still remaining back home, left to be read – but perhaps, he could squeeze in another couple?

“My boy,” The shopkeeper chuckled at the frown on the young man’s face. “Are you done with those piles that you took already?”

“Not quite, sir,” Jimin grinned. “I might just pop by again soon enough.”

The shopkeeper gave him a toothy grin, watching the man glance in some wonder at the blocked off road. The mountains had already started to grow slick with frost – sign of another passing winter. “Here,” he said suddenly.

Jimin stuttered in his forward steps, retracing back to where the stooping elder held out a pale bound tome from the front window. “Sir,” he raised his eyes in puzzlement.

“It’s a little something special I had lying about collecting dust. It was surprising that this one hasn’t caught your eye as of yet but I’m sure you will enjoy it.”

Jimin gave the friendly man a smile, letting the soft book fall open upon his palms, sifting through the delicate pages. “What’s it about?”

“The very thing you’re so curious about; lost princesses, brave knights, curses, fairies…” The book keeper burst out laughing at the soft blush that crept along Jimin’s cheeks. “You don’t need to be coy, son. Our little legend is bound to attract someone.”

“I must thank you sir. I will return it as soon as I’m done.”

“Oh by all means, keep it. It’s better suited to your hands than the shelves in this old place.”

Jimin blinked. “That’s a generous gift. I hope I do it justice.”

“I’m sure you will. Now off with you; the market isn’t going to stay open all day.” The man waved Jimin off, returning to his shop.

Jimin found himself quickly immersed in the fantasy, the short stories of courage, chivalry, sacrifice and fire keeping his nose well buried in the musty pages as he found the daily shopping that he was required to do.

All was well, until the book was snatched out of his hands, a giggle soon to follow.

“Hello stranger.”

“Hyebin,” Jimin sighed, looking around to where the young girl had snapped the book shut decisively.

Hyebin had been the girl to whom Jimin owed most of his knowledge of the town. Raven haired, slim and tall, she was the beauty of the town, sister to one of the most renowned hunters in the nearby vicinity – Kai. He and his sister had taken over most of the social scene of the town, near to becoming the law itself.

And Hyebin had her eyes set on Jimin ever since he set foot within the pub; by proxy, leading her brother to pester him with offers of her hand.

“May I have my book back?”

Pale glimmering lips pouted at him, the book still clutched in her hands. “You never pay attention to me, Jimin. Not when you have books about,” she said.

“Of course that’s not the case.” The man said smoothly.

“It is so. What’s so special about books anyway?” Hyebin took a step further back, too quick for Jimin’s reaching fingers. She pried the book open rudely. “They don’t lead to too much around here.”

“There’s more to books than just material gain, Hyebin.” Jimin was becoming impatient – his eyes fixed on the way her nails dug into the delicate binding.

“If you say so, when we’re married; would you still pay more attention to books than me?”

Jimin dearly wanted to say that that would never happen but he settled for resignedly bouncing on his toes. “What if I read to you?”

“I’d fall asleep.”

“I see.” This time Jimin moved fast, hands grabbing the book from Hyebin’s distracted hold long enough to fall back a safe distance. “I need to go back home. Give your brother my best.”

By the time he got home, his father had put away his new working equipment, instead pacing about in the handkerchief living room.

“Father,” Jimin greeted, putting up his hat.

“Son, how…how was the day?” His father stopped marching, coming up to take the basket of shopping from him.

“Normal, had to dodge Hyebin as usual,” he muttered, making his father chuckle.

“One of these days that girl will marry you still.”

“Such a horrifying thought,”

“Then let me put you to ease.” Mr. Park put his hands on Jimin’s shoulders, making his son look him in the eyes. “There has been some development. The ship that I lost at sea, a year ago, has been heard from. I have been called to attest to it.”

Jimin took a moment to process the news, watching his father’s eyes light up with something that was fearfully hopeful. “Do you mean that --?”

“Possibly; if it is true, we can go back to our old lives again! Think of it, Jimin! Paris, France, the beautiful sprawling house that we had to give up. Your education…” The man smiled affectionately, “We’ll have to find you a lady to wed who is at par with you.”

“Father,”

“I set off tonight! It will be a day’s journey but I know you can watch over things here.”

Jimin watched as his father hurriedly moved to the door, a coat and hat finding their way on his body and his cane and horse whip clasped to his breast. “Wish well for us, my son, our lives could be soon close to change. Do you wish for me to bring you anything back?”

“No father, just you,” Jimin bid farewell to his father, watching him disappear within the small stable to gallop away.

When Mr. Park had set out for the harbor, his spirits had been up soaring in the clouds, visions of his life returning to him in his previous splendor. Now, stood at the wooden ledge, watching crestfallen as merchants, traders, moneylenders, once his friends but now…now they had gathered around his returned goods and scavenged and distributed everything among themselves.

“Your debts are clear, Park.”

“Jimin won’t have to be in debt to us anymore, sir.”

“Go back home sir,”

Just words…nothing more, no comfort found his heart when he straddled his horse again, starting the long trek home.

The horse wouldn’t gallop, possibly sensing its master’s indolence and Mr. Park was overcome with a sudden wave of gratefulness for the animal. After all, he would have to strengthen his bones; he had to deliver the news to Jimin.

The idea of disappointing his son was probably more harrowing than that of losing his wealth yet again.

At least now they were free from debt.

There was a small whinny, attracting the older man’s attention as he looked up to see which path he was on. It was long, thin, winding up a hill he had never seen before in his life.

“Hey boy, I think we took the wrong way.” He patted the horse’s head, before getting off, grabbing the reins. “Let’s find a way out.”

A few miles in, Mr. Park stopped, short of breath.

“Where in the world are we?” He growled low, ignoring the shuddering animal behind him as he trudged on when a high, pitched sound made them both freeze.

A wolf’s howl…

There were wolves around. Mr. Park was alone with no weapons and no idea of where he was. His horse let out a sound of protest again.

“Damn it all too hell,” Mr. Park quickly climbed the horse, kicking it to speed. “Take off, boy; we don’t have any time to lose.”

His ride raised back its front legs, before racing down the way they had come.

Jimin had been anxious all day, toiling in the small garden that his father had managed to build in the front of their house. Sweat had gathered his dark hair into clumps, matting his eyes so when he hear the familiar whinny of Geureum, the horse, he smiled naturally – relieved that his father was finally back home.

“Ah father, nice to –,” he turned, his smile vanishing slowly when he saw the horse alone, pawing his hooves into the dirt, snorting impatiently.

“Geureum, where is he?” Jimin grabbed for the horse’s reins, pulling it closer to soothe it. “Where is Father?”

All Geureum did was shake his head roughly, stepping back and forth.

“Can you show me where he is, huh, boy? Come on,” He slipped his foot in the stirrup, hauling himself into the saddle. “Take me to him, Geureum.”

Geureum stopped only once when he reached a huge, wrought iron gate, roses and swans intricately welded to the metal, now rusty from disuse.

Something had prickled Jimin’s hairline when Geureum had approached the blockaded hill up to the legendary Blackthorn Creek palace but the horse had circumvented it, riding up a much thinner path up.

Jimin slipped off of the horse, patting Geureum on the side. “Stay here, boy.”

And then…with a creek that echoed through the cold night, he entered the palace, walking through huge oaken double doors to find his father.

He had to admit, for a second, standing in the atrium of the castle, he was struck by how grand it must have been. The ceiling peaked, now broken in with many of the granite slabs gone, the starry night sky clearly visible. Dirt and mud had accumulated on the marble floors, muffling the clicks of his boots just a bit.

“Father,” he called loudly before cursing to himself.

What if someone heard him? He wasn’t exactly supposed to be here.

Jimin shook his head. Who would hear him? It was a deserted castle with its family long gone. There probably had never been a family; the town had probably spun a yarn to make it special to tourists.

He crept up grand staircase, sticking close to the rails.

“Father,” he called again.

“Jimin…?”

He whirled, looking around for the source of the sound. “Yes, father it’s me.” He ventured, noticing a hand slipping out from the bars of a door. “Father!” He dropped to his knees in front of the door.

“Jimin, what are you doing here? You can’t be here, you have to leave!” His father was wailing from within, his hands grasping air in search for Jimin.

“What are you saying? Of course, I had to come! Who did this to you?”

“No! Don’t you see, Jimin? It’s true, the legends, the stories, they’re true!”

“What is true? Father, tell me who did this to you?”

“The monster; there is a monster in this castle!”

Jimin paused in trying to pry the door open, widened eyes swiveling to his father’s outstretched hands. “What?”

“It’s true! Please you have to leave! It’s dangerous!”

“Father, that can’t possibly be true!” Jimin said adamantly only to be proven wrong the next second.

A roar that sent Jimin’s hair rising to its ends erupted, echoing around the cavernous halls. A heavy weight landed on his shoulder, throwing him away from the door.

“What are you doing here?”

If there was a god, Jimin had better start praying to it, he thought, cowering away from the hunkering shadow that loomed over him. All he could discern were bright yellow eyes, slanting dark pupils glaring at him and the appendage his father had left hanging out the bars.

“Jimin!” His father chose to shout at the very moment.

Jimin watched the – the – thing – rise upon its legs, prowling further in but still remaining in the dark corner. “What are you doing here?” It asked again.

Jimin blinked slowly, trying to make sense of what was happening to him. Here he was, in an allegedly cursed castle. His father was locked up, raving about monsters and now he was face to face with what appeared to be a huge animal…only, it talked like a human.

“I…I came for my father.” Jimin stuttered, trying to push himself back up.

The yellow eyes flickered, between Jimin and his father, before creeping back into the shadows. “You came in vain. The prisoner will not be released.”

“No wait!” Jimin called, shuffling to his feet as the figure began to draw back. “You can’t keep him here like this! He’s an old man, he’ll die!”

“THEN HE SHOULDN’T HAVE TRESPASSED IN MY HOME!”

Jimin froze at the sudden roar, managing to grab onto his father’s hands finally. This was real. The legend was true. The people living in the castle were monsters, cursed.

“Your…please – I’ll do anything.”

“No! He’ll stay here, locked up because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.” The monster began to disappear.

“Take me.” Jimin took a step forward.

The figure paused.

“What, Jimin, no – no, listen, you can’t do this!” His father yelled.

“I mean it. You take me, let him go.” Every word strengthened in his throat, conviction pushing him forward till he was barely a meter away from the monster.

“You – You’d do that? You’d stay here, in exchange for him?”

Jimin met its eye. Bright yellow to Jimin’s deep brown, when it stepped finally into the small lighted part.

Coarse, shaggy fur coated a huge, lumbering form. The bright yellow eyes that seemed so unnerving were set in a canvas of a ferocious face, the fur streaked with grey and black, a huge snout for a nose and huge fangs that protruded from its mouth.

A lesser man would’ve burst a lung screaming at the horrifying sight but Jimin managed to hide his face, backing up till he could feel his father trying to clutch at the back of his shirt.

“I…I would. Let him go and you can take me.” Jimin finally said and he was proud to say that his voice remained steady.

There was a ringing moment of doubt, flickering in the golden orbs of the monster, before with a growl it raised its paw. Jimin flinched, cringing away from the blow but it never fell. Instead, he heard a dull, metallic thunk and the heavy padlock fell to his feet.

Mr. Park fell out; the door giving way under his weight and he clung to Jimin. “No, no, please, don’t take him, keep me – I have nothing to live for anymore but my son has a whole life.” His father begged to the monster but the only reply they got was a ferocious roar. “GET OUT! If you value your life and your son’s, leave; or I will kill you both!”

The monster turned on an enormous heel, stomping back into the darkness.

The tower that Jimin was pushed into had one small window, a little too high for him to reach, but he managed to hike his nimble body up till he swung from the ledge. His fingers reddened from the strain but when he finally peeked through the window, he just barely caught the end of a huge cart, led by a snorting and neighing Geureum.

He dropped from the ledge, landing squarely on his feet upon the uneven flagstone and cursed, running two hands through his ruffled hair.

“Hello sir,”

Jimin jumped, whirling around at the smooth voice that sounded nothing like the awful grate of the monster’s growl.

“Right down here.”

Jimin backed up as far as he could against the wall before casting his eyes downwards. There was nothing on the floor, soft moss growing within the cracks with one slightly buffed up candelabrum left behind.

“Hello,” the voice said again.

“Where are you? Look, I’m not scared of anything anymore so you’re doing nothing,”

“Of course not, sir, it’s me…Kim Seokjin, the…” a sigh, “the candle holder.”

Jimin took a shuddering breath, before very slowly diverting his eyes to the golden instrument on the ground.

It wasn’t very huge, just barely above average but the sweeping extensions made it seem bigger than it needed to be. Dripping wax clung to its arms where the candles stuck, the gold sheen pale yet glinting in the bare light. Just on the handle, there was an etching…just like one of a face. Even as Jimin watched, the candles lit up, making him flinch.

“Please follow me, sir.”

Jimin gulped.

“Follow you where?”

The candelabrum, to Jimin’s astonished eyes, seemed to turn on the base.

“The Mistress is installing you in a room of your own. The household doubts you want to stay in the tower.” There was something caustic about the smooth tone of the thing. It made Jimin almost bristle and refute before he looked around the tower he was put in.

It was one of the spindle shaped ones, too thin and a little rickety. The window that he had tried to peek out was the single one allowing light in and he could feel some vertigo setting in already, if the nausea was anything to go by.

“Fine – lead the way.” He said.

Jimin had already gauged that the palace had been luxuriant in its time but now, walking quietly through the long hallways with…an animate object bouncing along in front of him, he had to admit; that the ruin that now faced him didn’t seem adjacent to what the palace must have been before.

The stone, now greenish grey had gnarled carvings etched into them. The statues that stood at corners had most of their heads broken or missing and the small beam that the candles gave off only made him all the more unsettled.

“We know it’s a little…dull – around here but we hope you’ll like it.” It was as if the thing knew what was going on in Jimin’s head.

“You said ‘we’…and ‘household’ before…but except for you…and…well, the monster,” Jimin stopped talking when the candelabrum winced.

“You…might want to be careful about that. The Mistress is sensitive and none of the people in the castle will appreciate you calling her that.”

Jimin nearly tripped on his feet when he finally processed something. “That…that thing is a she?”

He was ignored. The candelabrum stopped in front of one of the doors, double door, handles of glum silver. “This is going to be your room, sir.” Jimin didn’t answer, quietly reaching for the handle and turning it, letting himself in cautiously.

The room wasn’t lighted, most of the darkness only marred by the light streaming from a glass window. He could spy a bed at best.

Jimin was about to step in further, squinting his eyes when he heard a loud creak, possibly a considerable weight upon a floorboard and then the clink of metal.

“If you don’t like the room, we can move you.” He heard but instead of the smooth, cool voice of the candelabrum, it was gruff, low and sullen.

He whirled to see a huge part of a shadow standing well back into the room. A heavy cloak wrapped up the body, concealing it further within the darkness.

Jimin didn’t speak as the form lumbered to the open door.

“Your needs will be seen to here. My servants will attend to you.” There was a pause before it took hold of the door. “And you will meet me for dinner; every night.”

The slam of the door made Jimin jump; his immediate reaction was to run to the door and look through the keyhole. There were footsteps and a murmur of conversation but aside from that, the entire palace seemed silent.

Jimin huffed, walking over to the window to open it, casting a furtive look outside and letting out a scornful laughter. He was a good way up the ground. Jumping from the window would mean certain death and even if he only escaped, it would be with broken bones and with no horse.

He doubted the ‘Mistress’ would nurse him back to health.

“My sweetest sister,” A finger brushed under the supple cheek of Hyebin, turning her attention to her brother who loomed over her at the counter of the pub. “What has you down?”

Hyebin pouted, throwing Kai’s hand off. “I went by Park Jimin’s house this evening to see if he would take a turn with me. He wasn’t there. The house was empty.”

“Maybe he went off with that father of his.”

“Why would he? There is nothing to do for him.”

Kai cast a glance at his grumpy sister, feeling the brewing of an odd emotion that he had had for her for months now. It was a mixture of pity, annoyance and yet the unyielding need to present whatever she wanted on a golden platter. He knew that Jimin did not return even half of a quarter of affection that his sister had and while he was annoyed at her overzealous devotion, he knew that she would never falter.

She got her stubbornness from him, after all.

Now, there may be better men for Hyebin than Jimin, but she wanted him and Jimin would marry her – Kai would see to it.

“Sister,” he began.

“You promised, Kai! You promised me you would make him marry me. You don’t love me. You can’t even do this much for me!”

“Now, now, dearest,”

Hyebin’s face had reddened; her hair crackling as she swelled like a bullfrog, ready to rail at her brother when the doors on the pub crashed open, with Mr. Park falling, raving against it.

“Help,” he panted, grasping at whatever was close at hand to heave himself up. “Help, my son, my son please.”

Heads turned, eyes falling to the soaked man as snow melted and pooled around his boots, the cloak wet and snug around his head. His eyes shifted from one astonished face to another, growing more restless.

“Please! I need help. My son has been taken by a monster!”

Behind him, Kai heard Hyebin’s squawk of indignation die down, releasing instead a dainty gasp. He watched the loony man walk around, trying to clutch at the sleeves of the patrons who shook him off with scoffs until he neared the siblings, finally tumbling at Kai’s elbow.

“Please, Kai, my last hope – you…have to help. My son, my only son – gone! – taken! – I can’t take this.”

Hyebin shrunk away from the delirious old man, bundling her dress to her knees even as Kai shook his arm free. “What’s the matter, Mr. Park? Be a little clear.”

“The monster of the palace took Jimin! Trapped him in the big castle on the hill…I couldn’t do anything!”

There was a pause as Kai furrowed his brow, before a patron shouted. “Leave him, Kai. He’s probably mad with the cold!”

“I am not!” Mr. Park immediately protested, wringing roughly at the coat before slumping his head and walking out the pub, defeated. They could hear wails of anguish in the cold winds outside but none were met with sympathy.

“He ran away!” Hyebin finally screeched, sinking her nails in her brother’s arms, ire flaming again.

Kai didn’t answer, letting his arm lax while his thoughtful expression slowly merged into that of a smirk. “Hyebin, my sweet; you might just get to marry Park Jimin after all.”

Jimin didn’t know when he’d dozed off. It must have been the exhaustion of the day, the pressure, the sorrow but he had curled up in one of the dusty armchairs, closed his eyes for possibly a second, only to gather his thoughts. Now he woke up to a pitch black room, stars visible from the window and he knew it was very late into the night.

His back had cramped in his position, obliging him to get off when he heard the gentle knock on the door. He took a wary stance, waiting for the doors to be barged into but to no avail. It was probably Seokjin the candle holder, Jimin decided, going to open the door.

“My now, I thought you’d wait for all the milk to go cold before you opened the door.”

Anticipating it, Jimin was already looking to the floor, only to be met by what looked like a tea set. He watched eyes boggling as the tea pot, a tall, sleek work with a rotund belly hobbled into the room, followed by a cup, and a sugar bowl.

“Um, what…who – are you now?” He asked.

“I’m the head cook, boy. Min Yoongi’s the name, also known as the best damn teapot in the kingdom. This right here,” the snout of the teapot tipped down to the cup, “is Taehyung, the assistant cook but not the best cup even in the room because he can’t keep himself on one stupid shelf.”

“Yah Hyung,” the cup opened at its seam, as if they were lips. “Don’t be mean.”

“I wasn’t going to come at all but I can’t leave you alone. Now then to business, boy; the Princess is taking a late supper so you can eat with her. You can have some milk before you go. You look like you’ve been crying and you’re just going to upset her.”

“Upset her?” Jimin glared, as the tea cup, filled with milk jumped into his reluctant hand. “I am the one trapped here.”

“Look on the bright side.” The teapot waved its spout and all the tea materials gathered in one line, heading out the door. “There’s a splendid welcome supper to be had. Come Taehyung.” He called as he exited.

“Oh but,” the tea cup sloshed some of its content onto Jimin’s hands when it jumped down, skidding across the stone before the door shut again. The sounds of the tea cup’s protests reached Jimin even through the heavy door.

Jimin wiped his hands of his trousers, grumbling at the way he made a mess when he backed against something large.

“No need to worry, young sir. Wardrobe is always here to help!”

Golden but dusty doors banged Jimin on the face, nearly tossing him onto the floor as the wardrobe advanced, rows and rows of pristine, shiny outfits ready to be worn. Jimin gasped, clutching his nose in pain as he shook his head.

“Many apologies! It’s been a while since I’ve been opened for any event at all. I am Jung Hoseok, the royal master of robes. Please do look through the selection to pick something out. I daresay you’ll want to change out of your outfit for dinner.”

“No thanks,” Wincing, Jimin managed to get to his feet. “I’m not going to dinner with Princess Monster down there.”

“Oh dear,” he heard the wardrobe as he crossed his arms, turning to the window to glare out of it.

The long dining table had been decked out for the first time in fifteen years. Silk cloths had been draped over the mahogany, candles put up, torches wiped and lit, plates and tableware sparkled in the dancing flame of the fireplace.

Yet, none of the chairs had been pulled back.

Seokjin and Yoongi, watched, anxious as the Mistress of the Castle, their Princess prowled in front of the table, each paw taking further weight from your animal bulk.

“Your highness, perhaps…you should sit and wait.” Seokjin suggested.

“No; I will wait for the man.” You said. Your voice had dipped down to a warning growl but your household items…your staff had never been very afraid of you.

Maybe they had, once, when you had first transformed and not taken to what you had become. A monster, a huge, hunkering loathsome thing which wanted to claw and destroy anything that stood in its wake…

It had taken years, but you had somewhat been ‘tamed’ since then.

“Princess, please, do consider that if we play our cards right, this man could be your salvation.”

“You think I don’t know that? I do…I know that but…how can he be if he won’t even come to dinner?”

“Perhaps also take into consideration that the boy is trapped here. He won’t see his father or his previous life again.” Jin’s statement wasn’t met with any geniality, instead the candelabrum found himself in the vice grip of his Mistress.

“Then what should I do? Do I throw him out? Let him leave so he can bring back a mob? No! I won’t do anything and if he wants to be difficult, I can be too.”

“We know that, your highness.” Yoongi said, his spout quivering. “We just have to remember to keep our tempers in check.”

The last statement was spoken pointedly and the monster blinked its huge yellow eyes, looking down to where you were almost squeezing your Maitre ‘D. You dropped the candle holder, Seokjin bouncing back a few steps when the door to the dinner room opened.

“Ah, there he is.” Yoongi’s belly turned, the porcelain splitting into a smile.

You turned, eyes trained in anticipation but what peeked in was an ornate long grandfather clock, its rose gold arms clasping the door in trepidation.

“Namjoon, where is the boy?” Seokjin asked immediately.

The royal advisor hemmed, glancing anxiously at the bunched up bulk of the Princess. “He says, he won’t be coming, your highness.”

There was a ringing silence, torn by the groans of Yoongi and Seokjin before you stood up, your clawed feet digging into the stone floor so hard it hurt.

“Fine, if he wants to be so stubborn then let him have his consequences too. Yoongi, you will bar the kitchens. He will not eat anything unless he first comes to me.”

“Princess, we can’t woo a dead man.” Namjoon said calmly but you were already dropping down from an upright position to what you were used to, on all four feet, crouching.

“I don’t care! Just…just let him starve! I don’t care if we find bones in his room.”

The three items converged, all talking together and you slammed a paw on the table, shredding the cloth. “Enough; let me go!” You roared before taking off, leaping over their heads so you could head and lock yourself in your quarters.

The silence that brushed up and closed around you as soon as the doors shut behind you and automatically locked was bliss. Yet your mind was anything but.

Hateful thoughts swirled in your mind, mostly aimed at yourself, some at the enthusiasm that your staff seemed to show for this new addition to your home and finally, venom spilling out to the man who had now entombed himself in one of your best rooms but couldn’t even show the decency to come down for dinner.

What was so difficult about dinner?

And why was he allowed to shut himself in his room when all your life you had been told to never hide yourself from the rest of the house?

Granted, all your people were now objects, magical but still just objects. Your parents had been turned to statues, forced to weather out in the overrun gardens and you had been raised by Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon mostly. Children your age; Taehyung and Jungkook had hated you in the beginning and you had never sought them out yourself.

Over time, Taehyung had forgiven you but Jungkook turned to a Duster never saw you, working quietly where you would never tread.

The rest of your household never came forward and said it; having never witnessed the event that had transformed you all but the malice was palpable. The rejection hurt, you were a child shunned and you sprouted claws much too early for anybody’s liking but you had tried.

You had tried, before giving up. You gave up because nothing happened. Fifteen years and no prince came; no fairy godmothers pointed their wands at you. The wizard never came back to see if his spell wrecked you.

All the stories that showed that Princesses would be rescued fell short at one crucial juncture.

No one told the story about the cursed princess who was ugly, who was a monster, who wasn’t the pale skinned beauty in a glass case or silk bed.

No, nobody came to save the ugly princess and over time you learned to see yourself just that.

This man – this Jimin, would be no exception.

“After all, what’s to love?” You muttered.

You vowed not to weep. Not for a man, not for the humanity that judged who was worthy of love.

Jimin had dozed off again. When he woke, it was with a start, groggy and fumbling in his movements. This was a bad habit. He needed to collect his wits about himself. Maybe it was the magic of the castle but he had to remember that he wasn’t safe in here, no matter how friendly and polite everyone…everything was being.

Somehow, in his slumber, the torches in the room had been lit, casting the place in a dazzling golden glow. The chair he had fallen asleep in again was pushed right to the edge of the room, near the window. He spied that the bed had been made with brocade bedding, surfaces had been dusted and to his surprise there was a pool at the very centre, filled with clear, almost glittering water.

Jimin’s stomach, having refused dinner with the Monster out of pride was already protesting, tossing him out of the chair in the direction of the pool. Maybe a cool drink would cheer and lift his spirits.

He sat at the engraved stone border, looking down at his haggard expression in the water, running a hand through the pool, cupping the soothing liquid up to his lips.

The minute the water passed his lips, a new sense of relief and rejuvenation passed his body, coursing through him as though adrenaline itself. Jimin got to his feet, looking about if he could ask the Wardrobe – Hoseok – where he could go to find food.

He found the spot empty, instead there stood a mannequin. On it, hung was a brand new outfit; a white spotless shirt, black trousers and blue silk coat. The mannequin stood lifeless even as Jimin stripped it, and then with apprehension brewing at his belly at accepting the gift, himself. However, unease had to wait; he was soaked, cold, and soiled. He would fall sick at that rate and then all his plans of escape would shatter. He also didn’t want to be indebted to the castle in any way.

So with a bite at his pride, he put on the outfit before pressing his ears to the door, listening for any movement. He couldn’t hear the pounds of the Princess’s paws, the clatter of any objects moving, no conversation, nothing at all.

Wary in his gait, he stepped out, keeping a light foot to lead him on when something whimpered from his side.

Jimin jumped, whirling in anticipation of roars, of overwhelming friendliness but instead a small pair of eyes beamed up at him from behind a moth eaten curtain. Running a hand over his panicking heart, Jimin’s lips tugged into a soft smile.

“Hello there,” he cooed at the pup that ventured out the curtain with three more at its tail.

“Oh, wow, puppies.” Jimin wanted to laugh at the simplicity, at the adorableness but the pups only let out soft gurgles, wrapping paws around Jimin’s legs, trying to nudge him along.

“What is it? Where are you taking me?”

Jimin allowed him to be prodded and nudged along by four small dogs, along the hallway, down the stairs and through another until he was pushing open a door, clearly the kitchen.

“Oh my,” his eyes fell first to the teapot on a wooden table, followed by the grandfather clock and candle holder he’d seen already. “What are you doing here? How did you,”

The teapot stopped when he saw the four puppies cuddling around Jimin’s feet, something of a softness melting the intricate seam of it. “Ah, of course,”

“Forgive me, I didn’t know. I was just hungry.” Jimin shyly dipped his head, knowing he was probably trespassing on some late night gossip among the staff.

“No, no, of course you’re hungry, you did show some nerve. It must’ve made you ravenous.” Seokjin bobbed towards him, wrapping a gold arm around his coat tails, dragging him to the table.

“Don’t worry, sir. We’ve spoken with the Mistress. She’s going to show some leniency. She won’t come down to dinner the same time as you do…unless you request it.” Namjoon the clock lied smoothly.

Jimin was sat at the table by Seokjin, a napkin pressed at him by the teapot as dishes and plates of food began to dance around the length of the table, piling upon the plate presented to him to eat.

“I…thank you.” Jimin frowned, unable to think of anything more to say.

“You may also wander the castle and grounds as you wish. One of us will always be found around and the Guides,” Yoongi pointed its spout at the four pups that stood lined near the door, “will be your companions mostly.”

Jimin looked down at the hearty meal in front of him before digging in. “That will be very nice. Thank you.” He said around a mouthful of potatoes.

True to their words, the castle and grounds were left wide open for the curious Jimin. He woke up to a wonderful outfit slung on the mannequin; suits, coats, wonderful silks and soft cashmeres to drape over his body. The wardrobe – Hoseok, had returned, helping Jimin dress for the day’s adventures.

Jimin would eat breakfast in his room, sitting at the edge of the pool where – he wondered if it was his imagination – the water seemed to move to entertain him. He would climb over stiles; sniff the glowing flowers, count stars and fireflies if he stayed out too late. The castle, upon inspection was vast. Huge statues imposed upon him, Grecian, roman and baroque architecture worked itself seamlessly in the palace and he had fun listening to Namjoon talking about each was worked in or acquired.

He was very rarely alone.

The Guides, as the staff called the small pups were always with him. He had learned their names from Taehyung, the tea cup. The fluffy brown one was Holly, a pair of small Pomeranians that shaded darker was Mickey and Yeontan and then finally a pure white one named Monnie.

They led him in and out the lands, sometimes through a grotto where the only thing that nestled was a pair of entwined huge statues. He had stopped and stared up at them for quite a while. They were probably the biggest in the entire castle, both wearing a pained, sorrowed expression that bore Jimin’s own heart down. He didn’t venture in that particular grotto again. It felt too…private somehow.

Jimin was given dinner in the main dining room, the long table decked out only for him. He would sometimes cast a look upon the opposite chair, feeling lonely even if he had multiple entities to talk to.

The Princess never came upon in Jimin’s presence for days. He could sometimes hear the paws of her feet on the floor when he was roaming about, but she never once tried to impose herself on him. It was almost as if she watched him watch her home from afar.

Something in Jimin tugged when he thought about home, how he had completely left behind his straggly little town for this palatial world. He missed his father terribly yes, but here in the estate that he was free to roam, with people whose knowledge he was free to peck at, the silence had turned blissful very quickly.

Thoughts of escape never strayed further from his mind but for now, he wanted to stay cocooned in this silence.

It was almost two weeks till he was made aware of the very real presence of the mysterious Princess. He was used to her being a phantom by now so when the Guides playfully nipped at each other, chasing down a corridor, Jimin followed at ease, not feeling the pricks of unease until he reached the darker end of the corridor.

It was a whole quarter, possibly belonging to one of the royal family. He peeked into the empty bath before venturing further into the darkened opening.

The palace that had been warmed by fire for their new guest – or prisoner, however Jimin wanted to look at it had failed here. There was an odd chill running through the walls, as if someone had sucked the temperature and doused the room in ice.

The furniture was all dusty, clearly not attended to, and silver and cream paint peeled from the walls. He could almost spy the moss that collected in the cracks of the walls before he came to stand in front of the wall of paintings.

Each and every face on the walls, Jimin noted had been slashed. It was a brutal mutilation, clearly from the Princess’s claws. There was one painting that remained, of what had to be the royal couple. A tall, regal man stood at the side of an equally prim lady who sat on an armchair. One of his hands clasped her shoulders while hers held on to a young child, poised delicately upon her knee.

The child, a girl wasn’t having it though. He could tell the struggle of her flailing arms and kicking feet yet her face was void of distress. Instead he stared at the laughing, playing child, baby curls fluttering around her ears, thick fingers and chubby cheeks – the full deal. A small golden tiara nestled upon her head, crooked from her movement.

The picture was so happy; it brought a catch to Jimin’s throat, looking back up at the couple, tearing his eyes from the once human Princess. There was something hauntingly familiar about the faces yet Jimin couldn’t put his finger on it.

So engrossed he was, in staring at the pictures, moving on to where he tried to put together shredded pieces of the painting together that he failed to notice the silence. There was no yapping of the puppies to be heard and this silence was anything but comfortable.

When the door squeaked open, Jimin turned, coming face to face with the monster who had been diligently avoiding him. Half her furry face was shadowed, but he could tell from the single wide open yellow eye that he wasn’t an expected sight.

The eyes darted from his face to his hands, placed upon the paintings. Jimin had barely opened his mouth, to apologize, to explain, perhaps to snap but the Princess had already dropped to her haunches, a low growl ripping through the back of her throat.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? HOW DARE YOU COME HERE?”

Jimin stumbled back, pressing against the wall as the monstrous Princess leapt, scrambling towards the paintings and covering them up.

“I…I was just,”

“LEAVE! I WANT YOU OUT. GO! NOW,”

Jimin had heard enough and it presented a brilliant opportunity to him. She wanted him to leave. He could leave.

So quick he was, sidestepping the crouching girl that he had no time to see her fall to the floor, the cloak that covered and hid her body wrapped protectively around as a whimper replaced her roars. The Princess’s sobs never reached Jimin’s ears.

He didn’t wait to find any of the household staff. He knew that they would ultimately attempt to stop him, try to make sense of the Princess’s commands. So he hurried down the stairs and out the side to where he’d found the stables.

His own Geureum was gone, with his father but he yanked on the reins of a white stallion; titled Jjangu on his crest. Jimin saddled the panicking horse blindly, patting it only once to soothe it before he was mounting and taking off in the distance of the town.

Your roaring yells had reached the ears of the household, of course. Namjoon was the first to respond, sliding into the royal quarters; his wooden stand skidding as he found you curled up under the one painting that you couldn’t bring yourself to destroy.

It was your family portrait, commissioned just two years before your lives would change forever and while you had torn up every picture of your face that hung up, you couldn’t destroy your parent’s.

Namjoon could tell from the shudders that shook your form that you were just finishing crying. Propriety dictated that he wouldn’t trespass on a royal in distress but you were his charge, he had raised you, taught you, attempted to feed you since he could bring your fear and panic at being transformed into a beast to heel.

“Princess…Y/N,” He coaxed, golden bars running through the shaggy mass where your hair would be. His heart ached at the soft sniffles that sounded too loud because you…you weren’t human after all.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. And it’s okay to not be, you won’t be less of a person for your troubles.”

You raised your head with a deep scoffing laugh. “I am not a person, Namjoon. I’m a monster; a loathsome creature.”

The clock ticked angrily but didn’t prod the issue. “The boy -,”

“Left; I scared him off. That’s that then.”

Namjoon shook his head, casting a glance out to where the snow had become wilder, until only white could be seen. “Your highness, he left in a terrible condition. He’ll get lost.”

“I don’t care.”

“Princess, Namjoon,” Two heads turned to where Seokjin rushed in, candles burning on his many wicks. “The boy, Jimin, he has taken off on your horse! He’s taken Jjangu.”

“WHAT IN THE WORLD?” You screeched loudly enough for both grown men…objects to flinch. “MY HORSE…HOW COULD HE DARE, HE -,”

“Princess, the wolves, if the wolves find them, it will be too late,” Seokjin murmured softly.

There was a heavy pregnant pause in which Namjoon and Seokjin stared at their Mistress, holding her shaggy head aloft as if she was praying for pity. Finally, under the gaze of your caretakers and advisors, you slumped, admitting defeat.

“Alright, alright, I suppose we can’t leave him to die in the blizzard.”

When you had first transformed, a howl had been the first thing that had scared you. Your small hands and feet had turned into paws, huge claws protruding from the nails. Your hair seemed to grow everywhere until you were taught that it was fur, too coarse and too matted to be what had been a well taken care of head of hair.

Your first memories after the transformation had been running away, tripping and falling multiple times because you weren’t used to your new body until Namjoon and Yoongi had found you, cowering under a broken branch. Howls had pushed you into a scared ball and when they’d found you, they’d spoken. You could still remember a clock and a teapot trying to act brave as a single wolf, too big and gleaming in the moonlight curled back its lips, issuing the threat that had locked you in your castle forever.

Of course, with age and your guardian’s patience you had honed your new abilities; speed, agility, strength and keen senses.

It was easy finding your fearful horse and Jimin, running on all fours as if a wolf yourself. Your ears pricked, picking up the yells of the man and whinnying as wolves surrounded your charges on all sides.

It was stupid to charge in head first, but when you saw a wolf snap Jimin’s weapon, a single stick in two between its jaws, it was exactly what you did.

Your first powerful spring, landed you clean behind Jimin’s now buckled body. The wolves immediately halted, intelligent eyes darting from the curling boy at your feet back to you, tongues rolling perversely.

You felt rather than saw Jimin raise his head, wondering why the wolves hadn’t ended him already. When he felt the larger presence behind him, he turned, gaping up at you as you placed one paw to the front, marking a line, marking a territory.

Loud snaps surrounded you, the wolves reorganizing till they circled you now, ready to attack from every direction.

Your eyes, however, sought one wolf out, finding its way back, sitting on its hind legs, tail wrapped around them. You snarled at it, the wolf obviously smirking at you before it rose up, stalking over to the head of the pack. It gave a short yap and the wolves, in once sleek, collective move, pounced.

You only had time to jump over Jimin, drawing the attack away from the human and your precious horse before you felt the first swipe of claws at your back. You whirled around, your own paws frantically hitting and lashing out, trying to bat away as many wolves as you could with as much force as you could muster.

You knew you couldn’t kill them, of course but it wouldn’t be for the lack of trying.

The wolves landed as many blows as they could on you, punishing you, sinking in teeth around your wrist, snapping around your ankles until you could smell the warm, metal in the air, from mostly your wounds.

“Enough,” You finally heard the one wolf, it’s comrades backing away with one word until you were left, swaying, eye to eye with its imperious gaze.

“Back off.” You growled but the only reply you got was a rough snicker, animalistic and feral.

“We would, just to see you fail in this attempt, Princess. We still wait for our master, and the day he becomes King, we shall have the boy for dinner. Another time,” The wolf tipped its tail at you, before turning and trotting off.

Jimin only raised his head when the sounds he could hear was the stamps of the horse’s hoofs, the whistling of the wind through his hair. When he peeked through slatted eyes, he could see you, tall, bulky, standing up to your full height as he caught the wolf farther away, dainty steps carrying it till it melted in the snow.

Jimin’s black robes that he hadn’t changed when he rushed out where wet, dirty again and he picked himself up, trying not to make too much sound lest you turn and put him through the same assault as you had the wolves.

He had heard the heavy thuds of your paws, the throwing around of the wolves as they banged against trees and rocks. He knew you could shatter his skull with one paw but then he’d also heard your screams of pain, each singing through him as you tried to keep the wolves away from him and your horse.

He reached the reins, about to climb on when he saw the horse’s eyes for the first time. They were wide, the neck bobbing as it tried to free itself from Jimin’s holding.

Jimin frowned, turning from the horse to where you stood and for the first time, he saw the damage inflicted upon you. Your heavy cloak had been ripped to tatters, hanging off of you in ribbons that exposed him to you. You wore pants, to contain the large hind legs, a simple men’s shirt. It was now smeared in stark red, the crimson pooling from your feet and arms into the pure snow below.

He watched as you tilted to the side, your weight finally tipping extreme and you collapsed, snow and blood flying from the impact.

Jimin turned to the horse again, reading the pain in the horse’s eyes.

It loved you.

Jimin once again turned to where your body lay, shivering just so slightly.

You were just a child, a cursed little baby girl.

Jimin’s mind flooded with images of a small girl in the painting, phantom giggles in his ears.

You saved him. He couldn’t leave you to die.

Jimin dropped the reins, his feet sinking into the inches deep snow as he ran over to you, kneeling down to turn your face towards him.

Your eyes were long closed, your mouth parted just enough for him to see the fangs within but he looked past that. Your fur was wet, both from the melting snow but also from your blood and as he cupped your huge head, he knew you wouldn’t last in this cold. Already, your breathing was erratic, your chest falling further with each exhale.

He looked to the horse that trotted closer, responding to the man who was helping his owner. It took severe effort, hefting the Princess but Jjangu was unexpectedly strong. The Princess lay across the horse, feet and head dangling and swaying as Jimin took the reins again, deciding to walk as he made his way back to the Castle, your home.

If the household staff was surprised to see Jimin back again, especially with an injured Princess lobbed across her horse, they didn’t express it. Instead they swarmed, concerned around where Jimin heaved and unceremoniously dropped the Princess at the base of the stairs.

While a coat rack took a shivering Jjangu back to the stables to be fed and warmed, Jimin helped the rest of the objects drag their Mistress to the sitting room.

“Great, what’s she gotten into now?” He heard as he unbuttoned his coat, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“Not now, Jungkook; she’s injured badly, near death. Either help, or stay out of the way as always.”

Jimin tilted his head towards the sullen reply, straining to hear. “Gladly, if I never see her face, it will be too soon. She’s the reason we’re like this, or have you forgotten?”

“Jungkook, that’s enough!” He heard the low angry rasp of Namjoon’s voice when there was a shuffle in his eyesight.

The Princess seemed to be able to tell that she was safe again, grunting and whining as she sat propped up in a huge winged armchair. Her tattered robes had been shed off, her modesty preserved by the fact that she was entirely covered in fur but Jimin kept his eyes averted respectfully anyway. Her large legs were drawn up as she clutched her wounded, slashed appendage close to her body.

As Yoongi hobbled over, full of hot water, followed by medicine bottles on a spidery tray that clattered, Jimin ripped bandages. He filled up a golden bowl with the steaming water, dipping medicine and cloths in it.

The moment he stood up, intending to nurse the Princess, she flinched, surprising Jimin as she cowered away from him. She turned her back, and he could hear a distinct whimper, as she licked at her injuries.

She’s not used to being vulnerable, Jimin realized, his slack frame pushed to movement with the fear that her licking and prodding would infect and worsen the slashes.

“Now, now, don’t do that.” He moved too fast, grabbing a hold of the Princess’s shoulder and was immediately met with a wide open maw, her ferocious roar shifting his hair back.

Jimin dropped his hand, scowling at the stubborn slump of her arm, drawn back to her tongue. “You’ll make it worse. Just let me help.”

“It hurts.” She snapped when Jimin leaned right over her, attempting to wipe at the mangled arm.

“If you hold still, maybe it won’t.” Jimin tried to keep his voice steady, not wanting to snap at the already pained girl. Her screams at the biting and slashing wolves were still too fresh in Jimin’s mind. He wanted to show some kindness but she was just so…pigheaded.

“Maybe if you hadn’t run away, I wouldn’t be hurt.”

Jimin raised his eyebrows at her petulant tone. If he wasn’t already aware, he would’ve believed the Princess to still be a child at the sullen note of her voice. Something tugged at the corners of his lips as she attempted to cross her arms; the clawed up one still dangling in his hold.

“You told me to leave, remember?”

“I didn’t mean the castle.”

Jimin dropped the bloodied cloth in a waste bowl. “I suppose the lesson here is that you should watch your temper, isn’t it?” He made an exaggerated show of dipping another cloth in the medicine bowl, ignoring the Princess as she huffed and dropped her huge head on an equally huge paw, distinctly pouting.

“Please hold still now, this is going to pinch some.” He used the same tone as he would on his father, concentrating at digging out some remaining bits of grime from the claw marks. A few of his swipes made the Princess cringe and try to pull away but not once did her strength win against his sharp glances and sudden tightening of grips as he repeated the process on her feet.

Finally as he did the bandages he spoke again.

“Thank you, for saving my life.”

The Princess was quiet for so long that Jimin had to chance a look up, catching her quickly smoothening her expression into one of nonchalance. “You’re welcome.” She growled lowly.

But Jimin had already seen the bitten lips, the downward slope of her brow and the glassiness of her eyes.

He stayed right there, on the floor at her feet for a while, until the Princess, who had been staring into the fireplace had her eyes drooping. He stood when he was sure she was asleep, snores shuffling the fur near her mouth and nose.

Jimin folded back the sleeves on his muddy shirt. He knew he needed to change his clothes if he wanted to stay well, if he was sick as well, who would take care of the Princess? He hardly thought Seokjin’s candle hands or Namjoon’s golden bars would be able to change soiled bandages and he could already feel a chill coming.

Placing a huge blanket on the sleeping Princess, he went up to his room to change.

“How is she?” Hoseok asked immediately, as he shuffled inside for something to wear.

“She’ll have a few days with that bandage. It’ll probably scar.” Jimin answered tiredly, dropping his clothes and entering the bath where Yoongi was already pouring hot water in the tub.

“Thank you,” Yoongi said as he stood by. Jimin turned his head to look at the gleaming pot in question. “For not leaving her to die,” Yoongi clarified.

“Of course not…I will admit I had the thought but, I couldn’t. Not after she’d risked hers to save mine and Jjangu.”

“Jjangu was a gift foal from her father. She loves the animal more than anything.” Jimin heard before with a click of the bathroom door, he was alone.

He sighed, laying his head back along the porcelain edge. He was desperately exhausted, aching and needed to sleep, but there was a gnawing in his chest. He knew the Princess was in good hands now; he would only be needed when she needed her bandages changed and he knew she could manage that herself but he found it difficult to not be worried for the girl that somehow seemed so small and scared in all her ferocious enormity.

“Maybe…maybe I could try to be her friend.” Jimin mumbled, more to himself than anything as he closed his eyes.

Jimin took his vow seriously.

The first thing he did when his eyes popped open and fell on the customary outfit left for him; a simple powder blue shirt and black trousers – was to jump up and get dressed even before Hoseok had opened the eyes on top of it.

Quietly, he made his way down to where the Princess was still snoozing in the chair, flinging open curtains and inching closer just in case she woke up and panicked.

“Princess,” Jimin called gently, her head moving just so. “Your highness, wake up.”

With a groggy groan, her head fell towards his direction, yellow eyes blinking open in the filtering morning light.

And to the Princess’s dawning wonder and shock, Jimin gave her a beautiful, wide grin; possibly the most beautiful sight she had ever witnessed in her life.

From then on, both Jimin and Y/N tried to make an effort.

Y/N still felt her temper flare up quick as a snake’s attack but she quelled it in fear of the look on Jimin’s face. Jimin learned that despite her age, the Princess was still just a sheltered child who knew only what had been told to her.

Jimin tried to get you to participate in various activities. He taught you a few card tricks with a very old battered set that Seokjin unearthed, he told you stories of France, his life, what the world had to offer outside of the small town that had forgotten and abandoned her, he even tried to paint with her – although that ended in a disaster that had Yoongi steaming from his spout, Taehyung quickly sent to supervise the cleaning.

You, on the other hand, took Jimin outside.

Even though, Jimin had had the Guides to lead him places, no one knew the Castle and its grounds like you did, having spent fifteen years prowling and growing in it.

You allowed him to ride Jjangu while you walked, sometimes raced him. He had to change your bandages multiple times during these rides, noting with some joy that you healed faster than a human.

With four wild puppies and Jjangu, you took him to the top of a stile where in the falling night; he could count a multitude of stars and constellations. You threw Jimin in fountains; let him sift through flowers in the crumbling greenhouse, taste the fruits from the Grottos.

“My parents,” you pointed with a clawed finger, up at the huge entwined statues that had haunted Jimin before. He looked, focused on their faces more now, recognizing them from the portrait.

“Are they…gone?”

“No, just left frozen, to watch over what happens to me,”

Jimin turned to see you staring down at your palms, the story of the curse now making him enraged for your sake rather than sad. However, he kept mum, afraid of upsetting you rather than providing comfort. Instead, he took your huge gnarled hand, leading you quietly back.

Jimin and you took meals together now, lunches and dinners. He had unintentionally grimaced when he saw you simply lower your face and devour the food directly from the bowls and plates. In time, once he saw you try for him sake, he realized that your hands were simply too big for the dainty silverware and fragile glass goblets that fitted so perfectly in his.

So the next meal, Jimin surprised you by asking Taehyung to simply not provide any at all, raising his own bowl to his lips to eat as you did.

Your smile, huge, fanged, fur creasing in the corners of your mouth yet so happy, golden hue shining in your eyes, made him make it a habit to accommodate you, rather than ask you to change for him.

“Can I open them now?”

Jimin followed the trail of your cloak, sight barred by his hands as you attempted to lead him off for a surprise. You had been excited, the morning you simply strode into his room before he was even dressed. He had rushed behind Hoseok, who laughed at the pink of his cheeks and flustered backing away from you, until you claimed that ‘it was ready’ as he hurriedly put some clothes on.

“Not yet,”

Jimin heard the creak of doors, the clangs of curtain rings and felt the warmth of the sun on his skin.

“Okay, open them.”

Jimin dropped his hands with an indulgent smile, first looking at where you stood at the window, paws clasped together, and a nervous grin on your animal face. Your ears stood on point, waiting for his reaction as Jimin’s eyes wandered…and then widened till they were ready to pop right out.

It was a library.

A wonderful, glorious library, better than the dingy bookshop in town, better than any he’d seen in Paris. This was better than anything anyone could create in the whole world. Towering till the eye could see, with ladders and actual staircases leading up, his neck strained trying to fathom just how many books there were there.

“Oh my god,”

“Do you like it?”

Jimin looked down at where you were nearly vibrating with nervous energy.

“I had it cleaned, that’s what took so long. Seokjin told me you loved reading so I thought you should have this. I don’t know if everything is alright, but I checked last night and,” You stopped rambling when Jimin said your name. It was just a soft whisper but it tore a shiver through you at the tenderness, the fondness in it.

You had never heard anyone speak to you like that – not even your caretakers.

Jimin was practically aglow. His eyes shone as if someone lit coals underneath, his teeth blinded with the power of his smile, before his eyes turned to invisible slits.

“I absolutely love it, Y/N. Thank you; no one has ever done something like this for me before. This is perfect.” He strode forwards, his hand reaching for your face where his fingers nestled within the shaggy fur on your cheeks. He kept his smile fixed, nails gently scratching as your breath caught at the affection.

Jimin stared up at you, his own eyes and face sobering at the wide eyed look on your face. His fingers slowed till they just rested there, the both of you staring at one another.

“Ahem,” Jimin finally cleared his throat, removing his hand from your face. Was that disappointment he saw across your face? He turned to the shelves. “What shall we read first?”

Something thudded in Jimin’s chest, racing his blood with adrenaline as you and he sat on the floor in the sitting room, books strewn around you and the fireplace bathing you in heat.

“…and they lived happily ever after.” Jimin finished, closing the fifth book.

He had laughed and placed his head on yours when he discovered that you loved stories as much as he did. You had demanded him to read for you with one, two and the next three books. Jimin had happily obliged, enjoying the way you now sprawled on your front, arms cradling your head, looking at him with such a rapturous expression, he could melt.

“Read…one more…?” Jimin looked down to where you slid another book in his lap. Your eyes were big, hopeful and the rush of emotion that swirled in Jimin’s stomach was nowhere polite. He thought back to Hyebin, wanting to be married to him and yet knowing that she would fall asleep at the one thing Jimin was so passionate about. He cursed himself for the comparison. There was none. Hyebin wouldn’t even occupy the shadow of who you were.

“Y/N…I’m tired. How about you read for me now?” he leaned back on his arms, nudging the book back at you.

You paused, sitting up slowly before taking the book in your huge hands.

“I…I’ll rip it.”

“I’ll fix it back for you.” Jimin said immediately.

Your face fell as you opened the book, taking some time to flip it to the first page. Jimin watched; somewhat concerned as you slowly read the first of the fairytales.

“Once…up – on, a time…”

“Y/N, love,” Jimin had no time to worry about the endearment that slipped his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I can’t,”

“Can’t…read…?” He guessed.

You nodded quickly, fearfully.

“Oh, I thought Namjoon taught you.”

“Alphabets, a little book of stories and history…but I…I can’t read big literature. I can’t even hold books.”

Jimin’s heart cracked as you glared fiercely at your hands again.

“No matter, I’ll teach you, here, come now. I’ll hold the book for you.” Jimin grabbed the book, holding it open for you as he slowly, pronounced the words, you following him.

Behind you, unbeknownst to both of you, Yoongi, Namjoon, Seokjin and Taehyung sighed dreamily.

“Think they’re in love yet?” Jungkook drawled from behind them.

“Not just yet, I suppose, but they’re getting there.” Namjoon said.

“They need one more push.” Yoongi muttered.

“And what better than…a ball,” Seokjin glanced at Taehyung, wearing identical smirks.

Hyebin lay on her front, draped along the chaise in a manner that would have most men in the town be willing to do her bidding. The one she wanted, however, hadn’t even gone past the town in ages. She was bored; dejected from the lack of attention and her brother – she cast a venomous look to where her older sibling paced in front of the fireplace – hadn’t done a thing for her.

“Don’t look at me like that, Hyebin. I’m thinking.” Kai said, catching her eye.

“Well, perhaps you could think later. Isn’t this the time for action?” Hyebin cupped her face.

“Not yet; your impulse is what ruined your chances with the boy in the first place.”

Hyebin scowled.

“But don’t you worry your pretty head, darling sister, for your brother has a wonderful plan in mind.”

“Which is…?”

“Never mind you, you will go about ruining things and Jimin won’t marry you as well. You will only blame me.”

Hyebin slammed a small fist on the chaise. “Kai…tell me!” She whined but Kai only walked to the door, opening it as he tossed her a cloak. “Come on, we’re going to play nice and talk it out with Park Jimin.”

Much to their disappointment, however, and to Hyebin’s rage, when they arrives at the cottage of the Parks, it was completely dark. Not even one candle had been lit on the porch.

Kai knocked; once, twice, thrice even yelled for both Jimin and Mr. Park but the only thing to reply was the keening silence.

“They’re not here.” He mused.

“You don’t think they…left, do you?” Hyebin whispered.

“All their things are still here.” Kai’s eyebrows creased, flickers of annoyance and true anger flaming in his own eyes. “Well, we won’t stop. They have to come back some day. We’ll be ready.” He ignored the smack of his sister’s hand at his back, striding back towards the pub.

He needed a drink.

When you entered your quarters after a day of playing in the gardens with Jimin, watching him weave a crown of roses and dandelions which he placed on your head, you weren’t expecting to see Seokjin standing there with a bunch of standees and mannequins that used to be ladies in waiting for your mother.

“Um…Seokjin,” You queried even as you were swarmed with too many ceramic hands.

“’Tis the day, your highness, it is the day of your birthday! We have to have a ball in the honor!” Seokjin exclaimed.

You were shoved in a tub full of hot water and bubbles, the soap soaking into your fur. The words were enough to shoot a tendril of doubt through your heart, snaking till it looped around and squeezed. Your breath deepened as the mannequins began to scrub at you, rubbing in the water and soap till it reached the skin underneath.

It was your birthday already? No, it couldn’t be. You would remain a monster for all eternity otherwise. You would be condemned to live like this. Loveless, because who would look at you and feel anything but disgust and terror?

“Seokjin, my birthday isn’t till one another day.” You reminded the Maitre D` from behind the screen.

“The actual day isn’t of import, Princess. Besides,” He lowered his voice, “the day of your birthday will be the last day of the curse. It is make or break for us. You have to tell Jimin of your feelings for him and he has to return it. We simply cannot leave these things till the last minute.”

You remained silent, watching the mannequins use huge metal buffers to file and shine your claws.

“You…you do – you do have feelings for him, don’t you Your Highness?” Seokjin asked, misreading your silence.

You sighed, dipping further down into the water. Of course you had feelings for Park Jimin. Only an idiot would have a man like him around and not fall for his kindness, his generosity, and his open mind. Also, the small slants of his eyes, the way his lips split to reveal a gleaming smile that could halt an army, with shiny dark hair that fell into his eyes.

He was an angel.

And you were a hideous beast…

“It’s not my feelings that are a problem, Seokjin. How can someone like him ever feel for me, unless it’s fear? Maybe I haven’t earned his affection still.”

“Ah phish-posh, you forget, dearest Princess; we have all watched you and him very closely. We have seen the way he looks at you. Only a man that loves someone will have such a beam to their face.”

You sunk down further, Seokjin’s words easing the nervous grip in your chest a little. Perhaps…you did stand a chance. You could tell him of how you felt, he would tell you what he felt, and maybe you and your people can become human again.

You held the hope close as you were ushered to your own wardrobe, gowns that you had never once had the occasion of wearing, now shoved against your body and you into them, made to twirl in front of a huge mirror to check for anything to improve.

The time had come.

The gown that both Seokjin and the lady in waiting had chosen was approved by Hoseok finally, him making you swish the skirt and twirl in front of it, while pins and needles were floating around you, just in case things needed to be loosened or tightened anywhere.

You, who for almost all your life had only donned on the left behind clothes of your father of the male staff had almost giggled at the fancy attention, enjoying the feel of silk and gossamer curling around you and pooling out from your waist.

The dress was a pale gold and silver, shimmering with crimson jewels strewn about the skirt. A heavy diamond brooch glittered to where the bodice and neckline fell in a waterfall of fabric and your hair had been lifted from the mass of fur at your neck, rolled up elegantly till it lay in a soft mass on top of your head.

“Your highness,” Seokjin said finally and you were surprised at the sniff he let out discreetly. “You look beautiful. Come, your gentleman waits.”

You followed the candelabrum, exiting the room as Seokjin led you to the ballroom, to where the stairs led up to where royals made their grand entrance. You could hear light conversations down below and if you close your eyes, you could almost imagine that it was really a ball of people come to wish you good fortune on your birthday.

Maybe, if you could put aside your doubts and the harsh truths that crushed hope in your chest, you could have it someday soon.

You heard the Maestro, now transformed into a sprawling Organ, strike up a tune and Seokjin swished a golden bracket, gesturing you to walk down.

You lifted up the enormous skirts, praying to anything divine that your claws, now shortened down and sparkling, wouldn’t rip the dress anywhere and walked down the stairs, seeing everyone gathered at the base of the staircase, smiling up.

Mostly, though, you only noticed Jimin.

It was true, you hadn’t paid much attention to what kind of clothes Hoseok had been putting on Jimin for the duration of his stay here. Before, it used to be rich fabrics and embellishments that glimmered with his movements. The moment of your friendship and he began to step out had caused for simple cloths, sans coats and cloaks unless it was snowing.

Now, Hoseok seemed to have pulled all stops.

The suit that Jimin wore was all black, form fitting with studded rubies along the lapels and buttons the same shade as yours. Gold lace wound around his neck and his hair shone with the same effort, as if he’d undergone the treatment you had as well.

He smiled widely when your eyes met his, stepping forward till he reached you.

“You’re stunning.” He said and you could only muster a shaky smile, fluttering from the sincere compliment. “Happy Birthday, Y/N,” he whispered, bowing as he extended a hand for you to take.

You let your paw rest gently on his, deliberate and careful not to let him feet the real weight of it. “Thank you,” you managed a smile as wide as his, before the rest of your household gathered around you, wishes poured out and rushed words carrying you off to the cake.

Jimin was excited to see the cake, three tiers of it. Y/N’s eyes popped open wide, gaping at the sheer size of it but even as he grabbed her hand, leading her to cut into it; she was looking down, trying to muffle a smile.

He had to commend Yoongi and the entire kitchen staff. The cake was rich, fudgy and even he was rushing after that very last crumble. Finally, he felt the nudge of Taehyung, the cup around his ankle and he moved into action.

“Could I request for the birthday girl to bestow me a dance, your highness?” He stood up from his chair, slyly winking over to where Y/N put down her plate quickly, looking almost as if she was going to laugh.

“Of course, kind sir but I should warn you – I may step on your toes.”

Jimin chuckled, pulling her onto the glittering marble dance floor. “I don’t mind; you can step on my toes anytime.”

Y/N blinked down at him, Jimin could feel her breath catch at the way he would his arm around her waist and clasped her hand and couldn’t help but smile. She tried not to, moving slowly along with the way he led her, her attention focused down mostly to keep from actually crushing his feet when he stopped moving.

“Come on, let’s go look at the stars. Tonight, they’re as much more gorgeous than ever, as if they’re shining solely for you.”

He walked back with Y/N in tow, opening the balcony doors and letting her go out first before he shut them again, turning to see her stand at the rails, looking up where the stars mirrored in her golden eyes, twinkling in the sky and on the earth alike.

“So,” Jimin cleared his throat, gaining her attention again. “Are you enjoying your early birthday festivities?”

Big eyes blinked yet again at him, something shifting beneath as they were lowered. “I am, much more than I would usually, I suppose. I haven’t had a birthday in fifteen years.”

It was Jimin’s turn to blink, only in horror. “Not one in fifteen years?” he asked.

“Well, Taehyung tried, for the first two years, but then…I had no one to share it with. I had no one.”

Jimin closed in to where she stood with her back to him. His hand ached to rest along her cheek, turn her so he could look at her face but he resisted. “You have me now.”

She still didn’t turn. “Jimin…” A breath was drawn, as if steeling her for some deep resolve. He watched as your shoulders, clad in golden shimmers he wasn’t used to seeing her in slumped finally. “Are you happy here, with me?”

Jimin’s first instinct was to blurt out a simple ‘yes’. Was he happy here? Yes, he had everything he could possibly dream of and more here. He had the library, the gardens, the long winding hallways, the grottos…the silence, oh god, the blissful silence where no one bore down on him, no one judged him for not eyeing girls, not being interested in hanging out around the pub, not being Kai’s lackeys.

Was he happy with you? Of course, he, for the first time, felt someone was completely understanding and kind to him. No matter that he was perhaps the first to show her human kindness too but she let him be when he needed, listened to him read, asked him questions and challenged him. She fulfilled him in a way no one had.

No, they were two whole people. They had just found fulfillment in each other, and he was happy to call her home as much as the castle. He was happy. He was content.

Y/N didn’t seem satisfied. Her head turned fractionally, peering at him in such a fashion as to confuse Jimin. “Wouldn’t you ask for anything else, if you could? There must be something more you could ask for.”

Jimin hesitated, once again hand hovering over her but unable to touch. “I…yes,” he sighed, dropping his hand. “I would ask to see my father again but,” he quickly rushed on, lest she be upset. “I know I can’t, so I won’t press for it.”

She turned finally, too fast for him to not be startled. “There is a way. You can see your father.”

Jimin frowned, crossing his arms, more to protect himself against the temptation than defiance. “How?”

The Princess quietly walked by him, opening the doors and carrying on, Jimin taking a moment to follow hurriedly after her, still confused and a little worried before he realized that they were tracking a familiar path to his room.

“You had a way of seeing your father all the time.” Y/N spoke, stopping by the pool in the centre of the room. She bent down over it, gesturing for Jimin to join her. “You can call out for the waters to show you what you wish for. The waters even have healing abilities. The Wizard’s token, left behind to torment me with everything I can’t see but still so that I wouldn’t be able to harm myself in any way.”

Jimin heard it all; unnerved by the way someone could hurt a little child. Yet, the allure of seeing his father was way more than the urge to console the Princess. He sat at the edge as Y/N drew away to give him space.

“Please, show me my father.” Jimin said, his voice sounding desperate even to his own ears.

The water swirled clear, one turn, two turns before deepening into a whirlpool. Images swirled at the very bed of the pool, bubbling up till they hovered over the spin of the water. Jimin watched eyes tearing from horror as his father stumbled from one tree branch, to another, panting, struggling to stay on his feet.

“Oh no, father.” He nearly shouted, before remembering his father couldn’t hear him.

“Jimin, Jimin, Jimin,” his father chanted before finally dropping down into the snow, shuddering and curling up in the frigid ground.

“No!” He sprang to his feet, the illusion breaking with his movement, subsiding into the waters again, still and clear. “My father, he’s sick. He’s alone, wandering the woods, looking for me. He could be dying. Y/N, the wolves…what if the wolves find him?”

Jimin turned around to look at you, facing the window, silent as before. He wondered if you had heard him at all.

You had heard him.

Your ears pricked, flattening against the side of your head as you processed the frantic desperation to Jimin’s voice, your mind racing with a million thoughts.

You thought back to your childhood, soft smiles and misty words now fogged with time…and then all you remembered was pain. The pain of changing and growing too many sizes too big, the eruptions of the fur, claws, having to get used to them. The pain of being unable to eat and the consequent process of starvation until Namjoon figured out how to feed you – like a dog.

The fear of being hunted mingled with the uninterrupted loneliness that no matter how much your staff tried to ebb, would never cease.

You remembered back to spending hours upon hours with the statues of your parents, wailing when it got too much, with even your own people afraid to approach you.

Then you thought back to the first day you’d met Jimin; brave and strong and so sacrificing, martyring himself for his father to stay here…with you; showing you kindness, helping you, teaching you, and even saving your life.

He’d sparked companionship for you.

How were you repaying it?

By holding him captive here? You had seen the devastation on his face that first night, the same pain that had been your constant. How could you claim to feel anything for him when you were hurting him?

You had lost everything as a child, and you had grown up used to it. You couldn’t put Jimin through the fresh agony of it. He had a life to get back to, loving people to help him.

He was human. He didn’t deserve to live with a paltry princess living in a curse.

And with that came the final blow…

How could he love someone who had torn him apart from his father? How could Jimin be fond of someone who had basically subjected his father to a pitiful, lonely death?

So you quelled the cry of your heart, steeling bands of iron around it until you could nurse its break alone. You made the decision simply because it was already set in place.

“You should go. Go back to him.” You said quietly.

There was a pause.

“What did you say?” You heard him, too close to you and you flinched away from his proximity.

“I grant you your freedom. You’re no longer my prisoner.” You turned to face him, grateful for the fur that absorbed any stray tears before they were obvious.

Jimin’s eyes were shiny as well, but you knew they were tears of joy. He gaped, his breath catching before he spoke, choked up – “Thank you.”

You watched, leaning against the window as he hurried to take off the heavy coat, instead shrugging on a simple, heavier cloak. He pulled on boots, easier to wade in the snow.

You, on the other hand, went to one of the dressers, unearthing a vial and moving to the pool, dipping and collecting the water in the shimmering glass.

“I’ll be back before you know it, Y/N. I think I’ll have to bring my father along sometime – convince him that you’re actually a big softie, none of the roaring monster that you were so kind enough to act as.”

His voice was teasing; light, even jovial as he eagerly approached you. You remained silent, handing him the vial.

“Here, take this. It’ll be useful to you. If you need to be healed…or it can help you remember me.”

Jimin’s smile faltered, looking from the proffered container back up to your eyes, now obviously dripping.

“I’m not going to be very long, Y/N. At least, not long enough for me to forget you.” He laughed, still pocketing the vial when you didn’t withdraw it. Sighing, you shook your enormous head.

“No…you can’t come back. You have to stay away. Stay with your father.” You refused to meet his eyes.

“Wait, what…what are you saying? What do you mean I have to stay away?”

“It means that you shouldn’t come back to the castle.” Your voice broke. “You have to stay in the town, maybe even go back to Paris. Live your life, Jimin; you have the rest of it. You deserve much better than living in a dilapidated castle with a monster.”

“No! No, I can’t…Y/N; you’re part of my life. I can’t…I can’t just, let you think that of yourself and your home. Y/N, you’re so important to me.”

He was reaching for you, his hand going to wrap around yours but you backed away quickly, unable to let him touch you lest you break down and beg for him to come back, to stay with you. You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t subject him to that.

You loved him too much for that.

Instead, you fled, turning on your heel and exiting the room on all fours, ignoring his rough calls of your name. You knew he wouldn’t waste time chasing you, not with his father in that state, not with the threat of the wolves hanging about his head.

When you entered your room, your whole staff was already present, with expectant beams on their faces. You even spied Jungkook in the midst, the feather duster nearly reeking of disdain.

“Well, how did it go? Did he say it back?” Seokjin nearly shook from excitement.

You dropped your head, already dreading their reaction. “I…I let him go. His father is sick. He needed to go back.”

There was a silence so deep, so disappointed; you inwardly cringed even when Jungkook broke it with a caustic snicker.

“But…but we were so close. Why would you do that, Princess?” Namjoon asked.

You walked to the window, throwing them open to see the last vestiges of hooves vanishing in the snow. “Because, I love him,”

Y/N had been right. There had been no time for Jimin to process what had just transpired in his room, not when the cries of his father echoed through his head. He mounted Jjangu and sped off in the direction he’d gleaned his father would be. He had to be single-minded for his father for now, he decided. He couldn’t take care of the old man if his thoughts were littered with questions, with confusion, with hurt as to why it was so easy for Y/N to just tell him to leave. Did she not feel the same for him as he did her?

He knew he couldn’t disrespect her by showing up with his sick father at her doorstep after she’d told him to leave. Perhaps, after his father was healthy, he would map the course again, ask for answers, and plead to stay with her. Perhaps, he’d hurt her somehow and this was her way of protecting herself…?

Jimin sighed, laying his father back before warming water, laying thick cloths soaked in hot water along his forehead to fight the cold back. It took him back to when he’d patched Y/N up after the wolf attack and he had to shake off the thought when his father stirred, looking blearily up at him. “Jimin…you’re back!” His father sat up too quickly, holding his son at arm’s rest to check him before pulling him to his breast.

“Ah, son…I never thought I would see you again. But how…how did you escape the monster?”

Something tugged in him at his father’s tone, making him pull away from the man. “She’s not a monster, father. The legend of the Castle is true. She’s the cursed Princess…” Jimin sat at the edge of the bed, his eyes taking on the sheen of reminiscence as he recounted his journey with her till he was told to go back to his father.

He hoped perhaps, that his father would encourage him to go back, but he needed him to be stronger first, so once his tale was over, his father still gaping at how Jimin made the monster who had imprisoned him and his son sound so human, he fell asleep.

Jimin, however, didn’t. He paced back and forth from the fireplace to the bed, interrupted only by a quick, sharp knock on the door.

Scowling at the late hour, Jimin opened the door, not too pleased to see who it was on the threshold.

“Jimin,” Kai beamed, almost too familiarly as Hyebin tipped her hood back, studying Jimin as if she was planning to gut him. Her nails were digging into her brother’s arm and Jimin wondered how strong Kai had to be to not wince.

“Kai,” Jimin modulated his voice coolly. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Entirely too late, my good man,” Kai turned his head to his sister. “Didn’t I tell you it would be rude to show up right now?”

Hyebin didn’t answer.

Jimin ran a hand through his hair, frustration making him further annoyed. He needed time and space to think, to process things. His father was sick, he had been a prisoner in an enchanted castle where he had found more solace and acceptance than he had in freedom, he had fallen for a cursed Princess who might or might not return his feelings but had forbade him to return to her. He needed to make plans for his future.

He couldn’t be discourteous though, not when they’d taken the trouble of coming by.

“Come in please; my father is ill and sleeping so if you could keep your voices down and be quick about this…” He let the door fall open further. Kai and Hyebin walked in as if they weren’t going to take no for an answer anyway, shedding off their cloaks and making themselves at home.

“Well Jimin, I must say it’s a relief to see you. Your father had been by the pub, you know, raving on about you being kidnapped and all by some monster and imprisoned. We dropped by a few times later to see the house empty.” Kai said. “We all thought he’d gone mad, or you’d run away and he was just lying to make us all look for you.”

Jimin didn’t look at the taller man, feeling the pinpricks of anger flare again at the accusation. “I…yes, I’ve been away. I was at the castle. My father wasn’t lying, neither is he mad,” He said coldly.

There was a silence in which unbeknownst to Jimin, Kai and Hyebin exchanged looks.

“Wait, you’re talking about the palace? The royal palace on the hill…that’s where you were and the monster is real?” Hyebin asked, bug eyed.

“Yes, the monster is your Princess and she’s not vicious or anything, Hyebin, unlike how you described her when you told me the story. She doesn’t devour children and she doesn’t make their bones into furniture.” Jimin snapped, crossing his arms before sighing as he glanced into the fireplace, eyes and voice softening. “She’s a little short-tempered, yes but she’s kind hearted and caring and intelligent and curious. She’s my friend.”

Kai watched Jimin calculatingly, while Hyebin clenched her jaw.

“It sounds like you like her.” She said finally.

“I do. Also, it’s really late. I think I should go to bed as well.” He said. His voice left no room for argument.

Kai gave him a tight smile, his too white teeth glinting almost maliciously in the firelight. “You think…it wise to harbor such feelings for a monster, Jimin? Need I remind you this…thing is cursed and is a bad omen in our town?”

“No Kai, she isn’t. Now please, I am tired.”

For a second, he thought that Hyebin would refuse flatly but even as he steeled himself to assert himself yet again, she was standing and with Kai in tow, moved out without another word.

Jimin puffed a breath of relief, moving to douse the fireplace. The swab plunged the living space in darkness and he stretched his arms above his head, arching his back, already looking forward to his bed when he heard the hushed conversation not too far from the house.

The one thing about living so far from the town and right in the middle of a disused farm was that there was nothing to absorb sounds. Each and every noise reverberated and echoed loudly in his house, enough for him to never be startled.

He went to the window, keeping back enough to see Kai, now holding his torch above him and Hyebin, talking. While Hyebin didn’t bother to lower her voice, Kai was trying to shush her, low and hissing but even his voice carried back to Jimin’s focused ears.

“…you didn’t see his eyes, Kai. He doesn’t just like this bitch. He loves her. He won’t even hear any truths about her!” Hyebin screeched.

“You sure know how to pick them, sister. A man who’s into bestiality,” Kai snidely replied, stopping when Hyebin grabbed his collars.

“This isn’t funny. You have to talk sense into him…or…I don’t…I don’t know, we have to kill this Princess of his.” Hyebin said.

“Keep your damn voice down, will you? Is that all you can think of in your pea brain? Jimin, Jimin, Jimin; all the time…it’s annoying.” Kai snatched away his coat from Hyebin. “Think of it like this, little sister. This girl is a Princess. She is our Princess, a royal. We cannot truly establish a government because a monarch is alive.”

“What the hell does that matter?”

“Darling sister, do use sense. Jimin is here, which means this Princess doesn’t have a man around right now.”

“So…?”

Jimin heard Kai snap his jaw. “So, sister, I go and I marry her. Simple, and effective; I become King, all powerful and she is out of your way. I will command Jimin to marry you and since you will be royal; he cannot hope to refuse.”

“You…you cannot be serious, Kai. I mean, are you really going to do that? She’s an animal.” Hyebin’s shock was palpable even to Jimin.

“Well, of course I don’t intend to honor the marriage wholly. I’m a hunter, aren’t I? Think of it like my greatest hunt, one that makes us the most powerful pair here. Plus, who’s to know…? Maybe the Princess meets a little accident a few days after our wedding. At least the kingdom will have a king they know and trust; they will only see it more as a sacrifice on my part.”

“You’re…despicable, brother.” Hyebin’s lips trembled before stretching into a cruel smile that looked odd on her beautiful face. “But a genius,”

“I know that. Now hurry up, we need to go to the pub and collect a mob. I cannot go alone in case the Princess tries to get aggressive. I’m going to need witnesses just in case we need to come back and convince Jimin his lovely Princess was actually a monster after all.”

Jimin was moving even before the fleck of light completely vanished from sight.

All thoughts and feelings of exhaustion melted from his body, arms and legs regaining energy as he burst into his father’s room. The old man started awake from the sound, jolting and clutching the sheets as he looked at the manic light in Jimin’s eyes.

“Son, what – what’s the matter?”

“I have to go father. I have to go back to the castle. Y/N is in danger.” Jimin rushed his words, tossing things from dressers till he found a bag, throwing some matches and a torch into it. He patted his pockets for the vial of pool water Y/N had given him, about to turn for the door when his father clasped his shoulders.

“No! I just got you back; I cannot let you go back there!”

“Father, you don’t understand. Kai…he’s taking a mob to her! They’re going to kill her, all because I opened my mouth.”

Jimin’s father wavered, his grip loosening only slightly.

“Come with me, then. See for yourself.” Jimin moved past the old man, not waiting for him to follow. However, when he reached Jjangu, who raised his head quizzically, his father, was right there, climbing on behind his son.

Praying that he wouldn’t be too late, he leaned over to Jjangu’s ear.

“Come on boy, we’re going home to our Princess.”

Jjangu whinnied, rising up on his front legs and then they were racing from the stable, in the direction of the palace.

Jjangu thankfully took the way that they were most familiar with, through the woods. Even as they surpassed the town, he could see the lit fires, domestic weapons of all sorts raised as cries and shouts filled his ears. They were breaking down the blockade; he realized when he saw the closed bookshop, going only the way they knew.

His fault…his fault…

Jimin shook his head, nudging Jjangu to go faster. He had to reach Y/N before Kai did, or he would never forgive himself.

The fire leapt high and powerful, licks of warmth flaring out against where you sat with your back to the muttering and mourning gossips of your royal staff.

You knew that the moment you’d spilled out the truth about how you’d sent Jimin away, even forbidding him to ever set foot back in the castle, you’d basically condemned your entire household and yourself to a grim fate, but could you condemn him to one as well? No, you couldn’t. Besides, you were used to this now, used to living like an animal. Jimin shouldn’t have to live in company of one for the rest of his life.

Behind you, Jungkook led most of the ranting. “I’m telling you; this was the plan all along. Get the Mistress all soft and mushy so he could get out of here first chance he could get.”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi sighed. “His father was sick.”

“So, all our families are probably dead now. We won’t ever get to see them now, or even to see their gravestones.”

You knew he was right. Maybe it was ok to live with yourself like this, but sacrificing your own people to this curse made guilt creep up your throat tenfold.

“Perhaps, we shouldn’t have gotten as attached to him as we did, even before knowing what his obligations were.” Seokjin said.

You were about to turn to snap at them all to get back to their chores when Namjoon suddenly squeaked, the clogs of his clockwork chiming anxiously.

“Wait, wait, there’s someone coming…OH lords above! Princess, Princess, it’s the townsfolk, invading the castle gates. It’s a mob!”

“Wait, what…?” You nearly fell off the chair, confused when the doors to the sitting room were flung open again, a squad of soldier armor leading a panting Jimin in.

“Y/N…mob, people are coming for you…run!” He managed to puff out before leaning his weight on his knees, drawing heavy breaths.

You blinked quickly. Didn’t you tell him not to come back? But he was here now, come to warn you about the mob…worrying for your safety.

“Jimin…” You breathed, “You came back.”

You drew closer to the wheezing man, a paw running along his smooth cheek.

“Of course, I did. I had to warn you.” Jimin looked up at you, time slowing as your gazes remained suspended. He placed his own hand on yours, squeezing it even as Jungkook broke it in his rasp.

“Well now, that’s sweet. So, are we to assume you led the mob here before promptly losing courage?”

You and Jimin both turned to look at the feather duster now propped up on a dresser, eyeing Jimin with as much disdain as you had seen him do you. Jimin gaped, flabbergasted while you were ready to rip out all his feathers.

“Jungkook, he came to warn us. Don’t be an idiot.” Namjoon said roughly.

“I can’t believe you’d lap that up, sir. He left here, went back home to tend to his ill father, so he said, and now he’s back…with encroachers on his heel. Why would you believe him? Because of the pool; the waters are also subject to imagination, Namjoon, or have you forgotten?”

“Enough, we cannot fight amongst ourselves, we have to protect the castle and our Princess.” Yoongi said. He turned to the soldiers, ordering for them to gather the rest of the household up and prepare for defenses.

“Ask him, Princess. Ask your dearest if he told them or not.”

You rolled your eyes at Jungkook, turning, however, to Jimin. It was better to put this to rest. “Tell him, then, tell him you didn’t.”

Jimin was still looking at Jungkook, a peculiar expression of conflict gathering his eyebrows together.

“Jimin…” You prompted.

“I…” He looked at you then, and just the look in his eyes – wide, pleading, had your hand slipping from him.

“See,” Jungkook said, as Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi and Taehyung gaped at their friend. “I told you, he told them.”

“Jimin, tell me you didn’t.” You whispered.

“I – I did, but I had no idea -,”

“That they were going to take advantage of the fact that a whole castle was left unattended and come to loot it? Or that they were going to come to kill and behead the Princess so they could mount her head upon their walls?”

“Why…how could you?”

Jimin looked at you again, away from the brewing anger and distrust of the staff. “Y/N, try and understand. I only told the truth, I told them you were harmless.”

“You’re lying.” Jungkook hissed.

You watched his hand try to reach for you, pull at you, but you drew away, cringing away from his touch. He stuttered in his steps, looking at you, beseeching.

“Princess,” Namjoon called softly, “what are your orders?”

You looked away from Jimin, reminding yourself you had duties to perform. “Keep safe the castle. My parents…they shouldn’t have to see their home seized in front of their eyes.” Your anger flared as you glared at Jimin finally. “Remind them that there still is a monster in the castle.”

Without another word, you dropped down on all fours and leaped clean over Jimin’s head, bounding for the roof from where you could see everything and lead stray invaders away from your people and home.

Your orders were followed to a tee. Thousands of household goods launched an attack on the people who were mostly comprised of men, having no idea how to operate the basic home wares.

Drawers smacked into jaws, hot water and oil were poured on head, knives and burning torches chased men around until they thought it better to just leave the castle alone and crawl away, defeated.

You stood on top of the parapets, watching your subjects nurse and curse over their bruised and burned extremities, retreating from your home. Perhaps, there would be no reason for the monster to show up after all. No legends would pass around; no one would spread talk to lure hunters and thieves to your home.

You didn’t go down though, instead, curling into yourself on the edge of the roof.

As happy as you were about the prospect of people leaving you alone, you had to contend with the fact that it was Jimin, the man you trusted, the man you loved who had ruthlessly allowed people to come hunt for you. You had mattered nothing to him. It would’ve been better to have someone draw a knife through your heart now, it might’ve hurt less than the betrayal.

“Oh Princess,”

Your ears pricked.

“There you are. You know, when I didn’t see a huge, hunkering monster down below I was worried Jimin might have lied.”

The voice was unfamiliar, nasty and it grated on your nerves so you stayed still, hoping the person would mistake you for a statue and pass by.

“Apparently, the poor boy hadn’t lied. He was so in misery you see, had to come back, leaving his little lady behind. Someone had to convince him that a princess needs a real man around for a husband.”

You frowned, feeling it draw closer.

“So I have a proposition. You marry me and we live happily enough. I’ll even throw in a wedding kiss.”

The footsteps behind you stopped, and you hoped that your silence had fooled him enough until they started again. “Now, Princess, it’s rude to not acknowledge a man talking to you. Turn around; let’s see what got Jimin so dewy eyed. I have to see if you’re worth all the talk.”

You remained still.

“Turn around now.”

You ignored him.

A sharp, plunging pain ripped through your back, making you gasp and seize up. Something pinched at the centre of your back, protruding out and you knew it was an arrow, turning to see the tall man, draw another from his quiver, placing it on his bow.

“Well now, looks like we’ve found our communication link. Are you going to be nice, now?”

You flailed, clawing behind to draw out the agonizing spike from your body.

“No use. I have perfect aim. Now, stop dancing and listen unless you want another to keep it company in your chest.”

He drew back the bow string.

“KAI, STOP!”

You stopped as well, seeing the man – Kai – turn around to look at where Jimin stood on the top most balconies, leaning almost all the way down. You took advantage of the momentary distraction of the hunter, throwing your full weight at him.

Your muscles and joints screamed at your movements, huge as they were, weighing you further down as the man turned quickly to you, trying to aim the arrow towards your body. You gripped his hand, twisting it out of the way.

“This is a nice surprise! Seems like you really are a monster, and here you were hoping for a human companion!” The Hunter laughed maniacally, shaking hair out of his eyes.

You growled, pulling the hunter close enough to snatch his bow, snapping it with a simply pinch of your fingers. “Get out of my house.” You gripped his throat, squeezing just enough for him to be able to tell. “Never come back…or I will kill you.” You flung the man away from him as the disgusting being that he was, backing away.

Adrenaline fading, the fatigue of blood loss raised its ugly head again, faltering your steps and blurring your vision.

“Y/N, here, come here, you’re hurt.”

You turned once again to where Jimin stood, his hand extended for you and stumbled towards him, shaky feet nearly throwing you over the edge more than once. You reached near him, raising your hand to grasp his and began to climb.

“You’re still here.” You choked.

“Of course, I had to clear things up.” Jimin smiled, eyeing you carefully.

You made to return the smile when another scream of pain tore through you, making Jimin jump before he saw the knife embedded deep in your side.

“NO!” He roared, feeling you slip from his fingers when he saw Kai’s added weight clinging to your cloak.

Your back curved backwards; Kai gripping the back of your cloak and hair in a tight fist. His lips split in a wide, sinister smile. “Go on Jimin, pull us up. You save her, you save me.”

Jimin snarled a curse at Kai, eyes darting from your drooping eyes to Kai’s bright ones. He couldn’t save Kai, he knew that. Left alive, he’d keep coming back again and again. You would never truly be safe with Kai alive.

“It’s okay…”

Jimin’s eyes snapped to Y/N, narrowing at the small smile tugging at your lips in puzzlement.

“It’s okay; you have to let me go…”

“What, no, I’m not going to -,”

“It’s better this way.”

“Y/N, no, Kai let her go!”

“I love you, Jimin. I’m…I suppose this is goodbye.”

Jimin opened his mouth to shout for you to hold on when all sound stopped short. You opened your paw, his own hand too weak to hold up all the weight of your body and Kai together. He watched, too slow to move, too stunned to understand as your eyes closed, still smiling while Kai’s eyes widened, almost comically, smile fading and mouth opening in a silent scream as you both fell.

There was no time for Jimin to even scream for you.

Everything was numb. Everything was silent.

Well, in all actuality, a battle had waged around him, promptly won by the small but mighty objects of Y/N’s household. Cheers of victory and joy could be heard from the lower rungs of the Castle. It was just that Jimin’s eyes could only see Y/N’s last smile, hear her last confession and feel her hand slipping from his.

All he knew was that Y/N was down here somewhere – ironically, falling right into her parent’s grotto – and he had to reach her. Nothing else mattered.

The soft grass of the grotto crushed and crumbled under Jimin’s boots, as he walked and broke into aching jogs as he spied the huge mass of fur on its side, reminiscent of when he’d seen Y/N topple over after saving him from the wolves. The memory stung his chest now.

“Y/N,” he gasped seeing Kai’s body almost completely trapped under hers, his fist still closed around her clothes.

He bent over, ripping his hand away and rolling his dead body away till it lay feet away, open eyes dead and unseeing, his laughter finally fading into nothingness.

Falling to his knees, he heaved Y/N’s head onto his arms, propping it against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed as well; smile gone and he could spot a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth into the fur. His hand trailed down to the knife in her side, slowly, gently easing it out and tossing far away from her as both arms came to wrap around her, rocking.

“Y/N, hey, it’s okay, come on wake up. He’s gone. Kai’s dead and every one fled. You’re safe now.” He hushed.

She lay still, too still, not even shifting a little in answer to his voice.

“Y/N,” Jimin vowed now to give up so soon. She had to be alive, she was probably just unconscious. He tapped her cheeks, ran his fingers through the mass of her hair and fur.

“Y/N, please, I’m so sorry.” He buried his head against her neck, taking in a whiff of the musk that he was so used to now. There was a change now; it smelt too metallic, too…sodden. “Please, wake up.”

She couldn’t be dead…she couldn’t leave him like this; not after saying she loved him and pulling off such a ridiculous stunt.

His body shook, feeling the chill settle in. Somehow, Y/N’s body that radiated so much warmth normally wasn’t enough to keep the cold away now. Jimin shuddered, drawing her closer before closing his eyes finally. A sob choked its way out his lips, followed by a sound that was too close to Y/N’s own agonized ones.

“Please, come back, Y/N, please, I love you too. So much, so much, please,” he rocked faster, more to keep himself moving than to shake her awake. He couldn’t stop moving, it would only mean for him to accept that Y/N wasn’t moving as well and that she was…she was.

His tears soaked through her fur.

“Now, this is quite the unfortunate situation.”

Jimin hiccupped, looking up to where someone new had joined them in the grotto. For a wild second he thought that it was Kai but no. This man was much taller, skinnier, even unhealthy looking.

A snap echoed from behind him and he jumped, looking about to see a very familiar pack of wolves surrounding him, grinning and tongues lolling. He pulled Y/N closer but the wolves didn’t seem to intent on attacking, instead collecting behind the new arrival.

Jimin squinted, wiping off the blurring tears to see the man was known to him.

“You,” He said at the bookseller who peered down at the cursed Princess with something akin to bitterness.

“Me,” The old man hummed, turning to face the wolves and Jimin was astounded to see that a wave of this man’s hand was enough to line them neatly up.

“How…I thought you never left the bookshop. Did you come with Kai?”

“Kai?” The bookseller laughed, caustic casting a cursory glance at the dead man feet away. “That pathetic excuse for a human and you think he’d have any sort of influence over me?”

Jimin watched as the man drew himself to full height before light erupted out from somewhere in his chest, blinding Jimin and making him feel colder than he did before. Once he felt the light fade from his screwed up eyelids, he peeked through, gaping in disbelief.

Long black robes swirled around the now, considerably younger man, almost as if it was sewn directly from the shadows around him. Long sleeves fell back to reveal tattoos in a language Jimin had never seen before, glowing even till the skin of his bald head and face.

“Not quite who you expected, I see.” The man said.

Jimin was still trying to put together the old bookseller who had been so friendly to him transformed into this being when with a clatter and loud clangs they were surrounded with more things – this time on Y/N’s side.

Namjoon’s clock chimed angrily, Seokjin’s fiery wick gleaming in the dark as they caught the man standing over Jimin and Y/N. “The Wizard,” They gasped, followed quickly by Yoongi and the others who skid to a halt.

“Be gone, monster! You have killed our Mistress!” Yoongi clattered.

“You’re the one who cursed Y/N.” Jimin said, realization dawning over him like a pot of cold water. However, there was no fear in his voice. After all what was the use? Y/N was dead, neither she nor he could be hurt any further.

“Now, now, calm please. Is that any way to greet the man about to grant you salvation?” The Wizard raised his palms.

“You cursed us too swine!” Namjoon yelled.

“I did. And I fully intended to come back on her birthday to remind her that she owed herself to me if she wanted to have her life and loved ones back. It seems,” He looked down at Jimin cradling her body and again there was strange bitterness to his gaze, “I have been rendered useless. She has found love…I didn’t think it would’ve been possible.”

He looked up.

“So now, here, my word means something in the world.” Light shone again, only this time it was blue.

Jimin watched the light move out from the Wizard, creeping slowly to where Y/N lay against him. The light cocooned her, moving forward till it had surrounded everyone present in the grotto and on and on till all he could see was blue.

Jimin’s proximity helped in seeing Y/N, and he clasped her protectively, worried the light was going to further cause her harm. Only, it didn’t. Instead, her weight began to ease up off of Jimin. Fur receded and fell off from her body to reveal smooth skin, wet and smeared with visible blood, fangs shrunk back, and ears flattened and became smaller.

The huge mass of a creature began to slowly shrivel, until all that remained in his arms could no longer pass off as an animal. No, this was laughably, astonishingly, human.

Jimin raised a hand inquisitively, running it through the strands of hair that were now free from the matting of fur, his hand coming back red.

“She’s…”

“Back to normal…or rather what she would’ve grown up to be; that’s about as normal as I can make her.” The Wizard snorted at his own joke.

“Is…your highness,” Jimin turned to see that there were people in the grotto, no longer just objects.

A tall tanned man stood foremost, dimples poking out as a wondrous smile lit up his face, hands running over his suit. “I…I’m a man again!”

“Or how much you were before,” Another spoke, taller than the first, golden hair falling into his eyes.

“Gentlemen, calm down!” A shorter man barked.

These were strangers to Jimin, or maybe not. He looked back up at the Wizard, ignoring the joyous reunions behind him. “She’s…still dead.”

“Yes, but then, the way to bring her back to life is with you, isn’t it?”

Jimin was about to ask what he meant when he remembered the vial. The vial full of the pool water, that Y/N had said had healing abilities.

He delved deep, bringing out the mercifully intact vial before upending it completely into Y/N’s open mouth.

He waited, with bated breath as moments passed. And then – skin knitted back together, the grey pallor of her face smoothed till a healthy glow seeped in her cheeks.

With a huge shaky breath, Y/N opened her eyes again, fumbling with her body as if it scratched at her.

“Y/N, hey, Y/N,” Jimin grabbed her hands, much smaller and claw less, fitting into his easily.

Big, wide, fearful eyes met Jimin’s. “J-Jimin?”

“Yes, it’s me.” Jimin placed his head against hers, taking in a deep inhale that wasn’t of musk but of bloodied skin, of sorrow, or uncertainty. Closing his eyes and hoping for the best, Jimin turned his head to place his lips swiftly on yours.

There was no reciprocation at first, worrying Jimin that perhaps, he’d pushed you too far too fast. However, he felt your small hand move past his neck into his hair, entwining with the strands to hold him against you.

He moved away from your face, reminding himself that you still needed time and space to learn physical love when your eyes, now bright with unshed tears landed on something behind him.

It took him a bit to register the utter silence, hushed conversation behind him and he turned to see that the huge statues that used to be the only decorations in the grotto were no longer there, instead right behind him stood a couple, too familiar.

“Mama! Daddy!”

Y/N fled Jimin’s arms, instead throwing herself into her parent’s arms. Jimin fell back from the impact; quickly picking himself up to see the pair wrap their tight arms around their daughter, tears streaking through dirty, muddied faces.

The man was tall, his wife regal as they still retained the glow of youth, having spent their lives inanimate. Their daughter may have grown in front of their eyes but there was near to no difference in ages, Jimin noticed. He turned his head, but the Wizard and his pack of wolves were long gone.

Y/N shirt and pants were also now tattered, too huge on her now smaller body. Jimin tugged off his coat, wrapping it delicately around her shoulders when a hand stopped him from moving away. He looked at the queen, small crown still perched into her mussed hair who smiled at him.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, tugging him closer till he was hugging Y/N from the back as well, and Jimin couldn’t be more grateful at the gesture.

The moments, hell, the days after the…incident, or rather your birthday had been all muddles and stumbling through time. As a cursed monster, time had seemed to stretch, with you craving love and companionship simply because you’d been told that they would break your curse. The very notion of these emotions had become a means to an end.

You had so much to learn, you realized when you stepped back into a castle that had no broken ceilings, no gaping holes, no smears of dirt and growing moss. The stones gleamed, jewels sparkled, sculptures loomed, just as they had in your distant memories.

Everyone stared, even the members of your household who had lived with you forever. You supposed you weren’t the only ones in need of reacclimatizing.

Chamber maids and maids in waiting dragged you and your mother away almost immediately. You were washed, scrubbed, hair oiled and washed and scented, similar to the ball but only this time the gown they put you in felt too big, too airy for you. Your skin, used to being protected by masses of fur and hard muscles shuddered at the gauzes and weightlessness of your new things.

Mirrors and portraits, previously smashed or torn by your claws had been reinstated and you had spent hours just staring at the unfamiliar face in the reflection. You weren’t a child anymore; you weren’t the beast you were used to seeing in cracks of glass and shards of mirrors. You had grown into a young maiden and you had no idea who you were.

The resurgence of a bustling royal palace, with many of the staff setting out to locate their families had created a buzz. Kai, the hunter had been dragged away and Hyebin, his sister as Jimin told you had been tried for conspiracy for murder.

Of course, things hadn’t become hunky dory fast. Things still needed to be sorted out, a monarchy had to be established because the so called government that had put Kai in charge in the first place was found now corrupt, seeing how easy it had been to rile up the public on the word of one man with no proof at all.

You left your father to handle these matters. Your mother had something much more stressful for you to think about.

Whether or not you wanted to marry Park Jimin…

You knew he was in the palace somewhere, along with his father. He’d come seen you but there hadn’t been much conversation. You had been too unsure of your own self, of your new or rather old body and you wondered if Jimin liked you as a human as much as he had when you were a creature.

“Don’t be silly,” Jimin had said, once on a slow walk around the garden. Your steps were much slower now, smaller feet tended to do that but none of you were in a hurry. It seemed Jimin was as eager to know the new you as you were. “I loved you when you were covered in fur and I love you now, even though I must say I was hoping to introduce a few of my friends to my beastly fiancée.” You had smacked his arm, unsettled at the joke even though he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Don’t worry so much about this. The curse is past. No one and I mean it, will ever hurt you now. They’ll have to go through me.”

The burning sincerity in his eyes and voice left no room for you to argue or doubt.

And so, you shyly visited your parents that very evening, hand looped in your lover’s, asking for their blessing to marry him.

Your engagement to Jimin lasted longer than any a royal was supposed to have, stretching out for months as you relearned human life. You were taught to walk properly on two legs, carrying things with a tiara affixed to your hair. For days you would bat at your hair when the pins keeping it in place pinched or pulled at you.

You learned how to dress yourself, how to put on various forms of jewelry, how to take baths and resumed your studies and royal duties.

Suffice it to say, you were now missing your animalistic life at times, you were so exhausted.

However, Jimin was a constant, learning with you, talking you through the harder aspects, supportive, encouraging, and absolutely perfect. It was also getting hard to keep your hands to yourself when it came to your private moments.

Physical love was one aspect that you absolutely dreaded touching upon. You wondered if you would be good enough, if Jimin would find pleasure in you or if you would find pleasure in him. He did place chaste kisses against your skin and lips when he thought it was okay to do so and you had only found him losing control once. It had been late at night when he visited you and had read to you till you were drowsy. With only a mind to gently kiss you goodnight, he had leant in only to be trapped by your hands, trying to get as close as you could to him.

He’d gripped at you, trying to pry out of your touch but had melted fast, molding and pressing you to your mattress. You had felt him growing aroused against your pelvic bone, rutting against you, gasping when he pulled away, blinking and shaking hair out of his eyes.

“Now now, love, we have time.” He’d pecked your cheek, disentangling himself from you before almost limping out.

Soon enough, it was time for the main event of your life.

Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung and Jungkook returned in days time, bringing what was left or added to their families and they stayed on till after your wedding took place.

Jungkook had mellowed in the face of his parents being alive, fifteen years older of course but delighted to have him back. He’d wished you well, but not apologized for his earlier behavior – you didn’t expect him to either.

Your parents had gone above and beyond for the wedding, throwing the lavish event for the entire town and further to come attend. Your gown was created for weeks, Hoseok personally supervising the process so that when you walked down the altar finally, upon your teary eyed father’s arm; you erased all thoughts that you had been a monster for most of your life prior.

You left the palace for your honeymoon, following Jimin’s advice to leave the royal duties to your still young and hearty parents while you took some time with your husband, so you could acquaint yourself both to him and to the world that he wanted to show you.

You knew where to start the journey of course, with your groom’s lips twitching at the very first words that tumbled out during the ceremonial dance.

“Please,” you’d whispered, laying your head close to his heart.

“Anything for you, darling,” Jimin had whispered back, smile obvious in his voice. “Paris it is.”

Jimin might not ever get used to the feeling of you fitting into his arms, you thought to yourself, glancing at your now husband, ever so often.

He’d lifted you up into his arms the moment you’d stepped off the carriage, beaming about something called the threshold ceremony, carrying you through the doors of the French villa carefully.

“Satisfied?” You asked when he stood still, eyeing the windows in contemplation.

“I’m wondering if I’m missing something but I can’t think of anything as of yet. So yes, here you go.” He placed you down, letting you walk through the house while he watched over the servants who carried through your luggage.

A late meal later, you stood at the mirror in the bedroom, painstakingly pulling out the multiple pins from the up-do your hair had been twisted in, your husband peeking in with a mischievous grin.

“Having fun?”

“No,” You grumbled, your arms dropping from the strain. Jimin walked up behind you, beginning to quickly pull out the multitudes of metal from your hair that would make a magnet drool. “Why are there so many?”

“Look on the bright side,” Jimin muttered, delving deeper into your scalp, “For the rest of our honeymoon, you could be completely free from all of this, until of course we have to go back.”

You glanced up at him quickly, seeing the darkening expression brooding on your husband’s face as he dropped the final pins on to the dresser.

“I was thinking.”

“Yes,” you squeaked out embarrassingly.

“Well, we’re all alone now, so we don’t have to be worried about anyone walking in on us.”

You turned around completely, confused. “That’s what you were worried about?”

“Of course,” his smile flickered. “What else would I be worried about?”

Your eyes fell, feeling all sorts of stupid now. “I just thought…maybe you didn’t…you know, feel that way about me now.”

A finger brushed under your chin, tilting your face back up. “Love, I married you.”

“Yes but,”

“Mm, but nothing, come on; let me show you what I feel for you.”

Jimin’s arms, much stronger than you had given him credit for swooped under your thighs, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist swiftly. As a monster, you had never given thought to how powerful Jimin really was, but now when you were human, much more fragile than you were used to, he was blatantly flaunting his strength.

You couldn’t fault him for that.

Your husband dropped you onto the centre of the massive bed, arms balancing his weight over you. “Are you okay about this? I don’t want to force you into anything that you’re uncomfortable with.”

“No,” you reached for him, winding arms around his neck. “I’m fine, I want to feel you. I want to learn this with you.”

Your eyes closed automatically when he kissed you, sweetly but strongly, tongue laving over your lips, slipping between with less to no battle from you. Your mouth parted easily for him, letting him plunder moans from you.

“Fuck,” Jimin breathed, pulling away before his eyes were widening. “Oh, I’ve never cursed like that before.”

His cheeks were so red, you couldn’t help but laugh. “No worries, I’ve never made someone curse like that before either.”

Jimin’s fingers trailed to the ties of your night shift. “Perhaps, we’re a bad influence upon one another.”

“Perhaps,” your breath caught in agreement, Jimin’s fingers pulling at a peaking nipple while his head lowered to suckle on the other. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, my darling wife,” his lips were curved wickedly when he resurfaced; sitting up to remove the cotton night shirt he wore and tugging off the gown from your body right after.

You lay naked under him, open for his perusal and taking. Your hand shifted up, trying to pull the sheets up to cover some of your modesty until Jimin caught up, taking your hands to place them right there.

“There,” His mouth opened, tongue rubbing over his swollen bottom lip. “Do you feel that? That’s what I feel for you. You don’t need to hide from me love, never ever. I have loved you before, I love you now and I will continue to love you more for all our days to come. Do you understand?”

You meekly nodded.

Jimin’s eyes flashed down your body, knees parting yours before his hand touched your bare core, running over the nub in circles. “Am I understood, love?”

“Yes-yes,” you gasped, neck falling back for him place kisses even as a finger slipped through inside of you, thick but gentle, stretching you just so.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” Jimin removed his hand, placing the digit in his mouth, eyes still firm between your legs. Normally the lecherous look on any man would have you burst with rage but Jimin had you nearly quivering in anticipation, especially when he finally pushed down his trousers.

You had never seen a cock before, never having any contact with a human male, but you had to say Jimin’s was an impressive specimen. Thick in girth and flushed a sensuous red, the head throbbed in need before he was guiding himself to your body.

“Ready, love, I need you to breathe with me.”

Jimin dropped low on you, lips tugging and pushing at yours, his spare hand clasping your breast to distract you as he pushed in. your knee bent, curving over his hip as you gasped, eyes watering at the sharp pinching sensation deep within you. Your husband halted, waiting for the expression of discomfort and pain to pass from your face, fingers brushing away any stray moisture from the corner of your eyes.

“I…I’m okay, please move.” You told him, Jimin studying you carefully before he drew back, thrusting in experimentally. The first drags of his hips, followed by the slow plunges still made you bite down your lips, screw up your eyelids before you found your rhythms.

Jimin ended up with his hand at your nub, rubbing it in gentle circles, lighting sparks in your nerves with the motion of his lovemaking, your nails digging into your lover’s back and shoulder, trying to get as close as possible.

The first jolt of climax nearly made you cry out, burying your face in his neck to muffle the sounds when he followed, heavy grunts falling unabashed from his lips, hands twining with the strands of your hair to seal your lips in a clumsy kiss as he spilled deep into you.

Rolling over, with your head safely clasped in the nook of his arm, Jimin sighed contentedly, warm hand against your back.

“Jimin,”

“Yes, love.”

“So…what happens now?”

Your husband turned his head to give you a sleepy grin.

“Now we’ll live happily ever after.”

[boop-le-snoot]

skin starving

tony stark x f!reader fluff. no warnings, just a few f-bombs. touch starved tony’s third person pov. words: 2,5k. no beta because i just really needed to get this off my chest.

recommended music to go with the story: two feet - 'love is a bitch' & 'quick musical doodles'. Or any lo-fi hip-hop radio really.

It started as an itch. At first, a small but bothersome thing, that kept him up at night, steering the already unreasonable hours of wakefulness into dangerous territory. The cold of his bed was unappealing and more often than not, he’d started passing out on the flat surfaces nearest to him: workshop, lab, common room couch, the lazy boy in Bruce’s apartment.

The team noticed, of course, they weren’t blind. They all had been on edge the first few months after Pepper left him. They expected him to act out, lock himself up in his lab or go back to his old habits of boozing and bringing home a different girl every night. And he had tried that, once or twice, but airheaded twenty-somethings weren’t appealing anymore. Most of the time their ass kissing and blatantly flattery annoyed him further into self-loathing abyss. He simply couldn’t step up to be the kind of man they described him to be - it seemed as if every woman on planet Earth had a whole list of expectations he specifically could not meet.

With Thor off planet, not one remaining person on the team was particularly touchy-feely. And that was the thing with Tony Stark: as an engineer, as a mechanic, he made his way through the world hands-first, every approach he had was hands-on. During late nights and early mornings, he laid in bed, sleepless and dreamless, desperately refusing to admit his own touch starvation.

Whenever Rogers threw an arm around his shoulders during a particularly successful team bonding activity, it took every ounce of willpower Tony had to not lean into it and purr like a cat. He hadn’t truly forgiven Steve for his cold, cruel words of criticism shortly after Pepper’s departing. He wasn’t going to chummy up to a man who thought him selfish, opportunistic and self-absorbed.

Tony became irritable and withdrawn. He simultaneously craved and avoided even the casual, friendlier attention his teammates gave him on a daily basis. His usual snark became that much more biting, having caused several people to storm out of team meetings.

On a cold autumn morning, Tony had found his way at the tower’s Starbucks on the employee floor. He had squeezed a generous five hours of restless sleep and he was sick of the plain black coffee in his kitchen. A spontaneous desire for something sweet and creamy and caffeinated led him to the place in line at the cafeteria, only a few early birds ahead of him.

Tony’s brain was hazy as it had been past few weeks, dull from the lack of rest and the hyperfixation of his own skin feeling alien to him. For once, he wasn’t typing away on his StarkPhone as he usually did to avoid being bothered; Tony stared straight ahead, unseeing, nothing but white noise in his usually racing brain.

Two women stood in front of him and he couldn’t help but overhear a part of their conversation.

“… Are you really horny or just lonely or touch-starved, though? I mean, Tinder? It’s not really your style.”

“Eh, I dunno. Probably the second but it’s not like men go on Tinder to find a cuddle buddy.”

“Well, maybe? I’ve heard about arrangements like that.”

“No offense, babe, but it’s probably kids in their early twenties. Those gen-z’s, babe, are weird. I’m not really up to date on all of that.”

The topic of the conversation was what piqued Tony’s interest; the world liked rubbing salt into his wounds and hysterically laugh at his misfortune. Bleary-eyed, he briefly scanned the two women: both appeared to be interns or junior techs in his company, evident by the purple employee badges hanging from their bags.

“So what are you going to do?” One woman asked the other as their turn to order took Tony one step closer to obtaining his desired caffeine.

“Unless someone normal magically appears with an offer of no-strings-attached, good ole’ snuggle fest, I guess I’m getting dicked down on Saturday,” The other replied with a teasing tone. The lack of excitement in the last part of the sentence was obvious.

“Gross,” The first one shook her head and hurriedly rattled off her order to the barista who looked about as disgruntled as Tony felt.

Hours and three coffees later, Tony’s overactive brain was still stuck on that woman from the cafeteria. Her back, her purse stuffed full of colorful manila folders, her neatly gathered hair - Tony Stark had nearly perfect memory and he remembered every single detail despite his brain fog. Objectively, she was attractive, no more no less than a different dozen of women he’d seen at any point in his life before. So why was he hung up on her?

It didn’t take him a long time to find her file, faster than he’d liked to admit. Manually sorting through hundreds of interns, lab technicians and various second-tier employees wasn’t exactly considered productive but with Pepper and her nagging out of the picture, Tony could afford to slack off a little bit.

So he found her name and her e-mail address, skimmed over her performance report with satisfaction, finding her to be a busy bee in the 90-th percentile. Her superiors considered her trustworthy, hard-working and communicative, all good traits.

Pepper’s absence meant he’d have no one to cover his ass should he get slapped with a harassment suit; however, he was the Tony Stark after all. He had more money that he’d cared to count and an army of lawyers at his disposal 24/7.

Amidst the jumbled mess of wires, circuit boards, tablets, empty coffee cups and the occasional piece of paper, Tony typed up an e-mail to the woman sharing his… Condition.

“I heard you and your friend talking at Starbucks. I could use a cuddle buddy. Wine and Netflix at my place? What’s your takeout preference?”

No. That came off way too creepy, like he was some kind of a dirty eavesdropper.

He contemplated some more, typing up and erasing multiple e-mails with various proposals: his penthouse, her place, a three Michelin star restaurant, a walk in the park. Almost all of it screamed ‘date’, like he’d drag her off to bed the very moment an opportunity wouldn’t present itself. It wasn’t so: Tony Stark, the playboy genius, had his dick firmly tucked into his pants. The thought of fucking her crossed his mind only briefly, quickly being chased away by the thought of her fingers running through his hair. Her warm, soft body in his arms. Just laying on his couch, eyes closed, reveling in each other’s arms.

Tony hit send on the least obnoxious option. He baited his breath, clicking his fingers in anticipation as the message showed itself to having been delivered.

“Mary, is this you trying to be funny? Stark is going to fire you if he finds out you’re impersonating him to stop your friend from going on a questionable date. Grow up.” Came the very prompt reply, ending with a short string of angry emojis. Tony could totally trust a person who used emojis unironically and generously.

“For the record, I wouldn’t be mad if somebody pretended to be me for the sake of saving their cute friend from a creep. The problem would be making it look credible.” Tony typed up the answer without thinking, quickly snapping a picture of himself holding the Starbucks cup with his name written on it, throwing his usual sloppy peace sign. He attached it to the email and hit send.

“WTF” Came the reply not a minute afterwards. He let it sink in, giving the woman some time to gather her wits. She did not disappoint. “Okay, even if we pretend this is real - which I doubt - what’s in it for you? If you heard our conversation, you surely know my stance on the matter.”

“I’m always glad to prove you wrong. I’m a genius - comes with the territory.” Tony simply couldn’t resist adding a generous dose of snark. “You’re welcome to meet me after clocking out. Use the private elevator, my AI will beam you up.”

The reply took a considerably long amount of time, seeing as previously, she typed back rather quickly. “Please don’t be a creepy rapist, Scotty. Fingers crossed.” Tony managed to almost break his stylus twice. His hands shook, and he had to tell himself to breathe - still, he laughed at the clever way she replied.

Several more hours later, during which Tony had nearly paced a hole through various floors on the residential side of the tower, he took a quick shower, dressed in a flattering but comfortable designer sweatpants and polo combo and made himself at home on the obscenely large living room sofa on his own, private penthouse floor.

He was up and running towards the elevator when Friday’s voice notified him of the woman entering the elevator on the employee floor. Tony tousled his hair, adjusted his glasses, fiddled with the drawstring of his pants.

The woman was wearing casual office wear, pants and a loose blouse, a lab coat loosely draped over her arm and her purse hanging off the shoulder on a thin strap. Her hair was loose now, a little frizzy as if she continuously ran her hands through it. Tony quietly rejoiced at not being the only nervous one.

Clever eyes scanned the room with unhurried interest before finally landing on him. “Not too shabby, if I say so myself,” The corners of her mouth tilted in an attempt at a smile, it was obvious she was studying him.

“Thanks, I try my best,” Tony smirked. Humble he was not. “So, how do you want to do this?”

“I see a comfortable couch,” She looked to be grateful for being given the opportunity to lead this interaction. “Let’s park our behinds on it, bicker for ten minutes about a movie choice and settle on one none of us really like. Then we can tell each other our no-no zones and, well, yeah,” She started out confidently. Probably practiced in the elevator. But towards the end, her shyness took over.

For Tony, it was kind of cute. A nice change from suck-ups that flocked him at every social gathering in hopes of getting something out of him. The woman that had tossed her bag carelessly on the far end of the couch and untucked her blouse looked and felt like the exact opposite of those people. She looked willing to give.

Tony sat next to her, keeping a couple of inches of free space between them. “Food preferences? Food allergies?” He asked, tapping the food delivery application.

“Nope, and I will eat just about anything.” He felt more than saw her side-eyeing him. Both of them were jittery. So uncharacteristic for Tony, to be blushing and stammering like a high school boy. Sex was easy, but intimacy? Complex. It was addictive and eventually, painful.

Movie decisions were surprisingly easy and she said so. They settled on a Tarantino classic, an old flick neither of them had watched in a long time. As the discussion progressed, Tony used his wits to find out more about her without making it seem like an interrogation. He had run a background check on the woman and her family but those only went that far, besides, it was a great opportunity to practice the tips Natasha had shared with him at one point or another. Being friends with spies had it’s perks.

They ate their food until their bellies were full. A comfortable, relaxing stupor, being warm from the inside out.

Tony noticed when the woman spoke, she spoke with her hands. She had caught herself grasping his forearm multiple times when they’d got more passionate about their discussion. And what Tony loved the most was that she refused to apologize. He saw a kindred soul in the woman; quiet until something struck her fancy. Then, she became a whirlwind of ideas and opinions.

In no time, it became a natural action to extend his arm and wrap it around her shoulders, reclining backwards. There was little grace in laying belly-up like a dead fish but the woman didn’t seem to mind. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she laid down sideways, throwing a leg over one of his own.

Her palm traced the outline of his arc reactor when something on the screen caught her in a moment of intense interest. Tony preferred to avoid the cursed thing - scars around it definitely did not do any favour to his aging, marked body - but he found himself exhaling the tension when it was obvious the woman really did not care. An occasional quiet hum of satisfaction was the only noise that came from her: he noticed the sound escaped her lips every time his thumb began fiddling with the sleeve of her blouse and rubbed against her arm.

He was quite content. It was warm, he was surrounded by so much warmth.

The hug was mutual when she left home, both of them comfortable with the gesture for people who had met in a rather unconventional way.

She started coming over a couple of times a week, a quiet evening of the best takeout in NYC and (mostly) interesting movies. A solace, always a single e-mail away.

Tony saw her in the cafeteria once or twice; he appreciated the brief, tiny secretive grin she gave him out of her friend’s eyesight. She never approached him. He was grateful for that. He didn’t want to deal with all the drama and all the fuss surrounding incidents between him and his employees. It was nobody’s business what any of them did after clocking out - and him and his cuddle buddy, they weren’t even fucking, for Thor’s sake.

Maybe they would get there someday. Or maybe they won’t. It was only now for Tony. The rare free Saturday night he had, he truly took a vacation from all the bullshit and lured her in with promises of very expensive wine, her favourite New York style pizza and the willingness to entertain watching a few of those funny YouTube videos she liked.

They did watch them and Tony didn’t mind. He stepped over the irrational fear and the initial discomfort and curled up around her, hiding his face in the soft cotton of her worn hoodie, his own breath tickling his face in warm puffs. The hand running through his hair was tender like it never was with Pepper - his ex was far too preoccupied to baby her grown-up boyfriend. But the woman moulded to his body like an extension of himself was happy to do so. Tony’s hair was longer now and it glided perfectly along the woman’s palms.

His heart was steady, thumping in his ears, overshadowing the noises coming from the TV. He exhaled and felt her other hand begin tracing circles on his back, as if she saw the stress and the bitterness leave his body with every caress, every brush of their bodies. Maybe she did?

He held onto her, held her back like she’d held him. Safekeeping the warmth inside of him. Guarding his peace.