#but the moment its about OF i just lose my marbles. what happened to block and move on | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nomenomens · 1 year

Text

Nomen

Chapter XXXI - Sweet

TW : none for now, but please check 'About Nomen' for more informations

WC : around 2700 words

Previous Chapter : They Don't Know You Like I Do

Next Chapter : I Want You To Want Me (side A - side B)

Masterlist

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June 7, Tuesday, 12:49 (present time)

“No regrets” were the words I had decided to live by. It was a promise I had made to myself before anyone else. That was my reason for running towards her place. Not knowing what she wanted to do and her missing my calls made me more uneasy that I wanted to admit. There was no escape from this kind of feeling. I jumped from rooftop to rooftop until I got to her terrace. I was afraid that in the few minutes of my hesitation she would’ve done something stupid, but then I saw her, with her gaze fixed on some kind of book on her desk. Was I being too paranoid? Was she actually safe and I was just expecting the worst without a solid motive? Was I losing my marbles without a cause after all this time fighting? I got closer to her window, open but with an insect screen on, and she finally noticed me. I heard her say something in her native language, judging from her surprised face, she had probably sweared ad me. She opened the insect screen and let me in, without saying another word. She scanned the surroundings before closing it and finally talk to me.

“Please, tell me you didn’t use the maneuver.”

“I did.”

“Shit. What if someone saw you?”

“Are you worried about your neighbours or Sebastian?”

She walked past me while sighing and sit t at the edge of her bed, signaling me to do the same beside her. I followed her directions and seated at a fair distance from her, looking straight at me, towards her messy library and shelves. I was itching with the urge to bring order to her room, but this wasn’t the time to think about it.

“Why are you here? We just talked over the phone.”

“You didn’t let me finish and ignored my calls.”

“…So?”

“What do you mean ‘so’? Are you actually dumb?”

“Are you here to insult me?”

“I’m here because I-“

I shut myself before I got to tell her words that could’ve been misleading, like “worried”. I was worried, but what Sebastian said about her having a type and whatnot made me conscious. I cleared my voice before continuing while looking into her eyes.

“…because I think we need a plan.”

“To do what?”

“You need to know what I said exactly so you can lie better.”

“You didn’t strike to me as a professional liar.”

“I don’t like to lie, but it has its perks when dealing with some other pieces of shit like your butler. Now listen to me.”

As I was explaining the details she froze and look past behind me. I instinctively turned my face to look through the window at my back, but she blocked my movement with both hands, forcing me to look straight into my eyes and whispering.

“Stop me.”

“Wh-“

I couldn’t even finish my sentence or get a grip of the situation that her lips were pressed on mine. I placed my hands on her shoulders to push her back, but then I noticed how she was trembling. She had forced the kiss on me, but with the most gentle and shy touch I had ever experienced, completely different from…him. Erwin could be gentle, but in his gestures there was a sense of confidence that had never made him tremble against me, not even during our goodbyes. I closed my eyes and let myself sink in that new sensation for a brief moment. Why did she suddenly decided to kiss me? What happened behind my shoulders to make her act like that? I realized that with her involved, there were always a million questions without answers. She brushed her fingers against my jawline while interrupting the kiss. She kept her face a few millimeters from mine and whispered.

“W-why didn’t you stop me?”

As much as I wanted to answer, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have a reason. Maybe I just wanted a human and kind touch after so long. Maybe I wasn’t that surprised by her gesture as she thought I would be. Maybe I wasn’t repelled by her at all. Maybe there was a deeper reason behind all of my senseless worrying for her. Maybe I was pitying her. She took her distance, relaxing her back and letting her hand fell down in the space between us. I let her shoulders go and regained my position.

“I…don’t know. You surprised me. But why did you…?”

“I saw Sebastian on the terrace. I think he’s gone now. You should go, I’ll take care of this, as I told you before. I’ll talk to you later. Now, if you please…”

She got up without even looking at me and went in front of the window, looking outside, probably to make sure Sebastian wasn’t there anymore. Suddenly I remembered about her fiancée, I think his name was Albert. She probably wasn’t trembling because of me, but because she was doing something she should’t have done from the beginning. I probably had given myself too much credit. I walked towards the door of her room. I was going to go back at the villa, this time walking away as an ordinary human being, without risking to be seen using the maneuver as I did just a few minutes prior. I put my hand on the handle.

“If you need me to clear up things with your fiancée, I’ll help explain the situation, you don’t have to worry.”

I closed the door without waiting for her answer, using more strength than I wished to.

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

“Stop me.”

“Wh-“

I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his, putting more and more pressure as seconds went by. I could feel his gaze on me even with my eyes closed. I didn’t want to force myself on him this way, even if it was just a simple kiss, but that was the only thing my brain could formulate as a solution to take time as soon as I saw Sebastian’s shadow outside the window. I felt his hands over my shoulders and I was ready to feel him pushing me back, but that didn’t happen. I slowly opened my eyes and looked at the Captain’s features from a new perspective. He had never been this close to me before. His sharpe eyebrows were frowning a little, but his expression didn’t seem so troubled as I would’ve expected, as his eyes seemed to be closed without being hardly shut. His face showed no particular emotion: whether he was feeling something good or bad I didn’t have a clue, as if he felt complete indifference towards what was happening. And yet, he was so beautiful. As I released some tension, slowly relaxing my shoulders, I thought I would’ve paid to pass my fingers through his hair, to deepen the kiss and brings us closer, but it wasn’t the right time to do so, even if this was the only occasion I could’ve gained. I checked out with the corner of my eye that Sebastian was gone before reluctantly distancing myself from him. I was selfish enough to let my fingers travel along his cheeks though, a small victory was all I needed. I wanted to apologize, but my lips decided to tell something different, a question so burning and spontaneous I could’t control.

“W-Why didn’t you stop me?”

He could've stopped me. He should've stopped me. I had even asked him to do so beforehand, so if he decided to let me kiss him, maybe he wasn't grossed out by my action, maybe I could hope it meant something. Before answering, ho took his sweet time looking at me in silence, with a deadpan expression. I tried to scan through the corner of his eyes, his lips, his forehead, just to catch a glimpse of a single emotion to hold on to, but nothing happened.

“I…don’t know. You surprised me. But why did you…?”

Surprised. That made sense. What else he could’ve felt if not ‘surprise’. I was a fool to even hope our kiss could’ve meant something more. It was improvised and forced upon him too, of course he wouldn’t feel something. On the opposite end, I was burning. My lips were still trembling as they did before, my hands were shaking, itching with the need to feel him again and again. I dismissed him with a few whispered words, before I could say or do something really stupid. I had to think about what to say to Sebastian anyway. As I was catching my breath, looking outside the window, I heard him speak.

“If you need me to clear up things with your fiancée, I’ll help explain the situation, you don’t have to worry.”

So he remembered Albert. I made a mental note to explain to him better about that situation. Even if the only thing he felt was guilt because of Albert, it would’ve been better to clear the misunderstanding. The door closed loudly and I sighed deeply, turning to go back to my desk. I brought my hand towards my lips, ghosting my fingertips as to replicate his lips’ touch. I blushed to my own action as I felt my heart thump loud against my chest and so I tried to calm it down by patting my hand above it. After a few minutes, a voice interrupted me.

“I never thought you would’ve done it.”

“Me neither.”

Sebastian entered from the window, knowing the trick to open the insect screen from the outside.

“So, that was why you said we needed to stop?”

“No…I need to focus on my study for real. And even if I wanted to, he simply can’t be the reason why I decided to stop.”

“Why? He seemed invested enough.”

“He wasn’t. I like him, but he doesn’t like me. When he helped me with Akura-Ou I…misinterpreted his actions. I got angry at him and then at myself for being so pathetic. What you saw was just me being stubborn. He came to…tell me about how you were sure I was acting strange and I’ve asked him to…not reveal my confession, but earlier you…”

“You were acting suspicious. You knew I would’ve looked into it.”

“I just didn’t want to admit my weaknesses to you.”

He scoffed while adjusting a lock of my hair behind my ear, after rolling it a few times around his finger, a gesture he used to do a long time ago. He was clearly amused, but I couldn’t properly decipher his intention or thoughts. Was this enough? Should I say something more or be more specific?

“Silly little girl. You know I already know all of them. I knew you liked him, but I was surprised when he clearly kept your secret this morning. By the way, I can teach you how to seduce him, even if I think he’s more into…let’s say other kind of people. But you did manage to kiss him and somehow he didn’t seemed too repulsed.”

“I just wanted to thank him but my body moved before I could control myself. Later I’ll go to apologize properly.”

“Oh, yes, I know how impulsive you can be when you are on edge. I could apologize for you if you’re too embarrassed.”

“I have to do it. But then both of us will stay away from him and the squad. Mizuki will be their permanent referent, since he’s gotten close to Hange and we both made it awkward by acting this way.”

“As you wish.”

He kissed my knuckles while looking straight into my eyes. We both knew this gesture was what usually lead us to sex, but I repeated myself I shouldn’t give in, no matter how much I needed to vent at the moment. I couldn’t continue burying my feelings under Sebastian’s body. I pointed at the books laid on my desk to reinforce my next statement.

“…you can go, Seb.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

I just hoped what I said was enough to convince Sebastian.

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

“What’s with your face?”

“What do you mean?”

“You look…weird.”

“Watch it, four-eyes.”

Hange had always been good at noticing things. It was one of her best skills, but sometime it was annoying more than useful. Today was one of those days.

“Jeez, Levi. You’re not even trying to hide it. Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“C’mon!”

“Oi!”

“Okay, okay. I get it. Calm down.”

I actually wanted to speak to someone about my disorganized thoughts, but letting someone, even Hange in, would’ve meant to expose myself. I couldn’t even bear the thought of doing so.

“Well, if you need me or us, we’ll be in the city. The guys asked for ice cream, again! Can you believe it? Mikasa cries every time we order, but still, she enjoys eating it. You should see Jean, looking at her and…don’t glare at me like that! You should come, too.”

“I can’t today.”

“Can’t? What is it that you must do?”

“Not your business.”

“May I guess?”

“No, you may not.”

“All right. Just so you know, you deserve to have fun. Whether it’s with your squad or anyone else…we’ve suffered all too much. We deserve fun sometimes.”

I didn’t have time to reply because she was already leaving. She was right, but the sense of guilt was always there, trying to eat me alive. I tried to enjoy the present, but the shadow of death that was impressed inside my being, weighted as a millstone. I went inside my room in the villa. Except for Hange, I was the only one to have a single room all for myself, the other brats of the squad had shared rooms. For some strange reason, I looked over the door next to mine before entering the room. I had noticed before that door was always locked, only Mey-Rin entered every few days to clean inside it. One time I got closer to the cleaning cart she had left just outside the door of that room to look at what kind of cleaning supplies she used. There were tools I didn't even know they existed. As soon as Mey-Rin noticed me, she flinched and dismissed me quickly before closing and locking that door, almost as if she was preventing me to even look inside it. It stirred my curiosity, but since it wasn’t my business, I had just forgotten all about it.

That was, until later that day.

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

It had been just a few hours from that kiss, but my mind was still refusing to process it. Even so, I went to the villa, leaving my dog Ted free to run in the outside fenced garden, properly surveilled by Mizuki. I knew Hange and the rest of the squad had decided to go out, and Mey-Rin confirmed that the only one who was inside the villa was the Captain. I asked her to go open the room where I would see him, since I didn’t want to impose into his own private room and we needed some privacy to speak without the risk of being overheard. Sebastian was involved with a meeting from one of the activities my brother had left me as inheritance, so I knew there was no risk of him being around. Everything was ready for my announced meeting with the Captain, everything except me. I stood in front of his room for a while, looking at the wooden door, trying to muster up the nerve to knock. Every time I moved my knuckles towards the surface, a sting pierced my stomach. I repeated to myself that I only needed to tell him what I told to Sebastian and go away, but I was afraid. Afraid this would’ve been the last time I could’ve spoken to him, as if we’d ever been something more than allies. I took a deep breath and knocked. After a few seconds he opened the door and the bright light of that early afternoon enveloped all his figure, so much that he looked as an angelic appearance, even with his cold expression. A quote from a song resurfaced into my mind.

“And I will gladly break it, I will gladly break my heart for you.”

I wanted to pinch myself, as I was clearly ranting. Maybe I was starting to process that kiss and that was the reason why my brain was making me remembering those words.

“Miss?”

“S-sorry to disturb you.”

“Not at all. Come in.”

“No.”

He looked at me with an interrogative expression, while leaning on the door's frame, but then answered back.

“Sorry. I’ve said I wouldn’t cause trouble with your fiancée and then asked you inside my room. I guess it’s not proper.”

I laughed. From what I’ve read about him, I would never picture him talking this way. I remembered I also needed to clear any misunderstanding about Albert. His expression was even more interrogative than before, so I explained.

“It’s not a matter of what’s proper, it’s just that I wanted to use a safer room. I’ll explain later, I swear. So, could you please follow me, Captain?”

With an expressionless look on his face, he did as I asked.

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

Author's note: aaand yes, the kiss is finally here! Some of you may think it's only a peck but we've waited enough for this moment, so I think we can celebrate it. And if I were you, I would look forward to the next chapter too...As always, thank you for reading and see you soon!

P.s. the song is performed by Cigarettes After Sex

#nomen #fanfic #ff #kuroshitsuji #sebastian michaelis #aot #black butler #kamisama kiss #kamisama hajimemashita #snk #attack on titan #levi ackerman x oc #levi x oc #levi ackerman #levi

1 note · View note

koushou · 4 years

Note

hey can i request a oneshot or hc for megumi, thank you 😩❤️

insufferable

pairing : megumi fushiguro x f!reader {small angst + fluff}

warnings : reader injury, gojo being a perv

word count : 3k

a/n : thank u for requesting! i'm a sucker for enemies to lovers, so this was fun to write, i hope you enjoy !

he’s been your rival for as long as you could remember, it was always some kind of competition between the both of you. although, the feeling you both feel for each other, is it truly as simple as hatred?

Insufferable.

It was the only way to describe the dark haired boy standing in front of you, a smug grin playing on his lips.

“Alright, calm down, you two,” your teacher’s voice rang over to where you were standing as he made his way over.

Gojo sighs, running a hand through his hair as he eyes the both of you.

“What did I say abo-”

“He clearly had a head start!” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, glaring down your rival across from you.

“Are you accusing me of cheating?” He raises his eyebrows at you tauntingly.

“Anyone could tell that you ran before sensei blew the whistle!”

“Maybe you should stop focusing on me, and work on bettering your own abilities instead.” He rolls his eyes while starting to walk away, obviously getting bored of the conversation.

“You—!”

“Okay, okay, come on,” Gojo leads you away before you could tackle the boy with his back turned to you.

Megumi Fushiguro.

Your life-long rival, you guys had been by each other’s side for as long as you could remember.

Not that you wanted to remember, you hated him. And so did he.

Everything was a competition between the both of you, and although you would die before admitting it, your constant battles did improve you as a jujutsu sorcerer.

When you both found out you were going to be attending Jujutsu Tech together, you personally saw it as an opportunity to fight him even more, to prove that you were the stronger one, while Megumi-

Well, he didn’t care. He never cared about anything, anyway.

“Come on, we’re heading to the mission location,” Gojo begins to walk ahead of you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You let out a sigh, wishing you could be in the safe confines of your room instead of fighting alongside your least favorite person in the whole world.

“Sensei, what are the curses’ grades?” You ask after the tall white-haired man, who was getting into the front passenger seat of a black car.

“They said it would be a couple Grade 3’s, nothing too much,” the older man yawns, stretching his arms over his head before cursing as they bump against the car’s roof.

“They also mentioned a special grade or something, I don’t really remember,” Gojo slams the car door shut, leaving you to roll your eyes at the man’s irresponsibility.

About to make your way to the car as well, you stumble as a force pushed you from behind, turning around as you get ready to attack whoever was-

“Try not to die to a couple Grade 3’s, alright?” Megumi smirks down at your fuming expression, before making his way to the car.

“I mean, I know they can be quite a hassle for you, but take your time.”

Inhaling sharply, you massage your temples with one hand, trying to suppress your frustration and holding back from tackling the boy to the ground.

“He’s so immature.” Nobara, one of your closest friends at Jujutsu Tech, comes up to you, rolling her eyes at the boy.

“Ignore him, let’s have some meat buns when we get back.” She sends you a wink before walking towards the car, to which you respond with a laugh.

There will be meat buns waiting when I get back, you thought to yourself, licking your lips unconsciously. It will be worth it, snuggling up back in your fluffy blankets, binging your newest favorite show that was airing today-

“You coming or not?” A voice breaks you from your daydream, snapping your head up.

“Ah, are you scared? Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” Megumi smiles at you mockingly, chuckling as he shoves his hands into his pockets and entering the car in the back seats.

Ah.

This was going to be a long day.

“We’re here,” Gojo announces, unlocking the car door to get out.

You all exit the car, stretching as you take note of your surroundings.

The mission assigned this time was to eliminate a couple curses who had sneaked their way into an elementary school. The students were still inside, so you had to be extra careful with fighting.

“Well then, let’s head in.”

Starting to make your way toward the school entrance, a small groan from the side halts you all in your tracks.

A green, slimy creature emerges from the bushes, crawling on its legs as it stares up at all of you.

It leaps forward suddenly, lunging at you, as you raise your sword in time to block it, slicing it in half in one swift motion.

It lets out a final groan as it drops to the ground, melting into a green blob.

“Not too bad, you actually killed it.” Megumi raises an eyebrow in amusement as you clean your sword of any of its remains.

“Thanks for the compliment.” You snarl at him sarcastically, drawing another sigh from Gojo.

You all continue making your way to the school’s front doors, when suddenly your teacher holds an arm out, stopping all of you.

“Shh, listen.”

There was a quiet voice- no, many voices coming from down the hallway of the school. The building was filled with black smoke, restricting your views of where the sounds were coming from.

It sounded as if the many voices were chanting a curse or spell of some sort, and you all knew instantly.

This couldn’t be the doings of a grade 3.

It had to be a special curse.

Gojo steps forward slowly, entering the black smoke as he checks the left hallway, before returning and nodding to you that it was safe.

You nod, slowly making your way into the school as well, turning to check the right hallway.

The black smoke almost made it hard to breathe, you trying your best to swat away any smoke making your eyes tear up.

The chanting became louder as you entered the hallway, and you saw a figure standing in the middle.

Your breath catches in your throat, ready to turn and tell Gojo what you saw, but could you really describe what it was?

It stood at least two feet above you, with gray skin mixed with red blotches here and there and multiple arms hanging by its side. Horns and unidentifiable liquids stuck to its skin, with its mouth hanging open. It had the sharpest teeth you’d ever seen on a curse- no, you’d ever seen in your life- and drool pooled at the corners of its lips, if you could even call them lips, before dripping down its chin, staining the marble floor.

It continued to chant its spell, however it sounded as if the voices were in your head, in your eardrums, echoing through your brain.

You could hear your name being called from behind you, probably Gojo, but the chants were getting louder, louder, and louder until the special grade was standing right before you, its tall figure looming over you.

Snap out of it, you thought to yourself, trying to shake its voice out of your head, commanding your legs to move. To turn back. To run.

Finally you felt your legs listening to you, and you turned around and ran. Ignoring the pattering footsteps of the creature following close behind you, you ran as fast as you could.

Finally, you could see the light at the entrance, where you all had been before, and you could almost see their faces, until-

“Y/N—!”

A sharp pain shot through your stomach.

Ah, that voice.

The voice of your rival who had been competing with you, fighting with you, for your whole life.

It was like it all happened in slow motion, like in the movies.

Megumi and the others stood before you, with a horrified expression as their eyes travelled down, down to your stomach.

You followed their gaze, a dark crimson stain beginning to seep through your uniform, a sharp horn stabbed from the back, right through your body.

Ah, this was it. That jerk was right, huh? I am weak after all.

At that moment, your body went limp. All feelings left your limbs, leaving you to free fall forward, eyes closing as you begin to lose consciousness.

But not before you felt a pair of arms wrap around you, stopping you from the impact.

“Y/N! Wake up, come on, wake up—!”

Why do you keep shouting? You’re so loud, be quiet.

“You can’t do this, wake up— please—“

I told you to be quiet, geez, let me sleep already.

And the last crumb of consciousness left your body.

A horrible thumping pain in your head. Hushed voices from next to you. Fingers entangled with yours.

Wait- fingers?

It had never been so hard to open your eyes, wincing as a bright light from above hits you directly.

Taking a moment to adjust, you finally looked around your surroundings.

It seemed as if you were in a hospital room, long tubes connected to your arms, hands, legs, making it hard for you to move at all.

You notice a doctor and Gojo speaking by the door, but what shocked you was the sleeping boy by your bed.

The sunlight seeping through the window shines on his slender face perfectly, dark strands of hair framing his sleeping face, one you could’ve almost teased him for until you notice his hands. Your hands.

His fingers entangled with yours by your side, the warmth from his palm radiating through yours as the rise and fall from his breathing caused his hands to move slightly every time.

You wished you could snap a picture of this right now, but the comforting feeling of his hands against yours made you not want to move an inch.

“Ah, you’re awake, Y/N,” You recognized your teacher’s voice as he makes his way over to your bed with a relieved smile.

You feel the boy wake up with a jolt, eyes blinking to focus themselves, before settling on yours and widening.

It was only then that he became aware of your entangled hands, quickly pulling away and coughing to cover the slight pink spreading across his cheeks.

“How are you feeling?” The doctor next to Gojo asks, holding a clipboard in his hands.

“Just a bit sore in my ribs, but nothing too much.” Megumi glances in your direction, and you would’ve thought it was out of concern before mentally slapping yourself at the absurdity of it.

“Alright, we’ll need to keep you here for a few weeks,” the doctor says, noting something on his clipboard. “I’ll be right back, we still need to give you a check-up.”

He leaves the room, and Gojo takes a seat on the other side of your bed, across from Megumi.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Y/N,” he sighs, before leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head.

“Good thing you were brought back in time, doc says that any longer and the injury would’ve been more severe.”

You nod, facing your teacher, “Thank you sensei, I should’ve been more careful.”

He shakes his head, “It was a special grade, my fault for not notifying you all earlier.”

A grin spreads across his face, leaning forward slowly in his seat.

“But I’m not the one you should be thanking.” He nods his head slightly to your left, making you turn to see a coughing Megumi, who suddenly thought his shoes were the most interesting things in the world.

Gojo chuckles, patting your shoulder as he gets up to leave.

“I’ll leave you two alone, Megumi take care of her, alright?”

Even behind the blindfold, you could sense that he was sending a wink your way.

The boy only grumbles in response, fiddling with his hands nervously.

You stare at him, before bursting out in laughter.

His head shoots up, furrowing his eyebrows as he looks at you still laughing.

“What’s with that gloomy look? Don’t tell me…”

You tilt your head at him, a smirk spreading across your face.

“Aww, are you worried about me, ‘gumi?”

The use of the nickname you made for him makes him scoff, turning away from you.

“As if. Just wondering about how stupid you were to get yourself hurt.”

He bites his lips for a moment, as if pondering his next words.

“And stop laughing so hard, what—”

Megumi stops and looks away.

“—what if your wound opens again?” He murmurs quietly, but you managed to catch it.

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, before chuckling at him teasingly, “So you are worried about me, liar.”

“Am not!”

“You totally are.”

“Keep lying to yourself.”

With a sigh, you close your eyes, refusing to argue with the boy any longer.

“By the way, what did sensei mean before? That you were the one I should be thanking?”

You open your eyes, waiting for his answer.

His eyes widen the slightest bit, before looking away once again.

“...s’nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You raise your eyebrows at him, confused.

He shakes his head, showing that he wasn’t going to answer.

Groaning, you roll your eyes at his childish behavior, “God- you’re so infuriating sometimes, why—”

“When you fainted, I carried you all the way to the hospital, okay?! On my own damn legs, I ran all the way here, I don’t know why I did, but I did so stop asking—!”

Megumi shouts, panting as he finishes talking with an unreadable look in his eyes.

You gape at him slightly, still trying to register his words.

“You...carried me here? Why didn’t you just take the car?”

He scoffs, “The car is way too slow, I would be faster. Plus, your injury would’ve gotten worse so you should thank me.”

He eyes you, searching for any emotions on your face, but all you felt was confusion at the moment.

A few beats of silence pass, and Megumi sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Well? At least say something.” He mumbles, shifting his feet on the floor.

You just look at him, not believing what he said, before laughing softly.

“Man, ‘gumi, if I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought you liked me so much that you were scared that I would die.”

You teased him, expecting a scoff or an insult thrown back of some sort, but he just rolls his bottom teeth in between his teeth, not making eye contact.

“...so what if I do?” He finally says, so softly that you wouldn’t have heard if he wasn’t so close to you.

Wait, why was he so close to you—

The distance between you two closed as he leaned forward to meet your lips with his. The kiss was slow, inexperienced, but honest and passionate.

Your eyes widened in shock, while his were screwed tight, afraid to open and meet yours.

A contrast to his appearance and personality, his lips were soft, fitting snugly against yours, the taste of him sweet, like cherries.

After a few seconds, he pulls away hesitantly, sitting back down in the chair.

The tension was so thick in the room, not even a knife could cut through it.

It was awkward for a few beats before he spoke.

“I-uh, sorry, I don’t know why I did that,” he rubs the back of his neck, a heavy pink dusting his cheeks.

“It..it’s fine, it was nice,” you spoke softly, almost whispering.

His head shot up, facing you. “You liked it?”

You bit the inside of your cheeks, before nodding, slowly meeting his gaze.

“Thank you, for saving me.”

A small smile spreads across his lips. Not a teasing one he would use when he was making fun of you, not a fake one, no. This was different.

Megumi was genuinely smiling at you like you were the most amazing thing he’s ever seen before.

“No problem,” he speaks, before slowly reaching for your hand.

Watching you with a careful gaze for any signs of discomfort, he intertwines his fingers with yours, giving it a small squeeze.

“... I was scared, you know?” He sighs, eyes never leaving your face.

“Scared that… I would lose the one person I care about.” You flush at his words.

“I know, I treat you like you’re below me all the time, like you’re weak, but I-“ He clears his throat, not wanting to mess this up. He only had one chance after all.

“-I do care about you, and I get happy whenever we fight against each other, or with each other. I was scared that- that I would lose the most important person in my life.”

You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face, one part of you wanting to tease him like usual, but the other part of you, wanted to do something else.

You tug on his hand that was still holding yours, making him lean forward as you met his lips halfway.

The kiss was a little longer this time, you didn’t have to use words to convey your feelings. He knew. And you knew, too.

Pulling away at last, you lightly flicked his forehead, causing him to pout and rub the sore spot.

You giggle, looking down at your intertwined hands.

“I care about you too, Megumi. A lot. I always have.”

You smile.

“And I always will.”

He smiles widely, leaning forward once again until you hear muffled voices on the other side of the door.

“Do you think they’re having s-”

“Sensei! Stop being so loud, they might hear you—“

The door suddenly slams open with Nobara and Gojo tumbling onto the floor.

Silence.

Laughing awkwardly, they finally stand up, nudging the other to speak.

“I- she- uh, we- woah—!” Gojo gasps dramatically at the sight of your hands together.

“So you were having s-”

Both of you flush at the same time, shouting at him.

“We weren’t—!”

You all burst out laughing, feeling Megumi squeeze your hand softly.

Gosh, making you feel butterflies in your stomach like this?

Megumi Fushiguro was truly insufferable.

#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #megumi x reader angst #megumi fushiguro x reader angst #megumi x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff

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chimchimsauce · 3 years

Text

Fairest

Is beauty a blessing or a curse? All of her life, princess YN was told that her beauty was the greatest gift her late mother ever gave her. But when her looks attract a man cruel and bloodthirsty, YN begins to think that her greatest asset is the beginning of her demise.

“Checkmate.”

YN cannot help the grin that spreads across her face as she utters the word, watching as her older brother groans with disdain.

“You always win!” he complains, acting very much like a child.

“That’s because you always get too caught up in the current move, dear brother. The future decisions are the most important ones.”

YN’s older brother, first in line to the throne of their small country Ameris, huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Chess is like war. You get too focused on winning battles that cause you to lose the war. I certainly hope that won’t be the case for our kingdom . . .”

YN is only jesting. Her elder brother is an excellent leader and will make a wonderful king. He’s just really impatient with games.

“I’m sure I can beat you next round!” her brother says playfully.

They both know it’s unlikely, but YN clears the board and begins to set up another game. As she’s placing the last pawn, a knock comes at the door. One of her handmaidens opens it, revealing one of their father’s special guards.

YN’s breath catches ever so slightly before she schools her expression back into one of unbothered royalty. It’s always so hard to ignore her secret lover when other people are around, but she knows she must. A relationship between her and her father’s most trusted guard would cause a scandal that would undoubtedly get Wonho’s position revoked. He’s worked his entire life to get good enough for a spot on the King’s royal guard and there’s no way YN would do anything to sabotage that.

“His majesty has requested your presence,” Wonho says, not even looking YN in the eyes.

He’s much better at keeping his emotions in check.

YN’s brother stands, tapping his finger on the chessboard.

“Lucky thing I’m being summoned, or else I would have absolutely destroyed you in this game.”

YN laughs, maybe a little more politely than she would if Wonho wasn’t standing at the door.

“I’m sure of it,” she says, “Feel free to come back anytime to play again.”

YN’s brother nods and leaves her quarters, following after Wonho. Being the heir to the throne means that YN rarely gets to see her brother. He’ll be gone for weeks, sometimes months at a time as he tours the neighboring countries to learn everything he possibly can, as well as maintain a positive relationship with their allies. Ameris may be a small country, but it is located in the perfect spot for transcontinental trade and filled to the brim with valuable resources. One could dig in a mine for just a few moments and emerge with a diamond the size of a robin’s egg.

Thankfully, Ameris has not had any problems with its neighboring countries in hundreds of years. The last war was ended by YN’s great great great grandfather and peace has blanketed the region since then.

Well, for the most part. In the last several years, the Eastern kingdom of Moonbyss has been steadily expanding and taking over small, unclaimed villages. They have not breached any borders or broken any treaties, however, so there is no cause to worry quite yet.

YN sighs as her thoughts shift back to Wonho. Their secret love affair has been going on since they were teenagers. At first, Wonho was just an attractive boy who was willing to indulge her wanton fantasies, but soon enough an affection bloomed between them. It’s so hard to pretend not to be in love with him, especially when he grows more handsome by the day.

“Thinking about him, my lady?” YN’s lady in waiting, Irene, asks her.

Irene is YN’s closest confidant and friend. She knows almost everything about the princess. Ever since she arrived in the castle from abroad two years ago, they have been inseparable.

“Of course,” YN says, standing and walking over to the window that overlooks her private gardens.

She opens the glass door and steps outside, her skin warmed by the sunshine. It’s an absolutely beautiful day, cloudless and blue. Birds chirp sweetly and the scent of flowers wafts on the breeze. The princess stops at the fountain in the middle of the garden, sitting on the bench and looking into the bubbling water. YN often made wishes in this fountain when she was younger, tossing in coins that reflected the sunlight back at her. More recently, though, she’s only wished for one thing - to be with Wonho. Her father, although he loves her, would never allow a union between them. Her older brother, however, has promised to allow YN to marry whoever she desires once he takes the throne on his thirtieth birthday.

He does not know that someone already has her affections, but no matter. YN is not worried about being married off. While her brother is the only prince in the kingdom, the king was blessed with twelve daughters and YN is the youngest. Every available man of power in the kingdom and the surrounding countries have already been wedded.

YN has Irene bring her a book to read and she settles in, getting comfortable in her garden. The hours pass by quickly as she is sucked into the tale, but soon enough a shadow blocks her reading light.

The princess looks up and is shocked to see Wonho standing in front of her. Alarm flares up inside of her. The two of them have agreed to never be seen together in daylight.

“Won-”

“Your Majesty,” Wonho says stiffly, “The King requests an audience. I have been asked to escort you to the throne room.”

YN hesitates a moment. She can tell that something is wrong by the strain in his voice. Something must really be bothering him for the guard to allow it to leak into his words. She wants to ask him what’s wrong, but she never knows who is watching so she simply stands, handing her book off to Irene who stands beside her.

“Very well,” YN says, trailing after him and back into the castle.

He walks three paces in front of her, leaving her to stare at his back. So much about him has changed in the last few years. He’s gained an immense amount of muscle, something that YN has really grown to appreciate during their midnight endeavors. It’s a shame that everything is covered up by his uniform, but she must admit he looks dashing in it.

As they walk, YN notices that Wonho isn’t the only one acting strangely. The various maids and butlers who usually flit around and chatter pleasantly amongst themselves are dead silent, walking with perfectly straight backs and zipped mouths. The princess notices a few pitying looks tossed her way and something cold settles in her stomach.

What’s going on?

Wonho knocks on the throne room’s closed doors. They are ever so carefully opened a few moments later and Wonho leads YN into the grand room.

Her father sits on the throne, a smaller one empty next to him. It always makes YN sad to see her father by himself. The Queen passed away only a year ago and was her father’s closest friend. The late Queen was kind to everyone, even YN’s mother - a poor girl her father discovered in one of his hunting trips. Apparently, YN’s father was so taken with her mother that he simply had to add her to his harem and rarely visited any of his other concubines afterward. But it didn’t last long - YN’s mother died shortly after her birth. Everyone says that she left YN her ethereal beauty, a fact that led YN to being hidden away in the castle for the majority of her life.

“You’re the most valuable diamond in all of Ameris,” her father told her once, “It’s important that few people know of your existence.”

It had saddened YN when she was younger that she could not attend the lavish parties and balls like her elder sisters and brother, but she came not to mind once Wonho came into her life. It mattered not if other people thought she was beautiful - as long as Wonho desired her, that was more than enough.

Standing to her father’s side is YN’s brother. The jolly air that had surrounded him mere hours ago is gone completely now. He looks furious, an expression YN has rarely seen on his face. He’s looking at a man who stands before the throne, a crown placed perfectly on his head.

Visiting nobility?

The man turns as the click of YN’s heels sounds out against the marble flooring. YN’s step falters as a large, nearly terrifying grin spreads across his face. He is incredibly handsome, but the smile on his face does nothing but creepy the princess out.

“There she is,” he says, quickly extending his hand towards her.

YN, uncertain, looks at her father who gives her a stiff nod. Hesitantly, YN places her hand in the stranger’s grasp, making sure to school her expression as he places a cold kiss that lingers too long against her gloved hand. The princess has never been more glad to be wearing gloves.

“And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” YN asks, careful to watch her throne.

“King Seokjin Moonbyss, your highness. I must say, the rumors of your beauty do you no justice. You’re much more radiant in person.”

YN’s blood freezes in her veins. This cannot mean anything good.

“Thank you,” YN says, a slight tremble in her voice.

The man has still not released her hand.

“YN,” her father says, giving her an excuse to look away from this man - no, this monster - beside her, “King Seokjin has asked for your hand.”

YN barely squashes the shout of protest that so desperately wants to escape her throat. There’s no way this can be happening! No way! Her eldest brother is just three years shy of taking the throne, three years more of having to tiptoe around with Wonho. No way she can get married, especially to someone from so far away.

“Excuse me,” Wonho says, speaking up from his place behind YN, “I thought King Seokjin was already married.”

Relief flows through YN. If Seokjin is already married, then surely this is an error.

“She failed to provide me with a male heir, so I had her disposed of,” King Seokjin says simply, glaring at Wonho, “Do not question me again.”

There is not a trace of remorse in his voice at all, nothing but anger.

YN begins to tremble.

“Father -” she begins.

“King Seokjin has made us an offer I cannot refuse,” he says, cutting her off, “And besides, YN, you’ll be able to be Queen. You never would have had that opportunity here.”

YN’s father would normally never make this sort of decision, especially not for the daughter he tried so hard to keep hidden.

“Of course, sweet YN,” King Seokjin says, “You are free to reject my offer if you so desire. I would, however, be forced to declare war on Ameris. After all, this country is the most resource rich of all the lands. It’s a shame. It would have been so much nicer to make a positive connection with this beautiful country. I wonder how much of its splendor will be left once my troops march through it.”

The threat is crystal clear. YN has to marry this King or her country will suffer for it. YN glances at her father and brother, seeing the fear that’s in their eyes. Ameris is much too small to fight Moonbyss and win, especially since the eastern country has been gaining a lot of territory very rapidly. YN swallows. In a matter of hours, her perfect daydream has been shattered.

“I would be honored to marry you, King Seokjin,” YN says, trying her hardest not to cry.

She can release her tears once she’s in the safety of her own chambers. She cannot show any weakness in front of this man.

“Beautiful and smart,” King Seokjin says, “It will be my honor to have you as my bride. After all, the most handsome man in all the world deserves the most beautiful bride of them all.”

YN never really thought much of her beauty. She’s always heard it was a blessing, the only one her mother ever left her, but right now it feels like a curse.

“I pray that you’ll join me for dinner this evening, my betrothed,” King Seokjin says.

“I would love to,” YN says even though the thought of having to spend even a single moment more in this man’s presence makes her want to hurl.

“You best retire to your quarters, my love. Your father and I have much to discuss before this evening. I’ll send someone for you when I’m ready.”

The dismissal is clear. YN turns swiftly and leaves the room, Wonho following closely behind her. She walks much too fast to be considered ladylike, but she does not give a damn, wanting to be as far away from the throne room as possible.

“YN, wait!” Wonho calls out to her.

He grasps her wrist, uncaring of who will see, and pulls her to his chest. As soon as the warmth of him touches her, YN loses all composure, breaking down and sobbing into his pristine uniform.

“Wonho,” she cries out, grasping him as close as she can, her fingers creasing the silk he wears, “I don’t want to be Queen! I want to marry you!”

YN feels something wet fall against her head. Based on the way his shoulders shake, Wonho is also crying. She hasn’t seen him shed a tear since one of his best friends was murdered on a mission.

“What are we going to do?” YN asks into his chest, her voice muffled, “I don’t think I can bear being apart from you, especially with someone as cruel as the King!”

“We’ll figure something out, YN, I promise,” Wonho says, pulling away just enough to give YN a salty kiss.

“At least once more,” YN says once their lips part, “I must have you at least once more.”

“Your wish is my command, princess,” Wonho says, pulling her along to her chambers.

The two fall into the sheets, both knowing that this is the last time despite desperately wanting to spend eternity together.

On the other side of the castle, Irene makes her way through the hallways, stopping at a grand door and knocking three times. No one answers, so she swings it open, prepared to wait for as long as it takes.

Maybe half an hour later, King Seokjin opens the door, looking quite pleased with himself. He doesn’t greet Irene, instead instantly walking over to her and pinning her against the wall, his lips meeting hers passionately. Irene barely has any time to catch her breath, but she doesn’t mind at all, too enamored with this man she knows is only using her.

When he was only a prince, Seokjin was infamous for being a womanizer. All too often, he lured servants and noble girls alike into his chambers, whispering promises and pressing kisses against their skin only to leave them abandoned like trash when he grew bored of them. Irene was one of those servant girls, but Seokjin has kept her around for longer than most. A part of Irene is convinced it’s because she’s special to him, but she knows it’s really not true.

Seokjin has been obsessed with YN, the secret twelfth princess of Ameris for five years now. Ever since he spotted her while visiting Ameris with his late father, he wanted her - needed her. After all, she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, trying as he might to find another. His late wife was incredibly beautiful as well, but she didn’t compare to YN. No one else was worthy of her but him. It was YN that drove him to murder his own father and take the throne before he was supposed to. After all, Seokjin has never been a patient man.

Seokjin pulls away from Irene, looking unbothered as ever.

“No good,” he says, “Simply imagining that you’re YN does nothing. I’m tired of waiting.”

His words sting Irene’s heart. She tries not to be bitter, but jealousy is a powerful emotion, one that overshadows the genuine affection she feels for princess YN.

“Well,” the King asks her, “Who is it? The one YN claims to be in love with.”

The King rolls his eyes, gripping his fists tightly. How dare YN love another when he’s already claimed her.

“It’s Wonho,” Irene says, pushing down her feelings, “the guard that accompanied her today.”

“A guard huh? How dare he think he deserves someone as beautiful as YN!” he says, furious.

Seokjin is terrifying when he’s angry. Irene tenses, preparing for the worst. Instead of gripping her hair and tossing her to the floor like he usually does, Seokjin grabs a decorative vase and tosses it against the ground, watching as it shatters into a million pieces.

“You didn’t strike me,” Irene says, shocked.

“I have been practicing,” the King says, “After all, it would be a shame to make a single mark on YN’s perfect body.”

Much too soon, Irene is knocking on YN’s private chamber door.

“Your majesty,” she calls out softly, “Your betrothed has requested your presence.”

YN rolls over to Wonho, tears in her eyes. He blinks them away, wanting to remember this moment clearly.

“One moment,” YN calls out, listening as Irene walks away.

“Run away with me,” YN pleads, her voice desperate.

“You know we can’t,” Wonho says, his eyes sad.

“Yes we can!” YN insists, “You know this country better than anyone. We can get up right now and flee and -”

“YN,” Wonho says, “What about the country? You know we’ll be forced to go to war if you disappear.”

YN sniffles.

“I don’t think I can live without you,” YN confessed, “And if I can, I don’t want to find out.”

Wonho is silent for a moment before he sits up, an idea in his mind.

“What? What is it?” YN asks him.

“What if you didn’t?”

“What?”

“What if you didn’t have to live without me? I’ve heard rumors amongst the staff of a poison you can take that will put you in a deep slumber for a fortnight. If some was mixed into your dinner tonight, it can seem that you’ve been poisoned and passed away. Then when you awake, you and I can disappear together.”

YN brightens. Even though being unconscious for a fortnight doesn’t sound pleasant, anything will be better than having to marry KIng Seokjin. Besides, she trusts Wonho with her life.

“Okay,” YN says, agreeing right away.

“Are you sure, YN?” Wonho asks her, “You will end up getting rather sick for a few days before the slumber.”

YN nods eagerly.

“Yes, anything,” she says.

“Very well.”

Wonho hops out of bed, pulling on his clothes as quickly as he possibly can.

“I’ll get everything ready. YN, go to dinner with the king, alright? I won’t be able to see you after this so as not to arouse suspicion. I love you, princess.”

He leans down to kiss her.

“I love you more,” YN says, watching as Wonho slips out of a glass door and into the gardens.

Unbeknownst to the lovers, King Seokjin is outside the door, his ear pressed against it to hear everything. He had come to escort his beloved like a sweet fiance would, only to hear his to be wife scheming to get away from him.

He’s never been so angry, but he suppressed it, not wanting to let YN know that he’s been here. He grabs Irene by the arm roughly and leads her out into the hallway, bending over to whisper in her ear.

“Make sure to add enough of the poison to YN’s food to keep her under for longer than a fortnight. Put as much of it in as you can without bringing her to the brink of death.”

“Are you sure your -”

Irene’s question is cut off when he backhands her, one of his elegant rings drawing blood.

“Do NOT question me!” he says, “Do as I order!”

Irene rushes off to do as the King says, tears brimming in her eyes. She’s never regretted being Seokjin’s spy until now, too blinded by love. She should have warned YN, should have helped her disappear with Wonho - someone Irene knows truly loves the princess. King Seokjin is just obsessed with her beauty and determined to own her like she’s some sort of object to be bought and sold.

Peeking around the corner, Irene sees Wonho pouring a liquid into the soup bowl meant for the princess. When he leaves and when the coast is clear, Irene snatches the vial from the counter and empties the rest of it into other dishes reserved for the princess before refilling the vial with water and placing it back where Wonho left it.

“YN, I’m so sorry,” she whispers to herself before fleeing into the night, never to be heard from again.

At dinner, YN pretends not to notice the odd taste in her food. It’s obviously been tampered with, but YN doesn’t let it show at all, eating properly and conversing with King Seokjin as much as she can bear. YN misses the look of glee in his eye as he drinks from his goblet, still believing that everything is going to plan.

YN starts feeling ill once the final course comes around. She quickly asks to be excused and King Seokjin offers to walk her back to her room. YN accepts, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to make it on her own with the way the room begins to spin.

For the next three days and nights, YN is in and out of consciousness, the world swirling around her in a nauseating mix of bright colors and fuzzy shapes. When she closes her eyes at midnight of the third day, her thoughts are on Wonho and the fact that the next time she opens them, she’ll be free to be with him.

But YN does not wake up. Not for a fortnight, not ever. Seokjin, furious, intends to find Irene and hang her for murdering his beloved before realizing that she’s nowhere to be found. It’s easy enough to frame Wonho for her murder and a matter of hours after YN dies, Wonho follows her from the gallows.

At his request, YN is preserved and dressed in a wonderful white wedding gown, still looking very much alive. He marries her anyway and has her crowned, determined to have her even in death. She’s too beautiful to be buried underground, so he commissions a glass coffin to display her in, putting her corpse in his bedroom where no one else can see her. King Seokjin finds that he does not mind YN being dead. She’s much less bothersome in passing, much easier to fall to his will.

King Seokjin stands before her, placing his hand flat against the cool glass of her coffin. Even in death, YN is the fairest of them all.

#yandere bts #yandere x reader #kim seokjin x reader #wonho x reader #bts angst #bts oneshot #kim seokjin #seokjin ff

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

Me attempting a multi-part fic?? More likely than you think! I wrote this fic because this blog started with Hawks and Dabi and kinda got a bit of traction with soulmate au’s so to me it made sense to post it for my first anniversary. I hope you guys like it! 💕

Touya Todoroki (Dabi) x female reader, Keigo Takami (Hawks) x female reader

TW canonical character ‘death’, a little angst and maybe a slight hint of dub-con (if you squint your eyes a little)

Part I, II

You’re eleven years old when your parents take you by the hand, sit you down on the couch and tell you that your soulmate is dead.

It doesn’t make sense. There’s a hollow ache inside of your chest like something important is gone but you were with Touya only yesterday. You had the rest of your lives together, you were gonna leave with him, start something better…

You feel empty and you can’t understand it. He can’t be dead, that’s not how it works. You find your soulmate and you get to ride off into the sunset. You get to be happy, everyone knows that.

But it doesn’t sink in until you’re kicking and screaming by his grave and Endeavor won’t so much as meet your eye and your parents are pulling you back because there’s no body.

There’s nothing left of Touya Todoroki.

And there’s nothing left of you without him.

—

They call it the bloom. A simple touch, the first from your soulmate’s hand, and the mark appears on your skin like drops of ink spilled into water. You’ve always thought it beautiful, the delicate black pattern imprinted on your wrist.

You can still remember the heat you’d felt when it happened. Not the burning kind you knew him capable of, but like the warmth of a fire seeping through you. And you remember the way those bright, blue eyes had widened as you’d tripped and fell, taking him with you. His mark was over his heart; Touya always was stupidly smug about that.

You were just kids. Angry and scared and lost, but you had Touya and Touya had you.

(Not that that counted for anything in the end. He still died alone.)

They say it’s rare to find your soulmate before adulthood, but you’d been one of the lucky ones.

Lucky.

The word tastes bitter on your tongue now. It’s not that you disagree exactly – even now, years after his death you’re glad that you had time with him. You would’ve been grateful for a minute, for a mere glance at his face. Two and a half years with your soulmate was a gift, but having him, losing him so young only meant that you had more years of your life to struggle on without him.

And sometimes you catch yourself staring at your mark, lost in thought. Touya was the one with all the plans, you were always just the tag along, happy to go anywhere so long as he was the one leading you. You wonder what he’d think if he could see you now. Not the Hero you’d let yourselves imagine, though you suppose you both knew deep down that was nothing more than a pipe dream for someone like you.

Gazing around your cramped, messy apartment, debating exactly how badly you need this shitty, barely-enough-to-scrape-by job, you can’t imagine he’d be impressed.

God knows your parents are disappointed, but that’s nothing new. The Quirkless daughter of two mid rank heroes – well, the only thing you ever had going for you was being Enji Todoroki’s future daughter in law, and everybody knows how that one ended.

But part of you likes to think that maybe Touya wouldn’t judge you too harshly for it. You’re doing the best you can. You’re surviving, all on your own, that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

There’s a text message awaiting you when you roll over and grab your phone.

Happy Birthday x

Natsuo never forgets. The rest of the Todoroki’s – you ceased to matter to them the day they buried an empty casket for their son. Natsuo’s the only one who bothers to check in on you, make sure that you’re keeping your head above the water. It’s usually just a message here and there, and he calls you on Touya’s birthday. And on the anniversary of his death.

It’s painful for him, but you suppose you’re the only tangible connection he has left of his brother.

You stare at the message for a moment longer, a strange feeling tugging at your heart. Typing out a quick reply, you set your phone down and fall back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh.

Today of all days, you’d honestly rather just roll over and let the hours pass you by, but your boss isn’t that forgiving and as much as you hate to admit it, you need this job.

The hotel’s already abuzz by the time you clock in, your manager’s jaw tight, a frown pinching at his face. As much as you don’t like him, you can’t exactly blame him for the bad mood – in less than three hours, the ballroom will be filled with a media circus and a plethora of pro heroes. Some big promotional event before the hero rankings are announced; you honestly don’t care.

It just means that everybody’s on edge, you’re gonna spend all day stuck in heels, smiling blandly while you serve people who won’t so much as look twice at you.

And then there’s the real reason you’re dreading today. 6’4”, blue eyed, broad shouldered, currently burning holes into you from across the ballroom while you carry around a platter of canapés. The last time you’d seen Enji Todoroki in person was two weeks after the funeral, and he’d ignored you entirely.

That was years ago; you weren’t even in your teens. Half of you had hoped that in his infinite arrogance and the complete lack of care he’d shown since his son’s death he would’ve forgotten about you entirely.

From the way he’s spent the last twenty minutes staring at you while bulldozing past reporters, though, you’re not feeling all that confident.

And for the life of you, you can’t figure out why your presence seems to be disturbing him so much, considering you’re really only there to serve and then fade into the background. It’s not like you’re chasing after him, demanding an autograph much less any kind of acknowledgement – you’re not exactly thrilled to be here either. Things work just fine with the two of you pretending the other doesn’t exist.

Does he think you’ve planned this? Some big ‘fuck you’ to try and mess with what you’re sure will be an announcement of his retainership of the number one position? Even while Touya was still alive, his father didn’t have a place in your life – he was off training his youngest, you barely saw him and you were glad for it.

While he might have hated him, some part of Touya still idolised him, craved his approval, but Enji had never been anything to you but a selfish, unfeeling monster. A bully.

But now he’s staring at you, slack jawed and wide eyed like he’s seen a ghost and it’s harder than you thought it would be to keep that smile plastered across your face knowing he’s watching your every move.

Your cheeks feels hot, and it only gets worse when you realise that Endeavor’s less than subtle behaviour is slowly but surely drawing attention from others in the room. A few curious reporters have shot you odd looks, heads cocked for a moment before dismissing you as just another waitress, hardly headline worthy.

The other heroes are less quick to brush you off. Mirko, current number five, elegantly clasping her glass of champagne in a gloved hand keeps shooting furtive glances between you and Enji, Gang Orca’s beady eyes following you across the floor, a flicker of what you’re fairly sure is concern maring his face.

It’s mortifying. Your smile is stretched and painful, your throat tight and you feel utterly exposed, but there’s nothing you can do. The flame hero doesn’t seem to care about the attention he’s drawing, or that with every passing minute it gets harder and harder for you to maintain that professional, customer service demeanour you need for this job.

And you’re beyond caring if he’s embarrassed to find his firstborn’s soulmate has sunk so low in his absence, you just want him to stop staring so you can finish your shift in peace. But it seems like the flame hero has other plans, because you’re just beginning to seriously weigh up your chances of keeping this job if you just up and walk off right here and now when Enji’s limited patience finally reaches its threshold.

He doesn’t bother offering excuses towards the poor reporter trying to pry an interview out of him, he just abruptly sets his drink down and starts stalking towards you. Rationally, you realise that with all these people here, he can’t make too much of a scene.

It’s just that even the thought of having to talk with him, to look into those blue eyes that are so painfully familiar yet wrong–

You can’t do it.

Not today.

And so you spin on your heel, stomach lurching. The silver tray in your hands stacked high with champagne teeters and falls, crystal glass shattering on the marble floors drawing gasps from the crowd. Endeavor calls out your name but you block him out, desperately weaving your way through the stunned mass of people.

Most of them give you a wide berth, likely due to the oversized hero barrelling after you. He calls your name again, louder this time. It’s not a scream, or a yell – it almost sounds pleading, though you can’t possibly imagine why. Endeavor doesn’t do pleading.

Your cheeks are burning; there’s too many people staring and hot tears begin to prickle at your eyes. A flash of red blurs past your field of vision and you start, a sharp squeak slipping out as a figure lands before you, blocking your exit.

Handsome with bushy eyebrows, dirty blonde hair messily brushed back and golden eyes gleaming; the hero in front of you would be impossible to mistake, even if it weren’t for the sweeping blood red wings sprouting from his back. Hawks, the current number two pro-hero and the only man standing between you and your fumbling escape.

Your body’s slow to catch up with your mind though, and as you try to stop, backpedal and side-step him at once your foot catches on your ankle. It’s instinctive, the way your arms fly up, wildly trying to catch yourself before you fall on your ass.

Just like you suppose it’s instinctive for him to rush forward to do the same.

It happens in a split second, your fingers brushing the skin of his neck just above the collar of his shirt, his hand grasping at your waist to steady you. Beneath his gloved hand a familiar burst of heat warms your skin.

Time slows to a crawl. The ballroom, all the gathered heroes and the press, your co-workers, they all fade into the background as your eyes dart to your fingertips, resting gently on the side of Hawks’ throat. There, a soft, inky black mark begins to unfurl spreading up to his jaw, disappearing below the collar of his turtleneck.

Over the quiet hum of the classical music playing in the background, you hear his breath catch.

He has you dipped, the two of you frozen as if in a dance and for a moment you dare to meet those piercing golden eyes. There’s a clicking sound, a camera shutter you distantly register, but while it makes your heart jump, Hawks pays it no mind.

He stares at you with impossibly wide eyes; open, vulnerable and raw.

And then he blinks, and that glimpse is gone, his grip tightening as he slowly sets you right. He doesn’t let you go, however.

“Hawks,” Enji’s tone is low and gruff, a warning this time.

Tension, thick and crackling with electricity hangs in the air between the three of you, amplified by the crowd of onlookers. All those journalists, chomping at the bit with the realisation of a juicy story playing out right in front of their eyes. Your name’s called out again, not by Endeavor, but by the reporter he’d cut off before – eyeing you now with an eager leer that has you recoiling back into Hawks’ embrace.

It’s enough to jerk the winged hero into action. His mouth finds your ear, his thumb sweeping soothingly along your side as he speaks low enough for only you to hear.

“You wanna leave, baby bird?”

You don’t remember nodding, but you must have, because in the space of a single heartbeat Hawks has you hoisted up in his arms, those powerful wings spreading wide – and you’re flying.

—

“I don’t think I have a job anymore,” you laugh drily, staring down at the city lights twinkling on the horizon.

Beside you, Hawks snorts in agreement, “Hell of a way to make an exit, though.”

He’s not wrong. You can only imagine what the tabloid headlines will say tomorrow ‘Pro Hero sweeps hotel waitress soulmate off her feet’ ‘Hawks mates for life; Endeavor jealous?’ Even if by some miracle your boss wasn’t intent on firing you on the spot, you’re not sure you can even bear to show your face there again.

It’ll be a pain though, trying to find a new job while your face is plastered across every less than reputable news outlet.

Perched atop the rooftop of Hawks’ hotel, halfway across the city, the wind ruffling gently through your hair, everything feels… surreal almost. It’s your birthday, and instead of crashing through the door of your apartment, exhausted and aching before falling face first onto your bed and not moving for the next few hours, you’re here. With the number two pro hero. Who, incidentally, is your second soulmate.

Having more than one soulmate, it’s not unheard of, just… rare.

And your hand’s entwined with his, his gloves long since discarded, his fleece lined jacket draped over your shoulders. Touya’s mark, long since blossomed across your inner wrist lies starkly between the two of you, unignorable.

“It was his son, wasn’t it?” he asks eventually, breaking the fragile silence as he toys with your fingers. When you nervously risk a glance up, Hawks doesn’t look angry or upset or even that jealous. Those golden eyes study your face with an odd kind of curiosity, but there’s no trace of resentment there. “Touya, the one who died. He was your soulmate.”

It’s not a question, but you find yourself nodding anyway. A part of you’s almost surprised he put it together so quickly, but you guess being a pro hero of that calibre requires a little more than just having a strong quirk.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, because what else can you say?

You can’t possibly imagine how he’s feeling right now, what thoughts are running through his head. You’d accepted a long time ago that while you’d love Touya Todoroki until your dying breath, he was gone; that chance of a fairytale happily ever after going with him. Another soulmate wasn’t something you’d ever considered, much less wasted time longing for.

And yet here you are, another mark inked across your skin and it feels wrong somehow, yet also completely right. Imagining being on the other foot; putting yourself in Hawks’ shoes – a pro hero soulmated to some insignificant, quirkless waitress, and not only that, but finding out she has another soulmate, somebody she loved before you, a ghost of a memory you’ll always be competing against… you honestly don’t know how you’d feel.

“Look at me,” he whispers, calloused fingers coaxing at your chin. Heart thrumming like a hummingbird's you comply, letting out another soft squeak as Hawks takes the hand still entwined with his and lifts it to his neck, right above his mark.

He smiles, nuzzling into the touch as your breath stutters. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” Again, you find yourself nodding without even really being conscious of it. It doesn’t seem to matter to Hawks though, whose smile widens at the sight of it. He leans in closer, his breath fanning across your face as molten pools of honey drink you in. You wonder if he can feel the way your pulse is racing under his touch, mixed emotions warring inside of you as he cups your cheek.

“And I’m yours. That’s all I care about, baby bird.”

He’s drawing you into a kiss before you can even comprehend the words, soft lips moving against yours. Gently at first, but that sweetness gives way to a burning urgency as he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

Hawks kisses you like your lips hold salvation, and it’s frightening and thrilling and it feels like every nerve in your body is electrified when his teeth catch at your bottom lip and he moans your name.

There’s some part of you that realises that you’re moving too fast – soulmates or not he’s practically a stranger – but as you break for air, panting and breathless and Hawks looks at you with those burning, beautiful eyes; you’re helpless to resist.

“Keigo,” he tells you as he lays you down on his bed, crawling up between your thighs with a gleaming, hungry smirk that’s nothing less than predatory, “Call me Keigo.”

#yandere bnha #yandere hawks x reader #yandere dabi x reader #yandere keigo takami x reader #yandere touya todoroki x reader #tw character ‘death’#tw dub con #soulmate au #I’m not even sorry #except I am #lmao last one I promise

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songfell-ut · 4 years

Text

Merry Xmas toooo

Hey @venelona remember when I was talking about that Beauty & the Beast thing in your server

Well, I copied myself, ‘cause Sans is still not good at following through on getting a human soul, and a stray bit of paper drives the plot once more.

This is nowhere near finished because it’s me. I’ll polish it up and put it on AO3 once my other gift is done for tomorrow (she said famous-last-words-ly).

Prepare yourself for a shock: I wrote something long. Indents, meh. Warning, Sans is stupid.

Today was not a good day: it was cold, he had to get married, and now there was a human in his garden.

This was problematic for many reasons. For one thing, as the literal lord of all he surveyed, Sans always found it hard to get any alone time, much less a chance to nap. He’d started coming outside each night after dinner to doze off for a few precious minutes, at least until the wind whistled through his sockets one time too many or his brother started yelling at him over the wall. On this particular evening, though, after his chat with Toriel, his sole aim was to avoid seeing anyone; luckily, he’d already forbidden the others from coming into the garden, and he was prepared to stay out here forever if he had to, weather and Papyrus be damned.

Sans was not prepared to take a shortcut to his favorite bench by the nightshades and sit down, only to catch sight of someone hunched behind a bush at the end of the row. The skeleton scrambled to his feet in sudden panic, readying his magic to defend himself. Who or what the hell was that? No one should be here—this was his place! Had Toriel told him all that crap to trick him into going out alone, then sent someone after him? But how?

His instinct was to attack first, but for all Sans knew, this was some kind of trap; instead, he watched and listened, waiting for the thing to make its move. His soul thrummed like a harpstring, ready to summon bones to skewer the intruder, or teleport away—

But nothing happened. As the seconds ticked by, Sans gradually realized that the small, dark-clothed figure wasn’t crouched to spring at him or lying in wait, just bending down to examine the flowers. He couldn’t sense any malicious intent whatsoever; in fact, it didn’t seem to know he was there, or that he was coming closer for a better look.

Well, no wonder: it was wearing a cloak with a deep hood that blocked its peripheral vision, and it was facing into the wind, where it couldn’t hear or smell anyone sneaking up from behind. That meant the intruder was either very confident or really fucking stupid.

Maybe it was just Monster Kid or one of the others screwing with him? After all, no matter how often Sans told them to stay the hell out of his garden, and no matter how strongly his subjects were compelled to obey him, he kept finding rocks, bits of bone, and other junk the little bastards had tossed over the wall. Things had gotten better since Papyrus started patrolling the outer courtyard, happy to combine his favorite pastimes of keeping things tidy and beating the shit out of people, but…

But no, this wasn’t a kid who’d found a loophole in his orders, or an adult monster strong enough to defy him. Sans took a couple of quick shortcuts at different angles to appraise the intruder, confirming that it wasn’t sized or shaped like anyone he knew; it also failed to react when he stepped through an arch of greenery just a few feet away. No shift of attention, no magic gathering to attack or defend itself—who could possibly be that dumb? None of the surviving monsters would ever dream of dropping their guard like this, not even the kids!

The wind shifted, and Sans’ nasal ridge twitched as an unfamiliar stench hit him. He recognized the scent of leather from its clothes, but there were strong hints of…some kind of hair, and…bodily fluids? There was something missing, too, so basic that it took Sans a minute to pinpoint it: the trespasser had no magic whatsoever.

That was the most confusing thing of all. No matter how fishy or perfumed or otherwise gross they might be, everyone had that dry, slightly spicy smell. Had someone dressed up an animal and released it into the garden as a prank? A thrill of fear raced through him again—did Toriel’s curse include female animals? It’d be just like her to dump that on him and then make sure he ran into a bear or a deer or something!

Suddenly, the intruder sighed heavily, straightened up, and shook its hood off. To Sans’ shock, it wasn’t an animal or a monster: the thing standing in his garden was a human. It turned its back to the wind, squinting down at the white-stoned path and up at the surrounding wall, the smooth black marble shining rose-gold in the twilight.

What the hell was a human doing here? At least it was a male; Sans relaxed a little, then shook himself and edged forward.

Humans were legendary for their cruelty and cunning, but this particular specimen didn’t seem very dangerous. Beneath its dusty travel clothes and heavy cloak, it was almost as short at Sans, with a wrinkly face and gray streaks in its hair. Did all humans get like that after only…what, fifty years? Granted, Sans was just twenty-five, a baby by monster standards, but he wouldn’t be this twitchy or feeble when he reached the human’s age. And he wouldn’t be dumb enough to wander into someone else’s territory after sundown!

The man had started walking again, still oblivious to Sans’ presence, and paused at a fork in the path. Sans silently willed him to turn right, and he’d been obeyed by everyone he knew for so long that it was a surprise to see the human go left instead. The skeleton watched in irritation, then disbelief, as his uninvited guest sat down on a low wall and pulled a map out of his pocket.

That had to be the stupidest thing Sans had ever seen. Did human maps of the area include HAUNTED CASTLE ON FORBIDDEN MOUNTAIN? He doubted it. Besides, there was a village at the foot of the mountain, straight down through the forest; even if he couldn’t find the main path, all this moron had to do was walk downhill, back the…way he’d…

Wait. How had he even gotten in here?

Quick as thought, Sans zipped over to the massive iron gates that stood between the castle and the outside world. Sure enough, the ivy growing between the bars had been disturbed at one end where the man had squeezed through. Sans extended one bony finger very, very slowly toward the gate, and as his phalange approached the nearest bar, the air filled with a warning hum, his bones prickling with alarm till he stepped away.

The barrier was still working, then. What had the King said before they dusted him? Anything could get in, but nothing could get out…except a monster in possession of a human soul. But there were no—

The skeleton monster’s sockets widened again, this time in excitement. He grinned hugely, then took a shortcut back to the human, who was trying to fold up the map. Just in case, Sans peered at the human’s chest, gauging how much effort this would take.

His elation immediately vanished, disgust welling up in its place. Of all the humans who could’ve wandered up here, it had to be one with a pathetically weak, almost sickly little soul—and why did it have to be green? Fucking Kindness! Talk about shitty luck!

Not that he was going to pass up the opportunity, of course. Absorbing any human soul, no matter how crappy, would give him power greater than every other monster who’d ever lived, combined. He could finally pass through the gates, descend on the human village like a force of nature, grab as many souls as he wanted, and come back here to destroy the ga—no, he’d wreck the whole fucking castle! The others would finally be free, too, though he wouldn’t be stupid enough to share any souls with them. Maybe Pap could have a few, just enough to fulfill his dream of tearing Undyne to pieces, and to help eliminate Toriel; then they’d be untouchable in a world where “kill or be killed” was the only rule!

Sans was jerked back to the present by the human making a horribly wet noise and pulling a square of cloth from his pocket. Why was this disgusting sack of flesh even here, anyway? As far as Sans knew, no one had come near the castle for decades; even the local wildlife stayed far away. Yet here he was, an ordinary-looking human who had come all the way up the mountain in the approaching dark.

The man had finally sensed something wrong and was looking around uneasily. “Hello?” he called. Sans stayed where he was, silent and contemptuous; sure enough, the human’s gaze swept right past him. “Odd,” he murmured, lowering the map and folding it in half.

Sans knew he should go ahead and kill the guy now, but the wind chose that moment to pick back up, rustling through the flowers and nearly yanking the map out of the human’s hands; the man swore and fumbled at the stiff parchment, fighting to keep hold of it.

The skeleton chuckled, almost pityingly. As lord of the castle, he decided he could be magnanimous and let this moron finish putting the map away. Besides, it was funny as hell to watch him lose to a piece of paper.

Eventually, the man gave up and tried instead to stuff the half-folded map into his pocket, pulling a few things out to make room. Enough of this, thought Sans, his amusement fading. The skeleton took a few steps forward, letting his magic swell to a darkly feverish pitch and drift off him like red smoke. He was probably scary enough as it was, but anything worth doing was worth overdoing, especially when it’d make the human’s reaction that much funnier.

Besides, this idiot had trespassed on Sans’ land and his solitude at exactly the wrong time. A quick, clean death was too good for him, but it couldn’t be helped: Sans had to get his soul out in one piece and reach the village before daybreak. Ha, maybe he’d put his hood up and pretend to be the Reaper the humans feared so much—wasn’t that why they had exterminated every single skeleton monster but him and Pap? He’d give the fuckers something to be afraid of!

It was time, all right. The human had finally sensed someone at his back, and began to turn around. “Excuse me, I—”

Another gust of wind suddenly came howling through the garden and tore the map out of the human’s grip. It landed with a thk and skidded along the white-stoned path; with it went a couple of envelopes he’d set on his lap, and another, much smaller piece of paper, which blew straight into the nearest flowerbed.

The human’s demeanor changed in an instant from annoyance to panic. “No!” He flailed at the air, then stumbled over the wall, charging through the flowers. “Come back here!” he yelled, as if the wind or the paper could understand him.

Sans froze, feeling his magic go still as the blossoms answered—or, rather, echoed: “Come back here!” What the hell was the guy doing tromping around like that? Those were echo flowers, not daisies! One of them was worth twenty of this dumbfuck!

The wind was still blowing, but after a few clumsy grabs, the human threw himself full-length onto the ground, trapping the paper amongst the squished flowers. He sighed gustily – ha – and stood up, smiling. “There you are,” he murmured, his voice clear as the wind dropped to a light breeze.

The skeleton couldn’t see what the human was looking at so fondly. In his irate curiosity, he hesitated another moment too long: “Hm,” the man said to himself. “Yes, that’ll do.” He crouched again, grabbed a blossom at random, and plucked it clean out of the ground.

“What the fuck?”

Sans’ roar shattered the air like a rock through a stained-glass window. He was too angry to enjoy the human’s shriek of terror, or his attempt to turn and run; the skeleton jerked his hand up and sideways, yanking the man off his feet and hurling him onto the path. “Who the fuck d’you think you are?” snarled Sans. His magic flared up again as he advanced, staining the footpath red. “Huh?”

The human was trembling violently, staring up at him. “Are you deaf or somethin’?” the monster demanded. He grabbed the man by the collar, hauling him to his feet. “Answer me, or I’ll rip yer fuckin’ head off!”

The human gulped. “I…” He squeezed his eyes shut, sweat rolling off his face. “P-P-Please forgive me, my lord! I-I was being pursued by bandits, and they didn’t stop until I reached this place! I needed shelter, someone to point the way home—” He peeked up at Sans again, almost hiccuping in fear. “I-If you’ll permit me to leave, I swear I’ll never trouble you again!”

Sans glanced up at a nearby lantern hanging on an iron post, and it obligingly lit itself. “That’s for damn sure,” said the skeleton. His wrath faded a little as his prisoner gaped at him in the clearer light. Now he understood the expression “bug-eyed,” not to mention “slack-jawed”; it was one of the funniest things he’d ever seen. Still… “You expect me to believe ya just wandered in here outta nowhere?” Sans jerked his head at the castle looming behind him, though the moon hadn’t risen to provide a properly spooky silhouette. “Didja think you could sneak in, grab somethin’, an’ get out before anybody noticed? ‘Cause I fuckin’ noticed!” He stabbed a finger at the echo flower in the human’s hand. “That shit doesn’t grow just anywhere!”

The man blinked stupidly at the flower, as if surprised to see it. His eyes darted back and forth, his other hand sneaking toward his pocket. “I…I can explain, my l—”

“Uh-uh.” Sans waggled his finger, and the human cried out as his hand was yanked straight over his head, the little slip of paper fluttering to the ground. Ignoring his protests, Sans made a couple more gestures to open the man’s coat and run a thread of magic through the pockets, then the lining. He frowned as he found several coins, letters, a comb, a pipe…but no weapons.

Huh. If the human hadn’t been going for a knife or something, then what the hell was he doing? Was he just trying to put the paper away? How goddamn stupid could he—

“Please!” the man almost shrieked, and Sans was startled into releasing him. He watched the human stumble back, dropping the echo flower in his haste to run after the slip of paper again. Luckily for him, it blew against the corner of another bench, where he could easily stoop to retrieve it. The map lay nearby, but the human didn’t even look at it; he sighed in relief, and started to turn around.

Sans was directly in front of him, grinning at his strangled squeak. “Whatcha got there?” The skeleton didn’t wait for an answer, just reached for it.

“No!” To his astonishment, the man flailed at him, backing away till his shins hit the bench. “I-It’s nothing!” the human babbled. “Nothing at all! Just a picture that I didn’t want to lose! You can leave it!”

Later, Sans would try to blame himself for not being more careful. But he had every right to be curious, and no reason to be thinking of Toriel right then; it was only natural for him to use his magic to grab the paper and hold it up to see what was so fucking important. So, he did.

The human was right: it was a delicate ink drawing. Sans felt the smirk slide right off his face, and he took the picture in both hands, peering so intently that he didn’t even notice the man grabbing his sleeve. “Who’s this?” the skeleton inquired, trying to sound careless. “Yer wife?”

“My daughter!” The guy was actually jumping to try to grab it, like a frantic kid. “As I said, it’s worth nothing to you! Please give it back!”

Sans absently pushed the human off with his elbow, raising the paper to the light. “Knock it off,” he grunted as the man came right back.

The human’s sheeplike face contorted. “Has milord never seen a woman before? Give it ba—”

Skeletal fingers shot out and locked around his throat. To Sans’ surprise, when he glared down at the human, the man glared right back, even as he clawed at Sans’ radius. “Why d’you want it so bad? Is she dead or somethin’?” the monster asked in sudden hope.

The human’s eyes bulged wider, and he struggled to speak until Sans loosened his grip. After a bit of coughing and puffing, the man rasped, “How dare you? She’s my child, you wretched beast!” He dashed Sans’ hopes with a jerky shake of the head. “I’ve been away from her for over a month, and I was only hours from home when I was attacked! That’s all I’ve had of her! If I’m going to die at your hand, the very least you can do is let me see it one more time!”

Sans’ jaw clenched so hard that his single golden tooth creaked under the pressure. He shut his sockets, aware that he had to think very carefully before he spoke. “I got some questions for ya,” he snarled. “Tell me the truth, an’ you might leave in one piece.” He opened his sockets, his ruby eyelights pulsing across the human’s face. “Got it?”

The wind shrieked past them again, but Sans held both the human and the slip of paper steady. The man stared at him in clear distrust; Sans wasn’t sure if he was being brave, or stupid, or what, but he wasn’t cowering anymore. As a slight token of respect, the skeleton opened his hand, letting the human jerk away. “Yes, milord,” the latter whispered, massaging his throat. “Whatever you wish.”

Sans snorted, and snuck another glance at the portrait. “What’s your family name? What were you doin’ away from home fer so long?”

The man’s brow wrinkled further. “My name is Proust, milord. I’m a merchant, so I travel frequently. I’ve been investigating a business opportunity in the capital.”

A merchant? That was hard to believe. The coins in the human’s pockets consisted solely of pennies and a few silver pieces that Sans didn’t recognize; Proust was dressed fairly well, but on closer inspection, the fur trim of his cloak was patchy, while his leather coat was shiny with age. Either he was a cheapskate, or he hadn’t made any real money in a long time. “How’d it go?” Sans asked sardonically.

“Poorly, milord,” the man snapped. “I promised Frisk I’d bring her something from the city, but then I could barely afford to pay my way home.” He looked down at the echo flower, which lay on the stones between them. “She likes gardening, so…”

Sans knew he should make another fuss about the theft, but he had a bigger problem. “‘Frisk’?” he repeated. “Is that a nickname or somethin’?”

“No,” Proust said stiffly. “What else would my lord care to know?”

Sans gave him another glare, and though the man flinched, he didn’t look away. “Heh,” the skeleton murmured. “She your only kid?”

“Yes, my lord. My wife died in childbirth. Frisk…” His voice caught. “She’s all I have left.”

The monster grimaced. He almost would’ve preferred an aggressive human to a sappy one. “How old is she?” The paper trembled. It wasn’t the wind: his hands were shaking. “Did you leave her home alone, or with ‘er husband, or…?”

The human eyed him in rightful suspicion. “She’s twenty-two, my lord. We live with my brother’s family. She’s unwed—I’ve had several offers for her hand, but she refused them all.”

“Why?” Sans asked bluntly.

Proust blinked a few times. “She didn’t love them. She didn’t even like most of them, and the one she might have accepted left because my brother wouldn’t give her a dowry. Why do you—”

“A dowry?” Sans repeated. “The hell is that?”

This was obviously a sensitive question: the human’s face turned a weird color, and something pulsed near his eyebrow—a vein? Was that what it was called? Sans turned his head in disgust, studying the portrait again. If she had veins, he couldn’t see any.

The human cleared his throat. “It’s a gift of money or other goods that a woman brings to a marriage. Many young women in our social class have a difficult time finding a husband without one, and…”

“An’ you don’t have enough cash to sell her off?” Sans waved a hand as Proust swelled with rage again. “Never mind. Whatever stupid shit humans get up to, I don’ care.” He was quiet for a moment. “Just seems pathetic that you’ve gotta pay someone to take ‘er.”

“Was milord listening?” the human demanded. “I’ve had six other gentlemen ask to marry her, and four were willing to forego any dowry at all! She was good enough!”

It was Sans’ turn to twitch. “Why? What’s so great about ‘er?”

Proust made a noise like an angry frog. “May I humbly entreat milord to explain his gracious interest in my family?”

Sans toyed with the idea of telling him the truth, and shrugged. “Just curious. So, I’m guessin’ you wanna see her again?”

“Yes, milord, absolutely,” the man said in a rush. “I’d do anything—you have no idea how much she means to me!” He looked longingly at the paper in Sans’ hand, still held up to the lamplight. “She drew that herself,” he added.

Sans started. “Really?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Yes, indeed,” the human said proudly.

The skeleton scowled at the picture. It was a perfect rendition of a young woman seated at a table, wearing an old-fashioned gown; her dark hair was twisted up into a bun, showing a small earring, a pearl necklace, and a graceful curve of neck and shoulder. Now that Proust mentioned it, she did seem to be drawing herself in the mirror, one hand holding a pencil and the other steadying the paper, her head tilted to look up at Sans.

For a moment, he was so angry that he couldn’t breathe. This was bullshit! Why should he pass up his chance at unlimited power because of a girl who probably wasn’t even that pretty in real life? He should just rip the stupid picture in half, rip the human in half, grab his shitty green soul, and get things started!

But the longer he stared at the paper, the less he wanted to rip it in half, kill the human, become godlike, etc. etc. It just seemed…boring? Unnecessary?

Tch. This was all Toriel’s fault! She’d called him to her room that evening in an absolute fit of laughter and told him exactly what was going to happen, and the old bitch knew he’d come down here afterward and—

And he couldn’t stay mad about it. Instead, something weird was happening behind his sternum, a sticky kind of warmth spreading like an infection through his ribcage and down his limbs. No matter how hard he tried to dwell on being jerked around, or why it had to be some squishy human with a dumb father and a weird name, Sans couldn’t look away from the portrait, caught by the girl’s clear, bright eyes. No one had ever smiled at him like that…

He came down here every night to get away from everyone, but what if…what if he had someone he didn’t want to get away from? Unbidden, a thought crept up: what would the garden look like with this human in it, helping water the flowers or sitting with him to watch the sun set? What would it be like to always have someone to talk to about stuff bothering him, help with all the day-to-day crap of running the household…smile at him, keep him warm at night—

Shit! Had Toriel laughed at him because she knew he’d actually want this to happen?

“Hello?” Proust was asking. “Milord? Is something wrong?”

Sans shook himself. “Fine, she can draw. Does she know how ta do anything?” That’d be a perfect excuse to forget about her. If he wanted to keep something cute and useless around, he could just put a collar on one of the kids and make it do tricks!

The human actually laughed at him. “We went to stay with my brother, milord, when Frisk was fourteen years old. He was a widower, so she took it upon herself to be the lady of the house. Within a few months, she was managing his servants, balancing his accounts, organizing his social affairs—clear up till he remarried last year.” His narrow chest puffed out. “It’s a large part of the reason she’s been sought after. Any man would be lucky to have her.”

The monster’s hands were trembling again, a strange sensation burning him from the inside out. “Is—” It was a childish question, but he couldn’t help it: “Is she nice?”

Proust looked at him strangely. “Yes, milord. She is.” He flinched as Sans’ grip on the drawing tightened. “Forgive me,” the man quavered, “but why do you—”

“Gimme your hand,” growled the skeleton. He gestured, keeping the paper suspended in midair as he lowered his own hands. “Take the glove off.”

Proust swallowed once or twice, then obeyed. Sans didn’t hide his distaste as he took hold of Proust’s wrist, the human’s pulse twitching against his thumb. For a second, he didn’t know if he could go through with it; then he glanced at the portrait, and said, “Don’t move.” Before he could lose his nerve, the monster lifted a skull-shaped pendant from beneath his shirt, positioned the human’s finger between its tiny jaws, and willed them to snap shut.

Proust yelped as the pendant latched onto his finger. “What in God’s name is that thing?” he cried, trying to shake it off.

“Magic,” Sans said pleasantly. The poor skull didn’t seem to like it any more than the human did: its jaws sprang right back open, and he could’ve sworn he saw it make a face at him.

Proust was staring at his hand in disbelief, searching for signs of any blood or puncture wounds—nothing. “What…?”

“Here’s what’s gonna happen.” Sans tucked the pendant back under his shirt. “There’s a spot over by the gates where you can sleep. No one’s allowed in here, so you oughta be safe till morning. When you leave, jus’ head straight down the mountain. Pretty much any of the paths will take you to Ebott. I’d send ya there now, but my magic can’t get through the barrier on the gate.” He sighed. “Need ta pull some strings to get you back out at all.”

The human was torn between intense relief and distrust. “Thank you, my lord. May I—”

“Nope. Just be happy that’s all I did.” Sans indicated the man’s finger as Proust pulled his glove back on. “I’ll even let ya bring ‘er the flower. Nice, eh?”

The man swallowed hard. “Yes, milord. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. But…may I please ask why?”

The shadows seemed to creep in, darkening the lamplight. The human shrank back as the skeleton’s grin broadened. “Wanna hear somethin’ funny?” Sans reached up to run a finger along the portrait’s bottom edge. “I’m the boss around here, but there’s a lady hangin’ around I can’t get rid of, and she knows stuff. Guess what she told me ‘fore I came out here. Go on, guess!”

Proust looked nearly sick. “I…I don’t know, my lord. What did she—”

“She said, ‘Congratulations!’ An’ I said, ‘On what?’ And she said, ‘On your upcoming marriage!’ So a’course, I said, ‘The fuck are you talkin’ about?’ An’ she said I was gonna meet my wife real soon.”

It was subtle, but Proust’s eyes flicked to Sans’ pelvis. The skeleton’s amusement vanished. Just like a human—didn’t he know how magic worked? “Yeah, my wife,” he growled. “Funny part is, she was right.” The monster took Frisk’s drawing in one hand and tapped the side of his skull with it. “Wanna know who Toriel said it’d be?”

The man didn’t move, except to make a noise vaguely resembling “Who?”

Sans chuckled. “The first woman I saw once I left the room.”

A beat of silence. Sans was wondering if he’d have to spell it out when Proust howled, “No!” and made a credible attempt to tackle Sans and grab his daughter’s picture. “You can’t—”

The skeleton sent him sprawling with one push. “Sorry, Dad,” he drawled. “I left the room, an’ I saw ‘er. That’s that.” He laughed harshly at the man’s expression. “What? She’s gonna get her own damn castle, lotsa nice stuff—I won’t even make you pay for ‘er!”

“You—” Sans watched, bemused, as the human sprang to his feet, fists clenched. “Tear me limb from limb if you want, but I am not giving my daughter to a thing like you!”

“Yeah, about that.” The skeleton raised a finger. “Y’know that little nibble ya got just now? ’s a great trick. Lemme show you how it works.” Hmm…what to do? Better not get carried away, or the guy would have a nervous breakdown before he could get his daughter up here. “Grab the echo flower and say, ‘I’m a stupid doo-doo butt.’”

Before Proust could protest, his body turned, stooped, and picked up the blue flower. He brought it to his lips, and said, very solemnly, “I’m a stupid doo-doo butt.” Then his head jerked up. “What in the—”

Sans hooted with laughter, fighting the urge to slap his future father-in-law on the back and accidentally break his spine. “See? When I say you’re gonna do somethin’, you don’t have a choice, do ya?” He sobered in an instant. “So, yer gonna go home an’ fetch ‘er for me. Got it?”

“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done to me,” Proust said defiantly. “You said it yourself. Once I pass your gates, your magic won’t have any effect.”

“Good thing it ain’t my magic, then. It’s yours.” He got a blank stare, and sighed in exasperation. This was getting old: it was chilly out here, and he had a lot of planning to do. “I don’ have time fer a whole magic lesson. What it boils down to is, yer a part’a this place now. The magic’s with you wherever you go. Even when ya get back home—”

Proust chose that moment to make a break for it. Sans watched him race toward the gates, then reappeared directly in front of the bars, forcing the human to stop short. “Listen,” he said coldly, forestalling Proust’s attempt to cover his ears. “Three days from now, you’re gonna bring Frisk here. Yer gonna tell ‘er whatever you need to make ‘er stay. Then you’re gonna shut up and leave, and you won’t come back.”

The human’s face was crumpling in a way that suggested something wet was about to happen. “You can’t be serious, milord! Please spare her! Kill me instead!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, quit bein’ dramatic!” Sans jerked his thumb at the castle. “Like I said, she’s gonna have everythin’ a lady could ever want. Almost everyone’s dead now, so there’s a bunch of neat stuff left. Hell, we got a whole room with nothin’ but jewelry in it.”

For some reason, this didn’t seem to reassure the human. “Frisk does not want things, and even if she could be bought off like that, a wonderful young woman like her has no business being entrapped by a loathsome abomination like y—”

“Shut your fucking mouth. Right. Fucking. Now.”

Proust’s teeth clicked shut as the air around Sans roiled with crimson magic. “Just for that,” the skeleton hissed. He stepped forward, jabbing the human’s shoulder with one pointed phalange, almost a claw. “Just for that, you’re not allowed ta make stuff up about her goin’ to school or marryin’ a human or somethin’. You’re gonna tell the truth: you fucked up an’ trespassed on my property, and you only get to live ‘cause you had somethin’ worth tradin’.” Another poke. “Let ‘er know that you’ve got three days from now—” Sans glanced at the rising moon. “—an’ if you’re not here by then, she gets ta watch her dad rot from the inside out.”

Another long moment of silence passed as the human stared up at Sans, hopelessness dawning as he searched in vain for any sign of mercy. There was no telling what he would have said if another sound hadn’t made them both jump: “SANS!” It came from over the marble wall, advancing rapidly. “YOU HAVE HAD EXACTLY AS MUCH LEISURE AS YOU DESERVE, LORD BROTHER! I HOPE YOUR TIME HAS BEEN RESTFUL, BECAUSE YOU HAVE FIFTEEN MISCREANTS TO DISCIPLINE AND A JAM SHORTAGE TO ADDRESS BEFORE YOU CAN RETIRE FOR THE NIGHT.” A stiff click-click of heeled boots. “I WILL BE WAITING IN YOUR SITTING ROOM. YOU ARE HUMBLY REQUESTED TO BE THERE WITHIN TEN MINUTES OR ELSE FACE SEVERE CONSEQUENCES!”

Sans mumbled a long stream of curse words as Papyrus’ footsteps strutted away. That reminded him of something. “Don’t even think about killin’ yerself or breakin’ a leg or somethin’ ta get out of this,” the skeleton said, still facing the garden wall. “I’ll say it one more time: go home, get ‘er packed up, an’ bring her back here on time. No tricks, no cute little loopholes, nothin’. Don’t bring anybody else with you, or I’ll kill ‘em. Got it?”

The human shuddered. “How—” His voice cracked. “How can you do this? You don’t have to do this! This is your castle, your land—surely there are enough women of your own kind to choose from? You don’t have to steal my daughter!”

The skeleton shifted to look at him. “Nope,” he said, and made to step around the human.

“Wait!” Proust fell to his knees, fists clasped in supplication. “One thing, my lord, I beg of you! Please don’t harm her!”

Sans could’ve cheerfully punted the man across the garden. “The fuck?” the monster snarled down at him. “Why the hell would I hurt my own wife? What am I, a goddamn human?”

There was no answer, only a ragged sob. “Good night,” the skeleton muttered. Proust tried to say something else, but Sans paid him no mind: he had things to do, and to look forward to.

Her father was hiding something.

That seemed impossible, and not just because he was a terrible liar: almost the moment he stumbled over the threshold of her uncle’s house in a filthy, sobbing heap, he had started babbling about a monster stealing his Frisk. Once he’d been cleaned up, fed, and tucked into bed, he’d stayed awake long enough to relate a horrible, fantastical tale of stumbling across the castle from local legend and running afoul of its hideous master. And they’d believed it, because…well, she loved her father, but he had the most wretched luck imaginable.

At least her aunt had been asleep when all the commotion started, so there was nothing to stop Uncle Raph from assuring his brother that they would look into the matter as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Servants were dispatched to fetch books from the library and summon the nearest mage from his cottage outside the village; by the time Aunt Kay woke up, her maid could report to her that her brother-in-law had come home bearing a “geas,” a type of curse far too powerful for humans to break, and would lose his daughter in less than three days.

Frisk had to give her aunt credit: she said all the correct things about being so very sorry and hoping that there was a way to save her poor niece from having to live with literal monsters, possibly for the rest of her life! And when it became apparent that there was nothing anyone could do, she was the first to embrace Frisk – as much as she could around her enormous belly, of course – and assure her that if any young woman could handle such a bizarre fate, it was her. She’d packed a bag of sentimental items for Frisk to take with her in case she got homesick, with only the slightest hint of glee at having sole dominion over the house now.

Her father had come home with a cold brewing, because of course he had; knowing she was going to leave and having so little warning had caused chaos among the servants, and Frisk was too busy making arrangements to do more than check in on her father every few hours. He spent most of his time either asleep or staring at the beautiful blue flower he’d brought her.

That was the last bit of proof anyone needed to believe his story. Echo flowers only grew in intensely magical surroundings, and there was so little magic left nowadays that they were thought to be extinct. But here it was, a thick-stemmed, six-petaled blossom that repeated anything spoken nearby. Frisk would’ve been more excited about it under different circumstances, but…well, maybe her new employer would let her have a few of her own.

The whole thing was strange, all the more so because of the way her father had told that part when they were gathered to listen to his story. He’d said he was bound to do what the creature commanded him, which was to bring his daughter up to the castle within three days’ time. The most logical supposition was that Frisk was going to get eaten, but her father had hastened to assure them that the beast seemed angry at the very idea of hurting Frisk. He just wanted…

There was that little hitch in his voice when he said the beast wanted Frisk to perform all the functions of a housekeeper, and that she would be well rewarded—why hadn’t he just said “The monster needs a housekeeper”? And why had he clutched his chest like that afterward? Was the geas hurting him for saying the wrong thing?

Frisk had kept herself too busy to think about it very hard, to believe that she was really going to be thrown out of another home and into the clutches of monsters from myth and legend; on some level, she could convince herself that her father had exaggerated or made some kind of mistake, and it wasn’t going to be so bad. But now, nearing sunset on the third day after her father’s misadventure, they were most of the way up the mountain, and fear was starting to creep through her veins like frost. Her father could be naïve, even simple-minded, but he wasn’t crazy. She really was going to be left alone in a strange place full of strange creatures, expected to take care of them, answering to a walking, talking skeleton—this couldn’t be happening!

A couple of the younger manservants had insisted on accompanying them part of the way. The mage had warned them that they could only get so close to the castle before the horses refused to go any further; sure enough, about a mile from the castle gates, the men had to help them dismount before the animals grew frightened enough to turn and bolt. Frisk gave each man a quick hug – at least her aunt wasn’t there to scold her – and they reluctantly headed back down the mountain to wait with the terrified horses, ready to escort her father home.

The latter was growing more and more agitated as they approached the castle on foot. He could barely speak with his throat raw from coughing, but the way he kept glancing at her, clearing his throat and sighing heavily— “What is it, Father?” Frisk finally asked.

“I…” He swallowed. “I haven’t been entirely truthful, dear.” She stiffened, shifting her bundle to her other shoulder as he coughed into his handkerchief. “The creature didn’t order me to say the exact words in just the right order, and I didn’t want to humiliate you in front of everyone by telling the full story—”

“What story?” The lump in her throat grew heavier as the trees started thinning out, the ground sloping sharply upward. “Is it really true that I have to stay with the monsters and keep house for them?”

“It’s true, love, but…” Another maddening pause. “Er. He is a skeleton, so I believe you’ll be spared…some things, but running the household is included in your role as—”

The wind rose from nothing to a scream of frigid air, nearly throwing them to the ground. Frisk lowered her arm, and to her dismay… “We’re here,” her father croaked.

In the dying light, a huge wall loomed over them, black marble framing a set of gates over thirty feet tall. The bars were nearly obscured by climbing ivy; despite her fear, Frisk found herself drifting closer in sheer curiosity, reaching to pull the ivy aside.

“Frisk!” her father croaked. He was almost unrecognizable, pulling her back and giving her a little shake. “I…” She watched him struggle with himself, and lose. “Stay here, and be good,” he said jerkily. His lips formed a few frantic words, but she couldn’t catch them before he crushed her to him in a sudden, fierce embrace. “Be careful,” he whispered. “I love y—”

The sun had disappeared over the horizen. Before she could hug him back, Frisk felt something coursing through her father’s body, forcing his arms to drop and his legs to carry him back a step. He struggled to get more words out, but it was too late—what had his last orders been? “Shut up and leave”? Charming, and succinct…and effective.

This was it. Frisk had had plenty of practice at smiling, and did her best. “Goodbye, Father,” she said helplessly. “I love you, too.” Then she turned and plunged through the ivy before he could hurt himself resisting any further.

When she stepped free of the bars and brushed the leaves from her face, Frisk almost forgot her sorrow and despair in sheer wonder. Lamps on iron posts lit up a garden arranged in long, orderly, but breathtakingly lovely rows of bushes, flowerbeds, statuary—she’d never seen anything like it. Letting her bundle hang from one wrist, Frisk turned to look at the gates and the massive walls, wondering how big the grounds must be if this was just a private garden. Granted, it belonged to the lord of the castle, and he obviously cared enough to keep it in good order…

And had terrorized her father into forcing her out of her home to come play housekeeper amongst total strangers for…how long? If the problem was just that monsters couldn’t cook or clean up after themselves, maybe she could stay long enough to teach them and then go back. Surely they didn’t expect her to do it all on her own forever, not when they had magic to help them do everything? But if they could do it with magic, then why bring her here at all?

Frisk shook her head, scanning the garden for signs of life. She could hear a fountain burbling in the near distance, just out of sight; the wind was freezing, but carried the smell of flowers, helping calm the human down a little. It was enough to let her take a step forward, then a few more, wandering into the first stand of rosebushes and a patch of black irises. Their petals didn’t reflect light, but shone like velvet, tempting her to reach out—no, she thought hastily, snatching her hand away. Touching flowers without permission was what got her poor, well-meaning, hapless father into this mess!

No one seemed to be coming to meet her, but then, it wasn’t completely dark yet. If she had a few minutes to herself, then Frisk figured she could spend it in peace and calm before she met her fate, whatever that might be, whatever her father had been trying to tell her… So the young woman stood up and set off down the path, taking her time examining the rows of irises, snapdragons, and several flowers that had no business blooming at this time of year.

She didn’t see a shadow step out from behind a lamppost. Nor did she notice when it hesitated, then vanished, reappearing behind another lamppost, and another, and another, till it was just a few steps away.

Frisk thought she felt someone watching her, but when she turned around, there was nothing there. Shivering, she drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, squinting up at a faint outline against the darkening sky. The castle wasn’t exactly hard to find, but that didn’t mean she knew how to get there; the garden was so huge that she couldn’t tell which path led out of it. Maybe she should—

“h u m a n~”

Raw terror flooded her senses, and her brain screamed so many conflicting orders that nothing got through; Frisk could only stand stock-still, clutching her bundle till she summoned the courage to whirl around.

Nothing was there. Was her mind playing tricks on her? No, she couldn’t have imagined such an awful voice, deep and rough as—

A delicate tap, tap on her shoulder.

Frisk shrieked and twisted around, landing on her rear with an ungentle thmp. “What are you doing?” she yelled. “Who’s—”

The air went still, her lungs shriveling and her heart stopping at the sight of a skeleton – this must be the skeleton – looming over her. The smooth bone of its skull had a dull, velvety sheen like the iris’ petals, and dots of red hellfire glinted in its empty sockets. Its teeth – no, fangs – were bared in a cruel grin, hands buried in the pockets of its black coat; beneath it, the creature’s shirt was a surprisingly bright red—satin? The tidy, domestic corner of her mind wondered how expensive that had been, and how difficult it was to keep clean; as a matter of fact, the skeleton was more richly dressed than her father had been at the peak of his wealth, right down to a frankly garish gold tooth. This had to be the lord of the castle, beyond a doubt.

But his wealth was less important than the fact that a skeleton was staring down at her. It didn’t speak, or grab her, or do anything but stand there, its face unreadable. Surely it could talk, after the way it had cursed her father?

Anger surged through her, propelling her to her feet. “Greetings, my lord,” Frisk said coolly, stepping back to discreetly brush herself off and drop into a deep curtsey. One of them had to be civilized about this! “My name is Frisk. I am here by your command.”

The skeleton blinked, the bone of its sockets somehow closing just like a human’s eyelids. Frisk was almost too fascinated to be angry—almost. It silently shifted its weight. Was it a “he”? The monster was dressed like a male, and had sounded like it. Why wasn’t he saying anything else?

A light gust of wind flapped her hood against her neck. Shivering, she broke eye contact to hitch her bundle back over her shoulder and reach to pull the hood up. “I hope I’m not too late to—”

Quicker than she could blink, the creature was right in front of her, inches away. Frisk tried not to cringe as his bony fingers plucked the hood from her grasp, letting it drop against her back. “What…?” Stupidly, she reached up again, and the skeleton’s brows drew together. His fingers pushed her hand away and, to her shock, rose to brush her hair off her cheek.

That did it: she was willing to come here to save her father’s life, not to be scared out of her mind, stared down, kept freezing, and all but propositioned by the thing that had done this to them! Who did he think he was?! “I beg your pardon!” she snarled, and the skeleton’s sockets widened as she smacked his hand away. “You will not touch me without my permission, milord! And if I am not allowed to wear this—” Frisk waggled her hood. “—then you will please take me somewhere out of the wind!” She tried not to sniffle, and hoped he’d attribute it to the cold. Without thinking, she scratched her cheek, trying to erase the unwanted feeling of those smooth, warmish fingers on her skin. “Lead the way!”

To her alarm, the red light in his sockets vanished, as if she’d blown out a candle. “Yes, m’lady,” growled a voice from somewhere deep in its chest. Frisk gripped her bundle as the skeleton turned on its heel. “Come along.”

Frisk tried not to gulp too loud, and hoped it – he – couldn’t hear her heart pounding as she followed him across the garden. With the anger ebbing away, fear was reclaiming her, dulling the wind’s bite and the ache building in her feet from the walk here; her aunt had insisted she wear a respectable dress and heeled slippers to meet her new master, never mind how impractical they were for traveling, and Frisk could feel a blister forming.

The skeleton’s shoulders were hunched, his hands in his pockets as his boots scuffed the white stones. It was a distinctly un-noble posture, almost sullen. Was he really the lord of the castle? He wasn’t carrying himself with much confidence, and though she’d obviously irritated him, he hadn’t bothered to correct her. Maybe monsters were nicer than humans overall, no matter what the stories said; maybe, she thought as they exited the garden through a wicker gate and started across a courtyard, humans were entirely wrong about them. She might just be a—

“Dumbass!”

The skeleton stopped so fast that she nearly walked into him. A moment later, something flew across their path, followed closely by a small yellow body. “The ball’s a dumbass,” it said helpfully in passing, with the snide, high-pitched tone of a child almost breaking the rules.

Frisk’s escort made a low noise and suddenly whipped his hand up and around. She barely had time to process what was happening before the little monster was jerked into the air, flipping upside down and hanging in a scarlet cloud. “Ya think you’re smart?” the lord demanded, gesturing to silence the…child, she supposed. “Don’t answer that!”

The lizard-like monster didn’t have arms to gesture with, but kicked his feet and snapped his teeth more than expressively enough. “Knock it off,” the skeleton warned him.

The child obediently stopped kicking, and started mouthing obscenities instead. To Frisk’s dismay, the cloud of magic dropped him onto the ground head-first and, before he could recover, picked him back up; the lizard stuck his tongue out in defiance, at which the red cloud rose several feet higher before dropping him again. This time, when it picked him up—

“Stop it!” Frisk protested. They both glared at her, and she shook her head. “He’s just being a child! He’s not hurting anyone!”

The skeleton snorted. Frisk felt her face flushing again as the magic dropped the young monster once more; the child gave her one sneering glance before scuttling off. Then the lord turned to glare at Frisk, who was trembling with fear and rage. “I could say a lot of stuff right now, but you just got here,” he said with dangerous patience, “so I’m gonna cut you some slack.” He started walking again. “C’mon. Everyone should be in the Great Hall by now, ‘cept that little fucker, but that’s fine. He’ll hear it, too.”

Frisk wanted to ask what he meant, and object to his language, but she was tired, and cold, and sore, and hungry, and now keenly aware of what the monster could do to her if he chose. She followed him meekly across the courtyard and through several more winding paths, most too dimly lit to see more than the skeleton’s broad back; he wasn’t much taller than her, but he was powerfully built, even without his hellish magic. He didn’t look sullen anymore, just angry. Frisk wasn’t one for self-pity, but…what had she done to deserve this?

He eventually stopped in front of a door so small and unassuming that she went right in after him, blinking in the sudden light, expecting to see a kitchen or servants’ entrance; instead, when her vision cleared, it revealed a dazzling array of…red carpets, stairs, dozens of voices, thousands of candles—her senses were too overloaded to take it all in. This must be the Great Hall, she thought muzzily, barely aware that the skeleton had turned to watch her.

She did notice when he took her hand, fingers tightening as she reflexively pulled away. “This way,” he muttered.

Frisk couldn’t help scowling. For someone who had spent so much time and cruel effort getting her here, he didn’t seem at all happy to have her. At least his hand gave her something to focus on as he led her through the columns at the back of the room and into the center of the red carpet. As she’d thought when he touched her face in the garden – which she still resented – his bones were as warm as human fingers, with a strange consistency, smooth and slightly pliant. He was probably strong enough to crush her fingers like brittle leaves, but he held them just firmly enough that she couldn’t get away. How nice of him, she thought irritably.

Suddenly, the skeleton paused and turned to face the room. “Hey,” he said, almost conversationally. “Shut up.”

The human thought he was talking to her until the hall grew very quiet, making her ears itch. A tug on her hand turned her to face the same way he was, and her eyes widened.

The room was full of monsters—the ones she’d heard about as a child, and with whom she’d be living and working now. There were creatures made of ice, one built almost entirely out of razor-sharp teeth, several fire spirits, some with fur or scales, or both…there was another, much taller skeleton, and…

Hm. She was good at making quick estimates, and there were barely a hundred monsters in the hall. Surely this couldn’t be all of them?

“So,” said the lord. With his free hand, he dug beneath his shirt and pulled out a pendant shaped like a miniature skull, elongated like a deerhound and sporting far too many fangs for Frisk’s taste. The skeleton raised the pendant to eye level: in an instant, Frisk sensed a shift in the atmosphere from mild disdain to wary, almost fearful anticipation. “Here she is,” proclaimed the lord of the castle. “Meet…Frisk.”

No one reacted, except for a few scoffs and an extremely half-hearted “Hurrah” from the back of the hall, more insulting than no response at all. Frisk hoped she wasn’t expected to introduce herself, or say literally anything else.

Luckily, the skeleton was already speaking again. “So,” he intoned, and as one, the monsters flinched. “First off, no one’s allowed to hurt her—directly, indirectly, on purpose, sort of on purpose, tricking her into it, trickin’ someone else into it, I don’t fucking care. Humans are weaklings, remember? If any of you assholes so much as breathes on ‘er too hard, I’m gonna take you apart mote by mote and burn yer dust in front’a everyone.”

Judging by the monsters’ shocked faces and low murmurs, this was quite the threat. The skeleton lord’s hand was holding hers a little more tightly—was he shaking? At the front of the crowd, the other skeleton had uncrossed his arms and seemed ready to—

“Second!” Everyone twitched. “You do what she says, when she says, unless I tell you different.” He paused, as if weighing his options. “No lyin’ to her. If she wants ta know somethin’, you gotta give ‘er a good answer.”

More murmurs of surprise and resentment. Frisk could feel little pulses through her contact with the skeleton—his pendant was doing something magic-related as he spoke. With a start, she remembered her father’s description of the skull that bit him and inflicted the curse of obedience; this must be the same thing, in a way that let him use it on every monster at once.

Regardless of how he was doing it, Frisk wished she understood why. He clearly did want her here, but how terrible could things be for him to go to these lengths for her? The first tiny prickling of unease began skittering around the back of her mind. What had her father been trying to tell her? Something he’d been hiding that would have destroyed her reputation among her family and friends, with worse duties than arranging parties and checking whether the maids were stealing anything …and the monster being a skeleton was relevant. What could possibly—

Someone had asked a question. “No, not yet,” the skeleton said, to groans of disappointment. “Party’s tomorrow. We’ll hold off for tonight and let her get settled.”

A loud, rude snort made everyone turn to the back of the crowd. “Well, ain’t that sweet?” It was a tall, armor-clad figure holding a faintly glowing spear. The voice was female, but almost as rough as the skeleton’s. “I know if I was her, I’d want you to hold off for tonight!”

The monsters erupted into jeering laughter. Frisk’s face burned as the implication sank in, and she gave the skeleton a disbelieving glance as that sense of disquiet prodded her again. What kind of party was he talking about? Would he really go to this much trouble to procure a normal housekeeper, much less protect her like this and celebrate her coming?

To her bemusement, the skeleton seemed as embarrassed as she was, and several times angrier. “Fuck off, Undyne!” His magic pulsed again so strongly that Frisk’s palm tingled. The woman in armor made a faint sound and staggered back against the wall. “If you’ve got time to say stupid shit, maybe it’s time you—”

“That’s enough,” said someone above them.

Frisk felt the air in the room shift again; this time, it felt like a classroom where the teacher had walked in and just looked at everyone. Every monster in the Great Hall – even Undyne – sank to one knee; the skeleton’s hands dropped to his sides as Frisk turned to watch another monster descend the staircase. “Tori,” he mumbled.

The white-furred monster glared at him. She resembled a giant goat, but seemed far more predatory, perhaps because of her golden eyes; they reminded Frisk too much of her uncle’s captive hawks, which always looked ready to eat someone. “How strange,” the goat-woman murmured. “I could have sworn that we’ve met before and you know how to properly address me.” Like magic, she was now smiling brilliantly at Frisk. “Welcome to our humble abode, my dearest girl. May I be the first to congratulate you on your conquest of Sans’ affections?”

The human’s polite smile was fixed in place, the one she used at parties when trapped in conversation with people she wasn’t allowed to run away from. “You certainly may, Lady…?”

“Toriel, my child. I am the former Queen of this place, now a silly old lady enjoying my twilight years in retirement.” The goat monster inclined her head, and suddenly raised her voice. “Thank you all for coming. I believe dinner should be ready soon?”

That was the monsters’ cue to scatter, no compulsion necessary. “Well,” said Toriel as the room emptied. Her smile twisted in utter contempt. “You seem surprised, my dear. Was Sans incompetent enough to allow your father to lie about your purpose here?”

The skeleton – Sans – gritted his teeth. Frisk would’ve felt sorry for him if…no, wait, she wouldn’t, ever. “Well,” she said, echoing Toriel, “when my father told everyone at my uncle’s house what happened, he said the monsters wanted someone to ‘perform the functions of a housekeeper.’ He never came out and said I’d be marrying anyone.” Frisk gave Sans as poisonous a look as she could, and his sockets went blank. It was unnerving, but she was too angry to care. “On the way up here, he tried to talk more about it, but then he had to leave.”

Toriel cackled, raising the hairs on the back of Frisk’s neck. “Of course he didn’t tell the rest of your family you’d be sharing your bed with a skeleton! You’d be the laughingstock of the village—no, the whole country!”

“Tori,” muttered Sans. Somehow, his entire skull was turning a dull crimson; he’d shrunk in on himself, looking much smaller and curiously vulnerable. Good.

The goat monster must have agreed; she smirked, and fully turned her back on him. “I hope you can understand your father’s intentions, my dear child,” Toriel said. Frisk would have given anything to make her stop smiling. “Parents tell these little fibs every so often to protect their children’s feelings.” She patted Frisk’s shoulder with a soft, heavy white paw. “I’m sure you’ll understand once you start having them.”

Frisk’s skin crawled—whether it was Toriel’s touch or the thought of that with Sans, she couldn’t say. Probably both. “I wish he had given me some forewarning, Lady Toriel, but I understand his reasons. He was also very sick when he reached the village, and likely still is, so we didn’t have many chances to talk privately.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Toriel murmured. “But it was to be expected after a night outside without food or drink, and then a walk down the mountain without provisions.”

“A what?” Frisk rounded on her would-be husband, who was sweating profusely. How the hell did—no, never mind. “You didn’t give him anything at all? And you made him sleep outside?” she demanded.

Sans’ eyes sparked red again. “He trespassed on my land and fucked up my garden! What was I s’posed ta do? Give ‘im a cookie and his own private room?”

“Anything but keep him outside like a dog!” Frisk was so angry that her eyes were filling with tears. She swiped them as discreetly as she could. “I am overtired, Lord Sans! May I be shown my room for the night? Or would you prefer I sleep in the garden?!”

“Fine!” he bellowed. For a horrible moment, Frisk thought he was really going to lock her outside—no, he was grabbing the pendant: “Panne! Lapis! Get your asses down here, now!”

“I’m afraid you have your work cut out for you, my child,” Toriel said kindly to Frisk, who was seething so hard that it took a moment to realize someone was speaking. “If you want any help, dear, you need only ask.”

“Thank you, Lady Toriel,” the human replied. “I’ve dealt with bullies before, but they usually don’t have magic on their side.”

Toriel cackled again as Sans’ eyes went blank. “Well said, my dearest Frisk! Very well said. Our lord is accustomed to getting what he wants, but a bit of reality may be what he needs.”

“Y’know what?” The skeleton’s voice was high and loud with indignation. “You’re right. Forget it. Fuckin’ forget about this whole thing! We’ll do the ceremony, make it so yer creepy-ass curse worked, an’ then she can go back to her dumbass family. How’s that sound?”

Frisk’s heart leapt…until Toriel gave a gentle sigh. “Yes, Lady Toriel?” the human asked warily.

“Yeah, what?” Sans snapped.

“Several things, children. For one, Sans, you already came crawling to me for help in getting Frisk’s father through the barrier—to be honest, I’m surprised we were able to do it at all. I absolutely do not have the resources left to move another human through the gates safely.”

Frisk could have cried, but as it turned out, that was the least of her problems: “And if you think you’ll be man and wife after a few words and a slice of cake, you’re sorely mistaken. A true marriage is built on time, trust, and communication.” Toriel nodded benignly. “And sex.”

“What?!” It came out in perfect tandem between the skeleton and human.

The goat monster didn’t bother to hide her glee. “I never said you’d find a wife in name only, you pathetic sack of bones! What are you thinking, trying to get rid of her? Why go to all the trouble of snaring such a lovely thing if you were just going to shoo her off? I’ve never seen you so excited, having your room prepared and planning what to eat for—”

“There they are,” Sans said sharply, looking and sounding ready for death as two rabbit monsters approached. “You! Get her fed, bath, sleep, whatever! I’m goin’ to bed, good night!”

Toriel’s grin was the most evil thing Frisk had ever seen. “Good night, my lord? It’s only—oh, dear. There he goes.” She examined the tips of her claws, and gave Frisk a look that made the human shudder. “Was it something I said?”

“REALLY, BROTHER, I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU EXPECTED.”

Sans tried to think of something witty, but it was easier to bash his head against the wall some more. So—

“WILL YOU KINDLY STOP THAT FOOLISH NOISE! IF IDIOCY COULD BE REMOVED THAT WAY, I WOULD GLADLY CRACK YOUR EXALTED SKULL OPEN. BUT NO, YOUR LORDSHIP’S STUPIDITY WOULD REMAIN INTACT NO MATTER WHAT MEASURES WERE TAKEN.”

For the millionth time, Sans found himself reaching for his pendant, the key to the spell encompassing the castle and its grounds. All he had to do was concentrate on Papyrus and command him to shut up for ten goddamn minutes. His life would be easier, and quieter—

—and complete shit, because Pap wouldn’t be his brother anymore. Sans rolled his skull sideways along his bedroom wall, glaring at the taller skeleton. “Get yer ass off my bed.”

Papyrus snorted. “WHY? IT IS APPARENT THAT YOU WILL BE THE ONLY ONE USING IT FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE.”

“Oh, not you, too!” Sans grabbed a book at random from the shelf and chunked it at his brother, who easily caught it and tossed it to the floor. “What, you wanna be more like Undyne?”

“PATHETIC AS SHE IS, IT WOULD STILL BE PREFERABLE TO OTHER PERSONS OF MY ACQUAINTANCE, BY WHICH I OF COURSE MEAN YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE TERRIBLE.” Papyrus did get up, though, and Sans tensed as his brother approached the mirror. “WHY DO YOU STILL KEEP THIS?” To Sans’ indignation, Pap took the ink drawing from where Sans had stuck it in the mirror’s frame, holding it up for a closer inspection. “SURELY, NOW THAT YOU HAVE CAPTURED THE HUMAN IT DEPICTS—”

“Put it back,” Sans snapped.

Papyrus tutted under his breath. “AS MY IDIOTIC LORD WISHES.” Unwilling to make a mess of any kind, the younger skeleton tucked the picture very gently back into the frame, smoothing down the creased edges. “IT WILL BE RUINED IF YOU DON’T STOP CARRYING IT EVERYWHERE.”

“Yeah, I know,” the elder skeleton grumbled. He let the back of his skull thump into the wall again, earning another sharp look. “You can leave now.”

Pap’s boots tapped impatiently on the stone floor. Several rolled-up rugs were stacked at the other end of the room, but Sans had made several excuses to leave them there, unable to admit his fear of picking something she didn’t like. Of course, now he would kill for that to be his biggest problem. “WILL YOU BE ALL RIGHT, BROTHER? SHALL I BRING THE MANUAL? THE SECTION ON WOOING A KIDNAPPED BRIDE IS PITIFULLY SHORT, BUT—”

“I’m good, bro,” lied Sans. “Go to bed.”

It wasn’t a command, and they both knew it. “I DIDN’T GET A CLOSE LOOK AT MY NEW SISTER,” Papyrus remarked. His gloved finger tapped the edge of the portrait. “IS THIS ACCURATE?”

“No,” Sans said sharply. “Don’t touch it.”

“HMPH!” Only Pap could make that a complete sentence. “I SEE. THE ARTIST SEEMS SKILLED ENOUGH, BUT IT MUST BE ANOTHER HUMAN LIE. IT IS A SHAME, BECAUSE THE FEMALE IN THIS PICTURE IS NOT NEARLY AS HIDEOUS AS MOST OF HER—”

“Get the fuck outta my room!”

Eventually, Papyrus complied, leaving Sans with only his stupid, stupid thoughts for company. There weren’t enough permutations of “fuuuuck” to express what he was feeling, so he settled on staring at the windows and letting his head hit the wall some more.

He hadn’t lied to Papyrus. The picture wasn’t accurate: it didn’t show that her eyes were gray, or the way her nose scrunched when she was mad, or how her cheeks turned pink when he touched them. Looking at it always made him want to hold her, but it didn’t have her light, sweet scent or feel so damn soft that he forgot he wasn’t supposed to touch—

Fuuuuuck. She was here, but this was still bullshit! He’d felt a twinge in the spell framework and realized that someone was trying to get around one of his orders – probably by a lie through omission – but how was he supposed to know it was Proust? He never expected that whinging, craven little shit would avoid telling Frisk she was going to be married. She hadn’t had time to get used to the idea, weigh the pros and cons, maybe move past him threatening to kill her daddy as leverage…

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? Even if Sans had gone about this as honorably as he could, and even if she’d had a year to think it over, she never would have accepted him on her own. No matter what anyone said, he was still a monster, and she was still…

His mind veered off yet again to when he’d followed her through the garden. He’d been so thrilled that she was really here, but so terrified that the ideal he’d built up from one picture would fall short of reality; maybe he’d made an ass of himself, getting everyone to clean stuff up and get things out and plan it all down to the second for someone who’d drawn herself to look better than she really was. Maybe her dad was just being a dad and he’d actually spoiled her rotten, letting her take the credit for some actual housekeeper’s work. Maybe she wasn’t really that nice. Maybe this was a mistake.

So, faced with possible perfection, what did he do? He snuck up close enough to smell her, weirded her out, and then tried to play it off as a joke, which scared her even worse. And…

No, the picture wasn’t accurate. He’d been so stunned that he just stood there like a complete moron, not apologizing or helping her up or introducing himself, because she was so beautiful that he forgot to breathe. Of course she got scared and mad at him, and he didn’t know how to handle it because he didn’t know how to handle anything, so he just acted like himself, and—

He was going to kill Toriel if it was the last goddamn thing he did!

The wind was howling again. Sans wondered if it was keeping Frisk awake, assuming she could sleep at all after discovering she was going to marry him.

He looked at his bed, which had never had anyone but him in it, thank you, Papyrus—he’d enjoyed modest success in his sex life before that stupid fucking day with Asgore, but ever since, he found that being able to make people do anything he wanted was a massive turnoff. It felt creepy and pathetic and, well, wrong, even if he didn’t actually order anyone into the sack, or to do anything in it.

Now that he was going to have an actual wife – who thought he was a bully, hated and feared him – would that be any better? Maybe if he courted her well enough, let her see that he’d loved her before they ever even met, refrained from using magic to change her mind…

If that was the best he could do, then no, it wouldn’t be any better. Sans gave himself one last bang on the wall, kicked his boots off, and climbed onto the bed. “G’night,” he said out loud, and closed his sockets to wait for morning.

#hey i think i'll terrorize my way into a relationship #wait wHy DoESN't sHE LiKE Me

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urlocalnctstan · 4 years

Text

𝚃𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜

Genre : Angst, Fluff, Slow-burnish, Idol AU

Pairing : Jaehyun x Reader ft.Mark (other members too)

Warning(s) : strong language, age-gap, mature contents, weird writing style lmao, uh what else? idk but yeah

Disclaimer :The story is completely fictitious, idol-fan relationships are not common so some of you crazy ones out here, pls don’t get too delusional, your oppas will be your oppas only virtually, not in real life.

Playlist : Youtube Link / Written

Word Count : 5.4k

Summary : ‘Time and tide waits for none’- a quote that is universally accepted and believed. You both had had your experience of meeting the right one at the wrong time, the concept of love long forgotten after the sudden downfall of your relationship together. But will time eventually heal everything for you both?

The car came to a halt, your mind subconsciously drifting back to the humiliation you faced tonight back at the office.

“ARE YOU FUCKING DUMB, Y/N?” your boss was a fuming mess, his whole office scattered with the documents you had brought just a few moments ago. At the sight of the shredded papers, you felt you heart clench. You worked so hard for this project, disregarding God knows how many nights of your sleep. The feeling of abomination was slowly creeping up from the pit of your stomach towards the man who stood taut, seething in rage.

“HOW MANY TIMES DID I TELL YOU TO JUST DO WHAT THEY ASKED YOU TO?” He yelled, his fist furiously banging on his wooden desk, beneath his hand rested some pieces of the torn documents.

“Sir, even you know how risky it is to design as they asked to. If a blunder happens it is our company that is to be held accountable, not theirs.” you knew it was pointless to reason with the stubborn headed prick, but you had to try out your luck.

“Get out. Out, out, out. Get your fucking face out of my face.” He swished his index finger repeatedly, letting out a frustrated shriek just as I was about to exit his office. His wrath was nothing new in the office, as all the other employees shot me a rather pitying look when they saw me exiting the team leader’s office with hands full of ripped papers. Wow, my 2 weeks worth of sleep. Just wow. You didn’t bother to reciprocate their sympathetic glances, storming out of the corridor as you furiously started clicking the floor to your cabin. The jabbing of your finger on the glowing button that read ‘13’ was the only sound that resonated in the fairly empty area, earning annoyed looks from the two individuals who stood right behind you.

“Ah, fuck.” You banged your head against the steering, recalling the even as you clutched the handles harshly. “Why,” another bang. “do I,” bang. “live like” bang. “this,” bang. You could feel your face was burning without even touching it, streams of tears flowing down. Just as you were about to give yourself another bang, the sudden honk of a car made you pause amidst your ritual. Indeed all motherfuckers love to test my patience. You decide to ignore the rider, mainly because you were also partially at fault for resting in your car in the middle of the park. You twisted the metal keys as the ignition went off, signaling your car was ready to flee. Yet again, you were distracted by soft knocks. You prayed to God to help you not lose your shit, at this point you were questioning if He ever hears your woes at all. The soft knocks stop immediately when you started to pull down the window, the person straightening only crouch again.

“Y/n?” his called out unsurely, as if he were afraid of mistaking you for someone else. You knew that voice, and that is not good news. Shit.

“Mark?” you were surprised to say the least, not expecting to run into an old friend. “Oh my god! How have you been?” You shoot out of your driver’s seat, instantly being engulfed into a bone crushing hug by the male.

“I have been good. Oh god, I can’t believe this! I can’t believe I ran into you after so long!” Mark still held you tight your embrace, the sudden reunion making him feel giddy with excitement.

“Yes indeed,” you were the first to pull out from the hug. You took a moment to study him; black mask covering half of his face as he smiled widely, eyes crinkled and the signature cheekbones still the same as they were in the past. God, it’s really been so long. “What are you up to these days?”

“Er,” Mark scratched his head as he laughed nervously, unsure if he was allowed to give you spoilers about his new album. “I have been working on my solo album actually.”

“Are you for real?” You found yourself hugging Mark again at the joy of his successful career. “I’m so so proud of you mate!”

“Thank you, thank you,” Mark swayed you lightly, his voice muffled due to the mask he wore. Mark was the one to pull out now, still keeping your caged as he placed his hands on your shoulders. “In no way I am gonna let you leave without a trace again,” he almost groaned.

“Promise, I won’t anymore,” you signaled to the stack of files that rested on the backseat of your car. “They won’t leave me alone.”

“I’ll just ask your boss to assign you with more tasks then,” he giggled mischievously, earning a light smack from you at the mention of such an absurd idea.

“I’ll track your way to hell to kill you again if you do something like that,” you hissed at Mark, who was still giggling at your frustrated reaction. The atmosphere became quiet as Mark looked up in the vacant sky, deep in thoughts while you waited for him to continue. Your phone buzzed against your leather coat.

[From Bullhead] : Don’t think I am overlooking your mess. This is the first and final warning from me.

You shivered, half from the cold and half from the text you just received.

“26th, sharp at 8 PM, my place.” He snapped his fingers, hooting at the realization of having a free day in his busy scheduled life.

“Okay, done.” You should have refused, you thought. But for some reason, you found yourself agreeing to his offer, you felt both sad and guilty for disappearing out of your friend’s life without a trace. However, you couldn’t ignore the greedy feeling you felt, the want to see him again. “I think I should be done around...7:30? So I think I’ll be able to make it.” You unlocked and handed him your phone.

“You have to make it,” his eyes focused on the screen of your device, swiftly typing what you assumed was him number. “Just incase, text me if I happen to forget - no I know that look, Y/n, you must text if that happens..” He rolled his eyes, knowing that how much you would be overthinking about possibly tiring him because of his busy lifestyle. Mark dialed his number from your phone before handing it back to you. You visibly snickered at the name he saved his contact with : ‘My Boo MarkLee <3’

“Stop pretending as if you never renamed my existence as Markie Boo,” he groans, remembering how this has been his another one of the hundred pet names he had. Your conversation was cut mid way as his phone loudly vibrated in his phone, swiftly pulling it out as the guy whined in annoyance.

“Yo, I gotta go now I guess, something came up at the company.” He looked sad, pouty. “See you around, yeah?” You were pulled into another hug by the male, he surely loved to hug as usual.

“Yes, yes. Now go. Don’t be late.” You patted his back, pulling out of the hug and shooing him away towards his car.

“See ya, Mom.” He beamed as he sped off with his car.

“Dumbass.” You muttered, softly laughing at the name he would always call you by, despite being years younger than him. You rounded around your car, getting inside. The start was bad but the end was good nonetheless. The keys of your car jiggled as you closed the door. Again, you twisted the keys, your mood slightly better than before for which you were grateful. Your car’s ignition blared, as you positioned towards the exit of the park, subtly muttering ‘long ass ride.’

The digits ‘7:37’ glowed on the the small digital clock beside your desktop. You felt stiff, stretching your neck as your bones made those cracking noes. You stare at your toes, zoning out was your passion and you excelled at it. You snapped straight, letting out a deep sigh as you started to scheme the projects before you were to hand them over to your bullhead boss. Soon enough, you were done, muttering almost too loudly for everyone that you wished your boss would be napping off instead of being awake.

Good for you, your prayers were answered for the first time in a while. You quietly placed the files that contained all the details that needed to be checked again by your boss, quietly making your way out of his cabin as soon as possible. On you way, you informed his secretary you were leaving, her face wore distraught and annoyance but softens as she saw you approaching. Sometimes you felt sympathetic towards her, often asking the heavens to bless her with utmost patience and perseverance to deal with the bullhead.

The marble floor clicked with every step you took, the sounds eerily audible in the serene lobby. It was very rare for the lobby to be filled with people in evening, the employees would practically sprint off their seats as soon as the clock hits 7. You made your way out of the building, making a mental note to buy a gift for Mark on your way back to home. What would he like? Take outs? Homemade? Wine? You drove across the street before halting your car in front of the department store that was situated just a few blocks away from your office. The header of the store glowed, the alleys seemingly half-crowded with people of different occupations you assumed. You let out a hiss as you felt a chill run down your spine, it was almost the end of Autumn which meant Winter was just round the corner. You decided to rely on your instincts, deciding to gift your friend a fancy bottle of wine despite having zero knowledge about it.

You were never quite the fan of wine. According to you, the seemingly alcoholic drink was too expensive, plus the etiquettes that came along for its consumption would always just make your turn your head away every time you laid your eyes across one. You schemed through the white shelves filled with different tastes and colors of wine, each hailing from various corners of the world. “How do I even spell it?” You crouched down a bit to a bottle that had caught your attention, the exquisite name was starting to make your head hurt. It’s probably a white wine you thought, the transparent color of the liquid was what made you convince. But something rather nostalgic caught your sight, before you could even realize, you found your fingertips caressing the cold glass bottle of the red liquid that you held now.

“If were to be a drink, then what would I be?” You lazily laid sprawled across the couch in the living, while you boyfriend who sat on the marble floor across fumbles with the knotted bunch of cables. Jaehyun had his gaze focus of the wire maze in his hands, eyebrows furrowed and lips pouted in immense concentration.

“Peach milk,” he smiled, unbeknownst to you he was actually implying a double meaning for his answer.

“And why that?” You felt his choice a bit amusing, not really expecting that as an answer.

“Because I love your ass and boobs,” he winked, only to be hit by a pillow that was resting beneath your curled legs. Jaehyun felt himself giggling by your reaction, it was cute to see you being annoyed. “Babe, c’mon. I can’t lie about it.”

“Never mind, just forget it.” You started to get a bit pissed, hurt as well because your sensitive ass thought he would probably say something sweet that would make you heart flutter.

“Peach milk is my favorite, that’s the main reason why,” Jaehyun shifted his focus back to the cables, the last two knots were too adamant to let go of each other. You felt yourself smiling, too wide, he definitely knew you well. Cheeky bastard.

“What about me?” he asked, eyes still focused as he working on untying the last knot.

“Hmmm...” you shifted your position on the couch, now sitting up as you stared your boyfriend’s figure for a short while.

“Red wine.” sophisticated, classy, unique, warm. If you were to describe the aura around him, these would be the first choices.

However, your answer seemed to have caught Jaehyun’s attention, pausing in his tracks as he got curious as to why the specific choice. He had a huge grin on his face, he adored how you remembered the specific detail of red wine being his favourite, for he mentioned it in your first date which was 2 years back. But he knew there was more to it. He knew you too well. “But why red wine?”

You kept your gaze fixated on Jaehyun as he gets up from the ground, putting the cables in a secure manner to avoid another tie war. He hugged the pillow tight which you had previously thrown on him, before propping down beside you on the couch with a tired sigh, looking at you intently. It was as if you both were having a staring contest. So you rested your head on your right hand, both staring each other with soft smiles before you continued.

“You are much more to what everyone thinks you are,” you notice how Jaehyun cocks an eyebrow, still staring and trying to process what you just said.

“Just like wine, the more I know you, the more I know just how amazing you are. Both sweet and sour, but the balanced ratio of it is what makes you more admirable.” You admired how he was always able to balance things out, prior to what everyone believes about him, he had both good and bad sides to him. And that’s what made him more human, him acknowledging his flaws. That’s what made you fall for him.

Hearing you, Jaehyun thought he might dislocate his jaw anytime soon for smiling so hard. His heart started to do all sort of flips, ears starting to pink. It was at times like this when you don’t need words to express how you were feeling, silent but the communication was still present. Jaehyun slides his hand into yours, you glanced at both of your intertwined fingers before looking at him, his eyes full of hearts for you. You giggled, feeling shy at his intense stare but returning him the same way.

“I love you,” he whispered, his starry eyes which were only looking at you.

“Excuse me miss,” You jolt at the sudden change of voice coming from behind you. You whip around, a girl probably in her late teens stood nervously, her hands fidgets with the belts of her backpack.

“Miss, you were kinda in the way so..” you felt flustered for absent-mindedly drifting into your dreamland while shopping for your friend, chiding yourself mentally in the process.

“Ah, I am so sorry,” you moved swiftly to the side to allow the teen some space to carry out her shopping. “Please, carry on.” You smiled softly. Though at the back of your mind you wanted to point out how she shouldn’t be consuming alcohol, but disregarded the urge nonetheless. Sometimes children should get to enjoy their minimal amount of fun in their youth too. You were still clutching the red wine bottle in your hand, eyeing it one last time before placing it back in the racks. You cleared your throat, as if to let the voices speaking inside your head know that you are not a stupid 20 year old anymore. You shake your head, glancing around to inspect if others were judging your state before proceeding to the counter for the random wine you picked which might have cost you half of your monthly salary. It’s okay to spend once in a while.

Mark was literally running around his apartment. Running. His head shot up as he remembered something. “Shit, fuck, are the bathroom lights okay?” he murmured to himself, sprinting off to the bathroom that was located in his vast living room first, followed by the ones in his bedroom and guestroom. Mark was still a newbie to the norms of living alone, him being a newborn living-alone man for sparsely 2 months. And he would barely be home due to his schedules. There were even times he would just forget his own bedroom.

“What else, what else,” he glanced over the whole area eyes drifting here and there before he realized something. Dumbass forgot to check if there were even enough food for two. Mark quickly scurried to the kitchen counter, the utensils were more than enough before checking his fridge. Beers? Check. Soju? Check. Kimchi? Check. Slices of chicken breast? Check. But the 33 year old still felt something was missing. Mark shifted his focus on the wooden shelf that was just above the kitchen sink, the transparent glass door of it making a creak sound as he opened it. For an apartment who’s owner was barely home, the shelf was definitely well packed and organized. It contained all sorts of ramen, tteokbokki and any other fast food you could name. “What else, what else, what else, what else,” he kept chanting, as if by some magic his chants of short memory would be heard and he would know what else was he missing out. He hunched over the lower shelf to inspect if all the sauces his housekeeper stores for him were present there. Absorbed in his thoughts, Mark did not notice the sudden sound of his bell going off, before the sounds just got repeated and even more louder.

“What the fuck?” his eyebrows creased in annoyance, cussing out all the profanities he had in his vocabulary at the visitor’s insolent mannerism. Mark was beyond pissed, the person behind the other side of the door not only disrupted his memory battle but also had the audacity to ring the bell like a 3 year old in the middle of the night. Instead of just answering from the intercom, he directly opened the entrance door. “Look, it’s like 11 in the night - Hyung?” Mark halted his rant session as he realized it was Jaehyun standing in front of his house. Covered in black shirt, black mask, black pants - black everything, it would take a while for others who did not know him personally to recognize the member of the top boy group in the industry.

“Were you shitting or something,” Jaehyun smiled before casually giving his best friend a hug. Mark pulls out some of the spare slippers he had stored, while Jaehyun sits on the wooden step as he unties the knots of his black adidas. As Jaehyun get ups, he looks over to the other male standing in front of him, then down at the slippers and then again to the male.

“What?” Mark laughed, his hands shifting to the sides of his waist.

“Mark, please don’t go shopping by yourself next time,” Jaehyun silently judged Mark for offering him the fluffly colourful pink body and yellow polka dots slippers, similar to the ones he was wearing but the combination in opposite.

“I got them from the BOGO offer going on in the supermarket just down the lane,” Mark wiggled his toes under the furry layer of clothing, slightly humming at the texture. “Bro this shit comfortable and cute, you can’t deny that.”

Jaehyun gives him another look, amused at how his bandmate’s old habits were still the same. “I help you out with your fashion choices next time. Don’t worry.” He patted Mark’s should, a sympathetic grin on his face as he anticipated the other male’s dramatic reaction.

“Oh please,” Mark scoffed. “More like you need my and Johnny hyung’s assistance for your monotonous wardrobe!”

Jaehyun laughed at his friend’s rebuttal before lazily propping himself on the bean sack in the living room with a low hum. Oddly enough, Mark’s apartment felt more homely than his own apartment which was just above a few floors.

“But what brings you here?” Mark walks over to his fridge, judging by his friend’s sudden visit, he knew drinks had become a necessary part of the night. “And what about Hayoung?”

“What about her?” Jaehyun raised his eyebrow at Mark, skillfully catching the beer Mark had tossed to him after asking about Hayoung, Jaehyun’s, well complicated girl something.

“I though you guys might just....I don’t know, be official or something.” Mark stole a glance towards his friend, nervously opening his can. The momentary pin drop silence was an indicator, he indeed blurted something he should not have. The fizzy hiss of the beer can being opened barely broke the ice.

“I don’t do things like official,” Jaehyun scoffed, producing a low sigh after sipping the beer. Mark decided not to further press his friend, despite having an old unresolved grudge against Jaehyun somewhere deep within him. It had been years since all of that had happened, but he still felt hostility creep up inside every time he remembers that night, that week, that month. After all, it was you that Jaehyun had completely broken, torn and ripped apart.

Unbeknownst to the rummaging thoughts inside the mind of his bandmate, it took a while for the older to realize how oddly clean and organized the apartment looked. Jaehyun turned to Mark, eyebrows raised with mischievousness coating his words. “You having someone for the night tomorrow?”

Mark almost made a disgusted face but instead opted to scrunch. “Bro, I don’t have Tinder, neither do I wanna be a carrier of STDs.” Mark placed his empty can on the small glass table, simultaneously letting out a tired huff. Jaehyun almost took an offense to the statement, the attack was definitely but indirectly made towards him. But he decided to shrug it off, Mark was not lying after all. Jaehyun did not even know half of the girls’ names he had slept with, someday or another mixing up names which ends in him getting kicked out or being cursed out. That was what had happened that night as well.

“Okay, I forgot. Hayoung, yes. Speak.” Jaehyun shot an incredulous look to the younger, as if he was able to read his mind or something. Mark only furrowed his eyebrows at the reaction.

“I-I....got kicked out,” Jaehyun’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the sharp eared male was able to catch his friend’s low murmur. Mark stifled his giggle, only to receive a glare from his friend. Jaehyun ran his fingers through his newly dyed lilac hair. Fucking embarrassing.

“But what made her do that?”

Jaehyun felt chills run down his spine as the scenario replayed in his head. He shivered despite the heater being on, an amused Mark glancing while chugging down the small remaining amount of beer. Mark was being a gentleman trying to conceal his laughter as Jaehyun rambled how he managed to fuck up yet another good hook-up buddy. At this point, Mark was not even surprised. Victim to his obvious facial expressions, Mark hated lying, and equally hated being lied to as well. Jaehyun side glanced his friend, a loud annoyed snort escaping from him. “Having fun, aren’t you?”

“Well, I mean it’s fun — sorry,” Mark clears his throat. He should be the type of friend who gives advices instead of laughing. Mark wiggled in his seat, distorting the empty can before having a perfect shot in the trashcan just a few feet away from him. Smooth one.

“I think I might retire, or just quit after the current contract ends,” Jaehyun felt tight, the words came out from him in a way too suffocating form. Mark visibly tenses, his laidback posture now crouching forward to his friend. Mark was too pre-occupied in his escalating solo career, the support he had been getting even before the official stage was way too much for him to fathom, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. A stinging guilt crept up inside him, chiding himself of being such an inconsiderate friend. “It’s high-time I start to live on my own accord.”

Mark decided to rather not pressurize the half-drunk dude with his numerous questions as to why or what has made him to take such a step. Jaehyun struggled to keep his eyes open, exhaustion was taking over his body ever faster now that he had booze in his system. Jaehyun would have rather opted to just spend the night on the couch (he preferred Mark’s limited edition long L shaped sofa over any king sized bed) but the guy decided to not get welcomed by his mate as ‘good morning.’ Mark put a hand on Jaehyun’s knee, an attempt to stop the non-stop stomping which was a very well-known drunk habit of him. Piling the blankets he just brought, the younger warned again, eyes like red lazer lights before trudging towards his bedroom.

Feet wobbly, Jaehyun struggles to drag his build to switch off the remaining lights in the living room, glancing throughout the long empty space. He gulped down harshly, the familiar empty feeling creeping back to him which he had been avoiding for so long — for years. Jaehyun took a deep sigh, the heavy feeling feeling weighing down his chest as he took light steps towards the big glass window which granted him the view of the whole city. His eyes flickered at the luminous sight. He felt big but small, full, content but numb and empty.

“Hyung, you’re still awake?” a sleepy voice spoke from behind, breaking out Jaehyun from his trance.

“Huh?” It took a moment for him to process an answer. “Uh yeah. just like that. You go sleep.”

Mark shrugged, walking towards his bed as Jaehyun plopped down harshly on the duvet, wincing slightly as he felt a sprain in his lower back. With the alcohol slowly losing its effect on him with each passing second, Jaehyun started to feel more sober, more drawn back into the reality. He hated it. This feeling he was feeling.

Mark was having a rather difficult time to fall asleep. He even put on a random sleeping eye mask he uses for travelling, but alas that did not help either. He was too giddy, too excited for tomorrow. Pulling up the blankets over his head, Mark was assured he was safe from everyone, even maybe from God as a huge grin breaks out on his face. As much as he hates to admit it, Mark loved how things turned out to be the way they were.

“Oh god, this is so awkward. Oh god can I please please just die already?” Mark halted on his steps at the voice, glistening in sweats after the recent stage. He thought it would be an adventure to opt for the public washroom in disguise since the green rooms’ ones were all occupied by the rest of the members; and boy, Mark was really giving his all hold his pee.

“OH GOD!” the sudden yelp caused the male to shriek quietly, muttering an inaudile ‘jesus’. Despite the odds, Mark decided not to test his luck, holding in the bubbling feeling just before explosion as much as he could. Muttering quiet curses, the male struggled to hold his posture as he stealthily tried to get to the other side of the stairs. Too busy in his on the way to urination voyage, Mark realized it was too late, he bumped. Bumped into someone. A girl. Hell yeah fucked. Panic crept at the back of his throat as he anticipated what was coming forth. Him being surrounded by numerous fan as he desperately tries to hold his pee. What a fucking sight.

“Look, I know you might be a staff or something,” Mark whipped his head at your voice. “But please just oh god,” you rambled, leaving the man standing with his legs crossed tightly in utter confusion. “I had no idea — Mark Lee?”

The colors from his faced drained, Mark turned casper for a split second.

“PLEASE!” he was quick to react, half-whispering as he desperately caught your hands. “Please don’t just, uh.., shout or something.”

You immediately raised your hands in defense. “I uh have no reason to do so?” You stated, observing how he was literally squirming, it did not take you long to understand that the canadian needed to go the washroom as soon as possible. ”Oh!” You quickly moved. “Sorry for blocking your way!” Before he could even say thank you, you disappeared without any trace. Mark made a quick mental note to thank you, well that only if he ever happens to cross paths with you again. And deep down, he wised he would. On the other hand, you let out another distressed growl, promising to all of the heavens that never will you be ever accompanying your cousin sister, or let alone come to any concerts from now on. The stunt your drunken cousin had pulled just a while ago was humiliating enough, but of course, she had to spice it up by vomiting on the hallways just in front of the green room. You silently prayed and hope with all your might that maybe they will be generous enough not to sue you or ask for compensation for the mess, looking around cautiously for any employees before you sprinted off for the exit door, and yes, dragging the passed out stunt lady.

Mark felt as if he had a halo above his head, the water balloon inside him finally set free. But he had to race when he saw his phone buzzing with notifications, all of them belonging to his manager or the group chat of the members chanting same syllables ‘Where are you’ ‘show starts in 2′ ‘get yo ass here’. It did not take the rapper too while before he reached the green room, the makeup artists and stylists immediately wrapping themselves around him with brushes and hair sprays. He was smiling, genuinely smiling as he replayed the encounter he just had. Johnny raised an eyebrow with an amused grin on his face.

“What’s with the smile, bro?” Johnny pulls up some random exercises to relieve the tension in his muscles.

Instead of dodging his question, Mark replied, still smiling, but wider. “The pee voyage was a nice one.”

Johnny judged the younger for a second before chuckling and heading towards the stage. The loud noises from the fans echoed throughout the whole arena, full of green lightsticks gleeming like blossoming spring garden. No wonder I called them grass, Mark thought. But today, he was looking for a rather specific individual, his eye scanning almost all the faces in the crowd. He hoped to see you again, smiling gleefully as he performed, but thought that it was too greedy of him to want this much in a span of a day. And so he performed, for the first time without any pressure of doing good, enjoying every moment of the stage he was on and yet again, wished that maybe, maybe your paths will collide with his again.

part 2

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ethvn-torchio · 3 years

Text

Walls Could Talk | Chapter One

a/n: aaaaah!!! guys im just 🥺🥺🥺 i really love this fic so far and i hope yall do too skdjfkjg

Summary: The year is 1949. Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers are on the trail of HYDRA and Bucky Barnes - and end up unraveling a dark conspiracy along the way...

Warnings: Violence, sexual references

Wordcount: 2.8k (unedited)

AO3 | next chapter

ᴏᴄᴛ 𝟸𝟾, 𝟷𝟿𝟺𝟿

ᴏxғᴏʀᴅ, ᴇɴɢʟᴀɴᴅ

Music blared loudly as people danced drunkenly.

Events like this were perfect, nonetheless, when people were intoxicated and loose tongues during such an event were rampant.

This just so happened to be the reason why Steve and Peggy were at this particular party - in pursuit of leads on Hydra and the whereabouts of Bucky Barnes.

They arrived a bit late to the party, as it had gotten going. They were able to slip in virtually unnoticed; the outfits they wore made them relatively anonymous, easily blending in with everyone else as they threaded their way through the crowds.

“I’m going to get a cocktail,” Peggy announces. She leans in to whisper in Steve’s ear. “I think I've spotted our target. Keep an eye on that man over at that table on the far left corner. He may be the one we’re looking for. Don’t let him leave.” she leans away, her voice returning to its normal volume. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“A rum and coke, if they have it. Don’t worry about me if they don’t,” Steve responds, his eyes trained on what could potentially be their only lead in weeks.

Converse to the jovial attitude of the room, their target seems to be a bit on edge, glancing around the room anxiously every once and a while. Thankfully, it seems he hasn’t noticed (or simply didn’t know who they were) Steve or Peggy yet.

That was good. As far as anybody was concerned, Peggy and Steve were merely a couple enjoying the party like everyone else.

Steve sighs, deciding to make his way to the dance floor to look a bit less inconspicuous. He gets bumped by dancing people quite a bit on his way there, and he muses to himself, wondering if Peggy would even make it with the drinks still full.

Finally finding a spot that’s less crowded while still having the benefit of seeing their target, Peggy makes her way back over to Steve, drinks in hand.

"Did I miss anything?" She asks, handing him his drink.

"No," he replies, downing the entire rum and coke in one gulp.

They continue to stand there, observing the room and everything that’s going on. As they'd been observing everyone to see if any of them were Hydra agents who were wanted were attending. To their knowledge, they noticed no one that stood out, no one who exhibited suspicious behavior, apart from the fact that some were taking pictures, as any normal bystander would do at a social event such as this.

“He’s still here,” Steve says.

“Good,” she responds. “We’ll have to make our move on him as he's leaving. No reason to cause a scene in here...there could be other enemies here."

Steve puts his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. “It’s been a long week. I'll be glad if we even manage to catch him,"

“Agreed. I just hope we get a bit of a break during the holidays. It’ll be our first Christmas as a married couple, you know.” she points out, gingerly sipping at her drink.

“Hey, yeah, you’re right.” He grins. “I’ll have to get you something nice,”

“Well, you have a little less than two months to find something, so I expect something nice.” She chuckles. “...I’m only teasing, of course. I don’t need anything special.”

Steve laughs right along with her; despite knowing that if she asked for the entire world, he’d figure a way to give it to her.

-----

“We’ve been here…” Peggy pauses, glancing at her watch. “...Four hours now. Has that wallop even moved from his table?”

The crowds had drastically thinned; at this point, Steve and Peggy had been doing a lazy sort of slow dancing, waiting for their target to leave so they could follow him.

“I’m half-convinced he knows something’s up,” Steve mutters. “Maybe he’s trying to wait until everyone but him and his goons are left.”

Peggy hums, leaning her head on his shoulder. “If that’s the case, then we’d be outgunned. If those so-called ‘goons’ at his table are working with him, that’s a five to two match.”

“What are you suggesting? It’s too late to get back up now.”

Peggy doesn’t have an answer for that.

The song ends, and the band then announces they’ll be playing their last song of the evening.

“Evening? More like morning. It’s past midnight,” Peggy grumbles.

“You’re only grumpy because I woke you up early this morning.”

“Yes, but only because waking up someone at five in the morning for a very unfair run against a super soldier is an absolutely valid reason to be grumpy.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Hey, now. You said just a few days that I was allowed to wake you up early,”

Peggy rolls her eyes. “I only said that because I happened to wake up with a certain someone between my legs, Darling. I never said you could drag me out of bed for a jog.” She steps away from him, pulling her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “Stay here for a second, I’m going to the powder room. If the target leaves, go after him without me.”

Steve nods, watching her disappear to where the lady’s room is.

The song ends, and with that, everyone seems eager to leave abruptly - which, in Steve’s experience, people leaving like that usually doesn’t end well.

-----

When Peggy gets into the restroom, she nearly bumps into a woman standing right by the door.

Peggy offers her a tight-lipped smile, muttering an apology and brushing past her awkwardly.

“You must be the famous Agent Carter, I presume?” she hears the woman blocking the door ask, a slight German accent accompanying her words.

Peggy freezes for a second, turning around.

“That depends on who’s asking,” Peggy replies, keeping her gaze trained on the woman. Her hand is on her gun in her purse - but she decides to let the woman say her piece.

In response, the woman sneers, laughing humorlessly. “Funny. My employer happens to be asking, in fact.”

While it wasn’t surprising to Peggy, as a lot of people and/or their employers were out to kill her, she did make a mental note of that anyway.

“And who might that be?” Peggy tilts her head, offering the woman a condescending smile.

The woman cracks her knuckles, a cruel smirk on her lips. “It doesn’t quite matter, does it?”

Peggy draws her gun in reply. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

The woman reached to swat the gun out of Peggy's hands, but Peggy grabs her outstretched wrist and used her momentum to yank her to her side.

The woman yells wordlessly, knocking Peggy into the marble sink, making her back protest in pain.

With Peggy stunned for the briefest moment, the woman grabbed at her hair and tried to rip her head down for a stranglehold, the awkward angle making Peggy get trapped in it. Thinking fast considering her finite amount of oxygen, she uses whatever momentum she has left and uses all her strength to make the woman stumble and bump against the wall with a thud.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Peggy takes the heel of her shoe and steps on the woman’s foot as hard as she can, making her lose her grip on Peggy.

Peggy slips out of her grasp, grabbing her gun and forcing the pistol to her throat.

“Hands where I can see them,” Peggy growls, cocking the gun just to scare her into doing it faster.

The woman grunts, gritting her teeth. She grits her teeth until there’s a small, but distinctive cracking noise and the woman begins to foam at the mouth.

“Heil Hydra,” she gasps, slumping over.

Peggy sighs inwardly.

All that work and a potential back issue for another Hydra cyanide tooth.

-----

"The target?" Peggy asks, smoothing out her dress.

"He’s getting ready to leave," Steve replies, jaw set. "I heard something about him having a car ready."

Peggy nods, gun in hand hidden by her purse. "Okay, I'll go see if I can stop him from leaving. Take down his men if you have to. We don't want them following us."

"Got it."

Once Peggy gives a nod of assent, she's off after the target. The man is in the process of gathering his belongings, most likely aiming to leave.

And if he manages to get to his car, they'll have lost their chance at catching him.

She shadows the man, following him out of the building.

He's still with his bodyguard, and Peggy can only make her move with him alone.

Once they hit the parking lot, the man waits around for a moment as one of his bodyguards unlocks his car. Peggy takes the opportunity to make her move, kicking the guard in the back of the head and knocking him unconscious.

The man turns towards Peggy.

"Tsk, tsk, Agent Carter," he muses. "I didn't think you were so eager to get a word in with me."

Peggy smirks, gun trained on the man. "I figured I'd settle things quickly."

“I'm sure you did, Agent. I wasn't quite expecting a run in with you so soon." The man puts his hands out. "But, of course, I'm sure you're used to running up against my men."

Peggy cocks her gun, keeping one eye on their surroundings to make sure neither of them gets killed. "I'd just prefer the chance to talk. You can come quietly or you can-"

"You're right," the man interrupts. "But you're not going to get it. I have to say, Agent Carter, you seem to have some special interest in me."

A warning chill goes up Peggy's spine. "You're hiding vital information."

The man doesn't look surprised. "How astute of you to notice, Agent. And yet...why are you and Captain Rogers so doggedly pursuing me? Is it something...personal, perhaps?"

"It's my job to notice," Peggy replies, ignoring his question. Her finger tightens on the trigger. "I'd prefer to talk, but if you make me, I'll shoot."

The man looks over his shoulder, and she can see the gears in his head turning. He's stalling for time.

"Oh, Agent Carter," the man sighs in an exasperated tone, "You know you won't. And you shouldn't. I'm not a common criminal, you know." and with that, he knocks the gun out of Peggy’s hand, making a run for it.

Peggy curses, picking up her gun and chasing after him, raw adrenaline coursing through her veins.

The man weaves through the streets and alleyways, making some scrapes and slightly obstructed spots.

He slips into an alleyway, but she's not far behind him.

She stumbles down the alleyway, pulse racing, gun still in hand.

Peggy spares a look over her shoulder, and she spots her target at the end of the alleyway.

The man is leaning against the wall, as if in relief, and she knows that as soon as she gets to him, he'll be gone.

She takes off after him, taking off at a sprint.

The man runs once again and she's able to track him. Peggy follows the trail made by the man, especially when he cuts down a different alleyway.

She picks up her pace, and just catches up to the man when he darts into a neighborhood.

She nearly bumps into Steve, who saw him and also began chasing him.

Their target turns the corner, nearly tripping down the stairs in his haste, before opening a door and locking it behind him just as Peggy nearly has him.

A frustrated groan escapes Peggy, throwing her head back in annoyance. She sidesteps, gesturing to the door as Steve is down the steps. “If you’d be so kind?”

Steve sighs, wishing he had left his shield somewhere convenient at the party instead of at the hotel room. He braces his shoulder, taking a step back and ramming his body into the wooden door.

The lock breaks, thankfully.

They cautiously walk in the hallway, lit only by noisily buzzing overhead lights. The floor and walls were concrete and the room smelled faintly of rotting wood.

“So,” Peggy says in a low voice, her gun at the ready. "What are the odds that this is a trap?"

"I think we just stumbled into someone’s storage area or something," Steve replies, examining the room. There was nothing but a few empty crates and miscellaneous junk. “Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was.”

"It'd be nice if it wasn't. I'd like to get out of these heels sometime today." Peggy says, reaching a doorway. This door, however, was left unlocked. “Though, I think Hydra would keep their doors locked,”

The door leads to an empty hallway, and at the end of it was a staircase, and with any luck, it would lead to their target.

They both pause at the set of steps. “Tripwire,” Steve points out.

“It would probably make the steps fall out from under us,” Peggy says, stepping over it. “Or something else quite-day ruining,”

“Something like that,” Steve replies, followed by muttering something about an ‘Indiana Jones’.

They traverse the winding staircase, making their way up to an open door leading to outside.

Approaching the entryway with caution, they find their target with his hands on his knees, panting and gasping for breath.

He sees Steve and Peggy, and he begins to back away, yelling something in German before rounding a corner.

And before they can catch up to the man, two Hydra agents from the party earlier appear.

The agents were armed and ready to fire, making Steve and Peggy throw themselves to the ground. Bullets fly over their heads, hitting the brick wall behind them.

Both of them scramble to their feet, Steve taking cover by crates, and Peggy using the staircase to her advantage.

Both of the agents advance on their targets, getting closer.

Peggy aims for the one's legs, hoping to interrupt their shots.

Steve leaps out from cover, tackling down and knocking out the one. "Peggy, we gotta go!"

“I can handle him, go! I’ll catch up with you!” she yells.

Steve doesn't hesitate, chasing after the man in the last direction he saw him going.

He soon finds the man in an alley, trying to climb a wire fence. The man spots Steve and he tries to weave around him.

The man's back foot collides into a wet puddle and he stumbles. Steve tries to grab his coat, but he quickly uncaught himself.

The man tries to walk another step, but a gasping sound comes out as he's forced to his knees.

Steve knees him in the back of the head and he drops to the ground in a heap.

Steve grabs him by the collar. "Alright, I'm only going to say this once. Tell me where the Winter Soldier is," he growls.

The man says nothing, glaring at Steve.

He takes something out of his pocket, and Steve realizes all too late that it was a smoke bomb.

He coughs, the acrid smoke invading his airways and making his eyes burn.

It takes a few moments, but the smoke finally clears, and the target is long gone.

Something on the ground grabs Steve's attention.

The target may be gone, but he did leave something behind.

-----

"Well?" Peggy asks expectantly.

Steve sighs. "He got away. Good news is, I'm pretty sure I've gotten a name for him, or at least a pseudonym." He holds up the man's dropped wallet triumphantly.

Peggy smiles lightly. "Well, at least we can say tonight wasn't a total waste. We got some sort of information and we got to go dancing. All in all, I think tonight could've gone worse," Peggy says.

Steve wraps his hand around hers as they begin to walk back to the hotel hand-in-hand. "I don't know, I'd think a night out with you, in general, is a win anyways,"

"So cheesy," Peggy taunts, unable to hide a tiny smile nonetheless.

"You love it,"

"Mmm, sometimes."

Steve makes a dramatic, exasperated noise. "Man down, Peg. I'm deeply hurt now."

Peggy snorts. "Tragic,"

"Nope. I'll never recover from this. You've wounded me. I hope you're happy, Peggy."

Peggy laughs, playfully punching him on the shoulder. "You're so dramatic," she says with a chuckle.

Steve tilts his head. "Well, maybe, but it was worth it to make you laugh anyway,"

"I- you're-..." She trails off with a soft laugh, shaking her head. "I love you."

"I love you too," Steve replies.

--------------

everything taglist: @return-of-the-simp @thereblogcrusader @stillmourningtonystark

walls could talk taglist: @deedepee

end a/n: gawd i was looking for gifs of these two and i was like getting unreasonably 🥺🥺 pls i just love them sm your honor-

anyway 😌 so if you enjoyed feel free to rb/comment! <3

and as always, if you’d like to be tagged, let me know 👀

#steggy #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #steggy fanfiction #Walls Could Talk #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #jo's writing

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anobscurename · 4 years

Text

ocean eyes – chris evans

PART I

concept: this is a collection of happenings, the little moments with him, rather than a whole thought-out fic. the slowest of slow burns. this is the second part, the reunion. this is what happens when the night is over.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2,618

warnings: none, except a little profanity

author’s note: part two is here! i hope you like it :)

The second time you met Chris, was while you were at work. You were a cocktail waitress at a relatively posh, incredibly elite, uptown bar. The kind that charges you way too much for a drink so little, and probably sells diamond infused vodka. This was the night spot of everyone who was anyone – gods that sipped golden champagne from fine, polished Baccarat flutes that were probably worth your house.

You had no problem with rich people. You just had a problem with the way some treated you – and that was to say, not very well.

“Hey.” A male voice startled you out of your near robotic drink making. They were a bit understaffed that night, so you had taken the liberty of helping out behind the bar while the tables in your section remained vacant. You were somewhat of an expert cocktail maker – you could even safely say you could do it blindfolded (an exceptionally wild bachelor’s party provided proof enough). So it wasn’t uncommon for your mind to drift elsewhere while you mixed a drink. You tilted your head slightly in the direction of your co-worker, letting him know you were listening, while still pretending to be way more immersed in your task than you really were. It was that anti-social kind of night, where you’d rather be curled up at home with Netflix and a mug of tea rather than be there (despite being fully aware of how many girls would kill to have entry to the most exclusive club in Los Angeles). But the pay was good – excellent, actually – and you did get some really nice patrons at times. And your co-workers? They weren’t half bad, either. “There’s a table that just sat down in your station.”

You swore under your breath, finished mixing the drink with a sped efficiency, and handed it off to the patron. “Your station” was the VIP section, and was rarely very busy so early in the evening. You knew club routine well enough by now: pre-drinks before the party were often done at home, in the limos, or in a relatively tame bar somewhere nearby. This was for the pleasantries, the catching up, the conversations that would inevitably be drowned out by the pounding music if done anywhere else. That usually occurred around this time. This club – and many like it – the kind that was where everyone who was anyone had to be seen at – was the second phase. The party phase. The phase where most of the time, drama, and scandal, took place. This was often from 10pm till 4am, depending on the stamina of the party goers. And then the wind down: after parties, often held at someone’s house. This was the natural order of the night world, and you respected people who respected that. You modelled your entire schedule around that.

That’s why you had assumed that your station would’ve been empty until much later – until after pre-drinks and conversations. Whoever just sat down in VIP – they were disturbing the natural fucking order, and you were not having it. Well, you were silently not having it; you still needed, like, money.

Your job didn’t come without it’s perks, though. A murder of stunning people were sat on the plush leather couches surrounding black marble topped tables behind the velvet chain that separated them from the masses. Some you recognised instantly from the big screen, and others from the tabloids. And one from a personal encounter… Your breath caught and you damn near choked.

There he was, reclined on the couch, so at ease with his arms spread over the back, grinning and laughing at something someone had said. He wasn’t looking at you. Yet. That changed abruptly, as soon as you (after having gathered your confidence) introduced yourself to them.

He faltered slightly in his laugh, but his grin remained – growing even wider, as slowly, he tilted his head to look over at you.

Immediately his eyes brightened. If there was any doubt in your mind as to whether or not it was really him, it dissipated with that single nod of recognition he gave you.

You cleared your throat as a small diversion to clear your head. “Are you ready to order?”

They rattled off their orders, almost all of them barely paying any attention to your silent exchange with Chris. Almost.

A (begrudgingly) stunning female on Chris left, who was pressed eagerly into his side, gave you a dirty once over and sneered out her order to you. Oh. She was one of those. The ones who looked down at literally anyone not a billionaire.

He noticed her disdain, and his grin fell. A small victory, he revoked his arm from around her – bemused by her display of deluded superiority. You had to physically hide your smirk as you got the last order – his – and slipped behind the bar with the orders engraved in your mind.

——————

The group departed after about two hours. Two hours of eyeing the table (mainly to check if their glasses were still full, or if they needed anything else – or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself), two hours of stolen glances – ones that you were always the first to pull away from, usually after the inevitable smirk that touched his lips when you looked for a bit longer than you should.

When they left, you cleaned the table. Who was he? He seemed to have friends in high places, but there was something else… You knew, when you first met him, that you knew his face. Ugh, that itch was back – the one in the brain where you know you know something but it’s evading your every grasp – and it was refusing to go away. Like an earworm of a melody, lyrics forgotten.

It plagued you for the remainder of your shift – which wasn’t necessarily long, just an hour or so more – and even as you got ready to go home.

It was approaching peak hours now, and so you knew the front would be bustling with paps and desperate social climbers begging for entrance from the surly bouncers, who stood as monoliths in churning seas. Because with peak hours, came the rich and famous; socialites, actors, singers, designers, models. And with them, the gods of the nightlife, came the screaming hordes.

God, you were dramatic. You smirked to yourself, at the internal monologue you were maintaining, as you punched in the code to slip out the back. Anything to keep a scrap of sanity in these long nights. So wrapped up in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice him following you until he laid a scopic hand on your shoulder.

You whirled, shoving him against a wall, knee approaching dangerously close to his crotch before you mercifully faltered at the familiar face.

“Chris?!” You were breathless with exhilaration, adrenaline thick in your veins at having been caught off guard. You released him, stepping away to run your hand through your hair to brush it away from your face. “What are you doing, hiding in a back alley, trying to catch unsuspecting girls off guard?!”

He chuckled at your scolding tone, at the way you pressed a hand to your beating heart, over the top dramatism at play in your actions. “Trying to catch an unsuspecting girl off guard. Obviously.”

You realised then how strange it was for him to still be here; his party departed at least an hour and a half ago. “Did you wait out here for me?”

“Can you promise not to kick me in the balls if I said yes?”

You laughed as he cautiously eyed your legs at his sentiment. “So, what, you’re following me now?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m not the one who waited an hour for someone, out in a back alley, in the freezing cold.” To punctuate your point, a cold blast of wind ripped through the alleyway, worming its way under your coat to stroke at your skin with cold tendrils. You shivered, crossing your arms to preserve the warmth. “You’re not an axe murderer, are you?”

He patted down his pockets. “Ah, shit. Must’ve left my axe at home.” His tone was dead serious, but at your roll of the eyes, he grinned.

You buried your hands in your pocket to stave off the chill. Weirdly enough, after the initial shock, you were glad to have someone with you to walk with you to your car, parked three blocks away to make room for the patrons’ stretch limousines. You inclined your head in the direction of your vehicle, nodding for him to walk with you.

He smiled softly, following you out of the dim lighting of the alleyway, into the lights of the main road. The clamour outside of the club was a roar, the leering of the paps at the celebrities who entered becoming a jumble of white noise.

You noticed how, as soon as you both approached the light, he ducked his head and upturned the collar of his jacket, avoiding the peoples’ attentative eye. You both pushed by relatively unnoticed, and you only spoke again when the bellowing crowd was a distant memory.

“So, who are you?”

The question took him by surprise. The action of lighting the cigarette he had propped between his lips stuttered, and he gave you an apprehensive look. He struck the match he had poised in his hand, looking down to watch where the flame licked. “You know who I am.”

“You just sat where Justin Bieber sat. I served drinks to the Kardashians on that couch. Only the VIPs of VIPs sit there. So, are you famous or something?”

Shaking the match out, he took a drag – prolonging his answer as long as he possibly could. He deliberated you, wondering what your reaction would be. Would you treat him differently, now? “Or something.”

You eyed him up, skeptical, before breaking into a massive grin. “Cool,” you said non-chalantly. Or at least in your head. What you really said was: “I fucking knew I wasn’t losing my mind! I fucking knew it, Mr I-Just-Have-One-Of-Those-Faces. Oh my God, I’m not crazy, fuck yes!”

The look he gave you negated that entirely, because indeed, he was looking at you as if you were a mad woman, in spite of the amused twist of his lips. “Are you done?”

After a moment of appraising him, you nodded, calm again. “Yeah, I’m done.”

You were less excited that you were in the presence of celebrity royalty, more relieved that you weren’t insane for feeling he was so familiar. That was refreshing for Chris; usually after someone discovered his identity, they would treat him differently – sidling up to him, for a favour or money or status or cloning DNA. Or for workout tips, but he got that regularly. Barring the brief moment of unhinged happiness you displayed, you treated him as you did before. Like when he stole your cab.

“Andy Barber!” You had started walking again, him alongside you, in a pleasant silence. Your outburst caused both of you to pause again. “Ransom Drysdale? Steve Rogers…”

He arched a brow in question, taking a pensive drag from his cigarette. “Are you having a stroke?”

“That’s where I recognise you from.” Mumbling to yourself, you muttered “God, I knew I wasn’t crazy.”

He chuckled, flicking the ash off his cigarette, both of you continuing on in a comfortable silence.

“So, what did I do to deserve the chance at having you escort me to my car?”

He stomped out the cigarette, smoke curling from his lips as he tried to find the best way to word his question. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh, you can proposition my fist to your face,” you chuckled in disbelief. “Just because you’re all high and mighty and famous doesn’t mean that every girl you meet is going to throw themselves at your feet even if you did buy me pizza and you’re all smug and handsome and have impeccable dress sense like, seriously, what is that? Armani? What? Why are you laughing at me?”

He had started laughing sometime during your rant and the sound, contagious and warm, had caused you to falter. You fought a smile that was threatening to rise. You were trying to make a point, goddamnit, and you would be damned if he was going to ruin it with his smug, handsome face.

“A business proposition, {your name},” he managed to say among the peels of laughter. “But please, do go on my impeccable dress sense.”

You were mortified. You probably sounded proper arrogant, thinking that he wanted to get in your pants. You groaned, hiding your face in your hands for a moment to conceal the fast rising heated flush of embarrassment. Conceal, don’t feel. Don’t let him know. Thanks, Elsa.

“What, uh,” you cleared your throat, turning away to continue your stalling trek (and to avoid his gaze). “What business proposition?”

“Do you like dogs?”

You ignored how laugh-drunk his voice sounded – gravelly and lilted with amusement. It just served to feed your embarrassment further. “Love them. Why?”

Now it was his turn to clear his throat. “I recently, uh, split up with my girlfriend and I’m heading to Vancouver for a few months for a film. She was meant to help look after Dodger and the house while I was gone, but, given the recent change in plans, that would appear to no longer be an option.”

He avoided your gaze as you glanced over at him, but you could see the throb of the muscle in his jaw, indicating the grit of his teeth.

“And you have deemed me worthy?” You tried lightening the mood a little, and was satisfied by his small smile and accompanying chuckle.

“I know it’s too much to ask of a stranger–”

“Why don’t you get a friend to do it?”

“I would, if any were deemed worthy,” he teased. Warmth swelled in his eyes when he looked at you next, and paired with that smile and the words he spoke next, you knew you would do anything he asked. “And I am asking a friend.”

A beat passed. “Fine. I’ll live in your stupid mansion and look after your stupid dog. Okay, I didn’t mean that last bit, I’m sure Dodger is lovely, but I’ll have you know: I don’t come cheap.”

“What, living in my mansion isn’t good enough?”

“Fuck no! I still need to feed the dog, clean up after it, clean the house, have money on hand for damages in case I get too wild by myself… There’s a long, fucking list.”

“I’m sure we can make an arrangement,” he smirked.

You shivered slightly at the double entendres laced in his words; good thing it was cold, so you could easily excuse it.

“What makes you think I’ll say yes?” You tip your head in the direction of the club from which you were making your slow escape. “They pay well, a lot better than house sitting.”

“Are you happy there?”

You balked at his question. “The money is good–”

“I wasn’t asking about the money, I was asking if you were happy.” He arched a brow, something close to concern crossing his face.

“I–”

He cocked his head, waiting for an answer. You knew you couldn’t lie to him.

“No, not really. Some people are real assholes, especially when drunk.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll come work for me.”

“Woah, hey now. I can’t just… Uproot my life and live with you. For starters, I have a lease and stuff. And I have a life, a job, a–”

“I have an adorable mixed boxer and a Jacuzzi.”

“When do I start?”

#chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans/you #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans/reader #chris evans fluff #dina writes #when the night is over #ocean eyes #part two

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honeyhan-123 · 4 years

Text

The Price of Treason

Summary: Your betrothed is accused of stealing from the palace and so you help him escape, only to be caught red handed by His Royal Highness, Prince Loki.

Warnings: Dub-con/non-con, exhibitionism, sensory deprivation, authority kink, Dark!Loki being a sneke.

Word Count: 2.1k

AN: A few weeks ago the incredible @darkficsyouneveraskedfor gave me a prompt of fucking on a balcony and being blindfolded for a writing game she was hosting. Knowing my procrastination skills, I have only just gotten around to it. Whoops. Please forgive me Roo. Also I would like to submit this to the April writing challenge by the amazing people @mcudarklibrary without whom I don’t know what I would do with myself.

Squares Filled: Voyeurism/Exhibitionism + Sensory Deprivation

My Masterlist

Your sweaty hand gripped Sigyn’s as you scurried through the quiet halls, your servant’s gown brushing along the tiled floor with every step. Moonlight spilled in through the windows and the breeze of fresh air ruffled your braid. You were so close. You just had to get him out of the castle and then he would be safe.

Your breaths were ragged as you ran and the stitch in your side stung with every step but you had to keep going. This was your only chance. Tomorrow Sigyn would be executed by order of the prince. You knew your betrothed was innocent, you knew it was not he who had stolen from the kitchens, yet the prince did not believe you.

You thundered down the stone staircase onto the ground floor, pulling your betrothed along behind you. Up ahead you could see the open archway, the one that led out to the lake. From there you had arranged for him to board a ferry which would take him far away from this awful place. It would also take him far away from you but it would be worth it to know he was alive.

You nearly tumbled to the ground as your feet suddenly stopped pounding across the stone floor. Where there had been nothing but the open night sky before, the archway was now blocked. Someone was standing in your way even though you couldn’t see their face, you knew exactly who it was.

‘Going somewhere?’ His voice was cold and malicious just as it had been when he had sentenced Sigyn to death. You knew the penalty for treason was also death and so with a shaking hand, you slipped the dagger from your belt. You had nothing left to lose after all.

‘Let us pass Prince Loki.’

He let out a merciless chuckle, a sinister smile taking over, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. ‘Look at that. The servant girl thinks she can order me around. Me. The Prince of Asgard.’ You dropped Sigyn’s hand as you neared the prince. You knew you had no chance of beating him in battle, but you had to at least try. Plus, this way your deaths would hopefully be swift.

‘Drop the weapon girl.’

You shook your head, trying to fend off tears. ‘No.’ Your voice shook slightly and you hoped he didn’t notice.

‘I’m not going to ask again. Drop the weapon. Now.’ Again you refused and faster than a snake can strike, he lunged, twisting your arm around. Your dagger fell to the floor with a ping and he held his own against your throat.

‘You do know the punishment for treason don’t you?’ His breath was hot in your ear and his lips brushed against your skin as he spoke. You shakily nodded your head, your eyes locking with Sigyn’s. Fear was clearly evident on both your faces. ‘You should be thankful that I’m feeling generous tonight.’

‘Guards!’ He called out and two soldiers clad in the golden armour of the royal family rounded the corner. ‘Take the escapee back to his quarters. I’ll deal with the servant.’

‘No! Sigyn!’ You screamed and thrashed in Loki’s arms as the guards forced your betrothed back down the path you had just taken.

‘Might I remind you that I have a dagger at your throat? You don’t want to make me mad right now girl.’ Your movements ceased as he hissed into your ear. He was right. You definitely couldn’t help Sigyn in if you were dead.

‘Now, if I take away my dagger, will you behave?’ You knew better than to try anything, he had already shown you just how fast he was so you nodded. ‘Speak up girl.’

‘Yes Your Royal Highness. I will behave.’

‘That’s a good girl.’ He slipped the dagger from your neck and back into its sheath on his belt. His arm remained curled around your waist as he began leading you down the passageway.

The twists and turns he took confused you. He wasn’t leading you to the cells down in the basement, nor was he leading you to the tower where Sigyn had been kept. Instead, he led you to his chambers.

Dread surged through you as you realised his intentions but you dared not try and run away. He would no doubt capture you just as easily again.

He pushed the large oak door open and pulled you through his reception parlour and into his bed chamber. You had been here before, cleaning the prince’s rooms was a part of your duties but you had never been here so late, or with him. The room looked far more ominous in the candlelight, each shadow looking more sinister than the last. You shivered as he led you past the bed and out onto the terrace balcony. You paled as you looked down at the drop. It was easily fifty meters to the ground.

‘It’s such a beautiful sight isn’t it?’ He looked at you, quirking an eyebrow, and you tried to force a smile but he clearly saw through it. ‘You don’t agree?’

‘No Your Royal Highness. It’s very beautiful. It's just heights that I just don’t agree with.’

‘Oh, that’s a pity.’ He sounded anything but sorry as he pulled a thin piece of emerald silk from his pockets. ‘Perhaps this might make it easier.’ You tried to push back but he captured you between the glass door and his body. His hands made swift work of the blindfold and even swifter work of your woollen dress.

‘Your Highness, what are you doing?’ You squeaked trying to pry the material from your eyes but his hands caught your wrists and he pinned them above your head.

‘Don’t act coy girl. You know why I brought you here instead of the dungeons. Please me and I might just forget your little indiscretion.’ You shuddered in his arms and you felt his thin nimble fingers creep underneath your shift and slip your underwear to the side.

You let out a heavy breath as his fingertips found your pearl, circling it a few times and sending a shiver up your spine. Against your wishes, you could feel yourself start to get wet and he took that as he cue to slip a finger inside your warm heat.

His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck as he worked, causing goosebumps to spring up on your delicate skin. His fingers scissored inside you, curling this way and that as he searched. For what, you were unsure but you knew the moment he found it. You unwillingly let out a moan as he continued to stroke you there and he smiled against your neck.

‘Yes my little dove. Scream for me, scream for your Prince. Perhaps your betrothed will be able to hear you locked away in his tower.’ You tried to move away from him but it was fruitless. Instead his thumb swirling your clit and his fingers inside made you want to be closer to him.

You were disgusted by the fire igniting inside and although you tried, you could not stop the moans he plucked from you. ‘You’re close aren’t you my little dove?’ You didn’t know quite what he meant but you assumed he was referring to the anticipation building in your veins.

‘Yes my Prince.’ Your voice was a little too breathless as you responded. Your body betraying both your mind and Sigyn.

‘Mmm… My Prince, I like that.’ He murmured against your skin, musing mainly to himself. Soon, the feeling of tightness in your belly disappeared and you spasmed in his hold, letting out a shriek of his name as wave after wave of pleasure took ahold of you. Despite your maidenhood, you knew what had just happened. The other female servants spoke very liberally about such matters, you just hadn’t expected it to feel quite so good.

His fingers disappeared from your womanhood and he trailed them down your thigh, wiping them clean on your skin. You were too dazed to do anything as his grip on your wrists disappeared, and when he stepped away, your knees nearly buckled underneath you. He ushered your trembling form a few paces forwards and pressed your hands against smooth marble as he bent you. ‘Trust me my little dove. You’re going to want to brace yourself for this.’

You barely had time to register his words before you felt your shift being pushed up past your hips and your underwear discarded. You tried to move away from him but his grip on your hips was like iron, pinning your ass against the bulge in his breeches.

‘No my Prince. Please no.’ You tried to squirm once more and let out a gasp as you felt a sting on your ass.

‘Need I remind you that you are not in a position to be giving orders girl?’

‘Forgive me my Prince I apologise.’ You forced the words out past your fear. ‘But I am a maiden. I am saving myself for my betrothed.’

He laughed derisively as he echoed you. ‘Oh my little dove, so naive, so innocent. Your betrothed will die tomorrow and I will have you tonight and every night from now on. Do you think it was an accident that the stolen goods ended up in his quarters? Or that I just happened to be out in the courtyard tonight? You are mine and any man who thinks otherwise, has to go. He had to go.’

Your heart thundered in your ears and shame washed over you. You had known deep down that it had been too easy to rescue Sigyn. This had been his plot all along. Catching you red handed trying to save your fiancé was all he needed to own you.

You felt his fingers deftly undo the laces of his breeches and his length slapped against you lightly. He poked it along your folds until he found your entrance and sheathed himself inside you. A hiss escaped your lips as he stretched you. The burn, while not as bad as some of the other maids had made you believe, was still painful even as he remained motionless, waiting for you to become accustomed to him.

Slowly and with more gentleness than you had ever seen the Prince demonstrate, he started grinding his hips down onto you as he murmured. ‘Oh my little dove, you fit me like a glove.’ He laughed at himself but kept his movements small, almost teasing. It was only when you tried to rock your own hips back against his that his pace increased.

As he started pounding into your cunt you understood what he had meant by needing to brace yourself. His thrusts jolted your body so much that you felt as though you were hanging off of the balcony. You were thankful for the blindfold, it made sure you couldn’t see the fatal height at which he held you but it also put you on edge. You couldn’t see anything and you knew better than to trust the god of mischief.

His pace increased even further and his hand slipped in between your legs to play with your aching clit. You could no longer hold in your moans of pleasure and they tumbled from your lips out into the open air, echoing around the castle grounds.

‘You’re doing so well my little dove. You take my cock so well. You squeeze me so tightly.’ His dirty words only inspired the tightening of the coil inside you and your hands threatened to slip on the marble as you approached the edge. ‘Tell me little dove, tell me who is making you feel this good.’

‘You are my Prince.’ You struggled to breathe as he hummed in appreciation.

‘Say it louder little dove. I want all of Asgard to be able to hear you.’

‘You are My Prince!’

‘And who owns this body.’

‘You do Prince Loki.’

‘That’s right. So be a good girl and cum for me, now.’ Your body obeyed his command and your walls fluttered around him. A wave of pleasure even greater than the first washed over you and you screamed out into the night. Even in your haze you could feel him suddenly pull out from you, his cum spurting out onto your ass. He gave it one last slap and pulled your body up against his own as he took off your blindfold.

Even in the darkness you could see Sigyn’s outline against the tiny window of the Tower opposite you as Loki captured your lips with his own.

Tags will be added in a reblog

My Masterlist

#Loki #Loki Laufeyson #dark!loki #marvel #loki x reader #honeyhan writes #dubcon

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jooneggs · 4 years

Text

MIDNIGHT MENAGERIE 1/3) - KNJ

❀ Word count: 8.7k

❀ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

❀ SUMMARY: Like water, cradling your fragile soul, Namjoon has held the lily of your heart all your life and you wish you could let him know just how much that means to you. Coincidentally, it just so happens you can: in a week's time when you're stuck in the holiday of your life at Namjoon's father's Botanical gardens. Will you finally get to repay him in a bed of roses or will he be the one to make the bouquet for you?

❀ Genre/AU: f2l, fluff, angst, smut

❀ Rating: 18+

❀ Warnings: Sexual tension (if you use a magnifying glass), Brief anxiety attack, Brief mention of past trauma/sexual assault (I’ve starred this bit between two ❀’s if you need to skip).

❀ A/N: I got back from my writing slump and i’m here with part one that took lots more time and effort than i expected haha! Writers block had me in its clutches but i’m here, and i really hope you enjoy the new chapter of this Joon Series! And a shout out to @jamaisjoons for letting me be a part of this project *blows kisses*

❀

They say that on the longest nights of spring you can see it. When the dark frames the stars in tenebrous black and the halo of the moon umbers the shallow of the sky. When the flowers bloom in a thicket down old country lanes and the ground softens for idle footsteps. Just beyond its fleecy hedges and dew-damp grass, framed by the large body of an antique greenhouse it can all be seen: two lovers in an embrace as beautiful and age-old as the wrinkled love-lines on their palms.

❀

It’s 7am.

And it’s a Sunday.

You find that during the times you need it most, comfort is in a suitcase and has taken the next flight south.

Feet strewn out from the duvet and palms placed flat to the bed, you find yourself with the sudden urge to breathe. Dormant around you, your room is dark and the distant sounds of birds can be heard outside. Thoughts are wild in your head, uncaged and hitting at your skull to escape. You find them moving to your windpipe and toying with your ability to take in the right amount of air you physically need to breathe right now. Whenever this happens, it’s like the cold of the outside has come indoors and made its bed in your chest. It’s like all the muscles in your body are working against you. This feeling has lasted for over three years now, or what feels like your whole life. It happens suddenly and unexpectedly, at times when you’re low or even when you're at your happiest. A gust of wind will fill the air and instantly, you're trapped again.

Reaching for the blinds, you pull yourself up against the headrest and attempt to let some sunlight and air into the room. You wrap your fingers around the beads of the pull and gently tug as light streams across the floor of your room and slowly climbs the walls. You ball your eyes shut as the exposure blinds you and almost hiss at the sudden change of atmosphere in the room. Although now incredibly bright, you still feel your hands shaking and lungs wheeze as you curl yourself further against the wall, commanding yourself to stay calm.

You feel your body reach this state whenever you consciously or unconsciously muster up thoughts of the past. Thoughts regarding negative experiences: failed friendships, attempted friendships, unrequited loves, unwanted advances from desperate, hungry, grease-slicked hands..

You don't want to have to go through this so often. To face the threat of feeling an inch of your being escape you each day. You want to be held, caressed and healed. You want to be bundled up into a blanket of another body only to disappear into them and their world and to never return again.

Sucking in another breath of air, you fish for the bottle of water on your side cabinet. With such restless, anxious hands, you find the task incredibly hard and end up having to get out of bed to reach for the bottle now face forward on the floor, dribbling onto the carpet.

Hands and feet now damp and jittery, you attempt to salvage the remaining drops of water in the bottle before draping the duvet back over you, right up to your shoulders, and nestling against the wall like a caterpillar to its cocoon.

You think about taking deep breaths, and rubbing your hands to conduct heat. You also think about all the terrible, horrible things that lay wake in your past. You don't want to think about these things, you want to find your way out of this panic. Negative thoughts as pungent as these don't tend to want to go away as quickly as the others do.

You've learnt to let the thoughts linger, accept their presence, acknowledge them and deal with them one by one. It isn’t an easy task and it’s not a quick one either. It’s like rationalizing your derationalized thoughts into specific moments of your life that really hurt to think about. It’s worth it when someone like your therapist is helping you out, but when it’s just you on your own, it feels impossible knowing where to start. One of the best things you’ve found recently, is morphing your fear into tiredness and letting your anxiousness send you to sleep. It sounds like the opposite of something that anxiety should do, but by the time you’ve exhausted your mental and physical capacity, you feel ready to sleep for a thousand years or more.

So with minimal effort, and the sudden feeling of aching bones and a sore throat, you tip yourself back into bed. And when you close your eyes, it takes all the effort in the world to push back all those thoughts telling you to stay up and worry and bleed yourself raw. But against the odds, you do it. You do it like clockwork because this is like a routine to you, one that means you can never fully relax in the wake of losing a part of yourself all over again.

❀

Sunlight is like the lighthouse that finds you stranded on the shore and wakes you from your sleep. It pulls you from the deep water and onto the warm speckles of sand. You’ve woken up.

In many ways, you feel like you’ve never been asleep. Your throat still stings and you haven’t forgotten the feeling of being unable to breathe. It’s like sleep is the short term solution to an everlasting problem that can take a backseat for your slumber but pop back up ten-fold as soon as you wake. And even then, it won’t be long before the problem starts to probe into your dreams. You feel like that’s already started to happen. A thin husk of memory tells you that your last dream definitely was a nightmare and that you’ve been haunted by monsters and dream figures chasing you for a while.

Things seem much better when you aren’t in the shell of your room or the realm of your sleep. Since your later teenage years, you found much more comfort staying in or near the outdoors, sometimes surrounded by your parents, sometimes calmed by your cats. It was a shame because your room to you was your haven, a slice of heaven covered in all the things that you loved. And you still love it, you just feel a slight weight in its presence, one that the outdoors helps brush away.

You stretch your feet and rub your chest, relieved to find yourself breathing normally again. Twisting in your bed, you wrestle a teddy off the side and move to head toward the door. Wetting your feet on the rug still damp from your spilled water, you trudge toward the end of the room and swing open the door from its hinges before walking across to the kitchen.

On a quiet 9am Sunday morning, you want nothing more than to bury your troubles in tea and a book. Your school week has once again ended, culminating in the beginning of a spring break. It has also meant your parents leaving on the next train they could out of your hometown and into the city.

Since the dawning of time - or rather the first waking moment you could remember - you had lived in the countryside. The air was a fresh lavender breeze, the sky at night blew out stars like blaring bulbs and the ground beneath always felt like it was rooting itself back to you. They say ‘the grass is always greener’, and many times you had almost fooled for it: believing that life in the city would bring you the freedom you really wanted from your parents, the joy from true love you lacked. You thought it would change the cycle of your life, like all those terrible moments that had happened to you could have been avoided if it weren’t for the sanctuary of suburbia. Like the knowledge you would have known there, would have protected you from all the devils of this world.

You sometimes felt you didn’t know enough, That Tolkien and Carroll weren’t enough to shape your knowledge into experiences otherwise faced by children of the city. That you were strange, the odd one out because you hadn’t had the life you felt a lot had been living. At 12 there were no first relationships, at 16 no proms, at 18 no parties, at 20 certainly no lovemaking. Had you been living falsely? Was your clone-self fulfilling your wishes out in the world without your knowledge?

These feelings were occurrences that hit you when you were down; crept up on you when you least expected it. But most times, you knew better. You knew your life was good and that the only feeling you were missing out on was feeling complete in regards to that. You could see it in the way your parents walked when they’d return from weekends in the city: shoulders slightly slumped, breath laboured, legs an entanglement of walking on thick tar or marble stairs. You could see it in the way the blare your box TV made you feel whenever you seldom switched it on or the way street cars or school kids made you feel whenever you stumbled to the edge of the green belt on the cusp of the town.

It was a feeling that reminded you that you loved the countryside. That whatever you had missed out on, you only had to gain by the joy you felt living in this little world of your own. That whatever you faced, were facing, or yet to face, would be outweighed by the positives that surrounded you each and every day.

With a lighter note to your step, you made your way to the kettle and took it to the tap. Filling it with water, you latch it back on to its base and switch it on. Today was a green tea day, the fresh scent of leaves and the warm yet bitter taste of vegetal flora. You pop a bag of it into a bottomless white mug and wait for the kettle to chime.

Every spring break since your early teenage years was one you had looked forward to. That, and the addition of any single break you got away from working and learning. You loved the time away to pursue what you really loved most and to feel as if you had all the time in the world.

Most of all, you loved being with your friends.

You couldn’t forget that what had made your experience in the country so beautiful and thriving was the people you had around you. Without them, you’d have no experiences at all, let alone the knowledge to make things like the cup of tea you were brewing right now. All of them had taught you different things and given you different opportunities and adventures. All seven of them being boys, you missed their brotherly presence and the feeling of really belonging when you were beside them. In fact, you hoped today, with feeling more solemn and tired, they’d magically sense your sadness and start the spring break with you.

Fishing the bag from your mug, you stir the tea and bring it out to the front garden. Closing the door gently behind you, you move onto the patio and sit against the wall of your house, brushing against a rose bush climbing its walls to the drain pipe of the roof. Setting your mug on the cold of the ground. You turn to your left and push at the floor of the patio, skimming your nails against the brick edge of one of the tiles. With quick effort, the brick slides to the side and you lean forward to peer into the shallow of ground dug out below. Under this small tile of your garden was a small collection of books you were currently reading. You prized your books, but never bought them new without their own wear-and-tear. Keeping them underground would only further the process of their weathering, so any books you bought were second hand from the local market or given as a gift from one of your friends who was a book-worm.

Reaching down, you close your eyes and pick a random book of the day. Sliding back the tile, you flick through the browning pages to the dog-eared bookmark of where you last were and start to read. It’s no fun just reading one book at once. You love to pursue multiple lives and experiences at one time as well as critique books on what one lacks and the other makes up for. If given the opportunity to do so, why not take the bull by the horns and charge into multiple universes with adventurous intentions?

With an open mind, you continue to read, your intention to fall into this book for at least a few hours before resurfacing back to reality. You find time slipping further with each crease of a new page. Your tea growing colder as you take small, yet thoughtful sips, popping the mug back onto the tile and rubbing your leg in reflection. What brings a story to an end? What is it that causes the binding to fold shut? Is it that a character can finally be content with the way things are; is it that their pain has finally ended and now the stage of their acceptance begins? You’ve always hoped that books would carve out your path for you, would give you the knowledge you needed to move on, or bring a charming fantasy character to you without you lifting a finger. You wanted to know what it was that you were searching for, that comfort that could just be right in front of you..

You turn a page.

“Y/N!”

“Namjoon?!”

You look up, and see him. Dropping your book back into your lap, you wrestle with your hands and move the hair from your eyes.

He’s staring back at you, intent on grabbing all of your attention. His umber eyes shine against the afternoon light and his flushed lips grin a lopsided smile. Sun-kissed, tawny skin and a button-nose - he is a vision - and you forget how hard it is to maintain eye contact with him for too long until your staring right back and squinting at his beauty.

His eyes drop down to your book and move back up, glowing with his usual sense of admiration and approval.

“Reading another one this time?”

“Yeah..” You mumbled “Well I've started this one already but i took a break from it and picked it out today in a random draw. But it’s pretty good so far so i’m not really fussed. I think I might even pursue this one fully to the end. No breaks..cool, right?”

“What one is it?” He responds, pulling the cover up into his eye line and taking it into his hands.

“You should know by the cover. Go on. Guess.”

“I’m not that good..”

“Hey! You were the one who lent me the book!”

“Probably because I've never gotten the chance to read it..”

“You recommended it to me!”

He squints and observes both sides of the book, careful to not peer at the binding with the title on. You watch with a strange enthusiasm as you yet again share a bonding moment with him over something you feel not many cherish anymore. It’s good to have common interests with others, yet the more you divulge in them, the deeper you fall into that person.

“It’s Doctor Zhivago by...Boris..Pasternak?” He smiles “But translated right? I can’t remember the man’s name..”

“You mean ‘name’s’. Hayward and Harari. Bit of a tongue twister. It’s so good.”

“That book was the most complicated thing.”

“But romantic.” You whisper.

“What was that?” He tilts his head.

“I said it..it’s romantic.”

“Oh..” He blushed “Yeah it’s very well written. Right..”

❀

Sometimes you guessed that ‘that’ was the thing you were missing. When you lay awake in bed at night, or felt yourself losing breath in the bundle of a blanket; in the morning, spilling a frozen mug of tea, or at night, clutching onto one of the books he had given you. Your friends had given you everything you needed, helped you in different ways, and sometimes you didn’t know how to repay them. You were reminded that you were enough, that what you did by just being you was enough to keep all of them smiling. Your friends had given you everything, but more than ever, right now, recently, one person had been taking over all of your thoughts, all of your friendships.

Here he was standing in front of you. And yet again you maintain normal conversation. You avert your eyes to intense stares, you keep from slipping on your tongue. Your hands stay in your lap, and your fingers ache to touch his. It was something you thought of often, yet something that remained at the back of your mind. Like a dirty secret, you didn’t want this longing to ruin the broken bridges you’d connected from your past that had taken you so long to build.

But moments like these, when he smiled too bright, or let his cheeks tinge pink in the presence of you without even trying to hide it..you knew you were so damn screwed.

❀

“y/n?”

You snapped from your thinking “Yeah, huh?!”

“Thinking again?”

“Yeah. Sorry..”

He smiled, exposing those beautiful dimples “It’s okay. I was wondering if you wanted to pop into mine and grab some more new books to read once you’ve finished that one?”

“That actually sounds great. I think the spring break will give me more time to read some of your favourites.”

“Awesome. C’mon then.” He reached out his hand to pull you up onto your feet and take you next door to his house. Like a burning crush, you touch his hand and feel a small fire come to life in your stomach. It was a common occurrence and one you still hadn’t managed to learn how to extinguish. Rather it had become a feeling you blamed on too much herbal tea or lack of sleep.

Deep down, the small fire was telling you that its existence was most likely due to ‘him’.

You follow Namjoon next door, across the small valley of your front garden and into his. He was tall, masking the view ahead of you, and his broad shoulders stretched the expanse of the garden gate as he idly swung it open. In a metaphor, he was a large, wise-old tree. You had envied him ever since your young teenage years and were unlikely to ever feel superior, let alone on the same level as him.

❀

As your neighbour, Namjoon moved in when you were 11. Living your whole life in the same house out in the country, bothered only by the rising sound of birds, you’d yet to have a neighbour that wasn’t five times the age of you. It was a new experience, and happened to come at the most confusing and inconvenient age of your life where you were like a magnet to anyone of the same age and opposite gender. Alongside your other six male school friends you had happened to befriend, moving up to secondary school, you found he was soon to become your 7th. Like your other friends, he was kind, charming and open from the moment you made your first greeting. You all found interest in the hobbies of adventure and play and reveled in the fact that your fantasy world was now one to share with many others.

Growing up as a human was weird enough at 11: weird bodily changes, voice-deepening, and a sudden strong romantic attraction to others. Your friends and you thought it was funny, speaking at lengths only to crack off tune or bopping Adam's apples like a game of tennis while you sat there and touched at the flat plain of your female neck. At times you’d play twister and fall apart at the sudden growth of each other's legs and how it would up the difficulty of the game without you even trying. Other times you’d stare at the faces across from you and wonder what the soft blades of their cheeks would feel like to touch.

You thought that was bad enough, but at 19 it had hit you like a brick and was only getting worse.

❀

“You had a bad night?”

You look up as he turns around by the door of his house and nod, “Yeah..something like that i guess..”

“You can tell me about it.” He pauses and brushes his fingers against the tips of yours - and there goes that fire in the pit of my stomach again..

“It’s okay. It was just a bit of an anxiety attack. It came on unprovoked, no reason, no big deal.”

“As long as you're sure.”

He stares into the pits of your soul with that intent and interest in his eyes again, and you simply nod and smile.

“Alright, let’s go find a new book to cheer us up. I’ve got this amazing one i found at last weeks market, you won’t believe the coloured edgism on it!”

❀

A few hours had passed and you and Namjoon had gone through dozens of his books, discussing why each and every one was a merit to read. You found his bookshelf harbored all sorts of genres, but favoured writers such as Murakami and Hesse. It truly was a sight to behold: a 16-shelf, 7-foot mahogany cupboard of prismatic-colour in the form of disjointed stack upon stack of novels. It was like a second home to you; one for the books, and two for the person who lived there.

“So you’ve chosen?..” Namjoon tilts his head, looking up from his spot kneeling on the floor.

“Ah..i’m really not sure.”

“Go on.” He sniggers, “I'll do a drum roll.”

“Okay. So. I’m choosing ‘A Wild Sheep Chase’..aaand, ‘The White Book’!”

“Those are amazing! Hold on, show me the covers again.”

You move from your position leaning against the bookshelf, and kneel next to him, arm brushing against the cotton of his. He seems to respond to this, and shuffles closer, knee knocking yours as he moves to see the covers of the books more clearly.

Although he’s silent, you feel his acknowledgement and study of the novels before him as he remembers their plots and summarizes his critiques against them. Knowing him for so long, you can almost feel the cogs in his brain working and you struggle to hold back a smile as you imagine him feeling the same way about you.

*ding, dong*

In a sudden halt, the door rings, and the two of you separate as quickly as you came together to head towards the entrance. A silent awareness slips between the two of you regarding the past few hours you’d spent scrolling through books together. This was something friends did, right?

“Hey, lovebirds!” You hear a deep voice chime and peer from the side of Namjoon to see the other six of your friends standing out on the patio in a huddle. Taehyung stands centre of the pack, beaming with his box-grin as if he’d just opened the gift of his life. You peel back behind Namjoon nervously and wave back to them, making yourself known, watching a smile deepen on all of their faces as they glance back and forth between the two of you.

You know what it must look like, but you’d hoped they’d be used to it by now. The older you got, the more time you divided towards Namjoon compared to the rest of the boys and you never gave an explanation for it, leaving an air of question between you and the others. At this point, you weren’t surprised by their assumptions. You simply went along with it, hoping one day their words would manifest themselves into tangible things.

“Hi guys. How’s the beginning of Spring Break treating you?” Namjoon smiles, fiddling with the books now in his hands.

“It’s going well. We were enjoying the sun and nearly forgot about you guys.” Jimin replies, a sly wink directed your way.

“C’mon now, what do you want?” You smile.

“Come to the hideout with us.” Jungkook chimes, scrunching his nose, “Let’s make some plans and get stuff done!”

❀

It was a mossy road, filled with scattered piles of leaves, hulking rocks and long, giant-like cutlasses of grass. Trees decorate the rim of the trail, large oaks and fuzzy maples. The flowers surrounding you crowd in, tickling your feet, shining a blistering yellow onto your chin. The sun above flares and your neck swelters as you trail behind the seven boys.

The path to your secret hideout was never an easy one to make. Beautiful but not easy. In the past eight years of being friends, the nature surrounding your home and further out had reared its wild and boisterous head, making its mark with swollen muddy ditches and overgrown thickets of grass. You frequented it often, making the trek in under half an hour with flimsy boots, often exhausted from the school day. Sometimes you’d visit in the mornings by yourself, shuffling around chairs and cleaning up crumb-riddled plates from the last visit there; other times you’d head over in the evening and nap on the ground with your head in one of the boys laps as you mumbled incoherently about some classmate or teacher.

Your hideout was a camper van, plastered white, now chalky flakes. Its interior was large and had been hollowed out into two large rooms of a dusty kitchen and bedroom/living area via the drivers door. As you approached it, a sense of nostalgia filled you, memories rushing in chromatic frames of adventures played out within the confines of those few feet. Although overgrown, the ground beneath you still felt as pliant and kind as the first day you set foot.

You come to a halt as Taehyung steps forward and swings the loose driver door open, bowing in a way too childlike not to smile

“Ladies and gentleman, your accommodation for the day. Step right up, step right up.”

Following the boys, you find Taehyung waiting with the door open and you nod in return, climbing up, sliding across the driver's seat and landing in the main space of the van. Grabbing the nearest seat, you press yourself up against the backrest and kick off your shoes, feeling a sting evolve then dissipate around the clutches of your ankles. It’s not long before Namjoon joins you to your right, and Yoongi sits idly to your left. Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin form a small triangle in the centre of the room and Jin and Hoseok move over to the kitchen to presumably look for snacks. You wiggle your toes and smile at the boys around you. The past few hours had made the morning feel like a distant memory and you, yet again, made a note in your brain that reminded you how important these guys were to your mental stability.

“Jellied eels and gummy worms!” Hoseok cheers, bouncing into the room alongside Jin with two large packets in tow.

“Eels?..” Namjoon mouths next to you.

“Worms?” Yoongi resounds.

“They’re gummy sweets guys! Did you even have a childhood or did your life only just begin when you met me?” Jin smirks, throwing himself on an armchair opposite you and leaning over to grab a can of soda from the seat underneath him.

“My life began when I started eating these sweets.” Hoseok hums, a gummy worm dangling from the creases of his lips.

“Let’s have one!” Whines Jungkook, and pulls Hoseok down to share the sweets out with everyone in the room, nodding at Jin to join along and share his cans of soda too.

❀

You met the boys halfway through your Primary Education, age 11. Being a socially distant and independent child, you had struggled to befriend anyone the past few years and were blissfully ready to roll through yet another year alone. You hadn't known any different, and expected you were better off not having friends. There were certain days however, when an unfamiliar sense of loneliness would strike you and you’d struggle all the next week in school.

Moving up to the next grade required an induction into the class. It was inevitable that part of the induction would include ‘ice-breakers’. Playing hide-and-seek and musical-chairs didn’t seem productive or fairly educational, but it helped you spot your tribe from the rest. You had found that, moving into a different set in a different year had meant everyone in class was new to you. It was exciting, but it made you feel yet again like a tiny fish in a giant pond.

It wasn’t long before six boys, during a particularly boisterous game of dodge ball, had come to your side to make a wall around you and pellet balls back at the opposing team. You were lost for words, but stayed planted as you watched them continue to protect you and even smile back occasionally with ease. After the game, following onto lunch, they invited you to sit with them at their table. They individually introduced themselves, stretching out hands to shake with yours before moving back to demolishing their lunches. Although unfamiliar for you, you felt comfortable around these boys, and it wasn’t long before you felt secure to approach their table on rough days and simply slump straight down into your chair.

Jin, Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Yoongi and Hoseok had met the first day of the grade you were starting. You’d almost known them as long as they had known each other; the boys meeting by coincidence at the local convenience store to buy evening snacks a few days before they had met you during the dodge ball game. A band of misfits, as disinterested in cliques and gossip as you were, it made sense that you stuck together for the rest of your primary and secondary education.

Jin was the first for you to have a full interaction with. On a late autumn finish from school, just after the ‘razzle-dazzle fair’, Jin had ran up to as you were exiting the school gates and offered to walk you home. You had been friends for a month now and Jin admitted that he lived quite close to you and would be more than happy to take you to your house. You had agreed, and in the short 20 minute walk home, you had been able to laugh and socialize more than you had ever done before. Jin was the eldest of the group and a social spark. Alongside Taehyung, he often led the group's conversations and was unapologetically unabashed regarding his strong looks and vibrant personality. It was refreshing to see and often annoyed the group at times where they all wanted silence, yet could still hear Jin nattering away behind them. After a few years knowing and maturing with Jin, you could see the layer underneath his visage that was insecure and ashamed. It was something you saw in yourself, yet you made no qualms regarding the way you held yourself in very low regards. As an only child, Jin was like an older brother to you; always the one to continue to walk you home when the others couldn’t. Even up to the age you were now.

You next spent time individually with Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung. With Jin, Hoseok and Yoongi out on a school trip one day, the other three were desperate to get out and made a pact with you to go out nature foraging at the end of the school day. You all kept your promise, and on a foggy October, you made your way out into the stretch of hills where you lived only to discover the abandoned camper van you now sat in. Aside from an empty fridge, and musky air, the van’s interior was the same and you spent the whole evening dusting it out and running around, planning different ways in which you could now brand this vehicle as the groups own. The three of them were the most youthful and bonded to each other like glue. On future nights in the camper van, you’d sit outside to catch a breath, only to spot them swinging their legs off the roof, clanging the sides with their feet and giggling to each other. Other times you’d wake up in your sleeping bag and wriggle over to hear three soft snores as they practically piled atop one another like little caterpillars. Jungkook was the youngest of the group, and truly the sweetest. He enjoyed physical contact, and playing with your hair including the way you’d hug him back after he’d had a long day. Although close, the boys weren’t always around to protect each other, and you’d found yourself in many situations, standing up for him as he was bullied by older kids or others who simply envied his ability to be good at practically everything. Jimin, at times, had also found himself being picked on, but unlike Jungkook, could stand up for himself and sassily retort back. Jimin was a cuddle bug and enjoyed poking fun at your lack of ability to stay still during a shoulder massage without becoming ticklish. He loved showing you new routines he’d learnt taking ballet class in the city, and often shared his experience of the bright lights, making you fear them even more. Taehyung was the same in regards to his songwriting and desperate need to learn guitar or piano but never being able to pick between the two. Taehyung was soft-spoken and euphonious in tone, and was the first to help you study for your music test, age 16, in hopes your voice would be up to parr for the grades you wanted.

Soon after the other four boys- nearing Christmas - you had met up with Hoseok. He’d taken up a job as a newspaper boy and had started doing rounds on your street. When cycling past your door, he’d seen you reading on your patio out front and asked if you wanted to join him on his rounds by hopping on the back of his bike and holding on very tightly. Like a Ghibli character, you joined him, and felt the wind and his contagious laugh whip at your hair as you raced from street to street, paper in hand. Hoseok was the blistering, smiling sun of the group. He was the one to supply the snacks during group meetups and the hand to drag you towards your next adventure. As you got older, and your past had started to further distill itself into you, he had been there to listen and to give you that serotonin when you needed it.

Yoongi was the last to fully introduce himself. You’d bumped into him at the annual Christmas Market and shaken off the snow that was starting to pale on your cheeks and nose. He’d felt bad that you had attended the market alone, but you had assured him that your parents were just around the corner and had let you run loose. He’d taken your woolly mitten hand and pulled you around the stalls of warm chestnuts and wood-carved geese, gums and teeth gelled into a smile the whole time. Yoongi was never one to flaunt his emotions, or smile when he didn’t need to. You felt special because he reserved all his excitement and joy for the group, hiding that side of himself from his schoolmates as if he were a stoic block of pure ice. He didn’t like to admit it, but he was protective over you: watching you mature and watching boys ogle you, hitting back out at them, saying you were nobody's object but your own. He was one of the few who taught you how to own your pride and to stand up for yourself when you needed to.

It was the 5th of January the next year when Namjoon entered the class; four months into your friendship with the boys. Namjoon was a transfer student from the city nearby and had moved schools to better accommodate his parents, now fully divulged in the industry of agriculture. At 5 feet, he stood awkwardly, his lanky form swamped in a cardigan, tie and trousers, a small badge of a book crested to his right. He bowed as he introduced himself and shuffled toward the back window seat of the class, eyes to the floor the entire lesson and entire day until dismissed for the day with the rest of his raucous classmates. A week later, he had found himself paired in a science group project with the six of you and had struggled not to look up as Jin poured his packet of mentos into a bottle of coke and watched it stream over a miserable Yoongi. It wasn’t hard then to feel a part of the mischief as he banded to the rest of you in the principal's office and subsequently joined you on a walk over to your secret hideout, officially knighted a group member after witnessing and accepting Jin’s disorderly act in front of the entire class.

Namjoon became the group's glue: a peace-maker and divulger in clumsy behaviour, the middle man in acts of rebellion and acts of peace. He would settle any argument entailing stolen food and encourage any efforts to liven the mood. Around the rest of you, he made no secret of feeling like an outsider all his life and, as you grew older, you only found more and more stories of his you could relate yourself to. Namjoon made sense to you. He didn’t always tolerate the group's behaviour, or understand his peers, but he understood and accepted you and you often found that that was enough.

But you stumbled on your soda as you felt his presence beside you in the camper van. Something had been missing. A lingering need for his legs to reside an inch closer, or his forehead to skim the crest of yours. A want for his voice to your ear like an ungodly prayer or his lips to plant a halo on your own.

The way you had matured had only made it worse, not better. You had hoped you simply harbored a strong interest in his psyche, but the older you grew, the less you could ignore the fire that never left your stomach. Looking over at all the boys now, it was obvious that you’d never forget. In seven long years, they had all grown and the blaze in your gut was a whore to be sated.

Thick limbs in tight shorts and muscles rippling under skin, their physiques had swelled from boys into men and your eyes were traitors. No longer the deviants of school-youth, their gluttony was peaking, something that grew at lengths in their trousers and peaks on their chests. The testosterone was tangible and its thick air was making it impossible to ignore your attraction toward Namjoon.

But whether you could handle the possible rejection or sudden acceptance of love was another ordeal. Could your past ever be healed by the vines of attraction, or were you too scared to ever let another person in again?

❀

A few hours later and you were in the small kitchen, playing with dust bunnies and watching the sun sink down the hills. The boys were still in the main room, talking about their plans for the spring break. You could hear them discussing family vacations and trips to visit friends in the city. They were buzzing about expanding the camper van and joking about making it into a bachelor pad for their new-found love lifes. You listen in, but hear no noise from Namjoon in the conversation. It had felt like, as the years had passed, the boys were moving forward, finding new hobbies and friends and succeeding at becoming adults. You saw the joy in their eyes at their success and you were proud of them, but you knew Namjoon and you were lagging behind.

All these years, Namjoon hadn’t found any new friends, he hadn’t moved out to the city to discover something new, he’d just grown in height. Of course he’d matured, mind and body and become even more undeniably magnetic, but - like you - he also wondered where his life would go. It was a silent thing you seldom mentioned but knew you shared. It was during those nights when he’d tell you his fears and the little life he dreamed of, running a bookshop and flower garden with the one he loved that you knew you wanted to be that part of his story.

Turning from the window, you walk back into the other room to join the boys. Namjoon looks up and sidles over to make space for you to sit between him and Hoseok. You kneel against the soft burgundy rug of the floor and feel Namjoon move closer to you as he closes the circle, his hand nudging yours to check if you are okay. You look up, meet his soft eyes and smile, reassuring him that your thoughts and feelings are at least somewhat intact and he drops your gaze, turning back to the boys to listen in to their conversation.

“So..the bachelor pad would have a super king bed?” Yoongi questions.

“I think a super king is a bit too optimistic for this space, maybe just a double.” Taehyung chimes.

“Not if we add a conservatory extension to the end of the van.” Jimin mumbles.

“Listen, i think this conversation is getting a little bit too authentic. This is just an idea guys, don’t lose your heads.” Yoongi responds.

“Well..when i reap the benefits of my entrepreneurial enterprise, i’ll give you some cash for this little startup of ours.” Jin laughs, slapping the knees of Jimin and Taehyung who clearly seem to be the fuel to this idea.

You chuckle and gather your knees underneath you to cross your legs, “I love your ingenuity, but I want no part of this idea. I’m afraid, i’m out”

“Our startup’s doomed then.” Jimin wails “Every group needs a lady to orchestrate the rest of us, otherwise we’ll just run a riot.”

“He’s right you know.” Namjoon whispers, “I think you’d make a great CEO..”

His tone is easily distracting and you falter for a second before laughing off his words, “Thanks guys. In that case, give me 50% of the company and we have a deal!”

“Just shake her hand Jimin.” Yoongi whines and gets to his feet, “Alright guys, I’m beat. I’ll grab the sleeping bags; who put them away last?”

“The far left cupboard in the kitchen!” Jungkook says, and you turn to watch as Yoongi begins to draw out the long sleeping sacks from the cupboard and drag them through the room to where you’re seated. You tilt your head in question to Namjoon as Yoongi returns with the second lot of bags, unaware you were staying overnight with all of them.

He perks up and, making the connection to your thoughts, starts with a comment to the boys, “Hey, who let y/n know? Or did you all forget to tell her?”

“You know we’ve left all that kind of stuff to you nowadays.” Taehyung smirks, yet again sending a knowing wink your way.

Namjoon sighs, “So, while you were playing with dust-bunnies out there, we were planning to stay the night. I’m sorry i didn’t let you know, the conversation just drifted on and i got a bit distracted..”

“That’s okay..”

“Is it? Are you up for sleeping over with us?” Jungkook smiles.

You feel a sudden knot in your throat. ”Y-yeah, I..um..”

“It’s alright if you have plans, there’s no pressure to stay with us!”

The wedge in your throat tightens and you struggle to hide the tide of panic that you feel is approaching you. The boys seem to notice your sudden change in demeanour and they all stop, Yoongi dropping his bag and kneeling down with you to make sure you’re okay.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright, what’s going through your head?” He asks, Namjoon suddenly a rock beside you.

“I - “ Visions come swarming through your mind, too sudden and harsh to ignore.

*❀

You hadn’t slept over with the guys for a few years, not since your exams had ramped up their intensity and started to steal all of your time. Back then, you had less thoughts of your past, and lived life with more ease, thinking of the future and not dwelling on previous experiences that were desperate to hold you back. Yes, you were still nervous at times, falling asleep amongst a group of men and trusting them to guard you, but you were a lot less anxiety-riddled then you were now.

In the past two years, your childhood had come flooding back to you in thicker and more residual pieces than before. Moments you thought you’d forget, or that your friends would help heal were now naked shadows, following you around day and night. You were scared it was only going to get worse, the images of non-consensual acts filling your mind and your body, exposed to all of them.

It was hard because - sitting here now - you loved your friends, and you wanted to trust them, but the wall of trauma that had built itself around you seemed too impossible to break in just one go. Even though you knew they weren’t going to harm you, your mind couldn’t stop from seeing a man and a dark room and going, ‘No. I need to escape’.

You’d opened up to them in the past, and briefly told them a more closeted overview of what had happened to you. They had listened, and of course sheltered you in their concern and love. They wanted you to feel like you didn’t have to be afraid around them. And it took a while to even just let them hug you or squish beside you on a group movie night in. They’d give you all the time you needed, and you’d be patient as they understood and exercised the boundaries around you that they firmly respected.

*❀

“I’m sorry, I..I just had a moment.” You exhale, the fog now waning in your mind. The boys watch you steadily and you feel Yoongi and Namjoon have since moved back in distance to give you the physical space you need.

“We’d all really love you to join us! We’ve missed out on so much time since our exams have started and we really miss our sleepovers.” Jin smiles, and you nod back, breathing another shaky exhale and beginning to play with your hands.

Noticing your discomfort, Namjoon turns round and silently hushes the boys out of the room momentarily. They seem to pick up on his gestural hints and, one-by-one, move out of the room into the now pink half-light of the outdoors.

He shuffles to sit facing you and adjusts his eye-line to meet yours as you slowly look up from the floor. His tawny eyes shed all the colours of sunset and he frowns as he notices the panic knitted in your features.

“I know what this is about, and i want to let you know that you don’t have to be afraid. I don’t know what it’s like to be in your shoes or the fear you must be feeling right now, but the least i can do is let you know that here, with us, in my presence, we will cloak and protect you.”

He adjusts his position on the floor and leans over to clasp at your hand. Heart in your throat, you open up the love lines on your palm to him and lace your fingers with his. You suddenly feel a fire burn and a dread douse all at the same time in your stomach. He is the one that makes you truly feel safe, and now your head is swarming with the essence that is him.

You were never one to pick favourites, take one friend for granted, or to even have friends, but Namjoon had always been the exception to those rules. He would always stay a little longer, listen a little closer, and it just made you want him a little more.

He was the one who gave you your first romance novel, helped you grow your first ever rose, taught you how to Waltz on your tip-toes atop the highest hill of your village. Even when the past would rare its lethal mane and roar, you knew that Namjoon would be a pillar to fall back on.

“Okay, Joon.” You whisper, the seldom used nickname slipping from your lips and casting dimples all over his cheeks.

❀

An hour later and the boys had been summoned back. They were scattered in a circle around the main room floor, half of them balled into their sleeping bags like squirrels in hibernation. The air was cooler and the sky now a tenebrous brown, small stars floating in the sky like lost astronauts. You took a sharp breath and felt the cool of the twilight wind sweep through your body. Your eyelids felt heavy and you felt almost certain that now was the right time to fall asleep. The day, since the morning, had recovered itself, and everything seemed too tranquil and good to be true. Without wanting to ruin it, you were ready to say goodnight to the moon and reflect on what a good time you’d had before a new day.

“Mmh, goodnight moon. Sleep tight.” You mumble and lean back, pulling your body into the cocoon of your insulated bag. You adjust your sleep shorts, and turn onto your side, tucking strands of loose hair behind your ears before closing your eyes.

“Are you going now?” You hear a voice ask.

You slip one eye open to see Namjoon, now turned toward you, doe eyed and pouty. A lazy smile tugs at your lips, “Not if you don’t want me to..”

“It-it’s not that.” He blushes, “I just wanted to make sure you were feeling comfortable..”

“I am. Thank you for talking with me earlier.”

“You should be thanking yourself. You’re the one who’s so fearless all the time.”

“Am i really that good at hiding it?”

“You’re stronger than you know.”

“I’ll keep a note of that under the list of ‘compliments Namjoon has given me’.”

He smirks, “Want a few more to add to that list?” and you feel your cheeks stain pink.

“Maybe another day Joon.” You quickly switch the subject and twist around, “Goodnight.”

“Y/n, wait.”

You turn back to him, “What is it?”

“I. I didn’t have many plans for Spring Break but i'm visiting my father and i was wondering if..maybe you’d want to come with me?..”

“To visit your father?” You question, wondering how on earth you’d be able to contribute to conversation with Namjoon’s father, let alone not look like ‘the girlfriend’ to him.

“It’s not what you think. My dad has an amazing botanical garden outside his house that stretches acres across. I thought, if you didn’t have any plans, you’d want to study the flowers with me and spend some more time in nature.”

You're amazed with his thoughtfulness, a reminder that Namjoon’s split parents now owned a menagerie and a farm, the first belonging to his father. Aside from catching up with the group and reviving certain sparks that had faltered, you were more than open to spending all of your time in Namjoon’s presence. You imagined picking Azelia’s with him and brushing cobwebs from daffodils. You pictured long, warm evenings amongst a patch of lavender and early mornings, tilting buttercups under your chin until they shone a luminous yellow. It sounded too much fun to even fathom, and you had to bite your tongue from sounding to sudden or enthusiastic about the whole ordeal. You just resound -

“That sounds nice. I’d be happy to go.”

And with that, you feel another chapter of your life unravel underneath your feet.

❀

#jamaisjoons summer collab #tsb 2020 collab #btswriterscollective #ficswithluv #bts fic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #kim namjoon #namjoonxreader #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n

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dottiechan · 4 years

Text

Tempest (Pt. 1)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Read on AO3

Pairing: Ava Du Mortain x f!Detective

Wordcount: 1950

Warnings: gay pining, denial of romatic feelings none

Summary: Ava waits for the private detective to arrive while pondering their relationship. (1890s AU)

A/N: I am plagued by the late Victorian AU and Miss Du Mortain, so this happened. I wrote the detective as a female private detective, but other than that I have not specified any details about her. It also passes as a reader insert fic! (You can check out the full art here.)

Ava watches the grey sky as it persistently batters the window with rain, the small streaks on the glass pane casting lines on her handsome face that could be mistaken for tears by someone who doesn’t know her. Anyone who does know her knows that she’d sooner shed her blood than her tears. That is just the way she is. The way she likes to be thought of. The only way she is truly safe.

The heavens have let loose, and god is baring his teeth. And Ava just stands there, hands shoved in the pockets of her trousers, gazing out into the busy street as still and cold as the marble statues dotting the hallway. But only on the outside. Because inside of her, there is a storm to match the tempest that assails the city.

She is agitated the moment an image of her slips into her mind, and she begins chewing on the inside of her cheek when she realises that every minute the private detective isn’t in her sight, she is losing her mind. The nervous gesture is soon quelled by hundreds of years of self-discipline, and is replaced by her signature frown, lips pressed into a thin line, the muscles running along her jawbone tensing under her opaque skin. She is... mortal, she wants to think. Fragile. Unimportant. A job.

But she is also everything.

Which is why she must sever her ties to the woman before the job is over, otherwise the eternity to come will turn into hell on earth without her. Ava deserves hell, she knows that. Not that she believes in the devil, but the sharpness of his pitchfork and the heat of hellfire are sensations not unfamiliar to her. Eternal damnation is just guilt and anger and fear hiding in Satan’s clothing. But she can’t even begin to assign words to the kind of torture a world without her would mean. Ava’s ever so logical mind paralyses in terror at the thought of existing in a time when she isn’t.

She inhales sharply - even brushing the surface of the topic causes so much pain to course through her whole being that she needs to focus on something else - anything else - to continue functioning. So she listens to Nate’s soothing voice as he discusses myths with the professor down the hall. She registers the footsteps of people mulling about the museum on the floor below, the idle chatter of ladies clad in expensive dresses, the booming voices of three men arguing over the origin of a painting in the first hall. She turns her piercing attention on the street now, listening to the sounds of horses and vendors and street urchins, feeling thankful to the steady rain for considerably dulling the sharp tang of the muddy streets in her nostrils. She pulls out her pocket watch then, the ticking matching her now once more steady heartbeat.

The detective isn’t late yet, though she has a feeling that she will be, with the rain clogging the streets with carriages and hansoms as it usually does, especially at such a lively hour in the late morning. Ava wonders what she will wear, how her hair will be styled. She wants the rain to kiss her face, she wants the wind to rake its fingers through her tightly pinned up hair and loosen some strands from their captivity. She wants the warmth of the museum building to engulf her once she steps inside, bringing a rush of blood to her cold cheeks. She wants all this and more, for her own body must stay still for everyone’s sake, thus leaving her to live through the rain, and the wind, and the warmth of the radiators, her own fingers and lips and skin left yearning for a sensation she must deny herself.

Her daydreaming is cut short when two men pass her by, throwing her wide-eyed stares as they clutch their books to their chests and mutter quiet greetings to her. Students of the professor, no doubt, and shocked to their very core by the sight of a woman in trousers easily towering above them. It fills Ava with a savage sort of satisfaction before her insecurities - awakened by the private detective’s appearance in her life - creep up on her. It has never been particularly acceptable for a woman to wear men’s clothing throughout history, and 1896 is no exception. Then again, Ava has never been particularly bothered by this expectation, so it has all been well. Until now, when she begins to wonder if the detective likes this. She has commended her on her bravery before, and agreed with her choice of clothing because of its practicality, but that is hardly an admission of approval or attraction. And besides, she seems to favour dresses herself, even if she is nowhere nearly as extravagant or tightly laced as the dames of the decade. Admittedly, the detective’s pulse always picks up when they speak, especially alone, and her pupils are blown when she catches her staring but...

“I’ve got what we came for... and more,” Nate speaks with quiet excitement as he stalks up to her by the window, and Ava forces herself to look at her friend, hands balling into fists in her pockets. She had been so absorbed in thoughts of the private detective that she almost didn’t notice Nate at all until he reached her.

Pathetic. She needs to focus.

There’s a supernatural on the loose, murdering in the streets of London, and she is thinking about whether or not a mortal woman likes her choice of clothing. She takes the folder Nate hands her, and pries it open to reveal several new pages filled with his neat handwriting. At least their initial hunch has been correct - they’re definitely something corporeal that can pass off as a human, and now thanks to Nate’s research, they’re all but confirmed to have come from Scandinavia originally. And yet it doesn’t help her ease her mind that she knows what they could possibly be - after all, they’re out for the detective by the Agency’s estimate.

“Could it be a dark elf?” she mutters, blonde brows furrowed as she skims through the pages.

“Dökkálfar. My thought exactly,” her friend nods, pleased that Ava has come to the same conclusion.

“Haven’t seen one of those in... well, in a very long time.”

Nate’s shoulders sag a little as his initial enthusiasm ebbs. “I suppose we are about to face one again.”

She wants to reprimand Nate for forgetting the real objective of their mission - it’s protection, after all, not hunting down a rogue. But she thinks of the detective again, a woman so unique and individualistic in a world that tries so hard to oppress her along with her ambitions, and she knows she won’t be able to rest until the threat to her life is no more. It’s her duty, she reasons meekly against the swell of affection filling her chest and pushing against her skin, threatening to crack the solid marble of her stoic facade. But she knows a lie when she hears one. She suddenly thinks of last year, Paris, the Louvre. Nike of Samothrace. The statue of the Winged Victory. Headless, and yet still the symbol of triumph. She has lost her common sense ever since she started working with the detective, but she knows she must win as well, because if she fails... Well, she dare not even think about the consequences it would have on her.

And above all, she must remain as cold to the touch as that carefully carved block of marble.

“I wish we could tell her,” her friend presses on gently, concern and guilt marring the edges of the soft curve of his long lips.

“It’s better this way. Safer,” she croaks, hating the way her voice softens and breaks mid-sentence.

“Safer for whom, I wonder?” Nate sighs, taking the folder Ava hands him and closes it with delicate fingers before leaning against the wall next to her. She hasn’t even realised she sought to support of the wooden panelled hallway until Nate mimicked her movement absent-mindedly.

“What do you mean?”

“Safer for her...” he sighs before glancing at Ava with sad eyes, “or safer for us?”

She averts her eyes, her long ignored self-loathing clawing its way up from the deepest pits of her mind before she clenches her jaw. “For all parties involved.”

But mostly for me, she admits to herself inwardly. The lie obscures her true nature, and she revels in it for once. She doesn’t know what she’d do if the detective flinched away from her in fear instead of being drawn to her like a moth to a flame in the middle of a heavy summer night. For the past 800 years, she thought of herself as nothing but an agent, an element operating in the shadows, making the world a less dangerous place. She hunted her emotions and burned them at the stake, but this witch hunt can only go on for so long without consequences. She always thought of herself as a vampire first and foremost, her base nature being a bloodthirsty monster, but she was human before that. And she’s never felt more human than now. Probably not even when she actually was one.

And that is a terrifying thought to live with, especially when its source is so easily pinpointed. Her. It’s all on her.

“So we lie once more?” Nate sighs, breaking the silence and drawing her attention outwards once more.

“Yes,” she states firmly, the word feeling strangely sour in her mouth. “We tell her this was a dead end. She doesn’t need to know anything else. The Agency, on the other hand, needs to be brought up to speed. Will you do it?”

“I’ll brief them,” Nate nods, pushing himself away from the wall before straightening down his coat. “I suppose that leaves you with watching her?”

“Yes,” Ava speaks through gritted teeth, ignoring the heat crawling up her neck at the thought of being alone with the woman. Her reaction to the detective is unbearable, and yet she brings it upon herself like a masochist inviting the pain. She doesn’t understand why she does it, and yet she has no will to stop.

A nod, retreating footsteps, and Nate is no longer to be seen or heard, not even by her eyes and ears. She slips out her watch from her pocket once more and flips the silver lid open - she is late. Her heartbeat turns into a wild galloping crescendo when she hears a familiar voice on the street though, her heart’s rhythm no longer matching the steady ticking of the pocket watch as it did before.

Ava stares as she exits the hansom with a graceful ease that should be categorised as a criminal offence, wet pieces of stray hairs sticking to her delightful face as she rushes across the street with a purpose that almost leaves her breathless.

She wants to catch the killer, she tells herself. That’s all she wants and nothing more.

Yet as she moves swiftly towards the staircase, unable to wait for her in one place, and wanting, no, needing to see her as soon as possible, deep down Ava hopes the detective is just as eager to be with her as she is.

And then at the very last moment, right before they’re about to come face to face, she schools her features into a blank expression, a great lie of a tabula rasa, her face hardening like sculpted marble - commanding, ancient, beautiful, but so, so cold.

#dottiechan writes #ava du mortain x detective #a du mortain x detective #the wayhaven chronicles #twc fanfic #twc detective #ava du mortain #a du mortain #what the fuck is proof reading y'all #also it's been a hot minute since i last posted any writing

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zhong-taro · 4 years

Text

shotaro as a friendly ghost

this is 2.8k words of shotaro and taeyong interacting and yes it’s all self-indulgent

tw: small mention of suicide, but it’s marked very clearly!

Ok so this is definitely part of a longer, more detailed AU that I’ll probably go into more later (like way later)

bUT let’s start here - Shotaro is a friendly ghost

Oh my g o d he’s such a sweetie you have no idea

When he dies, it’s something really dumb

He and his parents had moved to Korea after his father had sold his company and suddenly come into a significant amount of money

It’s enough that they buy a large plot of land in Korea

Shotaro is about five years old when they buy the land and start construction on the house

It’s positioned at the top of a large hill that looked down over a small Korean town, and in the hot summers the house provided shade for a park, and when it rained the house blocked from too much flooding

Well, once it was finally built it did

It took five years for this absolute MANSION of a house to be built. Shotaro and his family had lived in a small rental home in the town, acquainting themselves with everyone and becoming established members of the community

When the place was finally finished, Shotaro was ten and the Osaki’s would have large gatherings of people at their home most weekends, with large parties every holidays

Originally, the family had built such a large home because they planned on taking in many foster children and helping to raise orphaned children

They never get to

The 1950’s were an absolute golden era for the Osakis, they’re loved by everyone around them and their perfect little boy Shotaro shines in Korea like he never had in Japan

Until in 1959, when they suffer great tragedy and the family is never the same again

Personally, Shotaro thinks he couldn’t have had a dumber death

He was nineteen and it was the night before the town dance contest. He was more than nervous - his parents had already been taking him out of town for dance lessons because he was too scared that the entire town would think he was bad at dancing, but now he was actually facing them

All of these people had known him since he was a toddler, he couldn’t handle the idea of all of them thinking he was bad at something he had found he loved

So he couldn’t sleep

And he had wandered downstairs, grabbing a cup of water and taking it back to his bedroom

However, he had tripped on the top step while going back to his bedroom and spilled water all over the hardwood floor

When he took the last step to try and clean up the spilled water, he slipped and fell down the stairs

Unfortunately, the Osaki parents woke up to a gruesome scene of their son dead at the entryway to their home

Shotaro thought he woke up, but when he stood up and his body didn’t stand with him, he knew something was wrong

And when his mother walked down the stairs (through him, mind you) and screamed, sobbing into his body, he realized that things might’ve been worse than he realized

It didn’t take long to figure out that he had died

(( tw // suicide for the next two bullet points ))

His parents couldn’t handle the pain

After his funeral, it took less than a month for both of his parents to commit suicide

Shotaro had been hoping that they would also become ghosts, but no such luck

So he was left alone, in a huge house that hadn’t seemed nearly as lonely only a month before

Of course he tried to leave, but he could never get past the gates that marked his parent’s property at the bottom of the hill

And so he sat in his house

For decades

Throughout the years, the house decayed and became decrepit. The chandelier fell one year, leaving glass scattered across the front entryway

Books became dusty, all but the ones in the library because Shotaro spent most of his time in that room and watched the days go by through the stories he would read

And when he opened up the windows on a nice spring day and leaned out, looking over the small town that he had loved so much, he heard the rumors

Tales of the haunted house at the top of the hill, told by a new generation of children who had never seen the Osaki home in its original glory

And Shotaro felt the repeating disappointment when a child would look into the windows, seem to spot him, and yelp before running away

So Shotaro becomes a recluse - not because he wanted to, but because he has to

After about 15 years, people start trying to sell the house

He doesn’t let that happen. Shotaro had become quite the… depressed person since his parents death. He had never really been given the opportunity to react to things as they happen. He’s always to put down the book and take a few deep breaths before continuing, or just walk away from the window when the rumors become too upsetting

But when that first person - a potbellied, middle aged man - comes to see the house in the interest of buying it, Shotaro sees red

And so he does what he thinks ghosts are supposed to do

He scares the man off

Years later he looks back and sees how bad of a ghost he was, but that just means that the guy must’ve been real cowardly

Because all he has to do is open a few windows, move around a few glasses, make some scary noises, and the guy is turning on his tail and sprinting out the door

More people come back - a family of three very wealthy foreigners who don’t speak the language, one rich old woman who decides the house would be too much upkeep six sons with two tired parents who decided there was too much room for trouble, and probably dozens more

The ones that don’t decide to move out on their own, Shotaro scares off

He gradually gets better at it - it’s hard to learn how to keep himself transparent at first

He thinks that he can become completely invisible, slightly translucent, or almost-solid but he’s never spoken to someone to figure it out

But as he watches the house crumble more and more around him, it gets more and more difficult to scare away the shoppers

He just wishes somebody other than pretentious jerks would come looking. He likes the original gothic architecture his parents designed, and he knows the house would be beautifully unique if somebody came along to restore it. But he’s not sure if he likes the idea of someone else coming into his house

Although he doesn’t have much of a choice after a while

The man comes along with the same real estate agent who’s been trying to sell Shotaro’s house for at least five years now

He’s pretty sure the woman knows he’s haunting the house, because she shoots glares into the empty air where he makes strange noises or moves furniture, but that sure doesn’t stop him from scaring all her clients away

When she steps in, she holds the open for a red haired man with a sharp jaw

He whistles as he looks around the large entryway, the noise echoing. He looks down at the large chandelier, still shattered on the marble floor, and raises one eyebrow at the agent

“What happened there?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s been there ever since I started trying to sell this place.”

“Have you tried to have it cleaned?”

“Of course,” she looks a little insulted. “But the… ghost,” she glares into the empty air, across the room from where Shotaro is currently floating, “Seems to scare everyone off before they can get much done.”

The man smirks, turning away from her and looking around the entire room. He stands in silence for a few moments, scanning everything (Shotaro tries to ignore how nervous he feels when the man’s eyes briefly pause at his place at the old dining room table, but he tries a lot harder to not think about the point of his teeth)

“I’ll take it.”

The man shows up again the next day, and Shotaro is not happy about it

When he arrives, Shotaro is standing on the stairs and glaring at the front door

After unlocking the doors and stepping in, the red-haired man placed his hands firmly on his hips and smiled while looking around the room

“My name is Lee Taeyong.” the man announced loudly. The smile didn’t slip off of his face as the silence of the house continued. “I was born in 1995,” (how has that much time passed since he died?) “I’m a vampire, and I promise I will treat your home with respect.”

Well. That’s interesting

But Shotaro chooses to gloss over the vampire thing and scoffs, storming up the stairs

The man - supposed vampire - doesn’t go into any rooms or even go upstairs on the first night. He just sleeps (pretends to sleep? Do vampires sleep? Are vampires even real? Shotaro stows all these thoughts away to deal with later) on the couch after ordering food in.

When he wakes up in the morning, Taeyong still has that obnoxious smile on as he looks around at nothing. Shotaro is there, watching and making sure the man doesn’t mess anything up

So when Taeyong fiddles at the dining room table, which only has three working legs and is almost broken in half, and asks the room “Would you be ok with me getting rid of this table?” Shotaro throws a glass at his head

He misses, intentionally obviously, and the old glass cup shatters against the peeling wallpaper of his dining room. Taeyong snorts and holds his hands up in surrender “Alright, no table. Hey, can you throw another glass if you’re a male ghost, please?”

Shotaro throws another glass, and once again ignores the point of the new man’s teeth

Later in the morning, early afternoon, Taeyong starts looking around the house.

“Are you gonna try and kill me again if I go upstairs?” He asks, and Shotaro does nothing but cross his arms from where he’s sitting on the dusty banister

“I’ll take that as a no.”

And so they head upstairs. Taeyong stops in front of every doorway, and if Shotaro doesn’t want him going in the room he makes the door shake and bangs on the wall a few times

Taeyong doesn’t understand this message at first, and when he almost opens the door to Shotaro’s parent’s room he loses it

The ghost bangs on the door so hard the whole thing shakes, making what little art that was still hanging shudder. He yells for effect, coming out more of an angry groan (because he still can’t quite talk to humans when he’s invisible), and shoves Taeyong away from the door

The older (well, physically older) man looks shocked and stands still for a moment staring at the door, before shaking his hand and smiling a little. “Alright, I get the message Mr. Ghost.”

Shotaro only stops him again at his own bedroom door and his library, everywhere else he lets Taeyong explore. The vampire goes back to one of the guest rooms with an en suite and asks if he can keep this room as his own

Shotaro reluctantly lets him take the room, and tries to tell himself that this man is not going to be the one who ends up staying in his house

Again, the night Taeyong orders food in and eats on his own

Although before ordering the food, he grabs a box that had showed up on the front doorstep when Shotaro wasn’t looking

He floats around Taeyong as the other man carried the box to the only table not broken (a coffee table) and opens it with his unnaturally sharp nails. Shotaro’s nose crinkles at the bags of warm blood, and he reaches in to shift them around

“Animal blood,” Taeyong says quickly. “I promise I’m not a murderer, ghost friend.”

Shotaro has to look away as Taeyong drinks it, and gags for the first time since he’s died when he uses the animal blood as a topping for his burger and fries

The next morning, Shotaro comes out of his library after a night of reading and smells breakfast. When he goes downstairs, he’s greeted with Taeyong, dancing a little to a song playing out of a small metal box that Shotaro doesn’t understand and making breakfast

Shotaro peeks over Taeyong’s shoulder to see the bacon, eggs, and pancakes he’s making

He lets himself float up a little and pushes open the window open right above the counter

“Oh!” Taeyong looks up with wide eyes, looking around. “Hello, Mr. Ghost!” He smiles and his eyes pause where Shotaro floats before continuing to look around. “I’m not sure if you can eat, but if you can you’re welcome to some of the food.”

Shotaro can’t eat, but he appreciates the gesture

Through the next few days, they fall into a rhythm

Taeyong doesn’t seem to sleep, but meditates. He never goes fully unconscious but he does seem to float a little bit. Every other day the box of blood arrives and Taeyong drinks some with every meal, plus three full glasses throughout the rest of the day, and Shotaro learns to live with it

Shotaro won’t let Taeyong into only two rooms, but lets the vampire look around the rest of his home

They fight over a few things, like fixing different things up, but not much. Eventually Shotaro lets him buy new furniture and doesn’t object when the man adds a few new paintings to the walls

Shotaro finds himself thinking that maybe this one person (undead vampire?) might not be so bad to live with - for now, at least

Shotaro walks into his library one day, about a month into living together, and finds Taeyong already there. He tries not to get angry, and feels a wave of emotions when he sees that Taeyong is staring up at the portrait of the Osaki family hanging between two large windows. He distantly notices that the man is sitting on the only section of couch without direct sunlight landing on it

He lets the door creak and close noisily as he steps inside, tries to will the wind from the open windows to grow a little colder as he floats next to where Taeyong is sitting

“Which one are you?”

Shotaro wishes he could respond, and looks around desperately for a way to show him

He grabs a dead flower from a large vase sitting on the end table and uses it to point to his face, the painted-him smiling slightly between his two parents and looking as awkward as he always felt in life

Taeyong sighs a little. “You must be so young…” He stares at where he must estimate Shotaro’s head is, judging by the floating flower, and smiles sadly. “I can’t believe the ghost haunting my house is a teenager.”

The painting rumbles a little as the wall shakes.

“Fine, sorry,” Taeyong chuckles a little. “Your house.”

Shotaro can see a shift in Taeyong’s behavior after that

The man seems to actively seek him out and starts talking to him more and more

He starts asking more questions - mostly things Shotaro can’t figure out how to answer - and becomes more joke-y with him

“Can I see you?”

Shotaro freezes from his perched position on a chair across from Taeyong.

“I don’t know if you even know how to show me what you look like, but I’ve been living here for 3 months, don’t you think it’d be more comfortable if I actually knew where you were?” Taeyong is looking at where Shotaro has his book propped up as he marks his page and puts it down

With very little effort, he wills himself into view. Not fully - he still isn’t sure he can even do that - but enough that his features are visible

Taeyong stares for a few moments before speaking

“You’re a baby.”

Shotaro gapes for a moment before laughing, a soft sound that sounds muted in his non corporeal form.

“You can’t be anything but a teenager, how old are you?” Taeyong’s surprised look has slipped off his face and now he looks more curious and excited.

“Well, physically 19,” Shotaro speaks slowly, trying to get used to the way his voice sounds - he hasn’t spoken much since his death. “But I died in 1959”

Aaaand Taeyong gapes again

“Holy crap, that was 50 years ago!”

Shotaro tilts his head to the side a little, thinking. “Really? Hmm, I didn’t realize it was so long ago.”

Taeyong smiles again, leaning forward as he pushes away his breakfast plate. “What’s your name, ghost-teenager?”

“Shotaro, Osaki Shotaro.”

“Nice to meet you Shotaro,” Taeyong grins at him, hair falling into his face. “I’m Taeyong.”

#WHY does everything look so much LONGER on google docs #this is 6.5 pages on google docs yet?? looks so short here????#anYWAYS #nct #shotaro #osaki shotaro #taeyong #lee taeyong #my writing #headcanons #nct monster au #nct au #please be nice i'm sensitive!!!!!!

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