#but they’d probably just like count the first letter of every word and find some secret message | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

training4theapocalypse · 1 year ago

Text

A Nest of Vipers Ch5. (Cormac McLaggen x Original Female Character - Slytherin)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 4.6K

Warnings / Tags: ANGST, Tragic romance

Summary: If her brother is brave enough to ask one of the Gryffindors to Slughorn's Christmas party, surely Una can work up the courage to do the same? Or has Sabine been right all along?

A/N: No smut in this chapter just some angst and everyone being cagey with their feelings lol. Also this diverges from the canon timeline just a little - Katie Bell isn’t cursed by the necklace until after Christmas.

Join my tag list: @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark, @intense-sneezing, @lipstickandloveletters, @ichorai, @marmie-noir (let me know if you want removed at any point - if you're only interested in specific stories or even if you are finding this tag annoying 🖤)

Chapter 5: Suffocate

A winter chill was in the air as Una and Graham Montague walked up the steps to the owlery, their shoes crunching on frosty fallen leaves on the stone staircase. Una wrinkled her nose when Graham opened the door at the top of the tower and they were greeted with the stench of owl droppings and hay.

“I’ve been laying the groundwork and dropping some serious hints that I need a new broom for Christmas,” said Graham as he tied their letters to one of the school tawny owls who was sticking its leg out in a serious, professional sort of way.

“I can’t believe this is the first time you’ve written to them all term,” said Una. This was typical of Graham. He was their golden boy - what did it matter to their parents if he didn’t write for months? Their beloved Quidditch Captain son who could do no wrong. Una, on the other hand, had to constantly fight for their approval.

She knew she should probably resent him for it, and yet…

“What am I going to write about? I’m not brilliant like you. I’ve not done anything worth writing about.”

There it was. Even if her parents didn’t give a damn, her little brother was always so proud of her. And he let her know it. She loved him more than anything. Although Sabine and Meredith were a close second. And, if she was being honest, third respectively.

“They’d love to hear from you, Graham. They’d want to know that your panic attacks have gotten much better lately.” Graham frowned and pretended to busy himself with the fastenings on the letters. “And Father would be really pleased that Slughorn invited you to his Christmas party after doing so well in Potions.”

“Oh, so you just send them a list of achievements every other week? Sure - that’s nothing to do with trying to get a good Christmas present.”

“Well,” smirked Una leaning against the window sill. “I’m not saying it doesn’t help.”

“Right, off you go then,” Graham told the owl who ruffled its feathers against the icy breeze, spread its wings and took flight across the Hogwarts grounds, carrying the siblings’ letters. They stood for a moment watching the silhouette of the owl disappearing into the sky across the lake.

“So, who are you going to the party with?” asked Una, looking up at him and thinking of his fellow Slytherin sixth years. As much as she didn’t like to think about her brother’s dating life, she would rather he wasn’t going out with someone who was a simpering pushover like Pansy Parkinson or a knucklehead like Millicent Bullstrode.

“Eh, I dunno…” He said, pushing a gloved hand back through his auburn hair. “I was thinking maybe Katie Bell?”

“What?” She knew that name from her lessons.

“She’s in the year above me.” He cleared his throat.

Una blinked a few times as his hazel eyes, so similar to her own, refused to meet hers.

“Yeah, I know she is because that’s my year, you dolt. But she’s in Gryffindor.”

“Oh, don’t you start too. It’s a different house, not another planet.”

“Your friends giving you a hard time then?”

He snorted. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“And it doesn’t… bother you?”

“What? That she’s a Gryffindor?”

“No, that Draco and the others are giving you a hard time.”

“Yeah, well, what are they gonna do about it?” He drew himself up to his full height. He was tall - even taller than his friends Crabbe and Goyle - she supposed they were probably too intimidated by him to try and put a stop to it.

“Well… good for you,” said Una.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like that you don’t care what they think.”

“What about you?” he asked, pulling his scarf tighter against the cold air coming through the giant open windows.

“It’s fine by me, I don’t care who you go out with.” That wasn’t strictly true but it was better than him dating one of the Slytherin sixth years who were always sucking up to her, Sabine and Meredith.

“I meant who are you going with?”

“Oh.” Una and Blaise had already arranged to go with each other as friends. That way she could sneak off with McLaggen and he could attempt to get to know Ginny Weasley better, despite Una’s contempt for the latter. “Blaise.”

“What?!” His exclamation startled her slightly. “Una, you can’t go with Blaise.”

“Who are you to tell me who I can’t -”

“Not like that. Una, please. I’m begging you. Don’t go with Blaise.”

She was taken aback by this. Blaise was in Slytherin. By all accounts, he was a perfectly suitable match for her. “Why not?”

“Because he’s my mate. I mean, I can put up with them slagging me off for who I go out with but I don’t want to hear about Blaise with his hands all over my -” He pretended to retch. “I can’t have my sister going out with -” He retched again. “one of my friends.”

She frowned.

“Don’t give me that look. I mean…” He looked out the window again with a pained expression. “I suppose if you really like him, I could make peace with it. As long as y’know, you don’t start snogging each other in front of me.”

“It’s not that we like each other. It’s just that neither of us had anyone else to go with,” said Una carefully.

“Come off it.” Graham rolled his eyes and walked over to the owlery door. “I mean - they reign it in in front of me because they know I’d kill them - but I know from my mates that you’re not that ugly. I’m sure you’d have your choice of poor, unwitting souls. Like a dementor.”

“Oh ha-ha. It’s more of a quality problem than a quantity one - have you seen the trolls in our common room?”

“Well, maybe you should broaden your horizons. I’m not saying you have to go out with a Gryffindor but people in other houses exist, you know.”

Una sighed heavily as the owlery door shut behind her. She couldn’t believe she was taking dating advice from her brother - and what’s more, he was right.

“What’s that sigh for?”

“I wish I could be like you. Sabine and Meredith would kill me if I went with someone from Gryffindor. The three of us have a reputation to protect.”

“What does a reputation mean, really? What other people think of you? Maybe they’re not good friends if they care more about what other people think than being happy.” They paused at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m serious, Una. Fuck them. Go out with who you like… As long as it’s not Blaise or Draco.” He paused for a moment and (as if to make sure he was covering all his bases) added. “Or Crabbe, Goyle or Theo.”

Una laughed but as they walked back to the castle she couldn’t help but think about how complicated this was becoming. Why couldn’t things just be simple? Surely she could just be honest with her friends and go with who she really liked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Una, Sabine and Meredith sat in front of the fire in the Slytherin common room. The atmosphere was stiff like they were the only three mourners at a very poorly attended funeral. Una had to remind herself that they weren’t actually grieving, that she had simply broken the news she was going to Slughorn’s party with Cormac McLaggen.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to my brother either,” Sabine sniped, breaking the silence. “Who’s he supposed to go with now?”

“The party is almost two weeks away. Blaise has plenty of time to find another date. Besides, Graham doesn’t want me to go with one of his friends.”

“I think,” Sabine said coolly. “I think you should find somewhere else to sit.”

Una snorted in disbelief. “Sab, come on-”

“Don’t ‘Sab’ me. I’m not having you cosying up with the Gryffindors all day and then coming crawling back to us. We stick together. The three of us. And only us.”

“You can’t be serious.” Sabine only raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow in response and continued to look into the fire, the light bouncing off her high, dark cheekbones as she stared stonily. “Doesn’t Meredith get a say?” Una scoffed and looked at Meredith who was attempting to make herself as small as she could in her leather armchair. “Well?”

“I agree with Sabine,” Meredith said quietly.

“Unbelievable.” Una stood up and her temper rose with it. “Are you really going to be that spineless, Meredith?” Meredith simply looked at her shoes. “And you,” she turned her glare to Sabine. “You only want me to go out with someone you can keep a close eye on.”

“I know what’s good for you.”

“What’s good for you, you mean. You’d rather the three of us were single than Meredith or I had a boyfriend before you.”

“You bitch,” hissed Sabine and Una knew she had touched a nerve. Sabine might have experience but Una knew her inside out. Sabine had never had a boyfriend for more than a few weeks.

Cormac’s earlier teasing of Una swam to the forefront of her mind: ‘It was easy to pretend you didn’t exist since you have such a terrible personality’

If Una had a terrible personality, Sabine’s was diabolical.

Sabine pressed on. “It’s nothing to do with who I am or aren’t dating. You know for a fact that you going out with a Gryffindor ruins the whole dynamic.”

“The dynamic?” Una laughed so shrilly that Pansy Parkinson and her friends looked over from their seats at the window alcove. “What dynamic is that? The one where you’re in charge and Meredith and I go along with whatever you say?”

“No, the dynamic where we don’t have the same kind of power when one of us splits off from the group to chum up with those blundering idiots in Gryffindor.”

“Then don’t split us up. It’s you who’s making a big deal about me asking Cormac to some party!”

It was Sabine’s turn to laugh. “Wait, hold on a second. He hasn’t even asked you yet?”

“So? What does it matter if he hasn’t?”

“I saw him scowling at you in Snape’s lesson the other day when you asked about the Cruciatus Curse. He doesn’t even like you. Sure, maybe he’s trying to fuck you but there’s no way he actually wants to date you.”

It was a knife in Una’s stomach. Sabine knew Una just as well as Una knew her. She had an intimate knowledge of Una’s deepest insecurities and her attempt to wound her was working.

“Well, maybe I don’t care if that’s what he wants.”

Sabine laughed again and it stung like venom in the wound. “As if. You’re going to catch feelings.”

“You really think I’m that easily manipulated?”

“Actually I do, Una. Because without us, what are you? A goody-two-shoes virgin and a loser.”

Una knew arguing back was only giving Sabine more ammunition but she couldn’t help it. The smug smirk on Sabine’s face told her that Sabine knew just how deeply she’d cut her. “He doesn’t care who my friends are. He likes me.”

“He likes the idea of fucking you. Wait until he finds out you’ve got as much experience as a twelve-year-old.”

Una could feel tears welling in her eyes and she was furious with her own emotions for betraying her. She wanted to tell them that actually, she did have experience. And that Cormac didn’t even mind when she didn’t. “He’s not like that.”

“They’re all like that,” Sabine said seriously. She held out her pinky finger. Their special signal. “Last chance, Una.” When she looked at Una her expression softened. “I just worry about you.”

Una looked at the pinky finger extended in front of her but didn’t link it. “You’re wrong.”

“I don’t want you to prove me right. Don’t ask him.”

“Why not?”

Una gave Meredith one last pleading look but Meredith just shook her head.

“If you make a fool of yourself it looks bad for all of us.”

Sabine pressed her pinky right into Una’s breastbone.

“I’m not a fool. And you’re a bad friend if you don’t want me to be happy.”

“You’d be happier without getting involved with him,” said Sabine. “I swear, Una. You’re setting yourself up to get hurt.”

Una thought hard. Thought about when Cormac told her he wanted to bend her over and fuck her like the mean little bully she was. Thought about the way he was as keen as she was to keep it a secret.

She barely knew him. He barely knew her. And maybe Sabine was right - what he did know he didn’t seem to like. Even if he did want to fuck her.

And asking him to Slughorn’s Christmas party would probably end in rejection and hurt.

She looked down at the pinky pressed into her sternum and locked her own around it. Sabine squeezed it with satisfaction.

“You’re right. I - I don’t know what I was thinking.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the Gryffindor Quidditch Team made their way back to the common room, Cormac McLaggen and Katie Bell lingered at the back of the group with their brooms slung over their shoulders.

“What a waste of time,” he groaned.

“Cheer up. You’re still technically on the team,” said Katie.

“Technically, yes. But in actuality that means spending a perfectly good Saturday afternoon sitting on the sidelines watching Weasley make an arse of himself.” Cormac grumbled as he adjusted his broom. He was in a bad mood and what was worse was that he still hadn’t found a date for Slughorn’s Party.

He knew why he was putting it off and resented himself for it. He had sort of hoped that after spending the evening in the Prefects’ bathroom with Una a few weeks ago that maybe - just maybe - she’d have a change of heart about not wanting to be seen with him anywhere.

But that wasn’t looking likely.

For the past couple of weeks, their only contact had consisted of sitting too closely in Transfiguration when they could get away with it and discreet brushes of their fingers when they passed in the corridor. Just last week he had dared to squeeze a handful of her backside as he walked by her in the Great Hall which she had met with a scathing look and the tiniest jerk of her head towards Sabine and Meredith.

Then, he hadn’t expected his heart to sink the way it did when she’d told him casually in Transfiguration that she was going to Slughorn’s with Blaise Zabini. Cormac thought they were well suited - both Slytherins, slight and statuesque. He felt like a lumbering giant when he walked past Blaise the next day.

He needed a date. And fast.

“Katie, you don’t fancy going to Slughorn’s Party with me, do you?”

Katie stopped in her tracks. “What?”

“Just as friends, I mean.”

“Thank God,” she laughed and they resumed their ascent of the moving staircase.

“Alright, don’t sound too relieved or anything.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I do. I just thought that since you’re not going you might -“

“I am too going,” said Katie defensively.

“What? You’re going to Slughorn’s?” asked Cormac. “You never told me that.”

“I don’t tell you everything,” Katie said. “But yeah, I’m going with the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. Graham.”

Cormac furrowed his brow. “Wait -”

“Una Montague’s brother,” she reminded him.

“What? Why’d you say it like that? I barely know her.”

It was easy to forget Graham and Una were siblings. They were different, that was for sure. Graham was taller, broader and with much hairier arms than Una - not that Cormac was complaining that they didn’t share those traits.

Katie looked at him blankly. “Because you mentioned you sit next to her Transfiguration?”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.”

“He’s kind of sweet, actually,” said Katie quickly. “Not as bad as the rest.”

His memory was jogged by this. “Hold on, didn’t he grab your head instead of the quaffle during a match once?”

To Cormac’s surprise, Katie gave him a girlish smile that he’d never seen before. “That’s what he said when he asked me to Slughorn’s Party. He said he wanted to make it up to me. ‘Baubles’,” she added, pushing through the portrait of the Fat Lady and stepping over the threshold of the common room.

“I dunno, Katie. Carmichael warned me about him,” he said.

“What’s going on?” said Katie. “First you’re getting defensive when I mentioned Una and now you’re telling me Carmichael is warning you about her brother. Why?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Cormac insisted, thinking about Una’s scalding look when he tried to touch her when she was near the other Vipers. She’d be furious if he told anyone about them. So furious, she probably wouldn’t want to have sex with him - and he was determined to at least do that again, even if they weren’t going to the party together.

“Are you into her?”

“No, Katie. I just sit next to her in one class.” He did trust Katie but he was becoming extremely conscious of the fact they were having this conversation in the busy common room where anyone could overhear.

“Is this why you haven’t asked anyone to Slughorn’s? Are you trying to work up the courage to ask her or something?”

“No. And she’s going with Zabini anyway.”

“Sabine?”

“Blaise.”

“Hmm… you seem to know an awful lot about who she’s going with for someone who isn’t interested.”

“It just came up in Transfiguration.”

“How did it come up?”

He dragged his hand down his face in exasperation. Katie could be so infuriatingly tenacious. “It just did. Let it go.”

“So you’re not going alone in the hopes she ditches Blaise for you?”

“No! I just asked you didn’t I?”

“As a friend.”

“Yeah, because Slughorn’s Christmas party is only two days away and I still don’t have anyone to go with.”

“Cormac?” said a voice from behind them. Katie and Cormac whipped around to see Hermione Granger standing with a book under her arm. “Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing. Did you say you were looking for a date for Slughorn’s party?”

Now, this was interesting. Hermione was pretty, he supposed, even if she did look slightly stressed out and frazzled right now. But she had never shown the slightest interest in him before, in fact, it was quite the opposite when he had made eyes at her during Slug Club.

“Yes,” said Cormac with relief. He was proving Katie wrong before her eyes. “Are you? Do you want to go together?”

Hermione nodded. He wondered if this would make Una jealous. Hermione was, after all, a shoo-in to be Una’s successor as Head Girl. And she had gone to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum - that had to mean something, right?

“You mean like, as a date though, right? Not as friends?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I would love to go with you as a date, Cormac,” she replied very loudly, looking over his shoulder at the rest of the Quidditch team heading to their dormitories and tucking her bushy hair behind her ear.

“Excellent,” said Cormac, clapping Hermione on the shoulder and walking backwards towards the boys’ dormitory. “You’ll wear something hot though, right?”

“Cormac!” said Katie, aghast.

“What?” asked Cormac. He was thinking about how Una would mock him if he turned up with a date who clearly didn’t look like she’d made any effort to be there with him. But judging from Katie’s horrified expression, he’d said the wrong thing. “I just meant, y’know, at the Yule Ball - you looked great. I’m looking forward to seeing you dressed up again.”

“Ignore him,” said Katie, rolling her eyes as Hermione looked offended. Cormac shrugged and turned to go upstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the last Transfiguration lesson before the end of term, Professor McGonagall seemed to have let her hair down slightly and had allowed the seventh-years to spend their lesson practising whatever they wanted. And so, Cormac continued his attempts to silently master the Avis spell while Una sat in front of a mirror, transfiguring her eyebrows into different colours.

“You know, I might keep them like this for Slughorn’s party tomorrow night,” said Una, admiring her emerald green eyebrows in the mirror. “They match my dress.”

Cormac turned in his seat to face her as she smirked at him expectantly.

“Blaise would love that, I’m sure.”

“He won’t care.”

“Nice to know he’s not superficial. That’s a good quality to have in a boyfriend.”

Una snorted. “What are you on about?”

“Well… you’ve barely spoken to me since you told me you were going to Slughorn’s with Blaise.”

“That’s not -” Una hesitated before continuing. “That’s not why I haven’t been speaking to you. Sabine and Meredith are sort of… on my case.”

“They’ve always been on your case.”

“More than usual.” Una held up her mirror to her face and pointed her wand at her eyebrows. Cormac had a feeling she was hiding her face so she wouldn’t need to look at him. “I told them I was thinking about asking you.”

“You - you did? What did they say?”

“Oh they were really supportive,” said Una sarcastically, as they both watched her eyebrows resume their usual colour. “Asked if you had any friends for them too - do you think Carmichael would be interested?”

Cormac put down his wand. “What did they really say?”

“It didn’t go down well. But -” Una pursed her lips thoughtfully. “- does it matter what they think?”

“To me? No.”

“Should we, then? Go together, I mean? I know it’s only tomorrow but Blaise won’t care. We’re just going as friends.”

Friends? Shit.

“Una, I can’t. I’ve said I’d go with someone else - I can’t ditch her the day before.”

“Who?”

“Hermione Granger,” he said and Una scoffed. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, you were trying to hit on her at the dinner party a couple of weeks ago, so, what, you’re dating her?”

“How was I supposed to know you were going with Blaise as friends?”

She looked at him incredulously. “I thought that was the plan? We’d find someone else to go with and we’d sneak off somewhere together later?”

“We can still do that,” he said, feeling a little desperate now his plan was backfiring.

“Cormac, I’m not…” She sighed. “I’m not gonna be some bit on the side for you while you’re actively dating. You can’t have it both ways.”

That was exceptionally unfair. “Me? Una, I’m doing this at your request. You want to keep it a secret. You want to go to the party with someone else. It’s you who can’t have it both ways.”

He was expecting a venomous argument but she just looked disappointed. Which was worse.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He certainly hadn’t expected her to apologise. He felt his defences drop.

“Come on, Unes. I’m not dating her. I was scrambling for a last-second date and she overheard. That’s all it is.”

“And what’s this?” asked Una. “Like… between us?”

“What do you want it to be?” He tilted his head. “Una, I like you a lot but if you’re that worried about Sabine and Meredith, we can keep it a secret. I don’t care.”

“You like me? You never told me that.”

“Didn’t I?”

“No. You said you didn’t dislike me.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“Even though Carmichael says I’m evil?”

Cormac grinned. “Well, you are evil. I’m just into it.” He didn't really think Una was evil. A little mean with a twisted sense of humour, sure, but she had a soft side that most people didn't realise existed. He couldn't ever imagine her purposefully harming someone.

She laughed at this for a second then her expression shifted slightly. “And you don’t care that I’ve got about as much experience as a twelve-year-old?”

“Well, that’s not true anymore, is it?” He shrugged his shoulders. “And it’s great, actually. It’s the one thing I’m better at than you.”

“Shut up,” she said, although she looked relieved. It was oddly adorable. Usually so quick-witted and sneering, it was nice when she let him peer behind the curtain and see that she had real, human emotions.

“You’re gonna need a lot of practice to catch up,” he said with a cocky grin, and he was glad when she hit his shoulder because he knew it meant she wasn’t upset with him anymore.

The bell rang and Cormac and Una filed out of the class behind the others.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” he asked and she nodded. Then Una did something she’d never done before. She stood on her tiptoes in the busy corridor and kissed his cheek.

“See you later,” Una said and off she went, giving him a quick smile over her shoulder before disappearing through a hidden passageway behind a tapestry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Arithmancy, Una went along the second-floor corridor to the nearest bathroom. It was cold and dank in here - she knew why Filch avoided cleaning this one. She looked at her reflection in the streaky mirror as she dried her hands. She too usually steered clear of this bathroom if she could because -

“I know something you don’t know,” sang Moaning Myrtle, rising from the air above the stall behind her. Una glanced her out of the corner of her eye in the mirror as she pulled out her lipgloss.

“Oh, I’m sure there are plenty of things I don’t know, Myrtle. How to scare away every boy in school, for instance?”

“Funny you should say that… Did you know that boy you’re seeing is taking someone else to the Christmas party?”

“Oh, no,” said Una mockingly applying her lipgloss. “What a terrible shock.”

“I heard Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley talking all about it in here.”

“Did you now?” said Una, feigning disinterest as she pouted at herself and fixed her hair.

“Yes, although she’s not looking forward to it. He sounds awful. I can see why you’re both interested in each other.”

Una smirked at her own reflection. Good. She was glad Hermione wasn’t particularly keen on their date.

Myrtle continued. “I overheard them talking about what a chauvinist he is. Apparently, he told her to wear something sexy to the party. Can you believe it?”

Una’s smirk faltered as the pit of her stomach dropped. She tried to recover quickly by pressing her lips together but from the gleeful expression on Myrtle’s face, she’d seen it. Myrtle floated over to sit on the sink next to her but Una kept her eyes firmly on her own reflection.

“Said he was really looking forward to seeing her all dressed up. Gosh, he must really like her.”

Una carefully put her lipgloss back in her bag. So much for ‘only asking Hermione because she overheard’. So Cormac McLaggen was a liar - plain and simple. And Sabine was right. By putting herself out there and telling him how she felt, she had only set herself up to get hurt.

“Is that why you told me not to tell anyone? Are you sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend?” asked Myrtle in a would-be innocent voice.

Una pulled out her wand and pointed it at Myrtle’s throat. “Langlock!” she spat and watched Myrle’s eyes bulge as her tongue rolled back down her throat. “Engorgio!”

Myrtle clutched her throat as her tongue swelled up.

“Now, if you were alive, you’d suffocate,” whispered Una, watching Myrtle’s ghostly face turn less and less opaque. Her neck bulged as her tongue continued to grow. “But what happens if a dead person chokes on their own tongue, I wonder?”

Una didn’t bother to find out. She turned around and strode out of the bathroom, her heels clicking across the wet stone floor as Myrle gagged behind her.

Chapter 6: Slughorn's Party

#freddie stroma #cormac mclaggen #slytherin #slytherin fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #cormac mclaggen x original female character #cormac mclaggen fanfic

21 notes · View notes

jostystyles · 3 years ago

Text

the futures better than yesterday | tj

a/n: here’s a soft josty fic to fix the pain I caused with the last one <3 this can be read as a part 2 to this fic, but as a stand alone is fine! this is heavily inspired by this tiktok. title comes from best years by 5sos! enjoy and let me know what you think as always <3

warnings: fluff, lots of it. swearing

word count: 2.4k

The universe works in mysterious ways. Some people believe in destiny, some in luck, and some not at all. In (Y/N)’s case, she didn’t really know what to believe. All she knows is that someone on the other side is looking out for her. If we’re talking fate, then it must’ve been fate that she moved to Denver for school. And it was fate that she became friends with Susanna. And it was fate again that allowed the love of her life to manifest in the form of Tyson Jost.

Two years ago, (Y/N) was just a heartbroken soul who gave up on finding true love. Then she was a nervous wreck on a blind date. But now, she thinks she would relive every single heartbreak she’s ever had if it meant she was where she is today.

Her relationship with Tyson has been nothing short of a whirlwind. And it isn’t the kind of relationship that fades: she knew they were in it for the long haul. They had both mutually agreed that the future wouldn't be worthwhile if they didn’t have each other in it. Of course, it wasn’t perfect. They were long past the phases of puppy love and honeymoons, and had their fair share of arguments and self doubts. But it was their own version of perfect. No one understood (Y/N)’s need for quiet nights to herself with a romance novel and a candle like Tyson did. And no one understood Tyson’s love for self care nights and pink moscato like (Y/N) did. There was a level of mutual respect that existed between them, and a series of actions that said those three little words more than they needed to be spoken.

Just over 3 months ago was when they made the leap to move in together. The lease on (Y/N)’s apartment was coming to an end, and her old sedan was starting to require more trips to the shop due to the excess driving between places. Not to mention (Y/N)’s neighbor was probably getting sick of babysitting her dog so often. So, one morning after (Y/N) had slept over Tyson had woken her up with breakfast and a handwritten letter asking her to move in with him.

Now, when Tyson arrived home from a rough game or a roadie, he didn’t have to sleep in a cold bed. His home was much lighter now, and he could see in every room the touch that (Y/N) brought to it. Like his couch, that was now decorated with throw pillows and blankets to match. The picture frames that were empty on his walls now hung filled with pictures of him with his family, Kacey’s graduation photo, memories from their relationship, some of him and the team, and even some of (Y/N)’s niece. It was no longer his “sad bachelor pad” as deemed by EJ, it was a home.

The only downside to living together was the fact that he had to leave her for roadies. Many mornings he would wake up, limbs tangled with hers and his head in the crook of her neck, listening to (Y/N)’s soft reprimands telling him he has to pack. They would spend too long saying goodbye, sharing sweet kisses and laughs until Tyson’s phone would buzz repeatedly with texts from JT complaining they’d be late.

Yesterday was one of those days. Tyson left for his longest roadie of the season and he’d be gone for almost 2 and a half weeks. They’d been apart for much longer, especially the first summer they were together. Now, they spend their summers in Alberta, Denver, and visiting (Y/N)’s family. But that didn’t make being apart any easier.

(Y/N) woke up to heavy breathing in her face. Opening her eyes, she was met with the scrunched face of her bulldog, Pickles. “Jesus, P. You sure don’t wake me up as romantically as Daddy does.” She remarked, swinging her feet off the side of the bed. Grabbing her phone, she saw a few texts from her coworkers detailing the day’s work, some notifications from instagram, and then a few from Tyson. A smile found it’s way across her face as she opened them.

Tyson🥰

Good morning lovebug, hope u slept well. Facetime me when u get a chance, wanna see ur beautiful face :)

She laughed before locking her phone and exiting the bedroom. She grabbed her headphones and Pickles’ leash before taking him for a quick walk so he could do his business. The sounds of Tyson’s playlist titled “lovebug” filled her ears. He made her the playlist for their first anniversary, and she's pretty sure there’s not a day that goes by that she doesn't listen to it. Returning to the apartment, she started up her work computer and took a quick look at some emails, before starting the iced coffee maker and pressing the camera button on Tyson’s contact. The familiar jingle of Facetime’s loading call rang for about 3 seconds, before she was met with the smiling face of her boyfriend.

“Good morning, lovebug!” He exclaimed. The dark wood of the hotel bed frame was seen behind him as he was propped up against it, his one arm thrown behind his head. His mop of unruly curls fell into his face and his brown eyes were lively, but full of sleep. (Y/N) could tell he had just woken up, and she tried not to make it to obvious when her eyes ran over the bit of his bare chest she could see.

“Good morning handsome, how’d you sleep? Are you feeling jet lagged at all?” She questioned.

Tyson’s camera moved as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position. “Sleep was fine, not the same without you though.” A disgruntled gag sounded from behind the camera. “Comphs don't let me cuddle him like you do unfortunately.” Tyson said with a smirk.

“He just wails in his sleep about how much he misses you!” JT joked from across the room.

(Y/N) laughed, knowing full well they were both liars because she had caught them in a very cuddly position many times after a few too many drinks.

“You guys are dorks. What’s up for today?” She asked, sipping on her coffee.

“Gonna go grab some grub with the boys then head out to morning skate. Gabe wants to do some team bonding too so we’ll see what that entails, eh? What about you? Lotsa work?” Tyson said, running his hands through his curls.

“Not really, just gonna finish some reports and I have a couple meetings and an interview lead.”

As she finished her sentence, she heard a knock on the door. Pickles let out a small woof but not at all moving from his bed.

“Hold on babe, there’s someone at the door.” She said, taking their call with her.

“Oh, I wonder who it could be, Kind of early.” Tyson said calmly, but (Y/N) was too focused to have any suspicion.

She looked through the peephole and saw no one, but noticed a package outside the door.

“Hmm, that’s strange. Someone left a package though.” She told him.

“Oh, really? Interesting.” Tyson said. (Y/N) stopped for a second, and narrowed her eyes before saying, “What.”

“Nothing! Just see what it is.”

She let out a huff before opening the door and grabbing the package. It wasn’t too heavy, just kind of bulky. Balancing her phone on top, she walked back towards the kitchen, her suspicion growing that her curly headed boyfriend on screen had something to do with it.

“Tyson, do you happen to know anything about this?” She said, grabbing the scissors to open the package. Her phone was propped up so Tyson could see her opening it.

“No, not a thing. Let’s see what’s inside though. I gotta find out who’s dropping off secret gifts to my girl.” He replied.

She giggled, “Yeah, because I’m the one in this relationship who’s got secret admirers.”

As she opened the package, she let out a gasp. The first thing she laid eyes upon was a letter, and a bag that was an oh-so-familiar shade of blue.

“Tyson….” She let out, her heart suddenly bursting with more love than usual.

On the other side of the screen, Tyson felt his cheeks grow hot as a goofy smile drew across his face. “Surprise?” He said letting out a chuckle. “Go one lovebug. Read it.”

Opening the letter, (Y/N) recognized the chicken scratch as her boyfriends, and she smiled as she began to read.

My dearest, (Y/N):

When I leave for road trips, there’s nothing I miss more than you. I know it must suck to not have me there, because without you beside me I am lonely, and each time I leave I look forward only to returning to you. (Ok, and maybe our little pudgeball son too.) Since you’ve come into my life I’ve never known how much you can miss another human being. I appreciate everything you do to work your life into my lifestyle and everything you’ve had to sacrifice to do so. I promise that the rest of our lives will be worth it. Since I am gone for a while, I figured I’d leave you something to keep you company until I return, for this and every road trip ahead. I love you so much my lovebug.

Yours forever,

Tyson

Tears filled her eyes now, and she choked on a sob while letting out a laugh.

“Josty, you sap. I love you so much. Fuck, I miss you.” She said, looking at him through the screen.

“I love you too and I miss you so fucking much. Go on, keep looking.”

Setting down the letter, (Y/N) grabbed the blue bag, and pulled out another blue box and a notecard.

“Tiffany, Tyson seriously? This is too much.” (Y/N) said.

“Nothing is ever too much baby, stop it.”

Opening the note, it read a single sentence: “Call It What You Want. T Swift. 2:09.”

She was confused for a second, but then she realized. That song was on their playlist, and she immediately knew what lyric he was referring to.

I want to wear his initial on a chain around my neck. Not because he owns me, but because he really knows me.

She pulled the whte ribbon off the box, the pulled the pouch out of the box. Tyson’s breach hitched as she began to take the necklace out. A Tiffany heart pendant hung from a silver chain, with a second pendant behind it, engraved with what (Y/N) read to be “TJ” and on the other side “17”.

“Tyson…”

“Do you like it?” He said, softer than he intended.

“I love it so much. It’s beautiful.” She replied.

“Put it on, let’s see.” He told her. As she put the pendant around her neck, he admired just how beautiful she was. Bare faced, in her pj’s, in their shared kitchen, sporting a necklace with his initials. He was sure that not even the gates of heaven could compare to that sight. Until he could put a diamond on her finger, the necklace would do.

“It’s so pretty baby, thank you.” (Y/N) said.

“I knew you’d love it. I know how much you love that song too. That’s not it, keep looking in the box.” He said eagerly.

“Ok pretty boy, if you say so.”

Removing a layer of tissue paper, she was met with the cutest thing, and so unexpected. A brown build a bear sat smiling up at her, sporting a grey Colorado Avalanche hoodie.

“Oh my God, Tyson, he's so cute!” She exclaimed, taking the bear out of the box and squeezing it close to her.

“I knew you’d love him. Go on and squeeze his paw, eh?” Tyson said.

“Oh, ok!” (Y/N) said, and her jaw dropped once she did it. The sweet sounds of her boyfriends voice filled her ears, and it wasn’t coming from her phone.

“I love you! See you soon lovebug. I miss you.” said the bear. In that moment, (Y/N) could have died. Nothing could’ve ever prepared her for that. There was also no person on earth who’d ever done something for her like this other than Tyson. Looking up from the bear, she was met with Tyson's smiling face.

“Do you like it? I figured you could use something to cuddle when I’m not there. And I know how much you miss my voice when I’m not there. You told me when you were drunk.”

(Y/N) threw her head back laughing. “I love it so much. Thank you, Tyson, seriously. You have no idea how much this means to me.” She said, now holding the phone closer to her face, the bear still in her arms.

“You’re welcome lovebug. I hope this helps you get through the roadie a little better now.” he said sweetly.

“It will for sure. I love you.”

“Love you too bug. ‘M glad I got to see you open it. Gotta go now thought before Nate knocks the door down, he’s been looking for me. I love you and I’ll talk to you later ok?” He said, standing up to find a change of clothes.

“I’m glad I called. Have a great day and tell the boys I say hey, ok? Love you mister. Be safe babe.” (Y/N) said, having moved to sit at her desk in the corner of the kitchen, bear still in tow.

“I will. Kisses.” Tyson said, blowing her a kiss.

“Kisses,” (Y/N) returned one back, “Bye my love.”

“Bye pretty girl.” He said before hanging up.

(Y/N) sighed, grabbing the pendant and swinging it on the chain a bit and smiled. She really wondered how she got so lucky. She made a mental note to send Susanna flowers or something. Glancing down at Pickles in his bed, she said: “Your dad’s a good guy, P. We’re lucky.” Obviously, Pickles didn’t respond but it’s the thought that counts.

As she started her days work, she did so with a love drunk attitude.

Tyson was built like a daydream. He knew her soul and body like no other. And as she recalled from that very first day in the cafe, he was a ray of sunshine in her usual cloudy sky.

For now, she’d count down the days until he came home to her.

(With the help of the bear of course.)

taglist: add yourself here @comphybiscuit @stars-canucks @fallinallincurls @2manytabsopen @hollyjollyjosty @tysonjost-taylorsversion @sorryjustafangirl @hotanddistraught @hockstuff

#emmie writes #tyson jost fic #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #tyson jost fanfiction #colorado avalanche fic

198 notes · View notes

leascorner · 4 years ago

Text

j.b.b. | Marley

Summary: Eventually, Bucky gave his deepest secrets away and you let him know yours. Her name was Marley.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x single mom!reader

Warnings: Mention of past and present relationships, parenting, mention of food

Word Count: 3.7k

a/n: This is my first story posted on here. I’ve been writting for +12 years now but for the last couple of years, I couldn't finish a single story. Turns out Bucky Barnes was all I needed to get over my massive writer’s block. Feedback is greatly appreciated. (Also, english is not my native language so if you spot any grammar mistake, please let me know!)

Masterlist

It all began with his friend, Sam.

On a night they were out for drinks, he had made it his mission to find someone for Bucky. Someone or anyone for the matter. He talked to everyone in the bar that night, while Bucky drank his beer, sitting at the counter. When it was clear enough that nobody there that night would keep grumpy Bucky company, Sam turned his attention on the dating app his friend had downloaded on his phone some weeks ago. He probably went through a dozen of profiles, sometimes showing the phone screen to Bucky, to what he would just respond by rolling his eyes and drinking some more beer.

That was until Sam showed him your profile. Bucky stared a second longer to the picture displayed on his phone screen than for the others. He couldn't tell what that was: the smile on your lips, the wrinkles at the side of your eyes or simply your eyes; but he couldn't get his eyes off it. Sam immediately started typing a message for you to what Bucky obviously protested. He did not need company because he was just fine on his own.

Despite his super-soldier abilities, he wasn't quick enough to take the phone from his friend's hands. The smile that appeared on Sam’s face annoyed Bucky even more. "What are you afraid of, though guy?" Sam had asked and Bucky eventually backed off, letting him do whatever he was planning on doing. There was no point in stopping Sam. He knew you wouldn't be interested anyway... To be honest, who would be? Bucky got his phone back along with a smirk from his friend. There was no answer after that, and Sam eventually found another topic to annoy the heck out of Bucky.

When he woke up the next morning, your reply notification was patiently waiting for him. For a second, he thought of deleting it, without having a look first. What did he have to lose? Gathering his courage, he opened it. Your words were as genuine as your smile and it made him grin like an idiot, though he made a mental note to later murder Sam for his poor choice of pick-up line. It took him the whole morning to be able to type an answer and another afternoon to press the ‘send’ button. It was the first text of many. Eventually, a lot of texts turned into calls; that turned into meeting up in your favorite French bakery; that turned into movies and restaurant dates.

This was nearly one year and a half ago.

Your relationship with Bucky was cautious and steady. He liked how you would give him his space, but still being right there for him. He liked that you let him stare at you in total awe or that you always had small kind thoughts for him like when you made his eggs the way he preferred in the morning and that everything was so simple - obvious even - by your side. Eventually, Bucky gave his deepest secrets away and you let him know yours.

Her name was Marley.

If Bucky was being honest, finding out you had a two and a half years-old daughter was quite the shock. Not that he couldn't have seen that coming; you would always make plans, your handbag was always full of snacks and hand wipes and for some reason, you would never be available between five and eight p.m. That was also what he liked about you. The stability.

The idea of being involved in a relationship with somebody that already had a child did scare him off. If he decided to continue the relationship, it would not only be a matter of breaking your heart in the process – and well, maybe his too - but breaking a child's heart too. And that more than anything, he was refusing to assume the responsibility, but he owed you that much. You knew his deepest secrets and still, you didn't run away from him. Worse, you trusted him to be around your child.

You both had a lot of discussions about him meeting Marley - Bucky even seek advice to Sam. And as for the rest of your relationship, you took it slow. It started with Bucky showing up to your Sunday walk in Central Park, feeding up the ducks and sharing snacks. You also spent some time at the carnival where he would watch you two on the carousel – sometimes joining the ride too - and he would help Marley win at pick a duck or buy her popcorn. Eventually, he would spend more time with the two of you. It started with spending at least one evening per week at your place, making dinner while watching you playing with Marley in the living room. One evening turned into two, three, five evenings per week. He still could step out if he needed. You still could spend time with your daughter where he wasn't there. You still spent time just the two of you, when Marley was asleep at night or he would take you on date nights. The routine you three put in place was nice, but Bucky wasn't planning on taking Marley’s dad place. God, he would never see himself as a dad and Marley already had one - though in Bucky's opinion, he would not be awarded father-of-the-year.

Today, Bucky was picking Marley up from daycare.

He had done it a million times already, but this time was a little bit different. He was doing it on his own. The babysitter stood you up and you were stuck in an endless one-day meeting. You had called in utter panic, asking him to pick Marley up from daycare and taking care of her until you would be home. He had assured you he would do it and it would be fine. Now that he was standing in front of the building, he was doubting himself. He didn't know if he could do it on his own.

Another shaky sigh and Bucky entered the building. The childcare workers greeted him when he showed up at Marley's room. She was sat at one of these tiny tables making some kind of collage crafts. He planned on waiting for her to finish, just staring like he always did, before announcing himself, but Marley spotted him the second his figure appeared at the door.

"Bucky!" Marley cried out, leaving everything behind and running towards him.

"Hey Mar-Mar," he smiled. She always seemed happy to see him and Bucky wondered if she would eventually grow tired of him being always around.

After they hugged each other, Marley was called to put away her crafts and Bucky encouraged her to go do it. In the meantime, he collected her stuff - her panda backpack, shoes, and coat - so he could get her ready to leave. And he did just that when she got back to him.

"We are taking the train home. I'mna carrying you, is that okay?"

She wrapped her little arms around his neck in response and he lifted her up from the floor. After sharing goodbye to the childcare workers, they were heading home.

On their way to the station, Marley explained in every detail what she had done at daycare that day; Bucky was listening carefully, sometimes asking questions - Carol, she is the one with the curly hair, right? Was Mark mean to you again? - but mostly he was just nodding along. They made it to the station just in time to take the 5:17 p.m. train. It was rush hour and Bucky mindfully chose to hop on one of the cars at the end of the train - the ones he knew would be the less busy at this time of the day. He had only seven stops, so he didn't sit and stood against one of the train windows. By that time, Marley had finished reporting on her day, and she was just watching around, smiling at anyone she would make eye contact with.

After the second stop, her eyes caught the sight of the dog tag around Bucky's neck. She fiddled it through his T-shirt, probably wondering what that was, before taken it out to have a closer look. In her tiny hands, the metal tag seemed to be huge. She looked up at Bucky, with bright eyes and he swore, he would do anything for these eyes.

"What is that?"

"Uh- " Bucky wasn't sure how to explain it in a way a three-years old would understand. "-Every soldier has one. It uh- has my name on it and some other information."

"Is it if you get lost?" she asked, her little eyebrows raised high on her forehead. She did understand a lot of the world around her for her age. "Mommy put a card with her name and her phone number in my bag."

"Yeah, it's something like that."

Marley smiled at him and returned her attention on the letters’ reliefs on the metal. By the fourth stop, she was resting her head on his shoulder while he was still firmly (but not too much) holding her with his left arm. She kept holding his dog tag in her tiny fist and was patiently waiting.

"She is very sweet," the old lady sat on the seat in front of them said to him before leaving the train.

He nodded shyly and looked back at the little girl in his arms. Marley looked so much like you. Her face had still some baby features, she just turned three after all, but she had the same nose and her eyes had the same color as yours. They were the same piercing eyes that when they’d look at him, he felt like they could read his soul. And she did not just look like you. She had also some of your habits and personality traits. She would always be smiling to people she didn’t know. She was always saying ‘thank you’ or ‘sorry’. She was obsessed with any kind of animal; the Sundays walks would last forever if she could pet all the dogs she encountered.

The rest of the ride was quiet, and Bucky got off the train on the seventh stop as planned. At the station, people turned on them as they passed. Maybe this was an odd sight: a man in combat boots, dark jeans, and a black leather jacket, carrying a small child in his arms. Especially knowing the kid in question was wearing white leggings, a red fluffy coat, and a stuffed panda backpack. Bucky didn't mind and continued his way to your place.

Marley stayed quiet for the five minutes’ walk to your place, but once Bucky had turned on your street, she wriggled to be freed of his hold. Once her feet touched the ground, she directly ran towards a car parked not far away. She squatted down and started clicking her tongue. A ginger cat immediately came out from underneath the car.

"Careful," Bucky called out. He knew it was not recommended interacting with stray cat as they could be sick with all sorts of disease. And to be fair, it got him a little worried the cat was getting this close to Marley. He could already see her getting bitten by the cat, getting rabies, and losing her arm, or worse: dying.

"That's Gus, he lives at number 7," she said pointing at the building they stopped in front. It had the number written on it.

Gus started rubbing itself against Marley's shins and she gently petted his back. The cat then went to rub on Bucky's combat boots, also greeting him even though they never encountered before. And it continued his way to the building's porch, where it lazily lay down.

"Mommy said we could have a cat when we get a house."

"I've got a cat," Bucky stated and Marley cried out in excitement. She asked him about a hundred questions. What was its name? What was it looking like? Was it friendly? Was it sleeping in his bed with him at night? Bucky never failed to answer one of her questions and they talked about that until they made it in front of your apartment door.

Marley was already on her way to her room when Bucky turned around after locking the door. She had removed her shoes and coat on her own and left them behind without putting them away like you would always request it.

"Uh-uh, we go wash your hands first, okay?"

After that was done, she ran to her room for good this time. Bucky went back to the living room and focused on what he could do to help you. He knew you would get home exhausted from your day at work and he did not want to have you do all the chores you usually did. It was the least he could do.

Somehow, your place was always tidier than his, and he lived on his own. In the kitchen, he found breakfast dishes in the sink and the dishwasher full of the dishes that had been cleaned the night before. That was where he would get started. He put away the dishes easily; he had been around your kitchen a lot those last months and he knew exactly where everything was. He even knew where you were hiding away the chocolate and candies; somewhere Marley didn't have access to.

"Hey Bucky, can I have snacks?"

A look at the watch sitting on his right wrist, she had still a good hour and a half before dinner and he replied positively. He wiped his hands on the dish towel resting on his shoulder and took one of these bamboo sectioned plates he just washed. He was reaching out to the first cupboards in front of him when it suddenly appeared to him, he had no idea what he could give her.

"What does your mom usually give you?" He asked Marley, turning back to her.

Marley shrugged. "Carrots and hummus." And Bucky swore this kid was eating healthier that he ever had.

He started by the fridge, looking for anything he could give to Marley. Thankfully, she wasn't a picky eater so it would be easy for him. Tonight's dinner was in it, along with some vegetables and fruits. He chose grapes because it was the only food, he could see himself eating at that time of the day.

"Grapes and uh-" he looked at the cupboards right next to the fridge "- crackers?"

Marley nodded. Bucky prepared it all on her plate, making sure there was just enough for her to be full but not too much so she would still eat dinner, and handed it to her. She carried it carefully to the living room, Bucky following behind. She had laid out all her crayons on the coffee table next to her Paw Patrol coloring book. He knew about this cartoon because it was the only one Marley ever wanted to watch, she was literally obsessed with it, and she did make him watch some episodes with her. He knew that, when she was playing alone in her room, she would usually pretend she was saving the world with them.

Bucky sat on the carpet, next to Marley, stealing one grape from her plate. She threw him a death glance but offered him some more if he would help with the coloring. He happily complied.

Before dinner was normally bath time. Thankfully, you had said over the phone you would deal with that in the morning. For some reason, Marley did not like baths. A little bit of water in her eyes or ears was too much for her to handle and he wasn't sure he could deal with her being so upset on his own.

He still got her changed in her pajamas - she obviously chose the one with the dalmatian puppy from Paw Patrol you had agreed on buying a few weeks ago; washed her face with a cotton pad and some cleansing lotion, brushed her hair and tried the best he could to tie them in a low ponytail. You would normally braid them for the night, but this was not something Bucky mastered at all - he made a mental note to watch some tutorials on YouTube to learn though.

"Will you and mommy get married?" Marley asked out of nowhere while Bucky was carrying her back to the kitchen to have dinner.

"I don't know," he said, confused. "Why do you ask?"

"I prefer you over my real daddy," Marley admitted. And it broke his heart. Bucky knew how her dad forgot about her third birthday and missed most of his custody days lately. He didn't really understand how somebody could have a child and knowingly decide not take care of them anymore.

The child in his arm was so precious. It amazed him every day how much she could comprehend of the world around her. She was smart, creative, kind. She knew what she wanted, would be very stubborn about it and would do anything to get it – you always said you didn’t understand where she got her fierce mind and Bucky laughed every time because he knew exactly from whom she had gotten it: you. You did such a good job raising her on your own. He also knew you would always choose her over him, and he had to admit, it made him fall in love even more with you.

"Even if I'd marry your mom, I still wouldn't be your daddy officially."

"To me, you would," Marley concluded as if it was as simple as that.

Living with you two permanently. Marrying you. Bucky never thought of it. He liked how this relationship was working: the kindness, the trust, the love. He loved the movie dates with you, the Sundays walks, and the evening just the three of you. He loved how simple it all was and how it made him just happy. Happiest he had been in a long time. And he wondered if he wanted more. The way his heart was fluttering in his chest made him realized, he did. He didn't know if he was ready though.

Back to the kitchen, he put her down on her seat before getting the casserole of potato gratin out of the oven. He put a small portion in her plate, next to some chopped carrots and apple sauce he already prepared. He put it down in front of her and sat next to her.

"Will you eat with mommy?"

"Yeah, is that alright?"

She nodded, rubbing her eyes. They had stayed coloring her books a little too long and it was nearly her bedtime. Smiling softly, he encouraged her to eat. She did while asking some more questions on his cat in between each mouthful. How old is it? Why did you name it Alpine? Has mummy already met it? Do you think she'll like me? Turned out this little one never run out of question.

After dinner, Bucky gave her a small portion of chocolate from the special cupboard and they agreed it would be their little secret. Then, he carried her to the bathroom to brush her tiny teeth. It was started to be late for her and she was clearly fighting against sleep, the lack of it upsetting her.

"I want to see mommy," she cried, lips trembling and eyes full of tears.

"I know Mar-Mar, she'll get there soon," Bucky tried to comfort her. You hadn't text yet, meaning you weren't on your way still. He knew Marley would be asleep before you got home. "We can read a book in your bed while we wait for her, yeah?"

Marley nodded and let Bucky carry her to her bed. She had her head rested on his right shoulder the whole time. She crawled under the covers the moment her body was dropped off on the bed. She let Bucky choose the bedtime story and he chose the one he knew she liked so much.

He laid beside her gently and she immediately reached out closer to him. He wrapped his right arm around her, and her hands somehow found his dog tag again. A small kiss on her forehead and Bucky started reading the book in his left hand. Marley was listening carefully, helping him by turning the page.

At the end of the story, she was fast asleep against him, his dog tag still in her tiny fist. Bucky did not dare moving, afraid he would wake her up if he did. He observed the small child against him and listened to her soft breathes. She looked so peaceful and it made him thought of the way she had welcomed him into her life. Just like you, she had taken him as a whole; with his trauma, his insecurities, his quietness, and his staring habits. And now, she had him wrapped around his little finger. He knew deep in his guts he wouldn't let anything happen to you or your daughter. He realized that now. That made him think some more: maybe he was ready after all. And this time, he would not let happiness slip away from him.

Bucky stayed like that until twenty minutes later, when you showed up on your daughter’s room doorstep. You looked exhausted yet still radiant. A smile had formed on your lips at the sight in front of you. It made you melt right on the spot.

"Hey," Bucky greeted you softly.

You came closer, walking on your tiptoes, careful of not waking up your daughter. You laid besides them, kissing your daughter little fist, and tucked yet another strand of hair behind her ear. You looked back at Bucky, who was intensely staring at you. His left arm was already wrapped around your shoulders, bringing you close. You kissed his jaw, making him smile gently. "Thank you for taking care of her. Did it go okay?"

"More than okay." He kissed your forehead while you snuggled closer to him. His heart could burst of the feeling of having you two near him forever.

He wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

#jbb #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky x single mom!reader #lea's writing #bucky barnes x you

645 notes · View notes

starryevermore · 3 years ago

Text

holding you close ✧ andy barber

masterlist | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

pairing: andy barber x law student!reader

summary: andy comforts you when you feel stressed about law school.

word count: 1,059

warnings: anxiety about (law) school, reader feels like she's not good/smart enough, pet name (baby)

notes: in this universe, andy doesn't work for the da and has his own firm.

Andrew Stephen Barber was beyond proud of you. And he made a point to tell you that every single day. He'd had more than a few issues with Laurie, one of the most prominent ones being lack of communication, which led to their inevitable divorce. So, now that he was with you, he was doing his best to make sure that things never get that bad between the two of you. So, every morning, he'd wake up with you in his arms, pepper soft kisses across your face, and whisper about how he was beyond blessed to have you and your love in his life.

One of the things he'd been most proud of was your decision to attend law school. You'd been working for Andy's firm as a paralegal for several years now, and you were finally in a place where you were able to afford going to law school and its many expenses. Andy had helped you study for the LSAT, telling you some of the tips and tricks he'd used all those years ago, pointing you in the direction of good study materials. And he's helped with your applications, reviewing your resume and writing samples, suggesting people you could ask to send in letters of recommendation for you. When you got your acceptance letter from your first choice school, you'd cried, jumping in his arms, as he told you that he knew you could do it, that they would've been idiots if they'd rejected you.

Then the anxieties started to set in. As you began buying your text books and registering for your classes, the syllabi coming in steadily over the summer, you spent more time asking Andy if what you were doing was a good idea. If you had what it takes to be an attorney. He spent hours with you wrapped up in his arms, him whispering to you about how you absolutely have what it takes. That you would blow them all out of the water with your genius. And, even if you struggled, you'd still be just as capable.

The anxiety only ate at you more, though, when classes started.

Andy, unfortunately, had been working late hours the week that you started, and so he didn't have time to see how you were holding up. He often had to leave before you woke up, and he'd be coming home after you'd already gone to bed. But now it was the weekend, and he was here, and he knew something was wrong.

You'd holed yourself up in his at-home office, using it as your study space since he didn't use it much anymore. You'd been in there since the crack of dawn, and hadn't come out for more than snacks and bathroom breaks. He was beginning to get worried.

When lunch time finally came, he made his way to the office, pushing the door open to find you surrounded by text books, your face buried in your hands, sobbing wracking your body.

"Everything okay, baby?" he asked.

"No," you cried.

He was by your side in an instant, picking you up and taking your seat, holding you in his lap. He rubbed his hand up and down your back, quietly shushing you as you cried. When you finally started to calm down, he whispered, "Wanna talk about it, baby?"

"I'm just so stupid."

"No, you're not."

"I am! I don't understand what the hell I'm doing!"

"Baby, I know it's been a while since I've been in your shoes, but that's completely normal."

"But I've been doing this shit for years, Andy. Well, not exactly, but..."

"It's still different than what you're used to. You're not gonna understand it overnight. It takes time. You've been thrown into a world you're not totally familiar with, and your professors probably aren't giving you straight answers. But there aren't any straight answers. They're tryin' to teach you how to rewire your brain to think more like a lawyer."

"I just don't think I can do this, Andy."

"You can, baby. If there's anyone I know who can do this, it's you. And, listen, even if you keep trying and still don't feel like you can do it, that's okay. There's no shame in having to quit."

"I'm just scared, you know?"

"I do. I was scared, too. But, hey, look far I've gotten, and I didn't have anyone helping me. Imagine how far you can go with help."

"I'm really just scared that I'm gonna get to the bar and have spent all this money, and then I'm gonna fail and I'm gonna keep failing and it's all gonna be for nothing."

"Listen, if Neal Logiudice can pass the bar exam, you can, too, baby,” he said, his lips brushing against yours. “He’s a fuckin’ idiot. And you’re a genius, there’s no way you couldn’t pass.”

You giggled, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck, and Andy's heart lifted. He liked hearing you laugh. It meant that you were feeling more like yourself. "You're just trying to butter me up."

"I mean it, baby," he insisted. "And, you still got three years before the bar. We'll get you a tutor if you need one. I'll take on more responsibilities around the house so you can have more study time. We'll get through it. And, when you pass, we'll celebrate for a fucking month."

"I'll have to get a job after I pass," you said.

"Nah, you can work for me baby. Change our name to Barber & Barber. Whaddya think of that?"

"I think I'll have to be a Barber for that to happen."

"What if you were? A Barber?"

You pulled away, your brows furrowing. "Baby, you're gonna have to be direct. I don't have enough brain power to think about what you're trying to suggest."

"Marry me," he said, leaning in, kissing you. "Wanted to make it special, take you out somewhere nice, but...God, baby, I just wanna know that you'll be mine forever."

"It'll be a while before we get married..."

"I don't care. I just wanna know that you'll be Mrs. Barber."

And, with the way you smiled up at him, the way you leaned in to kiss him, he knew that you wanted to be Mrs. Barber just as badly as he wanted you to be his wife.

#andy barber #andy barber x you #andy barber x reader #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x fem!reader #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber fan fiction #andy barber fanfic #andy barber fan fic #andy barber fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

208 notes · View notes

theladyofdeath · 3 years ago

Text

I’ll Be Seeing You {1}

Nesta x Cassian, 1940′s AU

Collaboration with @snelbz

Summary: After Cassian gets injured in the war, he’s taken to a war camp to be cared for until he gains enough strength to return to his battalion. While he’s there, he falls for a nurse that couldn’t care less about his title and doesn’t put up with his bullshit. Once he’s healed and the years pass by, he finds that there’s only one thing he wants to remember from the war, and she’s only a letter away.

Trigger Warnings: war

A/N: FINALLY. Shelby and I have been writing away (both at this one, and the one she will begin posting later this week). We’ve been so excited to share, and hope you all like it.

Chapters will be posted every Monday.

Word Count: 3745

IBSY Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

September 1940, The Winter Court

It was cold.

It was cold and Cassian couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a full night’s sleep. He was bleary eyed in the midday sun, which did little to warm the frigid air as he walked, one hand braced on the gun hanging from his shoulder.

He idly wondered where Rhys and Az had been deployed to, if they’d ended up in one of the milder courts, or if they were as unlucky as he was, patrolling the borders of Winter.

If they were in one of the warmer courts, he hated them.

Loved them, missed them, hoped they were safe.

But he hated them, nonetheless.

Alongside his fellow soldiers, Cassian continued on, marching through the snow from the night before. It had been a wicked storm, one Cassian wasn’t certain they wouldn’t make it through. But they did, through some miracle their fires remained burning all night long, snow and all.

“Perk up, Nazari,” the soldier beside him grinned. “At least it’s above freezing today.”

“It’s at least ten below freezing,” Cassian said, snorting.

The soldier's grin just widened and he kept marching on. At least someone was happy to be there.

He’d stopped learning anything aside from his fellow soldiers' names after the first couple of months. After losing someone he’d grown close to for what felt like the hundredth time, it was easier that way.

Andras, the golden haired man, continued on. “We’ve only got another ten miles before we meet up with the seventeenth battalion. Rumor has it they got a resupply in rations last month.”

There was too much to unpack in that statement for Cassian to waste his energy and warmth responding.

Only another ten miles made him want to wring Andras’s neck. They’d been moving since dawn and had only covered seven miles. At the rate they were moving now, they’d likely have to make camp again in volatile unclaimed territory.

He also knew a resupply of rations was unlikely. He hadn’t heard of any of the courts sending out any aid, because none had any to spare. So it was likely that rumors were all Andras had heard, and rumors they would stay. And if they somehow were true, Cassian was sure that the seventeenth battalion had probably gone through them themselves, not concerned with any forces coming to meet up with them.

He knew his legion wouldn’t have cared.

But this was war. Every man for himself, even if f they were fighting for a common goal.

Peace.

Peace seemed far away as the sound of rapid gunshots went off in the distance.

Someone screamed, and then an explosion went off up ahead, sending smoke and bodies flying into the air.

At first, Cassian’s body locked up but then his training kicked in. He fell into formation.

As he hurried behind Andras, Cassian took pity on one of the younger guys. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, and this was most likely his first attack. He looked terrified, completely frozen.

“Move!” Cassian yelled, and the kid’s eyes connected with his, then he was finally moving, fumbling for his gun.

Cassian wished him the best but didn’t think about it long. He couldn’t. This was war. He had to remain focused.

The sound of the canon roared and before they had time to think, the cannonball landed just up ahead. Close enough for Cassian’s ears to ring.

He looked around, trying to locate the enemy.

He raised his gun.

His ears we’re still ringing and he couldn’t place where the shots were coming from, just saw man after man in his battalion go down. But Andras surged ahead and Cassian followed behind, trusting the instincts of his fellow soldier.

“Into the trees,” he called, knowing they wouldn’t offer much cover, but they wouldn’t be as exposed as they were on the open road.

Andras’s quick nod was his only reply and they pushed, but not before white hot pain shot down Cassian’s arm.

He cried out, still barely able to hear himself over the high-pitched ringing in his head, but he didn’t go down. He knew the only thing that awaited him if he did was death.

They’d been split up, separated and disoriented, just like the enemy had wanted them.

Cassian pressed a hand to his arm, hoping he’d just been grazed, but when he looked down, he knew that wasn’t the case. He was lucky he was still able to use his arm, with how much blood was pouring from the wound. He leaned against a tree as they made it deep into the cover.

“Fuck, man, you’re hit,” Andras muttered, not even pausing to consider before tearing into his own small med kit and tying a tourniquet above the wound on Cassian’s arm.

It took every ounce of willpower in him not to snap something like “No shit,” back at the man, but knew it would be a waste of energy.

“This should hold you over,” Andras yelled, above the screaming, the gunshots, the sound of the cannon. “You good?”

“I’m good,” Cassian promised, even though he wasn’t sure it was the truth. He was certain that he was running off adrenaline. There was a bullet in him, after all.

Bullet and all, he raised his gun and looked toward the hillside.

He could see the enemy, dressed in black. They looked like ants, being so far away, but Cassian took his aim, nonetheless.

He aimed.

He fired.

He repeated the process.

The others near him did the same.

The battle was in full force.

Gunshots echoed and the men around Cassian went down. It was no use, really. The enemy was stronger, and far more confident.

“Fuck,” Cassian muttered when he ran out of bullets. As he was reloading, a scream echoed from beside him, and Cassian looked down. “Andras? Andras!” He fell to his knees and took the soldier’s face into his hands. “Hey. Hey! Stay with me.” A crimson stain appeared on his uniform, just over his chest.

The man coughed, blood spraying his chin and Cassian knew death lingered around them.

Granted, it was a constant shadow over all of Prythian.

He watched the light leave the man’s usually bright, laughing eyes, watched as they dimmed and stared unseeing to the canopy of trees above.

He didn’t have time for sadness, didn’t have time for grief. He picked up Andras’s gun, slinging it over his shoulder and grabbed his ammunition.

“We’ve got to move,” Cassian called back to the soldiers around him. “Deeper into the trees and head south. Try to get to the Autumn border.”

He held rank above the men, but not by much. Enough that they listened to his orders and did as they were told.

If they could just get to Autumn, they’d be back in friendly territory. He dared a look back as they retreated.

The number of bodies left bleeding in the snow made him sick to his stomach. How many men were still breathing and how many had passed on into the darkness?

A blanket of white, splattered with red.

Cassian tried not to panic, but they were outnumbered. “Move!” he yelled, but with every second that passed, another body fell. He pushed down that panic, and moved forward.

He had only taken a few steps before a searing pain hit his back, just below his shoulder. Cassian landed facedown in the snow, and this time, he was unable to move.

A burning sensation began to spread, and that panic that he had pushed down began to resurface.

He heard someone yell for him, heard someone call his name, but it sounded far away, too far away. Someone was holding him, but Cassian felt nothing, nothing but that burning in his back. Darkness clouded his vision, and as much as he told his feet to keep moving, as much as he told himself to get back up and keep going, he couldn’t move.

Time moved slowly.

Cassian felt like this is what it was like to die.

And, surprisingly, once that panic began to fade, he was no longer afraid.

An explosion sounded nearby, and Cassian’s body was thrown.

In the snow, in the heart of the Winter Court, the darkness took over, and Cassian was gone.

There had been an ambush.

That was all that they were told as bloodied and battered men were hauled into the med camp just over the Autumn border.

Nesta Archeron’s eyes were wide as she took in some of the injuries.

Blood. There was so much blood.

She’d had to tend to a few of the men as they passed through, but most of the fighting had been deeper into the territory. She hadn’t seen the violence of all out bloodshed.

The screaming of a man whose arm was hanging in tattered ribbons broke her from the haze she’d settled in. She looked around the tent at the dozens of men and wondered if the other nurses tents were filling as quickly as hers.

“Madja,” she breathed, surprised to find her voice gravely. “Who should I—?”

“Anyone,” the head nurse snapped, pressing a wad of bandages to a wound in a man’s chest. “Just pick one.”

She nodded and tied her hair back, hurrying across the tent.

The bloody man was unconscious, covered in burns and mud, but the young soldier who brought him in still stood beside him. She asked, “What are his injuries?”

The young man was a stammering mess. “He— He took at least two shots to the ba-back, one to the arm.” She was about to reach for him, to turn him over and inspect his back but he added, “And then we tripped a land mine on the trek over.” Nesta went still. “He wasn’t in the direct path of the explosion but he was in the radius. I think— I think he was thrown, but I’m not sure. I helped carry him in after that.”

Nesta only hesitated for a moment before nodding, tight lipped. “Thank you. Help me turn him over.”

The young soldier nodded, helping Nesta flip him onto his stomach. She could see where he had been shot. Crimson stains coated his uniform. Without another word, Nesta began to cut the fabric.

First things first: remove the bullets.

Nesta cleansed his wounds, then went to work. They had very limited surgical equipment, but Nesta had gotten used to using what they had since she arrived in the recent weeks. The young soldier remained as Nesta removed the bullets from her patient’s back and arm, and once that was complete, she checked his vitals.

His pulse was steady enough, although it was slower than it should have been. He had a fever, most likely due to infection of the bullet wounds. Considering he was out, there was no way to check for any sort of head injury, but if he had been thrown due to an explosion, Nesta had no doubt that he did.

She could only hope that he would wake up soon so that she could examine him further.

“What’s his name?” Nesta asked the young soldier that continued to stand by his bedside.

“Corporal Cassian Nazari, ma’am,” he answered.

Nesta nodded. “Thank you.” She wrote his name on the sheet of paper on the clipboard hanging from his bed.

“Should I— What should I do?” He asked, swallowing hard. “Do I help or—?”

She looked at him, nearly shaking in the medical tent. “What’s your name?”

“Isaac, ma’am. Private Isaac Hale,” he replied, and it was the first thing he’d said that he sounded confident in.

“Do you have any medical training, Private Hale?” She asked, firmly, but not unkindly.

“No, ma’am,” he admitted.

She nodded. “Then go be with your men. Your presence is appreciated, but we need the space to work.”

He accepted the dismissal, nodding, and hurried out of the tent.

Nesta looked back down at her patient and reached for one of the damp rags. She needed to get him cleaned up so she could fully assess his injuries. He was still out cold, so she whispered, “Sorry, Corporal Nazari, but this is probably going to hurt.”

After re-drenching the rag in alcohol, Nesta was cleaning the gunshot wounds, carefully but quickly. At one point, Corporal Nazari stirred, which she assumed was due to the horrid stinging of the alcohol against an open wound, but Nesta took it as a good sign.

He was responsive.

He was alive.

Once his wounds were cleaned, she flipped him back onto his back and checked his pulse, once again.

Slow, but steady.

She had stitched and bandaged him up, so the blood loss had been minimized. Nesta made a note to check on him in half an hour and wiped her hands on her apron, continuing on.

Cassian Nazari was not the only soldier that had gotten caught in an explosion. In fact, there were men far worse off than him. Madja was assisting a man who had his leg nearly blown off, and although Nesta had a tolerance for such things, she looked away.

War on the frontlines was not easy.

But being a nurse, seeing what the frontlines did to soldiers, was not easy, either.

It was nearly two hours later, the sun beginning to set and lamps being lit inside the med tent, before Nesta made her way back to check on the corporal. One of her fellow nurses had cleaned him off as much as they could and underneath all the mud and gore, she found that his face, despite being battered and burnt and bruised, was…handsome. Ignoring that handsome face, she gave him a full once over, finding burns on his entire left side, four cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a broken bone in his forearm. He was also probably concussed, but until he woke up, that couldn’t be confirmed.

Not the worst injuries he could have gotten by far, but the number of them would keep him down for a while. He was lucky he hadn’t been closer to the blast when the mine had gone off.

Quickly, but efficiently, she set the bones in his arm, and popped his shoulder back into place, before wrapping his arm and slinging it around his neck.

The injury to his back worried her. One of those bullets had been very close and she wasn’t sure if any damage had been done to his spine. Again, they’d have to wait until he was awake to see just how bad it was, but until then, she elected to check for response in one of the few ways she knew how.

Carefully tugging off one of his boots, she ran a finger along the inside of his foot, tickling gently. His knee jerked slightly and she breathed a sigh of relief at the quick response and movement.

A raspy voice whispered, “That’s the strangest version of foreplay I’ve ever seen, but I’m open to trying anything once.”

Nesta’s eyes were immediately on his face and one of his was barely cracked open and trained on her. The other was swollen shut.

She hurried to the head of the small bed he laid in. “Corporal Nazari, how are you feeling?”

“Who are you?” He asked, and even though his voice was quiet, it sounded like the man had been gargling gravel.

“Nesta Archeron, sir,” she breathed. “You’re in the med camp of the twenty-sixth legion.”

His eye fell shut again and he rasped, “Autumn?”

She nodded, but then voiced her words. “Yes. There was an ambush—.” She paused, realizing she didn’t have much information for him. He had been there. He probably knew better than she did.

He sighed, grimly. “How many of us were brought in?”

Nesta looked around. Nearly all of the beds were full. “About twenty of you so far. Your men are still scoping the valley now that the ambush has cleared.”

He stayed quiet for a moment. “Casualties?”

Nesta cleared her throat. “I’ve yet to hear an update.”

His eyes remained shut as he said, “Okay. Thank you.”

“Can I get you anything?” she asked.

“How long until I’m on my feet again?” he asked, in answer.

Nesta looked over his body, wondering if he’d make another snide, inappropriate remark. “Now that you’re awake, I’d like to examine you further.”

Cassian nodded, and tried to sit himself up, but hissed the moment his palms hit the cot, and he put pressure on them.

“Your ulna is broken, don’t put pressure on it,” she explained. He probably hadn’t even noticed that it was wrapped, considering his eyes could hardly open and he hadn’t really taken a moment to take in his surroundings. She assumed that the entirety of his body hurt. “You also have four cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and some severe third degree burns. The bullet wounds have been cleansed, but…”

Cassian looked at her. “But?”

“A bullet just missed your spine.”

“Okay,” he said, slowly. “And that means?”

“That means that I need to see how your body has reacted,” she said, simply, and helped him into a sitting position. At this point, she had learned to ignore the horrid smells that came from soldiers. She wondered when the last time he’d been given the luxury to shower. She made a mental note to offer to help clean him up when she was finished with her examination. “First, we’ll check for a concussion.”

He nodded, slowly.

“Do you have a headache?” she asked.

Cassian looked at her, and blinked. “Seriously? Look at me. Every inch of my body aches.”

Her lips thinned but she gave him a curt nod. “What about nausea? Dizziness?” She lit a candle and held it up. “Sensitive to light?”

His eyes, already barely open to slits, closed further as he tried to turn away. “Let’s say yes to all of the above.”

She nodded, leaving the candle burning, but setting it down atop the small table beside the infirmary bed. “You’re going to to rest for the remainder of the day, after we get you cleaned up. Tomorrow, we’ll further look at your back, make a plan based on that, and go from there.”

She could tell he wanted to argue, to say they needed to begin treatment now, but his eyes were so weary. They were still glazed.

“I can get you something for the pain,” she offered.

He didn’t answer her, just asked a question of his own. “What’s your name?”

Nesta pursed her lips to suppress her laughter. “You’ve already asked me that, corporal.”

Cassian looked up at her. “No, I didn’t.”

Nesta didn’t bother to correct him as she subtly shook her head. Concussion, indeed. “My name is Nesta Archeron. I’m a nurse.”

“I’d hope so,” he grumbled. “If you’re not a nurse, I’m afraid for my health.”

“Rest assured, I’m a nurse,” she promised. “I’ve got the certificate to prove it.”

“Were you a nurse before the war?” Cassian asked.

A lot of nurses were volunteers, with very limited training. They were tossed into battle with as little experience as the soldiers.

“I was in school for it,” she answered, simply. “Only in my second year.”

“And you stopped going to school?�� He pushed. “To come here?”

“You ask a lot of questions, Corporal.”

She was ringing out the rag in a warm-ish bowl of water on the table when he spoke.

“Just trying to figure out why someone as beautiful as an angel would be willing to be dropped into pure hell with people like us.”

Nesta froze from where she’d been about to wipe down his neck and shoulder. She didn’t look at his face as she began to carefully clean the bits of burned skin. “I’m just trying to do my duty. To protect my village, and to keep my sisters from getting it into their heads that they need to join the war.”

“You must be the oldest,” he replied, hissing as she cleaned out a wound.

“I am. One of my sisters is twenty-one and the other just turned eighteen.”

“My brothers are somewhere on a battlefield.” His words were quiet, eyes distant, even as they didn’t look at her. “But I have no clue where.”

She needed to stop talking, needed to stop telling this soldier about herself and her family. He was just as likely to heal under her care and go back out and get blown up as he was to die from infection in these festering camps. “I’ll be right back, corporal.”

She tossed the rag back into the bowl, the blood staining the water pink and hurried to the large cabinet where the medications were stored. She poured water into a mug from one of the clean pitchers and mixed in a healthy dose of the powder indicated for pain relief. Carrying it back to his bed, she helped him prop up slightly. “Drink this, please.”

He did as he was told and she watched as the powder took hold.

“Trying to knock me out so I stop asking questions?” He asked, as he drank from the glass.

“Just trying to ease the pain,” she answered, simply, and helped him lay back down.

Putting that wet cloth back in the bowl, she dabbed it on Cassian’s brow, cleaning off the dried blood.

“It will do you well to get some sleep,” Nesta said. “When you wake up, I’ll get you something to eat. A new shipment should arrive soon from our neighboring camp.”

In response, Cassian’s stomach rumbled and he was grateful for the news. “Can I ask you just one more question?”

Nesta hesitated, but nodded as she continued to wipe off the blood.

“Will you always be the one tending to me?” He asked, with a yawn.

Nesta took the emptied glass from him and said, “We are a team here, but you are in my section. We typically divide to stay organized, unless there is an emergency we will work together to save the life, to do what we can. As for rotational check ups, I will most likely be your primary caregiver, yes.”

She looked down at him and his eyes were closed, his breathing even. She shook her head, already being able to tell this corporal was a handful.

After dropping the rag in the bowl, she began to walk away, but before she could go she heard him say, “Good.”

#nessian #period au #1940s au #war au #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #sjm #fanfic #fanfiction #snacmc IBSY

220 notes · View notes

janetbrown711 · 2 years ago

Text

Finale

A coronation is held

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 The End

Ao3 Link

Despite Lena’s hopes and dreams that when the morning came everything would feel as right in the world as it had when the little family had fallen asleep, that didn’t happen. When she awoke first, she walked out of the room and was immediately surrounded by maids and servants pestering her with their endless questions. Of course, she knew why they were asking, she was supposed to be dead.

She did her best to explain the situation again and told them that her mother had died in an avalanche. This, however, made the situation worse, as then officials and advisors soon got word and started to try and plan things out with her, and Lena wanted none of it. It was early- hell, she was still in her nightgown and robe. She just wanted to take an early stroll around her home, but nope.

Then again, what did she expect? Come back from the dead and people are going to have questions.

Still. Being swarmed with questions and having plans and ideas thrown in her face that early was too much. She yearned to return to bed, but by the time she successfully convinced them to stop, it was likely too late.

So instead, she went to the kitchen and began to chop up some fruit, a skill she had gotten quite good at over the past year. She couldn’t do a lot, so she liked to help Helloise and Doctor Scratchnsniff prepare food, usually while they talked about things. Now all Lena could think of as she chopped was that of her offer.

She had written a letter last night asking for their assistance. In all honesty, she was ashamed. She didn’t know why but she assumed returning home would do a lot to heal everything they went through over the past year, but Dot’s nightmare quickly told her otherwise. Because of her naivety, she had to write a letter offering and asking them to come to the palace to be the royal psychologist and counselor not just for Dot, but likely Wakko and perhaps even Yakko too. Goodness knows all of her kids must’ve been through hell under the care of her mother.

Lena paused and placed a hand on her cheek. She sighed.

She continued cutting fruit.

She hoped they were hungry- she was making a lot- goodness.

Well- she knew Wakko would be anyway. Her poor boy... he was so light to carry. Angelina must’ve locked him in the tower before the Wishing Star, and probably didn’t feed him.

Her mother deserved far, far worse than death.

But it was what needed to be done. She didn’t regret it. Not one bit.

Hopefully, they’d use all this food for the picnic they’d be having-

It was still winter. Snow was outside. They couldn’t have a picnic.

No. They’d just have one inside. It’s what Wakko wanted- who was she to take that away from him?

She continued to cut, despite realizing she lost count of how many kiwis, strawberries, and star fruit she had sliced by now.

“Mom?” Wakko came out of nowhere, startling Lena and she cut her finger.

“Gah- Jesus Wakko, you can’t sneak up on me like that,” She quickly began to suck on it and look for a towel.

Wakko froze, dead in his tracks.

“I-i’m sorry, I-i didn’t mean to- I-i-” He stumbled over his apology.

“It’s alright, Wakko, I’m not-” But by the time Lena said that, he had run out of the kitchen.

“Dammit, Lena, now look at what you’ve done,” She muttered to herself, wrapping a rag around her finger and running off to go find Wakko.

Day one of being back and she already messed up big time.

“Wakko? Where are you?” She called, looking under hall decor, behind curtains, and in almost every room she walked by.

“Wakko, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap like that,” She said, hearing sniffles coming out of one bedroom. Lena knocked on the door softly.

“Wakko?” She asked.

“I-i said I’m sorry!” He shouted back.

“Wakko, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize, it was I who snapped at you,” She placed her hand that didn’t have a towel around it against the door.

“Go away! I only get people hurt,” He cried more.

“Wakko honey, no,” Lena wanted to go in, but the door was locked.

“Wakko, whatever your grandmother told you, she was wrong. You’re such a wonderful kid- energetic, compassionate, brave, and you give the best hugs,” She countered his statement. The prince paused.

“B-but it’s my fault D-dot died... they were aiming for me,” He countered, his words becoming mumbled.

“Wakko, it’s nobody’s fault but your grandmother and she’s already paid the price,” She said.

“She can’t hurt you anymore... so please... come out? I promise I’m okay.”

Wakko was quiet. Lena bit her lip.

“If you come out you can have a snack in the kitchen,” She said. Wakko must’ve responded positively to that because before she knew it there were shuffling noises, and he opened the door, though unable to make eye contact with his mother.

“I’m hungry,” he said.

“I know honey, let’s get you some food and water- I bet you’re dehydrated too, especially after all that crying,” Lena said, offering her hand. Wakko took it.

“Yeah,” was all he said. Lena gave his hand a comforting squeeze as they made their way back. Once there, she lifted him on the counter and started slicing more fruit, everything from apples to bananas, and handing them to him once finished. He ate slowly, but it seemed to be doing him a lot of good, as his mood increased dramatically once he got some food in his system.

“You feeling better?” She asked him. Wakko nodded. “Good,” Lena smiled and ruffled his fur a little. Lena always found it funny how he often liked to sleep with his red hat on, but who was she to judge.

“Now honey, I want to make things very clear with you: everything your grandmother ever told you or made you feel is wrong okay? I don’t want you saying it, I don’t want you thinking it. You are so much more than she ever thought or could even comprehend, understood?” She placed her hand on his cheek, stroking his face with her thumb. Wakko leaned into it, nodding.

“Okay,” he agreed. Lena smiled softly.

“It’s not gonna be easy to undo what she’s done... but we’re going to figure it out together, understand?” She said, and Wakko nodded again, eating an apple slice.

“I haven’t told your siblings yet, but in roughly a week's time, the good doctor from Acme Falls is going to start working at the palace to help you three heal from the abuse my mother put you through. He’s an emotion doctor and he’ll help you feel better, does that sound like something you want?” She said, going back to cutting fruit.

“Okay,” Wakko nodded, his tail twitching curiously. “What about you?” he asked.

Lena paused. “What about me?”

“Will he be helping you?” Wakko asked innocently. Lena looked down at her hands, then at the 20 or so fruits she sliced this morning.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I’m going to have a lot more responsibilities than what I’m used to in the upcoming days- I’ll likely be too busy.”

“But you should be okay too,” Wakko frowned, reminding Lena of how observant he could be.

“I’ll be okay Wakko- I promise,” She looked at him. He scanned her face a minute before either believing it or just dropping it and going back to his apple slices.

After a moment of more slicing and handing to Wakko, Lena spoke again.

“We’re going to be having a picnic today, just like you wanted,” She said. Wakko’s face lit up.

“Really?! Isn’t it snowy?” Wakko tilted his head.

“We’ll be having it in the dance hall, but I think that hardly makes a difference. What do you think?” Lena asked him.

“Okay,” he gave a toothy grin.

“Good,” Lena nodded. “How about you go and get dressed and get your siblings ready so we can do that soon, hm?”

“Okay,” He said, jumping off the countertop, and scurrying out of the kitchen.

At least he was somewhat back to his old self– that meant there was hope after all. He was still a kid- he deserved to be happy and young while he could.

With a sigh, Lena began to get bags out and put the sliced fruit into separate bags as kitchen workers started to come in and began preparing their breakfast. Once Lena finished, she quickly apologized and got out of their way, explaining what was going to happen later with the picnic and all. They understood, and she left.

Now she was on her own again. And still in her nightgown- Lena really needed to get changed. Quickly she went back to her room and went to her closet to get dressed but her fingers hovered over her dresses. It had been so long since she wore something so fancy... Would it even feel right anymore?

Of course it would, she was born a princess, she was just being ridiculous... right?

Lena sighed and changed into her usual purple dress.

Today was going to be interesting.

.o0o.

And interesting it was. Home for less than 24 hours and already advisors and courtiers were already throwing piles upon piles of papers onto the poor queen-to-be. After signing about fifty billion documents, she finally got them to leave her alone. Thankfully, since she was in charge, nobody argued with her (much) when she said she was done and had plans and let her go in peace.

By the time she did finally join her family, Wakko and Dot were running around chasing each other, nearly running into Lena as she stepped in, though they both paused to give her a hug before running off again.

“My, they’re energetic today,” Lena chuckled as she joined her husband and Yakko on the pillows.

“Last night was probably the best sleep they’ve gotten in a while, nightmare or not,” Yakko shrugged, eating a piece of bread.

“I don’t doubt that... I slept pretty well last night too,” William said mostly to himself, looking at Wakko and Dot fondly.

“It really has been a year, hasn’t it?” Lena looked at Yakko, sadness in her eyes. “We’ve missed so much...”

“Not a whole lot... I mean- there were birthdays and stuff, but not... well...” Yakko was reluctant to finish the sentence, but Lena understood perfectly.

“Not much good, no?” Lena sighed. “I’ll never forgive her for this... for any of this.”

William and Yakko nodded supportively.

“But... Dot’s birthday was nice. I even managed to sneak a cake, and we all had a big sleepover, which was fun,” Yakko said. Lena smiled a little.

“That sounds lovely,” She said, sipping some tea.

“It was,” Yakko smiled at the memory.

“Oh! And we continued teaching Wakko to read,” Yakko remembered to tell.

“Really? Oh, that makes me so happy Yakko,” Lena side hugged him.

“We were so worried that Angelina wouldn’t let him and he’d forget,” William admitted.

“We had to do it behind her back, but I definitely think we made progress,” Yakko smiled, proud of himself, and rightfully so.

“I’m so glad to hear that. You did a very good job taking care of your siblings in our absence Yakko, I’m very proud of you,” She kissed the top of his head.

“Thanks, mom,” Yakko teared up a little, and he quickly wiped it away. Lena didn’t comment, smiling softly.

“I’ll never forgive her for this.” The thought repeated in her mind. Anger returned.

“So, what took you so long?” Yakko asked.

“Paperwork. I've got a coronation to set up soon after all,” She tried to laugh at the dread facing her.

“What about Grandma’s funeral?” Yakko asked.

“Oh, she isn’t going to be getting a funeral,” Lena said casually, but received stares from Yakko and William.

“Are you sure that’s best?” Her husband questioned

“Doesn’t every royal get a funeral? I mean- she even held one for you two...” Yakko said quietly.

“It’s unprecedented, yes, and will perhaps even look bad to some. However, once we explain everything that happened, I’m sure the people will be more than happy and most importantly on our side,” Lena sipped her tea, not liking the new tension.

“I guess that makes sense,” Yakko shrugged a little. William sighed.

“Lena darling, I know it must be difficult, but she was the queen after all-”

“She committed treason on the highest offense, William.” Lena interrupted.

“I know, but well- hasn’t she already paid the price?” He said in a hushed tone, even though Yakko was still right there. Lena looked down at her tea cup.

“It’s not that I think she deserves one, Lena. I’m just concerned that the people won’t understand and that it’ll cause them to turn against you,” He clarified softly, touching her arm. Lena swiped it away.

“I know full well what I’ve done,” She stated sharply. “And I don’t regret it. Let the people be upset if they will, they’ll get over it.”

Wakko and Dot stopped running by then, now looking at their parents, confused.

“Lena, darling, perhaps we should take this outside,” William sighed. Lena looked at her children before agreeing.

“We’ll be back shortly... carry on until we get back,” Lena said, placing a hand on Yakko’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze before standing up and going. William followed in suit.

William stood by the door a moment, making sure they weren’t listening in. Lena paced across the hall, holding her arms.

“Well?” Lena asked him.

“Well, what?” William questioned her harshness.

“Well, what’ve you to say? You asked us to leave the room and we’ve left, so what’ve you to say?” She asked, digging her fingers into her arms.

“Lena darling... I just thought perhaps it wasn’t best to discuss such matters in front of the children,” William said softly. That didn’t make Lena feel any better.

“William, I’m tired of pretending I care about her,” Lena looked out a window. “I don’t want to waste a year of my life wearing all black and veiling myself pretending to weep over what I’ve lost– I don’t even want to do it for a day,” She admitted.

“Of course,” He nodded slowly. The queen-to-be glanced at him.

“You aren’t going to argue otherwise?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Lena darling, I love you with all that I am. I trust your judgment. I’m just trying to look out for you, but if you know this will make you happiest, then of course I support you,” William went to her.

“I love you too William,” She said. “I just... I know what I’ve done. I don’t regret it.”

“My dear... you keep saying that,” He took her hand and kissed it.

“It… remains true,” Lena took a step away.

“Lena, who are you trying to convince?” He asked.

“I–... nobody,” She said quickly.

“Lena-”

“Nobody, William,” She closed her eyes and turned away from him.

She didn’t regret it. Her mother had to die, and by her hand.

There was no other way.

“There was no other way,” She said aloud.

“My love, you’re trembling,” William worried.

“She didn’t love me. She never did- even as a child. She shouted, she pulled the flowers out of my hair, she grabbed me, she blamed me for Father’s death, she... she hurt Wakko, she locked him up like some animal and then she– she killed Dot. She had to die, William,” She still didn’t look at him.

“I know that darling...” He approached her slowly.

“A-and even if she had loved me at one point... if she brushed my hair, or sat with me in portraits, or applauded me at vocal performances or picked out a dress she saw me admiring, it doesn’t matter. She killed our baby girl... she had to die,” She finally managed to meet his eyes, but it was almost too much still.

“My love, I know... What you did was incredibly difficult,” William said, wiping a stray tear from her face.

“Why though? Why was it difficult? After all that she did to our children, it should’ve been easy– I hate her, I’ve always hated her-!”

“Lena, I do not know,” He sighed, stroking her face with his hand softly. “I’m not a psychologist or anything of the like... but I assume it’s because- well... she was your mother.”

“Hardly...” Lena muttered to herself.

“Despite everything, she still was. You can’t deny that,” He said. “And despite everything, you’ve always been slow to retaliate, so of course it’s taking a while to process what you’ve done.”

“Thought you said you aren’t a psychologist,” Lena snorted pathetically, which made her husband laugh.

“I’m not dear... though perhaps you really should take up Scratchnsniff’s offer,” William said, wiping another tear away.

“I already wrote for him last night. He’ll do the children lots of good,” She said.

“That’s not what I meant,” William gave her a look.

Lena paused, sincerely thinking about it.

“I’ll be woefully busy... I’ll hardly have the time.”.

“We’ll make the time,” He countered.

“William- I just... I don’t know...” She turned away.

“Lena... please? I worry about you,” William held one of her hands in his and gave it a squeeze. Lena said nothing.

“You deserve to find peace, my love. Ever since I met you you were burdened by your mother’s actions, and now that she’s gone, you can finally be free of it, but only if you accept help,” He said with a small smile. She could hardly look at him now.

She was an adult. Almost queen. She should be able to handle this on her own.

“If not for yourself, then can you at least do it for the kids? Or for...me?” He pleaded quietly.

Lena looked at the door a long moment, practically seeing her children leaning up against it (which she knew they were).

“William, I don't know if… If I can find peace...” She whispered.

“Can’t we at least give it a try, my love?” He whispered back. She looked at him. His eyes... those warm, dark, familiar eyes had brought her so much love and comfort over the years. So much love and worry...

Lena knew she’d do anything for him.

“I… I can try,” She nodded slowly.

“Really?” He smiled a little.

“I’d walk through hell and back for you, my love,” Lena placed a soft hand on his cheek. “I think I can believe in myself a little for you too.”

“Thank you,” He kissed her wrist before pulling her in for an actual kiss, which she gladly returned.

However, the kiss didn’t last too long before a chorus of voices behind the door grew louder and before they knew it, the door opened, Yakko, Wakko, and Dot spilling out with it.

“Darn it Dot- you got us caught,” Yakko shook his head.

“Haha... hi,” Dot sheeped. Lena rolled her eyes.

“Mind telling me why you were listening in to what was supposed to be a private, adult conversation?” She teased, helping them up and off each other.

“Uh... curiosity?” Wakko shrugged. Lena laughed.

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know?” She ruffled his fur. Wakko smiled up at her with his tongue sticking out. She missed that smile.

“Well... the day isn’t over yet... What do you three want to do?” She asked.

“Can we hear a story?” Dot perked up and asked.

“Yeah! A story!” Wakko agreed. Yakko snorted, giving his silent agreement.

“It’s nowhere near bedtime,” William said. “What are we going to do then?”

“We can handle two stories,” Dot rolled her eyes. William chuckled.

“That you can... that you can,” He said, stroking his mustache.

“How about this: I’ll tell you a bedtime story if you’ll help me out with this one, hm?” He offered, winking at Lena to boast his cleverness. Lena rolled her eyes.

“Okay!” The younger warner siblings said in agreement.

“But first we have to clean all this up- can’t be leaving everything out like this,” Lena remarked, going back into their picnic room. Quickly, the children ran in and began picking up any toys they had brought in, folding blankets, and putting back pillows where they belonged, while Lena and William dealt with the food.

“Quite the plethora of fruit you prepared for us this morning,” Willaim commented as he cleaned.

“I do it when I’m stressed,” She shrugged. “You know this- you were there.”

“I know,” he teased. “They were very good.”

“I didn’t grow them,” Lena rolled her eyes, teasing him right back.

“It’s our garden. I think we ought to have some claim,” He shrugged. Lena rolled her eyes again.

“You say that like we don’t get most of our fruits from the farms-”

“Actually, we get our apples and citrus from the farms. The starfruit and berries were from the garden,” Yakko snuck up from behind, folding a blanket.

“Who’s side are you on?” Lena gave him a look. Yakko laughed.

“Checkmate,” William grinned.

“I hate you,” She snorted, putting the bread into a bag as Yakko disappeared to put the blanket away.

“You love me,” William elbowed her lightly. Lena chuckled and continued to clean without comment. However, a thought slowly dawned on her and she paused.

“Lena..?” William noticed.

“Sorry, I’m just... thinking,” She shook her head and continued.

“Thinking of what?” He asked.

Lena didn’t really know how to put it.

“I suppose... well... I don’t know. I just-... Do you really believe any of this will ever truly be over?” Lena asked him.

William sighed. “I really hope so... it may not be today, or tomorrow, or even the day after, but in my heart I know one day we’ll finally be truly happy and free from her and her effects.”

“What do you think it’ll be like when that comes?” She asked him. William smiled.

“Well... I imagine there’ll be dancing under a sky full of stars. Music playing softly in the other room, while we just have all the time in the world to ourselves, knowing Yakko, Wakko and Dot are safely tucked to sleep- or even if they aren’t we know they’re safe. They know they’re loved, we know we’re loved, you know you’re loved,” He said, a far-off look on his face indicating he had given this thought before. Lena smiled.

“Dancing under the stars... I’ve missed that,” She agreed with him.

“Perhaps we’ll even go to the garden. We’ll sit on our bench by the fountain where I first proposed to you and we’ll just sit and reflect on the good times we shared, and the good times yet to come. It won’t be the end, after all. There’ll still be a lifetime ahead of us,” He said. Lena closed her eyes, envisioning it.

“That sounds lovely,” She smiled and opened her eyes.

“One day,” He said with a wink.

“We’re doneeee, can you tell us the story now?” Dot ran up to them, grabbing William’s leg. He laughed.

“Alright, c’mon,” He said, peeling Dot from his leg and picking her up instead. Wakko went to Lena and held her hand. She gave it a comforting squeeze, not that either was nervous. Yakko walked on her other side.

Together, the family all went back to the familiar playroom and settled in for storytime with Dad.

Effortlessly he weaved a tale about a beautiful princess, a handsome knight, and a fearsome dragon. Has it been done before? Absolutely, but it was the audience’s choice and they missed the cliché. He spoke of everlasting love, the princess and the knight saving each other numerous times, and eventually how they lived happily ever after and created a land of prosperity, peace, and love- unlike the age of the Dragon. It didn’t take a genius to figure out his inspiration for such a tale, but it was interesting and exciting nonetheless.

After that, Lena and William played with Yakko, Wakko, and Dot with their dolls, playing a game similar to the story, but with its own twists (like the Princess being fire breathing and could transform into a giant lion and the knight was a frog who needed True Love’s Kiss to transform) until it was eventually time for diner.

After that, William read them a bedtime story, this time of a lonely siren and a sailor who nearly drowned, which captivated Wakko and Dot easily, though Yakko was tired, and barely awake by the end. Then, they checked for monsters for Dot, after which Lena sang them their lullaby and they all went to sleep.

And so several days passed in such a way. Lena would spend her mornings over paperwork and giving signatures and statements and writing to other kingdoms in preparation for her coronation while William watched the kids, and in the afternoon she’d join them for lunch and for some quality family time until it was eventually time to sleep and the cycle would start over. As much as she hated the paperwork portion of her days, she couldn’t deny the quality time made up for it. Seeing her children slowly regain their spirit filled her with more happiness than she could ever describe, especially with the help of Doctor Scratchnsniff.

Ah, yes. Doctor Scratchnsniff. At first, the children were hesitant to meet with him, but after Lena and William offered to sit in with them for their appointments (for the first one, at least) they agreed.

Dot seemed to be liking him, though she found him and his accent strange at first. However, the doctor reported she was already off to a good start and even after meeting twice he said she was making good progress. That was good to hear at least. The sooner her PTSD was gone, the better.

It was evident Yakko liked him less so, but Lena and William weren’t surprised by that. His issues were with being fiercely independent and untrusting so naturally, it was going to take a while for him to open up, which they were okay with. They had all the time in the world now.

Wakko, however, never wanted to be alone with him. He always had Lena sit with him through his appointments, either clinging to her arm, or sitting in her lap the whole time as she stroked his ears or rubbed his back soothingly. He hardly spoke a word at first, which was half expected, but eventually, he started answering more and more, even coming up with the nickname “Scratchy” for him. The doctor didn’t seem to mind, and soon the whole family was simply referring to him as Scratchy.

Lena eventually found time to make an appointment of her own. It felt... odd, to say the least. She was used to the loving and kind support from William, but opening up to Scratchy was a different feeling entirely. She didn’t have to fear what he thought, as he was trained to listen and help. She liked that.

What she liked less was reflecting on her childhood. So many feelings and emotions and twisted memories she didn’t know how to look back on. He said this was natural for victims of childhood neglect and abuse, which made enough sense.

However, she was processing now. Moving on, as he described it. Acknowledging what happened was the first step, moving on was the next. It was... interesting. Then again, these were only the beginning steps. She still had lots and lots of work to do, but she had all the time in the world now.

The day-to-day pattern was so hypnotic that the day of her coronation threw her completely off guard. Heck- she had hardly noticed that when she had awakened, maids and dressers were immediately there to get her in the gorgeous cerulean blue and gold dress they had made for her. It wasn’t until they were trying to comb through her hair she realized the day was special. Sure- she wasn’t normally dressed by handmaidens, but she had just woken up.

Oh god- it was finally happening. Important guests from kingdoms all over were going to arrive to watch her rise to the throne and accept her fate and destiny as the next queen of Warnerstock.

Hell- it felt like Lena blinked and suddenly she was waiting for the doors to open so she could walk down and accept the crown and say the lines and well- get crowned as Queen. She was wearing the nicest gown she’d ever worn in her life, she was all primed up– something that hadn’t happened to her since she was a little girl.

“You ready Mom?” Yakko asked, adjusting his fancy little outfit. Lena thought he as well as the rest of the kids looked adorable, though it was clear he was rather uncomfortable with the lapels and sash. Still- that didn’t stop Lena from wishing she could get a portrait of him done.

“Hopefully,” Lena laughed through her nervousness.

“You’ll be great, I know it,” Wakko grinned up at her. Lena smiled at him, before noticing his sash was on the wrong shoulder and she fixed it.

“Yeah! You’re super nice and pretty and you’ll be a great queen,” Dot encouraged.

“You’re too sweet, darling,” She thanked her before standing.

“You’ve nothing to worry about, my love,” William placed his hands on her shoulders. “We have your back, it’ll be okay.”

“I’m the luckiest queen-to-be in the world,” Lena chuckled.

“Yep!” Wakko agreed.

“Your highness? They’re ready for you,” said one of the officials. Lena took in a deep breath and nodded.

“Well... let’s go,” She gave them a nod. Her family gave her quick grins and thumbs up, before the door opened, and the ceremony officially began.

The ceremony went perfectly as planned. Not a word nor person was out of place. She recited the vow of protection and service perfectly, didn’t flinch when the cold metal of her new crown touched her head, and even managed not to flinch at the mention of her full name (though she could still feel the internal dread of it). She recited her speech to the people perfectly, gaining their understanding and support with her carefully crafted yet heartfelt words, and eventually, the ceremonies were over and the festivities began.

Quickly, the children ran into the outdoor courtyard with many of the other royal children from nearby kingdoms, and music began to play. However, this wasn’t the stuffy, snooty music her mother would’ve chosen for her coronation, no. This was Lena, and she chose something exciting. A new beginning. Songs that make you kick off your shoes (if you wore those) and dance in circles until you pass out from exhaustion you didn’t know you had because you were too busy being swept away by the fun of it all. Lena danced with her new subjects and partners in foreign policy all day, and even a bit of the night as the sun eventually went down, only stopping when the feast began, or the band needed a break, but then returned right away.

She hadn’t felt this alive in years, and Lena was determined to never let it go. This was what freedom was. This was what life without her mother’s control could be, every day. People laughing, cheering, celebrating, being together and safe and happy.

People were happy.

Lena… was happy.

Yakko, Wakko, and Dot were happy too, even mingling with children from neighboring kingdoms, with Yakko even finding himself fascinated with a certain dog prince that she and William gave a quick thumbs up to, embarrassing him deeply. Eh, he’d get over it. They were back, and that meant embarrassing him to his crushes- even if he just met them that night.

Wakko and Dot were having fun dancing, and drawing chalk on the ground. Wakko proved himself to be quite the artist, as while he danced he dragged and drew with his tail, and before anyone knew it the whole floor was a Wakko art piece. Sure, it may have stained their feet, but it was truly something to behold. Dot, on the other hand, was chatting with other princesses and citizens, charming them with her classic wit and cuteness that made Lena proud.

And William? For the first time in what felt like forever, he seemed to be enjoying himself too, the worry that was constantly behind those deep, dark eyes she loved so dearly being practically gone. Instead, joy and excitement, as well as love was shining back, as he spun and lifted and danced alongside her to the exciting music of the band. The couple had never felt so alive and free.

Eventually, though, all good things must come to an end, and guests slowly began to leave, saying their quick goodbyes to the new Queen, wishing her luck, and promising their loyalties and hopes for the future. It saddened to see things coming to an end, but eventually, the band began to play much slower, softer music, and William took her hand in his and they slowly began to sway under the starlight.

“I told you you had nothing to worry about,” William smirked.

“I know, you’re always right, blah blah blah,” Lena snickered.

William laughed. “I’m serious though, I’m extremely proud of you. You’ve come a very long way for it being less than a month since returning.”

“And here I thought it was already a year,” Lena joked, referring more to the neverending piles of paperwork she managed to go through in such a short time than her time with her loved ones.

“Lena, I mean it. I’m incredibly proud of you,” William made sure she knew it.

“Thank you, dear,” Lena kissed him. “I couldn’t have done this- any of this without you.”

“I know,” He said with a small smile. Lena snorted a little, before stepping closer and leaning against him as they swayed together.

“How’s this for a perfect ending, hm?” he asked.

Lena thought about that, looking around the more than half-empty courtyard.

Wakko was curled up into a ball on a pile of pillows near the firepit, looking perfectly worn out and warm. Dot was drawing with chalk next to him, looking half asleep as well. Yakko was telling a story to his new friend, though it was very clear that friend was going to have to leave soon, but whoever was in charge of the boy clearly didn’t have the heart to break the two up, which Lena couldn’t say she blamed them for. They were cute. Kids- but cute.

Then she looked back at William. The love of her life. The man who never once left her side and carried her through the worst moments of their lives, and somehow made it out alive. She kissed him again.

“It’s not perfect... but it’s a damn good start,” Lena smiled.

“A damn good start indeed,” William grinned and the two kissed.

And they were right, it was a damn good start indeed. After all, Queen Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the Second was married to Sir William the Good, and had three beautiful children she loved more than anything in the world. Her mother was dead, and couldn’t hurt any of them anymore. There were no more secrets, no more lies, and no more abuse.

Together, the Warners were entering a new era; an era of peace, of love, of great healing, and great togetherness. The old queen was dead, proving once and for all that nothing could or ever would keep them apart for long.

They were together now, and together the Warner Family was unstoppable.

#animaniacs #wakkos wish #angelina 1 lives au #yakko warner #dot warner #wakko warner #sir william the good #lena warner #my fics #happy ending #yayyyyy

6 notes · View notes

mercy-burning · 3 years ago

Text

Fake Fiancée - Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer write letters back and forth, both of them slowly starting to fall in deeper. Category: Smut (18+) Content Warnings: Strong language, sexual themes, masturbation (male and female), sexting, face sitting Word Count: 6.3k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello!! Sorry this has been so long in the making, but for a while my inspiration for this story absolutely disappeared, and then I tried to think of how to bridge the previous chapters to the final one with absolutely no luck. And then I re-read Part 2 and got stuck on the letter, thus this chapter was born! I didn’t want to drag this miniseries out any longer than 4 parts, and the letter format combined with other inner monologuing and description really allowed me to do that in an interesting way that hopefully doesn’t feel rushed!

It was so much fun and very refreshing to write. I hope you like how it turned out!

Thank you all for being so patient while I get my shit together 😅 Love you guys! Enjoy 🥰

***

We've been sending letters back and forth for about a month now.

If I'm being honest, it took me about two weeks to decide whether or not I actually wanted to send one back, but could you blame me?

Here was this guy I couldn't stop thinking about after a one-night stand, only for him to catch me—months later at the same exact bar we'd met in—flirting with his friend. And then after our sexual encounter that night, all the things we said, the connection I thought we had, all of it...

He left it all behind the next morning, only to send me a letter in the mail.

I was pissed.

Sure, it was a nice letter, but the fact that he'd reduced what we had down to a piece of paper and scribbled ink had made me angrier than I cared to admit.

In retrospect, I may have overreacted.

Over time I started re-reading his words, and the more I thought about it all, the more I started to regret my anger. And more than anything, I just wanted to see him again. I couldn't stay mad at him, not when all I could picture was his pouty face and nervous hands. His sunbeam of a smile peeked through the clouds of my anger here and there, and the longer it settled, the more it bathed me in a warm light that should have made me happy. But all it did was make me long for him.

Once I'd actually started writing that first letter back, I wondered why I hadn't jumped on the opportunity in the first place. I mean, after all the cliché shit we'd experienced in our short relationship thus far, adding love letters to the mix was just as perfect as you could get, right?

Spencer,

I'm sorry it's taken me this long to finally write you back. Truthfully I wasn't sure I wanted to write you at all, but your letter kept drawing me back in. I couldn't stop re-reading it, imagining you sitting down somewhere and contemplating every word as you wrote them down. I wondered if you'd thrown out hundreds of pieces of paper after messing up when you could have just as well typed out a letter without wasting them.

And then by that point, all I could think about was just you.

I always pictured what your living room looks like, or your kitchen table, or your office, or wherever you sit down to write. I wondered if you looked like one of those hopeless writers in the movies that have a scruffy face, coffee stains on their white tee shirts, and messy hair that hasn't been washed in days due to lack of inspiration.

But in the end, the image that won out over all the others was just you as I remember.

I'm not going to lie, that image most of the time was your body above mine while I held my hand to your throat, but for the sake of romance I guess I should probably tell you what it was every other time— the outfit you were wearing the first time we met.

When I think of you, I think of your hand nervously clutching that beer bottle for dear life and the other one occasionally pushing your glasses up your nose. I think of your eyes every time they'd look away from me, probably to keep yourself from staring too long.

But the thing that always gets me the most is your smile— even when it comes in little flashes, after you've said something you probably thought was lame. You covered it up with that perfect smile.

I've dreamt of that smile nearly every night since I met you, and I wouldn't be opposed to seeing it in person again.

I'd love to meet you for dinner some time.

But since you did manage to "more or less abandon me twice now", I think it's only fair that you make it up to me first.

Make the next letter a good one, and we'll see what happens.

Yours, Y/N

P.S. I hope my handwriting is as pretty as you hoped. I'd hate to disappoint.

***

Y/N,

I'm incredibly grateful that you've given me a chance to redeem myself. Every night since I last saw you has also been spent wondering what your house looks like on the inside... What you looked like reading my letter (perhaps at your kitchen table?)

And this might sound silly, but I've also wondered what your bedroom looks like. You may be laughing at me, because I've been in your bedroom, but in my defense I was a bit preoccupied to really take notice of my surroundings— I was simply surrounded by you.

But since I've been to your home, I figured it was only fair that I invite you to mine, possibly for dinner. I don't know how to cook much— in fact I'm pretty awful at making anything that's not a can of Spaghetti-Os... But one of my co-workers is an excellent chef, and with a recipe from him and some practice under my belt, I'm sure I can pull it off.

But by "some" practice, I mean probably weeks or months of practice. So hopefully that gives you ample time to mull it over.

Perhaps in the meantime we can get to know each other through our letters. And who's to say, it might spare us the awkward "getting to know each other" stage of a first date. Though, pretty much every stage of every date is awkward for me, so it might not help at all.

Regardless, I'm very much looking forward to hearing from you again.

I do get called away for work quite often, however. So I apologize in advance if I can't get back to you as soon as I'd like.

But in any instance, you're still welcome to text message or call me. I know it isn't as romantic or personal as handwritten letters, but it's certainly practical.

Yours, Spencer.

P.S. Your handwriting is just as beautiful as I'd imagined it would be. And you could never disappoint me.

That being said, if you somehow decide that this letter wasn't up to your standards and reject my offer, I may just find myself in the deepest despair imaginable.

***

I was definitely way too in my head about this.

It was just a text. Sure, it was a risky text to send, but I had no doubt in my mind that it would be fine in the end.

So why was my stomach churning just thinking about sending it?

Some might have chalked it up to my fat ol' crush on Spencer, but I knew it ran deeper. It had to do at least a little with my history with Patrick... The man stood me up and sent divorce papers to my place of work rather than to my face... And as much as I liked to think I was completely over it, we'd been together for years, and it really did a number on me.

I didn't want to ruin this new thing with Spencer so badly that I was overthinking everything.

So even though I could see his face opening the text, my heart doing jumps at the mere thought of it, a bigger part of me worried that it would be a step too far in the wrong direction. I didn't want him to think I was only in this for... sexual reasons. Which, don't get me wrong, have been pretty damn great so far, but I really did want to get to know him and see where this went.

In the end I decided to hold off. I settled for something a little lighter.

Spencer,

Don't feel too bad about your cooking skills. I've been through my fair share of burnt frozen pizzas to know how you're feeling. So the fact that you've given yourself the opportunity to practice and learn a recipe just for me is extremely romantic, and I appreciate the thought.

I won't stop you from following through, though I'm telling you now that no amount of slaving away in the kitchen will make me change my mind about you. We could probably eat stale crackers on the floor and I'd still find you utterly fascinating.

Maybe that's a bit too extreme, but I hope you get my point.

Anyway, I'd love to come over for dinner some time. Whenever you think you're ready to show me those improved cooking skills, you just let me know and I'll happily make my way over.

In the meantime, I'm thinking of sending more with my letters. I don't want to give away too much, but I will say that I'm very crafty. And don't feel like you need to send anything in return, though I'll let you know if I ever change my mind.

Yours,

Y/N

***

In the bottom right corner of the letter, right next to her signature, was a red lipstick stain in the shape of... well, her lips. It was common sense to know that they were hers and no one else's, not just a stamp or a drawing, and rather her actual lip stain... But even without it, I would have been able to tell by their shape.

Was that pathetic?

I could hear her, picture her in front of me, hovering above me with red-painted lips in the shape of a smirk, visibly cooing as she called me names... I could feel the ghost of her fingertips trailing up my throat and tilting my chin up to look at her as she rocked her hips teasingly into mine...

The whine I let out truly was pathetic.

You pathetic, needy little thing, I could hear her say...

My hands clutched the paper so tightly I thought I'd tear it, but it didn't matter when all I could see while staring at it was her luscious, red lips... Her voice was right there in my ear, like she was really beside me, watching me...

Oh, God, what would she do if she saw me right now? Staring at her lipstick stained paper and subconsciously grinding down into my chair...

You pathetic, needy little thing...

My hips jolted with a small, broken shout of her name, and in no time the front of my pants were flooded with warmth. I felt her eyes burning into me from the void, sparking to life with amusement as her voice crept into the deep corners of my brain and whispered praises to me.

Ohh, what a good little whore... Getting off to the thought of me... That's it, sweet boy... Come for me...

By now my eyes had squeezed shut and the letter was crumpled in my hand, the other reaching down to add much-appreciated burning friction to my crotch as I rode out my orgasm. My whole body tensed and shuddered at every sensation, from Y/N's image behind my eyes to the sweet warmth that pooled in my underwear and soaked through onto my hand.

Holy mother of—

The next time I saw her, I was screwed. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. I'd surely go red the second I laid eyes on her, and she'd know right away what I was thinking and feeling.

Simply put, it scared and excited me at the same time.

She'd utterly and thoroughly wrecked me, and if she didn't already know it, she certainly would soon.

Y/N,

I'm not sure what you intend to send in addition to your letters, but if it's anything near the sentiment of your lip stain, then you might have to refrain in favor of my poor, fragile heart.

See, it aches for you. It's bad enough I think of you always, but the moment I saw the shape of your lips on that letter, my heart almost shot straight out of my chest. Maybe it was the familiar shape of your lips or the implications of its place next to your name, signed after the word 'yours', that sent me into a tailspin, but whatever the case...

I'm pretty sure I've completely fallen under your spell.

I suppose I should also tell you that my heart wasn't the only part of my body that came to life at your added signature. I assure you, it took no time at all for me to come undone at the thought of your lips pressing gently against the paper, imagining that they were instead pressing to my skin... I didn't even have to touch myself, really. It just happened. Because of you and you alone.

I hope that wasn't too forward, but I felt it necessary that you know just how much of an effect you have on me.

If I could see you again in a millisecond, it wouldn't be soon enough.

That being said, I am determined to spend as much time as possible to perfect this dish for our dinner. Because you deserve nothing but the best, even if you insist that you could settle for less.

It's the least I can do.

Yours, Spencer.

And a week and a half later, when I didn't get a letter back on time, I was sure I'd messed up for good.

My mind was racing a mile a minute, yelling at myself for even thinking for a second of being that detailed in a letter without any consent. Sure, she'd taken it a step up by signing off her letter with a kiss, but I'd been absolutely idiotic in telling her that I got off to it.

I was honestly well and truly prepared to show up at her house with a big bouquet of flowers and an apology so wordy and probably too long for anyone's liking, in hopes that she'd forgive me for making this huge mistake.

Thankfully, though, it wasn't needed.

My phone chimed as I was pacing, my lip near bloody with how hard I'd been chewing at it, and I saw an unknown number attached to a text message and photo attachment.

The photo wouldn't load (I would have to plug it into my laptop and transfer the image there to see it— a fact which always irked Penelope to the core), but with the sentences I saw above the file, I almost knew exactly what I'd find when I had the means to see it.

There. Now we're even... Who says text messages can't be romantic and personal? XXX, Y/N

I felt like Bambi as I scrambled to my laptop three rooms over, stumbling over weak legs with my phone clutched tightly in my hand. My heart raced faster than it ever had as I started everything up and retrieved the right cord for my phone. With a few shakes and stumbles here and there, I briefly entertained the idea of upgrading my phone.

I probably would have left the apartment to do it immediately after seeing her photo attachment, but the moment it loaded up on my screen, my brain and body lost all ability to function properly.

A familiar burn coursed through the lower half of my body and tightened my chest at the sight of her, open and exposed and... wet.

My laptop screen was completely taken over by the image of Y/N's pussy, visibly glistening and aroused. A manicured hand—her hand— was in frame as well, middle finger resting snugly between the supple skin of her wet lips.

The fact that I only tasted her once felt downright cruel.

I tried to imagine it again— my face buried between the softness of her thighs. As much as I wanted to lay her down and indulge myself as long as possible, taking all the time in the world to slowly devour her and truly explore her for myself, what ran through my mind then was something more in the vein of our dynamic thus far.

My mind wandered, specifically to a place where I was the one laying down as she sat down directly onto my face and gave me what she thought I deserved. My hands were tied to the bed, maybe handcuffed. All I knew was that I couldn't touch her, and it bothered me. So I whined, and every time the sound left my mouth, she would let up, lifting further out of reach and causing me to instinctively reach my head up to chase her.

You greedy little slut... Take what I give you...

Desperately seeking her approval, I told her I'd be good and rejoiced when she lowered herself down to me again, allowing me to me completely wrapped up in her once more. My tongue lapped and lapped, gathering as much of her as I could before she'd inevitably leave again.

But she never did.

Somehow I kept my quiet, even though it was extremely difficult, and ate her out like my life depended on it. She glided smoothly over my face, coating more than just my lips in her arousal, and it thrilled me to my very core.

Every time I breathed in I could smell her, every time she groaned out my name my stomach fluttered, and it wasn't long before she was clutching my hair, shaking above me while I drank her in and repressed my whines.

My hips were uncontrollable though, bucking up into nothing and begging for any type of stimulation.

But then suddenly it was there— Her hand, firmly wrapping around my dick and gliding over it beautifully with a slickness that she must have transferred from her pussy. I could still taste her as I cried out her name, her movements quickening with every second until—

I didn't even realize I was actually alone until my eyes opened, cum coating my hand, my heartbeat heavy and loud, and the laptop screen in front of me a shade darker signaling a long period of inactivity.

I'd done it again...

And now we most certainly were not even.

I glanced over at my phone—plugged into the laptop—and then down at my lap, and my stomach knotted as my next move rang clear as day.

***

I woke up the next morning to texts from Spencer, and my heart picked up speed, a gentle warmth blooming through my chest at the sight.

I thought maybe he'd thank me for the photo I'd sent. Maybe he'd return it with an influx of messages along the lines of Oh my god, Holy fuck I miss you, and the like.

But what I wasn't expecting was to see a photo in return, of his hand that I'd dreamt of nearly nightly, wrapped firmly around his cock and all of it completely covered in cum.

Below the photo were three messages in a row, and each one gave me more butterflies than the last.

Sorry for low quality. No smartphone.

Also sorry we're not even anymore.

But I'm not sorry I did it- you're too perfect to resist.

***

Dearest Y/N,

I'm sorry you haven't gotten a letter from me in a while. And I know we've kept in touch through texting and calling while I was swamped at work, though now that I have some time off, I'd love to write you again. As much as I enjoy our virtual conversations, I still find sending letters to be my preferred method of communication (only second to speaking with you in person, that is).

Which brings me to the main point I'm trying to make.

I want to see you again. In person. I'm not completely confident in my cooking ability yet, but if you wouldn't mind the potential of it tasting awful, I'd love to have you over. I promise you nothing but the best, and I know that's a high promise, especially considering I probably haven't sold you on the meal, but it's true.

I'd do anything to please you.

And I really do mean 'anything', I hope you understand that.

Yours, Spencer.

***

The thought of seeing him in person again after so long made my hands way shakier than I would have liked. It made no sense the longer I thought about it, because it was obvious that we liked each other, and seeing each other in person wouldn't be a problem. Because it'd never been a problem before.

It irked me.

Still, I knocked on his door and physically shook out my hands, praying I could keep my cool when he finally opened the door.

But I should have known better.

One second I was staring at a large plank of wood, and the next I was staring into frantic eyes, golden and sparkling just as I remembered, but with an added glimmer of fear that matched the shakiness of my hands.

I don't know how long we stood there, just staring at each other, but the longer we did, the more we relaxed. His fear was gone, and the shaking in my hands turned into a dull hum that longed to reach out for him.

Still, I refrained, settling on a simple, "Hey, pen pal..."

By the way he looked at me, silent as ever, I started to wonder if that was a stupid thing to lead with. So I opened my mouth to apologize, to say anything else, but he beat me to it.

"Y/N... I... H—Hi, you look... incredible."

"O—Oh, thanks... Thank you, yeah, I um... figured I should... dress up a little. I know we're not going out anywhere, but I thought it might be nice."

He doesn't need to know that, Y/N, stop talking!

I gave him a small smile and a nervous laugh in an attempt to stop myself, hating how I was so nervous around him.

Spencer didn't seem to mind, though. He let me in and closed the door behind me as I quickly glanced around his apartment. It was littered with greens and browns, books everywhere, and I'd never felt more at home.

"Is it, uh... What you expected?"

"Hmm?" I turned to meet him, his soft voice pulling me from my wandering eyes.

"My apartment."

"Oh! Yeah, it's very you... I love it."

The compliment had his cheeks turning pink, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than kiss them over and over again.

And just like that, once again we were caught just staring at each other. I didn't know what he was thinking, and honestly, I didn't know what I was thinking either. All I knew in that moment was that Spencer Reid was standing right in front of me, close enough to touch, and I wanted to give in.

I was so wrapped up in the idea of feeling him that I almost didn't hear him speak. I wouldn't have heard him at all had it not been for his lips moving.

"I'm sorry, I haven't started dinner yet..."

"That's okay," I reassured. Or, at least I tried to. Really, though, I think it sounded more like I was uninterested in what he was saying, my voice flat and lifeless as I continued to stare at him.

Suddenly we were closer, and I had to look up higher to see his face, butterflies swarming in my stomach at the way he looked down at me.

"You're sure?"

"Mhm."

"I can start it now if you're getting hungry."

Food isn't what I'm hungry for, is what I thought. I almost said it, too, because he was even closer now, his hands coming out to touch mine. If they were humming before, they were certainly blaring with life now, growing hot under his light touch. And it took everything I had not to look down, because it had been too damn long since I'd seen his hands in person, and I wanted them on me immediately.

He could tell, too. He could sense my urgency, feel the longing radiating off my presence, and I knew this because I could feel his, too. His eyes practically dared me to say what I was thinking, and so I did.

"Don't you dare."

It was hard to tell who moved in first, but it really didn't matter.

I was here, in his apartment, feeling his lips glide over mine with reckless abandon, and that's all that mattered.

His hands gripped my waist so tightly I would have thought he was trying to hold me in place, to make sure I wasn't ever going to leave his sight again. And if that was the case, I would have let him hold me there forever.

My hands, meanwhile, clutched at his hair, forcing myself closer and closer to him with every sharp tug. I reveled in the way he whined into my mouth with every little thing I did, whether it was a tug of the hair or a roll forward of the hips, or even a swipe of my tongue over his.

He was putty in my hands yet again, and just like every time before, it turned me into a fucking goner.

Being with Spencer wasn't like anything I'd ever known. And the only other thing I'd known was Patrick. He didn't want me, not really, and even though he was good to me in the beginning, it was never like this.

I didn't come over to his apartment with shaking hands. I didn't send him fucking love letters almost weekly, and I certainly didn't get kissed like this...

Spencer was drunk on me, and I wasn't any sober myself.

"That picture you sent me..." I mumbled over his lips, still keeping myself as close as I could while I got out what I needed to say. "Where did you take that?"

We kissed for a few more seconds, unable to stay apart, before he answered, his voice just as breathy and brimming with desperation as mine. "My office. Just down the hall."

I kissed him again, hard, and then pulled back to look him in the eyes. They widened when I said, "Show me."

He dragged me through the apartment on rushed legs, and I almost laughed at the urgency, only stopped by the realization that I was just as urgent. It occurred to me that perhaps my laughing at his urgency might just be a slight turn on for him, given our history with my playful degradation, but still I pulled back— Tonight felt... different.

It didn't feel like we were headed in the direction of me calling him my dirty little whore throughout the night, and it was something I was more than okay with. In fact, I welcomed it, excited to see where this new night would take us.

We ended up in his office, which remained more or less the same aesthetic as the rest of his place. In the middle sat a small desk with a laptop and some papers scattered about on it, accompanied by a tall floor lamp and a rolling desk chair.

"Where were you exactly?" I mused, gripping his hand tightly and buzzing at the way his fingers flexed against my own.

"In the chair... I pulled the photo up on my laptop."

"Right. No smartphone."

Spencer hummed in confirmation before dragging me along to the chair, and I fucking giggled as he plopped down and practically pulled me right on top of him, the chair rolling back a foot or two. I went down for a bright, messy kiss that ended with his hands clutching my ass over my skirt and my own cradling his face.

His growing bulge nudged right up into my inner thigh, and I groaned lightly in his mouth, my fingers dragging softly down his jaw and neck until I reached his shoulders.

"What were you thinking about?"

He raised his eyebrow, and I rocked my hips forward with a sly grin, hoping to get my point across. "When you were looking at my picture, in this very chair, what were you thinking about?"

Seeing his eyelids stutter and his tongue dart out at my movements sent a rush through me, and I moved my hips once more to emphasize my urgency.

"I... I thought about you... riding my face. You tied my hands..."

"Oh?" I sighed, rocking forward again and humming into his neck. "Well, that can definitely be arranged if you want it bad enough..."

"Please, Y/N, yes... Please..."

The need dripping from every syllable made it near impossible to breathe, and I was suddenly very inclined to give him everything he wanted. With or without the begging.

So I reluctantly peeled away from him and stood up on weak legs. Staring at Spencer as he sat there, leaning back in the chair with disheveled hair and obvious desire in his eyes, made it all the better when I took my panties off from under my skirt and motioned for him to come forward. "On your knees?"

I would have demanded it in any other situation, but I was feeling a bit more sweet this time around.

And he seemed grateful for it, sliding the chair back further and getting down in front of me. I reached out and played with his hair, trying my hardest to commit his beautiful face to memory. I wanted it burned there for the rest of time.

"Hands?"

Spencer offered his hands to me, and I hummed happily, doing my best to tie his hands together with a makeshift knot from my panties. It wasn't really tight or secure, but it was enough for him to whine as he set them in his lap.

He watched intently as I dropped my skirt—a bit redundant now, but I thought it'd be a nice way to get him more excited. Plus I wanted to see his face (or at lease what I could see of it while it was buried between my legs).

I stepped forward then, looking down at him with a smile while my hands reached out to comb through his hair. "You ready?"

"Uh huh."

The look in his eyes right before I came forward and hovered over his face almost made my come on the spot.

But as fun as that would have been, I was glad for the way my body held off and settled for a beautiful, burning increase of pleasure that dragged out the longer he swiped his tongue through my folds. Actually, I forgot for a moment that I was supposed to be moving, riding his face like he'd thought about.

I willed my eyes open and clutched Spencer's soft locks of hair beneath me, gently rolling my hips and grinding down further on his face. The groan he let out not only felt good against my skin, but it sounded like pure bliss, eliciting a small whimper of my own as I tightened my grip in his hair and rocked faster.

"God, I missed having your mouth on me, baby... You're... so good..."

The longer I spoke the more breathless I became, not because the words didn't come easily, but because I truly believed them to be true.

Spencer really was so fucking good, his tongue the most delicate, divine object of the universe as it drew out every ounce of delight from my body. I may have been the one above him, calling the shots and directing him where and how to please me, but he was the one who clung to my soul like static and politely guided me towards damnation.

I wasn't even sure of my surroundings to tell you the truth. As my body tensed and took me through one of the most blinding pleasures I'd experienced in weeks, My eyes were squeezed so tightly it's like I saw the universe. All I knew was Spencer's lips sucking my clit and my hands deeply rooted in his hair as I shouted incoherently, stars swirling around behind my eyelids.

Truly, for all I knew, we could have been in space. It wouldn't have made any difference.

But eventually it came to be too much. I was reaching a limit I didn't want to get to so quickly, and so I flashed my eyes open and tried to adjust to this brand new atmosphere, unweaving my fingers through pretty brown waves of hair and stepping back to assess the situation.

What I found was the most beautiful man I'd ever known, panting like he'd just ran a marathon and yet harboring the most intense joy and desire a person could hold. He was on his knees, bound hands writhing in his lap as he awaited further instruction and licked up as much of myself on his face as he could before I stopped him.

Under normal circumstances, I would have wanted to absolutely ruin him. That adoring, desperate look in his eye would have spurred me to more devious endeavors, but all I wanted in this moment was to make sure he was satisfied. I wanted to take care of him, to let him know that I longed to make him feel as worshipped and adored as he'd made me feel.

I got down to Spencer's level, quickly removing the fabric from his wrists and hauling him to his feet, where he now towered over me, still waiting for words to address and instruct him.

Instead, I leaned up with soft hands upon his cheeks and pulled him down to meet my lips in a kiss that changed the tone entirely. It was erotic still, of course, what with my arousal infiltrating my taste buds and eliciting a soft sigh from the both of us, but our urgency manifested in sweeter ways... Softer lips, gentle touches of the face, and an exchanging of breath that was so smooth and seamless it felt like we were floating on air.

I was finding it hard to breathe again, but it wasn't an issue in the slightest. In fact, there was nowhere else I'd rather have been than right there, kissing Spencer Reid like we had all the time in the world.

When the breathlessness was a little too much to bear, we pulled away, though only leaving just enough space to breathe. Our lips stayed briefly connected while we caught up, and his hands found their way to the sides of my face. The way they practically engulfed my whole head brought a brief smile to my lips as I finally gave him the words he was looking for.

"I'm so glad I met you," I whispered.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."

We kissed each other again, naturally and with so much ease that I wondered how I had ever lived without him.

And then, as my hands slid gently down his chest, I felt it.

Something that felt very much like a ring attached to a necklace sat right where his heartbeat resided, and I knew exactly which ring it was.

"W—" I pulled back and circled the shape of it with my finger through the shirt, then looked up at him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Spencer looked briefly panicked, pulling away a little and fishing down the front of his shirt for the chain. "Oh... Um, yeah. I, um... I forgot to take it off, I'm sorry. I..."

"You... kept it?"

I observed the diamond as it laid flat on my palm, still attached to the chain and around his neck. Honestly, after all this time I figured he'd never found it or gotten rid of it, seeing as he never brought it up. And yet there it was, glittering in the palm of my hand as my other one presses firmly against Spencer's rapidly beating heart.

"Y—Yeah... It um... It was really the only physical thing I had to remember you—Well, at least until we started sending letters... And I guess I just... W—Wearing it has become such a habit that I forgot to take it off."

"You never take it off?"

I could tell he was nervous, and rightfully so given I wasn't really letting on how I was feeling about the whole thing.

Still, he answered my short question in such a small whisper I'd have thought he was trying not to get in trouble.

"No."

"Why?"

My words certainly weren't helping ease his anxieties, so I remained close, dropping the ring and focusing rather on his eyes. I softened the look in my own and glided my hands down to hold his. His fingers flexed against mine, squeezing them for dear life as he sighed out in relief and flashed me a soft smile.

"Because... I wanted you close to my heart."

With a smile that mirrored his eyes, full of enchantment and pure adoration for the person in front of me, I didn't use my brain and instead focused on what my heart was telling me, consequences be damned.

"I think I might love you..."

Spencer squeezed my hands tighter, that relief spreading out to all his features and brightening that beautiful smile.

"Funny... I was just thinking the same thing."

Our lips met once more, and I swear it was like nothing bad was ever going to happen for the rest of time.

I'd never felt that way. Not once with Patrick did my heart feel settled into place, even during the great parts of our relationship.

And now here I was, with a man who sent me love letters and kept every physical reminder of my existence, who kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world and slowly mended my wounded heart.

He held me close the whole way to his bedroom and never let me go until the morning. Though, even then his arms outstretched towards me and his fingers flexed, needing to grab onto any part of me that he could find.

And as I was sure I always would, I welcomed him with open arms.

***

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @rainsong01 @yourmisosoup @liveloudwriteloud @reidsconverse @la-vie-en-amour1 @edgycowboy666 @averyhotchner @centiaaa @lizziechaseee @coffeeandendlesswords @usuck @spenxerslut @ssacalumsg0lden @emilyprentisslittlewhore @takeyourleap-of-faith @reidyoulikeabook @spencerreid9 @b-a-utiful @jareauswifey @flipperpenguins @pansexualthing @donald4spiderman @awesomebooklover17 @shemarmooresfedora @izraahh1 @bakugouswh0r3 @singularityjc @xoxospencerreid @thatsonezesty13

TAGS NOT WORKING: @ayla-1605 @big-galaxy-chaos

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction

290 notes · View notes

triptuckers · 4 years ago

Text

Not too late - Nikolai Lantsov

Request: yes “maybe a Nikolai x reader fic where the reader almost moves out from their house because Nikolai is always working and they have a fight but make up in the end? please?” Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader Summary: you decide to leave the palace, and nikolai rushes to catch up with you to change your mind Warnings: mild angst I think? Word count: 1.6K A/N: I'd sell my soul to have the scene in which alina punches nikolai in the show I loved it so much when I first read it. thanks for requesting, enjoy reading! :)

You wake up and the first thing you notice is Nikolai's absence. Again. He’s never there when you wake up. You know he’s busy. After all, he’s a king. You knew what you signed up for, and you thought you could handle it.

But it’s hard.

It’s hard because he’s always away, visiting ministers or checking up on the progress of whatever project he was currently working on. And if he was at the palace, you barely see him.

His schedule is packed with meeting after meeting, as well as dinner parties with important people you were never invited to.

You felt like you were slowly drifting away from him. And not just Nikolai, but also your friends. Whenever you wanted to hang out with Genya, Tamar or any of the others, they were busy as well.

You never thought a life in a palace surrounded by people could make you feel so lonely.

Of course, you tried to talk to Nikolai about it, but he merely waved his hand in the air, telling you he’s busy but that he does try to schedule some free time every now and then. You doubted it. Nikolai’s first love had always been Ravka.

You didn’t intend to, but you just stopped being as excited as you used to be whenever you see Nikolai. Maybe you were naive to think a life with him would be something like a fairytale. It had been in the beginning, but it seemed like all the magic that once was there, had faded away.

You simply couldn’t accept you’d always be second place. Ravka first, then you. Nikolai is spending all of his time and energy on his beloved country, and you felt forgotten.

Life at the palace could be amazing. You had everything you could have ever wished for, except that one thing you so desperately needed: Nikolai.

Which is why you had decided to head back to Os Kervo. it was where you had first met Nikolai, but also your hometown. You longed for the sea, and the Saturday market, you missed your friends.

It broke your heart, but you had decided for yourself that no life with Nikolai was better than a life in which he was constantly absent.

It would be best if you left in the evening, you’d be able to slip out and start your journey to Os Kervo. Tt would be a three day journey, but by the time Nikolai would find the letter you had written for him, you’d be long gone.

You take one last walk around the palace, taking everything in. This would probably be the last time you’d ever see it.

Luckily, you only see one or two servants as you make your way to the stables. You take your favourite horse, and after one last look at the palace, you’re on your way.

Once you’re out of the city and in the open fields, you let the tears fall. No one would be around to see you cry. You could already imagine the storm of gossip that would hit all of Ravka if anyone saw you leaving the palace with tears on your cheeks.

You ride for hours until you take a break. The tears had stopped rolling down your cheeks a long time ago. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, calming yourself.

You keep thinking back to Nikolai, and if he would have found your letter by now. You shake your head, drowning the thoughts out. Instead, you start to think about your family and friends in Os Kervo.

They were happy for you when you left for Os Alta, even though they’d miss you terribly. You could already imagine the looks on their faces when you came home. You couldn’t wait to eat a home cooked meal, and help out on the docks.

Meanwhile at the palace, Nikolai has found your letter.

He saw it immediately when he entered your shared room. You’d placed it on your side of the bed. It was late, and he was tired, but he didn’t want to go to sleep just yet.

Because you aren’t there. Instead, there was a folded piece of paper on your pillow. It looked like you had never laid down that night.

Frowning, Nikolai picks up the piece of paper, folding it open. He recognises your handwriting and starts reading the letter.

My dearest Nikolai,

I'm sorry, I can’t take it anymore. Ravka is your first love, it always will be. You’ve got a country to run and I don’t want to wait around for you anymore.

It pains me to say this, but I'm leaving. I've tried to hold on, to stay longer, but I just can’t do it anymore. I'm leaving for Os Kervo once I've finished this letter.

Our paths may never cross again, but know that I will always love you,

Y/N

Nikolai reads the letter over and over again, letting the words sink in. You left. And you weren’t coming back. Time and time again he had promised you he’d spend more time with you, but there was always another meeting coming along.

It seems like he had waited too long.

After tucking the letter in his pocket, he grabs his coat and rushes out the door. As he’s sprinting through the halls on his way to the stables, he runs into Tolya.

‘What’s got you in a rush?’ he says.

‘Move everything that’s planned for the rest of the week to next week.’ says Nikolai, not stopping as he keeps on running.

‘For what?’ yells Tolya after him.

‘Emergency!’ yells Nikolai over his shoulder as he throws open the doors.

A servant approaches him. ‘Are you going out for a ride, sir?’ he asks.

‘Yes.’ says Nikolai. ‘Get me the fastest horse we’ve got.’

The servant gestures for a horse behind Nikolai. ‘That’s the fastest one we got, sir.’ he says. ‘Would you like me to wake General Nazyalensky and the twins so they can accompany you?’

‘No.’ says Nikolai. ‘I’m going alone.’

If the servant had his doubts, he hides it well. ‘Very well then, sir. We’ll wait for your return.’

With one last nod, Nikolai mounts his horse and takes off.

Along the way, he keeps ushering his horse to go faster, not caring about how tired it might get. He has to get to you as fast as possible.

When it’s almost dawn, Nikolai spots a horse in the distance.

He could recognise your silhouette anywhere. Nikolai sighs softly and catches up with you.

You hear someone approaching you from behind and keep one hand on your revolver. Just as they catch up with you, and you’re ready to shoot them, you hear a voice.

‘Careful not to shoot me, darling.’

You whip your head around so fast you could have snapped your neck.

Nikolai is riding next to you, his eyes tired but somehow still gorgeous. He’s still in the clothes he wore when you last saw him, and his golden hair is messy. Still, he smiles at you.

‘Nikolai?’ you say. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Very romantically chasing after you, of course.’ he says.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper.

‘I read your letter.’ he says. ‘And I realise I've been an idiot.’

You raise your eyebrows. ‘Nikolai Lantsov admitting he can be an idiot? What kind of reversed world did we fall into?’ you say.

‘The one in which I speak the truth.’ he says. ‘I promised you I would make more time for you, and then I didn’t. I hadn’t realised how bad it had gotten, until I read your letter. I don’t want you to leave, Y/N, ever.’

‘We both know Ravka needs you, Nikolai. I was young and naive to think you could spend as much time with me as you did with your advisors and ministers.’

‘I still can.’ he says. ‘I told Tolya to move everything I have scheduled this week to next week.’

You look at him. ‘You did?’ you say.

He nods. ‘Yes, so I could spend time with you.’ he says.

‘That’s nice.’ you say, smiling at him.

‘It’s a start.’ he says. ‘How about this: we pick a few days, and I never schedule any meeting on those days. I spend them with you, and don’t let anything or anyone interrupt them.’

‘But Ravka-’ ‘Can handle a day or three in a week without me.’

‘Alright.’ you say. ‘I could live with that.’

‘Thank goodness.’ says Nikolai, looking relieved. ‘I don’t know what I would do without you.’

You smile and stop your horse. You tug on the reigns to turn around.

‘Where are you going?’ asks Nikolai.

‘Back to the palace?’ you say, a bit confused.

‘I was thinking we could go to Os Kervo for a day or two.’ he says. ‘After all, I did ask Tolya to schedule the rest of the week free. We’ve got plenty of time. Besides, I met your family like two times before, it’d be nice to see them again.’

‘Alright then.’ you say. ‘After you, your majesty.’

Nikolai rolls his eyes at the nickname. ‘I hate it when you do that.’ he says, making his horse resume walking again.

‘No you don’t.’ you say with a wink, turning your horse around so you can ride beside him.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

229 notes · View notes

hercleverboy · 4 years ago

Text

persistence

spencer reid x reader

summary ↠ when spencer finds out that the reader has a stalker, he is determined to not let history repeat itself.

category ↠ angst/fluff

warnings/includes ↠ stalker-like activity, death threats, few swear words, descriptions of blood, puking, spencer being kinda emotionally manipulative

word count ↠ 8.2k

“Normality is a paved road. It’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow.”-- Vincent Van Gogh

Y/N stared down at the letter in her hands. Her fingers trembled, tears blurring her vision as she reread the words over and over. Written in an ominous red ink, a chicken-scratch-like writing filled the page.

‘If I can’t have you, no one can.’

It had all started two months ago.

First, it was the dark blue Sedan that she began noticing sat across the street from her apartment complex. Of course it easily could’ve belonged to one of the many people who lived in the complex, or perhaps even a friend of theirs. At first, it went unnoticed by her. It was only when she started taking note of the hours it was parked there that she began to get slightly concerned.

8am to 8pm. Every single day.

Like clockwork.

She’d peak through her living room curtains at 8am, and watch the car pull into its usual spot. It wouldn’t move all day but as soon as it struck 8pm, it left again- only to return the next day.

However, ever the sceptic, she didn’t want to blow the situation out of proportion. Her mind came up with countless possibilities. The owner was staying with a friend who lived close by (but then why would the car not be there overnight?), or perhaps it was an plain-clothed officer doing some form of undercover work? Honestly, there was nothing she hadn’t considered. So while the presence of the unexplainable car was a little unnerving, it wasn’t enough to make her paranoid.

The paranoia began when sheets of paper began being posted through her letterbox. They always came between the times that the blue car was parked outside, and had only a few words on each one that was delivered.

‘I’ve been watching you, you know.’

‘You’re so beautiful.’

‘That boyfriend of yours, does he hold you like I did?’

‘Does he touch you like I did?’

Whilst they weren’t exactly threats, they were enough to set her skin alight. She was constantly looking over her shoulder, jumpy and paranoid.

Spencer noticed it, too.

He’d seen the subtle change in his girlfriend’s body language, but didn’t want to push her on the matter. He had asked once, but she’d reassured him that she was fine. So he decided that he’d let her confide in him when she was ready, but that didn’t mean that this change in behaviour didn’t make his heart ache.

He was a profiler, one of the best, he knew the behavioural tells that signalled fear.

So what was she so afraid of?

Then the phone calls started.

Y/N heard the buzz of her phone, assuming it was Spencer calling. He was out of state on a case, but he always called to check up on her, or to notify her he was almost home. Although they didn’t live together yet, Spencer spent most of his spare time at her apartment. (He’d joked once that it was because her place was bigger than his, but really it was because his work took him away from her so often that he wanted to spend any spare minute he could with her.)

Reaching for the device, she frowned as she saw ‘Unknown Number’ flash across the screen.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

and then she heard it.

Heavy, husky breathing on the other end of the line.

The caller didn’t speak.

Unease filled her as she pulled the phone away from her ear and hung up. She placed her phone down beside her, biting down on her bottom lip as she attempted to rationalise what’d just happened.

Probably a butt dial, or maybe even a wrong number?

She pushed it to the back of her mind, distracting herself so that she wouldn’t have to confirm what she already knew was true.

The second call came two days later.

Spencer had returned earlier that day from an exhausting but overall successful case. He hadn’t even stopped by his place after landing, instead opting to go straight to Y/N’s apartment, unable to contain his excitement of seeing her for the first time in a week.

He let himself in with the key she’d given him for their one year anniversary, as he quietly made his way into the home. He called out her name, announcing his presence so she’d know he was home.

When she didn’t come to greet him in the hallway, or even call back to let him know she’d heard him he frowned. He slipped off his shoes before moving down the hallway, his eyes finally landing on her figure in the living room. She was stood by the large window that overlooked the street below them, her phone pressed to her ear. Spencer took in her body language, noting how her shoulders were tensed, and how the hand not holding her phone was gripping tightly onto the curtains as she peaked between them.

The unknown caller hung up, and Y/N looked down at her phone in her hand, eyes welling with tears- still unaware of Spencer’s presence behind her.

“Y/N?” He asked quietly, trying not to startle her but still managing to.

She shrieked, turning around to face him, relief filling her features as she saw the familiar sight of her boyfriend. She forced a smile on her lips and pushed her worries away, wiping the tears from her cheeks quickly and hoping he hadn’t already seen them. “Spence! God, I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you were home.” She chuckled.

His frown only deepened as he moved toward her. “Is everything okay? Who was that on the phone?”

Y/N’s breath hitched as she quickly came up with an excuse. “Oh, It was no-one.” She waved it off, hoping she’d played it off well enough to ease his worry.

Once he reached her he put his arms around her, enveloping her in a tight hug, his arms around her waist. She sighed, hugging him back with her arms around his neck.

He nuzzled his face into her neck, placing a kiss there that was so soft and delicate that it almost moved her to tears. “You know you can tell me anything, right? If something’s bothering you or worrying you then you don’t have to keep it to yourself. I’m here.” He whispered.

“I know.” She whispered back, squeezing him gently to comfort herself. “Thank you.”

Truth is, she knew she could tell Spencer what was happening. She knew that he would immediately inform his team, and with their wonderful minds and Garcia’s infinite systems, they’d have their unsub within days. So what was stopping her?

or more specifically, who was stopping her?

The answer would be Maeve, the woman that Spencer once loved, who he lost so suddenly and so tragically. She’d heard what had happened, and had comforted Spencer when he cried as he told her of the only other woman he’d ever loved, apart from Y/N. He’d confided in her about Maeve around four months into their relationship, and Y/N was grateful that Spencer trusted her enough to tell her such a thing. Losing the person you loved like that? Y/N couldn’t fathom it. Her heart ached for Spencer, and the heartbreak he’d endured.

She didn’t want to worry him over what might be nothing. After what happened with Maeve, she didn’t want to make him suffer all that again, to make him think that it was all happening again. She never wanted to be the reason for his hurt, and she knew that telling him is exactly what it would do- make him anxious, worried. She knew her boyfriend like the back of her hand. He’d go into overdrive trying to protect her, to prevent what happened to Maeve from happening to her. But still, she refused to be the one that set those events into motion. She knew it was stupid, he boyfriend was in the FBI- who are exactly the type of people you’d go to if you had a stalker.

She had tried to tell him a few times but when she opened her mouth to say the words, nothing would come out.

The final straw was the letters.

The first one was pushed through her letterbox on a Friday afternoon. Spencer was at work, thankfully only on a paperwork day instead of being called for a case. There was no name or address on the front of the letter.

She felt sick. Immediately she knew it was from him. At least she presumed it was a ‘he’, from the possessive tone of voice in the notes.

She ripped it open, taking out the letter. It was a single sheet of paper, both sides filled with that chicken scratch writing. Her eyes skimmed over the words written before her, tears blurring her vision. It was a love letter. Her stalker even gave her a nickname, ‘Dove’.

‘My darling dove, you were made for me.’

‘My love for you knows no bounds.’

‘You’ve got such a beautiful laugh, I’ve heard it.’

‘And your skin, so perfect, so soft looking. I’d love to run my fingers along your-’

Y/N let the letter drop to the floor as she felt the bile rise in her throat, dashing to the bathroom and throwing up her stomach contents in the toilet.

She felt sickened. She couldn’t bring herself to read what was left of the letter, instead screwing it up and throwing it away. The words she had read haunted her, made her feel disgusting. She spent hours in the shower that night, as though she was scrubbing his filthy words off of her skin.

The letters continued, and with each one, the comments became more and more repulsive. Instead of declaring his undying love for her, her stalker began to get enraged. With each letter he became increasingly angrier, and it shook Y/N to her core.

‘You whore, I could hear your moaning for that little boyfriend of yours from across the street’

‘When I get my hands on you, you’ll be begging for me to show you mercy’

‘I’ve protected you, watched over you! I’ve taken care of you for months now and this is how you repay me?’

‘Fucking dirty slut. I’ll kill you for that.’

‘What a shame it would be for that pretty flesh to be torn so carelessly, but it seems I’ll have to teach you a lesson, dove.’

‘You’ve made a mistake, choosing him over me.’

All of those led to one final letter.

Written in red ink, eight simple words with a sinister underlying message.

‘If I can’t have you, no one can.’

Dropping the paper as though it had burned her, she desperately tried to slow the breaths that were increasing rapidly, willing the air to fill her lungs.

The realisation hit her like a freight train.

She was in danger, real danger. Now that her life had been threatened, she knew she couldn’t hide it any longer.

No matter the consequences, she had to come clean to Spencer.

She scrambled around her apartment, grabbing any evidence she had in the form of letters/threats and made sure she had her phone so she could show them the phone calls from an unknown number.

She glanced out the window to the street below. It was only midday, and she could see the familiar blue Sedan parked opposite her complex. She just had to get to her car safely, which should be a relatively easy task, given the numerous people who were walking down the bustling street- the perks of living on a main road.

She made it to her car thankfully unscathed, locking the doors behind her. She didn’t dare look across the road at the car, afraid of what, or who she would see. As she drove to the BAU, she anxiously tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. She anticipated what Spencer’s reaction was going to be- he’d be angry, definitely. Y/N was torn, she wanted to stand by the decision she’d made two months prior to not involve her boyfriend with what was going on, but now she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made a poor choice. If she’d have told Spencer earlier, things would’ve been resolved. But by telling him the truth, she couldn’t help but ponder if she was putting him or his team in danger.

Shaking her head clear the thoughts, she pulled into the car park that was next to the building. Taking a few deep breaths, she grabbed her bag and headed toward the buildings’ entrance. Her palms were sweaty and her throat was dry. What the hell was she going to say? ‘Hey Spence, I have a stalker who’s threatening to kill me that I neglected to tell you about, how’s your day going?’

After being granted access at the front desk, she was given a visitors badge and headed up to the sixth floor of the building. As she stood alone in the elevator, she tried to take a few breaths, feeling the familiar clawing at the back of her throat that indicated she was close to breaking down. She’d been holding it together for so long, been so fucking scared for so long.

As soon as the doors opened she was greeted with the smiling face of one Penelope Garcia.

When Spencer and her had begun dating he brought Y/N along to one of Rossi’s pasta nights and the whole team immediately took a liking to her, especially after seeing how happy she made Spencer. However Penelope in particular absolutely adored Y/N, and the two had even hung out together a few times.

Garcia gasped with a grin as the doors opened. “My sweet Y/N! I got the notification that you’d checked in downstairs and thought I’d come greet you!” She moved toward her, hugging Y/N tightly. “Are you here to see our boy wonder? He’s around here somewhere-” She pulled back when she noticed the tenseness in Y/N’s shoulders. When Garcia met her teary eyes she gasped at the sight. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N finally let the tears tremble down her cheeks, reaching into her bag to grab the handfuls of threating letters from the person who’d made her life hell for two long months. She handed them to Garcia, who after years of working that job knew from the first few words what they were dealing with.

Y/N met her worried eyes. “It’s bad, Penny. Really bad.”

Garcia nodded, shocked but still placing a comforting arm on Y/N’s back. “Reid- He never mentioned-”

Y/N shook her head. “I didn’t tell him. I didn’t want him to worry over nothing but- this is the first time he’s threatened my life and I’m scared, Pen. I’m really scared.”

Garcia burst into action, coaxing Y/N with gentle words to head into the bullpen. As soon as they walked through the glass doors, all of the team member’s heads turned toward them. Spencer’s eyes immediately fell on his girlfriend’s tear stained cheeks and within seconds he was by her side.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

She shook her head, moving forward and wrapping her arms around him. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her, holding her to him as she cried into his chest, her shoulders shaking as she let out everything she’d buried so deep inside.

He looked over at Garcia, bewildered. She simply walked up to Hotch’s office. The team could faintly hear Garcia presenting him with the papers Y/N had brought with her, explaining what she had told her when she arrived.

Minutes later Hotch came out of his office, walking down into the bullpen to where the team all looked at one another, confusion on their features.

“Y/N?” He asked as he approached her, and she pulled back from spencer to see him, wiping her tear stained cheeks. “You’re gonna need to tell us everything. You may be in immediate danger.”

Y/N nodded and Hotch headed off toward the round table room, Garcia scurrying in behind him. The rest of the team, with concerned glances to one another, followed into the room. This left Y/N and Spencer alone in the bullpen.

She felt Spencer gripping her hand, squeezing gently. Worry laced in his tone, he moved to stand before her and locked onto her eyes. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

Y/N nodded and cleared her throat, her voice quiet with shame as she spoke. “I have a stalker. He sends letters, calls just to breathe down the line and scare me. In his recent letter, he said he’s gonna kill me.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, his hand dropping from hers and he turning and stalked toward the board room. He had to see the evidence for himself.

He reached the room and the groups gazes all shifted to him, but he could’ve cared less. He reached out for one of the sheets of paper, eyes quickly scanning over the threatening words as Y/N entered the room behind him.

“When did this start, Y/N?” JJ asked, that caring, motherly tone present in her voice.

“About two months ago.”

“Did you notice anything odd about the neighbourhood beforehand? Cars that weren’t normally there, people stood on street corners at odd times of day?” Derek queried, his eyes scanning over some of the notes she’d received.

She nodded. “There was a car I noticed, right at the start. I didn’t think much of it until I started taking note of the timings. It would sit there all day, but be gone overnight. Then it would return the next day.”

“Do remember the colour, or make of car?”

“Yeah, a dark blue Sedan. Then a few days later the phone calls started.”

“Garcia I need you to run through Y/N’s phone records, see if you can trace the number they were calling from.” Hotch ordered and Garcia quickly left the room, heading to her bat cave.

“Here, listen to this.” JJ started, holding up one of the first letters. “I’m doing this because I love you, pretty dove. So very much. It’s okay, you’ll see.” She looked up to her team. “He’s planning something.”

Hotch turned his attention to her. “Y/N’s safety is our primary concern. This unsub seems to have fixated on her, for whatever reason. Y/N, do you have any ex boyfriends or enemies we need to know about?”

“I have five ex’s, but I don’t think any of them would be capable of this.” She reasoned, but there was a seed of doubt in the back of her mind.

At her words, Spencer stood up, slamming the letters down on the table with an audible thud before leaving the room. Y/N stared after him hopelessly, Hotch clearing his throat before speaking again.

“I’ll need a list of their names.”

Derek piped up. “We also need to know locations of spots that you frequent, anywhere you may have met this guy. Coffee shops, restaurants, even the library. No detail is too small, okay?”

Y/N nodded, turning back to stare out the door that Spencer had stormed out of moments before. “I’m just going to go check on him.” She murmured, earning an apologetic smile from JJ.

She found him outside the building, sat on one of the stone steps of the staircase that led up to the buildings entrance. He had his head in his hands, trying to calm down the thoughts that sped through his overworking mind.

She sat beside him, draping his coat that she’d grabbed from his desk over his shoulders to combat the cold winter air. “You’ll catch a cold.” She muttered, offering a small smile as he looked over at her. Despite how he felt, he let the smallest of smiles find its way onto his lips at the comment. She had a stalker threatening her life and she was worried about him catching a cold?

They sat in silence for a little before Y/N broke it. “I’m so sorry, Spencer.”

“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault.” He mumbled, looking out to the street, watching people walk by. When Y/N didn’t answer, he spoke again. “You could’ve told me, you know?”

“I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t.” She whispered sincerely.

“Why didn’t you say something, Y/N? I would’ve dropped everything to make sure you were safe.” He promised, trying to make his voice sound strong, but failing as it cracked with his words.

“I didn’t think it was important. He wasn’t threatening at the start, and I thought I could handle it.” Now the words were leaving her mouth, she knew she sounded stupid.

“You didn’t think it was important?” Spencer repeated back to her, his breaths heavy as he failed to understand her reasoning. “Y/N you are the most important thing in the world to me. Okay? Please tell me you know that.” He turned his body toward her.

“I know. I know and I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. It’s just I know- after everything that happened before with Maeve-“ She paused for a moment. “I didn’t want to worry you over nothing.”

His breath hitched when she said Maeve’s name, and Y/N could almost see him replaying the moment he lost her in his mind. The curse of an eidetic memory.

“I’m not going to let that happen to you- no, not you. Never you.” He sniffed, reaching over to take her hand in his.

She nodded, tears filling her eyes once more. She cuddled into his side, her head dropping on his shoulder. She sniffled. “I’m scared, Spencer.”

“It’s okay. He’s not coming anywhere near you, Y/N. I swear to you, he’s not going to hurt you. Not while I’m here.” He brought her hand up and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

Over the next few days, the team spent hours analysing ever piece of evidence Y/N had received, and Garcia went through tons of security footage, trying to get a good look at whoever was in the blue Sedan. She’d ran the license plates, but they’d come back as being fake, so that had been a pretty dead end, and the phone number she’d traced had come from a payphone, so there was no lead there either.

Spencer was evidently over-working himself, not taking breaks from work to eat or sleep. He reread the words a hundred times, desperately looking for what it was he must’ve missed. He was filled with this overwhelming need to protect her, to keep Y/N safe. To succeed where he’d failed previously. He couldn’t afford to make the same mistake he’d made with Maeve. He’d let his emotions cloud his judgement and it cost Maeve her life. He wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

There wasn’t time for that, not when Y/N was in danger.

Y/N spent most of her time alongside Spencer at the BAU, mostly because he insisted that she was somewhere he could keep an eye on her at all times. She only went home in the evenings so she could change and sleep in her own bed, but always with a police escort that Spencer had himself done a thorough background check on and knew could be trusted.

Eventually, It had been an entire week. Spencer had only had a handful of sleep, only when the exhaustion became too much did he pass out and actually get a few hours of sleep before he was right back at it. Members of the team who attempted to gently voice their concern for him received a scowl in response, with Y/N even trying to get through to him, but he just shrugged her off. Ultimately, Hotch had to pull him aside to talk.

Hotch walked into the room where Y/N sat reading silently in the corner while Spencer’s eyes ran over the words he’d already read a hundred times.

“Reid, Can I speak to you?”

Spencer’s head snapped up, pissed that he was being interrupted from the task before him. He grunted under his breath, standing up and walking out of the room.

Hotch brought Spencer up to his office, closing the door behind them so there was some dilution to the raised voices that were definitely going to come from this conversation. He sighed, turning to face the younger man and crossing his arms. “The Bureau don’t want us using any more of our time on this case. The unsub has been inactive for a week, and we have other cases building up that take priority.”

Spencer scoffed. “You want us to stop? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid not. The order came from above me, I have no power here. The best we can do for now is send Y/N home with police protection until this guy resurfaces.”

“You wanna send her home? No way, Hotch! There’s some son of a bitch after her and you want her to be at home?” He was angrier than Hotch had seen him be in a long while.

Hotch sighed. “Reid. It’s out of my hands. I recognise how hard this is for you, but we have no choice.”

“But I- I can’t protect her if she’s not with me! I can’t keep her safe.” His tone changed from angry to more of a begging. “Please, Hotch. There’s got to be something you can do.”

“I’m sorry.”

Spencer huffed, his anger returning. “Bullshit! You know as well as I do that she’s vulnerable as soon as she leaves here. Police presence or not, if something happens to her-”

Hotch shot him a warning look, which made Spencer stop mid-sentence.

“You’re done with this case for now, understand? Until he resurfaces, we have other priorities.” Hotch spoke. Spencer scoffed, walking and brushing past his unit chief. “That’s an order, Reid.” He warned.

Spencer ignored him, heading back to the room he’d left Y/N in, his mind refocused on getting back to his previous task- despite Hotch’s orders.

He stepped into the room, slamming the door closed behind him, earning a surprised squeak from Y/N, who still sat in the corner with her book in hand. He looked over at her, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “He wants you to go home, and we have to put the case on hold because we have others to work on. Can you believe that? How could he ask that of me?” He laughed humourlessly as Y/N shut her book, placing it next to her.

She sighed, standing, knowing he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

It was just the protective side of him coming out, and at first Y/N thought it was endearing, but he couldn’t neglect his own needs to favour hers any more. She wouldn’t let him.

“Spencer, you gotta stop this. I know how hard you’re working, and I’m so grateful, but you’re killing yourself here.” Her voice was gentle, hoping she’d be able to appeal to him.

“No! No Y/N I’m not stopping until we get this guy, until you’re safe.” He snapped.

“You heard what Hotch said, you have other cases that need to take priority.” She moved toward him, still trying to reason with him. She was still scared to death, and she didn’t particularly want to leave Spencer’s side- after all he made her feel safe. But there were people who needed him and his team, and if she was no longer in imminent danger, his talents were needed elsewhere. It made her feel sick, but it’s the way it was. They were just going to have to wait for this guy to make his next move.

“But Y/N, you are my priority. Don’t you get that?” He asked, moving back as she came toward him. The motion hurt her, so she stood still.

“I do, I promise you I do, but there’s people out there who need that beautiful mind of yours more than I do right now.”

He scoffed. “So you just expect me to give up?”

“Of course not, but Hotch is right. What if this guy never makes any other moves? What if he just wanted to scare me? You can’t waste your time. It’s too valuable.”

“And what if the second you walk out of those doors he gets you?” Spencer shouted, his arms coming out by his sides to exaggerate his point.

“Then you’ll find me. If that happened, which is a worse-case scenario, I have faith that you and this team would find me and bring me home.”

“And if I can’t? If I fail, again? If I have to watch you die like I watched-” His breath hitched, his voice catching. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “No, No. I will not lose you, do you understand? I will not stop looking for this son of a bitch, not ever. I’m not letting you go home, Y/N. I’m sorry, that’s final.”

“Spencer, you can’t keep me here. You’d be disobeying Hotch’s direct orders-”

He shook his head. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Y/N. I’ll talk to Hotch, change his mind. Just- stay here. Please.” The last word was quiet and pleading, a stark contrast from the tone he was using before. He picked up the evidence files he was going through and walked away, feet stomping as his anger still radiated off of him.

Y/N had stood there for a minute, collecting herself before she took a shaky deep breath, bringing her hand up to wipe the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

She walked out to the bullpen, ignoring how Spencer had asked her to stay. Her eyes met Derek’s who offered her an apologetic smile.

“Hey.” He called out to her as she passed by. “Whatever the kid said, he didn’t mean it. He just wants to keep you safe.”

She gave a sad smile. “I know. Um, is it alright if I just step out the front for some air? I’m feeling a little boxed in.”

“Sure thing. I’ll keep you company, make sure you get back alright.” He stood up from his desk chair, grabbing his jacket and accompanying her downstairs.

When they got there Y/N turned to him. “Is it alright if I have a moment alone? I’ll stay where you can see me, I just need a minute.”

Derek was hesitant, but nodded. She pushed open the doors, out into the cold night. She remained stood by the front doors, where they bright lights from indoors seeped outside, lighting up the pavement. She took a few deep breaths, letting the cold air fill her lungs, hoping it’ll help alleviate the stinging pain in her heart. She looked up at the sky, willing herself to keep her tears at bay. She appreciated what Spencer was doing, and adored his instinct to protect her, keep her safe. She knew how stubborn he could be at times, but now she thought about it, maybe when she sided with Hotch earlier it made it seem like she didn’t have his back, which was certainly not the case.

Derek watched as Y/N collected herself, seeing that she was about to turn and come back inside. Suddenly someone bumped into his side, his attention turning from Y/N to the person who collided with him. He looked over to see a young man he didn’t recognise.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going. My apologies.” The man apologised before walking off.

Derek furrowed his brow, before turning back to look outside.

Y/N wasn’t there.

He bolted forward toward the doors, flinging them open and looking left and right for any sight of her.

She was long gone. And so was whoever took her.

Hearing a crinkle beneath his feet, Derek looked down at the sound, noticing a scrap piece of newspaper on the floor where Y/N had been stood.

He picked it up, unfolding the paper. On it, written in the familiar blood red chicken scratch was the same threatening message Y/N had received before.

‘If I can’t have her, no one can.’

Derek placed the paper down on the roundtable, that the team was now gathered around, shock and worry on their faces.

Hotch closed his eyes with a sigh as he looked at the paper, guilt rushing over him. Just then Spencer came into the room, immediately picking up on the mood that had settled over the team.

“What’s’‘-” His eyes landed on the message, the realisation spreading over his features. “Where’s Y/N?” He asked, a sort of denial in his voice.

“He has her.” Derek confirmed, bowing his head down in shame that he hadn’t protected her like he was supposed to.

“Morgan, What happened? You took her out to get some air and then what?” Emily asked, trying to establish where it’d gone wrong.

“I took my eyes off of her for a minute, some guy bumped into me and it distracted me, and when I looked back she was gone.”

Emily’s mouth opened as she connected the dots. “It must’ve been a distraction, one guy bumps into you so that you take your eyes off of her while the other guy grabs her.”

“So what, we’re looking for a partner here as well?” JJ posed, looking up at her team.

“It would seem so. He waited for his opportunity, and when it came he took it.” Rossi chimed in.

“This is now an active investigation, we have a missing woman who’s already been gone for nearly an hour. We’ve got to work fast.” Hotch ordered, which sent the team out of their seats, each with a task assigned to them. However, Spencer still sat in one of the chairs, trembling fingers trailing over the words before him. The air in the room seemed thinner, his lungs working harder to fill themselves.

“Reid? Reid.” Morgan tried, but all he got from Spencer was little incoherent mumbles.

Finally, he looked up to meet Morgan’s eyes, the words he’d been whispering falling from his lips in a more audible whimper. “He’s gonna kill her.” He choked on his words, the realisation crashing down on him. “I’m going to lose her too.”

Time was a precious thing.

Spencer had never been more aware of how quickly the seconds passed than he was at that moment.

He was on his knees, hunched over the toilet, hands gripping the sides in a vice-like grip, desperately trying to push down the nauseating feeling creeping its way up his throat. After the note that Morgan found, Spencer had rushed into the toilets, standing over the toilet bowl as he dry-heaved, holding himself back from being sick. He took heavy breaths, eyes screwing shut as he tried to think of anything other than the danger that Y/N was in.

He tried so hard to ignore the familiarity of the situation.

The thought set in motion a memory that he’d much rather forget, one that he pushed so far back in his mind so he could deny it had ever happened, that he’d ever allowed it to happen.

Ultimately, it was the curse of his brilliant memory, having the ability to perfectly recall things that happened years before.

As if he could ever forget that day, eidetic memory or not.

“Diane, Diane, there’s still a way out of this.”

“You never wanted me. Never! You lied!”

Diane has her arm around Maeve, gun pointed at her head. The bullet she’d shot into Spencer’s shoulder felt numb, the scorching pain felt irrelevant to the fear spiking his heart.

“I didn’t. Diane, I offered you a deal and you can still take it. Me for her. Let me take her place.” His eyes lock on Maeve’s, so full of fear, and he tries to reassure that she’ll be fine- because he knows she will. How many times has he talked down an unsub waving a gun around? She would be okay, she had to be.

“You would do that?”

“Yes.”

“You would kill yourself for her?”

“Yes.”

Of course he would. In a heartbeat.

“Thomas Merton.”

Maeve’s voice was small but sure. What scared Spencer the most was how certain she sounded, as though she’d accepted that this was her fate; her end.

“Who’s Thomas Merton?”

“He knows.”

She loved him. And he loved her. Oh how bittersweet.

“Who’s Thomas Merton, who is he?”

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us.”

Its only a moment’s hesitation, a moment that he should’ve reached for a gun, a moment where he should’ve taken his shot.

“No.” Diane scowled.

Time is a precious thing.

and Maeve’s was up.

“Wait-”

The shot still rung clear in Spencer’s ears, a sound he was sure he would hear for the rest of his days. His breaths were heaving again, his eyes flying open as he willed the image of Maeve’s body to leave his head. But when his eyes screwed shut again, it was someone else in her place.

It wasn’t Maeve’s body on the floor anymore. Instead, in her place lay Y/N, blood gushing from the open wound at the side of her head, her lifeless body cold against the concrete floor.

That’s the thought that made him sick, throwing up into the toilet at the thought of watching Y/N die the same way he watched Maeve.

Taking gasping breaths, he sat back against the side of the cubicle, hands running down his flustered face, feeling the streaks of tears that trembled down his cheeks.

He shook his head, as if that would erase the horrific thoughts swimming around. He reminded himself that Y/N was still alive, and they had no reason as of yet to believe that she wasn’t. It was that thought that made him pull himself to stand, raking his hands through his hair and trying to calm his quivering hands.

Y/N was still out there, waiting for him to save her.

He grit his teeth together as he walked out of the toilets.

He wouldn’t hesitate this time. He was not going to lose her.

He walked back into the roundtable room, ignoring the looks he received from the team. They had been bouncing theories off of one another, trying to use their profile to figure out who their unsub was, and where they would’ve taken Y/N.

“Is it possible a woman is our unsub, or perhaps even the partner?” Emily posed, her eyes scanning over one of the letters.

Derek shook his head. “I don’t think a woman would use language like this, it’s very derogatory, it exerts a power over Y/N.”

The team fell quiet in thought, only interrupted when Garcia came scurrying in, her laptop in her hands. “You’ll never guess what I just found!”

Everyone looked up to her, Hotch speaking. “What is it, Garcia?”

“I looked over the list of Y/N’s exes, and only one of them jumped out to me as a little suspicious. So I did some digging.” She tapped a few keys on her laptop before grabbing her remote and broadcasting to the team what she’d found on the TV. “Daniel ‘Danny’ Stone, 29, dated Y/N three years ago. He was her last boyfriend before she met Reid.”

“Three years? You don’t think he’s still bitter about the relationship ending?” Emily asked, confused.

“Three years is a long time. Why surface now?” JJ chimed.

“Reid, did Y/N ever mention her previous relationship ending on a rough note?” Rossi asked, turning to face the younger boy.

Spencer frowned. “She said the breakup was a little rocky, but nothing awful. The last time she spoke about him was a few months ago, said he got in some sort of accident?” He looked to Garcia for confirmation, and she nodded.

“Indeed. Stone was involved in a road collision four months ago.”

JJ hummed, looking through the medical reports on her iPad. “Says here he suffered brain damage, specifically to his pre-frontal cortex.”

“Well that would explain why this stalker seemingly came from nowhere. People who suffer damage like this are impulsive, unable to make rational choices.” Derek posed.

“So what’s the theory here? He wakes up after this accident, and because of his injury chooses to track down his ex? Three years after they break up?”

Morgan shook his head. “It isn’t a choice. Not anymore. He has to do it. He’s become fixated on her. He knows she’s with Reid, and like he said, If he can’t have her, the neither can Reid.”

“Okay, but why stalk her? What does he gain from that? Instead of just taking her and getting what he really wants?” Emily questioned.

“This newfound impulsivity would make him a risk-taker. He’ll do things that the average person wouldn’t dream of trying. But it’s unlikely that Stone actually staked out Y/N’s home, or delivered the letters to her door. He wouldn’t have the self-control to span this out over months. He just pulled the strings.”

“So that was his partner, then.” JJ deduced, earing nods from the team. “Then what does the partner gain from this? Why help Stone?”

“Maybe Stone manipulated them. Perhaps he has some form of information on them he’s using as blackmail?”

“Did you get an address on Stone, Garcia?” Hotch asked, and Garcia nodded enthusiastically.

“You know I did, It’s already been sent to your phones.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

The team all stood, heading for the doors. Spencer was quick to get up and follow, hope sparking in him now that they had an address. He was just about to leave the room when Hotch’s voice stopped him.

“Reid, you know I can’t let you come with us.” His voice was firm, he knew there could be no room for error here. Not after what happened last time.

“Like hell you can’t.” Reid snapped, turning around to face him. He’d regret his smart mouth later when Hotch undoubtedly told him off for it, but at that moment who couldn’t have cared less.

“We will get her and bring her home, but you can’t be involved in this. It’s a conflict of interest, you know that.”

“Oh, so it wasn’t a conflict of interest when you went after Foyet?”

It was a cheap shot, one that Spencer really regretted the second he said it, but amends could be made later.

Hotch’s face didn’t falter, despite the petty jab. “Yeah, and look where that got me.”

Spencer’s defesnive stance dropped, his arms falling by his sides. “Hotch. You were there when when Maeve died. Do you remember it?”

“Of course.”

“Not like I do. I can see every second of it every time I close my eyes. I can’t go through that again. I almost didn’t make it out the other side, If it happened again I don’t know if I could cope-” He stopped, his voice catching in his throat. “Just- Please.”

Hotch grunted, giving in. “Fine, but you can’t allow your emotions to cloud your thinking. I know it will be difficult but I need your head to be in this.Y/N’s life depends on it.”

Spencer nodded and they headed down toward the SUV’s.

They pulled up to the address, lights blaring and sirens sounding. They all quickly jumped out and regrouped, strapping their kevlar vests to their chests as they moved. They were stood in front of an abandoned apartment complex, one that had ben uninhabited for years.

“Alright Morgan, Prentiss I want you to go around the back, find a way in through there, see if you can find this partner of his. JJ, Rossi and Reid you’re with me. ” Hotch ordered, as they all drew their guns and prepared to head in.

As they stealthily walked through the building, they listened for any noise that indicated where the unsub was. Hotch, who was leading the group, pushed open a door to the staircase, and they were about to head up when they heard a bang coming from the floor below them.

They headed down the stairs, seeing that they were entering the buildings basement. They rounded the corner, guns at the ready, and stepping into a small boiler room.

In the centre of the room, Daniel stood. He held a struggling Y/N to his chest, his arm around her neck and gun placed at her temple.

Spencer recalled how it the sight was all too familiar, how Diane had held Maeve the same way.

Daniel’s voice broke him from his thoughts. “If you step any closer, she dies.”

“Okay, okay. We’ll stay back, but I need you to put down the gun.” Hotch tried, shooting a look over his shoulder to Spencer, a look that told him to stay put.

Daniel shook his head. “No. You’re going to ruin everything!”

“Ruin what?” JJ asked.

“My chance do what’s right. Y/N doesn’t want me. But I love her, can’t she see that? I would do anything for her, and still she would choose him over me?” Daniel’s eyes moved to meet with Spencer’s, narrowing.

“Daniel, we know what you went through. We know about your accident, how you’ve felt so out of control since, but if you come with us we can get you the help you need.” Rossi was next to attempt to convince him, but to no avail.

“No- No!” Daniel scowled, clenching his teeth as his gaze fixated on Spencer, who’s eyes were locked with Y/N’s, trying to silently reassure her that she was going to be okay. “She’s mine. I protected her, I’ve looked out for her. She’s finally going to understand.” He looked down at Y/N, his grip on her tightening, causing her to let out a frightened yelp.

Spencer gulped, tearing his gaze from Y/N and onto the unsub, putting on a strong and unbothered facade. He wouldn’t let himself be clouded by his emotions, not this time. “You’re right. You kept her safe, and I’m very grateful that you protected her when I failed to.”

“Thats right. You failed her. I’m so much better for her.” He seethed through his teeth. “ And that’s why, if she won’t chose me, she’ll have to die with me.”

“You don’t want to do that, Daniel. Put down the gun. We’ll bring you in, and if you tell us all about this partner of yours, we’ll tell everyone that you co-operated.” JJ suggested, her gun still aimed up at him.

“Why are you doing this?” Y/N gasped out, still struggling against his hold.

“Because if I can’t have you, the neither can he. No, No.” He grinned, bringing the gun up to his his own head. From where it was angled, the bullet would pass through his own head, and lodge itself in Y/N’s too. “You’re mine, Y/N.”

This time, Spencer didn’t hesitate.

One single gunshot.

Daniel collapsed to the floor, a bullet between his eyes.

Y/N fell to the ground with him in a fit of sobs, scrambling to get away from the man who lay dead on the floor, the pool of blood growing around him.

Spencer holstered his gun, immediately surging forward to wrap a trembling Y/N up in his arms.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you, you’re safe.” He cooed, rubbing a hand on her back in a soothing manner.

She sobbed into his chest as he held her, tears forming in his own eyes at the sound of her cries. But Spencer allowed himself a moment to breathe, looking over Y/N’s shoulder at the man he’d just shot without hesitation.

And he’d wouldn’t be losing any sleep over it, either.

He tightened his arms around her, thankful that she was safe. He brought her up to stand, his arms still tight around her. He looked toward his teammates, nodding gratefully at them as he walked Y/N out of the building. As he passed, he overheard JJ and Hotch’s conversation.

“Emily and Morgan found the partner fleeing out the back. They say he’s agreed to talk.”

With an internal sigh of relief, he held Y/N closer as they stepped out the doors of the building, guiding her toward the medical staff so she could be checked for injuries, despite how she told him she was fine. After it was concluded that she’d come out pretty unscathed, with only a few cuts and bruises, Spencer came and sat down next to her. She smiled weakly up at him, and he knew it would take a while for her usual bright smile to return, but she was alive- and right then that was all that mattered.

He immediately took her hand in his, gripping it tightly.

“Is it over?” She asked quietly, and he nodded.

“Yeah, they got the partner, and he’s going to co-operate in return for a reduced sentence, but he’ll still be going away for a long time.”

She nodded, her head dropping onto his shoulder. “Thank you so much, Spencer. You saved me.” She whispered.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m sorry about the argument we had, I was being a jerk. I just wanted to protect you, but in the end you still ended up getting hurt.” He frowned, looking down at the gravel ground.

“It’s okay, I understand. I’m sorry you had to relive all of this again, I can’t imagine how difficult that must’ve been for you.” She sighed, guilt overwhelming her.

“Hey, no. You’re safe, that’s all that matters.” He promised and she nodded against him.

Giving her hand a squeeze, he turned slightly to press a lingering kiss to her forehead.

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg x reader #criminal minds

780 notes · View notes

hansoulo · 4 years ago

Text

whisper scarcely breathing

part four of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NC-17, NSFW, explicit language, mentions of canon-typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort but without the hurt, bathing and/or being bathed, choking, female-receiving oral, loss of virginity, unprotected M/F intercourse

Word Count: 6.1k

Image Credit: (x) by @/365filmsbyauroranocte, not meant to be a representation of the reader

A/N: this one is for the boys with the boomin’ system 😩💦

༓ series masterlist ༓

The datapad that you’d left in the garden was thrust back into your possession one morning by the hurried hands of a maid. Truthfully, you had forgotten all about it. The mind, when faced with matters as pressing as the press of a mouth, tends to forget about inconsequential objects.

You’d never met the girl standing in front of you before, and she avoided your eyes while passing over the small screen. She seemed eager to be rid of it. You couldn’t say you blamed her. “‘S yours, miss. The bounty hunter said you’d lost it.”

Did he, now?

“Thank you,” you replied sincerely, careful not to let the datapad drop to the floor as you tucked it back into the deep brocade of your gown pockets. You didn’t have the wherewithal at first to ask her when he’d found it or found the time to return it. But you also didn’t have the common sense to keep your mouth shut. “Could I ask when he gave it to you?”

The servant ducked her head. “This morning, your Highness. I- I was in the loading bay when they left, think he was tryin’ to get a hold of you but didn’t have the time, told me- told me to keep quiet ‘bout it.” A bob of her throat signalled a nervous swallow. “Princess.”

Poor girl, you thought to yourself absentmindedly. Boba probably scared her half out of her wits.

“Really, I can’t thank you enough.” You touched a soft hand to the servant’s shoulder in an misguided attempt to soothe. She returned the action with a nervous smile, eyes still downcast and trying not to shy away.

You never realized how afraid they all were. Of you.

The realization made your tongue tangle in your throat, tripping over some lie about a fever and champagne-induced amnesia as explanation for your exchanges with a man so ill-acquainted.

Hopefully, the maid didn’t make a habit of gossip.

Hopefully, you stopped making a habit of Boba Fett.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

A chaincode, a datapad tracking number, and the rest of your life flashed in backlit neon. You silently cursed yourself for not putting an opening passcode on anything, including the datapad that you now held with slightly tremoring hands.

In your defense, it’s not like it held anything of interest. Mostly just holonovels and some pictures of things you found intriguing enough to want to paint or draw.

But now there was a thing of veritable interest stuffed into a new folder titled “Your Highness” and glowing in galactic basic.

BF-18378-3263827

You stared at the numbers until they morphed into a strong, stern-featured face, muddy in your imagination against the ink night invading your bedroom. Boba left his tracking number there for you. If you wanted to, you could use them to message him or comm him or leave a holoprojection message. Whenever you wanted. Right now, even.

When did he even find your datapad? Why he found it (and why he returned it with the aforementioned numerical contraband) was probably a more apt question.

There was quite a lot to think about. Best to take stock of the present moment, lest you lose your head and go completely mad. As if you hadn’t already.

The facts repeated themselves in a half-conscious mantra, screen slipping out of your hands and onto the pillow beside your head. Facts. Facts were good. What were the facts, again?

Boba Fett was arguably the most dangerous bounty hunter in the galaxy.

Boba Fett was not much of a talker.

Boba Fett was a piss-poor dancer.

And Boba Fett was an unfairly good kisser.

The beginning three points held little negative sway, with the first adding much more appeal than it should, the second a welcome relief, and the third being… sort of endearing.

It was on the last point that your mind lingered the longest.

You didn’t even realize you’d copied numbers into the screen’s communications system until its microphone crackled to life.

One breath, two breaths, stuck in your sleep-thick throat. No words from either side yet. Did you get the tracking code wrong? Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe you were dreaming already, imagining the wind outside to be the quiet, husky inhale that sounded from the other end of the receiver.

“Not falling asleep are we, princess?”

Your eyes shot open. “No. No, I’m…” the words croaked themselves out as you fought down a yawn, “I’m awake.” His low chuckle. “I called you didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Boba assented. Quiet amusement colored his accent. “And you called because…”

“I wanted to,” you said simply, without room for teasing. You were too sleepy to be ashamed of admitting you sought out his company, as foolish as doing so was. No use in hiding what both parties knew to be true.

He let out a noise of soft approval and it rumbled a pleasant sunburst between your ears. “You seem to want a lot of things, don’t you?”

Makes me want… want…

Want what, Princess?

Want you.

You can have me.

The memory snaked a fever flush down your neck, over the still-tender skin and lightly mottled marks. Boba was remembering it just as well as you were. You knew he was.

It gave you a rush, a weird sort of power trip. Because as stupid as you felt doing this, wanting this, he wanted it too. Enough to let your hands thread through his hair and around his arms, then to the scar above his left brow and across his mouth. Enough to let you do it again at the risk of being caught. Enough to leave you his tracking number, like you were two teenagers trading love letters and not legal adults with judgement better enough to do otherwise.

You stayed on the comm for two hours, and only went to sleep because Boba threatened to cut your link off if you didn’t.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

It had been almost five standard months since the first time you’d spoken. Typed words continued to be exchanged under your covers, day after day, night after night. Sometimes you’d fall asleep talking, peppering him with questions about his ship and his job until your throat ached with the effort of keeping yourself awake. Sometimes you did more than talk.

He never fell asleep. Never seemed to sleep, period.

What a strange man. Strange, dangerous, interesting man.

You often missed each other by a hair’s breadth. Courtly flurry and galactic bounty hunting didn’t make much space for private conversation. Boba was still taciturn. You were still naive.

And yet…

You liked him. He listened when you talked about botany and painting, neither of which you imagined interested him. He was arrogant and cocky and insufferable sometimes, but he listened. He told you about his job and regaled your sheltered curiosity with lurid, gory details. He told you about his father.

And one day he somehow, miraculously, had a set of Nabooan watercolors left for you in the garden.

Biting down a juvenile grin with every new message, you watched the quiet ping! of the datapad.

Hello

are you busy?

In a way

how so

Had a brush with Hutt’s rancor

poor thing

Don’t get soft on me now

wasn’t talking about you

Very funny

I’m very, very sorry

Should be. The bastard nearly tore up my flight suit

… show me?

⫸———————————————— ⫷

BF-18378-3263827 HAS ATTACHED 3 FILES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

HOLOCALL DURATION: 02:45:35 HOURS

SAVE CALL RECORDING? PRESS YES/NO TO CONFIRM

Your damp hands tremored.

YES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

Six months, four days, and 20 hours. That’s how long it took for you to see Boba Fett again.

You’d started to think the entire ordeal was a mirage, an illusionary experience your brain conjured up for you as a one-time brush with what your life could have been. Who it could’ve been with.

But you did see him again. Foolhardy, reckless, and unplanned.

You didn’t listen to his explanation about having to leave in the morning, taking some third-rate bounty as an excuse to come back to Quas Killam for the first time in what seemed like ages—practically eons since his mouth had last been at your neck. He appeared on your bedroom balcony near midnight like an apparition, mounted by a still-burning jetpack that shut off with an arc of smoke.

You’d been sleeping, albeit fitfully, and woke the minute his knuckles rapped against the glass. You didn’t remember ever telling him where your bedchambers were, but given… everything… you couldn’t say you were surprised he knew. When he crouched down to shed the helmet, it made a soft thump on the plush carpet.

And then you kissed. And kissed. And kissed.

Boba’s fingertips dragged fire across your prickled skin with every pass. Whose breathing was whose didn’t matter. It was hard, heaving, and shared. Eyes closed, lips raw, every part of you dizzy. Dizzy.

The sneeze that left you was loud enough to knock his forehead against yours. Hard.

Feet stumbling until your legs hit the bedspread, you let your weakened knees carry you down into a sitting position atop the covers and tried to catch your breath. Boba only chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by the mild injury.

Of course your body had picked today to come down with a cold. And of course you’d forgotten to tell him.

In your defense (you seemed to do a lot of self-defending these days) you didn’t know Boba would be coming tonight. When you asked him a week ago—the last time you’d spoken—he’d said “soon.” Whatever “soon” meant, you hadn’t anticipated it being now. Your rumpled nightgown and deteriorating personal hygiene was evidence enough of that.

The day had passed in fitful naps, with you waving away all attempts at help until the servants who usually tittered about decided to give you a wide berth until tomorrow. They’d left the door locked and your curtains drawn, thank the gods.

“A hello would’ve been nice,” you mumbled. The lingering taste of him in your mouth mixed with the bitter medicine that you’d forced down a few hours ago.

Boba didn’t answer at first, only stalking forward with his silhouette glowing in light of the full moon. You brought your knees up to your chest to make room for him to stand in front of you. Every movement was bathed in slowness, in the reverence of caution and night-time silence.

His gloved hand brushed against your chin and tilted it upwards, thumb rubbing a small circle into your jawbone as he moved your face in one large grip. Left, inspecting a swollen mouth and puffy eyes, then right. Up to see the column of your exposed neck. Down to meet his bare, dark face.

He kissed you again, more gentle this time. “Hello.”

A soft whimper left your throat.

Oh, you hated it. Hated the way you sounded when he touched you, small and pathetic. Needy.

The balustrade doors were still open, and this fact was made known by a particularly biting gust of silver wind.

“You’re cold,” the man standing close to you noted with a deep downquirk of his mouth. Boba never had to conceal anything; his helmet did that for him. But when it was off, every thought flickered past his face in evening technicolor.

Your hands paused in their run up your arms to hold petulantly at your elbows, covered only by the thin fabric of your shift. Goosebumps rose against your neck with a new breeze and you fought down the urge to shiver. “M’not.”

“And stubborn.”

You glared at him, but it held no real venom.

“I appreciate the concern,” you sniffled again and your body trembled slightly. “But I’m the picture of health. I really have never been—” here you sneezed rather violently, crumbling any remaining sense of composure and making the final words thick with congestion, “—any better.” Boba hooked two strong arms underneath your knees and around your shoulders. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Boba grunted and lifted you to his chest in one swift, easy motion. “Up.”

“I’m already up,” you grumbled, a headache you’d thought was all but gone now throbbing from the quick movement. Armor pressed to your cheek and you let yourself go pliant, curling up into Boba’s broad chest. He smelled nice. Like the outdoors. The real outdoors—not manufactured gardens or stone courtyards. No, dangerous things. Like deserts and leather and guns.

You queried him as he walked in long strides across the room. “Where are you taking me? Should have you—” another sneeze burned your airways, “—have you arrested for treason. A high crime or misdemeanor of some sort, kidnapping royalty...”

He only scoffed, shifting your slack body into his one-armed grip when he arrived at the entrance of your adjunct refresher. The door opened with a soft click. “You talk too much.”

Your head rolled back to face him, pressed so close already that the attempt made you cross-eyed. “And you,” a polished finger jabbed lightly at his chest plate, “are up to no good.”

You were only joking, but Boba didn’t deny it.

Green was your favorite color, even before you met him. It was the color of gardens. Of mint leaves. Of insects and jewels. Of him.

Gods, he was beautiful. Did he know that? Would he ever believe you if you told him? He was achingly, painfully, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The man set you down to your immediate protests. Funny how quick you seemed to change your mind. “Don’t whine,” he chided when you did just that, pushing you forward by the small of your back.

You walked into the refresher confused, that same confusion compounding when Boba strode over to the marble bathtub in room’s center with a surety that belayed the fact he’d never once stepped foot inside here. Were all bounty hunters this self-assured? Or was he just so full of bathroom bravado that your sprawling floor-plan didn’t faze him?

Whatever the case was, said bounty hunter was now crouched down on the tile floor and twisting the tub faucets until they sprayed out a gush of hot water, quickly filling the room with heady steam.

“Hot water helps.” A still-gloved hand dipped an inch into the filling tub and deemed it acceptable. “The steam’ll clear up those sneezes of yours. And the headache.”

“How did you know I-” your mouth opened and closed before you realized you didn’t do a great job of hiding your symptoms. Maker knows you looked a sight, all mussed and tired and sticky with cold sweat. He should make a run for it now, you half-joked to yourself. He’s only ever seen me stuffed into a corset and done up half to death.

He got up with a grunt and turned back towards you. Beskar and durasteel and tactical fabric suddenly made you feel, for the first time in your life, underdressed. “‘S not hard to tell, princess.”

“Oh,” was your only response as you pushed off the sink counter, fisting the fabric of your nightgown in an unconscious display of hesitancy.

Boba’s heavy boots made for the door.

It was probably just to leave you some semblance of privacy, but you panicked, not wanting to be left alone now that he was finally here. “Wait!” you burst out, reaching a palm onto his shoulder before he could exit. “Wait. Can— can you stay?” Of course he won’t stay, you dolt. He probably came to sleep with you, not babysit you. “Please?”

Both of his hands curled into themselves when he turned back to you, their leather squeaking in the tight flex. Then, they released limp by his sides. Each word was carefully measured, slow-simmering like a pot about to boil over. Like a trigger finger twitchy on a blaster. “If you want me to.”

You answered with a bobbing nod and a swallow. “I do.”

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba Fett had long since forgotten he was a man. Instead, he was armor. He was a code, a set of strict (albeit grey) morals, the steadfast honor he’d been imbibed with from the years with his father and then the years of tearing emptiness after.

Bounty hunters had no time for attachments. They couldn’t afford to humor every batting eyelash with more than a self-serving flirtation, and he’d had his fill of those already. He’d overflowed his cup ten times over with shallow pleasantries and quick release.

But those days were long-gone. Had been for years now. Now he was practically puritanical.

Had been, anyway.

He didn’t like thinking of himself as impulsive, wanting to leave the trait behind in his younger years but not being old enough to shake it off completely. But he wasn’t impulsive anymore. He wasn’t.

You were going to destroy him.

Low-ranking royalty on some Imperial-occupied factory planet; sheltered and pretty. You had the brightest eyes he had ever seen and a temperament that took no prisoners, and you were going to destroy him.

Boba thought you’d make him leave, but you didn’t. You wanted him to stay and told him so.

So he stayed. His armor was peeled off in your presence for the first time— carefully placed on a chair in your bedroom—and he walked back into the refresher to see you untying your flimsy nightdress like it’d done you a personal wrong.

When it dropped beside your feet, it took every ounce of self-control Boba possessed to stop himself from eating you whole.

He heard you kick it to the floor (his eyes had since been very determinedly fixed on a fascinating piece of groutwork near his left foot) before you stepped into the bath, sighing in a way that made breathing a work harder than it should’ve been.

His looking away wasn’t a request on your part, you didn’t seem to mind either way, but he didn’t trust himself to do otherwise. Not until the sounds of splashing had subsided somewhat, signalling your stilled motion. “Boba?”

Now there was permission to walk. Look down. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, the clawfoot of the bathtub. He had reached his destination.

A wet hand tugged at his belt loops and he finally allowed himself to look, meeting the sight of you sitting bare in the clear-blue water with legs pulled up to your chest. The arm not touching him was roped around your calves. Your chin rested on the wide, curved lip of the tub.

If Boba had any self-respect, it had been snuffed out the first moment you opened your mouth, six months ago in that cavernous palace hallway with your failed attempt at bravado. It was haughty, short-lived, and adorable.

Maker, you were beautiful. Did you know that? Would you ever believe him if you told you? You were blindingly, effervescently, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The position of your chin forced your lips into a slight pout. As if you needed another weapon in your arsenal of ways to make him question his judgement. “Could you bring me the tray on the counter?”

Of course he could. He could bring you anything you liked. He would bring you a rancor, a dozen rancors, a fucking sarlaac if it meant you would smile all soft-like the way you just did when he answered yes.

Boba Fett, mercenary feared farther than he would ever live to travel and hunter too expensive for the Imperial payroll, was now a bath attendant. It was torturous in its sensual irony.

The tray was brought over in short order, cluttered with tiny vials of Maker-knows-what and bars of who-knows-how. Individually they probably all smelled nice, but crowded together the heavy scents only made his head spin. He set the tray down on the floor with a rattle and held up each mystery soap for your inspection. No. No. No. No, not that one. Gods, you were picky. No. No. Yes, please.

You were Miss Manners tonight apparently.

“It’s floating archidia,” you told him, mind running through an endless backlog of plant indexes as he handed over the soap. You sounded clearer now, less congested and more alert. Needed to drink water, though. “The flower that this is made with, I mean. Native to the planet Nubia, rumored to have euphoric properties.” You snorted and ran a thumbnail along the bar’s waxy edge, bringing up a curled pink piece. “Whatever that means.”

“Do you think it does?”

“Have euphoric properties?” you hummed, considering it for a moment. “Maybe. But maybe it’s just wishful thinking.”

“Wishful thinking,” Boba parroted.

The meaning of words can change when they’re repeated. Neither of your minds were on flowers.

His jaw tensed when you reached your other hand to his forearm, baring the rest of your body to the dim orange of the refresher lights’ night settings. The water rippled, warm now instead of steaming, and your fingers curled around the scarred skin of his wrist. “Take off the gloves,” you echoed, your voice suddenly desperate and distant as you traced over pale leather seams. “Please.”

He had refused the first time simply to toy with you. You weren’t used to being told no, and it showed. But he let you take off his helmet in a moment of thoughtless self-indulgence, scratching the part of his subconscious that itched to be touched, stroked, held. Shedding the helmet in front of someone else didn’t really mean anything in an honorable sense—at least not to Boba. Nothing tied him to the habit except a desire to keep himself and his motivations unknown. It was easier that way. Less messy.

He acquiesced. "Since you asked so nicely."

Wrinkling your nose, you guided newly-bare palms to knead gently at your shoulder blades. The skin there was soft and warm, pliant under his sandpaper touch. "Keep mentioning it and I'll go back to being difficult."

The soap made foamy bubbles across your back, over your arms and the velvet slope of your hips. Fingertips ghosted through the space between your jaw and ear, where he remembered sucking in a soft bruise.

He liked being known by you.

⫸————————————————⫷

You clambered out the tub with all the grace of a baby krugga deer and about as much shame. Which is to say, none at all. The subsiding cold had left you tired, bones like jelly and mind sloshing its thoughts around with no real order. Boba was here. Had stayed. Was standing in front of you now, watching tiny water droplets trail down your feet and letting you balance on his arm to keep you from stumbling.

A towel was wrapped around your shoulders. The press of his hot mouth against your forehead followed close behind. “Go sit on the bed.”

For some reason, you didn’t mind listening to him this time. Chalk it up to moldable exhaustion, you thought. Definitely not the fact that his voice sounded especially nice tonight, or any number of other questionable reasons.

He was going to ruin you. Or you would ruin yourself. Any way it was construed, Boba would play a part.

Still only in a towel, you drank the stale tea that sat on your bedside table and watched in mild interest as the mercenary’s shadow emptied out tepid bathwater with the thick glugluglug of the drain. It washed down soap and all your shared secrets.

Was it wrong that you still wanted him? More, now that he’d done this for you? Now that it wasn’t just cruel kisses and groping hands? What sort of a person did that make you?

Your mind whispered it when Boba walked back towards you. Someone lonely.

He helped you slide a new chemise on when you asked him to, quick and steady over the thin linen ties. I bet you do that with all the girls, you’d teased. No, he answered simply. Just you.

He was going to ruin you.

“Do you have to go yet?” you asked quietly and climbed under the covers. They were green today. Life enjoyed coincidences like that.

Boba crouched down on the floor beside your lying figure and shook his head. A wide fingertip smoothed away the crease between your brows. He was doing lots of touching. You were not complaining. “Not ‘til morning.”

“You might as well then,” you mumbled and lifted up the embroidered blankets with a sleep-slack hand. “No one’ll bother us, I promise.” you answered the empty air, too heartsick to comprehend any possible insinuations and too tired to realize the fingers tracing your brow bone had paused. “I told them all not to come back until tomorrow.”

His shirt and pants were shed in an unceremonious pile. You were already half-asleep when he climbed into the other side of the bed, slotting his legs against yours like puzzle pieces. Two question marks curled into each other, his chest to your back and his lips brushing your head.

“Goodnight, princess.”

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dreaming about him.

He was the burning sun that every single one of your thoughts had orbited around for the last six months and now he was invading your subconscious, dream-talons taking the form of dark hands rubbing soft circles against you and then invading your open mouth.

In your dream, Boba touched you softly and not at all, a tease even in your self-serving imagination.

Then you woke up, and it wasn’t a dream anymore.

Two thick arms encircled your waist with a grip unyielding in their strength. They’d pulled you impossibly close, pressed up against his sleeping body until every ridge of his muscled stomach could be felt against your back. Something else was against your back.

Your head reeled in its effort to sludge through the fog of sleep and reach the reality of masculine hips. They shifted in an unintentional grind against your legs until you couldn’t bite back the gasp that bubbled out from your voicebox, the sound quiet, keening, and lost in the shuffled sounds of fabric. It was still dark out. The water-clock in the corner of your room read 01:25:02.

You hadn’t put on anything underneath the new chemise. Why bother, when he’d already seen everything? Your body had grown to be a thing for display, a clothes-hanger and object to be prodded by strangers, and you’d long since rid yourself of any precocious modesty.

But this was different.

When Boba touched you, it wasn’t to sew flowers in your hair or drape a sash over your chest. It was simply to touch. The thought made you light-headed with newfound embarrassment, wiggling in his grip until you turned to face his sleeping form.

All the heavy things he carried on his shoulders during the day were gone now. His bottom lip pillowed out when he slept and he looked younger, the perpetual downturn of his lips now settled below the black hair at his temples. You felt a sticky sort of fondness settle in your chest.

“Boba,” you whispered, two hands placing themselves on his tanned cheeks. They traced the divots of scars and premature lines with all the reverence of worshipfulness.

“Mmm,” his voice rumbled with eyes still closed. A warm mouth kissed the side of your palm.

“Boba,” you repeated, more desperate this time but not knowing what you were desperate for. The space between your legs already knew what it wanted, hot and pulsing with a familiar dampness. Traitor.

“What do you need?” The question wasn’t accusatory, nor annoyed at your waking him. It was known that he would give you whatever you liked. Eventually.

You. Just you.

“I don’t,” you huffed, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your now overheated body as you squirmed, “I don’t know.” Lie.

“Think about it and tell me,” he whispered, eyes opening in their dark, heavy-lidded expectation. The moon and stars suspended outside offered light enough to see the smirk on his face. His skin was the color of burnt earth and of gods. Somewhere, far away in the canopy of carefully pruned trees, a single lark let out its warbled cry.

There was an old adage about being like a lamb to the slaughter. You’d never touched a lamb. Never seen a slaughter. But somehow, you knew it was true.

This lamb, dumb and tender-hearted, was willingly sacrificied.

"I...'' the word left you in the arc of your exhale, one whoosh of air that rattled your chest already wracked with fevered tremors. "I- want you to-"

"You want me to what, pretty thing?" His voice was low, dangerous. It made every part of you want him more. "Say it."

You weren't used to cursing. It was never tolerated and you barely ever heard it, but you'd learned enough to know what he wanted you to say. Which word he wanted to hear, and what it'd mean he would do.

"F-fuck. Me." you choked out, biting your lip to muffle the embarrassment of having to speak it out loud. The word was filthy and raw between your teeth. "Please?"

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dying. Possibly had already died. Were ascending up or barrelling down, you didn’t care as long as his wet mouth stayed between your legs and never, ever stopped.

Wide hands cupped at your skin and kneaded wherever they could reach, simultaneously rough and supplicating. Every pass of his tongue was enough to make you feel possessed. He was killing you.

“Good. Good girl.” he said against your swollen skin when your hips arced off the bed, your spine and toes stiffening for what seemed like an eternity during the damp lightning finish. It sounded like a growl, animalistic and vibrating. A burning, sweet hurt.

Some people call it “little death,” a lady’s maid once whispered underneath her hand in a giggle. “Little death?” you repeated incredulously. That seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?

You understood now.

Boba didn’t let up, never once letting his touch waver even as you buckled and swayed, all sense lost and all sensation compacting. “Another,” he ordered. Your body listened, bending to his touch without complaint with eyes rolled back into your head.

You were dying.

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba let you lay against him in the downturn, rubbing mindless shapes into the bone of your wrists as you struggled to breathe. Your neck was cradled in one of his broad, bronze palms. It gave one tiny, imperceptible squeeze. An accident. A test.

You pawed at the hand resting heavy on your nape until it moved to leave completely, but was caught instead by your fingers and guided—slow and curious—to cup at your bared throat.

“Dirty,” the man noted in a dark rasp and rolled over to face you. There was a slight smirk in his voice, but that could’ve just been your imagination.

“I don’t see you...” your voice trailed off into a wheeze as Boba’s thick fingers pressed into the sides of your neck, “—see you complaining.”

He kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you. An eternity was spent opening the seam of your mouth while he choked you softly, baring your pulsating soul with only your bedroom walls as witness to the present depravity. The air was filled with begging and grunting—simple noises that stuttered and left your sheets ruined.

You wanted more. You couldn’t help it.

His chuckle morphed into a groan when you reached down to touch him with widening eyes, squeezing him curiously after pulling down his boxers. “You’re a brave little thing,” Boba noted with a hint of greedy pride. “Never done this before, have you?”

Your own hands served as poor substitutes all these years. You shook your head no.

“D’you want to?”

Of course you did. This was the only thing you wanted. The only thing you would ever want, over and over until your body turned to dust under him. A million grains of fizzy, burning blaster powder. A million comets passing by a supernova.

You nodded and tucked your face into the space between Boba’s shoulder and neck, rolling onto your side and hooking a leg over his hip. Your chests met, damp with sweat as cool air flowed over bare skin. The covers had long since been pushed aside. “Safe,” you said in a heady moan over the shell of his ear. “Implant.”

Thank goodness for modern medicine.

⫸————————————————⫷

It hurt a little at first, but most of the discomfort melted away as he whispered to you, sweet and cloying praises alongside filthy things that you’d be hard-pressed to repeat in public. They wove together in an endless stream of baritone vowels, lapping over each other like ocean waves until everything was a gyrating, syrupy playback.

He let you move against him, mouth open and sloppy against your temple when you whined at the stretch. The hands at your back didn’t push. Only placated. “I know, I know,” Boba assured you with fingers rubbing sympathetic desire into your flesh. It would bruise, but you’d come to like the marks. Your hips bucked at their own accord when he pressed up against something tight, the friction burning a bright, numb spark. “Slow down,” he mumbled into your hair, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Never in your life did you think this was how it would be. Your first kiss, more of a battle than it was a kiss, served as fuel for the expectations of your first time. Never in your life did you think he would be the one telling you to go slow.

It was for your sake, you knew that. But it was still surprising.

You huffed and bit the shell of his ear in childish revenge, blowing a puff of air where you knew it would tickle. Boba only growled and tightened his arms around your waist, rocking into you slow and deep. “Don’t tease,” he warned.

The new movements robbed you of the ability to speak until all you could do in response was lift your head from where it had rested on his shoulder, meeting impossibly dark eyes in lust-addled vision as a building pressure colored the entire world in shades of black, red, and green.

In a moment of complete and utter lack of propriety, you leaned forward, smiling like a woman deranged, and pressed a kiss to his nose.

Boba came undone the same minute you did. It was a rush of wet, rocking pleasure, spreading like thick webs of lighted fire from inside your blood and out to fill the room with quiet devotion. Panting, bursting, close, messy. You’d never felt so whole.

Your foreheads met and you went cross-eyed trying to look at him again. That’s all you wanted to do. Look at him. Uttered underneath his jaw, where the skin was smooth, was your finishing admission. “I love you.”

You didn’t say it to hear it repeated. It was just to give it a shape. Make it concrete. Said more to yourself than him, really.

But Boba did repeat it. Over and over and over. In the tangle of your arms. I love you. In the kiss to your breasts. I love you. In the towel brought between your legs. I love you. In the settled silence of new sleep. I love you, I love you, I love you.

⫸————————————————⫷

The watery light of dawn melted through heavy curtains and you awoke, body weighed down with lead and gold. Sweet soreness had made its home in your muscles and you were loath to get up, but the man you’d been using as a pillow had very rudely left his post.

“I have to go,” he said, already awake and standing sentry by your bed. You raised your head up from the pillows in groggy protest to meet his blurry figure. If you squinted, there were three of him standing there at once.

A shake of your head rid your vision of the doubles, leaving the lone man. He kissed you—quick and dirty, with tongue—and squeezed your exposed breast, prompting a low moan to tumble from your mouth before he slipped his blaster into the holster at his hip. It wasn’t even 6 in the morning and you were thoroughly debauched. What a scandal, you thought (not for the first time) with passing amusement. A bounty hunter and a princess.

Watching in a dim haze as Boba finished strapping on his amor, you tracked the reflection of the sun in the metal’s lazy movement.

He leaned over you. “I’ll be back soon.” Soon. What did soon mean? Another kiss, slow and careful on the bow of your mouth. One more on the slope of your forehead. For luck, you supposed. Whether it was for you or him didn’t matter much. “Promise.”

Slowly, as he climbed out onto your balcony and was gone with a flash of jetpack light, you wondered if it was a mirage; a dream, maybe. The entire night a hallucinatory haze, a figment of your overactive imagination and reckless romanticism.

But the towel left discarded on the floor and the pulsing ache between your legs was very, very real.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett/reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x you #boba fett fic #boba fett oneshot #boba fett imagine

281 notes · View notes

loth-wolffe · 4 years ago

Note

I love your song list prompts and I just discovered your writing and I'm obsessed. Could I request 25 from the song prompts with Crosshair?

(I hope you dont mind me putting these two prompts together, i just thought they were walking the same path. ps. tHANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR KINDNESS. ILY)

Mutual

Pairing: Crosshair x reader (no y/n)

Warnings: nOne.

Word count: 1,3k. not proofread

Prompts: 25. I need to know, if this is mutual, before I go. - Mutual by Shawn Mendes and 30. All we do is think about the feelings that we hide, all we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign. - Drive by Halsey

You've been dancing around each othe for what it seems like forever, he'd push and pull, and you'd be left spinning before you find your way back to his arms.

He's such a tease, that Crosshair, with his snarky words and easy smile that you were sure he kept just for you, and he had you eating out of the palm of hand before you noticed.

It was mostly that, flirting at every given chance, light touches here and there, having no respect for personal space, sweet comments and cute pet names were thrown at the table, too.

The first time he called you sweetheart you blushed furiously, and when you first teased him and said a cheeky hotshot, he was lost of words for a minute or two, and you have never felt more proud around him, Wrecker did tease him tremendously that day.

Crosshair would come to your office or room most times, uninvited until he became a regular presence around you, which made it even harder to bear when he was away, because when he was in Kamino, Crosshair always seemed to gravitate your way, even in the mess hall or if you were under a ship fixing whatever, he would spot you right away, walk towards you and sit as close as he could without making it weird.

Sometimes you'd just sit in silence, taking a moment of peace and quiet and listening to the radio, imagining for a second what would it be if you held each other's hands, to be in each other's arms, to hold and to caress and to be oh so close, to be wrapped by the other's warmth and feel each breath, murmur sweet nothings, and maybe admit a fantasy or two that had been playing for far too long in the mind of the other.

If you kissed, would the other lips' feel soft, chapped, stiff, warm? And as you kiss, would it be gentle, needy, slow?

Would it be practiced, sloppy, awkward?

Would you fit like two missed pieces of puzzle finding their way back together? You feel like you would.

Yet you wait, and you don't know he does too, for some kind of sign, a fleeting chance to take a breath as you fall and admit that he's the one you hope is on the other end ready to catch you, to stop you from hitting the ground, to lift you up and tells you there's nothing to worry about.

A few moons passes before you find your answer.

He has to go, and you're not sure if you're ever going to see him again, he might be gone, and you might be too. There might be a day he doesn't come home and instead have one of his brothers holding back their tears as they tell you the news.

You can't stand it, the thought of lost time, of having all these minutes, and hours, and days with him, to explore and to know, to feel and to find.

You knock on the door before you're processing what you're doing, and before even asking you if you're really doing this, but the door whooshes open and there's five pairs of eyes looking at you.

There's no turning back now.

"Hi," you greet, the most awkward you have been since meeting them, Hunter lifts a brow in question as the others wonder what are you doing there, in their barracks, this late in the night.

They'd be leaving in a couple hours, and you had already said your goodbyes.

"I uh," you clear your throat, taking a quick sweep with your eyes to the room, avoiding everyone's eyes, "I actually wanted to talk to Crosshair, there's uh," your cheeks burn and the logic part of your brain —and the rest of it too— is screaming you to abort, you rub the back of your neck and your eyes find his amber ones, "there's something I want to discuss with you, before you guys leave," you take a pause, head titling down and you don't think you have ever found your shoes more interesting, "if that's alright."

Eyes look from you to Crosshair before the sniper stands up from his spot above a supply box you're sure it shouldn't be there, and you feel anxiety bubble in your throat when you see Hunter's smirk and Tech's knowing eyes.

It doesn't calm down once you're alone in the hall.

"Yes?"

ABORT, ABORT, ABORT.

You can see a little you jumping with a sign, red letters making you panic.

"I–," you start, but no other words come out, they feel stuck somewhere between your tongue and your throat and you search in his face any indication for you to continue, something to anchor you as you give him your heart.

You blink, shaking your head.

"It's nothing." It leaves in a sigh, your shoulders deflating as your coward self kicks you in the ass and smiles proudly.

"You brought me to the hallway to discuss... nothing?" He says, carefully, as if he wanted to be sure of your actions, and them sounding like you were actually crazy.

"Yeah I just," you shrug, scratching your arm, feeling so small, "forget it. We can talk about it when you return."

You will definitely won't talk about it, but you seriously need to get out of here, and just be away from him so you can peacefully curse at yourself and probably cry a little, too.

"Yeah, sorry, that was all, if you don't have anything to add, I should get back." With rushed words because you can't seem to go back to your room fast enough, you start turning to leave as you continue rambling, "you should go, too, get some sleep, I know that–"

"Wait."

And of course you do, because you're wrapped around his finger in the most embarrassing way. Stopping halfway through the movement, you sigh and turn quickly to face him.

"There is something I want to discuss with you, actually."

"Oh." You frown. "Really?"

What could he possibly want to tell you?

"Yeah," and his eyes scan for something behind you, maybe if there was any passing trooper of a kaminoan wandering around, maybe taking a second to gather his thoughts, making sure he was going to ask whatever he had in mind.

"What is it?"

"I'm leaving in an hour." You frown deepen, and nod slowly. He's not giving you much to work with.

"And?" You inquire, curiosity dripping from your voice because you have no idea where is this going.

He takes a breath, and if you didn't know better you would think he's nervous.

"And, can I kiss you?" His voice is sure, confident, a question that rises from mixed signals and unsure feelings, yet he makes it sound as if he had always known.

But your mind just, short circuits, and you're left paralyzed, the you in your brain screams, and laughs, and cries because who would've thought, he actually feels the same.

But you don't answer and he gets uneasy.

"Or not."

But before he can apologize, you hold him by the back of his neck, and in a swift motion, you crash your lips with his, and it takes him a moment to respond, but he does eventually, taking a breath before pulling you close, hands flying to cup your face, and it's so much better than you could've ever imagine.

He tastes like caf and something sweet, something so Crosshair that makes you whimper lowly. His lips are soft, and warm, and the kiss is gentle yet urgent as he pushes you against the wall, a leg between yours as he presses his body closer.

He kisses you like it's the last time he gets to do it, and for a while it is, until he finds his way back to you, and you make sure to make up for the lost time.

#crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #tbb crosshair #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch #tbb

162 notes · View notes

yumeyooa · 3 years ago

Text

bippity-boppity bloom: act one | todoroki shoto

—everyone knows the story of cinderella, saved by a prince and a glass slipper. but what if the true hero wasn’t the prince, but rather the fairy god mother? todoroki shoto has been suffering under the hands of his wicked family his whole life, yet everything changes when he meets you: a fairy forced to take care of him as punishment. will the odds be in your favor? or will everything go down from here on out?

➢ pairing: todoroki shoto x female! reader

➢ word count: 15.2k+

➢ love letter: henlo!! i am late but this is for @milktyama ‘s once upon an alternative universe collab!! originally this was supposed to be a one-shot, but i eventually realized that it would be better if this was split into two! although most of the romance comes in the second part T_T i hope you like it and let me know what you think!!

➢ taglist (send an ask to be tagged): @loveinhaikyuu @mirakeul @strcwberrieswine @kunaigirlx44 @maxzinn @faewraithsworld

navigation | anime masterlist | act two

Magic was a curious thing.

Since the dawn of time, people have used magic to describe the unknown, to give meaning to the things they could not explain. That quarter you lost suddenly showing up at your feet? Magic. An electric jolt shooting through your veins after coming into contact with another? Magic. Flowers blooming amidst the cold winter? Magic.

No matter where you went or what you did, magic was everywhere. It hid itself from the world, waiting in silence for those who would come to know the beauty of it. Those who would cherish it with all their heart and soul and would never abuse it for their own selfish gain.

To the rest of the world, magic was something they could only wish to find.

But the true secret of magic remained hidden in the arms of those who could wield it.

“Don’t tell me you’re pranking someone again?” An exasperated sigh calls from behind you, and you turn around, startled to find a young man with deep violet hair haphazardly framing his face. He was staring at you with an unimpressed look as if he had gone through this exact situation plenty of times in the past, and from the way you sheepishly smile back at him, he probably had.

“Me? Pranking Someone? Why I would never!” You exclaim, faking innocence as the man gives you a knowing look, causing a groan to fall from your lips as you heave a sigh, throwing a playful glare back his way.

“Oh, come on, Hitoshi!” You whine, rolling your eyes in fake annoyance. “What harm can one prank do? It’s not even that bad!”

“Must I remind you what happened that one time you decided to prank Elder Aizawa?” You freeze in your place, looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights. “He nearly convinced the council of elders to have you banished to the human realm! Do you not understand how grave that could have been?”

You remain silent, sulking. As much as you hated to admit it, your best friend had a point. To fairies, being banished was like a death sentence. Without any support from the all-powerful tree of life, a fairy would wither away and die just like that. It was scary to even think about it, and you were lucky that Hitoshi had somehow managed to save you from that terrible predicament.

From the very beginning, you had always been considered a peculiarity amongst the other fairies. Whereas they were graceful and elegant, you were clumsy and awkward. Where they excelled in soft chatter and gentle smiles, you reveled in chaos and the undignified.

You were an outcast amongst the fairies, but you honestly couldn’t blame them.

Fairies were the keepers of magic, after all. They were expected to uphold a particular image befitting of being wielders of the most sacred entity provided by the tree of life. Fairies were supposed to be noble and delicate. They were supposed to hold their heads up high as protectors of the supernatural. That very image, however, didn’t suit you at all.

You never understood it. Why did they take pride in being so uptight? It was boring. There was no freedom in upholding the elegance of their kind through every single thing they did. They seemed so bare as if being a fairy sucked all the life out of them. Which was ironic, considering they were supposed to be protectors of the tree of life.

“—(Y/N)? Are you even listening to me? Hello?” You snap out of your trance, looking at your friend who was staring at you with a nonchalant look on his face. Hitoshi has always been a rather unique character, even to you. He didn’t explicitly fit into the stereotypical image of a fairy, yet he was never ostracized for it. It was as if he was an exception— an anomaly from the harsh judgment of the fairy realm.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You ask, trying to come off as if you were paying attention when in all actuality, you weren’t. Hitoshi sighs, rolling his eyes playfully as he ruffles your head, messing up your hair in the process, causing a grunt of protest to fall from your lips. He sits beside you on the ledge you were perched atop on, staring down at the crowd of fairies below.

The two of you were apprentices to the council of elders, helping them ensure that there was order amongst the fairies. Order was essential for the protectors of the tree of life because, without it, chaos would ensue, and the world, no, the entire universe, would fall apart. The council of elders was the supreme government of the fairy world, and to be an apprentice to even one of them, was a great honor and responsibility.

You just hated all the expectations that came with it.

“What kind of prank were you supposed to play this time?” Hitoshi asks, humming as he stares up at the sky above you. You stare at the wand in your hand, puffing your cheeks in disappointment at the realization that you wouldn’t be able to pull the prank off anymore.

“Nothing much,” you mutter. “Just wanted to test out some new spells I learned the other day, and I figured why not test it out on some… unsuspecting figures.”

“(Y/N),” Hitoshi says, voice stern as if he were a mother reprimanding his child. You huff, pout forming on your lips. “You know that if any of the other elders were to find out, they’d have your apprenticeship stripped away. What would you do then?”

You stay silent, the truth in Hitoshi’s words stinging painfully, more than it should. He was right. Shunned away from your family since your coming of age, the council of elders was the only one who had accepted you, albeit reluctantly. No fairy wanted to be associated with an outcast after all. It would only tarnish that pure image they had crafted into perfection, and as prideful beings, they couldn’t have that.

If it wasn’t for Elder Yagi, the most influential fairy in the realm, then you would have been left for dead. Elder Yagi was the definition of the perfect fairy. He wasn’t just delicate and graceful on the surface; he was kind and compassionate within. Although many disagreed with his views on accepting those who didn’t fit into society’s expectations, they could never truly go against him. Because that would be like going against the very essence of fairies, after all.

So they kept their malice and disdain a secret, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, and if you weren’t careful, then their next victim would be you.

“The elders are calling for you,” Hitoshi says out of the blue, causing your blood to run cold. You stare at him with a shocked expression on your face, and you couldn’t deny the fear that was beginning to bubble within. “Elder Aizawa sent me to look for you. Said they requested your presence immediately.”

There’s a solemn look on Hitoshi’s face, and you can tell beyond the surface that he’s worried. Being called upon by the council of elders meant only one of two things to a fairy: it was either they were to be punished, or they were to be rewarded. And you had done nothing of the sort to deserve a just reward.

You chuckle, looking down at your lap, not knowing what to say. You didn’t understand why what you did was so wrong. Why were they trying to punish you when all you wanted was to bring life into this otherwise dull place? No matter how hard they tried to hide it, some fairy children enjoyed your pranks, and the thought of bringing smiles to their faces was what kept you going.

You just didn’t expect to get severely punished for it, though.

“Thanks for telling me, Hitoshi,” you say, standing up, a fake smile plastered on your face in an attempt to seem as if his recent news didn’t bother you as much as it did. “Guess I better get going then, wouldn’t want Elder Aizawa to scold me for being late again.”

Hitoshi remains silent, staring up at you with an unreadable expression before letting out a sigh, standing up and ruffling your hair once more. “Stop putting up a brave face, idiot. It doesn’t suit you.” You want to protest but can’t find the courage to do so, remaining silent as the smile falls from your face. “Come on, I’ll accompany you there.”

Shocked, you look up at him, features clearly showing your surprise. “What?” He asks, scoffing. “You really think I wouldn’t accompany you to your death? You know that I’d kill to see it happen in front of my very eyes.”

You know he’s joking, trying to lighten up the mood because the nerves running through you are too much to handle. But even so, you’re grateful for it. Despite not being outright honest about it, Hitoshi still cared. He had cared for you ever since you called out one of the other fairies for calling him a disgrace the moment you first met. He had stuck with you through thick and thin and had been the only fairy to believe in you, aside from Elder Yagi.

And you couldn’t be any more grateful for it.

“Weirdo,” you call, a genuine smile forming on your lips, Hitoshi reflecting his own, albeit his was a lot less noticeable. You take a deep breath, trying to calm down the nerves that were thrumming deep beneath your skin, and nod to Hitoshi, the two of you teleporting just outside the auditorium of the council of elders.

You had always hated the auditorium. It was a dark and scary place, dimly lit, with all of the elders present atop a high porch, staring down at you like you were some inferior being to them. Whenever you were in the dark room, assisting the elders in their work, you always felt the paranoia creep up against you, begging you to just run and leave the room, even when there was no immediate danger present.

That was the effect the council of elders had always possessed since the beginning— intimidation. And you hated them for it.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the raging waves of nervousness that were thrashing wildly deep inside you. You’re shaking. You can see it in the way your hands shiver as you reach out to place a knock on the wooden doors, hesitating.

“You’ll be fine,” Hitoshi whispers, a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here, yeah?”

It’s comforting. Hitoshi isn’t one for words and prefers to show his care through subtle actions, but you know he means well. Taking another deep breath, you give your best friend a weak smile, knocking on the doors, heart heavy.

Like magic, they open, and a deep “come in” calls out to you, causing you to gulp as you nod one final time to Hitoshi before entering the auditorium, with a hopeful heart dangling on the edge of light and darkness.

The Council of Elders truly had a knack for intimidation, you think to yourself as you stare up at the seven fairies that governed the world you had come to know. They sat atop their seats (which looked more like thrones, in your opinion), staring down at you with glares on their faces.

While you had expected their hostility towards you, as you didn’t exactly have the best reputation amongst their apprentices, you were surprised that even Elder Yagi, your mentor, and father figure, was looking at you with a disappointed gaze. What was going on? What had you done wrong?

It’s then, amidst your confusion, that your eyes land on another figure present in the room. The very presence of this figure makes your blood boil in anger, and you try to suppress it with deep breaths, closing your eyes to calm yourself before meeting eyes with the said figure.

Neito. Oh, how you despised the man. Neito was one of your fellow apprentices who served the Council of Elders, specifically Elder Sekijiro, who was in charge of the vanguard— the elite force of fairies that specialized in defense, ensuring that there was peace and order in the world.

While it was an honorable position, Neito was not an honorable man in the slightest. Ever since you had met him, he had been mean and downright evil, taunting you every chance he got. He was the very reason you had gotten into trouble, multiple times, with the council. He was your mortal enemy, your archnemesis, the man you wished would fall into a puddle of shit and never come back the same.

If he was there in the room, then it only meant one thing. He had ratted you out or had made up some ridiculous story to use against you.

Typical.

Oh, how you wished you could wipe that ridiculous smirk off his face.

“(Y/N),” a voice booms and your eyes turn up to meet Grand Elder Nezu, the elder amongst all elders, the wisest and most potent fairy ever known (much to the disbelief of everyone else, as compared to Elder Yagi, Elder Nezu looked weak. But, you supposed, you shouldn’t judge someone based on appearance alone).

“I bow towards the Council of Elders,” you greet, bowing in respect. Your heart thrummed nervously within you, not sure what to think of this summon. What were they going to reprimand you for this time?

“Are you aware of the reason you’ve been summoned here today?” Grand Elder Nezu asks, looking at you with calculating eyes. You gulp, not knowing how to proceed, but figured that in a situation like this, honesty was the best policy. “Unfortunately, no, Grand Elder,” you reply, eyes cast down in respect. “I have an idea, but even so, I am still clueless to the true reason as to why I’ve been summoned.”

“Ha!” Neito exclaims, scoffing. “Look at how shameless she is, Grand Elder. Pretending to not know when she knows exactly what she’s done?”

“I beg your pardon?” You ask, feeling yourself get annoyed the more Neito stood there all high and mighty as if he were some chosen one. “I speak the truth, elders. I truly have no idea why I’ve been summoned….”

“Lies!” Neito accuses, pointing a finger at you. “How can you be so shameless after attacking me?”

You pause, blinking slowly as you try to process the ridiculous claim Neito had just presented. You? Attacking him? As much as you despised the guy, you knew that attacking another fairy was absolutely forbidden for an apprentice of the council of elders. You weren’t stupid.

“Attacking you?” You ask in disbelief. “When have I ever attacked you, Neito?”

You watch with cautious eyes as Neito smirks at you, eyes taunting as if you had played right into his trap. He grabs the hem of his dress shirt before pulling it up to reveal a massive bruise on his torso.

“You did this,” he accuses, and you can tell he’s faking it, although judging by the harsh glare you’re receiving from Elder Sekijiro, his act is actually believable. Were the elders really that vulnerable? “You attacked me because you were jealous of my achievements!”

You gape at him, not believing your eyes at the pure monstrosity that was the situation you were facing him. What kind of story was this? There was no way that the council of elders actually believed him, right? Their view of you wasn’t that bad, right?

“(Y/N),” Grand Elder Nezu calls, eyes stern. “Is this true?”

“Of course not, Grand Elder!” You exclaim in protest. “What reason do I have to be jealous of Neito?”

“Don’t listen to her lies, Grand Elder!” Neito says. With the way he was acting, you swear he could get an award for being the worst and best actor of all time, and you yourself weren’t sure how that was possible. “In fact, the question we should be asking is what reason does she have to not be jealous of me? She’s an outcast. She’s been shunned by society for so long. Everyone knows she hates my guts— although I do not understand why as I’ve been nothing but nice to her— so why would she not want to sabotage me when she sees me excel?”

Scratch that best actor award, you think to yourself. The darn idiot deserved an award for being an expert manipulator. If you didn’t know better, if you weren’t sure of your truth, you would have been swayed by his words, second-guessing yourself and questioning whether or not you did attack him. But unluckily for Neito, you were one stubborn fairy, and you wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“You? Nice to me?” you say, seething, much to the shock of everyone in the room. “Grand Elder, what Neito is saying is absolutely preposterous! Yes, it is true that I hate his guts, but that’s because ever since I’ve been an apprentice, he’s made my life a living hell! And besides, this apprenticeship is all I have. If I do anything to jeopardize it, I would have nowhere to go; I’d basically be dead. Why would I risk it because of one person? And Neito, for that matter!”

You honestly didn’t mean to let your emotions slip like that. But you couldn’t help it. It infuriated you that the council would be willing to believe Neito. Neito who had everything, who had a choice to leave or not, who had a family to return to. Neito who didn’t understand how much pain you were going through, how much torment plagued your heart. He didn’t and would never understand. That’s what privilege does to a person.

“Grand Elder—” Neito begins, and you swear if he spits any more lies, you would genuinely launch at him and smack him in the face. But before you could make a move, the Grand Elder raises his hand, causing silence to settle in the room.

“—Enough.” Grand Elder Nezu’s voice booms throughout the empty room, causing the two of you to halt in your banter, bowing in shame and obedience. “The council has heard both sides and are appalled by the disgrace exuded by both fairies, especially you young Neito.”

You can see the way Neito clenches his fist, glaring at the ground below him, and you can almost imagine the way he thinks the floor is your head, glaring daggers at it for causing him to be criticized by the grand elder of all fairies. But that was the least of your concerns, as you can feel their disappointed glances lying on you as well.

“For your misconduct, both of you will receive punishment. However, young (Y/N), because of your alleged behavior and misdeeds, we will have to take extra precautions to ensure that this does not happen again.” You can feel your heart beating rapidly within your chest. What kind of punishment was he going to give? You hoped you weren’t going to get banished because you couldn’t stand the thought of not having to see the people you cherished ever again.

But whatever the council says, goes, and no fairy, no matter how powerful they were in society, could deny their final verdict.

“For your punishment, young Neito, you will be serving under Elder Aizawa until the Purification Ceremony next fall.” From where you stood, you could see Neito jolt up in fear, eyes pleading with the Grand Elder silently, as if he were begging them to give him any other punishment instead.

Elder Aizawa was the dean of the academy all fairies were expected to graduate from. And, as a dean should, he was incredibly strict and was known for ruling over his apprentices with an iron fist. Amongst all the elders of the council, he was the one most hoped to avoid serving under, and if you were sent to serve under him, then it meant that you had done something extremely bad.

Although, sometimes you could hardly believe those rumors, considering Hitoshi himself served under Elder Aizawa. But perhaps that was because the said elder treated Hitoshi like he was his own son, much like Elder Yagi did to you.

As much as Neito wanted to protest, to exclaim how preposterous it was for a fairy from the noble family of Monoma to not serve through the vanguard, he couldn’t. The elders’ eyes pierced through him, and it was incredibly nerve-wracking once he felt the menacing glare of Elder Sekijiro on him. Even his own master thought he deserved to be punished. What a shame.

With his head bowed low, Neito grits his teeth, bowing towards the council. “I humbly accept this punishment bestowed upon me by the Council of Elders and pledge to fulfill it until I am deemed worthy once more.” His words contain malice, and you can tell he was trying to control himself from lashing out and making the situation even worse. It was a blow to his pride, after all, that he would get punished after trying to bring someone ‘beneath’ him down.

Just as he’s about to take his leave, he stops beside you, and it almost feels as if he’s glaring at your soul, cursing it for the things you’ve done to him, although reality has proved that you’ve done nothing wrong. “Just you wait,” he whispers, low enough for only you to hear. “I’ll get you back someday,” and then he leaves, closing the wooden doors shut behind him.

The silence that envelopes the auditorium is uncanny, you think to yourself. Maybe it was because you were still getting the chills from the words Neito had whispered into your ear. Or perhaps it was because of the unreadable yet at the same time uncomfortable stares the council was throwing your way. Either way, the silence made you want to drown. To hide in the comforts of your room and stay there until the coast was clear.

“Young (Y/N),” Grand Elder Nezu begins, and you gulp, hoping for the best yet expecting the worst. “As for your punishment, you will be reassigned to another group of apprentice fairies under my guidance— the god fairies.”

What?

...God Fairies?

Grand Elder Nezu smiles softly at the look on your face before clearing his throat and continuing, trusting that you would be able to keep up with him. In his eyes, you were a rather intelligent fairy after all. Strange, but brilliant nonetheless.

“The God Fairies are a special elite force of apprentices under my supervision. It’s composed of fairies deemed problematic by the standards of our society and utilizes their uniqueness to serve our realm for the better good.”

You wanted to scoff. Rather than an elite force, it sounded like a group of slaves forced to listen to the Grand Elder, with an even more severe punishment dangling above their heads. A suiting sentence disguised as an honor.

“I know what you’re thinking, young (Y/N),” Grand Elder Nezu says with a knowing look. “However, this elite force is infinitely more important than any other group in the fairy realm, as they help sustain our influence over the humans.”

Confused, you look up to him, a million questions dancing within your eyes. Influence over humans? What exactly did he mean by that? Back at the academy, the older fairies had always taught you that humans and fairies never, under any circumstance, interacted with each other. It was forbidden. Interacting with humans was too dangerous as they were greedy and vile beings who would only seize magic for their own selfish gain should they even catch one whiff of it.

Magic was not meant to fall into human hands. That was just the way the world worked. So why was the Grand Elder telling you otherwise?

“The God Fairies help ensure that the humans’ belief in magic remains strong,” Grand Elder Nezu continues, even though you were still trying to comprehend what he had said prior. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Being the Grand Elder had numerous responsibilities involved, and those responsibilities waited for no one, not even him.

“You see, young (Y/N), as the years have passed, we, the council, have come across an alarming discovery,” you look up to the council tentatively, choosing to merely listen as trying to process their words in real time was proving to be complicated. “The tree of life that we have grown to cherish for over a millennium has weakened.”

A soft gasp leaves your lips, and rightfully so. The tree of life was the lifeline of the fairies. It was literally their world, giving life to everything they had ever come to know. The tree of life was what made fairies, fairies, providing them with their gorgeous translucent wings and copious amount of magic to have every other supernatural being out there jealous.

If it were to weaken and somehow die, then that would mean the end of the fairies. And that was a thought even more terrifying than the prospect of banishment.

“Fear not, young (Y/N),” This time, Elder Yagi decides to speak up, sensing the inherent panic and fear in your eyes. Elder Yagi always had a knack for reading your emotions, much like Hitoshi. Sometimes you wondered if that chalked up to you wearing your heart on your sleeve for everyone else to easily trample over, but that hadn’t been the case the more you got to know Elder Yagi and Hitoshi.

They both took your heart within their arms and cherished it like it was their own, even if the way they showed that care differed and was sometimes unnoticeable. Elder Yagi’s words, masked by his usual patriotic smile, were his way of comforting you when the going got rough. And for that, you would forever be thankful.

“We’ve discovered a new way to harness the magic we fairies so desperately need,” Elder Yagi continues, his smile never leaving. “And that solution lies in the humans.”

The moment the word human leaves Elder Yagi’s mouth, Elder Aizawa sneers in disgust, rolling his eyes, and from the opposite side of him, you can see Elder Sekijiro do the same. It wasn’t something new. After all, with the divide and disdain of the fairies towards fellow fae who wouldn’t live up to their noble standards, their disgust was only further amplified with the knowledge that other inferior beings, such as humans, existed. Even with their inferiority, they were beginning to push the fairies to the brink of a calamity with how much they were destroying the order of nature.

So you understood that there was an even greater prejudice towards humans, and you could feel nothing but sympathy and agony, knowing precisely what it feels like to be on the receiving end of such animosity.

“The humans,” Elder Yagi continues, not paying much mind to the disheartened expressions on his fellow elders’ (with the exception of the Grand Elder) faces. “Surprisingly, have an innate source of magic within them, much different from our own.”

Confused, you look up at the kind elder, allowing yourself to show a little emotion with the way he looks down kindly at you as if he were a father talking towards his child. Elder Yagi had always guided you when you felt lost amidst the noble fairies that served under the council and was more than happy to help you with whatever you needed.

Yet, currently, Elder Yagi was the main source of your confusion.

“When a human begins to believe in the supernatural, their innate magic ability awakens and pours out of them like waves, and when they sustain that belief? That innate magic becomes stronger.” It’s a revolutionary discovery, in your eyes. Humans had always been thought of as useless. But more than that, the council had constantly reminded the fairies to stray away from them, as no one knows what hidden malice the humans could have, despite the disbelief of your fellow fae.

“This is why we have formed the God Fairies, to ensure that the humans’ magic will be sustained and harnessed for our survival.” Elder Yagi looks at you, and you feel yourself flinch at the serious glance on his face, something that you knew wasn’t usual for the strong fairy. “Do you understand, young (Y/N)?”

The only thing you have the courage to do at the moment is nod, not trusting the thoughts that were lit ablaze in your mind, chaotic and unhinged. You knew that if you were to speak, your words would have most likely enraged the council as you currently had no control over them.

“Good.” Grand Elder Nezu says after a few moments of silence. “In line with this, we will be assigning you, young (Y/N), to a human. Your punishment, or in this case, mission is to ensure that you’ve collected enough magic to sustain a family of fairies the same size as Young Neito’s.”

Your eyes widen, and you divert your attention towards Elder Yagi, begging him to say that the Grand Elder’s words were not true. But when you see Elder Aizawa sport a sinister grin from the corner of your eye, you feel your heart sink. As much as you hated Neito, he was a powerful fairy who came from a highly influential family within the realm. It was the reason why he was in the vanguard. After all, his family’s influence has been his threshold throughout the days you knew each other.

And for a family as prominent in magical combat as his, they needed copious amounts of magic. An amount that you were sure couldn’t be collected by one fairy. In fact, the powerful fairies of the realm often sourced their innate magic directly from the elders themselves, a privilege that not many were able to enjoy.

This was a punishment, after all. Great. Just Great.

“I understand, Grand Elder,” you say after finally composing yourself. You can feel the dread gradually sink in, and your mind races with worry at the thought of having to go through the daunting task. “I will do as you desire. For the glory of the fae.”

You can sense the satisfied yet cunning smiles of the council, pleased with your decision, and you heave a sigh, unsure of what the future could have in store.

You could only hope that you wouldn’t be screwed over in the process.

The human realm was fascinating, to say the least.

When you first stepped foot on the lush forest of the realm, just on the outskirts of a bustling city, you couldn’t help but feel amazed. No amount of preparation from the elders or your friends could truly prepare you for this moment.

For the past few weeks, Grand Elder Nezu and Elder Yagi had been preparing you extensively for this mission. They briefed you on the does and don’ts of a fairy entering the human realm, bragged about other god fairies who had succeeded in securing a sustainable amount of magic for the fairies, and just boasted.

There was no comfort nor reassurance from either elder, which you had expected from Elder Yagi, but as you had come to find out, it seemed as if your father figure was still disappointed in you, causing your heart to sink. Did he really believe that you deserved to be punished?

You couldn’t even get this heavy feeling out of your chest. The worst part is that you couldn’t consult your best friend, Hitoshi, at all about this matter. Hitoshi had no knowledge of the god fairies as he had been a devout apprentice under Elder Aizawa’s care. He had no reason to know about it, he was already doing great, and that thought made your stomach churn.

You desperately wanted to confide in him, to spill your fears and anxieties for him to hear. No matter how insufferable Hitoshi was, he was a great listener and a great friend.

Gosh, you haven’t even spent one second in the Human Realm, and you were already feeling sick to your core.

At least the view made it better.

The council of elders had decided to assign you to a human living in the Musutafu Empire, nestled in the far east of the mortal realm. The Empire was drastically different from your own simple abode back in the fairy realm. Whereas yours was deeply rooted in nature, theirs was thriving on industrial roots.

You couldn’t explain it, but the way they structured their buildings and houses was beautiful. It was a whole different style from what you were used to back home, with high walls and rowdy streets. The people were smiling, clad in clothing that was tight yet loose at the same time, with a ribbon wrapped securely around their waists. Far different from the flowy garments that you had back in the fairy realm.

As you made your way to the capital, marveling at all the new sights that were capturing your eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder what the human assigned to you was like. Would he be stuck up like all the fairies you had come to know? Or would he be kind, much like Elder Yagi and Hitoshi were? The curiosity burned deep inside you, and you found yourself brimming with excitement at the thought of meeting him.

Your mission was fairly simple if you could take away the fact that you had to harvest an impossible amount of magic. You were to watch over a selected human, who the council deemed had the potential to unlock their innate magic and help them when they most needed it.

Almost as if you were someone who granted wishes, was what Grand Elder Nezu said. Granting wishes was the most effective way to strengthen the human’s belief in magic, allowing their own to flow out for the taking. Of course, there were other ways, such as haunting the humans or causing supernatural disasters that didn’t make sense. But such methods were unbecoming of fairies, and you couldn’t help but groan at the thought.

Haunting seemed fun, after all. Almost as if you were constantly playing a prank on an unassuming human. You would have killed for that to be your punishment instead.

But no. You were stuck with granting wishes, albeit not as often, as showing too much magic mind taint the human with greed and desire. Something that no fairy wanted.

Checking on the special compass that the elders had given you prior to your journey, you make your way towards your assigned human, gaping in awe at the view of the capital down below you. Of course, with the magic you held, they wouldn’t be able to see you as you had concealed yourself prior, but you wished they could. It would have been fun to see their shell-shocked expressions. Maybe that was a more efficient way of harnessing their magic?

Or, rather than being an efficient method, it was most likely going to be a one-way ticket to banishment from the fairy realm, aka an express ride towards death, something you wanted to avoid at all costs.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you spot the house of the human the elders had assigned to you. It was big, much larger than your own humble cottage back in the fairy realm, yet, even so, it didn’t compare to the ginormous estates that lay north of the house, almost as if it belonged perfectly in the middle.

You gasped at the tranquility of the mansion, almost as if you had once again been transported into another world. It was almost as if in this home, time stopped, and peace overflowed. You perched yourself atop a sturdy branch, looking around and admiring the view.

But peace doesn’t last for long because all of a sudden, a slam rings through the air, and you watch curiously as a large man, who oddly enough looks similar to Elder Sekijiro, although that was probably a figment of your imagination, there was no way the frightening elder would actually be in the human realm, stumbles into view.

The large man looked pissed, you noticed, as he dragged something behind him, and it’s only till the large man threw whatever he was carrying harshly unto the tree you were perched on did you realize that what the man had dragged wasn’t just a thing, but rather it was a person.

You gasp, heart breaking at the sight of the young boy. From where you sat above him, you could tell that he was covered with bruises all over, with a ghastly scar covering one of his eyes. The poor boy looked so weak and frail that you wanted nothing more than to steal the boy away and tend to him until he could stand on his own two feet one more. It was cruel. Was this the doing of that man?

You look up, and it’s only then that you notice a few more children looking at the scene below you with different expressions on their faces. There were about three of them; two boys and one girl. The tallest and assumably the eldest had an unbothered look on his face as if he couldn’t care less about the poor boy who had just been thrown into a three. The second boy, with snow-white hair, sported a sadistic grin as if he were enjoying seeing the young boy in pain. And the girl? The girl, who looked so sweet and innocent, held eyes of pure disgust as she clutched her teddy bear tighter to her chest, almost as if she were glaring at the young boy.

Was this the kid’s family?

“Shoto!” The large man, whom you had deduced to be the father, screamed. You flinch at the loudness of his voice, intimidation flowing out of him in waves, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You look down, heart hurting at the sight of the young boy cowering in fear, but he still kept a brave face. Well, as much as he could do in that situation.

“You dare disobey your brother?” He continues, tone raising more and more as his fists clench. “How many times have I told you to listen to your siblings? They’re much older, stronger, and smarter than a little piece of shit like you. Heck, even Fuyumi, who’s a girl, is much more dignified than your pathetic ass!”

The more words fell from the man’s mouth, the more you wished to hex him with forbidden magic. Although doing so would only make your punishment worse. The elders were strict about black magic, after all. Anyone who even showed a little bit of interest was considered a threat and was sent to conduct punishments almost immediately. It was cruel, but you were on wit’s end because nowhere had you seen a vile man like him.

“It’s true, father!” The second sibling says, the sinister grin on his lips only growing. “I had asked Shoto nicely to help with my chores because I wanted to get more practice in for the royal knights’ examination, but he had the audacity to retaliate with the excuse that he already had chores to do.” The kid scoffs, rolling his eyes in the process. “He barely does anything in this house, yet he’s a burden to those of us who actually are? Father, he deserves punishment!”

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach as if you were getting deja vu from this situation. The look on that kid’s face painfully reminded you of Neito, and you couldn’t help the gut feeling that made you believe that what the kid was saying was far from the truth.

“Shameful!” The father says, raising a hand to slap the young child to the side, and you gasp in horror wanting nothing more to interfere, yet the Grand Elder’s words ring harshly in your ear. There needs to be a balance. He had said. It would plunge the realms into total chaos if more than one human discovered the reality of magic simultaneously, especially those with foul intentions.

You couldn’t reveal yourself, not yet, at least. Yet, at the same time, you wanted to curse the elders back home, for they had assigned to you a child who was literally experiencing hell on earth and only gave you limited movement to help.

You watch, feeling the tears threaten to fall as the damn bastard of a father lands another punch towards his son, to the point where he begins to cough blood. Your eyes widen in horror as you hear the other children’s cheers. Why were they like this? Weren’t they family? Why were they treating one of their own like he wasn’t? He didn’t deserve this. He was only but a child!

When the father was finally finished with his rain of terror, you couldn’t help but release the breath you were holding in. Finally, it was over. But as if he couldn’t get any worse, the father towers over him, blue eyes boring into his kids. “If I see any of these bruises and wounds healed,” he whispers just enough for only Shoto to hear, but with your heightened senses, you couldn’t help but listen in. “Then you will get a beating far worse than this one. Do you understand?”

The kid nods weakly, not having the strength to communicate properly, causing the father to glare at him harder. “You are a disgrace to the Todoroki name, Shoto. Never forget that.”

And just like that, he leaves, the children following closely behind with mocking looks on their faces. The second sibling even goes so far as to spit on his youngest brother, causing you to clench your fists in anger, wanting to teach that kid a lesson. What kind of twisted personality did he have? Why was he treating his family like this? You just couldn’t understand.

When they finally leave, leaving the young kid on the rough ground, wallowing in his misery and pain, you find it in yourself to come down and take action. What action, you may ask? You weren’t quite sure yourself, but every fiber in your being was begging you to do something to help the poor child.

You kneel beside the beaten-up boy, weaving your hand through his dirtied hair. The boy looked like he hadn’t even been given an ounce of care throughout his life. How could this be? Wasn’t a family supposed to love each other? But you knew yourself that not all families were like that, only the lucky ones.

The world, no matter what realm you were in, was cruel and cold to those who didn’t fit in, to those that made them feel sick. Within your heart, you knew exactly what the young child was feeling, although only to a certain extent as it could never compare to the feeling of getting beaten up by the people you were supposed to love on a day-to-day basis.

But you too had been abandoned, you too had been ridiculed, and you knew how much that pain could carry through the rest of one’s life. The pain never truly goes away. It would only get buried, waiting for the moment it could come back to life. And if that pain was prolonged? Then that would only make things worse.

So you decided, with a firm grip on your heart, that until you had to leave, you would be there for this child. More than punishment, more than a duty you had to fulfill, you would be there for him until the very end.

That was a promise.

Todoroki Shoto had never known love.

For as long as he could remember, ever since the day he was born, his family had hated him. For what reason? He couldn’t quite comprehend, but now that he was a bit older, he understood to some extent.

His birth had caused his mother to die.

It was something that his family reminded him of every day. Whenever his brother, Natsuo, forced him to do his share of chores, he would always add in a snarky remark saying how it was the least he could do since he took his mother away from him. It hurt, but he couldn’t argue. It was the truth, after all. Him being born into the world had caused their own mother to leave it. It was only natural for his family to hate him.

From what he had heard, his mother was a very kind woman. With the same snow-white hair that covered half of his head, Todoroki Rei was known to be an angel. She was kind, always selflessly showing her love, and in turn, everyone loved her for it. She was the life of the party, even though she was frail, and never failed to make everyone around her smile. She was what one would consider the embodiment of good.

And Shoto had taken her away from them.

Everyone in the Todoroki household hated him, even the servants. How dare a useless child like him take away their mistress? How dare he live on as if nothing was wrong when he was the very reason that the light of the Todoroki household dimmed out. He was a despicable child in the eyes of everyone else, one that never deserved love.

So they fed him moldy bread and spoiled milk, rotten fruits, and water that was clearly full of filth. They wanted him to die, to pay for taking their mistress away from them. And no one in his family ever stood up for him.

His eldest brother Touya never even spoke to him. It was as if he was actively trying to ignore the kid. Whenever Shoto went up to talk to his brother, he would simply pass him by as if Shoto didn’t even exist. Yet whenever Shoto would catch peeks of the family eating a nice supper over the dinner table, his brother was actively engaging in conversation, causing an arrow to go through his heart at the realization that Touya truly did intend to ignore him.

His second brother, Natsuo, was no better. The only difference was that he actively tried to make Shoto’s life a living hell more than it already was. Natsuo took all his anger and grief out on the young child with snarky remarks and condescending tones. There was even a slap on the cheek every now and then, to which he would complain that it was Shoto who assaulted him, even though it was far from the truth. And everyone would believe him. Because who would believe the words of a child whose birth meant the death of another?

Then there was Fuyumi, his only sister. She sported that same gentle nature as his mother, according to the house servants, yet to Shoto, she was a wicked and cruel child. She was petty, treating Shoto as if he were a slave. When her favorite tea was too hot for her liking, she spilled the scalding hot drink all over him, soon after berating and slapping him for letting the said liquid fall onto her plush carpet. It made no sense, but Shoto could never complain. Fuyumi was the darling of the family, after all.

But his father? He was the worst of them all.

Todoroki Enji was a curious man, to say the least. As one of the leading figures of the oldest families of the Musutafu Empire, his very presence brought tremendous waves of awe among the masses. The Todoroki family was one of the most revered families in the whole empire, and everyone had always looked up to them, seeing them as the perfect family.

But Todoroki Enji had taken that image of perfection into heart, and it showed through the things he did behind closed doors. Rei’s death hit him the hardest, not because he was heartbroken that his other half died, but rather it was because that image of perfection had been broken into pieces, and he loathed it. He hated the pitiful gazes of the masses, as they stared at him as if he wasn’t the perfect being they needed him to be. It enraged him to no end. And the only outlet of this burning rage was the cause of all this brokenness, his own son.

Everything Shoto did angered him. Even taking a breath angered him. Every action, look, and word that came from the young child infuriated the head of the house, and he couldn’t help but take it out on him. Treating Shoto like he wasn’t a child but rather an enemy on the battlefield. Every day he would ruthlessly beat Shoto up until he felt satisfied, leaving Shoto battered and bruised with no chance of recovery. It was terrible, something anyone with a heart would hate, yet all those who resided in the Todoroki Mansion thrived on his misery.

So yeah, all his life, Todoroki Shoto had never known love.

But when he feels a hand gently caress his face, brushing his dirtied hair off of his face and running a thumb over his bruising cheek, he wonders if maybe this was it. Whoever was touching him had such a gentle and soft touch, a touch that he’s never felt before in his life. It was warm, far different from the cold caresses of his family. He wanted nothing more than to stay in the comfort of this warmth. But what if this was just a figment of his imagination?

He opens his eyes slowly, bearing through the pain and heaviness that came with it, and his gaze meets yours, and he’s blown away.

Your eyes look at him with sincere kindness, one that Shoto has never seen before in his life. He’s only been alive for a few years or so, and he can tell that this was what was right. Not his family, not the servants treating him with extreme hostility. No, you, a stranger he had never seen in his entire life, was already treating him way better than the whole world would ever treat him. And it had only been a few seconds since his eyes met yours.

“W-who…” he stutters, blinking wearily as if he wanted to get a closer look, but you shush him with gentle whispers, continuing to weave your hands through his dual-colored hair that looked stunning under the sunlight, even if it was smeared to no end.

“Shh, don’t speak, child,” you say, motherly instincts that you were unaware of surfacing. “You are injured. Speaking will only make it worse.”

Shoto nods, staying silent as you continue to run your fingers through his hair. Suddenly a surge of warmth rushes through his body, and he watches amazed as the pain from his father’s beating slowly goes away, even if the bruises didn’t disappear.

“There, that should do the trick!” You say, smiling brightly and voice cheery in an attempt to console the young child. Shoto slowly sits up from where he laid on the hard ground, looking at his hands in awe. How did you do that? How did you make all the pain disappear?

“I apologize,” you say, looking sheepishly at Shoto once you noticed he was staring at his arms in awe. “Your father mentioned that he would hurt you even more if your injuries are healed, so I’m only able to make the physical pain go away, but the wounds remain. I hope that’s alright.”

It’s more than alright, Shoto thinks to himself as he looks at you in awe. Shoto had never felt this alive before. It was as if his energy was restored and multiplied as if the numbness that had accumulated from the years of beating had vanished without a trace.

“Thank you,” he finally says, not having the courage to spill his heart out in fear that you would take his feelings and crush them in the blink of an eye. If Shoto were to be honest, if anyone else aside from the people he had come to know were to berate him more than he already was on a daily basis, then he would truly crumble.

“But… who are you?” He asks, finally coming to his senses. “Why are you here? It’s dangerous. If father finds out, then you—”

“—Do not worry child, I will be fine.” You’re doing better than expected despite the rapid beating of your heart from how nervous you were. You really hated this motherly image you were exuding, wanting nothing more than to be as carefree as you usually were, but first impressions were important, and you had to time things just right.

You smile, looking at Shoto with the kindest gaze you could muster, patting him gently on the head in the process.

“I’m your fairy godmother, after all.”

“F-fairy g-godmother?” Shoto asks, clearly confused. You giggle at his perplexed expression, amused. It was fascinating how the child still seemed to be as innocent despite the harsh realities he had been through. He was a strong human, you supposed. And quite an adorable one too.

“Yes, child,” you say once more, standing up and bringing Shoto up with you, although he stumbles, legs weak from being on the ground for too long, but you’re quick to catch him, giggling once more at the flustered expression on his face.

“I’m your fairy godmother,” you repeat, lines poised and precise like you had been trained to from the Grand Elder. “And as your fairy godmother, I’ll be here to make sure that your pain will be more bearable until you can fly free on your own.”

“Fly?” The young child asks excitedly, eyes beaming. “Will I be able to fly someday?”

“Not in the literal sense, child.” You giggle, the tiny human bringing the weight of the world off your shoulders. It was refreshing to interact with him. Perhaps this was why parents decide to have children. They were oh so loveable when they were young. You could only hope that the pureness of his heart wouldn’t be tainted even further by the harsh reality of his family’s disdain.

“But you’ll understand what I mean very soon,” you say, kneeling down towards his level. “And until then, I’ll be your wings, alright?”

It’s clear that Shoto doesn’t understand a word you’re saying, but that’s alright. He doesn’t need to understand at the moment. He just needs to believe. And from the pure amazement and wonder in his eyes, it looks as if he’s already on a one-way track towards it.

“Now, child, before I send you off, you must remember something very important.” You say, tone a bit sterner as Shoto gulps, nodding his head and turning his full attention towards you. His concerned and slightly worried look on his face makes you want to break your facade and laugh along with him. But this truly was an important matter, and if you didn’t drill it into his brain, then your mission would have been all for naught.

“Under no circumstance, must you tell of my existence to another soul, do you understand?” There’s uncertainty in the child’s gaze as if he doesn’t truly understand the weight of your words, but he nods nonetheless, agreeing. “Not your father,” you continue, hoping to make your point a bit clearer. “Nor your siblings, nor any stranger that you come across. You can’t reveal my existence to anyone, understand? This is a secret between you and me. Can you keep it?”

A beat of silence passes the two of you as Shoto lets the words sink in. He truly doesn’t understand why he can’t tell anyone else about you. It didn’t make sense to him. Weren’t you supposed to make his pain more bearable? Then why couldn’t you do that in the form of mending his relationship with his family? It saddened Shoto because in the few moments you had spent together, in those few minutes he got to know you, Shoto already considered you a friend. His first friend, in fact.

Why couldn’t he show you off?

Maybe it had to do with the fact that you, too, would get punished by his father if he were to reveal your existence. His father was a terrifying man. If he wanted something, then he would get it, no matter how difficult it was to obtain. His father held himself in high regard. And anyone who didn’t fit his standards was considered worthless and useless. If he were to find out that you were associated with him, the failure of the family, then who knows what his father would do to you?

He wouldn’t allow that. He couldn’t allow that. You were the first person to show him kindness, and he couldn’t just let you slip away. That would break him to the point of no return.

“Sure,” Shoto mumbles shyly, a bashful smile forming on his lips. If you didn’t know any better, you wouldn’t have guessed that this child was frequently beaten up by his family, much less hated by them. He seemed like a great kid, who needed a friend to stand by him, and although Grand Elder Nezu and Elder Yagi had strictly advised you against being too attached to your assigned human, you couldn’t help it.

Who were you to ignore such a loveable child?

You smile, the sternness gradually leaving your face, and raise your hand towards him, pinky pointing out. “Promise?” Shoto looks at you before his eyes dart to your outstretched finger, bewildered and unsure.

“This is a pinky promise,” you say, realizing that he didn’t understand what you were trying to do. “When we link our pinkies together like this,” you continue, intertwining your pinky with his and locking them together. “Then that means our promise is sealed in stone and can never ever be broken.”

You give Shoto a small smile, your other hand reaching out to pat his head gently, while Shoto looks at your intertwined pinkies in awe and admiration.

In his haze, you finally stand up, your heightened senses hearing angered footsteps approaching, and you look worriedly at Shoto, hesitant to leave.

“I have to go now,” you say, heartbreaking at the way his expression falls from his face, replaced with a disappointed one.

“But don’t worry, I’ll be back.” You’re quick to reassure him, waving your hands frantically as you give off a sheepish smile. “I’ll be back when you need me the most,” you clarify, panic rushing in as the hurried footsteps become louder.

“Promise?” Shoto asks, stretching out his own pinky to you, reflecting what you had just taught him. This catches you by surprise, but you’re quick to smile, intertwining your pinkies once more.

“I promise,” you genuinely whisper, watching with mirth in your heart as Shoto looks up at you with a warm smile of his own, eyes looking at you tenderly as if he were sending you off.

And just like that, you vanish, much to Shoto’s shock, as the sliding door behind him slams open, and a servant comes out storming towards him angrily. But honestly, Shoto couldn’t care less.

Even as the servant berated him and dragged him harshly back into the mansion, Shoto couldn’t help but feel all warm and giddy inside. He had made his first friend.

And that was more than anything he could ever ask for.

Ever since your first meeting with Shoto, you had begun to grow closer towards the abused child, feeling a connection start to grow.

Of course, you didn’t show yourself to him as often as you wanted to, as you had your own limitations. Because as the council had told you before your departure, they were watching. And that was a frightening thought to ever take for granted.

It was too risky to put your personal desires over your duty at the forefront, so you had to work your way around the rules laid down by the Grand Elder. You had to be sharp, had to show your support and friendship in other more mundane ways so Shoto would continue to believe.

You were still a fairy on a mission, after all.

Harnessing magic wasn’t a one-time thing. If it were, then the council would have easily done it by now. The truth of the matter was that cultivating the magic out of humans required time, effort, and care— a feat that was far too tedious for the council to partake in, which was why it was up to the God fairies to carry it out.

As the relationship between a god fairy and their assigned human continued to grow, so would the amount of magic present within the human. Once it got to its breaking point, then the god fairy would immediately harness it, marking the end of their relationship and causing the human to never believe in magic again.

It was a cruel process but one you couldn’t avoid as it meant your life or death. But the more time you spend with Shoto, the more your resolve seems to break, and you begin to question whether or not you could actually pull through with what you were meant to do.

The door slides open, snapping you away from your train of thought, and in walks Shoto, a new bruise forming over his right eye.

Even if you couldn’t show yourself on a daily basis, you still made your presence known to Shoto through small acts of magic, ones that wouldn’t be considered overboard by the Grand Elder. You would have followed Shoto everywhere he went, watching his every move and ensuring that he was safe, but in a way, it made you uncomfortable.

And you couldn’t stand seeing the way his family and servants treated him. It was too cruel. You were sure that if you spent any second longer seeing his siblings ridicule him or his father punch him, then you would lose control. And everything that you had worked desperately for would have gone to waste, which was why you distanced yourself from the young child whenever he was around others. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help it. It was for the best; you tried to convince yourself. You were doing the right thing.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t help him at all. As Shoto quickly makes his way to his worn-out futon, wincing in pain at all the bruises his father had given him from the day’s beating, you couldn’t help but fuss over him, immediately reaching out to take the pain away in your invisible state, external wounds remaining.

“Fairy Godmother?” Shoto calls out weakly, feeling the pain leave him gradually as warmth replaces it. His eyes feel lighter, and he finally works the courage to open them fully, only to be met with his dark room. You were still invisible. You hadn’t shown yourself just yet. “Are you there?”

You wanted to respond. You desperately do. But the weight of your duty weighs heavy on your shoulders, and you hesitate, unsure whether or not you would reach out to him. You two were close, that was for sure. Throughout the few months of your ‘friendship’ with Shoto (if you could call it that), you had come to know just how precious the child truly was. Even after all the hardships and suffering that overcame him, he was still bright and innocent, something you never entirely understood, but you supposed that was what made Shoto… Shoto.

“Fairy Godmother?” Shoto calls out again, this time a little more desperate. His eyes dart around, trying to find you, but you were nowhere to be seen. All he wanted was to see you again. Sure, you had in some way, shape, and form always made your presence known through your kind acts, but it didn’t feel complete. It was as if Shoto was talking to a ghost, and he didn’t want that. He wanted to speak to his friend, the one person who made him see the light in what seemed like a never-ending darkness.

“Please,” he whispers like a prayer, hoping that you would show yourself. “Are you there?”

You couldn’t take it. This was torture to you. You knew you would get reprimanded either way, but as a fairy tasked with the responsibility of taking care of this child, you had to do it. He was practically crying out at this point. What kind of soul wouldn’t help him?

“I am here, Shoto,” you say, finally revealing yourself, and you feel yourself wince at the tears of relief that slip past the young child’s eyes. “I am here.”

Almost immediately, Shoto lunges at you, wrapping you in the tightest embrace he could muster. Was this real? He thought to himself. Were you actually here? This wasn’t a dream, right? What if you left him for good? He didn’t think his heart could handle that.

“You’re here!” He whispers, nuzzling into your stomach, giggling. “You’re actually here!” How could a child be so precious? You wonder to yourself. He was so innocent and pure. Why was his family hurting him like he wasn’t? From the time you had come to know Shoto, you could tell that he was a kind soul. He didn’t deserve any of the pain inflicted by his family. He deserved nothing but love and happiness. You just wished you had the authority to give it to him.

But alas, even with your freedom came chains that sought to bind you to the harsh realities of the world.

“Yes, I am, Shoto,” you giggle, running your hand soothingly through his hair, knowing how much comfort it brought the young child. “What is it that you need?”

“Nothing really,” Shoto replies after a while, merely basking in your warmth for as long as he could. “I just wanted to see you again.”

If Shoto were, to be honest, he was afraid that you were merely a product of his own imagination. His family often mocked him for it, calling him delusional in every way they could. Delusional for thinking he was loved; Delusional for thinking he deserved to be loved, and more so delusional for thinking that he could actually receive love from his family.

He was raised to believe that in one way or another, he was delusional, so somewhere deep down inside him, he thought that maybe you were a product of his delusions too.

But here you were, smiling down at him with such tenderness and care that Shoto knew you were anything but a delusion. He smiles brightly, the pain from earlier slowly melting away in your presence, and he drags you with his little hands towards his small, worn-out mattress, encouraging you to sit.

You follow him, eyes frowning at the state of his mattress. This was no way to treat a human being. Even back in the fairy realm, although it was clear that many were not fond of you, they still gave you common courtesy and respect as any other living being should. What Shoto’s family was doing to him was horrible, and you wish you could bring him out of it.

“Could you tell me a story?” Shoto asks out of the blue, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. “A story?” You repeat, unsure if you heard him correctly. Shoto nods, moving to lift a part of his mattress off the ground to reveal a hidden pile of storybooks that you never knew existed.

“My father doesn’t let me read,” he whispers, fingers darting over the dusty covers. “Says I’m not worthy of it.” Your hands clenched into fists beside you as you tried not to let your anger show, but Shoto could feel it slowly dripping off you in waves. “It’s fine, though,” he says, trying to reassure you that he wasn’t as affected by it as he truly was. “I’m used to it….”

A beat of silence passes the two of you as you look at the solemn gaze on Shoto’s face as he continues to run his fingers through the cover of the worn book longingly. With a sigh, you gently take Shoto into your arms, catching the young boy by surprise.

“You don’t have to hide in front of me, you know?” You say, seemingly scolding the child, but your tone was light, a small smile making its way to your face. “Friends don’t hide things from each other.”

From where he sat in your lap, Shoto looks at you with a bewildered gaze on his face, as if he were mesmerized. You simply smile at him, taking the book gently from his arms and opening it to the first page.

“I’ll help you learn how to read,” you say, finally clearing up your actions. “Isn’t that what you truly want?”

Shoto doesn’t say anything, but you can tell from the tears that are about to fall from his eyes that this was indeed his genuine desire. It pained you. Reading was something many took for granted, but as you see the absolute joy on Shoto’s face as he brought his attention back to the book in excitement, you realize that this was a gift.

You had the power to help this child beyond magic. And that was something you would use to your advantage, no matter the consequence.

You just wished that you would have done a better job at keeping it lowkey. Because as you guide Shoto in reading the story he had picked for the night, You don’t notice the gap between his door and the wall, a result of Shoto not closing the door properly from his weakened state and as a result, a young girl was standing on the opposite side of the door, eyes widened in horror and disgust at the sight she was seeing.

This wasn’t going to go well.

The next few days, Shoto honestly felt like he was in bliss.

No matter how horribly his family and servants treated him, nothing could shake the happiness he felt within his heart. Perhaps it was amplified by the fact his father had left the mansion for a few days to attend to his duties in the royal palace. Although he still had to face harsh treatments from his siblings and the other servants, at least the beatings became scarce.

His family was much too cowardly to carry out the same severe beatings his father gave. Which meant that he could enjoy his time with you even more than he should.

He had just finished his chores, ones that the servants were supposed to do, but in their vanity, they forced him to do it, going beyond their status as mere servants and dropping all their responsibilities as a child, sporting faux innocence whenever Shoto had tried to bring it up to his family.

But when he did, his father only got angry, beating him for lying about such matters, insinuating how he was insulting him because it was Enji who handpicked those servants, meaning an insult to them was an insult to his father.

So Shoto learned to take everything in a stride. To just do whatever the servants wanted him to do otherwise, he would get an even more severe beating from his father, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs.

But that fear was a thing of the past, as at the moment, Shoto was happily skipping towards his room, excitedly thinking of what story his fairy godmother would teach him about today.

Truly, like her title, Shoto’s fairy godmother was a blessing sent from the heavens. She was kind, patient, and never berated Shoto for any mistake he made. She would never do that to him, she told him one day when he had asked. It was just too cruel.

So this was what kindness really felt like, Shoto realized once the words slipped from her mouth. Growing up, Shoto was taught that his family’s actions were one of kindness, with insults such as ‘you should be grateful father was kind enough to keep you in this house when you should have been thrown out into the street already.’ being thrown at him left and right.

He had always hated kindness because of that. His family’s kindness made him feel sick, made him want to curl up into a hole and die, yet his fairy godmother had shown him the light. His fairy godmother had shown him that kindness wasn’t supposed to make you feel horrible. It was supposed to make you happy. It was supposed to fill your heart with love and affection that you wanted to give back tenfold.

What his family was doing to him wasn’t kindness at all.

Even more so when he stopped in front of his room, confused to hear a commotion inside. His gut feeling told him to run away, to hide, and never show himself again. But he couldn’t. His room was his safe haven, the only place where he could truly escape from his harsh reality, and if something ever happened to it, then Shoto wouldn’t know what to do.

He hastily opens the door only to feel his blood run cold. There standing in his room were his father, Enji, and his sister, Fuyumi. The moment they heard the door open, his sister turned to him, fake tears in her eyes, ones that Shoto knew everyone believed. Because in their eyes, Shoto’s sister was innocent, even though he knew that she was a devil in disguise.

“There he is, father!” Fuyumi exclaimed, pointing towards him accusingly. “The thief!”

Thief? Shoto wondered to himself. Why was he a thief? As far as he knew, he hadn’t stolen anything from anyone, much less his sister. Why would she accuse him of being a thief?

But he didn’t get the chance to ponder on it deeply, with his father turning towards him with deep rage lacing his eyes. Why was his father here in the first place? Wasn’t he supposed to stay in the palace for a few more days?

“You imbecile!” His father rages, stomping towards him. Shoto whimpers trying to back away, but his father was bigger and stronger than he could ever be and caught up to him quickly, holding him by the collar of his rags and throwing him across the room harshly.

The impact causes immense pain to course through Shoto’s body, and he’s sure he could feel a rib or two of his break from the pressure. There was liquid running down his face, was that blood? Perhaps. He was in too much pain to process what was happening.

“First, you kill your mother,” His father says, slowly making his way towards him, intimidation falling off him in waves. “Second, you act like an entitled brat to everyone in this house,” his words make Shoto flinch, knowing in his heart that none of his words were true. “And third,” Shoto’s father says as he finally stands in front of him, eyes glaring into his with severe malice. “You dare steal something extremely valuable from your sister? Have you no shame?”

With the little strength he could muster, Shoto looks up at his father, eyes weak and hazy. “Steal?” He whispers. “I didn’t steal anything….”

“Lies!” He hears his sister exclaim, sobbing hysterically. If Shoto didn’t know that his sister had two sides, he would have believed that she was genuinely upset. But that wasn’t the case. She was making things up. And this time, her act might actually cost his life.

“You stole the storybooks I got from mother!” She accuses, holding her teddy bear tighter to her chest, hateful eyes glaring into his.

Storybooks? Shoto asks to himself, eyes darting around only to find the pile of storybooks on the ground— the same ones you read to him every night. A fire burns inside him, something that Shoto had never felt before. The audacity his sister had.

“Y-you,” he stutters, coughing from the pain. “You threw them away! I don’t steal them. I found them in the garbage!”

“That’s not true!” His sister fights back, and Shoto can see the way her eyes dart around in shock, not expecting him to actually speak up. “Why would I throw away something I received from mother?”

Shoto was about to retort, but suddenly, a harsh sound rang through the room, and Shoto feels an excruciatingly painful sting on his cheek. His father had slapped him hard.

“How dare you,” he says, voice low, concealing the pure unadulterated rage that was about to burst forth. “How dare you take our kindness for granted, you son of a bitch.”

“We clothed you. We gave you shelter and food, and this is how you repay us?” He spats, hands clenched into fists. “After everything you’ve done to our family, you continue to disgrace our family name? What a despicable child you are.”

Pushing Shoto down to the floor, Enji raises his hand, ready to land a punch. “Shameful.” He lands a blow. “Disgusting.” He lands another. “Thief.” This time his father hits his broken ribs, causing Shoto to cry out in even more pain. “Murderer.”

Tears fall from Shoto’s eyes as the pain continues to flow through him, bursting through every punch. Was he really a murderer? Was he really that bad of a child? If so, why did they make him stay? Why couldn’t they put him out of his misery?

He wished his fairy godmother was here. She would probably make things better than they were now. She would make all the pain go away and then pat his head like she always did as she read him another story. He had never been as happy as he was whenever she read to him. But who knew that happiness came at an awful price?

Fairy Godmother, Shoto prayed in his mind as his father continued to beat him, letting out all his anger onto his body. Where are you? He was sure he looked like a mess, probably not even human anymore. But he couldn’t care less. He just wanted his fairy godmother by his side.

She said she would be there when he needed it most, didn’t she?

Suddenly the pain stops, and all Shoto feels is numb. He opens his eyes to the best ability, only to see his father stop midair with someone’s hand holding into his arm. He turns to the side, wincing in pain, yet it’s worth it because he finally sees the person he’s been waiting for.

His fairy godmother had finally appeared.

“Who are you?” His father shouts, screaming at the fairy. Her face is hardened, eyes glaring back at him with such hatred that it could honestly mirror his father’s.

“None of your business,” she spats before forcefully throwing his father to the other side of the room, landing with a harsh thud.

She walks towards him, a menacing aura surrounding her, but just before she could approach Shoto’s father, his sister immediately runs to defend him, glaring with genuine tears in her eyes.

“Who are you?” She screams, shaking. “Why are you attacking father? Father has done nothing wrong! You should be attacking that… thing! He’s the bad one here.”

Her desperate cries leave a bitter hole in Shoto’s heart as he feels nothing but despair. He had always hoped that beneath all the harsh words of his family members, underneath all their cruel punishments and glaring eyes, they would still have room in their hearts to care for him, even just a little bit.

But no, they didn’t even see him as human. And that hurt way more than being called a murderer.

“First of all,” you say, voice ice-cold, causing shivers to run down everyone’s spine. “Shoto isn’t a thing. He’s a human being. He’s your brother. What kind of person are you for not even acknowledging that?”

“He killed my mother!” Shoto’s sister screams in protest, holding her ground. But her words only cause your gaze to harden as you grab her in the shoulders, and she shakes under your terrifying stare.

“Listen here, young lady,” your voice booms through the room. “Shoto didn’t kill anyone. Your mother’s death was not his fault. Just because you can’t accept the fact that your mother is not on this earth anymore doesn’t mean you can treat your brother like he’s the scum of the earth.”

His sister falls silent after that, not knowing what else to say. She sniffles, and as gently as you can, you push her to the side. She was still a child, after all. No matter how vain she was, she was only a year or two older than Shoto. And you were not one to inflict pain on children or anyone for that matter.

But this had gone too far. And you couldn’t find it within yourself to stand on the sidelines any longer.

“And you,” if possible, your voice becomes even more ominous as you approach Enji, who sat on the ground, groaning. In his weakened state, he glares at you, having the audacity to continue spewing nonsense from his mouth.

“Don’t you know who I am?” He threatens before you can continue to speak. “I am Todoroki Enji, the right-hand man of the Emperor of the Musutafu Empire! If his majesty were to find out of your crime, then he would—”

“—Punish you to the depths of hell.” You say, cutting him off. “I’m not a fool, Todoroki Enji. I know that the only reason you sheltered Shoto was so the Emperor wouldn’t find out your crimes. Otherwise, you would have thrown him onto the streets.”

Enji can feel his blood run cold, the truth hitting him like harsh waves the more they fall from your lips.

“The Emperor is a kind and just man, and if he were to ever find out that you were treating your child this way, then he wouldn’t hesitate to sentence you to death. You know that more than anyone.”

Silence befalls the room as everyone soaks your words in. Shoto doesn’t understand. What were you trying to say?

“You know better than to punish Shoto for killing his mother. He didn’t do anything wrong. Todoroki Rei was already weak and frail after giving birth to the little young miss over there, yet you still insisted that she bear you a child, and when she refused, you threatened her.”

A gasp falls from his sister’s lips as the gravity of your words swirls up into a tornado in Shoto’s mind. Was this true? Was he truly not to blame for all of this?

“Lies,” Enji mutters under his breath, low enough for only you to hear. You stay silent, allowing the man to form his thoughts, yet that proves to be fatal as after a beat of silence passes, the man glares at you, taking a broken piece of the wall and swinging it your way.

“Fairy Godmo—” Shoto calls, distressed and scared, but it proved to be for naught as in the blink of an eye, the heavy debris vanished, and you stood there, wand in hand, glaring once more at his father.

“What?!” His father exclaims, finally taking his stand. “How were you able to do that? That should have killed you!”

You smile, grin sinister and dark, far from the gentle warmth it usually portrayed. Shoto was scared. His brain couldn’t comprehend what was happening. But what he did know was that he didn’t like any of this one bit.

“Magic,” is all you say, lifting your wand to cast another spell. “Magic is what made me do this to you. And magic is how I’ll make sure that you suffer the same hell Shoto has gone through.”

Horror fills Enji’s eyes as you step closer. But just as you’re about to release your spell, the door opens, revealing Shoto’s second brother, Natsuo, whose eyes widened at the sight in front of him. On instinct, he grabs the wooden sword he had brought with him from his training and lunges at you just as your magic bursts forth, tackling you to the ground.

And a scream fills the air.

Everyone looks, startled at the sight. When the chaos finally comes clear, to the family’s dread and your glee, your spell had managed to affect Enji, but not in the way that you had hoped.

Instead of the core of his body, you had hit his eyes instead, a nasty scar forming over it, burning the flesh, and causing the man to tremble in pain.

Well, at least he would know what Shoto felt when he got his scar.

You stand up, dusting the dirt off your clothes as you make your way towards Shoto, ignoring his shell-shocked brother, who was staring at his father writhing in pain. You probably look like a mess at this point, totally different from how you usually appeared, but that was the least of your concerns.

You had to ensure Shoto was alright. He had gone through so much after all.

You couldn’t stand it. How could you stand watch when Shoto’s father was basically killing the poor child? Shoto who was pure and innocent. Shoto, whose only desire in life, was to read. He didn’t care for freedom or revenge. He just wanted to live normally.

You couldn’t find it within yourself to let his family trample over those dreams any longer.

You finally approach him, getting ready to kneel beside him and take him in your embrace so you could take the pain away. How much pain must he have gone through? You wonder. His body was battered and bruised, looking as if he was merely a shell of the child he once was. It was too cruel, and you could only hope that you’re magic would take even a bit of that pain away.

Because the child deserved to smile.

But just as you’re about to reach out towards him, a bright light shines through the room, and from that light comes a figure, one that causes your whole being to momentarily freeze in shock and fear.

Elder Yagi stood there in all his glory, robes and wings perfectly accentuating his features, truly presenting himself as the most powerful fairy in all the realm. His eyes were placed into a frown, and he stared directly at you, disappointment evident within him.

You had screwed up, and now you were going to pay the price.

“Young (Y/N),” His voice booms, loud and proud like how a fairy should be. “For breaking the Fairy Code by revealing the existence of magic to humans other than your godchild and for using said magic to unlawfully harm the human race, you are hereby sentenced to banishment from the fairy realm effective immediately.”

You stare at the elder you had come to know as a father, pleading with desperate eyes for him not to do this to you, but he pays no mind, waving his wand, causing binds to form and wrap around your body.

“No, please!” You scream in vain, begging. “At least let me heal Shoto. Let me do something for him!”

“You’ve already done enough!” Elder Yagi screams. It’s the first time you’ve seen him so angry, and it scares you. Where was the kind fairy you had come to know? Why was he acting like this? “The Council will take over.”

And light flashes once more through the broken room, and just like that, you’re gone, leaving Shoto behind.

Shoto blinks blearily, everything passing by in a blur. What had happened? What was happening? He wished he had the strength to get up and take a stand for himself, but he was quite literally beaten to a pulp. He can’t feel the strength in his arms anymore, and just that very thought scares him.

The only thing that comforts him is the soothing lullaby of darkness, trancing him into a sleepy state, and before he knows it, Shoto passes out.

Not knowing that from this point onwards, his life would change forever.

The light shines through the curtains, and Shoto wakes up, blinking.

He stretches his tired limbs and sits up, yawning. Why did he feel so tired? He’s never felt this weary before.

He gets out of bed, heading towards his bathroom, looking at the mirror. When he does, however, he’s suddenly flashed with a vision of him, beaten into a pulp and unable to stand up, and he gasps, but that vision slowly fades away, and Shoto’s regular reflection comes back.

What was that? Why did he look so… dead?

Surely that was a figment of his own imagination, right? Surely that was his mind playing tricks on him, right? Sure, his family did beat him from time to time, but they would never treat him that badly, right?

Shoto shivers, desperately shaking his thoughts away, as he slowly makes his way to the kitchen, hoping to snag some food while the servants aren’t looking.

On his way, however, he bumps into his father, who glares at him. Shoto looks to the ground in shame, not knowing why this particular meeting made him more frightened than usual. He should be used to his father’s beatings by now, but why did he feel so scared?

“You,” his father says, and Shoto halts at the menacing tone in his voice. “Look at me.” Shoto does as he asks, and looks up to his father, eyes widening at the sight of a ghastly scar mirroring his own on his father’s face.

Did he always have that scar?

His father stares at him as if he were examining him. For what reason, Shoto wasn’t quite sure, But it made him extremely uncomfortable, and he could only hope that his father would let him go soon.

“You should be grateful I’m in a good mood today, brat,” is all his father says, glaring harshly at Shoto. He doesn’t say anything more than that, choosing to leave towards the direction of the dining room, leaving Shoto behind in the hallway.

That was it? He asked himself. He wasn’t going to punch him? That was weird. But he paid it no mind. As his father said, it was his lucky day.

Yet as Shoto continued to head towards the kitchen, there was an itching feeling scratching the back of his head, telling Shoto that there was something wrong. That something was missing. It felt like there was a missing piece to the puzzle, which confused Shoto because, as far as he knew, everything was completely normal.

But he couldn’t ignore that thought. It nagged him throughout the day, telling him that this wasn’t right.

The problem was, Shoto had no idea what exactly was wrong.

#once.upon.an.au #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academy x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki shoto x you #shoto x you

79 notes · View notes

morganayenneferburnham · 3 years ago

Link

Have I Known You 20 Seconds or 20 Years? – Nikolai Lantsov Series

Chapter 1: Devils Roll the Dice, Angel Roll their Eyes

Chapter 2: You Did a Number on Me

Chapter 3: You Could Call Me Babe for the Weekend

Chapter 4: The Best of Times, The Worst of Crimes

Chapter 5: All I Know Since Yesterday Is Everything Has Changed

A very short summary: Y/N has been working with the crows for a few years. Her life feels complete until she meets the insufferable Nikolai Lantsov. She finds herself forced to work with the King of Ravka on one of Kaz Brekker’s crazy schemes.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Hey there! So this took me a bit longer than expected but here it is! I should probably mention that it's an angsty one. Sorry. I hope you guys enjoy it. I'd love to get some feedback :)

Chapter 5: All I Know Since Yesterday Is Everything Has Changed

She woke that morning wishing she didn’t have to leave her room for the rest of the month. That was going to be difficult, however. Kaz would come to drag her out himself if he had to. She knew he would. It was probably best to avoid angering him any further. He had made his anger quite clear the night before.

---

Kaz had sent everyone away for the night after having heard their reports and studying the plans for a few more minutes. His gloved fingers had wrapped themselves tightly around her wrist when she’d tried to slip past him.

“Can you get the job done? Or do I have to worry I’ll lose my corporalnik to a king?” His voice had been heavy with disdain.

“Of course, I can do the job, Kaz! How long have I been working for you?” she’d felt panic rise in her, making her nauseous.

“I’ve known Jesper even longer. Doesn’t mean he hasn’t disappointed me.” He snickered. “You haven’t answered my question, Y/N.” The way he’d said her name had sent a shiver down her spine. It had been a barely hidden warning.

“Kaz…” her voice had broken. Would he send me back to Tante Ingrid? She simply couldn’t tell.

“Start tailoring Nikolai and yourself back. I’ll see you in the morning. Do not be late.”

She’d spent the next 3 hours tailoring the king, who threatened to ruin her life by occupying her every thought, and then herself. Nikolai had at least had the decency to stay quiet this time around. She had been far from done when they’d called it a night, but she’d judged it would be enough to keep Kaz off her back.

---

Y/N got ready quickly, keeping Kaz’s warning in mind. She shrugged off her nightgown. She’d slept terribly. She pulled her white shirt over her head, tucking it in the pants she’d chosen for the day. Her mind kept travelling back to Nikolai’s kiss and Kaz’s terrifying fury. She loosely tied the strings at her shirt’s collar, letting the delicate bow rest on her chest. Her brain seemed to be stuck playing both moments repeatedly. It was ridiculous. Nikolai had only kissed her to keep up the act. There was no reason to jeopardize her place with the crows over something so meaningless. So why couldn’t her mind stop bringing it up?

When she finally reached the music room that currently served as their boss’ office, Inej sent her a look of pity from her perch on Kaz’s armchair. Great, she thought, Kaz is still mad.

Jesper and Wylan were lounging, limbs tangled, on a small couch. She nodded to them, returning their greetings, making her way to the opened glass-paneled doors leading to the garden. She watched Marya Hendriks paint while they waited for Nikolai and Zoya to join them. The older woman was working on a beautiful landscape of the Geldcanal. Y/N focused whole-heartedly on the paintbrush strokes letting them erase the memories of the previous night from her mind as they went. She knew it wasn’t permanent, the problem would still exist once Marya stopped painting, but it brought her comfort for the time being.

“Thank you for gracing us with your presence, your royal highness” Kaz’s raspy voice brought her back to the present. His rage and disdain were barely leashed. She turned in time to catch the surprised look on Nikolai’s face. She might have thought it was funny if she wasn’t so scared of what Kaz could do.

“Good morning, are my general and I late?” Nikolai schooled his feature into a charming grin. “Though, you know, I was under the impression that Kings couldn’t be late, everyone else is simply early.”

Just when Y/N thought it was impossible, Kaz’s eyes darkened further. Nikolai had managed to make him angrier somehow. Kaz sneered, “You are late.” They were in for a horrible day.

The air felt colder than it had a few minutes prior to the Ravkans’ arrival. Kaz continued, “The first part of the job was a success. However, that was the easy part.” He sent a pointed look her way. “The next part will require everyone to follow the plan to the letter.”

She flinched. Kaz isn’t mad. He is livid. She moved away from the open doors opting to take place on the arm of the couch where Wylan and Jesper were still lounging. Jesper reached for her, letting his hand rest on her thigh, giving it a small squeeze as if he felt her distress. She was thankful for that small gesture. It would help her endure Kaz’s wrath.

“I still need time to figure everything out. These blueprints do give us the layout of the factory and the warehouse, but we still don’t have the guards’ rounds schedule. We’ll also need to find out the shipment schedule.”

Inej interrupted him “I’ll take care of that. Just keep planning, I do quite enjoy your scheming face.” Y/N always loved getting a glimpse of their relationship. It was always subtle, but they clearly did love each other. It was endearing how much they did.

Kaz’s features seemed to soften a bit at that. “Of course, my darling. Perhaps General Nazyalensky can be of some assistance.”

Zoya nodded. “Sure, we’ll get you the information. Just make sure we have a way out with the plans and the prototypes we need.”

Kaz nodded and turned back to Y/N his gaze cold and hard. “You’re not done with your tailoring.” It wasn’t a question, it was a critic. She felt a chill travel down her back. “You have to finish this morning before either of you can leave the house.” He considered her for a moment. “Use your room. We can’t risk a servant seeing you like this.”

-----

They’d left the room a few minutes later. Y/N leading the way to her room at the Hendriks mansion. She had been quiet, practically ignoring him the whole way. Only turning to him once to check if he was following her. Her brows were furrowed. Nikolai wasn’t sure if she was mad at him or scared. Scared of what? Me? Or Brekker?

Nikolai now watched her from his seat at the end of the bed as she readied her tailoring kit. She had tailored her body back the night before, but she still had ways to go before she was sporting her beautiful features again. She had her back turned to him, her olive pants hugging the soft curves of her hips just right. Nikolai’s mind kept travelling back to the night before and the outfit the Grisha had chosen for the day wasn’t helping him at all. He wanted to rest his hands on her hips and pull her body to his. He wanted to feel her comforting curves pressed against him, closer than they had been the night before, the fabric of her skirt no longer in the way.

He watched her finally settle in front of the mirrored desk, raising her hands to her face. He was glad she was starting with herself. It would give him time to gain full control of his brain again. He observed the careful movements of her fingers for what felt like hours. He was grateful for the time she’d bought him, until he saw her face as she made her way to him. He couldn’t help but glance at her full lips. He wondered just how different it would feel to kiss her now. Saints, I forgot just how naturally gorgeous she was. The urge to pull her closer was threatening to overwhelm him.

“So, I guess I’m only undoing my own tailoring? Not Genya Safin’s? You still need to look like Sturmhond.” She sounded guarded.

“Yeah. I don’t think you could handle how handsome I really look.” He saw her jaw tick. Saints, what a stupid thing to say. And why did I wink at her again? She’s obviously uncomfortable.

He watched her carefully as she came to a stop, standing between his thighs. Nikolai could feel his heart hammering in his chest. She was standing so close he worried she could hear it. If she did, she made no mention of it. “This is gonna hurt. Tell me if you need a break.” She sounded determined; all traces of her previous insecurity gone. He only nodded, not trusting his voice with her standing so close to him, her floral scent drifting his way due to the soft breeze coming from the open window.

Her fingers were surprisingly cold against his skin. He felt the familiar itch of tailoring as she started before the pain of bone remodeling fully settled in. He tried to stay as still as possible, focusing on the concentration etched in the girl’s features instead of the pain. He felt her set his jaw back, making sure Sturmhond’s characteristically pointed chin was just right. She had made a few adjustments the night before, but she hadn’t done any major alterations. He kept watching her as she set the rest of his face back. Her shirt had slipped dangerously lower on her chest as she worked. The small bow coming lose. It was driving Nikolai completely crazy. He wanted to reach out and finish untying the damned strings. He didn’t think he could take much more of this absolute torture. She was almost done with reworking the bone when he saw her bite her bottom lip, completely lost in her work. He was about to finally lose the last sliver of decency he had been holding on to for the last hour when she straightened up suddenly. She backed away to take in her work.

“I think that should be it for facial structure. I’ll work on your eyes next, and I’ll finish with your hair.” She seemed more at ease now. Whatever had been bothering her almost forgotten.

She took her place back between his legs reaching up to his face once more. Her fingers came to rest on his cheek.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was a mistake.” Nikolai blurted out. He could’ve sworn he saw hurt flash in Y/N’s beautiful green eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He must have imagined it. He saw her straighten her spine, her shoulders tensing up.

“Whatever, we got out. We got the job done. It doesn’t matter.” Any scrap of ease she’d gained was gone as she turned her back to him, taking a few steps towards the mirrored desk. Why did you have to open your mouth? Nikolai Nothing. Nikolai the Bastard. Pretender. Nikolai the fool. He had clearly upset her.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you. Brekker told me you worked at one of the pleasure houses before… I just – I didn’t mean to cross a line.”

She whirled back towards him. Fury burning in her deep green eyes. “He had no right.” she hissed. Her rage melted quickly however, leaving her looking panicked. Nikolai saw her hands start to shake before she clenched her fists.

Another blunder. “He only told me because I asked about your tattoo.” Her hand flew to the bare skin of her arm hiding the iris burned into her skin from him. I am only making it worse, he realized. I should really learn to stop talking so much.

She lowered her head. “He’s going to send me back.” Her voice was trembling. She sounded absolutely terrified at the idea. Nikolai wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her. Why would she think that? Surely Brekker wouldn’t do that. She’s a corporalnik. If Brekker is actually stupid enough to part with such a gifted Grisha, she could have a place with the Second Army. She could have a place in Ravka… She could have a place with me.

“You could–” Nikolai didn’t get to finish his sentence. Inej had opened the door and walked in carrying a tray with tea and biscuits.

“Figured, you two were probably hungry!” Her warm smile faltered when she saw Y/N’s expression. “Everything alright?”

“Thank you Inej. You are absolutely right!” She laughed; all traces of her panic gone. “I’m starving. I could eat a stack of waffles as tall as you!” A talented corporalnik and actress, Nikolai thought.

-----

tagged: @power-of-words23

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov fic #kaz brekker #the crows #six of crows #inej ghafa #leigh bardugo #grishaverse #nikolai series #my fic #ari's fic #have i known you 20 seconds or 20 years #chapter 5 #fic update #all i know since yesterday is everything has changed

60 notes · View notes

jincherie · 4 years ago

Text

say so | knj & ksj [m]

! — COMMISSION — !

❥ — pairing: namjoon x reader x seokjin ❥ — genre: poly, 1950s au/rockabilly au, smut, childhood f2l, angst, fluff, musician!namjin, burlesque!mc ❥ — words: 24.5k+ ❥ — rating: 18+ ❥ — warnings: light angst, pining, smut !!!; oral (all kinds), anal, fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, edging, light switch!joon, light switch!oc, harder dom!jin, double pentration, cockwarming, reverse cowgirl etc.... if I forgot sometihng I will add it later but for now this is it fellas. ❥ — notes: oh my god I am FINALLY ejecting this fic from my brain !!! part of the reason this took so long was, of course, the current circamstances across the world mixed in with a few personal factors, but also because I haven’t written a ‘historical’ fic before and I wanted to make sure I got it right ! of course, that somehow ended with me going way over word count so i am so sorry for that, but i truly hope you like it! I haven’t gone over it yet but i will do that later, i just wanted to post and get this fic out of my asshole

Returning to your hometown for a week is something you’ve managed to avoid for three years, but when you can finally put it off no longer you find upon arrival the very thing you were scared of encountering. When the two famous childhood friends you haven’t spoken to in years have returned at the same time as you, you can’t quite tell whether you’re going to be able to make it out in one piece or emerge with a heart more wounded than before.

Especially since it turns out the feelings you thought you were over never quite went away.

— masterlist | posted; 17.08.2020

You didn’t really expect to find yourself back here so soon, but here you are— everything in your room is in exactly the same state as it was three years ago.

The covers on your bed, the magazine cuttings, faded posters and hand-painted canvases that mark the phases of your youth hung on your wall—even the light-toned floral wallpaper and the little knickknacks atop your dresser are the same. It makes something like nostalgia rise within you, a reminiscent haze filtering through your thoughts. It has been too long since you’ve been back here, and the guilt that always lingers in the back of your mind now pushes its way to the forefront. You feel bad, not having been back to your childhood home in so long, despite the reasons you had for moving away.

You haven’t been here all that long, but as soon as you finished talking with your parents downstairs your feet had carried you here, more out of habit that anything. Absentmindedly, you brush your hand over the oak of your dresser, curious when your fingertip comes back without a single speck of dust. Your mother must have come through often to clean. The realisation both warms your heart and compounds the guilt you feel, making you frown. In an effort to distract yourself, you turn your gaze back to the rest of your old room, catching sight of a few photographs plastered above your study desk. You know what they contain, and still you can’t seem to help yourself as you draw closer and peer at them anew. They’re just as familiar to your eyes as you expected.

Of course, in this house you’d be lucky to find a photograph of you that didn’t also have these two in it.

Your eyes skip over the older ones with yellowing glaze and curled corners to focus on the most recent-looking image, drinking in the two boys you’d spent the entirety of your childhood and teen years with. Easily your best friends, until… well, until three years ago. A fond smile fights its way to your lips; you remember when this was taken. Your mother had lined the three of you up for a photo in the yard but at the very last second they’d pushed you into the pool. Both boys stand tall in the image, but you’d recognise the taller one with the goofy grin anywhere, even if his face wasn’t already plastered across newspapers and featuring on the television every other evening. Namjoon is just as boyish in the image as you recall, and next to him where they stand laughing over the pool is Seokjin, appearance every bit as neat and clean as you’ve glimpsed in recent years when he has featured in a magazine or program that is particularly popular with the youth. It was always a bit weird to you, a little hard to process, that the two boys you’ve known since the three of you were in diapers are now pretty much, well… celebrities. Something bubbles in your chest, the pressure of a sigh but the weight of something you’re not quite ready to name yet. Distantly, in the back of your mind, a tiny part of you whispers that it tastes a little like regret, and sounds a little like yearning.

Growing up, the two of them had discovered an affinity for music, and you for the arts. You suppose that small difference is what eventually led to the distance that grew between you, before you left— if not for the fact that they found the limelight so naturally and built popularity quicker than anticipated after their individual musical debuts. It really didn’t take them all that long to begin steadily growing their fanbase within the youth of your town, their songs played more and more often on local stations. Before long people even a few cities over caught wind of them, but you didn’t get to see it. By the point they had spread their wings that far, you were already gone.

You wrinkle your nose, not liking this sudden trip down a particular lane in your memory that you’ve been avidly avoiding the past three years. Taking a step back from the desk that the photographs hang above, you desperately search for something else to capture your attention. Fortunately for you, a voice sounds behind you before you can flounder too long.

“Wow, I can’t believe you actually came. How long has it been, forty years?”

You jump slightly, the familiarity of the voice and sheer amount of attitude in the words allowing you to recognise it instantly. You spin, eyes quickly locking onto the familiar head of straight blonde hair and cherubic features that belong to your sister. You’ve kept in touch with her via letter and the occasional call, but other than that this is the first time you’ve seen her in years. She’s a little bit taller than you remember, and she’s filled out a little more now that she’s no longer a gangly teen. You are surprised though to note the absence of the usual distressed denim that she favoured throughout the years. Instead she’s in a neat pair of capris that rise to the dip of her waist, where she has tucked in a bright red blouse beneath a belt. Out of habit, you look down to her feet and catch a glimpse of red canvas shoes that instantly make you want to laugh; your mother never could get her into a pair of heels, even if she managed to get her out of the dungarees that she used to love so much. Lisa smiles cheekily beneath your scrutiny, opening her arms wide. With a laugh, you throw your own around her, pulling her into a tight hug.

“You’re so dramatic,” you retort, rolling your eyes even though she can’t see it. “Of course I would come to celebrate my own sister’s engagement. I had to see it with my own eyes to believe it.”

“Why does everyone say the same thing when I talk about it?” Lisa groans, pulling back with a familiar pout that seems to have survived her transition into young adulthood. She slips her arm through your own, giving your bicep a smack as she leads you from the room. “It’s not that hard to believe that I’m getting married! Also— what on earth have you been up to all these years? Have you been attending classes? You’re in such good shape, oh my goodness—”

Unwittingly, your cheeks flush; you probably shouldn’t tell her the real reason for your current physique lest she blab with champagne-loosened lips about it to the rest of your family at her party. Sober Lisa is the only one that knows how to keep a secret, as you’ve found out through a number of shamefully scrawled confessions in the letters she would send you. A number of things you’d confided in her over the years have since been aired like dirty laundry to some of her friends, much to your mutual regret.

“Uh, yeah. Something like that,” you say dismissively, quickly returning to the previous topic as the two of you descend the stairs. “And it’s probably because of all those things you said when you were younger, like how you’d rather live in a mud hut on a deserted island than ever marry a smelly boy riddled with cooties—”

“Ah, yes,” Lisa sighs, the sound more fond and less ashamed than you were expecting. “Those were the days— I was such a badass little ankle-biter. What has become of me? I must be the one riddled with cooties at this point.”

“Probably,” you muse, catching sight of your mother behind the kitchen counter and shooting her a smile as you move past. Lisa is lucky she hadn’t spoken too loudly or else she’d be getting a light smack for her language. It never seemed to stop her when she was younger though, so you doubt it would have an effect now either.

“A skirt at the knee, y/n?” Your mother lets out a dramatic, scandalous gasp upon seeing you. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“These are the clothes that you greeted me in?” You give her a pained look; apparently you need readjusting to her oddball sense of humour. She’s always been a little out of place in the straight-laced, conservative society that marks this day and age; your father too, except he was just a bit more sneaky about it. Actually, now that you think about it, Namjoon and Seokjin’s parents were always a little more on the liberal side too… What an odd coincidence that the three families ended up in a row at the end of the same cul-de-sac.

You’re not deigned with a response, your mother smacking her hands onto the apron she has tied over her baby blue skirt and turning to the oven. You think you hear her muttering about ‘time’ and ‘darn apple pies always taking too long to cook’ and can’t help the way your mouth waters in response. Gods, is it bad if one of the things you missed the most while away is the apple pies your mother makes?

You turn to Lisa, about to ask her whether the apple pie is something you’re going to be able to steal a piece of, only to find that she’s disappeared into thin air. Fantastic. You’re not staying here while you’re back in town, so you’re unsure whether you’re going to be able to cash in on dinner or whether your mother will hold it over your head a little first. You wander over to the edge of the kitchen, sticking your head into the living room to peer around; you’re curious as to just how much has changed in the time that you’ve been gone. Not as much as you might have hoped, to your chagrin.

“You still have that ugly old thing,” you observe, unable to help the way that your nose wrinkles in response to the sight of the monstrosity still wearing holes into the carpet of the living room.

“My love,” you mother says, giving you an (affectionate) sharp smack on the shoulder as she slips past you, shooting you a bright grin when the thickness of her skirt knocks you slightly. Apparently she’s finished in the kitchen for now; you glance back to see a bowl of nuts joining the bowl of fruit that had been on the counter earlier. “I’d sooner perish than give up your grandmother’s armchair. Besides…. I do so adore how it never fails to draw your ire.”

“I do hate that thing,” your father utters suddenly from the kitchen behind you, his hand reaching for the bowl of fruit; he has his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, so you figure he must have retired to his study to read after greeting you earlier. He moves just as fast as you remember— your mother didn’t even have a chance to stop him before he was gone as quick as he came, hands full of whatever fruit he couldn’t fit in his mouth.

“You—!”

The sound of your father’s laughter tumbles off the walls, and you can’t help the smile that tugs your lips. You did miss this; the liveliness, the feeling of home.

“y/n, dear, darling, light of my life…”

You turn to your mother, already knowing what is coming next from her tone. One thing you definitely didn’t miss—

“I forgot when I went past earlier, but could you go and fetch some cream from Barb’s? You know, that little store on the corner, down the road from the diner you always used to—”

You’re already turning towards the front of the house, heading for where you’d left your purse with a fond roll of your eyes. “I know where Barb’s is, Ma! I only went away to study, I didn’t lose my memories!”

Your mother’s cheeky laugh is what bids you farewell as you duck out the door and start on your way.

X – x – x

You’d forgotten just how tempting the treats in Barb’s are.

When you exit the small corner store around an hour or so later (it was hardly any distance to walk, but of course Mrs. Park was keen to hold you hostage long enough to squeeze every single detail out of you she could about your time away) it’s with an overflowing paper bag in your arms that holds more than just the cream your mother sent your for. One look at the apple Danish pastries and cinnamon-sprinkled goodies behind the glass of her counter and you’d been unable to help yourself. Your mother did always say that your sweet tooth would be your undoing.

Walking through the streets that you grew up becoming so familiar with breeds a certain kind of yearning that swells in your chest and borders on painful. This, you suspect, is because most— if not all— of your memories of this place are intrinsically linked with those of the two men who used to take up such a big part of your life; and that therefore then left such a big hole when they were gone.

It’s hard not to fall into them, the memories. The candy store where the three of you would scrounge up as many coins as you could and pile them all together to get the best sweets on the shelves; the library where you spent as much time goofing off and getting scolded as you did studying in your senior years; even the drive-in cinema, where you used to take your parents cars for the evening and sit on the hood while poking fun at the latest flick to grace the screen. Being back here is making you face something that you have somehow skilfully managed to avoid up until now—

You miss them, Seokjin and Namjoon. You miss your best friends.

This is something that is hammered home further when you reach the point in your journey home where you pass the place featured most in your memories. Dana’s Dinery, probably the only thing more constant in your life than those two boys and your own family. The pink and red hues of its name and the exposed bulbs decorating the signage are something you remember clear as day, and just the sight of it alone has your mouth watering for the burgers and other fried goods they loved to serve there. The kind of food you know is terrible for you, but that you also just can’t get enough of nonetheless. You’ve spent so many nights there that at some point every single member of staff there knew you by name. Of course, since the three of you were barely seen apart at that time, they knew Seokjin and Namjoon, too.

You’re tempted to duck in and say hello, and before you can even give it much thought your feet are already angling you in that direction, short heels scuffing against the pavement. Through the window you can see the familiar shiny red booth seats and the similarly upholstered stools that line the counter; behind it is a woman with wild, dark curls thrown back in a bun, a pencil behind her ear. Ah, so Mrs. Cara still works there. A petal of affection unfurls in your chest at the sight of her, but drops to the ground in the next second as your gaze slides to the side and halts on two figures currently seated at the counter.

No way. No way.

You freeze, eyes wide as you stand rooted to the spot for just a moment. You know that logically, they can’t be here, but the profiles you can just barely glimpse from this distance are so eerily familiar to that of Namjoon and Seokjin that you think your heart skips perhaps one too many beats. For some reason, your stomach roils with the urge to flee; you just got around to admitting that you miss them, and yet the second you think you might be seeing them, you want to run away? Honestly, it doesn’t make sense—wouldn’t make sense to anyone else privy to the thoughts currently whipping through your mind.

But you’re a master at stewing in your own thoughts and feelings, familiar with dissecting them until you understand them to the best of your ability at the time. So you know why you promptly turn on your heel and begin hastily back on your way home, abandoning any plans to go inside the diner. You know why, but you’re not quite ready to dwell on it yet, so you push it to the backburner and do your very best not to think about it the whole walk back.

X – x – x

You’re ashamed.

A huff escapes you, your eyes boring into the ceiling, unfocused. After delivering the cream to your mother (and promptly having the extra sweets confiscated until after dinner, lest you snack away your appetite—you guess that answers your question about whether you’re staying for supper) you decided to retire up here for now. You’d thought that your room might feel a little alien to you after all this time away, but when you’d dragged yourself in and shucked your shoes off at the door, it had welcomed you back with an air of nostalgia and open arms. You’re sprawled across your bed now, arms behind your head as you stare at the ceiling. When you were younger, maybe fourteen, you had decorated it with little stars and planets that you’d painted. Well, it wasn’t just you—some of the more crudely decorated renditions towards the wall are courtesy of Seokjin and Namjoon. You wouldn’t say they’re bad at art, just that they have… well, a distinct style that is very them.

Wait, you’re getting distracted—back to the matter at hand: you’re ashamed.

At this point in your life, if someone had asked you why that particular emotion might be plaguing you right now, then in all honesty you would have a vast array of reasons to give them. But the answer as to why you’re ashamed right now, lies in the two people you could have sworn you glimpsed earlier.

Now that there is a little temporal distance between you and that particular moment, you can use logic to assure yourself that there’s no way you actually just saw Namjoon and Seokjin at the diner that you all used to haunt in your youth. But in the moment, when you thought you’d seen them, you fell into a bit of a panic. This, you have determined, is because you are ashamed. It’s a little harder to determine why you’re ashamed in relation to them, but what you’ve managed to discern so far is that you feel to blame for the way things went, at least partially. Or, perhaps its that you fear they blame you for the way things went. In reality, from what you remember, they first began to grow apart from each other, and then they began to grow apart from you. That, of course, isn’t something you can blame yourself for. But, what you can blame yourself for – and here is what you think may be the root of your shame – is that you were the one to up and leave suddenly. You were the one to disappear without even a goodbye, almost. You could have kept in touch if you tried, but you’d basically disappeared off the face of the earth.

You wonder if they blame you, or if they might even resent you because of that.

Well, if they even remember you, that is. They’re pretty much in the big leagues now, you remind yourself. They’re making it mainstream and they’re hot on the heels of the most renowned names in the business.

You’re not very good at comforting yourself. Not that you really attempted it this time, but usually whenever you do you just end up stewing in your thoughts a little. You don’t even realise you’re glaring at the ceiling in the midst of sorting through your mental mess until a knock at the door jerks you out of it. You turn towards it just as it opens and a head pops inside, a gleam you instantly decide you don’t like shining in Lisa’s eyes.

“Come downstairs,” she says cryptically, beginning to ease back out. She only chimes once more when she’s out of view. “If you don’t, I’ll eat all those pastries you brought back! Keep that in mind!”

What on earth… you’re left absolutely confused for a moment, before her last words sink in and you throw yourself from your bed with haste, not even bothering to put your shoes back on before you dart out of the room. The trip downstairs is treacherous in stockings, but you don’t have time to lose. You’re sister isn’t one to bluff, and you don’t want her anywhere near those pastries!

“Don’t you touch those!” you call in warning as you slide across the hardwood floor in the hall and fly down the stairs. “Lisa, I mean it! If you lay a single finger on those pastries you’ll lose it!”

There’s laughter in the direction of the kitchen, and you’re angled to follow the sound when your eyes catch sight of movement to the side and you freeze on the spot.

“y/n!” your mother cries, clearly ecstatic that you’ve come down to join her. She’s standing in the hall that leads the front door, talking to some people you can’t yet see. “Look who’s here! My, I haven’t seen these two in almost as long as I hadn’t seen you!”

Something like dread, mixed with an odd spike of anticipation, begins to trickle into your abdomen. All too suddenly you remember exactly who you thought you saw earlier, and realise she can only be talking about two people in particular.

Nervously, you smooth down your skirt and blouse, shooting your mother a look that you hope isn’t too panicked. She is, of course, oblivious, and simply grabs you by the arm to drag you around the corner.

“I haven’t seen the three of you together in so long! I missed your handsome faces around here, too. Perhaps the height as well— now there’s no one in the house that can reach the top shelf in the pantry.”

Your mother is babbling, but you can’t bring yourself to mind when it saves you from having to speak yourself. As you’d feared, there are two very familiar people standing before you, hovering on your doorstep with almost nervous energy.

“It has been a while,” a soft tone with the luxurious depth of velvet— Seokjin smiles so charmingly at your mother that you think your heart really might have stopped for a second. When his dark eyes turn to you, there is something swirling in their depths that is in such contrast to the winning smile on his lips that you almost feel your knees shake. “y/n, it’s a lovely surprise to catch you here— we didn’t know you were in town as well.”

“Oh, and what brings you two boys back here?” Your mother asks, all too excited to hear exactly what has been going on in their lives since she saw them last. Thankfully, she saves you from having to answer straight away. “Are you back for long?”

“Just a week,” Namjoon answers, bashful smile juxtaposing the beaten leather of the jacket over his shoulders and the low, rough melody of his voice. Oh dear— “We’re actually here celebrating something with a close friend of ours; we were invited to a… party of sorts, you could say.”

You think you might be safe, that he might not say anything to you just yet, when he turns to you and his eyes flick along your form. He smiles again, this time with his dimples making an appearance.

“It really has been too long, y/n. I’m glad we managed to run into you.”

You know it’s not a dig at you, but you feel your cheeks flush with shame nonetheless.

“Don’t tell me the three of you haven’t seen each other since she left,” your mother gasps, sending you a look that tells you she is going to be wringing information out of you later.

There’s a slight lull in the conversation that tells you it’s your time to chime in. Before you can, though, Seokjin speaks— still with a smile, despite the slight bite of his words.

“Ah, yeah,” he says, shaking his head. He leans back slightly, switching his weight to the other leg and crossing his arms over his chest— you try not to look at the way it makes his chest and shoulders strain against the material of his button-up. “We wanted to write, or call, but we didn’t know where she was staying to send it. Made it a little hard to keep in touch.”

Your heart squeezes; that was a dig, that was definitely a dig. And you deserved it, but damn you didn’t realise it would hurt that much. And he hadn’t even said anything direct!

“Oh, well this is perfect then!” Your mother smacks you on the back, a little rougher than necessary, making you cough. “y/n is here for the week, why don’t you all catch up? Lisa’s engagement party is on Saturday so any day other than that should be fine— oh, you two should come, by the way! And invite your mothers too; it’s been too long since we’ve all sat down for tea.”

“That would be wonderful,” Namjoon agrees amicably, nodding his head to your mother. “I’m sure they’d love to take you up on that invite— I did get an earful about how lonely she was when I got home earlier.”

You have to fight a smile at that— Namjoon’s mother does have a penchant for the dramatics. You turn your gaze to the side to find Seokjin’s own already boring holes into you— it takes all your willpower not to jump. When he sees he has your attention, he smiles once more.

“We’d love to catch up,” he says, eyes still holding you captive. “How about dinner tomorrow, at Dana’s? I miss the burgers there.”

You catch Namjoon nodding from the corner of your eye, agreeing with the idea, and swallow your nerves down to flash a smile back. “Of course, that sounds fantastic.”

The two men nod, satisfied for now, and Namjoon pipes up once more as they take a step back.

“Well, we should probably get back— if we’re late for supper today we mightn’t be alive for dinner tomorrow,” he jokes, earning a laugh from your mother. His eyes flick to you, unreadable but holding such heat you almost gasp, “We’ll meet you there at seven tomorrow, y/n. I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

“See you, boys!” Your mother waves farewell, jabbing you with her elbow until you join her. “Hurry home!”

They nod with a laugh, and you watch them retreat to their respective homes on either side of yours until your mother closes the door and cuts off your view, turning to you with a look that could mean a number of things. She’s distracted from unleashing a verbal flood on you in the next moment, however, when she catches sight of your feet.

“y/n!” she gasps, tone scolding. “Go put your shoes on! Walking around without them— this isn’t how I raised you, my goodness. You’re going to wear holes in your stockings! Go go go!”

Startled by the way she raises her arm in promise, you yelp and scamper away, back towards the stairs. “Okay, I’m going!”

You’re about halfway up the stairs, petticoat and skirt swishing violently from how fast you scaled them, when she calls after you.

“And don’t think you’re off the hook, missy! You and I are having a long, in-depth chat after dinner!”

You can only resign yourself to your fate.

x - x - x

“I’m in trouble, Mina. Oh, I’m in trouble.”

“It can’t be anything more than the trouble you’re going to be in for wearing holes into the hotel room carpet— stop that! You’re making me anxious!”

You halt mid-pace, sending your friend a pained look. She’s sprawled across the second bed in your hotel room, reading some magazine that touts the latest in makeup and jewellery from some of the more big-name brands.

“Please, just this once, let me be the one having a Diva moment,” you say, almost begging— to your own distaste. You just need someone to vent to, but she’s not exactly being helpful.

“What is this about?” she asks, closing her magazine to pin you with a borderline-grumpy look. “What has your knickers in such a— oh, I love those shorts! Are those new?”

“Uh, yeah. I bought them the other week,” you answer, looking down at the light blue shorts you’d slipped into for comfort’s sake this morning. They’re so comfortable, in fact, that you regret that you’re unable to wear them in public. You quickly shake your head when you realise you’re getting off-topic. “Hey— I told you what this is about! Did you listen to a single thing I said since I got back last night? Do I mean nothing to you?”

“You’re so dramatic,” Mina utters under her breath. “Yes, I was listening! I was just checking we were talking about the same thing!"

The look you give her is dubious at best, "Okay, then what am I talking about?"

"Those two hot cats you grew up with," Mina says, waving her manicured hand dismissively. "What about them is giving you such grief?"

"I ran into them yesterday," you say, eyes unfocused as you fall back into your thoughts once more. "They want to meet for dinner, to catch up."

"Oh, well that's fine," Mina says. "You don't have feelings for them anymore, so it should be alright, yeah?"

You bite your lip, wincing and giving her a look that could only be described as a mixture between sheepish and remorseful.

"Oh, y/n," She sounds a lot like your mother with the tone she's taken now, "Don't tell me..."

"I thought I was over it!" you say, wailing almost, as you throw your arms into the air. "They were already so distant before I left, you know? And it's been so long that I thought the feelings went away."

You huff, one hand on your hip and the other splayed over your face. "But then I saw them yesterday, and I think I nearly had a heart failure. I don't think... that those feelings went away."

When you manage to glimpse her way, Mina is wincing, teeth visible. She reaches up to scratch her hairline, almost dislodging one of the curlers she has wound in her hair. "Well, it's just one dinner... When is it? I'm sure you have plenty of time to get rid of those feelings before you--"

"It's tonight," you say with a certain level of resignation, walking over to your own bed and finally throwing yourself onto it in defeat.

"Tonight?!" Mina positively squawks, scrambling into a sitting position in her disbelief. "Uh, y/n, I do hope you haven't forgotten, but we have a show almost every night Saturday--"

"I know," you bemoan, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore the odd marks there-- you don't have the brain space to wonder how they even got up there in the first place. "The dinner will be finished in time, I'm not worried about that. I'm just... worried about what will happen during, you know? It's kind of stupid but... what if they hate me now? I didn't even tell them when I left, didn't give them an address to write me or a number to call..."

"Yeah, that was kind of a rude move," Mina says bluntly, "But I don't think they would invite you to dinner to catch up if they hated you, y'know? They were your best friends, they probably missed the hell out of you."

You ponder her words, unable to pick them apart with logic. "Maybe," you mutter, picking at a loose thread on your blouse."... I did miss them."

"See?" Mina says knowingly, giving you a look before falling back on the bed and reaching for the chunky romance novel that she has perched on the headboard above the bed.. "And who knows— you're a hot catch, they might end up returning those feelings and you might come out of this a lucky woman! Well, probably a bit sore in certain places, but lucky nonetheless—”

"MINA!"

The pillow you threw smacks her square in the face, but does nothing to muffle the cackle she lets out after. God, she's not the first choice to come to for advice, but to her credit you do feel a bit better now.

x- x - x

Seven o’clock that evening finds you hovering nervously outside the doors to Dana's Dinery, hand outstretched to take the handle but unable to follow through completely with the movement. For the moment, you're stuck in your thoughts, and your thoughts are stuck on the same thing that had plagued them earlier in the day.

What's going to happen when you walk in there? When you're seated at the table with them and in the process of catching up? You shouldn't be as fearful of it as you are, but you can't help it. The evolution your feelings for them undertook a few years ago aside, they were still very much your best friends. Their opinion of you... well it sucks, but it still matters to you.

Didn’t stop you from doing what you did though, did it?

Huffing and deciding to ignore the nasty little voice that is attempting to make an already stressful night even worse, you force your limbs into action and simply resign to bite the bullet. If they are upset with you, then being late to dinner certainly won’t help things.

“y/n! Over here!”

With how quickly they spot you, mere seconds after passing through the doorway, a part of you wonders if they saw you hovering outside like a coward. Shame flushes across your neck and ears at the thought, but you do your best to remain at least outwardly unaffected.

Over in the booth at the very end of the diner, nestled against the window and the wall, the two men who have been haunting your thoughts for more than a day sit. You recognise the booth— it’s your Corner, you always sat there with them, to the point where if the staff saw anyone else sit there when they knew you were coming, they’d politely usher them to a new seat. It makes something shift inside you to see them there again. You don’t feel like you’re in school again, but something else feels akin to that time…

It’s probably the butterflies.

Namjoon is grinning at you widely, waving his arm; he’s ditched the leather from yesterday and is now donning a fitted black button-up that brings a nice contrast against the sun-kissed hue of his skin, though his hair is still swept into its style somewhat half-heartedly. Seokjin next to him is in a tan knit turtleneck sweater, glasses perched on his nose and hair attended to much more neatly than the man next to him. Both men are looking at you as you approach, but their stares (especially Seokjin’s) are a little too intense for you to handle, and you end up looking away as you take a seat across from them.

The booth is less squeaky than you remember, but somehow just as plush. You place your purse and cardigan onto the red leather next to you, clasping your hands together and offering a tentative smile. The soft rock tumbling from speakers around the diner isn’t going to fill the lull in conversation for very long. “Hey, sorry to have kept you waiting…”

Seokjin raises a brow, and you know in that moment that they did indeed see you hovering outside the diner. You don’t have time to process the embarrassment that follows that realisation, though, before Namjoon begins speaking with a warm smile.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t,” he informs you, eyes glimmering like he’s just happy to have you here. It makes something painful throb in your chest. “And loosen up, would you? You’re sitting like you’re at a job interview.”

To your embarrassment, a brief internal examination of your posture tells you that he is right. Sheepishly, you allow the tension to drain from your body, leaning forward onto the table slightly. “Sorry,” you mumble, offering a smile. “Guess I’m just a bit wound up from being home. I forgot how chaotic it is here…”

To your surprise, Seokijn snorts; your fears that he was truly upset with you are dispelled somewhat as a lopsided grin tugs his plush lips, eyes meeting yours levelly. “Tell me about it. My mother had my aunt and the cousins over when I got home. I haven’t felt as exhausted as I did after that night in, well, years.”

You don’t notice the smile Namjoon shoots to the man beside him when he first speaks, but you do notice when he lets out a laugh and beams so brightly that his eyes almost close and something you completely forgot about makes an appearance. His dimples have always been a weak spot of yours, and you’re slightly horrified to find that glimpsing them now has led to a skipped beat in your chest and a flutter in your stomach.

It’s not looking very good for the state of your old feelings right now…

“You never unwind properly,” Namjoon says, somewhat chastising despite his playful tone. He doesn’t pursue it further, though. Instead, he turns to you with a soft smile. “So, y/n, how was college? If you have replaced us as best friends, I will never forgive you.”

You can’t help the laugh that tumbles from your throat at both his words and his face, Seokjin chuckling to himself in the corner. Still smiling, you tell him that no, you haven’t replaced them, and sort through the events of your first year for something they’d like to hear.

Just like that, and definitely much easier and less stilted than you feared it would be, the three of you seem to sink back into something like the old dynamic you used to share, conversation beginning to flow and laughter beginning to tumble. There are some small differences, of course. Namjoon, who used to be much more clumsy and prone to blushing in his fluster, now seems to have come into his own and his presence commands your attention whenever he speaks or gestures, each movement sure and with confidence. While Seokjin used to be the more blatant joker between the three of you, now he seems to sit back a bit, observing conversation contentedly until he sees the perfect opportunity to chime in and elicit a few laughs.

And then, there’s you.

Well, you suppose you haven’t changed all that much. When Ms. Cara comes around to take your order (amongst gushing about how grown up and handsome and beautiful the three of you look), you still order the same thing from the menu, go about eating it the same way (fries before burger, being sure to leave some so you can slip them under the bun), and feel the same butterflies running amok in your stomach as you did years ago. You know that you’ve changed a lot, an almost scary amount, but sitting here in this diner with the two men who used to be your best friends, you’re only realising just how much of you is the same.

“I still don’t know how you can eat that,” Namjoon says, pausing in scarfing his own dessert down to judge you for yours. “You always used to get it— aren’t you sick of it?”

“Hey!” Seokjin intercepts, pointing his spoon at Namjoon. “The Fun Sized Sundae with the Triple Sauce Special is a respectable choice of dessert, and I won’t have you shaming it when you’re just sitting there with pudding and custard!”

You chuckle at Seokjin’s avid defence of your choice— the two of you were the only ones with a big enough sweet tooth to be able to combat the sugary monster that is your choice of dessert. He hadn’t braved it tonight, though, opting instead for apple pie.

“I actually haven’t had it since I was last here,” you say, without even thinking. Another spoonful is already on its way to your mouth as you continue, “It’s one of the things I missed most after I—”

You cut yourself off, realising your blunder too late. The looks in their eyes tell you they know what you were about to say. After I left. Ah, how could you forget? You’ve been here over an hour and this is the first time it’s crossed your mind since you entered. You left— you. Not them, but you.

Your appetite suddenly begins to fade, and you place your spoon down as gently as you can. It still tinks against the bowl, but does little to break the tension beginning to seep into the air.

You clear your throat, growing a little antsy in your seat. Even as you ask, you’re unable to meet their eyes, “Ah, what time is it? We— I got a little carried away…”

The question had mostly been to dispel some of the awkwardness, but Namjoon’s response had you shooting up ramrod straight. “It’s five-to-nine.”

“Oh, shoot,” you don’t even think about the words escaping your mouth, just that way more time had passed than you thought and if you stay any longer then you’re going to be bordering dangerously close on being late for your other very important commitment tonight. “I— I have to go. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise how late it was.”

You hurry to gather your cardigan and purse, starting to shimmy out of the booth, when Seokjin speaks up, “Is everything alright? Where are you off to in such a rush? If you need, we can walk you—”

“No!” you burst, regret swallowing you moments later when you see how taken aback the two men are at your sudden rise in tone. “No, sorry, it’s okay. I just, um… I just have to pick up something, for Lisa’s party.”

“At nine o’clock at night?” Jin verifies, brows drawing down.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, voice small as you manage to finally get out of the booth and stand somewhat sheepishly at the end. “I’m so sorry, it was so lovely meeting you two again and catching up. I’ll, um… I’ll see you, at Lisa’s party.”

You barely allow them enough time to bid their own farewells before you’re turning on your heel and hightailing it out of there before one of them comes to their senses and offers to walk you again.

You definitely do not need one of your old best friends walking you to the entrance of a club.

A fifteen minute cab ride is what you choose instead, and it isn’t long before you’re slipping into the building from the back entrance and dashing through the halls.

“FINALLY,” Mina erupts dramatically when she catches sight of you bursting into the dressing room, brows raising so high they almost meet her bangs. “I almost thought you were going to stand us up, Miss Luna.”

Your eyes sweep over her form, alarm filling you at the fact she’s already mostly dressed, from her netted stockings to the many fluffy and feathery layers that she’ll be discarding on the stage tonight. She’s currently sitting at the dresser, putting the final touches on her makeup with small detail brushes.

“That lip colour is too orange,” you inform her, hastily rushing over to the chest that you know contains your outfit for tonight. Mina halts in her motions, staring at herself in the mirror for a long moment before she tilts her head back and lets out a loud, torturous groan.

“I knew it! Momo, you lied to me! I asked you if this colour was too orange or warm and you said—”

You shake your head, slinging the clothes you retrieved over your arm and making your way over to the screen in the corner to get changed. You feel a little bad for the girl currently on the receiving end of Mina’s whines, but on the other hand you’re now free to rush about and catch up to the rest of your co-performers.

Within the next ten minutes you’re dressed and ready to go, dropping into a seat next to Mina and reaching to begin powdering your face.

From the tingle of excitement beginning to thrum in the air, you can only assume it won’t be long now before the show begins.

x x x x

Burlesque. It’s something that you know from experience, something you’d sadly gained before you grew more skilled at hiding your profession from the judging eyes of others, has some quite divided views and opinions. Despite how open-minded and liberal as your parents are, you know even they would struggle to come to terms with the fact that their beloved daughter had moved away for college and somehow come to perform in burlesque theatres on the side.

You don’t even have a clear explanation as to how or why you’d ended up down this path, just that you had. Contrary to what a majority of the population would likely hope, you aren’t ashamed, and you don’t regret it. This is something you love, and you think part of the reason you had been so drawn to it in the first place was the promise of power nestled within a certain kind of anonymity.

Your act, after all, is a masquerade performed beneath the security of an intricate lace and silk colombina disguise.

When you’d first left, you’d felt… well, there wasn’t any other way to put it but rejected, and abandoned. You might have been the one that left, and it’s something you regret now, but at the time it was Namjoon and Jin who had grown distant from both each other and you. Coupled with their increasing popularity and the way their lives seemed to be picking up speed in the direction they’d always dreamed of, it made you realise that their world was getting a little too big for you, and in the scheme of their lives you no longer held a starring role.

So you’d packed up and moved away, and in the midst of your aimless moping in another city, you’d stumbled upon this… and from the first taste of empowerment it gave you in the wake of all you had been feeling, you quickly decided you weren’t going to be letting it go anytime soon.

And now here you are; an act with such high regard and admiration that you had been called to perform it in other cities. It was a stroke of fortune that one of the stops was your own hometown, at the same time as your sister’s engagement party no less. You had wondered at the time what the catch had to be, and now, of course, you know.

It’s that in an instance of divinely aligned misfortune, the two people you’d planned to avoid indefinitely happened to be here as well.

It’s been a few days since the night you spent catching up with them, and there is enough distance between then and now for you to have calmed significantly when thinking about it. It had been kind of weird, sneaking away from the diner to come perform that night. Even though years have passed, you’re still so used to telling them everything whenever you see them, that holding something back feels foreign, and oddly enough… you feel a little guilty. The first excuse that comes to your mind in your defence is that ‘they wouldn’t understand anyway’. You know that is baseless, though. Both of them have become popular and risen to fame not just because of their natural musical talent, but for the topics that their music so brazenly broaches.

The truth is that you know they wouldn’t judge you for anything you do, and you’re not quite sure why you’re so resistant to them knowing. The human mind is a mystery, and yours is no exception.

A slow, smooth saxophone melody brushes your ears, a lower note capturing your attention and bringing you back to the present moment. Amongst the faint tendrils of smoke that reach you from the seating area, an itch rises at your brow and you fight to contain it, not wanting to rub off the thin arch you’d drawn on so carefully earlier. It was always like this; you always got itchy before performing, for reasons unknown to you. One of your friends had theorised that it was due to nerves, or something similar. It drove your manager mad, because you’d ripped your costume pantyhose a few times while scratching your thighs in the past.

Mina’s act precedes yours, usually, and tonight isn’t any different. She’s good, and you can’t help but marvel as you watch her. Her movements are fluid, full of a certain zest and allure that mix into a single heady cocktail that has the crowd enraptured as she allows her skirts to drop ever so slowly with each smooth swing and sashay of her hips. When the ruffled fabric hits the floor there are hoots and whistles from the crowd, and Mina’s beaming face peeks over her shoulder to deliver a wink. The room eats it up.

It’s a special performance, tonight.

Due to confidentiality, none of the performers had been told exactly who was attending tonight, just that they were Very Important People, and they were to be shown the best performance they would ever see in their lives. It was an ambitious set of instructions, but you know that both yourself and the other girls in the show are some of the best in the business, so you aren’t too worried about meeting expectations. You plan to exceed them.

You always put effort into your appearance, but tonight you admit that you did try the tiniest bit harder than usual. Your hair is pulled back from your face, twisted and pinned into curls at the top of your head; the rest of it you simply allowed to hang to its natural length and shape, though you took care to make sure it was soft and silky enough to gleam beneath the stage lights. At Mina’s insistence, you’d allowed her to pin a few small glittery ornaments amongst the curls, and as you peek out and see just how full the room is, you find yourself thanking her mentally. It’s the little details that really pull together a performance and hammer home the effect it has on the audience, and it looks like a full house tonight that you’re going to wow. Though, none of the faces seem to jump out at you so far— you still don’t know who tonights VIPs are.

Even though tonight is meant to be a big, important night — as it had been emphasised to you so many times — you still find your thoughts wondering back to a certain two men and the reappearance of the feelings you’d once harboured for them. You’re conflicted, as anyone might expect of someone in your situation, but you can’t say you’re very fond of the feeling. Hence, despite your best efforts, your thoughts just keep coming back to your current predicament. Lisa’s party is tomorrow, and you know from yesterday’s visit to your home that your mother had already extended an enthusiastic invitation to both families on either side of the fence. So you know that there is absolutely no way that those two aren’t going to be there, since even if they hadn’t already expressed their intention of attending, their mother’s would drag them over by the ear.

You’re not sure why you’re still worrying about this. You already met and caught up with them! And it went well… or at least it did, until the topic of your abrupt disappearance from their lives was brought up.

Perhaps that is why you’re so conflicted still. That is an issue that has yet to be resolved.

When you tune back in to the moment and catch your manager sending you a whithering look, you shake your head and decide to try and ground yourself so that you’re not off with the fairies by the time your cue to perform rolls around. You bring your gaze back to the stage, finding that in the time you spent in your own head, Mina had managed to strip down to just her shelf brassiere and the panties and baby blue garter belt with straps that stretched over her shapely thighs and attached to the top of her stockings.

You get lost in the moment, watching as the spotlight follows her across the stage and illuminates each small gesture she makes that draws the audience further and further under her spell. Her hair is perfectly curled and with each flick of her head and bat of her lashes, the strands slide over her shoulder and bounce against her back. As she reaches for her final garment to discard, it isn’t long before the light fades in tandem with the last note of her song, and the audience gets only the barest glimpse of Mina’s almost bare form before the stage is blanketed in darkness. Cheers and applause break the beat of silence that follows, and then Mina is hurriedly rushing past you, beaming with pride and holding most of her discarded skirts bunched up to her chest. Soon, the applause fades out, the hollers nonexistent, and the stage is cleared.

Now, it’s your turn to wrap the audience around your finger.

Taking a deep breath and revelling in the light fluttering of your stomach that never seems to fade no matter how many shows you perform, you listen for the first few strumming notes of the song that accompanies your routine. When the low, bass riff of guitar finally brushes the air, you make your way slowly onto the stage and let yourself fall into the familiarity of the show.

It’s kind of ironic, you can’t help but think to yourself. Considering the events of this week, the song you’d chosen to tailor your routine to is kind of funny. For the first few years of their careers, you’d seen Namjoon and Seokjin simply go their separate ways. You thought that would be it, that your friendship had broken up for good, but to your complete and utter surprise, at the beginning of this year there had been a new record to grace the radio and enrapture young fans across the country. An unexpected collaboration between two of the biggest figureheads of the rock and rebellion movement that had started to sweep through the youth.

When you had first heard the song, you’d done a double-take. It wasn’t anything like the rapid, upbeat rock that came to be synonymous with Seokjin’s name, or the heavier, laidback tune that usually accompanied Namjoon’s records. The beat that lay beneath the lyrics was sultry, deep and dark and made your heart skip a beat and your stomach dip. However when the lyrics registered in your mind, you’d had to fight the urge to cry. They weren’t strictly sad, per se, but to you… they had spoken a little deeper. It felt paranoid to think it, but a part of you had to wonder at how… targeted… the song had seemed to be—

Was it made... for you?

You wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it aloud to anyone or even yourself, but you liked to think so. It helped, when you found yourself missing them and yearning for the way things had been. It soothed the traitorous aching of a heart that didn’t seem to remember that the choice to leave hadn’t been theirs, but rather yours.

In the version that accompanies your performance, there are no vocals. Even so, the beat is easily recognisable and as it begins to play, an excited murmur sweeps through the crowd. Something about it is a little odd, but currently your back is turned to the audience, so you don’t get to investigate the feeling. Instead, you let each note that enters the air and brushes against your skin to soak into your being, closing your eyes for the barest second to centre yourself before you feel the heat of the lights begin to grace your skin, and you start to slowly swing your hips.

It is only instruments that brush your ears now, but you can hear the opening lines of the song so clearly in your head you can’t help but mouth them in time.

We're part of the moonlight, Ain't a fantasy...

Can't breathe in the sunlight, Gotta hide your heart...

Following the rise and fall of the beat, you turn your head over your shoulder to deliver a sly smile and a wink, moving your hips all the while— a round of catcalls and surprised murmurs results. You are the only one of the performers to wear a mask after all, so you’re not surprised by the response. Turning back around, your ease yourself into the familiar motions of your routine and let the song and atmosphere carry you away.

At any other time, you would probably find it funny how second nature stripping yourself of your clothes has become. The silky gown that drapes over your shoulders and ends in faux fur ruffles that trail across the floor is the first to go, revealing the entirety of your stocking-clad legs through a sheer petticoat, and the corset and cushioned bandeau that hides a sheer, cheekily embroidered bralette beneath. The audience eats the reveal right up and at the enthusiastic response, your chest swells with pride. You’re smiling, but with a flick of your wrist you snap open a fan and use it to cover the bottom half of your face, leaving only your eyes to peer out at the crowd from behind the mask. You’d discovered early on that a little bit of mystery keeps them intrigued a little longer.

You don’t pay much mind to the audience as individuals; more often than not, when you perform they become a faceless blur. But as your routine goes on and your body follows each sultry move to the beat, one item of clothing discarded after the other, you find yourself paying a little more attention than you usually would.

It’s as the top part of your corset meets the floor and your sheer bralette is exposed that your eyes sweep over a certain portion of the room, and you realise very suddenly and abruptly who the guests of honour are tonight.

And you cannot believe the atrocity of your luck.

Two familiar faces return your gaze from the centre-back portion of the room, in one of the deluxe booths. It’s a wonder you can recognise them through the haze of smoke created by cigars and cigarettes, but you think that you’d be hard-pressed not to, at this point. Seokjin and Namjoon sit back comfortably in the booth with two unfamiliar men on either side of them, their eyes lit with a certain kind of intrigue and focused solely on you. For a heartbeat, your chest feels so tight you can’t take in a breath, stomach fluttering. Just barely, you manage to maintain your face and stop yourself from stumbling in your routine. The beginning of panic begins to bubble beneath your lungs, but in a split-second it is stopped in its tracks as something seems to snap inside you and you come to a realisation.

You’re wearing a mask. They don’t know it’s you.

It strikes you again, the way they eyes are trained on your every move, and it knocks you breathless once more, though for a different reason this time. Exhilaration begins to course through you— you feel powerful. When you were with them the other day, the weight of the knowledge of your wrongs and your guilt held you on unequal ground. But now, here in the heady allure and smoky seduction in this room, you have them in the palm of your hands and the dynamic is switched, if only for a moment.

With barely a moment having lapsed since your initial realisation, you slip right back into the next move in your dance, each shift of a limb accompanied with just that little bit more oomph than before. This is their song, the song you suspect they wrote for you, and since you don’t think you will ever be able to forget it, or them, you will make sure they won’t forget this.

One fluid movement leads to the next, the beat picking up ever so slightly as you bend, legs straight and behind pointed at the crowd, before easing your way back up and unclasping the hooks that keep your corset together. When it falls, you turn and bend once more, this time facing the audience so that they see it when you push your breasts together and wriggle your shoulders, a cheeky wink accompanying the resulting jiggle of your chest.

More hoots and hollers, as expected of an audience that seems to completely consist of men tonight, and you’re pleased to see that the two guests of the hour aren’t completely unaffected either. Namjoon is leaning forward slightly, gaze intense, and Seokjin’s eyes have narrowed in focus as they follow you across the stage.

Following each note in the song, you strut across the stage, and when there is a pause before it picks up once more, you drop to your knees and reach forward to the floor, arching your back with your behind to the audience again. Using the strength you’ve built in your thighs over the years, you slide one leg up and turn yourself around, using the momentum to slip into an abridged version of the splits. While in this position you bend backwards, one arm reaching back to unravel the ribbon that keeps your flimsy bralette up. When you feel it come loose, you bring your hands to each piece and make a faux-shocked expression, ever so slowly peeling the sheer fabric down and revelling in the way the room is watching with bated breath.

Your breasts bounce as you yank the bralette all the way down, the tassels that were hidden beneath and keep the barest remainder of your dignity intact jiggling with the movement. Using the cheers that result as a distraction of sorts, you deftly remove the bralette with one hand and discard it slyly on the floor, bringing yourself out of the splits but moving to another position on your knees, sliding your legs apart. There are a few soft gasps and sharp inhales that echo from the front of the crowd, and you can tell from the way their eyes are focused on the inside of your thighs that they’ve glimpsed the pretty picture inked into your skin there. You don’t leave their gazes to wonder too long though, reaching up to pinch the dangling ornaments of your tassels and using them to lift your breasts. You ignore the low, pleasurable tingle that shoots through you at the sensation of tugging on your nipples, fighting to keep your legs open, and release the tassels from your grip. Your breasts bounce generously once more, cheers sounding across the room at the sight. You deliver a wink, before bringing yourself off of the floor in a fluid movement, hearing the final notes of the song beginning to play and a low, sexy saxophone drawl emerging to intertwine with the rest.

The end of your routine passes in a blur, your mind slipping into a haze as you simply move, barely aware of the way you dance and sashay across the stage. A feathery boa situated strategically to the side becomes incorporated in your final moves, allowing the audience peeks at what they can’t have and drawing them further and further in until the music hits a crescendo and with it, you fall into your final pose.

The last thing you see, as the lights begin to dim and the crowd erupts into applause, is the way Seokjin and Namjoon’s eyes are boring holes into you, transfixed on the place where your hip meets the inside of your thigh and the intricate depiction of a crescent moon and a rose that are inked into the skin there.

x x x

“...sweetheart? Is there a reason why you haven’t gone outside yet? Everyone is by the pool with those wonderful finger foods your Aunt brought with her!”

You startle at the sound of your mother’s voice, almost dropping the grape that had been en route to your mouth as you stared into nothing, rooted in place in the middle of the kitchen. The day of your sister’s engagement party has come, faster than you were able to prepare for, and now that you’re no longer on the stage staring down your two ex-best friends from behind a mask, you’ve lost a lot of your gall. In fact, it could even be argued that your spine had slipped right out of your body the second you stepped off the stage that night. It’s the early afternoon, and Namjoon and Seokjin have been here for about… perhaps half an hour. You don’t claim to be perfect, but the way you’ve been skulking about and hiding in the kitchen is pathetic even to you.

It’s just… how do you face them after that? They’ve technically seen you almost completely in the nude! If your grandmother ever caught wind of the fact that a man had seen you without clothes then she’d marry you off immediately— not to mention if she ever found out Seokjin and Namjoon, of all men, had seen you like that, she would have an absolute field day!

It was bordering on disheartening, but at this point, even after all this time, you’re pretty sure most of your family loves those two more than they love you.

“I, um… just wanted some grapes?” you blink, offering a sheepish smile that you hope your mother doesn’t find suspicious. That is quickly shot down when you see her brow raise and her bright cherry lips quirk to the side, eyes flicking to the empty glass by the grapes that reeks of gin. What can you say, you thought downing a glass would help you cope, but you’d been wrong.

“Uhuh…” Your mother says, folding her arms and leaning her hip against the bench; the fullness of her skirt swishes behind her in an echo of the movement. “Well, now that you’ve eaten half of the vine, maybe go outside? Mrs Kim has been asking where you are, I think she missed you almost as much as we did.”

Your brows furrow, “Wait, which Mrs K—”

“Off you go, sweetheart!”

You don’t even get to finish whatever you were saying because your mother moves into the kitchen solely to chase you out of it. You drag your feet as she herds you out— or at least, you do before she reaches for the kitchen towel by the oven and starts twisting it.

“I’m going!” you promptly flee after grabbing a handful of grapes to-go, holding up a proverbial white flag. Your mother is a little too good at turning mundane household items into a weapon. Now she’s put the fear of god back in you, you find yourself thinking that it’s no wonder your father has always been so well-behaved compared to the stories some of your friends would tell you about their own parents.

It’s a beautiful day, really. It’s part of the reason you were annoyed at yourself for hiding inside, even if it was only for about half an hour. The sun is out, the sky is clear, and while the sunlight warms your skin there is a cool breeze every so often that keeps you from overheating. Some of your younger cousins are in the pool, and have probably been there since around ten minutes after they arrived an hour or so ago. You’d barely gotten a hug in greeting before they were off, the backyard pool held a little more favourably in their eyes for the moment than their own flesh and blood.

They’re cute, though, so you decide that perhaps just this once you will let them get away with it. You’re going to rain down a storm of kisses on them before they leave, though. No one ignores you for an inanimate object and gets away with it!

As you exit the house and step beneath the sun, the skin of your arms and lower legs warming instantly, you just barely manage to dodge as one of your cousins comes bolting past you, followed barely a second later by his mother, your aunt, who is hotter on his heels than you might have anticipated for a woman her age.

“Jackson! You better get back here with those patties, boy, or you’re gonna regret it!”

You know you shouldn’t laugh, because it will encourage the bad behaviour, but the sight is so funny you just can’t help the way you burst into giggles, shaking your head and turning in the direction of the large gazebo that is rooted by the pool and is currently sheltering most of the guests from the sun. A quick scan also reveals that the lady of the hour, your sister, is over there too. Your eyes narrow when they catch sight of the champagne glass in her hand; hopefully she’s forgotten any and all things you’ve told her in confidence recently, or else they’re about to become public knowledge.

“Ah, y/n, just a moment!”

You pause in your steps, turning just in time to catch in your arms the plate of small pastries your mother shoves into your hold.

“Wh—” you don’t get to question her, as she simply flashes you a bright grin and nods her head to the table. “Take these over there, will you? And make sure Jin and Joon get some, I made their favourite!”

And then she is off, shooting back into the house and leaving you on the grass. At the delicious smell that wafts up to your nose, you send a cursory look down at the plate and hum in recognition,ignoring the way your mouth salivates. Ah, these are their favourites. This plate probably won’t last very long when you bring it over there.

You’re on your way once more, now with the plate of sweets in tow, and the closer to the gazebo you grow you catch the sound of the radio, on one of the channels most popular with the youth and playing one of Lisa’s favourite songs. She’s dancing, dragging her friend Rose with her, giggling like a madwoman as she does so. It brings a smile to your face without you even realising.

“Oh, y/n! There you are! Where have you been? We thought you might have gotten lost!”

Your attention is drawn to the side of the gazebo closest to the pool, where a few people are lounging in the chairs there, beers and glasses with clear, bubbling contents that you can only assume is gin and tonic on the table and in hand. The older woman who called you over with such a teasing tone is Mrs Kim— well, one of them. Both the Kims are here, and you realise belatedly that of course, their sons are too. It was Seokjin’s mother that noticed you, and as you make your way over you see Namjoon’s mother next to her, and the two men in question in the lounging chairs opposite. They seem to light up at your arrival, and you try not to think about the way their reaction makes your stomach flutter. You aren’t here for them, you’re here for their mothers!

“Sorry,” you apologise, leaning and placing the plate down on the small table in the middle of the seats. Straightening, you dust your hands against the patterned skirt you have buttoned over your matching swimsuit. “I did get a bit lost, there’s so many kids here right now I thought I might have turned up in the wrong house.”

Both women erupt into laughter at your words, and you take the opportunity to smile at Jin and Namjoon, offering a timid wave. They return it, before following your finger as it points to the plate and they realise you’ve brought them their favourite baked goods.

“Cinnamon scrolls!” Namjoon croons, material of his navy button-up creasing as he hastily leans forward to swipe one off the plate. “And they’re shaped like little fish, like she always used to do! I can’t believe your mother made them today.”

“Of course,” you say, snorting lightly. “She’d do anything for her two favourite sons. She made it because they’re your favourites.”

The two of them beam in pride at that, before proceeding to consume the plate of sweets.

“Ah, and she sent you too, sweet y/n! Our favourite daughter! And even more stunning than I remember, right Soo-ah?”

Seokjin’s mother, Jia, hastily reclaims the conversation and succeeds in making you flush pink at her words. Jisoo, Namjoon’s mother, instantly nods, her short curls bouncing with the action, and shoots you a devious grin.

“It’s been so long since we saw you last, y/n. You didn’t get a husband while you were away, right? We still want you as our daughter-in-law, you know.”

This time it’s not only you that feels the embarrassment heat your cheeks— to your side, both men choke on the mouthful of scroll they’d been in the process of devouring, Seokjin’s face going bright red as he brings his fist to hit his chest and attempts to dislodge the pastry. Amongst his own struggling, Namjoon reaches to smack his friend on the back, clearing his own throat.

“Ah, no…” you say, awkward and smoothing your skirt to distract yourself; it feels like the eyes of the entire party are on you, despite the fact you know better. “I’ve just been focusing on school…”

“Oh, tell me, dear, do you still do those wonderful paintings? I still have that one you gifted me for my birthday before you left.”

Namjoon follows up on his mother’s question, shooting you a smile that somehow is a combination of both bashful and proud. It makes a dimple pop in his cheek. “She still has it displayed above the dining table, actually. She nearly killed me when I almost knocked it by accident a few days ago.”

Jisoo doesn’t even bat a lash, smiling at you brightly— though a bit drunkenly, if the almost-finished glass in her hand is anything to go by. You’re surprised— you know from all the dinner parties your three families held over the years that despite their petite stature and classy, ladylike countenance, both Kim women can outdrink their husbands and your father. You wonder just how much they must have had already to have such silly grins on their faces.

“I do!” You answer, feeling your chest warm in affection. It was silly to have ever doubted it, but it made you feel somewhat eased to know that you haven’t lost your place in their lives despite your departure. “But, actually, while away I actually took up sculpting. I’ve been doing that a bit more…”

“Oh, are you talking about your works, sweetheart? Ah Jisoo, Jia— they’re absolutely wonderful! I have photos that she brought, here let me go get them—”

You feel heat flush to the tips of your ears, greeting the arrival of your mother with an embarrassed look. “Alright, let’s not bash ears about it—”

“Oh!” Jia and Jisoo perk up at your mother's exclamation, and you shrink into your seat as you watch her reach into one of the hidden pockets in her skirt and pull out a handful of small photos that you’d printed to show her. Your hubris seems to have come to nip you in the bottom. “I forgot I popped them in my pocket to show you earlier! Here, see— isn’t she just so talented? My baby girl must have been the absolute queen of her department.”

All three parents are oblivious to the way you’re shrinking into your seat in mortification, but Seokjin and Namjoon are anything but. They’re grinning at you, relishing in your discomfort much like they used to.

“Hey, y/n, could you get us another drink? I’d go get it, but your mother actually told me earlier I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen until she’s finished with the pastries…”

You shoot him a grateful look, shooting to your feet and slipping out of the little seating area. “Yup, doing that! Getting drinks! Be right back, don’t wait up!”

Though you doubt any of the adults heard you, they didn’t wait anyway. In fact, in the time it took you to head into the kitchen and bring back three drinks on a tray, your mother has since downed her glass and has started on another topic of conversation. Thankfully, the victim is no longer you.

“Oh, Namjoon, where are your peepers?!” Your mother gasps suddenly as you return, pointing at the man beside you. There’s the barest slur accenting her words, and you resign yourself here and now to a night of loose-lipped blabbering from both your sister and your mother. “I’m not goin’ crazy am I? You used to run into things all the time when you were a kid ‘cause you were blind as a bat!”

Namjoon winces, but Seokjin bursts into laughter. Glad for the conversational shift, you take one of the last remaining chairs and settle down, your own drink now in hand. Namjoon reaches for the refill you had brought him, using the opportunity to hide his face, and only when Jin has settled down does he manage to wipe his eyes and claim his own glass.

“I’m tryin’ out something new,” Namjoon answers after a hearty gulp, clearing his throat. He reaches to scratch the back of his neck bashfully. “Lenses, I think they’re called. They’re convenient, especially when I’m performing, but they’re expensive and so dang fragile I’m gonna need to take out insurance on them or somethin’.”

“Isn’t this your last set?” Seokjin queries knowingly, laughing as Namjoon grimaces. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back in the peepers you know and love by the end of the week. If he doesn’t break them, he loses them.”

You half expect Namjoon to be irked but he just sighs with a small smile, apparently having made peace by now with the clumsiness and two left feet that have haunted him since childhood.

Your mother decides to tease Namjoon a little more, before she changes the topic and starts gushing about their career, and how she can hardly go a day or two without hearing one of their songs on the radio. All three women are beaming with pride, and though slightly bashful about it you can see Namjoon and Seokjin’s chests swell slightly.

Lisa, the star of today’s show, happens to walk by right when your mother is interrogating them about where they’ve chosen to settle down for the meantime, and eagerly joins the conversation.

“Ah, cool cats like you must be absolutely rolling in dough by now! How many mansions do you have already?” Lisa laughs, looking for a free seat and simply sitting on you when she doesn’t find one. She’s quite a bit heavier than you remember, and you feel your breath wheeze out of you at her abrupt drop onto your legs.

“Unfortunately, none,” Namjoon laughs, gesturing to his mother, “Though, the pressure is on. I think ‘Ma wants a nice place to retire before my career is over.”

Jisoo takes a sip to hide her sheepish grin, crossing one leg over the other and smoothing her skirt afterwards. Seokjin lets out a soft chuckle before he turns to your mother and answers the question she’d asked earlier.

“We have a sweet pad back in the fat city, actually. We both were leanin’ to the same penthouse with the best view but in the end decided to compromise and split it.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” you mother exclaims, eyes alight. The last time she’d looked this excited was when you told her you were staying for the whole week. “It’s so good to hear that the two of you stuck together even though you’re such big news now!”

Guilt. You bring your glass to your mouth and take a large gulp in an effort to drown it, the tart fizz of gin and tonic barely disguising the familiar curl of guilt in your gut. Perhaps if you ignore it, it will go away.

“Oh, speaking of— that latest record the two of you released together, it really does razz my berries like nothin’ else!” Lisa gushes, throwing a hand out to wriggle her fingers for emphasis. “It’s real hip and different from all your other tracks. Trust you two to be settin’ trends!”

Starting to get slightly tipsy now from the generous downing of your drink, you can’t help how you chime in with little thought, “Oh, I really do love that one. It’s perfect to dance to.”

“A dance?” Lisa queries, turning to pin you with a confused look over her shoulder. You realise your slip up in that moment, when you glance to the side and see both men looking at you with unreadable expressions. “It’s a bit slow for a dance, I think.”

“You can dance to anything,” Namjoon swoops in and unknowingly saves you, shrugging nonchalantly. The expression that was present on his face earlier is gone now, but it takes a split second longer to fade from Seokjin’s features.

Sinking into your chair as much as you can with Lisa’s weight pinning your legs down, you bring the glass to your mouth once more.

Slip-up aside, you can only hope it won’t be as difficult to get through this party as you thought.

x - x - x

The day has progressed nicely and as daylight begin to bleed into night, your father emerged to help man the barbecue and dinner was served — it was a somewhat rowdy affair, given how much alcohol the party had consumed up until that point. After eating their fill, most of your relatives and small cousins went home — they have a strict bedtime to uphold, after all. You made good on your promise to smother the little ones in kisses as they left, and it was with pink cheeks and bright grins that they bid you farewell.

It’s getting well into the night at this point, and only a few guests are left. Lisa is inside with a cluster of her friends and her fiance, your mother and the Kims are underneath the gazebo with their husbands— this has left you by the pool with Namjoon and Seokjin. They’d gotten a little bold earlier and when you’d teased them about something, you’d had an unceremonious reunion with the pool. It was startlingly similar to what occured right before your mother took that photo hanging in your room, and made an odd mixture of affection, nostalgia, and something a little bit bittersweet settle in your abdomen.

Just as it had the other time you’d met with the two, any tension and awkwardness had quickly melted away as the evening progressed. A few drinks in your systems and anything and everything is now water under the bridge. All too easily the three of you had fallen back into the same comfortable, playful air that you’d always known—

That you’d missed so much.

You’re lounging now in one of the rubber duck-shaped floaties your mother bought recently (she’d made you blow it up, gushing all the while about what a bargain she’d gotten on it and the companion swan floatie). Your head is more than pleasantly fuzzy, and you decide as you finish this glass that perhaps you’re done drinking for the night. You kick your legs lazily, feeling the heavy material of your skirt swish in the water as you propel yourself around the pool. Normally, the skirt is meant to come off before you take a dip. However given the nature of your entry into the pool, you hadn’t exactly had an opportunity to discard it.

“No, no— I remember it cleary— clearly.” Seokjin waves his hand, finger pointing at Namjoon— the man in question is cackling in the deep end, falling off the swan floatie that he was attempting to climb onto. Both men are at the point in the night where they are beginning to slur their words, and to be fair you’re not much different. You’d lost count of how many times either of them have slipped up in their words. “It wasn’t me who fell and broke y/n’s coffee table. From what I remember, it was your buttocks that hit it.”

“But you pushed me!” Any attempts on Namjoon’s behalf to hide his grin and even pretend to be angry prove to be fruitless. He has the same dumb dimpled grin on his face that you remember from your teen years. “It was uncalled for, assault!”

“You!” Seokjin’s mouth drops open, his legs kicking in the pool in his outrage. Namjoon’s eyes almost disappear as he cackles, throwing his head back. It melds into the sounds of the festivities over by the gazebo, where the radio and Lisa’s own gleeful laughter echo into the night. “y/n can confirm, it was Joon, right?!”

You put your arms behind your head, pretending to lounge back on the floatie despite how tentative your position is on the slippery rubber. “I don’t recall, suddenly I can’t think.”

“Yah!”

Your jubilant laughter means that you don’t see it when Seokjin slips completely into the pool, diving beneath the water to where you’re lounging and coming up beneath you. A scream rips from your throat as you're flipped from the floatie, tumbling backwards and into the water with a hefty splash to boot.

When you come back up, gasping breaths above the surface turning into laughter, it takes a moment for realisation to reach you through the sluggish fog in your brain that your skirt has detached. Still laughing, you catch sight of it and reach for it where it’s floating across the pool, recognising the sound of the two males guffawing behind you. When you slip on the bottom of he pool for a moment and get water up your nose, you decide that perhaps it’s time for you to call it a night soon.

“Woah, bubs, are you okay?”

When you slip again, a strong arm catches around your waist like an iron bar, holding you to the surface. Blinking the water out of your lashes, you turn to see the owner; the breath is startled out of you as your gaze meet the dark depths of Seokjin’s own. His hair is still dripping, an inky wayward mess atop his head, and the t-shirt he’d donned as he first entered the pool so long ago is clinging to each line and plane of his body.

For a moment, yearning and a feeling all too familiar takes up the space of your lungs, and you find that you can’t breathe.

“I think… I think it’s time to call it a night,” you manage to say, a new kind of lightheadedness emerging to addle your thoughts. You turn, breaking the hold Seokjin’s gaze has on you to seek out the edge of the pool. You feel his eyes bore holes into you for a moment longer, before two hands come to grip your waist and he moves you through the water to the rim of the pool.

“Probably for the best,” Seokjin says, grip tightening in a split-second of warning before he heaves you up and onto the brick that lines the poolside. Off-kilter and unexpecting of the movement as you were, you have to balance yourself with your legs, which almost end up smacking Seokjin in the side. Through your inebriation, you don’t realise the way your thighs have parted in the process, the detached skirt in your hand doing little to cover you where it is laying sopping wet on the brick.

“You’re being almost as clumsy as—” You’re also so busy trying to quell the fluttering in your stomach and find your bearings you also don’t notice the way Seokjin’s eyes move unwittingly down your form, falling to your thigh at eye-level. “...Namjoon.”

You blink, eyes finally focusing but heartbeat still thrumming in your ears.

“I don’t know if I will ever be that clumsy,” you manage to say, as comprehensible as possible. Seokjin’s hands leave your waist as you stumble to your feet, wringing out your skirt before attempting to button the drenched garment back up above your hips.

“Hey!”

At Namjoon’s outcry, you grin and bring your hand up in a wave.

“I’ll see you guys later,” you drunkenly promise, completely forgetting that in a few days, you’ll be out of this town and out of their lives once more. “Goodnight, you two.”

They return the sentiment, and you grab a towel from one of the poolside chairs, wrapping it around yourself and making your way back in. You miss the way that their eyes follow you as you leave their sight and reenter the warmth and light of your home.

x - x - x - x

The night has drawn to a close, and the two men have long since climbed from the pool and dried off with the fluffy towels your mother so generously laid out for them before she got too tispy. A sharp look from their own mothers reminded them earlier that there are still plates to clear and things to tidy, so despite being guests they do their best amongst the alcohol-induced fog clouding their minds to help clean up the aftermath of Lisa’s engagement party.

As they do so, the same thing is true for both of them: there is a lot on their minds.

Seokjin had to turn to Namjoon earlier to confirm what he’d seen, and when he saw the man in question already looking at him with wide eyes, he knew he hadn’t just drunkenly imagined it. They both saw it, the glimpse of a strikingly familiar picture peeking from the inside of your thigh. They’d seen that very same tattoo in the very same place just a few nights ago, only last time the owner had remained a masked mystery. Now, they’d glimpsed the same image on the body of their childhood friend, the girl they’d both fallen in love with and subsequently drifted apart over only years ago because they were young and jealous and stupid. But, things are different now; they’re now only two of those things, and after they made up over a year ago their friendship is stronger than ever, in… more ways than one.

But despite how much has changed over the years, there is still one thing that has remained constant; and that is their feelings for you.

Truthfully, after not seeing you for so long, they had started to think perhaps they were finally getting over you. Impossible as it had seemed, considering how smitten they were. A cold realisation washed over them the second they saw you again, though, that those feelings hadn’t disappeared like they had suspected, but simply remained dormant. Seeing you at the diner and finally getting to catch up after being apart so long, missing you so much, had pretty much cemented that. When they’d returned to their hotel room after, they didn’t need to say a word and only shared a look to know they had both come to the same conclusion.

They were both irrevocably, pathetically, undoubtedly still in love with you, even after all these years.

Then had come the show.

It was the reason they’d returned to this town, technically. An important friend of theirs had invited them both to celebrate the success of their latest record and talk about future opportunities; the location happened to be a club currently hosting a highly regarded burlesque set. They’d felt the second the final masked performer had come on stage that there was something odd, something special about her. She had used their song, on her thigh had been a tattoo that tickled something in the back of their minds, and there was something in the way she moved that had been so jarringly familiar, but neither had been able to pin where they had seen her before.

Until tonight, that is.

It hadn’t been an intentional reveal on your part, but there on your thigh had been the exact same tattoo they’d glimpsed in the club, and they’d known the second they saw it that it wasn’t a common design. At first, on the night, Seokjin thought that it might have struck them because it was drawn similarly to how you always used to doodle moons on all of your schoolbooks, and now it all made sense.

The only thing left to consider is, what do they do now that they know?

“Oh, my boys— my precious, helpful, lovely boys!”

The two men turn in tandem, easily catching sight of your mother as she stumbles her way over to them. They were in the process of moving some of the plates to the kitchen before they heard her drunken cooing, and Seokjin finds himself thanking the heavens they’d put them down quickly because in the next second your mother is throwing her arms around them and they’re being yanked down to her height from the sheer strength of her grip.

“I missed you two, we all missed you two,” she blubbers, hugging them close like she’s worried they might slip away into the night the second she loosens her hold. A second shy of suffocating them, she finally releases her grip, and they straighten with warm faces. Namjoon knows without even having to check that he’s got a real goofy grin on his mug right now.

“We missed you too,” Seokjin says, and he means it. Your family and Namjoon’s family are both pretty much his own at this point, and he’d found himself missing every single member while he was away. Each time he returned home, he was sure to visit the other two houses at the end of the cul-de-sac, though the times he’d been able to actually make his way back to his home town were unfortunately few and far between. The same is the case for Namjoon, as he knows, except likely a bit worse since he knows Namjoon has always been a real Mummy’s boy.

“But I doubt it was as much as we missed you!” Your mother argues, and it makes both men smile. The next few words to escape her mouth knock the expression straight off their faces, though. “y/n especially. Oh, I remember she was so heartbroken when you three started growing apart. I think part of the reason she left was to get away from it. The way she used to talk about you boys…” Her gaze slips to the side, eyes slightly hazy in recollection. “I thought for sure that she was going to end up marrying one of you.”

They don’t even get a good second to unpack that, before the haze leaves your mother’s eyes and she is giggling, leaning forward with a cheeky glint in her eyes that they know for sure they’ve seen in your own. She brings her hand up to shield her mouth as she whispers in a voice that is not at all as quiet as she likely thinks it is, “It’s a bit improper, but I think she used to like both of you.”

Namjoon chokes on his own spit, and Seokjin’s mouth falls slack. “What?”

Your mother merely giggles, leaning back and spinning on her heel. “Thank you so much for your help, boys, but you ought to be on your way! Your mothers are about to head home and neither of them are walking in a very straight line.”

She halts, turning over her shoulder to shoot them a wide grin. “I’m glad you two came. Thank you.”

And then she is gone, and a blanket of silence falls over the kitchen. Seokjin and Namjoon turn their heads, locking gazes.

Well, at least now they know what to do.

x — x — x

You swear there is something odd in the air of the club this evening.

It’s something subtle, and none of the other girls seem to have noticed it; they continue as always, tittering away in the dressing rooms and giggling amongst themselves when one of them makes a joke that probably shouldn’t be repeated outside the room. It’s the last night you will be performing here, and also the last night you will be staying. You were planning on making a quick visit home tomorrow morning to say farewell to your parents and congratulate your sister once more, before being on your way. You hadn’t decided yet whether you were going to go out of your way to track down Seokjin and Namjoon to say goodbye to them as well, but the idea of it… well, it sets your belly alight with nerves. You have no idea what you would say, and you know — you know— in your gut that doing it would revive the elephant in the room that you’ve all been ignoring up until now.

But if you don’t, then you’ll be doing the exact same thing you did last time, and this time around you don’t know if you’ll get their forgiveness, let alone deserve it.

By this point in the evening, you’ve already slipped into your costume and powdered your face. Since you wear a mask while on stage, you don’t really need to apply any heavy makeup around your brows and eyes; you usually settle for accentuating them naturally.

Mina has disappeared since you last saw her, which is odd since she usually lingers to talk your ear off about any handsome faces she might spy in the crowd as the room beyond the stage begins to fill. You’d started to look for her earlier, seeking a distraction from the depressing inner monologue you have running, but hadn’t managed to find her. This means that for the past half hour or so you’ve been left to your own devices, fiddling with different parts of your dress and costume like a child twiddling their thumbs in the principal’s office. Part of that time, you spend trying to ignore the events of last night and any feelings that may have resurfaced as a result of your return to this town. For the rest of it, you attempt to think about what you’re going to do tomorrow when the rapidly-approaching hour comes when you have to leave again. God, where on earth did Mina get off to? You’re going insane here.

Oddly enough, it’s her that finds you a few minutes before the show is set to start. By this point, it’s a wonder you haven’t torn your hair out of it’s meticulous styling.

“Where did you pop off to?” you ask her before she even has a chance to say hello. She raises her brows, laughing at your rapid questioning.

“Big boss wanted me for something,” she supplies, cocking her hip and resting a hand there. “Actually, I was asked to pass on a message to you.”

The confusion must be evident on your face, because Mina is quick to wave her hand. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad— though it is a bit odd. He just asked me to tell you to meet him in one of the private rooms in the VVIP section. I think it was the very last one…?”

That is odd, considering she’d apparently just come from meeting him. Private shows aren’t something you do, so you can’t think of a reason why the big boss would ask you to meet him there.

“Huh, ok. So soon before the show…?” you ask, just to be sure. You don’t have your mask on you right now, so you need to calculate how long it’s going to take you to return and get it. Mina shrugs, nodding.

“I suppose so. Don’t worry,” she smiles, something indecipherable yet oddly devious entering her gaze. “You won’t be there long enough to mess anything up. The show will go on, Miss Luna.”

You could almost swear there is something hidden in her words, but don’t have the time or the thought to dwell on it. Instead you return her smile and turn to be on your way; the VVIP rooms are on the other side of the establishment, and you don’t want to keep the big boss waiting. You’d only met him once, the owner of this club, and he didn’t strike you as anything in particular. The only thing you’d thought to note is that he smoked perhaps a few too many cigars, because his office was almost always filled with curling, coiling smoke that leaked into the hall each time you moved past. But he was quite mild-mannered and polite as far as men in this business go, so you’re not particularly concerned for your wellbeing as you make your way to meet him.

It takes a little longer than anticipated, since you ran into one of your co-performers and they cornered you for help with their outfit, but finally you’re arriving in the second-floor wing that houses the VVIP rooms. Instantly, it’s evident where you are. The carpet is a little more plush, the wallpaper a little more maintained, and the hall decorated a little nicer than the rest of the place. Spotting the room on the end, you make your way down there and knock on the door thrice before grasping the handle and easing it open.

“Mr. Leigh? What did you want to t—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat before it even has a chance to reach the tip of your tongue, feet freezing mid-step as your eyes fall upon the occupants of the room. For once, you don’t have any sort of instinct that kicks in to save you; you simply stand and stare with wide eyes.

“Took you long enough, bubs.” Seokjin straightens from where he had been leaning back against the plush crimson leather of the circular lounge. “We were beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”

A myriad of thoughts suddenly flood the blank space in your brain, all in contention with each other. Oh no, they’ve seen you— no, you have a mask, they don’t know who you are— no, you don’t have your mask—

Dressed in your performing attire and standing before Seokjin and Namjoon, in one of the VVIP rooms in the club where they attended your show, you aren’t a faceless dancer. You’re y/n, and it feels like they can see every single bit of you there is to see.

You don’t even know where to begin.

“I…” You attempt to say something, anything, but your tongue has suddenly turned to lead in a pact with your stomach, sinking down and refusing to dance for your words.

It takes you a moment to realise as you watch them straighten, but neither of them look surprised. It leads you to believe that somehow they figured it out on their own, though you have no idea how. You don’t really have the presence of mind to ask them right now, either. In fact, it could even be argued that you’re almost panicking.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Namjoon speaks up, offering you a smile that holds neither judgement nor disdain. “We wanted to catch you before you inevitably skipped town without saying goodbye.”

That stung, just as much as the guilt that struck you for the truth of his words. You’d been contemplating it, leaning towards it even, but suddenly you feel you have to defend yourself.

“I hadn’t decided that yet,” you say quietly. You let the door fall shut behind you, silently acquiescing to the unspoken demand weighing heavy in the air.

“Don’t lie.”

Your eyes shoot even wider, if possible, at the sound of Seokjin of all people snapping at you. His tone was sharp, and you half expect him to look furious, but when your eyes flick to his face it gives nothing away. When he continues in the next second, though, you see it in the depths of his eyes. Hurt.

“We used to tell each other everything, back then.” It could have been a trick of your mind, but you swear you heard his voice break slightly. “I don’t want that to change. So no lies tonight, y/n. We’re going to talk as adults, openly and honestly.”

For reasons beyond you, something about the promise woven through his tone makes you nervous. A tremor fights to shudder its way down your spine; for a moment, you feel akin to a small, cornered forest animal, even though they are the ones sitting against a wall and you are in the open. You don’t know what to say.

Namjoon steps in, saving you from fumbling for a response as he always seems to do. “You don’t have to stand there, ready to bolt, you know. You can come sit down.”

You shake your head, suddenly recalling your commitments outside this room and feeling relief flood you at the realisation that you have an excuse to remove yourself from this situation you’d tried so hard to avoid. “I can’t. I have to go p—”

“We already talked it over with your boss, he was happy to take you out of the performance tonight. It’s okay, the others know too.”

You deflate, looking at Namjoon with a sinking feeling in your stomach. He doesn’t hold your attention all that long, though, before the sound of Seokjin’s voice brings your gaze to him once more.

“Why did you leave? Without even saying goodbye, or telling us where you went?” You feel rooted to the spot, pinned first by the weight of Seokjin’s gaze and then his words as they slam into you, unfiltered.

“Hyung.” You think you hear Namjoon murmur softly, giving the man next to him a pointed look. Seokjin is unphased, looking at you expectantly, “Be honest.”

It’s just as panic begins to seep into the bottom of your lungs that anger sparks and sets it alight, transmuting it to something red and hot in your chest.

“You want me to be honest?” you ask, heat beginning to colour your voice and sharpen the tip of your tongue. “I left because of you— both of you. I don’t know if something happened between you or if I just wasn’t enough, or you felt I was holding you back, but you drew away and you left me. You both left me before I ever left you.”

You see it the second your words enter the air like a whip, the hurt and guilt slipping across their features. Anger bubbles in your throat, stings your eyes, and urges you to let loose everything else rising to the tip of your tongue, “I left because I couldn’t handle the pain of my two best friends slowly easing themselves from my life, like— like I was old news. Like I no longer had a place in that shiny, brand new world they’d stepped into.”

More rushes to escape, feelings kept bottled up tight for three years suddenly flooding forth with the force of a tidal wave, but you bite it down, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath that rattles through your chest. When you’re sure you have a firmer grasp on your emotions, you allow yourself to speak once more. “If an apology is what you want, then I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. I’m sorry for my part in hurting you. But you… the two of you hurt me, too. You meant the world to me and when you pulled away you made me feel like nothing.”

Your eyes remain closed, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you will yourself not to cry; silence sinks over the room, only broken as your ears adjust to the thin buzz of electricity thrumming through the walls. One moment, another-- you try and focus on breathing in, and breathing out.

“Something did happen between us, you know. We fought over you.”

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto Namjoon. He stands, dusting his legs as he straightens and adjusts his jacket. Slowly, like he’s worried he will spook you, he begins to step closer. “I’m sorry, y/n. We never meant to hurt you, and didn’t realise the way our immaturity was hurting you, too. You took up such a big part of our lives, and after you left it was painfully empty… when we saw you again this week, it was the first time we’d felt whole in years.”

Stunned, you’re rooted to the spot and can only watch as he comes close enough to touch, hands reaching for your own; faintly, you register the sound of Seokjin getting up from the couch as well. When he reaches your side, you risk a glance to his face and are surprised by the soft, remorseful expression resting upon his handsome features.

“I’m sorry, bubs, for hurting you.” He lifts a hand, the warmth of his palm cupping your cheek. “You are irreplaceable to us, and we will always want you as a part of our lives. No one meant as much to us as you did then, and no one means as much to us as you do now. The two of you are my world, and I know the same goes for Joon.”

There’s something different hiding in the depths of his tone that makes your heart patter faster against the confines of your chest, something in the way they share a look so full of something warm that your own cheeks heat in response. Both of them… with each other, too?

“Why are you saying this?” Now, you meant to tack on. Why is he saying this now?

Namjoon’s eyes are warm as they meet your own. “Because we should have said it three years ago. Plus… we got a tip from an anonymous source that our feelings aren’t as unrequited as we once thought.”

You don’t even need to wonder who it was that could have exposed such a thing; your mother had been mysteriously avoidant of your gaze this morning, almost knocking a few things off the bench in the extent of her effort to evade meeting your eyes.

“If nothing else, please just tell us before you go,” Seokjin implores, voice a low murmur. “Whether it was true then, or....”

You have a feeling you know what he was going to say: or even now. You’d known it the second you glimpsed them back in this town that those feelings you’d harboured for years and years weren’t ever going away. Even seeing them a handful of times has made your heart ache with the revival of your love and the magnitude at which it had bloomed once more in the tender soil of your being. The words rush to the tip of your tongue, but even now when the two objects of your affection have all but confessed to you, fear barrs them from leaving your mouth. Because it’s not appropriate, a voice murmurs it’s familiar tune, It’s so unlikely— what if you are just reading too much into it and are mistaken?

Honesty, Seokjin had requested. You take a deep breath before admitting the words that will seal your fate, for better or for worse.

“I did love you, then,” you say, catching it as they both seem to tense. “I should have known better than to think those feelings would just go away.”

It takes a moment, but soon both men are erupting into bright grins. In his glee, Namjoon folds you into his arms, smacking a soft kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and finally your lips— the suddenness of the action brings a gasp to your lips, but you’re definitely not going to complain. Especially not when the way his mouth moves against yours lights something bright deep within you.

You don’t get to enjoy the sensations for longer than a moment before Seokjin’s voice is parting the air, a completely different tone underlying his words than what you expect from seeing his stupid grin earlier.

“Ah-ah-ah, don’t think you’re off the hook just yet, little miss. “ You meet his gaze over Namjoon’s shoulder and a shudder shoots down your spine at the look in his eyes. “We have a lot of lost time to make up for, wouldn’t you say?”

x - x

Barely ten minutes and a private car ride filled with scandalous touches and even more scandalous noises later, you’re being pressed against the wall in the bedroom of the penthouse suite in the most expensive hotel your town has to offer. Namjoon’s mouth is on yours with a kiss so impassioned that it pulls the air from your lungs and the strength from your knees; you don’t even realise that the lights hadn’t already been on when you entered and it was Jin responsible for illuminating your path into the suite.

A part of you expects some internal resistance — it had been three years since you’d last seen them, before this week — but instead you’re simply overwhelmed with how right it feels. Soft, fluttery warmth like sun rays on a winter’s morning fills you up to the brim, the feeling so foreign you’re worried your heart might actually burst.

Namjoon’s hands come to your hips, pressing them to the wall before sliding up to the dip of your waist. He isn’t overly bold in the way he moves his mouth against yours, but it makes a whine build in your chest nonetheless. A part of you disagrees with it, and when you recall that you’re still here dressed in the costume that usually gives you the power over men, you push back and turn the two of you around.

When his own back meets the wall, the softest gasp escapes Namjoon’s mouth and you swallow it down, your hands coming to cup his jaw. You take the lead in the kiss and he doesn’t put up a fight, grip tightening on your sides as he holds you closer.

“Ah-ah, bubs.”

An unwitting squeak escapes you as two large hands find purchase on your waist and you’re pulled apart from the man panting against the wall. You blink and before you know it Seokjin has you falling onto something so plush and soft you know immediately it’s a bed. Your eyes are quick to find Seokjin’s, and the raven-haired male shoots you a stern look that is only contradicted by the heady mixture of affection and lust in his gaze.

“You don’t get to call the shots tonight,” he informs you simply, striding closer to where you’re laying on the bed and tugging on the string that holds your silken gown together. It’s designed to come undone, and so it’s no surprise that at the lightest pull the silk is sliding off your body, revealing the outfit you’d paraded on the stage before them barely a few nights ago. Faintly, you register the bed dipping behind you, but your attention is otherwise occupied when Seokjin reaches for the bedside table and retrieves something long and black.

“Her wrists?” Namjoon asks, unknowingly answering the question you had forming in your head. Seokjin nods, tossing the tie to him. Your gown is slipped from your shoulders completely, sheer petticoat ruffling as you’re scooted backwards until you feel the firmness of Namjoon’s chest against your back and Seokjin is sliding between your legs, in the midst of unbuttoning his shirt.

“Do you know what you did to us when we saw you that night?” Seokjin asks, voice smooth as honey. It’s a struggle to remain focused on his words when Namjoon brings your hands together in front of you where you’re propped against him, beginning to bind them a little too expertly with the tie Seokjin had passed him. Your heart beats a little faster, thighs trembling as heady anticipation whirls within you. “What you do to us?”

“Just seeing you was already dangerous enough,” Namjoon murmurs, husky tone brushing the shell of your ear. “But you danced to our song, the song we wrote for you. It’s like you knew what it would do to us…”

It makes something swell in your chest, the confirmation that they had written that song for you. You catch something fond flick through Seokjin’s gaze before he tuts, shaking his head. He pushes your now-tied hands up and over your head, back until you feel the side of your thumbs grazing the back of Namjoon’s neck. Lips brush your neck, eliciting a shiver that Seokjin eagerly drinks in. Long, deft fingers work to undo the top part of your corset, the cushioned bandeau, and slip it from your form. You can visibly see it as his eyes darken, drinking in the sheer bralette barely supporting your breasts. You also know the second he glimpses the tassels pressed beneath, because his teeth sink into his lip and he takes in a sharp breath.

Namjoon’s wandering hands come to trace the underside of your chest, breath catching in your throat when he takes their weight into his hold and kneads. Warmth shoots to your core, the hints of pleasure curling your toes. You feel breathless as they work in easy tandem, Seokjin slipping your petticoat over your legs and Namjoon removing your bralette. You shiver once your chest is bare, not from the cold but from the intensity and the weight of their gazes as you feel them fall upon you.

“Leave her corset,” Seokjin instructs, flicking one of your tassels and eliciting a yelp. He settles back further between your legs, wrapping his arms around your thighs; his gazes falls upon the tattoo on the inside of your leg and the corner of his lips curls up.

The plush of his lips presses against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, the sensation tingling along your nerves. He doesn’t comment on the picture, but when his mouth touches where it is inked into your skin you feel your heart skip a beat nonetheless.

Your mind is pulled from the sensation of fingers slipping beneath the edge of your panties when Namjoon’s fingers play with the tassels attached to your nipples, tugging and pulling and eliciting all sorts of heady sensations that make your thighs shake. “Joon,” you breathe, something else resting on the tip of your tongue only to be replaced with a whine when Namjoon pulls a little harder, soft open-mouthed kisses pressed to the sensitive column of your neck.

It’s like all of your nerves are alight at once, each touch and brush of their skin against yours heightened and making your heart race and your breath come a little quicker. Seokijn quickly slips your panties off, but leaves the pantyhose and garter belt. His eyes drag a trail of heat up your body, halting where Namjoon has begun to suck marks onto your neck like an artist decorating a canvas. For a moment he is mesmerised, and you can’t help the words that slip from your lips.

“You like what you see?” You ask, curving your back ever so slightly to emphasise your position. Seokjin pins you with an unreadable look, jaw ticking for a moment.

“Very much so,” he answers, pulling away from you for a moment. He reaches behind him, retrieving something you hadn’t even noticed before now, and when you realise what it is he has in his hand you feel your stomach simultaneously drop and flip in excitement. His eyes meet yours for a moment, an unspoken question whether what he is about to do is okay, and had it been anyone else you know you would have refused, but you trust him. You trust them. You offer him a small nod and you receive the smallest smile in return before he is bringing the camera up to his eye and lining up his shot.

Flash. Click. The camera isn’t as bulky as you’re used to, and you figure it must be one of the newer models you are far too poor to afford. One picture seems to be enough for him for now, but you know as he places it well to the side that it won’t be the only appearance it makes tonight.

“Just in case you decide to fly the coop on us again,” he says, a sly look on his face. You scoff, knowing that he’s joking, and hold up your hands, still bound.

“Like this? Not likely.”

He chuckles, and you feel Namjoon’s chest rumble with a soft laugh against your back as well. The lighthearted moment is over as quick as it arrives as Seokjin settles back between your legs and hardly waits for you to orient yourself before dipping his head down and delivering a broad swipe of his tongue up your slit.

“F— Jin!” you yelp at the sudden shock of pleasure, wriggling in Namjoon’s arms slightly; he nips at your skin in light reprimand, and Seokjin lifts his head only for a moment to scold you with a cheeky gleam in his eyes.

“Careful now, bubs,” he cautions, delivering a small kitten lick to your clit between utterances. “We might have the penthouse but there are still people below us.”

Surprisingly— or perhaps unsurprisingly, when taking the rest of your life and profession into account — the idea of being heard has the opposite effect on you than one might expect. You bite your lip, tipping your head back as Namjoon’s fingers begin to play with you once more and Seokjin begins to bury his face between your legs in earnest.

It gives you a bit of whiplash, when you think about it; you don’t think you ever would have expected to end up here, in this situation. Crushes or no crushes, you hadn’t even expected to see them again let alone become the meat in a famous musician sandwich.

It’s almost shameful how quickly the heat and pressure builds within you, Namjoon managing to tug the tassels off completely to roll your flushed buds between his fingers. The noises that sound from Seokjin’s ministrations between your legs are so downright lewd you can feel your face flush with heat, your thighs trembling either side of his head. You attempt to keep your own moans and whines in until Seokjin delivers a smack to your thigh and sends you a warning look.

Just when you think you might be about to reach your peak, Seokjin stops, pulling back and licking your cream from his lips. The look you send him must be devastated, because he looks absolutely smug.

“Now, this isn’t just about you,” Seokjin says, carding a hand through his hair before he finishes undoing his shirt and slips it from his form. Your breath catches at the sight of his sculpted torso, and the ink that decorates it in pretty splotches of imagery. You feel so ridiculously naughty, finding the tattoos on him as attractive as you do, and you’re aware of the irony but you just can’t help it. Seokjin could manage to make a potato sack look good. “Hasn’t Joonie been good? Been making you feel so good, with nothing in return? I think we should pay him back.”

It’s all the warning you get before you’re flipped over, braced on your elbows and knees. There is rustling before something plush is slipped beneath you, and Seokjin lowers you down between Namjoon’s legs with the pillow propping your hips up for him to continue where he left off.

Dazed from the sudden shift and beginning to lose yourself to the feeling as Seokjin returns his mouth to your soaked centre, you tilt to meet Namjoon’s dark gaze and offer him a brief smile. You can’t deny, the angle you’re viewing him from is nice, especially as he wrangles his shirt off and you catch glimpses of firm abs and chest. Namjoon, too, has decorated his skin, and it’s somewhat ridiculous how viscerally you’re reacting to it but you really think you might be about to drool.

The pleasure quickly beginning to build in you once more from Seokjin’s plush lips and agile tongue leaves you no room for pleasantries, “Can I suck you off, Joonie?”

You hear his breath catch before he tips his head back and lets out a soft groan. “Do you even have to ask?”

His response only fuels your eagerness, mouth beginning to feel empty when your face is so close to his crotch you can feel the heat of his body. Considering the state of your hands, Namjoon makes quick work of his belt and slacks for you, shimmying them down with his briefs just enough to let his member spring free, almost completely hard at this point.

“Holy shoot, Joon,” you curse, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and lust. God, you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anyone as much as you want these two men. Namjoon shoots you a cheeky, if somewhat dazed, smile that makes his dimples pop out.

“It’s not just me you have to worry about.”

Well that’s a condemning statement if you ever did hear one, considering how you’re hoping this night will go. One of the more open and liberal girls that worked the show with you had once said “god gave me two holes for a reason, girls!” and right now you find you couldn’t agree more.

You’re sick of your mouth being empty, you decide, and so you forego further foreplay and simply reach for his cock, taking the length into your hands and promptly enveloping his tip in the heat of your mouth.

“Fuck!” Namjoon swears loudly, thighs tensing against your shoulders. The yelp that escapes you as Seokjin smacks your ass melts into a moan that elicits a throaty noise from Namjoon, as well.

You press and drag your tongue along the underside of his length, gradually working your mouth lower and lower until your nose is brushing the dark patch of curls across his pubic bone, a surprisingly pleasant mixture of musk melding with his cologne and brushing your senses . Even without the pleasure flooding your nerves from Seokjin’s tongue and the way he latches his lips around your clit, the deep, throaty noises tumbling from Namjoon’s mouth are reward enough. Since your hands are bound, your mouth has to do most of the work; when you sink down enough that his tip bumps the back of your throat, you do your best to fight your gag reflex from kicking in fully.

Namjoon swears once more, just barely stopping himself before it gets too reminiscent of a sailor’s vocabulary. The sensation of your throat constricting around the head of his member makes his hips twitch and buck up ever so slightly, his hands winding into the hair at the nape of your neck. Struggling to keep on task through the haze in your mind, you do your best to build up a rhythm that has Namjoon’s abdomen trembling from the effort of keeping his hips still.

In tandem, the two of you seem to be rapidly approaching your highs— unfortunately for you, that same attention to detail that makes Jin’s ministrations so mind-numbingly good is what alerts him to that fact. Right when you feel yourself tense up in the prelude to your orgasm, Seokjin rips his mouth away, the bed shifting behind you. “Not yet, bubs.”

You can’t help the whine that sounds from your throat, the vibrations making Namjoon jerk.

“Fuck, I’m—”

Flash. Click.

Another whine, different in tone this time, escapes you at the knowledge that Seokjin has added another filthy memory to his collection.

“Joonie, you better not cum until I say so. y/n, off.”

Namjoons nails scratch lightly against your scalp, almost making your eyes roll back as he whines lowly in protest. You know you should listen and do as Seokjin says, but you can’t help but push a little, taking your sweet time as you pull your mouth slowly from Namjoon’s length, sucking all the while. The noises that tumble from Namjoon’s mouth as a result are incriminating enough, and even though you knew Seokjin wasn’t going to let it slide it still comes as a surprise when there is a sharp, painful smack against the globe of your ass. It’s hard enough and loud enough that your back arches slightly, mouth leaving Namjoon with a pop so you’re free to cry out.

“Jin!”

Seokjin’s hand is cool against the smarting flesh of your behind as he rubs soothingly over it, raising an eyebrow as you meet his gaze over your shoulder. “I told you off, bubs. Let’s not make me repeat myself.”

Somewhat petulant despite the giddy butterflies in the pit of your stomach, you allow him to grab you by the hips and yank you back with a pout, breathless with anticipation when you feel his fingers drag over the dips and curves of your body as though mapping them out. He makes you sit up, your back against his chest as he explores your front, drinking in each gasp and whine as he pinches and tugs your nipples and rolls them between the pads of his fingers. Down, down, down he goes— when his finger drags along your slit and slips over your swollen clit you cry out, unable to help the unwitting buck of your hips.

“After all the effort I went to to clean you up, you’ve gone and made a mess again,” Seokjin murmurs, pillowy lips brushing the edge of your ear. You quiver in his hold as he rolls a lazy circle around your bud, thighs threatening to close around his hand. You’re suddenly aware of how empty you feel, surprised that you’ve almost orgasmed twice without even being penetrated.

You try and cant your hips up, not above whining and begging at this point— if he denies you your high one more time you just might go insane. “Please, Jin, please—”

Namjoon, who had taken a moment to recover after almost blowing his load earlier, shifts forward on the bed to join the two of you. His lips find your neck, your jaw, until they finally meet your lips once more and he swallows your sinful noises down.

“What, you want more? You want my fingers? Look at you. You want to be filled so badly you’re willing to rock against anything with a pulse...”

Heat flushes up your neck to your cheeks, Namjoon’s kiss muffling your whine; you hadn’t thought you would be one to fancy this sort of thing, but if the wetness gushing forth at his words is anything to go by then apparently you do.

Namjoon parts from your lips, waiting until your eyes focus on him so that he can hold your gaze. “Baby girl,” he murmurs, voice rough. His hand slips down to join Seokjin’s, finger dipping ever so slightly into your slit. The true meaning of his question isn’t lost on you. “Who do you want?”

You feel almost unhinged with how much raw, restless desire is coursing through you right now— you couldn’t have stopped your answer even if you’d wanted to. “Both… both of you…”

There is a moment of silence following your response, but you don’t have time to wonder whether you said the wrong thing. In the next second Seokjin is swearing lowly under his breath, pressing his lips to your throat to hide his groan.

“Joonie, bedside table. You’ll have to prepare her.”

You’ve never seen Namjoon move as fast as he did the second Seokjin spoke, flying from the bed; he’s back within seconds after retrieving something from the drawers to the side, placing them on the covers. A small rectangular tin and a slim bottle.

When he sits, waiting eagerly with his cock still flushed and hard and bobbing from the movement, Seokjin turns you around in an abridged version of the way you were before. Taking note of the uncomfortable angle of your arms, he undoes the tie, but doesn’t discard it after slipping it from the reddened skin of your wrists.

With your ass now pointed in Namjoon’s direction, it isn’t long before his hands find purchase and your most intimate area is revealed to him.

“Fuck,” he swears, “You’re so wet, baby. We might not even need the extra help, hyung.”

“Use it just in case,” Seokjin instructs, before turning his attention to you. “Now, if you want to cum later I think you should earn it now, hm?”

Your hands were already moving towards his belt and fly before he’d started talking, but his words renew your vigour. When you free Seokjin’s crotch from the confines of his slacks and briefs, you quickly understand just what Namjoon meant earlier. Namjoon has length, but Seokjin is thick. You wrap your hands around him and can’t help but marvel at his size— you’re a little ashamed of how excited it makes you.

“Ah!” Your plans to engulf Seokjin’s cock in the heat of your mouth are interrupted by a sensation at your rear. You wiggle slightly, unable to help it. “That’s cold!”

Namjoon places a featherlight kiss to your cheek, thick, slippery finger beginning to ease into your hole now that it is sufficiently lubricated. Suddenly aware that your attention is in the wrong place, you do your best to hurry back to what you were doing before you earn yourself another smack.

“Perfect, bubs.” The groan that rumbles from Seokjin’s throat in praise is so raspy and low that it makes a shiver roll down your spine. As teasingly as you dare, you’re suckling around the flushed head of his cock, feeling it twitch and throb in your hands in response. It’s already a tight fit in your mouth, you can feel your thighs quaking in anticipation as you imagine what it would feel like filling you up. The thought takes you by surprise.

Since when did you start thinking like such a wanton whore?!

Well, you suppose, there is no time like the present.

Seokjin’s hand threads through your hair, his hips rocking ever so slightly; you watch the way the muscles in his abdomen undulate at the movement and fight to keep your saliva in your mouth as you begin to bob your head down his length. Considering his girth, it’s hard to keep your teeth tucked behind your lips, but you somehow manage; when the time comes that he reaches your throat you’re in a better condition than you were earlier for it, but it’s still a bit of a shock to the system.

“Oh my god,” Seokjin’s thighs quake for the slightest second against you. “Fuck. No wonder Joonie almost blew his load. Look at you. You do this often, huh? Look how well you swallow my cock…”

You moan around him, his words and the oddly pleasant sensation of Namjoon working his fingers in and out of your asshole melding into a pool of heat in your abdomen. Your eyes flutter closed as you try to focus on making Seokjin feel good, and you’re only distracted by a muted flash behind your eyelids.

Click.

Another shot saved. You take Seokjin further into your mouth, trying to go as far back as you can without gagging. He doesn’t seem to mind the way your throat constricts around his length though, if the noises escaping his plush lips where they part are anything to go by. Namjoon gradually adds one finger after another, making sure you’re accustomed to the stretch at least a little before the next joins. By the time he has squeezed in three fingers and scissored them a few times, you find yourself shaking a bit from the sensations. It’s odd, different to what you’re used to, but oh even with the light burn that accompanies each finger it still feels so good.

You’re so focused on the sensations that you don’t even realise the attention you’ve been giving Seokjin has strayed, lips sucking a little harder and your hand stroking a little tighter. The salty taste of precum coats your tongue and you have half a mind to be ashamed of the way it makes you long for more. It proves to be a little too much for Seokjin at once, though. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling you gently off of him as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Not yet, bubs,” he says, voice rough. His eyes are like magnetic pools as they draw you into their depths, their hold only broken when Namjoon slips a final finger in and you shut your eyes on instinct, mouth dropping open at the sensation.

“Are you ready, baby?”

Namjoon’s voice makes your stomach flip, his free hand smoothing over the curve of your ass. You find yourself nodding before you even have the thought to do so, and with that Namjoon shifts on the bed behind you. Seokjin helps you move backwards, your eyes trained on his length somewhat longingly. There is the sound of something tearing softly behind you and you find yourself thankful that they took the initiative and you don’t have to ask them about protection.

You’re moved so that you’re straddling Namjoon’s hips with your back to him, still facing Seokjin. The two of them have since discarded their slacks and briefs and are now presenting themselves in all their naked glory. Namjoon mutters a tender warning, informing you it might burn a bit, and you’ve heard of that but aren’t about to turn tail when you also know it’s going to feel so good after. You feel his tip press against your ass, alarmingly bigger than his fingers, and Seokjin helps ease you down slowly, inch by inch, with a firm grasp on your hips.

True to the warning you’d received, it does burn; Namjoon had made sure there was more than enough lubrication for an easy glide, though, and by the time he has seated himself fully in you, you’re making noises you don’t think you ever have before. The line between heady pleasure and light pain is so blurred that you’re worried you might have fried your nerves at some point tonight.

“Oh—” you take in a shuddering breath, shifting your hips ever so slightly and moaning in tandem with the man beneath you. “Joon…”

“Ride him,” Seokjin instructs, hands leaving your hips to reach for his camera once more. “Let’s make him feel good, hm?”

Who are you to say no?

You pride yourself on having a lot of strength in your limbs, thighs especially, but still they tremble as you roll your hips up until just the tip of Namjoon’s cock remains in you, and then ease back onto him again. It takes a second before you realise the low moan you hear is coming from you, mind so addled with pleasure at this point you almost feel like you’re floating. Bracing yourself on your thighs, you do your best to set a rhythm and maintain it, ignoring the fatigue of your muscles and focusing on how good it feels and the noises tumbling from the man beneath you.

When there is a sly touch against your swollen clit, you cry out loudly— Namjoon almost shouts at the way you clench around him, his hands flying to your hips to hold you in place for a moment. You look to Seokjin with wide eyes, panting slightly.

“Didn’t you wanna cum so badly, earlier?” he queries, fingers slipping down to slide through the slick mess around your entrance. You moan as he easily sinks two fingers in, pumping lightly. “Don’t stop, fuck yourself on my fingers, bubs.”

It feels so good you think you might tear up; obediently, you resume the pace you set earlier, now riding both Namjoon’s length and Seokjin’s digits. Each time you sink down he curls them, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep this out before your legs become too akin to jelly to support you.

The answer is: not much longer. Seokjin quickly grows tired of it when your movements slow, thighs trembling from the effort. With a hand to your stomach he pushes you back, shifting your legs so they’re folded with your feet flat against the covers. You scramble for purchase, Namjoon quickly supporting you from behind.

Seokjin tuts, muttering playfully about having to do everything himself, and it’s all the warning you get before he adds another digit and begins to finger your sopping entrance so hard and good that for a moment your vision goes white.

“S-Seokjin!” you drop your head back, nails sinking into the bedding as he begins to curl his fingers into that delicious spot inside of you with each pump. You had been slowly but steadily climbing back up to the precipice of your orgasm earlier, but now you’re heading there at breakneck speed. Before you know it the coil of pressure is snapping inside you and you’re shaking, pleasure numbing your limbs and making you whine.

By the time your high fades and you tune back in to the moment, you quickly become aware of two things— one, that you’ve somehow managed to coat Seokjin’s whole arm in your fluids, and two, that Namjoon has gone so tense and still beneath you that you think you might have almost killed him.

“Good girl,” Seokjin praises, sucking your cream off the tip of his fingers before wiping the remaining excess on your thigh so he can reach for his own rubber. “Do you need me to wait another moment?”

Assessing your current state, you find yourself shaking your head. You might have thought you would be too sensitive to continue, but Namjoon is still fully seated in your ass and now your pussy feels too empty for you to bear. Seokjin is only too happy to fill that void.

Nestled between your legs, when he lines his cock up at your entrance and begins to slide in, you all but lose the ability to think. You clench unintentionally from the sensation of being filled so completely, making both men groan and Seokjin halt in his movements. He waits until you relax again before continuing his motion.

When both men are fully sheathed inside you, you think this really might be what bliss is. Soft, panting whines and moans tumble freely from your throat as Seokjin pushes your thighs to your chest and begins to set a mind-numbing pace. It’s borderline brutal, the way he slams into you and splits you open so hard and good; each time his hips hit home you feel your whole body jostle.

“You can move, Joonie,” Seokjin somehow manages to articulate, sweat beginning to bead across his forehead and dampen the strands falling over it. You don’t know how he can talk, because you know if you tried at this moment you’d likely end up biting off your tongue.

You feel Namjoon shake his head, hair brushing the space between your shoulder blades. “‘m close,” he mumbles in explanation, a short moan following his words. “Wanna cum together.”

It’s such a sweet desire in the midst of such a lewd situation that you almost get whiplash between the swelling of your heart and the pleasurable ache filling your insides. You feel that he will get his wish soon, because despite your recent high you’re already well on your way to reaching it again— Seokjin’s hips have begun to stutter, too, and you know he isn’t far behind.

It all reaches its peak when Seokjin slips his hand down, following the angle of your hip bone to your core and rolling your bud with his thumb. It proves to be too much for you, because in the next moment you’re letting out a loud train of expletives and clenching tightly around them as pleasure floods your system once more, mind absolutely blank. The tightness of your heat around them is their undoing and barely a moment after you reach your high they follow suit, the sounds tumbling from them borderline sinful against your ears.

It takes a bit longer for you to come back to earth, this time. By the time you do, Namjoon is winding his arms around your waist and rolling to the side, taking you and Seokjin with him. You let out a noise of surprise that curls into a laugh, hands gripping his arms as you hit the bed; both men are still inside you, and while you secretly wish it could stay that way for a bit longer, you know you should probably clean up.

“No,” Namjoon says before you even go to move, a pout in his tone as he buries his face in the back of your neck. Seokjin nestles closer, pressing his lips to the hollow of your throat. “Stay, just a bit longer.”

That’s a dangerous request, especially considering the way your eyelids are beginning to feel heavy after the events of the night. For them, too, you can hear the way their breathing has already begun to even out. You couldn’t be mad if you tried, though, because just being here in their arms feels so right that you don’t ever want to feel anything else.

“I guess we can nap…” you say, sounding tired enough that it elicits a chuckle from Seokjin. You let your eyes close, nestling your cheek against the top of Seokjin’s head and enjoying the light scent of his shampoo and cologne. You let out one last warning before you let yourself fall into the abyss, though. Just so they know who’s boss.

“If I see those photos anywhere near my house, Seokjin, it won’t just be me getting disowned.”

The laughter that tumbles forth in response just adds to the warmth flooding your being, and you let yourself relax, contented and truly happy for the first time in three years.

1K notes · View notes

kashimos-hajime · 4 years ago

Text

reflection (4/8) | r.b.

summary: He thinks that’s what he clings to the most. The Candidates, and the chance to see you again, just to give what he wrote to you. Or, the truth comes out.

WARNINGS: angst!!! swearing, yearning pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 4.9k

a/n: part 4!!! time to get sad!!! a shorter chapter but the next chapters are MUCH longer until the end so enjoy!!

masterlist

crossposted on ao3

Reiner walks all the way back home to grab it.

His mom was blissfully unmotivated to interrogate him, and he slips the metal tin into his breast pocket, one he bought as soon as he returned to Marley as he leaves the house. It’s similar to the one he used to store Ymir’s letter to Historia. The only difference now is what it contains.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about it. No one knows he even has this little container of secrets—it’s been hidden underneath his mattress, wedged between it and the frame for four years, only removed on birthdays, holidays, days where he can’t even recall why he should get out of bed which seem to be more and more often as of late. If anyone found out, he’d probably be interrogated, possibly killed.

It’s treasonous, but he can’t bring himself to fling it.

The silence is nice. There aren’t a lot of people in the streets, considering the show. Not even his thoughts are raging against him, and the sun is warm even as it slips below the horizon to make room for the moon. Glancing up at the clouds, purple and yellow and red, he shoves his hands into his pockets and closes his eyes.

The wind curls against his face, all gentle-like, a caress almost, and his heart begins to ache.

“Isn’t that Vice Chief Braun?”

His eyes open, and he catches two kids standing by a mailbox, gaping at him and he smiles softly waving at them.

“Hi, Mister Braun!”

“Get to the show, kids,” he calls back, and they glance at each other, eyes alight with pure joy. It’s enough to make his smile last until they’re gone, and he turns his gaze back to the path he’s walking. With every step, though, the tin in his breast pocket seems to weigh heavier. The faint clinks and scraping noises of metal against metal accompanying his heartbeat, he sighs.

Not for the first time, he hears his mother’s voice in his head, chastising him for not continuing their honorary bloodline, and not for the first time he imagines a home by the sea, with kids of blonde hair and a certain twinkle in their eyes running along the sands.

Reaching up to his breast pocket, he pulls the tin out and cracks it open, looking down as his feet take him to the stage. The sunlight dies, and as the last rays fall on the gleaming metal band inside the metal container, he pinches it in his finger and lifts it up to the orange. The silver winks at him, all mocking, and he shakes his head, looking down at the letters inside.

A thousand apologies, confessions, regrets, inked down in crazed ramblings as his body tried to heal from the battle in Shiganshina on a ship sailing back to Marley. Some written after that. Sometimes, he can barely even look at what he’s jotted down or else he’ll tear it to shreds.

Most of the time, though, he wants to give it to you. He thinks that’s what he clings to the most. The Candidates, and the chance to see you again, just to give what he wrote to you.

Shaking his head, he puts the ring back into the tin and closes it with a tight click before sliding it back into his breast pocket. In the distance, he can hear someone whistling a familiar tune, and he frowns, trying to place it.

He still has some time. He could try to find who’s whistling, or he could just get to the show early.

It’s not like he’s exactly needed anywhere before hand.

Pricking his ears, he veers off the road and into an alleyway.

Reiner and Bertholdt might be traitors. Maybe it’s both of them, a voice in your head murmurs as you ascend up the wall.

Armin, why did you trust me to tell me about Annie?

Your shoulder and leg are screaming at you to stop moving, and the pull of the wires at your hips makes you feel like a million pounds as you manage to get to the top of the wall. Mikasa greets you there and you flash her a quick smile, one she returns faintly before procuring something out of her pocket.

Do you think I’m a traitor, too?

“My sling?”

“Put it back in before you lose all feeling in that arm.” You let out a relieved sigh as she helps you unbuckle your gear, and your hips feel like they’re melting at the relief. Sasha comes over as you clutch onto your shoulder. It feels inflamed and swollen under your gentle touch, and you wince as you bend your elbow, sharp pangs slicing through your joint.

“Here, let me help.” Sasha grabs your unequipped ODM gear as Mikasa pulls the sling over your neck and guides your arm through. Your limb feels like a pile of rocks, and you let it hang numbly in the bandage.

Maybe, I’m the weakest link.

“Thanks, guys. Really.” Mikasa only nods, patting you on your uninjured shoulder and you turn to see Eren pulling Reiner up the wall. The mere sight of him sends a shiver down your spine and you look away, clenching your jaw.

Him, a traitor?

Bertholdt gets to the top, climbing out all long-legged and lean, before helping Reiner ease down away from the ledge.

And Bertl? You, too?

Still, Hange’s orders echo in your mind and you remind yourself that nothing’s changed until it’s confirmed. Walking over to him, half-limping, you catch golden eyes and a half-smile. Cross legged, Reiner straightens up when he sees you and you feel a smile pulling at your own face.

What am I saying? How could I ever suspect them? They’d never betray us. We’re… we’re family. Maybe it’s all one big coincidence. Maybe Annie worked alone. That’s how it is, isn’t it? Annie works alone and I’m left hanging.

You wonder if this is why she never answered the letters you wrote to Stohess, asking how the MPs were. Reiner always said it was probably because she was busy. No. No. The more you think on it, the more the convoluted web in your head begins to straighten out and you shake your head.

“Hey.” You reach the boys as Bertholdt walks to the other side of the wall, leaning over with his hands on his knees as if calculating the distance, and his face is so innocently concentrated that you can’t help but stare, imagine him as that giant red Titan with soulless eyes. Electricty dances down your back. Deciding to leave him to his own devices, you slowly sink to a crouch beside Reiner as he reaches out to touch your shin.

“How’s the leg?”

“Been better.” Goosebumps rise along your arms and you swallow tightly. “We’ve got matching slings, now.”

Reiner smiles, and a soft, poisonous voice in your head crows, You never suspected Annie, and look what that got you. Civilians killed like sport.

Your blood chills. Everything feels so sluggish after the long night they’ve had, and they both look it. Your movements are dragged, like you’re swimming through honey as you reach out to touch his arm. He looks like hell’s beaten him up, and Bertholdt straightens up, sends him an uneasy look over his shoulder. Reiner’s flesh is warm through the bandages and a sick curiosity pricks at you.

If you’re really a traitor, you wonder to yourself, what would you do if I…

You let your fingers push deeper against a mark you feel through the sling only for him to flinch back.

“Son of a bitch!”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry,” you whisper, hushed, and he sends you a scandalized look as Eren looks over his shoulder. “It seems bad.”

“You all right, Reiner?”

“Not by a long shot.” He covers his face with his hand, pain twisting his voice. “A Titan nearly gnawed off my arm. That was… pathetic. I thought I was done for.” Scooting closer, you rest your hand on his shoulder as his eyes slide shut. The words he says next sound like that of a soldier, and your eyebrows screw up as he talks mostly to himself.

Sharing an uneasy glance with Eren and Armin, you try not to say anything until—

Second time? Second time you nearly died? It bounces off your skull until your mouth opens and the words tumble out before you can stop yourself.

“Annie almost… killed you?” you breathe. Reiner nods numbly, fist to his brow and you look down at the stone. “Reiner…”

Then, you can’t be a traitor, you try to reason quickly. Why would she kill her ally?

But what about what Armin said? About how Reiner asked about Eren’s location? Carving it into her hand. He was always making excuses for Annie at every turn. For her skipping out on training, her being exhausted and sleeping in. No, this isn’t right. No, no, no—

And that realization only makes you nauseous as you sit back and stare at Reiner’s fractured expression. Reaching a shaking hand up to his face, your entire body freezes as his frenzied gaze stares right through you.

Reiner…

Stomach turning, you glance up at the tall boy who only looks more and more concerned with every passing second. He catches you looking and his eyes only widen even more almost guiltily. Jerking your gaze away, you press your lips into a thin line and look at the blond sitting before you.

Bertholdt…

Someone calls them over your shoulder and you see it’s Connie. Getting up much too quickly with a groan, you send one last look at Armin and Eren out of the corner of your eye before walking over to the others unsteadily. Your entire body feels tilted, your legs struggling to push forward as if trying wade through thick sheets of ice, and even though Sasha bounds up to help you forward, you don’t think you have ever felt heavier.

What have you done?

With the quick update from Hannes and the unsettling revelation that there is no hole in the wall, you cannot stop your eyes from flitting to Bertholdt again.

He speaks to Reiner as they begin to walk away, and you fall into step beside Mikasa, your limp only more pronounced now that they realize this was all for nothing. The adrenaline is drained from your body, and your boots drag along stone as your shoulders fall forward.

Silent, Mikasa slows down her pace so you can keep up and you stifle your wince with every step as you look out the wall.

The sky is as grey as ash. It looks like rain, soon. Not good if they have to fight in this weather, for their bodies or for their ODM gear. Visibility might be a near zero.

Reaching up to cup your shoulder on instinct, you sigh.

“Is your leg okay?” Mikasa finally asks, stopping.

You nod. “It will be.” Glancing back at her, you frown when you realize you’ve walked on without her and turn to look over your shoulder, only to find her glancing back at Reiner, Eren, and Bertholdt. Eyes narrowing at the confused anger warping Eren’s face, a thousand weights slam down into your gut. Mikasa’s stare hardens and you walk back towards her, ears pricking. You can’t make out the words from where you stand with her, but you can read the tone, and by whatever Reiner’s saying, it’s making Bertholdt nervous.

Your spine goes ramrod straight, and suddenly, you wish you hadn’t taken your ODM gear off so early. Glancing back, you wonder if you can ask Sasha to strap you back in before you realize what you’re thinking and your limbs turn to lead.

No, you realize. It’s too late.

When you look back at the three again, a cold stone lodges right next to your heart, chilling you from the inside out.

“Hey, we’re leaving!” Armin calls, but you don’t budge. Neither does Mikasa. Eyes widening, you can only watch as Eren crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head back. Mikasa’s hand moves to her hand grip, unholstering it and sinking it into a blade. The sound of metal scraping makes you blink as the wind begins to pick up. Something clicks. Your heart skips a beat.

Howling in your ears, your muscles lock Eren begins to walk back towards them, but your eyes stay on your best friends as the air seems to shift. It smells like static and iron and something bitter, too. The clouds drift speedily above them, and your boot shifts along stone just as one of the flags snaps in half, the wood splintering under the force of the beginnings of a storm.

Everything freezes.

The only sound is clattering wood against cobble and your rapid heart.

Then, against all odds, sunlight.

It’s blindingly white, streaming through the clouds that drift off in the current, and you swallow. You can hear something rattling and you know it’s Mikasa’s hand on her blades, fingers trembling against the triggers of her gear as gold spears through the dim grey, slamming into the wall and illuminating the stone. Your arm in its sling ways heavier by the second and you shift your forearm against the fabric, your hanging hand rolling into a tight fist.

Your eyes find Reiner’s back, staring as hard as you can, but he only hangs his head and you step forward against your will as his voice grows louder, more deranged.

The coldness in your chest spreads.

It sinks deep into your muscles, bites into your bones with fangs of steel until you think you hear them break as he lifts the sling off his neck and turns around.

“But the only choice for me now is to face the consequences of my actions.” Lifting his hand, you can see the blood begin to steam and your mouth drops open when it evaporates off his skin. “And as a Warrior, fulfill my duty to the bitter end.” The flesh begins to close, orange embers flecking off his forearm. Your knees lock.

“Reiner!” Bertholdt’s voice scratches with desperation—the sound of a horrified beast pulled out of its cave too early, too soon and all too against his will. A darkness overtakes his face, and it punctures you as Reiner flicks dried blood off his arm. “Are we doing this? Now? Right here?”

“We settle this… right here! Right now!”

You force yourself to move, but still, you barely budge as Reiner stalks up to a paralyzed Eren, and you feel it more than see it as Mikasa takes off to a sprint, the sound of metal scraping against metal filling the air. She runs around him, slashing through his arms, blood spraying the stone in sickly splats. Lodging the blade through his forearm, there’s a ragged shout as she whirls around.

Blood seems to fly everywhere as metal swings to cut Bertholdt down next.

You stand, entranced at the mere sight of it; red droplets splash through the air like the crystalline water in that fountain in Trost, years, no, months, weeks ago. The memory strikes through you like a bolt of lightning, and for a moment, you are not on Wall Rose but in a café sitting in the sun, watching children flicking coins into the water, waiting for someone you weren’t sure would come.

“What do you say to a game of twenty questions?”

“Sounds perfect, creampie. I promise, I’ll be perfectly honest.”

Bertholdt’s ragged wet screams jolt you back into your body, and for a moment that is all you see. Mikasa running towards him as he falls onto his back, clutching at his neck, the image growing clearer and clearer, bigger and bigger, as she pins him down with a boot to a shoulder and a sword in two hands, poised to plunge through his throat. Blood spreads over the floor as his gargled screams, wretched and raw, scratch the heavens.

It is then you move.

Your feet slap against the stone as you lift the sling off your neck and toss it aside. Heart pumping, ears roaring, you don’t recognize what you’re doing until your hands are on Mikasa’s shoulders and you’re wrenching her off with a force you cannot recognize you muster. A burning ignites in your chest, spreading through your entire body, engulfing your heart until it sputters out flames.

For a moment, there is nothing; no colour, no blood, no sound. Only pure instinct and your best friend about to die.

“Bertholdt!”

Mikasa lets out a infuriated scream, blades flashing in the grey sunlight as she’s thrown back and you whirl around. Frozen over Bertholdt’s body, your eyes meet widened, bloodshot eyes and you whisper his name, fragile and full of broken glass just as the sound of footsteps patter behind you. Turning, you watch as Mikasa’s arms shoot forward, her knuckles white around the hilt of her sword.

Your thighs seize and Bertholdt’s hand lifts weakly, just barely brushing your shin. His lips are moving but you can barely make out a word. Is he speaking? You can’t hear over the blood flowing out of his mouth. “St-stop—“

Your heart beats in your head, once… twice… waiting for your legs to bolt into action, for Mikasa to see you.

But she isn’t stopping—not even if you stand in her way, she’ll cut around you if she can but in her eyes, you see it. The one question even you don’t know the answer of anymore.

TRAITOR? TRAITOR? TRAITOR? TRAITOR?

You’re shoved out of the way and blood flashes across your face, landing in warm, steaming droplets.

Falling aside against hard stone, your ribs explode in pain as Mikasa’s eyes widen. Her sword sinks deeper through Reiner’s eviscerated arm and she jumps back, releasing the blade with sharp, vicious breaths.

You struggle to your feet. Crackling yellow light burns into your irises yet you can only look into Reiner’s eyes as he stares through you, face resolute.

You think the sight will haunt you for the rest of your days as he only looks at you, as unfeeling as he ever has. Maybe more honest than he’s ever been.

“Reiner!“ You lunge forward but arms hook underneath your own, hauling you back and you kick out your feet as his name is torn from your chest. “Reiner, no!”

“Stay back,” he whispers harshly, turning away, and you struggle to your feet, boots sliding along the stone.

“No…” The word comes out so quietly you think he hears your heart shatter. “No… you—you can’t be—They can’t be right about you. They can’t. I know you! This isn’t you!“

And somewhere, lingering in the back of your mind, is his voice, promising you: “I’ll break you first.”

He doesn’t answer as the clouds begin to gather above them, and you hear Armin scream as your gaze tears to Bertholdt who only stares at you in guilt, regret, fear. Tears trace down his skin, and your hand reaches out for him as Mikasa wrenches you back one final time.

“No! Let me go!”

The other Scouts run towards them but there is nothing anyone can do as lightning spirals down onto the wall and cracks the stone, striking Reiner and Bertholdt. Wind howls in your ears until your skin is burning from the cold, and debris flies past your face. Steam erupts, burning away the numbness as chips of stone fly at your face. Throwing up your arms, you feel shards dig at your skin as hot steam swarms you. Scalded, you let out a piercing shout as you fly back, Mikasa’s arms only tightening around you as they’re flung off the wall.

Activating her ODM gear, she manages to catch them both and you let out a choked groan when you stop abruptly, your shoulder screaming, your body on fire.

Grabbing the arm firmly around your waist, you plant your feet into the wall and look up as ribs sprout from thin air and dig into stone, cracking it easily. Your eyes begin to sting, from tears or from pain, you don’t know. A huge shape appears out of the steam that sears your face.

Head swimming, you watch numbly as the blistering gales force them into stillness and the giant figure with glowing yellow eyes reaches for Eren.

Brushing the itch off your cheek, you adjust your grip on the sack of apples when you see Sasha standing there, packing her bag and you stop when she calls your name, watching for a moment.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you reply unsurely. You glance at the stables where you’re supposed to go to make sure your new steed is rested and well fed for their expedition. The past three months have passed in a strange sort of blur for you—whether it’s going to sleep late or waking up when the sun barely rises, sometimes both—you can’t recall ever being so alone. You don’t even remember the last time you spoke to any of your comrades outside of missions. Ever since the coup on the government, you’ve stayed out of the way. You helped mine the crystals from the Reiss Chapel cave, trained with the new Scout recruits, but you didn’t want to go out of your way to talk to them.

After all, what is there to say? You saved Bertholdt’s life back on the Wall. Even if now it means his powers can be transferred, you hadn’t know that back then. You just didn’t want him to die.

The blood of the Scouts lost getting back Eren is on your hands.

“Good luck on the mission,” Sasha says at length. You nod. “You could sit with us at the feast tonight.” Lips pulling back, you give her a fake smile. “We miss you.”

“Uh, no thanks, I’m not going,” you tell her. Sasha’s face falls and you look away, eyes fixing on the ground. “I don’t want to put a damper on your guys’ fun. Besides, I have some last minute preparation to do.“

“That’s a lie,” Sasha blurts, and your eyes snap to hers, but her eyebrows are arranged fiercely on her face, a warm determination burning in her eyes. “You’re acting just like you did when you first came to the cadet corps—we’re not strangers, you know? We don’t hate you.”

Your fingers tighten on the sack of apples you have in your hands. “Thanks, Sasha. That’s really nice of you, but I really have stuff to do.”

What you don’t say is that you find that hard to believe. With every waking second, you’re reminded of everything that’s happened. Preparing for the return of Shiganshina had only prompted another round of interrogative looks, whispers behind your back. You suppose you deserve it. Three years, and you’d been the closest to all three of them. What’s to stop you from being a fourth traitor?

There’s coincidence and then there’s correlation, and you’re more than aware of which side you fall on.

“It’s hard to kill your friends. We’re still with you. We understand—“

“I have to kill my family, Sasha. That’s who they are to me,” you murmur stonily, and Sasha’s eyes widen as you meet her gaze wretchedly. “I don’t want to go to the feast, but thanks for inviting me.” Again, quieter, softer, you tell her, “It was really nice of you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You turn to walk into the stables, and you find your horse near the back-middle in the right row of stalls. Horses lift their heads at your approach, and you sigh. This has always been a quiet place for you—horses don’t judge nearly as much as humans do. One of the steeds near the front nudges at your shoulder, and you smile to yourself, retrieving an apple for the stallion before moving on to your own horse.

A pretty dappled grey mare, she nickers at your approach and you reach up to scratch her ear before running your hand down her nose, stroking at the dark grey specks between wide black eyes. Leaning forward, you kiss her snout and she huffs against your cheek.

“Alright, alright.” Reaching into your bag, you retrieve another apple and she lips at the fruit before taking a bite and you smile when she drops it to the ground by your feet, a huge chunk taken out the side. Bending over to pick it up, pangs collide with your chest when you see the juices dripping over the bright red peel.

The sound of hooves against the dirt catch your attention, and you look up, picking up the apple and straightening up again. As soon as you spot black, you already know whose horse it is.

“Captain Levi.” You dip your head to your superior as he passes you, leading his black steed back into the stall next to yours, and he only gives you a brief surveying look. You feed the apple back to your mare.

“I heard you were visting Leonhart earlier today,” he says, pulling the door open and his horse walks in dutifully, turning around so Levi can take the harnesses off.

Dipping your head, you hold the back tight in one fist and reach to cup your horse’s cheek, stroking the underside of her jaw to her delight. “Yes, sir.”

“She crack?”

“No, sir.”

He hums, as if he expected as much. Your shoulders drop. You know you shouldn’t relax, around Captain Levi especially, but the first month after the revelation of Reiner and Bertholdt had left the captain as your principal babysitter just to make sure nothing was out of sorts with you.

It meant you had to sleep in separate quarters as the rest of the Scouts, was on Levi’s beck and call with tea, medicine, food, whatever he needed while in the office or otherwise. You had to force him to sleep a couple of times, and although you weren’t in the mood to be persistent, it still nagged at you until the month was up and Levi told you to stop following him.

“I could read out the report I wrote to Erwin for you, if you’d like,” he had said dryly. “Quiet, keeps to herself. Complies nearly to a fault—a model officer of the Survey Corps. Which is what you are. You’re not a caretaker or an administrative assistant. Now stop taling me like a lost duckling and get to work.”

You shake your head and sigh, extending the bag to Levi. “Does he want an apple, sir?” He eyes the bag apprehensively before taking it, pulling the bag open and extracting another gorgeous red apple. Lifting it to his horse, he hands the bag back to you as your horse nestles her head against your chin and you smile to yourself at the warmth emanating from her.

She must be able to sense whatever’s off about you. Holding her head close, you kiss her quickly before stepping back but she lets out an impatient whinny, neck stretching to bump her nose against your cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you whisper. “Get some sleep, girl.” Scratching underneath her chin, you turn to look at Captain Levi who eyes you for a moment, then gestures for you to follow to the back where the tack room is.

“I know what the stakes are for you, but you’re not the only one who is putting everything on the line here,” he says and you nod as he hangs up the leather harness before washing his hands. “Whatever happens, happens. We don’t have time to dissect your guilt over tea anymore.”

“With all respect, Captain, I just don’t think it’s wise for me to come.”

“Commander Erwin thinks differently.” You nod again and Levi meets your stare, flinging off the wet on his hands before grabbing a clean towel and wiping himself off. “We need all the soldiers we can get to reclaim Shiganshina for humanity. That includes you—no matter what your ties are to the enemy. You aren’t having doubts, are you?”

“No, sir.” You swallow, throat bruised. “I’m just scared the moment I look into their eyes, I’ll hesitate. And it’s not because they’re humans,” you add quickly. “Had my fair share of human bloodshed during the coup, but I should be angry, right? I should be so fucking mad, and I think I am, but mostly, I just want them back. There has to be something wrong with me.”

“I’m not here to psychoanalyze you,” he tells you. “But nothing’s wrong with you. You’re probably more sane than most idiots who join the Survey Corps.” Eyes widening, you meet Levi’s impassive stare, but he only continues, “Get something to eat tonight, then get some sleep. This is your nerves talking.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, he nods to you once more before hanging the towel up and walking past, out the stables. Looking down, your eyes find the sack of apples still in your hand and you lift it up, peering inside. Taking one out, you set the bag inside and head over to the sink nearby, washing the fruit off before looking up at the mirror hanging on the wall.

Closing your eyes, you take a bite and the sweet juices explode in your mouth. Smiling faintly to yourself, you can almost imagine a pair of lips teasing at the corner of your mouth and your heart aches when you realize you can barely remember what it’s like to kiss him.

163 notes · View notes