#god youre so tactless coming out of nowhere

[tropiks]

it's so fucked up how you try to come back into my life after all this time, after i've blocked you literally everywhere, and somehow you find my tiktok and shamelessly follow me there

acting as if no time has passed, as if absolutely nothing happened between us

[cebwrites]

handling an overly emotional partner (Law, Zoro, Bepo)

a/n: when i tell you i literally stopped mid-drawing to write this bc i didn’t want to lose the inspiration-- i’ve been fielding some shark week nonsense lately so i figured the best remedy would be some comfort fluff from my favorite boys, enjoyyyy 〒▽〒 

masc reader, he/they law word count: 1.5k

Law

They are in NO way prepared to handle any of... this

Depending on what stage of life he’s in (especially when they were younger), Law might outright call the whole thing off - but typically they’d just hand you to Pen or Shach and go hide/ruminate in his room

It’s definitely something to get used to - but something worth doing if he’s already created a bond worth keeping with you

Realistically, Law would know; it’s not like you’d spring into a blubbering mess out of nowhere the moment you two started dating and it’s unlike them to just go on a date with a stranger on a whim 

So he’d at least be aware of your emotional turbulence, and knowing that, would still fall in love with your little idiosyncrasies and personal charms - doesn’t make any of this that much easier though

Expect awkwardness, rigidity, your captain fighting the urge to flee like a skittish leopard cub, but above all please know that Law’s trying their best that they love you because by god they wouldn’t be doing this for anyone else

It’s important to note that they’d never make fun of you for this, even as a light hearted “joke” - you’re a sensitive guy, more than most, and that’s just how it is - nothing else to say about it

As they mature into adulthood and your relationship with him becomes far more comfortable Law drops the unease, they’re a lot less clumsy with your emotions and learn to navigate them with care because that is what they feel in their heart of hearts for you, after all

Something got too scary during movie night? Cuddle up close dear, he’ll hold you through the rough bits and kiss your forehead until it’s over or accompany you in your room if it’s more than you can handle

Breaking a glass? It wasn’t your fault and it’s not the end of the world, accidents happen and even though Law isn’t keen on the idea of you getting cut on those shards, they do find the odd bits of clumsiness here and there to be endearing - c’mon, he’ll help you pick up the pieces

You saw a baby animal or even Bepo doing something too cute and you absolutely can’t help yourself from tearing up? Well, that’s... oh come here already, you can weep into their shoulder but just don’t get snot on him, alright?

Zoro

Zoro is and can be a lot of things - pigheaded and woefully directionless at the worst and best of times

But he’s not stupid, at least not when it matters

He’s blunt and tactless, definitely, but Zoro’s somehow just had an inkling for sniffing out people’s inner feelings much like his captain

Not immediately, no, it does take some time; but once he feels that there’s something amiss, he comes right out with it

Zoro would get the feeling you were hiding something - your vulnerability, that was never really a secret when you joined the crew but as you took a growing interest in and once you were with him tried to diminish because you were afraid he’d think less of you for it - and after a day or two he’d ask

You’d try to divert from the topic, weasel your way out of talking about this before your tear ducts betrayed you, but soon your face would bear streaks and now Zoro really needed to know what was going on

He’d wait patiently as you explained yourself, bearing no judgement or even mild annoyance the more coherent your words became as you calmed down, furiously wiping your eyes and still avoiding his gaze, though

After you finished, he’d hold your shoulders gently, trailing his fingers up your arms in a wordless show of asking for the permission that you grant him easily, always

Zoro would be a little irked deep down, that this was the kind of man your (unconscious) mind thought him as, the kind of person that would turn his partner away just from a show of human emotion and some saltwater 

For all his shows of machismo and overt masculinity, Zoro would never. Ever, question your manhood for crying. Sadness, joy, fear, and anger are all your feelings and you have full right to feel them. So what if your feelings move you intensely enough to tease? 

Is it not masculine in and of itself to know one’s own heart and express it however he please? It’s more than most men he’s seen and Zoro’s more than happy to cut down anyone who has a problem with that.

Bepo

Two peas in a pod, you and Bepo, none on the ship are more alike than their resident youngest sweethearts

You’d both cry over anything and everything if possible - it goes without saying that Bepo would never judge you for being emotional either, and even on the very unlikely change that the sweetest, kindest bear you knew did harbor those feelings for what ever reason, well... glass houses and all

Cuddles are abundant between you, at first it’s to comfort after a lousy day, then it’s over crummy interactions, and eventually you just want an excuse to hold each other

You tear up at someone raising their voice at you but strangely feel an immediate heat in your chest when someone does the same or is just plain mean to Bepo, your soft-spoken, loving (not so) little Bepo

You try and stand up for him only to shrink and cling to your boyfriend when the offending party turns to glare at you so Pen, Shach, and/or Ikkaku have to step in, but the sentiment is greatly appreciated nonetheless

Bepo would simultaneously praise you for your bravery and downplay the need for protecting him, he is a big strong bear after all, and you’d tut - patting his nose to watch it scrunch up as you tell him that those people had no right to be talking that cruelly to him, so of course you have to defend your darling boyfriend

Bepo would blush and try to hide his big ol’ snout in the crook of your neck, rolling you both over onto the bed and sparking a fit of laughter in the process until your captain thwacks the wall dividing your room and their office with the end of a broom handle in a clear gesture to keep it down

Bepo won’t admit it, but he secretly finds you super cool when you defend him like that and it makes his heart do jumping jacks knowing you care for him like this; not that he doesn’t think you love him otherwise or won’t tell his boyfriend that he’s super cool for other reasons, it’s just this specific one

And Bepo gets his moment to shine one day when you’re on a walk with him one night, stars shining bright on this sleepy little town - a stray pup runs up to you and you can’t help but sob when the poor thing eats the food you buy it out of your palm, Bepo crouching alongside you but seemingly more frightened of the brave little puppy than it is of him because he doesn’t want to scare it away

While you smile and assure him that your new canine friend wasn’t going anywhere (no way Law was going to let a dog into the Tang, though), an older man stumbles out of the local tavern hurling insults about crybabies among other things as he staggers towards you

Before he can get within a meter of you, however, Bepo stands back and bellows the loudest roar you’ve ever heard come out of him, let alone sound

Although the two of you have to book it once the rest of the neighborhood wakes up with their pistols thinking it’s another snow beast attack, you’re laughing the entire way back to the ship and once Bepo stops covering his face in embarrassment, you’ll replace those lovely paws with your kisses

[bg3fandomcritical-reactive]

Imagine someone coming up to you in real life and telling you that your partner is an abuser. Would you like that? Probably not. Likewise, people who love Ascended Astarion don't like being told things like that all the time. You invade someone else's privacy with your inappropriate advice and comments, and then get offended when they defend themselves and their partner. Mind your own personal life and stay out of other people's.

you talk as if he's a real person you're dating irl and im sorry but that's weird as hell. he's a fictional character whose story is very obviously break the cycle of abuse/ continue the cycle of abuse trope based on the path the player chooses. it is a simple fact, plain as day and im baffled by the people who dont see that at all. i also love ascended astarion! he's still becoming an abuser! it is in the theme of the fictional story! nothing wrong with liking an evil character. ive seen some terrible comments made by aa haters since ive been in the fandom, so i get the frustration of seeing such comments but oh my god do not compare the fictional character that was enslaved and abused with real people that have a history of abuse and how a relationship with them would be like, it is NOWHERE NEAR the same thing. that is wayy more tactless than what some people on the internet say about your favourite character. go outside

.

[yeojaa]

( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag.  You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.  

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash.  You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  idiots to lovers.  fluff, angst, smut.  the holy trifecta, babies!  explicit, obviously.  

tags / warnings.  mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc.  12.2k of nonsense.  pure nonsense, i tells ya. 

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow​ dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her.  i love you both sm!!!  ✨💜

author note.  the long-awaited fic is here!!  i really hope you enjoy it.  if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something?  i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot.  anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you!  stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker.  That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him.  It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard. 

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove.  Sometimes, she’s by herself;  often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste.  They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique.  Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be.  You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit. 

“He has no idea.”  It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts.  “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder.  How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair?  It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie. 

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”.  Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else.  Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention.  Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him.  Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face. 

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,”  she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does.  She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough.  Zero tact, though.  Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble.  You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested.  “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags.  (God, what awful taste.)  There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best.  (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction.  You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place.  Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on.  When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes.  He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW.  Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress  is.  

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect.  It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.  

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?”  He upspeaks.  It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first.  A silent ‘yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect.  “What’s the item and the name it’s under?”  You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine.  Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” 

You’re floored.  This is Jeon Jungkook?  This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger?  You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face.  It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers.  “I’ll grab it!  The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly.  He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends.  He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance.  It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears.  There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.  

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend?  I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.”  Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off.  “She said she was leaving on Friday.”  Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made.  “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall.  You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.  

You do feel bad.  Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this.  For hurting this stranger.  (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”  Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality.  He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip.  He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet. 

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off.  Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in.  (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.)  As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth.  “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend.  Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid.  Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours.  Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say.  Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation.  “Oh, maybe.  I’m sorry.”  The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t.  That’s a thing, right?  Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?  

God, you’re an altruist. 

“It’s fine.”  When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not.  You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word.  (You won’t.)

“Here it is!”  Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands.  If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing.  You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand.  He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying.  You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.  

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found.  Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start.  Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,”  you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands.  It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card.  The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently.  You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder.  It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum.  (You either, but still.) 

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers.  “What?”

“You know— that!”  She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago.  “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,”  you correct. 

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response.  There it is. 

“What?”  There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable. 

“What?”  It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery.  You can read every emotion that runs through her expression:  shock, displeasure, confusion.  

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth.  (She really does remind you of your little sister.)  “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder.  You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now.  There was no way he didn’t. 

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts.  That’s all.”  You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done.  You’d want to know if you were him.  Consider it an act of goodwill. 

The silence that meets your ears isn���t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind.  What’s done is done.  Now he knows, or something close to it.  The chips would simply fall where they were meant to. 

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him. 

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift.  She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway.  Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding.  It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship. 

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening. 

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter.  “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression.  “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.”  You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person.  Sensible. 

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.  

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front.  You suppose it’s your responsibility now.  You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell. 

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker.  “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”  

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?”  Upspeaking again. How cute. 

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.”  You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter.  “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“  It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable.  “Thanks.  I didn’t even notice.  Um, I can come pick it up today?”  There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back.  “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out.  He truly was a sucker. 

“That’s fine.  We’re open until six tonight.”  

“I’ll be there before dinner.”  As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough.  “Before six, I mean.  Um, is around five-thirty okay?” 

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation.  Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation.  “Of course.  We’ll see you then.” 

He hangs up immediately. 

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last.  It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest.  You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon.  You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday.  Somehow, you like it more.  The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair.  It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person.  (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him.  Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.  

“O-oh.  It’s you.”  The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified.  “I m-mean, just—”  He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again.  “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.”  Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.  

“That’s right,”  you say evenly, expression neutral.  It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.  

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary.  Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room.  You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.  

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?”  He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store.  You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.  

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again.  He makes the same trip twice more.  “Can I have it?”  To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed.  He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress.  Good job, you think.

“Of course.”  You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter.  Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip.  You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything.  (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment.  Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides.  It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended.  Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact.  “May I have it, please?” 

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand.  You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable.  Is he going to say thank you?  Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems.  “Why did you do it?”  There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?”  You know what he means.  You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?”  Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you.  You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him;  it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side.  For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies.  It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his.  “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?” 

“What do you mean?”  

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror.  He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.  

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head.  It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.  

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.  

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin.  (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes.  Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.”  For once, he doesn’t sutter.  The lisp doesn’t present itself, either.  Was this the same Jungkook?  You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?”  He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name.  How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit?  It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?”  The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no.  You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly.  It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.  

“I mean like— talk talk.”  The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else.  His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.  

“Sure, we can talk talk.”  

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way.  “Are you asking me on a date?”  

“W-what?  No!”  Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears.  “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding.  Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance.  He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow.  Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.  

“So, what do you want to talk about?”  It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down.  His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving.  You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie.  It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall.  “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly.  “Huh?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  

“Um—”  He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence.  There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking.  “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out.  “You want to talk about… you?”  

“That sounds bad.”  The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.  

“It’s fine.  We’ll talk at dinner.”  

He nods.  You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy.  Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.  

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?”  He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden.  Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure.  (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.”  Everything here is incredible.  You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place.  His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel.  You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish. 

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections.  Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?”  You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.  

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute.  “So?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often.  As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper. 

“Oh.”  Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth.  He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle.  You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting.  He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected.  It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline.  “What?” 

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot.  You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip.  Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.”  It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you.  You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel.  Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you.  You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable.  A little different, sure, but altogether nice.  Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake.  You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water.  “You’re welcome, I guess.”  

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not.  His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does.  (Seriously, how big are his eyes?)  You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth.  Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?”  He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.  

“What?”  You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”  

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out.  It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent.  Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.”  Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.  

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare.  “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?”  The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.  

“That’s not my name.”  The bite disappears past his teeth.  You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook.  Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do.  Juvenile in a way but enticing in another.  You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,”  he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down.  (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.)  “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation.  He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations.  He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.  

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea.  Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,”  you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.”  He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact.  “You care about people.  You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone.  You want to do what’s right.  Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words.  Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.  

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey.  He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts.  He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up.  He decorates his apartment with the most random things:  limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates.  He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years.  All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on.  (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.)  He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his).  He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,”  he insists from behind his coffee cup.  

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”  

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh.  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable. 

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.”  It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap.  It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now.  He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had.  Youngin is good for him, though.  You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips.  When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone.  “Girls are scary.”

You laugh.  Cackle, really.  You can’t help it.  He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon.  He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak.  He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says.  (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary.  Death is scary.  Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.”  He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest.  From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture;  from him, it’s patient.  “Girls aren’t scary.  Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.” 

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”  

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good.  Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags.  Like he’s living life in greyscale. 

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze.  Instead, he laughs.  “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.”  You’re adamant, insistent.  He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft.  An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.  

You want to protect him, teach him to fly.  Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.  

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes.  He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it.  He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.  

“Fine,”  he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long.  It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused.  It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days.  You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.  

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse.  If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton.  He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew).  He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it.  (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?”  It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso.  It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm. 

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him.  He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for.  To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings.  “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.  

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is. 

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence?  (You wish you were joking.)  It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.  

“This one?”  He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face.  Medium-weight cashmere.  Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist.  It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,”  you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels.  “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law.  You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.”  He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.  

Your response is a shrug.  “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.”  You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates.  You know there’ll be something good on the menu.  

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist.  You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him.  Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink.  Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.  

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch.  That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other.  “Hey!  You’re leaving already?”  It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone.  It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes.  For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes.  “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.”  A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh?  Well, that’s certainly something new.  Good for him, you think. 

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.”  It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words.  “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her.  Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes).  Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date.  It’s a big deal. 

“Yeah—“  Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky.  “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother.  “Go get ‘em, tiger.”  

“I will,”  he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.  

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place.  It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look.  “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”  

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?  

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever).  It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you.  He’s going on a second date, after all.  Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant.  You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine.  Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine.  The two of you are friends.  You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come.  Baby boy was growing up. 

“Y’know.”  You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment.  It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?”  He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.  

You wiggle your hand dismissively.  “Second date and all that.”  

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on.  It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots.  “Just stick around.  I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him.  “Fine.  I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door.  “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,”  you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake.  It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook.  This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook:  Hey. from jeon jungkook:  I’m really sorry but I won’t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook:  If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook:  Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date.  It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing.  (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook:  i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops.  Of course.  He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions.  (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook:  it’s fine!  have fun! to jeon jungkook:  turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up.  Good, you think.  About time he finds someone nice.  You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.  

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact.  He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic. 

“I want you to meet her,”  he mumbles, like that makes it better.  As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?”  He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over.  (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.)  You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.”  But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is.  Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately.  “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that.  No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman.  It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set.  Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise.  It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch.  (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)  

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.”  His vague response speaks volumes.  The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery.  When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway.  “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!”  Of course.  It’s obvious.  She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that.  (He is.)  “I’m not coming to dinner.”  

“You’re already in the car,”  he reasons.  

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve.  Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.”  When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him.  Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal.  Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,”  he repeats, almost pleading.  You can’t look at him.  You won’t.  The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause. 

“Fine.”  You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off.  You’re not actually mad.  Just worried.  You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand.  It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person.  You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that.  Should, anyway.  You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.  

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it.  He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line.  (Truthfully, it’s your fault.  All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by.  You’ve got a reputation to uphold. 

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat?  How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer:  you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.  

“What’re you doing here?”  At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness.  Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really).  “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge.  It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired.  So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance.  He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin.  You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.  

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)  

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day.  “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,”  the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well.  Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,”  you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold.  You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else.  If you had to guess, it’s her perfume.  It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses.  You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.  

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter.  You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare.  “So?”

“W-what?”  

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning.  Something’s happened.  Must have.  There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?”  You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him.  He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.  

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression.  He’s stalling, you can tell.  You hate when he does this.  You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small.  “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced.  What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges.  You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual.  Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned.  (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.  

“So.”  You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves.  You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest.  He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs.  Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.”  The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said.  Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.  

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look.  It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?”  It explodes out, a question that demands an answer. 

He’s staring past your head, unblinking.  You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp.  “I c-couldn’t.  It was just…”  The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”  

“Just—”  There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot.  He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise.  He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket.  “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean?  Feel right?  

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete.  It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down.  Didn’t he understand that?  Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.  

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’”  You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window.  “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately.  He doesn’t. 

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” 

“You like her, right?”  

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out.  Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there.  “So, you like her.”  It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way;  you don’t mean it in any way but supportive.  You just want him to be happy.  “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”  

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer.  But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise.  Hope, maybe?  Fear?   

“What?”  You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight.  He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer.  (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”  

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest.  His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair.  He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer.  Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,”  he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.”  It’s cruel.  “You’re making a bad choice.  You’re into this girl.  Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements.  “I’m not dumb.”  There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask.  It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.  

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.  

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay.  Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question.  You can’t blame her.  You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.  

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.  

“What?”  It’s less snark, more sigh.  You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.  

“What’s going on with you?”  

“Nothing.”  

“Bullshit,”  she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter.  “You’ve been in a bad mood all week.  I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.”  She’s right, of course.  You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what.  “Did something happen?”  

You grit your teeth.  An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,”  she tries again, concerned.  

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!”  She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly.  “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough.  So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right.  It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload.  (Maybe it’d be helpful.  Probably.  But you’ve never found comfort in other people.  At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.”  Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on.  “It’s fine.  Really.”  You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile.  “I just need to get some sleep.”  And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.  

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action.  It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.”  You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater.  He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,”  he mutters, refusing to meet your stare.  At least, you think he’s refusing.  It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.  

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes.  It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away.  It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?”  You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated.  He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding.  “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.”  This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him.  He hums a noise but offers nothing further.  

This is how it’ll be then.  Fine.  If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go.  He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth.  “I—  I don’t—  I didn’t say that.” 

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.  

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now.  Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.  

“W-what?”

“Tell me.”  You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round.  “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters.  What have I got that she doesn’t?”  

“You’re serious?”  

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.  You think he might say no, outright refuse.  You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.  

“You’re funny.  You’re honest.  You speak your mind.”  You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people.  He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him.  “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t.  You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”  

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen.  As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.  

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.”  He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again.  “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”  

There’s something thick in your throat.  

“You make me want to try.”  He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it.  “Y-you make things not so scary.”  

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you.  He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself.  You make me laugh.”  He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.”  You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit.  Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.  

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs.  Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words.  They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism.  “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention.  “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here.  Just a chance.”  He’s got a peculiar look on his face.  “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?” 

All of a sudden, he’s close.  Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be.  There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down.  The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.  

“You kind of ruined my life.  I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense.  You’d ruined his life?  (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.)  You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.  

“I’m kidding.”  

It feels like whiplash.  You’ve created a monster.  

“But you do owe me, I think.  So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing.  He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams. 

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out.  He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed.  He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money.  He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.  

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him).  If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either.  Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge.  He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,”  he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you.  You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom.  “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff.  It’s adorable.  

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends.  You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head.  You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.  

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.  

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups.  Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.  

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together.  Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects.  Surely there’s more to this.  Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?”  You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.  

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”  

“A playsuit?”  You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in.  Would it even fit?  Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns.  “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected.  Or at least, you think it does.  If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim. 

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal.  He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,”  he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds.  The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs.  He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick.  “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.  

“Use your words, gorgeous.”  As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck.  He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”  

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob.  Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh.  He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be.  The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.  

“You like this, don’t you?”  His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy.  “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,”  you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts.  The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin.  Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.  

“Good girl.”  Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips.  You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall.  Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips.  “Such a good girl for me.  My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she?  Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard.  Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate.  It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest.  Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it.  Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear.  You know he’ll catch you.  “I want you.”  

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same.  Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.  

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm.  The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,”  he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer.  Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am.  I am.  I am,”  you chant, tears welling along your lash line.  They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.  

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you.  It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you. 

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much.  Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings​ @veronawrites​ @notmontae97​ @papillonsgf​ i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

[sserpente]

Seeds of Doubt

Synopsis: Months and months after grieving in your home realm Asgard, when you find out that Loki, the man you had promised to marry one day is still alive, you accompany Thor to Earth to bring him back to his senses. Your strong feelings for one another overwhelm you and you join the God of Mischief on his conquest to become a fearsome king. Together, you survive the strongest storms. Together, you win every battle. Together, you rule Midgard. As the sceptre’s steel grip on you becomes stronger and stronger, both Loki and you fall into a tyrannical frenzy feeding off of the fear of your mortal subjects and only once the sceptre is taken out of your reach do you begin to doubt your ways. What will be stronger in the end? Will it be the power of the mind stone… or your unconditional love?

A/N: Here it finally is! This is the 20k Follower Special! It’s a personalised Imagine written for @nebulousfishgills​ who won! ♥ The Reader in this story has a name, a specific appearance, traits and characteristics, so it’s a little different than usual! Enjoy, everyone! ♥

Words: 10469 Warnings: Loki wins!AU, Dark!Loki, Dark!Reader, Dom!Loki, mentions of slavery, violence, murder and gore; torture, dystopian universe, smut, dub-con, angst, mild exhibitionism

“Where is he?” Your voice echoed through the hall like a mother’s desperate scream for her child. They found him. Hysteria spread in your chest like a parasite, your feeble attempts to swallow down your worry for the man you loved all but fruitless. Your green cape—a homage to Loki—fluttered behind you like you were riding a tidal wave ready to destroy everything in its path. Perhaps you were. Perhaps today was the day you were going to hold the people who wronged him accountable for it and perhaps soon, you would finally hold each other again.

His death had ruined you. Day in and out, Frigga would find you crying in the library grieving the love of your life all the while Thor undid the damage they blamed on Loki, hiding in the very same spot he had spent most of his time in to read in peace, knowing that his tactless brother would hardly seek out a place of pure knowledge and wisdom.

The Queen knew better than to tell. Heads would roll if the kingdom found out about your tears, regardless of how inseparable Loki and you had always been. No one but him had ever seen you cry and you took pride in keeping it that way.

As of right now, your concern and anger overwhelmed the numbing sadness. Had you not overheard the einherjars’ heated conversation about the lost prince having returned from the dead and wreaking havoc somewhere you could not be a part of it, you might have never learned that Loki was alive until they brought him back and… and what?

Something was wrong, you could feel it in the very core of your being. Clenching your fists, you barged further into the throne room unannounced, ignoring the weak protests of the guards. Each of your steps was confident, calculated—even though there was a part of you that was on the verge of tears.

“Amnerys…” Thor spoke your name as if it belonged to a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar.

“Where is he, Thor?!” You spat through gritted teeth, narrowing your blue eyes at him.

The God of Thunder took a deep breath. “He is on Earth.”

“Midgard? What is he doing on Midgard?”

“Heimdall witnessed him entering the realm through a portal and slaughtering innocents. He means to rule the mortals as their king.” Odin said. Your heart skipped a beat. Loki… your sweet, loving, caring, perceptive and mischievous Loki, your mirror…

“This is not right. Loki would not… not like this.”

“It matters not,” Odin continued unfazed, “Thor will be sent to Midgard to put an end to his childish schemes and he will face trial for the damage and chaos he has caused across Yggdrasil.” No, he will not. You glared at him. Had you treated him differently, he would never have been tempted to throw a foreign realm into an absolute monarchy in the first place.

“I demand to come with him.”

“You, Amnerys? You wish to accompany Thor to Earth?” Incredulousness swung in Odin’s voice, his white eyebrows raised ever so slightly. He clenched his spear when you stood your ground, lifting your chin as if nothing was about to stop you—and nothing was, as a matter of fact.

“You know who he was to me. This is the least you owe me, your majesty.”

~*~

Odin knew. He knew you were not to mess with and he knew that it was solely Loki’s death that had kept you at bay. He would never admit it but your intelligence intimidated him. You could be dangerous if only you wanted to. Odin had learned during your early childhood already that keeping you close to the palace meant to remain safer than banishing you to a foreign realm where you would plot revenge until he fell. An eye for an eye. You would only ever treat the people who wronged you like that.

Dark magic was still sizzling in your blood when the clouds spat you both out and sent you flying through the crisp air, right until Thor slung his arm around your waist and brought his hammer down into utter nothingness, enveloped by heavy rainclouds and blinding lightning bolts in the distance.

You hit the roof of an aeroplane or something of the like. Mortal technology was beyond your comprehension, for neither Loki nor you required a machine to fly if you could simply transform into a bird and take to the skies.

“Don’t back down now, hammer boy.” You yelled across the stormy wind. Thor shot you a meaningful look, even more so when the hatch opened and you both jumped.

Loki. His eyes widened when his brother marched towards him like a bilgesnipe all the while an invisible force appeared to rip your heart right out of your chest only to mend it with the soft hands of relief. Loki’s gaze met yours, blue locking with blue and your souls intertwining like eager fingers.

Thor jumped and you followed, leaving the dumbfounded mortals behind.

Your digits were tingling with seidr as you landed on the cliff, your nails digging into the relentless rock to your feet. Thor was nowhere to be seen, not until you heard his battle cry in the distant forest. Odin would have expected you to help him but that was not what you were here for. You only had eyes for him.

“Loki…” His lips parted and several painful heartbeats passed in which he observed you like the antique paintings in the palace library. Doubtfully. What was it he expected to see? Your grief had made your round face grow older and your skin even paler than it already was and yet, you were still the same woman with blue eyes and those chestnut brown hair he used to love burying his fingers in.

“Are you real?” His voice was weak, wary. Frowning, you stepped closer to him, close enough for him to reach out and touch you. Loki was frozen on the spot like an ice sculpture in the deepest winter of Jötunheim.

“What? Of course I’m real.” You never noticed the tears swimming in your eyes until you took one final step and lifted your chin to look him in the eye. You were tall, taller than the average mortal woman and still, Loki towered above you like a true king. Like the true king he used to be before Odin and Thor drove him to attempted suicide.

He looked older, and colder. Worn out. Your voice was but a mere whisper, your palm cupping his right cheek. “What happened to you?”

Loki swallowed, making you gasp when his hand wrapped around your wrist. The moment he blinked was the moment you threw yourself into his arms. Inhaling his unique scent, this delectable mixture of molten metal, ice and leather, you pressed your face against his chest with your eyes closed, bathing in his presence and his touch, both of which you had missed more than anything in all of the nine realms.

The first, desperate sob escaped your lips when he hugged you back and rested his chin on your shoulder, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“I missed you so much… I thought I had lost you forever.”

“You did not.” He replied, his lips against your chestnut hair.

“Why… why did you not contact me? Where were you?”

“Contacting you would have put you in danger. It was for the best you believed me dead.”

“Was it?” You raised your voice. “Was it really? Do not patronise me, Loki, you know very well I can hold a candle to you.”

“Yes…” He pondered. “I know that.” Silence. Uncomfortable and peaceful at the very same time, you both stood there as if there was a canyon between you, lost time you had to make up for.

“Have you got any idea how much I suffered without you?” You continued, your voice shaking.

His expression hardened. “Did Odin harm you?”

“No. No, he wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me. I was mourning, Loki. When you died… a part of me died with you and now… now I feel like it is coming back to me.”

His blue eyes locked with yours. “Join me.”

“W-what? Loki… I came to take you home with me.”

The God of Mischief shook his head bitterly. “Asgard was never truly my home, now was it?”

“It’s the place you grew up in, the place you know better than any other… the place where you met me. Is that not enough? Odin will not live forever. We will be free, Loki.”

“Yes,” he breathed hoarsely, “We will be free. With this.” Seidr tickled his palm, enveloping his hand in a beam of green light to reveal the sceptre.

“He will have me executed for this—you know this.”

“But you don’t want this. Midgard… why would you want to rule the mortals?”

Loki did not respond and yet his glance spoke volumes. Something is wrong, I can feel it.

“Why won’t you tell me?” You chirped, hot tears worsening your sight once more. If your cheeks were wet and reddened, you never noticed. Then, his expression hardened once more.

“But I am. This is it, my sweet Amnerys, my triumph. I will rule, I will be powerful and I will prove myself a worthy king. Is this not what we always dreamed of as children?”

“It is. Loki, it is… but…” But what? He was back. Loki was alive and you could not care less about the mortals’ fate if only he would never leave your side again. Loki was your soulmate and you were his.

This was wrong. You knew it was wrong and yet… the urge to give yourself to him rose with every single heartbeat.

“Join me.” He repeated. A disarming smirk played on his lips, even though it did not quite reach his eyes. “Be my queen.”

You gasped for air, your hesitation dissolving like moist fog in a spring forest. By the time Thor returned with the mortal wrapped in metal, you had gone.

~*~

5 years later

Loki chuckled at the words he himself had written, his fingers entangled with yours and his thumb stroking the back of your hand. Propping his chin up with his free hand, he watched the hilarious play unfold on the small stage he’d had built. The actors were sweating, yet a look into their terrified and helpless eyes proved it was not the warm stage light increasing their body temperature.

Loki had executed three actors over the past week because they had failed to please him and play their part convincingly. Naturally, they had all played the parts of Thor, albeit a humiliated and weak version of the God of Thunder who was currently in exile.

You still remembered the day of victory like it was yesterday, the adrenaline and the rush of power coursing through your veins like liquid fire. The Chitauri had overpowered the Avengers almost too soon for your entertainment. A few of them, Thor, the redhead Natasha Romanoff and the green beast they called the Hulk remained alive, plotting revenge and assassinations.

Not one month went by in which Loki and you did not publically execute a hitman or a hitwoman, and yet their feeble attempts to murder their king and queen were all but pathetic. Only the fewest made it past the heavily guarded entrance doors of what used to be Stark Tower and now posed as a striking palace you called your new home. Midgard was not so bad, after all.

Terrorising its people was quite fun, actually and thanks to Loki’s sceptre, getting them to bend to your will was not only fun but way too easy and convenient. The God of Mischief had soon gotten rid of the leaders the mortals called their would-be queens, kings and presidents anyway. Those who had resisted were now rotting away several feet below the earth.

Oh yes, the sceptre was truly a most marvellous object. You fancied a foot massage? The sceptre would convince the helpless mortal in charge of gardening the roof terrace. You wished for a special food delivery? Anything was possible with the mind stone. They were so easy to manipulate, so easy to control and undermine, to step on like a boot would step on an ant. It was fun. Nothing less did those petty and ignorant mortals deserve after polluting their own planet to the point of death and destruction. They were paying the price for it now.

In your youth, years and years had gone by on Asgard where you would study the powerful stones until you knew all of its secrets. The Tesseract was gone—Loki had failed to tell you whom he had given it to after the successful invasion of the Chitauri, nonetheless, as long as you still had the sceptre, you were not going to complain. It felt like the mind stone was connecting you two, wrapping a steel rope around your love for one another. Love which you never failed to act on at any given opportunity, for your days were mainly spent cuddling and, quite frankly, fucking on every possible surface of Stark Tower, having luxurious dinners and Loki sending terrified mortals to buy you expensive gifts and jewellery.

The humans feared you and unlike what you had expected from yourself, you were enjoying it. You were bathing in their terror, their anxiety and their tears, even their blood—metaphorically speaking—especially after Loki put you in charge of labour distribution.

What was the play about again? Snapping yourself out of your trance, you sighed, even more so because Loki’s hand had discreetly disappeared under your dress under the table, his thumb caressing your clit. There was no need for underwear here, after all.

“He is positively the most unenthusiastic Thor of the whole week.” You choked out when he slipped two fingers inside of your warmth, his free hand coming up to stroke your pale arm. “He is boring me.”

“Is he now? I believe the reason for your boredom is that I have not yet sentenced him to death. He is rather delightful. Look at how much he is shaking.” He chuckled. “He is trying so hard to appear devoted. He will live, for now.”

A moan escaped your lips when he curled his fingers inside of you, repeatedly stroking your g-spot. Loki chuckled once more. “Oh, what is it, my sweet Amnerys? Will you come for me? Will you come undone before all these people?”

Slaves were positioned to either side of the long table. If they knew what Loki was doing to you right now, they’d do well to keep their mouths shut and pretend they did not notice and the actors on stage were too caught up in their own panic to realise. Whyever not? You moaned once more. No one would know and if there was something Loki wanted, then he would get it anyway. That included your orgasms.

“I… I will…” You whispered, blood biting at your pale cheeks. He raised his eyebrows slightly, a mischievous smirk growing on his lips. His thumb applied more pressure, making you throw your head back into the cushioned backrest of your throne. By the time you let go and let pleasure consume you, Loki had lost all interest in the play. His blue eyes were fixed on you and your sweet whimpers, his heart pounding fast in his chest upon realising one too many times that you belonged to him.

“My queen…” He purred, helping you ride out your orgasm all the while you attempted, miserably, to keep a straight face. It was then the slaves in the room began to clap and the actors on stage bowed, relieved it was over.

“You are dismissed. Get out of my sight.” Loki barked. You giggled at the way they almost fell off the stage, hurrying to get away from you two.

“They are like lambs,” you remarked, still panting. “Like innocent lambs and we’re the wolves.”

“Hmm… lamb sounds like an excellent idea for dinner, would you not agree?” He hooked his index finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him—not that you had wanted to look away anyway. The remaining mortals in the room knew better than to wait for an order. Without a word, they rushed towards the kitchen to prepare the meal—regardless of how they would acquire a lamb.

Then, finally, Loki’s hand retreated from under your dress, his digits coated with your juices. Your lips parted when he brought them to your mouth, having you suck them clean which you did with no hesitation.

“I have to leave New York for a few days tomorrow.” He said quietly, his gaze fixed on your lips wrapped around his fingers. You released him with a silent smack to pout.

“Without me?”

“Yes, my love. There have been concerning reports of riots in New Jersey. Now we cannot have that, can we?”

“No… of course not.”

“I shall be back soon. You will rule this meagre place just fine without me until I return. You know how to put the mortals in their place, no?”

You giggled again. “I do.”

“That is my queen. I trust you, my sweet Amnerys.”

~*~

I trust you, my sweet Amnerys. You smiled. You were the only one in the nine realms that the infamous God of Mischief trusted. Even a few days without him would be hell. You would handle the kingdom well, there was no doubt about that and yet… you already longed for him to hold you in his arms again. Throwing back the satin green covers of the huge king-size bed the two of you slept in, you climbed off the soft mattress all but naked, your smile widening when your blue eyes fell on the golden fountain pen Loki had gifted you, along with a bouquet of blue roses, your favourite flowers—one of his first gifts, back on Asgard when you were only five-hundred years old, right before you had run off like children to practice magic with Frigga. So young, so naïve, so in love.

Loki had always been so gentle, so considerate… your smile faded. He had changed though, had he not? His behaviour towards you was no different in the slightest bit, but even though he radiated dominance like a radioactive gemstone, you wondered why it was only now you realised how cruel he had become. The humans were shivering with fear when they spoke to him, barely able to kneel properly for their trembling robbed them of their balance. And what about you? Were you not inflicting the same amount of pain and suffering?

You scoffed. Where were these thoughts coming from? This was ridiculous, right? You were a queen, Loki’s queen, and you were together and happy. It mattered not if the mortals lived in agony for this cause… only it did.

Your lips parted. When was the last time Loki and you had spent a peaceful day together outside, without anyone attempting to assassinate you? Without anyone quivering in fear of what might happen to them if they displeased you?

When… when had you become like that? You swallowed thickly. Loki had left earlier this morning. You were not going to sulk away in his absence, now were you? He had left you in charge for a reason and you would make him proud.

“Y-your majesty?” It was one of the maids, standing in the doorframe like she was about to be sacrificed to the Norns and hence ripping you out of your thoughts with brute force, making you drop the fountain pen back on the desk and spin around.

“Don’t you know how to knock, you silly girl?”

“I… I did, your majesty.”

“What is it?” You barked.

“There… there has been a brawl on the street right in front of the Tower. The guards have told me that two… two men were fighting over a stolen loaf of bread.”

You rolled your eyes. Well, theft was a crime and it was going to have to be dealt with.

“I am to let you know, I wasn’t going to let them in just in case you were not decent yet… which… which you aren’t, so I was…”

“Get me my morning robes,” you cut her off. “I shall get freshened up and meet the culprits in the throne room.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The maid nodded and hurried away quickly but even the hot shower you took before she returned did not succeed in washing away the seeds of doubt in your mind. Something was wrong. It was the very same thought you had harboured back when you had first found Loki again after his attempted suicide. It felt like ages away now and yet… you remembered your concerns like they’d been keeping you awake only yesterday.

When you entered the throne room an hour later, the two men were quivering, one of them crying even and the fight they had had over a mere loaf of bread—pathetic—all but forgotten. You tilted your head as you raised your eyebrows and made yourself comfortable on Loki’s throne.

“Well?” You spat.

“My q-queen, w-we are so sorry. I-I just… I need to f-feed my family. We have been living in p-poverty after K-King L-L-Loki shut down m-my b-business. T-the oil factory?”

“The oil factory that kept polluting the seas, you mean? Killing the fish, contaminating all of your drinking water, making you all die even faster?” You scoffed. “Perhaps now you know what the fish must have felt like.”

“N-no, I-I mean… y-yes. I… r-realise my mistake but my… my family, they had nothing to do with it. I need to f-feed them. My w-wife s-suffers from severe social anxiety, she is unable to work. O-our children… we are going to starve to death. W-we… I would have paid for the loaf if only I could have, all I want is to k-keep my f-family alive!” His last words were swallowed by pathetic sobs. The urge within you to roll your eyes grew with every passing second and yet, for some peculiar reason and for the first time in years, you felt your heart clench with something you almost did not recognise anymore. Compassion.

This man had not stolen out of spite or malice. He had stolen out of desperation. The other man, you presumed, must have been the vendor then. He too now feared for the worst for causing a scene. The punishment for theft was execution by dismemberment. Fingers first, arms next, lastly the head. It was a surprisingly effective way to keep the robbery rate at a minimum.

“W-Will I… will you have me killed, my queen?”

You took a deep breath. Whatever it was that overcame you, Loki would not be pleased. But this man had not truly committed a crime, now had he? It was a loaf of bread, for Heaven’s sake!

“No. Now get out of my sight and you,” you pointed at another maid, “have that bread replaced for the vendor.”

One of the maids had once called you “ruthless” and “dangerous”. Loki had had her executed for her disrespectful behaviour and gossiping behind your back. As of today, however, you were wondering if she was right. The maid who had caught you off guard earlier this morning, she used to be a Mathematics student, you knew that from when you had taken her belongings back at her arrival to see if she had anything you liked. She did, as a matter of fact. A beautiful emerald stone necklace reminding you of Loki’s colours. You had barely worn it since, it was more the principle of being able to simply take what you wanted. Not to mention what the mortals were to expect if they resisted you. As if on cue, your seidr tickled your fingertips, once more reminding you of Loki.

Tricks and pranks you had always enjoyed together but this? You did not want to give up the life you had, did not want to give up Loki because what was done was done. He ruled Midgard now, with you by his side, you could not have one thing without the other.

But when… when exactly had you begun to doubt that a kingdom drowning in blood, tears and hard labour was not what you wanted after all? After everything Loki had gone through? He deserved happiness, he deserved to rule but not… not like this.

You growled. “Run me a bath.” You ordered, avoiding looking at your shivering maid.

“Y-yes, o-of course, Your Majesty. Would you like a bath bomb, too? I… I had them brought to the Tower for your baths. They are with… with lemon tea, your favourite scent.”

Really? You meant to say. Instead, you froze her in place with your scrutinising gaze. Your expression uncontrollably softened when you met her terrified and tear-stricken eyes. “Thank you.”

The maid’s eyes widened. “O-Oh! Y-You’re welcome, my queen. I… I will also prepare your favourite wine for you.”

Well… She doesn’t do this because she likes you or respects you, a reproachful voice in your head whispered. She does it because she’s afraid that you will kill her if she so much as breathes in your direction at the wrong moment.

~*~

Loki had made sure to have all of your personal belongings, along with your beloved fountain pen, brought to Asgard. Stacked away, somewhere in this gorgeous bedroom, were your old books too. Books that you had studied so intently and so often that they were on the verge of falling apart. Most of them were about the Infinity Stones and their creation.

You could not shake off the feeling that your subconscious was trying to tell you something—yet all you knew was that the answer was hidden in between the lines of your books. It had to be. Seeds of doubt had clouded your mind after Loki had gone, alas once he returned… you had felt more powerful than ever.

And now, something was keeping you down like a heavy blanket of snow on Jötunheim.

“One of the maids was caught snooping around in our bedroom last night, did you know?” Loki said casually when he entered the room, his armour melting off of his body to reveal a pale but well-defined body. Distracted, you blinked, losing all focus on your books.

“Which one?”

“You know the girl with the brown hair who spends most of her time in the kitchen. Only the Norns know what she is doing in there when it is not meal time.” He began to smirk, bending down to kiss you gently.

“Would you like to have her?”

You grinned. “With pleasure. I don’t wish to kill her though.” You replied. Loki frowned. “She is one of our best cooks! Let us torture her a little and punish her for invading our privacy like that. If she has not learned her mistake by then, we can still kill her.”

Loki sighed. “Well then. As you wish, my queen. Now come to bed. I wish to feel myself inside of you.”

~*~

You laughed, hysterically almost, when the maid screamed. Your fingertips were tingling with seidr, one of your hands clutching Loki’s sceptre. Pain distorted the girl’s face as she cowered on the ground before you, trembling to the point she would be unable to stand on her own accord. Her eyes were glowing blue, the sceptre’s influence clouding her mind.

Power rushed through your veins, from the mind stone into your arm and through your entire body, making you feel invincible.

Loki chuckled behind you. If you kept going for much longer, the nosey maid would die after all. But oh, playing with the sceptre was just too much fun.

“Go on. Hold your arm into the flames.” You commanded, nodding your head over to the chimney. The fire was crackling peacefully, the warmth spreading all over the throne room. The maid’s lower lip, chewed on to the point it was bleeding, was shaking. You sincerely hoped there was still a part of her knowing what was going on, knowing what she was being forced to do and yet, without any hesitation, she crawled over to the fireplace, stretched out her left hand and held it straight into the flames.

Her ear-piercing screams echoed through the room like sharp needles stabbing your skin and from the corner of your eye, you could see the other slaves in the room swallowing thickly, forced to watch the horror unfolding before their eyes as a lesson that would surely not fail its impact.

“See… who plays with fire will likely burn themselves.” You spat through gritted teeth, albeit with a dangerously sweet voice. Then, before she could utter a single word, you knocked her out, hitting her hard on the head with the blunt end of the sceptre.

She would not need any more mind control when she woke up and yet, the moment the sceptre struck her, a painful sting tore through you, her physical agony turning into mental torment for you. For just a brief moment, you saw a young, innocent girl who had been robbed of her entire life to serve you and Loki as a mindless slave to be punished severely if she dared to step out of line.

You blinked, stumbling back a few steps to chase away the atrocious feeling in your guts, crashing straight into Loki. He frowned, steadying you, and took the sceptre from your hand in response. The moment it left your grasp, the sensation grew even worse. What was wrong with you?

“Are you quite alright, my love?” Loki whispered, quiet enough only for you to hear it. You nodded, taking a deep breath.

“I feel a little dizzy, is all. Let me go lie down for a bit—and tell the maid to prepare us supper with salmon when she awakes.”

The God of Mischief was still frowning by the time you fled from the throne room and retreated to your shared chambers.

Heavens, what in the nine realms was going on? Staggering over to the window, you gaped outside to take in the beautiful skyline of New York City and rubbed your eyes. It almost felt like you had been seeing the world in black and white and, for some dubious and peculiar reason, the colours were now slowly pouring back into your perception. It scared you.

You were not surprised when Loki entered the bedroom not soon after you had stormed out, finding you biting your nails nervously—which was something you had never down before.

“Perhaps you should tell her about supper yourself. She is even more terrified of you than she is of me, my queen.” He chuckled, stroking over your hair as he approached you. When you only sighed with hesitation sparkling in your eyes, Loki’s lips parted.

“You are unwell.”

“I’m fine, I…”

“You are not. Should I call for a healer?”

“They’re called doctors here.” You replied weakly.

“I do not care what they call them as long as one of them helps you, my love. I will not have you suffer.”

“Perhaps it is my cycle, Loki. I am fine. Let us—“

There was a sudden tumult in the throne room that interrupted you both. Loud gasps and even screams became audible with a start, almost as if a wave of relief washed over the entire staff… well, your slaves.

“Sire! Sire! Help!” Alarmed, the both of you exchanged a look. Your heart sank to your boots when you hurried back into the throne room and were greeted by an assassination commando.

“Loki. Amnerys. It’s Game Over. Stand down.” Red dots in your field of vision blinded you when you came to a halt, laser pointers, so you figured, belonging to heavy machine guns aimed directly at you two and before you… Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner and, much to your surprise, Thor.

“Chloe… take the elevator downstairs, someone will be waiting for you there. And take all the others with you.” Loki glared at her. It was the maid Thor had addressed and if looks could kill, the poor girl would have dropped dead this instant. You should have killed the stupid wench after all. She had been spying on you all along, catching glimpses of moments where you would be unprepared… Both Loki and you growled.

“Thor… what a lovely surprise.” The God of Mischief announced then, arrogantly lifting his chin. “Have you at last decided to see for yourself what I have done to your precious Earth? Is it not better to keep the humans under control like this, to keep them from destroying their own planet?”

“By enslaving them and working them to death? I don’t think so, Loki. This is madness.”

“Perhaps. But so is you coming here.” His expression hardened. “You have signed your death warrant, brother.”

“Not this time. Our father—“

“Your father!” Loki spat.

“We did not want to do this, Loki. But you left us no choice. You must be stopped. Both of you.”

“Skip the reunion speech, Thor…” Natasha muttered. You snarled at her all the while holding on to Loki’s arm. What did he mean by no choice? What had he planned?

With your heart in your mouth, you soon found your seidr tickling your fingertips, ready to fling them all straight into the nearby wall to listen with delight how several of their bones would break in the process.

When you turned your head back to Loki, he gave you a barely visible nod. It was in the very moment you sent both Natasha and Bruce flying through the throne room with but a flick of your hand that Thor called for his beloved hammer—only it was nothing like you remembered it anymore. It was enveloped in orange fire, its flames licking high up into the air, ready to devour. Blood Orange. There was only one being in this universe who was able to create such indestructible and powerful flames—Raskk, the highest fire demon from Muspelheim.

If Thor intended to use his hammer against Loki… as a Frost Giant, he would be dead before it dawned. Surely, your heart had now stopped beating altogether.

“Loki…”

The God of Mischief growled in response. His hand found yours, fingers entangling and before you knew it, he materialised the sceptre just in time to catch his brother off guard. The both of you teleported.

Knowing how much harm Raskk’s fire was able to do to your husband and king, something inside of you snapped. If they found him again… they would kill him for sure.

You felt broken and mended at the very same time. Like a thread cut in two with a pair of sharp scissors, your vision cleared to finally reveal all the colours drained from your eyesight for so long. Breathing heavily, you gasped for air in a desperate attempt to fight off a panic attack.

“Amnerys…” Loki caught you in his arms before your shaking knees hit the floor of the shabby motel he had brought you to, an inconspicuous place you had discovered a while back on the hunt for electricians to maintain what used to be Stark Tower. Loki had done well to remember the tacky place in the suburbs. You would be safe here until you could come up with a plan.

The truth was, Thor’s hammer, strengthened by Raskk’s blood orange fire, had caught you both off guard. Loki had expected any form of resistance from his brother—not, however, that he would try and end his life in such a brutal and excruciating way.

Your fear for Loki’s life… it had broken the influence of the sceptre. You saw it so clearly now… how it had been the weapon all along, dragging you down a rabbit hole so dark it had blinded you.

“I… I…” Unable to speak, you allowed him to scoop you up into his arms like a bride. Your thoughts were too tangled up to follow the harsh commands he barked at the poor receptionist behind the desk in the foyer, only dared to whimper once he had closed the door behind you.

He put you back on your feet, ensuring you would not simply drop like a marionette. “Amnerys, speak to me. Are you in pain?”

It took you another moment to pull yourself together. With a deep shaky breath, you locked your eyes with his.

“What have we done?” You whispered, your lower lip shaking. “Loki, what have we done…”

“What?”

“What have we done… the slavery, the torture, the murder… Loki… we turned Midgard into another Helheim.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“Don’t you see? It’s… the sceptre. It’s been the sceptre all along… it… it brainwashed us like puppets!”

“You are confused.”

“I am not. Loki, listen to me, please!”

He shushed you, pressing you against his chest. With his heartbeat against your cheek, you could not help but relax into his arms, your rapid breathing calming down again—if only a little.

“We are safe here. Relax, my queen.” His lips found your neck, planting feather-light kisses on your sensitive skin in an attempt to distract you further. His mouth on you did not fail its effect. Your eyes fell shut with a sigh as you went limp in his arms, albeit reluctant to allow him to seduce you now of all times.

“Loki… w-we shouldn’t… not now… we have to… Raskk’s fire, we… you h-have to get rid of the sceptre. Thor will listen to reason once he learns—“ You were cut off by his tongue demanding entrance into your mouth, forcing you into a kiss that stole away your breath. Loki pushed you down on the hard mattress of the motel room, one of his hands capturing your wrists to pin them down above your head, rendering you completely helpless.

His sheer strength overwhelmed you and despite your Asgardian blood, you were no match to Loki… at least not when he had you on the brink of utter submission and with pleasure coursing through your blood, clouding your mind as your body kept pleading for more and more of his pampering.

“Loki… please. Loki, listen. We have to… this isn’t right… Thor… P-please… get rid of the s-sceptre, you’ll see it’s…”

“Amnerys, stop it!” He growled with a start. His dark and chastising glare sent both fear and excitement through your veins. “What is it with your obsession with the sceptre? It is making us powerful, is it not? You, my dear, are the one with the insatiable interest in the Infinity Stones and their workings.”

“I was wrong… Loki, I was wrong, we were wrong, I…” You groaned when his digits found the hem of your dress and pushed it up your pale thighs to give himself access to your wet folds, your whole body shivering the moment his fingertips brushed against your lips and finally, parted them to reveal your throbbing clit to his greedy eyes.

“L-Loki… Loki, l-listen to me…”

Part of you wanted him to stop, to talk to him rationally but… oh… it just felt too good. Your blue eyes rolled to the back of your head, your nails digging into his naked back. You hadn’t even noticed him removing most of his clothes.

“Oh, I am listening. I will be listening to your moans and whimpers as you come undone for me, my sweet Amnerys.” He paused, indeed eliciting a defeated whine from you. “Tell me you want me inside of you.” He whispered into your ear, sending pleasant shivers up and down your spine.

You swallowed thickly. You did. Your quim was aching to be filled by him, to have him mark you with his Jötun seed and make you his like he had done so often in the past and yet… was now really the time for pleasure? Now that your husband’s life was at stake? Now that you had realised the harm you had done to this planet, to its people? You were monsters. You had become exactly what Loki had feared to turn into when he had first learned about his true heritage.

Loki made you gasp for air when he slipped two of his long fingers inside of you, curling them at your g-spot and making your back arch.

“Tell me.” He spat through gritted teeth. He was in a frenzy—and you were unable to shake off just how much you loved his dominant side, this side he had developed the very moment Frigga had handed him Gungnir. You were lost. Lost in his embrace, lost in his desire, lost in his love for you.

“I do… I always do…”

He chuckled, content with your response. Freeing himself from his remaining armour with his seidr, he pushed your legs apart meeting only little resistance and positioned himself at your entrance. A moan escaped your lips when you felt his rock-hard cock press against your slick opening, the red tip leaking pre-cum already.

He never let go of your wrists, even when he sheathed himself deep inside of you with but one firm thrust, watching with an animalistic growl how you threw your head back in pure bliss, welcoming him in. His free hand was all over your pale skin, exploring every inch of your tall body.

Your walls clenched around him at once, moulding around him perfectly and unwilling to let go of him again, no, willing him even deeper when he retreated only to plunge back in and claim you thoroughly, fucking you with a steady but firm rhythm stealing not only your breath but all of your senses.

Your mind drifted away from how Loki was still under the sceptre’s control and how it made him more ruthless, more dangerous and more villainous. His lips found yours again to keep you from talking, his strokes getting more and more frantic.

You moaned when his free hand found your clit, massaging it swiftly and applying just enough pressure to send you flying. You tightened around him fast, with his name on your lips like a prayer.

Again and again, his length grazed all of your secret pleasure spots, some of them hidden deep inside of your quim. Loki moved the way he knew he would throw himself off of this delectable cliff of pleasure with you and when you came undone, rhythmically clenching around him and milking him for all he was worth, you instantly triggered his own release.

With but a few more eager thrusts, he emptied himself inside of you, coating your walls with his warm seed of which he shot rope after rope into you. He stilled, his length throbbing hotly inside your cunt as he filled you up.

No less than ten seconds passed, seconds in which you were still pulsing around him, failing to come down from your high and the pleasure and the love you felt for this man as it overwhelmed you once more, even more so when he collapsed on top of you and you inhaled his intoxicating scent.

Another ten seconds and you could Thor’s voice bellow through the lobby. You gasped.

“I shielded this place. The motel owner must have told them. I will tear him apart.” Loki growled and jumped out of bed. Your legs were still shaking from your orgasm, his warm seed dribbling out of you and running down your inner thighs when you stood to follow, enveloping yourself with seidr to get dressed much like Loki had done and followed him—only to stop dead in your tracks when ice-cold realisation hit you. You had only just arrived. There was no way the motel owner had been able to alert the Avengers this fast, let alone reach them when they were out and about to hunt you down.

Your lips parted. “They’re after the sceptre. It’s not the owner, Loki, they’re tracking the sceptre! It must be just like the Tesseract, the stone gives off traceable energies.” And the only reason they had not done so before was proper preparation. And a risky alliance—with Raskk.

The God of Mischief slowed down and glanced at you from the corner of his eye but did not halt. Too angry were his steps leading him back towards the lobby, ready to murder the receptionist despite the unusual alliance Thor had formed with one of Muspelheim’s most dangerous fire demons.

“Loki, stop! Listen to me!” Finally, he obeyed albeit turned around so slowly you feared he might pounce on you like a wild wolf at any moment. “Please. Leave the motel owner alone. We have to get out of here, we…” You gasped once more, your feeble attempt to calm yourself with deep breaths failing miserably. “Leave the sceptre behind.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Leave it behind! Else we have to find a way off-world, Loki. Listen to me, I will not risk you dying at the hand of Raskk’s fire just because you are too keen on satisfying your enormous ego!” You shrieked, clenching your fists so hard your knuckles turned white. Your heart was pounding in your chest so loud you feared his words would be drowned by the blood ringing in your ears.

Loki’s nostrils flared. “I am not leaving our kingdom behind for Thor of all people to overthrow it!”

“Then give me the sceptre!”

“No!” The word was so loud it echoed through the entire dimly-lit hallway, without a doubt giving away your location and you realised in that very moment that he was not going to relent. The sceptre’s influence kept its steel grip on him like an unescapable prison.

Tears formed in your eyes when you swallowed, locking your eyes with his—you had never noticed how the blue colour of his irises had intensified to the point of utter mind control. Whoever was behind this… they would pay for it but for now… for now, you had to save Loki’s life.

“Then go. Take it and leave. I will find you.”

“What?”

“I am going to distract them. Go. You cannot go near Thor’s hammer.” Loki hesitated. His thin lips parted once he understood you meant to give yourself up in order for him to escape.

“You are not leaving my side.”

“Do not argue with me, Loki. You know they will not kill me.”

“No,” he growled, “worse. They will torture you.”

You scoffed. “Do you truly believe that?”

A young man stumbled out of one of the motel rooms, a pathetic whimper escaping his lips when he spotted you both standing in the hallway, and legging it instantly.

“Thor has always liked me, Loki—he knows how much I love you and why I did this.”

“If he is prepared to kill me in the cruellest way possible, what makes you think he will not make you suffer a similar fate?”

“They’re up here! Up here! Avengers! Help!” Loki gritted his teeth. With but one swift hand movement, he shot an energy blast from the sceptre into the panicking young man’s direction. It hit the railing of the stairs with an ear-piercing crack, sending pieces of sharp wood flying through the hallway. Luckily, only one of them hit the man in the thigh, who, screaming in surprise more than agony, almost fell down the carpeted stairs and straight into the Avengers’ arms—one of which had turned into a giant green rage monster.

Loki growled once more when you attempted to push past him, his free hand slipping around your waist. He pressed you close against his strong body in an attempt to teleport you both to safety once more, heeding your advice even if he would never let go of the sceptre after everything it had done for him. You spun around, cupping his face in your hands and kissed him hard.

“Go. Do you not trust your queen?”

His lips parted and he scowled. He had no need for a reply, for he did. He trusted you with his life and by the time the Avengers finally reached you with their weapons raised, only you were left standing there, your fingers tingling with seidr urging to be released to help you survive.

Thor stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you, his mortal companions following his actions suit. Your gaze found his glowing hammer spitting Raskk’s fire.

“Amnerys?”

“Hulk? Any moment now.” Widow said surprisingly calm.

“Don’t. Please. I am unarmed.” Lifting both of your hands to prove your intentions, you met Thor’s puzzled expression.

“Where is Loki?” The redhead’s voice was harsh, her glare deadly. You understood now why she was one of Earth’s fiercest assassins and yet, she did little to intimidate you.

“Gone,” you spat in response, “for now. I know where he went. But… but first… we need to talk.”

~*~

Thor buried his hands in his face. “So what you are saying is that this whole time Loki has been under the influence of the sceptre?”

You nodded, shifting on your seat. The Avengers’ hideout was filthy, hidden away in an alley you would have never even set a foot in under different circumstances.

“I have been to. That is why… by the Norns, all those people we killed… all those innocents we tortured… I cannot believe what I have done.” Looking up, your expression hardened with a start. “Loki and I have always been mischievous, you know that. But neither of us would ever have intentionally hurt anyone.”

“It’s kind of hard to believe that, you know.” The Black Widow gave you an incredulous look.

“I agree. What if this is a trick? What if it’s a trap?” Bruce whispered. He was himself again, wearing no more than a pair of ripped jeans that were way too big on him and appeared to swallow up his mortal body whole, making him look even more fragile and meagre than the humans already were. You rolled your eyes. Of course they would not trust you… but then again, you understood. You would not have trusted yourself either, not after everything you had done.

Thor lifted his chin and gave you a warning look. “I have known Amnerys my whole life. She loves Loki, she would do anything for him. I have Raskk’s demon fire—if she is luring us into a trap, my brother will not live long enough to see daylight tomorrow. She knows that… don’t you, Amnerys?”

You swallowed. All of a sudden, all you could muster was a weak “Yes”. Your heart was beating like a steam hammer, your instincts screaming at you to either run or kill. You were with your greatest enemies after all. You were with the very people eager to send your husband to Valhalla, sitting at the same table and drinking tea that might as well have been poisoned.

“If what you are saying is true… then how did you break the sceptre’s influence?” Bruce asked. And it was a good question, one you did not quite know the answer to yourself.

“I am not sure,” you responded, “I had… these strange moments of clarity, a whispering voice in my head telling me to practice caution but once…” You paused, pondering. “Loki was gone. He travelled to New Jersey and he took the sceptre with him, that was the first time I felt these… all these doubts about… about all this.” You motioned around yourself, shame and remorse once more rolling over you like a tidal wave.

“And then?” Bruce probed.

You looked up, your blue eyes once more falling on his oversized jeans. You frowned. “You. I think it was you. All I could think about was how Loki’s life is in danger, how scared I am to lose him… I think this ultimately overwhelmed the power of the mind stone.”

“You know about the Infinity Stones then?”

“Better than you think.”

“What I still don’t understand is what you’re expecting from us now, Amnerys.” Natasha tossed in. “Loki is a criminal and so are you. He will be arrested once we get his hands on him… until Thor can take him back to Asgard, at least.”

Your eyes flew in Thor’s direction. “Odin will have him executed.”

“Not if my mother gets a say in it.”

“You truly believe Frigga will be able to stop him? Face it, Thor, Odin has been looking for an excuse to get rid of him ever since Loki found out about his true heritage. Perhaps he knew. Perhaps he knew that he was still alive somewhere and yet he chose to feign grief.”

Thor opened his mouth to contradict. You cut him off before he could even take a breath.

“Swear to me on your life that no harm will come to him.”

The God of Thunder looked up, meeting your stern gaze with all but resignation and guilt. “Amnerys… I… I cannot swear. I shall speak to Mother and Father, that is all I can promise you to do. You are coming home with us, are you not?”

“Where Loki goes, I go.” It was one of the most sincere truths you had ever spoken.

“So here is what we will do then. We’ll gather the team and you will lead us to Loki, like you promised, we capture him, Thor gets him off-planet. That sounds simple enough. It shouldn’t be too difficult to overpower him now that Min-… Amy…? I’m sorry, what was your name again?” Bruce raised his eyebrows and pointed a finger at you, making you roll your eyes in response.

“Amnerys. My name is Amnerys. Out of mere curiosity… why do you not track the sceptre down again?”

“We could do that eventually but it requires a lot of power. You see, these wires connecting to the…“

“Don’t,” you interrupted, “I have no idea what you are talking about, Dr Banner. It’s electricity, that is all I need to know.”

“Well, yeah… what I’m trying to say is that it will take a lot of time to recharge without cutting the power in the entire city… which would make it even easier for Loki to disappear unnoticed.”

“We never expected you two to separate.”

You scoffed. “I know.” But we will not be for much longer, you added silently.

~*~

Loki was indeed where you had expected him to be. And you had a plan. Centuries ago, the fetid sewers of New York used to be a labyrinth made of beautiful caves and underground rivers—one of which led straight to a secret passageway to Asgard. Loki had discovered it one day, by accident, if anything, for he had been looking for a way to enter Helheim for minerals. Back then, you had been too young to comprehend that Loki had taken you to Midgard a while later.

“Are you sure she’s not leading us straight into an ambush?” Natasha whispered into Thor’s ear. With your heightened hearing abilities, however, she looked to the moist ground quickly when you turned around to raise an eyebrow at her—warningly.

“Trust me,” you spat, “if I had wanted to kill you, you would all be dead already.” You smirked. “Thor is very well aware of how powerful I am.”

Bruce cleared his throat. The sound, much like your voices, travelled through the long and disgusting tunnels seemingly endlessly. “I don’t like this. Where is he?”

“Keep your mouth shut and follow me. Loki’s hearing is as good as mine. And watch your step.” The mud, dirt and brown water to your feet had mixed with garbage only the Norns knew how old. You had already cast a spell to hide your sounds from unwanted ears—you just didn’t want to have to listen to the remaining Avengers expressing their concerns about your person like you were a mischief-maker with no heart or soul. You shook your head silently. They thought the same of Loki, did they not?

Your plan was simple enough. Loki and the sceptre had to be separated, for good. And the best way to do that, if not for your persuasion skills which had failed this time despite how infatuated he was with you, was for the Avengers to do the job for you.

You were not going to let them take him to be executed by Odin. In fact, you would murder them all in cold blood before they even tried.

Now one more turn to the left and then…

Loki would not dare use the sceptre in the sewers due to the underlying danger of collapse; he’d rely on his seidr and his swift fighting skills instead.

You turned around the corner and he looked up as if ripped from a deep thought. His face lit up when you approached him. He stood from his crouching position on the ground and away from the fire he had lit and which was throwing eerie shadows on the wall, and opened his arms for you to embrace him.

You did. A sigh escaped your lips the very second you wrapped your arms around his middle, pressing your face against his chest. “I’m sorry…” You whispered.

“Whatever are you sorry for, my queen?”

You glanced up, praying to the Norns that he would take the hint and see the deceit and mischief sparkling in your blue eyes when the Avengers entered one by one, their weapons aimed at the both of you.

Loki’s face fell, his soft expression transforming into a frightening rage. Not directed at you—but at the god he had called his brother for centuries. Staring daggers at Thor, his voice when he spoke was so dark you felt shivers racing up and down your spine.

“Did they hurt you?” He asked you.

“No. I’m fine, Loki.”

“Actually, she took us here.”

“What?”

His eyes met yours again and in this very moment, you wished you had worked harder on your telepathy skills. Loki had introduced you to the art only two decades back…

“I did this for us, Loki. There was no other way anymore.” You mumbled, inhaling his heavenly scent. He had to understand. He had to understand why you were doing things the way you were doing them.

Just trust me, you willed for him to hear in his mind.

But in the end, your unease betrayed your body, whatever happened next happening too fast for you to comprehend. Someone pulled you to the side and whoever it was, their grip felt like steel around your upper arm. There were shouts, screams, sounds of rage and torment, growls and pants and then… then you heard a pair of Asgardian shackles lock in place around Loki’s wrists, the sceptre clattering to the ground with an ear-piercing noise ricocheting through the cave. Just like that, the God of Mischief, eager to avoid the flames dancing on the indestructible metal of Thor’s hammer, was defeated. Or so they were led to believe.

They did not let you carry the sceptre, of course. Natasha Romanoff never took her eyes off of you on the way back to the Avengers’ secret base, wary and vigilant in fear of you turning the tables after all.

Meanwhile, you did not dare look Loki in the eyes, not until you would be alone together again, and part of you even longed to join him in the cell a man called Nick Fury had been working on for months after Loki’s and your triumph and beginning of a tyrannical reign.

“Thank you,” Thor said, observing his brother on the camera they had set up in the cell. He was sitting there on the wooden bench like a Greek statue motionlessly, staring holes into the metal walls with a blank face. There was disappointment, unease and even… even remorse clouding his flawless features like eerie fog on a gloomy day in the woods of Niflheim. “I owe you, Amnerys.”

“No, you don’t. I did not do this for you. I did it for Loki.”

“I know. I still owe you my gratitude.”

“Just remember your promise, Thor.” You only hoped he would not have to act on it anytime soon.

“I will. Good night, Amnerys.”

It isn’t Good night for me, you thought as you watched him walk off. Regardless of how well the remaining Avengers had prepared for this, their security measures were meagre, embarrassing almost. You were quite surprised they had not locked you up as well for the night after all, as a matter of fact. As of right now, the only thing keeping Loki in his cell was the threat of Raskk’s fire. Nothing, whatsoever, that would harm you any further than inflicting a second-degree burn.

The spell you cast that night to shield both Loki and yourself from the cameras was so simple you resisted the urge to laugh out loud as you snuck through the dark and scabby hallways and eventually reached Loki’s cell.

“My love…” You whispered. The Trickster looked up, glaring right through you for a second before finally meeting your blue eyes.

“Thanos…” He began.

“What?”

“His name is Thanos. He was the one who handed me the sceptre. He promised me victory and power in return for the Tesseract. He manipulated me. Tortured me.” Your lips parted. “I wish I had truly died the day I let myself fall off the Bifrost when I subjected to the pain he made me feel.”

“Oh Loki… this is not your fault, none of this is…”

He snorted, gaping at you darkly. “Are you still blaming the sceptre, my queen?”

“Loki…”

“I heard your plea in my mind… and yet you have signed my death sentence, my sweet Amnerys. Did Thor not tell you what will happen once the Bifrost is fully restored?”

“I do. I know exactly what will happen.” You replied as you unlocked the door and swiftly stepped inside. “They will be looking for us. They will tear the nine worlds apart in their search and yet they will never find us. We will be free, Loki. Just us. No thrones, no sceptres, no obligations and rules.”

Loki began to smirk, warming your heart. “We leave it all behind?”

You nodded, reaching out for him so you could teleport together. “We leave it all behind.”

And you would start by planting little seeds of doubt into his mind, seeds that you intended to grow into nothing but unconditional love.

~*~

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! Head over to my blog to read more of my writing and to find my Kofi link! ♥

[guqin-and-flute]

Are You Here to Stop Me?--Chapter 4

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [First post in Peony to Lotus Verse]

[Ao3 Series]

[I had the hardest time shaking this man and making plot fall out, he was wholly uncooperative.]

This was all such fucking disaster.

A-jie was sick, the Jiang were once again yanked into a political fiasco that they had to pay for with their own reputation, there was a fierce corpse puppet in his home--a home that, apparently, had already been invaded by the Jin Clan demanding answers to said political fiasco while its master wasn’t even there. In a few days time, it would be invaded again by strange Wens he didn’t know or want.

If his mother were alive, she would kill him. He would probably deserve it. He didn’t know what his father would think. He would probably be disappointed--either that he didn’t think of it in the first place or for his resentment.

He stood frozen by the door, anxiously watching Wen Qing treat a barely conscious A-jie. It wasn't like he had never seen his sister feverish and weak before, but it scared him the same every single time. To know that she was in pain and he couldn’t do anything about it. To know that this could be the illness that would take her from him. That this could be the last time that….He gnawed on the inside of his cheek and folded his arms tight across his chest to keep them from fidgeting at his sides.

Jin Guangyao seemed to think everything was under control--at least, that’s what he had said. It would have been far more comforting if it hadn’t been in such a distant voice while being unable to look away from A-jie. Clutching her hand in a white knuckled grip. Expression all strained and pale with badly concealed terror.

This is your plan! Jiang Cheng wanted to scream as he clenched his aching fists. I did this because you said it would work! You’re the one that’s supposed to know what you’re doing!

What he wouldn’t give to actually know what the hell he was doing. Being an adult couldn’t just be this, right? Just guessing and grasping around in the dark, tripping like you’re wearing your father’s too big robes? Every other person he met seemed to be controlled and mature, while he was barely treading water--hell, even Wei Wuxian did the things he did with confidence. It had to get better at some point, because, right now, this mess was embarrassing--enraging. But most of all, it was terrifying.

What the hell should he do? What was right?

A-jie kept breathlessly trying to tell them all that she was alright, that they should rest and continue preparing. But she could barely keep her eyes open. Her head lolled around like a floppy doll. Every once in a while, she was wracked with violent, hacking coughs that shook her and left her gasping.

When she whispered Jiang Cheng’s name and raised a trembling hand as Wen Qing stepped away to prepare something, he practically dove to her side, his knees slamming painfully into the floor in his haste. Clasping her hand in both of his, he found it freezing, so he chafed it gently between his palms. “A-jie?”

“You...must be...so tired.” She smiled weakly, eyes slurring to the Wen child who had fallen asleep on the other pillow, leaving grubby little smudges all over the bedding. “All of you. I’m fine. Go. Sleep.” Even this short speech left her breathless, then coughing, wet and harsh. She trembled as Jin Guangyao helped her sit up and held her close, stroking her back.

Jiang Cheng hated everything about this. He was going to kill Wei Wuxian.

She wasn’t wrong, though. His limbs felt like practice weights, his overworked core throbbed like a pulled muscle within him. (His core? Wei Wuxian’s core? The core? This reminder burrowed in him like a barbed arrow every time he remembered again, further and further since the night he had learned it. Regret and anger and nausea, swimming and hot, every day, every fucking day. A stranger inside himself, but not. Another thing he was helpless to.)

When A-Jie finally dropped into unconsciousness not long after, Wen Qing announced that under no circumstances should she be allowed to exert herself for the next few days, until she could sit up on her own and breathe without wheezing. “The fluid in her lungs has worsened,” she told the two of them, voice still hoarse. “But since I have access to the supplies here, her fever should hopefully break sometime tonight. She shouldn’t be in any immediate danger but she will have to take her medicine on a strict schedule.”

“She will,” Jin Guangyao agreed immediately, thumb smoothing repeatedly over the back of A-jie’s limp hand. “Just tell me when and I’ll do it.”

When Jiang Cheng finally stood to leave, just about every muscle from the base of his skull to the tendons at his heels screamed and gods, he wanted a bath and sleep and for this to not be happening. Wen Qing collected the still sleeping boy, and Jin Guangyao rose, seeing them all out into the hall before bowing, sharp and deep. “Thank you, Wen-guniang.”

Damn. Jiang Cheng hastily followed suit and bowed. You tactless asshole. She watched them both with weary eyes, expression as closed as it had been for days, but she inclined her head to accept. “Come get me immediately if anything changes.”

Straightening, Jin Guangyao nodded, his habitual smile nowhere to be seen, drained and serious. “I will. I’m going to stay up to watch her.”

Her eyes narrowed warily. But she only nodded.

The entire trip leading her through Lotus Pier to her prepared room was silent.

Jiang Cheng knew he should say something. He wanted to say something--to thank her more personally for A-jie’s care or tell her that she would be safe here, that when he made a promise, he kept it (unlike some people.) Maybe reassure her that this wasn’t a ploy by him to corner her, that this was honestly a waking nightmare he kept wishing he would wake up from.

That this wasn’t how he had imagined marrying her. As a last resort. As a trap.

Instead, he was silent. Nothing he had to say would come out right and he would either sound like an ass or an idiot. Or both.

She was just as quiet, anyway, drifting behind him like some sort of mourning wraith, carrying the limp child. The only sounds were their footsteps, distant murmurs, and the frogs droning from their intermittent little ponds and from the lake beyond. Chill from the young evening settled into their still damp, days old clothes. The clean, living scent of the water was comforting, so at least there was that.

He wondered if it just smelled like mud to her.

When they came to the room, he saw that the lanterns and the incense burner were already lit, and a while ago, judging by how thickly the scent of jasmine and musk lay over everything. It was one of the nicest guest suites, with a wide bed, wispy purple wall hangings, and intricate lotus blossoms crawling up in carvings on the screens. It occurred to him suddenly that it might seem horribly insensitive to remind her exactly where she was and why. Tacky. He ground his teeth.

Wen Qing staggered right by him into the room without a glance, practically collapsing across the bed to lay the boy down. Angry? Disgusted? Done with him, whichever it was. But Jiang Cheng stayed by the door, fingers worrying at the thick fabric of his robe, running the edge of his nail along the weave as she tucked the blanket up to the boy’s chin. The need to say something--anything--was becoming too much to bear. “I’m sorry it isn’t very big.”

Her voice was dull and she didn’t even turn around. “It’s fine, Jiang-zongzhu.”

Fuck.

“You don’t have to...you can call me Jiang Wanyin,” he said, because he was apparently very stupid. The slow, disbelieving look she gave him over her shoulder was well deserved. “You don’t have to,” he added, because he apparently was not done being stupid. I mean, you’ve literally cut me open before, so I figured….

“...Alright.”

Jiang Cheng wanted to melt into the floor. Or possibly die. His mouth worked around his grimace of self disgust and he managed, “I’ll have the servants send in a bath.”

She sagged back on her heels beside the bed, still looking over at him. “Where is A-Ning?”

Oh. Right. “Probably….” Actually, he had no idea where Wei Wuxian had taken him. His room? The idea of that puppet leaking black resentful energy and lying on his childhood bed seemed ridiculous. “With Wei Wuxian,” he finished, lamely. “I’ll find out.”

Her gaze transferred to the floor, eyes unseeing and darkened by smudges of dirt and exhaustion. She was still quite pretty, but it was a gaunt, unkempt sort of beauty. The silence stretched, uncomfortable. He should have let a servant show her to the room. She was waiting for him to leave, she didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

“Thank you,” she said, suddenly, just as he turned around to simply leave, saving them both the agony. “For doing this.”

His jaw tightened and he kept his eyes locked on the light wood of the column right outside her door. Instead of anything helpful or comforting, what came out was a low, unplanned, “Why didn’t you come to me.” She had the comb. She had to. It had been gone when he came back to check and he had thought...hoped….

Skin on fabric. She was probably looking at him, and so kept his shoulders rigid, back straight.

“I didn’t know if you would help.” Her voice was quiet, not angry or accusatory. But his fists clenched as heat flooded his face, his head throbbing. ‘You're untrustworthy and selfish and immature. Why the hell would I trust you?’

He was fucking this up. Again. Useless.

Jiang Cheng refused to dig himself a deeper hole. About 10 minutes too late. Without a word, he stopped darkening her door. Instead of going to his room and ordering a bath like he should have, he looked for Wei Wuxian, blood pulsing in his ears. Stalking through the halls, he scattered several anxious servants in his wake like ripples behind him.

When he found him, he actually was in his room, though the puppet was on an extra mattress on the floor instead of on the bed like Jiang Cheng had imagined. The room reeked of resentful energy--sour, burning, metallic. Old bile and blood and worse. Wei Wuxian himself was hunched over it with a brush and seemed to be adding to the fluttering layer of talismans that already festooned the prone form. It even took a minute for him to realize Jiang Cheng was in the doorway, but when he did, he leapt to his feet, haggard face anxious. “Shijie?”

“...Sleeping.”

“What did Wen Qing say? Will she be alright?”

“No thanks to you.”

Wei Wuxian’s shoulders sagged and he blew out a breath. Then, he perked up, coming over to gently shake Jiang Cheng by the shoulders with a reproachful smile. “Ah, Jiang Cheng, lead with that next time, will you? You appear at my door looking like you’re about to avenge someone, what am I supposed to think?”

Smacking Wei Wuxian’s hands off his shoulders didn’t do anything to change his attitude. He just grimaced playfully and said, “Ow, careful! Now be nice, we’ll all be in trouble if you damage these hands,” while wiggling his fingers. It made the sharp rage in Jiang Cheng’s chest flare. It made him want to punch his stupid face.

“This is your fault.”

At this point, it was like they pulled out a script book for some overdone play, a rulebook outlining the steps to their fight. The brush off. Wei Wuxian looked past him, craning his head to peer out the door. “Where’s Wen Qing and A-Yuan? I wanted to tell her how Wen Ning is doing.”

The jab. “Are you even listening to me?”

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes at him, shrugging his shoulders as if letting the words just slide off of him with a stretch of his arms. The dismissal. “Ah, you’re always scolding me, so what’s the point in listening to you when you’re just saying the same things you have been for days? I’ll pay attention when you say something new. You’re so predictable.”

The snap; Jiang Cheng snarled, “How’s this, then? It’s your fault that A-jie is so sick.” He jabbed Wei Wuxian in the chest with his finger, knocking him back a step, pursuing. “It’s your fault if the Jin decide to wipe us all out again.” Another jab, another step. The insouciant air slid from Wei Wuxian’s face--instead, it was tight, the beginning of regret.

“Listen--”

“This is your fault and you’re not even sorry.”

A deep breath. “Jiang Cheng--”

He needed him mad. He needed him to stop moving away. “You weren’t thinking of anyone but yourself, like you always do. You’re making me take in and marry the people who killed my parents to protect you.” He could see Wei Wuxian bristle--because he knew it wasn’t quite true, it wasn’t really fair but Jiang Cheng didn’t care.

“What are you even saying? They’ve both saved us a hundred times over! These people are innocent, they were being brutalized, I had no choice--!”

“You always have a choice!” Jiang Cheng was shouting, now. “You just choose the one that causes the biggest scene! First you embarrass me in front of all the other Clan Leaders, then you kill Jin disciples and steal their prisoners--!”

“What right did they have to treat them that way? What crime did they commit?! I’m supposed to just leave them?!”

His outrage just fed the fury burning through Jiang Cheng, roaring in his ears, and he wanted to take his brother by the throat and shake him. He wanted him to be just as hurt and terrified as he was. He wanted him to stop acting so fucking noble, like it meant anything anymore after everything they had been through. His lungs burned from the resentful energy hanging in the air. Zidian sparked once, sizzling. “You always need to be the center of attention. Well congratulations, everyone’s looking at us, now! Aren’t you such a fucking hero? Isn’t it nice to have a shield that will rise up against every stupid thing you decide to do? When will it be enough?”

Wei Wuxian’s swallowed hard, jaw tight, eyes shining. “Do you think I wanted this?” He asked quietly, and Jiang Cheng had to bark a laugh that tasted bitter.

“No. I don’t think you thought at all. You just did whatever you wanted and expected the Jiang Clan to clean up after you.”

At this, Wei Wuxian looked away at the wall, shoulders bunched up, hands in fists at his side. “I wasn't...” he said tightly. “I was going to go. To take them--”

“Where?”

“I don’t know!” He snapped. “Somewhere I could keep them safe! I thought...maybe the Burial Mounds.”

A chill flooded through Jiang Cheng and he stared. “Are you insane? That hellhole?”

Wei Wuxian was still looking at the wall, though he swallowed again. “I could...control the resentful energy. Make it safe.” He clenched his jaw. “It doesn’t matter.”

The thought alone had him reeling. Wei Wuxian really had been going to do it. He really would have left, after everything. After promising to rebuild Lotus Pier with him, to support him. After Jiang Cheng had fought so hard to find him the 3 months when he had been missing. After Jiang Cheng had stood by him when the war ended and everyone had started whispering about sinister ulterior motives--did Wei Wuxian have no concept of how this looked? “And do what? Establish your own Sect? Build your own empire? Should I call you Wei-zongzhu from now on?”

Wei Wuxian recoiled, face screwed up in disbelief as he finally faced him again. “No! What? No! Jiang Cheng, don’t be an idiot. I was going...I was going to take care of it myself. I wasn’t going to ask or involve you. I didn’t--I was going to handle it.”

That rage condensed and dropped sourly into his gut like sick. That was worse. That was so much worse. ‘I didn’t know if you would help.’ He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted that cleansing fury back. “Nice fucking job.”

Wei Wuxian vented a short, mirthless chuckle, shaking his head. “Shut up.”

“You don’t get to tell me to shut up.”

“I just d--” Wei Wuxian stopped himself, jaw working. When he spoke again, it was with careful containment. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“What a stupid thing to say, of course I did,” Jiang Cheng snapped back. “What other choice did I have?”

“You could have just let me go. I would have been fine. You didn’t need to…you don’t need to put yourself out on my account.”

He would have preferred he had just fucking stabbed him. Honestly. Then who the fuck was he? Some acquaintance? Some stranger? To not ‘put himself out’--

He was really that easy to leave behind? Just that unremarkable, unneeded, unwanted? That every option, even the Burial Mounds where he had been trapped was preferable to staying with him in the home he had rebuilt with blood and sweat, plank by plank for them--for them, the only family he had left in this world.

What was so broken about Jiang Cheng that no one could possibly just love him as he was? What did he have to do to stop people from leaving him?

He wanted to stab Sandu through the corpse that used to be Wen Ning’s chest, tear off the talismans and throw him in the lake for the fish to take out of sight. To seize Wei Wuxian and scream; Stop letting go of me!

“Well, aren’t you so brave. Aren’t you so noble,” gritted out, all dark and vile, and Wei Wuxian flinched and Jiang Cheng would have felt triumphant if he didn’t feel so fucking awful instead.

“I had to.”

“You had to.”

Wei Wuxian said nothing. But he didn’t look ashamed. He just looked tired.

“Right. Because you’re so strong and powerful and right, always, and I’m the asshole who doesn’t care enough.”

“You know I never said that.”

“But that’s what you think. You still think that I didn’t do enough. That I didn’t do the right thing.”

Instead of fighting back--instead of denying it--Wei Wuxian let out a loud breath, shook his head and turned away to drop himself heavily beside the mattress on the floor. This retreat left Jiang Cheng completely empty. His nails cut into his palm and he was shaking all over, staring down at Wei Wuxian as he picked up another talisman, not looking at him. They had had this conversation already, in fits and starts on the race back to Lotus Pier, but hadn’t been able to fully say any of this around A-jie or the Wen’s and so had just jabbed at each other for days. But here, it was all unraveling at once like too tight bandages coming off. He craved a conclusion--the give and take of a shouting match or the clarity of a split lip and Wei Wuxian wasn’t giving it to him.

Couldn't. If it came to blows, Jiang Cheng would just hurt him.

And why was that, again?

His brother's face was gaunt as he ignored him, eyes shadowed, fingers raw and red with blood and cinnabar. Still working. Giving. He was always giving of himself to everyone. His protection, his trust, his love, his time.

His core.

Just more proof that he was better; kinder, more generous, better in every way. Well. Not every way, now. The overworked core gave an untimely twinge. But that even bore his fingerprints, didn’t it? His sacrifice. (He had tried so hard, so fucking hard to give Wei Wuxian something that only he could give, the only protection, the only apology Jiang Cheng had left for what he had blamed him for. And he had shoved it right back like an unwanted gift.)

Jiang Cheng wasn't special, though. That knowledge bristled in his throat like knives, now. What he had done for Jiang Cheng wasn't because he loved him--apparently, it was because it was the right thing to do.

And Wei Wuxian always did the right thing. He would have done it for anyone.

Jiang Cheng's eyes went to the talismans fluttering in the dark breeze. It was the Cloud Recesses, the Yin Iron, the oh-so-perfect-and-peerless-and-interesting-Lan-Wangji all over again. Leaving Jiang Cheng behind to go be a hero because he just didn’t fucking matter enough to keep around. Because Wei Wuxian thought he was pathetic and selfish.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes were burning, his voice shaking when he spat, “Great. Then just keep trying to make yourself a better shidi out of that thing. I’m sure it will never stop kissing your ass.”

On his way back to his room, he snapped at a young servant girl to order a bath for Wen Qing. She practically ran.

Nice fucking job, idiot.

Crashing face first onto his bed, he fell into unconsciousness immediately.

[jwritesandrambles]

“Supposed to Be”

Hi there! Yeah I still barely use tumblr but hey lookit I did the wrote thing down!!!!

I would like to give a bit thank you to @schweeeppess and @dragonsworn05 for editing my messy dyslexic rambles. @noroomforcream and @just-a-little-in-over-my-head  did some really cool art for this! 

(if I missed tagging someone, it’s not personal I appreciate you so much, I’m just posting in a rush mwauh)

Jason was back in Gotham. For the second time since he died, actually.

The last time hadn’t gone well. Technically, it had gone according to plan--for the most part--but Jason was still shambling together the broken pieces of his mind. Back then in December, all that was left of Jason were the shards of hurt and anger. He had been living for nothing but the idea of someone else’s death. Coming back to the real world, away from the sheltered and hidden places of the League of Shadows and the All-Caste, seemed to bring a bit of him back. Seeing Bruce, talking to him…everything that went down, and the reminder that he cared about him--loved him, even--it woke something up in Jason. Something that he thought had died along with him and never came back. 

He had spent a year by himself, taking any mercenary jobs he could get, trying to find something other than the all consuming anger that had fuelled him for the past few years, but his travels didn’t matter now, as he stood in a back alley of Gotham, the protective red helmet tucked under his arm. He wished his replacement, Tim Drake, hadn’t chosen this particular alley to meet up in. 

The balcony and rickety old fire escape were unforgettable to Jason. It was where he had met the Bat, after trying to jack the tires off one of those many damn expensive cars that Bruce had. Not only where it began, but where he once thought it would end. It was only a year ago he had stood, gun trained on Bruce, the man he had, for a time, called father. His voice shook and tears rolled down his cheeks, “it would be so easy to kill you.”

Jason was ripped from his reminiscing as a soft thud signaled that Red Robin had landed behind him. Jason flinched more than he’d like to admit, but fought the urge to draw his weapon. Quick reflexes was a nice way of saying jumpy. 

“Hood,” The teen greeted. 

“Replacement,” Jason said with a nod, echoing Tim’s tone back at him, relaxing. 

“Weren’t you a replacement too?” Tim pointed out, seeming to take no offence. 

Jason shrugged, “True. I’m not denying it. Just as long as you know that’s probably what B expects. Another Grayson,” he mumbled. 

Sure, he was less angry than before, but that didn’t mean Jason wasn’t a bitter son of a bitch. 

Tim bit the inside of his lip, an awkward and slightly uncomfortable look on the visible part of his face. It flickered away and was replaced with a more professional, neutral expression as he cleared his throat. 

“Yes... well... We’re here for a job so let’s focus. You got all the information B sent you?” He was honestly trying his best, but he was hesitant about this mission. Could anyone blame him? Jason Todd had proven himself to be... volatile. The memories of Jason’s violence were all too fresh in Tim’s mind. 

“Yeah, I got it. I read the file over,” he mumbled. He puffed out a weak breath, “Scarecrow set up a chemical mixing shop by the docks, at least one shipment has come in, but we can expect more, right? Anything I missed?” Jason asked, rummaging through his coat pockets. 

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He had been trying to quit, but he didn’t want to be getting distracted with cravings while trying to focus on the mission. 

Tim watched him quietly as he lit off, smelling the tobacco from up on his perch. 

“Um... yes, that’s all,”  the teen dragged his teeth along the edge of his lip. The skin felt slightly raw and sore from his empty minded nibbling. 

Jason started walking off down the alley, leaving a slight trail of lingering smoke in damp air. Tim followed. 

“So,” Jason pulled the cigarette from his lips, careful not to let his helmet slip from under his arm. He held it between his first and second fingers, “Uh.. Why’d you have us meet here instead of anywhere closer to the docks?” He asked, trying to break the awkwardly growing silence.

“Scarecrow has patrols circulating around the docks. We’re less likely to be spotted if we’re not waiting around there to meet up,” Tim explains with a little shrug.

Jason hummed a brief note of understanding, “Oh yeah, that makes sense. I’m, uh, I haven’t worked with anyone in... years,” Jason paused, taking another drag from the smouldering cigarette, “Y’know, really nothing team oriented since working with B. Even then I was a shitty teammate,” he laughed hollowly.

Tim nodded, thinking about what Jason’d just said. Had it really been that long? Maybe… maybe the fact that Jason was even admitting to being a bad teammate didn’t bode well. It could mean trouble for them later. If it was so obvious that even Jason could admit it, perhaps Tim shouldn’t have done this team-up. 

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Tim ran to catch up to Jason quickly, “Wait... how old are you?” He asked upon reaching him. 

“I’m t- uh... hold on, well... how long was I gone?” He asked Tim in return. 

“You were thought to be dead for five years,” Tim told him, in a tone like he was reciting a Wikipedia page written about the formally deceased, wayward Wayne boy. Now that Jason thought of it, he was certain Bruce had a file written up on him now. Bruce had written up for every major criminal in Gotham city. 

Jason let out a low whistle and soft huff, “I must be… twenty one now? Weird.”

“So... you didn't know how old you were till now?” Tim raised a brow, causing the mask to shift.

“Yeaahh,” Jason drew the word out sarcastically, pretending to took him deep thought to reconcile. “Somethin’ about the severe head trauma, dying, comin’ back, and being isolated from the normal world for years, all while being a wreck the whole time seems to have made my memory a lil’ fuzzy,” Jason said with a wry, sarcastic smile.

Tim seethed silently, letting out a series of apologetic mumbles, eyes dropping to ground ahead of him- it was a tactless and rude thing to ask, and Tim should’ve known that! 

Jason laughed weakly, hand quickly coming up towards him and... ruffled Tim’s hair? The boy hadn’t even had a chance to recoil. He was just confused; that was the last thing he’d expect from Jason.

The man stubbed out his cigarette and lumbered on ahead of Tim, dropping it in the trash, “Don’t worry about it, kid. I was just being a bitch, you’re fine.”

Tim opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. A man who tried to kill him only a year ago had just ruffled his hair?! He decided not to comment on it, because-- after all--what the hell could he even say?

Tim cleared his throat again, “We should get into position, we’re almost there. Maybe get your, uh, helmet-thingy on?” He suggested. 

Jason glanced at the helmet- he’d almost forgotten he had it tucked under his arm. 

“Yeah, of course,” Jason said, lifting his helmet and plunking it on his head, “good reminder, Timbers.” His voice became modulated the second the helmet covered his head. His low, gravely, smokers growl of a voice, was nowhere near and deep and gravely as Bruce’s--but sounded like it took a step closer with every box of cigarettes--became a pitch lower still. An odd robotic twang edged his words, giving him a metallic, cyber sound.

Tim adjusted his own mask, making sure it was firmly in place before nodding to Jason. The two silently started up again, approaching a warehouse that was supposed to be locked until the next morning’s shipment. “Supposed to be” being the operative words. Instead, there was muted huffing and shuffling as two of Scarecrow’s workers uncomfortably hauled a large crate into the building.

Both Jason and Tim seemed to shrink into the shadows at the same instant; each becoming one with the wall. Jason drew his weapon quietly, earning a disapproving frown from Tim. “I’m not gonna kill them. Chill,” Jason whispered in that odd robotic voice. 

Tim seemed satisfied enough to quit pouting at Jason. They crept closer, making little dashes between hiding spots when the coast was clear.

Jason let out a breath of curse as his eyes fell about the giant, glass, canister. It was filled with a bubbling, sickly, arsenic green substance.

“No way, that shit is all fear toxin? Fuck! He’s got enough to blast the entire downtown!” His voice came through in a synthesized hiss.

“Worse.” Tim whispered, spying the large pressurizer on top of the glass container. “That’s just the liquid form. When he releases it, it’ll be gaseous. If it’s released from the container from a high vantage point, a small breeze could cover the entire city in minutes.”

The severity of the situation washed over what little of Tim’s features were visible from beneath the mask. 

This wasn’t just a quick little in and out operation anymore. One wrong move and there could have a small, yet very messy, catastrophic outcome.

Tim had to plan this carefully, because there was no way they could afford to mess this up.

He turned to Jason...or, rather, where Jason had just been seconds before. 

Jason had evidently had a similar train of thought to Tim’s. He’d realized this was a serious situation, though, instead of drawing the conclusion to re-evaluate, re-plan, and carry on with caution, or something sensible-- he seemingly forgot any sense of subtlety he had. Oh, God forbid carefully thinking his actions out, like any sane rational person would do. Or calling for backup, like anyone with a vague semblance of self-preservation.  No no, instead, Jason had decided it was best to act now and not waste a second with plans or any ideas of safety. He jumped into action.

Jason was already leaping over the crate the two vigilantes had been hiding behind seconds ago, as Tim let out a quiet imploring hiss of “Wait--oh no-”“ but it was too late.

Jason already had his gun drawn. 

“Scarecrow!” he yelled, “this ends now!” He fired at the box the two workers were carrying, sending it out of their hands and clattering to the floor. A series of shattering followed the initial crash as the contents shattered. Whatever chemicals that had been inside hissed loudly, a faint smoke rising from between the boards of the wooden box.

“Hood!?” The Scarecrow rounded to face who he knew as the ex-criminal, ‘The Red Hood.’

“In the flesh.” Jason kept his gun trained on Scarecrow, while a third worker who had been off to the side started to shuffle his way towards him.

“Thought you moved your little operation away from Gotham when the Bats got the better of you,” Scarecrow commented, not seeming pleased about the interruption at all. 

Scarecrow’s worker lunged at Jason. Tim kicked himself mentally and left hiding, kicking the worker --physically, not mentally this time-- back away from Jason. The third worker scuttled back, apparently deciding this altercation was above his pay grade.

Jason felt something he hadn’t really felt in a long time; it was a feeling akin to camaraderie. He had someone watching his back for once. If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, he might have even cracked a smile. Or, rather, he might have felt a slight tug at the corner of his lips, at least.

“Well, yeah, the bats did get the best of me. Now I’m tryna give them my best. And that involves bootin’ your sorry ass out of here.”

“Quick witted, aren’t you?” Scarecrow tensed slightly. His eyes darted away from behind his mask for a moment. He was glancing to the side. Tim followed his gaze over to the-

Shit! The canister! If the bullet missed Scarecrow it would-

Tim knew what scarecrow was thinking, but it was too late.

“NO!” Tim shouted, helplessly watching as Scarecrow dove.

As expected, Jason pulled the trigger reflexively, but the Scarecrow had already ducked. The bullet made a resounding bang as it fired, hitting the large gas canister. 

Tim seized up, every nerve buzzing, every muscle tensed, every fibre of his being filled with an awful sinking sensation. The room was deadly-still. It was like something written by the hand of a fool-hardy novelist, who was paid far too much for over-the-top paperbacks; The bullet had embedded itself in the glass, acting like a stopper. A sickening series of cracks emanated from the canisters, as a thin spidery web formed across the glass. All tendrils originating from where the bullet hit.

Jason let out a low whistle, “Well. That coulda been disastrous.”

Tim couldn’t help but feel relieved, a stressed laugh escaping his lips. 

Scarecrow was scampering away, his workers already having pulled a quick disappearing act themselves, because, this wasn’t what he’d planned. 

“Don’t even think about it, Crane,” Jason said as he turned, taking a heavy step.

Said heavy step was apparently too much. The glass gave a shuttering groan, followed by a small hiss as gas began to leak.

Tim made an involuntary distressed sound. Something akin to an exhausted sigh mixed with a whimper. 

The one word that ever so eloquently graced Jason’s lips was, “Fuck.”

And the canister...

Burst.

The pressure placed on the glass had built up and could no longer hold.

Jason’s final step had been the breaking point, the spider work of cracks along the glass giving way with a great shatter.

Shards of the canister flung themselves across the room. The liquid that had been held within instantly began vaporizing into a thick, sickening gas. To anyone that had the misfortune of inhaling it, it felt as though the gas was trying --with every atom of its existence-- to choke the life out of its victim. It reached into their lungs, clawed at their insides, grabbing at their desperately beating hearts, and squeezed. It forced their brain to fill their body with adrenaline and hallucinogens. Tim knew this. 

He’d studied the Scarecrow’s fear toxin many times. He’d been exposed to it before, too. Tim knew this fear and knew he was helpless to do anything about it.

Tim was helpless to stop this. He had failed. He’d failed Bruce. He’d failed this mission. Because he was weak. He was weak, helpless, hopeless, a failure, a burden, unwanted. He was nothing more than a replaceable replacement. No one would care if he was gone, God, it’s not like anyone would ever notice! He was a forgettable nothing. Tim coughed and wheezed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe!

Tim staggered. He tripped over his feet trying to get away from the intense fear that gripped his throat. Tim realized something physical was gripping his neck. The thing dragged him back roughly, towards what he could only assume was something horrid. Tim clawed at the thing gripping his throat. As he gasped for shuddering breath, he couldn’t help but begin to sob. He was going to die. He would die and no one would care. No one would even try to find him when he didn’t come home, they wouldn’t even notice because he was worthless, replaceable, weak, failure, helpless!

A new level of fear washed over Tim as he felt something cover his face, it encased his head. Tim could feel it squeeze his skull, he swore the pressure felt tight enough to crush his cranium like a tin can. It was claustrophobic. He felt his own shallow breath bounce back against his lips, because it had nowhere else to go. He was trapped and suffocating.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t BREATHE! OH--oh, oh no... no? Wait a moment... he COULD breathe.

Tim took a moment to try to get his bearings. He needed to remember how his lungs worked. He awkwardly sucked in a breath of filtered, recycled air. It tasted tinny on his tongue. Tim blinked the tears from his eyes. They rolled down his cheeks, and he became aware of the taste of salt too. There was the faint scent of stale tobacco and smoke. His mind was reeling as he processed each detail. He dragged tongue over his lips nervously, and began to chew at his bottom lip. Tim’s heart was still pounding and his hands were shaking. He raised his hands to feel his head, glancing at his twitching fingers as they passed in front of his face, confusedly. Everything had a red tinge to it. He pressed his hands to his head, feeling a hard smooth surface.

Tim’s brain felt slow and groggy, taking a moment to clue into what was on his head. Was it Jason’s helmet? Yes, yes it was Jason’s helmet, that was certain, but where was Jason? 

The thick gas still hung in a green fog, but the helmet seemed to be filtering the worst of it out. Tim swept his arm though the air, watching the gas clear slightly, before swooping in to fill the gaps. Tim knew he needed to thin this stuff out if he wanted to have any hope in finding Jason before tripping over him. He rushed through the room, feeling his way over to the door. Scarecrow’s men had closed it, containing them --and more importantly the gas--  inside. Small mercy the fear toxin wasn’t being released on the city though. 

Tim dragged his fingers along the wall. His senses were so heightened that it was almost overstimulating. It was likely due to the toxin, Tim guessed. He could still feel the rough brick as he scraped along, even through the tips of his gloves. It was oddly reassuring. A steady constant he could focus on until -thunk-  His hand bumped into a smooth metallic protrusion from the wall. Exactly what Tim had been looking for. 

“Bingo.”

Tim swept his other arm through the air again, doing his best to fan the gass away for him to get a bit of a better view of what he was hoping to see. A metal switch box, old and slightly rusted around the edges. Tim had been counting on any wearhouse by the docks having a ventilation system to keep the products safe from humidity. Of course, he was right. With some difficulty, Tim wrenched the switch box open. After straining to read faded, dusty labels through the gas in the air, he flipped what he hoped was the right switch.

There was a small whine of aching metal that hadn’t moved in a long time and Tim cracked into a grin underneath the helmet. 

He’d done it!

The fans kicked into a regular pace. The smooth ‘whoomp whoomp whoomp’ of turning blades filled Tim with a sense of muted triumph. The foggy haze of fear gas began to thin as the building began to filter it out, mixing it with the humid air. Tim figured it would be condensed and drip out to puddle with the dirty water in the alley behind the warehouse. If Tim was right, which he usually was, it wouldn’t harm anyone unless they decided to drink from the puddle water. Which was unlikely, but not impossible. It was Gotham after all.

Tim looked around the room as the gas dissipated. His gaze found its way to a shaking heap on the floor next to the shattered remains of the canister he had been standing before. The proud grin faded from Tim’s lips. 

That... that wasn’t a good sign at all.

“Hey, um, hood? Red hood, status?” He asked, the words felt strange as they left his mouth. Hearing his own modulated voice echo slightly in the room felt vaguely surreal. 

The heap of muscle and leather known as Jason didn’t reply. 

Seeing Jason’s twitching body on the floor emptied a hollow pit in Tim’s stomach. Jason had never seemed like he was even capable of fear. Capable of rage, capable of hurt, and capable of pain, sure, but fear seemed like something Tim would’ve assumed Jason was beyond. Something so... innate, that the unnatural nature of Jason’s second life would’ve swept it away. 

Tim made his way over, hesitantly rolling the helmet forward off his head. The fear toxin seemed to be thin enough now that it wasn’t harming him.  

“Ja-er, Jason?” Tim’s soft voice seemed thunderously loud in the quiet room. The only other sounds around were the fans quietly whirring away and, far more disturbingly in his opinion, the even quieter shaking breaths and distressed whimpering tumbling from Jason’s lips. 

Jason was not in good shape. He was shaking violently, hands over his head. His whimpers were punctuated by violent spasms that racked his body every few seconds, accompanied with a louder more pronounced cry. 

Tim felt the colour drain from his face. He quickly kneeled down, setting the helmet on the concrete floor next to them both with a slight clink. Tim grabbed Jason’s arm, trying to turn him on to his back. Jason heftily flailed the arm Tim pulled, unintentionally hitting Tim in the face. Tim yelped in surprise as a sharp pain sprung from his nose, warm liquid leaking down his face. The blood pouring down his face didn’t deter Tim much, the blood coursing through him  seeming to do the opposite for pain as it did the rest of his senses. The pain was slightly numbed--or, rather, it had become easy to ignore. He fought to wrangle both of Jason’s arms, quickly scrambling to sit on Jason’s torso, struggling to pin Jason’s arms down with his legs. 

Tim took off his mask. He knew it was against protocol, but an un-obscured face was easier to recognize when the toxin took hold, in Tim’s experience. 

“Jason? Jason, look at me. Can you hear me?” he asked quickly, holding on to Jason’s shoulders. He desperately hoped Jason wouldn’t throw him off. Jason’s eyes were unfocused, spinning around wildly all over the room. 

Tim tried to process Jason’s words, “No, not again, ple--I can’t I--it hurts! Fuck! It hurts,” Jason’s words became incomprehensible for a moment, then his fists clenched tightly. “I don’t want to die! Not again. Not again not again not again! He’s gotta come save me, take me home, he’s gotta! Shit, not again!“ he choked and broke off with a shout and another full body jerk. 

Tim was jostled but didn’t fall off, by some miracle. “Jason!” he tried. “Listen to me!” Tim put his hands on either of Jason’s face. Jason flinched away from Tim’s touch with a sob of “It hurts, it hurts, I can hear all my bones snapping, I’m dying, it’s crushing me, I can’t--I can’t--”

“I know,” Tim cut him off gently, “I know it hurts and--and you’re scared, but you’re not alone, I’m right here. I’m going to help you,” Tim tried to catch Jason’s focus. 

Jason’s roaming eyes stopped dodging around the room, and turned towards Tim. He kept looking from Tim’s shoulders, Tim’s chest, back up to his face and then to his eyes and back to his chest again. Perhaps not the ideal image of calming down but it was a first step. 

“Good,” Tim praised softly in relief. He ran his thumbs over Jason’s cheeks gently. Now more so than ever did Tim take notice of the scars on either side of Jason’s face. On Jason’s left cheek, there was a jagged line that traced from his cheek bone down to his jaw. A similar yet smaller one was mirrored on Jason’s right. Tim could understand why Jason flinched from him. He shook the thought from his mind, “See? We’re okay. Just try to breathe, in and out. You can do that, right, Jason?”

“No! No! I c-can’t, I’m crushed, I can’t. My--my lungs, they’re all full of blood, and mud, and dirt, and fuckin’ I dunno what!” Another violent thrash went through Jason’s body, almost toppling Tim off this time. “I can’t breathe, it hurts! I want it to stop hurting! How do I make it stop!?” 

“Uah--yeah, I know it hurts, but I promise nothing is crushing you. It’s just me, I’m light, and I’m here and I--I know it hurts I’m going to try to make it stop but I need to--” Jason thrashed, but Tim didn’t relinquish his hold on him, “--but I NEED you to stay still!”

Jason’s eyes finally locked on to Tim’s, “M-make it s-stop?” he echoed back to the smaller vigilante.

“Yeah, yeah I’m going to try to make it stop.” Tim slowly pulled his hands away from Jason, sitting back slightly, starting to fish through the many pockets and pouches attached to the strap around his waist.  

He almost always had the antidote on hand. Bruce had trained him and prepared him meticulously, making certain that Tim would be ready with everything they had at all costs. The only issue was it was enough antidote for him; almost seventeen, about a head shorter and ninety pounds lighter--nowhere near enough antitoxin for the two hundred and forty pounds of murder that was the shaking mass of Jason Todd slumped before him.

Jason dropped his head back against the concrete floor, beginning to mutter once again. 

“My fault. All my fault. I can’t--all dead.”

“No one is dead, Jason, everyone is okay,” Tim said, soon after feeling a small surge of triumph as he located his field fear toxin antidote kit. He opened it, quickly pulling out a small vial, and a syringe.

Jason’s eyes snapped to the syringe in Tim’s hand as he filled with antidote. Jason grew quiet for a second before starting to try to fight Tim off of him, “No, no no no no no no! Don’t go! don’t go! Not again, I can’t be alone, can’t be asleep he’s gonna kill us. Dad said he’ll get rid’f his mistakes!” 

Tim knew Bruce wouldn’t have ever threatened Jason like that. He could only assume Jason meant his biological father. 

“Said he would--don’t, don’t! It’s crushing me I can’t be alone!” Jason couldn’t keep hold of his own fears. They ran together, all mixed in to become some dread filled nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. 

Tim was lucky Jason was so sloppy in this state. If he’d had a bit more of his wits about him, Tim figured Jason would’ve easily shaken him off already.

“You aren’t alone!” Tim reminded Jason, struggling to inject Jason without hurting him. “This is going to make it stop, I promise!” Well, that wasn’t fully true. But the dose would reduce it. 

When Jason wouldn’t hold still enough for him to properly gauge where the vein he needed was, Tim unceremoniously jabbed at where he hoped it was instead. 

Jason shouted, thrashing around like a heavy shark in a net being lifted out of water.

Tim pulled the empty syringe away quickly, letting Jason throw him off. He stumbled and crashed back down, landing on the concrete floor a few feet away. Tim only now realized how heavy his breath was as he watched Jason writhe freely on the floor before him. As Tim caught his breath, Jason’s movements gradually began to slow. The mutterings of fear faded into soft whimpers, then into deep breaths like Tim’s. Tim bit at his lip again. “Jason?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.

Jason groaned in response. He took a moment to collect himself as he grew conscious of reality again. Really, reality was a shit hole too, but it was a better shit hole. He shifted slightly, cussing under his breath. 

Tim felt an invisible weight lift from his shoulders; swearing like a sailor was promising in Jason’s case. 

He quickly scooted across the floor to him. 

“Hey,” Tim said in a hushed voice. “Jason? How you feeling?”

Jason--with what felt like the struggle of Sisyphus rolling his boulder for the millionth time--rolled over to face him. The white shock of hair stuck to Jason’s forehead with panic induced sweat. He puffed out a lungful of air in a feeble attempt to blow the hair from his face. Jason swiftly gave up on that and swallowed heavily.

 “I-I... yeah, yeah, I uh... I--okay. I’m feeling okay,” Jason rambled, looking dazed. He took up scanning the room again, hyper-vigilant to any danger.

Tim nodded slowly. He grabbed a water bottle that was shoved in one of his many pouches. He helped Jason sit up, just enough so he could sip at the water, and forced the bottle into Jason’s hands. 

“Drink,” Tim ordered, quietly. 

Jason’s hands still shook lightly, causing him to fumble with the cap in his hands. 

Now that the danger had passed, Tim finally had time to process what had happened; he often found himself acting and only having time to absorb the details afterwards. Details like that Jason had traded his safety and immunity for Tim’s. 

Why did Jason do that?

“Not... that I’m ungrateful,” Tim began hesitantly, “but that was a stupid thing to do, just… now- today,” he stumbled out awkwardly.

“I know,” gasped Jason after a long chug of water, a weak smile on his lips. 

“I mean--it’s like in those before flight messages on planes. Put your mask on before the baby’s or whatever,” Tim joked slightly. Tim’s nose wrinkled slightly, cringing just the tiniest bit as he realized he implied he was the baby in this situation, “Well, you know what I’m getting at…”

Jason seemed to only take even more amusement out of the teen’s regret. Tim never thought he’d see the day where he felt tension draining at the sigh of Jason Todd, a man that tried to kill him and about eighty other people, smiling. 

Jason laughed weakly, though it came out a little haltingly, as the shivering shakes hadn’t yet subsided. “Yeah, well, I d-did have my mask on. I just... gave it to the k-kid before the plane went down,” he mused. He didn’t really believe in his own point, and shook his head. 

“No, no you’re right. It was stupid and I know that.”

They fell into a slightly awkward silence for a second, the burning question still gnawing at Tim’s mind.

“Why?” Tim said, abruptly. “Er, why did you do that? If you knew it was stupid?”

Jason didn’t answer for a long moment. Instead stalling by taking another swig of water. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before answering.

 “I don’t know,” Jason admitted, with a little smile. 

Jason was breathing heavily, but seemed more focused, “I didn’t... really think. Maybe I was just makin’ up for other stuff I f-fucked up or... dunno. I guess I j-just... I knew if one of us was gonna be safe, it had to be y-ou.”

Jason swore he could practically see the little loading sign twirl in Tim’s nerd-brain as the teen processed what he’d said. The mental loading bar filled, and Jason’s words seemed to click. Tim’s eyes dropped away, and he smiled a little shyly. Not an awkward or uncomfortable smile. Just complimented.

“Thanks,” Tim’s voice was just above a whisper, “ that was... really nice of you.” 

“It’s okay, don’t men-ention it. Like literally ever. It’ll ruin my rep,” Jason cracked a teasing smirk once again and Tim got to his feet laughing lightly.

“Annnnddd he’s back to normal,” Tim chuckled and offered Jason a hand. Tim yanked him, not without obvious difficulty, up to stand tall. Jason leaned on him for a moment before straightening, keeping a hand on Tim’s shoulder to steady himself. Tim quickly bent down and scooped up their masks from the floor where he’d set them down.

“Let’s get you home,” Tim hummed, putting Jason’s arm around his shoulders again when he stood.

“Hey, I’m fin-ne, you don’t have to take me back,” Jason argued, but Tim was already starting to lead him away.

“Too bad, I decided I am.”

“Rep-placement Robin number whatever you are--I am fine!”

“Sure you are, that’s why you can’t stand up right by yourself?”

“Shut up!”

“I speak only truth.”

The two bickered all the way back through away from the docks. All the way back through the city. All the way until they reached Jason’s apartment complex. Then they bickered some more. Though neither knew it yet, what had begun forming was the beginning of a close bond. One that nothing would be able to break.

[aria-chicken-flugget]

MC reacts to The Brothers (+Undateables)

In a crop top ~ yum

For @beelzebubs1trulove and for me too ngl

*NSFW* ish / undertones - these turned into mini drabbles ?? Lol?? Sorry??

The Brothers

~

Lucifer 🔥

He freezes, his eyes narrow slits as they focus on you

“You want me to wear a what?”

You’d have to be very close to make that kind of request of him if he’s never worn one

He’s anxious it would damage his pride and so would vehemently dismiss the idea

“Luci ~” you’d lilt, winding your arms around his tense shoulders from behind, distracting him from his work

He knew that lilt. That lilt for when you wanted something quite specific. You were hellbent to get what you wanted

Consider the interest of this Sadist TM piqued as you toy with his raven locks, coyly starting cat and mouse teasing

“My answer was no.” “Was is a conditional, so that means there’s room for debate.”

He’d smirk at your coy and almost sly attitude, swiveling around so that he could grip your hips,

“You’re as troublesome as ever, twisting my words to suit your desires.” “:)”

You’d give him That Smile TM, when you wanted something. How could he refuse?

“And what if i refuse? What will you surrender to me in compensation?”

You’d bite your lip - he’s cracking, considering it

I’ll let you imagine what you’d be willing to do in compensation lol

He’d tighten his grip on your hips at the insinuation, your sweet words caressing the shell of his ear

It took everything he had not to demand payment up front, if you catch my drift

He’d ensure you swore not to tell a soul (nor demon ofc) no one. This would be private for you and no one else, or he won’t do it not even if you begged.

You’d stay true to your word, desperate to see him in the crop... you were not disappointed

You were leisurely atop his sheets when he finally revealed himself with a distinct cough, to clear his throat and make his presence known

Your jaw dropped. The Crop was an inky black and appeared to be water woven silk, one shoulder sliding down.

His cheeks tinged rouge as he brought himself to look you in the eye, a silent plea for you to say something. Anything.

You swallowed a golf ball sized lump as you rose from the sheets, approaching tentatively, finger tips mindlessly stroking the fabric

You could feel his abdominal muscles clench from underneath the satin fabric, a sharp breath in from his handsome lips

He quickly grew quite fond of your reaction to the clothing item, and how the events of that evening took a turn for the unexpected

Would most definitely wear it again when he wanted you and may try another

Mammon 💵

Makes a sound akin to a “guh!” at your request

Is certain he misheard, until you ask again

“What d’ya think ya talkin’ about, huh? Askin’ me to wear a thing like that...” BLUSH

“But you don’t mind a bit of skin, you’re a model!” “T-that’s not -“ “AND your demon form?! Hello?!” “Hey! That’s not the point!”

The point is, it’s because it’s you asking and his imagination takes him to naughty places due to your request

You’d have to wait a few days before bringing it up again, asking sweetly

He’d be unable to look at you, a blushing and stuttering mess if you tried putting your arms around him to ask

“Why’d ya keep askin’ me somethin’ like that, huh? Quit it...” you’d let go, a little disheartened

“Hey, wait!” He’d unintentionally holler, stumbling after you

As you turn back around, you thread your fingers through his snow white hair, “Come to my room?”

His Adam’s apple would bob uncontrollably as he swallowed, offering a faint nod before snapping back into his usual self

“Ya better not ask this of the others.”

He’d come to your room, bright red and at the door, unable to walk in further

You’d calm him down, casually patting your bed, “What are you doing over there? Come on.” With an easy laugh

He’s won over pretty quickly and at ease

He’s lying on his front atop your sheets, on his D.D.D when you hover over his back, palms either side of his shoulders. He freezes

“Mammon?” You’d call sweetly, brightening the tips of his ears

“Can you please wear this for me?”

You’d ask in a soft whine, making it nearly impossible for him to form a coherent thought, let alone turn you down again

Despite actually wanting to do as you’d asked from the beginning

Your arms ensnaring him in place so he can’t run away, “You’d look so good in it, you should model it for Majolish.”

He can’t get much more blushy or flustered than when you start talking to him like that, he’s a goner

He finally relents, and returns wearing the Crop you picked out for him. Your eyes shamelessly trail his perfect form, far from disappointed

His chin angled towards the floor as he flushes, he’ll snap, “Quit lookin’ at me like that, would ya?”

You can’t help it. The loose white T with tiger print looked so much hotter on him than you expected

You got it cause you thought he’d look so cute in it... which of course, he did but... his exposed torso, coupled with his lean bisceps folding as he waited for you to speak, had made it all the more difficult to do so.

You’d hum in approval, quick to slide your hands under it to make contact with his bare skin if he’d let you

If you were tactless about it, he’d growl. No touchy lol

But if you got him into the right mood, well

He’d gasp in surprise, uttering your name as you roamed his body with your hands

Fingertips ghosting over his lips to hide his vulnerability, as you grip his hips towards you

Things would get a little more heated than intended, but neither of you were complaining

Next time he was more confident and wore a mesh one for you to tear off, he did That Growl TM as you did and it sent you

Levi 👾

Oh boy haha, good luck with that lol

Reacts worse than Mammon

“W-w-wear a C-crop Top?! Me?!”

Instant nosebleed lol

You’d have to get him in the mood, boy won’t just do it out if nowhere. Ever.

His self consciousness would mean it would take A LOT of coaxing. A lot, a lot.

But he would do anything if you were having a little dom-sub play, and it was your turn to dom

Given that he was comfortable enough to do that with you anyway, what’s a little crop in comparison?

“Think of it as a little cosplay...” you’d whisper seductively, hot and damp against his ear before nibbling at his lobe

He’d almost whimper at the request now that you have him where you want him

He’d flush harder than any of the brothers, obvi

“W-what do you want me to do?” teeth sunk into his lower lip as he peered up at you, playing along. AAAAHHHHHH

Your soft hands at his chest, before slowly lifting the hem of his shirt, only breaking eye contact when necessary

He would be speechless watching you

no more hiding, no more excuses. He wants you, like this. He’s not so nervous anymore

You didnt want him to feel too self conscious, so you got him a loose fitting neon crop with a black mesh to go over it

His anxiety had melted away but he was still a little self conscious, you’d have to coax him out a bit more

Would actually really love the feel of the top and the mesh did make him feel better

You thought his body was perfect, literally God given ha ha and wanted him to show it off more

You made sure to say as much, making his heart swell.

you wet your lips at his new clothes, making him flush harder and his hands creep to his face again

You gently removed his hands from his face, “Don’t shy away, you have a perfect body... i love it”

May day may day Levi is dying from loss of blood at the nose

Similarly to Lucifer, you may have to coax him with some promises of gameplay/concert tickets/cosplay and roleplay

“Does... this mean I get to see you in one too?”

His dominant side comes out real fast when you wear a teasingly revealing number, crop and thigh high stockings

He is a goner

Just the thought of someone else possibly seeing you this way darkened his expression

You are in for a wild night w this Dark Horse TM lolol

This side you didn’t often see exhilarated you

You silently thanked your idea for the crop tops

Stay safe kids ahha

Satan 📚

His face would flush, hand flying to his chest, “Excuse me?”

Careful Satan, your Lucifer is showing

You’d thread your fingers through his hair as he’s reading. It’s a risk, sometimes he melts into your touch - other times, well -

“If you’re trying to please me, you’re doing it all wrong.”

His blonde brows would frown, before going back to his book.

You’d huff - what to try next? #Take2 I guess...

You’d hum, sinking onto his lap to straddle his thighs. He’d tense his frame from under you, fingertips whitening on the book he held between your chests

He’d blush, unable to look at you for a moment as you’d try asking again,

“For me? Please?” Voice up an octave to sound cute, rubbing soothing circles into the taut muscles at his shoulders

“Why would you want me to do that?” He’s flushing harder now, less resolve in his voice. Bingo.

“I think you’d look really good...” fingertips trailing to his bowtie, eliciting a nervous chuckle from his throat

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, human.” He almost stuttered. Your seductive eyes would meet his with a coy smile, “please?”

“You really are cruel.” He’d say so quietly as though admitting to a great sin. Your teasing would stop immediately, smile faltering

With gentle fingertips you’d encourage his chin towards you, sincerity in your eyes, “What’s wrong?”

His brilliant emerald orbs searching yours, “If we were to do what you’re insinuating, i’d want it to be more.”

You gasped, realisation hitting you like a smack to the face. Your form relaxed above him, gently carressing his beautiful face,

“What makes you think that I don’t want more?”

You’d brush your lips against his in a gentle carress, winning him over

He’d have to be close enough/comfortable enough in your relationship to do it for you

He feels vulnerable without clothes covering him quite well, even in his demon form

So he’d want you to keep this private and would find it really hard to forgive you if you betrayed that trust, especially to Lucifer

Knowing this, the first time he tried it for you you’d helped him pick out one that was loose, comfortable and longer in the sleeves - revealing his lower abdomen in a tease.

It was green to match his eyes. His eyes searched yours for your thoughts.

The first thing you wanted to do was graze your hands at his exposed hips, his breath caught at your actions

“You look ... so sexy.” You’d praise in a hoarse whisper, he’d make a choking noise

Quickly gaining confidence as your hands roam tentatively at his hips, he’d smirk

“You better enjoy this whilst you can, I won’t be doing it again.”

You’d find a way to convince him into it again, dont worry lol

Asmodeus 💋

Bold of you to assume he isn’t wearing one right now

You two have just come back from a well deserved shopping spree ‘for making it through a particularly boring student council meeting’

Asmo’s wearing a crop that barely covers his chest, skin tight, revealing his perfectly sculpted shoulders

He said it was “‘cause it was hot that day!” even though there is no sun in the Devildom

You two were on your way back to The House of Lamentation when he caught you stealing surreptitious peeks

He’d smirk, “Take a photo of me, it’ll last longer.”

You’d laugh, but your blush would give you away

He’d shift his bags to one hand so that he could hold yours, “Come on, honey - it’s time for our fashion show.”

You’d ask him to go first just so you could gawk at him and his stupidly perfect body

He would not complain - even though you’d already seen the outfits, you wanted to see him in them again

If you were feeling particularly confident, you’d pluck out the small bag containing the crop you bought for him as a surprise

He’d squeal with delight, “Ooh for me? What is it?” You’d deny his snatching grasp with a teasing tut, “It’s a surprise - i want you to wear it tonight.”

His eyes would glaze over with anticipation as he’d hum, shifting slightly, “Watch what you say, you know anything can set me off.”

You’d giggle and he’d add with a pompous air, “If it’s ugly, i’m not wearing it.”

When night came and you’d revealed the crop, he gaped. He was very pleasantly surprised.

It was a maroon, lace number, long sleeved and high collar - it was surprisingly high fashion

You thought I was gonna give him some BDSM leather didn’t you? You cheeky thing you

He slid into it effortlessly with another hum of approval, “ooh i love it, thank you.” Planting a chaste kiss to your cheek

Warmth spread through your chest, he must really love it if he wasn’t trying to immediately come onto you

He flushed, rubbing soothing circles into the back of your hand. His adams apple bobbed as he shifted, “You always know what to do to drive my heart wild, don’t you?”

You’d plant a sweet, lingering kiss on his soft lips and share a surprisingly tender night with him

Variety is the spice of life after all, so he had many many more crop tops to satiate your curiosity

“Your turn ;)”

Beelzebub 🍔

Has probably worn a cropped, sleeveless hoodie to work out in

He doesn’t show off his body but is far from self conscious, he works hard for what he’s got

When you ask him to wear one, poor baby won’t see it that way

“Uh, sure okay, why not?”

Would whip out a cropped T-shirt and change infront of you, honey i know, i feel hot just thinking about it

He’d turn to you with That Smile TM coupled with his sweet chuckle, “‘Like this one?”

You’d probably get him to try a bunch on just to see him change lol

If he had the time, which for you he usually did, he’d have no problem being your doll to play dress up with lol

Literally would just let you dress him, as long as the boy has a snack he’s gucci

You quite liked the sleeveless hoodie crop, knowing he works out in it gave it that edge

He’d be comfy, smiling brightly as he’d wrap his big arms around you

You aren’t complaining, you get to feel those abs lolol

If you were feeling confident, you’d roam your hands under the hem, or your hands would wander south -

He’d flush, brows raised slightly, suddenly realising where your thoughts were headed

“So you really like this one, huh?” He’d smile, palms resting comfortably at the small of your back

You’d nod, chewing your bottom lip. His smiling lips would meet yours sweetly, before scooping you up in his arms

Your legs around his waist like a koala, you’d smile, tugging at the drawstrings, “I wanna see you in this more often.”

“Come to the gym with me.” “Lol no.”

“I’d rather see you out of it anyway.” He’d blush as he held you, whispering your name like a blessing

He’d be loving and tender, surprisingly flushed as you’d worship his toned form under that crop

You’d have to try to keep cool if he wore it out, not only would it attract a lot of attention but he wouldn’t really realise

Jealousy wouldn’t really be the problem, it would be more to do with you not gawking at him all day lol

He’d ask you to wear one for him, too, making you flush with anticipation

Would tug at it with his teeth.

You explode

Belphegor 😴

You’d tend to the flyaways of his thick bangs, his head on your lap as your soft hands lull him to sleep

“Belphie?” “Hmm?” “Can I ask you something?” “Sure.”

You’d grow quiet, teeth sinking to your lower lip as you suddenly felt anxious to ask

He’d prop himself up with a yawn, at attention with dark brows,

“What is it?” It can’t be that bad, he thought

You’d realised as you were in the quiet if that attic that you’d only ever seen him in loose fitting and soft clothes

Your flustered cheeks would grow warmer at the thought of him in a tight crop...

His fingertips would caress your chin as gentle as the breeze, the depths of his eyes swimming, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

You’d eventually utter, “I was wondering if you’d wear something for me... just to try it.”

His brows would raise in surprise, that wasn’t what he thought you’d say at all

At your darting eyes, he quickly melted into a suggestive smile, “What is it you want me to wear?”

His expression would harden slightly as you said ‘tight’, but he was surprisingly willing to hear you out

When you showed him what you had in mind, he was surprised once more, “huh... this one?” “MmmHmm.” “Sure.” “:D”

He’d shrug, much like Beel he’d have no qualms changing in front of you, which surprised you some

You were not complaining though...

It was an off the shoulder number, tight but not constrictive, just well fitted. Perfectly

You found yourself having to slam your jaw shut after gaping in surprise at his lean torso

He appeared almost bored until he noticed your state, his hand creeping to his cheek, “Like what you see, MC?”

He wanted to hear you say it out loud

‘Cause Damn... yes, yes you did like it

You couldn’t bring yourself to look away, getting more than you’d bargained for - your imagination didnt hold a candle to the real deal

“Come here.” He’d beckon, tearing you from your reverie

He’d hold you close, somewhere in your mind you’d register that you hadn’t seen this much skin of his... your cheeks heated at the thought for some reason

“I want you in one.” He’d say unabashedly, eyes pirecing yours

You’d gasp, trying not to think of a double meaning

His hands would roam your body with a hum when you did, rather enjoying it himself - suddenly understanding the appeal

Would tear yours

~

I hope you enjoyed these as much as i enjoyed writing them lolol - when i do the Undateables lol stop it i will link the posts! Due to the nature of these HCs, i will NOT be posting for Luke, obviously. I’ll probs edit these but have them for now! ✨

[zareleonis]

Other characters’ impressions of Keqing

For reference, a compilation of stuff other characters say about their impressions of Keqing and her personality, from dialogue and voicelines. Long and image heavy post so read more! :P

Key words: Vigorous, resolute, ruthless efficiency, swift, uncompromising, bold, trustworthy, hard-headed, tactless, impious, disrespectful [of the gods], uptight (words in bold come up multiple times)

Dialogue in game

Stone Gate Bulletin Board, anonymous message

"A wealthy-looking girl dressed in purple came by here a few days ago, asking all sorts of things about the land, people's daily consumption, and such. She seemed to be from the city. When I asked who she was, she said she was a general secretary from Yujing Terrace, sure enough. City folk really are thorough at their job… You seldom see such vigorous, resolute demeanor in young people these days."

Dainslief on Keqing, Collected Miscellany - "Keqing: Starward Sword"

"Within the Qixing, Keqing is one for action. Ruthless efficiency is her modus operandi. Like her personality, her swordwork is both swift and uncompromising."

Paimon: Wow… Paimon didn't think we'd meet some super rich big shot out here in the middle of nowhere either.

Paimon: Phew… Another super bold statement…

Paimon: Well, that Yuheng may not respect the gods, but Paimon thinks she's a pretty cool person.

Traveler: She made a good impression on me, too.

Ningguang: But if you were to choose the more trustworthy person between myself and Keqing…

Traveler: Well, between your orthodoxy and her heterodoxy… I'd go with Keqing and her skepticism of the divine.

Ningguang: Haha… You'd pick Keqing? I had a feeling.

Ningguang: I originally thought her a bit too… hard-headed. With someone of her character on the Qixing, I've had some extra messes to clean up behind the scenes. But after she said those words: "The time of the adepti has long passed. If even the Liyue Qixing don't want to face that truth, then what future is there for Liyue…" Well, I must say that quite a few of my doubts have been dispelled.

Paimon: Yeah, his take on Ningguang is quite different from Paimon's. He thinks that even the tactless Yuheng is more trustworthy than her.

Paimon: She said, "The time of the adepti has long passed. If even the Liyue Qixing don't want to face that truth, then what future is there for Liyue?"

Zhongli: Haha, no respect for the divine. Indeed, contrary to the ever-bold Keqing, Ningguang is more of a businesswoman at heart, though they are both members of the Qixing.

Zhongli: "The time of the adepti has long passed. If even the Liyue Qixing don't want to face that truth, then what future is there for Liyue?" Keqing is absolutely right in saying this. Now, though I did laud Ningguang's desire for power, believing this to be a good thing, and thought as a matter of course that she must have been behind the Qixing's plan to take governing power over Liyue from the hands of the gods and adepti…  Could the original person who brought up the idea of seizing power have been… ? Hmm…

Voicelines about Keqing

Ningguang — About Keqing

"Yuheng... She has changed a lot recently. But is Liyue better off with the Yuheng we have now, or the Yuheng we used to know? Only time will tell."

Zhongli — About Keqing

"She is the most impious of the Qixing — but I actually find the conviction of such people quite endearing. The only reason I was able to consider taking a step back from such overarching management of Liyue was because there are people like her. People who speak up when they believe themselves to be right, and then go and do something decisive about it."

Ganyu — About Keqing: Estrangement

"I cannot stand her disrespectful attitude towards Rex Lapis! But he says to me, "Ganyu, this is just the kind of person Liyue needs in this day and age." I guess I'm not smart enough, because I simply do not understand what he means by that. I think I need more life experience to become wise enough to comprehend his words."

Ganyu — About Keqing: Changing Perspective

"She came to me recently to discuss the reopening of the Bishui trade route. She even asked me what Rex Lapis would do if it were him. Admittedly, what we came up with was not quite on par with what he would have chosen. But… seeing the way she kept starting her plan from scratch over and over again, I think I started to understand her a little bit."

Hu Tao — About Keqing

"The Yuheng, Keqing… she's quite hard to talk to. She's so uptight, hehe… Really makes me wanna mess with her. She wouldn't knock me in the head with her sword though, right? Or would she… ?"

Yanfei — About Keqing

"The Yuheng doesn't deal with matters of the law, and thank goodness... Knowing Keqing's attitude toward work and ruthless efficiency, I'd end up losing a lot of work. Although... No, surely it wouldn't come to that. She's a stickler for doing things the right way — no doubt she'd offend people… but if she had someone like me as her legal assistant... No way! Why should an eminent legal expert such as myself be relegated to the role of assistant!? If she needs legal counsel, she can come and find me."

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Grease Monkey

Prompt: You're the grizzled old mechanic I'm kinda scared of who's been keeping my car running and you found out I'm living in my car and oh shit you offered me the couch at your place? And you made me breakfast? How do I even pay you back, can I work for you?

Stiles loved Roscoe to death. She was a good, faithful car, filled with memories. She was also thirty-four years old and riddled with problems. Jeeps were pretty reliable and fairly easy to manage on your own so long as you had the skill, time, money, and patience. And, well, Stiles had one of those things; nothing but time.

He'd been limping Roscoe along ever since he got his license. It was his mom's, her first car, and practically a family heirloom by the time it was handed down to him. His only regret was that she couldn't be the one to teach him to drive. His dad probably regretted it, too; Stiles had no doubt he'd given his dad 50% more grey hair by the time his training was done and he was free to get his license.

The Jeep's always had it's problems, but it had enough sentimental value that Stiles was never willing to give it up. That probably said something about his abandonment issues, but Stiles had always been very good at ignoring his problems. Now, Roscoe pretty much lived in the mechanic's garage. Pretty inconvenient for Stiles, who pretty much lived in Roscoe.

"Back already?" Greeted Stiles' usual mechanic, Mitch, when Stiles rolled up to the garage. Roscoe's breaks made an awful, screeching whine that made Stiles cringe. Mitch grimaced, too. "What did you do?"

"Nothing! I don't think…" Honestly, it's not like Stiles intentionally made Roscoe fall apart; she was just old.

"Come on," Mitch sighed, beckoning Stiles in. Luckily the whole lot was empty for now—nobody wanted to go to the mechanic's at 7:00am, but Stiles had nowhere else to be—so no one had to witness the awful cries Roscoe made.

"The AC is also acting up again. It smells like fire every time I turn it on?"

"You really need to look at getting a different car, man."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." It was an old argument. Mitch thought Roscoe was a death trap. Stiles kind of agreed, but those previously mentioned abandonment issues meant he couldn't bear to give her up.

Stiles walked around the garage bay while Mitch worked on the car, fidgeting with tools and parts. Mitch knew how he was, so he didn't tell him off; it's why he was Stiles' favorite. The older man that owned the shop always yelled at Stiles for messing around where he didn't belong.

Stiles watched Mitch work, too. He couldn't help it—the guy was handsome. Sure, he was stained black with oil and grease and soot every time Stiles saw him, and his hair was always wildly in disarray—not that Stiles had any room to comment on that—but it only added to the overall ruggedness of his appearance. Also, he had really nice arms. Surely it couldn't hurt to ogle him just a little bit, right?

After the breaks were sorted—Stiles had cheap brake pads, which meant he was burning through them faster than he should—Mitch got to work on the AC, and noticed the pile of bedding in the back seat. It was pretty easy for him to put two and two together, and he was just tactless enough to ask about it.

"You've been crashing in your car?"

"Oh, yeah. My roommate kicked me out a few weeks ago and it's been pretty impossible to find a new place." Stiles was couch surfing with friends for as long as he could, but most of the people he knew kept an apartment on campus, and the others didn't really have room to let him stay more than a night or two. And he couldn't just go back home to California, because he was only halfway through the semester and he didn't want to completely waste the tuition.

"What a dick."

"Yeah," Stiles snorted. "Guess now I know to have my name on the lease, next time. Or just try to get a dorm next semester." Getting a dorm was impossible, too, though. College was a lot harder than Stiles expected, for reasons he didn't even think about.

"Y'know," Mitch said, cutting himself off before deciding to offer anyway, "You could crash at my place for a while, if you wanted."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Oh my God, thank you so much. How can I pay you back? I mean—I can't really afford, like, full rent right now?" Not until he got his next paycheck, anyway. "Seriously, I'm willing to trade sexual favors."

"Don't worry about it," Mitch said with a laugh. "Just help out with chores and stuff and we can call it even."

"I actually love you right now."

Stiles could imagine the look of horror on his dad's face if he could see him now, agreeing to live with a strange man. But Mitch wasn't a stranger—they were friends, right? Hell, given how much Mitch has worked on Roscoe, they were practically co-parenting the Jeep.

After Mitch did what he could for Roscoe this time—and after taking a look under the hood to make sure Stiles wasn't using over excessive amounts of duct tape again—Stiles followed him into the shop to pay.

"How much do I owe you this time?" Mitch quoted him a price, and Stiles knew enough to know Mitch was charging him a fraction of the cost; he figured it must be because Mitch knew he was a dedicated customer.

Mitch also wrote his address on the back of the receipt before handing it to Stiles. "I get off at six, you can come by anytime after."

"I will. Thank you so much, again, really. You're a life saver." Mitch shrugged off Stiles' gratitude, looking a little bit awkward with the sincerity in Stiles' tone.

"I'll see you later."

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Jeon Jungkook/Reader [F]

Genre: Sports AU, Highschool, Fluff, Poor Description of Tennis (I’m sorry lol), Pinning, Idiots to Lovers

Warning(s): None

Words: 9.4k

Summary: You’ve grown up with the boy across the street your whole life.  Even in high school, you were the first person to be called to rope in his tactless or rambunctious actions.  It gets worse when you get an appointed as Student Council President and now you’re forced to babysit and handhold the Tennis Team’s Ace Server: Jeon Jungkook.  There’s a reason he’s always causing you to show up; even further why he only seems to listen to you. 

a/n: this is my contribution for btsboulangeries Aug. 2019 au prompt lol. Sports!

“Y/n, can you come to the gym?”  You sat at your desk, reading whatever book you had picked up from the library when a member of the student council came and called you out of your room.  Murmurs echoed through the classroom like a loud rumble of thunder.  You didn’t even need an explanation as to why you were being called to the gymnasium out of seemingly nowhere.  It was always the same story with you and with him. 

You got up with a tick in your brow as you marched to the door and silently told the student that you were on your way.  You felt like you were bunching up your uniform with each annoyingly-charged stomp of your foot. You walked down halls, and downstairs to the gym where the squeaking of shoes and shouts along with dribbling balls echoed from inside.  

You stopped in the open, metal doorway as you way a small group of boys, shed of their school blazers- in all there obnoxious yellow glory- as they scampered around the gym courts.  Scattering back and forth dribbling a basketball, it wasn’t your average game of passing time basketball.  Instead of two teams competing, it was more of a revolution charging against one body who was smugly hoarding the ball and the stealing court. 

“Jungkook!”  You screamed, cupping around your mouth so it could be heard over the sound of the intense sports balls game. The game almost instantly halted.  From the crowd of overly sweaty and heavy breathing teenage boys popped out Jeon Jungkook.  A prodigy of anything and everything ever and a boy seemingly gifted by whatever God decided to play favorites. His face that was once slack and sweaty broke into a grin that remained just as sweaty.  

Jungkook was the little boy that you were forced into meeting with when you moved into the city of Busan when you were 4.  Your parents were firm believers of getting to know your neighbors and when they learned that the lovely couple across the street had a son your age, they just had to make you two meet.  

You wouldn’t call yourselves childhood friends, it was more like when you were 4 years old that’s when your indefinite job of babysitting the only Jeon began.  You were always trailing behind him, scolding him for being reckless or trying to be his voice of reason because he clearly always decided to ignore his conscience. You’d run after him- considerably slower- in your sundress your mother dressed you in and your bright pink crocs.  He’d be dressed in his small jersey and shorts with shoes as he zoomed ahead of you to the park.  

He’d climb trees that in comparison were like 6 story buildings while you stood on the ground at the base of the truck, pleading for him to come down before he loses his fight with gravity.  He did a few times, breaking his arm once and ankle another time- yet he still kept climbing bigger and bigger trees because the lesson was just never learned. That wasn’t all that Jungkook had going for him though. 

He was completely different when he was around other girls.  He would get shy in his kindergarten class that you two shared.  He would stick to your side or shift behind you when he was approached by a girl who wanted to play with him.  He would keep his words short and actions shorts as his little body shifted in shyness.  It was the only times you were able to act as a shield to him.  

He would also seem to put on a ‘big kid’ act when you were picked on.  You were often teased for reasons you still didn’t know.  You weren’t really all that different from all the other little girls in your class, but you were just a hot target on someone’s radar.  It was timed at recess that they were teasing you or kick rocks at you while you sat picking small flowers.  They even made you get stuck on the seesaw once, keeping your seat high into the air as they stayed on the opposite seat, keeping it down as you nearly cried.  It was way higher than you thought when you were 5. 

Jungkook would start petty, childhood fights with insults as high as ‘poo head’ and ‘infected brat’ and defended you when he saw it.  He’d tell the other boys off and would take you to the grass when you cried and pick flowers with you until you would feel better.  There was one day when Jungkook walked you from your bus stop, holding your small hand in his own and told your parents that you needed at least 3 cookies to smile again.  

The next day, Jungkook had come and given you a flower whistle to wear.  He told you to blow it when you were being teased again and he’d come and chase the meanies away.  You still had that whistle hanging in your bedroom beside your bed on a nail shared with the dreamcatcher Jungkook got you when he heard from your parents you had been having nightmares. 

Jungkook and you from then grew up and somehow developed a love-hate relationship.  You would get on each other’s nerves constantly, but you would still lend him your notes when he got behind or when he needed a ride to and from practice, you’d be the first to offer it.  In return, he’d always do favors for you like buying your lunch for a day or hooking you up with free tickets to whatever team he’s playing for the season.  Not that you cared that much for sports. 

When he saw you standing cross-armed in the gym doorway, he immediately abandoned the ball, bouncing it off to his side before he ran over to you.  The immediate relief the other boys had was almost tangible as they immediately divided up into proper teams for a friendly match. When he stood in front of you, he stood close enough you could feel the heat pushing off his body in waves.  

He was a sweaty, smiley mess as his dark, dampened bangs stuck to his forehead and his sideburns were matted down to his cheeks.  Hair messy in a tussled, brown birds nest. His collared white-uniformed shirt was wrinkled, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms as his blazer lay among the rest in the bleachers.  Tie probably with his blazer, as he was now lacking one.  He definitely should have changed into his gym clothes instead of sweating up his uniform. 

“Good morning, Butterfly,” he greeted.  The nickname is a long-standing one since you two were 7. He and you went out butterfly catching in the summer when the two pairs of your parents met up for some random BBQ.  You being the only one of the pair to not catch a single one as Jungkook had easily captured at least a dozen in his mesh trap before releasing them that same afternoon.  

“It’s past noon,” you quipped as he just shrugged.  “Can’t you just sit down and read a book or something?  Do you always have to stir something up?  You know I’m trying to study and focus.”  You tapped your fingers on your bicep of your still folded arms.  Jungkook swung his left leg over his right ankle and tucked his hands behind his head. 

“Oh yeah, you’re running for something in Stu. Co., yeah?” He ticked his brow with a questioning waver in his voice, unsure as to what position you were actually aiming for.  You were already part of the student council and if all went well, you hoped to be the next president with elections right around the corner.  It wasn’t just the student body vote that decided your fate, but your GPA and scores in classes.  You’ve been in class, the library or home with your nose in a textbook for weeks trying your damnedest for that seat.  

“You know I’m running for president and your constant annoyances around the school aren’t helping.” You seemed genuinely upset that you were once again pulled away from your tasks as time dwindled.  You sighed as you rubbed your forehead, feeling that nagging of a nasty headache coming on.  You had a text in Trig. that afternoon not to mention the first half of a Science Lab that was literally half your grade for the semester.  Time away from your books and sheets were tally marks equivalent of failure in your pessimistic mind. 

“Hey,” Jungkook’s voice shifted as he stood back properly and dropped his arms from his head.  Voice lowered as his face shifted from cocky and grin-split to one of what one might see as apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it kept you that busy.”  

You just held your hand out towards him to stop any further apologies or excuses.  Shaking your head, you took a breath and tried your best to wave it off.  

“Nonetheless,” you began again, looking back up at him, “I’m in the middle of studying, so please don’t make me chase you down again.  At least for the next hour.”  The conversation concluded with Jungkook agreeing to your terms- probably because of the short term agreement of an hour- and you turned to get back to your classroom to make up for your precious wasted time.  

When school ended that day, you groaned as you walked to the library to see it packed with student after student.  No empty tables, chairs or private coves left that would bring you any sort of comfortable study time.  You completed the public library, but it was so far and you road the public bus to school today because your parent’s needed the car. 

You felt a tap on your shoulder as you left the library and saw none other than the Jeon Jungkook himself.  After school in the library hall and not in the locker rooms for tennis practice where he should be. 

“If you need a place to study, you can sit on the bleachers at practice,” he offered. His voice heightening at the end of his statement to morph it into a semi-questions.  

“Study at your tennis practice.  On the bleachers.” He nodded.  “How am I suppose to work with you-”

“I won’t cause problems or distract you, I swear!” He promised.  “I’ll literally just walk you and then practice like you aren’t even there. Plus, some good ole vitamin C couldn’t hurt, yeah?  And if it gets too hot, there’s a bench not too far from the bleachers under some trees for some shade.”  

You ended up giving in as he was soon dragging you towards the track and field area that had the tennis courts directly next to it, separated only with a tall wire fence.  The same fence you know Jungkook had climbed and jumped in the dead hours of the night for some sneaky tennis training in his rookie freshman days. 

Slamming your back chock-full of books and notes down onto the cold, metal bleachers, you cracked open a book and got to work as Jungkook ran to the small lockerroom house to change.  

Tennis was a lot more intense than you originally thought.  It was probably 40 minutes into practice before they actually started grabbing racquets and practicing serves and returns.  The upperclassmen would purposely falt the court and wait to see if one would call it out.  They’d slacken the net line or watch for wrong stances in the players. 

When the team finally split into teams of doubles, Jungkook was the server of his team.  He had always been the first pick as a server for his powerful slams.  And since servers were servers through the entire game, it was an Ace for the team competing.  His stances shifted from open to closed and between flawlessly like a dance routine.  Skidding and jumping around the back of the court while his teammate stayed in no-man’s land by the net. 

Returning the ball with powerful underhand swing and the occasional overhead slam, he did a fairly good practice match.  He kept track of every ball he hit out or each time he skimmed the net and when he was switched out with another team, he would run that number in his head as exercises.  If he got 4 out, it was 4 sets of squats or 4 sets of swings of his racquet.  

You found yourself watching practice more than focusing on your studies.  It was interesting and more attention-grabbing than you thought.  You only focused solely on your work when Jungkook caught you watching with interest as he took a break to take small sips of his water.  Sending a shit-eating grin your way along with making his hand open and close like a butterfly, you stuck your nose back in your book.  Even turning your back on him and the courts for good measure. 

He lied when he said he wouldn’t be a distraction. 

“So, who was the girl?”  Jungkook, out of breath from practice had just peeled off his sweater tennis jersey when a teammate of his marched up to him.  He turned to the inquisitive member to see his Captain, a certain almost smug look on his face.  Jung Hoseok was the top player of the tennis team like he had tennis embedded into the routes of his DNA. Jungkook took his towel, rubbing the sweat off his neck as he stood shirtless in the locker room like half of his team did as they waited for turns for the shower.  

“You mean Y/n?” He questioned as she turned to sit on the stone bench, leaning against his shut- but unlocked- locker.  Taking a quick swig of his water bottle.  Hoseok plonked himself beside his golden teammate and friend with excited curiosity.  Jungkook just sighed.  “She’s a friend of mine, we’ve known each other since forever.”  He took another drink before he remembered something.  “She’s running for student council president,” he tacted on as Hoseok seemed to recall seeing some posters or something with her name on it for the upcoming election ballot.  

“Oh yeah, I think I knew that.” 

“Would you vote for her?” Jungkook asked tentatively.  He wasn’t interested in student council anything, to be honest, but you did. So maybe he could dock you a few votes or just spread your name around. 

“I dunno man, I don’t do votes through friends.  I don’t usually get involved in student council issues.  Not my scene,” he shrugged.  Jungkook cupped his chin in thought, thinking of the best possible course of action to try and persuade his captain into putting a single tiny checkmark next to your name when voting comes around. 

Hoseok watched the younger student sit in the privacy of his head and his thought.  He bit back a smile, rolling his lips over his teeth as he sucked in a breath.  Jungkook was a popular kid, attracting all sorts of attention and was his star player.  He could always throw him a bone to help his friend.  You looked studious enough as he watched you occasionally as you were always scribbling away on whatever topics you were jumping between. It was rare for Hoseok to see Jungkook tunnel vision focus on one person and their student council vote, something Hoseok knew the younger really didn’t care for. 

Hoseok heard a shower shut off before someone was calling him. “This one is all yours, Captain!” 

“Rock on!” He called back as he stood from the bench and stretched, his stomach flattening before he lowered his arms and stretched them over his sweat glistened chest.  “I’ll vote for her,” Hoseok said as Jungkook looked up to him.  Hoseok looked down at his sitting figure and slapped a smile on his face. “She was cute enough to earn a vote from me anyway,” he added with his thumb and forefinger under his chin.  

Jungkook ended up chasing his Captain into the showers and throwing his bar of soap at him, earning a high squeal in return.  Jungkook almost may or may not have dumped his half-full bottle of ice-cold water over the shower divide right onto Hoseok head. Making the boy scream in at least three increasingly different- almost feminine octaves- Jungkook booked it out of the locker room.   

“Jeon!”

You had just finished packing up your bag with tucked away papers and folders with the books you couldn’t afford to fit into the prison that is your bag held to your chest. Stepping carefully down and off the metal bleachers, you crossed the courts to leave, the team now all vacated.  You were hardly off-campus when cars from the team members started zooming past you- car way too flashy to be high schooler’s cars.  

After three had passed you, it wasn’t long before number four rolled up.  Instead of going past like the reason, this one pulled close to the curb of the sidewalk and stopped.  You in turn also stopping as the passenger side window rolled down revealing the driver.  

“I’ll give you a ride!” Jungkook who sat inside, leaned over his middle console shouted over the humming of his car. Contrast to his teammates, his car wasn’t looking as shiny and new but it wasn’t a lame car by any man’s standards.  It ran, got him from place to place and he acted like it was his unborn kin.  He even named the freaking hunk of aluminum. 

You just rose your brow towards him in the shelter of his car.  He reached over and unlocked the passenger door, unlatching it and pushing the door a few inches open.  “Come on,” he sung.  “We live across the street from each other.”  You sighed, giving in to his persistence as you slid in. 

The ride you were expecting to be quiet since it was only a ten-minute drive max was shockingly filled with conversation as Jungkook wasted no time in chatting as soon as you shut the door. Opening with topics of school activities to random weekend plans that all somehow lead to him bringing up the election. You looked skeptically at him, knowing he couldn’t care less about school affairs like student council. 

“Who are you even running against anyway?” He didn’t even know that?

“You don’t follow school functions at all besides sports at all, do you?” 

“Nah.” 

You sighed.  “Kim Namjoon is my competition.”  Jungkook whistled.  “It’s not like I’m expecting to win.  Honestly, I’d be happy with the vice-chair if all else.”  In reality, you halfway expected yourself to lose.  Namjoon was a legend in both academics and his popularity that only seemed to keep skyrocketing.  He was handsome and clever, even if his physical activities abilities were closer to zero. 

He can recite the alphabet backward but make that boy run a 100-meter dash and it was all over.  He’d tap out at meter 50 on a good day.  His coordination left much to be desired.  At least being student council president didn’t include the task of being active in sports.  He’d be doomed. 

“Don’t settle for less when you don’t have to,” Jungkoo told you.  “So what- Namjoon is competing- big whoop.  You’re smart too.” 

“Are you cheering me on?” You jested as he returned a shrug. 

“Uh, duh.  I feel obligated as your longest-standing friend to be objectively on your side. 

You placed a hand on your chest.  “I’m flattered,” you spoke with equal amounts of flattery and sarcasm.  He returned with a halfhearted ‘harharhar’.  “Really though, I’m willing to rack in some votes with my election posters.” 

“You’ve made them?” 

“Absolutely not.”  Jungkook just shook his head.  He pulled up at your house, sat by the curb as you unbuckle your seatbelt. Picking up your bag off the floor by your feet, you opened the car door.  Jungkook rolled down the window as you stepped out and shut the door behind you.  He leaned over the middle console again. 

“Hey, Butterfly~,” you looked back at him over your shoulder. “I’m pretty damn artistic, just so the general public knows.”

“What, so I’m the general public now?” 

“Well, considering your uber large communication circle-”

“Just say you want to help me with my posters and go.”  All he did was shoot you a shit-eating grin as he sat back up and moved to pull his car into his own driveway across the road.  Getting out and grabbing his bag from the backseat he heard you calling him. You were standing at your front door. “You coming or not you brain-dead jock?!”  You shouted, cupping around your mouth. 

Jungkook sprinted across his yard, the street, your yard and up to your door to stand at your side in record time.  Rolling your eyes at his gleaming smile at being allowed to help, he followed your back inside the house.  You called out into your home to whatever parent was home at the moment that Jungkook was with you.  

You avoid any distracting conversations that would pull Jungkook away, you scaled the staircase that was almost immediate to the front door, Jungkook following behind you.  In the safety of your room, you put your bag on the floor of your closet and ran back and forth between your closet, desk, and bookshelf for random things you just threw on your bed.  As you did so, Jungkook stood around, looking at your room.  

He’s known you a long, long time but he can’t say he’s ever really had the time to look around and get a feel for your room.  Your room was an extension of you, coated in your favorite colors, hobbies, interests and was a perfect summary of your life until this point.  Posters of bands and of your favorite movies were cluttered on the wall (some even tacked to the ceiling).  Framed photos of your family members sat on your desk by your shut laptop and 3 different hex-boxes.  One filled with pens, another with markers and the third with pencils. Your bed was tall enough to hit Jungkook’s thigh with the boxspring supported mattress and a dark wooden bed frame. He curled his lips over his teeth to keep from smiling at the bubblegum pink bedspread lay across it.  

He walked to your bed when he noticed that one dreamcatcher he bought you.  It was a gift because he knew you were having bad dreams and knowing you were being scared by yourself sucked, he wanted to help.  He smiled when he saw that small, metal whistle he gave you as a kid to help with bullying.  

“I can’t believe you kept these,” he turned, gesturing to the dreamcatcher-whistle pair on the wall.  You looked at him before you looked at the two items then returned to taking a package of 15 poster boards and slamming them onto the floor in a giant ‘schwoop’. 

“Of course I did, you gave them to me,” you said so nonchalantly, yet that one sentence made his heart lurch.  

“Oh, I see.”  He cleared his throat. “So, gifts from me are special, eh?  I’m flattered,” he sang as he joined your floor-seated body down on the carpet. Half an hour later, you were sat in awe at the almost caricature sketch of you that Jungkook had drawn. 

“Holy shit!” You yelled, a smile breaking on your face.  “That’s awesome, I didn’t know you could draw!”  He tutted as he sat straighter, obviously delighted from the praise.  

“It’s a gift, what can I say.”  he smiled as he simmered down.  “Honestly, it’s a skill I don’t flaunt around because I don’t draw often.  It’s more of a stress relief ability, you know?  Like how people doodle on notes or homework to help them remember or concentration on stuff.”  His sincerity was instantly replaced with the same ego he put on on the daily.  “I get enough attention from my flawless performance in sports already.  It’d be just so suffocating to also be idolized as an artist.”  You swore his nose grew four feet in boastfulness. 

“I can see it now,” you started, deciding to feed into his parade.  “Jeon Jungkook: prodigy of the Arts and Sports Balls.  Does the talent ever end?” You spoke in a faux-Shakespearian baritone. 

“Now, you’re getting it!” Jungkook and you worked on your posters for hours before your mother offered you both a seat at the dinner table before you both starve.  It was nice having Jungkook over again, and you never realized how much of a friend he actually is.  He and you have always been in a sort of frenemies relationship.  Now, though, he was just a friend.  He felt like your best friend; the best friend you’ve been fortunate enough to have since you were 5.  

No way in hell you’d tell him that though.  His ego would inflate so much he’d explode like a damn party balloon. 

It was 8 pm when you decided enough work was done and you could relieve Jungkook of his artist duties for the evening.  Honestly, he’s done enough art on most of the posters that you could probably finish them up yourself.  You should really pay him for his efforts and time.  Maybe slip a $20 in his wallet when he’s not looking because you know he’d outright refuse money from you. 

He picked up his bag and hoisted it on his shoulder as you walked him out of your room, careful not to step on the posters and down the stairs to the door.  The two of you stood on the front porch talking a moment in the sliver of remaining dusk.  

“If you want, I can take you out for Chinese or something to say thank you for your help today,” you offered.  You really did want to pay him back, and if he wouldn’t accept money then he’s got to say yes to a free meal.  And Chinese?  He’s weak against the offer of it; saying no was almost taboo. 

He leaned into you, a grin painted on his flawless, dumb face.  “Are you asking me out on a date, Butterfly?”  He teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows that almost made you laugh.  You just smiled and played along, throwing your hands up.  

“Well, if you don’t want to-”

“I never said no!” He quickly saved.  He just trotted back to your door as he left your porch to his own house.  When you marched back up to your room, you started cleaning up your poster mess when your phone went off, the piece of technology sitting on your bed.  

It was Jungkook texting you, only his contact name was Dreamcatcher. 

Dreamcatcher:  So, when’s our date?

You wanted to ask back if he really thought it could be a date before you stopped yourself.  Why on earth would you even care if he thought it was a date or not?  You floundered before you sent him back saying it could be tomorrow- if he wanted.  Your face felt hot when you got the okay from him back.  

You had a date with Jeon Jungkook.  

It was Saturday and as much as he didn’t want to, Jungkook had to go to weekend tennis practice.  They had a game coming up, so Hoseok wanted to squeeze in as much practice as he could.  If Jungkook had it his way, he’d skip altogether and get to the part where it’s just him, you and Chinese food steaming in front of him.  

Instead, here he was.  Lugging himself out of bed as Hoseok honked outside.  He offered to pick him up since his house was right on the way and Jungkook wasn’t going to pass up the chance to save on gas money.  So, with a mess of hair on his head and a wrinkled jersey and his duffle with his tennis uniform and shoes and racquet, he was out of his house and in the car with his captain.  

“Good morning there, Kook.” Jungkook just groaned at him, tossing his duffle in the back as he slouched in the seat.  “Someone’s grumpy in the morning,” he laughed as he ruffled Jungkook’s already unsaveable mess of hair.  As hoseok pulled out, Jungkook looked up and could see you from your window.  Moving to see better, you had pulled back your curtains (probably to see what dickwad was honking so early in the morning).  You looked tired, and as you saw Jungkook in the car looking up at you, you waved.  

He smiled and waved back before Hoseok was on the road. 

“That’s Y/n’s house, ain’t it?’ Hoseok voiced as he pulled to the end of the road to turn.  Since school grounds are closed on the weekends, the team meets as the public courts.  “You told me she leaves across the street from you, but I didn’t think it was literal.”  

“Yeah, it’s her house.”  Jungkook sat in his chair, pulling down the sun visor and flipping open the mirror to try and pat down his hair.  “How long do you think practice is going to run today?”  Hoseok tapped on his wheel a few time, thinking about the answer.  

“Hmm, dunno.  I would like to be done no later than noon.” Jungkook looked at the radio, the clock showing it to be just past 8 am.  Jungkook nodded.  

“Yeah, okay.  Noon is good,” he said more to himself than to Hoseok.  Pulling out his phone, he sent you a text. Telling you that a lunch date would be perfect if you were up for it since he wanted to be done around noon- and also bidding you a good morning because he's a gentleman. He smiled- giggled even- when you texted him back. 

Butterfly:  It’s way too early to be this excited over Chinese food.  Yes, a lunch date is fine with my incredibly jam-packed schedule.  Sweat out all that testosterone hitting those sports balls, Jock. 

“It’s 8 am,” hoseok started, pulling Jungkook from his micro-conversation with you, “what are you all giddy about?” Jungkook sat back, smiled as he bit his lip and bounced in his seat. 

“I have a date today.”

“All right, wrap it up!” Hoseok shouted after he blew his whistle slung around his neck as his team members fell to the court exhausted.  Contrary to his squirrel-like innocent face, Hoseok was absolutely ruthless when it came to pushing his team to get the results he wanted.  Drilling them on basics until their arm flew off or testing their reflexes by lining them up and bombarding them with back to back intense tennis serves.  Some freshmen swore they’d see Hoseok’s face behind a flaming tennis ball in their nightmares. 

A rightful description to be fair. 

Even Jungkook who had been training on the team with him since he became captain last year still got winded from Hoseok’s drills.  No one could say they were fruitless though, they always brought results one way or another.  That was his whole goal after all.  

Jungkook lay on the tennis court, eyes closed as he had his mouth open like a fish as he took deep, shaking breaths.  Exhausted and coated in a gross layer of sweat, he wanted nothing more than to shower in the public locker room.  Some members had already lugged their wobbly, jelly bodies to do just that- aiming for a cold shower just to get their body moving again.  The sun was high as Hoseok sighed in content. 

“Finished by noon, just like I wanted.”  He put his hands on his hips when he saw someone standing behind the mesh wire that surrounded the court. He smiled as he waved to the person in question.  He cupped around his mouth as he shouted to them.  “Hiya, Y/n!  You’re looking cute today!”  Jungkook’s eyes shot open when Hoseok mentioned you.  He shot up from his lying position on the blue court as he whipped to see you.  

Jungkook looked at you with his mouth hanging open, Hoseok laughing as he slapped his thigh at his friend’s reaction.  He wasn’t expecting you to show up at the tennis courts, so his open mouth reaction wasn’t uncalled for per se. Yet, there you stood in a Jungkook’s favorite pair of jeans and a tee-shirt with a bowl of ramen on it.  Your small purse with your wallet, phone and probably a bottle of ibuprofen hanging low at your waist. 

Meanwhile, Jungkook sat a sweaty, stinky tennis-abused wreck.  It didn’t stop him from smiling and hopping up to go greet you.  Standing in front of you on the other side of the fence.  “What’re you doing here?” He smiled as he asked.  

“Why else?  A Chinese food date is calling our name, and I don’t know about you why I would kill for some crab rangoon right about now.” 

“Oh, worry not, we’ll get them crabs.”  You laughed as you were soon ushering him off to shower and change.  Hoseok caught him in the locker room and took his chances to tease him again.  

“She’s looking pretty cute,” he told Jungkook.  Jungkook already knowing this obviously.  “I didn’t know she was your date, I’m almost jealous.” Hoseok continued as he stripped off his jersey shirt, Jungkook doing the same as he stepped into one of the showers.  Jungkook didn’t reciprocate most of Hoseok’s chides, however right before he left, he grabbed his friend’s shoulder.  Now fully dressed in jeans, a white shirt and his duffle with his hair slightly dripping from his shower, he smiled almost menacingly to his captain. 

“She’s cute, but she’s off-limits, Captain.”  

“Right,” Hoseok replied with a shiver and risen hands. “Message received.” 

Jungkook made his way outside and ran from the courts, pushing the fence gate open as he met with you who was sitting against the fence in the small patch of grass before the court.  Jungkook, helping you up, he was soon asking where you two were going to eat as Hoseok watched from the locker room’s door.  Smiling because there was nothing more natural than you two and Chinese food. 

You ended up taking Jungkook to a rather new Chinese buffet that opened just over a month ago.  He was shocked and almost refused you foot the bill for it yourself since- let’s be real- buffet prices per person are steep.  You wouldn’t yield and proceeded to hush him as you both stood at the counter, ready to be seated for two.  

Slid into a booth by a window that showed the street, you were both served your beverage of choice before the two of you were jumping up and loading up your first plates. You lost track of time between eating and talking with Jungkook.  Cracking stupid jokes, making everyday conversation and bringing up who was whose favorite teacher in school- as well as bonding over the one teacher everyone loathed for their cut-throat teaching practices. 

Jungkook flinched and the guilt crept up his neck when the bill was slipped to you with the recycled line of ‘no rush, take your time’.  You swiped the black book with your receipt inside and slide your card in with it, closing it back up and setting it back on the table edge for your server to return to take it and efficiently drain your bank account of money.  

“How bad was the damage?” He asked, arms crossed on the table with a stack of plates at his side; his Coke half drained of its second refill.  

You just shook your head. “It wasn’t awful,” you waved and dismissed, but you had to be lying.  The food was good, the service and catering weren’t something to sneeze at and the place was brand-spanking-new for Christ’s sake.  It surely wasn’t as cheap as you were trying to make him believe.  “Don’t worry about it,” you told him, leaning against the table with a smile.  “I told you I’d treat you for your work on my posters.  Now, we’re even.”  Jungkook just sat in a huffy pout as you just laughed at his whining.  

The bill was taken, returned and you signed off on the buffet’s copy of your bill before you were taking back your card, your copy of the bill, shoving them in your purse and standing up.  Jungkook following as you both left the restaurant with good reviews of the new place to eat. 

You both stood on the street corner, people buzzing around going to and fro.  You stood at a traffic light, waiting for the light to change and allow you passage across the road.  Jungkook knew that the plan was to actually walk home since nothing else was planned.  He had a different idea, however.  Before you could start walking when the red hand switched to a blue walking person, Jungkook grabbed your hand and dragged you off backward away from the crosswalk. 

“What are you doing?  Home is that way?”  You pointed behind you as you got dragged through people.  Jungkook stopped only when there was an opening between suits.  He smiled down at you, still holding your hand.  

“I know.  I’m just being selfish now,” he chuckled.  

You rose your brow.  “Selfish?” 

He nodded in confirmation, hand squeezing around yours and shaking it in confirmation.  “Yup.  Selfish.  Let’s not go home yet.  Let’s walk around some. Shop, get some tea or something.”  You had no particular plans for the day, so you had no reason to object.  You solely convinced yourself that the reason you nodded your head and why you allowed Jungkook to tow you around after eating was that you had no other plans.  It definitely wasn’t because you may accidentally have a crush on him.  No way. 

The two of you spent all afternoon shopping around from store to store, not really purchasing anything, but just eye shopping was a joy with the two of you in each other’s presence. Jungkook was glad that you were enjoying yourself as much as him (he made sure to always ask about every hour to see if you were still having fun).  He didn’t tug you around so that you wouldn’t have fun.  You didn’t get out much and had a small circle of friends, even if he teases you about how many people you know. 

Knowing people and having friends are complete differences, and Jungkook felt like he was the culprit behind it.  He was always the one to disregard rules or stir up trouble since primary school.  You were the only one able to control him and before he knew it, he acted out solely for that purpose.  He knew that someone would soon fetch you and he would be muzzled by his tamer.  Because of that, and Jungkook’s popularity, you made more enemies than friends.  He was selfish though, he wanted your attention and the best way he got it was by acting like a blundering fool.  

Now, with the past two days you’ve spent with each other, maybe that could change.  He was certain that now, he could call you without causing a ruckus. He could walk beside you and laugh with you as a just himself, not as someone who was just taking another lecture about being responsible in stride.  He wanted nothing more than to walk beside you. 

“Jungkook!” You called to him as you both stood in some women’s clothing store you were practically drooling over every time you both passed the window. He decided to make it the last stop of the day since it was getting late and you both needed your rest. Jungkook has another early morning practice he dreaded.  “Look, isn’t this ring neat?  It’s supposed to be anti-negativity.”  You chuckled as you showed him a simple, dark grey ring.  It looked like it was somewhere between metal and stone, and was simple to a fault. 

“Do you believe in that anti-negativity, anti-stress stuff?”  He raised an eyebrow.  You cupped your chin. 

“Well, I don’t not believe in it.  It’s not like I’d wear it and expect to be positive just because it’s on.  It’s a dual effort, or maybe I see it as more of a type of mental cushion.  A mind over matter type of deal.”  Jungkook nodded as he picked it up from your palm. 

“How much is it?” 

“Just a few dollars.  I think I’ll get one, just for chuckles.”  You told him as he nodded again and trapped the ring in his hand.  You gasped as you tried to snatch his hand to get the ring back, but he just held it above his head, a grin on his dumb face as it was far out of your reach.  He even pushed on your head to keep you that much further away from it. He was soon walking to the desk where he placed it down.  You peeked around his back, seeing what he was doing.  “Jungkook?”  You asked as he just quietly hushed you. 

The ring rang up as $3 something and you nearly slapped the $5 Jungkook handed the clerk.  He just pushed your hand away as she broke the change to hand back to him.  When it was all said and done, Jungkook took the ring from the counter and called for you two to be going home.  You chased after him in a fit of wanting answers.  

When you both got outside, he slipped the ring on your finger and pat your hand.  

“You didn’t have to buy it,” you mumbled as he just chuckled.  He lifted your hand and kissed where the ring sat. 

“I don’t have to do a lot of things, but that won’t stop me. You know that” he sent a wink at you as you stood speechless.  He laughed at your red face as he began to tug you home at his side.  His hand holding yours that held your new ring.

“Are you going to my tennis match this weekend?”  Jungkook who was once against loafing over at your home asked as you sat at your desk, scribbling down your math equations. You turned in your chair to look at him lying on his stomach on your bed, comic open in front of him.  

“I was planning on it.  Why?”  He smiled. Abandoning the comic and placing his cheeks in his hands, elbows pushing into your mattress.  You recoiled slightly at the look on his face.  “What’s with the face?” 

“You’re going to support and cheer me on, right?”  You rolled your eyes as you just turned back to your work.  He flopped onto his back as he stared up at your ceiling. “I really hope we win, I have a whole celebration planned out if we do.”  

“Oh, and what celebration plan is that?” You asked, not stopping writing the next step of your equation. 

“It’s a secret,” he sung.  

“That’s not fair, why’d you bring it up then!” You stopped, turning around again- feeling cheated.  He craned his neck to look at you, his face upside down and his bangs falling to expose his forehead onto your mattress.  

“It’s a secret because it directly involves you!”  He cheerily told you with a giddy smile.  

“I don’t have to buy you Chinese food again, do I?”  He shook his head, rolling back onto his stomach and planting his chin in the bed.  

“No.  You don’t, it's free of charge celebration for you.”  That was all he was going to tell you as you just returned to work and he was soon nuzzling his face into the bedspread.  It smelt of your perfume.  The scent calming, the repetitive scratching of your pencil in your book and the silence and comfort of your room and your presence eventually made the tennis player fall asleep.  

You were shocked at the surprising lack of conversation from the boy behind you.  When you turned to investigate, you smiled warmly at his sleeping figure surrounded by the pink of your bedspread.  The color complimented him somehow.  Quietly lifting yourself from your desk chair, you padded over to sit gently beside his body on the bed.  You pet at his hair as he moved to push his cheek further into the mattress.  

“You’re spoilt,” you chuckled in a whisper.  You leaned to kiss the cheek that faced upwards towards the ceiling when your mother called for you.  Not yelling back to her in fear of waking the overworked tennis player, you silently came to your mother’s call downstairs. 

Down the stairs, your mother stood in wait.  Drying her hands on the front of her apron.  

“Oh my, where’s Jungkook?” She asked. 

“He conked out on my bed.  I’m gonna let him sleep for a while.  What did you need?” She seemed to remember why she called you in the first place.  She had experimented on a new pie she hadn’t made before and you were volunteered as the taste tester.  You didn’t mind really- her baking was usually pretty tasty. 

Half an hour, two pie slices and a kitchen clean up later, you trotted back up the stairs to your room.  Walking in and seeing Jungkook laying on his side, but awake now.  He groaned at you to show he actually perceived your presence; to which you just shook your head at. 

“Have a pleasant nap?” He groggily nodded along your bed as you moved to sit beside him again.  He crawled to plant his cheek on your thigh, sighing contently.  He’s been a clingy sleeper ever since you two were children.  If you two were to take your afternoon naps in the same vicinity, he’d always end up clinging to you then too. 

“You smell nice,” he slurred.  

“Probably like the pie mom made.”  Jungkook just hummed and you both stayed in comfortable silence.  The sun kept teasing the horizon, signaling the nighttime and you tried convincing the sleepy boy on your leg to get up and go swagger himself back to his own home.  He kept denying you of this, however. “Jungkook, you need to go home.”  He just shook his head for the umpteenth time.  Soon, someone knocked on your door and your mom peeked her head inside.  Smiling seeing Jungkook half asleep on your lap. 

“Darling, dad won’t be home until late tonight.  The poor man got roped into another double.”  You nodded as you gestured to Jungkook’s head. 

“Alright, but can you tell him he needs to go home and sleep?  He won’t listen to me, but you’re an authoritative adult.”  You mother just giggled. 

“Jungkook, dear.  You’re more than welcome to stay the night.”  He lifted his head as he nodded pathetically.  “I’ll call your mother and let her know then, sweetie.”  Then she back out of the room. 

“No- wait. Mom!”  You looked down at the boy smiling winningly up at you.  You just lightly smacked his forehead with your fingertips.  “Spoilt jock. You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”  He just rolled his eyes, wanting to get comfortable again. 

As Jungkook pretty much remained rooted to your bed, you showered and changed into a loose PJ crop off and sweats (foregoing the shirts matching pair of shorts as a whole).  Your mother brought some shorts and a tee for Jungkook to wear as he lay under our bubblegum blankets. 

You stood at your desk, straightening up as Jungkook watched you.  You flicked off your desk light as he spoke up. 

“You’re sleeping in here, right?” He questioned as you looked over your shoulder. 

“Duh. It’s my room.  I’ll just make some palette on the floor with some pillows or something.”  You shrugged as Jungkook shot up, shaking his head in protest. 

“No!  You can lay in your bed with me.  I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”  You just crossed your arm.  “Come on, Y/n.  Please?” You flinched as he clearly wasn’t against pouting to get his way.  In the end, you caved. 

Shutting off the light and moved to lay in bed next to him.  Your back facing him, you felt him shift in the bed before he slung an arm around you- true to his koala sleeping habits. 

“Is this okay?” He wanted to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable.  

“It’s fine, Jungkook.  Go to sleep.” 

“Okay.  goodnight.”  when he was sure you were asleep before he was, he turned you around- knowing not even Armageddon could wake you up.  He lifted and pushed your hair behind your neck and shoulder as he looked at you.  He was sleeping not long after. 

It was the afternoon of the tennis match.  Jungkook was more fired up than usual, prompting Hoseok to ask if someone sparked him or something recently.  Nothing specifically came to mind.  He’s practically been freeloading at your house all week long- something about being good luck for his game? You didn’t even try to start to understand him and his logic truth be told. 

When before game practice started, it was obvious to anyone that he was pacing himself.  Not wanting to wear himself thing before the game actually started.  He was instructing his members and strictly speaking with the teammate he’d be placed in doubles with. 

When the rival team showed up on the court, they were already well disliked.  Their held high attitude irked the home team, making Hoseok more compelled to have his team crush them under their bigoted egos. 

Throughout the series of games to be played, 2 sets in total (one for the senior players and another for the newbies), Jungkook would be in a double as well as a single.  The doubles would start out the matches as they would end in one on one sets- no doubt wreaking of testosterone. 

When the court spectators began arriving, Jungkook was drilling his serves when you slid into a vacant bench spot at the front.  Dropping your purse at your feet and pull your phone out.  If someone thought you weren’t going to take pictures of Jungkook playing- they were so wrong.  You were hoping to score a perfect serve photo at least on time to hand up on your wall next to your dreamcatcher. 

When he saw you, he smiled delightedly that you even showed up at all.  You had told him so, but a part of him was still worried.  He ran to you as he was a tad breathless from the practice beforehand on top of his jog over. 

“Ready to play your best?” you asked him. 

“Hell yeah.  Don’t fall for me too hard,” he said with a twirl of his racquet.  Hand on his hip and an air of confidence that wasn’t very egotistical per se, but very much adding to his tennis boy charm.  You rolled your eyes as you whisked his away back to the court. 

You were probably too invested in the games once they started.  Getting especially riled up when Jungkook played. When his double match began, his first serve had you- and a few other school go-ers- up and pumping at the sheer force he slammed the ball with.  Always serving perfectly without losing a serve or getting called for a foot fault.  His first serve was always met with perfection and flawless follow-through.  

His gameplay was a conversation of power that was released the moment he returned the ball by slamming it into the face of his racquet. He even pounded out a few kill shots, the rival team unable to even whisk the ball with their racquet and scoring a point because not once did his ball bounce out of court lines. Of course, his teammate did well also.  Placed by the net at the forecourt, he poached the ball to Jungkook any chance he got for some great offensive power.  

Jungkook and his teammate won his game with a 40-15 score. 

Through the other games in the first set, there were back to back deuces and a few love games as well.  The rival school may be arrogant, but they had game in them. Jungkook just barely finished his water when his single match was announced.  It was the final game in the second set, so this would finish off the sport entirely for the day before an overall winning team was announced.  

His approach to his game was different than his double.  As he stood at backcourt, he seemed to look at every corner and draw out where his opponent may return or backhand the ball at or away from him.  The umpire was more than accustomed to calling faults and outs by now. Taking into account that the field of playing for singles is far narrower than doubles- the sidelines make his width movement and return planning a bit tricky to get a feel for. 

Honestly, by the time it was all over, and he served his final overhand- his main goal to was land a putaway in the sweet spot of his racquet.  How he actually managed to pull that off, he wasn’t sure.  It all happened in a fit of adrenaline and when the game was called, all he did was cheer in a sheen coat of sweat and gasped breathes.  

A 30 to nothing game: 30-Love.  

After all was said and done, the home team was just barely able to claim the victory for themselves, Jungkook was whisked away in a flood of sweaty tennis men back into the locker room to shower.  You were ready to head home and expect him to barge into your home (again) when your phone buzzed.  

Dreamcatcher: Don’t go home yet.  I have to celebrate with you!

Sat on the hood of his car, you wait.  Waving or saying hello to leaving tennis members who saw and passed you. You congratulating each one you could for their victory. It was only dark when Jungkook came jogging up to the car, putting his duffle on the hood beside you. 

“Congrats on your win, jock.”  He smiled triumphantly.  

“You doubted me and my skill?  No one is better than me with a racquet.”

“Hoseok is,” you countered.  

“He is invalid to this argument specifically,” he chuckled as he climbed onto the car hood with you, the team pretty much dissolved now except for a few freshman stragglers who were waiting on rides back home to pass out most likely.  “Honestly, having you watch was a big motivational push.  I can’t look lame when you’re watching me.”  

“You’re a high schooler who chased a yellow ball around a court, smacking it back and forth and drowning in sweat.  You always look lame,” that was a lie and you both knew it.  Even though that was exactly the case, Jungkook was probably cooler back there than he’s ever been in your eyes.  He knew that just as well as you did.  

“Jealous?” He teased.  You rolled your eyes at him. “Oh, you ready to hear how we’re going to celebrate?” 

“Isn’t that why I waited for you on your car, dummy?” 

He snickered as he snapped in front of your eyes, making you go cross-eyed for a moment.  “Close your eyes.” You looked at him skeptically.  “What?  You think I’m going to draw on your wit a marker or something?” 

“You would, wouldn’t you,” you sneered.  

“Just close them.”  You caved as you did as you were told.  Your eyes were closed for a maximum of a few seconds before they flew open when you felt Jungkook kissing you.  Holding behind your neck, it was like he was turning even kissing into a sport.  And you were sorely losing.  When he pulled back, he laughed- literally- into your face.  “You look like a glow stick,” he chided.  You burned and just flounder back at him. 

“You’re blushing just as much as me! Loser!” You whacked at his arm, but with hardly any force at all.  He laughed again, gripping his stomach.  When he settled you were holding your cheeks, trying to mentally will them to cool downJungkook grabbed your chin and turned your face with his index finger to face him again.  

“Our celebration is another date, but this one is on me.  As a serious gesture of how much I legitimately want you to recognize me as someone who feels a hell of a lot towards you.” 

“I think I can recognize that just fine,” you muttered as he chuckled at you.  “How about a date, but maybe if you consider maybe considering me as someone who likes you too?” He placed his forehead on yours, puckering at your nose and making it tingle before you pulled away from him and sneezed into your arm.  Him laughing at your sensitive sneezing before you unleashed a tirade of wimpy socks to his arm. 

He caught them easily enough before he was gearing up to kiss you again.  “I think that’d count as a direct kill shot, Butterfly.”  With all this good luck recently, who knows.  Maybe you actually can win that student council election. 

-END-

[silenthillmutual]

Well, sure, I also thank you for saving my life, kind sir. Hats off to you... “I’ll have a chance to put my life to good use in the near future.” That’s what they all say, right?

Jesus Christ there’s a lot to unpack with this. I want to go from the bottom up, because I actually screenshot most of this conversation with him.

It wasn’t I that have saved your life, Mark Immortell. I want everybody to hear that! I would have killed you if I could.

There’s so much animosity and contempt in this line, directed to a guy I’ve spoken to I think a total of three times - by which I mean an actual conversation was held, as opposed to opening a dialogue that goes nowhere.

Is this just because of the pantomimes he directs? I can’t imagine this is a special dialogue option because I opted to take Artemy’s ending. Are we supposed to get the impression Daniil actually tried to kill Mark and found that he couldn’t? 

Farewell, puppeteer. Best of luck in your creative endeavours ...Is that how my line is supposed to sound, right?

I know this option was probably just meant to be in response to seeing himself portrayed in the pantomimes at night, but this certainly makes me feel A Way about how Mark as a character is used in Pathologic 2. Like Daniil has gained self-awareness. 

I still don’t get it. You are an entirely different creature - how come you’re in the same boat with the Utopians? 

What is there not to get, oh esteemed and wisest of bachelors?

So I guess the contempt is mutual. 

You were a puppeteer. Your Masks foretold our future - or maybe they imposed it upon us, in all honesty, I don’t see the difference. All this time I was absolutely positive you were connected to the plague.

I wish they’d actually explored this answer in-game in Daniil’s route instead of just sort of dropping this in out of nowhere at the end. I guess they assume the idea will cross your mind at some point in time, and it does make sense for Daniil to think this given that the mechanics of the game are explained to you by the executors and tragedians, who then show up later in the game when the Theatre is being repurposed, outside of peoples’ doors when they’re sick, and then, of course, as pantomime actors. 

(I also think it’s kind of interesting that Daniil doesn’t see a difference between having your future told to you, and having it imposed on you. I think he sort of has a point: if you tell someone what they’re going to do, you’ve put the idea in their head. If they follow through, retroactively it’ll look like you managed to predict something, when it’s just as likely you’ve put your will in their mind. You didn’t necessarily know anything, you just brought it to life through manipulation.)

I thought that the whole point of the Utopians’ ideology was neglecting the laws of fate and the limits it imposes upon us.

So in other words, Mark doesn’t fit as a Utopian because he was the one directing fate and imposing its limits. 

Which means that the Utopian ideology is fake. Daniil’s attachment to it is based on the fact that he wants people to be able to pick their own fates, down to being able to decide for themselves when it’s their time to die. Isn’t that supposed to be what the Polyhedron represents to him? The fact that stands and exists when it shouldn’t be able to is meant to be proof that limits can be overcome, but like with Aglaya’s reassurance that no one here can really tell the future - a segment that further proves Daniil’s point that Mark simply imposed his will on the world - this suggests that there must be a much more mundane explanation for the Polyhedron’s existence. 

The Utopians are all charlatans. Peter can’t explain to you how the Polyhedron works, Andrey doesn’t really do anything to protect his brother or Eva despite his bold claims that he can and will do anything - something you can call him out on, Maria can’t really predict the future (wasn’t she the one giving you your list of Bound? isn’t it just a little too much that she happened to put herself, her family, and the people she needed to use to reach her end goals on the list? and that there’s absolutely nothing you can do to save Eva, because Maria makes sure to get her out of the way?), Georgiy is lying to you, Victor doesn’t even want to be there, and Eva is now dead. 

I think this circles back to Artemy & Daniil’s bickering in the opening dialogue. Artemy says “Any choice is right, as long as it’s willed,” which didn’t really leave any impression on me when he first said it because I thought, ‘Aren’t all of their actions willed?’ And, to a degree, they are; but Daniil’s actions aren’t his own will. He’s acting on someone else’s plans, and has been for the entirety of the game. His whole route is about being manipulated, and once you can unravel it from this conversation, you can take that string a lot farther. Aglaya does mention that it seems a little too convenient for you to arrive when you did, and she doesn’t buy The Powers That Be’s claims that you & her & Block being sent there was for completely unrelated reasons to them hating all three of you.

But you weren’t sent here by The Powers That Be. Their timing was serendipitous. No, you came here because your colleague sent you a letter that seemed too good to be true and was certainly too relevant to your work for you to ignore, right when you needed it most. And when you get there, both your proof and your colleague have died, and conveniently your continued existence relies entirely on a family that desperately needs you to run all their personal errands.

Does anyone else question the legitimacy of the letter you receive from Isidor? Georgiy claims both that they were unaware Isidor had sent a letter to you, and also that Simon was preparing to meet you. Then later on, he also says that they’ve been following your work in the Capital. Isn’t that a little, hm, suspicious? Your timing isn’t just great for The Powers That Be who want to get rid of you, it’s also fantastic for a family that wants to make a power grab and needs someone completely ignorant of local customs and politics on their side. Clara says, “Those who favour hard logic and direct action are bound to be misguided” - and she’s right, because your “unbiased” approach to the Town and the issues at hand make you easy for the Utopians to manipulate to their cause. Artemy says, “You will act justly, but your justice will blind you” - and he’s also right about that. Daniil isn’t lying or wrong when he says he’s going to follow the truth and restore justice: the problem is that, as an outsider, he isn’t going to get the full truth from anybody. He has shreds of the truth that he can follow, and the fact that he can’t access an entire story also makes him easy for everyone - all of the ruling families, the other healers, the Bound, Aglaya - to manipulate, and they all do. 

The reason saving the Polyhedron isn’t the “right” choice isn’t just about morality, it’s also about the fact that it isn’t your will to do that. You haven’t been acting on your will for any part of the Bachelor’s route. You haven’t been an active participant in the story, you’ve been an object. You’re just an instrument someone else is using. 

But I also want to make this clear: as many jokes as I see about this, I don’t think it’s fair to use this as evidence of Daniil being evil or stupid, etc etc. But I’ll get into that elsewhere.

You are correct, oh the keenest of the astute! So what? I have cognized this side of Existence from backstage, so to speak; from where the strings go and the machinery is hidden - and yet I willingly swore allegiance to the Utopia. Does that tell you nothing?

That you think you’re god? Are you aware you’re a toy, and trying to overcome that?

I don’t believe you’ve changed. And you being with them is fearsome to me. You are an alarming tone in the jubilant orchestra of creators. 

Is this Daniil realizing for the first time that he’s been manipulated?

It doesn’t tell me enough. You are, as always, a double-dealer...

Interesting. I wonder if he’ll talk more to the other characters in their routes that will make this have more sense to me.

Pff... You know, I’m glad you’re leaving. You are a dangerous person, dealing with you would be and arduous task...

Seems like he’s admitting that, for as easy to manipulate as Daniil was, he’s not entirely stupid. Like Daniil would be a threat if he stuck around longer, had the full story. But this is also a hint that the Utopian ending isn’t actually Daniil’s ending. After all, he’s leaving. He’s not a part of the end at all.

You’re back to being annoyed already? And I was just planning to ask as to what you’re going to do with your life.

Me? Hahaha... That’s ridiculous! And it’s very tactless of you to ask me a question like that! Oh no, no offence taken... by me; you haven’t offended me, after all - you’ve offended the Scarlet Mistress herself. My life belongs to Maria now... And I am merely her humble servant... always at her service.

This loops back into implying that the entire route has been orchestrated by Maria, proving Aglaya’s point - and Daniil’s - that she can’t tell the future, and that foretelling the future is indistinguishable from imposing it on people. Maria did what she could to make sure things went her way. By “telling” the future, she made it happen. 

[cakesunflower]

Liability [Peaky Blinders!Calum AU] Part 1

Liability—A person or thing whose presence or behavior is likely to put one at a disadvantage.

Summary: Being the daughter of the Police Captain meant Karina Garner should’ve kept her distance from Calum Hood, the notorious leader of the Peaky Blinders. It certainly didn’t mean she should agree to work for him, especially when Calum had underlying motives up his sleeves.

A/N: this is part 1 of my Calum AU that’s based around the tv show Peaky Blinders! if you haven’t watched it, it’s basically a show about a gang in 1920′s Birmingham led by the ever-so-fearsome Tommy Shelby--who, in this fic, is replaced by Calum, obviously. 

it’s important for y’all to remember this fic is based in the early to mid 1920′s, so some dialogue or exposition or plot points might seem a bit strange or different than what you’re used to reading from me but remember--this is a different time period! keep that in mind, and happy reading!!

Liability—A person or thing whose presence or behavior is likely to put one at a disadvantage. 

Part 1

Waking up in her childhood bedroom had been disorienting, not entirely remembering what she was doing there. But then the exhaustion she’d fallen asleep in caught up and Karina remembered her long journey back to Birmingham. She recalled the reason why she moved back and let out a tired, defeated sigh. Her return to her hometown wasn’t under the happiest of circumstances, but she wasn’t as heartbroken as one would expect. She was a grieving friend, maybe, but nowhere near a grieving widow. Never had Karina wanted to become someone who married just for the sake of being married, but that’s how life turned out, that’s what was expected from them. Archie, a wealthy investment banker from New York, had taken an interest in her; her family had approved, and that was that. Honestly if Karina truly hadn’t wanted to marry him, she could’ve protested and her parents would’ve listened. But Archie had been nice enough, handsome and rich and a way out of Birmingham.

Until none of that was worth it. Until he was gone.

Too many mistresses and refusing to let her work were suffered through for two years too long. When she didn’t want to give him a child when he was ready, things had taken a turn for the worse for their already deteriorating marriage, a mismatch made in hell with a constantly fueled fire. Then Archie fell sick, like he was dying from the inside, until he took his last breath, giving Karina a way out of an unhappy marriage and the money he left behind for her.

A bit tactless for her to think, and even a bit cruel, but he’d spent nearly their entire marriage treating her less than she—or anyone—deserved and Karina was not about to spend her time grieving over a man who viewed her as property to be invested in.  

“Morning, love,” her mother greeted as she entered the kitchen, robe tied around her as she joined her dad and brother at the table. “Egg and toast?”

Karina sleepily hummed her agreement before pouring herself some tea. “How did you sleep?” her father asked, already dressed in his captain’s uniform, finishing off toast lathered in jam.

“Brilliant,” Karina answered truthfully, recalling how her eyes shut the second her head hit the pillow. Looking at Sean, she asked, “Don’t you have work?”

Her twenty-one year old brother scrunched his face in annoyance. “I’ll go when I’m bloody done eatin’,” he spoke through a mouthful of eggs, prompting Karina to twist her own expression in disgust. Once he swallowed the bite, he said, “Everyone wants to go out for drinks tonight to welcome you back.”

Karina lowered the cup after swallowing her of tea, a wry smile on her lips. “You mean to drown me in alcohol so I’m not too heartbroken over Archie’s death and the fact that I’m a widow.”

Her mum clicked her tongue, placing Karina’s breakfast in front of her. “His passing is sad—you can pretend to be grieving. Plus, you’re twenty-four, love. You’ll find someone who truly deserves you. He’s out there, by God’s grace,” she added, her slight rough Irish accent something Karina missed.

But she shrugged, almost sadly at the loss of Archie and the thought of her marriage coming apart so quickly before his death, despite being glad not being stuck in something that didn’t make her happy. She wasn’t heartless; she spent two years of her life with that man, and while most of them weren’t happy moments, he’d still been a constant in her life. For all his faults, he didn’t deserve to die, but Karina wasn’t going to pretend she’d lost the love of her life, when she definitely had not. Still—no doubt her mum’s friends would talk, and while Karina liked to think she didn’t care what people said about her, she could only pretend so much.

Her dad cleared his throat before pointing at her. “Listen to your mum. We’ll shift your things to the flat tomorrow. I best be off.”

Karina looked at him with jade colored eyes, raising her eyebrows. She was staying at her family home just upon her arrival, but Karina had a flat that was a fifteen minute walk from the home that she was ready to move into. She’d lived in it for a year before her marriage, almost as a way of preparing herself for independence despite her family being so close. It was unfortunate she barely got a taste of it when she moved to America and was told to only adhere to Archie’s demands. “You’re leaving already?”

The police captain scoffed, picking up his hat. “Crime never rests—especially if it’s the Peaky Blinders.”

He left a few moments later, the front door slamming sounding his exit, and Karina looked at her mum and Sean and frowned. “The Blinders still give him trouble?”

Mrs. Garner sat to Karina’s right, letting out a breath as she prepared her tea. “Honestly, I think it’s the other bloody way around most of the time.” A disapproving expression matched her tone. “Likes to press on them when they’re not even outwardly doin’ anything.”

Sean scoffed as Karina listened with interest. “He’s lucky Calum Hood doesn’t condone killin’ coppers or else Dad would be dead ten times over by now. The Blinders are dangerous as ever and fucking terrifying but they protect us just as much as the coppers. Dad just doesn’t like sharing the glory.”

Their mum clicked her tongue. “Sean.”

Karina let out a breath, raising her eyebrows at her little brother. “You sound like a fan,” she pointed out, to which he only shrugged, and Karina found her thoughts suddenly consisting of the Peaky Blinders.

More importantly, Calum Hood—a name she knew and a face she hadn’t seen in a few years. He was the leader of the Peaky Blinders, founding the gang after returning from the war, and expanding their business and notoriety within a matter of months. A household name, not one to ever be fucked with unless someone wanted their eyes or tongues cut. They weren’t quiet about their dealings, were proud of their work, and had the entire town’s fear and respect in the palms of their hands—especially Calum. Always walked around as people moved out of his way, with the razor blade glinting in his cap, cigarette between his lips, and ring clad fingers ready to throw punches if need be.

The town also had the Blinders’ promised protection, which made work for the coppers harder, since no one would dare go against the Calum Hood and the Blinders. No one wanted to bite the hand that was feeding them.

Karina knew of Calum; had gone to school with him when they were children until he dropped out later in the years to help his family, and then she’d only see him around town. Then he had left for the war, and just a little while after his return as a war hero, Karina left for America. She knew the Peaky Blinders started around the time she had left, but her family never mentioned him in any of their letters—why would they?—and Karina never really thought about the dark haired man who was, more or less, making her father’s life a hell.  

She wasn’t going to lie; she’d definitely felt a shiver creep down her back when her brother so airily mentioned her father escaping death just because Calum Hood said so. It made her wonder just how powerful her old school mate had gotten over the years. How the mere mention of his name made most men she knew quiver in their shoes and run the other way. How the quiet boy with the full cheeks she used to see in the classroom had grown to be an illegal activities dealing, killer gangster. It all sounded almost surreal, but Karina guessed there was a fine line between delirium and reality.

After breakfast and drawing a bath, she changed into a simple outfit of a white button down blouse tucked into a long maroon skirt before spending the day with her mother. They had lunch, ran some errands, and then Karina joined her mum and her friends for some late afternoon tea.

“So, you poor thing, what are you going to do now?”

Karina pursed her lips as she swallowed her sip of tea, forcing the smile to remain on her face. She may love her mum, but Karina should learn to say no to tea with her friends. The old birds always had something to say, and now that Karina was back after losing a husband, she wasn’t surprised they wanted to gossip about her, clearly having no respect for the loss of a life.

“You don’t have to poor thing me,” Karina assured with a sweet smile, light brown hair framing her pretty face. “I’m perfectly alright. Might find me-self a job.”

“Karina’s very fast with numbers,” her mum piped in with a proud smile. “She can land a job at one of the banks.”

Karina smiled, grateful for her mum’s support. She knew her mum felt guilty for what happened, for even letting her daughter marry a man who made her live a life less happy than what she deserved, even though Karina had agreed to the marriage in the first place. She didn’t blame her parents; it was life. Sometimes it was shit, and though her husband might be dead and she mourned the loss of a life, she didn’t mourn the loss of a husband—no matter how much of a bitch that may make her sound.

“A job?” one of the women, Mrs. Nelson, guffawed. “You should find another husband, not a job.” She laughed, looking to the other laugh women. “The only work a woman should be doin’ is housework and raisin’ kids.”

The other women chuckled and murmured in agreement and Karina exchanged a flat, unimpressed look at her mother. She wasn’t all too surprised at the women’s way of thinking; they were all housewives, did nothing but cook and clean and raise their children. Not that there was anything wrong with that—Karina just didn’t want only that to be all she did in life. She wanted a little more, something less mundane. Something that gave her a purpose.

Honestly, Karina wasn’t sure how she survived the day with her mum’s friends, the women doing nothing but boasting about their children and grandchildren. The amount of cigarette breaks Karina took weren’t enough to keep her sane.

But then the night fell and it was time to head out for drinks with her friends. Karina put on one of her finer dresses, ruby in color and flattering, and she was looking forward to seeing everyone. It wasn’t until they were approaching the familiar pub that Karina shot her brother a look. “Should we even be here?” she questioned suspiciously. “If we don’t die in there then dad will surely kill us.”

Sean snickered, tossing the cigarette butt as the gravel crunched beneath their feet, the iron and coal scent of the factories around them digging into Karina’s nose as they approached the Garrison. “Sheffer’s is closed for renovation—Garrison’s the nearest pub, Karina. Besides, nothin’s gonna happen to us. Been here loads of times,” Sean reassured, holding the door open for Karina as she almost reluctantly walked in, following the few friends they were with, eyes flickering about to take in her surroundings almost cautiously.

Karina was hesitant upon entering the bar, knowing that it was the one owned by the Peaky Blinders themselves, buying it out after the gang gained their rightful notoriety. It’s where their men spent their time when they weren’t working, along with the factory laborers, and Karina knew from her brother that this was where Calum Hood often was as well, if he wasn’t out conducting Blinder business. Karina couldn’t help but think it was a risk coming here, being the daughter of the police captain, but she trusted her brother. If he said they’d be fine, she would believe it until they weren’t.

It looked newer than she remembered; a shining gold theme lining the walls and bar tops, circular tables in the middle with high red cushioned stools while booths lined up the walls as well, matching cushioned seats for those as well. The warmth in the pub was a pleasant welcome in exchange of the cold night of Birmingham outside, the air heavy with the familiar and ever present scent of tobacco, a deep breath escaping Karina at the loudness she was suddenly surrounded by. Men and women busied up the pub, and the live band playing upbeat music on a higher up platform on the back left of the room was a nice surprise to Karina. Last time she remembered, the Garrison wasn’t nearly as done up as it was now. The Blinders—Calum—had truly put in the work for a makeover.

The Garrison had never been much to look at, but things had obviously changed upon the Blinders’ acquiring of it.  

Karina admired her surroundings, briefly oblivious to the few stares she—not the people she was with—was receiving upon her arrival. One of the first things she noticed was how the pub consisted of both men and women, when at a time, it was only the men who worked in the factories that would drop a few pounds at the Garrison. Though now, the patrons look almost as classy as the pub. But as her gaze happened to wash over a few of the customers, Karina noticed the stares. Noticed the few double takes and curious looks that were suddenly accompanied by whispered conversations, menacing over the music playing. No doubt they were all privy to the reason of her return to Small Heath, maybe they were even questioning why the daughter of the police captain was in a known Peaky Blinders establishment, even if she was with her brother who apparently frequented this place.

Though, he was a man. Double standards often ran high in a town as small as the name it was given.

Neck tensing, Karina tried to ignore the looks, instead following her company to an open table while Sean and Joseph went to the bar to get drinks. Karina hopped on a stool, the soft material of her dress flowing against her legs as she pulled out her pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The first inhale managed to relax her, hoping those staring would realize there wasn’t much to look at and go back to minding their own business. Honestly, Karina didn’t care much if they talked—that’s all what people liked to do—but it was the staring. It prickled at her skin, as if their gazes drove needles into her nerves and paralyzed her, forced her to notice every single look she was receiving.

“Pay no attention to them.” Karina blew out a delicate puff of smoke at her best friend Joyce’s words. The brunette shook a curly lock of hair from her face, fingers gripping her own cigarette as she kept her gaze on Karina. “Just focus on enjoying the night, hmm?”

Karina raised an eyebrow, chuckling wryly under the sound of her friends chattering, noticing Sean and Joseph returning with the drinks. “You mean enjoy the night commemorating the loss of my husband?”

It was awful and heartless, Karina knew, to be doing this. She only justified it by claiming that she wasn’t celebrating Archie’s death. She was just grateful to be out of a relationship that lacked any ounce of love and respect. No harm in celebrating that, was there?

Joyce rolled her eyes, tapping the cigarette over the ashtray on the center of the table. There was a hint of a red circle lining her cigarette where her lipstick touched, Karina’s cigarette the same. “I mean enjoy the night commemorating your escape from an unfit marriage,” Joyce corrected, practically reading Karina’s thoughts.

The shot glasses were filled to the brim, and the smile on Karina’s face was genuine and easy as she and her friends lifted their glasses, clinked them together to cheers and even spilled some onto the table, before drinking their glasses dry. The vodka burned Karina’s throat gloriously, lips upturned and eyes screwing shut briefly as the drink sizzled down and settled in the pit of her stomach.

She enjoyed the company of her friends—friends she hadn’t seen in too long and had been left to only writing to them—with their two tables being littered with glasses and ashtrays filling up with the cigarettes being smoked. For the first time in a while, Karina genuinely enjoyed the people she was with, never having gotten used to being around Archie’s American friends who swam in money and childishly poked fun at her accent when they’d had too many illegal drinks in the safety of their homes. Her life in America, though one with money, had been unfulfilling. Archie’s death, though it was sad, offered Karina the opportunity to go back to her old life in Birmingham with the people she knew—and with Archie’s money as his widow.

Still, Karina recalled her conversation with her mother and her friends earlier that day; she may have Archie’s money, but she also wanted a purpose. Sitting around at home with nothing to do sounded just as mind-numbing as attending one of Archie’s friends’ dinners. Some kind of excitement in her life may do Karina some good—though finding it in Small Heath, that seemed like asking for a favor too big for the small town to deliver.

Eventually, Karina excused herself from her friends and wandered towards the bar, ignoring the few eyes that still lingered on her as she went. She paid for her drink, pausing at the bar to take a sip before she made a move to go back to her friends. She sipped, eyeing the various bottles sat on the shelves, remembering how the only way she’d been able to have a taste of alcohol in America was through private events where Archie and his friends somehow got their hands on alcohol that was banned across the country, the Prohibition Act that weighed upon the citizens having a tight grip on all alcohol.

So Karina savored her drink, allowing herself to lean her hip against the bar as she enjoyed it, only to regret the decision when a man taller and older than her, probably mid-thirties, came to stand to her right at the bar. He faced her, and Karina hated that she could actually feel his eyes drink in the sight of her, his stare unwarranted and unwelcome. Whatever was about to happen in the next few minutes, she was sure to not like.

“A lovely lady like yourself shouldn’t be drinking alone. Especially here, being the Police Captain’s daughter and all.” Karina tried not to roll her eyes at the man’s words, though she failed to ignore the way her skin crawled under his prickling gaze. Honestly, one would think being the captain’s only daughter would keep unwanted eyes away from her, and most of the time it worked. However, there were always the few courageous lads that tried their hand in hoping to impress her, especially at pubs, especially when they were older than her. They failed more often than not.

Karina put down her glass, the whiskey running smoothly down her throat as she raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the nameless stranger. If he knew who her father was, then he surely had to know of her only recent single status; did he truly believe Karina was wholly willing to entertain some random man at a pub after the death of her husband? Not that she was a grieving widow or anything—no more so than she pretended she had to be so she didn’t appear completely heartless. A tricky slope to live on, but Karina had never entirely been one to care much for what others thought, even in her compact community of Small Heath.

“But I’m not alone,” she responded innocently, offering a close mouthed smile as she rested her hip against the bar, raising an eyebrow at the man. “My friends and brother are right there. So your charming company isn’t required.”

The mocking sarcasm in her tone was quite heavy and Karina watched as irritation flashed across the man’s gray colored eyes, apparently not appreciative of her mild dig at him. He straightened to his full height, not the tallest man she’d seen but easily towering over her, as his expression tightened. Karina wasn’t entirely intimidated, not with her friends just a few tables away. Still, she didn’t appreciate trying to be scared into some type of submission. It was exhausting being a woman having to live in a man’s world.

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you, haven’t ya?” he sneered, eyes narrowing down at her, body shifting as a way of trying to step into her personal space. Karina’s teeth clenched. “Just ’cause your dad’s the captain doesn’t mean shit around here, sweetheart.”

For a betraying moment, Karina wondered if her father’s position in the police force meant anything at all.

Just as that thought fluttered across her mind, Karina heard the soft thudding sound of the pub doors opening over the music playing and people chattering, and instantly any sign of irritation wiped from her face at the sight of the man entering the Garrison. The man in front of her held no importance anymore—not that he ever did in the first place—as a familiar face entered the bar with all of the casual confidence in the world, instantly drawing the attention of everyone inside upon the opening of the doors.

Calum Hood walked in, his three piece dark grey suit pristine and crisp with a silver vest chain glinting in the light, a cigarette hanging from his plump lips while a cap that matched his suit rested atop dark curls. Ring clad fingers reached up to grasp the cigarette, dark eyes intuitively scanning the faces crowding his pub as a cloud of smoke curled out of his mouth, and Karina had to force herself to look away, not wanting to be caught staring for too long, and refocus her attention on finishing her drink as he walked further into the bar.

She downed the rest of her alcohol, setting the glass down as she vaguely heard the patrons going out of their way to greet Calum—an overenthusiastic “Evenin’, Mr. Hood!” here and a nervous “How are you, Mr. Hood?” there—not wanting to at all appear as if they were ignoring him, which was only a small hint to display the power he held. As Karina shifted to go back to her table, she quite honestly hadn’t realized she had completely forgotten about the man that had been attempting to chat her up until she began to turn away and was stopped by his hand grasping her wrist.

Karina stopped, blinking her widened eyes before following the hand up the length of the arm until she looked at the man holding her with an incredulous and slightly annoyed expression. “Didn’t your copper father tell you it’s rude to walk away from someone tryin’ to have a conversation with ya?”

Her jaw tightened, teeth grinding together as she stared at this man, older than her and relentless. Sometimes she truly wondered if the male species was even born with basic manners etiquette. Damn neanderthals. “He taught me how to deliver a punch if need be,” Karina responded, hoping to keep her voice calm despite the warning tilt that crept in as she spoke through gritted teeth.

The man laughed, as if what she had said was comical, only serving to quickly irritate Karina as her jaw tightened even more. He looked down at her, the jeering evident in his eyes as he raised doubtful eyebrows, the amused grin wide on his face, clearly taking her and her threat as joke as he taunted, “Oh, you’re gonna punch me, are ya?”

“There’ll be nothin’ of the sort.”

The sound of the new voice, raspy and deep with a lazy, almost uncaring drawl, had the man’s face blanching, Karina couldn’t help but notice. The color drained from his face as he straightened immediately, hand releasing Karina’s wrist, which she instantly pulled towards herself before looking to her right. It was then did she realize why the guy in front of her seemed to appear as though he’d been visited by a ghost.

“Mr. Hood, h—good evening.” Karina would’ve found it comical, how the stranger suddenly transformed into a bumbling idiot in front of a man who was obviously younger than him, if she wasn’t too busy staring at the newcomer in her own haze of wonder. She hadn’t seen him in years, but even with Calum Hood merely standing next to her, Karina could see why every soul in their town and beyond was absolutely terrified of him.

She couldn’t quite understand it, how someone had the power to appear so intimidating when they were doing nothing but standing there. Calum stood with the cigarette hanging between his lips, a thin stream of smoke curling from the end of it, with hands buried in the pockets of his expensive coat. The expression on his face, with dark eyes glued to the man, just appeared as though Calum had much better things to do then interfere in this conversation, and Karina knew that he most likely did—but stepping in had been done out of his own volition. And it confused her, making her unable to look away from him and put an end to her surprised yet puzzled expression she watched him with. Briefly, she wondered if everyone else in the pub was looking at them, or if the heat in her body was due to her previous irritation or with the newfound company she was in the presence of.

Calum Hood didn’t spare her a look yet, tilting his head up ever so slightly to look at the man from under the tip of his tweed flat cap. “It will be, once you walk away from Miss Garner,” he returned, the cigarette perfectly held between his lips as he spoke. His tone held no sort of emotion, though the command was somehow still clear as day in his calm voice. It was enough to have Karina’s heart jumping—along with his mention of her. He remembered her. She tracked the way his left hand pulled out of the pocket, fingers grasping the cigarette as the rings he wore glinted against the lights, using it to gesture towards the doorway as he added in finality, “Out, Stuart.”

The man—Stuart—didn’t even pause to argue. Karina watched in skeptic surprise as he gave a nod to Calum, not wanting to spare a moment that could ever possibly look like he was disobeying Calum’s order, barely looking her way as he picked up his hat and shuffled out of the bar, the doors swinging shut behind him. Karina’s gaze had been on him, watching him go, her view obstructed only briefly when Calum moved in front of her to take Stuart’s place.

She barely had a moment to comprehend what had happened when Calum spoke up again. “Leave it to Captain Garner’s daughter to try’n’pick a fight in my pub.” Karina straightened, throat working as Calum leaned his elbow against the bar top, body facing her as she watched him take off his cap. His curls sat perfectly atop his head but that didn’t stop Calum from running his fingers through them once he dropped his cap, the razors sewn into the peak clattering lightly. Stubbing out his cigarette in the glass ashtray on the bar, Calum quirked a lazy eyebrow at Karina. “Does your father know you’re here?”

His dark eyes were hypnotizing as he gazed at her, familiar but not, and Karina had to swiftly snap herself out of whatever trance she had found herself in to answer in a voice she hoped remained indifferent, “My father doesn’t dictate where I go, Mr. Hood. I am my own woman.”

He watched her intently, his gaze far too penetrating for her liking, her stomach turning under his stare along with the pointed Mr. Hood that had slipped from her tongue. Karina tried not to bristle, completely at a loss for what he may be thinking, his expression never giving anything away. She remembered, vaguely, how much of a smiling child he had been; how the fullness of his cheeks rosied whenever he grinned, and while some of that same roundness was still present, it was now accompanied by a stubbly jawline sharp and strong. A small inkling to how much he’d grown.

“A woman who’s apparently grieving,” Calum responded. He spoke in such a lazy, unrushed drawl, like he had all the time in the world and whoever he was speaking to had no choice but to wait for him to finish. Something told Karina that’s exactly how the world in their corner of Small Heath worked; it belonged to Calum Hood, and everyone else was just living in it. He lifted his chin, eyes still on hers, expression void of emotion even as he stated, “Sorry for your loss.”

Karina held back the snort. She doubted he was, doubted there was even a cell in his body that cared. Karina knew she should stop the conversation from flowing right there, should probably excuse herself politely and go back to her table with her friends and brother instead of lingering by the most dangerous man in Birmingham. Standing next to him alone was enough to rattle her bones. Still, her lips pressed together as they quirked up, nail tapping against the rim of her empty glass as she said, “Nothing a good drink can’t help with.”

She saw the subtle quirk of the corner of his lips, so brief that she would’ve missed it had it not been for the fact that she was looking at him, as Calum dragged his eyes towards the bartender and said, “Two whiskeys, Lewis.”

“Scotch or Irish, Mr. Hood?” the bartender asked promptly as Karina eyed him. He looked ready to answer to Calum’s every beck and call.

“Irish,” Calum told him, not bothering to consult with Karina as Lewis instantly went to pour out the drink. His dark eyes met her green ones as he mused, “Should be good enough to mend your broken heart.”

Karina bit the inside of her cheek, giving a tilt of her chin in the form of a subtle head shake as she gathered enough confidence to return smoothly, “Can’t heal what’s not broken.”

Her response, she could tell, intrigued the leader of the Blinders, one eyebrow quirking ever so slightly. Lewis placed their glasses down, but Calum’s eyes remained on Karina as he spoke in his drawling tone, carried over the music still playing throughout the pub, “Marriage didn’t agree with you?”

Was she seriously standing in the middle of the Garrison discussing her marriage with Calum Hood? Karina really would be needing that glass of Irish whiskey to get herself through this. She wondered, briefly, if her brother and friends had noticed just who exactly was in her company; wondered if they were purposefully staying away because it was Calum Hood or because they genuinely had no idea. Either way, Karina couldn’t bring herself to even look away from Calum, despite wanting to. Just gazing at him seemed like a bad idea; like he would suck her into his world and leave her to drown in it.

“My husband didn’t,” she corrected Calum, fingers itching to reach for her glass. He hadn’t reached for his. Karina took a breath, hoping the music would cover up the shuddering sound. “But I’m not one to speak ill of the dead.”

That, she saw, invited an amused smirk to tilt at Calum’s lips, the first true sign of some kind of emotion. Karina tracked the way his lips curled, a boyish expression that was coated with a kind of wickedness that had a shiver running down the length of her spine. It was then that Calum reached for both glasses, rings clinking against the glasses as he handed her one of them, which Karina hesitantly took. Couldn’t exactly turn a drink from Calum Hood away—Karina quickly and almost horrifically realized, in that moment, that she didn’t want to anyway. Just like she didn’t care for the few stares she knew were lingering on the two of them.

“So if the man was the problem and not the concept of marriage itself, I suppose you’re lookin’ for prospective suitors?” Calum hummed, turning his body so his back was against the bar, elbows rested on top as his hand held the glass after he took a sip. His body faced the expanse of his pub, filled with guests, but his head was turned towards Karina.

She felt her heart unnecessarily jump at his question, mind running with asinine possibilities as to why he would ask that of her. Honestly, Karina was still trying to accept the fact that she was having a conversation about marriage—her marriage—with Calum. Surely the leader of the most notorious gang had better things to do than to stand around conversing with a girl he once knew from his childhood about her marital status.

Karina’s throat was dry, both of her hands wrapped around the glass, hip against the bar as she gave a shake of her head. “I’m afraid you’d be wrong.” She noted the quirk of his eyebrow at her as he took a sip of her drink, silently prodding her to explain herself, and Karina pressed her teeth together at the condescending gesture. Was she some kind of pet who would know exactly what to do at the silent command of her owner? It heated her, but Karina wasn’t in the mood for pissing off Calum tonight. So she took a breath and found herself explaining, “I’ve come to understand that I would rather be working then getting married again. For now, at least.”

She waited for him to laugh, throat tight, just like her mother’s friends had when she told them the same thing—though Karina knew if she heard Calum Hood laugh, it would be so shocking that it’d feel like a slap in the face. But instead Calum was silent for a few agonizing seconds, the quiet only filled by the music and other patrons enjoying themselves, until Calum narrowed his dark eyes ever so slightly and pursed his lips before asking, “Are you a whore, Miss Garner?”

It was a good thing Karina hadn’t been sipping at her drink, because Calum’s question would’ve had her choking on it as she gaped at him in indignant surprise. He inquired about it so casually, as if it wasn’t an insult to her to suggest that the only work she was capable of doing was to service men through the likes of her body. If that’s the path some women chose to take, then more power to them, but Karina didn’t see that in her future any time soon.

It unnerved her, how she didn’t see any contempt or taunting in Calum’s eyes when he asked that of her, just curiosity as he stared at her expectantly. Karina wasn’t sure if the question itself was insulting, or the fact that Calum likely genuinely thought that the kind of work Karina was interested in doing was selling her body to whoever paid for it.

Her skin flushed, the tendons in her neck tensing briefly, forcing herself not to let the edge slip into her tone when she spoke up, already growing tired of having to control herself from slipping up in front of Calum at the risk of getting cut. “I’d rather get paid for my efficiency in typing and dealing with numbers than my body, Mr. Hood,” she told him, the hint of disdain at his insinuation involuntarily creeping into her voice. She couldn’t help it, she felt insulted.

At that, something flickered in the dark of Calum’s eyes, watching her intently in thoughtful silence as the pub buzzed around them. Karina was quickly realizing she was beginning to hate being unable to tell what Calum was thinking, particularly when he was watching her in such a way that had her nerves standing up on their ends and heart feeling as though something was forcing it to sink. He looked like he was thinking over something, maybe, and Karina was forced to stand in his silence, busying herself with her drink and wondering what exactly was running through Calum Hood’s wicked mind.

He surprised her by asking, “Your father’s alright with his only daughter stepping into the working world?”

Karina let out a soft yet exasperated breath through her nose, already growing tired of this. It was almost disappointing, how whatever fraction of an interest Calum seemed to have in her to spark conversation derived from the twisted relationship he had with her father. The leader of the Peaky Blinders being the number one target for her Police Captain father wasn’t quiet news; Karina was aware of how tough it was for her dad to ever get a solid hold on Calum Hood. The notorious gangster had more people in his pocket than anyone could count. Hell, Karina was pretty sure there were a few coppers on her dad’s police force that, while they weren’t entirely on Calum’s side, they also didn’t do much to go against him.

Karina felt like a traitor to her father, standing in the Garrison and chatting up Calum Hood, even if the conversation was seemingly innocent. Knowing all her dad wanted to do was put an end to Calum Hood’s reign should’ve been enough of a reason for Karina to never even step foot into this pub. Why didn’t she just walk away?

She took a breath. “Like I said—he doesn’t control what I do.” Karina found herself pushing away from the bar, skin tingling at the way Calum’s eyes tracked her movements. Always watching, always calculating. Somehow, she managed to gather the courage to tell him smoothly, “I didn’t come here to chat about my father, I’m here to enjoy the night with my friends.” Karina took a step away, praying that she wasn’t insulting Calum by walking away from him—she had an inkling that not many people did—but standing around talking to him was making her skin feel as though it was on fire and even though she was ready to walk away, Karina hated the fact that there was a part of her that wanted to stay put. So she raised her glass, the gold liquid dancing within, and she offered the smallest of smiles in the face of being polite. “Thank you for the drink.” As an afterthought, she added, “Mr. Hood.”

God, he never looked away. Karina kind of understood, now, why people moved out of his way the second they realized he was coming their way. A look alone was enough to send their hearts jumping into their throat where he was concerned. Calum tilted his chin up a bit, the corners of his lips lifting into a smirk as he raised his own glass. She saw the glint in his eyes reflecting off the lights of the pub, unsure if it was something she should worry about, as his smooth voice sounded, “Enjoy the Garrison, Miss Garner.”

Karina pressed the tip of her tongue to the back of her lower teeth, the smile still tilting slightly at her lips as she finally found herself turning around to walk away, never faltering despite feeling Calum’s gaze burning her back through the material of her dress. She didn’t dare turn to look at him, not when she knew he was still watching her, his stare enough to have goosebumps rising on her skin as she went.

Her entire body felt tense as she approached her friends, noticed the way a few of them, including Joyce and Sean, were looking at her with various degrees of alarmed expressions painted across their faces. Karina took a breath, knowing the inevitable round of questions about to be fired at her.

“Were you just talking to Calum Hood?” Sean questioned, eyes wide and eyebrows raised as he spoke in a conspiratorial, rushed whisper. He sat opposite of her, arms folded on top of the table as he leaned towards her. Karina wasn’t entirely sure if her brother was pissed or just plainly surprised. He was the one who suggested coming to the Blinders’ bar and Karina knew he didn’t entirely think ill of them, so she wasn’t sure of what her brother’s reaction would be. She wasn’t even sure what her own thoughts were regarding the unexpected and short interaction with Calum.

Before she could answer, Joyce jumped in with an excited whisper of her own, “Did Calum Hood just buy you a drink?”

Karina pursed her lips, not wanting to answer just yet as she raised the glass and took a long sip of her drink. She ignored the stares she was receiving from the two of them, her gaze wandering over to where Calum was standing, noticing how some men were now by his side as they chatted away. The band continued to play music that rang in Karina’s ears, but all of it seemed to drown out when Calum’s gaze met hers, freezing Karina in place and rendering her unable to look away despite her best efforts.

She remained still where she sat, hand tightly gripping her glass as her dark hazel-green eyes remained locked on Calum’s brown despite the distance between them and the few people that passed by that obstructed her view of him for seconds at a time. But he never looked away, absently listening to whatever the man to his right was saying to the group, and Karina felt her heart beginning to thunder within her chest as he watched her watch him. How could a single stare from someone affect her so boldly? And why did she have to be the latest target of Calum Hood’s intense, frighteningly promising gaze?

The weight of his observant stare had Karina’s stomach churning uneasily, only to be accompanied by the anxious, thrilling feeling that this wasn’t the end of what, without her permission or knowledge, had started.

--

tags: @irwinkitten @glitterprincelu @sweetcherrymike @meetashthere @valentinelrh @softforcal @astroashtonio @hereforlukescruff @novacanecalum @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @calntynes @calumsmermaid @dammitbands @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @spideyseavey @imfuckin10plybud @pastelpapermoons @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @neigcthood @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @heartbreak-5sos @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @antisocialbandmate @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @gorgeouslygrace @sunnysideblogs @cocktail-calum @miahelizaaabeth @madelynerin @dramallamawithsparkles @aulxna @theagenderwhocriedwolf @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @xhaileyreneex @inlovehoodx @calistheloml @aestheticrelated @bloodlinecal @sublimehood @madbomb @raabiac @britnicole11 @outofmylimitcal 

[mainly-kpop]

A Pirate’s Life For Me

Chapter Twelve

Pirate!BTS Maid!Reader Warnings: lil bit of angst Summary:  You had always wondered about pirates, about a life outside of these walls. On your 23rd birthday, you would finally find out what both were really like. Word Count: 2.7k

You paced around Yoongi’s office, biting at your fingernails. This couldn’t be real, there was no way she was telling the truth. Suddenly you feel stupid for even believing her, laughing to yourself.

‘A curse, as if!’ You squeal, unless, it was true? Some things add up, just little things. Why he restrains himself in front of you. Why, no matter how many times you throw yourself at him, he doesn’t try anything. The most you ever did was that foreplay stuff, but he never tried more. Didn’t even want the blowjob from you in the first place.

‘Have you calmed down any?’ He spoke, startling you. Clearly you were so far in your thoughts, you didn’t even hear them entering the ship. Seemed surprising now though, considering you could hear Jungkook spewing over the side of the ship, the other boys laughing loudly at him.

‘Yeah, I’m sorry for not thinking how it made you feel, or how tense the situation was. All I thought was how hurt I was, I’m sorry.’ He nodded, sitting down on the bed, pulling you to sit beside him.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t stand up for you. I wanted to, what they said made all of us mad, it just wasn’t the right situation to say anything. We are good, they are not. We don’t have the numbers nor the strength to fight with them angel, I need you to know this.’ You nodded, rubbing circles over his hand. You wanted to bring it up, the question eating away at you.

‘If you had calmed down, why didn’t you come out?’ Yoongi questioned, worried about you now. He could see something was wrong, you looked worried. Deep in thought about something.

‘I was on my way honestly. Then I got caught by Chanyeol, don’t worry though. Someone helped, but she had some very interesting things to tell me.’ You spoke your thoughts, trying to calm him as you felt him tense up beside you. By this point, he was almost certain to what you were going to say, hoping to god he wasn’t right.

‘Really? Who was it?’ You turned to look at him, the look on your face said it all, you knew.

‘It was your ex Yoongi. Is she telling the truth? Is there a curse?’ His face changed for a split second. That was the only thing you needed to know; she was telling you the truth. It wasn’t even the fact you heard it from her, it’s the fact that she was right, about everything.

‘Cool, that’s all I needed to know, I will find somewhere else to sleep.’ You stated, standing up from the bed, grabbing your nightdress, heading towards the door.

‘Baby, please let me explain.’ He spoke quickly, grabbing your upper arm.

‘What is there to possibly explain Yoongi? That is something important to tell someone, you should have told me.’ You snapped, ripping your arm out of his grasp.

‘I couldn’t find a time to tell you! Please just let me explain it!’ You shook your head, opening his door.

‘I can’t. Not right now, I need to think about how I feel about this situation right now. I’m sorry Yoongi.’ You replied, closing the door behind you. You changed into your night dress on the deck, leaving your clothes at his door. You didn’t need to go in to change, feeling it was slightly tactless. You found yourself sitting on the same area as always. But tonight, you couldn’t watch the sea. Tonight, you sat with your legs off the ship, watching the people walking along the docks drunk out their faces. Whores heading to the brothel or climbing onto ships.

‘You okay out here?’ A voice sounded, startling you. You turned around to smile at him, scooting over slightly.

‘Yeah, I’m okay. Why are you still up?’ You questioned, running a hand through his soft hair. He smiled, leaning into your side.

‘I was worried about you. You never came out, and I wasn’t happy with leaving you here alone tonight. So, I’m still up, because I was worried.’ He rambled, getting his thoughts together, you just smiled fondly at the young boy, tipping your head down, taking your hand out of his hair.

‘Jimin, can I ask you something?’ You queried, he grabbed your hand making your eyes shoot back up to him. He nodded fondly, a warm smile on his face, his eyes not leaving yours for a second.

‘Can I sleep in your bed for a while? Don’t ask questions, I don’t want to answer any. Just, please…’ He frowned, questions on the tip of his tongue. He bit them back however, standing from his spot. You looked at his outstretched hand, being reminded of the first night you became crew. This time you slipped your hand in his, accepting it gratefully as he led to you to boys’ room.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?’ Was the only question that came out of his mouth. His body curled around yours from behind, pulling you into his chest. His arms secured around your waist, holding your hand in his. You shook your head.

‘Not right now Chim, maybe tomorrow.’ You whispered, kissing the back of his hand. He shuffled closer, nuzzling into your neck. He was warm, smelt amazing. You wondered if that was part of the curse, that they smelled like the things you adored the most? Maybe you were reading too much into this…

The next morning you woke up to whispering.

‘You wake them up.’ One voice whispered, a gasp sounded, and a light smack.

‘Why should I?! Not that I’m complaining, but why is she here?’ Another voice spoke. Jimin sighed behind you, speaking up before you could.

‘Sure sounds like you’re complaining.’ He muttered behind you, rubbing your hip, trying to slowly wake you up, clearly none of them realised you were awake.

‘I am not complaining, I just wish to know what happened, that’s all.’

‘I found out about the curse, that’s what happened.’ You muttered, cracking your eyes open to them all, they didn’t look confused, just guilty. It was then and there you realised; they all knew. I mean, why wouldn’t they? It had to be something they were told about at some point.

‘Thanks for telling me by the way.’ Okay, that was an unfair statement, and you knew it the second Tae bent down to Jimin’s bunk, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

‘That wasn’t our place to say baby.’ He whispered, lips hovering over yours. The smell of strawberries penetrated your nose, sniffing at the air around them.

‘Is that part of it? Smelling of my favourite thing to pull me in? You’re a siren Kim Taehyung.’ He giggled for a second, both forgetting anyone else was in the room, enjoying each other.

‘What do we smell like baby?’ Jimin whispered behind you. You rolled onto your back, tearing your eyes away from Taehyung for a minute.

‘Fruit, mainly strawberries. You just smell sweet to me.’ Jin smiled, sitting himself down on the edge of Jimin’s bed.

‘That’s interesting. Mary smelt expensive perfume, materialistic bitch.’ He muttered making you snort a laugh. ‘Anyway, it’s time for morning jobs, let’s go my little strawberry!’ He cheered, holding his hand out for you. Realising you had to go to Yoongi’s room to change, you froze slightly, pulling Jin back towards you.

‘I don’t want to go in there to get changed.’ You whispered, looking towards the door. Jin just rolled his eyes, knocking on the door. A small ‘Come in’ came from behind the door, Jin walking in with you by his side.

‘Can she get changed so I can finally make some food for everyone please.’ Jin whined, causing a small smile to fall across Yoongi’s face. It didn’t quite meet his eyes, that was something you didn’t expect to pick up on.

‘Of course, Jin I wanted to ask you about your stocks anyway. Shall we?’ He motioned, stepping them both out the room. You quickly changed, noticing Yoongi had brought your clothes in from outside of his door last night. It was sweet of him, but honestly it was just confusing you more. You liked him, you know you did, but this thing that had been laid upon you was big, too big for you to just let pass.

Morning duties went as normal, they boys trying their best to distract you from everything going on. That was until you were with Jimin. The boy had kept his word, not asking you any questions, but you wanted answers.

‘Was he ever going to tell me?’ You questioned out of nowhere. He sighed, taking the helm back from you. Holding the compass, you watched him, forgetting the little dial you were supposed to watch.

‘Yeah, he was going to. There were a couple times actually. First was the night before you got hurt, but he didn’t want to throw you off. Then he was going to tell you that night, but you were so out of it from the slash, and finding Lucas, he didn’t feel it was right. Then he was going to tell you last night, Seokmin had mentioned it to him, asked if you knew. He said he wanted to tell you himself, told us at the bar he was finally going to tell you. I guess you found out before that?’ He rambled, trying to get everything out to defend his captain. It was very adorable to you. You didn’t have another question, realising quickly the next few had to be answered by Yoongi himself.

‘You should really talk to him, let him explain everything in more detail.’ You nodded, realising you needed answers. Putting the compass back into Jimin’s hand, you walked off to Yoongi’s office, chapping on the door. You heard his usual allowance for entrance.

‘Do you want me to leave while you get something?’ He questioned instantly, already standing up to leave. You shook your head, making him tilt his like a confused puppy.

‘I want to know. I am ready for you to explain.’ You spoke, sitting on the seat across from his desk. He nodded sitting down, waiting for you to ask a question, or tell him to begin. You spoke first, telling him everything Mary had told you last night, letting him tell you if it was correct or not.

‘Most of it is correct yes. It’s a lover’s bond, to an extent. Yes, I could bond you if you weren’t in love with me, but most of my ancestors and I feel bad for that. The ancestor who had this curse inflicted on him, was the only one to take more than one woman, bonding them over and over and over. His soul split into pieces, no longer a kind man. For generations after him, we swore to be kind and gentle, never causing harm. Especially to our women, my grandfather only took one wife, my father only took my mother, my brothers only took one woman. I chose Mary, but she did not choose me. The spell, if I remember correctly, said something like. “The sailor who sleeps with another, shall have hell to pay. Forget Davy Jones locker, I have a fate worse for thee. No one shall break the curse, for generations you will suffer, bar one. The girl who scents the fruits.” Anyway, father thought it was mother, the one who would break the curse. She smelt like sweet fruit, evidently she wasn’t.’ You frowned, probably understanding less than you did before. Regardless, you continued.

‘She said I would feel pain.’ You pushed, he sighed.

‘I won’t lie, as soon as we tie the bond, it’s going to be excruciating. It rips you from the inside out, your chest feels tight, your muscles are on fire, you can’t breathe. It feels like you’re truly going to die. That lasts about two minutes, it will be the longest two minutes of your life, but when its done. You feel complete, full, loved. I’ll know everything about you. Every emotion, every feeling. When you’re in so much pain you want to cry, or when you’re so happy you feel you could burst. You’ll feel everything from me too. If you’re not in love, that seems like a lot to take on, but with love, it’s powerful.’ You weren’t scared of the thought, honestly you really wouldn’t mind that. The pain was always worth it right? You just sat back in your chair, finally getting the answers you wanted.

‘I still need time. That’s a lot to take on, and a fair amount to process. I’m not mad you didn’t tell me anymore, I just, I don’t trust myself in your bed. I’m scared something will happen within me, that I won’t have time to think before I do something I regret. I want to truly think this over, to know I want it before I put you through that pain for the second time in your life.’ Yoongi nodded, rounding the desk, he slipped his hand in yours, pulling you up from the chair. You were the only person he knew, that cared for him like that. You would be going through the same pain, but to say you didn’t want to put him through it? His heart thumped in his chest, hard enough he was sure Mary would feel it.

‘I respect that. Thank you for forgiving me, you don’t know how much that means to me…’ He whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You leaned into his touch, skin tingling at his fingertips on your neck and head where he was pushing your hair away.

‘That’s what I mean, you’re so tempting Yoongi. Like a sin.’ He smiled down at you, tilting your head up so your noses would touch.

‘One that’s worth the depths of hell, Right?’ He smirked, able to make a joke out of the situation. You just smiled warmly at him

‘I guess we will see.’

For the two weeks following, you slept in the boy’s beds, rotating due to their competitive sides. Namjoon managed to win a good few times, having you in his bed more often than not. Most of the competitions were ‘I bet I can get from this side to that side faster than you.’ Or ‘I bet I can finish my chores faster than you!’ (that just so happened to be Yoongi’s favourite).

Tonight, you lay between Taehyung’s sheets, tossing and turning. He cuddled his body around you, making it harder for you to get comfortable. You had been in his bed before, a couple times actually. He was your favourite, purely for the cuddling reason. Tonight however, it wasn’t comforting, more suffocating. Slipping out from his arms, replacing your body quickly with a pillow, you climbed back onto deck. Lying out, was Yoongi, on a blanket, staring at the stars. You were reminded vividly of the night of your accident, subconsciously touching between your breasts.

‘Join me?’ He questioned, sliding over to give you some space. You smiled at him, curling up on the blanket at his side. You missed his warmth, the way he smelled the strongest of strawberries and peaches. He stared up at the stars above you, mouth open as he looked.

‘Close your mouth, you’ll catch a bug.’ You giggled, curling into his side, drawing your arm up to shut his mouth. He grabbed hold of your wrist. You looked up at his face, his eyes looked soft. He had missed you, missed having you around and this close to him.

‘Come back to me. I miss you so fucking much. I can’t sleep anymore, I come out here every night hoping you’ll join me.’ He whispered, letting go of your wrist to stroke your cheek. Leaning into his touch, you shut your eyes.

‘Okay, I’ll sleep beside you. Don’t let me do anything stupid Yoongi, I’m not ready. I haven’t figured this out yet.’ He smiled, pulling your face up to kiss you, a chaste kiss, a promise.

‘I swear. Lets just watch the stars for a little longer, it’s a pretty night.’ He beamed, letting you rest your head on his chest.

‘Should we wake them?’ Namjoon murmured, all standing over your sleeping bodies. You smiled into Yoongi’s chest, stretching out slightly.

‘Boys! We must stop meeting like this.’  

[thelastarchangelaskblog]

Seventh Year Bonus Scene 2

Bonus Scene 2! ...which is the last one I can post because everything else is too spoilery.

I don’t think I need to tell you when this one takes place except that it’s right after Michael’s conversation with Raphael in the boathouse.

Drop a line to let me know what you think! :)

Bonus Scene 1

Bonus Scene 3

**

(Read more.)

Ginny couldn’t sleep.

Well, to be fair, she wasn’t even in bed, but she was dead sure that even if she were in bed she wouldn’t have been able to sleep. There were too many butterflies in her stomach, and she couldn’t help but fret over what Michael was doing with his bloody siblings.

He’d said he’d be fine and that they shouldn’t bother, but that was absolutely idiotic and the git apparently had no idea that they’d worry anyway.

Neville was picking at his nails and staring into the fireplace, clearly just as worried as Ginny.

Huffing, Ginny dragged her heels against the rug and turned her neck to look out the windows. The dark night offered no answers, and all she could see in the glass was the reflection of the Common Room in the light of the flames.

“We could sneak out,” Ginny said after the fireplace spat a stray ember out onto the stone.

“And go where?” Neville pointed out entirely too sensibly. “We don’t know where he’s meeting them.”

“On a tower somewhere, I’m sure,” Ginny said. “Probably the astronomy one. That one seems to get all the bad luck…”

Neville made a face, clearly remembering what had happened the last time they’d been on the Astronomy Tower when they weren’t supposed to be. “We go out there and do what? We can’t hide ourselves from him. Probably not from his family either.”

That was the main issue.

Ginny was theoretically all for spying on Michael’s conversation with his siblings but not if their presence distracted Michael from the actual conversation having. Since he had been pretty determined to not have them anywhere near his siblings, she was relatively certain that he would be too distracted to talk with them about what needed to be talked about.

“And what if he’s not on the Astronomy Tower anyway?” Neville went on, now picking at his sleeves. “Maybe they’re out having a meeting on bloody Pluto.”

“He wouldn’t,” Ginny said with relative confidence. “He likes things to be somewhat the same. And, y’know, he’s never had any meetings on Pluto before.”

“Maybe he’s trying out something new,” Neville suggested.

Ginny pictured Michael trying out anything new without someone dragging him into it. Even then he’d probably just stand there awkwardly. She raised an eyebrow at Neville.

“Well, maybe he is!”

Ginny opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of that when someone staggered down the stairs and made a direct beeline to them. She had enough time to make out Harry’s wide-eyed expression before he was pushing a familiar map into her face.

“Who are they?!” Harry hissed, and the map was far too close to Ginny’s face for her to make anything other than vague scribbles out.

Ginny snatched the map out of his hands. “Who are who?”

“Them!” Harry pointed to a group of names and footprints bunched up at the corner of the map.

“Harry, mate, just calm down, would you?” Ron sounded worried.

Ginny took a moment to register the unfamiliar looking symbols and that they were located nowhere near the Astronomy Tower. “Is that – we have a boathouse?”

“What?” Neville came over to her armchair, bracing a hand against the armrest to peer down at the map. “We do?”

“Since when do we have a boathouse?”

“Are you seriously concerned about the boathouse?” Harry sounded disbelieving.

“Well, I was just wondering…” Ginny refocused, noting that there were only two pairs of footprints in the newly discovered boathouse.

“Do we have more so-called angels?” Hermione asked, pulling on a warm cloak over her robes. “Is that what it is?”

“It’s his family,” Neville answered when Ginny didn’t.

“I thought his parents were dead,” Hermione said tactlessly.

Ron winced. “Hermione, we’ve talked about this.”

Hermione threw up her hands. “I don’t see him here, Ron, so I can be a little tactless if I want.”

“It’s his brothers,” Neville said.

“And sister,” Ginny added, standing. She hadn’t ever changed into her nightclothes, so she should be fine. A Warming Charm would do the trick if it was too cold. “Not that I expected that…”

And which one was the woman again? Not Lucifer; Ginny knew him well enough. Or Samael if that was right. Gabriel was the other man with the beard, which just left the woman to be Raphael.

“How many are there?” Harry demanded, wild-eyed. His hair looked like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times.

Ginny shared a look with Neville.

“You know,” Neville said, “I don’t think he ever actually said? But he did say it was a pretty large family…”

“He also said it wasn’t exactly a family.” Ginny certainly remembered that.

“Are they all here?” Harry asked weakly.

“Oh no.” Ginny glanced back down to the map; there were still only two pairs of prints there. “Just the three. Do you mind if Neville and I borrow this?”

Ron’s head whirled to her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I thought I’d take a walk, is all,” Ginny answered innocently, smiling beatifically. “And if I maybe happen to meander down to this boathouse, that would just be a coincidence, right?”

“You’re not going by yourself,” Ron stated.

“No.” Neville seemed resigned but just as determined. He was so sweet. “I’m going with her. Obviously.”

Ginny continued smiling. “Don’t worry, Ron. My virtue is perfectly safe with Neville.”

Ron’s ears went scarlet. “I know that! But you shouldn’t be going alone – even if it’s with Neville – to meet this guy’s family!”

“I’m coming with,” Harry said resolutely, taking the map from Ginny before she realized what was happening.

Ginny pursed her lips, running her hands down her robes. “You don’t have to, you know. There’s nothing saying you can’t go to bed and forget about this.”

Harry stared at her like she was completely mental. “You’re joking.”

“Michael’s not your friend, Harry. I know you don’t like him—”

“Like him? Like him?! This has nothing to do with me liking your friend! Or not liking him!” Harry shouted. “This has everything to do with not knowing what the bloody hell he’s up to! You saw him on the tower that night! You saw what he did! And you’re perfectly okay with having more of him here?!”

“Calm down,” Hermione hissed. “You’re going to wake up the entire tower at this rate!”

“I’m not okay with leaving him alone with his siblings,” Ginny said, holding Harry’s gaze, “because I don’t trust them. I’d trust Michael with my life – have in fact – and you should, too. Who do you think saved all of us today? Because it certainly wasn’t Dumbledore!”

“Why don’t both of you calm down, all right?” Ron pushed Ginny back; she hadn’t even realized she’d pushed into Harry’s space. “You two can shout about this later. I’m just going to say Michael doesn’t seem like a bad bloke – even if he’s a bit on the odd side – and we can all go down together so none of us are left out.”

“Fine.” Ginny stepped back, shaking her hair back. “Let’s do it, then.”

There were three pairs of footprints on the map as they walked through the silent corridors. One of them was Michael, but Ginny had no idea who the other two were.

With any luck neither of them would be Samael.

There were still three pairs of footprints as they exited the castle, but they’d scarcely made it to the top of the stairs that headed down towards the boathouse when one set vanished.

Ginny gave a very unladylike swear that would have her mother absolutely scandalized and threatening to wash her mouth out with soap and hurried down the stairs as fast as possible without tripping.

Who the hell thought it had been a good idea to put so many stairs here?

“Well,” an unfamiliar-yet-familiar voice said lightly, “that went swimmingly.”

“That went terribly,” a female voice – Raphael – said.

“That went as expected,” said a third voice, and this one Ginny recognized as Lucifer – Samael. “What were you thinking, Raphael?”

“Yeah, what were you thinking?” Gabriel echoed, sounding wry.

“I was thinking that you would do a better job than me,” Raphael said, “and as it turns out I could have done it just as badly.”

“You try and tell Michael that the Parent he’s literally worshipped from the moment he was brought into being is dead,” Gabriel snapped. “There’s no easy way to break that kind of news, okay?”

Ginny instinctively glanced back at Neville, seeing her own disbelief mirrored on his face.

There was only one being they could be talking about but that was – that was ridiculous. God couldn’t be dead!

There was a moment of absolute silence within the boathouse.

Then, with a creak, the door to Ginny’s left swung open. She didn’t move, once more glancing to Neville. Harry, Ron, and Hermione seemed just as reluctant to go in.

“You can come in, you know,” Gabriel’s voice called. “Might do you better than standing out there.”

They’d already been made, and if they were actually going to hurt them they could have done so already.

Unless they were going for more subtle methods, which Ginny wouldn’t put past them.

Michael’s siblings were standing at the edge of the dock, each of them looking in their direction as they entered.

Samael’s eyes flicked over them before widening in surprise. “Holy shit.”

“It’s you!” Hermione sounded scandalized and slightly betrayed. “I thought you were Aurors!”

Oh, that’s right. Michael’s siblings had pretended to be Aurors. Hermione probably hadn’t put two and two together.

“It is me,” Samael said smugly. “Also no, although I could certainly put that paperwork together.”

“Samael.” Raphael sounded pained.

Samael shot back an unfamiliar, guttural word that Ginny thought was Enochian. Raphael fired something back.

“Hi,” Gabriel said, seeming entirely unruffled. “Ginny and Neville, right? I don’t think I’ve seen the others before.”

“I’m sure you know who they are,” Ginny said before anyone else could say anything. “You knew who we were.”

Gabriel smiled slightly. “Sure, but I find it makes things a little easier if I don’t freak people out.”

“No point in that,” Harry said, folding the map up now that its job was done. “We know you’re not human. You’re Michael’s brothers, aren’t you?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Guilty as charged, Harry Potter. And can I just say that you look at once nothing like I imagined and everything like it?”

“It’s really weird,” Samael agreed, tilting his head.

“I don’t think you have any room to talk there, mate,” Ron said, freckles stark against the ashen cast of his skin.

“Mate.” Samael sounded delighted. “Ron Weasley just called me mate.”

“Where’s Michael?” Ginny demanded before this conversation could become even more bizarre.

It was like a switch had been flipped. Suddenly serious, the three angels looked at each other with unreadable expressions.

“He’s, uh…” Gabriel tilted his head back. “Had to take some time to himself.”

“You don’t know where he is?” Neville sounded alarmed.

“No, I know where he is. He just wanted to be alone.”

“Because you told him his Father’s dead?” Ginny could see how Gabriel’s attention narrowed in on her. It was just as intimidating as being under Michael’s focus, but she didn’t flinch.

“But he’s been dead for almost a year!” Hermione exclaimed. “Wayne knows that—”

Gabriel’s focus shifted to Hermione, though it lightened a little. “No, he didn’t. And I was the sorry sucker who had to break the news.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in an all too human gesture that had Ginny taken aback. “Obviously, he didn’t take it well.”

Of course Michael had run off to God knows where. …Not that God was capable of knowing anything now, bloody hell.

Ginny shoved that thought away to deal with at a later time. She could have an existential crisis when Michael wasn’t missing and they weren’t facing down three unfamiliar archangels. One of whom had literally been the Devil and had put Michael through the wringer.

“Oh.” Hermione sounded startled. “Do you mean… Do you mean his soul? His soul’s gone?”

Ginny couldn’t help but look back to Hermione in absolute disbelief. Neville seemed just as disbelieving.

Harry and Ron didn’t seem to see anything wrong with Hermione’s assumption, which probably only proved that they shared a single brain cell.

There was another pause from the archangels. It might even have been a confused one.

“Yeah,” Gabriel said slowly, frowning, “I’d sure say His soul is gone. Not that He exactly had a soul – that’s more your domain than ours – most of the time, anyway—”

“That’s just rude,” Ron blurted out. “Maybe he wasn’t Christian—”

“What?” Gabriel sounded blank.

“—or Catholic—”

Samael and Raphael were also looking confused now, expressions similar to someone trying to figure out a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

“—but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have a soul!” Ron finished.

It would have been incredibly sweet on Ron’s part if he wasn’t batting for the wrong team. Ginny also had no desire for Michael’s siblings to know more than they needed to.

“Michael,” Ginny said hastily before anyone else could butcher things further, “has a thing about running off.”

Gabriel stared at Ron for a few seconds longer before shifting his attention again to Ginny. It didn’t feel as heavy as before. “Yeah, he does that.”

“He shouldn’t be alone right now,” Neville said, stepping forward to stand besides Ginny. “Not if you really just told him his Father’s dead. He was pretty torn up when he suddenly stopped feeling Him.”

“Listen, kid…” Gabriel sighed, shoulders slumping. “Michael’s always been a bit of a loner. He’ll come back when he’s worked through it.”

“But you could go after him,” Neville pressed.

“He would want to be alone,” Raphael said, tone gentle.

Ginny swallowed, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. Were they – were they serious?

Michael had always run off, and they had always let him, but it wasn’t like they could actually follow him. They never had any idea where he went off to, and if he hid out in outer space then they couldn’t even Apparate there. But these were his siblings! They had the same abilities Michael did!

Surely they knew that when Michael went off on his own it wasn’t because he necessarily wanted to be left alone?

Michael shouldn’t have been left alone when his human parents died, but there had only been so much they could do when he ran off and didn’t tell them anything. He still kept doing it, but only because he didn’t seem to realize that they would be there for him if he only asked for it.

He never seemed to know that he could ask for it.

And how would he if this was how his siblings behaved?

“How the hell,” Ginny started fiercely, “are you his family?”

“Ginny!” Ron hissed.

“You should know him better than anyone!” Ginny shouted, glaring at Gabriel. “You should know that family doesn’t leave family behind! You should know that family doesn’t leave family to deal with grief alone!”

Raphael frowned slightly. “We all deal with grief differently. You should know this as a human.”

“I do know,” Ginny snapped, “which is how I know that it’s a mistake leaving Michael alone! He’s always done this! But it’s not like any of us can go after him, can we? So we leave him alone and give him space when he asks for it, but he doesn’t want to be alone!”

“You know him that well, do you?” Gabriel sounded a bit amused, though his face was blank.

“A damn sight better than you do!” Ginny shot back. “Which is how I know that he doesn’t ask for what he wants! Half the time he doesn’t even know what he wants! So I’m telling you now, leaving Michael alone right now is a bloody mistake, and if you do leave him alone even though you could go after him right now, I can and will make your time here a nightmare.” She pulled in a long breath at the end, digging her nails into her palms as she glowered at Gabriel.

There was dead silence for few seconds before Neville said, “What she said. I’m sure between all of us we could come up with something that’ll do the trick.”

Samael gave a small huff of laughter. “Nah, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I suppose…none of us really knew Michael all that well, did we?”

“Perhaps you didn’t,” Raphael muttered, though she looked troubled.

Gabriel had his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He was studying Ginny and Neville intently. Then, inexplicably, he gave a small smile.

“I’ll give him a little more space,” Gabriel said, still smiling, “but I’ll go after him and bring him back. Unless,” he added, looking to Raphael, “you want to do the honors?”

“No.” Raphael shook her head. “This should be you and definitely not Samael.” She shot Samael a dark look.

“You are never going to let me live that down,” Samael grumbled.

“It was a terrible idea.”

“Excuse me,” Hermione said, “but who are you really? Are you actually from Ilvermorny?”

“Hell no,” Samael blurted out, looking and sounding absolutely appalled. “But you guys actually have an Ilvermorny here?”

“Of course we do! It’s the wizarding school in the United States!”

Samael looked pained. “Is this…the only wizarding school in the U.S.?”

“Well…” Hermione hesitated. “It’s the only one I’ve been able to find in the books. Apparently it also takes in students from South America and Canada”—Samael’s mouth dropped open—“but I find that incredibly unlikely since it would have to be an absolutely enormous school to have all those wizards and witches—”

“We’re not from Ilvermorny,” Gabriel said hastily, shooting Samael a sharp look that had him shutting his mouth. “And we’re exactly who we said we were.”

“You called her Samael,” Ron said, pointing at Samael. “So Sam’s short for that?”

“Kind of,” Samael said, who did look vaguely like he could be female if Ginny turned her head sideways. “Samael came first, then came the nickname.”

“I really am Tony Stark,” Gabriel said, “but I’m also Gabriel. And this here is Raphael, though she hasn’t gone by Rumiko in a while.”

“In the same way Michael’s also Wayne Hopkins?” Harry sounded absolutely done with the entire affair.

Gabriel shrugged. “Sure, let’s go with that.” Then, “Wayne Hopkins? Was there even a Wayne Hopkins—”

“Yeah,” Samael interrupted, “for like a single line.”

“What are you talking about?” Ron sounded bewildered.

“Nothing,” Gabriel and Samael chorused.

Ginny stared at them, then glanced back at Neville. He looked just as stymied.

“I’m gonna go,” Gabriel said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the roof. “You guys, uh, have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Ciao.” He was gone before Ginny could blink.

“Didn’t Michael say you weren’t to associate with us?” Raphael said after a moment, arms folded over her chest.

Ginny straightened, staring at Raphael. “I’m sure what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Samael laughed, then coughed when Ginny glared at him. “Sorry; had something stuck in my throat.”

“He’s going to find out,” Neville said, sighing.

“Definitely,” Samael admitted cheerfully. “I don’t know how, but he always had a nose for sniffing out whenever we got into things we shouldn’t have. Even when we technically didn’t have noses…”

“Or maybe,” Raphael said in a tone that could have curdled milk, “you weren’t as good as hiding as you thought you were.”

“Who – me?” Samael widened his eyes. “Oh no. And on that note, I’m going to leave, too, before Michael realizes that I spent way too much time around his friends. I value my existence.”

That just left Raphael and what Ginny realized were two cats. Dane was on the crate right behind Raphael’s head and seemed incredibly annoyed. Crookshanks seemed like he was seriously contemplating jumping on Raphael’s head.

“No,” Raphael said before anyone could speak, “you’re not jumping on me.” She gave Ginny and the others a brittle smile. “I’ll see you in the morning. It’d be best not to annoy Michael too much.”

Ginny reflected that the random disappearing thing angels did was incredibly annoying.

“Well,” Ron said, clearing his throat, “that happened.”

“I don’t know what that was,” Hermione said acerbically.

“Whatever it was,” Ginny said, “it was not the Knights of the Round Table.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose in response. “But angels?”

Ginny gestured to the empty space where three angels had just been.

“He did keep trying to tell you,” Harry said, pushing his glasses up as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Ugh, are they going to stay?”

Ginny looked up at Neville, finding him looking back. Well, either they were staying, leaving without Michael, or taking Michael with them.

Ginny knew which of the three options she preferred.

Unfortunately, she had a strong suspicion that the last option was the most likely one.

“How angry do you think the others are going to be that we didn’t tell them we were going?” Neville asked as they were halfway up the ridiculous amount of stairs leading away from the boathouse.

So angry, Ginny thought glumly. So angry.

[trying-write-fanfics]

OverhaulXReader part 7

A week went by without hearing from her. He didn’t get her number, and he didn’t give her his. They knew where they both lived, and worked, but there was no big reach from either of them. Chrono came in with more paperwork, and had a topic of his own he wanted to bring up. They did this at the childhood home. It just felt fitting.

“It’s come to my attention you left with a girl at the wedding.” he mentioned. “How did that go?”

“Nothing happened.” he was quick to say. He then thought that meant he said she was never coming back, but that’s not what he meant. “She’s an old friend.”

“I’m an old friend and I’ve never seen her.”

“She went to elementary school with me. She left after a certain incident. We’ve kept in contact,”he briefly explained.

“Where did she come back from?” Chrono asked.

“I’ve said too much.” He was quick to say.

“Alright. Should I be expecting to see her soon?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

Chrono slyly smiled and then walked out.

To keep his mind off things, Kai worked late during the weekend. He worked alone in the office, while Chrono tended to some other things around the compound. All his ideas amount to nothing. His research led to nowhere.

“Now is not a good time.” he heard Chrono say outside his office. “How did you find this place?”

Then a banging on his office door was soon met.

“Mr. Chisaki!” he heard Y/n drunkenly sing.

“Back up!”

Y/n laughed, she was causing mischief. Kai sighed, and opened up the door. It surprised Chrono that Kai opened his own door. Chrono was holding Y/n back. She was dressed more professionally this time. Her hair was up and she wore a wrap dress. She was holding a sealed bottle of wine.

“I brought you a house warming present!” she said like she was not restrained.

“You can let her go, Chrono.”

“Are you not worried she knew where to find this place?” Chrono asked.

“No,” he replied.

“You still-”

“It's fine.” he was more stern.

Chrono released the drunk girl who did not seem to understand the severity of the situation.

“What are you doing here?” Kai asked the girl.

“Work threw me a welcome party, and gave me a free bottle to take home. I figured it's best shared with a friend, or at least give to a friend.” she explained shaking the bottle.

“Thank you.” He took the bottle to make sure she wouldn't drop it.“I’m a bit busy tonight.”

“Alright, I’ll go home, I just wanted to check on you.” She told him to turn around.

“Stay the night, you’re too drunk, again.” he said.

“You’re not worried if I have work?” she asked.

“Even if you do, you’ll be too hungover.” He told her.

“I guess I can stay. They told me to take a sick day anyway.” she told him.

“Was this planned?” he asked her.

“No, I thought you would send me home. It's not like I have clothes or anything here.”

“I’ll help you get situated soon, just wait on the couch.” he pointed to the on in his office.

She did as he said. He dove into more research that kept leading him nowhere. He would glance over at the girl. She tried keeping her eyes open but her eyelids were heavy. She kept opening them, but wasn’t strong enough to keep them open. She was watching him with a peaceful expression. She just enjoyed being in his presence. He knew he hit a wall.

“You should shower.” he said getting up.

“Calling me stinky?” she yawned

“Come on.”

She slowly got up. She followed him to his room where he found her some pajamas that would be too big for her. He guided her to the bathroom. She already knew how to use the plumbing. He waited outside for her to finish. Once she got out, her hair was in a towel and she was in his clothes.

“What should I do about my clothes?” she asked.

“I’ll have them cleaned,” he told her.

He took her back to his bed as he put her clothes in the washer machine. He found her waiting for him. She was still awake, even though she must have been tired.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?” she asked him.

He sat on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know yet.”

“I can take the couch. I did barge in here.”

“You have feelings for me, don’t you?” he was rather bold asking.

She rolled over with her back turned to him.

“I plan on telling you on my own terms.” she told him.

“What’s holding you back?” he asked her.

“A couple things.”

“Oh?”

“One reason being I just got back here, I should straighten my ground first before I bother you with a confession.”

“What’s another reason?”

“You have a full plate right now, mister. You don’t need me distracting you.”

He didn’t like that she was right.

“I can sleep on the-”

“You can stay, Kai.” she rolled back over.

“Do you want me to?”

“What do you think, Mr. know it all?”

“I don’t know, you haven’t told me anything.” he teased her.

“Oh my god!” she laughed.

“I’ll make an exception for tonight.” He said putting his feet up. “I want to see you sober soon.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” she asked.

“If that’s what takes to sober you up.”

“Are you going to sleep with that mask on?’ she asked.

“Yeah.”

She was always smiling at him. There was no hero as good as her, they could never come close to being as good and pure as her.

“Go to sleep, you need it.” he said.

“I’m not done looking at you.” she protested.

“I get it, you like me,” he told her.

She smiled at the acknowledgement. He didn’t understand why she had these feelings, he was curious as to why. She seemed like someone who would want someone warm. cuddly, someone who didn’t break out in hives, or someone who would enjoy her cooking. She still kept her distance for his needs, always. He did not even give her much hope.

He awoke first. The sunshine came through the blinds and rested on the sleeping girl. She stayed on her side on her of the bed. He thought he could get used to this view, every morning. It wouldn’t be awful. She wasn’t even a drooler. He got up and finished cleaning her clothes. He started more morning activities. He even changed in another room the off chance she would wake up. He was curious about her. He twirled some (color) locks around his finger, it did nothing.

Kai knew what he was, all the bad he was compared to her. He was dangerous, he knew he has a temper, his quirk can destroy anyone or anything. Yet she still had feelings for him, and probably knew about all his flaws despite his attempts keeping it secret. He left her to wake up on her own.He left her water and some aspirin on the nightstand.

She awoke around 8:40 am. She was still wearing his clothes. She met him in the kitchen where he was drinking coffee.

“Good morning.” She said,

“You too.”

“Did anything happen last night?” She asked.

“I wouldn’t do anything like that to you. You were drunk.” He assured her.

“Did I do anything last night?” It seemed she was asking a different question.

“Seems like you’re quite fond of me.” He replied.

“You already knew that.” She smiled.

“I’ll keep my ears open for this confession of yours.” He told her.

“Oh?”

“You’re right to think with your head like that.” He added. “I’ll get you a car when your clothes are ready.”

“You really washed them, huh?”

“I wouldn’t lie about cleaning.” He told her.

“Thank you.”

“Do you need any breakfast?”

“Don’t worry about me, you know I’m a professional cook.”

“Just offering.”

A name kept appearing in the paper. “The league of villains”. The attacked some kids apparently, and a lot of them got arrested. Why bother?

“I need your number.” He told her.

“Oh, and would it be used for?” She asked already writing it.

“You get one a lot of drunk messes. Besides, don't you have a confession you’re working on?”

“I haven’t decided yet if I’ll tell you anything.” She played along.

“Leaving special words left unsaid? Is that what you want to do?”

“Oh Mr. Chisaki, you have more important matters to attend to than waiting for some silly confession!” She pretended to be a debutante with a huge gasped. “Thanks for always taking care of me.” She said going back to herself.

“Should I be expecting more drunk visits from you?”

“No, I think all the house welcoming celebrations are over.” She told him. “Hey, is that the league of villains?” She pointed to the newspaper. “I didn’t know things were getting this bad.”

“They’re just tactless idiots running around causing chaos. They have no goals, no purpose, just riots.” He explained. “They just throw tantrums with their quirks.”

“This whole quirk thing seems to be a lot more tension than it’s worth.” She sighed.

His eyebrow raised.

“It just seems like the heroes use their quirks because they have their licenses, and villains are villains because they don’t. It just seems like they’re all fighting to show off their quirk and have an unnecessary tension.” She told them. “So much damage is done every damn day.”

“Spoken like someone without a quirk.”

“I have one I just don’t use it.” She told him. “And you have yours but I it goes well for your job.” She told him.

“Are the careers hero and villain not real jobs to you?”

“Listen we have the police force to lower crime. Being a hero or a villain doesn’t really focus on the economy stimulating the economy, unless you include merchandise or things the actual villain or hero doesn’t actually do.” She explained. “The existence of those titles just makes both sides worse.”

“Do you wish no one had a quirk?”

“No, that’s too much to ever wish for. Besides my quirk helped me, your quirk helps you. We use them for actual jobs.” She explained. “Quirks are just a reason for people to believe it’s fine to treat others like trash, whether they have one or one they don’t find interesting.”

“Is the underground a job?”

“Yeah, some rules and regulations are too much.” She told him.

An idea was stirring in his mind.

“What about you?”

“You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“I have?”

“But you have other things to attend to.”

“You really wanna hear that confession.”

She kissed peace signed him goodbye and he called her a cab home. His group was losing money, but he had an idea. Both villains and heroes are diseases that have disrupted the world, constantly. A real goal was coming in mind. If he could take out the heroes the Shie Hassaikai could regain power again. The villains involvement would be the experimental phase since they are less cared for by society. Before telling Pops his plan, it would have to be feasible, research would have to be done. But he knew his purpose now, to erase the existence of quirks. He could dismember anything and bring it back together, so why not dismember every quirk?

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