#i have so many thoughts swirling in my brain about this book but it's difficult to order them coherently

[viiinz]

prev post really made me think that i want to make more post going into depth about certain characters or themes of The Idiot. unfortunately i don't have the energy to type anything coherent right now, but here are already some of my thoughts and maybe i can come back to them at some other time to make a decent post about all this

For example i think there are interesting thematic comparisons to make with Nastasya, Myshkin and Ippolit (but also other characters as well), like their role as outsiders. the way all three of them are put outside of what society is comfortable with due to something that is outside of their control. add to that that their emotions and behaviours are seen as impropre, too much or erratic. as a result they get misunderstood and/or dismissed by other characters (see my prev post about loneliness in the idiot).

An other interesting factor is their struggle with agency. (which i think is also kind of symbolized by the ever present Holbein's The Body of the Death Christ painting). The struggle of agency over their bodies, as well as agency over their lives. The way (especially in Nastasya's and Ippolit's case) they try to take action in the face of certain or perceived doom. In one case this action fails, only solidifying his lack of agency and making him even more the object of ridicule instead of fulfilling his desire to finally be taken seriously. In the other case she succeeds in her own self-destruction and with that plays right into the idea that she really was doomed from the beginning, leaving it forever uncertain if maybe things could have gone differently.

Lastly, tho this point connects with the above two as well, i think this book is a really intersting case to have a discussion about the disabled identiy and what that means in 19th centrury literature. As well as for different characters, given that these are all fully fleshed out people that go much further than the disabled stereotype. There's for example the opposing way Ippolit and Myshkin go about their disabled identity. It would be interesting to study the way they get treated as well as the way they treat others (many of them also falling into the disabled category).

Ah there's so much more to say about this, but like i said, i really don't have the engergy to type more right now :(

[dawneternal]

The Benevolent | Eris x Healer OC | Five

☁︎ notes: I am sick and my brain is so foggy I'm sorry if I missed anything while editing

☁︎ warnings: injuries, blood, talk of physical abuse and abusive parents

☁︎ word count: 2.7k

☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist

☁︎ tags: @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor

Throughout the next handful of calls, Eris found himself trying to collect more information about Aya. It was odd, this inexplicable and slightly overwhelming desire to learn more about her. None of the knowledge he gained did anything to supress his hunger for more. She had him captivated, even if he wasn't ready to put a name to what he was feeling. 

Getting her to open up proved to be a difficult task when his mother was present. The nature of Aya's recruitment had left its mark, like a splinter under her skin instead of the gold ring on her finger. Edana may have dug her own grave, but Eris hadn't, yet. He tried to make himself seem trustworthy. He would be an open book if it meant Aya gave a little of herself in return. 

There were plenty of reasons for this growing attachment to scare him. If he would even admit to it being an attachment. She had done something to him he couldn't explain. Her smile made him want to smile. Her softness made him want to be soft. It bothered him that she never spoke very highly of herself, a strange contrast to her confidence while working. Her hands never faltered, always precise yet gentle. She never struggled, no matter what manner of healing challenged her. Something in her mind clouded her ability to see her as he did - as something remarkable. Something unique and lovely, meant to be cherished.

And with that, there was a growing fear that Aya's heart was already taken. He thought of it every time his gaze caught on her talisman, every time he remembered Thesan's order of protection. It would seem from his perspective that the High Lord of Dawn was smitten with the healer. Thesan was likely waiting until Aya finished her training to propose. It stoked flames of jealousy within him, stirring up an ugly possessiveness that he did not like.

It was always at this point in his pondering that Eris stopped himself. None of it mattered. It did not matter how Aya felt about him, if her heart was promised to someone else. He had promised himself long ago that he would not pursue anyone while his father lived. He had too many other things to think about and his focus was already faltering because of this foolish crush. He had slipped up too often recently and had the scars to prove it. 

He ran through this list often in an attempt to reason with himself. To put an end to the current of emotions he felt when she walked into the room. But nothing seemed to stop it. The jealousy and the wondering and the golden glow he felt in her presence. He knew in his heart that he could not be the one to cherish her, but it did not keep him from envying the one who would.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ 

The gilded crowd seemed to move as one, a swirl of delight and gaiety. Aya stood in its center, dizzy and far too sober despite the glass of champagne in her hand. Supposedly, her appearance was mandatory. But as usual,  no one from her class of healers had spoken to her. No one from any circle had spoken to her. 

The glow of her ring caught her attention and she did a double take. Maybe it was the fae lights or wishful thinking. No, the ring really glowed, a band of warmth around her finger. She handed her glass to the nearest server, conjured her bag of supplies, and tried not to be too grateful for an excuse to leave the party. 

Eris stood in the garden near the winnow spot, his hand clutched to his chest. He didn’t seem to care that blood stained his beautifully embroidered jacket. Aya greeted him with a smile, but he took in her outfit and frowned. 

“Did I pull you away from a party?” He asked. 

Aya blushed, remembering what she wore. An iridescent gown that was almost sheer, cut low in the back to accommodate her wings. The neckline draped and fluttered, revealing a fair amount of her chest. It was likely a little scandalous compared to the modest fashion of the Autumn Court. She really should have grabbed a coat. 

“Oh, no,” She stammered, “I mean yes, I was at a party, but it's okay.” 

“We can work here in the garden and then you can winnow back,” He said, so calm even with the blood dripping down his arm, “You’re all dressed up, I’d hate to ruin that for you. I would think a dress like that is meant to be seen.”

The corners of his lips twitched up into a smile as he said it, eyes burning into her.

“No, really, it’s okay,” Her cheeks burned and she turned her gaze toward the stone garden path, “I was kind of looking for a reason to leave.” 

Eris’s eyebrows lifted and he looked like he wanted to ask her why, but he said nothing. Only gave her a nod and led the way to his room. Aya’s golden heels clicked softly in the hallway, jewelry jingling with every step. 

In Eris’s room, she kicked off her shoes and tossed her bag aside with an ease that made him smile. She’d grown comfortable here. He sat on the edge of the bed and waited as she got water from the washroom, hand still held tight to his chest. 

“What happened this time?” She asked, returning with a pitcher and a stack of rags. 

He held out his hand for her to see, but she brushed past him and crawled onto the bed, tucking her legs underneath her. The feathers of her wings brushed his shoulder as she moved, her scent of pomegranate and honey wrapping around him. He blinked at her for a moment, frozen by the image of her in his bed, her gorgeous dress and smeared makeup. It was not a daydream he’d ever had before, but one that would haunt him often, now. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” She started to slide off the bed, “That’s not appropriate, is it?” 

She forgot sometimes how much more casual the Dawn Court could be. 

“No, no,” Eris said quickly, “It’s okay.” 

She studied his expression for any hint of disapproval and found none. So she stayed put and began taking off her jewelry, tucking the chains and bracelets into a pocket in her satchel. She left her golden nose ring, adorned with a tiny sunstone. 

“Thank you,” She murmured, “My feet are killing me.” 

“Too much dancing?” He smiled and tried not to look too jealous. 

“Not exactly,” Aya sighed and motioned for his hand, “More like too much standing around, waiting to be asked to dance.” 

Eris tilted his head to the side, eyes sparkling with curiosity. She busied herself with unfurling his stiff fingers as gently as she could. 

“I’m not exactly popular with my peers,” She said, examining the deep gashes in his palm and fingers. She grimaced at the sight, but Eris showed no signs of pain. 

“Why ever not?” He asked. For a moment, she thought he was being sarcastic. But she looked up at him and saw that he was earnest. 

“My power,” She hesitated, “Doesn’t manifest the way healing powers typically do. It makes others suspicious of me. Not to mention they suspect nepotism because Thesan is my cousin.” 

He probably should have felt ashamed of the wild rush of relief, at that. His lovely mother had failed to mention that Aya was related to Thesan. There would be no betrothal after all, then. Unless the Dawn Court shared habits with the Ilyrians. He was about to do a little more prying, but she beat him to it. 

“You never answered my question,” She said softly, beginning to dab away blood with a rag, “What happened to your hand?” 

“Beron,” He grumbled, wincing for the first time, “He told me that if I was to act like a child, then he would punish me like a schoolboy. So he struck my hand with a ruler.” 

Aya paused and looked up at him, lip curled in disgust. Eris nodded in confirmation.

“He broke two rulers before he was finished,” He sighed, like this had been some mild inconvenience. Just another one of Beron’s antics. 

“I’d like to break two of his fingers,” Aya spat, earning a grin from the prince, “How long did you wait to call me?” 

“A few hours. I was waiting for him to leave the Forest House.” 

She leaned over to grab a fresh rag from the side table, and Eris’s gaze caught on her bare back. Aya almost froze, realizing what she had exposed to him, but she forced herself to move normally. He said nothing, but she could feel the weight of his gaze, could see his pursed lips in her peripheral vision. 

She may as well even things out between them. She knew the story of a good handful of his scars. Some were her own creation. He could know the story of hers. It wasn’t exactly a secret, anyways. Dawn Court clothes often had low cut backs to accommodate wings, and so her scars were often on display.

“The Illyrians aren’t the only ones who practice wing clipping,” She said into the silence, aware of how tight her voice sounded, “It mostly died out a long time ago, but there will always be extremists. My mother was one of them.” 

She paused, swallowing hard under the intensity of his stare. 

“Really, I think she was unhappy that I had inherited something so obvious from my father. She tried to clip me using magic, but I stopped her with my own powers. I saved my wings but I couldn’t prevent the scars. And something in her magic collided with mine and went wrong. I felt it in my bones. Ever since then I have had pains in my back. I’ve tried everything I could, saw dozens of other healers, but nothing gets rid of it.”

Eris was sure she already saw the irony of it. Her being a healer and not being able to heal her own chronic pain. He supposed they were very similar in that way, desperate to fix everything or everyone around them. All the while unable to fix themselves.

“I’m sorry,” He said. 

There was plenty he wanted to say, but nothing that would actually make a difference. That image would stay with him, the scars interrupting the smooth brown skin of her back, jagged like rivers on a map. He stared at her wings with a new appreciation, filled with desire to see them spread in flight as the sun filtered through her golden feathers.

He had a sudden urge to feel them. To reach out and stroke the feathers and find out if they were as soft as they looked. But he remembered all of the strange customs around Illyrian wings and kept his hands to himself. His blood heated as he recalled other rumors about those Night Court wings.

“What’s done is done,” Was her response. Her voice was a little far away now, either in memory or in focus. He could feel the tingling of his hand beginning to heal, and the warmth of shame over his thoughts of wing sensitivity. 

A silence settled as she worked and he swore he could almost hear a humming. Like her healing was an unheard song and his bones sang in answer. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, but he also couldn’t tear his gaze away from her distant eyes and the golden sparks that glowed from her hand. 

He wondered if she knew what her eyes looked like while she was healing, pupils and irises filled with golden light. Like suns, casting a glow on everything in their path. It had alarmed him at first and then drew him in like a moth to a flame. She must know. It must be one of the reasons the other healers were wary of her, afraid of that golden fire. He realized that she never kept her eyes open if anyone else was around. 

She was like a beacon of light in the darkness of his room, golden and warm and shining. The list of things he admired about her was seemingly never ending. As was the list of things she made him feel every time they interacted. There was a lump in his throat, as he stared at her. So small and quiet, and yet something strong and lovely. 

His hand was almost healed. 

“You are so kind,” He said, just above a whisper. He was emboldened by her confessions, by the things that it meant for her to keep her eyes open around him. 

Her eyes returned to their normal misty color and she tilted her head at him. 

“In spite of all that’s been done to you,” He explained, all too conscious of the vulnerability he was showing. Was there any use in shielding his heart at all?

“I keep no ledger,” She said, looking down at his hand. It was healed, no trace of his wounds left. But she held on. “Against the world, against anyone. I’ve made kindness my fight instead of revenge. I have no reason to be cruel just because others were cruel to me. And if I am kind, it is one less thing that they have taken from me.” 

Tonight held the most words she had ever spoken to him. He savored them like he did every other fact she’d given him and committed them to memory. Everything she had to say was lovely. Everything said in her voice was lovely. He wanted to tell her that he admired her and that he wished he’d heard those words a long time ago. Maybe then, he could have dedicated himself to the cause of kindness instead of choosing cruelty as his shield. Or at least something besides malice. It was probably too late, now. Cruelty had settled into the very grooves of his being.  It was a habit so deeply ingrained that he was not sure he had the strength to claw his way out of it. 

When he lifted his eyes, he found that she was watching him like he had done moments ago. His gaze startled her out whatever she had been pondering, and she released his hand. Reluctantly, he pulled it back into his own lap, already missing her warmth. The smooth feel of her skin. 

“What will you do?” She asked, worry etching in her features, “About Beron? Surely, you won’t let things continue this way.” 

“There are things in motion,” He said slowly, calculating what he could and shouldn’t say to ensure her safety, “But of course, just those words alone could spark his suspicion. Right now, we are all playing a waiting game.” 

He did not know exactly what they were waiting for. All that he knew is that he’d know it when he saw it. He would not admit that to anyone, however. He would continue to play the part of a clever, cunning leader. He had been able to take advantage of the Night Court’s compromising position in the Spring Court, and now he had Rhysand’s support. More opportunities would present themselves, he knew. 

“Of course I’ll say nothing,” Her brows knit together even tighter, “And of course, I’ll be here. Until the last wound he ever inflicts.”

And after that, if you’d like. 

She slid off the bed and looked up at him. Something passed between them, metallic and shimmering like the golden light of her healing. Eris’s lips parted but no words came out. The way he looked at her made Aya wonder if he somehow knew what she had almost said, his eyes filled with a fire that danced like a candle flame. They said nothing more, but the change in the world was palpable. Each breath felt different than before.

After he’d walked her to the garden and returned to his bed, he found a single golden feather on his comforter. He picked it up gingerly, running a fingertip across its silky texture. Then he tucked it into his nightstand, wards snapping as the drawer shut. 

He had seen it in her face, the dangling invitation. Or maybe it was a request. Let me stay, her eyes had pleaded. It was a pain he had never known before, watching her winnow away. Knowing that he could not afford to dream of keeping her. To give her what she asked would be handing over her ruination. He would not let himself destroy such a perfect thing.

[noisynaia]

Dreaming of You

Chapter four: Damn Your Eyes

summary: An otherwise depressing night takes a turn when a pair of warm brown eyes belonging to a charming stranger lock with yours. Years later, at a different time of your life, a certain pair of brown eyes find their way back into your life.

word count: 3.3k 

pairing: Javier Peña x afab!reader 

note: (18+ mdni) No use of (y/n). The reader uses she/her pronouns and is shorter than Javier, but no other physical descriptions are used. This has not been beta-read and English is not my native language.

Can also be read on ao3

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…I guess I just see what I wanna see,

Or is my heart just deceiving me?

I remember

Just how you made me wanna surrender…

Those damn eyes are haunting you for the rest of the day. They couldn’t have been Javier’s, of course not. Bumping into him after so many years, and in Laredo of all places… No, that would be too weird of a coincidence. But being reminded of him by bumping into that mystery man on Main Street had made you think back to that night so many years ago.

Javier had been such a brief acquaintance, but there was something about him that had left an impact. Maybe it was the fact that it had been some of the best sex of your life, or that he, despite sneaking out on you, had sent you flowers to thank you for the night you had spent together.

You feel terrible for thinking about it, but you just can’t help yourself. It had only been a one-night stand, but now your brain is full of the memories of him. It had been a good night, fun and carefree, but it really should just stay in the past. You are a married woman now, and there is no need to dwell on something you really shouldn’t.  Javier is nothing more than a distant memory, a blip in your past that has no relevance to your present life.

But still, those eyes keep haunting you. You try to shake them from your mind, focusing on the tasks at hand and trying to push those memories deep down as you go about your day, finishing your shift at the bookstore and getting groceries before heading back home again. There is no good reason for you to be thinking about another man, especially one that wasn’t even a significant part of your life.

Soon you’re back on your front porch, balancing bags of groceries in your arms as you try to fish your keys out of the pocket of your shorts. The weight of the bags makes it difficult, but you finally manage to fish them out and insert the key into the lock, giving it a twist to the right. With a click, the lock opens, and you push the door open with your hip.

Balancing the groceries carefully, you step inside, feeling a rush of relief as you can finally unload the heavy bags onto the kitchen counter. Bruce is in Austin for a business trip, so you have the house to yourself for the next few days. You hum softly as you start putting away the groceries, the mundane task helping to distract you from your swirling thoughts. 

But as you reach for a bag of sunflower seeds to put away in the pantry, bright yellow flowers printed across the plastic, you suddenly remember that you still have the card that came with the bouquet Javier sent you,  safely tucked away in a drawer, between the pages of your well-loved childhood copy of  ‘One Thousand and One Nights’. You probably shouldn’t have kept it, but for some reason, you just had not been able to throw it away.

You shake your head, trying to dispel the thought. It’s silly, ridiculous even, but despite trying to talk yourself out of it, you can’t help but go look for it. You find it, at the entry of  ‘The Tale of the Lover Who Feigned Himself A Thief’. The name of the flower shop is printed at the top of the card with the handwritten message underneath written in a, surprisingly, neat handwriting with a blue pen.  

Thank you for the other night.

— Javi.  

You’re staring at the card in your hand for a few seconds before putting it back, slamming the book shut, and tucking it away in the drawer again. There is no reason to entertain the thought of him. The rest of your day goes by as usual. You go on your walk with Bailey. You cook dinner while listening to one of your favorite vinyls. You have to admit to the convenience of CDs, but you always listen to vinyl when you’re home. Nothing beats the sound, and you have invested too much time and too much money in your records over the years to stop now.   

You have almost forgotten Javier completely by the time you get ready for bed, and you quickly fall into a deep dream-filled sleep after taking an Ambien.

“Preciosa,” he whispers against the skin of your collarbone before leaving wet kisses up the side of your neck. Warm calloused hands exploring your body.  

“So gorgeous,” he groans, sliding his hand further up your thigh, his fingers slowly running over the delicate lace as he reaches your garter. 

His features are blurry, like a memory, but the touch feels so real. 

“Want me to devour you, huh, hermosa?” his raspy voice whispers into your ear. 

“Yes, Javi! Please…” you whine.

Your heart is pounding hard in your chest as you bolt awake. Bailey had jumped up on the bed, waking you from the dream. 

“Shit…” you hiss, throwing your arm over your head with a groan, hiding your face in the crook off your elbow.

You take a few heavy breaths before throwing the light duvet off your body, making sure not to disturb Bailey, who now lays at the foot of the bed. The luminous digits on the clock radio only show 05:08, but you are feeling very awake and there’s no way you’re going to be able to fall back asleep again after that dream. Why the fuck did you have to dream about that?! You stand up and peel your soaked panties down your legs to toss them into the hamper before heading straight to the bathroom. You will need a long shower after this.

A week goes by, Bruce has returned from Austin, and you have almost forgotten about how you were reminded of Javier and the effect that reminder had on you… You have just finished sorting some books in the backroom of the bookstore, and now you’re reading in an old, yellow paged paperback copy of ‘Wuthering Heights’, which looks like it had been a highschool distribution a student had forgotten to turn in and eventually had donated. You know the story, you had also read it in highschool just like half of the population, but there are no customers and nothing for you to do so why not read a little. 

Heathcliff is in the middle of begging for Cathy’s ghost to haunt and torment him for the rest of his life when the little bell over the door chimes. In walks Chucho Peña, politely removing his hat from his head as he enters and gives you a friendly nod with his greeting. 

Chucho is one of your most frequent customers, and by far your favorite. He is the picture-perfect example of a real Texan vaquero, sporting an impressive and well-groomed mustache, and you don’t remember ever seeing him without his faithful stetson, either on his head or in hand. 

“Welcome!” You greet him with a big smile as you close the book, letting Heathcliff wallow in his sorrow without you. “Haven’t seen you in a while, started to be afraid I had lost my favorite customer,” you say with a smile. You really have missed your talks with Chucho, he is one of the few people in Laredo you don’t feel like is secretly judging you behind their back. He had even invited you out to the ranch once after you had mentioned that there aren’t any good places in town for Bailey to run free. You have never actually got around to visit, but you do really appreciate the sentiment. 

“My son came home from Colombia a few weeks ago, so I’ve had to make sure he got settled in nicely.”

“Oh,” you reply. A son that came home from Colombia a few weeks ago… 

Realization hits you like a truck. You had convinced yourself that the man you had bumped into last week simply just had looked like Javier, but now Chucho’s is telling you about a son coming back from Colombia, just as you randomly had been reminded of Javier again after so many years, what are the damn odds...  

You already knew that Chucho has a son, and you have heard some of the town’s tale-tellers mention ‘Chuco’s boy’, or ‘the Peña kid’ a few times in passing. But you have always tried your hardest to not involve yourself with the small-town gossip, so you have always made an effort to never listen to what was said.

“He worked for the DEA down there,” Chucho continues. “It has been hard for him, and maybe even harder to come back here. I just hope he finds some peace, lord knows he deserves some. He should find himself a nice girl and maybe settle down…” The elderly man shakes his head with a small smile. “Too bad Bruce got to you first, but I guess you wouldn’t even be here in Laredo if he hadn’t.” 

“No, I probably wouldn’t,” you agree, smiling back but suddenly feeling weirdly nauseous. Chucho’s vague implication catches you off guard, and you find yourself imagining having sweet, humorous Chucho Peña as your father-in-law instead of the emotionally repressed William Price.

A little silence settles over the store before you gather the courage to continue. “I think I might already have met him…”

Chucho looks surprised. “You’ve met Javi?”

Javi… Oh, how small the world is. You try to keep your composure, but your heart is racing in your chest. Now you have your confirmation, it was Javier you had bumped into. 

You nod affirmatively at Chuchos question, not mentioning that it was years ago in San Antonio.

Chucho smiles. “Just don’t hold anything you hear about him against him. I might be biased as his father, but he is a good man.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. If people around here knew a little more about me I think I would be the topic of a lot more gossip than I already am,” you let out a humorless laugh at your confession.

Chucho just gives you a sympathetic look before going to check the crime-noir section, changing the topic as he peruses the shelves.

—

Javier is sitting on the front porch of the house, lighting a cigarette with a sigh. It is only lunchtime, but he is already more tired than an old shoe. He has been up since the fucking crack of dawn. He had had a nightmare. It was a memory from Colombia that had run on a loop until he had finally woken up, covered in cold sweat, and not able to fall back asleep. Felipe, the red barn cat, is laying in a sunbeam at the other end of the porch, sleeping without a care in the world and Javier is not above envying a cat at this point. 

He takes a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs and momentarily calm his racing thoughts. He looks out at the view of the grazing cattle, trying to appreciate the beauty of it all. But it’s a bit lost on him. 

Just then, he hears the sound of an approaching car. Javier squints in the sunlight and sees his father’s truck approach, he greets him with a raised hand as Chucho’s blue truck rolls up the driveway, the wheels swirling up dust from the gravel road. Chucho parks the truck next to the porch and steps out of the truck, a tired smile on his weathered face.

“Hey hijo, how’s your day been so far?” Chucho asks, making his way over to Javier.

“Just another day in paradise, I guess,” Javier replies with a shrug, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Got everything you needed?” he then asks, letting a ribbon of smoke escape through his lips as Chucho makes it up the steps to the front porch.  

“Most of it. Stopped by the post office, but they said my package won’t be there till tomorrow. Can you maybe swing by and get it for me?” 

“Sure, I’ll swing by town tomorrow,” Javier says, still not particularly fond of going into town, but he knows that he’ll have to get over it. 

Chucho lights a cigarette of his own. “I understand you have met my friend from the bookstore.” 

Javier sends his father a confused look. 

“The young woman who married the Price boy, she told me she had met you,” Chuho elaborates. 

Javier has no idea what his father is talking about. Alvaro, an old highschool buddy, one of the few people he has reconnected with after returning, had mentioned that Bruce had got married when he gave him the mandatory ‘what’s new in town’ talk, but Javier has no idea who the woman is. 

Javier shakes his head as he flicks the ash from his cigarette. “I can’t say that I have, pops.” 

“Well, she told me she has met you…” Chucho says with a simple shrug of his shoulders, stepping into the house with the groceries, but not before letting a book land in Javier’s lap as he passes him on the porch.

“Thought you might need some night reading.” The older man says gently.

Javier mumbles a ‘thanks’, but Chucho is already inside the house when it comes over his lips. He stays out on the porch for another while, chain smoking as he begins to read the first chapter of the book. He doesn’t want to go back inside yet, he didn’t know that his father had noticed his sleep problems. But of course he had figured it out, a person can only wake up screaming from night terrors so many times before the other people living under the same roof begin to notice.

Javier doesn’t ask more about the woman at the bookstore, but he does wonder who his dad could have been talking about. He has made an effort to not meet with any women since he came back to Loredo, which his shower drain can confirm, he doesn’t think he has jerked off this much since he was a teenager. He reads a few more chapters, getting more hooked on the book than he had thought he would, it has been years since he had time to read for pleasure, before heading inside. 

The rest of the day passes by uneventfully, and he miraculously actually manages to get a whole night of sleep. Soon the next day dawns and after a shower and some breakfast Javier gets ready to head into town. The rabbit tobacco at the side of the road swaying gently in the light breeze as he drives towards town.

He stops by the convenience store first to get himself a few packs of cigarettes, some nicotine gum, and a bottle of Tylenol. His back has been acting up lately. He goes by the post office next, getting his father’s package.

With the parcel safely in hand, he gets back to his truck, glad that he hadn’t run into anyone he didn’t want to see. He opens the door of the passenger seat, placing his dad’s package on the seat before closing the door again. He takes out a cigarette from his new pack, leaning his back against the closed passenger door, crossing one leg over the other as he picks out his lighter from the pocket of his jeans, sucking life into the cigarette before blowing smoke out through his nose with a sight as he looks down the street. His eyes land on the sign for the bookstore, the chipped paint making the words barely legible. His father’s comment from yesterday comes back to him , making him curious.          

“What the hell,” he mumbles to himself, stomping out his cigarette and popping a piece of gum into his mouth. Javier’s curiosity gets the best of him.

—

You are organizing some boxes with donated books in the backroom when you hear the bell over the front door ringing; indicating a customer has stepped into the store. “I’ll be there in just a sec,” you chime, putting the last box down before stepping back into the store.  

A man is standing by the door with his back turned to you, but he turns around as he hears you enter the room, his eyes locking with yours and you feel your stomach drop. The way his strong jaw flexes as he chews down on the piece of gum in his mouth does things to you that it shouldn’t. 

 It’s him… Javier.

His eyes widen with recognition. And to your surprise your name falls from his lips in a questioning tone. 

“Yeah… Hi,” you reply nervously, trying to keep your cool, but failing, finding yourself absolutely dumbfounded by his sudden presence. The dream you had last week comes back to you and you feel your face heat up. Since when did you become so skittish? He is just a man, an incredibly handsome man that you just happened to have slept with once… 

“Hi,” he replies, and an awkward silence falls over the little store. 

“So, uh… You’re from Laredo, huh,” you finally state, trying to pull yourself together, feeling like you need to say something.  

“Yeah, I am,” he says with a nod. 

“Fun… I-I mean what are the odds?” You stumble over your words. 

“Yeah, here of all places,” he laughs a little and a bit of the tension disappears. 

“And you’re back for good?” you can’t help but ask.  

He gives you a little shrug of his shoulder. “Yeah, looks like it.”

Another beat of silence stretches between you, but this time he is the one to break it.

“Congrats by the way,” he says, nodding his head towards your hand where you, without even having been aware of it, have been fidgeting with the ring on your finger. “I should maybe call you Mrs. Price now?” 

“Please don’t,” you say with a low chuckle and a shake of your head. “Makes me sound so old.”  

You don’t tell him that you didn’t take Bruce’s last name when you married him, it is yet another thing that makes you stand out in town, but you have never been the traditional type after all. 

“Well, I just came to have a look. But uhm… I’ll better get going,” he says. You don’t mention that he hasn’t looked at a single book. “Say hello to Bruce from me,” he says with a tight-lipped smile. You didn’t know that Javier and your husband knew each other, but in a place where pretty much everybody knows everybody, it shouldn’t be too surprising. 

“I will… And say hi to your dad from me, I hope he likes his new book,” you say, watching as he walks to the door. 

He doesn’t tell you that the book actually lies on his own nightstand. “Sure, I will… Guess I might see you around then.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” you nod, wiping your hands on your thighs, your palms suddenly feeling clammy.

“It was nice seeing you again.” He offers you a more genuine smile, this time it reaches his eyes, making that gorgeous dimple show…   

You just nod in response, suddenly unable to form a proper response, but you gather some courage before he leaves out the door.

“Javi,” you call out after him, his hand already on the door handle.

He stops in his tracks, already halfway through the door he turns around to look back at you with those deep umber eyes of his. 

You offer him a small smile. “Thank you for the flowers, back then… They were really lovely.”

“Thought they fit you… And I really did have a good night” 

And with that, he leaves the store, the bell above the door jingling softly behind him. The scent of his musky cologne lingers in the air, mixing with the smell of old books, or maybe you simply imagine that it does. You are fucked.

…Damn your eyes

For getting my hopes up high

For making me fall in love again

Damn your eyes!

For taking my breath away

I fall completely under your spell

Damn your eyes...

Damn Your Eyes, Etta James

@emilianamason

[lavendersnsfs]

can we get a Logan x transmasc reader where Logan is helping the reader study for his GED? and maybe (but you don't absolutely HAVE to add this if you don't want to, I'm just thinking) the reader secretly has a praise kink, so anytime Logan is like "good job" or whatever, it's a turn-on for the reader?

I’m callin this series “Mr. Logan”

He’s a professor, and has a tendency to be pretty professional when working with people, it’s just 🫰🏽 this one ends up being different cause he realizes he’s falling for his student (this is absolutely self serving as well cause I’m transmasc)

This is middle of it cause I got carried away and we’ll have flashbacks and stuff to the beginning

Logan sat next to his newest client, the time has come for this to do a practice test but not until after a night of targeted practice with the things he had helped his student study.

‘Remember to breathe, this will be open book. I promise, you’ve done so well during this time there’s no need to worry about a thing either, a fail is just something that tells you where you can do better’

-

*I honestly don’t think he knows what his voice does, it reminds me of a smooth whisky..*

Taking a deep inhale in, and out as told

“I know. You keep telling me, doesn’t make it any less scary yknow. Like- you’re so smart, I don’t think you get how.. like this literally cannot be the same brain that got me through skipping multiple grades in school before yknow..”

-

Logan let’s out a sigh after listening to y/n’s rant “no I get it..” he gives a small smile “there’s a reason I do this job on the side, I had to do the very thing you’re doing right now. There’s no need for stressing…because. Tell you what, if you don’t pass your GED. I’ll pay for your next one..s if multiple are needed”

That makes you take a pause not looking up from the paper you’ve been looking at “…why would you do that??” The crack in your voice at the end makes you clear your throat, face heating up

Logan smiles, going to fidget with his hands “You’ve been doing well so far, you’re hard working. I recommend you take the offer but take a break before you try again, it can be difficult after taking a fall to get back up especially with how you are, being gifted can make people more susceptible to..raking themselves when they fail at what they’re typically seen as you are, a very wonderful student with a bright future”

*he’s gotta know by now what this does- not like it wouldn’t be noticeable*

The thought dissolves, the praise making y/n’s face flush a tinge again almost forgetting the rest

“Mhm yeah but like- doing well is good n all n I know I work hard but like.. there’s no- reason for that to be enough, there are so many with a bright future. Why me?”

Logan’s face flushes this time, more noticeable in certain places like his ears. He can only shrug “I..am not sure, I enjoy your presence y/n, and it’s not really something I thought about thoroughly? I just.. want to”

Y/n gives a lopsided smile that makes Logan’s heart flutter, stomach swirling with butterflies and there’s this moment of an inner *oh no- oh, oh no ok*

“I’m glad that you enjoy my presence, sir. Not sure what I did to make that happen but I sure am glad it had happened”

The lesson continues more quietly, little times of taking small impromptu breaks just to talk, and slowly through that Logan understands why he said what he said. The conversation is easy flowing, they’re good at debate and never seem to play devils advocate at least purposefully, they’re smart enough to know when to say they don’t know the answer, they talk about what they want to talk about and.. the emotional intimacy of this is.. the feeling of love, something he himself thought was at least kind of hard for him to feel but it’s almost. Effortless here

[amitycaughtstars]

On Writing

I write now because I find that I miss it. When I was young, it was all about the future, about remembering what happened today, but now I don’t seem to have such insight. I instead find myself compelled to put pen to paper only when I need to: when the thoughts and feelings and suspicions and fears in my mind grow too large to bear, I find that the swirling ocean of my thoughts can be, not contained, but defined, organized, and finally left behind on some messy, lined piece of paper somewhere.

There were many times I tried to start a writing habit, a diary, if you will. Most of these half-empty books still sit on my shelf, and I do in fact look back at them sometimes, like I once imagined I would. They’re filled with drawings, mostly, but some words as well. These words, in poor handwriting, do not say much in my opinion. They speak mostly of “what happened today” and “what I think of [blank]” and, to me, show a fear of honesty. I was scared, then, for the paper to know how I felt, for someone to perhaps stumble across my pages and find out I was not who they thought I was. And I believe it was because of this that the habit never stuck. What’s the point of a diary if it only contains thoughts you could say out loud? Now I write differently. Now, I see no point in hiding from the paper. If someone will see my writing and change their opinion of me, if they will be disgusted and shocked, then so be it. I never asked them to read it.

As my writing has changed, so have I. At the beginning of it all, some three years ago, I wrote in facts, in pure description of events and emotions. But when it really is all too much, when I cannot bear to work through my thoughts by myself, I now lean towards poetry. Words themselves are just not enough to express how I feel. My true thoughts, deeper than I could ever know, are not descriptive. They do not present themselves to me in easy, explainable form, and it’s for this reason that I must write some other way. I write with feeling, not with thought. I regurgitate whatever my brain provides, which tends to have a slight rhythm and rhyme that slightly embarasses me. It’s difficult to describe, but that is how it tends to go. 

As you can see, I write with little consistency and little thought. And I’m slightly sorry for that, but not really.

[urlkssknt]

nanami kento x fem!reader (2.9k)

nsfw!! mdi!!

warnings; unprotected sex, it’s just very soft and vanilla

a/n; this is a scene from a series i might write, i’m not sure if i want to commit to it, please let me know your thoughts, feedback is much appreciated!

The marriage announcement caught you off guard, it felt like someone had thrown you into the deep end of a pool and you didn't know how to swim, drowning slowly in the snarky whispers from the attendants of the party that reached your ear - wasn't he married to Y/n? Poor girl, I wouldn't be able to show my face if I was her. Many eyes around the room turned towards you in anticipation, waiting for some display of anger or a rage-induced outburst. Much to their disappointment, you stood your ground. You wouldn’t let the perfectly crafted mask fall from your face, especially not now, you couldn’t let the woman, who held a leash over your ex, know she caused an effect on you.

From a distance over, Satoru watched you closely through the peripheral of his sharp vision, you leaned further into the dark long haired man standing beside you to whisper something into his ear. Suguru handed you a small rectangular box discreetly. He was equally as shocked as you. Satoru expected Toji to pull a stunt like this, maybe another pregnancy announcement or a business merger. He never expected it to be announced publicly, in a Gojou family setting. Whilst claps of congratulations sounded around the hall, Gojou's cold gaze threw daggers towards your ex-husband, standing beside your parents with a hand on the waist of his fiancée. The sight of gleaming smiles across your parent’s faces made Satoru feel sick to his stomach. The white haired man also took a mental note of the people who seemed genuinely happy for the wretched couple. Those people didn't realise that they had gotten onto Gojou Satoru's bad side and ruined any promising positive relationship with the businessman.

There was a chill in the evening air as you stood on the balcony, you were grateful no one else was outside to witness the devastation on your face, only the night sky being witness to the single teardrop that fell along the expanse of your cheek. The cold air nipped at the bare skin of your arms and neck, raising the fine hairs which run all along your skin. As a thought of regret for not bringing a jacket along with you popped into your mind, you opened the cigarette packet that Suguru handed to you, bringing one up to your lips to rest as you fish for a lighter in your purse, praying that you had one despite having quit the disgusting habit years ago.

The temperature of the chilling air around you rises as a warming presence pressed against your back, you only relax when the familiar scent of rich cologne mixed with cinnamon infiltrates your senses, allowing yourself to melt into the heated hands that run along your naked arms.

"Do you even have a lighter?" Kento questions as you continue to search through your bag, which was so small, the blond was sceptical about it being big enough to fit any necessities.

Peering up through your lashes, your azure eyes narrowed at him as your lips formed into a deep scowl. Kento was right, you didn’t have a lighter, specifically for scenarios like this, where your fingers are itching to grab at the first intoxicant to cloud your mind. Smoking would help calm the stress that scratches the walls of your brain as the tobacco fills your bloodstream.

“Suguru probably has one-“ you mutter under your breath, speaking with the white stick sitting comfortably between your lips before a hand quickly reaches for it and throws the small object off the balcony, out of sight and out of reach. “What the hell-“ there was little time to process the sudden action as your words are cut short with kento’s palms encasing your face to tilt your head slightly and allow him to lower his lips onto yours in a short kiss. The anger that rushed through your veins quickly dissolved, leaving as fast as it was produced.

A small smile creeped along your lips, “maybe I should take up smoking again.”

Kento couldn’t help the chuckle that let up his throat, his eyes crinkling in the same way that the twin’s did. His hands dropped from your face to hold your hips over the silk material, pulling you closer towards him, your breasts pressing against his chest.

“Let's get out of here.”

Earlier, before he followed your footsteps to check on you, Kento felt a strong grip latch on his arm to prevent him from moving further. The culprit was your brother. Satoru held an intimidating aura, his sapphire eyes bearing a look cold enough to pierce skin. The older man whispered short words to Nanami, advising him to take you away from the party, in order to protect you.

As Kento was texting the babysitter he had hired for the night, making sure his kids were safely sleeping in their beds, you were checking in with the two Zen’in girls that were looking after Megumi for the night. Maki and Mai loved spending time with you, when you announced the divorce with their cousin, they were undeniably upset, not because Toji’s heart was broken but it meant they wouldn’t be able to see you as often.

It wasn't as difficult as you thought it might be to locate the hotel room. Thankfully, both of you were in a conscious state of mind, avoiding the sparkling alcoholic beverages being served in crystal flutes. The hand on the curve of your waist held you close to Kento’s embrace. Just from a short glance, any onlooker would be able to know you were his, there was a loving atmosphere surrounding you two which was hard to miss, from the pearly smile painting your glossy lips to the radiant sparkling of gold among the hues of brown. The booked room was found quickly. Anticipation began to bubble in your stomach, you felt excited to spend the night with such a handsome man, again.

All of your hair was pushed to one side on your shoulder, exposing the tender flesh of your neck. A beautiful and plain canvas just waiting to be painted with deep and dark shades of pinks and purples. The plain sight caused a stir in Kento’s mind, he desired to mark you, in a way he knew no one ever would. Acting on impulse, the father of two kissed a spot where your neck met your shoulder so lightly it felt like petals brushing against your skin. A smirk found its home along Kento’s lips when you craned your head to the side, offering more of yourself to him. The innocent kisses progressed into deep bites, a sudden sharp nip against your pulse point causing a gasp to slip into the air. You couldn’t care less if a horrible bruise formed from Kento's lustful ministrations, his scent clouded your mind like a drug, your thoughts swirling into nothing. Your attention was fixated on the hands wandering from their place on your hips to groping your breasts through the silken material of your dress, sending arsoul to pool in your panties.

A deep timbre tone filled your ears, you turned to face the man speaking. “Would you like to know my new favourite colour?” Kento doesn’t wait for your answer, his hands squeeze at your chest again with more pressure, sadly eliciting another gasp from your lips. The corners of Kento's lips turn downwards ever so slightly, he had hoped that his ears would have been graced with a moan. “Sage green.”

The blond guides you to the queen-sized bed, lined with the finest material he had ever seen, Kento didn’t expect anything less from your brother, who handed him the key card. The hotel room was grand, almost as big as his own apartment, which was quite large.

Kento sits himself against the headboard with his suit jacket and tie discarded somewhere on the floor, falling victim to your travelling hands, eager to undress him. The clothing was no longer his concern as you situated yourself in his lap, thick thighs straddling his waist the best you could in the confinement of your dress. “Tonight,” Kento's eyes move from the swells of your breasts, your cleavage in his direct eye line, to meet your gleaming eyes. He was surprised to find his own reflection in them. “I'm yours.” The words felt heavy on his tongue and heart, it felt like he was confessing to you again, proving to himself that it was you that his heart yearns for.

Slowly, you clamber off of the blond man’s lap without voicing your intentions, not missing how his hands reach out to hold onto you for a moment longer, you giggle lightly at the display of clinginess, never expecting such a stoic man to behave like that. It was refreshing. It reassured the persistent whispers in the back of your mind that Kento wanted you like you wanted him. as you stood at the foot of the bed, you kicked off your nude heels, dropping your height by a few inches. A laugh fell upon your ears, Kento was amused, his smile hidden from your eyes behind his palm. However, the light atmosphere shifted when the sound of a zipper filled the room. Swiftly, the dress dropped to the floor from the pull of gravity, leaving you exposed except for the black lace thong, which barely hid anything from his eyes. Kento wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse.

Finally, it was your turn to smirk when your sharp eyes caught the growing tent of Kento's trousers.

Slowly, you crawled along the bedsheets at an agonising pace, it felt like hours before you finally reached your destination. Within an instant, you felt two large palms squeeze at the pudgy skin of your hips. You couldn’t help but press your hands against Kento's chest, fingers running aimlessly as you met his lips, kissing him with such desire, as if you had planned to devour him.

“Do you know what good boys get, Mister Nanami?” you say in a sultry tone, the touches of the small pads of your fingertips tracing unrecognisable shapes along his chest becoming distractive.

The words registered into the blond’s mind, you had previously asked the same question to the three toddlers, in hopes of containing their erratic behaviour in the kitchen. This should have been degrading, yet, despite using the childish question, a rational voice in Kento’s mind screamed at him to just give in for once.

“Rewards,” it was the same answer Sukuna gave you, it was the correct answer. However, Kento's voice only managed to speak just above a breath, finding himself unable to trust his own voice.

“Well done daddy,” you praised him with a sweet kiss, a shiver running up his neck, before making an effort to unbutton the shirt, “treat me nicely and I’ll reward you.”

All the remaining pieces of clothing were thrown off hurriedly, desperate to feel the pure heat of Kento's unbelievably hot body. It stunned you how he was constantly warm, maybe you could make him your personal heater.

Kento couldn’t help but groan loudly as your hips grinded against his dick, coating him with your wetness, he felt himself throbbing against your folds, ever so desperate to fill you to the brim. As if reading his mind, the teasing touches paused as you lined your entrance up with his cock, only after giving the hard member a few pumps with your hand. The broad shoulders of the businessman were used as an anchor, you cling onto him desperately as you sink onto his dick. In the span of a few hours, you had completely forgotten the thickness of kento’s sex, surprising yourself as you struggle to relax yourself to take him in. Wanton moans fell from both parties as you stayed still for a few seconds to get used to the burn from his fat cock stretching you. The hands on your waist squeeze tightly to help Kento ground himself from rutting up into you. Being enveloped with your warm cunt felt too good, especially when the gummy walls clamped around him, you were all he could think about.

Just from the position alone, the soft tissue of nerves which caused you to see stars were grazed upon, you couldn’t stop the moan escaping from your lips. “I could cum like this,” you relish in the feeling of the palms coaxing the movement of your hips and the mouth that latches onto your mound. A sharp nip against your peak leads to you arching into Kento's mouth, desperate for more of his touches. Despite spending the night before together, the pair of you couldn’t get enough of each other. Not when your tits would bounce as you raised your hips and begin a steady rhythm of grinding against Kento’s lap, each slam against his hips hitting a spot that causes your head to spin. The vision of you on top of him, riding his cock like your life depended on it, spurred the coil tightening in the pit of his stomach. The wetness that pooled between your thighs now began to drip down onto the pelvis of the man below you. A mixture of juices squelching and low moans sounded throughout the room. You had no time to feel embarrassed by the pornographic noises as you desperately chased your high.

“You’re making me feel so good angel,” a sense of pride blooms in Kento's chest as he feels you clenching around him from his praise. His hands stretched lower to graze his fingers over your ass, they latched onto you, his nails creating deep crevices in the area that would still be there in the morning.

You could no longer think straight, completely drunk off of Kento's cock, filling you up so well you wished he’d never leave. A numbness started to form in your thighs, creating a painful burn as you continued to move up and down, pushing through the pain and reaching for your high. From the hand gripping his hair and the way your walls were spasming, Kento knew you were so close to cumming, you just needed a little push. The brush of his thumb circling your clit leans you over the edge and causes your orgasm to hit you like a wave. Kento groaned loudly as you creamed his cock and gripped onto him like a vice. The man felt kind enough to let you catch your breath, he was still painfully hard and so close to his own high.

“As much as I’d like to be rewarded,” a cheeky smile spread through Kento’s lips, chocolate eyes sparkling at you with excitement. His playful and cheery expression leaves as quick as it comes, you almost whine in protest as he uses his strength to pull you off of his lap, and gently lays you down against the bed. The giddy look in Kento's eyes darkens to a lustful stare as your blown out eyes meet his. “Daddy wants to cum, so be a good girl and help daddy out.”

It hadn’t been longer than a few moments since your climax, you had barely calmed down. Without a second thought, Kento thrusts into your sopping entrance, your cum still coating his dick which makes it easier for him to slide back into your cavernous walls. A cry emmits from you due to the overstimulation. The feeling of being filled up again overtook the discomfort you experienced, it felt so good that you could cry from it, it was as if kento was made to fit inside your cunt so deliciously. The hands on your hips migrate to your thighs, pushing them up so that your knees are almost next to your head. Somehow, the angle of the position allows Kento to hit deeper into you.

“Fu- fuck,” your mind is lost for words as it completely blanks, no longer have the ability to form a coherent sentence.

A layer of sweat covers the blond’s body. The slapping sound returns as Kento's heavy balls hit against you with every rut. It was astonishing that the bed frame didn’t move with his frantic movements. Each thrust of his hips were more calculated than the next, earning a cry from you each time as his cockhead continuously came into contact with your g-spot. Kento knew he’d only be able to last through a few more thrusts. From the way your thighs quivered, your second orgasm was closer than he thought.

“Cum with me angel,” Kento's lips found yours in a haste of teeth clashing against each other, desperate to feel closer to you. As soon as the coaxing words fall on your ear, your walls clench around him as another climax ripples through you, this one hitting you much harder. The tension finally snapped, a growl ripped through his throat, no longer being able to hold back, as ropes of his cum shot inside your pussy, hips faltering slightly.

Your eyes flutter shut from exhaustion, trying your best to catch your breath and calm your erratic heart. Gentle hands help drop your legs so they could wrap around Kento’s waist instead of being folded in the air. Kento noticed the drowsy haze you were in. He took it upon himself to find a towel in the bathroom to clean up the mess between your thighs. Exerting his strength, the stoic man helps you to move into the sheets, the cold air no longer able to nip at your naked body.

“We need to buy plan b,” you shifted yourself close to Kento.

A kiss is pressed to the crown of your head. “We can worry about that in the morning.”

[hercleverboy]

the year of goodbyes

spencer reid x gn!reader

masterlist

summary ↠ over the course of a year, Spencer says goodbye to three people— and hello to one.

category ↠ angst/fluff

warnings/includes ↠ takes place in s11, talk of Alzheimer’s,  

word count ↠ 1.8k

massive shoutout to my beloved @ellesgreenaway for beta reading and encouraging me to finish this piece— india you are my actual saving grace

“If you’re brave enough to say goodbye, life will reward you with a new hello.” — Paulo Coelho

People leaving wasn’t exactly a new concept for Spencer.

He knew it all too well, the familiar look that was cast over peoples features, how their eyes got glassy and lips twitched as they prepared to tell him that they were yet another person who would leave him behind— like so many had before.

But their choice of words was always different. He noticed a sort of pattern, when it came to people walking out of his life. They tended to dance around the words, never exactly saying ‘I’m leaving you.’

First, it was his father. He’d watched him pack a suitcase full of things, spit angry words at his mother and then turn to him, his son— placing his hand on his shoulder, mumbling a few cowardly words and that was that. Spencer no longer had a father.

(‘I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to look after you anymore.’)

Second was Gideon, who never actually said goodbye in person (and Spencer couldn’t decide whether that was better or worse.) Instead, he left, wrote words down on a page and then addressed it to him.

(‘Spencer, I knew you would be the one to come down here.’)

And again, with Alex. Not a goodbye, not in the formal sense, but Spencer’s heart ached with how he knew what this was— he recognised the look on her face and knew that once again, he would lose someone he loved.

(‘You know, Ethan would’ve been a lot like you.’)

Everyone in Spencer’s life started to feel temporary. There one minute, gone the next. He wished that meant that he cared any less for them, or that it hurt any less when they left.

Of course, that was never the case.

His mother’s mental state had been deteriorating rapidly, and nothing— not anything that Spencer’s big genius brain could think of — was helping her.

When he visited her, he saw the vacant look in her eyes. He recognised the look of confusion on her face when he’d enter the room, ignoring how his heart squeezed painfully upon realising that his own mother no longer remembered him.

It would take her a few minutes, but eventually the confusion would disappear and she would give him a smile, greeting him with open arms and warm words.

It was a different kind of leaving, but she was leaving him all the same. She wasn’t physically going anywhere, but, mentally?

He saw how she was deteriorating, he argued with countless doctors and medical professionals, exhausting every book and resource he could find— just hoping he could come up with something.

But, no.

He found it a little ironic. He was the boy wonder, the resident genius of the Bureau’s elite behavioural analysis unit, a smartass who had endless amounts of knowledge.

He always had the answer, always had the solution.

Ironic— because the man who was supposed to know it all, had no clue how to protect his mother from a disease that would inevitably take her from him.

It wasn’t something he would ever come to terms with, it was never something he would accept. He knew how it was going to go, the doctors told him as much.

The day would come that he would walk into his mother’s room, and those vacant eyes would never gain clarification. Her confusion wouldn’t pass, and she would no longer recognise him.

Spencer dreaded that day.

He feared it, even. 

Because the day he lost his mother would be the day he lost himself. 

*

When Catherine Adams’ file came across Spencer’s desk, he thrusted all of his agony over his mother into the case. It was why he decided that he would be the one to take her down in the restaurant, why he insisted that she wouldn’t perceive him as a threat. 

Oddly enough, Spencer found himself intrigued by her. Perhaps, he simply enjoyed being intellectually challenged in such a way.  Or perhaps, somewhere deep down in the darkest parts of himself, he liked the attention, got off on being able to outsmart her. 

He was smug when he managed to trick her into getting into the back of the police van, under the guise that he’d found her father. (After all, she was ‘just another girl with daddy issues’.) 

It was only when Cat gave him a grin, one that contrasted with the tears that slipped down her cheeks, that Spencer felt uneasy. 

He crouched down in front of her, whispered a small, “Goodbye, Cat,” before getting up and leaving the van, feeling a weight on his chest that made it difficult for him to breathe. 

Again, it was a different type of goodbye. One he was of course relieved about, because with it brought the promised safety of Penelope, now that Cat was behind bars. Although, alongside the relief, there was a sour aftertaste. 

It was what led him to take a moment, sitting down on the swings in the park, hands trembling slightly as they grabbed the chains, swinging gently in a slow rhythm that he hoped would calm him down. 

The last words Cat had said to him played over and over in his head. 

“In twenty years, you won’t remember my name. But I’ll remember yours.” 

At first, Spencer assumed she was referring to how after a while, Cat would simply blend into the sea of seemingly never-ending unsubs who all tried, and failed, to outsmart the team.

It was only later that Spencer realised she was instead insinuating that he would succumb to the same disease as his mother— forgetting not only those that he loved, but the ones he hated too.

*

Spencer’s best friend was going to be a father. 

The team were gathered in the waiting room, eagerly awaiting news, when Morgan came out with a smile on his face. “It’s a boy!” 

Pure, unbridled joy burst throughout the room, with Spencer lurching forward to wrap his arms around him, laughing and giving his congratulations. He swallowed the lump that began to form in his throat and pushed away the thoughts that swirled around his mind. Deep down, he knew what would inevitably happen, but that moment wasn’t the right time to think about it. 

It was late in the evening when Derek Morgan stopped by Spencer’s desk. Before he even looked up from his paperwork, he knew where this conversation was going to go. When he did look up, it all but confirmed it— he saw the sad smile on Morgan’s lips, and watched how his eyes glossed over.

He said nothing though. Instead, he smiled and chuckled as Morgan gushed over his newborn son. His smile got even bigger when Morgan handed over the birth announcement— Hank Spencer Morgan.

Although he knew what was coming, he knew what decision Morgan was going to make, he expected nothing less from his best friend. A man who had grown immensely in the years he’d known him, going from a real ladies man to someone who would give up his job in order to be there for his family.

Morgan placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, a sigh leaving his lips. “Kid, listen. Here’s the thing..”

“I know.” Spencer whimpered quietly, smiling sadly. “It’s okay. I know. And I understand.”

He watched Derek Morgan walk away, sniffling as he willed the tears to keep at bay. He watched his best friend, his brother, walk away. And it hurt, God it hurt. But he was so proud of the man that Morgan had become that he pushed aside the hurt, reminding himself of what he knew to be true.

Everyone left eventually. 

Spencer feared that one day, he would look around and find that he was truly and utterly alone.

*

It was a normal Tuesday morning, and Spencer was making his way through the FBI Headquarters, up to the BAU floor. He stepped into the elevator, his coffee mug in one hand, and his other resting over his satchel. Just before the door closed, he heard someone call out. 

“Hold the doors!” 

Spencer reached a hand out, pushing the doors back open. 

You scuttled into the elevator, looking over to the male next to you with a smile. “Thank you for holding the doors. I’m already running a little late for my first day.” You explained, reaching to press the button for the fifth floor, watching as the elevator doors closed again. 

“The fifth floor? The Sex Crimes Unit?” Spencer asked curiously. 

You nodded. 

“It’s your first day?” 

“Yeah, I moved here for the job a couple of weeks back. It was an incredible opportunity, I couldn’t pass it up.” You expressed, and Spencer gave you a tight lipped smile in return. “I’m presuming you work here as well?” 

He nodded. “I’m in the Behavioural Analysis Unit, a floor up from you.” 

“Well, that’s good to hear. At least I have one friend in the building, if it turns out my new team hate me.” You joked, glad when Spencer let out a little laugh. 

“I’m sure that won’t be the case. You seem very likeable.” 

You grinned up at him. “Thank you.”

The elevator dinged, the doors opening. You looked over at your new friend, flashing him a nervous smile. “Well, wish me luck.”

“Good luck.” He smiled back, raising his hand in a small wave as you left the elevator. 

After a long day of paperwork (and thinking of the pretty person he’d met in the elevator), Spencer gathered together his things before getting into the elevator. It stopped on the floor below, and when the doors opened, he smiled at the sight of you. 

You looked up from where you’d been looking down at your phone, mirroring his grin. “Hey! It’s you.” 

“Yes—yes, It is, me.” Spencer replied, cringing awkwardly at his nonsensical response. 

You only laughed quietly at it, entering the elevator. 

“How was your first day?” He asked, only to be polite. 

You seemed surprised that he’d asked, but answered nonetheless. “It was good! Turns out my team don’t hate me. Or at least, I don’t think they do?” Your voice raised in question, making Spencer laugh a little. 

“See? What did I tell you?” He grinned, and you rolled your eyes playfully. 

You leaned over, nudging his shoulder with yours. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” 

“Spencer.” 

“It’s lovely to meet you, Spencer. For the second time today.” 

Spencer smiled shyly, hands delving into his pockets as the elevator dinged. The two of you stepped out, looking at one another with timid expressions. 

“My car, it’s that way.” You pointed to the other end of the car park. 

“I take the subway.” Spencer responded, wishing he could find a way to make you stay a little longer.

“Well, have a good evening, Spencer.” You beamed. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Yes!” He responded a little eagerly, sighing inwardly before clearing his throat. “I mean yeah, sure that- that’s cool.” 

You giggled quietly, waving goodbye before turning toward your car. 

Spencer blushed the whole way to the subway station, biting back the smile on his lips at the thought of you. 

People leaving wasn’t exactly a new concept for Spencer. 

But you? 

He had the feeling that you were going to be a very permanent part of his life, and he didn’t mind that in the slightest. 

*

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[peachsayshi]

Chapter 6 - Festival

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Teasing and a little bit of Fluff.

Summary: Your best friend Rina is curious about what's been keeping you so busy, and the two of you run into Gojo and his student at a food festival.

A/N: I have been working on my jjk fics but this chapter was a little bit difficult for me to write. A little bit of backstory and plot building here. Gojo and personal space? Non-existent. You can't tell me that the man wouldn't abuse his flirting rights.

- - - 

“Aren’t you a little warm in that top?”

Rina glanced at the high collared t-shirt you were wearing under your mini dress. The top covered the marks that Gojo left on your neck but the material was a little too thick for the summer heat. Thankfully, there was a breeze cooling you off otherwise you would be dripping with sweat.

“I’m fine,” you replied, directing your attention onto the vendors instead of your best friend’s narrowed eyes.

Rina asked you to come along to check out a food festival set up in the city. The entire district was lined with painted stalls which made for a picture perfect scene. The rich aroma of cooked food danced around you, enticing the bustling crowd that was growing in numbers. From golden battered fried takoyaki balls to mouthwatering barbecued yakitori, rainbow cotton candy that sent strings of sugar into the air and sweet kakigori to cleanse the palette…

Everything was making your stomach grumble.

“Oh, let’s get okonomiyaki!” Rina suggested.

After picking up your orders, you both sat at an empty table where you could enjoy your meal. You were ignoring the way Rina continued looking at you suspiciously, clearly not letting go of her obsession with the top you were wearing.

“Okay, that’s it. Let me see it.”

“See what?” you questioned, covering your mouth as you tried to chew on your food.

“The hickey you are hiding.”

You nearly choked as you swallowed but Rina didn’t flinch at your reaction. You patted your chest lightly, clearing your throat as you gathered your thoughts.

“I’m not hiding anything!” you replied defensively.

Rina rolled her eyes at you, “then at least tell me who the guy is…”

You waved your arm nonchalantly in her direction, desperately trying to avoid getting into a losing battle with your best friend. If there was one person in the world who didn’t need superhuman abilities to tell what you were thinking - it was Rina. She read you like an open book, making it near impossible for you to keep a secret from her. How you managed to go this long without her figuring out you were hooking up with Gojo was a miracle.

“I just want to know exactly what has been keeping you so busy recently,” she continued, “I’m having a hard time believing it’s work because you would be in a miserable mood if you were spending all your free time at the office.”

“ Or we can talk about how absolutely delicious this is...” you blurted, letting her words travel in your ear and out the other as you pointed at the meal in front of you.

Rina lifted her brow, shaking her head in disapproval. She calmly placed her chopsticks on her plate, leaning forward a little closer to you before hooking her finger in the collar of your shirt and tugging it down to check your neck.

“LIAR!”

You clasped your hand over the mark, your eyes widening as you prodded your best friend with your other finger.

“Oh, you are in trouble!” a sly smile spread across her pretty face, “when did you start dating again? I thought you swore off men after what happened with the fitness instructor..”

“Please don’t remind me of him…”

“Then who is this mystery man that you are hiding?”

You pressed your lips together, hesitant to reveal the truth about the deal you and Gojo had made. Yes, you were having fun together and none of it was supposed to be as serious as you were making it out in your head. In fact, Rina would probably applaud you for initiating this to begin with.

But…

Rina also liked to ask hard questions: why were you using him instead of confronting your heartbreak? Why were you chasing after something false instead of trying for real love again? Do you really want to risk ruining the friendship you both have?

Those were questions that you didn’t have the answers to.

“It’s...It’s some guy at work, you don’t know him…” you stated, finally settling on a good enough excuse to satisfy her curiosity

“How long have you been seeing him?”

“Just a few weeks…” you fibbed.

“Tell me what he’s like?”

“Uhh…he’s fun, I guess …handsome, kind of charming…but it’s only been a few dates, I still don’t really know him well yet.”

You swallowed hard, hating yourself for not having the courage to tell Rina the truth. Your best friend continued throwing questions at you while your brain spat out the answers before you could even think things through, your guilt twisting your insides with all the lies you were spewing.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner…”

Rina smiled, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I just want you to be happy. If you like this guy, you should give him a chance. Who knows, maybe this could turn into something serious…”

“I am not really looking for anything serious,” you admitted, allowing yourself to be vulnerable. “At least not right now…”

How could you want something serious after what happened?

You and your ex-boyfriend were together for five years. You met him when you were both at university and he swept you off your feet. His handsomeness showed through his kind personality and he always managed to make you smile. He was your first of many things, including this painful heartbreak.

You hated yourself for getting comfortable with him, for allowing your mind to plan a future that you both could share. You were disappointed that he made you fall in love with him but more so, that he abandoned you to piece together what was left.

You always felt like you never had your closure. When you asked him why he cheated, he never gave you a solid answer. He was ashamed for keeping his infidelity a secret for so long that his only response was a pathetic apology.

Who was this woman that he was willing to jeopardize your relationship for?

Why did he stop loving you?

You blamed yourself because you couldn’t understand.

One minute you were happy and the next you found yourself betrayed in the worst way possible.

You had enough respect for yourself to know that you couldn’t stay with a man who would treat you this way. When you broke up, you expected him to beg for your forgiveness. He was your prince charming, of course he would come crawling back.

You only knew that he had moved on with his lover when you caught the two of them at the supermarket together. They were buying peas, completely entranced with one another and the adoration that your former boyfriend used to look at you with was now passed on to the woman with golden hair.

He was your weakness and you…

You still loved him.  

Rina’s eyes shifted to the crowd, pausing when she recognised a face among the sea of strangers.

“Oh! Look who is over there!”

You glanced over your shoulder, following her line of sight until you saw your dirty little secret wave at you from a distance.

Gojo was eating ice cream, mindlessly swerving around the crowd and looking exceptionally fine in his summer fit. Adorned on the top of his head were cat ears, a little souvenir trinket that some of the vendors were selling at their stalls. His free arm was draped across a teen boy’s shoulder, whose unamused face indicated that he was not keen on being here.

“Rina-chan!” Gojo sang as he approached your table, “it’s nice to see you!”

“You too! How are things?”

“Great! Busy with the usual but today I decided to stop by with my student. This is Megumi…”

The boy awkwardly bowed to greet you and Rina.

“It’s nice to meet you both…”

Gojo’s shades slid down his nose slightly, and you caught a glimpse of those blue eyes. When he winked in your direction, you couldn’t help but blush.

“What are you two up to?” he casually asked.

“Well, I finally got Miss “Busy All The Time” to myself today and we just had some okonomiyaki, that guy over there is selling it…”

Gojo hummed and swirled his tongue around his vanilla ice cream before calmly replying, “I know, she’s been so preoccupied lately! Oi, when are we going to have our catch up session?”

Your face grew warmer, Gojo was good at keeping secrets and him playing off like he hasn’t been the one taking up all of your spare time only resulted in you staring at him with furrowed brows.

Thankfully, Megumi interrupted the conversation.

“I’m going to walk around for a bit,” he stated, turning his heel to walk away from your little group.

“I’ll meet up with you in a minute,” Gojo replied with a nod.

“I’m also going to use this opportunity to find the restroom. Gojo can keep you company until I get back,” Rina added, as she stood up from her seat.

Gojo gave her a thumbs up, “happily!”

The sorcerer took Rina’s place, sitting down across from you while his long legs bumped into yours as he adjusted his position. He paused for a moment, watching your friend and his student disperse into the crowd before finally returning his attention back to you.

“Nice outfit by the way but a little warm for today’s weather in my opinion.”

“I wonder whose fault that is…” you mused, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from smiling at his teasing comment, “I bet you think you’re so cute assuming you’re completely innocent in all this.”

Gojo smiled, “Actually, I know I’m cute.”

You couldn’t deny it, even right now as you watched him with those ridiculous cat ears that pulled back his white locks. He definitely was catching the eye of every girl and guy who passed by.

You flicked one of the black ears on his head,  “this is a new look for you…”

“I bought it for Megumi but he wasn’t too pleased wearing it around, kept saying that I was embarrassing him...” Gojo explained with a frown.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on your thighs and bringing the ice cream in his hand to your face.

“Want a taste?” he asked innocently.

Your heart skipped a beat, unaware that Gojo would get this close to you in public. He knew that you hadn't told anybody about what you both have been doing and you wondered if he was deliberately trying to put you in an awkward position. You subconsciously scanned the crowd to see if Rina or Megumi were around.

You tilted your head back slightly before asking, “do you understand the concept of personal space?”

“Relax,” Gojo said in a low voice, “no one is paying attention to us.”

“What if they come back…”

“I’ll see them before they see us,” he replied with confidence, grazing his free hand over your thigh. “Besides, you look like you could use something to cool you off…”

You arched your brow, deciding to give in and play this little flirtation game. You bit your bottom lip, gently wrapping your hand around his slender fingers and slowly leaning forward to lick the ice cream off his cone. You kept your gaze on Gojo, focusing on the devilish smirk that spread across his lips as he watched with approval.

“Mmm, that is good…” you moaned, before looking at him with glittering eyes, “wait, I didn’t get any ice cream on my face, did I?”

Gojo chuckled under his breath, “you’ve got a little something right here…”

His hand moved up to your face, his fingers holding your chin as he brought your lips to his. You inhaled, holding your breath as you were caught off guard by him stealing a kiss. The moment was fleeting and before you knew it, he parted his lips from yours but trailed his hand down your neck to take a peek at the hickey he left on your skin.

“I usually don’t care about where I mark you but if it’s a big concern I’ll make sure to do it in places where only I can see…”

Even though he spoke in a low whisper, you felt like it was loud enough for the whole crowd to hear how flustered you just got by his words.

You cleared your throat, turning your face away from him to regain your composure. “Behave, Satoru…”

“Mmm,” he hummed, “I could keep going but Rina will be back in any minute…”

You sensed a hint of annoyance in his voice when he said that.

The sorcerer leaned back, inviting the space that separated you both as he ate his ice cream with indifference. Sometimes you wish you could flip the switch as easily as he did but you found it impossible.

Rina arrived before you could even respond to his statement.

“What did I miss?” she asked, patting Gojo lightly on the shoulder to request returning to her seat.

“Nothing special,” Gojo answered with a shrug as he stood up , “I think I’m going to head back and find this kid before he leaves without me knowing.”

“Enjoy the rest of your evening! Also, you should stop by the candy shop sometime. I’ve been working on some new treats I think you might like…”

“I will,” he promised, stretching the lying game even further. He proceeded to remove the headband he was wearing, his white hair flopping over his shades as he handed you the cat ears. “Hold on to these for me won’t you…”

You took it, puzzled by the sudden gesture.

“What for?”

“Just an excuse to pick it up from you later,” he remarked innocently, “otherwise I’ll never see you!”

Rina laughed, clearly not catching on to his hidden invitation. Gojo waved goodbye and walked away, leaving you both to return to your date.

For a moment you thought your lie was about to catch up to you but realised that it was easy keeping this secret because nobody would expect you to hook up with Gojo.

You guys have been playing this song and dance for a while, saving your flirtatious banter and curiosities for when you two were alone together. Maybe you’ll come clean eventually, but for now you wanted to enjoy the bubble you were in.

You played with the cat ears in your hand, completely unaware that you were smiling to yourself.

- CHAPTER 7: GAMES - 

[lovelylogans]

and into the nightfall, my love (i keep your heart next to mine)

warnings: lucid dreaming/sharing dreams with other people, mention of night terrors and intrusive thoughts, please let me know if i’ve missed anything!

pairing: virgil/logan

word count: 1,278

notes: this is for day 3 of @analogicalweek! the prompt of the day is “nightmares/dreams” and i have decided to write about dreams! title is from “the disease” by angels & airwaves off their album “the dream walker.” please enjoy!

⁂

Logan has earned a reputation with his fellow astronomy camp counselors as one early to sleep, late to rise, and with naps snatched in between.

The only person who can compete with him is Remy, which barely counts, as he is very open about his narcolepsy disorder. He jokes about it frequently.

Astronomy camp is slated to have campers with all kinds of sleeping habits. It's a major aspect of the territory—due to the nature of what they all study, even the campers most inclined to be early birds take on some form of nocturnality.

Fortunately for Logan, that's not much of an adjustment. He was already a year deep into his masters degree, and besides that, he had found himself adjusting to get used to Virgil's seemingly random hours of rest for a year and a half before that. Therefore, people could poke fun at him all they liked—it’s not like they really knew what Logan got up to when he seemed to be snoozing in his bunk. 

It has become much easier to pinpoint precisely when he falls asleep since he has become boyfriends with Virgil. Today, as soon as he falls asleep after a long night of teaching teenagers about supernovae, he finds himself in a field.

It’s a familiar field. The grass is much softer than grass in the waking world, with no chance of causing an allergic reaction; there is no need for a picnic blanket or towel, here. 

He knows that if he turns his head and looks toward the horizon, the sky would be streaked with purple and navy in a way that is vaguely reminiscent of a sunset, but it’s against a night sky in a configuration that could not possibly happen in the real world. 

He knows if he turns his head to examine the sky, the stars will be far brighter and far more visible than they were on an average night; it’s as if the stars have been pulled closer to earth, just for them.

He knows if he turns his head, he will see a conglomeration of flowers gleaming like tiny stars fallen to the earth, and fireflies much brighter than could be natural bobbing about, bumping into the glow-in-the-dark bumblebees that are feeding lazily from the star-flowers.

He has no desire to turn his head, though, because Virgil looks away from what looks like a book, except Logan knows that it isn’t, because sleeping brains cannot interpret letters in the same way that waking brains can. Virgil’s seemingly startled by the sudden appearance of Logan lying down with his head in his lap. 

“Hey there, honey.” He cards his fingers through Logan’s hair in greeting, smiling down at him.

“Hello,” Logan says, pleased. “Have you been asleep for long?”

Virgil hums vaguely, in the way he usually does whenever his sleeping schedule does not quite stack up to Logan’s expectations for a healthy sleep schedule.

He supposes that it would be a bit difficult to ask his magical boyfriend whose domain hovers in the land of unconsciousness to maintain a sleeping schedule suited for a perfectly normal person, though.

This field is one of Virgil’s most common locales.  He has others—a house with a bizarre conglomeration of styles in separated into innumerable rooms, a library with shelves arching dizzyingly upward with no end in sight, a lakeside picnic that seems to be on Venus, a restaurant that can serve any food you imagine with various dishes on tables that spiral out, the center of a hedge maze that is home to various living statues—but Logan likes the field. He finds it quite restful.

“How was camp today?” Virgil asks instead, scratching his fingernails through Logan’s scalp, making Logan shiver, and he closes his eyes.

“Good,” he sighs. “I talked about supernovae today.”

“Oh, cool, did you incite an existential panic talking about the death of the universe?”

“No,” Logan denies immediately. Then he thinks about it. He opens his eyes, and admits, “Well, two of them looked somewhat stressed exiting the lecture, so maybe.”

Virgil snorts, setting aside the book—it is a book cover, Logan can tell, but if one looked at where pages would normally be, it is filled with a swirling purple-and-black light that makes him headachey and see double if he looks at it too long. He turns his eyes away. These books somehow imbibe magical beings with knowledge, though Logan isn’t quite sure how. He is not magical, and as such he can’t behold these study materials without effect the way Virgil can. He is only a little bitter about it.

“Ack, sorry,” Virgil says, noticing Logan’s discomfort, and tosses the book into the air. It arcs upwards, and vanishes at the zenith of the throw—no book to come crashing back to earth. He resumes scratching at Logan’s scalp.

“How was your day?” Logan asks, looking up at the sky. The constellations are much more accurate than they were when Logan first entered Virgil’s domain when they started dating—he is always at least a little touched, seeing evidence of the influence he has on Virgil’s life.

Granted, the stars are much larger and brighter to be truly accurate, but. This is a domain where fireflies and bumblebees get along and stars are captured in flowers. Logic and accuracy don’t apply here.

“Eh, fine,” Virgil says. “Someone mixed up me and Roman’s services again.”

It is an understandable mix-up, if an annoying one. Virgil’s domain is in dreams, whereas Roman’s is in daydreams. A minute difference but a very important one—it boils down to Virgil being more powerful at night, and Roman more powerful in the day. Also, due to this dichotomy, their powers are entirely disparate.

“But I got to help them anyway,” he continues. “They’re dealing with night terrors and intrusive thoughts, poor thing.”

“Which tincture did you give them?” He asks, interested.

“If they follow my directions right and actually drank it?” Virgil says. “They should be dreaming about a nice night on the beach. Eating s’mores next to a bonfire, ocean in the background, their friends.”

Logan hums softly. “That does sound nice.”

Virgil shrugs, but he looks quietly pleased with himself. Helping people with night terrors is one of his favorite aspects of his work; Logan knows that the creation of so many domains was a struggle, for him, as Virgil had to wrestle with his own night terrors in order to gain better control.

“Would you like to visit somewhere like that?” Virgil asks.

Logan smiles, reaching up to cup Virgil’s cheek. “You can take me anywhere you like, as long as I’m with you.”

Virgil leans down, pressing his lips to Logan’s, and as Logan closes his eyes, he feels the sensation of Virgil changing their sensations—it’s a bit like being surrounded by rapidly heating, melting ice cream.

There’s the sound of the ocean in the background, and sand that is smooth and will never get entrenched in uncomfortable places, and the warmth and sound of a crackling fire, but Logan does not open his eyes.

Intellectually, he is aware that his body is in its bunk at camp. He knows that he is not actually on a magical beach. But the warmth of Virgil’s hand, the wetness of Virgil’s lips, it all feels so real.

He is kissing his boyfriend, and he and his beloved will never have true cause to miss each other, because so long as he and Virgil are asleep at the same time, they won’t be parted, even if Logan travels halfway across the world. 

A magical beach could not compare to having Virgil. It could not even come close.

[fanfickittycat]

Pay Attention to Me

TITLE: Pay Attention to Me

CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: One Shot

AUTHOR: fanfickittycat

FANDOM: Haikyuu!!

CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Suna Rintaro x Reader

GENRE: Smut 

FIC SUMMARY: After seeking advice from everyone about what to do when your boyfriend Suna won’t pay attention to you, you decide to take matters into your own hands

RATING: M

AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: Unedited because that’s sexy right? Atsumu being a huge himbo. Read it on AO3 here 

“Rin?” No response. You knew it was useless, but you couldn’t help but try to get your boyfriend’s attention. He was right next to you and he still wouldn’t respond, despite the way you’d call his name in the sweetest voice you could muster. You sighed, turning back to your maths homework that Suna had abandoned twenty minutes ago with no progress beyond the first set of sums. He always suggested study dates, but really it was just the chance to be near you without interacting.

“Talking isn’t necessarily communicating” he said once “I just like to be near you.”

At the time, it had made your heart melt that he was so satisfied and comfortable with just your presence, but lately it felt like a slap of indifference across your face. It was almost as if he thought of you as a pet, or a casual acquaintance instead of as his girlfriend. You looked at him, regarding his green eyes that looked at his phone with more interest than they looked at you. His thumb lazily scrolled down the screen as the clock ticked behind him. You could leave and he probably wouldn’t notice, but you were too shy, too nervous to make such a bold move. You finished up your homework glumly instead, packing away your things when it started to get dark.

“Done already?” Suna asked, speaking for the first time in two hours. You felt your heart sink into your stomach.

“Yeah” you looked away and nodded, pretending to be distracted by the inside of your school bag. It offered no comfort.

“Time flies” he hummed, stretching his arms up as though he had done anything more than be on Twitter. You swallowed thickly and stood up, feeling awkward when he didn’t follow suit.

“Well, I’ll get going then” you said. It prompted him to stand, which was encouraging, and he pressed a quick kiss onto your cheek before bidding you goodbye, but it didn’t calm the anxiety churning in your stomach. You were thankful you lived close by, only a couple of streets away at most, but it would have been nice if he had walked you. A cool spring breeze made a flurry of petals swirl around your ankles, and you breathed out shakily. Strings of gut-wrenching questions began to spin like threads in your mind. Was this it? Was this what you had to look forward to? Silence and your words hanging in the air, ignored? A lame kiss on the cheek as your only crumb of attention?

You contemplated your relationship when lying in bed that night. Suna had caught your eye, as he had many girls’. Tall, lean, athletic; his fox eyes had been subject to many a giggly conversation in the girls’ bathroom. You had thought him attractive, but what really captured your heart was how deceptively smart he was. You could see how intelligent he was. When he was picked on by the teacher in class, he always managed to have the answer, even though his tone was bored, and he didn’t look at all like he was paying attention. In the few volleyball games, you had attended with your friends, you observed how he calculated his chances with keen interest. He was more times than not on his phone, but you had seen him reading classic, dog eared paperbacks too as he waited for the twins to come out of class. It was how you had met.

“Vonnegut?” he noted, making you jump. You looked up to see him standing in front of you, hands in his pockets casually as he regarded you.

“Yeah” you cleared your throat, feeling your cheeks flush at the unexpected attention “I read Slaughterhouse Five last week and I liked it so…” You trailed off, feeling self-conscious. You had never spoken to him and vice versa. In fact, you were surprised that he even acknowledged you, even though it was a little pathetic to admit.

He nodded “I noticed.”

“You… noticed?” you frowned as you considered his words “do you make a habit of watching girls read?”

His lip quirked upwards “no. Only you.”

The chaotic sound of Miya Atsumu interrupted anything more being said, and you both looked towards the school as Atsumu held up a paper with a 32 written on it in red and circled. The blonde boy started raving to Suna, even at a distance, about how he had to do a make-up test and how badly he needed his help.

“God, he’s so loud” Suna mused, turning to walk away from you and towards his friend. You opened your mouth to say something but snapped it shut instead, not wanting to ruin whatever just happened.

“Tell me what you think when you finish” he said over his shoulder at you, nodding to the copy of Breakfast of Champions “I think you’ll like it.”

That had been it. From then on, you’d speak more and more to each other, straying off the topic of literature soon after. Then, when asked to pick partners for a history project, your friends had stared at you in open mouth shock when he walked across the class to claim you as his. His confession to you had only been a natural progression and you’d been together ever since.

So, what had changed? You knew that Nationals were coming up and he had been training more and more in preparation, but he had always carved out time for you, even in the summer when he’d go away to training camps. Was he tired of you? Bored even? You had to admit, that when gossip began to flutter around school about the two of you dating, you were really the one who was most surprised by the news. You were by no definition, popular, instead keeping a small group of friends and interacting with others easily with little to no friction. When you had asked Suna about it, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, he had laughed.

“You think nobody sees you, but I do” he said, leaning his chin on his hand “the way you told the substitute teacher last month that you enjoyed her lecture, or the books you read in the courtyard, or the confident way you talk in class. I see it. I like it. I like you.” He said it like it was the simplest, easiest thing in the world. Now however it felt complicated. You didn’t feel seen or even liked anymore.

You groaned and turned over to bury your face in your pillow. A soft thud prompted you to reach over the side of your bed and retrieve the fox plushie that Suna had won for you at the summer festival last year. He had looked so beautiful in the light of the lanterns, and happy to consume all the misshapen onigiri that Osamu couldn’t sell that night. Atsumu had practically inhaled the meat buns, and it rendered him full and groaning on the ground. The memories filled your mind, calming your racing heart. It had cemented itself as your favourite memory. Aran physically stopping the twins from arguing who could catch the most goldfish; Kita coming in a navy yukata with his grandmother; Suna kissing you when the fireworks filled the sky. The images played themselves in your mind like a slideshow, lulling you to sleep.

The next morning followed without major incident. You woke up earlier than usual to see Suna had sent you at least eight different TikToks. Something that he did often. You had texted him to say you were going to school early, not that you expected a response. You ended up forgetting your headphones and it rendered your walk to school monotonous.

“Good morning” you turned to see Kita and Aran smile gently at you. You had never interacted much with the two third years, but they were always kind to you, whether it be thanking you for coming to their games or reassuring you that they’d take care of Suna during training camps.

“You’re up early” Aran noted “did Suna keep you up? He keeps sending TikToks in the volleyball group chat at like, three am.”

“He’ll need to stop that soon. He needs all the rest he can get before Nationals.” Kita added. You smiled at their concern, but it faltered as you thought about the wall between you and your boyfriend.

“Is… Is he okay?” You asked, “he seems distracted these days.”

“He seems normal to me” Aran said, shrugging. Kita took time to consider his answer, but he didn’t have anything to add, which only made you sigh.

“Never mind” you said hurriedly, shaking your head “I’m sure he’s just occupied with Nationals.”  It seemed stupid suddenly, but your heart still ached at the lack of an answer.

“Suna is talented” Kita said after a pause “and when he applies himself, he shines but he’s also lazy. He lacks the discipline to keep himself motivated when things become too comfortable.”

“What should I do?” You asked, cringing at the way desperation snuck itself into your tone.

“Tell him how you feel” Aran said, “he’s sure to listen.”

You shook your head “that’s the problem. He’s not listening.”

Aran scoffed “I can talk to him if you like. He’ll listen to me.”

“No” you sighed “it’s my problem, I should deal with it.”

“Be direct with him” Kita said, “confront him with his behaviour.” You thanked them for their help, leaving them to go sit in the courtyard. Your book was open, but you weren’t reading it. You mulled over the advice you were given instead. Of course, it would be best to just say it plainly, but the thought made you recoil. You were never one for confrontation. You didn’t have Kita’s ability to be cold and logical; nor Aran’s willingness to start difficult conversations. You tried to picture yourself challenging Suna but whenever you looked up at him, you’d register his height and his pretty eyes, and your brain would glitch for a full two seconds. How he still managed to have that effect on you was nothing short of witchcraft.

You ended up closing your book and abandoning the chance to read and instead wander aimlessly through campus. It was a stupid way to kill time, but you couldn’t sit still anymore. The sound of sneakers scuffling distracted you, leading you to the gym where the basketball team were practising.

“Those sneaky bastards” you heard, prompting you to look to your right where an angry Atsumu stood with his hands on his hips.

“They know Thursday is our day.”

“Atsumu” his brother said in between bites of onigiri “today is Friday.”

“Oh.” Atsumu raked a hand through his blonde hair, hiding his obvious embarrassed flush “don’t say anythin’ ‘Samu, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Eh? I’m jus’ tryin’ to eat” Osamu mumbled, mouth full of rice. He noticed you looking at him and raised a hand in greeting.

“Is Suna ‘ere too?” Osamu asked, making Atsumu look away from the basketball team and at you instead.

You shook your head “no, I got here early. Um…” You hesitated, unsure whether or not you should ask “about Rintaro… How do I...” you struggled to describe the situation “how do I get him to pay attention to me?”

“Aren’t you his girl?” Atsumu asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Idiot. She means he’s bein’ negligent.”

“Don’t call me an idiot, yer the one who forgot to buy milk yesterday!”

“You forgot too!” “Quiet dumbass, we’re s’pposed to be helpin” Osamu snapped, looking back at you.

“Oh yea” Atsumu laughed, the fight already forgotten in his mind “hmmm… Suna likes lace.” You blinked at him and Osamu smacked the back of his head.

“Ignore him. Bake him somethin’. Or go out an’ eat. Or-“

“Not everyone thinks with their stomachs” Atsumu retaliated, smacking his brother on the back of the head too. They started to squabble again, and you watched, wondering whether you should walk away or film them.

“This has to be a new record” you felt yourself flinch at the sound of Suna’s voice “it’s not even nine.”

“Rin“ you murmured his name as his lips ghosted your temple, you felt the words in your throat but before you could even form the letters on your lips, he had whipped out his phone to film the twins. They were on the floor at this point, and you sighed, watching your boyfriend kneel down to get a better shot. You turn to go to class, in dismay about what to do.

You had to push yourself to focus on class that day, conscious of the fact that Suna was sitting at the opposite side of the classroom, towards the back, making it too hard to turn and look at him subtly. You were driving yourself crazy thinking about it. When it came to your turn to read aloud in class, you were uncharacteristically shaky and even the teacher seemed concerned. She asked you quietly before lunch if you were feeling okay, and you flushed and quickly reassured her that you were fine.

Your friends however were not so easily duped. You sat on the roof of the school with them, dodging questions and shrugging when they asked.

“Is it Suna?” Misa asked, frowning “is he treating you right?”

“He’s not treating me wrong” you mumbled, stirring your chopsticks into the cold udon.

“I knew it. I’m going to beat him up after class” Misa said, aggressively stabbing her omelette, making Ami pinch the skin between her eyebrows.

“I don’t think you need to go that far” Ami said, turning to you “you know you can tell us anything.”

Your heart warmed “Rintaro is just… I feel like I’m boring him.”

Misa made a sound of disagreement “his personality is being hot and sending memes. You’re way better.” It was funny to hear her speak like that considering how much fangirling she did when you two started dating.

“He’s always been withdrawn” Ami said, “even in elementary school and middle school he was disinterested.” Ami had been surprised when you and Suna became an item; she had known him since first grade and always knew him to be reserved.

You sighed, closing your eyes to concentrate on the slight breeze and the warmth of the sunlight. No one seemed to be offering the same opinions except that Suna was just like that, and you should’ve known better. It made you upset that everyone thought so little of him.

“He’s a good boyfriend” you insisted lamely “he’s thoughtful and considerate and I like him a lot.”

“He doesn’t sound like it” Misa scoffed, earning a sharp nudge from Ami.

“Well, he is” you snapped, immediately feeling guilty “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be like that.” To your surprise Misa laughed.

“Maybe you ought to be more like that” she said, eating another bite thoughtfully “you’re never aggressive or argumentative. Maybe you should raise some hell.”

“Yeah, that sounds mature” Ami said, pushing up her glasses “but maybe being a little more assertive would be beneficial.”

The mix of opinions and advice stayed with you that afternoon. Perhaps you should insist more. You knew Suna had practise that afternoon, and though you’d usually insist on waiting for him, you decided to leave instead and figure out what you needed to do. Tomorrow, he had promised that you two could hang out. It would probably just be watching a movie in his room, or at the very most, going out for pizza. Your fist clenched. You knew what you had to do.

As you predicted, Suna asked you over to watch a really bad movie he had found online that promised bad CGI aliens and not a trace of coherent storytelling. You entered his room, taking care to keep your composure as he accepted the Tupperware box of cookies you baked for the occasion.

“Chocolate chip” he hummed “don’t tell Kita that I’m indulging like this.”

“I’m not making any promises” you said, earning a raised eyebrow from him in response but he said nothing. You bit the inside of your cheek, hesitating before shrugging off your jacket and sitting next to him on his bed. He played the movie on his laptop, putting one arm around you casually.

“You feel stiff” he commented, and you relaxed your muscles, telling yourself to calm down.

“I’m just really tense about these aliens” you said, nodding at the screen where a squadron of lanky green creatures discussed their plan to blow up the Earth. Out the corner of your eye you saw him smile and held your breath when he pressed his cheek against the top of your head. Already your resolve was melting. Maybe you had been exaggerating his lack of attention? Maybe he had snapped out of it? You snuggled into his chest, feeling happier already.

Then he reached for his phone.

You snuck a glance up at him, wanting to gauge how distracted he was. His face was impassive as his thumb scrolled down his twitter feed. He stopped to read something before continuing.

“Rin” you said softly. He did nothing. “Rintaro.” Nothing again. You nudged your foot down onto the spacebar of his laptop to pause the film. He didn’t notice. You bit your lip. It was now or never.

“Suna Rintaro” you said in a clipped tone, swinging your leg over so you were straddling him. He dropped his phone and it bounced off the bed and onto the floor.

“What… What are you doing?” You grasped his chin, bringing it up so that he had no choice but to look at you.

“Pay attention to me” you said with a frown “you’re always on your phone when we’re together and you act like I’m not even here.” You felt yourself swallow nervously and your face flush with heat, but you pushed yourself to keep it up.

“Am I boring you?”

He blinked at you “no.”

Unsatisfied you clicked your tongue “do you still like me?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you look at me instead? Or respond when I call you? It’s not nice of you.” He opened his mouth and then closed it again, considering his words.

“I’m sorry, angel” he said, using the pet name that he only brought out on rare occasions “I didn’t mean to ignore you. You’re right it wasn’t fair of me. Can you forgive me?” You could feel your heart hammer in your chest as he glanced up at you, loosening your grip on his chin with his hand and then pressing a kiss to it. His expression was so tender; something you’d seldom see unless you were in the midst of passion.

You pressed your lips together for a moment and said “no.”

“No?” He repeated, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“No” you said firmer, fisting the material of his t-shirt. Your knuckles brushed against the milky white of his skin.

“Your actions have consequences, Rintaro” you said, “I will not be ignored.”

“Oh?” he murmured, his hands lingered on the backs of your thighs and inched their way up your skirt.

“R-Rin” you struggled to maintain your demeanour “I’m serious.”

“I know but you’re so cute when you’re serious” he cooed, squeezing your flesh and smiling when you bit your lip “hmm these feel different.” He let go of your ass and brought his hands around to the front of your skirt, lifting it and whistling at your new purchase.

“They’re a new set” you mumbled.

“Pretty” his eyes darkened as he took in the vision of you in black lace “is this why Atsumu was talking about lace?”

You spluttered “w-what? How do you know about that?” He shrugged playfully, letting your skirt fall back down in exchange for undoing the buttons of your blouse.

“Everyone knows Atsumu can’t keep a secret” he hummed in pleasure at the sight of the matching bra “all this for me?”

“I have to get your attention somehow” you muttered, looking away from him.

“Angel” he called “I am sorry about that. Let me make it up to you.” He leaned forward to press a kiss onto your sternum. He continued to pepper your heated skin with kisses to get you to look at him again.

You sighed “you’re hard to be mad at.”

He smiled triumphantly “does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“No.”

“You’re a tough cookie” he said, “I guess I’ll have to try harder.” One arm curled around your waist, pushing you closer to him so he was able to capture your lips. He smiled when he elicited a soft gasp from you as his free hand gripped your thigh. He kneaded the flesh, making you tremble in anticipation as his lips continued to kiss your own. He hissed when you bit down on his bottom lip, making you feel bolder. You kissed down the column of his neck, pulling his shirt and prompting him to take it off. Before the shirt could hit the ground you latched your mouth onto his shoulder, biting down onto his skin and making him curse under his breath. You pulled away to lick the tender skin, leaning back to survey your work.

“You are being punished for your crimes” you said, “bad Rintaro.” You crawled off him, shutting his laptop gently and placing it on the ground. You expected him to wait; after all, your streak of confidence had rendered him speechless. You forgot however, that just as he was on the court, he adapted easily to new situations. He grabbed you from behind, making you squeak in surprise at how swift he was. His arms were wrapped tightly around you, preventing you from moving despite your struggles. His chin rested on your shoulder and you could hear his breath on the shell of your ear.

“Just when I think I have you all figured out, you throw something like that on me.” He licked a stripe up the pillar of your neck, chuckling when you shuddered in pleasure. To be honest, even you were surprised by his actions. Usually sex was a soft experience, with him being gentle and slow as he coaxed orgasms out of you. This time he was rougher; no longer wanting to be lazy and indulgent.

“Rin” you whined when he began kissing the spot near the base of your neck that he knew made you weak “you’re meant to be facing punishment for your behaviour.”

“Aw, am I still not forgiven yet?” he nuzzled into your neck “hmmm I suppose I deserve it. How could I neglect my angel like that?” He loosened his grip on you, letting you wiggle out of his grasp. You turned, feeling a heady mixture of intoxicated by his presence and nervous as you tried to anticipate what to do next. A certain idea had been playing on your mind for a while, but you lacked the conviction to undertake it. You pressed your lips against him hard instead, wanting to build up a little more courage. He was more than happy to accommodate, kissing you back with equal vigour.

“Fuck” he mumbled under his breath when you kissed his jaw, allowing your hand to traverse down to the planes of his stomach. You stroked his skin softly, enjoying the soft trail of hair that led you down to the waistband of his sweats. His breath hitched, and you felt empowered by your ability to make his brain glitch. You leaned back, biting your lip as you palmed the outline of his dick. His eyes fluttered shut, and he began breathing harder when you shed the layers of fabric and touched him. You stroked up and down his shaft a few times, wetting your lips as you watched him groan softly. You swallowed your nerves and leaned your head down to kitten lick the head of his dick.

“Is this okay?” you gazed up at him through your lashes as you continued to lavish your tongue over his flesh. This was a first for you.

“Y-you. Uh, yes but you don’t ha- fuck” he struggled to say anything coherent when you took him in your mouth. His hand petted your hair at first, encouraging you to continue, and you experimentally took more of him into your mouth. The sensation was foreign, and you felt your throat protest against the invasion.

“Don’t push yourself, angel” Rin panted, and you pulled back a bit, using your hand to help where your mouth struggled to reach. You tussled at first to find a comfortable rhythm, but Suna’s soft, sinful sounds pushed you to try. You let him poke into the flesh of the inside of your cheek, trying to find what would feel best for him.

“Good girl” he mumbled, holding your hair like a makeshift ponytail. The words immediately made a rush of heated lust swell inside of you, increasing your speed. Suna’s words began to sound less intelligible as you continued, and you were surprised that his thighs were beginning to quake. You pulled away, watching him whine from the loss of your warm, wet mouth. It ached a little, you realised, touching your jaw lightly.

“You’re such a fuckin tease” Rin huffed, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his pouty face.

“You brought this on yourself” you said, sticking out your tongue “but I think you’ve learnt your lesson now.”

“Finally,” he groaned, pushing you down so your back was flat against the mattress. He positioned himself so he was pressing against you “now let me pay some attention to you.”

[nepenthendline]

Trust - Tsukishima

wow is this actually part 2 of what I started like two months ago? mental

this is what was going to be the reality series but honestly, we all know thats gonna take ages for me to actually find motivation to do so im just doing them as and when I feel like it lol

Summary: Your relationship with Tsukishima isn’t going as strongly as you wanted, but Tsukishima is struggling to trust that you won’t hurt him (angst but it doesn’t end badly, 2.7k)

Tsukishima had been part of your life for the last two years, you both now being in your third year of high school. You had been in the same class every year, and little interactions such as brushing past each other to get to your desk, and asking him for a pen every now and then, turned into a budding friendship that left you both feeling safe and settled. You’d become close friends with Yamaguchi who was also in your class, so spending more time with Tsukishima was unavoidable. You were thankful for it though; both of you were.

Tsukishima was difficult; you either loved him or hated him, and unfortunately most of those who loved him were girls who thought he was hot and had never actually spoken to him, but his cool persona alluded them. Even you at first found his personality a little too prickly, not knowing how to deal with his teasing or aloofness, but slowly and subtly, you began to see these little parts of him that drew you closer. 

Like the evenings where the three of you would hang out and his walls seemed to fall a little to the point where you’d see him smile and let out little giggled that he hid behind his hand, the time when you went to a museum together for a school project and watched as he beelined for his favourite exhibitions and spent hours reading every single informative poster, or how he would present you with small encouragements whenever you were getting overwhelmed. He was more than his teasing, his remarks and the detached role he played. There was a warmth to him that sparked at times; this particular quality that surfaced whenever you needed someone to talk to or take time away with.

He hated that you had become such a big part of his life, but he didn’t want it to end. You were so different from him, yet so similar. There was a brightness to you that he could never emulate, but you understood him. You never got pissed off with his, sometimes rotten, personality; you listened to him and you never once pushed him further than he was comfortable with. He appreciated it, but he had no idea what to do with that. Slowly, he noticed how his heart would race slightly whenever he was around you, how his palms got a little sweaty and the way you plagued his thoughts way into the night. 

Late into your second year, you confessed your feelings to Tsukishima, someone accidentally as you had been ranting to him about your thoughts recently one evening. Shockingly to you, he accepted your confession. Even more shockingly was that he didn’t tease you at all for your feelings towards him, but instead offered you a nod, and a ‘me too’. 

You were nervous, but excited at how your relationship could progress and deepen with him. There was a sense of pride in you about how this distant boy had chosen you, that maybe there was someone good enough for him and that would be you out of all the others. And that you would get the be the only one that heard about his secrets, his deep thoughts, his happy moments where he couldn’t help but smile, and darker ones. That you would be the one who could warm his heard and show him a life of light. 

It was never like that. After 6 months together, it was as if nothing had changed between the two of you. Sure, you hung out together away from Yamaguchi at times, and you still talked to him when you needed to offload at points, but it was like you were just friends. The relationship wasn’t bad by any means; he was never nasty to you and he showed you nothing but respect. It was as if his walls were being rebuilt, one brick at a time. 

He rarely told you how he was feelings or his thoughts, he never showed any sign of vulnerability to you, but he also rarely showed love. You didn’t want to get ahead of yourself, after all you hadn’t been together for that long, but it felt like any previous feeling he had for you had disappeared. But maybe not? There were nights were you’d be talking, sitting on his bed together, and his hand would brush over to yours, lightly trailing over your skin as his eyes focused on you. He seemed so settled with you, so calm, and he would talk to you, tell you things about his past and his struggled. But then the next day he would keep his distance, barely laying his eyes on your or sharing his mind. You’d walk into class and he’d simply place his headphones on, turning his head away from you. 

His mind was tormented, and you knew that. He had told you on a couple nights about the haunted thoughts that spiralled in his brain often, of the anxieties that built up in him that he wasn’t worthy, that there was no point trying because it was already decided for him to fail. Even if he didn’t tell you, it wasn’t so hard to figure out when you actually paid attention to him. Often at school or around his club members, he’d mention how he could never compare to anyone else and that he was merely an inferior being. 

And so he pushed. He pushed people away with his quick quips and his disinterest in anything or anyone. His brother, his team and even you. He removed any chance of himself getting hurt, or rejected, or used. He wasn’t going to make a fool of himself and put his heart into things that were only going to hurt him in the end. If it wasn’t for the way his heart twisted in pain at the idea of leaving you, he would have never let you into his life. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, but he knew how things were going to play out, so he did the next best thing and pulled himself away from you. Every day, he tried to drown out the thought of you in his mind, the idea that, possibly (almost definitely), he wanted to be your everything. Because if you hurt him, he would have nothing left. It would simply prove every worry, every excruciating thought he bottled up for the past many years. 

You two were sitting in his room, somewhat late into the evening, with him laying on his back on his bed with his headphones on, reading a magazine, and you sitting sideways on the bed too with your back resting against the wall. You were reading a book before, but your attention on that bad been long gone, and now deeply set on your thoughts. You looked over to Tsukishima, you boyfriend, although you’d never have guessed if it wasn’t for that fact that you were the one that asked him out. 

His expression looked so gentle though, something you didn’t see too often expect the odd times where you’d catch him looking at you. His honey eyes moved side to side as he flicked through the magazine, and his fingers often drummed against the pages in what you assumed was the beat of his music. You really couldn’t blame half the girls in your class that gushed over how attractive he was.

“What?” His voice suddenly jolted you out of your stare. You quickly looked away with your cheeks burning a little. 

“Uh-nothing,” you stuttered in a low tone, picking up your book again and doing your best to just look like you were reading.

“You were going to burn a hole in my skull if you had stared any longer,” he teased, raising his brow. 

“Sorry,” your voice was quiet, weak, as you barely acknowledged what he said. You were too focused on this wandering worries that swirled around inside. You felt him shuffle beside you, putting down the magazine and lifting the headphones off. He sat up, pulling his legs to his chest and wrapping his arms loosely around them. 

“What is it?” The frown on his face and the way he searched yours was mismatched to the annoyance in how voice, but you were used to it. Honestly, if you said nothing, or didn’t speak, he wouldn’t make you go on and you knew that, you could easily make it out to be nothing. He knew you were lying when you did this, but he wasn’t going to make you talk, and he didn’t want to seem like he cared too much to get it out of you. 

“Kei, what do you think about us? About me?” You asked hesitantly, turning to look at him. You couldn’t back away anymore. 

“Huh? What do you mean?” His eyes widen a little, and he sat up a little stiffer than before. 

“Do you have feelings for me, or not?” As much as you wanted to tiptoe around this, Tsukishima was the master of getting out of difficult conversations and bluntness was exactly what he needed. 

He turned his head away from you, looking at the floor beside his bed and took a deep breath.

“I’m with you, aren’t I?” 

“That doesn’t answer my question. Do you have feelings for me, or not?” You repeated. He turned back to look at you, his eyes small as he squinted at you from behind his frames. 

“Yes, I do,” he replied, letting out a sigh. Hearing that should have made you felt comforted, loved even, but it set fire to this anger in you.

“You don’t act like it,” his brow raised at you, as if edging you to continue, “we’ve been together for 6 months and what? I probably speak to you less than I did before we were dating, and you don’t seem to care at all.” You let out a heavy breath, looking away from him and staring at his wall. “I’m used to you being distant, but I thought things might change when we agreed to this. I feel like you’re just pushing me away. If you don’t feel anything for me when why lead me on instead of break up with me?” You spoke with a little more hostility than you intended, but you’d been overthinking this for a while now, and it felt good to say aloud. 

“I said I do have feelings for you, so can’t we just leave it at that?” He stood up, walking over to his desk and leaning over it, one arm holding himself up and the other picking up his water bottle. 

“Then why don’t you show me that? Why don’t we talk more than we do? Why don’t you hold my hand or hug me, or even kiss me? Why do you barely even acknowledge my existence when I’m around?” Your voice grew as you spoke, flooding the room. The room was plummeted into an awkward silence after you spoke; Tsukishima said nothing, and stood over his desk. All you could hear with the thump of your heart and your breathing. 

“What do you expect me to do?” He spoke, a bitterness in his voice. Your sight became blurry with tears that threatened to fall, what you expected of him? As if this some transaction that the two of you were involved in?

“I don’t expect anything from you, but if you do have feelings for me then surely you’d want to show me that? And let me show you too?” You lifted up from the bed, quickly coming to his side, “we could be so good together if you let us.” Your lip quivered; thoughts filling your head that maybe this was it, this would be the end of you together if Tsukishima decided he didn’t want this anymore or that he never did. Standing beside him, you saw his close his eyes, his head falling down towards the ground. 

“We could be. And then what if we aren’t?” You barely heard him as his muttered, laced with a poison you’ve never experienced before.

“Huh?”

“What if you decide you don’t want this and then leave? What if we both put all our heart into this, and it goes to shit? What’s the point?” He turned to you, his eyes wide and flaring. 

“W-well we can work things out. It’s not going to be perfect but we can deal with issues when they come up.” He pushed up from the desk, standing inches above, looking down towards you. His eyes glowed in the dark of his room, but it wasn’t a bright one, more like the light of a raging, agonised flame. 

“And what if you decide I’m not enough?” The silence returned as you stared at him, your jaw slack and left speechless. You saw him swallow hard as his throat wobbled, but he remained stiff in his spot. “The more I love you, the more it’s going to hurt when you leave.” 

Confused, your brows knotted together and your head titled as you looked at him. “Leave? I’m not going to leave you.” The corners of his lips curled upwards into a sickening grin as he let out a dark, sarcastic chuckle.

“Of course not.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you said, firmly, your hands tightening into fists as you watched him. “Look, I can’t promise you that everything’s going to be perfect between us because it probably won’t be, or that we’ll be together forever because neither of us know that, but I can promise you that I’m not going to intentionally hurt you, and that I will do anything I can to make us work. But I need you to trust me.” 

His head turned to the side, looking away from you as his fingers fiddled together. You moved forward, slowly brushing your fingers against his, then taking his hand when he didn’t flinch away. “I know it’s going to take a while, I understand. I came into this knowing that, but if you want this too then I need you to try.” You lifted a hand and gently placed it on his warm cheek. You felt him ease ever so slightly into your touch, and you guided his face to look towards you. “Yeah, it’s going to hurt if this doesn’t work, but it could be so amazing, and we won’t know that until we try,” your voice cracked, and you bit your lip to hold back your tears. 

His eyes were glassy, empty-looking as he stared back. You both stood still, quiet for a few moments. You were just wishing he would say something, do something. You didn’t expect him to start gushing his love to you, but just something that would show you he wanted this, and that you could both move on together. You searched his face but it was as if he wasn’t even there, simply an empty shell of a body that had already been devoured by the demons in him. A single tear rolled down your cheek and you let your hand fall from his face. 

Just as you were about to take a step away, he pulled you into his arms, trapping you close to his pounding chest. One arms wrapped around your waist and the other holding your head close, shaking a little. You let out a gasp, but relaxed into him, hugging him back. 

After a few moments, you let yourself nuzzle into his chest, tightening your grip around him for the first time. It felt so comfortable, so natural being in his hold. 

“Please, just let me in,” you croaked, tears staining his shirt. His fingers tangled themselves into your hair, the other hand digging into the skin on your hips as he rested his head on yours. “If you think you could, let yourself love me, please.”

He nodded, tilting his head down to place a kiss on your head, leaving his lips to rest there as he shut he eyes, breathing in your scent. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be enough for you, but I’m too selfish to let you go.”

[joontella]

achromatic.

Yandere!Kim Namjoon x Female Reader

Word Count: 11.1k

Genre(s):  Angst, Slight Fluff, (HORRIBLY WRITTEN) Smut

Trigger Warning(s): Mentions of religion or lack thereof, blood, murder, idk how the human body works, (unknown) consumption of blood, manipulation, stalking, male masturbation (again, horribly written), Namjoon is an asshole, and musical terms because i play music rip, minor character death, slight gore. it gets really shitty towards the end. i’m sorry

Merry Merry! It’s Peppermint! Your gift is finally here, @exhausted-joy​! I’m sorry for the wait. I had to make sure that it was perfect. This is my first time doing this, and I really wanted to give it my all. Please forgive me, and thank you for putting up with my antics in the server. I hope you enjoy it!

I also want to thank Saniya (@smeraldos-blog), Mari (@joheun-saram), Hannah (@spicykoreantatertots), Ley (@pars-ley​), Avery (@ksmuttherapy​), and everyone else who tolerated and/or helped me out! I love you all and thank you so much for the help and support! I’m so happy to have met you all!

ach·ro·mat·ic /akrəˈmadik/

adjective

without color.

“Damn. There goes my chance of starting my winter break with a passing grade.” One woman groaned.

“What the hell are you talking about? You have a solid ‘C’! I’m literally failing everything!” Her friend responded, as her arms waved in a cartoonish rendition of exasperation. “And whose fault is that?” “Not mine! This semester was nothing but a months-long depressive episode. How could I focus with everything that’s going on?”

He so desperately wishes that they would shut up, or at the very least, take their obnoxiously loud conversation elsewhere. Namjoon twirled the ink pen in his hand with a practiced precision only years of being hunched over paperwork could provide. However, those were nothing but pipe dreams as the two students turned their attention over to him. “There’s Kim Namjoon! He’s had the top spot for years now, way before he was enrolled here.” One began babbling quite loudly whilst pointing to the man in question. “I bet he came out of the womb with high marks. I heard that he scored in the 99th percentile for his newborn screening tests.” The other swooned in response to her own musings.

Obviously, these two were much more idiotic than he had originally thought. It didn’t take an expert to read his body language: the way that he twirled his pen faster, as if that could speed up the agonizing conversation he was being forced to bear witness to; the way his jaw clenched so tightly that it could easily break a metal wire; and the position his shoulders held, resembling an animal coiling in preparation to strike or flee. He pleaded to gods he didn’t even believe in for the duo to be quickly eradicated with a swift strike of lightning. According to the calculations he made swiftly in his head, the chances of something like that happening were infinitesimally small. How unfortunate.

Deciding that the best course of action to take would be to leave the two neanderthals to their devices, Namjoon did just that. He quickly snapped his book shut with one hand and a loud, meaningful clap as the pages suddenly collided with each other. If that didn’t make the nuisances jump in surprise, his words would.

“Although I’m a source of inspiration and wonder to many, it’s degrading to hear someone so openly refer to me in a way that one would to an exotic zoo animal,” He began. Namjoon’s tone was cool and even, carrying an air of regality all the while retaining a bitter edge of contempt and disdain for both the conversation and the mere existence of the two original party members. 

Finally, the two felt the brunt of the consequences their crimes on Namjoon’s ears had to offer. They both visibly wilted, reminding the tall man of his mother’s daisies being roasted and withering under the dry summer heat. Normally, this would have been more than enough to diffuse the situation and lift him of his auditory burden. However, his heart ached for more. His brain so desperately yearned for more stimulation and a rush of dopamine.

He decided to twist the knife, so to speak.

“Also, you too could rise to the top.” Namjoon said as he began to turn away.

Out of his peripheral vision, he could see the two wilted flowers gain new life and their faces brighten with newfound hope. The loudest of the two even had the audacity to whimper a pathetically optimistic, “Really?”

Twist. Twist. Twist!

“Of course~.” Namjoon purred, deciding to turn to face his victims’ satisfying demise. His heart threatened to beat in double time in anticipation.

Although their anxiously awaiting smiles made his stomach turn, he couldn’t deny the mirth swirling alongside the disgust in his belly.

“First off, instead of blaming your inadequacies solely on the tumultuous events of this year, take responsibility for your shortcomings. Only children avoid blaming themselves.”

He could hear the glass shattering as their faces fell in a tandem that most would find heartbreaking. He found it utterly amusing. Now, he would take his leave. After receiving the reaction he desired and more, Namjoon wanted nothing more than to leave the duo to stew in their humiliation. Yet, one last thing lingered. He had yet to land the finishing blow that would ensure that he wouldn’t be bothered by these two pieces of scum ever again.

Twist. Twist! TWIST!

“Before I forget, avoid talking so loudly. As you may or may not have noticed, I was trying to study. You know, one of the things that facilitates good grades? I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but your incessant bantering made it increasingly difficult to do so. Might I suggest that you follow my example and do the same? Maybe then, one day, you could take my place at the top.”

Namjoon wasn’t even facing them anymore. His back was to the two women, further solidifying his dismissal of them. With a simple and curt wave of his hand, he simply uttered,

“Ladies.”

And he was on his way.

“Exam results will be posted this afternoon. I trust that you all scored high enough marks to keep our university in high regard.” Your professor droned from the front of the lecture hall. “I know that many of you despise the fact that a standardized test is still administered in college, but so far, it is the only way to ensure that Mugunghwa National Academy is churning out bright students worthy enough to contribute to society!”

The students in question couldn’t care less about their scores or the school’s prestige. All they were worried about was getting the hell out of there after two hours of examination and stifling silence. They all stood from their seats and slung their bags across their bodies. A disgruntled murmur rang throughout. Quite frankly, you were no different.

As you hugged your notebook close to your body, your professor stopped you as you reached the lecture hall door.

“Ah, Miss (L/N). A word, please.”

Surprised, you let out a soft, “Sure.” and walked over to the podium where your professor started to neatly stack and organize his papers.

“As you know, Miss (L/N), you are one of the two best students we’ve had at this academy recently.”

You shifted your weight awkwardly at the sudden praise. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you began to speak. “I mean, I guess? I wouldn’t go that far, but I suppose that records and the numbers do suggest that I’m performing quite well.” Your professor scowled at your response. You were a bright young woman. You deserved to flaunt it and soak up the praise every once in a while, right? He folded his arms and sighed deeply causing your brain to go into overdrive on how you could rectify the situation. “While pride does come short of a fall, you should learn to take compliments when they’re given, (Y/N). I promise you that you won’t become an egomaniac anytime soon as a result.” He said gently, causing your nerves to subside. Right. Maybe you should just accept compliments. A little self esteem boost never hurt anybody, right? “Thank you, professor, but may I ask why you’re telling me this?” You asked, trying to move the conversation along as politely as you could. You had an hour before you were due to go to the college’s radio station and prepare for this evening’s broadcast. Hopefully, your professor would get to the point so you could quickly grab a bite to eat before you started airing.

“Oh yes, of course! I’m sorry! I said all this to tell you that I have your exam results already. Seeing as how you are the brightest in your class, you finished early, giving me enough time to grade yours while your peers were working. I think that you’ll find the results to your liking, Miss (L/N).” He grinned, handing you a white manila envelope with the school’s insignia printed on the front.

You quirked a brow and opened it. You were then greeted by the name of the school, its motto, and yet another print of the school emblem on the header. Your (E/C) eyes scanned the page until you found what you were looking for:

𝑴𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂 𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝑨𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎 

𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: (𝑳/𝑵), (𝒀/𝑵) 

𝑴𝒂𝒋𝒐𝒓: 𝑱𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒎 

𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎: 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 21 

𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆: 98/100 

𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒌:

1 𝒐𝒇 300

You stood there, dumbfounded. The paper you once held gingerly and timidly was wrinkling and threatening to tear under your now iron grip. You were now number one. Somehow, some way, you managed to best Kim Namjoon. Mugunghwa’s already carefully balanced and fragile ecosystem was crumbling around you. What have you done?

“I take it that you’re in shock. I’ll leave you alone to celebrate.” Your professor said smoothly as he slung his coat over his shoulder. “Congratulations, (Y/N). Please enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Uh huh… Will do…” You uttered dumbly.

Mugunghwa National Academy ran on strict rules, but most of them were unspoken. For the sake of your sanity and that of the rest of the student body (and let’s face it, staff, too), you intended to follow those sacred and silent rules to the letter.

Rule Number One: Don’t look in the janitor’s closet near the athletics facilities. You may not come out the same way as you came in.

Rule Number Two: If the cafeteria serves meatloaf, avoid it at all costs. Only eat it if you want to get sick and purposely miss class.

Rule Number Three: Kim Namjoon is the best at everything. He is to be number one until Hell freezes over.

Rule Number Four: In order to keep peace and balance between the nations, (Y/N) (L/N) must always come in second. This is the natural order of things.

You were content with being in second place. To be frank, you preferred to leave the pomp and circumstance of being the top dog to Namjoon. He was more equipped to bear the burden, after all. Besides, it wasn’t like your future career was depending on you being the best. You could skate by with a silver medal and leave Namjoon with the gold. You preferred the look of silver, anyway.

Now look at what you've done. There’s no doubt that the records have been updated by now. Your professor did grade yours early, and it’s reasonable to assume that Namjoon’s was as well. You’d inadvertently torn a hole in the gossamer fabric that was Mugunghwa National Academy. With one exam, you signed the collective death certificate of every other person besides Kim Namjoon himself. 

May God have mercy on your wretched soul.

“Young Master, your father would like to have a word with you in his study.” The head butler of the Kim mansion stated simply.

For the second time that day, Namjoon clenched his jaw tightly. He shrugged off his coat and handed it to the older gentleman who was automatically waiting at his side to collect the article of clothing. He hadn’t even gotten through the door and already his father wanted to speak with him. This didn’t bode well.

“Seokjin, did he mention why he’d want to see me?” Namjoon asked dryly. Seokjin simply shook his head and hung his coat on the nearby rack. 

“He only mentioned that it was urgent, so I suggest that it would be in your best interest to make it there expeditiously.”

This certainly did not bode well. Kim Joonho was a man of few words. Most would say that he’s the very definition of “actions speak louder than words”. Whenever the CEO of Kim Industries did something, people watched in equal parts starstruck awe and fear. However, when the CEO of Kim Industries deemed something important enough to speak on, there was no choice in the matter. You either listened intently or you perished in more ways than one. This was no different for Joonho’s family. In fact, he was worse to them. Working under the guise of caring for his family, Joonho was more stoic to his wife and children.

Regardless of his debatably righteous intentions, it sent the Kim family into delicately managed dysfunction. Simply put, Kim Joonho never spoke to Namjoon out of wishing to connect with his son on a more personal level. Namjoon was the next heir to Kim Industries. Being his son was an unfortunate side effect.

“Sir, I know that I did implore you to hurry, but-”

“What?” Namjoon growled. His nerves were shot to shit today. Anything that impeded his meeting with his father and his goal to quickly get it over with was met with hostility.

Seeming to understand this, Seokjin cleared his throat and motioned a gloved hand towards the mansion’s threshold.

“You know better than to walk in the house with your shoes still on,” The Kim butler began smoothly as he made his way over to Namjoon to collect his shoes. “I do understand that you are upset, but you shouldn’t let your emotions cloud your judgement so drastically that you forget such basic cultural conventions.”

Namjoon sighed sharply and bit back a retort that was bubbling in his throat. Arguing with Seokjin was pointless. As per usual, he was correct. Engaging in such petty conflicts would only worsen things.

“Right. I suppose I was quite hasty. Thank you.” Namjoon sighed whilst peeling off his shoes.

“I do believe that an apology is in order, Young Master.”

Namjoon was already halfway across the foyer, about to ascend the grand staircase leading to the upper floors when Seokjin’s cheeky remark reached his ears. He felt his blood begin to simmer in his veins and his muscles stiffen.

“The fact that I haven’t fired you by now and ruined any chances of you gaining any further employment should be enough of an apology. You’re treading on thin ice, Seokjin. Remember your place in this world.”

With that, he continued his journey to the final boss room within the Kim family mansion: his father’s study. The last he heard of Seokjin was a sly chuckle and the clicking of his polished leather shoes against the floor. Staff were not guests. Therefore, they were not allowed the privilege of removing their shoes. They were expendable. They needn’t get too comfortable.

Despite how much he detested it, Namjoon couldn’t deny that cold chill of anxiety that frosted his entire body. His father never wanted to talk to him. Ever. He could count on his hands the times that Joonho requested his presence. He could count on only one hand how many times Joonho requested his presence to celebrate his son’s successes. Their relationship was solely professional. There was no love to be found, no matter how hard you read between the lines. Even in as high of a position as Namjoon is in, he is still subservient to his father.

That’s the natural order of things.

“Come in, Namjoon.” Joonho’s voice rang from behind the large mahogany doors.

Almost cartoonishly, the hinges squeaked like Namjoon was uncovering the entrance to a haunted crypt. Namjoon decided long ago that was an eerily apt way of describing his father’s study.

Naturally, Namjoon obeyed his father and entered the room. Dead center, there sat Kim Joonho on his throne. Sitting with perfect posture behind the large oak desk, Joonho stared his son down with cold eyes filled with disdain. How Namjoon desperately wished he could gouge them out with his father’s prized letter opener.

“Don’t waste my time. Have a seat. I don’t have all day.” Joonho snapped.

“Of course. How are you today, father?”

The CEO’s eyes narrowed at his son’s inquiry. “Spare me the niceties, boy. Sit down. We have business to discuss.”

Before Namjoon could interject, Joonho was already reaching into a drawer and produced a white manila envelope. Upon closer inspection, one could see Mugunghwa National Academy’s insignia emblazoned on the front. Once Namjoon was properly seated, he reached out and grabbed the parcel.

“May I ask what this is?” “You may not. You have eyes, boy. Read it for yourself.”

The frigid chill of anxiety was soon being replaced with the molten heat of fury. Some tiny part of Namjoon’s mind was concerned that he would develop a fever at the sudden and constant shifts in his body temperature. That wouldn’t do. He couldn’t afford for his health to decline. That would be another thing for his father to berate him for.

“Of course. My apologies, father.” Namjoon whispered as he undid the envelope’s fastening. Once he did so, he pulled the paper out with an air of nonchalance. Surely, it must have been another letter from the school to congratulate him on some academic achievement he didn’t even realize existed. However, in his eyes and in the eyes of his father, it was the exact opposite.

 𝑴𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂 𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝑨𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎 

 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: 𝑲𝒊𝒎, 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏 

 𝑴𝒂𝒋𝒐𝒓: 𝑩𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 

𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓(𝒔): 𝑩𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚, 𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 

 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎: 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 21 

 𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆: 96/100 

 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒌: 2 𝒐𝒇 300

For the first time in a long time, Kim Namjoon’s world fell apart before his very eyes. Suddenly the sturdy and imposing columns holding up the large study appeared to crumble around him. The fire that crackled in the fireplace was reduced to nothing but pathetic cinders. He felt the ground split beneath his feet and his father… His father grew to a monstrous size in comparison to his surroundings, suddenly hunched over his son in preparation to strike.

“This must be some mistake! The results must have gotten mixed up! I-”

“Enough!” Joonho boomed. He swiftly slammed his hand down on his desk, successfully frightening his son into silence. “Only children avoid blaming themselves. I thought I taught you to accept responsibility! How dare you blame your inadequacies on the people who made them apparent?!”

Namjoon clenched his fists tightly in his lap and pushed down the urge to go through on his original plan of plucking his father’s eyeballs out.

“Can’t you see? Whoever graded my exam was clearly incompetent. If they had a brain stem, they would know that I am only capable of producing top-class work! Just like you should not be blamed for one measly employee’s mistake, I should not be blamed for the mistake of someone beneath me!” Namjoon exclaimed. Once he finished his spiel, he found himself standing up, but he didn’t remember willing his muscles to do so.

“This entire conversation is pointless. It’s inefficient at best and mind-numbing at its worst! For someone who values time and money more than his own family, I find it quite curious that you’re willing to waste both so frivolously.”

Now, it was Joonho’s turn to clench his jaw and his fists. Despite the utter disdain he felt for the situation, the patriarch had to admit the merit in his son’s retort. His pride would never let him express the sliver of admiration that stirred within him at Namjoon’s courageous display.

Nobody dared talk back to Kim Joonho. That was the natural order of things.

“Regardless of who’s truly at fault, find this (Y/N) (L/N). She usurped your throne, Namjoon. She deserves to be punished for her transgression.”

“Of course. She’s public enemy number one, but she won’t be number one ever again.”

With that, the young master of the Kim household turned his back on the old master and shut the door to the crypt behind him.

“Aaaaaand now, we’re back after our break!” Your co-host chirped from beside you.

The red on-air sign glowed warmly overhead, creating a sense of coziness and heat in the otherwise cold station. You wrapped your cardigan closer around you before adjusting your mic.

“And we’re about to go into our winter break soon. How fitting!” You posited, trying to match your co-host’s energy.

“That’s right! Mugunghwa exams are finally over, and the scores and ranks have already been updated for some! Care to talk about that, (Y/N)?” Taehyung, your co-host, wiggled his sharp eyebrows in his quest to prod for information.

Normally, his rectangular grin and bright eyes would warm your heart. Today, however, you wanted to punch that devilish smirk right off of him. You should have known that Tae would have suddenly caught wind of your latest academic achievement. He’s the university’s most involved (read: nosiest) student. 

“Not really… But you won’t shut up until I do, so…” You sighed as you spun around in your swivel chair. Once you stopped your cycle, you scooted closer to the microphone and cleared your throat. “I got a 98 on the exam. My professor stopped me after class and told me the news.”

Not that anyone but you and the sound director, Yoongi, would see it, but Taehyung’s impish smile turned into a disappointed pout. “Ah, listen to our (Y/N). Always dodging the important questions. Such a tease!”

You shoved him gently and laughed at his comment before shaking your head. “This guy… To everyone who dreams of dating him, work with him first. You’ll see how much of a horrible person he is.”

“Yah! That’s slander! Aren’t journalists supposed to avoid that?”

“I’ll kick your ass.” You licked your lips and began to answer the original question in further detail. “Yeah, so… Anyway, I got a 98 and I guess that warranted me becoming number one…?”

Both Taehyung and Yoongi’s faces dropped. From his booth, you could see Yoongi grimace and in your peripheral, you saw Tae stiffen.

“Up next is Still With You by our resident golden boy Jeon Jungkook. We’ll be back soon. Stay tuned.” 

Suddenly, the on-air sign was turned off. The song began to play and Taehyung immediately gripped your shoulders.

“You what?!” Taehyung nearly screeched. “(Y/N), do you have any idea what this means?!” “That I took Kim Namjoon’s place and sent the fragile society of Mugunghwa into ruin? Yeah, I do.” Tae blinked for a moment. “No… Although, that does make sense. That seems way more important than what I was gonna say. Huh.”

You were actually going to punch the shit out of him. “Dude, what?”

“Listen, this is your chance! You can finally get recognized as the top-tier person that you are! As long as you were under Kim’s big, goofy shadow, you were going to be pushed aside! Now you can show everyone here how cool you are!”

You felt your throat tighten. That all-too-familiar sensation of a goose egg being lodged in your esophagus rose. You were going to cry. How you desperately wished that you could view the world like Taehyung did. How you longed to see the silver lining of every situation just like he did. All you saw was destruction and despair. All you felt was guilt for damning the entire student body to some cruel fate that only Kim Namjoon could dish out.

“Tae, I love you, but you don’t fucking get it! I’m screwed! We’re all screwed! I broke two of the sacred rules of this school! Kim Namjoon must always be first! I must always be second! I just sentenced everyone to death!”

Taehyung raised a brow, as if what you were saying were the incoherent ramblings of a mad woman. “You describe my cousin like he’s some heinous demon.” Even the usually passive Yoongi had to straighten his spine and widen his eyes at this revelation.

“He’s your cousin?!”

Tae leaned back in his seat with yet another smirk. This time, you couldn’t put a finger on the emotion this specific lift of his lips held. “Isn’t the resemblance obvious? The Kim line has some strong genes. It’s been that way since the Joseon era, I’ve been told.”

Ignoring the historical implications for why such strong genes would still be present thousands of years later (assuming that Taehyung was actually serious), you hurried the conversation along. Jungkook’s silky voice had faded away a while ago, leaving the two of you with little to no time left before it was time to open the floor to callers. This was your last chance to get some useful information about Namjoon before you were dragged into what you knew was going to be a relentless storm of phone calls and incredulous screeches at the news.

Like you had said before, you’d damned everyone. Who wouldn’t want to yell at the person that had the audacity to send an entire population into ruin?

“Get to the point, Taehyung. You’re telling me that you’re related to Satan himself? And I’ve been your co-host for how long?!” You near screeched.

Tae’s ambiguous smirk was now replaced with a blank expression. “I didn’t think it mattered, (Y/N). Why does it even matter now? If there’s a bigger issue here, I think you’re dodging it.”

You froze. He was right. For as long as you knew him, Taehyung had this uncanny ability to pick people apart and leave them vulnerable in an instant. This was especially effective on you, you’ve come to realize. The funny thing was that you hadn’t realized that you were employing tactics to postpone the inevitable inundation of accusatory and furious phone calls being thrown your way. Deep down, you always hated confrontation. Until Taehyung uttered those words, you hadn’t realized how deep that hatred and aversion was ingrained.

“Damn. You’re...good… I guess I am avoiding things. Let’s just get this over with. If we hold it off any longer, things will get worse.” You muttered as you looked towards Yoongi’s booth, motioning for him to put you both back on air.

Taehyung placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and flashed his signature boxy smile. “You don’t even know what they’re going to say. Who knows? News of your latest accomplishment may have brought the (Y/N) (L/N) Official Fanclub out of hiding. I bet that there are going to be several callers professing their undying love for you!”

“Their what now?” You asked dumbly.

Taehyung placed a hand on his heart and slipped into a persona reminiscent of the male protagonist of one the many romance dramas that were plastered on television nowadays. His deep voice rumbled the soundproof padding on the walls and wrapped you in its velvety embrace.

“(Y/N), I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. I’ve struggled with these emotions for so long, but news of your success has given me the courage to confess them. I can’t quite make heads or tails of them, but I want to explore them all with you…” Not that anyone but you and Yoongi could see the exchange, but Taehyung gently cupped your chin with his large hand and looked longingly into your eyes. “That is, if you’d let me.”

Silence. Then raucous laughter from you and Taehyung. (Yoongi was visibly cringing in his booth.) You expected nothing less from the theater major, but you couldn’t help the delicate fluttering that began in your stomach. Was this the fabled Taehyung Effect at work? The two of you turned to your microphones and opened the floor to callers, as per usual for this segment of your show. What was highly unusual, however, was the heartfelt “confession” that was unwittingly broadcasted to everyone tuned in. Unbeknownst to everyone, the red on-air sign shone above your heads, serving as a beacon or perhaps an unfortunately ignored warning. A warning that your lighthearted joke wasn’t going to be a joke to some.

A warning that the harbinger of doom himself was listening in… A warning that he had now collected leverage over his new enemy… A warning that he was going to destroy you, even if he had to use his own relative to do it. He would surely add this to his rapidly growing arsenal of schemes.

The next day, the very air at Mugunghwa was different. Somehow, despite being the enigmatic second-place student, everyone instinctively knew to distance themselves from you. Biologically speaking, humans were still animals, despite the staunch separation that was created over time. There was still a basal instinct to survive. In this case, that instinct screamed, “Get away from the brainlet that dared to tip the scales and anger Kim Namjoon.” You didn’t blame anyone for their decision. You couldn’t. You’d be the world’s biggest hypocrite if you did, and you didn’t want “hypocrite” to be engraved on your tombstone next to “cold-blooded killer”.

Everywhere you walked, people watched you intently with eyes filled with either fear, confusion, or disgust. You could hear thinly-veiled whispers as you passed your fellow students. 

“There she is.”

“She’s surprisingly pretty. I expected some ugly broad to be under Namjoon’s shadow.”

Ah, yes. You had forgotten your previously fairly secretive life before the shoe dropped. You were content with living under the radar. After all, it kept the vicious rumors of the poor girl who by hook or crook got her way into an elite university on a full-ride scholarship at bay. As long as you held the number two spot, nobody cared about you. News of your arrival and subsequent theories surrounding it were just a fad that most people shortly moved on from. The drastic and sudden change from peaceful irrelevance to hostile notoriety made you nauseous.

The cold air nipped at your flesh while you made your way to the library. Fresh snow made its satisfying crunching sound as you sped towards your destination. Wait. Sped? Only when you looked down at your feet did you realize that your steps were quicker than usual. Needless to say, you were confused at this revelation. Were things really this bad? Why was your body subconsciously hurrying you along when no danger was immediately present? Then, it hit you: If the Kim Taehyung Effect caused your insides to flutter and your heart melt with glee, the Kim Namjoon Effect caused everyone to cower and hide in pure horror. Maybe it ran in the family. After all, the two were related. How that crucial detail managed to slip past you was beyond human understanding.

Soon enough, you made your way into the campus library. Warmth enveloped you and thawed your chilled skin with each step into the large building. The tall bookshelves that towered over you and the other patrons made you feel safe. The walls of knowledge served as barriers from the predatory glares that were shot your way anywhere else. Here, while not entirely forbidden, hushed insults and remarks were more so. The library was your sanctuary when the dormitories weren’t, and with all the girls and even your RA avoiding you like the plague, it was safe to say that your dorm wasn’t very inviting right now.

Whatever it took, you needed to get your mind off of the Namjoon business. Sitting down in the warm silence served to do just that. You absentmindedly wandered through the various sections of the building. The nutty scent of someone’s morning brew filled your nostrils on your journey, easily putting you at ease in an instant. The rhythmic click-clack of someone's fingers against a computer keyboard kept your body grounded to the Earth. It served as a nice tether and protection from your thoughts that threatened to whisk you away into the stratosphere with every step you took.

Your feet took you past the reference section, the nonfiction section, and even the genealogy section before making its final stop at the fiction section. When you first started college, you found it odd that a library carried such books, but you soon came to realize that an escape into another world was appreciated by everyone. A love for fiction did not have an age limit.

You found yourself engrossed in a high fantasy novel by one Bang Sihyuk. (A very talented author, you decided. You made a note to look into some of his other works when you weren’t staring death in the face.) The sweet sound of yet another page turning and revealing more of the lore slowed your racing heart. The subtle smell of ink and glue softened your muscles, willing them to relax into the plush chair. The floor lamp next to you glowed softly and turned the usually stark clash of pitch black lettering against white pages into a mellow brown against cream parchment.

Even if you knew you had to face the wolves outside your sanctuary eventually, you still savored the solace you had in that moment. What you never considered was that those halcyon days were going to soon fall into utter ruin and despair with a singular human-shaped silhouette.

Everywhere Namjoon went, eyes followed. The air around him crackled with apprehension, but he couldn’t care less if he tried. This was natural. The pitiful prey animals around scrambled away for dear life, functioning solely on the fleeting notion that sticking around would spell their demise. Most of the people here were college students beginning their prime. They couldn’t afford to wither away… Not yet, at least… And certainly not here.

Stifled gasps laced with fear and admiration threatened to strangle the poor Kim heir. How he so desperately wished that they would all shut up! The constant buzzing murmur felt like mosquitoes tiptoeing across his skin during the hot and balmy summer months. It was highly annoying, to say the least.

His piercing mocha eyes landed on a target. A mousy figure was dwarfed by Namjoon’s taller and muscular frame. Pair the size difference with his steely and—arguably murderous—gaze fixed on the piteous male before him, both parties were surprised that the smaller student didn’t go into cardiac arrest.

“I would stay to chat, but I have important business to attend to,” Namjoon began. The timbre of his voice seeped into the small man’s bones and rattled them with each syllable. “You obviously know something, or else you wouldn’t be so pathetically fearful.”

The other male gulped audibly. His dull brown eyes stared into Namjoon’s vibrant cocoa ones. His pupils contracted as a cold sweat formed on his forehead and neck. Deep down, he knew that one wrong move would send him spiraling into horrors unimaginable. This was Kim Namjoon he was dealing with. He only had one chance. 

“I don’t know w-what you’re talking about…��� He squeaked.

Namjoon narrowed his eyes with clear annoyance and disgust for the situation and the animal shivering before him. This caused the mousy man to gasp sharply.

“Tell me where (Y/N) (L/N) is. It’s a simple request. Even someone of your calibre should be capable of such a mundane task.” Namjoon stated simply. Disdain bled through his words into his tone and seeped into his prey’s already paper-thin psyche.

With a trembling arm, the rodent (as Namjoon decided to call him) pointed in the direction of the campus library. Of course you would be there. It made his blood boil to think that you’d already be in the library after receiving news of your latest feat. Anyone else would be a fool to risk losing such an honor. Studying was the only way to cement your new station as Mugunghwa’s new number one.

Without so much as a half-assed utter of thanks, Namjoon strode off in the direction of the large building. He was so hyper-focused on cutting you down and ensuring that you wouldn’t be a problem again that the signature thud of a body against snow missed his attention completely. The concerned and shocked gasps of onlookers didn’t affect him either.

Soon enough, he was at his destination. The same book-filled shelves and walls that greeted you greeted him at the entrance. Upon seeing his figure, the librarian at the circulation desk straightened in order to greet Namjoon properly. ‘At least one person here knew their place.’ He thought to himself.

“I’m looking for (Y/N) (L/N). It’d be in your best interest to point me in her direction as quickly as possible, Jimin.” Namjoon stated coolly with a tinge of nonchalance. Although he was painfully aware of the importance his little scouting mission served, his seemingly apathetic tone was the result of having said the same thing over and over like a broken record. The sooner he found you and got you to bend the knee, the sooner he could return home to his own studies.

The librarian, Jimin, nodded and swiftly pointed towards the fiction section. His mug of hazelnut coffee threatened to spill at the sudden and crisp motion. “She went that way, towards the fiction books.” He stated plainly. Namjoon couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his features. Jimin was always such an attentive servant. 

Ever since that little incident before Mugunghwa’s annual recital, the dance major felt a deep sense of allegiance towards the older male. He had to. Namjoon was the only reason Park Jimin was able to continue his dream of becoming a world-class dancer, and it was made abundantly clear that what Kim Namjoon giveth, he can just as easily taketh away. Poor Jimin had no idea why you were being sought out by the most powerful student at the university, but he couldn’t help but suppress the gnawing sensation that he was leading you to a painful end.

Once again, forgoing a thank you, Namjoon began the final stretch of his arduous journey to find you and finally set things right in the world. The only issue was that he had no idea who he was looking for, exactly.

Oddly enough, despite your status, you had managed to keep a low profile. Very few people actually knew what you looked like. Hell, your student profile didn’t even have an image of you posted. In fact, the only way people outside of your direct circle of cohorts started to gather what you looked like was because the web connecting (Y/N) (L/N), radio show host and journalism major and (Y/N) (L/N), former number two was finally starting to weave itself. As far as most of the student body was concerned, you were nothing but a faceless placeholder image against a drab gray background. It wouldn’t have surprised Namjoon if you actually walked around with the words, “NO IMAGE AVAILABLE” permanently marked on your body. What he saw, however, was beyond his own comprehension.

There you were, his enemy, his prey. You sat idly in the large cushioned chair with your book nestled delicately in your hands. For the moment, you were blissfully unaware of the danger that loomed nearby. This was almost too easy. Almost as if your presence unlocked a vault to all his plans to destroy you, you looked at him.

And then his world changed. He almost felt sick at the sudden rush of sensory input his brain was forced to parse through. The previously unsaturated hall roared to life with colors he hadn’t even seen before. Warm browns, reds, and hues of every other name shot into Namjoon’s retinas upon gazing at your graceful form. This was (Y/N) (L/N)? This hidden gem? He was meant to demolish this?

He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He wouldn’t. For the first time in a long time, Kim Namjoon was rendered speechless. His heart began to beat in double-time. If his biological functions were a musical piece, this specific section’s tempo marking would be prestissimo. Beyond vivace, beyond presto.

He couldn’t take it, so for the first time ever, Kim Namjoon ran away.

You didn’t dare move. Fear wrapped its spindly fingers around your heart and clutched it in its icy grasp. You didn’t have to move your eyes off of the page to see who the shadow cast onto it belonged to. Deep down, you knew. 

Goddamn it.

You just knew.

Just when you gathered the courage to face your doom head on, he was gone.

“What the fuck…?” You whispered. Your fantasy novel fell to the ground on its spine with a soft thud. Was this it? Were you officially losing it? Was stress causing you to hallucinate and see literal shadow people?! That was it.

Not wanting to have a literal breakdown in the middle of the library, you honed your senses in on the now cold-smelling coffee nearby. The faint hazelnut blend managed to at least tether you down to reality once more. You took a deep breath. Everything was now in focus. You had to leave, you decided. So that’s what you did.

If the library’s other patrons noticed the shocked, glazed over look in your eyes, nobody said anything. You had just come in contact with the menace. You were lucky to be alive. There’s no need to add insult to injury by inquiring about your current situation. Wordlessly, you ambled out of the library door. Jimin’s small eyes followed your every movement until you were finally out of his line of sight.

Soon enough, you made it to your dorm room. Oddly enough, it felt like you’d walked through a wormhole and warped to the private space. It appears that moving effortlessly through time and space was an eerily common theme that day. Not wishing to dwell on it any further, you plummeted onto your bed and let a dreamless sleep whisk you away from all your troubles.

A month had passed since your clandestine encounter with Namjoon. Surprisingly enough, after the first week or so of living in terror, the foreboding feeling of doom had all but disappeared. Like a colony of ants rebuilding their anthill after a sudden rainstorm, so too did Mugunghwa National Academy rebuild anew. As Thanksgiving rolled into Christmas, the student body had learned to accept that you were now at the top of the food chain. The status quo had shifted in your favor. Students that would previously mutter curses after you passed by would suddenly wave amicably once they noticed your presence.

While the sudden lack of hostility was appreciated, you couldn’t help but notice how shallow the whole situation was. A faint sense of disgust settled at the pit of your stomach. Or was it foreboding, after all? After your encounter with Namjoon’s shadow at the library, the Kim Industries heir had disappeared suddenly. He had disappeared without a trace. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. His scores were still updated regularly; his name was still in the mouths of every man, woman, and child that walked across campus; and you swore that you saw his tall figure slither like a snake behind buildings and shrubbery one time after class. While there was solid proof that he still (at the very least) resided within this plane of existence, Kim Namjoon had achieved cryptid status. Just a month ago, he was the dark overlord that ruled Mugunghwa with an iron fist. Now, he was merely a relic of the past, a name synonymous with the Boogeyman. Kim Namjoon was now used to scare freshmen like tales of a monster under one’s bed were used to frighten young children.

The truth, like all things are, was much more complicated than that. After he met you, his goddess, at the library, Namjoon spiraled out of control. Nothing was the same for him. At first, it was a fleeting rush of endorphins, he had decided. Perhaps the sense of victory he felt after finding his long lost rival caused his brain to go into overdrive with glee. With that in mind, he returned home to lick his wounds and rewrite his battle plans.

The next day, everything seemed normal enough. His world was in grayscale once more. Individuals who weren’t of direct importance to him retained their distorted, blob-like features. His senses were mostly dulled once again… Until you appeared. You walked across campus with grace that put the supermodels that his father regularly “worked with” to shame. To be honest, they looked like pitiful crows with snapped legs when put up against your stork-like elegance.

His previously unsaturated world regained its color. His heart rate increased, warmth filled his veins as a result. Everything was crisply in focus when it came to you. For the first time in a long time, Kim Namjoon was terrified… But that’s what intrigued him all the more. Once you left his sight, however, the blooming colors vanished. Everything was blurred again. The warmth had died and left him empty, hollow, and cold. After a few days of this occurrence, Namjoon made his biggest realization yet: he was in love with you.

He was quick to write it off as pure lust. After all, remaining at the top didn’t leave much time for him to indulge in more carnal pleasures. Hell, the only thing he could remember slamming on a table on doing all night long was homework, as old and pathetic as the joke was. Namjoon was a dashing, intelligent young man beginning to reach his prime. Abstaining from such a primal and basic need wasn’t good for him. With that in mind, he immediately began his conquest.

First, it started with the models his father would fuck behind his mother’s back. Despite how carefully manufactured their appearances were, they didn’t quench his thirst. In fact, they enraged Namjoon to the point where it wasn’t uncommon for the women to leave his bedroom bruised the next morning. This charade went on for much too long until he’d had enough.

No other woman could set his heart aflame without even trying. No other woman could bring life to his distorted and achromatic world like you could. So he tried a man. Several men, in fact. He got so desperate that not even his little Park Jimin was safe from his ravenous clutches.

Nothing. Nothing had worked.

Now, as the clock struck midnight in his grand bedroom, Namjoon sat in his bed with his hand wrapped around his cock. He’d been so on edge for the longest time, yet nothing he did could stir him. So, he did the only thing he knew how… Thoughts of you filled his mind as he ghosted a finger across his limp member. The warmth he felt was returning once more…

“Namjoon! There you are! I’ve been so lonely… Don’t you know that I’ve missed you?” 

There you were in the Kim manor’s living room. A black silk robe hugged your form perfectly as you bounded over to him. Golden sunlight filtered through the curtains and cast you in its heavenly warm glow. Your (E/C) eyes peered up at him with such admiration, lust, and most importantly, love. Before he could even properly process the scene, you had him enveloped in the warmest hug imaginable.

Namjoon felt a rush of lust and blood shoot straight to his dick.

“I know, darling… But I’m here now. We can be together. I’m all yours from now on.” He replied smoothly.

Namjoon didn’t even think it possible for your eyes to shine any brighter, but they did. And they were all for him. Your eyes, your beautiful eyes, for his eyes only… He gently caressed your cheek, careful not to mark it. The time for leaving marks and bruises would come later on… 

“Really?” You asked. Your entire face lit with hope and wonder. “You mean it? Please don’t tease me, baby~. I don’t know what I’d do if you had to go so soon…” 

You buried yourself into him, as if you knew that your home was within his embrace. He relished in it. He really did…

Namjoon felt feverish. His hands got to work immediately. Visions of you nestled against him, starlit eyes gazing into his, your form undulating beneath him as he pounded into you with everything he had. Your ecstatic moans and gasps filled his ears and mind, creating a carnal symphony only you could compose.

Sweat beaded on his temples, his arms beginning to burn with exhaustion as they continued to bring him to completion. Musical, “I love you, Namjoon”s and “Please! I’m so close, baby! Fuck me!”s began to crescendo rapidly. The world around him went from a gentle warmth to a blazing inferno. Colors reached their maximum saturation. Namjoon’s heart began to beat erratically. This was it. This was it! This is what he needed!

“Yes, (Y/N). You’re so good to me! Take it! Take it!!”

With an animalistic roar, Namjoon shot his seed. It coated his body and even his blanket that he pushed aside in his lustful fever. The fireworks came to a close. His jagged breaths began to even themselves out. The angels stopped singing. He was alone once more… But he wouldn’t be for long.

Tears filled Namjoon’s vision as he looked at his clock. Time wasn’t important anymore… But you were. He was going to have you, and he was going to become number one again. Kim Namjoon was going to be your number one.

Just like that, the year of terror had come and gone. Now, a new year was upon you and another December along with it. You stared up at your dorm room’s ceiling with a dumb smile etched on your face. After all, that was the only expression you could possibly muster, given the circumstances. 

“Damn… What the hell happened to me?” Was all you managed to say as you turned onto your side. Your phone in hand, you scrolled through your photo gallery almost absentmindedly until you reached one particular photo. There you were at a carnival with the Devil incarnate, Kim Namjoon. Your eyes bright with glee at the large plush you held in one arm as you posed with Namjoon for a selfie.

You chuckled and zoomed in on the image with a wistful smirk. While you stared ahead at the camera, Namjoon stared at you with an expression that you didn’t even know that he possessed: pure, unadulterated admiration. You were almost inclined to call it love.

The past year and some change was a whirlwind. Your earliest memory of it consisted of finally coming to terms with the ecosystem at Mugunghwa, only to be faced with Namjoon and your whole world coming down. Students and staff alike scurried away from the dining area, not wanting to be a witness to a crime. You had gained new friends over the course of these months. They simply couldn’t stand to see your last moments on this earth in complete agony.

However, your death never came. Namjoon stood proudly in the now empty cafeteria, as if he relished in the fact that he could clear a room without uttering a single word.

“(Y/N) (L/N). It’s so good to finally put a name to a face… And what a lovely face it is…”

If Namjoon wasn’t going to kill you, the water lodged in your windpipe at his words would. You sputtered, hands waving as you choked on your water. Suddenly, Namjoon came behind you and swiftly patted your back. Once you could breathe again, you wiped at your tear-filled eyes and peered up at him. “I’m sorry… What?”

Namjoon returned to his original position in front of you with a smirk. Pulling out a chair, he sat down with the practiced air of a businessman about to make a deal. “I called you beautiful. I do hope that wasn’t too forward.”

Now, you were suspicious. Satan himself had saved you from choking and was now calling you attractive? Were you dead? Did you imagine Namjoon helping you as a last-ditch effort to survive somehow? Was that the image your brain created as you slipped away into the world of the dead? But this was reality. Something deep down told you that you weren’t dying or dreaming.

“Forgive my skepticism, but I highly doubt that you came to exchange compliments. What do you want, Kim Namjoon?” You asked icily. The male in front of you visibly recoiled at your tone, as if he didn’t factor in the possibility that you could speak with such a tone. He quickly recovered, however, and he began his pitch.

“You’re half right, (Y/N). I didn’t come here to only compliment you, but I came here to have a discussion that is long overdue. At my core, I am a businessman. I make deals, I negotiate. That’s what I’m here to do.” Namjoon stated simply. Looking deeply into his eyes, he didn’t show any signs of insincerity, but that’s to be expected. He’s been trained his entire life to hiding his true intentions behind an amicable facade, regardless of how nefarious his plans may or may not be.

“I see… What is it that you wish to discuss? I’m afraid that I’m not as well-versed in business etiquette as you, so please forgive me for any mistakes or slip-ups that I may make. That being said, this is not an invitation to walk all over me. I may be inexperienced, but I am by no means an idiot.”

Could you be any more perfect for him? A beautiful face and body, poise and grace, and the courage to hold her own in a negotiation? Not to mention, the colors were swirling around you and blooming delicately in such a comforting fashion. He was absolutely smitten.

“I wouldn’t dare make the mistake of calling someone who replaced me as top dog an idiot. Give me some credit. I’m not as vile as the university’s tall tales make me out to be. I’m sure that my cousin, Taehyung, could vouch for me.”

You bristled at the mention of Taehyung. What had he done to him? Did something happen? No, that couldn’t be. You had just finished your show with Tae only a half hour ago. Surely, that isn’t enough time for him to get into any trouble, right?

“Calm down, (Y/N). Nothing’s happened to him. I can see the wheels turning in your head. My cousin is safe and sound. I can even call him up for you, if you don’t believe me.” Namjoon said smoothly, already fishing his phone out of his designer coat’s pocket.

“No, that’s fine…” You swallowed and regained your composure. Once you were calmed down, you returned Namjoon’s gaze. “I’m sure he’s alright. If anything, I’ll call him later. Right now, this is more important.”

Namjoon put his phone away and leaned back in his chair whilst giving a dismissive wave of his hand. Hopefully, the display of nonchalance would mask the sheer excitement and feverish nervousness he felt from being so close to you. Hearing your voice was like hearing the soothing melodies of birdsong in the morning. His heart soared at the mere act of being in your presence.

“Very well. I came here to apologize. You see, I’m well aware of the distress to you and everyone here at Mugunghwa that I’ve caused, and for that, I’m sorry.”

You could have died right there. Kim Namjoon? Apologizing? And apologizing to you, no less?! The infamous heir to Kim Industries, known for the downfall of any and everyone who dared impede his goals was apologizing to you?!

“Please, (Y/N). Forgive me. It’s just that losing to you has put my life into perspective. Yes, I was the head of our class, but what did that mean? Why was I fighting so hard to keep a title that in the long run, means so little? What was the point if I had no one to share it with?”

“What the hell are you getting at, Kim? I fail to see what this has to do with conducting business.”

As precious as you were to him, Namjoon despised your tone. If you were to be his, that sharp tongue would have to be dealt with. Besides, in that instant, you reminded him of his lowlife father. That certainly wouldn’t do. His queen should never adopt the mannerisms of Kim Joonho. Never. Ever. You were to whisper sweet nothings into his ear while he reciprocated. You were to never take such a tone with him ever again.

“I was rambling, so I’ll forgive that insolent remark of yours just this once. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Namjoon stated darkly.

Not wanting to push your luck, you relented. You were actually talking to Kim Namjoon. You couldn’t afford to ruin an opportunity like this.

“Right.” He resumed “The truth is that I’ve been watching you for quite some time. Honestly, that’s all I can ever do anymore. You’ve occupied every inch of my mind, and I just wanted to ask if you’d be mine, (Y/N).”

You sat there, slack-jawed. Was he serious?! What was happening?

“You’re joking… There’s no way that you could be serious. There’s no fucking way!”

“I am. I’ve done some soul-searching recently, and I’ve come to the conclusion that you are what I’ve been fighting for all this time. Not a damn class rank. I’ve been fighting for love, affection, understanding… And I believe that I can find all of that in you.”

“You… What…? I- How?”

“February 14, a dozen red roses were waiting for you on your desk in your dorm. With them, was a card addressed to you from a secret admirer. March 14, a diamond necklace was gifted to you for White Day by a secret admirer. And now, these.”

Namjoon produced a stack of envelopes bound by a black silk ribbon from his jacket pocket.

“These are from me. You’re a smart girl, (Y/N). Can you tell me who your secret admirer is?”

That was April. After a few talks with your co-host and having to sit through embarrassing stories of their childhoods, you finally took the leap and went out on a date with Namjoon… And you were the happiest you’ve ever been. The large stuffed animal that Namjoon had won you sat on a bookshelf, next to several other trinkets he had given you over the months you had dated.

You chuckled to yourself at the memory and closed your photos app. After which, you opened up your messaging app to shoot a quick text to Namjoon. That was until, you got a notification reading,

KIM INDUSTRIES CEO, KIM JOONHO FOUND DEAD IN HIS WINTER ESTATE.

Without thinking, you dialed Namjoon’s number and was greeted by a somber moan answering the phone.

“Namjoon, baby, I’m so sorry… I just saw the news.”

A sniff. “Hey. So the news outlets already published the story, huh? I should have known that it wouldn’t take long… They could at least have the common decency of letting his corpse grow cold first before they publicize it.” Namjoon chuckled humorlessly.

You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t imagine going through the sudden shock of losing your parent, only to deal with the press soon afterward. You sensed that Namjoon needed some time to himself to grieve, and you were more than willing to give it to him.

“Yeah, it’s shitty what they’re doing. And to think that I’m going into that profession. It’s crazy.”

“It is what it is, (Y/N). Besides, I have faith that you’ll be one of the good journalists that don’t try to weave everything that they hear into lies and defamation.” He said earnestly.

Something about the way Namjoon spoke was unnerving. He didn’t sound like someone who was mourning their late father, but then again, he might have been in shock. His apathetic demeanor on the matter must have been a coping mechanism. After all, losing your father so suddenly is a lot to process.

All you could do is hum in response. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I know so, dear.”

A pregnant pause.

“Hey, (Y/N). I know this sounds horribly insensitive, but, can we still have our dinner date at my mansion? It’s just that I can’t bear to be alone right now, and you’re the only person I’ve been able to trust lately. It doesn’t have to be a date. I guess I just want you to come over.”

Your heart shattered into smithereens. He was alone and scared. Namjoon had no one to trust or turn to in his time of need, yet he found it within his heart to ask you. Who were you to refuse?

“Alright. I’ll go. Same time?”

He didn’t have to say a word, but you could hear his dimpled smile some out to play.

“Y-yes, yes, of course! Same time! Thank you so much, (Y/N). You don’t know how much this means to me. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Alright, see you soon. Bye.”

You hung up the phone with a sigh and faced your closet. You had exactly two hours to get ready for dinner. You had two hours to prepare…

And so did Namjoon.

Once again, Namjoon was summoned to his father’s study. He was expecting it sooner or later. His class rank hadn’t improved since his father sent him to take his top spot back by any means necessary, but you were number one now. Namjoon wouldn’t dare dethrone his goddess from her rightful pedestal.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was upon opening the large doors a swift slap coming across his face.

“You useless, useless brat! You can’t even eliminate a simple girl?! You can’t even reclaim your title?! How am I supposed to leave my estate and company in such incapable hands?!”

Joonho was fuming. His once pride and joy had betrayed him and disappointed him. How dare he? Namjoon sat on the floor, gingerly rubbing his cheek. He was sure his father’s handprint was burned into his flesh.

“I swear, you’re incompetent just like your brother! He disappointed me, and look at where he is now! I should have known that it was too good to be true.”

At the mention of his brother, Namjoon’s body stiffened.

“All of this. You’re ruining your life and your career all for some girl?! You’re willing to throw away what I’ve essentially bred you for, all for some lowlife pussy?!”

At the mention of you, Namjoon began to see red.

“I suppose I’ve been too lenient on you. I should have known that you would flounder. Maybe I’ll get rid of (Y/N) myself. It’s clear that she means a lot to you. Maybe you’ll get back in line once she perishes.”

That was the final straw. With pure rage fueling his every cell, Namjoon sprinted over to his father’s desk and grabbed his letter opener.

“Say it again, bastard! Say it again!”

Now, Joonho’s figure was dissolving into a crimson blob. All of his human like features were gone in a furious red haze. Kim Joonho wasn’t his father anymore. He wasn’t even human. 

He was the enemy.

Without giving his father a chance to speak, Namjoon plunged the letter opener into the older man’s eye sockets. After that, it was a blur. Hours had seemingly passed and Kim Joonho was nothing but a human pincushion. Stab wounds littered his body, and blood was oozing out of every one. With a satisfied grin, Namjoon stood and cupped a crimson hand to his face.

“Seokjin! Seokjin! Come down here!”

The head butler rushed in the study and into the carnage. The older male was mortified at the bloodbath before him, but he couldn’t help the relieved smile and tears of joy forming in his tear ducts.

“Brother, come help me clean up father. Unless, of course, you have some words for him?”

Seokjin carefully approached his father’s corpse and smiled wickedly. He placed a gloved hand on his eyeless face.

“You’ve disappointed me, Joonho. And now look where that’s brought you. My transgressions against you warranted that I were to be stripped of my place in the world as your son, only to become your servant. Your transgressions warranted your death at the hands of your prodigy. Isn’t that poetic justice? Sleep well, father.”

“Master Namjoon will be down in a moment.” A maid stated as she had you seated.

A white cloth napkin was folded and placed on your lap while you got comfortable in the antique dining chair. Staff hurried to and fro to finish preparing for your meal, and it was almost amusing seeing them rush around like busy worker bees instead of the esteemed staff of the Kim Manor.

A few moments ticked away before Namjoon made his appearance. He was elegantly clad in a designer Armani suit, giving a regal and princely appearance as he made his way over to you from the grand foyer.

“Please forgive me, dear. I had some business to attend to.”

Namjoon outstretched his arms, motioning for you to give him a hug. You happily obliged.

“Namjoon! There you are! I’ve been so lonely… Don’t you know that I’ve missed you?” You cheekily giggled. If you ignored the whole dead dad situation, the whole scene would appear wholesomely domestic. You decided to indulge in that notion.

Namjoon’s breath hitched.

“I’m sorry that I’ve kept you waiting. I hope that we can make up for lost time during dinner, yeah?”

You nodded and sat down in your chair. Namjoon was seated right beside you. As if on cue, the staff brought in your dishes. A classic Christmas dinner, consisting of turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, ham, and vegetables was placed in front of you. On a small dish nearby, some cranberry jelly sat. You tried to hide the grimace at the red jelly. You were by no means a fan of the garnish, but you didn’t want to appear picky or ungrateful, especially considering the reason why you were having dinner with Namjoon in the first place.

Ever the attentive partner, Namjoon was keen on noticing your inner turmoil. “Is something not to your liking?”

“Uh, it’s just… I don’t really like cranberry jelly… That’s all.”

Namjoon looked utterly dumbfounded before letting out a joyful, booming laugh. “That’s all? Oh, (Y/N). You had me worried! I thought that I’d ruined the whole meal for you!”

His fork stabbed into a piece of turkey and he dipped the meat into the red gelatin.

“But, please do try the jelly. My brother and I, we made it for this occasion. I promise it’s nothing like the canned slop they sell in grocery stores.”

Namjoon made this? Now, this you had to try.

“Alright. Since you went through the effort of making it, I’ll give it a shot.”

You copied Namjoon’s actions of taking a slice of turkey and dipping it in the cranberry jelly. With the expression of a chef on Chopped, Namjoon eagerly watched as you placed the food in your mouth.

“Mmm! This is delicious! Namjoon, you should sell this! This is amazing!”

Another laugh came from Namjoon, although, this one had an arguably maniacal lilt. “Why, thank you, but I’m afraid that this specific batch is one of a kind. Besides, cranberry jelly isn’t the most profitable market out there.”

Little did you know that you had just ingested Kim Joonho’s coagulated blood. Perhaps that was why his cranberry jelly was one of a kind.

Merry Christmas.

[welllpthisishappening]

First-Line Defensive Pairing

Of all the things they’d done in the last few months, spending the afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream was one of the more ridiculous. Mostly because of the wooden spoons they gave out on the tour. Partially because it seemed Will Scarlet could not stop casting furtive glances at Belle French. Or the heels that always matched her dresses. Maybe because she kept answering his hypothetical questions. And maybe even because he was willing to drift far closer to genuine these days. At least when it came to his feelings for her.

————

Word Count: 3.7K AN: Take two! Ok, so apparently yesterday when I posted this Tumblr thought it’d be a really cool idea to just...reformat the entire story. With whole graphs in totally wrong spots. Anyway, here it is again. Just as ridiculous as yesterday. With just as many Will and Belle emotions. Because that’s a thing I’m doing now, apparently. Writing Blue Line-era Will and Belle. If you’d like more of these flirt-prone idiots, here is their first date and Belle getting annoyed that Will fought someone on the ice. Technically, this was part of the kiss prompts and was “height difference kisses.” I hope the five of you who are interested in this enjoy it. That includes @shireness-says​ and @eleveneitherway​ who are mostly to blame for this.

————

“I’m going to ask you a hypothetical question.”

Belle lifted her eyebrows. Let some of that light creep back in her gaze, a flash of amusement that regularly made Will’s stomach leap dangerously close to the base of his ribs. That’s why he did it. Maybe not the rib thing, partially because he wasn’t even sure that was the correct technical term. The rest of it, though. The eye thing. Sure. Definitely. One-hundred percent. Why he’d also made sure the little wooden spoon they’d been given at the start of this tour was still in the corner of his mouth; to guarantee absolute absurdity, and he figured that started when they decided to spend their afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream, but he was willing to take it all a step further. 

In the absurdity factor, at least. 

Other things were—

Well, it wasn’t as if they explicitly decided to keep the relationship a secret. Not on purpose. Not really. Or come to any sort of legitimate agreement regarding the use of the word relationship. It never seemed...important, honestly. And that was a potentially problematic and lackadaisical approach to someone who made Will smile with an almost alarming consistency in the last few months, but she’d also sort of snuck up on him, and Ariel was going to be so annoying. 

About the whole goddamn thing. 

She’d never shut up about it, he knew. 

So he didn’t push. Belle didn’t, either. An unspoken agreement, that’s what it was. He had other things to do, anyway. Like get ready for a playoff run and ignore the lingering ache in his calves after the echo of Arthur’s whistle stopped ringing in his ears, and, ok, his apartment was starting to feel a little bit larger than it had in a long time, maybe since Killian had moved out, but that was fine. Cup runs did not come because someone was in a relationship. Will had seen that first hand. With Cap, of all people. 

Watched the way his whole life had fallen apart around his ankles, little shards of hope and possibility that, Will knew, still threatened the structural integrity of Kilian’s internal organs and all four ventricles of his heart, and he did not understand enough basic biology to be making those sorts of sweeping observations, but Robin had lost someone too and that had been horrible and tragic and—

If Will simply did not want to jinx things, then that was neither here nor there.

Relationship’y speaking. 

It was good. They were good. He hated the wooden spoon they gave them to taste test half a dozen ice cream flavors. 

He was legitimately worried about getting splinters in his tongue. 

No excuses could possibly reason away that problem pre-game. 

Belle’s eyebrows were still in the same spot. “You going to follow up on that, or…” “Would you burn a Gutenberg Bible? To stave off the apocalypse and or potential frostbite?” “Those two things go together, do they?” He shrugged. “In this instance, yeah, because—” “—Well, it wouldn’t matter,” Belle said, eyes flitting towards the overly enthusiastic tour guide and the seemingly never-ending history of ice cream, “because I wouldn’t allow myself to be in that position. And I don’t live anywhere near the Public Library. What would I be doing there when the freeze-wave came?” His stomach. Did that thing. Jumped and twisted, got a ten from the Russian judge on its floor routine. He was cautiously optimistic he’d be able to pull off a flawless beam performance too. It was an exceedingly convoluted metaphor. Wrong Olympics, too. 

“Does salt air give you mind-reading powers?” “You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” Belle grinned. Moving her hand faster than he was entirely prepared for ensured that he nearly dropped his small plastic cup of churro churro ice cream. He made noise. Without trying. A hiss and a grunt in the back of his throat that then led to a sound escaping between Belle’s half-hearted scowl, and that sound was closer to a giggle than either of them would ever admit and just enough to mess with his mental faculties a little and the tour guide stopped talking. To stare straight at them. 

Color lifted on Belle’s cheeks, ice cream-covered spoon held awkwardly between them. 

“As you were, ma’am,” Will said, all false bravado, and that was something of a trend. In several different capacities. It was far too depressing a thought to have while eating cinnamon-flavored ice cream. 

Belle elbowed him. 

And the tour guide got back to her to spiel. Without a reprimand. 

“Say freeze-wave again without laughing.”

Her eyelashes were more of a problem, honestly. Than the eyebrows. Or the specific jut of her chin Will had rather quickly learned meant she was ready to challenge him on some ridiculous topic, fully prepared to argue a position she might not have otherwise agreed with. Only because it wasn’t what he was arguing, and it was easy to understand why she won that Model UN award. 

Plus, her eyelashes were just stupid long, and he thought she was really pretty. 

Like in a fundamental sort of way. 

“Freeze-wave,” Belle enunciated, pausing between syllables for maximum effect, “are you asking me Day After Tomorrow questions because of the ice cream, because I’m a librarian or because you’re the strangest man alive?” She finally ate the rest of the ice cream. It was starting to melt, that was why. This was very melt-prone ice cream. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled, “this is really good. Better than mine.” Something popped in his shoulder when he reached towards her plastic cup. He wouldn’t tell Ariel about that, either. 

“Which kind is—” Fighting off the objections of a small librarian who resolutely refused to wear anything except heels, no matter what the weather was like, was not usually as difficult as it was in that moment. Will assumed it had something to do with sugar. Or the force of his smile. Robbing the rest of him of energy and the ability to fend off either one of Belle’s fists. “Why are you like this?” “You didn’t want to try peanut and pretzel. With peanut butter swirl.” “Swallowed the flyer for this place while I wasn’t looking, huh?” Sticking her tongue out was distracting. Almost enough that he didn’t notice the absolutely atrocious attempt at impersonating his voice. “Oh, no, no, babe, I don’t want that; you can get peanut butter anywhere. That’s not special.” “Well, it’s not.” “I’m a big fancy hockey player, and I know everything there is to know about ice cream flavors and the potential life-changing palette moment that comes from the sublime combination of salty and sweet.” “Oh, now you’re just taunting me.” Her eyes narrowed, that time. His smile was going to permanently stretch out his cheeks. “You have a disgusting mind.” “You can’t get churro ice cream everywhere, babe.” “I’m going back to get honey later.” Will hummed. Stuck his lower lip out. Noticed that flash return. And hoarded it. Like a relationship—

Ah, fuck. 

“Would you burn the Gutenberg Bible?” Her laugh was quickly becoming his favorite sound. Which wasn’t bad, per se. Was just kind of passably concerning. God damn. It was the heels. All of them kept matching the dresses she wore. She kept wearing dresses. 

Of course, that was going to mess with Will’s head. 

Belle shook her head. “No.” “Historical significance?” “Well, once again, I would not be in that position, would have listened to science and fled to warmer climates, so as not to make myself prey for escaped...what were they? Tigers?” “I honestly can’t remember,” Will admitted. 

“This was your hypothetical!”

Heads snapped their direction. Frustration creased the tour guide’s forehead, and they’d paid extra to learn about the history of ice cream. Will had already known about the origins of the ice cream cone, though. So, the whole thing felt almost like a raw deal, and he was far more interested in preserving the color in Belle’s cheeks. He saluted. Who he was saluting was anyone’s guess, but it very likely was the otherwise unengaged teenage kid trudging behind his family who absolutely recognized Will. 

“That’s going to end up on sixteen different social media sites,” Belle warned, not quite able to get her voice to an appropriate whispering level. 

“So long as he got my good side, you won’t hear me complaining.” “Do you have a good side?”

“Sweetheart, the self-confidence. God.” She squeezed her eyes shut. While practically beaming at him, and Will had to bend his knees to reach, something else creaking in the process, but that was fine, and good, and pretty goddamn fantastic because her lips tasted a bit like chocolate. 

“‘S’not your best work,” Belle mumbled, almost entirely into his mouth. 

“Brain freeze.” “I would burn no books. That’s my final hypothetical answer.” Her eyelashes must have existed purely to torment him. Leaning back made it clear when they fluttered back open, and he swore there were flecks of gold in her eyes. Maybe he was melting, too. With the ice cream. That was almost poetic. “None at all? What if you were going to die?” “Maudlin.” “I don’t know what that means.” “Liar,” she challenged, another smile tugging at her mouth, and Will was clearly staring at her mouth. Stained slightly with chocolate, as it was. “I stand by it, though. The book stuff, not the commentary on your burgeoning intelligence.” “You want to find a corner to go and make out in?” Different laugh. The kind that came with her head thrown back, hair tickling Will’s forearm because at some point his arm had found its way around her, and touching Belle was becoming something almost close to second nature. “I could keep complimenting you if you want,” Belle said, “or I could give you my reason for not burning books.” “You’re a giant nerd, that’s why.” She clicked her tongue. “Very, very cute nerd, though.” “Betcha say that to all the girls.”

His stomach stilled. Dropped a few inches, for good measure. Below where it was supposed to be, and inching dangerously close to his feet, and what Will could not imagine was a very sanitary floor. The Museum of Ice Cream had a giant sprinkle pit. Nothing about that seemed very sanitary. 

“I think stories have a purpose,” Belle said, still not quite whispering but definitely getting there, and he knew. Knew she knew. What he was thinking and feeling and unspoken understanding was quickly becoming the name of this particular game. With them. 

Where it wasn’t a game at all. 

Damn. 

Ariel was going to be so annoying. 

“No matter what they are. Shitty as they can be, all those ups and downs, and ridiculous, often unnecessary melodrama. It’s going to matter to somebody. Someone, somewhere, will be living their life and read those words or see those letters, and they’ll think, wow, whoever wrote this, gets me, and it will change everything for them. They’ll go back to it. Find solace and safety in it. Themselves, maybe. They’ll believe everything will be ok. Even if they only think that while they’re reading.” “Don’t forget audiobooks,” Will muttered, voice strangled and tinged with emotion. In the ice cream museum. Figured, honestly. 

Belle pinched the side of his wrist. 

“Ow. Avoid the bruise further up, please.” “Did you get hit?” Nodding took more energy than it should have, too. She hadn’t been to a game. He hadn’t asked her. What an idiot. “Not bad though, that’s just—” “—Par for the course.” “Mixing idioms, mon trésor.” “Oh, I got that one, actually.” “Slow pitch softball, that’s why,” Will reasoned, some of the tension he wasn’t especially pleased by loosening. 

“I think we’re on a roll now.” He hummed. Nodded, again. Curled his fingers into the back of Belle’s dress. Blue, that afternoon. With matching heels. “It all matters,” she added, soft and earnest, and his eyes snapped. To her and with her and that second one didn’t make sense, not really, but he was and wanted to be and that absolutely terrified him. 

Of it all falling apart again. Of it not being enough. 

He wasn’t enough. 

A story no one was ever all that interested in finishing. 

“You think?” Belle nodded. “Why’d you start playing hockey?” “Quite a transition.” “Tit for tat, or—no, no, c’mon don’t look at me like that.” Red stained her cheeks, now. Making it difficult to concentrate on anything else, although the desire to kiss her again was a fairly strong second, and that kid was taking more pictures. “That’s not fair.” “You’ve brought this on yourself, babe,” Will argued, and he hoped Lucas didn’t yell. At him. He’d never really listened to the social media rules. “It’s a very long, occasionally depressing story about a kid and his single mom, the second of whom often worked her ass off and her fingers to the bone, and all those other delightfully visual clichés. But then! Who would guess, she got a job picking up extra shifts cleaning at the rink in town. Home to the world’s shittiest ice and loudest Zamboni, it instantly drew the attention of our kid-like hero. 

“He was...infatuated, let’s say. With the sounds, especially. Nothing sounds like that first scrape of skates on fresh ice. Full of possibility, you know?” Belle didn’t answer. Will kept talking. “Best noise in the world. And then he learned there were other noises. Pucks hitting the back of nets. Sticks clanging together. Grunts and groans and the game itself, how loud it was. Helped silence some of his thoughts, none of which were ever very good. Lots of worries, some about his very dead sister, then a few more about that mother and her predilection toward clichés.”

“Good word,” Belle murmured. He kissed the top of her hair. The kid was openly staring at them, now. 

“Anyway, the crux of the story is that the guy who owned the rink agreed to let the kid play on the rink. Knew the mother, understood her situation, and hockey is expensive. Like, well, we spout all that bullshit about hockey is for everyone, and I’ve got to stand up there and smile and nod and agree, and it’s fucked up because it’s not really true. Hockey’s for rich kids and families with regularly functioning alternators in their car.” 

He shook his head. Had to. To chase away the memories and the cobwebs, and Cap knew this, too. Understood it, even. Remembered a life before the Vanklads, and not every kid got the Vankalds, and sometimes Will let himself wonder what would have happened if he’d found the Vanklads. Or their upstate New York equivalent. 

Gotten better shin pads, probably. 

“Hockey’s an exclusive sorta club,” Will continued, “gotta know someone who’s related to someone else, and they know someone who played, and it’s six degrees of increasingly desperate separation. By some lucky twist of fate, though, Jimmy Newell knew some bastard who knew somebody else, who saw me play, and you don’t say no to USA Developmental. Spent two years in Minnesota, way before Cap did, so he doesn’t get to claim that state as his own.” Belle’s lips twitched. “Good to know, for argument’s sake.” His stomach was becoming a problem. 

Heart, too. 

Sputtering and slamming, uneven beats that were going to leave another bruise. Will licked his lips. 

“I went to Developmental, declared for the draft, got picked by New York, went to college, stayed in college, and the rest is history. As they say.” “They do say that, yeah.” “What’s the next question, then?” “How do you know there’s another question?” “Shot in the dark,” Will shrugged, but that was a lie, and it was getting increasingly easier to read that pinch between her eyebrows. “So, hit me.” “Literally?” “Please do not literally hit me. Locksley’s been feeling the forecheck the last couple’a practices.” “I know what that means!” Someone shushed them. Will couldn’t imagine the color will ever leave Belle’s cheeks. 

He kissed the bridge of her nose. 

“Who’d you get to teach you French?” “Who said I didn’t just learn French on my own?” “Babe,” she chided, and, well, that was the tipping point. As they say. To his heart and his stomach and—

“You wanna come to a game this series?” Belle blinked. Once, twice. Leaned back. Tilted her head. Likely waited for the camera crew that was inevitably lurking in the corner he was cautiously optimistic they’d make out in eventually. Didn’t happen, though. There was no camera crew. 

Just Will Scarlet, professional hockey player, and part-time sap. Standing in one of the more nonsensical museums they’d been to in the last two months. Although they did go to the transit museum on three separate occasions, and he could honestly say he didn’t expect that. 

So, maybe this was all just—

Par for the course. 

He’d have to make some sort of deal with Eric. To make sure Ariel didn’t proclaim her relationship-plotting victories from a variety of rooftops. Someone in front office had to know someone else with Empire State Building connections. 

Zelena probably did. 

Ariel would use that. 

“Where would I sit?”

He pulled her. Up. With an almost violent amount of force, threatening the safety of both of Belle’s shoulders in the process. But she’d asked the one question he hadn’t totally considered in his half-plotted plan, and getting his mouth back on hers was an acceptable diversion. Plus, she looped her arms around his neck pretty quickly. 

Which had to count for something, he figured. 

One hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him closer. Like he had any intention of being anywhere else, swiping his tongue against Belle’s lip and swallowing her sigh. They were still in public, technically. Her feet trailed the multi-color carpet beneath them, Will’s arms tightening and his palm flat against her back and her spine, and if she kept rocking up like that, he was going to do something drastic. 

Something in the same realm as melting, probably. 

Strands of hair tickled his skin, making him tilt his head and alter the angle, and that was entirely appropriate, but getting kicked out of the Museum of Ice Cream would probably make an absolutely fantastic story. Once they told people they were—

Doing whatever it was they were doing. 

They’d get there eventually. 

“Cap’s sister-in-law is coming,” Will said, not entirely able to catch his breath, “wants to see Kris and—” “—Should I know who that is?” “Works in equipment, and that’s not really the point.” “What is?” “That Little Vankald isn’t super interested in listening to Cap be full older brother on her and, far as I know, is fully capable of getting tickets wherever she wants. Can sweet talk the gold out of anyone’s pockets, and—” “—Wait, wait, are you equating hockey tickets to gold?” “When I’m playing, ma choupette.” “Is that cabbage?” He hummed. Nearly tripped over his own feet trying to hold onto Belle and the mostly melted cup of ice cream and paying for more churro ice cream made perfect sense. At the moment. “One of the kids at school was French Canadian,” Will explained, “used to swear all the time on the ice, and then he’d use stuff like that.” “You’re sharing endearments with a trash talker.” “More or less, yeah. Used to infuriate other guys.” “Who wants to be called a cabbage?” “I think you’re super cute.” Belle scowled. Didn’t argue, though. And Will refused to linger on the beat of his pulse. “I’d really like it if you were there,” he added, “Little Vanklad’ll be cool about it. She owes me. I fed her for a very long time.” “Did you just?” “I make incredible garlic bread; ask anyone.” “Wow,” Belle drawled, “just like people on the street, or…also, do you call her Little Vanklad all the time?” “To her face and behind her back with startling regularity. Not everyone gets my French endearments, babe. Consider yourself lucky.” 

She scrunched her nose. 

Stayed silent. All Will could hear was the soft explanations of the tour guide, and the questions from tourists who probably also thought going to the Museum of Sex made them edgy. After they bought a STRAND tote bag. God, maybe he was a dick. A judgmental dick, who still had too many thoughts and used an occasionally violent game to silence them by making sure he was the one dictating the noises and the trash talk and—

“Hey, uh, Will...Mr., uh—Mr. Scarlet? Do you think we could get a picture?”

Belle’s lips disappeared. Behind her teeth, and that didn’t do anything to temper the sound of what might have actually been joy. At the prospect of the staring teenager and his photo request. 

In the goddamn Museum of Ice Cream. 

Giving a jerky nod, Will quickly scanned the kid for any team-branded, but it didn’t look like he was wearing merch and that was a rather small miracle. Far as those things went. 

Still, he had been in the middle of a pretty intense internal dialogue and potential freakout, and there was going to be ice cream on his hand if he didn’t throw this cup away. 

Belle took the phone. 

The kid’s phone. 

“Smile,” she instructed, and Will tried. Really. He hoped he didn’t end up looking like a murderer on Twitter or Instagram or whatever kids used, and he had no idea when he got that old. When things started to freak him out, and he let the nerves claw back in, and the worry take root and—

“Hey,” he said before the kid could walk back to his parents and their matching STRAND tote bags. “You think you could take a picture of us, real quick?”

No one had ever moved faster. 

In, like, the history of photography. 

Circling an arm around Belle’s waist, Will’s smile came a bit easier and that was good because he was totally unprepared for what happened after that. Another instruction and flick of someone’s thumb, but then Belle was on her toes, even with the heels, and her lips were pressed against his cheek and it was like some sort of really exceptional sugar high. 

Without the threat of inevitable crash. 

Will didn’t think so, at least. He was also pretty positive it wasn’t tigers in The Day After Tomorrow. Wolves, maybe. 

“Tell Little Vankald to save me a seat.” “I mean, I don’t think you should call her that.”

Her teeth grazed his jaw. Both of them were laughing in the picture, the kid’s eyes going impossibly wide as Will thanked him. “How hard you think it is to set up an Instagram account?”

[cozy-the-overlord]

Running with the Wolves

Summary:  After the events of Infinity War ripped her life to pieces, Queen In-Unga forges forward as sole ruler of Jotunheim, finding solace in the two orphaned wolf puppies she finds outside her sleigh.

AU in which Loki didn’t die at the beginning of Infinity War-- he accompanied Thor to Nidavellir, then to Wakanda, and died in the Snap alongside the Avengers.

Based on Frostbite by @maiden-of-asgard​

Word Count:  12,192

Pairing: Loki x Reader/Loki x In-Unga

Read it on Ao3

A/N: So let’s flashback to last summer. I had three obsessions: Avengers Endgame, A Song of Ice and Fire (which I was reading for the first time), and Frostbite by Maiden of Asgard. Those obsessions merged into a story that’s been swirling in my head ever since. I never thought I'd actually write it-- back then, I still wasn't fully comfortable with writing my own fanfiction, let alone writing fanfiction of someone else's fanfiction. But when Moa announced that she was going to be turning Frostbite into a physical book and would be accepting fan submissions, my dumbass brain went "i CaN dO tHaT."

This is the most I've struggled with writing a story ever. I've never written from the perspective of a character that wasn't my own, and I found that to much more difficult than I anticipated. Combine that with how the story I was trying to tell spanned over an overwhelming five years, my constant stress that I was ruining Moa’s characters, and the fact that I kept finding myself in "this-made-more-sense-in-my-head" territory and I started getting pretty frustrated. I had expected to be done by the end of June; when at the beginning of July I was only barely halfway finished, I kind of threw in the towel and said "forget it." I took a week off from writing to clear my head, and after a pep talk from my sister (thanks, JJ!) I decided I had to complete it. So here it is! Am I completely happy with the final product? No, but seeing as I never thought there'd be a final product, I'm proud of myself nonetheless.

One last note (this a/n is obnoxious, I’m sorry): Moa, I did intend for this story to be a part of your Frostbite book, but I totally understand if you don't want to deal with it. It is disgustingly long, and I know that you said that the book is already huge. I won't be offended if you don't put it in-- I don't want to create more trouble for you.

Thanks for reading!

It was freezing.

That was saying something. Freezing was an adjective In-Unga had learned not to use lightly. Living on Jotunheim came with the acceptance that you would be existing in extreme sub-zero temperatures year round, warmth being an elusive gem found only in the recesses of furry coats or underneath thick blankets. In the years she had spent in the realm of the Frost Giants, In-Unga felt that she had come quite accustomed to the cold. It was something she was rather proud of—when Captain Rodgers had visited with Thor a few years back, he had joked that she must have taken some kind of super soldier serum herself in order to handle it so well. She had responded, beaming, that as long as she had Loki, she didn’t need anything else to keep her warm.

She had never really considered the truth to that statement.

Njal, her burly head guard, pulled his mount alongside hers. “The temperature is dropping, my queen,” he said. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable in your sleigh—”

“No.” She hoped her voice sounded stronger than she felt. “I appreciate your concern, but I am perfectly fine as I am.” Just for good measure, she added a queenly nod.

Njal seemed unconvinced, but he bowed his head just the same. “As you say, my queen.”

In-Unga exhaled, trying to ignore the white cloud that enveloped her when she did so. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay out here. She couldn’t see the skin of her hands under her mittens, but she was certain they were blue. Her face, as well. In fact, at the moment she probably looked more Jotun than Midgardian.

But she was determined to continue riding. Loki had always made a point of it, in the early days when his main concern was showcasing his strength. Now that he was gone, she needed to be strong for him, and for her people.

Those that were left.

Her eyes burned in warning, and so In-Unga shook her head and went back to thinking about how horribly freezing it was. The cold hurt less.

Býleistr had questioned her decision to tour the kingdom so late in the year. The weather would be awful, he said. Her people would understand if she waited until spring. In-Unga had argued that waiting brought its own danger: ignoring the far-away regions during such a tumultuous time would foster restlessness, and the last thing they needed on top of everything that had happened was a civil war.

What she couldn’t put into words was how she needed to get out. There were too many missing faces in Utgard, gaping holes in the tapestry of family she had woven around herself. The throne room was empty even when it was full. She couldn’t focus on mealtime conversations because her gaze kept drifting to the vacant seats where her Forest Twins should be sitting. Her bedroom had become a tomb.

She had to leave, before she drowned in the silence.

Shouts at the back of the party startled In-Unga out of her pity spiral. Members of her guard rushed down the line of sleighs, weapons drawn. Those that remained by her side closed in a tight wall around her.

“What’s happening?” she called to Njal. “Are we under attack?” That’s just what we need now. The forested wilderness that surrounded them provided cover to any would-be assailants. Here, they were sitting ducks.

The wind picked up again, ice cutting straight through her many layers, and this time In-Unga found she couldn’t control her shivering. Frozen sitting ducks.

Soon enough, the cries died down, and her guards came riding back.

“All is well, your majesty. It was only a vargr.”

In-Unga thought of Mánagarmr and shivered again. “A wolf?” she asked. “Is anyone injured?”

“No, my queen.” In-Unga didn’t know the name of the guard that spoke. He was a new member of her defense, one of the many who got an unexpected promotion when their superiors turned to dust. “It jumped out at the last sleigh and startled many, but it was small, and taken down rather easily.”

The mortal queen of Jotunheim frowned. “Why would a wolf attack a party this large?” she asked.

“I cannot say, my queen.”

“Your majesty,” Njal spoke. “Shall I give the order to continue?”

In-Unga shook her head. This didn’t make any sense. “No,” she said. “I want to see this wolf.”

It shouldn’t have surprised her that a giant’s version of a small wolf was bigger than a Clydesdale. The majestic animal now lay lifeless in the snow, the pure white of its fur sullied only by the crimson stain spreading from the spear in its neck. The soldier who brought it down was only too pleased to relay the story to his queen.

“It came tearing out of the woods like a beast from Hel,” he cried, waving his hands for dramatic effect, “Snarling and hissing and baring its teeth. Most of us were caught off guard, but I’ve always been quick with a spear, and so when it turned to me, I was ready for it—”

In-Unga nodded, only half listening. She scanned the treeline from which the wolf had appeared. It made no sense to her—what would cause the creature to attack unprovoked? Right now, with the trees casting crooked silhouettes and the wind whistling in her ears, it seemed like an omen.

But of what? She wondered uselessly. What else could go wrong?

A clump of snow caught her eye. For a moment, she couldn’t understand why—it looked no different than any other clump she had come across in her life. Completely ordinary, but… there was something…

Warmth.

It was warmer than the rest.

The realization shocked her a little. Sensing changes in temperature from afar had been one of the skills Loki had taught her (unsurprisingly, given his affinity for snakes), but she had thought she lost it, along with all her other magical abilities, when she lost her husband.

Better make a note of that.

“There’s something over there,” she said, pointing. “In the snow. Something alive.” She made her way off the road, her guards scrambling to maintain their positions around her.

Damn, it was cold. In-Unga knelt in the ice, biting back curses as the snow soaked through to her knees. Getting back on her mount was looking more and more impossible.

The clump whimpered.

She let out a small gasp when the fluffy puppy head popped out of the snow, blinking ice out of its eyes. It shook the glistening snow from its fur with a tiny whine. A petulant growl followed, and a second pup appeared, pushing its way in front of the first and baring its teeth.

“Oh!” In-Unga reached out cautiously, the cold already forgotten. The growling puppy yipped and she pulled her hand back. The other merely yawned.

Behind her, Njal cleared his throat. “My queen, perhaps you should back away. They are feral—”

“That was their mother,” In-Unga interrupted, looking back at the bleeding body on the side of the path. “She must have felt they were threatened by the caravan and attacked. And we killed her.” Although, even that seemed unlikely.  In-Unga eyed the wolf-killer where he stood over the body of his prey, animatedly retelling the story of his deed to a growing crowd. It was easy to picture him wandering off the trail and provoking the frightened mother. Her gaze darkened.

Njal shifted uncomfortably. “It is unfortunate, my queen, but at this point there’s nothing to be done. We should continue before the weather takes a turn for the worse.”

“We can’t just leave them to starve!” she cried. She reached out again. The growling puppy flinched but didn’t back away. Its sibling craned its neck to sniff her mitten, sneezing when it breathed in a noseful of fuzz. Puppies in the dead of winter. That’s got to mean something. “Look at them! They won’t survive without their mother.”

“I can give them a quick end, your Majesty, if it would ease your worries,” one of her guards spoke up. “It would be merciful—”

“No.” Her guards stiffened at the ice in her voice. The first puppy nuzzled into her hand, rubbing against her like a cat and letting out a contented sigh when she scratched the fur on its neck. The other slunk forward guardedly, curiosity seemingly cracking its tough guy exterior. To her surprise neither resisted when she scooped them into her arms.

“I’ll have no more killing today,” In-Unga said as she stood. “I’ll care for them myself.”

Huld seemed absolutely horrified when the mortal queen plopped the little balls of fur on the floor of the sleigh.

“My queen, they’re wild animals!” she cried.

In-Unga laughed as the first puppy attempted to burrow back into her coat pocket. “Yeah. Real wild.” Its head popped up at the sound of her voice, and for the first time, In-Unga noticed its eyes: one brown and one blue. “Why, you’re a little David Bowie wolf, aren’t you?” she cooed, scratching its pointed ear. The puppy licked her wrist happily.

Her maid wasn’t quite as pleased. “My queen!” she exclaimed, backing away as the other pup growled. “What do you plan to do with them?”

“Keep them, I suppose. Raise them as pets.” She left the Bowie wolf to rein in his brother. They were both so small—when she held them in her arms they could easily be mistaken for Earth dogs. In-Unga found herself recalling her first sleigh ride in Jotunheim, with Greip and Gjálp and Snowball the Not-Melrakki, how shocked the twins had been at the concept of Midgardians owning pets.

How many years ago was that? Five? Feels like a lifetime.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, hoping Huld was too preoccupied with their new companions to smell her grief.

“Do we have anything for them to eat?” she asked with forced brightness. “Seal milk, or something?” Huld frowned, but obediently prepared a bowl of milk.

“They’re going to grow to be monsters,” she warned. “My queen, you saw Mánagarmr—”

“That’s right, I did,” In-Unga interrupted as her puppies began lapping up the dish. “And let me tell you, these guys are nothing like him.” The tough pup looked up with an offended growl. Laughing, she reached out to pet him. “Although this one thinks he is.”

The maid’s look of concern only deepened.

In-Unga sighed. “Don’t worry, Huld. Their mother wasn’t even that big. They won’t grow up to be Mánagarmr.” She cringed as she thought of the blood-splattered wolf lying in the snow. These puppies were so small, they had to have been born within the last month, after the Snap. Their poor mother survived the event that massacred half of every living being in the universe so she could give birth to her children, only to be stabbed to death by some hotshot with a stick. It was too cruel for words.

His hunger satisfied, the Bowie wolf paddled over to where In-Unga sat cross-legged on the floor and plopped down in her lap, grinning up at her with his multi-colored eyes.

“Awww!” In-Unga stroked his fur as he snuggled against her coat. “Huld, look at this! Isn’t he precious?”

Huld gave some non-descript reply, but In-Unga didn’t hear her. The second puppy was sniffing her boot, chewing on the sole with pearly teeth. “Come here, little guy.” He whined as she pulled him into her lap with his brother but didn’t try to escape. Quickly, they were both snoring.

In-Unga cradled them as the caravan trudged on, completely oblivious to the cold.

Her wolf pups quickly became the highlight of her entourage. At first In-Unga kept to leaving them with Huld while she met with the nobles on their various stops, hoping to spare them from the information overload of court, but they howled something terrible whenever she was out of sight, crying and chasing after her and giving poor Huld nightmares. Ultimately, the queen had two leashes fashioned out of leather, which they wore reluctantly in exchange for accompanying her everywhere she went. It certainly was a sight to behold—she had already looked rather ridiculous before, this tiny mortal woman encompassed by giants, and now here there were these two little fluffballs constantly nipping at her heels— but perhaps it just added to her effect.

They grew quickly. Within a week it seemed they had doubled in size, which In-Unga only realized when she nearly pulled a muscle trying to scoop them both up as she had done when she first found them. Their appetite grew with them. She was seriously concerned for a while that the caravan would run out of things with which to feed them until Njal pointed out one night that they were born hunters.

“Let them loose while we travel, my queen,” he said. “They’ll find food.”

In-Unga frowned. “You think they would come back?” she asked.

Her guard’s gaze traveled to Bowie, sprawled out on her lap fast asleep, his brother hunched protectively over her feet. “I don’t think you have to worry, your Majesty.”

She started taking them off the leash in the morning. At first, they’d only trot alongside her mount, too anxious to leave her side, but soon they were venturing off the trail for pockets of time, reappearing later with some bloodied creature dangling from their mouths. Birds, rodents, small animals—nothing was safe. Her little fur-babies were stone cold killers. She would’ve been lying if she said it wasn’t unnerving to see the little puppies she cuddled up with at night licking blood off their faces, but honestly their prowess was impressive. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head when Brynjarr returned one day dragging some furry mammal twice as big as him.

Unlike his brother, Brynjarr had remained nameless for a large part of the journey. He had been bestowed with nicknames of all sorts—Hunter, Tough Guy, Mommy’s Little Fighter—but it wasn’t until they reached Márfjall that he got a proper name.

“That’s a warrior,” Hrossþjófr said to her while watching the two wrestle on the beach. “He needs a warrior’s name.”

In-Unga had been dreading this final stop, dreading having to walk down these hallways alone when the very walls of the castle screamed for Loki. She had resolved be strong, but just seeing Hross as they alighted, withered and wilted without Griep by his side, had been nearly enough to cause her to fall apart.

The wolves kept her together. Their childlike fascination with the crimson sands was almost enough to distract her from the other memories swirling around in the dark bay. In her few moments of free time, she’d take them down to the shore and laugh as they’d go tearing up the surf, Brynjarr barking menacingly at the ocean when the waves crashed too close to his feet, Bowie rolling around in the sand until his white coat was stained pink. Hross joined her often with his children, likely as desperate for a diversion as she was. They didn’t talk about the event. It was easier just to focus on the wolves.

Hross was endlessly impressed with their obedience. “How do you get them to do that?” he asked when they stopped what they were doing and came running at In-Unga’s whistle.

She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said as she attempted to dust off Bowie’s coat before he plopped down on top of her. Even though the two wolves were nearly at the height of her hips, Bowie still seemed to think he was a lap cat. “They just always do.”

Dagný shrieked and buried her face into her father’s chest when the wolves came too close, but her brother leaned forward, his eyes like saucers as he reached for Brynjarr with chubby hands.

“Woof,” he cried. “Woof.”

Hross pulled him away. “Dali, we don’t want to bother the vargr, now—"

“It’s okay,” In-Unga said. “Bryn, sit down so Dali can pet you.”

Brynjarr sank into the sand obediently. Dali gasped in delight as he ran his fingers through the wolf’s thick mane.

“Woof!” he cried again, happily. Hross and In-Unga laughed.

From her lap, Bowie whined for attention. She reached to scratch behind his ears.

“So devoted,” Hross mused. “I’ll have to add it to your song. ‘In-Unga, charmer of wolves.’”

The party arrived back at Utgard just as the winter freeze was beginning to thaw. There was an audible gasp from the crowd gathered when she exited her sleigh flanked by the two animals, but Býleistr only raised an eyebrow.

“There were rumors, but I supposed no one really believed them,” he told her as they walked in.

She smiled. “But you did?”

“Of course,” he said. “If there’s anyone on this planet stupid enough to mistake a vargr for a pet, it’s you.”

“I missed you too, Bý.”

Býleistr and the rest of her advisors tried to catch her up on all the business she had missed over dinner, but the very presence of her wolves was quick to derail any serious conversation.

“They’re so well behaved,” marveled a forest giant In-Unga probably should’ve known the name of. “How does one inspire such loyalty, your Majesty?”

In-Unga forced an artificial laugh. “They only stick around because they know I feed them.”

The wolves laid down at her feet, eyeing the meat on the table. She reached down to scratch Bowie’s back. She doubted the giant had meant anything by her question, but the way everyone was looking at Bowie and Brynjarr was reminding her of the way everyone had looked at her when she first arrived in Jotunheim with Loki, and it was stirring up emotions in her chest that she wasn’t prepared to deal with.

She thought of the golden collar she had worn for so many years, a sign of ownership that had turned into a display of loyalty. She had despised it at first, but by the end she had been proud to wear that collar.

Lokakona. Loki’s woman.

It was in a box under her bed, along with the knife he had given her after the Rann Steinar debacle and the wooden Yggdrasil pendent Griep had given her before her first trip to Asgard. In the days following the destruction of the stones, as the heavy truth that this was a nightmare she wasn’t going to wake up from sank in, In-Unga had collected everything that broke her to look at and stuffed them where she wouldn’t see them anymore.

It hadn’t helped much.

The nights were the worst. It was stupid, because she had lived alone for years before Jotunheim, but now the concept of sleeping by herself made her sick to her stomach. When everything had first happened, In-Unga had refused to even touch the bed. It was too big, too cold, too empty to even attempt sleep in it. She piled furs and blankets on top of the couch and laid there all night, haunted by missing faces and broken memories and outstretched hands that were just beyond her reach. By morning, she’d be curled up so tightly into herself that it hurt to sit straight during the day.

At first, it was just temporary. Wasn’t that what Agent Romanov said, when she finally got into contact with her? They’d find a way to reverse it. Once they were able to locate Tony Stark, they’d find a way. It would be okay. She’d just have to rule in Loki’s stead for a little bit, just like she had before. Keep his realm together for him until he came back. But a month later, she got another call. This time, Romanov’s voice held none of the steadfast determination that In-Unga had been clinging to so desperately. They were gone. The infinity stones, and the people too. It was over. They failed. She was so sorry.

Vaguely, In-Unga remembered asking if she could talk to her brother-in-law, the silence that followed as Romanov went looking for him, her apologetic tone when Thor refused to come to the phone. The next thing she knew she was in the courtyard, heavy snow pummeling her body as Býleistr dragged her back inside with an arm around her waist.

“Are you completely out of your mind?” he snapped. “You’ll freeze to death out there!”

She held up her hand, hazily noting that her skin looked an even darker blue than his.

It was soon after that In-Unga decided to tour the kingdom. The voice inside her head scolded her for the decision even as she attempted to provide political rationale. She was running away. Pushing her problems further down the road in a childish attempt to avoid the unavoidable. Loki would be disappointed in you.

But how could she rule a planet when she couldn’t even bring herself to sleep in her own bed?

So she had left for a few months, for better or worse, and now she was back. After dinner her wolves, obviously exhausted from the long journey, trotted into her old room without issue. Bowie plopped down on the floor and was asleep in seconds. Brynjarr, ever distrustful, made his cautious way around the room, sniffing at odds and ends and barking at items that seemed too suspicious. In-Unga stood in the doorway, watching. It was almost enough of a distraction. Almost. The room was untouched since the last time she had entered, so much so that it still reeked of Loki. The feeling was so strong that for a moment she didn’t trust herself to move.

She entered slowly, drinking in the memories. Loki’s desk, where she’d lean on top of him and read his paperwork over his shoulder, currently piled up with documents he was never going to review. The table across from empty fireplace, where on rare occasions they could have their meals when the only company they felt like entertaining was each other’s. The rug next to the fireplace, where they always seemed to end up after such occasions.

And there was the bed. Brynjarr rushed ahead of her as she made her way to the bedroom, seemingly intent on confirming its safety before allowing her access. In-Unga found herself laughing despite the ache in her chest.

“Does it meet your standards, Bryn?” she asked as he slipped under the bed and out again, sniffing every corner and examining every fur. Eventually, he laid down at the foot of the bed, satisfied.

In-Unga sat down next to him, stroking his ears as he rested his big head on her thighs. This was the last place she had seen Loki. Here, in this room, on this bed. They had been woken up in the middle of the night by a messenger at the door. Groaning, he had dragged himself out of bed to answer it, only to return shortly after considerably more alert.

“What’s wrong?” she asked sleepily as he dressed. “Where you going?”

“Thor’s made a mess of things on Asgard,” he replied, pulling his tunic over his head. “He needs my help.”

“What?” The gravity of his tone woke her up quickly. “Wait, you’re leaving now? What happened?”

He leaned forward to kiss her. “It’s probably nothing. My brother is known to blow things out of proportion. I should be back within a few days.”

“Loki—”

He muffled her with another kiss. “Don’t worry, dröttning,” he whispered against her lips. “It will be fine. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered back. “Stay safe.”

And then he was gone.

For months, In-Unga wondered if there was something she should’ve done. Pulled him back into bed, forbidden him from walking through that door? “Stay here with me. Thor can handle it himself.” Would it have even changed anything? Loki had told her about Thanos—not a lot, but enough to understand that his influence stretched across galaxies. Would he still have collected the stones, regardless of whether she managed to keep Loki with her? She didn’t know which alternative was worse: the idea that there was something she could’ve done but didn’t, or the thought that she was so useless that Loki and the others were fated to die regardless of her actions.

Brynjarr whined, sitting up taller so he could lick the tears off her cheeks. She buried her face in his fluffy neck.

“I miss him, Bryn,” she sobbed. “I miss him so much.”

He followed her into bed that night. It was a bit surprising—Brynjarr normally wasn’t one for bedtime cuddles, that was Bowie’s thing—but not all together unwelcome. In-Unga was a little more concerned about the bed—on all fours her wolves were now taller than her, and significantly heavier. But it seemed to hold together alright, minus a few creaks, and honestly, the comforting weight of Bryn’s head on her stomach was worth a damaged bedframe if it came down to it. Slowly, she drifted off to the sound of his breathing.

Court was sparse these days.

In-Unga had become so accustomed to the looming hallway being packed with faces that seeing it half-empty kindled even more anxiety in her chest. The faces that were there seemed anxious as well—although In-Unga was rather certain their apprehension came more from the massive wolves at her feet than the vacancies in the room. Bowie and Brynjarr were still for the most part, but they were always ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

Everything was threatening to them. If someone addressed her with a less than respectful tone, if someone tried too come to near to the throne, they were on their feet, teeth bared and growling. In-Unga found it hard to take them seriously. Bowie was a big sweetie who liked belly rubs and snuggling next to the fire, and whenever Bryn growled, she could only picture the tiny little fluff ball she found in the snow trying to be intimidating. But they certainly succeeded in unnerving the court, a little too much perhaps.

“Maybe I should have them wait outside next time,” she wondered aloud to Býleistr after a civilian who had come to petition the queen had been so frightened he was unable to string together a coherent sentence.

“No, most certainly not,” he countered. “They give you an extra sense of authority. The Queen already controls the Casket, now the vargrs bow to her command—it’s a powerful statement, and Jotuns respect power.”

“I suppose,” she said, thoughtfully. “But I don’t want to feel like I’m ruling through fear.”

Býleistr scoffed. “If your subjects don’t fear you to some extent, then you’re doing something wrong. Besides,” he added, “they should be fearful of your wolves.”

He was probably right. In-Unga trusted Njal and his men with her life, but she knew that if there was any sign of danger it would be the wolves who acted first. Bryn and Bowie accompanied her everywhere, flanking her like a set of furry bodyguards. It was especially odd given how large they had grown—they had long been towering over her, and now were approaching Býleistr’s height. Thankfully, Utgard had high ceilings.

With time, the palace became more accustomed to their presence. In-Unga liked to think that seeing her so at ease with them had begun to rub off on her subjects. If she ever had free time during the day, she’d take the two outside to run around and play in the snow. It wasn’t nearly as spacious as the beaches at Márfjall, but they had enough room to wrestle and cavort around. A crowd usually gathered when she played fetch with an old stick of wood she had picked up while still on the road, watching cautiously with wide eyes. She felt rather like a zookeeper putting on a show in an exhibit.

And if you look here, boys and girls, we have an overgrown doggo in his natural habitat.

It had also become a well-known fact that Bowie and Brynjarr slept in In-Unga’s bed with her. She wasn’t quite sure how this had become a well-known fact—perhaps those in charge of washing her bedding had taken note of the clumps of white fur tangled in the blankets—but Huld told her that this fact was seen as quite impressive to the other servants.

“It’s brave,” she said. “To leave yourself vulnerable to such beasts every night.”

In-Unga laughed humorlessly from where she sat hunched over at the desk. It had been a rough day. “At least they’re impressed. I’m pretty sure Loki’s glaring daggers down at me for letting animals sleep in his bed.” She had meant to make a joke, but there was a familiar lump building in her throat that she couldn’t quite swallow.

Hesitantly, Huld reached out to touch her forearm. “He’d love them,” she said. “He loved anything that made you happy.”

Maybe that was so. But In-Unga was still pretty certain that he’d be pissed—if not for the constantly shedding vargrs taking over his bedroom, then definitely for the stupid ideas that they spawned.

“Alright,” In-Unga said, drawing a line in the air from her chest to the ground. “Lie down.”

The two wolves sunk into the snow obediently, though not without confusion. They clearly expected playtime when she brought them outside, as did the growing crowd of faces at the palace gate. She sighed. This was one time where she’d rather not have an audience, but she didn’t feel right having them dispersed.

“Have I mentioned that this is a terrible idea?” Býleistr drawled from behind her.

“You have, as a matter of fact,” she replied, rubbing Bowie’s neck. He sighed contently, multicolored eyes slipping closed. “I’m still not listening to you.”

“It was worth a try.”

It was Hross who had put the idea in her head, when he had come to visit a month or two ago. Even after he returned to Márfjall, she couldn’t stop imagining what it might be like to ride one of her wolves like a horse.

“Just picture it!” he had said excitedly. “Queen In-Unga, riding into battle alone atop a vargr, casket in hand—”

Býleistr had interrupted to inquire under what circumstances would the kingdom become so inept as to send their mortal queen into battle alone, but In-Unga was sold.

Although, looking at it now, mounting didn’t seem as simple as Hross had made it out to be.

“Okay,” she murmured to Bowie as she made her way around his body. “I’m going to get on your back, buddy. Don’t freak out.” She grabbed a clump of fur on his back—even with him laying down, she had to reach a bit—and tried to pull herself up.

Key word being tried.

“No—what are you doing?” she cried as Bowie stood up with her still hanging off his side. “Bowie, sit down!”

The wolf yawned.

“Oh my,” Býleistr was doing his best to sound disinterested, but she could hear the suppressed laugher hiding under his voice. “Do you need a push?”

“Shut up.” She leveraged herself against the wolf, trying to wriggle her way to a sitting position. Bowie suddenly decided to obey her earlier command and plopped his bottom on the ground, the movement throwing her off enough to tumble into the snow.

“Oof!”

Bowie grinned at her.

Býleistr’s laugh rang out across the ice.

“I take it back,” he said. “That was well worth it. Now, have you had enough of this nonsense, my Queen, or might we go back inside?”

In-Unga was already back on her feet. “Do whatever you want, Býleistr. I’m not finished yet.”

This time, she went to Brynjarr. He was still lying down, despite all the ruckus.

“Okay,” she murmured, scratching his ear. “Take 2.”

Bowie whined. In-Unga turned around to see him lying down with his head between his paws, eyes wide and repentant. “Oh, hush!” she said, rolling her eyes. “You had your chance.”

Pulling herself on to Brynjarr’s back was surprisingly easy, likely because he actually listened to her when she told him to stay still. It took her a minute to get situated and comfortable, seated in a position where she didn’t feel like she was immediately going to slip off. She wondered if she should have a saddle made. But she felt like that would be too complicated—they’d have to get measurements from the wolves since no such saddle had ever been made before (to her knowledge, at least), all the while working on the assumption that Bryn and Bowie would even wear such a contraption.

Besides, she told herself, Daenerys Targaryen rides her dragons bareback without problem, right?

Yes. That was definitely the type of logic she needed to live her life by.

In-Unga clutched his fur as tightly as she could. “Okay, Bryn,” she said, tapping his neck. “Up!”

The wolf rose to his feet in one fluid, graceful motion that nearly sent her sprawling again. Oh boy. She tightened the grip of her legs around his sides. If I die today, blame George R.R. Martin.

She was high. Extremely high. Geez, she had to be at least ten feet in the air! Since when had her babies gotten this big?

Býleistr cleared his throat. “So,” he said, looking up at her (Býleistr had to look up at her!), “Are you just going to sit up there all day or do you plan on doing something? Because if not I would like to remind you that—”

“Hold your horses, Bý.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

In-Unga ignored him. She leaned forward to flatten herself against Brynjarr’s back. “Okay buddy,” she whispered, tapping his shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He started off slowly, a fact for which she was exceedingly thankful. He crept ahead almost as if he was tiptoeing, so soft that she barely felt his feet on the ground, a far cry from the clodding she was used to with the wooly rhinos. He wandered around in a circle, continually looking back to check if she was still there.

“Good boy.”

They continued riding in a circle for a while. It wasn’t anything grand, and it was certainly a far cry from Hrossþjófr’s vision of her galloping into battle, but there was still something thrilling about being atop such a powerful creature. In-Unga didn’t have any delusions about being in control—she knew damn well the moment Brynjarr decided he had had enough he’d plop down in the snow and she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it—but the illusion of control was enough to make her feel unbelievably powerful.

“Look at me, Býleistr!” she called. “Aren’t you impressed?”

“Exceedingly,” he said dryly. “Are you finished? Remember, we do have things to accomplish today.”

In-Unga frowned. Býleistr was right, of course—she was the Queen of Jotunheim, she couldn’t just spend the entire day playing with her wolves. But on the flip side, she was the Queen of Jotunheim—if she wanted to spend the entire day playing with her wolves, who could stop her?

Just as she was beginning to favor postponing her next few meetings on account of essential wolf training, Bowie rose to his feet.

She sighed. “Bowie, what did I tell you—” The wolf wasn’t listening. He knelt close to the ground, muscles tense as he eyed something in the distance. Brynjarr turned around abruptly, In-Unga grabbing at his mane to maintain her balance. He too tensed, staring unblinkingly into the snow.

She squinted into the distance. At first, she couldn’t spot anything out of the ordinary, but the tiniest movement of white fur soon gave it away. A kanína. They were smaller, rodent-like creatures that lived all over the place, not unlike the rabbits she knew from Earth. Their meat was extremely tough, practically inedible to giants and mortals alike, but her wolves loved to hunt them.

Uh oh.

“I think I’m going to get down now,” she said, patting Brynjarr’s neck. “You can chance down that furball once I’m on the ground. Lie down.” Bryn didn’t move. Oh dear.

She tried again, more authoritatively. “Brynjarr, lie down! Brynjarr—” She cut herself off with a very unqueenly shriek as the kanína bolted, the wolves bolting after it.

All In-Unga could do was hold on for dear life. The wind smacked her face as they picked up speed, whistling so loudly in her ears that she could only barely hear Býleistr shouting her name. The landscape flashed by in a blur of color.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit!

“Bryn!” she screamed. “Bryn, stop!”

It was like riding a giant rocking horse running at the speed of light. Straightening up was out of the question, so she flattened herself against Brynjarr’s body and tried to sway with his movements. To the left, she could barely make out Bowie running alongside them, leaping so far that it looked like he was flying above the snow.

Just breath. Focus on breathing. Don’t think about how much it’ll hurt if you fall. Just focus on breathing.

Although… it wasn’t that bad. The longer she held on, feeling the vibration of their paws travel up her spine, the more her panic began to fade. She pushed up a little, risking a glance over her shoulder at the distant dot that was Býleistr. Shit. They were going fast.

Exhilaration flooded her body. This is what Hross had been talking about!

In-Unga, Charmer of Wolves

For a moment, she felt like a superhero.

When she hooted, the wolves howled with her. The kanína was still running in front of them, scrambling to stay ahead, but its time was up: Bowie pounced and had the poor rodent dangling in his mouth in a second, snapping its neck like it was nothing. They slowed down, Bowie stopping completely to grin at her with his prize. Look at me, Mom! Aren’t you proud of me?

In-Unga laughed. “Good boy.”

Trotting back to Býleistr was slightly less thrill-inducing now that she could actually see where they were going without getting pelted in the face with wind. In-Unga made a mental note to have a pair of goggles made for any future wolf-runs.

“So what do you think?” she asked, grinning down at her brother-in-law.

Býleistr gaped at her. He shook his head. “I don’t know why I still haven’t learned to just expect this madness from you.”

She snickered.

After that, wolf rides became a part of In-Unga’s daily routine. Every afternoon she’d climb onto Bryn’s back and take off into the snow for about an hour, flying across the countryside with only her wolves for company. That last detail drove Býleistr mad.

“You are the single most important individual on this planet,” he snapped at her one day. “And, if you’ll excuse my saying so, likely the most vulnerable as well. You need to take a guard with you.”

“I can take care of myself, Bý,” she replied nonchalantly from where she sat with Bowie in front of the fireplace. “You should understand that as much as anyone. Besides, the wolves will take care of me.” Bowie looked up with a grin, thumping his tail against the stone floor in enthusiastic agreement. Býleistr rolled his eyes.

“And when you go flying off their back while they’re running at full speed? How will they protect you then?” He shook his head. “I’d doubt they’d even notice you were missing.”

“That will never happen,” she said stubbornly. “I’d never fall off, and they’d never leave me behind.”

It was easy to sound fearless while bathed in the warmth of the fire, but there were moments where In-Unga was a little less sure of herself (although she’d stab herself before admitting such to the prince). The landscape around Utgard was high and rocky, and although her furry companions were sure footed, she often found herself swallowing her heart as they scampered up craggy ledges.

Still, every hair-raising experience she survived increased her confidence in her abilities as a wolf-back rider and encouraged her to go farther. She taught Brynjarr to understand her commands just by the way she shifted her weight on his back. Luckily, he picked it up easily— trying to yell instructions with the wind blasting in her face got old very quickly.

Bowie took a little while longer, but they got there eventually. He wasn’t as much of a fan of having In-Unga on his back, but he also wasn’t a fan of being left out, and weeks of watching his brother get all the attention for carrying the queen wore him down. Soon enough, she could ride him as well as Bryn.

They tended to keep to the rocks on their journeys. Running through the caves would have been a lot easier, as well as less windy, but the caverns that Loki had carried her through when she first arrived on Jotunheim were haunted by ghosts of memories In-Unga couldn’t bring herself to face. Instead, she stuck to sights less sacred: mountainous cliffs and jutting rocks that Bryn and Bowie loved to race each other around, places so far off the beaten path that there was no chance of stray flashbacks popping up to punch her in the gut.

Sometimes, on the way back from the palace, she’d ride through town. It was a risk, of course, but then again when was anything not? She always wanted to laugh at the crowd that gathered whenever she came through, at the way her people’s eyes would bulge at seeing the giant wolves plodding down the road completely unphased. They would whisper amongst themselves, just as they did that first time she came to the marketplace with Griep, but the words were slightly different.

In-Unga. Vargdröttning.

Usually, she made a point of stopping at some small vendor and purchasing something— a dagger, a blanket, a piece of jewelry— the item didn’t really matter to her. She just liked interacting with her people, asking them about their families, checking up on their wellbeing. With everything that had gone wrong in the past few years, she felt that was the least she could do. That too was reminiscent her trip with Griep. So much had changed since then, and yet still so much was the same. Back then, the Jotuns hadn’t known what to make of a mortal wandering through life on Utgard as if she belonged there. In-Unga got the feeling that they still weren’t sure what to make of her now, but they treated her with respect and grace and that was all she could ever hope for.

Some of the changes hurt. The absence of her Forest Twins was an ache she carried with her everywhere she went. In-Unga had never really realized how deeply she depended on them both until they were gone. Now, without them, she missed them everywhere. At the table during meals. In the throne room when she held court. Just walking through the halls—it was such a silly, stupid thing, but she felt naked making her way through the palace alone even now, a couple years after she lost them.

Most times during her afternoon ride, she’d dismount at the top of some mountain and let Bowie and Brynjarr hunt for a bit. She’d find a rock to sit on, sheltered from the wind, and make a list of all the things she wanted to tell them. How she had been trying to teach Huld to play gin rummy, but Bowie ate half the deck. How Hross had written that Dagný had finally said her first word: daddy. How Býleistr was all pissed off because Bryn had somehow gotten into his greenhouse while In-Unga had let them out to hunt and knocked over some important plants from Alfheim.

Griep would have gotten a kick out of that last one: in the months before everything went wrong, Gjálp had been spending a suspicious amount of time in Býleistr’s greenhouse, something her sister and In-Unga had been relentlessly teasing her about. You know, payback for all the teasing she had doled out over the years. She had been getting pretty annoyed about it.

“I don’t know what the two of you have gotten in your heads,” she had scowled. “Prince Býleistr was simply showing off his imported aster flowers. They only bloom for a short period of time—”

“Riiight,” In-Unga said, smirking. “That’s definitely what he’s been showing you.”

Gjálp sputtered, scandalized, while Griep exploded into a fit of very uncharacteristic giggles.

On her rock in the middle of the snow, In-Unga giggled too. It was nice, having these quick little moments where she could almost trick herself into thinking that everything was fine. They were fleeting though. By the time her wolves returned to her, a few minutes later, she was sobbing uncontrollably.

She missed them so much.

But with everything that had changed in the past few years, everything that had been uprooted and ripped to shreds, at least there remained one constant in her life.

Periods still sucked Hel.

Regardless, In-Unga always tried to carry on with her day as usual. She was the queen, after all—she couldn’t be seen as weak. So, she’d hold court like everything was normal, sit up straight on the throne and pretend she didn’t feel like someone was wringing out her insides like wet laundry. If the giants around her noticed the stench of blood (which of course they did), they knew better than to bring it up.

But today had just been too much. Meetings heaped on top of meetings, every new face bearing a different demand or a different complaint, every new conversation only exacerbating the ache in her head and the knots in her stomach. By noon, she called it a day.

In bed, burrowed into her nest of blankets, In-Unga existed in the frustrating in-between: too tired to be fully awake, but too uncomfortable to drift off to sleep. She buried her face in her pillow and cursed the blizzard outside. It seems periods always worsened with the cold.

From the doorframe, Bowie whined. Brynjarr had easily accepted the reality that there would be no afternoon run today, instead electing to pass out at the foot of the bed, but his brother did not give up so easily. If In-Unga hadn’t felt so awful, she would’ve laughed at him—the doorway to her bedroom was far too narrow for the giant wolf. He was just barely managing to squeeze through.

He whined again.

She groaned. “Can’t play with you right now, buddy.”

Rolling over, she nestled deeper under the covers, seeking protection against the biting cold. It was a useless attempt. She never seemed to be able to get warm anymore.

Bowie padded over to her bedside, his claws drumming on the floor making him sound like some sort of depressed tap dancer. He snuffled at her hair.

“Go away, Bowie,” she muttered when he pressed his clammy nose to her forehead. She pushed his giant head away halfheartedly. “Lie down with Bryn.”

Suddenly, the whole bed dipped, and the giant wolf was attempting to snuggle his way into to her blankets.

“Bow—” she tried to push him away again, with even less effort than before. “You’re too big!” But with a final push, he nuzzled under her blankets next to her, grinning widely and smacking her face with a mouthful of doggy breath. In-Unga winced.

“Such an attention hog,” she groaned, even as she reached to scratch the fur under his chin. “You don’t even care that I’m trying to rest, do you?” He snuggled closer, sighing in contentment when In-Unga shifted so that she was resting her head on his fluffy neck rather than her pillow.

“Yes, you’re a good boy. I’m sorry. I’m just having a bad day.” She heaved a sigh of her own. “Do you know what my small council said to me, first thing when I sat down?”

He cocked his head. In-Unga took that as a sign to continue.

“They think I should get married. Remarried.” She swallowed bitterly. “They said it would help ‘maintain my legitimacy as queen.’ As if I’m not already fucking legitimate!” She smacked the mattress with her palm, glaring at her wolf. “Do you know the shit I went through to get to this point?”

Bowie whined.

“Right, of course you don’t,” she apologized. “You weren’t born yet. But take my word for it, it was a lot.”

On the floor, Brynjarr shifted in his sleep. In-Unga continued.

“And then there’s the whole subject of heirs. ‘Your Majesty, since you failed to have a child to King Loki before he died, you have no one to advance your lineage’—yes I’m well aware of that!” she shouted at the ceiling, blinking the steaming tears from her eyes. “I’m reminded of that fact every damn day of my life! I don’t need you to tell me!”

Her nose was running. She wiped it angrily with the heel of her hand. They had been trying to have a baby, her and Loki. After years of pushing it off, waiting for things to stabilize, they had finally felt ready. Loki had told her not to be frustrated if she didn’t get pregnant right away.

“Our biologies are fundamentally different. It may take some time.” They had been in bed, tangled up in each other under the cover of darkness. In-Unga could still feel his breath in her hair when he leaned down to kiss her head. “Don’t worry, dröttning. We’re in no rush.”

He had gotten called away a few months later, her womb still empty.

“They had a whole list of men they thought would be suitable,” she muttered to Bowie, blocking out memories that hurt too much to touch. “They had organized it all and everything. I felt like the Bachelorette. Totally ridiculous! And they had the audacity to look at me like I was the crazy one!”

The way they had stared at her, when she categorically refused to even consider their proposition. “But my queen, don’t you want to have children?”

Yes. Yes she did. She wanted to have children whose ebony hair matched their father’s, who carried both his intelligence and his mischievous streak within them. She wanted to see her husband’s eyes light up when they learned a new magic trick, wanted to laugh at the regal King of Jotunheim crawling around the room on his hands and knees with his toddler giggling on his back. She wanted to cradle her baby and smile at its sleeping face in awe, wondering at the perfect mix of her and the man she loved so much, a mix that could exist with no one else.

Yes, she wanted to have children. Loki’s children.

In-Unga ran her fingers through Bowie’s fur. “He’s not coming back,” she whispered. “I know that. I’ve made my peace with it. But I can’t pretend that it’s okay. I can’t just… replace him.”

Bowie licked her cheek with a tongue the size of her entire face. In-Unga sputtered, snorting. “Ugh… thanks buddy.” He nodded, moving to rest his head on her stomach so she could scratch his ears. She stroked his long fur absentmindedly. The wolves were the closest thing to children she was ever going to have. She was at peace with that too. Her advisors may not understand, but they didn’t have to. She had done so much for her kingdom. They could give her this.

And so time marched on. Winter turned to spring, spring to summer, then back to winter again, over and over as if nothing had ever happened.

It was a quiet night in her quarters when things changed.

In-Unga was skimming over a document by the fire, having abandoned the desk in favor of the furry rug, a warm blanket, and her wolf-pillows. Bryn’s eyes were fluttering. Bowie was already fast asleep, sighing contently. Behind them, Huld softly cleaned up the remnants of the late dinner she had eaten alone in her room. Save for the crackling of the flames, the room was silent.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on the lines of script. The flickering light was almost hypnotic—In-Unga leaned against Bowie’s back to rest her eyes for a moment and found herself unable to sit back up.

She yawned. Probably time to call it a night. Still, she felt so nice here—her bed would be large and cold, and she’d have to get up and walk all the way to the next room to even get there…

In-Unga was just beginning to doze off completely when the high-pitched beep nearly scared her out of her skin.

The wolves were on their feet immediately, knocking her out of her reverie and barking so loudly the room shook. The beeping continued, shrill and ear-piercing, and In-Unga cursed under her breath as she pulled herself up.

I live in a damn circus.

Huld was standing at the table, hands over her ears and red eyes trained on the corner of the room. “Your majesty!” she cried. “It’s the thing!”

In-Unga followed her gaze to the telephone-like communicator Tony Stark had created for them, back when everything was nice and happy and Thor had convinced everyone it was a good idea for Jotunheim to have some method of contact with the Avengers. For the first time in five years, it was flashing red.

She made her way across the room in a fog. The last time it rang… that call had broken her. Broken everything. Told her that the hopeless mess her life had turned into would be here to stay, and that she would have to clean it up alone. In-Unga hadn’t touched the device since. What could Earth’s Mightiest Heroes possibly have to say to her now?

Still, it couldn’t be worse than last time, could it?

In-Unga hushed the wolves, who fell silent at her command, and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

Agent Romanov’s sharp voice said her Midgardian name. “How have you been?”

“Alright, I guess, considering everything,” she answered cautiously. Somehow, she doubted that after half a decade the assassin had just decided to phone for a social call. “Is everything okay?”

She was right. “We’re working on something,” Agent Romanov said. “We’re not positive how everything’s going to turn out, but at the moment, things are looking good. I thought you should know, just in case things get crazy.”

In-Unga frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“The Snap,” she said. She inhaled softly. “We think we can bring everyone back.”

In-Unga’s heart stopped.

For a moment, she just stood there, barely comprehending her words.

We can bring everyone back.

Romanov said her name again. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” she said shakily. “Are—are you serious? You going—how is that even possible? You said before—without the stones—”

“I know,” the assassin said. “We still need them. But Stark’s come up with something that would allow us to retrieve them before they were destroyed. We’ve planned out where they are across the timeline, the easiest times and places for us to access them—”

“Wait.” In-Unga’s head was spinning. “Retrieve them before they were destroyed?” She had to be misunderstanding. Surely Romanov wasn’t suggesting what it sounded like she was suggesting. “How is that possible? Unless you have a—”

“Time machine?” There was a wry smile to Romanov’s voice. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story, but like I said, Stark’s come up with something,” she continued. “I know it sounds insane, but we’ve proven it works—we ran a test with Barton, and Lang basically did it unintentionally for five years—”

“Lang?” In-Unga asked weakly.

“You don’t know him. But my point is it’s possible.”

It’s possible.

“Time travel,” she said. “That’s what’s happening? I haven’t gone crazy, you’re actually telling me you can time travel?”

“Well, you did marry the guy who attacked New York, so I can’t say you’re not crazy,” Romanov said. In-Unga was so overwhelmed that the poor attempt at humor didn’t even bother her. “But yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

They’re going to bring them back. In-Unga was shaking. Loki, Griep, Gjálp… they’re going to bring them back!

“When is this happening? How is this going to happen? Is there something I can do?” The questions tumbled out faster than she had time to think.

“We’re going out tomorrow. Technically speaking, everything will only take a few minutes, so we should have the stones by then.”

In-Unga gasped. “That soon?”

“Yeah. We’re not sure exactly how they’ll work once we have them, but Thanos was able to wipe out half the universe just by snapping his fingers, so we’re guessing it’s not that difficult.”

“So, everyone could be back tomorrow!” The shock was beginning to wear off, replaced by a surge of pure elation. The wolves, sensing her excitement, began barking again. “Hey, shut up! Both of you!”

Romanov laughed. “I didn’t know you had dogs.”

“It’s a fairly new development.” So new that Loki and the Twins never got to meet them. Her eyes were stinging. “Tomorrow?”

“Hopefully, yes,” In-Unga had never known Romonov to sound so excited. “That’s why I wanted to get into contact with you. We’re not sure how this will work, what kind of widespread effects it can might cause. I thought you deserved a heads up.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Will you let me know when you get back with the stones?”

“Sure thing.”

“Well…” In-Unga wondered if she was dreaming, if she was going to wake up and curse her stupid brain for letting her hope for a moment. But this was real. This was happening. “Good luck!” she said into the receiver, pulse thrumming.

She could hear the smile in Romanov’s voice. “Thanks. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

In-Unga set the receiver down in a daze. When she turned, both her wolves and her maid were staring at her with eyes so wide it was practically comical.

“Huld,” she said quietly. “Get Býleistr in here, would you?”

She spent the next day huddled next to the communicator, anxiously tapping her feet on the stone floor.

Býleistr had been willing to hold court in her place today, but he had been less inclined to share her eager optimism.

“The past has already been written, In-Unga,” he said softly. “That’s not something anyone can change.”

“But there’s a chance they might,” she cried. She pushed the hair out of her face. “A chance. That’s more than we’ve had for the last five years!”

“Getting your hopes up will only cause yourself more pain when they fail. You’ll be grieving all over again—"

“I never stopped grieving,” she whispered. Her eyes were damp again as she looked back up at Býleistr. He sighed.

“I hope it works,” he said. “I do. It’s just—” he cut himself off, shaking his head and abruptly standing up to leave. “Goodnight, your Majesty.”

Behind her, the wolves paced back and forth, whining softly as they picked up on her nervous energy. In-Unga couldn’t tear her eyes away from the phone. Had they left yet? Was everything going to plan? She let out a worried breath. If only there was something she could do. Something besides just sitting here and feeling useless.

By the afternoon Romanov still had not called and In-Unga had completely chewed through her bottom lip. She should have heard something by now. She was certain of it. Hadn’t Romanov said that it was only supposed to take a few minutes?

Huld brought her lunch at around noon. In-Unga left it on the table untouched. She wasn’t hungry. In fact, she felt like she was going to be sick.

Bowie was scratching at the floor. The sound of his nails dragging across the stone put her even more on edge than she was already, but he ignored her when she told him to stop. In the corner, Byrnjarr growled softly.

Her room was warmer than usual. She found herself shrugging off the blanket she usually kept draped across her shoulders in her quarters and letting it fall to the floor. Out of nowhere, she felt confused. Nothing was the way it was supposed to be. Everything was happening at once. It was overwhelming—so overwhelming. She couldn’t think— wait.

These aren’t my feelings.

In-Unga shot up so quickly she knocked her chair over. Bowie and Bryn were on their feet in less than a second, bouncing around and barking at the top of their lungs. With shaking hands, she reached for her neck, for what had become nothing more than an old scar these past five years. At the brush of her fingertips, sparks shot through her skin.

Her gasp melted into messy sobs. “Loki.”

Outside, people were shouting, voices blending together into an amorphous blob of noise. Someone pounded at her door.

“Your Majesty!” Njal shouted. “Your Majesty, something is happening—”

They’re back. They’re all back…

In-Unga barged through her door without a word to her guards, dashing down the hallways at lightning speed with Brynjarr and Bowie trotting at her heels. There were people everywhere—servants, nobles, people gasping, people embracing, people running through the halls like maniacs like her—In-Unga ignored all of them. She flung herself down the stairs with her wolves still behind her.

The room she was rushing to hadn’t been touched in five years. She had felt stupid, giving that order, but having someone else move in was admitting that they were gone forever, and she couldn’t do that.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

In-Unga was completely out of breath by the time she flung open the door. The woman standing in the middle of room looked up as she pressed her fingers to her temple, red eyes furrowed in a frown.

“In-Unga,” she asked. “What is—”

Gjálp didn’t have time to finish before In-Unga crashed into her in a bear hug, bawling.

She sputtered. “In-Unga—”

“You’re back!” In-Unga sobbed. “You’re back! You’re back!”

Gjálp returned the embrace tentatively. “What is happening? What—Norns!” She stiffened, yanking In-Unga backwards. The mortal queen turned to find that Bryn and Bowie had followed her into the room and were now looming over the couch with all the intimidation of a pair of overexcited Labradors.

“Oh no, it’s fine—” In-Unga hiccupped, finding words astonishingly difficult to control in the moment. “Mine. They’re mine. Don’t worry! Uh—lie down!” Thankfully, they obeyed without an issue, their tales flying around like propellers. “See?” She gulped, turning back to Gjálp. She gripped her wrist, just to remind herself that this was real, and she wasn’t dreaming.

“You’re back,” she whispered again, hoarsely.

“You keep saying that,” Gjálp said, still frowning suspiciously at the wolves. “What happened? Where am I back from?”

In-Unga let out a wet laugh. “You were gone. He got the stones and took out everyone—half of everyone, half of everyone everywhere,” she laughed again, because it suddenly sounded funny saying out loud with Gjálp staring down at her like she had lost her mind. Maybe she had. It didn’t matter anymore.

“Your Majesty.”

They both jumped at the unfamiliar voice behind them. In-Unga turned to find herself face to face with a man—a human man, with a goatee and red cloak, standing in the middle of a ring of fire. In a second, the wolves had flanked her, teeth bared and growling.

Shit, I guess I have lost my mind.

Gjálp was the first to find her voice. “Who—what—how did you get in here?”

The man ignored her. “Your Majesty,” he said, facing In-Unga. “I am Dr. Stephen Strange of New York.”

The name vaguely stirred something in her memory. “You died in the Snap,” she said. “You were with Mr. Stark.”

Dr. Strange nodded. “The effects of the Snap may have been reversed, but this isn’t over yet.”  He fixed her with a solemn stare. “Your husband needs your help.”

Somehow, she had known he was going to say that. A wave of resolution washed over her. Standing straight, she wiped her cheeks. “What do you need me to do?”

The smoke was stifling. Strange had said it was a war zone, but In-Unga hadn’t expected for even the upstate sky to be blackened with debris. She had been to this compound before, years ago with Thor and Loki. It had felt a bit like stepping into the future, with the manicured lawns and the crisp white doors that whooshed as the slid open automatically. It had been nothing like the scorched wasteland flaring before her. The smoke was so thick she could barely make out the looming warships hovering over the skyline.

The dark warriors lined the horizon, a mass of limbs extending far beyond her range of sight. In-Unga squared her shoulders as she road through the portal. She could see him, standing in the middle of all this destruction, the golden light of the portals casting shadows on his purple skin. For so long, he had been faceless to her, the untouchable enemy who she had never seen but whose name she fell asleep cursing every night. And yet here he was in the flesh, living, breathing, vulnerable.

Thanos.

Brynjarr howled. From her perch atop his back, In-Unga felt the vibration in every part of her body. Bowie joined in, his usually mournful cries dark and full of promise. The sound mixed with the battle cries from portals down the line, words chanted in languages she didn’t speak, but in sentiment she understood perfectly.

You took everything. Now we’re taking it back.

The Jotuns behind her understood too. With deep voices, they answered the cries with chants of their own, shouts crescendoing with every individual rushing through the portal. Utgard had been in such chaos that she hadn’t expected anyone to rally to her call, but vengeance was a powerful motivator. She had stood on the balcony and told her people that the one responsible for their suffering was out there, still struggling to once again rip their loved ones from their arms, and just like that, her armies mobilized.

Now here she was, Queen In-Unga of Jotunheim, facing down the enemy atop a howling vargr, her soldiers armed and ready behind her. She felt strangely calm.

I’m bringing Loki home.

He was here somewhere. Even if Strange hadn’t told her how he had been resurrected on the plains of Wakanda with the other fallen warriors, she would have known. She felt his steely resolve as he prepared for battle, let it swirl and mix with hers across the battlefield.

This is it.

When Thor shouted, she screamed with him. And then they were all running. The appeal of two nine-foot-tall wolves in combat was quickly apparent: her babies tore through alien fighters like rare steaks. Brynjarr didn’t even need to be directed; he seemed to know exactly where to go, when to duck, when to tackle. Bowie cleared a way through the chaos, trampling everyone in his path.

They zig-zagged across the battleground, In-Unga pressed tightly into Bryn’s fur to avoid shooting darts of light and projectiles flying through the air every which way, no clue who was shooting them. A roar consumed the land, built from rallying cries and death shrieks, guns shooting and bones cracking, and in the midst of all this pandemonium, she found him.

Loki threw his blades with a catlike grace, completely surrounded and yet completely in control, as if he had never left.

“Bryn!” she steered him left, and he understood instantly. Snarling, the wolves rushed the scene. Loki whipped around in shock, In-Unga barely registering his fleeting moment of confusion as she felt the thud of alien bodies crushed on the ground. When Loki called out her name she found she could barely breathe.

“Down!” she choked at Brynjarr. She slid off his back to unsteady legs and managed to hold back her tears until she threw her arms around her husband.

The battle faded away. She sobbed on his shoulder, drinking in the scent she thought she’d never experience again, relishing the way he gripped her so tightly she felt as though she might break. She clutched at him too, afraid that if she let go he’d disintegrate through her fingers. He whispered her name against her hair, that soft baritone she thought she’d never hear ever again, and she held him even closer.

He was the one to pull away first, cupping her cheek in his palm as he wiped her teardrops with his palm. His green eyes held her in their stare.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

In­-Unga exhaled, the tiniest laugh. Less than an hour ago he had been dead, and he was worried about her?

“Yeah,” she murmured. It was a tiny breath under the rage of battle, but somehow, she knew he heard. “I am now.”

…

“Come on, you scaredy-cat, it’s fine,” In-Unga laughed from atop Bowie on the beach at Márfjall.

“I’m not scared, just concerned.” Loki stood on the ground besides Brynjarr, the two sizing each other up suspiciously. For the most part, her husband and her wolves had been getting along well—at least, well enough. Bowie was still bitter that his place in In-Unga’s bed had been taken from him, and Bryn was untrusting by nature, but it was getting better. Loki still didn’t understand how creatures that showed such savagery on the battlefield could be so cuddly at home.

“Look, if I can do it without a problem, you certainly can manage.” Bowie whined as he shifted his weight between his feet, anxious to sprint down the red sand. She rubbed his neck and fixed Loki with a pointed stare.

He shook his head, smiling uneasily. “You’ve had five years of practice, love.”

“Yeah, which I never would’ve got if I hadn’t gotten on first.” She turned back to the small group watching behind them. “Give me some help here!”

Griep frowned, holding Dagný in her arms. “I don’t know, In-Unga. I don’t think vargrs are meant to carry people.”

“I thought you liked animals—”

“It’s a giant vargr—”

“Now, my precious ice-heart” Hross said, intertwining his fingers with hers. “In-Unga has proved time and time again that there are those more than capable of riding a wolf. Both myself and Prince Býleistr can attest to that.”

Býleistr chuckled. “She fell off the first time she tried.”

“No, no!” In-Unga whipped back to Loki. “That was on Bowie, because Bowie likes to be difficult.  Brynjarr has never given me a problem, which is why you’re going to try riding him.” Bowie gave an offended snort.

“I still can’t believe you can tell them apart,” Gjálp said. “They look exactly the same, smell exactly the same—”

“I told you, Bowie is the one with two different colored eyes!”

“But when you can’t see their eyes—”

Dali pulled at Hrossþjófr’s free arm. “Wanna ride wolf!”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” In-Unga groaned. “Loki, get on the damn wolf before I give your spot to a toddler.”

Loki huffed indignantly, but he pulled himself over Bryn’s back and into a sitting position. “Happy, wife?”

“Ecstatic,” she tried to maintain her stern, but the sight of him balancing haphazardly on the back of her wolf made it hard not to grin like an idiot. “Now, tell him to get up.”

“Get up, wolf,” he said emotionlessly.

Brynjarr looked at her in exasperation. Are you kidding me with this guy?

In-Unga sighed. “Tell him nicely.”

He through his hands in the air. “It’s a wolf!”

“Loki…”

“Fine.” He looked back down at Bryn. “Get up wolf, please.”

Behind them, Hross was cackling uncontrollably. In-Unga rolled her eyes. “I think that’s the best he’s gonna do Bryn,” she said. “Come on, up, up!”

Brynjarr grunted, but still hopped to his feet far more quickly than usual. Loki gasped as he struggled to right his balance. She pressed her hand to her mouth to muffle her giggles.

Loki scowled. “I hear you snickering over there. This is why I didn’t want to do this.”

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently. “You’re doing great, sweetie!”

He glared.

Oh, if looks could kill.

“Now what?” he asked sourly.

She leaned forward, clicking her tongue. “Now, you hold on, and try to keep up.”

“What—” Loki was cut off with a cry as the two wolves took off down the rusty beach. In-Unga laughed as they rode alongside each other, Loki clinging desperately to Bryn’s fur. His startled expression morphed into something more sinister when he noticed her amusement.

“I’m going to get you for this!” he yelled over the wind.

She grinned. “You better!”

In-Unga wouldn’t have it any other way.

[too-scared-to-do-this]

Insufferable

Chapter two - A king’s duty is a king’s duty

Sander’s sides fanfiction - ‘Off the Devil’s head’ spin-off (can be read as a stand-alone)

Wordcount: 1928

Ship: intrulogical

TW: cursing - a lot of cursing (still Remus, lovlies, get used to it), confusion, cute bickering (I think...?), forests at night, very obvious autistic tics (based on my own, so I know they are real and how they work, in case you’re not sure ^^ I wouldn’t write something that I haven’t checked at least twice with someone who has, or deals with or is deeply interested in this stuff). And I think that’s all. If anything pops up, do let me know :) <3

Summary of the whole story: This might have not been the brightest idea - steeling from a cart right in the fucking smack-dab-middle of the Square. But Remus never claimed his ideas were bright. Never said his words and actions were appropriate either. So how in all off goddamned hell did he find himself sprawled out on a giant comfortable throne instead of a cold and dark (and very drippy) prison cell - with guards actually guarding his safety instead of assuring his imprisonment - is completely beyond him.

Link to AO3 for those who prefer reading there ^^

----------------------------

Chapter two - A king’s duty is a king’s duty

There’s not a lot of things Logan dislikes. There’s a total of fifteen so far. But disruption of order, change and tall grass is definitely in the top ten. And wouldn’t you look at that?

Green-haired hurricanes are tearing threw his peaceful kingdom, disrupting peace - thus creating an unnecessary change. Which caused his sleepless state, which lead him down a path where he has to hop from foot to foot like a dear, to eliminate any unnecessary contact with grass.

And the fact that all these things alone cause unnecessary stress, let alone combined, just makes it all worse. His movements are more jagged then usual, more frantic. Gestures all over the place in unorganized manors. And his eyebrows are stuck in a constant ‘thinking scowl’ as his advisors call it.

To any other person, his behavior would seem truly strange - Logan can’t say he doesn’t feel a little embarrassed by it, even now that he’s alone. But there are some things that just can’t be helped.

Besides, all of his kingdom know that their king is a ‘little weird’.

Since Logan first sat on the throne - at the mere age of thirteen - everybody’s been in love with their ruler. It sounds a little odd, that they let a thirteen-year-old kid on the throne, but Logan’s never really been a kid. Since when he can remember he read books far too difficult for the usual kid his age, listened in on conversations he probably had no business listening to, let alone understanding. Sat by his father’s side, while he made life-concerning decisions. Watched his mother as she took care of every problem with caution and care not everybody could offer. Although Logan never got around to fully understanding that care, he learned to act the same way. Same words, same gestures. Nobody was worried when the crown got passed down to him. All the people in the kingdom knew they were in good hands.

Logan’s very first mission was learning the name of every single person in town. It wasn’t an easy task, but it wasn’t as hard as someone would expect, since a surprisingly big amount of people shared the same name. And Logan had a really good memory when it came to association. A face to a name. A shape to a math formula. The smell, color, density and overall look to a chemical. And of course, the exact numeric measurement of a star’s whereabouts.

But there was no way of ‘associating’ his way out of this. He had no clue of the density, the weight, the pace, the name, nor the whereabouts of this mysterious disrupter of peace. All he knew was, that his hair was unnaturally green and he looked way too skinny for a wealthy towns-man - which just underlined the reason why he was steeling.

Oh, and let’s not forget he wanted to kiss Logan. Right there on the Square, apparently.

The young king scratched his arm, absentmindedly, trying not to think too much about it. Not that that’s helping. Questions keep popping up, tripping up his sane thought process.

It’s not like Logan liked the idea of the stranger kissing him. He didn’t like to be touched, let alone landing his lips to someone else. But the thoughts didn’t leave him alone.

Maybe that’s why he was here, stepping over unnecessarily high strands of grass in the middle of the night. He might not like the greenery touching him, and the jutting out branches and leaves of trees and bushes cause him immense panic (and make him scratch his exposed body parts like crazy), but he actually likes the forest. It is really calming (for the most part, anyways).

He hoped that this almost-calming surrounding would help him clear his head. But it just seemed to stress him out even more.

The thoughts kept on swiveling in his head - swirling and twirling, not letting the unknown thief out of their claw-clad grasp.

Logan needed to find out the thief’s name. He knows everybody’s name. And if this thief stays close to town, he’s considered a citizen. He needs to learn his name.

Not far from the obsessing king, Remus was lounging out in the hammock he hung outside Matilde’s old run-down cottage. One leg swung over the edge, he swayed from side to side, twisting the silver ring on his slender finger.

Bored out of his mind.

There wasn’t many days, when Remus’s screwed-up brain didn’t come up with things to entertain him; but some days even that head needed some rest, it seemed. Apparently today was one of those days.

Not a single fun thought. Even the inner monologue he never seemed to be able to end, somehow bored him to death. The only thing peeking even the slightest of interest in him, was the constant image of those scarily-blue eyes the king-dude possessed.

Seriously. In all his life, he has never once seen such ocean-blue eyes. Dark and deep, holding many a secret. It made Remus desperate to know each and every single one.

But that was not happening. No matter how much the eyes mesmerized him. How much he couldn’t get them out of his head. (Agh, Jesus fucking Christ those eyes…) There was just no way he could go back to that town.

The king has let him go once (he chalked it up to his good looks, charm and smooth words) and the second time is as likely as Matilde coming back from wherever she fled to.

So here he was. Bored as all hell.

He sighed heavily, wondering what kingdom was next on his agenda tomorrow. When suddenly he heard a scrunch. Then another. And another. This was no squirrel. Remus sat up immediately, eyes darting along the dark forest.

It was so late. What the hell would anybody be doing up at this hour of the night?

He darted out of the hammock - almost falling face first when his foot got caught in the fabric - hiding in the near-by bushes. Thank the lords that he didn’t forget to turn the fucking lights off again.

The scrunching got louder by the second, and Remus crouched lower.

Low muttering drafted into his ears. “…nice of you good sir, but I’ll have to decline. I am not sure that would be appropriate considering we just met…” A dark figure, drafted in shadow came into view. “And besides, you haven’t even introduced yourself. I know the name of every citizen in this kingdom. For the sake of consistency, I would also like to find out yours…” Jesus Christ, who were they talking to?  And what were they doing?!

One leg up in the air, like soldiers marching, then quickly stamped down, hopping to the other. Weird movements all over the place, not even in a straight line, like a sane person. Was this person drunk? They looked like a fucking goat, jumping from one small jutting out pebble on the mountain-side to the other.

The site alone would make Remus want to piss himself, but together with the inconsistent murmuring? He couldn’t hold back the snort.

The figure immediately froze in place. All movement and words falling into still silence. “Who’s there?” They called out cautiously.

Remus bit his tugging lip hard. Fuck.

Well, there was no backtracking now. Besides, it’s not like he was scared. It was more likely he’d scare the crazy-pants over there. So slowly, he razed from his hiding spot with hands in the air and a huge grin on his face. “What are you doing dude? You look like a fucking crazy person.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” came the person’s answer. Voice laced with nerves.

“Just a random dude in a forest.” Rem shrugged.

“That’s not a very satisfying answer.”

Roman bit back a laugh. Seriously, what the hell? “Don’t worry I won’t hurt you.” he snickered. Then this thought blinked into his head, and as you know, thought’s bring words. Stupid, embarrassing and unnecessary words. “Unless you want me to.” he winked seductively. Then realized the person probably couldn’t even see his face, let alone the wink he just threw at them. Ah well, at least it saved him some embarrassment, when his tongue betrayed him.

Swear to god, the person ‘Eep’-ed at this. He made this strangled sound that sounded like a nervous whine mixed with surprise cut in half and that just made Remus want to laugh even more. “That’s really unnecessary, thank you.” And they’re still being polite! How even…?

Rem couldn’t help it at this point. It was too much. He burst out cackling like to crazy idiot he is. Probably scaring the poor person to death. (But then again, the ‘poor person’ did come wondering into a forest in the middle of the night, muttering to themselves and jumping around like an idiot.)

“Am… You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh that’s right…“ Rem’s forhead creased in thought. “…what was the question again?”  

“Who are you.”

“I’m Remus.”

If Logan could allow himself to curse, he would. But he couldn’t so instead he just gave a long exasperate sigh. “And who might that be?”

The stranger stepped closer, allowing the fleeting moon-light to reach his features and gave a big bow. Hand gesture and all. “Me, obviously.” No matter how much he disliked to admit it, Remus was every bit as dramatic as his brother. If not more…

The king’s eyes lit up with recognition (not that Rem could see). Well, guess his duty’s done then - the thief’s name is Remus. Huh…Very interesting.

“Well, now that you know my name, it’d be nice to get yours, pretty.” Rem grinned, daring to get a few more steps in. Bringing him closer to the still standing-frozen person.

From here he could finally see more of them. Well, him. Because apparently the smooth deep voice he was conversing with was the royal-head himself.

And his royal head slanted to the left slightly, eyebrows drawing together. “Why should I give my name to unknown man in the forest?”

“Why should I give my name to some random bloke, then?”

“Because I asked you to?”

Remus wondered what this dude’s problem was. Logan wondered why even wanted to get out of the safety of his chamber in the first place.

“Alright then, weirdo, tell me one good reason why I should answer and you shouldn’t.” Rem crossed his arms over his chest. Yes, he was aware he was talking to the king. But that doesn’t mean he had to play nice.

Rem treats everybody the same way, because that’s how it should be. (Maybe that’s what landed his ass behind bars twice already…)

Logan jutted out his chin. He could use the ‘King-card’ - as his advisor calls it. Could easily force the thief to answer without any objections (that is if he abbeys rules; which he should.) But honestly, Logan felt like doing neither. It was late, and he was supposed to stop obsessing about this whole thing. Which he did. The thief’s name was Remus.

So, as gracefully as a king can, he shrugged. “I don’t have one.”

“Well, shit. Then you ain’t getting my name, darling.”

The royal couldn’t decide whether the thief was that simple-minded or just easily distracted. “You’ve already said your name.”

Our beloved idiot’s expression froze, grin falling. “Ah, fuck.” his shoulders did the same. (In a very overdramatic - and admittedly, impressively flexible - way)

Well, if he wasn’t screwed before, now he certainly was.

-----------------------------

Jesus Christ, I’ve never cursed more in my life and I hate it so much! I don’t curse in real life, not even while texting with friends (I use shit, hell and damn, but that’s about it) and this is killing me on a whole other level! But this is Remus, and I feel like a good Remus requires a hella lot of curses. 

So here we are. Me actually cursing more then my brain can accept it. But at least I get to project on Logan, right? I love autistic Logan, too damn much. He’s too precious. And the greenery thing? Believe me, my mum constantly makes fun of it XD But I don’t mind, I know I look ridiculous.

Anyways! I hope you liked this chap! ^^ I still have no idea where the hell I’m going with this, but I guess we’ll see where we end up. 

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 11 - Nightingale

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Rita Skeeter's done it again, her latest article sending Hermione Granger into anger and causing tension among the Gryffindors. However, is there an unexpected truth to her article?

George has convinced Fred that Hermione is turning him soft. Fred is so against the sentiment that he swears to himself that it's time to put space between himself and the younger girl. However, he only ends up doing the exact opposite.

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<<Chapter 10

Does it seem like I'm looking for an answer To a question I can't ask I don't know which way the feather falls Or if I should blow it to the left

  Hermione slammed her copy of the Daily Prophet down, shaking the Gryffindor table and sloshing tea over the side of her cup. Unbelievable, just absolutely unbelievable, she thought as she read and reread the words on the page. She’d nearly glossed over the vile article. Unlike the first bit of writing Rita Skeeter did on her, this one was tucked away between a piece on dwarf affairs and an advertisement for self-cleaning cauldrons. If she’d hadn’t been well acquainted with her own name and shocked by the peculiarity of seeing it in print, Hermione very well might have missed it.

“Alright Hermione?” someone asked. Hermione looked up to find the unwavering brown eyes of Ginny Weasley staring straight at her from across the table. Looking around, Hermione saw several of their classmates shooting her dirty looks as they wiped up puddles of pumpkin juice and tea. A flash of embarrassment rushed over her, but quickly dissolved back to anger when she looked back down at the paper. At a time like this she didn’t really care about a few spilled drinks.

No. At a time like this, the only thing she could focus on was the rage coursing through her veins. The nasty woman had taken things a step too far and now Hermione Granger was livid. 

“She’s done it again!” Hermione huffed before reading aloud, “Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to be developing a taste for famous wizards. Her latest prey, sources report, is none other than the Bulgarian Bonbon Viktor Krum. No word yet on how Harry Potter is taking this latest emotional blow.”

“You didn’t tell me you were dating Viktor Krum!” Ginny exclaimed, glaring at her. Hermione looked across the table at her younger friend in disappointment.

“Ginny, I am not dating Viktor Krum.”

“Yet,” said two identical voices before the Weasley twins graced her with their presence – seating themselves on either side of her. Ginny raised an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes at her – her silent cue for Hermione to begin explaining. Honestly, she’d rather not get into the twin’s current strange joke they were playing on her, but if Hermione knew Ginny Weasley, which she did, then she knew the ginger girl wouldn’t let something like this go. Hermione heaved a great sigh.

“These two are under the impression that Viktor Krum fancies me—” at the statement, a suspicion crept into Hermione’s brain “—You two wouldn’t happen to be responsible for this would you?” She handed the revolting paper over to the twin on her right, or more accurately, hit him in the chest with it before reaching forward and grabbing her tea, staring down at what little contents were left. She swirled the liquid, watching the tea leaves dance about the cup before sinking to the bottom. I wonder if that batty Trelawney could have predicted this, she mused to herself, finding humor in the ridiculous notion that her old Divination professor could have predicted anything accurately. Divination was a woolly subject.

“Hermione, I can guarantee you that we didn’t do this.” Hermione turned and looked at the twin still staring down at the article. She assessed him scrutinizingly as she placed her cup of tea back on the table in front of her.

“Are you sure? It seems like something you two would do.”

“I swear on George’s life,” he pledged, raising his right hand as he stated the words sincerely.

“You are George,” Hermione rolled her eyes and noticed a flash of annoyance on George’s face.

“Well, exactly. I’m swearing on my own life. Can’t really beat that!”

“Oi!—" Fred spoke up from Hermione’s left and reached across her to grab the newspaper “—You two going to let me in on what we allegedly didn’t do or are you going to keep me sitting here like a twat?”

Fred laid the paper in front of him, smoothing it out with his hand and leaning in to have a closer look. Hermione’s stomach dropped as her eyes fell on the moving picture of Harry and her hugging and then jumping apart at the flash of a camera. She laid her head down on the table, hiding her face in the crook of her folded arms, feeling uncommonly embarrassed. She couldn’t stand to watch Fred’s face as he read the lies that Rita Skeeter once again wrote for the entirety of the wizarding world to see.

“What are you reading Fred?” Hermione heard Angelina Johnson ask. Hermione tensed. Suddenly the urge to sit up and tear the paper away from Fred and Angelina was overwhelming. But she reasoned that everyone would read it, or at least hear about it, eventually. So, what was the point? That didn’t mean she had to be happy about it though.

“Oh my! That’s awful!” exclaimed Angelina, making Hermione perk up. If Angelina found Skeeter’s article to be just as ghastly, perhaps she shouldn’t be so worried.

“I can’t believe Granger is doing that to poor Harry and Viktor!”

In that moment, any feelings Hermione had, that even resembled positive, dissolved into nonexistence. Hair crackling with electricity as it grew twice its size, Hermione lifted her head from her arms and bit harshly, “Are you really idiotic enough to believe everything you read, Johnson?”

Angelina’s eyes grew wide as Hermione glared at her. Clearly, she had not known Hermione was sitting there.

“Oh, Granger, I didn’t—well I mean I thought—" Angelina stumbled.

“Thought? I didn’t know you were capable of it,” Hermione cut her off harshly. She knew the words were harsh the moment they left her mouth. That didn’t keep her from saying them though. If Angelina was allowed to have a bad opinion on her and say it in front of her, then Hermione was certainly allowed to same liberties.

Angelina’s mouth hung open in shock. She blinked rapidly before scrunching up her face in anger and spitting vitriol right back, “Well at least I’m not trying to date every boy in the school like a little slag.” Hermione’s hand twitched towards her wand, currently sitting in her lap, but before she could reach for it, fingers wrapped around her wrist under the table. She shifted her glare from Angelina to Fred, feeling betrayed at his stopping her. He was the first to cheer on any kind of fight or confrontation and he chose that moment to grow a sense of propriety? Some friend he was. Fred didn’t meet her eyes. Instead he continued to face forward, looking down at the article in front of him – acting like he wasn’t currently keeping her from hexing the daylights out of his stupid girlfriend

“Ladies, ladies!” George piped up, “Let’s calm it down, eh? We’re all friends here. No need to get worked up over a silly article in the Daily Prophet.”

“Well if we can’t trust the Daily Prophet, then what can we trust? Right Fred?” Angelina asked, looking towards Fred now and placing a hand on his upper arm. Hermione’s hand flexed in her lanky ginger friend’s hold. He tightened his grip, squeezing her wrist firmly in warning, before letting it go.

“Honestly? This lady sounds like an absolute nutter,” Fred stated matter-of-factly. He crumpled the newspaper resolutely and threw it over his shoulder onto the floor. His tone was firmer than Hermione had ever heard it – very similar to the few occasions she had seen Mr. Weasley cross. It had an underlying statement of finality and so everyone grew quiet. The spat was over, but Hermione could still feel Angelina’s scowl trained on her. It set her teeth on edge. Hermione rubbed her wrist, the skin feeling tingly and oddly empty where Fred had held her captive. Unsure of what to do, she reached into her bag, pulled out her Transfiguration textbook, and began going over the material they would cover in class that morning for the second time. She scanned the pages but found it difficult to focus with the thick and heavy tension that floated around them as everyone silently ate their breakfast.

Then, ever so unceremoniously, the silence was broken.

“So, you’re still dating Harry then?’ Ginny asked, confusion evident in her voice.

Hermione threw her book down on the table in exasperation. “Ginevra, Harry and I are NOT—” she stopped when she saw the wicked smirk on the youngest Weasley’s face. Hermione pursed her lips, fighting the smile that threatened to break through. But Fred and George’s snickering and Ginny’s mischievous wide eyes broke her resolve and Hermione begrudgingly smirked. Leave it to Ginny to make a calculated statement to break the tension.

These Weasleys are going to be the death of me, she thought to herself as she chuckled and shook her head.

At that moment, she spotted Ron and Harry walking into the Great Hall later than usual – both of them dragging their feet looking tired and entirely unamused to be awake. That’s what they get for waiting till the last minute to do their studies, Hermione mused knowing full well that the two of them had still been hard at work in the common room when she left for bed at eleven. She watched as students from the Gryffindor table and even a few from the surrounding houses stared at Harry in awe. Some even shouted out a ‘good morning’ to him as he took his seat opposite her. Yes, it seemed as though Harry’s reputation had changed overnight. No longer was he Harry Potter the cheat. Instead he was Harry Potter the champion. It had been almost two weeks since the first task and still Hermione couldn’t believe that the students who had once scorned him and spoken words of ill favor were now trying to become his new best friend. Even in her own room he was the hottest topic of gossip. Her roommates cooed and giggled over him as they stared at his picture in the Daily Prophet over and over again. It had gotten especially bad after she told them that she was not, nor had she ever been involved with him – no matter what Skeeter wrote in her stupid column.

“He does have a certain devil-may-care thing to him, don’t you think?” said Lavender, lying on her stomach and looking down at Harry’s picture plastered on the front page of an old Daily Prophet. Hermione really wished she hadn’t given it to them when they’d asked to borrow it. She had been under the impression they wanted to brush up on their current events – not ogle her best friend.

“I think he looks mysterious. Like one of those wizards in the books my mum buys,” said Pavarti, turning her head to look at Harry from a new angle.

Hermione snorted, knowing perfectly well that the only mysterious thing about Harry was whether or not he’d decided to change his socks that day.

“What?” asked Pavarti, insulted by Hermione’s rude reaction.

“Nothing, nothing. You’re right. I’m sure Harry has many…mysterious qualities.”

“I think he looks sweet.”

Hermione looked over to her roommate Fay with disappointment. Now she fancied Harry, too?

“He does—” Fay doubled down “—he always seems so nice in class and he’s a very good seeker!”

“Fay has a crush on Harry,” said Emmy in a sing-song voice. Fay stuck her tongue out at her ginger friend, only making Emmy giggle.

“Speaking of crushes—” Lavender sat up, folding the paper in front of her closed “—how are things going with Ron?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermione sighed. “I took your advice, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Perhaps he just doesn’t see me as anything more than a friend.” Hermione was surprised by the fact that when she said the words, it didn’t sadden her as much as she thought it would. Ron was a good friend. Would it be so bad if they just remained friends?

“Ugh, boys are so stupid! It’s almost like you have to walk in front of them bloody naked to get their attention,” cried Lavender.

“Surely you wouldn’t do that, Lavender,” said Hermione aghast.

Lavender rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t be so droll Granger. I’m joking!”

“Perhaps he’s not making a move because you spend all your time with his older brothers,” said Emmy casually.

“Oi, aren’t we feeling cheeky today,” commented Fay, giving her best friend an amused look.

“I’m just saying! She’s always with them. Maybe he thinks she likes one of them.”

Emmy’s comment made Hermione pause. She did have a point. Did Ron see her friendship with Fred and George as something else? It was a possibility. He was quite prone to making assumptions.

“It’s a possibility, but why would he think that when I kissed him?”

“WHAT?!” cried all four of the girls, sitting up fully and looking at Hermione with wild eyes. Hermione paused again, realizing that she had in fact spoken her wonderings aloud.

“You kissed Ron Weasley?!” asked Lavender, crawling off her bed and jumping onto Hermione’s.

“Well, yes but—”

“What was it like?” asked Pavarti, sitting down on Hermione’s bed as well in rapt attention.

Even Fay and Emmy had drifted from their beds to stand closer and get the story.

“Was he good?” questioned Lavender.

“I don’t know!” yelled Hermione, flustered and overwhelmed.

“How do you not know?” Pavarti looked at her strangely, tilting her head to the side.

“We didn’t kiss so much as I kissed him on the cheek.”

The four girls pulled back, relaxing in disappointment.

“That’s all?” asked Lavender in exasperation.

“Don’t listen to her, Hermione. Lavender talks a big game, but she’s never even hugged a boy,” snickered Pavarti.

Lavender’s jaw dropped in betrayal and she lunged playfully for her friend. Pavarti laughed, darting off Hermione’s bed and running from a fuming Lavender Brown.

“I think it’s sweet,” said Emmy, sitting back down at the end of her bed and pulling out a herbology book. “Perhaps your kiss enamored him so much that he simply can’t help but act extra normal when he’s around you.”

“What a romantic this one is.” Fay rolled her eyes in good humor before pausing for a moment in deep contemplation. “Do you think Harry’s a good kisser?”

It was at that point that Hermione blocked the conversation out. The last thing she wanted was to discuss Harry’s potential kissing prowess.

Speaking of girls with crushes, Hermione thought as Ginny clammed up the moment Harry sat down. After four years, Ginny still had the biggest crush on Harry. She tried to play it cool, but most of those close to her knew that she still thought the world of him. Unfortunately, however, he only had eyes for Cho Chang at the moment. Or at least, that’s what Hermione suspected, from the stupid look he got on his face every time he looked at her.

“What are we talking about?” Ron asked beginning to load his plate with a pile of eggs, potatoes, and sausages.

“Hermione’s new boyfriend,” piped up Ginny, ignoring Hermione’s glare.

“Boyfriend?!—" Ron looked up from loading his plate with food “—When could you possibly have time to get a boyfriend? You spend all your time with either Harry and me or those two prats!” He pointed to his two older brothers sitting beside her, eliciting a cry of protest from both of them.

Well that ruled out Ron thinking she fancied Fred or George, Hermione thought.

“Now brother, what makes you think she’s not dating one of us?” George swung the heavy weight of his arm over Hermione’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we’re handsome chaps,” Fred chimed in.

Hermione shrugged off George’s arm and rolled her eyes as Ron glared at him.

“No, Ronald,” Hermione stated clearly. “It’s just Rita Skeeter. She’s written another article about my love life and it’s complete rubbish.” She sniffed and picked up her textbook again.

“Really? Are you cheating on me now?” Harry asked, his voice filled with mild amusement as he poured himself some pumpkin juice.

“It would seem so,” Hermione admitted casually, never looking up from her book, an apathetic expression glued to her face.

“Well I’m hurt, what am I going to tell the family? My aunt and uncle were so looking forward to meeting you,” said Harry, not a trace of sadness or despair in his voice.

“Of course, they were. I’m fantastic,” Hermione stated, smiling down at her book.

“Are you sure you two aren’t dating?” Ginny asked now, looking suspiciously between Harry and Hermione.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ron scoffed, stabbing a sausage with his fork. Ron’s statement irked Hermione. Sure, Harry and her weren’t involved, but was it really so ridiculous? Was she not desirable enough to date Harry Potter if she wanted to? Still, Hermione decided to let it be. She had had enough arguments for one morning.

“Ron’s right. Harry is like a brother to me. You know, like Fred and George. Right Harry?” she looked to her best friend to back her up and was met with a mumbled ‘Absolutely’ and an enthusiastic head nod.

“What?” George gasped. “You mean you’re not secretly in love with me, Granger?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous George.” Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to her book, noticing that the general atmosphere of the table had turned around quite nicely. Angelina was no longer grimacing at her over Fred’s shoulder – instead, she was engaged in a conversation with him, Lee Jordan, and Katie Bell. Harry and Ron began to discuss their Defense Against the Dark Arts class that afternoon and what Mad-Eye might have in store for them. Ginny listened quietly, curious as to what the older class was learning at the moment compared to the third years. George had continued on a rant about why he thought Hermione should at least consider him as a potential boyfriend as he was just so handsome, while she tried to focus on her book. She was just about to tell him off for distracting her when Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas approached them.

“Hey, you lot,” Seamus greeted them. “Did you see the notice posted in the common room about the meeting tonight?”

“The one for fourth years and up?” Harry asked.

“What about it?” questioned Fred and George.

“Well I’ve been going around all morning, trying to figure out what it’s about but no one seems to know,” Seamus informed them, scratching the back of his head. “Thought one of yous might know.”

“Haven’t heard a thing, mate,” said Ron, taking a large bite of toast.

“Yeah, no clue,” confirmed Harry.

“We assumed everyone was in trouble for something,” said Fred and George.

Ginny laughed, “Just because you two are always in trouble, doesn’t mean that the entirety of the school is.”

“Not the entirety of the school, little sister,” said George.

“Just fourth years and up,” added Fred cheekily.

Hermione scoffed. Honestly, didn’t these people read…ever? “Maybe it has something to do with the Ball,” she said, never lifting her head up from her book.

“The what?” asked Ron, dropping his toast back down onto his plate.

“You know, the Yule Ball? It’s a tournament tradition?” She looked up now, seeing confused faces at the table around her. “In the past, every year the Triwizard Tournament was held, the hosting school was expected to hold a ball on the evening of the Yule. It was used as an opportunity for intraschool interaction and bonding – a celebration to get to know one another and also honor the champions. Did none of you know about this?”

They all shook their heads.

“Well, I’m sure it’s that. What else could it be?” Hermione shrugged, looking at the watch on her wrist. “Class starts soon. We should go,” she said to Harry and Ron. The pair nodded, taking a few last bites of their breakfast as Hermione tucked her book back in her bag and stood. Just as she began to turn to head out of the Great Hall, a hand caught her wrist once again that morning. Looking back at her outstretch arm, she saw Fred holding firmly to her.

“Have you figured out…you know what…yet?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

Hermione leaned down towards Fred, keeping the conversation just between the two of them. The Weasley twins were quite secretive when it came to their product development – for several understandable reasons. For one, they didn’t want any other budding jokesters stealing their ideas, and two, they didn’t want a nosy snitch to figure out what they were doing with their free time and try to get them in trouble.

“No, I’m still working on it,” Hermione whispered back before pulling her arm out of Fred’s grasp. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed, his hand hovering in the air where he arm had been.

Hermione turned, exiting the Great Hall with Harry and Ron in tow.

“What was that about?” asked Ron, catching up to her side as they made their way to the Transfiguration classroom.

“Oh, I’ve been helping Fred and George with their studies. He was asking me about an essay he’s working on,” lied Hermione. There really was no need to lie. Fred and George were perfectly fine with everyone knowing she was helping them with their experiments. Hermione felt differently, however. As much as she found working on their inventions to be fascinating and challenging, the last thing she wanted was her name associated to any trouble they got up to. She had a reputation to uphold after all. She couldn’t possibly let mindless troublemaking besmirch her name and future career prospects.

Ron laughed through his nose, letting out an obnoxious snort. “Seriously?”

“What?” asked Hermione in defense.

“Fred and George have never cared about their classes before. I think I’ve seen them pick up a book maybe…once in fourteen years.”

“Honestly, Ronald, that can’t be true,” said Hermione, knowing it was most likely completely true.

“But still, it doesn’t make any sense. Why—”

“How am I supposed to understand the innerworkings of Fred and George Weasley’s minds, Ronald? How is anyone?” said Hermione, cutting Ron off and entering Professor McGonagall’s classroom.

Ron didn’t ask anymore questions that morning, much to Hermione’s relief. This allowed her to sit through the entirety of their Transfiguration lesson with uninterrupted focus. That is until the end of the lesson when Ron looked at her in confusion as they exited the classroom.

“Hermione, is your wrist alright?”

“What?” asked Hermione in puzzlement.

“Your wrist. You’ve been holding it since we left breakfast.”

“Oh—” Hermione looked down and sure enough, she was cradling it in her opposite hand, absentmindedly rubbing at the exposed skin with her thumb. She dropped her arm to her side. “—I didn’t realize…yeah, I’m fine. I’m going to the library. I need to pick up a book for my arithmancy class. I’ll see you in Defense?”

“Yeah, see you later Hermione,” said Ron, still staring at her peculiarly.

“See ya Hermione,” waved Harry, pulling Ron towards the Great Hall for lunch.

Hermione made her way to the library, once again bringing her left wrist up in front of her, now that she was under the safety of seclusion. She hadn’t even realized she’d been cradling the limb all throughout class. Rolling her hand this way and that, she stretched and worked the joint of her wrist, searching for any ghostly pain to explain her actions, but found nothing. So why had she been holding it? Reaching the library, she brushed it off as a silly occurrence and headed to the stacks to try and find the book she needed for her class. She spotted the book on a high up shelf, An Extensive Look on the Origins of Numerology. Reaching up, she lifted onto her tiptoes to take the book, her fingers barely brushing the spine. But before she could grab it, a hand appeared in front of her, pulling the book from the shelf and out of her reach.

“Hey! That’s my—” Hermione stopped short when she turned to see Viktor Krum standing before her, holding the book out to her. She took it from him, clutching the book close to her chest and looking around them. “Thank you,” she mumbled politely, bringing her lower lip between her teeth to nibble on it nervously.

“You are very velcome, боец,” responded Krum, bowing slightly, and smiling down at her. He continued to smile at her, not saying anything – just standing there – for quite some time. What did he want? Hermione wondered. Was he waiting for something? Some kind of payment? Was there some Bulgarian custom she was unaware of when it came to being handed a book?

Eventually when Hermione could no longer take the awkward silence, she cleared her throat. “Right, well, thank you again. I should be…” She pointed behind her, indicating her departure from the library before turning and walking away.

“Do you come here often?” asked Krum from her side. His long legs matched her stride as she walked towards the front desk of the library.

“To the library? At my own school?” questioned Hermione in confusion.

Krum nodded.

Hermione smiled in amusement. What an odd question. “Yes, I suppose I do come here quite often. I very much like books.”

“Vhat is your favorite?”

“My favorite book?” Why did Viktor Krum care what her favorite book was? wondered Hermione, brushing a curl out of her face. “My…well that’s a bit of a difficult question…I suppose it would have to be Hogwarts, A History. It has so much useful information about the history of the school and all the wonderful ways in which it operates. Not a lot of people read it though, which I think is a shame. I think everyone should read it. It’s very so important and quite fun to read. But then again, I know not everyone likes to read as much as I do. Or at least that’s what they tell me—”

“You are very smart, I am thinking, боец.”

“What does that mean?”

“Vhat?”

“That word – boets? You keep saying it.”

“боец. That is you. It means fighter in my language. I did not get your name and so I call you that,” stated Krum plainly.

Hermione was very flattered; never had she been referred to as a fighter. But she still couldn’t help but let out a small guffaw. “That’s me? I don’t know about that. Unless I was throwing a very heavy book at them, I’m not sure I could fight anyone off.”

“No, you are strong. I know these things.”

“Alright…”

They stood in front of Madame Pince’s desk. The matronly librarian was nowhere to be seen, and Hermione was beginning to grow antsy. Krum still remained at her side, staring at her as she waited for Madame Pince so she could check out her book and be on her way. What did he want? Was he trying to get information on Harry? Trying to figure out if Harry had solved the egg yet? Well if that were true, he would have asked about Harry by now. Wouldn’t he have? Still, what else could it—Fred and George’s words popped into her head, making heat rise to her cheeks. Krum couldn’t possibly…

“I vas thinking. Perhaps I could study vith you some time?”

Hermione dropped the heavy book that was in her arms, the tome slipping from her fingers as if it had turned to liquid. She gasped, body twitching and arms extending to catch the falling object before it landed on their feet, but before she knew it Krum had ducked down and caught it. He held it smugly, smirking at Hermione’s open mouth as she gaped at his reflexes.

“I…” began Hermione, unable to form words through her shock. Had Viktor Krum just asked to spend time with her?

“How can I help you two?” Madame Pince’s shrill voice rang through the dusty cobwebs of Hermione’s brain. She turned to find the severe woman staring down at her in mild annoyance.

“She vas vanting to check out this book—” Krum placed the book down on the desk before turning to Hermione with a polite yet slightly wounded expression “—I should be going.”

Hermione watched as he bowed curtly and stepped past her, headed towards the exit of the library. She bit the inside of her lower lip again, conflicting emotions battling inside her brain and across her face as she watched him get further away. He was nearly to the large double doors when Hermione called out to him.

“Wait!”

Madame Pince shot her a warning look. Hermione smiled apologetically before rushing towards Krum who had halted at her voice. She stopped when she stood before him, His tall, hulking figure hovering over her as he looked down at her. His thick dark brows lifted in surprise.

“I’ll be here tomorrow during first break, working on my homework. If you wanted to join me, I guess that would be alright,” said Hermione shyly.

The smile Krum gave her was an answer in itself – his dazzling white teeth coming into full view as his broad features lit up in delight.

Then, with another bow, he offered an uttering of, “Until then, боец” and he was gone.

    Fred watched as Hermione exited the Great Hall, followed by Harry and Ron. Chewing on the side of his thumb, he braced his elbows against the table and began to think. Finally done with the development stage of their Canary Creams, their first test of the product was both an accident and a failure. Later in the evening of Harry’s post-task celebration, Fred and George had decided it would be a fantastic idea to try and trick Hermione into eating one of the creams disguised as a raspberry tart. Unfortunately, they had gotten the sweets mixed up and Neville Longbottom had gotten ahold of the real Canary Cream. And while Neville had successfully transformed into a human-sized bright yellow canary, it was for much longer than all three of them expected. In fact, Neville spent the better half of the night squawking and pecking around the common room before he, George, and Hermione were finally able to reverse the effects. Once they stopped laughing of course. Neville emerged back into his human form, red-faced and with a short-lasting tick of pecking at things with his face when he went to pick them up. Watching the unfortunate sight, the three of them all agreed that some major revision needed to be done. So, they had set Hermione to the task.

“Come on Georgie. Time for potions!” declared Fred, standing up.

George groaned. “I hate morning potions. Can’t we just skive off class? I’m sure Towler would give us his notes if we ask nicely.”

“After I put itching powder in his trousers last week? Again? That’s likely.”

“Alright, then Lee or Angelina. I’m sure one of them would give us their notes.”

“I’m sure they would, but who would make our potion for us, brother?” asked Fred, slapping a hand to George’s shoulder, and gripping it tightly.

“Since when do you care about missing marks in potions?” asked George, looking at his brother incredulously.

“I don’t –” Fred scratched the back of his head “—I just don’t think…” he trailed off realizing what he was about to say and fell short before he could.

However, it didn’t matter as George finished the sentence for him, “You don’t think that Granger would be too pleased to hear we’ve been skipping classes?”

Fred chuckled in exasperation, “Do you want to deal with that headache?”

“Oh, so now you’re afraid of a fourth-year girl?”

“You’re telling me you aren’t?”

“I think Granger’s turning you soft. You know, turning you into a little swot just like her.”

“I am not getting soft. I’m simply trying to save myself a lecture. Now – let’s go before I put itching powder in your trousers. We’ll have plenty of time to set off Dungbombs in Filch’s office at lunch.” Fred rolled his eyes, pulling his brother up from the table and towards the corridor outside of the Great Hall. George laughed, clearly pleased with getting a rise out of his brother. Fred scowled, shaking his head at his brother as he genuinely contemplated sneaking itching powder into George’s wardrobe that night. Hermione Granger making him soft? Absolutely ridiculous. He was not getting soft. He simply didn’t have the will to sit through another lecture from her about why they needed to do better in their courses. It took time out of their more important work – her long-winded lectures did. However, he hated to admit that since Hermione had began forcing them to actually do their assignments his marks had increased ten-fold. Even the professors were beginning to notice – Flitwick giving him an incredulous look when he passed back his latest essay with a perfect score. Still, the idea that he was getting soft was so far out of the realm of possibilities that he wouldn’t waste anymore time humoring it.

Or so he told himself.

Try as he might, the thought followed him throughout the day, distracting him in potions causing him to knock his cauldron off the flame and spill its contents all over himself and George. Then later at lunch when they had snuck off to Filch’s office – a routine procedure at that point – his head was so filled with thoughts of Hermione Granger, he nearly got them caught. By the time dinner was over and the whole of the Gryffindor student body, fourth year and up, was filing into the Transfiguration classroom, Fred had made a decision. He needed to spend less time with Hermione. Clearly, she was getting to him and he very well couldn’t have that.

McGonagall sorted all of the students boy-girl, sending them to opposite sides of the room. The classroom had been cleared of all desks. In their place sat a large phonograph in the center of the room. Fred thought back to what Hermione had said at breakfast about there being a ball. Unsurprisingly, she was right once again.

“Quiet down, quiet down!” called McGonagall, walking over to the phonograph once all the students were present and standing on their respective sides. “Now, as some of you might know, the Yule Ball is fast approaching. This is an event held every year of the Triwizard Tournament as an opportunity for us to…let our hair down. That does not mean—” she shot a pointed look towards Fred and George “—that you will not be upholding the civil manners expected of you as Hogwarts students. It is your responsibility to present our school in a positive manner. Now, with that being said, the most important thing to know about the Yule Ball is that it is at its core – a dance.”

The room erupted into groans and whispers as everyone realized what was going on. Professor McGonagall was about to teach them to ballroom dance. Now while most students saw this as the worst moment of their lives, Fred couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear. This was an excellent opportunity for entertainment.

“Now, can I get a volunteer?” asked McGonagall, looking around the boys’ side of the room. Fred looked away, avoiding her gaze, and then heard the sweetest words leave the mouth of his head of house, “Ron Weasley, please if you would.”

Fred’s attention was immediate; he stared enrapt in pure joy as he watched Professor McGonagall start the phonograph. The ancient contraption sprang to life, pouring out a lilting waltz and the elderly woman stepped up to Ron with her hands outstretched.

“Now, Mr. Weasley if you would please place your hand on my waist.”

Fred nearly doubled over in absolute joy. Both at the words leaving McGonagall’s mouth and the expression on Ron’s face. He was mortified. The room was in shock. And Fred and George were practically purple in the face as they held in their laughter. George was gripping Fred’s shoulder tightly, looking away from the scene – obviously too overwhelmed at the near perfect scenario to continue watching – but Fred kept his eyes glued to his baby brother as he placed his hands on their professor’s waist and began an awkward attempt at a waltz.

“Hey,” whispered Harry, nudging Fred’s arm. Fred wiped the tears of pure delight from his eyes and looked over at Harry. “You’re never gonna’ let him live this down, are you?”

“Never,” said Fred and George, grinning from ear to ear.

“Alright—” Professor McGonagall broke away from a relieved looking Ron “—let’s pair up now. Young men, young ladies, on your feet! Dance is an ancient and respected artform, let’s give it the respect it deserves.”

The room was slow moving to pair up, but eventually people began to find a partner. George made a beeline to Alicia Spinnet, obviously wanting to get a partner before he was stuck with someone he didn’t like. Fred’s gaze swept the room, briefly locking eyes with Hermione. They both paused. For a moment it seemed Hermione would walk towards him, but before he could find out Fred turned away and spotted Angelina. Less time – he was spending less time with Granger, he repeated silently to himself. Walking towards Angelina, he was relieved to see Hermione walking towards Ron.

“Longbottom. Here, why don’t you pair up with Miss Dunbar,” instructed McGonagall as Fred neared her. Hearing his professor pairing people herself, he quickened his pace, hoping to escape the doom of a chosen partner. He was almost out of her reach when he felt a tight grip on his upper arm. “Mr. Weasley, why don’t you pair with Miss Granger.”

“Oh Professor. Are you sure—” Hermione began, caught in their Professor’s other hand.

“Nonsense. Now begin practicing,” said Professor McGonagall, pushing them towards each other and moving towards her next victims.

Fred stared down at Hermione, his palms beginning to sweat as she stared back up at him. Scratching the back of his head, Fred cleared his throat, “Well, I guess we should…” He extended his arms to her, indicating they should probably start dancing.

Hermione hesitated before nodding and stepping towards him, placing her right hand in his left and bringing her left to lay gently on his shoulder. Fred listened to the music, finding the tempo, and waiting for a lead in before he began the familiar steps. Hermione’s face contorted into shock as they began to move, Fred easily guiding her around the room.

“How—” Hermione let out a small laugh of surprise “—how in the world do you know how to dance?”

“Surprised are you, Granger?” asked Fred, unable to help the smile that spread across his face. It wasn’t every day he was able to shock Hermione Granger.

“Not to be rude, but yes. I’m very surprised. You’re actually quite…good,” said Hermione incredulously.

Fred chuckled, looking down at Hermione as she moved with him. And there it was – the clenching, flipping, somersaulting feeling in his stomach once again. Only this time it was different. Less heavy; lighter. Instead of an impending doom type of feeling, it felt as though something was trapped inside of him, trying to dig its way out. He concentrated on the expanse of freckles on Hermione’s nose and cheeks as he spoke, “My mum insisted that all her boys learn to dance. One of the last few traditions she kept from her pureblood upbringings, I suppose.”

“Really? So, all of you know how to dance?” asked Hermione with an amused smile.

Fred glanced around the room, spotting George dancing effortlessly with Alicia not too far away and then Ron, who ironically had been paired with Angelina. Unfortunately, they seemed to be doing a lot of stepping on each other’s feet than dancing. Fred and Hermione both grimaced at the sight.

“Well, maybe not all of us. No amount of practice can make up for lack of talent I guess,” said Fred, turning back to Hermione. “Which by the way, you have a lot of.”

“Oh goodness. I don’t know about that,” blushed Hermione, the skin beneath her freckles turning a soft pinkish hue. Fred felt the fluttering in his stomach return.

“Now don’t be modest with me. You’re practically floating across this dancefloor Miss Granger,” he murmured, leaning in close so no prying ears could hear him embarrassing her. He really did savor the moments he could successfully tease her, but he also knew how much she hated for others to see her flustered.

Hermione seemed to tremble in his arms, a feeling that went straight to Fred’s spine. He felt his heartrate increase and tongue grow heavy in his mouth. He pulled her closer to him on instinct, holding her firmly in his arms. The curve of her waist and the slightness of her figure surprised him. It was almost as if a girl’s body lived beneath the large baggy school uniform she so often wore.

“I have a good partner,” said Hermione softly, her voice barely audible over the music.

“A good lead is nothing without a good follow, my father always says. It’s like a musician without his instrument. Talented, but unable to make sweet, sweet music.” The words fell from his mouth foreign and strange. He didn’t usually say things like that – especially to people like his little brother’s best friend. In fact, he really only recalled speaking to Angelina like that when he playfully flirted with her. Merlin’s beard, thought Fred, was he flirting with her? Why on earth was he flirting with Hermione Granger? Hermione Granger, his little brother’s best friend. His little brother’s crush. One of his close friends. Barely an hour ago he was swearing up and down to himself that he needed to put space between them and now he was flirting with her.

Hermione grew very quiet at his words, altering between looking up at him and their feet, but Fred didn’t miss the subtle way in which her hand moved in his – her fingers gripping his hand tighter. He also noticed the way she adjusted her hold on his shoulder – gripping at the material of his sweater. Fred tightened his grip as well, keeping the triple time as he spun them through the other couples dancing stiffly. The lull in their conversation allowed Fred to take some time to stare down at the girl in his arms. Why would he be flirting with Hermione Granger, indeed…He already knew he liked her nose – the pixie-like way in which it sat on her face, but it also led to a pair of full pink lips that he had never thought to take the time to look at before. They sat above a soft heart-shaped jaw. A soft cupid’s bow lined her top lip, sitting over teeth that…weren’t bucked like they used to be. In fact, they were normal sized. When had that happened? wondered Fred casually, before his eyes traveled further down to her bottom lip. The rose-hued skin sat plump and tempting. He wondered for a second what it would be like to taste them and was reminded of the only other time he’d been distracted by Hermione Granger’s mouth. Right after he gifted her the box of sugar quills; the way her lips wrapped around the candy ever so suggestively. She didn’t even know it. Would she taste sweet like sugar? Shaking the inappropriate thoughts from his mind, his eyes traveled up, only to lock with a pair the color of Firewhisky.

The swirling specks of brown, auburn, and gold mesmerized him and for a second, he entertained the thought that Hermione might feel the same way. But then she looked away, her focusing drifting across the room. Fred followed her stare and found Ron and Angelina looking over at them with odd expressions on their faces.

“I ran into Viktor Krum in the library today,” said Hermione.

The words caught Fred off guard. Looking back down at Hermione, he found her looking up at him expectantly.

“Is that so?” Fred asked, making his voice sound light and amused.

“Yes. It was very…odd.”

“Odd how?”

“Well he asked if he could study with me.”

“You mean he asked you out on a date,” said Fred, his stomach clenching again, but this time in the sinking sort of way.

“No. He asked me if we could study together,” responded Hermione, her brow scrunching in confusion.

“As a date.”

“I wouldn’t really call studying a date.”

“What would you call a date then?” asked Fred, surprised that he was actually quite curious for the answer.

Hermione paused, seeming to contemplate his question before answering, “Well I guess I always imagined my first date would start with getting tea or something, and then going to a bookstore and browsing the shelves—”

Fred snorted. Of course, she’d want to go to a bookstore.

“—then we’d sit outside and talk and maybe we could do something they like. But that part would depend on the other person, I suppose.”

“So, your ideal date isn’t studying, but it does involve books,” said Fred, a teasing smile slipping onto his face.

Hermione smiled back wryly. “Well after all, I am an insufferable swot.”

“Swot? Yes. Insufferable? No,” said Fred honestly.

“Well, either way. Studying in the library during a morning break is far from a date. I’m sure he’s just hoping to pick my brain to help him with his egg,” said Hermione with a bitter edge to her voice.

“What makes you think he’s not interested in you and not just your brain?” asked Fred, surprised to see this side of her. She was always so sure of herself. Sure, she’d shown him moments of weakness and he to her as well, but there was always no denying that Hermione Granger knew exactly who she was and was perfectly content with it.

“Don’t be silly Fred. Why would anyone be interested in me? Biggest swot known to wizarding kind, remember? A big know-it-all with even bigger hair,” she laughed, although it sounded forced to Fred who had become quite familiar with Hermione’s laugh over the past few months.

Fred was unsure how to respond to Hermione’s words. So instead he pulled her into a couple of spins that made her smile in delight. He watched as her frizzy brown curls glowed in the soft lamplight of the room as the song began to wind to an end. He extended his right leg out, placing his weight on the limb as he leaned low, balancing Hermione as he dropped her into a gentle dip. She laughed, genuinely this time, throwing her head back as she did so. Fred’s eyes followed the long curve of the Hermione’s neck before reaching her face. Hermione seemed to glow from the inside out and as he pulled her back up, the song came to an end. Once standing, Fred found it hard to pull his eyes away from Hermione’s face. The combination of the flipping sensation in his stomach, the sweat on his palms, and the increase of the beating of his heart made Fred come to a sickening realization.

He was wholly and completely attracted to Hermione Granger.

Chapter 12>>>

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