#if you are telling the truth why are you speaking indecisively??? why are you trailing off???????????

[itspileofgoodthings]

is it bad that when I tell someone a story about something that happened to me and I share a context with that person (work for example) and then they vaguely mumble back to me that they ran into the person from the story/heard the exact thing I was talking about/had the same discussion I’m referencing I just absolutely do not believe them? like. I’m like “x happened to me today” and they’re like “oh yeah I heard about that from y” my internal voice just automatically goes “liar”

[certifiedskywalker]

How to Make the Right Decision in Five Simple Steps - Bucky Barnes

On the daily, people are thrust into situations that force them to make a choice, sometimes a series of choices. Since meeting each other, you and Bucky have struggled to decide when to speak up, when to tell your truths to the other.

WARNINGS: implied sexual intimacy

PART ONE: How to Make Small Talk in Five Simple Steps

I. Identify your end goal.

“Alright, James,” you drawled as you walked towards your home. The streets were no longer as busy, bathed in an orange sunset glow. “Tell me-”

“Not James.”

“Not James?”

Bucky shook his head, but you saw the barely-there hints of a smile on his lips. It made him look softer, as did the golden hour light. “My full name...it makes me feel...old.”

“Old!? You’re what, one hundred and ten?”

“One hundred and six,” he corrected, his blue eyes meeting your gaze for only a moment before he focused back on the path you both walked. “Plus, it’s what Raynor calls me.”

“Not Mr. Barnes?”

As you asked, teasingly bumping your shoulder into his. Though, you quickly found that to be a mistake as your right arm collided with his left. Immovable and metal, the impact knocked you to the side. Before you could even yelp in fear of falling, Bucky’s hand shot out, fingers gleaming with their dark alloy, and held you in place. When you found your footing and a degree of stability, you looked up into Bucky’s blue eyes.

They were wide with concern as he asked, “are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah, just,” you warily glanced to his gloved left hand, “I forgot.”

“Oh,” he pulled his hand away, “already?”

“It’s not every day a handsome man reveals he has a Vibratium arm.”

“Vibranium.”

“I was close,” you sighed, holding out your hand. Bucky’s brow furrowed at your waiting, open palm. As if to convey a secret message, you waggled your fingers at him.

“What is it?”

“Give me your hand,” you said sheepishly, as warmth spread across your cheeks. His face lifted with the clarity you supplied, yet he hesitated to give you his left hand. It remained fixed at his side until you pressed. “So I don’t forget, again.”

Wordlessly, Bucky nodded and relented. His gloved hand reached out to your bare one and, now knowing the limb was metal, you were not surprised by the strength of his grip. Though, as if he could sense your thoughts, Bucky’s hand went lax in yours, almost limp. That was until you gripped it tighter and pulled him along to walk again.

“So, Mr. Barnes, what-”

“Not that either,” he interrupted, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest of seconds.

“You’re no fun,” you teased before you felt a pang of regret strike in your chest like a shock. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be joking, after all you’ve told me.”

“No, I...I’m not...who I told you about, that’s who I was but he wasn’t even really me. The Winter Soldier,” Bucky’s voice dropped as he said the name and he eyed distracted passersby, “is...he’s my history. I’m trying to make up for that.”

“Reparations. The court ordered therapy.”

“It’s a start,” Bucky agreed.

His tone was serious, lined with a cold edge that made you frown. Only when you glanced up at him did you feel your worry ebb. You caught his side profile perfectly as sunlight shone between two skyscrapers. His visage was cast so wonderfully, he looked nearly ethereal. Then, as you continued to walk side by side, the light was blocked behind more grey buildings. Their shadows fell across your shoulders and the sidewalk. In that same moment, Bucky looked down at you.

“And I like that you joke, that you forgot,” he said as your breath caught. Even in the shade of the city, Bucky looked lighter. Perhaps it was the lingering bits of a smile that played on his lips. You weren’t sure. “But, uh, sorry. I keep cutting you off.”

“Oh! It’s alright,” you swallowed hard, “now I just gotta figure out what to call you.”

“By my name? Bucky?”

“I mean like a nickname,” you clarified, but Bucky’s brows were knitted once more.

“It’s kinda already my nickname.”

“But my nickname, for you,” you stressed, instinctively squeezing the hand of his that you held. You frowned when you realized he might not have felt it.

“Why do you need a special one?”

“You know, now since we’re,” you paused then, as you felt your tongue may trip on the next word and because you weren’t sure if it was even the right word. “Friends.”

A moment of silence passed between you and it took all you had to tear your eyes from Buckys. When you did, your gaze fell upon a nearby building facade that looked familiar. At the sight, your heart sank. Mid-stride you stopped and turned to face Bucky, ready to give him the news. Though, before you could, he spoke up.

“Friends?”

“Yeah, friends,” you echoed, though, in your head, your words sounded more like a question. Bucky’s expression was unreadable, only adding to your hesitation.

“Friends,” he repeated slowly as if testing the word out.

His lips curved into what you could only describe as a forced half-smile as the other half of his mouth remained fixed in a frown. It was almost as if he could not decide how he felt about the word, its power in defining whatever your joined hands and the way you looked at each other meant. You couldn’t decide either. Now that you knew Bucky, you wanted to know more, to know why he let you hold his hand and why he looked at you with such softness that you stomach fluttered so. You wanted him, or did you want the idea of him that you had in your head, the idea of Bucky that you created when you met in the waiting room?

But rather than face that indecision, you glanced to the apartment complex doors that stood still to your right. “Um, well, this is me.”

“Oh,” immediately, his hand dropped from yours. “Alright.”

You lingered a moment on the bottom step leading up to the porch. Bucky’s eyes were trained on you as if waiting for something, longing for something. Though, Bucky was too much of a gentleman to ask, to feed it. You felt it too, heard it whispered in a little voice in your head. Invite him upstairs, you fool!

“I’ll see you, same time next week?” There was a teasing tilt in his voice as he asked like he knew how much it sounded like Dr. Raynor or Dr. Briam. You, now broken out of your thoughts, smiled.

“I’ll mark the appointment in my calendar,” you said, playing along. “Or, you could text me. You do have my number, after all.”

“Maybe. I still don’t know how I feel about smartphones.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re proving that ‘old dog, new tricks’ saying right when you say that, you know.”

“I’ll see you later, Y/N,” Bucky said, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned as he turned around to walk back the way you came.

You watched him go before you climbed up the stairs to your apartment building door. As you fiddled in your pocket for the keys, you looked back in his direction. You swore that your mind was playing tricks on you. You swore that this day was long and emotionally taxing and it must have been your brain’s way of telling you it was time to rest.

But you could not shake the sight, the look in his face when you saw that Bucky Barnes had looked back too.

II. Gather information to best weigh your options.

“What’s that?”

Bucky looked up from the small notebook in his hands as you sat in the seat, your chair, beside his. “Good afternoon to you too.”

“Is it your diary?” You feigned a dramatic gasp and pressed a hand to your chest. “Are you writing about me?”

A small, breathy laugh, almost true, fell from his lips. “I wish.”

Then, it was your turn to chuckle. “I think the proper response is ‘you wish’.”

“No,” he held your gaze and you felt that Bucky was seeing through you. No, not through you but into you, into your heart and soul. “I meant I wish.”

“Well then,” you took a quick breath to replace the one Bucky’s words knocked from your lungs. “What are you writing about, Buckaroo?”

“No.”

You grinned. “What?”

“No to ���Buckaroo’ or whatever the Hell you just said. That can’t be my nickname.”

“Worth a shot,” you sighed as you leaned back in the chair. Bucky let out an amused huff and you savored the lightness of the sound. Comfortable that the almost new nickname diffused the tension, you let your body curl into your seat. Though, your eyes quickly landed on his hands, how they rested in his lap and held tight to the small notebook. Bucky let out a trembling breath and looked back at you.

Your eyes snapped to his and you saw only a heavy glaze of seriousness in the blue. “It’s my...it’s how I’m making amends.”

“Dr. Raynor has you journaling?”

“It’s more of a list.”

“A list,” you leaned towards him, intrigued. “Of good deeds?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked from yours to your lips and back again. It was a momentary slip of his gaze, but it did not ease the trembling of your next breath.

“No,” he replied, letting his attention fall to his notebook. “A list of names...”

He trailed off and raised his head, fixing his eyes on the too-high windows of the waiting room. And, just like that, Bucky was out of your reach again. His mind was towards the glass a dozen feet above from where you both sat, lost in some fogged memory. The other day, when he told you his name, his past, and about the Winter Soldier, you asked him if he remembered what he did in his ‘living weapon’ state.

All of them, he told you; though, in that moment, you weren’t sure to who or what ‘them’ referred to. Now, you had a sinking heaviness in your gut. You did not want it to be true. You did not want this heft of knowing more if it hurt Bucky. Them, the victims. His victims.

“People that you-no, not you. People that he hurt in the past when-”

Before you could finish, Bucky looked at you. Sadness carved lines in his face like scars, all around his mouth and eyes. He suddenly appeared older and your resolve broke. You had a feeling that knowing more about the real Bucky would melt your heart, but this felt more like an ache. It was clear he felt the same pain.

“Hey,” you reached your hand out and wrapped your fingers around his forearm. “You can’t change the past, only the now. And you’re trying to do that, right?”

“I’m trying, but...it’s not...better.”

“The guilt?”

Bucky only nodded in reply, his eyes never once leaving yours.

“I mean, I don’t know what Raynor is having you do but, if this way,” you tipped your head towards his notebook, “if it isn’t working, maybe it’s time to try something else. Try to make them feel better than you do.”

“How?” You frowned at the croaking desperation in his voice. Instinctively, hoping to comfort and console, your grip tightened around Bucky’s metal wrist.

“Give closure if you can, hope to others,” you shrugged, “just be there.”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded and you saw the corner of his mouth twitch up slightly as he looked at you. “I would have never thought you’d be so wise.”

A forced laugh spilled from your lips. “It’s the therapy and the trauma.”

“We both have baggage,” Bucky sighed, letting his eyes fall to the carpeted floor of the waiting room. You let your gaze follow his and saw how near you two were to each other. Your foot was close to his and smaller in comparison.

“It’s what makes us human, right?” You nudged his foot with yours as you asked and, when you looked back at Bucky’s face, you saw his eyes on you.

“Right.”

For a moment, you saw him as you did last week: walking away from your apartment building, eyes fixed on you as he looked over his shoulder. Was he thinking of that same second glance back? Was he too overcome by the desire to know more about you as you were about him? Or was he thinking that you knew too much, that it was only a matter of time before he scared you away for good?

You wanted to ask. You wanted to know. The way he was looked at you was tortuous. Yet, all that you managed to get out was: “you didn’t text me.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you wanted to pull them back in. Bucky’s face fell and his brow furrowed, and you wanted to scream. Or cry, or both. Both would do the trick.

“I didn’t mean to-” you began but stopped when Bucky started to speak.

“I was going to but I thought-”

“James.”

In turn, you and Bucky shifted your attention to Dr. Raynor. The woman poked her head out from behind the door of her office. Her displeased expression only grew more pointed when her dark eyes fell on your hand on Bucky’s wrist. Immediately, you pulled your fingers away, as if her sharp gaze stung your skin.

“I’m ready for you,” she grumbled, before retreating into the dark of her room. You glanced back at Bucky, whose eyes remained fixed on the now open door.

“You should go,” you murmured, and your voice proved to be enough to coax Bucky’s attention towards you. “Best not to keep the Grinch waiting.”

“I wanted to, I,” Bucky let out a sharp exhale through his nose. “I will text you.”

“Sure you will,” you said, hoping that your teasing tone outshone the hurt that lingered in your chest. “I’m sure you will, Buckaroo.”

“Still no.” Bucky stood up and looked down at you. “And I will. I’ll…”

You waved a hand at him. “Just go. I was kidding anyway.”

Bucky frowned but didn’t press the matter further. Instead, he started towards the door to Raynor’s office and, this time, as he walked away, he didn’t look back.

III. Consider the consequences.

“Can I walk you home again?”

At the sound of his voice, you jumped as you walked out of Raynor and Briam’s offices. With eyes wide and mouth agape, you stared at Bucky, who you hadn’t seen in weeks. At your shocked expression, he reached up and scratched the back of his head. He was nervous.

And he should be. “Bucky?! What...where have you been?!”

“It’s a long story,” he sighed, letting his hand fall back to his side. You eyed him, unwilling to let him talk his way out of his sudden, frightening absence. It was difficult to do: Bucky was still as handsome as ever. His hair looked softer in the light of day, outside of the grey of the waiting room, and his blue eyes were brighter than the last time you saw him.

“Well, I’ve got time for you to tell it,” you said, breaking from the trance his features put you in. You crossed your arms over your chest and tried to stay stern.

“Y/N, it was a matter of national importance,” Bucky assured, a small quirk pulling up at the corner of his mouth. Though, you were unamused.

“I’ve been waiting alone...I was worried. You just...disappeared. Without a word!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to worry.” Bucky nodded and a bitter laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

“You didn’t text me,” you whimpered, your sternness melting under the heated pain of missing him. “And I’m not kidding this time.”

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes falling to the sidewalk before he continued. “I know and I want to explain.”

A long, strained pause fell over you both as you loitered before the doorway, staring at each other. Before you could speak up or try to tear your eyes from Bucky’s, a man, a new client of Dr. Raynor, started up the steps. To avoid being bumped into, you stepped forwards and nearly collided with Bucky. His hand reflexively reached out, shining under the sun, and held you still, secure.

“Sorry,” you murmured, as the new client disappeared inside the office. Your eyes flicked from Buckys to his hand that lingered on your upper arm. A shock of surprise rushed through you when you fully realized he was without his gloves. You turned your gaze back to Bucky’s and studied his somber expression. “No gloves?”

“Like I said, I want to explain.”

“You wanna tell me your long story in the doorway like it’s small talk?”

“No,” Bucky soothed, sensing your anger, “I want to walk you home if you’ll let me.”

You took a long, debating breath and glanced over Bucky’s face. There was nothing but sincerity in his eyes. You had not seen them so clear before. No longer were they as fogged and distant as the windows in the waiting room. Originally, you thought learning more about him would make Bucky feel less far away, but then he left. Now that he was back, he was closer than ever.

You weren’t about to push him away.

“Okay. Tell me your story, Jimmy.”

Bucky scoffed, “Jimmy?”

“I don’t know,” you exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air. “James, Jimmy. It works, sort of. You being away threw me off my game.” You started down the stonework stairs and Bucky followed suit. As you both began to walk in the direction of your apartment, you felt as if everything was back as it should be again.

“I missed you too.”

At his words, you pressed you lips together to keep from smiling too broadly. Heat spread along your cheeks as you snuck a glance up to Bucky. His eyes were fixed on you still, watching, reading, and smiling. Really, truly smiling.

You swallowed hard and turned your eyes back to the sidewalk. “As much as I would love to hear about how much you missed me, you have a story?”

He sighed, “yes, and I have this friend…”

“Sam?” You asked, hoping you remembered the man’s name from when Bucky told you about the Falcon so long ago.

“Yeah, Sam.”

Then, he told you everything. He told you about John Walker, the shield, and the serum. He told you about a baron named Zemo and Wakanda’s Dora Milaje. He told you about the Flag Smashers and fighting for what’s right. He told you about the Wilson’s boat in Louisiana. He told you about how he didn’t want to put you in harm’s way.

“That’s why I didn’t text you,” he explained, “the Flag Smashers were using an app and their phones. They called Sarah, Sam’s sister, threatened her and her kids.”

“But they’re okay, right?”

“Yeah, they’re fine,” Bucky said with a fond glint in his eyes. “Played with the kids at the party.”

“Party?” You asked, a grin spreading along your lips. “I see how it is. You didn’t text me because I wasn’t invited to the after-party, huh?”

“No, actually, Sam wanted to fly you out.”

“What?!” You glanced at Bucky and stopped mid-stride. “He knows about me?”

“Of course. I told him about you,” Bucky smiled softly as he stopped. His hands were shoved in his jacket pockets, shoulders back and relaxed. He looked so wonderfully put together, more confident than before. “How could I not?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, bashfully flicking your eyes around the sidewalk. It was only then you realized you were outside your apartment building. It felt too soon.

“Well, I did.” Bucky stepped towards you, hands slipping out from his pockets. You eyed the hand that was his flesh, the rough skin of his palm before you met his gaze.

“Then, why didn’t you ask me? Fly me out?”

“Would you have wanted to come?”

“I…”

At your hesitance, Bucky leaned in closer. You could smell the leather of his jacket and notes of smoke. His blue eyes were searching your face and you felt another rush of warmth rise up and spread like gentle fires across your skin. The feeling stole your breath away, dulled your every thought until only Bucky remained.

“Would you have come?”

His second ask conjured an image in your mind: one of smiles and his arm around your waist, holding you to his side as party-goers danced. You saw kids and Bucky smiling as they threw fake punches at him and laughed when he played along. Then you saw his hands, both flesh and metal, cupping your face at the end of the evening. An evening like the one that surrounded you both.

In the soft light, you saw only Bucky, what you knew and didn’t know about him; but not a single regret. Not a single consequence.

“Yes,” you finally replied. “I would’ve.”

You were so close that you felt Bucky’s gentle sigh of relief against your skin. “Then I should’ve asked. Should’ve texted.”

“You said that you would,” you pointed out.

“You’re right. So, I guess I owe you one.”

“One text?” You smiled and Bucky shook his head.

“One text, one invitation,” Bucky’s eyes flicked to your lips then back up to meet your gaze. A lump formed in your throat at the sight. You glanced to the door of your apartment complex and then back to Bucky.

“So, if I invite you up, you’re obliged to accept?”

IV. Make your decision.

You made the choice to invite Bucky Barnes up to your apartment, but you did not remember how you led him to the door. Adrenaline dulled the proposal in your memory. For that, you were glad because, otherwise, you would have panicked as you and Bucky rode up to your floor in the elevator. Tension would have swallowed you whole, drowned you.

Before you knew it, you were inside your apartment.

“It’s nice in here,” Bucky mused, glancing around your small studio.

You mirrored his movements, eyed the exposed brick walls and scattered posters. What furniture you had was older and a small TV was precariously sat on a coffee table with a mess of wires behind it. Your kitchenette was untouched, but your garbage can nearly overflowed with trash from prepackaged meals.

“It’s not much to look at.”

“It’s cozier than my place,” Bucky said, turning to look at you from over his shoulder, “it looks like the guys’ apartment from that one show. Amigos?”

“Amigos?” You raised a brow at him as you shed your coat and draped it over the back of your favorite chair. “Never heard of it.”

“No, that’s not the name,” Bucky snapped his fingers, trying to magically summon the proper title. “It’s about friends, in New York. They live across the hall and go to some coffee shop all the time. And they’re all white.”

You laughed, “you mean F.R.I.E.N.D.S?”

“That’s it,” Bucky groaned, “it was on Steve’s list.”

“Steve’s list?” You walked into your small living room as you asked, settling on your couch. With practiced ease, the cushions gave in to your weight and you felt a rush of comfort soothe over your slight nervousness.

“That notebook, the one I used for my amends. It was Steve’s before,” Bucky wandered further into your apartment until he stood in your living room, stood before where you sat on the couch. “He made a list of all the things he missed. Movies, types of food, music, and TV shows. A lot of pop-culture things that I still don’t know.”

“Clearly,” you teased. Your light tone caught Bucky’s attention back to you. His blue eyes were darker in the limited sunset light that shone through your windows.

“I’d like to know more,” he pressed, “more about you.”

Your mouth went dry at his words but you managed to squeak out: “then ask.”

Bucky nodded and took a seat on the couch cushion beside you. You turned to face him, waiting for his questions and found yourself dumbstruck by the softness in his face.

“How would you describe yourself?”

A laugh slipped past your lips. It was laced with the sweet memory of the second time you and Bucky Barnes ever spoke to each other. That stupid magazine quiz. When you managed to collect yourself, you saw that Bucky wore a closed-lipped smile.

“In lifestyle quiz terms or in my own terms?”

“Up to you,” Bucky replied, throwing his left arm over the back of your couch.

“Hmm, I don’t know...maybe like a well-read owl?”

Bucky let out an amused huff. “You like to you read?”

“Sometimes. There are a few books I like,” you gestured to the somewhat sparse bookcase in the corner, “but it’s mostly just stuff online now.”

“Ever read The Hobbit?”

“That’s an oddly specific title,” you observed, unable to help the slight grin that pulled at your lips. “Why The Hobbit?”

“I know there are movies out now, a few years ago. But I read it,” Bucky took a breath, “when it first came out.”

“Wow,” you exclaimed, “that’s very hipster of you to say.”

“What do you mean?”

“There really is so much you don’t know,” you jested at his question.

“You mock me, but at least I’m not addicted to my phone.”

“Careful, you’re showing your age,” you laughed. When he failed to return your expression, your chest tightened. “What’s wrong?”

“Does that...does that make you nervous?”

“Your age? No,” you shook your head. “How good you look at a century old? Yes.”

Bucky smiled and his cheeks pinked, but his eyes fell to his lap. “But everything I told you, about me, my past, you’re not nervous? You’re not...scared?”

“No,” you replied quickly, “no, Buck, I’m not scared of you.”

Bucky didn’t respond and, for a moment, you feared that he hated that nickname too. Yet, rather than say so, he stared into your eyes with his lips slightly parted, waiting. At the sight, you felt a wonderful twisting in your gut as Bucky leaned in.

V. Assess the outcome(s).

You made the choice to invite Bucky Barnes up to your apartment, but you had no choice to make when it came to wanting him. You were stupid in believing there was any choice before. There was no decision to make. Not when Bucky already felt right.

Not when his hand, when the rough skin of his palm pressed ever-so-gently against your cheek. His thumb traced across the apple of your cheek as his fingers moved to hold your jaw. Just as they did so many tantalizing times before, Bucky’s eyes danced along your lips before he met your gaze once more. It was a silent question.

“Bucky,” you murmured, tone dripping with want.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The one word is all he needed to hear. Bucky leaned in further, tilted your face up with his thumb and forefinger, and pressed his lips to yours. It was a careful kiss. As if he is scared that you lied, that you were scared and would pull away swiftly. When you lingered, Bucky tipped his lips away from yours and took a breath. You did the same and smiled.

“Was that your first kiss since before World War two?”

Bucky blinked and lifted his slightly hooded eyes to meet your gaze. His pupils were blown and his breathing incredibly slow as he drank in your pleased expression. He had lovely eyelashes, you noticed. They framed the lightness of his eyes so perfectly.

“Any complaints?” His voice was low and sent a shivering shudder down your spine.

“No,” you replied in a desperate breath.

Bucky smiled and leaned in again, captured your lips with his. His hand remained against your jaw with his fingertips kissing your neck. Your own hands traveled up along his broad chest to his neck. His skin was deliciously warm, a sharp contrast to the cool metal of his left hand when it found rest on your waist.

A gasp slipped out of your mouth at the sudden cold, but Bucky was quick to swallow the sound. He trailed searing, no longer careful kisses from your lips to your jaw to your neck. You were a wire made live by his touch. To keep the current, you moved your hands from his neck to his soft, short brown hair. You tugged on the strands, eliciting a muffled moan from his lips.

“Buck,” you mewled as he dragged both of his hands down to your hips and pulled you into his lap. At the sound of the nickname, his wandering touch paused and he let his lips brush along your skin. A barely-there touch.

You looked down at him, saw his kiss-swollen lips, and met his want-filled eyes. Despite the clear desire in his expression and the lust that pooled in your stomach, he seemed suddenly restrained. Worried that maybe he felt this was all too much too fast, you let your hands fall to his shoulders. He did not seem distant but his silence made you wary to continue.

“What is it?”

“I should’ve texted you sooner, doll,” he whispered, pressing his thumbs into your hips. “Wanted to the day I got your number but…”

He trailed off and, to keep him in the moment, to keep his eyes on you, you moved a hand up to Bucky’s face. “Stay out of your head and I’ll stay out of mine. Just be with me now, okay?”

He stayed quiet, watching you as you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. As you did, Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips and pulled you flush against him. You didn’t moan then, but when his fingers, both of metal and flesh, slipped under the hem of your shirt, an involuntary whine escaped you. Bucky smiled into the kiss before you trailed more down his jaw.

“Okay,” he murmured, far too smug for your liking. You pulled your lips from his skin and eyed him vexedly.

Before you could tease or provoke, Bucky craned his neck and kissed you hard. You felt his thighs shift beneath your own and, in a flash, your back was laid against the couch cushions. Bucky’s weight slightly rested on you, pressing against your body marvelously. Heat lingered in the paths of his hands as they explored still covered tracks of your skin. His lips followed suit and you melted completely into bliss.

VI. Daybreak.

Light slipped through the window and cast your bedroom in an orange sunrise glow. You weren’t entirely sure how you and Bucky ended up in your bed. Well, you did, but you were still lost in the haze that surrounded the actions of the night before. Parts of your body still tingled, electrified by Bucky’s lingering touch.

You could feel it still, a tickling that emanated from where Bucky’s skin remained pressed against yours. His arm was slung around your bare waist, warm and snug. With your head on the pillow, you turned to study Bucky’s face. Sleep looked good on him.

His eyelashes fanned out against the peaks of his cheeks, which made him look angelic. You tried to remember if you had ever seen him so at peace before. Images of the waiting room danced before your eyes. You could only recall the relief that flashed across his face when he told you about his nightmares. Though, compared to the relaxed brow and softness laid before you, that expression was far from peaceful.

Unable to help yourself, you trailed your fingertips along the length of Bucky’s forearm that was wrapped around you. Under your touch, you saw the muscles beneath the skin flex and his hold on you tightened. When you glanced back at Bucky’s face, you were met with a pair of sleepy blue eyes.

“Mornin’,” he greeted, his voice gravelly from disuse.

“Morning. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’m a light sleeper.” As he spoke, his arm around your waist squeezed once more. Now, your side was pressed to his chest and the scruff on Bucky’s chin prickled against your skin.

“You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” he beamed, lifting his head from your pillow. “Better than okay.”

You smiled right back at him. “No nightmares or anything?”

“Not last night,” he said lowly as he leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Didn’t have a chance to.”

You reached a hand up to his hair as Bucky trailed gentle pecks along your jaw. A hum of contentment rose up your throat as he moved against you. You trailed your fingers through his messed hair and sighed. Bucky pulled away at the sound and peered down at you.

“What?”

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, gently brushing your hair back with his left hand. The coolness of the Vibranium woke you up fully and you reached a hand out to grab his wrist.

“And you’re intolerable, James Buchanan Barnes.” You intertwined your fingers with his metal ones and grinned. He returned the expression as he pinned your hand against the space beside your head.

“No jokes, no teasing,” he persisted, “you’re beautiful.” He pressed a kiss to the column of your throat and you sighed a thank you.

“You are too.” Bucky pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again. “I mean, why else do you think I talked to you in the waiting room?”

A laugh rumbled up in Bucky’s chest and you felt the vibration of the sound against your own. “I thought it was because I was new.”

“Well yeah, and handsome,” you grinned. Bucky’s eyes drank in your expression and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander back to that first meeting. “You looked lonely.”

“Until you,” he murmured, echoing your words from long ago.

You nodded under his softening gaze. “Until you.”

[saiilorstars]

Darkest Before Dawn

Ch.16: Don’t Tell

Steve Rogers x OFC fic

taglist:@arrthurpendragon​​ @anotherunreadblog​​ @maaaaarveeeeel​ ​​@stareyedplanet​​ @antonybridgertons​​ @gloryekaterina​​  @foxesandmagic​​​  @lenonizi​​

Story Masterlist // Seren’s Masterlist​​

If you’d like to be a part of this OC’s work/edits, let me know!

Steve was furious when he walked into the room to find Tony actually poking Banner with an electrical prod. Steve couldn't believe his eyes - was this really Howard's son!? Someone this...irresponsible!?

"Hey! Are you nuts?" Steve nearly snatched the rod from Tony altogether lest the man wanted to try again for the Hulk. At this point, Steve wouldn't put it behind Tony to do it.

It was even more infuriating to see Tony calm as ever, as if he hadn't just tried something dangerously stupid. He was simply studying Banner for any sign that he might be turning green soon. "You really have got a lid on it, haven't you?" He all but circled Banner. "What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?"

Steve shook his head. "Is everything a joke to you!?"

"Funny things are," Tony shrugged lightly.

"Threatening the safety of everyone on this ship isn't funny!" Steve took a breath in and realized his words and how they sounded in Banner's perspective. "No offense, doctor," he offered Banner an apologetic smile. He knew Banner was probably trying his best to remain himself but the truth was, as sad as it was, that if he turned into the Hulk then they were all near goners.

Banner, however, took no actual offence. He merely smiled back. "No, it's alright. I wouldn't have come aboard if I couldn't handle pointy things."

Tony still wasn't convinced. "You're tiptoeing, big man. You need to strut."

Steve once again looked at Tony like he was crazy, and he was beginning to suspect that it was the truth. "And you need to focus on the problem, Mr. Stark."

"You think I'm not? Why did Fury call us and why now? Why not before? What isn't he telling us? I can't do the equation unless I have all the variables."

"You think Fury's hiding something?"

"He's a spy. Captain, he's the spy. His secrets have secrets." Tony jerked a thumb over at Banner without even looking at the man. "It's bugging him too, isn't it?"

Banner struggled to speak when all eyes turned on him. He wasn't expecting to be thrown into that conversation. "Uh...I just wanna finish my work here and…"

Steve could hear the indecision in Banner's tone, ultimately making him ask if he agreed with Tony. "Doctor?"

Banner hesitated for another minute before realizing that if anyone would be trustworthy enough to keep that secret, it would be Steve. " 'A warm light for all mankind, Loki's jab at Fury about the cube."

"I heard it…"

"Well, I think that was meant for you," Banner pointed at Tony, much to the latter's genuine surprise. "Even if Barton didn't post that all over the news."

"The Stark Tower? That big ugly…" Steve trailed off once he was subjected to Tony's look but the remainder of the words still came out a few seconds later. "...building in New York?" It was a bit flashy for his taste when Seren first showed it to him and even now, his opinion had not changed.

"It's powered by Stark Reactors, self-sustaining energy source. That building will run itself for what, a year?" Banner asked curiously.

"That's just the prototype. I'm kind of the only name in clean energy right now," Tony said off-handedly, far too casual.

"So, why didn't SHIELD bring him in on the Tesseract project?" Banner still motioned to Tony while he addressed Steve, admittedly making a good point. "I mean, what are they doing in the energy business in the first place?"

Steve wouldn't deny that it was a good question to ask, not that he would like to see anyone working with the Tesseract. Right now, he hated that Seren had been forced to take care of that thing while he was in the dark about it. That thing was dangerous enough when left alone and they placed it so close to Seren and everyone else. "I wouldn't know, Seren didn't tell me but...I could ask Chloe—"

"You really think Megamind is going to tell you anything?" Tony rolled his eyes, initially missing the glare Steve sent his way. "She's embedded with S.H.I.E.L.D., as is Agent Soul in case you didn't get the memo."

"Stop calling them that! Chloe doesn't like it and as for Seren, it's offensive."

Tony still didn't see the problem. "Why?" He shrugged. "It's a literal description of their powers. Winters is from the mind and Soul runs on star matter. That little star on her neck?" He made a gesture at his own neck for reference. "That's the mark of her people. She's an alien."

"She's as much a human as you and I are," snapped Steve. He could see the reaction on Banner's face at the revelation and he was more than ready to take Banner and Tony to defend Seren if need be.

"Well—" Tony sniffed, "—maybe not so much you, huh?"

Steve's face fell flat. He could care less what Tony thought of him and his own unique biology but he wouldn't let Tony keep calling out Seren the way he was, especially when Seren wasn't even there to defend herself. "You need to leave the nicknames behind, Stark. Seriously."

Tony rolled his eyes, groaning dramatically. "God, I didn't get this much heat from Winters who, by the way, is as shady as this entire organization is."

Steve groaned. "Is that what we're doing, then? We're just going to insult one Agent after the other?"

"I'm not insulting anyone, merely calling out what I see and know." It was honestly irritating to Tony that none of them could see what he saw and they were all just brushing his comments off. He said things for a reason. "But you know what? Pretty soon, I'm going to know everything once my decryption programmer finishes breaking into all of SHIELD's secure files."

That made Steve stop altogether, as it did to Banner. "I'm sorry, did you say...?"

"Jarvis has been running it since I hit the bridge. In a few hours we'll know every dirty secret SHIELD has ever tried to hide." Tony held out the bag of blueberries he picked up from the table. "Blueberry?"

Banner refrained from any berries and the conversation for a moment.

Steve couldn't help himself. Tony was turning out to be an insufferable version of the Starks. "Yet you're confused about why they didn't want you around?"

"An intelligence organization that fears intelligence? Historically, not possible." Tony dropped a few more berries into his mouth.

"I think Loki's trying to wind us up. This is a man who means to start a war, and if we don't stay focused, he'll succeed. We have orders, we should follow them."

Tony smiled as if he'd been waiting to hear that line, and perhaps he had been. "Following is not really my style."

Steve smiled wryly. "And you're all about style, aren't you?" His question struck Tony more than it would've to anyone else.

"Of the people in this room, which one is; A. wearing a spangly outfit, and B. not of use?"

Just as Steve was about to respond, Banner cut in, "Steve, tell me none of this smells a little funky to you?"

Of course there were a couple questions he had but Steve wasn't going to let anything cloud his mind in this mission. "Just find the cube," he told them and left the lab.

He bumped into Chloe a few corridors down (he may have gotten a little mixed up). "Anything from Loki?" he dared to be hopeful.

Chloe shook her head. "No. He's tight-lipped. Not even Seren knew."

Steve studied her expression. Against his better judgement, he suddenly asked, "Chloe, do you know what S.H.I.E.L.D. was planning on doing with the Tesseract?"

Chloe blinked. Steve hated that he'd asked her that but at the same time he really wanted to know the answer and much more if she would actually answer.

"No. But if it helps, it was also Seren's constant question. She was set to guard the Tesseract, just that. Nobody would ever tell her what the entire mission was about. It was top secret."

Steve thanked her for the answer. It coincided with Seren's behavior during the mission. And look at that, the mission had taken her away.

"I have to go see if Coulson has anything," Chloe mumbled, excusing herself.

Steve didn't bother trying to stop her. He'd seen her face and he could safely assume that she was telling the truth. Tony's words about her were not going to get into his head...Tony's other words about the Tesseract, however…

Steve started for the hull of the ship.

~ 0 ~

Chloe found Coulson and Thor in the briefing room looking at something on the computers. She soon recognized the picture of Jane Foster on the screen.

"...we moved Jane Foster. We've got an excellent observatory in Traunsee. She was asked to consult there very suddenly yesterday. Handsome fee, private plane, very remote. She'll be safe," Coulson was assuring Thor.

"Thank you," Thor said, "It's no accident Loki taking Erik Selvig. I dread what he plans for him once he's done. Erik is a good man." He met Chloe's gaze and felt for her as well. "The Lady of the stars...she has a better winning chance. She's strong."

Chloe nodded fervently. She had no doubt about Seren's strength. "It's because Seren's strong that I'm worried about what Loki's scepter did to her," she confessed. "How he managed to brainwash her. This isn't the first time we've dealt with brainwashing and Seren's never fallen like that."

"The scepter is embedded with a kind of power that's unique," Thor explained, "But it's not permanent. No brainwashing ever is. We will get her back."

Chloe hoped the same. "Thanks. Seren's sort of like my adopted sister too. Well, she adopted me but you get the idea. She would never hurt a fly and Loki made her shoot at us like she didn't even know us," Chloe said, feeling much more pain than she ever thought she'd feel — an anger that she never really experienced before. "I'm afraid of the reason why Loki took her away."

Thor agreed. Loki was precise and he only took certain people-the scientists, the agents...but a Celessian? That spoke of an army of his own. "I'm sorry," he said, knowing there was nothing else he could do at the moment. "Like I said, we'll find her. I know she kept her word and looked after Jane while I was gone."

Chloe managed to smile a bit. She peered around the Asgardian to see the screen where Jane's picture still was. "Yeah, Seren stayed with Jane and Selvig to continue the Foster Theory. She tried learning about your world too — Asgard? — from her grandmother. You really changed everything around here."

And yet somehow that didn't seem to bring Thor any joy. "They were better as they were," Thor said quietly, turning towards the glass window. "We pretend on Asgard that we're more advanced, but we...we come here battling like Bilchsteim."

Chloe and Coulson were in the same state of confusion.

"I'm sorry, like what?" Coulson asked.

"Bilchsteim? You know; huge, scaly, big antlers. You don't have those?" Thor was met with the same blank expressions. "They are repulsive, and they trample everything in their path. When I first came to earth, Loki's rage followed me here and your people paid the price. And now again. In my youth I courted war."

"War hasn't started yet," Fury walked into the room, "You think you can make Loki tell us what the Tesseract is?"

"I do not know. Loki's mind is far afield, it's not just power he craves, it's vengeance upon me. There's no pain that would prize his need from him."

" A lot of guys think that, until the pain stops."

Thor met Fury's gaze. "What are you asking me to do?"

"I'm asking. What are you prepared to do?"

"Loki is a prisoner."

"Then why do I feel like he's the only person on this boat that wants to be here?"

It was an uncomfortable question that everyone had been asking themselves without the courage to speak it out loud.

~ 0 ~

Night turned into morning and when Fury went to check in on the others in the lab, he found no work to be done. Banner and Tony were just standing there. They were too quiet for Fury's taste.

"What are you doing, Mr. Stark?"

"Uh...kind of been wondering the same thing about you," Tony replied, smiling too tightly as well.

"You're supposed to be locating the Tesseract, in case you forgot."

"We are," assured Banner, "The model's locked and we're sweeping for the signature now. When we get a hit, we'll have the location within half a mile."

"And you'll get your cube back, no muss, no fuss." Tony suddenly looked away to his monitor and after a quick skim, he had a question in line for Fury. "What is PHASE 2?"

Before Fury could answer, if he would even have answered, Steve stormed into the room and dropped an assault rifle on the table with a loud thud. "PHASE 2 is SHIELD uses the cube to make weapons!" To say Steve was infuriated would be a deep understatement. It was like finding out everything he fought for didn't even matter in the end. S.H.I.E.L.D. was going ahead to do exactly what he worked so hard to keep away from the world. "Sorry, the computer was moving a little slow," he added for Tony.

Tony would give him the point this time, impressed by the tractics.

"Rogers, we gathered everything related to the Tesseract," Fury began to say, "This does not mean that we're…"

"I'm sorry, Nick." Tony moved the computer screen towards Fury so he, as well as everyone else, could see the major plans of weapons they were intending on building wiht the Tesseract's help. "What were you lying?"

"This is why you didn't tell Seren everything," Steve rounded on Fury. "Smart move because there is no way she would've been for this."

"Agent Soul would've done anything if it was required," Fury said, but Steve shook his head.

He came to know Seren, learn about her priorities and her intentions. Nothing about her would ever imply that she'd be for this type of plan. "You would have told her your plans from the start instead of keeping her in the dark," Steve said with all the certainty in the world. "I was wrong, director. The world hasn't changed a bit."

"Did you know about this?" Banner asked Natasha when she, Chloe and Thor walked in.

"What is that?" Chloe pointed to the weapon, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Does it look familiar, Megamind?" Tony's use of his nickname, for the moment, wasn't regarded as Chloe felt the accusation in his tone was far more important.

"Excuse me?"

"She doesn't know," Steve snapped at him but Tony merely hummed to voice his disagreement.

"Doesn't know what?" Chloe looked between them, expecting an answer that was coming much too slowly.

"Phase 2," Banner was the one to answer for her sake and Natasha's.

"What is Phase 2?" Natasha directly looked at Fury. If anyone would have the answers, it was him, but whether he would give the answer was still up in the air.

"PHASE 2 is S.H.I.E.L.D. uses the cube to make weapons," Steve glared at Fury as he answered the question.

"And how did you come across that, exactly?" Natasha lifted an eyebrow at him. She suspected the answer but she would rather hear it out loud that the golden boy had gone lurking through secret rooms. When Steve said nothing, she turned her attention to Banner. "You wanna think about removing yourself from this environment, doctor?"

A sour smile spread across Banner's face. "I was in Calcutta, I was pretty well removed."

"Loki's manipulating you!"

"And you've been doing what exactly?"

"You didn't come here because I bat my eyelashes at you."

"Yes, and I'm not leaving because suddenly you get a little twitchy. I'd like to know why SHIELD is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction!"

"Because of him," Fury pointed at Thor who was left stunned at how this entire conversation had suddenly steered towards him.

"Me?"

"Not too long ago we had a visitor from another planet who had a grudge match that leveled a small town. Our best agent wasn't able to stop it so we revisited the idea to expand the Avengers Initiative."

"My people want nothing but peace with your planet!" Thor argued.

"But you're not the only people out there, are you?" Fury challenged the Asgardian who couldn't answer that. "And, you're not the only threat. The world's filling up with people who can't be matched, they can't be controlled."

"Like you controlled the cube?" Steve chimed in sourly.

"Your work with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it, and his allies," snapped Thor. "It is the signal to all the realms that the earth is ready for a higher form of war."

When the word 'war' was thrown into the conversation, Steve immediately inserted himself. "A higher form?" According to history, there had been no more World Wars and he would really like to keep it like that.

"You forced our hand. We had to come up with something!" Fury kept going despite having everyone against him.

"Nuclear deterrent," Tony said with a frown. "`Cause that always calms everything right down."

Fury side-glanced him at that comment. "Remind me again how you made your fortune, Stark?"

"I'm sure if he still made weapons, Stark would be neck deep—"

"Wait, wait! Hold on!" Tony cut Steve off and glared. "How is this now about me!?"

"I'm sorry, isn't everything!?"

"I thought humans were more evolved than this," remarked Thor amongst the arguments that unfolded between the group.

"Excuse me, did we come to your planet and blow stuff up?" Fury was right on him after that.

"Did you always give your champions such mistrust?"

"YOU'RE NOT MY CHAMPION!"

"Are you boys really that naive? S.H.I.E.L.D monitors potential threats!" Natasha was still going on against Banner.

"And Captain America is on the threat poll?"

"We all are!"

"You're on that list?" Tony nearly laughed at Steve. "Are you above or below angry bees?"

"I swear to God, Stark, one more crack…"

"Shut up!" Chloe snapped at both of them. "Arguing isn't helping anything—"

"Oh Megamind, come off your high horse, will you?"

"You know what?" Chloe turned to Tony, her eyes flashing blue. "The fact you think that I'm the blue cartoon with a big head is rich coming from you of all people!"

As the arguments grew louder and harder, no one realized the sceptor's blue gem glowing magnificently bright.

"You speak of control, yet you court chaos!" Thor was arguing with Fury and had Banner's semi-agreement.

"It's his MO, isn't it? I mean, what are we, a team?" He humorlessly laughed. "No, no, no. We're a chemical mixture that makes chaos. We're—we're a time bomb."

Despite the situation, Fury wasn't throwing any anger towards Banner. It was more weariness and everyone knew why. "You need to step away."

"Why shouldn't they guy let off a little steam?" Tony clapped a hand over Banner's shoulder.

Of all the things going on, Steve couldn't believe that Tony was still going on about bringing the Hulk out. "You know damn well why! Back off!"

"Oh, I'm starting to want you to make me!"

"Guys…" Chloe said as the two got in each other's faces.

"Yeah, big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?"

"Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist…" Tony started listing off with pride. Behind him, Natasha gave an agreeing shrug. That pretty much summed him up alright.

"I know guys with none of that worth ten of you," Steve's tone was low with a new type of anger that Seren hadn't yet seen, and he had grounds for that anger. Tony was proving to be a special situation. "I've seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself. You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you."

"I think I would just cut the wire," Tony said flatly.

A humorless laugh slipped from Steve. "Always a way out. You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero."

"A hero, like you? You're a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle."

Instead of the rightful anger he should feel, Steve smirked. "Put on the suit, let's go a few rounds."

Thor laughed from his spot. "You people are so petty, and tiny."

At this point, Chloe would agree. "We are a terrible combination but we need to put out fires and focus on the bigger one!"

"Yeah, this is a team," Banner muttered.

"Agent Romanoff, Agent Winters, would you escort Dr. Banner back to his—"

Banner cut Fury off in a loud yell. "WHERE? YOU RENTED MY ROOM!"

"The cell was just—"

"IN CASE YOU NEEDED TO KILL ME. BUT YOU CAN'T, I KNOW, I TRIED!" The room fell silent at the admission. Banner swallowed hard as all eyes laid on him. "I got low," he said, explaining slowly. " He stopped, everyone staring at him. "I didn't see an end so I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy .out. So I moved on, I focused on helping other people. I was good until you dragged me back into this freak show and put everyone here at risk. You wanna know my secret, Agent Romanoff? You wanna know how I stay calm?"

Fury and Natasha had silently reached for their respective weapons.

"Doctor Banner, put down the scepter," Steve instructed, not quite ordered. From where he stood, it didn't even look like Banner had realized he picked up the scepter.

Suddenly, the monitor made a noise. The Tesseract had been found. It was enough to make Banner put the scepter down and shift his focus on the Tesseract again. "Sorry, kids. You don't get to see my party trick after all," he muttered.

"You located the Tesseract?" Thor inched forwards but still held caution.

"I can get there faster," Tony said casually as if they hadn't just been in a neck-deep argument.

"Look, all of us—"

"The Tesseract belongs on Asgard, no human is a match for it," Thor interrupted whatever plan Steve had been about to say.

"I think you're right," Chloe's agreement came in quietly and rather slowly, as she was just now realizing. Having the Tesseract was only proving to bring out the worst in everyone. It was horrible.

"You're not going alone!"

Chloe snapped out of her thoughts to see Steve and Tony once again at each other's neck.

Tony had just smacked Steve's hand off his shoulder. "You gonna stop me?"

"Put on the suit, let's find out!"

"I'm not afraid to hit an old man," Tony stepped closer to Steve, facing off.

"Put on the suit!"

"Stop it!" Chloe yelled just before Banner did too.

"Oh my God!" He had spotted something on the monitor and that something created a terrible rumble of explosions.

The room shattered and sent everyone flying into different directions. Steve, Fury, Thor and Tony were lucky enough to have landed across the room, haphazardly near the corridor.

"Put on the suit!" Steve immediately gave the order to Tony and this time, perhaps the only time, Tony didn't disagree.

"Yep!"

They scrambled to get up on their feet. Steve located Fury and Thor not too far from them but he realized that Chloe, Natasha and Banner were nowhere in sight. He panicked.

"Chloe?" He called out and moved about as much as he could around the destroyed room. "Chloe!"

"Hill!?" Fury called through their comms. "What's going on?"

"It's Stardust, sir. She just took out Number 3 engine!"

Steve paused and looked over to Fury. He recognized the alias all too well.

"Turbine's loose. Mostly intact, but it's impossible to get out there and make repairs while we're in the air. We lose one more engine, we won't be. Plus, if Stardust makes another blast, we'll go down. Somebody's got to get her and patch that engine."

Fury nodded at Steve then Tony. "You heard, go!"

"Yeah!" Tony was all for it but Steve was reluctant for many reasons.

First of all, he didn't hear anything from Chloe. She was stuck somewhere below and she wasn't responding. And second of all, engage Seren in a fight? They used to joke all the time about who would win in a fight and that was all it was meant to be: jokes. Never in his life did he want to fight Seren.

"Cap!" Fury called. "You need to go!

"But Chloe—"

"I'm good!" They heard the woman exclaim.

Chloe, Natasha and Banner had plummeted down into the lower equipment rooms. Chloe felt her back aching from the terrible landing but she could move, albeit slowly.

"If Seren's out there, somebody's gotta bring her in before she does something she'll regret!" She called up above. "Steve! Bring her back, please!"

Steve willed himself to stand up for Chloe. She was right. If Tony was going to be preoccupied with the engines, it would be up to him to handle Seren. Steve wasn't sure he could win that fight for many reasons.

[another-fantasy-world]

Theirs, In Every Way Possible

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆���　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆      ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Pairing: Jemily x Fem! Reader, JJ x Reader x Emily

Summary: JJ and Emily thought that their life couldn’t get any better, until they met you. However, what happens when you aren’t completely truthful to them and the team who was already a family to you? 

Warnings: Canon Violence, Reader came from a serial killer family, Reader has so many traumas, Homophobia, Reader has trust issues and is very indecisive. Y/N might frustrate you. Major Character Injuries.

Word Count: 3816 words

GIF isn’t mine

This case is completely made up from the top of my head, so if there are any similarities in the episodes in CM, they were probably just carved in my brain. Also, this might be a little ooc because I can’t just seem to tap into their personalities just yet

I’m sorry, I tried making this as angsty as I possibly could, I’m still working on my angst.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆      ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You were fairly new to the BAU, only working there for about 6 months, and yet you fit in really easily. It definitely helped that you were the sunshine- Penelope Garcia’s bestfriend and that Erin Strauss couldn’t bring herself to dislike you. But what matters the most to them is that fact that you were a genius. No, not like Dr. Reid genius. You understood the serial killers in a personal level, and you would often coax the weapon out of their hand and get them to submit and surrender. Of course, when they confronted you about it, you easily lied and they somehow accepted that. So much for being profilers.

You never really did know when you first started seeing the couple in a new light. Yes you liked them both. It never really mattered since you just knew that it would just fade away. It was already embedded in your brain that everyone eventually leaves and that being too close to anyone would only get them killed. You learned that the hard way. But that didn’t stop you from admiring them from the shadows. It didn’t stop you from smiling whenever they talk, it didn’t stop you from memorizing their features like they were about to vanish into thin air, it didn’t stop you from admiring how JJ controlled the media, or how Emily used that voice when she’s speaking to the unsub and it didn’t stop you from admiring how well they fit each other, how their hands fit like puzzle pieces, and how your heart clenches in awe when you see them cuddled up with each other. You didn’t know what you would do with yourself, you desperately needed to get away from them, but you also wanted and needed to be around them. God, you knew you sounded like a hormonal teenager. 

“This is Daryln Garcia, Ahron Balydyn, Abbey Banagher and Jehoushua Castiel. Their names are on top of the list of the recent chain of murders all over each state.” Garcia winced at the pictures that she had to present to the whole team, she never did seem to get used to it

“Some of these are from waaaaay long before, why only now?” Emily asks from her seat , which was coincidentally next to yours

 “The M.O’s are all over the place, which is why they didn’t connect the murders until now. The only thing connecting them are black sticky notes that are posted on the wall and on their body.” Rossi reads out.

“Where’s the latest one?” You ask, sipping your coffee

“...Los Angeles, California.” 

“Wheels up in Five.” Hotch concludes, as everyone gets up to gather themselves. 

After talking and discussing the case a bit more, You all decide to calm down for a few hours, and each and everyone of you set off to do your own things.

“Uh-huh, you’re staring at them again huh.” Garcia teased you through the screen.

Spencer was memorizing and rereading the case files,

Hotch was talking with Rossi, probably discussing the case,

Morgan has his headphones clogging his ears,

JJ and Emily were cuddling with each other as JJ munched on her cheetos.

You were currently seated away from the team, just out of earshot because you knew that Garcia would begin spouting non-sense. 

“Shut up...” You blushed bright red. “...I told you this once, while I was drunk and now you bring it up in every conversation that we have. It’s just a silly little crush, sunshine. It’ll pass.” You told her, playfully glaring at the screen, to which she laughed

“Sure, Gummy Bear. Keep telling yourself that.” She grinned.

When you were about to land, you hung up on your bestfriend before steeling yourself, You didn’t need to acknowledge the gut feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you most certainly ignored the growing headache that you have. 

 JJ and Emily certainly noticed you right from the start. The woman who had no experience in the field whatsoever is suddenly the finest one they ever seen. (or maybe that’s just because they were so attracted to you that they happen to pay too much attention) That wasn’t the only thing they noticed though: They also noticed the tiny change in tone when you talk to either or both of them at the same time, or the way that your head would be the first to turn when they walk in the bullpen, or the way that your eyes would quickly scan them from head to toe before you bury your face into the paperwork that Hotch gave you, just a slight hint of embarrassment in your eyes peeking out from the cover or maybe it was the way that you would breathe a little heavier and talk a little faster when you discussed the case with them. You weren’t painfully obvious, but they were profilers for God’s sake, they notice everything, especially if it’s about you. There was just something so painfully attractive about you that interests them so much. The way your hair flowed as it dances with the wind, The way you licked your lips since they were dry (They tried to get you to use a lip gloss or a lip balm but you fought them, real hard.), The way your body tackled unsubs who got into your nerves (They always had to change clothes after that...), The way your eyes shined when you successfully return and reunite families, The way your mind worked: How you analyze quick, How you look at things in all angles, How you tried to put yourself in the very scene, How you work so well with Spencer and How you always seem to know what to say, every damn time. Maybe it was the way you broke social construct just by wearing a suit everytime you go to work, or it’s probably the smirks you give them when you’re right about something and they were in the wrong. (It makes them want to pounce on you, but they restrain themselves, taking their frustrations out on each other in the privacy of their own home.) But what they hate the most, it how dense you are. At this point, JJ could send you a love letter and you would think that it’s a recent case evidence. 

"...This is Dr. Reid, SSA Prentiss, Y/LN, Morgan, Jareau, and Rossi."

“Right this way, we have arrested a prime suspect this morning.” 

“How?” You ask, lifting two duffle bags and setting them down to your designated table

“She was found lurking around the crime scene and a bloody shirt matching one of the latest victims in his backpack.” 

“Can we have her bag?” Emily asks, approaching the officer

“Yeah sure. Right this way Agent.” He leads her to somewhere while you trail Hotch to the interrogation room, only to freeze in your tracks.

“What the hell” you whispered under your breath, feeling the same suffocating aura when you felt like your past is catching up to you. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” You hear Derek ask you.

“I can’t do this. I need to call Garcia. Excuse me.” You replied with a look in your eyes. Derek recognized that same look with Emily when she ran away, pursuing Doyle to protect the team, and he’ll be damned if he let’s history repeat itself.

“Nuh-uh sweetcheeks. I know that look. Tell me.” Derek grips your forearm gently.

“Derek. I promise I won’t run away. And if I’m not back within an hour, track my phone and my ring.” you assured him, pulling your phone out and hurrying outside.

“Garcia. Please tell me that my identity is still concealed.” You begged Penelope while you were stress smoking at the back of the precinct. 

“It is! I promise! There’s no way they would find you! through technology at least.” she ranted. You see, Penelope Garcia doesn’t do well with secrets, but you really needed her, and she understood that. Which is why your secret is the best kept secret she has, she hid your secret for a year now.

“Then tell me why my aunt, who might I add is an absolute psychopath, is in our major suspect list right now?” you panicked, knowing that your “family” has somehow tracked you

“It might be a coincidence, Gummy Bear. But I will look into it! I promise.” 

“Garcia. One more favor. Back up all my files, all of it. From my work laptop, my FBI files, my personal devices, all of it. Then delete them all. I’m going to use a disposable starting now. Pull up the GPS service for my ring, keep an eye on me at all times. I’ll be damned if I see more of my family.” You spat out, stomping out the light of your cigarette, before popping a mint.

“Consider it done. Don’t you think it’s time to tell them?” she carefully asks, knowing how sensitive you are.

“Thank you Garcia, And I will. Once the time is right.” You grumbled, knowing that it’ll be sooner than later.

“Y/N. Tell them before it’s too late. Please, for your sake and for ours too.” 

“I will short stuff. I will.” 

For days you successfully evaded interrogating your aunt, subtly helping them as much as you can without raising suspicion. You knew that this secrecy is going to be revealed soon

“Y/N. We picked up coffee for you.” You suddenly hear JJ behind you, Emily’s hand gently placing the coffee in front of you, her eyes filled with concern

“You didn’t go to your hotel room did you?” Emily accused

“...No” You dropped your head onto the files in front of you

“You need your sleep Y/N. You’re no use when your brain can’t even function.” JJ retorted, taking a seat beside you, with Emily by her side.

“...Fine. A nap on that sofa. That’s it.” You bargained, determination shines in your eyes

“Okay. Go.”

And then, the moment your head hits the arm rest, you blacked out. Only waking up to Derek’s frantic shaking of your body

“Y/N! Get up!” It was rare for Derek to be this panicked and scared, and that gave you anxiety

“What? What is it?!” You stood up, feeling yourself get dizzy my how fast you got up.

“JJ and Emily are gone.”

What?

“Wait- What do you mean- How long was I asleep?” You blinked

“Precisely 4 hours, 36 minutes and 56 seconds.” Reid blurts out from infront the whiteboard.

“What happened for fuck’s sake?” You sat back down, rubbling your head

“Hotch was about to send you in on a lead, but they both volunteered instead.” Rossi explained

“And no one sent backup?” You were angry, barely keeping it in, you were slowly regretting keeping your secret now

“No one knew until now, when JJ and Emily didn’t come back after an hour, Derek went after them, only to find this.” Rossi lifts up the black sticky note.

“Family for Family, Blood for Blood”

“Is it possible that Rayna Torres, is their relative?”

“ Call and Tell Penelope I said Yes.” You point to Derek, knowing that Garcia will know what to do. You’ll let your bestfriend explain, she’ll explain it better since your mind is fogged

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your face hardened, clenching your jaw. You rarely showed anger, or annoyance for that matter, so they didn’t know what to do when you stormed off in pursuit of Hotch.

You found Hotch in the interrogation room, silently observing your Aunt

“Let me talk to her.” You say, earning a nod from him

You stormed in, slamming the door behind you.

“Listen here, you little psychopath. Where are they.” His eyes widened slightly, Hotch didn’t expect you to be so hostile

“There you are. I was beginning to think that we got the wrong team.” She grinned, intertwining her fingers, her wrists still bound to the table by a handcuff.

“I am not in the mood for your games.” You deadpanned, gripping the table to conceal your anger

“Hmmn. You always did have your father’s temper.”

“WHERE. ARE. THEY.” You slammed your palms on the metal table, making a slight dent on it. Ignoring the pain, you glared at her hard

“You know where they are child. I know that you know where they are.” The devilish grin once again appeared on her face.

“If I step foot inside that warehouse, and they are not there, I can’t guarantee your head will still be attached to your shoulders when they prepare you for your casket. Auntie.” At that statement, you walked away with a surprised Hotch on your trail.

He treated you like his very own ever since you knocked on his door, crying your eyes out, ranting about your family. Of course he noticed the small slip-ups you accidentally let out especially when you’re drunk. But it was never enough to completely put the picture together. He knows that you treat him as a father figure. Which is why he can’t let you go in there alone.

“No. Absolutely not. You might die Y/N!” You raised your brow at him, the bulletproof vest never felt as heavy as it is now

“You’ve known me for 6 months, you’ve known them for years. Why are you picking me over them? You know that I’m what they want. You or any other person steps in though that door, they’re all going to be dead before they see JJ and Emily. Not to mention they might kill JJ and Emily too. Please Hotch. This is my battle. If I die, I die. I don’t want to live knowing I could’ve done something.” Those were your last words before you slowly walked to the warehouse door after getting wired.

“This really isn’t the best first impressions you could make on your future daughters-in-law. Father.” You spoke as you saw him pointing a revolver at her, at your Emily.

You almost collapse at their state. JJ’s beautiful blonde hair caked with dirt and blood, she was staring at you, shaking her head, tears welling up in her eyes. Her lip is swollen and you could see multiple bruises forming. 

However, Emily’s state was much worse. Her eyebrow was bleeding, her knuckles are bruised, she has small cuts everywhere and you could see that she was struggling to stand up despite being tied by her hands to the ceiling

“This one has a sharp tongue daughter. i don’t appreciate it.” He snarled, now pointing his gun at you

“Last one who said that exact words to had his dick cut in half. Where’s my jerkwad of a brother anyways? How’s his dick? Still has my bite marks? Scars maybe?” You smirked, hearing your “mother” load her gun

“Disrespectful Bitch. Don’t talk to your brother like that, he’s better than you ever will be” She snarled, firing at your feet, slashing through your pants, making you bleed slightly, making JJ scream through her gag.

“Your aim’s getting rusty.” You pulled out both your guns, pointing them at you biological “parents” 

“And you’re wearing a bulletproof vest. Take it off and kick your guns to us. You know what’ll happen if you don’t” you gritted your teeth, taking off the vest despite the protests of Hotch and the rest of the team

“Happy?”  “Very.”

“Now let them go.” You frowned

“No. You see, since you do love them right?” Your father smirked, making you frown

“Yes. I do. I’m in the same team as them for fuck’s sake!” 

“No. No. That’s not just it. You love them in a different way as well. Say it.”

“...” Your mother rolled her eyes at your silence and fired two bullets to Emily and JJ, scraping Emily’s cheek and JJ’s shoulder.

You flinched, you knew not to show emotion, but it’s painful to see the women you love get hurt. 

“Okay! Fine! You want me to say that I love them? I will.” You gritted out

“Go on then, you know how I love my drama shows.” You glared at them, taking a deep breath in, watching them walk out of the room, a bright spotlight aligns itself on the three of you, It really is a sick TV show that your parents would love to watch.

“What they say is true. I don’t know if you noticed it yet. But I do love you, both of you. I really hoped that I could tell you over dinner, or a cup of coffee, but I guess life has other plans. Loving the both of you seems so weird, and unconventional, but who wants to be normal and boring am I right?” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, which they didn’t appreciate.

You moved your hand to their gags slowly, listening for complains from your parents, hearing none, your grabbed their gags and pull them down.

“Y/N-” They both started

“Shhh. Let me speak, you know I don’t have much time.” You smiled, implying that you wouldn’t get out of this alive.

“I notice everything. I do. I’m not as dense as you think I am. I just... I didn’t like the thought of you both getting attached to me. I love you both so much that I knew that if they catch up to me, I could die, or you could get hurt. And now this happened.” JJ shook her head as if to say it isn’t your fault.

“I love you both so much, I love the way you look at each other, often wished I could look at you both like that. I love the way you both force me to sleep then give me coffee in the morning. I love the way your brow furrows when you see a detail in the reports that displeases you, and then you’ll playfully glare at JJ and I when you notice that we’re laughing at you. There’s a lot more that I want to say to you, but I don’t have enough time.” you say, moving closer to them, tears staining their bruised cheek.

“I’ll see you in our usual spot in the coffee shop across the street?” You whisper to JJ, kissing her cheek

“I’ll be copying your move now.” You chuckle lightly, kissing her cheek

A slow clap rang throughout the room.

“Now that is a perfect drama and revenge.” You whipped your head around, only seeing your father. Pulling out your knife from your thigh, you run towards him recklessly, the screams of JJ and Emily’s pleads piercing your ears.

And then three gunshots rang throughout the warehouse, Derek kicked the door down, chasing after your laughing family. Your ears were ringing, you didn’t even notice that you collapsed from the impact. You couldn’t believe it actually worked. You could feel the sticky, red colored cornstarch mixture on your abdomen. However the growing pain on your shoulders prevented you from celebrating.

“Fuck.” You whimpered out, the impact of the bullets on your abdomen radiating throughout your body, yet you can also feel the bullet that’s still in your shoulder.

“Y/N. Stay with us come on” Emily whispered, despite her being in a worse condition that you, She still has your hand in a death grip.

“I’ll be fine Em.” You reassure her through jagged breaths, JJ’s crying face invading your view made you smile too. 

The moment that Emily and JJ were free from their binds, they immediately limped towards you as fast as they can, both of them on each of your side, silently wishing that they had more time

“They only managed to shoot me on my shoulder okay? I’ll be fine.” You could see the confusion in their faces, which faded when the paramedics unbuttoned your stained white shirts, only to find another bulletproof vest and an empty plastic bag, previously filled with what they can assume was fake blood. 

Emily’s eyes widen, what you did was dangerous, and extremely risky. You gambled on a unpredictable mess and she wondered how you got Hotch to approve of what you did, only to find out later that Hotch didn’t know either.

You could only smile at them, feeling the drugs the paramedics injected take effect, slowly drowsing off. You were happy they were somewhat safe. You were also happy that you managed to stab your father in his arm. Even if your brother did shoot your shoulder from behind, you were still happy with how things turned out.

Almost regretting what you did when you woke up to a staring Emily, JJ quietly handing you water, before they both scolded you like there’s no tomorrow. 

However, after what seemed like ages of reprimanding from the older women, they both pecked your lips before asking you out on a date.

I guess it all worked out in the end.

[jetelaisseraidesmots-toujours]

What Are These Feelings? - Clare Devlin x Michelle Mallon (Derry Girls)

Requested?: Yes/No

Anonymous- could you do a fluff michelle x clare from derry girls fic please xx

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Warnings: Confused feelings?, my horrible love advice, like two swears idk, it has some angst at the beginning which I apologize for but it's mostly just straight up fluff <3

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Synopsis- When Clare came out to her friends about her identity, she wasn’t the only one harbouring some conflicted feelings.

(I’m sorry, I suck at summaries :/)

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A/N: Again, thank you so much for your request! This was so much fun to write! I hope you like it, cause I think I added a bit too much angst for it to be considered completing fluff, but I still hope you enjoy!

Clare didn't know how to feel when she first admitted to her close friend Erin about her sexuality. With the way the other girls and James reacted to the article, her reluctance to tell the truth about the mysterious writer stayed firm.

Though, night after night of debating the pros and the cons, Clare finally decided to come out with it. The nerves would flood down her spine, almost like a faucet.

Her own indecisiveness led her to blurting out the one thing she wanted to cautiously admit to her best friend.

"Erin! It's me.

I'm the wee... lesbian."

The confession spilled from her mouth, only getting quieter with the last whispered word. The one that admitted it outright to her best friend.

Said best friend, who didn't offer her the best answer to her confession.

The answer that Clare had been dreading in fact, was the one Erin Quinn spoke.

"Well, I'm sorry Clare, but I'm just not interested in you, not like that."

After the frustrated conversation and the ignorance radiating off of Erin in steady waves, Clare just walked out.

Her blonde hair trailed behind her in haste as she searched for an exit. Just anywhere to be alone.

And the girl was smart enough to already know the bathrooms would be the worst choice.

Clare was conflicted once she reached an empty hallway, thus deeming it her spot.

Tears weren't streaming down her face, she didn't feel sick, she didn't feel sad at all! The girl was confused.

Though, as she was caught up in her perplexed thoughts, she failed to hear the fast-paced steps.

"Clare! Oi!"

The yell startled her, the blonde turned, only to come face to face with a certain brunette.

"Michelle! Don't scare me like that!" Though her words meant nothing to the Mallon girl.

"Pssh, whatever. You're fine." Waving her off, Michelle just scoffed. "On the other hand, I am not fine."

Plopping down beside the tense blonde, Michelle was weirdly fidgety.

Clare didn't know what to say. Michelle wasn't usually like this. She was instead more dramatic, emotional, and one to enjoy the flair of expressions.

Clare finally tentatively spoke up. Her arms going out to grasp Michelle's in support.

"Michelle...are you okay?" The question was useless, as she already knew the answer, but she didn't know what else to say.

"NO! I'm not okay Clare." Arms sprang up in emphasis as Michelle blurted out her own confession.

"I'm not sure how I feel anymore. Reading that article of the mysterious lesbian, has got me feelin' weird. I don't get it! Whenever I try and tell people in the hall is was me who wrote the article, I get this stupid feelin' down in ma stomach and I'm so confused now!"

The loudly spoken words, only got quieter the more the stressed girl went on.

"I'm supposed to like boys...So why don't I like, liking them?"

The rant had ended in a similar manner to Clare's earlier, her last few words came out soft and muddled. Michelle was a confident girl, Clare knew that.

So, seeing her normally high strung friend so...down...it was quite disheartening.

But as Clare went to speak, her mouth opening to ramble about feelings and love and all that fun stuff, she was cut off.

Usually when someone was cut off by Michelle, it would be by her hand coming down upon their face, but for Clare, this time she was quieted by something else.

The brunette's lips were clumsy, despite the amount of boys Clare had seen Michelle snog. The blonde stayed still in place, un-moving and unblinking.

And just as quickly as the soft kiss came, it left.

"Christ..what have I done?" The uttered words were whispered, hands coming to the lips that had done the action. Michelle Mallon was stunned by her own deed.

"Michelle.." Clare started.

"Jesus! Why did I do that? I'm so, sorry Clare, god that was a fuckin' stupid thing to do." Michelle was clearly panicking, her tongue gliding over the words she was speaking with stutters and chokes.

Clare, understanding the dilemma her friend was clearly in, decided the best choice of action.

The blonde surged forward, planting a firm kiss on the anxious brunette's lips.

Freezing and dropping her hands from tugging on her hair, Michelle slowly moved them to Clare's shoulders.

Clare in return, moved her own to Michelle's face.

Holding still and radiating a heartwarming emotion, the two silently snogged.

Before long, the two mutually pulled apart, just glancing from each other's lips to eyes.

"Michelle...it's okay..to..not like boys." The blonde started speaking into the silent hallway first. "I...was actually the person who wrote the article."

"You-you wrote the article?" Shaking her head, Michelle muttered out a curse.

"Are..are you okay with that?" The hesitance in her question, prompted the brunette to snap her head to the blonde.

"Clare, I just snogged you. Twice! I think I'm okay with something I may closely relate to." A chuckle slipped past both girl's lips, the tense air lifting as they continued.

The girls stared at one another, the nervousness that once riddled around them, drifting away as happiness slowly replaced it.

Michelle had always found Clare beautiful, the feeling was the same with the other girl. Glancing at one another when the other wasn't looking.

Michelle always trying to make Clare laugh or calming her down in a stressful situation. Clare always trying to help Michelle share her feelings and make sure she was watching when she broke the rules or something that made her look 'cool.'

But both girls had ignored it. Thinking it was normal friend behaviour, when in reality, all they were denying were the developing feelings they had for each other.

Thus, after finally breaching the barrier both girls held up, Michelle finally admitted her truth.

"I think I like you Clare."

"I think I like you too Michelle."

And with that, in the silent hallway, two friends girlfriends found something in each other.

And if anyone had a problem, the two girls couldn't give two fucks.

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[oriigami]

we slept on the ocean last night

(My gift for @cozza for the @setsailexchange! Strawhat feel-good fluff, feat. nightmares, love, and platonic intimacy. Also on ao3 here!)

It starts like this: Luffy can’t sleep alone. 

Zoro discovers this about six hours after they set out to sea from Shells Town, just the two of them in Luffy’s little dinghy and no destination to speak of. The sun has sunk past the horizon, and the water all around their tiny boat is pitch black, scattered with the shimmering reflections of stars. 

Luffy yawns, stretching his jaw open wider than a human’s should rightly be able to go (and maybe the rubber thing still freaks Zoro out just a little bit, okay, he’s working on it) and then, without a word of warning, crawls over to where Zoro’s sitting and drops bonelessly into his lap, sprawling against his chest with his head pillowed over Zoro’s heart. 

Zoro goes tense immediately, only barely resisting the instinct to shove him away immediately; in a boat this size, that would definitely send Luffy over the edge, and his new dumbshit captain can’t swim. “What. Are you doing.” 

Luffy yawns again, and snuggles closer. “Mm. Sleepin’.”

“Okay,” Zoro says, with what he decides is a truly admirable degree of forced calm. “Why on me.” 

“Comfy,” Luffy mumbles into his shirt. “‘nd warm.”

“Well, get off,” Zoro says, and then, when there’s absolutely no response, “Luffy? Hey-” 

He looks down at Luffy’s face, already slack with sleep and dead to the world, and the rest of the sentence dissolves into a sigh. “...Nevermind.” 

Because- see, Zoro’s not a touchy kind of person. It’s probably been more than a year since he was last hugged, and even that was just because Johnny tended to get kind of over-affectionate when he was drunk. Sometimes he shakes hands when handing over a captured pirate for the bounty, and that’s about it. And that’s fine. 

Luffy’s whole weight is on top of him, warm and heavy and snoring softly against his chest, and Zoro’s pretty sure he can’t even remember the last time he was in this much contact with another person for this long. Luffy’s hair is unwashed and salt-encrusted, and it tickles his chin.

But. Well. It’s not bad. It’s definitely weird, and something about it makes Zoro feel oddly warm, but it’s not bad. So he just sighs again, and leans back to look up at the stars, and absently reaches up to rest an arm around Luffy’s shoulders. 

He falls asleep a lot faster than usual, that night.

-

It goes like this: Nami has nightmares. 

She’s good at hiding them. Her sobs are nearly silent, muffled into her pillow and rendered all but inaudible by the doors between her room and the boys’. But Usopp is nothing if not observant- and besides, he doesn’t sleep all that well either. When he closes his eyes he’ll see his mother’s face, too still and too pale with a cloth draped over her kind, sightless eyes. More recently, there have been fresher terrors filling up the inside of his head when he tries to sleep; chief among them Kaya, carved to pieces by Kuro’s claws. 

The point is this- when Nami slips out of her room in the middle of the night, her breaths uneven and stuttery from crying, and pads almost soundlessly up to the deck on unsteady feet, Usopp is already awake. He lies still for a minute or two, worrying his lower lip and deliberating on whether to follow her. It’s obvious she’s trying to keep to herself. If it’s something secret, he doesn’t want to bother her. It’s not like he knows that much about her, or about any of them, really.

But at the same time- they’re crew now, right? Even if they’re only been sailing together for a few days. And crew look after each other. Usopp might not have much experience with being a pirate yet, but he has spent years crying into his pillow, so that makes him qualified to deal with this, maybe. He cautiously maneuvers his way out from under Luffy’s arm and tiptoes to the door, careful not to wake his other two crewmates up. 

He finds her at the bow, sitting with her back against the railing and her head resting on her knees, shoulders shaking. She startles a little when he steps up onto the deck, jerking her head up and glaring over at him, but her shoulders slump again after a moment. 

After another moment of indecision, he sits down next to her. He’s never been good at staying quiet- his mouth has a tendency to open up on its own whenever he’s nervous- but he manages it this time, and just sits there with his arm pressed against hers as she cries.

Once she’s worked herself down to what seems like relative calm again, he offers, “Do you, um. Wanna… talk about it?” 

“No,” she says immediately, and then, quieter, “I… no. It’s fine. There’s nothing to talk about.” 

It’s one of the most blatant lies he’s ever heard, and he’s been responsible for some real whoppers, but he’d be a hypocrite to point it out. Instead, he says, “Okay, um… do you wanna hear about the time a giant eagle carried me away to its nest, and I had to climb all the way down a tree that was so tall it touched the clouds?” 

Nami chokes on a laugh, and it’s an ugly, wet sound, half a sob, but she leans her head against his shoulder, all the remaining tension running out of her body. “Y’know what? Sure. Tell me.” 

Usopp’s just reached the part of the story where he finds a whole village of people living in the tree’s roots when he realizes she’s fallen asleep, and he trails off. The ends of her short orange hair poke at his skin, and her cheek is pillowed against his shoulder. 

He guesses he’s not moving for the rest of the night, so he carefully wraps an arm around her narrow shoulders and lets his head tip against hers, and closes his eyes. 

For once, he doesn’t have any nightmares.

-

It goes like this: Sanji doesn’t sleep.

“Oi, dumbass,” Zoro says, leaning against the kitchen doorframe and folding his arms across his chest. “Why are you still awake?” 

It’s well into the dead silent hours of night, and even varying as bedtime tends to be on the Going Merry, everyone else is already long since asleep, aside from Usopp, on the lookout in the crow’s nest. It had been a long and tiring day, and most of them had hit the sack immediately after dinner- except for Sanji, who’s still mindlessly moving around the kitchen, like he’s killing time until daybreak. 

It’s a measure of how exhausted Sanji must be that he barely even bristles at the insult, only blinks a little and glances over at Zoro. Even with his stupid bangs hiding his face, the sleeplessness is still plain to see in his visible eye. “Hm?” He blinks again, then says, “Oh. It’s you.” 

“Why are you still awake?” Zoro asks again, because he still hasn’t got an answer.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sanji says, and it’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth, either. “So I came up here to…” he trails off, makes a vague gesture at the pot bubbling on the stove. “It’s fine. I’m not even tired. I’m used to waking up early, for the breakfast crowd, so.”

There’s a lot of retorts hovering on Zoro’s tongue, but he bites them all back and just says, “Fuck that,” and reaches out and grabs Sanji by the wrist and drags him out of the kitchen without a backwards glance.  

“Jackass, what are you- let go of me- what the fuck, I said I’m fine- at least let me turn off the stove-” (Zoro does grant that one. Wouldn’t do for the kitchen to burn down.)

He’s probably lucky Sanji is so out of it, he muses as he hauls the cook belowdecks to the sleeping quarters- if not, he probably would have taken at least one bone-shattering kick to the skull by now. But then again, if Sanji wasn’t dead on his feet (and wasn’t a fucking idiot), Zoro wouldn’t be having to do this in the first place. They’ve just entered the most dangerous sea in the world. They need to get their sleep when they can get it so they’ll be ready for trouble when it comes.  

As usual, the shared bedroom is piled with pillows and slightly ragged blankets, transforming it into a comfortable little nest. Luffy is sleeping half-propped up against one of the walls, Nami napping with her head on his lap, and Sanji’s cursing goes quiet so as to not wake her up as soon as Zoro tows him inside, which Zoro is grateful for. It was starting to get kind of repetitive. 

He drops Sanji down directly next to Luffy, half on top of him, and nods to himself when a rubber arm almost immediately tightens around the cook’s chest, gently but firmly trapping him in place, and the captain snuggles up against Sanji’s side in his sleep. 

Sanji glares up at him and hisses, “I hate you,” or tries to, but he interrupts himself in the middle of the sentence with a yawn, which diminishes the impact considerably. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Zoro rolls his eyes and then drops down on Sanji’s other side, letting his head flop onto Sanji’s shoulder and letting his eyes slide shut. “Just go to sleep.”

-

It goes like this: Robin doesn’t touch people. 

It takes a couple days for Chopper to notice, because she does tickle his sides and ruffle his ears, but… she only ever does that with the false hands she creates with her devil fruit, the ones that dissolve into cherry blossoms that tickle his nose. She keeps her real hands close, only touches out of necessity, never when she doesn’t need to, and even then it’s always fleeting. 

And she sleeps apart from everyone else, too. 

Theoretically, Chopper knows, there’s a boys’ room and a girls’ room. In practice, though, there’s really one room for everybody, and another room where Robin sleeps and Nami changes and keeps her things. 

(He asks Zoro, one of the first nights, why Nami often doesn’t sleep in the girls’ room, why the crew instead sleeps all piled up and tangled together when he hasn’t ever heard of humans doing that before. Zoro just shrugs in response. “It’s a comfort,” he says simply. “Won’t air out secrets that aren’t mine, but people don’t become pirates just for fun. Most of us have trouble sleeping.”)

Chopper finds Zoro is right. He likes sleeping together with the others. It’s just easier, when he’s got Luffy’s fingers tangled in his fur and Usopp’s head pillowed on his side, to stop the Doctor’s last words from echoing in his head. 

(Luffy also declares him the second-best pillow on the crew, after only Zoro, which absolutely doesn’t make him happy at all.)

It happens just after Skypiea, when they’re all still just beginning to recover, sheltered in the sky while they heal from the battle against the mad god. Robin easily concedes when Chopper asks her to come to the sickbay so he can check for lasting damage from the lightning bolt, and lies down on the cot to let him check her ears, her eyes, her heartbeat. 

He’s finished his checkup (no apparent lasting problems, miraculously) and is noting down her baselines in his notebook for future reference when he glances up and realizes she’s slipped into slumber, her eyes closed and her breaths slow. It’s not a surprise; they’re all exhausted. 

But… maybe it’s because Chopper still doesn’t have that much real experience with humans, but he can’t help but think the way Robin is sleeping doesn’t look all that restful. She’s kind of curled up, her arms folded up against her chest, fingers digging into her forearms tight enough to bruise. 

Zoro’s voice rings in his ears. It’s a comfort. People don’t become pirates just for fun.

He slips down from his stool and shifts into his full reindeer form, and carefully climbs up onto the narrow cot beside her, folding his legs up underneath him and letting his side press against her back. He can feel the miniscule trembles running through her body, tight with tension. 

He rests his head on the pillow next to hers and closes his eyes, and slowly, slowly, she stills, relaxing into his side, her tremors calming little by little. 

He thinks he hears her murmur something that might be, “Thank you, Doctor-san,” just before he drifts off to sleep, too. 

-

It goes like this: It’s a comfort.

They’re all hurting after Enies Lobby, all aching and grieving and above all tired, a bone-deep weariness borne of running and fighting and crying and nearly dying over and over again. They can barely stay on their feet for the boat ride back to Water Seven. Robin can’t seem to stop smiling, even through the painful abrasions around her wrists and the tear tracks drying on her cheeks and the ache that digs down to her bones. 

Iceberg gives them a whole suite of rooms to use in Galley-La’s temporary headquarters, all comfortable, all with their own big soft beds to sleep in. He means well, she’s certain, but he just doesn’t know how the Strawhat Pirates do things. But, then, there’s nobody else who does things quite like them.

Iceberg is barely out the door before Robin is folding her arms across her chest, ferrying mattresses and bedding and pillows and comforters into the main lounge, gathering them into a piled-up nest of comfort. The shared bedroom on the Going Merry had been outfitted much the same, she remembers, and the warmth of familiarity is the least she can offer them after all they’ve given her. 

(Later, Franky will see this, and make a bed big enough to hold all of them, soft and comfortable and warm; but for now, they’re all safe and all alive, and so pillows on the floor are plenty.)

They don’t lie down so much as they all fall together at once in a tangle of limbs and pillows, now that the adrenaline has long since faded away, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. Robin finds herself with her head on Nami’s chest and one of Luffy’s arms slung across her shoulders, and Chopper cuddled against her stomach. 

It shouldn’t be as easy as it is to melt into the embrace, to let go of the constant vigilant caution that’s kept her alive for so long, but she trusts these people, like she’s never trusted anyone in her life. She was ready to die for them, and they responded by telling her to live for them instead, and remembering that fills her heart with such soft fondness it nearly hurts. 

But they’re not quite all together. Not yet.

She shifts to cross her arms again, careful not to disturb any of the crewmates already fast asleep around and on top of her, and lets an arm blossom from a doorframe in the hall outside to catch Usopp by the collar before he can slip away. She hears his yelp of surprise from just outside the door, quickly muffled, and smiles to herself. 

A moment later, he peers inside, hiding behind the mostly-closed door. She meets his eyes and smiles with all the gratitude she can’t begin to put into words, and nods towards an unused mattress and pillow at her side. He hesitates for a moment, clearly uncertain, caught between anxiety and hope, so she takes his hand in a succession of hers and tugs him over. He stumbles, but doesn’t resist, and she can see the exhaustion in him when he practically topples over onto the mattress. 

Within minutes, he’s asleep too, face buried in the pillow, snoring softly, one warm hand still clasped in Robin’s. She knows he still has things to work out with Luffy, with the rest of the crew, and there’ll be time for that later. Right now, though, they’re alive, and she’s free, and it’s time to rest. 

She falls asleep smiling for the first time in years. 

-

It goes like this: Luffy can’t sleep alone. 

So Rusukaina is… it’s hard. He’s not alone, Rayleigh’s there, and sometimes Hancock and the others visit and let him hug them as long as he wants, and that’s nice, but it’s not the same, not really. He misses his crew, misses Zoro’s solid warmth and the fluffy cushion of Usopp’s hair and the fleecy softness of Chopper’s fur and Robin’s low, rhythmic breathing. 

(He’s never slept better than when he was seven, piled together with Ace and Sabo and some ratty stolen blankets on the rough-hewn floor of their treehouse, with the crickets singing outside and the stars shining bright through the window.)

(But now there’s no Ace and Sabo, not ever again, and no crew to keep him warm and chase away the nightmares in their absence, and so he doesn’t sleep well.) 

He fights through it, because that’s what he always does, what he’s always done- press through. He has to get stronger for the people he has left. 

Going back to the Sunny is nothing less than going home. 

When night comes, they’re deep underwater, en route to Fishman Island, the sunlit waters of the surface long since gone. Past the railings of the Sunny, the world is nearly pitch black, lit only by the occasional bioluminescent creature wriggling past.

Luffy couldn’t care less, because right here and right now, the Sunny is the world, and nothing past their bubble of light and warmth and safety matters at all. He grins, and throws his arms out to drag his whole crew together into a messy pile in the middle of the deck- Sanji swears and Chopper shrieks and so does Nami, but not one of them tries to dodge- before flopping into the midst of the chaos himself. 

He winds up sprawled half on Brook and half on Sanji, who complains but doesn’t kick him off, his head on Robin’s thigh and his arms tangled through all of them, holding on tight to every member of his crew, the most important treasures in the world, the touch promising him they’re there, really there. 

He’s not letting go of any of them, not again, not ever. 

He’s reaching the crown with all of them or not at all. 

Someone runs a hand through his hair, and it feels nice. Someone says, “Get some sleep, captain. We’ll be here when you wake up.” 

He knows they will be.

[dindjarindiaries]

ooooooooof. two, four, or fifty bc I’m indecisive and thirsty.

Why not all three?

2. A small, fleeting kiss - which is immediately followed by a passionate, hungry kiss. 4. An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose. 50. A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck.

It’s the aftermath of a fight gone bad that gets you huddle into Din’s arms tonight.

Everything had been going okay until a man jumped out of nowhere and disarmed you, pressing a blaster against your neck and using you against Din. Din had seemed so desperate to keep you safe, giving into all of their demands—and having to think of a way to lie about the baby’s location. He’d managed to convince them enough to let you go for a second and killed them in the time he had, but the situation had been enough to make you tremble for hours.

You still are. Din’s even brought you into his quarters for the night, holding you in the best way he can as your chin stays tucked in his chest. You can tell he’s worried for you—you’ve barely even said a word. But he gives you time, so much time, and even more unspoken affection.

You’d like it to be more tangible, now.

“Din,” you finally whisper, and he immediately responds to your call. It’s nearly pitch black in the compartment, causing you to struggle to find his helmet. It’s his hand—ungloved—that meets your face first, the rough skin of his hand finding your cheek as he encourages you to look into wherever his visor is.

“Yeah, cyar’ika?” Din responds, his modulated voice so soft it almost doesn’t pass through his modulator.

“Can I... is it okay if I...” you find it hard to spit out the words, but when you finally find the sides of his helmet, you tap your fingers against the metal ridges, clueing him into what you want.

Din doesn’t hesitate to oblige, and you can feel the metal slipping from underneath your fingers as a quiet hiss is heard. Then, the sound of metal-upon-metal as he sets the beskar on the floor, instead taking your wrists and urging your hands upon his face. You feel the skin there, somehow so soft—aside from the presence of his stubble—and map out his features in your mind. Just the simple touch is enough to cause your hands to stop trembling, your heart only racing from amazement and affection that you wish to thrust off your chest. But overwhelming Din isn’t what you’re seeking.

“Thank you,” you breathe, running the backs of your fingers down his cheek. You can hear a breath hitch in his throat at the intimate gesture. “Thank you for trusting me—and for saving me.”

“You don’t need saving,” Din assures you once he catches his breath, urging you back into his chest. “All you need is support. I’m more than willing to provide you with it.” He then urges you to rest against his chest again, starting to lay back with you. “Now rest, cyare.”

You can feel your heart continuing to leap in your chest as he pulls you further into his arms, your head now leaning completely against his chest as you lay together. But, you can’t sleep just yet—you feel a weight on your chest that has to come off, now, a confession that’s been haunting you day and night that needs to meet the open air. “Din—,” you start, lifting your face to meet his.

In the dark, you neglect to remember where his face may be, and you can feel your nose brush against his as your lips do the same. You freeze in place, your heart thudding so loudly in your chest that you’re afraid Din can feel it. Your hand stalls where it’s been on his chest—and you can feel that his heart is racing just as quickly as his own.

After a few moments where neither one of you pull any farther away, you begin to gravitate back towards each other. It’s Din who tries to initiate, his lips soft and even more welcoming than you’d imagined them to be as he places the most delicate of kisses upon your mouth. He pulls away much sooner than you’d like, evidently hesitant to make sure the action’s okay.

That’s when you become the one to pull him back to yourself, your hands managing to find the sides of his face even in the dark as you kiss him with all the words you haven’t been able to speak yet. Din does the same, making your heart absolutely burst in your chest as pull him impossibly closer. You break away with breaths heavy yet satisfied—though that doesn’t stop you, your lips admiring the parts of his face you can’t see, trailing over the stubble on his jaw and down his neck. Even if you can’t find the words to say, you’ll try to show him.

And he seems to get the message from the way he breathes the word in his tongue so beautifully, nearly knocking the air from your lungs as you feel the depth of them in your chest. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

You smile against the warm skin of his neck, lifting your face to come close to his even in the dark as you respond. “I love you, too.” You kiss him once more before speaking one more time. “Thank you for that also.”

Din chuckles at that, bringing your mouth back to his to begin further proving to you the truth of his words just as you’ve tried to show him.

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

Dangerous Heart

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck.

Harry could hear the shouting and the sound of feet thundering after him. He couldn’t go home, that would lead them right to his only safe-haven. He could go to the Dursleys, that would serve them right, but that would mean actually seeing his ‘family’ and nothing was worth that kind of torture.

“Potter!”

Harry winced as he looked over his shoulder. He couldn’t see them, but the yelling was loud enough that bystanders were looking at him in alarm. He never should have given them his real surname.

“Hey!” The whisper yell almost had him tripping over his feet. “You can hide here.”

Harry looked up to see someone, the face was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. The man was standing at the entry to a boarded-up storefront that hadn’t been used in years.

Indecision was strong but the sound of feet coming closer made up his mind.

“Okay.”

One foot closer to the guy and the polite smile on his face changed into a smirk and alarm bells went off in Harry’s mind.

A flash of a memory had him stilling briefly.

‘I heard you have liquid G.’

‘Depends on who told you.’

Shit.

An outstretched hand had Harry jumping backwards into an older woman who began yelling at him immediately. He tried to apologize but his mind was too distracted to do it justice. He knew that guy.

“Looks like you ripped off the wrong person,” The man jeered, eyes glancing toward where the yelling of his name was still coming from.

Harry was smart, he knew that, but he never could get rid of the ability to make things worse.

“How’s the cough?” Harry taunted, grinning when the guy’s hands clenched. It had been so easy to pass off cough syrup as liquid ecstasy when the other person had no clue what they were looking for.

“Why you—”

Harry didn’t stick around to witness the man’s anger or words, he jumped over a bin and kept running. The delay hadn’t worked to his advantage, as he looked over his shoulder, he could see the gang of guys still chasing him.

Fuck.

What was he supposed to do now?

Harry tried to throw them off by taking random turns but ended up hitting an alley.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Harry swore, his breathing increasing in tempo to match the sound of running he could hear.

He needed to leave, needed to get out of there and he needed somewhere safe. Somewhere where no one wanted to hurt him, somewhere where he could relax.

Harry needed somewhere.

When his hands started to shake, Harry didn’t think much of it, his whole body was shaking, and it was probably from the adrenaline. But as he looked down at his hands, he jumped in shock.

Yellow light.

Yellow light was surrounding his hands and he wasn’t sure what it was. Oh, logically his mind understood. The years of dreams, flashing lights, whispered Latin words and Uncle Vernon’s insistence that magic was a figment of his imagination and nothing more all led up to this.

Magic wasn’t real.

The Dursley’s said so.

But…

What else could it be? The light grew brighter, much too bright to look at. He closed his eyes as his hands came up to block it all out.

Wind blew his hair in a whoosh of cycling air that felt far too stifling to be real. It had to all be a dream, right? It wouldn’t have been the first time. When he looked back down at his hands and saw no more yellow, he thought he had been right. It was just a dream.

Except it wasn’t.

Harry looked up and his breath left him in a sharp exhale. The yellow magic had transferred to the space in front of him. Only it wasn’t just an orb of bright light, it was a portal.

A portal to another world.

There were shapes on the other side of the portal, but he couldn’t tell what they were. Low murmurs of a conversation were audible, and his curiosity had him taking a few steps closer.

“Where did you come from?” Harry asked, fingers trailing above the portal but not touching. It was a stupid question, but he had been hoping there was even a sliver of a chance that he hadn’t done that. Because if he had done that, then Uncle Vernon lied.

That would mean Magic was real, that he possessed it.

The sound of running grew louder, and Harry knew it was only a matter of seconds before they caught up to him. He could turn around and run a different direction and hope to wrangle free somehow.

Or.

He could go through the portal.

His curiosity grew too high to control and led to the very reckless realization that he wanted to see what was on the other side.

With a deep breath and no common sense whatsoever, Harry ran straight into the portal and didn’t look back.

—————

Harry wasn’t sure what he expected but skidding into another person and knocking them both over wasn’t it.

“Ow.”

The voice was soft in a way Harry didn’t hear too often. He looked down into angry silver eyes and his breath caught. Whoever he had knocked over was stunning. Pretty eyes, delicate hands, a sharp jaw and a pointed nose.

“You are so pretty.”

A lone arched brow preceded a small quirk of plump lips. “I know.”

Confidence. Harry liked that in a man.

“Just who might you be wizard?”

“Harry, I was—wait, wizard?” Harry asked, lips pursed in a frown.

“Do you prefer a different term? Warlock perhaps?”

“No—” Harry’s frown deepened. “I think you’re mistaken. I’m not a wizard or a warlock. I’m just human.”

That got him two arched brows as a response.

“You are the one mistaken, Harry.” There was a pause as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You have so much power to you. I can feel it, taste it even. It’s overwhelming.”

Harry wanted to laugh but there was no joke. Clearly, the man thought he was telling the truth.

“And you? Who are you?”

“My name is Draco, I am no wizard, but I do possess enough power to put up a good fight, and I own this Kingdom.”

Kingdom? Before Harry could look around, someone else spoke, causing him to startle.

“Do get off the floor, won’t you?” It was drawled in a condescending tone, one that Harry didn’t care for.

Harry was embarrassed to realize that he was still on top of Draco. He rushed to stand, offering a hand to help.

“Courteous,” Draco murmured, taking Harry’s offer. “A kind wizard, rare breed you are.”

Wizard. Harry still wasn’t sure what to think. The portal meant something. He knew he had done that, there was no arguing that away. But wizard??

“Never met any handsome kings before,” Harry returned, smiling at the light dusting of pink on Draco’s cheeks.

“Dangerous,” Draco whispered, eyes roaming Harry’s face. “My heart is weak to such charms.”

Flirting. Harry was used to flirting, it got him what he wanted in his line of business. Easy to rip people off when he played up his innocence and flirted enough to empty people’s pockets.

But he wasn’t used to flirting like this.

“There are more important things to attend to.”

Harry turned to look at the person who spoke and was surprised to see how similar the man looked to Draco. Definitely a familial resemblance.

“Not now father,” Draco said, eyes still on Harry. “Can I keep him?”

“No.”

“Keep me?” Harry asked, his lips twitching. “Shouldn’t that be something you ask me?”

“Oh,” Draco breathed, eyes blinking rapidly. “Is that how it’s done where you come from?”

Before Harry could say yes, Draco’s father spoke again.

“There is no time for such foolishness, we have to decide your next move. Your position will decide who we side with in the war.”

“War?” Harry asked, eyes looking around in alarm. His attention focused on a large round table showcasing a map filled with many different coloured pins.

Draco placed a hand on Harry’s back and guided him toward the map.

“This is my Kingdom,” Draco pointed toward the middle of the map, the only area free of pins. Serpent Landing. “All neighbouring lands are in war.”

“But you aren’t?”

“Petty disputes have never interested me,” shrugged Draco. “I’ve not sided with either, but I feel that won’t last much longer. I’m being pressured to choose.”

Harry looked down at the map as Draco continued to speak.

“Lion Valley is in need of potions for their troops, while Raven Hill is seeking rations,” Draco said with a huff. “Both offer a hefty payment in return should I side with them. Choosing one will make me enemies of the other, and I am loath to do so.”

“Why choose then?” Harry asked. “Send the potions to Lion Valley and the rations to Raven Hill. Both sides will think you are their ally when in reality you play both sides.”

Draco’s mouth parted on a small noise, eyes looking between the two lands on the map.

“Oh, I like him,” Draco’s father said before extending a hand. “Lucius Malfoy, a reluctant adviser to the arrogant King.”

“My arrogance was taught father,” Draco said with sparkling eyes. “I learned from the best.”

Lucius rolled eyes before pulling out a few pieces of paper and began to write what looked like a letter.

Draco picked up a sword from a display and sheathed it before turning to Harry. “I would show you my home, but I find that to be tedious. Would you like to go on an adventure with me instead?”

An adventure? Harry looked over his shoulder where the portal was still visible. Enough time had passed that he was sure he’d be fine to return home. But…

“Should a King go on adventures?” Harry teased. “Such an important position after all.”

“Thank you,” Lucius said, hands in the air. “My son, however, doesn’t listen to reason.”

Draco scowled at his father before turning to Harry, his face softening a margin. “Who if not a King? Exploration calls to me.”

When the portal began to flicker, Harry knew it wasn’t time but his own desires that caused the portal to weaken.

“Who am I to argue then?” Harry said, an arm held out as he ignored the dying portal and smiled at Draco.

“The trouble we can get into,” Draco whispered, there was an excitement to his voice that had Harry’s smile widening. “A King and a Wizard.”

“Lord help us all,” Lucius mumbled to the now empty room.

There was no doubt in his mind that Draco would keep Harry.

“Lord help us.”

---------

@abstractundefined​ I had to look up what Sword and Sorcery was lmaoo and I think if I continued the story it would make more sense how it fit the genre but oh well shsks. I do hope you liked it!

[thepancakeboi]

63. “Is this how little you think of me?”

Note: spoilers for today’s (2/2) ingame date in Persona 5 Royal, including final palace details. Especially under the cut.

“I will carve my own path for myself.”

Why do I have to be telling Ren this? Well, when I had decided to come to Leblanc the evening before our deadline, I had expected a calm evening with Ren going over the plan for tomorrow, probably with some coffee. Or maybe we’d go somewhere else. The jazz club comes to mind, or even Penguin Sniper for darts or billiards.

What I hadn’t anticipated was for Ren to be in the middle of a conversation with our target upon my arrival.

I had to speak with Ren immediately before he did something foolish. Sure, the calling card had been given and the plan’s in motion, but I can still see the hesitance in his face. All this time, he had been as steadfast as the rest of us in breaking free from this fake mirage. He had been the one person who had seemed unaffected and knew something was amiss.

Until now, that is.

To hear Maruki confirm my suspicions, that I could be dead in the real world and that Ren’s wish is to “have a fresh start” with me...it’s exasperating. This is nothing more than a setback. Can’t Ren see that this is a trap meant to coerce him to Maruki’s side?

When Ren doesn’t say anything to my words, I continue to assert my position on the matter. “I refuse to accept a reality concocted by someone else, stuck under their control for the rest of my days.”

Ren finally speaks up, sounding distraught as he says, “But then, you’ll...”

Die. I know. It’s better than the alternative: living a life without agency. “So what? That’s the path I chose.” It’s simple. I would rather be dead than controlled again. Once was enough. “All you have to do is stick to your guns and challenge Maruki. Or are you really so spineless that you’d fold over some bullshit, trivial threat on my life?”

He looks stunned that I’d talk so callously about my own life as if it doesn’t matter. Frankly, it doesn’t matter. If I can’t live my life the way I want, then it’s simply not worth living. “Trivi-Goro, this isn’t small potatoes!”

“It is!” I snap, looking away from him. My life is insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It would probably be better if I wasn’t around. I’ve caused enough misery to everyone who was unfortunate enough to meet me in these eighteen years, yet here’s Ren being decidedly stubborn about it. He’s the only reason I’m still alive, even though my disappearance from this reality would be better for everyone else. I clearly don’t deserve this blissful happiness, but Ren thinks otherwise. And it’s infuriating. “Do you really think I’d be happy with this? Being shown mercy now, of all times? I don’t want to be pitied.”

“I’m not-”

“This isn’t something I’m debating with you!”

“Goro...?” Ren hesitantly asks as I shift my gaze to the ground. “Please-”

“Your indecisiveness on the matter is essentially a betrayal of my wishes.”

“I...I’m not...”

I look back up at Ren as he trails off, unable to answer. I’m going to have to press him for one, it seems. If he won’t give me an answer by himself, then I’ll just have to pry it from him. “I want to hear you say it aloud. What do you intend to do?”

After a few seconds of agonizing silence, he finally responds, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I don’t know what I should do.”

I scoff. “You really are that spineless, aren’t you?”

“No!” The only reason I don’t interrupt him is that he looks completely vulnerable right now. “It’s just...Maruki was right. When I thought you had died in...his Palace, I...wasn’t okay. After we stole the treasure, I just wanted to sleep. Everything hurt. I couldn’t stop when we had to defeat Yaldabaoth, but...I wanted to stop. I had to force myself to keep moving. And now that I have you back...I can’t bear the thought of losing you again.”

This is not good if Ren is admitting all of this to me. He’s not the type to tell others about his problems as he doesn’t want to burden his friends. I know how that is, being the same way myself around everyone except him. It’s the only reason I know that about him; it’s yet another similarity between us. The fact that he is sharing this information now...worries me. It means he might be seriously considering Maruki’s offer. I refuse to be the reason Ren falters, after everything we’ve done. We’ve come so far that folding now over something as worthless as my own life would be inane. “Is this how little you think of me? If you truly cared, you wouldn’t even consider accepting Maruki’s offer.”

“I do care!”

“Then why the hesitation? How can you possibly be so indecisive when the answer should be so blatantly obvious?”

“I love you.” Well, that unexpected confession stuns me into silence. Part of me is wondering why he would ever love someone like me, someone who is undeserving of anyone’s love, let alone his. At the same time, I’m hopeful that it’s true. Wait, no. This isn’t the time nor the place for these thoughts. All this could ever be is detrimental, a temptation that I’m afraid Ren can’t resist. “You’re not like the others. Everyone else just sees what they want to see. I can’t be myself around them, so I just wear a mask and show them what they believe I am. You’re the only one who understands me and accepts me for who I really am.”

“Ren, you’re in love with a fake version of me living in some sweet fairytale kingdom full of false happiness.”

“That’s not true,” he immediately refutes. “I love you for you, Goro, flaws and all. I don’t want to give up on you, but if I go back to reality, I...I can’t let you go.”

I jolt as he tightly embraces me as if he’ll lose me as soon as he lets go. He can’t be doing this. It’s only going to make my possible death much more painful. I shove him off of me. “Don’t you get it, Ren? You can’t save me.”

“At least let me try. Maruki’s not evil. He just wants to make everyone happy. Is that really so bad?”

“What the hell��s gotten into you!? He’s the same as Shido!” I snarl. It takes immense mental restraint to stop myself from lashing out at Ren. “His intentions may seem ‘pure’ to you, but a gilded cage is still a prison. He wants to take control of the world and everyone’s lives. And I don’t want to be controlled again.”

“I...”

I’ve had enough of his indecisiveness. He has to make a choice now before he becomes too bogged down by the “what ifs” to decide. “What do you intend to do?” I ask him again. “I won’t wait a moment longer. Answer me.”

“I’m...I’m sorry. We’re taking his offer.”

I stare at him in disbelief, not believing what I’m hearing. Sure, I knew it was possible that he would take Maruki’s offer after what we have learned tonight, but I had been denying that he would be so foolishly sentimental. “Are you serious?”

“I am.”

I search his expression, shocked to find that he’s...he’s actually being serious. He fully intends to accept Maruki’s reality as the truth. And it doesn’t seem like he’ll change his mind. He’s...going against my wishes. I’ve dealt with backstabbing and insincere people in the past, but this? Being betrayed by the one person I’ve come to trust...it hurts. It hurts so much. I’d rather Ren just stab me in the heart with a rusty, serrated knife and let me bleed out. I sigh, not even bothering to keep up false pretenses regarding my feelings. “...Well, I have your answer.”

“Goro-”

I slap Ren’s reaching hand away, turning my back to him so that he doesn’t see the tears starting to form of their own volition. It pisses me off that I can’t even fight against him. His friends don’t have the backbone to refuse him if Morgana’s earlier comment of leaving the decision to Ren is any indication. And, despite my own strength, I know I’m not capable of bringing down Maruki on my own. The only thing I can do now is to accept Ren’s decision. I want him to be happy, I do. Even so, I’m furious with him and his choice. At this moment, I don’t want to see his face ever again. Not that it’ll matter. Starting tomorrow, I won’t have a choice. I’ll be nothing more than a puppet, stuck under another’s whims with no chance to escape. “There’s nothing left I can say. Our deal’s off.”

I stop with my hand on the door. I expect Ren to try and say something, attempting to convince me he’s doing what he thinks is best. Instead, there’s only silence. I turn my head to stare him down. His steadfast, stubborn determination is what pushes me over the edge. If he’s going to hurt me like this, then I have no regrets about driving my own metaphorical knife through his treacherous heart. I won’t get another chance to be myself, so I might as well make the most of it. “I hope you’re happy, Ren. Happy you’re living a lie that you know is wrong. I want you to remember that you’re forcing me into a situation that I don’t desire. I’ve explicitly told you that I refuse to be controlled by another, and what do you do? You stab me in the back with your betrayal because you say you love me. You may call it love, but you don’t love me at all, do you?”

I don’t give him a chance to respond, to deny my accusation and claim that he loves me with all his heart. I’m already out the door, tears streaming down my face as I try to get as far away from Yongen-Jaya as I can. I ignore the door slamming open, Ren desperately calling out to me as he tries to follow. He isn’t able to keep up, and I manage to lose him in the night crowd. There’s no destination in mind. I just want away from here, away from him for whatever length of time I have left before I’m no longer me.

Leaving Leblanc, and Ren, tonight...is the last action I will ever take with my own free will.

[luffles424]

Lucidity (7)

☼ Pairing: BTS x reader (no pairing this chapter)

☼ Genre: vampire!BTS, succubus!reader, smut, fluff, angst

☼ Count: 4K

☼ Warnings: mentions of death (minor character), mentions of past trauma, blood, violence (there’s a physical fight at the end), depictions of injuries

☼ Summary: You’ve spent years jumping from country to country, starting countless new lives. Crafting new lives is as easy as breathing for you, lies flowing easily and people are charmed with a simple bat of your eyes. When you meet a witch who offers the idea of opening a supernatural club, using your powers combined with hers to ensure safety to those who enter, you decide to join her in an adventure that is entirely new to you. But your new life in Seoul is drastically changed when you’re forced to face something you’ve spent centuries hiding from. But just because you might be running for your life again doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun along the way, right?

☼ a/n: I’m sorry, this is like, all angst but with all different people lmao but we getting to some truths 👀👀 But is it the whole truth? 🤔🤔 As always, let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

Yoongi has only just sat back in his chair for a moment when there’s a knock at the door. He wants to laugh that you’ve already had to come back, probably just because you forgot something but he’s definitely going to take the opportunity to tease you about it. He stands and makes his way to the door, tugging it open with a grin and a quip about you missing his cock already on the tip of his tongue, a remark that very quickly dies before it can even leave his mouth. The smile quickly drops from his face when instead of you, he’s met with Hoseok. 

He swallows, something like dread settling in his belly. He thinks he manages a weak smile. “Oh, hey Hobi. What’s up?”

Hoseok frowns, eyes searching Yoongi’s face. Yoongi’s not sure what he’s looking for but it seems like he doesn’t find it. Instead, he pushes past Yoongi and into the studio, nose wrinkling as he does so, it probably reeks of sex. He gives Yoongi a look that’s full of accusation. 

“Why?”

Yoongi flounders, he wonders if he could claim it was someone else. Hoseok would see through that lie. How much did Hoseok hear? See? “Why what?”

“Don’t play dumb Yoongi. I saw her leaving.” He looks so hurt, like this was a personal slight against him. “You claim to be Namjoon’s best friend. And yet here you are, fucking the one person, the only person ever, that he’s told us to stay away from. Why would you do this to him?”

Yoongi feels indignation rise in him at the accusation that he’s somehow betrayed Namjoon. This is nothing like betrayal, this is just… working with the information at his disposal. “Excuse me? Whatever Namjoon’s issue with her is, is entirely his problem. If she were a serious threat, she would’ve been dealt with by someone already. You don’t get to live for centuries being a shitty person who puts our existences at risk.”

“That’s bullshit and weak and you know it. Namjoon’s problem with her is all of our problems with her. We’re together for a reason. We’re a family.”

“If that’s true then why won’t he tell us what she did, huh? Don’t you think it’s weird that he won’t say anything about it? Namjoon’s never held information from us like this before.”

Hoseok sighs. “You know he has his reasons-”

“Yeah, reasons that he won’t share!”

Hoseok blinks at Yoongi’s outburst and Yoongi looks just as surprised. He doesn’t understand why he’s getting so worked up, but something about this whole situation digs under his skin. 

“Are you seriously defending her over Namjoon?” Hoseok asks incredulously, like that���s the only conclusion to draw from his behavior. 

Yoongi’s jaw works. “I’m not defending anyone. I’m simply pointing out the flaws in this blind belief in him. We’ve been around long enough to be able to think for ourselves. We’re not children. Not by a long shot anymore.”

Hoseok shakes his head in disappointment and pulls his phone out. “I’m sorry Yoongi, but I’ve got to tell him.”

Yoongi feels panicked as he stares at Hoseok’s phone. He wasn’t sure who he was more worried for, you or himself. “Hobi, please. Don’t do that.”

Hoseok hesitates for a few moments, something unreadable crossing his face before he’s pressing Namjoon’s contact name. “I’m sorry Yoongi.” He says as he walks out. 

Nothing happens for a couple of days after that. Yoongi’s on edge the whole time. He tried to hole up in his studio but your scent lingered and it made his chest ache that he could possibly be putting you in danger. When Namjoon finally arrives back home, he calls a meeting. He doesn’t look angry and that sets Yoongi even more on edge, Namjoon’s default setting regarding you seemed to be rage, but right now he seems calm and collected. The others look confused as well, exchanging looks as they all sit around the table and wait for Namjoon to begin. The only time they have meetings in the dining room like this is when they’re having serious talks, but nobody can recall anything major that happened recently. Nothing that would warrant a dining room conversation. 

Namjoon stands at the head of the table, waiting as Hoseok finally enters, the last to arrive. He takes a seat across from Yoongi. 

“Thanks for coming home a little early from breaks. Hoseok said that we needed to have an emergency meeting.” A murmur ripples through the boys and Namjoon sits down. 

Hoseok stands and Yoongi shoots him a look, trying his best to communicate how bad of an idea this was. Praying his hardest that Hoseok doesn’t do this. Hoseok stares at the table. The others are quiet as they wait for him to speak. 

“Yes… Um… I know this will be hard to talk about…” He trails off, looking at Yoongi. Yoongi can see the indecision written across his face, he has no idea what Hoseok might say next. “I think it best benefits the group to know what your problem with that succubus is… with Y/n. Seoul is a big place, but it’s not that big for supernatural folks. We’re bound to run into her at some point. We deserve to know what to look out for so that we can protect ourselves.”

Yoongi only gets a moment to breathe a sigh of relief before the atmosphere of the room plummets. Namjoon’s face turns hard and Hoseok shrinks under his gaze. 

“You think you know better than me about what’s best for the group?”

Hoseok doesn’t reply, head ducked like a child being reprimanded so Yoongi speaks for him. It’s the least he can do after Hoseok just covered for him. “Joonie, that’s not what he’s saying at all. He’s just saying that we can be better prepared for anything if we know what we need to look out for.”

Namjoon’s gaze snaps to him but Yoongi doesn’t let him intimidate him. He’s tired of being left in the dark like this. They deserve to know. “All you need to know is that she’s dangerous and you need to stay away.”

Jin pipes up. “That doesn’t tell us anything. In what way is she dangerous? Is it a matter of her using her powers against us? Will she use other people to do her bidding? Joon, if we don’t know, we can’t stop it.”

Yoongi hadn’t expected further support but he’s incredibly grateful for it. He doesn’t think he could’ve gotten through to Namjoon alone. “We just want to help you keep us safe. But you need to keep us informed too.”

The rest voice their agreement. All eyes turn to Namjoon. He looks a little like a cornered animal, like he’s trying to calculate an escape route. His gaze darts around to each of them like if he stares at them enough, they’ll back down. When the tense atmosphere doesn’t shift, Namjoon sighs in defeat. 

“Fine. But I’m only going to give you just enough so that you see how dangerous she is. You don’t need to know everything.” Namjoon remains quiet for a long moment, gaze far off. “We knew each other when we were young. Like very young, less than 100. We had… another friend, Jaeho. He was a vampire too. We spent a lot of time together. She…” Namjoon looks like he’s about to cry and Yoongi reaches out to place his hand over Namjoon’s. Namjoon gives him a pained smile. “She drained him. Not enough to kill him, that would’ve been too kind. She drained him just enough to turn him feral. He ran to the nearest village and caused a rampage. The local werewolf clan put him down.” 

Namjoon lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s not even the worst fucking part. When I confronted her, she had the audacity to act like it wasn’t her fault. Then she ran. I hadn’t seen her since until we saw her at the cafe.”

The room is silent when Namjoon finishes his story. No one knows what to say, emotions high as everyone tries to pair this version of you with what they personally know. Yoongi swallows, squeezes Namjoon’s hand. He should be the primary focus right now, pained as he is at the relived memories.

“Thank you for telling us, Joon.”

Namjoon shrugs in indifference and pushes himself up. He looks tired. “I hope you see now why I said to stay away. She’ll cause you nothing but pain.” With that he leaves the room.

You regret being at this cafe already. The ominous text from Jin and Yoongi about wanting to meet here was enough to have you on edge. The fact that they messaged you together is further proof that you shouldn’t be here. As far as you knew, they didn’t know that the other was seeing you too. Which means that something made them talk about you. And nothing good seems like it can come from that. Just like how nothing good comes from this place. 

Your phone pings and you look down to see a text from Ari.

Ari: Someone just stopped by looking for you again? Said you were supposed to work today?

You frown. No one knew you were working tonight because you didn’t tell anyone. It was only written in the office on the calendar. And even so, you switched with Ari to have this meeting. Even more perplexing is the only people you can think of that would be looking for you there, are the ones who are going to be meeting you here very soon.

Ari: She said she’d catch you some other time. 

You’re even more confused by that. Who could possibly be looking for you right now? But your musings of your mystery person are interrupted by the seats around you being pulled out as Jin, Jungkook, Jimin, and Yoongi all take a seat. They all look tense and your heart feels like it’s in your throat. 

“Wow, you boys must be pretty desperate if you wanna have a go all together.” You attempt to joke but there’s no reaction. You clear your throat awkwardly. “Right, no jokes then, got it. Well, what did you call me here for if not that?”

“Why did you pull away from us like that?” Jungkook blurts. 

Jin smacks his arm. “You idiot, that’s not what we were going for.”

Jungkook glares at him. “I don’t care. I want to know.” He turns back to you, face set in determination. It makes guilt well up in you. “I want to know why. And don’t give me that you needed time shit, we all know that was a lie.”

You don’t think you can do this. You don’t know what they’ve come for, but whatever it is it’ll be painful. Your gaze darts around, looking for a way out. 

“Please…” Jungkook’s voice cracks. 

“You don’t need to answer that.” Yoongi shoots Jungkook a look when he goes to speak again. “That’s not why we came.”

You chew your lip, alarm bells ringing in your head. “Then why?”

“What happened between you and Namjoon?” 

You should’ve known this was coming. It was always bound to happen. There was no way they’d continue when being torn between you and Namjoon. They were bound to get too curious sooner or later. You give a shrug of feigned indifference. “We’ve crossed paths before. You know how it goes sometimes.”

None of them look like they buy it. “But what happened? I’ve never seen Joon act like that with anyone.” Yoongi presses.

“You can’t tell me you’ve never met someone you just didn’t like.” You can feel the panic rising. This isn’t good. 

“Yes, but not with him. He sees the best in everybody. Why are you different?” Jimin this time.

You shrug helplessly. “Must’ve caught him on a bad day then.”

“What happened when you were young?” Jin says, then freezes as his own words register.

You stare at him with wide eyes. How did he know when you knew Namjoon? You glance at the others and they’re all giving Jin a dirty look. They knew. They all knew. Namjoon must’ve finally broken down and told them what happened. You blink away tears that are suddenly threatening to spill. You don’t even know why they bothered to want to meet you then. To tell you in person how terrible you are? How they want nothing to do with you and wish they’d listened to Namjoon in the first place? You feel like you're going to be sick. 

You stand abruptly, your chair scraps against the concrete but you don’t hear it. You can’t hear anything over the sound of blood rushing in your ears. The boys all look concerned. And you can’t stand the thought of seeing their faces morphed with hate the way Namjoon’s was. The way it still is.  

You do what you do best, you run. 

Your days are rough after that, time blurs together as you try your hardest to keep it together. You hate how much the boys had managed to put themselves into your life, even after you tried to keep them at arm’s length. They slipped in and filled every little crack and crevice and you hadn’t even realized until it was too late. They were too rooted in your life to easily rip out. You hate how lonely you feel without one of them around. You get texts from them every so often. They take turns texting you; they all sit unread. You can’t even imagine what terrible things they might be saying. 

Ari has noticed the difference too. You’re at the club more than you used to be, even before you met the boys. But as much as you try to throw yourself into the club atmosphere, the people here just do nothing for you anymore. It’s a poor replacement for Jungkook’s adorable smile, Jin’s laugh, the way Jimin clung to whoever was closest, Yoongi’s quiet way of caring. You sometimes wonder how Yoongi would’ve fit in with the other 3 if they’d all known about each other before. Before you pushed them away. Before Namjoon told them and ruined whatever idea they had of you. It makes your heart ache.

You know you can’t blame him. But after all these years, it still hurts. You’re really not sure what to do. Your apartment is half packed, not that you usually travel with that much anyway. You seriously think moving will be best, but you just can’t force yourself to do it yet. You know Ari is fully capable of running this place though, if you were to go. And you’ve got the money to be able to stop back in when she needs it. Ari’s been dating a siren, she’ll have capable help around after you leave. And you can easily work remotely.

You stare at the wall of your office. You can feel the beat from the main part of the club. The joy it used to bring you feels like acid in your chest. You wish the night would hurry up so you could go home and curl up in Jungkook’s sweater. It doesn’t smell like him anymore but the small amount of comfort it brings is still there. You wish you could tell him that you understand why he wore it on long trips. 

You zone out until your closing bartender knocks at the door. You blink at him, a little startled that you don’t hear music anymore. You didn’t realize how much time had passed. He gives you a small smile and holds the cash drawer out to you. 

“Everything’s all cleaned up. You just gotta do the drawer.” 

You smile as you take it from him. “Thanks, D. You’re free to clock out and head home now.”

He thanks you and leaves. You set about finishing everything up, shutting the lights off and heading for the exit. You’re locking the door when you feel someone else in the small back lot with you. You’d assume it was Namjoon again, the scenario almost identical. Except when you focus a little more, you realize it’s not a vampire with you but a werewolf. 

Worse, you know this wolf. You whip around, keys clutched tightly in your hand as you search the shadows for her, heart beating wildly. This can’t be happening. Not now, not again. She doesn’t remain hidden for long, stepping out into the small pool of illumination from the sole light source in the alley lot. 

“Y/n. I finally caught you.” Her grin is malicious.

You swallow. “Taria.” You don’t know what else to say. You don’t know why she was here. You thought you were done with her after everything that happened. 

She pouts mockingly. “Aw, is that all you’ve got to say to me? We have so much to catch up on don’t you think?” She takes a step towards you and your back slams against the building as you try to keep as much distance between you, trapped. Fear claws at your throat, looks like Namjoon might not have to worry about you for too long. “Like how the fuck you’re still alive.”

Your mind races, dozens of half ideas forming before you discard them. There’s no way you can take her in a fight, you’re strong but werewolves far outpower you and you haven’t fed recently. Your gaze drops to her hands, covered in gloves and tucked into the sleeves of the turtleneck she wears. Fuck, how did she know to cover her skin. You can’t do anything helpful if you can’t touch her skin. 

She seems to be reading your assessment, adjusting the glove with a gleeful smirk. “Ah, yes. I know your little tricks, you whore. I’ve had lots of time to plan this out.” She starts walking slowly towards you. “You have no idea how thrilled I was when I heard your name again while visiting a friend here.”

Your gaze darts around the lot, empty and far too late for anyone to happen to pass by right now. You side step, trying to keep some distance between the two of you. She’s effectively trapped you here. She laughs.

“I should’ve finished you off to begin with. Who knew that little fucking vampire would be weak enough to just let you go.” She scoffs in disgust. “But it’s okay. I’m gonna have some fun now.”

You try to come up with a plan. There has to be something you can do. Something you can do to get out of here. Shaking your head, you push the memories of the past away. You can’t afford to think about them and the emotions that threaten to overwhelm you right now; you just need to get out of here. You know you can’t outrun her either. 

You’re going to have to fight her, at least a little bit. Enough to either incapacitate her or to get a way to touch her and knock her out. You should’ve taken more self defense classes. You know enough that while you can’t overpower her, you are definitely more agile than her and that will be your biggest strength here if you want to make it out of this. Sudden panic of what she might do to Namjoon for letting you go, for not taking care of her problem like she clearly planned for has you more worried for him than for you. You have to make it out of this. You have to lead her away from the city. If she’s too busy chasing you, then she’ll leave him alone. He’ll be safe.

With the vaguest plan possible, you tuck your keys away, shaking your hands out to prepare for her to make the first move. 

She wastes no time, lunging at you and you quickly duck under her arm, using her own momentum to push her face first into the wall you were just standing against. There’s a crunch. You dart a few steps away as she lets out a furious roar. She turns, eyes wild and glowing and blood dripping from her already healed nose. She comes for you again, this time low and you have no hope for dodging as her shoulder slams into your gut, knocking the breath from you as she forces you to the ground.

She rises to her knees above your prone form, fist connecting solidly to your jaw. You squirm beneath her, adrenaline pumping as you scramble for anything that might help as she lands another punch. Your hand finally finds a large chunk of loose concert, ripping it completely free even as the jagged edges tear at the skin of your fingers. You lift it, slamming it to the side of her head with all the supernatural strength you can possibly manage. 

She slumps off of you and you don’t even wait for her to fully fall before you’re flipping over and pushing yourself up to run. 

You make it two steps before your hair is grabbed and you’re pulled back against her once again. “Aw, you couldn’t possibly have thought it’d be that easy?”

Her other hand reaches up to wrap around your throat and you claw uselessly at her hand as she begins to constrict your breathing. You pull at her shirt, black ringing your vision when you get an idea. You tug frantically at the sleeve, trying to remain coordinated enough to pull her sleeve from her glove and expose the skin of her forearm. 

She seems to realize your plan because as soon as the sleeze is tugged free, she throws you to the ground, sending you sliding a few feet away from her. You gasp, trying to regain your breath as you shakily push yourself back to your feet. Your arm and thigh burn where the rough ground scrapped against you. You feel blood trickling down, leaving your side wet and sticky. Your throat feels raw and you can already tell there’s bruises there ringing it. Your cheek feels swollen and there’s something dripping down your cheek and you can’t tell if it’s blood from your skin splitting or tears. 

You can’t keep up for too long. Your body is already beginning to use your energy to heal and if you let it get too far then you’ll have no hope of getting away. Taria casually fixes her sleeve, the perfect picture of nonplussed aside from the blood that trickles from her nose and temple. She looks at you with disdain. 

You have no choice but move to the offensive. You have to try to do something to get the upper hand, to give you a chance to get away. You rush her. You have no idea what you hope to accomplish with this, but you’re getting desperate and out of ideas. She pushes you away easily, like swatting at a bug, and sends you sprawling onto your back once again. She steps up to you, giving you a good kick to the ribs before she leans over you. She reaches out to choke you again and you’re too tired to do more than feebly grab at her arms. 

You cough and gag, blood dripping from the corner of your mouth. You may as well give up. Your energy is basically at its end and she still looks completely unphased. You can’t do anything. Your vision is narrowing and you belatedly realize there is maybe one last thing you could do. Something that might save you, something that she forgot to cover. You steady yourself, gathering all of the power you can in you and quickly reach up to touch her face. She doesn’t seem to realize what’s happening right away but the second she does, it’s already too late. You release all your energy in one big burst and Taria instantly loses consciousness, collapsing on top of you.

You lie there for a moment beneath her, feeling a little delirious that it actually worked. Then panic because you don’t know how long it will work, you were nowhere near powered enough to do it for long. You manage to drag yourself out from beneath her, taking a moment to catch your breath once you’re upright before you’re quickly running away. 

[heart-of-gold-outlaw]

Welcome Home | Chapter Five: Alone Together

Wattpad

Ao3

Early mornings in camp are your favorite. Just before the sun rises, you can see everybody about as peaceful as they get. You used to hate the sound of snoring. Now, though, it gives you a sense of peace. Tranquility. Home.

Something you never thought you would have.

You're usually awake before everyone else. Today is no different. As the entire camp—aside from Javier and John, who are on guard duty—slumbers away, you lie in your bedroll. Staring up at your cloth tent isn't your favorite pastime. Still, it's best you get some time to relax before the real chores start.

You roll over on to your side. Every time you close your eyes, the image of the man you killed swims behind them. It's been almost a week; by outlaw standards, you should be over it. And yet... something makes moving on impossible. There's no doubt in your mind you would kill him again if Arthur was in trouble. But, in all honesty, that scares you the most.

Sighing, you sit up and brush your hair out of your eyes. You have maybe twenty minutes or so before the rest of the camp wakes, and an early morning walk doesn't seem like such a bad idea. If anything, it might clear your head a little.

You pull on your boots and lace them up. As an afterthought, you grab the gunbelt Arthur gave you and buckle it around your waist. It's better to be prepared. This is the west. You've learned that the impossible always tends to happen... and that trouble seems to have taken a liking to you.

The river down the hill seems like as good a spot to go as any. It doesn't take you long to reach it. You find yourself wishing for a fishing rod. Place like this has to have some good bites just waiting for a catch. You used to like fishing back in your own time. Never caught anything major, but it was a fun thing to do during downtime.

Unbelievably, tears sting the corners of your eyes. You don't know why you're crying. Your life in the future wasn't exactly something to be envied. But there are people you miss. Your friends, for instance. They have to be worried about you, might even have filed a missing persons report. Or worse: presumed you dead. How long as it been already since you got sent to the past? A couple months? You're not too sure. Somehow, though, you just know your friends aren't the hopeful type.

You pick up a rock from the bank and hurl it into the water. It doesn't even skip. Just lands in the river with the solid splash. Sighing, you move to pick up another one. Spending your morning trying to skip rocks. What a waste of time.

"If you throw it any harder, you ain't gonna skip it."

At the sound of Arthur's voice, you barely stifle a shriek of surprise. He's standing right behind you. How you didn't hear him approach, you have no idea, but you whirl around to face him. He has a small grin on his face. You've come to realize he really only gets it around you.

"I wasn't trying to skip it," you say. "I was pretending the water's Micah's head."

Arthur laughs at this, then picks up a rock of his own. "In that case..." He hurls it much farther than you can throw. It lands in the river with a bigger splash. "Let me join you."

You're sure you're blushing. Thank goodness the sun isn't quite up yet. In need of a distraction, you face the water again and hunt for a rock.

"What're you doing up so early?" You ask as you find one. It's pretty smooth; maybe it'll actually skip this time.

Much to your surprise, Arthur doesn't immediately answer. Instead, he studies you for a moment. You don't need to look in his eyes to see the indecision in them. And honestly, you don't really have much time to wonder about it.

"Well, I could ask you the same question," he murmurs, effortlessly skipping his own rock across the river. You see something else on his face, too, just for a moment. But then it's gone. "You ain't usually one for walks, Y/N."

He's right, of course. It irks you a little that he already knows you so well. Then again, it's kind of... endearing. He cares enough to bother. That alone speaks volumes.

You can't help but think back to other people, those in your former life who didn't even try.

Again, tears prick at your eyes, and you hurriedly blink them away. You should know by now, though, that nothing escapes Arthur. His entire demeanor changes and he suddenly doesn't look so... well, so much like an outlaw.

"Hey now," he says, hands reaching up uncertainly to rest on your shoulders. "I didn't mean nothin' by it—"

"No, no," you assure. "You're fine. It's just... I..."

You take in a deep, shuddering breath and let it out as slow as you can. In truth, you're not ready to tell him what has you so upset. You're not ready to delve into your life, all the people who've let you down, all the people you've disappointed. Instead, you choose the easy way out.

"I can't stop thinking about the guy I killed."

It's not a lie. It's just not the entire story. Nevertheless, Arthur seems to buy it as his expression softens ever so slightly. He pulls you into a loose, awkward one-armed hug. You immediately break all the rules and throw your arms around him completely, ignoring any concept of his personal space.

For a moment, he freezes. You expect him to push you away. Instead, though, he carefully holds you just a little bit tighter.

"First one's never easy," he says somewhere above your head.

"Yeah." You try not to let yourself break.  "The first one sucks."

You pull away and look toward the river again. The sun's started to rise, casting a golden glow over the water. It reminds you of a marigold field. You found one once when you were a child. The memory, though, is so faded, so old, you don't know if it ever really happened. Still, it brings back a sense of peace. At the very least, things weren't always so messed up in your life.

"Guess I can sing Bohemian Rhapsody honestly now," you say with a grin. "Mama, just killed a man..."

Trailing off, you turn back to Arthur. He's watching you, something in his eyes you can't quite place. He blinks, and the look is gone. Face flushing red, he starts heading back toward Horseshoe Overlook.

"C'mon," he calls over his shoulder. "We should get back. I think John wanted to talk to us."

You think for a moment as you watch him go. That look in Arthur's eyes definitely meant something. Why else would he try to cover it up so quickly? It almost looked like...

It almost looked like he messed up in front of a crush.

Nah, you think as you follow him back up the hill. Probably not.

A/N: Oh Reader. Perceptive, but still so unsure. 

Next Chapter: In Progress

Previous Chapter: Bulletproof Heart

Inspired Playlist Track: Fall Out Boy - “Alone Together”

[sanghyukstattoos]

Baby (Part 2)

Characters: Lee Sanghyuk I Dawon x Reader 

Genre: Fluff, smut (hard dom! reader, sub! Dawon, brat! Dawon, use of multiple toys, slight humiliation, slight degradation)

Parts:  .1. .2. .3. .4. .5.

Summary: Having just punished Sanghyuk, he acted up again but you were yet to know why he was doing this. You had tons of patience but you pushed it aside in that reserve you had from Sanghyuk’s antics so that you could put him in his place now. 

A/N: I think I’m really excited to publish this and yes, this is from the depths

Part 3?

You sat on the sofa, feeling restless as you surfed through the series, trying to decide what to watch. Nothing looked particularly good as you waited for Sanghyuk to wake up and so you peeked into the room, carefully searching for him. You found him strewn over the bed with the covers covering his frame. A whine escaped his lips as he turned to find a more comfortable position and you froze at the sound. Cautious not to wake him up, you closed the door and headed to the kitchen, pouring a bowl of cereals. 

You sat down on the sofa, finally deciding on a series, thinking that watching it would pique your interest even if it seemed boring to you at this moment. After almost two hours of switching back and forth between the TV and your phone, forwarding episodes every two minutes, switching to another series and even getting up to refill the cereals, you heard Sanghyuk stir, the carpeted wooden floorboards alerting you. 

Putting the episode on pause, you turned around and were met with his puffy eyes and pink cheeks as he stretched his arms and let out a yawn. You beamed at how cute he looked, extending your arms. He sat in between your legs and you ran your fingers through his hair, murmuring, ‘’Hey’’. Sighing in content, he rested into your arms, looking up at you as he replied back. ‘’How are you feeling?’’ and he turned his head on your chest to snuggle into the crook of your neck replying, ‘’Good, so much more better’’.

Stirring, he rested his full weight on you causing you to lean back and just as your head hit the pillow he continued, ‘’I’m not in any pain’’. You nodded, sighing in relief, pressing a kiss to his temples causing him to lean into your touch. Climbing on top of you with his legs on either side of your hips, he leant over you, strands of his hair touching your face. Your eyes widened in curiosity, asking, ‘’What?’’ with a smile as you caressed his cheek. 

Looking at him from this angle, he was very beautiful. His pink, soft cheeks and trademark pout as he spoke made you want to ruin him till he cried. On the other hand, you also wanted to shower him with love and affection till he knew that you loved every aspect of him. This was something he already knew but you felt as if it wasn’t enough, your contrasting desires making it hard for you to do either or simply settling for both in the end.

‘‘I never got to return the favour’‘ he stated and you giggled replying, ‘‘Which one?’‘. A blush crept to his cheeks reinforcing, ‘‘When I...’‘, shyly whispering and trailing off, speaking the rest into the shell of your ear. You chuckled at his words, finding him adorable but quickly shook your head, ‘‘You’ll be really tired and in pain if we continue now so later on okay?’‘ and he hummed in discontent but nodded anyways.

Laying down beside you, you turned to face him with your back against the TV and he threw a leg over your waist, clinging onto you. Jolting as he felt your fingers brush against his skin while raising his oversized jumper, you gently rubbed his back in circles. He softened under your touch, curling into your arms as you cradled his fame asking, ‘’What were you doing before this?’’

‘‘Watching something but I was incredibly bored’‘ you replied, not missing the way his eyes peered into your soul as he exclaimed, ‘‘Let’s do something then! But it shouldn’t include having to get up’‘ with a pout. You laughed at his words noticing that he was tired even though he just got up and if that was the case, the two of you could still stay at home and have fun.

‘‘What should we do then?’‘ you smiled, looking at him.

‘‘I don’t know’‘ he replied flatly, shaking his shoulders.

‘‘Documentaries?’‘ you asked, wondering what he could have had in mind.

‘‘Those make me tired’‘ shaking his head in disagreement.

‘‘Movie?’‘ with raised eyebrows, trying to hear a yes.

‘‘uh-huh’‘ he replied and you cocked your head to the side at this response.

A lightbulb went off in your head as you excitedly stated, ‘’Date!’’ causing him to push his drowsiness away and fully focus his attention on you. You could tell that that was the right answer but you pursued your lower lips when he said, ‘’But we have to get up for that...’’ 

‘‘Lets bake a cake’‘ but you were met with the restless agitation of his knee brushing against your thigh. He pondered over the idea but shook his head once again. You had endless patience and sometimes it worked in your favour but now you were absolutely confused. 

You grasped his cheeks in your palms and sweetly asked him, ‘’What do you want to do?’’ causing a pink tint to light up his cheeks. 

‘‘Hmm..’‘ he was lost for words staring into your eyes but the truth is, the thought of eating you out had occupied his mind since he had woken up. He was tired but he was going to guess that you were too. You had been away, coming home later than usual and even doing research at home because there were only so many hours in a day to complete your work and you seemed to have exhausted them all. 

While you did that, you might have also neglected him sexually and today he felt his frustration peak but he wasn’t that desperate. He could’ve waited but he wanted you to go harder, by his definition which you did. Seeing him lost in his thoughts made you wonder what was swirling through his mind so you asked him, ‘’What are you thinking?’’.

Another flashbulb lit and you informed him, ‘’By the way, I’m more free now than I was the past couple of days’’ and that was enough to light him up, propping himself up on his elbows and staring at you intently with a gleam on his face. ‘’Hold on’’ you laughed, ‘’wow, I should have said this earlier if this is the reaction I would’ve gotten’’ 

‘‘A cock ring, pegging’‘ he threw out, immediately blushing but unable to leave your eyes and the way your mouth shaped into an ‘oh’. ‘‘Is that what you want?’‘ you questioned, propping yourself on your elbows so that you were now face to face with him. 

His silence made you frown, not wanting him to feel embarrassed asking, ‘’Is this what you’ve been wanting since you’ve woken up?’’. Searching his eyes, a smile graced your face which instantly comforted him as he nodded. 

‘‘Do you know what they are?’‘ he asked and you hummed, nodding asking him in turn, ‘‘When do you want to do this?’‘ to which he replied, ‘‘Anytime’‘

Laying back down, you leaned over him as he softly spoke with a smile, ‘’I wasn’t expecting you to punish me like that’’. If it wasn’t for the smile, you would’ve assumed that he didn’t prefer it (seeing as he didn’t use his safe word) but you still asked him, ‘’Was it okay? Was I too harsh?’’. He disagreed, grasping your hips in hands and pulling you towards him. 

Connecting your lips, you tasted his sweetness as he captured your essence, his desire to taste you pulling through. He deepened the kiss, pushing into the kiss, eagerness overcoming his senses and for a moment, you realised that your core was aching to be touched. Aroused by his sudden confidence to dominate, you leant back, breaking the kiss. 

Raising his eyebrows, he was quick to question, ‘’Why’d you stop?’’ 

‘‘You’re eager’‘ and at your sly comment, he huffed, attitude showing clearly on his face. Trailing his hand up to your ass, he kneaded the clothed flesh and you jolted. Neither were you expecting him to reach under the material, squeeze and follow with a harsh slap. 

You narrowed your eyes at his act of defiance, wondering if he had had planned any of this. ‘’Anything else?’’ you growled out watching him slightly shrink away before he snarked, ‘’The fuck you have such a short temper for?’’. Hearing his words made you snap but you didn’t give him the pleasure of seeing you annoyed, instead laughing it off. 

He scowled, watching as his comment had no effect on you, tracing your features because he knew that you were patient but he was right, you had a short temper for certain things and this was one of them. 

Caressing his cheek, you pouted, ‘’Why are you so naughty hmm?’’, the pretence fooling him as he subconsciously leaned into your palm, threading in deep waters.  

He straightened as you sat up, crossing your legs and speaking, ‘’Where did you find such confidence?’’. You grabbed his hair and tugged his head back, hearing a moan escape his lips but you weren’t surprised, having felt his semi-hard from a momentary brush when he laid down beside you. 

His hands tugged at your wrist but your hold only tightened causing his heels to dig into the sofa. Your grip was painful and tears threatened to escape but he held them back, feeling that his pride had been taken away from the moment you heard him moan. 

Grabbing your hand, he used his strength to throw your hand off, certainly leaving you with bruises for the next couple of days. You sat on the coffee table, watching as he moved to face you, stare intent on getting you off. Gritting your teeth, you held back the need to make him get on his knees and beg, saying, ‘’I don’t know what your problem is but you should fix that attitude while you’re at it. First you deliberately touch yourself without my permission and now all of a sudden you’re indecisive and in need to control?’’

‘‘Don’t act like you need it when you don’t deserve it in the first place’‘ you spat, feeling your blood boil and the anger simmer to the surface. It didn’t take you long to decide that if was going to act like a brat, then you’d treat him like one. 

His eyes sunk to the ground but he wasn’t ready to give up yet. Excitement rose in him and he suppressed the need to smile, knowing that he had annoyed you.

‘‘Take off your clothes’‘ you commanded and he rolled his eyes in reply, taking off his clothes and throwing them aside on the sofa. ‘‘Turn around, I want to see the marks’‘ and your mouth watered at the sight. His ass cheeks were stained with a hint of dark pink, your handprints faint but with their mark telling everyone that he was yours.

He was silent, the blood rushing to his ears as your eyes raked over his ass and standing naked in the middle of the room with a semi-hard on was not helping. Using your leg, you nudged his thighs apart and pushed him forward so that his hands held him up while the rest of him was exposed to the chill air of the room.

Bringing a hand down to his inner thigh, you saw him lurch and he arched his back, letting out a choked moan that was soft but not soft enough to escape your ears. He gasped as your hand found his cock and holding his torso with the other, you pushed yourself against his bare body. He spread his legs even wider feeling his cock harden as you leisurely stroked him. You swiped your finger across his slit, the precum from his tip smearing onto your fingers and he jerked into your hands but a squeeze on his hips warned him to keep still.

He cried out when you left his cock that had just started to ache from the arousal and turning him around, you scrunched your face as you looked at his erect cock, remarking, ‘’That was pathetic’’. 

Moving his hands behind his back and eyes on the floor, you noted his posture, groaning at the thought of having your way with him again. ‘’Kneel on the floor’’ and he followed, sitting on his heels with his thighs apart, resisting the urge to stroke himself. You walked off and his heart rate picked up speed, suddenly regretting his decision to anger you. 

You didn’t know what it was about Sanghyuk’s bratty behaviour that turned you on but when he did, it fuelled your need to rip it right out of him. Plus, the fact that he thrived on acting like that and enjoyed being in his place made you both the perfect combination. Biting your lip, you grabbed the cock plug, ball gag, vibrator and handcuffs, the first one also topping the list of his least favourite toys. 

Walking into the living room, he anxiously looked at you before seeing the toys in your hand that drained the colour from your face. You laughed at his reaction, kneeling in front of him as you placed the toys behind you on the coffee table. His breath hitched as you enveloped your arms around him to tighten the handcuffs around his wrists. The fact that he couldn’t hold onto you when you were so close to him and how your clothed thighs brushed against his cock, increased his sensitivity. 

Leaning back, you bent to search for his eyes asking him softly, ‘’You okay?’’. Seeing him nod made you comment, ‘’Why wouldn’t you be? After all you caused trouble, not the other way around’’, your words making him whimper. ‘’Good’’ you murmured before grabbing the ball gag and securing around his head, watching as he accommodated the stretch. 

‘‘You know what I’m thinking right now?’’, the smile on your face as you spoke alarming him. You waved the cock plug in his face and grabbing his cock in your hands, stroking it gently before giving it a little squeeze and without warning, shoving it in. His hips jerked as he felt the cold metal enter through his tip, tugging against the restraints to free himself. 

Moaning against the gag, he tried to say something but his words came out garbled and you squeezed at his cheeks, puckering your lips at his submission. ‘’I was thinking-’’ you started and he quietened down, ‘’that, I get to see you like this but I thought to myself earlier, ‘Should I just leave him outside in the backyard for the neighbours and anyone passing by to see?’’’ seeing his eyes widen as he shook his head in disagreement. 

Placing the vibrator on the floor, you pressed it onto the bottom part of his cock, hitting a sensitive spot in the process. The vibrations filled the room and the pleasure was sent straight to his spine, letting out a strangled moan. The pleasure quickly turned to pain when he realised that he couldn’t go anywhere with this. There wasn’t any orgasm in sight for him. 

‘‘If you’re good then maybe I’ll let you off but if you aren’t, then I will really leave you outside’‘ you spoke wondering if it would be the latter anyways. Such wide parameters for being ‘‘good’‘, he didn’t know the requirements and it confused him but he couldn’t even ask you.

You answered his question though saying, ‘’You can be as loud as you want, no one can hear you anyways and don’t jerk your hips because if you do, the vibrator will fall from its position’’ and he looked down to confirm your fact. The vibrator wasn’t secured to anything at all and one buck would let it fall to the ground. The threat in your words if he did let it fall wasn’t hidden and he knew the consequences. 

‘‘It’s obvious but in case you needed me to explain it to you: with the ball gag, you can’t speak back to me; with the plug, you’ll break down and the vibrator? now you’ll be good for me’‘ and with that you walked into the kitchen leaving him alone.

Inside, you could hear his grunts and he held his hips back. Literally nothing else that he could do, the coil in his lower stomach tightening causing him to whine, feeling uncomfortable at the plug that rested snuggly in his cock. Coming out, you grabbed your laptop and sat on the adjacent sofa, with him only two steps from you. 

Seeing you in this context made him want to be good for you and obey him, so that you’d reward him faster. The vibrator suddenly shifted over to his sweet spot causing a choked moan to leave his lips. It took less than half the time for him to spread his legs further, tears falling freely as the coil loosened completely but only a dry orgasm passed through him. 

Working on your laptop, you momentarily looked up to see him heaving, completely out of breath from his first dry orgasm but dismissed the sight, returning to the pile of work that was still remaining. The vibrator never slowed down, the speed proving futile for his poor cock as it became erect again leaving him sobbing. 

It hadn’t been long but he was already a mess.  Drool, spit and tears had gathered at his chin and dripped onto the floor, his knees were red from kneeling while sweat dampened his hair and droplets dripped onto his back and chest. Apart from that he was a moaning mess, bending forward before straightening his back out of fear of the vibrator losing his position. 

His legs hurt from having been stretched but he couldn’t go back now and the pain in his knees made him wince but he ignored it all the favour of the pleasure that was slowly building up. You felt a tinge of guilt at the sight of him crying but it was overpowered when you saw his position, the entire picture making you leave him there and fall apart. 

And you were right, he was falling apart by the second, thoughts scrambling and trying to grab your attention. He wanted you to look at him and if possible let him go but he knew you wouldn’t do that. No matter how lovable and cute you found him, now, the amount that he cried didn’t matter because you were resilient in your act. 

[ancientechos]

Emet-Selch/Arianna ♡ 11,755 words ♡ Butler AU

No headcanons just -- oh my god what is that word count. Some mild spice.

I ended up not splitting this, clearly, but it is available on AO3 in a chaptered format if that’s easier to read.

Playing With Fire

She’s not really looking forward to this...arrangement.

But Arianna supposes there isn’t much else she can do. Not with their current situation...

On her own, she would probably be just fine -- but she’s not on her own. So the fact of the matter is that she simply needs an extra avenue of income. Cleaning was something she could certainly do -- it had just been a matter of where.

She’d been a little shocked, truth be told, when she had received message back after contacting the email in the newspaper ad. She would have never expected the Selch estate to be interested in her application, of all things, but perhaps there were not that many coming in. She’d been called in for a trial of sorts, and presumably she would be contacted again later that evening or tomorrow morning if her conduct was acceptable. So long as she didn’t have to talk to anyone -- she thinks she can probably manage it.

She almost balks at the prospect of having to speak to someone at the gate, but Selch seems nothing if not accommodating; there’s a gentleman at the front who waves her over as she approaches.

“Are you Arianna Rowen?” he asks her, and she nods, pulling out her printed application and displaying it to him. Satisfied, the man shows her through the gate.

The walk to the large double doors is framed by a multitude of well-kept, pretty flowers and shrubs. And the door itself is ornate, impressive if not more than a little intimidating. With a mild, stiff smile, the man leads her into the bona fide mansion. Arianna finds herself on an ostentatious landing. There’s a large mirror, and a small desk with a few drawers, as well as a set of hangers for coats. Since she doesn’t have one today, she ignores them for now.

The white marble floors turn to dark carpets up the stairs. She’s lead up them, through an open area -- where the marble returns, but partially covered by a rug -- down a hall, where Arianna and her guide come to a small side-room.

“My name is Clover,” the man says after a moment. “There are a few uniforms you can choose from here. After you do so, I may show you to the rooms for your test.”

When he puts it that way, it sounds somewhat concerning -- 

But she gives a mild nod regardless, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her. Within are numerous uniforms for her to peruse. Some of them are quite pretty, though others are somewhat of a...questionable nature. She, of course, picks the most modest one.

Clover is brisk, showing her to the rooms for her “tests”. His instructions, however, leave much to be desired. Most of the time, it’s simply something along the lines of clean the room or deal with the clothes, but little else to indicate any catches that surely must exist if this is meant to be a “test”. Regardless, she’s good at doing what she’s told, in fact she prefers it because she doesn’t need to think about it. Aside from the anxiety of it being a trial of some kind...this is fine.

In the evening after returning home, she receives a new email from her supposed employer. She’s been hired. The next morning, the ad in the newspaper is gone.

________

All in all, her job is not necessarily difficult. She doesn’t work there everyday — perhaps the other days are facilitated by other maids? or he assumes there’s no need for a daily spritzing up? — bit when she does, it is far less...ridiculous than that trial. Which she supposes is the point.

What makes it easier is her penchant for drifting off. Arianna doesn’t hum or sing or speak to herself as she works; she’s utterly silent, perhaps even more so than if she were entirely present. Her eyes glaze over, lost in thought, moving on autopilot. She doesn’t miss much like this -- and if she does, it’s simply a matter of fixing it before she moves on to something else. She knows herself well enough to avoid anything unpleasant.

It’s several days — perhaps even a week — before she ever sees Emet Selch in the flesh. She’s enjoying a small lunch outside on the patio, listening to the birds, when he strides in from the gardens. She knows him only from a picture, but recognises him immediately.

Somewhat instinctively, she ducks her gaze away from him. She does not want to talk, or bother him, perhaps she shouldn’t even be here —

She misses his plate and glass until he sinks into a chair at another one of the small tables. Ah, perhaps she’d hoped he would simply leave without a word. But he is still here, even if he hasn’t said anything. Perhaps she shouldn’t be...

Fumbling with her small boxed lunch, she leaps to her feet, entire body tense as she prepares to slink away.

“Oh, I see how it is. You want to leave me all alone.”

Before she can, a voice — his voice —

She nearly jumps out of her skin, stopping stock still. Indecision and trepidation fills her, unsure how to proceed.

Very slowly, she turns to see him looking at her calmly. She blinks at him, tilting her head uncertainly. Is he serious? Is he joking...? She can’t quite tell, and she decides she doesn’t really want to find out by vexing him. So after a moment’s hesitation, she takes her seat again and nervously pulls at the wrapping about her sandwich.

He claps at her, his grin wry.

“Very good. I assume you’re miss Rowen, yes? Ah — I have your phone number from the application, I’ll just text you now...I’m afraid I don’t know sign.”

He taps at his phone upon the table. A few moments later, her own cellphone in her pocket gives a tiny buzz. Fishing it out, she sees a new message from an unknown number.

Nice uniform :’ )

— Is all it says.

One of her eyes twitch.

“Did you get it?” he asks rather unhelpfully and sounding all too innocent. Pursing her lips, Arianna taps out a message in response.

Is this Emet Selch?

That should be enough of a reply. And theoretically his phone should vibrate...if not, it might simply be a random spam text...

But his phone really does buzz in response to her query. She exhales quietly in relief as he gives a tiny laugh.

“Yes, it is me. Happy?”

-- Is she?

Yes?

She supposes answering otherwise might be bad...

“Oh, good. I hear you’re efficient. Even managed to clean up that mess in the office...you might be astounded to hear how many fail that test.” As he finishes, he finally takes a bite of his meal, which Arianna takes as a cue to start her own.

Thank you...

Picking at her sandwich, she absently hopes that he won’t talk anymore. Her time is limited, after all, and she’d rather use it for eating. He seems to get the nonverbal hint. He finishes before her, and leaves with nothing more than a lackadaisical wave.

________

Her interactions with him are awkward at best, vaguely concerning at worst. Concerning not because she dislikes him or is especially uncomfortable in any regard, but simply because she is not sure what to think of him. To be fair, this is her default opinion of many people. But he’s a little...different.

And not simply because she finds him at least somewhat intriguing.

Emet is only slightly intimidating on the off-chance that he does see her. He makes attempts to be polite, waits for her to respond, and generally isn’t bothersome aside from his growing attempts to poke at her. For whatever reason, he seems to find her reactions amusing.

She really wishes he wouldn’t.

On one of her breaks, she sits outside on the patio again, beneath one of the umbrellas for the shade, her book in her lap.

“Oh, good afternoon, miss Rowen.” She blinks in surprise, tilting her head up to look at him as he approaches with wide strides. He doesn’t wait for her to respond. “A quick question for you. Where did you find that book?”

The query catches her off-guard, and she furrows her eyebrows slightly. Is she not allowed to read...?

I brought it with me. It’s from home.

His eyebrows lift. “You brought it with you? Where did you keep it...? Your pocket?” His gaze drifts down to her apron, where there is indeed a pocket probably large enough to keep a book of average size there.

Arianna gives a slow nod.

The architect clicks his tongue. “You can just use the book room. Clover would have shown you where it was, right?” He taps his chin mildly. “Come to think of it, that was one of the ‘trials’ I gave you. To dust the bookshelves. Well, it’s at your leisure, if you would like. You aren’t the type to ruin books, after all.”

Her mouth opens, almost as if she wants to speak. In fact, she does.

She quickly shuts it, then shakes her head.

I couldn’t possibly. It’s not right. I couldn’t monopolise your things.

His laugh is short and sardonic as he reads the text message.

“You’re not monopolising it if I gave you permission, are you? Besides, it’ll be much more convenient than lugging a book around unnecessarily. I’m sure I have something there that will amuse you. Or is that why you don’t want to? Because you think you won’t like anything? That’s such a shame...” He trails off, sounding all too dejected as he averts his gaze, shoulders hunching even further.

Arianna has the distinct impression he is merely playing with her.

But still. He has a point...it would be easier.

Okay. Thank you.

She upturns her face from her phone to give him a brief, awkward smile, before looking away just as quickly.

I appreciate it.

When she looks at him again, he seems oddly still, as if he’s been vacant the entire time she’s written her gratitude.Then he seems to recall himself, clears his throat, averts his gaze as he leans his weight on one leg.

“It’s nothing.”

________ 

“We’re having a guest today,” is the first thing Emet says upon seeing her. A vague part of her wonders about the usage of we, but before she can ask, he’s continued barreling on. “I hope you won’t mind. He’s so dreadfully boring, and I need the entertainment.”

She wonders, faintly, if that’s all that she is, entertainment, but says nothing. He reaches one arm across her shoulders, pressing a palm to her shoulder blade and pulling her along with him. Despite her brief tensing at the initial touch, she has no real complaint.

“Do you know how to make tea?” he asks abruptly as he shows her into the currently empty lounge. “Specifically herbal ones. Or those fancy flowery ones. Carlin is quite fond of those.”

To say she’s a little surprised at the question is an understatement. How coincidental --

She helps -- and partially owns -- a small herbal shop with her parents. It doesn’t bring in much money...the reason for her having to take on this job. But if there is one thing Arianna knows how to make, it’s tea, and how to brew it depending on the components used.

Yes.

There’s a small amount of hesitation as she stares down at her phone screen.

“Really? Then -- ”

But even Emet pauses once he sees her writing something else.

I know about all sorts of teas, and herbs, and flowers.

His mouth curves sharply. “Really,” he repeats. “How very confident. Then you’ll be perfect for impressing him. Or at least keeping him satisfied.” The architect’s shoulders sag as he sighs heavily. “Hopefully it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

He clicks his teeth, claps his hands together.

“Well, no matter. I trust you to help me -- sit a moment.” He sinks into one of the red, plush sofas that flank the low coffee table, and gestures to the seat next to him. She perches there nervously, hands clasped together, though she looks him in the eye, and he smirks again.

“As I’ve said, he enjoys his tea. And unfortunately I must keep him entertained whilst being irrevocably bored...it’s for a business deal. I don’t think you’ll have to do much of anything other than serve tea and sit there looking pretty. Certainly don’t worry about talking to him. You’d find him boring, anyway.”

Absently, she wonders how he absolutely knows she would be bored of the man’s company, but supposes it must mean that is just how dull Carlin is.

“Now,” the architect continues, brushing at a bit of imaginary lint on his knee, “I suppose I should have asked you earlier, but do you know of any teas that, mmm...promote a relaxed mind?”

Ah...perhaps Emet wishes to push this in his favour through the oh so magical assistance of herbs. She averts her gaze for a moment, considering the question. She taps the screen of her phone before she writes out a list for him.

Helichrysum, lavender, ginger, and chamomile.

Whilst it likely wouldn’t be the magic broth he was hoping for, it would help with things a bit. And at the very least it would taste nice, especially with some sweetness.

I would need a bit of time to prepare it.

The man smirks. “Then consider that your work for today. I shall arrange for the ingredients for you, and you can make that tea for me. And sit with me while I have to keep Carlin company and convince him to buy something from me.”

So, a sales call. She recalls his other request.

How am I supposed to keep you entertained?

He shrugs. “I’ll finally have something nice to look at.”

Arianna tries to pretend no heat rises to her face. His comment had been too flippant to be serious.

True to his words, he has the ingredients she’d requested brought to her, and gives her free reign of the rather sizable kitchen to do what she needs. It’s nothing too complicated, but it’s good she has a few hours until the architect’s meeting.

Once the appointed time does roll around, she’s shown back to the lounge area, carrying a tray with two small teacups and a medium-sized kettle of her brew, as well as two small containers of sugar and honey. It’s not especially heavy, and she manages to place it upon the table without making a mess. She exhales a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

“Ah, excellent,” Emet begins, glancing toward her. “This is my maid, Arianna. She has some tea for us.”

She manages a vague smile in the other man -- Carlin’s -- direction. A dark-haired man dressed in a suit, like Emet, though perhaps not as well-fitted. His shirt rides up his wrists as he moves.

“Oh, a new one?” Carlin blinks at her with dark eyes. “I didn’t expect you to ever find someone else after the last made away with your watches.”

Emet’s laugh is sharp. “Not to worry, she’s not the thieving type...unless, I suppose, she’s after my heart. She’s quite adorable.”

At Arianna’s abject stare, he waves a hand plaintively. “It’s only a joke. Now, Carlin, how about you tell her how you like your tea? She doesn’t speak.”

“I was unaware you had such fancies, Selch.”

“What...? Oh, no, she genuinely cannot speak.” He sounds vaguely annoyed, a faint tapping of his foot that seems to indicate his patience thins. “How did you say you liked your tea sweetened again? I believe she’s brought us honey, and sugar.”

“And I was only joking as well.” Carlin glances toward her finally, and she cannot help but tense. “Sugar, please, two spoonfuls.”

The two men make lighthearted discussion as she pours and sweetens their teas (”Sugar for me, too, my dear,” Emet mutters distractedly). The aroma is pleasant and herby and earthy, makes her rather want a drink for herself. She places the first cup near their guest, then gives the second to Emet’s outstretched hands. When he sees her continue to stand near the table awkwardly, he gestures to the seat next to him.

“Well? Sit. If you like.”

Arianna feels equally as awkward sitting in their company, but he had asked initially, and so...she sits, apprehensive, hands clasped together.

“My, this is wonderful tea,” Carlin says abruptly, having sampled his beverage. “Where on earth did you buy it?”

“Arianna made it,” Emet says with a wide smirk. “I’d have to ask you to thank her.” His words sent another spike of anxiousness through her as she glances toward Carlin. The smile their guest gives her is warm.

“Thank you, miss Arianna. It truly is very nice.” She gives him a sickly smile and a vague nod-bow in return, her fingers curling tighter against each other. She’d daresay she might leave marks on her own skin. How she hates being put on the spot like this. “I might even have to steal her from you, Emet.”

“Oh, I think not.”

There’s laughter in the air, but she’s too caught up in her own head to notice the derision or iciness in it. Instead, she keeps her gaze trained steadily upon the table as she tries to imagine herself somewhere far away.

Perhaps it’s that desperate attempt at self-distraction that results in her downfall -- as she’s pouring Carlin’s second cup, her shaking hands spill the hot tea over the side of the cup, onto her other hand. The hot water touches to her fingers. Her jaw clenches as she drops the kettle; it clatters against the table but to her surprise does not break.

“Ah.” Emet makes a quiet sound; by reflex she glances at him as she clutches her hand. With a hurried, vague bow, she all but flies from the room, pain throbbing up her arm.

It shouldn’t be very bad, but it’ll get worse if she doesn’t get any water on it --

Hurrying into the nearest bathroom, she turns on the water and sticks her hand beneath the facet. The coldness is an immediate relief, but it can’t help with the incessant pounding in her chest and the guilt that settles upon her. She was supposed to be helping him -- instead all she’s done is made herself a laughingstock.

When the pain finally fades after she pulls her hand away, she supposes...she should go back. But she’s taken so awfully long, she wouldn’t be surprised if they’d already finished, or if Emet’s already so displeased with her that he simply doesn’t wish to see her in there again, or if perhaps he’s fired her.

But she’ll never find out if she doesn’t go back...

So with much trepidation, she slinks back toward the lounge.

“Welcome back, Arianna.” Emet doesn’t sound cross in the slightest; he merely smiles and gestures toward a third cup that hadn’t been there before. “Sit. Your tea.” He pushes it along the table, toward her. Her blood pressure and adrenaline spike -- visualising the cup falling over and spilling all its contents -- and she quickly reaches out to grab it. Miraculously, it manages not to spill on its very short journey.

Confused, but not ungrateful, she slowly sinks back onto the couch, sipping at her drink.

Arrangements had gone well, even in her absence, and even at her return. Even halfway through her daydreams, she hears as Emet clinches his business deal with Carlin, apparently self-satisfied.

________

“Texting the boyfriend?”

His voice startles her, and she looks up from her phone, blinking owlishly at the architect as he, once again, sees fit to approach her on her break.

Harass? Annoy? Those don’t quite fit, she supposes.

She’s sitting on the sofa in the book room, the novel she’d been reading earlier abandoned on her lap. She’d gotten a sudden fit of inspiration and simply had to write, a continuation for one of the stories on her laptop.

No...I don’t have one.

She’s not sure what prompts her to say this, but it feels important. She doesn’t have a boyfriend.

“No?” He sounds incredulous. “I find it hard to believe with how you were near-giggling at your screen.

-- He seems quite pushy today. Vaguely, she wonders why. And why it should even matter.

I don’t.

She hesitates, before tapping another message to him.

I was just writing.

She’d hoped this would throw him off, but it seems to only pique his interest further.

“Writing?” He’s not invited, but he sits down next to her, anyway. Reflexively, she shifts so as to make her phone less easy to see. “Are you a writer, Arianna?” He leans into her personal space, one arm laxly upon the back of the couch behind her, though for some reason she does not find that she minds overmuch.

I’m not a writer. I just like writing.

“Doesn’t that precisely make you one?”

I’m not even published. I don’t think I ever will be.

He sighs loudly. “Why? Do you think your stories are bad?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “I’m certain they aren’t. Besides, if you so enjoy writing them, then that certainly translates into your work. And others will be able to see it too, when they read. If you ever decide to publish.” His head tilts to the side as he regards her. “You should have more confidence in yourself.”

To say she would have expected him to ever give her some sort of heart to heart...would be a lie. She stares at him for a few long moments after his short speech, silent even as he stands and brushes imaginary lint from his knee.

“Well, I won’t bother you anymore.” He pauses, opens his mouth as if he wants to say more, then shuts it. He snaps his fingers, points at her -- and then makes some sort of motion with his hand.

It takes a moment for her to realise that he’s just signed at her.

A simple sign, the sign for good luck, but it takes her off guard simply because she would have never expected it from him, either. He doesn’t know sign language, after all. Which had to mean he had learnt...something, at least? Why...?

Why had he learnt it -- and such an oddly specific phrase such as that?

“What? Was my signing so good it leaves you completely speechless?” It seems her radio silence strikes a nerve -- his demanding voice catches at her. Is it just her, or can she detect the barest hint of concern in his voice?

Swallowing, she shakes her head, bringing her phone back to life as she hurries to reply to him.

No Yes, your signing was good. You are good. Thank you.

He smirks at the message, and gives her nothing more than a casual wave as he walks off.

________ 

Her employer continues to sign at her more and more often, little words here and there that catch her off-guard. She can’t tell whether she’s touched or simply astounded each and every time. She’s -- never met someone else who would just make the effort to learn sign for her. Not that she meets many people on a familiar basis, but...

She genuinely cannot speak.

She’d been too caught up in the moment to think it then, but she feels somewhat...guilty for what he had said. It’s true that Arianna does not speak, but cannot...is not entirely true.

And more and more, lately, she finds herself wishing to speak to him. Wishing that she had the courage to open her mouth and simply talk, as he does. And yet every time she considers it, she recalls what he had said, or he does one of his signs at her again, and she’s too overcome with emotion to try saying anything at all.

It’s probably somewhat sad that she’s closer to her employer than almost anyone else, to the point of desiring to let him hear her voice. But she would like him to. Hear her.

But wouldn’t he be cross once he found out she’d lied? He might even ask her to leave. Who knows, perhaps he prefers her not speaking, perhaps it makes things easier for him to fiddle with his phone whenever he’s around her...

At least even she can tell that thought is absurd.

But still. Knowing it doesn’t kill the thought.

Arianna can nevertheless not help the nervousness that rises up within her as she considers the idea. How would she even breach the subject? Just walk up to him and start talking? Should she text him first? Is this really something she should be thinking about so much? It probably is. But it should be so much simpler...

He’s not a friend of hers. So her thoughts are pointless. Perhaps it’s pointless to even...

“Arianna?”

She’s startled from her tumultuous thoughts by the voice of the very person she’d been thinking of. He peers at her over her shoulder, one hand raised in front of her as if he’d been waving it in her face. One eyebrow quirks. His champagne-coloured eyes seem amused.

“There you are. I was beginning to think you’d gone deaf, too.”

Oh. She must have spaced out as she was crossing the hallway. She...

Shaking her head, she quickly fishes out her phone. Pauses. She upturns her gaze to look at him again, blinking questioningly.  Her fingers tighten their grip upon her cellphone, and she can’t help but avert her gaze before she tries.

“D-d-did you need some...thing...?” Her voice is so painfully quiet and soft that she cannot help but think he hadn’t heard her. Or maybe hope he hadn’t. This was an idiotic idea anyway, she should have never --

“Hmm? No, I just -- what?” But his voice rings out loud and clear as it always does -- at least initially. He sounds absolutely shocked. “Did you just speak?”

She taps her fingers on the phone and shuts her eyes as she tries to control the veritable maelstrom of emotions threatening to keel her over. “Y-yes...?” Oh, this was a mistake, a mistake, she should have never --

“Then why didn’t you ever before?”

“Um....” Finally, she manages to look at him -- but his bemused, astonished face is too much for her. She finds the words she’d wanted to say are lost.

I am sorry. I just am nervous about speaking around strangers.

He doesn’t reply, and it even seems to take him a while to look at his phone. She’s not sure because she’s not looking at him.

“So we’re not strangers, are we? Does that make us friends?”

That question had been ringing around in her own head, too, but -- did that mean he entertained similar thoughts? Shyly, she manages to glance at him again. He’s still looking at her, and his gaze holds hers.

“I-if you...want...?” she manages after a moment. She can’t just say yes -- she’s not sure if he’s simply being flippant or if this is something he’s genuinely serious about. She can’t read his expression.

His mouth curves. “Then perhaps we are.”

________

Emet isn’t often in the lounge when she goes in to clean it, but she at least isn’t surprised seeing him. There is, however, another man within the room...and she had not been informed prior they would have any visitors. He has light brown hair, tied into a short ponytail, and an easy, carefree smile. And he looks far too at home as he stretches out on Emet’s couch, seemingly without a care in the world.

Arianna turns slowly toward her employer, making a simple gesture in the man’s direction and blinking up at Emet. It’s a simple word, the word for who, but she’s not certain he’ll get it. Thankfully, however, her non-verbal question seems to be completely understood.

“An annoyance,” is all Emet grumbles out. The man gives a loud guffaw, and Arianna’s pulse skyrockets as he swings himself over the back of the couch. Blessedly, he just barely manages to avoid smacking into one of the more expensive-looking vases on the table behind it.

“Is that really any way to treat your best friend?” the strange man asks, swinging an arm about Emet’s shoulders laxly. “I’m Hyth.” He directs a smile toward Arianna. “You are...?”

The question is somewhat surprising, though she fishes her phone out of her pocket regardless to type something up. Hyth must have made an inquiring gesture, since she hears Emet speak a moment later.

“She’s mute. She won’t talk to you, at any rate. Just wait.”

Hyth doesn’t seem to have a response -- at least not a verbal one. After a moment, Arianna finally holds her phone out for him to read, and he leans in.

My name is Arianna. It’s nice to meet you, Hyth.

“Arianna,” he repeats thoughtfully. “Right, he told me about you. It’s nice to meet you, too. Though I don’t want to exactly keep you from your duties, if I’m disturbing -- ”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Emet interrupts, waving a hand carelessly. “She doesn’t have much else to do today. I don’t mind. My friend should probably meet my other friend, anyway.”

A silence settles upon the room.

“A friend?” Hyth repeats in amazement. “You have a friend?” He smacks a hand to his chest. “You’re growing up, Emet. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Oh, do shut up.”

Arianna has to lift a hand to touch her mouth, as if to stop the beginnings of a laugh from breaking through. She doesn’t notice the architect tilting his head at her.

“Hyth and I were about to get some lunch,” he addresses her, then pauses. “Would you like to come with us? You can change, of course. Perhaps you even should. If you’re going.”

He keeps shocking her. Perhaps she should just expect to be caught off-guard and not pay it any heed.

“You don’t have to.” Her silence is answered by a further assurance.

Would you really like me to come?

The architect shrugs his shoulders. “I won’t answer that, if you’re trying to get me to tell you to come. You have to decide that on your own.”

“Oh? Do you often tell her what to do, Emet?”

“You’re not helping.”

The exchange has Arianna fiddling with her phone uncertainly. Her green gaze flicks from her employer to his supposed best friend, and bites her lower lip hard before she looks back to her phone.

Then, I would like to go with you.

________

Their relationship (? is it one?) has felt more and more lax lately. She’s come to send him small snippets of her stories -- typically after he sends her a text complaining he’s bored. There are many of these.

He sends her many more texts in general lately, too. When he’s not at the house, he’ll find a way to talk to her regardless. Occasionally he chides her for responding when she theoretically shouldn’t even be on her phone -- but he’s never complained, past her initial fright that, maybe, he was serious and it was actually a test of some kind --

He just wants to talk. Which is fine. They are, Arianna supposes, friends, despite...everything.

Even in the evening, when she’s home, she’s taken to sending him a quick good night.

And he frequently complains of -- in his opinion -- nosy or irritating clients of his. She feels bad for occasionally laughing at what are most certainly not jokes, but she can’t help but find his typing amusing.

It’s rare for him to be around when she leaves for the night, but tonight she just so happens to bump into him as she exits the front door. Emet stops stock still.

“Oh? Going home?” Emet asks conversationally, not appearing to be in any sort of hurry. The air smells of cut grass and vaguely of his cologne.

“Yes. I -- I hope you had a good day,:” she says with a mild smile, brushing at a few strands of her dark hair on reflex.

“I suppose I did.” He seems to consider something. “I suppose I should praise you for all the work you’re doing for me.” There’s something vaguely awkward in his posture as he adjusts one of his cufflinks -- an ungainliness that swiftly disappears, replaced by an air of smugness. “Well, you’ve done a good job. You were a good girl today.”

She blinks rapidly in shock. It takes several seconds for what should be simply a flippant joke to sink in. It is nothing more than a simple joke, at least to him. There’s nothing to the words.

Then why on earth do they set her whole body abuzz, her face burning up as if aflame?

Slapping her palms to her face, she reels away from him, trying very hard to rationalise the travesty that just occurred. Even Emet looks shocked, and she’s not sure whether she’s relieved or feels even more mortified by this fact. It was just -- he just...

Ah, there must be something wrong with her.

Thus, she does the only sensible thing in this situation.

That is to say, she all but flies across the pavement to put the estate and him far behind her.

________

She is convinced.

He’s trying to drive her insane.

Or maybe it’s simply her overactive imagination. That could be it, too.

But that is a rather hard assumption to make when he makes a comment that his lunch had been good and says it in a very particular way as he waits for her reaction. What she hates most, however, is that a part of her is very expectant for him to say...something else.

She absolutely hates it.

He’s never going to say that again, nor should she ever want him to. She doesn’t even understand why she reacted so ridiculously, nor why it should ever matter to her. It doesn’t and it won’t. It’s not...it doesn’t mean anything.

But she’d like for him to say it again. And she hates that part of her.

She’s lost in thought again today as she dusts at the books and shelves in the book room, occasionally fluffing out her duster when necessary. Her mind weaves a story she’ll want to write down as quickly as possible before she forgets, a tale about a girl stuck in a tower  and the trials she goes through to escape.

“Good girl.”

That silky voice is most definitely not a part of her daydream.

Reeling back into the world of the living, she sucks in a sharp inhalation of breath, dropping the duster in her hand as she whirls to stare up at the man who had snuck up behind her.

He smirks as if he’d just won something, touches her rapidly flushing cheek with his fingers, then his entire palm. “How adorable. I knew you liked it.” His smugness only makes her more and more flustered as she attempts to regain her bearings. Though the moment she thinks she does, she loses them immediately when he cups her other cheek, too, and leans in to kiss her.

Her hands jump to his chest, though she doesn’t push him away. Instead, her fingers curve into his shirt; he pulls away momentarily, only to chase her with another, deeper kiss that has her mind spinning.

________

Later, when they’re tangled together in his silk sheets, Arianna stares at the ceiling as arguably rational thought returns to her.

Ah...she really is an easy lay, isn’t she. Just say the magic words and she’d hop right off into bed...

What should probably be an at least somewhat pleasant moment is summarily ruined by her twisting anxiety and self-disgust. She’s beginning to feel ill, like she wants to vomit.

Inhaling a shaky gasp, she moves to slide herself off of the bed. Emet snatches at her, pulling her back to blink up at her with a vaguely annoyed gaze.

“Where are you going?” he asks, narrowing golden eyes.

“I — ah...t-that is...” She has no idea how to answer him. Where is she going? Fumbling blankly, she trips over an explanation. “B-back to work...?”

It’s, at least, a somewhat better answer than simply leaving.

He gives her a slow, exceptionally expressive blink. He’s clearly unimpressed by her response.

“Why...? Hmm — that reminds me...your job is to clean, yes...?”

Now it’s her turn to give him a blank blink. “Y-yes?”

The bemused expression turns sharp, his mouth curving. His gaze rakes down her body, and she suddenly remembers she’s very much unclothed. “Then clean me instead.”

The disgust and unease dissipate all at once to be replaced by pure bewilderment, and for one confusing moment she’s left wondering if this was possibly at all on purpose. Shaking her head, she averts her gaze as a deep flush crosses her features.

“Th-that is — I — I-I’ll get a b-bath running, then...”

“Oh, really?” he purrs from his languid pose upon the bed. “That sounds wonderful.” He finally lets go of her, calmly folding his arms beneath his head. As he all but leers at her, she’s abruptly reminded of the fact that not only is she naked but she’s also offered to walk across to the restroom —

“S-stop looking at me,” she stammers, instinctively drawing her arms over her chest. “Please.” Added, after a moment’s thought.

“But there’s so much to look at.” Despite his statement, Emet doesn’t protest; instead, he rolls onto his side to face his back toward her.

She’s left to strew in thoughts of bewilderment and confusion as she stumbles into the bathroom, a bathrobe he’d told her she could borrow for the moment tossed over her shoulders. She’s been in here before — having cleaned it up — so it’s easy enough to find what she needs to get the bathtub in a state suitable for...bathing.

The architect is dosing when she goes to inform him the restroom is ready.

“Oh, good.” His voice is vaguely husky from sleep. “We can take a bath.”

The word gives her pause. “‘We’...?” she repeats uncertainly, sure she’d misheard or that he had misspoke.

“Yes,” he says pleasantly, flashing her a smile as he pushes himself off the bed. Arianna looks away discreetly, brushing her fingers through a few strands of her dark hair. Apparently he sees no need for a robe for himself. “There’s room enough for two, I should think.”

She almost gives in to the urge to look at him again, if only because for some reason she can’t quite tell if he’s playing with her or not.

“Oh, and,” he continues, snapping his fingers, “you don’t work here anymore.”

All at once, the feelings from earlier come crashing down on her. “Ah...” She feels sick. Of course she’d been right. Nothing more than —

“I can’t have my sweetheart working as a servant girl, can I?” One of his hands comes up to hook beneath her chin, pulling her to look up at him. She momentarily finds herself unable to breathe, mind similarly blank. The smirk he gives her feels vaguely fond. “Oh, but don’t worry. If you still want to be my maid that badly, we can always play in bed~.”

More than the burning sensation to her cheeks, she feels like she’s about to get whiplash. Pulling away from him, she slaps her hands to her face.

“Wh-wh-what are you...?” She stumbles uselessly over her words, not even sure what she wants to ask him. And she absolutely hates the tiny glimmer of hope that dares to peek its way out even as he laughs at her. “A-are you playing with me?” she finally manages to ask, simultaneously dreading and wanting the answer.

“Why on earth would I be playing with you right now?” Emet scoffs lightly. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was annoyed. “You may be adorable like this, but I think I’m not that cruel. I’m completely, utterly serious.” There’s a moment of silence, wherein she dares to look up at him again. It’s only then that he continues. “Well, if you want me to be serious, that is. If I was mistaken in my assumption you were interested in me in that way, I’d be ha — mm, that would be a lie, actually. Either way, if that turns out to be the case, we can put this behind us. Figuratively, and literally.” The man exhales a heavy sigh, as if the speech had exhausted him more so than any other activities they’d done together. “So? What is your answer, my dear?”

“I — ”

Just a few minutes ago, she’d thought he had seen her as nothing more than a quick bit of amusement. Perhaps, at the back of her mind, Arianna still thought that, but for the moment such assumptions were thrown to the wayside by the veritable roller coaster she’d just been on. — Though really, perhaps that was part of why she, unfortunately, liked him. Even as simply an employer...

But he wants her answer — as to whether they’re something more than that. Properly, not simply some sort of tryst.

Of course they’re not. She never wanted them to be something like that in the first place. And, maybe, neither did he?

Oh, but the thought of having to actually put that all into words...perhaps it makes her feel even more ill than just a few short minutes ago when she’d been convinced he merely saw her as a toy...

Biting her lower lip hard, the hyuran woman slowly lowers her hands from her face, tilting her head up to look at him once more. He’s simply...looking back at her, calmly. For once, there’s no smirk upon his face, nor any sort of trace of irony. He’s just...waiting.

Which only makes her remember that he expects her to speak...

“Ah...w-well...” Averting her gaze yet another time, she fidgets with the folds of the robe, trying to concentrate on the texture. Perhaps thinking of anything else will help her ground herself. Just. Anything.

Anything aside from what he’s asking her to say.

Swallowing nervously, she summons the courage to look up at him again. He’s calm, completely unobtrusive — he doesn’t even try to lean into her personal space. He’s just...waiting.

“Um, I...” She starts, trails off nervously, and finds herself looking away again. “You’re not — you’re not...wrong...” It’s somehow easier to speak when she’s not looking at him. “I am...i-inter...ested...” And her voice grows quieter and quieter with each syllable, until it dissipates entirely. She touches anxiously at her hair as she waits with bated breath for him to do...anything.

He gives a soft exhalation that seems a little like relief, his shoulders sagging. Perhaps he’d been holding his breath, too --

“Wonderful.” He sounds just a little tired. “In that case...” He clears his throat, putting a hand lightly upon her shoulder to coax her to look at him. Is it just her imagination or -- “Would you like to bathe with me...? I know I said ‘we’ would, but if you’d rather not, you can, of course, stay...here, if you like.”

Another question that has her reeling at the implications of answering it, and another moment he is, for once, not trying to get her to blush -- she’s doing that all on her own just fine.

This doesn’t take nearly that much long to think about, either.

“I-I...wouldn’t...mind...”

“Oh...” She can’t tell if he’s surprised or simply pleased. “Well then.” This time Emet does smirk, though there’s less of a bite to it than usual. He slides his arm about her shoulders and herds her along with him toward the bathroom, though he stops right outside the door. “That reminds me. There’s a gala in about...a week. Hyth’s thing -- he likes art. I wanted to ask if you’d come with me? As my date.”

The question gives her pause, looking up at him in bemusement. “I don’t think -- I’d really have anything to wear...? To something like...that, anyway...”

“It’s no matter.” He waves his other hand carelessly. “I can arrange for something. So. Will you come with me? There will...be a lot of people, unfortunately, but it’s not as if you have to talk to any of them. I’d simply enjoy your company, is all.” He looks as if he’s about to say more, though for some reason he seems to think better of it and bites his tongue.

“Then I -- then I don’t mind. I-I’d like to go with you.”

To her surprise, he leans down to press a chaste kiss to her temple that has scarlet creeping up her face.

“Thank you, my dear.”

________

There’s many...changes leading up to the gala. For starters, Emet weasels his way into meeting her parents...an appointment she isn’t sure she’s looking forward to or dreading. She at least hopes her parents approve...she still isn’t quite sure how to explain her current situation to them --

He doesn’t want her to clean or do any chores like she used to, other than, perhaps, cook, “if she’d like”. And, of course, he still requests she come around just as much, except this time to make herself at home.

“How refreshing to see you out of that uniform,” he muses aloud upon first seeing her in something else. “Though I think you’d look even better with that on my floor~.”

She’s not sure whether it’s good or not that she’s learning not to be taken so off-guard by such flippant comments.

He’s even hired a new maid, someone other than her, to wander around the place and clean up, just as she had. She doesn’t know much about the other hyuran woman; only that she seems about the same age, has brown hair reminiscent of Hyth’s, and doesn’t seem nearly as bothered by showing skin as Arianna is.

The woman, Alice, drags a vacuum down the hallway, visible and audible from Arianna’s perch in the book room. Her green eyes slide up from her novel to watch the woman absentmindedly.

And it makes her wonder -- was Emet only interested in her because she was a maid? There were some men like that, weren’t there? Interested in maids because of the thrill of some easily accessible fun. Something she’d given him so very easily.

Was it because she’d wandered into bed with him like some cheap --

“Darling.” Emet’s voice cuts through her thoughts like a knife. On autopilot, she reflexively smacks her book shut, somehow managing to not jump in her seat. He circles around the sofa to peer down at her curiously. One eyebrow quirks. “Something wrong?”

“I-I -- um -- ” Her green eyes flick from him, to Alice, moving her vacuuming to another room. “Nothing...”

“Hmm.” All he gives her for the moment is a quiet hum. She’s not sure he’s convinced. But he doesn’t ask. Instead, he pulls a nondescript white box out from one of his coat pockets. “Here. I got you something, for tonight.”

“Wha -- ” She stares at him for a moment in shock, her gaze flicking from the box, to his face, and back again. He looks entirely too pleased with himself. “For me...?”

“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” His lips quirk. “Are you going to take it, or shall I open it for you?”

She’s still shell-shocked, but before she can think better of it, she’s pushed the book off her lap and taken the box from him. Opening it reveals -- a delicate hair ornament. It’s a composition of small blue flowers and blue butterflies, some connected by fragile-looking chains of silver and gold, some links hanging down to lie within one’s hair while it’s worn. It’s one of -- perhaps the most pretty piece of jewelry she’s ever seen. Her brows furrow in vague concern, and she opens her mouth, about to speak; however, he shakes a finger in front of her face before she can do so.

“Please don’t ask me if it’s for you again,” he says, looking somewhat amused. “It is, entirely, for you, my dear. I do hope you like it. I saw it the other day, and -- it reminded me of you.”

Swallowing, Arianna clicks her mouth shut, turning the hairpiece over gently in her hands. She’s almost afraid to touch it too much lest she break it.

“Th-thank you -- it’s beautiful, but I -- can’t wear something l-like this...”

How much had it cost him? It looks expensive, and if he puts his mind to something, he isn’t the sort to do things in halves.

“Nonsense. You have hair, don’t you?” Emet reaches to lightly brush fingers through a curled strand. “Of course you can wear it.”

She bites her lower lip. “Y-you know what I mean...”

“I’m afraid not.”

Ah. He’s being stubborn, then.

Well, she supposes, so is she.

Swallowing, she gently places it back into its box. “I-it’s truly -- very beautiful -- thank you, Emet...” Putting the box onto the book beside her, she slowly stands up, brushing her hands nervously through her hair.

“You’re very welcome. I’m gla -- ”

For once, she surprises him when she musters the courage to lean up and give him a kiss on the cheek. Just before she glances away out of embarrassment, she’s able to see a pale hint of redness to his cheeks. Instead of responding, the man looks away, clearing his throat.

She’s at least glad he can lose his words, too -- 

“Now, ah, how about you go pick out a dress? I brought a few back for you.” But he’s far quicker at regaining his composure...so it seems. “I have a few other things I need to take care of before we go. Like the car, for instance.” He clears his throat, touching lightly at her hair again, before turning away. “Oh” -- he pauses just through the doorway -- “and I asked Alice to help you with your makeup. Do you mind?”

Ah --

If she’d used much makeup at all, she would have said “yes”...after all, simply because he had never seen her wearing it to work didn’t mean she didn’t wear it at all...

But he hadn’t been wrong in assuming (had he? or -- ) that she doesn’t wear it typically. So she simply shakes her head mutely.

“Excellent. Then you can talk to her after you’ve finished choosing something -- or tell me, and I’ll send her to you.”

________

In -- his bedroom? their bedroom...? Either way, that is where she finds several dresses arranged on a rack. Whatever likes to make its way out of his mouth when he talks, he’s certainly aware of her preferences. All the dresses are modestly cut and not overly flashy -- apart from one, though even this one she looks through. It’s pretty, even if not something she would choose to wear. In the end she picks out a blue somewhat shimmery dress, held up by straps, to match the hairpiece he’d given her.

She’s not really sure how she feels -- about the idea of Alice being in this room...there’s simply something about it that just rubs her the wrong way. As if anyone could simply go to his room and do what they had done...

Is that really how it is...?

No, he’d -- gotten these pretty things for her, surely that has to mean something.

Alice knocks on the door before entering, smiling at her as she brings in a small box of what is doubtless makeup supplies. Oh, no, this is going to be awkward...

She’s already finding herself wishing Emet were here to gab on and on about something, at least that would make her feel like she’s not being boring or intrusive.

“I’m here to do your makeup!” the other hyuran woman announces. “Take a seat.” There’s only one chair at the desk, so Arianna feels strange sitting there while the other woman stands, but she supposes there’s nothing else she can do about it --

Giving a quiet nod and a smile, she sits down as asked, and Alice stares at her face for a minute before rummaging through her tools. Then, seemingly satisfied with the arsenal she’s picked out, she starts to paint Arianna’s face with them.

A tiny part of her wonders if she’ll make her look like a clown. Or if the colours she’s picked are truly suitable to her and her dress -- covered by a small rectangle of dark fabric the woman had brought with her. But Emet had trusted this woman’s judgement, of all things, so...she supposes she must know what she’s doing.

Unless this is all some elaborate plan to make her look like a clown...

That ornament had been so very pretty, though.

“You and Mr. Selch make a very nice couple,” Alice says a few minutes into applying the colours to her face. The sudden comment -- combined with the amiability with which she says it -- takes the dark-haired woman completely by surprise. Her eyes widen as she stares at the woman calmly brushing rouge onto her cheekbones. She has -- no idea what to do -- and it’s not as if she can talk, she -- 

Does she really think so...?

Nervously, she tries to smile, and nod her head faintly in response -- this only has the other hyur clicking her tongue.

“Don’t move when I’m putting your makeup on, okay? Not even to smile.”

She has to resist the urge to nod her head again. Instead, she curls her fingers together in her lap as her face heats up in embarrassment. The minutes tick by as the woman continues her work, Arianna’s attempts to occupy herself with daydreams proving fruitless because all she can think about is what Alice had  said.

“There! We’re all done,” the woman announces as she clicks a pen shut. “Take a look. Do you like it?”

She feels somewhat apprehensive to look in the mirror, but she steels her nerves and does so anyway. What she sees there leaves her momentarily blank.

She looks -- pretty. And not outrageous or overstated at all...

She likes it.

Blinking -- and trying very hard to stop the ridiculous urge to cry -- she looks toward Alice again, smiling fervently in a way that she hopes conveys her appreciation. Right -- her phone -- quickly getting it, she writes a note, holding it out for the woman to look at. Alice beams at her.

“I’m glad you like it! I was a little worried since you don’t talk, but you’re actually really nice!” The compliment is somewhat backhanded, but she bulldozes on. “I’m sure Mr. Selch will love it! He asked me to take you down to the entrance when you’re ready.”

________

He is, indeed, waiting for them, in a freshly ironed and crisp pinstriped suit. The sight sends mild heat to her cheeks, and Arianna brushes nervously at her loose hair as she approaches.

For a moment, it feels like Alice might as well not be there. He seems to drink her in, admiring her in the dress she’d picked and the makeup she wore for this event.

“You look lovely,” he says after a moment, as if just remembering his voice. “But there’s one more thing...”

“Th -- ” Arianna starts, then stops, remembering Alice -- but when she looks around, the maid is nowhere to be found. When had she left? “Th...the...the hairpin?” she continues uncertainly, turning slowly in a circle before coming to face the man again.

He seems somewhat amused by the display. “I brought it.” He shows her the box on the small desk near the door.

After a moment’s hesitation, she trots over to pick it up, gently pulling the ornament out, before peering into the mirror to begin trying to put it on. However, he steps beside her, stopping her.

“Let me put it on for you.” Carefully taking it from her hands, Emet brushes her dark wavy hair away from her face as he fastens the pin to her hair. This accomplished, he takes her chin in his hand to tip her head up and to the side, narrowing his eyes as he gazes down at her. She can feel a flush rising to her cheeks -- can he see it with the makeup on? -- at this inspection, a strange fluttery sensation that has her unable to breathe as her mouth twists indecisively.

“Beautiful,” Emet says with a smirk in a way that makes her wonder if he’s referring to her or the hairpiece. But she’s momentarily lost her words and simply self-consciously touches at her cheek once he finally lets her go, though not without a chaste kiss. “Are you ready to go?” he asks calmly, holding out a hand toward her. With a shy nod, she takes it gently.

________

The limo ride to the party is airy and light. Emet talks, as he likes to, explaining the history or some such behind the gala, reminiscing about previous events -- and it’s genuinely interesting, hearing about the other interesting people he’s met.

She doesn’t even stop to think about how, perhaps, she is certainly not one of them. That’s how relaxed she is.

Ah, but, the moment he pulls her out of the car, his fingers closed firmly about her hand, and the tinted windows are no longer enough to dull the scene outside...

The house -- or mansion? -- all but nearly bursts with light. She might nearly mistake the evening for day with how brightly lit its decorations pulse. And the other people...

Even in her pretty blue dress and heels and the butterflies in her hair and the necklace of blue gems at her neck, Arianna starts to wonder if she’s underdressed. Surely she doesn’t look like any of them. Not even slightly comparable. And there’s so many people, and they’re just outside...

“You look beautiful,” Emet assures her, squeezing her hand lightly to call her attention to him. “They’ll be so jealous when they see you with me.” He sounds more than slightly pleased at the thought -- perhaps even smug -- as he tugs her along after him, past the small tables and dining guests. She tries very hard not to think about them, of about how they might be looking at her --

But, she thinks blankly, as Emet stops to talk to yet another person Arianna can almost not quite bring herself to look at, she realises...these people don’t know anything about her. Just like she doesn’t know anything about them...

Perhaps that’s a good thing. There’s no reason for them to assume anything about her...just like she can’t really assume -- or shouldn’t -- anything about them...

The thought is enough to calm her, somewhat.

The inside of the house is, paradoxically, darker than the outside; most of the lights seem to be reserved for the pieces of art on display.

Hyth has always liked art. Especially statues. He loves those -- so much that he demands artists display their works at his house. It’s a win-win, he says; advertisement, and he gets to oogle them.

There’s certainly a lot of statues. And paintings. Emet walks with her along most of them, murmuring facts about the artists in her ear, or critiquing those pieces he seems to have a distaste for or amusement in. No one attempts to talk to them, thankfully, and pressed to the architect’s side like this, she can almost imagine they’re all by themselves together.

Before long, they’ve wandered off to take a break at the tables -- a drink and a respite. There’s others here, too, and the fact they’re all merely standing around makes Arianna more anxious -- or dreadful of -- potential small talk. Emet engages one blonde woman before she can speak to him, and absentmindedly she tunes out their conversation in an attempt to gain a bearing on herself.

Carlin...

Wait, where had she heard that name before...?

Almost as if some completely hilarious twist of fate, a man catches Arianna’s eye. She notes a glimmer of recognition in his eyes that sends a sickly feeling into her stomach. Carlin -- Carlin, this is the man that had visited Emet’s estate before. The woman...his wife...?

“You’re the servant girl at Selch’s estate,”  Carlin says, just as she turns her face away. He speaks before she can attempt to remove herself from the situation.

“Was a servant girl,” Emet chimes in helpfully, snatching two champagne glasses from a passing waiter; he hands one to Arianna, who takes it mutely. “As you can see, I’ve brought her here as my date.” He sips at his drink. Arianna tries to, but for some reason the ill feeling grows too strong to be able to concentrate, much less think about sampling the flavour.

“I didn’t take you as one to fall for a gold digger, Emet.”

Ah — there it is. Whatever else Carlin says is drowned out by the roar crashing through her ears. She wants to vomit. She knew it was wrong to come here — to have ever entertained such thoughts at all. Carlin is right — she would have never been here, would never have even looked upon this dress or her hair ornament were it not for Emet. The butterflies feel heavy and bulky fastened in her hair now — her head feels so heavy. She would have ripped the accessory off were it not for the drink flute still clutched in her trembling hands.

Her eyes fill with tears, and she quickly looks away, staring firmly at the floor as she attempts to walk off. There’s no point in being here anymore. She doesn’t care where she goes so long as it’s somewhere far, far away —

But she can’t. Leave. Because for some reason, Emet takes it upon himself to keep her there. His grip upon her upper arm is firm as she’s pulled back next to him. She stumbles in her stupid heels and stares blankly at the crisp lines of his stupid suit. The drink sloshes up the glass walls and drips against her fingers. Shame and embarrassment collide with anger — just what is he doing? Does he want to humiliate her, too? Her throat closes up — even if she’d wanted to, she wouldn’t have been able to tell him off. At least not here. There’s nothing she can do. She’s just a useless gold digger, she wouldn’t have a thing right now if it weren’t for his help —

All at once, the sound of snapping fingers cuts through the noise in her head. All thoughts — stop.

“Oh, I remember now. It was, mm, a week ago I saw you last? Walking out of an exceptionally saucy club, if I must say so myself, a pretty little thing hanging off of your arm. Did you tell your wife about the lovely time you had at the hotel? Crystarium Nights, I believe it was...room 203. That hotel is mine, were you aware? — Oh, my apologies, she does know about this, doesn’t she? It would be quite awkward if she didn’t.”

It’s like he’s speaking in alien tongues. Arianna can’t quite understand or comprehend what he’s saying — none of it makes any sense to her. But Carlin’s face is ashen white, his wife’s slowly turning a furious shade of red bordering on purple.

“I also distinctly recall seeing you at the firm the other day,” Emet continues without missing a beat, his thumb rubbing smooth lines up and down the inside of Arianna’s arm. “If my ears don’t deceive me — and they don’t, I assure you — I remember you bringing up bankruptcy. Do you really have the money to be throwing around at places like this? Just one of these drinks must be a fortune to you. Your wife knows about that too, right? Don’t you, Rosa?”

Despite the devastating things he’s saying, Emet appears utterly nonchalant, taking another sip of his champagne. There’s a malicious, sharp curve to his lips as he stares at the two of them. Rosa Carlin glowers at her husband, her hold upon her own glass of wine white-knuckled.

“Is what he said true?” she demands, her blue eyes narrowing. All the man can do is sputter wordlessly for a moment -- she spills the rest of her drink down his front and walks off angrily.

Carlin stares off in the direction his wife left, then looks toward Emet and Arianna. His mouth opens, shuts, as if he wants to speak, though no words come out. There’s probably nothing he can say. Arianna’s own mind is still blank.

“Perhaps think before you speak next time, Carlin. You should know better than to yap when you have nothing to prove. Now...your very presence irritates me. Go stand slack-jawed elsewhere, would you?” With this final, utter dismissal, the architect finally turns all attention away from the gawping, soaked man. Sighing loudly, Emet uses his grip upon her to tug her toward the mostly empty table where he finally takes a seat.

“How exhausting...” He tilts his head to look at her oddly, in a way that makes her heart do weird flips in her chest. He puts his glass away, then lifts his free hand to touch upon her face; he lightly wipes away the tears she hadn’t even realised were there. Then he lets go of her entirely.

For some reason, that merely makes the lump in her throat grow.

He had -- very soundly told that man off...for her...? She can’t really think of any other reason for the tirade, except perhaps that he simply hadn’t been fond of Carlin...

Swallowing, the black-haired woman places her glass upon the table next to his. Gently, she takes one of his hands in both of hers. He looks up at her in what seems like surprise, peering at her through his fringe of white hair. With a faint, indecisive smile, Arianna shuffles closer to him and leans in; he leans toward her in return as she hovers her lips close to his ear.

“Thank you,” she manages to whisper in the quietest of tones.

For the moment, he does nothing but give a mild hum in response. Tugging gently, he tests her responsiveness before pulling her about him to sit on his lap. She perches somewhat warily on his knee, smoothing her skirt as he shifts positions to draw both his arms about her and rest his cheek on her shoulder. Normally something she wouldn’t -- even consider doing in public, strangely it makes her feel quite...content.

“Well, you are my good girl, aren’t you?” The abrupt murmur has her heart flipping yet again, though somehow the way he says it has her feeling weirdly warm and full of clouds. She lets him pull her even closer, leaning against him as she tries to pretend no one else is there.

Another sharp exhalation leaves the man as his arms tighten about her. “You don’t mind me taking a power nap, do you? Of course you don’t.”

“Going to sleep again?” Hyth’s laughing voice assails them as he strides past in an apparent hurry. “An insult that bruises straight to my very soul.” There’s no malice behind the words; in fact he seems to find this downright hilarious.

“Your party is boring,” Emet growls without even opening his eyes.

Arianna feels her lips curving in fondness; she runs her fingers through his hair gently as he settles again. Then she ducks her head to whisper to him once more.

“Don’t you want to leave, then...?”

This time, he does open his eyes — though only, it seems, to be able to grab a hold of one of her hands and play absentmindedly with her fingers.

“Hmm. I’d hoped to dance with you later, if you didn’t mind.” For some reason, he averts his gaze. She isn’t entirely sure in this lighting, but she thinks she can see the barest tinge of redness rising to his face. “Do you?”

For one who simply assumes or does what he wants either way, the question has her feeling oddly light. Smiling gently, she gives him a soft shake of her head.

“Truly?”

She nods, this time.

He’s silent for a moment, then smiles fondly at her.

“Then I suppose I shall have to make the most of my energy.” The smile turns into a wicked smirk. “Hyth’s favourite dance is salsa.”

When the comprehension dawns to her face, quickly followed by concern, he huffs a laugh.

“I’m only joking. You wouldn’t like a fast dance, I’m sure.”

With another final sigh, he presses his face back to her shoulder and holds her ever closer.

Next (nsfvv and literally plotless, proceed at own risk)

[margaretflorist]

ARIADNE’S LOST HER WAY

She clutches at her dress, lifting it higher so she can keep up with the blonde running ahead of her. Grateful, not for the first time, that she isn’t wearing twenty pounds of fake flowers, Margaret manages a glance behind her at the chaos of the festivities. She isn’t sure what’s happening--the fog clouds and blaring music had dulled her senses--but Tommy had been right. Now’s our only chance to get in. She wishes, desperately, that Nell was running behind them, but she’d lost her friend in the crowd. There’s no time to stop. She would want me to do this, she thinks, turning her gaze forward again. She would want to know what’s inside that house.

They split up: Tommy roaming outside the grounds, Maggie taking the inside. She’s rehearsing her speech in her head if she gets caught: I got scared, I saw the house, I’m so sorry, I got scared, I saw the house, I’m so sorry. Not a total lie. She thinks of Nell, again, teaching her how to talk herself out of a bad situation. Tell as much of the truth as you can, and nothing else. Her hand wraps around the cool bronze of the doorknob and she turns it. Her heart skips a beat. The front door’s unlocked. “Here goes nothing,” she mutters to herself, pushing the door open and slipping inside.

IN THE MAZE SHE’S MADE TO TOY WITH ME

The Alby’s house is, of course, huge. The silence inside is jarring after the cacophony from the festival. It gives the house an eerie feeling, like it’s a creature holding its breath, waiting for Maggie to make one wrong move so it can swallow her whole. She puts one hand on the wall, fingers taking in the texture of the patterned wallpaper, and begins to walk. She’s not really sure what she’s looking for, but surely there’s something inside this massive house. When she reaches the staircase leading to the second floor, Maggie takes a large inhale, summoning whatever bravery still lives within her, and begins to climb. There are portraits of Alby’s past lining the walls, each probably about as expensive as the home she lives in, filled to the brim with its own ghosts. Margaret takes a moment to stare at Edith, struck, not for the first time, by her beauty. She shakes her head. Focus.

She moves down the hallway, her fingers still trailing along the wallpaper, when suddenly they catch on something. An irregularity. Margaret’s heart leaps into her throat, and she stops in her tracks to examine the wall beneath her hand. “A door,” she breathes, speaking to no one, speaking to Edith. Nimbly, she finds the catch, and the door swings open, revealing a dark, narrow staircase that curves upward. “Why would you hide a door?” She mutters, glancing over her shoulder to confirm that she’s still alone. One sharp breath, and then, she’s stepping into the staircase, pulling the door closed behind her. It’s dark, dark, and Margaret reaches out for the banister, slowly climbing the steps one at a time. Her brain summons a thousand terrible things waiting for her at the top: a demon, a gaping maw, a sharp blade, a person tucked away, her but bloodied, her but dead, her but alive to confirm she was the ghost all along. She’s trembling by the time she makes it to the top of the stairs. Another door. The attic. What would the Alby’s hide in the attic?

What wouldn’t they?

WHERE SHE’S STILL TOILING AFTER ME

Once she’s inside the attic, she fishes through her pockets, shaking hands pulling out her cell phone. She checks the battery. 39%. Fine. It’s enough. It’ll do. She presses the flashlight button and swings it around the attic. Plenty of trunks, chests, a large sheet draped over a mirror. Hannah’s mother’s voice floats through her mind. Mirrors can be doorways. She leaves it covered. She’d like to be the only one rummaging around the attic, thanks.

The beam of light begins to illuminate other things as Maggie makes her way further into the attic. Old furniture, boxes and boxes of papers, a handful of jewelry boxes. Everything a temptation, Maggie feels herself becoming overwhelmed with indecision, until...the light catches a gilded frame. It looks similar to the ones she passed downstairs. A portrait. Why hide a portrait in the attic? She moves quickly, adrenaline smothering fear, and grabs the frame, whirling the portrait around. 

She does jump, then, startled by what she sees. Or rather, what she doesn’t. It was a portrait of a man, she thinks, someone masculine and broad-shouldered and regal. Their clothes are fine, if a little plain in color, but what really catches Maggie’s eye is his face. It’s been clawed out of the portrait. Ferociously, if the jagged edges of the canvas are anything to go by. A deep sense of dread settles thick over her bones, weighing her down. Whoever did this was angry, driven by a rage that burned like a fire. It frightens her. She’s felt that kind of anger before. She knows the urge that could drive a person to do this. It unsettles her, to discover a piece of herself tucked away in the attic of the Alby’s. Maggie’s got a thousand questions. Who is he? What did he do to deserve such a violation? Who did this to him? And why? When? Was the portrait ever hanging in the halls of the Alby home? Was it torn apart before it was hidden away, or after? Why hide it at all?

“They didn’t want anyone to find you,” she says quietly. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up. For a moment, she truly believes if she were to turn around, she’d see him, standing tall behind her, his face as empty and gashed as it is in the portrait. She swallows a scream. Out. Out. Out. Her heart is rattling against her ribs, her mind screaming at her to move. Her hand raises, slowly, and the fake sound of a camera clicking seems to ring out through the attic. She isn’t sure how good the picture’s going to turn out, but she doesn’t take the time to try again.

BUT THE BEAST CAN’T HAVE WHAT SHE CAN’T REACH

She nearly trips on the stairs out of the attic. Flying out of the doorway, she slams it shut behind her, scurrying past the watchful gaze of Alby’s past. One of you did this, she thinks, her footsteps pounding on the ancient wood. I’m going to find out which one. She stutters down the stairs, barreling through the front door into the comforting darkness of the night. She hisses Tommy’s name, her flashlight reaching out into the woods.

It isn’t until much later that evening that Margaret remembers--she didn’t put the portrait back where she found it.

[whitetigerdemoness]

Taking a break from Marc and Nathaniel to see how the Agrestes are holding up. They'll be back next chapter!

The more massive a star, the shorter its lifespan. A very massive star may live only tens of millions of years, while a cool dwarf will shine on for billions of years. At an age of about 4.5 billion years, our Sun is considered middle-aged

Master Post

Ladybug mentally groaned as she swung around the corner to see the press outside of the Agreste mansion gates. While this was to be expected, it would be nice if they could give the family more than an hour or so to grieve before swarming. Landing on the pillars supporting the front gates she surveyed the crowd, who became excited at her appearance, thinking she should go ahead and get this out of the way before Adrien or Emile had to deal with them. Standing at the head of the crowd preaching to the cameras was...sigh.

“Mr. Berger. Shouldn’t you be in post processing still from your court verdict?” Ladybug asked from her perch on the gate. No way she was going down to their level to get clawed at.

“Ladybug.” Sneered Berger. “Back from setting up your next plot? Or were you just paying off your latest actors?” The Office of Akuma Affairs (OAA for short) stubbornly claimed that all akuma attacks were done by paid actors, paid for by the city’s heroes as publicity stunts. They also ardently ignored the fact that their own leader had been akumatized at one point, something Berger himself denied ever happening.

“Mr. Berger, please. The Agreste family would like some peace to grieve before you start throwing conspiracy theories at them again.” Behind the man, the crowded had gone silent, cameras and reporters eagerly watching the exchange.

“Conspiracy theories? I think you mean exposing the truth. After all, are we supposed to believe that little stunt earlier was real? That some woman just, what, walked into a maximum security prison with an elaborate costume on and killed two prisoners without anyone noticing?” Berger folded his arms smugly, looking condescending.

Turning to the cameras, Ladybug addressed the press “We’re still uncertain to the extent of what happened at the prison today. Any information will go through the police before it reaches my team.”

“Ladybug!” A reporter cut in “What do you have to say about this new Hawkmoth?”

Berger opened his mouth to giver his own two cents but Ladybug cut him off “The appearance of this new Hawkmoth is as shocking to us as it is to you. I know that her more….aggressive approach has frightened many of you but I promise that my team and I will-”

“Aggressive?!” Berger interjected. “She beheaded two people on public television! Think of how many children were watching, now permanently traumatized by what they saw! When are you people going to take real responsibility for these attacks and how they affect the public?” The man screamed, waving his hands theatrically. Ladybug squared her shoulders to fire back at him, when the doors of the mansion swung open.

Emile Agreste, Dusuu zipping around her head in concern, stepped onto the walk and made her way to the gate. She looked pale and drawn, grim. Samson followed a step behind her, looking just as grim but more intimidating. Ladybug jumped down from the gate to meet her.

“Mrs. Agreste-” Emile held up a hand for silence as she continued to approach the gate.

“You ask when we will take responsibility for how Hawkmoth has affected this city? Mr. Berger, I have tried to do nothing but ever since my revival. I thought that as Paon, I could give back to the city where my husband has taken so much. And in thanks, that city has taken my husband from me. From my son.”

“This city hasn’t done anything to you-” Emile cut the man off.

“This city.” She said firmly “Has done nothing but hound and harass my family for MONTHS.  We are only two weeks into this month and already I have had to call the police to deal with armed trespassers on my property twelve times. Twelve Mr. Berger. Last month it was more than sixty times. You and your group especially have hounded me, my son, and anyone even vaguely connected to us for months . I fear for his safety Mr. Berger. I may be a superhero but I am a mother first. Ladybug,” She said grimly, turning to face the heroine, “My public connection to you and the miraculous has brought nothing but ruin to my family. I thank you for all your support, but I am here and now resigning from my role as the holder of the Peacock Miraculous.” Emile unpinned the brooch from her shirt and placed it into the hands of a stunned Ladybug.

“I think it would be better if me or my son were never seen with you again, Ladybug .” Emile stressed. With that she turned her back on the now calmoring reporters and returned to her home. The muffled ‘thud’ of the doors closing echoed in Ladybug’s head as she stared at the miraculous in her hand.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ladybug might have been banned from the Agreste mansion, but Marinette hoped she had read Emilie’s tone correctly that her civilian self was still welcome. Swinging a few blocks away, she had found an out of the way sewer entrance and detransformed. Emilie had thought it wise to keep the subterranean room she had been held in secret from the public, as it provided another entrance into the house that was easy to exploit. When superhero fans and hate groups alike had promptly proceeded to spend nearly every waking (and some they should have been sleeping) hour harassing the Agrestes after Gabriel’s arrest and Emilie coming out to the public as Paon, that turned out to be a wise decision. The secret entrance was an easy way for those in the know to drop by without being harassed by fans or the media. People like Adrien’s girlfriend. Or his boyfriend.

Approaching the secure door that led into the Agreste property, Marinette spotted Luka pacing nervously in front of it.

“Luka!” She said, jogging the last few steps.

“Marinette. Hey.” He said, looking uncertain. Warning flags immediately went off. Luka was almost never indecisive.

“What’s wrong?” Marinette asked, taking his hands.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He chuckled slightly. “Or at least if you’re okay. I saw...well, I think all of Paris did.”

“So you rushed over to see Adrien?”

“Without a thought. Now I’m having second ones. What if he wants to be alone right now? I mean, his father just died and I saw that circus outside the gates. He probably just wants some quiet right now.” Luka stroked the back of Marinette’s hand with his thumb, thinking.

“We left him with Chloe, he’s probably not getting much quiet right now anyway.” Tiki giggled slightly, flying out of Marinette’s purse where she had been consoling a dejected Dusu. The blue kwami trailed after her, his usual zip subdued.

“Hey Tiki...and Dusu? What’s he doing with you, Marinette?” Luke questioned.

“You said you saw the media outside. Guessing you didn’t stay around long enough to hear me, Ladybug, address them.” Luka shook his head, looking worried. Marinette continued on with a sigh. “That idiot Berger was there stirring the pot, and I guess the broadcast was live because near the end Emilie came out and gave him a piece of her mind. Then she publicly resigned as Paon.” She laid her head against Luka’s chest as he hugged her, feeling some of her stress melt away. Some of it.

“Hey. You, me, Adrien. Spa day.” Luka murmured into her hair, stroking her back. Marinette laughed dryly.

“I think we’ll have to invite Marc and Nathaniel this time. They’ve got a bigger headache to deal with than me for once. Though he’s kind of my headache too…” Luka gave her a quizzical look. “Penknight is back. In the akuma battle Paon tried to make a Sentimonster ally and got him instead.”  When Luka’s face scrunched up in distaste, Marinette had to laugh.

“Oh come on. He’s not that bad.” She giggled, feeling even more stress flow away. Luka was good at that.

“Penknight is that bad. If he’s the same as he was last time, someone needs to put him over their knee and spank him, and not in a sexy way.” Luka grumbled. Marinette held her stomach, trying to fight the giggles at that mental image.

“He is a bit of a brat, isn’t he?” She said, trying to control her breathing.

“Say that after you have to babysit him for twelve hours straight. His devotion to Marc was adorable, but he treated everyone else like un-favored playmates that kept trying to steal his favorite toy. Speaking of babysitting, please tell me someone is watching him right now?” Luka said, looking like he hoped that person wouldn’t end up being him.

“Marc, and technically Nathaniel, are keeping an eye on him. We had some...words, to put it lightly that made me think. Marc has his amok and can wrangle him if he gets unruly. Hopefully. Why did I leave him alone again?” Marinette groaned into her hands.

“Because Adrien and Emilie need you right now.” Tiki gently reminded her. “They’ll be happy to see you both, I’m sure.”

“I don’t want to see her.” Marinette almost didn’t hear Dusu, he spoke so low.

“Dusu?” She asked.

“Things got hard and she just abandoned me. I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to see anyone.” Dusu sniffled as Tiki lay a comforting paw on him. “My wielders all either end up dead or wishing they were, and I’m so tired of losing people. I just want to rest.” He cried, full out bawling by the end. Marinette gathered him up in her hands and hugged him to her chest as best she could. Luka layed a comforting hand over hers as the little kwami cried.

“You don’t have to see her if you don’t want to Dusu. I can leave your miraculous downstairs if you like, and when we get home I’ll put you straight in the miracle box so you can see the other kwami.” Marinette soothed.

“I think I’d like that. We’ve all been separated for so long, and I just want to rest.” Dusu sniffled.

“Well...the sooner we go in, the sooner you can go home.” Luka inhaled, keying in the code to open the door. Marinette followed him inside, leaving her purse with the peacock miraculous and Dusu hanging near the elevator. Tiki decided to stay with him and watch the miraculous. Bracing for more tears, Marinette and Luka headed upstairs.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chloe thought she was being remarkably patient, for her, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t relieved to see Marinette and dumpster boy when they came up. At Emilie’s urging, they were all in the sitting room. Emilie and Marinette exchanged a tense stare, before the older woman nodded subtly and the younger woman flew at Adrien with a hug. Luka followed at a more sedate pace. Emilie had turned off the TV after she had come back inside, and Chloe thought that was for the best. Her heart ached for Adrien and his mother, Emilie had honestly been more of a mother to her than her own over the years, but Chloe had always been bad at the touchy feely part. She tended to react to people being upset by putting her back up and lashing out, and she knew that isn’t what either of them needed right now. She had done her very best to be silent up until now, but that time was over.

“So what’s the plan?” Chloe asked, interjecting over the whispered conversation between the trio.

“Plan?” Marinette asked, looking stupid as usual. Chloe still had trouble believing she was actually Ladybug.

“Yes, plan! That new Hawkmoth- Hawk bitch just declared war. You cannot let that go unanswered. Miraculous holders are NOT to be messed with, and the new kid on the block needs to learn that.” Chloe said firmly.

She had spent years watching her father handle political rivals and no matter what people thought, she HAD learned a thing or two. If someone made a threat and you rolled over, you were as good as done for. She stared firmly at the trio across from her so her eyes didn’t stray to Emilie. The younger blond absolutely thought the elder was making a huge mistake giving up her miraculous, especially when Chloe herself had had to fight tooth and nail every step of the way just to hold hers for more than a moment. She hoped that once Emilie had had some time to think, she would realize what a mistake she had made in giving away her power. If this new Hawkmoth was dead set on attacking them, someone without a miraculous would be as good as defenseless against her.

“Chloe, there’s nothing we can do at this point. All we can do is wait for her next akuma and go from there. Not that that matters. We won't defeat her for several years, if ever.” Adrien said glumly.

“What do you mean?” Emilie asked, zeroing in on how certain he sounded.

“A hero from the future visited us once. Bunnix. Hawkmoth was still active in her time, and that was at least three years from now. I thought maybe history had changed somehow when we...defeated Father, but of course it can’t be that easy.” Adrien delivered in a monotone, resting his head on Luka’s chest while Marinette stroked his hair.

“Who knows, kid? The future isn’t as set in stone as people like to believe. If you’ve ever heard Fluff go off an a tangent, which I do NOT recommend by the way, you’d hear about how something as tiny as deciding to wear a green sock instead of a blue sock can spawn hundreds of different alternate realities that can be so alike you wouldn’t notice if you accidentally fell into one, or so different the world has ended or something. Just because of socks!” Plagg cried buzzing around in distress. “Cheese is so much more simple than time!”

“Plagg is right. I told you about the future Bunnix took me to with Chat Blanc. The only thing I changed here to prevent that was not signing my name on your present.” Marinette chimed in. “We haven’t heard from Bunnix in quite some time. We have no way of knowing if her future is going to be ours anymore. Heck, if we really wanted to be sure I could just never give her her miraculous.”

“Wouldn’t work baby bug. Miraculous are funny like that. Fu shoulda told you some of this stuff, but every generation that we’re active in, the miraculous inevitably find their way to the best person to wield them.” Plagg shook his head, crossing his arms.

“What about me?” Chloe asked. “I found my miraculous by accident.”

“There are no accidents when the miraculous are involved. It’s why they’re miraculous and not just...magic rocks.” Plagg said.

“No coincidences...like the first Sentimonster Paon made when akuma attacks started again being Penknight, and not just one of the blob looking ones?” Luka asked thoughtfully. Plagg shrugged.

“That would be more Dusu’s department, but from what I hear? One’s that can pass for people and think for themselves are really rare. I’m shocked you’ve seen two of them in one lifetime.” Plagg said.

“Two?” Emilie asked. “And you have both had dealings with time travel? When was all this?” She asked, looking overwhelmed.

“Nathalie made a Ladybug sentimonster when she was still Mayura. She killed her though by removing her amok.” Marinette said, looking sad.

“As for time travel, short term Luka probably has the most experience. It’s what the snake miraculous does, sends you back in time five minutes. The rabbit can go as far as the wielder wants though.” Adrien explained while Emilie rubbed her temples.

“Why haven’t I ever heard of any of this?” She asked.

“Honestly mom? You never asked. We went through tons of crazy stuff before you were revived due to akumas.”

“And you’re going to go through all that again?” Emilie asked, a stubborn look forming on her face.

“Adrien is the best cat for the job, and if you take it away from him you might be dooming all of Paris.” Plagg cut in, uncharacteristically serious.

“...We may have to do that anyway.” Marinette said softly. “Too many people know our identities. I don’t want to just dump this job on someone else but…” She sighed.

“But nothing! Our friends won't tell anyone!” Adrien argued.

“And if they get akumatized?” Marinette calmly shot back. There was a stretch of uncomfortable silence.

“Oh for heaven's sake! You’re both over thinking this! Plagg JUST said there were no coincidences with the Miraculous. It’s fate or something right?” The destruction kwami made an ‘eh’ motion, and Chloe ploughed on. “If you’re still meant to be Ladybug and Chatnoir no one will find out who you are. The miraculous won’t let them.”

“Chloe it’s not that simple-”

“Could be.” Plagg said, lazily floating on his back. “or you could just erase everyone’s memories of you being Ladybug and Chatnoir.”

“What?!” The entire room, except Samson who was silently watching the exchange, shouted.

“Yesh, don’t yell! My ears are delicate.” Plagg simpered. “The miraculous cure works by fixing what YOU think is wrong.” he waved a paw at Marinette “So if you think it’s wrong for your friends to know your secret identities, they won't. Wouldn’t be the first time you brain blasted them with the cure. Heck, you’ve blasted yourself a few times.” Marinette looked conflicted.

“It can’t be that easy, and is that even morally sound? Altering their memories without their permission?” She worried.

“You should do it.” Emilie said. “Erase my memory too. It’s safer if no one knows but you two.” Emilie’s eyes strayed to Luka.

“I understand.” He told her, over Adrien and Marinette’s protests. “I knew both your identities from the first day you gave me the snake miraculous, but I was also never akumatized again. If this is the best way to keep you both safe…” He trailed off.

“No.” Marinette said firmly. “I won’t lie to my partner, either of you, ever again. Master Fu forced Adrien and I to hide our identities for so long, and it caused so many problems between us...I won’t do that to you, Luka.” Adrien echoed her thoughts.

“But you should do it to me, and your friends.” Emilie cut in.

“Ugh. Utterly ridiculous that I have to let you mess with my head. But,” Chloe sighed dramatically “Anything for Adrikins. Just know that I am not responsible for any schemes I come up with to break you up with him after I forget you’re Ladybug.”

Marinette and Adrien exchanged looks, having a silent conversation. In the end Marinette hung her head and sighed.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Damn Ladybugs.” Penknight growled, swatting at the magical swarm as they tried to approach where he, Marc, and Nathaniel were stiffly sitting on the Anciel’s couch halfway across the city. Sitting across from them in the lounge chair was their biggest obstacle yet: Marc’s overprotective, older sister.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Clarity

Request: #181 – “Just please be my best friend right now, not the person I just confessed my love to.”

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: angst / best friends to lovers au

Warnings: none

Word count: 2021

It was raining heavily, which went with his mood entirely. As he ambled along the side of the road, he wiped the excess water off of his face, unsure if some were his tears as well.

He had royally messed up everything.

Jinyoung had been on top of the world at the start of the year. He gained the promotion he had worked hard for in his career, which then meant had enough to put down a deposit on his first house. And he had you at his side the whole time. Not that having you beside him was anything new; you had been best friends for years. Yet it seemed this year, he was connecting with you in ways he had hoped for some time now. As teenagers, he had kissed you in a game of truth or dare and whilst you brushed it off as nothing important, to him it changed how he viewed you. He hadn’t done anything about his feelings then, and as adults, he continued to just be your best friend. Always there, but never the one.

Maybe if he had just accepted that placement in your life, he wouldn’t be faced with everything he was now. It was when he confessed to you recently that things all started to crash down around him.

“You what?”

Jinyoung ran a hand through his hair and laughed awkwardly. “I’ve always liked you.”

“Well, I’ve always liked you too, you’re like the brother I’ve never had, silly.”

“Brother,” he repeated, his heart cracking under the weight of the word. Why had he even bothered to speak up? Was it the couple of drinks he had over dinner with you lending him some liquid courage? Jinyoung knew you had friend-zoned him all these years. So why was he speaking up now?

Yet his rational thoughts couldn’t hold him back from saying more either. The words had been piled up in the back of his throat for too many years now, and now that he had opened them up, there was no way to push them back. “I don’t see you as a sister, Y/N.”

“You don’t? Well, just being a friend is fine too.”

“What if I see you as a woman?”

You blinked, your smile erased from your lips immediately. “Jinyoung, you-”

“No, let me say it before I don’t,” he pleaded, turning to look you in the eye. “I like you, more than a friend. I have since we were teenagers and-”

Tears sprung to your eyes and you shook your head, standing up immediately. “Please just stop. I can’t accept this.”

And you ran to your bedroom, leaving him alone with his half-spoken confession, feeling like the most pathetic person in the world.

It took only another two weeks to destroy everything else in his life. Jinyoung didn’t realise just how vital it was having you in his world. Without you in it, he didn’t have the drive like he once did. His work ethic slackened off and he even made a critical error that he couldn’t fathom making normally. Jinyoung couldn’t understand anything around him anymore, but there was one thing that did make sense.

To find his way back onto his feet, he needed your guidance.

His legs had carried him to your apartment in the rain and he laughed bitterly from winding up at this destination. He hadn’t seen you since that fateful night and you had messaged him asking for space for a bit. Would turning up right now ruin that space you had requested? Jinyoung craved your comfort more than anything else in this world. The home he was proud of now mocked him and his loneliness. Alcohol did nothing to numb the pain or take away any clarity – because right now he didn’t have any. His inner voice was just as lost as he was, and so it made sense you were his final choice.

Space or not, he needed you, at least for tonight.

“Jinyoung?!” you gasped at his state on your doorstep, reaching forward to grab him and bring him inside. He stopped you however, his eyes hard and unrelenting. You cursed impatiently. “Won’t you come inside?! It’s pouring down and your lips are turning blue!”

“I need you to promise me something first,” he said through chattering teeth. It was ironic, this whole time that he ambled around; he hadn’t once felt the cold. Now he was freezing. It was as if you had spoken into his world and woken it back up. “Just please be my best friend right now, not the person I confessed my love to.”

“Oh my God, would you just get inside before you catch pneumonia or something?!” you cried, yanking him inside and shutting out the din of the weather behind the door. Your hands were already moving to remove his layers and he watched you numbly, unable to do it himself. He was capable of so many things and yet, right now he couldn’t even take off his own wet clothes.

You hesitated before his final layers, blinking up at him before shedding him of his shirt. “You idiot,” you chastised him and Jinyoung sighed.

“I didn’t need confirmation that you weren’t attracted to me, but I guess this is it when you can scold me whilst I’m shirtless,” he told you, and you rolled your eyes at his statement.

“Looks like the old Jinyoung is returning. Can you please help now? If you don’t get into the shower soon, I’ll be driving you to the hospital, naked and all.”

He blinked and found the energy to use his hands, his underwear remaining as he followed you down to the bathroom. He already knew where everything was, and noticed his toiletries that you always had a spare set of were still in the same place. He smiled. “I’ll just warm up then.”

“Have you eaten?” you asked and he just stared at you, unable to recall what he had done before getting here. You groaned. “I’ll go make you something.”

Jinyoung got in the shower and the burn on his skin was enough to return him to his senses. By the time he was dried off and dressed in a set of his pyjamas you had stored in the bottom drawer, he was feeling uncomfortable. How could he explain everything to you? Jinyoung was known to everyone around him as calm, thoughtful and confident. Only you were aware that he was actually rather hesitant and indecisive under that exterior. And you would see right through him if he tried to claim anything other than the truth.

Coming to you seemed more dangerous than his hazy former self had thought through.

“Sit down and start eating, now.”

He obeyed your orders, picking up the spoon to the soup you had heated up for him. He smiled; he had always liked your cooking. “Thanks for this.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you mentioned, folding your arms across your chest. “I want an explanation.”

“For what?”

You cocked your head to the side impatiently. “For why the person I’ve known my entire life turned up on my doorstep looking like that.”

“Oh,” he started, conveniently spooning more soup into his mouth and diverting his gaze away from catching yours. “It’s nothing really. I just felt like going for a walk.”

“In the rain,” you said incredulously and laughed once. “Don’t try that one with me Park Jinyoung; I know you’re a mess right now. Please don’t tell me it’s because of the other night when you got tipsy.”

“I was coherent, I knew what I was saying,” he informed and your strong stance faltered. Just like you saw through him, he knew you were placing barriers up to keep him from hearing your inner thoughts. Jinyoung swivelled to face you and pointed the spoon at you accusingly. “You knew I wasn’t drunk, so why convince yourself of that, huh?”

“You’re really like this because of me?” you uttered and Jinyoung sighed heavily.

“Well, not entirely. But it was the catalyst for bringing me down to rock bottom,” he admitted with a light shrug and you chewed on your lip worriedly. He tried to laugh and ease the atmosphere. “Don’t look so grim, I’m not here to try and convince you of anything, I asked to be your best friend again, remember?”

“You’re always going to be my best friend, doofus.” You rolled your eyes, but that didn’t remove the worry that had settled into them.

Jinyoung smiled weakly. “I’ll be fine; don’t look at me like that.”

“How bad are things?”

“I received a final warning at work today. Apparently, my performance might cost the company some money.”

“What?!” you screeched and he winced at the sound. “Why would your work be suffering because of us? Are you dumb?!”

“Clearly I am.”

“I just…” you trailed off for a moment, thinking of what to say. “Even if I know you’re not the most decisive human, I just can’t believe out of us all, it’s you crashing down right now. You were the one with the clearest path in life.”

“That’s not true,” he told you and you looked at him in confusion. Jinyoung rubbed at his neck lightly. “I mean, I knew what job I wanted, where I wanted to live. But the rest, well, it’s not as clear as I want it to be.”

“You shouldn’t like me, Jinyoung,” you told him quietly, your head lowered.

“I know it makes you uncomfortable, I should have never confessed.”

“Even if you didn’t confess, I knew you liked me,” you stated with a heavy sigh. “I knew you did and I liked it. So I let you away with thinking things could be more than they are. It’s my fault you’re like this.”

“You knew?” he asked and you nodded. “Really?”

“I’m not blind, Jinyoung. I was aware of how you treated me differently. It made me feel special and needed by someone. I liked the feeling.”

“Then why did you turn my feelings down if you liked my attention?” he asked, and you started to fidget with your bracelet nervously. He grabbed your hand so you would stop stalling and tell him the truth.

“You’ve seen my dating habits over the years, Jin. I’m a mess. I get too far ahead in my thoughts about the person and then they don’t turn out how I expect them to be and it falls apart. I couldn’t risk that with you. I couldn’t risk losing you. You’re my best friend in this entire world.”

He blinked slowly. “Y/N, you know me. You don’t need to have any expectations, because you know all there is to me. So why would dating me be like everyone else?”

“I don’t know!” you whined, throwing your free hand up in the air. “I just convinced myself of that.”

“Am I really like a brother to you?”

“Are you fired?” you retorted and Jinyoung smiled.

“Why, do I need financial stability to attract you?” You rolled your eyes, your hand in his now trying to yank free. He held it then and continued his gaze. “Really?”

“No, you are fine just the way you are,” you admitted with a blush and stopped wriggling, huffing in defeat instead. “But you’re still not off the hook until you fix things at work, you hear me?”

“And about that brother thing?” he persisted and you groaned.

“With a body like yours, how could anyone want to see you as their brother?!”

“That’s what I thought,” he teased and leaned over to you. “Maybe my life isn’t such a wreck like I thought it was.”

“And you call me the dramatic one. I never went out and sabotaged my job because I didn’t accept your confession initially.”

Jinyoung nodded slowly in agreement. “You’re right, it is still pretty messy. I think you should kiss me better so I can-”

“Oh no, that’s all on you to fix. Me kissing you will help you in no way towards your job.”

He grinned. “It was worth a shot.”

_________________

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